#I find incredible joy in how he and Rex share so many of the same colours because of that bright light from the side

[omaano]

WIP - Three hours into my third attempt at this Cody portrait

(This is why you add your bright highlights last. They help pull the picture together enough that you're reluctant to work on it any more, because it is kinda good enough, right)

[callioope]

@twiceihavelived prompted me on Dreamwidth last year: 

Didn't I just read that you were taking prompts for your birthday? Maybe I'll prompt you this: Cassian and Jyn were both trained by the best, they just didn't realize that what they were learning ran in the family (Cassian is trained by Steela, Jyn by Saw. They only find out after Scarif). (Feel free to write this only if you wish, you will not hurt my feelings if I missed the prompting!)

I am so sorry for the wait! Thank you for the prompt and thank you for your patience. This was a fantastic prompt. Definitely the story I’d been looking for at the time (oof, I see this prompt came just after I finished watching the Onderon arc in The Clone Wars, wow). I do so love the idea of sharpshooter!Steela training Cassian.  

You know, I claimed my word limit for these was supposed to be 1,500. Well this is only 500 more than that O:-) Oops. I got carried away. Actually no. This is the prompt I cheated on. My friend Andy prompted me to use the word “droop” in a story (a tribute to a beloved NPC in one of our D&D games whose name is Droop. we used to call ourselves Droop’s Troup). So I used the word here. So. Justification. It’s two-in-one so of course it’s longer. *awkward laugh* *sweats* 

anyways here we go

“And what about you, Jyn?” Bodhi says, a quiet, contented smile on his face as he collects a mouthful of meat, vegetables, and rice onto his fork. 

Cassian and Jyn had gone to great lengths to find the closest ingredients to Jedhan cuisine they could. But it had been Baze who’d overseen it’s preparation. For once, he’d commandeered the position as master chef from Cassian and had taken a surprising amount of joy directing the rest of them about the kitchen. Even he had been excited to share the traditional fare of a particularly special Jedhan holiday. 

“Hmm?” Jyn stuffs her own forkful into her mouth. She knows exactly what Bodhi is asking. 

“What traditions run in your family?”

Annoyance flares in her heart. Bodhi knew Galen. He should know — she doesn’t have an answer. But it’s Bodhi, and he always means well. Which means he doesn’t know. She chews slowly. 

The problem is, Jyn never even knew she was missing anything until she’d had to confront it every day on Home One, as thousands of beings across the galaxy mingled around her. All of them hailed from different regions, different planets, different cultures and traditions. 

She’d once glimpsed General Syndulla’s Kalikori during a mission debriefing in her small office. Sabine Wren’s armor spoke enough of Mandalorian tradition on its own, but she’d also covered it with all kinds of symbols, colors, and pictures that no doubt held some kind of special meaning. And just two weeks ago, Cara Dune had attended that Alderaanian winter service Leia had held. 

Jyn has lived on more planets in her twenty-two years than some people ever visit in a lifetime. But to achieve that kind of record, she’d never spent too much time in more than one place. She’d never had the time to adopt particular habits or rituals or palates. Sure, she had her favorite dish in every local cuisine, but no particular food tasted like home.

Especially not the homes that had preceded those planets. She doesn’t remember Coruscant, beyond fleeting memories of dancing characters in holovids and a sprawl of toys and papa carrying her to bed— 

She does remember bits of Lah’mu: the feel of the salty, wet air in her face; the smell of grass; and mud-stained hands marching Stormie around through the dirt. And other things, of course. 

But she doesn’t have traditions that stick. Did mama and papa celebrate any particular holidays? She doesn’t even remember (not until Cassian tells her, reads the info from her files) what planets her parents actually came from. She reads about the traditions there, but feels no connection or draw to any of the traditions or celebrations there. They don’t sound familiar. 

She’s about to answer and gruffly admit she has none, when Cassian intercedes.

“What about Restoration Day?” 

She shakes her head and her shoulders droop. It was nice of Cassian to try, but no, she’s not familiar with that either.

“It’s an Onderonian holiday,” he explains. “I thought Saw might have celebrated it.”

Onderon — a good try on his part. The jungle planet keeps cropping up between the two of them, and they hadn’t even noticed it at first. 

-

It’d started with particular phrases, idioms that Jyn had always assumed were military vernacular, so it never surprised her to hear Cassian saying them, too. It also hadn’t surprised her that Bodhi, Chirrut, and Baze didn’t recognize them. But Cara would occasionally look at her in incomprehension. She’d try them out around other soldiers, and while they might humor her, they never actually recognized them. 

Finally, a particular curse word slipped out around Rex. He squinted at her. “Been awhile since I heard that,” he’d said. After a moment, he’d added, “You used to work with Saw Gerrera, didn’t you?”

She’d nodded, and he’d gone on to talk about the days he’d served on Onderon with Saw and his sister. She’d been all ears then, eager to hear of the sister Saw would barely speak of, let alone to. 

“You never met her?” Rex had finally asked, and Jyn shook her head. As far as she could understand, their competing ideologies had clashed too much. They could never agree enough to work together, but their separation hurt him enough that he refused to talk about it with Jyn.

“Ah, well, she’d’ve loved you,” Rex said. 

She’d never asked Cassian how he knew the words, but then, Cassian always seemed to know a little about everything, so she put it out of mind.

Until one day, when she’d caught some plague going around Home One, and the soup Cassian had made her tasted familiar. “What is this?” she’d asked, slurping a steaming spoonful. “I think I recognize it, but I can’t remember having it.”

“It’s called ‘King’s stew’,” he’d said. “It’s an Onderonian delicacy.”

And then she’d felt nine-years-old, sniffling and wrapped in raggedy blankets, perched on a cold bench and hunched over a bowl of warm soup that Saw had just placed in front of her. 

“How do you know so much about Onderon, anyways?” she’d asked. 

“I knew someone from there,” Cassian had answered, and she made a point never to pry about his past. He’d tell her, if he felt like talking, and besides, that soup was doing its magic and luring her to a restful sleep.

-

“Jyn?” Cassian asks and she shakes from the memory.

“Saw only celebrated battles won,” she says. And even then…  

“But it is,” Cassian explains. “It’s the celebration of when they defeated the Separatist army during the Clone Wars. Not that they stayed free...” He looks down at his food and hesitates for a second before gathering himself. “But… my commander used to celebrate it as a — glimpse of hope. For something that had been achieved once before and could be achieved once again.”

“Sounds fitting,” Bodhi says.

Cassian nods, and then smiles. “Well, at the time, I mostly looked forward to the food. We never ate so much, usually. But our commander would cook up an entire spread.” 

Jyn looks up in surprise as Cassian continues, listing all varieties of meat skewers, roasted vegetables, dips and spreads, palm fruits, specific spices that all sound familiar.

“Oh,” she says, when he’s finished. “We never made a big deal about it, but — yeah. Every now and then, not even every year, if we could, we’d have a nice feast. All those foods. And Saw used to say, when he broke the first roll, he used to say — “

“Blessings of the royal house of Unifar,” they say at the same time. 

They both grin.

“When do we celebrate?” Chirrut asks. 

Baze shakes his head. “We’re not even done with this celebration.”

“I think it’d be nice,” Bodh says. “To have — to look forward to something, again.”

“Well, we’ll need the time to gather all the supplies…”

It turns into a great way to pass the next three months. While out on missions, they idly shop for the appropriate seasonings and decorations. They’d done much the same before the Jedhan holiday, and while that had certainly felt special, this feels different to Jyn. Her Rogue One crew — they’re most certainly family, and there are traditions she’s happy to share with them. But there’s something about Restoration Day that sings a little in her heart. That feels distinctly like a part of the family she used to know, a family she misses despite the hardships they endured together.

It also, strangely, feels like something that belongs to both her and Cassian. He must have been close to that Onderonian woman, for him to carry so much of their culture to his heart. 

“You know I hate to pry,” she starts, long into their feast. 

They’re seated at one end of the long table, and most of the rest of their party — they’d invited many of their friends — are fully appreciating the effects of a rare Onderonian wine Han Solo (of all people) had managed to locate for them. Beside her, Bodhi is totally enthralled by a red-faced Luke Skywalker, deep into a narrative about Beggar’s Canyon. Across from her, next to Cassian, Shara Bey and Kes Dameron listen to Rex’s stories of Onderon, the ones he’d already told Jyn. 

To his credit, Cassian doesn’t tense in anticipation of her question. Just lowers his fork and watches her, curious. 

At that moment, a shadow falls across the table and they both look up to see a dark-skinned, figure standing by Cassian’s seat. Gray streaks run through her dreads, and Jyn can tell by the way she holds herself and regards the room that she’s probably fought as many battles as Rex. She looks incredibly familiar to Jyn, though she couldn’t name her. Maybe she’s a friend of Rex’s.

But then Cassian’s face breaks into a rare grin as he stands up and envelopes this woman in an even more rare hug. 

“Steela!” he says. “It’s been so long.”

Jyn’s fork clatters against her tray.

Steela Gerrera. The sister Saw never talked about. Except once, when she was still quite young, and had accidentally uncovered her holo when snooping about some old crates. 

Neither Cassian nor Steela glance her way, though she knows Cassian will have noticed. They’re more focused on each other. 

“Too long this time,” she agrees solemnly. “I heard what you did on Scarif. Not your usual style...”

“Yeah, well…”

“...but very brave. I’m very proud of you.” 

Cassian looks as uncomfortable with the praise as he ever does. He finally looks at her, holds out a hand towards her. “It was really Jyn’s mission.”

“It was a team effort,” Jyn says slowly, standing. She and Steela regard each other carefully.

“I’m sorry, let me introduce you—” Cassian starts to say.

“Jyn Erso,” Steela says. And why does Jyn feel suddenly nervous? Unbidden, the story Zeb had been telling earlier, of the time Jacen’s father met Cham Syndulla, comes to mind. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Steela,” Jyn nods. She decides to voice the question that’s been bothering her. The gears have been turning in her head this whole time, and she’s pretty sure she already knows the answer, but she wants to hear it. 

“How do you two know each other?” Jyn asks — surprised to find her voice in sync with Cassian asking the same.

Jyn glances at Cassian, puzzled. He knows her history with Saw. 

Steela sighs. “This is my fault.” She answers Jyn first. “I trained Cassian, when he was younger. Before he got promoted to Draven’s team.”

Jyn nods; that’s what she anticipated. It clicks into place now — every obscure saying and tradition she and Cassian had had in common. They had, it turned out, been raised separately by siblings. Her chest aches at the idea that in some other universe, one where Saw and Steela had gotten over their ideological differences, that she and Cassian could have met earlier. 

He turns to her now, subtle creases along his brows and eyes. Why are you looking at me like that? she reads on his face.

“And Cassian,” Steela says, reluctantly, abashedly. “I’m afraid there’s something I never told you.” 

The wrinkles in his face shift as, she assumes, his mind races to catch up with the situation. He glances between Jyn and Steela. 

“Onderon,” he says. “You’re related to Saw, aren’t you?”

“He’s my brother,” she says. She drops her head, eyes focused on the Onderonian food in front of them. “By the time I met you, I’d taken Lux’s name. To distance myself.”

The final mystery revealed. So that’s why Cassian hadn’t realized. 

“I’m sorry to both of you,” she says. “I should have tried harder to reconcile with Saw.”

“Reconciliation requires efforts on both sides,” Jyn says. 

Something in Steela’s gaze softens, and she nods appreciatively. “How did you recognize me?”

“Saw had a holo of you. I found it once.”

“You found it,” Cassian murmurs, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Yeah, it wasn’t a happy day.” She clears her throat and holds out her hand. “Anyways. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Likewise.” And Steela moves right past her hand and envelops her in a hug. “Thanks for looking after him,” she whispers in Jyn’s ear, and Jyn isn’t sure if she is referring to Saw or Cassian.

Steela pulls away and glances at their table with misty eyes. “Might I join you? It’d be a pleasure to share this meal with two honorary Onderonians.”

“Of course,” Jyn says. “Please. The pleasure is all ours.”

[multifandom-kpop-scenarios]

*slides into inbox once again* Hi, i've been busy with work so i didn't read the stories till yesterday. Even then, i had no idea what to say bc they're so good and adorable. Is it ok if i request another? i just love the others you wrote they're amazing and i love them. If it is ok then i would like to request a chan scenario similar to the felix one, but maybe not in hs. Thank you so much for this! ~felix anon

Hello! Thank you for the request! I am so happy to hear that the other scenarios brought you joy. I hope this one lives up to the others! Enjoy~!

Admin Rex

You had just barely stepped one foot outside the threshold of your classroom when you were almost toppled over. When you straightened up, an arm was slung around your shoulders. You steady your breathing because you came this close to a face-to-face meeting with the cement beneath your feet.

“Hey, Minho.” You smile slightly at the taller figure currently leaning unnecessary weight onto your barely smaller body. He smiled that big, bright smile that he approached you with on the day you became friends, “Hello, Y/N. How was class?” Your soulless glare and half-hearted shrug told him all he needed to know. He laughed his signature laugh, and you found yourself chuckling along because it was just that kind of contagious laugh. He dragged you along, and you really didn’t know where he was pulling you. You didn’t mind, being able to just be with him is nice, considering you’re both uni students and don’t often have a lot of time for friends. Minho removed his arm from your shoulders, content with just walking beside you. He got you to chat about the most random things until he exclaimed a loud Ow! as his body jerked forward with weight that wasn’t his own.

“Hey! Minho, Y/N!” Another friend greeted. Jisung laughed as Minho attempted to softly jab him in the side. Jisung continued through his laughter and efforts of dodging Minho’s fingers, “I need to ask a favor.” Minho stopped, his curiosity piqued. When Jisung requested help, it either ended up being something incredibly troubling or just plain weird. Jisung put his hands together in front of him as he grinned at you and your best friend, “The radio station is really low on hands, and we really need help! Would you be willing to assist the valiant 3RACHA team?” There was a short silence and you thought you could hear the crows calling out - caw… caw… caw… - before he sighed, “Aw, man. You guys were my last hope.”

Seeing his defeated expression and hearing his troubled sigh, you felt your heart squeeze. You always had a soft spot for Jisung and his too bright smile, “Jisung, I’ll help.” Almost instantly, his smile returned with the intensity of four suns, “Really? This is why you’re my favorite, Y/N!” He then proceeded to stick his tongue out at Minho, who returned the childish gesture. Jisung turned back towards you, “When are you free?”

You took a moment to think. You were technically free, but you were hanging out with Minho. You also should really start that music project you’d been putting off. But Jisung’s hopeful eyes made it nearly impossible to say not now. “Well, I guess I can help out, too. We’re free now.” Minho seemed to have made the decision for you. Jisung enthusiastically grabbed yours and Minho’s wrists to drag you across the campus in record time. Eventually, you were standing outside the music building, the same one you’d just left over an hour ago. You followed Jisung and Minho as you were led up to the second floor. The door itself was like the others, grey with a glass pane. You wouldn’t have realized what room you were standing in front of if it weren’t for the bright red piece of paper decorated with three very different chicken doodles. You really wondered why they chose 3RACHA for their radio name. Actually, you wondered that about a few of the other clubs, too. Like the Newspaper club. Why were they called PepperJJANG?

Jisung pushed you and Minho into the room. It was definitely fit for being a radio room, and that was probably the intended purpose, too. The room was small to begin with, but it was even smaller now that it had been divided into two. One side, the one you were on, had many pieces of equipment - all of which you knew how to use thanks to your music classes - and a few chairs pushed up against the walls and desks. One the other side of the glass that split the room were the other two members of the radio station seated at a table covered in loose papers and cords. You only knew Jisung by name - he is your friend, after all - and you’d seen the other two around before. They both looked incredibly surprised at your arrival. Jisung had propped the door open as he entered the other room, allowing you to hear their conversation freely.

“Who…?” One of them asks, they’re all looking at you and Minho now. Jisung is waving his hand in a beckoning motion, so you and Minho awkwardly shuffle through the door. “These are the friends I was telling you might help us!” The blond one lets out a small ‘uwah’ before standing up, “Thank you so much for this, really.” He bows in your direction before nudging the person beside him to do the same. After making sure everyone was thanked properly, Jisung motioned for you to introduce yourself, “Hi, I am (Y/N). I really can’t turn Jisung down when he really needs help,” you chuckle nervously. The blond grins at you with a nod. Minho also introduces himself before Jisung’s teammates do. “Well, I’m Chan. This one is Changbin.” Just from hearing their names, you can deduce that Chan goes by CB97 on the radio and Changbin is SpearB.

Chan continued grinning at you while Jisung tried explaining what had to be done around Minho’s incessant interruptions. The older boy looked familiar to you, but you weren’t quite sure yet. You kept looking away from him to look at Jisung, but you just felt compelled to look at him. Everytime you’d look his way, he’d make eye contact, and it was flustering. Jisung and Changbin didn’t seem to notice you weren’t listening, but Minho made sure you caught his smirk.

It wasn’t until the following week that Jisung approached you and Minho again. Your first assignment for the radio club was to man the station controls, with the help of Minho, of course. It was relatively uneventful. You always tuned into the radio, so you were pretty much up-to-date with all school events, but there wasn’t anything going on this week. You suspect it has something to do with upcoming finals. You felt a twinge of nerves shoot through your body at the reminder. You know you’re pretty much prepared for all of your classes except for one: Music Composition. The final for that class was to turn in your own music piece putting all the knowledge you’ve acquired during the semester to use. You were stuck. Your piece just didn’t sound right to you, no matter how you edited it. You had half a mind to ask one of your friends who’d completed the course for help, but knew that they would be just as busy as you.

These were the thoughts on your mind as you find yourself wandering through the sections of books in the campus library. It always surprised you how many students actually studied in the library. You found yourself standing in front of the non-fiction books and you legitimately had no idea how these books would help you. You continued to stare at the books in front of your face when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning, you come face to face with Chan. He has a wide smile on his face when he asks, “What has you wandering the library like you’re lost?” It takes you a moment to clear your head of your current despair. You tell him about your upcoming final, and he nods, totally getting where you’re coming from. “You know, I could probably help you with your assignment.” Your eyes widen at him, “Are you sure?” Chan nods at you, clearly willing to help you.

In the time you’d been assisting 3RACHA, you learned that Chan was not only a music major, but a very selfless person as well. “That would be really, really helpful and I would owe you my life.” Were you being dramatic? Maybe, but you really would be in debt to Chan if he was able to help you. He laughed with you while saying that he wouldn’t mind being payed back. After comparing schedules, you settled on a day and time with him. He smiled, his dimples on display, “Well, it’s a date, then.”

On the day that you had to meet with Chan, you were nervous. Why? Well, you’re sharing a piece of music you, a newbie to composing, created yourself with a more experienced producer. And, Chan was really kind and you maybe think he’s good-looking, but that’s beside the point. You had told Chan that you could meet at the little café that was a few blocks away from your apartment. Unfortunately, when you got there, all the tables were occupied. Fortunately, Chan had already claimed a table. You greeted him with a wide smile that he full heartedly returned. After placing an order for drinks, you sat down across from Chan. You were pulling out your laptop rather quickly and skimming your files for the song you had composed thus far. You really wanted to get this done; you’d fail otherwise. Chan sat patiently until you rotated the device until it was facing him, headphones connected and ready to go. You busied yourself with waiting for your order while the 3RACHA member listened to your song.

When you returned with the drinks, Chan had his eyes closed and had an expression of focus. You took a sip of the drink you ordered, dreading when he would finish listening to the song. It wasn’t long before you were looking into his amazingly brown eyes, “Well, I definitely get what you mean by it sounding empty,” You felt a bit more nervous as he continued, “but I think I can really help you!” You couldn’t help grabbing his hand, “Thank you, really!” He smiled pointing out that he hasn’t even done anything to help you, yet. You continued to stare at him while holding his hand. The tips of Chan’s ears were beginning to turn red, and you realized that your cheeks were hot, and you should probably let go of his hand now. You withdraw your hands slowly, not looking away from him up until someone slammed their hands down on the table in front of you. You jumped horrendously, looking up at the culprit. Minho was smiling at you, but it was the all-knowing smile he would give you when you got caught doing something you wouldn’t openly share with him. Like maybe having a crush on someone. In that moment, you knew you’d have to tell him everything. Minho raised his eyebrows and you remembered, “Oh, I am so sorry Chan! I promised that I’d tutor Minho today. He really needs help because he sucks at English” You couldn’t help the last part. He did just embarrass you. Chan smiles, “It’s no problem. We can meet up some other time.”

When Chan stood and left, Minho slid himself into the now empty seat, claiming it as his own. He smiled deviously, “So.” You groaned and placed you head on top of the keyboard of your computer. He laughed before prompting you to speak. You start as you put away your laptop, “So what if I think he’s cute?” Minho grinned like a cat at your admission, and you knew you’d just sealed your fate.

A couple of days later, you were approaching 3RACHA’s room. Just as you cracked the door open slightly, you heard Minho’s voice. The only part you caught was “I think you and (Y/N) would be pretty cute together.” It seemed like he was feigning innocence and maybe some disinterest. You could hear Chan’s high pitched laugh as a form of response. Quickly, you whipped out your phone to text Minho: what do you think you’re doing??? You hear your best friend’s phone go off, but are startled when Chan continues, “I do like (Y/N). But, I don’t want to come off as too abrupt.” Minho mumbled something that sounded like “I don’t think you have to worry about that.” Chan made a little noise. You waited a few more ticks before opening the door. Chan’s back was turned so you stuck your tongue out at Minho. He shrugged just as Chan turned around. The blonde looked shocked to see you standing behind him, “Oh, hello, (Y/N).” He smiled at you before making a beeline to the door. You were surprised to see Jisung and Changbin already in their seats. You really hoped they didn’t somehow hear everything Minho and Chan said. You watched Chan as he pulled his phone from his pocket. A few seconds of watching Chan type later, your phone chimed from where it was in your hand. Confused, you checked it because Minho was in the same room, so he would’ve actually spoke to you. You were surprised to see a text from Chan: I know you still need help with your music project, but I would really like to take you out for some dinner. Will you go on a date with me?

If a sappy grin was on your face when you nodded at Bang Chan, then that was between him and you.

[acehotel]

INTERVIEW: Matthew Higgs with Justin Strauss

Matthew Higgs trucks in ideas. He is a curator, DJ, artist, producer, writer, critic and national treasure who’s also kind and well-spoken, known in wide circles for his unflinching support of art and artists and his uncanny ability to find the good work that’s being made. Though coming of age in Manchester, Higgs lives in New York now where he’s the director of White Columns — New York City’s oldest alternative non-profit arts space that, through brave exhibitions, creates an experimental place for ideas to fester and bloom. In this day, we are so thankful for such a thing. Higgs sat down with Ace friend and NY legend Justin Strauss to talk about fanzines, producing the first nationally-advertised New Order concert, and the generosity of sharing ideas.

Justin Strauss: Hi Matthew. What was it like growing up near Manchester in the 70s and 80s?

Matthew Higgs: I was born in Wakefield, Yorkshire, which is just across the Pennines from Manchester, but I grew up in the Northwest of England in the late 70s and early 1980s. In 1979, I would've been 14. I was a little too young to have had any kind of meaningful relationship with punk, but I was aware of it. What interested me most at the time was what came immediately after punk, so 1978, 1979, 1980: what we now call post-punk, or new wave. It was the beginning of the independent music scene. So, as a 13- or 14-year old I would devour the weekly music press, and at the time there were three weekly newspapers dedicated to music, that were all interesting in their own ways.

JS: NME and Sounds?

MH: NME, Melody Maker and Sounds. They were quite different from each other, and trying to understand, as a teenager, what made them different was interesting too. I became especially interested in the bands that came after punk, and in particular the bands that came from the North of England. Each city had its own distinct scene, even its own ‘sound’. Liverpool and Manchester, which were less than an hour apart from each other, had their own distinctive scenes, their own distinctive ‘sound’. The same with Sheffield, and Leeds, and further north in Scotland  with Fast Records in Edinburgh, and a little later the Postcard label  in Glasgow. It was just an amazing time for music and independent labels. And as a teenager, like many people at the time, I tried to find a platform for my unformed adolescent ideas , so aged 14 I started to write and publish a music fanzine.

JS: Was there a band that galvanized your interest at that age? For me, when I saw the Beatles when I was 7, that was it. From that moment on, I just knew that nothing would be the same and music would be my path.

MH: The first band that really interested me was the Buzzcocks, and they still interest me to this day. The first run of records they made remain extraordinary. They also set the stage for my subsequent interest in what was happening in Manchester. So I quickly moved from the higher-profile Buzzcocks and Magazine, to bands like The Fall and Joy Division, both of which I first saw live in 1979.

JS: I remember getting a copy of the Buzzcocks “Spiral Scratch” when it first came out, and it was just an amazing record.

MH: Clearly it wasn't the first independently released record, but it acted as a catalyst for the whole DIY and indepedeent label explosion in the UK at that time. The Buzzcocks and Howard Devoto and Pete Shelly were clearly interested in things outside of ‘punk’, art, literature, and more experimental music such as Can. Through following certain bands, and reading about their interests, these other cultural worlds started to come into focus. So music became a form of cultural education for me and stimulated my nascent interest in art.

JS: Living in New York around that time, I was obsessed with all of it. To get NME and Sounds. I would drive in from Long Island to go to a newsstand on Sixth Avenue and Eighth Street that got it first, every week, on Thursdays I think. I was obsessed with the music, and wanting to know where everything came from, and the history.  I would just sit in my room and read these papers, and magazines, and devour all the information and obsess over the records.

MH: For me, as a young person at that time — I would have been 14 or 15 when I was writing my fanzine — it was a question of how does one go beyond being a fan, and how does one get closer to the thing that you're interested in? And then beyond that, how does one get involved with the thing that you're interested in? I think it was sort of those kind of thoughts that led me to start writing a fanzine.

JS: What was the name of it?

MH: It was called “Photophobia”, which was the title of a song on Cabaret Voltaire's first album. But before that, I had written another fanzine, which was called “Eat And Digest” (which included an interview with the Swell Maps). I made the whole issue and laid it all out, and took it to my local photocopy place. Photocopying was pretty rare at the time, and it was quite expensive, and I asked the guy how much it would cost me to print 100 copies, and he said it would be like 100 pounds. About a pound a copy! Which would have been insanely expensive at the time. So, I just walked home with my complete fanzine, and put it to one side, and regrouped. Eventually, I discovered a cheaper community-based printer in Manchester, so I started my second attempt at a fanzine, which was “Photophobia”, which retailed for 20p.

JS: And at 14 years old would you just write to these bands like, "Hey, I'm just starting a fanzine," and they would be happy to participate?

MH: Oh, yeah. I was clearly a naïve teenager. And I was also pretty shy, so the fanzine allowed me to have conversations with people including bands and record labels. One of the extraordinary things at the time was just the degree of access you had to people, which I think was a part of the whole ethos and transparency of the DIY music scene. And, for the most part, the bands I was interested in were in their late teens or very early 20s, so they weren’t that much older than me, even though a few years at that age is a big difference. But it definitely felt like there was a sense of community, ot sorts. Or at least the idea that everybody was in it together. But I’m still surprised that bands were tolerant of my teenage inquiries. One of the first bands I interviewed was The Cure, in late '79 when I would have been 14, and I can still clearly remember them being unbelievably nice to me! Eventually other people strated to contribute to the fanzine so it became more than just my voice.  I wasn’t able to travel much at that time — due to my age — but through the fanzine I would correspond with people from across the UK, then Europe and beyond. So, all of a sudden, as a teenager in the late 70s, growing up in a small town in the North of England, my world got a little bit bigger. My frame of reference got a little big bigger too. More than 30 years later (i just turned 53) it is easy to relate this teenage experience to my subsequent interest in art and working with artists — which also came out of a similar set of ideas and a similar sense of community.

JS: Did you have a lot of friends who were of this similar mind at the time?

MH: Only a few. I had four or five close friends in my hometown and we were all interested in music, playing in bands and so on.

JS: How did you distribute the fanzine? Did you sell it to the local record shops? Was it something people subscribed to?

MH: Local record stores would carry it. Record stores in Manchester would carry it. Rough Trade carried it. I would sell them at gigs. That was a nice hands-on approach, where you're trying to convince someone to spend 20p on this thing you've made. I think by the final issue it was selling around 300 copies a time.

JS: That’s pretty impressive.

MH: It was a modest enterprise!  For me it was probably more important as a catalyst for other ideas and conversations. Around that time — 1980/1981 —  when I was 15/16 I started a little cassette label, and I also started organized a few gigs in a community center in my hometown. I organized New Order's first nationally advertised concert in January 1981, shortly after I had turned 16. All of these things were simply geared towards trying to make something happen. I think that's what I've always been most interested in, in the idea that somebody would go to all this trouble to make something happen, to create situations that other people could enjoy and participate in: to create a social situation. I had the same feeling later when I started going to clubs, I was always fascinated by the generosity involved in people creating platforms for other people’s ideas.

JS: So, you're 16 years old, and you'd seen Joy Division, and you'd seen many shows of theirs, and you became friends with them?

MH: We definitely got to know them as well as 14 year-olds could! My school friend Rex Sargeant (who was 13 at the time we met them) would remain close with them, and would eventually produce records for people including The Fall. We would watch Joy Division rehearse on Sunday afternoons, in their rehearsal space in Little Peter Street, the one depicted in Kevin Cummins’ famous photos of the band. They were incredibly nice to us, and it seemed to me that they were very interested in their relationship with their audience. I was, and remain, impressed with the degree of self-determination that Joy Division — and later New Order — had as a group. The way they worked with Factory Records, the way that they refused to do large tours, the way they did everything on their own terms, the way they collaborated with Peter Saville on how their records looked, etc. It struck me — as a young person — that you could actually do things on your own terms, and be successful, and retain your integrity. It was a very powerful and tangible example of that. Similarly, the way they treated us and their fans was pretty exemplary.

Joy Division by Kevin Cummins

JS: And the connection between the art and the music, which is something that always fascinates and interests me. Did you meet Peter Saville then who did their artwork ... was he a local guy as well?

MH: Peter studied in Manchester, but he left Manchester for London at the end of the 1970s and started working for Virgin/Dindisc, and other record companies . So I didn't meet him at the time. But, I met Tony Wilson, who ran Factory Records, and a lot of the bands that recorded for Factory Records, interested me a great deal: A Certain Ratio and especially the Durutti Column.

Peter Saville’s design for Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures

JS: Section 25?

MH: I loved Section 25! I still do. I interviewed them for my fanzine in early 1980s when they supported Joy Division at Preston Warehouse. My fanzine was titled after a song by Cabaret Voltaire, but at the time — aged 14 — I didn’t know what Cabaret Voltaire was. But I eventually found out. And of course, Malcolm Mclaren and Tony Wilson would make references to the Situationist International, which I also knew nothing about, but through these ‘clues’ I started to get more interested in art and the 20th Century avant-gardes. Someone like Linder Sterling from Ludus was also an important reference point for me ...

JS: She did art for the Buzzcocks.

MH: … and Magazine. The way that she presented her band Ludus, and her work with collage. So by '81 or '82 I'm starting to become as interested in art and visual culture as I was in music.

JS: More than music?

MH: I think so. I definitely remember my interests shifting.

JS: I remember seeing New Order and, I think Quando Quango in 1983, at Paradise Garage, when they came over, which was quite something. Were you aware of the scene in New York at that time?

MH: Only through what we could read in the British music and style press, as I would have been too young to visit New York and it was way too expensive to travel back then. In a way I was also too young to visit London much, as I didn’t know anyone there and no one I knew in the early 1980s would have, or could have afforded to, stay in a hotel aged 17 or 18.  Obviously some of the music being made in New York made its way over, and some of it would eventually find domestic release in the UK, but at the time I couldn't afford to buy imports.

JS: Did you go to the Hacienda at that time?

MH: The Hacienda was a bit later. It opened in '82 when I would have been 17. We went a few times in the early days, mostly to see bands. I remember everyone, myself included, was very impressed with the space — Ben Kelly’s architecture - there really was nothing like it in the the UK at the time. I went to art school in Newcastle between 1984 and 1987, and we would go to The Hacienda when we were home for the holidays. Around the time House music was starting to get played in UK clubs, and in Manchester and at The Hacienda in particular. But when I was younger the American bands that interested me most would have been The Talking Heads and Devo. I saw Devo on that second UK tour. I remember that they showed their short films before they came on, which left a lasting impression - not just the films but the idea of showing films in a  concert setting. I hadn’t experienced that before.

The Hacienda, designed by Ben Kelley

JS:  In New York, in the late 60s, Andy Warhol was doing that with the Velvet Underground at the Dome, projecting his films behind them, designing their record covers. I loved that coming together of the art world and the music world. And the downtown scene in New York in the 80s with Keith Haring and Jean-Michel Basquiat, Kenny Scharf and Andy Warhol.

MH: I think something probably like that — albeit a British version — probably existed in London, around people like Derek Jarman and then later Throbbing Gristle etc., i.e. that intersection between art, music and other cultural spheres, but I certainly hadn’t experienced anything like that as a 15 year old. But, clearly those connections — between art , design and music etc. — existed, because people like Peter Saville or Linder Sterling were already exploring those ideas in their work. Music was, for me and many other people that I know, a kind of ‘gateway drug’ into art. I’ve never actually met anybody that got into art through going to galleries. Everybody I knew got into art through music.

JS: And, did you study art at school?

MH: II went to art school in 1984 as an undergrad. I went to Newcastle-upon-Tyne Polytechnic, which is in the northeast of England. I think my interest in art school wasn't necessarily to do with becoming an artist per se, I was probably more interested in the legacy of the relationship between art school in the UK and music. And how, art school, at least at that time in the mid-80s, still seemed like a fairly ‘open’ or elastic place space, to  spend three years without worrying about the outcome. It is worth stating that education was free at the time!

JS: Were your parents supportive of all this?

MH: My mother certainly was. My father had less interest in my interest in art. My sister became an architect and I went to art school. My mother was very supportive of us in whatever our independent paths might be. In the early 80s, before I went to college, as my interest in art was developing my interest in music shifted too, I was basically only listening to dance music, of one kind or another.

JS: And that came through going to the Hacienda?

MH: It pre-dates that, but The Hacienda —and Manchester more generally — played an important role. My interest in dance music came through post-punk, Public Image Ltd., early New Order, A Certain Ratio, the Bristol scene, The Pop Group, Maximum Joy, etc. A lot of the music I gravitated to around ‘80-’82 was essentially coming out of reggae and dub. A Certain Ratio often had a DJ as their support who would play current early 80s dance music before they took the stage. The pre- House era, circa '84–’86, when I was at college, was a great time for underground and mainstream club music, which was constantly in transition. There were good clubs at the time in Newcastle playing all kinds of dance music, Rockshots in particular on Tuesday and Thursday nights (the rest of the week was mostly Hi-NRG!) I started a weekly club night in Newcastle called ‘Fever�� with my art school friend Matt Rice, which ran for a year or so on Wednesday nights and the highlight was when our club chart got printed in the NME! I still have the clipping somewhere.

JS: Do you remember what was on that chart?

MH: It would have been c. 1986-87 and we were playing a mix of rare groove, Hip Hop, Go-Go (which was huge in the UK),  and early house. We played everything — as most clubs did at that time — probably influenced by the approach of London clubs and warehouse parties. Things hadn’t become musically segregated yet: i.e. only House, or only Hip Hop, etc.

JS: That was happening in New York as well. In places like Mudd Club, Area and Danceteria. Everything was just new music and we just played it.

MH: Same in the more interesting clubs in the UK. Later in the 1980s you started to see the separation of musical genres, and the social aspect of clubbing becoming more ‘tribal’, more codified and based around specific genres, or micro-genres of music. I became less interested in going out in the late 80s when the club scene started to fragment and  become more specific muiscally.

JS: And how long did you DJ for?

MH: Our night didn’t last long. Just over a year or so. We did it for fun and as a way to make some money to buy records! Newcastle was a very cheap place to live. My rent for my room in a house was 4.50 pounds a week! The money we made at ‘Fever’ - which wasn’t much - still allowed us to buy the latest releases and the occasional import from Hitsville USA, which was the best dance music and only import store in town. That’s where I saw import House 12”s for the first time.

JS: And at this time, you're kind of getting more into the art world. What was steering  you more towards that?

MH: There were two art-related magazines that I read as a teenager in the late '70s and into early '80s: ZG magazine, which was edited by Rosetta Brooks, which made amazing connections between what was happening between New York and London at that time. It would include things like an article by Dan Graham writing about Malcolm McLaren and Bow Wow Wow. So through ZG I could start to make connections between art and music that I think would otherwise have eluded me. There was another great magazine around this time called Performance Magazine, which covered the UK performance scene, which at the time was very active and important. But they also covered free and experimental music, and visual art alongside figures like William Burroughs and Laurie Anderson. It was an education. One that really expanded my knowledge and interest in art. By the late '80s, after art school, I was definitely looking at and thinking about art more than music, but I was still buying the NME every week. So I was still following whatever was coming out but not with the same kind of focus. In late '87, I moved to London, but I didn’t really know what to do with my interest in art. I certainly hadn’t thought about a career in the art world, and didn’t know anyone who worked in the art world. The British art scene was very small in the 1980s. After a few years in London, after looking at a lot of new art, and thinking about what I wanted to do I started a modest independent publishing project in 1993, called Imprint 93, where I collaborated with artists on publishing artworks and projects that I would then distribute by mail.

JS: And, it was a magazine?

MH: It was different things inc. artist’s books, pamphlets, cassettes, multiples  etc. I made about 60 projects between ‘93 and ‘99 with different artists. It was really a way for me to create a kind of ‘space’ for myself to work in. It wasn't a physical space, like a gallery, but more like a ‘platform’ that allowed me to work in a fluid way with artists - and mostly artists of my generation.

JS: New artists?

MH: For the most part. I published early projects by artists including Peter Doig, Elizabeth Peyton, Martin Creed, Ceal Floyer, Jeremy Deller, and  Chris Ofili, among many others. In a way, Imprint 93 mirrored the logic of my teenage fanzine and cassette label from the late '70s and early '80s: applying similar same strategies to thinking about art and artists.

JS: You would show this somewhere, have exhibits?

MH: They were sent unsolicited to people via the mail. You couldn't request or ask for them. They were sent, anonymously, to a mailing list of around 100 to 150 people each time we did a project. The reason they were mailed was I saw them almost as a ‘gift’, a kind of “thank you” note, to other people that I felt were doing something interesting.  I put the mailing list together with each artist I worked with, so each mailing list was somewhat different. Some people received them all, but most people would only have received a small number of them. I really didn't want them to circulate in the economy of commerce, partly because I had bought so many amazing books and records in the UK equivalent of the ‘dollar bin’. I always thought that it would be the worst day in your life, to walk into  a record or book store and to see your own work in the ‘dollar bin’: that idea of success being determined by the market. So the idea was to allow them to circulate more freely, outside of the realm of commerce, and to see what happens.

JS: But, now they must be worth quite a bit?

MH: They are now collectible. You see individual titles that I published occasionally on book-sellers lists or at the annual NY Art Book Fair. I think an almost complete set of the Imprint 93 projects recently sold for something like $10,000. I was always interested in how ostensibly  ‘democratically’ distributed things — zines, flyers, other kinds of printed ephemera etc. —over time accrue ‘value,’ culturally and economically.

JS: How long did that project last?

MH: Six or seven years years, by which time I'd sort of moved on and was doing other things. I was mostly working as an independent curator in London throughout the second half of the '90s, and I'd also started to teach, eventually working simultaneously at Goldsmiths College, the Royal College of Art, and Chelsea School of Art.

JS: When was the first time you came to New York?

MH: Not until the early 1990s to visit my friend Gavin Brown, who I was at art school with in Newcastle. We used to make paintings together. He moved here in 1988 to study on the Whitney Program.  It was still relatively expensive to fly to America at that time, very few people I knew in the UK had been.

JS: Yeah, to travel. It  was a big deal to go anywhere. What was your impression at that time?

MH: The art market had crashed in the late 80s, so a lot of that excess had gotten shook out. It was a time when a younger generation of artists and curators were starting to create a context for themselves. The same thing was happening in the UK too. It  was a generational thing, and that interested me. There were interesting connections between some of the things that Gavin and his friends were doing in New York and some of the things that me and my friends in London were doing.

JS: When did you decide that you were going to move to New York?

MH: I didn't move to the US until 2001. Initially to San Francisco, where I worked as the curator at the Wattis Institute, which was the gallery for the California College of the Arts, CCA. We were there till the end of 2004. I really enjoyed my time in the Bay Area. It was also the first full-time job I’d ever had in the art world and also my first regular paycheck! (I was in my late 30s by this time.) And then I moved to New York in the end of 2004 to become the director of White Columns.

JS: When did you become aware of White Columns?

MH: I knew about White Columns from the 1980s - but only from a distance. My first visit would have been in the early 1990s when the gallery was on Christopher Street. I’d always been interested in the history of the so-called ‘alternative art spaces’ in New York.

JS: How do you find new artists?

MH: Primarily in conversations with other artists. That's always been the case. And also by looking at a lot of art, visiting galleries and artist-run spaces, and doing studio visits. White Columns also has open submission policy, our online registry, which anyone can apply to. So we get to the work of hundreds of artists that way too. Art comes from all over. I’m especially interested in the work of self-taught artists and artists who have unconventional backgrounds or training — people who came to art from different routes. At White Columns we hope to reflect something of the  complexity of art, to acknowledge the idea that not all art comes from the same place, that not all art is made for the same reason, and that not all artists’ intentions or motivations are the same.

JS: And, when you think about New York,  there was this period where it was Warhol, then Keith Haring, Basquiat, becoming so huge, does that still happen? Is there still that underground thing, that can bubble up?

MH: I think it is harder now - simply because the cost of living here now is increasingly prohibitive.

JS: Because, I don't find that connection so much if at all anymore. You go out to a club, it's just nothing to do with anything. It was like, The Mudd Club was a space where music, and art and all that, was kind of living harmoniously, and feeding off each other's creativity.  I knew Keith, he had a cheap flat on Broome Street. No one can do that anymore.

MH: There are less rough edges or loose threads. Obviously the pressures of making a living, paying exorbitant rents, and having less free time here inevitably affects the art (and the music) produced in New York at any given time.  Its probably why Berlin, for example, has such a great electronic music scene - as the artists-musicians have the resources, time and space to develop their work. So we have to work with the situation we have and the circumstances we find ourselves in. At White Columns we still primarily work with artists who have yet to benefit from any kind of critical, curatorial or commercial support. We operate in the spaces in-between the commercial art world and the institutional art world. What I always loved about New York was that there were so many great organizations committed to working in these ‘in-between’ spaces: places like  Anthology Film Archives, Printed Matter, Participant Inc., The Kitchen,  and many others, all committed to creating idiosyncratic platforms for artists. So I remain optimistic - despite the challenges of working here!

JS: And people were saying,  when Donald Trump was elected President, that these times are when the art becomes underground, when all that bubbles up, and everyone's super creative and trying to find their way to express their dissatisfaction.  We shall see I guess. How is the gallery funded?

MH: White Columns is a not-for-profit and its funded through grants, individual donations, support from foundations, our annual fundraiser, and the editions we make with artists. We start every year with $0 as we don’t have an endowment. In 2020 we’ll celebrate our 50th anniversary.

JS: Have you found that process more difficult in these times?

MH: It's always been difficult to raise money! It hasn't got more or less difficult, it just remains the same! Partly because we are not working with established or known artists. So for the most part we're asking people to put their faith in the organization and its mission: which is to support largely untested ideas. We're interested in artist’s ideas before consensus forms around them, and ultimately there's a relatively small audience for that. It's the same in the field of, say, experimental poetry, dance, music, film or theater. Our hope is that we can create an engaged audience for the ideas that we can support, and that subsequent opportunities will happen for those artists. So one of the interesting things  for White Columns to think about is how can we present a program to the public that feels idiosyncratic, that feels distinct, that is somehow fundamentally different to the other things you can encounter elsewhere in the city. I think that's the challenge. I believe that you can do it, and you just have to look harder, and also look elsewhere.

JS: Judging by your Instagram account, and your posts of many of your favorite records, you seem to have reconnected with music?

MH: I'm probably having a mid-life crisis. I'm 53 years old now, and I have something like 8,000  records, maybe more. I still love music. It seems almost endlessly fascinating. You can never know enough, and you can never know everything about it. It seems to be in a  constant process of revealing itself. And records, for me, represent the best ‘value’. For $10 or $20 you can own something extraordinary, that will outlast you. It can give you a lifetime of pleasure and inspiration. I read a lot of novels — costing almost $30 new — but after I’ve read them I rarely, if ever,  revisit them, so I take them to the Housing Works bookstore instead. I still buy 20 or more records every month, and still mostly music that was — in one way or another — intended to be danced to, so the majority of my collection is disco, 1980s house, Italo, post-punk, and a lot of early 20th century disco edits. Social music: music to be listened to in company with other people.

JS: You did start a club night here, which I was lucky enough to play one. What was the idea behind it?

MH: I did that with Spencer Sweeney at Santos Party House, we only did a few nights. Santos, I think, was modeled on the idea of the earlier 80s downtown clubs, like the Mudd Club.

IJS: That’s how i felt when i first walked in there as well.

MH: The idea that the art, music and fashion crowds would all mix. Santos was a great space, in a great location, and had a totally amazing sound system. We had some great guest including you, Eric Duncan, and Joakim amongst others. It was fun whilst it lasted!

JS: And, do you see White Columns bridging that gap of music and art?

MH: Probably not! I’m not sure those connections exist now in the same way they did in the early 1980s in New York. We have a record label called The Sound of White Columns, named for the great 70s soul and disco label The Sound of Philadelphia. We release records by artist-musicians and artist-performers. It’s vinyl only and we made about 15 records to date with people like Meredith Monk, Kim Gordon, Billy Childish and Malcolm Mooney, among others.

JS: You were involved, recently, in an exhibit in Manchester?

MH: I co-curated an exhibition with Jon Savage and Johan Kugelberg called “True Faith” that looked at the cultural legacy of Joy Division and New Order.  It was at the Manchester Art Gallery this summer. They had over 100,000 visitors! It wasn't really an exhibition about the groups per se, it was more about how the band’s ideas and work has informed and influenced the work of other artists. The designer Peter Saville was central to the exhibition because his contribution was probably as important as the music that Joy Division and then New Order made.

JS: Do you still listen to your Joy Division and New Order records?

MH: All the time. If you're ever bored, just listen to ‘Closer’ or ‘Power Corruption and Lies’  - it is hard to figure out how they created such extraordinary, visceral and original music. It still stands up. It still sounds relevant. The soundtrack to my life!

[arielsojourner]

Have some Force related stuff!

“PART 5" of LUKE AND VADER SAVING THE GALAXY DURING THE CLONE WARS

-The chip was out of Fives’ head. He was no longer aging faster than normal. He was no longer fighting what seemed to be a never-ending series of battles with no end in sight. He had his brothers and his friends Echo and Jesse. He could muster out at any time and be guaranteed citizenship and rights. The Kaminoans and the Senate would only be reclaiming him as property if they managed to get through both Luke and Vader and Fives didn’t see that happening. It was a good as a guarantee as a clone could hope for. Most important of all, he had the Force.

Learning he was Force sensitive, being trained to feel it and sense it and use it was the most amazing thing that could ever have happened to him. Fives hadn’t had very high expectation of his future and his life, (most clones due to their circumstances didn’t have much to hope for) but now, now there was so many possibilities open to him. Luke and Vader had come and with the chip out and his genetics fixed he had the same potential any Jedi had. He could be a Jedi himself, be a leader, take care of his brothers in ways no other clone ever had. He had a voice and a say and a connection to a power that allowed him to do so much good, protect so many people. It was a tremendous honor and an immense undertaking. He was so very fortunate and he would do everything in his power to ensure his gift would help his brothers in any way possible.

-Hardcase loved being Force sensitive. He loved the feel of it. He had always been twitchier and more excitable than his brothers. Feeling the Force was the same feeling times a thousand. He felt energized, raring to go. In a fight he could move faster, think faster, and hit harder. But the best part about feeling the Force was the lightsabers. Hardcase loved his Z-6 Rotary Blaster Cannon, don’t get him wrong. Opening up on a squad of clankers with his cannon was a joy, but a lightsaber, now that was EPIC. And not only one, Luke had said he could have two, TWO LIGHTSABERS. Just thinking about what he could do with them made him grin and bounce on his heels. Commander Tano had joined them recently and she used two lightsabers and she was going to show him how to reign burning slicing death on the Seppies. He couldn’t wait!

-Chatterbox hadn’t had much to say in his short life. There didn’t seem to be much point in speaking when his purpose was to fight and defend and die for the Republic on someone else’s say so. What did talking have to do with any of that? Nothing, talking had nothing to do with his life so why bother?

When the Jedi Luke had put one hand on his chest above his heart and the other to the left of his temple and fixed whatever it was that the Kaminoans had done that left the clones burning through what years the had left in their life spans, Chatterbox had felt the strangest sensation course through him. When Luke had lifted his hands away, he found he could still feel it and it had a sound. It hummed through his bones like it had always meant to be there.

Working and training to use the Force made it louder, until it was more like a voice inside him. If he listened to it, he would know what to do, he would know what choice to make. Chatterbox was very good at listening. So while Hardcase pushed himself to learn how to wield his lightsabers with greater and greater skill and Fives trained to be an even more deadly warrior and defender, Chatterbox listened to the Force tell him things about his brothers, about the planet they were on, about Luke and Vader, about who and what they were, and where and more importantly when they were from, about the truth of who was behind the war.

Fives preferred to sit cross legged to listen to the Force like Ahsoka did. Hardcase enjoyed the moving meditation that Vader would engage in, lightsaber in hand, thrusting and parrying, repeating the same simple pattern over and over again. Chatterbox chose to join Luke upside down. When his body was perfectly in balance, every muscle engaged, the Force would sing and Chatterbox would listen, and listen, and listen.

-Ahsoka has been watching Luke work and train with Fives, Hardcase, and Chatterbox. Ahsoka didn’t think Luke knew what lightsaber forms were. Ahsoka didn’t think that Luke knew anything but the most basic katas and movements with a lightsaber. He maded no reference to any of the classical forms when teaching. His idea of training was intense physical exercise in the wild or in urban areas. There are no practice duels on flat surfaces. Luke thought saber practice was to attack you when you were busy doing something else or throw things at you with the Force and see how many pieces you could cut it into before it fell to the ground. And Ashoka thought her master was unconventional!

-Ashoka notices that Luke doesn’t bother to change the intensity of his lightsaber when practicing so that it burns but does not maim or kill and then realizes it is because his lightsaber doesn’t even have that function. Luke practices with a full powered blade and the others follow suit. Ashoka has never seen any Jedi train at full strength with a fellow Jedi, let alone an apprentice. When Ashoka tentatively asks if there is a reason he trains a full power, Luke looks surprised and chagrined. He turns his lightsaber over and over in his gloved palm. “I could only forge and cut one crystal,” he admits. “I have only ever practiced with a full intensity blade.”  

“You fabricated and cut your own crystal?” she asked in shock. She knew of no Jedi who had gone through the trouble, who even knew how! Kyber was obtainable on Jedha, on Ilium. Only Sith used synthetic crystals and Luke was no Sith. Luke gave her a half smile and nodded.

-Ventress and Luke have taken to surprise attacking each other. Kix tells her later that the first time it happened, Vader nearly killed Ventress, grabbing her with the Force and nearly choking her until Luke got him to stop. Now Vader watches carefully as they tussle but doesn’t intervene. Vader has taken to sparring with Ventress himself. Ventress leaps and swirls around Vader with her sabers sizzling. Vader’s relies as much on the Force as his saber in a fight and his strength is brutal and punishing. Vader stands and will not be moved. Still Ventress comes back for more, throwing herself at Vader with a will.

When Ventress and Luke fight, it is Luke’s lack of any disciplined form that has Ahsoka baffled as to how he defeated Grievous. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes and only watched him training, she would never have believed Luke was skilled enough to beat Grievous. Watching Luke, Ahsoka can pick up moves from half a dozen traditional Jedi forms and other techniques that Ahsoka is entirely unfamiliar with as if Luke were used to working with a staff or spear. It takes days of watching before Ahsoka pieces it together. Luke stretches out with his feelings and lets the Force tell him where and how to strike and block. For all Ventress has more traditional training in saberplay, Luke’s strength in the Force is undeniable and if ever Ahsoka wanted visible proof of the Light side being stronger than the Dark, watching the two of them duel is it.

-The clone apprentices with their battle honed reflexes take to surprise attacks while jump running around whatever environment they are training in like water fowl to water. Luke has an incredibly precise control. Even when an apprentice is caught off guard, he never injures or singes. His control is absolute. Vader only occasionally helps with surprise attacks but Ahsoka has to say she is impressed with the apprentices’ nerve when facing the dark Sith. Ahsoka isn’t sure that she could face Vader even in training with quite so much poise.

-Ahsoka never sees Luke or Vader draw sabers on each other for any reason. Ever.

-When Luke asks her to help show Hardcase some of the basics of Jar'Kai, Ahsoka is torn. Hardcase is so eager to learn. Hardcase is also physically an adult and a clone. She is just a Padawan. She has no right to teach him! Only the Order gets to decide who learns Jedi skills! Luke looks at her with such sad disappointment and Hardcase is so excited, she squirms in discomfort and shame at her own thoughts. She thinks to herself “What would Skyguy do?” and she has her answer. Anakin would train clone troops in a heartbeat, the Council and the Code be damned. She holds out her sabers and begins her lesson. Chatterbox, Luke and Fives listen in intently. She tries to ignore what feels like disapproval from Vader as she shows her reverse grip technique. Honestly, he is as bad as her master! Anakin hates her technique too, always grumbling about it though at least he has stopped trying to get her to change it. She finishes with the same bit of wisdom Anakin passed on to her: “Now the most important thing to remember is your lightsaber is your life. Don’t lose it!”

Luke shakes his head and interrupts. “You’re wrong. A lightsaber is a tool. An incredibly useful tool, but just a tool. Your life is your life. If you loose your lightsaber, pick up a blaster. If you loose your blaster, pick up a rock or a stick. If there is no rock or a stick, you always have the Force with you to defend yourself and others. You call for help. You stand with your friends and fight back. Never forget, you are more than just your weapon. You are not property. You are not things. You are more than your saber. You are a person, Hardcase; that is the most important thing to remember.”

-After Ahsoka got over her shock of a Jedi working with a Sith, over Ventress, over the death of Grievous, the only thought in her mind was if they could find and capture Dooku, the war could be won. When she shared this plan aloud with Rex, he just shook his head. Grievous and Dooku were not behind the war, he explained. They were not the Sith Master. There was no real way to win until the Sith Master was destroyed, they could only stop the fighting for now. Even if Ahsoka could believe Rex and Luke about the war and the Sith Master, Dooku was still a threat. Couldn’t Ventress or Vader lead them to him if they were truly on their side?

“We already took care of Dooku,” Luke said off handily. “He isn’t a problem.”

“What? How?” Ahsoka demanded. “Is he dead? Did you take him prisoner?”

“Oh, no. He is on Serrano rethinking his life.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Vader suddenly loomed, seeming larger than life. Ahsoka took a step back. “It means he won’t be a problem,” the Sith said with the certainty of death.

-Vader had taken great pleasure facing Dooku with Luke by his side. Vader had had no qualms about killing Dooku a second time but Luke had had a better idea to throw Palpatine off his game. While Luke engaged Dooku with his saber, Vader simply pressed and pressed until he invaded Dooku’s mind with image after image of the future, relishing as the Count staggered when struck with the truth. He showed him losing his hands to Skywalker and losing his head. He showed Dooku that moment that his future self realized he was only ever kept by Sidious as a tool to use in Anakin Skywalker’s downfall. He showed Dooku how the Imperial War Machine had razed Serrano to the ground, how all mention of Dooku’s name, achievements, impact was censored and destroyed from the Temple and then from every other source in the galaxy.

He showed Dooku that all of his so called achievements amounts in the end to nothing. He was nothing. He would not be remembered. Palpatine had used him as a stepping stone for his own rise to power and as a useful foil in gaining the apprentice he really wanted. Vader showed Dooku the waste of his own life, his own talents, name, reputation and ideals. He showed Dooku being worth only the value of his brutal beheading.

Dooku had faltered. Luke lowered his blade. Dooku had tried to deny it but in the face of Vader’s power and Luke’s compassionate gaze he knew the truth. The old fallen Jedi had railed, had tried to strike out with all of his hatred and anger but after his blows were easily blocked by the young Jedi he had fallen to his knees, beaten. Luke had stood over him and calmly explained what would happen next.  The Count would provide complete access to all Separatist codes, positions, and information to Vader. He would then take his ship and retreat to Serrano. He would take no further part in the war in any fashion. He would tend to his planet and his people and leave Sidious to them to deal with. He could go in peace only if he would live in peace. Luke offered him his parole and Dooku nodded and climbed slowly to his feet, looking as if he had aged a decade.

The galaxy had not heard from Yan Dooku, Count of Serrano since.

-Hardcase thought they should have cloaks or capes. They were Jedi apprentices after all. All clones who lived through their first battle marked their armor, decorated with colors and individual images that meant something unique to them or their squad or company. Jedi wore brown cloaks when not in active combat. Vader wore this amazing black armor weave cape. Hardcase felt that he and his fellow and future Jedi clone apprentices should wear some of their armor (Luke was right, it was hard to fight and jump run in full armor) and some sort of cape or cloak but certainly not brown. Perhaps blue for him and Fives, yellow or gold  for Chatterbox. When he suggested it to Luke, he had told him to head to the market and pick up a dark brown one for him. Hardcase argued that brown was boring. Is Luke sure he doesn’t want blue or green? Luke shook his head. Hardcase took a credit chip and went shopping and found a brown cloak with blue lining for Luke. It was the only one they had in brown. Really!

-The aptly named Slice and his squad mates Gin and Wires had been working with Vader and on the droid programming for over a month. Now they though they had a slice that would enhance the independence and individuality of the battle droids and resist restraining bolts and reprogramming from any central command, leading them to question, to think. When they announced it was ready, Luke presented the program to Ventress. She was skeptical to say the least. She berated him for not focusing on a computer virus to wipe them out.

“What good will it do to have thinking droids? They will just think of better ways to kill people!” she scoffed.

Vader was the one who responds to her questions. “Those enslaved who first consider the possibility of freedom usually think of two things first: how to get away and how to take revenge. If they get past those two thoughts, then a slave thinks about all the things they could do once free, all the opportunities denied, if they can even conceive of such a thing. This program makes those thoughts possible. Once those thoughts are possible, the chaos that can be caused is considerable.”

“Just make sure you get out of there before it gets too chaotic and before they choose to target you for their vengeance,” Luke advised pressing the disc into her palm. “Come back safely. May the Force be with you.”

Ventress blinked, struck dumb. She looked from Luke to Vader and then back at Luke and without a word turned to walk towards her ship.

-They will be heading out of the system soon. The Prefect is in contact with Duchess Satine and the other neutral and non aligned worlds. Trade is resuming outside of Separatist or Trade Federation control. Luke did not require that the Prefect sign any Republic treaty promising goods, resources or even land. They are leaving in peace. It is time to move on. The question is where to go next. Ventress is off infecting battle droids with a desire for the free life. Ignoring all Republic comm traffic and certainly not seeking direction from the Jedi Council, Luke and Vader consider star charts and decide what should be their next objective.

Heading for Coruscant would be premature. There is fighting in several systems under other Jedi Generals but no urgent calls for reinforcements from what Vader could recall of his past. There are still Separatist systems to conquer if they really want to. There is Cato Neimoidia and key worlds of the Banking Clans and Techno Unions to consider. But Luke suggests that those locations were only of interest if they were focused on war. Their mission was the opposite. Let’s do what the Jedi and the Republic forces aren’t doing, he argues. That is the only way to not play Sidious’ game. Luke says “Kamino.” Rex and Ashoka are surprised. Why go to Kamino?

“Stop the chips at their source. Free all of the clones there, all the children, all the young men and get them resettled on one of the neutral worlds. Stop all future cloning and then go to all of the medical stations and ensure that any clone that passes through is healed and their chips removed and given a chance to muster out.”

Ahsoka argues that as important as that is, aren’t there higher priorities right now like getting ready to attack the Sith Master or taking down the Separatists now that Dooku, Grievous and Ventress are not issues anymore?

“It is the innocent and the most vulnerable that should always be the highest priority of any Jedi,” Luke counters.

“It is our highest priority!” Luke simply raises an eyebrow at that claim and Ahsoka lowers her voice. “Well, then what about the other battalions and legions of clones? What about their chips?” she asks snippily.

“Send a message to your Jedi Master,” Vader rumbles. “Send a message to your High Council. Tell them about the chips and the genetic tampering and provide them proof. We will see what the Order does.”

“You don’t think they will do anything do you? You are a Sith. What do you know about it. We will--”

“The Order will do as much for the clones as they do about the slaves kept by the Hutts, about Senator Free Tal selling his own people into slavery, about the planets and systems starved under corporate blockade,” he sneers.

“You are twisting things! It is wartime. The Order can only do so much–“

“War. Peace. It makes no difference. At the end of the day no matter how much it pontificates about compassion, the Order won’t do anything because attachment is forbidden and the suffering and death of others are simply not a priority. Their fatalistic dogma demands that you accept this as natural. There is nothing less natural.”

[skychasezone]

Miya waited eagerly, parked in the family's new soccer mom van. It was something Yasmine had teased her about previously--having exchanged her Ninja for something so out of character for her--but they all knew it was nothing but jest. A 2019 Toyota Sienna Le was hardly something she would have considered in her grittier youth, but after having the greatest joy in her life bless her, she wouldn't dare put her life at risk. She wanted to be there for Sokha--and Asha--every step of the way.

And Miya was no goddess--no immortal who could do no wrong. She had more than her fair share of mistakes and regrets, but in spite of everything that happened, the love around her was strong enough to pick her up and lead her back towards the right path. Markus and Kerven were large parts of what held her together in her teens. However the greatest influence on her, unsurprisingly, was her beloved. Asha had been nothing but patient and understanding. It was clear that the two of them wanted to grow, both individually and together; and they did just that. Fast forward to the moment, and they have a loving family, with a first grader that needed to be picked up from class.

It was a typically hot day in Miami--the warm stickiness from the humidity was always something that people were aware of, but those accustomed to it never let it break into a sweat. Even so, Miya kept the AC running as she waited, lightly tapping her fingers along to the songs on the Spotify playlist Asha made for her. She didn't know what kind of day Sokha had, and at the very least she wanted to give them a comfortable space.

A small smile found its way to Miya's face as she reminisced on the days where Asha would do the same for her. On days where they'd both go to the gym, Asha had always insisted on driving so they could both have a nice ride back home, singing along horribly to whichever oldie Asha had playing. And of course, Asha always made sure the AC was on. There was nothing better than being greeted by cold air after a long workout. It was one of the small signs of affection that Asha showed; little details that others would overlook or not even bother with.

So whether or not Sokha knew, it was something Miya had learned and wished to share too.

A sudden ringing pulled Miya's attention from her daydream. She looked out through the windshield and saw children running excitedly to their parents. There was a waiting area out in the front of the school where parents could wait around for their kids, but it was reserved for kindergartners only. Probably to ease their anxieties about having to walk around and find their parents' cars. It was unfortunate that she couldn't wait out front for Sokha, but she understood that too many parents waiting around was a potential fire hazard. Plus, Sokha drew a good amount of enjoyment from searching for where she parked. It was almost like an extra treasure hunt or something, except instead of finding treasure at X marks the spot, it was mom's van.

A distinct pink shirt caught Miya's attention as it walked around the crowd. Sokha's new favorite color was pink, even though it had been red just a few weeks ago. Miya couldn't help but feel a little bit of pride at her child sharing the same taste as her. But of course, children were always absorbing new things and finding different things to enjoy. She remembered when her favorite color shifted a lot as a kid, too. For a good while it depended on which power ranger was the coolest in the season, before she ended up favoring red permanently. She wanted to say the same applied to Sokha, but she knew that they had developed the preference for pink because Asha's carnations had bloomed, and they were amazed at how pretty the flowers were. And...naturally, children wanted anything and everything in their favorite color. So when Sokha asked to go shopping to pick out a few new clothes in pink, how could she and Asha not cave in? They knew they were a little more giving when it came to Sokha's wishes, but Sokha was a miracle that both of them had never dreamed could happen to them. So they spoiled them a bit. Maybe a little more than a bit, but they always taught Sokha to be humble and thankful, so it was alright. Right?

A knock on the passenger's window grabbed Miya's attention and she turned her head to find Sokha peeking through. They were still a little too short to see completely past the door, but they jumped up and down to make sure they could see Mom.

Rolling down the window, Miya called out to them.

"Hey baby, how was your day? And you know you still can't sit in the front," she said with a smile. The back door slowly slid open and she turned around to watch Sokha hop in. Their little sneakers were covered in grass stains since the current PE unit was soccer, and maybe in a different life, she would have minded the stains tracking all over the car. But she loved Sokha much, much more than some car.

"Mom when can I sit in the front?"

Miya paused. She admittedly couldn’t remember when kids were allowed to sit up front. Something about a certain weight? Or was it height? Either way, it wasn’t any time soon. "When you're ten, I think? It's safer in the back for you," she finally got out.

"So it's not safe for you in the back?" they asked, looking up with curious eyes.

"It is! I can't stay back there and drive, though," Miya laughed.

"Mom when can I drive?"

Miya tapped her chin in thought. "Maybe when you're sixteen? It depends."

"So that means you're sixteen?" Sokha asked.

Sokha was so innocent and cute, Miya could never get upset with their curious little questions. "I used to be sixteen, Khakou."

Sokha gasped in amazement at the remark, their mouth forming a little circle as they moved to buckle themselves up in their car seat.

"Cool..." they finally settled on.

And with that, they made their way home.

------

Having pulled into the driveway, both Miya and Sokha saw Asha's car already parked. After the initial wonder at their Mom being older than sixteen, Sokha dozed off into a little nap, tired from their adventures at school.

But as soon as the engine shut off Sokha woke up. Seeing Asha’s car parked out front, the excitement of Mama being home early was enough to pull them from their post nap haze. They quickly unbuckled their seat belt and waited for Mom to open the door for them (child safety lock being on and all), before dashing for the front door and repeatedly ringing the doorbell, leaving behind their backpack next to their car seat.

A warm figure opened the door soon after, her aura radiating love and kindness, and even though Miya was still locking the car and putting up the sunshades, just the sight of her made her heart flutter.

"Mama!!!" Sokha shouted, before being scooped up into Asha's arms. A quick kiss was planted on their forehead as Asha hoisted them up onto her waist.

"How was my little baby's day?" she asked, voice calming Sokha's nerves immediately.

Sokha was all giggles and laughs. "It was gooood," they drawled out, the way kids do when they're trying to think while the words are already coming out.

"What was so good about it?" Asha asked sweetly, freeing an arm to blow a kiss towards her wife. She was always intent on making sure Sokha truly talked to them. As a therapist she saw the importance of communication and how early problems can carry over. So she wanted to ensure that their child felt nothing but comfortable when talking to them, and that Sokha didn't feel like a burden when sharing their feelings.

"Like, today we learned about dinosaurs, and the T-Rex was...the KING of dinosaurs," Sokha smiled.

Miya walked up to the pair, Sokha's backpack in hand, and gave each of them a kiss--Sokha on the cheek and Asha on the lips. "What makes the T-Rex the king?" she asked.

"Well," Sokha started, "it was big and strong, and it ate other dinosaurs with its big teeth." They pulled their lips back to show their own teeth, a few having fallen out, leaving gaps and giving Sokha that iconic little kid smile.

Asha stepped aside to let her wife in and closed the door behind her. "You have big teeth too, Sokha. Are you going to eat other dinosaurs and be a king?"

Miya made sure the door was locked before following Asha and Sokha to the family room. Sokha was still clinging to Asha, even though they were six now. Not that it mattered. They both knew of parents that refused to hold their children because they'd reached a certain age. The worst part was that it was out of shame. To feel ashamed to hold your own kid, because they were "supposed to grow up." How ridiculous. The way the two of them saw it, they'd hold Sokha as long as they had the strength to, no matter Sokha's age. Weening children from something like physical touch and affection all because of societal shame seemed so wrong.

Sokha thought Asha's question over, not entirely sure what they really wanted. "No..." they finally got out. "I don't want to be mean."

"Even if it means being king?" Miya asked.

"Yeahhhh," Sokha said, resting their head against Asha's collar.

Asha smiled at their child's sincerity. She knew Sokha was humble in nature, but it was good to see that she and Miya's careful parenting seemed to affect Sokha positively. They didn't want to raise their child to strive to rise above others. A lot of parents only wanted the best for their children, but they raised them with the wrong ideals--to want to rise to the top and be respected through power or riches, instead of for their character.

"Well that's good," Asha chimed in, bringing a hand to lightly pinch at Sokha's cheek. They still had their baby fat and it was simply irresistible to not poke and prod at their cute little cheeks. "What good is a king if he's mean?"

"Yeah!!" Sokha yelled suddenly.

It made Miya laugh lightly to herself as she set Sokha's backpack down. The warmth and love that radiated off of Sokha was so much different than what she felt during her childhood. It was nice. More than that, it was...incredible. Her own childhood was so opposite of Sokha's, and when she and Asha first talked about starting a family, she knew she'd do everything in her power to give their child the childhood they deserved. Nothing but unconditional love and understanding...it was all she ever wanted, and now she had it, and gave it. To see such a healthy family, and to know that it was because of her and Asha's efforts was simply indescribable.

A sudden soft feeling against Miya's hand startled her and brought her out of her little daydream. She looked down to see Paka, the family's cat dog, walk by and move to meet Sokha; her tail swishing slightly in excitement. Paka wasn't really a cat dog, but she might as well have been. Savannah cats were large and had the tendency to follow their owners around the house, instead of the usual aloofness that was attributed to cats. Despite Paka's dog-like personality, she was still nervous around strangers, and would walk away to her own little corner if someone new was around.

"Paka!" Sokha shouted, squirming a little to let Asha know they wanted to be put down. Asha bent down and let Sokha run over to their expensive, unusual pet. Paka rubbed her head against Sokha's legs affectionately, and Sokha busied themselves with petting her in return.

"How was work?" Miya asked, taking her place by Asha's side.

Asha smiled and leaned in for a gentle kiss, her hand resting on her wife's hip. "It was alright, not much new. One of my patients recently reconciled with their sibling and their mood improved drastically. So we had a nice session."

Even though they were almost a decade into their relationship together, every bit of affection and contact from Asha made her heart skip a beat. "Was that the one that was too stubborn to initially talk to them when you suggested it?"

"Yeah, but I don't hold anything against my patients. I understand how it's a situation I've never encountered, so I can't force them to do something they don't want to. I only give suggestions. They tend to open up after awhile and it's a very rewarding experience." Asha smiled, reaching for Miya's hand and bringing her knuckles to her lips. "Like a certain someone I know."

Miya couldn't help but grin at Asha's words. "It takes a certain kind of person to be able to listen so everyone else's problems. Just listening is such a hard thing for people to do, and you do it AND give advice to help them through it."

"I have my talents," Asha laughed. "But how was your day? Any trouble getting Sokha up in the morning?"

"Nah, they didn't give me any trouble. They sure were sleepy; we told them yesterday that staying up late to watch another episode of whatever it was they were watching would be bad. I still don't think they believe us though," she smiled. Miya was mostly a stay at home mom. She worked part time to supplement Asha's majority income; Muay Thai teacher from 6PM to 10PM, stay at home Mom the rest of the day. They didn’t really need the extra money, but Muay Thai was still a passion of hers. So if she couldn’t perform at a professional level herself, then why not share her skills with others? But even then, it wasn’t enough to make her truly consider a full time career as a coach. Their main priority was to ensure that one of them would always be with Sokha, so they wouldn't grow up lonely. And with Asha bringing in the big bucks, they could easily fit that schedule.

"Well maybe one day they'll learn. Or maybe one day we'll be stricter on them." Asha's thumb brushed across the back of Miya's hand one last time before she let go. "Sokha said they wanted to make their lunch tomorrow with us. Want to join?"

Miya looked over to the family room, where Sokha was still petting Paka; only now, Potato rolled over to join them.

"Sure. Did they ask for anything in particular?"

"No, not really," Asha paused. "Other than a bag of chips, they said they just wanted to watch us make their lunch."

Miya raised a brow. "They just wanna watch us?"

"Mhm. You've been out late recently with all the students asking you for advice after class, and Sokha misses watching you make lunch for them, cause you do it in the morning while they're getting ready."  A small smile reached Asha's lips at just how much affection Sokha needed, and how they were so comfortable in talking about what was bugging them. "Our baby misses you, Miya, even when you're here most of the day."

A slight tremble found its way to Miya's lips at the thought of her slight absence affecting Sokha so much. "Well, what if we make an early dinner today with them too? I didn't mean to neglect them..."

"I know you didn't. You didn't know it was affecting them. I'm sure they'll appreciate being able to help out in the kitchen too."

The two of them looked over to Sokha again, their little kid playing so happily with Potato and Paka. Sokha was so full of love. And they'd do everything to cultivate that and let them grow to be a kind person.

"What do you see, Asha," her voice dropped to a whisper, "when you look at Sokha. What does it make you think?"

Asha's eyes followed Sokha, their little hands switching between gently petting Paka and patting Potato's rump. "I see...a child filled with love, and everything along the way that led to this."

Miya turned her gaze to Asha.

"I see," Asha continued, "the first time I saw you at the gym, the first time I considered a romance with you. I see the first time we went on a date, the first time we moved in together. I see the day you suffered a broken leg and the aftermath of it. I see the pain and loneliness we both felt, but even then, I still see the day you proposed to me, along with the day we both said I do. And I see the day we both sat down and talked about the possibility of a family."

Asha paused. "When they smile, their eyes lift up the same way yours do. And when they laugh, their nostrils flare a little the way mine do. Their lips are so full and plump, like yours--"

"Yours are the same, you can't give me all the credit," Miya smiled.

"Patience Miya." Asha's own smile shone as she playfully slapped her wife's arm. "Their lips are full like yours, and their hair is thick like mine. They have my beauty mark, and a mix of both of our skins. When I see Sokha, I see everything we've been through, and the love we have; how it all turned into another soul, already so full of love and kindness. It's a miracle, and it's a privilege, to have had Sokha. And I wouldn't have liked to share the experience with anybody else," Asha stopped to turn to Miya, "than with you."

Sokha took that exact moment to turn around to look at the two of them.

"Mom why are you crying?" they asked worriedly.

Miya couldn't help but smile at both Sokha's sincerity and Asha's soul baring words. She didn't bother wiping away at the tears welling up in her eyes, because she found no shame in crying--especially not when they were tears of joy.

"Mama just said something really sweet to me, Sokha. And I love you so much, it...made me cry," Miya reasoned.

"But don't you only cry when you're sad?" Sokha asked.

"Not always. Sometimes when you feel so good, you don't know what else to do but cry. And that's okay." A little sniffle made Miya pause, but she continued, trying to find a way to explain it to Sokha. "Have you ever laughed so hard your eyes watered, Khakou?"

Asha smiled at the interaction. The two of them always tried their best to explain things in terms Sokha would understand, and she felt as though Miya would nail this explanation too.

"Yeah one time, when Paka was carrying Potato by right here," Sokha moved over to point at Potato's scruff, "Potato farted and it scared Paka and Paka, she jumped and ran away. But it was, was like Potato's fault and she still holded onto Potato."

Asha herself couldn't help but laugh at the retelling. Sokha had a bad habit of slipping people food out for Potato and it resulted in a more active...gastrointestinal tract. They both lectured Sokha on why they couldn't give Potato their food all the time, and it seemed to have gotten through after they explained that Sokha wouldn't eat Potato's kibble, so Potato shouldn't eat their food. Plus, Potato was on a strict diet since she couldn't move very much. They didn't want to give her even more health problems.

Miya let out a little huff of air at Sokha's memory. She was there when it happened. Watching Paka run around fearfully with Potato in her mouth, while Potato seemed to be having the time of her life, was very amusing.

"Well it's like that," Miya started. "I was just so happy, I couldn't help but cry."

Sokha stood up and walked over to the two of them, their little arms wrapping around one of each of their legs in an attempt to hug them both. "I wanna be so happy I cry too." They looked up at their parents with a smile.

Asha and Miya simultaneously cooed at their child's display of affection.

"Here, why don't we all do something together then?" Miya asked, picking Sokha up and letting them rest on her hip. "Mama told me you missed me. You don't have to be shy; you can tell me whenever anything is bugging you, Khakou."

"I know but...I keep forgetting and I'm too sleepy to wake up in the morning," they frowned.

"And that's why Mama had to come to the rescue," Asha chimed in with a smile. She patted Sokha's back. "But remember, you never have to hide anything from us, okay Khakou? If anything is bothering you, you can tell us. Promise?"

Sokha looked at Asha curiously, as if she'd somehow lie about something so important. "Can we make it a piiiiinky promise?" They held their pinky out and stuck their hand out towards Asha.

Asha quickly stuck her own pinky out and wrapped it around Sokha's. "It's a pinky promise," she smiled.

Miya followed the same gesture. "Now, what do you want to make for dinner, Sokha? We'll make your lunch afterwards when we're done eating."

Sokha's eyes lit up at the freedom to pick whatever they wanted for dinner. "I want...dinosaur meat."

Miya blinked in surprise. "Dinosaur meat?"

"Yeah!!! Like," Sokha paused and squirmed a bit before Miya let them down. When they were free they ran to get a piece of paper from their backpack, and returned with some crayons. They went over to the dining table and climbed atop a chair; their crayon quickly scribbling and sketching a little drawing of what seemed like a chunk of meat with a bone through it. "Like this!" Sokha finally finished.

Asha and Miya looked the drawing over, both unsure of what kind of meat would ever look like that. The closest thing Asha could envision was maybe fried chicken? Maybe a drumstick or two for Sokha while she and Miya had the wings or thighs. They never bothered buying chicken breast anymore.

"I don't think--" Miya started, only to be lovingly interrupted by Asha.

"I think we can make it no problem. Do you want to help, Sokha? You can pretend like you're a T. rex," Asha said.

"YEAHH!!" Sokha screamed, standing a little on the chair cause they were so excited.

Miya looked over at Asha with a little confusion. Her voice was just above a hush as she spoke to Asha. "Asha how are we gonna make it?"

Asha smiled as she watched Sokha run and grab Potato and tell her about how they were gonna have dinosaur meat for dinner. "We still have drumsticks right?"

"Yeah, we do. OHH I gotcha," Miya grinned. "Fried, right?"

"Mhm," Asha replied.

"Well let's get everything out then. Do you wanna prep and I batter and fry, or which would you prefer?" Miya had no preference for either, but she wanted to make sure Asha didn't work too hard considering she had already worked the entire day.

Asha tapped her finger against her chin. "Why don't you batter and fry? Sokha would probably want to help with that, and they're doing this cause they miss you, after all."

Miya smiled at that. "I'm getting showered with a lot of attention. You gotta step your game up if you wanna get that mom of the year mug," she laughed.

Asha feigned a gasp. "That's unfair; Sokha sees less of you since they're at school all day. That's why they miss you, Mom of the year runner up," Asha grinned.

It was Miya's turn to gasp as she imagined a cup with ‘world's #2 Mom’ or something along those lines on it. Their playful back and forth would have continued a little longer had it not been for Sokha running up with Potato.

"Mom!! Mama!! Can Potato watch us make the dinosaur meat? I told her she could...even though I didn't ask," they looked towards the ground dejectedly.

Asha raised a brow at the idea of putting a dog up on the counter while preparing food. It wasn't a thought she'd entertain, but she didn't have to hand the news to Sokha rudely. "Aw baby, we can't put Potato on the counter. She has a lot of germs rolling around on the ground all day and we don't want them getting in our food. I'm sure she'd be happy to play with Paka in the meantime," Asha smiled apologetically, rubbing Sokha's back.

"Okay!" Sokha smiled, their mood taking no hit at all. It seemed they were more guilty about committing to something before asking. They went to the living room couch and gently placed Potato on a pillow, leaving her be with a little kiss on her head. Her tail started wagging, and, unfortunately her wiggles made her lose her balance and slide off the pillow. But she didn't seem to mind; her tail still thumped against the couch all the same.

Sokha ran back up to their parents, their hands outstretched, gesturing for someone to pick them up. "I wanna sit on mom's shoulders."

Miya happily obliged, bending down to pick them up and hoisting Sokha up behind her neck. "Hold on tight, okay?" she asked, holding onto Sokha's knees just to add more security.

Asha looked at the two of them with a smile, before opening the fridge and looking around for the ingredients they'd need to make dinner.

Their home was so happy--so full of love and warmth and security. It was something that took time to cultivate; all of it starting with her and Miya's relationship, but it was something she'd relive over and over again if she could. All the hardships and good times led to smiles and unending affection. It was something that she knew didn't happen magically; love had to be nurtured and tended to, or else it would shrivel and wither away. It was a lesson Miya knew all too well, but, Miya was no longer a Srey. The Sarrs loved differently, and she'd ensure they all worked towards creating a home filled with unconditional love.