#(full disclosure they are at this point actually the only ones I have assigned a fixed eeveelution oooops)

[boyfrillish]

My favourite eeveelutions are Vaporeon, Espeon, and Sylveon. Now guess which I assigned to my faves?

Nate is assigned Vaporeon (that goes all the way back. He also happens to have the water type association)

Victor is assigned Sylveon (the highest honour. And he’s the fairy type association)

[lunarheiress]

I have a lot of thoughts about dungeon Meshi since I finally got around to watching the new episodes that came out and put a lot of the discussion into a new perspective. (Also full disclosure I have not read the books though I wish to acquire them for that purpose at some point.)(also also I have to work so I’ll probably break this up into a few posts because time is short atm)

So, the recent fight between Toshiro and Laios. It’s got a lot going on, and people seem to really be trying to assign blame when both of them are at fault (one a bit more than the other in my opinion but I’ll get to that):

1. First of all, there’s the clash of culture a lot of people have been discussing where more open communication style is not mixing well with a subtler communication style. This can’t be ignored, as these modes form the basis of (or at least highly influence) how they learned to communicate in the first place.

2. Second, there’s the inherent character lack of communication skill. Laios obviously is and benefits from being direct, and struggles otherwise. Also i can’t quite remember what part gave me this impression but I felt that Toshiro struggles with expressing his thoughts more than just because of a cultural difference. Perhaps it’s a combination of factors but it really just seems like he’s on the opposite end of the ‘ways to be bad at communication’ spectrum from Laios.

3. Third. The situation they’re in is awful and Toshiro has not eaten or slept in days as Laios accurately points out. Toshiro is also (rightfully) shocked due to the black magic revelation. (Rightfully meaning within the in universe context of the stigma around black/ancient magic) The man has received some of the most frightening/worst case scenario ever imagined news and all while he’s running on whatever’s left after fumes. He’s stressed, unwell, not taking proper care of himself, and completely unable to pull himself together, especially compared to how well Laios comes across (all things considered)!!!

(As a very long side note, I also have some thoughts on the ancient magic. I don’t feel like we as the audience really know enough about ancient magic to pass judgment as harshly as characters in the story. The evil evil bad bad blah blah reputation the magic has might have come from biased sources, or the characters could be completely correct regarding the danger. I will say however, that I think the type of magic Marcille used seems to have nothing to do with Falin transforming into a dragon. The only things she didn’t know was that the dragon ‘soul’/physical body would remain in some way and that the mad mage had dominion over whatever it is that’s remained. This also raises some interesting questions about what the dragon was exactly. They say that only human souls remain tethered, so, is the dragon soul originally human? Did the mad mage create certain monsters and power them with human servants? Did he originally transform a person’s body into the dragon, but couldn’t this time fully because Falin’s bones didn’t belong to the dungeon? Or does the body of the dragon belonging to him give him control over Falin until she consumes enough outside food to replenish herself? So many questions)

4. We as an audience know how hard a time Laios has been having. He’s also been behaving like a lunatic and putting himself at risk in ways that definitely indicate he’s not being completely rational at times. However, Laios also seems (on the surface) incredibly unaffected by what’s going on from an outside point of view. Despite his direct nature Laios is shockingly good at compartmentalizing, as well as refocusing his attention and efforts. This is in no way a bad thing? His ability to remain composed and focused is astounding. The problem is that Laios is likely coming across as cavalier, or at the very least not taking things seriously enough. It’s actually the opposite, he’s taking this situation very seriously, so much at times he’s not being completely rational which can easily come across as carelessness if you don’t know Laios well enough.

So, to sum up this first part? The argument is kind of born from two people who are both uniquely bad at communication in a way that clashes severely. They have also built a relationship they both view very differently. (Some recent decisions on both their parts are not helping either tbh). This argument was going to happen eventually, it just happened to break at the worst time possible, turning what might have just been an uncomfortable conversation into a full blown fist fight. But there’s also so much going on around them and in the fight that I still want to talk about so badly aaaaa part 2 later I guess!

[impatient14]

Anthony J. Crowley as Lucifer: A Meta of Facts, Fiction, and Everything in Between

The theory that Crowley is Lucifer is hotly defended and contested, with naysayers typically casting the archangel Raphael as Crowley's identity in heaven (@vroomvroomwee's Crowley is Lucifer is particularly good-read the replies and reblogs too!) However, despite Raphael's notably absence in Heaven and the matchmaking plot of S2 (Raphael is traditionally associated with love and marriage), I think there is far more evidence that suggests he was Lucifer, instead. Yes, I know Crowley refers to Lucifer as someone other than himself in S1, but I'll get to that and everything else below the cut.

Full disclosure, I stumbled into this analysis from a different angle. Originally, I was just posting a quick little thought I had about Crowley's role on Earth. TLDR version, Crowley could have been acting not only as an agent of Hell on Earth to tempt humans but specifically ordered to tempt Aziraphale to Fall, an order he almost immediately succeeds in doing but chooses not to report. Since S2 made it clear that Crowley did not reserve his mercy for Aziraphale alone (i.e., his sense of fairness is intrinsic and not a characteristic obtained through his love for Aziraphale), it would be reasonable to think Crowley maneuvered himself into being assigned Hell's agent on Earth specifically to protect Aziraphale from Hell. This would not only mean Crowley remembered him from the beginning, it would mean he had the kind of power to assign himself that role. (It would also mean Crowley has been lying to both Hell and Aziraphale this whole time- a detail that would support Agnes Nutter's prophecy that "He is not who he says he is.")

This idea, that Crowley not only refused to send Aziraphale to Hell but actively protected him from it, screams rebellion--a characteristic Lucifer is most known for. Sure, you could argue all the angels who fell were rebellious (note here that Raphael never fell), but Crowley is the only demon in Hell who continued to rebel after he fell, making his association with the characteristic as notable as Lucifer's. This will be important in a moment.

Let's start with some history/translation issues.

The difference between Lucifer, Satan, and the Devil.

The conflation of these three names is a Christian phenomenon thought to have occurred in the process of organizing a conglomeration of "lost gospels" from numerous Christian sects, each one with their own translations and traditions. In the original Hebrew, "Satan" is actually ha-satan ("the satan"), defined as a role rather than a name (specifically the role of testing one's faith). At some point in the translation process, "the" is dropped and the tempter is simply, "Satan." Satan, before being completely subsumed by Lucifer, was considered Lucifer's vessel on earth-a separate entity.

Now, "Lucifer" is Latin for Venus' morning appearance. The word was taken from the Greek words Φωσφόρος (Phosphorus), "light-bringer", and Ἑωσφόρος (Eosphorus ), "dawn-bringer." So how did Lucifer become synonymous with a fallen angel? Folklore and metaphor. I could go really deep here, but instead I'll just say the Sumerian myth about the goddess Inanna's ability to descend into other realms including the underworld and then rise again to heaven. This myth is based in the synodic cycle of the planet--you guessed it--Venus (more specifically Venus in retrograde). Jump to the Book of Isaiah when the king of Babylon is condemned, Isaiah refers to the king as "Lucifer:"

How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! [how] art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations! {14:13} For thou hast said in thine heart, I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God: I will sit also upon the mount of the congregation, in the sides of the north: {14:14} I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the most High. {14:15} Yet thou shalt be brought down to hell, to the sides of the pit. {14:16}

Thus, the "morning star" falling from heaven is a motif born out of a long list of myths and translations that get thrown in a pot together, stirred up, and then served according to disparate cultures and traditions. Some of those traditions combined "the satan" and "Lucifer" into Satan/Lucifer, some others kept "Satan" and "Lucifer" as two separate beings, with Lucifer ruling over Satan who acts as an agent of temptation on earth. (Sound familiar? Hold that thought!)

In contrast to "Satan" and "Lucifer," "The Devil" can be deterritorialized more simply. The title comes from a series of translations of Greek's  διάβολος (diábolos), or "slanderer." Thus, how the Devil became synonymous with all things Satan, Lucifer, and Hell can be inferred via its etymology.

So, if in some traditions Satan's role is to tempt people's faith, that would mean Crowley is Satan, right? Under my thinking, yes and no.

In the Bible, "tempting" Eve simply meant asking why she hadn't eaten from the Tree of Knowledge and then telling her the truth about what would happen if did (i.e., she would not die as God claimed but would instead be granted the wisdom to know the difference between good and evil). This is important if you recall that "the satan" may act as an agent of hell, but it isn't inherently good or evil, it's there by God's design to test people. So in this way, sure. Crowley plays the role of "the satan." But in the Good Omen's universe, Satan is given definition as the King of Hell (aka Benedict Cumberbatch and a team of CGI wizards), while Lucifer is only mentioned once (I'm getting there, promise!). Given all the amalgamations we've just gone over, it isn't outside the realm of possibility that Gaimon and Pratchett switched their roles. If anything, it makes far more sense that "Lucifer" would become "Crowley" over "Satan." Lucifer was an angel not a deity, so he would become a demon, while the Satan of Good Omens is set up as a direct opponent to God.

But why does Crowley have to have been Lucifer? Couldn't he have been another fallen angel?

Sure. But it isn't a coincidence that Lucifer and Raphael aren't mentioned by name (except once, I know!). Crowley's physical characteristics are more inline with Lucifer's than Raphael's (according to literary tradition, i.e., Paradise Lost and Dante's Inferno); he was the first one to say "let there be light;" rebellion is intrinsic to him (continuously rebelling against hell); he's androgynous (Lucifer as the masculine fallen angel and the feminine Venus); and he has many faces (which he shows off more in S1). Plus, Lucifer is said to have committed the sin of Pride, something Crowley demonstrated a lot of after he cranked the cosmos.

Also, S2 has made perfectly clear that Crowley is insanely powerful for a demon. (I'm convinced the huge power surge they investigate is not the miracle that hides Gabriel but is in fact the burst of energy Crowley produces when he's angry. It occurs at roughly the same time and in the same place. Narratively, it'd be just as easy to have the blackout occur another way, so Crowley's power surge must have another purpose.) In the book, the Narrator of Good Omens (God) says, "Crowley has something no other demons have, especially not Hastur--an imagination." Crowley is repeatedly singled out as being different than the other demons. He is able to read the report that is locked to everyone but the highest of authorities in Heaven.

So, now let's talk about that quote from S1: "I never asked to be a demon. I was just minding my own business one day and then... oh, lookie here, it's Lucifer and the guys!"

It's reasonable to assume Crowley is referring to himself saying "lookie here" after he was the subject of the first part of that sentence. But in actuality, the suggestion that Crowley was "minding his own business" would contradict him then going up to a group of people and initiating a conversation. Therefore, the ellipses (as they are designed to do) represent an absent thought. In this situation, the transition of the subject. In this moment, Crowley is recalling the moments before he fell, when he was minding his own business (while in the company of others) when someone singled out him the other rebels/questioners.

Taken another way, it's also entirely possible that Crowley is referring to himself in the third person as an outside viewer of the situation because, in point of fact, even if Crowley was Lucifer, Lucifer no longer exists according to Neil:

What does all this mean?

It means that even if Crowley was Lucifer, Lucifer doesn't exist because Good Omens takes place after the Fall. Now, this may put a little hiccup in the idea that Crowley can read the top secret files because he was an archangel, but I think it can be explained away via the ineffable plan. It is obvious that God still loves Crowley and shows him preferential treatment. It isn't outside the realm of possibility that she allowed him to keep certain parts of Lucifer as he Fell--especially if he was going to play the role as tempter on Earth. Clearly Crowley retained some of his angelic "goodness," which includes a unique moral code on Earth. Otherwise he'd be just like all the other demons. Crowley has to have enough good in him to appreciate humans, to be able to differentiate who should be tempted and how. He has to understand them in order to tempt them. This, I would argue, is the perfect punishment for an angel that questioned God's creation of man (but we know now he was just questioning the subsequent destruction of the universe he created). For daring to challenge her plan, God sends Lucifer (aka Crowley) to Earth to live among the humans he didn't value in Heaven. But, as we've seen, Crowley can still go up to heaven even when he's not in Aziraphale's body. Just like "morning star" Venus, Crowley can rise to the heavens, idle at the horizon, or fall into darkness. Even as "Crowley," Lucifer is still God's favorite.

So to go back up to where we started, it's possible that Hell ordered Crowley to tempt Aziraphale into falling, but God allowed Crowley to retain a sense of justice, and, perhaps more notability, his ability to love. I think Beelzebub and Gabriel's coupling is a sign that Heaven and Hell's hold on angels and demons weakens when they are confronted with human experiences, which would explain Crowley's very loose allegiance and Aziraphale's increasing discontent with Heaven. The difference between them is that Crowley--on some level--remembers what it's like to be an authority but not THE authority in Heaven, and he knows how fruitless Aziraphale's mission is. As the serpent, he has all this knowledge but Aziraphale is still very naïve, still devoted to the idea of "good" vs. "evil." He needs to see for himself that this dichotomy doesn't exist, even with him in charge. Once he's able to see this and understand what it means for his identity, I think we'll see the most elaborate "I Was Wrong" dance in history.

(Note: I didn't proofread this before posting, because I don't wanna. Now I'm going to devote a stupid amount of time trying to see if I can figure out what the damn J stands for.)

[bonefall]

any crumbs for bb bone and specifically pre-thunderclan iceheart? your take on bloodclan is super interesting :0

Full disclosure: There is a large part of BloodClan History from the Campaign Era (Bluestar's Flowers) to just before the Slash-and-Burn period (TPB) that I'm still shuffling.

This is specifically because I need to hammer out exact details for the Attack on ShadowClan. But anyway--

I want to tell some sort of retooled version of Rise of Scourge that's basically a glimpse into BloodClan and its culture. Instead of Scourge founding it, he joins it as a peon, works his way up as a Problem (warrior role), eventually joins the inner circle of leadership, and takes part in one of their chaotic Succession events.

Succession events are how new leaders are decided. They're a desperate trial period where the given candidates try to prove their worthiness by paying some sort of tribute.

So, for example, Scourge ultimately traps and kills a dog, proving his intelligence and ruthlessness.

Others have tried to kill their competition... which is only disqualifying if you get caught, obviously.

(NOTE: BloodClan has social problems too, it's not my intention to just have it be perfect lmao. It is still quite brutal!! It's just more open about it than the Clans!)

I know I want Scourge to have some sort of formative run-in with Clan cats at some point, where he personally experiences their cruelty.

I actually don't want this to be with Tigerpaw though-- I want no part of Tigerclaw's gutting to be personal. Having that moment be some form of revenge when the page clearly show it's self defense against a murderous dictator throwing a tantrum is one of my most hated retcons, tbh

Re: Darkest Hour Is A Personal Disappointment

Bone was pretty young when she had her kits, and was rising through the ranks at that time. She's around the same age as Yellowfang now.

I think she was one of the other candidates for leadership, but fell in line behind Scourge when she lost.

It's likely that the previous leader was Hal, who died trying to get Brick's niece out of ShadowClan.

Bone is very close with Snake and Ice. They're her idiots.

Those are their Problem names, btw! A Problem chooses a new name when they're registering for work, the name is supposed to be edgy to make you sound ruthless, so you get chosen for good assignments.

Unfortunately though it is very much the Heavy Metal effect where all the cats are edgy, so no one is lmao. But the practice remains.

one day there's going to be a Problem named Party Canon and he's going to get all the good jobs.

I wrote a Brief BloodClan Guide here if you'd like to see that

[schraubd]

The Intolerance of Being Unhappy When Extremists Succeed

There's an emergent line I'm seeing from the nationalist-conservative right, complaining about how, as their practical power increases, they and their ideas are no longer looked upon with the same degree of affability as when they were fringe activists chirping at the margins. Adam Mortara put it as follows after he and Jonathan Mitchell, architect of Texas' SB8 and some of the most radical anti-abortion pushes in the country, received an (allegedly) chilly reception by a liberal former mentor.*

“It was hurtful . . . and eye-opening,” Mortara said. “You’re fine when you’re just a yappy little dog that can’t bite. But, if you grow up to be a big dog that can actually do stuff, then you’re probably going to be put down.”

Justice Alito said something similar in his whine-terview in the Wall Street Journal last week -- he alleged that he's really no different than Antonin Scalia, but Scalia was tolerated by liberal elites because he was mostly in dissent. Now that Justice Alito commands a majority, things hit different.

"When you're in dissent," Justice Alito observes, "well, his ideas were amusing and interesting. He spoke at a lot of law schools and he was honored at law schools, but he wasn't a threat, because those views were not prevailing on issues that really hit home."

This line is presented as some sort of gotcha to the liberals. "Oh, you tolerated us when our ideas were basically just fascinating thought experiments, but now that we're winning it's dangerous." To which I say: yes! That's how it works! 

The whole point of liberal free speech commitments is that there is a sizeable gap between "views one is willing to consider and debate" and "views which it would be good, or even acceptable, to prevail in political life." We don't limit our consideration only to those positions which we're willing to endorse on-the-merits; which means that there is no conflict between engaging in such consideration in the abstract and being appalled when certain views actually start winning the day in "real" politics. The "gotcha" completely misunderstands the point of what liberal tolerance in the context of an abstract intellectual discussion is supposed to signify, or commit to.

For example, it is entirely plausible that one might assign, in a political theory class, works by Lenin, and consider/debate them in the classroom context. That's perfectly appropriate. But if the Leninists actually start seizing political power and instituting the purges, that would be bad! And if they said, "Oh, it was fine to debate our ideas in the classroom, but now that we're actually in charge and establishing gulags you have a problem with it," well, yeah, I do! Clearly! And I can think the same thing of compulsory pregnancy and forced childbirth. As a professor, it is important to debate these questions. But the actual political reality of it is catastrophic, and it's fine to say so.

It is not a failure of liberal tolerance to be unhappy when illiberal authoritarianism is on the march. A willingness to debate and consider these views as abstract intellectual exercises does not make said unhappiness hypocrisy. This isn't that complicated.

* Full disclosure: the mentor in question was David Strauss, who was my mentor in law school as well. I also got to know Mitchell when I was a law student, and can attest that he is a personally very pleasant person to interact with in addition to possessing a formidable intellect. Any one who knows Professor Strauss is well aware of his commitment to nurturing and supporting law students from a range of different ideological backgrounds, and so I have no doubt he is genuine in feeling hurt that Mitchell has used his prodigious legal talents in service of dangerous, even lawless, public initiatives.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/OWq6ye8

[drowninginblox]

Rewatching voltron

I’m only on season one and- I want to filter my thoughts I guess

Okay so full disclosure-

I forgot most of Voltron and I wanted to watch it again just to see where it went wrong + maybe rewrite it. Most of this list is grievances and high praises. But yknow- it’s fun for me.

Hunk deserves better

Of course best boy is going first

I distinctly remember from the end of voltron that hunk didn’t have alot of moments to shine. I’m only in episode 5 as of writing this point and I see SO MUCH PROMISE. He’s a great middle man, he’s loyal as hell, and he’s so smart! The following seasons are gonna be painful for me I know it.

“You have a better idea?” / “Actually yes I do.”

That’s it. That’s the red talk.

Coran deserves better

I want more caring dad

Why couldn’t we have more??

He cares so much for Allura and for w h a t

The “we make a good team” line + TW: Klance in general

Holy shit us Klance shippers were sooooo desperate. Like- my god. We fucking ran with that shit to the universe and back god damn. And it all started from that one line. I don’t know if I should be proud or disappointed my god.

Since we’re talking about this ship- there are a lot of missed opportunities for Keith and Lance’s dynamic and individual character. Like, I think, we all forget that Lance was the person who came up with the plan, when him and Keith were supposed to sabotage the galra forces at Balmera (living mining planet). Lance was actively aware of the planets saltines and he stopped kids from acting on his impulses, resulting in them (initially) covertly deactivating  the hanger so they can prevent further reinforcements.

I also don’t like how the scene introduces Keith’s heritage. I understand that this is a set up for a greater plot point and we’re not really supposed to know how Keith activates galra tech but- fuck I need to go on a tangent in the later seasons if I go along with this series of blog posts, I guess

Gundom every few episode format

POWER RANGERS TAKE NOTES

Holy shit I LOVE that a group of episodes are dedicated to arcs that help the main story and THAT THE BIG MONSTER DOESN’T SHOW UP EVERY EPISODE

If only we had this more often-

Ages

I do not know how old these fuckers are and that is concerning. The only information I have on age is one of the Galra generals calling Pidge a child when they were taking over the castle. Like- Voltron please tell me how old these mfs are.

I have my own HCs ofc but like- CMON.

Speaking of, Pidge is giving 14-16, Hunk, Lance, Keith and Allura are giving 17 to 18, Shiro is giving 18-25, and Coran is at a good 34-40 not including the 10000 year long freeze Allura and Coran went through

Minor characters

I love the tribal civilization at inhabits allura’s home planet

The POWs, Shay’s people, the mercenaries, I love all of these guys

I like how the planets are alive

Just- good job Voltron for universe building

The lions are their own characters

I really like the idea of the lions being specific with who they allow in as their pilots. However, I wish that the selectiveness was a longer process. And key situation it was a life or death one. It felt like the redline had to actively choose, whether or not to save him from the deep vacuum of space. Meanwhile, for pitch it was just oh hop in and get going you know. Same with Shiro I get that he unlocked the synchronicity of the lien and pilot relationship immediately, but it feels too give in.

Piggybacking off of that I don’t like that Alura basically assigns the paladins Hogwarts houses as soon as she sees them. I think that’s bullshit. I got that she grew up with the lions and was born shortly after their creation but still. 

I also like how during battle of the lines actively recommend which strategies and weapons, the pilot should use, and which ones they refused to go along with

Also- element powers?? I miss those

Quintessence

Idk the yellow goo before being refined into quintessence having healing properties- WHY WAS THAT FORGOTTEN??? That could’ve been huge! Even if it only applies to galuras

Also- god I wish there was rules for Allurans powers and wtf quintessence is.

The Black Lion (the episode not the actual mech)

I forgot so much of this season holy shit.

The main conflict being tied to Shiro connection w/ his lion is a great plot point

It also is a great reveal that Zarkon is the original black palidin. I love how the B

Also- Shiro coming head to head with his PTSD is m w a h

Peak Keith in this ep (for this season ofc) Ofc he would take on Zarkon by himself. I’m so mad I forgot about that

THE BLADE!!!!!!!!!!!! I literally screamed when I saw them lol

[sparkymalone]

What does the future foundation (the people who watch the cameras) think of Fuyuhiko's night activities?

(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

(Full disclosure, I didn't want to try to figure out who would actually be doing this, so I just used some of my all-purpose OCs. Hopefully it's not too weird, lol)

"Oh God, they're at it again."

It was late at night. Most of the staff had gone home. Since the night shift was typically pretty quiet, the Future Foundation usually only assigned one person to monitor the simulation.

On this particular evening, two staff members were watching the monitors. Izumi wasn't assigned to this particular post, but she had been awake anyway, and decided she might as well do something productive.

Besides, these stupid kids were growing on her.

She was in the process of lighting up a cigarette (there was no smoking in the control room, but she knew Finch wouldn't rat her out) when the man beside her groaned.

Izumi looked up at the monitors, brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

Finch grimaced and pointed at the screen displaying the inside of the Remnants' cottages. Most of them were still, since the occupants were asleep. A few of the Remnants seemed to still be awake, but minding their own business. One of the screens, however...

Izumi's eyebrows shot up. "Oh."

Her partner scratched under his chin, trying not to look too closely at the feed. "Yeah... They've been doing that... a lot lately."

Casually taking a drag from her cigarette, Izumi leaned closer. Kuzuryu was in his bed, as he should be, but he wasn't alone. Hinata (the higher-ups insisted on referring to him as "Kamukura" but Izumi refused) was there, too, and the two of them were... well.

"Huh. I never would've guessed," she commented, sitting back in her chair.

Finch raised an eyebrow at her. "Really? They don't do shit like this on your shift?"

Izumi shook her head. Hinata and Kuzuryu spent a lot of time together, sure, and she had definitely gotten some ~vibes~ from them, but she just assumed it was all in her head. Seeing the two of them tangled together in Kuzuryu's bed was oddly vindicating.

"So this happens a lot?" she asked, trying not to stare. Watching two teenagers have sex would be weird, Izumi, don't fucking look.

Finch nodded, grabbing the carton of cigarettes off the desk and pulling one out for himself. "Most nights, yeah. It's wild to me that you didn't know about it." He paused with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. "Shit, do I need to report this?"

The woman beside him hummed thoughtfully. On the one hand, they were supposed to record any fraternization between the Remnants. On the other hand, she had been rooting for these two for so long, and she wasn't sure what the higher-ups would do if they knew two of the Remnants were sleeping together.

"...I think it's fine," Izumi finally replied.

Nodding, Finch looked back at the monitor. "That's what I thought, too. They're just teenagers in the sim, right? Horny teenagers are normal." He fiddled with the cheap lighter Izumi had brought, swearing in English as he burnt his fingers. "It's not like they hooked up in real life."

Izumi gasped. "Do you think they ever hooked up in real life?! That would be-" She cut herself off, realizing she was getting carried away shipping real people.

"I think someone would've noticed, right?" Finch asked.

"I don't know, we lost track of Kamukura for a long time, right? He could've been doing anything during that time. Or anyone."

Finch shook his head. "Yeah, but the Foundation had eyes on Kuzuryu the whole time. They definitely would've noticed if he hooked up with Kamukura, don't you think?" He grinned at the woman next to him. "Sounds like wishful thinking on your end."

Izumi scowled at him. "Shut up. I just think they make a really cute couple." Maybe it was a weird way to think about literal war criminals, but for some reason, she just wanted them to be happy.

"The sim is supposed to reprogram them or whatever, right? Maybe when they get out, they'll hook up for real." Finch took a drag from his cigarette, glancing at the monitor for a moment before looking awkwardly away.

Averting her eyes as well, Izumi nodded. "Yeah... Maybe."

Silence fell over the control room as the two of them tried not to notice the boys finishing up. Once it seemed like the two Remnants were asleep, Finch glanced at his partner.

"You seem weirdly invested in those two."

Izumi shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Their whole situation is just so sad, you know? They deserve some happiness, right?"

Finch snorted. "They literally destroyed the world."

The woman glared back at him. "I know that," she snapped. Honestly, she wasn't sure why she cared. The Remnants were, in fact, dangerous criminals, and this whole simulation plan just felt like wishful thinking on Naegi's part.

Still, for some reason, seeing Hinata and Kuzuryu sleeping peacefully together gave her an odd sense of... hope.

Izumi grimaced, not ready to admit that to her partner. Finch would almost certainly make fun of her for it. Instead, she stubbed out her cigarette and climbed to her feet. "Whatever, I'm going to try and get some sleep."

Finch gave her a nod. "Thanks for keeping me company. Sorry it got weird," he added with a grin.

She couldn't help but smile back. "Next time, warn me that something like that could happen, you perv."

The foreigner balked. "What?! I'm not... I wasn't watching it on purpose!"

Laughing, Izumi took her leave, ignoring Finch's protests.

.

To answer your question, opinions are varied lmao

[shadowsong26x]

So over this past weekend, I watched a 1978 TV movie version of Les Miserables, because it is my current brainrot.

Overall, I liked it. It's a movie/adaptation that very much knows what it wants to be about. Admittedly, (at least based on AO3 stats) I don't know if it would super appeal to the majority of the modern fandom, but it definitely appealed to me.

(I say this because...well, the entire 1832 sequence is condensed to the last 35ish minutes; a solid chunk of that is Cosette and Marius making googly eyes at each other (also dedicating a couple minutes to including his grandfather because sure); the only one of the boys who is named, let alone Identifiable, is Enjolras and he's...frankly kind of underwhelming.)

But basically, this movie knows it wants to be about Valjean and Javert first and foremost, and since the two of them (and their [actual or potential] dynamic(s) with Cosette) are what I'm here for, I'm good with that. For example, we spend a solid 15-20 minutes in Toulon with the two of them and it is Great.

In terms of marks against it, I will say that I think Fantine in particular gets kind of shortchanged in this adaptation; also Thenardier never resurfaces in Paris, he's only in the one scene where Valjean acquires Cosette--like I said, the 1832 sequence is relatively short compared to most other adaptations I'm familiar with, so a lot of stuff gets cut out. The movie also ends with Marius and Cosette's wedding, which feels a little abrupt (like...it goes sewers -> Javert's death -> wedding -> roll credits). There are also a few bits of staging that didn't age super well and some facial hair that is. Very Seventies, but those are fairly minor things.

Again, overall, I liked it. It knows what it wants to be; what it wants to be appeals to me, personally, very much. There are some Good bits and some Eh bits, overall it's solid.

So with all of that, now I get to the reason why I'm making this post, and why I think you should watch it anyway, and that is Anthony Perkins as Javert. Because he is just. Fucking incredible.

Like. Cannot overstate how well this man understood the assignment.

A lot of it comes down to pretty subtle things--facial expressions; the way he looks at Valjean at different points in the storyline; the way (apart from two scenes) he's always pretty collected on the surface, even in moments when he's Clearly either Seething or Breaking underneath. (The final conversation in the sewer is just. His Entire Face.) (Also the moment where he first spots Valjean again in 1832; doesn't recognize him at first; the wheels are Visibly turning in his head and then he goes oh my god what the fuck. It's a Delight.) (And of course, the 'I fucked up and denounced you unfairly, you should punish me' scene is. Again, holding himself together on the surface but Breaking underneath and. Especially in contrast to the next scene/the confrontation at Fantine's deathbed which is one of the two scenes where he is Not particularly collected.) (And then there's that one Really Awkward Carriage Ride shortly after.)

I was going to get screencaps of some of these and. It doesn't. It doesn't really convey the full effect if he's not in motion, alas.

Essentially, the movie is fully leaning into him as a deuteragonist and I am Here For It.

(Full disclosure, I do ship them, and. This movie supports that. There's. There's a lot of staring. One might even say Gazing.)

Anyway, the whole thing is on YouTube and I highly recommend watching it, if only for Anthony Perkins as Javert.

((I have also discovered that the 2012 film of the musical is available on Netflix; so that's probably what I'm going to do next weekend after I move. I haven't seen it since it was in theatres, and my recollection is that, while there were definitely some Choices that didn't work out, overall it got a lot more flak than it deserved. We'll see if I feel the same way now, 10 and a half years later, lol.))

((I am not currently planning to watch the 1998 film, even if I can find it, because...look, I want to want to watch it, but I remember how it ends and I have Serious Issues With That. And I feel like, if the movie so fundamentally misunderstands its protagonist at that point, I don't have super high hopes for the rest. Which is a Shame, because, like...it's Liam Neeson and Geoffrey Rush; Uma Thurman and Claire Danes; like. You Cannot Go Wrong With This Cast And Yet.))

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Leor Sapir and Lisa Littman

Published: Dec 23, 2023

Rapid onset gender dysphoria (ROGD) is one of the most controversial issues in the ongoing debate about transgender identity and medical sex trait modification in youth. In a new Letter to the Editor in the Archives of Sexual Behavior, we (and co-author Michael Biggs) criticize an article by Jack Turban et al., “Age of Realization and Disclosure of Gender Identity Among Transgender Adults,” which argues against ROGD.

We were heartened to see even vocal opponents of the ROGD hypothesis say that our Letter is “a reasonable critique of Turban’s methods.” Critics of ROGD who are scientific and open-minded should at least be able to recognize poor attempts to criticize the hypothesis. We also appreciate the criticisms our Letter has received since it came out, even if some of these criticisms were enveloped in ad hominem fallacies.

In this article, we respond to five points raised by critics.

Given that ROGD is a new and important area of research, and that the health and wellbeing of youth is on the line, we believe thoughtful scientific debate is essential.

1: The place of USTS-15 in the ROGD debate

We did not argue and do not think that the U.S. Transgender Survey of 2015 is the most valuable data source for evaluating the ROGD hypothesis. USTS-15 surveyed adults only, and at a time when adolescent-onset gender dysphoria was still on the rise. As such, it is not the ideal resource for exploring the ROGD hypothesis. We point this out in our Letter. What we did argue is: even if you agree with Turban et al. that the USTS-15 is a good resource for exploring ROGD, the USTS-15 data actually provides more evidence for than against it.

2: Evidence for ROGD in USTS-15

As we point out in the Letter, the USTS-15 asks three questions:

3.1 At about what age did you begin to feel that your gender was “different” from your assigned birth sex?

3.2 At about what age did you start to think you were trans (even if you did not know the word for it)?

3.3 At about what age did you first start to tell others that you were trans (even if you did not use that word)? [Or] I have not told others that I am trans.

Turban et al. measure time from “realization” of a transgender identity to disclosing that identity to others using Q3.1 as their proxy for “realization” of a transgender identity. Moreover, they do so only for adults who said they realized their trans identity before age 10. We questioned both of these choices (more on using Q3.1 later). Measuring time to disclosure among those who said they realized at age 11 or older (meaning, ROGD relevant experiences), we found that the mode was 1 year and the median 3 years.

A more intuitive proxy for “realization” would be Q3.2, “started to think you were trans.” When we use Q3.2 as the proxy, the results are extremely supportive of the ROGD hypothesis, as the tables below demonstrate:

The median time from realization to disclosure is one year or less. Approximately two thirds of respondents (n = 3,685) said that they went from “starting to think I am trans” to disclosing a trans identity to others within a time frame no reasonable person can deny is “rapid.”

However, in our Letter we wanted to be generous to Turban et al.’s ROGD-antagonistic approach, which is why our analysis in the Letter (Table 1) uses Q3.1 (Turban et al.’s choice) as the proxy for “realization.” Using that proxy, we found a mode of 1 year and a median of 3 years. Some critics claimed that 3 years is not “rapid” (we address this question below). For now, we thought it might be useful to provide the full data on time from realization to disclosure using Q3.1:

These data show that out of 5,880 age-relevant respondents, 1,310 went from “first feeling gender was different from sex” to disclosing their trans identity within 1 year, and 817 did it in less than a year. This makes for a total of 2,127, or approximate one-third of the group, who, by Turban et al.’s restrictive assumptions, developed and disclosed a trans identity to others in a very short time frame.

In sum, between 1/3 and 2/3 of respondents reported a timeline that supports the ROGD hypothesis. (Note: Littman never suggested that ROGD describes all adolescents and young adults who identity as transgender. She proposed it as a pathway to GD in a subset of this demographic.) Even critics of ROGD must admit that the USTS-15 shows some evidence of the phenomenon.

3: Is Q3.1 a reliable proxy?

Should we measure time to disclosure from when respondents first “started to feel their gender is different from their sex” (Q3.1) or from when they “first started to think they are trans even if they didn’t have words to express it at the time” (Q3.2)? Critics of ROGD choose the first option because it produces a longer (i.e., less “rapid”) trajectory of development. As we’ve seen, however, even with this approach, one-third of respondents in the relevant group still went from not having a problem with their sex to rejecting it in the space of one year or less.

One problem here is recall bias. As we point out in the Letter, USTS-15 recruited respondents through advocacy networks, and contemporary trans advocacy relies on unsubstantiated theories of innate, even biological, gender identity (due to the political potency of these theories and their relevance in American constitutional litigation). The combination of a psychological inclination (need?) to believe one was “born this way” and sampling bias means that we shouldn’t take respondents’ answers to Q3.1 at face value. Turban et al. do, however, and we think that leaves their study with a high risk of bias.

Let us demonstrate this bias with a common scenario. Imagine an autistic girl who, at age 10, starts to realize she doesn’t fit in socially. Two years later, at age 12, she is introduced to gender identity theory and starts consuming YouTube content by transgender influencers. She begins to use transgender identity as a lens through which to interpret her life experiences and specifically her social maladjustment. Ah ha! she thinks. This is why I’ve been feeling that I don’t fit in! At age 13, she tells her parents that she is trans. Five years later, she participates in USTS-15 and recalls feeling her “gender was different from her sex” at age 10.

This girl, who fits the ROGD profile perfectly, is retrospectively interpreting her experiences from age 10 to 12 to meet her current psychological needs. She didn’t spend ages 10 to 12 thinking about her “gender.” Instead, she convinced herself in hindsight that that was the problem all along.  Recall bias means that USTS-15 has no way of telling apart respondents like our hypothetical autistic girl and respondents who really did start thinking about “their gender being different from their sex” three years before disclosing a trans identity to others. Neither Turban et al. nor we can do more than speculate about what went on in the minds of respondents during the 2 years between the time points captured in Q3.1 and Q3.2. In fact, we can’t even know that they did start “feeling different” (whatever that means) at a median of 3 years before disclosure.

Unlike Turban et al., we acknowledge this uncertainty in USTS-15. We argue that Q3.2 is the more the natural choice for measuring identity development because it contains less ambiguity (it asks about first realization of trans identity explicitly). By contrast, Turban et al. assume, without any evidence and while ignoring the problems of recall and sampling bias, that if a respondent said “I start feeling my gender was different” at age 10, then there is no question the respondent first “realized” a “transgender or gender diverse” identity at age 10.

4: What counts as “rapid”?

Here we get to what appears to be the main criticism of our Letter, which is that 3 years—the median time from realization to disclosure using Q3.1—is not “rapid” at all. Others said we were moving the goal posts for what counts as rapid in order to keep the ROGD theory alive.

What “rapid” means is a good question. We do not address it in our Letter, and to our knowledge it has never really been discussed in the academic literature. Before we offer some thoughts, we wanted to emphasize, again, that even if we use Turban’s method but restrict it to the relevant age group (18-24), the USTS-15 shows evidence of 2,127 respondents who have onset of gender dysphoria or trans identity within one year or less.

Critics of ROGD will naturally want to define “rapid” as narrowly as possible so as to minimize the incidence of ROGD. Thus, for instance, Assigned Media’s Evan Urquhart writes: “In 2018, Lisa Littman estimated that youth with ROGD declared their trans identity between one week and three months after displaying signs of gender dysphoria. When the data failed to back this up, she and other proponents did away with the rapidity.”

Actually, only 26 percent of Littman’s 2018 sample went from non-dysphoric to dysphoric in three months or less. The times from non-dysphoria to dysphoria in the remainder of the sample were:

4-6 months: 12.4%

7-9 months: 4%

10-12 months: 11.6%

More than 12 months: 8%

Don’t know: 5.6%

Did not seem at all gender dysphoric when they announced a trans identity: 32.4%

Littman did not define what counts as “rapid.” She merely presented the findings from her survey. What Urquhart is doing here is setting up a straw man. By misrepresenting Littman’s findings, and then mischaracterizing those findings as a definition, Urquhart is leading readers to believe that Littman (along with Sapir and Biggs) are now redefining “rapid” due to inconvenient findings in USTS-15. Littman no doubt considers three months or less to be “rapid,” but it hardly follows that her original hypothesis considers anything beyond three months to be non-rapid.

Let us, once again, try to be as charitable as we can to critics of ROGD. Let’s suppose that Q3.1 is the correct proxy for “realization.” Let’s assume that the median is 3 years from realization to disclosure. And let’s forget, for a moment, that even under these assumptions, 2,127 respondents still said that they went from no issues with their sex to trans-identified within a year or less.

Is 3 years “rapid”? Rapid is a relative term. Turban et al. report that the median time from realization to disclosure (in the “early realization”) cohort is 14 years. Three years is rapid compared to 14.

More importantly, until recently the two recognized subtypes of gender dysphoria were adult-onset (almost all middle-aged males) and childhood-onset. The latter was observed to manifest from very early in life through gender nonconformity and confusion. The Dutch protocol, which started the pediatric transition experiment, recommended only adolescents who had childhood-onset of symptoms. By the time they emerged into puberty and were eligible for puberty blockers, candidates would have had to be dysphoric for quite a few years.

Thus, a possible definition of “rapid” is: dysphoria that arises in the context of puberty as opposed dysphoria that begins much earlier in life and persists into adolescence. The first sentence of Littman’s 2018 article abstract reads: “In on-line forums, parents have reported that their children seemed to experience a sudden or rapid onset of gender dysphoria, appearing for the first time during puberty or even after its completion” (our emphasis).

Littman might have spared us the headache of quibbling over the exact meaning of “rapid” by choosing another term—say, “adolescent-onset gender dysphoria with novel and unknown etiology.” As we’ll discuss in a moment, the hypothesis about rapidity, though important, is not more important than the hypothesis about trans identity being a maladaptive coping mechanism or arising due to social/peer influence or internalized homophobia. If trans identity is secondary to these other issues, that has massive implications for clinical care. The precise speed at which a teenager comes to use a trans identity as a way to cope with, say, internalized homophobia and a history of sexual trauma, is less important than recognizing the trans identity as a coping mechanism and not letting it get in the way of a more productive therapeutic approach.

Some critics might argue that 3 years cannot be rapid, period. But this claim depends on context. Is a 1-month period from spraining one’s ankle to full recovery rapid? That depends on whether we’re talking about an 80-year-old with multiple health problems or a 15-year-old athlete.

There is a tendency among gender clinicians and researchers to treat “gender” as an exceptional aspect of human identity. Thus, when considering what counts as “rapid,” it’s worth thinking about the pace at which other aspects of human identity develop—for instance, patriotic attachment, religious identity, relationships with family members, realizing our vocation in life, and so on. These aspects typically take far longer than 3 years. Sometimes they never end.

Take the example of finding your vocation. It’s common these days for people to finally figure out what they want to do in life in their mid- or late-thirties, after more than a decade of trying things out, experiencing disappointment, going through periods of feeling everything is pointless and nothing is fulfilling, and so on. Some people go through life never figuring out what their calling is. Now, imagine we were to come across a teenager who, in the space of 3 years between age 12 and 15, figured out, definitively, that her calling in life is to be a biochemical engineer. Could we not reasonably say that this teenager had a rapid-onset of vocational identity?

Going from not even thinking about one’s sex as a problem to “feeling uncomfortable being a girl” to “knowing I’m a boy who was assigned the wrong sex at birth” is, to put it mildly, a dramatic change. To go through such a change in the space of even 3 years can reasonably be described as “rapid.”

5: Can children identify as transgender in secret?

According to Turban et al.’s interpretation of USTS-15 data:

The median age at which those in the childhood realization group first told someone about their gender identity was 20 years and the median number of years between realizing their TGD identities and telling another person was 14 years. With survey weights applied, the childhood realization group had a median of 17 years between realizing their identities and first telling someone, with a median of age 22 for the latter.

Thus, individuals who “realized” a transgender identity in childhood did so at a very early age and somehow managed to conceal it from their caregivers for many years.

In our Letter, we question Turban et al.’s assumption that young children can hide their confusion about or discomfort with their sex from their parents. Four-year-olds are not particularly good at hiding information about their favorite color, let alone about “being transgender.” Turban and his coauthors might have avoided this credibility-destroying claim by taking USTS-15 respondents’ recollections about identity development with a grain of salt (which they do, readily and happily, when it comes to the experiences of detransitioners).

One critic of our paper took to X to point out that, in fact, “parents being unaware of their children's gender incongruence/dysphoria is pretty commonplace.” The critic linked to a 2021 study from the Toronto gender clinic, which she says shows that “about half of caregivers didn’t realize their children were trans until they came out, despite the children realizing that on average years before.”

It’s misleading, however, to say that the study corroborates Turban et al.’s conclusions. The finding in the 2021 study pertains to young adolescents who recalled having first “recognition of gender incongruence” at median age 11.3. Adolescents are definitely more capable than children of withholding information from their parents. Does that mean parents won’t detect that something is going on with their kid? Of course not. But the inner lives of 12- or even 10-year-olds are typically harder for parents to understand than the inner lives of 4-year-olds.

Importantly, the authors of the 2021 study noted a crucial limitation: “As a retrospective study, it is subject to recall bias.” In other words, there’s no way to know whether, say, a respondent who recalled first realizing her gender incongruence at age 9 really had that experience. Even so, the study found that among those who became “gender incongruent” in adolescence, time from development of this incongruence to its disclosure to caregivers was a median of two years.

As Littman explicitly stated in her 2018 article, “The argument to surface from this study is not that the insider perspectives of [adolescents and young adults] presenting with signs of a rapid onset of gender dysphoria should be set aside by clinicians, but that the insights of parents are a pre-requisite for robust triangulation of evidence and fully informed diagnosis.” We emphasize a similar point in our Letter when we say that “both ‘internal processes’ (which are more subjective) and parental reports (which are more objective) are relevant to the question of identity development and disclosure.” We reject the assumption of Turban et al. that the only thing that counts is “internal identity processes.”

Children are not islands. They are not dark and mysterious secrets to those who care for them on a daily basis.

Conclusion

We are thankful to all those who offered criticisms of our Letter, even if some of criticisms could have been more substantive and expressed in good faith. We emerged from this process more convinced than before that ROGD needs more research, and that there is evidence in support of ROGD that even the most ardent of anti-ROGD critics must concede. In the end, we owe it to children and their families to have rational, evidence-based debate on why so many kids are identifying as transgender and seeking various forms of body modification.

==

What's funny is that the people who insist that parents can't possibly know what's going on, are the exact same people who insist that parents really do know that their 3-year-old who likes the "wrong" toys is "trans."

Chronic, pathological dishonesty seems to be a trait of those who push gender woo.

[thursdaygxrls]

how do you preplan homework I need the tips

this is actually such a sweet question and i am so happy to answer it, i love school and homework…it’s love-hate

my college is a weird modern liberal arts college that doesn’t do school in a normal way?? i only have 3 classes a semester, and instead of big final tests, we write 15-20 page essays and do creative projects. my homework for one class was to talk to trees, it’s fucking wild.

however, i still have “normal” homework and went through 4 years of high school. so, here’s my things:

Materials: before my classes start, i figure out whether i need to buy the materials, and if i do, how to get them cheap. if you can tell from a syllabus that a class doesn’t adhere strongly to the textbook(s) assigned, i would skip it. if it turns out you need it later on, there’s websites like thriftbooks and abebooks, both of which i loveee for purchasing all my books. full disclosure, i don’t know much about them as companies, but they have some cheap ass books. then, i recommend getting separate materials for each class: one notebook for each class, a seperate folder/binder (whether it be physical or electronic). it just keeps it organized much better. extra points for color coding.

Scheduling: i always, always, ALWAYS make a physical list of my schedule as well as my homework. i have found that writing it down sticks it to my memory much better. when it comes to the schedule, i usually write mine down in a notebook then transfer it to a cute outlay in my journal or another piece of paper.

To-Do Lists: another thing you should write out physically. also, i do want to say here that i know using physical notebooks isn’t for everybody, and i totally respect that. for me, it commits it to my brain. i slack a bit sometimes, but i try every day to write down an organized to-do list of homework. i assign a different pen to every class (usually pink, purple, and blue, but you choose as you like) and write down every single thing i need to get done for them, big or small. i tend to write these on a daily basis, but making a mass one with benchmark goals isn’t a bad idea, just don’t overwhelm yourself with the list of work. writing out this to-do list gives me an idea of how i’ll divide my time to get the work done. here’s a special secret of mine: i’ve recently discovered that if i don’t get all the work done, it’s okay. i usually start with the most important tasks (closest deadlines, heaviest projects, assignments that need turned in) and move onto the more minimal ones (readings, note taking). sometimes, you can’t get everything done, and it’s okay!!

Timing: set aside time for everything, meaning both homework and breaks. my friends and i divided this system last semester that really worked for us: on saturday, we wake up around 9:30-10, plenty of sleep-in time, and go get brunch from our dining hall. around 11:30-12, we go to the library and spend 5-6 hours studying, revising, etc. we have each other to keep us accountable as well as help with things like editing essays. then, we get dinner and call it a night. if you don’t study well with others, make it an independent thing. it’s important to give yourself the time you need to get your work done as well as having some down time. don’t overexert yourself, trust me, i’ve been there. in high school, and the amount of stress i put on myself literally weakened my immune system. you have to care about yourself more than the homework.

Notes: taking notes in class can be a big help in doing your homework. i know that sounds like a dumb thing to say, but im so serious. it can be easy to slack off with notes, especially if you’re in an lecture. try your best not to, it’s worth it!! you don’t have to write everything down, that’s not what notes are about. for me, if a professor is lecturing and also has a powerpoint, i write down what the professor is saying instead of what is on the powerpoint. i know that may seem like another obvious thing, but when professors are lecturing, they usually include better info than just the bullet points. your notes are basically miska-mouska tools: a special tool to use later. (also, side info, they don’t have to be pretty whatsoever, they just have to be legible. when i take notes, i take them in random colored pens and doodle everywhere. they’re not super preppy or anything, but they got the info, and that’s all that matters. doodle away).

i really hope that helped. if it didn’t, or you need more specifics, please don’t be afraid to ask me. i’m trained for this sort of stuff from how much i’ve experimented what works for me. please stay in school guys, i swear it’s fun. okay, bye bye 😁

[fw00shy]

hello!! i see that you're taking prompts 👀❣️ i would love to see your take on hitman draco - whose next target is harry

hello shal!! I loved your prompt and wanted to write something super dangerous and sexy for it, but instead I wrote this. 😅 

Horrible Luck

Harry/Draco | M | 2.8k | Hit-Wizards, Humor, Catsuit, brief mention of dudley working out in front of the telly | ao3 link

When does a relationship stop moving forward and start looping back like a broken time-turner, intent on rewinding the same disagreements in perpetude? When did all the little quirks Draco used to love about Harry turn into a list of things he wouldn't need to deal with if he were alone? Draco's mind is on his kitchen table this morning — specifically, the half-eaten plate of eggs that Harry left behind; Harry knows the kneazle will sick up from it — so Draco doesn't notice the name on his latest assignment until he's already signed off the disclosure forms.

Harry James Potter.

"We don't need him dead for a few days," Pansy's saying. "Just get it done before the Rodney Snyder Bill comes to a vote in Parliament on Monday."

"Get it done..." Draco trails off, swallowing sickly.

"Yes, Draco? Sorry — oh-thirteen. Blast this numbering system. It isn't as though you're on my payroll as 013. I'm tempted to order a hit on you just so I won't need to write all five bloody titles of yours every two weeks. Only joking, of course — Draco? You alright there?" She taps the heel of her stiletto against the desk, where she has it propped up next to her coffee.

Draco blinks. "Right, yes. Before the Rodney Snyder Bill. Which bill is that again?"

"It's the usual hem-haw about how life is so unfair blahblahblah." Pansy waves the peacock-feathered quill in her left hand. "Don't worry yourself over it. Are you all worked up because it's Harry Potter? I know you had a bit of a tiff with him back in school, but hadn't we all? Potter's an absolute waste of breath if you ask me."

"It's not that..."

"What is it? If it's because of his involvement in the last war, you needn't worry about that. All our sources report that he's nothing more than a tax acrobat for Muggles now, on the days that he's not wreaking havoc with his voting powers in Parliament. I don't know what half those words mean, but I want a drink just for saying them out loud."

Draco decides that it is probably not in his best interest to tell Pansy that Harry was actually a tax accountant, and yes — it is indeed as dull as Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom if their dinnertime conversations concerning the subject matter are any indicator.

Draco's mind flits briefly back home. He hopes their kneazle didn't manage to eat any of the eggs before Draco cleaned up Harry's forgone plate. Who knows where she'll puke it up this time. If she ruins his pillow again... Potter is in for a slaying. Only verbally, of course.

"Don't worry about me," Draco says.

"I never do," Pansy says far too flippantly to be a lie. "As I said, you have a few days, so finesse it however you like. Toy with him a bit, for all I care. Get him in bed, then turn a wand on him — go wild. Now doesn't that sound exciting!"

Draco decidedly does not tell her about the last time he "turned a wand" on Harry in bed. Let's just say that it was both slippery and steamy and smelt faintly of strawberries.

"Alright, Pan — sorry, P. I'll get it done. You know I will."

"That's my boy," she smirks. "Now come give me a kiss before you go."

Pansy started demanding that sort of goodbye after she picked it up from a Muggle romcom. "Absolutely disgusting," she'd proclaimed, kissing Draco's cheeks. But the kisses stayed while the mocking subsided. Don't let it fool you, though — she still has plenty of unlearning to do. They get along fine as long as Pansy keeps her mouth shut.

Which is practically never. This is Pansy, after all. Her father liked to joke that she was born wailing for someone to wipe her arse. But Pansy is the only family Draco has left.

The next few days pass in the doldrums of a daily routine. Draco goes off to the local library and does his usual research (a combination of Muggle Internet and blood spells for tracking; Find My Friends is a godsend) despite knowing full well where Harry is at all times. He watches Harry's green dot make its way down the tube to the financial district by way of the Pret a Manger on 3rd Street. The blinking green dot doesn't move for several hours (it never does; Draco knows because he tracks Harry every few weeks out of paranoia). Draco is starving by noon, but he hangs on until three to see if Harry's dot will move the slightest; but alas, Harry is as much the meticulous Gryffindor hero at tax accounting as he was at Horcrux hunting; he doesn't do so much as grab a bite at the cafe in the lobby.

Harry heads home at precisely five-thirty. Draco waits a respectable fifteen minutes before doing the same, so Harry has time to put dinner on the table. The spread tonight smells delicious as it always is: roasted chicken and potatoes, broccolini, those purple carrots that Harry covets from the Muggle farmer's market; homemade treacle tart for dessert. Sometimes Draco wonders how Harry can manage all of this in the fifteen minutes he has before Draco gets home, but he never questions it for long. Who knows how cooking charms work. Not Draco. He's still a Malfoy, after all.

Harry kisses him good-evening before they sit for dinner. They share meaningless conversation about their day. Draco makes up some story about how Hannah in Marketing took the last premade salad he wanted from the deli down the block and is appalled over how, even in his made-up life, he's about as dull as Neville's — well, you know.

"If I hear another word about Neville Longbottom's surprisingly round bottom, I'm going to start thinking you want to fuck it," Harry declares while savagely tearing into his chicken thigh. Draco shudders at the sight; whoever taught Harry how to cook clearly forgot to teach him how to eat.

Still, it's a clear opening for a fight. Draco welcomes it as one does a summer storm, and soon they're throwing plates at each other. The kneazle (Morticia; Granger's idea) scampers out of the kitchen — that Hufflepuff coward — and Draco manages to graze Harry's left cheek before they stall to catch their breath.

The calm is a fallacy, of course; the eerie stillness of a storm's eye, broken up in the next minute with a low growl, and they're clawing at each other again. Except now, Draco is inexplicably hard.

But still, so incredibly bored.

What is the standard deviation of the time from start to Scourgify? Draco wouldn't be surprised if it's less than five minutes.

Monday comes and goes. Draco's thinking about Harry's dirty socks, the ones he tucks between the sofa cushions, while Pansy dresses him down for his latest failure.

"I swear, oh-thirteen. If we weren't like family..." Pansy trails off, her crimson-lacquered nail pointed threateningly at Draco.

"Sorry, Pans," Draco says, trying his level best to look his most innocent. It's not his fault he's an awful hit-wizard, alright? They should've known from his resume. Ronald Weasley, Katie Bell, Rosmerta, Dumbledore... mainly, he kills his marks by accident. He's got horrible luck.

Pansy declares that this is Draco's final chance. And then a week passes, and Harry stays alive. Draco's dead bored staring at his boyfriend's unmoving green dot all day on Apple Maps. He's made friends with Stephanie-the-librarian, though; they go out for a pick-me-up around three pm, and then Draco makes up stories about how she sends him racy pictures of their fake manager and this and that over dinner with Harry. All's okay if not precisely thrilling until the bill passes with Harry still alive, and then Draco reports to Pansy's office with Theo also in the room.

Theo is wearing a full suit, which is par for the course. But Draco knows he's in trouble because Pansy has her heels off her desk.

"Oh-thirteen," Theo booms. "You let the James Buckles Bill pass."

"Which one is that?" Draco asks between nervous swallows.

"Ten-percent increase in taxes on long-term capital gains," Theo explains the same time Pansy snaps, "None of your business."

"Right." Draco has no idea what these words mean. "Umm... sorry?"

"And the week before," Theo says, pacing now, "you let the Rodney Synder Bill pass."

"Ten-percent increase on income tax for those who make more than seven figures a year," Pansy says before Draco can ask.

Figures? Income? None of this means anything to Draco. If he wanted to be a solicitor... well, he's a Malfoy. Malfoys solicit, never solicitator. Or whatever the word for it is.

"It's only two bills, sir," Pansy pipes up in Draco's defence. "Meaningless in the grand scheme of things compared to the Pepper Oakley Bill tomorrow."

"What is —"

"Thirty-percent increase on property tax on all parcels of land within major metropolitan districts, and a twenty-percent increase on all property over two acres, compounding," Pansy hisses to Draco before turning her full attention back to Theo. "Which will not pass. Draco's been building up a relationship with the mark, hasn't he?" She kicks Draco with the pointed tip of her heel.

"Yes!" Draco yelps out in pain. "Yes, absolutely. I've been building... a relationship with Ha — the mark. He's umm. He thinks we're in love."

Theo regards Draco with narrowed eyes. "In love."

"Turns out he's desperately lonely," Draco says with a mocking sneer, though the truth is that they were both rather pathetic in the beginning.

Draco's story passes Theo's muster. He straightens up and gives them one last menacing glower before he leaves. Draco and Pansy stare at the door for a long, vacant second.

Pansy turns to Draco with a sigh when Theo's footsteps retreat down the hall. "Are you really seeing Potter?"

"Oh. Umm... sort of."

"I'm happy for you," she says. "You worry me, you know. Can't be too healthy for the aura with you sulking about all the time."

"Right," Draco says.

"Right," Pansy agrees. She schools her features. "Sorry about the, um — having to kill your boyfriend."

"It's alright," Draco says.

"Right." She coughs. "Well, then. I suppose you ought to go prep. Remember to get it done before tomorrow morning. If I were you, I'd get it done tonight, so you can stop worrying about it and have a decent night's sleep. Now come and give me a kiss before you go."

Draco short-circuits his usual trip to the library and heads straight home. The midday sun comes in too bright from the printed kitchen curtains. He's never noticed how disproportionately large the clumsily illustrated lemons are in comparison to the cherries and ice cubes — but that's what he gets for letting Harry pick the print. When Harry's dead, he'll replace them with a pattern worthy of the Malfoy name. He's always liked snakes and daggers (just the image of them; they're ghastly in reality).

He gets hungry enough around three to rifle through their cabinets for a snack. All he finds are two expired Twinkies and a can of tuna that he realises only after his first bite that it's meant for Morticia. He briefly considers popping by the library to see what Stephanie's up to before deciding against it. He needs to focus on murdering his boyfriend.

Draco is in the middle of purging his wardrobe when he finds his hit-wizard uniform hanging in the back. It's all black and one-piece, like a Muggle wetsuit but much sleeker, like a seal. But not as adorably chubby. More like Catwoman. Lithe, but deadly. Unfortunately, it's not a very practical uniform for murder, so Draco hasn't worn it in years. He slips it on out of morbid curiosity and is pleasantly surprised to find that it still fits him — especially around his arse. Morgana and Mordred both, his arse.

He loses track of time admiring himself in the mirror. And that's when Harry opens the bedroom door.

"Fuck," Draco says. His wand is out and trained on Harry's chest. (Hit-wizard reflexes; Draco's terrible at murder but surprisingly adept at keeping himself alive.) "I — um. I can explain."

"Merlin, you look hot in that," Harry says. He sounds like he's come back from running. "I've always wanted to see you wear it."

"What?"

"Your hit-wizard catsuit." Harry holds both hands up and steps toward Draco. "So fucking hot. I'm going to fuck you into a wall if you let me get any closer. Promise."

Did someone start up the fireplace? "I knew you stared a bit too hard at Halle Berry's arse the last time we watched Catwoman."

"Can you blame me for imagining what you'd look in it?"

"You don't look so bad yourself," Draco purrs. He can't help himself; Harry hasn't looked so fit in years. What is it about him today? Did he do something different with his hair? No...

Harry disarms Draco's wand hand and pushes him up against the wall. He's always been good at following through on his promises.

Draco's washing up in the shower when he realises what's different about Harry today. Harry's wearing an Auror uniform.

Draco bursts out of the shower still wet and dripping. He finds Harry in the living room with the telly on.

"You're going to ruin the carpet with all that water," Harry says, his nose scrunched. He's still got his crimson Auror robes blatantly bunched over the sofa.

"You're a fucking liar," Draco says. "Muggle tax accountant? I can't believe I bought that lie."

Harry remains painfully nonchalant. "We both had our secrets."

"But you knew mine." Merlin, for how long? Was their whole relationship a sham to —

Harry sighs and spells Draco dry. A bathrobe — plushy and cottony, Draco's favourite — flies in from the bedroom to wrap around Draco's shoulders.

Draco begrudgingly shrugs it on.

"Sit down," Harry says, patting the space next to him. Draco almost does as asked, but stops when he spots the smelly old sock peeking between the seat cushions.

"You're an Auror," Draco says. His lips sneer involuntarily at the betrayal.

"And you're the hit-wizard out to kill me. Yet we're both still here," Harry says. "Come on, Draco. Sit down."

Draco eyes the sock.

Harry's face purples. "Is this about the bloody sock? For the thousandth time, it's not me leaving them about. It's Morticia!"

Harry vanishes the sock. Suitably appeased, Draco walks over to their sofa and sits primly at the edge of it.

"I wasn't actually going to kill you," Draco says by way of an apology.

"I know that," Harry says. "You're an idiot. Hit-wizard, really? It's a wonder how I ever thought you were my nemesis."

"That is absolutely rude and uncalled for," Draco says. "I was plenty good at Quidditch."

Harry grins. "I'll give you that. Most distracting arse on the pitch... some things never change."

"You don't look so bad yourself in those robes," Draco says. He coughs. "I mean. We should... talk."

"Yes."

They've never been good at talking.

"So..." Harry says slowly. "What are you going to tell them when I'm still alive tomorrow?"

"Oh, I dunno. Can't you pretend you're dead? Please? For me."

"I'll be helping a lot of people if we pass this bill," Harry says apologetically.

Right. Saviour complex. Draco's painfully familiar with compromising around that character flaw. "Pansy's going to kill me," Draco sighs. "Well, unless we kill her first. But I'd rather not. She's my favourite person in the world — besides, you, of course."

"She's actually. Um." Harry coughs. "I think she's going to be fine."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... err."

"No," Draco gasps. "No, don't tell me she's been a mole this whole time."

"Err. Well..." Harry scratches the back of his head. "Did you know she's getting married to my cousin Dudley?"

"The awful Muggle bully?"

"He's um. He turned alright in the end? He's been working out in front of the telly. Bought these free weights and all... says it's really changed his outlook on life."

"Sweating in front of the telly changed his life?"

"Something like that," Harry says.

"That sounds disgusting."

"Yeah... I try not to think about it much either. So, err… takeaway? Greek, maybe? You loved the rotisserie chicken we had a few weeks ago. Before um, you started throwing it at me."

Shouldn't they be discussing something serious? Draco already forgets what. "Takeaway? But don't you —"

"Right," Harry laughs. "Now that everything else is out in the open, I suppose there's no harm in you knowing that I order takeaway and vanish away the boxes before you come home."

"I..."

"Draco? You aren't mad, are you?"

Mad, no. Surprised — absolutely. But Draco should've known that dating Harry Potter would never be boring.

Read on AO3

[thebiscuiteternal]

Since the exchange reveal was today, I can finally cross-post this here.

“A Working Relationship” Sci-Fi AU, Artificial Intelligence, Secret Histories, Intrigue, Finding Your Place (and getting a crush on your android boss)

__________

“I don’t care how smart he is, you’re not putting a Jin on this ship!”

His first reaction is a flush of anger. The second is a barely-smothered explosion of laughter.

In all the insults he’d borne over his parentage in his lifetime, this had to be the first time in… well… ever that it was his father’s side being disparaged.

But when he peeks around the corner and sees who’s arguing with the Admiral, he immediately understands why.

The speaker is a perso-core droid.

Meng Yao has no illusions about the treatment of the droids custom-ordered by the ports his father owns. He’s even met some of them, when they came to drop off another meagre payment to his mother. Delicate, beautiful dolls designed for little more than to be stared at… or played with.

Easily broken, and just as easily replaced.

His still healing ribs give a throb. He can relate to the feeling.

He can use it, too, he realizes, a plan coming together in the back of his mind as he watches the pair bicker.

“Excuse me.”

They both turn at the sound of his voice, and the droid’s eyes narrow, photoreceptors and the light patterns decorating his body briefly shading closer to red than their usual pale green. He’s reasonably sure that if that long dark hair and silver skin weren’t synthetic, he’d be bristling like an offended Firenian Raptor Cat.

It’s an uncomfortably attractive look.

He immediately squashes that thought, then bows, carefully emphasizing the stiff discomfort of the motion. “I apologize for causing any discord. It’s true that my father is Jin Guangshan, but I have no association with the company, nor the ports that it owns.”

“You approached him for work two stationary cycles ago,” the droid says, voice tinged with suspicion.

He had been made aware his background had been searched from the moment he’d been identified as a Jin, however, so he is ready for that. “My late mother desperately wished for me to join the family business. His, of course, not hers. But visiting him has proven to be a mistake. It’s clear now that my father has a very similar opinion of his illegitimate children as he does his droids.”

He opens one of the side panels of his flight suit to show off the bruises that still prominently mottle his skin despite two visits to a medical ward he could afford.

It’s the briefest flicker-flash, a barest twitch of synthetic musculature that most people wouldn’t notice on a human, much less a droid. But the reaction is there, and he can feel the emotional shift in the air as the droid and the Admiral look at each other, the argument between them now silent instead of snapped.

After a few moments that surely feel longer than they actually are, the droid makes a noise that would have been a huff from anyone with lungs and turns away. “One full planetary rotation,” he grumbles, then stalks away down the hall.

If the droid means the planet they’re currently in orbit over, that’s thirty days by the timers in the ports. “Is that to be my entire billet?” he asks cautiously, not wanting to let it sound like a complaint.

Admiral Nie shakes his head. “Probationary period. If Sang-er declares you a fit for Baxia’s crew by then, we’ll re-draw your contract for a more formal position.”

“You value his opinion very highly,” Meng Yao says, careful to keep his tone neutral, lest the Admiral think he’s probing.

Which he is, but-

“As well I should. He's been serving with our ships since before I was born, after all; he knows the fleets inside and out down to the last fastening and half-byte of data."

Something about the way the Admiral says that lingers in the back of his mind even as he’s herded down to the ship’s infirmary to have his ribs properly treated. It’s hardly uncommon for the owners of a particularly well-made droid to brag about them, but to his ear it sounds… odd.  

Less like an owner pleased with his possession and more like a younger brother proud of his elder.

He’s finished settling into his cabin, what few things he owns unpacked and stowed away, when something twigs in his brain.

Sang-er.

It couldn’t possibly be what he’s thinking… could it?

---

The first week of Meng Yao’s temporary new job starts with a surprise and ends with a realization.

Given his prior experiences with employers and Sang-er’s clear dislike of him, he braces himself for the bottom of the heap and jobs like cleaning over-boiled acid out of engine cells. Instead, Sang-er puts him through a mentally grueling -and yet actually somewhat satisfying- examination of his skills, then unceremoniously shoves him straight into financial work.

Tracking numbers and allocating data has always been something he could do in his sleep if he so wished; though he doesn’t exactly let his mind wander, the tasks are easy enough that they allow him space to observe.

He wasn’t wrong, he decides, in pegging the relationship between his human boss and his mechanical one as being something akin to siblings.

Which really only lends further credence to the theory his other observations are steadily building.

Observations like how Sang-er is simply too advanced for a perso-core droid. He sifts and sorts information, skimming star maps and calculating alterations via hard-light illusions generated from his own body, and does it all with a speed and ease that should have overtaxed him a hundred times over. Small-droid cores simply aren’t designed to hold or process that much information that fast.

But a ship’s core, on the other hand…

When he’d been small, a friend of his mother’s had dreamed of one day leaving and joining the Qinghe fleets, drawn by the near legendary status of Nie Zhuyun and her ship Huaisang. A captain so sharp and daring and a ship so clever and nimble that people claimed she had somehow bonded her mind to the core to make them a perfect symbiosis.

How many of the tales his mother’s friend told were true were arguable, but what had been true was that when the Wen Chancellor had finally succeeded in his near singleminded obsession to have the ship destroyed, its core had never been found in the wreckage.

Nie Mingjue had said that Sang-er had been serving the fleet since before his birth, but that didn’t mean it had always been in the same body.

And then there is the second most important observation: Sang-er never leaves Baxia.

He’d been unsure about that one at first. Even though they are docked, most of the crew remain onboard a good portion of the time. But after a few days of watching, it has become clear that while even the Admiral occasionally goes out into the port for one bit of business or another, Sang-er stays on board at all times, sometimes with some gentle but pointed reminding on the Admiral’s part.

As if the droid is being purposely kept hidden.

And he can guess from whom. His father has a very good business relationship with Wen Ruohan; even though the ship is docked in a port that isn’t directly owned by the Jin family, there’s a fairly large presence of both Jin and Wen contingents. If he’s right, and Sang-er really is a reconstruction of Huaisang’s core-

He stiffens, then reaches out to stop the flow of numbers he’d been monitoring.

When he had gone to that first medical ward… there had been…

He closes his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath, then lets it out slowly.

"There a problem?" a nearby officer asks.

"No, sir. Just needed a moment for the eyes," Meng Yao says, and then gets back to work.

---

His thoughts nag at him for the rest of the designated day hours and follow him into his bed that night. They’re still plucking at his nerves the next morning, annoying him enough that he barely touches the breakfast he would have gladly stolen -maybe even committed violence to get- from a rich man’s table not too long ago.

If he's right, then he has inadvertently picked up some information that would be extremely valuable to the Admiral and Sang-er.

But to use that information, he will have to do something he absolutely despises.

Tell everything.

There is no safety in full disclosure. Keeping things close to his chest had been the only way he’d survived the arduous journey between the port he’d grown up in and the central hub where his father resides.

But Sang-er has already proven very capable when it comes to checking up on those he does not trust. If he withholds anything that he overheard, and Sang-er finds out he’d done so, then being ousted from the ship is probably the best thing he could expect.

And… he... likes it here.

It’s hard to admit that, even just in his own mind. He’s only been employed on Baxia for a week.

And yet something in his heart just settles at the idea of staying here in a way he can’t remember feeling in years. The Admiral checks up on his wellbeing. His other crewmates treat him as his station befits. He’s comfortable in the jobs he’s been assigned. Even Sang-er -for all the droid’s aversion to him- judges his work fairly and takes his opinions into genuine consideration. Comparing the crew he’s found himself with to the tittering sycophants who’d taken such glee in watching his father reject him-

He bites his tongue to stop the flow of bitterness before it becomes overwhelming and clouds his thoughts.

The point is that, for the first time in a very long time, he has found himself a place he does not want to give up.

If that means having to lay all his cards on the table, then… then fine.

He reaches a point in his tasks that he can safely pause for lunch, but instead of going down to the dining hall, he goes looking for Sang-er.

---

After more than a little unsure wandering and some eventual directions from a couple of helpful crewmates, Meng Yao finds the droid in question in one of the small-ship hangars, surrounded by a star map and several of their scout pilots.

For a moment, his breath catches in his throat.

In the dim lighting of the hangar, Sang-er's eyes and the geometric designs decorating his form glow brighter, mingling with the reflective light of the illusory stars against silvery skin. With one fingertip, he draws flight paths and points of interest, directing models of their ships less like he is ordering soldiers and more as if he is conducting dancers.

It’s hard not to stare, and in that moment he understands better some of the particulars of the information he’s about to relay.

Drawing up his nerve, he straightens his back and approaches the knot of people just in time for the lights to come back up and the star map to vanish into the palm of Sang-er’s hand. A couple of the younger scouts wave to him, drawing the droid’s attention in his direction.

“Please excuse me if I’m interrupting anything, but may we speak in private?” he asks quickly, before any potential judgements can be made.

Sang-er regards him silently, expression completely neutral, then tilts his head in acquiescence. “You’ve all got your assignments,” he says to the scouts. “See you in fourteen days.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Follow me,” Sang-er says as he turns on his heel, and Meng Yao obeys.

Their destination turns out to be the hangar manager’s office, or what would have been the hangar manager’s office if they didn’t have Sang-er. The doors close behind them with a swish and click, but Meng Yao barely hears it over his own heartbeat.

He swallows hard as he watches the droid lean against the desk.

Okay.

All cards on the table.

"Wen Ruohan knows that you're Huaisang."

Sang-er doesn’t flinch or stiffen or show any other reaction that would give away a human but, like their first meeting, Meng Yao feels the subtle shift around them. "Interesting. And you've come to this conclusion because…?"

It’s not an outright denial. No automatic accusations of wild imaginations or delusions or… anything like that. Just a quiet demand to show his work, like the evaluations before. Meng Yao can’t help but find it oddly soothing for this to be treated as nothing more than a basic report despite the severity of what he’s revealing.

“There’s a specific medical ward in the district of Koi Port that most of the residents pretend doesn’t exist. At the time I was… dismissed, it was the only one I could afford to visit. One of the other patients there was complaining that a job for the Wens had been taken from him and handed over to shifters employed by the Jins.”

That gets a visible reaction as Sang-er’s hands clench on the edge of the desk he’s leaning on.

It’s an entirely understandable response. Shifters are the worst of the worst when it comes to orchestrating and carrying out the theft of high-end droids, and their services don’t come cheap at all. For someone like Wen Ruohan, who already has so much power of his own, to enlist them from another company…

Well, the implication is clear.

“Go on,” Sang-er says, and Meng Yao doesn’t fail to notice the tension that’s entered his voice.

“He didn’t specifically describe the target, but he did mention it was aboard the flagship of the Qinghe fleet, and that the backer had ordered it to be captured fully intact, or else. No offense to any of the other droids here, but there’s no one other than you who could possibly garner that kind of demand. And no other reason why Wen Ruohan would make it.”

“I see.” Sang-er’s expression still hasn’t changed, but the words are decidedly even more clipped. “And what price would a Jin expect for information like this?”

There’s the suspicion that he’s been waiting for.

All cards on the table, Meng Yao reminds himself for what may be the tenth time. Or the twentieth, he admittedly has lost track. If he doesn’t remain honest now, he stands to lose everything.

He allows himself one more nervous swallow before answering. “I don’t know… probably something obscene, honestly. I want to be extended to a full contract.”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

Sang-er blinks at him, unable to catch the surprise from flickering across his face quickly enough, though it’s quickly schooled away. “That’s it,” he repeats, arching one eyebrow disbelievingly.

“You’ve already given me nearly everything I was looking for when I originally went to meet my father. I want to keep that,” Meng Yao says. “The rest… I will come to terms with eventually.”

There’s no immediate response, and the silence stretches uncomfortably between them as Sang-er appraises his words and everything else. It’s hard not to squirm under the stare.

Then Sang-er’s expression visibly softens, and the sight nearly knocks the wind out of him, it catches him so off guard .

Oh, that’s just not fair.

He quickly recovers, standing straight as Sang-er pushes himself away from the desk and walks past him.

“Well, come on, then,” the droid says, and he absolutely does not shiver at the new warmth in his voice.

“Where are we going now?”

“To give my recommendation to Mingjue and have you moved to more permanent quarters. And then we will start planning to deal with this new development.”

We will start planning, he says.

Meng Yao finds he very much likes the sound of that.

[thechangeling]

I was reading your co-signing the narrative post- great post btw- and your thoughts on Kit Lightwood helped me figure out exactly what bothers me about the way other characters talk about and treat him.

So, there’s this kind of this running “joke” in TLH that Christopher’s interests are boring, that everyone else puts up with it him as though it’s this big nuisance, that everyone zones out hearing him talk… and on and on and on.*** And then there’s this scene where Grace is genuinely interested or at least not bringing him down about his self-expression and the things that bring him joy, and that’s romanticized as special when it’s really kind of the bare fuckin minimum. Like, I’m not saying James/Matthew/Thomas had to immerse themselves completely in every sciency detail but the constant “jokes” implying that Christopher’s work is boring or incomprehensible or not worth their time is just so tiring. There’s always an undercurrent of “Christopher’s just playing around uselessly” (which is not true and even when he’s having fun with his work then it’s still automatically WORTHY and VALUABLE because it makes him happy!) Not to mention this recurring problem directly contradicts the value that Christopher’s work has (beyond its inherent value) when he sends it into the world to literally save lives: the poison antidote, the fire messages that will probably come about in CoT.

And the thing is, the merry thieves’ disinterest is directly meant to foil grace’s interest in order to lend the Grace/Kit relationship a certain significance, as CC assigns to it. I’m not saying shared excitement over an interest/hobby/career/field/etc isn’t sweet platonically or romantically. I just really dislike how the idea CC is using is “no one else can bear to tolerate Kit’s ‘quirks’ but Grace, and that is Endearing, and so they are Soulmates (TM)” rather than the much healthier and positive idea that “Kit does cool sciencey stuff which his family and friends generally don’t share as strong a passion for but still don’t huff about it like it’s somehow a chore or a burden on them, and then Grace comes along and she does happen to share a similar passion and that’s the beginning of their ties to one another.” That second reasoning is what could make their friendship really refreshing; we don’t need ableism poorly twined into romance to enjoy that relationship.

I haven’t read TDA in a while but I’m thinking we could also find touches of this with Ty partly because so much of when we see him is from Kit’s POV? Not that Kit means harm or thinks himself heroic but CC on the other hand is a repeat offender in “abled/white/straight/cis character is ultimately and completely responsible for the salvation of disabled/POC/queer character in this aspect.” And I’m kind of half dreading the wicked powers for that reason among others …

I apologize if all this seems obvious or rambly. I do sometimes have trouble articulating things exactly but when I read your post i had a lightbulb moment and I wanted to note it down.

Have a great day!

***Side Note: this is why I really enjoy fan-created content that explores Christopher’s relationships with people (even people he didn’t interact with on-page in the canon) without that annoying and problematic aspect built into the framework of the relationship.

^^^^^^^^^THIS ALL OF THIS!!!!!!

Full disclosure this is gonna be kind of long sorry. But you have stumbled across my favourite topic to rant about. Allistic saviorism. Basically the name is pretty self explanatory. It's when an allistic person fictional or otherwise has the desire to or actively attempts to essentially "save" the autistic person from the horrors of the world or their life, or even themselves because they think that the autistic person isn't strong or capable enough to fix/handle it on their own. All of this is usually done for very self serving reasons. Part of this is also allistic people being praised as heroes for being nice to autistic people or asking them out, or loving them.

I don't neccesarily think that kitty is an allistic savior ship on it's own. I think that there are definitely peices of those beliefs scattered throughout the books and it might get worse in TWP. That's honestly something that I'm worried about too tbh. But honestly I think that the fandom made it a billion times worse.

This mainly allistic fandom wanted to romanticize the idea of Kit taking care of Ty and shouldering the burden of his "unpredictability." Kit is the only one who can get through to Ty. The only one who understands the mystery that is Ty 🙄. Some of this is canon too. For example, Ty can look Kit in the eye, he lets him touch him. He doesn't wear the headphones when Kit's around right? And Kit was able to calm him down during his meltdown.

And while some of this is really cute from a romantic perspective, it's also kinda problematic because it reeks of allistic saviorism. It promotes the idea that Kit is like Ty's "cure." And that's just impossible.

And honestly I know I've contributed to this in some ways. Because if I'm being perfectly honest with you, there's a part of me that enjoys that. The romantization of autism.

The idea of being taken care of.

The idea that someone could love an autistic person and see them as "beautiful" and "extraordinary" and all the things Kit calls Ty, was incredibly moving and appealing to me as a kid. It still is. Because I grew up on stories of charity cases and allistic saviorism making headlines with prom dates. I was super secretive about it, but I was always a romantic growing up. But I thought that it was impossible for me to have a real love story because people like me don't get that. (Not to get all sob story on you sorry. I overshare. It's an autistic thing.)

And there are some really compelling things about kitty that really do work. And I'm not trying to suggest that Kit learning to help Ty with the ...shall we say more colourful traits of his disability is a bad thing always. It's not. But I think the issue is with Ty's lack of pov and Ty's lack of a narrative in the books. It makes him seem like less of a completely developed character and more like, "Kit's" you know?

And because we don't have Ty's pov we don't really get what makes Kit have this sort of calming effect on him or why it's different. And more importantly we don't get why Ty's letting him in, we only get Kit pushing past his boundries. The entire thing becomes about Kit essentially and that's at the root of all allistic saviorism.

Also like you mentioned before, Kit is seen as special to a certain extent because he can handle Ty. That's not neccesarily something the character believes obviously, but again with CC co-signing the damn narrative with the way she makes the impact Kit has on Ty such a big deal in everyone's eyes and in QOAAD she really emphasizes the drain Ty's necromancy plan is taking on Kit, suddenly Ty's grief becomes all about Kit and with no pov from Ty, it's more allistic savior bs.

Honestly most of this isnt actually THAT bad it's just when you throw it all together and look at the ugly history and let's be honest present, of autistic people being silenced and spoken over by our caregivers and loved ones and we are treated like burdens on them, and how those people are praised for loving us, it kinda looks bad. But the fandom definitely made it worse.

I always get criticized for criticizing kitty by allistic people with, " well if you think they're so toxic then why do you even ship them?" Which is a piss poor take lacking in any nuance. An autistic person has the right to critique a dynamic involving an autistic character. More to the point, you can love something and be critical of it. I swear when this fandom finally figures that one out... we could accomplish so much.

I'm really hoping this is making sense it's like 2 in the morning. As for Grace and Christopher's dynamic I agree with you. I basically have nothing to add. Bare minimum. Should not be idolized. The way the others treat him should not just be brushed off as no big deal. It's ableism.

Basically it's just a bunch of classic mistakes that come from a neurotypical abled writer writing nd characters. Some mistakes are more damning then others. But it does make me scared for TWP.

I can only hope.

[leonineus]

The Rise & Grind Coffee Shop AU

Kinda got inspired after rereading The Villain Wrangler on AO3, that TVW did not discriminate as long as the wishes of the children he was assigned were protected, as well as entirely too much of the #onlyingotham tag. This was the result.

---

So I've recently been told I should perhaps write this down for posterity, though I have no idea why. Who's going to care about the memoirs of a coffee shop owner?

Anyway, my name is Catherine Mercer, and I'm the proprietor of the Rise & Grind Coffee Shop in downtown Gotham City. I moved here to open the Rise & Grind six months ago, partly because I love the gothic architecture of the city and partly because the general aesthetic (or what little of it is visible through the perpetual rain and semi-twilight) is great artistic inspiration.

My mother tried to talk me out of moving here, scared from all the horror stories she'd heard about this city and worrying, as mothers often do. It took her the better part of a year, but she eventually (reluctantly) allowed me to finalise my move, though not before bestowing on me enough of a private self-defence arsenal to sustain a neighbourhood militia for the better part of a year. She means well, but at the time I couldn't see how any of it would help me against any of Gotham's higher caste of Crazy. As it turned out, I was wrong, but we'll get to that in a minute.

Rise & Grind's opening week was relatively unremarkable. A small trickle of customers coming by out of curiosity for the new shopfront in the area, with some of them deciding that they liked what I was bringing to the table and choosing to come back.

Then the Joker came.

In the interest of full disclosure, I should say that I am a Central City native to the bone. I knew of the Joker before coming here, but I'd never really delved into scrutinising him. In hindsight, perhaps a mistake; not making sure I was self-briefed on all the potential threats to life and livelihood I might potentially encounter.

I didn't actually even realise who I was up against until the door bell jingled and I heard a maniacal laugh from the back room.

Looking back on things now, I don't know where I got the bravado that allowed me to step out of my back room, point to the sign detailing that the number one rule in Rise & Grind was that I would brook no troublemaking, and ask him politely to leave.

I think the only reasons I sit here to write this today is because the Joker was slightly baffled by this reaction, baffled enough to allow for the timely arrival of several of the Batfamily (Robin, Red Robin and Batgirl, all of whom I knew of by reputation) through my door, drawing Joker's attention away from me.

As with the aforementioned bravado, I'm not entirely sure where I got the gumption (or rather, flat-out stupidity) to do what came next. All I know is that one second I was looking at Joker's wide-open back as he turned to confront the Batkids, the next I had a discharged taser from the stockpile my mother gave me in my hand, Joker was twitching face-down on the floor in the throes of an electric shock, and all three of the Batkids were looking at me like I'd grown a second and third head.

Now, advantage to this happening: my coffee shop got a lot more popular. I now get enough of a stream of customers coming by that I had to hire on a couple of helpers. On top of that, the Batfamily occasionally drop by - sometimes literally, which meant I ended up putting a two-way intercom outside the roof access door so I know when they're up there - though I've never been entirely sure if they're there because they like my coffee or because Batman asked them to keep an eye on the crazy coffee shop owner who made herself a priority target for Joker reprisal by tasing him in the back.

Eh, take what you're given, even if it's unexpected, as my grandmother used to say. At least I'm still alive.

---

So yeah, this was just an idea that cropped up. Got a few other little nuggets of madness that spawned from this idea I think I could probably put into words at some point. Little amazed this came out as well as I think it did given I trotted this out in an hour. Maybe I should put some more bits together.

Edit as I forgot to add this disclaimer: I do not know very much DC, the closest delve into the franchise I've ever had was a couple of the Birds of Prey comics in my younger years and the Wonder Woman 2017 movie. Please forgive any errors that may come from this.

[sins-of-the-sea]

Okay, but full disclosure: The assignment of the Seven as the Seven Deadly Sins was actually a retroactive thing back in the day. For the first few years of me creating "Devil's Eye" in 2001, the Sins didn't become Sins until around 2003-2004. The Seven as a Crew were completed in mid-2002, with Giovanni as a latecomer (all the others were mid-late 2001). Prior to that?? They were just simply known as the Devil Pirates, and it was only Captain Frascona who donned a skull half-mask.

So where did the idea of the Seven Deadly Sins come from? 

Well, I wasn't brought up Catholic, so it had to come from somewhere else, right? Was it Full Metal Alchemist? Or what is now one of my most favorite films of all time, Se7en? No, it was initially from a webcomic with a.... notable reputation. Hey, I was 15-16 and didn't know better.

And even then, the Sin motif still came in AFTER I assigned powers; for the longest time, the only one whose power has been fairly unchanged is Ruixiong (levitation) and Guy (pyrokinesis). Everyone else was all over the place--in fact, Abena and Rashid were reversed at some point! And it wasn't until sometime after I gave them powers that I decided upon giving them Sin motifs, then wrote their histories around them. But even then, it was all over the place, and when I tried to write/design them closer to the traditional understanding of the Sins, the more I feel it was... actually against the core character of the Crew--thus why you have Giovanni being sweet and generous to his friends, Ruixiong never trying to take on the position as Captain, Phoebus just not sleeping and snoring all over the place, etc.

But I suppose all this, in the end, comes around in my favor as a writer--after all, Greed is more than just wanting money, Gluttony is more than just wanting food, Sloth is more than just wanting to sleep, etc. In any given understanding of these vices, there is a core reason why such notions are transgressions, from a secular standpoint as well as religious. They are elements to humanity that cause more harm than good, that exceed what is need, fair, and even righteous. But in the end.... they are human traits. Not every Wrathful person on the planet is wrathful in the same way. Envy takes on so many different forms across the world.  And so on and so forth.

It's just a reminder of how why these Seven are so fun to write--to explore the theme of Sin and what it means to them. And how it can doom them if they continue the path of destruction--to themselves and the world--as long as they continue to serve the Master.

[alpineglowx]

I'll Do The Same {Din Djarin x OC} Chapter Eleven: Starlight

pairing: din djarin x female oc

warnings: none, except some fluff!

* * * *

“I was young. Eight, nine, I can’t remember exactly. My parents were killed in an explosion trying to hide me from the droids that invaded our village. I almost died that day; I would have if the Watch hadn’t shown up. I became a foundling that day. I was raised by the Watch, and I was happy to be in their care. They had saved me, after all.

“When I was older I joined the Tribe on Nevarro. It’s where I acquired my armor. Once I swore the Creed, it meant I could never take my helmet off again, or have it removed by another. If it was, I would never be allowed to put it back on again... I would cease to be a true Mandalorian. I was trained to be a warrior growing up, and once I was older I joined the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. It paid well, harnessed my training, and gave me something to do.”

Thell blinked slowly, processing his words.

“That was until I was assigned to kill the kid. I didn’t even know he was a child at the time. I knew as soon as I saw him that I couldn’t let him be taken... there are people out there who are risking everything trying to find him... for what, I’m not exactly sure. I just know that he’s more powerful than I understand... and he’s just a kid.

“I had always thought that all Mandalorians followed the Children of the Watch’s beliefs. I believed that all were taught to hide their faces, because our secrecy is our survival. But Bo-Katan took her’s off like it was nothing. They all did, and they told me they were true Mandalorians. I didn’t know until then that I had been raised by the Watch. Bo said it was a cult that broke off from traditional Mandalorian ways.”

“So... no one’s seen your face since you were a kid?”

He dipped his head. “Yes. When I joined the Tribe, I hid myself. My identity, my name... everything about me became a secret. It had to be that way.”

“For you to survive?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t it ever lonely?” Thell asked quietly. “The life of a bounty hunter doesn’t sound too glamorous.”

“It isn’t... and it is lonely. I don’t stop with the jobs. Once I finish one, I move on to the next. It’s always been like that. I don’t have time to sit and settle.”

“Hm... So that’s what you’ve been doing since you were young.”

“Yes. I stay primarily in the Outer Rim. Since the Empire fell, there hasn’t been a shortage of bounties.”

“... Don’t take this the wrong way... but if you know the Watch is a cult, and the other Mandalorians take their helmets off, why don’t you?”

“I was raised under the Watch. It’s the only thing I know.” He turned to face her, slowly. “This is the Way.”

“Well, for what’s worth,” Thell said. “You’re the nicest bounty hunter I’ve ever met.”

He chuckled, just the slightest lift of his shoulders that had Thell smiling back at him. She sat up, clasping her arms around her knees as she hugged them to her chest.

“Do you know a lot of Mando’a?” She asked.

“A bit... why?”

Thell shrugged, glancing back at the fire. “Well... I was wondering if you could teach me some.” When she sensed him looking at her, she glanced back over and tilted her head. “My dad was Mandalorian. I know that doesn’t necessarily make me Mandalorian either, but I want to know some of the language. I haven’t... I haven’t felt like I’ve had my own identity before. I guess I could start somewhere... I think we share that.”

The comment had been a risk, but after seeing how he had been over the past week, Thell didn’t expect him to get angry or storm off. In fact, it wasn’t even her first thought.

Because deep down, it was true. They were both orphans now, even the kid sleeping in his arms. They all had childhoods that were essentially stolen from them, raised in places that protected them, but under the surface, were also performing great harm. Din was a result of indoctrination, and Thell had been a slave to a cruel master. Now, as adults, they were free to choose their own paths.

He nodded anyway. “Alright. Ask away.”

Thell blinked. “Oh... um. What’s hello?”

“Su cuy'gar.”

“Say it again,” Thell asked, and he did. She tried her best at repeating it under her breath, but it only made her feel silly with Din watching her.

“Hey!” She laughed. “It’s not like I’ve ever spoken it fluently. Why don’t you give me an easier one?”

Din sighed and relaxed against the rock, the child still tucked peacefully in his arms. “Beskar'gam... can you guess what that is?”

Thell squinted, twisting her lip. “Something to do with Beskar, I’m assuming.”

“Armor,” Din told her.

And they stayed like that, talking quietly beside the fire under the canopy of stars and darkness. For a moment, it felt like they were the only people in the world, including the kid. Din taught her words, phrases, even a small bout of the history of the language, all that he knew. Their conversation slowly turned to ones of their own personal lives, sharing stories and experiences.

Thell kept finding herself smiling at him, even laughing at his dry humor. It was beginning to show itself more and more, and she had to admit that this was her favorite side of him. She had scooted closer, sitting criss crossed beside him while the kid was wrapped in a bundle of blankets just beside Din.

“And I stole it.”

“Really?” Din seemed appalled.

“Yeah,” Thell nodded, smiling proudly to herself. “Darand had a whole shipment of my favorite fruit come in, for himself of course, but I couldn’t deny sneaking myself a few when no one was looking.”

“I’ve never taken you for a thief.”

Thell rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t call myself one. It was probably just one of the most rebellious things I did back on Bespin.”

Her mind suddenly wandered back to her old home, to the neverending show of clouds and stars that was always overhead. Of nights crying herself to sleep after her mother died, of her fingers being rubbed raw from her chores as Darand’s servant.

He must have noticed that she went quiet because he spoke, just softly.

“Thell.”

She blinked, focusing back on his helmet. “Oh. Sorry...”

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He sounded genuinely interested, so Thell straightened. “I want to tell you something, something that happened to me while I lived on Bespin.”

His attention remained fully on her, and in the quiet of their haven on Naboo, Thell felt like he truly cared for her.

“My mom died when I was twelve. At that point, I basically fended for myself in Darand’s mansion. I had a lot of people try to take advantage of me, of my youth, of my immaturity. I was constantly being compared to my mother or being expected to be someone I knew I wasn’t... No one ever really saw me for me. When I was sixteen, I was walking back from the market when I saw a group of my friends. I had known them for a couple of years. We weren’t close or anything, but I was still glad to see them.”

Thell took a deep breath, glancing at the fire.

“Anyways, I went to go talk to them and everything seemed normal for the moment. But... I don’t know why it happened, but they attacked me. I didn’t even have anything on me. No credits, nothing.”

Thell could feel her hands trembling and clasped them together, hoping Din wouldn’t notice.

“They just left me there, in the dust of that alley. They called me names and told me I was useless and kicked me, and I didn’t do anything.... I just let it happen.”

“Why?” Din asked suddenly.

“Because somewhere deep down I felt like they were right,” Thell said, making eye contact with him again. “I felt like because everyone else had been saying those things to me, it must have been true. No one in Darand’s house liked me. No one saw me. I mean, hell, the one guy that I actually liked completely rejected me to my face and walked away like I was nothing!”

Thell leaned back, surprised and suddenly embarrassed by her disclosure. To her relief, Din didn’t seem bothered by it; he barely moved from his position. Taking it as a good sign, and inhaling deeply, Thell continued, lowering her voice.

“My only source of comfort in the world was gone and I didn’t have any else left. I was just a girl in a galaxy that looked at me like I was nothing. That’s why I was so adamant about going with you that night. Because I knew the consequences if I didn’t. I knew I had to speak up for myself. If I didn’t, I could’ve died out there, in the big world. But I always felt safe with you, even when you were standing in the middle of the hallway pointing a blaster at my face.”

To her relief, Din huffed out a laugh. “Not the best of scenarios to feel safe in.”

Thell smirked. “Maybe not. But I came along anyway.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Really?” Thell perked up.

He dipped his head once. “It’s... nice to have someone to talk to.”

Thell smiled, feeling tears burn at the back of her eyes. “Yeah. Me too.”

“We have that in common, you know.”

“... What?”

“The thing you said... about no one seeing you.”

Thell’s eyebrows twitched, and she scrunched her fingers into her pant leg. “Oh.”

He was still looking back at her, suddenly gently in the firelight. Thell’s heart was full from their conversations and laughter, to his opening up about his own past to chuckling together about old stories. She was immensely grateful, and something about the warmth of the fire and the peace of the field were causing her barriers to fall.

“Thank you for telling me about yourself,” she said quietly. “I know it’s not easy, especially when you don’t normally share it. But thank you anyway.”

He watched her for a long moment before dipping his head softly, and Thell blinked. Taking a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart, she bent forward, clasping her hand gently around his that rested on his leg. She could feel him flinch under her palm, see how rigid he suddenly went under her touch. His hand was warm, large and secure under her hold.

Thell gulped, and her greatest fear came true when he slowly pulled away from her embrace, turning on his side to face the kid. Her hand dangling, Thell could only feel the need to smack herself, curse at how stupid and overly forward she had been. Why should she have expected it anyway, just because they were connecting over their sob stories and growing closer to reciprocate her feelings?

Frustrated with herself, Thell slowly rolled over on her side, dragging the blanket she had brought with her. She couldn’t face the Mandalorian tonight, not directly. So she let her gaze linger to the rocks casted in an orange glow, and to the darkness of the field beyond.

. . . .

“Wake up.”

Blinking steadily, Thell peered directly into the sun. She put up a hand to shield her eyes right as the Mandalorian moved in front of it, casting her in shadow. His hand was on his hip, one arm holding Grogu. He peered down at her curiously, cocking his head and looking back with dark, endearing eyes.

Thell suddenly remembered the night before, the awkward moment when he had pulled his hand out of her’s. If Din remembered too, he didn’t say anything.

Instead, he bent down, offering her a hand to help her stand.

“We’re going into town.”

Thell blinked, gathering her things from the ground. “Town? I thought we didn’t want to make ourselves known.”

“Not particularly,” Din said. “But we’re low on food. We’ll stay low profile.”

The village in Naboo that Din dragged her to was exquisite. Flowers and garlands of every color hung from pots or strung across archways. Ancient buildings soared above her view, the rounded green tops of settlements reflecting in the sun. Gardens with fountains and shining columns dotted the landscape, causing the air to have a sweet aroma. The corridors they walked through were not crowded, and the only inhabitants Thell saw were local humans called the Naboo. She couldn’t help but admire the elegant, flowing robes and dresses they wore, the ornate styles in which their hair was done.

But Din practically dragged her along, keeping her close as the kid hid in a satchel on his hip. Thell herself had worn a cloak, half covering her face. As for Din, there was only so much that could be done to hide the Mandalorian, so he stuck to sticking out in the crowd.

However, to her greatest relief, no one seemed to be bothered by them. In fact, they were more than friendly to the both of them, even the children offering them garlands of flowers as they entered the city.

But Din was meticulous, only wanting to spend as much time in the city as needed. Thell, on the other hand, wandered past vendors with crafts of things she had never seen, food she had never smelled or tasted.

And music.

The sound caught her ears immediately as Din was paying for a package of fruit. Thell turned, her ears perking up at the glorious sound. She had just taken a step forward when she felt Din’s hand on her elbow, holding her back.

“What is it?”

She looked over her shoulder, smiling widely at him. “Music. Don’t you hear it?”

“I do.”

She tugged at his arm. “Let’s go listen to it.”

“We need to go soon. It’s getting dark.”

Thell shrugged. “I know. But you were the one who said we needed a break. What’s a little pitstop?” When he didn’t move, Thell stuck out her bottom lip. “It’ll only be for a minute, and I promise I won’t drag you away again.”

When he finally nodded, Thell nearly shrieked in excitement as they followed the sound. She had heard music played on Bespin before, but only in moderation, and it had never sounded this beautiful.

They passed through corridors and dim hallways to an arched opening. It let them out onto a small balcony that overlooked a luxurious garden, surely owned by a wealthy family in the city. Thell could only tilt her head back and breath in the sweat air as she relaxed against the railing. The garden was speckled with wild flowers and trees of all varieties, twisting cobblestones paths between streams and pools that glittered like diamonds in the sunlight. Out in the distance, the sun was setting beyond the hills, casting the clouds in orange and pink glows. The railing was lined with vines that twisted around the architecture, spattering the balcony with purple flowers. Just beyond an archway in the garden Thell could spot the group of musicians playing, all holding different, beautiful instruments. A small crowd sat with their back to Thell and Din, and if Thell focused enough, it felt as if they were playing for just them.

She sensed Din moving closer, coming to rest his arms against the railing beside her. Grogu was at her feet, murmuring softly until she bent down to pick him up.

“See that, buddy?” She whispered, pointing in the direction of the musicians. “That’s a band. They’re playing music on instruments. Have you heard music before?”

He was babbling close to her ear, his eyes focused on the band. At a certain high note, his eyes widened and his ears pinned back, and Thell couldn’t help the giggle that rose in her throat. When the music settled again, Thell tucked Grogu into her arms, holding him as she began to slowly rock back and forth on her heels and hummed. Grogu seemed to enjoy it, eyes flickering to her when she pulled away from the railing, humming to the same tune as the musicians and spinning.

Grogu cooed happily, and Thell pressed her forehead to his before kissing his head. She giggled again, holding the baby in her arms and spinning while the music continued.

When she finally stopped spinning, and the music stopped, her hair was frayed and sticking to her face. But Din was looking at her, one arm resting casually against the railing and one leg kicked back. He was admiring her, not even bothering to look away when Thell paused, breathing heavily.

“Do you dance?” She asked, breathless.

She hadn’t known what came over her, except that Grogu was sliding down her arms as Din loomed over her, looking down at her through the helmet while starlight was beginning to glimmer on the Beskar.

“We have to get back. It’s late.”

Her heart sank, but she tried not to show it. “Okay.”

With one last glance at the garden, Thell turned and followed after the Mandalorian.

They returned to the ship a while later, but Thell opted to sleep outside again, under the canopy of starlight. Grogu stayed close by, choosing to sleep beside her as she settled her blanket on the ground. Din prowled the surrounding area, his blaster at his side, before coming up to Thell and Grogu. He peered down at the kid, cocking his head.

“Night, kid,” he said lowly, to which Grogu murmured softly.

Thell smiled down at the kid before glancing back at Din and asking, “How many days before we leave?”

“Two,” he said, and Thell nodded.

“It’s been nice.”

“It has.”

The silence turned to being rather uncomfortable, so Thell shifted, rocking on one knee.

“Well... I’m just going to get some water. Goodnight, Din.”

His voice was soft. “Goodnight.”

She had just returned to her makeshift bed on the ground beside Grogu, canteen in hand, when an object on her pillow caught her attention. Bending down, Thell gingerly picked up the item, rolling it over in her hand. It was one of the purple flowers from the balcony, the one that overlooked the musicians and where she had danced with Grogu. The one where she had desperately wanted to ask Din, too, as well.

“Din, did you-“

She went to look at the Mandalorian, but he was already sleeping on the other side of the fire, arms crossed over her chest. Thell let her eyes wander for a moment before settling down next to Grogu, letting her fingers brush over the petals as she drifted off.