#THIS WAS VERY VERY RUSHED AND I WANTED TO INCLUDE MORE DIALOGUE AND SCENES BUT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ryehouses · 1 year

Note

ive said this before and I’ll say it again: Boba POV for his and Din’s first scene in the kitchens

this was by FAR one of the most requested boba povs -- seriously, i have like twelve of these in my inbox -- so i figured that it would be as good a POV to start on as any!

set during chapter 3, "sha'kajir." the content warnings relevant to that chapter, including some extremely preliminary kink negotiation, some mild non-sexual choking and some painplay, apply.

if you're like "wait, all of the dialogue is the same!" it is, but the ~inflection is different from a different pov.

enjoy!

in which boba fett makes an educated guess.

If Din Djarin wound himself up any tighter, he was going to snap in half and scatter beskar all over the floor of Ushib’s tidy kitchen, and somehow, Boba didn’t think that Fennec would be very happy with him if he let that happen.

He wouldn’t be very happy with himself either, honestly. Boba liked Djarin. His side still hurt where Djarin’d gone for a gap in Boba’s cuirass – twice – and he was trying his hardest not to limp where Djarin could see. The mean little lyleck had kicked Boba so hard that Boba was going to need to hobble around with a brace in the morning, though he’d be karked if he let Djarin notice.

The whole point of getting him in the sparring ring was to get him to relax, Boba thought, watching Djarin across the quiet, dim kitchen. He’d found Djarin in one of the old pit fighting rooms, where Jabba and his court had bet on gladiators, and had brought Djarin here after their spar to put Djarin more at ease. To get him more comfortable.

Djarin was not comfortable.

He’d been willing enough to spar, when Boba had finally managed to track him down. For a man in bright silver armor – not even a sensible green, a red that would disappear in low light, a blue that would blend into the sky – Djarin’d been karking hard to find. But once Boba’d managed to dig him up, Djarin had agreed to spar, and during the spar he had relaxed. Boba had been able to see Djarin. To learn about who he was underneath the armor.

Any ease that Djarin’d found in the sparring ring was long gone now. He was staring at Boba, one hand curled around a cup of tihaar that he hadn’t yet touched, like he thought that Boba was going to rush him and stick a knife in his belly. His shoulders were pulled tight. His free hand was twitching for a weapon.

I don’t particularly want to get stuck with the darksaber, either, Boba thought. I’ve already been whacked with that spear. Djarin had only used the blunt end to jab Boba – he was polite enough, for a Mandalorian – but still. Sparring was one thing. Sparring was fun. A good way to blow off some steam. Boba’d hoped that the spar had convinced Djarin that while Boba might whack him around a little in the sparring ring, Djarin wasn’t in any danger here at the palace. Boba wasn’t Bo-Katan Kryze. He had no interest in stabbing any of his allies in the back, no matter what they’d accidentally walked in on.

I don’t have enough allies to go around betraying them, or to go around shooting them because I forgot to look my own karking door.

Boba eyed Djarin for another minute, feeling an echo of Djarin’s stress in his own shoulders, behind his teeth, and then turned away, swallowing the tihaar in his own cup. The familiar smell, sharp alcohol and sweet fruit, warmed his mouth. He watched Djarin out of the corner of his eye. Djarin didn’t move, stiff and wary. It was like Boba’d invited a half-starved anooba into his home instead of one of the best fighters Boba’d ever seen.

Boba sighed. “I thought maybe food and drink would put you at ease,” he admitted, apologetic. Boba had vague, old memories of his father passing around a bottle of tihaar with the Cuy’Val Dar, old grudges set aside while the bottle changed hands. He’d thought that sharing food and drink was a way to set a Mandalorian at ease, but the days of the Cuy’Val Dar were long over, and Boba’d never been very good about remembering what few Mandalorian custos he’d learned at his father’s knee anyway. “But we can do this up in my rooms, if that’ll help.”

Boba hadn’t wanted to corner Djarin. He knew well enough how a cornered fighter would react, and Djarin hit pretty hard. But maybe Boba’s room, with its open walls and its starlight, would be better. Boba liked the kitchens, personally. Liked the smell of fresh japoor bread and chuba stew. It reminded him of the simpler days out in the desert, sharing a tent with Ushib.

Boba hadn’t had much to worry about, then. Not getting killed by the Spotted Anooba’s chief, who’d hated outsiders. Not dying of the wounds inflicted by the sarlacc. Life had been easy. Simple.

Then I had to go off and start a syndicate, Boba thought dryly. Though none of this was in the job description.

Boba wasn’t sure what had set Djarin off. What made him so tense and wary here. He had walked in on Boba and Theran, but –

The suggestion – the idea of going up to Boba’s rooms – made Djarin tenser. “Do what,” he said, tone flat.

Kark. Boba poured himself another small measure of tihaar. Looking at Djarin head-on only seemed to put him more on guard. “Talk about what you walked in on,” Boba said. He’d been willing enough to dance around the issue, to use vague terms or euphemisms; most beings preferred it. Boba’d prefer to keep Theran’s privacy, if he could, but he also needed Djarin to be sharp, if he was going to stick around with the outfit, and Djarin couldn’t be sharp if he was fretting over what he’d seen.

Djarin was fretting over it. He was so stiff that Boba was half-worried that Djarin would fall over.

Is it me he’s afraid of? Boba wondered, and the thought tasted sour in his mouth. Respect was one thing. Boba didn’t particularly mind being feared by his enemies either.

But Djarin – Djarin wasn’t an enemy. Not now, at least. Once he got tired of hanging around on Tatooine and karked off back to the other Mandalorians, he might end up on the other side of a battlefield some day, but here and now, he wasn’t Boba’s enemy.

“I’m not Jabba, you know,” said Boba, aiming for a light, unbothered tone. Djarin had said that he’d done a few jobs for Jabba. He probably knew how Jabba’d handled things in his court.

This isn’t Jabba’s court. It’s not going to be Jabba’s court again.

Boba had promised the universe quite a few things, when he’d been sitting in the sarlacc’s belly. He had decided, if he lived, that he was going to be better than Jabba. Better than Boba himself had been.

“I’m not gonna have you dropped down into the rancor pit just because you walked in on me enjoying some of my – ” Boba hesitated for a split second, unsure how to describe what he’d been doing with Theran to someone like Djarin.

For a Mandalorian, Djarin was – different. Boba hadn’t figured out just what it was about him that was different, but Djarin was nothing like the few Mandalorians Boba’d run into over the years. Boba didn’t know anything about him. He didn’t know if Djarin understood what he’d seen, between Boba and Theran.

“ – odder pastimes,” Boba finished, wincing internally as he did it. He wasn’t very good at coming up with words on the spot. Odder pastimes wasn’t the best description of what Boba and Theran did together, but –

“Is that what it was?” Djarin asked, sounding tentative. “I didn’t – ” he paused too, and Boba wondered if he was blushing under his helmet.

Boba paused. Pinned that thought down.

Now where, he thought, did that come from?

“How you punish your people isn’t any of my business,” Djarin continued hastily, pulling Boba back to the matter at hand. “I just heard – through the door, I heard what sounded like someone in pain.”

Boba had to blink for a moment, surprised.

Well, that’ll teach us to play on the main floor, he thought. Theran hated Boba’s rooms. He was as brave as a bladeback, Theran, and had been for as long as Boba’d known him, but Theran was terrified of heights and their old arrangement – renting a room in a cantina somewhere in Mos Eisley – was more dangerous now that Boba was trying to set up an outfit of his own.

And I wasn’t punishing Theran, either. Theran didn’t go for punishment. He preferred regular, quick sessions, a few licks of the flogger to take him out of his own head for a little while. That was all. For anything heavier Boba would have insisted on his own rooms, or on a different suite. The room Theran’d chosen hadn’t had anywhere for Boba to stash any of his medical supplies, any snacks, anything that Theran might need as he came back up once he’d finished letting Boba bring him down.

“Theran and I have an arrangement,” Boba said, watching Djarin to see if Djarin would understand the difference between the two. Punishment and arrangement.

It was harder to guess what Djarin was thinking with all of his beskar on. That helmet was blank. Unchanging. The set of Djarin’s shoulders told Boba that he was uncomfortable, but little else.

“He knew me before, when all of this – ” Boba gestured at the kitchens, which weren’t really much to look at, but meant the palace above them too – “was Jabba’s. We.. have compatible interests.”

Djarin’s confusion was almost palpable. “Compatible… interests?” he asked, still tentative.

Boba tried not to wince. C’mon, Mando, you know what I’m talking about.

Boba’s preferences weren’t necessarily common, but he was hardly the only man in the galaxy who enjoyed wielding a whip. Theran was hardly the only man who liked to be whipped.

“Ni gaa’tayl,” he muttered to himself, hoping it was quiet enough to escape Djarin’s notice. Boba didn’t know enough mando’a to hold a full, complete conversation with a real Mandalorian and didn’t feel much like dealing with Mandalorian ossik tonight anyway, but sometimes the handful of phrases Boba still remembered from his days on Kamino were the only phrases that felt like they fit how he was feeling.

Right now, I need all the help I can get, Boba thought. He studied Djarin, trying to figure out what to do.

Best to just – go for it, Boba thought. Boba had never been very good at being subtle. “Yeah, compatible interests. He likes – to give someone else control over his body,” Boba said, trying to explain his and Theran’s arrangement in vague enough terms that Boba wouldn’t completely run over Theran’s privacy, though Theran himself didn’t much care.

He could tell that Djarin still didn’t understand, though. The Mandalorian had cocked his head a little, listening, like a curious anooba cub. Boba squashed the flicker of amusement and kept going.

“He likes pain,” Boba said. “He likes… someone to look after him, to decide what he feels and when he feels it.”

There, thought Boba. That’s about the gist of it, without digging into the specifics. Djarin should understand. Boba’d seen Djarin fight. Had watched him come up with plans, with strategies. Djarin wasn’t stupid. He could figure it out.

Djarin, if anything, pulled his shoulders up even higher. “And you…” he said, trailing off before he managed to voice an actual question.

Something about the way that Djarin was sitting – the way that he was looking at Boba, the way that Boba knew that Djarin wasn’t looking him in the eye, even though Djarin was wearing a helmet – scratched lightly at the edge of Boba’s awareness. Felt almost – familiar.

Boba cocked his head and looked harder at Djarin, trying to see the man underneath the armor. “Like to take control, yeah,” Boba said. In for a peggat, he thought. There was no harm in describing his own preferences. Anybody who’d spent more than five minutes in a room with Boba knew that he liked to be in control. Boba’d accepted that part of himself a long time ago.

“Like to cause pain, too.”

Boba saw the moment that Djarin understood. His shoulders twitched, just a little, like Djarin had brushed a live wire.

Interesting. The feeling of familiarity scratching at the back of Boba’s head itched harder.

“...Oh,” said Djarin. He set his cup of tihaar, still untouched, down on the counter beside him. He didn’t immediately sneer anything derogatory and he didn’t try to bolt, either. Boba watched him carefully for a second, then relaxed.

Djarin understood.

He was still tense, though.

He said that he thought that he heard someone in pain, Boba thought. He came to help.

Before Boba and Fennec had set off after Djarin – after Djarin had left Tatooine with Boba’s armor, not knowing what it was that he was taking away – Boba’d done a bit of research. He hadn’t been able to find the man’s name, not until Djarin’d shared it, but rumors of a Mandalorian in silver armor fighting the Empire, driving off pirates and rescuing towns from Greater karking Krayt Dragons echoed all over the galaxy. Djarin had helped a lot of people. Had killed a lot of people, honestly, but Boba’d done his own share of killing and wasn’t bothered by it, and all of Djarin’s killing had been pretty straightforward and clean, too. He wasn’t a torturer. He wasn’t cruel.

He heard Theran cry out, and he came to help.

“‘S not as bad as you’re worried about, Djarin,” Boba said gently, trying to set the other man more at ease. Theran didn’t notice, and he doesn’t mind an audience anyway. It’s just – it’s a matter of discretion, yeah?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Din said hastily, and Boba could hear him blushing. “I’m not – I don’t share other people’s secrets.”

Boba almost smiled. “No, you wouldn’t,” he said, trying not to laugh at Djarin. Boba’d already known that Djarin could be trusted, at least a little. Djarin was the Resol’nare walking. “You’ve got your honor.”

Djarin relaxed a little.

Something in Boba’s gut twinged. Settled. Like Boba had just rounded a corner in Mos Eisley and come face to face with someone in the crowd, like he’ reached for his blaster, but instead of finding an enemy, had found someone that he could trust.

Recognition.

The way that Djarin was sitting – the way that he was looking at Boba – Boba recognized it. Had seen it before.

“But that’s not all I wanted to talk to you about,” Boba added on instinct, though he felt a little bad when Djarin immediately froze. Boba paused for a fraction of a second, debating whether he should follow what his instincts were telling him or just let Djarin go, send him off to work through what he’d just learned on his own, but –

But something about the way that Djarin was looking at Boba – something about the way that Djarin had fought in the sparring ring, about the way he carried himself – made Boba say, “Sometimes, pain is good.”

Later, Boba wouldn’t be able to say what it was about Djarin that told him that Djarin was like Theran. Sometimes there were clues. A certain pattern of speech, a certain look, an intake of breath when Boba stood close. Sometimes beings who wanted what Theran wanted just came up to Boba and karking asked. Sometimes it was just a feeling.

With Djarin, it was just a feeling.

“For some it’s a focus,” Boba continued. “Or a reminder, or a reason.”

“Is that why you were.. Was it to help Theran?” Djarin asked. He was still holding himself very still. Boba wondered what Djarin would be doing if he’d let himself move. If he’d pick up his cup of tihaar again, or if he’d try to leave. If he’d put a hand over his thigh, over the plate of armor Boba’d hit with his gaderffii, and try to feel the bruise that Boba was sure was growing there.

A spark of interest licked the back of Boba’s ribs. Trying not to show it – it’d never paid for Boba to play his hand too early, even if he’d had a perfect sabacc – Boba just said, “That’s between me and Theran.”

What Theran got out of a flogging session was Theran’s concern. Boba’s too, of course – Boba tried to make sure that everyone he played with got what they needed – but it was private, even if Djarin would get something similar out of a flogging session himself.

Would he? Boba wondered. He is Mandalorian. He ought to be used to using pain, or at least to fighting through it.

Djarin was a frighteningly competent fighter. Boba knew that the Empire – even the Remnants – had tended to value their own pride over any kind of self-awareness, but if Boba’d been Gideon, he would’ve thought twice before trying to interfere with Djarin’s clan. Djarin had a shriek-hawk’s temper.

Most of the best fighters had a more intimate relationship with pain than the average being. It came with being hit in the head – and the chest, the gut, kicked in the knee, grappled – so karking often. Djarin was one of the better fighters Boba’d seen.

Djarin, fidgeting more obviously now, picked his cup of tihaar again and brought it up almost protectively, though he still didn’t make any move to take his helmet off.

The flicker of amusement in Boba’s chest was brighter now, and it wasn’t as easy to quash.

He tilted his head, considering.

I can just let it go here, he thought. He’d explained himself to Djarin. Djarin’d promised that he wouldn’t go spilling the details of Boba’s arrangement with Theran all over the palace. Their business with each other, at least for the night, was done.

But that instinct – that recognition, searing and bone-deep – wouldn’t let go of Boba, so he said, “Your buy’ce.” He drummed his fingers over his own helmet almost absently. “Can you take it off?”

He wanted to see Djarin’s face. His eyes.

Boba knew that there were some groups of Mandalorians who preferred to show their faces only to their families or their close allies. Djarin and Boba weren’t close. They’d known each other for just a little more than a week, and for part of that week Djarin had been unconscious in a bacta tank after defeating a Remnant Moff and upsetting Bo-Katan Kryze’s plan in one swoop.

But Boba still wanted to see his eyes.

Djarin clearly hadn’t been expecting the question. He startled, which caught Boba by surprise – he hadn’t seen Djarin startle before. Then Djarin sat up straight, chin up, that fierce lylek look plain even through his armor, and put his tihaar cup back down.

Boba watched Djarin flex his fingers a few times.

Interesting, he thought. He wasn’t surprised, though. Just about any being or beast had two reflexes, when surprised; fight or flight. With Mandalorians – with Boba too, either through persistent genetics, training or plain experience – the response was almost always fight.

Djarin managed to master his urge to punch Boba, though. Boba saw him take a deep breath. Djarin sat up straighter. Boba watched him, intrigued.

“Why?” Djarin asked.

That was an easy enough question to answer.

“Because I want to ask you something,” Boba said. “And I’d prefer to see your face while I do it. If that’s alright?”

Djarin started at Boba for a handful of seconds. He’d gone stiff again, wound tight with tension, and all that energy would eventually have to go somewhere – Djarin titled his helmet a little and Boba could tell that Djarin was looking for a way out.

Boba realized that he was between Djarin and the door and tried not to wince.

Don’t corner him, he reminded himself. That’s going just gonna get you punched again, Fett, or worse. Djarin had already kicked Boba in his bad knee once tonight.

But Boba knew how to manage this sort of reaction too. Moving very carefully, slow and deliberate, Boba shifted over to the side, leaving a clear path between Djarin and the door out into the hall, ready to let Djarin go if Djarin wanted to.

Djarin didn’t move.

Boba let him think about it. He could be patient. He hadn’t become the best bounty hunter in Jabba’s outfit by rushing headlong into things. Boba knew how to wait his prey out.

Thinking of Djarin as prey, something to be caught – tamed – made Boba’s heart beat a little faster in his chest. Djarin’d put up a fight. He would. Boba knew that he would. It’d be fun. He squashed that feeling too.

This was about Djarin.

Finally, after several tense, frozen seconds, Djarin obeyed and reached up, curling his fingers around the edges of helmet. Most buc’ye – buckets – were the same, even if the shape and the features were different. Djarin released the seals with a hiss of compressed air and tugged his helmet off in one sharp move, like Djarin thought he’d stop halfway if he tried to pull it off slowly.

Djarin blinked in the light, and Boba hid the frown that wanted to pull at his mouth.

The last time Boba’d seen Din Djarin’s face, the man had been fresh out of a bacta tank. He’d looked terrible. The bacta had kept Djarin��s brain from leaking out of his ears – Boba’d seen the hole in the wall where some kind of new superdroid had done its best to kill Djarin – but even bacta could only do so much, and the last time Boba’d seen his face, Djarin had looked half-dead. Pale, bruised and exhausted, the old, half-visible scars on his face stark in the artificial light of the med bay.

Despite the fact that it had been a few weeks since then, Djarin still looked awful. The bruises had all faded, but he had shadows under his eyes. His hair, a curly, soft-looking brown, stuck up untidily. His face was thinner, more worn, and the scar between his eyes still stood out, even in the low light.

What happened? Boba wondered, alarmed. Djarin’d only been on Tatooine for a few days – he couldn’t have been that badly-injured out on his hunt. Boba knew that Fennec had made sure that Djarin had eaten, the night he’d landed on Tatooine. Djarin hadn’t been with them long enough to get this tired. This worn.

Kryze, Boba thought, darkly. He should’ve known that she’d be too busy with her own karking plans to make sure that her guests – her allies – were well taken care of.

Djarin held Boba’s eyes for a second. His eyes were dark too, like Boba’s. Kryze and her people all had blue or green eyes. Kalevalan Mandalorians were fair-skinned and fair-haired. Boba’d gone to Keldabe once, when he’d been younger and stupider, convinced that he could scratch out a living for himself among his father’s father’s people, and had been shocked to see how few Mandalorians actually looked like Jango Fett.

Then Djarin’s eyes darted away again, anxiety plain in Djarin’s face.

Boba softened. Djarin’d had a long few days, and he was clearly out of his depth.

“Jate,” he said, hoping that the common language would set Djarin more at ease. Djarin started at the word again, his eyes skipping back to Boba’s own for a second, but he did relax some. He rubbed a globed thumb absently over an invisible mark on his bright silver helmet, his eyes finally settling on the side of Boba’s face.

Not a big fan of eye contact? Boba wondered. If Djarin kept his helmet on in front of everybody but his clan, Boba supposed that that made sense, though he didn't like the way Djarin kept looking sideways at Boba, nervous and tense.

“You don’t show your face often, huh?” he asked.

Djarin just shrugged, raising one stiff shoulder and dropping it down. He looked at Boba’s cheek for another second, then met Boba’s eyes again. Djarin’s jaw was tight. He clutched his helmet like he wanted to pull it back down over his ears.

He didn’t, though. He looked Boba in the eye and said, with a bit of a challenge in his voice, “Well?”

Boba blinked at thim.

Right, he thought. We were having a conversation.

Boba let himself hesitate for another second, then pushed on. He’d learned over the years to trust his instincts, and this instinct, this feeling of familiarity –

I think, Boba said to himself, that Djarin is – like me. Like Theran. He couldn’t say what it was, exactly, but Djarin has hesitated at the door, when he’d walked in on Boba flogging Theran. He’d stared for a second longer than he should have.

“What’s your relationship with pain?” Boba asked, deciding to take pity on Djarin and cut straight to the point.

It was Djarin’s turn to blink at Boba. “Uh, what?”

He didn’t bolt, which was a good sign. “What’s your relationship with pain?” Boba repeated, keeping his tone friendly and even. “Good, bad, want it, don’t want it? Does it distract you, or does it help you focus?”

“Nobody wants,” Djarin began, tone hot and defensive, but he caught himself before Boba could correct him. He would’ve done it gently, but still. Djarin was wrong. Plenty of people wanted pain. Wanted to take it or to give it.

Djarin chewed his lip, eyes darting up to meet Boba’s again. He was flushed faintly, the tips of his ears red, and that familiar feeling in Boba’s chest hardened into certainty.

Cyar’yc, he couldn’t help but think, amusement uncurling in his belly. Sweet.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Boba asked, gently. Gentleness didn’t come very easy to Boba, but he had learned it, over the years. It took more effort to be gentle than to be cruel, but gentleness had its place, even on Tatooine, and Boba found himself wanting to be gentle with Djarin, at least for now. He didn’t know Djarin well enough to know how to push him, yet. To know how far Djarin was willing to be pushed before he fought back.

“About letting someone hurt you?” he continued.

Boba saw Djarin swallow, and satisfaction flared bright behind his ribs.

“Letting someone – no,” Djarin said. One of his hands twitched towards the bruise that Boba knew was darkening across the top of his thigh, but Djarin didn’t touch it.

“Why?” Boba asked, curious. There must’ve been Mandalorians who enjoyed dominance or submission. Pain and pleasure. Boba’d never been one of them, but Mandalorians were beings just like any other.

Djarin didn’t answer Boba right away. He shook his head a little, fingers tight around his helmet.

“Why not?” Boba said, pushing just a bit. Djarin could take it.

Boba’s persistence got a reaction. Djarin bared his teeth a little and snapped, sharp as a blade, “I shouldn’t need it. The only things a warrior needs are his armor and his courage.”

Boba almost rolled his eyes. Mando ossik, he thought. Djarin wore his armor proudly, though – and took his rules seriously – so Boba didn’t disparage his people to his face.

“Those are important,” Boba agreed. “But a warrior can’t march on just courage, you know.”

Djarin bared his teeth again, studying Boba’s chin intently. “Why are you asking?” he challenged.

Boba rather thought that it was obvious. “You’re Mandalorian,” he said. “A warrior. Warriors have… an interesting relationship with pain. The good ones, anyway,” he said, throwing Djarin the compliment. Anybody who could defeat an Imperial Moff was a good warrior. Boba’d seen Djarin fight on Tython. Kark, he’d seen Djarin fight here. Boba’d be carrying bruises underneath his cuirass for a good few days.

Djarin didn’t soften.

“Not just anyone can push themselves through training,” Boba pointed out. “Some warriors… they get through it because they have to, but others get through it because they like it. Pain helps them focus. Helps them center themselves.”

Djarin’s shoulders went up again, tense and miserable.

In for a peggat, Boba reminded himself. “I think it might help you,” he said, still gentle. He looked at Djarin’s leg. He could almost see the bruise that would be blooming there, underneath his silver beskar. Boba hit hard; he could crush a stormtrooper’s helmet with his gaderffii, if he put enough power behind the swing. He could crack skulls, break rocks. Boba couldn’t break beskar, but underneath the armor was just a man, and men bruised.

Djarin’s flush was spreading. His dark eyes were wide.

“And,” said Boba, laying down the last of his cards, “I think that you want it, though it’s hard to tell when you’ve got your armor on.”

Djarin twitched again, his whole body shivering with the urge to slam his helmet back on. Boba wondered what had made Djarin so defensive. He still wasn’t looking Boba in the eye.

“Just because I want something doesn’t mean that I need it,” Djarin said. It hurt him to speak, Boba could see that it hurt him, but he made himself speak anyway.

Brave, thought Boba. And honest.

“No,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have it, either.”

That won Boba a derisive snort. “I’ve lived this long without it,” Din said. “I’m not – I’m an effective warrior. I provide for the tribe, I haven’t lost a bounty in years, I brought in renown for the Guild – ”

That one sentence had more words in it than Boba thought he’d ever heard Djarin say at one time. Boba wanted to frown again, but managed to avoid it. Djarin was still watching him with wide, wary eyes.

“Yeah,” Boba said, holding up a hand. Djarin was a battle-trained warrior – he knew how to watch for hand signals, how to obey them, and his mouth clicked shut mid-sentence.

“I’ve seen you fight, Djarin,” Boba said, trying to reassure the other man. “I know you’re capable.” His knee throbbed helpfully. Djarin had kicked Boba without a second thought. Without hesitation. “I’m gonna have a few bruises of my own when the suns rise.”

Djarin looked at Boba like he wanted to keep arguing, but managed to hold off.

Jate, Boba wanted to say. “All I meant is that if you want more,” Boba said, deciding to help Djarin out, “if you want to see what pain could do for you, well.” Boba gestured at himself. “You’re in a good place to try it out, is all.”

“With you?” Djarin said.

“If you wanted,” Boba replied, evenly. He was hardly the only man in Mos Eisley who knew how to swing a flogger, though. Djarin didn’t strike Boba as the type of man to trust that kind of vulnerability – his bare back, his submission – to a stranger, but then he really didn’t know Djarin very well, and had only gotten this far with him on instinct. If Djarin wanted to visit some cantina in Mos Eisley and find a stranger to flog him, that was his business, not Boba’s.

“A few of the palace guards, some beings in Mos Eisley,” Boba continued, determined to give Djarin options. “Fennec, even, though she usually doesn’t play with men. She likes you enough she’d be willing to help out.”

It had been Fennec’s idea to contact Djarin, actually. She liked Djarin. Respected him.

Despite that, Djarin made a face, an open, honest expression, and Boba laughed. Djarin flushed again. The curl of amusement in Boba’s belly broadened.

“Fennec’s out, then?” he asked.

Djarin didn’t say anything for a while. Boba let him have his silence. Djarin was obviously thinking, and that was really all that Boba could ask from him. If Djarin really hadn’t thought of this before – had never considered intentional pain as a tool, as a relief – then Boba’d give him the time he needed to think about it.

“What would it… how would I know?” Djarin asked, tentative again. The flush creeping down his neck was distracting. “If I wanted it? If it would… help me?”

Boba could only shrug, spreading his hands. “I can’t answer that for you,” he said, repaying Djarin’s honesty with his own. “You’d just take it slow, and stop it if there was something happening that you didn’t like.”

Djarin blinked at Boba again. “Stop it?”

“Yeah,” said Boba. “In an arrangement – ” which wasn’t the right word, exactly, but was as close as Boba could get without needing to walk Djarin through a thirty-minute lecture – “either party, you or me, if you wanted to try it with me, or you and whoever else you picked, can stop at any time.”

“Oh,” said Djarin. Doubt still flickered across his face, but there was something else in his eyes too. Curiosity, and something deeper than curiosity.

Hunger, Boba thought, excitement beginning to build in his chest.

Technically, he didn’t need to show Djarin anything tonight. Boba’s sessions with Theran were usually pretty short, but Theran was so used to Boba by now – and Boba so used to Theran – that Theran slid to his knees as soon as he walked into the room and gave up control of his body to Boba without a second thought. Boba was satisfied. It had been a good session, despite Djarin walking into it near the end. Boba was comfortable in his own skin. Settled. Between the flogging and the fight, Boba would sleep better tonight than he usually did.

But the hunger in Djarin’s eyes had a similar hunger rising in Boba, an answer to the question Djarin hadn’t yet asked.

Djarin licked his lips, then said, “How would I stop it?”

The faint hunger deepened. “There’s a word, usually,” Boba said. He rattled off a few that he’d used before. “Gev, rahm, luubid, something like that.” A mix of mando’a and tuskra. Djarin ought to know both.

“Gev,” Din repeated. “It’s that easy?”

Boba nodded. “It’s that easy,” he said.

The keen hunger in Djarin’s face shifted. He looked –

Ravenous, Boba thought. Djarin looked starved. Like he hadn’t eaten for a week, lost in the desert, and had stumbled across a full feast.

Pushing Djarin now could backfire. If he hadn’t considered pain a tool before, rushing him headlong into a scene probably was likely a bad idea. Boba didn’t know what Djarin liked. What his limits were. He didn’t know if Djarin just wanted pain or if he wanted more. If he’d like to be held down. If he’d want to get on his knees.

But the look in his eyes, sharp with longing –

Boba decided to risk it. “Here,” he said, taking a cautious, slow step closer. He left his helmet and his cup of tihaar behind. Djarin didn’t bolt. That was good. “Let me show you. Remember your word? Gev to get me to stop, alright?”

Djarin tensed again as Boba got closer to him, but made no move to fight. “Alright,” he agreed, wary as a wraid. He shifted like he was going to stand, but Boba shook his head. He didn’t need Djarin to stand, not for this.

Djarin hesitated as Boba got even closer, but still didn’t pull away.

If he does, I’ll stop, Boba thought. Djarin didn’t really know what a safeword was, not yet. Not like Theran did. If he pulled back, if he tried to leave, Boba’d let him.

Djarin just tilted his chin up. He met Boba’s eyes this time.

Boba grinned. Mando pride, he thought. “Confident,” he said, close enough now for Djarin to touch. Boba got between Djarin and the counter where Djarin had set his cup of tihaar. That way, Djarin could bolt right or left if he had to, and get to the door without Boba blocking his path. Djarin didn't seem like he was going to bolt now, but Boba remembered how tense Djarin'd been when he'd realized that Boba had been between him and the door. “I like that.”

Djarin shivered a little. He was warm. Boba was close enough now to feel the heat of his body. Moving slowly and carefully, Boba took a hand and did what he’d wanted to do since he’d brought his gaderffii down on Djarin in the sparring ring. He set his hand on top of Djarin’s thigh plate. Curled his fingers around the smooth edges of that beskar.

The metal was cold. Djarin wasn’t. He went still when Boba touched him. His eyes went wide. Boba smiled at him, amused again, and pushed.

He did it lightly enough. Boba couldn’t see what Djarin’s leg looked like, not like this, and he didn’t want to cause true pain. He just wanted Djarin to see what Boba’d been talking about. To understand.

As soon as Boba pressed down, Djarin growled and jerked, twisting like he meant to lurch off the stool towards Boba. It was another, easy instinct for Boba to take his free hand and catch Djarin by the throat.

He did that gently too, or at least did it as gently as he could. There wasn’t really a soft way to grab a man by the throat, and the look in Djarin’s eyes, wild and challenging, told Boba that Djarin didn’t want Boba to be soft.

Still, choking Djarin out wasn’t something that Djarin’d agreed to and it wasn’t the kind of thing that Boba wanted to do without talking to Djarin first – without knowing for sure that Djarin would understand just what it was that he was agreeing to – so Boba was careful to keep his grip loose.

He set his thumb at the corner of Djarin’s jaw. Even through his gloves, Boba could feel Djarin’s pulse hammering wildly. Djarin was still for another fraction of a second, and then his own instincts kicked in and he reached up to try to pry Boba’s hand away from his throat. His helmet fell from his hands, clattering against the floor.

“None of that, now,” said Boba firmly, keeping his grip steady. If Djarin struggled, he’d hurt himself. Djarin stared at Boba, eyes wild, but obeyed. His immediate obedience made Boba want to smile.

“Relax,” Boba added, as Djarin’s heart beat hard against Boba’s thumb. “You can still breathe, yeah?”

Djarin took a few shallow breaths, his throat working against Boba’s palm. Boba didn’t loosen his grip, but he gave Djarin a few more seconds to realize that he was alright.

“I need to hear you say it,” Boba said. “Can you breathe?”

Djarin finally blinked, swallowing. “Yes,” he said. His voice had changed. Without his vocorder, Djarin sounded – uncertain. There was a hesitance to him that his helmet usually hid. He finally looked Boba in the eyes, too, and Boba could see Djarin’s shock. His confusion.

“Jate,” said Boba warmly, immediately rewarding Din’s obedience. Djarin’s eyes widened at the praise. Boba couldn’t help but soften, instinctively adjusting his approach. He didn’t know what Djarin wanted just yet, but praise was usually well-received. “Very good,” Boba said. He didn’t have enough mando’a to tell Djarin to let go of his hand.

Both of Djarin’s hands were wrapped around Boba’s. Djarin had a good grip. A warrior’s grip. He could break Boba’s hold, if he wanted to.

“I want you to let go of my hand, alright?” Boba said, speaking slowly so that Djarin could hear him over the adrenaline, the confusion, that must be crashing through him now.

Djarin blinked. His grip didn’t loosen.

“Grip the edge of the counter, if you have to,” Boba said. Theran didn’t need anything to hold onto during a session, but it was alright if Djarin did. “But I need you to let go. I can make you, if you need me to.”

Boba’d have to let go of Djarin’s leg to break his grip, but that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Djarin had given Boba a hell of a fight in the sparring ring, but here, now, Djarin was off-balance. Unsteady.

Djarin swallowed again, looking a bit like Boba’d punched him between the eyes, and finally obeyed. His fingers loosened, one by one, and Djarin let go of Din’s hand.

He did grab the counter, one hand on either side of Boba, clutching the wood so hard that Boba heard his gloves creak, but he let go of Boba’s hand.

“Good,” Boba praised again, watching as Djarin swayed towards him like he’d been caught in a gravity well. Like he couldn’t stay away.

Boba liked this part. His own heartbeat picked up, not as fast as Djarin’s, but fast enough.

“Very good,” Boba repeated. “Don’t let go.”

Djarin didn’t say anything. He’d heard Boba, Boba knew that he had. He applied just a bit of pressure to Djarin’s throat. Djarin’s breath caught again, a sweet little sound and a dark sort of satisfaction preened in Boba’s chest.

Maybe I didn’t burn as much off with Theran as I thought.

“I need to tell you that you understand,” Boba said.

Djarin stirred again, heart hammering, but managed to say, voice thick, “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

Boba made a pleased noise. “This is going to hurt,” he warned. He made sure that his grip on Djarin’s throat was loose, so that Djarin could breathe without trouble, and then returned his attention to the plate of armor across the top of Djarin’s thigh.

Slowly and deliberately, Boba began to push.

Djarin lasted three or four seconds before he made a sound, a low, thin noise of pain. It was as sweet as music. Djarin’s eyes met Boba’s again and his pupils were almost entirely blown, his eyes black in the dim light of the kitchen. Djarin’s mouth parted.

He wanted to collapse against Boba’s body, but he wasn’t letting himself. Djarin stayed straight as his spear, shoulders back, chin still tilted defiantly. That was alright. Boba had some time.

He kept pushing. Pressure bruises weren’t really Boba’s specialty, but he understood the theory, and it’d be a good demonstration for Djarin, one that would show him what Boba meant about pain without scaring him or putting Djarin on his knees.

I do want to put him on his knees, Boba thought, the desire flashing through him. He’d look good on his knees.

This wasn’t about what Boba wanted, though. Djarin caught another thin sound of pain, gritting his teeth, and tried to pull away from Boba again, though he didn’t let go of the counter, so Boba was fairly confident that Djarin wasn’t really trying to get away. He watched Djarin’s mouth closely, ready to let go at the first sign of gev, but Djarin didn’t say it.

“Easy,” Boba soothed, resisting the urge to lean in and nose at Djarin’s temple. Djarin kept fighting. Boba sighed. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

Djarin flashed his teeth again, snarling at Boba, and another wave of amusement rose and fell behind Boba’s ribs.

He did like Djarin. Djarin was a fighter.

“Easy, Djar’ika,” Boba said, the name falling off of his tongue before Boba could snatch it back. It wasn’t a conventional nickname, as far as Mandalorian nicknames went, but Boba liked the sound of it better than Din’ika, and he hadn’t yet called Djarin by his first name anyway.

Djarin evidently felt otherwise, because he jerked again at the nickname and made a sound like an angry anooba.

Boba couldn’t help but laugh. “Easy,” he said again, trying to help Djarin understand. He didn’t ease up on Djarin’s leg and he didn’t let go of Djarin’s throat, either. “Don’t fight me so hard. Lean into it. Let it happen.”

Djarin showed no sign of listening, so Boba tried something else. For Theran, it was mostly about the pain. Theran didn’t care much for restraints, for being held down, for being made to take a flogging.

But Djarin was Mandalorian, and Mandalorians were peculiar. Proud. Mando ossik, Boba thought. Maybe Djarin would only let himself enjoy this once he realized that he couldn’t get out of it.

“It’s not like you have any other choice, yeah?” Boba asked, following the instinct. He’d made pretty good guesses so far, anyway, and decided that he might as well keep following his luck. “Unless you have something you want to say?” Boba loosened his grip, reminding Din that he could speak, if he wanted to. If Djarin didn’t like this – if he was really struggling, and not just putting up a token fight because he thought that he had to – he could stop it with a word.

Uncertainty flickered across those dark eyes of Djarin’s. He panted against Boba’s hand. He was tense again, wound taut, and his breath came short with fear.

But he didn’t say gev. He didn’t say gev. He looked Boba in the eye, his teeth half-bared in pain, and didn’t ask Boba to stop.

Boba smiled at him. Stroked a thumb against the corner of Djarin’s jaw.

Djar’ika, he thought. “I think,” Boba said. “That I can help.”

#i'm not going to post all of the asks for this pov like i usually do #because for once the formatting on tumblr does not make me want to die #but here ya go!#boba: what's up with that guy's vibe #also boba: oh. i see.#ast asks #ast 'verse pov tag

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trillscienceofficer · 2 months

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Fic commentary (DVD extras style) on chapter 2 of “Best Left”, which is when the plot and the drama really kick into gear.

(The commentary for chapter 1 is here.)

Inside, it’s all blue shadows again, except for the faint green lighting of the regenerator coming from a few meters away from the door. Standing immobile under it, Seven’s silhouette. Raffi rushes to her. It is simple enough to wake Seven—there’s a built-in emergency shut-off, a large red physical switch which she had shown to Raffi during the building process. She can easily spot it even in the green glow of the machine, grey rather than red.

As I mentioned in the previous installment of the commentary, I spent some time wondering about the regeneration device(s) Seven might use in the Picard timeline. I liked the idea of a big physical switch that could quickly power down the machine, it added to the image of 'built out of readily-available components' I wanted to convey, although obviously is it's just one of the ways in which it can be powered down. I have to imagine that this regeneration device can be connected to the ship's computer so that Seven can be woken up if there's an emergency and is alone on the ship (which is usually the case). I hope this big red switch is not too incongruous even if I didn't find find a good place to explain my reasoning in full in the fic.

She can’t lose any more time to fretting. Raffi reaches up and flicks the switch. The regenerator powers down, lighting included, and Seven’s eyes flicker open. She stumbles; Raffi grabs her in between her arms before she can fall flat on her face.

If I ever were to commission art for this fic, one of the scenes I'd like to have drawn would be this one; Seven stumbling, half-asleep and in the dark, in Raffi's arms.

“How is she,” she demands, beside the motionless form of her old comrade. The cold hue of the bay’s lighting makes Seven’s eye sockets dark and hollow, and her hands are closed into fists. Emil, on the other side of the biobed, simply obliges her. “Her blood oxygen level is now in the safe range. She had a few cuts and bruises but isn’t in any grave danger.” Raffi notices that the blood and the black eye are gone from Torres’ face. “I was waiting to revive her for a final check for an eventual concussion, even though scans have that at a low probability.” He pauses, squints, and then moves around to get closer to Seven. “You, however—”

Seven is a mess <3 but this mostly goes to show how apprehensive Raffi is in this tense moment, when she still is trying to parse what's going on and worrying about Seven's state.

She mumbles something that Raffi can’t hear, and Seven’s shoulders lose some of the tension they were carrying. “Take it easy. You took a beating,” Seven says, with sudden, unexpected softness. Torres blinks again, turns toward the woman at her side with narrowed eyes. “Seven? Is that you?” “It’s me.” Torres tries a smile, but she shuts her eyes again with a wince. “You look like shit.” “So do you,” Seven retorts, her own amusement tugging at her lips. A whisper to Raffi’s side. “Wait, do they know each other?”

I am still inordinately pleased with myself at this whole exchange lol instead of killing my darlings I pretty much left this piece of dialogue unchanged since one of the first outlines I wrote down for this story. I hope it conveys the sense of a shared history between Seven and B'Elanna, history that may not be entirely confined to the Star Trek: Voyager timeline even if echoes of it are still present, without saying explicitly what it is. Raffi is certainly observing Seven's reactions very closely in order to get a sense of who this person she's only ever seen in the news might be for Seven. And then there's Elnor and Soji, who still have no idea of what's going on at all.

Torres lowers her hands and seems to become aware for the first time that there are other people around her other than Seven and Emil. She takes in her audience with what Raffi assumes is wariness. “Is this your crew, Seven?” “Don’t worry,” Seven replies, “They’re all friends.” Raffi presses her lips together at the noncommittal answer—really, Seven? I get that you’re angry that I didn’t wake you up sooner, but we acted exactly like a crew. Or do you hate the idea of having one so much?

So I don't know how clear it is to readers but again this one-two-three of reaction is pretty much the core of the interpersonal conflict between Raffi, Seven and B'Elanna, and it's essentially all caused by the three of them all having imho similar issues re: trust, fear of abandonment and actually spelling out what it is that they need from each other. I think it makes sense that all three have similar problems because of their traumatic pasts and a present that never really allowed them to sort through any of that (maybe with the exception of B'Elanna, although she still carries a lot of baggage around), not to mention the guilt, especially in Seven's and Raffi's case, for the way they (believe they) have hurt the people they cared about the most.

Essentially Seven has been isolating herself for decades at this point, and B'Elanna is one of the few people she talks to/meets regularly and even that means, like, once a year or less. Said isolation means Seven has never told B'Elanna about La Sirena's crew, and B'Elanna is surprised to find out that Seven has people close to her again and eventually hurt that Seven did not trust her enough to let her know, especially the 'I have a girlfriend now' part (although the reasons for why Seven didn't tell her and why B'Elanna is so hurt are explored later in more detail). Seven is unwilling to admit that these new people are actually a crew because confessing that she now trusts and is close to other people (like she was close to and trusted the Voyager crew long ago) is something she's not ready to do lest something terrible happens to them because of her. Raffi in turn is hurt by Seven's refusal to concede that she, Elnor and Soji represent a crew, because to her it so clearly indicates a lack of trust on Seven's part, exacerbated by the fact that Seven seems to care for her old shipmate so much in comparison.

The rest of the story is, in my intention, all of them pretty much stumbling over all these obstacles until they tentatively find a way past them, in large part thanks to Raffi's analytical approach to everything, and also because what's a better bonding experience than being chased by a warship through an asteroid field and then trying to hijack said warship?

“Wait.” Torres squints at him. “Deactivate? Are you an EMH?” “Emil, at your service,” he replies, quite pleased with himself at the recognition. Torres doesn’t share his enthusiasm. She turns to Seven and says, “An EMH? Are you kidding me?” “It was not my idea,” she replies hastily.

Again, a little exchange I'm very fond of. Difficult patients should stick together, right? I think (or I should say, I hope) Seven and B'Elanna may have given each other some space to air mixed feelings about the Doctor, as hinted by that famous interaction in “Imperfection”. B'Elanna finding Seven in the company of another EMH here makes things worse between them for this reason—there are so many things that Seven hasn't told her, and that seem to contradict everything B'Elanna has come to expect from Seven. Especially not after Seven confessed to her that she's killed Bjayzl, but that's a part of their conflict that is explored more later.

“So, you trust her?” Seven frowns. “Of course.” Raffi tilts her head. “Because she used to be a senior officer on the USS Voyager?” “How many times have you read her Starfleet file already?” Seven retorts, forcefully sticking her left arm in the vacuum suit. “Oh, don’t start. It’s not as if it’s a secret who she is.”

I love mess. I have to imagine this type of fight happened somewhat regularly between Seven and Raffi especially early on in their relationship, with the former bristling at anyone trying to get to know her and the latter the kind of person that simply has to know even to her own detriment, which in turn I think reminds Seven a bit too keenly of her own younger self. If this particular tense conversation doesn't spiral into an outright fight it's because both of them are desperately trying to stay on task as well—the rest of their back and forth lays out the same dynamics I've tried to explain in a point above.

How else Raffi could’ve understood the wildly different emotions that the memory of Admiral Janeway seem to elicit in Seven, if she had not done her own research? (Raffi guesses it’s the mix of deep gratitude and equally deep resentment that Starfleet legends seem to engender in people they take under their wing—not that she would ever admit that to JL.)

Again, a darling I didn't kill... I got a kick out of this parallel and imagining Raffi coming up with it. I DO think that if a Starfleet legend takes you under their wing, you're basically bound to go through the spectrum of emotions about it for the rest of your natural life—and I meant this is a bit cheekily in the case of two legendary captains I have mixed feelings about myself, but they're not the only ones for whom this applies. I have complex feelings about mentorship in general; I found out in my adulthood that I'm unable to fit the role of either mentee or mentor and this has caused me no small amount of grief. I think some of this bled through on my take on Raffi in this fic, in which she's reflecting a few times on her role both as as Picard's second in command on the USS Verity and her way to care for Elnor, remaining ambivalent throughout without any clear resolution.

Ostensibly happy life with her Starfleet family and friends—until the synth ban. Torres then resigns from her post, divorces her husband, gets joint custody of their daughter. Disappears, over the years, in the wide cracks where all non-aligned orgs operating on the Federation borders seem to live these days. Does her daughter hate her for that, Raffi asks herself sourly. She forces the thought out of her mind. That’s pure projection—not a good mental state to ask questions. And Raffi does have a few queries for Torres.

Another piece of the puzzle in the middle-aged women drama! Raffi recognizes that she's projecting quite a bit on B'Elanna from the very start, but even if she does she isn't exactly able to stop herself from doing it (which I think it's extremely relatable—knowing your own patterns doesn't always translate in having developed effective countermeasures, and Raffi has essentially just gotten out a fifteen-years-long depressive slump). I think it's also hard for Raffi to not project because here is another woman whose life has changed completely (and whose marriage collapsed) after the synth ban, except B'Elanna has been doing great, necessary work ever since. It's not the kind of information Raffi can take with any kind of objectivity, imho.

She’s still very pale, burrowing in her suede jacket with her shoulders slumped, but she also seems more at ease, sitting with her weight on her folded right leg. Her knee-high boots must be as well-worn as the smooth elbows of her jacket.

idk guys, my dad used to wear this suede jacket everywhere and now I think it's THEE piece of clothing for mechanically minded, DIY people. And I couldn't leave out the boots, of course.

“I’ve heard about Coppelius,” Torres says, while Raffi walks down the stairs. Ah, the trade-off of leaving Elnor unsupervised with their guest. “I wondered if Seven had something to do with crashing a Borg cube onto the surface of a planet,” Torres continues. “She has a knack for—” “Being in the right place at the right time?” Raffi finishes for her, as she walks over to the table. She smiles, making herself as unassuming and nonthreatening as she can.

I'm also very proud of this scene between Raffi and B'Elanna, in which they're both so obviously taking the measure of each other, alternating between wariness and nonchalance. I also had fun throwing Elnor in the mix because his presence highlights that some of what they're doing is essentially posturing. Rereading it I liked the tension—these aren't the best circumstances in which to meet.

“You said you were attacked? And that your computer core was stolen?” “Yes. I was headed to a rendez-vous near the border, with people I worked with before. Instead of the old shuttles I expected, a warship showed up. Well, I think it was a warship,” Torres amends, “Because to be honest I couldn’t take a good look at it. It seemed to appear in and out of nowhere, and I was too busy trying to avoid its phaser cannons. Those were definitely not from a civilian ship.” She shakes her head. “I couldn’t do much, in any case, it was much faster than I was even at warp. That’s when I tried the subspace eddies, to see if I could slow them down—but then my shields were suddenly toast and my computer core was being beamed out. That’s when I got stranded.”

The bit of the plot I laid out here is something that remained pretty much unchanged from the first outline as well—essentially I had this very vivid image of B'Elanna's shuttle being attacked by a mystery ship, and then I reverse-engineered what lead to that particular outcome.

They’re getting to the heart of the matter, finally. “I’ve been meaning to ask—why would they be interested in stealing your computer?” Torres gives her a lopsided smile. “I am—good at fixing things. Warp cores, defensive systems, repurposing old tech. You name it, I’ve probably tried to bang it back into shape. I worked with all sorts of people, over the years, and over two quadrants” she adds, looking into the half-empty mug. “I have a lot of logs, to keep track of what I did for whom and in order to not get caught into feuds or other sorts of messy situations. It’s—coordinates, lists of equipment, people. Warp signatures. Even access codes, which might have changed after I used them or might’ve not.”

Heartfelt headcanon alert!! I think B'Elanna would find a lot of meaning in turning her life around this way, essentially taking what she loves doing and putting it in the service of mutual aid, even if it's a hard and thankless task. She would also have no illusion about what that entails, and how to survive in situations of conflict, I think.

Raffi is chilled to the bone. “That’s a lot of sensitive data.” Not to mention terrible info-sec all around. “Is the core encrypted at least?” “Look, I know what you’re thinking,” Torres says, glaring, “but I’m not stupid. Reliable and trustworthy offsite data storage is a little hard to come by, in my line of work. So yes, the data is encrypted, and I expect it to hold up against attacks for a little while at least. But it won’t last forever.” Raffi leans back, crossing her arms. She probably would’ve done things differently—had done things differently, during her self-imposed exile from society, getting lost into all sorts of information rabbit holes. She didn’t get rid of all her redundant copies and storage options even after being offered her Starfleet commission back. But Raffi hadn’t exactly been out there, had she? With how the pieces were constantly shifting in the sectors beyond the border, the only loyalty you could be sure of was to yourself. Granted, that’s only if you aren’t prone to self-destructive benders.

I've tried super hard to give Raffi opinions on stuff that concerns her (former) line of work, and this is one of them. She can recognize that B'Elanna didn't have the best info-sec because of her circumstances, but Raffi still thinks it was a terrible idea.

Torres’ eyes flicker to Elnor then back to Raffi. “Huh. I can see Seven has made some interesting friends lately.” Raffi could say the same about Seven’s friends from decades ago, but first she needs to find out what kind of interesting Torres exactly is. [...] Now that's what I call interesting, Raffi thinks, taken aback. The woman in front of her seems to know it too, with the way she’s meeting Raffi’s gaze steadily, as if she’s daring Raffi to have an objection to the absolutely batshit thing she’s just claimed to have done.

I can imagine that even after the return in the Alpha Quadrant, B'Elanna is still fond of crazy solutions for difficult problems, and it might just be the kind of wild feat that makes Raffi pause because I think she likes this kind of daring in people (see what she says to Soji in the show). And so here Raffi is, being wary of this woman and the rapport she and Seven still have, projecting a bit on her, and kind of admiring her. It's a complex, explosive mix of feelings and I think it can easily lead to attraction (as it does later).

“It’s—really nothing important,” she says, closing the holo-interface with an impatient flick of her left hand, “I’m probably just thinking too much. We just extracted her from a near-death situation, and I’m being a hard-ass.” Soji’s smile widens. “You did point a phaser at me the first time we met.”

Raffi blinks, Seven’s sudden apathy making very little sense. She takes in the scene properly; Seven and Torres standing apart, pointedly not meeting each other’s eyes. Elnor hangs out a bit to the side, hands clasped behind his back and a frown on his face. Long faces all around. What the hell happened back there?

I love Soji so much... she WOULD bring that up as a joke. I just had to. I also like the rest of their conversation; I think Soji really trusts Raffi's opinion and I've tried to make that clear there.

Raffi sighs, bringing both hands to her face, on the bridge of her nose. She’s the conspiracy auntie now, isn’t she? God, that’s so sad.

The show is a bit ambivalent, I think, in letting us know what is Raffi's own opinion on her quest to find out what was really behind the Mars attack. While Raffi was eventually proven right I don't think she's proud of how bad she made things for herself while pursuing her goal (even beyond the fact that I'm personally in disagreement with the way the show validates conspiracy theories). I think that after s1, Raffi's assessment of her past actions and fixations is also complicated by the fact that she's trying very hard to move on. The quote above is where I landed—a bit of self-deprecating humor.

I love mess round 2. B'Elanna wants to be out of La Sirena as soon as she can, given everything she's seen that Seven has not told her about, believing she's better off on her own, and Seven obviously doesn't understand why she wants to leave so soon in her state—hence the fight, still a common occurrence between them. But obviously Raffi doesn't know about B'Elanna's motivation at this point.

Raffi walks over to the bed, and sits down on the mattress beside Seven. “Are you worried for her?” “Hard not to be. She says she can manage alone, but she’s without a ship now, and she needs to get her computer core back soon or there will be consequences.” “And the people who stole it and left her for dead have a lot of firepower on their hands,” Raffi adds. Seven turns to her. Quirks her ocular implant in a gesture Raffi quickly learned to love, even if it often leads to heated confrontations. It’s not the case this time. “What are you thinking?” Well, time to explain herself. “Maybe it’s nothing, but I think Torres is not telling us everything about her attack. Her version is—missing context. And if you say you trust her, but she’s shutting you out as well—” Seven twists her mouth. “I don’t like the sound of that.” “I don’t mean that she’s lying to you, it’s just—” “No, I understand.” Seven reaches out to her again, placing her left hand implant on Raffi’s right. It’s cold, just like earlier, but once again the touch is steadying. Seven continues, “I just do not like to consider it.” She takes a big breath, then exhales. “Then again, it wouldn’t be out of character. B’Elanna can be—cagey.” The kettle to the pot, Raffi thinks wearily.

I think I wanted to conclude the chapter in a way that suggested that Seven, despite Raffi's misgivings, does trust her and her judgment a great deal already. I thought a lot about the kind of relationship they would have, even beyond what we've seen on the show, and I think Seven can see very clearly how smart Raffi is and how listening to her helps break Seven out of patterns in her life that would otherwise be inescapable—a thing Seven is also pretty scared of, I think, which is the source of a lot of their problems. The presence of B'Elanna, and the fact that they're already fighting, forces Seven to be a little more vulnerable, which goes a long way to smooth things out between her and Raffi (see also the way she asks Raffi to stay with her while she regenerates).

“Alright. I’ll stay then, and be unconscious with you.” Seven’s laugh, an almost silent affair, is another one of those rare rewards that Raffi will never get tired of witnessing.

I always thought Seven's (very rare) laughter would be almost silent, and tbh I don't care if the Picard show contradicts this. I still like the way this chapter ends a great deal.

#fic commentary #this is LONG. sorry i have many things to say #read the fic before reading this because spoilers abound

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 2 years

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My dear lgbt+ kids,

it's Pride Month, so I have an excuse to talk about my favorite lgbt+ media with you - and today I want to share my favorite Asian gay dramas with you. All of those are available with English subtitles.

Note: these are my personal opinions - taste is subjective. These are all mlm (I guess that's just what I gravitate towards when picking something to watch) but the first one also has a wlw couple!

CW for "Until we meet again" (suicide and death mention).

Bad Buddy (Thai series): My absolute favorite series that I just can't shut up about. Think Romeo and Julia, but in a modern setting and gay. This series manages to be funny and have that comforting rom-com feeling while still having a solid, emotionally stirring plot. It subtly turns a lot of overused tropes in gay movies on their heads and the acting is so good. Also has one of the best kissing scenes ever.

You can watch it on Youtube.

Wish You (Korean movie): A soft and sweet comfort movie (no homophobia, no tragedy, just a love story!). The plot is very simple: A keyboarder and a singer fall in love. But the simplicity is what makes it so incredibly beautiful. The storytelling is subtle and gentle - it really doesn’t need a lot of dialogue or action, their eyes tell you more than words could. This movie just feels like a comforting hug.

You can watch it on Netflix and Rakuten Viki.

2gether (Thai series): Funny, sweet and comforting. This one holds a special place in my heart as it became my safe haven during quarantine. The plot is... well, don't think about the plot too hard. It doesn't really make that much sense. But it has a fake relationship that leads to real feelings and it feels very much like a cheesy fanfic, and sometimes that's exactly what you need.

You can watch it on Youtube.

Until we meet again (Thai series): We are moving away from the funny, sweet ones here. This one also has some light-hearted rom-com moments but it overall has a really heavy, intense feeling. It heavily(!) deals with suicide and death. A gay couple that lives during a homophobic time commits suicide together - and is reborn 30 years later in a more supportive time. (I feel like they were careful to not romanticize or glorify suicide which is very important with a plot like that). I can't remember ever crying this much during a series! It's heartbreaking and at the same time so important. Definitely a strong anti-suicide and anti-homophobia message.

You can watch it on Youtube and Rakuten Viki.

Color Rush (Korean movie): Supernatural mystery romance. It plays in a world where some people can not see colors - unless they meet their one special person. A little bit on the creepy side, especially Part 2, but also sweet and romantic! A good choice if you want something more thrilling than your usual love story. Deals with discrimination in a creative way by not focusing on real-world homophobia and still having messages that apply to the real world.

You can watch it on Rakuten Viki.

Semantic Error (Korean series): I think they never explicitly say that the lead is neurodivergent but this still very much felt like neurodivergent representation. A student exposes his classmate for not putting any effort into a group project and by doing so, messes up his plans to study abroad... It's an "enemies to lovers" and "opposites attract" type of story but never veers into problematic territory. They don't overdo the "enemies" part and the series did a great job on showing consent, especially with a main character who doesn't like (spontaneous) touch.

You can watch this on Rakuten Viki.

Not Me (Thai series): I'm taking a little risk by including this one - I am currently watching this, so I don't know the ending yet! But I already love it so much that I feel justified in already including it in my favorites. A man disguises himself as his twin in order to discover who attacked him and put him in a coma. It's thrilling and fast-paced and a bit more violent than I usually like - but it's so deep and dives into so many important topics. Social justice, anti-capitalism, disability rights, to just name a few. If you feel like most love stories are too superficial and predictable, you'll love this.

You can watch this on Youtube.

Bonus: Until we meet again and 2gether feature lgbt+ actors (not the entire cast), Bad Buddy was directed by a gay man and Not Me by a trans woman!

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

#lgbt #lgbt+

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kingfisherprince · 6 months

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

thank you @yoellglia for the tag! and don't sell yourself short as a writer, your fics are lovely

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

right now i have 35! hoping to reach 40 very soon because i have some oneshots and stuff in the works

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

139,645 (damn that's more than i expected)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

at the moment it's tennis and cycling rpf, with other sports-adjacent things sprinkled in

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

my most kudosed fic was hit by the bot, but the next five are grass stains when you kneel (tennis), sunflower white (cycling), fly to live (check, please), free pistachio ice cream (tennis) and polaris (cycling)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes! just because i always want to talk more and responding to comments / leaving comments has made me some of my best fandom friends

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

there's a few but it has to be summer seemed to last forever because what is angstier than 34 days!jackparse ?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

well i like hopeful more than happy endings but the end of whatever a moon has always meant is quite cute

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not so far! hoping to keep it that way haha it helps to write for tiny sports fandoms

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

lord i used to as a kid but it never saw the light of day so i'll say no for this one (it was pretty crazy haha)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

that would require people to want to steal it XD no, i simply don't write the types of fics that people seem to steal

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

a couple, not published on my account. working on one as well!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

i don't really do all time favourites, especially not for shipping in fic. in my view a ship is a tool to tell a story or to convey a theme, so i like whatever allows me to do that

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

my cricket series ... i try not to give up on things but it's been a while.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i have gotten really good at body language and imagery which is something i practice a lot. i'm also good enough at grammar to break he rules on purpose now

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i don't sit down and just write often enough, and if something is frustrating me i tend to write it in a rush and not give it the attention it deserves (the last couple scenes of firefly jars are s perfect example, although i am proud of that fic as a whole)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i do it occasionally. i like to do it when it matters that it's in another language, like if the pov character doesn't understand it or a character making an effort to speak that language is a big deal. i don't include translations, and sometimes don't even italicize.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

on this account, cricket rpf.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

it's got to be route 66. my love, my life, my everything. i will update soon! ish. whenever my brain cooperates with me. of my recent fics i also really like your hand on my heart but that's a bit darker.

tagging @bluespring864 @strigimorphaes @softbrah @fftifft @polkadotjersey and @shambolicchaos as well as whoever wants to do it!

#this was fun i forgot how much ive done #writing #fisherkings fic #omgcp #tennis rpf #cricket rpf #cycling rpf #a game of tag

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jancy-central · 5 months

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Welcome, everyone, to another Spotlight Saturday!

This week we are spotlighting writer @throttlegainwell so read their answers to our ‘Get To Know Your Fic Writer’ questions below the cut. And here is the ao3 link to check out all of their amazing fics:

Reminder: This month’s prompt is ‘soulmates’…

…so please see our pinned post for more info. We have posted a lot of soulmate prompts for those needing some inspiration so check those out as well.

And as always, feel free to message us with any questions, whether you are a fic reader or a fic writer. Both of us write fanfic so we are open to helping however we can. Need a beta? Message us and we’ll either help you or put out a call for beta help! Hit writer’s block? Maybe we can help? Or maybe you just want to recommend a fic? SEND US AN ASK OR A DM!

Happy Saturday! ✍🏼 📖

Spotlight Saturday Questions:

@throttlegainwell’s answers:

1. I guess I prefer one-shots generally, but it's much more satisfying to me to write (and finish!) multi-chaptered fics.

2. A mix of both? There's usually at least some degree of planning for each chapter, but sometimes I just see where it goes.

3. ... It depends on the story. Usually, I'm rushing to slap a bunch of ideas into a document as quickly as I can type (or writing notes on my phone). Lines of dialogue, character ideas, themes I want to address, bits of description or narrative or details to include, plot arcs, whole scenes sometimes... I get those into one doc (which I clean up as I go, if I'm copying them over from my phone), then I create a corresponding doc titled LINEAR that I typically view side-by-side with the fragments/notes doc. I move bits into the LINEAR doc as I work, once I know where they're going or have a place for them (like when I've built the connective tissue), until the first doc is empty; I finish writing in the LINEAR doc. There's usually a brief summary of the story, by that point, in the Synopsis window on the right (I work in Scrivener) so I don’t get too off-track, and I'll probably have some notes in the Notes window, as well as any warnings that will be necessary if I post it (so I don't forget later). But sometimes I just sit down and write, like, an entire story, without thinking about it, or I'll try something stream-of-consciousness or experimental. And sometimes I actually do outline (though sometimes that outline is just a bunch of things that I know need to happen, and I drag those around until the order of them feels like a satisfying arc--I wrote an entire 40k+ story that way).

4. Oh, everywhere, I guess. From the source material, definitely. From books I read, concepts I've studied, themes that just interest me so they tend to crop up in my work or maybe I want to try a different spin on them. Sometimes a story I've written/am writing sparks an idea, or I want to try a variation on it to see where it goes, so I branch off from that. Sometimes I just want something, out of the blue. Occasionally, I browse prompts.

5. Nah. I did the whole concrit thing back in my early fandom days. I'm here to have fun and I assume so is everyone else.

6. Nope! I used to do beta reading, a long time ago, and I've casually edited for fandom friends, but I've never used a beta reader. I don't really see myself starting now.

7. Whichever one is the most interesting for the story or whichever one best serves the story's goals, usually. Sometimes because I haven't tried a particular POV before and I just really want to give it a shot, or because I'm writing it with one voice and the voice of a different POV character just *feels* right or sounds really interesting. But I've been branching out a little! I'm usually very committed to 3rd person limited, but this past year, I've been trying switching POVs a bit, I'm writing one story simultaneously from two different POVs (beginning to end, for each) just because it's such a different story for each character, and I'm writing one from omniscient POV because it was really the only one that would do what I needed.

9. I usually try to! (Not always. But usually.) I don't read a lot of fanfic, due to what I imagine is the very common combination of lack of free time and quite severe concentration issues (though I've always been a big reader and I love it a lot, so this is, needless to say, a massive bummer). It's worse with fiction than non-fiction, so if I actually manage to read a fic, it's a safe bet that I probably took notes during and the author will hear *at length* about all the ways I enjoyed it and what I found really interesting or memorable.

10. I have many WIPs, but blinks only came up in a few. One is too explicit to share here, but here's one: He can’t tamp down a shiver at the thought; he blinks extra hard, resisting the urge to grasp the back of his neck protectively.

11. Ooh. Like I said, I don't read a lot of fic (and I haven't read that many for the ST fandom), but I very much love what maddie_grove is doing with Tonight, Tonight, The Highway's Bright. I wildly enjoyed where the hours bend, by fakelight. And this world is gonna pull through, by scoutshonour, hit just right.

12. I don't tend to expect much feedback. I post because otherwise I'll go back and tinker with fics, and I don't really have the time for that, plus at a certain point it's not fun anymore, but I'm still messing with it. So when it's done enough that I've accomplished what I set out to, I post to free up my brainpower to move on to other things. It doesn't necessarily discourage me to not receive it (usually), but it really does encourage and motivate me when I *do* receive it. If someone enjoys a story and wants to talk about it, I'm likely to write more works in that vein or explore those ideas/characters/fandom more. I’m more likely to go back to a WIP if people are excited about it with me. I've received some truly lovely, thoughtful, analytical, humbling, and memorable feedback, and I hugely appreciate and enjoy all of it.

13. Don’t delete/erase anything. Save it all.

14. I tend to get into a certain headspace to write, but I wouldn't say that I usually feel what the characters are feel. Sometimes, I probably do. (I'm one of those people who moves their lips when they read an emotional scene, so I guess I do get a bit into it while I'm writing! Embodied cognition, what a trip.) I do sometimes draw from personal experience, but typically only in very broad strokes.

15. Happily. :) I've written a LOT of sex scenes over the years, for a lot of different thematic, narrative, and character purposes (and sometimes just for rule of horny, rule of funny, or to explore a particular kink). I approach each one differently, based on the tone I'm trying to set, whether I want it to be particularly erotic or emotional or something else, the level of narrative distance I want the reader to feel, what the characters are like, what the overall genre is. Sometimes I get visual or detailed, depending on what I'm trying to do (and whether I feel those characters would do so or whether it would be a help or a distraction in that moment), but I tend to depict the internal processes more than the physical details. The sensory aspects. The observations, interpretations, and reactions. Connections between characters, if there's more than one. I personally tend toward realism in my sex scenes, but I'm not going to pretend that I don't skirt the edges sometimes or just say fuck it and throw realism out the window for a particular story. But I don't think realism is necessary in smut (or any fiction, when it comes down to it). It's a matter of preference.

16. Omg how many fic ideas am I NOT nurturing right now. Way, way too many. Here's a Jancy one that hasn't quite made it to the WIP stage (still in the synopsis-in-dedicated-doc stage): Jonathan and Nancy break up over the college thing. (It’s not really the college thing.) Years later, as they're both settled into their careers (Jonathan as a photographer, Nancy as a journalist, both constantly traveling for work and hard to reach), they end up sharing a room when they visit for Lucas and Max's wedding. Lots of angst, lots of pining, lots of denial, and ultimately an exes-getting-back together story. Sometimes you just want the cliche done your way.

17. I just don't write, tbh. I try to address whatever issue is preventing me from writing (if possible) or (if it's beyond my control) I just accept that it's not a writing period of my life. I'm happier when I'm writing regularly, and I do think it's good for me overall, but I'm not going to let hobby writing cause me genuine stress. (I've got non-hobby writing for that, ha.) I take it as a sign that something is wrong or that I'm just tired of writing and need to recharge (by engaging some other interest or hobby for a while).

18. Depends. Sometimes the title comes first, sometimes during, sometimes after. Sometimes I really do just fall in love with a title, though. I rarely struggle to title fics after the fact, but when I do, I'll just slap a quick and vague title on there and call it a day. Often it's a pun or something relevant, sometimes an important line from the story, sometimes lyrics. I have a series of art-related titles for some Will stories I want to do and some science ones I have saved for some Dustin stories. Some photography terms for Jonathan. Stuff like that.

19. Turns out it's hurt/comfort! This should surprise no one.

20. Oh, have I ever. Yeah, I've had people read enough of my work to point out themes that I tend to tackle a lot (I'm big on autonomy, resilience, and kindness--you'll see them repeated a LOT in my work, from different angles--and, yeah, I write about trauma a lot), and I definitely have some words/expressions that pop up a lot (and with each passing year, I try a little less to cull them). Also, you'd be hard-pressed to find a story of mine where someone isn't making, drinking, or talking/thinking about coffee. No reason. It just... seems to happen.

21. I had a shared 'verse with a friend, a long time ago. It was a huge amount of fun. We really gelled and produced just tons of material for it that had us in tears laughing and, you know, was also incredibly horny. That was a shared 'verse, rather than a collaboration for an entire story, but, yeah, I'd say that I'd be willing to collaborate. I don't consider myself terribly reliable or consistent, though, so I worry that a potential writing partner would find this frustrating.

22. I used to think so, but, honestly, I've been proved wrong many times, so I'd say no, not really. There's not a lot that I absolutely won't write. There are a few things that remain pretty serious squicks for me, but I'm sometimes able to write about things that I would find difficult to read. Some things also don't necessarily interest me or I would find it technically difficult to write them.

23. Don't worry about making it beautiful. Just get it all down. (You can’t sculpt what’s not there, you know?) And in that vein: write EVERYTHING down. Even if you’re not sure it works. Don’t assume you’ll remember or won’t need it. Just write everything.

24. Anything that's involved regimentation. That just doesn't work for me in every case. It's important to be flexible, both to discover what *does* work for you or to be able to move between different strategies for different stories or at different times in your life. Close second, though: that you should mine your pain to write because that's where true art comes from. That advice is shit. Sometimes art is aliens fucking in a time warp and also there's a ghost with daddy issues. Write whatever the hell you want. It does not have to be profound literature to be a good story.

25. For my ST fics? I think I've gotten a pretty decent response for most of what I've posted, considering it's all very niche and this is a massive fandom (and one to which I came extremely late and very recently). I guess a little more response for already wise, already worn might have been nice, just because it's a weird little experimental story that I think actually came out really neat, but it's *very* niche so I never expected much response. Or possibly Two Steps Forward, just because I think it's an interesting little ghost story that's different from everything else I have posted, and I really do have a soft spot for gen works.

26. For my ST fics, our future foe scenarios is a pretty odd one. We've got Nancy really feeling her big sister duties while also kind of worrying about Jonathan, making out with him, then convincing the Party to let her earnestly and VERY awkwardly talk to them about the importance of consent (and kind of roping Jonathan into helping her, which he's not happy about but dutifully does). It’s kind of clumsy, but she means well.

27. I love when the ideas slot into place, when I know where things are going, I see how it's moving, and I get all the pieces lined up so it's a straight shot to the end. Extremely satisfying. I dislike working out the kinds of technical details that I'd prefer to gloss over but that are sometimes story-significant, like ages and timelines. I'm increasingly just ignoring that shit.

28. Apparently I'm getting several thousand words done a day, on average, with as many as 6-7k some days. But I'm happy if I just do a couple hundred, or a line or two. This has just been an unusually productive year for me.

29. Ideally: I ignore it for a couple of weeks until I've forgotten the shape of it, then I read it over with fresh eyes. Increasingly: when it's written, I go over it for typos, overall continuity, basic coherence, and (if it covers sensitive themes) to make sure that I'm not inadvertently presenting something wildly hurtful or counter to my goals. And then I just call it done.

30. I'd say that I never really polish all that much to begin with, these days. I mostly post 1st drafts, even though there's typically stuff that I would pretty easily catch and adjust if I gave it a real once-over. I've just decided that I'm okay with not fussing with it very much. But I share WIPs these days, some of which are pretty rough. (I did not used to do this that much.)

#jancy spotlight saturday #spotlight saturday #writer spotlight #jancy fanfic #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #jancy

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operationslipperypuppet · 4 months

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all prime numebrs for the fic writer ask! 💛😊

I will pretend you spelled numbers correctly lol. thanks for the ask!!

2. How many fics did you work on this year? (They don’t have to be finished or published!)

I want to say 12. I published 6, I’m currently working on 2 different ideas for the naddpod gift exchange so I’ve started both and will be making a full decision tonight or tomorrow (lmao), and then there are a couple I just decided to not publish and a couple I’m always working on but will never actually commit to finishing because I can’t come up with a satisfying ending.

3. What’s something you learned about yourself as a writer?

That I can allow myself to do the things I want to do and go back and fix the other stuff later. I had previously only done this with a fic that included a bunch of time skips and that was why I wormed around the document but I did this with one fic that I consider my magnum opus and it worked. (I like to write dialogue more than scene descriptors so I wrote all the dialogue back and forth and then went back and added names and descriptors and everything else and it was so much more fun)

5. What fandom(s) did you write for this year?

Naddpod. It was just naddpod. I’m thinking I might break into d20 next year but I make no promises, naddpod is so fun to write for.

7. What character(s) captured your heart?

Hardwon Surefoot. Moonshine Cybin. For some reason I find them easiest to write even though getting Moonshine’s voice right was incredibly daunting every time I wrote her. There’s just so much to play with and it was very fun. Plus the Hardwon being alive reveal rewired my brain.

11. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

how to think about you (without it ripping my heart out). God that was a doozy to write. It was my first foray into doing something multi-chaptered and I did have it finished before I even began publishing it but doing the daily updates and my every chapter mini edits took so much time that it was so much fun to finish. Plus I thought about the idea for truly so long before I started writing it that it was very relieving to finally finish.

13. What fic was the easiest to write?

Fools Rush In (Idiots, However, Take 200 Years). This is the fic I mentioned for number 3. I wrote all the dialogue in basically one pass because it’s a long, drawn out conversation that lasts an entire day. I immensely love writing dialogue and the back and forth, hitting what Hardwon and Moonshine would say and how they’d react was easy. And then, even though I was dreading the descriptors, they came so easily because I could picture them so perfectly. It does feel weird to say that my longest fic to date was the easiest to write but it was.

17. What are your go-to writing snacks?

Doing that classic ADHD thing where you hyperfocus and forget to eat all day and then start shaking and put fistfuls of m&ms in your mouth while waiting for chicken to heat up. But when I remember to snack, Smartfood popcorn.

19. Share your favorite opening line.

“You love me?” (Fools Rush In (Idiots, However, Take 200 Years).) I knew I’d open this with that before I finished the previous work in the series. I enjoy getting straight to the point.

23. Share the final version of a sentence or paragraph you struggled with. What about it was challenging? Are you happy with how it turned out?

This was a hard goddamn choice but here goes:

“Look - “ She paused, took a deep breath, and started again. “Can I make a suggestion? You two know him better than I do, obviously, but this might be a time where you give him some space. I know that’s not really what you three do, but he’s going through one of the worst days of his life. And you are, too, but he’s incredibly in his head about it right now. I think maybe if you give him a moment to work out his own feelings, he’ll be able to articulate them to you. And you will then be able to assure him that you need him. Besides, your MeeMaw will take great care of him, Moonshine.” (The Void of an Absence)

Alanis is speaking here. And I wanted her to be pragmatic without seeming insensitive while also staying relatively true to the character she is in the show. I ended up with this slightly more emotionally aware Alanis than we’ve seen but she does switch straight to business afterwards, and that is kind of how Murph RP’d the scene with her and Hardwon. But I overthought it a lot. I’m pretty okay with its final version, but mostly because I got to sneak a “tell me your feelings and I’ll tell you that I need you” reference in there.

29. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

Obviously the two crew for creating characters that so thoroughly destroy and entertain me, and the people who got excited when I said shit like “I have a terrible idea that’s going to hurt” and responded with “do it.”

Fic writer asks list - ask

#please send more these were hella fun #asks #writing #jlinns #specifically shoutout to benny on the last one. thanks bestie #ask game

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biribaa · 16 hours

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Victor sfw alphabet yaya

i loove victor. he deserves way more fanfictions

TW/CW: FNV spoilers

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Victor can be as affective as your heart desires him to be. Being a cowboy also includes being a gentleman, and he wants to show he's the right man for you. Victor is more used to show his love by words of affection and being protective, as these are the easiest options for him and also the ones he claims to be professional with. The securitron do wishes he could show more phisical affection, but he's afraid with a body as bulky and hard as his, it wont do much besides somes hugs, so its better for you to show all the phisical attention.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Your friendship with Victor would start right after you enter the Strip, that if you have some time left for some talk and even some rounds of blackjack, in which he's very skilled at. And you both would have even more free time after House win the hoover dam battle.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Because of his model, Victor is afraid you are going to feel uncomfortable during cuddling, but if you're willing to, sure, he would feel flattered. In moment, Victor would attempt wrapping one of his arms around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

The idea of having a calm and sweet domestic life with you is comforting for the robot, and he will make the effort to bring this feeling to you at the Lucky 38. As a cowboy, Victor does knows a few culinary tricks, but nothing out of the ordinary or extraordinary, its the basic of the basics in gastronomy.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Victor would wait for the right time for both of you and then tell you everything. He would be direct, but also trying to not keep the scene harsh, constantly reassuring you that you two can continue to be friends.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Victor never thought that much about weddings, or that he would ever marry someone, so he doesnt have a much strong opinion about it. Victor won't rush you, of course, but if you did propose for him in the right time of your relationship, he would accept right away!

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Victor is extra gentle with you due to his securitron model, every movement with you are made with extra delicacy for you and only you to prevent any discomfort or injuries. His claws always caressing your shoulder in a flimsy, yet firm movement.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He loves hugs! Victor deeply love any any type of phisical affection coming from you. He just struggles when its him perfoming them. But trust me, he loooves them.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Victor is far more used with perform his acts of affection to you(protection and being verbal) as a way to say his "I love you" to you, and hes not accustomed with PDA. So hes more comfortable with using the phrase when hes alone with you, or when youre talking with only him.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Victor only gets clearly stressy when someone is obviously hitting on you, in that case, the cowboy grinds his teeth and makes subtle movements that imply the relationship between you two. He adds one of his arm around your waist, uses more romantic nicknames than usual, and repeatedly mentions the fact both of you are dating during dialogues, this while a blatant gaze is pointed at the person in question.

Victor trusts you, so when you are the person causing all this jealousy with someone else, he takes it way less seriously. He does feels the sentiment deep down, but he rather joke about it, as I mentioned, he trusts you. Unless its actually getting very suspect, then he will push you to a talk.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He LOVES to be kissed by you in his screen. You press your lips against Victor's screen and you experience the same staticky feeling everytime while his strong arms push you closer. He absolutly loves to (attempt) kiss your face and any part of it, and the same goes for him. If not your face, then perhaps, if he could, your neck.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Some kids are afraid of Victor, the others really enjoy him! Its just the cheerful cowboy personality that attracts the children. Victor doesn't mind, he likes to show them tricks and teach them small things while also being a jokester to them. With that being said, hes pretty good with children!

He never really thought about the idea of him being a father, tho, it gives him a good feeling, but he would definetly question you if you really want to have a family with him, a securitron, or if even House would allow it. In the end, if everything goes okay with House and you fully convince him that you really wants him to be the father, he would feel more than flattered... For a good while Victor will be all soft towards you and call you all the names that one can imagine.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Victor always arrives in the right time if he's not busy with some work coming from House. He bids you a "g'mornin'", and waits for you to get ready for the day, or rushes you, if you have any appointment for the day. Sometimes, if hes feeling extra, he even brings breakfast for you.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

If you do want to sleep with Victor right next to you, laying by your side in your bed, that would be...difficult. So mostly, when sleeping in the Lucky 38, Victor prefers to stay by the side of your bed, still counts as company and he is right next to you!! If you prefer, he even offers his arm for you to hold.

In other times, where both of you arent in the Lucky, and rather out in the wasteland, when you sleep in the ground, it would be far more easy for Victor to lay in the ground with you! But he still prefers to stay up, getting up from the ground is difficult for a securitron, and he wants to keep you safe while both are out.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Theres not much Victor have to hidden, due to his amnesia(more likely caused by House). So you pretty much know everything about him already, and he would love to expand his historic with you.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Victor is a happy folk, but that could easily change with any threat towards you or him.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Victor is a securitron, so excluding his amnesia about himself, he can remember several things about you! Birthday, favorite food, favorite book, weapon, flowers, little details of your backstory, pretty much anything!

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Victor adores the moments where both of you are out in the wastelands, alone, while youre laying next to him in the middle of the night. Its peaceful, no gunshots or anything of that except for the radio. A small moment Victor finds himself craving more.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Can be very protective to any threat towards you or any ally and isnt afraid of making a mess, unless demanded to not.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Victor got quickly used to perform everyday tasks for you sake, he even finds himself enjoying it, nothing more than his responsability. But when it comes to special dates, he adds some extra effort(with some help with Jane, too). Dates arent going to be perfect, of course, but he makes sure to make it charming for both of you, he cooks and prepare everything at Lucky 38 for you and you only.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

As I said, protective, sometimes a little too much. Without any warning Victor could be already poiting one of his weapons to anyone slightly suspicious or threatening to you. Hes already naturally protective, when hes with you it gets extra.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Theres not much Victor worry about, hes a securitron. And deep down, he enjoys the dust and scratches in his metal, makes him feel truly like a dusty cowboy.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Victor wont feel like a disaster, nor he ever felt before dating you, but will certainly miss you. You just made things more exciting and bright, yknow? But in the end, he agrees if youre happy somewhere else, or with someone else, hes happy too.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Victor is always using a cowboy hat over his antenna, it spins like crazy, yeah, but makes him feel different and more original than the others securitrons. I also hc him as bisexual

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Debauched people or/and pure cowards, it bugs the securitron a lot, and makes him wonder if he can trust someone like you. Victor enjoys actions some time or other and having a honest partner. Not choosing violent is something, running away from it is another.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He can't sleep! The most Victor can do is shut down.

#fallout new vegas #fnv #fnv victor #fallout new vegas victor #victor x reader #falllout new vegas victor x reader #fnv victor x reader #victor x courier #fnv victor x courier #fallout new vegas victor x courier #x reader #sfw alphabet #x reader headcanons #fluff headcanons #headcanons #canon x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #reader insert

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ryanmeft · 6 months

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Movie Review: The Marvels

This is Ms. Marvel’s house, and everyone else is just a tenant. The latest MCU outing is the lowest point of the franchise to date, with a muddled and poorly-explained plot, two wooden leads, an underutilized villain, and entirely too much MCU advertising. At a brisk 105 minutes, it is somehow both overstuffed and rushed. So how, then, can I say you should see it? Two words: Kamala Khan.

It is thirty years after the original Captain Marvel. Carol Danvers (Brie Larson) lives on a spaceship and seems to hold down a job as a galactic peacekeeper-ambassador, though how this keeps food on the table is unclear. Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson), also residing in space but on a massive station, sends Monica Rambeau (Teyonah Parris) out on missions to investigate…something. This something, which looks kind of like the way movies always portray event horizons, is a strange disturbance in space that can A: cause wormholes, B: be used as a source of power for the villain and C: make it so that the movie’s three heroines swap places whenever they use their powers. It’s a cosmic maguffin working overtime.

This plot is, to be kind, a mess. The Space Something causes Danvers and Rambeau to swap places with each other and Kamala Khan (Iman Vellani), lead hero in the Disney+ show Ms. Marvel. As the characters swap powers, they shift between Kamala’s home, Danvers’ spaceship, Fury’s space-station and various other planets, including an intriguing one where everyone speaks in song. None of these feel like any more than pit-stops for the plot, and we constantly wish the film would pick one or two and focus on those. So, too, does Zawe Ashton’s villain get slighted. Superhero movies usually deal in uncomplicated maniacs, and Ashton’s Dar-Benn bucks that trend, with a legitimate reason to be pissed off at the hero. This reason is done away with in a flashback and never explored as a deeper part of the character. Like Thor: Love & Thunder, the movie could have benefited from slowing down and taking more time to establish its villain as a person.

Let’s leave aside the plot for a moment, though, and discuss the young woman named Kamala. For those who watched the show Ms. Marvel, no introduction is necessary. For those who didn’t, she’s a teenager in Jersey City who inherits light-bending properties from a time-traveling gauntlet inherited from her grandmother. Her powers are less important than her personality, for she ends up being the glue that barely holds a confused and dull film together. Played by newcomer Iman Vellani, she has that Spider-Man energy, bringing an enthusiasm and seemingly effortless charm to every scene she steals.

She also happens to be a massive fan of Danvers, yet Vellani knows how to hold back and let her enthusiasm build rather than just running up and spouting a one-liner. Her expressions, body language and every line of dialogue are perfect for the character, which is good, because the film desperately needs her. Larson and Parris never manage to generate any individual sympathy from the audience, and spend all their non-Kamala time dryly reciting details of the impossible-to-follow plot or making bland promises of heroism. At one point, when CM must reduce herself to tears over having accidentally done a very bad thing, it’s obvious Larson is forcing the waterworks, and when Parris must confront a vision of her deceased mother (Lashana Lynch), her reactions are right out of summer stock.

Vellani’s only credits so far are all playing Ms. Marvel, but if the universe loves us, she will be a star long after the MCU has finally crumbled to dust. She and Jackson are the only ones on screen who seem even dimly aware of how silly this all is, and they treat it all like a game. You can’t say the movie doesn’t have some clue what the audience wants, because in the best non-Kamala moment it multiplies the previous film’s mutant alien cat into dozens. I won’t tell you why the film needs these cats, but does it matter? An alien mutant kitten is its own reward. To get that reward, you need to have watched several TV shows and movies (I won’t say which ones, to avoid spoilers), and the film often feels like homework that most people forgot to do.

Once we’re done with the nonsense plot, the rolled-over-and-died dialogue, the emotionally hollow acting and constant pushy references to the larger MCU, we know only one thing: Ms. Marvel needs her own movie. She’s already left this one in the dust.

Verdict: Average

Note: I don’t use star ratings. Here are my possible verdicts:

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid Like the Plague

#movies #disney #the marvels #iman vellani #brie larson #samuel l jackson #teyonah parris #zawe ashton #superheroes #comic books

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primnroses · 1 year

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what are your thoughts after sasuke retsuden anime? did you enjoy it?

I enjoyed it. I had low expectations because seeing it was only gonna be 5 episodes and knowing it's SP adapting it I knew it wasn't gonna be perfect. Rushed and left with much to be desired in terms of content from the novel.

First of all, they cut out Sakura's sensing technique, her Fire Release (manga did too) and her barrier-type ninjutsu was so randomly animated that I had trouble discovering where it was coming from and who had done it. I will compile all of the jutsu that Sakura used in Sasuke Retsuden when the manga ends but you can see it here too. That was the worst thing they did in my opinion.

They prioritized sasusaku moments more than others in terms of animation and art quality, some of which included some original dialogue like the ring scene; but they also cut other sasusaku moments like "this doctor is my wife" and Sasuke caressing Sakura's face at the lake, among others, while others without sasusaku had really bad animation and art like Sasuke freeing Menou from the Edo-tensei.

Congratulations to the freelance animators, but this ain't it. Inconsistent animation and weird art style made some scenes look very goofy. They don't have enough money or what?

They revealed that Jiji was a bad guy as early as episode 3, which killed one of the best moments of the manga in my opinion. If they had animated Jiji stabbing Sakura just like the novel, it would have been the perfect plot twist.

The last episode had some major fighting scenes that were cut out and done terribly.

Lastly, the timeline. If they wanted to follow the novel suit, it should have been animated before the Kawaki arc and with the three novels included or animate it right after Kurama was killed and make it a disease product of Naruto not being a jinchūriki anymore. Being made a flashback of many years back but adding scenes of Sarada was wrong.

I appreciate the adaptation, I have great screenshots and people loved the ring scene and the lake scene. The great majority of the fandom didn't want the adaptation because we know what kind of studio SP is, so there was disappointment in some aspects I mentioned before.

Other than that, Sakura and Sasuke demonstrated to be the most powerful couple in the battlefield, not only in strength but they were also in sync. Sakura's intelligence at solving the mysteries and Sasuke's talent to find clues all around him was unmatched, they complement each other perfectly. They also show that despite the distance, they love and care for each other deeply and it was nice to see it animated for everyone to see.

#sasusaku #sasuke retsuden #inbox

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themastermarkus · 9 months

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Maybe this is an unpopular opinion, but I never think of WANTING a western live-action version of any anime EXCEPT Attack on Titan. This isn't to discredit animators or the beautiful animation in the series, but that I think the series is such a fount of lost potential and the kind of series that might actually fare better under a modern "western" live-action style of storytelling.

Shonen manga and anime tends to be very plot-heavy and doesn't allow for much in terms of "downtime" because it has to constantly keep up a level of suspense and excitement for week-to-week or month-to-month watchers/readers and also keep up a really strict schedule. Many modern American and European dramas (and excuse me if this is the same in Asian countries and I'm just not familiar), like Breaking Bad or even partially comedic ones like Succession tend towards being more character-focused than "plot-focused". Notably, these examples are aimed at adults while Attack on Titan is aimed at teens, but includes some very mature themes that I think could be better explored in a more mature "genre" of media—not necessarily one that alienates a teen audience, but perhaps one that feels more open to an adult audience when it comes to the maturity of how the various storylines, themes, and characters are approached.

It feels a little strange to accuse Attack on Titan of not being "character-focused", as a lot of the plot is driven by character actions, but what I mean is that it feels very plot-first. For instance, the Royal Government Arc (first arc of season 3) is technically a story largely based on Erwin Smith's actions, but the plot doesn't feel like it effectively grows out of what we have previously seen him do; the political ideas and conflicts exist in the story prior to this plotline, but the amount of information we are given and how immediately relevant it is to the plot feels like a big jump, it isn't gradual enough and we don't get enough of Erwin's perspective throughout to make the revolution not feel very rushed.

To put it simply, if the story was more character-focused, the story beats might feel less jarring and the pacing more even because we could be given some "downtime" from all the action that could provide crucial world-building and character development as well simply by having more scenes of characters talking.

—But then dialogue written by Isayama is often a mess of characters not really sounding like people, which brings up another benefit of having distinctly different writers.

#attack on titan #aot critical #shingeki no kyojin #snk critical

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i-choose-the-danger · 2 years

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Brothers After All

It's finally finished! I fell in love with The Secrets of Dumbledore the first time I saw it and I couldn't get enough of the dynamic between Newt and Theseus. With this film, we really saw them as brothers. Working together, bonding, so perfect. There are a few FB fics out there from this community, and mostly with Newt, but I rarely see Theseus involved in the fics at all and NEVER as the one teasing his sweet little brother. After the dvd of The Secrets of Dumbledore was released and I saw the deleted scenes, I about lost my whole mind. There is a beautiful scene that takes place with Newt and Theseus in Newt's apartment with the qilin. I was absolutely furious that it was deleted and I need MORE. This fic that I wrote is actually an extension of that very scene. Seeing it is what got the idea brewing in my brain. I just wanted to see Newt and Theseus show some more of that brotherly bond that we finally saw with this recent film. I adore them, I adore Eddie and Callum, and I just hope that you enjoy the fic.

Author's note: The fic starts with a whole write-out of the actual deleted scene itself, dialogue included. I didn't alter a single word of that. If you've not seen the deleted footage, then hopefully I've described it well enough for you to get an idea of it. I wanted to write out what I felt was happening beyond the dialogue. So everything from the beginning up to the line "We are brothers after all, Newt," is taken right from that scene. That belongs to the writers, the director, and the actors. Everything after that is all from my head. If you love it, then please heart it and share it and leave feedback. If you don't like it... then be respectful and keep scrolling. Fic starts below the cut. :)

Newt startled awake. His sensitive ears were well-trained to pick up on even the slightest of cries from his creatures and he knew that he'd heard one of them in distress. He felt completely disoriented and could barely open his eyes in the sunlight. The jolt of pain he felt in his right hand kickstarted a flood of memories to rush back to him - traveling to Kweilin, finding the qilin, the birth of the twins, Credence, the waterfall, the wyvern, that's how he ended up here. Newt had traveled back home with the qilin fawn he was able to save and brought her down into one of the basement habitats that he had prepared for her. He had only laid down for a moment in a hammock. I don't remember falling asleep. How long has it been? What time is it? Ow... Newt bolted upright and looked down at his throbbing hand. He'd poorly bandaged his injury before laying down and blood was starting to seep through the material.

Newt looked around the bamboo clusters of the habitat and realized he was alone. He was still disoriented due to lack of sleep, but his worry for the qilin was all he needed to help him focus. As he made his way closer to the steps leading up to his apartment, Newt heard the qilin again along with a noise that sounded familiar but was one he couldn't yet identify. By the time he'd climbed the stairs to the hallway, he heard someone speaking and started to panic that the qilin was in danger until he peeked around the corner to see his own brother sitting on the bed. Theseus was cradling the fawn in his arms and rocking her like a parent would to soothe an infant child.

"Alright, alright. Huh? Alright. Hmm?" Theseus clicked his tongue calmly and continued to rock the qilin in his arms. Feeling that he was being watched, he glanced up to see a very confused and disheveled Newt staring at him from the hallway. "I don't know what got into her. I thought I had gotten her good and settled and then... Hmm?" He looked over his little brother and took note of the bloody bandages around his injured hand. "That's a nasty scrape then. And by the looks of it, it needs changing." Newt didn't even respond, still trying to process the scene before him. Theseus cradled the qilin more firmly in his arms to keep his balance as he stood. "Alright, alright, alright, hmm?"

"So, in my case..." Newt finally stepped into the room, realizing that he wouldn't be able to argue against Theseus redressing his wound. "Next to the dittany, there's a blue bottle with some crushed yerba leaves." Newt practically collapsed his achy body into a chair and watched his brother lay the qilin down on a folded blanket at the foot of his bed. A flash of green caught his eye and he turned his head to see Pickett resting on the arm of the small rust-colored sofa beside his chair. "Pick, morning. You alright?" The bowtruckle cooed and chirped in response, holding up a matching bandaged hand and wrist, and looked over at the other man who was carrying Newt's suitcase to a nearby end table. Newt felt a twinge of anxiety as Theseus eyed him. Any second now, he expected a lecture on danger and responsibility and secrets.

"You know, I was trying to recall the last time that I was here." Theseus opened the suitcase and peered down into a seemingly endless length of shelves inside a wooden shed. It reminded him of the shed their father had when they were children. He bent over and ducked his head into the case to reach the bottle of herbs that Newt needed. It was right where Newt said it would be, and thankfully on a shelf near the top. "Let's take a look, shall we?" he asked after grabbing a roll of bandages with some tape and locking the case closed. With a flick of his wand, Theseus opened the curtains to the single window beside the bed, allowing the room to be flooded with enough light for him to see better. The qilin trilled happily as a few stray sunbeams bathed her in their warmth. Theseus knelt down beside Newt and carefully unwrapped the bandages that were haphazardly woven around his hand. He didn't know what had caused the wound, but it looked angry. He couldn't imagine how painful it must've been or how his brother wasn't even showing a reaction to the pain. "Well that's coming along brilliantly, huh?" he joked. Newt huffed nervously and looked away. Theseus unraveled the rest of the blood-soaked bandage and placed it on the end table in a small pile. "Do you want the leaves here?" he asked, shaking the bottle a little before pulling the stopper from it with his teeth. Newt only nodded, still looking away. Theseus took a firm grip of his brother's hand and peppered the contents of the bottle over the wound. It made an awful searing sound as the skin smoked and healed. Theseus could feel his brother's hand shake in pain. "Enough?" He didn't want to let go until he felt the hand stopped shaking. Or was it his own hand that was shaking now?

"Mmhmm. Yeah." Newt tried to keep his voice calm, but his hand was throbbing as the powder dissolved through his wound. It only took a moment or two for the pain to subside as he watched his skin knit itself back together and his brother start to wrap his hand with a clean bandage. "So exactly how is it that you came to be here?" Theseus had never been one to visit Newt unannounced, or at all really. This visit definitely had a purpose.

"Dumbledore suggested that I pop by and look in on you. Very mysterious about it too. I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what you two are up to, huh?" He reached over to the end table to grab the roll of tape and waited for an answer that never came. "No, of course you don't."

"Well, you know how Dumbledore is..." Newt mumbled. He still didn't want to look up at his brother. He had seen what he called Theseus’s ‘disappointment face’ more than enough.

"Full of secrets... like you," Theseus replied, looking directly at Newt. He taped up the edge of the bandage to keep it from unraveling. Pickett tried to get his attention to get a new bandage for himself as well, but Theseus was too preoccupied with what his brother had gotten himself into to realize it. "She's a qilin isn't she?"

"No, she's not." Newt was definitely too quick and unconvincing with his response. He couldn't say the words to his brother's face either, which made the statement even less convincing.

"I believe she is.”

"She's not."

"She is." Theseus smirked out of frustration. He knew he was right but couldn't figure out why Newt wasn't telling the truth.

"She's n-..." Newt just couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to his own brother. He finally looked up and locked eyes with Theseus, almost frightened of what would happen once he admitted the truth. A sigh. "She is," left his lips in a choked whisper.

"She is. What are you doing with a qilin, Newt? Hmm? Or is she another one of your secrets?" Theseus shook his head. He couldn't believe that Newt brought a qilin back to his home. Actually, he could, but he couldn't figure out why he would want to do something this dangerous given the upcoming election and Grindelwald still on the loose and most likely trying to rig it in some way.

"Yes, and you mustn't tell anyone that you've seen her." Newt could feel his heart pounding. This was not a conversation that he wanted to have right now. "I'm quite serious, Theseus."

"Alright." Theseus shrugged and stayed knelt in front of Newt, unsure of how to respond to this information.

"Just out of interest, how did you get her to settle?" Newt asked, pointing towards the fawn.

"I uh..." Theseus peered over his shoulder and back at Newt. He didn't expect the question but lying about what he did would be pointless. "I sang to her."

"Y-, but wh-, sa-, excuse me?" Newt was convinced that he was overtired, or that he'd hit his head too hard when he hit the water after falling from the cliff in China, or that maybe Theseus had misspoke. There was no way that he had correctly heard what his brother just said.

"You know that song that Mum used to sing? The one about the muggle that fell down a well?" Theseus cringed. Newt was staring wide-eyed at him as if he'd just grown an extra head. Maybe it had been too long and Newt couldn't remember the song. So he started to sing. "There was an old muggle who fell down a well..." He waited. A moment later, he watched the realization show on Newt's face.

"But along came a witch who did do him a spell," Newt sang back. And then both men continued in unison.

"When the muggle awoke he said dear woman do tell, is it Heaven I'm in or have I gone straight to-"

A loud trill from the qilin interrupted the melody and Theseus turned around to see what had happened. The fawn seemed very enthused by the tune.

"Come to think of it, that might have been one of Dad's old drinking songs," Theseus offered, trying to diffuse the moment.

"Oh that's remarkable!" Newt sat up straight in the chair and watched the fawn continue to happily roll around on the blanket. "See, they rarely consent to human contact, you know. Unless they sense an affinity, and-"

"And she senses an affinity with you, does she?" Theseus interjected, looking back at his brother.

"Yes." Newt bit his lip and looked back between Theseus and the qilin, settling on looking at his brother and giving a stern stare to say that he was proud of having such a bond.

"Well, there you have it. We are brothers after all, Newt." Theseus went silent and tried to take in everything that had just happened. He still didn't know where Newt had been, how he got injured, what he was doing with a qilin, or what crazy scheme Dumbledore had roped him into carrying out. His little brother was far too trusting and it worried him.

"I didn't know you were questioning it." Newt pushed his elbows against the armrests of the chair and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking down at his lap.

"Truth be told, I was beginning to wonder." Theseus glanced back at the fawn again and quirked a brow. Pickett made a small chirp and tapped gently at the elder brother's arm. Theseus turned back around and looked over the little bowtruckle, who was holding out its bandaged wrist. Newt had done his best to wrap it, but having only one uninjured hand himself it needed to be redone. Theseus didn't mind. He missed being able to take care of his little brother. "Hmm," he sighed, carefully ripping a thin strip off of another clean bandage. "Is there any creature you don't have some kind of affinity with?"

"I believe anyone can have that with any creature if they had the knowledge and desire to understand them better and were trustworthy." Newt dropped his hands onto his lap and brushed his thumb over the bandages across his opposite palm, holding the hand tighter as the touch stung. He kept his head down, but his eyes stayed focused on his brother and Pickett. Theseus was concentrating on rewrapping the bowtruckle's wrist as gently as possible without causing further discomfort. "Pickett trusts you. That says a lot. He wouldn't let just anyone near him."

"Contrary to what you may have thought, I do pay attention to what you do, Newt. There you go, little man." Pickett expressed a few small chirps as Theseus tied off the end of the bandage around his twiggy wrist. "I always have," he added quietly, looking back at his brother.

"You've never actually shown an interest til now, though." Newt's reply was soft, said more aloud to himself than with a purpose for Theseus to hear it. His boots scuffed against each other as his anxiety made his legs too restless to stay still, the scraping sound being the only thing cutting through the awkward silence that had now taken over the room.

"Now that I think of it," Theseus noted as he stood and stretched his legs. He grabbed the bottle of medicinal leaves and the roll of bandages before turning to take them back to Newt's suitcase. "I remember only one creature you ever truly disliked."

"Hmm?" Newt's brow furrowed. There were creatures that frightened him as they were fierce and dangerous, ones that tested his patience like his young nifflers, even ones that perplexed him as he'd not yet studied them enough to fully understand them... but he couldn't think of a single creature he'd ever come across that he outright disliked, unless some humans counted. "What do you mean?"

"It was when you were little," Theseus muttered before pulling his head back out of the suitcase and closing its locks. He stared at the floor for a moment and huffed a laugh to himself at childhood memories that were coming to him. He noticed the confused expression Newt wore as he walked back towards him. "You used to run from it all the time. I guess I wouldn't really call it a creature." He stood in front of Newt and smirked. With a hushed tone and clawed hands lazily held in front of himself, he added, "It was more of a monster."

"Oh no." Newt shuddered and sunk back into his chair as far as he could. That last word clued him in to exactly what Theseus was talking about. The qilin was staring back and forth between the brothers, obviously sensing Newt's tension.

"Ahh, you do remember now, don't you?" Theseus asked. He strutted around behind Newt and rested folded arms over the back of Newt's chair, which startled the man sitting in it. "Why so jumpy?" Pickett squeaked out what sounded to Theseus like an inquisitive uh-oh, not that he understood bowtruckle language.

"I'm not." Newt hugged his left arm around his waist and clamped its hand under his right arm. "That doesn't bother me anymore."

"I remember that one time Mum asked you to clear the horklumps out of her garden." Theseus shook his head, sighing as he looked to the ceiling. "For whatever reason, you brought them into our room."

"She wanted me to feed them to the gnomes," Newt interjected.

"But you just had to-" Theseus shrugged a hand up in agitation trying to find the right words "-be you. Their little bristles were everywhere."

"I was studying them. They sprout so quickly. I was curious how they grew." Newt hugged his waist a bit tighter and sunk lower in his chair remembering how the rest of this story unfolded.

"Everywhere, Newt! I was so frustrated that I didn't know what to do with you."

"I think you overreacted." Newt kept looking from side to side, all of a sudden sensing that his brother was about to do something he'd not done since they were children and he was far too exhausted to defend himself. "You came home early and I didn't have the chance to clean everything up."

"Oh, so it’s my fault, was it? You were so quick. I chased you through every room and you almost got away. Mum could hear your giggling from the other side of the house, especially when I got you right here." Theseus's hands darted out around the sides of the chair and gave one quick squeeze to Newt's ribs.

"Oi!" Newt practically jumped out of his own skin. A forced smile was tugging at his lips.

"Now you've lied to me twice in one day," Theseus pointed out, slightly amused. The qilin was now standing up on all fours and eyeing both brothers cautiously. Pickett chirped at Theseus and hid his small eyes behind a tangle of twiggy fingers. "Once again, I find myself so frustrated that I don't know what to do with you."

"Theseus, don't." Newt's warning would have been taken more seriously if it hadn't been coupled with a small hiccup of nervous laughter.

"Don't what?"

"Tic-hmmph." Newt immediately pursed his lips as he caught himself about to be tricked into asking for something he really didn't want.

"Not falling for that anymore, huh?" Theseus sighed and shrugged. "Oh well." His hands snaked around the chair again and latched onto his brother's sides, fingers wiggling in between ribs.

"Ahaha, no! Theseus, ple-he-he-he-hease." Newt could barely string two thoughts together as he squirmed in his chair trying to block his brother's hands. He summoned whatever energy he could to keep from laughing. He heard the qilin cooing from the other side of the room. "This is ridi-hi-hi-hiculous. You're going to get her riled up again!"

"I don't know about that." Theseus looked up at the qilin, who was comfortably nestled on a folded blanket and sunning herself while watching the brothers. "I think she's pretty well-settled, aren't you, hmm?" he asked. The fawn trilled softly in response and laid down on her side. "See? Perfectly content. I rather think she likes your laughter. And her well-being is your priority, I would say. So technically I'm helping."

Theseus went to poke his brother again, but Newt scrambled out of the chair to try to save what was left of his dignity before he could attack. Newt felt another wave of exhaustion take over after only three steps and needed to steady himself against the arm of the small sofa in front of the fireplace as he slumped onto its seat. Theseus sat beside him and looked him over to make sure he hadn't caused Newt any serious distress.

"Rubbish. You're awful." Newt held his injured hand across his body up near his opposite shoulder and rested against the side of the sofa. A few stray giggles were still escaping him as he tried to catch his breath. "I thought you took an oath as an auror against torture." He cast a sideways glance at his brother.

"True, but I'm not here as an auror on Ministry business. I'm here as a worried older brother who needs to take out his frustrations." Theseus gripped one of Newt's legs just above the knee and gave it a few quick squeezes, causing the magizoologist to squeak and release a frantic string of snorts and giggles. "That spot still gets you when you're tired. So much has changed and yet so much stays the same."

"Thes... Thehehe... Theseus!" Newt had tried to put an authoritative growl in his voice, but it failed to come through as it mixed with the gentle laughter pouring from the sleepy grin he wore. The qilin sat up attentively on Newt's bed, her tail swishing back and forth with excitement as she continued to watch the brothers interact. A moment later, Pickett came toddling across the back of the sofa squeaking happily. The mischievous creature brushed the fingers of its uninjured hand over the nape of Newt's neck. "No! Don't you start!"

"Oh, I forgot all about how you'd squirm if Mum got you there when she'd cut your hair." Theseus reached out and fluttered his fingers across the same spot Pickett had touched, eliciting a snort from his brother whose shoulders were scrunching into his ears. "Besides, a little laughter'll do you some good."

"How is this goo-hoo-hood for ME?!" Newt squealed in response to a hand spidering over his ribs again. Newt brought his knees up and tried to twist himself into a protective ball. "Come on, I'm injured!" he added in between restless laughs as he held his bandaged hand away.

"They say laughter is the best medicine, don't they?" Theseus joked, continuing to poke around his brother's ribs.

"Theseus-s-s-s-s, this isn't funny! Merlin's be-he-he-heeeard!" Newt's voice had gone hoarse from laughter. He was in a fetal position, his reddened face buried in his arms over the arms of the sofa. His nerves were already over-sensitive due to his exhaustion, but the constant scratching and poking and wriggling against his most ticklish spots was quickly diminishing his sanity. "I can't. No more."

"Alright, I think you've had enough." Theseus sat against the other arm of the sofa and held his hands up to let Newt know he was stopping his torture. "You're completely knackered. Get yourself cleaned up and get some proper sleep in your bed for a bit instead of downstairs."

"But I have to meet with Dumbledore to-"

"Sleep, Newt. And then we can go see Dumbledore. I'll tell him we'll be a while."

"We?" Newt sat up properly and rubbed the heel of his uninjured hand over each eye to clear away the tears from laughing and to rid them of the sleepiness he was feeling. "I don't understand."

"He asked me to check on you... and then go back with you to talk to him about whatever it is that involves her I imagine."

"But what about-"

"I'll stay here. I don't mind watching her," Theseus explained before Newt could protest further. He stood and pointed in the direction of Newt's bathroom with the sternest expression he could muster. "Now, go. Get out of those muddy clothes, clean up, and get some sleep... or we can go for round two."

"No! No, no. Alright." Newt realized that he was defeated in this argument. He was far too tired to argue and knew that Theseus was right anyway. There was also no way he would live through another round of tickling. With what little energy Newt could summon, he pushed himself up from the sofa and shuffled past his brother towards the bathroom. "Thank you," he mumbled quietly, before shutting the bathroom door behind him. About twenty or so minutes later, he re-entered the room in a pair of blue, white, and tan striped pajama bottoms and a matching buttoned shirt. He was no longer caked in dirt, but bruising on his face, collarbone, and feet were starting to show against his pale freckled skin. Theseus was standing by the window looking out at the street below and pulling the curtain closed. "I don't need to sleep long," Newt announced. The statement was far less convincing than intended due to the massive yawn that accompanied it.

"If not for yourself, do it for her. You can't take proper care of her if you don't take care of yourself first. Honestly, you don't always have to take the difficult route, you know."

"Sleeping is the difficult route," Newt said amid a heavy yawn. He slid under the blankets on his bed, careful not to push against the qilin who was still sitting at the bottom of it. Newt slowly turned onto his side and dropped his head onto his pillow with yet another yawn.

"Now don't worry about her," Theseus assured. He grabbed the newspaper from the end table and folded it down to stick into the pocket of his jacket he'd thrown over the arm of the sofa. "I can take her downstairs to wherever you had her roaming around so you can get some peace and quiet, hmm?" Theseus waited for a response but heard nothing. "Newt?" He looked over his shoulder, letting out a sigh as his eyes fell to Newt. The magizoologist had fallen fast asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Theseus would have picked up the qilin and left the room, but she was already nestled up against Newt's hip and yawning herself. "Or I could just sit right here and babysit you both to make sure you get some sleep," Theseus added to himself. He yanked the newspaper free from his jacket pocket and carefully unfolded it before sitting down on the sofa. Noticing the qilin cuddle herself further against Newt, he took up his wand from the other arm of the couch and flicked his wrist while aiming it at the fireplace. A small flame grew and flickered over the logs. The room began to warm up in its glow almost immediately. Pickett hopped down onto the seat beside Theseus and held his hands out toward the fire to warm himself. The young bowtruckle voiced a few chirps and squeaks. "You can say that again, little man," Theseus replied, not even knowing what was said. He sighed and opened his newspaper, settling in to watch over his little brother.

#fanfic #Fantastic Beasts #The Secrets of Dumbledore #Newt Scamander #Theseus Scamander #deleted scene #ticklish!newt #the Scamander brothers #sorry this fic took so long #covid brain is no joke

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