#the ability to grieve as a whole

[annieisyourfavourite]

just blocked and unfollowed someone for putting Makoto Shinkai slander on my dash. your name is literally The Movie Of All Time, and suzume made me feel emotions i haven't been able to stop feeling for days. it's this serious to me

[idiopathicsmile]

you know what really grinds my gears?

okay, bear with me: so as you may know, harry houdini and arthur conan doyle were friends, at least for a while.

by the early 1920s, both arthur conan doyle and acd's wife jean, aka lady doyle, believed whole-heartedly in spiritualism, talking to ghosts and all of that. (sidenote: this was of course right on the heels of a devastating world war and a devastating pandemic, both of which had created a huge population of grieving people, so spiritualism was having a moment.)

lady doyle sincerely thought she had the ability to go into a trance state and pass along messages in writing from the dead. she offered to do this for houdini. houdini agreed.

lady doyle attempted to channel houdini's late mother. she basically drew a cross at the top of the paper and filled it with generic platitudes addressed to "harry." houdini's mom was jewish and didn't talk like that, so houdini knew the jig was up, even if lady doyle didn't. but not wanting to make the situation awkward, he kind of went along with it to their faces.

then acd decided to publish a glowing account of the seance, and since both he and houdini were super famous, it got a lot of attention, and letters started pouring in for houdini, asking if this was true. ultimately, houdini couldn't lie about it. so he essentially said, like, "yeah, i think lady doyle THINKS she can talk to ghosts but she absolutely can't." and it ruined his friendship with acd forever.

and then of course a lot of the people running seances weren't even well-intentioned like lady doyle, they were just simple charlatans taking advantage of traumatized people mourning loved ones. in houdini's youth, he and his wife had traveled the carnival circuit where he did an act pretending to commune with spirits, so he knew all the tricks of the trade AND he had lingering guilt over having done this, AND he was infuriated by this increasingly popular wave of con artists so he decided to assemble a team of anti-grifting grifters and together they went on the road exposing whichever spiritualists were preying on the locals.

houdini's best agent was a young woman named rose mackenberg, who donned disguises to visit the fraud de jour and then importantly sussed out what non-supernatural thing was actually happening, and then houdini would demonstrate the techniques onstage to packed audiences.

(if you want to know more, check out episode 175, "ghost racket crusade" of the podcast Criminal or read Tony Wolf's book The Real-Life Ghostbusting Adventures of Rose Mackenberg.)

but yeah, what really gets my goat is that all this happened and as far as i know, we still don't have like four seasons of a Leverage-style historical procedural about rose mackenberg and the rest of the crew having adventures in the 1920s as they unmask craven hucksters all over the united states. (what we do have, apparently, is one season of a show called "houdini and doyle" which is about the oddball friendship of two contrasting men solving sometimes-actually-supernatural mysteries, and whose premise does i think at the very least a real disservice to houdini's whole quest and also totally erases rose, who is arguably the most interesting part of this story to me.)

i am just steamed about this. steamed.

[winterrbluess]

JJK spoilers

This chapter....THIS chapter has me sobbing a bucket like Yuji, he is so precious. His growth has astonished me so much. His introspection and the ability to step in other's shoes and sympathise with them (even Sukuna) is his greatest strength. His whole fight was to bring Megumi back, to save one person atleast and now not only he grew out of his cog mentality but is leaving the choice in Megumi's hands that it's fine if he wants to give up. For the first time someone tells Megumi it's fine to give up and not wanting to fight anymore or get stronger or fulfill any space or role. Yuji giving Megumi the agency to deal with his loss and trauma, to choose for himself...grieve and just end it all. It's so tragic yet beautiful with how Yuji is always there for Megumi and vice versa. And Megumi's monologue about wanting to enjoy the domesticity of life..God it's heartbreaking how he just wanted to...exist, to live like a 16 year old, safe and surrounded by his loved ones without the burden of being strongest in future on his shoulder.

This panel is so bittersweet...with it being directly parallel to Gojo one but with such stark contrast..Yuji is there for Megumi only..not an ally, not the strongest sorcerer of future but his friend.

[brucewaynehater101]

What if Tim was a meta with ability to erase and change people's memories (like Pudding from One Piece) and when he felt like he had to disappear he erased memories of himself from Batfam's minds??

Ye!

The batfam become confused af as well. They feel something is missing. There's a hole in their lives, but they can't tell what it is. They can't tell that their memories are missing because Tim erased the memory of the third Robin from everyone's minds.

Despite having no recollection of Tim (and despite him deleting all evidence that says contrary), everyone still feels his absence.

Alfred, for some reason he can't place, keeps setting an additional plate down for dinner. He finds himself buying Zesti flavors none of the Waynes like.

Jason feels an odd sort of grief when he notices his jacket is still draped over the back of the couch where he left it.

Bruce finds himself drowning in work despite the workload being the same as it always is. He goes to send his analysis of an interesting cold case but pauses at the contact name.

Cass knows, to the very being in her bones, that her family isn't whole. She just doesn't know why.

Duke finds himself dropping by Wayne Enterprises during his dayshift, but he doesn't know where he wants to go. He's also bothered by the window in the CEO office being locked how it's supposed to be.

Titus won't stop whining as he sits in front of a bedroom in the family wing that's always been empty.

For some reason, Barbara has every other Tuesday night completely empty. Despite her hectic schedule and her needing that time to get work done, she can't bring herself to fill it.

Damian is getting so frustrated every time he tries to paint. There's a face he keeps drawing, but it's blurry. He doesn't know who it is, and he doesn't know why it causes him to feel so much.

Steph cracks a smile when she sees a brick but doesn't know why. There's a plethora of inside jokes she knows but doesn't understand. None of the other Bats react to them either.

Dick stares at the photo of himself with his parents and two strangers. He thought his mourning had lessened over the years. He still feels it, but he usually remembers the good times when he looks at this picture. Now, it's as if he's feeling their loss anew. He's grieving, but somehow, he knows it's not about them. He doesn't know what else it could be.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hey! I hope you’re doing good in ur exams!!

Can I request a Tomura x Male reader?

Before the whole war…please, I’m grieving a lot for way too many reasons. ☹️

Tomura Shigaraki x male reader

Headcanons

Big sucker for gamer Shigaraki, why did people stop writing it. So im basing this off earlier season Shiggy, but you can imagine him how you want.

Reader has a quirk vaguely based off Yaga from JJK, cuz I love JJK, and I love Yaga.

Dating Shigaraki was an… experience to say the least. He could be quite bratty or childish at times, but you couldn’t really blame him, especially after hearing about his relationship with that sensei of his.

You weren’t a villain. But you just… didn’t respect the system and thought the hero system was corrupt beyond redemption. You didn’t think Shigaraki’s Sensei had the right idea either. But you had been ignored more than once by the so-called heroes meant to save you.

You had what most would call a “villain” quirk, having the ability to make something akin to dolls or golems, some even being so complex they could think and feel on their own. You had even created more than one that didn’t know it was a doll.

Being raised by golems was an experience, as your parents had been so offput by your quirk and interest in how everything and everyone worked. They’d fed you and clothed you, but that was it. and when your younger siblings developed more “appropriate” quirks, the gap became massive.

It had led to you leaving home as a teen, having finished and graduated online school earlier than most.

You had left a small unnoticeable golem in your home, just to see how long it took your family to realize you were gone. The answer was three months, and it was only because your rich grandpa who had a string quirk, who had always supported your love for puppets, came back from abroad to visit.

The gratification of hearing and seeing your loving but serious grandpa rip your family apart verbally, and then take away all the monetary support he had been given them, was almost enough to cover up the pain of your empty stomach and warm you where you were huddled in an alley.

Meeting Shigaraki had been an accident in the beginning. Your golems had only gotten more and more complex, meaning you suddenly had an income that was more than enough to get your own place, with one of the golems as the “owner” of course.

After that you started selling information and different kinds of “defense” work. That meaning, you helped people hide from the hero commission, and get information other people couldn’t. what was better for that situation other than an army of people that just didn’t exist.

You were picked up by Giran, who had taken notice of your large net of people, whom he didn’t know were your puppets and golems. He, or rather All for one, paid much more than you really needed. But all these years had taught you more than most knew about the inner workings of hero society, so you didn’t turn it away.

You did have a slight feeling that All for one wanted to eat you after he learned about your quirk. But the whole having to build the skill and mental capacity seemed to stop him, for now, since he apparently didn’t have time to perfect it in time for what he had planned.

You were the first outsider in the league of villains, way before anybody else joined, which was how you and Shigaraki started spending time together.

In the beginning hed been his dry snappy bratty self, and he just reminded you of the dirty street cats that you used to feed when you still lived in alleyways. They’d hiss and spit, trying to puff up and look tough, but they always just looked so frail and vulnerable.

Neither of you could tell when your relationship became more than just coworkers. Maybe it was when Shigaraki had Kurogiri warp him to your penthouse since your tv “was bigger and better” than the one he had in his room.

Or when you started bringing him designer clothes that would fit him better than the rags he wore, or had your golems break into different shops to get him some ointment that would help with his scratching.

You even caught yourself once or twice trying to play his games, but you figured out your usual strategic and put together mind lost all its footing playing LOL. Never before had your age quit, and you were too shamed to try again after that.

Shigaraki would admit later that he had tried to get into your hobbies too, with a big blush on his face and a sour expression, like he didn’t want to admit that he had feelings. He couldn’t really get into the art that was doll and golem making, and just how detailed it got for you had his head spinning.

Neither of you ever outright asked the other to date, it just kinda progressed to that point. Shigaraki spent more time at your place than at the “villain hideout”, even after the rest of the league joined.

You started going on dates, which were you booking an entire arcade or restaurant, and having your golems serve you. Or letting Shigaraki lean against you playing his handheld as you planned stocks or different businesses you had your fingers in.

In front of others, you two just seemed like allies, maybe friends on a good day. And it only came out after Magne and Toga had been teasing Shigaraki about having no experience, where he snapped at them that he had a boyfriend, you.

The rest of the league were shocked to say the least, since you two didn’t act anything like a couple around them. But both you and Shigaraki just raise a brow going “why would we be all lovey at work”.

It didn’t surprise you that Shigaraki was touch starved and loved to cuddle. In the beginning he would almost act like it pained him to be touched and cradled. but so many years with no normal human contact always had that effect.

You weren’t used to it yourself, having gone so long with only the touch and comfort of your dolls and golems, but none of it was the same as when it was another person.

The two of you were pretty much dating in your shared opinion, before you ever really got physical. And by that, I mean, you started out by just sitting close or you wrapping your arms around Shigaraki.

Your lover was understandably scared of touching you with his hands, even when he wore gloves to stop his quirk from working. So, it was a major breakthrough when he did return the hugs, or would hold your hand.

But when the floodgates for affection opened, Shigaraki would always find himself clinging to you like a cat searching for warmth. It was pretty damn cute in your eyes, and whenever he would shuffle into the room, you just life an arm and let him melt into your side.

Most days you could keep working, answering the phone, checking your laptop, and what else. But there were also days where Shigaraki would grumble about dusting your stuff if you didn’t cuddle him right.

Part of you had a feeling it was Shigaraki wanting you to take a break, and the other part was sure it was just cuz he liked to be squeezed tight and snuggled. But who were you to complain.

[neuroticboyfriend]

Affirmations & reminders for when you have chronic fatigue:

I am just as important as anyone else - no better, and no worse.

I am not at fault; everyone has limits, and it's okay that mine are from chronic fatigue.

I am allowed to grieve over the abilities I lost, or never had.

I am a whole person; I am more than what I cannot do.

I am allowed to take it easy and accept my limits; my suffering is not virtuous.

I am loved and cared for; there are people fighting for me and people like me.

I only have responsibility over the things I can control.

I am not a burden - my condition is, and it's not a burden I can carry by myself.

I am allowed to ask for support; I do not have to do this alone.

I have inherent value and worth simply by being alive; nothing I do can change that.

Replace the I's with you's, if you need you - know I believe all this about you, and I am right here with you on accepting & believing it for myself. ♡

[shyflowerhologram]

The double standards Konoha and fandom generally has when it comes to Uchihas, for example - Asuma’s death. Apparently, Shikamaru is allowed to grieve over his teacher’s death and be unreasonable and lead Choji and Ino against the people they had no chance against. Shikamaru may have had plan against Hidan, but he had no idea about Kakuzu’s abilities. Sure, he planned to get Hidan’s jutsu to kill Kakuzu, but without Kakashi, who got added to his team on last second, Ino and Choji would be long dead before Shikamaru’s plan came into action. Everyone supports and understands him. But now, when Sasuke is grieving over his family and wants a revenge, whole village (and fandom) is calling him a wuss. Where was Kakashi’s famous speech about how he had it worse when he offered his help to Shikamaru’s team? He never showed any intention to support Sasuke about killing Itachi, like he did with Shikamaru. He literally said: “Sasuke quit seeking revenge, even if you success, you’ll be left with emptiness in the end,” of course, it sounds wise, but then Kakashi goes and offers his help to other team for a revenge mission. Why? Itachi was a criminal just like Hidan and Kakuzu, member of Akatsuki. Did Itachi cause less grief for Sasuke than Hidan did for Shikamaru? Why was it so wrong to go after Itachi like they did with Hidan? There is no arguing that Itachi is worse opponent, but that had never been anyone’s point. The only thing everyone droned about was that Sasuke had to give up on revenge, forget about his massacred clan and play house in Konoha like nothing bad had ever happened. Another example would be how everyone says how Sasuke doesn't deserve forgiveness or happiness after everything he had done. What had he done so bad actually? Are we still going on about killing few samurai in a battle? Well, remember Gaara, who used to kill everyone simply for the sake of it. He wasn't on his right mind? Surprise, neither was Sasuke at kage's summit, he was finally going to face man who had ordered his family's death, too bad he wasn't all logical. Gaara could be redeemed for his killing spree, but not Sasuke. Sasuke, who got rid of two akatsuki members, sealed Orochimaru and put end to his experiments and torture (until konoha embraced Orochimaru back, because he was bad but at least he didn't kill samurai). Not to forget how Sasuke did Konoha a huge favor and got rid of Danzo, and I'm not gonna talk about how helped Naruto to save the world, but who says thank you? Nope, no one.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

Second Chance Sorcerer Chapter 2 - A Message

Summary: After surviving Mahito's Idle Transfiguration in the Shibuya Incident, Nanami finds himself in an unknown realm between life and death. Will he escape?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Fem! reader

A/N: Chapter 2 is here! So we come to the world of the living where reader is grieving Nanami's death. Reader-centric chapter, but Nanami is brought up heavily. Originally made with my OC, to read that version, check out my AO3 account, but it's in Y/n format here.

Banner by the lovely @actuallysaiyan

Search/follow along using #secondchancesorcerer

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Nanami masterlist

There’s an incessant knocking at the door and it takes all of your energy to not scream at whoever it is to go away. You felt like someone had hit you with a sledgehammer, your sleep disturbed and restless. Why was everyone so determined to give you company when all you wanted to do was be left alone?

No one understood the hollow feeling in your chest, how you woke up every night screaming, remembering Mahito’s disgusting grin of triumph as he had murdered Nanami in cold blood. How you had begged Nanami to let you take him out of Shibuya station along with Maki, the burns on his body looking so raw and painful. He had fixed you with the same look he would give you when you were hesitating to take a shot at him during hand-to-hand combat training sessions. That stern expression of disapproval, despite his own pain and exhaustion.

“Take Maki-san and leave. I’ll be fine Y/n-san. I can’t leave. Not yet.” And you had been helpless to argue against him. You never could. There was a hypnotic quality to the way Nanami instructed you, said with a finality that you could never disobey. The man had a death wish, you knew that, and you had foolishly believed securing him with a protective charm would drive away the shadow of demise that seemed to hover over him all the time. You should have knocked him unconscious and dragged his ass out with Maki. Shoko was on site. She could have healed him, and he would be here, grieving their other losses instead of…

Your heart constricted painfully, remembering how you had held onto Yuji as hard as you could, your ears bleeding from his hysterical screaming as he swore his revenge on Mahito. Nanami’s loss hung heavily in the air. Although most of the Jujutsu community was more invested in Gojo being sealed, it was Nanami’s death that affected you the most. Nanami your mentor, your dour, unwilling mission partner, your whole heart…now gone. Like he had never existed, no trace of him left. 

“Y/n-san?” The knocking continues and with a snarl, you roll off the bed, your hair a dreadful mess, not caring that you’re still in pajamas, and yank open the door, only to see Ino and Yuji standing there, Yuji carrying a takeout container. Your ire washes away only to be replaced by a dull ache as you see them. “Oh. it’s you two.” You slink back to the bed and disappear under the covers.

“We haven’t seen you for two days now Y/n-san.” Ino shuts the door as Yuji sets the takeout container on the table. “You can’t just lock yourself away. We’re a team. Team Nanami, remember?” Ino gives you a wan smile which you don’t have the energy to return. Yuji settles down on a chair and says nothing.

Your heart aches for the boy, so young, a teenager, looking so weary and serious, shouldering the weight of a much older man. “I haven’t been in a mood to see anyone. Everything that happened at Shibuya…I can’t.”

Your voice trembles, threatening to spill out all the unspent grief you’re carrying. You hadn't explicitly told anyone about your feelings for Nanami, believing it was pointless. You were his apprentice after all, a title almost similar to being his student, and it was a boundary you hadn’t been willing to cross. Nanami had helped craft your abilities after all, abilities you had been terrified of using, abilities that had plagued your entire life, that you wished you hadn’t been born with; until he had shown you how to use them for a higher purpose. 

It was an astonishing experience, developing a cursed technique, needing much hands-on instruction. Literally. Nanami would constantly adjust your hands, your stance, and your combat positions, tutting at you impatiently. You had felt like you were in a ballet academy under the care of a rigorous instructor, the type that would raise their student’s arms and chin and adjust their posture using the end of a cane.

He had started you off the same way that Gojo had done for Yuji, by channeling cursed energy into one of Principal Yaga’s creepy cursed dolls. The doll had given you a black eye that day, but you secretly blamed Nanami for that; you had been watching movies as instructed, the doll in your lap when he had come down to check on you. His deep gravelly voice cutting through the room unexpectedly had caused you to yelp, grip loosening on the doll, which had wasted no time in delivering a blow to your eye. 

It was humiliating, feeling like you had failed him on this simple task but he made you nervous. He always gave off an aura of needing perfection and his short, clipped way of giving instruction made you feel inadequate. Everything had been a blur of confusion as you leaned against the sofa, covering your eye and moaning in pain, hearing rapid shuffling footsteps, before Nanami had caught hold of the doll and shoved it into a containment box.

“Let me see.” With your good eye, you saw him leaning over you to check your face. You knew you were blushing but hoped it came off as embarrassment for being punched by the doll rather than the fact that your mentor - your unbelievably attractive mentor- was peering into your face at such close proximity. 

You had slowly removed your hand, the area around the eye swollen and tender. Nanami’s expression was strange, almost like he was trying not to laugh as he delicately laid his fingers at the edges of the starting bruise. “I did warn you not to lose concentration,” he said in an even tone, although it betrayed a wisp of amusement. “Go see Ieiri-San. I’m afraid you’ll be sporting a bruise for a while, but her reverse curse technique will take away the pain so at least you won’t feel it.” 

Your good eye had glared at him reproachfully. “I was doing fine until you startled me. I didn’t even hear you come in. We should put a bell around your neck.”

You thought you saw the corners of his mouth twitch slightly, almost like he was biting back the urge to smile. “Are you under the impression that curses wear bells around their necks, Y/n-San? Because if this is all it takes to startle you…you wouldn’t last a minute on a solo mission.”

His words had brought you back to the reality of the situation, the fuzzy feeling of being near him vanishing in an instant. Always teaching survival tactics, always telling you to run, always putting himself in the line of fire. It had driven you insane, how little self-preservation he had for himself. 

“Isn’t there anything that you would like to live for?” You had asked him one morning as you ate breakfast together before catching the train home, having finished a mission the previous night. He fixed you with a scrutinizing stare, whiskey-colored eyes narrowing as though puzzled by your question. 

“Like what?”

His response left you stumped. Did the man have no aspirations, no dreams, or wishes he wanted to be fulfilled? 

“Like what?” You had parroted back to him, an incredulous look on your face. “There are so many wonderful things about life! Don’t you have a survival bucket list?”

His lip was definitely curling now. Nanami never smiled completely, but the corners of his eyes would crinkle when something amused him, and you could see the lines deepening as he regarded your question, but his tone felt like an adult indulging a child. It was maddeningly patronizing, considering he was just three years older than you, yet he assumed himself to be too mature and aged for such whimsical questions. 

“A survival bucket list?” he practically scoffed. 

“Yes,” you said trying not to lose your patience with him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You know, a list of things you’d like to do if you ever had the time.”

“Do you have one?”

“Of course I have one! Most of us have one! Something to keep us going when all we see is death and destruction on a daily basis.”

The thought seemed to intrigue him but you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were being snubbed. Which was why you were taken aback when he asked, “What’s on your survival bucket list?”

“Oh ah…” you tried to gather your thoughts as you spoke, not expecting that he would ask you. “Take a tour of Europe. Go on an African safari. Take scuba diving lessons. Try different pastries and sweets from all over the world.” You lists some of your top activities, then frown as Nanami in a rare moment, flashes you a grin, his teeth showing for a brief second before his face returns to its usual stoic state. 

“What?” You had asked almost impatiently. “Is my bucket list funny in some way?”

The blond man shakes his head no before speaking. “It’s not funny at all Y/n-san. I think it’s nice that you have these personal goals.” He says calmly, his voice carrying an unfamiliar lilt you had never heard before. 

Your irritation died down when you realized he hadn’t answered you yet. “Do you have one or not?” 

He looked thoughtfully at you before replying. “I used to. But it’s not as great as wanting to learn how to scuba dive or trying all the sweets in the world.” His tone changed into something wistful and nostalgic and it played with your heartstrings as you waited for him to continue. “My survival bucket list, if I can call it that, has only one goal. And that is to live long enough to retire.”

Your breath had caught and you waited for him to say more, hoping he wouldn’t shut off. Nanami rarely ever spoke more than what was necessary, but you longed to see more of this side of him, the parts of him that had nothing to do with sorcery. 

“Retirement isn’t something a lot of sorcerers get to experience. Most of them die young, and the ones that do survive have so many disabilities that doing anything later in life becomes impossible. If life is favorable to me, and I have all my limbs and mental health by that age, I would love to retire and spend the rest of my days in peace.”

“What does peace look like to you?” you had asked him in a hushed voice, feeling ecstatic about finding out these little details about him. 

“A beach, in a country with a low cost of living. Perhaps I’ll live right on the sand, a book in hand, and just take in all the sunshine.” His eyes had taken on a faraway quality, the whiskey color becoming more honeyed, little flecks of gold visible in his irises as though whatever he was thinking of had lit a candle inside him, illuminating his whole being. You could only stare, unable to comprehend how beautiful, how vulnerably human, he looked in that fleeting moment before it vanished behind an impenetrable curtain of indifference. “But that future is a very slim possibility. I don’t like building castles of air.”

The warmth that had settled in your chest dissipated, and you were left with the man you had grown used to; contained, jaded, pessimistic. 

“But what if it does happen?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. 

He let out a sound that could have been interpreted as a disbelieving chuckle. “Then I’d better think about using something more solid than air to build my castle.”

“Y/n-san?”

You’re jolted back to reality as Yuji hands you a tissue. You hadn’t even been aware that you were crying, tears rolling down your cheeks, eyes puffy and red.

“I’m sorry guys.” You dabbed at the tears. “Got lost in thought.”

“We all miss him, Y/n-san,” Yuji says comfortingly, but his voice trembles. “He was more than a teacher to all of us.” 

“And we’re still a team despite him being gone,” Ino says assertively and presses the takeout container into your hands. “Eat. You need to.”

You open it to reveal a breakfast sandwich, and although you don’t have much of an appetite, the thoughtfulness of the boys is so sweet that you don’t feel like setting it aside for later. Taking a bite, you try to distract yourself from your own feelings.

“So they weren’t able to recover Gojo from the prison realm?” you ask, trying to get off the topic of their deceased mentor. 

Ino shakes his head no, and you are relieved to see that most of his wounds from his fight with Ogami have healed, almost imperceptible to the eyes of a non-sorcerer, although there was a scar running down the left side of his face now.

“They’re doing a recovery throughout Shibuya station, but it’s mostly to pull items belonging to the people who died. You know, to return to their families.” Ino sighs and rests against the wall of your room. “They haven’t found Nanami-san’s blade yet.”

This bit of information is unexpected, and you look at him, then at Yuji who is also listening intently. 

“I mean…it probably got lost underneath all the rubble, right? It’ll turn up eventually.” You swallow, hoping the weapon wasn’t lost to the destruction of Shibuya Station. 

“I hope so. I’d imagine Nanami-san would want me to have it.” Ino sits down on the edge of your bed. Yuji however, gives him a look of disapproval. 

“Why do you get Nanamin’s weapon? I was his student too.”

“Yeah, but I trained under him the longest. By that right, it should come to me.”

“What if he has family? Wouldn’t it go them?” Yuji countered, trying to think of a reasonable argument for why Ino couldn’t simply lay claim to the blade.

“He didn’t have any family,” you say quietly, not really invested in the conversation. Ino and Yuji continued to debate, their conversation becoming indistinct buzzing to you as you finished your sandwich. 

“He was your teacher too Y/n-san,” Ino interjects suddenly, with a touch of surprise. “Why aren’t you more interested in who his blade goes to?”

“Because I knew how much he hated using it.”

Your words carry an intensity that makes them both quiet down instantly. As powerful and wonderful as his blade was, you knew your mentor’s distaste for using it. To him, it was a means to an end, no different than using a rifle or an axe. He used it for the sake of exorcising curses, but the blade itself carried no personal meaning to him. 

“Nanamin hated his blade?” Yuji asks in a small voice. The disappointment in his eyes had you quickly backpedaling.

“Not the blade itself. I think more so, what it represented for him. A life as a sorcerer. Of facing death every day, knowing this was his duty and he couldn’t escape it.”

Silence follows your words and you wish you hadn’t spoken. You hadn’t meant to put a damper on the boys’ spirits but you couldn't keep quiet either. They were young, in awe of their late teacher who must’ve seemed like a much older man, dispensing wisdom. But knowing how small your age gap was, and how much he hated this line of work, you found yourself compelled to make sure they knew what you knew; that Nanami Kento was a hard-working man, but he never found any joy in using his now legendary weapon at all. 

And unknown to them, you had already scavenged Shibuya Station after the emergency evacuation orders were put through. You hadn’t expected to find much, but somehow, through a stroke of luck, had found his tie, the obnoxiously yellow, polka-dotted tie, peeking through the broken cement and glass, stained with blood. His blood. 

You had yanked it out quickly and stuffed it into your pocket, a little secret you had been carrying around the last few days. It now lay under your pillow; you worried people would judge you for keeping it, for not washing it but somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. At night, you’d run the tie through your fingers, feeling the material slip smoothly through, the faint scent of his cologne still on it. You knew you would never be able to wash it until the last vestiges of that scent faded away. It was the only thing that brought you comfort, that and remembering the day you found out the history of the odd color and print of the tie.

The 4 four of you had been out at the amusement park, Ino and Yuji energetically running around from one ride to the next while you and Nanami had waited in line to grab food for everyone. As you sat waiting for the boys to come back, you had gathered courage and asked him a question that had been in the back of your mind since you became his apprentice.

“Nanami-san?”

“Hmm?” He had turned his focus towards you and you hoped he wouldn’t see the rising color in your cheeks. 

“Why do you wear that tie? It just doesn’t match the rest of your outfit.” You held you breath hoping the question wasn’t too personal. But the tie somehow paradoxically brought his outfit together and also threw it out of style. 

His expression had changed almost imperceptibly. If you hadn’t spent as much time as you did with him, you might not have noticed it. He rested his elbows on the picnic table, as though conflicted to admit what was going through his mind. Then with a sigh, he said, “It’s to remember an old friend.”

“An old friend?”

“A late friend, to be precise.”

Your heart tightened in your chest. A late friend? He had lost someone close to him? 

“It’s a funny story.” Nanami paused as though considering if he should tell you more, then continued. “My favorite show growing up as a child was The Flintstones.” 

You stared at him, but you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped you which you suppressed immediately. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to say something like that.”

“Well, it was.” Nanami’s lips had twitched. “And my friend knew this. As a joke, he got me a tie that matched Fred Flintstone’s outfit.” Another pause, another sigh, as though the next part was difficult for him to say. “I never wore it until after his death. Now I always do, in remembrance.”

“I’m so sorry,” you had said in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to bring up such a sad memory for you.”

Nanami shook his head and looked away towards the Ferris wheel, where the boys had disappeared off to. “It was a while ago. I try not to dwell on it for too long.”

“Thank you for telling me,” you’d murmured. His face had softened as he looked at you, the rest of the world blurring from your vision until all that remained in focus was him, the sharp eyes, the high cheekbones, the straight nose, and the chiseled jawline. Barely 30, yet looking like even a few years of sleep wouldn’t wash away the exhaustion that emanated from his bones. 

“Even if Nanami-san disliked his weapon, it’s still useful to have.” Ino and Yuji were back to debating about the blade. 

You were about to reiterate that you wouldn’t fight them over the blade when suddenly a pale sea foam green light began to glow from underneath your pillow. Both the boys stop bickering, awestruck at the sight. With a trembling hand, you move the pillow, revealing the tie, and making Ino and Yuji draw closer in curiosity. The polka dots on the blood-stained tie were glowing, emanating a warm aura accompanied by a curious scent of lingering coffee.

“What…” You watch with fascination, then look up at Yuji and Ino, who are watching the scene unfold, wide-eyed and filled with wonderment.

“Is that Nanamin’s tie?” Yuji gets closer to the bed, unable to take his eyes away.

“Yeah…I’ve been holding onto it.”

“Is it cursed? Did Nanami-san leave some residual cursed energy when he…?” Ino eyes the tie warily but also speaks in a hushed tone of disbelief. 

You shake your head, the aura not feeling sinister to you. Rather, it felt familiar, like you had experienced it before, in those brief moments when Nanami’s eyes would crinkle from amusement…

You gasp and scramble off the bed as the dots begin to lift off the tie, a vignette of sea foam green surrounding each one. They float ethereally in the air, then, one by one start floating out of your room. 

“Wait!” Not caring that you’re in pajamas or that you’d been in bed for nearly two days, you chase after the dots, bolting out of the room barefoot, Ino and Yuji hot on your heels. People stared at you as you ran. You knew the group must look quite eccentric, the two boys fully clothed and decent looking, while you looked ratty and deranged, hair flying everywhere as you tracked the dots barefoot, not wanting to lose sight of them. 

Finally, the dots make their way into the large courtyard where Nanami would brief you about upcoming missions. They slow down and the trio halts, panting and out of breath. The light surrounding the polka dots brightens before they start arranging themselves into a fixed pattern, you, Ino, and Yuji watching perplexedly.

“Fred Flintstone”

“What?” Yuji looks bewildered. “Who’s that?”

“Isn’t that a cartoon character?” Ino asks, his generation just shy of the classic cartoons millennials had grown up on. 

You cover your mouth, trying not to jump to conclusions. “The Flintstones…”

Could it be? Was he…? You let out a strangled laugh of disbelief but yet, what else could it be?

“It’s Nanami-san!” you whisper, and as you do, the energy signature from the polka dots seems to envelop you, and you feel every small little detail you have ever memorized about him; the little marks that formed on the bridge of his nose when he took his glasses off after a mission, how he enjoyed a fresh pot of coffee in the morning, that little sigh of satisfaction he’d make after completing his daily crossword puzzle. 

Yuji and Ino look at you incredulously, but you have never been more sure of anything in your life. You look at them in the face, tears in your eyes, not from grief, but at how achingly comforting it was to be bathed in the glow of those polka dots. 

“Nanami-san is alive!” 

Animated lines and support banner by @cafekitsune

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@pernesophe

[simping-on-the-daily]

Some Kind of Angry Beaver

Summary: The Wolverine’s massacre has made you lose everything. Your friends are dead, you’ve left home, and the world’s hatred for mutants grows worse. You promise to yourself you’d have a few words to him if you meet again, and you do, at one of the shady bars where you both grieve your losses.

Notes: Reader is a mutant and was with Wolverine for a brief time, very very brief implications of sub!Logan. Not romantic anymore, and yes the title is from ERB deal with it. Worstie is a lot more sad and pathetic since this is early post!slaughter, gender neutral reader, not beta read we die like this universe’s X-Men, I wrote this in a day and it’s absolutely gonna show

Warnings: Logan killed some of Reader’s friends in his rampage, story is based on grief and death, mutant racism, Logan tries to kill himself but he comes back dw, and a whole lotta swearing

Before you met him, you had no clue what a wolverine was.

You’d barely heard of it, having skipped over it in some animal documentary to focus on more interesting animals, like sharks and alpacas. When you passed by a bar with a few cage fights, you heard the name Wolverine for the first time. When looking at the man’s body, admittedly luscious hair with canines and claws, you had assumed a wolverine was some type of dog or cat, before nailing it down to a wolf. Wolverine, wolf, they just added some more syllables to make a difference.

“It’s a weasel.” The man who you now knew was called Logan answered curtly upon your question, looking away from the bed which smelled of steamy intimacy from last night, and thus, turning away from you, who was on the other side, putting your clothes back on.

“That doesn’t seem very threatening,” You quipped back, putting your shirt on. “The fuck’s a weasel gonna do to the lucky guy?”

Logan gave a quick grunt. “They should be more worried about what I’d do to them.”

“If you can avoid their little collars, that is. Fucking bastards and their dampeners.” You said with a sarcastic sigh. The Senate was trying to make them more commonplace, and though the clapback was fierce, you were still a bit wary.

He gave a quick hmph, and that was that.

You stayed together for a few months. It was unforgettable, to say the least. Watching that man squirm under your touch was an accomplishment for the ages, and the moment you made tears come out of his eyes you did a little victory dance in your brain. You bought him dogtags and things you thought he might’ve liked, while he defended your honor in your ring, beating the shit out of anyone who dared to shittalk you.

“You shouldn’t have, sweetie,” You jokingly answered, upon noticing that his knuckles were still dripping red after passing by a beaten guy carried by his friends, making small comments about how dumb he was. You noticed some scars subtly close in, and turned away, pretending you saw nothing. “His ego can’t take another hit.”

“Can yours?” He answered, and your only response was a pinch of his cheek.

Of course, it didn’t last. Nothing bad happened, you simply just went in other directions. Logan kept hopping between different clubs with cage fights, and you settled in a small town and made a life there. You never forgot how it felt to touch him, but you’d seen him in action. Dude could do just fine.

You got a job, and got your own group of people. Majority of them were human, but like hell if that mattered. You shared good drinks of booze together and you cared for them. Brittney gave birth to a child, and god that kid was the cutest, fattest little fucker you’d ever seen. A few years had passed since you’d met Logan, and by then you were content. Your abilities were accepted, you’d gotten your own little found family, and you comfortably nested yourself in the community.

Brittney and her new fiancé, Ken were going to NYC for a vacation, and trusted the rest of you with their child. For the best, you know now.

“The X-Men are dead. You should be staying here.” Charlie said, crossing his arms to the couple. He wasn’t exaggerating, the X-Men were dead. Their mansion was ransacked and their bodies were fucked. You remember holding in the urge to puke, as the censoring on the news was done horrible, all the guts and gore visible. Jayden didn’t, you remember, running to the toilet and letting out a combination of a vomit and sob.

“We can’t just cancel. I promise, we’ll be safe.” Ken said, though it was obvious he was nervous. “That money can’t just go down the drain, and we’ve shortened it to just two days.”

“The fuck’s the point on going a vacation, then?” You spoke up, eyebrows raised. Brittney looked at me, before back to her now crying baby, probably from all the arguments.

“I have a gun for a reason.” Ken shrugged, and you and Charlie died down. You knew you weren’t gonna win.

“Just….keep Hope safe, alright?” Brittney’s query ended the conversation, as you nodded before giving her a hug. Charlie left the premises, and later you’d see him in the casino, trying to drown out the worry you felt.

You should’ve pushed more. You should’ve tied them to a fucking chair, drugged them with some sleeping pills or whatever. Anything to prevent what happened. But you can’t turn back time, that wasn’t your mutant ability, and now your friends are dead.

So many people were dead.

You spent three days in lockdown. All from some….monster, indiscriminately slaughtering everyone in a path that couldn’t be determined. New York was fucked, Brittney and Ken were fucked. You saw their names on a list of casualties. Jayden wailed for the loss, and you let out a few tears yourself. This shouldn’t have happened, this shouldn’t ever have happened.

The three days ended, but it felt a lot more like an eternity of Hell. Your town wasn’t touched, but you still saw so much blood as you left your home. Nothing changed and yet it all changed. This didn’t feel like home, not anymore.

When the news told you the culprit of this massacre, you couldn’t resist the urge this time. You puked in your toilet, tears running down your face. Your friends were dead to someone who you knew, who’s cheeks you gently pecked. The hands that you once held were used to slaughter Brittney and Ken and so many innocent people. Logan had killed your friends, had killed you in a way.

The bodies were returned, and you cremated the couple at their funeral. You still had some tears to cry, face blank as you stared at their urns. That was your second last day in that town. Everyone hated you now, your mutant powers were despised once more after Logan fucked everything up. No-one looked at you normally anymore. Their gazes were full of hatred and prejudice and pity and god you fucking despised it. With the knowledge that Charlie adopted Hope and Jayden had absolutely run out of tears, you left, wiping your face as the downpour consumed you.

You passed by, traveling across without a goal. You became closely acquainted with the train and bus, and you once more learned to hide your powers, something that you never thought you’d have to do again. Any progress people might’ve been working on towards total acceptance went down the drain, organizations quickly scrambling to make speeches about how ‘one mutant shouldn’t define an entire race’. You would’ve agreed, but the carnage was massive and you still saw dried blood on some walls from the Wolverine’s rampage is you looked closely enough.

After it rained again, you sought refuge in one of the nearby bars. It smelled of shit of booze, and you took a seat near the front.

“Whatcha want?” The bartender asked, gruff in his voice noticeable, and you thought for a second, looking at all the glasses behind him.

“Second heaviest thing you got.” He nodded, and quickly poured some beer in a glass. You had him a note before drinking.

You comfortably fell in the routine, sitting in silence, all the other conversations providing ambiance to your casual misery. Then, like a lightning strike to a tree, it just had to end.

The door opened again. You didn’t care, but when all the conversation stopped, you looked up. You retched upon seeing the fucker’s face, and moved farther away from the door until you were on the opposite end of the counter.

Logan either didn’t notice or didn’t care, sitting at the counter. “Fuck off,” The bartender almost snarled. “We don’t want ya kind here.”

Logan pulled out a few coins. “Not a paying customer?” He spoke, as if he was ignorant to all the shit he pulled just a few weeks ago.

The bartender grunted, pouring him a glass of wine that was obviously cheap and old. The mutant accepted it anyway, taking a long sip. He shouldn’t be enjoying himself, you thought with disdain, he should’ve been rotting in Hell without a drop of drink and no flames to light up a cigar.

The ambiance stopped, no-one wanting to talk while the beast was around. For some fucking reason, you didn’t move from your seat, and so you were just a few meters away from the ex who took so much from you.

After five drinks, you had enough. You got up from your seat and left some change behind as a tip. A more conscious you wouldn’t have tipped someone who was likely a mutant racist, but you weren’t really thinking. You wanted out, you wanted away from the monster, you wanted away from that bloody wolf.

You walked a few steps away from the building when Logan came approaching you. You paused in place, perhaps by the audacity of his actions.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widened, but you gave a small growl, turning them narrowed again. “For what?”

“I wronged you.” You always did need observational skills to become a good tracker.

“Their names,” You shot back with a snarl, “Were Brittney and Ken, and they were heading to New York. They did nothing to you. And you still killed them.”

“I did. I’m sorry.” He repeated, as if that would make it any better.

“I don’t care if you’re sorry!” You yelled out, pointing a finger towards the other mutant as you took a step forward. “You slaughtered my friends you fucking bastard! You lost your family, big whoop, what right does that give you to make mine too, you bloody prick?!”

You had thought about this type of scenario before. You wouldn’t give him a verbal beatdown, no, you were too classy for that. You’d say one sentence that would crush his resolve and leave him astounded as you walked away, knowing that your friends were at peace. But you were drunk and angry and your family was fucked over because of this one man, and so you went on, like a lion going overkill when it finally encountered their prey.

“I wish I never fucking met you! It’d be sooooo easier if you were just some psycho rando, but I fucked you! We slept in the same bed and I kissed you and god I fucking knew you. You were one of the X-Men, you were supposed to save the world, but all you do is make things worse!” You sobbed, dropping your hand to your side as they shook.

“And it’s god’s greatest wish that you die alone and scared, just like your fucking victims, but it’s also god’s little gift that you can’t die! And you just had to in-fucking-flict it upon all of us! All you do is make things worse for everyone, you ruined everyone’s life, you ruined my life, god fucking damnit!” You put your face into your hands and sobbed. You must’ve looked so pathetic, having this breakdown on the road in front of your murderous ex.

“I should’ve tried harder.” You murmured weakly to no-one in particular. “I should’ve stopped them. Shouldn't have relented when Charlie did. Should've done more……” Tears and hands muffled your voice. “But I didn't and now they're fucking dead.”

You finally looked up, and just like you, Logan's face was covered in tears. Good, you thought. Let him suffer.

“Should've been there for them.” You didn't expect him to talk. “Should've gotten off my ass and done something. And now they're ten feet under cuz’ I didn't.”

A stray sob escaped your throat again, looking at him, covered by rain and tears and now the moon was out. “Guess we both fucked up, huh?” You tried to smile, head tilted, with it only just looking broken and fake.

“They'd all be disappointed.” Logan confirmed somberly, as he thought back to Colossus and Professor X and Scott, all too aware of their hypothetical reactions if they knew of his actions.

“The X-Men were supposed to be heroes, weren't they?” You looked up at the stars, and held a hand up like you were trying to catch them. “But you were always the best at what you did, and what you did was never heroic. You told me yourself.” Answering your own question, your hand flopped to the side again. The stars didn't feel so luminescent, not right now.

Logan gave a small grunt, trying to wipe away his tears. “I know. I'll carry it for the rest of my life. It's what I deserve.”

“It's what you deserve.”

You spoke at the same time, before you gave a fake small chuckle. “God, you're fucking horrible.” You paused for a second, letting out another pretend giggle. “Thanks for telling me what a wolverine was, Logan. Cuz’ I know that you’re the fucking worst one.”

You lunged forwards and punched him in the cheek. It hurt like hell, and Logan didn't flinch, but fuck did it feel good.

“Fuck you, Logan. I hope you rot in Hell, you bitchin’ bastard.”

He only nodded, tears still cascading down his face as you stormed away and walked away, just like you did to your home.

You found yourself sitting on a bench, still raining and still wet from your encounter. Your ass was fucking freezing. Maybe you deserved it for being such a bad friend. You wouldn't be here if you had been there for Brittney and Ken. You had a lot of tears in your body, you realized, as you sobbed once more, grieving the loss of everything you once had. God, you hated beavers.

Logan hated himself too. That should’ve made you feel better, but it didn’t. You were still just as empty and sad as you were this morning, just this time you were drenched and drunk. You looked up at the stars again, and though they were still just as dull as they were when you encountered Logan, you still gazed anyway. They were all you had left.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Logan rushed into the dump he called a home, a retch stuck in his throat as he frantically searched. Your words were repeating once more, becoming one with the fucked up chorus that was his mind, mocking him for even considering that you’d want him back. It was a passing thought that he immediately disregarded, but the voices milked it, acting as though he’d been pining over you for years.

He’d never forgotten you, you were important to him. But you moved on, and so did he, and he tried to shoot his shot with Jean. But Jean’s dead, and you weren’t, and you hated him. As you should, he didn’t blame you, he hated himself. And yet it somehow stung.

The cacophony roared with laughter at his turmoil, and he clutched his head, praying they’d get out. He couldn’t handle your voice, he couldn’t handle Jean’s voice he couldn’t handle Colossus’ voice he couldn’t handle Scott’s voice he couldn’t-

Finally, he found it. He snatched the gun that was hidden in the sofa, a desperate last resort who times like these, when they wouldn’t stop. His finger stroked the trigger almost tenderly before putting it to his head.

“You know this isn’t gonna work, right?”

“Bro forgot he has a healing factor. Did all that killing make him braindead or what?”

“You don’t deserve to die. You deserve to live with this for the rest of your life.”

He knew that. He deserved all this pain, but Logan was never the paragon of morality. He was a selfish prick, who ruined everything he touched and yet he was the last one standing. But he wanted the voices to go, he wanted them to stop, and he wanted to stop crying because God it’s just been a dam breaking on his face since you yelled at him.

He was alone, and he was scared. Just like you wanted him to be. He embraced the trigger, and felt tranquil as the surge of bullets went through his brain.

It was only serene for a few minutes, but for Logan, the worst Wolverine who killed so many innocents, who ruined any chances of the world accepting mutants, who drunk so much it got his family killed and still drunk? Even a second of that serenity was a touch of heaven that Logan didn’t deserve.

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 20 - The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)

8.6K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Five months pass as you and Din try to forget one another.

Warnings: 18+ Content to be safe (MDNI please). Angst! (like a lot) Yearning, pining, mourning. People are hard on themselves in this one, folks. Nicknames (Din still thinks of you as Pretty Bird even though you're no longer his Pretty Bird; you're still Lil' Lady to Paz). And there is mild violence (of the Rory variety).

A/N: Thank you to everyone for being so patient with me! It's been a month since Ch. 19 and I guess this word count reflects that 😅😂 It could have been a little shorter but this ask convinced me to include the final scene instead of leaving it for the next chapter 🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ For that final scene, please imagine the suit/look from the Variety Hollywood issue shoot. The vibes of this and the next chapter is this scene in Twilight New Moon (cue 🎶it's a possibilityyyyyy🎶):

Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist

The week following that night at Din’s, you’re a shell of a person.  You cry for entire days but not much else - going on auto pilot taking care of Al but not yourself.  You don’t go to brunch that weekend, saying you feel disgusting, which honestly isn’t too far from the truth.  You’ve never been cheated on so you hardly know what it is you feel, only that an unyielding and tempestuous monsoon of emotions swirls inside you at all hours of the day.  You oscillate wildly between barely restrained hysteria, self-effacing shame, and sadness in an endless cycle.

To only your dog, you sometimes burst out half crying, half laughing at the absurdity of what you stumbled upon at Din’s apartment – how was it even possible?  Din, who you had loved with your whole heart, had pledged himself to you as you had him.  He had been your match in every way, and it was a tenant of his devotion that he only ever wanted to take care of you, make your life better.  How could the same man, without any warning, betray you in such an unfeeling and vulgar manner?  It simply could not be possible - it had to have been some type of cruel joke, you sob to Al. 

Then in an instant, you’ll turn your ire unto yourself: How could you have allowed this to happen?  Because it certainly did.  You stupidly let yourself be so blinded by love and desire that you didn’t see Din for what he was.  He wasn’t some honourable and noble protector; he was just some asshole who did and said what he needed to get his dick wet – and like an idiot you had fallen for it.  You were supposed to smarter than that, but it turns out you were just susceptible to a handsome face and a fat cock as anyone else.  The Din you had fallen for had been a total fabrication, and the dumbest part is that you had let him lie to you: you had blindly accepted that there were things in his life that he could never be fully honest with you about - that there were things that he just had to keep secret from you for your “own protection.”  You had accepted dishonesty as part of your so-called relationship right off the bat, it was no wonder that none of it had been real.  Stupid, stupid. 

Though you know now that it had all been lie, you still have moments, usually in the dead of night when sleepiness strips you of your ability to reason and overthink, where you simply just mourn.  Mourn the loss of what you had thought, no - felt in the very depth of your heart was a true, deep love.  It didn’t matter that it had all been an invention of your mind – the love you felt had been genuine for you, and you had cherished and held it dear.  The tears you shed during these periods of grieving are for the loss of your own false happiness and for the man that you had believed it.  It didn’t matter that they were never real to begin with, you had lost them all the same.

Your fog extends into the work week and you do something you haven’t done in ages: you take it off citing illness – you sleep, cry and try not to think of the crushing backlog you’ll face when you eventually return to work.  Near the end of the week, you make a phone call that you’ve been dreading but know is necessary.  Lala comes over the same day on her lunch hour – she thought you were just sick, having taken your excuse for missing the last brunch at face value, but when you burst into tears upon seeing her, she immediately knows that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Taking you straight to her clinic, she slots you in with a fellow nurse right away so you can get what you’ve been dreading over with.  During the self-blame episodes of your emotion spiral, the weight of Din’s cheating and its possible consequences aside from the shattering of your heart have started to press down on you.  You definitely don’t need one more anxiety to occupy your thoughts, and this particular problem you could do something about.  You need to do something and accordingly you find yourself sitting in the clean but impersonal examination room answering the very kind nurse’s survey questions to determine what tests you need.

“Is there any particular reason you need a screening or is this routine?”

“My boyfriend cheated on me,” you say this flat, factually.

“Oh.  I’m sorry.   How long was your relationship?” her response is similarly dispassionate.

“Nearly a year.”

“During that time, how many sexual partners did you have?”

“Just the one.”

“Had you been tested prior to engaging in sexual activities with your partner?”

“Yes, all clean.”

“Was you partner tested?”

“He said he was clean.”  You can only answer what Din told you, with no confidence in whether or not it was the truth.

“Do you know how many other partners your partner had while you were together?”

“… no.”  Tears start to line your lower lash line.

“How long was he engaging in sexual activities with other partners?”

“… I really don’t know.”  Oh no, oh no, you’re going to cry.  Because you really don’t know any of it.  It's awful enough imaging that Din had been messing around with Vanessa the whole time that you and him had been together – if he was capable of that, who’s to say there weren’t others?

“Ok.  To identify the tests you need, I just need to ask about your sexual activities with your partner over the last year.  Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kiss on the mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Did you engage in vaginal fingering?”

“Yes.”

“Anal fingering? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes. No.”

“Did you engage in oral sex? Receiving, giving?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Did you engage in penetrative vaginal sex?”

“Yes.”

“With protection? Or without?”

“Without.”  This is the only question you answer with shame.  Yes, everything had been consensual, but this – the decision to not use condoms was one made based on a mutual trust; a trust you gave openly and willingly to someone who hadn’t deserved it.  You had been careless in this respect – caught up in your feelings and your mistaken instinct that had told you Din was worth trusting.

“Did you engage in penetrative anal se-“

And so on, and so forth.  To the best of your ability, you answer clinically and without feeling, trying not to let the white hot flames of shame and anger simmering in your stomach boil up and over.  You had trusted Din, with your heart yes, but also your body.  One of the things you had loved about Din was how he always seemed to prioritized both your emotional and physical comfort and safety during your sexual activities, but for possibly the entirety of your relationship, he had actually been putting you in danger – taking a risk for you that you hadn’t consent to.  You don’t know how many other partners he was with when he was with you or if he had been safe with them – his cavalier approach to your health makes you sick. 

This feels good. It feels good to be angry instead of sad.

You wait patiently for the nurse to return with the swabs and containers and other equipment you need to self administer the tests.  Silently and alone, you follow the instructions while hot tears cascade over your cheeks.  It had felt good to be angry at Din for a moment, but it took more energy than you had to sustain it; the anger burned out quickly, leaving behind only sadness and embarrassment for having allowed yourself to be put in this position at all.

After leaving the samples where directed, you redress and meet Lala back in the waiting room and she takes you home.  You tell her that it’s okay if she tells the rest of the girls what happened, but you don’t know if you can deal with talking about it just yet and she nods understandingly.  You know your friends will be supportive (and possibly violent), but the strength required to feel your feelings and simultaneously express and explain them out loud doesn’t sound like something you have right now.  Not for the first time, you’re grateful that your friends are unflinchingly kind and understanding of you.

By the time the next Sunday brunch rolls around, your internal reservoir levels for self pity and destructive thoughts have lowered considerably.  You’re mainly just sad for what you thought was and what will never be, wallowing in the loss of what you had imagined would be a happy future with Din.

The girls are not quite that far along in their emotional journeys, but you’re better equipped now to answer their questions and receive their outbursts and reactions.  They all have choice words for Din ranging from lying cheating bastard to dickless waste of DNA.  Threats of violence to his personal (and commercial) property, as well as his physical being are put forth, predictably by Rory and less predictably from Katie.  Bea and Jen focus on drilling into you that you’re in no way at fault and that you hadn’t been wrong or stupid to trust and love Din the way you did.  Lala, being the only one to have seen you when you were in your darkest place, just holds your hand firmly, giving it a reassuring squeeze every so often.  You cry into your eggs and your friends shower you with comfort and support until you feel a little more like a human who is loved again.

One month ATN (After That Night)

Oof - you’re hungry.  It’s been a long morning of straight through meetings with no breaks until only now.  Well past lunch, it’s later than you would usually come, but you hope that your favourite sandwich shop still has some good options left – you’re starving. 

Walking in, the shop isn’t busy (which honestly makes sense as it’s nearing 2:00 pm) and the take away fridge is fairly bare, but with some satisfaction, you see your favourite sandwich sitting all by its lonesome on the top shelf.  Hand already out as you approach the refrigerated display, you reach up on your toes, just to have a big hand dart in ahead of your smaller one and snatch the sandwich out of your reach.

Falling back on the flats of your feat, you’re comically upset – this sandwich was your reward for your overly hectic morning and your disappointment is being further fueled by rising levels of hangry.  Maybe this nice man will offer you back the sandwich if you ask kindly; ready to give this sandwich stealer the sweetest most saccharine smile you can muster, you turn to face him and…

“Paz?”

“Lil’ Lady?”

This could be awkward.  You had loved Paz too.  Part of the great sense of loss you felt when you and Din broke up was from also suddenly losing the friendships you had made through him.  The Mandos, Poe and Lisa, Cass and even Boba had made up what had become a little family to you; the sense of belonging and love you had felt when they welcomed you into their fold and treated you as one of their own was one that you had treasured – their trust in you was not something you took lightly and you had kept their secrets with pride.  You had loved them all as well. 

Of course, like a knife to the heart, you’ve since come to the hurtful realization that those friendships were not as true or deep as you had thought either.  In all likelihood, Din’s friends were probably well aware of his cheating, or at the very least that his feelings for you didn’t run as deep as yours did him.  Though it saddened you, you couldn’t exactly be mad – their loyalty was to Din, not you.  At one time you may have felt some bitterness at this, but right now, seeing Paz for the first time after so long… you feel only happiness at seeing an old friend.

There’s a beat of silence and then it seems you both reach for a hug - it’s quick but warm.

“How have you been?” you ask, simultaneously; chuckling with you, Paz gestures for you to go first.

“Oh,” you don’t really know how to answer; Paz will surely know what transpired between you and Din.  Devastated?  Crushed?  Facing a crisis of self-confidence?  You opt for a watered-down version of the truth, “I’m as good as expected.  Busy at work.”

“Same.  With work, that is,” Paz smiles warmly at you; he’s missed you too.

“You down here for work today?” Suddenly recalling that Din had been downtown for Mando work the first time you met, you try not to let the pain of the memory show on your face.

“Yup.  Work.” Paz won’t tell you that he’s on a security detail, even though its not yours (you're under the careful watch of Koska and Iggy today).

You’re not going to ask about Din.  You’re not going to ask about Din, “How is… everyone?”

Paz assumes you must mean Din but he doesn’t know how to answer your question.  A shell of a man?  A man possessed when it came to the investigation into the threat made against you?  Depressed as all hell?  Paz can only parrot back your earlier response, “Uh, as well as can be expected.  Things have been tense, there’s a lot of stuff going on.”

You obviously don’t ask for details – it’s not your place anymore, and in truth, you feel like it never really was but you try to smile anyways, “Well, you can have the sandwich then.”

Paz looks down at the sandwich he’s still holding in his hand and laughs, “Are you sure?”

Nodding happily, it feels good to joke around with Paz again, “Definitely.  I’m here everyday.  I can have it anytime.”

“Ok, only if you let me buy you your sandwich, Lil' Lady.”

Beaming, you acquiesce, “Deal.”

Grabbing another sandwich from the fridge, you join Paz in line; the two of you standing together in comfortable silence.  You don’t know how it happens but a question that’s been silently buzzing in your mind slips out without permission, “Paz – can I ask you?  Are Din and Vanessa still together?”

You regret it the second the words leave your mouth, tears springing to your eyes.  Looking up at Paz, wide-eyed and embarrassed, you cover your mouth with your hands as if trying to magically stuff the words back in, “Omigod!! Paz!  I’m sorry!  That was... oh gosh... just really, really inappropriate of me.  Please don’t answer.  I never should have asked that.  Seriously.  Don’t answer please.  Besides, I don’t think either answer would make me very happy.”

Paz gives you a warm side hug and a sad look before he says reassuringly, “It’s okay, Lil’ Lady.  Don’t worry about it.”  He insists on buying you a cookie when you get up to the counter and you accept gratefully – you need all the comfort you can get right now.

The two of you say your quiet, but friendly goodbyes on the sidewalk outside of the sandwich shop; each genuinely hoping you’ll see the other again, but knowing that you likely won’t.

---

Paz is hovering.  Din can feel it, but he doesn’t look up from his seat on the ringside bench where he’s checking through an equipment list on his clipboard.

Paz continues to shuffle around until Din sighs and gives in to what his friend so obviously wants; looking up and tilting his head as his way of saying 'What?'

“Saw the Lil' Lady today.”

Immediately, Din’s heart leaps into his throat and his now empty chest constricts painfully; forcing himself to look back down at his paperwork, Din only grunts to acknowledge that he heard Paz.  Clearly Paz has something to say and in all the time they’ve been friends, Din has never been able to get Paz to keep his thoughts to himself, so he just waits.

“Ran into her at a sandwich shop near her office.  She looks good.”

Silence.

“She gave me her sandwich.”

Din closes his eyes, “Was it the egg salad?”

“Yeah.  How did you know?” Paz can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It’s her favourite,” Din says simply. 

For some reason, this takes all of the wind out of Paz’s sails and he lays a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “She asked how everyone was, but it’s clear she was thinking of you.  Why don’t you call her, brother?”

Even if the whole point of what he had done to you wasn’t so you would stay as far away from him as possible, Din can’t imagine a world where you would want to talk to him, “She hates me.  I fucked up, and I hurt her.  She doesn’t think about me.”

Paz doesn’t want to bring up your question about Vanessa, but he can’t help but think it must mean something that you asked at all, “Maybe she’ll forgive you.”

Din is done with this conversation; he gets up and starts to head towards his office, “I don’t deserve her forgiveness.  I don’t deserve her.”

Two Months ATN

Din never allows himself to see you.  You’re a creature of habit and for the most part, your life after him has reverted to normal; it would be so easy for him to catch a glimpse of you whenever he needed to see for himself that you’re alright.  If he was lucky, he might even catch one of your many soft and sweet expressions that he misses so much and be able to pretend for a moment that it was for him.

But he doesn’t allow it.  Part of it is a means of self punishment – Din chastises himself endlessly for hurting you; he doesn’t deserve to look upon your face, he doesn’t deserve any comfort.  But ultimately, it really comes down to his own lack of self control. 

Din makes the mistake of checking in with your daytime security detail in person only once, a couple of weeks after your breakup.  Din is chatting with Mayfeld through the latter’s rolled down car window, when, as if he senses your very presence, he looks up to see you exiting your office building looking positively elated at being able to leave work at a decent hour (for you) – your quick and graceful steps towards the subway easily hold Din’s gaze through no effort of your own and his body starts to move towards you of his own accord.  He may have very well walked right into oncoming traffic trying to get to you if Miggs didn’t have a firm grip on the back of his shirt.

No, he has absolutely no self control when it came to you.  Every part of Din yearns for every part of you.  Your smile, your laugh, the sweetness of your very being and the steadfast comfort of your company.  He wishes for nothing more than to make you happy again, to be there for you to lighten your load, to make you laugh so hard you snort, the way he used to pride himself on being able to do; what he wouldn’t give to hear you coo sweetly to Al, to swim in the melodic lilt of your voice when you recall a funny story from work or your friends, or to drink in your heady moans and cries while he gave you every pleasure you deserved. 

Din knows that if he allowed himself to be in your presence for even a moment, he would throw himself at your feet and beg for forgiveness.  Plead and grovel until you took him back and then everything, the very reason for all this misery, would be for naught.  He would do anything to see you, hear you, have you again, except risk your safety.  So, he leaves the protocol for your security to others, and he never lets himself go where he knows you might be – he exercises what control he has, so that he never loses control where it counts the most.

But his dreams he cannot control.  And Din dreams of you constantly.

He comes to both look forward to and dread these dreams.  In his dreams you don’t hate him, and they almost always start off with you looking at him like you used to, with love and admiration.  Sometimes the two of you are in a memory, maybe a special date or occasion, or even better, doing something beautifully mundane like walking Al – something the two of you did a million times without thought, just a routine part of the life you had started to build together.  But more often than not, the two of you are in bed.  Sometimes his, sometimes yours, but always just looking, talking, touching.  Din could live in these quiet moments of devotion forever. 

But the dreams never end well.  He discovered that once you left the bed in the dream, you would disappear.  Getting up to find you, Din would find the apartment empty and quiet and no matter where he goes in the dream afterwards, you would be nowhere to be found.  After this happened a few times, he would try to keep you in bed or at the very least, not let you out of Dream Din’s sight, but it never works.  No matter what he does, by the end of the dream you’re not his anymore. 

A horrifying recurrence as of late is that he follows Dream You into your kitchen to find Vanessa sitting at the island while you, crying, start to cook breakfast at the stove for him and her.  He recognizes the look you give him whenever he reaches this part of the dream, it’s the same one you gave him on that last night on his apartment landing – the look of devastation, betrayal, shock.  Your unspoken How could you?  You were supposed to love me above all else, haunts him even after he wakes with a start.  Every time Din has this dream, he relives what he did to you and he feels sick.

Even when it’s not this particular iteration, Din wakes from every nightmare of losing you again sweating and regretting everything.  In these moments, alone in a bed that’s remained cold and uninviting since you last graced it with your soft body, Din tears into himself.  What the fuck was his problem anyways?  He had made his proverbial bed and now he has to lie in it.  What would have been the fucking point of putting you through all this if he was just going to be a weak ass piece of shit and run back to you because it killed him to be apart from you?  Put you through hell and then put you in danger?  No, he can't run from it anymore: this is the price he has to pay for being who he is, for having done the things he had – he doesn't deserve good things.  He doesn't deserve you. 

What he does deserve is this cruelest of ironies: that the only way he's still allowed to love you is to take care of you by keeping you as far away from him as possible.

Four Months ATN

Oy!  Din Djarin!!

Startled by the loud and sharp toned voice that carries over the noise of traffic, Din stops in his tracks; turning towards the sound of the bark, he recognizes your friend Rory barreling towards him.  For a moment, he’s terrified that she might get hit by a car crossing the street to get at him, but the cars somehow seem to understand the determination of her gait and the ferocity in her facial expression and all roll to a stop at her outstretched hand.  You always said that Rory was a force.

Din waits dumbly in the middle of the sidewalk, ready to take the inevitably beating, verbal or otherwise – certain he could not escape her wrath even if he wanted to.  Perhaps he would be tempted to try if he didn’t wholeheartedly believe that he deserves whatever is about to come his way.

As soon as Rory steps up onto the curb, two balled up fists of rage ram right into Din’s chest, the force of which, if he had not been braced for it, might have sent this former boxing champ flying backwards.

You!!! 

An accusatory finger is now poking him incessantly, over and over, pushing right into his sternum.

Din holds his two hands up, as if to surrender, but doesn’t do anything to stop her oncoming assault.  It’s starting to hurt a little, but he knows he deserves it and more.

Liar!

Cheater!

Pathetic!

Asshole.

Garbage human.

Piece of shit.

How you could do that to her?!

She did nothing but love you. 

She’s the sweetest, kindest, most loving person you will ever fucking be with, and this is how you treat her?

You ungrateful worm.

You’ll never find anyone better than her.

You never fucking deserved her, you twat.

Din takes every angry word spat at him with a resigned expression and downcast eyes.  Every word is true and he knows it.  He welcomes this even.  No one has been angry with him, except save himself.  Not Paz, or any of the Mandos, not even Boba.  No one has yelled at him or hurled insults at him, or called him out for the despicable person he is to have hurt you the way he did.  His sweet, pretty bird.  No, not his anymore.  He swallows every single one of Rory’s admonishments willingly and his head might even slightly nod in agreement.

Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, you fucking coward?

Arms dropping to his side in defeat, Din hangs his head and asks the only thing he wants to know, even though he's sure he isn’t allowed, “How is she?”

How is she?! What the fuck do you mean ‘how is she’? How the fuck do you think she is??

“What I mean is… I’m not still hurting her, am I?”

Silence.

“She’s okay now, right?  She hates me, but I don’t matter anymore?  She doesn’t think of me enough to still hurt her?”

Rory stops and evaluates the man standing in front of her.  He looks… broken.  She’s been throwing all her weight into every push, poke, smack she’s laid on Din and he’s taken it all.  Absorbed it along with every harsh word out of her mouth; he hasn’t fought back or even flinched - almost as if he wants her to hit him.  To scream at him.  And now, with the only words he’s spoken, he’s asking to confirm, with what almost sounds like hope, that you’ve forgotten him.  Din’s choice of words strike Rory as odd.  He wants to make sure he’s not “still hurting” you?? 

Suddenly, her mouth drops open as she retracts her hands, “… you didn’t do it.”

Din looks shocked and almost terrified.  He opens and closes his mouth several times but nothing comes out.  No denial or refute of what Rory now realizes has been completely obvious.

“You didn’t cheat on her.  You never cheated on her,” Rory’s tone is softer now, but determined and confident.  She’s leaving no room for argument, not letting Din worm his way out of the truth.

With a sigh, Din has no choice but to confess, “How could I?  Why would I ever want anyone but her?  The most perfect creature to ever exist.”  If he had seemed defeated before, Din is now positively deflating right before Rory’s eyes.

“You love her.”  Again, not a question.

“Always.  Forever.”

“Why w-”

“Rory, please.  You must never tell her.  She has to go on hating me and wanting nothing to do with me,” fear is catching up with Din now.  If Rory tells you the truth, this plan to keep you safe will unravel.

Rory’s eyes widen in disbelief, “You have to be joking.  Do you know what you put her through?  And it’s not even true??”

Quietly, Din asks, “How much has she told you and your friends about what I do?”

“That you own a gym?” Rory crosses her arms and gives Din an incredulous look.

“What else I do.  What my old job was.  Who I worked for.  Who I’m connected with,” he has to be able to make her understand.

Rory lets these words hang in the air for a moment.  No – you were always pretty tight lipped about what Din might be involved in outside of athletics.  It did seem that in the months leading up to your breakup, you would often stress over Din’s work and wellbeing, and though your friends never asked you to expand on it, it wouldn’t make sense for the responsibilities a gym owner to give you that kind of anxiety.

“You got a knife wound once.  Lala told us,” Rory recalls.

Din nods, “And that was nothing.  That’s the least of what the people who might come after me would be capable of.  She’s in danger just by being with me.”

“You wouldn’t protect her?”

“Of course, I would.  With my life.  But why should she be in danger at all?  She didn’t choose this life.”

“She chose you.”

“She shouldn’t have.”        

“You don’t get to decide that for her?!!”

Din knows that.  He shouldn’t have chosen for you.  But he made the decision that he thought would keep you safe and now you both have to live with his mistake, “I know, Rory… I know, but it’s done now.”

“Undo it, asshole.”

Like he hasn’t thought about it a million times.  Like he doesn’t wake up and his first thought when he opens his eyes in the morning isn’t to find you and crawl on his hands and knees and admit that he had fucked up in how he handled everything and beg your forgiveness.  Sometimes Din’s halfway out the door before one of two things stop him.  The first is the very real possibility that you would tell him to go to hell – you had loved him better than anyone ever had, better than he deserved, and he had callously thrown away the greatest gift ever bestowed upon him.  The second, is the very real fear from the threat made against you; Din hasn’t eliminated it and what if, just what if, what he’s doing is actually working and removing you as a worthy target?  Yes, he shouldn’t have gone about things this way, but… what if it was keeping you safe for now?

“Someone threatened her, Rory.”

This stops Rory as she’s about to open her mouth to say something else.  Closing her mouth, she studies Din and her shoulders drop, “Who?”

“I don’t know.  I haven’t been able to find out who’s behind it but I will.  Until then, I have to try and make her less of a target.  Please.  Rory.  Please.  Make sure she stays away from me.  You can’t tell her any of this.”

“But… she doesn’t know?”

“No. I don’t want her to be scared.  And she is being protected - all the time, I promise.  But the safest thing for her is to stay the hell away from me.  If whoever wants to hurt me doesn’t think they can do it through her, then she’ll be safe.  Please, Rory.”

Din is begging her now.  His eyes imploring Rory to understand and decide as he once did, that your well being has to come above all, including loyalty and love.  He sees it in her eyes as she relents, much the same way his must have once upon a time, and she nods, “Okay. I won’t tell her.  And you promise she’s safe right now?”

“I promise.  I… wouldn’t be able to live like this if I couldn’t at least do that for her.”  Is it worth it?  Yes, your life, your safety is worth anything and everything to him.

“You think you can get them?  The people behind the threat?”

Din nods, “I’m sure of it.  I’ll make sure of it.  I’ll take care of it.  That’s a promise I won’t break.”

“Okay.  You should tell her afterwards though.”

“Maybe.”

“She deserves the truth, Din,” Rory gives him one last exasperated look.

“She deserves the world, Rory.”

The two of them give one another a silent nod of mutual understanding before parting ways.  They might not see eye to eye on everything, but Din trusts that your friend will put your wellbeing and safety first; she loves you just as much as he does.  Rory leaves Din behind feeling conflicted in a way she hadn’t thought possible when she confronted him earlier – the last thing she expected was to sympathize with him, but it’s become clear to her: the only person who’s been hurting more from your breakup than you, is Din.

Five Months ATN

“I want to go out with Mark.”

Four heads look up from their brunch with lighting speed to stare at you, shocked by your sudden announcement.

Feeling a bit awkward at this reception, you go on, “… I mean if he’s even still available.  And if he’s not, is there someone else at your firm that might be, Jen?”

Jen looks at you curious and hesitantly excited, “I can check, but I don’t think he’s in a relationship?  He broke up with someone a couple of months ago.  You really want me to set you up?”

You don’t catch the looks that Rory and Lala exchange before Rory cautiously asks, “Do you even like Mark?”

“Hey!” Jen looks scandalized.

You’re slightly bewildered watching your two friends seemingly stare daggers at each other, “I don’t even know Mark? I just…” 

You sigh. 

“… I just have to do something.  Try something new.  Babes, it’s been months and… I’m still not over him.”  Your friends know that the “him” in question is not Mark.

It’s been five months and you’re still in a state of melancholy and heartbreak that you can’t quite articulate.  The days where you’d cycle through extreme emotion, be it intense sadness, justifiable anger, or self-pitying shame, have long since passed.  You burned those emotional candles to their proverbial wicks and for the time that they were lit within you, they served their purpose.  You’ve processed those emotions and laid them to rest.

What remains is a type of grief, a longing from your soul that you struggle to contain on a day-to-day basis.

The best way you can think of describing it is Hiraeth – the Welsh word that conveys the feeling of “a longing for a time, place, or person that feels like home but may no longer exist or that never existed at all”; when you miss Din, it feels like a type of homesickness.  And though far from being lonely in your life, your heart nevertheless maintains an empty chamber that you are dearly afraid may be forever reserved for Din.  Your Din.  The one you had loved and thought loved you.

You miss it all - everything that had never been real: the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of Din’s embrace.  You miss the way he looked at you and made you feel like the only person in the world who mattered; you missed his adoring touch and the way that he would be soft and gentle with you when you knew he harnessed such strength and power within those same hands.  He had made you feel cherished and special, appreciated and exalted.  Yes, it had all been a lie, but you heart had believed in it and the memory of what you’ve irretrievably lost haunts you every day still.

You’ve never been one to believe the adage that to get over someone, you had to get “under” someone else and you’re certainly not looking to replace what you thought you had or even date for the sake of dating.  You’re just simply out of ideas.  You need… a distraction.  A real-life person to think about, instead of one that only ever existed in your head.

“Don’t push yourself if you’re not ready, babe,” Lala says, gently.

“I don’t want to ‘get back out there.’ I just need…”

“A rebound?” Rory’s assessment is unfortunately, spot on.

You look sheepish, “That sounds terrible.  But something like a distraction.”

Jen is hardly bothered, “It’s okay.  I won’t tell Mark but I don’t think he would mind even if he knew.  Men are weird as hell.”

Everyone laughs and you go back to your breakfast, half listening as Jen chirps some of Mark’s merits and tells you that she’s going to try and set something up for the upcoming Friday.  You don’t notice the worried and pinched looks that Lala and Rory continue to give one another for the remainder of brunch.

It’s absolutely pouring today.  The phrase ‘raining cats and dogs’ must have been inspired by a similar rainfall, you’re sure.  You hold your umbrella as close to your head as you can while deftly trying to keep your shoes dry by doing little and big hops to avoid puddles.  It’s a relief when you finally make it to the overhang in front of your office building and can shake out your umbrella before stepping inside.  Wiping your feet on the already soaked through mats that building maintenance has put down, you wonder if the weather will clear up before your date with Mark tomorrow.

You’re slipping your still dripping wet umbrella into a plastic sleeve when you hear a commotion by the security check desk.  Gabriel, the head of security is arguing with someone who by the looks of it is soaking wet and trying to get through the security turnstiles.  As you approach with your own access card already in hand, the voices get louder:

“Dude.  Come ON!”

“Miss, like I said, you have to have security access in order to move past this point.”

“I’m not going to go anywhere in the building, I promise!  I just need to get to the subway.”

“I heard you already, miss.  You’ll have to use one of the other two subway entrances.  This one is for people who have access to this building only.”

“It’s pouring!! Can’t you see?  The other two entrances are both over a block away and I’m already soaked!  I just want to get home!”

“I won’t ask again, miss.  Please leave.  There are people who need to get through.”

You’re shocked.  You’ve never heard Gabriel get frustrated or raise his voice before.  But that’s not why you’re shocked.  It’s the girl’s voice.  You know it. 

It’s Vanessa.

In some other universe you might hail this as karma, but in truth, you only have sympathy for the girl you see before you.  It really is miserable out and you’re sure that Vanessa isn’t some corporate espionage spy – she really is just asking for a little help to get out of the rain and home before she gets sick.  Without overthinking it, you come up behind her and give Gabriel a reassuring smile, “It’s okay, Gabriel, I can take her to the subway.”

Vanessa turns and looks at you with a wide-eyed, almost scared expression on her face.  You can’t help but feel bad for her.  Obviously because she’s soaking wet and shivering, but you think she must not have been met with much kindness in her young life.

“Ma’am, that’s not really protocol…”

Your reassuring smile is now extended to Vanessa as well.  You want her to know you’re here to help her, truly, “Gabriel, it’s fine.  I know her.  And, even if I didn’t, I could never let you send a woman out into that downpour when we could so easily help her get to where she needs to go, okay?”

Gabriel nods as you swipe your access card against the reader and you gesture for Vanessa to go through before you follow.

The two of you walk silently towards the subway for a few moments.

“You don’t have to…”

You wave off Vanessa’s concern, “I think Gabriel’s watching, so I’ll just walk you all the way to the subway entrance so he doesn’t give you anymore trouble, okay?”

She nods and the two of you continue on.

“You don’t have to be so nice to me.”

Your answer is genuine, “I really don’t know any other way to be towards you.”  It’s true.  Yes, Din had cheated on you with her, but you hadn’t been dating Vanessa, you had been dating Din.  He had wronged you, not her (even if she had probably been a bit smug about it).

Vanessa nods again, the expression on her face seems to relax into some kind of revelation that you don’t quite understand.  When you get to the subway entrance, the two of you pause awkwardly before she finally speaks, “Thank you.”

Again, you try to smile as kindly as you can, “It’s okay.  I meant what I said to Gabriel – I didn’t like that he was trying to send you back out in the rain.  Here.” You hold out your umbrella, still in its plastic sleeve.

Vanessa doesn’t take it, even as you continue to extend it in her direction, “I don’t know how far you have to go once you reach your stop – the rain may not have let up by then.  Really, take it.  It’s my firm’s – I have a bunch more upstairs.”

This time she does open her hands and when she grasps the umbrella’s handle to take it from you, she blurts out, “I never slept with him!”

Silence hangs between the two of you at her statement.  You don’t know what she means at all, so you just say, “I’m sorry?”

Vanessa is looking down at the umbrella in her hands, words just spilling out, “That night.  The night you ‘caught’ me and Din – you didn’t walk in on anything.  I don’t know how, but he said he knew you were coming over and he asked me if I could make it look like he and I had been sleeping together when you showed up.  We didn’t do anything.  I played on my phone on the couch until we heard you knock.  I- don’t know why I did it… actually… no, that’s a lie.  I do.”  She finally looks up at you.

“Din was so in love with you.  Like seriously, so stupid in love with you.  He hadn’t been with anyone for a while before he met you, and those of us who… had gone out with him once or twice just got used to it, I guess.  Like we wanted him but he didn’t want anyone and that was fine.  Then he met you and all of a sudden, he was the doting boyfriend, head over heals in love, showing you off to all his friends, taking you to meet Boba.  And then it was so clear: it wasn’t that he wasn’t the boyfriend type, it was you.  He only wanted you.  I guess… I was jealous.” Vanessa shrugs, ashamed, “So when the chance came up to hurt you... I jumped at it.  I’m sorry.”

To say you’re shocked would be an understatement.  There is so much to process.  You’re not sure what Vanessa is asking from you, but you do appreciate her honesty, “I mean, I guess I get why you did it.  But why did Din?”

Vanessa shrugs again, “I really don’t know, I didn’t ask.  It didn’t matter to me, I guess.  I’m sorry.  But after you left, I… propositioned him?  Thought I would shoot my shot since we were both basically half undressed.  He turned me down and practically kicked me out.  All he cared about was making sure you got home safe.  You’re all he cared about.  Always.  It was only ever you.”

“I- ” you’re speechless.  Actually speechless, “Thank you for telling me, Vanessa.  I- still don’t understand any of it, but I always appreciate honesty.  Truly.”

And with that, Vanessa gives you a little wave of the umbrella you gave her as a final thanks before she disappears down the stairs into the subway station, leaving you dumbfounded and shellshocked.

It had been a lie.

Din hadn’t cheated on you.  Not with Vanessa.  Not that night, or according to her, any other night.  You had been his one and only.  The way you had always thought.  The way he had always made you feel.

Every spiraling assumption and devastating conclusion you’ve drawn about your relationship over the past five months is now being called into question: that he never loved you, that he wasn’t the man you believed him to be, that the devotion in your relationship had been one sided.  Had it all been real?  Was your Din real?

But he had lied. 

He had made up an elaborate lie to get away from you.  To hurt you.  This revelation gives rise to feelings that you thought you had long worked through and put to bed: betrayal, hurt, disbelief, anger.  On top of this fast rising tide of emotions that you’re afraid might drown you rides a question you've never felt like you wanted the answer to when it was simply that Din was a cheater: Why?

The date is going okay, you think.  Actually, it’s going exactly how you knew it would – you’re not into it.  Mark is honestly nice enough, funny enough, charming enough – you can see why Jen was always trying to get you to go out with him.  But he’s not Din.

You haven’t told anyone about your run in with Vanessa because you still don’t know what to make of it all; you have pieces of a puzzle that you didn’t even know existed, new questions, even fewer answers, and a whole new host of confused feelings.  Unsure of your own heart, you hadn’t known what to say to Jen to cancel this date that she lovingly setup for you at your request, so here you are.

Even if your overthinking brain wasn’t in overdrive analyzing and reanalyzing everything you learned yesterday, your heart, which is still working out your feelings towards Din, has unequivocally softened.  The Din of your memories, the one for whom your heart still beats deep down had been real, and he had never betrayed you in the manner you believed for the past few months.  The love you had felt with him had been true and the affection and devotion that had been cornerstones of your relationship have started making their way back into your chest.

You feel sort of bad about Mark.  Yes, you had been very clear with Jen and yourself that this date didn’t mark any great interest of yours to start dating again, but you know you could be putting in more of an effort on this date.  You try.  You really do.

After the pre-dinner drinks are finished and the waiter’s taken your dinner order, you excuse yourself to use the restroom, hoping for a few minutes alone to gather your thoughts.  Heading towards the bathrooms, you walk down a hall that opens to the restaurant’s private party rooms on one side.  All the doors are opened and you peek in to see that most of the rooms are empty, one of them being cleared from a large party that must have just left; when you get to the last doorway, you’re stopped dead in your tracks when you see who's inside.

It's Din.

He’s leaning back in a chair that’s been placed further back and away from the dining table that must centre the room; part of the meeting but not an active participant – a perimeter guard.  His handsome profile is as striking as you remember; his strong aquiline nose and cut jawline that’s currently flexing as he swallows hold your attention by their very existence - how is he here just when all your thoughts happen to be of him?  Din’s chocolate brown eyes are fixed on someone or something in the room, but he must feel your gaze because he turns and sees you – keeping his expression neutral, as if he doesn’t want anyone else in the room to notice you, you still see his eyes soften as they lock with yours and your heartbeat picks up a little.

Hi, you mouth shyly.

Hi, Din's lips curve up slightly at your sweet expression as he mouths back, you look nice.

You do too, because he does.  He’s in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and jet-black tie; the monochromatic look works for him.  Din’s slicked back hair is different – you’re so much more used to seeing his curls loose and tousled, but the change isn’t unwelcomed.  He looks professional.  Devastating.

Work?  Your head tilts a little so you can see a little further in the room and Din knows you see Paz sitting in front of him wearing a nearly identical outfit.  He nods, You?

Date.

Din nods slightly, eyes unreadable, Be safe.

I will. Not sure how much more you can communicate this way or even what you want to say, you give Din a little wave before continuing down the hall to the restroom.

---

Din cannot sit still.

Date? You were on a date?

But that’s not even the most jarring thing about seeing you unexpectedly tonight at the same restaurant where Boba’s holding a family meeting.  What’s really turning Din’s world upside down is that you didn’t look upset to see him.  Your expression was soft, kind and inviting.  As if you didn’t hate him. 

You’re over him.  That has to be it.  You were over him, wholly and completely; much too sweet to hold onto any malice towards him, you had treated him politely, like an old acquaintance.  He wants to be glad – happy that you’re no longer hurting and that his transgressions against you didn’t leave a permanent mark on your beautiful soul.  But his heart feels like it’s made of lead; dropping from his chest into his stomach when he thinks of you being on a date.  Din gets up and takes a walk towards the main dining room of the restaurant, looking to satisfy his morbid curiosity.

He sees you right away.  Your back is to him, but he knows its you.  You sit across from a perfectly respectable looking man dressed in a sharp suit – the both of you clearly having come straight from work.  The man probably has some smart corporate job like you, like a lawyer or someone who underwrites space rockets or something cool.  The man is making you laugh; Din can tell by the way your shoulders shake.  He imagines your smile and the way that your eyes crinkle when you think something is super funny but you don’t want to let loose one of those melodic laughs of yours where you throw back your head and the resulting song carries over the crowd.  Din watches as you swirl your wine glass the way he always thought was super adorable, with two of your fingers pressed against the base of the glass stem, before you lift those same fingers to make a gesture with your hand that indicates you’re adding to your date’s story with some witty comment of your own.  Your date’s face lights up and his look of admiration and joy from the pleasure of your company is one that Din knows well. 

He decides can’t watch anymore and slinks back down the hallway; heart ripped to pieces, leaving you to your pleasant evening.

Thanks so much for being patient with me - these chapters are emotionally hard to write and even harder to edit 😅 Since I'm once again yeeting this into universe on a random day instead of my usual posting date, adding a few tags for those who have expressed an interest in the story (omigod if you don't want to be tagged, please tell me!):

@tuquoquebrute @furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @nerdieforpedro

@toobsessedsstuff @whirlwindrider29 @inept-the-magnificent @mellymbee @that1nerd-20

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @jeewrites @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe

@bebsjo

[cressidagrey]

The Starlight Princess: Prologue

Summary:

There is a Pool of Starlight in the Spring Court. A piece of the Night Court that has no business being in the land of Eternal Spring. So how did it come to be?

Or: How the Spymaster of the Night Court starts hearing a voice, realises that no, he is not insane after all, frees a princess, kills a High Lord…and finds his mate all at the same time.

Warnings:

Discussion of a flirtation 300 years in the past, Discussion of the Death of Rhys' Mother and Sister, Feyre being nosy, Cassian serving all the gossip

(thanks to @tsunami-of-tears for the dividers!)

“Can I ask you a question?” 

If Feyre could still ask him that question, Cassian was pretty sure that he was definitely not hard enough on his High Lady. 

They were back to training, even hard-won peace was not a time where one could slack off…and Feyre had wanted to return to it after the pregnancy with Nyx and everything that had happened. 

So…Cassian got to teach his High Lady. 

And his curiosity was piqued now. “Yes, of course,” he responded carefully.  What was this about now? What question did Feyre have for him? 

“What was her name?” Feyre blurted out and he stared at her. 

Of all the questions, she could have asked of him, that one was not one he had expected. 

“Whose name?” Cassian asked. Who was she talking about? What name didn’t she know? What name…

“Rhys’ sister,” Feyre clarified. “What was her name?”

Oh. 

That question…

Well, he understood why she had come to him with that question. Though it did surprise him that Rhys had never…never even mentioned her name to Feyre. That he had never…

Cassian remembered her. Of course, he did. Even centuries after her death, she wasn’t somebody Cassian would ever forget. Not just because of who her big brother was, but because…

He would never forget seeing her unattached head. 

He would never forget Rhys’ screams of utter turmoil and terror. He would never…He would never…He would never forget that cold wrath on his face…Would never forget everything that happened afterwards…How Rhys had become High Lord, his ascension overshadowed by the death of his sister and mother…and his father…a whole family snuffed out. 

And for what? 

But even without all of that…Cassian would never forget her. 

He would never forget the girl seemingly glowing with magic, the perfect princess, controlled within an inch of her life. 

There had only been very few things that could crack that perfect facade…

His brother had been one of them. 

“Seren. Her name was Seren,” Cassian answered the question finally, his voice hoarse. “Rhys never told you her name?” 

It didn’t lay quite right with him. But then, if there was one thing that he had…realised centuries ago, then that everybody grieved differently. 

Some took comfort in talking about the fallen…and then there were some who didn’t speak of it at all. 

Cassian had seen both. 

He could understand both in a sense. 

And Rhys…in a lot of ways, he fit the second. 

“No. He has talked about her…sometimes…but…” Feyre shook her head. 

“Her name was Seren,” he repeated again, for one moment fondly remembering her as a child. She had been…She had been beautiful. A spitting image of Rhys in a sense, the same dark hair, the same startling violet eyes…her magic dancing on her skin, and her innate abilities on display. The older she had grown, the more she had reigned all of it in. He still didn’t know if it had been her father’s fault or if she herself had realised that she was putting herself at risk, by showing her abilities that obviously. 

 “She was also called the Princess of Starlight by the people of Velaris…When she was a kid, she used to glow with magic,” he continued with a soft smile. 

She had been stunning. 

Still half a girl, not yet a female grown the last time he had seen her, over a year before her death…

She hadn’t deserved her death. But then who did? 

Nesta had reminded him of her often…The similarities were definitely there. Both had been more blunt than anything, though that habit had been beaten out of Seren by her father until she acted like the princess she was supposed to be. But he had never managed to break her will. Iron-willed and with a spine made out of fucking adamantium…Seren had been a sight to behold. 

“Did you know her well?” Feyre asked him curiously, but he shook his head

“I did know her, but I wasn’t…I was never that close to her…by the time she was…by the time she was born, we were all adults. She was just 17 when she died. Rhys was in Illyria...I was a grunt in the army…The one that was closest to her was Azriel,” he recounted. 

A noise of surprise escaped Feyre. 

“Azriel?” she repeated, surprise colouring her tone. 

Cassian nodded, swallowing. It was something that was unspoken, never voiced aloud. 

But Azriel had taken her death the hardest, giving himself the fault for something that wasn’t his fault.

Then, Azriel had already been Spymaster. And Cassian knew…Cassian knew that Azriel still thought that his shadows should have been accompanying Seren and her mother when Tamlin and his brothers had ambushed them. 

Azriel still thought that he should have known that this was a possibility…should have been aware of the risk. Should have prevented it from ever happening. 

“He used to work for Rhys’ father,” Cassian said quietly. He didn’t want to even imagine the horror of these years for Azriel. He knew that this was still something, centuries later, that Azriel muddled through. “And I always…” Cassian broke off, not daring to voice it aloud. 

“What?” Feyre asked curiously. 

“They were close,” he finally said quietly.  “Seren was three weeks shy of her 18th Birthday when she died. I always wondered if…if she had made it…if three weeks later, the mating bond wouldn’t have snapped for them.” He had had that thought so often over the centuries. 

Wondered if Seren’s death hadn’t taken away every chance of a mating bond his brother had…a chance at happiness. 

Feyre stared at him, blue eyes wide. 

“Was Azriel in love with her? What about Mor?” she asked, quietly, and Cassian shrugged. 

“I don’t think he ever would have allowed himself to act on it,” Cassian said carefully. “She was a princess and he was just an Illyrian bastard. But he would have given his life for her. Do not doubt that for a second, Feyre. She was so young when she died. Too young. And Azriel would have never allowed himself to act on whatever he was feeling…And even if…Mor and him…He knew that that would have never worked out. He knew that then. And I think that after Seren died, he just clung even tighter to Mor.”

Mor was still alive. Mor was the only one that Azriel could still protect because in his mind he had failed horribly with Seren.

“Seren was…she was pure political capital,” he said darkly. “Her father was very much aware of that. He would have married her off to any other court in this land…and a mating bond with Azriel wouldn’t have stopped him. He was already planning on it…The perfect princess with starlight dancing at her fingertips…and daemati abilities that make you and Rhys look like a bad magic trick humans conjured up,” he recounted with a snort. 

Nobody had ever stood up to Seren’s mental abilities. None. 

“She was better at it than Rhys?” Feyre asked, a small smile on her face and Cassian couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

“Even Rhys was powerless against her. He may had more magic…but Seren wasn’t to be underestimated. She plucked thoughts out of your head without anybody noticing. It was…startling. And even her own father knew…” 

“Knew what?” Feyre asked as he hesitated. 

“He knew that one day there was going to come a time where his children would topple his throne…a day where Seren and Rhys would join forces…and not even the cauldron could have helped him then.”

[1960z]

how people go about interpreting dr bashir I presume? really frustrates me sometimes ngl especially the “jules bashir died” scene.

like that whole scene is about julian revealing the depth of how deeply his augmentations fractured his sense of identity and who he is - which feeds into the themes of the whole episode surrounding how disability and then by extension disabled people are often viewed as a problem to be solved and because of that are often denied the ability to have fulfilling lives because the able bodied people around them don’t believe that they can.

but… idk, when the fandom talks about it there’s always seems to be a push to read a trans allegory into it that I don’t think is really there? I keep mulling over this post in my mind and when I initially reblogged it I didn’t really want to talk about this because the post is about how stories about racism can be hijacked by white people to be made about their own transness and it felt like as a white person, using that post to complain about ableism would be missing the point. but it really helped me articulate in my mind why the trans reading of this episode feels off to me because the same general principle seems to apply and that is taking a story trying to discuss a specific type of marginalisation and putting a trans reading above it because you can relate more to it personally.

“jules bashir died in that hospital because you couldn't live with the shame of having a son who didn't measure up!” this scene is the culmination of julian expressing his pain about what was done to him as a disabled child by his parents due to how they viewed his disability. but often when I see it being discussed, people aren’t really interested in talking about that. instead supplanting it with a trans reading instead which, in my opinion is an allegory that doesn’t even really work when you think about what’s going on in the broader context of the scene.

julian didn’t stop going by jules because he came to the conclusion on his own that the identity didn’t suit him similar to the way a trans person questions or rejects the gender they were assigned at birth, he stopped going by jules because he felt like the identity attached to that name was taken from him because of what his parents did. it’s not julian affirming who he wants to be it’s grieving over who he can’t be and to me at least, it’s honestly kind of harrowing.

and as an aside: when people read transness into a story about parents who change their child’s body and mind at a very young age without consent, which is literally a narrative projected onto trans people by transphobes to justify the curtailing of trans rights, that also doesn’t sit well with me. I think people latch onto this reading because of the idea of “killing a name” but again in the context of the whole episode the trans reading really doesn’t feel appropriate.

I think it’s okay for people to have trans headcanons about julian of course or literally any character they want to really, but I think saying that specific episode codes him as trans isn’t all that great honestly.

[raphael-angele]

How I imagine Bianca if she lived:

One name: Bernadette Rostenkowksi Wolowitz

During Capture the Flag:

Bianca, yelling at Percy as they run: Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!

Percy: *panting*

Bianca: How am I faster than you?! I'm carrying more equipment and I stopped to tie my shoes!

Percy: I have asthma...BACK OFF!

---

Coming back from the Titan's Curse Mission:

Nico: Bia! *runs to her and hugs her*

Bianca: *hugs him back* Hey. *pulls away and looks at him* How was camp?

Nico: It was awesome! We did wood carving, and made smores, and I learned how to make a fire, Travis and Conner even let me join Capture the Flag

Bianca, who made them promise not to let Nico join CtF until he's trained and claimed:

Nico: :)

Bianca: That's nice. Why don't you go back to the Cabin and we'll talk about the mission.

Nico: Mkay :)

Bianca, walking up to Travis and Conner: You better explain to me why you chose to ignore my instructions about my little brother joining that game, cuz one way or another, I'm gonna leave grieving for a friend.

---

Leo, opening the door:

Bianca: You son of a bitch. What did you tell Nico?! Did you tell him that there's something going on between us because he thinks there is and he is completely freaking out!

Leo:

Leo: Please, come in.

Bianca: What in Hades is wrong with you?! Leo, my position as a Hunter could be compromised! I could get into a lot of trouble!

Leo: Wha- I didn't say that there was something going on between us. I said that you were always so nice to me, it would be nice to be with someone like you.

Bianca: I'M NICE TO EVERYONE!

Leo: I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it that way

Bianca: Damn right you are. You tell my little brother that there is nothing, never has been, and never will be anything between us.

Leo: I will...hey, Bianca?

Bianca: What?!

Leo: You think I have a shot with Thalia?

Bianca: Of course, you do! You're a sweetheart! Any girl would be lucky to have you! *leaves and slams the door*

---

After Leo "died":

Percy and Jason fighting:

Jason: For the last time, I didn't mean to!

Percy: Oh, you didn't mean to? I'll show you what-

Bianca: HEY! Percy, Jason, other room, right now!

*other room*

Bianca: I don't know what you think you're doing but this is a very difficult time for the lot of us. We're doing this in honor of Leo and you're just gonna fight all night like a couple of children? What ever it is you're fighting about, put it aside, go back in there, and be a good friend or there's no dessert for either of you!

*main room*

Nico:

Hazel:

Frank:

Piper:

Thalia:

Reyna:

Bianca: Look at me when I'm talking to you-

Hazel, whispering to Nico: You ever notice how Bianca sounds just like dad?

Nico: ...nope

---

Hazel: Bianca, you've been to Olympus, right? On your first mission? What did it look like?

Bianca: Oh, it was beautiful. I looked down and it like it was like looking at a whole different world...if I could, I would've wiped it all out with my thimb like a God.

Hazel:

---

One summer: Hazel, Annabeth and Bianca decide to go to Disney World

Annabeth: Okay, so there's this place on Disney World where you pick your princess, they give you the hair, the makeup, the works. Haven't tried it before but I guess it would be fun to be Belle

Hazel: Oh, I wanna be Belle, too

Bianca: We can't all be Belle.

Annabeth: Alright then, how do we decide?

Bianca: Simple. This was my idea, I'm paying for it, I'm Belle. You bitches got a problem with that, we can go back to Camp right now.

---

Bianca: When was the last time you got any sleep?

Nico, figuring out a procephy: I don't know, two-three days? Not important. I don't need sleep. I need answers. I need to determine where in this SWAMP of unbalanced forces squatteth the toad of truth.

Hazel: Toad of truth? Is that a Greek thing?

Will: No, that's a sleep deprived thing.

Bianca: Okay, Nico. What happens to our brains if we don't get enough sleep?

Nico: They lose their ability to function and be rational?

Bianca: Exactly. So go march in there, go take a shower and get some sleep.

Nico: But I don't wanna go to sleep!

Bianca: I'm gonna count to three. One-

Nico: *sneers* Alright. *goes*

Will:

Hazel:

Will: Please teach me how you did that

Bianca: I raised him. I know how to get him to eat his vegetables, too.

---BONUS---

Taking Bianca to the drop off where she'll meet with the other hunters:

Bianca: Thank you for coming along to see me off, William

Will: Of course. Just wanna make sure you get there safe

Nico: Yeah, you'll get plenty of time looking for a new boy toy.

Bianca: Hey. I will not have you disrespecting me

Nico: Yes, ma'am

Will:

Will: Nico, you have a very attractive sister. You need to get used to the fact that even though she's vowed not to be in a relationship, she'll have plenty of suitors who would want to have her as their partner.

Nico: And you need to mind your own business

Will: Wha- I will not have you disrespecting me

Nico: You don't tell me what to do

Bianca: Don't you go disrespecting him

Nico: Yes, ma'am.

Bianca, to Will: You'll get there, you just gotta put some zing on it.

[quadrantadvisor]

Yknow the shitty marvel movie type trope of diffusing all of your emotional scenes with humor? Homestuck does the same thing but with a RADICALLY different vibe. Like exactly the opposite.

Most modern media that does this is trying to distance the author from the text, by inviting the audience to laugh with the author. Oh, isn't this story silly, we're self aware, no need to immerse yourself. It's got this smug yet self depreciating tone, because it feels like the author wants you to like them more than their story.

Whereas when Homestuck does this it is self aggrandising, because it's meant as an explicit ATTACK on the audience. It is a purposeful attempt to draw the reader in and then pull out the rug from under them. It's not meant to break the tension, it's to give you mood whiplash. It shows a certain amount of confidence in the text, because the author truly believes in the text's ability to emotionally affect the audience so that this trick works.

I can definitely empathize with someone who finds this aggravating (that's sort of the point), but to me it's legitimately preferable to the self-aware jokey jokey thing because I don't think it diminishes the impact of the story itself. The narrative still exists as is, with all of its devastating events, and the jokes are a way of twisting that knife in a little bit further.

I would honestly go as far as to say that many of these style of jokes don't lighten the mood at all, but just add an extra element of poignancy or horror to a scene. Something ridiculous happening to the body of a recently deceased character isn't exactly light material, for one example. For another, more specific one, consider Dave's "acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle".

As a quick refresher, Dave says early on in the story that, rather than flying off the handle, he will do an "acrobatic fucking pirouette". This wording becomes a frequent callback joke from that point on. And then, much later, Dave finds the impaled corpse of the older brother who raised him, and decides on a symbolic gesture he'd like to make. He can't pull the sword out of his brother's chest, because he doesn't feel like he's worthy. He has to make a "clean break", by breaking off the end of the sword to take with him. But it doesn't work, and in the attempt he's flung backwards. And then he's just laying there, on the ground, while his friend points out that he has finally, literally performed his acrobatic pirouette off the handle.

And yeah, that's funny, but to me it's also absolutely devastating? This is a character who's recently been dealing with extreme self worth issues and a crisis of free will, who's clumsily trying to grieve for the very person who caused a lot of those issues in the first place. It makes the entire thing feel weirdly inevitable and that much more horrible for it, like, of course this would happen, his whole LIFE has been a joke to begin with. It doesn't detract from the moment. It invites you, the audience, to sit in that moment with the character and just kind of let it wash over you.

At least that's how I feel about it!

[littlesparklight]

I've talked about Paris' relationships with his family before, of course, but let's do it again. Mostly because I want to point out that "everybody hates Paris" isn't actually cut and dry or obvious. The relationships on display are complicated, and have more than one side or emotion to them.

(All translations are from Caroline Alexander.)

Book 3 line 40ff: "[...] would that you were never born and died unwed; so I would wish, and it would have been far better than to be as now an outrage and something to be sneered at by others."

This is in direct response to and connected with Paris jumping forward in front of the front lines and then shrinking back among the ranks when Menelaos takes the challenge as a real one/takes the opportunity to make it one. Each of the times Hektor throws out these insults it's about (actual or perceived) failure on Paris' part to act as he should, in the context of martial engagement. As harsh as his words are, this isn't actually about what he thinks or not about Paris, but specifically about his (lack of) actions. And we know Hektor is very, very tied up in expectations of what a man should be doing in regards to combat. (Connected with but also separate from his culture-typical desire for kleos.)

I think this is important, and an important distinction to make, because; line 56~ff: "The Trojans are great cowards; else before now you would have worn a shirt of flying stones for your evils, such things you have done."

This is when Hektor says anything in judgement of what it's all about. The only time. (He, like others, use the "Alexandros, for whose sake this strife arose" elsewhere, but that's more factual than expressing some sort of judgment like above). I've mentioned it before but this statement would include Hektor, too; no one has made Paris give up Helen. Paris does not have the authority or ability to keep Helen without the passive allowance of those around him, as well as the more active back-up of those who have more authority in Troy; his elder brother and the heir to the throne, as well as his father.

Hektor may say this, yet it's in the ninth year of the war and he and Priam both have tacitly allowed Paris to keep Helen.

I don't think one can disregard the fact that Aphrodite has a hand in sanctioning that relationship, but mortals have responsibility as well. And why are they letting him do this, then? Hektor might be angry, but if he truly had no affection for, or connection left to and with his brother, why would he go along with it?

Priam, too, talking to Helen, blames not Helen, and neither does he blame Paris; he very pointedly lays blame on the gods instead. Yes, Paris isn't present and isn't mentioned, but his lack of mention is conspicuous in itself, considering he's talking about blame for the war. Helen didn't exactly sail to Troy by herself; it takes two to tango, as it were, and Priam prefers to put the blame elsewhere entirely.

Line 306~ff: "Listen to me, Trojans and strong-greaved Achaeans. Now I go back again to windswept Troy, since I cannot bear to see with my own eyes my dear son locked in combat with Menelaos loved by Ares."

Priam is quite plain, so I don't think there's really much to say, except to point out that he has no reason to say this for anyone's sake. Who will care for the reason an old man who shouldn't be on the battlefield anyway goes back? But no, he says he loves Paris, and can't bear to watch him be killed. Yes, Priam includes Paris in a group of other sons he's castigating later, but - that's in a group, and he is grieving. Much like Hektor when he's angry, things are said then that, even if at least partially true, are certainly not the whole sentiment.

Let's go back a bit: Line 59ff: "Hektor, since you rebuke me fairly, and not beyond what is fair [...] If you wish for me now to go to war again and do battle[...]"

Watch that first line. It'll be relevant later. But what I want to touch on here is the way Paris phrases the second part. If you wish. Given how he doesn't seem to be very much driven by shame (or duty), I don't think the driving force to him ponying up to suggest the duel here is because he's been shamed by Hektor's words. Seems to me, it's far more about Paris wanting to please Hektor himself, do what he, specifically, wants, and not necessarily what is expected of him.

Another thing I'd like to note that is easy to miss and of course entirely relies on how one wants to interpret it, but Paris doesn't have chest armour for the duel against Menelaos. Lykaon lends him his; the narrative says it "fits him", and sure, there doesn't need to be any warm sentiment between them for someone to lend Paris chest armour to use.

Paris' own armour could just as well have been brought from Troy; every single man there, brother or not, could simply refuse to lend him any, if they so hate him. But Lykaon lets him borrow his.

Book 6 line 521ff: "Strange one, no man who is fair could slight your work in battle, since you are brave; but you hang back by choice and are not willing. And for that I grieve deep in my heart, when I hear insults about you from the Trojans[...]"

Hektor cares about Paris being insulted. Yes, his acknowledging Paris' skill is damning with faint praise because it's followed up by pointing out how unenthusiastic Paris' engagement in combat and the war is. But he goes out of his way to say that he doesn't like it when others (not him?) insult Paris(' martial abilities).

line 526ff: "We will redress these matters later, if ever Zeus grants us to dedicate in our halls a feast bowl of freedom[...]"

Does this sound like a man who has nothing but hate and disgust for his brother? Someone who, while their relationship isn't very good right now (as is the point of what he's saying here), doesn't want it to go back to being better than it now is?

Book 13 line 775ff: "Hektor, since it is your desire to blame the blameless[...]"

Right before this is when Hektor finds Paris on the battlefield, and for the second time (since he does not use the insults he did in Book 3 in Book 6 when he comes to Paris' home) uses the strings of insults he did in Book 3.

This is the only time, Book 6 included, that Paris categorically refuses Hektor rebuking him. Paris might normally let Hektor insult him - but clearly it's because he thinks Hektor, whether he's being too harsh in his phrasing or not, isn't wrong to chew him out. But he's clearly also not afraid to take a stand and just tell Hektor he's wrong, when he is in fact wrong.

Outside the Iliad

It's a bit of a pity we don't get any idea of what the Iliad might have done with Hecuba's thoughts on Paris. We get nothing. Outside of it, pre-war, we of course have the fact that neither Hecuba nor Priam wanted to actually kill Paris, and they both welcome him back despite well knowing the dream omen. (Of course they could assume it's been interpreted wrong, by this point.) Hecuba's grief over her exposed and presumably dead son gets fronted in Euripides' Alexandros, and in the Trojan Women, she fully defends him in the agon against Helen. Sure, we might assume she's putting all the blame on Helen not because she any longer cares about Paris, or to more effectively try to condemn her in front of Menelaos. But I don't think a lack of affection for Paris in the way she chooses to respond is something that can be assumed either.

[mrs-snape5984]

„And there's a black mark where your heart should've been….“

„I could've laid down and died, but my head was spinning round. It was spinning round. I wanna know what it's like, so I can feel it inside…“ („The Blue, The Green“ by Lonely The Brave)

Trigger warning: I’ve written this post in a moment of frustration and grief. If anyone has a problem with reading the sad thoughts of a depressed, middle-aged woman with the tendency to curse and swear too much, please feel free to skip the following five paragraphs.

It’s one of those especially hard days today. I had to leave my dark room to be taken to a medical appointment. Leaving my dark room means crashing hard again…with prior announcement!

So, leaving the house goes hand in hand with a sudden feeling of disorientation. Noises, movements, lights…those are all things, which my brain can’t comprehend anymore since I’m struggling with ME/CFS. When I’m overstimulated like that, I’m losing my grip on reality. Everything gets blurry and I feel as if I don’t know, who I am anymore.

It’s hard to describe, but I need to be guided into the right direction in these situations: Walking very slowly with my cane…having a break after every few steps…being held on my other arm…always wearing my dark sunglasses and my noise canceling earplugs…all these aspects together are making me feel so helpless…

I have to take my mother with me to the doctor’s office, because I wouldn’t understand a single word otherwise. And when I’m home again, back in my dark room…lying in my bed, the big crash starts to hit me right into my face! I’m getting feverish…my whole skin hurts as if it would be pulled off my body…my lymph nodes are swollen…my limbs are hurting and I can’t make a single step anymore. My head seems to explode from aching and I’m losing my ability to communicate properly. Every fucking time!

After some hours (sometimes even up to 24 hours) of sleep, I’m regaining consciousness again…still not capable of leaving my bed. And this is the worst moment…the moment, when my brain starts thinking about the humiliating feeling of being so helpless in my age. The moment, when I’m realising, that there are still so many years left to live….probably the same way as I was living for the past 1,5 years. The moment, when I’m grieving for the life, I’ve lost. The moment, when I’m hating myself for being too sick to be the active mother, friend, employee, I’ve been before this goddamn disease ME/CFS destroyed everything!

And this is the moment, when Severus has to take over. This might sound strange, but drowning in my fantasies about him is the only way to prevent my mind from going insane. Every time, when my own reality becomes unbearable to me, I’m imagining myself to be hidden beneath his robes…searching for shelter in his arms. Severus has been my safe haven for the past 21 years…and right now I’m clinging to him as tight as I can…in order to stay alive.

The wonderfully talented @alinearthp has transformed my fantasy into this beautiful artwork and I’m more than happy with the outcome of it. Aline, my friend, I love your art and the way, we’re sharing our thoughts with each other. You are a precious person, my dear, and I’m grateful to know you. Thank you so much for everything!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤