#has lost pieces of himself almost integral to his person

[dragon-zena]

sora: im not really closer to learning the power of waking but i did help to save the world we were on

yen sid: god you are such a failure. die

sora: i am 16 years old

[stormsandskies]

i was just relistening to the Feywild arc again and oh boy i think i may have found some connections with episode 114.

right so in gills section of episode 79 when he enters the meeting room and does his sniff thing for evil and good he notices that one of the figures does not smell completely evil, in fact, it is only one part of him that smells like that. He also notices many others who are the same and some who are fully evil-smelling

pulling directly from the episode grizzly says "That same figure on the other side of the room that you attacked..." who we find out later to be Jayson Ferin "... a bubbling of evil within but it's not fiendish, it's not undead, it seems to be mixed with what is also a good energy as well. It's almost as if they've been fused together... you get this noxious odor but it's only like one part of this person."

this is especially concerning when we pair it with what we learned in the navy base. between the weird memory machine and the message left by faye ferin stating that her son is "stable" it makes me wonder if maybe the experimentation has been going on for a lot longer than we know and for more people than we think. especially because shortly after we hear about that small bit of evil in jayson we also hear about it in many others around the room.

now obviously some of these people could just be a little evil by nature but the discovery of triton skin on the ground before gillon is taken puts doubts about that in my mind.

anyways all this is to say i think maybe jayson is not full himself anymore and has lost a very integral piece to himself and is now just following orders, and i think maybe some of the members of the council in the undersea may also be under that effect, or are full clones so that the navy can spy on them.

this would fit with the undersea being in favor of lunadeyis and faye being in favor of aster, and we can assume that faye is very very high up in the navy.

i am worried.

[bi-bi-birdy03]

When Bruce stepped into the room after Gordon, nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. Even bracing himself for even the chance it was his son on that table did nothing to soften the dread or fear. A body too small under a pure white sheet slowly being stained a dark rusty color. It was almost black with the abundance of blood seeping into it. Bruce almost never froze in the line of duty, in the facade of Batman, but he wasn't Batman. In that moment, he was a boy in an alley watching his parents bleed out on the concrete. He was a man holding the smoldering remains of a son he thought gone forever. He was a man, not a myth, not a dark knight, not even a vigilante. He was a man who once again lost an integral piece of himself. He was a father who had lost another son.

Seeing a man who exudes such strength and courage, who has bested gods, and even death itself become a shell of a person is not something Jim ever wanted to see again. Stepping out of the room as soon as gothams protector becomes man once again on the floor on a morgue is the least he could do. Seeing the officers linger, he makes quick work, shooing them away to let a man greave his child in peace. 'Age seventeen', he thinks, 'another victim of gotham. Never making it to adulthood.'

An exert of a story I'm thinking of writing. I have the outline of half the story I wanna get that done before I start really writing.

[justagalwhowrites]

I think the one thing that still haunts me about lavender is all the time they wasted and spend with other people when they could’ve been together the entire time. Like it hurts my soul.

I know sometimes people will say things like “they had to suffer to get to where they are now/to realise they need each other” and stuff like that but no, I do not accept it.

They could’ve been together and try to heal together. Try to keep each others broken pieces together. With them, it didn’t even matter if their pieces mixed up because they’re Joel and Doc. They could’ve loved each other and held each other and they could’ve just been together.

And I know Joel has so much trauma with Sarah’s death but the way he treated Doc still gives me a bitter feeling and I don’t know if I ever truly forgot and forgave that, even at the end of lavender.

I have very strong feelings about QZ Joel and personally, I disagree with your friend that QZ Joel wouldn’t have been able to love someone. He was definitely closed off and grieving and terrified of letting people close again. But I think he actually needed someone to fight through his walls and armour and be there for him. Someone he can be open and honest and sad and scared and all these feelings, with.

He’s been the protector all his life. We all know Joel as the protector. But who has ever protected him? Tommy just left to join the fireflies, then joined Jackson and never even bothered to tell Joel he’s okay and safe. With Tess, sure they had each others backs but Joel was definitely the muscles and more of a protector. And obviously Ellie was a kid so she had to be protected.

I think if there was someone in the QZ just really there for him, putting in effort and fighting to get through to him… I think that would’ve been so important to Joel. I don’t think he was some emotionless asshole some people say he was. (And I don’t mean you or in Lavender! But many people see him as this hard killing machine lol) He’s been through so much shit and always did so much for other people. I think he really needed someone to do things for him for once. And I think that person would’ve meant the world to him and yes, he would’ve been absolutely terrified of losing them. I’m sure there would’ve been moments where he just wants to run but I do think he would’ve been able to love. Joel loves so deeply and sincerely, I don’t think he could’ve stopped himself with the right person….

Anyway, thanks for coming to my ted talk. Lavender still haunts me deeply apparently lmao HAVE FUN with you friend!!! 💕💕💕

Hi Bestie!!!

OK so I love these thoughts because YES I feel like Lavender, while it ends happily, is a tragic story. They lost so much time and they were in so much pain.

That being said… I’m not sure it really could have gone any other way for Joel, for a few reasons.

Joel is, I think, the opposite of an unfeeling person. I think he’s a person who feels very, very deeply and that’s what makes it unsafe. Post-outbreak Joel is defined by loss and his inability to live with loss. Everything he does, to a certain extent I think, he does to not suffer that again. He does literally anything to protect Tommy. He keeps some kind of distance from Tess. In Lavender, he forced the one person who makes him feel deeply as far away as he can manage to keep her. To his traumatized mind, loving someone too much is a death sentence. He loved Sarah, she died, he almost died, too. His animalistic hind brain sees love as a threat, the same way it does a gun or a knife. Feeling that way activates his fight or flight because his survival brain goes FEELING THIS WAY LEADS TO DEATH. In Lavender, he fights this feeling for months but he’s living in a constant state of deep, intense fear and panic. Doc tries desperately to help him integrate into the QZ and help him process his feelings and tries to take care of him but his trauma brain won’t let her.

The other core issue is I don’t think he really can recover while in the QZ. Living under military occupation is too close to the source of his trauma. There are armed soldiers everywhere, he sometimes needs to burn children’s bodies - children who were killed by soldiers (even though they were infected at the time.) There are nothing but constant reminders that the thing that damn near killed him is still a threat, he cannot put himself at risk. It’s no coincidence that he can’t really let himself love Doc until they’re outside the QZ and he has some semblance of control, that’s the first time he’s been outside that state of panic since Sarah died.

I guess it’s less that I feel like Joel couldn’t love someone - he loved Doc pretty much since the day he met her, he never stopped, even when he was at his coldest and leaving her - but that his trauma response would be actively trying to keep him from doing it. Being with someone, embracing how he feels about someone, would be like constantly standing in the middle of a wildfire and not trying to escape it. I’m not sure anyone can really survive that for a few months let alone a decade and a half, even someone who loves as strong as Joel.

Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts!!! I love hearing things like this and I love that my fic made you think and consider this and I love the character of Joel so much. He’s so rich and dynamic and exploring things like trauma through him is so rewarding.

Thank you for reading! Love you!!

[mr-dwight-dwicky]

[ Previously ]

@tennofficial

Dwight yells as he watches his metal arm be torn apart before his eyes. He screams, the integrated nerves feeling just as painful as when he first lost the arm in the first place. Maybe more. Its like its being burned off little by little.

He makes one last run for Vargas. He doesn't know what he means to do but he also doesnt care. He has to get Johnny back. He cant let Vargas take him!

However, finds himself running into a wall of Egan's nursery. "No," he hisses under his breath. "No, no, no!" He pounds the wall with his fist, leaving a large dent. The vibrations cause the closet door to pop open, and Dwight sees a very familiar blue foot.

"Leera," he breathes, falling to his knees, scrambling over to his partner. She's tied up with some strange material, but it's enough to keep her secure. There's a gag around her mouth, as well. "Hold on, Firefly, I'll get you out I..." He remembers that he is currently missing an arm, but he manages to take the gag away.

"Im so sorry, dearheart," she sobs, her green eye already wet with tears. "The rope it...it's made of something I...I couldnt use my flames. I didnt even see him Im so sorry."

Dwight pulls Leera to him with his remaining arm, shushing her sweetly. "Its not your fault, Firefly, its not your fault." His own voice is getting choked and his eyes burn.

He almost forgot what it felt like to truly lose...

"I got here as soon as i could I couldn't..." Addie rushes into the room, cutting off as she looks around. There's baby Egan with a baby dragon on the bed of the master bedroom, an Irken with pink eyes that Addie cant remember meeting, and there's pieces of metal scatter all over the floor. She looks over at Dwight and Leera. "Where's Uncle Johnny?"

Dwight feels everything at once. Frustration. Rage. Despair. Another person he couldnt save. Another something dear stolen from him. Another moment where he was left alone and no help came. His eyes are like blizzards, cold and deadly as he turns them on Tenn.

"You. Finish untying her," he orders Tenn, indicating Leera. "You try anything else and i will not hesitate to rip your head from your body one handed."

With one hand its hard to get up but he manages, making his way over to Adalet.

"Where. Were. You?" He demands.

"What happened to your arm?" She asks, trying to ignore his tone. "Where's Uncle Johnny?"

"You can thank Vargas for both of those things," Dwight replies, his voice like ice. "You know most people when they get a distress signal they move their ass to get to the trouble."

Addie doesnt like that tone. Something about it is making her stomach twist horribly. "I didn't...I didnt know thats what it was. It was just flashing-"

"What the hell else would it be, Adalet?!" Dwight snaps. "Did you even try to contact me? That's the first thing a supposed genius would do!"

Its hard to breathe. Is Dwight looming over her or is that her imagination? Her ears are ringing. "Dwight...I think you're scaring me." Her voice is too soft for her liking.

"Oh, am I? Am I scaring you, Adalet?" He mocks. He can barely hear Leera pleading something behind him. "Perhaps that could have been avoided if you had FUCKING BEEN HERE WHEN I CALLED FOR YOUR HELP TO STOP VARGAS FROM TAKING JOHNNY!"

There's a high pitched scream that breaks through everything, and an explosion like Dwight has never seen. The room is bathed in deep blue light, produced by the flames now shooting out of Adalet. Dwight's first instinct is to grab Egan, who makes a coo of curiosity. Another burst of navy flame sends Dwight backwards to avoid it, making him land on his backside.

Addie falls to the floor, hands almost squeezing her head and knees curling into her chest. Its like her fear is suddenly a raging animal and it has her pinned. She can't move. She cant speak. The only coming out of her mouth is loud broken sobs.

[personnages]

Peter stood there for a moment, his back to her, fist clenching -- despite himself -- around Lucy's little ring. Hope warred with despair. Amnesia was a convenient cover, that, and he knew there was a possibility that the ring had been stolen, or, God forbid, robbed from his sister's... grave. If it was a trap, the pieces fit together very clearly. It was all too convenient. But yet? But yet -- could he let her go? Should he let her go?

He made himself uncurl his fingers and set the ring back on the nightstand, though he could only do so slowly. "It's amber," he murmured, then said more distinctly, "The orange stone is Narnian amber."

Peter took a breath and squared his shoulders, then turned back to face her. He took a step forward, entering what he remembered had been the radius of Lucy's field of clear vision.

"I understand that you think I am your family, Miss," Peter said gently, and he almost hated himself for saying it. But he had to be sure. He could not be anything less than sure. "And I truly am sorry for what you have been through, for it sounds like you have seen a lot of hardship. But you must understand --" His voice broke, and he swallowed hard, casting his gaze towards the shabby carpet before meeting her eyes again. "You must understand that you are not the first person to try to convince me of this. It has been ten years," he said, his voice still gentle but with a edge of steel. "It is... it is, I think, by now a lost cause."

He stepped away from her. "Goodnight, Miss. Thank you for your time." James opened the door. But even as Peter made to step through, as Helene looked up and reached for his arm, her brown eyes sad, his heart wrenched like he was leaving something integral behind.

@personnages : Lucy Lauren & Peter

Glancing around the room, Lauren laid down on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. She still couldn't quite believe that this was happening. That this was how it all ended. After the long journey from Narnia to London, after all the learning and distant hazy memories she'd struggled with, she was so close to finding out the truth...

Was she Lauren, the lonely orphan found near death on the side of the road? Or was she Lucy, the golden princess beloved by that distant seaside kingdom she might never again see? There was only one man who could tell her. But now she'd never know.

If she really was Lucy, then this was the brother she loved best. The one she would have been seeing for the first time in ten years... She'd only been 13 at the time of the massacre. And now, she was a grown woman, having spent nearly as much time without him as she had with him. But they'd never even gotten through the door. Peter's manservant had turned them away after going inside. And with that rejection, all her hopes went up in smoke. Smoke just as thick and acrid as what she tasted every time she closed her eyes.

But before she could let loose even a single tear, the door behind her creaked open. Turning her hollow, sunken eyes toward it, she gasped and quickly jumped to her feet; righting her dress and giving a small curtsy, just as she'd been taught.

"Your Majesty... I... I wasn't expecting..."

[llamagoddessofficial]

Hello assassin au~ May I ask for a scenario of how they all meet MC? See her form a distance and become awestruck and hold their chest as an arrow pieces it? (I mean, the don’t have hearts so I’m fine with giving mine)

Sans: He started catching feelings when he began stalking her in his attempt to find the easiest and most convenient way to strike. Usually, following his hit just feels like looking for breaks in armour, but learning everything about her... it made him grow attached. He started looking for completely unrelated pieces of information about her that would serve no logical purpose for conducting a killing. He liked her journalistic integrity, her charming naivete, her deep empathy... he liked her taste in home decor, how she dressed, the kinds of food she cooked. The little noise of frustration she’d make when she felt like she wasn’t being listened to. He likes the mask he chose for being around her- the lazy, easygoing neighbour that no one would suspect. 

Normally, he keeps away from the target until the last moment, but he finds himself slowly inserting into her life. Sans doesn’t trick himself into believing he’s a good person, but he has a code- a set of ‘ethics’ he follows, which absolutely includes not becoming personal with his victims.

... And, well... if he can’t resist getting personal... maybe he should reconsider her being a victim.

Red: Red already had some Feelings stirring in his big ol’ chest when he got his information on her. She looked all cute and unaware in the pictures he found, but a bounty is a bounty. However... once he saw her in person, in that crowded bar, he felt the little lurch of ‘i dunno if i really wanna do it’ become a resolute i won’t do it. Since Red is the only one of the three who has no qualms about getting personal with his kills, he’s staggered by his sudden reluctance, lost in thoughts about what they could be together. It was something of a love at first sight moment, though it wasn’t entirely pleasant for him- in amongst all the fluffy sensations, the thought that he had been planning on hurting her made him feel physically ill.

Rather than kill her in a back alley like he planned, he quietly (without her knowledge) escorted her back to her home. Just... making sure she’s safe. There’s a bounty on her head, after all- he’s gotta be sure no lowlives hunt her down.

Skull: Skull first saw her down the barrel of his gun.

Skull is a sniper partly because he’s so naturally good at it, ruthlessly patient and intelligent, but also partly because it makes him feel a sense of control. Humans caused him unimaginable suffering and loss over his lifetime, and now, he gets to instantly and distantly end lives. Although it does give him that temporary rush of power, it also has slowly but surely made him cold and disconnected, numb to everything. Sans and Red let themselves get their hands dirty but Skull remains distant- from both his kills, and himself. Floating in an emotional vacuum.

Seeing her... the feelings she gave him suddenly sent him reeling, crashing back down to Earth. He felt connection again. Skull isn’t exactly a chatty killer, nobody bats an eye when he vanishes for weeks on end- even the people who hire him. So he camps in an empty apartment opposite hers, his lights off and curtains drawn, watching her daily life through a scope. Sitting in a cold abandoned apartment for hours on end was never fun for any of his hunts... but when he watches her, it’s okay, he feels warm again.

It’s ironic that the closest he’s ever felt to anyone in years is still with a separation of almost 100ft.

[apolitenarcissist]

The Kiss by Klimt, but it’s Hannigram from NBC’s series Hannibal

Gustav Klimt (1862-1912) was probably one of the most iconic artists of Wiener Secession movement. He and his peers believed in representing some faces of reality that they shouldn’t have painted, and in bringing up elements that at time were considered forbidden by their conservative colleagues. As such, they deeply explored the sexual component of their subjects, highlighting the power of an embrace or a kiss and at the same time refusing to hide violence and eroticism in their utter form. Doesn’t it ring a bell? NBC’s series ‘Hannibal’ is just as daring, focusing on unveiling taboos and feelings. As Bryan Fuller gave us a tour of Hannibal and Will’s complicate -but also beautiful- relationship, he did not leave anything out. The protagonists have both been shown to have been trough so much, but still they shared such a strong connection: betrayal, hurt and suffering but also forgiveness, comfort and tenderness. In this masterpiece, the controversy of affection and brutality coexisting is presented to us, on the thin line where the two can meet.

Who hasn’t seen this canvas, even once in their lifetime? The Kiss (1908-1909) is the archetype of connection. As extravagant as it may seem, it hides tons of deeper meanings, inviting us to dive right in to explore them. The subjects of the painting are two young lovers, caught in the intimate act of cuddling.

Let’s take a look at the figure in the left side of the painting. It is shown to be wearing a robe, adorned with a geometric motif. The pattern represents this sort of composure, in an almost apparent detachment from feelings: the colours are cold and dark, the shapes are full of edges and nothing is left to casuality. It also reflects a sense of elegance in its regularity. Hannibal’s attitude is not dissimilar. He is a brilliant and cultured man, but he does not let himself get lost in emotions often: he makes a point of keeping up this illegible expression, only tinted in a mysterious and dark politeness, behind which everything is calculated in detail. Even when it comes to the physical matter we cannot deny it: his straight hair always kept in place and his three piece suits match his personality even too well.

Now, the figure on the right. It wears a robe too, but this time it does not strictly cover the integrity of its body: shoulders, arms and legs are exposed to the eye of the observer in all of their anatomical perfection. The shapes on the garment are free from every kind of structure: they are colorful and lack pointed corners. They are cheerful, they vibrate and express vitality and passion. They are the tangible representation of everything that comes with emotions. Will’s empathy allows him to see the beauty but also the atrocities, in a moltitude of faces of the same medal. He lacks organization and his feelings are shown in an intense yet delicate way. They blossom and grow through the show, like the floreal decoration. His hair is mostly curly and free and he chooses his clothes in a rather unartistic way.

Although the figure on the left may appear almost intrusive in his posture, there is pure tenderness in the way in which it caresses its lover’s face, its hands are gentle and warm. It is not dissimilar to the situation in which Hannibal cherishes Will’s cheeks: it is shown many times in the three seasons that he pretty much appreciates doing so.

In the canvas, the facial expression of the subject on the left is concealed, and all of the observer’s attention is drawn toward the one on the right. It is not only the artist’s choice, but it is also an act of worship towards its beauty. It is known that Hannibal has always been searching for things that could be defined as pleasant, both in their aspect and their contents, and considered Will one of them, enough to attract his attention more than anyone else ever had.

In detail, the expression of the figure evokes a sense of abandonment, almost a momentary pause from reality surrounding it, where everything which is not its lover disappears from its perception and even time stops. In particular in this scene from season 2, we can see a microchange in Will’s expression as soon as Hannibal’s hand touches his face almost tenderly: a storm of emotions lays behind his gaze, but at the same time he cannot do anything but concentrate on the moment, on the man in front of him, and on everything that rapid interaction can mean to them.

Last but not least, despise being intertwined in an unbreakble embrace, the two are still standing on a cliff, which represents an abyss, threatening to disappear forever. Still, there is a golden aura around them, like a thick golden cloak, which encircles the couple in the promise of hope and immortality for their love, even when their bodies will no longer exist.

[haleigh-sloth]

Do you think hori got more and more vague with endeavor’s physical abuse as the story went on? Like I think an anon said, the most graphic abusive scene we got from him was that one page with todoroki puking and a smack sound effect indicating that endeavor slapped rei off page.

Much later on in chapter 302, I think, when he realized dabi was still training in secret, we see rei on the ground cradling her face and todoroki crying and shouting at endeavor to not “bully mom”. Some endeavor stans say he didn’t hit her but rather that she and shouto were napping and endeavor just came in and started verbally bashing her and rei was just hiding her face because she was scared or something.

The thing is, hori had no problem with explicitly showing shigaraki’s dad slapping and beating the shit out of tomura with a gardening tool, in the face at that, so why is he so vague with endeavor? And especially with rei. We also have yet to see what was going down in todoroki’s private training sessions. What happened that made him puke when he was five? We saw once endeavor holding a kendo bamboo blade, what did he do with it? Attack his son?

I might be exaggerating, but if his physical abuse was more clearly shown, some endeavor delulus wounds exist. Cause, for example, if we hadn’t seen tomura’s dad hitting him in the face with full force, and it was only hinted at, I bet there would be some fans saying that tomura’s abuse wasn’t that bad and his dad kept trying to dissuade him form his hero dream cause at that point it seemed as he most likely didn’t have a quirk.

*sweats nervously*

Ha

Well, yes. But also not really?

CW: Abuse

So��here’s one thing we all need to understand and begrudgingly accept:

Endeavor was retconned.

He was retconned in the sense that his M.O. was backpedaled. When he’s first introduced we are shown that he’s this physically abusive piece of shit who beats his wife and his kids, and has almost no redeeming qualities. And we're led to believe that the entire. fucking. series, but at the same time it's becoming obvious that he's going to be this redeemable person, and that he's slowly coming to terms with what he did and that he is going to have to face his past actions. Which honestly could have worked fine----until the Todofam chapters threw a wrench into that shit. THEN we're suddenly shown that Endeavor actually wasn't this violent, physically abusive piece of shit, but in fact only escalated to get that bad because of his spiraling son and him not being able to face the damage he'd already caused. Basically, the author went back and made it to where his violent actions toward his wife and kid were a reaction to a stressor (Touya's mental health), instead of just leaving him as this abusive piece of shit that he was originally introduced as, making him shoulder less blame--making him less guilty. We were still shown that he was an abusive person toward his oldest son, but it was kind of a big shock to see that he actually managed to have a strong bond with one of his kids in the first place, because as I said--most of the series we're shown Shouto and Natsuo hating him, Rei being terrified of him visiting the hospital, and Fuyumi acknowledging the tension in the house when he was incredibly angry after AM's retirement. All things that happen when you're an abusive POS to your family and they're scared of you or blame you. So seeing him have a son who craved his attention so much to the point that it killed him was kind of a shock. ALTHOUGH, I have to agree with this anon here and say that making it this way does add a certain element of sheer sadness to it. But I digress.

The thing about the retcon is that no amount of backpedaling can erase this

And because THIS ^^^ is canon and undeniably HAPPENED, we are only able to assume that it started here ⬇️⬇️

Endeavor was violent and physically abusive toward his wife. It wasn’t like that from the beginning, but it has to start somewhere. This is the starting point ^^^. This was the breaking point, Touya kept getting burned, and Endeavor lost it on Rei. And I am tired of explaining E-stans away. You don't draw two small children covering their ears and hiding in a different room while listening to the horror of your parents and baby sibling screaming at each other unless you're trying to convey the horror of that situation to readers. I don't consume bad takes so I just recommend that you stay away from them as well. Saves a lot of stress.

People can say what they want, but Endeavor's abuse was not vague. I wouldn't consider the physical aspect of it to be vague either. I think that's just the beauty of the retcon. He wasn't physically abusive from the START, but that doesn't erase the fact that he became physically abusive. But we DO know that from the time Touya's potential disappeared, Endeavor started abusing his family.

Emotionally at first, then it became physical.

The thing you gotta ask yourself is, what is the purpose of this retcon? In my opinion, Hori could have still redeemed Endeavor without retconning him. Not everybody would have liked it, but you can't please everybody. That's just a fact. The retcon wasn't necessary to redeem Endeavor. So in my opinion, and I say this with caution, I think Hori retconned Endeavor to make it more acceptable to integrate him back into the family. Or at least imply it. I think that's the ending Horikoshi is going toward. Not a fan of it, but.....look at the writing. It's got wish fulfillment written all over it. It's not gonna make people happy, but at the end of the day, it's not anybody's story but Horikoshi's. He can do what he wants with it. But no amount of retconning can erase the cold, hard truth:

Now as for Shigaraki's situation being so cut and dry without any vagueness--

Look, I would bet money that Horikoshi has had Shigaraki's story planned out for years. His entire arc is central to everything that BNHA is about. All of BNHA's themes, messages, conflicts, and answers lie in Shigaraki's story. Shigaraki is the best written character in this story for a reason. There's no retconning, and he has been carefully written with, in my opinion, no flaws in his story.

The reason he didn't have a problem showing how horrible it got with Shigaraki is because of those reasons I listed above. His story is the heart of BNHA and Horikoshi isn't gonna sugar coat or hide the tragedy in the story's central arc. Otherwise....the entire story just starts to fall apart and not make sense. You don't know what to believe. It becomes too hard to follow and unenjoyable.

Basically what I'm saying (assuming) is: Shigaraki's story is something Hori has never questioned himself about. He knew where he was going with it, and how. That's why there's none of this vagueness or sugar coating in his arc.

His arc is delivering everything BNHA is about to the readers.

[compassion-of-a-lightner]

I guess I'm sleep deprived enough having not slept for 4 days to make a post about this.

People who entirely write off Asgore as a character worth caring about in any respect, what's up?

I should clarify.

This is not directed to people who fully consider his story in UT, or the implications in DR and come out of it going "I don't forgive him and therefore don't like him"

It's more to the weirdly hostile voices I see that are just like, entirely dismissive of his story and just go "Haha, he sucks. Definitely no nuance here! Just shitty! Every other character is worth the world and Asgore is a piece of shit forever and should die lmao" and like, did you play the same game?

Because I feel like you're just robbing yourself of a whole ass dynamic of the story in UT just to go "Haha, he's a lame divorced shithead and murderer, Toriel deserves better uwu" and like, that's not the point? OBVIOUSLY she does? Because she decided he's not for her in both games for different reasons? That doesn't delete his story from the game(s) or make it less valuable to consider?

Also good for her (in UT), the dumbass goes kid killer and you tell him to go fly a kite.

But like, seriously man. Asgore has one of the most hefty 'crumbling under the weight of the world' narratives to his story in UT.

He's in charge of giving all monsters a better life, and he's looked deep inside, witnessed his son killed by humanity, witnessed the (supposed) best chance at peace between humanity and monsters pass with Chara, and he's decided that the only hope to provide for those he cares about is to give up his own 'humanity' and gather the power of human souls to break through... AND HE CAN'T EVEN DO THAT BECAUSE HE CAN'T BRING HIMSELF TO BECOME THE MONSTER HE HATES!

(Yes he kills though, I mean finish the plan, we'll get to that)

Like cut and dry, it's a pretty shit plan bud. But it's born from a place of deep compassion and a sense of significant loss that made him desperate.

(some of these details might be too fuzzy from a long time since playing but the general point remains)

He doesn't know all the facts.

He doesn't know everything about Chara.

He doesn't know that Chara, while fused with Asriel, wanted to commit violence against Humanity for what they did to the monsters.

He didn't know that Asriel died because he fought against this.

He didn't know so much of the story. All he saw was his adopted child dying with a simple wish to see the flowers again, and humanity attacking like the beasts they claimed monsters were when his son attempted to fulfill that wish.

He saw humanity's darkest, and questioned why monsters were the ones locked below. And he saw what Asriel and Chara were able to accomplish together so he made a plan.

His plan rings the same tones of most 'last chance' narratives. There IS no other way out from what he's witnessed. Chara and Asriel WERE the good option out, and it didn't work.

The good ending was attempted, and denied. So he looked at his options and there really weren't many.

Either die underground, or kill to make the surface their home.

And upon finally building up the determination to put his plan in motion, he couldn't do it.

He killed, and immediately had too much regret to follow through.

He shut down, he crumbled under the pressure, he saw the blood on his hands and he realized he wasn't able to hate strongly enough to use the soul to break through and attack humanity as a whole.

As Toriel said in the true end, he could have gone with 1 soul, but he hid away and hoped that no more humans would come.

His true plan was to end his plan. To live in regret of the life he stole and never see another human again, and out of fear of revealing his failure to his people, out of fear of admitting to them that they would never see the surface again, he hid from his responsibility because it would demand he become a true monster. He claimed to need more power, and hoped no one would come to confront them.

He locked himself into the responsibilities of a mad king, to kill and gather power whenever a new human arrives. For nothing.

To continuously bloody his hands in the hopes of never doing so again, all because he's too 'weak' to just go up top and become the Mercy-less monster he truly believed needed to exist to free them.

And all the sadness and regret, but hollow determination to continue on his path is so STRONG in his story, man! It's TERRIBLE!

He hates what he's become; He shows no joy at the thought of fighting Frisk. He's built an empty responsibility all in the hope of never killing again, and the world keeps laughing at him as it tosses more lives his way.

He wants to help his people, but he doesn't want to hurt the humans.

He was a good person presented with a perspective of the 'facts' that laid bare a world of disgusting hate, a world that can't be reasoned with, a world without Mercy. And after having lost his only children to this world, he gave in to his own weakness and decided to play by the rules- to also fight without Mercy.

AND. FAILED.

He's both entirely convinced that the world has no mercy, and is entirely unable to relinquish his own.

All while bitterly tending to an evil he resents to its core, all while hoping to be left alone and never be asked to shed blood again, all while truly believing he must do so- in these circumstances- if he is to protect the lives on the surface and maintain even a semblance of his mercy in the grand scheme of things.

Let them live and risk the humans finding out he killed in the first place, risk the humans coming underground to kill them all. Risk repeating what happened with Asriel, but for them all because of blood on his hands.

Kill them, for no gain, and continue the facade- continue telling everyone you're almost strong enough to kill those on the surface. Continue lying, so that the monsters are safe, and the humans are as well. All at the cost of another child. IT SUCKS IT'S FUCKING BAD MAN.

It's what makes it so touching that you can convince him through your intense determination to break the rules of this mercy-less world! You're unending compassion and inability to accept 'no' for an answer in regards to cherishing life provides him with new hope!

It's a glimpse of a person with true unending mercy that convinces him that the world can be changed- Frisk and the player's actions convince him that he was mistaken. That it never had to be the original plan, and the reason he couldn't think of a new one is because succumbing to the act of murder had destroyed his sense of hope- he wasn't the right person to come up with a plan to free the monsters after that because it was simply too damaging to his ability to hope or dream of a better future.

He needed convinced.

He needed to be shown that the world can have mercy in it, that it can be compassionate.

Things he once believed were possible, and a reality that was torn from him with the loss of his kids- revitalized as you step through to make it happen.

IT'S GOOD, OKAY.

AND ASGORE IS INTEGRAL TO IT AND IS A TRAGIC FIGURE WITHIN IT.

Anyways you can still hate him, you're opinions are you own and he sucks at being a good dude. The dude killed kids (in UT), you remember that? Fucked up.

I've just been seeing a lot of takes on the guy as some nuance-less bad person when he has so many layers of depth going on that it sounds bizarre to hear him summed up as like "Oh yeah, Asgore is a piece of shit, anyways let's talk about the character depth of Pipis"

I mean come on, Ms. Pipis is right there, talk about her, lol.

[blossom-hwa]

hey lina!! happy four years and may your blog continue growing and for you to keep producing amazing works!!

i was wondering for your drabble requests, can i ask for yunho+yellow with the title “sunshine meets sunflowers”? congrats again for hitting four years!! 💞

hi love!! thank you so much for your kind words and for this request, it's so cute <3 I hope you enjoy it!

4 year anniversary drabble game: send me a Stray Kids/The Boyz/Golden Child/Ateez member + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

ok looking back gina, this was so much fun to write - thank you thank you THANK YOU for requesting it!!!

~

Title: Sunlight Meets Sunflowers

Pairing: Yunho x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Triggers: none

~

Some days feel like they're caving in on you, the sky crashing to pieces on your head and slamming you down every time you try to get up. It hurts - those moments when you almost forget to pick Yuna up from school and have to make a frantic U-turn to get to the school, those moments where you're behind in work and can feel the looks of your coworkers searing into your back even if they don't exist as you frantically try to catch up after a late night spent trying to get your daughter to go to sleep.

You love her. You love her to the ends of the earth, your beautiful sunflower with the loveliest petals and shining face - more than once, you've held her in your arms and sworn to any being listening in the heavens that you would do anything to keep her safe. But you're only one person tackling a job meant for two, and sometimes, the nourishment you can provide your sunflower's roots just doesn't feel enough.

Because a flower can't only bloom with soil and water and nutrients. A sunflower, especially. It's in the name - the blooms follow the sun from east to west, tracing its path across the sky, and if there isn't enough sun...

The flower won't survive.

You do your best. When the petals begin to wilt with sickness or tiredness or just a little pout on your sunflower's lips, you do your best to soothe them, to help them recover their previous brightness. Sometimes it's hard, though - you can feel yourself wilting on the inside with every day that passes, and sometimes even Yuna's giggles and smiles and shouts of "Look what I just did!" can't fully soothe the knot of exhaustion growing in your chest. It’s not enough, you think, whatever you provide isn’t enough for a growing girl who needs more than it feels like you can give her -

Then you spill coffee all over yourself and another poor man at seven in the morning in the cafe just down the street, and that's how you meet the sun.

Yuna avoids all the mess - she was on your other side and thank god for that, or coffee would've stained her clothes and that would've been a nightmare to sort out - and by the time you've found the napkins you always keep at the bottom of your bag, she's already chattering away with him about the new dress she's wearing, the dress that's pink and purple and oh, Mr. person whose name I don't know, isn't it pretty?

It takes a lot for you to not scream into your hands at the moment, though the urge to scream is less out of frustration than sheer embarrassment - the man, whose name you don't know yet, is awfully handsome and has been listening to your daughter so attentively with a lovely smile on his face, so he gets double the bonus points for that. But he's laughing and complimenting her dress, and as he takes the napkins you hand over in apology, he introduces himself as Jung Yunho.

"I want to see Mr. Yunho again," Yuna announces as the three of you step out of the cafe, you having paid for a second drink to make up for the one Yunho lost. "Can I? Please?"

You cast him an apologetic look. "That depends on what he says, sweetie," you say, trying to figure out how to word this so that she won't cry. "I -"

"It's alright." Yunho says, and even though the sky is gray and covered in clouds, the smile on his face makes you feel like the sun is shining down on your skin. "I'd be happy to see her again." His smile turns a little sheepish. "She's adorable."

"Oh," is all you can manage at first, taken aback both by his willingness to give in to your daughter's demands and the fluttering feeling in your chest. "I - that would be nice, if it isn't too much trouble for you -"

"It's no trouble at all." Yunho looks down at Yuna, then back at you with that same smile never leaving his lips. "If you’d like, we can meet here again next week?"

The coffee shop becomes the regular place where you meet with the sun, letting the rays of his smile spread over your sunflower as she chatters away about anything and everything all at once. And as the days turn into weeks and the weeks turn into months...

You might say that with every time Yunho reminds you that you’re doing well, that Yuna loves you so much and that you’re enough for her, the dull ache in your chest has begun to heal, too.

Slowly, Yunho integrates himself into your and Yuna's lives, first as a passing acquaintance, then as a friend, then as something other than a friend, someone who sometimes stays into the late hours and refuses to take your bed when you insist he spend the night, opting instead for the couch that's much too small for his body. You alternate days for picking Yuna up from school. You sometimes stay over at his apartment. Yuna calls Yunho "Papa” on accident, again on accident, and then on purpose, again and again and again -

"Papa!" you hear Yuna yell from inside the apartment as you climb up the stairs after a long day at work, exhaustion weighing down your feet. But with the shout and the ensuing muffled giggles, you feel lighter and lighter with every step you take until you're just outside the door and can hear the chaos inside more clearly than ever.

The keys jingle in your hand as you pick out the right one to insert in the lock. You open the door, shut it behind you, and -

A shriek of delight sounds in the next room just before your sunflower comes bounding into your arms, before you even have the chance to take off your shoes. "You're home!"

"Yes, I am, sunflower." You kiss her forehead. "Did you miss me?"

"We both did." The sun appears next to the sunflower, kissing your forehead when you turn to him.

Holding your sunflower and being held by your sun, warmth blooms in your chest and you almost feel like you could fly, past the sky and past the clouds, light, free, ready to face anything in the world so long as you have them by your side.

You smile, and if there's a tear in your eye, neither of them says anything. "I missed you too."

[natromanxoff]

Record Mirror (July 14, 1979): 119/?

THE QUEEN BACKLASH ENDS HERE

WITHOUT DOUBT Queen are among that elite number of bands universally hated by the rock press.

The rancour is, make no mistake, mutual which is understandable. If you find yourself on the receiving end of an inveterate dislike at the outset of your career and watch it being nurtured and carefully cultivated over the next six years you’re bound to retaliate.

Queen’s hatred manifests itself by their continued habit of ignoring the music press i.e. refusing to give interviews. There is the occasional token “chat”, pointless as it is innocuous, but in the main it amounts to a blanket “No.”

One of the last interviews Freddie Mercury gave was the last nail in the perspex coffin. Under a headline which boldly asked ‘Is This Man A Prat?’ the king of the leotards was demolished by one of the old school Queen haters and Freddie obviously came to the conclusion, in its wake, that interviews in future would be both superfluous (he was popular enough) and detrimental.

The curtain, velvet naturally, closed.

Roger Taylor, a little wary, a little weary, sits stiffly in an armchair. The juggernauts rattling the Chelsea Street outside create a sonorous buzz bomb hum in the room.

You expect a member of Queen to look elegant. In fact Roger is only wearing a wine colour mohair jacket, black shirt and blue jeans.

He apologises for being a little late and explains how he went to the wrong address. Roger seems to be the only member of Queen left who is prepared, albeit rarely, to open his mouth in the presence of a hack. A question springs to mind . . . why?

“We all sat around a table before I flew over from Munich to discuss the press situation and we agreed I should be the one to represent the band. Freddie is very uncompromising and refuses to have much to do with journalists.

“Obviously, he’s had a few raw deals with them in the past,” observes Taylor.

Roger himself has a rather low view of the music press.

“Most of it is rubbish. There was something I liked recently, a piece on Malcolm McLaren, but in the main I think I’m the only one of Queen to actually read the music papers.”

Why does he think the band are systemically slagged?

“I think it’s because Queen have always come across as being a rather confident band. We seemed, to other people at least, to be very sure of ourselves. I think the press may have misconstrued the confidence, mistaking it for a form of arrogance. Hence they became wary of our motives which bred a dislike for our music.”

Now that’s what I call a neat conclusion.

At the risk of being sent to Coventry by my colleagues I’d like, if I may, to come clean. I love Queen (you’re fired, Ed).

I think it all began with a simple pre-packed but indisposable line – “Dynamite with a laser beam” and has continued uninterrupted (despite the occasional flaw) right through to ‘Queen Live Killers’.

A combination of reasons, Freddie Mercury’s lascivious lisp – the most attractive intonation known to man . . . Brian May’s reel ‘em off rococo riffs that would, in his capable hands, transform the theme music for ‘Waggoners’ Walk’ into a meisterwork . . . John Deacon’s almost stoic stance, incongruous yet integral . . . Roger Taylor’s intense power, so unexpected from one so slight . . . the ability to go over the top without failing into the trap of caricature . . . a desire to give the punters what they want without pandering . . . that cast iron confidence . . . those nine glorious winter weeks of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ which kept the cold away from my soul . . .

Yes, I love Queen.

Roger explains the story behind ‘Killers’ which features just about every Queen classic which ever found its way into a silk lined memory bank.

“We always knew that one day we would make a live album. I think it was well planned. About 90 per cent of our last European tour was recorded on a mobile unit and we then spent weeks sitting through the songs in the studio.

“The result is a 100 per cent LIVE album. Nothing has been touched up in the process of selection, I think that’s pretty rare these days. Many ‘live’ albums are tampered with.”

The choice of single is unusual – ‘Love Of My Life’. “It’s not so unusual when you hear the way it came out. The song seems to have such a wide appeal. Everywhere we go the reaction to it is the same. The audience are just bursting to sing along.”

The result is Queen’s best single since ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ (that was their LAST one crawler, ED)

As I mentioned earlier the band are currently residing in Munich where they are “experimenting” in the studio.

“We are recording in a totally different way for us,” says Roger who speaks with a delicate London accent only typical of cockneys with dramatic training and David Essex.

“Every time we entered a studio in the past we had a good idea of what we were going to do. This time we started from scratch and the result is amazing. The music is nothing like anything we’ve done before, I guess you could say it’s much simpler.”

And this novel approach to their music also extends to their shows. On their next British tour – in the late Autumn – the band will be playing much smaller venues than they are accustomed to.

“In London for example we went to play to audiences of about two or three thousand in different areas. I think it’s much fairer to the fans.”

But won’t this affect their stage show which is after all a crucial factor for any powerpomp outfit?

“Not really. We will just scale down the show accordingly. Besides,” he says taking another bite out of the biscuit, “we haven’t used dry ice in years.”

The monkey on Queen’s back, as corpulent and cantankerous as ever, has been put there by those who firmly believe the band can never emulate past achievements. Roger is cognizant of its presence but refuses to unpeel its bananas.

“That all began after ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. When it stayed at number one all those weeks we were kindly informed that we would never be able to make another single to rival it both artistically and from the point of view of sales.

“Yet ‘We Are The Champions’ sold a great deal more and has since become the biggest selling single in the entire history of Elektra Asylum – our label in the States.

“We don’t do the amazingly complex things any more because we’ve moved on from that. We concentrate on the music we are doing now and we intend to do it the best we can, it’s ridiculous looking behind and and what you’ve done.

“There’s nothing like going back on the road to re-unite the bond between the four personalities and strengthening our belief in the band. We are a real working unit and, in my experience of the music business, one of the most democratic bands around today.”

A statement like that cries out to be expounded.

“People think every member of all the bands, not naming any names, are treated equally that is get the same money as their colleagues. That’s rubbish. In many bands there are a couple of guys that get all the money. The rest are on wages. Queen share the profits equally.”

And they don’t have a manager taking his cut either, John Reid departed a couple of years back and now the band themselves make all the major policy decisions. Why did they decide to dispense with the services of a manager?

“Basically because we were fed up with giving other people money. Y’know it never ceases to amaze me how naive those guys are in bands who have just had their first hit. After all this time I’ve forgotten just how naive we must have been at the beginning.

“I mean, everything seems so great when you get into the charts for the first time. You’re living on cloud nine and nothing else matters. But in truth that hit means absolutely nothing. So few people achieve any amount of financial success in this business.

“Oh, you think, you’re really living . . . for a while. Somebody gets you a flat in Chelsea and it’s all free. But one day the rent stops being paid for you and you realise you’re skint.

“Since John Reid has gone the four of us have always made a point of discussing everything together. We have various people working for us but all the important decisions are made by us alone. That way we get freedom of choice – and financial independence.”

My attention is suddenly diverted.

“FORTY-LOVE!” Wimbledon, the Persil White opiate for the hoi polloi squashed in a strawberry crush wrings out its perspiring petticoats on the TV in the next room.  Roger’s girlfriend, an extremely attractive French girl called Dominique, is engrossed. The couple have lived together for two years. Crippled old marriage questions permeate the air.

“I don’t believe in marriage,” says Roger. “It’s simply a contract and the fewer contracts I enter into the better. If you get on well with someone then there isn’t any harm in living with that person – but marriage is something else again.”

They live in a six bedroomed Victorian house just outside London, which is set in 20 acres. Roger has a “tiny” town house in Barnes as well. What’s it like having a bank full of money at the age of 29?

“I don’t hide away from life. Queen have never been one of those ‘being grabbed in the street’ type bands. It may happen when the four of us are together – but when we are out alone we are seldom bothered. That gives me the opportunity to enjoy myself. I go to clubs a lot. I like having a good time. I don’t think you could describe any of the band as leading sheltered lives.

“But I have completely lost touch with how much things cost. When you find yourself living in hotels for so long you never really deal in money as such. Everything is available whenever you want it – but you never see the cash actually being handed over.

“I’ve forgotten what it was like to be penniless which Queen were for years. I guess that must happen to many successful rock bands.”

Another thing that happens to many successful rock bands – they quit the country. But not Queen it appears.

“We have always based ourselves in England and I see no reason why we shouldn’t continue to do so. We could leave at any time but we choose to stay. People believe we are tax exiles because we spend a lot of the time out of the country recording in studios all over Europe and touring.”

And what will happen when the band finally trudge wearily down the road leading to that  ivory strewn elephants’ graveyard . . . ?

“I know it’s bound to happen one day. I suppose I’d take a long, long holiday . . . and then make a solo album.”

[disgruntledspacedad]

Javier Peña and commitment

a better love series  character analysis

Okay, not-so-briefly, let me finish what I started with this post, and say a few more words about Javier Peña and commitment. 

I think typical fanon describes Javi as a rogue, smoky, commitment-phobe man slut. The kind of guy who never settles down because he’s too busy having fun with his hookers. And yeah, at first glance, that’s a valid assumption. Javi definitely puts off that vibe. Hell, I think he even believes that of himself. 

I call bullshit, though. 

Javi is obviously an affection starved softie who is seeking intimacy and human contact. He just doesn’t know how to get it. Watch how deeply he connects with each of the women he sleeps with. He publicly greets the hookers in Medellín by name (like seriously what man does this??) and his relationship with Gabby seems intensely personal. He cares about what happens to her. He’s sweet, almost tender with her. 

This is a man with a huge heart and deep, unfulfilled needs.

Now, let me tease apart what I think happened that scarred Javi so profoundly.

I want to start with his family life. 

Now, a lot of this falls deep into headcanon territory, but this entire post is in context of Better Love, so that’s fine. However, I don’t think it’s too far off the mark for canon Javi, too. Just things to bear in mind.

Okay, so in The Kingpin Strategy, Chucho makes references to the fact that Javi has always been free spirited and idealistic. “You couldn’t wait to get out of here.”

Javi says, “It was right here, wasn’t it? The last time we had this conversation.” He sounds resentful, frustrated.

And Chucho replies, “You didn’t listen to me then, either.”

Man oh man, this says a lot. There’s a lot of reference to some very old bitterness, most (but not all of it) on Javi’s end. Let’s break it down.

In Better Love, Javi lost his mom to colon cancer when he was nineteen. We know from canon that he was chomping at the bits to get out of town, so I kind of think that Javi packed his bags the day that he turned eighteen and left. He’s from a small, close knit family, and him taking off into the blue without any warning would have shocked them. It would have hurt. 

The fact that he and Chuco have their conversation in the driveway is telling, too. 

I think Javi spent some significant time estranged from his family, and things were probably still rocky between them when his mom passed away. Colon cancer can be pretty subtle. Javi’s mom didn’t get a diagnosis until it was far too late for effective treatment. It would have hit her hard and fast, and she and Javi may not have had much time to reconcile. Hell, she was upset by Javi leaving - she may not have even told him what was going on.

Ouch.

Now, Javi is a guy that silently shoulders all of the responsibility that he’s not meant to carry, and he’s absolutely going to blame himself for taking off like that, and for being too stubborn to call home and check on Mom. Her death is the first in a series of wounds that lead to Javi’s (very misguided) belief that he’s a shit human, when truly, nothing could be further from the truth. 

Next, let’s talk about Lorraine. 

We know from Javi’s conversation with Steve that he thinks Lorraine was better off without him, giving us another glimpse of that deep seated self-loathing that we know he carries. Javi almost sounds wistful, like he regrets leaving her. Certainly, he regrets hurting her (more proof that Javi is actually a pretty sensitive guy - he knows he fucked up). But then we actually meet Lorraine in season three, and there’s something really weird there. 

Now, granted, Javi left her at the alter. Things are bound to be weird. But look at how he’s drawn to her, like he just can’t help crossing the room to see her again, even years later. That was the first big red flag for me. 

Then, watch how Lorraine treats him. She’s dismissive, pretty biting. And okay, yeah, she’s well within her right to be bitter. But then she says this:

“Can you imagine if we actually were married?”

Like, scoffs it. Guys, that’s a pretty serious dig. Lorraine is implying that Javi is beneath her, that he could never, ever be decent husband material. And watch his reaction. He takes this cut like he’s used to taking this cut from her. I don't know, but to me, it just reeks of a history of toxicity.

Men are absolutely capable of being the victims of toxic relationships and emotional abuse. I mean, duh. But try telling that to Javier Peña, with his tendency to internalize and self destruct. 

It would make a lot of sense to me that their relationship was built on this type of fucked up interaction, with Lorraine constantly pushing Javi to be this perfect dude with a white picket fence, and constantly calling him on his “failure” to do so. Maybe some of it was rooted in racism and classism - Lorraine seems like she could be that petty, materialistic type. Maybe Javi just wasn’t ready to settle down. 

Remember, too, that Javi’s love language is acts of service. He’s not a super romantic guy in the traditional sense, but he wants to do things for the person he loves, practical, tangible things to keep them safe and happy. If Javi thought that he could do better by Lorraine by putting a ring on her finger, it might be pretty easy to persuade him that he “ought” to do that, especially if there’s a continued history of verbal abuse. Remember that we tend to believe the things our abusers say about us, and that most of the time, this stuff starts subtle. If Lorraine is constantly suggesting that Javi’s not good enough for her, eventually, he’s going to fucking believe it. 

And consider the fallout of skipping town on your wedding day. No matter if the relationship is healthy or not, men tend to get the short end of the stick when it comes to breakup sympathy, and to leave a pretty woman like Lorraine waiting at the alter? My god, people would have been vicious to Javi. 

He probably believed all of the shitty things they said about him.

Javi threw himself into his career, and between a dangerous, high stress job with the DEA and never addressing these old hurts (Javi just doesn’t do that, you know), what you wind up with is a deeply wounded, “self sufficient” (read: emotionally constipated) man with raging self esteem issues and an intense fear of emotional intimacy. Now, all of this shit might have scarred Javi, but it doesn’t change his nature. Javi has a huge heart, he’s fiercely idealistic, and he desperately wants to do the right thing. And we all need love and human connection. 

Javi just denies this emphatically. 

But the ugly truth is, Javi avoids long term relationships because he thinks he doesn’t deserve them. It’s not even about being hurt again, not anymore. He almost sees it as an ethical thing, dammit. Give this boy a hug. 

This is why it took a fucking bomb to get him off his ass and admit his feelings for Ears. Javi would never, ever have done that without something very radical catching his attention. He would have let Ears walk straight out of his life, and yeah, it would have torn him to pieces, and he’d have always regretted it and wondered ‘what if,’ but that fear is an old, deeply rooted thing. That’s why I have Ears sort of pick up on the gravity of Javi saying, “I’m all in,” to her at the end of The Rules of Engagement. She’s not eloquent, but she’s pretty intuitive, and she knows that a commitment is something that Javier Peña does not take lightly.

And let me just say this about commitment: Javier Peña is a man who honors his fucking commitments. Watch what he’s willing to do for his informants - he always, always puts their wellbeing first, even before his own, even before the integrity of the hunt for the cartels. 

And Javier Peña is beyond devoted to bringing down the cartels. Like, that’s his entire arc in the show, right?

He’s committed to justice, too. Like fiercely, will do fucking anything to make things right, to make them fair. He wants to do the right thing so much it burns.

So, I don’t think it’s fair at all to say that Javier Peña is a man who fears commitment. He fears intimacy, while at the same time, he craves it. He fears human connection, when really, that’s the thing he needs most. 

But he doesn’t fuck around once he decides something. 

Which is the really, really fun thing about Better Love. For the first time, we get to see Javier Peña, the idealist who wears his poorly disguised heart blatantly on his sleeve, the man who goes for broke trying to get things done, the man who’s passions literally destroy him, in an intensely emotional relationship with another human. One who is just as devoted to him in return. 

So, anyway, if you’re still reading this, wow. I just wanted to babble about how Javier Peña is far more than brooding testosterone. Actually, he’s a very soft boy who needs patience and a lot of healing, and somebody who is willing to meet him exactly where he is and love him because of it.

And I want to give him that. 

[betweentheracks]

We*bo Night Style Review

The following is my insight and perception as a professional stylist and is subjective to my position and role. 

Long post is long. 

Starting from the first I saw, I will address Yibo's blue Chanel number. This look pulls directly from Chanel's Spring 2021 Ready-to-Wear line. It is paired with Jimmy Choo Mocca loafers and a beret which has a badge on it bearing "my own private planet" on it. This is a cute accessory for the The Little Prince homage alone. I won’t go into how fitting it is for Yibo to pull from this beloved book as it would make this post needlessly gushy and too long, just know that I have had loud feelings about it all day. 

Honestly, I was underwhelmed upon first impression when I saw this fit. Setting aside my own personal dislike of Chanel, the overall feel of this look didn't catch nor meet what I would have expected to see. It held a cute air of youth to it and played upon the boyish charm Yibo simply cannot be rid of thanks to his facial structure and features. It is jarring for me to write about Chanel in conjunction to "youthful, boyish charms" as Chanel caters near exclusively to women with deep pockets that enjoy looking as if they corner the ideal of being a Stepford Wife, no matter the age. 

However, Yibo has always successfully turned Chanel's overt "Emily Gilmore" aesthetic on its head and has singlehandedly returned Chanel to being in the ranks of fashion which are aimed at younger to middle range adults. Tonight is no exception to this as he did look wonderful. The accessories and the shirt are all also Chanel and initially debuted in as an ensemble when this Spring 2021 Ready-to-Wear line was trotted out at the end of last year. In my opinion as a professional and critical eye, Yibo wore this look better than the original model. The way his hair stylist did his hair with micro extensions and false locks to give him that additional length and furthering the ideal of youthful leisure really made this style snap off. 

Some notes on the pieces in play: 

This is not the first time Yibo has worn this specific collection of Chanel’s. His styles from Tencent Star Awards were also from this range. 

This collection was inspired by actresses of the vintage screen. Virginie Viard has commented that she wanted to capture the duality of modern actress lifestyles - high production value and quality of the red carpet service styles, to the staged nuance of being off screen and therefore off duty while waiting in line for coffee - framed by classic lines of the bygone Hollywood era. Yibo specifically seems drawn to the separates-based mix of the set, which were all styled from the draw of the 1980s - hence the shoulder pads and candy colors of pink and now blue. I feel it is worth mentioning that when this line debuted the runway many comments flew about how the collection felt very reminiscent of looking at Regina George inspired couture. Mean Girls, but make it Wang Yibo. 

The mini purse around his waist is actually a necklace, not a belt. 

He is wearing the Coco Crush ring. This item is peak comfort item material as he seems incredibly keen on wearing it whenever possible and is unabashed to have it called to attention. There is a story behind this ring, of this my professional chimes are ringing loudly in certainty. 

My impression of this style changed drastically the more I looked at it and marveled at the almost pale vulnerability the look managed to pluck upon. The color is flattering despite it being candy-bright and almost too pigmented to think of as a functional red carpet choice. Also, I strongly suspect the play here was to highlight the duality of Yibo himself since the style he served up immediately after this completely overwhelms the fawning spring of this style. 

Wang Yibo 2.0

This second look features Fendi, Patek Philippe, and Louboutin. The blazer is a Fendi black wool piece and the shirt, also Fendi, is from their lovely Spring/Summer 2021 collection. The watch is Patek Philippe and further showcases Yibo’s taste for expensive and bold watches and it’s actually incredibly admirable for him to use watches as an accessory which seals the deal on an ensemble. There aren’t many that can pull this off due to how often watches remain hidden by the cuffs and sleeves of jackets and shirts and therefore go unnoticed or are seen as bulky obstructions and are being slowly and steadily phased out from being considered staples of style. Of course the shoes are Louboutin, which is just a nice choice no matter what. Solid footwear; sleek and stylish no matter what. 

If I was initially underwhelmed by the previous fashion choice then this look did more than simply overwhelm me; it devastated me and left me gaping. The! Hair! The black on black silhouette! The way he flawlessly transitioned from being youthfully boyish and bursting with charm to a domineering presence of matured angles and sharp zeal!! Wang Yibo with an undercut and draped in matte black Fendi is enough to score through my bingo card of styles I was unprepared for and yet thankfully blessed by. 

Some notes on the pieces in play:

While the Fendi blazer isn’t altogether spectacular and one of their more run of the mill items, the shirt beneath and the collection it was pulled from are interesting. The Spring/Summer 2021 Fendi line caters to the celebration of love and the surreal intensity of what a domestic experience quarantine and lockdown was like. The menswear was notably designed as “boardroom to boudoir” meaning that the concept was embellished loose linens which could be tucked into a business or formal setting only to later be tugged free and worn sweetly casual, bordering intimate. 

This is the shirt in it’s full glory. It isn’t something you would expect to be expertly tucked into the slim lines of Yibo’s stature and one can imagine how it must appear when it left to fall loose around his lean frame. It is a bed shirt in essence and was utilized in such a way that it looks like an entirely new garment on him.  

And now we move along to Xiao Zhan and his timeless and classic style.

A man of brand/designer solidarity, he is decked from head to toe in Gucci. I won a bet on this as I wagered he would absolutely be in his chosen favorite. The brooch is another staple in his fashion repertoire and is a Tiffany & Co. item. 

He appears very timeless in these classic and clean lines. This is a straight fit wool suit which Gucci favors in tailoring to accentuate slim and tall builds and as such drapes over Zhan’s body as if it were an extension of his body itself. The fit is that perfect. He strikes me as looking very refined and noble in this suit; mature and aloof. 

Some notes on the pieces in play:

Gucci has a reputation for constantly improving the way they tailor suits and as such this “relaxed straight fit” is exclusive to their label. Any other fashion house has slim fits, which are the original frame for this style, but entirely different in how Gucci has renovated the way it all fits and hangs. They alter jackets to be comfortably loose along the back of the neck while remaining pleasantly tucked to accentuate the lines of the shoulders, arms, and chest. The pants are brought in at the waist to make slim appear sleek, and the fall straight through the legs to provide the air of being relaxed. 

The brooch he is wearing, “Four Leaves” by Jean Schlumberger via Tiffany & Co, is an antique item as Schlumberger was alive from 1907 to 1987. Schlumberger is only one of four designers ever given allowance to sign their work to Tiffany & Co. He created the collection the “Four Leaves” brooch hails from at behest of a friend and fellow admirer of nature’s glory, Rachel “Bunny” Mellon. The irony of Xiao Zhan, resident rabbit,  wearing a piece created on the request of someone called Bunny is not lost to me and hopefully not any of you now that I’ve made mention of it. 

The gemstone in the brooch is blue-green tourmaline. Tourmaline has many different correspondences depending on the color at hand. Blue-green rouses luck and success and is often used to manifest goals, notably of a creative nature. It is also a crystal of peace and encourages the release of past hurts by bringing them to the surface to be healed via honest and heartfelt communication. Tourmaline can evolve as it is worn and will adhere to the wearer’s conviction, rousing the idea of living a life of integrity and accountability; inviting the wearer to accept any perceived flaws and weaknesses with easy tolerance. I am making this mention because every bit of this seems so incredibly in line with where Xiao Zhan is in life and in his career, especially in light of what he so graciously said on we*bo yesterday as we made it to a year since hell came for him. I am always very moved by this man. 

Here is the brooch just so you can have a proper look:

And that’s a wrap on We*bo Night’s lookbook! 

This is a bit of a messy post and I do apologize for that, but nevertheless I hope it was enjoyable and gave you some new insights on the way fashion fits together at every turn. 

[amiedala]

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 24: There's the Kicker

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: this chapter doesn't warrant warnings except brief mentions of violence!

SUMMARY: When you hear your name, you think you’re hallucinating it. It comes out of nowhere, and the voice that it comes from is familiar, trusting, warm. And there’s the kicker: it’s unmodulated. You’re pretty sure you’re imagining it, because you’ve spent so many nights playing over Din’s voice in your mind, his promises, the way he broke them.

And still, you freeze, turning around, feeling completely suspended on the space-time continuum. Standing there, unmasked, heartbreak written all over his face, is your Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian. As your heart hammers, drowning out every impulse to run towards him and jump into his arms, you have to remind yourself he left you, and even though he found you, he’s not yours anymore.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES SO SORRY THIS IS DAY LATE!! i had a lot of family and personal stuff come up on the back half of the week, and the chapter just wasn't where i wanted it to be last night. i hope this makes up for it! and i promise, the next chapter is going to be muchhhhh longer, and (in my opinion) very good ;) ENJOY!!

*

Getting back to Hoth feels like trying to run up a staircase that doesn’t fully exist.

Your starfighter, the one you put together with your aching hands and a little bit of wishful thinking, is rebelling against you. It’s fitting, you think, trying to hit warp for the thousandth time, that in the Crest’s unceremonious, splintered death, it left behind a new ship for you can wrangle in its wake. Immediately, you feel awful, swearing and kicking the parts of your hand-me-down Rebel ship into shape, reminding yourself that your home—the physical part of it, at least—is gone, and it makes you want to break down in the middle of space, get lost in the stars and not think about anything in this forsaken galaxy ever again.

But every time you close your eyes, you see the lightsaber glow green, and you know somewhere deep in your chest that Wedge called you back for a reason. It’s colossal and monumental in the same thundering way finding Din and the baby for the first time was, as illuminated and fated as meeting Ahsoka. There’s something here, something real, something more, if General Luke Skywalker himself sent Wedge a hologram and shook your old friend up this badly.

Finally, you get the ship to move. You kick the malfunctioning warp system a few times before she shudders to life and groans under your pressure. “Kicker,” you mutter, flipping all the colorful, variant buttons on the dashboard to get her to move. “Kicker, that’s what I’m gonna call you. I’d name you Rebel,” you continue, punching the ship into hyperspace, “but that one might be a little too on the nose. What do you think?”

Because it’s a ship, Kicker doesn’t say anything. You smile though, a small, stolen one, and as you exit the crush of warp in front of the icy behemoth that is Hoth, you feel your heart aerating and releasing, nervousness building a colony of butterflies up in your stomach. Luke Skywalker, you whisper a few times, turning his name over in your mouth. You know he’s real. You’ve seen him before, only from a distance, but you’ve heard the concrete stories, the way he turned from desert farm boy into the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy. He’s the kind of man that can turn into myth with the right storyteller, and he’s always awed you. There’s a part of you that connects to him—something yearning and desperate, that part of the tales you always heard where he keeps trying to save people beyond saving.

Wedge knows him. Knew him, maybe, with the mystique surrounding the Jedi that Luke became, but you’ve seen the way Wedge talks about him, how the double suns of Tatooine shine in his eyes, his enthusiasm, his kindness. And you know they haven’t seen each other in ages, because Wedge has been from one end of the galaxy to the next, and Luke—you aren’t on a first name basis, he’ll always be General Skywalker, but there’s something about the way he appeared in your vision that makes you feel closer to him—well, Luke’s been becoming a Jedi.

And after perceiving said Jedi on the seeing stone immediately after your premonitions of Grogu getting whisked away by something evil? It feels like too close of a coincidence. And you don’t believe in coincidences to begin with.

The descent to Hoth feels even colder and slower when you’re shivering in anticipation before you even break through the planet’s atmosphere. You’re in your jumpsuit, and one of the spare blankets from your makeshift bed in the back of the cockpit is draped over your legs, but you’re still freezing. It feels like forever until you’re finally docked and you can sprint towards the control room where Wedge told you he would be, boots stomping heavy and intentional against the frozen ground.

“W—” you wheeze, immediately skidding to a halt the second that you breach the doorframe, all the breath leaving your lungs, “what did he say?”

The room, you realize, a second too late, is full. There’s seven people splayed around the hologram, and they’re all staring at you. You recognize all of their faces, both from seeing them around here on base, and from your youth when you were still a fully integrated member of the Alliance, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you pull your helmet off, trying to walk over to where Wedge is standing with as much grace as you can muster.

“It seems like some of the message is corrupted,” Wedge manages, lowly, pulling you gently out of the way of the other people talking urgently over the holotable. “He said something about a new Jedi, though, and that he’s heading back to find them—”

“Me?” you blurt.

Wedge startles. “What?”

You bite your lip, grabbing his arm and dragging him a bit further away, hoping to avoid the other generals’ earshot. “I—I was on Tython,” you breathed, “just now. And before my fiancé and our kid abandoned—left me on Dantooine, we were on Corvus. Where we met with a Jedi—I think. I don’t know if she identifies as one anymore. Her lightsabers were white.”

Wedge blinks at you. “What?” he repeats, and you steal a nervous look at the others gathered around the hologram. Some of them are examining the table itself, others are watching you, and you feel both incredibly small and incredibly judged. “You’re not making sense, rebel girl. What about you?”

You inhale. It’s shaky, but it’s a start. You’re still out of breath. “I—I’m Force sensitive,” you whisper, as quietly as you can, “that’s why I was left on Dantooine. The baby—Grogu, our son—he’s also Force sensitive, and Moff Gideon was after the both of us. It was safer if we split up. Can,” you interrupt yourself, still out of breath, “can you play me the message? I think that Luke—General Skywalker—might have been talking about me.”

Wedge stares at you. After a second, he takes a half step back, but the look on his face, disbelief, is so close to Din’s of confusion and betrayal after you showed him the same piece of information about yourself. You swallow, suddenly self-conscious, pulling your braid over your shoulder.

“How long have you known?” Wedge whispers, voice urgent. “About your abilities?”

You shake your head. “Not long,” you promise, “two months at most. Listen—”

“Why did you say yes to me?” Wedge interrupts. “Why did you come here? We’re barely anything, right now, Nova, the Alliance is completely scattered after the fall of the Empire. There’s not enough of us to protect you.”

You blink, anger slowly filling up the expression on your face. “I can protect myself,” you hiss back, “and, besides, I’m not—I’m not dangerous, Wedge, and I can take care of myself. Besides,” you say, trying not to choke, “I think Gideon has the baby right now, b—because our ship was shot to shit—”

Wedge faces you again, putting both of his broad hands on your shoulder. Immediately, you close your mouth, suddenly anxious. You don’t know what he wants from you, and you don’t know if you should have told him about everything. But if he was friends—close friends—with Luke Skywalker, he shouldn’t be this uncertain about your Force sensitivity. You bite your lip, unsure how to react, but you can feel the anger and desperation slowly building back up in your chest, billowing like an old, ancient flame.

“Moff Gideon,” Wedge says, voice low, “is after your fiancé and your kid?”

Troubled, eyes furrow, you nod. “Yes.”

“And when you just left the base earlier today,” Wedge continues, his voice intense but slightly strained, “where did you go?”

“I—” You inhale, sharply, breaking his intent gaze to look over at the rest of the people in the room. Almost every single one of them is outfitted in the regalia reserved for admirals and generals, and the ones who aren’t are pilots. You know the uniform. You’re practically wearing it yourself. They’re all looking at you with a strangeness to them, eyes flickering back and forth between you and Wedge, as if asking for permission. “When we met Ahsoka Tano on Corvus,” you continue, trying to direct your conversation to both Wedge and the others in the room, “she told us—me and Grogu, my kid—that she couldn’t train us, because we had emotional attachments to one another. But she told us to go to the planet Tython,” you pause to swallow, mouth dry, “because it has a strong connection with the Force, and we could connect with a Jedi who could.” You stop, looking back at Wedge. “I heard him,” you whisper, “and I saw him. His lightsaber, lighting up the hallway of an Imperial cruiser. I know that Gideon was after my family.” You pause again, inhaling a shivering breath. “When I was just on Tython, I saw our ship. It was just rubble.” You’re trying so hard not to cry, but you can’t help yourself. “I’ve had visions, Force visions, for months now, of the planet. Gideon and his troops were after the baby, and I know Tython is where they took him.”

Wedge’s hand is up against his chin. He exchanges a quick, unreadable look at one of the generals, and then he faces back to you. “How many men does Gideon have?”

You look around at the people in the room again, and decidedly take a step forward, towards the table, towards the paused, flickering, blue hologram of Luke Skywalker pulsating up from the table. “A lot,” you admit, hand flying to your necklace before you startle with the realization that it’s not there, that you gave it to Grogu right before you were deserted out on Dantooine. “I know the galaxy is still in reparations from the fallen Empire.” You swallow, trying to meet the eyes of the rest of the people in the room. “But I don’t think the Empire is as fallen as we previously thought.”

Wedge moves in behind you, and a space opens up around the table. You smile, grateful, falling into rank with the other eight people in the room. “That’s what we’ve been afraid of,” he affirms, bumping his shoulder gently into yours, the same thing your dad always did when he wanted to include you. You let your stature relax, leaning in to examine the pulsing of the hologram on the table. “After we defeated the Empire, most people left the Alliance. It seemed like the natural thing to do when there wasn’t active, visible evil to fight off anymore. People wanted to get on with their lives.” He inhales, deeply. You can see worry lines chiseled into places they weren’t before, the last time you saw him. “Luke, though.” He stares at the rotating disillusion of his friend as he exhales, “Luke knew it wasn’t over. He’s been all over the place,” Wedge says, and this part sounds like it’s just for you, “trying to find people who can use the Force like he can, and like you can too. Trying to rebuild the Jedi Order.”

You swallow, looking up at him. “What does the hologram say?” Your voice comes out shaky and small.

Wedge sighs, pressing the button to play the message.

“Wedge,” Luke says, voice tinny but full of relief. “It’s been a long time, and I know you’re busy, but I need your help.” You watch, transfixed, at the blue, flickering image of the greatest Jedi in the galaxy. You swallow. “I think I’ve found someone. Maybe two people, I can’t be sure. I felt it through the Force.” He pauses again, giving Wedge a look that feels private, intimate, like something only for him to see. You avert your eyes. “I’m headed to the planet Tython. Then—then I’d like your help, and the Alliance’s, to help safeguard whoever I find.” You look at Wedge. “I know it isn’t fair to ask. I know I’ve been distant for a long time. But I need you to know that the galaxy is still in danger. I feel it, Wedge, and I know you can too. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, the holotable flicks off, the rotating, grainy, blue image of Luke Skywalker himself turned to dust.

“He found you,” Wedge says, but it sounds more like a question.

“No,” you whisper, voice small. “No—I saw him, but it was a premonition. I didn’t call out to him.” Your eyelids flutter, because you’re trying to hold back tears. “Grogu,” you say, voice even smaller than it was before. “Gideon has Grogu.”

Wedge exchanges looks with the others in the room, then looks back at you. You’re exhausted, and you rub your hands over your tired eyes, pressing until you see stars. “So Luke is going after Moff Gideon?”

“Yes.”

“So we need to help him.”

You spin around, back to Wedge and the generals. “No,” you enunciate, trying to stress just how bad that idea is with a single syllable. Then your words come flooding back. “No. We—you, any of you—cannot go after Gideon. I know you want to, and I know you’ve taken down plenty of the Empire, so I know you’re capable, but you can’t.” You look back at Wedge. “You can’t,” you whisper again. “I’ve seen him. He’s flattened entire cities in his destroyers, and he’s ruthless. He’s power-hungry, and anyone or anything that stands in the way of that is something that will soon be dead. I held him off once,” you say, projecting this part to the rest of the room, “once, and I barely got out of there in time, and it drained me for days. I still feel that exhaustion here. You can’t help Luke with this. Protecting me, and whoever the other Jedi are—that’s what you need to do. I know this is horrible. I know you probably feel helpless.” You swallow, fingers grasping around open air around your throat where your necklace used to be. “But you can’t take on Gideon. Not alone. And not even with all of you. I’ve seen how that story ends. It cost me my family.”

Wedge stares at you. “So you’re suggesting we do nothing? To help Luke Skywalker? To get your kids and fiancé back?”

The question burns. You meet his gaze. “No,” you answer, finally, “I’m suggesting we strategize before we attack.”

There’s rumblings from the generals in the background, but Wedge holds up a hand, and the low voices cease. You swallow, trying to push your shoulders back, give off confidence, but you’re not sure if it’s working. Wedge nods at you, and you feel relief spread through your whole body as he turns back to the generals. “Nova’s right,” he says. “There’s not enough of us left to adequately fight off Gideon and the troops he has.”

“He has a weapon, an awful one,” you say, stepping forward. “It’s called the Darksaber.”

No one seems to blink an eye at that one, but Wedge looks at you. “Is Gideon Force sensitive, too?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you answer, softly, “but this weapon isn’t like a lightsaber. It’s cruel, and ruthless, and its blade is black, vibrating with a ring of white around it. He can use it, and he has, and he’ll continue to until he’s been stopped—”

Suddenly, all the lights start blinking, sirens blaring. You jump back in panic as everyone immediately mobilizes, starts pulling weapons out of hidden places, running out of the room. Wedge beckons for you to follow him, so you do, and your legs scream with the soreness of trying to climb to the top of the seeing stone back on Tython.

“What’s happening?” you yell, following Wedge into another control room.

“We’re under attack,” he answers, grimly, his face paling. “You need to go.”

You blink, coming to an abrupt halt. “What?”

“It’s Gideon’s men,” Wedge says, turning around to face you. “It’s not Gideon himself. But he’s sent in three fighters, and they’re big ones. I assume they’re after you?” he asks, and your stomach twists. Wedge starts striding towards the hangar, and you follow him, immediately getting blasted in the face with Hoth’s frozen air.

“It’s three fighters,” you say, urgently, “I’ve taken out six of them before, Wedge, singlehandedly, let me get in the air and I can shoot them down—”

“No,” he interrupts, “we’ve got it. I promise. You have to go. There will be a decoy ship alongside you, one that looks enough like yours so they’ll follow it. Only when that ship is clear do you leave the atmosphere, and then you immediately jump into hyperspace.”

You’re frozen.

“Do you understand?” Wedge asks, and you exhale, letting go of all the seizing stress in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes,” you answer, and he nods. You’re at Kicker, so you grab the parka out of Wedge’s outstretched hand, starting to climb.

“Rebel girl,” he calls, and you go back a step to catch his face. There’s so much there. You can feel it the same way you see how worn his worry lines were when you were reunited back on Dantooine. It’s longing, loss, and, somewhere hidden, hope. You see the way he’s trying to convey everything—condolences for your parents, plans to get Din and the baby back to you, whatever was going on between him and Luke—but he can’t vocalize it. You nod at him, smiling softly. “Fly safe,” Wedge says finally, “and let me know where you land. No matter what,” he tacks on, at the last minute, and you see for a split second how concerned he is, “do not turn around. Do you understand me?”

You want to defy him. You want to say no. You don’t want to leave, you want to stay and fight. You promised Din all that time ago that you wouldn’t run, and here you are, deserting the people that you’re supposed to protect. Finally, though, because of the look in his eyes, you nod. “Don’t you dare let them touch you,” you manage, and your voice only cracks on the last word, which is an improvement. Wedge nods back, and then he’s gone, running through the hangar to his X-Wing. You watch him take off, and your eyes track the decoy ship that’s supposed to be yours, and as the three fighters go after it, you exhale and punch it. You’re moving fast, too fast, and your takeoff is sloppy, but you know Wedge wouldn’t tell you to book it if he didn’t mean it, so you fly recklessly and you fly fast.

When you hurtle out of the atmosphere, you catch one of the fighters diverting from the group to chase after you, so you don’t even bother punching in coordinates. You just floor it. “C’mon, Kicker,” you whisper, voice low and desperate, as she shudders and groans to hop into warp. “I know you want to go slow, but now is really not the time—”

And, like the rebel she is, she sputters down to nothing.

“Fuck!” you scream, loud, too loud, it hurts your own ears, but you get up and start pounding on the dashboard while the fighter’s getting closer and closer. You look out the window as you flip switches and slam on buttons, and now you’ve got their attention, too, and you watch in panic as the ships flock to you, firing, trying to hail you on your comm.

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. Turn of your shields and lower your blasters.”

“Like hell,” you spit, “Kicker, I’m serious, I need you to work now—”

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. You have been warned once.”

“Warn me again, then,” you seethe, closing your eyes as you disconnect one of the wires and try to spark it with the other.

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. You are resisting capture. If you disobey one more time, we will fire on you instead of taking you prisoner.”

You ignore them. If this works, the ship will finally hop into warp, and you’ll be in the clear not only to evade, but to shoot back at them. If it doesn’t, you’re about to die in a fiery explosion, and all of your promises to Wedge would go—very quickly—down the drain. You cross your heart and pray to the Maker that you did the right thing, and then there’s nothing, just three very large—and very scary—TIE fighters about to surround you and take you prisoner at best, and then, finally, the glorious rebel she is, Kicker thunders to life. “Yes!” you scream, buckling in, cracking your neck, putting one hand on the accelerator and one thumb over your blasters. You have a second to do this, and you need to do it right.

“This is your final warning. Either board our ship or die.”

“Die,” you answer, your voice calm and not much like yours. As you speak, you push the accelerator forward, hit warp, and fire. You catch the biggest fighter right on the wing, not a hard hit, but enough to knock it back into the other two.

“Get back here, scum—” the pilot shouts, but you’re already in hyperspace.

“That’s Rebel scum to you,” you say, and the grin that swallows up your whole face is worth every bit of the close call.

You don’t know where to go. You don’t really care, because the farther you get away from the Alliance, the safer they’ll be, so you just set Kicker to coast through warp and lean back, seeing how far she’ll take you. Maybe she’ll dump you on a desert planet, or maybe she’ll crash land you on Nevarro again. Your heart feels daggered, impaled. There’s no way you could go back there. Sure, maybe Din wouldn’t be there, but Cara would be, and Greef Karga, and all the other people you met in the Guild. They’d ask questions, for starters, and Cara might go after Din and kick the shit out of him, and it would just leave you on the verge of tears. You want to go somewhere populated, you think, like Dantooine was, even though you know you can’t go back there yet. It’s too fresh, and Gideon’s men might come looking, and, besides, if Din wants you back, he’s going to have to chase you a little.

“Novalise,” you whisper to yourself, echoing the time almost a decade ago where you only had your name out here to hold onto, to bring you back to life. It still sounds like yours—no matter Din knowing it, no matter how you shared it with Arlen, no matter that it’s what everyone in the Alliance calls you now, after you told Wedge you prefer it to your original name. It’s yours, and right now, your own self feels like home.

So you coast. You hop out of warp every few hours to make sure that no one’s after you, but no one seems to have tracked you anywhere. It’s quiet out here, but it’s not the kind of shattering silence that it used to be. You sleep sometimes, huddling under the next of blankets for warmth, and then you go back to your chair to spin and look out at the stars.

You’re not sure how long it takes, but it feels like a few days when you finally decide to hop out of warp for good. You’re not sure exactly where you are, but you need food, and you need fuel, and you don’t think you drifted into the Mid Rim. It takes a little searching for anywhere that looks populated, but when you drift into the middle of an asteroid field, you realize you’re in Polis Massa. You’ve never been here. It’s not as filled with people as it used to be, once you break through the atmosphere on the rock that holds the research base, but it’s large and it has food and fuel. This is where your dad would go, before he joined the Alliance. Here and Coruscant, or what was left of it, had the most history about language and linguistics, and he’d take day trips from Yavin to collect as much research as he could to bring back and share with you.

It feels familiar here. Even though it’s not home, or anything close to it, you know that there’s something pulling you here, and something anchoring you too. The city is dense, but there aren’t a lot of people out and about. It’s dark here, darker than you imagined, so when you park Kicker in a landing bay, you bring a small flashlight with you. People don’t pay you much mind out on the street, even while you’re dressed in glaring orange, which is comforting after the close call you just had back on Hoth.

You wander. For a while, until the city starts getting lighter on the horizon line. Soon, the cafes and small markets on the street open up, and you sit outside, still wrapped up in your parka, glad to not be shivering. You eat, eventually, and have a steaming mug of caf, which helps. You don’t live the way it makes you feel, all jittery and nervous, and you don’t love the taste, either, but you’re happy for the warmth. Eventually, people filter in and out of the streets and you start to make your way deeper into the heart of the city.

You trip over the cobblestones at one point, practically launching yourself into the person ahead of you. You wince at his dirty look. “Sorry!” you call after him, and you hear him grumbling, but he acknowledges you with a nod. When you stand back up, you see where you are—the research institute your dad always talked about, where he’d go and spend hours reading about the different languages in the galaxy, to write them down and bring them back to you. You hesitate, for a second, and then you’re climbing the stone steps, driven by ache and longing.

It’s massive in here. It’s gorgeous, but huge, and the shelves are stacked all the way up to the ceiling. You have no idea where to start, but you pick an aisle at random and start browsing. You’re not sure what you’re looking for, if it’s something to connect you with your family or to connect you to this new life you’re haphazardly building for yourself, but you stumble again and nearly knock over the librarian.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage, seeing how tiny she is, how frail. “I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s quite all right, dear,” she answers, kindly, adjusting the wire-rimmed glasses on her face. “Can I hep you find anything?”

“The…language section,” you say, decidedly, eyes still caught on how many books there are here, how many years it would take you to read every one. “Linguistics.”

You follow her deeper into the labyrinth of bookcases, and when she shows you where the linguistics shelves are, you thank her excessively, your gaze buried deep on the titles on the spines. Most of them are in Basic, likely for inclusive access to anyone who ventures here, but there’s so many that have unfamiliar letters, the way they jut out and curl around themselves, and when your finger finds one, it falls open.

You don’t know what it is at first. You just feel called to it, opening it up and poring over the pages, and then a familiar word catches your eye. Kar’taylir. To know. To hold in the heart. Your own heart catches in your throat, stomach twisting itself over in impossible knots. You slam the cover closed to look closer at the text, and you realize it’s a dictionary of Mando’a, and all its translations.

There are tears in your eyes. You came here, to be closer to your father, sure, but also because you wanted to build something new. And you walked through these doors that held millions of books, and the one you picked out was a dictionary of language that your fiancé shared with you. It’s too much. You choke back a quiet sob, hoping everyone else here for research can’t hear your silenced wailing. Against your better judgement, you tear through the pages, looking for the familiar syllables, and when your finger finds the word cyar’ika, you have to close your eyes and desperately beg your heart to stop beating so horrifically, to slow the pulse down.

You follow the word over to its translation in Basic. Cyar’ika, it reads, sweetheart, beloved.

Beloved. Beloved. It says beloved, it doesn’t just mean sweet thing, it doesn’t mean that you’re kind and close to his heart. Din had been calling you his beloved for months, and then he fucking left you.

It’s too much. Everything is hot and fuzzy. You slam the book shut, heart pounding a staccato in your chest. Immediately, you get up and run. You don’t know where you’re going. In hindsight, you should have put the book back, but you didn’t. You’re running. You promised Din you’d never run, but he promised you forever and then stole it away, so you don’t owe him a damn thing anymore. You’re crying, loudly, openly, and when you rush by the same librarian you toss her a halfhearted apology.

You trip going down the steps, bang your knee up something horrible. It makes your eyes flash white hot for a second, but you pick yourself up and just keep going. You only have a vague idea where Kicker is, but you run in that general direction, blood dripping down your scraped knee, and then you’ve found the landing slot. You hurry up the ladder, not even bothering to get out the bacta kit that you stowed in the hull of the ship, just desperate to get out of here, to go somewhere else. It doesn’t matter.

You have history with Din on so many planets, it’s impossible to pick one where he won’t be hanging in the air. But something feels horribly right about heading to Tatooine, considering he hates desert planets and you can hide in plain sight. Maybe you’ll go to Mos Eisley and pick up bartending, maybe you’ll be a hermit that lives in the sand, maybe you’ll learn to speak Tusken and really never be seen from again. But before you breach the atmosphere, you call Wedge.

“Rebel girl,” he sighs, coming in almost immediately. “I was worried. You didn’t respond earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. That seems to be the only thing you can utter today. “I—I went into warp for a while, turned off my comm. I was just on Polis Massa, just for the day, but it’s not—”

“Safe there,” Wedge interrupts, and you want to tell him that’s not what you meant, but he’s still talking. “We intercepted the comms of some of the people sticking close to the Empire. There’s enemies there, I’m glad you got out.”

“Me too,” you say quietly. “I’m going to Tatooine. Not forever, just for a bit. I figure I can ditch Kicker—the ship—somewhere safe and get some sort of job for a few weeks, throw people off my trail.”

“Good call,” Wedge says, then he sighs. “Luke’s from there, you know.”

You swallow. “I know. Listen, don’t tell anyone else where I am, but if he asks—”

“I’ll tell him where you are,” Wedge assures you. “Can you get word out to your fiancé?”

You gulp, slowly coating towards the atmosphere line, watching how your whole vision fills up with sun and sand. “I’m not sure,” you say, barely anything at all. “Listen, Wedge, I gotta go. Thank you for checking in on me. I’ll tell you if I’m headed anywhere else.”

“Do that,” he agrees. “Lay low. Unless you need to go after Gideon. But if that happens, you call me. You have to promise you’ll let me help. Not the full Alliance, if you don’t want our guns and ships. But you have to call me. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

Your eyes fill up with tears. You don’t have the energy to argue, really, so you don’t. You just nod, slowly, finding a safe place to land. “I promise,” you say eventually.

“Nova?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.” You hear the line go dead, but you nod again against your own company in the cockpit. “

“I will,” you manage, low and deliberate.

It’s hot out here. It’s a no-brainer, you know how relentless Tatooine’s suns are, but it’s even worse than you imagined. You shed the parka, most of the jumpsuit, and tie your hair up on the top of your head before you step out into the sand, but even then, in just your tank top and light pants, it’s ridiculously hot. You struggle for the first few klicks, and then the suns slowly start to go over the horizon, and it’s a bit more bearable. You drink the last of your water, and keep stumbling closer and closer to a settlement.

It’s not Mos Eisley, but it’s a cantina. Smaller, probably lower profile, and you stagger in with your empty water canteen and your bag full of the few credits you have left, and you pick a small table out of the way to sit down upon. The wall is cool, and you press yourself up against it as you signal the waitress.

She’s definitely not human, but you’re not sure what race she is, because the dark in here is such a stark contrast against how blinding the light was outside, and your eyes haven’t fully adjusted. “Hi,” you say, your voice coming out cracked. “Can I please get some water, and—and something to eat?”

“What would you like?” she asks, and you balk at the menu, all of which has meat on it. The thought of putting anything made out of mat in your mouth makes your stomach roil, so you shake your head.

“Is there anything you offer—um, that doesn’t have meat?” you ask, and your words come out small.

“We have a plate of vegetables,” she answers, “but they’re not the freshest—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt, warmly, “that’s fine, thank you.”

She gives you a soft smile and offers you a whole pitcher of water. You should pour some in your canteen, but you just start drinking straight from the jug, gulping it down as fast as you can, trying to get rid of the dry heat in the back of your throat. When she comes back with your food, the water it totally drained, and you ask for a refill as your stomach grumbles.

“Can I get anything else for you?” she asks, and you shake your head, and she starts walking away.

“Wait,” you call after her, mouth full of food, “wait—uh, do you happen to have any positions open? For a job? I can’t offer much, but I’m a good cook, or I could clean, I’m good at that too—”

“What’s your name?”

You swallow around your mouth of food. “Novalise. And I usually have much better manners than this, I’m sorry.”

She smiles. “I’m Kuna,” she answers. “We only have pick-up jobs available around here right now, I’m afraid. It’s not steady pay, but it’s something, and at least it’s out of the heat.”

“Yes,” you say immediately, “yes, I would love that, whatever you have for me. Thank you.”

Kuna nods. “Dinner’s on the house,” she says, voice still lowered, “and you can come back sometime tomorrow to start, if that works.”

“Yes,” you nod. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you so much.”

You sleep better that night than you have in the last week, which isn’t saying much, but at least the hulking silence of being alone in the ship is satiated with the knowledge that you’re not going to be easily accessible to anyone that doesn’t wander into the cantina, and after you hike back to Kicker, you fly her closer to the hangar on the edge of town and cover most of the ship with a tarp you find rolled up in the hull. As long as stormtroopers or anyone associated with Gideon doesn’t stop in the hangar on the outskirts of town, you’re safe.

The work is hard, and slow, but it’s rewarding. It gives you that same distracted feeling that working with Arlen at the hostel did, and something to show for it. You mostly clean, sweeping out the freshers and scrubbing down the bar, but you get the stools spotless and you’re able to polish the backs and seats of some of the other cluttered chairs, moving tables back and forth to best optimize the space. After a few weeks of working a handful of days, Kuna lets you back behind the bar. Mostly, you’re making small drinks, no big cocktails or anything fancy, but you like it. It’s nice to interact with people, even if you don’t share a language with them, and it keeps your mind off the book of Mando’a and Din stranding you on Dantooine after promising you an eternity.

You don’t care that it’s temporary. There’s nothing momentary about heartbreak, nothing compartmentalized enough for you to simply forgive him. Not now. And maybe not ever. But your heart yearns for Grogu. Whenever you let your mind wander, you tap into the Force as much as you can, searching for him, or searching for Luke Skywalker, trying to figure out if they’re okay, if Grogu is still under Gideon’s grasp, and in the corners of your visions, you look for Din.

It’s involuntary. It hurts, and it leaves you reeling, heart spinning out into an abyss you can’t cartograph your way back from. So you try to stay distracted, try to keep busy. Days pass, and you’re not sure for how long, but they’re filled with work and you sleep at the end of them, restless, with nightmares, but you’re still getting sleep, and that’s all that matters right now.

Kuna lets you start serving drinks unsupervised, which isn’t much, but it makes you feel accomplished. The whole cantina looks better every day you’re here, and it’s something to be proud of, especially since you haven’t done anything to call attention to yourself other than being a woman in the middle of a skeevy bar in the desert, which just means you attract creeps instead of stormtroopers. It’s a good bargain. One night, you serve a regular, a Twi’lek with green skin, not purple, and you can look at her without seeing Xi’an, her dead body, or Din. She’s kind, and she asks about you as much as you ask about her, and you walk out of the bar to clean up the mess one group of people left behind, letting the rest of the people filter out for closing time.

When you hear your name, you think you’re hallucinating it. It comes out of nowhere, and the voice that it comes from is familiar, trusting, warm. And there’s the kicker: it’s unmodulated. You’re pretty sure you’re imagining it, because you’ve spent so many nights playing over Din’s voice in your mind, his promises, the way he broke them. And still, you freeze, turning around, feeling completely suspended on the space-time continuum.

Standing there, unmasked, heartbreak written all over his face, is your Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian. As your heart hammers, drowning out every impulse to run towards him and jump into his arms, you have to remind yourself he left you, and even though he found you, he’s not yours anymore.

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I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!! thank you all for being patient and bearing with me these past few weeks!! i promise more is coming, and we still have the whole last arc to go, so SM isn't ending soon ;) and when it does? i already have plans for a sequel in the works!

so sorry again that this is a day late!!! i hope you loved it anyway <3

xoxo, amelie

[cosmicjoke]

Well, there’s a book and a half to say about chapter 55 and 56 of Attack on Titan!  I’ll focus on 56, because the whole interaction between Levi and Historia, and that entire scene, is just packed full of so many important details.

 The first thing I picked up on, again, is how Levi takes the time to thank Nifa for riding all night to deliver them Erwin’s instructions.  It seems like a small moment, but Levi ALWAYS does this, and I feel like it’s really important to point out.  He’s the one character who consistently makes the effort to show his appreciation and gratitude towards others for doing a good job, or giving their best effort.  Just telling someone thank you like that can make a world of difference to them, especially when you’re dealing with a world of such desperation and extremity as the world of AoT.  So I just thought that was an important moment to note.

Another big deal in this chapter, I think, was Levi’s further interaction with Dimo Reeves, and the continued respect he shows the man.  Dimo says that him and his men will leave the room so that Levi can discuss the plan with his squad, but Levi insists that Dimo and his men stay, restating that that’s how their agreement works, that they don’t keep secrets from each other, and telling Dimo that he trusts him.  He reiterates this again when Dimo tries a second time to leave.  It speaks volumes about what kind of person Levi is, about his honesty and integrity as a person, that he’s treating Dimo and his men as equals, and including them in on the plan, and not just that, but the entirety of the situation, willing to reveal to them everything the SC knows.  He isn’t treating them as tools in Erwin’s plan, he’s treating them as partners, as people, and showing them respect by making them privy to everything that they’re getting into.  He’s showing Dimo complete trust here, when just a few days earlier they’d been on opposite sides.  Levi even takes the time to welcome Flegel, and once again reaffirm his trust in the Reeves Company.  I find this remarkable, this kind of respect and regard, and, really, this kind of deep humanity we see from Levi.  He treats Dimo and his son and his men with dignity, which is something nobody else has done for any of them in a long time, it seems.

Of course, this leads into the big scene between Levi and Historia.  I read a brilliant meta on this recently, where the writer pointed out that it’s significant that this scene takes place directly on the heels of Hange and Levi torturing Sannes for information on the Reiss family, because that experience directly influences Levi’s violent reaction and anger towards Historia here, and also explains why it is Levi forgot to tell his squad about who Historia really is, and the almost embarrassed look on his face when he realizes this.  Levi is still obviously bothered by what both he and Hange did to Sannes, enough so that he becomes distracted and forgot to reveal an obviously vital piece of information.  

What’s really interesting about this scene though is Levi’s reaction when Historia, initially, refuses to become Queen, insisting that there’s no way she can, insisting that she isn’t “fit”.  Levi gets about as pissed as we’ve seen him up to this point at this, and actually, physically attacks Historia by lifting her off the ground.  What’s interesting is Levi’s reasoning behind his anger.  Historia is being horribly timid and indecisive here, claiming she can’t be queen because she isn’t fit, essentially saying because she isn’t good enough.  This kind of timid shirking of responsibility, in the face of what Levi’s just had to do to get the information needed to perform a successful coup, would be pretty maddening.  He’s just had to dirty his hands by torturing a man, and here Historia is, flatly refusing to step up and make that experience mean anything.  We know how Levi can’t bear to let people sacrifice their lives for no reason.  I think the same applies here.  Levi can’t bear to have engaged in something as ugly and awful as torturing a man for information, with nothing to show for it in the end, with nothing gained for the effort.  Historia’s behavior here must seem to Levi very self-indulgent.  He goes into a long speech after he drops her, asking his squad members, after they yell at him for going too far, what all of them will be doing tomorrow.  Asking them if they think they’ll have food on their table, or if they’ll get a good nights sleep, or if the people around them will still be there.  He then tells them he never thinks so.  

Levi is essentially telling his squad that because of the world they live in, nothing is guaranteed, and nothing can be taken for granted, and the kind of fear they all live with of never knowing is something he wants desperately to rid the world of.  This life of being trapped and stuck and always living in fear and uncertainty.  There’s nothing worse than that.  He talks about being willing to be the one to do the dirty work, to get his hands dirty, in order to prevent anyone else from having to do the same, to have to carry the burden of that, and in order for the nightmare of their desperate existence to finally come to an end, to save everyone from having to sit there and worry if they’ll be able to eat the next day, or if their friends will still be alive.  Levi calls himself abnormal here, and says it’s probably because he’s seen so many abnormal things, but he’s willing to be that, willing to be the freak or the “bad guy” if it means no one else has to deal with it, has to go through such horrible experiences of loss and pain and guilt.   This, again, is an awesome example of Levi’s selflessness.  He knows everyone in that room is looking at him with revulsion and anger, that they think he’s being a terrible person and cruel.  But he doesn’t care.  He doesn’t care what they think of him in that moment, because the lives of so many other people are at stake, and he knows if Historia refuses to take on her role as Queen, so many more are going to die.  This coup is happening, regardless, because the standing Monarchy has proven itself unwilling to put the lives of the people ahead of its own interests, and without a peaceful transition of power to overthrow a corrupt government, more lives will be lost.  In the face of that, Historia’s meekness and uncertainty is glaringly petty and unimportant.  

I also think Levi is, again, pulling from his own experiences growing up, the poverty of living in the Underground and having nothing.  Being on the fringes of society and abandoned and uncared for by a ruling government, left to starve and rot beneath a thriving, wealthy capital.  Dimo later defends Levi when his son starts talking smack about him, and remarks that a man like Levi, who is awkward but kind, must have come from absolutely nothing.  He defends Levi to Historia too, telling her he might be scary, but he’s not a bad guy.  He calls Levi kind, even after what happened with Historia.  Because he understood Levi’s violence here, when no one else really seemed to.  He understood that it was coming from a man who had to fight all his life just to survive from one day to the next, never having any certainty in what tomorrow would bring.  He understood that Levi’s compassion towards the downtrodden, like the people of Trost now are, is coming from a place of personal experience, and so he knew Levi would keep his word to help them, even though he didn’t have to and it gained him nothing.  Because Dimo perceives that Levi knows what it is to have “absolutely nothing”, he then sees the genuineness of Levi’s compassion and the inherent kindness in him, and his sincere generosity and thoughtfulness, underneath his brusque and rude manner.  When Levi asks his squad if they think they’ll have food to eat the next day, or if they’ll sleep well, I think he must be remembering his life in the Underground, when even simple, basic staples of living like that were never a sure thing.  

Levi’s frustration and anger with Historia here is because he knows there isn’t any time for that kind of self-involved mindset.  Levi’s made sacrifices to get them to this point, as has Hange, as has the entirety of the SC, and Historia is threatening to render all of those sacrifices moot and meaningless because she’s... insecure.  Again, Levi can’t bear meaningless sacrifice.  So he gets incredibly pissed, and because, as always, Levi has so much trouble expressing himself through words, this is how he goes about trying to make Historia understand the importance of her part in this, how vital it is to so many other people’s lives that she step up and become Queen.  

It’s interesting too that this outburst on Levi’s part comes right after he expresses and shows so much trust and respect towards Dimo and his men, because it gives us such a clear picture into how Levi treats people with so much thoughtfulness and understanding for their position, but how he often struggles to express those things in words.  That, too, speaks the the kind of life Levi had growing up.  A world where social niceties and politeness were nonexistent.  Levi has such a pure, good heart, but he has no refinement or charm, and he’s no good at talking to people.  That inability to make himself clear or understood also leads to frustrated and angry outbursts like this, I think.  He wants Historia to understand, to realize how she herself is being foolishly selfish by letting her insecurity keep her from doing the right thing, but he doesn’t know how to make her see it, so he picks her up and yells at her.  

Anyway, that’s what I’ve got for these two chapters!  

Oh, and also on a side note, Armin was creepy as hell in chapter 55, lol.  Armin is an interesting character, because he seems so timid and nice, but he’s actually one of the most manipulative characters in the series.  Of course he’s one of the few that understood early on that in order to gain something, you have to be willing to make sacrifices too.  But his manipulativeness is a trait of his that sticks out pretty prominently at times, and so I always find it strange when people talk about what a sweet or caring person he is.  I do think Armin cares about his friends and comrades a lot, for sure, but he’s also a little scary in his deviousness, in how good he is at knowing how to get people to do what he wants.