#most of them being that they are terrible for each other

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

LIKE I SEE YOU

DIN DJARIN x F!READER

Request: Reader struggling with insecurities and being unable to look at Din because his beskar reflects them, Din realising and stepping in to help. CW: insecurities caused by shitty parents, angst, minor breakdown, mental health, Din being so soft and lovely. [4K. Re-uploaded from my old blog.]

It’s one of those days.

The days where your mind decides to be your worst enemy and spits insults like acid, firing up each and every insecurity you’ve ever felt in rapid succession like a never ending horror reel in your brain whilst you stare with too sharp eyes at the mirror. 

And shutting them doesn’t work. 

The image lingers, imprinted. Distorted. Your mind turning it to something monstrous to fit the words that blaze incriminatingly across your features. 

It’s the type of day where you compare yourself to everyone that goes by even though you know you’re only feeding the parasitic thoughts behind your self-loathing behaviour. 

But you can’t stop. 

You can’t snap yourself out of it with kind affirmations no matter how hard you try, positive mantras like I am enough - I’m perfect just the way I am - they sound weak in comparison to  the other things ramming against your skull. False even. 

You can’t even distract yourself with the job you’re supposed to be doing, you're that unfocused, and of course Din notices. 

He noticed the moment your mood shifted, the moment your smile became a tiny, hollow thing and the wild spark of your eyes dulled. 

He noticed the moment your shoulders sagged as if struggling under some colossal weight and he could almost sense you shrinking into yourself, trying to make yourself appear smaller, unnoticeable to everyone including him, even as the two of you leaned side by side against the sticky bar of a run-down cantina waiting for an informant. 

Din just doesn’t understand why.

You were born to burn, not fade to shadow. 

You burned right through him - his armour and his unimaginably high walls that he thought he would never lower for anyone until you came along and showed him it was okay to depend on another every once in a while. 

Before he had loathed the idea of sharing his work with someone, his home, but then he had found you.

You, who had stunned him from the first time he warily approached you. With your sweet expression and mischievous smile - the way your eyes glittered as light bounced off the dagger that you flipped so effortlessly in your hand. 

You who had immediately launched into a vividly detailed plan of how you and him could slip into the bounty’s hideout and rip it apart from within from the moment he reluctantly had suggested he might need some help.

You had been glorious, destruction in your veins and blood streaked across your face, your neck, your bruised knuckles as you sunk a blade into one man's spine and twisted. 

Together, they had broke against the bounty’s muscle with the force of a tsunami and by the time there was no one left, no one except the cowering heap that you dropped at his feet with a warm, buttery smile, Din had been fucking starstruck. 

He’s remained that way ever since. His awe flourishing, blooming, into something that takes his breath away even when he watches you do the most mundane things. 

Every move you make seems to hold a beauty to it, a whisper of lovely power, something unique he can only ever link to you that makes his heart seize behind his ribs. 

And he can’t understand why it feels like he’s now watching that flame that burns within you go out before his very own eyes. Why you’re trying to make yourself invisible and refuse to meet the dark gaze of his visor even though he knows you can sense his eyes on you.

“What’s wrong?” He prods quietly. 

You sigh then, a flicker of something pained passing over your features before you can hide it. “Nothing. I’m fine.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“And you’re not usually this fucking nosy.” You snap, muscles tensing, still refusing to spare him even a single glance. “I said I’m fine, Mando. Drop it.” 

His brow pinches in a frown, eyes narrowed to slits as he lets your sudden burst of anger crash against him. Tasting the defensiveness and frustration brushed through it. 

He knows this. 

He’s all too familiar with becoming aggravated when he doesn’t know how to get shit that’s bothering him off his chest, the way he would allow it to bleed out through rage or violence because trying to form it into words made him feel foolish. 

It seems like you’re both similar in that way, maybe you don't need him trying to gently coax it out of you. 

Maybe you need a fight to let it all come pouring out.

 ** 

You’re furious by the time he’s dragged you into the tiny bathroom. Baring your teeth like a snarling beast as you yank your wrist from his tense grip. 

The contact had thrown you. Your heart stopping before it broke out into a chaotic gallop that you could almost believe would be heard by the Mandalorian as he took an intimidating step closer. 

The blank slate of his visor had bore into you and you had felt it so excruciatingly - the weight of his assessment, the crushing force of your own insecurities as he crowded you. 

Close enough that everything you considered a flaw was laid before his eyes in startling clarity and reflected back at you in the mirror sheen of his helmet. 

It made your stomach churn, anxiety crawling through your chest, an icy hand that winds around your neck and grips tight until his sudden touch had shattered its hold. 

“Come with me.” He’d growled.

And temporarily stunned, you’d gone. 

Stumbling to keep up as he all but dragged you away from the roaring noise of music and clashing conversations to a room so quiet you could hear your blood rushing in your ears as your surprise gave way to anger.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss, ripping away from him as he slams the door closed behind him. “We’re supposed to be waiting for someone.”

You make to push past him and he doesn't budge an inch, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he looms over you. An immovable wall of solid beskar. “We’re not doing anything else for this job until you tell me what’s going on with you.” 

You glare at him, fists clenched tight at your sides “I said it was nothing.” 

“And like I said, you’re a fucking terrible liar.” He shoots back.

Why do you even care, you want to scream. 

There’s a fierce energy building inside you, the volatile kind, self-destructive. Born from too many emotions spinning through your head.

You try and focus on the steady drip of the faucet to will it down, counting specks of mould on the worn tiles, how many times the light can flicker in between each uncomfortable breath you take. 

“It doesn’t matter.” You grit, attempting to assert some kind of authority of the situation. “All that matters is that we have a job to do and we’re wasting time.”

It doesn’t work. 

“No. We’re out. I’m calling it.” He advances on you slowly, his tone creeping towards irritation at the stubbornness of your denial. “You’re too distracted, lost somewhere in your own head. You might not give a shit that it could get you killed but I do.”

Suddenly there’s a wave of tears building, burning incessantly behind your nose, those nasty little voices beginning to purr through your skull as you gape at him.

Useless.

Can’t even do the one thing he keeps you around for, your job.

Why would he ever look at you the way you wish he would when all you are is a constant hindrance to him. 

And then you get defensive, that energy bursting hot and fast through your blood before you can choke it down and lock it up nice and tight. 

“You don’t get to make that decision for me Mando.” You snarl, swatting away his outstretched hand that reaches for you when expression threatens to crumble. “Don’t. You don’t have to keep pretending you care, I know I’m dispensable, if I die you can get another partner anywhere.”  

He reels back as if you’ve struck him. “You really think I’d do that?” 

“Why not! It’s not like I’m special is it? There’s heaps of other hunters out there, one’s more skilled, more reliable. Probably easier on the eyes too.” You laugh humourlessly, eyes stinging with salt as you begin to pace. Ignoring the gentle lilt of your name that he tries to offer as a grounding force, something to bring you back to him when you’re clearly beginning to spiral. 

“Hell you could replace me right here and now if it’ll make your life easier.” You babble and oh stars, it's like you can't stop. “Just think of all the credits you can rake in, not having to put up with my shit anymore.” 

Your breaths are starting to come quick and shallow and before you can say anything else Mando is immediately in front of you - his hands snatching at your shoulders before he drags you into a bone-crushing hug. 

You struggle against it for a moment, a fighter down to the last possible second, and then you fall apart. Harsh, ugly sobs wracking your frame whilst his gloved hand smooths over your hair, his helmet pressed to your temple as he makes soft mouthed sounds to try and comfort you. 

He waits until your cries quieten down, until the quake of your body lessens to a light shudder and then he tilts his head to look at you. “Look at me. Look at me, mesh’la, please.” He murmurs. 

You shake your head. You don’t want to see how pathetic you look, can’t bear the thought of what will stare back at you in the reflection of his beskar. 

“Please.” He repeats. 

You bury your face closer into his cowl, croaking “I can’t.”

There’s a beat of silence - disrupted only by the rhythmic drip drip drip from the faucet. And then he’s sighing, a desperately sad sound that twists something in your aching chest until you're sure you’ll feel a snap.

“Can you tell me why?” He murmurs, hesitance bleeding through him as you stiffen in his arms and he swallows thickly. “It’s not just now is it, you haven’t been able to look at me in days and if it’s because of something I’ve done - if I’ve made you feel this way - then I need to know. I need to make it right, because I can’t lose you.” 

Oh - oh no - he thinks it's his fault. 

Your throat closes up and for a moment you feel like you could cry all over again. 

He carries a guilt that has never been his to bear and it wounds you in some way, that this man who has only known you for such a short time takes your happiness so personally that he would beg to right a wrong that he’s not even sure he himself had made. 

He says that he can’t lose you like he refuses to entertain a scenario where you’re not by his side and you don’t even realise that you’re practically crushing him to you in another fierce embrace until you feel the gentle weight of his helmet resting against the crown of your head. 

"It's not you Mando." You blurt, a soft flutter brushing through your chest when he squeezes you tight as his body sags with relief. But only seconds later he stiffens again and you know he’s heard it. 

The implication. 

It’s not you. There’s someone else causing this.

You know he’s worked it out by the sudden change in how he holds you, the subtle shift from comforting to protective, his body all but curling around yours. 

He growls. “Who.”  And you shudder. 

You need to explain and fast before he decides to storm out of the bathroom and track down everyone who’s come into contact with you in the past few days. 

This job you’ve been on had required a lot of stealth so as to not tip off your target and if you were going to pick up where you left off after everything then the last thing you needed was your Mandalorian going on a vengeful rampage. 

He lets you untangle yourself from him reluctantly, follows like a shadow when you point to a spot on the floor and state lamely. “We should probably sit for this.” 

**

You can feel his eyes on you as you slide down the wall, as you fold your legs only to stretch them out in front of you not even a moment later. 

He’s not stupid, you know that, you know Mando is wisely giving you the time you need, refraining from pushing whilst you try and get your head together under the guise of making yourself comfortable on the grimy floor. 

When you’re as ready as you think you’ll ever be you take a deep breath to begin but suddenly find yourself hesitating. Were you really going to tell him? Could you let every sad little truth pour from you when you've spent so long plugging it up, shoving it down. Building a damn in your mind and your heart to keep it from making a mess for those around you. 

Hunters were meant to be strong, an undeniable, deadly force. 

They didn't do insecurities, self-doubt. Weaknesses. 

At least that's what you'd always been told. It's the impression you got from every one that you had ever met, including Mando. 

So how could you tell him that you were haunted by all of them. That every now and again they ripped into you and made you feel like your worth was less than nothing. How could you lay yourself emotionally bare like that and expect that he would still look at you the same after? 

…Except hadn't you already? 

You had spiralled before his very eyes. You had screamed and cried and shattered to pieces and yet… there had been no judgement. 

There had been nothing from him except comfort and patience. The press of his body against yours as he held you like you were infinitely precious, like he wished nothing more than to be a barrier against all these things he was clueless about except for the fact they were trying to hurt you.

“Did you know I always wanted to be a hunter?” You ask so suddenly that he jerks, surprised. 

It makes you smile when he softly shakes his head , when he shifts from his relaxed position against the wall and tilts his body towards yours as you offer a rare glimpse into the life you had before him. 

“I thought it sounded like the coolest job ever.” You recall. “Getting paid to chase down bad people and learning how to use a shit load of weapons? What more could I want? And it turned out I was good at it, better than a lot of other things I’d tried to force myself into growing up.” 

He makes a soft noise of agreement, like he gets it, and your lips twitch. “When I returned home after a really long time of taking pretty much every job that came my way, I thought my parents would be proud. I thought they’d be happy I had made some kind of a life for myself and that I wasn’t struggling for money like they had worried I would when I decided to make my own way instead of relying on them.” 

You close your eyes as the memory resurfaces.  “They weren’t. My dad basically said I was no better than a vulture, feeding off other people’s misfortune, but my mum…”

You swallow against the crack of your voice, fingers picking at a still healing wound on your hand before a gloved one stops you. Silently lacing thick fingers through your own as you struggle not to sob.

“My mum told me I had ruined myself. My face and my body. I had forgotten how obsessed she could be with our family’s image and legacy until she told me that no one would want someone who was covered in scars or who’s nose or teeth weren’t perfectly straight because they’d been damaged too many times fighting like some kind of wild beast.”

He sucks in a breath and you can feel it. His disbelief, his rage. His devastation.

It pours from him in waves as he visibly bristles beside you, drenching his voice when he rasps your name and you have to hurriedly continue. Shoving the rest of the story out of you because if you stop, if you let yourself wallow in the emotions clawing at the pair of you, then you may never fully get the weight of it off your chest.

“I told her I didn’t care.” You spit. “That if my appearance bothered people that much then maybe they were the type of people I didn't want to be around. And it had been the truth, I fucking meant every word.” 

 “But then I started noticing the way some people would look at me, the way they’d be scrutinising my face or my hair or what I was wearing and I’d hear her voice in my head again.” You don’t realise you’ve trailed off, gone distant, until the soft pressure of Mando’s thumb drawing circles on your hand brings you back. 

“I started wondering if they thought the same as her when they looked at me too and then it was like I couldn’t stop. Eventually it happened enough that when I was looking at myself, sometimes I started to think it too.” 

His fingers tighten around yours, the soft, aching sigh of “Cyar’ika” slipping through the modulator wrapping around the pain in your chest and dulling some of those sharper edges. 

You sniff and your voice comes out thin - watery. “There’s days where I still hear it and when I look in the mirror, or something reflective like your armour, it’s all I can see. But at least I’m still a good hunter right, I’ve got that left? Only, today I completely fucked that up too. So when I can’t look at you Mando, it’s not because you’ve done anything to hurt me or piss me off, it's because when I do, all I can see is how much I disgust myself.”

There’s silence between you as he digests everything. It stretches out and allows your thoughts to wander with it, undecided if what you feel after all that was said is relief or something else. 

It’s nice that you’ve been able to talk about something that has pained you for so long but now Mando has another piece of you that no one else does, the part of you that is most vulnerable, and you don’t really know what to do with that. 

“They don’t deserve you.” He mutters suddenly, so quietly that you almost had to question if you’d simply been hearing things.

You frown. “Who?”

He has your hand in his lap now, cradling it in his larger one as he traces nervous patterns with the other. His voice is steady however, utterly serious. “Your parents, the people who give you those looks. Anyone who can look at you and not see how incredible you are.” 

Your chest spasms and you look at him in surprise before your lips attempt to curve into a weak imitation of a smile. 

“I appreciate you trying to make me feel better Mando but–”

“Don’t do that.” He chastises you gently. “Whatever voice is telling you right now that you aren’t worthy of being told what I’m about to say to you, I want you to tell it to shut the fuck up and listen to me.” 

You snort and the way he tilts his helmet in your direction makes you pretty sure he’s currently got his eyes narrowed at you, an expression on his face that would probably say if you don’t listen, I’ll find a way to make you. 

You nod for him to continue. 

“You are incredible.” He reiterates. “You chose to make something of yourself when you could have had an easy life and you fucking excelled at it. You’re one of the best hunters I’ve ever seen even on your off days and you’ve saved my ass more times than I’d like to count.” 

You murmur a sly “seven” and quicker than you can react he pinches your thigh. A yelp bursts from your throat followed by a shaky laugh and it’s a quick reprieve from the way the pride in his voice was making your ribs constrict.

“You’re a genuinely good person, I have never seen you turn away a single person who’s come to you for help and you constantly go out of your way for people. Even those who probably don’t deserve it, like me.” He sees the way you open your mouth to argue and quickly holds up a hand to stop you, shrugging.

“I was an asshole when we met, don't deny it.” 

He had been.

But you had sensed that there was something underneath it all, that there was more than meets the eye when it came to this particular Mandalorian and you had been intrigued.

And also right. 

He shifts next to you and then there’s the brush of buttery-soft leather at your jaw. Hesitant fingertips tilting your face fully towards him as his helmet hovers just above your forehead and you gulp.

“Mando–” You whisper. 

“Your mother called you ruined but that’s not what I see when I look at you.” He breathes and you tremble as he palmes your cheek. “Every part of you is beautiful and there is nothing that black eyes, bruises, broken bones and scars can do to take that away. They only add to it. They prove that you’re a fucking warrior. That you’ve lived and fought and survived everything the galaxy has had to throw at you. How can your body be ruined when its remained strong and kept you alive despite the hell you’ve been through?” 

Something breaks inside you - you’re crying and you don’t even realise it until Mando’s other hand leaves yours to gently swipe away the tears with both thumbs. 

It’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to you and it seems to highlight the fucking number that those words from your mother have done on you, the fact that you have no idea how to take what Mando has said.

How you're supposed to believe it. 

But you want to. 

You desperately want to believe it so you can drown out the poison in your head with it. Take all those pretty words and lock them safe in your heart for when you next need them. 

And unsurprisingly, thanks to how adept you've become at reading the other, Mando instantly catches on to your internal struggle. 

"You don't have to believe me right now." He tells you softly, patiently. "I know it won't magically make everything go away and you'll suddenly see yourself the way I see you." 

He leans back and pulls you with him, tugging you into his chest as his arms wrap around your shoulders and waist. His chin notched at your crown and the venomous voice in your mind quiet for the first time in days as you ease into his comfort.

"But one day you will and until that happens I'll gladly be there to remind you as many times as you need me to." 

You choose to believe that.

A hopeful smile tugging at your lips before you lift your face from its place buried in his neck, pressing a sweet kiss to the cheek of his helmet as you whisper. "Thank you Mando."

You choose to believe that you'll always have him by your side. That the dark stain of your mother's words will eventually fade away. 

That one day you'll see yourself as the warrior you've always been. 

And that's enough for now.

[first-time-tma]

I don't think we asked you yet, so. Who is your favorite character at the end ? And your favorite dynamic ? The statement/ episode you like the most ? The fear you find the most interessing ?

heyyy, it took me AGES to answer this but here we go:

Favorite character:

MARTIN MARTIN MARTIIIIIN!!!!!

I loove him so much. His kindness, his bravery, his optimism but ALSO him being frustrated, angry, jealous. He would do everything for Jon but he wouldn't sacrifice the world for him even if he wants to do desperately

He would sacrifice himself immediately but he also knows that being willing to LIVE for someone is worth even more than dying for someone.

He is brokem traumatized and such an REAL AND AMAZING CHARACTER!!!

WITH SO MUCH GROWTH!!!!

Favorite dynamic:

Favorite ship and relationship dynamic is and will forever be Jon and Martin but I will make a seperate post avout them.

Otherwise: Georgie and Jon I think!

I love and adore their friendship I love that they BOTH APOLOGIZED AND ADMITTED THEIR MISTAKES, i love that even after their fallout in season 4 they managed to repair their friendship!!!

But also Daisy and Basira. Their trust, their dependency on each other, the love between them ... its AMAZING

Yes, its brutal and both have done terrible things and they are not good people but exactly because of this i love them soo much!!!!

Favorite episode/ statement:

Episode: SO MANY

195 breaks my heart but I love it. So does 137. And so so many more. I love all the episodes with a lot of character interactioms so the ones in season 5 with jon and martin in the tunnels with georgie and melanie are AMAZING for example

There are too many haha

Statement: the man who wasnt there was SO interesting omg. Such an amazing one

But also the ones with the space station!!! I loved to hear the three different perspective and finding out about what was really going on.

Same for everything about hilltop roads and the lightless flame. AMAZING.

Fear:

The spiral. Yes, I love michael and helen snd yes, that has something to do with it.

But overall, its such an interesting fear because its so... different!!! No statement about it is the same and i love it!!!!

I hope I answered your question good enough, thank you for sending it!!!<333

[shallowseeker]

WHAT DID I SAY THOUGH

Under the guise of talking about Michael, Dean is trying to figure out... what he actually SAID to Cas while under duress

DEAN: "What's HE doing now?" (i.e., “he” is me; how do you see me and my current state right now?)

Ss Cas says that he has no idea how "he"/Dean is, and that Dean was very distraught. Dean even nods a little bit in agreement. (Yes, I was distraught.)

THEN WE GET THE FLASH OF VULNERABILITY AND FRUSTRATION:

But what exactly did "he" say? And Cas answers:

And Dean is over there like:

oh come on i didn't say THAT (LEAVE???? I NEVER WANT YOU TO LEAVE and i never want you dead)

...did I?????

"We didn't bond" is when Dean starts to legit look like he's gonna cry tho because he and cas DID bond, right from the beginning.

Cas has lost hope in that bond for the time being (a normal response to the -everything- and -the chuck of it all-)

And now all this TERRIBLE stuff has happened and it's got a LOT. OF. COMPLICATING. COSMIC. ELEMENTS.

(Cas holds back for many reasons, and most recently, the Empty deal DOES emotionally handcuff him in a new and more lethal way, and it exacerbates ALL the stuff... and Dean... isn't often allowed to speak, especially about THIS IN PARTICULAR. He's put under so much duress about it, too...)

*dean swallows and swallows and swallows, eyes flicking around in a panic and trying his darnedest NOT to cry*

we didn't bond

we didn't

we

Dean is swallowing WORDS here.

and when Cas looks down, lips twitching, and we see that he's holding back words too, almost forming a "y—" before pivoting to safer ground, to ask about Sam. After all, saying YOU would break the illusion Dean's illusion of the "HE."

So Cas brings them BOTH to safer "work talk"

Dean with the thousand yard stare:

and then

Interesting that his body language does this chin tuck again here:

it's the hiding of emotions, the defensiveness, the hiding of the throat of it all

He also did this at the beginning of the convo when he started the coded communications in EARNEST. They're bookends, almost, in terms of Dean's acting/headspace.

This signals the end of "he" as being about Dean himself and shifts back to "he" being used normally, about another person (Sam).

//

I do love how that conversation is a small step toward mending their bond. They broached the painful wounds of lone-wolfing, Mary’s death, Jack’s death, siding with Chuck, and losing Rowena..

Now, when trouble shakes out, and Michael starts doing his earthquake thing, they look to one another, and this time, they go together to face him.

*looking to one another*

When Michael stands up and moves towards them, we see Dean's natural needs to shrink away.

Dean barely shifts his weight, like his instinct is to get behind Cas (I mean, hello—AU Michael was a huge trauma for him), but he straightens up again almost immediately.

And when Michael asks to be freed for giving them the spell and the door, they still check in w/each other:

[crab-people-overlord]

Stan & Kyle. Kyle & Stan.

I’ve written a lot on their differences, but that’s mainly because I often write them paired up, so… I think about these differences a lot. About their dynamic. And when you write them together long enough, you start to notice just how different these two boys are. Not just in behavior, but in how they see the world.

There are plenty of episodes where they clash and argue, even some where they completely drift apart. And yet...  there are even more moments where they come back together. Always.

Because despite everything, they choose each other to be super best friends. Again and again. 

I’ve written about their differences between their neuroticism and how those are completely different (Kyle more internally chill yet externally anxious, yet Stan much more externally chill but internally more depressive and sensitive). And I keep meaning to make a post on here about their differences in Agreeableness when it comes to the Big 5 (something very interesting when comparing the two, which I’ll probably share later on). 

But something I often ask myself is… why are they best friends despite seeing the world so differently? They are SO different in how they process the world, yet canonically they’re ride-or-die best friends, so… why?

When it comes down to it:

Stan is more internal, emotional, disillusioned, cynical. Not good at consistently tying general societal moral issues together, yet great at one-on-one empathizing. His emotions often overwhelm him to the point of inaction, though when he does act, it's from an impulsive and often deeply emotional standpoint.

Kyle is external, he brings the fire- he's morally intense and CONSISTENT about his morals - but he can be terrible at one on one empathizing. He tries to stay ultimately positive about future implications. He’s idealistic. He's organized and consistent about his actions. You can count on him to stand up for what he feels is wrong.

Despite this, it’s clear they both care deeply, just in wildly (and at times flawed) different ways. This causes their core friendship at its best to run heavily on mutual respect, honesty, and loyalty. And at its worst cause massive misunderstandings and dramatic breakdowns.

Kyle brings the fire. Stan brings the calm. Kyle can get Stan to finally fucking act. Stan can help Kyle to take a deep breath and pause. 

When they clash the most: 

Kyle fights the world. He wants justice and group harmony. And he can be selfish from a standpoint of getting preachy and self-righteous, turning things quite black and white and disregarding some perhaps more nuanced views. He’s positive there’s always a moral way forward. And he desperately wants to be seen as an believes he is correct, not just morally, but also logically. When Stan checks out emotionally or becomes nihilistic/selfish? This drives him fucking insane. 

Stan withdraws from the world. He just wants authenticity and inner peace. And he can be selfish from a standpoint of just being… internally selfish lmao. Like he knows what he wants personally, and can zero in on just that, without thinking about, say, why Kyle may be so hurt about Cartman being anti semitic because Stan at times doesn’t care unless it impacts him personally. He doesn’t always show up for the moral crusade, and Kyle notices this. 

Kyle externalizes stress. Stan internalizes it. That contrast causes rifts, but also shows how different kinds of emotional pain can look. Kyle can get pissed off at Stan because Stan doesn’t as consistently demonstrate the same group moral standpoint moral crusading he expects Stan to, and sometimes Stan is so inwardly focused that he doesn’t even consider the impact on the greater group. And Stan can get pissed at Kyle because sometimes Kyle completely misses individualistic points and can be a bit self-righteous while perhaps not being great at 1:1 empathy (at times even getting pissed at Stan’s depression, such as in Raisions and You’re Getting Old/Assburgers). 

But here’s the thing… 

When they respect each other and just let each other be who they are, they both are at their very best. Kyle reminds Stan that the world is worth caring about and that he can get out of his microcosm of himself and focus on the greater group. And Stan reminds Kyle that he doesn’t have to carry it alone, and that sometimes there are some more individualistic factors at play. He shows Kyle what deep emotional empathy can feel like, both on the receiving and giving end.  

They both are emotionally intense, just in different ways. They both are disgusted by injustice - Kyle from a more idealistic standpoint, Stan from a more individualistic/realistic standpoint. They both are quite pragmatic and feel disillusioned at times (often bonding over this feeling of disillusionment). They both can be fucking stupid and basically just be 10 year old kids. Yet they’re both wildly smart beyond their ages and often act as the adults in the wild situations they find themselves in. They both can be selfish, though in different ways.

And yet… they both get each other in ways most people dont; and they are at their best when they don’t ask each other to change themselves while still calling each other out when they need to. They have the same sense of humor; they can banter back and forth in both their immature ways and their more understanding ways; they share a similar wide array of hobbies and will both shred current media to pieces together.

They clash often and yet… they believe in each other. Not in a naive way. Not blindly. But in a ‘I’ve seen you at your worst and still want you around’ kind of way.

They’re equals. Even when they argue. Even when they don’t understand each other. They challenge each other constantly, and still trust each other to come back. That’s not just friendship. That’s earned, forged through fire and still water alike.

They fucking respect the hell out of each other. Kyle may yell at Stan for being too detached, and Stan may side-eye Kyle for moralizing too hard - but when push comes to shove, they instinctively turn to each other first. You can see it, this desperate need for validation from the other, like when Kyle practically begs Stan for moral absolution in crack baby athletic association, or when Stan goes to Kyle as his final lifeline in You’re getting old.

They care deeply about what the other thinks of them above anyone else. And not in a performative way. They want each others approval not because of ego- but because they respect and know the others standards actually means something to them. They want each others judgement not because it’s kind, but because it’s true.

When everything falls apart- when the town loses its mind, when things don’t make sense, when the adults become parodies of themselves- Stan and Kyle keep showing up for each other. they don’t always know how to help, but they try. They’re consistent in their inconsistency, in the way only flawed childhood best friends who’ve grown through chaos can be.

Kyle is the fire. Stan is the still water. Kyle will fight the system. Stan will wonder if the system is even fucking worth fighting for. They both argue, and they sometimes clash, and they are both STUBBORN AS FUCKING HELL. 

And yet… they believe in each other. Not blindly. Not perfectly. But completely.

They challenge each other. Call each other out. Clash hard.

But they also trust each other more than anyone else. Because…

They're equals. They highly depend on each other. They call bullshit on each other without hesitation. They fucking respect the hell out of each other, and they care highly what the other thinks of them. At the end of the day, they depend on each other, and when at their best, they balance each other out.

And that’s why, after everything… 

They’re still super best friends. And they continually choose to be super best friends. 

[colleybri]

A few thoughts on Bix’s arc so far in Andor season 2

(Spoilers up to Season 2 Ep 6)

Since her torture in Season 1 (and the attempted rape in S2 Ep 3) I knew that Bix would be carrying a lot of cumulative trauma in this season, but I was totally unprepared for how realistically this is being handled. The aspect that really shocked me is that the show unflinchingly shows the longer-term PTSD taking full effect many months later in the form of depression - and addiction.

Most obviously, Bix has terrible nightmares that reflect the different ways in which she is haunted. In the first arc nightmare, Gorst pulled the blanket off her as she lay alone in bed on Mina Rau - visually foreshadowing her vulnerability to the predatory Imperial Krole. It was implied then that the nightmares are worse when Cassian isn’t there, but in the first nightmare of the second arc he is literally right next to her and it makes no difference. He does say, on waking her from the sleep walking episode, that “It’s been a while” since she last had one, so the suggestion is that the nightmares are back because of their most recent mission. Bix struggling to process the death of this young soldier has clearly brought all her demons back in force, all symbolised by demonic Gorst. She has killed men herself by now, but says “I can’t stop seeing [the soldier’s] face”. According to the dialogue in the Gorst torture nightmare, an aspect that particularly haunts Bix is that the young man’s family will never know what happened to him. For a woman from such a tight-knit community as Ferrix this troubles her deeply. She is also, canonically, an orphan and presumably has had to mourn and process the death of each of her parents. Brasso is also a fresh bereavement. Family is important to her even though she has almost none left. …

She at least has Cassian, and their relationship - one that started as a childhood friendship over twenty years before and has had romantic interludes since - is probably the main thing sustaining her. “She’s the most Ferrixian woman there is and she can’t go home. But she and Cassian have made a home in each other” says Adria Arjona. The beautiful ‘hand dance’ scene in Ep 4 seems designed to re-centre her a little as he leaves her for the solo mission to Ghorman. A little shared moment of intimacy that takes them back and grounds them.

But it’s a realistically flawed relationship too. Trauma-bonding can lead to co-dependence but the other major contributing factor is the nature of their role as rebel operatives in the ‘insanity’ of the city. They can’t relax. They can’t shop without worrying about being recognised. In one really poignant little exchange Bix asks if they can go for a walk in the “big park” as she’s clearly yearning for some natural scenery. But Cassian says no, there are cameras.

This makes their safehouse, dingy and grey and overlooked by a never-ending rainy city, feel like a prison and the sense of smothering claustrophobia clearly haunts Bix while they’re here. She prefers activity, doing something, being on missions… it’s the sitting around waiting that allows the dark thoughts to come. Cassian and Luthen both acknowledge this too.

Socially, Bix is completely isolated. She has no friends; it’s not safe. There’s no sense of community here. Her world has shrunk to the ‘home’ she has with Cassian - their relationship is her home but she’s frustrated that she’s otherwise homeless. She hesitates to call the safe-house ‘home’…. “This place. Whatever it is.” She contemplates buying towels and decent plates, wants to clean the windows… if they are staying there longer term. She has an instinct to make a home but the place just doesn’t feel like one. She’s disturbed by the idea of other people using it while they’re not there. Since losing her home in Ferrix she has lived in a ‘Mobil-Haus’ on Mina Rau (even Krole pointed out that it didn’t look ‘permanent’) and now their base is this ‘safe house’ which might be safe but certainly isn’t somewhere she can feel is ‘permanent’ either.

She is also trying to be strong. She’s rightly resentful of Cassian’s desire to protect her. That in itself is complicated because he’s also a victim of trauma. Bix highlights this in that little flare-up argument in Ep 4 - “I’m not Maarva, I’m not your sister!!”. Cassian having what Tony Gilroy recently called ‘a problematic saviour complex’ derives from his very early guilt about not being there for his sister. He wants to save those he loves, he wants to go back for them - metaphorically or literally. But Bix tells him that ‘It’s not up to us, what we save or what we lose’. Cassian is really struggling with this concept at this point in his life when he’s torn between what Luthen sees as full commitment to the cause and his love for Bix. Bix herself wants an existence for herself outside of this perspective. She wants to fight. “If I’m giving up everything, I want to win. We have to.”

But the contributing factors to her state now are trapping her in a vicious circle of nightmares. She would be a danger to herself and others on a mission. The sleeping drug doesn’t seem to be working. She takes it regardless of whether Cassian is there or not. The depression is taking over; she’s trapped. Cassian asks her if she wants to talk about it but she doesn’t. He doesn’t want to push it. I think he absolutely knows that she is in a very bad way. He probably knows also, at least on some level, that she is self-medicating. There comes a point when an addict finds this extremely difficult to cover up - especially from someone who loves you and knows you extremely well. For these reasons he is not only hesitant to leave her to go to Ghorman at all but is also especially furious at Luthen.

Realistically, Bix isn’t observably in a bad way all time. She can still appear her old self sometimes, as glimpsed with the banter with the shop-keeper. Even after her worst episode, Bix eventually clears away the mess of takeaway cartons and cleans herself and the safehouse up a bit for Cassian’s return. She even buys flowers - an attempt to ‘make a home’ of the place. They express their love easily when he comes back; the gentle flirting about Varian Skye is particularly cute. But even there, in the suggestion that they might be into bedroom roleplay, there’s a sort of poignancy… it’s the kind of taste that might develop in a couple who are literally using different identities all the time as spies and who are also unable to bring any real people ���home one time’.

The irony of all this is that it’s Luthen ‘not a friend to romantic relationships’ Rael who helps - ‘sending them on couples therapy to kill Gorst and blow stuff up’ as one meme put it. Bix gets the catharsis that she desperately needed. Realistically, it’s not going to be a cure-all and I think it’s a safe bet to say that any improvement in Bix is not going to be presented as something that happens overnight either. But I think there’s hope where there was none before. Her ongoing-therapy now? It’s just as Cassian told young mechanic Niya at the start of the season. “You’ll never feel right unless you’re doing what you can to stop them”. In having a new sense of purpose and working alongside the man she loves and trusts the most - a partner in both senses - there’s an indication that there is hope ahead for Bix.

Even if she dies after all this suffering … a ‘blaze of glory’ death feels a lot more likely and a lot more earned. Personally, I hope Bix lives. I feel a bit more confident in the writers finding a way to allow that. But either way, I’m sure her overall arc will be incredibly powerful.

[lilangelbuds]

jsjcjdc while im still here!

i was the anon that requested a big bulky brother and chubby little sister :> they only have each other to care about, the sister being cuddly for her big brother and he revels in it!

she gets so… kilig? giddy in english probably? that she kisses his cute lil face! then he gets so giddy too that he bites and grabs her tummy and cheeks… then its just two losers being sweet with each other and breeding his cute lil sister >_< idk!

The room was warm, it clung to your skin and made you want to curl up in it forever. The lights were dim, casting a soft amber glow over everything, and the faint hum of the ceiling fan provided a soothing background noise. He had always been the kind of man who took up space not just physically, though his broad shoulders and muscular frame certainly did that, but in a way that made you feel safe, grounded. She, on the other hand, was softer, rounder, the kind of person who seemed to radiate comfort, like a blanket fresh out of the dryer on a cold day.

She sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, dressed in an oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, though whether it was from the warmth of the room or something else, she couldn’t say. He lounged beside her, one arm stretched out along the back of the couch, his fingers idly toying with a strand of her hair. They’d always been like this, connected in some inexplicable way, two people who existed in their own little world.

“You’re staring,” she said, her voice teasing but tinged with a nervousness that made her heart race.

He smirked, his deep laugh rumbling through his chest. “Can’t help it. You’re cute when you’re all flustered.”

She rolled her eyes, but the heat in her cheeks deepened. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure you’re not,” he replied, his tone playful. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re all red, though. Like a little tomato.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst,” she groaned, shoving at his chest, but there was no real force behind it. Her hand lingered there, pressed against the solid wall of muscle beneath his shirt. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, and it made her own skip a beat.

He caught her wrist, his fingers wrapping around it easily. “Am I, though?”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the air between them thick with something unspoken. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the way it seemed to see right through her, and it made her stomach twist in the most delicious way.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the fan.

He didn’t respond, not with words anyway. Instead, he leaned in again, his face so close to hers that she could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his lips curved into that infuriatingly confident smile. She thought he might kiss her, and for a second, she panicked, her heart pounding in her chest. But he didn’t. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his breath warm against her ear.

“You’re so cute, sis” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Her breath caught, and before she could think, before she could stop herself, she leaned in and pressed a quick, nervous kiss to his cheek. It was impulsive, stupid even, and as soon as she did it, she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he froze, his body going completely still.

For a moment, she thought she’d made a terrible mistake, that she’d crossed some invisible line they’d never spoken of. But then, slowly, he turned his head to look at her, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with something that made her shiver.

“I… I don’t know,” she stammered, her face burning. “I just… you were being all… and I…”

He didn’t let her finish. With a low growl, he grabbed her by the waist, his hands big and rough against her soft flesh, and pulled her into his lap. She let out a startled squeak, her hands flying to his shoulders for balance, but he didn’t give her a chance to protest.

“You’re such a little brat,” he muttered, his grip tightening as he leaned in and nipped at her cheek, his teeth grazing her skin just enough to make her gasp.

“Hey!” she protested, though there was no real anger in her voice. She squirmed in his lap, trying to push him away, but he just laughed, the sound deep and rich, and held her tighter.

“You started it,” he said, his voice teasing but with an undercurrent of something darker, something that made her stomach tighten.

She pouted, her lower lip sticking out in a way that made him want to bite it. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Sure you didn’t,” he said, his hands sliding up her sides, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her tummy. She squealed, trying to wriggle away, but he held her firm, his touch both punishing and impossibly gentle.

“Stop!” she laughed, her voice high and breathless. “That tickles!”

“Good,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned in and bit her cheek again, this time a little harder. She yelped, her hands flying to her face, but he was already moving, his lips trailing down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that made her shiver.

“You’re such a bully,” she whined, though her hands found their way into his hair, her fingers tangling in the thick strands.

“You love it,” he said, his voice muffled against her skin.

She didn’t argue, because he was right. She did love it. She loved the way he made her feel, the way he made her laugh and blush and squirm. She loved the way his hands felt on her, big and rough but somehow still gentle. She loved the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing in the room—the only thing in the world.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the air between them thick with something unspoken. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss so soft, so tentative, that it made her heart ache.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat, and for a second, she thought she might cry. But then he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up her back to cradle her head, and she melted into him, her hands fisting in his shirt as she kissed him back with everything she had.

It was messy, their teeth clashing, their noses bumping, but it was perfect. She could feel the heat of his body, the way his heart pounded in his chest, and it made her dizzy. She wanted more, wanted to crawl inside him and never leave.

He pulled back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, their faces inches apart.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he said, his voice rough with desire.

She blushed, her hands moving to his chest, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles through his shirt. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He laughed, the sound soft and warm, and then he was kissing her again, his hands everywhere, his touch setting her skin on fire. She could feel the weight of him pressing her into the couch, the way his body seemed to envelop hers, and it made her head spin.

“I want you,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and urgent.

She shivered, her hands sliding down to his waist, her fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans. “Then take me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a growl, he shoved her sweater up, his hands sliding over her soft flesh, his mouth finding hers again in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and heat. She whimpered, her back arching as his fingers found the waistband of her leggings, tugging them down roughly.

He broke the kiss, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at her, his chest heaving. “You’re mine, you know that?”

She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’ve always been yours.”

That was all he needed. With a low growl, he pulled her leggings the rest of the way off, his hands sliding up her thighs, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. She gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders as he positioned himself between her legs, his body pressing her into the couch.

He looked down at her, his eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite name, and then he was pushing into her, slow and steady, his breath hitching as he filled her. She let out a soft moan, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough as he buried himself in her to the hilt. “You feel so good.”

She whimpered, her hips lifting to meet his, her body already craving more. “Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. His hands slid down to her hips, his grip tight as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she moaned, the sound soft and breathless.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “I love you, sis,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she clutched him tighter, her body trembling as he moved inside her. “I love you too, big bro,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He kissed her then, his lips soft against hers, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of them, lost in each other, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. She could feel the heat building inside her, the pressure coiling tight in her stomach, and she knew she was close.

He must have felt it too because he broke the kiss, his eyes locked on hers, his expression intense. “Come with me,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

She nodded, her body trembling as she gave herself over to him, letting him take her higher and higher until she finally shattered, her body convulsing around his as she cried out his name. He followed her a moment later, his body stiffening as he spilled inside her, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he buried his face in her neck.

For a long time, they just lay there, their bodies tangled together, their hearts beating in sync. She could feel his warmth, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, and it made her feel safe, loved.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the weight of everything they’d just shared hanging in the air between them.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with concern.

She nodded, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “I’m perfect.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made her heart skip a beat, and then he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss so soft, so tender, that it made her chest ache.

“Good,” he murmured against her lips. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

She laughed, the sound soft and breathless, and then he was kissing her again, his hands everywhere, his touch setting her skin on fire. She could feel the heat building inside her again, the pressure coiling tight in her stomach, and she knew she was in trouble.

“You’re insatiable,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “When it comes to you? Always.”

And then he was moving again, his body pressing her into the couch, his hands sliding over her soft flesh, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and heat. She moaned, her hands flying to his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as he took her higher and higher.

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Growing pains

Luo Binghe's journey into puberty and teenagehood, the drabble version

For most people, the changes that come with puberty and teenagehood are troublesome at best, miserable at worst. Hormonal spikes, body hair in places it has no business being in, bumps and pimples and all sorts of strange pains and needs.

Luo Binghe, however, is especially unlucky, because on top of all of these uncomfortable, upsetting changes that most teenagers go through, his body has some new, stranger symptoms that nobody else seems to be dealing with.

For example, his nails are growing too long, too fast. It almost feels like his body wants to grow talons, and it is very annoying to always have to clip them, especially since they only seem to come back stronger each time they're cut. Not to mention, they're incredibly sharp! He has accidentally torn into his robes getting dressed a few times, and even scratched a small bug bite to blood without meaning to.

On top of that, his teeth hurt. His hygiene is the same as always, keeping his mouth clean and his teeth unblemished, but his two front canines feel terribly uncomfortable, throbbing and itching and aching in a way that reminds him of his early childhood and his mother putting strange ointments in his mouth to calm his inflammed gums.

They feel sharper too, somehow, and look almost like a beast's fangs, slightly pointier and narrow at the end - but Binghe desperately wants to believe that's just his imagination, or maybe that he has always been like this and never paid attention to it.

There are other issues too. He gets these strange bumps on his forehead, but they are not pimples. They feel like something hard underneath his skin, symmetrical on both sides of his head, and they feel so painful, like they are about to burst through the skin any moment now. He is too embarrassed to ask Mu-shishu about them and he does his best to hide them with his hair, but is it just him - or are they getting a little darker too?!

It is a miserable process. His body always feels strange. Sometimes he's very hungry, but he cannot eat anything. He's aching and tense but he also feels too light and unsteady.

And worst of all, there are parts of his body that have decided to grow some more, more than they should, and react in strange ways, making Binghe so tense and uncomfortable that it feels like he has a thousand snakes coiling in his gut.

And of course, there is the beginning of whatever-that-is that's sprouted on his lower back, a small, red thing, curled like a little pig's tail. The thing seems to have a mind of its own, twitching when Binghe is happy, sagging when he is upset or tired, stretched taught when he is focused. It is as though he has a strange dog's tail!

Binghe does his absolute best to hide all these strange traits, finding them unappealing and embarrassing, and hopes that Shizun won't notice...

(But Shizun does notice. And he is all the more endeared about it).

[alltimecharlo]

Oh, what about an age swap au? Rookie Toff and vets Will and Mack! Supporting and teasing him, the world's most annoying and fun mentors.

anon... YOUR BRAIN!!!!!!!🤯 this idea is amazing, i'm soooo tempted by a full fic for it but for now... :) fic under the cut!🩵

Toff gets it. He really does.

He’s the youngest on the team this season—fresh out of juniors, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, everyone keeps saying like it’s a compliment. The locker room smells like stale sweat and muscle rub, and he’s pretty sure one of the stalls has been broken since the eighties. But it’s still the big leagues. The team. His dream.

And part of that dream, apparently, comes with the added bonus of being taken under the wing of the two most chaotic veterans in the league.

“Hey, Rook,” Mack says as he slings an arm around Toff’s shoulders before morning skate. He’s big and warm and always grinning like he’s about to start trouble. “You ever figure out what the hell you were doing with your stick last night? Looked like you were jousting out there.”

Will strolls up behind them, sipping a smoothie and looking about three percent less feral than usual. He eyes Toff up and down, slow and deliberate. "I thought it was cute. Like a baby deer on ice."

Toff rolls his eyes but doesn't shake off Mack's arm. "Glad to know you were both watching my every move. Real supportive."

“That’s our job,” Will says, and there’s a smirk on his mouth as he steals a sip of Mack’s coffee on the way past. Mack doesn’t complain. Doesn’t even blink.

Toff notices.

He notices a lot of things.

Like how they always end up next to each other on the bench. How Mack leans in close to say something dumb just to make Will laugh during warmups. How Will’s hand rests on Mack’s thigh for exactly three seconds after a goal before he remembers they’re in public and snatches it back.

Or how they think they're being subtle.

They’re so not.

Toff brings it up once in the most passive-aggressive way he can.

“So,” he says after a win, peeling tape off his shin pads. “You two live together or what?”

Mack grins like he knows exactly what Toff’s fishing for. “Nah. Just carpool. Easier that way."

Will doesn’t even look up. “And because you get sad when I’m not around to make your eggs in the morning.”

“You make eggs for him?” Toff asks, trying not to sound like he’s compiling evidence.

Will shrugs. "He's useless without me."

Toff makes eye contact with one of the other rookies across the room and mouths, They're so married.

The worst part is, they’re amazing mentors. Like, frustratingly good. Will sharpens Toff’s skating instincts until he doesn’t overthink transitions anymore. Mack makes him take extra shots after practice until his wristers go exactly where he wants them to. They chirp him relentlessly but also always make sure he’s fed, rested, and doesn’t get steamrolled by veterans from other teams.

And okay. Fine. Maybe Toff finds it kind of adorable when he catches Will in Mack’s hoodie at team brunch. Or when Mack shows up to practice with the exact protein bar Will likes and pretends it’s for himself.

They’re terrible at hiding it. But Toff’s not about to call them out.

Not officially, anyway.

“You know,” he says casually one day as they’re walking out of the rink. “It must be nice. Having someone who’s always got your back. Makes all this easier.”

Will looks over at Mack. Mack looks back.

Something passes between them.

Then Mack throws an arm around Toff’s neck, ruffles his hair, and says, “You’re getting sentimental, rookie. That means we’re doing our job right."

Toff doesn’t say anything.

He just smiles and lets himself be squished between them the whole walk to the lot.

♡

[dingodad]

honestly i think the original comic only gave one word action descriptors to prince/bard and thief/rogue bc they’re kind of the only classes that can be coherently described like that? even prince/bard become kind of shaky with the “destroys with aspect/allows destruction through aspect” part of the definition, because like, what’s the meaningful difference between “destroys with aspect” and “fights with aspect”? ultimately all classes have powers relating to their aspect which they can and do use in combat/a destructive manner etc. i think the whole concept of the classpect doc only really exists because when passing your project to different writers you kind of need to define the worldbuilding you’re going off of and so you need to standardize your ideas, even if that’s not the most comprehensive way to store info. you can even kind of tell that the page definition was made with jake in mind because “fights to preserve hope” is a comprehensive idea, but applying it to other aspects is much less informative. like, doesn’t “fights to preserve time” also describe dave pretty well? ig that could play into the common speculation that page/knight are paired, but i can’t really think of a mirrored definition that could make a meaningful distinction in any way.

yeah i totally agree about the purpose of the classpect doc which is why i hate that rodriguez keeps threatening to reveal more of it LOL. like that's not for me to see!! your job is to make a story good enough that i'll WANT to know what it says forever but never actually have to see it!!

disagree strongly about destruction not being meaningfully defined for prince/bard though. like for one thing destroying "with aspect" is obviously only half of the equation, they also invite the destruction OF their aspect, and I think that's the way Dirk and Eridan's relationships with Heart and Hope are best defined. Dirk interacts with souls in a way that is intrinsically destructive, in a way that phrases like "fighting souls" or "fighting with souls" just don't accurately describe.

Dirk totally DOES fight against the Heart aspect and with the Heart aspect because like you say struggle and combat are just part of the sburb hero's personal quest, but that's just why "fight" would be a terrible one-word summary for a class - even one with overt implications of warfare like the Knight. which is also exactly why i find it dumb that classpect leads people to get into arguments about whether x class "uses / exploits their aspect" like that isn't the description of what every fucking class does. god.

i think the idea that each class pair should have a defining verb or whatever the fuck works really when we actually know which two classes form a given pair, because it allows us to understand the class by comparing it to its paired opposite (#gender). but when you look at the million classes that DON'T have a straightforward pair it becomes such a losers' game trying to squeeze two of them into one verb. like if we cut the superfluous "fights to" from the Page description, a "preserver" class actually sounds really interesting and very easy to meaningfully distinguish from other verbage -- but now we have to figure out what the other preserver class is without even knowing what 50% of the classes' POWERS even look like ?? 😭😭 and the page has always been so hard for me to pair because like we're saying it already had such a vivid description: it's the class that goes from weak to suddenly strong. it simply makes no sense to me that there is apparently another class in the list that is somehow equivalent to that. this simply makes classpect seem fake as shit

[sunshinechay]

So…I think Boston might actually have some kind of romantic feelings for Nick. Hear me out.

Like don’t get it twisted, I’m not hoping not expecting that Boston will become the goodest, most morally perfect person who only want to be with Nick and never does anything wrong ever, but I think he might be catching feelings.

He clearly already liked Nick, I mean he was willing to sleep with him more than once which I absolutely think wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t like him, but the fact that he is willing to spent so much time with Nick as their relationship continues.

I keep thinking back to the pool scene and how when Mew and Top come, Boston shares an extremely loaded look with Too, but Boston move on from it rather quickly, because he has Nick to make him forget. And also how he immediately turns to Nick to get his mind off of his phone call with Mew about him. He gets derailed by Sand and Ray and ends up taking out his frustration on them instead of sex with Nick but yeah, if they hadn’t been there, his way of coping would have been to turn to Nick.

Don’t get me twisted, there is still absolutely a health dose of using Nick because he knows Nick has feelings for him and would do anything for him. I don’t think though that Boston is immune to the development of romantic feelings off people, Top proves that if nothing else.

Boston is still manipulative and self centered and would still sell Nick to Satan for one corn chip but it’s starting to look more and more likely that he actually has feelings for him too.

It’s not going to go well for him and I think he’s only going to be truly willing to admit it when it’s already too late and Nick had gone single white female on his ass but I still think he’s gonna happen.

I’m still on fence about whether or not I want BostonNick to be endgame because on the one hand, absolutely not neither of you should be within ten feet of this toxic mess of a situationship you have. On the other hand, can you imagine these two in an actual committed relationship? It be worth it just to see the mess they’d make for themselves and everyone around them.

[demaparbat-hp]

Izumi (steambaby) sketches.

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay but it's super interesting how

Din = Power = Ganondorf

Naryu = Wisdom = Zelda

Farore = Courage = Link.

Because Din, in the hylian creation myth, created the physical world. Naryu then created the laws - gravity, time, etc. And Farore finally created life - plants and people.

Din created the body, naryu the mind, Farore the soul.

And the triforce and its wielders so perfectly reflect that.

Ganon is physical power, he is big and intimidating and he breaks things. He is cunning and determined, but that's not what he focuses on. He is might makes right.

Zelda is wisdom and cleverness. She is stall tactics and information and team work. She is a powerful mage with a spine of steel, but that's not how she'll win. She is the pen being mightier than the sword.

Link is courage and persistence. He is the wild card sneaking behind enemy ranks, always moving, plunging into terrifying situations head first. He's a phenomenal fighter with a keen wit, but that's not what will get him through his challenges. He is bravery not being the absence of fear but the triumph over it.

They sit in perfect parallels to each other.

And ganon is reborn through his body - his resurrection is immortality. No matter how low he is cast, as long as he has a body he can claw his way back. He can cling to his power, build it ever higher.

Zelda is reborn through the magic of her bloodline. It's the accumulated knowledge handed down for generations, the unique power she must master, the skills she must develop to survive and get her kingdom out the other side intact. Even her name, the knowledge of herself, is handed down from all the way from the very first. Her ancestors knowledge of her future presence, her stability, is what gives her the edge.

Link is reborn in spirit. He is not bound by flesh or blood. Just like his wanderlust soul he can reappear in any time or place. His variation, his unpredictability, is exactly how he fights. It's what makes him so hard to pin down.

Ganons need to build strength means he can't chase after link. Links impulsiveness means zelda can outwit him. Zeldas stationary predictability means she's an easy target for ganon.

But the other direction?

Fire melts ice, ice redirects lightning, lightning burns fire.

And that's the very essence of the triforce.

[tategaminu]

"Callum chose his girlfriend over family". Wrong‚ Callum chose family over family. 👍👍👍

[terrestrialtraveller]

I seriously do not think the prison-sex scene between Caitlyn and Vi was meant to come off as this climatic loving conclusion for these two amazing character. It could've been but it wasn't.

That scene goes to show how Vi's relationship with Caitlyn will be her new prison, the next relationship defines too much of her sense of self. I don't understand how that scene gets interpreted otherwise besides people already having heavy investment in the CaitVi-Ending as a happy couple.

[crabussy]

IS ANYONE ELSE FEELING KIND TODAY!!! IS ANYONE ELSE FEELING GENEROUS TOWARDS OTHER PEOPLE!!! IS ANYBODY ELSE BEING KIND AND TRYING TO UNDERSTAND EVEN WHEN ITS HARD!!! IS ANYONE ELSE ASSUMING THE BEST OF OTHERS INTENTIONS AND RESPONDING IN KIND!!!! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

All I’m going to say I think now that my brain remembered part of what it was thinking is that Taylor and Joe went through a lot together (good and bad) and regardless of how it ended or what led to it they both seem to be determined to keep that private and not throw each other under the bus and in the end they’re just two very, very different people whose outlooks in the long term were just never going to align and never has that been clearer.