#i have learned new things too. like daughters courageous was also called family reunion

[beachboysnatural]

I’ve spent so much time today poring over tiny print in digitized old magazines that my head is starting to hurt really badly but I don’t want to stop because it’s so fun

[deniigi]

A fic from Boba’s POV as a babysitter seeing Din’s family dynamics isn’t self indulgent it’s indulgent to your readers - fuck, that sounds like the best, most hilarious thing ever?!? (With peppered in bits of Boba’s identity crisis/diaspora feels)

I say you release babysitter boba fic ;) It sounds hilarious

Ask and you shall receive, anons. Beware. It’s like 11k of world building lol.

(I will post here and not on Ao3 because I’m not ready for that level of commitment rn lol)

Title: in the plains of Zeffo

Summary:

“I don’t like him,” Karren told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

(Din’s original finder’s old crush on the Armorer is rekindled after he helps her reunite with Din. He tries to win her favor, but keeps getting tripped up by Din who knows she’s not interested. Boba Fett’s POV.)

---------------------------------------------------------------------

There was little more entertaining than watching Djarin snap.

Boba ten years ago would have spat at the very idea that such meagre fare would suit his humor, but he was getting old, man. You had to take what you could get, and Djarin’s bared rage was a sight to behold.

Currently, he was locked in combat with Urro Bojzka. The Urro Bojzka. The one who even Boba had heard of, growing up on Kamino.

Dad had had some pointed feelings about Mr. Bojzka. Mainly, they revolved around how it was unfair that everyone called him an opportunistic traitor when Bojzka continued to exist and thrive in the universe at large, but Dad also had more specific feelings about Bojzka that bordered on jealousy.

Urro Bojzka was said to be the ideal Mandalorian man.

He was big. He was strong. He sounded like he’d smoked six different kinds of spice for forty years, and nothing and no one could take him down.

The cherry on top was that he was notorious for rescuing kids. The man had snatched nearly two hundred up out of smoking ruins and battlefields. A good twenty or thirty had become foundlings and then Mandalorians themselves, and counted among their number now, to Bo-Katan’s absolute glee, was their sweet, precious Din Djarin.

They should have known. Din was the epitome of Mandalorian; it figured that Urro Bojzka himself would have picked him up as a child.

Din however, had little appreciation for this fact beyond that which was only polite. He made it very clear that he’d already thanked Bojzka for taking him out of his childhood hellhole. He’d done that bare minimum and so no one could ask anything more of him.

Bojzka had other plans.

It turned out that Urro Bojzka had a thing for Din’s covert’s Armorer. God, did he have a thing. And not only did he have a thing, but he’d had it for decades.

Apparently, a thousand years ago, when Boba and Din and all the others around them had still been rolling around on dirt floors trying to eat beetles and shit, Bojzka had attempted to court Din’s Armorer. He’d gone as far and wide as a young Mando could. He’d tried flowers, perfume, credits, displays of strength and courage. He’d tried gifts of food and offers of travel. He’d even stooped so low as to read a book.

None of it had gone well for him. And that was probably because Din’s Armorer had recently proven herself to be no less than one of the heiresses of the Katzkai clan.

The Renda Bears. Those people were hard-fucking-core.

When Bo-Katan found out that Din’s ‘Goran’ was, in fact, Nomri Katzkai, the second daughter of Lanlee Katzai and the official apprentice of Fii Katzkai, the imperial Armorer himself, she threw up her hands and declared all endeavors hopeless now.

Din was one of them; he just didn’t know it. And his buir, who had removed herself from her family to be even more hardcore than anyone would have thought possible, didn’t seem overly excited to start explaining shit to him anytime soon.

So here they were. With Din about to kill one of the most famous war heroes in recent Mandalorian history over a crush that wouldn’t quit.

Bojzka smiled at him with dark eyes with scars through both of his eyebrows.

“Just a message,” he lobbied. “One letter.”

Boba would’ve fucked him. Yeah, why not? Just look at him.

“She’s busy,” Din said. “You’ll have to submit it to Eegang Quodo. That’s E-e-g-a—”

“Yeah, see. Here’s the thing, kid. This letter’s gonna be kinda personal, if you catch my drift—”

“Q-u-o—”

“—probably not great for the eyes of anyone who ain’t, you know, in on this whole relationship—”

“—d-o. He’s usually busy, too. So you probably should submit it to Paz, instead. He’ll lose it for you forever. That’s P-a-z—”

Fennec hid a razor-sharp grin behind a clenched fist. She flashed it at Boba.

‘I love him’ she mouthed, pointing at Din’s hiked-up shoulders. Even his cape seemed to have gone stiff in Bojzka’s presence.

“Din, honey. Listen to me,” Bojzka crooned. “I know you’re protective of your mama, but—”

“She’s not my mother. Don’t you fucking dare call her that, you hulking piece of—”

“Ah-ah-ah. You’re not listening. Come on. Chin up. Ears open.”

Bojzka tapped at the bottom of Din’s helmet like a CO with a teenage recruit, and Fennec just about screamed when Din went completely still and silent.

Bo-Katan met Boba’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. She mimed a syringe. Boba shook his head. If this fucker got bit, he deserved whatever infection it brought.

“Atta boy,” Bojzka said to Din’s rigid silence. “Here’s how it is: your mama and me go way, way back. And you know, after your touching reunion the other week, she even went and had a drink with me, and we got to talkin’ and started to reconnect, the old folks do. And I could read her body language, Din-Din. She wants a man. And that man’s me. So instead of actin’ like a child over all this, why don’t we—”

“She wanted Naseem,” Din snapped. “But Naseem died. Twenty years ago, he died. You just wear similar boots.”

Get ‘im, Djarin. Get ‘im.

“I—who?” Bojzka snapped.

“Naseem,” Din repeated like he was an idiot. “Traditional, bantha-sized, green armor. He worked all the time to keep all the kids in the covert fed.”

Bojzka processed this.

“Naseem what?” he asked stiffly.

“He’s dead,” Din said. “And Hajka left. So no. Goran needs neither a man or a woman, and especially not you. What she needs is a break and for Karren to stop fighting people on sight.”

Bojzka backtracked like a champ.

“Karren, that’s her youngest, right?” he asked. “Well, I bet Karren could use some sisters. I bet he’s lonely over there on, uh.”

“Zeffo,” Din gritted out. “And no. He’s not. He has three sisters. One of which is still at the covert, terrorizing him left and right.”

Even Bo-Katan could only empathize so much with Bojzka, war hero or nah.

“Why’re you all up in arms, Din? What’d I do to you?” Bojzka finally asked. “Don’t you want your buir to be happy?”

Din’s shoulders finally came down from his helmet.

“Of course, I do,” he said. “Which is why if you set so much as a toe on Zeffo, I’m taking both of your knees with me to Yavin.”

 --

Any parent would have been proud to have Din as their child. He took family honor to a level that even the Katzkai clan would have had a hard time sniffing at.

He had to have learned this from the wayward heiress. Although, if Boba was honest, he didn’t really think that the wayward heiress was all that wayward.

She’d come to visit Din on Tatooine. She was short and stocky and not terribly interested in the court or anyone outside of Din.

She wasn’t nearly as hostile as Bo-Katan expected either. She didn’t appear to love anything that she was looking at, no, but Din had explained that that was mostly because she wasn’t really a fan of him having become Mand’alor to start with.

When she came to visit, anyways, she was far more interested in getting a good fuss in to give herself peace of mind that Din was okay. That way she could then go back to dealing with the apparently endless series of crises at the new covert.

She was a great parent in that way. She even brought along her youngest, so that he could see his big brother.

That kid was fuckin’ adorable. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Barely, barely, barely in armor. He was strapped into his leathers so tight, he looked like he was stuffed with straw.

He had medium-brown skin with yellow undertones and huge, nearly-black eyes. Coarse black hair poured into his face and curled around his ears—and if he thought he was going to stuff all that in a helmet one day, he had another thing coming.

He bopped after his buir when they entered the palace and stopped occasionally to stare up in awe at the palace’s high ceilings. Upon realizing that he’d lost his escort, he scampered along to catch up and did the whole thing again and again until buir had enough and snatched his hand.

He didn’t like that. He was fourteen-fifteen years old. He was too big for hand-holding, buir.

Never too old to be ignored, though.

“Goraaaaaan.”

“Hush,” the Armorer told him. “Keep up.”

He was handed off to Boba outside Din’s personal quarters, mostly because he was making such a fuss at the Armorer that she began contemplating leaving him at the palace forever. Din intervened and the kid latched onto him instead until Din convinced him that he’d be available talk just as soon as he and their buir were done speaking.

The kid’s name was Karren.

He and Boba were now best friends.

“—so Goran said, ‘I’m not having that idiot in my rooms.’ But then Eegang said, ‘we already have Paz in these rooms,’ and you’re not supposed to laugh, Mr. Fett, but we all did because we’re all stupid. So we had to do like, a thousand chores for eavesdropping.”

“So she’s not into him, then?” Fennec clarified. “He’s really into her, you know.”

“Of course, I know,” Karren lamented. “But Goran’s picky and the last person she was all close with was Hajka and we’re not allowed to talk about her anymore or Din’ll make you do two hundred push-ups while he watches.”

Amazing. Say more about Din’s oldest-child syndrome, little one.

“No, I like Din,” Karren sighed. “Now that Digo’s gone, he’s even nicer.”

Oh?

“What happened to Digo?” Boba asked as Bo-Katan joined them in curiosity.

“Digo’s a jerk is what happened,” Karren huffed. “She wanted Goran to give over the forge and join the elders, but Goran isn’t even that old. So when she said ‘no,’ Digo got mad and said that the only foundling Goran respects is Din. Which is bullshit because everyone knows that Goran has always been the nicest with Digo and Nasif—she made all sorts of excuses for them, Mr. Fett, like when they went out and got caught stealing parts like Jawas, she did four whole hunts to raise their bail. When Din gets in trouble, he takes care of it himself. He doesn’t ask Goran to do that kind of thing. And me and Shimmol just don’t get in that kind of trouble to start with—but no. Digo had to be all ‘if you don’t treat us as equals, then we’re gonna leave and start our own forge.’”

“No kidding,” Fennec said. “So they left?”

“Yeah, both of them ‘cause Nasif does anything Digo tells her to,” Karren said, kicking his feet. “And good riddance.”

Too many sisters, this one had. Boba felt for him.

“So Goran’s still recovering from that betrayal, I take it?” he asked.

Karren frowned and chewed a lip.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “No one tells me anything. I think that Goran’s been more worried about Din than them after all that happened. We thought he got crunched by the jedi—or at least I thought he got crunched. Paz says that Jedis compact Mandalorians into cubes of armor and Din’s got the best armor.”

Do not laugh at the child. Do not laugh at the child.

“I don’t think Jedis crunch Mandalorians,” Bo-Katan said generously, having snuck into the bare antechamber while everyone was distracted with the kid’s story.

“Well, I do,” Karren countered, with zero conception of who he was talking to.

Fennec beamed.

“Do you like this Urro guy?” she asked.

“No,” Karren answered immediately. “He’s sent Eegang four messages and they’re all gross.”

Yep.

It was gonna be a late puberty for this one.

“What makes them gross?” Bo-Katan asked.

“The mush,” Karren said expertly. “Bojzka calls Goran ‘Nomri.’ That’s a bad word at home. No one says that word. Goran is ‘Goran.’ The only people who call her anything else are the elders.”

“And you and your siblings, no?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karran cocked his head at her.

“Yeah, and ‘buir’ I guess, if we aren’t in trouble,” he said.

Bless him.

“Are you in trouble a lot?” Bo-Katan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I got a temper or something.”

“Is Din in trouble?”

“With buir? No, not like me and Shimmol. He’s too old to be in that kind of trouble. His trouble’s like ‘help, I fell a hundred feet off a cliff’ kind of trouble. He gives Goran indigestion, but she can’t make him reflect on falling a million feet out of a ship—Eegang says that’s called ‘rehashing trauma.’”

The covert on Zeffo sounded like it was holding itself together through sheer force of will and that alone.

Where did Boba sign up? It sounded like a fantastic experiment to pass the time.

“Are you a foundling, Karren?” Boba asked.

The kid lit up.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been with Goran for five years now. Six in a few months. My dad’s a piece of shit. He killed my mom, and Goran got him arrested for that and for what he did to my auntie.”

Well, fuck. That explained a lot.

“And you like it there—on Zeffo?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karren shrugged.

“It’s cold and wet,” he said. “I liked Nevarro better. Din was home more on Nevarro.”

Awww.

“Aren’t you proud of Din for becoming Mand’alor?” Bo-Katan asked as gently as she could manage.

Karren’s frown eased up finally.

“No,” he said. “Din should just come home. He doesn’t need to be Mand’alor or married to some jedi. He should just come home. It’s stupid; his foundling should have stayed with us from the start. We always have room for more foundlings. I dunno why he had to leave with his foundling at all.”

Bo-Katan sat back and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If it helps, I think he just wants to come home, too.”

“So let him,” Karren blurted out to her.

Tough tits, kid. That wasn’t how it worked.

“I think we should perhaps focus on one thing at a time,” Bo-Katan said. “What do you think, Fett?”

What did Boba think?

Boba thought that he had a great idea to distract this kid from missing his big brother.

 ---

Karren was perhaps a little too small still to reach the brakes in the crawler, but you know what? So was Fennec sometimes and she did just fine.  

“Gas,” Boba said, pointing. “Neutral. Brake. Park.”

“Gas, neutral, brake, park,” Karren repeated to him with his hands on the wheel and his knobbly wrists peeking out from the gap between his gloves and his leather braces.

Bo-Katan had refused to be present or responsible for this. Fennec had told them to wait while she went and took a shot first. ‘For safety’ she said.

“What’s neutral for?”

“You’re about to tell me,” Boba said, adjusting the rear view mirrors down to kid-height.

The sound of Fennec throwing herself onto the back of the crawler rattled through to their compartment.

“That’s our signal,” Boba said. “You ready to jam?”

“Jam?” Karren asked him.

Hm.

Punch it?

“Punch what?”

The fuck kind of slang did they use at the covert?

“Rock?”

“OH. Yeah, I’m ready.”

There we go. Onward march then.

 ---

An hour later, Din sighed with Karren whining under his arm.

“There is a reason he’s not trained yet, Fett,” Din said as Karren started chomping on the bunched-up flightsuit in his elbow.

The Armorer pressed both palms into the forehead of her helmet.

The crawler had perhaps seen better days. But it had also seen worse days, and Fennec was still going through little loops of cackling at the memory of having to chase after its open tailgate. Boba didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The kid had done amazingly well for his first time at the wheel.

“I’m leaving all of you,” Karren grated out, trying miserably to escape Din’s elbow-prison. “I want to be Mr. Fett’s foundling.”

Bless him.

“You don’t,” Din told him forcefully. “Fett can’t handle a foundling.”

Ay, Boba would drink to that. He was happy to be a foundling-sitter and borrower, though.

“Buir,” Karren pleaded.

“You make me tired, child,” the Armorer told him. “Say goodbye to vod.”

“NO.”

Din sighed. The Armorer sighed. Karren, in a beautiful 180, latched onto Din’s ribs again.

“Come hooooooome,” he pleaded with Din.

“I caaaaaaan’t,” Din drawled back at him in a delightfully uncharacteristic tone.

“These people don’t need you. We need you. Shimmol took your bed and if you don’t take it back, she’s gonna keep it.”

Din’s shoulders dropped.

“I told Shimmol that she could take my bunk, Karren,” he said. “I’m not using it—”

“BUT YOU COULD BE.”

Boba took it back. He could take on a foundling. Fuck it, why not? This one was great.

“Come here,” Din said, dragging the kid up to his toes. He knocked the front of his helmet against Karren’s forehead with enough force that the bump was noticeable. That made the kid shut up and stand up straight on his own volition again.

“Soon,” Din told him forcefully. “Behave for buir.”

“Promise,” Karren demanded.

“Ehn.”

“Din, promise.”

“I dunno, kid. I’ve got a husband and all these damn kids to worry about.”

“Bring them. All of them.”

“No room,” Din said without missing a beat. “You have no idea how much space the husband needs to thrive.”

“Well, if you don’t come, then Urro’s gonna try to move in,” Karren snapped.

Din actually paused at that. The Armorer shook her helmet.

“Territorialism becomes neither of you,” she said. “If Urro wishes to join our covert, then we will treat him as we treat any other who wishes to.”

Din’s helmet seemed to squint at her. Karren glared outright.

“I don’t like him,” he told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

“Carry on with your work and give my best to the jedi and the child,” the Armorer said with an air of dismissal. “Come, Karren. Thank you three for looking after him. Apologies for the vehicle. Come.”

Boba missed that kid already.

 --------

Bojzka, Boba had to say, really had no shame and he could almost appreciate that. Either that, or Din’s buir was a catch that the rest of them were failing to appreciate.

“How bad can it be?” the guy mused at Din’s stiff, furious hands mere days after the Armorer and Karren’s departure. “It’s a helmet, right? You can take it off with the people who matter, no?”

“We do not take it off,” Din said from between clenched teeth.

“Right, I got that. But there are exceptions for kids and spouses,” Bojzka said. “Or did I misread that part?”

Din was going to start shaking at any minute now. Bo-Katan assigned Boba the task of making sure he didn’t commit War-hero-homicide while she went off to find a calming device. It was only polite. It wasn’t Bojzka’s fault after all that he’d come in right after a tense meeting with a dissident group from Mandalore itself that made even Bo-Katan’s jaw jump.

“I think the rule is more important than the exceptions here,” Boba pointed out on Din’s behalf. “Joining the Children of the Watch isn’t something to take lightly.”

Din pointed at him wordlessly. Bojzka lazily followed the finger and then pointedly ignored Boba.

“What I’m hearing is that if we marry first, nothing changes,” he said.

Din’s index finger curled in with the rest of his knuckles until it was a fist.

“She is not looking to marry,” he said.

“What, so you speak for her now?”

“She is not looking to marry.”

“I can repeat things, too. Wanna see? You don’t speak for Nomri, Din.”

Boba was getting the feeling that Ms. Katzkai sort of did let Din speak for her in these types of situations. He was, after all, her oldest. And it sounded like he was the most loyal of her foundlings, too. If she shared anything personal with anyone besides her second in command, then it was going to be Din. That was just how these things worked.

“Did you call Eegang?” Din asked.

“I did,” Bojzka said. “He’s not especially helpful, I have to say. He keeps sending my missives back to me with grammar corrections.”

No. No. Keep it in, Boba. Keep it stoic.

“Eegang is the second CO at the covert,” Din said. “If you won’t take my word for it, then you’ll take his.”

Bojzka arched a fucked-up eyebrow.

“Eegang, the same guy who is allegedly secretly married to his partner? That Eegang?” he asked.

Din balked. Boba felt like electricity had just rocketed through him.

“Eegang is—” Din started.

“Nomri told me about him,” Bojzka said off-handedly. “She seems to think that he’s bitten off more than he can chew with taking on his last kid.”

“Eegang—”

“Something about baby being blind? Funny, did you not think that she trusted me enough to talk about her people?”

Any more of this and steam would start rising from the lip of Din’s helmet.

Thankfully, Bo-Katan returned with the jedi, AKA the calming device. Skywalker even came equipped with Grogu. They both appeared very confused and innocent, what with Skywalker drowning in his formal robes. They looked like they were going to absorb Grogu at any moment.

A+ distraction work, Kryze. Well done making yourself useful.

“Who’s Eegang?” Skywalker asked.

The line pulled taut across Din’s shoulders began to loosen.

“A comrade,” he said sharply in Bojzka’s direction.

“Is he nice?” Skywalker asked. Grogu chirped at him and resumed trying to dig into his multitude of collars.

“Very nice,” Din confirmed, staring deep into Bojzka’s eyes.

“He’s got foundlings, too?” Skywalker asked.

“Two,” Din confirmed. “Who he adores. Regardless of all challenges.”

Ah. It wasn’t just Eegang Din was protective of. It was the baby. Bojzka had really stuck his foot into that one.

“I’m sure the foundlings are fine,” Bojzka said. “It was just Nomri’s concern that—”

“Stop calling her that in my presence,” Din said. “In fact, let’s drop the whole thing now.”

 --------

Boba wanted to meet secretly-married Eegang. He sounded like he had a rich interior life. Din gave him a strong look and said that if the Armorer had left the covert, Eegang would not. One of them had to be there at all times.

Bo-Katan asked what Eegang’s speciality was.

Surprise, surprise: it was diplomacy.

Kryze was now invested. She followed Din around on his heels and suggested that if the Armorer gave words to Eegang to deliver during a formal meeting with the Mand’alor, then Bojzka might finally get the picture that Katzkai wasn’t interested in him.

Din thought about that.

He asked if this was not just a ploy for Boba and Bo-Katan to rally his covert comrades against him.

And it honestly wasn’t until he phrased it like that.

 -----------

Eegang was tall, sea-green, and in Bojzka’s face without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Three tests,” he threatened Bojzka with a baby on his hip. “One: stop sending transmissions. Two: get Elder Fayrz to approve your presence. Three: make even one of Goran’s foundlings like you. If you pass all three, your admission will be taken into consideration.”

The baby was very pink with curly hair so pale it was almost white. Its blue-gray eyes moved rapidly back and forth as it cuddled into its buir’s teal armor. Bojzka glanced from it to Eegang’s chipped helmet.

“Where did you find him?” he asked.

“Please give confirmation of your understanding,” Eegang said mechanically.

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Please give confirmation of your understanding.”

“Are you a droid or somethin’?”

“Please give—”

“Alright, alright. Fuck. This is confirmation of my understanding.”

“Excellent. This conversation is over,” Eegang said. “It is your responsibility to contact the elder and earn the approval.”

Bojzka jerked.

“Wait, what?” he said. “How am I supposed to do that if y’all won’t even let me through the door?”

Eegang’s helmet tipped so daintily to the side that Boba could have shed a tear.

“That sounds like a you-problem,” Eegang said.

 -----------

Eegang thereafter blocked Bojzka out of his mind and heart. He introduced himself with a dipping motion to Kryze and Boba that probably would have been more dramatic if he’d opted to wear a cape, which he did not. He revealed himself to be exceedingly polite and very fond of Din, though—if the gentle armor tapping and the use of the word ‘little brother’ was anything to go by. Din was usually receptive to gestures like that, Boba had learned, but not this time.

No, no. Din cared not for his ‘big brother.’ He cared only for the attention of Eegang’s baby.

“His name is Mesa,” Eegang explained after Din had kidnapped said baby. He introduced Mesa to Grogu who was stationed nearby, stuffed in the sleepy jedi’s shirt this time. . Grogu waved from Skywalker’s chest, but Mesa didn’t register the motion.

“His grandmother was quite ill, and it was her dying wish to see the child placed into the care of someone trustworthy. I have to admit, though, I may have made the decision a little rashly,” Eegang hummed as he watched Grogu lean as far as he could out of Skywalker’s clothing to try to make contact with his fellow foundling.

“Is he your first?” Bo-Katan asked.

Eegang winced.

“No, uh. I’ve got another,” he said. “She’s a huge fan of certain someones.”

“Me,” Din said without hesitation.

“And Paz,” Eegang said. “Which is a deadly combination.”

“She will be a mighty warrior,” Din informed Mesa and Skywalker. Skywalker twitched awake and didn’t understand anything that was happening. He noticed the baby, cooed, and waved with his gloved hand.

“She’s declared this one goat her nemesis and I cannot—I cannot—get her to just leave it alone,” Eegang said.

“A goat clan in the making,” Din said with approval.

“I’m hearing unnecessary commentary,” Eegang said without looking at him. “Please rephrase or shut up.”

Din seemed to gloat at the scolding. Skywalker glanced between him and his tall, teal comrade. He made his move and carefully came in to extract baby Mesa from Din’s arms to add him to his ever-growing collection. Grogu cooed again, closer now. He offered Mesa a hand, and this time, Mesa perked up and tried to grab at it clumsily.

“You manage the covert in the Armorer’s absence?” Bo-Katan asked Eegang. “You must be very dedicated to the Children of the Watch.”

“Define ‘manage’ and then ‘dedicated,’” Eegang said. “I prefer ‘accidentally charged with responsibility one too many times’ and ‘in too deep to turn back now.’”

“He’s being humble,” Din said. “Eegang has brokered peace between our covert and locals on numerous occasions.”

Eegang’s shoulders started to raise.

“Stop telling people that, they’re going to expect things from me,” he said, then popped back up like flipped switch. “Oh, I totally forgot why I even came. Jedi?”

Skywalker looked up from the conference of baby talk happening in his arms all wide-eyed, as though he’d been caught in the act of stealing imperial property.

“We did not welcome you into our covert,” Eegang said, “You must allow us to present you with a gift of welcome and entry.”

Oho. Very formal. Boba folded his arms and watched Skywalker for his reaction.

“A what?” Skywalker asked.

 -------

Bojzka was somewhat justifiably upset at the double standard going on here.

Skywalker was a jedi and yet welcomed into the covert with open arms and no admission requirements. He was, in fact, measured against his will for a set of armor. This was what Din’s buir had actually been after when she’d sent Eegang along to say hi.

Boba found that he enjoyed the reciprocation of ulterior motives that they were getting from Din’s covert. Kryze had never been happier. This was a game that she knew how to play.

“Wait no, hold up,” Bojzka interrupted. “I deserve a chance. Din, at least give me the name of one of your siblings so I can track them down with the elder.”

Din didn’t want to; there were foundlings happening and another meeting soon, but eventually even he had to give the guy something.

An honorable battle required at least two willing bodies.

 -----------

Din and Karren’s remaining sibling at the covert’s name was Shimmol. According to Din, Bojzka had next to no chance of gaining her favor because she did not leave the forge and therefore Bojzka had no access to her. Eegang corrected Din and said that Shimmol did, in fact, leave the forge, but never on her own volition.

She was preferred the dark. She hated social interaction.

To circumvent that, the Armorer had refused to induct her into the trade until she proved herself able to coexist with others. But Shimmol was eighteen, that fun age where no incentive or punishment was effective and digging your heels in was far more preferable to doing a damn thing your elders mentioned.

She’s announced that very weekend that she was officially becoming a recluse. Her present aspiration in life was apparently now to become a forge spider.

Bojzka, along with everyone else, had no idea how to receive this information. Kyrze took it upon herself to pat Bojzka on the shoulder and tell him to start with the elder. He might actually have some luck that way.

 -------

It took two weeks for Bojzka to re-emerge from whatever hellhole he’d had to walk a tightrope across to locate the covert’s elder Fayrz. He climbed in through Din’s personal quarters’ window and interrupted him and the Jedi in a moment of infrequent intimacy.

The sound of a body being throw over a bannister had a special kind of thud to it. Boba was up on out of his quarters in an instant.

Din flung Bojzka’s helmet after him. Skywalker had the grace to cover Djarin’s face with his shirt and walk him back into the room before anyone caught sight of it, telling Boba and Fennec, who had also emerged from her bed, prepared for drama, that all was fine. There was just a misunderstanding.

His bare torso was covered in scars. Boba found himself somehow surprised and impressed as the jedi unsuccessfully wrangled his furious husband back in the direction of bed.

He and Fennec peeked over the banister to see what had become of Bojzka. He was fine.

Fennec informed Boba that she was claiming part of his bed ‘in case anything else good happened’ since he was closer.

 -----

In the morning, Din was in marginally better spirits. Skywalker was to be found at his side, walking backwards and tripping over his cloak every four paces. He truly knew how to hit all Din’s ‘endeared’ buttons. If not to the earnestness and the near-miss of a disaster on the stairs, it would have looked like manipulation.

Bojzka attempted to rectify the peace by breaking into the court through one of the windows high up on the wall outside the second floor’s conference room.  This time, to ensure that he had Din’s full attention, he removed the jedi from the equation. Or he tried to anyways.

The jedi, in a split second, decided that, all joking aside, today, he would not be moved. His green saber managed to glow even in the sunlight pouring in to the hall.

“Do not touch,” he ordered, with both feet planted and Din and Grogu securely at his back.

Bojzka cocked his head at the saber pointed right at his nose.

“That’s a fun trick,” he said.

“Do not touch,” Skywalker repeated. “Me, him, or the child.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bojzka said. “Stand down before you regret it.”

“Luke,” Din said testily. “He’s not worth it.”

“Make me regret it,” Skywalker said to Bojzka.

Bojzka’s eyes widened slightly in interest. He used the back of his wrist to try to nudge the saber’s tip away and snapped his hand away from the burn.

“Do you expect me to be afraid of you, jedi?” he asked, trying to play it off.

Skywalker’s eyes reflected the light of his saber.

“Ask him what the glove’s for,” Fennec called from the far hall. Bojzka scoffed. Skywalker didn’t move.

“What happened to your hand?” Bojzka asked.

“My father cut it off,” Skywalker said. “But not to worry, I got a new one. Now step back. Sir.”

Bojzka didn’t move for a long time.

“Does it feel good to walk in the presence of these people?” he asked. “Is it a kink for you the way it was for your master?”

Boba had officially lost the plot. These were old politics now. Kryze would know what Bojzka was talking about, if only she deigned to come out from wherever she was hiding, which she wouldn’t. Of course.

“Does it offend you? My presence here?” Skywalker asked back without emotion.

“It doesn’t,” Bojzka said.

“I’m glad. That’s very convenient for me. I’d feel terrible if you bled out on these tiles,” Skywalker said. “So move.”

And goddamn. The mountain finally yielded to the sky.

 -------

Skywalker spent the rest of the day on high alert, with one hand on the hilt of his saber and his full concentration tied up with making fierce eyes into the palace’s corners to keep Bojzka at bay. It was really something to see. Din looked about ready to lay his fingers on his heart and swoon, and that was more than fair. If Boba’s spouse threatened to kill a man for looking at him wrong, he’d be touched too.

Fennec told Boba that she’d protect him from a man the size of a bantha but no larger, and it just didn’t have the same kind of ring.

She apologized and he told her it was fine. It was just in the delivery--and also, he’d murder anyone so blinked at her wrong, too.

She was pleased. Boba was glad they were on the same page.

“Let’s go find Kryze to negotiate,” Fennec said, “I need to know why Old Faithful’s back.”

 --------

Kryze’s commanding voice wrang out of Bojzka the real reason for his presence. The truth of the matter was that, War Hero aside, he was having a hell of a time getting the covert elder to grant him a second look.

Din told him that that was the point. Elder Fayrz was like that all day, every day and he’d change for no body, spiritual or physical. He bothered people when he wanted to bother them, and the rest of the time, he liked to pretend he was senile. He only really ever showed up if someone was buying a round or their life was in the balance.

Skywalker said that he sounded a lot like his late master.

Din agreed and said that Elder Fayrz had dedicated his life to two things: the covert children and fungi. Somehow, he made those two interests overlap. Din recalled being twelve and being taken out on a ‘mission’ by the old man who had informed him that he required his nose.

Elder Fayrz had no sense of smell. For a man with a fungi interest, he called this ‘very dangerous business indeed.’

Kryze demanded to know if all the weirdest Mandalorian elders still living had congregated at Din’s cohort which he quickly confirmed. Bojzka, however, demanded to know what would make this elder look him in the eye.

Din told him to go find a deathbed and lay on it.

He remembered belatedly to add ‘nearby Elder Fayrz’ to that statement.

 ----------

After about a month of this kind of back and forth, the Armorer decided that she’d had enough. She did not come to the Dune Sea. She sent a missive to Din informing him that he was coming home.

‘To talk,’ she said.

Boba vaguely remembered Karren saying something along the lines of ‘Din doesn’t get into trouble anymore,’ and was pleased to find that that was not the case. Din already knew what awaited him at his home covert and anyone with slightly more than a rock for a brain could see that it wasn’t going to be hugs and kisses.

Bojzka volunteered to accompany Din as a guard when the jedi made himself conveniently unavailable. Kryze and Boba flipped a coin while Din resisted stabbing him, and of course Boba won. Kryze flipped it again to be sure, and Boba told her sweetly that he’d send her a postcard.

“Have fun with the schmucks lounging around this place,” he gloated at Bo-Katan’s rolling shoulders.

She gave him two naughty fingers.

Whatever, girl. Sucks to suck. Bye, bye, now. Come on, Fennec. There’s adventure to be had.

 ---------

It was a ways to the new covert on Zeffo. Several hours, in fact, many of which were spent playing ‘I spy’ with Fennec while Bojzka gritted his teeth and asked them if they were always like this.

Fennec got Din to join in at that comment.

Eventually they ran out of white dwarfs and capes to identify and settled down into silence until the ship declared landing to be imminent.

Karren remembered Boba and the second he set foot inside the curiously constructed covert entrance. The kid came hurtling up to tackle him and wrap arms around his middle. It was endearing. Boba checked the doors to see if a guard would notice a kidnapping.

Fennec reminded him of child-based expenses. Her wisdom was invaluable as usual.

Karren scrambled away from Boba and, for a moment, made like he was going to attach himself to Din’s armor, but instead wriggled past Din to go tearing down the hallway. He skidded, crashed, and then clambered into a different room at the dead end of what appeared to be a row of barracks. Seconds later, Eegang exploded from one of the rooms adjacent wearing no armor but his helmet. He flung himself through the same doorway Karren had vanished through.

Din tilted his head.

“It’s fine,” a voice said behind them.

Their small party turned to see a woman wearing a cool purple helmet with only her flakvest on. Eegang’s pale baby was sat on her hip, pawing at her chest, trying to find purchase in the vest.

“Sotra,” Din greeted.

“Welcome back, brat-child,” Sotra said. “We missed you.”

This had to be Eegang’s secret-wife; unless she’d stolen that gurgling foundling in the night or something.

“Electrical?” Din asked, pointing at the far room.

“Loft,” Sotra said. “There’s hay, so of course all the kids have to be in it.”

“Just hay?” Din asked.

“And goats,” Sotra said.

Ah.

“We raise goats now?” Din asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Sotra said, sashaying past him towards the room her husband had abandoned, “It’s either coexistence or war, I’m afraid. The forge is past the hangar, keep going through the kitchens. Voxie knows you’re here—he’s awake, by the way. Welcome home, Din.”

“Thanks,” Din said. “This is my advisor, Boba Fett and our friend Fennec.”

Sotra splayed her whole, tall body into the doorway of her and Eegang’s barracks just as a fearsome battle cry sounded out on the other side.

“Hi,” she said.

“RELEASE ME,” a child in front of her about hip-height with serious bedhead shrieked in Mando’a.

Fennec’s eyebrows launched up to her forehead. Boba felt like he needed to record this so that Kryze understood what she was missing.

“Vod Din is home,” Sotra told the child.

“DIN.”

“Shhhh.”

“RELEASE M—mmf.”

“Shhhhh. It’s quiet time,” Sotra said with her free hand over the child’s mouth. “We’re being quiet.”

Din chuckled.

“Hey, Samo,” he said.

Samo let loose an ear-piercing scream behind her buir’s hand and ducked under Sotra’s legs. She ran at Din like there was a bomb behind her. Din caught her and swung her up to perch on his arm and she kicked relentless at his tassets in excitement.

“Shhh,” Din said. “People are sleeping—”

“YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE—”

Doors started opening all down the line of barracks. A few curious, hazy, and lopsided helmets poked out from some of them, and from others, calls of ‘EYYYYYYY’ and chats ‘ALL HAIL THE MAND’ALOR’ started up, to Din’s immediate mortification.

This, Boba was delighted to realize, was not a cry of honor.

These half-asleep fuckers had been waiting months to embarrass Din. And he’d known that this would happen.

“Be quiet,” Din snapped all around him. “The elders are sleeping, you’re going to—”

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally home,” a taunting voice rang out on top of the rush. “If it isn’t the Mand’alor himself.”

“Paz,” Din sighed. “Not now.”

“When could there possibly be a better time, your liege?” a huge Mandalorian wearing full blue armor despite the early hour drawled from the doorway he’d attempted to casually lean in. Samo’s braids flew as her round cheeks snapped his way.

“Paz, don’t be mean,” she told him from atop Din’s arm. “Or it’ll be to the goats with ya.”

“Fuck me, the goats, what ever will I do?” Paz scoffed.

“BUIR, PAZ SAID A BAD WORD.”

“I heard him,” Sotra said scathingly, right at Paz’s visor.

“To the goats,” Paz’s neighbor hissed at him.

The hissing was taken up just as quickly as the earlier ‘all hails’ had been. Paz told everyone to shut up and mind their own asses. He was publicly booed until Eegang emerged from the loft room with Karren stuffed under an arm and demanded to know why people were congregating in the halls. He reminded everyone that that shit was a fire hazard, and in doing so, his tone changed completely from easy-going to Commanding Officer and the effect was immediate.

People scurried back into their rooms like frightened mice until there wasn’t a single open door left in the whole line.

Eegang huffed and traded Karren to Din for his daughter. Samo happily climbed onto his shoulders and held onto his chin. Karren grinned mischievously up at her, winked, and then thumbed back to the goat loft.

“Not the welcome you deserved, but the one you got. I’m afraid nothing has changed here,” Eegang told Din compassionately, wrapping his fingers around Samo’s ankles. “I see you brought friends.”

“And foe,” Din said, gesturing at Bojzka who beamed.

Eegang’s visor contained a grimace that would otherwise have wracked his whole body.

“You got in,” he deadpanned.

“Sure did,” Bojzka said. “Lovely place you have here.”

And honestly? Yeah. It sort of was. Maybe a little ramshackle, what with all the scaffolding and haphazard support beams thrown into the walls to keep the wet earth above ground from crushing everyone below it, but for all the unsteadiness, it was oozing with comradery. Family.

Behind each of those doors was a little unit like Eegang and Sotra’s or perhaps a tired body, barely extracted from its boots, taking comfort in this honeycomb of tunnels and rooms.

Boba couldn’t help but wonder how he and Dad would have done in a place like this.

“We try,” Eegang said flatly. “I’ll let the Armorer deal with you herself—if she’s awake, I mean. Otherwise, you’re condemned to Shimmol. I’m going back to sleep. Vok is waiting for you, keep going straight through the kitchens, Din.”

“Thank you,” Din said. “Sleep well, Vod.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Monster. No goats for now.”

Samo waved at Boba and Fennec with a smile as bright as the sun. She ducked expertly as Eegang passed through the doorway to their quarters. He closed the door behind them.

 ------

“You don’t see families like that much anymore,” Bojzka hummed as Din led their troop down the hallways, through a series of ladders into a kitchen and then from there into a surprisingly neat, up-to-date hangar with concrete floorings. Six crafts were parked inside, tucked into the tight space like fish in a barrel.

“We have a few,” Din said. “I don’t know how many people are living here now, though.”

Given the size of the place? Maybe fifty or so, if Boba had to take a guess. There had been several sets of boots lining the wall outside the barrack doors.

Din picked his way through the crafts to two tarps covered in piles of spare, rusting, and grease-covered parts. At the end of the aisle between the tarps was a rectangle bordered by wooden benches and to the left of that was a little box that a mechanic presumably operated from. The box, however, had no windows. Its door was slightly ajar.

Din knocked and a snort and a slurp answered him.

“Jus’ a mo,” a thick voice said inside.

Fennec looked at Boba with intrigue.

“Tool gnome,” she said.

No, friend. Just a grease-monkey.

“Tool gnome,” Fennec insisted.

The door opened and a man at least six feet, two inches peered out of it.

“Tool giant,” Fennec amended in a whisper.

“Is that you, Din?” the mechanic asked. His helmet was rusty red and gray. Its visor had a yellow tint to it.

“It is,” Din said. “It’s been a while, Vok. These are my—”

“Forget them. Goran told me what you did to Razor.”

Din cringed.

“I—”

“AH. No. I don’t wanna hear it,” Vok said. “I just—I’m glad you’re safe, but you ain’t touching any more of my children, you hear me, boy?”

Din sunk into his shoulders in shame.

“I hear you,” he said.

“You’re damn right you do,” Vok said. “Man, I had a whole speech written out and shit, and here you are, early as the fuckin’ dawn. Did you miss Paz?”

“We did not,” Din said.

“I tried to have him do an inventory, I did,” Vok said sympathetically. “But he wasn’t havin’ it. Took an IOU and everything.”

Din sighed.

“Thanks for trying,” he said. “Is the forge...?”

“That way,” Vok said, gesturing to the far end of the hangar, where a series of scaffolding led up to a dark hole in the wall. “Mind your step. Stairs are next on my list. Who’re your friends?”

Din introduced them. Vok considered Fennec and after a moment of thought, saluted her. She tipped her jaw to the side and gave him a once-over.

“Din’s got my number if you’re not busy,” Vok said.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Fennec said.

“I hope you do, my darlin’. You? Boj-whatever? I heard about you. You can go fuck yourself.”

“Thanks, Vok, we’re going now,” Din intervened.

 ----------

Fennec said nothing on the way up the scaffolding. She didn’t need to. Boba applauded her.

 ---------

The forge was the least finished part of the covert, and Boba could respect the Armorer’s dedication to looking after the flock before her own needs. Not that the forge wasn’t a comfortable place. Upon entry, Bojzka whistled at all the equipment inside. There were steel beams crossing in hatches along the ceiling. It appeared as though someone was working on a ventilation mechanism up there. Ropes and pipes hung down from the beams as though a pulley system had been recently removed.

The forge itself was a huge circular structure with a high wall around its exterior. It was built of a slick-looking black material. There were three water troughs set up in a line behind it and two rudimentary wood blocks with anvils set on them. Benches littered with iron tools sat next to the anvils.

Din appeared very at home in this place, despite not having even been in it. He wove around the accoutrements of the room towards a wooden door that had been placed on hinges on the far side like an afterthought.

He knocked.

“We don’ want any,” a sleepy woman’s voice drawled.

Boba jumped as a something brushed his elbow and discovered that Karren had followed them all the way down to the forge. His soft boots had hidden his footsteps, but, like Din, he was now in a place that he knew like the back of his hand. Din grabbed the scruff of his neck as he went for the door with both hands.

“You’re supposed to be in the nursery,” Din told him. “Shoo.”

“Shimmol, Din’s home,” Karren said through the door. “Goran, Din’s home.”

Very cute. Karren wanted to be the one to shared the news. Din pulled him back as shuffling started up on the other side of the wooden door.

It opened to reveal a fluorescent pink helmet with floral patterns painted down the edges in white.

“Din?” the young woman, who could only be Shimmol, asked.

Din’s brain stuttered.

“Uh?” he said.

Shimmol’s flightsuit was once white, but it was burned and smudged to gray all over. Her heavy gloves were half-burnt on both hands, too. She surged forward into Din’s chestplate. Din hugged her back awkwardly.

“Hello, sister,” he said. “This is, uh.”

“Do you like it?” Shimmol asked, pulling away from him to touch the edges of her helmet. “I thought it was cute. Wait til you see the pauldrons. They match.”

“They’re hideous,” Karren said.

“Did anyone ask you?” Shimmol flung at him. “No, I didn’t think so. Get gone, womp-rat.”

Wow. No wonder Karren was desperate for Din’s attention.

“I’m not a womp-rat,” Karren said. “I’m a Tooka. Goran said so.”

“You know, what you actually are is a ‘nuisance,’ so it doesn’t matter what—”

“Children.”

And lo and behold. The lady herself. Gold helmet and everything.

“Din,” the Armorer said, placing a hand on Shimmol’s side to move her. “Welcome home.”

Din accepted the helmet touch with grace.

“Bojzka,” the Armorer said next. “I didn’t expect to see you in my home so soon, or at all.”

Bojzka beamed.

“You’ve grown a beard,” the Armorer noted. “It does not become you.”

Boba coughed into his elbow to hide the bark of laughter screaming to escape his throat. Fennec thumped at his back.

“Let’s move somewhere with more light,” the Armorer said. “Karren, Shimmol. You’re dismissed for the next hour. Go eat breakfast.”

“But—” Shimmol started.

“Up, up, up,” Karren chanted, getting behind her and shoving hands into the small of her back. “It’s people-time.”

“Leave it. I hate people-time,” Shimmol said. “I thrive on darkness. It sustains me better than food.”

Din looked desperately into the Armorer’s helmet. The Armorer ignored him and told Shimmol that she knew this to false and to stop whining. Upstairs, now.  

The kids relented and left the forge. Din pointed after them.

“I know,” the Armorer said. “Let her work through it.”

Din pointed even more insistently.

“No, no. It’s true,” Bojzka said. “Mine went through the same thing.”

 --------

The Armorer sat them all down at a ‘u’ shape of benches on the far side of the forge. She turned on some overhead lights. They lit up the forge and threw its equipment’s shadows harshly against the floor.

“Thank you for coming,” she said lightly. “It takes a long time to get to Zeffo, even in the Outer Rim.”

“It suits you,” Bojzka flirted.

“It does not,” the Armorer countered unrepentantly. “And your flattery remains aggravating.”

Bojzka didn’t seem to process the meaning behind those words, too busy he was with basking in the Armorer’s presence. She ignored him to turn to Din.

“Eegang tells me that you have been aggressive towards Bojzka, ad’ika, is this true?”

Din hunkered down into his shoulders. He didn’t want to answer. The Armorer didn’t make him.

“This is unnecessary,” she said. “Bojzka does not bother me.”

Bojzka rounded a gloating grin at Din.

“He is delusional, but I’m afraid that head trauma does this over time,” the Armorer said lightly. “There is no need to defend my honor—I’ve already had this conversation with Eegang, so know that it is not only you who I’ve spoken to about this. And Bojzka.”

“Yes, dear?” Bojzka hummed.

“I would appreciate it if you ceased in antagonizing my foundling and second.”

“I’m not trying to, Nomri.”

“I know,” the Armorer said. “And that is where I believe this tension arises from. Din, you and your advisor may leave. I’ll handle this. In future, know that it is not your place to speak on these matters in my stead, yes?”

“Yes, Goran,” Din mumbled.

The Armorer waited.

“Buir,” Din corrected.

“Thank you. The last thing I need is the Mand’alor becoming invested in old-standing relationships. You may go.”

Din stood and Boba and Fennec stood with him.

“He is not Naseem,” Din said right at the doorway.

The Armorer’s helmet turned slowly his way.

“No one will ever be Naseem,” she said. “It’s okay. Go.”

 -----------

Boba need the full story on this Naseem guy approximately yesterday, but all he had at his disposal in the kitchens where he, Din, and Fennec had been banished was a collection of foundlings all staring up at their party looking guilty as hell.

In the midst of their group was a ten-year-old holding a glass jug absolutely brimming with frogs.

Boba had never seen this many foundlings together at once before, and he had to say: these traditionalists knew exactly what they were doing. There was nothing quite like a whole mass of youths to shift the mood.

The kids made a break for it.

  Fennec was the fastest of all of them, but even she was not as fast as the bodies that popped their heads out of the rattling back room and launched themselves without warning over the few rows of tables set out in the main space.

Din’s covert collectively looked after the little ones, he explained when one of these bodies returned with the wrist of a shrieking Twi’lek child in their grip. The shrieking cut off when the nurse dropped down into a crouch and flattened both of the child’s hands against their helmet so that they left splotchy prints behind.

Two of the folks who filed back into the room covered in mud did not wear helmets. Din didn’t recognize them until they spoke and said their names. They’d removed their helmets back on Nevarro, apparently, and they had not to put them back on. Now, they wore veils and headscarves—neither of them comfortable with their whole heads and faces on display.

One of these was a woman named Madda. She saw Din’s helmet and froze by one of the long tables.

“Din, I’m so glad you returned,” she said with hitching breath. And then she took her newly-acquired jug of frogs and went tearing back down the hallway towards the covert’s main entrance. Din watched after her, confused.

“Is the transition difficult?” he asked one of the other Mandalorians next to him.

Their helmet showed zero emotion, and yet Boba gleaned from it everything he needed to know. He put a palm on his forehead.

“Djarin, come here,” he said.

 -------------

Din chased after Madda to apologize for fucking up what was probably a years-long infatuation at this point. Fennec watched after him with a sly grin. But the Mandalorian with the flat helmet turned to Boba with far more open shoulders.

“You got through to him like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“It’s his secret talent,” Fennec told her.

“What was your name?” the Mandalorian asked.

“Boba Fett,” Boba said. “And yours?”

“Jhuvac.”

“Nice to meet you,” Boba said politely.

“Aren’t you the clone-guy?”

Welp.

“I prefer ‘Fett,’” Boba said.

“Nah, I feel that,” Jhuvac said, tossing her scarf over her shoulder. “Paz calls you the ‘clone-guy’ is all. That shit’s wild, by the way. But you can’t help your dad’s decision now can you?”

What was this? Understanding? From a traditionalist? Kryze would lose her shit.

“I can’t, although everything after that was totally me,” Boba said.

Jhuvac glanced back at him.

“Including the Solo stuff?” she asked.

Boba lifted a brow.

“Is there something you would like to know?” he asked.

“No,” Jhuvac said. “I know everything I need to. But you know what’ll make Vok’s life miserable?”

 ---------

The mechanic was a huge fan of Han Solo, and he had a list of reasons why Boba should cease hunting  the man about as long as one of his lanky arms. He listed them out one by one in his hangar full of metal scrap. Jhuvac was very correct when she said that the mere mention of Solo meeting his maker would cause Vok immense misery. Boba could see how it could be entertaining.

Fennec made it even more entertaining by poking holes in each of Vok’s carefully laid out arguments.

He kept asking her why she was hurting him like this. Was this a domination kink?

Fennec asked him if he wanted it to be.

Vok walked it all back and told her to do her worst.

Jhuvac decided that she suddenly had other things to do and invited Boba to accompany her on these things. Boba assented and left Fennec to her business.

 ----------

In the end, Boba found himself outside in a group huddle with a handful of covert people, two with no helmets, watching the feud between the foundlings and the local wildlife. The covert, he learned, broadly did not like Zeffo. They hated how wet it was. They hated how cold it was. 90% of them had grown up in desert climates, the remaining 10% in ice climates.

Zeffo, as far as they were concerned, was a backwater hellhole that they’d had little choice in selecting.

“It was this or breaking up and forming two coverts,” Sotra explained, removing Mesa’s captured snail from his face area for the third time. She gave the snail to the guy next to her who got up and took it down to the edge of the nearby river. He stooped to set it in the grass, then froze in shock when a fish’s wide mouth erupted from the water and encapsulated his whole glove.

It left the glove wet and empty.

“But you didn’t want to do that?” Boba asked.

“No, if we separated, it would be Eegang at the head of the new covert,” Sotra said. “And that’s just not in the cards for us right now.”

Gotcha.

“The children didn’t want to be separated either,” one of the Mandalorians with no helmet said. “Goran gave them the option, but things were frantic, you know. They cling to each other when they’re young like this.”

More than understandably, in Boba’s humble and correct opinion.

“What do you all think of Bojzka?” Boba asked them.

“Who?”

“The bull with no helmet? Beard?” someone said.

“The one trying to court the Armorer?” Sotra asked.

Everyone clambered back onto the same page in the face of this descriptor.

“He’s supposed to be some kind of hero,” Jhuvac said. “But I dunno, man. He seems a little, uh.”

“Goran’s too good for him,” Sotra interjected simply. “Imagine stooping so low after a life of respect and service.”

“He’s not ugly,” the Mandalorian who’d lost the snail pointed out. “I’d bang him.”

“You’re not a good bar, Ban.”

“I could be.”

“You’re the lowest bar, Ban.”

“Can’t be disappointed if your expectations on the floor.”

“Go bang him for Goran then,” Jhuvac said. “I can’t tell if she thinks he’s kinda cute or if she wants to stab him in the heart.”

“For the good of the covert, I will endure this hardship,” Ban said.

He was unceremoniously yanked back down when he started to stand.

“Din mentioned some guy named ‘Naseem?’” Boba asked.

The name alone sent the group into titters.

“Naseem was so nice.”

“Naseem was great, you have no idea. So respectful.”

“He wanted to take Din on so bad, it was almost heartbreaking. He and Goran were perfect for each other. He was so happy around her; I don’t think he ever talked in front of anyone else.”

“God, when he died, I cried so hard. I cried for days.”

“Same.”

“Same.”

“Same.”

“Kind of a tough reputation to beat, then?” Boba asked.

“Oh definitely,” Jhuvac said. “I mean, there was Hajka after him, but she was just so explosive. Like, she made Goran laugh a lot, I remember that, but she was kinda awkward, too. There was a battle on her home planet and she left everyone here to defend what was left of her people.”

“Goran collects the awkward ones, they’re her favorite,” Sotra said.

“You can’t judge her, you collect Eegangs,” Ban pointed out.

“There is only one Eegang.”

“Girl, we know.”

There was a pause while Sotra handed off her child so that she could beat the shit out of Ban on the lumpy grass. Jhuvac handed Mesa over Boba’s lap to the quiet person at his right. They took the baby without question and laid him on their chest.

“Where did you grow up, Boba?” Jhuvac asked. “Sorry, Fett. Do you like Fett?”

Boba was taken aback. It had been ages since someone had called him by his first name—and a Mandalorian no less.

“Boba is fine. I grew up on Kamino,” he said.

“With a covert?”

No, no covert. No anyone, really. Boba was what people in white coats tended to call ‘under-socialized.’

“That’s sad,” Jhuvac said. “It must have been lonely.”

It was, actually. Especially after Dad had died.

“That’s so sad, I’m gonna cry,” Ban said. “Join our covert.”

All helmets and eyes rounded on Boba and he felt like his collar was suddenly digging into his neck. He shook his head.

“I’m not really a Mandalorian,” he said. “It’s not right—”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Jhuvac, let ‘im talk.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Listen, Din has ‘don’t trust people’ syndrome. If he trusts you enough to bring you with him here, then you’re Mandalorian enough for us,” Jhuvac said. “And anyways, being a Mandalorian is about what you do, not who you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re clone-guy so long as you follow the Creed in a more or less northernly direction.”

Boba stared at her and realized that everyone was staring at him again. He cleared his throat but found that he didn’t have any words trapped back there like he’d thought.

“Or easternly,” Ban offered to break the awkwardness.

There were still no words on Boba’s tongue. He struggled to say at least something.

“I—th—that’s kind of you,” he eventually managed. “I don’t think I could cut it here, but that’s really kind of you.”

The Mandalorians exchanged looks and shrugs.

“Know that the offer stands if you feel any pull towards it later,” Sotra said. “We have a number of reformed who converted and who move in and out of our covert. Not recently, but when we were children, there were more. Goran, too, was once a reformed Mandalorian.”

“My buir, too,” Jhuvac added.

“My ba-buir was reformed,” Ban said. “But she might have caused a public riot. Or two. Or three.”

“Speaking of which,” Sotra said. “Elder Fayrz has emerged from his cave.”

“I’ll get him,” Jhuvac sighed.

Boba frowned and looked from them out to the hill the foundlings had selected to gossip on. A Mandalorian in black and white with a green cape was, indeed, now kneeling among them. Every face was turned towards him in wonder.

“I’ve heard of this guy. He looks fun,” he noted.

At least one hand from every body came up to clutch at their face.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Ban said.

 ------

Din rejoined Boba in the midst of Elder Fayrz’s attempt to recruit him into the covert. He somehow knew Dad. That in itself was a little disarming. At first, Boba hadn’t believe that the elder was speaking the truth, but then he started up with alarmingly specific training corp numbers and mentioned off-handedly that he used to work in the corps, training kids from six to fourteen.

It made sense now why, in old age, he was considered the most dangerous person in the covert to have around the foundlings.

Grandpa was a serial spoil-er and mischief-instigator. The children saw in him everything they wanted out of life and were loathe to be separated from their most favorite old man.

Din got between him and Boba and informed the Elder that he’d just gotten married.

The Elder’s attentions went rocketing in the opposite direction. He wanted pictures, he wanted to know all about the reception, he wanted to know why Din hadn’t brought his partner home with him, what color their armor was, where they were presently based—the whole barrel of spotchka.

Boba appreciated the save.

He also appreciated the moment when the Elder fully realized that Din had, in fact, married a real jedi.

“YOU STUPID BOY.”

There it was.

The children bustled and whispered.

“This is what happens when we do not teach them to read—where is your buir? I told her, I told her that you needed more lessons. Always with the dogs, I knew it would have some effect—”

Din couldn’t even argue. He and Kryze had been over the very same deficit about sixty times. If they were lucky, Bo-Katan gave him a day or two off in between scoldings.

While the old man was outraged, Din signaled to Boba that they would be leaving soon.

 --------

Bojzka joined Boba, Din, and Fennec at the ramp of their ship about ten minutes late. The Armorer personally showed him out of the covert and told him to return only if the galaxy began to collapse in on itself. She was at least cordial about it, which, in hindsight, was probably why Bojzka was having a hard time reading the glaring ‘please desist’ sign flickering over her head.

“Be safe,” she told Din while Karren made sad sounds behind her.

“Will do,” Din said. “Next time, I’ll see if Luke will come.”

“We would like to have him,” the Armorer said.

She dipped her helmet to Boba and Fennec and they returned the gesture.

“I hope you were well-received by the others,” she said. “Bojzka, good bye.”

“Talk to you later,” Bojzka hummed.

“We shall not,” the Armorer said.

 ---------

Back in the Dune Sea, Kryze was waiting in one of the conference rooms. Din avoided her and all her probing questions. Boba did not. He was in a sharing sort of mood and Fennec had a ‘thanks for the lay’ message to compose to Mr. Vok.

Kryze crossed her legs and gestured for him to join her at the table.

He did and crossed his legs right back.

“So?” she asked.

“Shocking peaceful,” Boba said. “Violent mostly towards their own members. Tried to recruit me at least three times.”

Kryze’s eyebrows did a little dance.

“Surprising,” she said.

“Not very,” Boba corrected. “Din is one of the more reserved members. He resembles his buir more than I expected.”

“And Bojzka?” Kryze asked.

“Soundly rejected, but somehow optimistic about it,” Boba said. “The good news is that Din’s been forbidden from trying to kill him.”

“That is good news,” Kryze agreed.

There was a long pause.

“Are you thinking about it? Joining, I mean?” Kryze asked.

“No,” Boba said, “But it is nice to occasionally be around Mandalorians who don’t have sticks up their asses.”

“Unicorns,” Kryze said.

“A whole covert of them,” Boba told her with a smirk. “Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you all.”

“I beg to differ,” Kryze said. “If the issue is resolved, then I suppose we’ll have to move back on to official business.”

That was no fun.

“Why is Fennec so smug?”

Oh, that was more fun. Sit back down, Lady. This is going to be a bawdy one.

[fairymadnessyeah]

BNHA Ship to Finish the Year

KuroMori (Komori Kinoko x Kuroiro Shihai)

Canon

Kuroiro developed a crush when he first saw Komori.

At first, he thought she was cute, but then she saw her decimate her opponents on an exercise and he was in love, No going back.

When the guys find out, they try to be his wingmen. But it's really hard.

Kuroiro is super shy, he can barely look at her in the eyes without falling apart. And Komori is the most oblivious person in the planet. One time, on their second year, somebody left her a teddy bear with a heart, and she took it to lost and found.

Kuroiro is so shy that the first times he tried to talk to her, he hid in the shadows of his clothes with his quirk.

Tetsutetsu, Kaibara and Tsuburaba are his main wingmen. They have been promised to be groomsmen at their wedding. They have a speech prepared. Whoever gets them together will be best man.

Ironically, none of them get them together. The one who is able to do so is Tokoyami.

He and Kuroiro are friends of darkness, and the bird can't see his friend suffer. He first talks with Komori, who says she never considered romance, but their conversation leaves her thinking. Then he asks the girls from his class to feign interest in Kuroiro. Not to flirt with him, but to show he is an available wanted suitor. Then he gives an inspiring speech, that only Kuroiro was able to understand, which gives the black hero courage to face the music.

It doesn't work, but in the end, Komori asks him out.

They go to see a movie and then to walk around the park. To this day, Komori thinks it was the most romantic outing she had.

They start dating after that.

Komori calls him 'Her Black Trumpet', it's a black mushroom.

To hang out on his room, she needs a forehead flashlight. The room is pitch black, and she can't see. 

I headcanon Komori to be an old-Disney fan bc of her hero costume. Like old animations in black and white with Minnie and Mickey Mouse.

That's why one Halloween they dressed as the two mouses.

Kuroiro is whipped. He knows and accepts this. If his girlfriend asked him to jump off a bridge, he would ask which one she had in mind.

In her birthday, he always surprises her with a new dress based on idol videos. She loves them. She can be seen wearing for a week after she gets it.

They stay together after graduation.

But being newly graduated heroes and dating is very hard. After a year of trying to make it work, they break up. Komori is the one who pulls the trigger, but Kuroiro agrees with her and says he saw it coming for a while.

They part in good terms. But their busy lives don't let them see each other.

They reunite when Monoma invites them to a class B reunion. He heard class A was doing one too and he can't let those pesky class A brats get away with that. Monoma, we are not even in the school anymore.

Everybody is kind of worried about their reaction, but the two don't make it awkward. And as drinks come and go, they end up making out on Kuroiro's home and falling asleep on the couch.

The next morning they talk and agree to try again, but to start slow.

Three years later, they get married. 

Family

Komori's parent are rich. I mean have you seen the dresses she wears on the Shifuku. That has to be expensive.

I feel like they would love Kuroiro. He would try to go the extra mile to impress them and how he is super attentive to their daughter.

Kuroiro's parents work in a theatre. That's were his drama came from.

He used to practice his quirk under the theatre.

Komori and Kuroiro have two kids.

The eldest one is called Kuroiro Tengu. Tengutake means Amarita, (that is a type of mushroom)

They have pitch-black straight hair, and crazy eyes like their parents, They are non-binary, pronouns they/them.

Unlike their sibling, Tengu doesn't want to be a pro-hero. They were born after the hospital raid and the golden age of villains, a lot of young people don't see the appeal of being heroes or having them.

Their quirk is called Black Bending. They can shape and form anything black, Tengu uses it to paint.

They are also stuck in their goth phase like their father.

The other kid, who is four years younger than Tengu, is called Toryu. Toryufu means truffle, another type of mushroom.

He is a copy of his mother except for the black skin.

His quirks is the same as his mother's, but he can also change the colour of the fungus he grows. 

Komori and Kuroiro are both heroes, but they both have different schedules. Kuroiro works at night and takes care of the kids during the day, and Komori works during the day and takes care of the kids at night. They spend the mornings together.

AU - Fantasy AU

Komori is a druid that lives reclused in the forest.

One day, she finds this man on her forest with obsidian skin and silver hair. He is wounded and hurt. She takes him to her shack and heals him.

When Kuro wakes up, he finds an angel taking care of him.

He is a warlock who barely got away from his abusive master. The last thing he remembers is blacking out in the forest.

The two spend a lot of time together as he heals and slowly get closer.

Komori has no problem with him staying with her for as long as he wants, but one day, another warlock, AFO, takes control of her forest and infest it with monsters.

The two ran for safety, and Kuro swears that he will help her get back her home.

They hear about this group of young warriors who are searching for a way to stop AFO and journey to meet them and join them.

Komori, who has lived almost all of her life on the forest, is very curious about this new world she finds herself in. Kuroiro shows her everything and tries to explain everything the best he can.

They do find the group they were searching for. Their leader, a man, called Midoriya, doesn't give them the best of news.

He tells them that they are trying to stop AFO, but they can't stop to help one small forest. He luckily does know some people that might.

Some friends of them had made a group of warrior who tried to weaken AFO forces that attacked the people of the kingdom. They are lead by a witch called Kendo and a dragon companion called TetsuTetsu.

The two set off again to find them and cross paths with a lot of different people, another druid with vines for hair, a centaur, a bard, a blacksmith, etc. They all have a thing in common. They are all looking for Kendo and her group.

They end up finding her and explain the situation, the group helps them.

But, when the forest is cleared, and the group of warrior has to leave, the idea of staying in the forest doesn't sound as appealing.

The forest is Komori's home. She lived here, learned here and had only recently left it for the first time. She knows her life got a lot of excitement these last couple of months, but she isn't sure if she is ready to leave everything behind.

Kuroiro has made plans to stick with the group and help the people with AFO. He makes promises to come visit whenever they are in the area.

The next morning, as they start packing to leave, Komori makes a decision. She says goodbye to her home and goes with them.

With this group, the two travel the land and go to places they've never seen before, sometimes even crossing paths with Midoriya and their group.

They also make a few enemies, especially with the mercenary group, the Vanguard Action and Detnerat.

Kuroiro and Komori don't acknowledge their feelings until the incident.

The incident happened in a remote town where magic users were going crazy. When the group arrived, it didn't take long for their magic users to start losing their minds.

The real problem was a man who was controlling them by poisoning the water. But Kuroiro was the hardest to stop. He is a warlock, and so he had been taught much older and much dangerous magic.

Komori is the one who snaps him out of the man's control. It's a very heart fell moment, and they have their first kiss.

Fanon Opinion

So, I can't think of NSFW for these too.

I don't know why. I just can't. So they are going to be the first to have the Fanon opinion.

And I know that Kuroiro appearentely likes taboo things. But I'm honestely afraid. I don't wanna google 'taboo sex stuff'. I feel like that is a hole you can't come out of.

The only thing I can think that might be okay with them is Vampire roleplay. Because that would fit. I can see it. Don't ask me who is the vampire, I haven't decided yet.

So... not many people ship them. Like compared to other ships, they have very little content. Then again, that will change when season 5 comes.

Hopefully.

The one thing I believe we can agree on is that Kuroiro is a blushing mess when he is near her.

There's also the rivalry with Tokoyami. Komori seems to be interested in Hawks, and the guy now works with him.

I have also seen a few pictures with her in gothic lolita dresses and let me tell you, girl looks good~

There is not much about them really. I wanted this day reserved for Komori because it's her birthday today.

There isn't much about them or many of the 1B class. That should change.

So, that's all I have for now!

[gadgetgirl71]

Amazon First Reads for May 2020

It’s that time yet again, to choose one of eight books that Amazon First Reads lets Amazon Prime Members download for free. I always look forward to the beginning of each month to see what is on offer.

This months books are:

Contemporary Fiction

If You Must Know by Jamie Beck  Pages: 362, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: Life turns upside down for two sisters in Wall Street Journal bestselling author Jamie Beck’s emotional novel about how secrets and differences can break—or bind—a family.

Sisters Amanda Foster and Erin Turner have little in common except the childhood bedroom they once shared and the certainty each feels that her way of life is best. Amanda follows the rules—at the school where she works; in her community; and as a picture-perfect daughter, wife, and mother-to-be. Erin follows her heart—in love and otherwise—living a bohemian lifestyle on a shoestring budget and honouring her late father’s memory with a passion for music and her fledgling bath-products business.

The sisters are content leading separate but happy lives in their hometown of Potomac Point until everything is upended by lies that force them to confront unsettling truths about their family, themselves, and each other. For sisters as different as these two, building trust doesn’t come easily—especially with one secret still between them—but it may be the only way to save their family.

Thriller

Don’t Make a Sound by T R Ragan, Pages: 285, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: Her own past could be a reporter’s biggest story in this twisting thriller about murder and family secrets by the New York Times bestselling author T.R. Ragan.

Plagued by traumatic childhood memories, crime reporter Sawyer Brooks still struggles to gain control of her rage, her paranoia, and her life. Now, after finally getting promoted at work, she is forced to return home and face her past.

River Rock is where she’d been abandoned by her two older sisters to suffer alone, and in silence, the unspeakable abuses of her family. It’s also where Sawyer’s best friend disappeared and two teenage girls were murdered. Three cold cases dead and buried with the rest of the town’s secrets.

When another girl is slain in a familiar grisly fashion, Sawyer is determined to put an end to the crimes. Pulled back into the horrors of her family history, Sawyer must reconcile with her estranged sisters, who both have shattering memories of their own. As Sawyer’s investigation leads to River Rock’s darkest corners, what will prove more dangerous—what she knows of the past or what she has yet to discover?

Biography

Gender Rebels by Anneka Harry, Pages: 277, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: Meet the unsung sheroes of history: the diverse, defiant and daring (wo)men who changed the rules, and their identities, to get sh*t done.

You’ll encounter Kit Cavanagh, the swaggering Irish dragoon who was the first woman to be buried in London with full military honours; marauding eighteenth-century pirates Mary Read and Anne Bonny, who collided on the high seas after swapping their petticoats for pantaloons; Ellen Craft, an escaped slave who masqueraded as a white master to spirit her husband-to-be to freedom; and Billy Tipton, the swinging jazz musician, who led a double life as an adult, taking five wives along the way. Then there are the women who still have to dress like men to live their best lives, like the inspirational football-lovers in Iran, who risk everything to take their place in the stands.

A call to action for the modern world, this book celebrates the #GenderRebels who paved the way for women everywhere to be soldiers and spies; kings and queens; firefighters, doctors, pilots; and a Swiss Army knife’s-worth more. These superbly spirited (wo)men all had one thing in common: they defied the rules to progress in a man’s world.

Book Club Fiction

Sorry I Missed You by Suzy Krause, Pages: 315, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: A poignant and heartwarming novel about friendship, ghosting, and searching for answers to life’s mysteries.

When Mackenzie, Sunna, and Maude move into a converted rental house, they are strangers with only one thing in common—important people in their lives have “ghosted” them. Mackenzie’s sister, Sunna’s best friend, and Maude’s fiancé—all gone with no explanation.

So when a mangled, near-indecipherable letter arrives in their shared mailbox—hinting at long-awaited answers—each tenant assumes it’s for her. The mismatched trio decides to stake out the coffee shop named in the letter—the only clue they have—and in the process, a bizarre kinship forms. But the more they learn about each other, the more questions (and suspicions) they begin to have. All the while, creepy sounds and strange happenings around the property suggest that the ghosts from their pasts might not be all that’s haunting them…

Will any of the housemates find the closure they are looking for? Or are some doors meant to remain closed?

Quirky, humorous, and utterly original, Sorry I Missed You is the perfect read for anyone who has ever felt haunted by their past (or by anything else).

Historical Fiction

Golden Poppies by Laila Ibrahim, Pages: 297, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: From the bestselling author of Yellow Crocus and Mustard Seed comes the empowering novel of two generations of American women connected by the past and fighting for a brighter future.

It’s 1894. Jordan Wallace and Sadie Wagner appear to have little in common. Jordan, a middle-aged black teacher, lives in segregated Chicago. Two thousand miles away, Sadie, the white wife of an ambitious German businessman, lives in more tolerant Oakland, California. But years ago, their families intertwined on a plantation in Virginia. There, Jordan’s and Sadie’s mothers developed a bond stronger than blood, despite the fact that one was enslaved and the other was the privileged daughter of the plantation’s owner.

With Jordan’s mother on her deathbed, Sadie leaves her disapproving husband to make the arduous train journey with her mother to Chicago. But the reunion between two families is soon fraught with personal and political challenges.

As the harsh realities of racial divides and the injustices of the Gilded Age conspire to hold them back, the women find they need each other more than ever. Their courage, their loyalty, and the ties that bind their families will be tested. Amid the tumult of a quickly changing nation, their destiny depends on what they’re willing to risk for liberation.

Legal Thriller

Legacy of Lies by Robert Bailey, Pages: 329, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: A small-town attorney takes on prejudice and corruption in this powerful legal thriller.

Small-town lawyer Bocephus Haynes comes home late one night to find District Attorney General Helen Lewis waiting for him. Her ex-husband has just been killed. She’s about to be arrested for his murder. And she wants Bo to represent her.

There’s a lot working against them. Just before his death, Helen’s ex-husband threatened to reveal a dark secret from her past. Bo has been in a tailspin since his wife’s death. What’s more, his whole life has been defined by a crime committed against his family, and he continues to face prejudice as the only African American litigator in Pulaski, Tennessee.

Bo’s back is against the wall, and Helen resigns herself to a dismal fate—but a stunning discovery throws everything into chaos. There’s a chance for justice, but to achieve it, the cost might be too much for Bo to bear.

Family Saga

A Decent Family by Rosa Ventrella, Pages: 251, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: For fans of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan series comes a captivating family saga focused on a willful young woman’s struggles against her oppressive small town by acclaimed Italian author Rosa Ventrella.

In old Bari, everyone knows Maria De Santis as “Malacarne,” the bad seed. Nicknamed for her dark features, volcanic temperament, and resistance to rules, the headstrong girl can only imagine the possibilities that lie outside her poverty-stricken neighborhood.

Growing up with her mother, two brothers, and a tyrannical father, Maria must abide. She does—amid the squalid life to which she was born, the cruelties of her small-minded neighbors, and violence in a constant threat of eruption. As she reconciles her need for escape with the allegiance she feels toward her family, Maria has her salvations: her secret friend, Michele, son of a rival family and every bit the outsider she is, and her passion for books, which may someday take her far, far away.

In this exquisitely rendered and sensory-rich novel, Rosa Ventrella explores the limits of loyalty, the redeeming power of friendship and love, and the fire in the soul of one woman who was born to break free.

Literary Fiction

A Man by Keiichiro Hirano, Pages: 295, Publication Date: 1 June 2020

Synopsis: A man follows another man’s trail of lies in a compelling psychological story about the search for identity, by Japan’s award-winning literary sensation Keiichiro Hirano in his first novel to be translated into English.

Akira Kido is a divorce attorney whose own marriage is in danger of being destroyed by emotional disconnect. With a midlife crisis looming, Kido’s life is upended by the reemergence of a former client, Rié Takemoto. She wants Kido to investigate a dead man—her recently deceased husband, Daisuké. Upon his death she discovered that he’d been living a lie. His name, his past, his entire identity belonged to someone else, a total stranger. The investigation draws Kido into two intriguing mysteries: finding out who Rié’s husband really was and discovering more about the man he pretended to be. Soon, with each new revelation, Kido will come to share the obsession with—and the lure of—erasing one life to create a new one.

In A Man, winner of Japan’s prestigious Yomiuri Prize for Literature, Keiichiro Hirano explores the search for identity, the ambiguity of memory, the legacies with which we live and die, and the reconciliation of who you hoped to be with who you’ve actually become.

***Which book will you choose? I can’t make up my mind between: “If You Must Know and Sorry I Missed You”. Let me know which book you think I should choose.***

[blueeyeswhitegarden]

Arc V Anniversary Day 20

Day 20. Favorite antagonists

Zarc is still my favorite antagonist in Arc V. I liked his backstory when Leo first revealed it. I thought that it was an interesting concept to have what was basically an Entertainment Duelist turned evil to be the big villain of the series. It offered an interesting parallel to Yuya's own journey and it also made me think of it as a commentary on using violence for the shake of it in entertainment. Despite this, I initially thought that Zarc was going to be just another typical overpowered final Yu-Gi-Oh! villain. Overpowered villains aren't necessarily bad. It is an easy way to increase the tension. Plus, with all of the buildup they had for Zarc throughout the series, they needed to establish just how big of a threat he was by defeating all of the remaining characters.

However, my opinion instantly changed the moment Crow asked Zarc if he was that afraid of losing. That put Zarc's motivation, action and deck in a whole new light for me. It provided an in-universe justification for Zarc's overpowered cards and tied into his backstory. Zarc wanted to keep winning until there was no one left. That was his main reason for merging with his dragons for the first time around. After being defeated by Ray and split apart, of course he'd be afraid of losing again. Even his deck was more defensive than expected. His monsters were clearly powerful too, but he always had effects and combos that prevented destruction and drastically limit the amount of damage he would take. It also helped that Zarc was slowly but surely becoming more emotional with each match, so seeing his anger upon Crow making this comment was pretty fitting. Crow saw through Zarc's anger and power and realized it was a cover for his own fear of losing.

I especially love that Zarc wasn't just an evil version of Yuya. He was more like a dark mirror to what Yuya could have, and almost did, become. I always thought it was rather telling that all of the remaining Lancers were set on saving Yuya from Zarc, but there wasn't any mention of people in the original world trying to save Zarc. Granted, we learned about Zarc's downfall from Leo who thought that Zarc was always a monster, so he might not have been aware of anyone trying to save him, but it would make much more sense if no one tried to do so. If Zarc had any friends besides his dragons in the original world, then I don't think he would have fallen so hard in the first place, He would have been able to find some guidance or reassurance from his friends instead of lashing out at the world. But Yuya did have a lot of friends. He was able to connect with a lot of different people throughout the four dimensions and as a result, they wanted to save Yuya. It made the battle against Zarc more emotional because they weren't focused on just saving the world, but there was a much stronger emphasis on reaching out to Yuya because they all cared about him.

Zarc is what Yuya could have become without the emotional support of his family and friends to help guide and reassure him. Zarc was too focused on appealing to the audience's demands for violent duels that he threw away his true dream and his real self as a result. Zarc didn't have the courage to keep dueling in his own way because he gave into the demand of other people around him. His anger combined with the anger he felt from his dragons led to Zarc's downfall and the destruction of the original world. Because Yuya had his parents to lay the foundation for his ideals and his friends to provide emotional support, Yuya had a much stronger grip on his ideals. He struggled throughout the series to understand what kind of dueling he wanted to do and questioned if he was capable enough to reach out to people with his dueling, but he didn't abandon those ideals in spite of all of the hardships he dealt with throughout the series. Yuya's reaction to defeating Duel Chaser 227 perfectly shows the difference between him and Zarc. Yuya knew right away that he didn't want to duel like this and was upset even with the crowd cheering for him.. Zarc, on the other hand, threw away his ideals because he was too consumed by the audience cheering him on.

I also really liked how they handled Zarc's redemption. Zarc's true dream was to make everyone, even his monsters, smile with his dueling and it was so fitting. Yuya is the embodiment of Zarc's pure desire to make people smile, so the idea that Zarc was at one point a good person made perfect sense. Yuya and Reira crying upon remembering Zarc's true dream was pretty emotional and it made Zarc more sympathetic than I thought he could be. Even Zarc's evil heart was sad upon realizing just how far away he was from his dream. I think it also helps that Zarc doesn't get a proper second chance. He doesn't magically get his own body like I was expecting when the last arc first started. Zarc is able to learn what he couldn't before as Yuya, but that doesn't instantly undo all of the damage he originally caused or give him a completely fresh start at life. Yuya is both himself and Zarc at the same time, so it’s not quite like giving Zarc a complete do over. It made me appreciate Zarc's redemption more by not underplaying that he still effectively destroyed the original world. Zarc is just such a terrific and interesting villain. He's easily my favorite Arc V villain, as well as my favorite villain in the franchise.

I also think that Leo is a really interesting villain. For most of Arc V, I just wrote him off as a power hungry villain. I'm not sure why I was so set on that image for Leo, but I didn't really think much of him. He was an effective type of villain who was hiding in the shadows. Even with minimal appearances prior to the Fusion arc, Leo was still the leader of Academia, as well as being Reiji's father, so he still had a strong presence within the series. Leo's backstory really changed my opinion on his character. After years of waiting, his motivation was far more personal than I could have expected. Instead of being a power hungry dictator, Leo was ultimately a father grieving for his lost child. Learning about the original world also explained why Leo had no problem with turning children into soldiers or destroying an entire dimension. He didn't think any of these dimensions or people were real, so hurting them wouldn't really matter, especially when he wanted to bring back the original world as well. It made Leo into a more complex and arguably sympathetic villain than I thought he would be.

However, I really appreciate that the show didn't downplay how terrible his actions were either. While wanting to get Ray back was an understandable desire, he still hurt countless people in order to do so. Reiji called Leo out multiple times on causing so much destruction and being a bigger threat to the four dimensions than Zarc was. It was also Leo's actions that allowed for the Dragon Boys to meet and eventually merge back into Zarc after all. If Leo didn’t start the dimensional war to revive Ray, Zarc wouldn't have reformed, or at the very least I don't think it would have happened as quickly as it did. His motivation was entirely selfish too. Instead of trying to honor Ray's sacrifice and continue to live with his new family, Leo wanted to bring Ray back to satisfy his guilt and grief. Leo was so narrowly focused on reviving Ray that no one else mattered to him. Not Reiji, Himika or anyone else in the four dimensions because they didn’t matter to him as much as Ray did.

Despite Reiji pointing out how much damage he was causing, I don't think Leo fully realized this until Zarc nearly destroyed all four dimensions. Seeing that his actions almost caused such destruction again made Leo reflect more on his behavior and actions. He realized that he did hurt countless people, that the Bracelet girls did have their own lives before he kidnapped them and that he didn't deserve forgiveness. As much as I would have loved Ray to yell at Leo for everything he did upon her revival, I'm glad that went with this route instead. I think having any kind of interaction with Ray, even a negative one, would have still been seen as a reward for Leo's terrible actions. He still would have gotten a reunion with his daughter and potentially been able to deal with his grief a bit more easily because of having one more moment with her. Instead, Leo doesn't really get anything after everything he did. Plus, I think it makes his realization much more meaningful knowing that he came to it through his own self-reflection. Even though Leo is with everyone at the end of the series, I don't think he's forgiven or redeemed. Neither the series or the characters gave me the impression that everyone was okay with Leo. He realized he did a lot of terrible and unforgivable things and did what he could to help out during the last arc, but that isn't the same thing as being forgiven or redeemed. I don't think Leo would want to live with his family again, but I think he was ready to start dealing with his grief for Ray in a healthier manner after coming to that realization. Leo was just such a surprising villain for me. I already thought he was interesting after watching Arc V the first time, but I just grew to appreciate how complex and interesting his motivation made him upon rewatching the series. He just stands out a lot more than I thought he would when he was first introduced and he's definitely one of the more interesting villains in the franchise for me.

[lahbarsaglini]

ᏴᎪᏟᏦᏚᎢᎪᏀᎬ

→ CHAPTER ONE

Here it is! It’s recommended to read all "Backstage Masterlist" items available on my profile before or after reading this chapter! Hope you like it!

Warnings: mentions of death and depression. 

July 20, 2011

Orange County, Southern California, USA

She knew that in exactly sixty minutes, a year would be complete. The girl’s brown orbs were almost wide open, fixed on the two flashing red dots that marked the time on her digital clock by the bed. Even turned around, she still could feel her twin sister’s gaze on her back, penetrating her ribs, as a signal that she was also aware of the approaching date in three thousand six hundred seconds. 

If you have been through this, you will surely recognize every following word: denial, anger, negotiation, depression, acceptance. Although death is the only certainty of all mankind, no one is ever prepared to go through emotional grief. The intense pain, the feeling of revolt, the deep emptiness. The whole family was aware of all these emotions.

Exactly a year ago, Naya Valentini and her family had lost two members of their family tree. Under her precise social perception, her favorite uncle and her little cousin. Matteo Valentini was that uncle that, no matter what, made the day better. He was the life of family reunions, and after his divorce, he seemed to be doing better than anyone else in this world. On that afternoon, in July 2010, he had taken his triplets Max, Graham and Sophie to the movies. Everyone was excited, talking about the premiere of Despicable Me. What no one knew was that when they were coming back home, tragedy awaited them. The white van hit the driver’s entire side, including the back part, where Sophie was.

When Naya’s parents arrived at the hospital after being notified, the news that Matteo had died on the spot frightened them at the thought of the possible death of the children. Luckily, the boys would recover quickly, but Sophie had been rushed to the operation room. Naya wasn’t with them, in fact, she and her other siblings had been left behind to take care of the new foster son of the family, who was a newborn. 

At home, everything was in chaos, and she still remembered the whole scene, which her brain insisted on showing in slow motion: her oldest brother Liam trying to stop Autie from shouting that she wanted to go to the hospital to see her cousins, Ethan almost blowing up the microwave while preparing something to eat, while she was trying to finish helping Devyn out in the bath, but hearing the baby crying wasn’t helping much.

With their parents out of the house and the dread of the idea of their cousins and uncle involved in an accident, the four eldest kids Liam, Ethan, Naya and Lexi were able (with a lot of effort) to bring the heavy mattresses downstairs where they had decided to spend the night together, with the strategy of gathering the younger ones on the same space so they could keep a better eye on them. It was dawn when their father arrived, finding all his children on his living room floor, sleeping, except for Lexi, who was giving Joey baby formula. Naya still remembered waking up and how her father had tried to be as gentle as possible telling them that Uncle Matt and Sophie had passed away. 

— I can’t sleep either. — Naya heard her sister’s voice over her shoulder.

And in that simple sentence, it was possible to feel the weight. They both knew how hard it had been for the whole family, especially for their father, who had just lost his favorite brother. The situation was ten times worse when he entered the fourth and most difficult stage of grief: depression. Mornings at the kitchen table, once animated by the children’s conversations, suddenly became quieter and quieter. Dad had just recovered from the last phase, acceptance, and the one-year anniversary had already arrived. 

Another person who was suffering a lot was Moon, Naya and her brothers mom. She had an extremely maternal relationship with the triplets, especially after her brother-in-law’s divorce, where their mother decided to abandon them. Sometimes, it even seemed like she was grieving more than Alexander, her husband and Matteo’s brother. 

— What do you think will happen today? — Lexi asked, but it was the silence that greeted her. — I just hope mom doesn’t freak out. Dad’s fine now, but her…

Naya turned to her twin sister’s side, tugging at the blanket, realizing for the first time that night that they were laying in the same position. 

— She won’t. She is a force of nature. — And there was definitely a very strong degree of intensity and precision in Naya’s response. Her mother really as a very inspiring woman, starting with her life story. 

Kwon Moon never had any contact with her biological father, the only thing she knew was that he was part of the USFK, the American Forces of Korea. After a one night stand, her mother eventually returned to Busan, where Moon was born and they moved to the United States when she was 15 years old, just because of her mother, deluded with life in a foreign country and hopes to marry her daughter’s father. They didn’t find him, and spent a good time in cheap hotel rooms. 

Moon was the one who decided to go to school and learn as much English as she could, teaching her mother in the spare time of her first job. Years later, she went to college and became pregnant, resulting in marriage to her boyfriend. Still studying, even in a distance program, as her children were born, never for a second of her life did she give up the dream of creating her own line of products in Beaufort, deciding to move to Los Angeles to finally open her store and put into practice what she learned with her chemistry degree. 

Nowadays, mom had two stores in Southern California, and she was doing her best every day, always encouraging her children to do the same. Today would also be a day without school. The family would visit Matteo Valentini and his daughter’s grave.

— Do you think about Sophie? — This time it was Naya who broke the moment of reflection. 

— Honestly? — Lexi turned up, staring at the ceiling before moving on. — Not anymore. Of course I miss her. It must be much worse for the boys, I can’t even imagine what would be like to lose you. 

After the accident, Max and Graham were living with the Valentini-Kwon’s family, as their mother didn’t show up and they didn’t have anyone besides Alex and Moon to take care of them. 

— How about you?

— I’m thinking about her now. — Naya confessed. 

— But that’s because it’s the death anniversary. 

— Yes, but I thought the same thing when dad came home that day and told us everything. Sophie was seven years old. She’s gone without knowing what high school is like, or what it’s like to kiss someone, or drive a car. She never had a chance to live, unlike Uncle Matt. — Naya adjusted a lock of her own hair. — Thinking about it makes me depressed. She could have had the world. 

— Yes. — Lexi’s agreement came in a low voice tone. 

— What about us?

— What do you mean? — Without understanding the question, Lexi frowned.

— What I mean is that… — Naya sat on the bed, the blanket falling on her lap, just as her hair fell over her pajamas. — We can have the world. The question is: what are we doing with our lives?

— Okay, Nay. Relax a little and quit all this philosophy of life for now. Me and you… We’re only sixteen. School things are our biggest concern. — Lexi accompanied the twin on the move, getting up and going to sit on her sister’s bed.

— But that’s the point, Lexi. What if we die? I never did anything I wanted. Sophie was seven years old, didn’t have much she could have done except… Bring some message to our family. — Saying that sounded like the right interpretation. — And it hurts me to say this, but I don’t want to end up like her, Lex. I want to live. I want to decide what I am going to do, to challenge myself more. Because as far as I know, I can die tomorrow, or the day after. I want to be like Uncle Matt, he did everything he wanted.

Alexa seemed to understand the meaning of the conversation, the reason for her sister being so reflective.

— So what do you want to do? — Unrelated to, you know, what we have now. Boyfriend, dancing, friends, apart from all this?

The question took her by surprise. What did Naya want to do with her life? Once she graduated from high school, what would happen? The memory of a little girl came to light when her interest in old movies began to emerge after a summer vacation at her grandparent’s farm. After that, she remembered her godfather and the piano classes, and how he said she had a good voice. Her dream of being a musical actress started from there, together with an entire week spent only watching the famous Broadway plays. She had participated in “13” two years ago and she missed that place. 

Still thinking about her and her sister’s godfather, she wondered if she should believe him. After so many refusals, she wouldn’t have the courage to call him for advice.The way was to try to go through every phase of the challenge, just like what her late cousin would never have the opportunity to do. 

With a smile building up just as a year had passed since the accident, Naya looked at her sister before laying on the bed again.

— What? Why are you smiling? Nay?

— I figured out what I want to do.

— And you won’t tell me?

— You will find out, Lex.

The girl glanced once again at the digital clock, following the moment it had just shown 04:01am, just one minute more than when her cousin had been declared lifeless. However, the only thing she could do was smile. She had understood one of the little girl missions on her short passage through Earth, and hoped the rest could understand soon too. With a lighter heart, Naya whispered before closing her eyes.

— Thank you, Sophie. 

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 6

That’s Right!  After a year of life happening to me, I finally got my priorities in order and got around to writing Chapter 6!

Thank you everyone who was so patient with me, and thank you to all the new people who have been reading the first five chapters in the last 24 hours.

A very special shout out to @ritualistic-raven, @livinlifeasithappens, who have been very encouraging in the most real, low key ways.  Also, @writer-gurl-who-doesnt-write, because you have kept me motivated all day, despite the fact that you just found my blog. Finally, @canimallow, @seperis, and @the-firstofhername just for writing so much and inspiring me to get back on the horse.

Finally, when my back didn’t hurt anymore, the Miys agreed that I would be allowed to visit Tyche.  My mouth was dry just imagining what I would say to her…. I hadn’t seen her face to face since the End.  Out of fear, I had never even taken the time to imagine if she was alive or dead.  Needless to say, finding out she was alive and raising bloody hell was a balm to the remains of my soul.

“It is a long walk, Enhancer,” the Miys tried to explain.  Despite numerous attempts to explain that ‘ph’ and ‘f’ were identical sounds, the Miys could tell a difference in the vibrations, and refused to just call me “Sofeya”. Very phonetic, the Miys. So, until a suitable nickname was found, they kept calling me ‘Enhancer’.

So. Annoying.

Really, everything was annoying me at this point.  I had been on bed rest for what felt like forever, but had actually only been about two weeks of conscious time. Knowing that my sister was so close had been a burning itch under my skin the entire time. In the decade since the world ended, I had just grown used to the idea that everyone I loved was gone, forever.  Finding out that the only person in my family who actually mattered was still alive and raising Hell had been more than I ever dreamed.

Which is why I was currently hobbling along with a very agitated and concerned hippo-spider behind me.  I had grown so used to the Miys’ appearance that it was actually kind of adorable to see them wringing all of their hands and making the whirring noise I had learned meant anxiety.

As we travelled along, I took the opportunity to observe and learn my surroundings.  The hallways were smooth, with a distinctly inorganic feel, almost like river stone or beach glass. It was very serene, but efficient.  Noticeable in their absence were directional markers and navigational indicators, however.  The more I thought about it, the more it made sense: When you are the only crew member on the ship, essentially, what need would you have for methods to find your way around?  The Miys was literally everywhere at the same time.

And I do mean everywhere.  I could not travel ten paces without seeing one of their bodies.  At first, the lack of acknowledgement when my chaperone and another body passed each other was disconcerting; Even after ten years of the End, I was still very ingrained to greet every person I saw unless I was deliberately avoiding being noticed.

Poor thing.  The Miys actually had to ask me to cease greeting it about a quarter of the way across the ship. I was slightly embarrassed as I realized that I probably sounded like an over-excited toddler, repeatedly saying “hello” to the same person.

After about an hour of walking, the Miys surrendered and let out a low-pitched hum that sounded like a groan. “Enhancer, can we please take a transport? You have made your point, you are well.  However, I fail to understand how you are having six different thoughts at once, and have been for the entire walk.  To minimize the sheer amount that you are thinking at me, can we please take a faster method?”

Oops.  Apparently that part did not show up in their rigorous documentation on my personality traits. Both my sister and I had a tendency to think about several things at a time. “Sorry.  Yeah, let’s take a transport. I didn’t mean to think at you, I just don’t know how to not do it.”

“Can you please stop that rhythmic, repetitive thought?”

“That one, I can’t do anything about. It’s music, and I always sing in my head.” Tyche had always joked that I had multiple processors in my brain, and processor three was broken and only played music.

“Can you ‘sing’ something better?”

“Hey, I like Sara Bareilles.”

“But… that is not how gravity works?”

“It’s a metaphor.”

We filled the remainder of the trip across the ship with conversation about Terran music, which I was not particularly knowledgeable about on a technical scale. However, it followed the same movements as Terran literature (which the Miys knew I had a degree in), so it kept us occupied until we arrived at what were apparently Tyche’s quarters.

As soon as the transport stopped, my trepidation and anticipation hit so powerfully that the Miys actually stumbled while escorting me to the door.

“You are – afraid? – of your sibling, but are also excited? How is one excited about fear?”

“That’s an entirely separate discussion,” I sighed.  “I’m not afraid of her, I’m afraid of her being angry or disappointed in what I’ve become. However, I have not seen her since very shortly after the Earth blew itself into anachronism, so I’m also very happy and excited that she is alive.”

“Ah,” The Miys replied. “thank you for explaining. When I ask those questions of Tyche, she just says ‘it’s a thing’ and does this,” as it waved it’s smaller left hand in a vague gesture.

“Yeah,” I sighed in relief. “That’s Tyche. Usually that means that all her brain function in taken and she doesn’t have any left to dedicate to finding words.”

“Yes,” the Miys said in a very deep, exasperated, and all-too-human tone. “You both think about so many things at a time, I am constantly surprised either of you can function. And I have thousands of bodies!  As such, I will decidedly not be joining you in Tyche’s rooms, instead observing via video relay that Tyche has consented to, as she knows we find her very entertaining and informational.”

I chuckled at that. “Not many humans on board that strongly atypical.” It was not by any means a question. Tyche was the most unique person I had ever met in my life.

“Precisely. We have four: two have declined video relay installation in their quarters, and the fourth has not yet consented or declined.”

Out of close to 10,000 humans on board, that was an extremely small population. I could understand why they found my sister so entertaining: I thought she was amazing, but I was strongly biased.

Finally, quelling my trepidation, I mustered up the courage to tap the request for entry.  I expected a cool greeting and an expertly arched eyebrow, followed quickly by a sarcastic comment.  My Tyche was always conscious of her demeanor, with a razor wit and acerbic tongue ready for any occasion.

All I saw was a flurry of black and grey before I was slammed on my back against the deck. High pitched squeals pierced my ears, and out of the corner of my eye I could see my chaperone beating a hasty retreat.  Something started hitting my torso, and by the time my brain caught up, I realized that the blur was Tyche, she had tackled me while squealing, and she was currently sitting on me while punching my brand new torso. My normally restrained sister had glomped me.

“Hey!” I cried half-heartedly while I struggled to contain laughter and tears at the same time. “I just bought that, knock it off!”

“I’ll knock your fucking head off if you vanish for that long again!” She shouted with a wide smile on her face. Ah, there was the sister I knew.

We collapsed into a pile of laughter for a moment, only stopping when I heard a very unexpected noise coming from the direction of her door.

“Squerk?”

I stopped laughing immediately to listen.

“Prrow?”

My eyes must have been as wide as saucers when I looked up at the giggling heap that was still sitting on me. “Tyche. Is that a cat?”

She laughed even harder. “Shit. Yeah… check this out.”

Tyche let me up off the deck while she turned to pick up the source of the plaintive cry: a massive black cat with enormous green eyes.

“Holy rabies, trust you to keep up the family tradition through the end of the world,” I breathed.

“Oh, no no no no no no,” she corrected me jubilantly. “He is not just any black cat. This little void-muffin is Mac 3.0.”

“Nuh uh,” I shook my head violently, my new spine complaining. “No way.” Our family had always, always owned at least one black cat.  When I was in college, our previous black cat passed away and one week later, Mac found me. I had been walking to class, and I heard the most pitiful cry coming from a car.  It turned out that this tiny black ball of floof had crawled up in the engine to be warm, and could not get out. Two hours later, he was free and I had a cat.  When the world ended, I assumed he had died with everyone else I loved.

“Yes huh,” Tyche retorted, pulling me out of my memories. “When it all went down, Mac actually stuck around. He brought a kitten home one day, a little queen that looked just like him. I assume it was his daughter. Well, Mac took on a fox and lost, but Mac 2.0 had exactly one litter, and this fucker is the only one that survived.”

I am not exaggerating about the black cats. We never look for them: They find us. Often in the weirdest ways.

“How did you get Noah to let you bring him on board?” the awe evident in my voice.  Above us, a sound like a throat clearing. The Miys and I had a running joke about me calling them Noah, and them correcting me. I was too absorbed in what constituted a family reunion to pay any mind other than registering the noise.

“I demanded it,” she shrugged eloquently while gesturing for me to enter her quarters. “I explained how important pets are to Terrans, how they reduce stress levels and anxiety, and I explained that domesticated animals were not likely to survive if left behind. And, really, the pets didn’t screw up the planet… Why punish the innocent?”  Her eyes held a look of wide eyed conviction that I knew in my bones she had never genuinely made in her life. Tyche was a firebrand, not a waif.

“So, you were going to a new place and needed at least one person who you knew would support you so long as you kept his crunchies filled, huh?” I asked with a smile and raised eyebrow.

“HOW DO YOU DO THAT!?” blared from the ceiling.  Whoops. The Miys had no eyebrows, so that particular gesture fascinated them.

Just to be contrary, Tyche also cocked an eyebrow, inciting a groan-noise from the speakers. “I was very sincere. In fact, they brought a significant amount of pets along with us. Upwards of forty thousand, I think?”

“60,328,” came the chagrined voice-from-above as Tyche cackled. “We found that the symbiotic domestics are very important to human survival.”

“Annnnnd?” my sister drawled, directly facing the source of the sound.

“And human relationship to their domestics reminds us of blagnarh,” it sighed, clearly used to her shenanigans. “Which we did not bring with us.”

“What the hell is – “ I started.

She cut me off, “A six foot centipede. Don’t ask for a photo, I did, and. No. Just no. Nope. Nope rope with legs.” Considering the hiss she used at the end of the sentence, I decided to leave it alone. Since she was an artist in a former life, I was going to take her word on the overall creepy-factor that ‘six foot centipede’ conjured in my poor brain.

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[a-lily-briscoe]

CTM CS 2017 Thoughts (aka me getting on my soapbox for a lil bit about all things plot- and character-development-related, regarding all storylines, relationships, and sexualities)

Hi loves -

I know there are lots of opinions on the Christmas Special floating around the wonderful world of tumblr, and I respect all of them, and I’d like to add mine to the mix. They are quite long, as you’ll probably notice. Feel free to agree, disagree, or ignore them completely!

First off, my general impression: it was a lovely episode, but with a little less substance than usual. I think they tried to do too much in one ep, and I didn’t feel as connected to the individual storylines of Linda and Mabel - however heartbreaking and impactful they may have been at certain parts. Also, we’ve seen the Christmas-pageant-gone-to-ruins-and-miraculously-resurrected plot one too many times, I believe, and though the final part of the episode was fun, I felt there was a missed opportunity to do something a little different.

Regarding Linda’s story, I thought Vanessa Kirby did a fantastic job displaying the rollercoaster of emotions that that birth involved - both before and after the baby was born. I’m really excited to see what’s in store for Val this season - as we still haven’t learned what her secret is (my guess is she might have had an abortion or a baby out of wedlock that she had to give up, but that’s just wild speculation), and I think Vanessa will do wonderfully well with whatever Heidi gives her. The actress playing Linda was also brilliant, and I had a huge lump in my throat during the whole stillbirth process. I absolutely lost it when the baby started crying in Val’s bag. It was well done for the most part, but as I mentioned before, it was a little difficult to get as invested in Linda’s character because the episode seemed so all over the place in terms of focusing on the recurring characters’ personal lives and rescuing the ill-fated Christmas fête. 

Mabel’s plot also somewhat fell victim to this phenomenon, and I wasn’t particularly convinced that Sister J’s handling of the situation was the right thing. Let me preface this by saying that, thankfully, I have never experienced physical or emotional abuse, and I have never been in a situation of support for someone who has, so I am no authority on how to be the best source of support to someone who has suffered something like Mabel and Anthea did. That being said, I found Sister J’s treatment of Anthea to be less than helpful, in that she pushed her to face the demons of her past with such immediacy in an already emotional time. While the reunion of mother and daughter was one that I was glad to see happen, it seemed like Sister J tried to push it on Anthea too soon, and her last remark about Anthea’s family seemed almost to guilt her into seeing her mother again. I don’t believe Anthea was given enough time to process the death of her father and the emotions that brought up again for her, and I think Sister J could have given her more of that time and not used guilt as a tactic to promote her own idea of what reconciliation looked like. As ever, though, I admire CTM’s willingness not to sugarcoat the horrors of domestic abuse and other all-too-common nightmares that people endure in their daily lives, especially in a culture that has become so inured to the existence and impact of sexual assault - something that is rightfully and courageously being challenged by so many people of all genders, and I hope will continue to be so.

The Turners were just a joy (other than Patrick being a bit of a shit who can’t do much without the women in his life). The kids are growing up beautifully, and watching Shelagh with Teddy was like a dream come true. (Watching Shelagh trying to get that girdle on, on the other hand, was a nightmare, but a raucously hilarious one. Laura Main deserves a BAFTA for those twenty seconds alone.)

As for Babs and Tom, I think they’re lovely together, and I just adored Babs’ little hat. She is such a gem. She spreads sunshine wherever she goes, and she makes a great vicar’s wife. Do I sometimes wish she’d branched out a bit and had some more single adventures? Sure I do. But she and Tom seem happy, and I’ll miss her terribly (if not him - I’ve always found him very blah personality-wise, if somewhat pleasant to look at) during her time away.

Trixie is a lovely Nonnatus stalwart, as always, but I fear Christopher is just another Tom - lovely face, but not much beyond handsomeness and chivalry. Am I happy that the female characters in this show are more nuanced than the male ones? Of course I am; that’s as it should be in a show about female power, strength, and love, and I’ve always considered it a point of pride that this show passes the Bechdel test with flying colors. Still, I wonder what this relationship adds to the series if it’s not an escape route for Helen, should she want to take time off - whether to care for her and Jack’s new adorable baby, or to do other projects. Additionally - and this may be overthinking it - I was a little concerned about how much Trix was talking about her own appearance relative to what she thought Christopher wanted. It called to mind the episode with Cathleen Baker, the gal with varicose veins, and I don’t want Trix to dissolve into self-consciousness like that when she’s always been a woman who’s found her looks a source of confidence and independence rather than the sole sign of her worth. That was just a knee-jerk thing in a couple of scenes, but I was happy she was such a great support for Val - as was Sister MJ (of whom I wish we could have seen a little more).

Phyllis Crane. God bless the woman. She was essential as always, and I loved her fingerless gloves. So comfy and stylin’. My snobby ass thought her cop adversary was a bit too much of a caricature, but I was glad to see she’s heading the rota/appointments - not to mention the Cubs - in as fine a fettle as she ever has. Fred and Reggie made for fantastic helpers (especially Reggie in his fabulous hat). Four for you, Phyllis; you go, Phyllis.

Now for the big one - the issue of the missing characters. I’d like to start with Sister Mary Cynthia, whom I missed dearly. With all the buzz about Emerald and Kate (which I’ll get to later, believe me - if you’ve made it this far, I applaud and thank you for dealing with my ramblings), I wasn’t sure if Bryony would be returning this season or if she’d moved onto other projects. For those who might not know, the BBC offers three-year contracts, so the end of the sixth series provided an opportunity for people to take other gigs if they wished to do so. Whether or not Sister MC will be back in this series, I would have liked to have heard a mention of her progress at Northfield, since Heidi and the other writers - not to mention Bryony herself - did such an incredible job of portraying her mental illness and giving that kind of visibility onscreen last season. I think it is important to give some sort of update on her recovery while recognizing that one never truly recovers from the scars that mental illness leaves, though much healing is possible.

In the same vein, we come to Pats and Deels. My darling, darling lesbians. Though I knew that both Emerald and Kate had moved on to other projects - and bully for them - it still came as a blow not to see them in the CS. As with Sister MC, there was a strange gap (not to mention that we haven’t heard hide nor hare from Chummy in donkey’s years), and I was truly disappointed that there was no mention made of where their characters had gone. However, I do not hold with the idea that CTM is being homophobic or participating in queer-baiting. As a queer woman who began watching this series as an unconsciously questioning high-schooler in 2013 - during series two when there was no whiff of gayness to be had - I recognize the value of this show beyond its representation of queer visibility; yet I also acknowledge that, when that visibility did appear, it was instrumental to my understanding of my own sexuality and my ability to come to terms with and to celebrate it as something beautiful, right, and true - even when people I love in my life may not have done so. (Never mind the fact that Emerald - in combination with Dana Scully - finally hit me over the head re my penchant for redheads with perfect skin, cut-glass cheekbones, and an appreciation for a well-tapered pair of slacks). 

Please take those rambling sentences to mean that, while I adored Pats’ and Deels’ onscreen relationship and will miss it terribly, the show communicates many messages beyond those sent by that relationship. This program offers beautifully told and righteously argued forms of social commentary, and above all, it is an ensemble show. There is no one central character or relationship, and the writers do their best to balance all of the storylines equally - regarding characters’ personal and professional lives. Would I have liked to have seen more than a kiss from Pats and Deels? Of course I would have, because I’m a deviant heathen who loves a little lady-lovin’ where I can get it. However, do I recognize that it was the 60s and that this show’s primary demographic is fairly geriatric, so representation had to be limited to a certain degree? Of course I do. I think both Pats and Deels were wonderful and nuanced characters - both together and apart - and the writers and actresses did a wonderful job in terms of queer visibility onscreen, even if they could have given us a bit more closure on where the characters had moved on to in the CS.

Which brings me to the question of Val as “the new gay one.” Do I think it would be fabulous if Val turned out to be gay? Absolutely I do. Everything is better when it’s gayer (though every form of relationship and sexuality is valid!). However, do I believe she’s a nuanced character in and of herself who provides an opportunity to bring more visibility of underrepresented forms of identity and background to the fore? Absolutely I do. I don’t feel that queer visibility is an obligation, a chore to be carried out and dispensed with once it’s filled its quota, or brought in just to fill a gap. It should be something that arises as organically as possible because it is something natural, something ever-present no matter the time period, and it should be represented in an honest, true, and - when possible - celebratory way. I do not think Val should simply “replace” the queer element in the show for the sake of filling a perceived void. I’m excited to see what happens with her character this season, irrespective of her sexual proclivities. I’m also excited to meet our new midwife, as she might provide a more regular perspective from a woman of color on the show and remind us of even more ways we can learn from our history and take action to ensure its darkest moments find no repetition in the light of today.

Okay - getting off my soapbox now. I had a lot of feelings about this episode, so thank you for listening (if you, by some miracle, made it down to the bottom, for which I adore you). Would love to hear your thoughts about any of this, and looking forward to seeing what pops up in the tag from all of you. Love to everyone, and excited for the rest of the series to come!

[uomo-accattivante]

In 2012, actor Oscar Isaac and dancer Bobbi Jene Smith, friends from Juilliard, sat across from each other in a room in New York City and performed a piece choreographed by Smith called Arrowed. Smith has described it as “a dance without any movement”; based on an Internet video of the performance, I would call it more of an interview or an interrogation. In that clip, Isaac sits on one side of a stage, Smith on the other, and he asks her a series of questions, some banal (“Where are you from? Do you drink? Do you smoke?”), others cryptic (“Are you an anchor or an arrow? Are you waiting or weighed down?”). At first the tone is friendly and inquisitive, and she is leisurely and thoughtful with her responses. Soon the questions begin repeating, faster and faster each time, more probing, more intrusive, more difficult to react to. Smith becomes palpably flustered. As the pressure mounts, her answers begin to change, to contradict.

Lind and Smith began corresponding, and eventually Lind traveled to Sweden, where the Iowa-born Smith, on hiatus from her longtime gig as a principal with the prestigious Israeli dance company Batsheva, was performing with choreographer Sharon Eyal’s troupe. The filmmaker arrived by train, “quite nervous,” to ask if Smith would be open to doing a documentary. “This is such a weird thing,” Lind remembers. “It’s a little bit like: Will you marry me? But like: Will you marry me and my camera?”

That makes more sense when you see Bobbi Jene, Lind’s new film, in theaters now. I’m sitting across from the director and her subject at a sidewalk café just a few blocks from where their project won top documentary honors at the Tribeca Film Festival this past spring. Shot over the course of three years, Bobbi Jene is a feat of vérité filmmaking, so intensely intimate that “intensely intimate” doesn’t really do it justice. Partly that’s a tribute to Lind’s masterful fly-on-the-wall maneuvering. “The way I work is basically I do everything I can do to disappear,” she explains. “Then I can make a film where it’s not at the forefront of Bobbi’s mind that there’s someone capturing her thoughts. It doesn’t become part of her . . . consideration.”

But it’s equally a tribute to Smith’s remarkable ability to move through the world without artifice and her willingness to trust-fall into Lind’s vision. “Bobbi knows at any point she can say, I don’t want this to be seen by anyone,” Lind goes on. “And at the same time, I’m going to film it. Because maybe in two years you’ll be like: I’m so glad you filmed that.” Smith nods and describes a scene that ended up making it into the documentary: Desperate to be alone in a moment of anguish, she realized, “Oh, actually the moments when I don’t want her there, those are when she gets to do what she loves.”

“Oh,” Lind exclaims. “That’s so sweet!”

At the film’s outset, Smith has just made the decision, in her own parlance, to be an arrow not an anchor, to strike out on her own as a dancer and choreographer. It’s a choice that means parting ways with Batsheva, her creative home for nearly 10 years, and with its charismatic artistic director (also her former lover), Ohad Naharin, whose fluid, intuitive movement language, Gaga, is Smith’s dancing vernacular. It also means leaving behind Tel Aviv, the city where she’d relocated at Naharin’s invitation as a 21-year-old Juilliard dropout, and saying goodbye—geographically, if not emotionally—to Or Schraiber, the Israeli Batsheva dancer, 10 years her junior, with whom she had fallen deeply in love.

Lind trails her subject as she performs her last shows in Israel, then moves back to the States, first to San Francisco, then to New York City. She reconnects with her family, particularly with her devoutly Christian mother, who admires her daughter’s courage but worries about her more free-spirited ways. We see Smith struggling with Schraiber’s absence, reckoning with his reluctance to join her in America, with their considerable age gap (“Maybe we think similarly,” he tells her, “but we are not in the same place”). We’re in the room for their wrenching reunions and partings of ways (and for some mildly NSFW Skype sessions in between). And we watch her work to channel her personal trials into A Study on Effort, a powerfully provocative new solo piece that Smith, a magnetic dancer, performs naked for a live audience, with only her very long hair as a veil.

In one bit she braces her arms against an imaginary wall, pushing with all her might, the sinews of her impressively chiseled body tightening and quivering with exertion. In another, she throws her arms up in the air, over and over again, like a woman raging at a cruel god, a heaving motion that takes on its own momentum. The longer she does it, the harder it is to read whether it’s gravity or her body that’s doing the work. And at the end of the performance, she drags a sandbag onto the stage, lies facedown on top of it, and grinds her hips against its mass, shuddering and moaning until she achieves, spectacularly, an orgasm.

It’s a sexual act, though not particularly sexy, or at least it’s not meant to be. Even as she performs it publicly, nakedly, there’s something unnervingly internal about it, centered, extremely private. She’s playing with ideas she learned from Naharin, “about effort and pleasure and pain and pleasure,” she tells the camera, “and how it’s just a switch. It’s the same thing.” But the piece is also a radical reclamation of the naked female body, and of female pleasure, as something separate from the familiar framework of shame and purity and modesty, and, though there are men in the audience watching, as something utterly apart from the male gaze or external desire.

Bobbi Jene is radical, too: It’s a film that says incremental progress and process are as important as monumental feats of achievement. It’s a portrait of an artist coming out of a long incubation period, seeking and finding her own voice, the kind of female artistic bildungsroman that’s still in terribly short supply in our culture, and the kind of female sexual bildungsroman that’s still almost entirely absent. It’s also the story of a woman of a certain age—at the beginning of the film Smith expresses dismay at her looming 30th birthday—who is claiming her body for her own purposes, and about what happens when she bets on one kind of creative potential over another. “I could have danced there longer,” Smith tells me of Batsheva, “and settled down, continued. But I felt like I wasn’t able to make the separation between what was my work and what I gave to the company. What do I want to say to the world? I feel like a lot of times in life we’re waiting for that aha moment that’s like, okay, now is the time to go. One day I woke up and was like, that moment doesn’t exist. It’s not real. It’s an abstract idea. That pushed me off the cliff, the moment when I realized there is no moment.”

Smith’s ambivalence about having children hovers at the margins of this movie, alluded to but never directly addressed. It goes unspoken that childbearing—not to mention child rearing—would take a major toll on a dancer’s career, as it would, to a different extent, on any creative work. These were questions that were very much on Lind’s mind during the years she was filming. “There’s a primal scream,” she says. “It’s really loud. You kind of don’t want to hear it, but it’s the body that’s talking to us. And we have to face these things. To have a baby, and to settle, and be a mother, is different than for a man. It takes up a different volume in your life. It’s something I really battled with. And it helped me a lot to work with it, to see it from a different perspective.” Toward the end of the long process of making Bobbi Jene, she and Isaac were trying and failing to conceive. “Maybe I had to finish the film first,” she surmises. “My body was like, nope, not yet.” She got pregnant as soon as editing was done, went into labor during the documentary’s Tribeca premiere, and gave birth shortly thereafter to a son.

In Smith’s life, the big news is that Schraiber finally joined her this fall in New York. She breaks into a big, shy grin when I ask her about him. “I’m so moved that he came,” she says, her voice wavering. When I spoke with Lind and Smith it was a few days ahead of when Bobbi Jene would officially hit theaters, and Smith admitted to being anxious and a little out of sorts. At one point in the film she talks to Lind about the limited upside of being a dancer. “It’s just . . . keep working. It doesn’t have a payoff like acting or even film. Performing arts don’t have that. Or music: You can have one song and you can get royalties. The equivalent in the dance world is you make one really great solo. And maybe some people will see it. That’s it.”

Unless, of course, someone makes a documentary about you, and then there’s a pretty good chance that thousands and thousands of people will see your work, in all its complexity, in any number of contexts. It’s very different, after all, to perform a naked sexual act for the type of solemnly reverential performing arts enthusiast who might buy a ticket to an avant-garde dance recital, and to do so in front of a camera, in footage that will be available for the foreseeable future to anyone with an iTunes account or a Netflix log-in. “You could go back and watch it, that one moment,” Smith acknowledges. “It feels very vulnerable in a way that I’m not used to. With live performance, part of the magic is that it disappears. And it becomes a memory. It’s like”—she gestures toward me, then back to herself—“I’m with you. You’re with me. It’s a dialogue. And now it’s different.”

It’s a coincidence that last winter also saw the U.S. release of Mr. Gaga, a documentary by Israeli director Tomar Heyman, about Naharin, Smith’s longtime mentor. That film, a more straightforward survey of its subject’s life and work, ranks as the most successful documentary in Israeli history. It’s a fascinating companion piece to Bobbi Jene, but some reviewers have drawn unflattering comparisons. Variety called Bobbi Jene “considerably less rewarding than last year’s Mr. Gaga . . . alongside which this new film feels like a footnote.” A critic at RogerEbert.com said of the attention paid to Smith’s romantic and personal quandaries: “We all have these problems. Who cares?”

But it’s precisely because we all have these problems that we ought to care. “The personal is political,” a truism, sure, but never truer than in this documentary, which shines a spotlight on a woman gambling on security and love, betting on herself and her ideas, using her body as she sees fit—and doing all those things at an age when society quite frankly discourages women from taking such risks. Bobbi Jene is quietly exceptional, unique because of the unique nerve and talent of its subject (that much is evident having spent just an hour with her), and universal, even mundane, because the questions that plague Smith—how to balance ambition and creative drive and personal fulfillment and biological reality—will be deeply, painfully familiar to any woman staring down the ticking clock of her young adulthood. Lind’s film makes the case that these kinds of stories are not mere footnotes, but ones well worth telling. And anyone enlightened enough to see past the great-men theory of history would probably agree.

One scene from the film reveals Smith spreading the gospel of Gaga to a class of dancers. (Teaching, she tells me, may be her true calling: “I speak through my body, and actually that feels like my work, where I meet people in the studio. Letting them know how much power they have, how loud their voices can be.”) Demonstrating a movement, she grabs her ankle behind her, uses the momentum to spin her body around, plants her foot, and then swoops her clasped hands under her parted legs so that she’s contorted into a standing backbend. “And you just have to hope for the best,” she admits to her students as they try, clumsily, to imitate her. “Usually it’s a 70 percent chance. Thirty percent I hit my head really hard on the floor, 70 percent I don’t. But you’re not going to die.”

You give into the motion, you accept pain as a possible side effect: that seems to be Smith’s philosophy both in and out of the studio. “It’s terrifying, it’s humbling,” she says of watching the finished film. “I remember thinking, like, Oh, maybe that part I don’t like, that movement. I could do that much better.” She glances at Lind. “Then I realized: She probably spent hours on it, dreamed on it, changed it, cut it one second earlier, got a glass of wine, came back to it, tried it with different music. And that’s what she landed on. I need to trust that this is the right decision that she wants to make.” Smith goes on: “This is my life, but this is Elvira’s art. It was an amazing lesson in letting go.”

###

[how-original-another-blog]

God helped me?

My happy place. This can have a lot of different meanings depending on who you are or how you interprete different things, but today I can say that I was in my happy place (can time be a happy place too?🤷🏼‍♀️lets just say for the sake of this that it can ha!)

For the first time in a long time I felt like luck was on my side. With so much stress and pressure over the past few months I haven’t really been that close to my family back home (yes, I’m a bad daughter I know🙄) but today I actually finally plucked up the courage to go and see them all. I was up all night stressing, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat properly, over heating and literally on the edge of making myself very ill just because I wasn’t mentally prepared to see if my presence would be a hot or cold experience yet. Anyway, I’m waffling on, as I was doing my makeup this morning I was literally shaking thinking to myself “what if they say this?” “What if they don’t want me there?” “Have I really change that much?” And all the other delightful things that spiral out of control in your head when you’re under pressure or extremely upset.

As I sat on the bus and as the hour bus journey grew to a close and I approached my home I was nervous, well to say I was nervous is an understatement but I was nervous never the less. Once I stepped off the bus I couldn’t help but recognise old faces and people that no longer recognised me. I smiled as I stepped off the bus only to be greeted with either confused faces or a cold presence but I don’t let this ruin my day or how I felt so far. As I stated to approach my house the things that I questioned to myself earlier in the morning returned  yet again, I pushed them to once side and opened my front door.

The warmth and love I was greeted with from my family as I opened the door for the first time in 5 months was a little overwhelming I will admit. Having both my older and younger brother greet me at the doorway each with a smile and a big hug they’ve ever given me before. As I stepped further into the house my mother also approached me and asked my how I was doing and all the stuff that you do at a family reunion (can I even call it that? Meh who knows🙄). My mother even proceeded to invite me and my fiancé on holiday and to all these day trips all of a sudden after not talking to me for near enough five months of our lives. Now to a lot of you, five months isn’t that long at all. But let me tell you this, when you have no (real) contact with your family on a daily basis or even a monthly basis it’s very difficult and depressing. Constantly making you question things you don’t want to question, wondering if they miss you etc etc. Now I’m partly to blame for this too, I’m not going to say I’m innocent and my family are all to blame because of course they’re not, I’m to blame for all this too. It’s just nice to know that after months and months of rows and a lot of tears and shouting that they’re still there for me and it’s still my home (I mean I’ve moved out now but you catch my drift)

Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked, sorry it’s kinda late as I’m writing this (probably should be asleep as I have an early morning tomorrow) back to the main points. My younger brother had insisted that he wanted to go to church (this was his choice so just like all of us, my mother made father support all of us 100% in what we want to do) so my mother goes with him as he’s only six years old. So my mother and I went out to do a little bit of shopping earlier, mainly just to have a little bit of a ‘patch up’ of the coldness we’d given each other over the last five months, and she started talking about my bothers church services. Now I’m not one to believe in god personally but I’m always open to listen to other pope talk about it or their believes, she proceeds to say “we’ve been learning about how god forgives and teaches us to forgive people and things that people have done to us. They’re also talking about letting things go” and for once in my life I felt like they’re actually was a god and he’s listened to me.

Me and my mother hasn’t always gotten in but we’d been close. I’d felt so alone after I’d moved out (due to personal reasons too) and so I began to look for things to help me. And I’m a strange sort of way, when she said this to me and was talking to me like nothing had happened as odd as this sounds I honestly felt like god had heard me without me even talking out to him, or anyone for that matter. I guess you’ll never know until it happens to you, but when you do you’ll understand exactly what I mean. But anyway, the main good news is everyone’s on good teams again!

We’re all going to the zoo next weekend too and I’m on the night shift the day before so wish me luck people haha!

That’s it for tonight, sorry if there are spelling mistakes, I’m extremely exhausted and it’s late. (edit, I’ve fixed them! well...i mean most of then, its so much easier to type on a laptop rather than a phone screen haha)

Goodnight everyone🍷

[frustratedcastingdirector]

Mark Ruffalo Stands Up for Acting

Mark Ruffalo. (Photo by Richard Phibbs)

American Theatre Magazine - February 8, 2017

Mark Ruffalo Stands Up for Acting

Schooled by Stella Adler in his profession’s highest ideals, he’ll get another chance to live up to them in Arthur Miller’s ‘The Price.’

BY

ROB WEINERT-KENDT

Actor Mark Ruffalo (The Kids Are All Right, Spotlight, The Avengers) hasn’t been onstage since 2006’sAwake and Sing on Broadway, but he got his start in small L.A. theatres and had his breakthrough in 1996 with Kenneth Lonergan’s Off-Broadway classic This Is Our Youth. He’ll return to Broadway in March for a revival of Arthur Miller’s The Price at Roundabout Theatre Company.

I spoke to him by phone on the morning of President Trump’s inauguration. The night before he had appeared in another of his prominent roles, as an activist, at a protest rally in front of Trump Tower.

I somehow missed Awake and Sing, which means the last time I saw you onstage was in Justin Tanner’s Still Life With Vacuum Salesman back in 1994, at the Cast Theatre in Hollywood. Did I miss any other stage work since Awake and Sing? No, I haven’t really done any. I’ve done some readings and things like that, but not really back onstage. It’s been a long time.

And there wasn’t a lot before Awake and Sing, was there? I sort of had the surprise of having a film career, which I wasn’t really expecting, you know? But before Awake and Sing, The Moment When was the last thing I’d done—a James Lapine play at Playwrights Horizons.

I think I once heard you tell this story, and I’ve retold it many times, so I want to reconfirm it. When you were in This Is Our Youth in New York, you had L.A. casting directors coming to see you and saying, “You’re amazing, where have you been?” And you’re like, “I’ve been acting down the street from you. I’ve been trying to get you to see my shows!” That’s exactly what happened. They were like, “Where did you come from?” I was like, “What are you talking about? I’ve been right under your nose for the past 10 years doing exactly the same thing here in L.A.” But no one goes to the theatre in L.A. I realized that if you had a long list of L.A. theatre credits on your résumé, they immediately thought you were a loser. I started taking theatre credits off of my résumé. But I have to say, I’ve seen a lot of New York theatre and I’ve seen a lot of L.A. theatre. And L.A. theatre is just as vibrant and, in a lot of ways, more beautiful because it isn’t so corporatized. It’s more independent and there’s a lot more freedom.

I don’t know if you’ve followed the whole L.A. 99-Seat controversy that’s been going on in the past few years, about whether Equity actors should be allowed to work without a contract under a certain level. I don’t want to get too deep into that controversy with you, but I did see your early work on the old 99-seat plan. I mean, actors should be paid, but, you know… I mean, I’m doing this play here; I’m taking a major pay cut to do this, you know. So it’s all relative. And there’s probably an argument to be made that, you know, yes, we could do better, but I also want to do this. And maybe theatre is like a civil act—a generous social act.

(The cast of “Avenue A” 1992 - Photo by Ed Krieger)

There was an early version of This Is Our Youth at the Met in Los Angeles, if I remember correctly. Is that how you got involved with that play? Yeah, there was the one-act version at the Met called Betrayed by Everyone. I wasn’t even cast. I was only doing a reading for it. They were looking for a star, and I was asked to do a reading of it with a casting associate—we were just reading it for him to hear it out loud. They made it very clear that there was no way we would possibly get a part in it, that it was just a reading. But we did it so well that he cast us.

I think Oliver Platt used to be a reader in auditions, and that was how he got his break too. Oh really? That’s cool. That’s one of the backdoor ways to get a part.

So tell me about the part you’re playing in The Price, Victor. Victor Franz is a cop who’s turning 50, and he’s made all these decisions about his life and beyond and now, you know, he’s taking a look at whether he’s made the best decisions. And he’s having a reunion with his brother; they’re about to tear their old family home down, and they’ve got all the family furniture in there that they’ve got to get rid of. And they haven’t spoken in 16 years.

The only time I’ve seen the play was at A Noise Within in L.A., a really good production, about a dozen years ago. At the time I think I called it “Chekhovian.” It’s got some of the usual Arthur Miller themes, fathers and sons and all, but it’s a very slow burn. Yeah. It’s very mature. It’s much more nuanced than some of his other plays. It’s really political, but the politics are buried so deeply in the people. Sometimes, you know, Arthur’s ideas are so big politically that they–you know, wow. This doesn’t do that.

Characters like this bring a lot of backstory into the room. As an actor what do you do to prepare for that? It’s a lot of imagination work, a lot of daydreaming, really. Stella Adler had a beautiful saying. She said, “Once something passes through your imagination, it’s real.” That can be a really intense, hard thing. There’s some writing that goes on, and I do some other kinds of quirky things. But a lot of it, honestly, is daydreaming about the life of the character based on the play.

It’s not about excavating your own relationship with your father or family, or anything like that? Well, that’s not the end-all. You know, we understand the nature of certain things because of our experience, and I think you’d be foolish to somehow divorce yourself from yourself. But then also you have to be careful not to pull the play down into your life, but lift yourself up into the greatness of the play. That was another thing Stella taught us. Yeah, you’re reflecting on your own experience; that really informs it. But at the end of the day, that’s small, and won’t sustain you throughout the run. So there’s a fine line to walk there.

I want to just ask you about politics and activism. Is that kind of like doing theatre—do you have to set aside time for that from your film career— You mean my day job?

Or does it kind of grow out of it naturally? That’s another thing we were taught—to be really socially active and involved, and politically astute. Stella came out of the Yiddish theatre, and that was the Jewish intellectual movement that led to the Group Theatre, and the whole workers movement was kicked off by Waiting for Lefty. That was part of my teaching, so it’s sort of seamless, even if a lot of them did it their work. The activism has been more direct for me, and the work has, sadly, taken a bit of a backseat. But this is a shift for me to get back to it—to get back to my theatre roots, and theatre that has a political aspect to it. This hits all those boxes for me. The political, the social, and the artistic working together is really powerful, but I think is hard to do these days.

So I think people would want me to ask Mark Ruffalo, celebrity protester at Trump Tower, about politics more specifically. Like: What are we going to do? My wife said I should ask you, “Where’s the bunker?” The bunker’s in the streets. When you’re afraid, hit the streets. It’s not an accident that enshrined in our First Amendment is the right to assembly and to address grievances and freedom of speech—they’re all there. That’s the First Amendment. That might be all that’s left to us at this point, but there’s so much power there.

At the rally last night, there were 25,000 people. That’s how we know we’re not alone. I think the more cynical forces in the world want us to believe we’re alone, want us to believe somehow that our votes didn’t matter, that the progress that we made in this country in the last 50, 60 years, was all for naught—that our decency as Americans and the values that we hold dear to us from the beginning of our Constitution are somehow no longer valid. So the way we fight against that is to come together and remind each other that, yes, we do have values. America isn’t just about money, it isn’t just about businesses—it’s about people. And we’re not a fearful country, we’re actually a courageous country. We don’t give up our principles based on fear or making each other the bogeyman, and we never have. When we have in the past, we’ve always righted it.

You’ve got three kids, right? Are they into the arts or performing? Is that something you encourage or are you like, “No, stay away?” I’m more neutral. I’m waiting for them to find their own way. They’ve been around it and they’ve been exposed to it; they dabble in it. But I’m also not pushing introducing them to it. But certainly, if they wanted to do it, they have a nice headstart for it.

I know the cliché that even actors who are successful are worried about their kids going into the business. It’s not an easy life, there are no guarantees. No, but when I look at it, and I look at my friends, it’s been a good life. I’ve learned to really work hard. I’ve learned really beautiful lessons. I’ve been invited in places that no one would ever be invited to with so much openness and love.

I tell you, I have parents come to me, “My son or daughter wants to be an actress. What am I going to do?” You know, they can end up a lot worse. There’s a lot worse places these days they could end up that do harm in ways that you would never imagine. Ours is a much maligned industry, but when you look at it, it’s probably one of the most decent, upright industries in the world. We’re not screwing anybody, harming people, and nepotism doesn’t really play. It is really a meritocracy in the way it works. No one’s doing anyone any favors.

Wait, are you talking about film or theatre here? I’m talking about both. I mean, even in film there’s only so long you can get away with not being good. You have to bring something to the table. And, you know, we’re not killing people. I’m always amazed by how maligned we are. But if you want to add up our scumbags against the scumbags in other industries, I have a feeling we have a much lower percentage.

Do you worry that you get typecast in angry roles? I’m not just talking about the Hulk. Anger has been a signature of some of your best roles, and Victor in The Price has a big tell-off speech. Is that a slot you fit naturally into? It’s seasonal. You do something well, and then there’s a slew of those kinds of parts. You’re always sort of trying to stay ahead of the curve a little bit, you know, while at the same time exploring other things. Righteousness and justice—those are things that I’m interested in these days, and so I’m riding that wave a little bit. It will jump to something else when I feel like it.

But, you know, for a long time I did romantic comedy. I did the ne’er-do-well slacker. And then I’d get like 10 offers for, “He’s a brother, he’s kind of like a lumberjack, a slacker.” And now it’s like: “He’s living a double life, and part of him has all this rage and the other part is good.”

Actually, in the first thing I saw you in, Still Life With Vacuum Salesman, you were doing sort of a riff on Stanley Kowalski. I remember there being a lot of “young Brando” talk when you started. Do you still hear that? Not really, no; somewhere I went off the tracks. The jig is up. They saw through my ruse.

So maybe the anger thing is typecasting. But what do you do to blow off steam in real life? What’s your guilty pleasure? I started taking the kids to a ceramics class on the weekend. They eventually just stopped going and I’m the only one going now. I sort of beg them to come with me so I don’t feel like I’m in a ceramics class. I tell people, “Oh, you know, I had to take the kids to the ceramic class.” But it’s just me. So I guess I like doing ceramics.

So we’re talking a potter’s wheel and everything? There’s a potter’s wheel, and then there’s like hand-building stuff and sculpture. It’s just a way to check out in an active way. You have to be really present, especially on the wheel. Just trying to center the goddamn thing is an act of Zen fortitude.

You like to make stuff with your hands, Mark? Is that what you like to do? I like to make stuff with my hands, bruh. I’ve always been handy, and I have a nice little wood shop; I have a welder. I like to make furniture or fix things. We were on a farm for many years, and there’s a lot of stuff that needs to be repaired on a farm. So I like to garden, and I guess I’m into ceramics a little bit now. And, if I can, I like to surf. I’ve always been a surfer.

Can you think of what your first theatrical memory—the first time you were like, “This is it for me”? I always wanted to act, from every early on. And it was something that me and my brother and sisters and my cousins would do, put on little shows and do these broad characters. So I secretly wanted to be this actor, but then I was like, that’s foolish, I’m a jock, I’m a surfer—they don’t do that kind of thing. I’m not a musical theatre-type person, but I remember I used to see them; I’d see the school play and I was really envious. Like, “God, I wish I could do that.” I was a wrestler. But in my junior year, I did a drama class. I was saying it was just for an easy A, but I was really just thrilled to be in there. And I loved it so much that I didn’t go out for wrestling, and all the people that I knew, all my team members and my coaches, were like, “What are you doing?”

I did one play, the school play. What happened was the kid broke his arm and they needed somebody, so they put me in the part. And I loved it so much, after the first night, I was like, this is what I want to do for the rest of my life.

Do you remember the play and the part? I think it was called The Runaways. It was this straight play of all these foster kids living in this home, and I was a cop, a detective. It was my first cop role of what would end up being many cop roles in a career.