#The new soul sand valley is interesting but I wish your soul Sand actually looked like it had souls in it like the classic stuff

[backpackofposts]

Similar to how the Minecraft cave spider is slightly smaller than the average spider model, I think glow squids should have a smaller model than the normal squid

[221bshrlocked]

A Sky Full of Stars

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Fem!Reader

Words: 11340 (I know I say this all the time but this really was supposed to be a short one-shot but it got away from me because I just loved this idea so so much. Sorry not sorry.)

Warning: Nothing but fluff. Some kissing that turns into a heated make-out session that turns into a cuddling session.

Inspired by this tiktok by the lovely ameliagonzales who was gracious enough to allow me to use her idea and write this.

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote something that's fluffy slightly angsty and dialogue-centered. I'm not going to lie, this took longer than usual because of the lovely anon that decided to tell me my characterization of Din is hella off and I realized I don't care if it is because it's my writing and I get to do whatever I want with it. Let me know how I'm doing in the comments and reblogs are always always appreciated. You can add yourself to the taglist here. This is not beta'd btw.

“No silly this isn’t green, it’s blue.” The little girl put her toy away and brought out a new one, giggling at your faux pout as she shoves the new object in your hand and asks you what color you thought it was. You turn it around in your hands, trying your hardest to hide the hurt growing in your chest at not knowing what color it is. You think it’s closer to the first toy she gave you but you’re not sure. You’re never sure. You look at the girl and smile at her before setting the toy aside and wiggling your hands at her. She immediately stands up and screams as you run after her, laughing along with her giggles as you chase her around and watch as more kids join in and run away from you.

You’re not sure how long you’re chasing the little ones and you hear some of them gasp and ‘oooh’ when your young friend runs into a solid figure. You stand up and watch as the girl tears up as she apologizes to the man she just ran into. You’re immediately hugging her and assuring her that everything is okay, turning to the side and narrowing your eyes at the man that scared her half to death.

“Shame on you Mando,” you pretend to smack his shoulder three times and watch as the child in your arms sniffles between laughs when the Mandalorian tries to hide away from you.

“I’m sorry little flower, I didn’t mean to scare you.” You watch as the man reaches for a small bottle in his pocket and slowly hands it to the girl. “Here you go, a token of my apology.”

“It’s okay sweetheart, he’s a nice man...even though he doesn’t look it.” You wink at Boba Fett and giggle along with her when he sighs heavily and pushes the flask into her hand. She takes it and shakes it around, her eyes lighting up when the bottle shimmers at her ministrations and illuminates her hands.

“It’s so pretty! How did you know orange is my favorite color?” The girl slides down your arms and quickly hugs the hunter in front of you before running away and showing her friends. You look at her with longing in your eyes, wishing with all your heart that you saw the gift the same way she saw it.

“Still no color princess?” Fett questions and you shrug your shoulders as you make your way towards Slave I and sit on the ramp.

“Yup, same old same old. Who knows if I’ll ever see color.” There is a hint of hurt in your tone but Fett says nothing as he approaches you and stands to the side. He pats your shoulder once as he takes his helmet off and softly wipes at the visor to clean it.

“Don’t give up, kid. You’re still young...you’ve got all the time in the galaxy and you travel everywhere. You’ll meet them when you least expect it.”

“In this line of work? Yeah, I don’t think so Fett. But at least one of us didn’t lose the positive attitude. If I’m being honest, I was hoping to see color before the next supply run. The chances that I’ll live to go to Pasaana during another Festival of the Ancestors are practically non-existent. I heard they wear so many variations of the same color...maker, it would have been nice to experience that.” You pick up a rock and throw it away as you nervously ring your fingers and brush the conversation aside, not wanting to start the journey with a sour mood.

“Well, lucky for us, we have extra help on this run so it should be quicker. Maybe you’ll see color before you go?” Fett looks up and you follow his line of sight as another ship slowly lands just behind Slave I. You stand up and walk behind your old friend, looking back at the crates to ensure they’re still there before you approach the landing ship.

“Oh no, what poor soul did you manage to rope in this time?” You eye the ship and swear there is something familiar about it but you pay it no mind as Fett puts his helmet back on.

“Hey, I don’t always bend people to my will you know. He volunteered actually...he knows his way around the Narvath Sector and he might even tag along with us to the Forbidden Valley. So, be nice and don’t flirt with him.” Fett warns and you throw your hands up in defeat, failing to hide your smile as you respond with feigned offense.

“I’m not going to flirt with him.” You raise an eyebrow when Fett snorts at your high-pitched voice as he makes his way to the landing ship, and mutters something beneath his breath. The ship powers down after a couple of moments and you take a deep breath when the doors to the docking ramp slide and a figure appears at the corner.

“There he is...took you longer to land this time.” Fett yells to the other Mandalorian, not noticing how you take a few steps back as the man walks down towards the two of you.

“Oh well things just got a little more interesting now.” You break the silence and cringe when the Mandalorian struts past your friend and takes out his blaster. You hold your hands up when he points the weapon at your head and you watch as Fett strides to the two of you and stands in between your body and his brother’s weapon.

“You?” The Mandalorian growls and he tries to step aside and Fett holds his chest and pushes him back.

“Me!” You smile nervously and gulp when Fett turns around and looks at you. You swear you can almost see the look he’s giving you but you say nothing and hope that he can handle this situation for you.

“Oh.” You would have laughed at Fett’s response if there wasn’t a bounty hunter standing not five feet away from you and killing you a thousand different ways.

“You two know each other?” Fett breaks the silence and continues to stand between the two of you, knowing his friend’s short temper and your dumb comments might escalate this situation.

“I wouldn’t say we know each other. I’d say we met very briefly on-” You try to explain what happened the last time you saw the Mandalorian but he cuts you off. He pushes his blaster into its holster and you sigh heavily but keep your hands raised, afraid he'll change his mind any second and try to shoot you again.

“You almost blew up my ship!” The Mandalorian yells and you jump at his exclamation. His irritation seeps into your skin and you narrow your eyes at him as you walk around Fett and begin to nudge at the beskar armor with one finger. Your anger at his unfairness outgrows your fear of what he can do to you and you continue to push on his chest plate as you talk back at him and ignore Fett’s whispers to let it go.

“I did no such thing. I merely tried to fix your shitty cooling radiator panels but you scared the fuck out of me when you came up behind me and suggested I switch the parts, hence why I dropped the cauterizer and burned through the wires. So technically, you almost blew up your ship.” You’re breathing heavily and you’re sure your nose is flaring from how annoyed you are by the man in front of you. A few seconds pass between the two of you and it’s not until the Mandalorian tilts his head that you realize what you’ve just said and done. You take your hands away and swallow the growing lump in your throat as you step back and apologize a few times before you walk to the crates.

The Mandalorian stands there in silence, never once looking away from you retreating form, even when Boba Fett comes and stands him.

He’s missed this, and more than he preferred to admit.

“Little princess is fiery today.” Fett comments and notices when his friend turns and stares at him through the visor. The Mandalorian says nothing as he walks away from Fett and follows you. You’re in the middle of counting the supplies in the crates when you hear the crunching of footsteps approaching you. Thinking it’s Fett that’s come to help you move the supplies, you roll up your sleeves and ask him to take the opposite side.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at your brother. I was just annoyed because I was only trying to help and he scared me.” When you look up and see that it was the Mandalorian and not your friend, you drop the crate and stare at him. He says nothing as he picks up his end of the large box and waits for you to mirror his actions before he begins to walk back to his ship. Neither of you say anything as you go back and forth until all the crates are on his ship. You walk out and stand next to Fett, waiting for his instructions to see whether you were going to go with him or with the new member of the crew.

“So what’s the plan?” You avoid the Mandalorian standing next to you and turn your body towards Fett, hoping that he’d say that you were tagging along with him.

“You’re going to go with him.” You cease to breathe at his command and clench your fists when you recognize his tone. He’s not leaving room for negotiation.

“W-why?” The Mandalorian walks back to his ship at your question and you pout when you realize that he may have misunderstood your inquiry. Not that it mattered whether or not he misunderstood...

“Fennec...we’ll meet you at Iktotchon.” You look to the ground and shuffle your feet against the sand, turning back to him and nodding quietly as you follow behind the Mandalorian.

“And princess!” Fett calls for you and you glance at him when you reach the top of the ramp.

“Hmm?”

“Try not to get into too much trouble.” You look at him with annoyance and shake your head when you realize he’s just teasing you. Standing at the large doors of the ship, you glimpse one last time at Mos Eisley before you make your way into the heart of the ship. A few moments later, the ship powers up and you watch as the barrier raises and locks just as light filters through the area. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do or where you’re allowed to go so you remain standing where you are. Not a minute later, you jump when a voice breaks the silence and booms through the ship.

“Come up to the cockpit.”

You take a deep, calming breath as you set your things to the side and ascend the ladder to the cockpit. You come face to face with a door and you’re about to knock when it slides open and reveals the Mandalorian sitting in the pilot chair.

“Sit down and buckle up.” He says as he flicks on buttons across the board. He turns his head towards you to make sure that you’re buckled in before he raises the throttle levers and begins to take off. You hold back from saying something snarky as the turbulence gets worse, only shutting your eyes when it gets to be too much. You’re not sure how long you’re sitting there with your hands clasping the leather of the chair but it’s only when you hear the seat in front of you turning that you realize you were already in space.

You frown when you open your eyes and see the Mandalorian already looking at you, the tilt of his helmet letting you know that he was silently mocking you.

“What?” You break the silence and watch as he rights himself before he turns around and pushes the auto-pilot button.

“You’re a supply dealer who hates flying.” It’s more of a question than a comment and you can’t help but narrow your eyes when he stands up and continues to stare at you.

“So?”

“Not a good quality of life.” If you’re surprised by his response, you try not to show it as you stand up and face him defensively like before.

“Says the man who wears beskar armor every minute of the day.” It’s a low blow and you know you have no right involving his religion. But you’re fed up with his passive aggressiveness and you want to make sure he knows that he can’t talk down to you.

The Mandalorian turns away and looks at the passing stars of the galaxy, softly whispering for you to follow him as he exits the cockpit. You want to apologize for what you said but you hold back instead, following him down the ladder and standing to the side when you see him moving things around.

“This is my cot, and that right there is yours.” He points to two doors across from each other at the end of the hallway and waits for your confirmation before he walks past them and shows you the refresher.

“Help yourself to any of the rations. We’ll arrive at Iktotchon in four sleeping cycles so there should be enough food for the two of us until we get there.” You’re not sure what makes you reach for his wrist when he turns around to walk away. He stands still and looks down at the hand grasping his beskar before he looks at you.

“S-sorry...I- umm, are you coming to Pasaana?” You ring your fingers nervously as you look at yourself in his visor, taking two steps back when he straightens up and looks down at your hands.

“You’re going to the Festival of the Ancestors.”

“Yes. Well, it’s me, Mando, and Fennec. So I was just wondering, you know, if there was...if you had anything lined up after this supply run. Because if not, you can tag along...it only happens every-”

“42 years. I know.” He cuts you off and you’re not sure if his body-language seems more open or not but within a few seconds of chatting with him, he’s suddenly relaxing and leaning back against the metal wall. He’s silent for longer than you prefer so you force a smile and rub the back of your neck awkwardly as you prepare to tell him to forget that you asked since he probably has more important matters to handle.

“Ok.” It’s a simple response yet you feel your skin heat up as he nods at you and walks to his quarters. He hesitates at the door for a moment before he pushes the button and steps into the privacy of his room.

You let out a deep breath and stand in your spot for a few minutes before you slip back to the docking space to bring your belongings to the room. The ship is surprisingly more quiet than others you’ve been on and you remember what he told you about it the last time you saw him. A faint memory of how he defended the size of his ship makes you giggle. Then again, you’ve heard from Peli about the piece of junk he had before this and knew that it was barely considered as machinery.

“Maker, how am I going to make it four days on this ship with him?” You shake your head as you prepare to go to bed. The twin suns were just setting on Tatooine when you were leaving and you knew it was better to get as much sleep in as possible considering how quickly things sometimes escalated on these kinds of runs.

Surprisingly, things weren’t too bad when you left your sleeping cot the following day. The Mandalorian was already awake and cleaning his weapons. You bid him a quick good morning as you moved past him and looked for some snacks. He didn’t seem like he wanted to converse with you so you opted to stay in your room for the remainder of your waking hours. A voice in your head told you to keep the door open in case he did want to chat eventually but as you thought, he never once disturbed you.

The second day on the ship was perhaps slightly more eventful. Although he continued to pass his time in silence, he did manage to ask you to help him fix something in the cockpit. You were shocked he requested your services with ease and said nothing as he stood aside and watched you tinker away with the radar display screen. He thanked you twice when you finished and told you that he’d let you know if he needed your help with anything else.

The third day, however, made you wish you could open the docking doors and throw yourself out in space. You hadn’t seen him all morning long and you thought it was probably because he wanted some privacy in the cockpit. By the middle of the day, you jumped out of your cot and grabbed some spare clothes as you headed to the refresher, wanting to shower once before you landed on the sand-filled planet the following. As you walked to the door and pushed the button, you were met with a heavy fog escaping the room. When the fog cleared, you dropped your clothes and slammed your hands on your eyes, immediately backing away from the room as the Mandalorian scrambled to wrap something around his waist. You weren’t sure how many times you apologized in the span of one minute but when you heard the familiar sound of a blaster turning on, you stood in silence and waited for him to say something.

“Pfassk, do you have no kriffing regard for privacy?” He growled through the vocoder and you shook your head to try and explain to him that you saw nothing but his back.

“I- maker, I’m so sorry. I swear on my life I didn’t see anything except your back. I didn’t know you were in there...I really didn’t or else I wouldn't have gone in.” You sigh in relief when you hear him murmur to himself as he sets down the blaster and shuffles around in search of his clothes.

“What do you mean you didn’t know I was in there? The red light was on, which usually means someone is in the fucking refresher using it.” Hearing him swear shouldn’t make you shiver and yet you do. When you notice that he’s gone still, you assume it’s safe to look at him again. Taking a deep breath, you turn around and lower your hands as you muster up the courage to try and explain to him why you couldn’t see the red light.

And boy was that a mistake. You regret removing your hands from your eyes as soon as you take a good look at him. Turns out, the beskar armor only made him look more intimidating. The man was large, made to be a hunter. He was broad-shouldered, muscular in all the right places and soft in others. You unintentionally frown when you see his bronze skin littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Maker, the life he led was worse than you thought.

“I- uhh, I don’t...I couldn’t see it.” You hated how much your voice broke when you tried to explain yourself. As much as you wanted to blame it on being afraid of him, you knew it was less about the danger he exuded and more about the fact that you could see more of his skin than you thought you ever would.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know it was red.” You knew none of what you were saying was making sense but this wasn’t exactly a situation that you thought you’d find yourself having to deal with, and with the Mandalorian of all people.

“Are you fucking with me?” He was less hostile than earlier but his words were still spoken aggressively. You couldn’t blame him really, especially when you knew how strict his religion was.

“N-no. I- my species doesn’t see color until- well, it doesn’t matter. My species doesn’t see color. We just see grays. I’m sorry...I should have asked before if there was anything I needed to learn about the ship that required me seeing colors. It escaped me. I’ll try to pay more attention...I promise you I saw nothing.” You take one last glance at the heaving, glistening body in front of you before you turn around and walk in your room. You shut the door behind you this time, knowing that he probably wanted some of his privacy back and that he would need to limit himself should you keep it open.

It’s not until a few hours later that you sit up when you hear a soft knock on your door. You stand up and push open the barrier, finding the Mandalorian standing in front of you with his helmet looking straight at your reluctant expression. You wait for him to say something and when he doesn’t, you raise your eyebrows and silently ask him if he needs anything.

“I didn’t know about your...I didn’t know. And I didn’t mean to scare you with the blaster either, it’s a reflex to- umm.” You nod at him and look down to see what he’s holding in his hands. “You left your clothes lying on the floor.” He pushes the fabric towards you and averts his eyes when he sees your undergarments peaking through the shirt. You thank him as you set them down on your bag and look into his visor again.

“Ad'ika?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.” The whispered exclamation does little to calm your nerves and you’re not sure what to say to him so you nod and awkwardly smile into the shiny beskar helmet. The Mandalorian murmurs a quick ‘good night’ before he makes his way to the cockpit, leaving you as confused as ever.

You don’t get an ounce of sleep that night, the image of him in nothing but a helmet and some flimsy pants making you wish he had shot you with his blaster instead. You refuse to admit the rising emotions you’re beginning to feel towards him, mostly because it didn’t matter whether or not he reciprocated them.

You still couldn’t see color.

He wasn’t your soulmate.

You’re afraid to leave the room the next morning, not sure which version of the Mandalorian you were going to have to deal with. It turns out, there was nothing to worry about because not surprisingly, you got the quiet, slightly shy man chatting with you. He pretends nothing happened the previous day and you go along with it. You’re just about to enter the atmosphere of Iktotchon when you receive a hologram from Fett telling the two of you of the sandstorm passing through the meeting point.

As you buckle into the seat behind the Mandalorian, he takes a moment to turn around and call for you.

“There’s going to be turbulence.”

“I- I know.” You barely hold back from furrowing your eyebrows at his comment but then he turns around to face you completely and you narrow your eyes at him with suspicion.

“I’ve landed on worse planets.” It takes you a few extra seconds to realize what he’s attempting to do and you can’t help but laugh and break the moment. You quiet down when he turns around and begins to descend to the planet.

“Are you worried about little old me Mandalorian?” You try to distract yourself from the sudden, harsh shaking of the ship but the teasing does little to calm your nerves when you realize that the sandstorm was as bad as Fett made it sound. You shut your eyes and try to picture the calm nights you’re so used to on Tatooine.

“You know, you can just call me Mando.” His voice breaks you out of your haze and you growl in response when you hear a few sounds go off above you.

“No, I- I can’t call you that. I reserved it for the other guy already!”

“You mean the Mandalorian who already told you his name?” He claps back and chuckles when you sigh in irritation at his question.

“Fine okay you’re right. How about this? Can you land this fucking ship without killing the two of us Mando?” You’re screaming at the top of your lungs and grasp the belt around your torso harder when you don’t hear back from him.

“Mando?”

“You mean the ship I already landed ad’ika?” Your eyes shoot wide open and you look around frantically, only to see that most of the turbulence you experienced was due to the sand and gravel hitting the metal of the ship.

“Oh...that was- not as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Anything beats Maldo Kreis.” Mando says as he stands there across from you and the slight tilt of his helmet at your confused expression makes you realize he may not have meant to say that out loud.

“We need to go. The storm will only get worse if we wait until night.” You nod in agreement and follow him out of the cockpit to the docking station. Mando instantly regrets lowering the docking ramp when he sees gravel quickly entering the ship. You run to your room to grab the helmet you brought with you and lock it in as you return to help him with the crates.

It’s a difficult few hours on the planet, and you grow more irritated when the Ikotchi threatens you with less supply exchanges. When his demeanor suddenly changes and he asks you to take the crates and leave, you thank him and quickly take the crates up the ramp with Fennec before he changes his mind. You never once notice both Mandalorians as they subtly push their blasters back into their holsters.

You’re leaving Iktotchon later than you prefer, mostly because both bounty hunters find themselves in a heated argument that Fennec has to end not-so-gently. You don’t bother asking Mando what the issue was when you see him strutting into the cockpit, quickly strapping yourself in when he glances at you to make sure you’re safe.

It’s a rough take off for both his ship and Slave I, but you say nothing of it, knowing that he might not appreciate any light teasing at the moment. Once you’re out of the planet’s atmosphere, Mando puts in the coordinates for Pasaana and sends a hologram to Fett, letting him know that you would be reaching the planet in less than a day.

You want to ask him if you could help in any way but you decide against it and leave him to his thoughts. You want nothing more than to take a long, hot shower to rid yourself of all the sand that managed to seep into your clothes. But then you notice the state of the docking area and before you can talk yourself out of it, you look around for anything that resembles a sweeper and clean as much of the floor as you can. You’re thankful that Mando doesn’t leave the cockpit and when you’re done, you go back into your room to grab a change of clothes so you could use the refresher.

You think you hear Mando passing by your room but you say nothing and make your way to the refresher, halting in your steps when you look at the light and find it turned off.

Great.

“Mando? Are you in there?” You’re not sure if he can hear you or not so you try to ask him again a little louder.

“Mando!? Are you i-”

“No.” You jump as soon as you hear him respond from behind you. Turning around, you clutch at your chest when you see him standing in front of his door without the beskar armor.

“I- uhh, t-there’s no light. And I wasn’t sure what that meant really.” You’re ringing your fingers again, and hope that he doesn’t notice just how nervous you are in his presence.

“Well I- I rewired the electrical circuits of the refresher so you know when it’s occupied and when it isn’t. If the light is on, it means I’m in there, and if it isn’t, then it’s free for use. No more colores.”

You look at him as if he took off his helmet, trying to wrap your mind around the fact that he went out of his way to accommodate you when you’re only on his ship for another few days.

“Thank you,” is all you manage to say before you push the door and scramble in. Mando looks at the door for another few minutes before he remembers that he hasn’t eaten in a while. He cooks up a meal for two quickly and eats his share before you finish your shower. When he hears you walking out, he sits in his usual corner and brings out his weapons to polish them.

You smell food as soon as you walk out of the refresher and you throw your clothes on your cot before you make your way to the large space across the hallway. You’re about to ask Mando about the food situation when you see a plate opposite of him on the table.

“It’s yours.” Mando breaks the silence as he wipes in between the crevasses of his blaster, nodding towards the space in front of him to let you know that you could join him,

“Thank you Mando.”

Neither of you say anything as you inhale your dinner and it’s not until you’ve washed your plates and set them aside that Mando decides to break the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“S-sure.” You think he’s going to ask you what it’s like to not see colors and to only see gradations of gray but his question catches you off guard.

“When can your species see color?” If you were uncomfortable by his question, you did a good job hiding it from him. Mando watches as you push off the wall and return to sit in front of him, lazily pushing around the towel he was holding as you answer him.

“This might sound stupid and I’m usually told that it’s not real but I’ve seen those of my kind experience the second they could see color so I know it’s not just a fable we’re told when we’re young. Basically, we see color when we meet our soulmates.” Mando’s heart breaks when you throw him a forced smile, one he’s seen a million times looking back at him in the mirror.

“Your soulmate?”

“Yup, the person I’m destined to be with. My other half. The one that will belong to me and I to him.” Mando nods along with you as he stands up and hangs up his weapons one by one.

“I know what you’re thinking. What’s someone like me going to do at the Festival of the Ancestors? Honestly, I think it’ll be fun to attend it whether or not I can see the colors. It’s a rich culture so I’m sure I’ll enjoy it either way.”

“I can always walk around with you and describe to you the colors, t-the patterns even. If...if you want.” His suggestion throws you off guard and as earlier, you gape at him as you try to figure out what he was playing at. You think he’s pulling your leg and will laugh at you at any moment, but when he doesn’t, you realize that he’s being dead serious.

“That would be nice Mando. I might not see the colors but I could always imagine what they look like next to each other.”

And just like that, the conversation is over as quickly as it begins.

“Good night mesh’la.” Mando murmurs as he makes his way to his quarters, leaving you more hopeful than you’ve felt in a long while.

It’s a weird thing to admit but for the first time in years, you don’t go to sleep wishing you could wake up and see colors. No. You doze off wondering what it would feel like to hold his hand and maybe, just maybe, kiss it. You think of how soft his untouched skin must feel like and how calloused his scarred muscles would look.

When you dream that night, you see faint images of his lips caressing yours and his firm arms bringing you into his embrace.

And you wake up with a lazy smile etched on your face because those dreams, those sweet, lovely memories your brain conjured up during the night, felt as good as seeing color.

You can’t look at him for the duration of the morning, constantly pretending that you’re doing something or other so he doesn’t think you’re avoiding him because the last thing you wanted was to make him think you didn’t want to talk to him. But you just can’t find it in yourself to look into his visor. Every time you so much as glance at the beskar helmet, you remember what your subconscious conjured up and you stutter out a response to whatever he says.

Not surprisingly, Mando notices the shift in your behavior and he waits until you finish fixing the crates’ locks, which were clearly not broken, before he approaches you.

“Mesh’la.”

“Yes Mando?” You’re still not looking at him and Mando starts to genuinely believe that he’s done something wrong. When you try to walk past him to place the tool back in your room, Mando reaches out and takes hold of your wrist before you’re out of reach. You look at his gloved hand wrapped around your skin before you meet his eyes past his visor and Mando holds his breath because for a moment, he thinks you can see straight through him.

“You’re angry with me.”

You never realize until this moment that Mando tends to ask most of his questions in the form of a statement and it’s strange. It’s strange because it never occurred to you that he’s the type to perhaps jump to conclusions when he can’t read the situation. Setting the tool box down, you stand up and fix your shirt as you muster up the courage to respond to him.

“I’m not. I’m not angry with you. I’m- it’s...difficult to explain.” His hold loosens but he’s standing in your space and you think it’s because he’s not totally convinced by your answer and won’t let it go until you give him a proper explanation for the sudden change in your treatment.

“It’s difficult to explain why you’re not angry with me.”

There it goes again, that weird phrasing of his inner thoughts. You huff in irritation and Mando misunderstands your annoyed expression so he steps away and turns to look everywhere else but you.

“No, Mando...maker- yes it’s difficult to explain because you’re- no, not you. It’s not your fault it’s mine. I’m just not used to- gods why is this so hard?” You’re visibly stressed and it must be a sight because Mando comes back to stand in front of you and he rests one hand on your shoulder, waiting until you turn to look at him before he tries to break the anxiety-inducing silence.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I- I shouldn’t have offered to walk through the festival with you. I should have thought of how uncomfortable you’d feel before I selfishly asked t-” You perk up at his choice in words and you’re about to ask him what he meant by what he said but he doesn’t give you a chance. “Please believe me when I tell you I only wanted to...I thought it might help.”

“You see, this is exactly why I’m avoiding you.” You’re not sure who’s more surprised by your little outburst but when his hold tightens around your shoulder, you think maybe it’s him.

“So you are avoiding me.”

“Yes okay? I am, I’m avoiding you because the last few days felt like a whiplash of emotions and I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. One minute you’re angry and quiet and it’s as if I’m not in the same space as you, and the next thing I know, you’re rewiring your damn ship so I know how to use it and then offering to pretty much waste your time during one of the most beautiful festivals in the galaxy just to make sure I’m enjoying myself. And...and it’s difficult because I feel myself falling but I don’t want to because I’m afraid...I’m afraid you won’t be there to catch me...because you don’t have to. Because why would you when-”

You’re not sure how you got to this moment but all you know is that you're’ suddenly surrounded by Mando and the cold beskar armor and his natural musk and this unique woodsy scent and it’s-

It’s breathtaking.

“Cyar’ika, I didn’t know...I didn’t know I was causing you this much distress. It’s difficult for me to- to speak my he- to speak at times. I wasn’t thinking of how I’m coming off and I was so busy trying to figure out my- my own feelings...that I didn’t stop and think of what you must be going through.” His voice is low and you think perhaps that it’s breaking with every word he whispers through the vocoder, so you do the only thing you think of at the moment. Reluctantly, you wrap as much of your arms around him as physically possible, hoping he’d understand that you were listening to him and no longer trying to ignore him.

“Mando-”

“I- I volunteered for this supply run.” You’re not sure how this relates to this current affair but you sink further into his embrace, hoping that he wouldn’t shy away from explaining why he’s bringing this up now.

“I know. Fett told me.”

“Did he tell you why?” Mando replies instantly and you furrow your eyebrows even though you know he can’t see you.

“N-no.”

“I- I couldn’t stop thinking of you. Ever since the last time I saw you, I’ve been at war with myself, with what I was allowing to happen. I knew you weren’t to blame with the cauterizer but I couldn’t accept my heart letting you...maker, I can see why you said this is difficult.” He chuckles nervously and you hold your breath in anticipation because he isn’t, he can’t be admitting what you think he is.

“W-what’re you saying Mando?”

“I’m saying I need you cyar’ika. I’m saying, I’ve been dreaming of you for the past 53 sleeping cycles. I’m saying, I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you after Pasaana.” You don’t realize how long you’ve been holding your breath until you exhale against him and Mando pulls away, keeping his helmet aimed to the floor as he continues. “And if- if you can give me a chance, I’d like to- I’d like to...well, I’m not exactly sure what you enjoy doing but I’d like to do it with you. You don't have to give me an answer now. I know I’m being selfish and I know that I- I don’t belong with you because you haven't seen color yet. But please, please consider this. Consider me.” His voice is much more reserved, lower even, than before and you realize it’s because he was probably considering not telling you up until now.

Your heart breaks at his last words because this was never something you thought you’d have to deal with. But looking back at the last few days, no matter how confusing or strange they were, you can’t help but admit how alive you’ve felt.

You know he doesn’t expect you to answer him right away and you know you should take some time to think over what he’s asking of you.

So when you lay both of your hands on his chest and ask him to look at you, Mando thinks you’re going to reject him and you feel his muscles tense when you step closer to him.

“I do...I- I am considering this Mando, I have been for the past few nights if I’m being honest...it’s actually part of the reason why I couldn’t look at you today. I woke up with this unusual thought, well, unusual to me. It’s been so long since I stopped thinking about seeing color and directed all of my attention to something, or rather, someone else.” You smile up into the visor and slowly reach to rest your hand on the space between his helmet and his cowl. The mere touch of your skin shakes him to his core and Mando has to clench his fists so he doesn’t lose control over himself.

“Today was the first time I woke up not caring if I hadn’t seen color because- because being with you, and- and talking with you and staying on this ship with you felt like I’ve already seen color. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I do...if I do, but I know that I’d like to give this, us, a shot.”

“You...you do mesh’la?” He almost sounds like a young child asking his parents for permission to have something and when you nod at him, Mando can’t hold back anymore. He wraps his arms around you once more, and carries you off the ground, smiling to himself when he hears you giggling at his dramatic display of affection.

He pulls away and you think he’s about to say something but a message comes through to the ship and Mando apologizes quickly before he ascends to the cockpit. You stay planted in your spot for what feels like hours before you hear Mando telling you that you’re nearing Pasaana. When you get to the cockpit and take your usual seat, Mando rises from his chair and approaches you, kneeling down at your feet to buckle your belt easier and ensure that you’re safe. It’s a small gesture but you know he’s conveying a thousand emotions in that little tap to make sure that you’re buckled in properly and when you smile at him, he reaches over and pushes a stray hair behind your ears before he returns to his pilot chair.

You don’t feel the turbulence once, mostly because you’re too busy replaying the brief moment over and over again in your mind until you’re sure you’ve committed it to memory.

Mando has to tap on your shoulder twice once he lands, and you nod in affirmation when he asks if you were feeling alright. The two of you make your way out of the ship just as Slave I lands. When you glance at Mando to ask him about the argument between him and Fett, you find him already staring at you. You smile at him and watch as he looks away apologetically. Maybe he really was as nervous as you.

“You’re coming along then?” Fett says to Mando as you make your way towards the desert and you pretend to focus on the dozens of kites flying in the air, unsure whether you were meant to be a part of this conversation or not.

Mando replies in Mando’a and you look to Fennec to ask her something about the kites to try and ignore the two men who may or may not have been talking about you. You’re about to ask Fennec about the colors of the flying toys when Mando steps in between the two of you and takes hold of your upper arm, pushing you ahead of the others so he could get a private moment with you.

“Is- are you okay?”

“Fine. He’s being difficult.” His curt answer lets you know that he wasn’t going to reveal what that whole ordeal was about so you nod and try to fall in step with him. You’re about to ask him about the colors of the kites when Mando leans over and whispers in your ears.

“Those two over there are red, like the color of the twin suns on Tatooine when they’re just setting. And, that one over there, the large one flying higher than the rest, it’s a dark blue...like the night sky.” You try to not let the proximity of his body affect you but the more he tells you of the colors, the closer you want him to get to you.

“That smaller one is light green, like many of the plants on Felucia.”

“I’ve never been to Felucia.” You admit to him as you keep your gaze on the kites, trying to differentiate between the colors but barely noticing a difference between the grays.

“I can take you there.” He offers with ease and you look into the visor and smile at him. “I’d like that.”

You can vaguely feel their eyes on you but you don’t bother to pay attention to them, wanting to spend as much time with Mando as you could. Once you reach the edge of the festival, you thank the Aki-Aki that approach you and wrap a necklace of flowers around you. You laugh when they reluctantly look at Mando and he sighs heavily at your death stare before he leans down and allows one of them to place a necklace around his cowl as well.

“Hey Mando?”

“Hmm.”

“Do the necklaces look the same?” Mando turns around and sees Fett and Fennec look away from the two of you. He waits until they walk the opposite direction before he looks at you and takes hold of your necklace.

“Yours have lighter colors...yellow, orange, white, pink and a few light greens here and there. Mine is darker. This is purple, and these are blue...and all of these are dark red and brown.” He points to each of the flowers and tells you its color, never once noticing the way you’re looking at him and hanging onto every single word he says.

When you hear the sound of distant music playing, you take Mando’s hand and make your way through the crowd, telling him that you want to see what they’re doing on the other side of the festival. Mando says nothing as you pull him through, only responding when you directly ask him about the color of the caravan fabrics and laughing when you joke about how he technically blends into the surroundings. And when you come across a large crate that you can vaguely see some designs on, Mando offers to make room for it on his ship so you can get it. It’s a long argument between the two of you but he wins in the end, telling you that he genuinely wanted to gift you something that you can remember him with and might enjoy some day. You almost cry at the unspoken implications of his words but when he shrugs his shoulders and hands over the credits, you quietly thank him and let the seller know that you’ll be taking it before you leave.

Over the next few hours, Mando never leaves your side once, even when you tell him that he should enjoy his time as well. You notice how he changes the subject every time you ask him to explore by himself and giggle when he responds with an opinion on some of the color combinations. It’s quite comical to be in the presence of such an intimidating individual who’s complaining about how ‘that blue doesn’t go too well with this red.’

As you’re making your way through the different caravans, you notice a table displaying a dozen large cloaks. Turning to Mando, you see that he’s busy asking one of the sellers if they have similar shirts but in darker colors. You walk to the table on the other side and look through the capes to try and differentiate between them. When you realize that it’s of no use, you hold one up and call for him to ask if he should buy a new one.

“Hey Mando, maybe you should get this instead of-”

The question dies in your throat when Mando glances away from the vendor and holds your gaze. Your brain refuses to catch up with what your eyes are seeing for what feels like an eternity and your hand flies to your chest and clench it tightly as your heart skips a beat at the sight in front of you. It takes a few seconds for you to inhale deeply when you realize that you aren’t breathing and you feel your heart skip a beat when you watch Mando strut towards you. He drops what he’s holding in his hands and takes a few strides in your way, not caring to hold back as he wraps one arm around your waist while the other rests on your neck and tilts your head so he could take a better look at you. You still can’t wrap your mind around what just happened and you’re not sure what he’s saying until he lightly shakes you in his arms and raises his voice to grab your attention.

Maker, his voice was unlike anything you’ve ever heard. It was hoarse yet calming, the kind of calming that one could only dream of feeling.

“Mesh’la, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” His voice shakes you to your core and your eyes shift down to his lips, tilting your head to the side when you follow the scruff peppering his handsome features and memorize the different colors of his hair. Gods, you couldn’t put a name to any of them but you knew you liked the combination of the light and dark outlining his sharp jaw.

“I- I don’t...maker. You’re...you’re-” You’re unable to form a coherent thought and as you reach out to touch his cheeks, Mando clenches his jaw but doesn’t dare to move a muscle. He realizes that this is the first time you see him without his helmet and he finds himself praying that you find him, at the very least, okay to look at. His hold on you eases when he feels the palm of your hand caress the side of his face before you push his hair aside. Mando nuzzles into your touch and he shuts his eyes to commit this moment to memory. The last time someone was this gentle with him broke his heart, but he found himself longing for a similar feeling with you. Only if it was you.

“N-no...please. Look at me.” Your whispered request drowns out the music of the festival and Mando’s eyes flutter open immediately. He looks down at you and can’t help but shift his focus to your parted lips as you try to speak again.

“Mando? What...what color are your eyes?” You hold your breath as Mando’s gaze softens when he meets your eyes again. He doesn’t know why you’re asking but he answers you anyway.

“Brown.” His voice breaks but then you’re smiling up at him as you reach for his cheek with your other hand and rest it on his heated skin. He’s not sure what brought about any of this but he can’t care less, not when you were here, in his arms, touching him so gently and looking at him like he was the only one that mattered across the galaxy.

“Hmm...they’re a beautiful color.” The admission sends a shiver down his spine and he doesn’t register the meaning behind your words until he sees your expression change to one of panicked shock.

Oh.

“You can see color?” Mando doesn’t intend to sound so accusative but his tone must have been harsh because you nod and snatch your hands away from him as if he’s burned you. You don’t dare look anywhere else as the reality of the situation settles in your mind.

It’s him. It’s been him all along.

“I- I can see color.”

Mando watches as you blink in confusion before you look to the side. You do a double-take when you see the vibrant colors of the festival and Mando steps away as you walk around him and approach a caravan hanging clothing of all color gradations. You ignore everything else as you softly trace the different colors and patterns on the garments before you walk over to the next little cart and stare at the vibrant jewelry. There’s so much to take in and you forget for a moment where you are. When you look away and turn your eyes to the sky, you can’t help but smile at seeing the kites gliding through the air. You don’t know which one you want to focus on because they’re all so pretty so you stand in there for a few moments to take it all in.

It’s not until you feel a presence next to you that you remember how you came to see this new world. When you begin to ring your fingers anxiously, Mando takes a step towards you and takes your hands in his palms.

“Cyar’ika, do you need anything?” He doesn’t know what to say and your lungs refuse to expand when you finally look at him again.

You spent years conjuring up different scenarios in your head to try and anticipate what to expect when you finally meet your soulmate. But standing here, in front of Mando, in the middle of the Festival of the Ancestors, you realize that this compares to nothing.

“I- I don’t…”

“If you want me to go-”

“No! N-no, please. Stay here with me. Stay here with...me.” Y

ou tighten your hold around his hands to prevent him from leaving. Mando nods and turns back to the caravan he was standing by to grab his helmet. You say nothing as he carries it and looks at you, but your eyes must give you away because Mando throws you a quick smile as he keeps it on his side and leads you through the festival.

Neither of you discuss the new development but you don’t ignore it either. You continue to steal glances from each other every now and then, especially when Mando leans over and tells you about each of the colors. Except this time, he doesn’t tell you so you could imagine what they look like. He tells you so you could memorize what each pigment is and begin to recognize them on your own. It’s almost as if nothing changed with how often Mando describes to you the gradations and patterns, but you know that this was far from the truth. And with the way Mando breathes softly against your forehead when he leans down to talk to you, you sense that he knows this as well.

He’s much more forward with his touches now, perhaps even a little shameless too. Hours ago, he would apologize if he pushed you by accident or shifted closer to you. But now, he was walking with you with one hand on your lower back and he would stand longer behind you as you asked about a new color shade.

As the sun slowly sets across the sky, you turn to Mando and wait for him to finish his drink before you ask him about the others.

“Do you mind if we don’t tell the others just yet?” You watch as Mando’s expression falls and you shake your head immediately so he doesn’t misunderstand the reason behind your request.

“Not because I don’t want them to know about us, I- maker, it’s just that I’ve experienced so many changes in the span of a few days and I want to make sense of things without...without someone asking me too many questions about what I’m feeling. I want to let this sink in? And- and I’d like it if it’s just you and me. Please.” Mando is quiet for a while and you think that maybe it was the wrong thing to say to him.

“Us?”

You can’t hold back your laughter at the soft question and you almost fall over from how hard you’re giggling at him.

“That’s what you took away from everything I just said?” You sigh in relief when he mirrors you and chuckles in return.

“I’m sorry cyar’ika, I- of course. Whatever you need from me.” He’s a man of few words but he somehow knows what to say to calm your nerves.

“Thank you Mando.” You say as you turn your attention back to the setting sun to watch the colors change across the sky.

“Din Djarin.” He whispers to you after a long while, and you meet his eyes briefly, your furrowed eyebrows silently asking him what he was referring to.

“My name is Din Djarin.” His gaze is piercing and you find it much more intense now that you know for a fact that they’re your favorite color. “So you can start calling the other guy Mando again.” Your heart skips a beat when you see dimples appear on his cheeks as he grins at his own joke, and nudges your shoulder so you could relax into him again. You say nothing and lean against his shoulder, resting your head on his beskar armor and enjoying the cold sensation against your heated skin.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit there in your bubble and watch the festival as it continues on for, but you’re interrupted when Fett approaches you and clears his throat to catch your attention.

“We’re leaving.” The Mandalorian says as he watches you closely. You think you’re being subtle studying his armor but Fett notices how you continue to look between him and Din’s and he tilts his head to the side as he turns to his friend and barely holds back from smirking at him.

Din nods and lets them know that you would be returning with him back to Mos Eisley. Fennec is about to ask why the two of you are acting differently when Fett shakes his head as he looks at you.

“Until next time princess,” Din’s posture straightens when he hears the nickname and narrows his eyes at the man trying to get a rise out of him.

“Usenye.” You snap out of your haze when you hear Din growl at his brother and wave goodbye to him and Fennec as they walk away from you.

“Is everything okay between the two of you?”

“Yes sweet girl, don’t worry about it.” You flush at the pet name and Din notices how you shiver at his touch when he raises your chin to take a better look at you. He slowly leans towards you, never once breaking eye contact as he grows closer to your lips. “Is- is this okay?” He asks and refuses to move a muscle until you respond to him. You’re already breathless and he has barely touched you but you muster up the courage to answer him.

“Y-yes.”

He smirks when your hoarse voice fans over his cheeks and as much as you wish for him to take whatever he wants, you’re thankful that he’s being patient with you and ensuring that you’re comfortable.

“Sweet girl,” Din whispers as he finally captures your lips in a chaste kiss. It’s at this precise moment that the festivities begin to pick up but you don’t notice the fireworks filling the skies or the music growing louder. You shut your eyes and hold onto Din’s wrists as he moves against you and deepens the kiss. When you gasp at his ministrations, Din’s hold on your neck tightens and he pushes you back until you lay on the blanket he set down for you. You moan as he slips his tongue past your lips and swirls his tongue across yours. Fisting your hands into his cowl, you try to pull him closer but cry out in pain when the beskar armor digs into your hips.

“I’m- I’m sorry mesh’la. I didn’t mean to-”

“No no it’s...it’s just your armor. I promise, I- I liked this.” You gulp nervously when you see an amused expression take over his handsome features.

“Is that so?” You don’t have time to react to his question, squealing in surprise when he suddenly stands up and pulls you along with him.

“What- where are we going?” You ask him as he pulls you through the multitude of visitors and Aki-Aki. He stops abruptly and speaks to one of the natives before he pushes you into the caravan standing behind him.

“Din, we can’t just-”

“I asked for his permission. Don’t you know, all of these are for visitors who want to stay the night.” You’re about to ask him why you’re staying the night out here instead of his ship but you can’t seem to form the question because you see Din taking his armor off.

It’s mesmerizing watching him take each beskar piece apart but when he’s down to just his clothes, it occurs to you that this night might be going somewhere else. Your nervousness must show on your face because Din walks towards you slowly and takes your hands in his. He kisses your wrists before leans over and rests his forehead against yours.

“Don’t worry cyar’ika, I’m not… I won’t- we’re not here to do anything other than talk. I didn’t feel comfortable taking my beskar off out there so-”

“I trust you Din.” You interrupt his word-vomit and lead him to one of the corners of the tent so you could lay down next to each other. When you rest your head on the pillow and finally look up, you’re met with a small opening in the ceiling of the caravan that gives you a perfect view of the blue night sky lighting up with fireworks.

When Din finally seats himself next to you, you whine in irritation and pull him down until he’s on his back next to you. Din never once lets go of your hand and he occasionally raises the palm of your hand to his lips to kiss across the skin.

“Can I ask you something?” You don’t look away from the fireworks when you speak, not wanting to miss seeing any of the vibrant shades of reds and yellows as they broke through the clouds.

“Anything sweet girl.”

“Why did you take off your helmet? I thought your Creed prevented you from showing your face.” You hope the question isn’t too insensitive or private, and when Din takes longer than you like to respond, you finally turn to him to apologize. But Din cuts you off before you can even say anything, keeping his focus on your wrist to distract him long enough so he could respond.

“I had a son once, well, he wasn’t mine physically but, he was mine. He was a foundling by Creed and I was tasked with bringing him back to his kind. It’s a long story that I could tell you another time but...when I had to give him up, I couldn’t bear the thought of him never seeing me without the helmet. I needed him to see me, to know what I willingly gave up and what I had to do to ensure his safety. I’d taken off my helmet once before and even thought it was my choice, I didn’t want to. But in that moment, before I watched him go, I decided that he was more important than my Creed. He was...he was everything to me. And it took a long time to realize that personal connections and relationships weren’t a weakness, they were a strength. My strength.” You’re not sure when you turned to your side and nuzzled into his embrace. But you couldn’t focus on anything else but him and the way his eyes twinkled in sadness when he mentioned his kid. It was a shocking admission and you never once thought of him in such a role but looking back at the last few days, you didn’t find it impossible. He was kind, quiet, sweet, adn patient.

“I keep my helmet on almost all the time but I only take it off around people I trust. I’m telling you this because- because I trust you. I trust you cyar’ika. I took it off earlier today because I wanted you to see me...and also because I was trying to pick out a gift for you. I figured if I didn’t preface it with anything that it would be less dramatic but- little did I know.” The indirect mention of the not-so-little change you experienced earlier today makes you smile.

“If I knew you needed to look into my eyes for you to see color, I would have taken off the helmet the first time I saw you.” He trails his nose across your cheek before he kisses your eyes and your forehead, smiling down at you when he sees how relaxed you feel in his arms.

“It wouldn’t have mattered.” Your response surprises him and he pulls away and looks at you quizzically.

“I- I saw you before my eyes saw you, Din. My heart chose you before my soul did. I...I think I knew when I saw you again…I think a part of me knew that you were it for me and that it didn’t matter if I didn’t see color with you because- because you were...you’re perfect.” You feel a weight lift off of your chest when you finally confess to him what you’ve been feeling for the past few days and you shift impossibly closer to him to let him know that you were telling the truth.

“I’m not perfect mesh’la.” His laugh is self-deprecating and he only stops when he feels your hand slip around his back and hold onto his shirt like your life depended on it.

“You are to me.” It’s perhaps too forward for him and Din doesn’t know how to react or respond to your confession so he nods at you and nuzzles into your neck to avoid any more of your intense emotions.

“You haven’t told me yet what your favorite color is.” He tries to change the topic, not expecting your response to shoot through his chest and into his heart like a blaster.

“Brown obviously.” You answer instantly and without hesitation.

“Why ‘obviously’?”

“Well, it’s-it’s your eye-color Din. What other color could be my favorite?”

His heart ceases to beat at your adamant reply and he pulls away again to look into your eyes to see if you were teasing him. Instead, he finds something swimming in your eyes that would have terrified his soul had he met you years ago.

“Ner kar’ta,” Din moans into your ear as he rests up on his elbow before molding his lips with yours again. You don't know what any of the Mando’a means but you have a pretty good idea of what he’s trying to convey in that moment and you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer to you. When he lays back down and pulls you into his side, you can’t help but take one last look at the night sky, finding the stars shimmering behind the multitude of fireworks. You watch the different colors blend with each other, and you almost cry when you see the yellows and greens and blues mixing so beautifully together to create new gradients across the galaxy.

But none of them compared to the color of Din’s eyes. And you go to sleep dreaming of the moment those kind, dark, brown orbs captured your soul and whispered affections into your heart.

Translations

Mesh’la - beautiful Cyar’ika - beloved/darling Ad’ika - little one Usenye - go away Ner kar’ta - my heart

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @mouthymandalorian @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul

Din Djarin: @a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Linktober Day 1 - Monster/Beast

2391 Words

Warning for a mention of blood

Huzzah! I did it, Linktober is here and I actually wrote something of decent quality! Please enjoy Urbosa being a badass...

- - - - - 

“I heard your screams the other night, when you tried to consume my people.”

A shrill cry pierced the air. The night a bruising purple, the moon bleeding blue.

She stepped closer, and the screech of the desert grew louder, the echoes fading into wisping sandy grains. “Quite difficult, wasn’t it? Trying to burrow through Gerudo walls?”

The moon slipped beneath a midnight cloud, the horizon fading to foggy haze. Despite this, her head piece glistened gold, embers that glowed amidst her fiery hair. The glint of jewels adorned on her ears, shield, and scabbard was only rivaled by her flickering emerald eyes. She gazed at the desert, daring it to tremble once more. 

“Resilience is etched in the history of my people, to even the first of our endeavouring ancestors. Their walls, their craft, their blades, their legends— all of unyielding strength.” 

Another step forward, a hand resting on her hip; the Chief’s face was calm, yet determined. She looked around, but nothing moved. All was still as stone. 

“Perhaps time has made you forget, little worm.” She raised her voice this time, trying to get a reaction from the void.

“I will be happy to give you new peace of mind, when I pry your skull upon my steel.”

The world shook, another scream was let loose somewhere beneath her. The warrior pivoted her step, the metal sound of her blade unsheathed rang through the air. A confident note to a familiar song…

There you are.

The good thing about the desert is that it’s easy to spot things out of place. Amidst the towering ruins of forgotten sandstone monuments, one would assume that a moving pile of sand was out of the ordinary. 

It slithered by the corner of her gaze, disappearing just as she fully turned around— but it was enough, she had it. 

It was a mass of sand creeping, the sound of each grain slowly falling like water, settling back down to even earth as the warrior felt the shudders from underneath the ruins. The faint clicking of a blind wretch was all the confirmation she needed. This was the same beast.

“It is tradition to prepare for your demise, before each battle. A will, a tomb, a final wish…” She strutted carefully towards where she last saw the sand shift. “Such is the way of each warrior before me. I can only trust you’ve made your own plans.” The wind suddenly sighed deeply, and the shadowed clouds parted for the silver of the night.

“But if you have forgotten, you need not worry…”

Urbosa raised an arm to the sky, moonlight revealing her newfound smirk.

“For I will carve your grave.”

Snap.

BOOM!

A crack of thunder, a flash of green. The hair on her neck rose as lightning struck. The spot of sand Urbosa had targeted suddenly exploded upwards in a wave of earth. 

It screamed in pain, escaping towards the sky. As stray thunder struck in the ruins around her, the moonlight was suddenly obstructed by a monstrous silhouette, the shadow painted her and the sands grey.

The Molduga arched back towards the earth.

It thrashed and wailed as it dived, the momentum of its sudden plunge through the air made a thunderous noise of its own. The beast connected to the earth with a loud thud, before it attempted to burrow back under the ruins.

Oh no you don’t!

Urbosa ran forth to strike a blow, the winds behind her are her black skirt fluttering over the shivering ground. She could already feel the sweat trickling against her metal armour. Good, she thought, perhaps this night will be more of an interesting challenge after all. 

Even in the haze of night, she could determine her proximity to the beast from smell alone. The stench was ripe of muck, sulfur, and blood. Urbosa let loose her momentum and jammed her blade into its underbelly, another howl escaping the beast.

Quickly dodging its swiping tail, she jumped back and wiped her brow. The Molduga burrowed with newfound speed, escaping to the darkness below. A trail of oozing blood across the land was the only evidence of its existence, before the beast was completely swallowed by the sand.

The warrior scoffed. “What’s wrong? No chomping today?” Urbosa crowed, “As cowardly as your tactics are, I’d expect you would at least try to nip me!” She turned in place, eyeing the East Barrens for some sign of her foe. 

It was weak, that was for sure. Two nights ago, it had rammed its mighty and witless face against the walls of Gerudo Town— presumably in order to get inside. But the stone did not budge, and a fleet of warriors led by Urbosa were able to send the monster fleeing towards these ruins. 

An itch in the back of her skull told her there was more to the story...after all, Molduga don't seek people unprompted. They’re an ambushing species, preferring to wait for prey to walk over it before striking. Why it was agitated enough to seek out a populated town...Urbosa didn’t know. But at the end of the day, her mission would be the same— the beast won’t live to see the setting stars.

She had come equipped with her trusty Daybreaker and scimitar, her heels swapped for sandboots that better moved across the sinking earth. Not that it was incredibly necessary. All it took was a direct blow of lightning, and the thing would be nothing more than a tale for the tavern. But Urbosa knew better than to underestimate her enemy. 

The Gerudo Chief crept through the night, keeping her footsteps quiet and unassuming. The pillars of the East Barren towered with consuming shadows. The chiseled peaks that separated her and the distant Gerudo Valley stabbed the blackening sky with bronze. 

Feeling a charge stirr in her soul, Urbosa called out again. She had to find it before it found her first. 

“Won’t you grace me with your soothing song again? I promise to give you a thunderous applause!” 

The clouds billowed against the moon, shadows from looming structures flickered in and out. The ground quivered in response.

And in the distance, the desert exploded. 

A mass of sand swam towards her with violent speed. A ruined column in its path collapsed in a mess of sandstone and broken brick, falling pathetically in the sand. A sickening whine could be heard all around her, resonating from the earth, but undoubtedly sourced from the approaching foe. 

Now that’s more like it…

Urbosa stepped to the side, moving away from where she had last taunted the beast. It may be able to detect the vibrations of her voice and running, but her careful footsteps, with aid from the sandboots, would be nothing more than a whisper to the Molduga. 

She summoned the electric charge that stirred within her, she could already feel the air crackle and tense. As the mass of sand beckoned closer, she snapped her fingers once more, this time directing it towards a broader area in front of her. 

Thunder cracked like a whip, lightning striking around her. However this time, the energy was dispersed, focusing on three areas— far left, far right, and far center. The disturbed sand in their respective locations erupted as a result, before crashing back down nearly as quick as her own snap. 

The desert mound hesitated, slowing cautiously. 

Urbosa laughed to herself. Where will you go, little worm? Where do you think I am…

The Moldaga’s hulking figure didn’t hesitate for longer than a minute. It regained it’s moment, quickly veering to the side. It seems to have made its choice, assuming Urbosa was near where the far left lightning had struck. 

Urbosa readied her free hand, while adjusting her grip of her sword in the other. The Molduga approached her trap, sinking deep into the sand, and freeing the view to the horizon. 

And for a moment, Urbosa could see a forgotten sunset, on the faintest edge of the desert’s endless expanse. It winked faintly against the canvas of stars. The gentle slopes, carved with the delicate brush of the cool night breeze— for a moment you could forget the lurking dangers of this world. 

Then, the sunset erupted with fury.

The Molduga rose like fire, opening its jaws wide for an unseen prey. The last silver of the sun was stolen away by the beast’s enormous frame, and the sky bruised purple once more.

As it hung, suspended in mid air, the world was silent except for cascading grains of sand, and the Molduga’s shrill and deafening scream.

Snap. 

The sky flashed green, to white, and back.

The air charged, ready to crack into a boom. 

But thunder never shook the earth.

The Molduga’s cry was muffled by the resonating rumble in its throat. 

Urbosa sprinted forth, a grin stretched wide across her face.

She had struck true. 

The Molduga collapsed onto the ground, another explosion of sand filled the surrounding air. Its mouth crackled with static, its body twitched and convulsed. The smell of blood and sulfur was now a thousand times worse, it was as if someone had burned a whole graveyard. The sensation nearly made her eyes tear, but Urbosa did not stop to weep.

There would be no pity for the lightning eater. 

Urbosa let out a cry, before stabbing her sword straight through the Molduga’s lower jaw, pinning it to the sand. Its wail and horrific breath swept directly in her face, but the warrior did not flinch.

“I hope you enjoyed the view up there,” Urbosa walked towards its beady, useless eyes, leaning in, “It’ll be the last good thing you’ll see.” 

Urbosa studied the creature's face. It’s eyes glowed an eerie blue, luminescent in the night. Peering back towards the Molduga’s mouth, Urbosa frowned in confusion. 

Blue…?

Well that’s new. She furrowed her brow. As far as she could remember, the beasts of sand were amber, or brown in color, or at the very least some sort of hue that resembled the sand. They definitely weren’t of a stark lapis or cerulean, unless this was some sort of icy...snowy variant?

Urbosa shook the thought out of her head. Such a thing was impossible, Moldugas thrived on the depths of the desert sand, and such a feat could never be replicated in the tundras of Gerudo Highlands. Still, the beast’s mouth and eyes glowed mysteriously...new questions brewing in the Gerudo Chief’s mind.

But now was not the time, any moment, this monster would regain its strength and attack. 

Urbosa suddenly turned towards the beast’s upper back, noticing a different hum in the air. A thing and long stick protruded from one of its fins, and she climbed up to investigate. 

Using it’s tiny head as a stool, Urbosa lifted herself up and walked upon its back. The stick she had heard humming was growing faintly louder as she approached. Grasping both hands and it’s end, she pulled with great strength.

A glowing blue spear head emerged from the fin, flickering hot like fire. It’s hue was the same of that of the Molduga’s eyes and inner mouth. Could this be why this creature glowed…?

She balanced the spear in each hand. She wasn’t much of a spearman, preferring the balance of shield and blade. But her Scimitar was busy pinning it’s mouth to the ground, so it would have to do. 

Urbosa walked back over the Moldugas back, before positioning herself above the beast’s head. It was time. She let out a breath of adrenaline, and she could swear the thing had sighed in response. 

“I am no monster,” Urbosa steadied her grip, grazing the blue tip of the strange spear just above it’s skull. 

“I promise this will be swift.”

- - - - - 

“Ahem! Lady Urbosa...”

The Hylian advisor spoke again, cutting through the chief’s thoughts.

“When you say you used this strange spear, how certain are you of its effect? Did it truly slice through this new monster like...how did you say it...butter?”

Urbosa sighed, she’d been in this political meeting for what felt like a century. At this point, the Yiga were better company. 

“New in nature and color, but I assure you, the Molduga is as equally dead as all other beasts I have faced. The threat is gone.”

The Hylian clicked her tongue. “Yes, I understand the blunt of it, but I need the details specifically, if I am to reveal this information from Her Majesty, the Queen.”

The mention of her childhood friend renewed her interest in the conversation. “You have thrown the Queen of Hyrule’s title around quite lazily this evening, so perhaps we should cut to the point and not have you return to her empty handed? Hmm?” Urbosa raised an eyebrow with a smile.

The woman stammered for a moment, readjusting the bun of her brown hair. The throne room was probably scorching to this stuffy Hylian. In different circumstances, Urbosa might have felt pity.

“Very well,” the Hylian finally responded. “But I just need you to be absolutely sure that the glow was of Sheikah origin.” She gestured for probably the fifteenth time that night at the set of Ancient weapons on the table.

The weapons flickered blue, hot as fire, and as lightweight as air— were they not relics, Urbosa would have liked to keep the one that was shaped like a giant axe.

“Yes, I am positive.” Urbosa said sternly.

“It is my, and Her Majesty’s, belief that you do not endure a fight, but a trial. A trial planned by an ancient civilization.” the advisor spoke carefully, acknowledging that her words caused confusion for some of the Gerudo guards standing by the door. “Similar events have happened in other sections of Hyrule, beasts and signs that direct at certain individuals.”

The Gerudo Chief rubbed her chin thoughtfully, before shaking her head. “I’m afraid I don’t fully understand…”

The Hylian advisor pulled out a scroll, Urbosa could recognize the cursive handwriting of her royal friend. The other guards murmured at the royal wax seal on its surface.

The advisor spoke again. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it consumed the people’s attention nonetheless.

“Chief Urbosa, a new prophecy has been revealed, and I think you would find its contents quite interesting.”

[freechoicedreamer]

Body and Soul (Ch. 12)

AO3

Opening Theme

“Your hands, your hands, Fall upon mine as waves upon the sands. O, soft as moonlight on the evening rose, That but to moonlight will its sweet unclose, Your hands, your hands, Fall upon mine, and my hands open as That evening primrose opens when the hot hours pass. Your hands, your hands, They are like towers that in far southern lands Look at pale dawn over gloom-valley'd miles, White temple towers that gleam through mist at whiles. Your hands, your hands, With the south wind fall kissing on my brow, And all past joy and future is summed in this great 'Now!”

(John Freeman, Hands)

*

Enchanted Mountains, Arendelle

Long and strong hands were the first attributes to catch Anna and Kristoff's attention. The baby searching eyes, curiously looking at his parents, and his hair, so pale that looked like a white down covering the white skin, came later. But the hands defined Handy, whose previously chosen name, Aatami, was immediately discarded as soon as the proud and exhausted new parents -Anna's labor lasted 10 hours! - laid their eyes on the little boy.

"Feet and hands of a climber..." declares his aunt as she bends over the crib, examining the newborn and already completely in love, "...hmm, conquering look of who knows that already has me in his palm, isn't it my cute little baby?!"

"Gideon," Anna turns to her sister's husband, who was watching the scene from a distance, "you've got competition!"

"No, if we consider that I'm in love with Elsa's loving way with your son, Anna…" he confesses already totally comfortable in expressing his feelings for Elsa in front of her sister and brother-in-law.

Elsa turns to look at Gideon sideways and smiles covertly. To their innermost sphere of friends their shyness and need to preserve the aura of mystery surrounding their relationship has given way to the relaxation of a 'let it go', although both still react with a barely-disguised surprise before public demonstrations of affection coming from the other. But what is better is that, as a reaction, no one else is surprised by them. Even out of their circle, as two public figures they have truly become an item, an emblem for a consolidated couple with private life out of the spotlight - everyone understands and respects their choice. (The same discreteness does not apply for more outgoing personalities, such as Anna’s, who is only curbed by Kristoff's more down-to-earth, practical way).

The royal palace is now divided into three wings. For housing the two new families in a more independent way, each sister occupies one of the two private wings, which in practice corresponds to twin homes, while the third wing is also divided into two sectors, one for the administrative activities of the Enchanted Mountains and the other for those related to the Ministry of Adventure Tourism.

As suggested by Belle, Gideon and Elsa actually chose to keep two residences, the other in his castle - arrangement that, in practice, doesn't change much for them because both palaces are located in the same enchanted land and the time to switch from one to another literally corresponds to the time spent at the flick of a finger.

"I've heard that Jasmine and Aladdin have welcome their little baby girl less than a week ago - which means all royal babies that spent Operation B&S in their mommies' wombs have already been born," Gideon tells them, moving to sit at the armchair close to the fireplace, "and we still need heating in late April, quite impressive…" he grumbles through his teeth.

"We are in the highest mountains, Gideon," Elsa joins him, "and in the highest latitudes…"

"The latitudes could be higher, though…" Kristoff sighs sitting close to Anna.

"What do you mean?" Elsa asks intrigued, "Arendelle is on the northernmost border."

"He means there is more beyond the frontier, higher mountains, even… He means Canada, for example, just to remain close to where we are…" Anna explains.

"But then we would have to cross the magic barrier. Of course I know that the world doesn't end on the border, but I'm not used to think beyond Maine," Elsa justifies her question.

"I think that when we think on adventure we can’t think on these limits.” Anna defends hers and Kristoff’s point of view, “and we are not alone, know that there are those that refuse to be caged in.”

“I get what you mean,” Gideon nods reticent.

“You do? You mean in a literal sense or in metaphorical one?” Kristoff questions him.

“In both senses, they refer to explorers. In a metaphoric sense, those thinking about going beyond the borders are like the eyes of an imaginative child, to give you just an example. In common with those in the literal sense they aim at exploring our world and learning, each day, how much wider it is than they thought the day before. Explorers are a self-fulfiller, self-motivated, self-driven, and self-sufficient. Independence is their hallmark...”

Smiling dreamily, Anna whispers, “Kris, remind me to ask Gideon to write the flyers for Summer vacations…”

Still wondering about what Anna said before, Elsa finally asks, “Anna, what do you mean by not being alone - am I sensing a new rebellion being forged?”

“Of course not,” Anna responds while accommodating the baby on her lap to breastfeed him. “I was referring to a recurring topic of conversations in taverns, restaurants, family reunions, especially since the shelter gatherings. During Operation B&S people talked a lot, being confined as they were, you know?"

"You mean… Operation B&S awakened the seeker?" Elsa asks.

"More than that, sis. During Operation B&S Kristoff and I ran a research in some shelters with two groups of adults: Younger and between 30 to 40. You didn't see it because you spent a lot of time at a kids' shelter... Anyway, compiling the answers we came to the conclusion that among us there are more wanderers, pilgrims and iconoclasts than we imagined - which is good for the Ministry. Borrowing Gideon's term, we identified a lot of explorers, people seeking to escape the confines of their average life by traveling the world or exploring its many mysteries."

"That's interesting… and to think you haven't sampled the two segments with the highest concentration of explorers: kids and teens. Anyway, better not explore this subject too much. Transposing the borders could have unpredictable consequences, there are plenty of places to explore within the Realms, so many that would take many lifetimes to explore them all…" Gideon reasons.

"Sure," Kristoff intervenes, "Anna's concern is with conformity - it reminds me how we, when children, loved to learn about the world. But don't worry, we are all good, no rebellion in sight… With Handy and within the realms we already have a lot of fun in the horizon. After the many events - fairs, festivals and tournaments - among many other tourism activities planned for this Summer, our next achievable goal is to activate the underground canals' maze for guided tours, perhaps this Autumn…"

"Wait a minute," Elsa cuts him, "but the maze... how to cross it without magic runes?"

"Well, good thing the Trolls are our friends, isn't it?" Kristoff winks, "we promised them to not include the Valley of the Living Rock in any tour package, in other words, to leave them in peace and alone, and in exchange they have drawn a few sketches of the maze. Grand Pabbie, Bulda, Cliff, Little Rock, and Goth - all of them are helping."

"The only thing holding back the project is the restoration of Wish Rumple's Castle. It's progressing slowly but we understand that its cleaning is complex and involves more than healing a build. As you know, Archie and Wish Regina are using the restoration as a recovery treatment for both Felixes and that requires another timing." Anna remembers. "Once the castle is ready, which I suppose will happen by autumn-winter, we'll be able to open the first United Realms Ski Resort. If it wasn't for Handy I'd be anxious, but now I'm not in such a hurry, every minute of this cuddly is precious and I want to enjoy it intensely," she says, looking tenderly at the baby breast feeding on her...

Enchanted Mountains, Wish Rumple's Castle

After its last residents, the old castle was left in ruins metaphorically comparable to the mental tissue deterioration of the newest pair of wish-nonwish twins. One of them, actually, ended up earning a new chance for living on Earth but in common both were lacking in emotional stability and life purpose. For this reason, Archie and Wish Regina, working together to socially reintegrate the two men - two adults too far away from their Lost Boys time, decided to develop for them a special rehabilitation program. This way, Felix and Wish Felix were enlisted as constructor apprentices in the Wish Rumple's Castle Restoration Project.

"They'll need many years of therapy," Archie diagnosed, but in order for them to become socially integrated, the participation in this project will give them a feeling of being useful, it will be good for their self-esteem, among other more audacious goals I hope they manage to achieve. But make no mistake, we are dealing with two cases of deep trauma."

"Luckily, the first steps have already been overcome," Archie continued to explain to those deciding over the guys' fate, "I mean, for their real therapy to begin they had to start walking the right path: both have already admitted that for them it is no longer a matter of blaming the father and mother figures standing in their way, as they used to do as Lost Boys - it is on them, the blame. Even this realization, helpful as it is, somehow is still a bit negative because it simply states that they realize that their parents are not against them, they are."

"I'm not sure if I got what you're saying. Who/what inner part is against them?" Killian questioned. "Is there a hidden part of their personality under the father and mother images making them believe for years that the cause of most of their trouble might somehow have got into them from outside?"

"Before answering this question, let's remember that we are dealing with two traumas interconnected. Besides the father-mother issue, cultivated for centuries in both Neverlands by each Felix -  I'm naming it 'the Lost Boy Trauma', there is another equally (perhaps even more) important part: their unresolved sexuality. Despite their loyalty to their lovers' evilness, the misdirection of their sexual energy, the unhealthy development of their libido in an abusive and secret relationship never allowed to come out in the open and, which is worse, their true love and devotion, all of that ended up in betrayal, abandonment and feelings of hatred and sexual rejection. So, basically, in a second pack, there is the 'Pan/Malcom Trauma'. While Pan can be seen as Malcom's pedophile side disguised as a boy, each Felix must be seen only as Felix, they went to Neverland during their adolescence, not as a perverted adult reverted to a boy's age. That said, Killian, to answer your question, their inner hidden part fighting against them is the counterpart of their conscious attitude. The unconscious side will leave them no peace and will continue to plague them until it has been accepted. If they were younger a liberation from the past could be enough and a beckoning future would naturally stand ahead rich in possibilities, it would be then sufficient to break a few bonds and the life-urge would do the rest. But in Felixes' cases, they are not really as "young" as their bodies seem to be, the challenges are complex, the stakes are higher."

"In this case, what will be your approach for treating them, Archie?" Key asked.

"I'll illustrate with a metaphor, Key: the butterfly's metamorphosis, this is what I plan to explore during the treatment - a transformational process that might need to be extended over a considerable period of time, during which both Felixes will find themselves living in the very foundations of a world under construction. So, in this sense, I plan to get them involved in the process of restoration of the castle as a metaphor for the life-changing transformation they have to face, a massive reorganization of attitude, behavior, and sense of meaning similar to the massive reorganization of the chaos left by the Pans and Cruellas. Being there, working with their hands in the cleaning and reorganization of the rooms, helping to transform it into a Ski Resort, will trigger their singular encounter with a transformative image after transforming their major life traumas. The castle restoration will take months but for them their own metamorphosis, or transformation, will probably take years to become complete. When there is such a major passage, one can think in terms of the passing over (meta, trans) from one form (morph, form) to another."

...

Wish Regina is now married to Liam Senior, who decided to remain in land with her and Roland (though sometimes the young man visits his father and Regina and stays for a while with them). Besides their work on the Social Welfare Ministry, Liam and Wish Regina run, nearby their Enchanted Seashore house, a restaurant, The Sentinel, and a small hostel which is frequently the in-land home of the Nautilus' crew. Within her duties as Minister, once a week W. Regina travels to W. Rumple's castle taking Tink, W. Tink and the two Felixes with her. They are left there during the five working days, together with architects, bricklayers, carpenters, plumbers, electricians and painters, working on restoring the castle - left in ruins by the Pans and Cruellas - and creating a completely new place. During the weekends they return to Storybrooke and remain in a Detoxing Clinic.

Under the  supervision of the two Fairies, their old acquaintances from both Neverlands, the ex-lovers of Pan and Wish Pan are responsible for cleaning the aura of the old castle, which is done through meditation exercises. For that, by acting on their own aura, cleaning the energy field that covers their entire bodies and protecting their spirits from the energies that surround them, they become energy generators producing purifying fields for the environment. This way, their  psychic irradiation acts to clean the castle aura. The principle the Fairies use is a combination of mindfulness and meditation applied through simple exercises based on three techniques that greatly help to eliminate negative energies: 1) absorbing sunshine; 2) purifying energies through the crystal clear water of the underground rivers; and 3) just lying in a comfortable place where they can have time for themselves, without being disturbed, to empty their minds and relax their bodies.

In the beginning, only the two Felixes and the two Tinks took part of the exercises but soon the others joined their sessions, usually happening early in the morning, at noon and in the evening. With such a good camaraderie being established, Felix started to help the carpenters and Wish Felix, the  painters (the fairies opted to work on the kitchen). These new developments have already showed the first signs of their past traumas' healing.

...

The Felix case rekindled the debates over the activation of the Ministry of Justice - which had been set up with the other ministries but the post had not yet been occupied. Regina, since Robin's return, has been completely refreshed and enthusiastic about the UR activities, and although accumulating the Justice post, she was the first to suggest that a new minister should be appointed. Some names were thought of, but all opinions converged when someone mentioned the name of Emma Swan-Jones…

For Emma, more than a Poetic Justice, the nomination was the crowning of a life trajectory, of a heroic journey marked by being a product of True Love in an unique configuration, back to old times at the Enchanted Forest. Above all, more than a tale written by the Fates, everybody agreed that she would be a natural in managing matters pertinent to the judiciary, police, maintenance and defense of human rights. Besides, having her beloved Captain by her side, leading the intelligence bureau of all realms, would be the icing on the cake.

By her turn, on numerous occasions Emma had already assisted Wish Regina at the Social Welfare Ministry, especially in the project most dear to her - Childhood & Adolescence, but she was somewhat reluctant to accept the invitation for a major ministerial role. Eventually she decided in favor of it once a few conditions were fulfilled satisfactorily. For that, Cruella's house was finally given a purpose after the clones were removed from it. Emma and Killian's goal was to remain in Storybrooke, close to their relatives and to the sea, and that was made possible when the Justice Ministry started to operate in the old mansion after another restoration project was carried out on it. The energy cleansing process adopted was similar to the one being performed at Wish Rumple's Castle - an Astral Healing Operation, but to a lesser extent given the different scales of the two buildings.

All in all, six and a half months after Operation B&S, everyone is starting to rationalize with their minds what has already been felt by their hearts: the astral field is cleaner now and a new energetic balance is gradually being achieved in the Upperworld Realms...

Olympus, Persephone's Garden

In the past, Persephone had a garden of ever blooming flowers in the Underworld but that changed after Hades' descent into madness and villainy - nothing else could flourish there. For Persephone, however, with the half-yearly change of scenery, a garden at Olympus would always bloom and produce her favorite fruit, pomegranate, upon her return to the Upperworld in spring.

The pomegranate is a fruit-bearing deciduous shrub fruit that has been used throughout history and in virtually every religion as a symbol of humanity’s central beliefs and ideals, namely, life and death, rebirth and eternal life, fertility and marriage, and abundance. For the goddess, it features prominently in the story of her marriage to Hades. Hades kidnapped Persephone and took her to the Underworld to be his wife. Persephone’s mother, Demeter, goddess of fertility, considering her daughter lost, went into mourning and thus all things on earth ceased to grow. Zeus, Persephone’s father, commanded his brother Hades to release her, however Hades had tricked her into eating six pomegranate seeds, and it was a Fate's rule, later repealed, that anyone who consumed food or drink in the Underworld was doomed to spend eternity there. Since Persephone had eaten the six pomegranate seeds, she had to remain in the Underworld for six months of the year. Hades agreed to release her to the world above for the other six months of the year, to be reunited with her mother.  

...

For the gods, after the normalization of Nectar and Ambrosia production, the experience of being mortal became just a memory. But an unforgettable one, forever altering the way they view life and death. Apart from long philosophical discussions, however, in practice the cycles of seasons continue to follow, and with them, the time for Persephone's return to Olympus after the long winter.

Walking with her mother, Demeter, in their exuberant garden, Persephone reviews the events of the last period spent in the Underworld, probably the most intense and original of her entire existence.

“So far the total rebel souls count has surpassed 150,000, a surprising number. Arthur still suspects that there are some runaway souls hiding in the dry woods around Underbrooke, but no one to be found at the basements and sewers anymore. The rebellion leaders who refused to undergo a recovery program have returned to Tartarus and are now sharing the best-kept Titans' sector. I believe some of those who opted to cooperate can still be regenerated, such as Facilier, Tamara, Greg and a few others who showed signs of a slight regret - and you know that under my sight there is no way for them to fake a regret. By reading their aura I know that, ultimately, they all have as a goal drinking from the waters of Lethe to benefit from forgetfulness and to return for the reincarnation cycle. But their fates have yet to be revealed, they will be submitted to a new judgment and their new punishment will be defined. I’m advocating that there is no meaning in punishing if not for recovering but we will have to wait and see how the divine principle of Justice will be applied…”

“Remember that in some cases there is no return, my dear… By the way, what about Wish Rumple and Nimue? Despite the very serious crimes that weigh on them, without their help our victory would have been much more complex… ” Demeter asks.

“They are hibernating, especially Nimue, she hibernates 100% of the time. Merlin went down to the Underworld, accompanied by his friend Ingrid, and they worked with Nimue's soul for several days, applying passes on her, and helped Arthur and me to set up a gradual recovery program for her, in principle for lasting almost a century. Something different from what is being applied to James Nolan, because his case is quite simpler, his soul was not so corrupted. Similarly, for Wish Rumple, Wish Belle also worked with us to define a special recovery program for him. In his case, without the need of a prolonged hibernation. He voluntarily asked to gradually replace this therapy by a work assisting Arthur after Wish Belle moves to Elysium - which is about to happen. Another of his requests was to be part of the string quartet. As I’m not there, he has already started playing, but his instrument will change after Belle leaves. I've watched only one performance but the results on his aura cleaning were encouraging.”

“Hmm, that's interesting... We could use guardian flowers to accelerate Nimue and W. Rumple’s healing processes, they could be kept by Merlin and W. Belle, their true loves: a poetic outcome in the fate of the first and the last Dark Ones...” Demeter suggests.

“What a great idea! The flowers must be Red Rose, for Rumple, and Mistletoe, for Nimue, like this!” and with a gesture, Persephone produces two crystal cylindrical domes with the flowers in them. “We just need to give them to Merlin and W. Belle. For as long as they preserve their vitality and bright, there will be hope for Nimue and Rumple’s redemption.”

“Why not go down there now and give both to Belle? She can take them with her when she moves on. And I could go with you, you know, get to know more closely the Human that has stolen my daughter’s heart….” she winks.

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t deny, Persephone, it is too evident. You are in love with Arthur and that is great, I’m happy for you. You needed a King to reign with you…”

“Right…” she smiles timidly, “I confess, he really is a special man. But ours is an impossible love, Mother, he is more than mortal, he is dead man, I mean, he doesn’t have a physical body, which makes things more complicated for us.”

“Not for Zeus, you know, I have talked to him and he has agreed: if Arthur agrees he can be resurrected in a similar way as Killian Jones was. From that, if he drinks the Nectar, in a similar way as what happened to Psyche - remember her story with Eros? Well, then, if he agrees in drinking the Nectar he will be one of us, a God, the new King of the Underworld. He will reign alone when you, the Underworld Queen, come to the Upperworld during spring-summer, and he will stay with you, down there, during autumn-winter.”

“Oh, Mother!” she closes her eyes dreamily, “that would be a dream come true, a really good dream! Arthur is nothing like Hades, he is a loyal and righteous soul. Although he made a very compromising mistake in Camelot, he was the first victim of it, a consequence of Merlin's prophecy misinterpretation. He paid with his life for all his crimes and has given successive proofs of a brilliant, selfless intelligence. Not to mention that to my eyes at least he is a very handsome man and... by the way he looks at me, it seems that my feelings are reciprocated. Oh, Mother, I can't believe I've been given a chance to love and be loved again, to find physical pleasure with a god, again... " she sighs with her eyes closed, anticipating the hours of endless love and passion beside the future god. "You and my Father really made this Spring a special one for me, thank you so much!”

“I'm glad to hear you saying that, your happiness is well deserved - and I'm glad that this time, hopefully, shared with a god worthy of your love, Persephone. You have been a good queen but too lonely… So, let’s visit my future son in law, your King Arthur, and soon he will be the one feeling good. Actually, if he agrees - as I’m sure he will, he will be the one feeling god!" Demeter grins at her pun. "You know, my divine intuition is telling me that soon you will have back your garden down there: with the return of music and yours and Arthur's blossoming love I’m sure that soon the flowers will be back to Underbrooke, in a similar way as hope returned when Killian resurrected and Arthur decided to stay there. His resolution triggered the restoration of a broken kingdom, thus marking the definite end of Hades' era - Arthur being rewarded with immortality is not a favor, my dear, but an act of Justice."

Enchanted Sea, Nautilus

"Ursula, more than six months have passed and you haven't started drinking Ambrosia's Nectar yet... always with some excuse not to go to Olympus. Triton told me that he started drinking months ago..." Nemo again tries to understand Ursula's motivation for her Nectar's abstinence, trying to make her open up to him. This time, in response Ursula shrugs, smiles a mischievous smile, and finally offers him the first concrete answer about her motives: "I'll drink again if you agree to drink with me..."

Her response catches the Captain by surprise and his reaction is a plopped look, a parted mouth but no sound and, finally, a piercing look into her eyes. Before he outlines another reaction, however, W. Ariel and Junior knock at the door and announce that the last crossing point has just been unlocked during the little mermaid dive. With that, they all head to the main room for joining Harris, Martin and their guests, not without Nemo finally managing to whisper, back to Ursula, "this conversation isn’t over yet!"

...

Renewed and grateful for the new chance of a life on earth, Lieutenant Martin and Lieutenant Harris, in an eternal honeymoon, rejoined the Nautilus' crew and, for this dive into southern waters still within twenty thousand leagues boundary, they invited three new friends from their Underworld experience: Franz, from Arendelle, Theodora, from Oz, and Jefferson Hatter, accompanied by his daughter Grace. In addition to the entertainment tour for the guests, the expedition fulfills the mission of unlocking the remaining crossing points on the seabed gridline - those on Earth have already been unlocked and the telluric energies are back to flow freely.

…

Sit at a lunch table, they celebrate their mission ending while still retelling their vivid reminiscences of the Underworld. Always eloquent, Jefferson is one of the most talkative, especially when asked about his latest great adventure. “I spent a great deal of my long existence traveling between realms, crossing portals to other dimensions… I knew lands without color - just black, white and shades of gray; I explored alternate enchanted forests, distant realms, wonderlands and enchanted deserts, many of them running under different paces, but nothing prepared me for the Underworld. I couldn't say it was, in the strict sense, a bad trip, because we were received as warmly as possible given the circumstances, but the feeling of death can only be understood by those who felt and remember it!!”

“What about the Land without Magic, Papa? You never told me much about it...” Grace asks, moving to a less somber subject.

“That’s because I’ve only been there briefly, my dear. During the first curse I confess that I was tempted to move there, because being the only Storybrooke’s citizen keeping the Enchanted Forest memory, the only one who did not forget the real identity, besides Regina, was the true experience of madness. People often refer to me as the Mad Hatter, but the real madness has always been my extreme lucidity - the rest is eccentricity and legend. But then I never wanted to cross the border because I didn't want to forget you, Grace. Although the pain of being able to see you, knowing who you were, but not being recognized by you was almost unbearable, I didn't want to lose you. Later, after the first curse was broken it became possible to leave without losing my memory and I got away with it. I loved New York even though I wouldn't want to live there. But all the cosmopolitan buzz, the mix of peoples and cultures make it a city that cannot be considered without magic. Unfortunately, its problem is being in a very sick world, a very sick society. I admit that my analysis is too simplistic, but definitely their economic, political and social systems turn their world a sick land. I do not know if there is, on the whole planet within the dimension of the Land without Magic, any society or political or economic system that escapes this sickness. As a society we also have a lot of problems but nothing comparable to their reality. The United Realms creation, as a concept, is fantastic but no one can predict the long term consequences of bringing us together without portals to cross - the only outside world for us now is the Land without Magic, reachable by crossing enchanted border lines. For adventurers minds like mine crossing the UR border will be tempting, mainly for younger, explorer minds since the older ones tend to be more conservative and less curious. Besides, as we do access their world through the electromagnetic waves, we know what is going on there, though they don't access our encrypted signals - yet; we know them and their struggles but they don't know us. We know how badly they treat the planet..."

“I know that the oceans suffer a lot because of the people who inhabit the Land without Magic," W. Ariel comments. "I communicate with many sea inhabitants and they use to describe the atrocities they are subjected to: predatory hunting with institution of destruction, the greed of seabed exploration for oil extraction, nuclear tests, contamination of waters by chemical, radioactive and industrialized waste - tons of plastic waste; there are various endangered species out there... it's very sad what they tell me when they can cross the barriers that separate the Enchanted Sea from the other Oceans."

“Their armament industry forces them to live in a permanent war…” Ursula adds. “I lived there, I know quite a bit about what Jefferson said, he is absolutely right. You know, sometimes I wonder if the world would accept and respect our existence... we could help them in that case.”

“They are not prepared for accepting that those whom they classify as fictional characters are in fact real people,” Theodora explains. “I know that there have been attempts, in the past, of people from our realms who tried to explain that to them - all ended up treated as crazy people and died in an asylum.”

“I guess they would accept more easily the existence of outer space Aliens than ours!” Junior jokes.

“Even so,” Nemo ponders, “my adventurous, explorer spirit insists that there must be a way to cross the borders undetected and, once there, work anonymously and unknowingly to at least protect the natural resources of the planet - as citizens of the planet we are connected to them - if they destroy Mother Nature, they destroy themselves and ourselves!”

“Has anyone discussed the possibility of unifying the United Realms with the Land without Magic?” Franz wonders.

“That would be too problematic, Franz,” Nemo responds. “We would be seen as part of Maine, the US government wouldn't respect our independence and would want us to be subject to their command, under their taxes, laws, currency and state government’s policies. And which is worse, considering their belic industry and geopolitical/military interests, they would want to explore and use our Magic and our unique Science as a weapon - not to mention that other people would want to proclaim their cultural property to reclaim some of our kingdoms. But as we really are One, what happens in there directly or indirectly affects us. That's particularly true now. You see, we could help them during this pandemic crisis much more extensively if we weren't oblied to work anonymously.”

“We got to befriend the Shamans and their tribes,” Grace reminds them, “there is hope…”

“That is meaningful, it really is.” Franz tells Grace. “But I’ve been told by those who got to talk with the Shamans, during the Victory Celebrations, that most of their people have been decimated and their culture has been disrespected for centuries, now. They are the real Native people of the American territory, in other words the original inhabitants of the United Realms territory. Perhaps if it were for them, only, the border could be deactivated without problem. But let's face reality, we should take their experience as a reference and be prepared to defend our lifestyle and culture. From what I understood, if we opened our borders we could become an exploited freak, something like an exotic attraction. Their dominant system - capitalism, isn't it? - would see us as an absurdly great source of wealth and exploitation. That would be our end," he continues reasoning. “But I get your point, Grace, knowing that they are destroying and polluting our shared home, Mother Earth, and being here doing nothing is quite disturbing…”

“Franz is right,” Nemo agrees. “For capitalism, we would be seen as a source of profit, of power, only. Our mystical existence would be unexplainable for them. Our elements of mystery if not explorable for profit or domination could be seen as a threat to their lifestyle and religious systems, which, it seems, may enrich the understanding but rob the imagination… As for us, we use to divide the world not into different groups of objects but into different groups of connections and, based on that, my only hope of a better rapport with them comes exactly from their Modern Science and their Ancient Cultures, such as the Shamans’ - both get closer to our approach. For modern Physics, the world appears as a complicated tissue of events, in which connections of different kinds alternate or overlap or combine and thereby determine the texture of the whole. I could discuss our principles and mysteries with scientists but not with politicians and economists…”

“You are referring to Heisenberg's principle of indeterminacy, isn’t it? I read about it during the 28 years of cursed Storybrooke…” Jefferson asks. "The so-called uncertainty principle..."

“Exactly,” Nemo confirms. “Heisenberg was a congenial fellow, he emphasized that the view of nature as an object out there was quite illusory, he demonstrated that the subject was always part of the equation, that an inexorable reciprocity between subject and object existed such that the very act of observation changed irreparably what was being observed - unknowingly, he enunciated one of the principles of Magic!! That is also one of the most important paradigms of Psychology, a fundamental paradox of existence inherited precisely in the fact that the human being is both subject and object at once.”

“They would want to rob our Nectar of Ambrosia, again…” Ursula mumbles.

“Oh, that reminds me that Ursula and I have an important issue to discuss, privately. So, if you'll excuse us, my friends, you should continue the conversation without us for now. Shall we go to our quarters, Ursula, please?” Nemo addresses her, already standing up.

…

Closing their quarters door and sitting close to Ursula, Nemo turns to her, holding her hand, “Very well, Ursula… Immortality. Is that what you are offering me?”

“Yeah…” she answers timidly. “That, or the other way around, I mean, mortality for me. I can't handle any other alternative very well. I either become a mortal and follow the timeline with you, or bring you with me to the immortality line. There is no other alternative to my equation, Nemo. I wouldn't know, wouldn't resist, and wouldn't want to be eternal away from you. I have already talked to my father and Zeus, among the gods they are of the few with authority and power to allow a mortal to become immortal. They recently opened an exception for Arthur, in the Underworld, not only to resurrect him but also to make him immortal, and they will say yes to you if you agree. The final decision is yours, you are free to choose."

“I choose you, my love, my eternal love…” he closes the gap between them, caressing her arms up and down to hug her tightly, holding her chin, stroking her ear and opening his lips to kiss her soft lips as they start a sensual dance of passionate tongues as skilled and wet as the tentacles of an octopus and a nautilus curling up and merging into One in a mating ritual.

Elysium, Islands of the Blessed

Belle's farewell was gentle, full of promises and hope when she and Rumple consummated their love the day before her departure.

“Rumple, trust our love, always be guided by it, know that through our Rose, I will be always taking care of you and protecting you. Please remember, keep in your heart that ancient Greek inscription we so often read together, as the mark of our everlasting love: Time is a child - playing like a child - playing on a chessboard - the realm of the child. It is Telesphorus, who errs through the dark regions of the cosmos and shines like a star rising from the depths. It points the way to the gates of the sun and dreamland…”

“I remember,” Rumple whispers caressing her tenderly, “when we sit in our castle to read about Telesphorus, whom in Greek mythology symbolizes convalescence, the period following an illness. Perhaps, one day, if you go to Mount Olympus, you will meet him. He is the son of Asclepius, the chief god of medicine.”

“Yeah, I’ll remember that… Do you know, Rumple, why I liked so much this passage? I never told you, I guess. That is because the "disease", of which Telesphorus announces convalescence through its small lantern, is the moment of complete immersion in the unconscious, in the darkness of absolute nothingness, referred to in the Greek text as dark regions of the cosmos."

Nodding, Rumple smiles and then asks, “and have I told you before why I liked this representation of Time?” As she shakes her head, he continues, “normally time is represented by the figure of death, a sinister skull with a scythe in its hand, but here it is represented by a figure of a child: playing, illuminating our paths through the infinite sky's darkness. It is also a representation of the Self, our real being, when we finally recognize it. Telesphorus represents the time when light is rescued, he is the discrimination, the right direction during darkening situations. He is the Time at the center of consciousness.”

The tears fall as Belle closes her eyes to absorb Rumple’s words. Reopening them, she looks into his eyes. “My love, the images of time, as the skull that carries the scythe or as the child that brings the light, they refer to two types of time experience that you and I will undergo from now on. The first speaks of the linear time to which your next flesh, after your stage in Underbrooke, will be subjected, easily perceived by the external transformations manifested by the body design and the environment around it. It will be marked by birth, life, and death and is related to the causal form of thought, beginning, middle, and end. They are like deaths and rebirths. This is Kronos, which represents time related to death, a time that consumes itself. Our Love lives in Kayros, a nonlinear time. It represents those moments that transcend the limitations imposed by the fear of death in a second as vast as the infinite space. Please remember, Rumple, Kayros, in Greek, means the right time. In Latin, it corresponds to momentum, the moment that leaves a strong and unique impression throughout life without the weight of past burdens and the anxiety about the future.”

“I see…” Rumple nods barely managing to speak, also with teary eyes.

...

“I love you, ma Belle de Jour, my eternal Belle! Meet me in our Kayros, I'll be there... part of me will be always there, waiting for the Right Time when we will be together again...” Rumple waves as she slowly climbs the stairs to the Upperworld taking with her the two crystal domes with the two flowers, the symbols of Hope and Eternal Love.

…

Wish Belle died without a proper funeral ceremony - her remains were abandoned in a cell where they decomposed. Nonetheless, she was loved - much loved by everyone who knew her and it was this love that allowed her soul to have the direction it had in Underbrooke. Finally managing to steer her Unfinished Business to a good outcome, Wish Belle braced herself for the big and definite shift in her existence: the Champs Elysee. She arrives in the Islands of the Blessed through a portal that took her soul to cross her twin’s place of burial, as a kind of ritual of passage to absorb a proper burial, and is met by two friends who recently have been in the Underworld with her: Merlin and Ingrid.

“Welcome,” Ingrid tells her, extending her arms.

“Hello, Belle, welcome to your new home,” Merlin smiles, receiving the dome with Nimue’s flower and looking at it absently.

“Follow me,” Ingrid brings them both back to the present. “There is a reception party waiting for you, my dear, you will soon realize how much we enjoy a good socializing meeting with good talk, dancing, delicious meals, lots of music and peace. Above all, Belle, a lot of peace. This does not mean that we do not care about those who have not yet reached this state of mind, on the contrary. Even in the face of the pain and suffering of others, it is the serenity of our spirit that points to the paths and to the reasons why so much sadness still affects our beloved humans incarnated on Earth or in lower layers of the Underworld. Come, Belle, between us we don't have to use the prefix "wish" to distinguish ourselves, we just know who we are.”

…

Wish Belle is living with the two Baelfires, now that Milah has moved to Liam’s ship, where he already lived with Alice. Sometimes she visits her twin and brother in law, usually to borrow a new book, which she reads out loud in front of her Rose, imagining she is reading to her Rumple. Her sister took from Olympus a free pass to the Olympian Library and she is sure to have enough lecture for all eternity - both Belles don’t complain. The 'Tiltskin brothers are the best companions she could have asked for, always good humored, always gentle, always ready to talk and to day dream. They love to spend hours painting or hearing their neighbor, Aesop, narrating/creating new fables in the house he shares with Marian.

Ingrid, living with her sisters and brother in law, sometimes visits Merlin, joining Rumple, who also loves to visit the Wizard and his Apprentice, Jack, in a lab where they run experiments, discuss spells or simply talk about Life, Love, and Eternity.

Fergus and Farah, with Midas, Wish Midas and their wives share a common hobby: Midas received from the gods a wide screen similar to the Charmings', but in their case, instead of watching real life people, they prefer to marathon watching movies and series produced on the LWM.

In contrast to Midas' cine club,  Aunt Em, Ruth and Wish Ruth, being the Charming’s neighbors, are usually at their house watching their beloved ones, vibrating for them, feeling good with them...

Enchanted Sea, the Jolly Rogers

At the end of July, to celebrate the twins' third month and the first anniversary of the Sweet Suite, the much-dreamed and planned trip on the two Jolly Rogers finally became true. On a sunny Tuesday morning, the crew and passengers of the two ships departed from Storybrooke heading south, reproducing the original journey of Key and his four mates until their arrival on Heart-Shaped Island.

The preparations for the trip ran in parallel to a ministerial reform initiated with David's request to leave the Defense Ministry and to occupy the Agriculture Ministry, instead. What followed was a concatenation of changes leading to a brand new configuration. The renewed setup began to be outlined when Robin Hood assumed the Prime Minister position and soon after that several ministerial posts - previously created but not yet occupied - gained their holders, new offices and staff. As a whole, it was decided that each Ministry would have two holders to provide a better balance for them to conciliate their professional duties with their private lives.

This way, after David’s move, Emma requested Killian's release for working at the Ministry of Justice as head of the new Intelligence Bureau. Key, in turn, asked to share his time between Storybrooke Police Department and Emm's newly occupied Ministry of Art & Culture. As a leading specialist in computer science, Key naturally needed a higher freedom degree because he gradually became a consultant for all ministries but his goal is to dedicate, at least part-time, to fine arts, especially painting, and to maritime navigation - a dream shared with Killian. Besides, with his move he intended to free his wife for a part-time job thus allowing her to take care of the babies during their first year.

In the Magic Ministry Gideon gained Zelena's support after she and Chad settled back on her farm, previously occupied by Robyn and Alice. With the magic connection between the ranch and their Portland house, Zelena and Chad can better reconcile life on both worlds. Robyn and Alice, by their turn, are the newest occupants of the Loft in downtown Storybrooke.

Henry Mills joined Snow in the Education Ministry, while Chynna, besides majoring in  Psychology, took over the Communication Ministry with Sydney (her father joined Nemo in the Ministry of Science & Technology). Lily and Phileas Fog assumed the Transport Ministry in coordination with the activities ran by Aladdin and Eric at the Ministry of Industry & Trade whilst Lancelot and Naveen moved to the Defense Ministry. The complete setup diagram was emailed by Chynna to Robin a few minutes after boarding the ships and its printed version went hand in hand.

"It looks great," Snow summed it up and concluded with her characteristic optimism: “This diagram confirms that we are not leaving any critical issue behind. We are free to completely relax and indulge ourselves on the cruise to Heart Island. All aboard, settled down, great weather, two ships lined up and ready to set sail!”

Differently from the original 4-sailor team, the cruise required a bigger crew which then resulted in 6 people for each ship under the two captains Jones command. The passengers include, in addition to those connected to the original Sweet Suite events: Kristoff, Anna and Handy (their baby boy), Eric, Ariel, Anastasia, Drizella, Moe, Jack and Johanna. The other passengers are: Killian, Emma, Hope, Key, Emm, Jason, Dylan, Henry, Cindy, Lucy, W. Henry, Violet, Alice, Robyn, David, Snow, Neal, Gideon, Elsa, Robin, Regina, Roland, S. Regina, W. Robin, Coralline, W. Regina, Liam Sr, W. Ariel, Liam Jr, Ursula, Nemo, Brennan, Gepetto, August, W. Pinocchio, W. Granny, Granny, Merida, Mulan, Red, Dorothy, W. Red, W. Mulan, Tiana, Naveen, Zelena, Chad, Aladdin, Jasmine and Farah (their baby girl) - a total of 72 people, 36 on each ship: full capacity without compromising their quarters comfort.

And there they go!

...

The days have followed with tranquility: warm with a refreshing breeze blowing over the sails, propelling the vessels like two ships floating in clear days and starry nights. The passage of time has been marked by the Sweet Suite songs, played in the same order as they were originally sung and played. One of the ships, however, has been kept quieter: Key's, as the four babies are traveling on it - Jason, Dylan, Handy and Farah, four new forces of nature preparing to shine in the world. Meanwhile, on the other ship, with everyone already with their own brightness dawned, there hasn't been any restrictions for a noisier radiation of joy and promise of life.

Seen from a distance the cruise resembles perfection, but at a close inspection Snow's wish hasn't been exactly fulfilled - blame on the Internet. Although trying, they haven't been completely disconnected from the world, especially from constant threats of global pandemic and ecological imbalances reported in the news arriving from the Land without Magic, which they follow concerned.

Despite of that the Enchanted Sea and the enchanted ships, working their magic, have managed to provide a well-deserved vacation to all, entitled to a stop on Carnation Island for a heavenly feast prepared by Poseidon and Triton, who were waiting for them. Inspired by the events on the island a year ago, Ursula proposes that they rehearse a new musical number in addition to the one performed for the Sweet Suite. The result, in the end, may not have been as magical as before, but will surely be remembered as one of the most relaxing and funny moments of their cruise.

...

Another day comes and goes and, finally, they reach it: Heart-shaped Island, bringing up to every one - each in their own private universe that collectively built the Sweet Suite a year ago, a lot of memories and emotions, a lot of voices in the sound of the waves, voices of the sea, voices speaking to the travelers disembarking from the two ships in a state of wonder but, if they stop to listen, shut up, for listening too: fortunate, enchanted hearty island, land where Love lives waiting for walkers as they wake up from a dream and face Real Life, where there's only sentiment, where there's only the sea.

“So beautiful…” Emm extends her arms with teary eyes clouded by images and sounds reverberating in her heart: magic music... magic mirror and, oh! sweet memory... Luna and Missy... “I miss them…” she whispers to Key and Emma, who walks close to them, hand in hand with Hope.

“They are here, Aunt Emm,” Hope comforts Emm, caressing her hands and pointing to the sky, “see those two shinning birds flying over there? They are Luna and Missy sending their love!!!”

…

The Beatles song sounds far away, mingling in the air with the happy laughs and screams of children - who today don't want to be treated like pre-teens or teens. Even the adults, seen at close range, have allowed the kid they kept in their chests to run free on the beach. At the extremes, all in all, old and young find themselves communing with the magic of the Island.

"Here comes the sun king Everybody is laughing Everybody is happy Here comes the sun king...

Quando paramucho mi amore de felice corazón Mundo paparazzi mi amore chicka ferdy parasol Cuesto obrigado tanta mucho que canite carousel..."

In this scenario, Emm and Key - she with Jason, the ever more contemplative, on her lap, he carrying the most alert, Dylan - are walking the heart path, the island edge.

"Still beautiful and welcoming," Emm smiles with nostalgia.

"Would you like to come back, love?"

"Maybe, on summer holidays or special occasions... we could build a few summer houses and come with Killian, Emma and Hope, perhaps, Robyn & Alice and Henry & Violet, and..." she grins shaking her head,  "not too many or it would become too crowded..."

"Three houses would be perfect, love, they could be 3-bedroom cottages. Killian, Emma and I were talking to Anna and Kristoff about that, you know, nearly 30 minutes ago. We are thinking about creating a regular Tourism route - remember that it is always Summer-like here - but for that we'd have to build a small dock, for the Jolly Rogers, and 3 cottages: one at the tip of the heart, where your house used to be, and the other two in the lobes of the heart, where we made love for the second time," he grins, playing with Dylan's fingers.

Emma chuckles and continues, "it would be nice for us and the children, I can already imagine them running along these white sands, laughing happily, building castles..."

"Aye..." suddenly Key stops on his track to look into Emm's eyes, "it was here that I told you, for the first time, that I love you..."

"I love you too, Killian, and if it weren't for Jason already massaging my breasts and making my milk drip, I'd kiss you showing how much... Let's go find a shadow because these two are thirsty and so do I..."

"Sit here with the boys, Emma, under these palm trees. Don't spend your magic to bring water, I'll fill the canteen in the fountain and will be back in a minute."

...

“Emm, you lived in a paradise: a beautiful beach with warm waters, a cool breeze, crystal clear drinking water, delicious…” Zelena and Chad approach Emm, lying on the sand next to the babies, who alternate to breastfeed on her.

“Yeah, this island is really special, Zelena: magic and musical…” she smiles softly while looking at the children approaching with Alice and Henry Mills to sit next to them.

“What song would she - the island is a girl - sing to us if she could sing?” Cora asks, making funny faces at Dylan.

“We could ask her,” Hope replies and turns to Alice, “Starfish…” everyone smiles at the girl's cuteness using Alice's nickname, “you talk to the trees, so... you could ask them what song they would sing for us…”

“Sure, my cutie,” Alice replies blinking, “I'm going to the middle of the island, near the water fountain, I will concentrate to ask them and to be able to hear their answer and then I will come back to tell you…”

…

When she comes back with a big smile on her lips, everyone asks: "So, did it work?"

“Aye, the Island responded! she told me that the song she would like to dedicate to us is called Feeling Good!"

Initially the title didn't ring a bell to anyone and Key then asked his daughter if there wasn't any other hint - "nope, nada!"

“I know it!” Henry finally exclaims, “I know this song! There is a classic version with Nina Simone but I think I have a cover version on my playlist, do you want to hear it?”

“We want it!!” “Of course!” “Aye!” “Yes!” “Aye!”

"Very well, everyone," Henry prepares to press play: "here we go!"

*

[technicolorheart9801]

All It Does Is Take: Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  |  Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Ritsu had been oddly subdued thus far, gazing at the complicated transmutation circle with a furrowed brow.

“Do you see something wrong with it?” Mob asked. “I’ve triple checked all of my calculations, but I could have missed something.”Ritsu stayed silent for a moment, seeming to hesitate, before saying, “N-no. I was… just wondering about her soul. What do we have to offer that could possibly be equivalent?”

To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. And on that day, they lost more than their fair share. Now the Kageyama Brothers are on a mission. A mission that might cost them everything they have left.

Hi! Sorry it's taken so long to get this chapter up, it's been kind of busy, but, here it is! I hope you're ready for the Cornello Arc with some Mob Psycho flair, because I did change some things. This is only the first part, from the point of view of our favorite prickly cactus son, so please enjoy!

Shige was sleeping fitfully at his side, cheek squished against the window and automail arm twitching at random intervals. Ritsu’s nonexistent neck twinged in sympathy at the uncomfortable looking position, but he knew that attempting to move his brother would be a mistake.

It didn’t happen often, but when Shige’s night terrors got particularly bad, he would lash out at any contact. And while Shigeo couldn’t really hurt him, Ritsu’s metal body could hurt Shigeo. Ritsu had learned that lesson the hard way after the time, just shortly after his automail surgery, his brother had once scraped his hand raw trying to push the suit of armor away after Ritsu awakened him from a nightmare that he couldn’t quite escape the clutches of by just opening his eyes.

And sometimes, in that moment just after Shigeo’s brown eyes snap open, in the millisecond it takes for his pupils to dilate, Ritsu feels something in the air, sees something in the air around his brother’s body, there and then gone again, like the heat mirages outside the train window radiating from the desert sand. But that was only when Shige had a nightmare so bad he stayed up for the rest of the night afterwards, talking alchemy theory with Ritsu in quiet, subdued tones and scribbling in his notebook, subsequently staying up for at least a few nights after until he eventually and inevitably crashed. Those events had only happened twice before, and Ritsu hoped it stayed that way, because nothing he had tried had gotten through to Shigeo at all, almost like his brother didn’t even want Ritsu’s help. And that scared Ritsu more than he would care to admit.

But for the normal kind of nightmare, like Ritsu was pretty sure it was now, he had an effective system in place. Usually just his voice was enough to wake Shigeo, but in the rare occurrence that didn’t work, he rattled his armor as loud as possible. That was always successful, though for what reason, Ritsu wasn’t exactly sure. But he he had a feeling it had something to do with what Shigeo was dreaming about.

So as the city of Lior drew nearer, Ritsu softly said, “Nii-san, wake up. We’re almost there,” To his relief, Shige’s eyes twitched, then opened, and he peeled his cheek off of the window to get a look at the city they were heading for.

“It’s pretty,” Shigeo said that with the sparkle he got in his eyes that you could only see if you looked for it, and Ritsu appreciated the fact that, even after two years, his older brother still loved to travel and see new places and people. It was nice to see that the life they lived now had its merits. It wasn’t all dead ends and crushed hopes.

“Yeah it is,” Ritsu paused a moment before continuing. “Do you think the rumors are true? About the priest. That he performs miracles and transmutes flowers out of thin air.”

“Well, I hope so,” Hoping is about all they seem to be doing lately. “But it could just be a sleight of hand… like a magic trick.” Shige was silent for a second, reaching into his coat and pulling out his little worn-out notebook, grabbing the pencil from within the leather binding. But he paused in his action to start writing, adding as a second thought, “I wish I could do magic.”

Ritsu made a snorting sound through the armor. “I dunno, Nii-san. Alchemists are probably the closest thing to actual magicians there are. You could probably perform in your own street show.”

His brother had started scratching something onto a page in his notebook, not faltering in his smooth motions as he states, with utmost seriousness, “Yes. After I get your body back, of course.”

Ritsu had wondered before what exactly Shige did in that book of his, because there never seemed to be any certain time he got it out or anything in particular he wrote in it. But when he had asked, his brother had snapped the book shut and said, “oh, nothing important, Ritsu,” and made an unusually abrupt exit, saying something about Tome needing to check on his bandages even though Ritsu knew those had been changed just that morning. And that was the only time Ritsu could remember his patient older brother ever shrugging off one of his questions, so he had made a point not to pry into it anymore. But Ritsu had to say that it would be nice to know.

Pointedly not looking at the object in his brother’s hands, Ritsu nodded, stating, “I think you would be the best magician in Amestris,” He let out a disgruntled huff. “Or, you know, at least the most authentic.”

Ritsu hadn’t really expected a response. When Shigeo got out that tiny, leather-bound notebook, he was usually lost to the world until he was finished with whatever he was doing. But his brother always found a way to surprise him, halting the dulled point of his pencil and shifting his eyes to the suit of armor faithfully at his side, taciturnly saying, “Well, it must be true, then, if you think so,” Then giving one of those tiny, knowing smiles reserved just for his little brother before going back to scribbling on his probably almost-full page.

Ritsu felt his shoulders relax and his fists uncurl from their seemingly everlasting tenseness. How was it that even with his absolute inability to read the air or get a clue, Shige still always knew exactly what to say?

Ritsu only wished he could return the favor, because as the train slowly came to a stop at the station, he noticed the tiny shake in his brother’s hands as he tucked his book back into his jacket and the vaguest of tightness to his usual lax expression. Maybe Ritsu had underestimated the nightmare from earlier.

“C’mon, Nii-san,” Ritsu surreptitiously loomed a bit more, not afraid to use a glare where he had to as he made a path through the small crowd at the station. Not that the place was overflowing with people. Lior was a large city, but not all that much of a tourist stop, like Rush Valley. The citizens mostly stayed to their own. “We should find a place to rest for a while.”

Shige looked up (way up) at him and stated, “Don’t you want to look into the priest first?” He pointed up towards the center of the city, where a massive cathedral rose well above all the other buildings. If a religious leader were to be anywhere, it would be there. Ritsu glanced to the boy at his side. That subtle strain in his countenance still hadn’t been dispelled. And no matter how much Ritsu would rather investigate this lead as soon as possible, the best thing to do for his brother would be some distraction. And Shige came first. Always.

But his big brother probably wouldn’t understand if he tried to explain that to him, even though Ritsu hoped he would. He knew better than to trust in hopes. So instead Ritsu replied, “We should get some information from the locals first. See what they think of what their priest has been doing.”

“Mm. That’s a good idea. I don’t know how you think of this stuff,” They wandered over to a nearby food vender, Ritsu pointing out some interesting sights along the way (“Is that a fountain?” “That’s nothing we need to concern ourselves with, Nii-san.”), and as Shige sat down, he already seemed more relaxed. Giving him time to be reminded that he was just a normal kid never failed to get his brother to de-stress a bit.

The tanned guy with a moustache manning the counter had a radio playing on an overhead shelf. “My children who live upon this land. Smile and laugh, for you have been blessed this day. With each tomorrow and yesterday, happiness will come to you if you allow it…”

“So, are you guys street performers or something?” The guy smiling at them from over the counter was rightfully curious about them. A huge dude in a suit of armor and a little kid who looked younger than his 14 years with gloves on in the middle of the desert was a bit of an anomaly. Still, Ritsu was a bit insulted that this random stranger was making assumptions. He hated assumptions.

But Shige didn’t seem offended, sipping his drink and offering a mild, “No, not yet. Do you think we look like street performers?” He seemed excited at the idea, though he probably wouldn’t look like it to most others.

But Ritsu was his brother, and he could read the slightest tilt of Shigeo’s eyebrows and the tiniest way he inflected his voice like an alchemy textbook, looking between the lines and solving the equation within moments. And Shigeo could go from oblivious to surprisingly empathetic at the drop of a hat when it really mattered, learning over the years how to read Ritsu’s expressions and body language even through the layers of metal and walls between them. It was just how they worked, and they worked well.

The guy gave an uproarious laugh that seemed a bit over-the-top in Ritsu’s opinion. Though not everyone knew the difference between Shigeo serious and Shigeo actually trying to have a sense of humor. “Yeah, you do, actually! Who wears a suit of armor in the desert? Or a coat?”

“Well, we-”

“I assume you travelled here. Where did you come from?” Those assumptions again, and the man hadn’t stopped smiling the whole time, and he had interrupted Shige’s sentence. Ritsu didn’t like this man very much.

“Well…” Shigeo paused, making sure that he wouldn’t be interrupted again. “We came from Central.”

Ritsu was pretty sure the man had been smiling for at least ten minutes straight. “Ah, yes, Central… how are things over there?”

This was starting to feel a bit too much like an interrogation and the guy was starting to creep Ritsu out with the way all his teeth were bared with a semblance more of an animal delivering a threat than a human expressing happiness. He decided it was about time they moved on.

“We have to go,” It wasn’t the most delicate or subtle of approaches, and Shigeo was looking at him weird, but Ritsu was ready to leave. Now.

As he was standing though, his helmet hit the ledge above the little shop. The radio was knocked over and broke into a hundred pieces on the stone street.

“Hey, take it easy. I hope you can pay for that,” He was looking at Shigeo as he said it, and Ritsu could see the moment when his brother’s serene demeanor dissipated and a shaky nervousness take it’s place, like it usually did when people got the slightest bit frustrated with him. And just when Ritsu had got him to relax a bit.

Ritsu gave what he hoped came off as a withering glare. “It was an accident, gramps. I can fix it,” Maybe a little alchemy would get the creepy dude to back off some. “Watch and learn.”

He took some chalk that he had stored and drew a simple transmutation circle around the broken remains of the radio. As long as he had all the fragments of the whole, it was just basic alchemy, easy as snapping his fingers for someone who had been studying it as long as the Kageyamas have. But it looked impressive, and that’s all that really mattered. Ritsu activated the array, and within moments, the radio looked good as new and was completely functional again, still babbling all that freaky religious nonsense.

“There, how’s that,” He returned his attention to the shop keeper and was pleased to see that his little demonstration had the desired effect.

“Amazing! It’s a miracle! You must been touched by the great Lord Dimple, his powers gifted to you!”

Ritsu’s satisfaction dissipated a little. “Excuse me? Touched by who-now?”

“Ah, sir, that wasn’t a miracle,” Shigeo stated, and Ritsu mentally agreed. Miracles didn’t exist. “That was alchemy.”

A random passerby joined in their conversation, for some reason. “Oh, so you two are alchemists. Right, I've heard of them.”

Shigeo perked up a little. “Then maybe you've heard of us. We're the Kageyama Brothers,” There were quite a few people joining in now, and Ritsu was reminded of why he had knocked over the radio in the first place as he saw that every single one of them were smiling. Something wasn’t right here.

“The Kageyama Brothers, you say…”

What was it?

“Wait… I do know that name.”

People were starting to crowd around Ritsu specifically now. “The Fullmetal Alchemist, Shigeo Kageyama is that right?”

Wait… Ritsu looked at all the people in the city around him, walking the streets, in their homes, or in his little mob at his feet. They all had one thing in common.

“Wow… So you’re the young prodigy all those stories are about?”

They were all way too happy. That wasn’t a horrible thing on it’s own, but it set Ritsu’s proverbial teeth on edge. And this place might have been pretty ritzy, but not everyone’s life should be nice enough to encourage this much smiling. It could just be Ritsu being paranoid again, seeing something that wasn’t really there, but…

He grabbed Shigeo by the arm and dragged him away without a word, completely ignoring anything and everyone else. It wasn’t worth it.

“Um… Ritsu? Are you okay?” Of course that was his brother’s first question. And while Ritsu would have hesitated in explaining his gut-feelings to Shige a few years ago, he knew better now. It only made the other boy worry more.

So once they were far enough away from the craziness they had left behind, Ritsu replied with, “Something was off. With all the people. They seemed too...too...” He didn’t really know how to explain it in a way his older brother would understand. “You know!”

“Hm. I don’t really know what you mean. They seemed nice…” Shige looked up at him. “But I trust you. We’ll keep an eye out.”

Ritsu sighed through the armor, conflicted. “We could stop again, if you want. To, you know, 'rest' a bit more.” He was a little guilty for ruining Shige’s fun. Despite his shy personality, Shigeo really did like to interact with new people. He just wasn’t very good at it.

But Shige just firmly shook his head and continued towards the temple in the center of the city where they had been heading. “If you don’t feel good talking to them, then you don’t have to,” His big brother looked him straight in the eyes and stated in that once-in-a-blue-moon truly serious voice that he had, “You come first, Ritsu. Always.”

Ritsu’s gauntlets slowly uncurled from where he hadn’t realized they had fisted at his sides. “...Thanks, Nii-san.” Ritsu looked up at the sun and decided, yeah… I guess it does feel good when your hopes are finally fulfilled. He looked down to his brother. And in the most unassuming of ways, too.

[bisoroblog]

Teachers’ Strategies for Pronouncing and Remembering Students’ Names Correctly

Sandeep Acharya answered when his teachers and classmates called him Sand-eep, even Sandy, for 12 years before he decided he couldn’t take it any longer: “Junior year of high school, I walked up to the blackboard in every one of my classes and drew a circle with lines radiating from the center. ‘Sun-deep,’ I said in a loud, firm voice. ‘Sun. Like a sun.’ ”

The memory returned to Acharya, CEO of a health care startup, recently when he noticed his 2-year-old daughter introducing herself differently. “To white people, she’d say Savita, with a hard ‘t’ like in ‘torch.’ To everyone else, she’d say her name, Savita, where the ‘t’ makes a soft ‘th’ sound, like in ‘the.’ ”

Rita Kohli, a professor in the Graduate School of Education at UC Riverside, explains the Hindi phenomenon as it applies to her own name: “It’s like Aretha Franklin but without the ‘uh.’ ”

While mispronouncing a student’s name may seem minor, it can have a significant impact on how they see themselves and their cultural background, causing feelings of anxiety, invisibility, shame, resentment and humiliation, all of which can lead to social and educational disengagement. Kohli documented these findings in a 2012 article she co-authored with UCLA professor Daniel Solórzano titled “Teachers, please learn our names!”

Aspirations and motivation can suffer from the cumulative effect of these “mini-disasters,” which also set the tone for how students treat each other. On the other side of the coin, correct pronunciation can help “develop trust and rapport,” according to Christine Yeh, a professor at the University of San Francisco School of Education.

That’s why California’s Santa Clara County Office of Education created the “My Name, My Identity” campaign. The initiative asks community members to take a pledge to pronounce names correctly in order to foster a sense that students of all backgrounds are valuable and belong.

The names of white and nonwhite children alike are mispronounced, Kohli and Solórzano write, but the experience is much more damaging for a child who “goes to school and reads textbooks that do not reference her culture, sees no teachers or administrators that look like her, and perhaps does not hear her home language,” since these cues (plus advertisements, movies and other indicators of societal values at large) already communicate “that who they are and where they come from is not important.” For one Latina study participant, having her name mispronounced made her wish her parents were more Americanized; a Sri Lankan American reported feeling that his name was “an imposition on others.”

They’re not imagining things. Kathryn Campbell-Kibler, a sociolinguist at The Ohio State University, says the effort we put into overcoming a “barrier to communication” depends on (and communicates) social values. “You see the difference if you think about the way Americans typically respond to somebody with a heavy French accent versus somebody with a heavy Mandarin accent,” she explains. When it comes to names, an American who mispronounces the British surname St. Clair (think “Sinclair”), she says, will tend to have a sense of, “Oh, they have a fancy, special language, and if I don’t know how to handle that, it’s a flaw in me.” Whereas a Chinese name might provoke the reaction: “Those names are really hard to understand, and it’s not my responsibility to engage with that.”

The latter also “happens a lot with white teachers responding to names that are seen as typically black,” Campbell-Kibler says. According to Robert Bjork—a psychology professor at UCLA who is a leading scholar on human learning and memory—there are several reasons why names of all cultures can be difficult to remember. For starters, they’re arbitrary labels, as opposed to a nickname like “Red” or “Tiny,” which a person’s physical appearance might trigger. Then there’s the fact that “other demands often occupy our attentional and memory processes when we are meeting somebody new.” Whether that’s at a cocktail party or in a classroom with 33 children, distraction can make it impossible to recall a new name just minutes later. Even when initial storage is successful, Bjork says, retrieval is hampered because we accumulate a huge number of names over our lifetimes, many of which are similar.

On top of these difficulties, there can be linguistic barriers to pronouncing names that aren’t in one’s native tongue, particularly when dealing with differing sound systems. Professor Campbell-Kibler offers up Korean as an example. She says there are two separate sounds that occupy what an English speaker would think of as the “s” space, and a teacher might not have the cognitive capacity to perceive the difference between them.

“If I don’t go and actually learn how to speak Korean extensively for years, I may just always get that wrong,” she says, but this type of real linguistic constraint “doesn’t come up all that often.” In other words, teachers are capable of pronouncing most names correctly.

How then can educators overcome the hurdles to doing so?

It’s tempting to put the first key practice—mustering a legitimate interest in the name—into the bucket labeled “duh” by Samantha Giles, a special education teacher at Hill Elementary School in Garden Grove, California, but it stems from neural complexities. Say you were to ask Professor Bjork how to spell and pronounce his last name. He explains that if he replied “Bee-york” you might ask why it is not pronounced “Bah-Jork,” after which he would tell you that it is a Scandinavian name, similar to the word “fjord” where the “j” is pronounced like a “y.” Or he might add that “Bjork” means “birch,” as in the tree. An exchange like this, he says, “will exercise the very types of processing that enhance memory.” In other words, it overcomes the cocktail party problem. The second essential step, he says, is “to produce—that is, actually say, someone’s name, because retrieving a name makes that name more retrievable in the future than does just hearing it.”

“How would you like me to say your child’s name?” is the specific wording Professor Kohli recommends for parents, and the following for students:

“I don’t know how to say your name yet, can you explain it to me? I’m working on learning it, and it’s important to me to say it the way it’s meant to be said, the way your parents say it.”

Then try the name. Ask if you’re right. Try again, “no matter how long it takes.” Once you’ve got the proper pronunciation, repeat it aloud. Eighth-grade science teacher Carry Hansen, who also coaches cross-country and track as well as coordinating the advisory program for Trinity Valley School in Fort Worth, Texas, recommends using kids’ names as much as possible, almost as obnoxiously as a telemarketer would, until they sink in.

If that whole process sounds awkward, good. Professor Bjork’s research, conducted in partnership with Elizabeth Ligon Bjork, shows that difficulty learning something gives the thing being learned a sense of importance, and errors that trigger elaboration produce better retention. This concept of “desirable difficulties” means the discomfort of admitting you’re having trouble pronouncing someone’s name could actually aid in recall, and Bjork says “that such a clarifying exchange has a positive effect, not a negative effect, on the person whose name you are having trouble pronouncing.”

Thanks to the power dynamic that makes it hard for a student to question a teacher, the onus of initiating this type of conversation falls on educators, in Kohli’s view, and she says they should take a learner’s approach in doing so. Start with a little soul-searching:

Is this name hard to pronounce, or is that just my vantage point? (Susan Balogh, a teacher at Baker School in Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts, reminds herself, “Unless our names are Lakota, Penobscot or Apache in heritage, they are all ‘foreign.’ ”) Then, be explicit, Kohli says, telling the class “that this is our limitation, not any fault of the student.” Use the “I” statements suggested above and avoid the frustrated looks and embarrassed laughs that tend to accompany pronunciation difficulty. Hansen gives students permission to correct her; in fact, she advises, “tell the kid that they MUST correct you if you are saying their name incorrectly.”

Many teachers report playing “the name game” and Professor Yeh, who teaches school counselors with caseloads of 200-500 students, takes a similar approach, asking each of her graduate students to share the story of their chosen name and its proper pronunciation on the first day of class. Then she, too, gets frank about it, declaring that “we won’t consistently mispronounce a name because we are too afraid to ask, or too afraid to correct ourselves.”

Yeh draws attention to another tactic that can help with pronunciation: learning the basic rules from a variety of languages, “like an ‘x’ in Chinese is pronounced as an ‘sh’ sound, with the tip of your tongue down, below your lower front teeth.” (Just as “a” in Savita makes the “uh” sound thanks to Hindi origin, and the letter “j” in Spanish makes the sound English speakers attribute to the letter “h.” If this seems like too much to wrap one’s head around, remember the classic example of “ghoti” as an alternative English spelling of “fish,” because “gh” makes the “f” sound in “enough,” “o” makes the “i” sound in “women,” and “ti” makes the “sh” sound in “nation.”) Campbell-Kibler, the linguistics professor, confirms: “You can go find that out. Each language is a system, just like English, but the question is, is somebody willing to do that, and what influences how willing they are to do that?”

Even those who know how to say a name like a native speaker may hesitate for fear of cultural appropriation: “It might be socially a little strange to perfectly produce somebody’s name as if I were saying it in the language,” Campbell-Kibler says. That’s why this diverse group of experts all come back to the same bottom-line recommendation: Ask the student and family which pronunciation they prefer.

It won’t always be the one used at home. It is not uncommon for students to choose an Americanized pronunciation or a new name entirely. “At the end of the day, I have to respect the person standing in front of me,” Campbell-Kibler says, “and if they are saying, ‘Call me Joe,’ OK, I’ll call you Joe.”

Just so long as it isn’t for the expediency of school personnel. Professor Yeh says that in the early 2000s, she was told by students at Lower East Side Preparatory High School that they had been assigned an American name or asked to choose one. When kids “basically said, ‘We want our Chinese names back,’ ” Yeh talked to teachers and administrators and was told they “couldn’t possibly learn 300 Chinese names.” And yet, when the students hosted a brown bag lunch where they offered to teach the proper pronunciation of their names, Yeh says, “almost every single teacher and counselor and staff member showed up.”

In the absence of a similar initiative, teachers report using time-honored tricks to remember name pronunciation, like word association (which addresses Bjork’s arbitrary label problem), writing down each syllable in English phonetics, and rhyming (“Alazaeia = Princess Leia” is one Giles uses), as well as new-fangled ones like name pronunciation websites (e.g., www.pronouncenames.com).

What if you witness a mispronunciation by another adult?

Kohli says a classmate of her daughter benefited from a Latina kindergarten teacher who referred to him as his parents did. His first-grade teacher, however, changed both the sounds and inflection. (Professor Yeh reminds, “With many of the names that have tildes or umlauts or little markings, that is actually really important, too.” When making name tents and folders, she says, remember “it’s not just the spoken word; it’s the written name as well.”) While Kohli encourages parents to be direct in advocating for their own child’s name, she sought balance in her dual role as a professor and parent of a classmate, figuring, “I can’t just go in there and slap down my research.”

Instead, whenever the first-grade teacher was in earshot, she made a point to properly pronounce that student’s name. Eventually, it worked.

And that might be the most important lesson Kohli and Solórzano have to offer: “[Since] students will often take the cue of fearing or celebrating difference from the climate set up by teachers, … educators are in a unique position to shape the perceptions of their students” about themselves and others. In the age of growth mindset and “marvelous mistakes,” teachers, counselors, literacy specialists, social workers, administrators, yard staff, PTA members and any other adult who interacts with children at a school can reframe name pronunciation as an opportunity rather than a challenge.

Balogh, the Boston-area teacher, sums it up: “If I can’t make a consistent, good-faith effort to pronounce a name correctly, the implicit message is that I can’t be bothered.” Those who show that they can take an important step toward making all students feel seen and respected, necessary prerequisites for an engaging social and academic experience.

Teachers’ Strategies for Pronouncing and Remembering Students’ Names Correctly published first on https://dlbusinessnow.tumblr.com/

[perfectzablog]

Teachers’ Strategies for Pronouncing and Remembering Students’ Names Correctly

Sandeep Acharya answered when his teachers and classmates called him Sand-eep, even Sandy, for 12 years before he decided he couldn’t take it any longer: “Junior year of high school, I walked up to the blackboard in every one of my classes and drew a circle with lines radiating from the center. ‘Sun-deep,’ I said in a loud, firm voice. ‘Sun. Like a sun.’ ”

The memory returned to Acharya, CEO of a health care startup, recently when he noticed his 2-year-old daughter introducing herself differently. “To white people, she’d say Savita, with a hard ‘t’ like in ‘torch.’ To everyone else, she’d say her name, Savita, where the ‘t’ makes a soft ‘th’ sound, like in ‘the.’ ”

Rita Kohli, a professor in the Graduate School of Education at UC Riverside, explains the Hindi phenomenon as it applies to her own name: “It’s like Aretha Franklin but without the ‘uh.’ ”

While mispronouncing a student’s name may seem minor, it can have a significant impact on how they see themselves and their cultural background, causing feelings of anxiety, invisibility, shame, resentment and humiliation, all of which can lead to social and educational disengagement. Kohli documented these findings in a 2012 article she co-authored with UCLA professor Daniel Solórzano titled “Teachers, please learn our names!”

Aspirations and motivation can suffer from the cumulative effect of these “mini-disasters,” which also set the tone for how students treat each other. On the other side of the coin, correct pronunciation can help “develop trust and rapport,” according to Christine Yeh, a professor at the University of San Francisco School of Education.

That’s why California’s Santa Clara County Office of Education created the “My Name, My Identity” campaign. The initiative asks community members to take a pledge to pronounce names correctly in order to foster a sense that students of all backgrounds are valuable and belong.

The names of white and nonwhite children alike are mispronounced, Kohli and Solórzano write, but the experience is much more damaging for a child who “goes to school and reads textbooks that do not reference her culture, sees no teachers or administrators that look like her, and perhaps does not hear her home language,” since these cues (plus advertisements, movies and other indicators of societal values at large) already communicate “that who they are and where they come from is not important.” For one Latina study participant, having her name mispronounced made her wish her parents were more Americanized; a Sri Lankan American reported feeling that his name was “an imposition on others.”

They’re not imagining things. Kathryn Campbell-Kibler, a sociolinguist at The Ohio State University, says the effort we put into overcoming a “barrier to communication” depends on (and communicates) social values. “You see the difference if you think about the way Americans typically respond to somebody with a heavy French accent versus somebody with a heavy Mandarin accent,” she explains. When it comes to names, an American who mispronounces the British surname St. Clair (think “Sinclair”), she says, will tend to have a sense of, “Oh, they have a fancy, special language, and if I don’t know how to handle that, it’s a flaw in me.” Whereas a Chinese name might provoke the reaction: “Those names are really hard to understand, and it’s not my responsibility to engage with that.”

The latter also “happens a lot with white teachers responding to names that are seen as typically black,” Campbell-Kibler says. According to Robert Bjork—a psychology professor at UCLA who is a leading scholar on human learning and memory—there are several reasons why names of all cultures can be difficult to remember. For starters, they’re arbitrary labels, as opposed to a nickname like “Red” or “Tiny,” which a person’s physical appearance might trigger. Then there’s the fact that “other demands often occupy our attentional and memory processes when we are meeting somebody new.” Whether that’s at a cocktail party or in a classroom with 33 children, distraction can make it impossible to recall a new name just minutes later. Even when initial storage is successful, Bjork says, retrieval is hampered because we accumulate a huge number of names over our lifetimes, many of which are similar.

On top of these difficulties, there can be linguistic barriers to pronouncing names that aren’t in one’s native tongue, particularly when dealing with differing sound systems. Professor Campbell-Kibler offers up Korean as an example. She says there are two separate sounds that occupy what an English speaker would think of as the “s” space, and a teacher might not have the cognitive capacity to perceive the difference between them.

“If I don’t go and actually learn how to speak Korean extensively for years, I may just always get that wrong,” she says, but this type of real linguistic constraint “doesn’t come up all that often.” In other words, teachers are capable of pronouncing most names correctly.

How then can educators overcome the hurdles to doing so?

It’s tempting to put the first key practice—mustering a legitimate interest in the name—into the bucket labeled “duh” by Samantha Giles, a special education teacher at Hill Elementary School in Garden Grove, California, but it stems from neural complexities. Say you were to ask Professor Bjork how to spell and pronounce his last name. He explains that if he replied “Bee-york” you might ask why it is not pronounced “Bah-Jork,” after which he would tell you that it is a Scandinavian name, similar to the word “fjord” where the “j” is pronounced like a “y.” Or he might add that “Bjork” means “birch,” as in the tree. An exchange like this, he says, “will exercise the very types of processing that enhance memory.” In other words, it overcomes the cocktail party problem. The second essential step, he says, is “to produce—that is, actually say, someone’s name, because retrieving a name makes that name more retrievable in the future than does just hearing it.”

“How would you like me to say your child’s name?” is the specific wording Professor Kohli recommends for parents, and the following for students:

“I don’t know how to say your name yet, can you explain it to me? I’m working on learning it, and it’s important to me to say it the way it’s meant to be said, the way your parents say it.”

Then try the name. Ask if you’re right. Try again, “no matter how long it takes.” Once you’ve got the proper pronunciation, repeat it aloud. Eighth-grade science teacher Carry Hansen, who also coaches cross-country and track as well as coordinating the advisory program for Trinity Valley School in Fort Worth, Texas, recommends using kids’ names as much as possible, almost as obnoxiously as a telemarketer would, until they sink in.

If that whole process sounds awkward, good. Professor Bjork’s research, conducted in partnership with Elizabeth Ligon Bjork, shows that difficulty learning something gives the thing being learned a sense of importance, and errors that trigger elaboration produce better retention. This concept of “desirable difficulties” means the discomfort of admitting you’re having trouble pronouncing someone’s name could actually aid in recall, and Bjork says “that such a clarifying exchange has a positive effect, not a negative effect, on the person whose name you are having trouble pronouncing.”

Thanks to the power dynamic that makes it hard for a student to question a teacher, the onus of initiating this type of conversation falls on educators, in Kohli’s view, and she says they should take a learner’s approach in doing so. Start with a little soul-searching:

Is this name hard to pronounce, or is that just my vantage point? (Susan Balogh, a teacher at Baker School in Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts, reminds herself, “Unless our names are Lakota, Penobscot or Apache in heritage, they are all ‘foreign.’ ”) Then, be explicit, Kohli says, telling the class “that this is our limitation, not any fault of the student.” Use the “I” statements suggested above and avoid the frustrated looks and embarrassed laughs that tend to accompany pronunciation difficulty. Hansen gives students permission to correct her; in fact, she advises, “tell the kid that they MUST correct you if you are saying their name incorrectly.”

Many teachers report playing “the name game” and Professor Yeh, who teaches school counselors with caseloads of 200-500 students, takes a similar approach, asking each of her graduate students to share the story of their chosen name and its proper pronunciation on the first day of class. Then she, too, gets frank about it, declaring that “we won’t consistently mispronounce a name because we are too afraid to ask, or too afraid to correct ourselves.”

Yeh draws attention to another tactic that can help with pronunciation: learning the basic rules from a variety of languages, “like an ‘x’ in Chinese is pronounced as an ‘sh’ sound, with the tip of your tongue down, below your lower front teeth.” (Just as “a” in Savita makes the “uh” sound thanks to Hindi origin, and the letter “j” in Spanish makes the sound English speakers attribute to the letter “h.” If this seems like too much to wrap one’s head around, remember the classic example of “ghoti” as an alternative English spelling of “fish,” because “gh” makes the “f” sound in “enough,” “o” makes the “i” sound in “women,” and “ti” makes the “sh” sound in “nation.”) Campbell-Kibler, the linguistics professor, confirms: “You can go find that out. Each language is a system, just like English, but the question is, is somebody willing to do that, and what influences how willing they are to do that?”

Even those who know how to say a name like a native speaker may hesitate for fear of cultural appropriation: “It might be socially a little strange to perfectly produce somebody’s name as if I were saying it in the language,” Campbell-Kibler says. That’s why this diverse group of experts all come back to the same bottom-line recommendation: Ask the student and family which pronunciation they prefer.

It won’t always be the one used at home. It is not uncommon for students to choose an Americanized pronunciation or a new name entirely. “At the end of the day, I have to respect the person standing in front of me,” Campbell-Kibler says, “and if they are saying, ‘Call me Joe,’ OK, I’ll call you Joe.”

Just so long as it isn’t for the expediency of school personnel. Professor Yeh says that in the early 2000s, she was told by students at Lower East Side Preparatory High School that they had been assigned an American name or asked to choose one. When kids “basically said, ‘We want our Chinese names back,’ ” Yeh talked to teachers and administrators and was told they “couldn’t possibly learn 300 Chinese names.” And yet, when the students hosted a brown bag lunch where they offered to teach the proper pronunciation of their names, Yeh says, “almost every single teacher and counselor and staff member showed up.”

In the absence of a similar initiative, teachers report using time-honored tricks to remember name pronunciation, like word association (which addresses Bjork’s arbitrary label problem), writing down each syllable in English phonetics, and rhyming (“Alazaeia = Princess Leia” is one Giles uses), as well as new-fangled ones like name pronunciation websites (e.g., www.pronouncenames.com).

What if you witness a mispronunciation by another adult?

Kohli says a classmate of her daughter benefited from a Latina kindergarten teacher who referred to him as his parents did. His first-grade teacher, however, changed both the sounds and inflection. (Professor Yeh reminds, “With many of the names that have tildes or umlauts or little markings, that is actually really important, too.” When making name tents and folders, she says, remember “it’s not just the spoken word; it’s the written name as well.”) While Kohli encourages parents to be direct in advocating for their own child’s name, she sought balance in her dual role as a professor and parent of a classmate, figuring, “I can’t just go in there and slap down my research.”

Instead, whenever the first-grade teacher was in earshot, she made a point to properly pronounce that student’s name. Eventually, it worked.

And that might be the most important lesson Kohli and Solórzano have to offer: “[Since] students will often take the cue of fearing or celebrating difference from the climate set up by teachers, … educators are in a unique position to shape the perceptions of their students” about themselves and others. In the age of growth mindset and “marvelous mistakes,” teachers, counselors, literacy specialists, social workers, administrators, yard staff, PTA members and any other adult who interacts with children at a school can reframe name pronunciation as an opportunity rather than a challenge.

Balogh, the Boston-area teacher, sums it up: “If I can’t make a consistent, good-faith effort to pronounce a name correctly, the implicit message is that I can’t be bothered.” Those who show that they can take an important step toward making all students feel seen and respected, necessary prerequisites for an engaging social and academic experience.

Teachers’ Strategies for Pronouncing and Remembering Students’ Names Correctly published first on https://greatpricecourse.tumblr.com/

[voiceactinguk]

Final Fantasy 4 Radio Show! Casting!

Now casting for Season One of the Final Fantasy 4 Radio Show! Final Fantasy IV (known as Final Fantasy II in the U.S.) was a video game originally published by SquareSoft for the SNES in 1991. It has since been re-mastered and re-made multiple times for multiple systems and now we are creating an unofficial radio adaptation of the classic story of sword and sorcery. The game follows Cecil, a dark knight, who begins to question his king's motives, which sets off a chain of events that leads him on the path to righteousness. Along the way he and his friends discover an ancient forgotten history of their planet (and beyond!). Season One (6 episodes) follows the story of FF4 up to, and including, Cecil's climactic transformation into a paladin. Season Two will see the heroes valiant efforts to stop Golbez turn deadly. Season Three will follow their time in the underworld of the dwarves. And, finally, Season Four will reveal the secret of the crystals as well as Cecil and Golbez's tragic shared past before culminating in a battle for the fate of the world that you will not want to miss! This is a FULL RE-SCRIPT of Final Fantasy 4 into radio play format, and will be published on YouTube and as a Podcast on iTunes (fingers crossed). I'm taking full artistic license with the plot, characters, and dialog; pulling from every different version of the game. It is still very much FF4, but delivers a fresh, exciting new adaptation! using the format: AUDITIONS ARE OPEN UNTIL WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 1st  Send your audio files (one file per character) to ff4radioshow@hotmail.com using any standard audio format Listen to the PILOT EPISODE or take a look at my previous project, The FINAL FANTASY 6 FANDUB To contact me directly with any questions email ff4radioshow(at)hotmail.com *The actors for Cecil and Rosa are continuing their wonderful work from the Pilot episode. Apologies to anyone hankering for those roles. *A NOTE ON ACCENTS* I love accents! I want you to try any accent you believe you can do well consistently or you believe fits the character. BUT be warned that I am a HARSH CRITIC of sub-par accent work. No Dick Van Dyke nonsense. OPEN ROLES NARRATOR Male/Female, Ageless Delivers an intro and outro for each episode. Warm, pleasant voice tone.  Able to project excitement and generate interest in the show to come. Audition Lines: Quote:This is a tale of far away and long ago... A time when knights and kings gripped the world with fists of iron and steel! A world where magic and technology clash together in awesome competition for power! This is The Final Fantasy Four Radio Show! Quote:The airships of the mighty Red Wings from the Kingdom of Baron race across the sky on their way home after a successful mission in the mystical country of Mysidia. The crew look forward to their return to hearth and home, but one man, their Captain, Cecil the Dark Knight, casts his gaze backward... --- EXTRAS! Male/Female, Varied Ages Crew of Red Wings (x3), Merchant, Baron Soldiers (x2), Cap'n, Chancellor, Sailors Nine varied background roles. Nine chances to try out your crazy voices! THESE ROLES ARE VERY IMPORTANT! I love to have a bouquet of extras available just in case. Please audition here if you are unsure of which role to try for! Audition Lines: Quote:Hey! How's it going? You doin' anything later today? Quote:Y'arr. Fifteen souls went ashore that day. An' only ol' Flint himself sailed away.  Quote:Bilbo Baggins was a hobbit who wanted to be left alone in quiet comfort. But the wizard Gandalf came along with a band of homeless dwarves. Soon Bilbo was drawn into their quest, facing evil orcs, savage wolves, giant spiders, and worse, unknown dangers. Finally, it was Bilbo -- alone and unaided -- who had to confront the great dragon Smaug, the terror of an entire countryside... --- BAIGAN Male, age 20-40 Baigan does not care about you.  Baigan only cares about Baigan. Sarcastic and apathetic. A drawling, sneering, douchey voice. This character may return in Season 2. Audition Line: Quote:Hmph, isn't killing what you do? You are a Dark Knight after all, Cecil. I didn't think you could still feel pity. --- KING BARON Male, age 40+ King of the country of Baron. Regal and imposing. He has a secret plan for which he is gathering the world’s Crystals. This character will return in Season 2. Audition Lines: Quote:Ah! Cecil! The Kingdom of Baron hails your return! We trust you have the Crystal? Quote:If the state of the Red Wings so concerns you, Dragoon, that you would eavesdrop on the Royal Chamber, then you may join him in his penance. Take the ring! And do not enter Our sight again until it is done!  --- KAIN HIGHWIND Male/Female, age 18-30 Cecil’s closest friend. A sporty sort of person who enjoys fighting for it’s own sake, rather than for any cause or loyalty. Kain was abandoned as a child and now clings to Cecil and Rosa. Perhaps Kain clings a little too closely though, and wishes for things to always stay just as they are between them. Kain has noticed Rosa’s affection for Cecil and is beginning to grow jealous. Voice type: Athletic and yet also oddly indolent. Think Jaleel White's Sonic the Hedgehog, or Ashleigh Ball's Rainbow Dash I would prefer to cast this role female to balance out the skewed gender ratio of the original story, but am accepting male voiced auditions. Audition Lines: Quote:Majesty! I petition on Cecil's behalf. Please reconsider! He has done no wrong, he questions out of care for his subordinates. He meant no disrespect, I assure you! Quote:Ahh, I woulda come with you anyway. Slaying monsters is right up my alley! Anyhow, the King'll relax as soon as we finish his "mission of contrition". We are his favorites. --- CID POLLENDINA Male, age 30-50 A rough, tough, jolly sort of fellow. Cid takes life as it comes and is enthusiastic about everything he does, damn the consequences!  He has a daughter whom he is very proud of but not very close to. Cid is always working on airships and other mechanical inventions. Cid's voice should feel bombastic and loud (without actually clipping out, plz!) Think Brian Blessed or perhaps John Lithgow. Audition Lines: Quote:What's the matter, kiddo? You and your goons better not have wrecked up my airships! Quote:The King's been acting mighty peculiar. You know, the other day he asked me if I could design an airship that can torch an entire city? I mean, obviously I could! But... makes me wonder if Baron will be going to war soon. --- MIST DRAGON Female, age 20-40 A mysterious dragon made of living mist. And also Rydia’s mother. The strongest of the valley’s summoners and it’s chief protector. One time, Non-recurring role Audition Line Quote:Leave at once and no harm will come to you. We will not allow further trespass. --- RYDIA  Female, age Child/Teen A young child just beginning to learn the way of the world and find her incredible strength in summoning and taming beasts. Rydia has a kind heart and has been taught to never kill or injure. She is able to sense the feelings that others carry, even if they are not aware of it themselves.  Rydia will be aging for season 2 to teen age. Priority may be given to actors able to play both ages. Voice Type: Childish but not immature. Sounds like 10-14 years old. Audition Lines: Quote:Mother! Get up! Please! The fire- *gasp!* Quote:He kills everything. Do you think... can I help him? Or is it too late? Quote:I'm coming with you! You'll need all the help you can get to tame that creature! --- DOCTOR Male/Female, ageless  A blustering medic. Will talk anyone’s ear off if given half a chance but has a kind heart and a charitable streak a mile wide. *First season role only Audition Line: Quote:Oh, you poor lamb. What has happened? Oh, but, no. You needn't say if you don't wish to. Lost your parents. I'm sure, I'm sure. Tragedy! Oh cruelty! But let's just look at you! All worn and filthy from traveling. The earthquake, no doubt? Thought we might see a few come through here, I did. But you're the first. And such a dear young thing! --- TELLAH Male, age 40-80 World renowned sage of the mystical, magical arts. Tellah settled in the desert to raise his daughter, Anna, and to meditate on the mysteries of the shifting sands. Tellah has lived by his own code for a very long time and believes wholly in his own judgement. Stubborn to a fault, Tellah’s strength is his greatest weakness. Voice Type: Cranky old guy, slightly reedy or nasal. Audition Lines: Quote:You there, Knight! Did I hear that right? You aim to clear the waterway to Damcyan? I beg you, let me come with you! I have tried to get through the waterway alone to no avail. The beast is strong. Strong, I warn you! But perhaps the three of us together... Quote:It is vicious. A writhing mass of tentacles and malice. And I am too old now to face it alone. Once, perhaps... But I fear something else may be waiting for us. I sense a darkness beyond. A doom yet clouded in the fog of the future... Quote:Stay and weep if you must! Do what you will; I don't care! Anna will be avenged. You keep your nose out of it! This death will be mine alone. --- EDWARD CHRIS VON MUIR Male/Female, age 18-30 The prince of the country of Damcyan and husband of Anna. A highly skilled musician and a born diplomat. Edward believes that any disagreement can be solved with communication. He detests violence. I would like to cast this with a female/feminine voice but keep Edward as a male role. Audition Lines: Quote:You're right. I'm nothing but a coward, just as you say. I only wanted him to leave. Leave us in peace. My Anna... and me... Quote:Put your sword away! There has been enough death today. Antlions are docile creatures. I shall get you your pearl. You stay here. Quote:Anna... what can I do now that you are gone? Everything is lost. Our kingdom is fallen, and I... I could do nothing. I still can do nothing. You loved to hear me sing and play but what good are they? What good is music in a world falling apart!? --- ANNA Female, age 18-30 Tellah’s daughter and wife of Edward. Anna is just as headstrong as her father and has eloped with Edward. A powerful magic-user, but not strong enough to stand against Golbez. Audition Line: Quote:Father! Stop it! ... just stop. There's... nothing you can do. Edward is... my husband... I love him... --- YANG FANG LEIDEN Male, age 20-50 Master of the monks of Fabul. Yang is highly disciplined Despite this, he is a humble man, and so does not bask in his glory, but rather tries his best to be respectful. Voice type: A deep, gentle, calming voice.  Audition Lines: Quote:I was lucky. We are all lucky. Most of their force already left, certain of victory. My comrades... we were ambushed. Drawn out onto the mountain by a decoy. Quote:Had enough of my friend's sword? Then perhaps you'd like to try my fists!? Hy-aahh! --- GOLBEZ Male, ageless Unknowable master of darkness. Golbez is the Dark Knight who replaces Cecil in the Red Wings. Little is known about him, but he shows a callous disdain for life and only a grudging respect for power. Golbez hides a terrible secret in his past. Voice Type: Deep and scary. Vader-esque. Audition Lines: Quote:Hmm? Ah. You must be Cecil. My predecessor in the Red Wings. Enough. I did not come to gabble with insects. Kain! Take the crystal. Quote:Ask not the eagle how he soars, little prince. My motives are beyond your ken. Quote:Fighting? This is no fight. I am simply collecting crystals. You are the ones who insist on throwing yourselves in my path. --- YIN  Female, age 20-50 Wife of Yang. (AKA Sheila, Ursula) Not much is known about Yin. She is fiercely protective of her husband and home. Audition Line: Quote:Soon after you left the sentries spotted those airships coming in from the west. The King ordered the city to evacuate. But I stayed put! None of those Baron thugs are going to touch MY house. --- "KING" FABUL Male/Female, ageless Ruler of the country of Fabul. All the more regal for their humility. Can be "Queen" or "King". Could be a child ruler or an aged monarch. Audition Line: Quote:Yes, we have been informed of the situation. And I must apologize to you, Master Yang. I unwisely sent your monks to their doom in the mountains, and shamefully fled when the airships appeared. --- PALOM Male, age Child/Teen An apprentice Black Mage from the land of Mysidia. Though young, Palom has proven himself a skillful, if arrogant, student of magic. He is a casual show-off, even to adults, and refers to himself as "The Mysidian Genius" or "Prodigy".  Audition Lines: Quote:Watch it, buddy! You're talkin' to the most powerful dark wizard in the whole world! Quote:Some people say that a monster from the depths of night resides at the summit. Others say there's nothing there. Like, it's a metaphor or something. Like, the whole time, YOU were the obstacle. --- POROM Female, age Child/Teen An apprentice White Mage from the land of Mysidia. Mature for her age, Porom is already an accomplished spellcaster. She is respectful and polite, and often has to keep Palom in line. She loves her brother and supports his quest to become a Sage, but believes he lacks the discipline. Audition Lines: Quote:Perhaps you were unaware, sir. I just so happen to be one of the most puissant white witches in the world. Quote:Well, I WAS just gonna lead him quietly into a cell in the tower. But you're right, Palom, yelling and making a scene is a much more sensible option! --- ELDER OF MYSIDIA Male/Female, age 40+ A leader of the town of Mysidia. Unusually long-sighted and kind. They are Porom & Palom’s teacher and an old friend of Tellah. Audition Line: Quote:Escort this man to the summit of Mount Ordeals. I see a dim star shining in the once-dark night sky... this will be a test for all of you. --- SCARMIGLIONE Male/Female, ageless The archfiend of Earth and appointed guardian of Mt Ordeals. It is an undead monster which Golbez has set to keep Cecil out of the summit cavern.  Audition Line: Quote:I am the gaoler of this forsssaken peak. Golbez set me here and now I have company at lassssst. Come! I shallll pulllll you into my embrace. --- KLUYA Male, 30+ A mysterious reflection in the summit cavern? Or something more? He is only a dim, echoing voice now.  Audition Line: Quote:I have waited for you for an age, it seems. And yet our meeting has come too soon, for now I must do as I have been dreading. The time is come! Hold your sword of darkness to the light!   FF4moonLogo3.png (Size: 366.21 KB / Downloads: 0) http://dlvr.it/PvCr4m www.voiceacting.space