#and cheers if you accept different interpretations as well! you’re allowed to like and accept multiple views on the same myth! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!! So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read! School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!! As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot. Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider. You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns. The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime. Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip. You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago. On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes. Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it. “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it. Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy. Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you. Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth. “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours. “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids. “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot. You know what? Today is a good day. You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one. The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back. Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates. The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago. The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask. Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes. It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by. Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony. Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color. Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words. Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city. As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming. The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete. You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you. Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers. Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops. Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them. You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch. There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself. Good intentions, terrible idea. Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours. It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at. Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language. Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different. It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy. Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it. Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on. There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin. You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession. First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always. Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs. Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions. The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din. No matter the faces, the sights you see. There’s someone juggling. There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts. There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed. Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din. Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you. You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year. You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go. For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second. Why… Why was that scene so vivid? So wistful? You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din. But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation. Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him. Why? You want to travel the galaxy, right? You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over. You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress. So many fucking people here, you know her pain. “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you. “Before anyone knows they’re missing. Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while? You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task. Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be. Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days. The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees. It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word. You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you. The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet. The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?” One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn. Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off. All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult. “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?” The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away. “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second. Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective. Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing. Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will. You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling. It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter. You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens. Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not. Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary. Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was. This is scarily sophisticated. Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you. You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid. You know him with your eyes closed. You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace. Not because you can see it, not really, not directly. But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you. The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room. He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least. But you’re not stupid, you know what this means. You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way. He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down. You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools. “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left. Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows. You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering. Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place. When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily. A purple fruit. She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes. It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors. As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards. It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him. You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it? It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float. It’s just a thing. Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives. Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles. You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time. You don’t know what else you’d call it. Love is the only word. To love, to know. To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group. You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?” You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem. It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together. They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately. Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next. A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!” Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings. “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…” You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn. Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway. “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head. “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it. You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view. And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage. You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze. So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you. Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes. They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown. You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on. All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out. They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything. You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city. It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time. You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen. You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for. Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away… This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes. If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly. Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear. Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time. Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping. Baby. He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion. You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to. You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly. What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over. Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result. What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you? The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear. When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor. You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right. This maybe has a… two percent chance of working? Maybe? Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have? Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead. He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing. Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left. Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear. Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?” A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him. Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner. They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units. Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you. Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid. A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking. Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong. “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you. You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it. She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?” He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice. He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed? The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory. It worked. It worked. You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip. Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze. “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds. “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you. The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you. You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere. In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you. Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you. They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following. It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour. It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes. There was… a moment. Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet—

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be. It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it. Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered. The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear. It was silvery, he’s almost certain. Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color. Everywhere. Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it. Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream. The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would. You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now. You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud. You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though. Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be. Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen. So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it. You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response. There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above. You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself. “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does. “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you. You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is. He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?” You ask after a moment. This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all. “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying. Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly. He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him. “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you. “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum. He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again. Does he not understand? Does he not know what you know? Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him. It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest. And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive. Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t. Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky. It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point. “You’d find me without the helmet. And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick. You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course. That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred. Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight. This is a celebration of life and family. Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching. A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?” He asks softly. He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant. You’re able to hear it in his words. You don’t know why, though. Doesn’t he believe you? Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way. Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all. Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love. This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that? How would the Mandalorians reconcile that? You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face. It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.” For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does. Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you. “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t. Not the way you want him to. And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you? The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest. You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them. All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time. You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?” You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…” Din wants to argue, or at least say it again. He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off. It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?” You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold. How do you fix this problem? How do you convince him to look with you? You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left. “Do you want me to come look for you? It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away. Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay. You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response. You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you. He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again. This must be the end, they saved the best for last. Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you. Maker, it is, isn’t it? Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying. Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways. It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on. “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you. Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children. They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her. “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up. At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you. Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day. You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?” She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention. “Have you been in touch with them? If not, I’m sure you can come back with us. It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here. More danger, but better places to hide. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense. But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women. He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule. Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses? Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time? No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that. Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end. Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond. Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical. Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it. You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…” Quick, come up with something. You clear your throat. “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them. I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods. “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t. You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is. You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them. But with Din, you don’t have any walls. They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since. It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is. Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back. The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out. You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is. You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time. He could be anywhere now. Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view. One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so. Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach. Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy. If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it. These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous. Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong. This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so. It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier. Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet. Why? Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right. What’s he waiting for? You can’t have won. It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!” Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face. “Didn’t mean to scare you! I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there. “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep. Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus. She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din. Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you. You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far. Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards. You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls. What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it. “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently. The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe. As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax. You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance. Breathe. Focus. There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat? You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy. You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now. The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard. It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there. The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there. Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator. Five minutes. You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you. Can you feel him? Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath. Focus on that feeling from earlier. The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards. Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it? Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss. The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual. Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall. It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat. He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back. You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run. Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t. Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass. He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can. The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away. Where’s the kid? How did he get those robes? Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them. It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward. Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster. Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you. Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you. Walk right by… Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing. He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place. The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight. Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away. The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster. It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet. Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door. Where is he? There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them? Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react. Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast. The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him. With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw. When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you. Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone. You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force. He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared. The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall. Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it. He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home. You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is. Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you. Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else. His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it. It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough. The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way. His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet. You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck. You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?” You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling. Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now. It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps. “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?” You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you. Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells…

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment. Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring. It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together. The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago. The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic. Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together. He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work. Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly. You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side. You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl. The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber. He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that. Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside. You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up. It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise. Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that? First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you. It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you. Fuck, what is happening, what is happening? It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in. You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is. You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand. And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does. He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again. Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead. He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source. He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow? You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.” Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip. His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore. What does he want to see? You losing your mind again? Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently. It’s what happens, after all. You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too. He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied. This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat. You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl. Did you miss me?” It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements. You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum? You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now. The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak. If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak? You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out. He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him. It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder. He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation. It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it? That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally. Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder. That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though. It’s deep, purposefully so. His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can. You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp. His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all. You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier. Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you. There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place. You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still. He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm. They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth. “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds. Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough. You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself. But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that. Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light. It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever. He loves you. He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would. You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did. You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that. Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes. He loves you. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t. He loves you. You’re looking into his eyes right now. You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you. He loves you. Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat. Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker. You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before. You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face. A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you. You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again. Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight. Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him? You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see. His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees. It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars. He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met. Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you. Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away. For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips. “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second. He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something. “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw. Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own. “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat. It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed. “What did you do to him? Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long. He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence. He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize. A fucking closet? They’re? Plural? Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him. “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him. His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead. Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.” He kisses your neck so gently. “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is. You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before. “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more. “You did.” Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again. “Did so good. Fought hard, outsmarted me. Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it. His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it. He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful. Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it. Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second. You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but… “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper. Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time. It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips. “Not smart. Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder. His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person. “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants. Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment. He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery. Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting. Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore. Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way. No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown. Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about. A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm. Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children. A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second. The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit. Of course. Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene. In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in. Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you. Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are? You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it. It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine. “It’s just…” Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond. “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit. “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you. All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return. What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms. “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip. “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging. He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet. No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes. “He’s… uh. Not great at sharing. We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing. Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side. They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond. Fuck, he’s a presence. An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse. Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone. Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything. Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded. And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning. He loves you, too. How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not. You love each other. You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him. “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you. Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears. Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye. You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh. A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh. Where the fuck did he go so quick? You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue. He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them. The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over. You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side. You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways. “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any. “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought. “Wait. What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet. “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement. You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.” Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator. Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him. You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him. “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then. You gave it. Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time. You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact. You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle. Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board. Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice. He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky. It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look. He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing. It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice. “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?” You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily. Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them. You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you. His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing? He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well. You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him. He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day. “It ain’t fresh. Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy. He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him. He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well. Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him. It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush. Big man, makes me happy. Strong man, loves me, knows me. Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm. You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you. When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once. “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him. Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave. He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits. Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it. For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be. You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…” You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors. “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic. Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction. Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore. “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner. Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights. It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense. Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything. You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here. “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his. “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do. Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him. At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too. There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner. The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his. You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky. He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less. You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower? You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest. It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #smut #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

8K notes · View notes

pocketramblr · 4 years ago

Text

The followup to the Thought™

"Ugh." You say, waving to the screen. "Look at that, now that's who should have been the main character-"

"Oh?" I say, a small glowing figure appearing in front of you. "I can show you that if you want, wish granted." I wave my magic wand, and you blink to find yourself watching a different universe's show.

It's about a blond boy, with a minor superpower that's difficult to work with. He only has one friend, with major anxiety. Both of them want to be heroes, which is about the coolest and nicest thing anyone can be in this world.

But the blond boy is only in middle school. He doesn't get the best grades, he's a bit of a class clown, a bit of a delinquent. He's not exactly cool or over powered, but his earnest, bright nature endears him to the watchers and readers of the story. He's nice, and not worried about competition. He'll put cheering up his best friend over studying- and he'll put just enjoying video games together over training his power on his own.

He doesn't, by the way, train on his own. He makes meager progress in the class provided, and works hard when he's thinking about it, but he honestly doesn't even know where to start with his power.

He takes the entrance exam, and by some manner of luck, manages to permeate through blasts and rubble while shoving other students out of the way. He's used to watching out for his best friend, at least, and that carries over in his natural, if clumsy, attempts to help others here.

With more luck, he is accepted into the school on those points. So is his best friend, though they're in different classes. He still doesn't have many friends, but they meet a new girl in his bf's class: she's gorgeous and powerful- the most raw energy in any of their quirks, and no anxiety or complications holding her back.

She's a bit of a ditz, though, a bit much for others to hang around all the time, so even though she should be a shoe in fit the most popular, she slides easily into their group instead.

The fandom likes her a lot, and you feel impatient. This isn't the story you wanted to see, not really.

"Don't worry," I say. "Time flies when you're actually a school story instead of a daily battle with villains story."

And it does- they compete in the first sports festival. The main character, to little surprise, doesn't do well. But he manages to keep himself and the others smiling and laughing through it, and that brings the attention of the mentor.

The mentor that you like, of course, the mentor you believe was right.

The mentor trains the main character. It's hard, but he can actually break down what exactly he needs to improve on, and now that he has support, the main character takes it seriously. Like all children do, he rises to the expectations on him when he's given the material to do so.

Not made to find the material. The kid would have never dreamed of just assuming and asking such a high ranking hero to focus on him. Rather like another boy, but we'll get to him later.

It's another year. The girl tried her best at the beauty pageant. The best friend tried his best at the liscence exam. The main character has still been training at his internship.

"His second year." You say, thinking. "Now this is when All Might shows up in the timeline, ten months before February in what would be Mirio's second year."

I raise an eyebrow, but wave my magic wand.

All Might does appear. The mysterious top hero, always in the background- ads, all over the mentor's office. They used to work together, but no one in this universe knows anything more than that.

The mentor and the principal happily tell the main character that the number one hero wants to meet with him directly! The boy is nervous, of course, excited, of course, and a tad confused.

But meet they do.

And offer his quirk, he does.

The episode and chapter end on that, of course, and you feel a surge of excitement. Finally!

You look around and realize others in this fandom do not see it that way. Many critique the twist as coming out of nowhere, with no build up that it was even possible, breaking the established rules for no reason. Many others are proud of how much the main character has to work at the difficult power, and do not want him to have a second before he masters this one. Some feel it's a trap- a secret test of character, or a villain in disguise who will ruin him. Some wonder if it's more metaphorical- he's offering the power of support and more guidance, maybe a connection, but not his literal superpower.

You do not know how to feel about it, but you know this will be for the better. He will be perfect for it.

At the beginning of the next update, the boy turns down the quirk. Grateful, more than he could say, but he's worked so hard for his own power and he's not even up to snuff with it yet. He's unsure he's the best option. The girl, after all, is used to weilding such power, maybe he should try her, maybe he should keep looking.

The top hero nods, and asks if he can visit again later, if he can find no other. The boy is a good hero after all, and maybe he needs to believe in himself as much as he is telling his friend to. It will be hard to train a second quirk, yes, but he can manage. It will make him stronger and pay off, after all.

The boy agrees, tentatively. No one can really say no to the number one hero, after all.

"Ok." You say, nodding. "There's an opening. It can build more, since that's how the story is here, way more slowburn."

I shrug. That's what happens when you start the story three years early, but whatever.

The story goes on. The main character does better in the sports festival, but not by any measure good. His friend finds a mentor, a character popular. Much warmer than the blond's mentor. The girl gets a really good mentor, a top tenner.

And then they start to get really good. They're used to training now, and getting it all bit individually and together. The mentor is motivated as of by fury, pushing more and more. And the main character grows to reach it.

Another year. They're seniors, now. Just one year left before they're pros, but they're already about at that level. They're called the Big Three.

The third year is different. Chaos every few weeks. A class of first years attacked.

"Oh, because All Might is still looking for a successor among the students- checking over the freshmen but they won't be able to compare."

I hum in a way that could be interpreted as agreement.

The sports festival. Finally, real victory. They do so well, even with one anxious at crowds. And one that is seemingly allergic to staying clothed. They do well.

The chaos continues, always at the sides. The others in this universe who follow the story talk about that and the offer the top hero made. Is he getting weaker? Did that power leak somehow and now someone wants it?

The tension grows, especially for you. If the hero doesn't give the main character the power before the summer....

The main character doesn't get the power before the summer. The hero falls on tv while the blond and his friends watch in horror.

After the summer, the main character decides to meet the freshmen. You wonder who will replace a certain someone's seat, or if this is playing the original quirkless hero storyline.

When the main character challenges the class of freshmen and you see that sparking green, you seethe.

"I said I wanted Mirio to have OfA! Why is he-"

"Actually," when I speak, you cannot. "You asked for him to be the main character. He still is. A beloved one, even."

"You know what I meant!"

"Perhaps. But then you asked for another change, and so I allowed All Might to meet with him a few days before he would have in the old timeline. He had a chance, he turned it down. Why are you mad at him having his own ambitions and autonomy?"

"He was supposed to take it! He's the worthier option, and you know it."

"What makes him worthy?"

"He works hard!"

"So does Izuku."

"He worked hard before he was offered everything by All Might!"

"Yes," I will admit. "Though, that's only because he met Sir before he met All Might. Were you so focused on how slow it was going that you didn't actually watch what he was doing?"

You will not admit to anything, still angry.

"He'll get another chance." I remind you.

You huff, but the story continues on.

The main character takes a liking to the boy you despise. So does the fandom, dubbing him the cutest little kohai. He's awkward and eager and sunny, like a fusion of the main trio.

He's also impulsive, and on their first patrol together they run into who will obviously be the big bad of the arc- and his abused daughter.

The fandom is split on if the story is going to go with a "In this arc, the blond must pass his experience on patience to a boy who it all about speed and too naive" or if it's "In this arc, it's the mouth of babes- the boy will inspire the main character to do good more impulsively."

You sit and wait for it to be "the boy will finally fork over the power he's now spent over a year working to hold and use to the real main character."

The raid happens. We finally see how the main character met his best friend. It's very sweet. The girl is a lead character and gets focus on her fight too, though the two freshmen working with her don't really. There's another funky freshman boy who turns out to be more like the best friend than we thought.

Finally, we get to the main fight.

And the main character is shot, quirk erased. For good, if the villain who's really not actually that good an example of a scientist is to be believed.

"Oh. What if the former top hero offers his power again, after this arc? It's about loss but always moving on?" The fandom asks. They aren't sure if the buildup to this is better than before, but it's certainly am interesting turn, and not as controversial as the last time.

The best friend saves the day by awakening right at the perfect moment to drag the teacher in. The quirk is kinda super deus ex machina for this arc though.

At the hospital, the mentor dies. The former number one hero is there.

The fandom wonders whether to hope or fear how long he'll wait to replace the mentor and the quirk.

You wait, knowing it's soon.

Then the freshman offers his quirk, and the fandom flips again.

"We should have known!" They cry. "He had super speed and strength the whole time, maybe the sparks are from his own quirk, but it's the same power! Oh, this hurts much more than just if it had been the retired hero!"

Once again, the fandom divides. Many can't bear to see the kohai they love shoved aside after this one moment. Will be be able to use his original power? Then they won't mind the strength for the blond. Some say to wait for his power to come back. A few pipe up about the possibility of him doing it quirkless. He has trained physically too, after all these years.

"No thanks," he says again. He does smile though- just like Sir told him to- and tells his kohai that he’ll do great things with the power, just like All Might did. Tells him that he already has.

You're past the point of fury now.

"Why?" You demand.

"Keep watching." My tone is cold. "Keep watching, the next five months where he does nothing but babysit a girl in hopes she'll magically make himt not quirkless again. He doesn't even ask if he can be a quirkless hero. He doesn't even go to school to keep training. You demanded the other boy figure it out himself. This boy doesn't. He just hopes the same thing that did this to him can undo it."

You don't know what to say about that.

"Neither took it seriously in middle school. That's the nature of middle schoolers. Neither of them tried to go solo quirkless, when no support was provided. But they're both good kids. Hard workers. Heroic. They love each other, honestly, they're friends. It's sweet. And it's sad that it took me doing this for you to see it."

I shake my head.

"Sir Nighteye never saw how Mirio was much more like Izuku than All Might. That was his mistake, because he didn't know the meaning of worthy. Not that it was his choice to make even if he had. There's no magic to this. OfA isn't Excalibur or Mjölnir. All sorts of people have had it. And All Might wasn't doing much to train before he found Nana ether, as much as he got into trouble. OfA is more about connections they have to each other. It's about people's relationships. As it happens, that just doesn't include Mirio and wouldn't be at its most meaningful if it did."

"You just are too much a Deku stan and hate Mirio-"

"Accuse me of hating Mirio again, and I will leave you here." I threaten, pointing my wand at you. "Now. Did you learn your lesson?"

You grumble, but you do nod.

"Good." I say, before waving my wand one last time. You're back where you were before, not a trace of me or magic.

The lesson, though, sticks.

#i said i was going to 'it's a wonderful world' you and so i did #hmcmverse #other main characters meta series

125 notes · View notes

ezrasarm · 4 years ago

Text

Ori’jagyc

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Mandalorian!Reader

Word count: 4.2K

Summary: Paz beats the shit out of someone. But he does it with love!

Warnings: Canon typical (?) violence, a bit of angst over here, a bit of fluff over there, my attempt to give a character with five seconds of screen time an entire backstory… this is a mere interpretation!

A/n: I don’t know when… I don’t know how… but I have fallen for the big blue buckethead ...sooooooo this happened. I’m new to writing for Paz so please let me know how it went!

[ masterlist ]

Paz wasn’t exactly a prideful man. But he did carry the name Mando with a type of honour and sanctity that you saw in few others. He was fiercely devoted to his creed and to upholding the Mandalorian way and although part of that was accepting that other Mandalorians interpreted the tenets of Mandalorian life in different ways, he did have a tendency to take other’s looser abidance by the creed personally. You had no reason to believe this time was any exception.

You hadn’t been planning on stopping by the training arena today but a low thrum reverberating off of the coverts walls piqued your curiosity. The closer you followed the noise the clearer it became, soon morphing into what you could make out as the cacophonous metal clang of beskar consorted with raucous shouts. It wasn’t until you had stepped into the buzzing space that you saw the dense huddle of Mandalorians encircling one of the many training mats. The scene was not new to you, it seemed that a well-matched fight of this nature broke out at least once a week and was able to draw the eyes of those with nothing better to do than watch. It wasn’t until you were close enough for their chants to make out decipherable words that it hit you. “Paz” they were shouting, over and over again, cheering him on.

Your pace quickened at that, shoulders forceful and your smaller frame coming to your advantage as you slipped between the clamouring bodies until you found a familiar silhouette. “What happened?” You asked, your voice already breathless when you gripped Din’s upper arm. Paz and Din had a long-standing difference of opinion on many things but they still treated one another as brothers. He had a genuine concern for the large, blue-clad mandalorian that not many in the covert did, thinking that a man of that size could certainly handle himself.

Din hesitated a moment before speaking, mouth dry and words clumsy falling out of his mouth. “He insulted his ability to protect the clan,” Din said, concern clear in his tone when he leaned closer to speak over the roar of mandalorians looking for their afternoon’s entertainment.

“Kriff,” you muttered under your breath. A comment like that around Paz and you surely had a death wish. To insult his ability to protect was as good as insulting his devotion to his religion and that was not something he took lightly.

His parents had died in their fight to uphold the mandalorian way. To him, dishonouring it was as good as dishonouring them. Heroes, who died warriors’ deaths. He would not allow those deaths to be in vain and he most certainly would not allow himself to taint their family name. So a careless insult like that was not something he could let stand.

Unfortunately, they happened a lot. People saw a man of his stature and reputation and they saw a challenge. Someone to provoke so they could prove their strength. Sadly for them it didn’t always work out that way. “Why didn’t you stop him?” You ask, as though you could even attempt placing that responsibly on him.

“He wouldn’t listen. He never does.” Din sighs but you’re already turning your attention to the front of the crowd where you can hear the clash of armour on armour. “Wait, I wouldn’t-” Din had tried to argue, arm stretching out to try and catch your wrist but you had already disappeared from his line of sight, jostling your way through more solid bodies.

You had seen Paz lose his temper before. He could be quick to anger and even quicker to start a fight. What was worse was he didn’t often lose. You could remember quite clearly those times as kids- he would never admit it of course but he was a sensitive child. One mal word in his direction and he would lose it. Speaking about things as cumbersome as emotions wasn’t something people tended to invest their time in so no one really took the time to find out why. They excused it as anger issues and went on with their days.

He had grown better about it over the years, more level headed and harder to shake- both qualities which made him the good leader he was. But there were still times where he would fracture and that same angry, hurting child would burst forth.

When you finally managed to wriggle your way to the front, he was pacing the fighting ring slowly. Carefully circling his prey. A routine you knew quite well at this point. “Ori'buyce, kih'kovid.” he spoke, his voice warning and serious but it carried a hearty edge to it. One that normally caused a warmth to bloom in your chest but in this case it made your blood run cold. He was enjoying this too much. “How’s the view from down there, alor?”

His opponent was on his knees, folded over himself. One palm was planted firmly on the mat while the other clutched at his ribs. “Nar'sheb,” he gasped out before pushing himself upright, the hand that had been gripped at his side now held out a vibroblade which Paz hit out of his grasp with what was quite literally a slap on the wrist before dragging him closer by his extended arm. You gasped when he jutted a hand out to grab the olive green armoured mandalorian by the throat, raising him a foot or so in the air before slamming him back down into the ground. Paz crouched over him now, his helmet hardly a couple of inches from that of his opponent’s before speaking again.

“You want to try that again?” He asked through what you were sure were gritted teeth.

“Nar’” the green-tinged mandalorian choked out through a raspy cough, “sheb,” he finished. Your stomach dropped at that. He had just given Paz the exact excuse he wanted. If it was an insult to him, it was an insult to the creed and that, to Paz, was justification enough for punishment. Before you knew it he was kneeling on his opponent’s chest pounding blow after unwavering blow into the offender’s helmet. You knew his hands would be raw and bloody after that. You kept waiting for him to stop- for him to get tired, or bored or for some sense to be knocked into him- but he kept going and when an ear splitting crack of the plastoid composite giving way fired through the room you knew the next hit would be fatal.

“Paz!” You exclaimed. You hadn’t raised your voice but it carried nonetheless. You hadn’t realized you had lurched yourself into the ring either until his fist stopped in mid-air, the cheering shouts which had since turned to panicked murmurs of protest, went silent as it shook there. You could see the cogs turning in his head, the war of anger and reason grappling in his mind. “Stop.” You said. It could have been a whisper but his hand dropped nonetheless, falling limp at his side as he rolled off of his opponent so he sat, folded in on himself, arms balanced on the tops of his knees as he heaved in exhaustion.

When it dawned on you that, having taken away their only source of entertainment, you had since become the centre of attention. You paused, straightening up as you turned to face the crowd of spectators. “What are you doing looking at me for? Get him to a med bay.” You said. You held no authority here and yet suddenly when you spoke you found people listening and the large green warrior was being shuffled out of the room by several bystanders.

“And you,” You said quieter now. The words were only meant for you and him to hear when you pressed a palm to his shoulder. “You need to calm yourself down.” You said. Your voice, firm but gentle as you spoke, gripping one of his hands firmly to act as leverage for him to find his footing. The strongman act had returned when he was upright again. Posture stoic and back rigid as he gave you a quiet nod but he still seemed... lost: in a daze that made it hard for you to be mad at him. “I’ll be over to check on you in a minute.” You whisper now, pointing him off in the direction of the benches which lined the large room.

“I don’t know how you do that.” Din spoke. Pushing himself off the wall of the hallway as you left the med bay where you had gone to check on Paz’s latest sparring partner. You needed to keep yourself busy. You needed to give Paz some space.

“Do what?” You ask, as you swivel on your heel to face him.

“Get him to listen to you.” Din added. You had to laugh at that. It often felt like Paz didn’t listen to anyone but himself. He may be physically strong but he was headstrong too, which, as you had learned, could be a dangerous combination. “You really don’t know do you?” Din asks. There’s an amused lilt to his voice and you find your eyebrows furrowing under your mask at the sound of it.

You would have told him to wipe that smirk off his face but you were too confused by the question that went with it so care. “Know what?” You ask, giving him a skeptical nod as you readjust your posture.

“You have him wrapped around your finger.” Din chuckles now as though it's obvious.

You yourself acknowledged that the sight was a funny one to behold. A man as large, burly and threatening as himself being told what to do by someone about half his size. The idea that he listened at all- that you held so much power over him- well that concept was amusing enough but now Din asked you how and you had no explanation for him.

Perhaps it was because of the soft spot you’d had for him since childhood. While others saw a big intimidating bully you saw a misunderstood child. A warm heart with a sense of humour like no other and a will to do nothing but the best for those he cared for. You weren’t quite sure when it was that Paz became your responsibility. To put him back together in more ways than one after a particularly gruelling fight, to check in on him when a mission didn’t go according to plan or to keep him company when others were too scared. But you took on the deed without hesitation. You did it because you saw something in him that pulled at your heartstrings. You did it because you cared for him and as much as you knew he would never admit it, he needed the support. He needed you…

Which was why you found yourself swallowing down the questions you had for Din and excusing yourself. “How are you doing over here, ori’jagyc?” You asked, nudging his foot gently with the toe of your boot. The word, a schoolyard insult he had been pestered with as a child, would normally cause his blood to boil had it been said by anyone else. But he liked the way it sounded coming off of your tongue. The way you reclaimed it as a term of endearment for him rather than a way to tease him over his size and sometimes tumultuous temper.

He was sitting on the edge of the bench you had left him at in the now nearly empty training hall. Feet planted on the floor, elbows planted on his knees and helmet planted in his palms. “Paz...” you said as you came to kneel in front of him when you got no acknowledgement.

“It was a fair fight.” He finally spoke after a few more moments. His face was still buried from view but you thought that was progress enough.

“I know it was, Paz.” You hummed softly, placing a hand on his knee to test the waters. When he didn’t shove you away, you scooted yourself a little closer between his feet to try and coax his gaze up to yours but he didn’t budge.

“I didn’t mean to...” His voice trails off as though he’s at a loss for words. “Ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod.” He says, voice half-broken and weak in a way you knew not many got to bare witness to. You could hear the regret even through the crackle of his modulator.

“I know you didn’t.” You crooned. “He might not be challenging you to a rematch any time soon but I hear he’s gonna be okay.” You assure him. You don’t get to know Paz Vizsla as well as you do without knowing that sometimes he miscalculated his own strength. He had taken a vow to protect the covert- all of it- and you knew he would never do anything to undermine that, even if the idiot had it coming. “He was taunting you, he shouldn’t have done that.” You conceded.

But what you saw today was no scuffle over a few carelessly discarded insults. There was something else burning behind those punches you just couldn’t figure out what it was yet. You would have asked him but when your gaze fell to his lap to try and gather your thoughts you spotted his hands still trembling slightly between you and you winced. The mental note you had made from before coming back to the forefront of your mind.

“May I?” You murmured sliding your small hands under his giant palms and waiting for permission before gently tugging at each of the fingertips to loosen them and sliding the gloves off as delicately as you could. If he felt any pain- you were sure he must have- he didn’t show it. Your eyes scanned over his knuckles, bruised, bloodied and swollen already. You were sure he must have fractured a few bones just by looking at it. You wondered how he could have done this. What must have boiled over in him to inflict this kind of pain upon himself without hesitation.

Your other hand had come to lift his chin but he resisted and it made you sigh in gentle exasperation. “Look at me.” You said. Your tone wasn’t demanding or harsh. Instead, it was gentle and maybe even a little bit desperate. It made his heart clench in his chest and then there it was again, that inexplicable obedience and razor-sharp consideration of your every word as his visor tilted up to settle on you.

“Paz, I’m worried that one day you aren’t going to stop in time.” You say suddenly. You know he can’t see them but your eyes are pleading behind your mask. “You don’t need that kind of blood on your hands. Your conscience suffers enough without it.” This time he’s the one to sigh. You can feel the tension of his head trying to bow out of sight again but you keep your palm on the cheek of his helmet rooted, steady in its place and he gives in.

“I knew better.” He agrees solemnly. “I know that. But something snapped inside of me. Something I couldn’t control- that I still can’t- I…” His words trail off and you can sense his reluctance to finish the thought so you take the opportunity to fill the silence instead.

“Din said he insulted you.” You pressed, tentatively. You didn’t want to reignite a conflict that should remain extinguished but you had to know what that anger was. At that, he actually choked out a laugh that caught you slightly off guard.

“They can insult me all they want.” Was his response. His head shaking as though you should have known that already. “You taught me that. I’m used to it at this point.” He explained and the thought that anything you said actually stuck in that big head of his actually warmed your heart a little. Now your mind reeled with even more questions of what all that was about, what it was that could possibly have gotten him so angry, why Din had said what he had earlier, why it felt different this time, why it struck fear in you, why-

You were so deep in thought you hadn’t realized the way your hand squeezed down on his until a low hiss broke through his modulator and your gaze flitted back down to his hands. Suddenly your sympathy for his wounds and need to care for them outweighed your curiosity as you muttered a whisper of an apology and touched the crown of your helmet to his briefly as you got up. The action was so quick, and instinctual you hardly even realized you had done it. But Paz had. It was over so fast he wondered if it might have been an accident but it made his heart skip a beat and his cheeks heat up behind his visor nonetheless.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up, big man.” You say now, nodding in the direction of the exit when he didn’t follow you immediately. Too stunned in his place for his actions to keep up with his mind. At that he let out a huff as he heaved his undoubtedly aching body onto his feet and followed you out into the stone gilded corridors of the covert.

“I hear you’ve gone soft, Vizsla!” a voice you didn’t recognize shouted from the end of the hall. You squeezed Paz’s arm, a silent urge for him to stay put as you whipped around on your heel, sliding the staff from off of your back into your grip as you paced down the hallway to his pesterer. That softness he spoke of, and the juxtaposition of it to his hulking form had to be one of your favourite parts about him. You thought of the way his thumbs had grazed over the backs of your hands as you inspected his knuckles only moments ago, the tickle of his silk-like touch against yours and the way it made you tingle with some emotion you couldn’t quite place. The fact that it and the warmth that it brought to you could be strung into an insult made your blood boil. “I hear you can’t finish what you start!”

“You want to wind up in the same shape as the other guy?” you ask, pointing the stick in the direction where the victim of Paz’s most recent outburst had been lying under an hour ago.

“What? You gonna get him to swoop in and fight your battles for you again, copikla?” He chuckled, taking a challenging step closer to you. Again? You thought, but you were too busy being insulted by his gross underestimation of both you and Paz to care.

“I wasn’t talking about him.” You threatened, jabbing the staff towards him with a practiced flourish, only stopping when it hovered just in front of his windpipe. You stayed like that for a few moments, maintaining eye contact for a menacingly long period of time before dropping your grip so the weapon rested at your side. “I think we’ve all seen enough action for one day.” You declare, not missing the opportunity to swing his heels out from beneath him in one swift motion of your staff as you turned to walk away.

“You’re good with that thing.” Paz remarked, still slightly dumbfounded in his place. He knew you could fight. He had experienced it first hand before. But this time was different. The refinement with which you held your weapon and the elegance you possessed as you moved with it as though it was an extension of your own body was not lost on him. The tact to your words and the conviction in each step all the more enticing. And the fact that it was for him... Paz couldn’t deny that watching the whole ordeal unfold made his chest swell with pride, admiration and maybe a little bit of something else.

“I know.” He can hear the smirk in your voice as you rejoin him, not quite sure why his praise towards you and the way his gaze lingered on you made your stomach churn with nerves.

“Remind me not to vex you.” He notes when he finally finds the sense to fall into step beside you again.

“You would do well to remember that anyway, ori’jagyc.” You huff through a smile, bumping into him gently with your shoulder.

And that was the tipping point.

Every bit of tension that had been building in him since you had stepped into that ring and put everyone, including himself, in their place came bursting forth. He just had to do something. Tell you anything. To let you know how wild you drove him. To show you how much he appreciated you and how little he would be without you. To tell you about all the things that he would do for you if you would just ask.

Before you knew it he was grabbing you by the elbow and dragging you into a darkened alcove away from prying eyes. The action may have been harsh but his touch was light when he pressed you to the cool stone wall, breathing ragged through his modulator.

“What he insulted, was your honour, verd’ika.” Paz said quite suddenly, voice breathless as though he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “And that, I was not willing to let stand.” He admitted. Still struggling to gain your bearings, it took you a moment for your mind to catch up. He must have been continuing your conversation from before. The one that left your head spinning with so many questions. All at once that comment from before made sense now. Again. You thought. He had been fighting for you...

You softened at the thought of it. Here you had been, scolding him for falling back into old habits. Letting his rage get the better of him. Something you thought he had learned to control. Yet now, the thought that it was all for you, that you could drive such passion from him, made your breath catch in your lungs. It was one thing to fight for your own honour, something which had landed him in trouble countless times before, but another thing entirely to fight to protect someone else’s. You were glad he couldn’t see the tears that threatened to breach your eyes or the way your mouth gaped trying to find a response to him.

“I… I don’t know what to say...” You murmured back to him. He didn’t miss the way your voice caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to say anything, cy-” He cut himself off abruptly and you felt heat rise up your neck until it licked at your cheeks and the bridge of your nose at the thought of what he had almost said.

“So that was all... for me?” You ask, your mind flitting back to the fury with which he threw his punches, the conviction and intensity behind them and suddenly you felt a similar feeling blooming in the cavity of your chest. Except instead of anger or rage to accompany it you felt an overwhelming urge to draw him as close to you as possible.

As if reading your mind his feet shuffled closer, the grip you hadn’t even realized was on your hip, slipped to the small of your back, your spine curving so your chest pressed flush against his as he towered over you. You supposed it could have been intimidating, the way his frame engulfed you, but instead an incredible sense of calm and security washed over you. Like you had just found refuge in the safest of sanctuaries and now you never wanted to leave.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, meshla.” He said, bowing his head so he could kiss the crown of his helmet to yours. The exact way that hadn’t stopped playing through his head on repeat since the unceremonious bonk of your forehead to his minutes ago. He had never wished so hard that he could take it off as now in his heady daze of affection. That he could feel your skin on his, smell the scent that tangled in your hair and taste your lips against his own. Your arms slipped around the back of his neck, your eyes squeezing shut as you nuzzled into him and focused all of your attention on the feeling of your chest rising and falling in unison with his.

“I would do anything for you ...cyare.” You hum into him, a light teasing tone for the way he had choked on his words just a moment ago.

You did that to him.

You caused the covert’s most intimidating warrior to stutter on his words and his palms to sweat. A warm rumble rolls through his chest like thunder in a summer storm. It makes your lips pry upwards at the sound of it.

Ori’jagyc.

The nickname causes a hint of a laugh to bubble in the back of your throat when you’re trapped in his embrace like this. He’s warm and his arms are secure around you. His touch so feather-light on you that you wonder how it’s possible for him to strike fear in so many people when he turned around and treated you this way.

Your ori’jagyc.

You supposed you had an answer for Din’s question now.

-- Mando’a Translations

Ori'buyce, kih'kovid - all helmet no head (usually used to talk to someone with an over-inflated sense of authority)

Alor - boss

Nar'sheb - like “shove it” but much stronger

Ori’jagyc - bully, swaggering big-mouth - someone who picks on someone smaller - lit. *big man* said sarcastically, applied equally to women

Ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod - I would not willingly shed my brother's blood

Copikla - cutie (taken as an insult in mandalorian culture)

Verd’ika - little warrior

meshla - beautiful

Cyare - Beloved

[ masterlist ]

Permanent Taglist

I am aware that Paz is not a Pedro character. If you wish not to be tagged in Paz stories in the future let me know!

@agirllovespasta @chaoticspaceidiot @engineeredfiction @pedropascalito @dreamgirl-67 @wickedfrsgrl @hillarymurray4 @din-damn-djarin @yespolkadotkitty @wille-zarr @chaotic-noceur @oloreaa @this-cat-is-dea @marydjarin @roxypeanut @opheliaelysia @cryptkeepersoul @mrschiltoncat @prxtty-boah @aliciaxglasgow

Bucket Bois Taglist (Din, Paz)

@iamwarrenspeace @princessxkenobi @motleymoose @datmando @my-awakened-ghost

Paz Vizsla Taglist

@maybege @pazvizslasgirl4ever @queenofheavenandhell @aeryntheofficial @hdlynn @corrupt-fvcker @holamor @astroberry

#paz vizsla #paz vizsla x reader #the mandalorian #paz vizsla fluff #paz viszla oneshot #paz vizsla angst

383 notes · View notes

rebellionbeach · 4 years ago

Text

The Usami brothers and whole family as a whole are really interesting characters. Due mostly by the fact of how different Haruhiko and Akihiko are yet similar in many ways as well. Let’s start with rabbit boy.

Not only is this man extremely sexy but he’s also one of the most popular novelists in Japan believe it or not (not in real life guys) Akihiko is the presumably biological son of Natsuko and Fuyuhiko and younger brother of Haruhiko Usami. Growing up, he had always yearned for the attention of his parents, wanting to impress them and make them happy. Haruhiko had actually been introduced to the Usami household at the age of 12 so Akihiko was 10 at the time and significant development seemed to grow from this change. As shown from volume 21, everyone had been cheering Akihiko on as the legitimate heir of the Usami family meaning to take over the family business however he had never gotten this support from his parents before. As a young child he had believed that if he just tried harder and became good at everything, then his parents would finally recognize him. However, this wasn’t the case unfortunately as shown in the same volume once a young Akihiko came home from school gaining full marks on a test, eager to show his father when he caught him telling Haruhiko that he truly intended to make him the heir of the family business. This impact was further felt once his mother, who had also witnessed this, declared that she should have never bore Fuyuhiko’s child which in the eyes of a young child must have been completely shattering. An important seed was planted however and I believe that it was at this moment that Akihiko had started to evolve into the person he is today. He poured all his emotion, pain, loss, suffering into his notebooks, his stories, proclaiming it to be his entire world. Overtime we see that Akihiko grows to be very adept at the talent, being one of the top-selling authors from debut which occurred while still in high school and becoming a full-fledged novelist. Doing this, he completely rejected his family and any connections he might have had to take over the business.

Looking as Akihiko today it is very clear the type of individual he is, independent and self-serving, he’s his own boss and does only the things he wants to do. From the first episode of season 2 we see this as there is a key event that takes place between the two Usami brothers in which a confrontation between two escalates into a full-out argument over Akihiko coming back to, as I assume, take over the lead of the Usami company and or serve there. I will note later on Haruhiko’s tone and content of his language but it’s Akihiko’s response which truly stuck out to me as he stated that he had no inclination of going back to that house and if that Haruhiko truly didn’t like being there then why doesn’t he just leave as well.

This point may seem entirely irrelevant but I actually believe it highlights an essential part of Akihiko’s character that not only serves as his strength but also a blind spot in that of his independence. Akihiko is the type of person who is able to do the things he’d like to do and encourages the people he cares about, basically Misaki, to do the same such as in episode 2 of season 3 where he is actually the one who encourages Misaki to enter into Marukawa after Misaki dismisses those thoughts as just a fantasy. This is a thing for his relationship with Misaki as he allows the man a different perspective and in a way allows him, or at least encourages him, to be more selfish. However this can also be seen as a flaw of his character as it can be interpreted that the only reason he has this lax and independent personality in the first place is because of his more well-off family and the fact that he’d had connections from the start. In all honestly though, this part of Usagi-san’s personality is one of the main reasons why I actually enjoy his character, along with his thoughtful nature, as I believe that it’s a pretty unique and well-suited trait.

Let’s get into Harry Potter or the eldest brother of the Usami residence, Haruhiko. Haruhiko isn’t Akihiko’s direct brother as stated before but rather a product of an affair that Fuyuhiko had with his mother. For the first 12 years of his life, Haruhiko had actually been raised by his single-mother whom he loved very much. During these times he had been seen to be much more happy despite living in poorer circumstances. This is a large aspect that is pretty big onto why he is the way he is today. After his mother tragically passing on, Fuyuhiko took him into to live in the Usami residence. Now this in itself is absolutely devastating, living with a father-figure that had never truly been there for you with a new mother-in-law that despises your every existence because you’re the proof of the infidelities of her marriage and a new younger brother who seemed lifeless from the rest of this. Top it all off with the devastation from losing the only person you truly loved and was there for you and damn I’m surprised that Haruhiko didn’t full out lose it.

Now going back to the scene originally discussed with Akihiko’s backstory, let us switch perspective onto Haruhiko during this situation. Your new dad just stated that the person he had truly loved in his lifetime was your dead mother and that he intended to make you, a 12 year old child, the heir of their family company that you had just learned about. Not only this but everyone around you is your enemy as shown through all the people cheering on Akihiko to become the true heir and saying that Haruhiko stole his position. There is basically no one there to support you, similar to Akihiko, and unlike Akihiko he actually was not used to this new circumstance making the situation even worse.

I’d like to discuss the scene stated before during episode 1 of season 2. Here, Haruhiko is visibly angry as Akihiko’s lack of care for his role in the Usami residence. This is something we’ve never actually gotten to see ever since with Haruhiko barely showing any emotion at all. However, if you take in the full context of his upbringing and circumstance to that point, you can see a fuller picture of what the man has gone through to become the stoic chosen one we know today. Akihiko, after being hoisted by Isaka to finally start publishing his works, his entire being, finally achieved success independent from the Usami residence, marking himself finally as an individual allowing him to finally see that he only needs himself. I think this is what caused Akihiko to cut most connection from his family, despite the occasional visits, and totally puts himself away from the idea of succeeding and become the heir of his family’s company. This leaves Haruhiko with the burden of shouldering the entire Usami company’s future, something he never truly wanted to today with architecture being his main priority. What he see’s in Akihiko is this lazy, selfish person who only thinks of himself, abandoning all his familial duties to a brother whom he barely batted an eye to during childhood. This is what he hates in Akihiko, but also envies. A very interesting point that season 2 makes with the connection between the Usami brothers is the inherent jealously Haruhiko feels toward Akihiko, with him trying to steal things from him during their upbringing together according to Akihiko. Even Misaki finally has this revelation during episode 8 I believe when he was distracting him from Kaoruko. I think his jealously mainly stems from the fact that Akihiko got his independence while Haruhiko is still confined to the Usami gates. With all of Akihiko’s absent-minded behavior and to quote Haruhiko, “having the eyes of a dead fish”, Akihiko in the end still achieved that sense of independence that Haruhiko could only dream about having. Add onto the fact that everyone around you hates that you got this position, lobbying for your younger half-brother who barely gives in the effort to succeed you, then baby that’s a recipe for childhood resentment if I’ve ever seen one.

So what does this all mean, well nothing since this is an over-analysis on a yaoi manga but in a reality I think it comes to show the clear dynamic Haruhiko and Akihiko have on one another. In recent chapters it is shown that Haruhiko is more and more aspiring in his own pursuits in architecture, even accepting his position as lead of the Usami household and accepting the fact that he’ll never get Misaki, wanting to stay as his ally instead (which is a lot more than I can say for a CERTAIN manga author).

I love Haruhiko AND Akihiko, they both are really great characters and I’d think it would be nice if in the future they could perhaps reconcile their relationship and kind of start to get along. The Usami household fucked up a lot of kids but they are still going strong and who knows, maybe Haruhiko might get a lover in the future (AKA Todo)

Thank you and now I implore you to go listen to Nelson’s After the Rain album, 10/10 made me cry.

#junjou romantica #nakamura shungiku #haruhiko usami #akihiko usami #misaki takahashi #usagi san #bruh sorry for not posting #hopefully there aren't too many spelling errors

78 notes · View notes

unpopularwiththepopulace · 4 years ago

Text

Here Lies Jenny: Bebe Neuwirth’s under-remembered masterpiece?

While Bebe Neuwirth is often remembered foremost for her presence in worlds like Chicago, Cheers or Fosse, there’s another piece in the tapestry of her work that brings many notable threads together and is equally significant to her.

Here Lies Jenny is the somewhat under-discussed piece of theatre that in fact has connections to all three of these aforementioned things, because of the people she worked herself on creating it with, and deserves to be brought up with slightly more comparable frequency.

A moment then to explore some of the history of this elusive but important show.

Here Lies Jenny, recalled as a “surprise off Broadway hit”, opened at the Zipper Theatre in downtown Manhattan in May 2004 and ran there for five months.

The show was an interpretive revue of the music of German composer, Kurt Weill, born out of an idea Bebe had herself. It was shaped by collaboration with close friends – with its initial genesis assisted by Leslie Stifelman (the show’s pianist, who she’d worked with on Chicago), direction by Roger Rees (who she’d long known and worked with since their time on Cheers together), and choreography by Ann Reinking (who was Bebe’s closest dance companion in the Fosse universe).

Set in a dark and shadowy looking barroom, the piece followed Bebe as the central, amorphous female figure named ‘Jenny’, supported by three male cast members and a pianist, through an evening of carefully selected Weill songs. Alongside Bebe and Leslie on stage were Gregory Butler and Shawn Emamjomeh, as two rough denizens of the bar, and Ed Dixon as the general proprietor.

There was no linear storyline to the show and no spoken dialogue, but Bebe described how the evening unfolded “in a very logical and emotional, fulfilling way.” All of the songs presented “[described] the interaction between these five people there, that make it necessary to sing the next song.” Rather than taking a group of songs by a particular composer and imposing a narrative on them, the songs were interwoven together to create an “impressionistic and realistic painting of this person’s life.”

To give a summary of the show’s arc, Jenny initially descends the wire staircase into the bar, with little more than a frightened expression and a small bag of wordly possessions. Accosted by the two forceful patrons, she’s flattened down both physically and emotionally. The men depart and return throughout, and the emotional core of the piece fluctuates from song to song as each number evokes a different picture and interpretation of a circumstance or feeling. As reviewers put it, “she’s sometimes bold, sometimes reticent, until she leaves…with what seems like a modicum of self-possession and hope,” and “climbs that long staircase on her way into the world again.”

The idea for creating Here Lies Jenny came out of Bebe’s own desire to put together a piece of theatre and an evening of performance of her own. It was a notion intensified by growing external interest, or as she recalled, “people have always said to me ‘Do a show, do a show, do a one woman show!’”

But for a while the form the piece would take was unclear. Bebe knew she “didn’t want to do a revue”, and she didn’t want “the usual cabaret thing… [or] ‘Bebe and Her Boys.’”

“I generally hate one women shows,” she would remark, “unless it’s Elaine Stritch or Chita Rivera or, you know, Patti LuPone.”

According to Bebe, she’s “much more comfortable as a character doing something. I'm not comfortable just being myself and singing in front of people.”

On and off for around two and a half years then, Bebe had been considering how to approach this matter while putting together some music, predominantly that of Kurt Weill, with musician, conductor and friend from Chicago, Leslie Stifelman.

Leslie suggested bringing in a director, so Bebe turned to Roger Rees – a person she regards as “not just a great actor,” but also “a fantastic director”, with a “very interesting creative mind.” Showing Roger the songs, he “realised that they all described women, or aspects of women, or different times in women’s lives.”

Roger thought it would be interesting then to combine all of these varied sentiments and have them channelled through one specific woman, in one specific location, to present a complex but diversely applicable tapestry centred around the emotional interiority of one tangible female force.

The show is “fragmented, prismatic…less narrative than poetic,” according to Roger. It’s not prescriptive. Rather, it evokes strong feelings and allows the audience to interpret them into their own individual and personal narrative for this woman. It poses questions and provokes thoughts. Who is this woman? Why is she here? Why is she here now? Is that a child? Or is that just a wish for a child? What did she have in this life before we meet her and what has she now lost?

It is indeed an unusual entity, and atypical from other more standard revues, cabaret acts, or works of theatre. A “self-described Japanophile”, Bebe explained how it played in the “Japanese aesthetic concept known as wabi sabi.” Of this she would elaborate, “There’s no direct translation, but it’s about the beauty of things as they age, embracing what’s painful in life as well as what’s joyful.”

It is certainly a piece that contains beauty as well as pain, which itself is a complexity and dichotomy often ascribed to Kurt Weill’s music.

When initially finding and working on songs for what was to become Here Lies Jenny, Bebe noticed being drawn to the work of one composer most strongly.

Like Bernadette Peters talking about how she gravitates to selecting Stephen Sondheim’s material for her concerts, Bebe would say simply, “all of the music that I loved the most was Kurt Weill music.”

A revue in 1991 called Cabaret Verboten (also with Roger Rees), that sought to recreate a Weimar Republic cabaret and re-conjure some of the decadence of pre-Nazi Germany, increased Bebe’s exposure to Kurt Weill’s music and was where she “first became captivated by the composer”. Building on this strong connection and deep appreciation in the years since then, Bebe would assert of his music, “it resonates for me.”

“Neuwirth knows Weill’s music isn’t for everyone,” one reviewer wrote, “but she won’t apologize for it.” She sees its capacity to be “appreciated on many different levels,” and has described it on varying occasions as “unflinchingly honest”, “very fulfilling to perform”, not just “arch and angular and Germanic…[as] many people think”, but as having “great lyricism and tenderness”.

Bebe feels a strong affinity for Weill’s music in part because of its “ability to convey the truth completely and fearlessly and without artifice”. For example, “If you're talking about heartbreak, [his music] goes to the absolute nth degree of what that really means. The way he shows that is with fearless lyrics and the bravery to make the music as beautiful as it can be.”

“Maybe the way I appreciate it speaks to the kind of person I am,” she would say. “I’m very bright but not an intellectual. I like things in a visceral, passionate and spiritual way.” And to Bebe, Weill’s music certainly provides that – which was why devising this show was of such importance and significance to her.

Bebe said also that “the show offers the broad range of Weill's songwriting talents.” This is indeed a truism, with the work of no fewer than ten different lyrists being showcased across the nearly two dozen songs during the evening, including Berthold Brecht, Ira Gershwin, Alan Jay Lerner, Langston Hughes, and Ogden Nash.

The different styles and languages of Kurt Weill’s music mirror Weill’s own history and geographic progression through the world. Born in Germany, “Weill, a Jew, had to flee the Nazis at the height of his popularity. He fled to France and then to the United States, where he became a citizen in 1943.”

His songs reflect the world in which he was living. For instance, ‘The Bilbao Song’ is a tale of sometimes gleeful, sometimes regretful nostalgia and comes from a collaboration with Berthold Brecht in German. It is performed here only in English through the use of “Michael Feingold's now-accepted translation”. The Brechtian-ism is a feature of this production as a whole that was remarked on at the time, being appraised there was “more than a dash of an alienation effect at play,” with material being sung for example behind grilled windows or facing away from the audience.

His French material is alternately reflective of the musical identity Weill tried to devise while having to reinvent himself from scratch in France. Bebe performs one of these French numbers here, entitled ‘Je ne t'aime pas’, which has its own poetic lyricism, and indeed mournful significance, given the translation of the title as ‘I don’t love you’.

Alternately, jazzy, Broadway glamour is comparatively evident in some songs like ‘The Saga of Jenny’ from musicals that arose in America on the Great White Way out of the era of Golden Age of the American musical in the ‘40s to the 60’s.

This show was ambitious then, in its mission of exploring a wide range of the composer’s musical contributions across multiple decades, countries, styles of music, and lyrical collaborations.

Beyond his own musicals, Kurt Weill’s music has been notably seen elsewhere on Broadway or in the theatre world via interpretations such as songs in concerts with Betty Buckley, Patti LuPone, Ute Lemper; or full stage productions with Donna Murphy as Lotte Lenya in Hal Prince’s 2007 Lovemusik; or Lenya’s recordings herself.

Much of Kurt Weill’s legacy lives on through his wife, Lotte Lenya, who was seen as his “chief interpreter… [and] largely responsible for reviving interest in the composer” after his death.

Like Lotte with her “whisky baritone”, Bebe is able to convey meaningful interpretations of Weill’s music through her vocal richness and skilled acting choices, carefully controlling factors like timing, pronunciation and syllabic stress.

An example. Bebe does the most satisfying version of ‘The Bilbao Song’ I have heard. There’s a line in this song that states: “Four guys from ‘frisco came with sacks of gold dust,” in which the last portion of the phrase is repeated a further two times. Bebe emphasises the third “SACKS, of gold dust?!” in the dramatic manner stylised through my punctuation in attempts at recreating its phonology, which contrasts against the two previous readings. This gives the line a salient narrative purpose. It conveys not just an observation, but a tale of surprise and incredulity – who on earth would walk into a bar carrying entire sacks of gold dust?

It may be seemingly just one small detail, but it has a large impact. Other versions that intonate all three repetitions of this line the same miss this engaging variation and feel flat in comparison.

This song would justly so later become a staple of her concert material – along with others like ‘Surabaya Johnny’ and ‘Susan’s Dream’.

But there is unfamiliar territory traversed in Here Lies Jenny too. The rendition of Ogden Nash’s lyrics with ‘I'm a Stranger Here Myself’ is ‘new’ – and it’s exquisite, in its melodic, lilting and playful but darkly seductive swirling sentiment.

Another notable number in need of individual mention would be ‘The Saga of Jenny’. There are two Kurt Weill songs most strongly associated with the ‘Jenny’ moniker – this, and the also well-known ‘Pirate Jenny’ from The Threepenny Opera, which Bebe had done a production of in 1999. The latter was trialled in early versions of the show but ultimately didn’t “serve the piece as well as other…moments could,” so was taken out. Fortunately, Bebe would later work it into her concerts.

The former made it in, and provides the exciting opportunity to get to hear Bebe’s take on this song as made well-known by a number of respected performers. ‘The Saga of Jenny’ appeared initially in Weill & Gershwin’s collaboration for the musical Lady in the Dark in 1941, starring Gertrude Lawrence. The song has since gone through innumerable reiterations, such as via Ginger Rogers in the 1944 film adaptation of the same name; Julie Andrews’ big-production performance in the Gertrude Lawrence biopic Star! in 1968; and other high-profile concert performances like via Ruthie Henshall, Christine Ebersole, Lynn Redgrave and Ute Lemper; along with Lotte Lenya’s own recordings.

Further extending the song’s life was ‘The Saga of Lenny’ – a version devised with new lyrics by Stephen Sondheim, performed by Lauren Bacall for Leonard Bernstein’s 70th Birthday in 1988. All of these are on YouTube and I would testify are worth a watch.

In this show, Bebe performs the number with the bravado of a war-time songbird. She strides around with an old-school 1940s microphone back and forth across the stage as she progresses through the song’s distinct chronological sections, grounding the show centrally back to its identifying moniker and characterising an eponymous, engaging and multiply varied ‘Jenny’.

When not bound to microphones, Here Lies Jenny also involved the use of Ann Reinking’s “minimal but inventive” choreography to create striking visual images. Though perhaps not resembling the fast-paced, razzle-dazzle of Chicago, these patterns of movement are at times no less impactful. Bebe is dragged fluidly across a countertop, rolled sinuously down pairs of legs, centred in a dark tango (that one review likened as a potential metaphor for a ménage à trois), or spun backwards upside down onto Emamjomeh’s shoulder in the air – to name a few notable moments.

Not a dance show by any strict sense, all of these demands are nonetheless physically taxing. This is a matter of importance given the timing of the show.

What Bebe had long deemed a “peculiar” hip from her early twenties, begun causing notable pain when it “went from peculiar to downright bad in 2001” during Fosse on Broadway. It was recorded the “pain continued during [this] high-concept Kurt Weill revue” in 2004, such that performing this manner of movement in the show can have been no trivial feat. The next three years brought subsequent arthroscopic surgery for cartilage removal, and then total hip replacement.

That being considered, the show was able to run in the highly demanding manner it did for five months straight because of Ann Reinking’s assiduously crafted choreography.

The Zipper Theatre was the “funky downtown Manhattan space” that housed the show for that time. The timing of the production and the nature of the theatre played integral parts in the piece’s characterisation.

Roger took Bebe to see the theatre when they were devising the show, and to Bebe, it felt right. “There is this creative gesture that we are making and the gesture is completed if it’s in this place.” Not in some new, shiny theatre; but here, with a darkness and sense of history that created an evocative mood similar to the tone of the whole show “as soon as you walked into the building.” This was aided by the show beginning at 11pm each night – “absolutely an artistic choice” – given that what “happens between these five people, happens very late at night”, in a shadowy time of day filled by darkness and secrets.

Here Lies Jenny ended its run in New York in October 2004. But this did not mark the end of the piece. Bebe and her troupe took the show to San Francisco in the Spring the following year – after a seven month interim that included filming thirteen episodes of Law and Order: Trial by Jury, the aforementioned hip cartilage removal, and subsequent recovery.

The show was not deemed flawless by everyone who reviewed it. Some thought it too dark or wished for less abstraction and ambiguity. But as one article would conclude, “Faults aside, it’s hard not to recommend a show devoted to Kurt Weill,” ultimately providing a “unique and polished evening at the theatre.”

Roger Rees would reflect on the show, “Weill & Neuwirth work so well together” because Bebe’s “high standard of performance” means she is able to “delve deeply and go on forever” into material he likened to being as complex as Shakespeare.

It “demands a great deal from a performer, and she is equal to it,” Roger said. “She’s very deep in herself. There’s nothing made up about [her], which is a rare and beautiful thing. The match between performer and material is exquisite.”

This would likely mean a lot to Bebe, as the show itself meant a lot to Bebe. And still does several years later. She would cite it in 2012 as the “role she wish[ed] more people had seen”, as to her, it “was a beautiful, unusual piece of theatre”. Altogether, it was something ineffable and “bigger than the sum of its parts”.

“It’s something I've wanted to do, and I did instigate it,” she said, of putting the show together. But that’s not to say it was easy to helm matters. “For me to be in charge, makes me very uncomfortable.”

That the show got made at all then Bebe would recognise as “a testament to how deeply I love the material and how inspired it makes me.” Her trust in people like Leslie, Annie and Roger enabled the creation of such a project from the ground up that wouldn’t have otherwise existed. Thus, to borrow a phrase from Stephen Sondheim, it was the combination of both personal drive, and also the shared collaboration of four people who all “love each other very much” that ultimately ‘made a hat where there never was a hat.’

It was even further an important show to her, because it was “a very private thing.” She’d describe Jenny as a very physical and emotional role – “the most personal of anything I've done.”

It clearly holds a special place in Bebe’s own heart. Undoubtedly, it would be poignant to revisit again. As we look to the near future of theatre with shows that could feasibly be staged as events start coming back, in tandem with the publicly expressed desire of people wanting to see Bebe back on stage again, this pre-existing, modestly-sized, inventive piece would be no bad suggestion.

How about a Here Lies Jenny reprise when theatre returns?

42 notes · View notes

justwritethatdown · 4 years ago

Text

Bechloe Week 2020 – Day3: Drunk Texts

We were bound to be together

An au where Beca didn't get together with Jesse and that allowed her relationship with Chloe to grow.

The way Pitch Perfect 1 should have gone ;)

Set during Beca’s first two years at Barden; everything goes as it should, nothing angsty happens and everyone is happy. Just a sloppy falling-in-love story between two college girls, told through their drunk texts, kind of...

Rating: T

Words Count: 2.5K

Thanks to @viharistenno for being my beta

Read here or on AO3

She took my arm, I don’t know how it happened

After Hood Night, Beca was lying on her bed; the weird buzzing in her brain caused by alcohol made it hard for her to fall asleep. She wasn’t used to drinking and partying with strangers until late night, but she had to admit it wasn’t the worst thing she’d done. That Jesse seemed nice after all, a little pushy maybe, but Beca knew she needed a push sometimes, maybe she should give him a chance-

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand

CHLOE BEALE: Im so glad that I met you xx

BECA: Yeah, you kinda mentioned that…

Beca bit her bottom lip and a bright smile formed on her face. There was something about Chloe, that didn’t make Beca want to push her away. On the contrary, it was rather a pull, that made Beca want to get closer to her.

She placed the phone on her stomach, letting out a heavy sigh, smile still present on her lips. Beca couldn’t believe she actually auditioned for an acapella singing group, just because a crazy – naked – girl told her to, after crushing her shower and forcing her to sing with her; it was a situation that normally would have made her run for the hills and yet, she went to the audition – and she got in – and to the following party. Beca didn’t even know how that happened, Chloe had dragged her into this whole new world, and she was kinda okay with that.

It confused Beca; for the first time her instinct didn’t tell her to push this person away, it told her to get to know her better, to become her friend, but most of all Beca wanted Chloe to like her, she wanted to impress her. She checked her phone to see if Chloe had texted her anything else, but there were no new messages, so she let out another sigh – a disappointed one this time – and put the phone away.

Maybe Chloe was still with shower guy, they seemed to be pretty close at the party. Her stomach twisted and Beca huffed again; the way Chloe had grabbed her arms and how close she got to her while talking, gave her some vibes, for a moment she’d thought that the redhead was flirting with her – a thought she wasn’t completely opposed to – but then she saw her with that guy while she was busy talking to Jesse, and kicked herself for being so delusional, she was well aware they were having sex in the sowers, they were obviously together.

Beca shook her head and rolled her eyes to herself, turning to her side to try to sleep.

I felt it in my chest as she looked at me

CHLOE: Admit you had fun tonight! :P

Beca was a bit more tipsy than usual – okay, let’s say she was drunk – but it wasn’t her fault; Amy arrived there with the clear internet of getting the brunette drunk that night. She dumbly smiled at her phone and almost gave in, but then she remembered their bet.

“I don’t know why I let you drag me to this stupid party” she spat out when they arrived at the ΣΒΘ frat house.

“Come on, I bet you’re going to have fun” cheered Chloe making Beca roll her eyes.

“I doubt it” stated the brunette.

“We’re here bitches!” screamed Amy going straight for the alcohol table, followed by Stacie.

When her head started to spin, Beca realized that maybe she’d let Amy fix her one drink too much, but she didn’t care, not when Chloe was leaning in so close to whisper things in her ear – shout actually, to be heard over the loud music – and had one arm wrapped around Beca’s shoulders; the weight of Chloe on her felt amazing and the way Chloe looked at her made her heart do funny things in her chest.

Beca definitely blamed it on the alcohol, but deep inside she knew it was the same feeling she had the first time they met at the activities fair; that smile Chloe gave her and those blue eyes, so deep that Beca felt like she was drowning in them, knocked all the air out of her lungs and she felt her heart racing.

Even if she did run away that time, Beca just couldn’t stop thinking about her, until that girl jumped in her shower, making Beca incredibly frustrated and embarrassed. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but looking – more than once – at the girl’s naked body and her mind wandered without her permission. Chloe was undeniably beautiful, and her confidence made her even hotter.

Beca should have known then that she was gone, but – always oblivious to her own feelings – it took her several weeks of parties and rehearsals to know that she had, in fact, fallen head over hills for the redhead.

Suddenly Beca felt Chloe stepping away from her and saw the girl launching herself into Tom’s arms. The brunette found herself downing the remains of her drink and accepting a new one from Amy. The rest of the night is still a blur, she vaguely remembered Jesse helping her through her dorm room door and saying good night, at which she believed she grunted before the guy closed the door behind him.

Beca frowned at the memory and looked back at her phone; there was a new message on the screen

CHLOE: you disappeared tho. Stacie said you left w Jesse :(

BEC: yoy wr wit Tom

CHLOE: I told you I was going to say hi and when I came back you were gone >.<

BEC: are u tofether?

CHLOE: No, I’m alone

BEC: no I mwan ar you datingm

BEC: ?

Chloe started typing and deleting and Beca started to freak out; she’d known this girl for less than a year, she saw her with Tom from day one, she had no right whatsoever to be upset about them dating, even if Chloe had been sending her mixed signals from the start and was annoyingly touchy and loving and not-so-unintentionally made Beca’s head spin more than alcohol did

CHLOE: No, he’s not my boyfriend. We used to be fwb but I ended it a while ago because I started to like someone… :)<3

Just keep your eyes on me

The following day Beca felt like shit; her head hurt, and she felt nauseous, that’s why she was immensely grateful to Chloe for dragging her to that stupid party the night before their special rehearsal’s session.

“Remind me to kill you when this is over” she lamented when Chloe greeted her with her usual bright smile – the girl clearly didn’t drink as much as Beca did the night before – and a quick hug

“Can’t wait” winked the redhead, making Beca’s blood boil in her veins.

Chloe really looked amazing that morning and was clearly making an effort to be noticed by the brunette; she managed to make even that idiotic hostess choreography look beautiful. It wasn’t just the dancing, Beca found every movement Chloe made incredibly sexy, maybe because of that half confession she had made the night before, or maybe because Beca knew Chloe was doing it on purpose; she knew it because Chloe basically never dropped her eye contact with Beca, almost like she was trying to cast a spell on her, and maybe she did.

“You’re on a mission today huh?” Beca hushed to her during a break

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” answered Chloe wearing a shit eating grin

“Well, better for me then, I’m enjoying the show” she shot back without thinking too much about it and regretting it right away, but the fire it lit in Chloe’s eyes told her she’d said just the right thing.

“What’s with all this eye fucking?” suddenly spat out Amy, making the room giggle. Except for Beca who became bright red, and Aubrey who cleared her throat glaring at Chloe, who innocently smiled biting her lip.

“Did you finally hook up or something?” asked Stacie in amusement

“Can we focus on the damn choreography?” asked Aubrey grinding her teeth.

Deep in her eyes, I think I see the future

Beca’s plan was simple: to go to college for one year, convince her dad that she tried and have him send her to Los Angeles the following year to finally start working towards her dream of producing music. However, something along the way went incredibly wrong, or rather incredibly right, and now all she wanted was to stay there with those nerds who somehow became her family.

The look on Chloe’s face when they won the finals made Beca realize that her future wasn’t in LA, her future was right there with those girls, with Chloe. In that moment Beca felt like she belonged there; she saw her next few years at Barden, with the Bellas, and in the hug they shared, Beca felt that Chloe would be part of her life forever.

The girls celebrated in the Bellas’ sorority house and they all, even Aubrey, got incredibly wasted. Most of the girls had already moved there from their dorms and wouldn’t have to go anywhere after their party.

During the night Chloe made sure to let Beca know, more than once, how sad she was that the brunette had decided to really leave for Los Angeles in the end, instead of moving in with her, and she never left her side the whole night. They drank together and laughed and danced, and they almost kissed, but Chloe pulled away last minute confusing Beca. When Beca asked her why, Chloe mumbled with watery eyes “you’re leaving, what’s the point?”, but immediately cleared her throat and dragged Beca to dance with the others. In her inebriated state, the music and Chloe’s body moving rhythmically against hers, were enough to distract Beca from that statement. Only later, walking back to her dorm, it carved its way back into her mind.

BEC ♡: I not gng to LA

CHLO: ???

BEC ♡: im stang heee

Chloe’s reply was a string of emojis Beca was too drunk to interpret followed by

CHLO: yoy styng w the bellassssss

BEC ♡: im staying fr you

CHLO: were gnna be cocaptnsss!!!

This woman is my destiny

Beca’s second year at Barden started out completely differently from her first one; she was living in a sorority house along with eight other girls and was co-captain of the acapella group she led to victory the year before.

Her relationship with Chloe evolved in a strange way; they acted like a married couple now, but they never crossed the line, both too scared of ruining what they had. With Aubrey gone, the Bellas were their responsibility and Beca knew that was what mattered the most to Chloe, so she chose to focus on their acapella group. For Chloe, not because she was scared of fucking things up, obviously.

Their mutual pinning was clear to all their friends; some of them – Amy – teased them about it, while others desperately tried to help them figure it out.

One night, during one of their let’s-get-drunk-because-why-not nights, they were playing truth or dare

“Beca” started Stacie “truth or dare?” she asked with a wicked smile, making Beca sweat

“Truth…” tentatively answered the brunette

“Do you have more than platonic feelings for anyone in this room?” asked Stacie raising an eyebrow. Chloe held her breath at that and Beca was the only one to miss it, too occupied freaking out

“Dare” blurted out Beca “dare, I meant dare!” Beca’s heart started beating dangerously fast, hoping that Stacie would have let her change her reply, but the girl’s eyes twinkled and Beca knew she’d fallen right into her trap.

“I dare you… to kiss the girl you have the biggest toner in the world for and release us all from this ridiculous sexual tension you two generate” commanded the tall girl rolling her eyes.

Beca felt all the air leave her lungs. Everything was silent around her and all she could hear was the uneven beating of her heart. She swallowed hard looking at Chloe to see what her reaction had been and the girl’s hesitant smile calmed Beca a little.

Beca wasn’t one to back down from a challenge and the alcohol in her system only made her more competitive, but most of all, there was nothing in the world she wanted more than to finally kiss Chloe, so she crossed the circle they were sitting in to reach the redhead on the other side of it. Chloe was biting her bottom lip in anticipation and Beca could see in her eyes that the girl wanted to kiss her just as much as she did.

Beca gently rested her palm on Chloe’s cheek. They didn’t speak, but they didn’t need words to communicate; their eyes were saying all they needed to say. They expressed how much they both wanted to do this, but only if the other was okay with that, and that it was going to be okay. They completely forgot they weren’t alone.

Beca leaned in and kissed her, Chloe wrapped her arms around Beca’s neck and pulled her closer, letting out a sigh that made Beca’s heart flutter. They stayed there, kneeling in the middle of the living room, kissing slowly and deeply, their lips moved together as if they were dancing. Beca wasn’t sure who deepened the kiss, but as soon as their tongues touched, a million fireworks went off in her brain, covering the sound of their friends whooping and clapping and wolf whistling – Amy – and making her forget her own name.

Beca couldn’t have enough of Chloe’s lips. When the kiss ended and Chloe tried to move away, Beca desperately chased her mouth and started kissing her again, gaining a chuckle from the redhead. The two girls were only separated by Amy accidently bathing them in tequila while waving a bottle in the air, shouting that they had to drink to that.

After two – or was it three? – Bhloe drinks, as Amy had named them, Beca was still snuggled up next to Chloe. They shared some quick kisses during the rest of the night and when they decided to go wrap it up, Beca really wasn’t ready to sleep. All she wanted to do was kiss Chloe all night long and the morning after, and for the rest of her life. When Chloe pulled her in for another kiss, she was happy to welcome Chloe’s tongue in her mouth again

“Good night, baby” whispered Chloe against her lips before leaving.

Beca was lying awake in her bed; she could still feel the ghost of Chloe’s lips lingering on hers. She took her phone and started typing.

BEC ♡: I lied at trth o dre I dont have a tner for you

CHLO: Bec…

*CHLO IS TYPING*

BEC ♡: Im crazy abt yoy! youre my destiny

BEC ♡: you’re

CHLO: you jst gve me a heartattack yoi asshole1

BEC ♡: srry xD

CHLO: wnna cme here to sleep w me?

BEC ♡: we r drnk…

CHLO: I jut wanna slp

BEC ♡: Any wll tease th shit out of us

CHLO: I don’t care

CHLO: I miss u

Beca didn’t really use much her bed in the Bellas’ house.

#bechloe #bechloeweek #Bechloe week 2020 #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect

63 notes · View notes

silyabeeodess · 4 years ago

Text

“Love, hope, compassion...This is what people say monster SOULs are made of. But the absolute nature of “SOUL” is unknown. After all, humans have proven their SOULs don’t need these things to exist.”

Ever since I played UNDERTALE, this one line has probably stood out to me the most, simply because it covers an issue most of the fandom seems to overlook. In response to the gameplay and its story, we tend to label monsters as good and humans as bad. We follow the story that we’re told: There was a war, humans won and trapped monsters in the Underground, Asriel was killed by humans, and seven human SOULS are needed to escape. We view the Player or Chara--depending on your view--as an ultimate evil for killing monsters through the various resets. However, what I rarely see discussed--beyond Asgore’s order to kill children from a small portion of people--is the monsters’ state of morality.

We hear it all the time and see it in this very line: “Monsters are made of compassion.” It seems to be treated as a statement of fact, but I see it as propaganda. By saying monsters are made of love and compassion, but that humans “don’t need these things to exist,” that’s placing humans as a whole as an “other,” enforcing their position as “the enemy.” And somehow... this never gets called out.

We can see why a monster would say this because of the war, Barrier, and Chara’s and Asriel’s deaths. However, how would that excuse their own calls for genocide? I won’t go into depth about Asgore here since he does show regret/reluctance for his call to slaughter humanity and we as an audience can interpret that--while his actions may not be in the right--we understand it was done in a moment of grief and pure rage. You know who doesn’t get an excuse like that? Monsters like Bratty and Catty, who cheer with a smile about how they’re “so hyped for the destruction of humanity” up until they actually realize what a human is from meeting you. In fact, most of the monsters can’t seem to recognize you as a human, from them to those retelling Asriel’s story and claiming “you’ll be free” with the rest of them while, in truth, you--as Frisk--are potentially walking to your death.

Now, you might argue, “Well, they suffered as a kingdom because of the war and from losing their future rulers. And if some of them don’t know what a human is, then it can be easy for them to label an unknown as an ultimate evil based on limited knowledge.” Ok then... so why are some of them cruel to each other? Would someone you’d describe as “compassionate” do the following:

Bully others, such as Loox, Loox’s own targets, and Gryftrot.

Allow Papyrus to feel isolated and self-conscious despite his obvious attempts to fit in and make friends, all while befriending Sans--someone who does everything possible to make his brother feel loved and accepted, and makes a point to encourage others to give him a chance--in mass.

Act “rude and loud” and “beat up everybody who gets in their way” (Undyne, according to the Red Bird NPC... who she also says the kids look up for just those reasons. I don’t entirely believe her, because of our own interactions with Undyne showing that she’s pretty cool beyond her disdain for humanity, just a little on the pushy side; however, she also attacked Asgore as a child just to prove herself and even described herself as a “hotheaded kid,” so I won’t entirely dismiss this comment either.)

Undyne is also known to fight “bad guys,” according to Monster Kid, and since MK didn’t even know Frisk was a human at first and insisted they watch her go fight them anyway, that hints that, yes, there are bad monsters that need some force to stop: This is not a strictly peaceful society.

Try to take your soul just to go to the Surface himself (Mettaton) for the sake of being a star--delaying a second war, but also leaving everyone in the entire Underground to suffer even longer because the Barrier wouldn’t get destroyed. (Nevermind that he’d have every opportunity to speak out against the war if that was one of his main reasons because of his monopoly on the Underground’s entertainment and his massive influence.)

Don’t get me wrong: I love all of these characters. They’re well-written and the fact we can recognize their flaws and still care for them is perfect. It also is a great fit to the game’s message! I just wish it went both ways.

Do me a favor and also think of things from Frisk’s perfective--as a character, not you as the Player enjoying the game. You’re trapped in this place where not only is just about everyone trying to kill you, but they actually succeed! Repeatedly! You are forced to experience death in a multitude of ways “over, and over, and over!” And you’re a child! Most people would break under that kind of severe physical and mental torture--but sure, let’s give characters like Sans a pass when they threaten you, even if you’ve only even done one route as a Pacifist, all while criticizing Frisk/Chara for their actions. The power to RESET may be insanely strong---it gives them a second chance at life--but it’s also a curse when they get to repeat that pain.

And for my last point... If most all humans were really so viscous, don’t you think it would’ve been more effective to slaughter monsterkind when they were all pinned in one place, making it as easy as shooting fish in a barrel? Or, in the very least, demanding they hand over their strongest for execution so that the rest could live even if in confinement? Wars don’t “suddenly happen without warning” as the echo flowers painted the initial human attack as, especially not when two groups have lived together for any length of time as we’re led to believe from the story. What sparks the war may seem sudden, but there’s often a build-up of tension behind it. For a irl comparison, take WWI: The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand is commonly seen as the spark, but it was also the alliances and rivalries between different nations that had been brewing for years which rallied everyone into such a huge conflict. Humans were already afraid of monsters for the ability to take souls and for equally murderous intent (as evidenced when they assumed Asriel had killed Chara). It’s not like that power was a rumor made to spread fear: Monsters confess to it themselves in their history. Therefore, we can conclude that, in all likelihood, some monsters did this well before the war even began--helping establish a conflict between their two kinds well before the war.

Sure, I have no doubt that there are awful humans in the world of UNDERTALE. I would never argue against that! Monsters, however... aren’t all exactly the “compassionate” beings some of them would like to paint themselves as.

#silya speaks #undertale #ut #analysis #discussion #video games

15 notes · View notes

rq-s · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Falling Down

Pairing: Xu Minghao / NB!Reader

Genre: Light Angst & Platonic OR Romantic

Word Count: 2.9k+

Warnings: None. However, I do interpret the timeline and meaning of his lyrics loosely. I can’t and don’t claim that it’s the “correct” way to do so; he wrote it to be ambiguous for a wide audience to enjoy. Please watch the Falling Down Making Film for clarity.

Credits: ENG Translation of Falling Down

Summary: You and Minghao have been consistent penpals since 2004, sharing each other’s cultures, languages, passions, and lives as you both grew up. 2014 came around and letter from him only came in 4 times, and only 1 in 2015. The last this you ever heard from him read he was a bird in a cage.

Notes: Italic = letter ... = omitted letter content

My Masterlist

Spring 2004

“How about this one, honey?” Mom handed me a postcard from a spot on the rack that I couldn’t reach. The large font caught my attention and told me it was a landscape picture of the closest national park. Though nothing in the picture was recognizable, it reminded me of camping, which made me smile despite having never been before.

“Sure.” Was all I said, and I followed her as she pushed our full shopping cart to the register and began chatting with the cashier.

Like usual, I quickly put the postcard on the conveyor belt along with the groceries. As soon as it was empty, I went to the bagging station and put the scanned and bagged items back into the cart. Making sure to the boxes and cartons together neatly like Tetris, careful not to squish the bread.

“What a diligent little kid you have!” The cashier spoke, her voice worn with age, but with a sense of joy that reminded me of a stereotypical grandmother.

“She always says I do it wrong.” Mom joked, smirking at me. She never did let go of my “If you want it done right, do it yourself.” attitude I had even as a kid.

Mom finished paying, and we went put into the chilly morning air of the parking lot that was made even colder by the shadow of the supermarket. I once again moved the bags from the cart to the trunk and brought the cart to the nearest drop off spot while Mom started the car.

The ride home was mostly silent, save for the sound of the road beneath the wheels and the hum of the heater.

“Thanks for letting me do the penpal thing, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, but remember the deal; you get more chores to do. You’re 7 years old now, you can handle doing the dishes by yourself, right?” The tone of her voice was completely serious, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ve been helping with the dishes for years, and I’ve learned from the best. I’ve got this!”

When we got home, I scoured the bags for that postcard, and luckily it was only bent on one corner. I wrote down bit of info about that park - whatever Google told me, and set it aside. I grabbed the template application from my school binder and filled in the blanks.

Hello! My name is _____________, I’m __ years old, and I am from ________! I am learning Mandarin, but I’m still a beginner. I hope to learn more about your culture and language as we exchange letters!

For now, I will tell you a bit about myself. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Along with this letter is a postcard and other information about where I am from!

I hope to hear from you soon!

Signed,

_____________

It was a pretty basic template that we had to copy from, and in retrospect, it was cringy as all heck, but it had to be formatted juuust right and follow the guidelines exactly, or the penpal program admin’s wouldn’t accept it.

From what I was told, someone from China who’d also applied and been approved would be paired with me, based on age and interests. Only this first letter was prewritten. Once we were paired up, the letters themselves and the mailing of them was up to me and my family.

I was lucky I got a match at all, most of the kids in my class didn’t. I learned pretty quickly why: I was the only one who put “dancing” as an interest.

Summer 2007

...

This was a frog I found at the lake! Mom got mad that I touched it, and when it jumped out of my hands and back into the water, it got mud all over us!!

Later we had a barbecue and some other campers came buy, but their kids were teenagers and didn’t wanna play with me, so here is a picture of me pouting in the tent instead of having fun.

...

This is the last one, when we finally got home from the long car ride. we all were sunburned really bad, but it looks like you can see freckles on my face because of it!

Whenever either of us would go on trips, even just to the water park or to a festival, we’d take Polaroid pictures to send. Most the earlier pictures Minghao sent were of him at tournaments, then they turned into selfies from after dance practice. It wasn’t until they were in their teens that he began to take more artsy pictures, with the occasional selfie thrown in. He’d always put at least one polaroid in each envelope, and photography quickly became one of the many things he excelled at.

Winter 2010

…

And I still can’t believe you were on TV!! Twice!!! All these letters… I can use them as blackmail someday when you’re a superstar! Muahah!!

I’m not nearly as good as you still, but Miss Lilly says my footwork has gotten a lot better! I wish you could teach me, but words don’t have the same effect as seeing it. I doubt I’d get it even if you tried to explain… and don’t even think about trying to teach me any martial arts, my brain will melt!!

…

My letters were always a bit longer than Minghao’s, and were full of run on sentences and unorganized thoughts. He was always clear and concise, yet sensitive. He always gave strong and encouraging advice on my Mandarin, but my English tips barely seemed to help him. I always cared more about getting to know him and telling my own stories than about practicing. Though, I don’t know what stories I had worth telling as a 13 year old. We contrasted each other a lot, and Mom said it made us a better fit for each other.

It wasn’t a weekly thing, but we always wrote when we could and has a steady back and forth. Sometimes the envelopes were thick, with many pages, postcards, candies, cool leaves or rocks we’d found, songs we had been listening too; things we cared about and wanted to share. But sometimes they were thin, barely a page long, with hastily written characters and a sincere apology. Both made me smile the same just the same – both showed how much he cared.

Spring 2012

Perhaps it was because we were the same age, and despite not meeting, had spent so much time together. He somehow always understood me, and never made jokes when I was opening up about the less fun sides of life. He went at his own pace, and it took quite some time, but he eventually felt comfortable doing the same.

…

I’ve worked so hard for this, I know I’m capable, but I’m genuinely terrified. But I’m excited, too. I feel so overwhelmed and I don’t feel like I can tell anyone, they’ll worry, or they’ll tell me I shouldn’t do it.

I want to try. I want to be on that stage and in that tournament and I want to come out having earned something.

…

Fall 2012

Congratulations!! Now I can brag that I know THE Xu Minghao who won 8th at a WORLD DANCE COMPETITION!!!! I knew you’d do great. Yeah, you were nervous, but your hard work showed through!

As soon as I read the news online, I was so happy. Eight is a good number, right? I think It suits you. Even when you're laying down, you have infinite potential! That’s you, Xu Minghao, Number 8, my best friend.

Come to think of it, it's been about 8 years since we met, hasn’t it? it must be some sort of prophecy!!! Haha I’m kidding, but seriously… That’s more than half our lives. We’ve spent knowing each other half of the time we’ve even been on this Earth!

I’m really glad I know you, Minghao. I’d be lonely without your letters, I think. I hope I make your days brighter, like you make mine. I hope we never forget about each other.

It was rare for me to get so sentimental, but he needed someone to be his fan, and I wanted to be the best fan of Xu Minghao I could be. Not to say I was the first, like I would joke about doing, but because he deserves it. I knew it from the way he talked about training, that he’d make himself a star someday, no matter what.

Because of this, though, it was this letter and onward that we stopped doing the copies and corrections. I noticed myself missing his teasing marks on my papers, or the cheeky smiley faces he’d draw when I did well. We stopped sending trinkets and polaroids too, so each envelope felt a lot emptier.

Spring 2013

I’m really going to Korea now… The flight is in a few days, I’ll send you another letter from the new address as soon as I get there, so please wait for it!

…

I had bad dreams back then, about how things would be different, slower and distant. His letters were a significant part of my life, and I was afraid to lose that. Yet I was surprised he was even allowed to keep sending me letters. Retrospectively thinking though, it wasn’t like he wasn’t allowed to write to his family.

Was I like family to him back then?

Winter 2013

I’m sorry for not writing you back sooner. The company has been really busy with Seventeen TV starting. I’ve been practicing a lot, I barely have time to eat or sleep, let alone sit down and write. There’s barely anyone around who knows Mandarin, and I’m still just learning how to make sentences in Korean, and they call me Myungho… Those who I can talk to are all boys, but they’re my friends, and possible group members, so I shouldn’t mind.

I miss your handwriting. Sometimes I reread our old letters, and notice that we’ve changed so much. But I keep every memory, did you know that?

I always feel better quickly. When I think about being on a stage, having fans singing with us and cheering for me… It makes me so happy that I cry, sometimes. But then I can’t help but think, “Will it ever be me? Or will I just dream of being there, and someone else will get the chance?”

That’s usually when I find one of your letters. The one you sent on my birthday a couple months ago, that you sprayed with that citrus scent? It’s my favorite, I relax so much when I read it. It reminds me of home, somehow.

I’ll try to write more often, I’m sure you’ve been patiently waiting. Let’s exchange pictures again, it’s been a while, right? I just really miss you.

Was he like family to me? No… I think, back then at least, it was something special for me.

Summer 2014

Hey! I haven't heard from you since April! I miss you a lot, but I know you must be really busy. I’ve been trying to watch the previous Seventeen TV episodes when I can, the other boys seem funny and nice. I hope they all take care of you, like you say Junhui has been.

I’m always wishing you sweet dreams, I worry about how you’ve been. I wish I’d have asked for your phone number or email or something before, but now that you’re so busy and under a big company… I just hope these letters and postcards reach you well.

…

Fall 2014

…

Also, they’ve been saying I’ll qualify to be on SeventeenTV soon. The others are hoping it’s a sign that we’ll get to debut soon. You’ll watch it, right?

Things are looking bright for me and my brothers here, but I can’t help but feel full of dread. I can’t pinpoint why. Junhui said it might be stage fright, but I don’t feel afraid.

I know they all support me, and I support them, but I feel like I might disappear, and not even you would remember me. I know its not true but it’s what I’m feeling.

…

Winter 2014

I SAW YOU!! I watched it as soon as it released, I didn’t understand what most of them were saying without English subtitles, but I could understand you, and I saw you! I’m so proud of you Minghao, you’re an official member of Seventeen!! You’ve been working so hard, I’m sure you’re exhausted. Please try and take time to rest and heal before debut, all of you need it!

…

Spring 2015

May 26th 2015. That is the day I debut. I know we haven't talked much, but I hope you’ll be there in spirit. Thinking about you cheering for me makes it easier to handle. I’ll fight for you, for me, for them, and for us. I’ll try, even though things feel like they’re ending.

I’m going to be busier than before. I’m not sure about the contract, but I’ll try to still get letters out. For now, have this. Thank you for everything.

A layer of grey I can't escape Walls built of fear are colored all over with red Who will listen to the sound from the bottom of my heart at the end of the world(/day) There's no one by my side Flee Flee

The world is collapsing, shattering, breaking I can't find love at all So why why why (Where will I ) fall, where Hidden by the dark clouds, helpless and pitiful Can't feel myself, light is lost Before the end of the world(/day), (I'm) yelling, sounds of pain But there's no one by my side Flee Flee

The world is collapsing, shattering, breaking After I disappear completely, (you) won't realize I once existed Why why why (Where will I ) fall, where Falling endlessly, falling in silence What did I ever do wrong

Missing someone you’ve never met is an entirely separate kind of heartbreak. I began to doubt every single thought and feeling I had, every single word I wrote, everything began to bleed between imagination, ideal, and reality.

The Minghao I watched on the screen wasn’t the Minghao I knew, and I started to wonder if I ever truly knew him in the first place. I felt like a fool, and even then, I continued to be foolish. I wanted to believe I knew what he meant; that I understood him, but as the years went on, I got more and more lost.

They won awards, they went on variety shows, they released albums, they went on tours. They traveled, they worked, and they grew. I needed to believe I knew him, but Minghao and The8 are not the same. And as I grew to love The8, Minghao began to fade into the back of my mind. When I watched him try to express himself beyond his stage persona, each time I saw flashes of a beautiful bird locked in a rusted cage.

I always kept the letters.

They’re my private collection of memories between he and I. They were the only way I knew it was real. I could run my fingers over his handwriting, feel how he sometimes pressed too hard and left marks in the paper. I could see how the paper and ink warped when he accidentally got tears on it. I could look at his pictures from his childhood and know what he was thinking as he took it.

I knew him.

Summer 2020

Hey, Minghao. It’s me, do you still remember my handwriting? Maybe it’s changed... No, I know it has, because I’ve changed as a person. It feels strange, I know what you’ve been up to, but you might’ve even forgotten my name. But I feel in my heart that you havn’t. Maybe thats wishful thinking.

Anyway, I’m so proud of you Minghao. You’re a superstar, just like you dream of being back when you first started dancing. You’ve become part of a family, and have so many fans cheering for you every single day. Congratulations!!

…

5 years. Does the smell of citrus still remind you of home? Of me? Maybe it just reminds you of the hard times you had back then. But I guess you’ve been reminiscing about that a lot lately?

I watched the video as soon as it came out, and I was shaking as soon as I heard your voice. That song isn’t a special piece of yourself that you shared with me anymore, but it’s part of your story for the whole world to see, and you told it so well.

...

I miss you.

It was finally time.

It was a fairly thick envelope, inside were many postcards of where I’ve been, quickly written notes as I reacted to songs and memorable moments, and full-length letters that never got sent.

It was so surreal to sit in front on him at this panel. He looks just like he did as a kid, but more refined, stronger inside and out. His aura intimidated me like I was seeing a skyscraper touch the clouds for the first time, and yet he maintained eye contact with me like I was a dandelion about to be blown away with the breeze.

“It’s me, Minghao.” The words barely drifted from my mouth, but they struck him like lightning as realization stealing his breath away. For a moment I saw his eyes twinkle, and the corners of this lips twitch.

A member of staff took the envelop away from him; he barely was able to read the label.

My time would be up soon.

His fingers intertwined with mine and he opens my photobook to his page with his free hand, looking down for only a moment to sign it.

The next Carat was nudging my shoulder already.

“Not yet.” I whispered both to them and to him with a squeeze of his hand. He did the same, like a beat of the heart, and then released. I watched his chest rise and fall with a deep breath as he gave the next fan the same focus and care he gave me.

I forced a smile on my face as I scooted over.

Did he truly realize it was me? Why could I feel his heart beating faster from the tips of his fingers? Did he want to contact me all this time, or had he chosen to stop and was scared to tell me? Did he miss me too?

My smile was only fake for a moment, though.

I was meeting his second family for the first time, after all, I needed to make a good impression. After years of keeping up with the group, it should have been easier to feel comfortable, and to be happy like the others.

Yet my hands continued to shake, their faces blurred and the sounds around me went quiet. My senses went in and out of focus like waves reaching and leaving the shore.

The warmth and the texture of his hand stained mine, and as i stared down at it after going back to my seat in the crowd, it felt alien. His hands are same hands that have been writing my name on every envelope for so many years...

I felt like I was falling.

#the8 #xu minghao #minghao #the8 x reader #xu minghao x reader #minghao x reader #seventeen #svt #svt the8 #seventeen the8 #minghao fluff #minghao angst #seventeen x reader #svt x reader

30 notes · View notes

lizzy-frizzle · 4 years ago

Text

Bragging Rights

Lizzy and Sadu discuss recent events

(There’s one instance of implied transphobia)

Sadu and Lizzy sits at the dining table eating a meal, as normal. Lizzy shifts her eyes away from Sadu anytime she tries to look at her.

“You’re hiding something.” Sadu says accusingly. She squints her eyes, and stops chewing mid bite.

Lizzy retorts, “Nuh-uh! I...Just….Ok, so, promise not to be mad.”

Sadu’s eyes narrow further. She chomps down hard on the animal’s cooked leg, nearly biting through bone.

Lizzy sighs, “So, you know how you told me to not fight any more inter-dimensional immortal beings? Especially if it could kill me?”

Sadu slowly puts the food down, and slowly responds, “...Yes...”

“Well, I kinda...” Lizzy pauses as she senses the aether gathering around Sadu, “I’m fine now! It’s ok! Nothing bad happened!” “Elizabeth.” Sadu starts, “What did you fight?”

“I may have fought another ascian.” Lizzy admits, looking downcast at her plate, “He may have tried to send me to an eternal gaol of darkness.”

Sadu starts to reach for her staff.

“But I got out! I’m here anyway.” Sadu remains unchanged, “Anyway, I mention this because I learned something about myself.”

Sadu tilts her head, shoulders relaxing slightly, “Go on.”

“So, I told you about Emet-Selch, the convocation, right?” Lizzy continues, “I was one of them. Apparently, I was the Shepherd to the stars, uh, named ‘Azem’, an-” “Azim?! Like the God that Magnai believes himself to be?” Sadu stands up hurriedly, “NO WAY. I HAVE TO RUB IT IN HIS FACE THAT NOT ONLY IS HE NOT, BUT THAT I MARRIED THE REAL REINCARNATION OF HER.”

Sadu rushes out the door, muttering about the Dusk Mother not liking men. Lizzy follows her, eventually catching up and offers to fly her there.

“You’re pregnant Sadu, please try to take it easy.” Lizzy gently reminds her.

Sadu’s hand instinctively reaches for her child, “I know, but I HAVE to do this to HIM.” she pauses, “I will allow you to fly me there.”

Lizzy allows her wife to do this slight on her mortal enemy.

~~The Dawn Throne~~

It’s late into the afternoon when they arrive.

Lizzy attempts to dissuade her wife again, “You know I said ‘Az-em’ not ‘Az-im’ right?”

Sadu waves off the clarification, “You would have me believe that The Dawn Father, the representation of the Sun, named Azim, and this Azem, a traveler and shepherd to the stars, are different people?” she continues, “One could argue that the Sun does indeed shepherd the stars, and travels across the sky.” she punctuates this thought with shaking her head, “No, I believe these two people are one in the same, and that the Dawn Father is actually the Dawn mother.”

She laughs, “At any rate, it’s better.”

Her confidence astounds everyone at the Dawn Throne as Sadu Dotharl marches straight up to Magnai on his throne.

The large auri man rolls his eyes at the intrusion, and begins, “You taunt my grace wi-” “-I CARE NOT!” Sadu shouts, “Khagan, tell this False Little Sun the truth!”

The room grows dead silent in the wake of the announcement. The Oronir waiting for Magnai’s reaction.

[Oh jeez, she must be serious if she’s invoking my official title.] Lizzy squirms under the intense scrutiny.

Sadu gestures to Lizzy, forcing Lizzy to announce to all of these warriors something she would really rather not say, “A-As per Dotharl believe in the soul inhabiting life after life,” Lizzy tries her best Leader Voice, which is to say, not all that intimidating, “And through recent events involving preventing a calamity. It has been revealed that the soul that lies in me is none other than Azem, the Traveler and Shepherd to the Stars.”

Some light murmurs occur among the Oronir. Lizzy decides to put her hands on her hips, partially to remind everyone of her daggers, another in preparation to defend her and her wife if the worst happens.

Magnai stands up, angry, “Do the Dotharl then claim that not only am I not the Dawn Father incarnate, but also that this...this OUTSIDER is? And that SHE is HE?”

Sadu interprets the statement differently than Magnai probably intended, and immediately begins casting a fire related spell, “EXCUSE. ME?!”

Her temper flared, with a spell to match, explodes next to Magnai, causing everyone to draw their weapons. Lizzy included.

“Calm down, Sadu,” Lizzy calls out, “I’M SURE HE DIDN’T MEAN IT.” she loudly hints to Magnai.

But Sadu is already in the middle of casting another spell.

Magnai puts his axe away, and starts, in a calm manner, “I did not mean to imply any disrespect.”

Sadu launches the spell. Lizzy uses shukuchi to position herself in front of her and blocks the hit with a dagger. She looks into Sadu’s eyes, seething rage swirling inside.

“Sadu...” Lizzy tries again.

Sadu’s eyes flicker for a moment, then her brow furrows again, “Tell. HER. You. Are. Sorry.” Lizzy senses aether swirling around her staff, “Or. I. Will. Make. You. Sorry.”

Magnai must sense it too, cause he immediately puts his hand in the air, “Enough. You’ll have your way Dotharl. Khagan, I’m sorry.”

Sadu calms down. Not a lot, but she’s not going to kill anyone at this point. She puts her staff back, and everyone relaxes slightly, “Anyway. It’s important for you to know. The REAL Azim got me pregnant.”

The shock on Magnai’s face is no doubt what Sadu came here for. However Lizzy feels her face become flushed, “SADU. WHY?”

Mortified, Lizzy begs the gods above to end this day.

Magnai sits on his throne, too shocked to respond.

Sadu grins wickedly, and begins laughing, “How does it feel Little Sun?!”

Lizzy pleads with Sadu in her mind, [Sadu...please...I’m dying...stop]

With Lizzy as red as a tomato, she picks up Sadu, and walks out of the throne chamber. Sadu not sparing a chance to make a taunting face at Magnai as she gets carried out.

~~In the sky above the steppe~~ “You didn’t HAVE to do that.” Lizzy says sternly.

Sadu’s smile refuses to leave her face, “But did you SEE his face?? I wouldn’t trade the world to be able to do that again!”

Lizzy shakes her head.

Sadu continues, “Anyway, I love seeing how flustered you get too, so it was a 2-for-1.” she wraps her arms tightly around Lizzy’s stomach, and nuzzles her head into her back. She can’t see, but she knows this flusters her further.

“A-ah, Anyway!” Lizzy fumbles her words through the surprise hug, “We should tell Meeps about the pregnancy.”

Sadu picks her head up, “The miqo’te that was at our wedding?”

“Yes, She’s...probably not doing too hot I imagine. She could use some good news.” Lizzy frowns, “When I saw her, figured it wasn’t the BEST time to bring it up.”

Sadu rests her head back on her wife’s back, “Alright, Operation Cheer Up Meeps-y”

~~Meeps’ House~~

Lizzy knocked twice, and waited. Sadu shifts anxiously behind her.

“Are...you nervous?” Lizzy asks.

Sadu nods, “I’m a bit far from what I consider home, meeting one of your god-killing friends. Surely you can understand the apprehension.”

“It’s just unusual for you.” Lizzy responds, then she smiles, “is the pregnancy starting to affect you?”

Offended, Sadu lightly jabs Lizzy’s shoulder, “I’m the Mighty Khatun of the Dotharl. A little pregnancy won’t impact me!” her voice doesn’t sound quite as rock solid.

Lizzy just sighs, and holds Sadu’s hand, “It’s ok, hun.”

With her free hand, she knocks again.

Sadu takes a deep breath.

Asahi opens the door, “Hell-oh! Lizzy, and Sadu, welcome. Meeps...isn’t accepting compan-”

“Can I talk to her please?” Lizzy gives her best puppy dog eyes, “It’s super important, and I think it’ll cheer her up!”

Lizzy laces her words with her a chipperness that Sadu swears leaves her with a cavity.

Asahi stares at the couple. He shrugs, and sighs as he gestures for them to come in, “You can try.”

Lizzy let’s out a happy, “Thank you!” and walks inside, Sadu in tow.

He closes the door behind them, and points to the stairs, “She’s up in the bedroom, good luck...”

The two climb the stairs, and knock on the presumed bedroom door. Lizzy doesn’t wait for a response before opening it, however.

“Meeps?” Lizzy squeaks out.

The bedroom is dark, lit by a pair of candles on the bedside tables

The figure under the blankets remains silent.

Lizzy moves to the side of the bed, and sits down. She gestures for Sadu to do the same, “Hey, you know, Sadu is here with me.” She gives Sadu a look.

“Hey,” Sadu utters, feeling wholly uncomfortable with the situation.

Lizzy speaks again, “I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I don’t know what it’s like, or what you’re going through. But we’re here.”

Meeps doesn’t react.

Lizzy continues, “We have some really fantastic news.”

Instead of saying anything further, Lizzy gently lowers the covers from Meeps, and grabs her hand. The hand feels damp from endless tears. She moves the hand to Sadu’s stomach.

“What?” Meeps says, then her eyes widen, “O-OH!” She sits up and faces the couple.

Lizzy notices how red her eyes look. She lets a face of empathy reflect and tries to switch to a happy face, “Sadu’s pregnant,” she says with finality.

A weak smile spreads across her face, “That’s awesome.” she tries to muster. Her voice sounds more ragged this time, “Have you decided on a name?”

Sadu answers, “We don’t decide on a name until after they’re born.”

Meeps reflects on the information after a nod, “Ah, right, I forgot for a moment. I hope a brave warrior’s soul finds its way then.”

Sadu smiles back at her.

“Though, I did convince Sadu that if they’re a Raen, we’ll be naming her Alice.” Lizzy adds, “After my mom that adopted me.”

The sentiment makes Meeps tear up once more. Lizzy hugs her, rubbing her back in an effort to comfort her.

Meeps chokes back the tears, for a moment, “I think that’s a great name.”

Lizzy takes the moment, “Hey, I’m sure you haven’t eaten in a while.” she gets off the bed, “Why don’t we go downstairs, and have Asahi cook some dinner.”

Sadu chimes in, “Lizzy, it’s near midnight.”

Defensively, Lizzy responds, “So? Dinner is when you say it is, and I’m hungry.”

Meeps stays silent for a moment, then gets out of bed, “Ok, let’s go eat.”

“Thank you,” Lizzy says, “I know it’s hard.”

#ffxiv #Lizzy Frizzle #Sadu Dotharl #Sadu x Lizzy #Sadu x WoL #Meeps #Asahi #my writing

3 notes · View notes

doctordonovan-a · 4 years ago

Text

@riscng said “you’re the first person to visit me in ages.” from daniel because we’re not allowed nice things, only nerds in pain !

maybe it’s rude: turning up uninvited, white flag waved in the form of homemade lasagna if only to allow for something to busy anxious fingers. give him space - he just needs time - she’s heard the hurricane of advice that comes with trying to do the right thing before. still, heart screams above logic that sometimes, regardless of space or silence, it’s the little gestures that cut through the darkest of times. what a shame that it’s her, all waves && soft tones, her with fond carefulness that decided to make the first move. ❝ sam’s been hanging out in your hallway basically daily, your neighbours must think she’s casing the joint. it’s my turn today and I’m considerably more annoying, I actually do the knocking stage. ❞ they all worry about him, well intentioned concern showing in so many different ways, a multitude of muddled languages they can only pray he’ll be able to interpret.

maeve understands distance, but it was always going to be her to surrender to the door’s calling first. it would be so much better if it were sam ( the truth of that needn’t be voiced ) brunette’s cheerful softness unlikely to be what anyone would wish to appear at their door. she understands the need to isolate, so often she escapes caring grips like sand between fingers purely out of fear of what remaining means.

what a flaky little creature genius knows herself to be: always honest, rarely forthcoming. ❝ if you really are preferring the whole ‘this man is an island’ stage I won’t impose. but admittedly, I miss you and this recipe is new... and I intentionally made too much. ❞ the only thing that seem unimaginably worse than the horror of being stolen && puppeteered by the goa'uld is the lingering torturous imaginings of seeing someone precious, someone loved, be used and destroyed in such unforgiving fashion. ❝ I promise I don’t take up much space. ❞

lonely sentence starters | accepting

#riscng #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // maeve has a lot of widowed friends huh #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // pre d'ane maeve absolutely shatters me #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // look at her she's so colourful and soft #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // all heart #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // really doesn't pay off for her #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // maeve vc: I can't imagine how awful it is #𝗢𝗢𝗖: // me in the background like 'you will'#𝗢𝗢𝗖: // go on daniel try to say no to the green puppy dog eyes #𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘: // answered asks #𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣: // didn't run away when you should've ( riscng | maeve && daniel )#𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗚𝗔𝗧𝗘: // I’ll be there to fall into the dark #𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗘: // queue

2 notes · View notes

thoughtfulfangirling · 4 years ago

Text

Something I've been wanting to write about for some time is how thoroughly the arc between Glimmer and Adora in season 4 parallel Catra and Adora's relationships and in this way, creates space for Catra's redemption, both for the characters in universe and for us as the audience. (btw who edits or revises things before posting them? Not me! Good luck!)

I remember thinking while watching season 5 for the first time and observing Catra and Glimmer's bonding, how Glimmer isn't quite as angry with Catra as one might expect given Catra's actions resulting in Angella's sacrifice. But it occurred to me: Glimmer's mistake just before the events of season 5 could have been just as destructive as Catra's in season 3, wherein that sacrifice took place.

Since then, I've been pretty blown away on the similarities between these arcs, and it came to a sort of head today while rewatching the first episode via Netflix Party with a friend of mine who is also still reeling over the season 5 finale.

In the first episode, Adora refuses to let Catra come back with her to the Whispering Woods to find what called out to her. She does this despite Catra's wanting to go with her because Adora fears that the consequences to Catra if they're caught would be too great. This means Catra isn't there when Adora makes her discovery about the Hoard. Catra isn't there nor a part of the decision of Adora's to abandon the Hoard. What might have been different if Adora had allowed her to come along?

But that's the thing. At that point in time in that first episode, it's not just Catra grossly influenced by the manipulations and abuses of Shadow Weaver, but even while more subtle, it's just as prevalent in Adora, and her acting on that which lays at least one foundational brick in the wall that springs up between them.

It's very well articulated in this Fandomentals article how Adora had to draw in on herself and her impulses and be the best that she can be in order to protect Catra.

"Adora wasn’t always like this. Her goofball side shows up lots of times in young adulthood, and we see that as a kid she wasn’t afraid to get in a bit of trouble. Not only did she tease Octavia to goad a violent reaction for her and Catra’s amusement, the excursion into the Black Garnet chamber was arguably her idea. That unfortunate encounter clearly stuck with Adora despite her not being the one who got in trouble...

...The thing Catra does not realize is that part of Adora’s drive to be good in Shadow Weaver’s eyes came from a desire to protect her. Shadow Weaver made Catra out to be a bad influence and threatened her because of it. If Adora was really really good and showed that Catra was not having a negative effect on her, then Shadow Weaver would have no reason to follow through."

And this drive to protect becomes a habit for Adora, a driving need. It's tied very much into the idea that if she can just keep doing everything she can to keep someone safe, she can keep bad things from happening to those she loves.

She carries this into her new relationships, and notably here, with Glimmer. It's only enhanced by Adora's feelings of always sacrificing her self for what she can do for others in the S3 finale when she has to sit on the sideline while Angella sacrifices herself in what Adora feels is her place. Not only does Adora walk away from that moment feeling that unless she can save the world, it should have been her, but she interprets Angella's last command to "take care of each other" as an order for Adora to protect Glimmer. It might also be worth nothing that the season ends with Adora being clear with Catra that she is done covering for her, that it's time for Catra to bear the responsibilities of her actions for herself and that Adora no longer accepts responsibility for her. I think it's not unlikely that this creates a bit of a vacuum for Adora, one which Angella seemed to suggest someone else for which to fill.

And the ramifications of that pulse ever more strongly as season 4 progresses. Adora hides behind the idea that this new sense of protectiveness for Glimmer is because Glimmer is the queen, but anyone can see that Glimmer needs to be a part of things and is more competent and capable than ever, and so it seems only reasonable to assume that Adora has gotten caught up in this protection impulse. And while Glimmer's own sense of desperation at the Hoard's advances and the death of her mother propel her ever ready anger and frustration, Adora's need to keep leaving Glimmer behind drives a wedge down between them. It's easy to see Glimmer's anger and her sharp tongue and her bursts of frustration as at fault and the cause of these issues—just like it is easy to see Catra's impulsiveness and possessiveness to appear to be the cause of all her and Adora's issues. But in reality, it's a two person game. Adora's behaviors are at least as destructive to these relationships, if less obviously visible.

So just like Adora makes a decision about going to the Whispering Woods and defect from the Hoard after leaving Catra in the Fright Zone, Adora leaves Glimmer behind at the end of Season 4 to, as she did in the beginning, do what was right at all costs.

Between getting information Adora doesn't get about Horde Prime arriving at any moment to Etheria followed by the blow that once again, just like many times before this season, Adora and Bow have gone off on a mission on their own, she makes a rash decision to try and use The Heart of Etheria.

In season 3, Adora tells Catra not to open the portal or the world could be destroyed. In season 4, Adora tells Glimmer the Heart of Etheria cannot be used without the world being destroyed. Catra pulls the lever, and Glimmer activates The Heart. The consequences of Catra's actions result in Angella's sacrifice. The consequences of Glimmer's actions pulls Etheria out of Despondos, into the path of Hoard Prime, and causes Adora to lose She Ra.

It's arguable what all Glimmer could be aware in regards to these consequences by the time she is taken prisoner, but it stands to reason she might truly believe, in the confines of ship and her cell until she hears further from Prime, that Adora could have been right, and she could have been transported off a planet just before it's destruction. Certainly she believes that the scale of her mistake is quite grave as she truly has a sense of carrying a hell of a burden.

So I think there's some awareness there, when it's Catra and Glimmer, lost in space in brand new and uncharted, horrifying waters that there is a certain likeness of their experiences. It created the space, I think, for Glimmer to recognize how easy it is to make catastrophic mistakes out of anger and pain and even well intentioned desperation. It shows the audience that given faith in Glimmer's heart and intentions and her own remorse, she is worthy of forgiveness.

And it just strikes me that it had to be Glimmer. Glimmer had to be the first to see this good in Catra, and it had to be Glimmer who saw hope in her, because Glimmer lost the most to Catra, something that can't be recovered.

The episode in which it's decided to go back to save Catra is one in which Glimmer spends the entire episode seeking Bow's forgiveness for a wrong even she feels she can never make up for and is only resolved when she says that she can't expect it but that she won't give up. She knows what it means to have messed up irreparably and that this doesn't mean one should just stop trying.

Glimmer: Look, I know you're still mad at me. Maybe you'll be mad at me for a really long time. I deserve it! And maybe— Maybe we'll— Maybe we'll never be friends like we used to be. But I'm not going to stop trying to make it better. I made a mistake with the Heart of Etheria. I should have listened to you, and I'm sorry. You get to be mad, for as long as you need to be. But I'm not going anywhere, and when you're ready, I'll be here.

Adora witnesses this, and it's then that she truly decides they need to go back for Catra. When she approaches the topic, the 'camera' is on her and Glimmer. Bow is there, but she's telling Glimmer, rambling as she tries to get to the point, knowing what Catra took from Glimmer specifically because she needs Glimmer to understand and, I think, give her this blessing, because it's Glimmer who was most hurt by Catra's past bad actions. And Glimmer gives it.

Glimmer: Catra sacrificed herself to save me. Whatever you need to do, I'm with you.

Angella is gone, but Catra is still here. Glimmer knows what it is to mess up profoundly, and she also felt real horror and trauma imprisoned on the Hoard ship. It certainly means Something that Catra risked everything to get Glimmer out, and I think even that it means something that she did it to protect Adora, just like Angella in many ways made her sacrifice largely as a means to protect and save Glimmer.

It is meaningful and impactful that Glimmer plays such a large role in Catra's redemption and that she is cheering her on as she walks the difficult path of admitting and making up for past mistakes. Catra, in some ways, learned how to make things right from Glimmer. Catra watched as Glimmer came to her to end the Hoard's reign at the end of Season 4. Catra watches the realization hit Glimmer that her choice was wrong, destructive as she collapses on the ground being sapped of her power.

Glimmer: Adora was right! Light Hope, used me. She activated the Heart!

Catra: So? I thought you wanted to win. Use your weapon.

Glimmer: I can't! It would destroy everything. I have to try and stop it.

Catra clearly followed Glimmer as she struggled back to the Black Garnet to attempt to destroy the garnet and make right the wrong she did. She must have watched Glimmer strike impotently at the garnet until she collapsed. And finally when they are stuck on Hoard Prime's ship together, and they know Adora is on her way to attempt to rescue Glimmer, Glimmer makes that statement, "Do one good thing in your life."

Catra's redemption has so many moving parts. The show really took it's time to put so many pieces in place, from everything it did with Shadow Weaver (oh hey, also note Shadow Weaver's presence with Glimmer and how it effects her and Adora's relationship too in S4), Entraptra, Scorpia, Double Trouble, etc to put Catra emotionally just in the right place to really hear Glimmer. And part of why she can hear Glimmer, is because she just witnessed Glimmer in her place. She shouts at Glimmer after those words that she knows nothing about her, but the truth is, I think Catra was seeing quite a bit of herself in Glimmer just then, and found herself wanting. So, finally, she strove to do better.

It honestly is just so beautifully done. I can't blame anyone for wanting more time with Catra's redemption, but I do think it was well earned. Glimmer offers a good prep in how a character can be misled and even estranged by the protagonist that leads to bad places. It creates a point of understanding and an example for the in universe characters to jump off of. I definitely saw in Glimmer's enthusiasm for Catra's joining the team a sense of 'if they can forgive her, then they can forgive me.' And it doesn't seem unlikely that Catra even had the exact same thought when she decided to risk Prime's wrath to save Glimmer. Despite her cynical nature, I think she found a spark of hope in her, and she made a leap of faith.

And I think in this way too, we were more ready to accept Catra's redemption. So many pillars were put up in many places by the creators, and even while I can't fault anyone for wanting some tweaks or changes, I think spop did a fantastic job on this redemption and felt it truly earned by the end of the season.

But then again, I might be biased in laying so much credit on Glimmer, cause Glimmer did nothing wrong, and they had to forgive her, and she’s wonderful and perfect!

11 notes · View notes

moonbeambucky · 6 years ago

Text

Helpless

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 5298 Warnings: fluff

Summary: Bucky doesn’t realize that the more he tries to be helpful the more he makes his girl feel helpless.

A/N: This is my submission for @kentuckybarnes Hannah’s 3k Writing Challenge. My prompt was Character A is told to stay in the car while Character B confronts a villain. Things go downhill. Character A drives the car into the villain. But didn’t leave the car. Thank you as always to my Sam 💕@buckyofthemyscira for beta reading! gif not mine

The story of Bucky Barnes is filled with immense sadness weaving its ways throughout the pages of his life. From Howling Commando to Hydra assassin, his mind was scrubbed clean of what made him; his memories, his morals. Bucky was forced to commit unspeakable acts, ones that keep him up at night trembling with guilt. He was given a new life while being robbed of his old one but now that he’s finally free of the tentacled grasp Hydra held him in, Bucky is working on becoming himself again, and for all the harm he’s done to the world he wants to give back and help.

The desire to help others took root within him at a young age. He learned from his father George, who was always quick to assist the neighbors on their friendly Brooklyn block, and Bucky experienced firsthand how good it felt to help others.

When Mrs. Davis from down the block couldn’t leave the house much anymore Bucky took it upon himself to fetch her groceries or mow the lawn. He never asked for anything in return for his service but she insisted, paying him a little something so he could treat himself to an ice cream. Instead, Bucky used the money to make sure the alley cats had a fresh dish of milk and cans of tuna each day. If helping was the lottery then Bucky hit the jackpot when he befriended Steve Rogers.

Steve became more like a brother and Bucky had his hands full looking after him. You see, Steve was just like Bucky when it came to helping others except the little punk didn’t know his limits. He picked his battles, every single one, no matter who was on the other end. Bucky would have to step in every time and throw a punch or take one; better him than Steve who would crumble at the slightest breeze.

Bucky couldn’t fight all of Steve’s battles though, but he was always there to help Steve get well from his latest bout with any and every germ that came his way. His poor friend was a scrawny thing, with an immune system more fragile than a butterfly’s wings. Bucky ran all over Brooklyn to pick up Steve’s prescriptions and even learned to make his mother’s homemade chicken soup recipe, anticipating he might be spending the rest of his life making it for Steve.

Helping was always in Bucky’s nature but when the war broke out he questioned his morals. Part of him wanted to sign up, his country needed help and he was ready to fight, but with his father no longer around it didn’t feel right to leave his ma and sisters. In the end Bucky decided to stick around, continue to help his family and Steve until he was drafted.

The fate of the world was safe, for today at least, and while Bucky had helped secure it from the threat of other worldly invaders once more he wanted to use his free time to help on a smaller level.

This is how he found himself at a local Habitat for Humanity worksite near the compound. There were a few dozen people crowding around the open space, with bright smiles and excited chatter filling the air until a skeletal man with a bullhorn calls everyone’s attention. Bucky keeps his distance in the back. Just because he wanted to help doesn’t mean he’s fully ready to integrate himself into society again.

Bucky prefers anonymity and after years of covert operations and life on the run he wears his best disguise to hide in plain sight, a baseball cap that casts a shadow over his features. His long dark hair is tied in a low bun at the base of neck and recognizable metal hand is covered by a construction glove.

He isn’t fully anonymous though, a sticker on his chest states his name but going by James provides him enough distance from his true identity. Bucky doesn’t want any publicity, even if it would counteract the daily editorials that criticize his morals. It’s another struggle he carries, learning to ignore the faceless voices that speak out against him. He’ll never please everyone but by helping, no matter what the cause, he knows he’s doing something good.

Bucky’s squinting from the sunlight, already strong despite the early morning. He pulls his cap lower to block the shine from his eyes while listening to the man with the bullhorn enthusiastically pump up the crowd. He introduces himself as Scully, a nickname Bucky supposes as his sticker says Ed. Could be a last name too though. Sometimes Bucky doesn’t mind being called Barnes. It reminds him of his time in the army, where he was fighting with one goal in mind, to help.

He shrugs off his memories, not wanting to think about what happened after the army. He regrets wearing a sweatshirt today as he’s already growing warm but unfortunately it’s the best way to hide that arm of his.

The group breaks with a round of applause and cheers as it’s time to commence work. The foundation for the house was already laid for them so everyone begins working on the assembling the framing. Bucky quickly swaps his baseball cap for a hard hat and walks to the truck with a few others ready to unload the lumber.

A burly man walks up the steel ramp on the back of the truck. His boots clank on the metal that shakes to support his large frame as he unlatches the door, allowing the foresty scent of fresh cut spruce to penetrate the crisp morning air.

Groups of two travel in and out of the truck carrying long beams and planks. Bucky grabs more than double, giving a simple nod to the burly man Frank, a silent nod that he’s more than capable of handling that amount on his own. Bucky could actually carry more, a lot more, but his one man show is already drawing enough attention, he decides he doesn’t need any more.

He follows the direction of another man who’s shorter than Frank but just as round, with a thick salt and pepper beard. Bucky drops off the planks at different workstations where others are reviewing the specs for measurements.

The air filled with a mix of sound as people begin to work; the dull thudding of nails being hammered down, power tools buzzing away. It brings him back to childhood when he and Steve took the train into Manhattan to watch as construction crews began erecting the Chrysler Building. The idea of having the tallest building in the world in their backyard fascinated the young boys who never imagined the sites they would grow to see.

He’s pulled from his memory by the shrill buzzing of an electric saw. It pierces his ear oddly as Bucky can hear the faintest wobble coming from a blade. He shuts his eyes to concentrate, waiting for the sound again until he’s certain of where it’s coming from.

A woman is focused on her work, gripping the handle of the miter saw and guiding it down to slice through the wood on the table. Bucky’s lips twitch to a smile as he watches her using the machine without hesitation.

The wobbly sound has increased in the span of the few seconds he spent ogling her and before the woman begins again Bucky calls out to stop her.

“There’s somethin’ wrong with the blade,” he declared after he caught her attention, walking closer towards her.

Between the glare of the sun and the protective goggles covering her eyes Bucky can’t read her expression. He worries she might be insulted, if in some way she interprets his concern as a question on her capability.

Bucky panicked, “I-It’s not you, I promise.” He flashed a nervous smile. “I… it’s just that I heard it in the blade, it sounded…”

“...Off,” she finished his sentence. “You’re right, I even felt it in that last cut.”

She removed her safety goggles and used her forearm to dab at the beads of sweat that collected on her forehead. Chewing on her bottom lip she stared bewilderedly at the faulty machine.

Bucky was staring as well, entranced by the woman before him. Now that he had a clearer look at her features his heart began doing flips in his chest. Her eyes were beautiful, sparkling and full of life.

The hard hat and baggy t-shirt added to her true beauty, the goodness of her soul that was eager to get back to work, to helping just as he wanted to. She scanned the machine for an obvious cause of the problem, wondering out loud what it could be.

Bucky found the nerve to speak up. “The bolt on the blade probably came loose. I can help if you want...” He smiled timidly as his eyes traveled to the name tag on her shirt, “…Y/N.”

The moment her name fell from his lips Bucky felt as if he was always meant to say it. Like pollen floating in the air her name was carried to his heart making it bloom with attraction.

She accepted his help with an enthusiastic smile spread widely across her face and Bucky was blinded once more but not by the sun. The light that radiated from Y/N’s gorgeous face was stronger and more beautiful than any star in the galaxy.

With a spring in his step he went to find some tools to help, anxious to get back to Y/N. By the time he returned she unplugged the machine and put her palm out, waiting for him to hand over the tools. Bucky was surprised, not expecting she only needed his help to fetch the tools.

“I’m not helpless you know,” Y/N playfully teased, smirking as she pulled back the blade guard and began to lock the saw into place.

Bucky smiled watching her work, unable to contain his smile and the bubbling feelings within of the woman who was as capable as she was beautiful.

Y/N let out a frustrated groan as she tried to remove the bolt that secured the blade. She twisted the wrench but it wouldn’t budge. Bucky was certainly strong enough to force the movement but he didn’t want to intrude, not unless she asked.

He didn’t have time to wait for Y/N’s permission as she used all her might to twist the wrench, forcing the bolt to fly off. The shaky movement caused the askew blade to come off its mount and nearly onto Y/N’s hands if Bucky hadn’t lurched forward and stopped it. The blade sat in the palm of his gloved hand, the metal underneath unharmed by the sharp object.

“Are you alright?” he asked as a visibly shaken Y/N took deep breaths.

“Yeah, ‘m good. I shouldn’t have forced it,” she huffed in disbelief, thinking about what could have happened.

Bucky placed the blade back and tightened the bolt properly, ensuring it wouldn’t wobble anymore. “It should be good now.” Bucky offered a proud smile, knowing he was able to help her.

Y/N returned the smile as she replaced the other screws so she could begin working again. “Thanks Bucky.”

The curve of his lips dropped down with confusion His name tag said James. He is supposed to be James. Incognito. He had a foolproof baseball cap. His eyes stirred with panic but the sound of her voice stilled his mind.

“Were you hiding or something?” Her tone was playful and the smile she gave him helped settle his nerves even more. Bucky was wrong to think he could go unnoticed, then again she was the only one to speak up.

“In a way,” he responded, “I wanna help, don’t want no fanfare about it.”

Y/N knew what the press reported on James “Bucky” Barnes but in all the articles she’s read none of them ever detailed the softness in his eyes. Seventy years of torture were held back behind a delicate wall of swirling blue emotion and yet he’s standing in front of her, stronger than she could ever imagine had she faced what he had gone through.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she winked.

A giggle fell past her lips and Bucky felt his knees buckle at the sound. From the moment it left her lips and floated to his ears the decision cemented itself within his heart, he would do anything to hear her laughter again.

Bucky continued the heavy lifting all day but the greatest strength he displayed was when he asked Y/N out for coffee and surprisingly she said yes.

They met up on Saturday afternoon after spending a few days together at the worksite. Y/N groaned as her stiff muscles carried her to the front of the coffee shop. Bucky stood outside looking incredibly handsome in a light denim jacket with a blue shirt that was sure to bring out the color of his eyes. His hair was loose with rich brown strands falling into his face as he pulled his phone out from his pocket and checked it.

She stopped to watch him, with a smile growing on her face at how nervous Bucky looked. She felt the same way, with the butterflies in her stomach adding to the aches and pains of her sore body.

Y/N was just as surprised when Bucky asked her to meet. She never imagined the day she would run into an actual Avenger let alone exchange numbers with them. With a deep breath she began walking towards him, trying to contain her nerves.

Bucky’s eyes lit up when he saw her. She strolled towards him in an oversized sweater and leggings that clung to her frame. Her hair was freed from the hard hat he was accustomed to seeing her in. He already thought she was beautiful in the sawdust covered clothes she wore and now his heart began to race at the sight of her.

Neither knew what greeting was appropriate as they said hello which led to an awkward should they, should they not kiss on the cheek or hug. She giggled again and Bucky sighed with content.

As Bucky held the door open for Y/N he heard a faint groan as she stepped up into the shop and proceeded to ask if she was alright.

She smiled at his question, “Yes, thank you. Just a little achy.”

Bucky smiled remembering the work she put in at the site, never shying away from any project. Y/N even tried to help lift the support beam that outweighed her many times over. Her disappointed pout was adorable, even if realistically it was a job meant for a crew made up of the strongest people. Bucky winked at her bringing the smile back to her face as they shared an unspoken truth, Bucky could have easily lifted the beam alone.

Hard labor was nothing for Bucky, in fact, he much preferred it over Steve’s intense training drills. He didn’t technically have a problem with those either but he’d rather go back into cyro than hear Sam’s whining every day.

Y/N would have more of a reason to whine over Sam who should be used to physical demands that come with being an Avenger by now, but even she isn’t. He can read the pain on her face, the tight smile and stiff inhales as she reads over the menu. After all the hard work she did she deserves to rest.

Bucky pulled out a chair for her from the nearest table. “Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll grab our orders,” he offered, feeling happy to help her.

They sat for hours getting to know each other, sharing a variety of sweet pastries. Bucky walked Y/N home and when it was time to say goodbye, something neither were keen on, they once again found themselves unsure of what they should do.

The caffeine searing through their veins combined with the growing affection they felt made both Bucky and Y/N extremely nervous. He was a blushing mess and she chewed on her lip, admiring his features by the golden glow of the setting sun.

Y/N took initiative, leaning forward with the intention of kissing him on the cheek. Bucky acted as well, excitedly lifting his arms up so he could wrap them around her for a hug. Unfortunately they did this at the same time and Bucky’s metal hand accidentally smacked Y/N’s cheek.

His heart stopped in that moment as Y/N held her hand firmly to her cheek. Bucky wanted to run away, to mutter an apology before he goes back into hiding, never to leave again. Negative thoughts swirl around his mind like a tornado making him question why he thought he would ever be good enough for her, telling him the world doesn’t want his help, that he only brings destruction and pain with every step he takes.

Suddenly the thoughts stop, swept away by the most beautiful sound in the world, Y/N’s giggles.

“Ouch,” she chuckled, rubbing the sting from her cheek while smiling at him.

The tension in Bucky’s shoulders released, allowing him to exhale. Still he apologized profusely but Y/N’s finger on his lips told him to stop.

“I know how you can make it up to me,” she purred, flashing a coy smile as her eyes traveled to his lips and back up again.

The lust in her eyes was evident and for once Bucky’s head and his heart were on the same page. He leaned in slowly as his tongue swept across his lips to wet them. The gap between them closed and Y/N felt his breath fanning against her skin.

Her nerves tingled with anticipation and the moment their lips met it felt like each one had turned into a firework, exploding with happiness. Y/N pulled apart first when she needed air though Bucky would have gladly given her every breath his lungs have yet to take.

“That’s better,” she sighed a heaving breath as she rested her forehead against his.

Bucky licked his lips again, tasting the sweetness of dessert lingering on her tongue though he was certain she tasted sweeter. His eyes crinkled as a smile stretched across his face and he whispered to her, “Happy to help.”

That day was the beginning of their relationship and Bucky couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He never imagined he would be romancing someone again and now that Y/N was with him he went above and beyond to make sure she knew just how much he loved and appreciated her.

Bucky would always be sure to hold doors open for Y/N, or pull out the chair for her to sit. Sometimes he would even help her assist her with putting on or taking off her coat; he couldn’t help it, hearing the voice of his father in his head, lessons he was taught from a young age about proper etiquette with women.

Y/N never had anyone treat her as kindly as Bucky did, always going out of his way to ensure she was properly taken care of. Sure, some of his sweet gestures may have been a little old fashioned but she understood Bucky was brought up in a different time. Besides, it was better than being treated poorly so for a while she let him woo her the way he thought was best.

After a few months of dating Bucky’s kindness started to become a little cumbersome. He would go out of his way to “help” Y/N even though she didn’t need it, like all the times he stopped her from putting on a necklace, insisting that he had to be the one to fasten the clasp even though she was more than capable of doing it herself. Or the many times when she would be washing the dishes and Bucky nearly pushed her out of the way so he could be the one to do them claiming he didn’t want her hands to prune.

Each time Bucky took over doing something for Y/N her frustration grew but she bit her tongue. She knew how fragile Bucky’s self-esteem was and she really didn’t want to hurt him. Bucky felt so good about himself when he did things for her, it was written all over his face so she stayed quiet and let it fester, ignoring the problem like a rumbling volcano.

It was a rough day. The moment Y/N got to work there were problems starting with the first phone all. A client spent twenty minutes screaming at her and while she tried several times to get a word in he wouldn’t let her. Instead she had to wait for his rant to finish before she could give him a simple solution that would have lowered both their blood pressure within a few minutes.

She was on edge from the call and because of that she knocked over her mug of coffee, spilling all of important documents, some of which now required new signatures from other clients who weren’t happy about having to come in again. By the end of the day Y/N was near tears when her boss called her in to talk, reprimanding her for indiscretions during the day.

Bucky was in her apartment waiting for Y/N to come home from work. He couldn’t wait to spend the night with her cuddling together and watching movies knowing in the morning he would be leaving for a mission, the first one he’s been on since they started dating.

The door burst open and Y/N stomped harshly on the wood floors, kicking one heel off wildly and groaning in frustration as she had to bend down and pull the other one off, throwing it hastily against the wall.

Bucky heard the commotion from the other room and when he walked to the living room he saw Y/N kneeling on the floor crying. The shoe had dented the wall, breaking the plaster. Bucky knelt down beside her and Y/N threw herself into his chest, crying even harder when she felt his arms wrap around her frame.

“It’s okay…” he whispered in her ear, placing a kiss to her crown. “Don’t worry about the wall. I’ll fix it.”

His words dried her tears but not because of his offer to help. The broken wall symbolized more than what it actually was. This minor inconvenience was the breaking of the own wall she had built up behind months of anger and resentment towards Bucky.

With a shaky breath Y/N pushed herself away from Bucky and stood up. She gripped the edge of the table to hold onto something as she unleashed everything that was buried inside of her.

“I don’t want your help! I’m so tired of it, Bucky! It’s not about the wall, I can fix it my damn self!” she screamed.

Bucky stood up slowly, with confusion twisting at his features.

“You make me feel helpless! You never allow me to do anything. I can do dishes, I can carry bags. I can put my own damn coat on!”

Bucky opened his mouth but he couldn’t form any words. He was hurt. Everything he did for Y/N was from the heart, he didn’t realize how she felt about it. Maybe he was wrong about everything, that he was never ready for a relationship, that Y/N never loved him.

As Bucky stood silent Y/N saw the pain swirling in his eyes and realizing everything she said in her outburst made her feel worse.

She broke down again, “I’m so sorry Bucky. I love you, I mean it, I love you from the bottom of my heart. This is all my fault. I should have said something earlier. I never m-meant…” she whimpered, wiping the tears from her cheeks and sniffling.

“No,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. It’s been so long since…” Bucky trails off but they both know what he meant. “You mean the world to me doll, I thought if I could make anything easier on ya I would do it.”

“I don’t mind the help I just wish you would ask me sometimes,” she smiled sadly.

Y/N outstretched her hand towards Bucky and let out a breath of relief when he took it. She brought him closer and pressed herself against him again, relaxing as he embraced her fully.

They spent that evening together just as Bucky originally planned but now with a better understanding of each other’s emotions.

Every day for the month Bucky was gone Y/N was worried sick so the moment her phone lit up with a message announcing his arrival she screamed with joy. He arrived at her door a few hours later, holding a bouquet of beautiful flowers she did not care one bit about. Y/N jumped into his arms kissing him senseless. She could take care of herself in many ways but when it came to Bucky Barnes in her heart she knew she was certainly helpless.

They spent the weekend together hardly ever leaving her bed. Bucky opened up as much as he could to her about the mission which was a bust. They either had bad intel or their target knew they were coming and he disappeared. It was frustrating but Y/N’s soft lips against his skin made him quickly forget his worries.

For their one year anniversary Bucky planned a special night out to celebrate with Y/N. They both dressed nicely for the not too fancy but still classy enough restaurant they had reservations for. Bucky picked her up in a vintage car thanks to Tony and they enjoyed an intimate dinner.

Bucky pulled out a small gift from his suit pocket and handed it to Y/N across the table. The candlelight illuminated her beautiful smile as she carefully unwrapped the gift to reveal a jewelry box. Inside was a necklace with a small silver pendant in the shape of a house with a heart cut out in the center.

“Because we met that day building a house together and ever since you’ve held my heart and become my home.”

“It’s beautiful Bucky,” she beamed. “Will you put it on me?”

Her head tilts to the side as she smiles softly towards him and Bucky happily obliged. When the necklace was secured he couldn’t help but press his lips at the junction of her neck and shoulder making Y/N squirm and giggle. It was definitely time to leave the restaurant and neither could wait to get home.

On the drive home Bucky turned to face Y/N but instead his attention was on the car beside him and the driver that looked suspiciously like the target from their failed mission a few months back. He tried not to be seen by the man he believed to be Andrei Rudaski telling Y/N to stay low as he carefully followed the car.

While stopped at a light Bucky confirmed the target thanks to a signifying tattoo on his neck. He followed him for a few more blocks as he debated on calling the team. Bucky could probably take this guy down without making a scene but he didn’t want to endanger Y/N.

Andrei pulled over beside a warehouse on a quiet street that was mostly dark except for a few scattered street lamps. Bucky parked across the street, wishing he didn’t have a car that could blend better with the other empty cars along the road.

As Andrei opened the door to get out Bucky handed Y/N his phone. “Call Steve, tell him where we are and tell ‘im Andrei Rudaski is here.”

“What about you?” she worried.

“I’ll be alright doll. Just call Steve and stay in the car.”

With a quick kiss to her forehead Bucky took off. She chewed her bottom lip nervously as she watched his frame disappear in the alleyway by the warehouse though his shadow was visible on the wall for a bit longer thanks to security lighting mounted on the building.

For a while there was nothing but the sound of the occasional car pass by until an unmistakable gunshot rang out. Shadows on the wall began to dance in tussle and Y/N heard voices growing louder. She clutched her necklace when she thought she heard Bucky, more specifically the sound of him groaning in pain. Bucky was her home too and she couldn’t sit by and let him be injured or worse.

Sliding into the driver’s seat Y/N turned the key and hoped Bucky’s attacker was too preoccupied to hear the sound of the purring engine come to life. With her seatbelt fastened she grabbed the wheel and beelined right towards the alley.

Y/N spotted Bucky on the ground with a man standing above him, aiming a gun. With her foot slammed against the pedal she sped straight down with Andrei in her path.

It was surreal to feel everything happen at once and yet in Y/N’s mind each event seemed to play out in slow motion. She remembered the surprised look on Andrei’s face, the bright headlines that turned the darkness of his blue eyes into pinpoints that stared her down. He tried to aim his gun at her but she hit him first, the sound of the metal frame crashing against flesh and bone will be seared into his memory forever.

Glass shattered from the windshield in front of her to the high pitched breakage of the warehouse window. He had shot his gun after all. An airbag deployed unexpectedly and if she had been given a chance to think about it she would have known Tony Stark upgrades all of his toys.

The advanced airbag leaves little injury, the only thing sore is her chest, tender where the seatbelt held her upon the impact. She’s shaking, and doesn’t know if she wants to laugh or cry, but when the door opens beside her and she sees Bucky she does both.

“What the hell was that?” He reprimands her and rightfully so. Getting hurt is the last thing Bucky wanted to happen to Y/N. “I told you to stay in the car!”

“That was me saving your ass,” she groaned slightly, “And as you can see I am in the car!”

Her statement was followed by a chuckle, as if the car wasn’t crunched up against a wall, with a bloodied person in between it.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, sucking in a painful breath thanks to the throbbing gunshot that pierced his side. “I thought I told you to call Steve.”

“I did call him,” she insisted, struggling to unlatch her seatbelt. “But I couldn’t sit by and let something happen to you.”

Bucky heard the worry in her tone, and truthfully Andrei had somehow gotten the upper hand. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if it wasn’t for Y/N.

With Bucky’s assistance she got out of the car and carefully they hugged.

“I’m sorry our anniversary was ruined. I wanted– ” Bucky began to say before a voice interrupted him.

“Can you tell me what else is ruined?” Tony sarcastically asked, as red and gold arms crossed over the lighted triangle on his chest.

Bucky smiled at Y/N before answering. “This shirt for one,” he joked clutching his bleeding side.

Y/N frowned as Bucky hissed in pain. Apologizing for the car as she passed Tony, Y/N helped Bucky towards the quinjet that was blocking the street and Bucky grabbed a medical kit which he held out towards Y/N. “Wouldja mind?”

He took off his shirt and laid on his side so she could clean and bandage his wound, but not before he had the small chance to send her a wink.

“Looks like I’m the helpless one now, doll.” he joked.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated :)

Perm. Tags (open): @all1e23 / @asphalt-cocktail / @badassbaker / @bibibucky / @breezy1415 / @bucky-smiles / @buckybabybaby / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @buckyofthemyscira / @california-grown / @captcarolvers / @chameerah / @chrevastan / @crazyinspiration / @driftingtonystark / @everythingisoverrated / @fandom-addict-aesthetics / @hana1379 / @his-paradox / @holland-stan-posts / @jaamesbbarnes / @jamesbvck / @jbuckbrnes / @kentuckybarnes / @kenzieam / @lokissoul / @mizzzpink / @notimetoblog / @palaiasaurus64 / @piensa-bonito / @prettyyoungtragedy / @royallylazy / @sgtjbuccky / @stanclub / @supernatural-girl97 / @supernaturaldean67 / @suz-123 / @teamcap4bucky / @theassetseyeliner / @toongtii / @tropicalcap / @undyingart / @valhalla-ally / @wonderlandmind4 / @wonderless-screwup / @yknott81

#hannahs3kwritingchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff

814 notes · View notes