#ALSO MY BROTHER VOICE ACTED SWATCH

[possessable]

pls give more shrinky dink au it makes me want to cry (from joy)

ok here is something i animated just for you of the swatchlings reacting to swatch (shrunk)

#swatch deltarune #swatchlings #video #animation #also thanks 😭 #ALSO MY BROTHER VOICE ACTED SWATCH #shrinky dink route

[pyreo]

deltarune megapost

I wanted to make a Deltarune post about the lore and the things that aren’t  obvious. And once I do that I wanna focus on why Mettaton is incredibly important to this setting

And also why he poses a problem

Why did Toriel and Asgore get divorced?

Without the setting of Undertale, Asgore and Toriel’s marriage still broke up after they had Asriel. There needs to be a reason though. In UT it was Asgore’s ‘worst of both worlds’ decision regarding killing anybody that fell from the human world, including children. We saw how close they were before this happened. Only something deep and serious caused that rift. In Deltarune, what on earth did Asgore do?

What happened to Dess?

Mentioned a handful of times by Noelle, Dess was her older sister and is mentioned In Undertale.... in that Xbox exclusing casino thing. The way Noelle talks about her, the conspicuous way Noelle gets locked out of her big house - it implies Dess is gone or deceased. Berdly recalls a spelling bee when he and Noelle were younger where she, despite being smarter than him, misspelled ‘December’, allowing him to win.

In the two-player spelling puzzle, it also spells out ‘December’ as Noelle recalls the past and her silhouette regresses to a child while she does so. Being distracted by her sister’s disappearance, rather than pure shyness, could account for her misspelling her name on stage, and it clearly left a big psychological mark for her to have this visual regression in the Dark World.

However, there’s a graveyard in Hometown with no Dess. I heard another theory that she has been missing for years, because where each character’s personal room is made by Queen to reflect their tastes via their search results, Noelle has a calendar where every day is December 25th. This could imply that Noelle continually searches the internet for ‘December Holiday’, her sister’s name, to see if there are clues to her disappearance, but of course the only result you would get is the date of Christmas.

Who is the Knight?

It’s now implied to be Kris, who has been forcibly removing the player’s influence to act on their own. By all accounts the Knight is the game’s main antagonist. Spade King and Queen both mention the Knight as someone who influenced their position - they brought Spade King to absolute power, and showed Queen that creation of new worlds was possible.

We’re led to believe that Kris was doing this, because they’ve been acting outside of the player’s control. Eating the entire pie between chapter 1 and 2 might have been a red herring to cover that they also went to the library and used that knife to slash open a dark fountain there.

However. This has issues. How would they even manage to shuffle slowly all the way to the library and get in the computer lab? The Knight is also the one creating the hidden bosses. They talked to Jevil until he realised he was in a game and he lost his mind; they ruined Spamton’s life by elevating him to success and then crushing him. Whatever the Knight is doing seems to be deliberately planned with key players in mind.

Kris opening the fountain at home at the end of ch.2 can be explained in that you just figured out in Cyber World that anyone determined enough can do this, and so, Kris decided to. So a better question might even be...

What does Kris want?

We have no idea. They are capable of removing the SOUL, ‘us’, temporarily, and putting things in motion we cannot influence. But they also keep putting us back in control afterward. This is hinted at right when ch.2 starts, where if you inspect the cage in Kris’s bedroom they threw us into, the description says it’s inescapable. Meaning Kris came back and took us out, willingly.

They allow us to pilot them through the game. Why? Because they cannot live without the SOUL for long for some reason? Because they’re bad at bullet hell? Why did they slash Toriel’s tyres before opening the fountain, making sure nobody could drive away?? Why did they specifically open the door?

You can find out details about Kris through the creepy way you interact with the townsfolk, who think you are Kris. They play the piano at the hospital waiting room - better than you. They used to go to church just to get the special church juice. It’s all normal, relatable things, not like someone who’s trying to plunge the world into darkness. Judging by their search history portrayed in their Queen’s castle room, they really want to see their brother again. However the castle has a room based on Asriel’s search history too, and Kris (not you) closes their eyes and won’t look at it.

What is Ralsei?

His name is an anagram of Asriel. Is he an extension of Asriel? The slightly flirtier dialogue in ch.2 would point to no. Is he an extension of Kris themselves, given the link between Kris’s childhood habit of wearing a headband with red horns on it, to pretend to be a monster like their family?

Ralsei knows exactly where the Dark World in the school is located, and unlike regular Darkners, knows the world is folded up inside the ‘real world’. There’s a certain whiplash to Ralsei telling you to hop out of his reality into yours and go down the hallway to retrieve all the board game items.

How does he jump from one Dark World to another, without assistance? How does he not get petrified like Lancer and Rouxls? Is this a power level thing because he’s a prince or something else? We definitely do not know enough about Ralsei.

He also says this incredibly suspicious thing after you spare Spamton NEO. Susie was also curious but accepts that maybe it ‘didn’t mean anything’, which is a sure tell that these optional bosses do mean something.

Someone is orchestrating what’s happening, opening fountains, manipulating the rulers, and influencing NPCs to become the optional bosses. Why? I suspect Ralsei for both knowing too much, and pretending something doesn’t matter when it clearly does. Until Asriel actually comes home from college I’m going to suspect he’s involved in this too.

How much does Seam know?

Seam on the other hand knows a lot about what’s going on but is openly withholding information while helping you. He’s nihilistic. He says things like:

One day soon... You too, will begin to realize the futility of your actions. Ha ha ha... At that time, feel free to come back here. I'll make you tea... And we can toast... to the end of the world!

Either this ‘end of the world’ is a reference to The Roaring, where opening too many dark fountains dooms the Dark World and the real one... or, I can’t get out of my head the idea that Deltarune takes place in a fake, or weird reconstruction of Undertale where things don’t match up, and eventually it will have to disappear. After all, powers of determination and creating and manipulating universes are Undertale’s basic bread and butter. How can we look at an Alternate Universe containing the characters we already know and not suspect that? Seam also uses Gaster’s key words, ‘darker, yet darker’, seemingly to clue us in that he’s not off track here.

Why haven’t we seen Papyrus?

This is a bright neon flashing ‘something’s not right’ sign. It’s not like Papyrus’s voice actor was too busy or anything. His absence is noticable and for a reason. Nice of Sans to promise we could meet him despite being aware we’re piloting a child’s body around, though, even if he didn’t follow through.

What locations in town could be used for dark fountains in the next 4 chapters?

If the sequence continues, we have chapter 1 in the school games room, chapter 2 in a computer lab, and chapter 3 in front of Kris’s television, where the aesthetic of each setting influences the world, characters, and enemies in the Dark World created there. Future possibilities include the church, the hospital, sans’s grocery store, Noelle’s house, and the closed bunker.

What the hell’s in the closed bunker

This one’s too obvious, honestly. I think it’ll open for no reason in chapter 7 and a little white dog will bounce out and steal one of your key items and nothing else happens.

Why does Asgore have these

Unlike the bunker feeling like a joke teaser, I gotta believe this is foreshadowing something weird. For example, what does opening a dark fountain in here with the seven flowers do? Does it just take you into Undertale?

Each chapter will have a hidden boss with a ‘soul mode’ from Undertale

Chapter 1 let you stay red, but I think each subsequent chapter is going to change your soul mode to one of the seven colours and design the encounter around that. Purple, yellow, green and blue were used in Undertale, leaving the light blue and orange modes yet to be revealed.

How does Spamton emulate Mettaton Neo’s name, body, and incorporate his battle theme, and the ‘Dummy!’ theme, with no actual connection between them ingame?

This is a really fun one that’s explained over in this post here. Swatch is the Dark World creation from the paint program on the library computers, so he’s able to explain that a Lightner made the robot body decaying in the castle basement that way.

Mettaton went to the library and drew his ideal form, Mettaton NEO, in MS Paint, and the Dark World formed that into a puppet body which Spamton was able to hijack temporarily. So by doing that Spamton was able to channel Mettaton’s appearance, attacks, music, and SOUL mode for the fight.

This might mean that the future hidden bosses, each with their own SOUL mode, might be based on the associated character for that mode (Muffet, Undyne, and Sans or Papyrus), and the boss will take on some aspect of them from their world to leech their fight mechanics.

The Problem With Mettaton

We don’t exactly know what Deltarune is about. It’s an alternate universe where the characters from Undertale already live on the surface, have completely normal lives, but diverge from the storyline of Undertale and, crucially, have not lived through the changes Frisk brought to their lives.

Remember how Undertale had a dozen different ending routes depending on who you befriended? The constant reinforcement in Undertale was that your choices mattered. Through Frisk, you chose to bring Alphys closure about her mistakes, you chose to befriend papyrus instead of attacking him, you chose to help Alphys and Undyne realise their feelings for each other and it’s only doing that that leads to the golden ending and escape to the surface.

Deltarune is the opposite, your choices do not matter. The only thing you can do to force the route of the game to change is to force Noelle into a No Mercy run, which is indirect, and also, a total desperation to mess with an otherwise set course. This version of the characters have not been helped by Frisk - Undyne and Alphys are not together, Papyrus has no friends, Asgore cannot get over himself, and they’re clearly the worse for it, but potentially, you COULD still do these things. In fact it’s hinted that you already are.

But there’s Mettaton.

He’s still a ghost and does not leave his house. In Frisk’s world, Gaster deleted himself, promoting Alphys to royal scientist by bluffing with Mettaton, and she then build him his ideal body. In Kris’s world... Alphys is a school teacher. There’s no barrier to break, no reason to experiment on souls, no Flowey mistake, and no body for Mettaton.

It was sad in Ch.1, but now with the Spamton NEO fight in ch.2, it’s unmissable. Mettaton wants that body and he cannot get it. Alphys in this universe is not going to leave her teaching job and suddenly be able to build a robot. Mettaton is just... screwed out of his happy ending and cannot get it.

So what resolution could this have? If it wasn’t for Mettaton I might believe in the vaildity of Deltarune and Hometown. But. How can you doom this character? If Undertale was the only way Mettaton could be befriended, then Undertale is Primary Universe A and Seam is right - the world of Deltarune is doomed as some kind of aberration. It all relies on how this gets explained in the future, but the core mystery of Deltarune is how exactly this universe intersects with Undertale and whether one is an offshoot of the other. How the Dark World links into that is another complication. But even as we get more fun characters and neat stuff in the Dark Worlds, let’s not forget we have absolutely no idea why Undertale’s characters are living here with no mention of underground or why there are no other humans beside Kris.

#undertale #deltarune #welcome to my giant essay post

[kyber-queen]

burning (fives x gn!jedi!reader)

Summary: A retelling of the Umbara arc where reader is assigned to the 501st to assist in the Umbara invasion. Established relationship with Fives, Krell is an ass to reader and Fives is Not Having It, couples that defend one another stay together, lil bit of fluff lil bit of angst lil bit of action we got it ALL

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, medical stuff, mentions of death/injury, Krell is just an ASSHOLE to the reader, a lil kiss perhaps 

Author’s Note: This idea has been stuck in my head for AGES, and now I finally have it on paper!! This was really fun to write, as always ANY comments/feedback/questions would be HIGHLY appreciated !! ALSO: ner kar’ta means my heart in Mando’a !!

***

A rumble of murmurs rolled through the battalion of troopers at the sight of the interim general of the 501st. Pong Krell, Fives had identified from behind you. You watched warily as the besalisk exited the dropship, his hulking form broad and dark against the soft glow of the natural vegetation. You fell silent as he spoke with General Skywalker. The newcomer unnerved you. Skywalker seemed hesitant to leave his troops behind—you didn’t blame him. The council had insisted you accompany the 501st to assist with the march on Umbara’s capitol, and even with your short time stationed directly in the unit you had seen firsthand Skywalker’s devotion to his troopers. The prospect of leaving them under the command of the rather imposing figure before him must be daunting.

You snapped to attention as Skywalker introduced you and the Captain, your eyes meeting Krell’s for a moment as he appraised you. His gaze turned your stomach. 

He was a Jedi master, you reminded yourself. He had the respect and trust of the council, and as Skywalker turned to leave, you reluctantly acknowledged that he had the General’s trust as well. You shifted a quick glance behind you, seeking out Fives. He stood at attention, his shoulders squared. You’d talk to him later, you figured.

“Commander, will I be graced with the honor of your full attention, or do you have more pressing matters at hand?”

Condescension dripped from Krell’s tone. Your cheeks heated, and you quickly turned to face the new General.

“My apologies, sir,”.

Krell harrumphed, continuing on with his speech.

You watched the troopers’ faces fall as he ordered them to stand at attention when speaking to him. Krell seemed to be a fierce disciplinarian—you doubted there would be much tolerance for open discussion with the besalisk in charge. Still, he ran a highly successful battalion. His leadership style differed greatly from Skywalker’s, but he had the success rates to back up his different strategies. It’ll only be one mission, you figured. How bad could it be?

Krell finished his speech with a sharp nod of his head, ordering the troopers to move out. You lingered in the rear, giving Krell a respectful nod as he wrapped up his discussion with the Captain. Now was as good a time as any to make a more personal introduction.

“General Krell, the council sent me here to—”

“I know why you’re here, Commander. As far as my understanding goes, you are to act as a tactical assistant. I will let you know if I need any such assistance. Dismissed,”.

You frowned, turning away and taking a few jogging paces to catch up with the men. Was it just you, or did the new general seem rather indifferent? You brushed away your thoughts as the terrain rose up to meet the steady pace of your feet.

“Fives,” you called, his helmet whipping around at the sound of your voice. He motioned for his brothers to slow down, allowing you to catch up. You quickened your pace, closing the gap between the two of you. 

“So, what do you think of the interim General?” He asked, looking back to his brothers for just a moment as if in reassurance.

“Strict, and almost dismissive” you noted, “but I’m sure his intentions are good,”.

Fives nodded, slipping off his helmet and tucking it under his arm as you walked.

“Me ‘n Jesse were just talking—Krell has the highest casualty rate in the GAR,”.

Your mouth formed into a small ‘o’ as you acknowledged the concerned look on Fives’s face.

His voice lowered, so only you could hear.

“It’s over 50%, ner kar’ta. He’s reckless, and he doesn’t take no for an answer. I—”

You silenced him with a gentle touch to his upper arm, in between the gap in his armor. His eyes drifted to your hand against his skin, and then back to your face. His expression softened.

“I know it’s going to be difficult—honestly, I don’t entirely trust him either—but Skywalker and the council do. We aren’t going to be able to pull this invasion off if everybody isn’t on the same page,”.

Fives nodded hesitantly. You gave him a soft smile in response. The two of you trudged on.

***

After hours of crossing inhospitable terrain, fending off native creatures, and surviving an enemy ambush, your patience with Krell was wearing thin. In the past few hours, he had shown a total disregard for the lives of the men under his command as well as your own rank in the battalion. When you seconded Rex’s call for a scouting party, the General all but laughed in your face. Your opinion meant next to nothing to him. Without the extra reconnaissance, hundreds of men died today. Unnecessarily. You burned. Rex and Fives echoed your frustrations, both men airing their grievances with the interim General.

Rex spoke first, raisng the question of Krell’s inconsiderate and dangerous tactics. He was right, you thought. Krell had crossed a line with his reckless strategies.

The General was less than receptive to Rex’s input, jabbing his large finger into the man’s chest as punctuation to his harsh words. You opened your mouth to remind the General that, according to the Jedi council, you were still his tactical advisor and that you had also adamantly disagreed with his strategies before he dismissed your opinion. Before you could speak, Fives strode up to the General, speaking in fierce defense of his captain.

“General Krell, in case you haven’t noticed, Captain Rex just saved this platoon. Surely you won’t fail to recognize that,”.

Krell’s lips twisted into a sneer, and he ignited his lightsaber menacingly. Your hand instinctively flew to your own saber on your belt clip as you stepped forward in defense of Fives, the weapon igniting in your hand.

“ARC-5555, stand down,” Krell ordered. His gaze flitted over to you, noting the saber in your hand and the thinly concealed fury in your eyes with a smirk. “And Commander, put that out before someone loses an eye,”.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Fives murmured, exchanging a glance with you as you hesitantly switched off your saber.

Krell dismissed the platoon with a smug grin.

You grabbed Fives’ vambrace, dragging him behind a large swatch of vegetation. He removed his helmet, taking a seat on the ground next to you. He sighed deeply. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent—he looked tired. 

You wanted to yell. You wanted to complain. You knew neither of you needed that right now. 

You reached up to cup Fives’s face in your hand, stroking his cheekbone with your thumb gently.

“When we get back, I’ll issue a report to the council on Krell’s neglectful treatment,” you murmured, offering what comfort you could.

Fives shook his head.

“It’s no use—what’s the council going to do? Give him a slap on the wrist? It’s not just Krell, ner kar’ta. To the majority of officers here, we’re expendable. One man dies, but there’s three more finishing up their training on Kamino and ready to take his place. I wish they’d realize—”. Fives trailed off with a sigh, and his soft brown eyes met yours.

You gave him a sad little smile.

“I love you,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Fives’ hand moved up to rest lightly against your cheek, his other hand holding the small of your back softly as he returned your kiss with a small grin.

A twig snapped.

You leapt away from each other as if you had both been burned.

You looked around, searching the darkness for a hidden figure. Heavy footsteps sounded to your right.

Before you could turn to follow the noise, blaster fire echoed to your left. Fives slipped his helmet over his head, yanking you back behind the vegetation. Your saber ignited, and the sky lit up with crossfire.

***

After receiving new information from Kenobi, the battered 501st made its weary way to the Umbaran airbase. Under Krell’s command the casualty rate had increased tenfold for this mission alone—the battalion medics were stretched thin. You did what you could to ease the pain of the wounded. Spotting a ridge, Krell motioned for you and the Captain to follow him.

“We’ll advance along the central gorge, and engage their forces in a full-forward assault,” Krell ordered.

You exchanged a look with Rex, who re-examined the terrain with his scope.

“The gorge is narrow, sir. We’ll only be able to move our platoons in single squads,” Rex explained.

We’ll be sitting ducks entering single-file down that gorge, you thought.

“Perhaps a closer recon will tell us if there’s a more secure route,” Rex suggested.

“I agree with the Captain,” you stated. “With the numbers we’ve lost earlier today, we can’t afford to risk the lives of the men we have left with a full-forward assault,” you supplemented.

Krell frowned.

“Obi-Wan and the other battalions are holding off the enemy right now, while they wait for us to take out this base. We don’t have time to look for a more secure route,”. 

Krell turned away with finality.

Rex shook his head, turning back toward his men.

This isn’t right, you thought. You jogged to catch up with the General.

“General Krell,” you called.

“What is it, Commander?” he grumbled.

“I’d like to talk to you about possibly reconsidering the full-forward strategy. A short reconnaissance mission could provide vital information in taking this base, and it could possibly save the lives of many of our men,”. Your hands twitched anxiously.

“Our men, hmm? A charming sentiment, Commander,”.

Your brows furrowed. When you next spoke, there was a new intensity to your voice.

“Forgive me for being forward, General, but it isn’t a sentiment. Each trooper we lose is a life that we were responsible for protecting. It is in everyone’s best interest to go forward with the reconnaissance. As your tactical advisor, I strongly suggest you consult with Captain Rex to put together a small recon team,”.

Krell chuckled to himself.

“Everyone’s best interest. Amusing. We’ll proceed with the full-forward assault as planned,”.

You fumed.

“Sir, as your tactical advisor, I insist that you initiate the formation of a reconnaissance team. I do not understand why you fail to realize the gravity of this situation,”.

There was a spark to Krell’s eyes, now. You had angered him. He paused. You held your breath.

“Forgive me for being forward, Commander, but I do not place much weight on the opinion of someone whoring themself out for a clone. I’m sure you understand how this situation appears to me,”.

You sucked in a sharp breath. It had been him in the darkness. You were certain of it. Your chest burned.

“I-I apologize, General,”.

Krell nodded dismissively. You turned away, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He knew. You’d get expelled from the order, Fives would get reconditioned if he was lucky, and you had no clue what to do about it. You stepped away.

“Oh, and Commander?”

You turned back to face the General, hastily wiping at your face. You wouldn’t cry in front of him. You couldn’t.

“Yes, sir?”

“If you want to remain in your current station, you would do well not to disobey my orders again,”.

Krell was blackmailing you.

You nodded.

“Yes, sir,”.

You stumbled down the hill as fast as you could, spotting Fives amongst a gathering of troopers. He noticed a tear streaking your face, and pulled you away from the crowd. As soon as the two of you were alone, you spoke.

“He knows, Fives. Krell knows about us. He saw us, when we were away from the rest of the platoon, after he threatened you. Maker, I—” Another tear slipped down your cheek as you fought to catch your breath.

“Slow down, ner kar’ta, are you sure? How do you know?”

Fives’ eyes, soft and calm, met your teary ones. You scrubbed at your face hurriedly.

“I went to talk to him after he proposed the full-forward assault without a recon,” you spoke, your voice wavering less this time. “He wasn’t receptive to my explanation, so I asked him why. He said he ‘didn’t place weight on the opinion of someone whoring themself out for a clone,’”.

Fives’ eyes went wide.

“He said that to you?”

You nodded.  “He knows,”.

Fives gripped your shoulders tightly.

“Stay here. I’m going to—” Fives started towards the hill, looking up to where Krell stood with an expression of pure rage on his face. A palm to his chest stopped him in his tracks.

“Don’t. I think he’s blackmailing me—I don’t think he’ll tell, as long as I don’t question his orders,” you explained.

Fives cocked his eyebrow at you.

“You really believe that?”

“I have to. What choice do I have?”

Fives shook his head, checking to make sure you were truly alone before pulling you into a tight embrace. You sighed into his shoulder.

“He won’t get away with this, ner kar’ta. I promise you,”.

***

Your hands shook. You had taken the airbase, the supply ship had been destroyed, and it still wasn’t enough for Krell. You remembered when Fives landed the Umbaran fighter just an hour ago, how relieved you had been when he made it back alive. That relief was gone, now. Krell had ordered him to be court-marshalled for disobeying orders. Rex had assured you he would assume responsibility, that he would talk to Krell, and that Fives would be okay. He came back minutes later with a weary face and news that threatened to rend your heart from its chest. He had received an order of execution for Fives and Jesse. You had to talk to Krell—beg on your hands and knees if you had to—you had to get that order reversed, nevermind Krell’s warning not to question his orders. You had to try.

You stood outside the command center, attempting to steady your countenance. One trembling finger pressed the button to open the door.

“General, we need to talk,”.

“What troubles you, Commander?” Krell didn’t even bother to turn around.

“I demand that you overturn the order of execution for ARC-5555 and CT-5597,” you stated firmly.

Krell chuckled.

“We both know you’re in no position to make such demands, Commander,” Krell sighed to himself. “I had hoped you would heed my earlier warning. I should have known it would fall on deaf ears,”.

“General, you are sending two innocent men to their deaths,”.

Krell glanced around, noticing the surrounding clones closely watching your exchange.

“Troopers, leave us,”.

The men filed out of the room quickly, leaving you alone with the General.

“You should be thanking me, Commander,” Krell mused. “Last time I checked, wasn’t attachment cause to be expelled from the Jedi order? Exterminating this clone solves both of our problems,”.

You shook your head.

“They won’t do it. They won’t execute them,”.

Krell hummed, considering your statement.

“Maybe so—but these men will be put to death, even if I have to carry it out myself,”. A twisted smile split Krell’s face as he spoke.

You ignited your saber, your tone fierce and unyielding.

“I won’t let you,”.

Krell tilted his head, both his sabers lighting up in his hands.

“Make your decision carefully, Commander. You’ll be expelled from the Order. You’ll lose everything,”.

Without Fives, you had nothing left to lose.

You swung.

Krell outmatched you with both speed and power. Each of your attacks was met by his blade. You growled. He parried your strike, landing a blow to your cheek with his fist. Your vision swam.

You were on the defensive now. You blocked two consecutive strikes from Krell’s sabers, grunting as he forced your blade closer and closer to your face. You scrambled for footing.

“It’s disappointing, really,” Krell hummed, his voice alarmingly casual. “Wasted potential,”.

Krell swung his unoccupied fist into the side of your head, the force of the blow carrying you across the room. Your saber clattered to the floor. You reached for your hilt, but just as your fingertips curled around the metal, an invisible hand grabbed you by the throat. Your body lifted from the cold durasteel floor, your toes barely brushing its surface. The pressure around your neck tightened. You clutched at your throat, darkness creeping around the edges of your vision. His eyes locked on yours, golden and eerie.

“You’re…Sith,” you choked out.

Krell chuckled.

“Not quite, my dear Commander,”.

Krell’s sneer was the last thing you saw before your vision went dark. You dropped to the floor.

Krell sighed, waving open the command center door. He motioned for the troopers to re-enter before gesturing at your unconscious body with another uninterested wave of his hand.

“Take them to the brig,”.

***

Fives walked to his execution with his head held high. He joked with Jesse, hoping to ease his brother’s mind as they marched towards their uncertain fate. He tried to be strong. All he could think about was you.

Two soldiers had carried you into the brig, placing you gently into your cell just as Fives was led out of the room. He caught a glimpse of your face before he left—you were bruised and unconscious. What had you done? What had Krell done? The markings on your face could not have been left by a Jedi.

As his closest brothers marched in with their blasters, his heart ached. He couldn't meet his end this way. Not while you and his brothers were still in danger. He needed to do something, and he needed to do it quickly. To save his brothers. To save you.

Dogma asked if he’d like to be blindfolded.

Reality sunk in. It was now or never.

They aimed. Fives spoke.

“Wait! This is wrong. And we all know it. The general is making a mistake, and he needs to be called on it. No clone should have to go out this way—we are loyal soldiers, we follow orders, but we are not a bunch of unthinking droids. We are men. We must be trusted to make the right decisions, especially when the orders we are given are wrong,”.

Fives sucked in a breath, hoping his words were enough.

“Fire!”

Not a single shot met its target. Fives breathed a sigh of relief.

As he and Jesse walked back to the brig, the question of his fate as well as yours still plagued him. He was sure you had ignored Krell’s warning not to question his orders—that must have been why you were so bruised and battered. Fives’s real question was why Krell had left you in such a brutalized state. No Jedi would have been so physically cruel. Fives’s blood boiled.

He re-entered his cell, curling up against the left wall. He could see your unconscious form in the cell next to him. He made careful note of every visible bruise and scrape on your body. Your neck was beginning to shade a deep purple color, and you sported a black eye. Each little mark fueled the fire of Fives’s anger tenfold. Krell needed to pay. To think that the man had even touched you, let alone battered you in such away, was enough to burn at Fives’s chest. He needed revenge. He spent the next few hours carefully monitoring your breathing, wishing he could reach out to touch you through the ray shield, wishing he could offer you the same comfort you always gave to him.

When Rex reappeared hours later, explaining that the era of Krell’s leadership had reached its end, Fives jumped at the chance to bring him in. With each new sliver of information Rex shared with him, Fives felt his anger at the besalisk grow. The so-called Jedi had targeted the two people he had cared about most—you and his brothers. As he checked his weapon and strapped on his armor, his expression set into a steely glare. Krell wouldn’t live to destroy any more lives—Fives would make sure of it.

***

The trees rustled with blaster fire and movement. Krell was everywhere. Fives heard the screams of his brothers over the comm—he took each one to heart. He would be ready.

“Steady your weapons—he’s headed our way,” Rex called.

Fives locked in his scope.

The general emerged in a blur of brightly lit plasma. Fives fired. Each shot was easily deflected by the Jedi, his twirling sabers redirecting the bolts effortlessly. Fives growled.

The general switched off his sabers, as if taking on the platoon with his lightsabers was far too easy. His back was to Fives—Krell grabbed a nearby trooper from his cover, flinging the man into the air. Fives saw his chance.

“What are you doing?” Rex hissed. Fives paid him no mind.

He fired five rapid shots at the general’s back. Only one managed to glance off the besalisk’s thick skin. Fives charged forward, swinging his blaster into Krell’s head with all his might. On his next swing, Krell knocked the blaster from his hand with a mere wave of his arm.

So that was how he wanted to play.

Fives readied his fists, throwing and landing three consecutive punches. The besalisk doubled over on the third, caught off guard by the strength of the blow. Fives grinned from under the helmet.

“A taste of your own medicine, yeah?”

Krell rose to his full height, allowing the remark to roll off his back. He lifted Fives off the ground with an invisible hand, before tossing him unceremoniously into the trunk of a nearby tree.

Feeble clones.

Fives hauled himself up from the ground slowly, his head pounding from the collision. Krell was nowhere to be seen. Fives scanned his surroundings—none of his brothers were visible, either. Had he been knocked unconscious? He listened for blaster fire, but none could be heard. He felt around the darkened forest floor, his hand closing around the shaft of his rifle.

A voice echoed to his left.

Fives ran towards the noise. He could barely make out the sight before him through the thick Umbaran fog. His brothers had gathered in a semi-circle around the still form of the former General. He ran faster, stopping when he reached Krell’s body and sucking in a deep breath.

“I stunned him, sir,” Tup explained.

“Nice work, Tup,” Rex praised.

Fives nudged the general with the nose of his rifle. His finger itched at the trigger. Rex pulled at his arm.

“Ease up, Fives. We got him,”.

Fives exhaled slowly, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Yeah, we got him alright,”.

***

You woke up in medbay, your head aching and throat throbbing. You were thirsty. You tried to speak, but your voice came out in a warble. You flexed your hand, realizing it was encased in something warm. You squeezed.

Fives jolted upright. Both his hands encased yours, and his eyes widened.

“You’re awake—are you alright? Do you need anything?”

You smiled, realizing he had fallen asleep holding your hand. Your smile quickly faded when you remembered what had happened that brought you here. Your heart seized.

“K-Krell—” You managed, the words scraping at your throat.

Fives smiled softly.

“Me ‘n the boys took care of him—he’s gone. You’re okay. We’re okay,”.

You nodded as he brought your palm to his lips, kissing it gently before resting it back in your lap. He fell silent.

Your eyes glanced over his weary expression. The lines on his face had grown into canyons in two short days. You hummed, words catching in your raw throat.

“Are you alright?” you croaked.

Fives shook his head, glancing up at the ceiling before looking back down at you.

“I almost lost you, ner kar’ta. Lost a lot of good men, too. Too many men,”.

You nodded, your chest aching at the emotion in his voice. You held out your arms. He collapsed into you, mindful of your new bruises.

The guilt of so much loss was eating at him. It broke your heart. You held him tight against your chest as he murmured an apology into your skin. 

#arc trooper fives #arc trooper fives x reader #fives #fives x reader #fives x you #arc trooper jesse #clone trooper tup #captain rex #clone trooper x reader #the 501st #anakin skywalker #pong krell #my fic

[elizascharlesdanceblog]

Charles Dance: how common

Charles Dance: 'the audience feels cheated if you don't be honest about yourself'

Nigel Farndale12:15AM BST 28 Oct 2007

Army officers, worthy medicos, louche aristos, and now a donnish C.S. Lewis in 'Shadowlands' – when casting directors need 'a toff actor', Charles Dance is top of their list. It's all pretending, the secret plebeian tells Nigel Farndale, and he loves it. Portrait by Joss McKinley

Given that Charles Dance is an actor, it shouldn't come as a surprise that his manner off stage is quite actorly. Yet somehow it does. I suppose it is because he is often cast as the reserved, taciturn, patrician type, while, in person, he is tactile and garrulous. Sitting on a sofa in his dressing-room at the Wyndham's Theatre, London, he makes big theatrical, off-the-shoulder gestures, taps the wood of his dressing table – the superstitious actor – and leans forward to touch my knee occasionally, to emphasise a point. Moreover, he punctuates his anecdotes with 'darlings', 'sweethearts' and 'dears'.

Physically, he looks taller and more athletic than seems decent for a 61-year-old. He doesn't dress his age, either: his 6ft 3in frame looking rangy in faded jeans, T-shirt and heavy black boots. His hair may be thinning and becoming as pale as his skin, but his face is still strong boned, his hooded eyes still flinty. Intellectually, you suspect, there is not as much depth there as he likes to think there is, but he is friendly and engaging. Like many in his profession, he enjoys having a whinge about the actor's lot.

Don't get him on the subject of dressing-rooms, for example. He has just been touring the provinces before opening in the West End this week – 'the foreplay before the penetration,' he calls it, rather alarmingly – and the dressing-room he had in Cambridge was dark and subterranean. This one is windowless and has a fan whirring, but at least it is freshly decorated and all the light bulbs around the mirror are working. 'That's thanks to Madge,' he says. 'I was doing The Play What I Wrote here in 2002, just before Madonna did a show here and she paid for the dressing-rooms to be done up. But the funny thing was?…' he bounds up from the sofa and marches across the room to the shower area; here he describes two diagonal slashes with his arms, '…?they put crime scene tapes over the shower so no one else could use it before Madge.'

The play he did before that was Long Day's Journey into Night at the Lyric on Shaftesbury Avenue. 'In the dressing-room were little sachets of vermin poison. Pretty bloody awful. There was a mattress in there with a piece of fabric that looked like Monica Lewinsky's old dress on it. Half the lightbulbs had gone. I was there for 12½ weeks doing a play that was not a bundle of laughs, so I bought some ready-made curtains and a throw and some lightbulbs and insisted they had the room painted. They brought colour swatches of white, white or white – so I chose white.'

In his latest play, the first major revival of William Nicholson's award-winning Shadowlands, Dance plays C.S. Lewis. Although Nigel Hawthorne, on stage, and Anthony Hopkins, in the Oscar-nominated film version, are hard acts to follow in that role, Dance proves himself worthy. His struggle as the middle-aged Lewis to accept that he has fallen in love for the first time, only to lose his new wife to cancer, is mesmerising. 'It is about love in the presence of pain and suffering,' Dance says. 'C.S. Lewis believes pain is a tool. Pain is God's megaphone to rouse a deaf world.'

Presumably getting in the right reflective mood beforehand, while sitting in a pleasant dressing-room, is crucial to this performance? 'Your mood can be affected by the state of your dressing-room, and by the day you have had, but hopefully that doesn't affect the performance.'

I ask whether he can relate to the religious aspects of the play: C.S. Lewis, the devout Christian, agonises over the faith that has let him down. 'Not at all. I am an agnostic. I'm not bothered about not knowing. Religion is at the core of the play, but we pretend. It's my job. If I'm playing a murderer I don't murder people.'

And the academic aspects, the donnish world of Oxford? 'I am not an intellectual. I am reasonably intelligent, but not intellectual.' I only ask because he often plays men who are in professions that others find inspiring: Army officers, doctors and so on. When he prepares for such roles, does he ever wonder whether, by comparison, being an actor in greasepaint is somehow not quite a proper job for a grown man? He seems affronted by this question and answers in a loud and indignant voice. 'Some might think it's a job for children, but it's not! We do work very hard!'

Slightly taken aback, I say that I didn't mean to sound rude. I reframe the question in terms of the Samuel Johnson quote about every man thinking meanly of himself for not being a soldier. 'I see; well, I like pretending to be all those things. I like pretending to be someone in the military, but whether I could do it I don't know. That's why I am an actor.'

I tell him I went to see his Coriolanus years ago, the ultimate role for an actor with martial aspirations. 'London or Stratford?' The Barbican. 'Good. I was reasonably happy with it by the time we reached the Barbican.' It was a powerful and memorable performance, I say. Perfect casting.

The irony, though, was that Coriolanus is the patrician who is condescending towards the plebeians, and Dance's background is plebeian. He is the son of Nell, a former parlour-maid.

Dance returns to his actors-are-just-pretending theme: 'I just pretend. I was able to observe the aristocracy at close quarters because my mother worked for them. She certainly worked for much posher people than we were. Housekeeping. One observed it and absorbed it. My mother married above her station. She came from the East End. I'm not sure what my father did, because he died from a perforated ulcer when I was four, but I think his family had been confectioners. And I think he had been an engineer. A little further up the social scale than my mother. He used to do the occasional music hall recitation.'

Despite this background, when Dance started out in acting a fellow actor noted that he was 'a toff actor' as opposed to 'a peasant actor'. 'It's because I have a patrician face,' Dance says. He does indeed. But it is also to do with his bearing. As an actor he has a commanding presence and a certain grace. He can convey emotions with the flicker of a muscle, with the slightest movement of the eye. Two of his more polished aristocratic roles are the Earl of Erroll in White Mischief and Lord Raymond Stockbridge in Gosford Park. When he was filming the latter he told the director, Robert Altman, that he was in the wrong place, upstairs with the toffs; he should be downstairs with the servants. Altman said: 'Not with that face, Charles.'

It might be that he learnt his patrician bearing from observing his step-father, Edward, a civil servant. He had been the lodger. He drank lots of tea and did the pools. 'A fairly solitary men who seemed to have no friends or family, but quite decent. He looked after my mother. She would say, "When your father died I had 10 bob left in the world, dear".'

His mother's wasn't a happy life. Nell nursed Edward through cancer and then died from a heart attack six months after he did, in 1984, the year The Jewel in the Crown was making her son's name. They used to row a lot, mother and son. 'Terrible emotional scenes. She was a very emotional woman.'

I ask if she was socially insecure. 'She came from the servant class, which was not the same thing as the working class. The servant class is right in the middle. I'm not sure I believe there is such a thing as a middle class: it is either working class on the way up or aristocracy on the way down. She also, of course, was a lifelong Tory voter, as most people from the servant class were; you can't possibly be governed by your equals. You have to be governed by your betters.'

His brother is 10 years older, a retired naval officer who lives in France. 'He had been a difficult adolescent and my mother thought joining the Navy would make a man of him. So she marched him off to the recruiting office when he was 15, a decision my mother regretted until the day she died. I remember sharing a bedroom with him before he left for the Navy and there were books of poetry around the place and he wasn't a bad draughtsman either. All that had to go. My mother learnt from her mistake and allowed me to indulge in poetry and the arts.'

Charles Dance had been studying graphic design and photography at Leicester Art School when he got the acting bug. Steve McQueen and Peter Finch had inspired him to become a screen actor, while 'Brian Rix dropping his trousers in a farce made me want to prance about on stage'. He abandoned his course in favour of acting lessons from two retired thespians, Leonard and Martin. They were gay, but quiet about it, as society demanded at the time.

What was he like at that age? 'When I was 19, I was long-haired, going on the Aldermaston march, shagging everything in sight. The march was more fun than anything. I'm not especially political.'

Was he narcissistic as a young man? 'Not really, not until way after my teens. Mid to late twenties, possibly. I look around now and see guys who are fantastic looking and then I look in the mirror and think this is a very odd face. It doesn't bear close scrutiny. Bags under the eyes, thinning hair, I don't see a handsome man when I look in the mirror. Never have done. It is not an easy face to photograph, which is tricky in a film career unless you are in the hands of an astute and clever director of photography. I wear clothes quite well and am reasonably fit and have a good body, but I don't think I am particularly handsome. When people first started describing me as being that, at the time of Jewel in the Crown, I was surprised, but then I learnt to embrace it, a little too fondly.'

At the time, he was described as the English Robert Redford. I suggest it must have given him confidence to be told he had matinee-idol looks, even if he couldn't see it himself. 'Confidence is something I have had to acquire. This profession is littered with people, who, by their nature, are more introvert that extrovert. I can have my flamboyant moments, but I am, by nature, an introvert. I acquired confidence by giving myself severe talkings-to from time to time. I found that aspect of Coriolanus – the opening scenes where he is confident, strutting, all "I'm f---ing wonderful, and powerful", harder to act than the more vulnerable moments later in the play when it emerges that he is a mummy's boy.'

He thinks that early on in his career he may sometimes have been cast because of his looks – but not any more. 'Now I am getting more interesting roles. Mr Tulkinghorn in the BBC adaptation of Bleak House, for example. Or Ralph Nickleby [in The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby]. He is a complete s---. Evil, but interesting. Whereas there are only so many ways you can play a romantic leading man. You know you are there for a reason.'

He described himself earlier as 'shagging everything in sight'; just how successful was he with women? 'Not that successful. You know how it is when you are a young man: lots of groping most of the time, nothing serious.'

For 23 years he was married to Joanna, a sculptor. They have grown-up children: Oliver, who works in film, and Rebecca, who is in publishing. Then, in 2004, they divorced. Dance's name has been linked to one or two actresses and models since, but he nevertheless worries that he might end up alone. He prefers not to think about it. Indeed, he feels uncomfortable with this conversation, not least because his ex-wife was door-stepped by the press at the time of their divorce. 'I'd rather you avoided the subject,' he says, 'but I can't blame "the business" for the breakdown of my marriage. I don't want to talk about it. If I had a choice in the matter I would say "please don't go into all that", but if you want to insert something about it I can't stop you.'

I note that actors tend to be liberal by inclination, that this is partly to do with the bohemian life they lead: the touring, the intimacy with fellow cast members, the abandonment of self-consciousness. In Dance's case, that includes appearing nude. He has no qualms about it, as he demonstrated recently in the film Starter for Ten. He turned up on set for that scene already naked. When the wardrobe assistant offered to cover him up, he said: 'No need, darling'.

'Well, if you've done it once, after that it doesn't bother you,' he says now. 'To continue the painting analogy, painters have brushes and paints, we have this.' He sweeps his hands the length of his body. 'The audience feels cheated if you don't open up and be honest about yourself. I feel I have cheated myself if I don't go that far. Having stuff in reserve is to cheat.'

Similarly, he is not fussy about what he appears in, so long as the money is good. He has done a number of forgettable Miss Marple-type dramas on television and memorably wore fishnets and a red rubber micro-skirt for the Ali G movie. 'I'll do anything for money,' he says. 'People talk about choices. What choices? The choice is to work or not to work.'

I suppose he has an additional choice in that he can also write, produce and direct. Notably, he wrote, produced and directed Ladies in Lavender, a film about two sisters, played by Dames Maggie Smith and Judi Dench, living on the Cornish coast, who take in a Polish stray just before the Second World War. 'There was a day when I was stupid enough to try to direct Judi. She came up with a line that was a bit sentimental for her and I knelt down and touched her knee and said: "Judi, it is a bit Celia Johnson-ish." And she said: "How dare you? And get your hand off my knee.".'

The film grossed more than $30million. 'But none of it found its way into my pocket. It all went to the f---ing distributors and sales agents. I see the returns. I get "0000" next to my name while they are coining it in. It was a bugger to get the financing together for that film. I had to ask Judi and Maggie to defer fees and they sweetly said "of course, darling", even though they knew deferment usually means deferred indefinitely.'

He slips on a black polo-neck and scoops up a packet of cigarettes from among the greasepaint pots. He is going to pop outside for a quick fag. As we walk through the theatre we talk about Shadowlands and its funereal themes. He says he would have loved to have gone to George Melly's funeral. 'He had a cardboard coffin which people wrote funny things on, like, 'You owe me 20 quid, George".'

As we stand outside the stage door, in the drizzle, I ask if he has thought about what form he would like his own funeral to take. 'God no,' he says, lighting a cigarette. 'Too busy trying to live, for f---'s sake.'

'Shadowlands' is at the Wyndham's Theatre, London W1, until 15 December; www.shadowlandstheplay.com, 0870 950 0925

source: telegraph

#CD #charles dance #interview #the telegraph #a remarkable man

[madaboutasoiaf]

How do you interpret Catelyn's line "Ned always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the blade, though he never took any joy in the duty. But I would, oh, yes."? It's such a contrast to Sansa's view who appears to admire and respect her father for not liking killing. Do you think it's more Catelyn's grief talking, foreshadowing Lady Stoneheart, or her implying she viewed Ned as weak or something?

Hi Anon,

It’s the first reason you mention. It’s Catelyn’s grief, and it is foreshadowing Lady Stoneheart. We have Catelyn’s pov on Ned after he killed the Night’s Watch deserter. It’s in her very first pov chapter in AGOT. We see no judgement of Ned there for his feelings about killing, only acceptance.

This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names.But she knew she would find her husband here tonight. Whenever he took a man’s life, afterward he would seek the quiet of the godswood.

“The man died well, I’ll give him that,” Ned said. He had a swatch of oiled leather in one hand. He ran it lightly up the greatsword as he spoke, polishing the metal to a dark glow. “I was glad for Bran’s sake. You would have been proud of Bran.”“I am always proud of Bran,” Catelyn replied, watching the sword as he stroked it.

We also have Catelyn’s views on war and on killing at the end of AGOT which very decidedly do not take any joy in killing.

“My lords,” she said then, “Lord Eddard was your liege, but I shared his bed and bore his children. Do you think I love him any less than you?” Her voice almost broke with her grief, but Catelyn took a long breath and steadied herself. “Robb, if that sword could bring him back, I should never let you sheathe it until Ned stood at my side once more... but he is gone, and hundred Whispering Woods will not change that. Ned is gone, and Daryn Hornwood, and Lord Karstark’s valiant sons, and many other good men besides, and none of them will return to us. Must we have more deaths still?”

In addition, we have Catelyn’s views on vengeance when she goes to treat with Renly on Robb’s behalf. Again, not taking joy in killing.

“My lady, I swear to you, I will see that the Lannisters answer for your husband’s murder,” the king declared. “When I take King’s Landing, I’ll send you Cersei’s head.”And will that bring my Ned back to me? she thought. “it will be enough to know that justice has been done, my lord.”

It is after Catelyn receives the (false) report of Bran and Rickon’s murders that her views change. It is the grief from the loss of her children that begins to turn her thoughts to vengeance. The quote you refer to is part of Catelyn’s coverasation with Brienne, where she tells Brienne that Bran and Rickon are dead, and thinks about Arya and how she must be dead too. It is a passage that is filled with grief, and desperation about her need for her remaining children to live.

“I want them all dead, Brienne. Theon Greyjoy first, then Jaime Lannister and Cersei and the Imp, every one, every one. But my girls... my girls will...”“The queen... she has a little girl of her own,” Brienne said awkwardly. “And sons too, of an age with yours. When she hears, perhaps she... she may take pity, and...”“Send my daughters back unharmed?” Catelyn smiled sadly. “There is a sweet innocence about you, child. I could wish... but no.”

She is still Catelyn here. She wants them all dead, yes, but she wants her girls to live and knows that vengeance risks their lives. She still wants that vengeance, for Bran and for Rickon, and she believes Robb will deliver it.

Robb will avenge his brothers. Ice can kill as dead as fire. Ice was Ned’s greatsword. Valyrian steel, marked with the ripples of a thousand foldings, so sharp I feared to touch it. Robb’s blade is dull as a cudgel compared to Ice. It will not be easy for him to get Theon’s head off, I fear. The Starks do not use headsmen. Ned always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the blade, though he never took any joy in the duty. But I would, oh, yes.”

This is Catelyn’s grief speaking. It is definite foreshadowing of Stoneheart too, and a hint of what we are to expect when Catelyn feels she has lost everything. She wants them all dead. Her living children restrain her from acting out on that desire, but once Sansa is taken from her (wed to Tyrion), then Robb is killed, there’s nothing remaining to stop her, and bringing her back from the dead leaves her consumed by those last feelings of vengeance, just as Beric is tied to his final mission.

I want them all dead.

But I would, oh yes.

#catelyn stark #my meta #Anonymous

[officerjennie]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara Characters: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara, Senju Butsuma, Senju Hashirama, Senju Itama Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Supernatural Elements, Warring States Period (Naruto), Child Neglect, Child Abandonment, Tobirama doesn't die in this one, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I have other stories I should be working on, Why Did I Write This? Series: Part 3 of Tobirama in Mythology

Click link to read or continue below the line!

Itama crouched low on the soft earth, shifting his weight as the moss pressed down at his feet. The plant he examined was small, much smaller than expected, but had the right shape and color to its leaves. He pulled out a kunai, cutting off a swatch and pushing himself back up. It may or may not be what he’s looking for, but it’s been the closest so far.

Sunlight filtered in through the towering oaks and pines, making it easy enough to find his way. The root networks this far west stayed mostly underground as well, unlike the trees that grew nearest the compound - Hashirama had mentioned once that it was on purpose, meant to make ground travel more difficult. Itama was just glad to not stub his toe so much out here.

Sensei hadn’t moved from his spot, too busy gathering his own herbs to follow his student, filling the leather satchel hanging at his side with various roots and snipped stems.

“What did you find?” He picked up a stem, dull eyes unfocused as he brought it close to his nose, pinching the leaves to release its scent. Yasuo-sensei didn’t glance at him once, only shoved the stem into his satchel before moving on, expecting him to follow.

“Rue, sensei.” Having yet to have a decent growth spurt, Itama had to trot to keep up. Working quick was always safer when outside the compound. Even teaching had to be done with haste when at war. Besides, Itama was used to people brushing him off, not giving him much time to learn or speak. Most days, it didn’t even bother him anymore.

Sensei snapped his fingers at him while they walked, his footfalls quiet next to Itama’s own rustling feet. He fiddled with his own small pouch, handing the swatch over as he ducked away from a reaching bush.

“And what do we use rue for?”

Itama had expected the question, just as he had expected the uninterested tone. One sprawling root caught his sandal, making him trip and catch himself on the rough bark of an oak, scratching his palms. He dashed to catch back up, not so much as a hitch in his sensei’s stride at his delay.

“We make an antidote, for snake bites.” Tobirama wouldn’t have tripped. He also wouldn’t be making so much noise as he walked. Itama scowled at himself, wiping his stinging palms on his hakama. Walking silent - like a real shinobi - shouldn’t be this difficult. Everyone else could do it.

His sensei hummed, sounding more bored than anything else. “You are correct, on both accounts. But tell me, Itama-kun,” he stopped once more, squinting at a winding vine cutting into greyed-out bark. The tree looked smothered, as if the vine was choking all life out of it. “What do we pair rue with to cure the poison?”

The clan had only a handful of texts dealing with medicinal herbs. Most were part of Hashirama’s personal collection, and contained detailed diagrams, sketches, details on how to care for and grow each species, alongside the typical uses of the plants in question. Some were admittedly outdated, but Itama had read them all anyway, going so far as to borrow his mother’s candles to read into the late evening.

He didn’t know the answer. Even after all of that, hours spent scouring the scrolls, begging Hashirama to help him for just a minute or two, taking notes until his fingers cramped from the effort - even after all of that, his mind drew a blank.

“I don’t know, sensei.” The words tasted foul. Fouler still when he thought of his eldest brother, how he had such a knack for all things that grew from the soil. Hashirama would’ve known the answer.

Sensei glanced in his direction for a moment, patting his head. It made him feel small. He hated it. “Oleander. We mix rue with oleander. You’ll know it by its sweet scent.” His sensei continued on, flicking his wrist to get Itama to follow. “Always be sure to pair the two together. On its own, oleander is lethal.”

“Yes, sensei.” They pushed through a patch of saplings, reaching the meet-up location agreed upon before beginning their herb search. Hiro was waiting for them already, inspecting the last trap on her patrol, being sure the wind hadn’t messed with the camouflage.

She was their guard. Itama knew enough to recognize that. His father refused to let him out of the compound without several other shinobi watching over him, as if he knew his son couldn’t protect himself. He also knew his brothers left the compound frequently, on patrols with no guards or bored sensei along with them. No one having to slow their stride so his siblings could keep up.

“We need to head back, sensei.” His glorified babysitter stood back up, dusting the dirt from her hands, flicking a wary gaze westward. The forest’s edge stood a dozen or so meters away, marking the border between Senju territory and no man’s land. A few miles of neutral ground was all that separated them from Uchiha land now; Itama shuddered at the thought, moving closer to his sensei. Somewhere out that direction, the savages that stole little Kawarama from him lived. He didn’t like thinking of them.

Yasuo walked right past the shinobi, inspecting a bit of foliage that Itama couldn’t tell apart from the rest around it. “The herb harvest is almost done, Hiro-san. I don’t need long.” He pulled out a kunai, using it to dig at some roots. Hiro scowled at his back, though Itama wasn’t sure if for his words or the gross misuse of the weapon. Her hand fell to her side as she scanned the area, resting on the handle of her wakizashi - or was that a katana?

Great. Something else he didn’t know. Itama kicked at a patch of wildflowers, wanting nothing more than to act like a child and cry. But he couldn’t be a child anymore; he scrubbed at his eyes, peeking over at his sensei and the shinobi. At least they hadn’t seen him get upset.

“Taicho.” Another shinobi dropped from the trees, startling Itama enough to knock him over. Neither Yasuo or Hiro had so much as blinked at the newcomer, though they both spared a moment to look his way. He flushed, beyond relieved when Hiro looked away to address her subordinate.

“Report, Eiko.”

Eiko took a moment to kneel, straightening up to address her captain. She barely stood up to the shinobi’s shoulder, and couldn’t have been more than a year older than Hashirama. But she held herself like a soldier, and Itama was certain she’d seen battle. Even her armor seemed a bit used, though it wasn’t like the full sets he’d seen his parents wear.

“The northern border is secure. All traps are still set, with no signs of disturbance.”

“And the eastern border?”

The younger shinobi shook her head, high ponytail swaying behind her. “He’s yet to check in. Should I offer assistance, taicho?”

“No need. He’s not been gone long.” Hiro nodded in his direction, a deep frown stretching at the scar running down her cheek. “We’ll see him home first. If he’s not reported back by then, we’ll head-”

Hiro jumped back, blade drawn. Clinking metal echoed off the trees, five kunai deflected before Itama even knew they were under attack. He saw Yasuo move as well, blocking the projectiles and dodging another, a thick gash sliced on his cheek.

Eiko wasn’t so lucky. One shuriken hit her neck, and she fell lifeless.

Seven shinobi fell upon them. Sensei pulled him back, intent on protecting him at all costs, but did not last long. Itama scrambled back, kunai gripped too tight in his hand, blood rushing in his ears.

Sensei was dead. Eiko-san was dead. They died just like Yoai had, right in front of him, falling, bleeding.

His back hit a tree, weapon lost to the brush around him. Bark rough at his fingertips. He had to hide. They would kill him.

One step, and the twang of breaking wire. It cut into his skin, wrapping his arms to his sides. Twigs cut his face as he fell, a rock sharp in his temple, and his vision blurred.

The fighting died down, crashes of metal and tearing flesh still echoing in his ears but not fresh in the air. Footsteps disturbed the grass near him, the shinobi no longer caring if they were heard.

A harsh kick to his side, pain spreading like wildfire from his ribs, and he was on his back. He bit his lip to keep from whimpering, daring to open his eyes and look at the man towering over him.

“Huh, looks like I caught one.” He had no pupils, just dark purple pits for eyes. His hair was blood red, and he grinned down at Itama, crouching next to him.

“Hurry up. We need to go.”

Itama tried to lift his head at the voice, to see how many there were, but he was stopped by metal on his cheek. The blade of a kunai, tip splitting his skin. He couldn’t stop shaking.

“Are you gonna cry, boy? Piss yourself?” The man mocked him, pressing the weapon deeper his skin. Watched the blood well there, trickle warm down his cheek. Laughed when Itama whimpered, eyes lit with a dark interest he didn’t understand.

“Mai.” The name had the man’s head snapping to the side, dark eyes narrowed and a sneer at his lips. “Either finish the boy, or I will.”

Itama could only see the man above him, shadowed by the trees. A breeze ruffled the blood-red hair, for a moment making him seem almost human. But his muscles were tensed, jaw tight, eyes focused and burning with irritation.

He withdrew the kunai in a flash, making sure to cut Itama’s cheek deep as he did, drawing a hiss from him. “Ruining my fun.” His tone was almost playful as he pushed himself up, disappearing from his line of sight.

There was a heavy thud. A body hit the ground, followed by curses and drawn weapons. Itama’s eyes widened, and he squirmed, trying to roll onto his side despite his body’s pained protests.

He hadn’t seen Hiro fall. Hadn’t heard her die. Was she still alive?

Something snarled, the sound feral and wild. Agonized screams followed the sound of flesh being rent from flesh. The smell of blood, the sounds of terrified curses and slick tearing of skin.

Itama stopped moving, and held his breath. The men who attacked him were being slaughtered only a few meters away. He shut his eyes tight, feeling hot tears prickle at the corners.

All he’d wanted to do was make Father proud. To see his brothers happy again. And now he was going to die for sure, eaten alive by whatever monster had just delayed his death.

The stench of copper and blood overwhelmed him, something wet touching the gash on his cheek. A sob tore out of him, uncontrollable and weak. He had tried. Tried so hard to be strong and brave, just like his brothers.

“Itama?” A gentle hand cupped his cheek, and his eyes shot open.

His armor was splattered in blood, exposed cloth soaked through and sticking to his skin. Thick streaks of red across his face, hair beginning to matt, stained pink and scarlet. His eyes were wide, breaths shallow, hands shaking.

“Tobira-” He choked on the name, a storm of relief and fear and confusion overtaking him. The wire fell from him, cut loose, and Tobirama clutched him tight in his arms, his grip near painful in his desperation.

On some level, he knew they had started moving, his brother picking him up and carrying him with ease. By the time Itama had finally calmed himself, they had arrived back at the compound. From what he could see over his brother's shoulder, they were in a bedroom, tucked into the corner furthest from the door. He squirmed a bit, trying to look around to properly see where they were, but Tobirama's grip tightened with each twitch, as if determined to not let him move even an inch away.

That was how Akamu found them, huddled in a corner, covered in blood. Itama heard her gasp, his mother rushing over to see him - he tried to break free of Tobirama's iron grip, knowing it was childish to want his mother so badly, but part of his brain reminded him that he was a child, and he needed his mother, needed to feel her arms around him to feel safe again.

Her attempts to gather him were met with snarls, and Itama stilled, feeling his brother shaking from the noise ripping out of his chest. It sounded feral, sounded like the monster that had slaughtered the enemy shinobi - he refused to connect the two, to let the image of his doting, loving brother be tainted with the blood drying on both their skins, staining their hair and clothes.

It took an hour to calm him, to loosen the hold he had on Itama. By then, Butsuma had come rushing in as well, hearing reports of an attack and falling to his knees in front of them. It was Father that calmed his brother, hushing his fury and fear, gently removing Itama and placing him in his mother's arms, where he buried himself in the crook of her neck.

That night, after the blood was washed from both of them, Itama wanted nothing more than to crawl into his parent's futon. But one look at his brother, at how close he stuck himself to his side, how Tobirama could barely tear his eyes away from him for more than a moment - and he took his nii-san's hand, leading him down the hall and crawling under the covers next to him, drifting off to the steady beat of his heart and brushed fingers through the white half of his hair.

They both woke up only an hour later, to a sobbing Hashirama. But he had always swung between moods easily, and calmed after only a few minutes, laying himself across his two little brothers and keeping them warmer than any blanket ever could (and snoring loudly in their ears the entire night).

#madatobi #fanfiction #senju itama #itama #tobirama #hashirama #butsuma #original senju characters #mywriting #also on ao3 #midfic #took way too long #also i hate writing fight scenes #slow burn fic

[eyez-ff-blog]

○○ eyez | thirty-nine

The date was set—May 25. Five months to properly put everything together, but for this to be the most stressful thing in Beija’s life to date was a blessing to her at this point.

The bombshell of New Year’s Eve was probably one of the most bittersweet things that had happened between she and Jermaine since his divorce—of course blogs got wind of Mariah’s arrest, and of course a frenzy of blogs ‘just discovering’ the now closed investigation became the hot topic. At least the two as a couple weren’t under attack by the public...at least, not completely. Of course there were bitter individuals saying that this was ‘karma’ for how Jermaine had dealt with his divorce with Melissa, among other things. But the fact that Beija knew the truth of everything kept her from really responding to any of it. She had better shit to attend to than to try to convince people who would never like her that she wasn’t a homewrecker. They were about to be married, and she wanted to focus on that.

To add to that, their first anniversary of them being together was coming about, along with Janiya’s first birthday. Beija had no reason to be worried about what some dumb ass blog or internet personality had to say. They’d never say it to her face anyway, and she was sure some had an opportunity to do so.

For this particular day, Beija was back home in Houston—for her, it was a ‘girls’ trip’ with just she and Janiya. She had a seamstress at one of the city’s black-owned boutiques put together a dress for her; it was the first thing she did once Jermaine proposed and now the moment of truth had arrived. The seamstress had sent her three dress ideas, and with her team, had put together all three dresses for Beija to choose from. It would now be Beija’s decision of what she would be walking down the aisle in.

The boutique was fairly large, or at least large enough for a bridal party to fit into—mannequins wore light colored garments, and the royal blue furniture seemed to bring intense color and life into the space. In the fitting area, stood the seamstress herself, along with Beija, Ayana, Sara, Lauren, and Janiya, who was occupied with her small stuffed animal.

“Are you sure this dress fits?” Alisha’s voice could be heard from the dressing room, and the girls laughed softly as Beija gently bounced Niya on her lap.

“Yes, mama—get them over them hips of yours!” Beija joked.

“Girl, don’t get popped. My hips aren’t that big,” Alisha complained.

“Uh...Mama ‘Lisha, you know you’re who Beija got her hips from, right?” Lauren commented, causing Alisha to laugh.

“Right? She trying to act like she’s petite or something,” Beija shook her head before the door to the dressing room opened, and the women gasped. “Mama! You looking good,” She complimented.

Alisha turned around in the dress she’d wear to the wedding—it was an Ivory colored dress that flowed down from the fitting bodice and silk band that wrapped around her waist and cinched it properly. The skirt stopped just short of the knees, and with it came a jacket that held an elbow-length sleeve. Alisha looked in the mirror and posed. “Huh. I still got it,” She snapped.

“You sure do, Mama! You look amazing,” Sara laughed softly.

“Beautiful. Now I can’t wait to see our bridesmaid dresses,” Ayana said before she glanced over at Beija. “But B, you sure you don’t mind us wearing white, too? I thought it was only for the bride,” She tilted her head.

“It usually is. But I figured with the lilac and blue accessories, it will work out fine. Plus, after going through all those swatches, I just thought this color was perfect. The groomsmen’s suits are so nice with that color too,” She said.

“Well, what the bride wants, the bride gets,” Lauren chuckled. “I wanna see my dress now, though. Because if it ain’t cute you and me are gonna have it out,” She playfully nudged Beija as the two laughed.

“There’s in the dressing rooms, go ahead,” She said as the women got up to go to the other dressing rooms that were set out for them.

Alisha walked over and grinned as she smoothed out her dress briefly. “This is pretty flattering on me, Beija. You know your mama well,” She chuckled as she posed again. “What do you think, Niy’? Nana’s looking jazzy, huh?” She leaned down and tapped Janiya’s nose lightly, causing the little girl to smile.

“Mhm. Nana’s gonna blow Pawpaw away for sure,” Beija kissed the top of Janiya’s head, and the baby stared up at her mother before leaning back against Beija’s body. “I can’t wait for you guys to see Logan and Niya’s dresses. I am not a frilly girl but I’m breaking down this once—I couldn’t pass up the dresses I saw,” She explained as Alisha went to change out of the dress.

“I was about to say, don’t dress my grandbaby like a boy at your wedding,” Alisha grimaced, causing a flurry of laughter from the other three women.

“Oh, haha. So funny,” Beija frowned before she began to laugh herself. “I’ll let her be a complete girly girl this one day. Live in that moment, mama—soak it in! You won’t see it again,” She added.

“Sure, Beija. As soon as you see Niya in the dress you’re going to want her in lacy socks all the time and all types of mess. It never fails,” Yana chuckled before she came out of her dressing room first. Lauren and Sara came out soon after, and Alisha returned in her regular clothes before sitting next to Beija.

“Oh wow. You ladies look amazing,” Alisha marveled. “These dresses are beautiful!”

The bridesmaids’ dresses were highly similar to Alisha’s dress; they shared the same Ivory color and the silk band that separated the fitting bodice from the flowing skirt that flowed to the floor as compared to Alisha’s knee length. The slit on the left leg was also a difference, and added the flair and slight sensuality that matched Beija’s style completely.

“Oh yeah, I am definitely getting a man in this dress. Mm!” Lauren posed in the mirror before she looked back at Beija. “Any of Jermaine’s friends need a lady? Put me on sis,” She joked.

“Girl! Get out of my face,” Beija laughed softly. “Although, I know for sure that Damon and Cody are single,” She shrugged. “You do what you want with that information.”

“You know Lauren is not a light skinned chaser,” Yana laughed. “Her best bet would be Bas, wouldn’t it?” She asked.

“Yeah, but she didn’t say he was single,” Lauren huffed softly.

“Well I don’t know for sure. I never know with him,” Beija assured.

“Eh, no matter—when he sees me in this? He’ll wish he was,” Lauren smirked, and Beija laughed before shaking her head. “Let me stop playing. It’s time to see your dress! Let’s get out of these,” She chuckled before she returned to the dressing room.

Once the ladies had changed out of their dresses, Beija gave Janiya to Alisha before she headed inside the dressing room specified for her. She closed the door behind her before she got out of her clothes, leaving her in the strapless bra and underwear she had worn for the occasion. She glanced over the three dresses that the seamstress had made for her, and her eyes locked on one in particular. “Yes...yes, this is the one,” She mumbled to herself.

“Hey, do you need any help getting into the dresses?” She heard the seamstress at the door, and Beija opened the door to allow her inside. Quietly, she pointed at the dress that she had chosen, and the seamstress smiled brightly. “Oh, I knew you’d like this one...”

“What’s taking so long? Come on with it,” Sara called out.

“Right? I’m anxious,” Yana mumbled.

“Just a moment!” Beija laughed softly before she and the seamstress worked to get her into the dress. Once the seamstress zipped up her dress, Beija looked in the mirror before she placed her hands over her chest, the delighted look on her face being undeniable. Eventually, she opened the door and the women nearly screamed in surprise.

Beija’s wedding dress was something straight out of a fairy tale; the fitting sweetheart corset seemed to give her breasts the proper support they needed, and the crystals that were embroidered into the satin material seemed to glisten in the light. The ball gown style skirt that seemed to trail behind her was almost sheer, and though it looked grandiose and heavy, the material used make it lighter so she could maneuver a bit better. Either way, the look that she wanted to achieve was in this dress, she felt it in every bone in her body. “This is the one. I know it is,” Beija finally said.

“It is. It’s perfect—Oh my God, let me take a picture for Nic and Courtney,” Lauren pulled out her phone and snapped a couple photos.

“Beija, you look amazing,” Yana said, seemingly in awe of her friend.

“You really think so? I really want it to be perfect. I just love it, though—it’s exactly how I imagined it,” Beija seemed to be speaking in an almost trance-like tone, the awestricken expression being a testament of how she felt.

“Wow,” Alisha sighed, and Beija looked up to see her mother’s tearful eyes.

“No, no tears! I’ve gotten this far without crying,” Beija laughed before she looked away, wiping her eyes quickly.

“I’m sorry, but I’m just so happy. I never thought I’d see the day my daughter getting married. I should be used to this; I’ve already watched two sons get married. But this is different...you’re my little girl, B,” Alisha said, and Beija nodded in knowledge. Alisha didn’t have to say much more to get the point across.

“What do you think, Niya? Isn’t your mommy so pretty?” Sara looked down at Janiya, who hadn’t taken her eyes off of Beija yet. “I think she loves it. She hasn’t stopped looking at you,” She laughed.

“I’m just hoping that when J sees it...he’ll love it,” Beija said softly.”Guys. Holy crap. This is really happening,” Beija began to laugh as she slowly turned around in her dress. “I’m seriously about to be this man’s wife. Yo, Lauren—predict something else for me, because you’ve been on a roll,” She joked to keep more tears from coming.

“Girl, what else? I mean, there’s always a brother for Niya,” Lauren raised her eyebrows, and Beija sucked her teeth.

“We’ll see! How about you get me a nephew? Let’s talk about that,” She playfully argued before all of the women began to laugh.

“Okay...caterer, baker, photographer, and videographer are hired. Venues are secure, clothes are bought, invite list finished...” Beija mumbled to herself as she paced the master suite. “Pastor notified and confirmed for the ceremony and...what am I missing,” She sighed as she placed her hands on her hips.

“The DJ,” She looked over her shoulder before she saw Jermaine enter the bedroom, stretching his arms over his head slowly. “But I contacted him and got that together,” He said with a small chuckle before he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Now, can you shut your mind down for a moment? I think you forgot what today is,” He said.

“What’s today?” Beija chuckled softly as she felt his lips press against the side of her face. Her eyebrows suddenly rose in realization. “Oh! Happy Anniversary!” She laughed a bit as she wrapped her arms around him slowly.

“Yep. Go ahead and get yourself together—I called Gina up and she’s on the way over; we’re going out tonight,” He said, and she raised an eyebrow slowly.

“Oh?” Beija laughed softly before she leaned up on the tips of her toes. “Sounds good. Let me get myself together then,” She chuckled before pulling away from him. “How should I dress?” She asked.

“Uh...after five casual? It’s still cold too, so keep that in mind,” She heard J explain, and she nodded as she disappeared into the bathroom.

After her shower and usual primping, Beija put on a simple sweater and jeans combo, deciding on some flat boots instead of her usual heels. She did her makeup and glanced over at her jewelry box before she walked over to it and put on a pair of earrings. She felt two arms around her waist, and she smirked a bit before she laid her head back against her lover’s shoulder. “Ready to go?” She asked as she turned around, inspecting Jermaine’s simple outfit of a button up and jeans.

“Yep. Let’s go,” He grabbed her hand before they exited the room, and they made sure that Gina had everything handled with Janiya before they headed towards the garage. “Wait—close your eyes,” He chuckled before he shielded her vision.

“What—man,” Beija laughed before she closed her eyes. She could hear Jermaine shuffling around her. “They’re closed, Lamarr,” She huffed.

“Gotta make sure,” He said before he slowly led her towards the garage. Beija patiently walked alongside him before she felt the chill of being within the garage, and she pressed her nude-painted lips together in anticipation. “Go ‘head.”

When Beija opened her eyes, she couldn’t help but to let out a scream as she noticed the new car sitting alongside Jermaine’s. The luxury sedan was smaller and a lot sleeker, and the dark blue coat of paint gave it some sophistication and style. “Baby, what the fuck?!” She turned around and hugged him tightly.

“I know you get tired of just driving my shit around, so I wanted you to have something for you,” He explained, and she huffed as she smacked his chest.

“You stay trying to outdo me with gifts! I can’t stand you,” She chuckled as she looked back at the car, a smile crossing her face. “Can we drive it?” She asked.

“Sure; I’ll have to give you the directions to where we’re going, though,” He dangled the keys in front of Beija’s face, and she grabbed them quickly before hurrying towards the car. Unlocking the doors, she slipped into the driver’s seat of the vehicle.

Beija took a glance around before she slowly ran her fingers along the black leather interior, noting the light blue stitching within the fabric, and the black wood grain that complimented the look. “This shit is so clean. I’m gonna be the cutest wife on the block with this,” She chuckled as she glanced up to see Jermaine getting into the car. “Do you see this wood grain? This stitching—baby,” She groaned as she started up the engine. “And that purr!”

“You really sounding like a mechanic or something right now,” J laughed as she opened the garage door with the opener that sat on her overhead flap. “But it is pretty nice. And check this,” Beija glanced up as he pulled back a roof shutter to show off the sun roof.

“Nice,” She grinned as she slowly backed out of the garage and headed down the street once she closed the garage door. “So, where we headed to, Romeo?” She teased.

“Head downtown first, and then we can go from there,” J chuckled as he relaxed in the seat, fiddling with the radio. After turning it onto a station they both enjoyed, he reclined in the seat.

The ride downtown wasn’t too long thanks to the light traffic, and the two couldn’t help but to converse or sing and rap along to the music on the radio. As Beija got closer to wherever she was supposed to be going, she noticed Jermaine sit up in his seat. “Here. Park right over here,” He pointed, and she nodded before she pulled up to the curb of what looked to be a restaurant. She shut off the engine before she got out of the car, walking around before seeing a valet parker. She passed him the keys and he wrote them a ticket for their car before he went to park their car. Beija slipped the ticket into her clutch before she followed Jermaine inside the restaurant.

Beija looked around and noticed the warm and cozy atmosphere, and she licked over her lips as she took a sniff at the air, noticing the fragrant scents of food. “Smells nice,” She chuckled as he nodded.

“Heard this was the spot for the best Italian in town,” He said before he fulfilled their reservation. The hostess skipped grabbing menus, and led them through the dining hall before they were ushered into an elevator.

Beija twisted her lips to the side as the translucent doors shut, and she glanced over at Jermaine, who had that smile on his face—he always had that look when he was up to something. She huffed softly before she clasped her hands together, waiting for the elevator to stop. Once it did and the doors opened, she glanced out before she looked around, a small smile spreading across her face.

The rooftop area of the restaurant seemed more like a garden than a roof, with its abundance of flowers and shrubbery. The views of downtown from where they stood were nothing short of amazing, and the arrangement of their dinner table oozed with intimacy and deep thought. White and light pink rose petals seemed to scatter the ground, making a trail to the table, and matching whole roses sat as a centerpiece at the table along with some lit candles and two covered plates. As she walked the trail and stopped at the table, she noticed her favorite bottle of Pinot Noir on ice. “Damn,” She chuckled as she felt Jermaine’s hands slowly slip up her arms, and she closed her eyes as she felt his lips against her cheek. “You make me sick,” She mumbled before cracking a smile.

“Yeah, I know. I’m not done though, so let’s eat,” He mumbled before he moved to pull out her chair.

The appetizing course consisted of classic Caprese Salad, then with an Alfredo first course. Next came a grilled chicken dish with sautéed green beans. Lastly, the dessert of Tiramisu paired with caramel flavored gelato rounded off the meal. The whole meal consisted of nostalgic and reminiscent conversation, leaving them both in stiches as they joked about outrageous moments they endured on tour, or Beija’s many dramatic diva moments during her pregnancy.

After dinner, Beija was led back to the elevator before she ran a hand over her stomach. “This place is amazing. Their food is definitely top notch. I’ve got to learn how to make gelato for home,” She said before a small burp slipped from her lips. “Sorry,” She chuckled.

“Somebody ate well,” J teased before laughing a bit. Beija looked in her clutch to try to find the ticket for the valet, but Jermaine took it from her before she could truly grasp it. “Not yet,” He urged, and she raised an eyebrow as he slipped it into his pocket. She allowed him to lead her off the elevator before they headed through the restaurant, and out into the cold again.

Beija looked around, and she sucked her teeth when she saw the horse-drawn carriage waiting. “No, you didn’t,” She laughed.

“Yes, I did. Come on here,” J smirked before he led her towards the carriage and helped her onto it. He got on after her, and soon enough the rider began to make the carriage pull away. “You down for a walk in the park?” He asked. “It’s a bit of a walk from here, but I figured we could hitch a ride.”

“I’d like that,” Beija chuckled softly before she looked up at him. “Now, I thought you weren’t good with this romance stuff! You’ve been holding out on me?” She elbowed him playfully, causing him to chuckle.

“Nah. I did some research and got my shit together,” He said before he wrapped an arm around her waist. “How am I doing so far?” He asked.

“It’s on the nose! You’d swear we were in some cheesy romantic comedy,” Beija laughed as she laid her head on his chest. “But you know...I don’t mind,” She said softly.

“I know you don’t mind. I don’t think you realize it, but you’re a hopeless romantic,” J commented, and Beija furrowed her eyebrows as she looked up at him. “Don’t give me that look. You are,” He insisted.

“Am I? I never realized,” She shrugged, and he nodded. “I guess deep down I have always wanted to be pampered on Valentine’s Day. I always saw the girls at my high school get chocolates, flowers, and balloons every year for four damn years—I was envious,” She laughed.

“I’d love to say that I would have done the same if we went to school together, but I’d be lying like shit,” Beija rolled her eyes as her laugh came out effortlessly and louder than intended. “I’m serious. I have never been good at this. And plus...if I had met you in high school, I probably wouldn’t have even spoken to you,” He said.

“What? Why? I told you I was a nerd in school. Aside from cheerleading, I was always in a book. And I only had one boyfriend back then, too. It didn’t even last long,” She explained.

“So? I’ve seen your old pictures. You were as beautiful then as you are now. Have you seen me at that age? Beija,” J shook his head as the two began to laugh. “I wouldn’t have had the balls, baby. Not at all.”

“Well I wouldn’t have cared how big your head was,” Beija snickered, laughing again when Jermaine glared at her. “I’m sorry! Your head is big,” She giggled.

“Thanks. I appreciate it so much,” He sarcastically countered.

“But seriously—I wouldn’t have minded getting to know you. If you were as amazing as you are now, I would have definitely liked you,” Beija smiled as she reached up and rubbed his face. “And you were cute back then! You act like you’re gruesome or some shit,” She rolled her eyes as the carriage came to a slow stop. Soon enough, the couple got off of the carriage and Beija grabbed J’s hand as they walked together through the park, keeping to the lit trail. “Wait, how are we gonna get back to my car?” She asked.

“He’s gonna circle around for a bit. He’ll be back when we’re ready to go back,” Jermaine said before he looked up at the sky for a moment. “Ain’t this shit crazy, though? Two years. We’ve really been together for two years,” He mumbled.

“Known each other for three. When you think about it, that is kind of crazy. So much has happened,” Beija thought for a moment before she laid her head against J’s arm. “But you know, I wouldn’t take any of it back,” She said.

“Word? Not even the fucked up parts?” J glanced down at her as he let go of her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. “I mean, most people would use the things they learn and change the past if they could,” He said.

“I wouldn’t change one thing. It made me appreciate what I have,” Beija glanced up at him before she smiled. “I mean, I’ve always been thankful to have you, but a lot of what we went through put shit into perspective,” She said.

“Hm...that’s true,” Beija stopped near a fountain before taking a seat, and she sat her hands in her lap as Jermaine sat next to her.

She glanced up at the sky and she chuckled softly to herself. “You can kinda see the sky from here. Hard to do when we’re surrounded by lights,” She said, only glancing over when she noticed that Jermaine was looking over at her. She bit the inside of her cheek before huffing softly, feeling the slight heat within her face. “What?”

“I can’t look at you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Beija looked away before she pouted slightly. “Three years, and you still look at me like that,” She mumbled. She felt his hand cover hers, and she smiled gently before she sighed, glancing back at him to see him still gazing at her. “Stop!” She laughed.

“I’m sorry,” J laughed a bit before he rubbed the back of his neck. She chuckled before she laid her head down on his shoulder.

#j cole fanfic #j cole fanfiction #j. cole fanfic #j. cole fanfiction #j. cole ff