#you get no promises or guarantees but that which seems inevitable might not be in the end.'

[isi7140]

thinking about Themes and Characters. they're good.

[donnerpartyofone]

Thinking this morning about how we communicate with each other, or don't. Yes, I know I'm oversharing. Yes, I know I should just go to therapy instead. I promise to get a new therapist as soon as I have a job again.

You often hear from people who have survived a major personal catastrophe that there really is no such thing as "closure". Knowing what happened is better than having to wonder about it forever, say in the case of a missing person, but it doesn't necessarily bring resolution, understanding, or a cure for pain. Similarly, closure doesn't necessarily happen the way it does in the movies, where someone airs a grievance in such a concise and sincere way that they feel divested of their emotional burden forever after. Two people telling each other how they "really feel" doesn't guarantee catharsis or empathy. Sometimes you get closure on some frustrating experience years later in an unpredictable moment, where you're in the middle of washing the dishes or scraping gum off your shoe, and you're suddenly hit with an epiphany about the meaning of that loose thread. Sometimes it never happens at all, even with years of therapy and all the proactivity and good intention in the world.

I used to have this friend who said that time doesn't heal, but it does make pain easier to manage. That sounded plausible to me, but then I learned that that person specifically enjoyed holding grudges, like vendetta was an important part of his personality and something he was vain about. Once he got to know you, he'd stage some competition between you that only happened in his imagination, and he'd find ways to test your loyalty for the rest of your relationship. He'd ask for things that were irrational, unnecessary, and/or inconvenient, and if you capitulated, he'd keep asking for more from you until you were forced to refuse, at which point he'd get to imagine that you were cruel to him and you owed him something. When we finally, inevitably parted ways, I told him exactly what I thought: that for one thing, he could solve all of his own problems by cultivating more independence, and for another, although he was constantly seeking favors and acknowledgement from others, he was never grateful for what he received, no matter how far out of their way a person went for him. Naturally he went insane, and I won't bother with the details except to say that I still have nightmares about running into him. I didn't get "closure" by keeping my cool and telling him the truth. Like I'm sure I'd have more mental problems if I lost my shit and just lashed out to be hurtful, OR if I freaked out and never said what I needed to say to him. I'm sure I'm better off for having done what I did. But I didn't get a feeling of completion or whatever from saying what I had to say, and my brain is still treating this person as if he were a present threat. (Which could be because he went on a lengthy campaign of trying to turn my friends against me after I washed my hands of him and so I never know what he might be up to, but possibly that's beside the point)

So even though closure does not behave rationally or predictably, it's probably better to tell people how you feel about them one way or the other, because it *could* make things easier later--or just because, as I have discovered, making sure that someone never really knows how you feel about them is one of the worst things you can do to somebody. Like it's a great way to control someone, causing them stick around and gamify their behavior toward you by making them feel like any minute now, if they say or do the right thing, you'll finally tell them whatever the subtext is that always seems to simmer beneath all of your interactions. There is an idea that relationships take time to develop, that sometimes they have to undergo various trials and tribulations before the glorious truth comes out to justify all the suffering and confusion that went before. This works great in fictional romances that thrive on tension, but in real life, tension is unhealthy, and even beside that point, most people can barely prevent themselves from doing and saying what they really want to do, as soon as humanly possible. In real life, if somebody constantly indicates a desire that they never act on, then they just don't want whatever it is that badly, and they may have ulterior motives for behaving like they want it. This is why you really have to stick your fingers in your ears and watch what people do, it's not just some tired aphorism that actions speak louder than words; people literally tell you everything about themselves by what they do, or don't do.

When I was young and hopelessly dumb, I collected a whole slew of bad experiences with people who knew how to capitalize on ambiguous behavior. I had a "friend" who spent years hovering on the edge of being my boyfriend; we spent enormous amounts of time together, went on big adventures, routinely spoke on the phone from dusk till dawn, and then once in a blue moon on some particularly dramatic evening he'd kiss me or something, and I'd think, "This is it! All that will-they-won't-they shit is over and it was all worth it, we're finally getting together," and then he'd instantly take off on me and begin, conduct, and conclude an entire formal relationship with somebody else before he talked to me again, when we'd be back at square one. Eventually I moved to the other side of the country, and I expected kind of an emotional goodbye, but I was out of sight and out of mind for him as soon as I made the announcement. When I had to move back unexpectedly, I called him up, and he just picked right up talking about himself like he always does; he didn't even ask me how I was, or why I was back. Also, he had destroyed a beloved hat that I stupidly left with him, that he was supposed to give back whenever our reunion eventually took place. After the call, I wrote him a letter outlining how I could tell he didn't really care about me, and declaring that we weren't friends anymore. A long time later, I got this voicemail from him, dripping with sincerity, saying how badly he needed to talk to me, and swearing that if I didn't call back then he would call me at Christmas. I decided to wait and see if he would actually call. He never did. (But nice job forcing me to think about you on Christmas, dude)

During college, I became entangled with this much older guy who embroiled me in his disastrous personal life for years by convincing me that whatever was going on between us was a Very Big Deal even though he never quite acted on it and always had a serious competing interest in play. I was already struggling with my escalating mental health problems, and this compounding issue made it much harder for me to graduate. If I were older, or at least not a virgin until I met him, it would have meant more to me that he was already in a committed relationship when we met, that he maintained for several more years while he made me a supporting character in his personal drama. I would not have taken the bait when he said grossly inappropriate things to me about how "the girlfriend" (not "my girlfriend", pointedly) was on her way out and "We should be married." And, I would not have had an experience that became sadly familiar, where he said "I love you" and made various promises about the future, then immediately ghosted me, and moved into a new apartment with a brand new serious girlfriend who was so grody and ill-advised that it actually helped me stop giving a shit about him. I just stopped talking to him on a dime one day, forever. No rational person would have required an explanation, but also I knew very well what would happen if I tried to confront him. I had seen enough over the years to know that he'd do anything to keep ahold of an attention-provider, and that there was no point in ever trying to get him to admit that he had treated me poorly. He was extremely intelligent and wouldn't lose a debate, besides which I understood by then that what he really craved, more than anything else in the world, was interpersonal drama. The only way for me to win was by checking out. As predicted, he did wild, even hilarious things to try to put me back in my place, and I just ignored all of it. He still made an attempt on me once in a while even 15+ years after the fact. The last time was earlier this year, when he sent an anonymous message to this here blog, which I guess he found out about some way. I learned through the grapevine that he had just divorced his first and only (too-young) wife after a matter of months, so he was probably hitting up everyone he could think of for attention. I ignored that message, and then a few months later, he suddenly died. I found out from strangers talking about it on Twitter. It fucked me up more than I would ever have liked to admit. I just can't get around what a presence he was in my life while my adult personality was still forming. I did some little ritualistic things to try to get "closure". I wouldn't say they were totally cathartic, but it was probably better than nothing.

Most of myy 20s were eaten up by a whole entire boyfriend I had, who was deliberately ambiguous about he felt about me. The first time he told me he loved me, he made it really scary. We were supposed to go to the beach together, and as soon as we began the hour and a half-long train ride, he went and sat on the opposite end of the car and refused to look at or speak to me. When we got off the train and I eventually got him to face me, he wouldn't acknowledge that he was doing anything weird. This was worrisome in and of itself, but it was also frightening because he had already established a pattern of getting really angry about something that he wouldn't discuss, and maintaining an air of mounting threat for weeks at a time before I was allowed to try to atone for whatever I had supposedly done wrong. He gave a condensed version of this performance for several hours that day at the beach, until the feeling of impending doom was so bad I just started crying; then he admitted, for the first time, that he was in love with me. For most people, this is good news, and not something that you leverage to make someone cry in public. He just put all this Beauty & the Beast melodrama on it because of his feeling that romantic relationships should be perilous and competitive. For the rest of the time we dated, if I was having a hard time in my life, then I was dragging him down and "not good enough for him", and he would immediately sabotage the relationship. If I was doing well, then he was "not good enough for me" and would immediately sabotage the relationship. Once I was on the verge of a nervous collapse, then he was finally tender with me, and would frame everything we had been through together as just part of the epic journey of love through which he would eventually be healed as long as I stayed loyal and behaved myself--which of course was hard to do consistently, when he refused to explain whatever his problem de jour was or what would fix it. Yes meant no, love meant hate, all boundaries lost their meaning. He just kept me on this treadmill by making me feel like it was my mission to prove to him, at the end of a long heroic battle, that love was real and he could be transformed by it. It took me a long time to understand that the relationship wasn't evolving, would never evolve. It was already everything it was meant to be, from beginning to end: painful and confusing.

Of course, the caveat to all this is that when you notice the feeling that someone is manipulating you by being unclear about their feelings, you have to do your best to make sure it is really happening--that you aren't just ignoring something obvious, or assuming the presence of something for which there is no evidence. You have to make sure that it isn't a simple case of you imagining that someone should feel a certain way about you, and you being frustrated when that isn't reflected by reality. The first person I mention in this post gave me a big red flag right at the beginning of our friendship when he picked a nuclear fight with me over his perception that I should have left my existing boyfriend for him. He had decided that my enthusiasm for him as a friend had to mean that we were going to fuck, and that it wasn't important that I was already in a very serious relationship, and that I had just rented an apartment for my boyfriend and me to live together after he left his home country to be with me. I never touched my friend outside of a friendly handshake, I never spent a night at his place or vice versa, and I never said anything to indicate that my proper romantic relationship was a lower priority for me, or something that was going away any time soon. But, my friend had a narrative going in his mind that the strength of our friendship suggested the development of something more, and he held it against me when that didn't happen, accusing me of "leading him on" despite the fact that, from my perspective, I had said and done only what I meant to, only what corresponded with reality. There wasn't anything that I still needed to express, and I never implied that something else was still in the mail. It wasn't my fault that my friend believed I was keeping something from him, on the "evidence" that he wasn't getting what he thought he deserved. (Of course I was so young and inexperienced that I believed men's feelings were always a woman's responsibility, so I apologized for my alleged crimes, and signed up for many more years of being held personally responsible for his individual problems...but that's another story)

I just mean, before you blame somebody for being ambiguous, do an accounting of what they've actually said and done to see if it really doesn't add up, or if the mystery factor is only being inserted by you and your projections. When the aforementioned friendship imploded, I thought to myself: That went on for far too long, but now I am free of it. Now I don't have any lingering relationships that I am dubious of, or that I feel burdened by, and I never have to have another one ever again. I know too much now. I have learned to care about my own feelings. I am an adult! But, little did I know, something else in my life was already fixing to implode. I'd made friends with this woman who was unlike anyone else I'd ever met, and we formed a fast and passionate bond. We spent thousands of hours talking, and shared absolutely everything. When I woke up at 3am, she'd be online, and we'd speak long past dawn. When she had panic attacks, I was the person she reached out to, to talk her down. She was always exuberantly grateful. It seemed that there was nothing we hid from each other. I told her My Darkest Secret, something I had never even found the courage to tell my therapist, because I thought she was the only person I'd ever met who would understand it. There was a freeflowing channel of support and admiration between us. One of the only red flags I can think of is that she had a tendency to pedestalize me, and didn't like it when I was overly frank about my flaws, but I didn't take that very seriously. Maybe I should have, because one day after a couple of years of this, she suddenly disappeared from my life. She blocked me everywhere I used to reach her, and didn't respond to any outside attempts I made to find out if I needed to apologize for something. The last time I saw her blog, there was a string of posts that I could have easily read as complaints about me and our friendship, if I had a paranoid mindset. I realized too late that I should have done so. Not that I would have known what to do. It was totally out of the blue, to me anyway, and she refused to give me so much as a "fuck off", so there was really no action for me to take. It just wasn't my responsibility, and manifestly, the relationship didn't deserve to be salvaged.

I'm thinking about all this today because I had a dream last night that she was driving me somewhere, acting like everything was totally normal, and I was flattening myself against the passenger door trying to make myself invisible. It's pretty hilarious when I picture it now, but in the dream I was thinking, "I'm glad she's not attacking me or whatever, but I absolutely cannot trust this person and I don't know what I'm doing here!" Generally speaking, I take rejection pretty well (at least when it's clear and direct--including through total non-involvement!), because I just wouldn't want to be around anyone who doesn't want me. What's important is a relationship, not an individual, and if you and someone else don't have much to say to each other, and you have no chemistry, there's just no point. Plus, it's just unpleasant to be where you aren't wanted, like who needs to feel that way? If you are longing after someone who shows no interest in you, then you are longing for something that is in your mind, not something real that you can conspire to get. But man, when someone deliberately instates a situation in which you could reasonably think that things are Very Serious, and they don't fulfill on what would normally happen in a Very Serious Situation, that's like...that's a really fucked up thing to do to someone. I'm not sorry I lost my friendship with that woman, since obviously it wasn't in a healthy state and I don't need that shit, but even if it didn't break my heart into a thousand pieces, I can still be mad that this person for plunging into an intense connection with me, keeping it going at a high boil for a really long time, and then suddenly deciding she didn't like me without giving the whole thing the dignity of a decent burial. Or even, like, a petty brush-off. Or anything at all. At this point I definitely wouldn't WANT to know what she was thinking, there's no way it would be good for me or even comprehensible to me if she's capable of being so cowardly and/or sadistic, but the whole experience did have the benefit of highlighting how poorly it speaks of someone's character when they purposefully give you a false or ambiguous sense of what they think of you. If you're trailing after somebody who you THINK loves you, but action doesn't follow, don't wait around. You're already getting exactly what you're ever going to get from that source, and it is literally true that having no one is better than thinking you have someone who doesn't try to make you feel good. It's almost the new year, this is a great time to start shedding people. Do it now! You'll be glad you did.

[heatlh-product0001]

Turning Back Time: My Experience with Derma ProGenix Advanced Anti-Aging Serum

I've always taken good care of my skin, but as I've entered my late 40s, I started noticing the inevitable signs of aging – a few more fine lines around my eyes, a loss of firmness in my jawline, and a general dullness to my complexion. While I fully embrace getting older, I also wanted to find a way to keep my skin looking its best.

A Gentle Yet Effective Formula

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Visible Results in Weeks

I started using the serum twice a day, morning and night, after cleansing my face. The application process was simple – a few drops massaged gently into my skin absorbed quickly, leaving no greasy residue. Within a few weeks, I started noticing a real difference. My skin felt noticeably plumper and more hydrated. The fine lines around my eyes seemed less pronounced, and my overall complexion appeared brighter and more even-toned.

More Than Just Hydration

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A Confidence Boost

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Additional Notes

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[gecko-whoria]

straw hats + how they sleep

w/: luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji, robin, & franky

notes: yes we’ve all canonically seen them sleep but also: these are my personal thoughts

warnings: n/a

luffy sleeps like the dead and is usually only roused by a lot of commotion or the smell of breakfast cooking. you have about a minute and a half to get comfortable while he’s still conscious, because as soon as you crawl into bed next to him he has his arms wrapped around you with his head resting on your shoulder. he’s pretty still when he sleeps, which means that if he has a nightmare you’re pretty much guaranteed to wake up. it’s not often, but he does get really shaken up by them and usually doesn’t go back to bed for the rest of the night. he never outright asks you to stay up with him, and is understanding if you can’t, but he seems a lot more calm when you do. after the first few months of you sleeping in the same bed you can tell it makes him really happy to have someone to cuddle with, though the realization only beats his loud announcement of the fact by a few days.

zoro falls asleep anywhere and at a blinding speed, regardless of whether or not you’re ready for bed or not. he definitely has a habit of spreading out when he’s not asleep somewhere else on the ship, and rarely if ever leaves you enough space to slide in next to you. you love him, really you do, but he is the worst person to sleep next to. you figured out after the first month that if you didn’t keep a separate blanket for yourself off of the bed, you’d be sleeping with nothing after an hour or so. once you and zoro meet a sort of arrangement with sleeping he’s actually a really good person to sleep next to, and you almost always end up laying against his chest by the time you wake up in the morning. (but can anyone truly blame you? he makes a good pillow.)

nami is an incredibly light sleeper, always expecting to be woken up by something going wrong on the ship. she'll even get woken up by something as small as you rolling over, but given a bit of time she adjusts to sleeping next to someone and doesn't wake up nearly as much. she likes sleeping back to back, usually curled upu with a pillow in her arms. every once in a while—especially if either of you have had a bad day—she'll curl up in your arms and fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat. if you've had a particularly rough time she might hold you in her arms, though she makes you promise to not take advantage of how good of a pillow her chest is. (in reality she just likes being held when she sleeps, but she won't admit to that.)

usopp is the heaviest sleeper you’ve ever met and snores like a freight train. he usually falls asleep on his back and never moves a single muscle at night (unless he’s having a stress nightmare about whatever island they’re set to visit next), but somehow always wakes up refreshed. you have no idea how he does it, but honestly you envy him. he has a tendency to fall asleep at his work table if he’s not in bed, and most of the time you’re able to wake him up for a few seconds to coax him into bed. the only drawback is that once he’s even slightly awake he’s awake for the rest of the night, and although he tries to be quiet and respectful of you sleeping he always inevitably wakes you up as well. he feels guilty for enjoying those nights so much, when it’s just you and him creeping up to the deck to talk and watch the stars together, but he can’t stop himself from secretly hoping that another one will come around.

sanji will throw an absolute fit if you aren’t in bed to sleep with him, and he’s learned how to become incredibly persuasive so he can get his way. you once joked that he used you as a glorified body pillow, and now he insists on using that as one of your many nicknames. as much as you groan about having to go to bed with him when you aren’t necessarily tired, you’ve never had more comfortable or restful sleeps in your entire life. something about the way sanji protectively wraps his arms around you, his body heat seeping into your skin as soon as you’re close….it’s the most soothing thing in the world. you’ve grown used to the scent of cigarettes that lingers on all his clothes, but the clean scent that envelops you every night is something you look forward to as soon as the sun sets. you never guessed you’d enjoy sleeping as much as you do now, but sanji seems to keep giving you more reasons to.

robin is about as cuddly as a board when the two of you first start sleeping in the same bed, but she slowly gets more comfortable with the idea of sleep being something enjoyable instead of a necessity. given time she becomes a huge fan of beds full of pillows, initially putting so many on the bed that you barely had room to sleep. you end up finding a nice balance between plush pillows and your bodies, and you notice that most mornings robin wakes up with one of the pillows in her arms. even after months of sleeping in the same bed she still lays pretty far away from you, but every once in a while you’ll have the pleasure of waking up with her head on your shoulder, her head nestled just below your chin and a soft smile on her face.

franky is horrible about following through on his promise to actually fall asleep in your bed instead of in his shop. as much as he tries to come to bed a reasonable hour he usually falls asleep in the middle of a project, waking up in some awful position to the sound of your heavy sigh, your arms crossed as you stand over him with a disapproving glare. when he does come to bed though you enjoy essentially using him as a giant pillow, knowing full well that he gave himself small adjustments to be a more comfortable person to sleep on. he doesn't snore so much as emit a soft whir from some of the mechanical parts of his body, though he has been known to softly snore if he sleeps hard enough. you never guessed you'd enjoy sleeping on a cyborg as much as you do, but you can't deny that franky's made it an incredibly pleasant experience.

requests are open!

[delimeful]

Helpless (2)

the next chapter in the drider virgil fic!

warnings: spiders, slight dehumanizing language, assumptions/jumping to conclusions

-

Logan was certain that he’d tracked down his quarry.

Of course, he’d also been certain the last two times he’d found promising evidence around a swath of woods, but this time was different.

He had learned plenty while traversing through the varied lands of his kingdom, and while physical evidence was ideal, word of mouth was one of the most useful tools a researcher could use to find leads.

That was part of the reason why he’d been so careful to observe typical travelers for weeks before his departure, the reason he was wearing worn, cheap fabric and staying at the second-cheapest room at this town’s inn, despite having plenty of money still hidden on his person. He didn’t want a single rumor about a suspiciously rich noble traveling alone.

The last thing he needed was for his investigative journey to be interrupted by bandits, or worse, would-be do-gooders attempting to return the missing prince to his place in line for the throne.

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought, putting aside the last half of his travel rations and stopping at the edge of town to stare into the woods beyond. He checked his compass habitually, and he was pointed firmly westward, exactly towards the point of the woods that were occupied by a dangerous monster, according to the barkeep that Logan had plied for information last night at supper.

The whole town knew of it, even the younger residents, which was a point in favor of the creature really existing rather than just being another folk tale.

There was one other potential source on the creature, a town outcast going by the way others’ noses wrinkled at the mention of him, but Logan was more than ready to begin investigating for himself, and the odds that the outcast actually knew anything were low, anyhow.

Decided, he headed into the forest, prepared for the day-long trek that was sure to follow. If he was prone to less scientific notations, he might have jotted down that he had a good feeling about this particular town.

Exactly an hour and a half later, Logan had found himself almost entirely immobilized by layers and layers of gossamer threads strewn about the trees.

Needless to say, he was ecstatic.

Even the foolish manner in which he’d landed himself stuck in such an obvious trap couldn’t dampen his spirits, not when faced with undeniable proof that there was in fact a drider in these woods. He’d been too hasty in his attempt to collect some of the biological material, and by yanking too hard, had ended up pulled forwards into the thick of the intricate spider web.

His immobility was a bit concerning, but mostly frustrating, since he couldn’t reach for his journal to note down the surprising level of the webbing’s tensile strength. Still, proper scientists had to be prepared to hold onto their observations for as long as it took for them to be able to write them down.

Besides, he could hardly complain. His current predicament practically guaranteed that he would actually get to see the creature!

-

There was a person stuck in his webs, and Virgil was freaking out about it.

It had never happened before. Virgil very specifically made the webs closer to town thick and opaque so that any passerby would see them and avoid this exact situation.

Virgil peered around the cluster of bushes he had half-flattened himself behind. The stranger didn’t seem too panicked, at least, going by the way that the web barely swayed with his presence. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, which was… admittedly sort of strange.

Skies above, what if this was a trap? Virgil turned his head sharply to scan his surroundings, wary of human hunters suddenly popping out of the undergrowth.

Several moments of silence, and even with all his senses pushed to their farthest, he couldn’t detect anything. It seemed the only one trapped here was the human.

A pang of guilt curled unpleasantly in his first stomach. He grimaced, wishing desperately that Patton was here to mitigate the utter terror Virgil was surely about to inflict on this guy.

No point in drawing it out. He rose up to his full height, grateful that the human had gotten stuck facing the opposite direction, and quietly crept up behind him. All he needed to do was announce his presence and let the human know he wasn’t going to hurt them, but he was immediately distracted at the sight of just how tangled his webs had grown.

“How does one human manage to touch every single support thread at the same time?” he asked, voice incredulous.

The human stiffened, and he couldn’t help but tense in response, cursing his big mouth.

… Really though, he spent hours crafting these, and now this one would have to be completely reconstructed!

“Are you the monster spoken of in town?”

The measured voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts as easy as a clap of thunder, and he shuffled a bit from side to side nervously. His many steps must have been louder than he’d thought, because the human immediately attempted to twist around and see him.

He failed, naturally, because Virgil’s threads weren’t exactly easy to wriggle free of, but Virgil’s nerves only grew. “I… why do you ask?”

There was a short silence, and then, “Considering my current situation, it’s only natural I would want to know, isn’t it?”

Virgil resisted the urge to wince at his own dumbassery. “Right. Well. Yeah,” he confirmed, already bracing for the fear that nearly every human bore when confronted with him. Even Patton had been afraid at first, though Virgil really thought him braver than any other human, to be so terrified of even normal spiders and befriend a Drider of all creatures.

“Oh, excellent,” the human said with clear excitement. “Would you mind coming around so that I can see you?”

Virgil blinked, befuddled. The last thing most humans wanted was for him to come closer. Maybe it was the natural fear of him being in their blind spot? The guy certainly didn’t sound very afraid, even with Virgil’s less-than-stellar first impression.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked warily.

“I have a knife,” the stranger offered, “but I can’t exactly reach it at the moment.”

Virgil could see the glint of it, caught bladefirst at the very edge of a web as though it had been used on the threads themselves. He slowly circled around the clearing, watching the stranger closely for any sudden movements, until he stood before him, all eight legs and thorax visible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed, eyes blown wide as they skittered from point to point as though noticing every little detail. Virgil would have thought him afraid had it not been for the prideful little grin that sat on his face. “I thought maybe you were lying to me-- I hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in the common language, living in the woods and all-- but wow!”

Virgil felt his front legs rising up a little bit in an automatic defense against the unexpected reaction. He ran his tongue over his fangs nervously, trying to figure out whether or not he should be insulted about the language thing. And what exactly did this guy mean by ‘expected’?

The stranger’s hands twitched slightly, still stuck firmly in place, and irritation briefly flitted across his face as though he’d forgotten his position. He blinked, as though remembering something.

“Oh, right. Are you planning on trying to consume me, then?” he asked, the question as politely curious as an inquiry about the weather.

Virgil recoiled physically at the idea, skittering back a few strides and baring his fangs despite the difference in size and strength and trapped-ness between the two of them. “What? No!”

The stranger managed to drag his intrigued gaze away from Virgil’s fangs, his hands twitching again almost subconsciously. “In that case, would you mind helping me down? My leg has begun to go numb, and I really would like access to my journal.”

“I-- I mean, yeah, if you aren’t-- I can--,” Virgil stumbled over his words, drawing closer with his body lowered non-threateningly and waiting for the inevitable flinch or shiver of disgust.

It never came. The stranger continued to stare at him with no trace of terror in his eyes, even as Virgil grew close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Take your time,” he offered, despite being the one trapped in a monster’s web. Virgil abruptly felt a bit silly about his obvious wariness, and lifted his front legs to rub them together at the ankles. The stranger’s head tilted to the side slightly, watching the gesture intently.

“... It’s the oils that make the webs not stick,” Virgil explained. “I produce it naturally on my feet so I don’t get, y’know, stuck. I’ll have to touch the webs that are attached to you. With my feet. The spider ones.”

Virgil didn’t have any other kinds of feet, but the stranger graciously didn’t nitpick.

“A built-in solvent… I wonder if natural spiders have similar traits,” he mused instead, and then, “Do whatever you need, I don’t mind. The opposite, really, I appreciate the assistance.”

Sure enough, he didn’t shy away when Virgil began carefully plucking at the threads entangling him, sliding the sides of his legs along them to coat them in the anti-stick oils. Bit by bit, the entanglement loosened, and Virgil had just freed both arms when the human abruptly twisted around to reach for something on his person.

Of course, now that much of the webbing holding him in midair had been removed, his weight was significantly less supported. A few threads snapped, and he dropped a few inches with a startled yelp. If he continued, he’d be in for either a rough fall or getting caught in a whole new layer of webbing, and Virgil wanted neither of those things.

He quickly reached forwards with his human arms and lifted the stranger up and away from further entanglement, batting away any stray threads with his front legs. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to check if it was a weapon that the human had reached for. Even more belatedly, he realized that this was the second human he’d picked up in this impromptu carry.

Weird that it had happened twice.

“Perfect, thank you,” the guy said, and then he started writing furiously in a little book, occasionally glancing up at Virgil and locking onto a feature before returning to writing. It was as though he didn’t mind at all being held aloft like a human might lift up a misbehaving cat.

Virgil took the opportunity to continue cleaning any web remnants off the guy while he was distracted, his mind whirring. A stranger who had clearly never done a day of hard labor in his life, who didn’t seem at all afraid of him, and was taking notes.

... Oh, shit.

Virgil set him carefully on the ground while he was still preoccupied with scrawling out a label for a diagram of Virgil’s teeth. He backed up, softening his steps, and by the time the stranger pulled his attention away from his book, Virgil was already well out of sight and planned to keep it that way, regardless of the confused little call the stranger made.

He was not messing with what was clearly a mage out for his parts.

[no-droids]

Promise Me (It’s Yours)

Part Eleven of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10K

Warnings: OMFG might be the first chapter of rough day to not need any warnings, can you believe it?? I mean of course there’s language, a splash of smut, and just the briefest reference to suicide, but pretty PG-13 this time my guys I apologize

A/N: I’m sorry I know people show up for the smut but I was feeling soft in this Taco Bell parking lot so here this is, I hope y’all like it.  I guarantee none of the math is correct but please go with it

***

You jerk awake to the sound of whimpers.

It’s late.  The bonfire is nothing more than glowing coals, and your back is resting against a scratchy log instead of a long, comfortable chest.  You blink rapidly, trying to figure out where that noise is comi—

The kid.  Fussy in his crib, his gasps starting to turn into quiet sobs.

“Hey,” you murmur, aiming for soft and comforting, but the sleep sits right in the middle of your vocal cords and splits your voice in half, making you sound like an exhausted demon.  Weirdly enough, it seems to chill him out (did a demon actually teach him how to choke people without touching them?) and you sit up to blearily look around.  Where’s Din?  “Where’s—” you rub your eyes and squint around once more, “—where’d your dad go, bug?”

The clearing is bare.  The field is, too—no path, excluding the one you three made on the hike here.  Nothing in the distant forest, and the black duffel bag sits somewhere near your feet.

Alright, no worries, maybe he just… went to take a leak or something.  Really… oddly far away.  That’s fine.  Sometimes humans have to do that—maybe he has a.  A shy bladder.  Or something.  You’re totally fine.  The kid blinks back at you through equally tired eyes, his head tilting as he seems to be taking cues from you right now in the absence of his father.  You both should just try to go back to sleep…

Or you can wait up for him.  That sounds like a better plan.  Don’t panic, just trust him.  Give him the benefit of the doubt, it’s the least you can do.

You take a second to look around again, still coming up empty.  It’s dark out, but the moon is suspended high in the sky.  The fire doesn’t even give off much light anymore, just dying embers.  Your eyes scan the ground again, catching on the black bag at your feet.

Was that there when you went to sleep?  No, the last person who had it was Din, and he was sitting over there, in front of the boulder behind the kid’s shield.

You blink down at the stationary bag for a few more seconds, studying it like it’ll spill all of its secrets if you glare hard enough, but then something sparks in your memory.  Something odd, something you only noticed for a second last night.  There was a red light that reflected off Din’s helmet when he reached into the bag for food earlier, wasn’t there?

You think back on it, try to isolate the hazy memory.  If it was a laser sight, you would’ve recognized the bright beam and panicked, but you didn’t.  It was unfocused, dim.  Flashing.

Had… had Din brought a tracking fob with him from the Crest?  But why?

Maker, it’s like your mind knows it should speed up but it’s still too stupid to actually do it.  You should… you should check the bag, right?  Just in case… you don’t know.  You’re being ridiculous.

You reach out to catch the dark bag nonetheless and then unzip it, rifling through it for a particular item you figure should be in here somewhere.  Food, food, more food…

Somewhere…

—It’s not here.  No tracking fob here.  No red light to be seen of.

Had you been imagining it?

No, you determine after a second.  No, because you remember thinking it was odd—you specifically noticed it, clearly recognized it but didn’t contemplate too much into it at the time.

Alright, no worries, maybe he… maybe he went on a quick little hunt while you were both sleeping.  He must��ve gone back to the ship to grab his armor and guns and then set off.  That’s fine, there’s more food in the bag.  He said he’d be here when you woke up, which most likely means morning.  Right?

Cool.  Cool cool cool, you can wait until morning.  You can just settle back down against the log right here and find a comfortable position—there we go—and just wait for the sunrise, wait for the inevitable return of your missing party member.  Party leader, arguably.  He’ll come back, he always does.

Your body begins to relax, even though something still seems… strange about this.  Like there’s something important you’re still missing.

… The field is bare.

You instantly sit up and turn back to study it in the moonlight, study the single path you left on your way here.  You remember hiking at least… a grand total of two hours to get here from the Crest, maybe?  Granted, you took quite the detour, but that just means he would’ve carved a distinct, new path on his way back—

Would he… would he really go on a hunt without going back to the ship first?  Would Mando truly venture out—without telling you—to go collect a quarry without any weapon on him whatsoever?  Any piece of armor besides a helmet?

Does that seem right to you?

Fuck, you suddenly feel wide awake, and the baby starts gasping out troubled cries again.  You push yourself up to your feet and stumble around the dying flames to go comfort him, dropping to your knees next to the reflective sphere.  Your head stays on a constant swivel as you quiet him, brushing the pad of your thumb along his wrinkled forehead and shushing him as you keep looking out at the breezy field of grass, trying to see if you missed anything.  

Fuck, maybe you’re just overreacting.  What direction is the ship?  Which way did you…?  You think back, trying to piece together limited information of what you can remember about today.  Glancing back down at the log you slept on and then the path leading away from the clearing, rapidfire calculations start going off in your head.  No, you realize after a second of frantic thought—no, the sun would’ve—if you walked…

Eventually, you’re able to pinpoint a general idea of where the ship should be, and if you’re right, then he definitely would’ve left a new path to get back to it.  You don’t like this.  It’s out of character for him.  It sits too weird with you, and the kid rarely starts crying unless something is bothering him.

Alright, alright, don’t panic.  Din is a professional.  He must’ve left on purpose—you would’ve woken up if there was any sort of struggle, or even just an exchange.  Odds are, he grabbed the tracking fob and just… went to go get the quarry.  

Without waking you.  Without telling you.  Without bringing anything else with him.  No armor.  No guns.  Just the fob.

Some strange sense of dread begins to fill you, one that feels all the worse when there’s no clear explanation for it.  You won’t pretend like you’re an expert, but to a Mandalorian, that seems like it could be considered suicidal, wouldn’t it?  What reason would he have to do this?

The field continues to wave, undisturbed, in all surrounding directions except one.  You look over at the clearing leading to the dark forest, the treetops too thick to let anything but traces of crystal moonlight through.  If he left… he’ll have gone that way.  The only direction that wouldn’t leave a path.

Okay.  So there's a decision that needs to be made.  You can either stay here, in the middle of this wide open field until the sun comes up, and hopefully he comes back by then.  Or… you could.  Go check if something went wrong.

The forest is gorgeous from here, you can see that.  Thick treetops, drifting gently in the breeze, steady and quiet and picturesque.  Admittedly, you can also see a haunting, looming nightmare of darkness warning you to stay away from whatever it’s hiding.  This is an unfamiliar planet.  You know it’s safe, this is the most isolated sector and Din said practically no crime happens here, but.  He also said he’d be here when you woke up.

Hang on, wait.  Something catches in your peripheral.  There—right on the other side of the kid’s crib, you see—

A glove.

… He left the glove.  Whether on purpose or by accident, Din left his glove.  The one connected to the vambrace, the one that houses all his controls.  

The one that houses the comm link.

The piece of armor is already in your trembling fingers before you realize you even went to grab it.  Anxiety, stress, dread—you don’t know which weighs on you heavier while you slowly rotate it in your hands, trying to understand what’s happening right now.  He left his emergency communicator.  The only chance you have at contacting him unless he decides to come back.

Panic suddenly constricts in your chest, and you make your decision blindly.  The kid continues to squeak out little whimpers as your arm sinks down into the leather and you pull the gauntlet up almost to your elbow, flexing your fingers inside the fabric and feeling your heart beating in your throat.  The controls are fairly basic, it doesn’t take much time to figure out which button he synced with the hovering sphere, which command he uses to lock the two locations together.

“Chill out, kiddo,” you whisper, doing your best to calm your own raging uncertainty.  Conviction is key, you think.  You made your decision.  Not wanting to waste any more time in case something went awry, you sling the bag over your shoulder and set off in the direction of the trees, feeling… woefully underprepared for whatever may potentially face you.

The forest is quiet as you finally make your way past the first few trees marking its beginning, or end, and you need a second to blink and adjust your vision.  It’s dark—if you thought it was dark when you awoke, it’s nothing compared to this.  The treetops are thick and barely allow any moonlight to pass through their dense leaves whatsoever, just bits and pieces scattered here or there.  There’s no path, no trail, just nature.  Fallen logs, moss, rock and boulder formations you have to avoid.

You shush your agitated ward again, wanting to control yourself because you’re getting the kid worked up into baby battle mode with no visible threats to see.  He reads energies—he’s capable when he wants to be, when he deems the situation fit.  Right now he’s quieted somewhat but he’s still on high alert, recycling your inner panic outwards until you feel the air shifting around you, an… unexplainable phenomena you can’t even describe properly.

Well, you figure.  If anything, he’s far more dangerous than any weapon Din typically carries with him.  You tend to forget, most of the time.  He’s never hurt you, no matter how boisterous the tantrums sometimes are, and you find yourself very rarely thinking of him as anything other than an innocent, helpless baby you’re tasked with protecting.  Though it appears that most of the time, he’s been the one protecting you.

What are you saying?  There’s no need for protection right now, you’re simply searching for your absent ally.  You’re not being brave—no matter how quickly your heart is beating or how much your hands are sweating, you’re not being brave because bravery implies facing something you fear.  You have nothing to fear, it’s nothing more than an abandoned forest.  A backdrop for your endeavor.

Though… though now that you think about it, this setting looks eerily similar to one you’ll have seared into your memory forever.  The forest on Corellia.

You will the thought away with a frantic shake of your head.  Naboo is safe, Naboo is safe—it’s not like Corellia.  It’s not crawling with people desperate for food and credits, desperate enough to resort to kidnapping and slave trade.  Naboo will economically prosper no matter what threat befalls the galaxy, its industry comes from tourism and resorting.

You stop for a second, needing a breather.  Just for a second.  You haven’t been walking more than fifteen minutes but the terrain makes your feet hurt.  Sure, there are clearings between trees and the ground isn’t complete overflowing with obstacles, but they’re still present.  The scattered rocks dig in under your shoes and some of the bushes you pass by have sharp leaves or thorns—but it’s the sprawling root systems that prove to be the worst.  They crawl across the ground like they can’t decide whether they want to be part of it or not, and more than once you stub your toe on a hidden tube arching a few inches out of the mossy soil.

A part of you almost has to remind yourself that you’re here because you’re looking for somebody, rather than being trapped here trying to evade something.  The adrenaline and fear are starting to get the best of you, make you too antsy, warp your senses.  You’re deep in the forest now, but not enough to feel the wind disappear yet—you can still hear it rattling around above you, leaves slapping against each other, branches creaking as they tower over you.  You almost wish it were quiet.  You don’t feel comforted by the breeze anymore, it doesn’t feel like an ever present reassurance as much as it does a burden that masks the noises you could otherwise be hearing.  The snapping of twigs that could potentially be there.  The crunching of leaves under feet that aren’t your own.

So.  You should probably admit now that this was actually a horrendous idea.  Because you’re fucking stupid for not realizing this earlier, but.  Din ventured into this hellscape to find a quarry, did he not?

A… wanted criminal.

Shit.  What the fuck.  That’s a hell of a fucking thing to register this late, isn’t it?

You can turn around, you figure.  You can turn around right now and head back to the campsite—actually, that sounds like a great idea.  You should do that.

You spin around and begin retracing your steps… which, you figure out about five minutes later, is an impossible feat.  None of your surroundings look familiar—or shit, maybe it all looks familiar.  Like… trees.  And fucking rocks.  Trying to distinguish landmarks is almost impossible now, and there’s no way to tell which direction you’re going with no visibility overhead, no celestial body to guide you.

You don’t immediately panic, not until you (quite literally) stumble upon a small stream of water flowing through some stones under your feet.

Well, okay.  That’s not good.  Okay, well, no, you suppose that could be good.  It’s water—it’s a landmark, sure, the tiniest little landmark you've ever seen, but that’s exactly the problem.  You’ve never seen it before.  Which means you’re most definitely not going in the right direction.

At this point, the only option you have is to turn around again.  Maybe you can unintentionally make the same series of stupid mistakes once more to start you right at the beginning.  The kid is still glancing around in his cradle, making sure no harm comes to your useless ass, but then you freeze when you begin to hear something in the distance.  

It’s an unfamiliar sound—a deafening one, even from this far away.  Long and echoing, a giant chorus of… something.  Something you’ve never heard before, something you can’t place.

Your heart is thundering as you walk closer to the source of it, moving slowly and cautiously forwards and having no clue what it could possibly be.  It doesn’t seem to amplify much as you travel closer, which means it must be a ways away still.  It’s terrifying nonetheless—the anticipation, how sweaty your hands are, the way you’re very aware of the muscles in your stomach for some reason.

The baby coos softly at your side, but the suddenness of the gentle noise nearly makes you jump out of your skin.  You gasp and look down at him for the first time in what feels like ages, clutching at your chest, but then—

—then footsteps rush you from behind and something grabs at your shirt.

You react completely on instinct, your body nearly throbbing with adrenaline as you whip around and launch a mean jab aimed at the dark silhouette behind you.  It slams directly into his solar plexus hard enough to bend him in half and ripple through your whole arm with the blowback.  Your other fist pulls back and instantly goes for him again, but he just barely manages to jerk his arm up and block it in time—

And thank the Maker he does.  Because you were just an inch shy from colliding your knuckles against the side of his head in your wild stage of panic.  The one currently covered in devastatingly strong, shiny metal, the helmet just barely visible in the dark forest.

It’s like it doesn’t even register with you—you’re already going to hit him again when Din’s hand hooks around your arm and he yanks you forwards.  Your body slams into his and then he’s wrapping himself around you and holding suffocatingly tight.  Everything inside you still wants to struggle against him, gasping into his shoulder as your heart continues to gallop with terror no matter what your logic tells you.  But he holds harder than steel and the sound of his voice eventually returns to you after a moment, repeating harsh words at you through a familiar vocal filter.

“—me, it’s me, it’s me, I’m right here, stop it, stop it, stop—”

You blink desperately against black fabric, letting the familiar scent, touch, and embrace bring you back down again.  He’s so solid—has such a strong hold on you, absolutely no give to be found, and the devastatingly tight embrace manages to quickly settle you.

But he doesn’t wait long.  As soon as you stop fighting him, he releases you in favor of grabbing your shoulders and shoving you out at arm’s length, frantically jerking the helmet up and down your body and twisting you back and forth while he looks.  Your arms dangle with the inspection and you readily let him move you around like a rag doll, not having enough sense to register anything beyond safe.  You’re safe.  Everything seems to exist in a box right now, far away and yet compact at the same time.  The visor snaps back up to your face and you blink dazedly up at him.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately tell him, voice pitched high and awkward, “woah, hah—whew, ahah—I’m sorry, I-I’m just—“

His fingers hook at your chin and he pulls it up, tilting your head back and forth, allowing the small patch of moonlight beaming through the treetops to catch the water in your eyes.  It glints in shameless betrayal, and you try unsuccessfully to blink it away despite the damage already being done.  Din drops his arm and you lower your chin without the platform propping it up.

“You just—you just—” you gasp out, delayed relief suddenly filling you and making your voice wobble dangerously, “—y-you went on a hunt but you left your armor.  You left your guns, you left everything.  I didn’t know—what could’ve happened, I—why’d you do that?  W-Why—why didn’t you t-tell m—”

He wraps his hand behind your head and pulls you into his chest once more, not saying a single word.  This hug is just as tight as before, just in a different way.  He still uses it as a way to calm you and it still squeezes the air from your body, but this one doesn’t feel like it’s entirely for your benefit anymore.

It takes you a few more seconds to realize his hands are trembling.

You go to pull back, but he tightens, anchoring you to him.  “What’s—” you gasp against the fabric covering his shoulder, “—what’s wrong?  Are you okay?  Where’s the quarry?  What’s—what’s making that sound?  Are we safe?”

Din takes slow, shallow breaths, and you hear it almost too well with your ear shoved against his body.  Little by little, he loosens his grip on you.  Both of you are still panting by the time you’re able to wrench back and look up at him.

Bare, shaky hands push your hair back away from your face, eventually coming to rest framing both of your cheeks.  They’re warm and strong where his fingers wrap around the bend of your jaw, securing you in place, and when he speaks, he sounds like he’s been through hell and back.

“Don’t ever,” Din whispers brokenly, tugging a little bit to make sure you’re listening.  “Don’t ever—ever run away from me like that.  Ever again.  Understand?”

You stare up at him, wide-eyed and dumb, unmoving.  Is that what he thinks?  That you were trying to… to run away from him?

“I—I wasn’t running,” you immediately stutter out, blinking rapidly at him and trying not to let the confusion show on your face.  “I’d never run—I-I told you I wouldn’t—” 

“I came back and you were gone,” he breathes, his quivering thumbs brushing along the height of your cheekbones.  “I—my kid, he was gone, everything was gone, I-I…”  The helmet shakes back and forth the slightest bit, and then he drops his grip to clamp down on your shoulders, clearing the fragile turmoil from his throat and hardening his tone.  “Listen, you can’t do that—you can’t take my kid and just… just disappear like that, please, promise me you won’t do that agai—”

“You disappeared,” you accuse with a whisper, but it’s like he doesn’t even hear you.

“Promise me,” he urges, shaking you enough to make your head bobble just slightly, and the quiet plead of his voice through the modulator compels you to acquiesce without a second thought.

“I promise I won’t disappear,” you vow to him, unwavering and earnest.  “Now promise you won’t, either.”

Din stares at you for a moment, his body tense and completely stationary.  He’s still breathing heavy though, his chest rising and falling hard enough for you to count.  One, two, three…   Seven.  Seven whole breaths, before he finally responds.

“I promise,” he eventually declares, before taking a step forward and crowding you, pulling your shoulders in and slowly tilting his helmet down until it rests against your forehead.  The cool metal feels like ice on your burning skin—but you ignore it and allow him to get as close as he can possibly be, to hold you tight and keep you there.  “I promise,” he goes on, “that if you ever—that if something ever happens to you two, and you just… just vanish on me like that again—then I’d—I’d…”

And then his next words steal the air from your lungs, wipe your head clear of any thoughts whatsoever—the hushed, vehement sincerity in his voice.  Yet… calm.  Certain, composed, and with purpose.  Almost as if he could only get you to understand one thing, then he would want it to be this.

“Then I’d tear this whole galaxy apart to find you,” he tells you quietly, tightening his hands on your arms and swearing an oath to you.  “Both.  Both of you.  I’d—I’d never stop.  I’d rain hell.  Tell me you understand.”

“I… I understand,” you finally murmur, and Din quickly pulls you to his chest and wraps himself around you once more without another word.  His fingers tangle in your hair and encourage you to rest your face in the crook of his neck, so you do.  Even though his helmet jabs uncomfortably at your cheek like this, you do your best to just settle down and breathe him in, bring your hands up to rub at his back and wait for his heart rate to slow.

Eventually it does.  It seems like it takes ages, but eventually he's able to unwind his large stature from around you, letting you have a bit more of your own space.  He doesn’t take his hands off you, though—his palm drags down your elbow and catches your bare hand in his, gently tugging.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly, beginning to lead you… somewhere.  Probably out of the forest and back to the ship, but you don’t question it and completely forget about the low rumbling still echoing in the distance.  You follow directly behind him and away from the mysterious sound, the fingers of your right hand still laced with his left, knowing there are far more important questions to be asked.

“Din,” you whisper, but he doesn’t need anymore prompting.

“I thought I’d be quick enough,” he admits, pulling you along by your hand.  “It’s barely been a couple hours.”

You stay silent and focus on your feet, letting him go at his own pace.  More than once he plays bodyguard, standing in front of wickedly sharp branches while you and the kid pass, and there’s never anything said beyond a quiet ‘thank you’ every time he does it.

“I’ve…” he says after a while.  “I’ve been doing this job for awhile.  And there are things… things you learn.  Quick.  Ways to predict people, ways to get in their heads.  Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry.  Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people.  Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring.  But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists.  The ones that don’t ever put up a fight.  Watch your feet.”

You blink and stumble over a hidden root nonetheless, trying to keep up both physically and mentally.  Din tightens his grip and catches you by your elbow.

“This one was like you,” he goes on, pulling you up and leading you forward once more.  “Wasn’t trying to run.  Just wanted to spend his last few months hiding out on the most beautiful place in the galaxy before he got caught.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?  Why’d you go in the middle of the night?”  You whisper, not upset anymore.  Just trying to understand.  “You couldn’t have waited until morning?”  But Din just shrugs.

“I didn’t want to remind you.”  His sentence is short and stunted, yet serves to answer all three of your questions without providing any information beyond that, the unspoken sentiment barreling forth and smashing into you full force.  He didn’t want to remind you.  He wanted to leave while you were asleep and then return before you woke up, never letting you remember that responsibilities exist beyond this gorgeous planet for the time being.

You’re a bit shocked, to be honest.  In hindsight, though, you suppose it makes sense.  Din was the one who navigated to this sector, kept the bag out of your reach the whole day.  If the kid had decided to wake up just an hour or two later, he would’ve been back by then, and you would’ve never known any different.

“Anyway,” he clears his throat, and a wave tiredness suddenly grips you.  Fuck.  Too much thinking.  “The quarry went willingly, they always do when their last wish is to chase down a pretty landscape.  Nice guy.  Found him camped out by a giant—”

Din suddenly goes oddly quiet, and you’re too exhausted to push it.  You’re starting to drag a little bit.  You woke up in blind panic and have been on edge ever since, and now that you know things are okay, your body just wants more sleep.  The trees blur as you keep moving forward, zoning out and knowing you likely have another few miles of walking before you’re back.

You almost trip over him.  You don’t even notice he’s there until you nearly run into him.  In your defense, the only visible part of him is his helmet; the clothing is too dark under the thick treetops to see anything else.  Still, it takes you a second, and you blink down at Din’s crouched figure in front of you, blocking your intended path.

“Up,” he turns to mutter over his shoulder when you ultimately fail to comprehend.

…There’s no way.

Hesitantly, you lift one of your knees to his side and feel his arm firmly hook under it.  Emboldened, you lean down until your forearm can wrap around the front of him, and then you do a stupid little bunny hop along the curve of his spine.  Din easily catches your other leg before rising up.

He bounces you higher on his back once he’s upright, and you’re automatically resting your chin on his shoulder and clinging to him, your heart filling with butterflies as he begins trudging forward.

It’s… oddly comfortable.  As long as you keep your arms wrapped tight around his chest, you can bury your face into him and drift in and out.  He goes out of his way to keep you as level as you can possibly be, trying to soften his steps so your jaw doesn’t bounce on top of him while he steps over fallen logs and ducks to avoid low hanging leaves.

Later—you’re not sure how long it’s been, his voice comes through the modulator, ringing with your ear pressed against the helmet no matter how quiet he tries to be.  

“How’d you know I went on a hunt?”  He asks, and there’s a soft reservation in his tone, as if he doesn’t really want to speak but needs to ask you anyways.

“Mmm?”  You slur into the fabric stretching over his shoulder, probably drooling on it a bit, too.  “Hmm?”

His voice increases marginally in volume, but still maintains a gentle undertone that lulls you into relaxing deeper.  “You knew I left to look for the quarry—how?”

“Fob,” you tell him tiredly, not having much energy to spare the words.  “Wasn’t in the bag.”

You’re too out of it at this point, it takes a moment to realize Din has abruptly slowed down.  “How’d you know there was a tracking—”

“You’re… reflective?”  You ask, though you don’t really know why you’re asking.  “S’to your detriment.  Sometimes.”

That seems to stun him somewhat, halting him in place for the time being.  The biggest response it gets from you is the tiniest little eyebrow twitch inwards, wondering why the steady movements of your transportation seems to have temporarily stalled.  “How’d you know I left my armor?”

“Hmm?”  You ask again, not really hearing him.

“Hey, stay awake for a second,” he bounces you and you groggily mutter something under your breath that even you can’t comprehend.  Din glosses over it while you blink your eyes open.  “Tell me how you knew.  You didn’t go back to the Crest.”

You drag your head off his shoulder and squint around, looking around at the edge of the forest and the flowing grass beyond and trying to think with your stupid, tired brain, really needing to focus on the question.  “…No?”

The curiosity in his voice can’t be masked, not by him nor the filter through which it’s processed.  “So how did you know I left my armor on it?”

“You would’ve left a trail,” you shrug. “The grass is tall.”

“I could’ve just taken the path we made earlier,” he eventually proposes, still completely motionless in the middle of the relatively sparse number of trees leading to it.  “Gone back to the ship exactly the way we came.”

“Y’could’ve,” you admit with a yawn. “But the ship is that way,” you lazily raise your arm and point a good fifty or so degrees to the left, and Din follows his own outstretched gauntlet you’re still sporting around your hand with the visor.

“I’m impressed,” he finally says, shifting you on his back but perfectly content to keep his feet rooted to the spot.  “I didn’t think you had a good sense of direction.  You know where the Crest is on this planet but not when we were on Canto Bight.”

You snort a laugh.  No, no you have no such thing—you got lost as fuck in this forest.  A good sense of direction counts as a solid survival skill, and you’d say you still very much lack most of those.  Besides pulling water out of thin air, you can’t claim to know much of anything at all in that department.

“Mmm.  No, that was just—“ you shake your head.  “Y’know, jus’ some… panicked?  Math?  That’s all.”

“Panicked…” Din repeats slowly, “…math.”

You nod, frustrated that he’s still not moving, clearly waiting for you to explain your rapid, chaotic thought process from earlier.  Still, you do your best for him, trying not to slur your words too much.  “We… walked towards the sun this morning to get to the field.  I remember, because your shiny ass was blinding me the entire time, what must’ve been like.  A whole fucking hour?  At least.  And… and then we walked a little less to get here, forty-five minutes probably, then me ‘n the kid watched the sunset leaning up against that one log, which was at a solid angle—little more than fifty degrees to the right from the path.  You could’ve retraced your steps from earlier if you really wanted to, but taking the shortcut would’ve shaved off about...” you snuggle your face into his shoulder deeper for a moment and think really hard about it.  “Thirty minutes?  Or an hour round trip.  Give or take, since the kid slowed us down.”

He still doesn’t move, and you huff quietly, feeling like you’re on top of a stubborn blurg that just can’t be fucking bothered.  Should you squeeze your legs around his middle?  Will that work?

“You… went on a hunt, sweet girl,” Din finally says, bluntly, after way too long of a pause.  He sounds vaguely impressed for reasons beyond that of your comprehension right now.  “In your own little… panicked way.  How does it feel?”

“Unsuccessful,” you breathe, burying your forehead into his shoulder once more and blinking your eyes shut.  Too much thinking, too much thinking.  You need to sleep.

“You were on the right track,” he hums, bouncing you up and setting off again, and you can’t help yourself.  It’s completely involuntary, tumbles out of your mouth without thought.

“Craziest bounty hunter in the guild,” you slur, and Din doesn’t give you even a shred of the laughs that deserves.

“I should make you walk just for that,” he threatens instead, though he does no such thing.  He just keeps leaning forward in a position that can’t be comfortable for him and lets you fall asleep on his back, holding you tight to his body as he finally breaks out of the last trees and continues hiking through the familiar field to go back home.

***

You rouse twice.  Once, when hands allow your legs to slowly slide down a firm body and settle on solid metal.  He spins around to catch you before you can collapse, and then slowly eases your exhausted body down to the floor.

A bare hand cradles the back of your head until that finally settles down, too.

The second time, you can’t quite be sure of.  One of those moments where you’re barely conscious, drifting to the point where everything around you could be part of your dreamscape, where you can’t trust your own ears or mind to differentiate between what is real and what isn’t.  All you’d need is a single person telling you this didn’t actually happen and you’d accept it without question.

Pacing.  Quiet footsteps moving back and forth across the floor as you sleep, pausing every once in a while to stand in front of your slumbering figure.  Something unintelligible is mumbled as he walks away, the hollow thunk of boots clambering up a ladder.  Engines rumble to life under your ear, and gravity gently pushes you deeper against the flat metal supporting your body.

The footsteps soon return and start to pace around once more.

***

“Hey,” a quiet voice murmurs, your shoulder rocking back and forth slightly.  “Wake up.”

You blink your eyes open to a familiar visor looking down at you, his hand quickly leaving your shoulder and brushing a gloved thumb across your cheekbone when he sees you’re awake.  “Mm?  Din?  Wha’s—” you glance around you at the dark hull of the Razor Crest, before blinking your tired gaze back to him, “—s’going on?  Wha’ time s’it?”

“Late,” he whispers.  “We’re in the air.  I had to wait until the kid was asleep, but I want… I want you to see something.”

“What is it?”  Still blinking blearily, you sit up, but then Din grabs your hands and keeps your momentum going until you’re slowly dragged to your feet.  What you do when you’re standing upright doesn’t really qualify as standing or upright—you just sag against him with exhaustion as he wraps his forearms around your lower back, keeping you pressed tight against him as your ankles drag uselessly against the ground.

“Use your feet,” he reminds you quietly, and you harumph in a grumpy response.  Maker, you want to go back to sleep.  You’re sure you tell him as much, but he just shushes you and encourages you to hold yourself up, letting go while you steady yourself but hovering his palms a few inches away from your arms just in case.  “I want you to put my helmet on.”

“Excuse me?”  You ask him, swaying slightly and rubbing one of your eyes, not feeling amused.  “Is this some kind of… power trip?  Or something?  Because you’ve spent the last few days literally beating me up, I’d assume that would be enough for y—”

“I let you beat me up,” he grumbles under his breath.  “How are you ever gonna take a punch if it hurts you that bad to just throw one, sweet girl?”

“I’ll punch first,” you respond groggily, trying to move forwards so you can lean on him again, but being stopped by a firm grip on your shoulders.

“I know you will,” he mutters, letting go after a second to brush your hair away from your squinty eyes.  “Listen, I want you to put my helmet on, okay?”

You nuzzle your head into his leather palm and hum, giving it some thought.  “Are you gonna… turn on the light thingie?”  You clarify, not being able to remember what the setting is called, and he nods.

“Yes,” he tells you very seriously.  “There’s a… stars, a ‘noise thingie’ that I’ll turn on, too.  You won’t be able to see or hear for a little bit—you’ll have to trust me.”

“Is this for sex?”  You blurt as soon as the thought occurs to you, and Din sighs heavily, letting his head drop to his chest in exasperation.  “Like some sort of a… sensory deprivation thing?  Because if so, I can like—I mean I can get into it.”

“If I say yes, will you put it on?”  He tries, and.  Well, that question shouldn’t wake you up nearly as much as it does.  You blink at him, actually registering the sight of the mirrored visor this time.  Your gaze drops to see he’s back in full beskar regalia, his body looking even larger and broader with it on.

“Oh,” you say quite suddenly, remembering the question.  “Oh.  Shit yeah, I will.”

He shakes his head.  You’re getting better and better at reading him—becoming more fluent in helmet, one could say—and this head shake says he can’t believe he’s actually surprised that worked.  “It’s not for sex,” he tells you immediately, deadpanning the delivery even more than he typically would.  “Will you still put it on?”

You look at him blankly, wondering why this is even happening.  He said you’re in the air right now, and there’s… something he wants you to see?  Whatever this is, it’s spur of the moment.  Something he felt the need to wake you up for, but likely won’t push if you decline.

“Yeah,” you nod, “'course I will.”

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, tipping your chin up slightly in the dim hull so he can watch.  Since they already want to do so regardless of the gentle command, your lids readily dip shut and you wait patiently as his touch leaves you for a moment.

You’re already sagging a bit by the time one of his hands returns to your cheek, and then plush lips press gently to yours.  The sigh you give him is completely involuntary—aching and quiet and longing as you let it go right in his mouth, your expression narrowing with concentration.

But he’s quick.  He leans back before either of you can get lost in it and reminds you with a gorgeous, rumbling baritone, “You’ll have to trust me.”

You nod in confirmation and soon his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head.  This is the second time around he’s done this—and you suppose if you couple that with your still lazy demeanor, the silent darkness that comes along with it doesn’t bother you as much as it did a few months ago.  The padding still grips your cheeks and you still feel disconnected from your surroundings—even more so now than the last time he put it on you—but it’s welcoming, in a way.  Giving you a reason to cling to him and tilt your head with the unfamiliar weight, breathing slow and easy while isolated in your own little pitch black world.

Oh Maker, you could probably fall asleep again just like this, so long as he keeps holding you up.  But Din has other plans, clearly.  He eases you backwards, continues to walk you back and back and back some more, and you have no problem just going with it.  He’s strong, taking almost all of your weight and somehow instinctively knowing how to hold you so that you’re fully supported no matter how you’re positioned.  He shifts you to one arm at one point, does something with his free hand that you can’t really figure out but aren’t really bothered by either.

He guides you both a few more steps backwards, and you start to wonder how long the hull actually is.  But then he suddenly grabs you tight—tight enough to make your eyes pop open to the black void in front of you and panic slightly, before he tilts you back even more and suddenly the ground is dropping out from under your feet, the air rushing silently around your entire body.

Okay, now you full-on panic.

He doesn’t let go, thank the stars, even when you scramble up to straddle and cling to him, heart clanging hard against your sternum at his fucking audacity.  The jet pack?  Are there just no fucking rules anymore?

Sure enough, the thrusters kick in and he’s good enough with the phoenix to counteract the gravity shift as much as possible, making it a gradual thing instead of a rapid change in motion.  You’re almost confident you would’ve slipped out of his grip and gone slamming to the ground had he not done the preventative maneuver.

Regardless, you’re gonna fucking kill him.  You’re going to murder Mando and get your own bounty puck, one with your name on it.  It won’t end well; everyone after you will have a personal vendetta considering you offed one of their own.  If you survive the confrontation then you’ll likely get taken to mine spice somewhere for the rest of your miserable life, probably Kessel—that is, assuming he doesn’t kill you first, within the next however many minutes.

And oh, he seems like he takes his sweet fucking time, hauling your fuming, decapitated ass along on a late night joyride.  Every second he continues to allow you to fly in blind, deaf isolation is another butt whooping you’re vowing to give him, and it pisses you off even more that you can’t even express your righteous fury because you can’t let go of him.  You’re a parasite in midair, clinging to his metal body while he slowly descends, navigating you both down until you feel his boots finally meet solid ground.

You carefully reach for the ground with one foot and try to feel it with your tippie toes just in case he’s somehow tricking you, until Din drops you down and your feet mercifully meet dirt.  As soon as you find your balance, you shove an open palm against the metal of his chestplate in anger and Din quickly catches your wrist, the beskar shaking slightly under your hand like he found the whole thing rather humorous.

You don’t have much time to fuss.  He spins you around and then his hands settle on your shoulders, and for some reason… you only notice it now.  The fabric covering your torso and legs is gradually becoming damp for some reason.  You can’t feel any real splashes of water—no raindrops or anything, but it gets worse and worse the longer he holds you steady in front of him.

His hands eventually drag down your arms and elbows, until they’re catching your wrists and slowly pulling both of them up.  Din cradles the backs of your hands as he presses your palms against the cold metal helmet around your head, and then he gradually begins to pull it up, and—

—Loud.

You stop for a second.

… Tears spring up.

Din keeps pulling.

What starts out as a dull hiss continuously amplifies as the beskar slowly lifts, growing louder and louder in volume until it’s a deafening, violent, thunderous roar.

Yet still, you don’t open your eyes.  You just… listen to it.  Let the sound of it fill your heart, the same sound you caught earlier in the forest but now amplified exponentially, almost surrounding you with reverberating white noise.  Your whole body is practically drenched in water by the time you finally open your eyes and blink through the heavy mist.

He said no oceans, and he was right.  It isn’t an ocean—it’s… something so unbelievably beautiful that you don’t even have a name for it.  You don’t want one, not really.  There isn’t a name that would be good enough.  It’s easily—by and far, in your measley handful of decades of existence—the most majestic thing you’ve ever seen.  A gigantic, enormous cliff dwarfs you on three sides, with tens of thousands of tons of water arcing over their sharp edges and plunging into the rocky lake below.  

The cloud of droplets ricocheting from the base of the jaw dropping cascade is massive in and of itself—easily taking up a good quarter of your field of view even from this distance away.  The shore sits close enough but the spectacle is still somewhat distant, remaining an untouchable heaven, a gorgeous lake separating you from it and rippling with waves that settle to lap at the sand.

The rest of the setting comes later, after you’re able to process the main event.  You’re in the middle of the forest from before—familiar colossal trees wrap around the shoreline and vibrant shrubbery blankets the edges of the falling water, evergreen and fed by a constant nourishing mist.  The sun is also beginning to come up.  You can’t see it yet, but you can see the way the sky is starting to gradient itself from a starry midnight blue to pale lavender, the first rays beginning to peak over the treetops.

You feel yourself take a few, slow steps forward, but leather catches your hand from behind and gives it a firm squeeze before you can move completely out of reach.  You don’t even have to look back at him to know what it means.  The sentiment transfers seamlessly—be careful, he says, before dropping it and letting you continue forth.

Reaching the shore brings even more beauty to a backdrop you didn’t think could get any better.  You have to carefully step over—oh, heavens—small, transparent crystals tinted every color you can imagine to reach the water, sparkling under the gently lapping waves.  They’re like thin, flat shards of glass, and you know that if the sound of the falling water wasn’t so deafening, you’d probably be able to hear the muted crunching noise they make shattering under your boots with every cautious step.  Jagged edges and multicolored powder is all that’s left in your wake, no matter how careful you try to be.

You almost don’t want to move since they’re so delicate and everywhere, probably blanketing the entire floor of the lake, but you push forward with purpose until you’re just close enough to squat down and dip your fingers into the cool water.  It’s crystal clear and reflects the lightening sky with every gentle ripple and disturbance.  You study the pieces of glass as the repetitive waves distort their shape, the colorful shards turning to smooth, round pebbles the closer they are to the water.  A large green one catches your eye—circular and comparatively tiny, but standing out amongst all the rest.

You pluck it from the shore and let the almost perfectly round emerald sphere roll around in your palm, scanning the shallow water once more.  Then, ah—there, you reach out and grab a slightly larger, heavier, unassuming brown one that you have to hold up to the gradually rising sun to see its sparkle.  It’s got harder edges and feels rougher in your hand but you like it that way.  You like that there’s a bit of a warm amber at its center when the light hits it right.

Perfect.  Taking another moment to study your choices, you eventually end up finding a gorgeous, slightly pearlescent piece that sits just between the size of the other two in your collection.  It’s tinted a pale, off-white amongst a sea of color and there’s something gentle about it that speaks to you, something that feels right about the gradual sloping curves and how it sits in your palm.

Carefully pocketing the three pieces of fragile glass and rising up, you glance back to see Din standing there, helmet on once more and frozen right where you last left him.

He looks… awkward, almost.  Holding his hands behind his back, all his weight shifted to one foot while the other twists back and forth against the ground just slightly.  Nervous, for some reason.  Feeling unsure of his place.  The posture tugs at your heartstrings, as well as the spectacular gesture, and you soon make your way back to him.

“Where did you… where did you find this!?”  You have to yell over the rushing water once you get close enough.  “I didn’t see anything on the navcomp—”

“—wasn’t—navcomp—” he replies, barely just loud enough for you to hear.  You miss most of it, but you’re able to piece together the gist based on what little you can catch.  “—quarry—isolated sector—uncharted.”

Uncharted.  It’s uncharted, the navcomp wouldn’t register it.  Untouched by millennia of progress.  Plenty of people have probably seen it before, but apparently none of them have ever told anybody about it.  The universe is vast but it’s also old—it’s unbelievable that cartographers have plotted almost the entire galaxy but they still missed something like this.

The roar of the marvel is so deafening, it takes you a moment to realize he’s still speaking

“—nobody—yet—it—” he nods the helmet out at the spectacular landmark, “—it’s yours—you want—”

“My what!?”  You bellow, but he doesn’t clarify or add anything new.  He just spins you around again, extending his arm out over your shoulder to point at the breathtaking view and then dropping his helmet down next to your ear.

“Yours,” Din repeats firmly, resolutely.  Nothing more to be said.

You’re not sure if you’re crying yet, there’s too much water in the air to tell.  All you can do is just instinctively lean all your weight back into his chest and let his arms lace around your body, and you have to blink the droplets away as they start to trail down your forehead and into your eyes.  He keeps you like that until the rising sun begins to reflect off the cloud of mist at the rocky base of the monument, scattering light in all directions and splitting it into a beautiful spectrum that reflects every color.

You wonder if Din can see it.  You wonder if there’s a filter on his helmet that isn’t infrared or night vision, where a computer isn’t constantly alerting him to movement or sudden changes in atmospheric pressure.  Just… pure, unobstructed, visible light.  You know there’s probably all sorts of tracking measures programmed in, you know he can zoom and spot a sniper from a vast distance—you know he sees things you don’t.  Things you won’t ever see.  But you also hope the visor isn’t shaded too dark—you hope there’s a setting that works like a one way mirror, if only so that he can also see the beauty of this planet the same exact way you can.

You eventually turn in his arms and take one small step away from him just so you can look at him, and sure enough, the visor is tilted up towards the natural beauty.  Your eyes study every inch of him as if you’ve never seen him before, as if he may as well have taken the helmet off right in front of you.  This is thoughtful.  It’s so fucking thoughtful of him.  For being such a mystery, this right here… this is soul bearing.  It’s not an ocean, it’s a million times better than one and the fact that he not only remembered you telling him something like that, but he actually flew you out here to see it.  It makes your chest ache with an unknown feeling, one you still have trouble recognizing.  It settles down right in the softest part of you, makes your mouth open and give it a four letter name.

You say it so softly, confess it knowing he’s not looking, knowing he’d never be able to hear above the sound of the cascading rapids crashing against the rocks below.  You can’t hear it either, but you can feel it.  The way the word lilts off your tongue, the simple truth in it that’s impossible to hide from any longer.

He glances back at you, before doing a double take.  Gently, Din pushes at your shoulder and urges you to face forward again, to take all of it in while you still can, and yet.

All you can see is him.

His head slowly turns back down to face you, and your eyes keep shamelessly scanning every bit of him, watching the mist droplets chase each other down the reflective metallic curves and contours of his helmet.  Din slowly leans in, carefully eases his arm under yours and wraps tight around your lower back to bring you closer to his side.  You sigh and press up against him, your palm creeping up the damp fabric wrapped around his throat.  The visor doesn’t leave you, even when your temple comes to rest against his pauldron.  No, he just allows the smooth metal covering his forehead to gently touch yours for a moment and hold there.  Both of you tucked away in the middle of a hidden paradise, standing in front of a gorgeous monument crafted by the hands of the Maker himself.  

And, like the two starry eyed idiots you are, neither one of you can seem to look away from the other.

You mouth a silent thank you to him, hoping he can read the heartfelt candor from your lips.  Something tells you your message was received, because his grip tightens.  As if in slow motion, his whole body lazily drops down just enough to scoop you up with an arm hooked under your knees—before Din suddenly rockets upwards.

You squeal and cling tight to his shoulders as he lifts you up higher, and higher—he slowly rises across the considerable length of the lake and closer to the falling water.  You’re already beyond drenched but as he gradually approaches the base of the falling water, it starts raining down and splashing you in buckets.

Once he’s near enough to the powerful, arcing column pouring over the long rocky edge, Din carefully spins around and hovers until his back faces it, which means you can hide your nose and mouth from the splashes against the armor shielding his shoulder.  He slowly rises up the length of the natural landmark and lets you watch the rushing water up close behind the safety of his body, sacrificing his own view so that yours can be all the better.

Eventually the falling waves break and you look down at the broad, gorgeous rapids flowing out towards you, the sun casting its dawning light over their foaming peaks.  Din spins around and you adjust yourself accordingly against his chest, knowing you’ll never have a view like this again.  He flies low along the river and you can see the colorful glass sparkling through the strong, yet completely transparent current.  Soon he levels out and you cling tight to him, burying your face in the soaking wet fabric of the cowl wrapped around his neck and sighing, unable to recall a time you’ve ever been happier.  It swells in your heart and warms your entire body even as it’s drenched in cool water, and you wonder again how he could’ve ever thought you were running from him.  How could he ever think you’d run from him when all he’s ever done is give you wings?

***

The Crest hurdles through hyperspace while Din silently removes his armor and then strips you both of your sopping wet clothes.  You remember your glass souvenirs at the very last second and carefully remove them from your pockets despite your closed eyes, reaching out to hand them to Din without looking.  His palm catches the pebbles with the quiet sound of them clinking together, and you feel him pause for a second, probably studying them as he cradles them in the dim, single fluorescent light he left on.

You feel him leave you momentarily, hear him gently set them down someplace safe without a word.  When he comes back and his warm arms snake around you once more, he lowers you down to the blankets and then proceeds to make the softest love to you he knows how on the floor of his ship.  

A small part of you wishes you were still on Naboo, but somehow.  Somehow, despite the dead quiet hull, it’s better than anything you can remember.

His naked body presses tight to yours, his mouth always open and tasting wherever you’ll let him venture, never letting you forget for a single second that he’s just as bare and exposed as you are.  Your hands take full advantage, feeling everything.  The strong, rippling muscles of his back as he props himself over you, the soft hair curling at his nape, the length of his spine shielding you from the rest of the ship, allowing you the opportunity to pretend you’re somewhere else if you really tried.  If you tried, you could convince yourself you’ve got a mattress beneath you instead of a blanket draped over hard steel.  You could convince yourself your eyes are open while he kisses you, despite knowing it’ll never be allowed.

But… you don’t.  You don’t need to.  There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

And then at one point, his mouth is between your legs and you see a flash of his forehead on complete accident.

To see it on any other person would be nothing, it would mean absolutely nothing.  It’s not like it somehow makes him anymore recognizable to you—plenty of people share the same exact features, you still wouldn’t know him out of a trillion different faces.  He could walk right by you and you’d never know.  Technically, it’s not even his face—it’s just a small fragment of it.  But to you, the quickest glimpse of dark, wavy locks curtaining over the smooth, golden skin just below his hairline… it means everything to you.  You sear it into your memory, right alongside the sight of crystalline water roaring over an enormous cliff edge.

You never tell him you saw.  He never finds out.

[fairycosmos]

i hope it’s fine to join in on the conversation since this topic is something i’ve been brewing over for a long time. ultimately, while i agree there are wonderful things to be experienced in life — certainly there have been moments where even i thought how lucky i am to be in that moment! — that doesn’t mean it’s worth the gamble. when you have a kid, you have NO idea what their life is going to be like, you’re just thrusting them into it. and i wish love were enough, but love can’t protect a person from life. kids whose parents love them still get cancer. people who were loved as kids and had great childhoods can still lose it all in adulthood or fall victim to heinous crimes. love can’t even cure depression (or any mental illness). i don’t think people who have kids have any ill intentions. i think they’re at worst ignorant (ie they don’t think about what they’re doing at all) and at best idealistic (ie they believe their love for their kids - which is a wonderful thing in itself, of course! - will ensure their kids have a good life). my prerogative is that i just can’t in good conscience make that gamble for someone else. sure, it might be sunshine and rainbows. it might be absolute hell though. or it might not be anything especially tragic, just one of Those Lives, you know. and i kinda like living now, honestly. i got pretty lucky with my partner and am able to work in a creative field. that means nothing to my hypothetical kid though! if they’re born, there’s a capacity for happiness, yes, but there’s also *endless* capacity for suffering. happiness has a limit - suffering really does not. if they’re not born, they can’t experience joy, true, but they also absolutely can’t suffer. and that seems like a fine deal to me. and also, i feel like a lot of parents get defensive about this because a world without their kids is unthinkable, so they feel, idk, that they would’ve robbed their kids of something had they not had them? i don’t know, but nobody’s sad about not being born. like, i didn’t care before i was born. experience is only possible to the existing and living, your hypothetical unborn kids can’t experience sadness over not getting to feel sunlight on their skin. but once they’re born, they can experience so much pain. they might not, but they could, and that, to me, is the whole point — not having kids is the safest way to ensure no further suffering. (also the state of the world isn’t promising and looking at any meaningful statistics is fucking horrifying so i don’t even think it’s an even gamble i think it’s like. playing russian roulette with five bullets. but that’s my personal pessimism tho)

omg you seriously put my own thoughts on this subject into words so perfectly it's a little insane. im worried that you actually live inside my brain and are controlling it lmfao like yes exactlyyyyy. this is the nuance that encapsulates it all for me and my own personal approach to parenthood as well. it's about the gamble in my eyes, too. you can take a massive risk and bring life into this world in good faith - but that's not going to mean shit to the traumatised adult you might get at the end of it, for whatever reason. and there are an endless list of reasons. it's like, a high probability even. it's great if people can live their lives on the premise of optimism but in my eyes i don't think the beauty of life negates the harm of it either. at all. like, be real. you could say for every bad thing that happens a good thing happens - but which generally lingers the longest, effects you the most; happiness or pain? which takes years to overcome, which feels permanent and substantial? it's so clear to me that playing god with a human being's life is a decision with massive stakes, with often unforeseen consequences. like you said, anything could happen but toil is guaranteed. it's hard work for both the kid and the adult.

i think parents are sometimes so flippant about the inevitability of suffering, and it's weird to me to just shrug that aspect of living off just because you did your best with your child or because there's been fun times, too. like you said, nobody grieves not being born, nobody feels cheated out of an existence they're not even aware of. we don't owe the world reproduction. it's all just common sense, honestly. to me the possibility of my kid having a consistently difficult existence (which like you said is not unlikely if you've ever uhh watched the news or read a single statistic regarding quality of life) is enough to turn me off the idea. the future's not exactly sparkling is it. people are so quick to label childfree people selfish but i think making that choice is the exact opposite in a lot of cases, though ofc there's nothing wrong with wanting your life to be your own anyway. ultimately when i'm questioned on this i just think to myself - sorry i understand the immense weight of a human life and of human pain i guess. sorry the game isn't worth it to me the way it is to you. you know?

[wallwriterstuff]

The Good I Come Home To ||Leon S. Kennedy x Female!Reader|| Part 1

Warnings: Angsty, PTSD Leon being very jumpy and shell-shocked, mentions of sex. 

Words: 3318

Summary: Originally posted to my Archive of Our Own Account. 

Part 2 can be found here

Leon has kept it very casual with you for months, seemingly oblivious of the growing feelings you harbour. You have no idea just how badly it hurts him to leave you every time until he tries to cut you out of his life completely. You have other ideas. You just have to persuade Leon they're the right ones.

Leon S. Kennedy was a complicated man in many respects, but it was easy to unravel all those complex layers if you started looking at his core values, his sense of purpose. To serve, to protect. Leon was built to be the bodyguard of humanity, the first line of defence between unimaginable horror and the things he loved. Every experience had moulded him into this hard shell of a man, so far from the one people used to know. It had been interesting, really, to see an old friend from the Police Academy approach him and see just how different they had turned out. They both had the eyes of experience anybody in the force acquired over time, but Leon’s were sterner, like an unbreakable stone as opposed to ice you could chip away at and eventually shatter. This old friend of his had a small-town job and apple pie life. He had the white picket fence and the wife who kissed him when he came home to freshly made dinner. His children were doing well at school.

Leon had listened like his life was a whole other world away. It was visible in his eyes, though he carefully kept it off his face, that the comparison between each man actually disturbed him. You hadn’t meant to see of course. It was pure coincidence you’d happened to be in the supermarket, walking down that same aisle. His old friend had hit the barricade you so often hit when you asked. You’d stopped questioning it after a few months of back and forth and the looming threat of losing him became a dark and unbearable burden.

“So er, heard about the huge explosion at Raccoon. Where’d they place you after that?”

“Nowhere. I work for the government now.”

“Oh damn. FBI?”

“Something like that.”

His job was the complicated topic. Classified and bad enough to put a certain brand of darkness behind his eyes when you asked, it was  best left untouched by your hands because it was hidden beneath the many layers of the man you’d only ever been allowed to scratch the surface of – literally and figuratively. Beyond his core values, the simplicity of Leon S. Kennedy lay in his needs. He was a flesh and blood man after all. He was guaranteed to need to eat, to do laundry, to shower, to relieve himself. These simple needs were what made him somewhat predictable to you. On his best days, when he text you days or hours before, you were almost guaranteed to be wined and dined. Okay so the wine and dine option was sometimes more like beer and take-out pizza but it was always paid for by him if you bought the alcohol.

When he was feeling a little less than okay, you’d get no outright statement of his desire to see you, but he’d hedge around the topic and wait for you to ask him, like he was afraid to be a nuisance. You’d only get this awkward and prompting behaviour from him an hour or two before he showed up which left you little time to prepare, but a quick shower was always on the cards. In his worst moments, he’d give no warning and simply show up at your house with smouldering eyes that demanded your attention and everything else you had to give him. God help you, you always gave him everything. As simple as his needs were, as his feelings on the matter appeared, yours were much more complicated. Leon S. Kennedy had made it clear from the start when he met you at the bar that fateful night, all chiselled jaw and playful eyes, that nothing serious was to come of this.

It had progressed to a proper agreement when you both seemed to just keep running into each other. You were free to date, if you so pleased, and he’d stop showing up. He’d be gone like dust in the wind, untraceable and impossible to bring back. You didn’t want that. Until the day either of you became tied down you had agreed you were exclusive. You sated each other only. It was hard to keep to that promise all the time when he was away for long periods, but you remained true to your word anyway, and that was how it had stayed for a solid eight months. Leon came back to a bed you kept free just for him and left in the morning like it was no more than a pit-stop on a long and winding road.

You suspected he wasn’t proud of it. You thought sometimes you could see something softer in his eyes, something that made you think he wished for something more than he was already giving you. There were moments his eyes lingered when he said goodbye, times his hands stayed on you a little longer than they usually did. On rare occasions, when he was just a bit too drunk after what you guessed was a bad job, you let him sleep it off with his arms around you and listened to the whimpers in his sleep with an aching heart. Leon consistently let you have his body, gave you the briefest glimpses at the big heart he held so carefully hidden away, but never once did he let you into his mind. As much as you loved being with him, you had never truly been with him at all. You’d never truly connected with him beyond anything physical. It pained you to know you never would. You cared for him too much. You saw the deep pain he carried with him everywhere, and you’d never be able to alleviate that load because he wouldn’t let you.

You had to pause the TV to be sure you’d actually heard anything at all, but when you heard the noise again it was stronger, bolder. Knocking. Glancing at the clock, you turned the TV off with a frown. There weren’t many people who would come knocking at this late hour, and you didn’t know if your heart was in it tonight to let him in when he would forever keep you out. As if on cue, when you opened the door to a dripping wet Leon, thunder rumbled and rattled the open window in the corridor of your apartment block. A small puddle of water had formed on the windowsill, dripping in as the harsh rain battered the glass. Leaving your door propped with the door stop you kept nearby for moments like these, you crossed to the window to close it and lock out the weather. You felt sullen enough without the storm clouds invading your house.

“Leon if you’re here to drink that’s okay but I’m not really up for-“ you cut yourself off, uncertain all of a sudden as to what it was he was here for. His needs were always so simple, the looks and actions associated with them something you had come to learn to recognise without much conscious thought. This was entirely new. Those piercing blue eyes were sullen, fighting between being as hard as sapphire and as soft as calm ocean waves. What was frightening was the depth of the ocean you saw. It was like staring into an abyss of torment. Red-ringed and with whisky on his breath, it didn’t take a genius to realise Leon had been crying and was in fairly bad shape. Hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, he stared at you through those horribly complex eyes, his mouth half open like he wanted to say something but couldn’t force the words out. He was pale, breaths even but heavy, like he had to physically remind himself to huff out each one.

Wordlessly, you took him by the hand. His skin was freezing to the touch and you guessed the faithful jacket had done little to keep the bitter cold from seeping into his exposed skin. Your theory was proven right when his cheeks were just as cold to the touch.

“I…” you thought he might say more but it was like watching a caveman learn to talk. There were only sounds, no words. He was usually very skilful with his tongue but tonight those talents were nowhere to be found. Pushing his jacket from his shoulders you hung it to dry over the back of your sofa, hoping the radiator would do its job and leave it toasty for him when he inevitably put it on to leave you again. You ignored the stinging in your chest at the thought. Leon didn’t need you to be petty right now. Truthfully, you were frightened. Leon’s carefully constructed composure had been shattered by something and you didn’t think you wanted to know what was strong enough to shatter this man’s rock hard exterior and cut him so deeply. He stood dumbly in your hallway, and you gently pushed him to the edge of the sofa to take off his shoes so they wouldn’t traipse water into your home.

“Shhh Leon, just come with me.” You coaxed him back onto socked feet, leading him down the hall to your bathroom.

“No…no Y/N I, I don’t…” he swallowed.

“Do you trust me Leon?” you asked him, keeping your voice gentle like you were cajoling a wild animal into eating from your palm. Leon nodded without question and you smiled slightly. “Then just follow for me now.” You kicked open your door and led him to the edge of the tub, grabbing a towel from the shelving units there and placing it on the sink.

“What are you doing?” he could barely speak above a whisper, looking confused and upset and lost all at once.

“I’m going to run you a nice hot bath before you catch your death. I don’t know how long you were in the rain for Leon but you’re frozen to the bone.” You said calmly, putting the plug in the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. Leon didn’t answer, merely watched you with the eyes of a man so lost in trauma he couldn’t find his way back to the surface world and make sense of the happenings around him. While you waited for the water to turn steamy, you rubbed at his hair with the towel in your hand to dry it. You knew something was incredibly wrong when he let you mess it up like that. There were very few instances you were allowed to touch his hair and you had to always, always comb it back into place or suffer the consequences. Occasionally, you took a break to fill the tub with some of your prized bath oils. Lavender, camomile, jasmine, all your favourite scents from a beautiful kit a colleague had bought you as part of secret Santa last year.

He didn’t comment as the room filled with intoxicating, relaxing scents, nor when you checked the temperature again and told him he could get in when he was ready. He held the towel in both hands, staring at the cotton as if it might hold some answers.

“Thank you.” He mumbled. You nodded once.

“Have you eaten anything yet?” you asked him. He nodded once, but he didn’t meet your gaze. He was lying you were sure. “Okay. Take as long as you need in here, I’ll be about when you feel ready to see me alright?” you promised, leaning up to kiss his cheek softly. Your lips lingered a little too long, but Leon didn’t move away. He closed his eyes as if the contact was all he had wanted and more. As the door closed behind you you heard the soft, muffled sob he tried so hard to bury in the towel, and your heart broke a little more. Something had shattered Leon S. Kennedy and it didn’t sit well with you at all to see him this vulnerable. He needed the space right now to get his mind back in order but once he did, when he was ready to face you, you weren’t sure you’d get an explanation from him. He’d shut down every time you’d ever asked for one before.

He’d woken screaming one night, lashing out so violently that if you had been sat upright there’d have been no way to avoid his fist and he’d have knocked you out cold. When you tried to ask what was wrong, he’d simply snapped at you to leave him be and left your apartment so fast there could have been a fire under his ass. So, what did you do? Did you just not even try? He hadn’t made a move on you, had specifically said no when he saw you heading in the direction of the bedroom. But if he wasn’t here for sex what was he here for? It only added to your anxiety that you really had no clue what he wanted if it wasn’t your body he’d come for, and though part of you thought that should make you angry, another part of you hoped that that meant it was something more that he was after this time. The kind of more you wanted.

No. You had to try for him. You couldn’t let him go on like this. He didn’t have to fight the war in his head alone, not when you were here. At least, if he wanted to go it alone, he could have someone stable waiting with a safety net if he stumbled. For now you’d let him linger and soak in the tub, and you’d make the most out of the ingredients you had in the fridge. If he stayed, he could eat it off a plate. If he didn’t…well, you’d make some in a container in case. Pasta bake had always been your father’s speciality and it had been your favourite as a child, was still your comfort food now. Chicken and bacon sizzled, pasta boiled, and you grated the cheese to the rhythm of your favourite song playing softly on the radio while the milk and butter warmed on the stove. You snagged a piece of bacon from the wok and let the salty flavour burn your tongue.

With your masterpiece constructed and more cheese grated on top, you slid the dish into the oven for it to crisp up and set your timer, setting about washing the utensils next. It kept your hands busy, kept your mind from wandering too much, but even the sudsy water couldn’t quite keep your mind from ticking over. Why had Leon come here in the pouring rain? What had spooked him so badly he’d thought, in his less than coherent state, that he needed to be here in your apartment? Did the fact he’d come to you mean anything at all or did he just happen to be nearby? You put the saucepan a little harder than necessary into the rack when it slipped from your hands, jumping and cursing to yourself at the loud clang it had made.

“Y/N!” Leon almost roared your name in pure, abject terror. Eyes wide you rushed for the bathroom, hands still soapy and dripping water. He was already out of the bathtub, naked and scrambling through his jacket until he came up with a gun of all things, aimed right at you as you burst through the door. A shriek escaped you and you immediately dropped to the floor, hands above your head.

“Leon it’s me!” you begged. Harsh breathing filled the room.

“Where is it?” he demanded. You peeked up at him from below your arms, lowering them slowly. He was half-crouched, eyes wild and fixated on the door that led back to your room. He offered you a hand. “Come on, get up and get behind me, where is it?” he repeated the question more firmly now.

“Where’s what? Leon I – there’s only us here. I just dropped a saucepan.” You breathed. His expression faltered, confusion flooding his features first , then guilt, and finally grief. His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply, held it, exhaled slowly. He lowered his gun after a few more deep breaths.

“I’m sorry.” He said, looking a little like a kicked puppy. You shook your head, slowly pushing to your feet so as not to startle him. His skin was tinged pink, little suds clinging to the ends of his hair. The timer went off in the kitchen and Leon flinched again, hand tensing around the gun. You soothingly placed your hand on his arm.

“It’s just the timer. We’re the only people here Leon, nothing’s going to hurt us. How’s about you dry off and come have something to eat?” you suggested. He blanched at the mention of food and you frowned. “You don’t have to eat everything, just a little bit, you look really pale.” You reached for the towel and held it out to him until he reluctantly nodded and wrapped it around his waist. You left the door slightly ajar and headed for the kitchen to switch off the damn timer. He was so jumpy, so eager to jump to your defence. You plated up a small portion, not wanting to put him off with a large one. You didn’t feel particularly hungry yourself but you’d had a proper meal earlier in the evening, a cup of tea would suffice, camomile and honey would soothe your nerves. Leon had a liking for peppermint you knew. Maybe if he was nauseous that would help him eat? Tea and pasta bake served you sat opposite his place, one hand wrapped around the handle of your mug and the other pulled up to your mouth, your teeth nibbling the side of your nail.

“You’ll make your thumb sore.” He lingered in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if he should sit down or run away. You dropped your hand and placed a more welcoming smile on your lips, nodding to the plate.

“Chicken and bacon pasta bake. It’s good.” You invited. Hesitantly, Leon shuffled to the chair and sat down. You didn’t push him to talk. Months of being with Leon had assured you that pushing would only clam him up further, and you wanted to pry him open tonight. With a sinking feeling, you realised it might be the last night you ever saw him. He’d let himself be extremely vulnerable to you already and you weren’t the type of person to see this kind of trauma and let it go unchecked. You’d want to check in on him, you’d want to help him feel better, and Leon didn’t appreciate the questions you’d have to ask to get the kind of help he needed right. He sighed slightly, picking up the fork and taking a small bite. He looked physically sick for the first few mouthfuls, and you made an effort to distract him with small talk about the weather, your day and all its mundane happenings.

He seemed enraptured by your very voice, soaking in every syllable that crossed your lips and mindlessly working his arm and mouth to clear the plate and drain the mug in front of him.

“Can I have a bit more? It’s really good.” He surprised you with his request but you obliged him, spooning some more on his plate.

“If you’re that partial to it you can take some home to.” You said simply. He nodded once, clearing the second portion with ease and looking much better for it. The colour had returned to his cheeks and he looked a little more put together than before. You settled back in your chair, watched him clean his plate and put it in the drying rack. It was a courtesy you’d never have asked for but were grateful for nonetheless. He didn’t turn around though, keeping his back to you and tightening his grip on the countertop.

[tenthgrove]

500 Followers Celebration!!!: Part 2 (Yandere Sorbet and Gelato Oneshot)

Apologies for almost forgetting to post this. It's a little something I wrote back in May but never shared with more than a few people. Anyway, I'm shameless, and to celebrate 500 followers I'm releasing it into the wild.

Content warnings: non-consensual drug use, needles (both only mentioned) and typical yandere stuff.

You aren’t certain what the dream was about. It wasn’t a nightmare, you’re certain, but the concrete themes evade you. What you can remember in retrospect, however, is the distinct feeling that something was wrong in the waking world around you. It was as though your rational mind knew, that when the dream ended, the life you would wake up to would be changed irreparably.

The first thing to be said about the room you awake to is that it’s dark. Not the usual dark of your bedroom at night but truly, pitch black. There’s something different about the… aura, as well. Maybe it’s the scent, maybe it’s the feel of your sheets, maybe its the position you’re lying in. This is not your bed.

Your panic rises by the second. Any hope you might still be dreaming is quickly put down to idle hope. Everything about this feels so real. You are struck by the need to get up, to figure out where you are, and kick off the sheets. That’s when you hear rattling. Your arm is heavy. You reach down and feel the cold presence of limp chain at your side. There’s a shackle too, locked around your wrist with no room to wriggle free. If there’s any more proof you needed of what’s happened to you, this is it.

The panic overtakes you. You thrash desperately, pulling at your chain and whimpering in terror. There’s a clicking noise and something pulls free. You become aware of a second item tied around your wrist. It’s a thin string, with nothing attached. You realise with terror that it was some sort of trip-wire.

All possible courses of action spring to your mind too late as footsteps make their way down towards you. There’s multiple people, it sounds like, which doesn’t speak well for your chances. Bundling up your sheets, you huddle against the wall as the door swings open. A light switch flicks on.

As your dark-strained eyes adjust to the light, you are met with the figures of two men. The first, hand still lingering on the switch as he eyes you back, is a slender, dark-dressed man with black hair to match his clothes. The man beside him is smaller and slightly pudgier. His wild green eyes peak out from under his messy yellow hair. His gaze fixes on you, before dissolving into an expression that could be fear, excitement or both. He suddenly lurches forwards. His hands grip your shoulders firmly.

“Oh, look at you!” he coos. You force yourself to meet his gaze and see the wildness with which he looks at you. “Oh Sorbet, aren’t they pretty! Look at them Sorbet, they’re just wonderful!” The hyperactive man stumbles back as though wanting to get a better look at you. His hand is clasped over his mouth like you’re some puppy he just found at the shelter. The taller man takes hold of him from behind and rubs his arms affectionately. His mouth turns up into a small smile.

“Yes my darling, they’re beautiful,” he agrees. “But you shouldn’t touch them just yet. They might still be delirious from the drugs. All said,” he eyes you critically. “They shouldn’t be awake this soon.”

“Does it hurt sweetie?” his partner asks. There’s an uncanny, authentic concern to question that somehow turns your stomach more.

“N-no,” you stammer, keeping your eyes trained on the concrete floor. Truth be told, you’ve got a bit of a headache and the back of your throat pangs with nausea, but it isn’t bad enough to tell them. You decide to keep it to yourself.

“Did you give them that second dose in the end, Gelato?” the calmer man, you believe his name was Sorbet, asks. He approaches you casually and kneels down, pressing a hand to your forehead. “No fever anyway, so it doesn’t look like there’s been a reaction.”

“No. You said not to do it if they seemed fast asleep enough, so I didn’t,” Gelato answers.

“Well, there you have it then,” Sorbet says, apparently satisfied of your good health as he stands back up.

“I could always go find some more of the stuff. If you need more time to get everything ready for them,” Gelato proposes. Sorbet’s eyes flick up and down you as though contemplating what to do with you. He shrugs.

“Probably best to save it. I’d say we’ve already done everything we need to do, so they might as well stay awake for a bit,” he surmises. “Well.” He reaches forward and presses something, a key, you realise when you lean back far enough to look, into a slot on the grate attaching your chain to the wall. It falls free of the wall and chinks onto the ground.

Sorbet leans down again. You realise with a cold sweat that he’s trying to pick you up. Your attempts to scurry into the corner are quickly halted by a sharp yank to your chain, and a moment later you’re lifted against Sorbet’s chest, your faced pressed into the crook of his neck. “Could you please do the door for me, Gel? I’m taking them to the bathroom.” he asks. Gelato mutters something eager and hurries off to open the door from him. You struggle lightly in Sorbet’s hold and he silently presses two fingers against your neck. You take the warning and go still in fear.

Sorbet carries you up a flight of stairs and into the hall of, by all appearances, an ordinary residential house. It’s night, but a warm yellow ceiling lamp sheds light on your surroundings. The walls are a pale, turquoise green, accented by a white wood skirting that runs along the bottom metre. To your left you can see an archway into a clean but cluttered kitchen, lights off, and another staircase is ahead of you bending around to your right. To your right, along the hallway you’ve been carried into, are two more doors, one at the end and one perpendicular to it, the latter of which Sorbet leads you into. Peering over his shoulder, Gelato follows behind you. He catches your gaze and smiles sweetly. You quickly look down at the floor.

Sorbet flicks another switch and another light turns on, along with the gentle humming of ventilation. You adjust your eyes to see that you’re in a small, downstairs bathroom. Furnished with a toilet, sink and shower. Sorbet sits you down on the lid of the toilet and kneels down in front of you.

“You look disorientated. Are you sure you aren’t in any pain?” he asks.

“Just a little,” you admit. Your words a little slurred. “My head hurts. ‘Feel sick too.”

Sorbet sighs.

“You should have told us, (y/n),” he asserts, a hint of frustration, in his voice. That was your name. They know your name somehow. You mumble an apology.

“Oh darling. I’ll have to get you some paracetamol. You really should have said! Oh, and also a bucket for if you get sick in the night. Maybe some ice?”

As Gelato rambles from the doorway, Sorbet pulls a pack of wipes from the sink cabinet and starts to pat down your arms, wiping away the layer of crusted blood. Your heart stills. You didn’t notice that before.

“Why is there blood?” you ask weakly, eyes fixed on the sight. Sorbet dabs away at what appears to be the centre of the wound. His free hand rubs your knuckles slightly.

“You fought back, don’t you remember? Some defensive damage was inevitable,” he answers you.

“No!” you refute, louder than you intended. ���I don’t remember anything like that. I don’t know howI got here.”

“Ah,” Sorbet responds. “I imagine that’s from what we gave you,” he explains. A few images flash across the back of your mind. Broken glass. Screaming, fighting. The feeling of being pinned to the floor. Your stomach twitches and you swallow back tears.

“What’s the matter sweetie? You look sad,” Gelato notices. No shit you’re sad. You’ve just been snatched from your home and yet to receive any guarantee you’ll live until morning. There’s a part of you that wants to scream these thoughts to them, but you’re too paralysed by fear and tiredness to do so. The tears start to run.

“Oh darling, darling!” Gelato hushes you, rushing over to wipe your eyes. “Don’t cry, it’s okay! We’re going to look after you!”

“Caro, you’re very good to them but I doubt any of that will work right now. They’re too worked up,” Sorbet notes. You sob into your lap as Gelato caresses your shoulder.

“We can’t just leave them like this, Sorbet. Not alone,” he shivers.

“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe it’s best we put them out again after all. We’ll be better ready to deal with this in the morning,” Sorbet suggests.

“Yes, that’s probably for the best, come on Sweetie, let’s get you back to bed shall we?” Gelato takes your chain and starts to haul you back towards the stairs to the basement, with Sorbet following close behind. When the dark of the basement hits you again, you’re just about ready to fall asleep, but you’re still aware enough to note the peculiar furnishings you missed before.

The mattress you woke up on is tucked away in the corner, swarmed with cushions, pillows and blankets. There’s a small cabinet next to it, along with a table a few feet away with a TV on it. On the other end of the room is a mini-fridge, next to a large empty case of shelves. Are those all… for you?

Gelato guides you to sit down on the mattress, wrapping a blanket around you and fluffing up a pillow as though trying to get you to lie down. As he does so, you’re vaguely aware of Sorbet slotting your chain back into the wall and locking it in place. He looks you up and down again, for a moment seeming to fixate on the stream of tears that run down your cheeks.

“I’m going to go for a minute now. I’ll come back with something to help you sleep. Is that okay, hmm?”

You nod weakly. Honestly, you’re so insanely terrified right now, that falling asleep truly sounds like the better option even if it renders you at their mercy. Sorbet adjusts the blanket around you.

“Alright, sit tight sweetheart. I’ll be back in just a moment,” he promises. He leaves you alone with Gelato. For a moment, the second man is quiet, a hint of something in his eyes that looks like sadness. He sits down next to you and rubs your fingers.

“I’ll stay with you until he comes back, okay?” he offers. You give a quiet hum of acknowledgement, staring straight ahead as your mind starts to dissociate. “It’s really nothing to worry about,” Gelato says. “Just a tiny prick in your arm and then you fall asleep in a few minutes. You’ve done it before, anyway, and we won’t give you so much this time.”

You don’t answer him. He goes still for a little, perhaps unsure of what to say, then pulls you in close against his shoulder. “You’re wonderful,” he tells you.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask him faintly.

“Because we love you.”

“Why?” you implore him. Before he can answer that you fall into renewed tears. Gelato’s voice seems to fade away from you as he frantically tries to calm you. You shut your eyes and hope for this to end. Whatever this is. You’re scared, and you just want to go home. You just want to stop this feeling of fear.

[sigmaleph]

@serinemolecule asked me for hot takes on this 2006 article on Argentinian food, which I am now reorganising into a proper post for y'all's consumption. you're welcome.

First of all: the titular thesis that you should eat two steaks a day. I am forced to clarify that as 'should's go you should eat zero steaks a day, but this is ethical rather dietary advice and I don't follow it as well as I should, so, y'know. I would engage with this on the level it was stated, but I actually have no opinion on it. Moving on...

Argentine beef really is extraordinary. Almost all of this has to do with how the cows are raised. There are no factory feedlots in Argentina; the animals still eat pampas grass their whole lives, in open pasture, and not the chicken droppings and feathers mixed with corn that pass for animal feed in the United States.

This is, as it happens, completely false. There absolutely is plenty of feedlot beef being eaten in Argentina, and this was also the case back when this article was written. There's grass-fed beef too, and maybe the writer structured their life around only eating those, but the claim that there are no feedlots is just not true.

if you let them make the call, you get a two-inch thick of meat[...]The Argentine steak stands alone, towering three inches over the plate,[...]This gorgeous specimen is called a lomito; it's a standard lunchtime steak, clearly so thin that the Argentines are embarrassed to send it out into the world without a protective wrapping of ham and cheese

I have no idea what their obsession with steak thickness is; meat exists at various levels of thick and thin to suit various tastes. If you like yours thick that's fine but quit the projecting, y'know.

As you might expect, vegetarians will have a somewhat rough time here. For most people in Argentina, a vegetarian is something you eat. One's diet will accordingly lean heavily on pastas, gnocchi, salads, and (for the less squeamish ) fish. Vegans will not survive in Argentina.

This is, unfortunately, true (well, hyperbole, but). Rinna had a rather bad time trying to find vegan food when fae came over for visits. The situation is improving slowly, at least.

The homemade cookies bought in the minimarket downstairs taste of steak. [picture of alfajores de maicena[

Jesus. Find somewhere better to buy your snacks.

It should be no surprise that the land of beef also has excellent milk and butter. The milk comes in plastic bags that would give any American marketing department a heart attack. They proudly advertise "GUARANTEED 100% BRUCELLOSIS AND HOOF-AND-MOUTH FREE". One brand even brags that its bacteria count never exceeds 100,000 per mL, and prints daily statistics to prove it (only 82,000 bacteria/mL on Monday! mmm!).

Are you under the impression American milk doesn't contain bacteria and that when it spoils it's because of the molecules' sheer willpower? Or do you just object to the reminder that they exist?

This menu is delicious, but with rare exceptions it is all you are going to get. People coming for more than a few weeks are advised to bring a discreet bottle of Tabasco sauce.

Eat at better restaurants.

With any order from the master menu comes the Bread Basket, which should be treated as you would treat a basket of wax fruit, that is, as a purely decorative ornament. It is considered bad form to actually eat anything from Bread Basket

What are you talking about. Do all your dining companions just suck, eat some bread.

Dulce de leche is a culinary cry for help. It says "save us, we are baffled and alone in the kitchen, we don't know what to do for dessert and we're going to boil condensed milk and sugar together until help arrives". This cloying dessert tar is so impossibly sweet that you wish you were ten years old again, just so you could actually enjoy it. It is everywhere. There is a special dulce de leche shelf in the supermarket dairy case, and the containers go up to a liter in size. Even the churros are stuffed with it - the churros, Montresor!

It is rare that I feel insulted for the sake of my country, but this? How dare you.

Yes, of course we fill churros with dulce de leche; the real question is why anyone doesn't, short of dietary restrictions. Finding out that people do otherwise was like learning that in other countries, "sandwich" just means two slices of bread. Live a little. Eat a real godsdamned churro.

I spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how meals work in Argentina, and they remain a mystery to me. Dinner is clear enough: people tend to go to restaurants beginning at ten o'clock (for those with small children), with the main rush around eleven, and dinner is pretty much over at one or so in the morning. And breakfast - or rather, its absence - follows as a logical consequence of eating a steak the size of a beagle at midnight. But I have yet to figure out whether people eat some kind of meal in the afternoon, and if so, when.

At... noon? Like. We eat lunch. Usually somewhere around 12:00. I am eating lunch right now, and I have done so essentially every day of my life. This is just baffling.

I've come to think the culprit in the missing Argentine lunch scene is yerba mate.

how.

Where the ignorant foreigner may see just another kind of herbal tea (yerba mate is a very unassuming shrub that grows in the northern parts of the country) the Argentine sees a taste treat of unimaginable subtlety, and a tonic for all his problems. The Wikipedia article on proper mate preparation should give you a warning of the level of obsessiveness attainable here (the Urugayans are even worse). To the virgin palate, mate tastes like green tea mixed with grass clippings. The beverage is traditionally drunk out of a little gourd, through a metal straw called a bombilla, with hot (but not boiling!!) water poured into it (without wetting the surface!! clockwise!!) from a thermos.

Yeah, this is accurate. Well, not the clockwise part, never heard anyone complain about that and I can't imagine it mattering.

What distinguishes mate from coffee and tea is the social context - two or more people share a gourd, with a designated pourer in charge of refilling it with hot water after each turn. The ritual is low-fuss but indispensible. You can buy mate gourds and thermoses in any grocery store, and get your thermos filled with hot water at any convenience store or gas station, but you will never see mate served in restaurants or sold in little disposable paper gourds, to go. it's not that people refuse to drink mate alone - anyone working a solitary shift will have a gourd in hand - but that the concept of being served mate by someone who does not share it with you seems impossible.

This is also true. Attempts have been made to sell to-go mate but it's never very popular, the social ritual is important. Also unfortunately a disease vector, I haven't had any mate in a year and a half.

Mate aficionados will tell you that mate contains a special compound, mateine, that serves as a tonic and mild stimulant, promoting alertness without making it hard to sleep, reducing fatigue and appetite, helping the digestion and serving as a mild diuretic. Scientists will tell you that mateine bears a suspicious resemblance to a chemical called caffeine. Mate aficionados will then grow indignant, explaining that mateine is really a stereoisomer (mirror image) of caffeine, with different effects, which will in turn irritate the scientists, who will snap that caffeine doesn't have a chiral center, so it can't have a distinguishable mirror image, and why don't the mate aficionados just put a sock in it.

The first part of this is true; some people definitely think "mateine" is different from caffeine and it absolutely isn't. Never heard the stereoisomer claim before but googling it does confirm some people say so.

still have no idea what any of this has to do with lunch, though. I promise you nobody skips lunch because mate is just too filling.

The wine here is very good (something has to stand up to that steak), but Argentina has no liquor to call its own, relying on whiskies like Old Smuggler and the low-maintenance Don Juan cognac to carry the flag.

There's a fundamental omission from this list and it's called fernet.

Beer is ubiquitous and comes in a bewildering variety of sizes, although there is a skittishness about the full-on liter. Things level off at 970 mL. In my case, it means I end up drinking 1940 mL of beer as a kind of personal protest, and all is well with the world. To make up for the abundance of sizes, beer comes in only one variety, Quilmes, which inevitably comes served with a tripartite platter of snacks - nuts, salty cylinders, and aged potato chips.

I never had trouble buying beer by the litre, but I confess I never tried to do so in 2006 on account of being under 18 at the time.

Anyway, beer comes in a lot more varieties today, thankfully, because Quilmes sucks. I'll never be a beer person, but at least these days there's options I tolerate.

[original post]

[mt-words]

Three whole people said they would be interested in an analysis of c!Dream and c!Techno’s relationship, so we’re doing this! All names in this post will refer to the role play characters. As always, if you feel like I overlook or misinterpret anything please feel free to share your opinion!

Follow up post here on how Dream is cautious of Techno and why he is right to be.

This boils down to how Dream and Techno work under normal circumstances, the anomaly that was the bedrock bros, and how Dream pushed the pieces back into place.

When I started watching the Dream SMP I thought Dream and Techno’s relationship was built on three things. Mutual respect, willingness to work together when their goals lined up, and weariness for a day when their goals might not coincide that kept them from trusting each other completely. Even as we started to see how manipulative Dream was capable of being, it seemed like he was too cautious of Techno to try to use him like he did most characters. I didn’t realize there was more to it until the second festival.

First, let’s look at how Dream controls most of the SMP. Threats of violence (the obsidian walls), friendly overtures (befriending Tubbo and recognizing L’manburg’s sovereignty), supplying resources (commissioning Sam for the prison), and straight up emotional abuse (Tommy in exile). None of these would be too effective against Techno, but I think Techno was squarely on Dreams side of the board until the Bedrock Bros team up. Dream doesn’t try to control Techno by trying to change what he wants or by forcing him into compliance. Instead, he understands Techno as a person and knows what he wants, and then manipulates the situation so that acting on those desires puts them on the same side.

Dream sees Techno as his rook. Rooks are straightforward and powerful but take some setup and time before they are at their most useful. After the revolution Dream waited to attack. He could have done it at any time but he waited for Techno to act because he understood his ideals and knew that he would. Techno had to strike first or Dream couldn't guarantee that they would be acting together. He whispered Techno to goad him on not because he wouldn’t have done anything otherwise but to build that trust of “oh look, we have the same goals again. I’m the only one who recognizes your dilemma here and I support you.” And it worked, they acted together through the fight with Dream shadowing and taking hits for Techno as he steamrolled through opponents. When the dust settled Techno barely recognized the other members of “Team Chaos,” but he gave Dream a stack of TNT to help as he continued to deepen the crater.

I mentioned this in another analysis, but Dream knew he wanted to finish L’manburg off way before he outwardly showed it. He knew Techno could be a useful ally to that end, but he had decided to retire to the north and swear off violence. Once again, Dream waited. He let L’manburg’s inevitable attempt to seek retribution pull Techno back in, and Dream was there to help him survive the fallout, setting himself up as someone with the same interests who Techno could rely on. Once again, Dream had his rook set up for a devastating blow when the time came to destroy L’manburg. But then Tommy ran from exile and took refuge with Techno.

For the first time (aside from when Dream fought for Schlatt, which was a fight he intended to lose), Techno was on the other side of the board and Dream couldn’t predict his movements. Techno blatantly lied to a man who had saved his life for someone who (from Techno’s point of view) had betrayed him by starting a government, admitted to wanting to use him to defend L’manburg and fight off Dream, and stolen from him.

Dream saw Techno as his rook. His movements were straightforward, he had his ideology and acted on it. But Techno doesn’t only move on vertical and horizontal lines, he can move diagonally. He’s not a rook, he’s a queen. Techno is incredibly loyal when he decides a person is worthy of his trust, and he shows that through his actions. Dream didn’t factor that into his plans because the only person Techno trusted up to that point would never ask him to compromise his ideals. This was a problem, Techno gave Tommy strength and confidence and Tommy made Techno unpredictable.

Dream resorted to his other methods of manipulation. He made friendly overtures to Techno, reminding him that he had always had his back. He threatened Tommy with the destruction of his disks. Nothing worked, Techno had decided to give his loyalty and Dream couldn’t break it, but he needed to or Tommy was beyond his reach. So, he had to go back to manipulating Techno’s circumstances. To put his chess board back in order, Dream needed Tommy to break Techno’s trust himself.

We’re finally to the second festival. L’manburg may have planned it, but it was Dream’s masterpiece. He used threats to take control from L’manburg immediately, then used the crowd gathered for the event to put pressure on them with the discovery of the destruction of the community house. Tommy was exiled for griefing so it wasn’t too much of a stretch to pin the crime on him. People were attached to the community house, and Dream claimed that by keeping the disk Tubbo was aligning himself with the person who destroyed it, protecting Tommy from consequences. Already, Dream had set himself up to get the disk or turn the rest of the server against L’manburg, but it was safe to assume Tommy and Techno would show up if only to keep tabs on the situation. Of course Tommy wouldn’t be able to take the accusations and threats in silence, one of his character traits is his impulsiveness and brashness.

The second Tommy stepped in he was going to lose Tubbo, the disk, Techno, or some combination of the three. Stepping away from impartiality, I think forgiving Tubbo and recognizing that he didn’t like the direction he was heading was one of the most mature and powerful things Tommy has ever done, on par with giving up the disks for his friends in the first place. I wish he had taken a second to think of Techno in the process though. Techno who had offered his trust having already been burned. Techno who had just jumped into a large group of enemies to defend him. Techno who watched Tommy drop him seconds after he decided he didn’t want the disk. Techno whose first reaction to rejection and betrayal has been to cling to the first person to affirm his beliefs (Wilbur after the festival, Dream after the revolution). Techno who just lost his only reason to hesitate before destroying the country that had promised to destroy him. And, well, “Techno, got any withers?”

Dream played his hand perfectly at the festival, the only thing that could have gone better would have been if Tommy ruined his relationship with Tubbo in the process of everything else. The chess board was back in order. There is a tragic irony to the fact that Dream is one of the only people on the server to understand Techno’s ideals, to really see him as a person, and Dream only bothers with that understanding so he can use him.

[leejungchans]

— coming clean.

word count: 2k

warning(s): mentions of anxiety, swearing

set in early january 2021 after the events of our first snow

notes: all the conversations and text messages here are in korean!!

summary: juliet goes to hongjoong for advice after making her relationship with dino official.

juliet’s masterlist | ask game

Juliet forces herself to take several deep breaths at the familiar door leading to Hongjoong’s studio. She’s been hanging outside in the hallway for the past ten minutes ever since she finished practising for their upcoming comeback, not being able to bring herself to knock as she knew exactly why she was still here at this hour.

Come on, Baek Minyoung. It’s just Hongjoong, he won’t be mad. You have to do this. He’ll help you.

She brings her fist up only to falter at the last second. If anyone passed by now, they’d definitely question why she’s standing ominously still with her fist suspended in the air.

To say that Juliet is dreading the imminent conversation would be a gross understatement. She even doubted if it was a good idea coming to Hongjoong first instead of telling all eight members at once. She hates keeping secrets from them, who know her as well as, if not more than, her family, and could definitely tell if she was hiding something.

But the thought of having this conversation with everyone felt so daunting, and she had hoped that if she spoke with the leader first she could ease herself into telling the others.

It isn’t that she’s afraid of them—no, that isn’t it at all. All nine of them value honesty and communication above everything else, and they’ve each came clean to one another about many things many times prior to today. So she wasn’t scared of them, but their reaction and very likely, their disappointment.

She doesn’t feel mentally prepared enough, it’s like giving a class presentation when you know nothing about the material, or jumping out a plane without checking if you have a parachute on. The anxiety is building within her, causing her chest to constrict and her breathing to become harsher and laboured. Her nails dug into her palm as her fist clenched more and more with every second.

Chan knew she was doing this tonight because she texted him earlier with the promise that she’d call him as soon as it was over, and he in turn assured her that he would be there waiting for her call no matter the hour. She tried to imagine his voice telling her to take deep breaths while forcing herself to uncurl her fist.

Is it possible to feel your heartbeat in your ear? Because that’s fucking happening.

She doesn’t how long she’s been at this when her hand, as though moving on its own accord, raps at the frosted glass. Upon realising what she had done, Juliet quickly lowers her arm so it rests at her side, heart now beating even more rapidly because holy shit what have I done I wasn’t ready yet why did I knock whatthefuckwhatthefuck—

“Come in!”

Good fucking job, Juliet.

Releasing a heavy sigh, the girl cracks open the door and sticks her head in, meeting the concerned gaze of Hongjoong who rakes a tired hand through his hair, the exhaustion that seems to settle permanently in his features when he’s working is unmistakable.

It always pains her to see him like this. Juliet thinks he works too hard—not that working hard is a bad thing necessarily, but it’s no secret that Hongjoong can sometimes give too much to the point where he neglects himself.

Of course, she’s not the first person who’s said something about it to him, because she’s definitely overheard Seonghwa lightly scolding the leader for not taking care of himself more. And she knows Hongjoong is trying, so she tries not to bring it up as much to avoid placing more burden on his shoulders.

The irony of this sentiment is not lost on Juliet, because she is very well aware that what she is about to confess to him is most certainly going to be another cause of worry. She hates it—knowing that she’s the reason why someone is upset or stressed. But she also knows that telling him is the right (and inevitable) thing to do.

“Minyoung-ah, you’re still here? It’s—” Hongjoong spins around in his chair to glance at his phone screen—“it’s almost one. I thought you went home already,” he says disapprovingly. “You should be sleeping by now.”

Juliet bites down on her tongue to prevent herself from making a “well, you’re still working too” comment, and instead hands him the cup of takeaway coffee she’s been holding onto all this time with a sheepish smile. “I got you coffee?”

He sighs but takes the cup nonetheless while she makes herself comfortable on the spare office chair. “I thought you hated bringing me coffee.”

“Only because it would make you stay up even later and I don’t want to keep enabling your bad sleeping habits.”

“Yet you still do it. Bribing me, perhaps? What is it this time?”

She rolls her eyes playfully. “You say that like I’m the problem child in the family,” she pouts before sobering up. “I don’t know if you’d call it a bribe, but...um...I came here for advice because I thought you’d be the best person to go to.”

Hongjoong knows that look on her face better than anyone else, instantly recognising that whatever she has on her mind is serious.

“Okay, one sec,” he says, turning around to click a few buttons on his software before facing her once more. “What’s wrong? I’m all ears.”

“Will you be mad?”

Hongjoong sighs again, hand reaching out to give the maknae’s a few gentle pats on the head. “You know I could never be mad at you.”

Juliet holds out her pinky finger. “Promise?” she asks, prompting a snort from him.

“What are we, twelve?” he says teasingly, though he humours her anyways and interlaces his pinky with hers.

“Only on a scale of one to ten.”

This makes Hongjoong cackle, and he can’t help but admire how she manages to stay witty despite being clearly nervous about something. “Fine, you win. But seriously, is everything okay?”

Here goes nothing.

“Uh...well...you know how Chan and I went out last week?”

“I recall it, yes. What about it?”

“I—he—um...” That fear and nervous she was feeling earlier returns with full force. She might’ve had a chance to run away when she was still in the hallway, but she doubts that she can bolt out of the studio to avoid having this conversation.

Hongjoong places a hand on hers which are starting to shake. “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he says softly, “I can’t guarantee that I’ll react the way you want me to, but I’ll always hear you out.”

A tiny sniffle. “That’s not very reassuring.”

He chuckles. “Maybe not, but just take some deep breaths, okay? We’re here to support each other, this is a safe space to talk about anything.”

It takes a minute or so for Juliet to compose herself before she decides that it’s pointless to beat around the bush. “He...he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

Hongjoong nods. If her confession shocked him, he’s doing a good job not showing it. “And what did you say?”

“I said yes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Juliet echoes in disbelief, “that’s all you have to say?”

The rapper shrugs. “I mean, I think we all know you two were going to get together officially sooner or later, so I can’t say I’m surprised or anything.”

“Are you disappointed?” she asks lightly, trying not to give away how nervous she is and how devastated she’d be if he was. “Mad?”

“No,” the response comes immediately. “If anything, I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me. You’re an adult, you can make decisions for yourself, and I think it goes without saying that we all trust you with such a decision, and that you’ve thought about it comprehensively before coming to it. Also, you’re allowed to have a personal life, no one has the right to hold it against you.”

Juliet’s eyebrows knit so closely together that they almost form a single line. “But...I promised you guys back then that I’d be careful and wait.”

“Hasn’t it almost been a full year since you met?” Hongjoong asks rhetorically. “I think you two waited long enough.”

A tear escapes her eye. “I just don’t want to get you guys in trouble because of something wrong I did,” she says quietly.

The leader wordlessly grabs a tissue from his desk to dab away the tears that flow down her cheeks. “It’s not wrong to want to have a relationship, Minyoung-ah,” he says, still wiping away the droplets. “I know it can seem otherwise in this industry, but it’s true. If something happens, we’ll deal with it then and we’ll get through it, like we have with anything else.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Nine makes one team, right?”

Juliet cracks a small smile, which Hongjoong returns with one of his own. “Right.”

“Have you told the others yet?”

“No,” she admits, “I thought I might get too overwhelmed breaking the news to all eight of you at the same time, but I’ll tell them tomorrow morning because I think some of them will probably already be asleep by the time I get home.”

Hongjoong nods. “Okay, good. What about the company?”

She stays quiet for a few seconds, weighing her options for what seems like the hundredth time that week. “I think I’ll tell them,” she finally says. “I’d rather them find out about us from me than from a tabloid.”

“I agree,” he concurs, “it shows that you trust them enough to let them know and that you’re not hiding something from them.” Hongjoong pauses, as though debating on whether to say what he’s thinking of. “Are you worried that they might say no?”

“Of course, but...if that happens...I’ll just see what I can do.”

“If they tell you to break it off, the eight of us will cover for you,” Hongjoong suggests cheekily.

Juliet giggles. “I’ll hold you to that, because I like Chan too much to break it off like that.”

The leader makes a face. “Okay, gross, you did not have to say that. A simple ‘thanks!’ would’ve sufficed, you know.”

“Don’t make me throw this snotty ball of tissue at you.”

Hongjoong snorts before his features soften. “Feel better?” he asks gently as he watches the girl dab away any remaining moisture from her waterline.

“Much,” Juliet smiles gratefully, feeling as though a significant weight has been lifted off her chest. “Thanks for talking this out with me.”

He ruffles her hair, prompting her to swat his hands away. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. You two have my blessing.”

“Sure, like I need it,” Juliet says sarcastically, though she can’t help the blush that spreads across her cheeks.

“Yah! I practically raised you with Seonghwa!”

“Okay, okay,” Juliet concedes, wrapping her arms around Hongjoong’s neck to hug him. “Thanks again,” she whispers.

The boy pats her on the head. “Hurry up and go home.”

“Don’t work too late, understand?”

Hongjoong playfully salutes her. “Yes, ma’am. I’m almost done anyways.”

“Nice try, but I’ll spare you the lecture this time.”

“Thank you, O Mighty One, you are as merciful as you are beautiful.”

Juliet cackles at the exasperation dripping from Hongjoong’s tone before giving him a final hug and leaving the studio with a quiet click! of the door shutting.

For a few minutes, she stays there to watch him through the door, and though his figure is blurry and unclear from the frosted glass, it’s not hard to spot that he’s already resuming his work, back hunched over the desk and head occasionally darting up to look at the computer screen. She can only hope that he’ll keep his promise and get some rest soon.

As Juliet walks to the car park where her manager is waiting, Hongjoong’s heartfelt words echo over and over in her head. Feeling much lighter from relief, gratitude and hope, she pulls out her phone to send two messages.

TO: channie 🦖💕

[01:23] hongjoongie-oppa says he gives us his blessing ㅋㅋㅋ ❤️

TO: Nine Makes One Team

[01:24] minus hongjoong-oppa because i just talked with him, can the rest of us have a quick family meeting tomorrow morning please? there’s something i need to tell you guys...

a/n: hongjoong bestest bestest bestest boy ;-; hehe let me know what you think of this update!! we stan people who actively, honestly and healthily communicate with each other!! communication really is so important in any relationship and that’s something i had to learn the hard way.

i’m also debating on whether i should write one of the others’ reactions when juliet tells them but i also think it’d be pretty similar to this one (ie. they’d all be really supportive of their relationship even if they were slightly worried for them), so i don’t want to repeat any content but let me know if you want to see that or anything else (eg. more dino/juliet or ateez/juliet moments)!! 💕

please do consider leaving feedback whether it’s a reblog, a reply or an ask, it would mean the absolute world to me 🥺 thank you for reading and i hope you’re having a good day 💕 remember you can always chat with me through my asks and i’m here for you!!

[svnflowervol666]

New Year (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, mentions of smut, dad!harry (or dad-to-be!Harry I suppose), tons of fluff, skewed timeline (I wanted to make this work, so just pretend that Harry and Y/N have been together for quite some time and Camille has long been forgotten)

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is my first time writing for Harry, so please be kind! I’d been trying to muster the courage to write this when it was actually right around the new year, but I’ve not been able to stop toying with this cute little scenario in my head! I’d love to write more about dad!Harry or just Harry in general, so your feedback and/or other requests would be greatly appreciated! Take care and tpwk!

She worked her way from the bathroom through the small crowd of people gathered around the living room for what felt like the hundredth time that night. If you asked her what the most inconvenient part of her pregnancy was thus far, she wouldn’t hesitate to tell you that having to pee every half hour on the dot was by far the biggest inconvenience of them all. Far too many times in her now 7 months had she found herself having to locate the nearest restroom anywhere she went as soon as she arrived just to be prepared for when her baby inevitably decided to plant its weight on her bladder.

The space wasn’t overflowing with random bodies or sleazy folks wanting nothing more than a juicy story for their news station. It was just a healthy handful of closest friends and their loved ones. It was a celebration. Of an upcoming new year, a recently released new album, and two recently successful shows in Los Angeles and London. Despite this, she still struggled to spot him in the dimly lit space of the house. 

After gently tapping shoulders and muttering a polite, “Excuse me,” to what felt like everyone at this damn party so that she and her perfectly rounded belly were able to pass through, she found him. He was propped up against the wall in the living room, his lanky, Gucci trouser-clad legs crossed over each other. She could tell by the way his eyes were glued to the floor and how his fingers anxiously drummed away to an invisible beat that he was waiting anxiously for her return.

Harry was never able to shake the nerves that overtook him when she went off on her own. After he’d found out she was pregnant (which was no doubt a result of the hot and heavy reunion the two of them shared after his extended trip to Japan that began around this time last year), he’d always found a way to convince himself that something bad would happen to her and the baby if he wasn’t with her at every possible moment. Sure, it felt somewhat smothering at times, but it beat having an unaffectionate husband who couldn’t care less about the impending arrival of his firstborn by a long shot. In his defense, his own safety had been compromised plenty of times throughout the years of his career, so it’s not to say that his worry was uncalled for. He simply felt more at ease with her by his side. With them by his side.

“What are you thinking about?” she prompted him, wrapping both arms around her husband’s torso and snuggling into his side the best she could with her bump in the way.

Harry seemed to withdraw himself from the hazy daydream he’d been lost in as he responded to his wife’s touch and wrapped his arm around the side of her waist so that his fingers rested softly on the swell of her stomach. She caught a glimmer of a cheeky grin tug at the corners of his lips before he spoke.

“Who ‘m gonna share my New Year’s kiss with after the countdown.”

Immediately, she rolled her eyes at the tall brunette that held her in his arms. Had she not been in such a doting mood, he would have likely earned a punch to the shoulder. Nevertheless, she decided to indulge Harry in his jokes. 

“Yeah? Who’s the lucky gal?” she added a dramatic raise of her eyebrow up at him.

“Hmm,” Harry fake-pondered.

“Verrrrrrry pretty. She’s ‘bout this tall.”

He raised his hand to his wife’s height for reference.

“Her belly kinda sticks out like this,”

His hands motioned in a crescent shape, mimicking her pregnant belly and making them both snicker even more in the process.

“Only thing is, she’s married.”

He finished off his grand performance with a pout.

“Well,” his wife responded as seriously as she could, “You’re Harry bloody Styles. I’m sure her husband would allow just one kiss if it was from you.”

This made Harry blush. She could see the bashful pink even in the low light of the living room, how the heat crept up his cheeks from being complemented by his own wife and partner of several years.

“Wha’ about you? Who's gonna be the one you cozy up to when the clock strikes midnight?” Harry then focused his attention on her.

“Oh,” she shrugged her shoulders as if it was a no-brainer. 

“I was thinking about going for Mitch," she gestured to the brunette who was sat on the sofa across the room with a beer in his hand.

Harry gave in and laughed loudly, unable to keep a straight face for the little game they had been playing.

“You might have to fight Sarah for that one, mate,” he was able to squeeze out in between giggles.

“Eh, I think I can take her.”

No further comment was needed as their laughter died down and they simply basked in each other’s company, listening to the buzzing of various conversations happening around them as the party continued on. Since the cycle began of press tours and rehearsals for the album release shows, the two of them felt like they hardly had any time to themselves, which was why they opted to celebrate the new year on a smaller scale as opposed to a grand party that dozens of other celebrities and brands had invited them to. Not only that, but seeing as their little one would be making their grand appearance in a little less than two months' time, any heavy partying was out of the question. 

“’Ye want to go home, lovie?” Harry broke the comfortable silence between them when he heard her yawn against where her head had been resting against his chest.

“No, you goob. It’s not midnight yet.”

“If you’re tired, we can go. ‘Ye need t’ take care of yourself.”

“I think I can handle being a bit sleepy,” she reassured him.

“Yea, but you need all the rest ‘ye can get. Baby’ll be here soon.”

‘Harry, I promise you that staying up until midnight just one time is not going to hurt me or the baby. I’m good. Promise,” she finished with a loving pat on the part of his chest that was exposed from his unbuttoned blouse.

Harry reluctantly nodded in agreement, relaxing his tensed muscles as he made himself comfortable once more against the wall.

“Can’t believe we’re gonna be parents soon. Gonna have our own baby,” he muttered lowly so that only she could hear. 

“I know. Hopefully, all of those years of taking care of Lux will pay off. I guarantee any child of yours will be a handful, to say the least,” she teased.

Harry faked a dramatic gasp, letting his mouth fall agape and putting his hand over his chest as if what his sweet wife has just said had given his heart a proper break.

“Can’t believe this. M’ own wife.”

There was no need to apologize, they were both used to countless nagging and teasing from each other over the years.

“You’re gonna be a good dad, Harry,” she sighed.

Harry presses a soft kiss to her hair, so featherlight that it was almost undetectable.

“‘N you’re gonna be the best mum. The hottest mum,” he said as his hand slipped south to grab a handful of his wife’s bum which caused her to shriek.

“Harry! We’re in public,” she hissed.

“So? It’s not a secret how much I love ye’. We’re married. Remember? ‘ve written plenty of songs about ya in case you’ve forgotten,” he toyed as he returned his hand back to its proper position around her waist.

The commotion between Harry pinching his lady’s bum had collected an audience, a handful of eyes focusing on the envious and jovial banter between the couple.

It was true, they were the couple everyone aspired to be like. They lasted the test of time. No number of long months apart from each other could dwindle the flame that was their love. It only strengthened the ravenous fire that coursed through their hearts for one another. They had done it right, in their minds at least. They’d gotten their lives together, made sure they were steady and stable before they settled down and decided to marry and have children.

Harry genuinely thought for the longest that he’d never have this. This perfect life and this perfect wife and, soon, a perfect little baby to call his own. He’d always thought that if he ever had children, it would be unplanned. That eventually one of his one night stands would fall pregnant, leaving his child to grow up under less than ideal circumstances. He never thought he’d be where he is today, where he’s always wanted to be.

Time slipped away from the couple and before they knew it, shouting from everyone else in the room signified that the new year was just seconds away. Reluctantly, Harry and his wife pulled themselves from their own bubble they had created away from the party and joined the rest of the group.

“FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE...HAPPY NEW YEAR!” was shouted in unison as a handmade balloon and confetti drop fell from the ceiling and covered the guests as they cheered and kissed their loved ones.

“Have your first kiss of the new year wi’ me? Please,” Harry turned to his wife, wrapping both arms around her sides.

“Only because you asked nicely,” she laughed.

As her fingers linked around Harry’s neck, he pulled her into him. The kiss was tender and sweet, just like his love for her. As they pulled away, Harry rubbed one hand over her swollen stomach and spoke again.

“Think we’re ready for this year?”

His wife brushed away a piece of the metallic star-shaped confetti from his forehead and tucked his stray hairs behind his ear just like she had done plenty of times in their years of being together. The smile on her face was soft and wise, his favorite type of smile, and Harry swears that he can see her glowing despite how dark it is in the room. She’s perfect. Her belly is perfect. Their baby is perfect. They’re perfect.

“I have a feeling we’ll be alright,” she whispered quietly before kissing him once more.

In this moment, just as every other moment, with his hand resting on top of his wife’s baby bump, Harry wishes he could stay like this forever.

[orsuliya]

Many are saying, that there is no passion betweenAwu and XQ. That from the beginning they both behave like old couple that have been together for 50 years. Calm, respect and domestic bliss. No craziness, no passionate words and deeds, no nothing. And I feel so sad that their crazy passionate all consuming love is not obvious to everybody. I've been married for 12 years now and my hubby still treats me like I'm made of glass. There is no craziness, but the calm I feel in mt heart... It is invaluable. For me their love is the perfect one. And I honestly haven't seen anything so perfect on the screen before.

Many need to check their glasses prescriptions, because that passion is right there and small it ain’t, that’s for sure. I thumb my nose, oh ye doubting Thomases, at this alleged lack of passionate words or deeds. Don’t know about you, good people, but for me the Re-do Wedding itself maxes out the scale; as far as grand gestures go that one is just perfect: very grand indeed, utterly shameless, more than a little schmoopy and, at the end of the day, surprisingly useful. Do I even need to comment on all those timely rescues? For all that Awu is not exactly a damsel in distress, she sure has been a subject of a lot of those. I hear that dramatic rescues are supposed to rate among the most romantic things a male lead can do, was my info faulty...? And it’s not like that’s one-sided since Awu runs into danger without hesitation, declaring that should anything happen to her husband or father, Song Huaien will need to carry her own cold, stiff body back home. As far as passionate romantic declarations go...!

Also, let be me disgustingly prosaic for a moment: for all that nobody gets naked onscreen (well, other that Mi’er), it is rather obvious that Awu and Xiao Qi get it on. A lot. In probably rather adventurous ways. I mean, they see absolutely no problem with promising each other various... things. While in public. In the middle of the Imperial Palace. Where anybody can hear them - and they probably do! - but is there even a hint of genuine, non-playful bashfulness to be found in their demeanor? The answer is a big, fat NO.

At the end of the day, their relationship - as is yours, you Unbelievably Lucky Nonnie - is the eternal fire of the hearth and the steady heartbeat of the home. A love like that doesn’t throw us at the mercy of waves and storms, but anchors us to home, wherever that home might be. For all the things simple and domestic to withstand the withering effects of time and everyday adversities, there must be a great burning love hidden in that hearth; hidden does not mean non-existent, but rather treasured and carefully guarded.

Okay, that is getting a tad too sentimental even for me, back to more prosaic considerations! The reason why this particular drama doesn’t seem to resonate with a good portion of younger audiences is rather simple. Bloody Mouse from Hell. Okay, not only Disney, western pop-culture as a whole. See, we’ve been taught that all conflicts and sweeping declarations of passion come before the marriage or even before the first grand kiss. After that there’s only the Happily Ever After, a concept as mind-boggling as it is suspicious. Yes, I know that Disney has been stepping away from their straighforward romance formula recently, but I am a true millenial, I have a constitutonal right to point some very pointy fingers at dear old Walt. All the work gets done before the final declaration of feelings and it’s smooth sailing from then on. Any male who makes an effort is guaranteed to be rewarded with a female; the only healthy exception being Gaston, who, when you think about it, is the scariest villain of them all (and there is good reason for that). Moms die in mysterious ways and females supporting females is a thing that happens from time to time... but is by no means guaranteed. Oh, and if you are not a walking talking perfection with one, maximum two funny quirks, there’s no place for you among the heroines. Those are the lessons I learned in my childhood. Didn’t stick, let me tell you. Wait a bloody moment, Zitan totally watched himself some Disney!

Now, let’s look at what happens in a considerable portion of mainstream adult programming. What happens is that if a couple gets together in the first season finale (which is early all the same), there is little chance of them being left to simply... be, unless they get relegated to background characters. Happily Ever Afters are booooring. Fine, I say, maybe they are. You need CONFLICT. And that’s fair! But there is no reason why you can’t spice things up using external factors; have this couple form a united front against a common danger and there’s your conflict! Yeah, no. Internal conflict and especially romantic one is much easier and cheaper. I am not saying it’s all bad - couples naturally go through such obstacles - but there comes a point where you have to ask this question: why the hell are they still together when they would never be able to trust each other again? Forgiveness only stretches so far and does not mean a totally blank slate. This is not, by any means, an invitation to start fridging female characters! I see what you’re doing, you bastards!

Thankfully things are changing. Not always and not always in the right direction. Disney in particular is doing something... weird with its main canon or was Mulan a one-off hiccup of terrifying proportions? Female-empowering that wreck was certainly not. Unless they meant Special Females, who are not like Other Females... okay, not the point right now.

The point is that Awu and Xiao Qi are married by episode 8 and in love by episode 14. Which is right where the end of the first season would be. And then... nothing. They are in love and form a rock-solid front against external enemies. The only real change in their relationship is that they grow stronger, first individually and then together.

It gets worse! We, the viewers, get a metric tonne of false leads of the kind, which we have been taught will inevitably lead to at least four episodes of conflict. So where are our four episodes of dealing with Xiao Qi’s household and uppity maids? Do as Wangfei says, that’s what we get. Where’s Xiao Qi’s burning jealousy over Zitan? I would prefer you not to go, but do as you wish, that’s the extent of it. By all known rules, he should start looking at Awu with suspicion once he guesses that Song Huaien is infatuated with her or at least take Huaien to task. There’s... absolutely nothing? This whole affair with Screecher? What do you mean you can simply ask your husband what happened and then trust his answer?! That’s not how it works! Get thee away to Turnip’s house for a couple of episodes at the least! And don’t even start me on the great performance of the Yuzhang Acting Company! There is a reason why people were loathe to recognize it as a performance and nothing but!

The Rebel Princess keeps purposefully missing those obvious cues for conflict and thus the viewer, used to much, much higher emotional amplitudes, simply nods off on this relationship. But that’s not on the drama, that’s on our erstwhile trainers.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

How about a sequel to the Naida/MC? When Nadia invites MC on a heist with her, the Poppy is worried for MC so they test to see if Nadia really cares about MC by making it look like MC’s will be caught (but it’s one of them as a fake guard) to see if Nadia stays to help MC and she does. When MC realises it’s the Poppy she’s upset bc they didn’t trust her judgement and leaves with Nadia, but Nadia convinces her to talk with them bc while she’s angry about being tested they were looking out for MC

Written by @an-awkward-ghost

Flashpoint’s heists were different than the Poppy’s. Nadia, back when she thought she was infatuated with Vivienne, had spent days studying their methods. They truly had the best combination of abilities and talents someone could ask for, and Nikolai knew how to put everything to good use. Nothing was wasted, any chance of failure would be immediately squashed before it could so much as exist. And if something unexpected did happen during a heist, well, they knew how to improvise. It was annoying, yes, but something that Nadia could respect – they were the best for a reason, after all. Part of that was remaining untouchable.

And while Nadia was aware that safety should be top priority, there was a unique thrill in doing things more freely that she would never give away. Flashpoint preferred to go all in, figurative guns blazing, taking what they wanted while everyone watched, unable to do anything.

She loved committing their expressions to memory, all stunned fear and enraged surprise. It was much better than imagining their reactions to a calling card, in her opinion.

When she had invited MC to work with them on their next heist, she knew the Poppy wouldn’t approve of her methods. They were like one big, stubborn, overprotective family she had to win over – the most disapproving “in-laws” in the world.

Fine, that was fine. Nadia could have Flashpoint play it safe for one heist. She’d never let Karina come to any harm, and hell to anyone who believed otherwise – she’d show the Poppy she can be trusted.

Thing is… she didn’t quite think she’d have to prove it this way. She expected a talk, maybe a heated debate, but nothing this dramatic nor extreme. Weren’t the Poppy supposed to play it safe?

And everything had happened so fast.

Karina had been telling her about her recruitment, high on adrenaline, laughing freely and warmly like the wind in spring. The whole experience had been invigorating, even if the heist wasn’t as crazy as Flashpoint usually preferred.

“I wish it had been me who discovered you,” Nadia had told her, in one of those moments where she didn’t feel the need to be dominating, in control. Karina had softened at the admission, had looked at her as if she were an undiscovered treasure she was itching to commit to memory.

They walked together to the back exit of the mansion Flashpoint had infiltrated in. Nadia wasn’t concerned about the rest of her crew – they were probably already waiting for them, since Karina and her might have gotten a bit… distracted… during the heist.

Just as she was reminiscing, feeling proud delight bubble in her chest and a spark of delicious heat, the Poppy had sprung into action.

Or, well, a “guard” did.

He came out of the literal shadows, unexpected like rain in September.

Nadia had been walking ahead, already out of the mansion. If this had occurred before Nadia had become aware she had feelings for Karina, she might have snorted and continued on to safety, glad to have gotten rid of Vivienne’s little toy.

But that’s not what happens at all.

The first thing Nadia hears is Karina’s surprised yelp. All rational thought leaves her at that moment. Before she can even blink, she’s already turning around, heading inside again like a demon let loose, hand moving towards her knife.

It takes her a moment to understand the scene before her, but the moment she does she sees red. Karina is caught in the guard’s grasp, expression open in honest surprise. Nadia can detect a tinge of panic twisting alongside ever eternal frustration, and understands this situation has happened before, and Karina had been as powerless then as she was now. Everything shifting with volcanic rage in her expression, Karina stomps on the guard’s foot with vigor.

The guard curses and yelps and flinches and Nadia instantly sees her opening. She pounces, eyes zeroing in on the spot that would guarantee a kill. It was second nature at this point.

True, she had promised to change for Karina. To hold back. To search for other methods, for other solutions. Nadia had grumbled and accepted it, but the instinct was never gone, not really. It’s the first thing that came to mind when something went wrong.

It’s the first thing that she was doing now, falling back into old habits.

The guard blocks her, still holding to Karina. She moves with him, a harsh tug that sets his balance off. That’s everything Nadia needs. Her knife is light and sure in her grasp, hungry for vengeance. She won’t miss.

“Nadia, wait!”

Against her better judgement, her body freezes mid strike, automatically responding to Karina’s yell- no, to her order. Unable to do anything else, she fixes the guard with a fulminating glare, daring him to do anything.

Karina continues. “I know that voice. Leon?”

The guard remains tense, though now thoroughly non-threatening.

“Leon?” Nadia repeats, with a huff. She can see it now, in his wide shoulders and tall frame. The knife would have been ineffective against someone like him, a mere bee’s sting. She huffs, relaxing her posture, still somewhat wary. “Explain. You didn’t betray them, did you?”

“Us,” Karina corrects, eyes narrowing. “And he’d never…”

She trails off at the same time Leon lets go of her, moving to take off the mask covering his mouth. His expression is filled with silent, thunderous determination.

“You guys planned this, didn’t you?” Karina asks, quietly. “You wanted to see what Nadia would do if I was in danger.”

Leon doesn’t shy away from her, which Nadia has to give him credit for. Karina could be scary when she wanted to, eyes dark like the deep end of the sea, where you couldn’t do anything else but drown.

The Poppy was hellbent on believing she was only deceiving Karina, weren’t they? After all this time? All of this?

Indignation burns away all other feelings. She distracts herself playing with her knife, frowning.

“Do you really trust me so little?” Karina explodes. “Do you- do you think that I don’t have a brain to make decisions or something? I know Nadia is dangerous. I’m not blind. I’m not a poor judge of character. I just- what were you guys thinking? Doing this- this… this test! What the hell were you trying to do? Provoke the inevitable? Nadia wouldn’t have abandoned me!”

Karina turns around, hand grabbing Nadia’s and dragging her off without another word. Leon remains where he is, resignation clouding his face, but even from here his relief is evident.

“I can’t believe their nerve! God! What if you hadn’t stopped and ended up stabbing him?”

“We are talking about Leon here. He can tank a knife.”

“I mean, yeah, but this could have been worse! It could have drawn in real guards, and then what?”

Nadia shrugs, knowing silence is the only option. Karina needs to vent.

“And I can’t believe they don’t trust me. I’ve told them about our dates, you know, you’d think they’d see-” She cuts herself off, quickly switching topics without really ending them. “I just know Remy and Jett must have driven all the other guards away. If we run into them, I’ll- oh my god, the maid we saw on the third floor! That’s it, I’m yelling at Vivienne too. I’m yelling at all of them.”

Nadia squints, vaguely remembering the maid Karina is referring to. The Poppy had clearly taken measures to ensure Karina wouldn’t be in any real danger whatsoever. This little test of theirs…

She sighs.

“Angel-”

“And don’t get me started on Zoe, she probably-”

“Angel.”

“-was watching the whole time! The moment I see another camera, I am-”

“Karina?”

“-so flipping her off!”

“Angel. Darling.”

That seems to make the trick. Karina whips around to glare at her.

“Don’t use darling. Please.”

Nadia nods. “Yes. I apologize. You weren’t listening.”

“Listening? Oh! I’m sorry, Nadia, I didn’t consider how this would make you feel… they are just acting like complete assholes, I know you would never-”

“No, no. It’s fine.” It’s not. Nadia is a woman of her word. She had told the Poppy that as soon as Karina and her had started dating, and to have her word so quickly brushed off…? It irked her. A lot. But she sucks it up and faces her girlfriend with the most neutral expression she can manage. “They are your family, Karina. I understand why they are worried.”

“They shouldn’t be.”

“But they are. As much as I dislike being tested like this, I’d say it helped win their favor. We should have no further problems from them.”

“But to go this far… they really crossed the line this time. I won’t forgive them.”

Gently, Nadia tugs Karina’s hand so she’ll stop walking. “If only humans weren’t this emotional... but the fact is they have a right to feel worried, just like you have a right to be angry.”

“We. Just like we.”

A small smile curls up her lips. “Just to be clear, I’d have done the same.”

“Huh?”

“If you were dating Vivienne. I would have tested her, too.”

Karina’s eyes go wide. “Hold on. That day, on the rooftop. You came to test me.”

Nadia swallows the fact that she had originally intended to kill her and just nods. The memory of her past self’s plans still made her skin crawl, even after all this time. She can’t fathom why she’d ever want to harm this woman, this angel. At least those thoughts are long gone, now.

Her girlfriend huffs and shakes her head.

“Am I the only one that would just choose to have a talk?”

“A shovel talk, you mean.”

“Hah. Maybe. So, your point was… I should forgive them? Really? Are you sure?”

“Oh, no, you can still bring them hell. Actually, please do. I was just trying to make you see things their way.”

Karina’s smile is downright predatory. “Oh, I’ll give them hell all right.”

[seyaryminamoto]

What do you think so far of Loki the Tv Series and Thor: Love and Thunder?

... Well, as you're asking me about this in particular, I'll assume you've already read my thoughts on Thor: Ragnarok? If you haven't, feel free to take a look at it and read just how utterly disappointed I am with the direction my favorite MCU branch was taken into, and why I've lost so much interest in Marvel content ever since :'D

This, then, resulted in me having zero faith in the Loki TV series. I've seen reactions to it, I know the jist of what happened in it, and so I'm something of a 99.99999999999% sure that I'd spend the whole thing seething if I ever tried to watch it. That it confirmed my Loki ship was real at one point is probably the only thing I can consider positive about it, and yet the way it went about the matter feels so wrong to me that I can't even take joy in the pseudo-canonization of my ship, which is really unfortunate for me.

I just really don't think that show is what many of us Loki fans from ages ago were hoping to see. Not everyone, yes, some people are thrilled with it, but not me, and I've seen a lot of adverse reaction from like-minded people that suggest I wouldn't enjoy it at all, much as they didn't.

I've been told that this isn't at all the same kind of writing from Ragnarok, the jokes I've seen don't really convince me of that, let alone do Loki's bursts of arrogance getting doused in stupid "comedic" ways: I guess I'm the party pooper around here if I say I like my Loki a little more intellectual than that...? It just feels like comics!Azula, man, an exaggeration of bad traits that weren't really there originally, let alone are they the core of the character, yet the whole fandom (and the writers/producers) are convinced of the opposite. But even if people are right and it IS a different sort of characterization, maybe it's just been long enough since I detached emotionally from Marvel that I genuinely don't care to see more questionable takes on a character I loved who will clearly never return to the characterization and nuance he had back in his very introduction to the franchise...? The very notion of him falling in love with his female self practically feels like the crowning jewel of jokes at his expense, the "Loki is so self-centered the only person he would possibly fall in love with is himself" sort of bullshit that a Loki hater would use to dismiss every single Loki ship out there? The main reason I loved him with Sif was precisely because, in how different they were, they had a few points in common that were positive traits, things that could bring them together regardless of their countless differences... what the show puts forward, like I said, feels like a very bad joke to me instead, and while that may not have been the writers' intent, I doubt watching the show would convince me that this is an intelligent writing choice to make altogether. Thus... nope, I really don't want to watch it, and I think people who love this show are perfectly happy to love it without me raining on their parade by writing countless posts tearing it down when it inevitably disappoints me. Better all around, for all of us, if I don't watch it at all.

As for Thor: Love and Thunder? My post on Ragnarok, again, should shed enough light regarding how little hope and interest I could possibly have in any Thor content helmed by Taika Waititi. He may be some brilliant movie director, producer, writer, even actor... but if all this is true, I suspect he decided he wants to use his brilliance in his own, original content, while taking advantage of Marvel's movies to get himself a nice, thick paycheck while half-assing the whole thing. I don't care to see this movie, I don't care to see any Thor content that relies on Ragnarok to determine characterization... and the critical and commercial success of that mediocre mess of a movie practically guarantees that, even if Waititi only makes this sequel and then goes on to his own projects, whoever dares make anything else about Thor in the future will have to do it by abiding by whatever Ragnarok and Love and Thunder have and will put forward. Therefore, nothing in Thor's future in the MCU seems promising to me at all, because what I want is in direct contradiction of what the casual moviegoers and the raging fandom want. Even if they give it to me one day, it's practically guaranteed that anything that chooses to privilege the original movie's characterization over the newer ones will never be received quite so enthusiastically and will get hated on relentlessly instead. Therefore... I declare my investment in the MCU has expired and is quite unlikely to make a return anytime soon.

In the end, everything in the MCU, from Ragnarok onwards, doesn't count for me, or for my love of any of the characters we met before then. If I ever create more content based on the MCU, you can be 100% sure I won't acknowledge any of that stuff as canon, and I'm sure I wouldn't change my mind about that if I watched the Loki show and Thor: Love and Thunder (heck, I might even be more determined to disregard it all, despite I'm already happy to disregard it as it is...)