#the debate to keep the artificial feeling of no water reflections was real

[plein-air-on-gorkhon]

[di-kut]

Baar Bal Runi: Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive!Reader

Words: 4K

Summary: (Body Swap AU) You and the Mandalorian have stopped on Garel, a huge urbanised centre, in order to refuel and restock again. Fears of lurking bounty hunters, your looming shower, and the things you have kept from Mando are making you skittish and jumpy. 

Rating: T 

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me SO LONG to do!! Thank you to everyone for being very patient and lovely with me while the chapter whooped my ass. I am going to hell for teasing this shower scene again and not delivering I know. Also guys @adikaofmandalore has made an absolutely gorgeous moodboard for this series here!

Garel reminds you too much of Coruscant.

You stare out the small window, arms folded over the chest plate of the Beskar, watching the speeders curve in layers like winding snakes up into the sky, black shadows against a rich purple sky. Beneath you there’s the yelling of stalls and sounds of droids just off the alley in front of the hotel. The streets are crowded, the walls around you leak with waste from machinery. Distant rock formations loom with the towering of the buildings around you. Everything is tinged purple, or red and blue from the bright artificial lights lining the streets. Beneath you, two floors down on street level, a garbage shoot opens and empties cubes of compressed plastic into a dumpster. You pull the window closed.

Mando watches you from his bed, hit feet crossed at the ankles. Scarf finally removed, in only your tunic and trousers and boots. Hair unbraided, but tucked into his collar to keep the loose strands from getting into his way. The bed is a narrow creaking thing, but the mattress has springs and is stuffed, and feels like heaven after months on the Crest. Your bed is identical, pushed against the opposite wall of the small room. You move to it, decide suddenly against sitting, and pace back to the window.

“It’ll be fine.” Mando’s eyes track your progress across the room.

“There are so many people.”

“Exactly. No one will pick you out in a crowd. Or – or – pick me out.” He frowns. “We just need a refuel, and water. And they accept Imperial credits since – ”

I can’t work. You sigh and pause in your track across the room. You haven’t talked about it, not exactly. Haven’t talked about what will happen when the credits run out, but you can’t live forever without one of you picking up a job. You resist the urge to take the helmet off, know you still have to make your way back through the crowds to the ship, collect your packs for the nights you had rented rooms, had access to facilities to mend and wash your things. It had been months since you had anything other than just the inside of the Crest or a tiny trading dock on some backwash planet. You should be excited, but –

“What’s wrong?” Mando says.

“It’s… nothing.”

He can’t see your eyes, but unnervingly seems to sense where they have drifted, and his line of sight follows yours to the closed door of the ‘fresher. You hadn’t been able to rent the cheapest rooms, as you had originally intended, because it would have meant communal showers. Which was not an option. And you were glad, not just for the Creed, but also because you would not have to discover the Mandalorian’s body in a room full of strangers. And he would not have to do the same for you. Your face is so hot you can feel sweat starting to form at your hairline. You should not be worrying about washing, on a planet so bustling and full you have far more to keep your mind occupied. The threat of Bounty Hunters was very real on a planet like Garel, and it was not only you but the kid you should have been worried for. But.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks.

You pull at your glove. Catch the thick seams of the leather between your fingertips. “Yes. No. Not really but… I need to wash. We can’t just not wash.” You admit in a small voice. “Is… is it okay for you? The armour…”

He deflates in a puff of air, sinks into the bed. “I don’t know. But like you said. We can’t not wash.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He echoes. Stares down at his hand – your hand – laying flat over his stomach. “Is there… anything we can do? To make it easier.”

You shrug. Feel your leg begin to jump against the ground so you pace again. And Mando watches you carefully from the bed in the corner, letting his eyes drift to follow you about the room.

“Gotabor.” He waits till the helmet turns to look at him. “Whatever I can do, just tell me. I will do it.”

You sigh and finally let yourself sink into your own bed. “I don’t know. Just – just – ” You scratch the your neck under its covering and then the underside of your jaw. Its growing itchy with facial hair, beginning to catch on the fabric and rub at the helmet on the sides of your cheeks. “Nothing. I don’t know.”

“We don’t have to – ”

“No. We need to wash.”

You and the Mandalorian stare at each other, mirrors on your identical beds at opposite ends of the rooms. His face is pinched again, but he otherwise looks so relaxed you would never have guessed he was bothered at all, shoulders propped on the pillow, chest sunken back half against the wall. Completely at odds with his expression. He nods eventually.

There’s a soft, sleepy coo from the cot. It’s hovered in the corner, unsealed, but the child is asleep inside. Rolls over slightly and one of his large ears pokes out of his blankets. But he does not wake, tucks his ear back against his side and makes another quiet noise of contentment. You both stare at the kid, glad to have something to think about that isn’t your impending showers, or each other’s bodies. You needed to get your things before you can shower – can’t bear the thought of having to put the same dirty clothes back on afterwards. The delay is a relief, but also makes the twisting anxious knot in your stomach worse. You aren’t sure what’s worse; knowing you will have the Mandalorian’s body completely exposed to you or knowing yours will be exposed to him.

Mando makes some noise, like he’s clearing his throat. You look over to him, the hand which had been spread over your stomach is curled into a fist. “It’s been almost a month,” he says. “Since – since this.”

“Yeah.”

“Is there… do we need to…” He sighs. “Do you need anything – from a medcenter or…”

“Oh. Oh.” You sit up a little straighter on the bed, glance down at the Mandalorian’s body beneath you before you can stop yourself. Rest your hands against your lower stomach. “No, no I’m – I’m on cycle suppressants, so. So, no.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

.

You agree to leave the child sealed in his crib, and with the door locked behind you. Better than dragging him through the crowded street again. The ship is docked at the nearest bay, not five minutes from the hotel. Your trip will be a quick one. It’s late, by local time, weaning into the early hours of the morning, but the market strip is still as busy as it had been when you’d landed some hours ago. It should take longer than it does to weave through the crowd, but the people melt away from before you when the glint of the Beskar catches their eyes. You walk ahead of the Mandalorian, feel him close in your wake to avoid the bustle of people. Feel the sudden overwhelming frustration and panic which does not belong to you.

You stop dead, feel him slam into your back. He swears in Mando’a and is rubbing his forehead where it had hit your pauldron. Instead of breaking off, you feel his frustration spike, and then melt very quickly into something sharp and calm. He looks around you, the Viroblade he had strapped onto his own belt, somehow appearing in his hand.

“What is it?”

You stare at him. The feeling shifts again, changes quickly, the sharpness fades and melts into concern. A tugging, warm feeling. You see it reflected on his face. See his eyebrows pull up into worry, his eyes searching the visor of the helmet.

“Gotabor?”

“It’s nothing.” Your voice is quiet. Half the syllables too low for the vodocor to pick up and are lost in the sounds of the street around you. You clear your throat. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

You feel it. He does not believe you. The worry becomes warped, powerful. Fills up your chest and throat. And then it cuts out and you stumble slightly, the sensation of the Mandalorian’s emotions leaving like having the floor yanked from beneath your feet. He catches your arm, but you find your footing before you can fall. Steady your weight against his shoulder. He keeps his hand against the gauntlet, tightens his fingers until you see the knuckles turn white. Stares at you with the same piercing look which makes the hair at the back of your neck stand on end.

“Something’s wrong,” he says.

You shake your head.

“You’re – ”

“Not here.” You say. “Not here, Mando.”

He starts to tug on your arm, steps in towards you like he is going to push you himself. “We’re going back to the hotel.”

“We’re almost at the ship.” You feel fine now, strong and solid again. All except for the strangeness of a leftover aching which does not belong to you. Slightly winded. “Let’s just get the packs and go back.”

He is going to fight you on this, you think. He is going to drag you through the market back to the hotel room. He stares at you hard and you watch as the debate he is having with himself plays out behind his eyes. So open and honest. His whole face is, lets every thought flicker across it, hasn’t had it exposed to the world since he was a child. His hand tightens its hold on you and then he sighs and releases your arm. Steps away from you just enough that there is a breath of space between you. He jerks his chin in the direction you had been walking, sheaths the Viroblade again as he does.

The docking bays on Garel are locked with codes, distributed by automated machines which charge a nightly fee. You punch in the code and the door slides open with a quiet hiss. The bay has a fuel station, water tanks, powered down droids in the corner for maintenance. It’s a clean, durasteel and plastoid, slick and sterile and lit in white fluroscent lights which flicker on as you arrive. There’s a space on the wall which is slightly brighter, a familiar sight to you, the removal of Imperial insignia has left the faded spot exposed to the world. Above you the traffic of speeders continues on a steady pace, slicing against the purple clouds. The Crest looks even older amongst the sleek surfaces, rougher and dirtier than it usually does. Calms you against what you know you must do, the familiar sight of home.

The packs are huge, too heavy for just one of you to carry. Empty medkits to fill, clothes to wash and mend, your holopad to connect to a larger terminal, download articles, books, news, anything which will shed light on your predicament. You had prepared them before departing the ship, left them stacked inside the ramp just in case you could not find anywhere to stay.

The ramp lowers slowly and you stand by it, foot jumping against the ground again. Try to formulate the words in your head before you start. Try to run through everything you know he will ask you in return. Think very briefly about continuing to conceal it from him but you know you can’t. Know that you had already lied to him once. Mando is watching you openly, and you can’t feel him anymore, but you can see his concern still painted over his features and feel worse because of it. Know that concealing that you have felt his heart four times now is becoming a breach of the trust you have won with him. It doesn’t make you feel less sick.

“Mando,” you say as he lifts his heavy pack onto his shoulder. “Mando. I have to talk to you.”

He looks to you expectantly.

“It’s about – it’s – ” Your foot is still jumping, echoing around the hull in the Mandalorian’s heavy boots. You breath in as deeply as you can through the helmet. “You remember when we talked about how I could… how I could feel things?”

He frowns. You are growing more skittish, fight the urge to turn away from him.

“Well I – I said I couldn’t… that I’d never with you but, but…”

His face smooths over. “But what?” He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds perfectly calm and you know him well enough to prefer his temper to this. You shift backwards slightly, away from him.

“Just then… when I stopped.” You think about not admitting the rest, about letting him believe this had only just developed, but the guilt gnaws away at your stomach. You twist your gloved hands together. “And in the desert. I felt what you were feeling.”

“You said you couldn’t do that to me.”

Your heart feels like its pounding in all your limbs at once. You squeeze your hands together to stop you from fidgeting them. “I… I know.”

“When you told me you couldn’t do that to me, had you already… had you ever…”

You bite into your lip, drop your head to the chest plate. It’s all the answer he needs. “Only once,” the vodocor cracks through your quiet tone.

He is still so calm, so still. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t want you to be upset.”

He snaps. You see it, the split second it happens. The calm breaks away and his face pulls into a snarl. He hoists the huge pack up his back and shoves past you and down the ramp, footsteps echoing through the empty dock. You stare at the space where he had been and then swing around and scrabble after him, leave your own pack laying against the floor of the Crest as you struggle down the ramp, feet unsteady.

“Mando, wait, please – ”

“You have everything that belongs to me!” He yells, swinging around to face you. “You have my body, you have my Beskar, you have my Creed! And now you tell me even m-my feelings? You have taken everything away from me!”

You flinch away from him again. The Mandalorian is shaking, vibrating almost, his jaw so tight you think he will break his teeth on it, his eyes burning red and shining. The wetness in them grows and he swipes a hand across his face, so harsh you can hear the sound of the back of It hit against his cheek. Catches a tear before it falls. You stomach lurches. He is breathing in short, angry gulps. Looks at you like you have betrayed him. And you have.

“I’m sorry.” You say. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but… I’m not doing it on purpose. If I could make it stop I would. I promise, I don’t want – ”

“How many times?” His voice is ragged. Eyes search yours through the visor. “How much?”

“I…” You trail off. Drop your gaze from his, can’t take it. Can’t take the way he is looking at you. The guilt is worse, so much worse, makes you feel sick. “Four. Four times.”

He opens his mouth to say something, a mean, ugly expression on his face. But he closes it again, his eyes searching the helmet frantically. You want to call to him again, reach for him, say something, anything. But you do nothing, you stand there silent and still and he shudders. Closes himself off. And then he is turning, passing the powered down droids, and hitting the control panel at the door so hard you jump. Worry it will break. He is outside before it finishes opening and disappears into the throng beyond it. Leaves you standing alone, listening to the hiss of the door as it closes again, the sounds of the outside world entering and then becoming sealed away. The docking bay is unbearably silent.

You feel strangely mechanical when you turn and walk back up the ramp, lift the heavier of the packs onto your shoulders. The pack which should have been his but isn’t. His words echo around and around with the sounds of your footsteps as you tidy the hull of the Crest with the lights from the docking bay. And he is right, you realise. He is right because you have taken everything that is his, and you still hold everything about yourself in which you take pride. Your hands have fixed the ship and rewired the engine and adjusted the child’s crib to take controls from an external remote instead of the gauntlet strapped to your forearm. Your hands are still capable of all that they were before, even though they are not your hands, they are his. But he is left with nothing. No Creed. No Beskar. Everything which holds him together now makes a part of you. A Mandalorian without a helmet.

You close the ship in a daze, descend the ramp again and stand by the manual control as you watch it fold back into the belly of the ship, sealing it off from the outside world. Feel a buzzing start to settle into your fingertips as you stand still, and you almost reach for the controls to open the ramp again. Think your lumpy cot in the dark of the hull would be better than having to go back and face him again. You rest your hand over it before you drop it slowly back to your side. You wish you were different; wish you were not able to feel anything of the souls of the people around you. Close your eyes tightly and try to hold all the shaking pieces of yourself together against the trembling you feel growing from inside you.

The market feels more crowded even now. The press of the heat and noise all around you unbearable, but you do not move fast. Can’t make yourself hurry back to the room where you know you will have to face Mando again. You even stop, more than once, let yourself be moved by the crowd and blankly inspect goods hanging in stalls ramshackled to the sides of the towering buildings all around you. Let sellers talk to you eagerly, show you food and weapons and tinkering little bits of jewellery you have no intention of buying. Shake your head at every one of them when you can no longer bear standing still and drift on, a part of the crowd. Ignore the way people jump when they notice the armour, trip over themselves to move from your way. The blaster at your back presses under the weight of the pack. Makes you wider, even, than you already are. You happily let it slow you down.

You are so caught in your own head that you don’t hear the yelling or the scuffling until you are nearly in it. A wall of people, taking up half the pathway, raising cheers and yelling. You hit into someone’s back and step away again. They turn, ready to shove you away until they see the Beskar. The man throws both hands up and steps to the side, and the ebb of the crowd behind you pushes you forward into the circle.

You sigh and start to shuffle sideways along the back edge of the gathering, trying to slip between people harder with the added bulk of the pack behind you. And there are people all around you, human and alien, trying to get a closer look. Even with the intimidation of the Beskar you are pushed along, moved further forward. You realise the crowd isn’t just cheering, there are a chorus of language and swearing being thrown around, someone yelling about credits and another answering in Huttese. Bets. A fight, you realise, and try harder to move. Push back harder against the people at behind you. Someone shoves into your side, another shoulders in front of you, trying to get closer to the action. You shoulder them back with a grunt, feel the swing of your pack connect with another body. A cry raises up through the crowd as you see the massive head of a Barabel pass over the rest of the crowd, circling the centre of the group, the dulled lumps of horns on its skin like massive rivets against green leather. As it passes closest to you the people ahead of you shudder and part, moving back from the enraged alien’s path and allows you a glimpse into the makeshift ring.

And Mando, fist curled back around his viroblade, circling opposite the Barabel.

The crowd closes back in as you blink. Stunned. The Barabel charges forward and you hear another deafening scream raise up around you as the crowd roars in response. You move before you realise what you are doing, shove your shoulders at the people ahead to try and break the crowd.

“Move!” You yell and it’s thundering. Around you everyone jumps, scatters and you push to the front of the circle.

The Barabel has circled further away now, scaly fists curled into tight balls and held up. Tongue hissing between its teeth and snarling. Sunken yellow eyes trained in on Mando. Opposite the Barabel he looks tiny, hair pulled half out from where it is tucked into his collar and falling around his face, flushed and sweating, a red blotch where he has taken a grazing hit near his temple. His pack lying on the ground near your feet. You feel the pounding of blood behind your eyes. Search Mando for any other injuries. Realise his gun is still strapped into his holster at his hip. He wants to fight.

And before you can think they charge at each other. The Barabel swings but Mando ducks low and twists and evades it completely, moves back out of the huge alien’s range. The knife is throbbing in the air, shivering so that you can’t focus on it. And then the Barabel is reaching again, roaring and swinging but Mando stays away, keeps himself far enough out of reach that it can’t find purchase. Weaving along the edge of the circle, further and further from the Barabel, but closer to you. You watch, mind blank, as the Barabel charges again. Mando twists but he isn’t quite fast enough. You see the misjudge, see the size of his step and swing of his arm, and realise he is fighting in your body, trying to manipulate a completely different person into a victory. The Barabel gets a fistful of his tunic but the viroblade is already at its arm, looks like it glides along the scaled surface, but there is a singing burst of blood beneath the sharpness of the blade and the Barabel screams and releases him.

Mando stumbles back, right in front of you.

You lunge forward, grab a handful of his collar and yank him back before the Barabel reaches him again. Haul him with you half into the scattering crowd. There’s shouting everywhere, all around you, the clamouring of tens of people rearing for a fight. Screaming filling up the helmet. And Mando is twisting, yanking against your grip, surprisingly strong. His collar stays bunched in your hand, his hair whips against the chest plate of the Beskar.

There’s a cool blade pressed through the fabric at your throat before you can blink.  

. 

Gotabor: Engineer

. 

Tags:@btillys​ @vercopaanir​ @absurdthirst​ @sistasarah-sallysaidso​ @adikaofmandalore​ @babyomen​ @purpleeeslurpppp​ @fleurdemiel145​ @hdlynn​ @starwarsiscooliguess​ @thedarkwitchling​ @no-droids-allowed​ @dartheldur​ @toilet-keeper @sinnamon-bunn​​ 

[jaxsteamblog]

Secrets

Click here to read the full fic on AO3

They didn’t stay out much longer than that, and they walked back to the beach house quietly. Zuko let Katara rinse at the outdoor shower first and she listened to him smack their shoes to clean off the sand. A futile effort, but one that had to be attempted.

While he rinsed, Katara found a pair of sandy beach towels in a box near the porch and took them over. Wrapping herself in one, she looked up at the sky. The stars were a little different here, or at least in slightly different positions.

Clutching the spare towel, Katara shivered slightly in the night air.

“Cold?” Zuko asked. She handed him the towel and pulled an unimpressed face as he dried his hair while steaming slightly.

Pulling water off her body would act like evaporation and just cool her more, so Katara stood still dripping. Firebenders just warmed themselves apparently.

“Yeah. I think I’m going to take a proper shower and go to bed.” She replied.

Zuko twisted up his towel and wrapped it around the back of his neck, holding onto the ends.

“Good night your Highness.” He said and smiled. Katara did pull the water from her body and tossed it in his face.

“Good night.” She retorted and walked off.

The shower in the house smelled faintly like brackish water, but it felt clean. Katara turned her face up into the warm spray and rinsed the ocean from her hair and skin. There was soap here already and smelled like an artificial ocean; fake salt water jelly soap and coconut shampoo. But as she bathed, she felt the small shells of tiny bivalves sticking to her arms and legs.

Wrapping herself in a clean, rough bath towel - whoever kept this house obviously didn’t believe in fabric softener - Katara moved from the bathroom and fell directly onto the bed. If she got two nights in a row of good sleep, it’d be a miracle.

When she woke up a ten hours later, still nearly in the same position, Katara wondered if she had slept or merely passed out. Her sheets were damp and the towel was uncomfortably caught under her body. With bending, she dried everything and unabashedly used the water to rinse her face free of sleep. Clapping her hands together, the water exploded into steam and she dressed as it dissipated.

Over breakfast, Suki announced that she wanted to go to the beach and they all started to pack up a basket to take down. Katara found the bottles of sunscreen, using her foot to fend off Suki who was reaching for the tanning oil while also yelling at her brother that their melanin wouldn’t save them from skin cancer.

Zuko packed lunches and they all somehow managed to dress and get down to the beach. With her bending, they all played a variation of king of the hill with everyone attempting to get to Katara to knock her over. Not one of them could get past her multitude of water limbs and she even picked Sokka up by his ankles and flung him off toward the reef.

They wound down after the initial burst of energy and Suki went snorkeling while Sokka stayed on the beach doing some sand sculpting. Zuko went looking for seashells and Katara floated in the calm water, feeling the sun warm her skin.

At lunch, Zuko announced that he had found some shellfish and, if they wanted, they could make a beach pit for dinner. Sokka readily agreed and worked with Zuko on digging the pit. Katara fulfilled her assumed role as her bending made it much easier to catch their dinner and grab seaweed to layer over the hot stones.

Suki engineered the layering while Zuko heated everything up. Then, while Sokka placed the electric thermometer and reburied everything, the rest of them went back up to the house to grab supplies.

A cooler was filled with ice and beer, while Katara grabbed plates and cutlery. They chatted as they moved around the kitchen, snagging butter and bread, arguing about what else they could need.

Back at the beach, Katara went swimming again while the others stayed by the pit and relaxed. Treading water, she looked at them all.

It was odd to have such a normal night with her secret out in the open. Zuko must not have said anything to her brother as Sokka hadn’t turned on his overbearing parent mode. And Zuko himself didn’t seem bothered by it.

Katara kept swimming until she saw Sokka and Suki walk up to the house. Darting back to the beach, Katara dried herself before sitting on the large blanket they had laid out under an umbrella that was quickly becoming unnecessary.

“Zuko, did you know Admiral Zhao?” Katara asked suddenly and Zuko looked at her in surprise.

“Zhao? Yeah, I did.” He said. Katara nodded and pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and resting her chin on her knees.

“I hated him, to be honest.” Zuko added and Katara lowered her face so her forehead pressed on her knees instead.

“You’re not just saying that?” She questioned.

“No, he was truly awful. My time in the war was,” Zuko made a sound as he thought of how to word his thoughts. “Questionable. He kept trying to out me as a traitor and I had to dodge him quite frequently.”

“Your uncle said your family fought for the exiled prince, so doesn’t that make you a traitor for real?” Katara asked, raising her head. Zuko looked pained and it confused her.

“My uncle, he,” Zuko’s voice was strained. “My family was not united during the war. I didn’t overtly fight for either side.”

“Your father supported the coup?” Katara asked incredulously. Zuko frowned and turned away from her.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He murmured.

Katara watched him for a moment, feeling a little sick. Then she turned away too, speaking softly as she did. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s only because it makes me look bad.” Zuko replied, his voice low.

When he stood, Katara startled and unfurled herself, stretching out her legs and looking at him as he moved.

“Want a beer?” He asked, his back turned to her.

“Sure.” She said. He went to the cooler and opened it, making the ice shift as he grabbed two cans. He let the lid slam shut and walked back, handing Katara a can before sitting down. They both opened their drinks and Katara watched Zuko as he looked out at the ocean.

“This feels awful because you know, you could look up everything in a high school textbook. But you don’t, so it’s up to me to tell you and I really don’t want to.” Zuko said and took a drink.

“You want someone else to tell me your secrets.” Katara said.

Zuko scoffed bitterly. “It’s not a secret if it’s public knowledge Katara.”

“Then why don’t you just tell me?”

Zuko chugged his beer and gasped, examining the label.

“Because I kind of like this world where I’m not me.” He said and smiled at her. Katara weakly reflected back the smile, like the moon reflecting back the light of the sun.

Sokka and Suki came crashing back to their spot in a tangle of limbs and running mouths. Throwing Katara a shovel, they dug up the food while Suki and Zuko laid out the dishes and necessities. They ate most of the food with their fingers, scalding themselves and laughing at each other. They continued to drink, while Katara insisted that they try to stay hydrated. Ultimately, she imbibed too much and stopped keeping track.

After dinner was done and the trash collected, they debated the merits of staying out. Katara had gotten too much sun and decided to head back in. Zuko agreed, claiming he had gotten in his share of night swimming already. Suki and Sokka had started to cuddle up together and neither was intending on going anywhere.

So Katara and Zuko got up and headed toward the sand dunes. Feeling her head spin, Katara stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Stairs, my old nemesis.” She said, swaying on her feet.

“Allow me.” Zuko said and reached for her. Katara held out her arms, but Zuko ducked under them, grabbing her by the legs and heaving her over his shoulder. Before she could protest, Zuko started up the wooden stairs.

“You okay?” He asked as Katara bounced against him, his shoulder pressing into her stomach.

“Yeah. You have a nice butt.” She stated.

“Thanks, I worked hard on it and I’m pretty attached to it.” Zuko said and she giggled. He stopped at the top of the stairs and set her down. As her world tipped right side up, Katara staggered and Zuko held onto her hands to steady her.

“Your girlfriend is a lucky woman.” Katara said and Zuko chuckled.

“Sometimes I wish she felt that way. Because I’ll tell you a secret,” He replied, leaning in and shielding his mouth with his hand. “We’re not actually in love.”

Katara scoffed and pushed him away.

“She told me that already.” She said.

“Then it’s not much of a secret.” Zuko remarked.

Not having anything else to say, Katara turned on her heel and started marching back to the house. Zuko quickened his steps to catch up to her and then started to walk leisurely. Completely besotted, Katara found herself matching his pace.

“You should tell me a better secret since I told you mine.” She said suddenly. Zuko stuck his hands in his pockets and looked up at the sky.

“Hmmmm. Okay.” He stopped and Katara stopped. After a moment still staring at the sky, Zuko looked at her and smiled.

“What if I told you I’m a prince?” He said.

“Ha!” Katara brayed, just as Zuko’s face went white with terror.

“Wait. You’re serious?” She asked. Her stomach twisted and Katara could feel sour bubbles in her throat.

“You’re the prince of the Fire Nation?!” She shouted.

“Zuko, you idiot!” Sokka yelled back from the beach.

“I told you it was common knowledge!” Zuko exclaimed.

“But that means your father is the Fire Lord!”

“I am well aware of that, yes!”

“He’s not a great guy, Zuko!”

“I can’t really help being born, Katara!”

Katara abruptly sat down, holding her head in her hands.

“Spirits, I am so dumb.” She muttered.

Zuko crouched next to her, putting his hand on her upper back.

“To be honest, it is fairly impressive that you went this long without learning anything about the Fire Nation royal family.” He said and Katara groaned.

“You all were the bad guys and I was trying to ignore anything that had to do with my being Queen of the Water Tribe.” She said. Opening her hands, Katara stared down at the sandy patch of grass.

“We’re fine Suki.” Zuko called gently and Katara looked up. Suki cocked her head and Katara only nodded before covering her face again and groaning.

“I didn’t fight for my father Katara. I,” Zuko hesitated and Katara stayed quiet in her huddled form, breathing in her own hot air.

“You want to know a secret even your brother doesn’t know?” He asked.

“Please don’t tell me you were in charge of one of the prisons we burned down.” Katara grumbled.

“You, you burned down a prison?” Zuko sputtered.

“Multiple.” Katara corrected. “There were multiple prisons.”

“Well that answers a lot of questions my uncle had.” Zuko mumbled. He then patted Katara’s back. “No, it’s not about prisons.”

“What then?” Katara croaked.

“The reason why Zhao kept hounding me was because he thought I was the Blue Spirit.” Zuko said and Katara’s body went cold. “Have you heard of him?”

Oh spirits above and below. Katara thought. That is worse.

Katara popped her head up and stared directly at him. “Zuko, I think we already met before this summer.”

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

[opiatemasses]

Is the ski industry a contributor or casualty of climate change?

The environmental crisis is not a new topic of debate, but a prevalent issue which receives a significant amount of media attention. The future of the ski industry is very much dependent on the preservation of environmental conditions, in order to allow the sport to continue to survive. Skiing is often considered a casualty or victim of climate change, as environmental impacts are seen more severely in alpine environments, but is the ski industry as much as a victim as it is a contributor to climate change?

Why do people ski?

The adrenaline inducing adventure sport is addictive. The sport is notoriously known for its scenic beauty and unique environmental requirements, which individuals often enjoy as it offers opportunities of transcendence away from the constraints of urban working life. Therefore, the chance to reconnect with nature, demonstrate physical prowess and overcome challenges within the natural environment, keeps individuals captivated by the sport.The popularity of the sport is not a new phenomenon, but the increased interest has resulted in significant growth and expansion of the ski industry, with individuals wanting to venture further and higher to access the most extreme slopes. Such expansion has negatively impacted the environment, resulting in a reduction in snow covered mountains, and an increase in use of artificial snow for skiing.

The popularity of the sport is not a new phenomenon, but the increased interest has resulted in significant growth and expansion of the ski industry, with individuals wanting to venture further and higher to access the most extreme slopes. Such expansion has negatively impacted the environment, resulting in a reduction in snow covered mountains, and an increase in use of artificial snow for skiing.

The problem:

The environment required for skiing is particularly vulnerable to climate change due to its location. Despite observing the impact of climate change in mountainous regions, seen through a significant reduction in the amount of snowfall, skiers (locals and tourists) are still unaware of the damaging impacts the ski industry has on the environment.

Research has shown that skiers demonstrate an overall lack of knowledge and understanding regarding issues concerning skiing and the environment, and often demonstrate an environmental values-behaviour gap. This refers to a discrepancy between an individual’s beliefs concerning the environment, and the individual’s actual behaviour towards the environment. Therefore, individuals who consider themselves environmentalists, yet endorse the use of artificial snow to prolong the ski season, demonstrate how their behaviour is not reflective of their beliefs; but would you consider your actions to be representative of your environmental beliefs?  

The image below illustrates how specifically ski resort development and expansion impacts the environment. Initial environmental damage results through deforestation, but ski resort maintenance in the current climate crisis, relies heavily on both fossil fuel use and water consumption, to help mask the impacts of rising global temperatures.

These environmental issues are in addition to one of the main contributing factors to climate change - long distance travel. The majority of people participate in skiing as a purely recreational activity, normally once a year. However, due to restricted accessibility to mountainous regions, individuals are forced to take lengthy flights and transfers to access the slopes, which consequently results in mass fossil fuel consumption.

Is our desire to experience adventure culture threatening our environment?

The video below discusses how skiing is a ‘conflicted obsession’ for many, as individual’s participating in snowsports must overcome the inner conflict between wanting to participate in an activity they love, whilst leaving an negative impact on the environment.

Opportunities for change: Can we ski greener?

The ski industry is an evident contributor to climate change; however, they suffer the environmental costs more severely due to their vulnerable location. Skiing greener is therefore an attempt to offset the impacts of climate change that mountainous regions are seeing, which will only work if individuals act now, as the current climate crisis is imminent.

Research has suggested that resistance within the skiing community to become more sustainable originates from fear that the ski industry will lose profit if resorts were to change. However, with increasing awareness of the climate crisis due to the severity of conditions globally, individuals are progressively becoming more environmentally conscious, and thus shaping a market for sustainable tourism. Sustainable living costs considerately more, but the National Austrian Survey highlighted that individuals are willing to contribute to preserving alpine environments by paying an environmental tax, which still permits them to participate in snowsports. Contributing to environmental preservation is not necessarily addressing the real issue of how the ski industry is damaging the environment, but acts to allow individuals to feel better about their involvement in the damaging of the alpine environment. If contributing to alpine conservation justifies environmental damage, will individuals still attempt to ski greener in other ways?

The proposal of paying environmental tax is a good starting point to help aid alpine preservation, but ultimately commitment and initiatives from ski travel companies and resorts are essential to ensuring the future of the sport. Environmental sustainability may be more achievable by using innovative technology to lower environmental damage, and reduce both fossil fuel use and water consumption.

‘Save Our Snow’

For example, ‘Save Our Snow’ is an online website which publishes data documenting how the ski industry and resorts are working towards reducing climate change. It focuses on the beneficial work and initiatives that ski resorts are implementing, and offers advice on the best green accommodation, the best green ski resorts and how individuals can ski greener.

To summarise, the ski industry is as much as a victim of climate change as it is a contributor. The evident environmental impacts associated with climate change, which are seen more frequently in alpine environments, are of increasing concern for the future of the ski industry, unless individuals are willing to act now. Next time you’re booking a skiing holiday, would you be willing to think about how you could ski greener and reduce your environmental impact?

If you have any suggestions on ways that we can ski greener or things that you currently do to ski greener, please leave a comment below!

Other useful blogs for further information:

Skiing & the environment

Ski resorts impacts on the environment

Top 10 green ski resorts

N0727333

[theconservativebrief]

It sounds good, the idea of eating “naturally.” There are natural food stores and natural sweeteners. You can buy all-natural grapefruit juice. You can buy “natural artisan flavor birthday cake flavoring.” Instructions for following a paleo diet advise that you eat only natural foods, like your pre-agricultural ancestors. “Natural” recalls a prelapsarian past, the way food was supposed to be before we messed it up with industry.

But defining “natural” food has proved difficult. The FDA still does not have an official definition of the designation, although they are trying; in March 2018, the agency announced they’d be announcing one “very soon.” (They have not yet.) Emotionally, we know what “natural” is. Scientifically, it’s much less clear.

Alan Levinovitz, an assistant professor of religion at James Madison and a freelance journalist who’s written widely about our collective enchantment with the concept of “natural,” argues that the question of what qualifies is not simply a nutritional issue, but a moral one.

“Natural” connotes “goodness,” he wrote recently in the Washington Post, dissecting the current lawsuit over the relative natural or unnatural merits of LaCroix sparkling water. “Seeking out natural products is about health, yes, but holistic health,” he wrote. “Physical and spiritual, personal and planetary. Nature becomes a secular stand-in for God, and the word ‘natural’ a synonym for ‘holy.’”

So how did we get here, worshiping at the altar of the natural? And are we wrong? I called Levinovitz to talk about the relationship between food and morality.

Our conversation has been condensed and edited for clarity.

Rachel Sugar

A lot of your recent writing makes the case that the discourse around food closely mirrors the discourse around religion. There are “good” foods and “bad” foods and “guilt-free” foods. Ordering or not ordering French fries has moral weight. Why is that?

Alan Levinovitz

The way that we create identity for ourselves is — in part, at least — through rituals, and the ritual of eating is a really important one. We have to do it three times a day, it’s very personal, we take something from outside of our bodies and put it inside of our bodies, so it makes sense that we would really pay attention to that ritual as something that helps us to articulate our values.

It seems to me that a lot of the really intense debate that we see around food and what we should eat and what we shouldn’t eat is bound up with larger questions of our identity and how we understand really broad moral questions, like our duties to the environment or our duties to animals.

Rachel Sugar

One of the things that gets really morally weighted is the idea of natural food being better. Natural is good. Artificial is bad. Where does that association come from?

Alan Levinovitz

When I started researching food and thinking about food and talking to people about how they choose the foods that they want to eat, the idea that what’s natural is what’s good came up again and again. People wanted to find natural foods, they would look for “natural” on food labels, and they also wanted to adjust their dietary patterns to what they considered natural.

It became clear to me that “natural” was sort of a secular stand-in for a generalized understanding of goodness, which in religion you’d call holiness, or purity, or something like that. “Nature,” with a capital N, was taking the place of God. In a secular society, we don’t look to religions to tell us what to eat or how to heal ourselves, so you need a secular substitute when it comes to generalized guidance for what you can eat, and that secularized substitute is nature.

There’s this idea of nature as a kind of entity that wills certain things and has designed things in one way and not another, and that gets weighted morally: What nature is becomes what ought to be. In that sense, it really performs a lot of the functions that God performs in traditional religious thought.

Rachel Sugar

Has it always been that way? I keep thinking about periods in history where people were really excited about highly processed foods — the 1950s, for example, when you start to see a real boom in convenience foods.

Probably not “natural.” Getty Images/Tetra Images RF

Alan Levinovitz

Yeah, it’s not always been the case, or at least it’s been the case, but in complicated ways. If we go back a long, long time, we find that ideas of how humans should relate to nature had to do with perfecting nature.

In early Indian cuisine, you would purify butter to get ghee, and the ideal form of butter was this clarified, purified form. Refined foods were the ideal foods. You wanted refined grains; you wanted white rice. Refined products were eaten by refined people. You get the same reflection of morality in food production, except back then, the idea was that humans were supposed to perfect nature.

But it’s complicated. Even if you go back through Shakespeare’s plays, “unnatural” is a synonym for “bad.” An “unnatural” death means you’re murdered, whereas a “natural” death is dying of old age in your bed. So the idea that natural is synonymous with good and unnatural is synonymous with evil really does run through history strongly — it’s just how we conceive of what’s natural that gets complicated.

Rachel Sugar

So I guess I should back up and ask what might be the most basic question: When we say “natural” today, what do we even mean?

Alan Levinovitz

I think that right now, what “natural” means in a very broad sense is “systems that exist beyond and before human beings.” I think about it on a continuum. The most natural things are things that would have existed without humans interfering at all, and the least natural things are things we can only imagine existing with human interference. Maybe ferns in some untouched valley would be the most natural thing.

Rachel Sugar

You see a lot of people concerned about eating “chemicals,” which are framed as “unnatural” — though obviously, everything has chemicals. It doesn’t really make sense. But you also understand what people mean: Eat an apple, not a bag of Doritos.

Alan Levinovitz

People may not understand lots of traditional food production methods, but they feel like they understand them. They feel like they know how an apple tree grows, even if they don’t actually know how industrial apple farms work.

That’s a very different process than, say, steam-cracking petrochemicals and turning those into apple flavor. It may be the case that “apple flavor” is a chemical in the same way that “the juice from an apple from an apple tree” is a chemical, but what people mean when they say “I don’t want chemicals in my food” is “I don’t want substances that are produced through methods that are fundamentally alien to me and relatively recent and therefore not time-tested in my food.”

What people mean when they say “I don’t want chemicals in my food” is “I don’t want substances that are produced through methods that are fundamentally alien to me and relatively recent and therefore not time-tested in my food”

Rachel Sugar

The FDA has yet to offer a definition of “natural,” which makes sense, because it sounds like you’re saying it’s just really, really hard to define.

Alan Levinovitz

It’s impossible. As a term, it’s as difficult to define as “God” or “good.”

Rachel Sugar

But they keep opening up the question for public comment, right?

Alan Levinovitz

Yeah, I’ve gone through the comments. I wrote a piece for NPR about the meaning of “natural,” and I went through a ton of these comments. There were some explicit references to God — what’s natural is what God meant for us to eat. The idea being that there are these systems that aren’t human-created, they’re created by God, and those produce certain kinds of foods. Those are the foods that we’re meant to consume.

Rachel Sugar

What do you see as driving the current obsession with natural food?

Alan Levinovitz

I think right now, we — and when I say “we,” I mean likely readers of a Vox piece — are very conscious of the bad effects that humans are having on the world. We’re conscious of climate change. We’re conscious of deforestation. We’re conscious of the evil of industrial agriculture.

That is a moral impurity that we feel acutely and that’s also very difficult to transcend. We’re part of these systems. What are you going to do? At the end of the day, you just have to buy your food. You’re part of this food system. That makes us feel guilty. That’s a kind of impurity, and the way we transcend that is through seeking out that which is natural, because what is natural, at least in theory, is what wouldn’t harm the environment. If it’s the way it was meant to be, then it isn’t caused by us and therefore isn’t out fault. So there’s a way in which buying “natural” outsources agency to nature, and if you’re buying things that are created by nature, it can’t be your fault if they’re bad.

It’s a symbolic way to remove ourselves from a system that we feel is deeply flawed. There’s a kind of ancient magical formula, “you are what you eat,” and when you eat things that are created in a system that is bad for the world, there’s also a sense that they’re bad for you. And that comes out of a whole different set of anxieties: this idea that ultra-processed foods are making us sick and that we’re overeating; we’ve got all these allergies, and who knows where they’re coming from? Our microbiomes are all messed up. And so again, the solution to a suite of very complicated problems becomes just eating the way you’re meant to eat, a.k.a. eating natural foods.

Rachel Sugar

In the piece you wrote recently for the Washington Post, you suggest that buying natural products is “the modern equivalent of buying indulgences.” That if we buy unprocessed grains ethically harvested, we can absolve our guilt about our role in the food system.

Alan Levinovitz

Yeah, I think that we do that. I mean, certainly I try to do it. The ubiquity of something like fair trade is the sense that we’re at the top of a food system that is exploitative, so how do we get out of that? Well, we pay a little bit more for the fair trade chocolate, and then we feel better about it.

Rachel Sugar

Is that bad?

Alan Levinovitz

That’s good. It’s good in the same way that indulgences were good, which is that if you cared about the church you would want to fund it. In that sense, buying fair trade or buying sustainably sourced food or ethically produced meat at Whole Foods — whatever it is you’re spending extra money on — I think in principle, isn’t a bad thing. But like indulgences, I think there’s the illusion that somehow that’s all you need. That’s it. The system is fixed, you can just buy your way to fixing the system.

I’m deeply suspicious of that impulse. While I’m sympathetic with the people that think advocating for natural stuff is silly and that industrial agriculture feeds lots of people and despite lots of mistakes things are slowly getting better and there are fewer people who are starving, etc. etc, I think all of that is true, but I’m also very suspicious when those same people say, “and so all we have to do is just keep buying things and if we buy the right things than eventually everything will be fixed.”

It’s a symbolic way to remove ourselves from a system that we feel is deeply flawed

Rachel Sugar

So what should we do with all this? It sounds like, on the one hand, it’s not irrational for people to eat food they understand. On the other, a lot of food innovations that seem like they might address a lot of global problems — climate change, hunger — are complicated. Lab-grown meat is hard to understand. GMOs are hard to understand. How should we think about the value of “natural”?

Alan Levinovitz

I think in the case of “natural” or “nature,” we need to think about what we mean by those terms, and then start saying what we mean instead of hiding it behind the term.

I think we all need to do this initial foundational work defining what it is that we value and what we mean when we say we want to protect nature, or we want to eat natural foods. We need to think about why we want those things, and try to articulate that clearly ourselves so that we can eventually adjudicate decisions between different communities and different individuals about what we’re going to eat or how we’re going to treat the world using shared terms that are clear instead of vaguely theistic.

But you also want certain kinds of foods to be available to you at all times. That’s an aesthetic preference that doesn’t line up with what’s natural, and you’re going to have to balance those, the same way we want to be free, but we also don’t want to be completely free — we get into relationships. I think that we need to isolate the value of what’s natural, detach it from a kind of deified nature, and then think about what it is that we value about it, and how we can measure that against other things that we also value.

Then you start to imagine a world in which you have natural and unnatural things existing side by side, in a way that you have beautiful things and efficient things that aren’t so beautiful existing side by side. The reality of it is as humans and always will live in a balance of natural and unnatural.

I think because of where we are technologically and the size of our population, those questions are really pressing. I don’t think simplistic understandings of what’s natural are helpful when we are trying to address them.

Original Source -> Why “natural” food has become a secular stand-in for goodness and purity

via The Conservative Brief