#i can’t find any sense of community because no one agrees on anything anymore

[hot-topic-rat]

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[1moreff-creator]

Firstly, good luck on the LGI video !! I think anyone who even tries to analyze tha embodiment of a stroke (/pos) that is that video deserves a medal, a hug, and a therapy session Secondly, considering you are a Veronika stan I was wondering if you had any theories in regards to her backstory, as I really feel like besides Hu and maybe David, she is the character who we know the least about in terms of her past. And I've been thinking about that a lot, especially since I think she will play a massive role in the conflicts of Chapter 3 (similar to the role Ace has played in Chapter 2) And considering what her secret is theorized to be by basically the entire community, her comment about how she used to be an outdoors person (implying something happened that made it so she wasn't one anymore), her lolita fashion sense implying that her family is at least somewhat wealthy because god those dresses are expensive, and whoever the fuck Alyssa Belyaeva is. I feel like she has some juicy stuff that's just waiting to be speculated by more people

Thanks for the well wishes! I probably will need therapy after that video, geez.

Anyways, no more David here, let’s talk Veronika! You are right in calling me a stan, even thinking about her is enough to get me to smile like a dummy. And you’re right, there is so much to speculate on with this freak! I agree she’ll probably have a bigger role soon, and there is clearly something that went deeply wrong in her childhood. Otherwise, how would she get this awesome? I love her.

I can't get anything conclusive for obvious reasons, but I have come up with what I think is an interesting theory about her backstory.

CW: Self-harm, speculation on child neglect and psychiatric wards

First, let me compile everything you brought up and a few more things.

+Veronika used to be an outdoors person, but isn’t anymore. She even likes skateboarding! Presumably because her talent requires her to be indoors a lot, but there’s a good chance there’s something more traumatic at play.

+She despises boredom over all else, and at times, not even horror is enough to satiate her thirst for thrills. “That's why I liked horror for such a long time. […] But in the end, fiction is only fiction”. Tsumugi kinnie spotted!

+Whenever she finds something exciting, she can’t help but get addicted. That’s an odd way for her to phrase that, but sure.

+She has a deep interest in psychology and horror, as we all know.

+Like you said, it’s possible her parents are quite wealthy, as she enjoys expensive lolita fashion, as well as “weird” and “exotic” foods, apparently.

+Her favorite color is white in the presence of other colors, as it makes them stand out, and her least favorite is white without other colors, since she considers it soulless. What a weirdo /affectionate.

+The hidden quote on her page is “Once something is broken, it can never be pieced together in quite the same way again. The same goes for people.” Spooky!

(I’m not bringing up Mai on this post, no shot I’m getting into that mess again)

+Her secret is most often speculated to be “You only took on your talent to distract from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun”. Now, watch that be Levi’s and she’s actually the murderer without remorse, I think that’d be funny. But yeah, the self-harm secret is most likely hers.

+Alyssa Belyaeva is/was her dearest friend, the person who gifted her the green triangle earring she wears.

This “dearest friend” is so odd. Like, on one hand, the fact the dev originally neglected to name her because they didn’t want to put too much emphasis on mostly unimportant characters (I wish I could find the actual wording they used, but I can’t see all the answers of the Q&A for some reason) would suggest she’s not too relevant. But on the other hand, her impact is literally etched into Veronika’s design via the earring, and…

Well, listen. She was Veronika’s friend. Not only did Veronika like her, which already implies something’s wrong with her, Alyssa actually liked Veronika back. Oh, there is something wrong wrong with this girl.

So, yeah, don’t know if she’s going to be relevant. I tried looking up the green triangle, see if it meant anything, but I didn’t see anything that looked related. I also looked up Alyssa’s name to see if it meant anything. “Alyssa” means “noble” or “truth”, which I don’t get anything from, and “Belyaeva” is just derived from “white (blond) hair”. Wikipedia, make up your mind, is it white or blond?

Although that does give me a headcanon idea, that Alyssa has white hair but dresses very colorfully, and that’s why Veronika’s favorite color is white in the presence of others.

Yo, watch me get attached to a character we have even less information on than goddamn Elliot Cuevas and Felicity Giles.

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Anyways, the problem with Veronika is clear. There’s a lot there, but we’re also missing a fuckton, which makes it really hard to theorize about her. It feels like we’re missing some kind of through-line which actually connects all the loose concepts surrounding this girl. The most sensible answer here is that it’s impossible to gather anything conclusive about her backstory within the bounds of sanity.

…

But you didn’t ask me to speculate so I would remain within the bounds of sanity, did you? You wanna see the craziness come in, yeah? Well, let’s go crazy.

The Inevitable Descent Into Insanity

Veronika likes skateboarding.

It’s something I mentioned off-handedly before, but let’s think about it for a second. While there is such a thing as an indoor skatepark, when most of us think of skateboarding, I imagine most of us jump to the idea of skateboarding outside. I feel, if Veronika truly only liked indoor skateboarding, that would be made more explicit, you know? Like how Levi’s profile states he likes “suckers (candy)”.

And if that’s the case, we can gather three things.

>Veronika isn’t bored of the outside.

>Veronika isn’t scared of the outside.

>More people need to draw Veronika skateboarding /lh

This is a bit of stretch, and I don’t have any more evidence she doesn’t have trauma from being outdoors, but that’s not all for boredom. She clearly enjoyed playing in the playground, which was indoors, but was still ultimately a playground. That makes her being bored of the outside even more unlikely.

But if she didn’t get bored of the outside, why did she pick up a talent that is explicitly only possible indoors? Well, I want to take a closer look at how that secret is worded.

“You only took on your talent to distract from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun”

What’s interesting here is that she only took on her talent to stop herself from harming herself. This could imply that, while she obviously enjoys horror a lot, she doesn’t enjoy it as much as what she was doing before. After all, if she did, she would have also picked it up simply because it was more fun, and the secret’s wording would be odd.

And there’s more. What I imagine most of us think when we read this is “Veronika got so bored of everything else, she started hurting herself to stave off her boredom”. But, at the risk of sounding morbid, how was she hurting herself? Because I feel most of us jump to the idea of cutting (that’s why everyone mentions her wrists being covered when talking about her secret), but that’s not the only way people self harm. And, sorry if this sounds insensitive, but cutting doesn’t really seem “fun” to me. Like, obviously all self-harm is bad for you, but that in particular doesn’t seem too entertaining.

Why am I talking about this? Well, I want to bring attention to something she tells Teruko in CH 2 EP 7:

Veronika: “The idea that I could screw up my life at any time, that I could make a fatal mistake that I can’t undo… That’s real fear. So it excites me.”

Veronika was seemingly talking about the killing game here, but what if she’s not? She seems to be talking as if she has more experience with this sort of thing than just the killing game. And in particular, the use of the word “excites me” is interesting when paired with the line I called out earlier: “Whenever I find something that’s exciting, I can’t help but get addicted”.

So, if she found a way to constantly put herself in dangerous situations where one mistake would cost her her life, she would get addicted to it. Is this fair to say?

And this is where I bring you back, and draw a link between her love for the outdoors, her secret, her talent, and this idea. I’ve connected the dots-

(I didn’t connect shit)

I’ve connected them. Here goes:

Whenever Veronika played outside, she would feel the need to injure herself and put herself in unnecessarily dangerous situations, so she could feel the fear of making a fatal mistake she can’t undo. She only took on being a Horror Fanatic to distract from this need, as indoors, there aren’t as many exciting ways for her to injure herself.

That insane enough? I feel it sorta makes sense. If you think about it, this would mean at some point, Veronika would have to decide between throwing herself at horror or continuing her path to becoming the Ultimate Skateboarder, and the only reason she chose horror was… well, she would need to really go out of her way to injure herself while watching a horror movie.

Meanwhile, whenever she was outside, it would be easier to harm herself. Stand on a swing (like we see her do in the series), fall from a height, ram into something on a skateboard. Most of the injuries wouldn’t be too severe, but they would add up, and depending on what she was doing, I imagine some of them could be a bit worse. And whenever that happened, she would feel more excited than before, get more addicted, and constantly look for ways to injure herself more, and worse, and worse. Perhaps even injuring herself before going out, so she could be in the maximum amount of pain possible.

But there may have been other reasons she was doing this. This is where the “wealthy parents” may come in. Stereotypically speaking, wealthy parents are often depicted as neglectful, more preoccupied with work than with their children. Think- Oh, well, think Mariabella, actually. That’s obviously not always the case, but it does happen.

And if this is the case, it’s possible she was also, subconsciously, harming herself as a call for help. As a way to get the attention she needed. There would have been better ways to go about it, but self-harming is sort of inherently irrational.

In fact, maybe I am really going completely insane, but I think there’s an exchange where something like this can be inferred? In CH 2 EP 2, when Veronika falls off the swing.

Veronika: “Ehehe! I’m fine! Don’t worry!”

Teruko: “I’m not worried about you. If your body was fragile enough to break from a light fall like that, then you wouldn’t have done something so stupid”

Veronika: “It’s fun to stand on swings, okay? It makes me feel tall. I didn’t know that these ones would be quite so slippery”

Veronika: “But really, I’m not hurt at all. The ground is very soft”

Now, let’s be clear. I am probably reading way too much into this, and this was probably just a quick way to transition to the point of the ground being soft. But it always struck me as odd that Veronika feels the need to tell Teruko she wasn’t hurt twice, even after Teruko had taken her at her word before.

So, hear me out, maybe that was force of habit. Like, she always (intentionally) injured herself while playing around, then Alyssa or someone else would be concerned about her, and fuss over her. Then, Veronika would have to repeatedly state she was fine, because the whole point was that she wanted to keep playing after hurting herself. And Alyssa would be concerned, but eventually brush it off with a laugh. Or, knowing the type of friends Veronika gets, maybe Alyssa would also have the habit of hurting herself alongside Veronika-

I am not going to get attached to a character we have only a name for. I am not going to get attached to a character we have only a name for. I am not going to get attached to a character we have only a name for-

Anyways, again, I’m probably reading too much into that line, it’s very likely Veronika just said she was okay again to get to the point about the floor being soft.

Anyways, that’s sort of the main idea of my speculation! That she harmed herself by playing outside to make it more exciting. All we’re missing is what made her decide to stop hurting herself, and an explanation for the quote on her page, the one about people breaking. I assume they’re likely related, but I can’t give a solid answer. So here’s a few possibilities:

>When her parents found out, they said she was “broken” and sent her to a (likely under 18) psychiatric ward. This could explain why she considers the color white on its own “soulless”. I mean, I doubt under 18 psychiatric wards look that depressing, and I couldn’t find conclusive images in Google, but I did see some white, so maybe! The reason I’m not too sure is that I really don’t know much about under 18 psychiatric wards, and while I did try to do some research, I don’t exactly feel like being in more lists than I’m already probably on, you feel?

>A bit more worrying, perhaps her parents were the ones who tried to “””fix””” her, and they did something bad to her. I can’t comment much more on this idea, as any further ideas tend more towards fanfic than actual speculation.

>Maybe the one who “””broke””” was actually Alyssa, and either she was sent to a psych ward or something happened to her that made her “soulless”. I don’t like tying Alyssa too closely to Veronika’s backstory, because of the whole “she might not be important” thing, but it’s there. However, it’s important to note, if something did happen to Alyssa, Veronika likely wouldn’t be at fault, otherwise it would likely be mentioned in her secret.

>There's also a possibility Veronika stopped self harming on her own or, more likely, with proper therapy (so proud of her if that's the case!), and the "broken" thing refers to something she'll do in the killing game. I don't know if what I'm about to say really makes sense, but while I've always imagined Veronika saying her line with her "shadow over eyes" sprite, I guess it's possible she would actually say it with one of her "Junko-ish" or "deranged smile" sprites. I'm imagining something like: she drives Arturo absolutely insane, laughs about how horrible he's gotten, and with a malicious, wide smirk, she tells everyone: "Arturo is broken, and nothing will put him back together again. How entertaining!" Something like that. I really just want her to do something extremely fucked up, I think she deserves to have some fun :D

And there's my whole theory about Veronika's backstory! Even though it's probably completely wrong, I hope it satisfied your craving for speculation on the resident freak. And thanks for reading! If you made it this far, you deserve a good friend that loves you just like you are, like Alyssa! Take care!

[redpandaramblings]

Like Caramel For Chocolate- An Omega Bakugou x Alpha f!Reader fic. Part 3.

Part 1- Here

Previous part Here

Next Part Here

Content Warning: Negative headspace, omegaverse, self deprecation, depressive thoughts, pushy parental figures, ambiguous omegaverse reproduction, unhealthy relationships, relationship that could be easily fixed if idiots would use their words and communicate, Shinso/Denki side relationship

Where we left off-

You glanced up at the sound of the door. In came your parents, then the Yokomadas. You did a double take as the final person, the omega you were here to meet, entered the room. They looked equally as startled as your eyes locked.

“Y/N?”

“Denki?!”

You slowly walked through the teahouse garden, your electric blond friend oddly silent as he kept pace with you. Your parents and the Yokomadas had allowed the two of you a bit of privacy to talk. So far, neither of you had mustered the courage to break the awkward atmosphere. Neither your parents or the Yokomadas had seemed to pick up on Denki or your mood. If anything, they were thrilled you two already knew each other. With a sigh, you sat on a bench by the koi pond, not looking at the blond as to settled down next to you. After several minutes, he spoke.

“So. What are you doing here?”

You snorted, and gently dumped your shoulder against his.

“Right back at you, Pikachu.”

“I’ll tell you. After you tell me.”

You chuckled humorously, and tilted your head back to look at the sky.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just here to appease my mother?”

Denki considered for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. You’ve been saying no to her for years. So tell me, why are you here.”

You take a deep breath and let it out again slowly through your nose.

“I… I think I wanted to be here. Needed to.” You wrung your hands, throwing a sideways glance at Denki. “I… I want to be mated. Have a family. Have someone who needs me and lets me need them. I used to think Kat… I used to think Bakugou was my person. But I’m not sure anymore, Denks. You know what he’s like and so do I, but I’ve waited for years, and nothing, and I’m so tired, and I’m not even sure he even likes me anymore, and…” You’re stopped by Kaminari gently rubbing your back.

“Breath, Y/n. Come on. Deep breaths.”

You inhaled shakily. You hadn’t even noticed you’d been hyperventilating. Quiet settled again, aside from the sounds of nature and your slowly slowing breathing. After a few moments, you spoke again.

“I’m just so lonely, Denks. I see him every day, and I’m still so goddamn lonely. So I think… I think it’s time to let go.” Your lips twitched slightly upward as you tilt your head to look at him. “Am I terrible?”

Denki huffed out a breath and shook his head. “You? Never.” He sighed, removing his hand from you back as he began picking at the hem of his sleeve. “I wish I could say I didn’t understand. But I do. I’m kinda here for the same reason after all.”

You gave an encouraging hum and reached out, taking his hand in yours and running your thumb over his knuckles. He interlaced your fingers, giving a squeeze before continuing to speak.

“You know how I feel about Shinso, right?”

“I think everyone but Shinso knows how you feel about him.”

Denki snorted. “Yeah. Not surprised. But that’s the problem. I’ve liked him for years. Little bit of a crush but at UA, thought I could play it cool and it would go away; but then the agency paired us together and, well.” Denki gestured with the hand not holding yours. “It was so easy! I’d go boom! And then he’d go pow! Then shoom! It was amazing! He was amazing… And so I tried to get his attention. I tried so damn hard. And you know me.”

You snorted, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’re about as subtle as a brick through a living room window.”

“Exactly!” He shouted, pulling away to stand up and pace. “I flirted. I used all my best pick up lines. I asked him out to the club, and he said yes. But do you know what he said afterward? He said though it wasn’t his usual scene, it was really good being able to hang out with a friend. I… I asked him to spend my heat with me.”

You inhaled sharply. Kaminari looked at you with an expression you hardly recognized. He collapsed onto the bench, leaning heavily against you.

“He said ‘I’m glad you’re that comfortable with me, but it probably would be better for you to ask someone else.’” Denki whispered, sniffling.

“Oh.. Denki.” You wrapped your arms around the blond, squeezing him tightly. Half out of instinct, you tried to pump out soothing pheromones while you gently scented his hair. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing, sweetheart. You’re a wonderful omega!”

That was all it took for Denki to start sobbing heavily in your arms. You squeezed him tightly as tears filled your own eyes. The tears fell when Denki wrapped his arms around you, hugging you just as tightly as you held him. There in the tranquil garden you both huddled together as you finally allowed yourself to cry. Years of hurt and longing fell from your eyes one drop at a time.

You weren’t sure how long it had been when the two of you slowly pulled away from each other. You used your thumbs to wipe Denki’s cheeks. He gave you a halfhearted smile.

“So,” you asked tentatively, “what should we do? They’re going to expect an answer from us about this whole…” You waved a vague hand “Marriage date thing.”

Denki hummed, puffing up his cheeks as he blew out a breath. “God, I don’t know. Certainly wasn’t expecting it be you, you know? No offense.”

You drew back, gasping in mock anger. “Full offense!” You could only hold your expression a few seconds before you started snickering.

Denki grinned his first really grin of the day. “Well excuuuuse me for insulting your alpha sensibilities.”

“You’re excused. For now.”

You both chuckled. Looking out at the pond, you spoke again. “I just wish I had the right answers. And I really wish we had more time.”

Denki furrowed his brow. “Well… Technically, we could.”

“What do you mean?”

Denki bounced on his seat. “Okay. So. Hear me out. We both need time to process, clearly. Also clearly, our families are just not gonna give us that. So… Why don’t we do this?”

“Wait. Wait. We do this?” you asked, both curious and incredulous.

“Yeah! Think about it. One! They mainly want us in relationships they approved of. They set us up, so clearly, they approve. Two! If we say we’d like to try out this match, they obviously aren’t going to set up any more dates; therefore buying us time. And bonus of no annoying randos. Three! We can say we’re going to take the relationship slow because we’ve both been burned before and want to make sure. Four! Four…” Denki trailed off, looking at his feet.

“Four is maybe if we can’t find a love match at least we’re friends who work well together?” You murmured.

Denki nodded, glancing at you with a rueful smirk. “Yeah. Exactly. Vibe on the same wavelength. Hell, we even want similar shit in life.”

“Actual house, few pets, stability…”

Denki nodded again. “Sucks, but would make sense for us to consider it. As much as I fucking hate the ‘You’re not getting any younger’ speech, they are kind right. We can’t waste all our time waiting for things that aren’t gonna happen.”

You shook your head with a chuckle. “God, don’t you hate it when they’re right about shit like that?”

“You have no idea.”

You stood, stretching. “Well, I guess we go tell them, then.”

Denki groaned. “There isn’t enough saki in the world for that conversation.”

“And just so we’re clear, this stays between us for now, right? No one knows but us, our folks, and I guess your cousins.”

“Agreed. I don’t want to think about what anyone would say. Bakugou would kill me!”

You winced. “Unlikely. I doubt he’d care. But if Mina finds out, everyone will know.”

“You’re not kidding. No worries from me, I don't want this getting out any more than you do.”

“So… Engaged, I guess?”

Denki dusted himself off and stood. “Deal. Engaged.” Denki stuck his hand out, and you shook it.

You both turned and started making your way back to the teahouse, taking your time and going the long way to be sure to avoid and of the other patrons. This was fine. A good plan. Nothing could go wrong as long as no one found out.

And there you have part 3! Sorry the wait and thank you all for being patient! If anyone has any questions regarding the fic or how this particular omegaverse operates, please feel free to shoot me an ask. Also, please note that @snuggleyourredpandas is my main account, so it you see a message reply from them, that's me!

TAGLIST- @yzviea, @not-a-pushover, @thelilypieforever, @kumihayu, @aomi04, @ladybakugouu, @one-simp-more, @hakunamatatayqueen, @my-thoughts-are-weird, @left-alone-yuki, @officialtrashbusiness Just a reminder, if you want tagged make sure you have the ability to be tagged turned on; and I'd have to be informed if your blog name changes! Cheers, Darlings!

[cdroloisms]

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Hey Vaunna, if you ever want to try and write something to make me cry, hit me up. Imma start making a list of things I’ve almost and actually cried over in fics-

Make me suffer, I dare you.

welp here we go! good luck everyone LOL

summary: Team ZIT face a blast from Zedaph's past

...

“I dunno about you but I think having only a set of coordinates sent to our communicators with no explanation is never a good thing,” says Tango, gazing around the clearing.

Impulse nods. “Agreed. Especially considering it’s been five minutes and… nobody’s here.”

As if on cue, someone walks out through the trees. The two jerk in surprise but relax when they register who it is.

“Oh, Zed, it’s you,” breathes Tango. “Why did you send us these coords?”

Zedaph doesn’t reply as he walks over to a tree on the edge of the clearing and pulls a lever.

Immediately, a glass box springs up from the ground and closes around the two.

“Hey!” Tango snaps, hitting the glass with his first. “What the hell are you doing, Zed?!”

“Tango?!” comes Zedaph’s voice from the opposite side of the clearing.

Tango and Impulse turn sharply to find… Zedaph running into the clearing.

After a stunned moment, they turn back. Zedaph is standing by the lever he just pulled, but he doesn’t look EXACTLY like Zedaph anymore. His eyes flash red, his hair more tousled and a slightly darker shade of blond.

“What’s happening here?!” Tango demands. “Why are there two of you? Who’s the real Zed?!”

“I am,” says the newcomer Zedaph immediately. “He’s…”

His face pales as he properly registers who’s standing on the other side of the clearing.

“I’m Helsaph,” the first Zedaph says. “Your dear Zedaph’s hels counterpart.”

“What’s going on?” asks Impulse nervously. “Why have you locked us in a glass box?”

“Oh, cuz I thought you might want to hear about what Zedaph did to me,” Helsaph responds aggressively.

Zedaph slowly moves forward towards Helsaph, but stops several blocks away. “I…”

“What the hell could Zed have possibly done to YOU?” Tango growls.

Helsaph jabs his finger at his counterpart. “You wanna tell them what you did or shall I?”

Zedaph’s mouth opens and closes uselessly for a few seconds, before he squeezes his eyes shut and looks away.

Helsaph turns to the two in the box. “Let me see if this jogs your memory of anything.”

He pulls out a pink item from his pocket and holds it up to his eyes.

Tango and Impulse freeze in horror.

“Look familiar?” says Helsaph challengingly. “Huh?”

Impulse stares helplessly at the helsmit. “I don’t… understand.”

Helsaph barks a laugh. “What, you don’t really think it was the real Zedaph under that mask, do you? Surely you don’t really think the mastermind behind the PR stunt that was Wormman would be out there risking his OWN neck?”

“Zed, what is he saying?” Tango demands.

“I recruited Helsaph to be Wormman and then I abandoned him in Season 5 when we moved on to the next world!” Zedaph bursts out suddenly.

Silence falls. Tango and Impulse exchange a look of horror.

“You didn’t know that, huh?” Helsaph taunts. “Guess your precious little best friend never told you that he’s not the moral angel you think he is.”

“Zed…” Impulse gazes at his friend in disappointment. “Why?”

Zedaph doesn’t answer. Instead, he murmurs, “There. I said it. Is that what you wanted, Helsaph?”

Helsaph grabs Zedaph by the collar and yanks him off the ground. “Is that it?! “Is that what you wanted?”?! YOU ABANDONED ME IN A GHOST WORLD FOR THREE YEARS!”

He tosses Zedaph away as if Zedaph weighed nothing. No sooner has Zedaph landed on the ground than he looks up to find Helsaph charging at him. He can’t react in time to stop Helsaph from slamming his boot into his stomach, yanking all the air from his lungs and causing him to dissolve into a fit of coughing.

“ZED!” Tango screeches, hitting the glass wall with all his strength. It starts to crack under his blows.

“You made me play the hero!” Helsaph yells at his counterpart. “You trained me and spent time with me and made me CARE about you and then you just tossed me aside like I was NOTHING to you! Do you have any idea how much it hurts to learn that the person you thought loved you actually didn’t give a DAMN about you?!”

“I…!” Zedaph’s voice fails and he hangs his head. “I’m… I’m sorry...”

“Oh, you’re SORRY?”

Helsaph grabs Zedaph by the throat and slams him against a tree, the pressure on Zedaph’s windpipe abruptly cutting off his breathing.

“You think SORRY is going to make up for what you did?!”

“Get off him!” screams Tango’s voice.

A second later, Tango himself barrels into Helsaph, knocking him to the ground and releasing his grip on Zedaph, who drops to his knees, gasping for breath.

Impulse appears at Zedaph’s side and envelopes him in a hug. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, Zed.”

A little way off, Tango is kneeling on Helsaph’s back, keeping him pressed to the ground. As Helsaph struggles against Tango’s grip on his arms, he screams, “All I wanted was to be loved! ALL I WANTED WAS TO BE ACCEPTED!”

“Shut up!” Tango snarls at him.

“Tango, don’t hurt him!” pleads Zedaph hoarsely, his vision blurred. Weakly pushing Impulse away, he stumbles blindly towards the hazy figures of Helsaph and Tango. “Let him go!”

“Let him go?!” Tango echoes in disbelief. “HE TRIED TO KILL YOU!”

“Please, Tango! Let him go!”

Tango stares at Zedaph in disbelief for a moment, before huffing and releasing Helsaph, though he keeps a firm eye on the helsmit. “Fine.”

Helsaph slowly pushes himself to his knees, his eyes fixed on Zedaph. All his anger seems to have vanished, replaced by despair. “Why did you not want me anymore?” he cries. “W-Was I not good enough…? Did I do something wrong…?”

“No…! I never intended to hurt you.” Zedaph’s voice cracks with emotion. “This is all my fault. I should never have abandoned you, I… I was just so scared of what you might become that I never considered I could help you not become it. And instead… my worst fears came true, and it’s all my fault. Helsaph, I’m so sorry.”

Zedaph slowly moves forward and, kneeling down in front of Helsaph, brings him into a hug.

And after a few seconds, the dam breaks.

Tango and Impulse stand together a safe distance away, watching their best friend hug his crying Hels counterpart.

“All he ever wanted was a family,” says Impulse quietly. “People to care about him the way we care about Zed.”

Tango hesitates for a moment, then makes a decision. He joins Zedaph and Helsaph on the ground and wraps his arms around both of them. Impulse does the same on the other side, both he and Tango holding their Zedaphs tightly.

“I wanna be a hero again, Zedaph,” croaks Helsaph. “Have I messed it up?”

“No no, you haven’t messed anything up,” Zedaph says reassuringly. “If anything, I’M the one who messed everything up. Can you forgive me, Hels…?”

Helsaph sits back on his heels, regarding Zedaph with wary eyes. “But… But how do I know you won’t abandon me again if I stop being useful?”

Zedaph anxiously clasps his hands together. “I know you won’t trust me again for a long time, and that’s… that’s completely valid. But I… I refuse to judge your worth based on how “useful” you are again. From now on, you’re my brother and I’ll stick by you, no matter what.”

“B… Brother…?” repeats Helsaph shakily. “You mean…?”

“You’re part of the ZIT family now,” Impulse chuckles, tousling Helsaph’s hair. “Double Zedaph.”

Helsaph stares at Impulse with wide eyes. “I… Why would you want me here after everything I did…?”

“Because Zed made some mistakes and he’s my friend so I want to help him fix them,” Impulse replies kindly. “Right, Tango?”

Tango nods back. “Absolutely. Plus, I mean, you can never have too much Zedaph, know what I mean?”

Sensing that Helsaph is about to cry again, Zedaph quickly steps in and says, “You know, Hels, you actually arrived at a great time. We could do with a hero right now. You remember Evil X?”

Helsaph nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. “Very well.”

“They’re back on the server causing a bit of mischief, running a scheme that’s definitely a scam. The server could use a hero to keep an eye on them and make sure they don’t do anything evil.” Zedaph grins. “What do you think? You up to the challenge?”

“I…” Helsaph hesitates. “I’m out of practise.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” says Tango. “We’ll help ya.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna train you back up into the best superhero on the server,” Impulse adds happily.

Zedaph hands Helsaph the pink mask the latter dropped earlier. “Welcome back, Wormman,” he says softly.

After a moment, Helsaph takes the mask and puts it on.

And with this action, Helsaph’s road to recovery, surrounded by his brand new family, begins.

[ijustwant2write]

The Miracle Question-Bucky Barnes x Reader

(GIF credit to @sebastianruinedme​)

Summary: When Bucky doesn’t tell (Y/N) that he missed his appointment, nearly getting into trouble with the government, she becomes furious and upset with him. She demands to have a session with him, wondering if their relationship is as stable as they thought it was, and if it’s actually making Bucky worse. To add to her anger, the new ‘Captain America’ decides to step in.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Sam Wilson x Reader (platonic), John Walker x Reader (acquaintances), Lemar Hoskins x Reader (acquaintances)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Mentions of therapy, arguing, slight violence, fluff

                                  *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Why would he do something like this and not tell me? He was doing so well with his appointments, and although I knew he wasn't enjoying them, at least he was going so he could get them over and done with. We hardly spoke of them, he was never the one to bring up the topic, it was always me; I just wanted to know how he was doing, I cared for him so much, and it was hurting me to think he wasn't able to open up.

"Sam." I got his attention as I briskly walked into the police station.

"Hey," he could see I was upset, immediately using a calmer tone,"he's alright. His therapist is here, she's got everything sorted."

"But why did it take me watching a video on twitter of my boyfriend being arrested to know about this?"

No one had called. Surely I was one of his emergency contacts? And if I (bizarrely) wasn't, why hadn't Sam called me?

Sam sighed."He didn't want you to know. He missed an appointment he had to go to and-"

"Didn't want me to know?!" I raised my voice, not caring if I grabbed the attention of anyone around us.

Sam held up his hands, trying to quieten me."Look, I'm not getting involved with your personal matters. That's up to you two. Just keep your voice down, we are in a police station."

I scoffed in disbelief."Why didn't he want me to know? He knew I would be angry, but I would never argue about it with him, or make him feel bad about it. I would support him."

"I know you wouldn't, and so does he. Bucky is still getting used to opening up, even with you. He just doesn't want to hurt you."

“Sam,” an older woman interrupted us,“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Doctor Raynor, I’m James’ therapist.”

They shook hands.“It’s so nice to meet you.”

Raynor put her attention on me, also shaking my hand.“You must be (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the girlfriend. I’ve also heard a lot about you.”

“You have? Oh, didn’t think he would talk about me that much.”

“Thank you for getting him out.” Sam quickly interjected. 

“Oh, that was not me.”

“Christina!” another voice called out.

We all turned to see who called, and I almost rolled my eyes when I saw who it was. John Walker, the new ‘Captain America’, was headed our way, almost swaggering. People immediately wanted pictures which he agreed to, and although I know Steve might have done the same in some cases, it wouldn’t be a priority for him, nor would he look like was was enjoying it. Although I didn’t want to judge others before knowing them, America had given the title to some random man, forgetting that Steve was not only a hero, but a friend and family to people like us. 

“It’s great to see you again.” Walker said as he shook someone’s hand.

“You gotta be kidding me, you know him?” Sam mumbled.

“Yeah, we did some field ops back in the day.”

“Heard you were working with Bucky so I thought I would step in.” he said as he approached.“Bucky’s not gonna be following a strict schedule any longer.”

“We haven’t finished our work. Who’s authorised this?”

“Um...” he smiled as he gestured to himself.

Who was he to come in here and change everything? Bucky was doing well in his therapy sessions...or at least I assumed he was, we never spoke about it. And I hated the way he called him ‘Bucky’; only close ones were allowed to call him that. 

A loud buzzer sounded throughout the station, and I whipped my head around, relieved to see Bucky walking out with two police officers. I no longer listened to Walker, running towards my boyfriend. He easily caught me as I threw my arms around him, not caring that the policemen escorting him out were watching.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, seeming both worried and annoyed.

“Bucky, you got arrested! I had to come see you, make sure you’re OK. Why didn’t you get someone to call me? Also, why did you miss your session anyway?”

“It’s a long story. And it’s not worth telling.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bucky’s eye line was now on Walker as he shouted over his shoulder,“I’ll be outside.”

Before I could say anything else, Dr. Raynor spoke,“James, condition of your release, session now. You too, Sam and (Y/N).”

“That’s OK. I’ll be out here with-”

She interrupted Sam.“That wasn’t a request.”

Bucky was silent as he slid away, reluctantly following the doctor. I tried holding his hand, but he was making it difficult to even grab it in the first place. My heart sank at the thought of Bucky not wanting me there, not even wanting to be comforted. When these sessions first began, he would come home and want to be held, be comforted; sometimes he asked if he could hold me, just to ensure that I was there with him, that I could feel safe in his arms. That was happening less and less now, it scared me to think he didn’t want this relationship anymore. 

We were sat in an interrogation room, Dr Raynor on one side and two chairs on the other. She told Bucky and I to sit first, and that she would deal with Sam later. Nerves suddenly washed over me, petrified of what sort of answers Bucky was going to give.

“OK, so we can all sense a lot of tension in this room. And although I’m going in a slightly unprofessional route, I feel that we all need to do this to ensure you are all OK, that is my job after all. So, who wants to go first?”

She looked between me and Bucky. Part of me wanted to get the confrontation out of the way, perhaps that would make things go quicker and we would get out of here sooner. But my fear held me back. 

“No volunteers? Wow, that’s surprising. Okay. We’re going to do any exercise. It’s something I use with couples when they are trying to figure out what sort of life they wanna build together. Are you familiar with the miracle question?”

I nodded.“Yes.”

“No.” Bucky answered at the same time. 

“OK, it goes like this. Suppose that while you’re sleeping, a miracle occurs. When you wake up, what is something that you would like to see that would make your life better?”

Shit, that was deep. There’s a million things I could think of that I wanted with Bucky. We used to talk about it all the time. He wanted security in knowing that I wanted a life with him, and I wanted the same, hoping that one day it would happen. Glancing at him, Bucky was slouched in the chair, staring at his hands folded together on his lap. It didn’t look like he was going to be saying anything soon, so I took the first step.

“Um...” I started, unsure how to word this.“I would want to take away any suffering Bucky has gone through, so that he could have a somewhat normal life, and didn’t have to force himself through things like this. No offence doctor. That way he wouldn’t have to feel pressured into opening up and he would tell me anything that was on his mind.”

“That’s a good start.” Raynor slowly said.“And it’s a very sweet sentiment, but it’s what you want, (Y/N).”

“That is what I want. All I want is for Bucky to be happy, I love him.”

“Again, very sweet, I know you care about him very much. But let’s try looking at it a different way. You want your miracle to be that James opens up more. That he lets you into the side of his life you don’t get to see in person.”

“I...I guess.”

“You feel left out of the equation, because James won’t express how he’s feeling?”

“Yeah, when you put it like that, that’s what I want. I want my boyfriend to be able to feel like he can tell me anything, no matter how gruesome, traumatic or even little it is.”

“Right. Glad we got there in the end. OK James, your turn.”

I watched in anticipation for Bucky to speak. What if I had messed things up? What if that was the opposite of what he wanted? 

“My miracle would be...not having you involved in that side of things.”

He didn’t even look at me as he spoke. He also didn’t look phased by his answer. So his miracle would be to not have me know about a huge part of his life? He was a hero for god’s sake! Why was he shutting me out? What had I done to deserve this? Had I hurt him in some way that made him feel that he couldn’t talk to me anymore?

“What? Bucky, have I done something to upset you?”

“I just think it would be easier for both of us.”

“You know I’m always here for you, right? We’ve spoke about this before, I don’t understand why you’re only expressing this now.”

Raynor tried to get us back on track.“Alright you two, I think we need to dissect this-”

“I’m sorry doctor but I would like Bucky to elaborate more on this matter, because I’m not fully understanding.”

“What’s not to understand?” he finally looked at me, but I hated this expression. It was as if I had asked the stupidest question in the world.

“Bucky, why are you being like this? You used to tell me about everything, what’s changed?”

He didn’t answer. I just scoffed, hastily grabbing my handbag and coat.

“(Y/N), please sit down.” Raynor asked. 

“I can’t. I can’t sit here and wait for an explanation that I’m not going to get. Just focus on the two heroes, I’ll find out about all of this never.”

I rushed out of the room, breathing heavily as I tried not to cry, but my eyes were already watering. Ignoring looks from people in the waiting room, I couldn’t stop myself from starting to cry. Although I had every reason to be upset that my boyfriend wasn’t communicating with me anymore, I also felt slightly guilty for just storming out of there. Maybe we would have resolved it. 

“Miss, you OK?” 

Oh, I did not want to deal with Walker right now. He would only piss me off.

“Do you need help? We can provide assistance if you need it.”

Although I had wanted to walk away, I knew I should have, my feet were already leading me towards him. I was embarrassed that I was still crying, but I tried to block that from my mind by now. He was leaning against a police car with his friend, who’s name I hadn’t bothered learning.

“You don’t look so good, shall we get a cop to drive you home?”

“Who do you think you are?!” I snapped.

“Well, I’m Captain America-”

“No, you’re someone who thinks they’re anything close to what Steve was. He didn’t go around introducing himself as Captain America, He didn’t care about the title. I understand you’re under a lot of pressure Walker, Steve has a huge legacy to live up to. But don’t you dare come waltzing in expecting those two amazing men to immediately work alongside you like nothing has changed.”

“You got all of that out of your system?”

My eyes widened at him.“Are you serious right now?”

“Look,” his friend butted in,“we just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to get mixed up in this. We’re dealing with something major here, it could effect the whole world.”

“Sorry, but who are you?”

He rolled his eyes.“Come on man, how many times? It’s Battlestar.”

My face remained emotionless.

“Lemar Hoskins? You know, the new Captain America with his-”

“I don’t think she cares.” Walker explained. 

“You think I don’t know anything about trying to save the world? My friends are part of the Avengers, my boyfriend fought against Thanos. He disappeared in the Blip and I was left by myself wondering if he would ever come back. I’ve been targeted, I’ve seen aliens close up. Nothing could effect me now.”

“Well, I’m sorry you’ve had to endure that.”

“Do you two just not listen to anyone but yourselves?”

“(Y/N), listen,” Walker dared to put his hand on my shoulder,“you’re a normal citizen like us. No super powers, no hidden strength, yet here you are with a super soldier that’s over a hundred years old! I mean, do the maths here, you could have walked away from all this danger. And yet, here you are, by yourself at a police station, whilst your boyfriend cares more about his ‘job’ than making sure you’re safe.”

That was it, the last straw. I slapped his hand off of me, preparing to punch him square in the face, when someone pulled me back.

“No (Y/N)!” Sam raised his voice as he made sure to distance me away from Walker. He quickly stood in between us. 

“What did you do, Walker!?” Bucky quickly stormed over.“Did you touch her?!”

Sam was desperately trying to diffuse the situation, knowing that people could be watching.“Bucky, calm down.”

“Did he do anything to you?” Bucky asked me quietly, his hands cupping my face as he looked over me.

My heart raced at the gesture, forgetting for a second that I was upset with him. I shook my head with his hands still on me, and they slid down my arms, one wrapping around my waist to keep me close to him. 

“I didn’t touch her Bucky, I was just trying to....you know what, it’s not even important. Can we talk, privately?”

“(Y/N) is staying.”

Walker sighed.“Look, if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance, you guys know that.”

“So what do you got?” Sam said.

“Well the leader’s name’s Karli Morgenthau. We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place.”

Lemar spoke up.“They geotagged a location, then scrambled the signal. But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.” 

“We think she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps.” Walker added.

“Well, there are a lot of those all over the planet since the Blip.” Bucky pointed out.

“Hundreds probably.” I said. 

“So I guess you’ll have to look real hard.”

Walker smirked.“Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?”

“Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?”

“No, we don’t know, Bucky.” Walker was agitated.“It’s only a matter of time before we find out.”

Bucky had to push his buttons even more.“Things are really intense for you, aren’t they, Walker?”

Sam came to stand between us and Walker.“Take it easy. Look, Walker’s right. It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and all kind of authorization you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.”

Sam and Bucky turned away, Bucky guiding me with him. Walker called after us.

“A word of advice, then. Stay the hell out of my way.”

I instantly became defensive.“What the hell is that supposed to mean-”

“It’s OK.” Bucky reassured me, making sure I didn’t go back. Frustrated that Walker got the last word, I hesitantly followed my boyfriend. 

“Hold up,” Sam stopped us,“I think you two need a quick chat before we delve into anything else. You both know that this is something big, we don’t know what we’re fully dealing with yet or how to fix it. Before we do all of that, you two better resolve whatever happened back there. I’ll be waiting Buck.”

We both watched Sam walk away, unsure how to start this conversation. He clearly showed that he still cared for me back there, but should I still be worried that our relationship was headed in a rocky direction?

“You OK?”

“Honestly? No, not really.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Do you realise how much you hurt me back there? I don’t want you to feel like you can’t speak to me anymore. And about me not being involved; what do you think the last years have been like? I know everything, you’ve expressed so much to me, opened up about your past. Why has that suddenly changed?”

“Because we have a chance now. The world is...relatively back to normal. I got an opportunity to make sure you’re safer, keep all of these nightmares away from you, not pass on my torture to you.”

“Bucky...what have the past years been for? Nothing needs to change. Just because things are getting back to how they used to be, it doesn’t mean we need to forget about the past. If I don’t know what’s going on with you, how can I look after you? How can I help you?”

“You shouldn’t have to do this-”

“I already made that decision when I knew I wanted to be with you. But we can’t revert back to how it was Bucky, not after all the work and effort we put in.”

“I’m sorry. I really thought I could make everything better.”

I sighed, reaching out to hold his hand.“They already were. I know whatever you’ve got yourself into is big, but I’m here for you Bucky, I always will be.”

“I’m sorry again, I’ll make sure I keep opening up to you. That’s the least you deserve.” 

I went on my tip toes to kiss him, still worried despite everything he had said. Bucky was still fragile, but now he was on another mission. I wasn’t sure if it was the best thing for him, something for him to focus on. Or it could send him in a spiral, and I wouldn’t know anything about it. I had to stay close to this mission, even if it meant I was in danger. Though what would change there? I had to keep an eye on him, I had to make sure he was OK. I loved him too much to let him slip back into the dark.

[nopefun]

Interview #494: Ryan Frigillana

Ryan Frigillana is a Philippine-born lens-based artist living and working in New York. His work focuses on the fluidity of memory, intimacy, family identity, and visual culture, largely filtered through the lens of race and immigration. Embracing its plasticity, Frigillana explores photography’s relationship to context as a catalyst for thematic dialogue.

His first monograph, Visions of Eden, was published as two editions in 2020, and is held in the library collections of the MoMA, Getty Research Institute, and Smithsonian among others.

We spoke to find out more about Visions of Eden, his love for photobooks, and photography as a medium for introspection.

Lee Chang Ming Ryan Frigillana

Thanks for agreeing to do this! As we’ve just arrived into the new year, I want to start by asking: how did you arrive at photography and how has your practice evolved so far? Your earlier work was anything from still life to street photography, but your recent work seems to deal with more personal themes.

It’s my pleasure; thank you for having this conversation with me! Wow, looking back at how I’ve arrived at this point makes me feel so grateful for this medium, and excited to think of where it will lead me from here. I came to photography somewhat late. I was initially studying to become a nurse and was set to start a career in that field, but I found myself unhappy with where I was going. My mother was a nurse and I know what goes into being one; it’s not an easy job, and I respect those who do it, but my heart wasn’t in it. I found photography as a creative outlet during that stage of my life, and I’ve clung onto it ever since.

My first exposure to photography (no pun intended) came in the form of street and photojournalism. I would borrow books from the library a lot, consuming works by Magnum and other photographers working in that tradition. At the time, it was all I knew so that’s what I tried to emulate. Even early on in my undergrad career, these modes of creation were reinforced by curriculum and by what I saw from my own peers. My still-life work branches off of that same sentiment: the only names that were ever thrown around by professors were Penn and Mapplethorpe, so that’s who I studied. Thankfully over the years, I’ve been able to broaden that perspective through my own research. Though I don’t necessarily pursue street or constructed still-lifes anymore for my personal work, I’d like to think my technical skills (in regard to timing, composition, light) owe a debt to those past experiences.

I suppose now I’m starting to explore how photography can be used as language, to communicate ideas and internal conflicts. I’m thinking more about the power of imagery, its authorship, its implications, and how photographs have shaped, and continue to shape, our reality. That’s where my work is headed at the moment.

I liked how you mentioned photography as a language, which calls into question who we are speaking to when we make images and what kind of narrative we construct by putting photographs together.

In your work “Visions of Eden”, you trace your family’s journey as first-generation Filipino immigrants in America. I was quite struck by how you managed to link together original photography, archived materials and video stills. To me, with the original photography there was a sense of calm and clarity, perhaps in the composition. But with the archived material it was like peering through tinted glass, and the video stills felt like an unsteady memory. What was the editing process like for you and how did you decide what to include or exclude?

For me, editing is the hardest part about photography. Shooting is the enjoyable part of course because it can feel so cathartic. Sometimes when I shoot it feels almost like muscle memory in the sense that you see the world and you just react to it in a trained way. But with editing, it’s more of a cerebral exercise. More thought is involved when you have to deal with visual relationships, sequence, rhythm, and spacing, etc. The real creation of my work takes place in the editing process. That’s where the ingredients come together to form an identity.

When creating this identity, I not only have to think about what I want to say, but also how I want to say it. It’s like speaking; there are numerous ways you can communicate a single sentence. How are images placed in relation to one another? How large are they printed, or how much white space surrounds it? Are the images repeated? What’s on the following page? The preceding page? Is there text? How are they positioned on the spread? All of these little choices impact the tone of your work. And that’s not even mentioning tactile factors like paper stock or cover material. I think that’s why I have such a deep love for photobooks because 1) they’re physical objects and 2) someone has obsessed over every aspect of that object.

I’m aware that my photographs lately have a quiet, detached, somewhat stripped-down quality to them. I think that’s just a subconscious rejection of my earlier days shooting a lot of street where I was constantly seeking crowded frames and complexity in my compositions. As I’ve grown older, I realize less is more and if I can do more by saying less, that’s even better. Now, the complexity I seek lies in the work as a whole and how all these little parts can form something fluid and layered, and not easily definable.

For Visions of Eden, I wanted the work to feel somewhat syncopated and wandering in thought. That meant finding a balance between my quiet static photographs and the movement and energy of the video stills, or balancing the coldness of the illustrations with the warmth of the family snapshots. The work needed to be cohesive but have enough ambiguity for it to take life in someone else’s imagination. Peoples’ lived experiences in regard to immigration and religion are so complex that they can’t be narrated in any one definitive way. Visions of Eden, hopefully, is a rejection of that singularity.

Yes, there’s definitely something special and intimate about flipping through a photobook! For your monograph, you recently released a second edition which is different from your first (redesigned, added images, etc.). Why did you decide to make it different? Was the editing mainly a solitary process?

The first edition was a partially hand-made object. Illustrations were printed on translucent vellum paper and then tipped into the gutter of the book. When you flip through the pages, those vellum sheets would overlap over certain images, creating a collage-like effect. That was my original concept for this book. Doing this, however, was so laborious and time consuming, and not to mention expensive! Regretfully, I wound up making only twenty copies of that first edition. I wanted the work shared with a wider audience so that’s why I decided to publish a second run.

The latest edition is more of a straight-forward production without the vellum paper. With this change in design, I had to reconfigure the layout. I took liberties in swapping out some images or adding new ones altogether. Also, a beautiful afterword was contributed by my friend, artist, writer, and curator Efrem Zelony-Mindell. I still feel so fortunate and grateful to have had my work seen and elevated by their words in my book.

For the most part, yes editing is quite a solitary process for me. But there does come a point when I feel it’s ready, where I share the work with a few trusted people. It’s always nice to have that outer support system. Much of Visions of Eden was created during my time in undergrad school so I had all sorts of feedback from peers and professors which I’m grateful for. But in the end, as the author, you ultimately have the final say in your work.

Given that Eden is a starting point and metaphor in the work, I was thinking about ideas of gardens, (forbidden) fruit, and movement of people.

How do you view yourself in relation to your place of birth? In your series, I see the most direct links in the letters, old photos where tropical foliage is present in the background, and the photo of the jackfruit (perhaps the only tropical fruit in this series).

I came to America when I was very young, about five years old. For my family and for many other families still living in the Philippines, America is seen as a sort of ideological Eden: a land of milk and honey, of wealth and excess. We all know that’s far from the truth. Every Eden has a caveat, a forbidden tree. Which leads me to ask: as an immigrant living in this country, what fruits were never intended for me?

I honestly don’t remember much about my childhood in the Philippines aside from fleeting memories of my relatives, the sounds of animals, the smell of rain and earth, the taste of my grandmother’s cooking. The identity that I carry with me now as a Filipino is not so much tied to the physical geography of a place but rather it is derived from a way of life, from shared stories, in the values we hold dear, passed on from generation to generation. This is a warm flame that lives on in me to this day as I write these words thousands of miles away from where I came.

Photographs have a way of shaping our memory and our relationship to the past, which in turn affects how we engage with the present. The family photographs and letters used in my book act as anchors in a meandering journey. They serve as landmarks that I can return to whenever I feel lost or need assurance so far away from “home”. They give me the comfort and affirmation that I need to navigate a space where I never really felt I belonged. The spread in my book­­ that you mentioned—the jackfruit on one side, and the Saran-wrapped apple on the preceding page—was a reference to my duality as both Filipino and American. It’s a reminder and an acknowledgment that I am a sum of many things, of many people who have shaped me. If I flourish in life, it’s because my roots were nourished by love.

I like how you mentioned photos as anchors or landmarks. Isn’t that why we create and photograph? To mark certain points in our lives and to envision possible futures, like a cartographer mapping an inner journey. Do you feel like you and your relationships with those you photographed changed through the process of making your works?

When my parents took pictures of our family, it wasn’t done solely in the name of remembrance; it also served as an affirmation of ourselves and our journey—a celebration. Every birthday, vacation, school ceremony, or even the seemingly insignificant events of daily life were all photographed or video-taped as a way of saying to ourselves, “Here we are. Look how far we’ve come. Look at the life we’ve made. And here’s the proof”.

Now, holding a camera and photographing my family through my own lens still carries all of that celebratory joy, but with so much more possibility. Before I really took photography seriously, I never realized its potential as a medium for introspection, but that’s ultimately what it has become for me. In taking pictures of my family, I not only clarify my own feelings about them, but the act of photography itself informs and builds on my relationship with each person. The camera is not a mere recording device, but a tool for understanding, processing, and even expressing love...or resentment. Though I may not be visible in my pictures, my presence is there: in my proximity, my gaze, my focus.

Does all of this impact my relationships? Absolutely. Photographing another person willingly always demands some degree of trust and vulnerability from both sides. There’s a silent dialogue that occurs which feels like an exchange of secrets. I think that’s why I often don’t feel comfortable photographing other people unless we’re very close. Usually my family is open enough to reveal themselves to me, other times what they give can feel quite guarded. That’s a constant negotiation. After the photograph is made though, nobody ever emerges the same person because each of us has relinquished something, no matter how small.

Being self-reflexive in photography is so important. I agree it should be a constant negotiation, but it’s something that bothers me these days – the power dynamic between the photographer and photograph, particularly for personal and documentary projects. More significantly, after the photograph has been made, who is really benefiting. But I guess if we are sensitive to that then perhaps we can navigate that tricky path and find a balance. 

Right, finding that balance is key and sometimes there are no clear-cut answers. That power dynamic is something I always have to be mindful of. As the photographer, you are exercising a certain role and position. At the end of the day, you’re the one essentially “taking” what you need and walking away. There’s an inherent violence or aggression in the act of taking someone’s picture, no matter how well-intended it may be. This aggression carries even greater weight when working, as you say, in a genre like documentary where representation is everything.

I remember an undergrad professor of mine, Nadia Sablin, introducing me to the work of Shelby Lee Adams—particularly his Appalachian Legacy series. Adams spent twenty-five years documenting the disadvantaged Appalachian communities in his home state of Kentucky, visiting the same families over a long period of time. Though the photographs are beautifully crafted, they pose many questions in regard to exploitation, representation, and the aestheticization of suffering. He is or was, after all, an artist thriving and profiting off of these photographs. Salgado is another that comes to mind. This was the first time I really stopped to think about the ethics of image-making. Who is benefitting from it all?

I think the search for this balance is something each photographer has to reckon with personally. Though each situation may vary with different factors that have to be weighed, and context that must be applied, you can always ask yourself these same ever-pertinent questions: am I representing people in a dignified way, and what are my intentions with these images? Communication (listening), building relationships, acknowledging your power, and respecting the people you photograph are all foundational things to consider when exercising your privilege with the camera.

Well said! The process of making photographs can be tricky to navigate yet rewarding. Any upcoming projects or ideas? What’s keeping you busy these days?

Oh, let’s just say I’m constantly juggling 3-4 ideas in my head at any given time, but ninety percent of the time they don’t ever lead to anything finished haha. This past year has been tough on everyone I’m sure. I’ve been dealing a lot with personal loss and grief and the compounded isolation brought on by the pandemic, so for months I’ve been making photographs organically as a subconscious response to these internal struggles. It’s more of an exploration of grief itself as a natural phenomenon and force—like time or gravity. Grief is something everyone will experience in life and each of us deals with it differently, but in the end we have to let it run its course. I see these photographs as a potential body of work that could materialize as a zine or book one day, so we’ll see where that goes.

Other than that, I’ve been working on an upcoming collaboration project with Cumulus Photo. Speaking of which, I saw your photograph featured in their latest zine, running to the edge of the world. Congrats on that! It’s beautiful. But yeah, just trying my best to keep busy and sane, and improving myself any way I can.

Thanks! Looking forward to your upcoming projects! Last question: any music to recommend?

I feel like my answer to this question can vary by the week. I go through phases where I exhaust whole albums on repeat until I get tired of them. So I’ll leave you with the two currently on my rotation: Angles by The Strokes, and Screamadelica by Primal Scream.

Thank you for your time!

Thank you for a lovely discourse. I had a lot of fun!

his website and Instagram.

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[beccascribbles]

sleepover, ft suna rintaro [requested by anon]

"i can't believe i let you convince my parents and yours that this was a good idea," drawled suna, surveying your room with a bored look. "i still don't understand why they agreed. we're not ten anymore. we've got hormones and shit. what if i suddenly find you so sexy i can't control myself?"

"i'd kick you in the balls and throw you out onto the street," you grinned, taking the opportunity to throw one of the many cushions you owned towards him. he caught it deftly, a definite negative of being best friends with an athlete. it was rare that you could hit them with surprise flying projectiles. "anyway, they trust you, and have good reason to. you would never hurt me."

that final statement was said with confidence. there was no reason for you to doubt that statement. in all the years you had known each other, suna had never done anything to hurt you. he was certainly the cause behind most of your feelings of annoyance, and would not hesitate to embarrass you by treating everyone to a photo you hoped would never see the light of day, but he would never hurt you.

suna gave a nod, finally doing what you had been waiting for him to do since you lead him upstairs. he threw himself down on your bed, tucked one arm behind his head and draped the other one across his stomach.

"you need me, i'll be here," he announced, letting his eyes shut.

"fucking typical," you muttered, giving him a hard push that sent him teetering on the edge of the bed. "you are not here to sleep. you are here so we can eat rubbish, watch films and talk shit about people. i already know how much material you've got locked up in that phone of yours and i want you to show it to me."

"don't shove me again, and you've got a deal," suna decided, letting himself drop gracefully to the floor. he stood, turning to face you and sticking out a hand.

agreeing on what food to order was not so easily resolved. you bickered back and forth for almost an hour before you threw down your phone with a huff. instead of communicating with suna about what you were doing, you walked out of your bedroom, stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen. grumbling angrily to yourself, you yanked the frozen pizzas from the freezer, jumping to avoid a tub of ice cream that had come flying out in response. pots, pans and trays clattered as you rifled through the drawers looking for the pizza trays. suna watched all this with an amused smirk: one, because he had already ordered food (and it had been your original choice), and two, because he was currently documenting this moment on his phone.

turning to face him, you spat out, "at least be helpful and taking the fucking pizza from the box."

your eyes narrowed when he walked forward and carried out your request with zero protests. it was suspicious. he was never one to quietly obey.

"what did you do?" you questioned, edging closer to where he had propped up his phone. it was placed at the perfect angle to film the whole thing, a fact that did not escape you. "you... you ordered a takeaway, didn't you?"

his grin widened as he nodded in confirmation and it took all your will power not to close the distance between you and punch him. drawing in a deep breath, you forced yourself to give him a polite, fake smile. your words and tone of voice were far from polite, however, as you commanded, "put the pizza in the fucking oven, dick."

suna had the good sense to listen to you, but only after he had ensured the video was saved on his phone and his phone was out of your reach.

as luck would have it, the amount of food you ended up with was consumed between you two easily over the course of the night. it kept you sustained during the hours you spent talking, ensured that no stomach grumbles could interrupt the films you were watching.

you fell asleep to the sound of explosions and laughter (a weird combination for any movie, but this movie had been the compromise between the two genres you had been torn between), and suna's occasional murmur as he commented on something happening on screen.

it was some time later when you felt a blanket being tucked around you, a hand smoothing back your hair and the gentle press of lips to your forehead.

"good night, ugly," mumbled suna sleepily.

you felt the mattress shift beneath you before you were pulled back into sleep once more.

[agirlwithachakram]

i was talking with a friend (whose opinions on movies I usually agree with and always strongly respect) about eternals and they found some stuff in the movie troubling. for instance, and as probably the top example, druig kidnapping a bunch of people and controlling them and their descendants for centuries. which, yeah. totally fair. poor little meow meow megalomaniac crybaby.

buuuuuut, and this isn’t to excuse him, he’s in a uniquely horrific situation. what do finger guns man, and superman, and alchemy woman, and self-healing Boss know about what it’s like to see this level of violence, be able to stop it with a thought, and not be allowed to do anything. he is designed to break.

and THEN, Thena suddenly can’t take it anymore, loses her mind, nearly kills his beloved and Ajak says “this could happen to any of us” it’s really not surprising that he’s like “Oh I can NOT do this anymore, if I keep going i’m going to get superPTSD and I could wreak much more devastation than Thena.”

yes, it’s Bad to kidnap a bunch of people to soothe yourself but it makes sense that he saw it as the lesser evil. the eternals are not human, and his particular power (and his general trauma and bitchiness) makes it very hard for him to live like one and see them as equals the way Sersi and Phastos do.

He’s not completely lost. he tells Sersi he made a choice not to take over every human. he knows that’s wrong, although his take on why is a bit, as usual, god complex shit. but again, of course. he’s designed in such a way that it’s impossible for him to hold consistent values and survive. he wants war and cruelty and greed to end, and he could do it, but he might erase humanity in the process, like Ajak wanted to erase Thena. the choice not to do that, however, means more pain and suffering and genocide that could all be avoided. he was made to control and given the ability to love and have compassion. no wonder he’s a mess. if he thought of humans as fully equal to him, he would shatter.

Kingo tells him “you’re not a god” but Kingo just has some fancy finger guns. congrats, so does iron man. is Druig not a god? what makes a god a god?

and then, and THEN, he finds out, after thousands of years, that he doesn’t have a real home. He isn’t just charged with a task that is killing him, but he was specifically and deliberately created to suffer in this way. and he’s been through it hundreds, maybe thousands of times. His creator doesn’t care and wants it this way. it’s no wonder he agrees to defy their creator. Arishem is a monster.

I don’t think the Eternals are best understood as heroes, because most of them aren’t living amongst their supposed beneficiaries. and even if druig is, he isn’t acting like just some guy. whether his people like him or not, or even trust him, they know he can and will control their minds if he deems it necessary. WHICH IS CRAZY i LOVE the messiness of it all. it’s nice to see that kind of grayness and weirdness from Marvel, the struggles of the gods--or demi-gods, or not gods but what’s the difference--to relate to humans, to use their powers appropriately, to try and have it all by being both a god and a community member (who occasionally mind controls everyone, don’t worry about it).

it’s a very interesting story. At this point, though, I’d be sorry to see them meet our MCU heroes, I think that would be hard to do right. keep them separate. harry styles can stay, but he’s on thin ice.

[mollymawkwrites]

Geralt/Eskel/Jaskier: Geralt brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen and Eskel/Jaskier get their shit together first (communication skills!!) and Geralt comes to a Realization - dp/spitroasting - the turn of seasons, contrast of bright/dark, warm/cold

... this took way too long and I am so sorry about that. As an apology, here’s more than 5.5k of feelings, pining and misunderstandings, with a sprinkle of smut (as an apology, and not at all because I have zero self-restraint). Thank you so much for the lovely prompt, I hope this lives up to expectations 💖

I’ll post the link to Ao3 in the replies when this is beta’ed, sorry if there are any big mistakes!

CW: post-Mountain break-up, smut, Geralt’s Canonical Self-Loathing.

Falling in love with Eskel is the easiest thing Jaskier has ever done.

It happens slowly, but with a certainty that Jaskier has rarely felt before. Like sinking into a feather mattress, silk sheets caressing your skin.

It was never that easy with Geralt. Jaskier fell in love with him fast, sure, but he also fell hard, had to pick himself up afterwards, bruised and bloody.

The first day he arrives at Kaer Morhen, two weeks after his rescue from Nilfgaardian spies, Jaskier is miserable. The trek up the mountain has been hard on him, but harder even was his underwhelming reunion with Geralt, who barely acknowledged him, grunting that he'd be safer in Kaer Morhen before leaving Jaskier to decide by himself what he wanted to do.

His heart aches with two years of missing his best friend, finding he misses him even more now that they’ve been reunited. He'd always told himself he didn't hold any hope of his relationship with Geralt ever evolving into something more, but getting his heart broken on the top of a mountain had made him realise he'd somehow managed to fool himself too.

So he's prepared to spend a winter avoiding his former friend, though Geralt would probably not even call him that, holing up in whatever drafty room he's been attributed, and then he'll find a new name and dye his hair a different colour and hope it's enough to fool the Nilfs. It's a hard choice to make, renouncing the name he's made for himself, the reputation he's built over twenty years of hard work and songs he's still proud of today. But it's all tied too tightly to Geralt, and neither him nor his heart will survive it. Maybe, if Jaskier the Witcher’s bard is forgotten by everyone, his heartbreak won't be so obvious.

That pathetical plan is countered as soon as he steps foot in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt's brothers and mentor introduce themselves to him. They are similar, yet so different to the Witcher he's known for more than half his life.

They welcome him, if not with open arms, at least with warmth and smiles and, in Lambert's case, snarky banter Jaskier takes great pleasure in reciprocating.

Eskel doesn't draw his attention much at first. The dark-haired Witcher is friendly, tugging Geralt in a bear-like embrace as soon as they've passed the gates, and shaking Jaskier's hand with a kind, genuine smile Jaskier can't help but return.

But over the next couple of weeks, Jaskier spends more and more time with the amber-eyed wolf, discussing music and poetry and history as they execute their respective chores. After only a few days, Eskel is the one who searches him out when Jaskier is helping Vesemir in the kitchen or feeding the chickens in the courtyard. He shows him around the keep, more than the customary tour Vesemir gave Jaskier on his first day here. Eskel is full of stories from his childhood in the keep, and he is not greedy with the details. Jaskier can sense the underlying grief when the Witcher talks about the boys who didn't make it in the Trials, but Eskel doesn't linger in the sadness and makes sure to tell Jaskier all about his and Geralt's most imaginative antics.

The Witcher's company is a delight, and a nice distraction from Jaskier's heartache. When he can't take Geralt's silence and avoidance anymore, he seeks Eskel and his warmth, bathing in the man's attention. After a month, he finds himself dreaming of tanned hands and dark hair as much as pale skin and silver strands.

At first, he feels guilty about it. Eskel does not deserve to be someone's second choice. What he deserves is unconditional, untainted love.

But as days pass, frost a little thicker on the blades of grass in the courtyard every morning, the mountains losing their warm autumn colours to shades of blue and grey, Jaskier and Eskel gravitate towards each other until they collide, softly and without a sound. It happens so naturally, Jaskier almost thinks he’s dreamt it when he wakes up one day at dawn, and instead of his freezing room, he opens his eyes to a broad, golden-skinned chest. His cheek rises and falls with the slow breaths where it rests on one plush pec, a pool of his own saliva glistening in a smattering of dark hair.

He hasn’t felt that relaxed in years, and only part of it is due to the frankly fantastic post-sex bliss he’s still basking in. There is no anxiety, no second thoughts. Eskel made sure to make his intentions clear before they fell into bed together, shocking Jaskier into silence with how open with his feelings he was. The bard still can’t help but compare how completely different Geralt and Eskel are.

They agreed to take things slow, to enjoy each other for the winter and then see where things take them. Jaskier knows he’s falling in love with Eskel, but it doesn’t feel scary. He won’t be alone once the time comes to make a decision.

It takes another week for him to move into Eskel’s room completely. They don’t bother hiding their new… entanglement, to the others. No secret can be kept in a keep full of Witchers, and neither Eskel nor Jaskier cares to pretend.

Lambert gives them shit, to no one’s surprise, and Ciri squeals in delight, the gossiping princess resurfacing for a few moments. Vesemir claps Eskel on the shoulder, before reminding all of them that they have chores to do.

Geralt doesn’t say anything.

Jaskier didn’t expect him to jump in joy, he’s not sure the Witcher is even capable of such displays of emotion, but the white-haired Witcher doesn’t even look at them, only ushers Ciri outside to the training grounds.

Over the next few weeks, Jaskier only sees him at supper. He’s gotten used to avoiding Geralt, to keep out of his way, but until then they would still meet in the hall when the weather was too bad for the Witchers to train outside, or at lunch when they would accidentally come in for a bite at the same time. Eskel and Geralt spend a considerable amount of time together, and Jaskier would often find them together doing whatever repair was needed, but these days, when he manages to escape his chores long enough to seek his lover for a stolen kiss or a quick fuck, Geralt is nowhere in sight.

When Jaskier asks his amber-eyed wolf one evening after they retired to their room, Eskel confirms what he already suspected.

“I haven’t seen him in a while, no,” the Witcher rumbles softly, a hand tracing arabesques on the bare skin of Jaskier’s back. “He goes hunting alone almost every day. He does that, sometimes, when he’s upset, though I’m not sure what it’s about, this time.”

Jaskier hums, pensive. His heart clenches at the thought of Geralt avoiding his own family. Guilt creeps on him, its long, sharp claws burying themselves under his ribs. How dare he come to Geralt’s only home, his only place of peace and acceptance, and claim a place in his brother’s heart? He’s done a shit job of fulfilling Geralt’s wish of having him out of his life, hasn’t he?

A strong arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him closer to the furnace of Eskel’s body.

“What’re you thinking of that makes you smell so sad, songbird?”

Jaskier smiles at the endearment. His wolf is generous with his affection, and Jaskier is selfish. He wants it all. But does he have any right to it, if he is taking it from Geralt?

“Do you think it’s because of us?” He asks, turning his head to rest his chin on Eskel’s sternum. “That Geralt is keeping to himself, I mean.”

Eskel frowns pensively. “I… don’t know. I suppose, in a way. But I think he’s mostly wallowing in his own self-loathing.”

“When isn’t he?” Jaskier teases.

The Witcher huffs, a sad half-smile tugging at his scars. “I was afraid he’d be jealous, or upset, hoping maybe it’d help him pull his head out of his own ass, but I’m afraid it’s buried even deeper than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t want to get between the two of you, but I know Geralt. He ain’t gonna do anything about it, and then he’ll regret it once it’s too late.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “Eskel, there’s nothing between me and Geralt.” Well, that’s not quite true. “I wanted there to be something, for a very long time, but… well, turns out I was the only one wanting it. If anything, I thought I was the one getting between the two of you.”

“Songbird, there hasn’t been anything but friendship between Geralt and I since before you were born.” Sadness clouds Eskel’s eyes for a second, and the piece Jaskier has been missing clicks into place.

“You and Geralt were together?” He asks, voice tight with emotion.

“Not sure we can even call it that,” a bitter smile twists Eskel’s scars in a painful grimace. “We found… comfort, with each other, when nothing else could give us that. But it hasn’t been like that in a very long time.”

“Why?”

Eskel shrugs with one shoulder, almost dislodging Jaskier from his position. “People change, songbird. And when you live as long as we do, well… you can’t expect things to stay the same forever. I’m glad we stayed as close as we are, despite him not wanting us to be anything other than friends anymore.”

The Witcher kisses the crown of Jaskier’s head and flicks his wrist, snuffing out the candles, a clear sign that the conversation is over. Jaskier doesn’t push, conscious this is a sensitive subject, but that doesn’t keep him from staring in the darkness for a long time after Eskel’s breaths have slowed and deepened, troubled by this new facet of the two men he loves.

Geralt’s reaction makes more sense now, why he would act so uncomfortable around Eskel and Jaskier now that the two of them are a thing. If Geralt still has feelings for his friend, then… seeing Jaskier, the man he hates and despises, whom he holds responsible for his every trouble (quite unfairly, in Jaskier’s opinion, but still), taking his place in the arms of the man he’s been in love with for longer than the bard has been alive… well, Jaskier can understand why he’d be upset.

There’s just a tiny bit of pettiness coming from the selfish, ugly part of him, that sings at the idea. Geralt broke his heart on that mountain top, isn’t it simple justice that Jaskier breaks his heart in turn?

But that line of thought is quickly smothered by guilt, and, more upsettingly, love. He’s loved Geralt for half his life now. No matter how hurt he might be, all he wants is for him to be happy. Or as happy as a self-loathing Witcher can be.

And it’s so obvious that Eskel loves him, too, now that Jaskier thinks about it. There’s a softness in his eyes and the corner of his mouth when he looks at Geralt that isn’t there when he’s around anyone else, an ease and a trust that Jaskier used to attribute to long term friendship but can only come from two bodies knowing each other intimately.

Jaskier can’t put himself between the two of them, can’t bear the idea of robbing both men of the little happiness they can find in a world that doesn’t accept them. And if he was Geralt, he would probably let Eskel down gently, taking himself out of the way and hoping the other two would get their shit together and talk, but he’s not, and if there’s a way that the three of them can find even a little satisfaction in this mess, then he’s going to try his best and make it happen.

He only hopes Geralt will listen to him.

*

It takes him a few days to work up the courage to approach the sullen White Wolf, and then another two to catch him alone, one night after dinner.

Unsurprisingly, he finds him in the stables, brushing down a Roach who seems more interested in nipping at Scorpion’s flanks than in the brooding Witcher in her stall. A wave of fondness overcomes Jaskier at the familiar sight, and he has to shake himself to remember what he’s come here to do.

“Geralt,” he says, softer than he intended. The Witcher doesn’t startle, but he tenses visibly, his grip on the brush turning white-knuckled. Jaskier lets out a trembling sigh, his resolve the only thing keeping him from turning away and finding shelter in Eskel’s arms to cry his heartache away. “We need to talk.”

Geralt doesn’t gratify him with an answer, like maybe if he ignores Jaskier long enough the bard will go away. How he didn’t learn that doesn’t work in the twenty years they’ve known each other, Jaskier has no idea.

“It’s about Eskel.” That, at least, has the merit to catch Geralt’s attention, the Witcher turning his head just enough to peek at Jaskier from the corner of his eye.

“He told me, about… about the two of you. What you were to each other.”

Geralt sucks in a harp breath. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

And Jaskier can see this is a lie even with the Witcher turning his back to him. His heart clenches, for his best friend, despite everything that happened, and his lover, who have not allowed themselves to have what they both so visibly crave. “It does, though. It does matter. I’m not… I have no wish to keep you from each other, Geralt. I… I love him.” Jaskier chokes out, and something painful flashes in Geralt’s eyes. “And I… I…” he almost lets himself say it, bare his heart for Geralt to see, but he’s gotten too used to protecting himself, to hiding his most shameful truth. “I know you do, too.”

Geralt hangs his head between his shoulders, face hidden in the shadows, the warm, low light of the oil lamp he brought with him playing in his pale hair. “You’re making him happy. The two of you… you’re good, together. I am glad you found each other.”

“Are you really, Geralt? Because you’ve been avoiding us for weeks. It’s hurting him.” It’s hurting me, Jaskier doesn’t say, because none of this is about him. “Listen, I… I know you don’t want anything to do with me, I got that loud and clear, but if there’s a way… for us three to… to find satisfaction, then maybe…”

“Speak plainly, bard.”

Jaskier exhales, nerves making his throat tight. “You know I don’t believe in exclusive relationships,” and Geralt doesn’t, either; Yennefer and him both had lovers on the side, it was no secret between them. “If you and Eskel wanted to… start again where you left things, I see no issue with that. I want him to be happy, too. I… I want you to be happy, Geralt. You’re still important to me, even after everything.”

He’s said more than he wanted to, and Geralt doesn’t even deign to look at him. That’s so familiar it hurts. Jaskier smiles, an ugly thing full of regrets and unspoken words, and turns on his heels. He’s done his part. It’s up to Geralt to make a choice, now.

“Jaskier,” a broken voice says as a hand wraps around his wrist. He startles, and turns to find Geralt watching him with pleading eyes. It’s such an absurd sight, it leaves him speechless for a minute, and Geralt takes it as an encouragement to speak. The Witcher clears his throat. “I don’t… You’re…” the way he interrupts himself in obvious frustration, brow furrowed and lips thinned, is almost endearing. “You’re important to me, too.”

Tears swell in Jaskier’s eyes, and he tugs at his wrist to free it. Geralt lets him go without resistance.

“Please don’t lie to me, Geralt. I can take the hurt, I can take the rejection. But I won’t take the pity.” He almost spits the last sentence, and a surge of bitter satisfaction warms his painful heart at Geralt’s flinch.

“I’m not, I swear. I… I’ve missed you, Jask, I’ve missed you so much.” His voice is husky, weighed by shame and regret, and Jaskier has no doubt he is saying the truth. Geralt is a lot of things, but a good actor is not one of them. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about what I said to you after the dragon hunt. None of it was true, I… I was furious, but it wasn’t your fault. I’m so sorry.”

When Jaskier let himself dream of this moment, while walking down of the mountain or in the dark of the cell the Nilfargiaans kept him in, he’d imagined how he’d make Geralt grovel, how he’d tell him about every little thing Jaskier had ever done for him, to make his life easier, to show him how he could find happiness even on the Path.

As it is, Jaskier only stares at Geralt for a few seconds before tugging him into a crushing embrace. “Fuck, I’ve missed you too, you stupid Witcher.”

Geralt makes a wounded noise but lets himself be engulfed in Jaskier’s arms, tucking his nose in the hollow of his throat. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, warm breath humid against the bard’s skin. “I wanted to come looking after you, but I had to make sure Ciri was safe…”

“I am glad you did,” Jaskier says, petting the hair at the nape of Geralt’s neck. “But why didn’t you say anything once Yennefer brought me to you? Geralt, we climbed up those damn mountains together. It’s been two months since we’ve been here. I thought you didn’t… that you didn’t want me here.”

Hands twist in the back of Jaskier’s thick woolen cape. “I didn’t know how to. While we were still on the Path I was worried about Nilfgaard catching up to us, about keeping Ciri and you fed and safe, and I thought this could wait until we were here. But then…” Geralt makes a frustrated noise so familiar it has Jaskier smiling in the crown of his head.

“Words were hard to find?”

He feels more than he sees Geralt’s nod. “And once you and Eskel became… involved, you seemed so much happier. I thought I’d only make things worse, and that you deserved to move on. To… forget about me. But I do want you here, Jaskier. If I had any right to it, I’d want you by my side always.”

A breath catches in Jaskier's throat, and tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Those are words he's dreamt of hearing for so many years, and he's finally hearing them now, in a stable smelling of horseshit and hay. It's so simple, so mundane, and yet he can barely bring himself to believe this is truly happening.

And maybe it's because he is stunned, or maybe because he's done hiding, but suddenly it feels so important that he says the truth.

"Geralt, you… you must know…" he pulls back, putting just enough distance between them that he can see Geralt's suspiciously red-rimmed eyes, that he can see how the Witcher reacts to his words. "I would have followed you anywhere, until my feet could carry me no more. You know that, right? I've never been subtle," he laughs wetly. Geralt is looking increasingly confused, like he has no idea what Jaskier is talking about, and that just doesn't make sense.

Making a frustrated sound, Jaskier twists his hands in the lapels of Geralt's thick winter coat, tugging him forward slowly so the Witcher can stop him if he wants.

But he doesn't, and their lips meet, harshly enough that Jaskier hopes it'll carry his meaning even through Geralt's thick skull.

It must work, because next thing he knows, he is being ravished quite thoroughly by an enthusiastic Witcher, a hand at the back of his head and another at the small of his back, under the hem of his cape. A thumb rubs circles at the base of his spine, and he's slowly melting into a puddle of contentment, his only thought a constant stream of this is happening, oh my fucking gods this is happening.

There's little time for the realization to set in, though, as a draft of cold wind fills the stables, and a soft "oh" pushes Jaskier and Geralt to separate.

Just outside of the circle of light cast by the oil lamp, Eskel stands watching them, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Jaskier's guts clench in guilt and he steps away from Geralt hurriedly. "Eskel, it's not-" what you think, he doesn't finish, because that is a lie, and Eskel deserves better than lies.

But there's little else Jaskier can say to justify how Eskel just found him, kissing his best friend and former lover passionately in the middle of the night, when he should have been back in their shared bed an hour ago.

He knew he'd fuck up somehow. That's so classic.

The three of them are silent for a heartbeat, the horses shifting in their stalls the only noise in the cramped space, and Jaskier wants to cross the space between Eskel and him so badly, but he knows he doesn't have the right to, and it's killing him.

Just when his agony reaches a peak, Eskel's mouth curls at the corner, softness blooming in his eyes. "I see you've gotten your shit together," he says. " 's about time."

This is so completely out of what Jaskier expected him to say that he doesn’t manage to find a suitable answer. Surprisingly, Geralt is the one to talk next.

“I’m not going to take him from you,” he says cautiously.

“I know,” Eskel grins. “I know that if I asked you you would never even look at him again.”

Jaskier spares a glance for Geralt, and a pit opens in his gut at the acceptance he finds in his eyes.

“But that would make the three of us miserable,” Eskel adds. “And I won’t do that to Jaskier, or to you.”

“Eskel, what are you saying?” If his soft-hearted Witcher is suggesting what Jaskier thinks he is…

“I don’t see why things between us should change, songbird, if you wished to spend some nights in Geralt’s bed. Of course, if you two want to be exclusive to each other,” the first glimmer of doubt insinuates itself in Eskel’s kind voice, but he keeps speaking bravely, “then I will not impose myself.”

“No!” Jaskier says, a little too loud, his hand shooting up to grip at Eskel’s wrist. Roach nickers irritably in her stall at the disturbance.

“I… I mean, if both you and Geralt are amenable, there is space in my bed for the two of you.”

Eskel’s dark eyebrow arches. “Don’t you mean in my bed?”

But his hand closes around Jaskier’s reassuringly, warm and soft as he looks at Geralt. “What do you say, Wolf?”

And Geralt is watching them both with equal part fear and want in his eyes, like his deepest desire is just in reach but he isn’t sure if it’s not going to burn him at the first touch. Jaskier extends his free hand, and he can feel Eskel tensing infinitesimally beside him, careful to keep a relaxed posture, but as worried as Jaskier that their white-haired Witcher is going to bolt out the door to a more familiar loneliness.

Geralt surprises them both by taking Jaskier’s hand with an air of firm resolution, crossing the space between them slowly until he stands close enough to share their warmth. Eskel raises his left hand, cupping Geralt’s jaw with infinite softness. Jaskier can see in his eyes the same pride he is feeling himself, at their white wolf’s bravery.

The air leaves Jaskier’s lungs in a rush when the two men’s lips meet like they weren’t ever meant to part. The contrast of Eskel’s golden skin against Geralt’s milky one is the most beautiful work of art he’s ever been given to see, and the tight heat in his lower belly tells him he wants to see more of it, now.

The two Witchers kiss for a long minute, Jaskier watching them with naked hunger and want, but for once not in a hurry to claim the attention back on himself. He makes an involuntary noise when Eskel nips at Geralt’s lower lip playfully, and two burning golden gazes turn on him. It’s so intense, so heavy, that another breath leaves Jaskier with a wheeze. A grin is spreading on Eskel’s handsome features, and Geralt’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“What do you think, Wolf? Do you think the two of us will be enough to satisfy our little bard?”

And oh, Jaskier does so want them to try.

*

Jaskier often prides himself loudly and brazenly of his carnal exploits as an Oxenfurt student and travelling bard. He’s had sex with numerous people of all genders and races, sometimes several at the same time, and has been praised for being a generous and enthusiastic lover.

Never has he been so overwhelmed after only a few minutes of foreplay.

There’s a cock down his throat and fingers in his arse and he’s trembling all over. Eskel is soothing him with a palm to his side, murmuring praise as he pushes three thick, oiled fingers to Jaskier’s prostate.

Geralt is brushing a hand down his cheek, feeling his own cock through the stretched skin. Jaskier sucks and licks with single-minded focus, moaning and wiggling when Eskel executes a particularly well-aimed thrust.

“Look at him, asking for more even when he’s stuffed full,” Eskel smugly says to Geralt as he gives a sharp slap to the bard’s arse. Jaskier yelps and jumps forward, Geralt’s cock hitting the back of his throat. He chokes and gags but doesn’t relent, breathing through his nose expertly. Geralt wipes the tears from his cheeks, the tender motion in stark contrast with his curses and animalistic grunts. It’s a contradiction Jaskier is quickly becoming addicted to.

He's so focused on his worship of Geralt's glorious cock he doesn't notice Eskel's fingers slipping out of his hole before they are replaced with the fat head of his prick. He gasps, letting Geralt's hard length slip out of his mouth, resting his temple against his hip as he breathes through the intrusion. He still hasn't gotten used to Eskel's girth, the stretch leaving him drooling and dazed every time.

They're all still as Jaskier accommodates it, testing the sensation with little clenches of his arse that have Eskel grunting and squeezing the plump flesh of his cheeks.

"'m good, you can move," Jaskier mumbles in the dip of Geralt's hip, and Eskel pulls out to execute a few shallow thrusts, getting the both of them used to the new sensations.

When he picks up speed, a hand threads in Jaskier's hair, pulling him to look up and meet a painfully tender gaze. Geralt holds him with one hand, the other grasping his own cock and guiding it back into Jaskier’s begging mouth, smearing a trail of pre-come on his cheek on the way.

It's easy to lose himself into it after that. He is full, warm and content, and he wishes he could stay that way forever, pinned between his two lovers, pleasing them with his wet mouth and his tight arse. Used for their pleasure alone.

He's only human, though, and his stamina can't compare to two Witchers'. He spills almost as soon as Eskel gets a hand on his cock, his wails muffled by Geralt's.

Geralt is caring enough to let Jaskier breathe as he comes down, cradling the bard’s face in his hands, but Eskel doesn't pull out. They've talked about each other's boundaries at length, he knows Jaskier can take more.

He's brushing his thumb where Jaskier and him are connected, hole fluttering with the last spasms of his orgasm. Jaskier whimpers at the sensation.

"Damn, you always get so loose and sloppy when you've come… do you think you could take the two of us like this?"

Jaskier's chest swells with a sob at the thought, arms trembling where they struggle to keep him up. The fingers around his jaw squeeze lightly, demanding his attention, and he meets Geralt's gaze once again.

"Answer to Eskel, pretty lark," Geralt rumbles. "Is it too much? Do you want more?"

"Yes," Jaskier manages to slur. "More, please. I want… I want both of you."

Geralt's pupils expand impossibly larger, and he bends to kiss Jaskier languidly.

He's a very thorough kisser, grunting at the taste of himself on Jaskier's tongue. Tears well up in Jaskier's eyes as emotion seizes his heart. Finally, he thinks, finally, I get to have him.

He shouts in the kiss, breaking their connection, when Eskel's thumb slips along his cock in Jaskier's hole.

The stretch is intense, even with how relaxed Jaskier is from his climax, and his arms give out, his face squashing into the mattress with a moan.

Geralt chuckles above him before gathering the weak bard into his arms, shuffling them so Jaskier is propped against his chest, while Eskel keeps opening him from behind.

It’s too warm there, pinned between his two Witchers, but Jaskier doesn’t have any complaint. Geralt resumes kissing him to distract him from the almost too intense stretch, and it works. When his breath grows too ragged, Geralt frees his lips and lets him rest his head against his shoulder for a second, lungs expanding with deep gulps of breath. Geralt and Eskel talk in hushed voices, but he can’t focus on what they’re saying, his every thought gathering around the point where he is stretched wider than he’s ever been around Eskel’s cock and fingers.

He is manhandled without difficulty, until he is straddling Geralt’s lap, Eskel still buried hilt deep in him, Geralt mouthing at his neck, two pairs of large hands roaming his sides, his back, his stomach.

“You ready, songbird?” Eskel rumbles in his ear, the low timbre of his voice piercing through the thick fog in Jaskier’s fucked out brain.

The bard nods into Geralt’s shoulder, whining pitifully.

“Did you actually manage to fuck words out of him, Eskel?” Geralt says with a hint of humour, squeezing Jaskier against him affectionately. “Might have to give you a medal for that.”

“Hm. What about a kiss?”

Jaskier smiles groggily at the sounds of intense making-out next to his ear, turning his head to admire the view. Geralt and Eskel truly are gorgeous together, skins lit by the candles, sweat beading on their foreheads, a drop rolling down the crease of one of Eskel’s scars to where his lips join Geralt’s. Their kiss is all teeth and tongue, playful and nipping, fighting for a control none of them truly cares about. It’s a sight Jaskier hopes to be graced with every day of his life from now on.

But for now, impatience is making him clench and grind around Eskel, who breaks his and Geralt’s kiss to grunt. “We haven’t forgotten about you, songbird, don’t worry.”

He cups Jaskier’s cheek in his hand to meet his lips, tasting of Geralt and himself.

There’s a new pressure at Jaskier’s entrance and he gasps in Eskel’s mouth when he realizes it’s Geralt’s cock pushing inside him. The three of them moan in unison when it gets past the ring of muscles and slides besides Eskel’s prick. They stay still, panting for a few moments, until Jaskier garbles a “move” and Eskel complies, taking the lead. Geralt, carrying most of Jaskier’s weight, is slower at the beginning, but picks up speed, moving in counterpart to Eskel, never leaving Jaskier empty even for a single second. They hit his prostate with every thrust in, overwhelming him so quickly he’s only a ragdoll between the two of them after only a few minutes of the same treatment.

Eskel and Geralt lavish his throat and shoulders with soft bites and soothing licks, meeting for a kiss over him once or twice.

Jaskier comes quickly, his cock rutting against Geralt’s toned abs, the friction barely enough to have him tip over the edge, coating the rippling muscles in thick white come. Eskel follows him rapidly, his thrusts growing erratic until he spills deep into Jaskier’s ass, whispering his name reverently in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Geralt joins them after a few more thrusts, grunting his release into Jaskier’s collarbone, goosebumps breaking over the skin of his back.

The Witchers’ softening pricks slip out of his ass and Jaskier hisses at the sudden chill of emptiness. A dribble of come drips from his sensitive hole, gaping and fluttering, and Eskel takes a sharp intake of breath at the sight, fingers coming to brush the abused flesh. Jaskier whimpers in protest, too tired to move, and Geralt shushes him with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

They bring him down to the mattress, arranging his limbs comfortably. One of them - Jaskier doesn’t open his eyes to check which - gets up and brings back a rag to clean him up and a waterskin, bullying him to drink even though all he wants is to lie down and sleep.

Finally, they all snuggle up together on the bed that is slightly too small for three grown men, the room stinking of sex.

There will be a lot to talk about, tomorrow when they wake up, but for now Jaskier buries his nose in the crook of Geralt’s neck, Eskel plastered to his back, both their hands meeting on his chest, over his slowly beating heart. Content. Warm. Jaskier drifts off with a smile on his face and a new song in his mind.

[zeta-in-de-walls]

Analysis on Tommy’s character’s mental state as a result of the exile arc.

Hey guys, I often makes posts discussing Tommy’s character and one thing that absolutely can’t be ignored is how his character has been traumatised by his experiences during exile. So, I thought I’d discuss in depth and how it’s impacted his behaviour.

In exile Tommy usually described himself as lonely. This is somewhat true but it’s actually a little misleading if you take it at face value. It’s not really loneliness that was his main issue, that was just the easiest one to express. Indeed, people did visit, they just didn’t really help with the issues that were really plaguing him. And there were a few.

-Tommy felt powerless. He was weak and attempting to get stronger himself only lead his hard work to be wasted. Therefore, he was reliant on others for help, and was utterly unable to give them anything back for any help offered. 

He also felt trapped, he had to stay on the island so people could find him and visit him but he was not allowed to choose to send time with others himself. He was completely reliant on others deciding to visit him. (Him building not one but two bridges to make it easier for others to visit was all he could do to increase the odds of someone coming to see him.) It wasn’t just loneliness so much as it being something out of his control. 

-Tommy felt worthless. He felt like L’Manburg had just seen him as a liability and was increasingly feeling like they were better off without him. No one really cared about him. He didn’t feel like he had value anymore as a person. 

He didn’t want someone to visit him, he wanted someone to stay with him - he wanted to feel accepted, validated. That’s why he spent time making a guest tent, so people could spend the night. And was so ecstatic at Mexican Dream agreeing to live with him. 

-Tommy is a very clingy person. He’s extremely sociable and becomes attached really easily. He has a hard time letting go too. In exile he constantly missed Tubbo and obsessed over the fact that he hadn’t visited. Leaving on bad terms hurt him. He couldn’t resolve anything and instead his frustration and bitterness grew and grew. He was put into such an awful and dark mindset! Its during this that he lets himself grow attached to Dream instead, who subtly encourages him to believe Tubbo didn’t care. 

So, Tommy said he was lonely, but he was way more troubled than he let on. 

...

Dream also took advantage of Tommy and performed abusive actions that both confused and traumatised him. 

Dream forced him to drop his items, hitting him if he refused and threatening to kill him if he continued to resist. He then acted nice, protecting him, keeping him company and joking around with him.

He lent Tommy his pickaxe and trident. He helped Tommy get primes. He repeatedly blew up Tommy’s armour. He regularly destroyed any diamond tools Tommy got and talked about ‘letting’ him keep some things, like he was being generous. Dream talked about how L’Manburg was prospering with Tommy there, suggesting everyone had moved on while he was the one responsible for sabotaging Tommy’s relationships.

Dream acted like an authority figure, dressing up all his actions as reasonable and Tommy was at fault for making his actions necessary. He lied about Tubbo not caring about his compass. He promised to invite people to his party and then didn’t, letting Tommy believe they chose not to come. Dream’s actions left Tommy increasingly dependent on him, as he was both physically and emotionally very vulnerable (as Dream had induced) and Dream took advantage of it. Finally, when Tommy did a relatively minor act of rebellion, Dream blew up everything. He killed Mushroom Henry and destroyed anything else Tommy was attached to - his tent, the campsite Wilbur built, the prime log.

Now, one of Tommy’s key character flaws is that he is rather irrational. While he can be perceptive, he often gets driven by his emotions rather than logic. (Its part of why he gets attached to things so easily). Usually he doesn’t actually let his feelings control him, but the exile put him under huge emotional turmoil.

-Logically, he always knew that Dream was responsible. He never forgot anything, he was just struggling to process it.

Dream was acting like he cared and Tommy clung on to that. Even once with Techno he described his confusion at his exile and noted that he recalled all the events perfectly but was confused emotionally and basically wasn’t able to deal with his feelings on Dream at all. He knew he ought to hate Dream but wanted to trust him still. 

Thinking more on emotions is also why he took Tubbo exiling him so personally - just before Doomsday he apologised and said he understood why Tubbo did it (I think he said it was the right decision even) but at the time he was hurt and felt like Tubbo didn’t care about him. Tommy often acts in the heat of the moment but fixes things afterwards. The issue with his fight with Tubbo was that they were unable to see each other and therefore resolve things, causing it instead to fester and get worse. 

So, that’s basically what happened to him throughout exile, but how did this affect his actions? A few different ways.

-He became extremely depressed and almost ended his life. Though he ultimately chose against this, his sense of self-preservation is notably lower. He didn’t seem to be afraid at the possibility of dying during Doomsday. And he was also prepared to confront Dream again over his discs - he had nothing left to lose as far as he was concerned. Once Tommy realised that Dream didn’t want to kill him, he took full advantage of it. He walked up to Dream completely unarmoured while Dream was in full netherite and confidently ordered him around. He was not afraid of dying. And again, he threatened to kill himself if Dream didn’t return after already killing Dream twice. Tommy’s only slowly gaining back his zeal for living. 

-He became angry and lashed out. Jack visited him at one point and Tommy spleefed him into lava, killing him absolutely ruthlessly. This is not a nice anger, its a cold destructive one, a result of all his bitterness from his unjust suffering. A minute later, he can only ask, why did he do that? Sometimes, Tommy might seem meeker, but it’s just hiding pain and rage that comes out in the worst of ways.

When no one turns up to his party, Tommy destroys part of the bridge he built for people to visit as he’s angry and has no real way to lash out - it’s not logical but as Tommy expresses: if they really want to visit then they’ll have to make an effort. A few days later he builds another, not because he’s better but because he’s so desperate for company he doesn’t even care if they don’t really care as long as they show up. 

His actions while with Techno have him torturing Fundy and Connor, interrogating Ranboo and helping Techno release a wither on L’Manberg. This is not the normal Tommy. This is him releasing his bitterness and rage in a destructive way, with his twisted mindset being vaguely approved of by Technoblade (though even he thought Tommy was going too far!) 

-He grew unhealthily attached to anything that gave him any stability in his warped, messed up world. That’s why he started fixating on his music discs so hard. And why he clung to Dream so hard for a while. And why he clung so much to Technoblade, quickly growing dependent on him, desperate for any sort of care and validation.

It’s why he even agreed to help Techno destroy L’Manburg at all. He was in such a warped mindset and wanted to trust Techno even if part of him was appalled by the idea, but his anger at L’Manberg was also clouding his judgement, and he wanted to agree with Techno because Techno cared about him. It’s not Techno or Tommy’s fault but their relationship was messed up thanks to Tommy’s trauma. Tommy was so dependent on Techno and was not able to function properly alone and he was very driven by his emotions, which were in a mess. He could barely sort out his feelings on Dream, let alone L’Manburg or Tubbo. He even let himself believe that all they were doing was minor terrorism, when Techno hadn’t hid his intentions that much at all. 

-Tommy blames himself for all that occurred. When the anger faded, and he was a little less powerless, Tommy began to get back his own sense of agency, which he’d been lacking for so long. With more clarity, he realised that of course he wanted to forgive Tubbo and make amends. His experiences lead to Tommy feeling like it was up to him to apologise - and he did. 

In some respects, there’s some excellent development here - it’s amazing to see him put feelings to one side and realise that his anger and bitterness were hurting him. And he held himself responsible - that his actions, traumatised or not, didn’t justify hurting others. He had been becoming the person he didn’t want to be - and rejected it. 

But there’s some worrying signs too - his experiences left him in some ways too apologetic. His sense of self-worth is still low. He didn’t blow up the community house but at one point said he wouldn’t bother defending himself anymore as there was no point, nothing to be gained from arguing about it. He apologised to Sapnap for releasing Mars - wonderful but it was never really necessary. When interacting with the egg, he said he didn’t want to cause yet another war, having internalised the idea that he’s responsible for most conflicts. At one point he even said he blames himself for Doomsday. It’s not healthy to have such a low sense of self-worth. He no longer blames others for not caring about him - but he does blame himself. 

....

Well this has been a long post. I hope that better expresses how Tommy’s been affected from his exile. I feel like I’ve seen posts complaining about apologists using trauma to excuse his actions. Not at all! Merely to explain. You cannot discuss Tommy’s current character without discussing his trauma. Likewise, it has been treated seriously by the narrative and Tommy continues to have it affect his character. It’s ongoing. He is improving but it has had a long-lasting impact. Indeed his mental state still feels fragile enough that us fans have been very sensitive to anything that might impact him. Tommy should be handled with care, and few of the characters on the server realise this. 

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝑨𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒛: 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝑺/𝑶 𝑰𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝑻𝒐 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝑼𝒑 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎

★彡𝐾𝑖𝑚 𝐻𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑗𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔彡★

Hongjoong didn't know what to do, or how to approach the situation with you. So he decided to go to Eden for help. He explained how he overheard his manager harshly telling you to end things with him, and how he was just now realizing that was the reason why you hadn't been yourself lately with him.

He also confided how he was scared of you actually following through with it. It actually seemed like you were planning on it.

"How important is Y/N to you?" Eden asked him.

Hongjoong didn't hesitate to reply:

"They're my everything. My manager tells them they're a distraction for me and hold me back from my work, but it's the opposite. They motivate me to do even better. Their support is what helps me get through the endless hours in the studio......

I love them."

Eden donned a proud fatherly smile as he told Hongjoong.

"Well Hongjoong, if you don't want to let them go, tell them that. Communication is important in a relationship. Talk it out amongst yourselves and then figure out what you each want to do."

"But what if manager-nim?-"

"Then he'll have to deal with me." Eden cut him off, a grin on his face as he returned his gaze to the monitor in front of him.

Hongjoong felt relieved to know he had a supporting and understanding mentor like him.

★彡𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂彡★

Seonghwa brought up one night how you seemed a little distant now, not just from him, but from the other members too.

"It's nothing." You tried assuring him, but the slight tremor in your voice was a dead giveaway.

"Y/N please. What's going on? I can't help you if you don't let me in. So what's going on?"

You broke down in tears and just held onto him, as you told him all the horrible things his manager told you: how you didn't deserve someone like Seonghwa and constantly belittling you in an effort to make you break up with him, which was almost successful.

Almost.

Seonghwa was disgusted by his manager's behavior. He couldn't believe he'd dare say those things to you.

"Baby look at me. None of that is true. I love you and I'm happy to have you in my life. Ok? If anything, I don't deserve someone as caring and patient like you. I'm an idol who barely has time for you, but you never complain and are very understanding. So thank you for being a part of my life."

His words brought back the smile on your face that he missed seeing so much. It had been a while since you genuinely smiled at him.

From then on, Seonghwa made sure to protect you. He refused to let you out of his sight and kept you near him whenever you came to keep him company in any of his schedules. He may not confront his manager about it, but the warning glares he'd sent his way made it clear he wasn't going to give him the chance to disrespect you anymore.

★彡𝑱𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒐彡★

Yunho looked at the envelope. He'd recognize your handwriting anywhere. It had been 4 months since he'd last seen your handwriting, let alone your face after you broke up with him unexpectedly and inexplicably. It absolutely crushed him.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully tore the top of the envelope, wanting to take care of what may be the last memoir he'd have of you. He opened the letter addressed to him, and poured over its contents. He reread it over and over again, a frown forming on his face as the answer as to why you left him was finally answered.

Yunho wasn't one to get angry easily, but he couldn't help himself as he slammed his fist against the table. Now it all made sense. Not wasting a minute, he picked up his jacket and sped out the door, colliding with Mingi on the way out the door.

"Whoah! Yunho where are you going?!" Mingi called out to him.

"To get the love of my life back!" He responsed.

Yunho went all the way to your house. You barely cracked open the door when he was already bursting inside like a mad man, engulfing you in a tight embrace which kinda startled you.

"So you didn't break with me because you fell out of love?" That was the only concern he had all this time.

You immediately shook your head.

"No. I just thought it'd be better for you if I left..." You repeated part of what he already knew from your letter.

"Well it wasn't. It was agony going 84 days without seeing or hearing from you. I was going insane." He confessed.

You blushed a little.

"You mean to tell me you actually counted the time we were apart?"

"What can I say? I'm just a lovesick puppy who can't live without you and hopes you'll adopt him again." He pouted cutely at you, knowing fully well it'll get you to say yes.

★彡𝑲𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒆𝒐𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒈彡★

Yeosang knew for a while what his manager had been telling you. He never brought it up to you, but not because he didn't care. But because he wanted to see how you would react. Would you actually follow through with the threats? Or would you trust him enough to come talk to him about it?

"Yeosang......could we talk?"

By the way you were fidgeting your fingers and avoiding eye contact with him, his heart sank. You weren't really going to do this, were you?

"Yeosang I think it'll be good for you if-"

"Stop. I know what you're going to say." He cut you off, not wanting you to go on.

"No you don't." You said.

"Yes I do! You're trying to break up with me! Aren't you?" He didn't mean to raise his voice, but he was frustrated and his emotions got the better of him.

You looked down at the floor and nodded. Yeosang sighed softly as his hands reached out and caressed your arms.

"Is this because of what my manager told you?"

You snapped your head at him. How on earth did he know?

"Yes Y/N, I know. I never said anything because I thought...... I hoped you'd come to me and talk about this....not throw our relationship away just like that...." His voice cracked a little as he fought with himself to hold his tears back.

You hugged him tightly and sobbed.

"I'm sorry..... I didn't mean to.... I'm sorry.." You apologized.

Yeosang's hands patted your head his voice soothing you as he began assuring you:

"It's ok. But please don't break up with me because of this. We'll get through this together ok? Just trust and believe in me."

★彡𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑺𝒂𝒏彡★

San refused to calm down.

"I'm going right over there and getting his ass fired."

His demeanor frightened you so much, you held him back from going out the door.

"Don't San! It might cause more harm than good!" You pleaded with him.

"How do you expect me to stay still when my manager is threatening my s/o to break up with me? Why should he interfere in our relationship?" He exclaimed.

You pulled him back to the couch. With a little help from Byeol, you managed to calm him down enough to have a rational and civilised conversation with him.

"So what do you want to do?" You asked him.

"I'll tell you one thing I for sure don't want: I don't want you breaking up with me. Scrap any idea of that cause I won't allow it and neither would Byeol." He warned you as he held the cat up against your face, making you giggle.

You both ended up agreeing to just ignore his manager. San also thought it'd be better if you just didn't see him at the company or anywhere his manager would be. He wasn't going to expose you to any uncomfortable situation with him anymore.

But also because he didn't want you finding out that he'd been acting out a lot around his manager. Purposefully ignoring him, and overall rebelling against anything he said. He was petty and he wasn't going to hide it. Every time his manager passed by, he'd squint his eyes at him as if trying to set him on fire.

"San are you ok?" Jongho asked him.

"I'm fine. What are you talking about?" San feigned a smile.

"I'm talking about the fact that you're seemingly trying to cause anarchy here." Jongho raised an eyebrow at him.

San paused for a minute before asking:

"Do you want to join in?"

Jongho looked at him for a moment before agreeing.

"Yeah sure. It was getting boring here anyways."

★彡𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊彡★

Mingi looked around the 4 walls that had kept him company for the past 12 minutes. He still didn't know why the guys would lock him in there with no explanation.

He shifted in his seat when he heard a commotion outside, followed a loud opening of the door.

"Put me down Jongho! Put me down!"

Mingi stiffened when he heard your voice after so long. He watched as Jongho placed you in the seat in front of him. You widened your eyes at him.

"Now that we got both of you here, start talking." Wooyoung commanded you two, but no sound came out of either of your mouths.

"There's nothing to talk about Wooyoung....we broke up a month ago..." Mingi said quietly, trying not to break down again.

"But why exactly? Hmm. Tell him Y/N. Tell him the real reason you broke up and him. We're not letting you out until you do."

Wooyoung and Jongho stood by the door, not budging until one of you said something. You took a deep breath and told Mingi the truth: how their manager threatened you and practically forced you to break up with Mingi. It broke his heart to find out how much you suffered, how you went through a lot and he wasn't there to protect you. Grabbing your hands, he told you:

"I'm sorry you had to go through all this that because of me. I'm sorry I didn't protect you... but please don't leave me again. Let's give our relationship one more try. I still love you and I promise I'll make sure you don't have to go through that again."

★彡𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝒐𝒐𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈彡★

"Wooyoung, will you promise to behave and not cause any trouble or let your manager know what I told you?"

Wooyoung smiled as innocently as he could to you.

"Don't worry love. You know you can trust me. And thank you for telling me about this. I'm so happy you have full and complete trust in me to let me know about this and most of all, thank you for not breaking up with me."

"Remember to act normal." You reminded him.

"Of course dear!"

But not even 5 minutes into the photoshoot, he was huffing in the corner, arms crossed as he stared daggers into his manager's back.

"Biiitch." Wooyoung muttered under his breath whenever his manager passed anywhere near him.

"Y/N told you to behave. I'm going to tell them all you've done so far." Yeosang threatened him.

"Sniiitch." Wooyoung now targeted him.

Yeosang rolled his eyes at him.

"So what's your plan?" Yeosang asked him.

"I want him fired. And you're going to help me." Wooyoung huffed.

"No I'm not." Yeosang shook his head.

"Yes you are." Wooyoung insisted.

"No I am not. Don't drag me into this mess. I'm not getting in trouble." Yeosang didn't budge.

"I got dirt on you. And if Seonghwa Hyung found out about it..." Wooyoung smirked at him.

"Ok so here's the plan." Yeosang made a complete 180°, making Wooyoung laugh.

"I knew 6 years of friendship meant a lot to you."

★彡𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒊 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐彡★

Ever since Jongho caught his manager saying horrible things to you and demanding you broke up with him, he was furious. Yunho and Mingi had to hold him back from possibly breaking him in half or murdering him.

"Oh great. Jongho found a better way to take his anger out with other than breaking apples." Hongjoong said as he passed by the living room, where Seonghwa was sitting on the couch and Jongho was on the floor, writing something rapidly on a sheet of paper.

"I wouldn't necessarily call it better but ok." Seonghwa replied.

Glancing down at Jongho, he motioned to a certain section.

"You misspelled insubordination." Seonghwa pointed out.

"It doesn't have to be perfect!" Jongho exclaimed.

"How do you expect the CEO to take you seriously in your attempt to get our manager fired when you can't even write properly?!" Seonghwa chastised him.

Hongjoong shut the refrigerator door.

"Attempt at what?" He quickly rushed over and snatched the paper away from Jongho.

Turns out, it was a letter to the CEO, demanding their manager be fired with a list of reasons why.

"Seonghwa! And you allowed this? And you Jongho! I get you're upset but this is going too far! Don't make me take you to my room." Hongjoong threatened.

"Take my baby into your room and you'll be sleeping on the couch for a month Kim Hongjoong." Seonghwa warned him.

"He's not your kid and we're not even married!"

"Either way his ass is getting fired. I won't rest until it happens." Jongho stated as he went to finish his task.

"Ok. I give you points for determination." Hongjoong admitted dejectedly.

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners.

[cicissketchbook]

Y’all wanna read my Apritello story?

So sometimes when my artistic drive is down, the writing bug will come bite me. I’ve been working on an Apritello story for awhile that currently has three chapters that are up on my Patreon. Eventually I’ll post it publicly, but I want my patrons to have early access. Anyway here’s an excerpt from the first chapter.

It’s kind of angsty.

The summary is, April invites Donnie to join her for a long weekend at the farmhouse, which sounds romantic until you consider that she’s been plagued with visions of his accidental death and is desperate to stop it from happening.

To say there was tension in the air was a drastic understatement. Truthfully, things had been tense for a while. Blame it on cabin fever, or perhaps they were outgrowing their sewer lair, but the brothers had been quick to jump down each other’s throats. 

Leo was especially on edge, and not unlike how it had been since they were kids, his mood had set the tone for everyone else. One thing that differed from childhood though, was that he had been butting heads with Donnie, while Raph remained a mostly neutral third party. 

There was the knowledge that they were getting older and they all had desires to get out there and live their own lives, and then the realization that doing so wasn’t really possible for them in the world they lived in. They wanted what any young adults would want, but they were mutants.  The world still saw them as freaks. They couldn’t lead normal lives the way they wanted to. They knew this, they had known this all their lives. They had all been on the same page about it. They realized that living their lives in the sewer, at least most of it, was probably in the cards. April had always contested this idea, believing that the world would accept them in time. It’s not like people didn’t know mutants existed, but the turtles weren’t willing to take the risk. It’s not like they couldn’t go out and do things like they always had, but leaving the nest for good just wasn’t feasible. And they were content with this. The sewer was all they’d ever known. They’d always been together and they were happy to always be together. 

But like all families, arguments were inevitable. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all. And they were accustom to bickering. But… it was different now. Leo seemed ready to explode at the drop of a pen, Raph never seemed to be able to find enough alone time, Donnie felt like he brought more to the table than the other three combined, and Mikey… sweet Mikey was such an incurable optimist that he sought to find the positive in every situation, but they knew he did this to mask his depression.  

If asked what they were arguing about today, the simple answer would be that they were all just getting on each other’s nerves. Donnie couldn’t even remember how the argument started because they fought about trivial things so frequently, but he remembered the thing that Leo said that set him off.

“God, why is it so hard for you to just do your part? Why do we have to pick up your slack?”

Donnie was silent for a moment, almost unsure he’d heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you never fucking help out with anything!” Leo’s tone implied that there was something else he was upset about that he wasn’t speaking of. 

Donnie, by his best effort, kept his voice calm and composed. “I’m sorry, are you referring to three days ago when I didn’t help clean up the disaster in the kitchen because I was literally putting the microwave back together? Or perhaps last week when you left a mess for me to clean up that you all made while I wasn’t even here? And then you got mad when I didn’t?”

Leo seemed to get more aggravated at the mention of Donnie not being there, but continued on. “C’mon man, there are four of us that live here, it’s really not asking too much for everyone to help clean up around here.” 

“Dude, I clean up after myself more than anyone. The difference is, when I make a mess, it’s in my lab rather than communal space and-“

“Oh, right, I forgot. The huge space you have that’s your’s. That none of us have.” Leo turned to their other brothers who sat near by. “Hey Raph, other than your tiny bedroom, do you have your own creative space that you can do whatever you want in? Mikey, how about you?”

Raph hadn’t spoken, but seemed invested in the exchange his brothers were having. It was impossible to tell who’s side he was on. Before Mikey could speak, Raph stopped him and said firmly, “Leave us out of this, man.”

“So now your mad at me… because of my lab?”

Leo paused, not making eye contact, before he huffed. “No.” He admitted quietly.

Normally, Donnie was used to these arguments making little or no sense, but Leo seemed genuinely angry and he couldn’t understand why. 

“Bro, what is up?” He demanded. “Why are you actually so upset?”

“I just…” Leo started. Donnie could tell there was something he didn’t want to say. Leo crossed his arms and turned away from his brother. “I just want to know… where your priorities are.”

“My priorities?” Donnie was trying not to lose his patience. He had no idea where this was coming from nor where it was going. Which meant one of two things. Either there was something his brother wasn’t telling him, or this was in fact going no where. Like, this had started out a fight about cleaning duties, and now he’s talking about priorities. If Leo did have a point, he wanted him to hurry up and make it because this argument seemed like a waste of time.

“It just…” Leo blew another huff through his nose. “It just seems like… you are… distancing yourself from us, Donnie.”

This statement completely threw Don for a loop. He hadn’t expected that at all. “What in the world are you talking about?” He asked, truly bewildered by the turn in conversation. “Because I don’t want to clean up messes that aren’t mine? Like what the hell-?”

“No, obviously it’s not that. It’s alot of things.” Leo spoke quieter now, not as impassioned. 

“Well, I would love to know what those things are, because I am completely lost here.”

“You never want to hang out with us anymore, and when you do, you act like you’d rather be doing anything else-“

Donnie cut him off with a humorless chuckle. “We’re brothers, we all get on each other’s nerves.” 

“And I get that, but we do all still live together and we all need to contribute to the household chores, and you’ve just been acting like you are so far above doing any type of housework that doesn’t directly effect you.”

“Well, excuse me Leo, sorry if when it rains and the power get knocked out and I have to go topside by myself in the cold pouring rain to fix the power line, I don’t also want to have to mop up the leak in the kitchen when none of you did anything to help!”

“Okay, you keep bring up specific instances, but I’m talking about in general-“

“No, you’re talking alot of nonsense is what you’re doing!” Donnie’s lack of patience was starting to show. “First you’re mad that you think I don’t clean enough, then you’re mad that I have a lab and you don’t? Then you say I’m distancing myself from you all…?” Donnie stood and made a move like he was going to walk away. “If you have something to say, Leo, you better just say it because this whole conversation seems like a waste of time to me. It’s late and I’m tired, so make your point, or I’m going to bed.”

“Are you distancing yourself from us because of April?”

Donnie had already started walking away, as he didn’t expect Leo to actually have a point, so he was halted to a standstill at his words. “What does she have to do with anything?”

Leo looked away again, like he didn’t actually want to have this conversation. After a moment, he sighed and continued without making eye contact. “It just seems like… I mean… I thought we were all on the same page here. We’ve had this discussion, a long time ago. We aren’t…. Human. We’re getting older and it makes sense that we’d want to start living our own lives, but… we can’t. Not really. The world doesn’t accept us, so staying down here is just how it has to be. I thought we had agreed on that. That no matter what the world thought of us, no matter that we can’t lead normal lives, at least we all had each other. But… now it seems like you have other plans, Donnie.”

He finally looked at his brother and Donnie could see the emotions in his eyes. Nothing of what he said had been new information, of course. Donnie knew, painfully well, that the world saw them as freaks and being “normal” was not a luxury they’d ever be able to have. Alot of their friends were at the point where they were starting to branch off, which didn’t help. Karai and Shinigami were currently back in Japan. It was just a visit, but the kind of visit that lasted for a month or two. Casey had gotten a hockey scholarship for a different school than the one April attended. He was trying to go pro, so he poured all his time and attention into practicing. He still came around, but not like he used to. Mona Lisa had left Earth awhile ago, also with promise to return, but they hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks. They were sure it was just a new mission she had, but that didn’t make Raph feel any better. April was the only one who still came around all the time. With most of their enemies gone, everyone was moving on and it felt like the world didn’t need them anymore. 

The pain in Leo’s voice would’ve normal made Donnie want to hug him, but it was the accusation that he couldn’t get over.

“Leo…” He gestured non threateningly with his hands. “Why are you acting like I’m not literally living down here in the sewers right along with you? And I still don’t see what April has to do with anything-” 

“Okay, I’m going to jump in here.” Raph said unexpectedly. “Look, Dude, I know we don’t… we don’t say it enough but… we would be up schitts creek without a paddle without you.” He crossed the room to give Leo a lighthearted punch in the arm. “Wouldn’t we, Leo?”

“…Yeah.”

“So because of that, the idea of you leaving is…. It’s scary.” Raph admitted. He was going to say something else, but Donnie interrupted.

“I’m not going anywhere! What in the actually hell are you guys talking about?!”

Leo rolled his eyes, apparently getting annoyed again. “Don, can we please stop pretending like you’re not going to marry April and then move in with her?”

Donnie froze. To say they touched a nerve was an understatement. April was his best friend, but truthfully, it was very painful to be her friend sometimes. His feelings for her were still just as intense as ever, but for different reason now. In his youth, he’d maintained a kind of innocent hopefulness that they would someday be together, and he never even really thought of the details of how. He knew, even back then, that it wasn’t that simple and when he really thought about it, nothing about it made sense. Which is why he didn’t think about it. Now though, after some soul searching and dropping into a deep depression which he was starting to get better from, he’d resigned himself to the reality that she would never be with him. He’d accepted it, and told himself that it was enough to just be her friend. But the truth was, that pain never went away.  They had such a close friendship, they had developed such a level of comfort with each other, but he knew it would never be enough. The idea of never seeing her again was unbearable, but to be so close to her, knowing that it was as close as he would ever get… it was torture. He didn’t care though, he just couldn’t let her go.

What really hurt was when she would talk about the next stage in her life. She was in school now, but with her grades and what she was studying, she could go anywhere. She wanted to travel, she spoke of it often. She never made any committal remarks about moving away, other than when she talked about the farmhouse and saying how expensive it is to live in the city. Her dad had signed the property over to her for tax reasons, and she would’ve inherited it anyway. She wanted to renovate it.

He was only vaguely aware that Raph and Leo were still talking.

“It’s not like we’re mad at you for finding love, that’s not it at all!” Raph was saying, obviously more concerned than Leo about ruffling his brother’s feathers. “It’s just, we need to be realistic about what would happen if you weren’t here.”

“Yeah, and the reality is, frankly, I think we all feel left behind by our friends, but we didn’t think  our clan would be breaking up as well!” Leo threw his hands up, finally letting his true feelings out. “I mean, all we have is each other, we’re the last of the Hamato clan! I can’t let this clan die, I just can’t.”

“Why do you guys feel the need to do that?” 

They stopped, taken aback by how low and serious Donnie’s voice was. He was done barking, he looked ready to bite. 

“Do what?”

Donnie’s chest felt tight and he had to taken in a sharp breath through his nose to keep his cool. “Why do you guys feel the need to not only remind me of my unrequited feelings for my… our  best friend… but now, you’re holding it against me?”

Raph looked concerned at first, but then sighed. “Donnie, c’mon, don’t act like you wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to get out of here. April isn’t going to stay in New York forever.” 

The statement, while probably true, hurt to hear. “What does that have to do with me?” He said, quieter this time. “I can’t help what April does.”  

“Dude, she is literally planning her future with you in it. Have you not noticed that?” Leo nearly screamed. “You have the opportunity to get out of here and do something with your life, and we’ll be-“

“No she’s not!” Donnie shouted back. “Are you guys smoking crack or something? Don’t say that shit to me! April doesn’t…” He paused, his words getting caught in his throat. “April doesn’t want me. I thought we’d been over this.”

Mikey, who hadn’t yet spoke, immediately picked up on how much pain Donnie was in. “Hey guys, let’s just drop it, yeah?”

Leo pressed on as if his youngest brother hadn’t spoken. “Maybe she didn’t five years ago, but she sure as shit does now.” He didn’t seem bothered by Donnie visible cringe. “I mean, dude, you’ve spent the night, alone at her house.”

“So has Mikey. And Raph once, I think.” Donnie said quietly, and Raph nodded in confirmation. “And she’s spent the night here a billion times, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Mikey and Raph didn’t sleep in her bed.” Leo said accusingly. 

“I did.”  

They all paused and turned to the youngest brother. Raph spoke. “You did?”

“Every time I go over there, I sleep in her bed.” Mikey said matter-o-factly. “Whenever… whenever I’m sad, she let’s me come over and… she’ll listen. She doesn’t try to offer solutions, she doesn’t try and tell me things to make me feel better, she just… listens. And that’s what helps me the most. Then we watch funny videos.”

None of them commented at first. They all knew Mikey struggled with depression, but he rarely, if ever, talked about it. They all had told him at some point that they were there if he needed to talk, but he never came to any of them. One might of thought that hearing that his brother shared a bed with April might make Donnie jealous, but quite the opposite, it made him very happy and appreciative to hear about it. It made sense that Mikey would be more comfortable talking to April than to any of them, and to know that she had been there for him was comforting. Donnie wanted that for his brother. 

“See?” He said finally, more to Leo than anyone else. “April… she’s there for all of us. She cares about all of us… I’m not special.”

“Donnie, don’t say that.” Mikey offered and rose from his seat to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Donnie placed his own hand over Mikey’s and squeezed it, staring at the floor.  “She cares about you the most. More than you know.”

“Mikey, please, please don’t.” He said through his teeth. “I can’t… I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation right now. You know how long it took me to accept the fact that I was kidding myself by thinking there could ever be something between us? Of course you guys know, which is why it is so baffling to me that you feel the need to do this.” 

“So if April wanted you to move away with her, you wouldn’t do it?” 

Raph punched Leo in the arm again. It was a strange thing, to see Raph scold Leo for being insensitive. Donnie had had enough though.

“I’m out of here.” He turned on his heel and heading towards the turnstiles. 

...............

Yes, it’s NSFW, of course it is.

[forever-rogue]

Step Into The Daylight - Part 11

Summary: Cal Kestis offers some more insight into who your mysterious son is. 

A/N: Thank you guys for being so, so patient and still being excited for me to update. I feel like my Din muse has returned and I hope you enjoy! Taglists are open, and as always feedback is welcome! xx

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: spoilers for up to s2, e5

SERIES MASTERLIST

MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Oh," your heart fell as you looked down at the little one sitting on the floor and cooing happily. He looked between the between you and Din before turning his gaze back to Cal, and the figures behind "is there...do you know anything about him? I don't know how...I'm still learning how to properly wield the force and I can't..."

"Yes," he said  as he gently held out his hand to the little. You felt Din tense slightly at your side and gently put your hand on top of his, giving him a gentle squeeze, "come here, little one."

The child slowly clambered up, grabbing one of Cal's fingers and letting the Jedi pick him up. He cooed quietly as a wave of emotions splashed over Cal's face. You wondered if this was hard for him, if it reminded him of the mysterious Master Yoda, if it reminded him of the days before he, like so many others, lost everything. 

"We'll go," you offered quietly as you motioned for Din and the others to follow you, along with Jeele. Din stiffened at first but didn't question your judgment and then followed after you. 

You settled back down in the kitchen, the six of silent as you let a long huff of air.

“Where are my manners,” you shifted next to Din and studied each of the new figures in turn. There was another woman, older in appearance with warm, dark skin and a kind face, a younger woman covered in tattoo-like markings and white blonde hair, as well as a smaller figure that you recognized as a Latero. You offered them your name before turning to your Mandalorian, “this is Mando and I believe you’ve met Jeele already.”

“Cere Junda,” the older woman stuck out her hand and gave you and a firm handshake, “this is Merrin and Greeze. We work with Cal; you just be the mysterious Jedi.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever qualify to have that title,” you admitted, “not since the order is all but gone. But...you are. I can feel it - the force is strong with you.”

“It once was,” she confessed as a tight smile crossed her features, “but I no longer use it. Much as happened since the fall of the Order, and much of it I’d like to forget. The pull to the dark is too strong sometimes...I’m sure you must have felt it.”

You tensed as her words washed over and Din’s gaze shifted to you. You swallowed thickly as you realized that she was right; what you’d felt, especially in the crystal cave was strong, that call to chaos and violence, the pull to the dark. But you were strong enough to resist it then and you hoped to continue to be, “y-yes...I’ve felt it before.”

“It will get easier over time,” she promised, almost as if she could hear you fears and worries, but then again, you supposed she probably could, “Merrin is a Night Sister. You probably feel the energy from her too.”

“A Night Sister,” you said as the younger woman offered you a small smile, “from Dathomir? You use Magick, don’t you?”

“I do,” she agreed, “you are well versed in your histories aren’t you?” 

“I had a lot of time when I was studying by myself, I tried to learn a little about a lot, but I would not consider myself an expert by any means. Your people have been through much.”

“As have yours,” she reached across the table and gave your hand a gentle squeeze, “we’re survivors, we make due with what we have, and stick together.”

“Together is the only way we survive,” you agreed before you turned your attention to the last of Cal’s crew, “it’s nice to meet you too. Greeze?”

“At your service,” he sounded entirely neutral as he looked over the two of you, eyes lingering on the Mandalorian, “don’t see many of you anymore. What are you doing with a little Jedi? I thought Jedi were the enemies of the Mandalore?”

“It’s a long story,” you begin, thinking about the day you’d met your mysterious Mandalorian, sure that it was going to be the last day of your life. Little did you know that it would be the beginning of your entirely knew life, one will with more adventure, and love, than ever before. You turned to Din and offered him a small smile, sure that he was giving you the same one in return, “but to make it short, I had a bounty on my head, and he ended up saving me both from my injuries and capture, and the rest is history really.”

“Oh jeeze, another love story,” Greeze sighed jokingly as your cheeks turned warm, causing you to pointedly keep your gaze away from Din, although both of you now knew that’s exactly what it was, but so much more than that, “what is it with Jedi and forming attachments, I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

“It wasn’t,” Cere said sharply, “which is one of the many reasons the Jedi Order fell. I never quite did understand that part, I do...but it never made sense.”

“Good thing I’m not a Jedi then,” you said softly as the whole table laughed, “because I would have been doomed a long time ago.”

Din’s hand was on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze as he watched you closely, a rush of emotions coursing through his blood.

“Listen, Cal told us about your crystal. Which means it’s time construct your own lightsaber,” Cere explained as you sat up with excitement. You’d been through hell and back to get that crystal and you were going to build that saber no matter what, “we have materials for the hilt back on our ship, we’ll get it all out for you. When you’re ready, come find us and then you can build.”

“Thank you,” your breath caught in your throat as you stared at table and let out a long breath. 

“It’s a big step, and a right of passage,” Cere acknowledged, “take your time and find us once you’re sure.”

“I will,” you promised. The three of them stood up and started to head back to their own ship, with Jeele giving you a small nod and following them. It must have been a comfort to her as well to have other people who had experienced the same things around. They knew all the same heartbreak and loss. 

Once when they were gone and silence fell over the two of you again, you let out a long sigh, just as Din did the same.

"You don't think-"

"No," you promised, "I don't think Cal is going to do anything. We can trust him, I can sense it."

"Do you think we'll get answers...something? Maybe he can help train him," he started babbling as you reached up and put your hand on the cowl at his neck giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze, "I don't know if...I’m not...”

"I know," you replied softly as you understood exactly what he was trying to say, "you know what we have to do. Whatever happens, we'll get through it. We're a family, Din and nothing is going to change that. You don't have to do this alone...I will be here with you every step of the way."

He remained silent for a few moments, and you could hear a few heavy, long exhales come through the vocoder of his helmet. You remained silent but put your head on his shoulder, watching as he put a hand on your thigh. You put your hand on top of his and he silently laced your fingers together.

In all honesty, you weren't prepared for what might be coming. You'd been waiting and looking for more information about the mysterious small child, your son, but now that you might be getting some answers it all felt...gut wrenching. You wanted to know more about him and how to help him for his sake as much as yours and Din's. But at the end of it all, his was Din's son, and yours. Parting with him... it would be...almost impossible, but if it was what needed to happen, then you would do it. You were sure it wouldn't be forever, something in your heart told you that at the end of the day, your family would always be together.

The silence was tense at first, stiff as you both tried to come to terms with things that might soon be happening. But it soon shifted into something much more bearable and comfortable. One of the many things that you loved about your ever blossoming relationship with the Mandalorian was how the two of you could easily read each other. You rested your head on his shoulder as his hand was firmly on your thigh.

"Din?"

"Yes, Mesh'la?" his voice was tired, bells, he was tired and exhausted but he kept going; because of you and your son.

"We're going to be okay," you promised him again, feeling the need to reassure both of you again, "just like I had to leave the two of you for a while, this might be the same. But look, we're back together. The force...it works how its supposed and I know we're going to be together always. I saw it..."

"A Mandalorian and a Jedi," he huffed lightly, "they would never have seen it coming."

"Times change as do all things," you agreed, "but we are neither. I'm just me and you're just you. Aliit."

"Aliit," he agreed. You could see him leaning ever so slightly towards the door as you laughed lightly, "do you think..."

"Let's go and check," you stood up and offered him your hand, which he took without hesitation. The two of you slowly padded down the hallway, remaining silent as you walked back into the hull.

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn't the sight that met your eyes. On the floor, almost as unchanged as when you'd first, were Cal and your son, intently staring at each other. Din looked between the two of them before turning to you.

"They're communicating," you whispered softly, "they can understand each other's thoughts...its a skill you learn and improve over time...I'm afraid I'm not quite there yet."

"Thoughts," Din repeated as you nodded slowly. Almost as if on cue, Cal broke his gaze with the little one and turned to you.

"He wants me to tell you something," Cal as you approached the duo and sat down on the floor next to them with Din following suit. The little one turned me looked at both of excitedly, "his name. His name is Grogu."

“Grogu,” the name, gentle and soft, completely unexpected and yet perfectly fitting, caught in your throat. The tears that welled up in your eyes were immediate as you looked at the same green creature on the floor. After all this time, you finally knew his name. Grogu. He turned to, a little smile on his face as his ears perked up in excitement, “hi, my love.”

“Grogu,” Din repeated and the little one’s response was enough to make your heart melt. He cooed happily, nothing but happy little noises as he clambered to his feet and headed straight for Din. He stopped in front of his legs, holding his little arms up as he waiting for Din to pick him up. He hesitated for just a moment and you were positive you heard a small sniffle from under the helmet as DIn gently scooped him up in his arms before holding him tightly to his chest. It was silent for a moment as the two embraced each other before pulling apart as Din pressed the his helmet tenderly against his forehead, “Grogu.”

“Cal,” you reached over and back the child, no, Grogu’s back and gently rubbed it in a sign of reassurance, “can you tell us anything more about him?”

“I was able to get some more out of him,” he confessed, “but there’s a lot of...holes, dark spots, in his memory. Parts of his memory are almost blank; he spent a lot of time in hiding, in fear...he was alone and scared for a long time. He hid his powers, lost touch with them for years in order to survive. His ability to adapt and blend in led to his survival.”

“But he’s used them recently,” you raised an eyebrow as Grogu made a small sound.

“He feels safe,” Cal explained as Grogu appeared to nod, “he feels protected when he’s with both of you.”

“H-he does?” Din’s voice cracked as Grogu held onto one of his gloved fingers, “I’ve always wondered...”

“Yes,” Cal promised with a gentle smile of his own, “he’s formed a strong attachment to you, both of you. He thinks of you as parents.”

“We think of him as ours,” Din’s free arm found its way around your waist as you nodded, trying to take in and adsorb everything. That mean he understand you both, he knew just how much you loved him and how much you both cared. 

“Where was he before? Before he was found?” Cal’s face fell slightly at your question, an almost upset expression crossing his features, “Cal?”

“At the Jedi Temple on Coruscant,” he explained. Where your brother hand been. Where Cal had been. Before they lost everything, “he had several teachers over the years, but during the purge he was smuggled out and put into hiding. He was lucky...like me. We survived unlike so many of our brothers and sisters.”

“You both went through so much, Cal, but you survived, that’s the important part,” your voice was gentle as the ginger haired man closed his eyes and let out a long breath. You had no doubt that the memories still plagued him often; survivor’s guilt. You all had in one form or another, “but who saved him? Why just him? Not that I don’t love him, but what’s so special about him?”

“I don’t know,” Cal shook his head in defeat as he looked at Grogu with a sad little half smile, “he doesn’t remember...or he’s blocked it out.”

“Another piece we still need to figure out,” while you felt slightly defeated, you were happy in turn. You knew a little bit more about him and his origins, and if nothing else, you had a name and you knew that he loved you both as much as you loved him.

“The most important question is - what does the Empire want with him?” Din kept his voice down, although the frustration was evident as he held Grogu close to his chest. All the excitement of what had been going on had slowly worn him down and he was started to loose the fight against slumber, “there was a scientist, he was trying to do something to him, but I took him back before they could do anything further.”

“The Empire doesn’t exist anymore,” you reminded Din as the men sighed deeply in unison; if it wasn’t for the severity of the situation, you would have laughed. 

“The Empire still exists, it always has,” Cal offered as Din nodded, “under different names in different forms. Evil is always out there, and there’s been...stirrings about.”

“Of what?!”

“A new order,” Cal confessed quietly as you grimaced. None of that sounded good in the slightest, “but that’s just among many other things going on.”

“I...we’ve been tasked to bring him back to his people,” Din said as a look of realization crossed his features, “whether’s that his native people or the Jedi we don’t know.”

“There’s not many Jedi left,” Cal stated the obvious as you nodded, “especially not fulled trained Jedi like Jeele or Cere.”

“What about you, Cal?” you asked, knowing that Din was reluctant to do so. It would be hard on you both, but you knew what you had to do, “can you train him?”

“No,” he shook his head as you and exchanged a look of surprise with your Mandalorian, “his attachment to the two of you...it’s very strong. Emotional bonds by Jedi are forbidden for a reason-”

“Surely you can’t believe that.”

“We’ve all seen what an emotional attachment can lead to...it can lead to great things, but horrible, terrible ones as well,” he closed his eyes as his shoulders slumped forward, “Darth Vader was once a Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker. He was one of the most powerful Jedi of all time and yet we all know what happened with Darth Vader.”

You breath hitched in your throat as you thought back to all the horrors and atrocities that had plagued not just your childhood, but Din’s as well, and those of countless others, “what do we do then? How do we...”

“I don’t know,” he let his words linger in the air as he slowly leaned over and gently stroked Grogu’s soft ears. The little one was curled up in Din’s arms, the tiniest snores emanating from his mouth, “but I can’t take...I don’t want to set him down the wrong path.”

“Where do we go from here?” your question hung in the air as you exchanged a worried looked with Din. Part of your heart was elated that this meant you wouldn’t have to part ways with him just yet, but confused hung over in clouds as well. Despite all this time and effort, you were still no closer to figuring how the overarching mystery of it all, “if you won’t train him...”

“There is another place...Tython,” he perked up suddenly, “there’s a Jedi Temple there...it’s been long abandoned but has always had a strong connection, but if you take him there and he reaches out through the force, another Jedi somewhere might hear him and come.”

“If...”

“Like I said, there’s not many Jedi left,” he grimaced, “but someone might hear him. But it’s up to him, if he chooses to reach out. It’s his decision to make.”

“We’ll do it,” Din said quietly as he looked at his son sleeping in his arms, “if it could possibly help. Whatever it takes.”

“Yes,” you agreed, “we’re in this together.”

“I’m sure he’ll make the right decision,” Cal slowly rose to his feet, pausing as he studied the three of you. It reminded him of his own little found family, of Cere, or Merrin, or Greeze, and how no matter what, they were his family, “I think he’s already made his decision.”

"What do you mean?" you stood up and followed Cal as he walked towards the ramp to rejoin his own crew. Putting a hand on his arm, you gently stopped him, "what decision has he made?"

"You'll see," he promised quietly, casting a look back at the Mandalorian who was whispering gently to the small bundle, "I'm sorry I can't provide more answers, but I know you'll get them. But you - when you're ready, come and find us to build your saber. After that, I'm afraid our ways will have to part."

"Thank you, Cal Kestis," before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him and embraced him as though your life depended on it. He stiffened for a moment before responding in kind, "you've already given us so much."

He gave you a solemn nod, looking back at your Mandalorian before you, watching as your face softened, "may the force be with you."

"May the force be with you," you replied, closing the ramp back after he disappeared into the snow to keep the chill at bay.

You were silent for a moment, head practically spinning with everything going on, but one thing you for sure was that you loved your little family more than anything.

"Mesh'la?" Din tilted the helmet up at you, keeping your quiet gaze for a moment. You struggled to hold back tears as you slowly made your way over to your boys, "is everything okay?"

"I...umm...yes," not a position to even begin to try to explain your emotions, you held your hand and motioned for him to take it. Without hesitation, Din gently enveloped your hand with his and rose to his full height.

“I’m just...it’s a lot to take in. All of it.”

“Yes,” he commented gruffly, almost reminding you of the tone had adopted when you’d first met him. Your heart sank slightly at the thought and you hoped he wasn’t retreating into himself. Reaching up, you put your hand on the part of his neck that was covered in fabric and gave him a reassuring touch. 

“Let’s go and rest,” you whispered, feeling the gravitas start to weigh on you. Between everything that had happened in the last few days you were physically and mentally exhausted. The siren call of slumber was getting greater and greater with every passing second. Din seemed unsure for a moment but you weren’t going to let him pull away. You knew he was worried, maybe even terrified of what was to come, just as you were, but you wanted him to know that he was definitely not alone, “Din. I’ve got you, I promise. We’re a family, don’t forget that...please don’t shut us out.”

“I won’t,” it was a soft promise as he reached up and touched your cheek with his free hand, the other still holding tightly onto the little one. Keening into his touch, you exhaled slowly as he wiped away the single tray tear that had rolled down your cheek, “I won’t...”

“Come on,” you took his hand pulled him towards the small space that was deemed as your deemed, “the bed is small but we can make it work.”

And so he acquiesced, feeling calm and contented, almost as if he was glad to let someone else be in charge for once, glad to let be the follower instead of the leader. 

Once you were inside the small room, which made him look even more massive and broad, you reached for Grogu, taking care not to wake him up as you set in your bed, bundling him in blankets to keep him warm. He made a small sound, but quickly snuggled deeper into the blankets as your heart melted. 

Turning your attention back to Din, you reached for his arm, slowly, waiting for him to stop you if he so chose. 

But he didn’t. He made a small sound in the back of his throat as you worked to tenderly take off each piece of armor, starting with his boots. Setting each piece down gently, you didn’t stop until you were at his pauldrons, when you hesitated slightly. He was almost bare now, left in only his underclothes as he watched you work. Your breathing had become slow and methodical as you worked and you noticed that his had done the same 

Something palpable had shifted; you weren’t quite able to put your finger on it, but you could both sense it. Once the armor was stripped from his shoulders, you let your hands linger on them, offering him a reassuring squeeze before moving to pull away to switch off the lights so he could remove the helmet if he chose to. But before you could move, his hands went to your wrists and held your hands on his shoulders. 

“Din...” his name was soft but caught in your throat as you gazed into his visor. 

“I want...” he trailed off, a shaky exhale leaving the vocoder as you tried to pick his words carefully, “we’re family.”

“Yes,” you agreed with a gentle smile, “we are.”

“Y-you’re staying...right?”

“Always, Din,” you promised quickly, “always. We were meant to find each other, to be together. I love you more than anything.”

“I love you,” his heart settled a little bit as he spoke the words aloud, reaffirming himself that this was real, “and I want you to be my wife - my riduur.”

“Din...I...” you nodded, your words not needing to be spoken as you both understood loud and clear what you were saying. His hands were firm but gentle on yours as he slowly moved them closer and closer to his cowl and the metal exterior of his ever present helmet, “you don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” he rasped as you tried to keep your lips from trembling, “but I want to. You have never once asked, attempted to look, judged, or made a big deal out of it. If there is anyone in the galaxy that deserves this it’s you. The one I want to spend the rest of my days with. We found each other as hunter and prey, and look where we are now.”

“So different and yet utterly the same.”

“The first time you left,” he swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to collect himself, “I didn’t know what I was doing. I’d never felt such a loss, such an emptiness before. I had to find you. But the second time...it was still hard, but it hurt less. I knew you’d be back, and we would be together again...”

“I felt the same way,” you confessed breathlessly, positive that your heart was about to burst out of your chest at his words, “it was the worst time of my life. Even once I’d accepted that you were gone, I still held onto hope that would we would be together again.”

“And now? I can’t imagine a day without you,” you sighed contentedly as you leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his beskar, “I will follow you to the ends of the galaxy, Mesh’la. You...you and Grogu are everything. You mean more to me than you will ever know.”

“Are you sure about this?” it was a mere whisper off your lips as it hung in the air for a few moments as Din weighed the gravitas of the moment. He inhaled deeply before nodding once. 

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in life than this,” his words were enough to make you melt on the spot as he slowly brought your hands to the side of his helmet. He didn’t remove his own, his large, warm hands covered your own as he slowly, painstakingly slowly, began to push it up. He halted for just one moment before whispered, “together.”

“Together,” you agreed as the helmet started to come up, higher and higher, inch by blissful inch. Out of habit, or instinct, or whatever you wanted to call it, you squeezed your eyes shut, not daring to sneak a peek. Once it was completely lifted from his head and he released your hands to set the helmet along with the rest of his armor. 

“Open your eyes, Mesh’la,” and gods did you almost choke as a strangled sound caught in your throat. His voice was warm and honeyed, that same baritone you’d heard before, but something was different about this. He reached up and touched your cheek, stroking it gently, “it’s okay...”

“Din,” it so damn soft that weren’t even sure that you’d said anything. And then slowly, little but little, you opened your eyes, blinking away the bleariness before finding him. And then you did it was like your heart stopped then and there as your world fell apartment and came back together all at once. 

Din. Din Djarin. Your love. Your soon to be riduur was starting at you with the softest expression you’d ever seen. 

He was a mixture of emotions, nervous, relieved, excited, overwhelmed, scared, happy. 

But then, as you reached up and found his face, studying him astutely, he realized what it was more than anything else. 

Loved. 

He was loved. So loved. And it radiated into every fiber of his being, golden like the sweetest daylight. 

“Hi,” you choked out as your tears welled up in your ears. He was so lovely, even lovelier than your vision made him out to be. Reaching up, you put your hands on either side of his face as you traced over his features, committing each little bit to memory. 

His lips, soft and plush, pulled in a little smile, completed with several days worth of stubble and a mustache that might have look silly on anyone else. His eyes, sweet and dark, crinkled slightly as his smile grew and a dimple of revealed. Those eyes that had seen such beauty and horror, so many things, and yet they still watched you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. 

As you carded a hand through his dark curls, he made a sound of content as you scratched at his scalp. His was utterly beautiful, and while a small part of you wished you’d gotten to see this side of him earlier, you knew this was moment was perfect. 

“Hi,” he repeated as he waited for you to say something...anything else. Judging by your reaction, how still and soft you remained, he knew this was playing out just as it was meant to. 

“That vision had nothing on you,” you beamed at him, warming every part of him as he visibly relaxed, “you are...everything, Din. No matter what you think. “

“May I kiss you?” it was a timid, shy little question as you eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and breathing him in. He smelled as delicious as he always did, warm and musky, a comforting smell that both ensnared you and grounded in the same moment.

“You don’t have to ask,” his hands found your waist as he pulled you close and crashed his lips onto yours. It was proper this, for the first, and hopefully many more to come. His lips chased yours in a gentle manner, although there was a sense of urgency behind his kisses. 

Din pulled you against his body as you smiled against his lips, heart warming as you responded in kind. It wasn’t perfect by any means, a somewhat awkward, messy tangle of tongue and teeth as the two of you started to learn each other, in an entirely new way. But you wouldn’t have changed it any way at all. It was utterly perfect, and you knew then, just as you had before, that you were so in love with him. 

The force might have worked in mysterious ways, but this was destined to be. You knew that wherever the two of you where, whatever happened, your souls would always find their way back to each other. 

“I love you,” you grinned at him when you broke apart for a breath of air, foreheads pressed against each other. 

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” you raised your eyebrows at his words, attempting to figure out what he meant. You knew it  was Mando’a, all of your time spent studying his culture had taught you that much, but it didn’t help with the translation. He laughed lightly at the confused expression, causing your mouth to form a small o. 

“What does that mean?”

“It’s similar to I love you,” he promised, “it more or less means I hold you in my heart forever. More or less I love you.”

“I love it,” you replied with a small grin, “and you. Will you teach me?”

“Teach you what?” he asked you took his hand and started pulling him towards the bed where the little one still slept soundly, completely unawares that two worlds were changing right next to him. 

“Mando’a,” you pulled back to the blankets and pointed at the bed, motioning for him to crawl under them. He was tired, his head spinning, and he was eager to take you up on that offer, “I’d like to learn, to be able to speak it with you...and one day, o-our son.”

“Cassian,” he remember as you nodded, feeling a flush of warmth enter your face at the sheer thought. You switched the light off and padded back over to him, watching as he scooted over to make room for you, leaving Grogu nestled in between the two of you, “are you warm enough?”

“Yes,” you made yourself comfortable, snuggling into the pillows and blankets as his arm found its around your waist, his longer legs tangled with yours, “perfect. I wouldn’t change this for anything.”

“Me neither,” he agreed as he felt his eyes start to get heavy with sleep. This moment was everything; the three of you together as one little family. Which, he now knew, was exactly what you always had been, even when neither of you knew it, “rest now, Mesh’la.”

“You too Din,” you grabbed his hand with yours and laced your fingers together, “promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“That isn’t a dream? This is all real.”

“It’s not a dream,” he reassured you, “this is all very real. And tomorrow we’ll still all be here.”

“Good,” you brought his hand to your lips as you kissed his knuckles, “good. I love you, Din.”

“I love you too, Mesh’la. Now and always.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[stonefreeak]

I am so sorry this has taken me so long. I can’t believe i missed updating in February entirely! Work is busy, and I have moved and am trying to get everything in my apartment put together and it’s just A Lot right now. But I will work hard to not forget to update again!

Shaak Ti walks through the halls of Kamino, projecting the sort of calm she knows she's become known for over the years. In times of upheaval, anxiety, and unrest, being a source of calm and peace is helpful not just for yourself but also to the people around you. She's long since learned to keep a tight leash on her emotional responses.

It's not that she doesn't feel, to suggest such a thing would be ridiculous—she's hardly had the emotional centres of her brain damaged or removed after all—she's merely cautious with how she lets herself express it. If she becomes agitated, if she lashes out, she risks bleeding her own agitation into the Force and affecting other people and beings around her, stoking their agitation. Not to mention that she risks entering a feedback loop with the Force, where she projects her emotions into it, and it sends those emotions back to her causing a spiral into ever deepening loss of emotional control.

As a Force Sensitive being, allowing your emotions to get the better of you means you risk losing control of yourself entirely. Usually that means that people get hurt, and Shaak Ti has no interest in people coming to harm.

She locks her emotions down, catalogues them, acknowledges them, and leaves them for meditation later when she's alone and has the time to properly dissect what she's feeling and why she's feeling it.

A side effect of this is that she has an amazing poker face—none of her fellow council members will play Correllian poker with her anymore—and as she tries to investigate the supposed chips inside the troopers' brains, it more than serves her well.

The people of Kamino have very limited emotional reflection in the Force, it seems to be an inherent trait of their species. That they're also so foreign to her that she still cannot accurately gauge their emotions from their facial expressions—limited as they are—means that she's always in a precarious situation when she speaks with them on sensitive matters. Being able to tell if they're deliberately hiding something from her or if they simply don't know is more than a little bit difficult.

But if Master Kenobi is correct, then they are deliberately hiding something from them all. Something that Former Chancellor Palpatine likely knows about, was told about, but which they haven't shared with Master Kenobi despite him being the new Chancellor.

She doesn't like the sound of that, the idea that they wouldn't speak about it with any Supreme Chancellor, but rather only Palpatine. It gives her a bad feeling, and she wonders if, perhaps, the Former Chancellor is corrupt in a way they have yet to discover? She's been told by the rest of the Council that he's been found guilty of some milder charges—as far as any corruption charges are mild—but perhaps there's more to the whole thing. Perhaps there are things that the investigation couldn't find, because all evidence of it existed only in Kamino's data systems, far beyond the reach of the investigative team.

When Master Kenobi had first brought it up, she had agreed despite her own scepticism—she is not one for dismissing possible dangers off-hand, after all. With how things have developed... Well, she's starting to believe that he was on to something, even though her own research so far has not yielded much results.

Of course she realises that if the Kaminoans wish to hide these chips from them, her access codes would not give her access to anything that is related to the chips. But she had to look into it through official and open—to her—channels first. There is no good reason to treat people as untrustworthy criminals when you have not even the smallest bit of proof that they are that. She had originally planned to simply ask the Kaminoans about the chips, but once she was about to, a sudden feeling of unease swept over her, and she held her tongue.

But her general research has failed, and now she's facing a very difficult choice: either she asks the Kaminoans directly regarding the chips thus tipping them off to the fact that she knows about their existence in the first place, thus risking them looking more closely at her actions following said discussion, or she tries to conduct covert and far from legal entrance into their systems before she so much as ask them about it.

She pauses and realises that she's made an error in judgement. While it's true that the Kaminoans would keep a closer eye on her if she were to bring any of her concerns up to them... They are unlikely to believe she would trust any trooper.

Of course, if the chips exist at all, then the problem comes in the form of what the chips do. She has never sensed any sort of duplicity or danger from any of the clones she's ever trained or interacted with. They are good and loyal men, men who deserve more life than what the Republic is willing to give them due to their status as clones, so she does not fear trusting them.

The question is... Who should she ask?

There is sure to be capable and subtle troopers among those stationed here. All her men are capable of course, though not all of them are subtle.

She needs to find a trooper who can be trusted to work covertly, but also without being detected. They also need to be without pride, because if they get caught, they need to allow her to run interference in any way she can, and trust her to be doing so for their sake.

Perhaps she should lay a false trail, express worry about information leaks, and ask the Kaminoans regarding their security. Vaguely, not pressing for any details of course. However, just as with doing any clandestine breaking and entering the secure data centres of Kamino herself, she is too noticeable a figure. She cannot blend in or hide herself away, and if she asks too many questions, she risks making them suspicious.

If the Kaminoans are hiding something from the Jedi and the Chancellor—possible because the new chancellor is a Jedi—then she cannot tip them off to the fact that they are suspicious. That they are trying to investigate.

She would like to walk into this potential fire first, ahead of her men, as the Jedi do... But in this particular instance, she is quite certain that her presence at the metaphorical front would do more harm than good. She will need to send a trooper in her stead, and put her hope in their skills and strength.

She'll look into it, there are sure to be some who stand out as appropriate choices. Some who will be willing to help her with her covert mission. The clones have no love for the Kaminoans, as far as she knows, even though they seem to consider Kamino their home world. As far as she's been able to ascertain, their loyalty is with the Jedi and the Republic—even though the Republic has never given them anything, and the Jedi has never been able to give them anything except a clear command structure and the occasional meditation help and teachings about the Force.

Perhaps once this war is over, the clone troopers who still live can finally be given personhood and a place to live and stay. Perhaps when they're all finally free from this terrible war, her men can be allowed to flourish in any which way they want.

Not just on the battlefield.

For now she'll speak with the Council again. She cannot tell them openly, just in case the Kaminoans keep some sort of watch on their communication channels, set up to trigger on specific keywords. If they do, then they may already know that she is looking, so all the more important to not let them know any of what she's planning. But while she cannot speak plainly, she can speak in the kind of code that will have the Council send out a fleet to Kamino under some sort of pretence, and through that, she can send back a coded flimsi message containing any and all information she's found until then. Whichever trooper she finds for this mission will have to go with the fleet, and perhaps that will be the safest way for them all.

The Council will be able to request the trooper's aid far away from Kamino and the Kaminoans, and without any risk of them overhearing it. The Temple, at least, is safe enough that jammers alone will keep the information safe.

If she were to use any here, it would most likely make anyone looking to overhear her conversations suspicious.

The last thing they want is anyone trying to hide away the evidence.

They cannot afford any mistakes. It's too dangerous for that.

She lowers herself to her knees and places her hands gently in her lap, focusing on her breathing as she wraps the Force around her.

She will meditate on her next step before she makes any move at all. It wouldn't do to move too quickly and make a mistake.

—

(Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi masterpost)

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hey. I'm INFJ. I want to ask about relationship problems. The relationship in question is between my ESTJ mother and I. Generally, I would describe our relationship as close and loving, but there is a conflict, and that came from our opposite ideology and political beliefs.

I want to say before continuing that we are neither American or European, so our ideology and politics shouldn't be understood from the "western" side of things, though to simplify by comparison, my views could be described as leftist and my mother's as conservative. I should also add that I used to hold her worldview when I was younger, but changed once I was old enough to form an opinion of my own. This caused my mother to imply many times in our discussions that I am "brainwashed" and dismiss me as "too young" and "too ideological". I should add that the latter (ideological) is a valid criticism. Still working on that.

Otherwise, I often tried to persuade, then later find middle ground with her, to no avail. We ended up arguing many times, until we decided to not talk politics with each other anymore. So, what's the problem, you might ask.

Recently, the political climate in my country got intense. Heated, even. I won't go into details, but there are protests again the government by young liberals/leftists-equivalent of my country. Many of my good acquaintances joined the protest. The government used police force against them, and it got violent. There are young unarmed protestors who were teargassed, beaten, and shot with rubber bullets and high velocity water jets. Some protestors were heavily injured. Some protestors were arrested and incarcerated in horrible conditions. My mother and I agreed to not speak about politics, so I said nothing.

Until my mother, right infront of me, with another family member, openly mocked the protestors, made judgments about them based on the goverment's propaganda, called them a nuisance, and implied that they "deserved it". It's not about her discussing it, but it's about how unempathetic she was when she said those things, towards those young people my age, with similar ideology to me, and how apathetic she was when she said that "nothing's going to change anyway". It was the first time that I saw my mother in that angle, the complete lack of humanity in her words. It still haunts me until now.

So my question to you is, how does one deal with that? I love my mother, I think I always will. I also know that she loves me, or at least the part of me that's still her child. But for a moment, I loved her less, and that frightened me. I began to wonder, what would happen one day if we have to actually take sides, because things are getting worse in my country, not better. This adds to other issues I have in my life and made me more depressed. A part of me tells me that I should tell her about how I feel, but how do you tell someone you love that they're one of the reasons for your sadness?

I'm sorry if this is stupid. I'm sure that this feeling I have is one-sided, and I wonder if I'm being selfish or ungrateful. Maybe it's because I'm too sensitive these days, so I thought if I have an outside neutral opinion, it will help illuminate my clouded mind. Thank you. I hope you had a good summer break!

------------------------

The sentence that sticks out at me the most is: "It was the first time that I saw my mother in that angle, the complete lack of humanity in her words." I would argue that the problem doesn't lie with her. In fact, nothing about your mother had changed. She was still the same woman as before she uttered those words. The issue arises from your perception of her and the standards by which you evaluate her.

I follow world affairs very closely, so I think I know which region you are speaking of. One of the biggest problems in the manner that people think and talk about politics is the tendency to stereotype. Stereotyping is basically a form of cognitive oversimplification. It makes your thinking ability fast but also very dull and blunt, unable to understand situations with the nuance and sophistication that is required for good judgment and decision making.

It doesn't matter which country/culture you are from, there is always some variation of "right versus left". Why? Because in every society, there will always exist an underlying tension between those who don't want change and those who do. You may label these two opposing forces as right vs left, conservative vs liberal, regressive vs progressive, etc, but the fact of the matter is that these labels are gross oversimplifications of people's political belief systems.

When you divide people along an oversimplified dichotomy, it's too easy to stereotype them, in terms of believing that all people on each "side" hold all the same beliefs and values. Stereotyping goes along with the natural tendency of humans to be tribal. You start to view those on your side as being intellectually and morally superior to those on the other side. This leads to dehumanization and even demonization of the other side. In essence, you lose the ability to empathize with people, as long as you believe that they aren't on your side or the "right" side.

It seems that your political thinking has become too stark due to how extreme the situation has become. You have the feeling of fighting for your life because of the way that the situation has been handled by authorities, as they are indeed putting people's lives in danger. Your feelings about the situation are completely valid. But you fail to recognize that your mom's feelings about the situation are also valid. Certainly, there are hard-core fundamentalists and extremists out there that you can never reach because their beliefs and values are not based in any form of reason. However, I don't think your mom fits into that category, does she?

Do you know what it means to have no humanity? You are accusing her of something like psychopathy. Is that really true of her? I don't think so. She said: "nothing's going to change anyway". I don't consider this an expression of "apathy", as you assume. This is an expression of hopelessness. In that sentence, there is a real possibility that your mom is sympathetic at heart, but she disagrees that the chaotic actions of the protestors (i.e. the method) will lead to any meaningful change... and she may be absolutely right about that.

You haven't grasped the nuances of your mom's beliefs and values because your mindset has been so hardened by the extreme nature of the political conflict. This means that, when you engage in political discussion with her, you are unable to: 1) acknowledge how she feels, 2) acknowledge that there is some reason/merit/validity behind her beliefs, and 3) be open-minded enough to meet her halfway.

Put another way: If you met someone who wouldn't acknowledge your feelings as valid, dismissed all of your beliefs and values as completely wrong without proper investigation, and only sought to "convert" you, would you want to communicate with them? Probably not. This is the unproductive attitude that you now both bring to the table. This is the divisive attitude that arises when a conflict becomes too polarized and everyone is forced to "choose a side".

Unless one of you learns to listen and communicate more effectively, what will change? You say that you have tried to find middle ground with her but always end up arguing. Not finding middle ground is one thing, but getting caught up in interpersonal drama is a whole other thing. The option to amicably agree to disagree is always available. If you genuinely respect someone and respect their freedom to form their own beliefs, it shouldn't be hard to agree to disagree. Why do you find it so difficult to let her be her? Ultimately, you're not really interested in "middle ground"? You just want her agreement? Getting caught up in arguments all the time, especially on a recurring basis, indicates poor communication skills that stem from a troubling lack of objectivity. The more you argue with the intent to shame/change the other person, the more you push them away from your side, and the more myopic you get in your own beliefs.

You seem to have fallen into the trap of categorizing her into the tribe that you view as the enemy of your tribe, namely, the authorities that are cracking down on you young protestors. You've started to view her as the enemy, now you can't empathize with her, and even accuse her of having no humanity. You now consider yourself morally superior to her. If there is any possibility that she could be your ally, you've slammed the door on it.

You describe a very dire and desperate political situation that affects everyone, BUT, it doesn't affect everyone the same way. Different people have very different ways of dealing with intense emotions like fear, insecurity, grief, despair, helplessness, etc. Due to inferior Fi, ESTJs have extremely low tolerance for intense and uncontrollable emotions. Remember that one's ability to utilize the inferior function is not much better than a young child. If ESTJs can't neutralize or deflect their sense of powerlessness quickly, the burden of the emotions will quickly destroy them. I don't think you've really understood the thought process behind your mom's words and what is really motivating her "apathy".

Just because someone doesn't agree with your methods, doesn't mean that they don't have anything in common with you. Politics isn't just about good vs evil, as in, if you don't stand up for good, then you are evil. Everyone has their own way of looking at the situation because everyone has their own interests to take care of first and foremost, and everyone has their own ideas about the best methods to pursue. This is true for both you and your mom. It is possible to agree on beliefs but disagree on methods. For example, I'm assuming that you care about this cause so deeply because you care about your future. Sure, your ideas about the future differ from hers. But, certainly, you are both interested in securing your future, aren't you?

History has shown us that young people are always more willing to fight for causes because: 1) they would suffer less immediate material loss than the elder generation, 2) they have fewer life responsibilities, obligations, and commitments to take into consideration, and 3) their lack of life experience sometimes makes their thinking too simplistic when visualizing future implications.

Your interests aren't fully aligned with your mom's in this situation, perhaps because you are from different generations. However, this doesn't mean that your interests don't align in other important ways. At the end of the day, your mom is probably deathly afraid of seeing YOU on the news being beaten to a pulp and disappeared by the police, right? And it may be the case that she's passing harsh judgment on the protestors because she's trying to discourage you from meeting their horrible fate? That's hardly lack of humanity.

To be a good critical thinker, you need to learn to be more objective. Objectivity means understanding all aspects of the situation, or as many as you can manage. Objectivity and empathy often go hand-in-hand. You won't be able to empathize well unless you acknowledge that there might be some aspects of the situation that you're not seeing or understanding. When you take more time to get to the bottom of someone's thought process and why they really feel the way they do, you will discover all sorts of openings to influence their political beliefs in a friendly way. But when you can't even acknowledge that the other side might have an important point to be made, because you are so hardened in your stance, you've created a dead end for yourself.