#if I want to maintain some semblance of functionality that day

[canisalbus]

I read the entire "novella" novel and I cried at the Canon ending, but I was really happy at the modern coda ending:))

10/10.

.

[irulaan]

OPEN WOUND | CARMEN BERZATTO

— He understand the sacrifices he has to do in order to see you smile, to not disappoint you — as he has done so many times even when you don’t say. He understands those sacrifices sometimes came labeled as family gatherings.

✧ PAIRING. carmy berzatto x fem!reader

✧ WORD COUNT. 3.6k

✧ WARNINGS. anxiety and u know all of carmy’s troubles. a loving family. mommy issues/parents issues/family issues, all the issues? i just watched like 3 episodes? so ooc carmy maybe? i don’t know… kinda corny too oops. no use of y/n. english isn’t my first language, expect mistakes.

Carmy was afraid of abruptly colliding with an imaginary wall, so he stays away. He knows pain, so if he can avoid it — hell, he would.

“I don’t really know about this,” He appears in your field of view, wearing his usual clothes and a familiar concerned expression — this shouldn’t be nearly as stressful as his days inside The Beef.

You instinctively approach him, mirroring his expression. “What’s wrong? Something happened?”

He’s taken aback by your question, but he quickly understands what you mean. “Oh, no, everything it’s fine, I promise… It’s not about nor has something to do with the beef.”

And he’s naturally lying; all his current worries have their foundations in the beef or what was left of it. He’s damaged far beyond that, but you’ve learned how to read him, when to inquire, and when to remain silent.

It clicks for you when you see he’s struggling to find the words; he’s trying to devise an excuse without hurting you. You feel foolish for a moment; of course, family reunions would affect him like this.

You reach for his hand, and then his arm when he avoids your gaze, “I can tell them we’re not going if you don’t feel sure about it,” You offer, and you can almost hear how the conversation unfolds inside his head, how his engines try to maintain a semblance of calm. “I was nervous too when I got to meet your chefs…”

“It’s different,” He deadpans, and you smile, resting your hand on his shoulder, trying not to appear too concerned by playing with a single curl of his rather messy hair.

He looks at you when you let slip out a nervous laugh. “How so? You call your meetings’ family’; that says a lot.”

There’s a beat of silence, and he withdraws from your touch. “But it is not quite real… and it’s still non-functional.”

“What are you afraid of, Carmy?” You stand there, feeling your stomach drops by seeing him like this over something that feels so different for you. “My family’s going to love you, I’m sure.”

He shook his head, his face already getting that characteristic light red tint.

“Making a bad impression? They’ll realize you’re wasting your time” His beautiful eyes refused to stare at you in such moments. He’s afraid someday, somehow, you’ll unleash your anger on him because he’s just a depressed, over-thinker, anxious guy. “I know how family meetings work… It will be a mess—I won’t be able to go through it…”

“What—what do you mean? Wasting my time?” Your incredibly soft voice so understanding, as if you’re deeply connected to his mind. It’s the only explanation he can think of.

He’s convinced he’s a waste of time, even now, yet you’re not getting upset; you’re not attempting to hurl accusations at him. Granted, you’ve never done that, and Carmen doesn’t truly believe you’re capable of it… but that’s how his wounded mind works.

Carmen doesn’t provide an answer, so you try to press on to reassure him. “Carmy, you’re not wasting my time—“

He looks at you amid your sentence and suddenly comprehends there are some sacrifices he’s willing to make for you. “Fuck—okay, let’s go.”

“Carmy, I’m not—“You’re visibly confused; he doesn’t seem to mind as he takes your hand.

“Please, I’m going to lose this impulse… just— I’m trying my best,”

A vast, relieved smile covers your face, and Carmen feels he’s gazing directly at the sun — and he loves it.

You cradle his face in your hands, gently making him meet your gaze.

“If you want to leave at any time, please tell me?” There’s a shy nod, and you realize it’s a futile question to ask. But you accept it.

“I love you, Carmy,” You promise, planting a gentle peck on his cheek before heading outside.

Your older sister obviously is the one who had to open the door, her and her extrovert energy, her weird-looking eyes, and her funny hairstyles. “There she is! My baby sister,” She usually crushes your bones under her sheer strength, and after it comes a shower of kisses. “Oh, god, I have missed you so much.”

And it’s good to see her this energetic and lovingly — you don’t want to cross her path when she’s pissed… and that’s her, the majority of the time.

She doesn’t understand personal space, so she doesn’t respect it. Your older sister doesn’t hesitate to give Carmy the same kind of hug. “And there you are! I’m Margot!” She exclaims, introducing herself and giving him a loud kiss on the cheek. Carmen only manages to whisper his name… “Mom, did you know that our baby sister’s boyfriend is the best chef in the world?” She shouts, ensuring everyone in the house hears her.

You gulp, and almost get whiplash from how fast your eyes look for his. He doesn’t seem comfortable at all; he’s stiff and fidgety, moving his fingers as if searching for something to hold. You offer your hand, and he wastes no time intertwining his fingers with yours.

As you step into the house, your sister closes the door and disappears into the kitchen, where you can hear your mom lightly scolding her. “Mags! You’re making him uncomfortable,” Then you’re greeted by her warm features and a soft smile that’s so similar to yours. She doesn’t even glance at you—her attention is fixed on your anxious boyfriend. “I’m sorry, child, she’s a bit like that,” she apologizes.

Carmy is enveloped in an endearing hug, the kind your mother or grandmother can only master. He suddenly wants to weep. How’s it that he didn’t deserve that warmth from his own mother?

It doesn’t last long, though. She soon wraps her arms around you, embracing you as tightly as your sister, and whispers how much she loves you. It’s characteristic of her—she’s unafraid to show her emotions.

And that’s all Carmen ever longed for.

“Where’s dad?”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “That old man forgot something… you know how he is,” she replies.”

And then, for Carmen’s well-being, another whirlwind approaches. He needs a breath of fresh air before whoever is descending the stairs arrives, ready to offer more hugs and love.

It’s your brother-in-law. Carmy’s lucky this man isn’t affectionate at all. “You’re earlier, bug,” he remarks, giving you a dry pat on the head, tousling your hair slightly. “Love, how did your baby sister do this?”

“Maybe it’s her boyfriend!” You heard Mag’s loud chuckle from the kitchen.

“Thank you, Carmen, for turning her into a punctual person, for god’s sake!” They shake hands. You observe your brother-in-law nearly stifling his inclination to crack a joke or be downright abrasive. He pledged to Margot that he’d be friendly… “It must be because you’re a chef; you can’t afford to be late, right?”

Carmy suddenly becomes hyperaware of his surroundings—the quiet conversation on TV, your mother and sister laughing in the kitchen, the distant voices of kids upstairs, his sweaty palms… and the broad smile on the man before him… expecting him to say something? God, he feels like a complete freak… “Yeah, th—that’s right”.

Did you fucking stutter?

You quickly notice his unease and almost drag him away from the man. “Mom, do you need help?”

“Baby? Your nieces are upstairs! Get them, please?”

After a sigh, you look at Carmen, who is already staring at you. He can clearly see how excited you are — how can you not be? When everyone loves you so much, and they show you? Even him right now, when he’s overwhelmed, he only can think about how much he loves you. “You want to stay here?”

He can’t; he’s going to have a panic attack. He’s overwhelmed by racing thoughts, the cacophony of sounds disrupting his thinking, and his heart rate threatening to skyrocket. He’s one sentence, one laugh, one scream away from losing connection with you. If he can’t step outside to breathe fresh air, he’ll cause a scene in your parent’s house. “I need to go out; it’s too much—“

“—I’m sorry, let’s go outside,” You almost drag him outside under the concerned stare of your sister.

When the cold air floods his senses, he can finally breathe properly. His fingers work on autopilot, seeking and reaching for a cigarette. He sits down on the old bench, you remained on your feet by his side.

It’s a whole scene you’re familiar with. Only lacking Tina and Richie’s loud screaming.

In moments like this, you know better than to exacerbate his unease with words and questions… he has learned to calm himself by his own means, and you respect that.

Once the cigarette is thrown away, you eventually become a part of his surroundings again. Carmy snakes his arms around your waist, pushing his head against your belly.

Your sweet smell comforts him. He inhales deeply when you card your fingers through his hair.

“You want to go home?” You ask, planting a kiss just above his hairline.

He begrudgingly distance himself from you. “Not really, it’s just—everybody loves each other?”

You pause momentarily, your gaze shifting from the bustling room to Carmen beside you. “I’m sorry about my sister and her husband, they have been like that since ever, and I understand if you feel bad; they mean no harm, tho” You completely miss the point.

Carmen looks at you — behind his eyes, a mixture of fear and frustration. “It’s not that, I couldn’t care less about it! It’s like I have—I have this fear—I’m not good at social interactions, I try my best—but did you see, heard? I fucking stutter! I—“

You try to comfort him through physical touch — laying your hand on his arm to ground him in the present. “You’re nervous; it’s expected, Carmy…”

He pressed his lips into a line. But you continue, “I’m or was as socially awkward as you are. Believe me when I say they’re used to odd phrases, stuttering, awkward silences, and silly laughs to avoid a question.”

“But they love you… it’s different,” He emphasizes. Carmen’s gaze remains somewhere else, his fingers fidgeting slightly.

“They love you too, and before you say anything, it’s simply because you make me happy, god! Carmy! They always tease me when I speak about you because I’m so in love with you because there’s always a smile on my face. And do you know how long they’ve waited for a huge smile from me? Years. And you know why, so yes, of course, they love you,”

He lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t really know what to say — I’m sorry, just my head messed up with me…”

A tender smile lights your face. “I know, Carmy, and I’m glad you can recognize when your mind is just playing games… you’ve come far,” you reassure him with a gentle smile. “And I won’t be pissed or angry about your insecurities or worries, but I understand if you’re waiting for me to almost kill you for it… It sucks, sure, but I understand. I’ve felt like that”.

Carmen’s gaze finally meets yours; he’s being so vulnerable right now that you only want to cuddle him, hoping all his insecurities vanish under the morning sun.

“Should we go inside? I don’t really want to worry your mother or sister,”

“If you want. If you need more time, we can stay here a bit longer,”

His voice is quieter when he finally speaks, a hint of relief lacing his words. “I’m better.” The tension in his body seems to ease slightly as he takes a deep breath, his expression slowly relaxing — he’s trying his best.

The soft sound of cutlery clinking against the dishes, the low individual conversations, the baby’s blabbing, and the dim lights on the dinning room shapes a homely ambience.

“You need to see her in action! She’s always been the best cook of the family, you know, Carmy?” Your sister interjects as her eyes light up with nostalgia.

That catches Carmy’s attention. He’s staring at you with genuine curiosity. So, stereotypically, your mom gets up in search of something. “Oh, you have to see her photos!” She chuckles, scavenging for the photo album. “She was so stubborn, wanting to make her own food for her or anyone’s birthdays, always looking for new recipes, she has done the craziest stuff!”

While your mother shows Carmy all your embarrassing childhood pictures, your brother-in-law can’t contain himself, he has to make a joke, and his playful grin gives him away. “I’m glad you’re a chef; she’s not at good as her parents want her to be.”

And your mother frowns, feigning annoyance, as Margot gives him a subtle punch.

“Because you suck at it, child,” Your father quips at him. “She’s good, right? Carmy”

Carmy considers for a moment, his gaze shifting from one sibling to another — he can mess up things if he doesn’t pick the right words. “Objectively, she’s quite decent. Some of her pastries are better than mine.”

You had plastered a lovesick grin on your flushed face. “I was born gifted, you see,”

He relishes in your soft giggles.

Your sister chuckles at the little scene your both doing, sharing a knowing look with your mother. “She was in diapers, building mud cakes outside, in the front yard…” Her stare lingers on you for a bit. “Do you remember, mom?”

Your mother nods, a fond smile on her lips. “Of course I do! Both of you treated your sister like she was a toy,” She teases her children. “Look at this, Carmen, she had been everything by the age of four.”

She finds her favorite picture of you, a huge smile paired with a set of eyes mimicking two big stars. “You were so cute.”

Your cheeks flush at his candid compliment, grateful for the levity that’s now enveloped the conversation. The shared stories and gentle teasing ease the tension, allowing Carmy to glimpse the playful dynamics of your family. He’s relaxing, finally starting to feel comfortable being around so many people that expected a lot from him.

Staring at each other, you both smile. And you don’t miss the dreamy sigh from your sister. You decided to give him a faint peck on his lips — earning a few ‘yuck’s and ‘wow’s from the kids.

“Okay, lovebirds!” Your brother said, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance — but Carmen can’t read him at all.

Not wanting him to sour the moment, your sister fights him back, “Why’s your girlfriend not here, uh?” You feel Carmy tense beside you as his hand flies to your thigh. To ground himself, to brace his rushing thoughts.

He’s expecting confrontation.

Your brother only frowns, “Funny,”

And Carmen’s so stiff, he could break if you push him. By means to help him, you whisper into his ear. “She didn’t come because Mag told her she was a milquetoast” He looked at you sideways with a confused expression. “Was recently, tho, she’ll be fine.”

Your brother shrugged and seemed to be worked up about something your sister said, but you couldn’t catch it. “Stop treating my girlfriends like they’re your friends! That’s what happens.”

Margot would rather die than not have the last word; she was provoked. “Stop bringing girls that can’t take a joke!” You could hear a few choked sounds as they tried to repress a laugh. “They’re just bland as you…”

But that was enough for your dear mother, “Margot! Stop mocking your brother, you’re acting like teenagers again!”

“I think it is the midlife crisis…” Said your brother-in-law.

Your sister laughs theatrically, bending his neck to throw her head back. Just to come back and stare directly at your brother with a big smile. “Something we have in common!”

“Carmen, dear, you want more?” Your mother whispered to him, trying to keep the conversation for the both of them only.

She understands he is fairly timid and awkward.

He smiles at her, into her wrinkled eyes that carry a joyful gaze, at her delicate and low voice tone. “Oh, no, I’m fine, thank you—thank you… I—uh, it was fine” He feels like he’s making that weird face, and your mother’s smile grows. And before continuing, he runs a hand over his face and his already messy curls, “Sorry—it was great, I don’t have this type of homemade meal often.”

She nods, glad he doesn’t lie or coat her in praises. It’s nothing out of the world but has other qualities; it tastes like childhood, like home, like your best day under the sun. It tastes mundane and, at the same time, magical. And he can’t wait to be a recurring guest…

“I’m delighted you liked it. She should prepare meals like this more often for you… because I’m sure, she’s always eating like a princess.”

Carmy nods, feeling his cheeks flush under your mother’s discerning gaze, particularly as they discuss you. “She is. I care about her”.

Your mother places a reassuring hand on his, her encouraging smile not going unnoticed, “It shows, Carmy,” He feels on the verge of tears again. Hearing that he’s doing well is a rarity; he only ever hears it from you. While it’s enough, he wishes his family did the same. “You’re a great guy.”

A knot tightens in his throat, and all he can manage to mumble without breaking is a quiet: “Thanks—“, He won’t fight your mother’s words.

“You should come over for the holidays�� we spend a week on the coast. My parents had a great house there, and it’s lovely,” breaks in your father, “Everyone would love to see both of you there…”

Everyone is nodding, excitement filling the air. You probably had the best memories in that beach house. But Carmy’s eyes are glued on the table, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the back of your hand.

As the invitations hang in the air, an uneasy tension settles between you both — shouldn’t you respond to that should you?

The weight of the offer, the promise of belonging, and the haunting fear of judgment gnaw at his thoughts. And he’s spiraling again.

Your mother, in hopes of comforting him, takes his hand. “Oh, yeah, child, we’re a bit messy but nothing too bad… you’ll like it,” She’s nonchalant about it; she doesn’t want to pressure him. But the oldest of her daughters had to interrupt her. “—Baby sister loves it! You’re going to love it there too.”

Carmy smiled and gave them a quick nod. Your father makes an “ok” with his hand, and your lovely boyfriend stops being under the spotlight.

In the car back home, under the low-volume radio, he sighs, his voice tinged with resignation. “I wish I could just… step into your world without feeling like I’m going to mess it all up”. His words carry the weight of his insecurities, the years of feeling out of place and never fitting in.

You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently, your silent support a comforting gesture amidst his internal turmoil. “Carmy, they want you there because of who you are, not who you think you should be.”

His eyes leave the way for a second to meet yours. You catch a mixture of yearning and gloom reflected in them. “I know, but… what if I can’t be what they want me to be?”

The ache in your chest matches the one in his voice. You can hear how he’s fighting within himself, the desire to be loved and accepted warring against his self-doubt. He was raised to feel like that. “Carmy, you don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to be perfect. They’ll accept you for who you are, flaws and all. I mean — they invited you over. They don’t do that often. My mother loved you!” It sounds a bit more gleeful than you expected. All because you’re excited he’s welcomed into the family.

He lets out a bitter chuckle, his shoulders slumping. “You say that, but it’s not that simple for me.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, erasing your smile. And he regrets them the instant you recoil in your seat, even though it’s an unconscious action.

A second passes, and for him, it’s like minutes are splitting you, carrying you away from him. He doesn’t know what to say; he’s resigned, waiting for the consequences.

Again, it was a nasty point of view from his mind. You reposition yourself on the seat before speaking. “Carmy, we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve seen each other changing and for good. And I’ve always been there for you, if you still need space, time… it’s fine. We’ll find a way out, yes?”

He parks the car, and then his eyes search for yours. He longs to be better, to know better. For him, the restaurant, his family—for Sugar, for you.

“I don’t think I deserve you.”

A sad smile touches your lips. “Just because you’re going through a hard time doesn’t mean you’re less worthy. I loved you in New York, and I love you like this. Your past and present emotions and thoughts don’t get a say in what you deserve or not, especially when we’re talking about nice things.”

“But I’m—“

“—Carmy! You won’t make me change my opinion” Your tone is softer than severe — you’ll never be severe.

And he’ll never be unloved.

“Did you realize you didn’t bring the pepto?”

a/n: Shitty ending, I KNOW I’m sorry… If I keep writing, I am going to end nowhere, so it has to end like this JDKKW. Hope you enjoyed <3. Reblogs/comments/likes are very appreciated <3

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[palmviolet]

for the ask game: 11, 13, 18, 22. lol sorry this is many but i want to know!

ooh don't apologise i love these (despite how long it took me to answer this... sorry about that)

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

interesting question. the thing is with fanfic that i actually don't really edit... quick proofread, maybe a sentence or two added but rarely deleted, and any corrections from my lovely beta @shdwsilk, but i don't tend to murder my darlings alas. original fiction is an entirely different matter. editing process is ruthless, but each time i begin a new draft it's a whole new document (even if just duplicated) so i always have my darlings safe in a prior version. and yes, i grieve. such good stuff relegated to the graveyard

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

in terms of what's difficult, i've honestly always found it hard to write about things close to my own life, even the most mundane things like going to tesco, getting on the tube. i guess its authenticity reads as somehow uncanny to me, feels performative and too false. that goes for people in my life as well — i try not to consciously base characters on people i know, but if i do find myself doing it, i immediately feel like the writing is somehow cheap and pretentious and otherwise just not very good. which is very much the opposite of 'write what you know.'

and then the flipside, it comes very naturally to me to write about america and american culture, despite not being american in the slightest. i just seem to like my own writing more when it's further away from my own experience, even if the feelings in the work are my own. but i think this is probably a mental block more than anything else.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

this is the reason it took me so long to answer lol there's too many to choose from. i was tempted to go for one of my PB fics, since that's the interest we have in common, but my TD stuff is much fresher in my head, so here:

Rust doesn’t dignify that with a response. He lights another cigarette — number eleven out of twenty, all smoked in the vicinity of the last hour and a half — and taps out laboriously a reply to Laurie’s text. Cowboy hats. Number keys as letters: what he actually writes, in the physical sense, is 222666922666999 44287777. There’s no function for a question mark. Everything delivered assertive, strident, grammarless, a speech-act. A fact already in motion. And her immediate response: 733777333332228 627778999 222266 4338 844336. Or, perfect marty can get them.

this is from chapter four of out of time man. it's set in 2000, and i knew there'd have to be a text conversation at some point, which got me thinking about the mechanics of texting back in the day and how annoying it was, and how that disconnect between action of typing and sense that comes out (signifier and signified...) maps onto rust's larger deal about body vs. self ('sentient meat'), which is specifically relevant to his relationship with laurie, in which he's very much just going through the motions because he believes that's all he needs to do to maintain the semblance of a healthy life.

and this is mirrored in the text here: 'a fact already in motion.' his belief in the inevitability of his biology translates into the primacy of the physical act of typing, which supercedes its sense or personal, grammatical inflection.

there's also a level of irony here that i couldn't help but imbue, reflecting the series' own wry humour: rust here is being predictably existential and dramatic about the notion of wearing cowboy hats to a costume party. which in itself goes to the heart of what i'm doing with this fic, which is exploring the notion of masculinity as a performance through the arena it's made most explicit — gay rodeo. to dress up as a cowboy invokes america's frontier colonial past, invokes rural masculinity and the violence of the movie gunslinger (himself related to the detective archetype), the death drive as represented by the rodeo — and all of that a costume, a performance of something hollow at the heart of american culture. to transmit this through the code of a phone keyboard only heightens its camp ridiculousness.

anyway. all this to say i'm having a lot of fun with this one. this paragraph did require me a) double checking how many cigarettes are in a pack of camel blues and b) looking up the old phone keyboards to make the numbers accurate. but my favourite paragraphs are the ones that take half an hour of thought and research ahaha

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

....not very lol. all the writing proper is on google docs, original fiction on one account and fic on another, and i tend to do all my planning just... in the bottom of the same document? which gets annoying and means i don't know what the actual word count is but. idk. i also jot ideas in my notes app if i'm on the move. as for actual research, i keep my notes in word. for some reason. why do i do this. idk.

i've also become extra disorganised with TD because i don't even keep each fic in separate documents anymore, mainly because each of them has begun with a scattered snippet and slowly grown legs over time, while i'm working on about five different ones at once. hence it's impossible to find anything. again, why. who knows.

thank you so much for the asks! i had a lot of fun answering these, sorry it took me so long lol

[camgirlsurvivalguide]

Get Off Your Ass and Start Shaking It

Tough love for creators who need a push

I need to get my head out of my ass and start believing in myself again, so I’m writing this for myself - but sharing it for anyone who might benefit from seeing it. Enjoy a little slap from yours truly - free of charge. 

1. Accept that you’re starting from “scratch”.

The internet is different now. Sex work is different now. If you’re an OG, it’s important to recognize that burnout isn’t just OnlyFans burnout - it’s industry burnout. We didn’t get a chance to catch our breath between having had ManyVids and MFC and then OnlyFans and now the biggest bitch of them all, visibility on social media. Our tweets used to show up and now they don’t. Our followers used to see us on Instagram, and now they don’t. We can cry about this all we like (and I do so frequently because it’s more healthy than just bottling it all up), but tears won’t pay the bills, baby. Time to pull up your socks and get moving. 

2. Do your best not to overthink it.

There are a million and one theories on how to do things “right”, when in reality, sometimes a single Reel about absolutely nothing with zero effort involved will hit the algorithm and pop the fuck off. Strategizing can be good, but staying up to date with the theories surrounding advertising should be inspiring, not crippling. We’re doing away with creation paralysis. Brush yourself off, and focus on making content to the best of your ability. Who cares if it’s only selfies and low effort shit for now? People will pay for pretty much anything, and if you have any semblance of a following, they want to see what you put out even if it’s not “to your standards”.

3. Switch up your routine.

This sounds brutal because it is, but this is what I’ve been doing as of late: and it’s helping. You’ll come up with justifiable reasons why this may not be right for you - but ask yourself if what you’re doing right now is right for you. Are you achieving what you want to achieve with the routine you have? Do you even have a routine? This is tough love, but it’s meant to be a realistic look at where you’re at, followed by support to get you to where you want to be. 

A month ago I started plugging my phone in across the room and setting an alarm for 5:30am. I have to physically get up to turn it off. It’s a brutal way of waking up (even though the alarm I have is all peaceful and cute, but still) - but it gets me up. I have my robe and slippers waiting for me, and I do not allow myself to get back into bed. I do my best work in the morning after coffee and before my first meal of the day. I’m not saying you need to work with this timeline, but if you’re a sleep-until-nooner, set your alarm for 10am. If you’re a work-later-on, set an alarm for when you need to start work - and then get your ass up. It’s hard to build a routine but much easier to maintain it once the habits are in place, so have a little faith in yourself. I don’t care how many times I’ve started, hit the ground running, and then crashed and burned, because guess what happened while I was running? I made money. Focus more on the positives of when you are functional, rather than moaning about the times when you’re not. If you’re in this industry it means you have, at some point or another, made it work for you. You can do it again. 

I get out of bed at 5:30am, rinse off in the shower, make my coffee and do a beauty routine that makes me feel really fucking pretty. Sure, messy hair and an instagram filter can do just fine, and again - any content is better than no content - but I feel my best after dry brushing my skin (hello cellulite and the obvious signs of ageing, lol) and then applying a really nice smelling lotion all over my body. I have been listening to Ariana Grande instead of my usual lofi (or just fucking silence, which also isn’t great for my motivation levels). Pump yourself the fuck up. You’re a bad bitch under the weight of all of this self imposed pressure and comparison, you just need to wake that energy up again, and you can do it. Take your meds and drink your water. After coffee I’m in my most positive state to work through my inbox. Yeah, a neglected inbox on OnlyFans is going to take a hot fucking minute to get through but once you actually do it, it’ll be easier moving forward. Buck up, baby - you can do hard things, and the payoff will be worth it. 

Setting actual times to get shit done is helping me immensely. I work on OnlyFans until noon. At noon, my second alarm goes off and I get up and eat and stretch and do something other than look at my phone. Most importantly: PAT YOURSELF ON THE FUCKING BACK! If you’ve done something more than you did the day before or the week before or the month before, you’re moving. You’re going. You’re doing. Our nasty little brains can always tell us we could be making more of ourselves but you know what, fuck that shit. Focus on doing 1% more than you did the day before. Rome wasn’t built in a day and again: you’re starting fresh from this moment forward. Kick the shit out of that voice in your head that wants to compare you to other people or, worse, compare you to what you “used to be able to do”. Fuck it, whatever, we are where we are - all we can do is work with that and make the most of it. 

4. Schedule, schedule, schedule

Instagram allows you to schedule posts. If you do your makeup to shoot for OnlyFans, make two or three reels. Schedule them to post over the next few days. If you manage to shoot a few photos for OnlyFans, make a semi-SFW one and queue that up as well. Places like TweetDeck will allow you to even schedule Twitter posts in advance. Pound an energy drink (or take your meds, if you need that extra focus as I know many of us do) and get ‘er done. That way you can focus on working for shit down the line rather than trying to do everything day by day. OnlyFans lets you queue, so utilize it! Setting aside even one day to sit in your grubby sweatpants and just hammer out scheduling can be so fucking advantageous not only to building your success, but to strengthening your confidence and mental health.

I’m not going to blatantly call justifiable reasons excuses, but sometimes you need to really look at what your internal monologue is saying and whether or not it’s advantageous. If you’re depressed as shit, there are so many strategies out there to get you moving even while you’re depressed. If you’re ADHD or neurodivergent, there are strategies for you, too. The playing field is not level and if you’re starting from a rough point in your life, working will be really hard - but what’s the alternative? Not working, and making it even harder? I know you know this already, but you’re probably using this knowledge to beat yourself senseless. Stop. Even for one day, actively shout (out loud or into a pillow, whatever) at the nasty voice in your head that tells you that you’re too limited by your current position to crawl out of the hole you feel like you’re in. You can handle a scheduling day. Tell yourself, over and over again, that you can handle it. Even if you take breaks every hour to screech like a banshee or cry onto your keyboard, you can push through it. Send it. I believe in you in the same way I push myself to believe in myself. It’s not easy for any of us - but nothing ever is. 

This isn’t bullshit coming from someone who’s doing well. I struggle so, so much. This shit is a grind for me, too. I berate myself and compare myself and am so fucking self critical that it can be immobilizing - but I have to smack some sense into myself once in a while and remind myself that I can grind even when I feel like I can’t. Sometimes I lean into being outright delusional. I love lucky girl syndrome. Shove your head into the clouds and pretend that you’re the absolute best version of yourself, even if you feel like absolute dogshit. The vibes may not last long, but if they last long enough for you to make something happen, then you’re pulling off that 1% improvement that you’re striving for. 

5. Plan for breaks

Give yourself a light at the end of the tunnel, whether it’s relaxing at the end of the day or planning a “do absolutely nothing but lay around” day at the end of the week. As much as it may feel like you’re staring into an abysmal black hole demanding you to do more and more forever and ever, you’re not. You can hustle while taking breaks: in fact, you need to take breaks to make the hustle happen. Just be cautious not to let the downtime turn into a downturn. I put a limit on my rest periods because I am prone to lying face down and just … not getting back up, for weeks or months on end. Saturdays are my sleep in days. Sundays are my do nothing (except for a lil chores or whatever) days. Then I’m back to the grindstone on Monday, knowing that after my “end work day” alarm goes off, I can simply vibe out. 

6. Stop looking at the numbers for now

Analytics are great, but also … not great. Story only got 500 views even though you have thousands of followers? It’s still 500 views. Reel didn’t hit the explore page? Whatever, at least a few people saw it. Recent PPV only sold once? It’s more money than you had before you released it. The best way to handle the restart period is to just focus on output and let any number motivate you to keep on keeping on. Everyone started somewhere. The biggest accounts started at 0 followers and the most successful OnlyFans pages started at 0 subscribers. You started from nothing, too. 

7. Revisit your dreams

Do not stop yourself from dreaming big. What do you want? You can have it. Setbacks are setbacks, not finish lines. A break is a break, not an end. Write your dreams out and put them somewhere you can see them and fucking CELEBRATE every step you take toward them. If you need to start small to feel good about yourself, then do that. If your goal is to post once a week, push yourself to make that happen. If your goal is to make a certain amount of money in a week, do what you need to do to make that happen, whether it’s more posts, more messaging or more advertising. I like to set my goals small but keep my dreams big. I want to buy a condo, which is a big dream, but in order to do that, achieving all my little goals will put me closer to that every time I cross it off my “to do” list. 

8. Fucking believe in yourself, goddamnit

You can do it. You can do it. You CAN do it. Do what you need to do, as your unique and individual little self, to put the systems that support you in place. Trust that you can rely on yourself. Even if that trust is frail for now, it will build as you build yourself up. Berating yourself isn’t helping, is it? I didn’t think so. You’re beautiful, interesting, worthy and so fucking capable, even on days where you think you aren’t. We’re in this together. 

[eleanorjane0690]

Solidarity In Sonder

Excerpt from Chapter 5

Spring '76 - Peeta

Placing the loaf on the telephone table and picking up the handset, I answer  "Hello."

"Good afternoon Peeta." Dr Aurelius replies in his cheerful yet clipped Capitol tone.

Shit it's Wednesday!

Instantly, my happy mood perishes. 

Caught up in the events of this morning, the day of the week had completely slipped my mind, meaning I'd forgot to expect his weekly routine telephone appointment this afternoon.  Although, if I'm honest, I don't particularly want to do this right now, as while his therapy sessions can be helpful they're also tediously tiresome.  However, many months ago, I made a silent promise to be a model patient and nothing lees than cooperative in an attempt to repay him for his unrelenting professionalism.  I also made a promise to myself, to be relentless in the pursuit of the former Peeta and to successfully complete the jigsaw.  The jigsaw that today gained a little more clarity. A fact he should undeniably know.

Lingering images of Katniss, of my memory, my dream, flood my mind, and the realisation of what we've lost and could possibly regain ignites something deep within me.

A persistence.

If I'm to find redemption, then this is the man to help me.

Sliding my back down the wall, as I wont be going anywhere any time soon, I sink down into a cross legged position on the floor.  Once comfortable, after a deep breath, I sigh  "Hi Doc."

Immediately, our conversation starts in its all too familiar fashion.

Have I been eating and drinking well? With Sae around I’m given no other option but to eat well.

Have I unintentionally lost any weight? Once again, thanks to Sae, no. If anything, I’m gaining weight at home easier than I did in the Rehabilitation Centre.

Are my bowels and waterworks functioning as normal? I think so.

Is my sleep regulated? No, and no I do not want a prescription for sleeping tablets.

Am I able to manage my activities of daily living? I can still wipe my own ass and brush my own teeth, so I'd say so.

Am I maintaining some semblance of a routine? It’s far from being full-on or busy but I’m trying. I paint and bake. Sae visits me twice a day, and I visit Haymitch every evening.  Not that he’s much company as he’s usually passed out and dead to the world, but I drop off a loaf of bread, stoke his fire, and sit by him for a while. It's not much of a routine but it’s enough for now.

Have I been compliant with my medication? Yes, three pills twice a day, without fail.

Am I still gaining a response from the topical burn salve? I think so, my skin is still salmon pink in some areas but no longer as scabby.

How would I categorise my general mood over the past week? Urgh, I hate this question! Overall much the same, a few anxious spells but they were manageable. No violent outbursts.

Now for the big question, which until today has remained reliably stagnant in its reply.

"Have you experienced any significant episodes or events this week?" he monotonously asks.

He's probably pre-empted my answer, as I think he too is beginning to find our repetitive weekly conversations wearisome, but at least I can shake things up a bit today.

"Yes."

To say he becomes more animated would be an understatement.  Instructing me to start from the very beginning, he states that in minute detail he'd like me to describe the events of the past twenty-four hours.  

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56641270/chapters/147201754

[cooking-with-hailstones]

I just want to take a moment and yell about how fucking ANNOYING chronic pain can be.

Now, I have very very minor pain problems in the grand scheme of things, but purely because my issues are in my right wrist and that's my dominant hand, it fucks me up in so many ways.

Camping with my family? I can't help carry water to the campsite, can't skip stones on the beach, can't shuffle and deal cards when we're playing games.

Engaging with my hobbies? Oh, you mean writing, knitting, sewing, yoga, baking, and video games? Guess what loser, all of those aggravate the issue and make it flare up for days.

Work? I'm a musician and a teacher. Writing lesson plans? Playing piano? Conducting? Even holding a music folder? Good luck bitch!!

Hell even keeping my house clean. Folding laundry? Doing dishes? All extremely fucking painful!

Like, it's a dull ache in my forearm that flares up periodically, it's so fucking unfair that this one joint being out of whack fucks up my life in so many innumerable ways and it feels like every single day I discover some new way that it prevents me from doing what I want to do or need to do.

And I just want to cry because the bad days have substantially outnumbered the good days this year and I'm staring down the barrel of this just being my life now and having to give up things I love to maintain some semblance of functionality for work and it just... Sucks.

(yes I'm seeing a very good physio and doing my stretches and exercises but it's never going to be normal.)

[solitary-star]

Oh my gosh, this is so cool!!! This has inspired me to ramble about it, so much so that I had to put it under a cut!!

I’d like to think that their weaknesses change depending on the time of day! If we’re attempting to maintain some semblance of accuracy to Cryptid Sightings, maybe they’d be more weak to elemental damage during the day and ailment damage at night.

For the elemental weaknesses, I like the idea that all demons are weak against dragon damage. Maybe it’s a bit of a boring answer, but it makes sense in my brain; you’d need a relatively unnatural form of damage to cause harm to something that powerful. During the day, I’d gauge that they’d have a weakness of three stars against dragon damage, and two stars for the rest. At night, maybe they’d have a weakness of one star against dragon damage, and none for the rest.

As for their ailment weaknesses, I could see them being weakest against blast damage—a certain flash-bang device inspired that idea. But since not all ailments are necessarily physical, I could see their weaknesses to them varying. At night, I’d say that they’d have a weakness of three stars against blast, two against stun, and one against paralysis, sleep, and poison. During the day, maybe they’d have a weakness of one star against blast, and none for the rest.

And the breakables! I could definitely see their horns being breakable, along with their backspines and claws. But none of these places feel like a weak point to me, so I’d say to cause real damage, you’d have to attack the underbelly. It’s about the only place that isn’t covered in some sort of horn or hardened spike.

I feel like their horns would function similar to those of Ruiner Nergigante, where you could break them twice—the first time the red outermost horns, and the second time, the blue innermost ones. Their backspines and claws, on the other hand, would probably be single-break, although you’d likely have to break all four claws separately.

Similar to monsters like Savage Deviljho and Safi’Jiiva, I would expect them to inflict dragon damage despite their weakness to it. Along with bleeding from their teeth and claws, maybe this is the form of damage they’d inflict most—especially in the later phases of the battle.

And the phases themselves! I could see the severity and forms of their attacks varying depending on how far along the battle is. In the beginning, I could see them performing more physical attacks, primarily with their claws and teeth. They wouldn’t want to expend too much energy, after all. But as the battle would progress, and they’d realize they’d need to put forth more effort to eliminate the threat, that is when they’d start using more elemental forms of damage.

I would love to think their enraged form would be that sequence of darkness you described, where they cloak the battlefield in black fog and strike from the shadows. Maybe that fog is the thing causing dragonblight, so some nullberries might be a good thing to have on-hand! I also like the idea that flashbugs could operate similar to the hunter’s holy flashbang—giving you the chance to stun them while also clearing the fog around you.

And the music, oh my gosh, the music! I don’t have any proficiency in creating music, so I can’t speak to it in any technical terms—but I’d love to imagine it involving a bunch of string instruments. It’d be like Nargacuga’s theme, but more intense!

Their theme could start with simple rhythms of low-pitched instruments, like the bass or double bass—similar to phase one of the Molduga fight in Breath of the Wild. To keep it tense, it could have a lot of percussion, too, and maybe some sprinkled-in snippets of more high-pitched instruments to foreshadow the chorus later in.

As the battle would go on, the theme could begin to place a larger focus on more high-pitched instruments like violin and viola. These could form the chorus, with other instruments like flute and xylophone adding to the complexity of it.

During the chase sequence, the theme could return to a state similar to its opening, but without as much percussion. Those simple bass rhythms would come back to the forefront, along with the occasional few notes of the chorus instruments.

Now, as for what loot they’d drop… I have no idea, but it better be good! It’d take a great deal of effort to break two pairs of arms and two sets of horns, so they’d better drop a gem of some kind! Whatever they’d drop, it’d probably make a badass set of armor. Their backspines could form a sort of cape on the back of the torso piece. Their claws could be some sort or shoulder pads, or maybe they could line the waist area like ribs. And the horns, of course, could be used to make a sort of crown as a helmet!

Anyways! Went on a massive ramble here, but these are two pieces of media just I can’t get enough of!!Thank you for inspiring this little (not so little) tangent of mine <3

@naffeclipse‘s cryptid boys, but they’re a Monster Hunter icon!

I’ve wanted to make another MH World style icon ever since I made my first one (the one that’s currently my profile picture) but I didn’t know what I wanted to turn into an icon,, until now!! Making this was so much fun!!!

I’d love making more of these! I just gotta figure out what/who I should draw next.. and also get the time to draw it… :’)

(Nerdy ranting and stuff under the cut)

Keep reading

[gayoxygen]

Grayson’s dreams, after TFG

I’m again struck by how impossible it is that she’s here. In my bedroom. Staring at me without my shirt on. Her braided hair is so long it falls to the middle of her back; I have to clench my fists against this unbidden need to run my hands through it. She’s so beautiful.

She shuts the door behind her. She’s walking over to me. My heart is beating quickly now, and it doesn’t feel natural. I do not react this way. I do not lose control. I see her every day and manage to maintain some semblance of dignity, but something is off; this isn’t right. She’s touching my arm. She’s running her fingers along the curve of my shoulder, and the brush of her skin against mine is painfully sweet. I can’t speak; I’m frozen in place. I want to tell her to stop, to leave, but parts of me are at war. I’m happy to have her close even if it hurts, even if it doesn’t make any sense. But I can’t seem to reach for her; I can’t hold her like I’ve always wanted to. She looks at me. She searches me with those odd, grey-green eyes and I feel guilty so suddenly, without understanding why. But there’s something about the way she looks at me that always makes me feel insignificant, as if she’s the only one who’s realized I’m entirely hollow inside. She’s found the cracks in this facade.

She runs her free hand through my hair, tugs my head back so I’m forced to meet her eyes. And then she leans into my ear, her lips almost touching my cheek. “Do you love me?” she whispers.

“What?” I breathe. “What are you doing—”

“Do you still love me?” she asks again, her fingers now tracing the shape of my face, the line of my jaw.

“Yes,” I tell her. “Yes I still do—” She smiles. It’s such a sweet, innocent smile that I’m actually shocked when her grip tightens around my arm.

2

“No,” I hear myself say. “You’re not supposed to be here.” She’s sitting on my bed. She’s leaning back on her elbows, legs outstretched in front of her, crossed at the ankles. And while some part of me understands I must be dreaming, there’s another, overwhelmingly dominant part of me that refuses to accept this. Part of me wants to believe she’s really here, inches away from me, wearing this short, tight black dress that keeps slipping up her thighs. But everything about her looks different, oddly vibrant; the colors are all wrong. Her lips are a richer, deeper shade of red; her eyes seem wider, darker. She’s wearing shoes I know she’d never wear. And strangest of all: she’s smiling at me. “Hi,” she whispers. It’s just one word, but my heart is already racing. I’m inching away from her, stumbling back and nearly slamming my skull against the headboard. I’m wearing nothing but a white T-shirt and my underwear. She shifts positions in an instant, propping herself up on her knees before crawling over to me.

I close my eyes, dragging a hand down my face; my fingers linger against my lips. I could feel her. I could really feel her. Even thinking about it now makes my heart race. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I keep having such intense dreams about her. I won’t be able to function at all.

[squirrellygirlportfolio]

Something has got to give. I have spent my entire life in fight or flight mode; my entire life in poverty, picking and choosing what gets paid and what doesn’t…

I can’t afford my car, I can’t afford my jobs, I can’t afford food.

My parents are perpetually upset with me, I’m struggling to get up each morning and for what?

To find out I have less rights than a gun that will be used to come in and shoot me or my students one day?

To wait around with the insidious hope that things will “work out” or “get better”?

Things don’t get better, I just eventually lose sight of stresses as new stresses pile on, forcing me into a semblance of functionality that crumbles the moment I feel like “thing have gotten better”…

…because the instant I take a breath and relax, my system, which has been in fight or flight mode the entire time, crashes; and with it my ability to maintain the systems that created a sense of security.

All for the cycle to start over again. My friends end up feeling used from how often I need to rely on them to help me through hard times; My mental health is eroded away more and more until I’ve become nothing but a shadow of who I am, who I want to be and who I could have been.

And at some point, I’m not going to be able to muster enough strength to push through, to push myself back up, to crawl back over the ledge where I’ve been dangling, the ropes meant to help me only strangling me as I struggle to hold on…

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 5

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 6.4k Warnings: canon rewrite, slow burn, canon-typical violence, sexual harassment/unwanted sexual advances, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining Summary: When you’re caught in a firefight with a bounty hunter and the Crest is damaged, you and Mando stop on Tatooine to find a job. A shadow of your past catches up with you. Notes: Sorry not sorry for making Toro even worse than he already is. Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @dincrypt @dunderr @honey-hi​ @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @mbpokemonrulez @red-leaders @speakerforthedead0 @theflightytemptressadventure @zoemariefit

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

After leaving Sorgan, you and Mando chose a second “backwater skughole” several systems away as your next destination. Mando set the nav, and the automated voice of the computer informed you that the trip would take almost five days. The thought of spending five days confined to the Crest was not appealing, but you knew it was important to keep your stops as remote as possible.

Time was a functionally meaningless concept in space anyways, hours and days bleeding together. Without the usual environmental cues to govern your circadian rhythm, you had to rely on a schedule to maintain some semblance of normalcy, keeping alarms on your chrono to remind you when to sleep. Mando, on the other hand, seemed so completely accustomed to this slippery sense of time that he needed no reminders; this was natural for him.

If you hadn’t already seen some of his skin, you might actually think he was a droid. Aside from his hard metal exterior, the most compelling piece of evidence to support this theory was the fact that he didn’t seem to need much sleep. He disappeared into his bunk for maybe four or five hours a day, plus twenty minutes here or there to eat. You suspected he settled into a half-asleep, half-awake hibernation mode when he sat in the pilot’s seat for hours at a time without moving. Once, he jolted so violently when the child sneezed that he had to catch him by his collar before he slid off his knee.

His relationship with the kid, though, was achingly, heartwarmingly, vulnerably human.

You lived for the glimpses of their bond—the way Mando would remove a single pauldron so he could rest the child’s head on his shoulder to lull him to sleep, whispering to him as he swayed gently. When the kid was restless and energetic from being cooped up, Mando would roll the little silver sphere from a control in the cockpit along the floor of the hull for him to chase. For a generally impatient man, his patience for the child seemed almost inexhaustible; he would hold him and pat his back endlessly while he wailed his way through particularly bad tantrums.

You collected these precious moments and held them close to your heart, unwittingly creating a catalog of comfort that you’d return to later. They weren’t necessarily your moments to claim, as a visitor in their world, but you treasured them nonetheless.

***

You were out of colored contacts. You could only wear each pair continuously for a month, and your current pair was due to be switched out any day. The morning you threw them away, Mando stopped you as you passed him in the hull with a light hand on your shoulder. The kid was tucked in his other arm.

He stepped in front of you, just inches away from your chest, tilting his helmet down to look at you. You looked up to meet his gaze, puzzled. He cocked his head, a silent question.

Not for the first time, you wondered about the color of his eyes.

You held your breath, unsure of what he was going to do.

He said nothing but brought his gloved hand up to your face, running this thumb along the crest of your cheek—so lightly, the leather was barely touching you. The tender gesture brought goose bumps to your arms, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

The kid reached up a tiny hand toward your other cheek, mirroring Mando’s movement. He babbled quietly, breaking the tense silence. You flicked your eyes down to watch him but remained still, not wanting to disrupt the spell of the moment. The baby wiggled his fingers and whined when he realized he couldn’t reach you. You smiled.

You looked back up into Mando’s visor. You wanted so badly to reach out and touch him back, to pull him closer, but you let fear keep you rooted to the spot.

To your astonishment, he dipped his helmet, as if he was going to lean his forehead against yours. He was inches from your face—you could see your surprise reflected in his visor and hear his steady breathing through the modulator. But Mando seemed to change his mind mid-gesture, and the moment was over before you knew it. He straightened, dropped his hand, nodded stiffly, and stepped past you. The child let out a frustrated cry in protest.

Without the kid’s lingering whines, you might have thought you imagined the whole thing.

Little by little, you were revealing your real self to the Mandalorian, placing your safety in his hands. This would have been harder to stomach if you weren’t getting pieces of him in return. Spending this much time in such close quarters with someone—even someone as closed off as Mando—was enough to get to know them fairly well.

For instance, you weren’t quite fluent, but you were getting really good at reading his body language. He relied on his armor to mask his intentions with strangers, and he wasn’t accustomed to people spending extended amounts of time with him—time to learn his patterns and tells. Over time, it became apparent just how many minute things there were to unpack: subtle tensions in his back and shoulders, clenching of his fists, tapping of his fingers, the lean in his hips, audible inhales or exhales, the tilt of his helmet. Plus, there were nuanced flavors of each movement: a sassy head tilt, an angry head tilt, a confused head tilt. Soon enough, you’d be able to create a dictionary of the Mandalorian’s body language. 

It was strange to think that you’d only been with him for a few weeks, and you might be the only person in the galaxy who could read him so well.

Something else you’d come to learn about Mando was that he was very particular about where his things were kept. This made sense—he’d clearly been living alone for years, if not decades. Of course someone with such a nomadic, unsettled lifestyle would want to carefully control what little in his environment that he could, but his compulsive organization was next level.

You came to this conclusion after you scooted his toothbrush and toothpaste over just slightly in the med cabinet to make a space for yours. The next morning, you opened the cabinet to find his things exactly where they had been before you’d moved them. You looked down to see that yours were sitting precariously on the edge of the sink, waiting to fall to the floor at the first sign of turbulence. Seriously?

That inspired you to devise a fun game—well, it was fun for you. You were pretty sure Mando hated it, though to his credit, he didn’t say anything about it for several days. Every day, you’d move one of his items just slightly to see if he’d notice and move it back. So far, he’d caught every tiny adjustment. He even reoriented his bar of soap when you moved it so it sat slightly off-kilter in its dish in the shower. He hadn’t even showered yet that day.

After three days, he finally cracked.

He was digging through a storage compartment, huffing dramatically though his modulator as he searched for something.

“I can’t imagine you’ve lost something,” you said, from where you were sitting on a crate sharing a ration pack with the kid, who was perched on your lap. “Not with how terrifyingly organized you are.”

“Yeah, well, that was only true before you started moving my stuff around.” 

You grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to say something.”

“I was wondering when you were going to stop,” he huffed, but you detected the lightest trace of amusement in his tone.

“I haven’t actually moved anything,” you laughed. “Just... adjusted.”

He harrumphed, still digging around in the box.

The kid chittered and reached toward your hand for more food. You gave him another piece.

“If you let me leave my toothbrush and toothpaste in the med cabinet, I’ll stop.”

He looked up. “That’s it?”

“I’m a reasonable woman.”

“Deal.”

When you went to brush your teeth that night, one of the three shelves in the med cabinet had been completely cleared for you.

As you slowly began to insinuate yourself into Mando and the kid’s life, the guilt of not telling him about the bounty on your head started to weigh heavier on your mind. He deserved to know, but you couldn’t imagine him letting you stay if he found out. Why would he assume any extra risk? I’ll tell him soon. We probably won’t be together much longer anyways.

***

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

The unfamiliar voice of the bounty hunter echoed over the com in the cockpit. A ship was hot on your tail, landing several shots that rattled the Crest violently. The child, who was strapped into the seat beside you, seemed to enjoy the excitement of the chase, arms raised and giggling. Mando maneuvered the Crest quickly and deftly, so the pursuer was suddenly directly in front of the viewport.

“That’s my line,” he said dramatically, as he pulled the trigger and obliterated the ship in his sights.

Despite the fact that your heart was pounding in your chest, you couldn’t help but let out an exasperated laugh at that. 

The chase had been short-lived, but the hunter had managed to inflict some serious damage. Alarms beeped and warning lights flashed along the console.

“Losing fuel,” said Mando. He was working hastily, his hands flying from one control to the next. He was trying to address several warning alarms at once.

“You work on that. I got this,” you said, unbuckling.

You stood next to him, attending to the controls in front of you.

“What are—Don’t do that,” he said, “Stop. I need to—”

He didn’t finish his sentence when he realized you were doing exactly what needed to be done to stabilize the ship.

“I thought you said you worked in programming.”

“I did. Mostly avionics.”

The second thruster sputtered and died. The cockpit went dark. All of the usual mechanical sounds that the ship made whirred to a halt. Mando turned in surprise, looking around. He clicked a few buttons. Nothing happened.

The child giggled from his seat.

“I’ll get it.” You walked to the back of the cockpit and wrenched open a panel to do a manual reset of the controls. Some of the lights came back on. Mando flicked several switches, and the displays came alive.

Together, you got the ship in good enough shape to limp to a nearby planet. Luckily, you were already close to Tatooine. The Razor Crest rattled alarmingly as it cleared the atmosphere, and Mando landed the ship with an unceremonious clunk in a bay in Mos Eisley.

Mando left the now sleeping baby in his bunk, despite your objections. That never works. He walked down the ramp to haggle with the mechanic.

Peli was a gruff woman, sassy and straightforward. You liked her right away. Mando deserved the sass Peli dished out, considering he had begun their interaction by shooting at her pit droids when they tried to approach the Crest.

He really hates droids.

You and Mando headed to the cantina to inquire about work. As soon as the ship went dead, you’d both known you’d need to pull a job to pay to fix the damage because there was no way the Crest was making it to your destination in its current state.

You trailed a few steps behind him, watching the intimidating way he stalked down the sandy street, his cape billowing behind him. He seemed less scary now that you knew he secretly had a sense of humor and an occasional flair for the dramatic. And that he once let you sleep on his shoulder. And tied your shoe for you.

When you entered the cantina, you shivered from the abrupt change in temperature. Outside the twin suns beat down; inside the dark cantina, it was cool.

Mando strode up to the bar. You followed him, taking in your surroundings.

“Hey, droid. I’m a hunter. I’m looking for some work.”

“Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine,” replied the droid in a stilted voice.

“It doesn’t have to be Guild work,” you clarified.

“I am afraid that does not improve your situation, at least by my calculation,” said the droid, continuing to wipe down the surface of the bar with a rag.

“Think again, tin can,” interrupted a smug voice behind you. You and Mando turned.

A young man, his legs propped brazenly on the table in front of him, continued, “If you’re looking for work, have a seat, my friends.” He gestured to the seats across from him.

“Name’s Toro, Toro Calican. Come on, relax.” He beckoned for you to join him again.

You and Mando exchanged a look and walked over to where he was seated.

Toro swung his legs off the table and slapped a bounty puck down in front of him as you slid into the booth and Mando followed.

“Picked up this bounty punk before I left the Mid Rim,” Toro explained. The hazy image of a woman with dark hair hovered over the puck. “Fennec Shand, an Assassin. Heard she’s been on the run ever since the New Republic put all her employers in lockdown.”

Toro had thick brown hair and dark eyes, a boyish face despite the scruff of five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. He couldn’t be older than 25.

“I’ve heard the name,” said Mando.

You nodded beside him. Fennec Shand was a legend. Having been chased by enough hunters, you were familiar with the big players.

“Yeah, well, I followed this tracking fob here. Now the positional data suggests she’s headed out beyond the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job.” He shrugged.

This kid clearly has no idea what he’s doing.

“Well, good luck with that,” said Mando, standing up. You stayed where you were, relaxed against the back of the booth.

“Wait, wait, wait, hey. I thought you needed work?” Toro looked from Mando to you, confused.

“How long you been with the Guild?” asked Mando.

“Long enough,” Toro spat unconvincingly.

“Clearly not. Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary. She made her name killing for all the top crime syndicates, including the Hutts. If you go after her, you won’t make it past sunrise.”

Mando looked at you and jerked his head to signal that it was time to go. He started to walk away. You stayed seated, saying nothing.

Toro looked at you, pleading. You nodded toward Mando: “You’ll have to convince him.”

Toro scrambled after him. Mando turned to face him, and Toro had to look up to meet his visor.

“This is my first job,” he admitted in a strained voice. “You guys can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild. I can’t do it alone.”

Mando looked to you. You smiled knowingly, and he let out a sigh and nodded.

The man cannot say no to someone who needs help.

Toro was visibly relieved.

“Meet us at hangar three-five in half an hour. Bring three speeder bikes and give me the tracking fob,” instructed Mando, holding out a hand.

Toro’s shoulders pulled together. Someone doesn’t want to let go of the fob.

Without any warning, he smashed the fob on the wall. It sparked.

Mando gave Toro his angry head tilt.

“Don’t worry, got it all memorized,” assured Toro, tapping a finger on his temple.

“Half an hour,” growled Mando.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me now, guys,” Toro said triumphantly, turning to look at you.

Mando pushed past Toro and walked back to the booth, leaning down toward you. “I am not that predictable,” he muttered in a low, irritated voice.

“You really are,” you smiled up at him. “I’ll meet you at the hangar in 20. I want real food.”

He nodded and left.

Toro looked very pleased with himself, grinning at you.

“You better go track down those bikes,” you reminded him, gesturing for a droid to come take your order.

Toro ignored your advice. Instead, he looked you up and down in a way that made your skin crawl and slid back into the booth across from you.

“You know what? I have an even better idea. Me and you can take Fennec ourselves. You look like a girl who can handle herself. Let’s ditch that rusty bucket right now and do this together. Fewer people to split the reward.” His eyes sparkled.

Is he fucking serious?

You already weren’t a huge fan of Toro and his cocky attitude, but the minute he called you “girl” like that, your regard for him plummeted. What little patience you had for this kid was wearing thin.

“Not interested.”

The droid came over, and you placed your order.

Toro, still looking at you expectantly, scooted around the table to sit next to you, and you moved in the opposite direction to maintain the distance between you.

“Mando is old, you know? I don’t know if you can tell, but I can. That’s an old man under that shiny armor. You look like you need someone younger to keep up with you.” He winked conspiratorially, as if the two of you were sharing a mutual joke.

You watched him through narrowed eyes, a sour feeling settling in your stomach.

He was clearly terrible at reading people because he responded to your disgusted look by reaching over to run a heavy hand along the inside of your thigh. He barely made it an inch past your knee when you ripped his hand off your leg, tightening your fingers around his wrist until your nails dug into his skin.

“Touch me again and lose a hand,” you spat at him, releasing him and pushing up from the table. You wrapped your fingers around the hilt of the blade at your hip.

“Whoa, whoa! I was just being friendly, sweetheart,” he said loudly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. He looked around at the other patrons as if seeking outside confirmation that you were the one who was being unreasonable in this situation.

“You should leave.”

“I was obviously kidding about ditching Mando,” said Toro, shaking his head. “You really need to lighten up.” He didn’t even have the decency to look abashed.

You spared him a biting response, fixing him with a glare instead.

“I’ll go find those bikes.” He stood to leave, purposefully brushing past your shoulder as he went.

***

After finishing your meal, you stalked out of the cantina and back to the terminal to find Mando.

He was sitting at the top of the ramp of the Crest fiddling with an open control panel in the wall. He looked up to nod at you when he heard you approach.

“I don’t like that kid, Mando. I don’t trust him. I don’t think we should do this.” You stopped in front of him and put your hands on your hips.

“I know. He’s inexperienced, but he’s harmless.”

“No, that’s what I’m saying—he’s not harmless.”

“What did he say to you?” Mando continued working on the open control panel, only vaguely listening to you.

“He tried to talk me into ditching you and teaming up with him, so we didn’t have to split the reward three ways... He also hit on me.” You added the last part as an afterthought and grimaced at the memory of his gross hand on your thigh.

His head snapped up to look at you. “He—what?”

You looked at him, waiting for him to verbalize a more coherent question. You weren’t sure which part of what you’d shared horrified him the most.

“I—what—uh, yeah, I know... I don’t trust him either,” he continued, “but there are two of us and only one of him. We need the credits—and we’ll get the full reward, like he agreed, whether he likes it or not. We’re not going to find many other jobs here, and I don’t think he’s smart enough to pull anything.”

“I guess,” you shrugged. Toro doesn’t seem capable of critical thinking, let alone concocting and carrying out an elaborate scheme. The bounty was too high and other jobs too scarce to resist.

“We’ll keep a close eye on him. Let’s just finish this job quickly, and then you, me, and the kid can move on.”

“Okay,” you agreed, reluctantly. The way he emphasized the fact that you and him and the kid were a team was an obvious attempt to quell your worries. And it did. Mostly. It was a little startling how well he knew you already.

“Where’s the baby?” you asked, suddenly realizing the door to his bunk was open, and it was empty.

“He left the ship, and Peli found him. She agreed to take care of him while we do this job.”

Again, here he is, trusting a complete stranger.

“I told you he never stays put,” you scowled.

“Don’t worry, Peli already gave me an earful about how much I don’t know about kids.” He sounded defeated, so you decided not to pile on.

“You’re doing a good job, you know. The kid really loves you.”

He seemed surprised by your sincerity, his shoulders pulling back slightly. “I’m not, but thanks.”

It hurt your heart a little to hear him say that. 

***

When you left the terminal fifteen minutes later, Toro was outside, leaning against one of two speeder bikes with a cocky smile on his face.

Peli, who was holding the kid and arguing with Mando about payment, stood in the doorway to see you off. You caught the curious look that Toro gave the baby in Peli’s arms.

“Hey, what do you think? Not too shabby, huh? I could only track down two. You guys will have to share,” Toro said.

You and Mando looked at each other. Mando started to inspect the bike closest to you. Before he could beat you to it, you threw a leg over the speeder bike and sat down at the front of the seat.

“What are you doing?” Mando asked you.

“Driving,” you said, shrugging and reaching into your bag. You pulled on a pair of googles and wrapped a scarf around your nose and mouth. You secured your bag on the back of the bike.

When you noticed that Mando had made no move to join you, you looked at him and tipped your head back toward the seat behind you. “Let’s go.”

You could tell by the resigned drop in his shoulders that he knew it would be more work to try to convince you to scoot back than was worth it. He climbed on the speeder behind you, crowding you forward and reaching his long arms around you to grab the controls.

“Nope. Nice try,” you said, slapping his gloved hands away and grasping the controls yourself.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around your middle. You hoped he didn’t notice the goose bumps that appeared on your neck when he touched you. It was way too warm out under the two blazing suns to explain them away.

You jerked your wrists down and leaned forward to take off across the open sand, not waiting for Toro to mount his speeder.

“What the hell??” he yelled after you.

He caught up after a few moments.

After awhile, you let yourself relax back against Mando’s chest, and you smiled to yourself when he tightened his arms around you. 

The suns slipped lower in the sky as you coasted over the shifting surface of the Dune Sea.

***

You and Toro slowed your bikes to a halt when Mando released your waist to hold up a fist.

“What’s going on?” asked Toro.

“Look. Up ahead,” The rasp of Mando’s modulator in your ear and the concurrent rumble in his chest made you shiver, so you hastily hopped off the bike.

Mando stayed seated while you and Toro each pulled out a set of binocs to scan the landscape. Neither of you had the heightened vision that Mando’s helmet afforded him.

Through your binocs, you spotted two Tusken raiders standing beside two very hairy Banthas a short distance ahead. You lowered your binocs and scanned the immediate area.

“Tusken raiders. I heard the locals talking about this filth,” spat Toro, who was still watching them through his binocs.

You stepped back toward the bike as two Tuskens crested the hill you were on. Mando reached out a hand to grab your wrist, squeezing gently. You looked at him, and he nodded reassuringly.

“Tuskens think they’re the locals,” Mando said coolly, turning back to Toro. “Everyone else is just trespassing.”

“Well, whatever they call themselves, they best keep their distance,” Toro remarked.

“Yeah? Why don’t you tell them yourself?” asked Mando.

You grinned. There’s that flair for the dramatic.

Toro turned, and the two Tuskens screeched at him. You laughed at the way Toro positively jumped. Mando stood, raising a calming hand toward Toro, and told him to relax. You followed him as he approached the Tuskens and started gesturing to them, clearly proficient in their sign-based language.

Mando’s hands moved smoothly though deft, controlled movements. You looked down and bit your lip, trying to focus on twisting the toe of your boot back and forth in the sand to prevent your mind from wandering somewhere less appropriate.

“What are you doing?” Toro asked Mando.

“Negotiating.”

The Tuskens signed back to Mando.

“What’s going on?” asked Toro.

“We need passage across their land.”

“What did you think he meant by “negotiating”?” you said, raising your eyebrows at Toro.

“Let me see your binocs,” said Mando, holding out a hand to Toro.

“Why?”

Mando said nothing but kept his hand out, waiting. The two suns, now low in the sky, reflected brightly off his helmet. Toro handed them over begrudgingly, and Mando tossed them to the Tuskens. The Tuskens looked satisfied with their payment.

“He—hey! What? Those were brand new!” stuttered Toro in surprise.

“Yeah? They were.” Mando stalked away and remounted the speeder bike. You followed him.

And there’s that sense of humor. It’s sassy.

“You couldn’t have taken hers instead?” Toro asked, nodding at you.

“Nope,” said Mando.

You smiled sweetly at Toro as Mando scooted back in the seat and let you climb on in front of him.

***

The next time you stopped more abruptly. Mando raised his fist and barked, “Get down!”

You and Mando sprang off your bike in unison and crouched down. Toro, struggling to keep up with what was happening, fumbled with his goggles before following suit.

The three of you made your way to the edge of the dune in front of you, staying low. You set yourselves up on your stomachs at the top of the rise. Not far below, a dewback trudged forward slowly with what looked like a dead rider trailing after it, a rein wrapped around the figure’s limp ankle.

“Is that her? Is that the target?” asked Toro.

“I don’t know... I’ll go.” He looked at you to say, “You two cover me.”

You nodded.

He looked at Toro to emphasize, “Stay down.”

You and Toro pulled out your blasters. Mando ran hurriedly down the dune, his own blaster drawn. He approached the dewback slowly with a reassuring, “Whoa, whoa.”

Mando flipped over the prone body.

“So, is it her? Is she dead?” yelled Toro.

Mando turned, “It’s another bounty hunter.”

Toro turned to look at you. “He’s not planning to keep all that stuff for himself, right? I at least want that blaster.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Can you shut up for one second?”

He gave you a disbelieving look. You ignored him and focused your attention back on Mando.

Mando started to rise, turning suddenly to yell, “GET DOWN!” as blaster fire hit his pauldron, knocking him to the ground.

“Mando!” you yelled.

He scrambled back to his feet and broke into a run. He crested the hill as a second shot screamed after him. Again, it hit him in the beskar, sound reverberating off the metal. He threw himself down with a grunt, rolling towards you in a shower of sand.

“Are you okay? You didn’t get hit, right?” You reached out towards him.

“Yeah, it hit me in the beskar. And at that range, the beskar held up.” He sounded winded.

“What happened?” asked Toro, as Mando set himself back up on the crest of the hill, lying between you and Toro.

“Sniper bolt. Only an MK-modified rifle could make that shot.”

“Fennec,” you said. Mando nodded.

“Did you see where the shot came from?” he asked you.

“Yeah, from that ridge.” You pointed.

“Okay, we’re gonna wait until dark.”

“Well, what if she escapes?” asked Toro from where he was resting on his elbows on the other side of Mando.

“She’s got a good position,” you said. “She’s not moving.”

“Exactly,” agreed Mando. “She’ll wait for us to make the first move.”

Mando rolled over and stood only part of the way up, offering a hand down to you. You grasped it and got to your feet. You both hunched low to keep yourselves behind the protective swell of the dune.

“We’re gonna rest. You take the first watch. Stay low,” Mando said to Toro.

You followed Mando back to the bikes.

“Be extra careful. I don’t like you being out here with no beskar,” he said to you, more quietly.

“I will.” 

Your stomach clenched at the way Mando’s voice warmed when he was talking only to you. He spoke to Toro in a clipped tone, like he was scolding an unruly kid. He spoke to you like an equal, a partner. You couldn’t pinpoint when he’d started talking to you this way, but it had shifted recently. It was a tone you’d heard him use with the kid and with Omera. Something that felt a lot like hope sparked in your chest at this realization.

He slumped down against your speeder bike and reached up to pull you down next to him. You leaned back against the bike next to him, your body flush with his, and let your cheek fall against his shoulder.

After a few moments, you could hear a light snore rasping through his modulator. Apparently this man can fall asleep anywhere.

Eventually, you fell into a light sleep, not trusting Toro enough to sleep deeply.

***

You woke to Toro saying, “Time to ride, guys.”

“Come on, wake up!”

You opened your eyes and lifted your head. It was dark out; the last lavender traces of the sunset were disappearing along the horizon. Mando was still beside you, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

“Look at him, asleep on the job. I told you he was an old man,” leered Toro.

You felt the cadence of Mando’s breathing shift beside you.

“You’re right. He’s ancient—basically dead already,” you quipped, patting Mando on the knee to signal that you knew he was awake.

Toro couldn’t tell if you were mocking him or joking with him, so he just looked at you, slack-jawed, trying to parse it out.

“Not quite,” Mando said, jabbing you in the ribs lightly with his elbow. Toro started at Mando’s words.

You stood, this time extending a hand down to help Mando up. It was more of a symbolic gesture than anything else—he weighed way more with that armor on than you could ever lift. Nonetheless, he took your hand as he hauled himself to his feet.

“We’re going to ride as fast as we can towards those rocks,” explained Mando, pointing to where Fennec was presumably perched.

“That’s your plan?” scoffed Toro. “She’ll snipe us right off the bikes.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem remember the amazing plan that you came up with?” you sniped, raising your hands in disbelief.

Mando snickered, a short rasp through the modulator, and in answer to Toro’s question, he tossed a small item his way then handed something to you.

“They’re flash charges. You two will alternate shots. It’ll blind any scope temporarily. Combine that with our speed, and we got a chance.”

You looked down at the charge in your hand, noting the button that would set it off.

“A chance?!” blurted Toro.

You bit back a scathing retort, turning back to your bike.

“Hey, you wanted this. Get ready,” replied Mando, tipping his helmet at Toro.

Mando stepped close to you, lowering his voice. “Let me sit in front this time. In case she manages to make any shots.”

You nodded in agreement, appreciating his protective nature.

You mounted the bike behind him and wrapped your arms around his middle, the charge grasped tightly in your right hand. Mando wrenched his wrists down, and your speeder bike took off, with Toro in your wake.

Mando pushed the bike as fast as it could possibly go, launching it over the swells of sand. You gripped him tighter, and the wind whipped the edges of his cape against your legs.

Apparently Fennec spotted you easily from her vantage point on the cliff because she started her assault immediately, firing at Toro’s speeder first.

Mando reached one hand down for a moment to squeeze your arm, and you understood. Holding his waist tightly with your left arm, you reached your right one up into the air to set off the charge. It went off with a screech. Even through your closed eyelids, you registered the blinding flash of light.

Fennec recovered fairly quickly. She resumed firing only moments after the light dissipated. Mando weaved the bike in a serpentine pattern to avoid the shots.

He turned to Toro and yelled, “NOW!”

Toro let off a charge. Another searing light rippled across the landscape.

After a moment, Fennec fired again, her aim becoming more precise as you drew closer to the cliff. This time, she didn’t miss. A direct shot screamed across the sand and hit the front of your speeder bike. You let go of Mando in the jolt of the impact, and you both flew over the top of the bike and landed in the sand.

Ouch.

Toro zoomed past, looking back for only a second. You didn’t like how easily he left you both behind, but logically, you knew that someone needed to get to Fennec as soon as possible.

You stayed prone on the sand, lifting just your head to see where Mando had fallen a few feet ahead of you. You were relieved when he sprang to his feet and ran back towards you. Without any warning, he lowered himself down over you to protect you from any more incoming fire. He braced himself on his elbows and knees so his body was pressed against yours, but he wasn’t crushing you with the combined weight of his body and armor.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice right behind your ear.

“Yeah.” Your face was pressed against the warm sand. “You?”

“Good. You got the charge?”

You handed it up to him. Luckily, you’d managed to hold onto it during the impact. Mando fumbled for a moment, then lifted an arm to set it off.

After the searing light faded and the dark blanket of night returned, another blaster shot landed in the sand a few feet from your head. Mando edged forward and rested his helmet on the sand above your head. You were completely shielded.

“Thanks,” you muttered up to him, slightly self-conscious that this purely protective position was affecting you so much, a slow heat coiling tight in your stomach. His whole body was flush with yours, his breath heavy and fast in your ear, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his armored chest against your back. The places where he wasn’t covered by beskar pressed warmly against you. Think about anything else.

A shot pinged off his back. Mando tensed and grunted at the impact. You gritted your teeth and focused on burying your fingers in the sand, definitely not thinking about what other things might draw similar sounds from him.

“Alright, I think Toro got to her. Let’s go, but stay behind me,” Mando rasped in your ear, squeezing your shoulder with a gloved hand.

You nodded beneath him, stifling the shiver that was threatening to run up your spine. Think about anything else.

He rolled off you, and you both got to your feet. You breathed a sigh of relief and positioned yourself at his back, both of you drawing your blasters. In the dark, you could see red streaks of blaster fire on the cliff where Fennec had been perched.

“We gotta run,” you yelled, pushing him forward. “Toro wont be able to take her alone, Mando!”

You stayed close behind him, a hand on his lower back, so he knew you were with him.

When you reached the foot of the cliff, you could hear Toro’s groans and Fennec’s grunts, but you couldn’t see them. You and Mando scrambled up the sandy incline that was littered with boulders and crested the cliff right as Fennec wrestled Toro to the ground.

“Nice distraction,” said Mando, training his blaster on Fennec. She reluctantly released Toro from her hold and put her hands up in defeat. You waited, partially concealed behind Mando until you knew she was restrained.

Toro grunted in pain as he stood up slowly.

“Cuff yourself,” Mando ordered Fennec, tossing the cuffs in front of her.

“A Mandalorian. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen one of your kind.” She stood. “Ever been to Nevarro? I hear things didn’t go so well there, but it looks like you got off easy.”

Fuck, just how much has she heard about what went down on Nevarro?

Fennec smiled even wider when you stepped out from behind Mando. There was no avoiding her now. Sure enough, recognition flickered in her eyes.

Uh oh.

“Well, well, well... if it isn’t my favorite bounty,” she drawled, and before you could react, your name—your real name—fell from her lips. “You lead me all over the damn galaxy, sweetheart.”

***

Chapter 6

[herrscherofmagic]

I already reblogged the first part of this thread but seeing this other reply and the talk of the crumbling foundations reminded me of some pretty relevant ideas that i would really like to add, if y'all don't mind!

Though mandatory disclaimer: Hoyo can write good stories but at the end of the day it's still a video game, and as a company they do have incentive to avoid over-complicating things too much. So I don't know how likely it is that they'll actually give us a deep dive into a possible collapse of the IPC... but it's still fun to theorize about so I'll go ahead anyways, lol

First, I wanna quote this part:

He wanted to speak to the higher up, but got Jade instead. And when he boasted about only needing 30 tanba ... to out-do the IPC... And Jade jumped onto that so fast. Giving him all that, and more...

This followed by the comment about cracked foundations got me wondering, if perhaps Jade might be aware that Aventurine has an anti-IPC ambition, and if she might actually want to play a role in that as well. Not subservient to him of course, but rather as a cooperating party.

The thing is that organizations are incredibly complicated things. If even a small group project of a handful of people can run into problems due to conflict of interest, what happens when you scale that up to hundreds, thousands, or millions of people? The way that these organizations maintain some semblance of order is usually through managing conflict of interest, and making sure that it is in peoples' best interests to work together.

But this manifests in different ways in different organizations based on culture, politics, legality, history, etc.

For example, the Soviet military had some pretty infamous problems with corruption, which carries on to this day, and Perun had a great video about this- it's a system where everyone is incentivized to lie, from the lowliest grunt to the highest generals of the military. As long as everyone keeps up the lie, then the system goes on working as normal... so long as the system isn't challenged by minor troubles such as the reality of waging war.

But in another organization, that might not be the case. In a nation with a more open and democratic process of accountability, it would be much harder to get away with blatant corruption. Sure you can still have corruption and conflict of interest, but if lies and cover-ups are punished accordingly, and the alternative route of being honest still pays enough to be worthwhile, then people will be more honest. This would've been an organization like Boeing in the past, but if that system of accountability begins to degrade, then you end up with "mistakes" like... the door of an airplane flying off mid-flight.

But in these organizations, these sorts of problems result from the interactions of countless individuals each with their own agenda.

In the Soviet military the lowliest grunt might want to provide for his family; the grunt's officer might want a raise, the officer's commander might want a promotion, the commander's general might want a spot on the cabinet, and the members of the cabinet don't want to get tossed out the window of an apartment building by current Soviet leader. So the grunt lies to the officer lies to the commander lies to the general lies to the Soviet leader, and you end up with countless lies all the way up to the top.

Likewise, if the maintenance workers in Boeing are struggling to make deadlines and KPIs, then they might have a personal incentive to cut corners. Skipping "not so important" steps in maintenance or review, for instance. In a functional system their supervisors would be incentivized to prevent these corners from being cut, but if the supervisors stand to gain from this process of cutting corners, then they might go along with it. And if the this continues up to the highest level of the command, then you end up with board members and shareholders who willingly turn a blind eye to dangerous practices for the sake of keeping the stock price going up, up, up ad infinitum.

To bring this back to the IPC... I have no doubt that the IPC could be in a similar spot. We've already seen how various low-level workers of the IPC are often in a tight squeeze, pressured to perform at any cost, often leading to rash decisions. Some folks like Topaz might be more level-headed and diplomatic, but if that sort of "success at any cost" mentality is pervasive throughout the IPC, then it might be reaching all the way to the very top.

That kind of system works as long as everyone keeps subscribing to that belief, but if that system is shaken by a core event (like a 2-year-long "3-day special military operation", or aviation disasters and safety mishaps), then the whole thing stands to collapse. The lowliest grunts are probably too stressed to care much about the big picture, since they're concerned with their immediate well-being and the well-being of the people they care about.

However, a higher-up like Jade would almost certainly be aware of these sorts of problems. And odds are, Jade wants to work in Jade's interests- not the IPC's interests. Her personal interests likely line up with the IPC's interests for now, but if Jade sees the writing on the wall and if the IPC is vulnerable in any way, she stands to gain from positioning herself in a way such that she minimizes personal damage and maximizes personal gain from any collapse.

Another thing about these big organizations is that they're not entirely monolithic entities. They're made up of many different sub-units, and these sub-units can split apart from one another and recombine in different ways.

For this I actually have a fictional example, from Star Wars lore: Admiral Thrawn. After the second Death Star got destroyed and the Emperor was killed, the Empire pretty much collapsed and the New Republic that took its place seized the initiative and took down Imperial remnants. But Admiral Thrawn was a powerful and respected figure that also had a much bigger brain than the egotistical Sith lord in charge of the Empire, so when the Empire collapsed he was capable of consolidating power amongst Imperial remnants. So when challenged by the New Republic, he had a strong industrial base and loyal followers to support him, and he was able to fight and negotiate with the New Republic on equal terms. The organization as a whole fell, but through careful planning and decisive action, Thrawn carved his own slice of the pie and kept order in his corner of the galaxy.

As for real-life corollaries, Perun yet again has a video on this aspect, this time featuring factionalism in a certain modern military. This is where I'm getting the idea of "incentives" from, if you don't want to watch the whole thing then the segment starting at the 4:30 timestamp is at least worth a watch for the explanation of incentives.

So again, back to the IPC: a collapse of the IPC doesn't mean that every IPC building spontaneously explodes and all the IPC uniforms in the galaxy just burn away into nothingness. Many of the assets of the IPC, both physical hardware like buildings and ships as well as intangible concepts like hierarchies and financial resources: those will remain. In a potential collapse scenario, it'd be a sort of chaotic free-for-all where various individuals at different levels of the power hierarchy move to consolidate their own power wherever they can.

Again, being a Stoneheart, Jade is likely aware of this. So while I seriously doubt Jade is gonna be a good Samaritan and stand in a picket line with a "F*** the IPC" sign, I do believe that she would be willing to act against the "IPC" if the IPC as a whole begins to collapse. She could instead remain dedicated to her "slice" of the IPC: the officers and employees that are loyal to her, partnered with her, or under her command.

This can also explain Jade's willingness to accept Kakavasha's wager: she might see him as an ambitious individual with a lot of potential that could be of use to her. Best-case scenario (for her) would be that he ends up largely subservient to her, and worst-case scenario (again, for Jade) would be that he becomes independent of her but could still work with her as a partner in the future. And so far it seems like the latter is the case.

So if there truly is instability in the IPC, if Aventurine truly has the potential to shake it from the top-down, and if Jade is fully aware of this... then why shouldn't she work with him? It depends on the details: if the math pencils out in Aventurine's favor, then Jade is incentivized to support Aventurine in his cause. But if the incentives remain such that Jade benefits the most from an intact and stable IPC, then she would be incentivized to stop any of Aventurine's schemes.

Knowing Mihoyo and how they write their characters (see: Arlecchino), I suspect it might be the former. I can see Jade being an absolute asshole and terrible person, but still doing just enough "good" by shaking up the IPC that we could end up allied with her to some extent.

I don't think this is a bad thing, just to be clear- I just think that it's not so likely that Jade is gonna be a pure evil antagonist that has no "redeeming quality". She might still be a terrible person, but if we apply a "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" logic here, then we might be able to consider Jade an "ally" in a conflict with the IPC, and if that's the case then that might be good enough for marketing her as a not-entirely-evil person.

And as for Topaz... I'm not so sure whether she'd be the kind of person to exploit a collapse of the IPC like Jade or Aventurine would. But knowing her genuine desire to do good (despite being part of a shitty megacorp), I can see Topaz somehow working alongside them anyways if they present her with the opportunity to follow her beliefs without having to remain firmly part of the existing IPC order.

If this actually does end up happening, it's gonna be really fascinating to see Topaz reacting to all of this, and to see what choices she makes when weighing her own security and prosperity against that of her co-workers, her partners, her underlings, and her own beliefs.

These Aventurine, Topaz and Jade comparisons are getting out of hand…

As much as I adore both of them, I think it’s very disingenuous to compare Aventurine and Topaz’s lore and be like “but they are the same!!!! If people like Aventurine and dislike Topaz that’s just misogyny!!! and like… no?

Topaz’s whole thing is that she doesn’t know the extent of the IPC’s evil, and believes that what she’s doing is genuinely the right thing to do. Even if she never had a choice in joining the IPC, she (incorrectly) believes what they did to her and her planet is justified, logical and moral, and for those reasons she stands with them. Part of this is likely IPC brainwashing, as she was probably very young when she became an indentured servant to them, and someone living on a planet on the brink of destruction would likely view anyone who stepped up to save them as heroes (imo the IPC likely waited for the point of no return to establish contact so her people had no other choice to except).

However Topaz got best end of the proverbial stick, her planet and its people were deemed useful by the IPC, and didn’t fight back, even if in the end they were still exploited.

Unfortunately, we have seen through Boothill, Belabog and Aventurine what happens when that isn’t the case.

Boothill’s planet got bombed and people genocided because they had a resource useful to the IPC, but were unwilling to cooperate with them or hand over their home, so the IPC decided to eradicate them.

Belabog had a debt owed to the IPC that was ridiculously high and very unfair to expect them to pay back, and had Topaz not convinced the higher ups to give them some time (which she got demoted for), the IPC would have taken Belabog by force

That leaves us with Aventurine, whose story is in no way on the same level of bad as Topaz’s. Unlike her, he has witnessed and experienced firsthand the truly awful shit the IPC can do.

They took custody of Sigonia and promised to offer the Avgin aid in their fight against the Katacans, at the very least protect them from harm. (Sidenote, since the IPC held control over Sigonia, they should have stopped the fighting in the first place). However, they simply stood by and did nothing, resulting in the deaths of around 6,000 Avgin, with around 3,000 went missing (or injured, I don’t remember, either way it’s bad).

But wait! It gets worse! Aventurine when he was still known as Kakavasha referred to the IPC as “the men in black/the men in black suits”, and his first master says he bought Aventurine from “the men in black/the men in black suits”, likely mocking the way he referred to them. Therefore THE IPC TOOK PART AND LIKELY EVEN CREATED A FUCKING SLAVE TRADE IN SIGONIA

Look being made into an indentured servant isn’t fun, but idk personally I’d take that any day of the week OVER BEING ENSLAVED

That’s not even to mention how horrible of a reputation Sigonian’s have in the galaxy, one likely spread by/resulting from the IPC themselves, as at least on Aventurines planet they do not have the mobility to make a name for themselves. (Honestly it’s a mini theory of mine that Aventurines scam is what partly contributed to this reputation, and his status as a slave is something the IPC conveniently left out in their broadcast about it-)

But, you might be saying, didn’t Aventurine have a choice to join the masked fools and leave the IPC, isn’t he free now? And to that I say, it’s complicated.

Considering the amount of suicidal shit Aventurine has done while being part of the IPC, he clearly hasn’t been having a fun time as a member of one, so why does he stick around, especially with the Fools invite? Even if he was a slave, does that absolve him of the crimes he’s committing now? What could justify his actions?

Revenge, plan and simple.

This is going to delve into some spoiler territory for the end of the Penacony 2.2 quest, something which I didn’t feel like mentioning earlier because I’m sorry but everyone and their mother already knows Boothill’s lore. Now, let’s get into it.

Aventurine accepts Jades offer to join the IPC, and when he becomes a Stoneheart, the first thing he asks about is the fate of the Avgin, to which he then learns that besides him, they are all dead. You see, from birth Kakavasha was pushed onto a pedestal as the savior of the Avgin, but now that there are no more Avgin to save, his primary motivator in becoming a Stoneheart (beyond not being enslaved anymore) is gone.

So what does he do now?

Simple, try to kill the motherfuckers behind it.

That’s why he takes on such risky gambles still, and why he wagers and wants Diamond to promote him to rank p46. The higher Aventurine gets the closer he gets to his goal of taking down the IPC for good.

Which is why his meeting with Boothill is so meaningful. I think Boothill is going to “kidnap” him and together they are gonna take down the wicked bitch that is Oswaldo Schneider for his literal crimes against humanity.

Mark my words, an IPC downfall is going to happen, and I think Topaz, Aventurine, Boothill and Ratio are going to be at the forefront of it.

However, Topaz and Ratio (and by extension the rest of the galaxy) have to learn/realize the true horrors of the IPC (although I can sense Ratio doesn’t really like them, and he’s learned a lot from Aventurine, I doubt he knows the full extent of the situation or is in any way happy about it). Therefore? Topaz mental breakdown arc? Ratio lore? PLEASE??!? The IP3 compliment one another so well and god I can’t wait for that to come to fruition.

I really want to see a Topaz and Ratio centered story leading up to an IPC smackdown, and I think we are gonna learn a lot more about how shitty they are in the later half of 2.2 and in 2.3 when the interlude and Jades release arrive.

As for the aforementioned Jade, she’s gonna need a Aventurine squared amount of trauma or reasoning behind her actions to seem in any way sympathetic, because right now she just seems like an evil bitch (in a semi good way, I will always respect the commitment to the bit) who loves her job and would make Machiavelli weep over how hard her ends are trying to justify her means.

[pattytacuri]

“

"Remember this feeling of hopelessness, sadness, desperation, and loneliness. You’ve hit rock bottom but won’t remain here. So most likely you’ve never been loved by a hand that’s touched you. That’s okay. You are a fucking Incan Queen. Fuck all those fucking dudes. You’re worthy and if you end up alone with your cats, That’s okay. Totally cool. Fuck everyone else. Also, slow down on the drinking. You need your liver. You don’t have to repeat your dad’s story. You are more than your trauma. Don’t settle for less than you deserve. You deserve to be loved, like you need to be loved and maybe you need to do the job yourself. No one else can do it for you. You can’t keep crying or dwelling over the same shit over again. Use it to inspire you and be a badass bitch. These motherfuckers will see one day. Regret the day they forgot about you or left you or treated you like shit. All bitches will be a fucking distant memory one day. Keep going Queen! You got this . Maybe sadness will come, loneliness will be a constant but find the strength within yourself to keep going. You’re a writer . You’ll be like Zelda, Sylvia but won’t go insane or kill yourself. You’re amazing. You were wanting to find something tonight and it was your strength to be alone. No one can give you that. Make a plan for your escape. Love yourself. Love your kids. Love your friends. Love your parents. Everyone else can go to fucking hell. Don’t waste too much energy on them. Amazing things are going to happen this year and next year. Just watch. You won’t be as sad someday soon. "

I wrote the above in March of 2019 in a drunken haze at some bar during a major depressive episode. I read this today and was rather introspective. Today I finally came out of the suicidal ideation mode I was in for the past few days. Reading this gave me hope that no matter how low I feel, I will always have a voice in me to be strong and keep going. There will always be something to look forward to or get excited about. 😊 Like today I got so excited about sour patch energy drinks and cuatro leches cake! I was so excited I got a weird look from my coworker. I had to find a way to tone down my excitement so I wouldn't be accused of being manic. I know I'm not like a "normal" adult because duh I'm bipolar and have BPD and my feelings are intense but I don't want to be "normal". When I was in high school, I had this shirt that said "normal is boring" and honestly it is. I mean obviously I have to maintain some kind of semblance of normal at work but outside of it...idgaf anymore. Lately I look at Britney Spears Instagram and I'm so inspired by how raw and free she's in her posts. I understand the perspective of people who are concerned about her but I'm like...damn I get it. Constantly functioning under society's constraints and pressures of who you should be when you're untamed and wild at heart makes you miserable. The past five years have been this journey to finally accepting and loving this version of me. The one that's weird AF, eccentric, spontaneous, my crazy creativity, mood swings, stretchmarked body, cringy taste of music, etc, etc. My mom made me laugh today with her take on gratitude but it made me think as I'm writing this post. I'm grateful for everything that's happened the past 5 years even the shit that's felt tragic or heart breaking cause it's brought me to this moment of coming out of a really bad depressive episode filled with gratitude for my life, contentment, excitement for what's to come next, and an eagerness to keep going. Life may get lonely being eccentric and crazy AF me but at least I'm no longer this miserable person living for the acceptance or the validation from others. LIKE I said in 2019, I'm an Incan Queen 👸 and fuck everyone who doesn't like me. 🤣😭🥰 nah...I guess the more mature thing my therapist taught me was to accept that not everyone will be for me and that's okay. And my mom always tells me, "don't wish bad things onto them, let them go and move forward" . I hope I'm this excited as I'm stocking product tomorrow for 8 hours 🤣🤣😭😭 .

[tllthesundies]

Anonymous said:

hi! i love the entertainment fic :) can you please write the part when they are celebrating louis’ birthday together, from harry’s pov?

–––––––

Harry hears the front door open, then close.

He remains indifferent as he stirs the small pot with pesto sauce in it to keep it from burning. He, also, keeps his eye on the boiling noodles in the bigger pot. But he’s listening to Louis’s footsteps and the jingling of keys in his pocket.

“Okay, rockstar,” he hears Louis’s voice, becoming louder the closer he approaches. “I know I take care of everything, and I recognise that you live in the middle of no man’s land, but I didn't actually think I'd have to include a lesson plan on keeping your doors locked. Things happen, even out here.” He pauses, and although Harry keeps his vision on the food, he sees Louis in his peripheral lean against the counter beside him. He’s wearing his jean jacket, some grey band t-shirt on underneath, and pairing it with boyfriend jeans. “I mean, it's California.” Harry can’t help sparing him a brief look, anyhow, quirking an eyebrow as he stirs the pesto. He doesn't respond to Louis. Louis watches for a moment before pushing himself away from the counter to instead lean his hip against it. He sighs. “What are you doing?”

“Making dinner,” quietly and casually replies Harry. He turns the heat for the spaghetti off. “I thought we could eat while we plan. Are you hungry?”

Louis nods.

“Haven't had anything since lunch.”

Harry glances back at a cabinet somewhere behind Louis and points to it. “Do you mind grabbing plates for us and setting the table? They're in that cabinet.”

“Yeah, sure.” When Louis disappears, Harry takes the pot to drain the noodles. “Do you want a specific colour?” he decides to ask Harry.

“Um,” hums Harry over the sound of pouring hot water and wet noodles being dumped into a strainer. “Honestly? I'm feeling teal.”

As Harry finishes draining the noodles, pours pesto sauce on them and mixes them, and finishes the vegetables, he glances repeatedly, briefly, at Louis. He sees him with teal and olive green plates and sets them up on Harry’s table. He, also, tries offering help, but Harry shuts him down immediately, each time, and sends him to just sit at the table. His hands shake just a little bit when he puts each food back into their respective pots–the ends of his nerves are on burning ice and he can’t make himself look at Louis for very long, if at all. He’s just on edge for the truth he hasn’t told him, but he takes a silent breath to clear his head.

“Most of everything,” Harry says, after he’s set everything on the table and gently plops into the seat beside Louis.

Louis blinks up at him.

“What?”

Spooning noodles onto his plate carefully, Harry repeats, “Most. You take care of most things.” He offers the spoon to Louis with a small smirk ghosting his lips.

Louis breathes out a soft chuckle, taking the utensil from Harry.

He shakes his head in reply.

He waits until everything is on their plates to take off his jean jacket. Harry watches him remove paper from inside a pocket, then hangs it on the back of his chair. Louis unfolds it, glancing up at him. “I don't know what you've got planned,” he begins, “or anything, but I made a list, anyway, to help jumpstart ideas. You know Calista, so, I kind of presume you know what she likes. But—just in case.”

Tentatively, Harry takes the list Louis gives him. He swallows as invisible as possible, and his eyes roam over all of the ideas Louis’s written down: Frozen themed - extremely popular concept still; Pink strawberry theme; Typical animal zoo theme; the birthday party concepts keep going on and on, and the longer Harry continues reading the list, the more those icy ends of his nerves burn more. It becomes overwhelming for his chest, and–he has to tell the truth. There’s too much devotion and dedication in this list to keep his façade going. Leaning back into his chair, he finally gathers the courage to look at Louis, and says, “This list isn’t going to be useful. Don't be mad at me.” Eyebrows narrowing, a puzzled look comes across Louis’s face. “I lied to you.”

The fork in Louis’ hand halts.

He blinks slowly at Harry.

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Why am I here, then?”

For a split second, Harry’s confidence wavers. There’s a hesitancy he can’t help having, and one he’s not used to controlling – and as observant as Louis is, he probably sees the moment he wavers. And the controlling side of Harry hates that possibility. But he looks Louis directly in the eye, runs a hand through his hair, and speaks in a quiet voice. “It’s your birthday in just a few days. I—I wanted to . . . give you some kind of celebration to show my”–the words continue getting stuck in his throat; he has to spit them out, to warm them up–“. . . appreciation for everything you’ve done.” He pauses, to gauge Louis’s reaction. He looks–unsure; wondering; still confused, albeit a little more understanding. “Look, I’m not the best at, uh—expressing my feelings for people. Not that I have feelings. But”—he rubs an eye with his knuckle, becoming frustrated with himself—“you know what I mean.”

He took Rachel’s advice, but maybe he went too far this time. He lied to get Louis to agree to this. He lied because he didn’t know any other way to go about this. He doesn’t know how to just–outright ask someone such a simple thing like hey, I want to celebrate your birthday, would you like to come over? And it’s far more awkward because he purposely hasn’t been the most pleasant to the exact person he wants to celebrate.

He’s trying.

Probably in his own twisted way, but he’s trying.

And the silence from Louis stretches for far too long – to the point Harry gets uncomfortable. But he doesn’t show it.

“I don’t know what to say,” Louis says, after some time, words just above a whisper.

“Say nothing,” Harry chooses for him. “Consider this a . . . I recognise your hard work, Louis. You’re always on time, prepared, and organised. I’ve never had to tell you how to do your job, and that takes a lot of pressure off of me. So, thank you.” That last part stings his throat when it comes out. But not in the wrong way. “Again, consider this a congratulatory party for two. Nothing more.”

Louis stares at him.

“How did you know?”

“Résumé,” Harry simply answers.

A small beat of silence.

Louis narrows his eyes at him. “I never put my age or date of birth on any résumé.”

“Résumé,” Harry repeats, intentionally curt.

Harry’s not going to tell him from which source he acquired the information from. He wouldn’t blow Niall’s cover like that. Niall had questioned him plenty enough when he had called him. Why do you want to know? Niall asked, even though he had already given the information to Harry. I just want to be nice, is all Harry answered with.

He wasn’t lying.

“Fine,” Louis replies cooly. “Creep.”

Harry puts on an unimpressed look, staring directly into Louis’s eyes as he chews his food. After swallowing, he says, “That’s a big accusation coming from someone I could fire.”

Louis smiles, smug.

“See, that’s the beautiful thing . . . you can’t fire me,” he retorts.

Harry shakes his head, and he fights the muscles in his face that are around his mouth that desperately are trying to lift his lips at Louis’s reply. He can’t let that happen. His mind races with other topics to bring; with other distractions.

“Listen,” Harry says, “I have a cake for you.”

“Where?”

Harry shakes his head again.

“We have to make it,” he tells him.

Louis looks cautious. “What flavour?”

“Chocolate.”

A pleasantly surprised look crosses his features. “That’s my favourite,” he says. “Lucky guess?”

“You could say that.”

Dinner continues quietly. The ends of Harry’s nerves have started to warm up, evaporating the icy burn and replacing it with a normal temperature. His heart stops beating inconsistently and begins functioning like a normal human being. However, the same icy feeling starts to show itself in Harry’s mouth; words flow uncontrollably out of his mouth. Harry’s not a talker. He knows how to talk. He knows how to respond to people, and how to maintain conversation, but he doesn’t generally start the conversations unless he has no choice. Louis looks a little amused by him, but he does his best to ignore it. He, also, tries to get Louis to talk about himself, so, that he has some semblance of control over his mouth, but it doesn’t work.

Harry notices Dolly sauntering into the kitchen in his peripheral as he loads the dishwasher. She has her mustard yellow turtleneck on still that Harry had put on her this morning, her collar matching impeccably. She comes right over to Harry and peers into the dishwasher, but Harry scratches behind her ear as a warning before gently swatting her away.

She mews loudly at him, offended, she wanders over Louis.

Harry rolls his eyes at her.

“Look what you've done,” Louis speaks up.

Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis as he messes with the controls on the top of the dishwasher.

Snorting, Harry opens a drawer and slings a clean dish cloth over his shoulder before making his way over to Louis. “She's just mad I wanted to keep her from hurting herself,” he tells Louis. “She'll come around in ten minutes and act like it never happened.” He lifts a hand and gently caresses Dolly’s neck. But Dolly tries to hide from him by burying her face into Louis's armpit.

Louis laughs, surprised.

“Oh, no.”

Harry just puckers his lips and gives her an air kiss, and chuckles, smiling. “She always comes back.”

Louis bends his head and drops his gaze to Dolly. Harry watches the gentle way he rubs the top of her head and the rest of her body. He’s so much more familiar with her than when he had first met Dolly. He had been jumpy, a little scared. Now, they’re friends. Harry turns his head away and walks to the pantry.

“So, I've got,” Harry begins, and stops. He grabs the chocolate cake box he sees hiding on the top shelf, and stretches his arm up to get it. The matching frosting container is nearby, and he grabs it, too. He reads the back of it before continuing speaking. “Chocolate frosting. And”—he draws out the word until Louis rolls his eyes, telling him to get on with it; Harry's composure breaks, a grin breaking across his face as he stammers out his words because of his breathy laugh—“could you get the eggs out, please?”

Louis probably thinks he’s annoying.

It’s all on purpose.

Louis squats down to release Dolly from his arms. She jumps out of his grip, but remains by his feet. He washes his hands, first, then puts the eggs he retrieved from the fridge on the island.

Harry comes up beside Louis who’s reading the instructions on the back very carefully, and just dumps the oil, cake mix box, and frosting next to the eggs

Harry finds his measuring cup, and gives it to Louis to use for the oil and water. Louis asks him senseless questions; if he wants to do the eggs, et cetera. Louis has him sniff the inside of the cake mix bake to see if it smells good. It’s very chocolatey. And while he lets Louis do whatever he wants with the cake, he searches through his playlist to find music to fill the silence, so, he doesn’t have to talk too much. He finds Louis a bowl, a pan to fit the mixture into, and preheats the oven.

Harry sticks his finger in the bowl last minute, making a pop sound upon releasing his finger from between his lips.

“That’s really tasty,” he says.

Louis’s unimpressed.

“Tell me that when you get salmonella.”

“Can't wait.”

Louis shakes his head.

As they wait for the cake to fully bake, they work together cleaning all of the dirty utensils and bowls. They clean the island. Dolly stays silently crowding their feet. Harry can feel Dolly rubbing her head against his ankles, then attempts to climb onto his feet to lay down on them. Harry internally sighs.

“Look,” murmurs Louis.

Harry hears a smile reflecting in his voice.

He doesn't remove his gaze from the whisk he's washing.

“I know she's there. I'm ignoring her.”

Then it happens very fast:

Harry feels a small puddle gather on his feet and the bottom of his pants that cling to his skin. He hears Louis’s shocked laughter, but he doesn’t look at him as he breathes in a sharp breath to calm himself. Every fucking time.

“She—”

Harry's eyes close in pain. “I know. I wish I could say this hasn't happened before.”

While Louis’s still giggling and picks Dolly up from his feet, Harry excuses himself to go change his pants, then reemerges to find Louis feeding Dolly from the palm of his hand.

Louis looks over his shoulder at Harry, a single eyebrow raised.

“Better?” he asks.

“No,” Harry answers immediately. He pulls out the chair beside Louis, turns it around to sit backwards in it. He crosses his arms on the back of it, and gives Dolly an annoyed look that she ignores entirely in favour of the food she nibbles on in Louis's outstretched hand.

Still highly amused, Louis smiles, looking at Harry. “She's fine. Why'd she do that?”

“She does it when I'm absent too much” Harry explains. “In her cat mind, she thinks if she vomits on me, I'll be forced to clean up after her and take care of her. I don't know. Cats are—they have strange minds. I just think it’s only my cat because she has anxiety problems.”

Closing his parted lips, Louis shifts his gaze over to Dolly. She's trying to bite down on a hard piece she got. Harry watches them both. “Did you want to, like, watch something?” Louis asks, glancing briefly at Harry. “While the cake bakes?”

Harry nods.

“What do you have in mind?”

Shrugging, once, feebly, Louis says, “I don't know. Maybe a movie? Comedies are nice.”

Harry stands from his chair, and pushes it back in normally. “It’s your birthday; you get all the privileges of picking and holding the remote.” He walks past behind Louis and into the front room, and sits down in the left corner of his settee.

After letting Dolly tackle the last couple of pieces of her cat food into her mouth, Louis picks her up and takes her with. He tucks his left leg underneath his right one when he sits down on the settee. There's a space between their bodies that isn’t too enclosed to make Harry uncomfortable; and he averts his gaze to the television, so, that he won’t continuously stare at Louis in his peripheral vision. He can’t keep doing that. He can’t keep–looking at him more than he needs to.

It’s dangerous.

Harry places the remote in Louis's outstretched palm.

Louis shifts through channels for too long; and when he enters Netflix, he spends too much time reading each and every description.

“By this rate,” says Harry, breaking their long held silence, “the cake will be ready before you settle on something.”

Louis turns his head, tilting his head in a look. “Well, I'm not much of a TV person, to be honest,” Louis admits. “What do you recommend?”

“I told you,” says Harry, staring straight at the television still, “your birthday, your choice. . . . But . . . if you really want a recommendation . . . There's Something About Mary is a very good romantic comedy.”

Louis blinks. “What's it about?”

“This guy Ted — Ben Stiller plays him — wants to reconnect with his old prom date back from high school he had a massive crush on, so, he hires somebody to track her down and . . . it's, like, really messy, but what rom-com isn’t? It's a hundred times better than it sounds,” Harry promises him.

Louis seems to consider it.

Then he nods.

“Sure. Let's watch that.”

Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis as he stands from the settee. “You sure?” he asks.

Harry kneels in front of his small but wide bookcase full of DVDs. He quickly looks over every case until he finds the one he’s looking for. Turning the player on and popping in the disc, he returns to his spot on the sofa. Harry’s seen this romcom a thousand times, so, though he keeps his eye on the television, he doesn’t try to catch up with everything that plays out. Instead, he listens to Louis’s laughter, and distracts himself by dragging his forefinger across his lips for something to do. When the stove timer goes off, he jumps up to get it, and Dolly follows behind him.

“It's done,” Harry calls out. After he puts the cake on the counter on top of a dish cloth, he tests the idle with a toothpick. When he looks up to see where Louis is, he finds him by Harry’s walls of picture frames, cradling Dolly in his arms as his gaze roams. Harry decides to act indifferent and let a hard feeling pass through his stomach, and raids through his pantry to find the frosting. “Louis. Where's the frosting?” Harry feels Louis come up beside him a moment later. “I gave it to you. Where could it have disappeared to?”

Taking a step back, Louis stretches an arm out to open the freezer door. He reaches in, and then he closes it to hold the small container of frosting towards Harry, in the air. “Right here,” he says, wiggling it when Harry looks at him, gaze falling on the container. “I put it in the freezer.”

Harry pauses, lips parting. “Why did you put it in the freezer?”

Louis raises both brows at him in a way that the answer should be obvious. “Because room temperature frosting is disgusting? It's only good when it's cold.”

Gently, he tosses it on the island.

Harry's eyebrows pull together as he steps back and pulls the pantry door closed. “Uh—I hate to inform you, but frosting is good no matter what temperature it is,” he says in a vaguely defensive voice.

“Now you're just being gross,” comments Louis, looking briefly at Harry when he situates himself in front the cake, his lightheartedness subtle. Harry chooses to just busy himself with removing the cake from the pan, turning his back to Louis. “Oh, no.”

Harry turns around.

“What?” Harry asks.

He sets the plate full of cake beside Louis on the island and peeks at what Louis has in his hand.

Louis turns his body in an angle, towards Harry, and demonstrates the issue. Holding a knife in his hand to scope some of the chocolate frosting out, he goes at it — but he's stopped, and it's impossible to get any, because the knife is met with nothing but brick. “It's frozen,” Louis says.

Harry blinks a few times.

“Really?”

“Shut up,” he retorts. He glances around before walking over to a cabinet to retrieve a bowl. “Couldn't we use a microwave? Unless you're willing to wait an hour for it to thaw. I know I rather not.” Setting the bowl down, next to the frosting, Louis takes it in his hands and attempts to shake it out into the bowl first. Harry just watches him – and he pauses for a second, because he notices a small freckle on the upper part of the side of his neck. He’s lost count, now, how many freckles Louis has.

“I thought you hated warm frosting.”

“I do, but if we put it in for just a few seconds it won't matter,” Louis reasons.

Harry watches him shake it and realise that method doesn’t work. He proceeds to lay it upside down on the lid and hits it hard. Then he tries squeezing it before attempting to pry the container from the edges of the frosting.

The corners of his mouth tilt downwards in a frown.

“It's going to take more than a few seconds,” Harry comments, and takes the frosting from Louis. He bangs it against the edge of the island, the sound visibly startling Louis. The solid block of frosting falls right into the bowl Louis had gotten. Harry gives him a smile as he walks past Louis to the microwave that sits on the counter to the left of the refrigerator and slides it in. Harry doesn't take it out until it looks like it's thawed entirely, then pulls it out with a hot pad. Coming up beside Louis, he pokes his index finger in the frosting and sucks it into his mouth. “Not that warm.”

He pokes another finger in it.

Louis waves his fingers away from the frosting, and he uses the knife from before to taste it. The temperature appears to be okay with him, judging by the pleased look on his face.

“It's really good,” he confesses quietly to Harry. He puts his knife in the dishwasher full of other dirty utensils and grabs clean knives and forks to use and separate plates for Harry and him. “I don't want to put any frosting on it, by the way,” he adds.

Harry pauses.

“What? Why?” He pulls his eyebrows together in confusion, and looks at Louis instead of the cake. What kind of person doesn’t want frosting on their cake?

“I prefer to have it on the side and dip the cake in the frosting,” Louis explains. “It tastes better to me that way.”

For a few moments, Harry stares at him, and Louis stares back, a little challenge in his face. His assistant is weird. But he can work around it. So, he nods, saying, “We can do that, no problem.” Then he remembers: “Wait.” He walks over to a drawer a few feet from them and rummages through it until he pulls out two things: a large pack of single candle sticks, and candle numbers 2 and 7. “Can't forget these.” Harry sticks the numbers right in the centre, then surrounds it with twenty-seven of the fifty count of blue candles. It's a very crowded cake, and crumbly and has new cracks added into the old ones because of the force of all the candles. It’s ugly, in Harry’s opinion; the cake, the stereotypical candles, how bare and destroyed it all is – but when he lifts his head to look at Louis, into his blue eyes that have specks of green and grey, his chest eases. Stops. Momentarily. This . . . isn’t so ugly.

Quickly, he lights all of the candles. “Okay,” he says upon lighting the last one, and sets down the lighter. “Make a wish.”

Louis ends up staring at his face instead of blowing out the candles right away. He searches Harry’s face. And Harry doesn’t know what to do besides stare right back. Finally, Louis tears his eyes away and leans down, blowing out the candles. They leave a trail of smoke in the air and a very distinct candle stench that Harry hates. But Harry pretends, and chooses to clap him for and whistle. Louis laughs at him, something soft and something high that pulls at Harry’s chest. He starts picking the candles out of the cake, and Harry notices a soft tinge of pink colouring the apples of his cheeks.

Harry doesn’t know why, so, he ignores it.

Louis cuts the cake and gives the first slice to Harry, then gives one to himself. Harry suffocates his slice in frosting very carelessly. Dolly retreats back to them and tries to rub her face in the bowl of chocolate and what's on their plates, but Harry grabs her with both of his hands and tucks her underneath his arm. She struggles to free herself the entire time; Harry ignores it. Even when they sit back down on the sofa to continue watching their movie. Harry doesn’t see it coming when Dolly whips her paw around and slashes at his skin, causing a long and bright red scratch down his forearm. He lets her go immediately, pissed off.

He sees Dolly strut right into Louis's lap, and walks in circles before settling down to rest on his thighs. Her relaxed exterior pisses him off more.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, concerned, eyes full of concern.

Harry’s jaw tenses. “It burns,” he answers truthfully, “but I’m fine. She's just in a mood today.” He rolls his eyes.

There’s a frown on Louis’s face when he glances down at Dolly, but he doesn’t say anything further. Harry chooses to suck it up and finish eating his cake while ignoring Dolly. The scratch thankfully never bleeds, as they finish the rest of their movie, eating the entire cake by themselves. Louis doesn’t finish the next slice he eats, but Harry has no problem eating the rest of it for the both of them.

Harry's licking the icing off his fork when he looks at Louis. The half piece of pure cake is still there on Louis’s plate. “What did you think?”

Louis's eyes flicker up at him, meeting his gaze. Breathing in a soft breath, he nods his head.

“It was good; I liked it. I love Cameron Diaz.”

“Me, too,” Harry admits. “She's very nice.”

“Have you met her?”

Humming, Harry nods once. “Met her on the red carpet at some award show. I think I have a picture.” Louis huffs out a chuckle. “Do you want to watch another movie?”

Louis stays silent for a moment, then shrugs and rests a hand on Dolly, whom lays sleeping in his lap. “Sure. But you pick this time.”

“It's still your choice,” Harry reminds him.

Breathing out a purposely heavy annoyed sigh, he says, “I choose you to pick the next thing we watch.”

“That's not how it works.”

“Sure, it is. It's my birthday.”

Harry stares at Louis, pressing his lips together. It becomes a staring contest between them. It goes on for several moments until Harry blinks and looks away. “I can't argue that,” he says, finally.

“Exactly,” quips Louis, as he gently drops the remote in Harry's outstretched hand, palm turned up.

They watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s, then when Harry turns on Meet the Parents, he notices Louis’s eyes start closing. He repetitively glances out of the corner of his eyes at Louis, watching him nod off until he’s sound asleep. Harry’s chest grows soft as he stares at Louis’s tired, pale face. His thin lips are slightly parted, like he should be snoring. Him and Dolly both sound asleep on each other is a rather humourous sight. He decides to leave Louis be and turns his attention to the television to watch the movie. There’s something . . . oddly comforting about the silence; Louis sleeping beside him, the hum of the telly, the filling sensation that encompasses the silence. It’s not so lonely–not so what Harry’s used to. By the end of the movie, he grabs his own plate and stands up, then does his best to grab Louis’s without disturbing him. But Louis’s eyes flutter open at the accidental brush of contact that Harry internally curses himself for. Louis straightens out his very tilted sleeping position, and looks up at him through squinted eyes.

Harry gives Louis a genuine apologetic look, and quietly says, “Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

Louis delicately rubs his eye with the back of his right hand, and stretches his legs, breathing out a tired sigh. He blinks his eyes a few times to adjust. “It's fine,” he rasps. “Sorry I'm falling asleep.”

“Don't apologise,” Harry gently tells him.

He continues off to the kitchen. After scraping off pieces into the rubbish and rinsing off their plates, he lays them on the counter, then hesitates. The image of the gift bag still in the other room floats to the forefront of his mind. He looks over his shoulder at Louis, and finds him distracted by Dolly, and makes a quick decision. Harry speed walks to the other room on silent heels and grabs Louis’ gift bag, then makes his way back into the front room. Louis looks up the exact moment Harry approaches him, and the movements of his hand combing Dolly’s fur stop when his eyes fall down and spot a white bag in Harry's left hand.

“What ‘ave you got there?” His tone is careful.

Harry sets the shopping bag right in his spot, close enough for Louis to reach into. Harry sits on the edge of the settee on the other side of Louis, at an angle facing Louis, and he looks him directly in the eyes. “I thought I'd give this to you, before you completely black out on me,” he says. “It's not really a celebration without gifts, too.”

Louis pushes himself up to sit straighter. “Harry . . .” He looks at a loss for words – lips parted on nothing; uncertainty scaling his face and eyes; touching the bag’s thin, black handles like it’ll burn him. “You didn't have to get me anything. Dinner, movies, the cake, I'm perfectly content just with that.”

Harry presses his lips together lightly and nods. “I know,” he says, forcing his gaze to not leave Louis's. “But I want to do this for you. Don’t make me repeat myself; I’m not good with complimenting people. Just accept it.”

“Harry—”

“Fucking accept it,” he says.

Glancing between Harry's face and the bag, Louis touches it again.

He leans forward and peeks inside. It’s covered by black, decorative tissue paper, and Harry watches him use both hands to remove all the tissue paper.

He knows the second Louis sees it. He pauses, gaze unblinking and widening just enough for Harry to catch. He sees the backpack from Givenchy Harry had gotten him. That was . . . another thing he managed to get out of Niall. Louis’s allegedly been so back and forth about buying it for himself that Harry decided to choose for him. It was extremely easy to find, and even easier to buy. It was probably the easiest gift Harry’s ever had to shop for. But–he didn’t think it was enough; he had bought a bag of Reese’s, as well as wrote a check out for Louis and put that in the backpack for him. Maybe it would make up for everything, Harry’s hoping–maybe it’ll . . . Harry shouldn’t be hoping for anything, really. But after Rachel had a talk with him and made him feel like a shitty person, he’s hoping this’ll convey Harry’s guilt. Or apology. Louis might not recognise it as that, but that’s okay.

“Open it,” Harry instructs softly.

Louis quits just staring at the bag and unzips it. Suddenly, he looks up at Harry and smiles at him, face glowing in happiness. Harry can’t help the smile he gives him in return. Louis backs down and–a little laugh is pulled out of him. Harry’s eyebrow furrow, a little, in wonder.

“What's so funny?” Harry asks.

Louis pulls the bag of candy out to show Harry, without speaking.

Harry's gaze shifts from Louis to the treat, a confused but amused smile splitting across his lips. He . . . doesn’t understand. It’s candy. Harry shrugs like what about it? and Louis shakes his head in response and mumbles never mind. Setting the candy down beside Dolly, he grabs the check.

Louis scoffs, shaking his head as he begins to read it, and asks, “How much is this?”

But he abruptly stops, face falling.

“Five thousand dollars,” Harry casually answers, despite his heart picking up pace again. Louis lifts his head to look at him, but he doesn't say anything. Is it too much? Is it too forward? Did Harry cross a line? Maybe he was wrong for buying Louis his dream backpack and a check. But if he just stuck with the candy, then Harry would look like he put in the least amount of effort in. And this is the line he struggles with: either going too far, or not doing enough. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Louis answers immediately. Then he releases a breath, knowing he’s full of it.  “This is too much, Harry.”

Harry blinks, then stamps on his racing heart and pulls out his detached face. “Louis,” he begins, stern, “don’t even start. That?”—he points to the check—“That is pocket change to me. We’ve gone over this. I have more money than I’ll ever know what to do with. I don’t see better use for it than for charity and for using it to buy whatever you want. Don’t feel bad about me using my own money. Eat the rich, or whatever they say.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Louis asks.

Harry pauses.

“Yes and no. But that’s a different conversation for another day.”

Louis blinks, breaking his gaze from Harry. Harry watches him closely, and waits for something. Louis’s face is concentrated; furrowed eyebrows, a far away look in his crystal clear eyes. He’s thinking something, and as much as Harry would love to get inside that pretty little head of his, he merely settles for waiting. Dolly comes poking through, however, weaving herself effortlessly and expertly through Louis's arms. She throws her arms up to cling to the opened backpack, and stands on her hind legs to peer inside. She stuffs her entire head in it, and it breaks Louis out of whatever it was, making him chuckle.

Harry just shakes his head.

Louis wraps his fingers around her legs to pull her back out of his backpack, but she clings hard. Harry  finds himself laughing softly at the image before him, and he intervenes quickly. He softly scratches behind Dolly's head, then transitions into wrapping his hands around her bottom. He picks her up upside down, successfully having Dolly let go.

Harry pulls her to his chest.

Louis's small chuckle turns into a giggle, and he shakes his head. He reaches for his phone on the coffee table, and Harry watches his face change to realisation.

“I have to go,” he announces.

Dolly falls out of Harry’s grip and runs away.

He looks at Harry.

Harry puts on an unreadable face. “You have to go?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Louis responds as he stands up. “I have a flight in the morning. Remember? I have to get up really early, and triple check all my belongings. It’s a long flight, so, I’ll need some proper rest.”

“All right,” Harry agrees. He walks first to the door, with Louis following suit, after placing his backpack back into the bag, along with the check. “When's your flight?”

“Hm,” Louis hums. “I think 7.45 in the morning.”

“Harsh,” Harry comments lightly. He lifts his hand to rub at his neck a moment. “I hope it's good. Tell your mum I said hello.”

Louis nods. “I will. And I hope it is, too.” There's a slightly awkward pause, on Louis's end. But it doesn’t last. “Listen . . . I want to thank you for—”

Harry interrupts him.

“No problem.”

“You didn't have to,” Louis points out. He's clearly not going to let Harry wave it off. “You didn't have to do anything at all, but you did. I just want you to know that it's one of the nicest things someone's ever done for me, and that I really, really appreciate it.”

Louis looks at with the most serene face, conviction in his tone. It causes Harry to be temporarily weak.

“You're welcome,” he says in response, hands clasped behind his back for something to hold on to.

Harry doesn’t see it coming – Louis steps forward with confidence, coming into Harry’s personal space, and raises himself onto his toes to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Those icy nerves return alight and burn him. He’s paralysed for several moments; all he registers is the faint scent of floral notes reaching into his nostrils and brushing against his nose hairs. It’s not overwhelming; it’s the perfect aroma of flowers and fruitiness. Based on his own colognes he’s sampled and bought before, this one could be YSL – or maybe it’s ones he’s seen, such as Lancome. They carry a lot of floral perfumes. Either way, it’s very pleasing. And before he can think, he sneaks his arms around Louis’s small waist–it’s much smaller and slimmer than it looks–and spreads his fingers across the bottom of his spine and the middle of his back.

It’s only a moment later Louis pulls back.

Even though Louis doesn’t look at him, he can’t stop staring at Louis, completely dumbfounded.

“I'll see you in a couple weeks,” says Louis, smiling, when he looks up at Harry. “I'm a text and phone call away if you need anything, okay?” Louis raises a pointed eyebrow at him, giving Harry a look. “Don't hesitate, okay? I won't mind.”

Harry nods.

He’s not going to, but he’ll pretend for Louis.

“Got it,” he says, pressing his lips together.

The pointed look remains on Louis's face.

“I mean it,” he presses, to ensure his message is across.

Harry rolls his eyes and straightens out his posture. “I know,” he sighs. “I’ve survived nearly a decade without you, so, I don't think anything I can't handle is going to happen in the time you'll be gone.”

Louis throws his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, I didn't say you couldn't handle any one thing. I implied quite the opposite, actually,” he corrects.

Harry plays along.

“No need to rub my already swollen ego.”

Louis smiles, huffing out a small laugh. It’s the softest expression he’s ever seen on a face. It’s so caring. Harry doesn’t–understand how he can be so gentle. “Never happy with anything, are you?” he teases.

Harry smiles. “Nope,” he says. “Comes with being a perfectionist. And just being me, in general.”

“I see.” There's silence that falls over them like a blanket. Harry’s hoping Louis will take the cue and leave, but he stays. “What do you plan to do for Christmas?”

Harry blinks.

“I don't know,” he answers. “I don't do much for Christmas, really. I don't celebrate it.”

Louis raises an inquiring brow. “Because of religious reasons, or . . . ?”

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t talk about it with anyone. He’s certainly not going to discuss it with Louis. “Nah. Just don't celebrate it, that's all,” he answers, giving Louis a small smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Not even with your parents?” Harry shakes his head, choosing not to say anything more. With that, Louis drops the subject. “Don't forget to—”

“I'm kicking you out,” Harry says, tone flat, and a finger pointed to the door behind Louis.

He walks around him and opens it.

“You're kicking me out?” Louis repeats,, smiling and now standing so close to the door frame, as he keeps his gaze on Harry, whom now leans against the side of the red door, arms crossed and one foot hooked around the other.

Harry nods vigorously, eyebrows risen.

“Get out. Right now.”

“Fine, I'll leave,” says Louis, raising his hands as he walks out onto the stone walkway, “but not because you're threatening me; but because I want to.” He keeps on walking down the small set of stone steps and across the path leading to the driveway.

“Louis,” Harry calls out without thinking, just going on the feeling of restricted air in his chest. Louis looks over his shoulder, as his hand pulls his car keys out of his pants pocket, and his strides slow. He stares at Harry with patience, and it’s the last thing Harry wants to see in his face, because he won’t be seeing him for a while. “Merry Christmas. Happy birthday. Have a safe flight.”

Louis’s mouth curves up in a gentle, genuine smile.

“Thank you. Happy New Year,” he calls back.

Harry closes the door two-thirds of the way, not willing to let go of the sight of Louis quite yet. He needs to see him get safely in his car and drive away – he can’t let that feeling go. The restriction in his chest worsens when he watches Louis open his car door, but it eases slowly when Louis looks back. In fear of coming off creepy, he closes the door. But he stays behind it to listen to the engine start – to see the red lights reflect against the windows and the distant sound of his car fade until Harry can’t hear anything anymore. Then he turns around, inhaling a deep breath when his vision lands on Dolly sitting on her bum patiently by the stairs, watching him.

“Dolly,” he says – she tilts her head – “Am I too much?”

Dolly mews and walks off.

He’s always changing himself, changing his style, his image. He’s either always too much or not enough; there’s no healthy balance. Maybe he’ll try working on it in Louis’s absence, so, he doesn’t have to fret over it every time he says or does something he’s not familiar with. He doesn’t want to scare Louis off.

[tomorrowsdrama]

2020: A Year in Thirst

In 1985, Gabriel Garcia Marquez gave the world Love in the Time of Cholera.  In 2020 (er, I guess it’s now 2021), I give to you, Thirst in the Time of Covid-19 or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace the Thirst, a brief recap of all the dramas I watched in 2020 and whether such dramas made yours truly parched..  

The list contains dramas that premiered in 2020, but also dramas from previous years.  If I watched it or attempted to watch it in 2020, it’s on the list.  

EDIT: Ok, I’m going to have to do this in multiple parts because apparently I watched more dramas in 2020 than I remembered and talking about them all in one post would just be too long.

This also serves as a sort of greeting to all the people who recently followed me.  I don’t know how or why, but thank you for being interested in my thirst, and also so sorry for everything you have/will witness here!  I started this side blog last December 2019 as a place to dump all my fangirl feels and thirst with unbridled abandon and let’s just say, the thirst REALLY ramped up in 2020 during quarantine and all the political chaos/uncertainty.  The state of the world may be uncertain, but my thirst will always be a comforting constant!  LOL. If you want to thirst or fangirl/boy together, I’m all ears.

Anyway, let’s start with the drama that was partially the inspiration for this list. 

1. The Wolf

Brief Summary: Sweet hot boy raised in the wilderness/by wolves meets sweet beautiful girl and they fall in love.  Shitty evil people do shitty evil things to them to cause a misunderstanding and they are separated for years.  Sweet hot boy is given the “Sexy Bloody Tormented Killer Makeover” TM and turns into a VERY VERY BAD HOT Wolf Man after being tortured/brainwashed by an evil asshole king who “adopted” him.  Bad Hot Wolf Man reunites with sweet beautiful girl but because of third party machinations in the past, he thinks that she betrayed him so he is suuuuuuch an ass to her (while still maintaining hotness).  But even beneath the asshattery (and sexy jerky smirks), he can’t help his love for her and it’s just *chefs kiss*. The angst, the pining, the mutual sacrifice for each other, the torment of wanting to be together but not being able to be together because of external forces/circustances, oh I am getting in a tizzy just thinking about it.  I won’t reveal anymore so as not to spoil the drama, but just know the ending may destroy you.

Is she thirsty? Am I thirsty? AM I THIRSTY?  Oh honey, if you don’t know the answer to that, then you must either be new here or you haven’t been paying attention to any of my posts in the past few weeks.  Look, from the first moment the camera panned to Darren Wang’s very well-defined and tan chest and windswept hair, all semblance of shame and dignity I ever tried to feign on this tumblr was immediately thrown out the window.  The feelings that he inspired within me were purely primal.  My cavewoman ancestor from millennia ago stopped gathering food in the harsh wilderness for a brief second to transmigrate into my body and go “me want big strong man!”

I mean, below is literally our introduction to Wolf Boy.  Am I supposed to just witness this and not feel anything?  The director knew what he/she was doing.  Anybody who worked on the drama who says they didn’t intend to exploit Darren Wang’s assets is a BOLD FACED LIAR. And this isn’t even Wolf boy in his hottest form.

That would be this:

Damn, your girl needs a moment here.  When Wolf Boy turns into Bad Hot Wolf Man, wheeeeewww.  The things that came out of my mouth and the thoughts that popped up into my head.

Examples of shameless fangirl drooling can be found here: https://tomorrowsdrama.tumblr.com/post/636986055498792960/dangermousie-this-should-be-illegal-i-mean Here: https://tomorrowsdrama.tumblr.com/post/637238885944033280/dangermousie-i-am-fucking-dead-the-end-this Here: https://tomorrowsdrama.tumblr.com/post/637793196830769152/dangermousie-wolfie-acquired-a-kid-omg Here: https://tomorrowsdrama.tumblr.com/post/635272988321775616/dangermousie-i-dont-know-about-you-guys-but and here: https://tomorrowsdrama.tumblr.com/post/637621638524977152/dangermousie-hnnnnnnnngh-i-am-beginning-to-forget

Honestly, just check out The Wolf tag on @dangermousie​ tumblr and you won’t be disappointed.  Prepare to become obsessed, horny, and heartbroken.

Would I watch it minus the thirst traps? Have you ever thirsted so much that you couldn’t separate what reaction was hormonal and what was objective?  Like the guy is so hot to you that when your friends ask you what do you like about him, the first 10 things you can think of are “he’s hot!” and then you try to remind yourself that you’re not a shallow person who actually cares about things other than looks but at the same time you can’t for the life of you think of a non-hot based trait that you like about the guy  Yeah, that’s what happened here so sorry, I can’t give you an objective opinion.  It’s not that there’s nothing objectively good about The Wolf, it’s just that my judgment is too clouded by Darren Wang’s abs and big hands.  But from what I can tell by other people’s posts, even if you didn’t thirst for Darren Wang (Are you made of stone?  But also, can you please teach me your magic so I can go back to being a semi-functional working woman?), The Wolf is still a very enjoyable drama with its own non-Darren Wang related merits.

2. My Beautiful Bride

Brief Summary: A drama about a strait-laced banker who wears a dorky backpack and rides a bicycle everywhere while wearing the dorkiest looking helmet ever and his beautiful bride-to-be whom he is hopelessly devoted to.  This being a kdrama, and an OCN drama at that, things aren’t all what they appear to be.  Yes, you read that right, an OCN. ROMANCE. DRAMA.  Turns out the beautiful bride-to-be has a dangerous past that soon comes back to haunt her and she mysteriously disappears one day from strait-laced banker’s life in the typical kdrama way to protect him.  Part of the reason she leaves him is also because she doesn’t want him to know about her past because she doesn’t think she’s good enough for him.  Little does she know, he knows everything about her past and accepts it all.  The only reason why he doesn’t bring it up is because he knows she doesn’t want him to know about that part of herself and he loves her so much he’s willing to do anything to make her happy.  But also, another thing she doesn’t know is that underneath that boring but perfectly ironed suit, is a finely chiseled, super efficient fighting machine who did his mandatory military service in the special forces.  He is like the terminator meets Liam Neeson’s character in Taken.  He has a very particular set of skills and will stop at nothing to get his bride back.

Is she thirsty?  Please just watch this video and you will have your answer: https://youtu.be/Ut9MhxWadHM

Prior to The Wolf, My Beautiful Bride was probably the most thirst-inducing drama I watched in 2020.

I mean, just look

at this

at all of this

I don’t’ know how Joo Young saw that body and never questioned whether he really was just a banker.  The writers of the drama must be super heterosexual men who are blind because so many of the characters in the drama question why someone as beautiful as Joo Young would ever want to be with someone like the banker. Um..Um...aside from the fact that he is financially well off, treats her well, is loving and respectful of her, and prioritizes her over everything else, JUST LOOK AT HIM.  I was so thirsty for Kim Mu Yeol in this role that I would accidentally tag this drama as My Beautiful Banker sometimes.  The banker was on a relentless one-man mission to take back his bride and turn me on in the process and ooooooh boy was he successful on both fronts.  He is seriously sex on legs every time he beats up a baddie in his quest to find answers about Joo Young’s whereabouts.

Would I watch it minus the thirst traps?  I binged the first six episodes of this drama in one afternoon partly because of my thirst, but also partly because it’s a very well made crime-action-gangster drama.  This is an OCN drama so you can expect a competently made production with well choreographed/bloody action scenes and a solid script.

3. Scarlet Heart Ryeo / Moon Lovers

Brief Summary: IU plays Hae Soo, a modern woman who is somehow transported back in time to the Goryeo period.  There, she gets entangled with a group of royal princes.  Her two main love interests are Wang So (played by Lee Jun Ki) and Wang Wook (played by Kang Ha Neul).  The princes vie for the throne and some of them for Hae Soo’s affection.  Lee Jun Ki does what he does best, which is play a sexy tortured deadly man who looks way too good with blood splattered on his face.  Kang Ha Neul is the seemingly kind prince/daddy long legs character who turns out to be not so kind or daddy long leggy.  Hae Soo is...well IU did the best she could with what she was given (which was a hot inconsistent mess).

Is she thirsty? Scarlet Heart Ryeo is like the honeypot of thirst traps.  It’s essentially a reverse harem set up with a prince for everyone.

Like them young and cute?  Then try the 10th prince, Wang Eun.

Want them big, tall, and kinda dumb?�� Here’s the 14th prince Wang Jung for ya.

Want an evil bastard with an affinity for guyliner?  Try out 3rd prince Wang Yo.

Tall, slender, and scholarly? 13th prince Baek-ah will fill your needs.

Is a kind/gentle man who will ultimately disappoint you because he doesn’t show up when you need him most more your speed?  Well, let me introduce you to 8th prince, Wang Wook.

Kinda scary but oh so hot and with a ton of baggage?  We’re talking, I overpacked and brought 10 overstuffed large suitcases levels of baggage. 4th prince Wang So is the guy for you.

And if you prefer someone with no personality, presence, or memorable traits, I got a two-for-one deal for you in the crown prince Wang Mu and 9th prince Wang Won.

Would I watch it minus the thirst traps?  There is political intrigue, scheming, romance, fluffy hijinks (my least favorite parts of the drama), angst, beautiful costumes, and pretty decent fight scenes.  Scarlet Heart Ryeo is a pretty solid fusion/fantasy sageuk mostly thanks to Lee Jun Ki.  The only person who has ever carried a larger load on his back is Atlas.  I’m not saying all the other actors are horrendous. It’s just very clear that the one elevating the material beyond the inconsistencies/messiness/elementary politics of the script is Lee Jun Ki.  Your enjoyment level of the drama will likely increase if you are a fan of any of the main actors.  

[itsclydebitches]

Reaching the penultimate episode. We don’t know where Neo is, we don’t know if the hour limit is up and Salem will be back, we don’t know where Watts is and we still have an evacuation. Ironwood’s final fate is up in the air. Last episode severed too many strings so there’s no semblance (ha) of logic to follow.

Yeah, RWBY really seems to struggle with figuring out which pieces of information they should withhold and which they shouldn’t... which more often than not results in them withholding most everything. For example, RWBY withheld both information about Neo and the time limit. The first works well because it raises the stakes. By not knowing what happened between Neo and Cinder two episodes ago, combined with Cinder’s cryptic smiles, we’re eager to find out what they’ve been up to  — something that will presumably be revealed this Saturday or in the finale. On the other hand, withholding information about the time limit severely undermines the stakes here. By having Ironwood say, “You have an hour” and then giving the audience no more indicators as to how much time has passed, we likewise have no idea what the danger level is. While Ruby and Yang are chatting about a completely different subject (Summer) do they still have 50 minutes or 15? When they’re flying to Ironwood do they still have a full half hour left, or is this down to the wire? Giving us that information would drastically increase the intensity of this plot point, which is presumably what RWBY wants given the drama of Ironwood’s announcement and the mere fact that this is a threat to bomb a whole city. If, for example, they’d established through a single line of dialogue that they have fifteen minutes left while in the airship, suddenly the grimm around them become a different kind of threat. Our heroes can obviously defeat them easily enough, but what happens if they’re attacked with so little time left? What if their airship is destroyed and they’re stranded? What if they miss the deadline and Ironwood, now shown to be erratic and deadly, drops the bomb the second their time is up? Suddenly that little intro has some actual significance attached to it. As it stands, the show acts as if the time limit isn’t important... so why do we care? 

That’s just a tiny example, but it applies to everything else you’ve mentioned, anon. Information needs to be shared and repeated in a story (unless withholding it is the point, such as with Neo, or Ozpin’s secrets). We should see Oscar telling the group what he learned from Hazel  — that the longest it’s ever taken Salem to reform is an hour  — and they should be reacting to that information accordingly. Namely, if that’s true, they’re likely past that buffer by the time they’ve defeated Ironwood: his hour + the time it took YJOR to walk back to Schnee manor. We should see the group functioning under the belief that Salem could attack again at any moment, raising the stakes of how quickly they can get everyone evacuated. That’s why the damaged communication matters. If they no longer have a way to reassure and convince the people to use those portals, they might still be in a great deal of danger. 

Do these portals appears in specific places the group decided on, or do they magically appear in front of all the people? The former means Pietro and Maria might be in danger, the latter means Ironwood and Jacques might have an escape route  — but we just don’t know. What precisely is this new body Penny has? Is it flesh and blood? Made of aura? What sort of dangers should we expect her to face from now on? Again, we don’t know. You can’t maintain the viewer’s engagement  — especially with a finale coming up  — unless they fully understand what’s going on during those moments when they should know what’s going on. Has the fandom spent the last four days discussing Penny’s future? I mean yeah, some, but the vast majority has just been trying to work out the present. How exactly did that wish work? Why didn’t her body disappear? Did she create it herself? How does that work? Why haven’t we seen that before then? What does any of this mean? And it’s the same with most of our major plot points this volume. People want to know if Hazel is dead and how that happened, rather than getting to mourn (or theorizing about the survival of) a character. People want to know how Oscar’s blast worked and why no one has mentioned it before, rather than getting to celebrate a huge, wonderfully animated moment. 

Too much of RWBY is spent just trying to figure out what in the world is going on, whether that actually makes sense based on what we’ve been told previously, and trying to determine the canon vs. the headcanons others present as facts. There are complex stories and deliberately misleading stories... and then there are stories that are just confusing because the writing hasn’t provided basic information, let alone kept it consistent. That’s RWBY. It’s hard to enjoy Oscar’s “Turn the bad guys” plan when, from a character standpoint, we don’t understand why he’d blindly trust the guy currently torturing him. It’s hard to appreciate him acknowledging that Ozpin took the beatings for him when we’re scratching our heads over the previous claim that Oscar took the beatings because Hazel went easier on kids. It’s harder to enjoy Penny’s change (the discourse of that aside) when from a technical standpoint we don’t understand what she is now. RWBY needs that clarity in order for its important moments to hit home, especially in the final hours of a volume. 

[sir-adamus]

so, after making some changes, struggling to find character allusions and having to rename one of the team members so i’d have an initial i can fit into a reasonable-ish team name, i have the concept descriptions of this RWBY fan-team down, below the cut, i give you Team HRTS - i am open to any feedback on these:

Team HRTS are a “technically-graduated” Huntress team operating out of Vale; they had rushed back to the school from a mission as the attack began, arriving at the city far too late to do anything but help pick up the pieces.

After a hasty, informal graduation from Acting Headmistress Glynda Goodwitch, they’re taking to their roles as Huntresses in a world now fumbling in the dark, no matter how futile it seems right now.

Alice Heddwyn – Leader, based on Alice in Wonderland. Rabbit Faunus. 21 years old.

Weapon: “Vorpal Blade” – Sword – fitted with grooves that slot different combinations of Dust types in depending on the mode, mode is selected by twisting the handle in combinations only Alice knows. Examples: “Snicker-Snack” mode – Default, no Dust. “Frumious” mode – Fire and Rock Dust. “Slithy” mode – Water and Gravity Dust. “Tulgey” mode – Plant and Wind Dust. “Mimsy” mode – Electricity Dust. Alice utilises a fast series of swings, dealing physical and elemental damage to wear down her opponents defenses.

Semblance: “Wonderland” – by expending Aura, Alice can summon an “imaginary friend” (similar to Weiss’s summons) that acts as an autonomous entity on the battlefield. Only one friend can be summoned at a time, cannot split into multiple entities, and as Alice is not directly in control of the friends, she must be careful who she picks as they may prove to be more a hindrance than a help. Risk factor: if she gets too carried away with her imagination, her Aura drains faster. Optimal usage is in small bursts rather than a continuous battlefield presence.

Personality: Charismatic, friendly and airy (in general, weird girl energy), able to balance the personalities within her team and respond to feedback from her teammates. Has a notable childish streak (she sometimes talks to her imaginary friends, so she seems weird to other people but – understandably – the line where she ends and the imaginary friends her Semblance manifests, and how sapient they are on their own, is blurry), and can be quite stubborn, especially towards authority figures when she believes she knows better. Quite talkative and blunt.

Appearance: Long, white rabbit ears. Short, platinum blonde hair – “punky” hairstyle? Blue eyes. Freckles and a tan due to outdoorsy nature. Shortest member of her team at 5’4’’. Outfit: Azure blue hairband. Blue combat skort (with pockets). White belt – pocket-watch hanging from it (gift/memento from a parent referencing the White Rabbit?) and Pumpkin Pete keychain. Wears black knee and wrist support braces and blue fingerless gloves. Black combat boots with blue lining/laces and cute white bows on the back. White tank top, black high collar crop puffer jacket (blue interior lining, stripes down the arms and accents), sleeves pushed up to her elbows.

Aura Colour: White

Emblem: Keyhole shape - splashed on the back of her jacket in white.

Background: Alice is the daughter of a Faunus and a human – her human parent is from the wealthier side of Vale (befitting the crown imagery and also alluding to original Alice being kind of upper class), she grew up in a large home in Vale, filled with extended family (some of whom she’s not entirely sure she’s actually related to), full of eccentricity and play; encouraging her wild imagination. She wanted to be a Huntress due to her imaginative spirit and romantic ideals about adventures and heroism. Initially she was quite a socially awkward, isolated loner outside of her home as she was often singled out as the weird kid (if she wasn’t being targeted for being a Faunus), while she studied at Pharos Academy, so initially it took a while for her to open up and rely on her team, at which point her more extroverted tendencies became apparent.

Rowena Argentum – based on Treasure Island. Human. 21 years old.

Weapon: “Flint and Bones” - Twin pistols that can combine and extend into an anti-material rifle (“The Captain”) – this mode has a lot of recoil, so Rowena’s prosthetic leg can double as a mount for it for long range shots.

Semblance: None – her Semblance was stolen not long after it unlocked when she was young, as collateral following a hit job by the assassin Marcus Black.

Personality: Cheerful and perhaps overly friendly, Rowena maintains a humble and optimistic outlook, sharing Alice’s eagerness for adventure. Unlike Alice, however, Rowena masks a hard edge, brought on by a life living unprotected by the Kingdoms; she’s an impressive liar, excellent at gathering information and pickpocketing. She has a vengeful streak and her impulsiveness often gets her into trouble, though it has tempered over the years.

Appearance: Long, loose green hair and coal-black irises. 5’8’’. She has a few scars on her arms and face from a rough life outside the Kingdoms, one notable one being a scar extending from the left edge of her mouth in a jagged “smile”. Rowena lost her left leg in the same incident she lost her Semblance; it has since been replaced with a simple prosthesis that she has modified to double as a mount for The Captain. She has a pirate aesthetic, wearing a loose blouse under a long double-breasted coat-jacket. Under her jacket she wears suspenders, which have the holsters for Flint and Bones attached. She wears several belts around her waist, loose-fitting trousers tucked into knee-high buckle boots. Colour scheme primarily green and silver.

Aura Colour: Silver

Emblem: A stylised Hawk from a top-down view, with its wings spread; worn on her belt buckle and tattooed on her right wrist.

Background: Rowena grew up outside the protection of the Kingdoms, hailing from a small seaside town. She saw numerous bandits and pirates coming through town on a daily basis, and would often be regaled with stories of swashbuckling adventure by the friendlier visitors. Until the day came that a notorious pirate made port in the town, and the place was set ablaze after his subsequent assassination by Marcus Black. Rowena’s Semblance was unlocked in the panic, only to be immediately stolen by Marcus on his way through, endangering the child’s life as her home burned around her, and the Grimm set in. She lost her leg as a result. Determined to never let this happen anywhere else, she dedicated her life to becoming a Huntress, traveling all over (including some time spent in Kuchinashi) and fighting to survive, learning whatever skills she had to until she was old enough to take the exam at Beacon Academy – and keeping an ear to the ground in case a certain assassin ever showed his face again.

Titania Ianthe – based on the Fairy Queen. Human. 21 years old.

Weapon: “Graviton Reign” – Glaive weapon, reach for crowd control. Contains a mechanism which uses Gravity Dust inside the blade, furthering crowd control ability, either with repulsing strikes or anchoring opponents as they are swept away.

Semblance: “Attraction” – Titania emits a low-level psychic field that makes everyone and everything pay attention to her. Effect is passive and subtle most of the time, but she can use her Aura to concentrate the effect as a pulse in battle (extending the radius of her Area of Effect to 15 meters); drawing aggro from people and Grimm alike.

Personality: Aloof, confident and proud, Titania didn’t come to Beacon to make friends, but there she found a family. Titania has a lot of walls up, and is often frustrated that her teammates seem determined to clamber over every single one. Despite her exasperation though, she loves her team and would do anything for them, even if it means administering some tough love once in a while. She has difficulty in social situations, and has a tendency to try and shoulder too much responsibility at once. She is also sometimes insecure, due to the nature of her Semblance, whether anyone truly likes her.

Appearance: Wavy, shoulder length dark brown hair, pinned back so it won’t get in her eyes. Dark purple eyes. She has light brown skin, a toned, athletic physique and is noted as the most beautiful of her team. Tallest member of the team at 6’2’’. Outfit: Wears a purple and black sleeveless, hooded top (hood is usually kept up). Black, segmented armoured bracers with silver accents over black gloves. A loose, knee-length faded purple skirt over biker shorts. Heeled black boots with purple laces and zippers.

Aura Colour: Purple

Emblem: A tiara with a large central peak – shaped with interwoven lines and swirls

Background: Titania hails from Vacuo, originally from a small community near the edge of the Kingdom. She grew up hearing old stories about famous Huntsmen and Huntresses, especially enamoured with legendary Huntresses like Opal or the Grimm Reaper. Eager to see the world beyond the sands, and assured in herself that she would one day be talked about in stories too, she trained to fight, traveling to Vale where she could begin her legend. She quickly found recognition and popularity at Beacon; she just wishes people would stop asking her out on dates.

Sable Dunscaith – based on Scáthach. Human. 21 years old.

Weapon: “Nightfall Breach” – a spear with multiple configurations. Its compact form can fire crossbow bolts (charged with explosive Dust) out of the spear tip. The default form functions as a regular spear weapon and can be thrown as a javelin – the spearhead has a hidden function, releasing explosive barbs for additional damage after making contact. The pole-vault form is exactly what it says on the tin, extending out and allowing Sable to pole-vault over or across obstacles, retracting rapidly to allow for aerial manoeuvres whilst she’s in the air. She can also throw Nightfall Breach as a javelin, and relies on martial arts training until she can retrieve it.

Semblance: “Phantom” – able to utilise any shadow within a 40-foot radius as a portal as long as she is stood within the shadow (and it isn’t her own) – she can then appear from any shadow of her choosing (the further away, the higher the cost on her Aura). She can also utilise portals at a distance by throwing objects, such as Nightfall Breach, giving her an advantage in combat by making her hard to predict. Her Semblance’s effectiveness is drastically increased at night, but incredibly diminished in wide open areas, especially during the day when there’s little to cast shadows.

Personality: In contrast to her gloomy appearance, Sable is as much of an excitable nerd as her leader, as well as the de facto team mom. Sable is often on the side-lines in conversations, which suits her just fine, but she’s always watching out for everyone and there to lend a supportive hand when it’s needed. In spite of her quiet appearance, she’s also a bit of a prankster and can be very competitive, especially when her twin is involved. Her calm, warm demeanour however masks a fiery and brutal warrior with a number of tricks up her sleeve that let her control the flow of battle while maintaining a sharp degree of unpredictability.

Appearance: Red hair kept in a short ponytail. Vivid crimson eyes. Pale complexion. In general, she has a very Gothic aesthetic. 5’11’’. Outfit: Sable dresses in mainly black with some silver accents. She wears a long, fishtail coat with a fur-lined collar, long trousers and fur-lined heeled boots.

Aura Colour: Black

Emblem: A Castle – embroidered in silver on the back of her coat.

Background: Sable grew up on the island of Patch off the coast of Vale, and like many, attended Signal Academy in hopes of one day being accepted into Beacon – being a Huntress like her mother and grandmother was the dream. Sable’s twin, Astrid, determined to outshine her, followed her on this path, becoming a rival that pushes Sable to become ever stronger. When initiation put them each on different teams, this rivalry grew even fiercer; now in their fourth year and on the cusp of becoming fully licensed Huntresses, tensions between the twins are edging towards a fever pitch.