#it's very atmospheric and I want to keep reading it in a format where I can appreciate the art and vibes better

[wishjacked]

Happy #WebcomicDay!! :D

This year we're celebrating the process of making pages... so below the cut I've got a bunch of pictures sharing how I go about making pages of my evil post-apocalyptic workplace sitcom, Cargo!! :D

So! My process!!

Writing-> I think sometimes there's pressure to "write" your comic a certain way, I see people talking about script format and stuff a lot. That really doesn't work for me, though! I write my "first draft" script in short scenes on scrap paper, in whatever order they come to me. Sometimes a scene will just be one or two lines, and then a little description of what I want to happen in the rest of the scene.

Later I type the scene up, and write the "connective tissue" that fits between the disjointed scenes so they all flow together like they ought. I don't do page breaks or even character tag or action notes hahahaha I like it to be as BASIC as POSSIBLE so it's easy to edit. And since I'm the person drawing it I can almost always remember who's supposed to be saying what lmao

I edit a lot, but the most major editing is also probably the last bit... when I letter my pages usually I realize "they would never say that" and so I end up rephrasing everything. My art brain is sometimes waaaaay better at phrasing hahaha. Like you can see in the finished page for this script I rewrote like basically all of it, and actually went back to the original "sketch" script in a lot of places.

Thumbnailing-> my thumbs are really big, I draw them with markers on printer paper and keep them in a binder!! I like to thumb scenes in batches and I also usually write my dialogue on them, just so I can read through them before (and while) I draw to get a feel for how the pacing works. :)

Sketching-> OH sketching is also really hard for me! I don't have a good visual imagination so it's really important for me to make sure I have good references. Last year I was especially focusing on setting.

My comic is set in Florida. I'm lucky in that I used to live there and still go back to visit sometimes, so sometimes I can gather my own reference images! But more often I start on Google Maps or Zillow, trying to find buildings that have interesting features or the right kind of "look" for what I want. I'll also look up other interesting elements, my comic is set in a post-apocalypse and I'll research home gardening and things like that which people would probably have.

For example, in this set in chapter 7, I used Google Maps images, photo references of indoor hydroponic gardening, and like, 90's-00's hacker computer setups haha. Also my BFF Roomstyler.com, where you can make 3d house interiors haha!!

Lineart-> I LOVE lineart it is my favorite!!!! I sketch and ink two pages at a time, and it usually takes somewhere between 10-12 hours to do both steps.

I actually think my art looks best when it's just lineart... but I think my STORY is better with color, like it makes it clearer and easier to read and it has a better atmosphere HAHA.

Colors-> I think it usually takes me 4-6 hours to do 2 pages (I haven't timed myself as consistently as I time my lineart and sketching). I have a big file with small copies of my previous pages that I color drop from, and my characters are all flats only. The limited palette that I use is also really handy, it streamlines coloring a LOT.

Finishing Touches-> aka I steal mercilessly from my one true love, my internet home, the beautiful and blessed Wikimedia Commons

I put lots of overlay layers on my art! I like textures so having some strange little textures or pictures on things makes my art feel a lot more finished to me.

And finally my very most favorite ✨finishing touch✨ is the bright colored/patterned gutters that I use. Here are some of my favorites that I've made and used in the past!

And that's all!! I hope you guys have a very happy Webcomics Day and find lots and lots of wonderful new things to read!!!

#WebcomicDay #Webcomic Day #my art #webcomics #webcomicsday

[grassbreads]

my friend recommended me a manga, and I was getting a little annoyed because the only scanlation I could find was kinda low quality and hard to read (and really hard to appreciate the good art), but I looked it up and it was only 11 usd to buy physical copies of the official tl of the first two volumes✌️

#abebooks my best friend my savior #what would I do without that website truly #I've found so much good bargain manga on there #thats $11 including all the tax and shipping charges :) #my irl friend's got me reading clover by clamp lol #it's very atmospheric and I want to keep reading it in a format where I can appreciate the art and vibes better #the friend's been really into it lately. and I think I might've convinced him to try reading vanitas #which. longest yeah boi ever.mp4 #despite most of my friends being anime/manga nerds. I haven't successfully gotten anyone to check out the manga yet #so of course if he's gonna go read my biggest obsession then I have to read the thing he rec'd me in turn #from what he was telling me about the plot. there is a very noteworthy overlap lmao #I'm rambling but anyway. the point of the post is that yay cheap manga #thank you cheap manga #invasion of the frogs

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Movie Analysis: The Placement of Alex's Speech

Alright I’m really fucking sick of people complaining about the placement of the speech. (I swear, I write half of these essays out of irritation. But I’m happy while doing it so it all checks out)

Two things.

Regarding Henry’s consent

Use context clues people. Henry says, “Your speech was beautiful. Made me very proud to be your boyfriend.” It’s clear that Henry approves of the speech.

Again, what can be shown explicitly is restricted by the format. The point of Henry’s montages during the speech is to show how trapped and helpless he is in the situation. (for more, I wrote about it here.) The scenes need to keep that atmosphere/feeling of isolation and pain. If let’s say, we have a scene where the prime minister asks Henry about admitting and coming out, it would take away the consistent feeling of Henry’s pain. Cinematically, it won’t work. But that doesn’t mean in universe, it didn’t happen.

Also, Alex fucking loves Henry with every inch of his soul. He’s willing to fight for them, but he’s also willing to be patient for him. After getting his feelings sorted out and knowing with 100% clarity that he’s in love with Henry, he is never, ever going to do something that so obviously would hurt Henry. He would rather get hurt himself than hurt Henry. (Corresponding Book Quote: “Alex wants to go to war for this man, wants to get his hands on everything and everyone that ever hurt him.”) He wouldn’t make the speech without knowing Henry is okay with it. He just wouldn’t, that would straight up be out of character. So the fact that he did, means one way or another, he has Henry’s consent. And Henry later approving the speech in the piano scene, proves that. (It’s completely possible that the script itself meant to explain it this way, but if at any point they might have explicitly discussed coming out, my guess would be the Kensington breakfast scene, Prime, I’m coming for your hard drives—)

Regarding the placement of speech

There are two reasons for this.

One irl reason, is again, the format of the medium, and movie story telling. You want the tension to continuously build, increase and move upwards, then get a big but concrete resolution, and then this part is over. Having the speech as a conclusion after the balcony wave will not feel as well resolved as directly having the speech, then ending this part of the story with the big, big protest and balcony wave.  

But there’s a diegetic/ in universe reason as well.  

A lot of people, especially those who complain that Movie Alex is a himbo (also spite writing an essay on that, WIP, stay tuned), forget that Alex is a budding politician, and in fact, is a damn good one.

He, despite being kind of confused about his sexuality (read this essay for more), figures out Miguel’s flirting is mostly trying to get his statements for his articles, and in a fairly polite and classy way, Alex declines. (The state dinner slip was because he was way too entranced by Henry) He was a speaker at the DNC. His Texas campaign ultimately won Ellen the election.

When is comes to these things, he knows what he’s doing, and he’s good at what he does.

Making the speech before the crown can make a statement, was a strategic move.

Henry told Alex about his grandfather’s stance on this during the Paris date. He also told, well, yelled at Alex about the pressures he has from the crown during the Kensington confrontation. Alex knows the King will disapprove of their relationship and attempt to shove Henry into the closet.

So he has to be the one to control the narrative. He needs people to listen to, and believe in his, or rather, their side of the story.

And here’s a bit about human psychology. When receiving a new piece of information, our first impression and subsequent judgement of said information tends to be persistent. If we are provided with a second piece of contradicting information, we will tend to treat the second piece with much more criticism and suspicion. The mindset would be “prove to me the first one is wrong” instead of “Which one of these is right”.

Therefore, for Alex to get more people on his side, he must speak first.

(I almost imagine this is the reason the White House blocked communication with the palace. That bugged me for a while, until I thought, if the White House doesn’t block communication and receive a demand from the palace, they aren’t really on grounds to refuse it without a diplomatic mess. It’s the equivalent of avoiding talking to someone you don’t want to approach with the excuse “Oh my phone was off sorry”)

Imagine it. If the crown does what the King originally proposed and claims all the emails are fabrications and denies that Henry is gay and in a relationship with Alex, then Alex’s speech will be viewed through tinted glasses of “this is a fabrication, this is a lie” and it will take much more persuading for people to believe in Alex, because their first judgement of the issue, would be the crown’s lie of a narrative.

But by making the speech first, people’s first judgement of the issue, would be Alex’s explanation, of it being an invasion of privacy, and of it being true. Even if the crown denies it, with the first judgement being Alex’s narrative, it would make it much easier to see through the lie, because in people’s head, they already assumed that Alex is telling the truth.

By making the speech first, Alex has won both himself and Henry, the pen to write history.

Making the speech first is in no way Alex disrespecting Henry.

By playing politics and strategy, Alex is protecting Henry in the most familiar way he knows.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry hanover stuart fox #firstprince #nicholas galitzine #taylor zakhar perez #rwrb thoughts #i am so sick of people criticising these things without actually thinking #alex fucking loves henry alright #i usually write from henry's pov because I get him more #first time writing alex pov #fun though #got to pull out my psyc notebook for this lol #rwrb analysis #meraki essay

[sindar-princeling]

(I was wondering for a while if I should edit this post to be neater, or erase the things I've already said, but after all I decided to keep it just as it was, because over the past few months I was adding more and more thoughts to it as I edited, and I wanted to keep them that way, unedited and just the way they came to me. so here are some thoughts I had while editing the newsletter)

editing LOTR to go chronologically felt like constantly finding some hidden gems that can only be found when you read that way, and wondering if they were put there intentionally (and knowing jirt, they most probably were). it was a truly, deeply special experience, and a unique way of experiencing LOTR to me

there are so many fragments where jirt says what happens after everything! the ponies were okay, Pippin cried when he heard horns after the battle of Pelennor fields for years to come, even the prologue reveals some information about who survived the War

the long breaks in Rivendell and Lórien were very interesting in this format. some people were remarking how they liked thinking about the fellowship just chilling during those breaks, and I think it created a nice effect of both the characters and us forgetting how close the danger is for them. it let us take those breaks with them!

the only part of the quest that doesn't have a date assigned to it takes part in Lórien, it's the one where Frodo and Sam sing about Gandalf. and it's SUCH a good detail! Tolkien kept track of every event, of dates and even times of day for the entire duration of the quest, but this fragment is just Somewhere There, because in Lórien time seems to stand still, and you can never know when you are

the only other fragments which are confusing time-wise take place during the dark days with no sun, which is of course a great writing choice, but even they are described in Appendix B - the Lórien fragment has no date, no reference point, nothing

it doesn't hit you that much when you read the book, but the battle of Helm's Deep happened literally just one (1) week after the breaking of the Fellowship. Aragorn was out there having the Worst Week Of His Fucking Life

I loved feeling the impact of certain events more while reading chronologically (the three hunters running for days made more impact on me when I was sending yet another entry and they were still running)

before actually going through TTT and ROTK, I was preparing for very long entries for each day. but after the Tower of Cirith Ungol and the Battle of the Pelennor Fields (March 15th), the next ten days before the Ring is destroyed are so... empty in comparison. and it works amazingly well when you read according to dates. we hear just enough from Aragorn and the Host of the West to let the tension grow and grow. we hear just enough from Frodo and Sam to feel the oppressive atmosphere of these entries. but on the other hand, the entries are short enough to set our imaginations to work and make them fill in the rest. to me it's the perfect balance of the horror you read about and the horror you know is still there even after you close the book. this is what I mean by hidden gems, because it works that well only when you read day-by-day - in the book those fragments are just a few pages long, and you can get through those ten days very fast. but when you read according to dates, the torment is spread over so much time

the previous point is why I loved seeing the pacing in LOTR this way. in LOTR, so much can happen in ten days; and yet so little happened between march 15th and 25th besides fear and suffering

there was one part that gave me a headache because I spent so long trying to figure it out I forgot to eat - March 10th-14th in the Frodo and Sam subplot. it was a huge relief when I opened my atlas of Middle-earth and found its author Karen Wynn Fonstad had the same doubts when she'd been researching for the book that I did (and also that she arrived at the same conclusion).

apart from the March 11th-14th fragments, the most challenging day to edit was March 15th because Everything Happened So Much, and many things - simultaneously. it was a choice between chopping certain fragments into really small bits or sacrificing the impact of certain scenes

the only thing I'm sad about losing in this format is the ending, because Frodo getting ill and leaving Middle-Earth in fall, the same season as when he first set out, brackets the plot of LOTR such a beautiful and heartbreaking way and underlines one last time that "there and back again" is never really just that - you always end up somewhere else than where you started

#lotr newsletter #it's mine my own my precious

[poltergeistsoup]

Hi, clown from the barren void of eternal despair and desolation here :3! Do you have any tips for someone making a comic for the first time? Any advice I would rly appreciate ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ :3333

Ok so this is just my own process and you’ll figure out what works best for you as you keep making them. To specify, I work digitally so the advice I’m giving is more applicable if you’re using a digital program rather than drawing traditionally.

First I write my comics as a script so I know what I’m working with first, then I thumbnail them. Don’t worry about making them neat on the first try, you’re just trying to figure out the flow and format. Some people just write as they go but I couldn’t IMAGINE doing that

Try to stick to the most important actions and make them readable. You don’t need to draw every step of an action— If someone is opening a door, you don’t have to draw the action of them approaching the door, reaching for the handle, opening it, and walking through. UNLESS you’re trying to convey a different pace, like suspense.

Think about how much text you’re using and where it’s going to be placed WHILE you’re drawing. I actually format my text after the sketch but before the lineart so I can still move things around once I know where the text will go

Don’t make things hard for yourself— you’ll be drawing the same things over and over. I prefer to draw a detailed establishing shot of the background and keep it VERY simple afterward, with details that ground the characters in the space. By the same token, keep your character designs simple enough that you won’t forget details or want to walk into the ocean after drawing them for the 10th time. Example from my own work: Establishing shot of the bedroom, simple background elements from then on

Use the medium to your advantage— play with scale and shape and breaking the frame to emphasize action and make your pages more dynamic. However, it’s easy to go overboard so try sticking to points you want to emphasize. The layout of the comic is just as important to telling a story as the text and art. Also take into consideration how it’s supposed to be read, cuz it’s going to flow differently if you’re turning a page vs scrolling on a phone vs whatever the fuck was going on in Homestuck

Another thing with layout, consider where punchlines and reveals and surprises are going to go. Big punchlines land better at the end of the page (see Calvin and Hobbes). A shocking reveal is best executed after you turn the page (see Junji Ito)

A simple but atmospheric color palette can be more effective and easier to read (and color) than insane amounts of detail. A great example is Batman: The Long Halloween. I guess the biggest takeaway is focus on the most important details instead of getting hung up on drawing every little thing. Stylization is just every artists’ own method of being lazy

As you keep doing comics you’ll learn your own shortcuts and where to streamline the process so don’t get discouraged if it’s taking a long time or doesn’t match your vision. I find that comics still take me FOREVER but not nearly as long as they did when I started out

Look at other comics and see what they’re doing and apply it to your work. It’s SO important to learning that you see how other people do it and make it your own. Some that I think are great to look at are Batman: The Long Halloween, Calvin and Hobbes, Junji Ito’s work, Dragonball, and Fun Home by Alison Bechdel

#asks #anonymous #comics #comic advice #art advice #how to #comic tutorial #excuse my shitty pictures #I hope this isn’t too overwhelming and makes sense #good luck on your comic #don’t get discouraged either the only way to get good at comics is to keep doing them

[subzeroiceskater]

Yuletide 2023

Hey, Subzero Ice Skater here, thanks for reading this and considering writing for me. It’s my second time doing Yuletide but first time doing a letter. I am still feeling my way back through fanfiction; right now I feel I could be up to just about anything, if written with love, confidence, and good will. However, it’s probably more difficult to write without some idea of who you’re writing for. It’s easier to edit down a mountain of words than coming in fresh at a white blank page.

I know Yuletide is the small fandom exchange but I’ve never really been part of an overly huge fandom, especially one that had me wanting to read its fic or having a huge amount of fic at all. I felt like I never got to experience through beginners’ fanfic tropes that I read other fans all the time. Mostly the fluffy stuff: the five things plus one, the fake dating, the coffee/bookshop/library AUs, sickfic, whatever a wingfic is–the tried, true and usually shippy–it’d be fun to finally get to read that. I think that’s what I’m mostly looking for–something really fun, probably fluffy. That kind of fic is probably more fitting if keeping to the lower, relaxing end of Yuletide.

But on the flipside, I love the more serious kind of fics: character studies, stories with a touch of wistfulness, maybe horror; where characters learn fundamental truths about life and are forever changed, or something is slowly revealed about the world around them. Atmospheric pieces. I’m a big fan of those English Western literary short stories–stories with a twist, either happy or not.

I think if unsure, it’s probably best to go with a happy or hopeful ending. Or if it’s that puts the character(s) through the wringer, something that ends with powerful catharsis. I think if you hit on a hit on an idea and you’re confident with your skill, I’d say go for it. 

Stuff I like:

Women being cool

World History

 the Arctic 

Acknowledgement/presence of Indigenous people/history/practices especially in spaces usually believed to be the province of Western/white people (eg in the history of the Arctic)

Astronomy

unusual formats (example: epistolary format) 

unusual POVs (stories told from an outsider’s or an NPC’s experience) 

connecting themes like flower or plant or animal symbolism, flower languages or objects that can reveal something their character 

passages of time (a day-in-the-life, four seasons in a year, birth to death, first and last times)

literary AUs (one time I saw somebody request a Gawain and the Green Knight AU for Mega Man and I just fell so in love with doing something like that) (even cooler if it’s something that’s not from the familiar Western literary canons, say Latin American, South East Asian, Arctic literature, as long as you’re up for it.)

Bisexual characters

Gender non-conforming characters

Time travel/Time loops/Temporal Fish Out of Water/ Time Travel shenanigans in general.

If you’re really confident, playing with meta, like a self-aware narrator or the narrative coming alive.

Crossovers with stuff I like! I think I’m supposed to say I’m opting-in. If you’re familiar with more than one of my fandoms, especially the ones requested here, and somehow work out a way where my favorite characters meet/interact/even just help each other from the sidelines, I bet that could be very cool.

For the robot characters, going “let us contemplate our humanity”

Happy/ fun/ awkward sex with lots of laughter.

Parallel plots that combine at the end.

Vignettes.

Culture/personality crashes

Crack treated seriously

Puns

Holiday/Christmas fic (doesn’t have to be, obviously)

My tolerance for violence is fairly high, but I’m going to stick to Violence-For-Rule-Of-Cool-Sexy-or-Funny. If they get permanently injured or just for the duration of the story, I want stuff that makes them look hot or cool, like scars or eye patches or crutches. I’m also more than okay with topics like suicidal thoughts or ideation. I’d actually welcome it especially if it’s in service of catharsis. Whatever their bodies can stay broken but their spirit don’t, at least, not at the very end.

DO NOT WANTS: Scat Watersports Omegaverse Readerfic (First or second person POV is okay if playing around with unusual or unreliable narrators)

Art and treats are welcomed. If you give any art based on any characters requested here, I’m probably going to cry. ;___; If you’re a visual artist, I’d love to see you use new techniques or whatever you’ve always to do as practice. Use me as your guinea pig!

Rockman | Mega Man Classic

Tundra Man, Bounce Man, Block Man, Impact Man

Tundra Man as the fic focus–the story is about him, features him in a major way, or about somebody/something else but from his POV. Bounce Man, Block Man, Impact Man could appear as POV/major/supporting/background/mentioned characters.

I’m completely normal about Tundra Man. He’s my favorite Mega Man character and I fell in love with him at first sight and I’m absolutely pretty much always ravenous for anything more about him. I’m not weird. I think he’s gorgeous and his backstory is cool and moved me. Imagine being built for one thing, completely falling in love with another, and giving absolutely everything about yourself to your chosen art?

Tundra’s past– I’d love to see exploration of his past life: his daily and implied solitary life and work as an arctic robot, how or when exactly he was inspired by figure skating on television, or how he balanced his work and his newfound passion for skating before the events of the game. All the decisions he had to make when he was modifying himself. As a polar exploration robot, where did he go? As land development robot, what did he do? The fact that he could even decide to modify himself, when apparently, all the robots don’t have true free will, is so endlessly fascinating to me–what does that imply about Mega Man’s world and its robots? And it’s never revealed how he looked with tougher-exterior, so what did he look like? Does it matter to him? Does miss being stronger? Was the price worth it?

Tundra’s future– Or maybe skip a bit to his future–Tundra  gets rebuilt after the events of Mega Man 11, and he decides to pursue a career in figure skating. What’s that like? I’ve seen a (way too) few interpretations of how Tundra would tackle that and I’d just love more. What is competitive figure skating like for robots? Would somebody like him be able to just do that? Does he face any obstacles or objections from his creators? Does he face any backlash from what he did to the city and city museum? Did you know in his original Japanese profile, it’s said he was inspired specifically by ice dancing? A sport that is a totally different beast than singles ice skating? What if he originally did want to do ice dancing? What other challenges or opportunities or culture clashes would a solitary ice robot who spent years in the Arctic encounter when thrusted into a highly competitive, highly publicized, seemingly glamorous world of competitive ice skating? How would someone like him, a robot who had to do self-modifications, actually compete against actual sports robots simply built for skating and nothing else? Is he unique or severely underqualified? Are there even such a thing as professional robot ice skaters or was he watching a human ice skating competition? Does he get support from Cossack Labs or Dr. Light or does he get punished for going against his original design. And another thing, what is up with him being built by Cossack Labs but him showing up with Dr. Light’s lab at the beginning of Mega Man 11–what is the story there, is he a reverse Beat–

Tundra and the Arctic – Sorry, I’m but I’m totally normal about Tundra. This one is about a tundra AU–despite being called Tundra Man, neither his stage (which mostly takes place in a museum), nor his current passions (figure skating) nor his original purpose (polar exploration or development) seem to reflect the tundra much. I think it’d be easy to write Tundra as completely abandoning his original purpose for skating but I’d like to headcanon where he still cares a lot for the tundra and the welfare of the Arctic as a whole. There are a lot of assumptions and misconceptions about the Arctic and I’d love to see that as a reflection of the man himself. It’s not always eternal ice–the tundra is a biome that supports life and people all year around, and have for thousands of years. There’s spring, summer, fall, and winter in the Arctic tundra. Maybe something like a fisher king situation where the landscape reflects his state of mind or where he is in life, maybe it’s just symbolic. Maybe it’s literal since he’s a powerful robot made for land development. Maybe it’s magic realism. His purpose being about land development in Arctic brings up interesting implications but it’s really addressed in canon. There was even a joke about how people never getting to see his performance as bad global warming. Climate change is still a thing in their world when Chill Man is described to be made to stop the glaciers from melting. How does Tundra himself deal with climate change in his world when land development in the Arctic usually mean using up its resources and hastening global warming. Does he feel guilty? Does he ignore it? Does he work with anti-global warming robots like Chill Man or does he clash against them? Is pursuing his passions selfish in light of this? 

Tundra people & animals! –I understand if topics like global warming and climate change can get too depressing so if you can just focus on Tundra loving and caring about the tundra. I’d love to see Tundra being cute with tundra animals, whether robots like his stage’s Ice Swans or biological like the huskies, seals and bears mentioned in his profile. Maybe he got so good with modifying robots because he was in charge of repairs for the animal ones. Maybe the living animals ended up watching him because he was in charge of tracking them first. If there are any original human characters featured, I’d love there to be Indigenous Arctic people. I really dislike the story and perception of the Arctic being so overwhelmingly white and mostly about Western colonization, with little thought of the Indigenous people who lived there for thousands of years, seeing them as nothing more than ancient history. Again, I understand that topics could be depressing, and maybe rather be avoided, but there’s no need to get heavy on it, either. I'd just like to see Indigenous people being presented in Mega Man’s world just as much as any other nation. Like, if there’s scientist, citizens, travelers, entrepreneurs, or what have you, and it takes place in the Arctic (or even not), it’d be cool if background characters could be native or at the very least, not overwhelmingly white.

Bounce Man – Bouncy is adorable and cute; thinking about him makes me want to cry. He has my favorite stage music of the game! If I could request longfic of my faves I would. I’m mostly interested in a Tundra-focused fic so for any appearance by Bouncy, I’d like it to be on support for him. It’s easy to dismiss such a happy-go-lucky character described as having childlike innocence as having no depth or unable to feel any “real” emotions but I’d love a serious take on him, while still keeping his upbeat attitude. A sort of “crack taken seriously” but robot bouncing form. I wanna see him seriously played against Tundra, they’ve got some good parallels going on. 

Bounce was also transformed from his original purpose, but unlike Tundra, it wasn’t his choice. Also unlike Tundra, who WANTS people to know who he is and what he does,  Bounce is already established as a household name (with his own brand of exercise–Hopxercise) and beloved by people (well, kids). Bounce Man was transformed from something with underground utility (crash test dummies aren’t known for public appeal) to something that brings a lot of people joy (an adorable, probably profitable, athletic mascot). I’ve always felt there was some horror to make something self-aware crash test dummy that’s made just for the sole purpose of dying over and over again. And then he gets turned into a funny clown fitness instructor. There’s definitely a story there, feel–a horror, maybe the consequences of capitalism and fitness culture or something.

Is Tundra jealous of Bounce’s appeal?  Does he try to leverage his relationship with Bounce Man somehow? How do they react to each other? Does Bounce not notice since he’s too happy-go-lucky? Or he does notice but he just does not care? Bounce is basically a fitness coach so does Bounce use his expertise to help out Tundra achieve his figure skating dreams? How would robot-to-robot exercise work anyway?

Ship/Sexfic: Sex with Mega Man robots! How does it go down?

I don’t have a favorite Tundra ship but I’d love to see a take on a Tundra x Bounce pairing. It doesn’t have to involve sex, since I’m more than happy with them as friends or lovers but non-humanoid robots don’t get as much play with the fandom, especially not with sex, and I’d love for someone else to try it with Bounce. Bounce is a big moving weight ball with long stretchy arms and more than thick enough fingers. Plus, Bounce is basically a clown robot in charge of a gym with lots of access to exercise equipment and utilities. Plenty of opportunity to stretch all kinds of things. Considering Bounce’s personality, I’m looking for something funny than straight up hot, but I’m sure there’s plenty of opportunities for funny and/or heartwarming sex.

Block Man and Impact Man – I nominated them because I’d nominate all the MM11 robot masters if I could. I love them all but Block and Impact are slightly less popular since they’re more of the less humanoid of the robots and they’re my favorites after Tundra and Bounce. I adore that Block’s a huge history nerd with an ambitious heart to build like ancients and that Impact’s basically four people (he’s three robots who consider himself brothers and could change control or split depending on the situation, that’s so cool and how does that work? How does he feel?) I especially love that they’re canonically drinking buddies and I headcanon them as ride and die brothers-in-arms. You don’t have to include them fic but it’d be nice if they could be supporting characters, can make a background appearance, mentioned somewhere, or help influence the plot in some way. Some ideas: they have to help fix or build something for Tundra and/or Bounce. Maybe something goes wrong with Boing-Boing Park. Maybe there’s a secret plan to help build a training ice rink for Tundra. Maybe the two invite Bounce and Tundra on their drinking trips and they talk about love, life and ancient history (both personal and real world). Maybe it’s just as cute as the four robots just hanging out in the Arctic and building snowmen, snow pyramids and enjoying each other’s company.

Other Mega Man 11 Robot Masters are more than welcome to show up. As is pretty much any associated characters like Rock and Roll and Dr. Light and Dr. Wily. If you can throw in the Cossacks somewhere and explore their dynamics somewhere, I would immediately meet my expiration date out of happiness.

Fandom DNW:

Bounce having a childish and naive means he’s treated as a literal child. If Tundra, Impact and Block are considered adults in robot years then should Bounce. Please treat Bounce as an adult that happens to act childish and not a literal kid.

Tundra being dismissive or not caring about the Arctic.

Advance Wars

Jess, Jake, Colin, Worldbuilding

Jess x Jake as a ship, Colin as a major/supporting/background/mentioned character, Worldbuilding that features all three or any of Advance Wars characters.

There’s Advance Wars Re-Boot Camp out there but I’d like to stick with the canon of the original three games (Olaf’s defected from Orange Star, Eagle being surprised at being beaten by a girl, Cosmo/Macro/Omega Land existing as separate continents, their appearances (not a fan of Jess’s redesign specifically) etc). It might be a mess, canon-wise, but it was the mess I fell in love with. 

I’m starving for Jess x Jake. Just give me something anything, I’ll be so grateful aaaah. From the fluffiest fluff to heaviest military fic! I’m also very normal about Jess x Jake. I love them both individually and together; Jess GreenEarth is my everything and I think Jake’s so fun, but for this, I’d  like them to be treated as a set and shipped, shipped, shipped together like an overnight package. For something that has some canonical basis (they have a Tag Power in Advance Wars: Dual Strike), there’s absolutely nothing for them. I’m a multishipper and also like them with other people but, in my heart of hearts, they’re the OTP. I think for most people, they don’t ping off with shippy vibes, especially compared with their possible tags or interactions in the games – Javier is outwardly romantic towards Jess, it’s very hard to not see Sasha’s interactions as romance and Jake is clearly devoted to Rachel. I’ve heard that a relationship is more like mentorship than romantic and I agree–and that’s why I think they’re so good together. The relationship that’s sweet, solid, dependable, sweet, and maybe more than a little silliness.

Colin - Colin’s actually my favorite male character. He’s just this proper little gentleman who shows hints of inexperience.  He’s very booksmart with military tactics but still so very impressionable, especially to those he admires, and I don’t think that would change when he grows up. He’s just so mature in some ways and totally inexperienced in others. I’d like him to make an appearance somehow and help the couple along–maybe he’d like some lessons from Jess, maybe he’s curious why his sister Sasha is so taken with Jake; maybe his Power of Money could help kickstart whatever scenarios happen with Jake and Jess. 

Or you could flip my last request–Colin as the possible focus or POV of the story while JakexJess happens in the background. Maybe Colin doesn’t quite recognize what’s happening, or maybe he does and he somehow helps them get together in his own quiet Colin way. Jess mentoring Colin as well–they’re both from so different social backgrounds but they also both have this studious, honor student approach to the military.  How much are they different, how much are they alike? A Jess and Colin friendship would be precious to me.

I’d love it if all three of them are featured equally somehow (anthology??? Baton pass story telling?) but I don’t mind if the focus is not equal, because I do love all of them so much.

I’ve been into flower languages lately and Jess’s favorite thing is apparently dandelions. What could Jake’s and Colin’s favorite flowers be? What does this say about their characters? Is it meaningful to their life or does it remind them of a certain period of time in their life? A person maybe. Maybe their home countries.

Jake and Jess geeking about tanks and machinery would be so good.

So in the game, they don’t really do well in snow. Maybe they get stuck in a blizzard and get snowed in some place and very sexy, sexy shenanigans happen. I’m all in for Jake x Jess smut. My only preference would be Jess femdom. Maybe Jess could be a mentor for Jake in more ways than one.

Jake and Jess are ride-and-die for each other. By this I mean, literally. Maybe not sexually, but that could be funny, too. In a similar idea, they use their Tag Power together but it somehow translates to them actually playing “heavy metal”. Full on ridiculous, unleashing their full potential means re-enacting the scenes from Mad Max Fury Road, Flame Guitar style.

They keep spending all their time working, fighting and unconsciously finding all the reasons to spend time with each other, completely unaware they’re already in love with each other.

For something a little more serious and realistic, they’re in an established relationship but having some trouble navigating a long distance relationship between Green Earth and Orange Star. They’re also from totally different countries and upbringing (roughly speaking Germany and the USA). They might get a little strained but they’re still determined to work it out and have their happy ending together.

Colin, for some reason, buys out an amusement park and for some reason, Jess and Jake decided they HAVE to test out all the rides–no one asked them to, but they just felt it was their duty, you know. What no, it wasn’t an excuse to act out a date. There’a war going on and they’re two very serious, very adult, military personnel; not two teenagers in love. Now watch them break the speed limit on these bumper cars.

Actually, Colin buys/does something and Jess/Jake deals with it in their own way.

They all end up in Blue Moon’s equivalent of the Arctic Russia somehow, say on a mission, and they experience what the Arctic have to offer (northern lights, harsh winters, polar bears???)

Jake is taken aback by Jess even bringing up hot springs. Maybe he was just way too distracted by the image of her + hot springs. How distracted could he get when those hot springs joke become real.

Missing scenes between or during one of the game's missions. A take on their final convo before the last battle.

I also adore the Allied Nations a lot and I’d really love it if they could show up. Not necessary but it’d be so good to have fic with screen time for Sasha, Grimm, Sensei, Javier and my beautiful sweet girl, Rachel, especially the old timers. They’re not very popular but I love them so much. I also love the Bolt Guard so if you need some villains for your story for any reason, I’d love to see them.

Advance Wars (Worldbuilding)

If you could feature female infantry soldiers or officers as being a normal part of the military that’d make me so happy. I don’t mind appropriate enough sexism since that was a part of the original games (or even some racism as a result of historical fighting between countries) but Wars World is mostly chill so I’d like to keep the representation positive and progressive level. This is a world where female COs are the norm so it’d be nice if the rest of its military mostly reflect this. If you want to tackle a more realistic then, especially in service of a more serious fic take, then okay, but it's more fluffy and lighthearted then let the world reflect this, too.

Maybe you want to take on a particular worldbuilding, well, fine, I wanna read your meta, but there seems to be this desire to make Advance Wars gritty and realistic and “make it make sense!” when I really do prefer the cartoon wars world. Yes, this is a world where children, teens and grandpas fight in the army with superpowers, but don’t try to justify with realism, just go with it! I don’t mind poking fun with the silliness of the world but at the end of the day, I just want any roasting and exploring to be done with genuine love, and not embarrassment.

Fandom DNW: I love memes and stupid jokes but please, no “What’s an airport again” gag or any references to it. Nothing else in Advance Wars fanfic will immediately and negatively take me out than that.

Please don’t overly feminize Jess especially in some attempt to correct her gender expression or shove into traditional strict gender roles. She’s fairly in butch and gender non-comforming in appearance and in character. But please don’t go the other way and make her into an unemotional, unsmiling, uncaring men or people hater. I’m really not fond of the Re-Boot Camp redesign. It’s implied she worked her way up against sexism, I’m okay with some of that being present or getting believably sick of it. She’s been described in her Japanese profile as an otokomasari, but while she doesn’t get along with Eagle and she says she doesn’t quite “get” people like with battles, she shown also very kind and friendly towards Jake, Javier and Drake, and she’s mentioned to be popular with her troops which definitely has men it, too. Please think of her with a strong, knowing, gentle smile.

Another Eden

Riica, Zilva, Toova, Another Eden Worldbuilding

Gen fic focusing Zilva and Riica, not necessarily together; optional Toova appearing as a major/supporting/background/mentioned character, Worldbuilding is optional

She’s a work android who’s a little WHACKy*, he’s a gentleman soldier who loves writing letters to his wife–together they fight crime! Well, not exactly. There are dozens of dozens of characters in Another Eden, and so many times, places, stories that I honestly don’t know where to begin. However, these two are my favorite characters and while they didn’t have direct interactions, I’d love fic or art about them. Maybe they go on a time travel adventure together, solving problems like delivering lost letters, or finding lost cats. Maybe one of them gets in trouble and the other helps them out like Riica breaks down and only Zilva is around to help or Zilva seems really sad one day and Riica misunderstands the situation but ends up cheering him out anyway.  They don’t even have to be together or at all; I’d be happy with a split up story or scenes that may or may not be connected at the end.

*her weapon type is hammer

 I really like them because they’re both odd ducks in their way even in their own team/game–even as a pretty adorable gothic lolita character, Riica’s the only visibly “robot” like playable character–almost all non-human like girls look more like conventional humans. Zilva is the only visibly old man playable in the game. They’re both cool but I like how they stand out from the other playable characters.

Zilva is one of the few characters with the art personality. Along with the letter writing, I think it'd be wonderful to see him make art and use that to help people in some way. Art probably meant visual art but what if he’s particularly well-versed in the art of writing? Calligraphy and the like. If you want to speculate what exactly happened to his wife and how this still exactly drives him, please do.

I just think Riica is adorable and very funny. Her off-kilter personality and robotic manner could make for some fun situations and interactions.

We’ve got a character from the present times, a character from the far future, and bringing up a character from antiquity, here's Toova.

By the time Aldo and the gang meet her, she’s already about three thousand years old; she’s implied she might be able to survive way into Riica’s time, over twenty thousand years, easy. Even though Zilva looks older and Riica’s a machine, she’s probably the most mature and “together” of the three. It might be hard to juggle between three viewpoints, I’m okay with her being a supporting character or even just a cameo. She could be one asking help or the one they turn for advice. She might never show up at all but her presence can be felt in the background or through letters. I want to imagine all of Aldo’s traveling companions end up as friends. Maybe Toova and Zilva could end up talking about Toova’s Orphia and Zilva’s wife.

Worldbuilding: Again, the settings of Another Eden encompassed so many eras, places and even timelines, it’d be hard to pick to focus on. If you’ve got any ideas for something to focus on, I’d love to read it. I’ll be honest, I’ve probably forgotten a huge chunk of background lore since there’s so much of it and I play every so often but if you want to write something particular, go for it.

 I think since AE is so big on time travel, I’d like to see it treated as a theme in general. Like, a story that’s about the past, present and future. Maybe it’s literal as them hopping from era to era in an attempt to right something that was wrong. Maybe it’s as low stakes as finding a lost cat or delivering a forgotten letter. They must be aware of Aldo’s time traveling adventures so it’d be possible if the story could incorporate stuff like time loops or playing with time travel tropes in general. It could be present in the story itself like presenting a non-linear narrative or a story going backwards, or sidewards.

If possible I want the focus split between Riica and Zilva, and a huge side helping of Toova, but I don’t mind the rest of the cast or even original characters making an appearance and helping out with the story.

Fandom-specific DNW: 

I know it’s something that happens in canon but please no jokes about how Toova is self-conscious about how old she is. The whole “haha obviously beautiful women are still so superficial about their ages and looks” joke is so tiresome to me. I don’t imagine Zilva could ever be that rude but I don’t like Riica or any other character commenting and Toova overreacting. Discussions or comments about aging, growing, or mortality are fine. Even other jokes or gags about it are fine, just no “it’s rude to ask a woman her real age” gags. 

No smut or ship requests for this fandom. Background couples/shipping are okay if you wanna bring in other characters and their relationships. Non-canon ships are okay to appear if you have them.

Thanks for getting this far. I’m looking forward to reading the story that only you can tell.

“It's not the job of the artist to give the audience what the audience wants. If the audience knew what they needed, then they wouldn't be the audience. They would be the artists. It is the job of artists to give the audience what they need.”- Alan Moore

[haootia]

pls can u explain about your character that’s like the bikes falling image please i’m so interested

hmmmm okay the best i can do without getting totally neck-deep in my own convoluted lore is

a bicycle accident is a really important point in her backstory and serves as kind of a defining moment that separates a "before" and "after" period of her life. even though the actual incident on the bike is not the important part (the things that actually change "before" into "after" are not direct consequences of the bike accident) she continues to use it as a temporal landmark, ie referring to things as happening "the year before i fell off the bike"

she has total locked-in syndrome and has no direct control over her physical body, she communicates exclusively through a brain-computer interface; she repeatedly asks her parents and caretakers to cut her hair, but her parents refuse because they want her to "look pretty", so she has extremely long black hair (visual resemblance to the bicycle path image) that serves as a symbol for... a lot of things, really, but chiefly it represents the lack of agency over her own life

the plot of the story revolves around her (+ another character) manipulating reality -- again i'm trying not to get into the weeds here both because it would be very difficult to read and because i want to keep some of this private until i actually format this story into a public-facing work -- in a way that involves making note of and influencing a huge number of tiny, almost imperceptible starting conditions in order to make certain end states more likely. essentially, they are figuring out exactly what position every part of the bike needs to be in, how hard you need to push it, the material the floor needs to be made of, every detail of the ambient atmosphere, et cetera in order for it to move, unsteered, along a specific track. this is not exactly "time travel" but it does involve acting across seemingly impossible distances of both time and space (if the phrase "statistical proxy distillation tracing" means anything to you, it's something similar to that)*

so the unsteered bicycle serves pretty neatly as a thematic, visual, and narrative representation of this particular character. her name is tallulah.

also, the original paper isn't sourced on the tumblr post nor the reddit post, which is a shame because it is quite good. it's about experimenting with getting an artificial intelligence to ride a (simulated, virtual) bicycle.

it's pretty short and, in my opinion, worth reading even if you don't really care about physics simulations or ai or whatever. there are some fun footnotes.

*nb: the phrase "statistical proxy distillation tracing" originates from mother horse eyes post #77, where it is used to refer to some very complicated and arcane process beyond the scope of the narrator's (and the reader's) understanding. this is a rhetorical device and statistical proxy distillation tracing is never actually explained, which is fine, because all we need to know for the sake of the story is that it lets someone influence things they otherwise should have no control over, and it is only the consequences of that influence that we care about.

#thank you for asking! #writing all this out made me want to make a whole suite of character-themed sideblogs so i can gather up stuff like this shsfkskfk #i have ... seven main characters? five of them are part of the project that is my main focus right now and the other two #(including tallulah) are part of the like. other-side-of-the-same-coin parallel narrative that is structurally completely different #but the two are fundamentally intertwined due in no small part to my inability to write two stories that are actually about different thing #its The Struggle To Accept Yourself As You Are And Make Yourself What You Want To Be all the way down baby

[flimsy-roost]

Run-on Review Anthology: Algernon Blackwood

Wake up besties, new fave early 20th century horror/weird fiction short story writer just dropped~

~Algernon Blackwood~

Fig. 1) This guy right here

As someone who was introduced to the genre via HP Lovecraft, here are several reasons why the work of our boy Algernon could be considered better than his contemporary and/or worth your time to read:

-Runs the literary gamut between truly horrifying and joyfully awe-inspiring. Scary not your thing? Al's got you covered!

-Writes in many different formats: short stories, longer novels, even plays! Entertainment for every occasion! (In this post I'll be focusing on short stories because that's my favorite format, but I'll be reading some of his novels in the future!)

-No commitment that I've seen to far to an internally consistent world (a la the Lovecraft Cinematic Universe), allowing him to explore many different themes, settings, and source material

-Absolutely gorgeous and immersive descriptions of place and vibe

-Actually usually describes things very well, instead of leaning on the cosmic horror trope of "oH nooOo it'S TOOo indescrIBAble"

-As far as I can tell so far, is not particularly racist or xenophobic for the time, especially when compared to HP "Hyper-pRacist" Lovecraft

(sidebar; I don't think it's correct to write off the works of long-dead authors due to things that are considered problematic today; however, it's hard to get around that some things are just plain uncomfortable to read with modern eyes. I think that providing context and disclaimers is important, but given that these people are too dead to profit from their work, I don't generally feel bad discussing, recommending, or purchasing their writing)

---

Run On Reviews of Algernon Blackwood Short Stories

The Touch of Pan (originally read in The Moons At Your Door, pdf version linked here): Really really love this one, first one I read by him in a multi-author anthology, it's a comfort read that I keep coming back to, definitely on the joyful/awe end of the spectrum, does refer to idiocy/lunacy but in a way that vibes with me personally neurodivergently and spins it as a neutral-positive thing misunderstood by society at large, lovely lovely lovely, 10/10

The Empty House (originally read in The Algernon Blackwood Collection, it's the first story in the linked pdf): Very solid and intimate ghost story, told through the emotional state of the characters as much as the actually environment and goings-on, spooky but not extremely scary, 7/10

The Damned (originally read in the ABC, pdf link): Excellent haunted house/something's real weird around here story, ever so gradually increases the tension and unsettling feel of the place in inventive modes of discovery, the ending peters out a bit for me but all in all a good read, 8.5/10

The Willows (og ABC, linked): Holy shit yeah this is what I'm fucking TALKING ABOUT this is atmospheric horror done so so right, moody and isolating and creepy and scary, this is the one with the gay subtext you may have heard about, there's a good reason this one is included in so many anthologies, if you can only read one read this one, 10/10

The Wendigo (og ABC, linked): Closest to a "classic" wilderness monster story I'm reviewing here, it's the longest read but well worth it, you can see where it's going pretty early on but it somehow still gets creepier and weirder and worse and oh god kill it, you'll either love it or hate it if you've binged creepypastas and greentext horror stories like I have, this one does have some problematic racial language (reference to an "N-word bar" in describing a black bar, referring to the native american character as "red" and in some "noble savage"-esque ways), as well as colonial-ish "ahaha we're men going on an adventure to unspoiled land pip pip cheerio," but if you can stomach that it's a truly unnerving story that will make you never want to camping ever again in your life, 9/10

Ancient Sorceries (originally read in the Ancient Sorceries anthology, pdf linked): I so badly wanted to like this one more, the setting is absolutely magical and the buildup is excellent, but it kind of runs out of steam for me with the reveal (which isn't super fair bc this story predates all the works that make the reveal a tired trope in my mind), still would recommend a gander, 10/10 up until part IV, 6/10 after, overall 8/10

The Listener (og AS, linked here): If there's one to skip in this whole list it'd be this one, another ghost story but not as good as others mentioned here, I think I may be missing historical context that would add weight to the horror (I wont spoil, but if you read it and know more about the subject of the reveal, please enlighten me), still a nice little mystery with some interesting characters and a creepy ghost, 5/10

The Sea Fit (og AS, linked here): Finishing out somewhat strong, extremely compact yet very dense, no wasted words, but paints extremely clear characters, setting, and events, somebody please make this a short film I will throw money at the kickstarter, spooky and unsettling but slightly more on the awe-inspiring end of the spectrum, 9/10

#all of these are public domain frankly I'd love to see films and animations of his work #take my money #algernon blackwood #blackwood #horror stories #short stories #book review #weird fiction #the touch of pan #the willows #run-on review #ror

[malk1ns]

1, 3 and 19? 👀

oooh these are some thinkers!!

1. what's the fic you're most proud of?

i'm going to cheat and do two because i'm proud of them for different reasons.

you'll know. is a fic that is almost 20k that i wrote without a deadline or any sort of external motivating factor. it's also a totally different format than i've ever written in, and with each section i tried to loop back to the previous one and make the connections and thread weaving the whole story together obvious, but not like i was hitting the reader over the head with it. i've got no clue how well i succeeded but i really enjoyed the exercise, and the end result is one i'm very pleased with!

wine, flowers, & blood i am proud of because the topic and theme was WAY outside my comfort zone. i've never really done a ton of supernatural/horror-y stuff; my writing tends to verge more on purple prose and lightly contrived problems that are easily resolved, not, like...murder and human sacrifice, lol. and i'm not going to pretend i delved too deep into it at all in this fic, but i so rarely even approach 'darker' themes and i think i really looked at this and didn't blink, and was able to make the atmosphere spooky and sid just the right amount of not-quite-right to keep the fic tense throughout.

3. what fic are you emotionally attached to?

talkin' bout, by far. it's a trope i'm terribly fond of, written for a friend i'm also terribly fond of. it was fun, it was extremely easy to write, and i think it's pretty good and a light, enjoyable read with a slightly unusual kink for spice!

i'm also a big fan of all my kinkfest fics for similar reasons; they were fun and low-stress and honestly i enjoyed the opportunity/excuse to lean into some self-indulgent smut without aspirations at being anything more than they actually are.

19. If you could write an ideal fic, what would it include?

gosh. this one is maybe the hardest one yet!!

ok, so i'm going to try and not be too specific because there are a lot of big projects i've got that i'd love to tackle when i have time and/or the self-motivation to really do some deep writing exercises sans a deadline, and i don't think any of them are more 'ideal' than the others or more of a priority for me.

so...

i think the ideal fic that i could write is one that is emotionally resonant. i'm not necessarily talking about angst (although there could definitely be some of that!), but you know those fics that you read a paragraph and it feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest because it makes you feel so much? the ones where you're reading along breathless, unable to stop even though it's so so late, because you cannot believe how good it is, how complete and rich and well-crafted? the fics that can truly transport you directly into their world and their setting, because the author poured love and time into making everything true-to-life and fleshed-out and real?

you probably have at least one fic in mind when you're reading that--i had a few in my mind when i was writing it. it's that. i want to write that! it would have characters that you feel like you know because they're real people, and a setting that's vivid and visible in the mind's eye, and emotions that make you ache because they're so, so human. that's what i'd like to write one day. i'm not sure i have the talent or the motivation to ever get there! but man, aren't those fics the best to find?

as it so happens, the author in hockey rpf that consistently writes fics that do this to me is the incomparable @sevenfists, so i'm going to take this time to highlight a few that really just kick me in the gut: all the way through and motherland are probably the two at the top. the perfect occupation is just so heartbreakingly sweet and wonderful and does so much in its relatively shorter word count, and if you read just one sid/geno/anna fic and want to feel like you've been repeatedly kicked in the chest with how happysadachyhopeful it makes you, a marriage is the one for you.

thank you :D <3

fic asks here :)

#my writing #asks #fic asks #ask game

[tadpolesonalgae]

it's ok haha it might be because i'm a really emotional person in general so i cry over pretty much anything (just the other day i went to my mom crying to show a cute cat video and she was like "???" 😭)

oh i also wanted to say i really like your dark fics!! i tried to pick up a few dark romance books before but most of them quickly turned to hate-reading lmao and it's really weird because i usually don't have any problems with consuming dark content?? i think my problem with these books is that authors are tend to (over)romanticize almost everything (and they always have the same boring plot)

your dark fics are a godsend 🙏🏻 the desk pet series and the one with ghost azriel are my favorites

i'm really into visual novel games these days, especially the ones with romance and horror (yes. this girl is a yandere enjoyer 😭 it's been my guilty pleasure since middle school) my silly little insane fictional bfs and your fics are my motivation to write my own fics 🫶🏻

—🫧 (leaving this here so i can come back later with you knowing it's me hehe)

Awww that’s so sweet 😭 I haven’t met many people in my life who are that comfortable with their emotions! (I think I just told you that I’m happy you cry a lot??? I don’t mean it that way, I just mean I’m glad you haven’t been wrapped up in the whole ‘it’s bad to show negative emotion’ ideology 😭🫣)

‘oh i also wanted to say i really like your dark fics!!’

Thank you so much! I’m so flattered!! 😳🧡💛

I get what you mean with the kind of formulaic style, except I’m experiencing it with contemporary romance at the moment? I think I read too much of it all at once so now I’ve switched genres to something I find more interesting and it’s been super enjoyable branching out and reading different material than usual!! I think every now and then I’ll enjoy a contemporary romance book but I just can’t read them as frequently before!

‘i think my problem with these books is that authors are tend to (over)romanticize almost everything’

I can see how in dark romance it would be a fine line to walk because you definitely don’t want to actually romanticise that sort of thing in real life? It’s always important to keep reality and fantasy separate in these situations, the fun comes from it being fictional and contained within your own mind where you’re in control of the situation so I get where the problem is :)

‘your dark fics are a godsend 🙏🏻 the desk pet series and the one with ghost azriel are my favorites’

Ahhhh thank you so much!!! I really enjoyed writing the atmosphere for the ghost Azriel one and I feel it’s a bit spookier than the stuff I usually write so I’m so happy you enjoyed that little change! And the desk pet series is another one that’s very enjoyable! I think I prefer play-mate to desk pet overall, but I’m looking forward to adding another part to it after Two-Faced! 🧡💛

‘i'm really into visual novel games these days, especially the ones with romance and horror’

Wow I’ve never even heard of visual novel games? Video games, and graphic novels, sure, but visual novel games sound interesting?? I’d love to know more about what format they’re presented in! (I’ll probably have a nose at them later this evening)

‘my silly little insane fictional bfs and your fics are my motivation to write my own fics 🫶🏻’

🫣😭🫂🫂🫂 I hope you get to enjoy writing your own fics, it’s such a high compliment to receive thank you so much 😳 I’m just so happy you enjoy my fics enough to want to write your own 😭🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂

‘—🫧 (leaving this here so i can come back later with you knowing it's me hehe)’

I’ll look forward to seeing you in my inbox again sometime, then!! 🧡💛

#🫧 anon <3 #🫧

[bloodmaarked]

the gifts // liz hyder

first published: 2022 read: 15 april 2024 – 22 april 2024 pages: 541 format: e-book

genres: fiction; fantasy (light, magical realism); historical fiction (victorian england), ensemble cast, feminism favourite character(s): there's too many to list! least favourite character(s): edward - such a hateable villain

rating: 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌗 thoughts: oh my goodness, what an unexpected joy to read! the gifts definitely makes my top 5 of books i've read so far this year. i added this to my reading list two years ago and forgot whatever it was that had piqued my interest, so i was a bit blehhhh on reading it at first, but it didn't take long to pull me in and i read the last 60% in one sitting.

the gifts focuses on a fairly large ensemble cast, with perspectives from the four main female protagonists, the antagonist, and a few other perspectives added here and there. it sounds like a lot, and at first, it is - i did find myself making some notes to keep track of who was who - but it began to feel natural quite quickly. despite this, most of the characters feel well fleshed out and i felt very attached to them all by the last page. there were one or two characters i would've liked to see developed a little better - for example, richard's backstory felt a little shoehorned into the chapter where he makes his final appearance, and etta had a fascinating backstory that i would've liked to explore more - but generally, they were well-written and all had their part to play.

i loved the worldbuilding and i really felt transported back to 1840s london. the atmosphere was so rich and i could picture it perfectly. being a londoner, it was a lot of fun having characters walking around and living in areas that i know and love (the line about a character wanting to move somewhere there's more green space, like walthamstow or camden, was especially amusing).

the plot really gripped me. it was about 500+ pages on my ipad but it felt fast-paced and flew by quickly with its short, snappy chapters. i also wasn't expecting to get so emotionally invested, but some moments hurt to read, left me feeling sick, made me smile and laugh, and made me hope for the characters. i don't tend to feel triggered but some points were emotionally quite heavy, so it's something to bear in mind. (trigger warnings inc. animal abuse/death, kidnapping/confinement, domestic abuse, miscarriage, sexual assault in a medical context, racism, etc.)

i was glad that there wasn't total erasure of black people in britain, and there is one black main character; she is free and fairly well-off, but is eventually subjected to a lot at the hands of edward meake, the antagonist. to try and speak on it without spoiling anything, i do think that a lot of what she was went through felt reminiscent of what many black people were subjected to around this time period (i was reminded of saartje baartman, as an example). it was never overtly nodded to, either in the text or in the list of real-life inspirations liz hyder says she used for her characters, but reading it with that context and as a black woman, i felt like it was unintentional. it was actually a little triggering, probably moreso because it felt unintended, and despite loving her character, i can't help but think that a black author might have handled her narrative a little better.

also one small thing i would have liked to see is an explanation as to why the women grow wings. was it meant to be a divine punishment sort of thing? i guess we'll never know!

all in all, however, i really enjoyed myself with this book. it was an unexpected gem and i would definitely recommend it to anyone interested in a feminist historical fantasy - just be mindful of the content warnings first!

#the gifts #liz hyder #2024 reads #4.5 stars #fiction #historical fiction #book review #booklr #bookblr #bookworm

[ravendruidreads]

House of Sky and Breath - Review

Author: Sarah J. Maas Saga: Crescent City (#2) Date Read: January 12, 2024 - January 24, 2024 Format: Digital Pages: 805 Rating: 6,7/10 (3 stars) Spice Level: 3/5

Characters: 7/10 - There was some improvement compared to the previous book. Some of the characters are starting to grow on me, but there are a few I can't stand.

Atmosphere: 8/10 - Really big improvement here. Once the first shock of the modern world passed, it was much easier to get into the atmosphere of the book, although some parts are still confusing.

Writing: 6/10 - This rating would have been so much higher if it hadn't been for the 75 instances of "mate", and the 230+ instances of "male".

Plot: 7/10 - Great start of the book plot-wise, but then it fell apart and became somewhat dull. The narrative was nicely paced but some moments in particularly felt unnecessary and dragged.

Intrigue: 7/10 - I had to take several breaks from reading every time there was a Tharion POV moment because it bored me.

Logic: 6/10 - There was a plot twist moment that got me, but in a "this doesn't make any sense" way. I'll get more into it in the review.

Enjoyment: 6/10 - I enjoyed this book more than the previous, but I still felt like it took a while to seriously get into it.

The review is hidden below due to spoilers.

The book had a great start with the prologue, but unfortunately, the next few chapters did not match. It felt like being doused with a bucket of ice. SJM did a wonderful job at setting up Lidia Cervos/the Hind to be a hated character, and if it weren't for the fact that I accidentally spoiled myself (again-I really need to stop looking up character art), the reveal that she is a double agent would have probably made me scream (with joy). Also from the prologue, I had higher expectations for Sofie and Emile, and boy was I disappointed when they were pretty much non-existent for the rest of the story and even more disappointed when, by the end of the book, they were completely pointless to the plot other than to introduce a new type of Fae and the fact that both Cormac and Lidia were Ophion agents.

The change in POV was, once again, confusing and sometimes unnecessary. Tharion's POVs were boring, and both his and Ithan's plot lines felt like side quests that didn't add anything to the main story.

The plot twist that Bryce knew where Emile was, and that he had no powers made no sense, just like Hunt's plot twist with the synth the previous book. I feel like since we are reading a book where the majority of the story and POV are focused on Bryce and Hunt, there should have been more foreshadowing/hints of their actions. However, there were another well-conceived plot twists in the book, like Celestina x Hypaxia and Lidia and Cormac being Ophion agents.

Danika is a dead tree that keeps on giving. That poor woman is more than dead and keeps coming back with more and more secrets. Please, SJM, I beg you. Let Danika rest. That said, I was also not expecting Baxian to be her mate and a rebel, too.

Now let's talk about what is, in my opinion, the best couple in this entire series, the dose of enemies to lovers that makes my heart sing: Ruhn and Lidia. Now that is a pairing I was not expecting and did not know I needed more than I need air to breathe. I really enjoy the duality of Bryce & Hunt and Ruhn & Lidia. Where the first one lacks, the second one picks up, where Bryce and Hunt sometimes make me roll my eyes, Ruhn and Lidia make me want to keep reading the book.

Props for a great cliffhanger ending. Unfortunately, coming in late to the fandom, and especially so close to the release of the next book, I heard rumors about the end of HOSAB, but I was still very excited about it, especially when shadow daddy Rhys appeared.

#raven's reviews #crescent city #house of sky and breath #sarah j. maas #3 stars #this review contains spoilers

[eurofox]

Project zero/Fatal Frame 4 review

I really want another addition to this series or at least a re-release of the original triology so I can play them again so I paid full wack for this now 15 year old port but I did enjoy it. Although I ‘m going to be controversial here, I preferred 5 overall, this game is by far the least scary in the whole series. I enjoyed it, but probably worth about 30 euro, not 50 😩 Anyway spoilers at the end:

Although it’s on old Wii game, they’ve touched up the models and everything looks well enough. The characters aren’t very expressive, fairly doll like and don’t react much to the freaky shit going on around them. They are also improperly dressed for such a trip, heels and dresses, and I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again, that is very jarring for me. The ghost design is the most uninspired ever in the series, most just look like normal people who float and there’s only one or two really freaky ones. The gothic lolita ghost was more cringe than anything. They did react just before a shot and that was kind of cool, it’s just a shame they were mostly pretty boring looking. Plus there are 3 in particulr who just keep coming back again and again and I got so fucking sick of them. The original game still has the best disturbing ghosts.

  I was disappointed there was no English voice option. I know it was never originally released but it meant I couldn’t understand what the ghosts were saying and that takes away from the fear. I also enjoyed the goofy voice acting in the other games, it gave me an uncanny feeling. The Japanese just didn’t do it for me.

The controls are ok, but stiff. Characters can barely run, just shuffle slightly faster looking like they've shat themselves. Evade feels clunky as hell but usually works. The mechanic where you shine the torch to reveal items is an absolute ball ache though, didn't translate well to PS4 at all and you can miss things. Plus those fucking shitty ghost hands are here too, albeit far rarer.

 I liked the environment this time, the western style hospital made a nice change from the usual Japanese mansions in the other games. I also didn’t get lost as much this time as most rooms felt very unique and memorable so I knew where to go. The other games had a lot of similar tatami rooms and I’d always mix them up and spend ages running around. A lot less open than MOBW which helped set it apart. Although some areas I felt were used too much and other areas weren’t really visited except once.

 The camera gameplay wasn’t as good as 5 I feel. I liked the way in 5 you could target weakpoints, felt there was more strategy to it. There is variety here though so it didn’t get too stale. I quite liked Chosiro’s OP torch, loved blasting those ghosts back to hell with my superbeam. Made a nice change of pace. The fighting was more tricky than 5 as the you’re often in small corriders and the enemies can ‘blossom’ and move faster and hit harder. I died once in the beginning but you can buy healing items and film so it was ok after that. A lot of the ghosts in this game just slowly float around, probably as it was a wii game originally, so it’s easy enough. The final boss is the easiest of them all.

 Some good sound design here. Usual spooky atmosphere tracks and I liked the pipe Organ tsukimori song, that was fairly memorable. There is also one room in particular with a very unsettling track.

 Ok now for the story

I liked the way they changed the usual format of the stories for this game. It isn’t the usual ‘maiden must suffer for the good of all and something fucks up’ schtick, the ritual here was just supposed to help. And something fucks up. Just a local dance, with friendly islanders looking to entertain tourists, with a family of oddballs hosting a ‘real’ version in secret that backfires. And even the real version isn’t supposed to kill anyone. Refreshing tbh. The lore this time was little light though, not as many notes to read and they were usually short. More is better imo. Some of it is cliche at this point, dolls, long hair, medical malpractice, etc.

 None of the characters themselves were all that interesting, other than the haibaira family and some of the ghosts. Choshiro had his notebook so you got to see his perspective a bit more, but the girls were fairly bland. Misaki seemed like she’d have an attitude but that was dropped pretty quickly and we don’t learn much more about her. Ruka’s just the usual project zero spiritually gifted quiet protag, nothing to say really. Sakuya is scary shrine maiden no.5 and is the least frightening. I still enjoyed her story though, more sad than disturbing.

The scares in general were poor honestly. Far too many attempts at jumpscares that fell flat. Loud noises and zooming in on pretty meh ghosts happen too often to count. I started guessing when they'd occur it happened so often. I'm not opposed to jumpscares, if they're done well and they just aren't here There's no random spawning ghosts this time, which I don't mind tbh but you always feel fairly safe backtracking. I found 5 scarier, which I wasn't expecting since a lot of people said this was scarier and it just isn't, and nowhere close to 1 or 2 either. No subtle scares I can recall at all. And the fact that there's no English voices means the ghosts mutterings were lost on me. Least scary game in the franchise by a mile.

 The story in general was a bit vague and confusing at times too, especially with the time loops. I don’t understand the timeline, especially with Ruka’s mother, is she dead when she sends the man? Then how does she know Ruka left? Why did the other 2 girls suddenly get sick and die after years of being fine? If the guardians could prevent disasters why did they phase them out? These games are always kind of vague though so nothing new. Lack of endings here too, just two 'good' ones and the second is just still images, pretty poor.

Overall though the story was enjoyable though, if confusing and I enjoyed my playthrough. It's not the longest game and the most streamlined I'd say. Less repetition than 5 which is a good thing. The areas led into each other in a logical way. The combat is good, if trickier than usual at first and the sound design is great. The atmosphere is good as usual and it looks well despite it's age. I just wish it was scarier. Still well worth checking out if you like spookier horror games.

#fatal frame #fatal frame 4 #fatal frame 5 #project zero #project zero 4 #mask of the lunar eclipse #motle #foxgames

[orlintommas]

Focus on playing and not on results

Work hard, play hard is a statement I’ve heard since I was in primary school. Everyone speaks of having a balanced life, where you play just as much as you work. This is not entirely wrong but I would like to believe that your real work is play. I believe that when you focus on playing and not on results, you can become more creative and in turn produce better results.

“Play is the work of the child and it is also the work of the artist. I was once taking a walk in the Mission in San Francisco and stopped to chat with a street painter. When I thanked him for his time and apologized for interrupting his work, he said, ‘Doesn’t feel like work to me. Feels more like play.’”

— Austin Kleon, Keep Going.

Growing up, I had the privilege of owning an XBOX 360 gaming console. During holidays my friends will flock to our home and we will spend the entire day playing games (usually FIFA or some other player vs player game). The rule was very simple, the winner keeps the controller and I must say I was very good, so I rarely gave away my controller. This winner-stays-on format was fun and it kept everyone on their toes, so every match was tough. But what this also meant is that we were more focused on winning than anything else (waiting for your turn after being beaten was no fun at all). This meant that the focus was on results and not on playing and enjoying the moment.

“The great artists are able to retain this sense of playfulness throughout their careers. Art and the artist both suffer most when the artist gets too heavy, too focused on results.”

— Austin Kleon, Keep Going.

During those times, I saw guys pick teams or characters they would never pick on a favorable day, let’s say an ordinary day, just because they wanted to win. That atmosphere encouraged everyone to focus on winning above everything else (I too am a proud victim). However, we would occasionally get visits from friends or other family members who were much younger than us (kids under 10). They would lose over and over again and often times the margins were astronomical. I remember taking a glance at their faces many times and I can not remember seeing anger or disappointment. They were having fun, and even when they did display anger or disappointment, you could tell it was just a pretense.

The writer Kurt Vonnegut once gave high school students homework to write a poem and then tear it up without letting anyone read it. I have tried to incorporate this principle into my work. Sometimes I draw and write and then immediately discard my work without allowing anyone to see it (I don’t recommend doing it all the time, you will have nothing to show at the end). But the premise is simple, you are resetting yourself and learning that results aren’t all that matters, having fun matters too. I would argue that it matters more. Good work comes from a place of excitement and enjoyment. When you are too focused on metrics, numbers, and results you miss the bigger picture which is “real work is play”.

“You must practice being stupid, dumb, unthinking, empty. Then you will be able to DO…Try to do some BAD work — the worst you can think of and see what happens but mainly relax and let everything go to hell — you are not responsible for the world — you are only responsible for your work — so DO IT.”

— Sol LeWitt to Eva Hesse

Learn to focus on playing and not on results. Write, draw, paint, create and discard. Sing without recording, invent without publishing. Or better yet draw awful pictures, write crummy poems, and sing obnoxious songs. I find that making terrible art is tons of fun. Look for new toys to play with. Set yourself free from the metric-centric world, and be the most awesome version of yourself and play, play, play.

#play hard #focus on playing #become better #become the best version of yourself #real work is play

[gameingnow]

V8 Challenge Review

Being a racer is a sport that dates back to very old times and requires experience to the same extent. This passion, which started with carting at a very young age, is the right step to become a strict racer. The reason is very simple; the same applies to this as we develop ourselves in this game by playing a game. Starting carting at a young age, you experience many experiences in carting until you reach a certain level. Many of our racer brothers, who we watch at rallies on the Izmir Gulf track or on television, are people who have experienced this pleasure at a very young age. In fact, car racing is a topic that many of us follow fondly. There are many different types of car racing. For example, F1, Nascar, Carting. Now the game I will introduce you to is about V8 in these genres. Burst exhaust sound In V8, we all have the kind of engines to keep our mouths open. The cars we normally use in our daily lives come across with a little more makeup. So we're talking modified cars. In these cars, the strength of the car's engine is more important than the appearance. Even if it is a virtual environment in the game, you can feel the power of the engine. If you also want to throw yourself into this atmosphere, my advice would be to play racing games with a vibrating steering wheel. In V8, you race as a team. Just like in F1. In V8 racing, we are very familiar with the teams Holden Racing Team, Ozemail Racing, Castrol Perkins Racing and Big Kev Racer. The races are Bathurst, Sandown, Adelaide, Queensland, Melbourne, where V8 races are held. What are these V8 engines like? As I said before, the game is a V8 team racing game. V8 to give you an example in terms of similarity, I can say that the game has an atmosphere exactly like Nascar. You've been spinning around the runway for hours. Sometimes your car gets out of control, causing you to finish the race with a bad rating. Because the control of your car is not the same as in Nascar cars. Actually, there's not much difference between Nascar racing and V8 racing. In both of them, you walk the same runway for hours like crazy. In the game, you can make any adjustments to your car. In this way, you can create a smooth race according to the track you will race. In the settings you make in the game, you will also have the opportunity to change the weather conditions. You have to be very careful when driving in rainy weather. Because the smallest mistake you make is very likely to damage your car. Although, no matter how much the same situation is involved in the races you do in sunny weather, you are still very careful in rainy weather. How much do you trust yourself? V8 also comes up with two options in Championship mode. One is for you to compete with V8 cars and the other is for you to compete with V8 powered pick ups. In addition, you can also play with Single and Multiplayer modes. I have good news for those who want to design their own race cars. With the Skins program developed by the game's makers, you can design your own car as you wish. You can put ads on your car or even write your own name. After all this, all you have to do is put the file you have prepared under the V8's folder. Let's even briefly describe the operations. First save your prepared skin in 24bit Tga format and then paste it under the C:/ Program Files/Ea Sports/V8 Challenge/Textures folder.This skin program is available from Electronic Arts ' website. Winner Mk Team Who knows, maybe you can join the races as the Mk team and hear the title above as an announcement. Anyway, if we say the last words without breaking away from the topic, the game is a beautiful production that was prepared for V8 fans. I don't recommend it for those who have nothing to do with car racing. But if you like the type of racing in computer games, I recommend the V8 challenge. It's worth taking your place among your racing games in your archive. Read the full article

#pc #race #V8Challenge

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

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

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

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

Day 5–11:13am:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here… isn’t he?

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

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

This… this is a taunt.  

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

“You okay, Nerida?”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Din.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something catches your eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

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

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

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

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

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

—Bong—

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

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

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

One o’clock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes you a second.

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

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

“Ma—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Commotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crib—he forgot the crib—

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

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

***

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

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