#songs for elderly women who have children who also have children

[therealjohnlennon]

opinions on Paul?

extraordinary

#shouldn't have done so many fucking takes of ob-la di ob-la da though #john lennon #paul mccartney #the beatles #classic rock #granny music #music for grandmas #songs for elderly women who have children who also have children #compositions for your mothers mother #tunes for your fathers mother #gmilf #rock #ben shapiro

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

Some books and stories that I think are worth reading in conversation with Yellowjackets

Shirley Jackson, all works but especially The Sundial, The Haunting of Hill House, and We Have Always Lived in the Castle. Jackson might or might not need any introduction in this fandom. The Sundial is her take on doomsday preppers, Hill House is of course her haunted house novel (one of the classics of that genre), and Castle has a female protagonist who makes Shauna look like a plaster saint.

Flannery O'Connor, The Violent Bear It Away. O'Connor's work has some of the most pervasive darkness and brutality of any major American writer (maybe Ambrose Bierce comes close), and the second of two novels that she completed before her death is no exception. (The first, Wise Blood, is also very good; the intended third, Why Do the Heathen Rage?, only exists as a fragmentary short story.) Francis Marion Tarwater is kidnapped and raised in the woods by his great-uncle, who is convinced that Francis is destined to be a prophet. The great-uncle's death commences a bizarre adventure involving auditory hallucinations, sinister truckers, an evil social worker, arson, developmental disabilities, and baptizing and drowning someone at the same time. Content warnings for all of the above plus rape. O'Connor is also a fairly racist author by today's standards--she was a white Southerner who died in 1964--so keep that in mind as well.

Ruth Ozeki, The Book of Form and Emptiness. Teenage protagonist is schizophrenic and also a channel for a genuinely supernatural force; well-intentioned but poorly-considered efforts to treat one of these issues make the other worse. Sound familiar? There are supporting characters who are affectionate parodies of Slavoj Zizek and Marie Kondo. A minor character is a middle-aged lesbian who cruises dating apps for hookups with much younger women. Some people find this book preachy and overwritten, but I really like it and would plug it even if I didn't because the author is someone whom I've met and who has been supportive of my own writing.

Yukio Mishima, The Decay of the Angel. Can be read in translation or in the original Japanese. This is the fourth and last book in a series called The Sea of Fertility but I wouldn't necessarily recommend the first three as particularly YJ-ish; Decay is because it deals at great length with issues of doubt and ambiguity about whether or not a genuinely held, but personally damaging, spiritual and religious belief is true. There's also more (as Randy Walsh would put it) lezzy stuff than is usual for Mishima, a gay man. Content warnings for elder abuse, sexual abuse of both children and vulnerable adults in previous books in the series, forced abortion in the first book if you decide to read the whole thing from the beginning, and the fact that in addition to being a great novelist the author was also a far-right political personality.

Howard Frank Mosher, Where the Rivers Flow North. An elderly Vermont lumberjack and his Native American common-law wife refuse to sell their land to a development company that wants to build a hydroelectric power plant. Tragedy ensues. I haven't read this one in a long time but some images from the movie stick in my mind as YJ-y. Lots of fire, water, and trees.

Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers. Yes, this is the same Leonard Cohen who later transitioned into songwriting and became a household name in that art form. Beautiful Losers is a very weird, very horny novel that he wrote as a young man; it deals with the submerged darkness and internal tension within Canadian and specifically Quebecois society. One of the main characters is Kateri Tekakwitha, a seventeenth-century Iroquois convert to Catholicism who was probably a lesbian in real life (although Cohen unfortunately seems unaware of this). This one actually shows up YJ directly; the song "God Is Alive, Magic Is Afoot" that plays in the season 2 finale takes its lyrics from a particularly strange passage.

Monica Ojeda, Jawbone. Can be read in translation or in the original Spanish. Extremely-online teenage girls at a posh bilingual Catholic high school in Ecuador start their own cult based on such time-honored fodder as Herman Melville novels, internet creepypasta (no, this book does not look or feel anything like Otherside Picnic), and their repressed but increasingly obvious desire for one another. The last part in particular gets the attention of their English teacher, whose own obsessive internalized homophobia grows into one of the most horrifying monstrous versions of itself I've ever read. Content warning for just about everything that could possibly imply, but especially involuntary confinement, religious and medical abuse, and a final chapter that I don't even know how to describe. Many thanks to @maryblackwood for introducing me to this one.

Jorge Luis Borges, lots of his works but especially "The Aleph," "The Cult of the Phoenix," and "The South." Can be read in translation or in the original Spanish. The three works I list are all short stories. The first deals with mystical experiences and the comprehensibility (or lack thereof) of the universe, the second with coded and submerged references to sexuality in general and homosexuality in particular, the third with leaving your well-appointed city home for a ranch in the middle of nowhere and almost immediately dying in a knife fight, which is surely a very YJ series of things to do.

H.P. Lovecraft, "The Colour out of Space," "The Dunwich Horror," "The Dreams in the Witch House," and "The Thing on the Doorstep." Lovecraft in general needs no introduction--the creepiness, the moroseness, the New Englandness, the purple heliotrope prose, his intense racism (recanted late in life but not in time to make any difference in his reception history) and the way his work reflects his fear of the Other. These short stories are noteworthy for having settings that are more woodsy and less maritime than is usual for Lovecraft's New England, for overtones of the supernatural rather than merely the alien, for featuring some of his few interesting female characters, and for their relative lack of obvious racial nastiness. Caveat lector nevertheless.

Herman Melville, Moby-Dick. It's Moby-Dick. Once you realize that Captain Ahab is forming a cult around the whale and his obsession with it you can't unrealize it.

#yellowjackets #books #book recs

[recentadultburnout]

Info for writer in Thai series fandom: Pet name & tone indicator sound

Some words to call your lover

Sweet and polite

คุณ-khun or เธอ-tur with ฉัน-chan, เรา-rao or ผม-phom(offically this one is for men, but it did get used by women) are words that can be used with people who are not your lovers but are considered to be quite sweet to call your lover that. I already mentioned it in Chapter 4. Chan and tur are very popular choices for song lyrics.

ที่รัก-thirak straight up call a person "someone you love". Rak is love, so if we want it literally, it would be beloved or something along those lines. I never saw anyone actually use it seriously before. Just a parody of something, or like I do, to tease a friend. Or, if we count, I think I've heard a mom call her child "mom's thirak" before. We could add สุด-sud in the front, sudthirak, make it mean "someone you love most."

แฟน-faen Boyfriend/girlfriend but non-binary. If used as a pronoun, then it usually comes with those Thai sounds khrap/ka at the end. You probably need to draw the word out for good measure too. Its sound is the same as how the word fan in "fan club" is pronounced in Thai, so there are a lot of fan club or faen khrap puns/jokes used with actor shipping situations.

คนดี-kondee Khon is a unit of human in Thai, and dee is good. เด็กดี-dekdee Dek is a child, and dee is the same as dee in Khondee. I feel like both Khondee and Dekdee have a bit of a patronizing feeling. But not always in a bad way, though. Is that a thing? Like, if you used those words with someone sincere, you probably felt the urge to take care of them at least a little bit. You probably feel like they are a precious, cute little thing. Something like that The fact that Im 100% sure parents used dekdee with their children might factor into it. As for Kondee, I'm about 90% sure.

Dek means kid, but we use it quite loosely, so twenty-somethings get called Dek all the time, and if it were by an elderly person, then the Dek in question might as well be a mother of two.

พ่อ แม่-por and mae As in father and mother. Usually, it starts when a couple becomes parents. A fur baby will do too for some.

Insulting words as a pet name

เด๋อ-der clumsy, foolish, silly, awkward, stupid, dull, dump_ Those things mix together, but like, in a soft version. Usually used with something add to the front, such as ไอ้-Ai, เด็ก-dek, or some Thai's sound for tone indicator(?) to the back, or both.

อ้วน-uuan fat, chubby—อ้วน can actually be a parent-given nickname too. I know some women around my mom's age range whose nickname is that. Personally, if it says it in a particular way, I find it really cute.

เหนียง-niang double chin

เถิก-terk go bald,the description of a hair line that starts to recede.

ลุง-lung Uncle (the one that is older than the father) aka old man. Usually used by a noticeable younger person. Not that they actually date someone older than their dad, or do they?👀

เด็กโง่-dekngo Stupid child, but like, an endearingly stupid, childish person.

ดื้อ-due _Not obeying, refuse to comply_ often used to describe a child. I saw ดื้อ  get translated to stubbon a lot, but personally, I find that not quite fitting (not that I have other words in mind). It might just be a me thing, though.

Probably a full-on PDA couple, act cute to each other 24/7

เล็ก-lek Small,tiny

ใหญ่-yai Big,giant

This two are a pair. Sometime it will have something added to it, ตัว-tua which means self/person/body, for exemple.

Animal + small or pi/nong/por(dad)/mae(mom) + animal Something like, cat, bear, pig, dog

Ex:Pi Muu(pig)/Nong Miao(cute alternative way to call cat)/Miao lek(small)/Por Mee(bear)

บี๋-bie Short from baby

Repeating a syllable of a nick name two times for a lovey-dovey pet name is also a thing.

ไอ้ต้าว-ai tao Tao is a meaningless sound that was derived from a word that was a prefix "เจ้า-Jao." It is used to express that the speaker thinks the person being mentioned is cute/childlike. They most likely appear with a strangely sweet voice. Sometimes used for friendly mocking of someone for being childlike.

Eng sub-cute dimples = Ai tao dimples

หนู-nhu Nhu is something that is used with children, but it also can be for a lover. Can be innocent or quite sinful depending on the context. (This one is already mentioned in Chapter 4 too)

เค้า Kao and ตัวเอง Tua-eng are a pair. Kao is for calling yourself, and Tuaeng is for calling your lover. What is of interest is that Kao typically refers to the third person, and Tuaeng refers to "oneself." It kind of gets perceived as something silly that people in love do. There are some words that are born from distorted "tuaeng" that you can use for a lover too, such as using only the first word "tua", shortening the "tua" sound to make it sound like 'ta-eng, or combining the two sounds to make it sound like "teng". The "Kao" might be replaced by other words such as Rao, and it might help lower the silliness, or not? Lately, I have seen some traders (usually women small business owners) call their customers Tuaeng to make them feel closer to them. Not Kao, tho. I have yet to see any shopkeeper use Kao for "I.".

Kind of a little roleplay, but not really?

ป๋า-pa Dad as in father or 💰Daddy💰 as in sugar daddy.

An overly respectful way to call someone or use a title that the receiver doesn't actually own is also something I see and think is pretty cute.

Legal prefix

เด็กหญิง-dek ying 

abbreviation - ด.ญ.

For those who were assigned female at birth under the age of 15

Translate to - none

เด็กชาย-dek chai

abbreviation - ด.ช.

For those who were assigned male at birth under the age of 15

Translate to - none

นาย-nai

abbreviation - none

For those who were assigned male at birth, from age 15 onward

Translate to - Mr.

นาง-nang

abbreviation - none

For those who were assigned female at birth and marriage (optional since 2008),

Translate to - Mrs.

นางสาว-nang sao

abbreviation - น.ส.

For those who were assigned female at birth, from age 15 onward

Translate to - Ms.

Some words/phrase that relevent to love life.

เพื่อนคู่คิด มิตรคู่ใจ-phuea khukhit mit khuchai This is a phrase that describes a marriage partner as a friend ( phuea = friend) who will help you think ( khit), a trusting ally (mit ), and your best friend who you can rely on. I find it to be very romantic.

คู่ชีวิต-khu chivit life partner

คนรู้ใจ-khon ru jai person who knows your heart

ศีลเสมอ-syn samoe (like the name of a character from Cutie Pie)

ศีล Syn = precept

เสมอ samoe = same,equal

"Syn samoe" is a figure of speech that is probably roughly equivalent to "birds of a feather flock together." It is a concept that in order for one to be able to associate with others with ease of mind, one needs to hold the same moral code and values. If a person only holds on to one of the precepts, not killing, they wouldn't be suited to be with someone who also does not steal, not only as a lover but also as a close friend or someone close in general. And also the reversal, which is that if you can be close with someone, then you must be on the same level as that person, good or bad.

คนคุย - khon kui Person (you) talking to If A is Khon Kui of B, then they are getting to know each other with romantic intentions, but nothing is serious yet.

กิ่งทองใบหยก - king thong bai yok - jade leaf gold branch A very suitable match, used for those who are about to get married.

ผีเน่าโลงผุ - phi nao long phu - rotten ghost, decayed coffin When a couple is a very suitable match, but it's because they both are bad

ทองแผ่นเดียวกัน - thong phaen diao kan - the same gold sheet To become one piece of gold is to be connected by marriage. Ex: These two families are going to become the same piece of gold soon = someone from each of their families is going to marry the other.

ข้าวใหม่ปลามัน - fresh rice, creamy(?) fish A word to call a newlywed couple. Anything new is good, so in a period of newlywed bliss, everything will be good in your eyes.

ถ่านไฟเก่า-old coal Old flame, ex-lover who still might get back together

โซ่ทอง-gold chain A child is parents' gold chain that will link parents' hearts together forever. Basiclly, it is a concept that by having a child, the couple will be more committed to each other. Kind of scary if you ask me.

จีบ-jeeb _woo, flirt, spark, spoon, court, bind around_ I saw this translate to flirting most of the time, but while flirting is not serious, จีบ can be.

หยอด-yort is to put or pour it little by little in a narrow place; in some contexts, it means to drop in sweet words when you talk to someone, aka flirt.

อ้อน-oon is to plead, to implore, to cajole, to wheedle, to whimper. 

กัดก้อนเกลือ-kat kon kluea-to bite on a cube of salt Is to be poor. usually mean when your financial situation is likely to be better than it is if not for your choice of partner.

ป๋า pa - เสี่ย sia - เด็ก dek pa/ dek sia When these words are used together, pa or sia is an (usually) older, wealthy (this one is a must) man, and dek, which translate directly to child or young, is a (usually) younger person who got financial benefit from being in this relationship. Pa or Sia is a sugar daddy, and Dek is a sugar baby, basically. 

คบ-kob Is mostly used to mean dating, but it can also mean "associate" or "friend with", and it has been used for a variety of ambiguous speaking scene in drama and novels.

ชง-chong-brew It's kind of like creating an opportunity for someone else to say a pick-up line. Say things in order to push your friend toward the one you think your friend will like (whether the assumption is correct or not). Say a pick-up line or flirt with someone for the other person. GMM actors do it to other shipping pairs all the time. I find it quite funny, lol.

เพื่อน=friend But it can also mean accompany if you say it in some way. You could say that you want someone to go somewhere with you as เพื่อน and that would mean that you want them to accompany you, not that they are your friend exclusively. You can say it to anyone. friend, family member, lover, co-worker, etc.

Here Ayan say that he thanks Akk for นอนเป็นแฟน instead of นอนเป็นเพื่อน. 

นอน=sleep 

เป็น=as ,are, be, become, have, constitute, be able to 

แฟน=lover 

เพื่อน=friend

นอนเป็นเพื่อน=to go to bed with someone and keep them company

เพื่อน can also mean co-worker, school mate, 

slice-of-thai.com, thai-tones.com, [Learn Thai] Five Tones in Thai (Pronunciation Practice) <--Some of the links for the Thai 5-tone explanation.

I think it would help in the next part (and with the Thai language in general) if you could remember what tone is what.

The mid one, number 1, had no mark, and the other is as you can see in that orange band.

อา, อ่า, อ้า, อ๊า, and อ๋า is probably going to be the same when spelled in English (unless we make something up, like, อา=ah, อ่า=aah) but in Thai, you can see that the mark on top of them is different.

There are also a bunch of things that are relevant, like the way each type of Thai alphabet has its own base(?) tone in itself, making tone marking affect them differently. Ex: low consonant + dead syllable + short sound = rising tone (5) Even though it is written with no mark tone and so looks like it should probably be a mid tone (1), but we are not here for an actual Thai lesson, so you just need to remember that different tone is a thing and different tone = different mening.

Sounds that we use to indicate the tone of the sentence

****This topic isn't really an official and well-organized thing, plus my knowledge and ability to explain are quite limited, so maybe don't see it as a fact but something subjective?

If I put a check mark in the example column, it means it makes sense to put the sound in that row in the blank. Well, at least to me, it makes sense.

A sentence that has some polite words in it doesn't mean that it is in fact polite or that the speaker is being polite and proper. So while Khrap and Ka are polite, people still can and have used them to end a sentence that is so impolite you will get customers yelling for your manager to fire you for saying it.

Some of those sounds can also be paired with other too. For example, Na(4) and Si(2) can be paired with Ka(4) and Khrap(4), as well as a few others, and include each other.

Index

#thai culture #thai language #Youtube

[blackhistorystoryteller]

This is a message to my black brothers and sisters

Black history goes beyond slavery

You need to learn our cultures and traditions

Two major types of marriage exist in Nigeria: monogamy, a marriage of one man to one woman, and polygyny, a marriage of one man to two or more wives. In most cultural groups in Nigeria, traditional marriage is usually an arrangement between two families as opposed to an arrangement between two individuals. Accordingly, there is pressure on the bride and bridegroom to make the marriage work as any problem will usually affect both families and strain the otherwise cordial relationship between them. In most Nigerian cultures, the man usually pays the dowry or bride-price and is thus considered the head of the family. Adultery is acceptable for men, but forbidden for women. Marriage ceremonies vary among Nigerian cultures.

1 the ekpeye marriage

Bride price is paid in cash on every girl child before marriage is assumed to have taken place. This money is paid in stages and cannot be paid at once in one visit for several reasons. The first stage begins with the man and woman who after getting the approval of both parents, meet at the man’s best friend’s house for an initial introduction, which is called “Back Drink”. The bride will thereafter take the drink to her parents as a formal announcement of marriage.

The second stage is the “Front Drink” which is a bigger ceremony. In the past, this ceremony takes a whole day, but now modified to accommodate other issues in the marriage process. These issues include “Front Drink, Lineage Drink, Extended family Drink, Parents Bride Price, First Son’s bride price and the family bride price. These payments are done in segments. Although today, the issues listed are gradually being considered. There are other issues on the marriage such as cleaning of table, late coming, fixing of marriage date, service charge, etc. Some other amounts of money are paid in bits and segments, including drinks, snuffs, cigarette, etc before the final payment of “Head Money”, Ejie (2012). The head money is the most recognized and can be refunded in the case of divorce.

BRIDE EXCURSION

Payment of bride price ends with the family bride price. The groom’s wish determines the next line of action. If he wants a fanfare excursion, then another process begins. If he does not want any fanfare excursion, the bride is then allowed to formally depart and live with the husband.

Bride excursion is usually avoided in Ekpeye because of its high cost. The groom at this stage is required to settle for many other things for his wife to be escorted with gift items. However, there are compulsory gift items and non- compulsory items.

At the groom’s family house, a big ceremony is organized for the reception of the new bride and her entourage. These include young adult women, spinsters, and boys. After a day of this visit, they will all return back home, while at least seven spinsters will stay with the bride for another one week, helping her in customary domestic affairs.

. FAMILY INITIATION

This whole process of marriage makes you a man after initiation. Usually, you shall not be accepted for initiation if you have not paid the completed bride price.

Family initiation is a formal introduction of your wife to everybody in the lineage. Food and drinks are made available to groups in the lineage. These are men group, women group, youth group, boys, and girls and the children. Until every group has said they are satisfied, the ceremony cannot be over. A sign of acceptance is done by singing made in groups, especially the children group who shall raise a praise song in your name, Edema (2013).

When also these have been said and done, the couple shall be seated before the most elderly man and woman shall be seated for marriage blessings. This marriage blessing can be done traditionally or by prayers. Shortly after this special blessing, young men shall lift the man, while the woman shall be carried by women to their room. Both of them shall be locked-up in their bedroom where they shall remain until day-break. Their special assistants shall see to the end of the programme

2 Idoma marriage. The Idoma people live in central Nigeria, in the Benue State. The myth of their origin states that they are descended from the Zulu tribe of South Africa. They are mainly warriors. Some of their subgroups are the Adors, Otupas, Ogbanibos, Apas, Ofokanus and Owukpas. Marriage in Idoma land is considered a lifelong state, although divorce is possible on the grounds of A Nigerian bride and groom at their wedding ceremony.In most cultural groups in Nigeria, traditional marriage is an arrangement between two families rather than an arrangement between two individuals. KERSTIN GEIER/CORBIS adultery or other concrete reasons. When an Idoma man is at least twenty-five years old and has the financial and physical capacity to maintain a wife and children, he searches for and finds a woman of his choice, who is at least eighteen years old. He reports his findings to his family, which then chooses a go-between, a person who is familiar with the girl's family. The go-between investigates the family of the prospective bride to ascertain that the family has no history of mental disease, epilepsy, or similar problems. If the result of this investigation is positive, the prospective groom's family visits the woman's family with gifts of kola nut and hot drinks. After the first visit, another visit is scheduled for the woman to meet her future husband, after which a final visit is scheduled for the future groom and his family to pay the bride-price and offer other gifts. If the woman refuses to marry the man after these gifts have been provided, the groom's family keeps them

On the wedding day, in addition to the bride-price, the groom must pay a dowry first to the bride's mother and then another dowry to the father; this involves a significant amount of bargaining. Also every member of the bride's mother's family must be given money, with the groom's family determining the amount. The bride's age group and her more distant relatives also are given money, with the amount varying with level of the bride's education and productivity. Then the groom's family gives the bride a rooster and some money. If she accepts these gifts and gives them to her mother, she indicates her acceptance of the groom, but if she refuses, she signifies her refusal. If she accepts him, she is showered with gifts and money, and the two families eat and drink together. Before the bride is finally handed over to her husband, however, her age group will pose as a mock barrier to those who want to take her and extort money from the anxious groom's family. The bride's mother buys her cooking utensils and food because she is not expected to go to the market for the first five market days after her marriage. At the end of the eating and drinking, the wife is finally handed over to her husband's family.

Ideally the bride should be a virgin at marriage, which brings pride and joy to her family. If she is found not to be a virgin, she is taken to the husband's family' ancestral shrine for cleansing. After this the Ije is put on her to invoke fertility on her. This marks the beginning of married life among the Idoma tribe.

3 Marriage in Okrika land. Okrika is located in the eastern part of the Niger Delta of Nigeria, in the Rivers State. The Okrika clan is made up of nine major towns and more than fifteen villages.The fifteen villages are known as Iwoama (new towns). Okrika is the largest town with the largest population and is the administrative and traditional headquarters of the clan. In the Wakirike area, there are two main types of marriages—the Ya or Iyaye and the Igwa.

The Ya marriage ceremony involves certain customary functions that precede the consummation of the marriage. Here the bride and groom must come from the same tribe. When the husband is ready, members of the family assemble for the essential marriage rites, including the tying of the knot. The man is required to produce three to five pieces of kano cloth or Ikpo, one piece of real India cloth, or injiri, four yards of raffia palm cloth sewn together (okuru), and another separate yard of the same material. If the husband is wealthy, he adds additional kinds of cloth. He also provides three or four large pots of palm wine and twenty-two or twenty-four manila. These offerings are placed in the shrine of the family ancestors, and an elderly person in the family takes up the single yard of raffia cloth and ties the knot. The husband and wife stand before the shrine, side by side. The elder then ties the raffia cloth round the waist of the wife seven times, each time uttering some words that invoke blessings on the couple. Palm wine is poured into a drinking cup, and the bride and groom drink from it simultaneously. The knot has thus been tied, and divorce becomes virtually impossible. The single yard of raffia cloth is the essential thing to make the marriage binding. In case of unavoidable divorce as aresult of adultery on the woman's part, the parents of the wife are bound to return double the cumulative expenses of the husband.

The second system, Igwa, means mixed; the woman and the man may marry even though they are from different families. A woman married under the Ya system can be married under Igwa if the Ya husband is not living with her as husband and wife under the same roof. All offspring of this second marriage belong not to the biological father but to the Ya husband, who by custom is regarded as their legal father. If the woman has not been previously married to any man under the Ya system, children from the Igwa marriage belong either to the lawful husband of the wife's mother or to her brothers. However, the once unchangeable custom of the possession of children born under the Igwa system of marriage is relaxing under the pressure of modern times. Many adult men and young people engage in Igwa marriage if their previous marriage produced no children

4 Marriage among the Ibos. The Ibos are a very class-conscious group. They have a caste system and encourage endogamy. In the Ibo society, the castes include the Nwadiani, who are the upper caste of freeborn and land owners, and the Osu, who are the lower caste and descendants of former slaves. In the past, the Osu were used in human sacrifices. (Though the Osus are no longer slaves, yet they are still discriminated against by the free-born, who will usually oppose any of their children marrying an Osu.)

Within the Nwadiani are three groups:

The freeborn, who are able to trace their lineage to the founder of a segment of the community.

The Omoru, whose ancestors came from elsewhere to settle and become attached to the founder of the community. Their descendants are accepted as full members of the village or town because of their freeborn status in their place of origin.

The descendants of the autonomous groups who lived in the area before the founders of the state arrived and incorporated them into the structure of the community, which they established.

Intermarriage among Nwadiani has united these three categories in a closely knit kinship system. All the lineages in the village were believed to have descended from one ancestor or the other. Kinship links were sometimes invoked to create special relationships with neighboring village groups or village. Owing to their close kinship ties, men had to find their wives outside the village. One kind of link is between villages and village groups. Villages in a group, as well as neighboring villages, were linked by bonds forged by marriage alliances.

Endogamous marriage seemed to have served to perpetuate the Osu status, which is inferior. At Oguta, Osomari, Onitsha, and Abo, Osu could only marry an Osu because of their outcast status. They are thus despised by the freeborn. This discrimination was carried further at Osamari where the Osu class had their exclusive residential quarters (ebo) in each division. This also gave the servile quarters a sense of corporate solidarity in opposition to the "Freeborn" quarters. Through the intermarriage between members of different Ogbe, Ebo and the Osu of a community they have developed a web of kinship similar to that, which characterizes the Nwadiani. However, permitted intermarriage between Osu and Nwadianins and children born of such mixed marriages are allowed to have the status of Nwadiani. (Note that though this caste system is historical, the descendants of these castes have inherited their ancestors' classes and are therefore stratified along that line even today.)

Marriage ceremonies in traditional Ibo society are elaborate affairs celebrated with much fanfare and merriment. The couple must have had some period of courtship during which the prospective groom informs his parents of his intention to take a woman of a certain village as wife. The parent of his intended wife must be known to his parents, and the courtship requires the prospective bride to pay at least one courtesy call on her potential inlaws to enable them to get to know her. After getting acquainted with the woman, the parents of the bridegroom will give their approval if they are satisfied that their prospective daughter-in-law has an unblemished reputation. Such courtships usually become public knowledge. The day of the marriage must be mutually agreed upon by both families (Omokhodion 1998).

[gaypudding]

Okay I just saw Poor Things and oh my god. If that film doesn’t win best picture I’m going to eat my shoes. Please excuse this essay, as I’m not in a class right now that I could write it for and don’t feel like putting more work in than simply typing on my phone.

I saw Barbie earlier this year and I find myself comparing Poor Things to its narrative. Now I would never pit two beautiful women against each other but I think both movies have a similar message for very different audiences.

Barbie is about a woman who has been trapped in the ideal life. She has everything, and one day she questions what it would be like to not have everything (or a life at all). She then is sent on a quest to restore this naivety by traveling to the “real world”. Typical heroes journey stuff. However, she discovers that humanity, specifically fem-presenting folks, need help. She learns about ~feminism~ and being a GirlBoss and Woman Power and all that jazz. I’m not shitting on this either, it’s just how the movie was written.

My point is that this form of feminism is extremely digestible to the general public (maybe not dude bros with a podcast or has-been comedians but that’s beside the point). It was marketable (Mattel backing the project is an example of that), it was able to be shown to a diverse audience of children, adults, and the elderly. Even religious people couldn’t have too much of a problem with it. There were trends and TikTok filters and the whole Oppenheimer thing. It was extremely successful.

Visually, it was a good movie too. The sets were awesome, the costume design was perfect (albeit for a Chanel ad that rubbed me the wrong way), and it had both hilarious and emotionally gripping moments. I still have the Ken song on loop in my head sometimes and I bought an overpriced ‘I am Kenough’ sweatshirt so it worked on me.

What frustrated me about Barbie and I think what frustrated some other people, was how digestible it was. The movie pushed boundaries for the realm of Hollywood and for people who had only watched Avengers movies up to that point, but it felt too soft. “But GayPudding! You say. It’s a kids movie!” And to that I say yes. You’re correct. I still feel like it could have done something better than include 10 different product placements and an insanely long monologue that is accurate but in a way that doesn’t addresses the problem, it only identifies it.

Now, Poor Things. Decidedly not a movie for children under 13. It’s gory and filled with sex and cursing, but honestly it’s nothing I hadn’t seen by the time I was that age (maybe the brain parts). That’s an entirely different conversation though. It, however, was NOT marketable. It is sacrilegious so that audience is out, I saw at least four people walk out at different points all of various demographics (a mother and her two daughters to name 3) and its audience was mostly queer or alternative film majors and cool old people. (I work at a movie theater so I feel like this data is relatively accurate but it’s also a small theater so who knows).

But this film had all the same points as Barbie! It stars a woman who begins the movie with childlike naivety (more literally here), she leaves her world behind in search of something that will satisfy her personal world, finds that the world needs saving, then returns with confidence and self agency. Although she is not met with a Mojo Dojo Casa House, she’s met with wild objection and physical violence. In the end, much like Barbie, she gets what she wants while leaving her mentor behind and creates a world that is safe for herself and for her peers. She even has goals! Her studying for a medical exam is similar to Barbie’s… medical exam (aren’t I funny?).

The set and costuming is stunning. Like I actually had my mouth open at how beautiful and symbolic it was. Barbie was impressive but oh my god this film was one of the most visually gorgeous movies I’ve ever seen. Saltburn was pretty good too but the story didn’t hit me as hard.

Each phase of life that Bella entered was accompanied by a change in color palette, dress, and environment. She begins in infancy and toddlerhood with the dark and underdeveloped streets of London. She wears baby blues and white flowy dresses. Then she leaves for Lisbon and enters childhood. Her clothes are stiffer but still movable and are pastel and primary colors. Then the boat and Alexandria. She’s discovering that the world is full of horrors and complexities, her costumes increase in how stifling they are and become jewel toned. This was the teenage period. Then there’s Paris, her twenties. She’s found her liberty and her clothes are more revealing with a variety of styles and colors. She’s inventing herself. Finally, she reaches full adulthood. She’s realized who she is, what she wants, and makes a plan to get it and she does. She comes across challenges, but is able to rely on herself and those she knows to trust and she’s able to care for them in the same way they’ve cared for her.

Max’s character I have some different thoughts on, idk how I feel about his love for her in her infancy, but it’s a psychologically confusing situation and he felt weird about it so I’ll give him a temporary pass.

Anyway, this is all to say that the feminism of Barbie and of Poor Things is saying very similar things and executes that message in a very different way. I hope that in the future, more films like Poor Things can be made with nuanced takes and intelligent messages and less fucking advertisements.

#also if there’s spelling or grammatical errors in this #no there isn’t #I’m on mobile #film analysis #oscar2023 #poor things #golden globes #barbie #film major #hollywood

[justonemorechapternicercy]

For your Halloween prompts, can you do Piper × Percy with pumpkins??

Well, it's not... How should I say? It's probably not what you asked for 😅 but hope it won't be a disappointment. (Also, I won't be able to answer before Halloween your last ask, and the ones I got from other people, because of the lack of time in my life, but I'll try to do it- uh... This year? Yeah, that sounds doable xD)

"Piper, Piper, pumpkin-eater, she had a partner and couldn't keep them, she put 'em it a pumpkin shell, and there she kept them very well." The children's song rang in Piper's ears. Eyes wide, blood frozen in her veins, she stopped.

"What?" She whispered, staring at the kids playing hopscotch on the street.

"Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater…" The kids continued singing and jumping, laughing and screaming, not caring about the strange woman rooted in one place. Piper shook her head. She must have heard it wrong. It must have been because of the heat; it was an unusually hot October day and she was walking around for quite some time.

She decided to go home, after all, Percy was waiting for her, probably already in his costume, because her boyfriend was a big child. The thought of him brought a smile on her face, and she started walking again, with much lighter steps.

She liked fall. It was colorful; the shades of yellow, orange, red and brown were her favorites. The light wind caressed her face, the sun gently shone, and the strange mishap a minute ago was already forgotten. Walking by some elderly women, she greeted them with a smile, but they were too into their conversation, they didn't even notice her. She shrugged, then froze.

"And that wench had the cheek to go back to her fiance, when she spent the entire night with her lover!" Exclaimed one of the ladies with frothing mouth.

"No!" Said the other shocked, her hand in front of her mouth. "Tell me he threw her out!"

"He didn't know about it. Any of it!" Declared the first one angrily.

Piper swallowed, and averting her gaze, she hurried away. It wasn't her problem.

"I never tried to be a hero / you took us from the stars to zero~" rang her phone, with the familiar notes of LP's Other People. She loved that song, she thought LP was the best, but that moment, she just wanted to throw up. She didn't, of course. She picked up the phone, and smiled.

"Hi, sweetie! I'm almost home," she said.

"Uh-huh, so that means I should start cleaning up the ruins of the party and throw out the girls who were obviously quite taken with me?" Percy joked. It was their little inside joke because Percy hated parties and would never throw one, yet insisted that every time she was away, he had one, but that time it wasn't quite as funny.

"Hah," she exhaled, forcing herself to chuckle.

"Anyways, I talked with Leo, and he said that Jason isn't feeling well, he might not be able to go to the party. Just wanted to let you know, I know you guys have a complicated relationship." Complicated relationship, Piper snorted in her head.

"It's okay. It would have been nice to see him, but… I just hope he is okay," she said instead.

"Yeah, me too. Maybe we could-" Percy offered, but before he could say anything, Piper interrupted, maybe a bit more panicked than she would have liked to admit.

"NO!" She breathed out, and continued a bit calmer. "No, I don't think that's a good idea. If he is sick, then we don't want to get anything from him, and if he just wants to opt out from meeting with us, intruding in his home would be the worst thing to do," she explained.

"Mm… you are right," Percy conceded. Piper could almost see that adorable pout on his face she adored so much.

"You know I'm always right," she laughed, and with a spring in her steps, she rushed home.

"I'm almost there, see you soon!"

"I love you, bye!" Without waiting for an answer, Percy disconnected the line. Piper sucked a breath in, her fingers tightened on her phone, but continued her way home, a frozen smile on her face.

When she opened the door - cute little ghosties singing their silly song automatically -, Percy's cheerful voice welcomed her. "I know you wanted me to wait for you to carve the pumpkins, but we all know you are a cheater, and you never actually carve them. What do you think?" He smiled, holding up two creepily smiling pumpkins faces. But it wasn't them that made her pause, goosebumps popping up all over her skin.

"What - what did you call me?" She asked, voice fragile, alien even to her ears.

"Okay, it's not cheating, exactly, but you have to admit - drilling holes into the pumpkin like a Pinterest mom is not exactly pumpkin carving, is it?"

"No… no, it isn't," she said, but if someone would have asked what she'd agreed to, she wouldn't have been able to answer.

"Anyways, your costume is on the bed! I'm not sure why Drew chose Rory and Jess for us to dress up as, but her house, her rules…" Percy shrugged, and now that Piper looked closer, she could see the resemblance to Milo Ventimiglia's character in the Gilmore Girls, Jess Mariano. Jeans, flanel shirt, hoodie with leather jacket, and a book in his hand, looking like the perfect mixture of badboyness and intelligence.

"Rory, huh?" Piper asked, forcing to smile through the lump in her throat.

"I think your sister doesn't wants to admit, but secretly, she thinks you are smarter, better and more successful than her. I bet, she is dressing up as Paris!" Percy stepped closer, caressing her face. Right. He never saw the whole series and the closing mini series, did he?

"Dean…" she whispered suddenly, horrified.

"Hm?" Percy asked, and Piper thanked the gods that he was already back in the kitchen, and not next to her. If he'd heard her… well. He was quite oblivious to some things, but he wasn't an idiot.

"Nothing. I'm going to dress up then we can go, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, she walked up the stairs. Closing the door behind her, she leaned back against it, and sighed. It wasn't going to end well, was it? The sudden darkening of the sky answered her unasked question.

Quickly, she dressed up in the Chilton uniform to fit the Jess era, complementing with the headband and the stack of books, her look was pretty much perfect. She hated it.

"Ooh, you look good!" Percy said, opening the door, and pressed a long kiss on her cheek. Piper knew perfectly well that he didn't intend it to there, but she couldn't bring to herself to accept his kiss. Some things even a toothpaste couldn't cover. "You should wear high socks more," he winked. Any other time, she would have answered to his flirting with hers, admiring the way the jeans fitted to his legs, but. It wasn't that time.

"We have to leave or we will be late," she nodded towards the clock. She wasn't eager to leave, but there was no way she could fake something at the last minute that would make Percy leave her alone. He was too good boyfriend for that; if she'd fake a migraine, Percy would stay with her, taking care of her every needs. Ice packs, darkness, basin and massage, anything that would help her.

So, there was only one way to go: out, to the party, where her carefully built life would be falling apart like a house of cards.

#percy jackson #piper mclean #piper x percy #pipercy #pjo #pjo ficlet #rhy

[theangryjikooker]

Hello! I wanted to talk to you about something not relates to jikook, but kpop in general. I was scrolling through twitter, as one does, and came across a user basically saying that fansigns with young, minor girls where older men could access them were creepy and predatory. They also said the same about young boys specifically Jungkook. I do agree with this to a certain extent, young children shouldn't have to deal with older people in that context. It does make me uncomfortable that older women were calling Jungkook oppa when he was younger. They also bought up the fact that young girls are made to sexualise themselves on stage with certain concepts ( the story behind the 'coming of age' song surrounding the original artist comes to mind) and talked about a barely 18 Jimin having to strip/expose himself on stage.

What are your opinions on this topic?

Oh, wow. Very loaded.

The real issue is that the entertainment industry itself is inherently predatory. Everything that occurs on a "smaller scale" (e.g., fan signs) can be traced back to how the industry operates.

I think it's a bit of a slippery slope when anyone starts to parse out specifics because there are so many nuances to those issues, and again it all stems from the industry and how society consumes/interacts with those products (where products = bgs/ggs).

Music appreciation is ageless, certainly, and I don't think women or men should be disallowed the opportunity to attend concerts if they so choose. Fan signs, from my personal standpoint, are a bit trickier and involves individual dissection because of what those fan signs can represent or how they're interpreted (i.e., offers false sense of closeness with a band member, etc.).

If a 22-year-old fan stans a 16-year-old member, it's perceived as weird to a lot of people, but there are countries that recognize 16 as the age of majority. If that 16-year-old is a 14-year-old, you start to raise even more questions.

And do you apply these standards when the bg/gg of your choice are of age but fans are still fawning/sexualizing photos of those members when they were younger? It still happens. With BTS, you'll have big/small accounts express their ardent appreciation for the maknae line when they weren't yet 18. How do those people rationalize that? It's just as weird... but at the same time, you have to ask yourself where does the line get drawn? Because technically, that appreciation is mostly based on who the members are today, not when they were younger, but there's a recognition that who they were before parallels their current selves.

A 25-year-old stanning Jungkook when he was 16 is odd, but a 33-year-old stanning Jungkook at 24 isn't exactly the end of the world. Significant age gaps in relationships gets more common as you get older, after all, and they're as genuine as relationships with smaller age gaps. In fact, there's a role reversal in how that power play is perceived the older you get where more youthful adults are known to prey on the elderly.

And then you have to consider age itself—physical, mental, and emotional age all have their part to play.

That's just an example of how the topic starts unraveling on its own, and I'm not saying any of this is right. I haven't even touched the surface of all the ways this topic can go off the rails. (Female idols having sexualized choreographies/outfits is a subject all its own, by the way, and frankly I don't really want to get into it.)

TL;DR My personal opinion is considerably less objective than the objectivity the topic actually requires.

#TAJ asks #curious anon #kpop #kpop fandom

[medeirosdjurhuus83]

Getting Of The Male Gender Is Easy, Keeping Your Guy Interested Is Work

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#Top Bình Thuận AZ #Binh Thuan

[00katrinka00]

Landcaster Legacy Gen 6 The Heir That Never Was

So fun fact, Mads was never actually meant to be the gen 6 heir to my legacy story. It was originally meant to be her older sister Jane. When High School Years came out Jane was already a YA but nowhere near having children yet, and I didn't want to a) start a new save to play high school years or b) wait until Jane's children (who didn't even exist yet) were teens in order to play through with the HSY pack. I'm talking Jane hadn't even met her love interest yet. What I decided to do was switch the heir to my legacy to be Jane's younger sister Mads, and thus the gen 6 heir was born (again).

Taylor Swift's The Last Great American Dynasty came on while I was in the car today (thank you Spotify) and it reminded me how I had kind of based a portion of Jane's story around that song. It also made me nostalgic for the story I never actually finished, so I decided to write up a summary of what would have happened in Gen 6 had I not changed legacy heirs.

For reference here is the Landcaster family tree as well as a photo of Jane.

Without further ado, here is a summary of gen 6: The Heir That Never Was

Jane was pretty much the perfect student, she got straight A's, was on student council, and was basically on track to be valedictorian (had HSY existed when she went to High School). Basically, Jane had a very bright future ahead of her. Around the age of 14 Jane became pen pals with a girl from Oasis Springs named Layla Albright (The Landcaster's lived in Brindleton Bay). Jane and Layla became best friends.

At the age of 16 Jane receives a concerning phone call from Layla who was incoherent, sobbing and asking for help. Jane immediately went to her father, and they got on the first plane (let's pretend the game has planes) to Oasis Springs and met up with Layla. It was revealed that Layla had been living in a domestic violence situation for years and had just gotten kicked out by her stepfather. She didn't know what to do, so she called Jane, who Layla had always been a little jealous of because Jane grew up in a very loving household. Matthew invites Layla to come and live with their family, and they end up adopting Layla into their household.

During Jane's senior year of High School her mother gets terribly sick and ends up passing away a few weeks before Jane's high school graduation. The whole family is distraught, but Jane tries to keep it together for her father and the rest of her siblings. She ends up graduating with highest honors and is the valedictorian. Jane gets accepted in Britechester University where she plans to study Language and Literature.

During her first year of college Jane finds that it is not nearly as easy as High School, and after so many years of keeping up appearances and feeling like she's always having to be 'turned on' Jane finds herself suffering from academic burnout, and she ends up flunking out of college.

Unsure of where to go next Jane moves back home. She takes a few odd freelancer jobs here and there, and eventually she becomes a caretaker for an elderly women name Rebecca (Becca). Becca take quite the liking to Jane. As Becca's health declines she starts relaying her life stories to Jane about her very fabulous, but chaotic life. (If I had stuck with Jane as heir, I probably would have done flashback scenes to when Becca was a YA herself).

Eventually Becca does pass away, but she ends up leaving everything to Jane in her will, and Becca was rich. Becca's remaining (but distant) family take offence with this and attempt to contest Becca's will. Seeing as Becca came from a very wealthy family, the topic of her contested will became one that made it to the front page of every tabloid paper, and Jane became the most loved and also hated sim in the save file.

When all the legal stuff is over with it's concluded that Jane is the rightful recipient of all of Becca's assets. At this point she really doesn't know what to do. Jane returns to Becca's estate and begins to remodel it, since it's now belongs to her. Layla and Jane's younger sister Erin move in to help with the renovations, and the three girls end up creating quite the commotion in town.

Jane begins writing a book, about Becca's life and how it relates to her own. When she's finished Jane sends her book out to get published. Her publishing company ends up hosting a party in Jane's honor, to celebrate her very first book, there she meets a man named Henry Singer who is a fellow writer. The two end up becoming close friends often sharing their creative thoughts with one another.

Jane and Henry continue their friendship for several years, and Jane attempts to enter the dating scene but finds herself too awkward and unflirty to end up in a serious enough relationship, she ends up scaring most guys off.

Jane continues writing and ends up getting a few more books published, and before she knows it many years have passed and she's aging up into an adult. As an adult Jane begins to feel like her maternal clock is ticking, and she does want to get married and be a mother someday. After expressing these concerns to Layla it's suggested to Jane that she and Henry get married as they're already good friends, and Henry seems to be the only guy Jane hasn't managed to scare off by being too awkward yet.

At first Jane rejects this idea, but the more she thinks about marrying Henry the more she realizes that it actually might not be such a bad idea, so she decides to talk to Henry about this. It's revealed that he feels much the same way as Jane, he also wants to be a father and get married someday but thinks it's too late for him, so Jane and Henry become engaged.

Henry ends up moving into Jane's home (Becca's estate) and she finds it comforting to have someone around all the time again, as Layla and Erin both moved out several years prior. Throughout their engagement Jane begins to develop real feelings for Henry, but she can't help but feel like she's trapping in him into marriage, as Jane only wants him to be happy and feels she's taking his happiness away by making him marry a woman he isn't in love with. Unbeknownst to Jane, Herny has actually loved her since the day they met.

Things come to a head at their rehearsal dinner, and Jane ends up storming out. Henry follows and Jane tries to break the engagement off telling him that she just wants him to be happy. Henry finally snaps and reveals that he's in love with Jane and marrying her would in fact make him very happy. Jane is taken aback by this but does tell him that she feels the same. They get married and end up having 4 children together, Genevieve (Evie), Josephine (Jo), Guideon, and Katherine (Kit).

----

So, there you have it, the story of Jane, the heir that never was. I always intended to save this storyline for a future generation, because I really do love it so much, but I am intending to add more occult game play into future generations, and I don't really see how this would fit in.

#TheSims4 #TheSims4Gameplay #TheSims4Community #TheSim #TheSimsGameplay #TheSimsCommunity #LandcasterLegacy #Gen6

[no-droids]

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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

[theoi-crow]

Happy Day of the Dead everyone!

Since this is a special day for my heritage, I thought I'd share a little bit about how I celebrate it.

Day of the Dead comes with different traditions celebrated by different families because Mexico is huge and there are regional differences. Depending on the family's tradition, it can be anywhere from one to three days long. My family celebrates it for 3 days starting on Oct 31st to November 2nd.

The first day (Oct. 31st):

This day is for the souls of infants and children. This is the day when we put toys, candy, and sweets on the "ofrenda" (the home altar used to put food and items for the Dead: (LINK)). Anything that will make a child happy goes on the ofrenda. This is a day where we play games, tell funny stories and avoid anything scary or spooky to not scare my child ancestors and little spirits.

Trust me, you do not want to scare ghost children... My sister did this once and, well, I'll talk about it in the "my family rules for Day of the Dead" section. Even thought this day is on the same day as Halloween and people will sometimes watch scary movies on this day. I personally avoid anything that has to do with horror and only give out candy so I can still be with my little relatives while celebrating two holidays that make children and toddlers happy.

The Second Day (Nov 1st):

This is the day for the elderly. Anyone who died within this age group is honored with things that comfort elderly people like cigars, cigarettes, rum, alcohol, sewing, knitting, or embroidery, the warm beverage "atole" (a Mexican beverage: (LINK) similar to hot chocolate but with hot corn and masa), hot soup, tamales and we generally avoid food that's hard on teeth like rough steak or caramel apples as examples since the elderly often eat softer chewing food that's easier on the teeth. This is the day when we play black and white Mexican soap operas, old movies, old songs, very traditional things, and tell stories about our grandparents.

For example: One of the stories that I tell is when my grandmother died. On this day, I felt her spirit the second she died, even though she was all the way in Mexico and I was living the US. I called my dad (it was his mom) ASAP and he started crying because even though he would not get the official news until a couple of hours later, he knew it was true because he could hear her on the other side of the line calling his name and saying, "I'm sorry my son (mijo), my dear little boy."

The 3rd Day (Nov 2nd):

This is the day for everyone else. Because children and the elderly require special conditions like avoiding scary things or avoiding food that's tough on the teeth, they are generally celebrated separately. The last day is for everyone else and the spirits come in droves which is why it's also the day with the biggest celebration and the most spiritually active day.

On this day we give out all the traditional things you see on ofrendas, especially Mexican hominy soup called pozole (LINK) which I'm planning to get for them later today. This is also the most active day because when your ancestors come, my goodness do they let you know they have arrived!

I have these women in my family who fought in the Mexican revolution who wear bandolier (bullet belts) and traditional Mexican clothes and I always know they showed up because I can smell the gunpowder on them. They are the reason why the women in my family tend to run the household. My mom definitely wears the pants 😂

I also have a grandpa who always smells like cologne, cigarettes and flowers. Whenever he shows up, I can't help but giggle because when I was little, he'd always tickle me and then ruffle my hair so it's always fun to have him over!

This day is also special to another deity I work with that I don't usually talk about. La Santa Muerte who has been in my family for a really, really, long time! (Pre-colonization long)

I recently broke a VERY big Ancestral Curse and the second I spoke to her, she was congratulating me on doing something so big for my lineage. She's incredibly kind but very active and because she comes from a very superstitious country, she'll make the place feel haunted to people who are not used to Mexican traditions which is why I never talk about her on my page since I don't want people asking me about her because she's very intense for those who aren't expecting it.

My family has rules for the Day of the Dead. These rules can be broken but they're there for the comfort of the living (so our ancestors don't accidently scare us too much because they're really excited and this celebration can sometimes be a little too much for the ones that are still breathing).

1. We cannot under any circumstances call anyone on the phone. The spirits are VERY active during this time of the year for us and they can and will intercept your calls. This rule started when the phone was invented since the celebration is apart of my heritage. When I was growing up, everytime an adult talked about having any spooky phone calls, it usually went:

"I called my mom and we were talking when all of a sudden there was a lot of white noise and suddenly I heard my father, who has been dead for 2 years, on the other line!"

"Did you call on Dia de Los Muertos?"

"Oh yeah! I forgot!"

"Well, your dad didn't!"

2. No matter how loud, the Dead get, let them celebrate and don't worry about the noise. Do not go to the ofrenda thinking you'll see the living making noise because the dead are coming and they can be LOUD. My roommate broke this rule because she heard laughter and general merriment at 3am one night even though I told her to ignore it cus it always happens on Nov. 2nd. She heard a lot of people and when she went to the kitchen (where the ofrenda was) she was terrified to find no one was there. When she left, the loud noise started again and to this day, she insists it was the scariest thing she had ever experienced.

3. Fun stories only! Mexican people love to laugh and our ancestors are no different. They can and will get annoyed if someone is bringing down the mood! Although some might think day of the Dead is a sad day because of the Dead, it's actually a very happy festive day. One time I was feeling a bit down on the dumps and went to make a milkshake for a cousin who likes them and somehow the lid came off and next thing you know, it went on my face. I could feel them telling me to relax so I just started laughing at the idea of these dead relatives telling me to stop being so somber.

4. Do not expose the little souls to scary movies or they will prank you. Do you remember when I said my sister forgot this rule? Well, she was REALLY excited about seeing a scary movie that came out that day and watched it on her television, by the ofrenda! She started freaking out cus the little souls though it'd be a fun idea to prank her by grabbing her feet from under the bed. Yeah.... I avoid anything scary and if I have to see it, I do it as far away from the ofrenda as possible.

5. Do not have sex during this time. The dead are alive... sort of. On the day of the Dead, it is traditional to treat the Dead as if they were alive because you are celebrating with them so just as you wouldn't have sex in front of your grandparents, children and extended family, don't have sex on this day because it's very disrespectful to the Dead who have been waiting all year long for this time of the year!

There are a lot more stories and rules I can share but I have things to do for this big day so I'll probably share more later!

Feliz Dia De Los Muertos

from my very happy ancestors to yours!

#dia de muertos #dia de los muertos #la santa muerte #day of the dead #la muerte

[keepingupwithlinmanuel]

They Fought to Make ‘In the Heights’ Both Dreamlike and Authentic

An important change is the decision to make the character of Nina, the elite student played by Leslie Grace, an Afro-Latina woman. She even refers to herself as a trigueña, which implies this was more than just a random casting choice.

HUDES One thing I’ve learned is if you want to make a nontraditional or strong casting choice, you actually have to write it into the dialogue or else it’s so easy for the production to get away from that. So a word like trigueña gets put in there for that reason. I wanted to consciously make Nina Afro-Latina in this version of “In the Heights.” Since we opened the show on Broadway, this national conversation has happened around microaggressions and really interesting stuff that I feel like would be applicable to Nina’s situation.

Was there a number that any of you felt was a deal-breaker and needed to stay?

HUDES At some point, for various artistic or budget reasons, many of the numbers were up for being potentially cut. You really had to make a strong argument for why the film needed them. Because the piragüero [who sells the Puerto Rican-style shaved-ice dessert] is a peripheral character, at one point the “Piragua” song was up for cutting. I tried to talk to Lin gently about this. He was really heartbroken and I was like, “I have one idea for how the studio would let us keep that song.” So I pitched him on playing [him]. That’s how that one stayed.

Lin, why did you feel that the piragüero was so significant to the story?

MIRANDA That song is maybe the fastest song I ever wrote. Although, I don’t know that I wrote it. I think I just caught it. The metaphor of the entire musical is inside that song. Piragüero is every character in this movie. They’re doing their best against impossible odds. They take a breath, then they keep scraping by. It’s a minute-and-45-second song, but somehow the DNA of the entire show is in that minute and 45 seconds. I was very proud that that kernel got to stay. My performance was a testament to my grandfather. He passed away the week after “In the Heights” opened on Broadway. He’s the one member of my family who did not get to see everything that came after that opening night. So I have his espejuelos [reading glasses] around my neck. I have his [Marcial Lafuente] Estefanía cowboy novels in my pocket. I’m wearing my socks up to my tabs and the same kind of shirt he had to wear. I’m really cosplaying as my abuelo.

Quiara, how did you come into the role of producer and why did you decide to take on that responsibility?

HUDES It was a lot of little things that happened organically. When we went to Warner Bros. and Jon came on board, they weren’t saying, “Where are the pages?” They were saying, “What do the pages mean?” I loved having those conversations and saying, “I don’t want to see stiletto heels on any of the salon workers. They’re women on their feet for eight or nine hours a day. Put them in tennis shoes.” Then Jon started asking me, “What would the food look like?” And I was like, “Can we also talk about the pots?” Then I started talking to the choreographer Chris Scott about the dance casting call. I don’t know much about dance, but I did know that at Abuela’s house and out on the street, you’re going to see elderly people dancing and they are going to be schooling the young’uns. At some point I said, “I want to be a producer on this. I’m not just writing words on a page.”

The choice of shooting on location is really compelling, especially when some locations would have been much easier to conceive on a soundstage. Tell me about shooting in Washington Heights and what that adds to the experience.

MIRANDA On paper it’s risky, right? It’s expensive to shoot in New York. It’s hard to shoot on location. It’s harder to shoot in Washington Heights in the summer when we all live outside for a few months a year. But the advantage is you get a million authenticity checks every day because your neighborhood is rolling up with folding chairs to watch this movie you’re going to make about them. Your characters better be dressed like the folks who are on the side, your food better be right. Everything you’re putting in the frame should be an honest reflection of the surrounding everything that’s outside of the frame. I give Jon so much credit for leaning in and listening and finding these corners of the neighborhood that have additional layers of meaning for those of us like Quiara and myself, who still live in the neighborhood.

The concept of the dream, or sueñito, is different for each character. The musical seems to say that you can attain your aspirations without losing who you are to assimilation. That’s a profound notion for immigrants and their children.

MIRANDA It’s that simple and it’s that complicated. You’re talking to first-generation writers whose parents were born on the island of Puerto Rico. You grow up with the “Sliding Doors” thinking: “What if they’d stayed? Who would I be if I grew up in Vega Alta, Puerto Rico?” The nuance that we always fought for is to say, “I can accept the sacrifice of my ancestors. I can accept the responsibility that bestows upon me and still find my own way in the world.” It’s not an either-or, it’s not about, “Forget your dreams. It’s my dreams.” It’s thinking, “I accept the incredible journey you had to take for me to even be standing here and still my job is to make my own way in the world and define home for what it is for me.”

#lin manuel miranda #quiara alegria hudes #nyt #in the heights #interviews

[robbybarnes]

~DUSKWOOD~MEME~

So,since the beginning of our adventure we have been told several times by almost every single character in the game not to go to the forest.

Every single action was specifically reasoned on this idea. And every single time there has been someone who ignored this problem (see Cleo and Richy).

Then Richy came up with the thing about the hut in the woods and the group split into who was in favor and who was not. We therefore had to make the most logical reasoning being the MWAF a bastard that LIVES RIGHT IN THAT FUCKING FOREST!

Then with the chapter following Richy's death (?),the danger that the forest represented for men,women,children,the elderly,dogs,cats,aliens and creatures of dubious nature (LoL) seems to have magically disappeared...and so: HAPPY WILL GO HIDE RIGHT IN THE HOME OF THE PSYCHOTIC CRAZY!

But not only that,MC also gives her blessing by pushing the group to go hopping in the woods with what at this point,I doubt to be this great threat...because if a crazy killer lived in the forest behind the house and my friends asked me to go and hide right there,probably there are two possibilities:

Either they are complitely insane and so,not only would I be locked them up in an asylum,but I'd lock the doors and destroy the key! (...come on...)

Or maybe,that fucking lunatic is not someone to be scared of so we can take a walk in the forest singing some Fairy Tale song with that guy (or girl,whatever...)

(Yeah three possibilities...who cares...) Or more probably we are all under the effects of some sort of mushrooms or drugs and then i will raise my hand and surrender...(yeah not really,i'll be pissed...)

Anyway...MC changing their mind like Thanos snaps his finghers to destroy half of the population is something that i can't...i mean...we went from a "Nono" to:

What the hell?

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood game #duskwood episode 9

[hedgewitchgarden]

CHRISTMAS CUSTOMS IN ROMANIA

Source: Radio Romania International

Ancient traditions from Neolithic Times Romanians spend the Christmas holiday in a special way, which is closely connected with traditions and customs which are deeply rooted in centuries-old history, elements of the rituals performed today remind us of the Neolithic age. A very long time ago, in south-east of Europe, Christmas was a solstice celebration and the inhabitants of the area celebrated the solar deity bearing a similar name. The denomination “Mos” indicates the worshipped character’s old age, a character that must die in order to be reborn at the same time with the New Year. In many European countries, Christmas and the New Year were jointly celebrated on December 25th, and the custom was preserved in Romanian Principalities until the end of the 19th century. The memory of those days continues to be alive in the collective memory of several dwelling places from Banat (Western Romania) and Transylvania (Central Romania), since The New Year is also known as Little Christmas. In Romanian Culture, Santa Claus, Mos Ajun’s elder brother, identified as Saturn, the Roman god and as Mithra, the Iranian God, is an ambivalent character, having miraculous powers typical for the heroes of folk tales, as well as shortcomings typical for the mortals. As an apocryphal character, Santa Claus was born “before all the saints”, being “the shepherds’ leader from the village where Jesus was born“. Santa Claus appears in big houses and stables full of cattle, as a rich, elderly man, an old shepherd with a beard of snow. Nineteen days of celebration The Christmas celebration lasts 3 days (December 25th-27th), however, in a broader sense it lasts a total of 19 days (December 20th-January 7th). The customs, magical practices and rituals whereby the world is symbolically recreated, mainly through Santa’s annual’s death and rebirth, can be broken down into two symmetrical periods. These are separated by a moment of “cutting through time”, from which the counting of days begins; thus, the ensuing first period is a rather ill-fated one, spanning between the Ignat (the pig’s ritual sacrifice) and the midnight before Christmas or the New Year, followed by a beneficial period spanning between the midnight before Christmas or New Year and Saint John’s Day. The former period is abundant with customs remembering the deceased to which Dionysiac cult elements are added, whereas the latter includes temporal rebirth practices, typical for the new year’s creative beginning. The ritual sequences commencing the celebration of Christmas begin on December 20th, also known as the “Ignat’s day”, a day when a pig is sacrificed so that ritual food can be prepared for the Christmas feast out of its meat. Next comes Christmas Eve when the carolling begins, children being the first to perform this ritual, clustered in groups that will open with the carol “Oh, What Wondrous Tidings” (“O, ce veste minunata”), “Three Wise Men coming from the East” ( “Trei Crai de la rasarit”), usually known as the ‘star songs’. On Christmas day, children and grown-ups alike wander around, singing carols. They may come from all over the country, for instance from central and southern Transylvania, Crisana and sometimes from Banat. Traditionally, they perform their carols wearing masks. The mask stands for a god in his zoomorphic instantiation, impersonated by the group leader, who wears the mask while performing the carol. Turca (the stag, BORITA) is born at the same time when the mask is made, and it revels and makes merry with the group of carollers acting as its divine company, dying violently, club-beaten, shot or drowned, so that it may be reborn in the New Year. Quite often, the group’s leader has fun scaring women and children with the mask; at the same time he may ask for his due, the money’s worth he thinks he should receive for the ritual he performed, being offered the most honoured guest’s seat at the group’s ceremonial table. Tradition has it that the heavens open on Christmas night, so that the spirits of the deceased may spend time with their beloved ones who are still on earth. Several biblical characters, such as St. Nicholas, St. Demetrius and St. George can be seen sitting at the princely feast. During Christmas, a series of ritual deeds are performed, meant to purify the space through lighting a fire and putting on the lights; in the olden days, the Christmas log was sacrificed, whereby a fir-tree trunk was cut and burnt in the hearth on the night of December 24th; the ritual symbolises the Divinity’s death and rebirth, impersonating the year to come. This yearly sacrifice is part of an ancient burial ritual which has been replaced by the adorned fir-tree, laden with many gifts brought to children by Santa Claus. This custom became pervasive in the countryside, coming from the urban area, at the beginning of the 19th century, being also attested by the Romans, Serbo-Croatians and the Latvians. Thus, the Christmas tree we know today and the native custom of the blazing of the fir tree overlapped. On St. Stephen’s Day, practically the first important sequence, that of temporal degradation, closes up with the burial ritual of Christmas, through a death and rebirth parody, organised by groups of young men, following the scenario of a genuine burial. Gathered at the “Folk dance house”, the young men pick up the one who will impersonate Christmas. He is seated on a wooden ladder, being covered, so that he may not be recognised. When the parodied burial ritual ends in humorous verses chanted on the melody of the funeral service, ”the dead” is thrown away, from the ladder onto the ice. That very moment, the reborn Christmas (The New Year) accompanied by young men and merry folk dance melodies, comes to the house where the dance is performed and the Christmas charity dinner is offered. During the Christmas period until St. Basil’s Day (January 1st ) in Maramures, the magical practice is known as “the tying up of the beast in the forest”, which consists of laying a loaf of ritual bread, named High Steward, on the table, which is then tied with an iron chain. After 8 days, on New Year’s Day, the loaf of bread is cut into slices eaten by children and animals, and the chain is put in front of the stable, so that the cattle may step over it.

[cutegirlmayra]

Hiiiiii, I rly like your writing X3 I was wondering if you’d answer this question: What is your interpretation of what SEGA is doing with SonAmy as of right now? Seems like it’s becoming more and more canon. I know you’ve done similar question before, but could you maybe just answer this for 2021? Thanks!💖💙

No problem! And thank you, lovely Anon~<3 I love writing for the feels~ But also for the accuracy to be as close as possible if I can manage it! First of all, they’ve always been canon? Maybe not ‘in-world dating’ canon but canon in the sense that they are a official SEGA advertised couple since the get-go.

Amy was created to literally be in the slot of ‘Sonic’s Girlfriend’ where she had feelings for Sonic and always a fun mystery as to decipher Sonic’s subtle ‘returned caring’ for her.

As for 2021 we are so FREAKIN’ HAPPY to hear that SEGA is FINALLY marketing the two and VISUALLY SEEING the sales of their ‘couple shirts’ and the like make some profit. Furthermore, we have long-time fans and professionals in the careers within SEGA also vocalizing that they don’t mind the couple and even support it. With less emphasis on the ‘fandom fanatics’ of the raging past and more so on the fantastic marketability and popularity the couple brings to SEGA’s exposing their main IP, it’s become almost common ground to expect more and more people liking romantic and suggested romantic couples in all ranging medias.

We need also mention the alarming rate of the worrisome numbers in Japan recently. Conducted studies have shown that most of Japan’s population is elderly, and in the very near future (About 5 years or so) a good chuck of Japan’s population will die. This means the Japanese Government is promoting more and more companies within both entertainment, advertising, etc. to be more ‘promoting family’ in their media. Japan needs more babies! And guess what?

Mario Odyssey comes out with a completely ‘Wedding themed’ video game.

Dramatic romantic underlying's in Zelda’s new game.

Final Fantasy 7 Remake’s focus on romantic underlying’s along with Cloud willingly saying (English version) “Do I have any say in this?” As though to fight the idea that romance can’t happen and-

Kingdom Hearts 3′s romantic underlying that literally has a song (Japanese) talking about rings and getting married called “Chikai” or also ‘Oath’ that in English is rewritten to a romantic song about going deeper into love called “Don’t Think Twice” but literally has the two ‘making their fates intertwined’ in a symbol of ‘romantic intentions’ such as marriage or even just fidelity in a relationship.

So? How does all this influence the latest Sonamy supersonic boom we’ve seen in the media recently?

Although Sonic is his own character, he’s also only 15 (But as many of you have seen in Anime, Japanese ages of appropriateness are different then our own cultures and societies) we see faint glimpses. In the mostly American-made Sonic Boom t.v series, the comedic moments of Sonic and Amy are very much to a genre of American audiences and how we view ‘funny love’ should normally be marketed as. (I don’t always agree with what they say, but that’s how they’re trained and believe the ‘trends’ go... so ... can’t argue with professionals? Eh? -I personally think they’re outdated *cough cough*)

Sonic is not one to express feelings in overly dramatic ways which is common place in American television and media, but he’s also got a ‘boy’s heart’ which means we won’t see a lot of things from him BESIDES ‘romantic underlyings’ that are probably going to be initiated and themed mostly and primarily in Amy Rose’s character (If at all shown or expressed.)

For these reasons, I believe SEGA is just hopping on the bandwagon and doing what they’re told, while also following the latest trends that the other big fellow companies are making a significant profit on. I know we wish and want SEGA to be ‘special’ in how they think, but they really are just a company that is trying to survive and outlast the competition.

It’s sad to think that way, especially when SEGA used to be so creative and always influencing the next best thing but that was YEARS ago and they’ve learned to tread water since then...

(Goku being a grandfather emphasizes family in this particular scene where they take his granddaughter before a big tournament fight to a fair/festival. We see Goku with his family too, or at least, a successful son with his wife and daughter, spending time with his Father-In-Law, and the like.)

We see it in Dragon Ball emphasizing family, we see it in more romance-themed animes (and those that have only recently done romance, when they--for the longest part--never indulged in such things before or previously) and we now see more japanese games and media centralized around that.

What does that mean for Sonamy? Hopefully good things! Because if you buy the merch, they’ll produce more content. It’s a basic ‘supply and demand’ formula. If the demand (meaning how much you spend and want Sonic and Amy couple merch) goes up, then they have to supply to keep their business afloat. If they don’t they sink, but that DOES NOT MEAN TO BE AGRESSIVE. It means just support when they do something you like, and positively, kindly mention what you liked and wish to see more of if the future allows. No one reads aggressive writing unless, they too--wish to be aggressive back.

SEGA’s had issues with aggressiveness before, please let them see that couples in the sonic world won’t have a negative impact on their branding with irrational and bad-media frenzies. (Now, after saying this, I know people will start to do just that, don’t feed fire with fire, just let the fire burn till it has nothing left to consume, and carry on happily posting fanart or fanstories of what you love. Ignore to extinguish, which is what SEGA will do to Sonic shipping fans if we don’t act somewhat reasonably, okay?)

My predictions are such: 1. Amy’s crush will sadly lessen in impact and become more of a novelty, something that is treasured when moments arise to reveal her crush on Sonic, which in my opinion, is not her personality, but due to the heavy influence of women’s portrayal (Especially in America) being overemphasized and not done well, this is how they will try and combat it... (No one does this right and you shouldn’t base a characters solely on political reasonings...) 2. Sonic will have moments of caring for Amy or doing something sweet that can and probably will be interpreted as ‘a couple moment’ but he’ll remain mostly about other things, and the ‘underlying romance’ will have to come through Amy Rose’s character. 3. SEGA will loosen some rules after seeing more and more of the productivity and trend associated with marketing romance, and to keep up with demand and growing times, will finally let small moments emerge between the two, but the fandom will not be satisficed since we will now be desensitized to overly avert demure and oblivious stereotropes that will date their characters. and won’t allow them to proceed smoothly into the new area of customers and audiences.

Children are becoming extremely observant and aware. They are clever, and they always have been. It’s time to market to Children and Young Adults, not babies.

My ways to avoid this, predictions 1: New employees will surface that will start to get a name and reputation in the Sonic Fandom, along with youtube and internet stars who will influence certain marketing schemes (as is starting to appear now, and I feel will be just like ‘star marketing’ or ‘influencers’ that will be popularized in fandoms that companies will slightly make use of.) that will encourage new ideas and bring about a sudden ‘boom’ not expected. (Especially after the lull of the pandemic, I feel there will be an abundance of things happening in the upcoming years... but nothing right now, unfortunately, but at least they’re forced to focus on working on things instead of just releasing to keep up with other companies.)--In other words, they will incorporate new blood with the old, and they will lead Sonic’s IP into a ton of nostalgia and new beginnings that will actually stick and become Sonic’s new brand identity. (This will resonate with fans old and new, but still be a fresh leap into the future for the franchise and fandom.) 2. Sonic’s negative popularity will start to decrease, leading and paving the way for fame and possible adjustments such as more romantic themes to keep up with trends and Japanese Government demands (especially when the population starts to wither and it becomes an emergency situation to start encouraging family ties). Other than sonamy or romantic things, I believe new characters will pop up to ‘test the waters’ and see if we like romance intertwined adventures. 3. Villains will become more sentimental and caring, less comedically, they will be redeemable entities so that the company can market them more. This can also lead into funny romances that help other romances develop and have more meaning. (In other words, they’ll dig into their vault of familiar and new faces, go off the trend of ‘redeeming the villain’ and have more heart-to-heart moments that may inspire more canonical couples... especially if a newer villain were to have a crush that ended up helping two canon characters get together and leave the audience sympathizing more with the villain. This is an actual trend starting where Villains have more character and roles other than just being evil and staying that way till death. I suspect this will be popularized in American and possibly foreign media as time goes on.)

(I actually have a lot of the sonamy shirts lol But here’s an example of the villain actually helping the canon couple have more ‘romantic underlying’ moments together <3)

Those are my current predictions, though I admit that some don’t sound all that hopeful. But hey! All my hopeful and positive predictions have already come true XD Sonamy is being marketed, the new media (Sonic Boom at the time) had subtle but more forward comedic hinting (that I don’t feel went all that well? But eh, that’s just me!), and SEGA continues to try and reface Sonic which his brand doesn’t need. I believe they will still try and rebrand Sonic continually until something sticks for them that they like. Sonamy may go through many iterations, as they are still hesitant with it, and we see that by only marketing their ‘younger selves’ as in Classic Sonamy, and are too ‘shy and uncertain’ if backlash would happen if they advertised a more mature-looking Sonic and Amy marketing. Again, I don’t know if they’ll fully grow out of this, so I predict they won’t.

(I have this one but in black <3 <3 <3)

That’s it for now! My positive last comments would be the more we buy/purchase Sonamy merch, the more we’ll start seeing it in their media and entertainment products. Until then, do your best and write, draw, and review -kindly- to keep those articles of enchantment alive with the sweet sound of--”When will Sonic and Amy finally have a love song AMV moment for us?” lol

#cutegirlmayra ask #ask cutegirlmayra #sonamy #sonic the hedgehog #sega #amy rose #cutegirlmayra #sonic ask #ask sonic #sonamy ask #ask sonamy #sonicxamy #sega marketing #anime #video games #japan #sonamy predictions

[ready-bek]

A letter to the UK from Italy: this is what we know about your future

The acclaimed Italian novelist Francesca Melandri, who has been under lockdown in Rome for almost three weeks due to the Covid-19 outbreak, has written a letter to fellow Europeans “from your future”, laying out the range of emotions people are likely to go through over the coming weeks.

I am writing to you from Italy, which means I am writing from your future. We are now where you will be in a few days. The epidemic’s charts show us all entwined in a parallel dance.

We are but a few steps ahead of you in the path of time, just like Wuhan was a few weeks ahead of us. We watch you as you behave just as we did. You hold the same arguments we did until a short time ago, between those who still say “it’s only a flu, why all the fuss?” and those who have already understood.

As we watch you from here, from your future, we know that many of you, as you were told to lock yourselves up into your homes, quoted Orwell, some even Hobbes. But soon you’ll be too busy for that.

First of all, you’ll eat. Not just because it will be one of the few last things that you can still do.

You’ll find dozens of social networking groups with tutorials on how to spend your free time in fruitful ways. You will join them all, then ignore them completely after a few days.

You’ll pull apocalyptic literature out of your bookshelves, but will soon find you don’t really feel like reading any of it.

You’ll eat again. You will not sleep well. You will ask yourselves what is happening to democracy.

You’ll have an unstoppable online social life – on Messenger, WhatsApp, Skype, Zoom…

You will miss your adult children like you never have before; the realisation that you have no idea when you will ever see them again will hit you like a punch in the chest.

Old resentments and falling-outs will seem irrelevant. You will call people you had sworn never to talk to ever again, so as to ask them: “How are you doing?” Many women will be beaten in their homes.

You will wonder what is happening to all those who can’t stay home because they don’t have one. You will feel vulnerable when going out shopping in the deserted streets, especially if you are a woman. You will ask yourselves if this is how societies collapse. Does it really happen so fast? You’ll block out these thoughts and when you get back home you’ll eat again.

You will put on weight. You’ll look for online fitness training.

You’ll laugh. You’ll laugh a lot. You’ll flaunt a gallows humour you never had before. Even people who’ve always taken everything dead seriously will contemplate the absurdity of life, of the universe and of it all.

You will make appointments in the supermarket queues with your friends and lovers, so as to briefly see them in person, all the while abiding by the social distancing rules.

You will count all the things you do not need.

The true nature of the people around you will be revealed with total clarity. You will have confirmations and surprises.

Literati who had been omnipresent in the news will disappear, their opinions suddenly irrelevant; some will take refuge in rationalisations which will be so totally lacking in empathy that people will stop listening to them. People whom you had overlooked, instead, will turn out to be reassuring, generous, reliable, pragmatic and clairvoyant.

Those who invite you to see all this mess as an opportunity for planetary renewal will help you to put things in a larger perspective. You will also find them terribly annoying: nice, the planet is breathing better because of the halved CO2 emissions, but how will you pay your bills next month?

You will not understand if witnessing the birth of a new world is more a grandiose or a miserable affair.

You will play music from your windows and lawns. When you saw us singing opera from our balconies, you thought “ah, those Italians”. But we know you will sing uplifting songs to each other too. And when you blast I Will Survive from your windows, we’ll watch you and nod just like the people of Wuhan, who sung from their windows in February, nodded while watching us.

Many of you will fall asleep vowing that the very first thing you’ll do as soon as lockdown is over is file for divorce.

Many children will be conceived.

Your children will be schooled online. They’ll be horrible nuisances; they’ll give you joy.

Elderly people will disobey you like rowdy teenagers: you’ll have to fight with them in order to forbid them from going out, to get infected and die.

You will try not to think about the lonely deaths inside the ICU.

You’ll want to cover with rose petals all medical workers’ steps.

You will be told that society is united in a communal effort, that you are all in the same boat. It will be true. This experience will change for good how you perceive yourself as an individual part of a larger whole.

Class, however, will make all the difference. Being locked up in a house with a pretty garden or in an overcrowded housing project will not be the same. Nor is being able to keep on working from home or seeing your job disappear. That boat in which you’ll be sailing in order to defeat the epidemic will not look the same to everyone nor is it actually the same for everyone: it never was.

At some point, you will realise it’s tough. You will be afraid. You will share your fear with your dear ones, or you will keep it to yourselves so as not to burden them with it too.

You will eat again.

We’re in Italy, and this is what we know about your future. But it’s just small-scale fortune-telling. We are very low-key seers.

If we turn our gaze to the more distant future, the future which is unknown both to you and to us too, we can only tell you this: when all of this is over, the world won’t be the same.

© Francesca Melandri 2020

~ via The Guardian

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