assuming that tommy is gonna be staying on the show after 7x06 the one thing i want more than anything is another buckley-diaz family dinner like the one they had with taylor in 5x11 except this time it's different bc eddie likes tommy and chris likes tommy and yet there's still an unspoken intimacy between buck, eddie, and christopher that tommy could never even begin to understand, y'know? like. i know that all three members of the buckley-diaz family would be so excited to have him there and buck would be all sweet smiles and shy head-ducks as he holds tommy's hand under the table and chris would pepper tommy about questions about his favorite movies and cheer whenever tommy agrees with him as buck half-heartedly argues that neither of them have any taste in media and eddie would excitedly tell buck and chris about the insane 3-pointer he made at last week's basketball game and yet, and yet, and yet...despite everything tommy would still be on the outside looking in, because how could he not be?
he's not being left out, he's being actively included by everyone there, and still...he feels it. feels the unshakeable unit that the three of them make, feels the love there that's been built from the ground up. and he wants it. he wants it so badly, wants to playfully wince the same way eddie does when buck makes a crack about how bad he used to be at cooking. wants to needle christopher about the homework that he still hasn't finished. wants to get up in tandem with buck and eddie as they clear the dinner table together after their meal. he wants to belong, but he sees them, the way the chris rolls his eyes at buck and eddie and wordlessly retreats into his room to start that project. sees the way buck reaches into the fridge to grab three beers without taking his eyes off of eddie. sees the way eddie gently brushes his arm along buck's back as he carries the plate of dessert out. he sees it all, and he realizes — really, how could he have hoped to make his way into that?
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Jefferson really saw some guy in his 20s going through it and struggling with adulting but also acting like an older brother/mentor to Miles and said "I guess I have two kids now"
Jefferson thought those two idiot kids should have guessed he'd be waiting for them, and yet when Miles and Miguel swung on to the roof of their apartment, they seemed surprised to see him. As if he wasn't a cop with access to the police scanner. As if he didn't have a TV and could watch the BREAKING NEWS, SHOTS FIRED AT SCENE OF ATTEMPTED ASSAULT IN CENTRAL PARK, SPIDER-MEN SEEN IN VICINITY. As if he couldn't connect two dots between the radio chatter of somebody saying they "shot the big guy but he just kept going".
"So," Jefferson, crossing him arms over his chest, "You had an interesting night."
"Did ... we?" said Miles.
Miguel just shrugged.
Jefferson's done that move before, back when he and Aaron had been up to some bullshit and were trying desperately to avoid consequences.
"So - nobody shot either you?"
"Okay, what were we - " Miles started. Miguel cut him off.
"Everything is fine, Mr. Morales. Miles isn't hurt, the woman in the park is safe, the two headed rat-man is back in his mother's custody."
"And nobody shot you four times?"
The dark lenses on Miguel's mask narrowed a little.
"My suit can't be penetrated by bullets of this time period."
Jefferson glared. It didn't seem to do much to Miguel - dammit, he should have brought a chair to stand on so he could do the dad-glare, it didn't work on somebody so tall.
"Miles, go downstairs and get changed before your mother catches you," Jefferson said. Miles nodded without saying anything and scrambled over the edge of the building to his bedroom, eager to get away from this confrontation.
"... I have a police scanner. I know you got shot."
Miguel's stiff postured relaxed with Miles gone - Jefferson got that, there was a certain pressure of trying to remain an Adult-Mode-Adult around a kid, "And Miles didn't."
"And you did!"
"I'm not hurt."
"You could have been!"
"Look - even if I'm ... Miles will be fine on his own too. He's good at this."
Jefferson grabbed his head with his hands and groaned, "That isn't what I'm talking about! I don't want you to get shot because I don't want you to get shot, kid! I'm worried about both of you!"
"...Why?" said Miguel.
"Because you - you - you're 27! BARELY 27, I know, because that orange lady mentioned you were born in September and it's November - and you have nothing in your kitchen but old yogurt and coffee! You have cat t-shirts and apparently pass out on your floor often enough that it's described as good-for-convalescing!"
Jefferson started a little when he realized Miguel had taken a step back, his posture oddly guarded and defensive, the dark lenses on the mask wide. ... He should calm down - he'd seen people react like this enough to know the yelling was probably triggering something in the kid's brain that was processing badly.
"Kid - Miguel," Jefferson conceded, "Do you ... uh, do you want me to get you a coffee or something? A granola bar? Rio made some Arroz con Pollo, I could put some in a tupperware -"
"That's ... not necessary, Mr. Morales," said Miguel, the fight-or-flight leaving his posture.
"I feel like you probably don't have any food -"
"I'm fine, Mr. Morales, I can -"
"I would really feel better if you'd please take some goddamn chicken."
"... Okay. Thank you," Miguel said, his voice suggesting he was at like a peak stress level. Jefferson could relate.
"Okay, just - wait here - uh, Layla? Orange lady? Don't let him open a portal while I'm, uh."
"Okay, Jefferson," LYLA said from Miguel's watch. Miguel glared down at it and Jefferson hustled downstairs. He gave silent thanks that Rio was working an overnight shift so he wouldn't need to explain why he was packing food up at 11pm.
"You can bring the container back, uh, next time you're here," Jefferson said, handing the container over.
"Sure. Thank you, Mr. Morales."
Miguel turned stiffly and opened a portal back to his home dimension.
"You can call me Je -" Jefferson called as the portal snapped shut.
Stupid goddamn kid.
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Was browsing through early BOBF/Mando S3 criticisms on Tumblr and WOW, 93% of S2’s viewership dropped when S3 finished airing for an extremely understandable reason. As someone who got into Dinluke after all the dust settled I can only imagine what it was like becoming invested in Din’s story and being floored by the S2 finale only for it to get totally swerve-balled after a long-anticipated wait. How did you avoid the disappointment and burnout?
Spite is an incredibly powerful motivator, let me tell you.
I'm halfway joking about that, btw. I could say I'm used to disappointment and I also worked really hard not to take things too personally after being disappointed time and again year after year by fandoms I was in. Imo the healthiest attitude is that no show/movie/book/videogames/etc will ever play out the way you want/think it should so take what you can get and trash the rest. By the time I started watching The Mandalorian, I'd been burnt badly by Star Trek AOS, the Sequel Trilogy, the MCU, and the Disney machine, and I had to figure out how to accept that I like what I like, I can't change what I can't change, and I can/will run the fuck off with what I can change, which is making wildly fun and fulfilling transformative shit like fanfics and fanart.
I was actually excited about TBOBF and was utterly betrayed by the executive decision to throw him and Fennec to the side in order to absolutely trash the Season 2 finale of the Mando Show by having Din and Grogu reunite just like that. I guess I got lucky in that I had a long-running fic series that I was heavily invested in and I was not about to let Disney stop me from finishing it. Instead of letting my frustrations kill my interest in the show and fandom, I turned it into motivation to keep telling the story I wanted to tell based on the fallout of Season 2. It also helped that Andor happened.
I quit Season 3 of the Mando Show after the 1st episode and it was the best decision I ever made. I had a really rough time with it and was encouraged to step away if it was giving me too much stress. I'm glad for that. Less time and energy picking about Filoni&Favreau and Disney Lucasfilm's decisions and disappointments, more time and energy spent writing and drawing the dinluke I want to see. The nice thing about Star Wars is that it is an old and vast sandbox. Plenty of room here to build whatever sandcastles and dig however many holes you want while canon goes floundering by.
I think also that it really helped to find spaces to share with people who vibe on the same wavelength, so I'm not alone to my thoughts and spiraling myself out of a fandom I enjoyed (like what happened with TLJ but I shan't go there bc this response is long enough). Those posts about having friends you can shit-talk things with? Valid af. You need outlets to vent your grievances without setting bridges on fire, and it'll help your enjoyment of things in the long run.
I didn't avoid the disappointment but I figured out how to make something of it, so I'm still writing dinluke, I'm still drawing dinluke, I'm still getting giddy over dinluke. I actively choose to do what I want with them, and nothing Disney Lucasfilm puts out is ever going to stop me.
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Grian paces in front of the Entity. “Okay, but it definitely kept me alive,” he says. “Right? I had feather falling boots but that was too much of a coincidence all at once, it definitely kept me alive.” There’s a track in the dirt. “If it kept me alive, then—well of course I don’t know why, it’s—we’re both concerned here! I’m not an idiot—"
“…Grian?” asks Mumbo. Grian snaps to attention and turns to look at Mumbo. “You good there buddy?”
“Yep! Everything’s peachy over here!” He leans over against the Entity, trying to put on a charming, disarming grin. He misjudges and ends up flapping around like a bird someone had pushed off of a tree for a moment instead before scrambling back to his unconcerned position.
“Okay,” Mumbo says slowly, “because it sounds awfully like you were talking to your rock.”
“What? Psshaw. No. Perish the thought! To a rock. Really.” It wasn’t that subtle. No, shut up, it was about as subtle as he’s ever been. It’s not that subtle though. Not that the Entity can talk. Well, it’s had much less time to practice being subtle about things well it can suck Grian’s—
“Are you absolutely certain you’re okay?” Mumbo asks. “If you aren’t, I can always, er. Well I’m not entirely certain, but Scar still has a standing offer about vex magic that—”
“Absolutely not!” Grian yelps at the same time as the Entity yells about absolutely not allowing that in his head.
“Okay, okay, geez. You just seem a bit off, is all. Did something happen?”
And the thing is—did something? It had definitely saved Grian’s life. Maybe it liked Grian! But it wasn’t supposed to do that. Not that Grian would know, the Entity just keeps dropping these things—well it’s not like the Entity realized Grian wouldn’t understand—look, if the Rift is broken that’s a problem because Grian’s already started pulling out more limbs of the Entity and if they have a conflict on their hands that’s Bad. But just because the Entity doesn’t think it’s supposed to happen doesn’t mean that it’s bad, right? Grian’s meddled with plenty of things beyond the mortal ken without a pushy rock! Even if he hasn’t meddled with this—
“Grian? Hello? That’s it, I’m going to get either Xisuma or Scar, whoever I run into first.”
“No! There’s nothing wrong at my megabase that’s concerning me and also any beings I may or may not have invited into my head and we should absolutely stay neighbors because there’s no danger to you at all!” Grian blurts out.
Everyone—including the Entity—is silent for several long, agonizing seconds.
“That’s… specific,” Mumbo says diplomatically.
Grian turns to the Entity, giving up. “This is entirely your fault,” he complains. “Now we’re going to have an elf poking around at us.”
A pause.
“Unless.”
He turns to Mumbo. He smiles. Mumbo steps back. “Uh, Grian. Not liking the expression there, I have to say. Maybe—maybe we will just forget this, how about? And I have another lump I can move to, really, this will all work out—”
The Entity whispers something in Grian’s ear. Grian listens.
If he can’t solve one problem, he can at least knock out another one. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of this sooner. Honestly, Mumbo won’t mind, will he? They’re friends! And, anyway, Mumbo won’t really remember until it’s done.
“I think it will all work out,” Grian says, and he opens his wings and steps towards Mumbo once more, cornering him against the side of his nearby base. “Don’t worry. I’m really excited to be neighbors!”
(Somewhere, Grian tries to reach to decide who’s thinking that, between him and the Entity. He gives up. It doesn’t matter, though. He has far too many other things going on to pay attention, right now.)
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