#the set designs of ​‘Little Women’ reminded me of the costumes of When Calls the Heart to be honest

[thenoodlenews]

The Sets of Barbie, and Why it Deserved Better 

I will be discussing the summer blockbuster Barbie and analyzing its production design. It draws inspiration from classic old Hollywood cinema, big budget glamor, childhood imagination, and so much pink. It’s a fantastic vision in plastic. In reality, it has so many elements combating for attention in the relatively short runtime that they don’t mesh together. The acting doesn’t hold up to the costumes, and the writing doesn’t stand out among its colorful world. Even the set design, while able to be praised in a certain point of view for its outstanding detail and reference to fifties Hollywood sets and dollhouse designs, only serves to highlight the lack of camp and emphasis in the actual film. 

It’s a different direction for director Greta Gerwig and a massive shift for Barbie’s production designer Sarah Greenwood. Gerwig is most known for directing the hit drama film Ladybird and Little Women. Meanwhile Greenwood is also known for designing darker, more grounded films like Atonement and Disney’s live action Beauty and the Beast. In that way, Greenwood has previous experience translating a fictional animated concept to a gritter realistic take. Like Beauty and the Beast, it was well received by mass audiences but heavily criticized from hardcore fans and film buffs alike. While scores on Rotten Tomatoes seem favorable, their credibility has been put into question as of late. The scores on Letterboxd, a self proclaimed film fan site filled with serious fanatics, are less than favorable. Barbie’s case is similar, with favorable reviews across sites like Rotten Tomatoes and IMDB, and while its rating of 3.9 on Letterboxd is still good, the bad reviews are vicious. 

For my two cents, I think the execution does not hold up to its potential. It disappoints me more than Margot Robbie’s incredibly average performance. The production design is the biggest perpetrator of this. The beginning of the film primarily holds us in Barbie’s world. It’s camp, colorful, high concept, and full of personality. But the further we go into the film, this personality feels emptier and shallower. The colorful world that serves as a character in its own right is revealed to be empty and lacking heart. We don’t even know where the Kens go. Details are forgotten in the name of dance parties and drama. Glittery outfits and the same feminist spiel we get from a first level women’s studies class. Some of this can be said to be done in the name of the film’s feminist message, with the lack of thought towards the Kens emphasizing their reduced positions and low importance in this world. The lack of detail in the Barbie's inner lives serves to emphasize the shallow flawed ideals they live by. The sets reflect these ideas perfectly, using the usage or nonusage of certain elements of typical set design to convey this. But that’s just one reading of the film. A less generous take would call it laziness. 

Every home is pink, glittery, and missing walls and doors. They contain many false elements, like stickered backgrounds and plastic food. In an article on FastCompany by Nate Berg, we are told,  “Greenwood and Spencer scaled down all the rooms by 23%”. As someone who owned Barbies myself, the dolls always felt too big for the rooms. The production design in Barbieland, more than anything, reflects the real toys used with the dolls, unless we are forgetting the film is also a big advertisement. The perfection and lack of wear on anything at all, from the furniture to the cars and clothing, reminds us they are somewhat fictional plastic people that we are seeing. They are self-proclaimed stereotypes of people and careers. They aren’t supposed to have flaws. Even the lack of detail in the backgrounds and the somewhat simple outer elements of the land reference backgrounds like Mount Rushmore in historic film North by Northwest, a staple of Hollywood in the forties and fifties. 

When the film finally transitions into the real world, all of the magic is lost. Some of this is intentional, with the clear divide in the style of set and general design serving as a harsh cutoff between the two worlds. This is best shown in the transition between them: a montage of dollhouse-like sets, combined with cheesy Hollywood B-flick style props that perfectly expresses the campiness of Barbieland and the inspirations the film takes. This scene is everything the film touted itself to be, and if the whole movie was like this, I would have liked it much more. It was a mastery of set design dripping with talent and imagination. However this moment is quickly over as Barbie and Ken make it to the real city of Los Angeles. 

There is nothing special about the urban cityscape or general design of the backgrounds for this section of the film, which actually comes rather quickly. We get to the meat of the central conflict very quickly, which in a movie filled with so many plot points, is a smart move. We have the most fun with set design in the real world when we get to the Mattel building, rightly so being the home of Barbie. Every office and boardroom is delightfully over-designed and filled with props and furniture that emphasizes the coldness of the running of Mattel, compared to its central message. The main boardroom with the heads of Mattel is central to this section of the film, with its grand design and enormous table making Barbie look small and all the other men in it besides Will Ferrell’s character look small and unified. They are meant to look like part of a group; an unknown mass of lackey’s that do what they’re told. This is expertly carried over when they continue to move as a group for the rest of the film. When Barbie rejects the choice they made for her, the ensuing chase takes us through the rest of the building. We pass an array of rooms that expertly reflect the cliche of sterile, lifeless, and uniform corporate offices. Rows and rows of identical cubicles, colder lighting, minimal props, and similarly dressed workers are seen. This allows the film to play more with things like movement, and they use this to their advantage to mimic classic musical choreography. The use of lines and symmetry in the cubicles and hallways makes Barbie stand out greatly in comparison to the uniform sets. 

We are given another complete shift in production design when we enter the kitchen of a woman revealed to be Ruth Handler, the creator of Barbie herself in 1959. This is where the heart of the film lies, and it shows in the attention to detail and love given to Handler’s kitchen. As the effective ‘mother’ of Barbie, her home is made to look warm and inviting. It’s what you picture when you think of an elderly grandmother’s house, bathed in nostalgic golden light and anachronistic props. Every cup and dish rag was thought of, and while not an exact replica of Handler’s real home, accurately reflects what homes would have looked like. Although Handler wouldn’t have been that age in the fifties, the time period the kitchen is set in. This still works to show the otherworldly of the set, and tells us its a place removed from time and created from memories. With her table littered in fabric and designs, we are shown she is a creator, someone important before we know her true identity. Despite the lack of knowledge of her true name, we know that she is wise, who understands Barbie and holds power as a woman. She helps Barbie on her way, and we are left with a sense of a fading memory, a home we don’t know anymore. 

When Barbie returns to Barbieland, it has been taken over by the Kens. The physical dollhouses the Barbies lived in have not changed, but the details have been reversed to reflect the false machismo that the Kens are trying to emulate. This is where the film gets incredibly divisive, relying on intense stereotypes and caricatures of what makes a mostly American man. Most of this is done in service of the idea of the inherent toxicity in America’s perception of manhood. Trucks, beer, eagles, sports, and mansplaining abound. However in the eyes of many, including myself, it was insensitively handled. It has a good heart, with an honest core message that is greatly misunderstood, largely because of its lack of tact in delivering that message. This is reflected in the set, with the Barbies' homes simply having their sequined pillows switched out for leather ones, their pink corvettes swapped for big trucks, and their fifties decor swapped for flatscreens and mini coolers; Everything one would expect from a frat house or typical man cave. It’s cliche and delivers the message too hard, so many came from the film thinking of it as anti men and toxically feminist. These views are best summarized in an article on The Los Angeles Times by Matt Pearce called ‘Commentary: Barbie Haters Misunderstand What It Takes to Be Kenough’. We are told that the film is too anti-men by many people, like alt-right commentators Ben Shapiro, film critic Kyle Smith, and conservative talking head Candance Owens. “All men suck” is what rings most loud and clear to those unaccustomed to modern feminist theory.   

Despite this, that simply isn’t true. It never was. The movie is critical, harsh and unafraid to be mocking to make its point. The production design of the Kens world highlights the ridiculous nature of the characters they are embodying. Their clothes, their cars, and their homes look stupid because the idea of a man they are trying to be is stupid. In the end, the Kens find acceptance in themselves and revert to their classic colors and styles. However, for my part, they didn’t go far enough with the design. In a sense, the set design was lacking, so that it wasn’t obvious enough it was a joke. Because of that, the truth of the film's core message is swept away in favor of a typical girl power moment and matching jumpsuits. 

After this, we see Handler again, and Barbie makes the final choice to become human. We get no significant production design moments, except the lack thereof in the moment that Barbie comes to life, the white void shows us she is in a world between worlds. The lack of set, with only glowing lights for company, pulls the focus entirely to our characters, and this final choice: Barbie has her moment, and the last set we see is a fancy-looking gynecologist's office. 

My biggest gripe with Barbie in the end is that it didn’t do enough. It wasn’t feminist enough, spoon feeding us basics for the sake of mass audiences. It wasn’t campy, fun or exciting enough. The production design worked so well in several parts of the film, largely doing the heavy lifting for the film's tone and energy level. However there is so much potential that could have gone to more scenes like the expertly done ‘I’m Just Ken’ sequence. Eventually Barbieland gets old and the real world is mostly uninteresting. After the set's initial showing, the wow factor wears off and it becomes monotonous and unnoticeable. The expert work of Greenwood and everyone involved in production design deserved more of a chance to experiment and play in such a unique world with all its high concept ideas and exciting potential. The film as a whole disappointed me in its lack of oomph. The masses may adore it, but all I see is a movie that fell just that short of its massive potential. 

[adamwatchesmovies]

Nemesis 4: Cry of Angels (1996)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

The only reason I’m giving Nemesis 4: Cry of Angels a.k.a. Nemesis 4: Death Angel a 1.5/5 is so it can rank above the previous entry in the series. This is a terrible film. It makes you feel gross, it’s boring but at least it features original footage. For the fourth chapter in this franchise, that’s an unexpected highlight.

In 2084, there is an uneasy ceasefire between the humans and cyborgs. Now brought back to her time from the past (see Nemesis 3), Alex Sinclair (Sue Price) works as a cybernetically-enhanced assassin for her boss, Bernardo (Andrew Divoff). When she accidentally kills the wrong man, a bounty is placed on her head.

If you’ve got a thing for really muscular women, like a sex thing, I suppose I could recommend this film to you. Sue Price appears nude more than she does clothed and more than once, the kills a man by squeezing his head between her rock-hard calves. I say "Yikes!". You might say "Hubba-hubba". You would need a weird fetish to appreciate any of the film’s supposedly erotic scenes. The acting is so terrible you swear you’re watching “Nemesis: A Porn Parody” and the plot is little more than an excuse to stitch a couple of “big scenes” together. There aren’t even any sets for the characters to move in; everything was obviously shot in some run-down town that was blasted by a bomb ten years before the cameras began to roll. We repeatedly see Alex speaking to her boss (who is always shot in awkward closeups) and I'm not sure if the scenes were shot in purposely darkned rooms, or if the lighting is just that bad.

There isn't really anything good about Nemesis 4. It’s merely not quite as boring or head-splittingly painful as Nemesis 3. I’m going to remember the gross robo-sex. There’s a character unironically called Johnny Impact (Simon Poland). That's memorable. What else? The movie has a bunch of cyborgs that look more like lizard people to anyone but the makeup/costume designer. It’s sleazy to the max and barely clocks in at feature-film length (sixty three minutes). There’s a dumb recurring character that’s supposed to be an angel of death (played by Blanka Copikova). Her character’s pointlessness stands out. The film’s lack of big action scenes (I think there’s only one sorry explosion) makes it distinct from the other movies. None of these are good but I’ve got to justify my rating somehow.

As we bring the series to a close, the word “disappointment” comes to mind. Only two kinds of people would bother watching the Nemesis movies (who have Blu-ray releases, shockingly): those who either grew up with them and are blinded by nostalgia and those who - like me - are looking to show their friends just how influential the Terminator franchise is/was by showcasing the numerous knockoffs that followed in its footsteps. The first movie only tiny hints of that remind you of the two James Cameron films. The second a bit more. The third and fourth? They’re just crappy disposable sci-fi garbage you’d watch once and then never again. Come to think of it, there might be a third kind of viewers, those who come in to see all of Sue Price but those viewers won't need the full sixty-three minutes before being done. (On Blu-ray, October 18, 2019)

[elisabeth515]

Several days into the latest story (“Little Women”) released by Time Princess and I’m just done with it now.

What the bloody hell are those cottagecore cross over academia fuckery?

So the context is, this book was set in the Civil War era in the United States of America and it is from the North (*Union). As we, especially Americans, all know that is fallen in the Victorian Era (*the crinoline period to be specific), why are you not giving her crinolines in her day dresses but instead giving her a weird mix of turn-of-the-century, modern cottagecore and academia look?

Yeah, it’s true that they made a more convincing gown, but like, only for ball gowns and that’s all.

I am generally very disappointed that the game developers don’t take the day dresses of that time to the game.

Here’s another one, you see it just becomes anachronistic when the game gave her a Belle Époque back.

By the way people from the North don’t dress like this, if you get what I mean. This is obviously taken from Gone with the Wind (it’s the mill dress by the way) which took place in the Confederacy. For what she would have worn, I found a nice blog post about it

Anyways-

Here’s a cleansing card if you need it after witnessing something as bad as “When Calls the Heart” season 2 (and later) costumes. (Courtesy to one of my mutals on tumblr)

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

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

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

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

Day 5–11:13am:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here… isn’t he?

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

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

This… this is a taunt.  

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

“You okay, Nerida?”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Din.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something catches your eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

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

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

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

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

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

—Bong—

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

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

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

One o’clock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes you a second.

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

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

“Ma—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Commotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crib—he forgot the crib—

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

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

***

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

[plush-anon]

You worked at joanns? 😍 dream job

In all fairness, a large part (and I do mean a LARGE part) of why I enjoyed working at Joanns were the managers.

The store manager was a guy named Richard, one of maybe two or three men who worked there total, and this man was practically a saint as far as retail goes.

This was a man who would, with no hesitation, get on the floor to help customers, or hop on the registers to check customers' purchases out, or pop on to the cutting counter to cut fabric. He remembered the names of regulars, would chat and smile while getting shit done, and was the type of guy to speak slowly and softly when we had shitstains explode at us measly peons for not giving them the full cost of an item back in a return (ex $200) when they used a coupon to purchase an item to begin with and only paid a portion of the cost (ex. $150). No joke, this actually happened to me on Black Friday with a man who stood at about 6 foot with a crewcut and a snarl (the military Karen, if you would)

Richard, of course, stood at about 6 foot 5 inches, and reminded me of a ginger grizzly bear in some ways. Very few customers continued to be assholes when they asked to speak to the manager and Richard came over, smiling wide. He encouraged us to chat with the customers while we worked the cutting counter - it was a good way to learn about what they were making, encouraged general conversation and lent itself to a better environment for everyone, worker and customer alike, so we weren't just awkwardly standing in silence the whole time.

The assistant store manager (aka his second in command - we had two other assistant managers, but she wielded more power than both of them) was Farrah, and she was basically Cool Wine Aunt, but with weed. She was open about smoking it (but not in a pressure-the-underlings kind of way, but more of a 'yeah, it calms me down' kind of way) but never on the clock, and was just really chill in general. She was also a 'jump on the registers' type of manager, and on occasion would take the closing staff out to get a drink from the texmex place next to us in the shopping center, and cover one for each of us - particularly during the Holiday Clusterfuck of October, November, and December (their Frozen Kahlua Mudlslide was my alcoholic drink of choice - they also had these spicy chicken strips that were amazing with it, but I digress).

Both of them were amazing people who would support and back us up without hesitation (if they weren't dealing with corporate or stock trucks coming in), and both routinely worked 15 to 20 hours UNPAID overtime during the Holiday Clusterfuck so that we the underlings could get more hours without Corporate jumping up our ass about going over budget.

They were also refreshingly upfront in our monthly meetings about profits and meeting them, as well as why company policy was the way it was, and how to work within the boundaries so we got more hours. One of my favorite moments was when they said the fabric sales essentially covered their own cost (production and delivery); the rest of the cheap crap in the store was what covered our paycheck and electricity, so hawk it as much as you can if you want extra in the bank (paraphrasing here, but that's not that far off what they actually said tbh).

With some Karen-y exceptions, the customers were honestly pretty chill. There were two women from a nearby church who bought well over 200 yards of cut fleece to make no-sew fleece blankets for children and the poor in December (it took forever to do, but they were so cheerful about it and told some funny anecdotes in between, kept the counter clear as soon as they were cut, etc. Took them three carts to haul everything to the register XD).

There was the slew of quilters making everything from baby blankets to anniversary gifts to quilts for their grandkids attending the local university that they could wear to football games in the colder weather, while still showing team pride. They always bought quarters and eighths and the end of the bolt for half price, digging thru our remnants bin for something they might have missed they could get for half price. They always talked about what they were working on, and spoke in great detail on their kids or cousins or niblings or grandkids. I saw so many pictures on phones, in wallets, and they loved them to absolute pieces.

There were cosplayers making their first costume to comicon, halloween goers trying their hand at making their own outfits, and a few furries making custom suits for order or just updating their own personal outfit. There were the usual school and church Christmas plays that needed costumes, and folks making custom table runners and place settings for family holiday meals.

One notable young man bought out 30+ yards of our 65" inch wide bolt felt for JEWELRY projects he was making as a part of his business and as a part of his art program (you can major in art with a concentration in jewelry making, and he was using it for that). He didn't leave a card, but the pictures he showed us were STUNNING.

We had a few elderly mothers come in with their daughters, to pick out fabrics so they could make their own wedding dresses, or quinceanera outfits, or veils; they showed us the patterns they had, or the pictures they were basing the designs off of, and all of them were STUNNING. (One came back in with the finished dress in the bag, this intricately beaded poofy dress that had to have taken days, hot pink and shiny).

We had local restaurant owners pop in for re-upholstery projects and curtains and vinyl; same with teachers and deck dads and furniture restoration workers that would gush about the design, what they had planned. Some would bicker with their spouses on the pattern, but it felt good-natured on the whole.

We had some elderly men come in to peer over our sewing machines - "How much it run for? My wife's birthday is coming up and her old machine's about done, and I want to surprise her. She had a Singer, but she hates the electronic screens on some of these newer ones, they hurt her eyes." - and moms coming in to sew some custom bed sheets for their kids - "My son really likes the new My Little Pony show, but he's a little shy about it. Do you think the blue's okay? Only he like yellow more, but they don't have any back there and he doesn't MIND blue really but - Actually scratch that, how wide is the fabric? My pattern says it needs to be at LEAST 22 inches wide, does it say on the box?" - and people coming up with some WILD craft ideas that were always a delight to hear them gush about - "So this MAY seem crazy, but I can turn these plastic pumpkin trick-or-treat pails into SNOWMEN heads with felt like this. We fill them with treats for the kids since we don't have a fireplace and they like it fine, but someone said I should sell these on Etsy and people really like them! But I've run out of pumpkins, and you have NO idea how happy I am that you guys still have some left."

The group we had to work with was also pretty crafty; a few were chronic call-outs, some a bit lazy, some perpetually done-with-this-nonsense, but we were mostly on the same page on shift, and all of us were crafty as heck. The employee discount was a blessing AND a curse, lemme tell you.

Stock was the best part, for me. Hours before the store opened at 9 AM, we would rip open the boxes and stuff everything onto the shelves, organizing anything the closing shift missed the night before along the way, updating new stickers or shuffling pegs over for new product arrangement, etc. We could listen to music or podcasts as we worked, and I ended up impressing some of them bc of how fast I tore through everything some mornings (the music definitely helped out there).

I was actually about to be promoted to assistant manager after 6 months, but then I got my job with the university, and they had federal health benefits AND dental, so... yeah, no contest there. Richard actually laughed when I told him I'd been hired at the university and was giving my two week notice, since it meant he didn't have to do the slew of paperwork that accompanied new assistant manager hires. He congratulated me on the job, especially the health benefits - he said that was a perk worth leaving any job here for. I nearly cried with relief that he wasn't mad.

He and Farrah chipped in and got me a small music box that plays Man of La Mancha's Dream the Impossible Dream on my last day. It still sits on my desk at work.

It was honestly my favorite retail job out of the bunch I've suffered through. Surprising at first, since I initially received a rejection email bare HOURS after my interview with Farrah, but about a month later (as I trawled endlessly through interview after interview, desperate for anything those first few months ), I got a call back from them asking if I was still interested (which I was, bc hey a job!). They remembered me specifically bc I had missed my bus to the interview, called ahead to let them know I would be late, then walked the whole way there in the rain to get there. (It was only about a mile and a half away, so not a terrible journey, but flooding is an issue in our flat-ass city; I looked like a drenched afghan hound holding a useless umbrella, so enjoy that imagery).

They were particularly impressed by the calling-ahead part.

Unfortunately, both of them ended up moving on to different paths over the year after I left - apparently they had been friends with benefits (? I say hesitantly, since I ran into one of my coworkers at an art show later on and she spilled the beans there - she was a bit flighty in nature though, and got caught up in gossip a LOT, so who knows. Lovely brocade custom projects though), and his ex girlfriend had called corporate on them and got both fired.

I think Farrah came back some time later, but the damage was done after that - the new manager came in and operated SOLELY to corporate policy. A LOT went to pieces in terms of store cleanliness, order, and general camaraderie after that - the new fabric counter folks look and sound dead inside, and barely interact with customers (not even a 'whatcha making' in passing, which is kind of sad - the stories I got helped to pass the time, and kept me from using up all of my Set Conversation Phrases for customers that actually WOULD leave us standing in silence). Corporate also stopped some of the smaller store policies that made our job easier and gave the customers a little something extra (the 'end-of-the-bolt' discount - if, after the customer orders say, 2 yards of fabric on the bolt, and there's say, a half yard "remnant" left on the bolt, we can sell them the remnant for half-price. A LOT of quilters LOVED this, and we did too, since it saved us from filling out the remnant tag and printing a sticker later on).

Just goes to show how important good management is in a business; especially when it can kick a store previously part of the top 50 stores in the NATION (while being a medium store at that - smaller place, NOT Hobby Lobby size like the Large stores) to something much less pleasant. I could be rose-goggling the situation thought - retail is still retail, no matter how nice some aspects are - but it still sticks with me as to how good he experience was even taking into account that it WAS minimum wage retail.

Food for thought, lads, food for thought.

[thewritewolf]

In Due Time Chapter 1: Witch AU

Hello and welcome to my entry for Marichat May 2020 - In Due Time! Figuring out an idea for this fic was an exhausting journey and I must've gone through nine or ten different ideas before inspiration struck and I ended up with this one. I've very excited to tell this story, and I hope you will like reading it just as much as I did writing it.

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Summary: For eight years, Chat Noir and Red Beetle have been fighting to bring Hawkmoth to justice. But after so many years with no progress to show for their efforts, there are rumors that the Red Beetle has given up crime fighting.

Alone and without even a partner to rely on and all the while facing increasingly more dangerous akumas, Chat Noir has to find someone worthy of taking up the ladybug miraculous.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 

Read on Ao3

Marinette stood in the bus with a handful of strangers, most of whom were sending her curious glances. That didn’t surprise her too much and she couldn’t blame them, even if it was making her a little self conscious. Paris might be a large, cosmopolitan city, but even so, someone dressed like a witch at sundown was sure to attract attention.

As she clenched her hands against her heavy skirt, Marinette was glad she’d at least designed her outfit to be practical. Having to endure all this scrutiny while freezing in the late October weather might have caused her to just head right back home before even reaching the party. And having to keep track of a purse while holding onto her prop broomstick would’ve been just awful. Another benefit to being a designer - she could add pockets to whatever she wanted.

It came as a huge relief when she got off the bus and started seeing more people in costume. At least she wasn’t sticking out in the crowd any more. Although now she was wondering just how many people were going to be showing up to Alya’s party. For all that talk about how Marinette went overboard with things, Alya could certainly keep up with the craziest that Marinete could pull and then some.

Maybe it was because of all the traffic the Cat Chat had been seeing. It had never really died down since those early years in lycee - the opposite, actually. The longer Hawkmoth’s war on Paris dragged on, the more that Chat Noir and Red Beetle were put into the spotlight and lauded. Or critiqued, Marinette admitted with a frown. That last article she had read had been scathing, but Alya had been quick to rip it to shreds on the Cat Chat.

As she stepped into the building after flashing her VIP ticket to the doorman, there was no doubt in her mind that the now infamous article was why there were so many people wearing costumes of Paris’s heroes today. Well - wearing costumes of Chat Noir, that is.

“Girl!”

Marinette looked around, clutching her broomstick tightly. She smiled when she saw Alya, wearing a female version of the Chat Noir costume, bulldoze her way through the crowded floor.

“Alya!” The two women kissed cheeks and hugged. “It’s been a few days, how have you been?”

“Crazy and frantic,” Alya said with a laugh. “But you know I wouldn’t have it any other way, girl.” She took a step back and walked around Marinette. “And look at you! You really went all out with this costume, huh?”

“What was I gonna do?” Marinette said with a smirk. “Not splurge for my bestie’s Halloween party?”

“I appreciate it, M. It helps the atmosphere.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Especially with how tacky some of these costumes are. But hey!” Her voice returned to her usual volume again. “I can’t expect everyone to have a snazzy outfit for the first annual Cat Chat Halloween party.”

“You’re obsessed.” Marinette giggled.

“Why shouldn’t we get to have some Halloween fun too? Trust me, this is the start of something great.” Alya glanced behind her and cursed. “Or at least it would if people would stop trashing things. Sorry for bailing, but foods over there,” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder as she started edging away from Marinette. “Have fun! Socialize!”

And just like that Marinette was alone again.

Now, Marinette wasn’t a shy wallflower by any stretch of the imagination. But this was a perfect storm of eroded confidence that she had emerged into. The lingering stares on the bus. The press of people all around her. The fact that she knew literally no one here except for Alya. Which was surprising, at least until she remembered that Nino was busy today with a gig on the other side of town. He may not understand his girlfriend’s obsession, but at least he was supportive.

Regardless, it all piled up on her until she found herself floating at the edges of the party, using the big buffet table and the wall at her back as a buffer against the giant throng of people.

“Pretty big turn out, isn’t it?”

Marinette just about jumped out of her skin when she heard a voice just behind her, causing her pointy black hat to fall over her eyes. As she fumbled her broomstick and drink to try and fix it, she felt it be lifted and placed carefully back on top of her head.

“Sorry about that, little witch,” came the voice again and now she could see vibrant green eyes like shining emeralds looking down at her. Down because the person they belonged to was so tall, even lounging against the wall like he was. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No sweat,” she replied mechanically, her designer eyes already at work sweeping over his outfit. It turned out to be the sixth Chat Noir costume of the night, but she could hardly complain. It was leaps and bounds better than the usual cheap stuff that she’d been seeing all night.

“See something you like?” There was a teasing lilt in his voice. Her eyes rose back to his and she saw the flirty smirk he was wearing.

“Sorry, I was just admiring your costume. It is definitely the most accurate one I’ve seen all night.”

“Are you something of a Chat Noir expert?” He asked, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Well, I’m a designer so I have an eye for those sorts of things. Everyone remembers the ears and tail, and most people remember the bell,” she flicked his, delighted that it had a pleasant metallic ring. “Getting the size of the bell, the leather-like quality of the ears and tail - those are common mistakes.”

“Well, if I’m going to be Chat Noir, I may as well go the full distance, right?” Again there was a playful look in his expression, like there was a joke he wasn’t sharing.

“Yeah, but most people don’t even realize that the super suits are made up of tiny hexagons,” she said, pointing at the miniscule figures making up his costume. “How do they even do that? Heck, how did you?”

Chuckling, he shook his head. “You must be a really big fan then, huh? Like you said, most people don’t know that trivia.”

“It helps that my best friend runs the Cat Chat,” she said with a smirk, expecting him to be impressed. Instead, he snorted.

“Yeah that makes sense. If you’re Alya’s closest friend, you probably get sent all the articles before they’re published.” He patted her shoulder. “My condolences. Even I can’t keep up with everything she puts out.”

“Which reminds me-”

“Witch reminds you?” He said, looking very pleased with his pun.

Marinette chuckled, shaking her head. “Sure. Anyway, you haven’t given me your name?”

His smile widened. “You can just call me Chat Noir.”

“You might have to be more specific there,” she said with a glance to a couple of Chat Noirs nearby.

“Ah, trying to rely on my good manners to figure out my true identity. Very clever, but no, you’ll have to make due with just Chat Noir.”

“You really are playing the part, aren’t you?” Marinette rolled her eyes. “That’s fine, I suppose. But seriously, what’s your costume made out of?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Well, I’ve always been curious about the real deal since I’m an up and coming designer-”

“In my experience,” Chat Noir interrupted with a grin. “‘Up and coming’ usually means ‘down and out at the moment.’”

She glares at him for a moment before turning away. Intending to get a refill of punch and some distance away from ‘Chat Noir’, she started walking away. He snagged her elbow - not tightly, but just enough to make her pause.

“Wait! Sorry, that was rude of me. This is the longest I’ve gone talking to a pretty lady for a while, please excuse me.” When she turned back around, he breathed a sigh of relief. “So, you’re a designer?”

“Yes,” she said, still feeling a little miffed but also feeling a boost to her ego from the pretty lady comment. “I actually made my costume for this party.”

“Really?” Chat said, surprised. “I thought it looked a cut above what everyone else was wearing. Do you mind if I take a look?” He smirked, but it lacked some of the cockiness from before. There was a slight shyness that was endearing. “I don’t want to just… oogle you without permission.”

She giggled. “Sure! I’d love for someone to actually appreciate the work that went into this.”

Setting down her drink, she held her broom and spun around slow enough that he could get a good look. When she was facing him again, he was wearing an impressed look.

“Its even better than I thought it was. Naturally, I realized it was excellent quality, but not many designers today would remember to balance comfort and practicality in addition to appearance. Plus,” he added as he ran a claw along a seam, “these stitches are expertly done. I bet you’ve been practicing sewing for a long time.”

“Since before lycee! I was making clothes and accessories even back then. In fact…”

Their conversation wore on for the next couple hours and it turned out ‘Chat Noir’ had more than just a cute face and a flirty tongue. He had a surprisingly good knowledge of fashion and the industry, even gave her a few tips for how to break into it.

As much as she tried to steer the conversation toward him and what he did, he always managed to expertly get her back into talking about her. It was almost as if he had plenty of practice doing it, but she was just glad to have someone new to talk to. All her work recently had left her without many friends to casually talk to. Which was no doubt another reason Alya had gone out of her way to give her a VIP invite.

Eventually, though, ‘Chat Noir’ left. It was only a few moments later that she realized she had forgotten to ask his name again, or at least ask for his number (he was a cutie after all). But by the time she turned around to look for him, he’d vanished without a trace.

Not that she had long to dwell on it. Just as she was frowning and searching the crowd, Alya stormed over to her. Her eyes were wide and she had that manic energy around her that Marinette had rightly learned to dread over the years.

“Girl! Do you know who you were just talking to?!”

“Some guy that wouldn’t give me his name and insisted I called him Chat Noir,” she said with a sigh. “Which sucks, but-”

“That’s because that was Chat Noir!”

“I get why you think that - it was a super impressive costume - but-”

“No, girl. Listen to me.” She put her hands on Marinette’s shoulders and stared her in the eye. “I’ve spent eight years running a blog with a cat pun in the name because of that furry. Eight years of studying Chat Noir and Red Beetle. I’ve interviewed him! If anyone can point out the real Chat Noir out of a bunch of lookalikes, its me.”

Alya shook Marinette in her excitement. “You just spent the evening flirting with Chat Noir, you amazing minx!”

Marinette smiled as Alya babbled excitedly, but in the comfort of her own mind she frowned. That wasn’t at all what she expected the bombastic, energetic hero she always saw on television to be like. With the party dying down, she headed back to Alya’s place to spend the night, still trying to merge the image of the larger-than-life hero of Paris and the shy boy asking her if she’d let him look at her costume.

There seemed to be more to Chat Noir than she had ever given him credit for.

[claudia1829things]

"FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" (1967) Review

"FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" (1998) Review To my knowledge, there have been five adaptations of Thomas Hardy's 1874 novel, "Far From the Madding Crowd". One of them is even a modern day adaptation. I have not seen this modern version of Hardy's novel. But I have seen at least three adaptations, including the 1967 version directed by John Schlesinger.

"FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" - at least the 1967 version - has been highly regarded by critics, moviegoers and fans of Hardy's novel for nearly five decades. It is the adaptation that other ones have been measured against . . . much to their detriment. "FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" was a different direction for Schlesinger. It would prove to be the first of five period productions directed by him. Schlesinger and screenwriter Frederic Raphael stuck as closely to Hardy's novel as they possibly could. The movie was not a hundred percent adaptation of Hardy's novel, but it was pretty close. Anyone familiar with Hardy's novel know the tale. It begins with a young 19th century Englishwoman named Bathsheba Everdene, living on a farm with her aunt, Mrs. Hurst. She meets Gabriel Oak, a former shepherd who has leased and stocked a sheep farm. Gabriel falls in love with Bathsheba and eventually proposes marriage. Although she likes Gabriel, Bathsheba values her independence too much and rejects his marriage proposal. Gabriel's fortunes take a worse for turn, when his inexperienced sheep dog drives his flock of sheep over a cliff, bankrupting him. Bathsheba, on the other hand, inherits her uncle's prosperous estate. Their paths crosses again, and she ends up hiring Gabriel as her new shepherd. Bathsheba has also become acquainted with her new neighbor, the wealthy farmer John Boldwood, who becomes romantically obsessed with her after she sends him a Valentine's Day card as a joke. He sets about wooing her in a persistent manner that she finds difficult to ignore. But just as Bathsheba is about to consider Mr. Boldwood as a potential husband, Sergeant Frank Troy enters her life and she becomes infatuated with him. Frank was set to marry one of Bathsheba's former servants, a young woman named Fanny Robin. Unfortunately, the latter showed up at the wrong church for the wedding and an angry and humiliated Frank called off the wedding. Bathsheba finds herself in the middle of a rather unpleasant love triangle between Boldwood and Frank, while Gabriel can only watch helplessly as the situation develops into tragedy. "FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" is a beautiful movie to behold . . . visually. One can credit the movie's sweeping and colorful look to its iconic cinematographer Nicolas Roeg. Thanks to the latter, the English counties of Wiltshire and Dorset never looked lovelier. Not surprisingly, Roeg earned a BAFTA nomination for his work. The movie also benefited from Richard Macdonald's production designs, which did an excellent job in recreating rural England in the mid 19th century. This was especially apparent in those scenes that featured Gabriel's arrival at Shottwood, and his attempts to get hired as a bailiff or a shepherd at a hiring fair; the harvest meal at the Everdene farm; Bathsheba's meeting with Frank in Bath; the rural fair attended by Bathsheba and Mr. Boldwood; and the Christmas party held by Mr. Boldwood. I will not pretend that I found Richard Rodney Bennett's score particularly memorable. But I must admit that it blended well with the movie's plot and Schlesinger's direction. I also noticed that Bennett added traditional English folk songs in various scenes throughout the movie. I have seen at least two movie versions and one television adaptation of Hardy's novel. And it occurred to me that the main reason why I ended up enjoying all three adaptations so much is that I really liked Hardy's tale. I really do. More importantly, all three adaptations, including this 1967 movie, did an excellent job in capturing the novel's spirit. With a running time of 169 minutes, "FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" took its time in conveying Hardy's story . . . with a few little shortcuts. And thanks to Schlesinger's direction and Raphael's screenplay, the movie not only recaptured both the idyllic nature of 19th century rural England, but also its harsh realities. More importantly, the movie brought alive to the screen, Hardy's complex characters and romances. Hollywood once made a movie about a woman torn between three men in 1941's "TOM, DICK, AND HARRY" with Ginger Rogers. But the complexity between the one woman and the three men was nothing in compare to this tale. Especially, when the leading lady is such a complex and ambiguous character like Bathsheba Everdene. Another aspect of "FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" that I enjoyed were the interactions between the movie's leads and the supporting cast who portrayed Bathsheba's employees. Like her relationships with Gabriel, Frank and Mr. Boldwood; the leading lady's relationships with her employees - especially the women who worked inside her home - proved to be very interesting. There was a good deal of controversy when Julie Christie was announced as the actress to portray Bathsheba Everdene. Apparently, the media did not consider her capable of portraying the tumultuous mid-Victorian maiden . . . or any other period character. Well, she proved them wrong. Christie gave a very skillful and nuanced performance as the ambiguous Bathsheba, capturing the character's passion, vanity and at times, insecurity. Terence Stamp was another actor more associated with the Swinging Sixties scene in London, but unlike Christie, his casting did not generate any controversy. I might as well place my cards on the table. I think Stamp proved to be the best Frank Troy I have seen on screen, despite the first-rate performances of the other two actors I have seen in role. He really did an excellent job in re-creating Frank's charm, roguishness and unstable nature. Thanks to Stamp's performance, I can see why Schlesinger became so fascinated with the character. Despite Christie and Stamp's popularity with moviegoers, the two actors who walked away with nominations and an award were Peter Finch and Alan Bates. No matter how interesting all of the other characters were, I personally found the William Boldwood character to be the most fascinating one in Hardy's tale. And Peter Finch, who won the National Board of Review Award for Best Actor did a superb job in bringing the character to life. Finch beautifully re-captured the nuances of a character that I not only found sympathetic, but also a bit frightening at times. Alan Bates earned a Golden Globe nomination for his portrayal of the stalwart Gabriel Oak, which I believe he fully deserved. I think portraying such a minimalist character like Gabriel must be quite difficult for any actor. He is a character that required real skill and subtlety. Bates certainly did the job. The actor managed to convey the passion that Gabriel harbored for Bathsheba without any theatrical acting and at the same time, convey the character's introverted and sensible nature. The movie also benefited from some skillful and solid work from its supporting cast that included Golden Globe nominee Prunella Ransome, who portrayed the tragic Fanny Robin; Fiona Walker (from 1972's "EMMA"); Alison Leggatt; John Barrett; and iconic character actor, Freddie Jones. As much as I enjoyed "FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD", there were some aspects of the production that I found troublesome. Earlier, I had pointed out that Schlesinger had seemed so fascinated by the Frank Troy character. And while this contributed to Terence Stamp's presence in the movie, Schlesinger's handling of the character threatened to overshadow the entire movie. Quite frankly, he seemed a bit too obsessed with Frank for my tastes. This heavy emphasis on Frank - especially in two-thirds of the movie - also seemed to overshadow Bathsheba's relationship with Gabriel Oak. At one point, I found myself wondering what happened to the character. Worse, the chemistry between Julie Christie and Alan Bates had somewhat dissipated by the movie's last act to the point that it barely seemed to exist by the end of the movie. And Schlesinger allowed the "ghost" of Frank Troy to hover over Bathsheba and Gabriel's future relationship by ending the movie with a shot of a toy soldier inside the Everdeen-Oak household. No wonder Stamp was credited as the male lead in this film. There were other aspects of "FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" that either troubled me or failed to impress me. I am at a loss on how Prunella Ransome earned a Golden Globe nomination for her portrayal of Fanny Robin. Mind you, she gave a very good performance. But she was on the screen for such a small amount of time that there seemed to be no opportunity for the narrative to delve into her character. Ransome's Fanny came off as a plot device and a part of me cannot help but blame Hardy's original novel for this failure. Although I cannot deny that Nicholas Roeg's cinematography was visually beautiful to me; I also found myself annoyed by his and Schlesinger's overuse of far shots. It reminded me of how director William Wyler and cinematographer Franz F. Planer nearly went overboard in their use of far shots in the 1958 western, "THE BIG COUNTRY". I read somewhere that Alan Barrett had earned a BAFTA nomination for Best Costume Designs for this film. I do not mean to be cruel, but how in the hell did that happened? I have to be frank. I was not impressed with the costumes featured in this film. Although I managed to spot a few costumes that struck me as a well-done re-creation of fashion in the mid-to-late 1860s, most of the other costumes looked as if they had been rented from a warehouse in Hollywood or London. Not impressed at all. Aside from my complaints, I enjoyed "FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD" very much. A good deal of delight in the film originated with Thomas Hardy's original tale. But if I must be honest, a good deal of filmmakers have screwed up a potential adaptation with either bad writing, bad direction or both. Thankfully, I cannot say the same about "FAR FROM MADDING CROWD". Thanks to the first-rate artistry of the film's crew, a well-written screenplay by Frederic Raphael, a very talented cast led by Julie Christie; director John Schlesinger did an excellent in bringing Hardy's tale to the screen.

[ylvisforalltid]

My recap/review of På Holmen - Episode 2

I am a bit late with this one but once again, I invite everyone to discuss the second episode with me, either here, or on facebook in Ylvis- a group.

Here’s my chronological recap/review of the second episode of ‘Ylvis På Holmen med Calle og Magnus’

Episode 2

Do I have to believe Bård that he is drinking white wine when we know that they tried to sell us Pepsi Maxx as red wine on the boat intro?

 Dad jokester moves when talking about the fighter

Gotta love a fake showbiz smile, he does it so well

The intro really does give me a summer feeling; and also the idea of these four guys being part of a bad reality-show-like sitcom

I love the enthusiam with which especially Vegard and Bård sing the Holmen song

Calle being put on the spot with impro songs is fun to watch since one never knows how good or bad he is at it at that exact moment. The national anthem impro is a surprise I expected rather from Vegard than Bård; shows how much they share a brain after all

And genius to send Magnus and Calle really away directly at the beginning. I would imagine that Vegard is used to a lot of things when it comes to working with Bård, but that he really sends them away and the guys not knowing why, must have thrown everyone out of their game for a second.

Bård’s intro about Vegard is done so hilariously serious apart from the ‚charming seniors‘ joke which is very likely true as well though

And Bård will never let him live for singing in that Spirit movie

Confused Vegard is always cute

This whole beginning of the interview is taking a piss at all interviews where people ask them about their brotherly relationship.

I repeat: Confused Vegard is always cute

The irony of Bård knowing his brother so well that he knows how to get him with a comical bit that is all about him

Good for Vegard that Norway thinks he is funny but my favourite adjective on the board had to be „treffsikker“. I still laugh at the promo clip where he has to throw at the cans

The statistics were fascinating; but the concept of Vegard without Bård does sound weirder to me than Bård without Vegard. We saw them individually as guests on Brille before but I think together they’re still at their best

Vegard being proud of the fact that more men want to have sex with him than women, reminded me of a certain Senkveld interview moment.

The whole show seemingly being about Vegard is such a great joke in itself and actually shows whose names still pull in viewers and are the main title of the show

The grocery shopping bit was so fun to watch. Not only because of Vegard cluelessly wandering around the shop but also very much because of his brother finding great delight in his big brother’s struggles. The brothers challenging each other is often the greatest thing to watch. Sometimes more than a task itself.

The fact that Vegard had strapped a gopro camera to his chest but none of that footage was used, shows they know what we want to see. Not only the task itself but the struggle and the reaction of his brother towards the struggle

Vegard always in explaining mode and trying to identify what he is holding in his hands, trying but not always succeeding

Bård’s joke challenge must have been gruesome for the three, maybe worst for Vegard and Calle who are probably more used to not only write but already brainstorm as a team. But Magnus did have a point with his oven remark. Magnus seemed also the most relaxed at taking this task which I didn’t expect. He was actually entertaining a non-present audience while the other two looked and acted more panicky.

There’s still the wax seal stamp on Vegard’s envelope which tells us his envelope got closed last

The brick background to imitate an open mic night pub setting is a nice touch

Vegard’s joke of course had a nerd factor to it. Did I find it funny? No.

Greven av grønt reminds me of ‘Oppgave med straff’ from o-fag times

It’s fun that the questions actually teach the audience some info

Bård being struck to the ground and calling for Mama was kinda sweet, in a very painful way

Knowing how much Vegard got affected by that kick and the whole aftermath of it makes it harder to watch, despite Bård’s glee

Teasing Magnus that he might be punished for winning that game was hilarious to watch.

If anything showed that they might have worked long with Magnus but that the other three are longer friends, then it was this bit.

Bård giving etymology for the word ‘hematoma’ gave me o-fag ‘ibux’ flashbacks

Emil Meek actually answering Magnus’ impro question wasn’t the plan but Bård being a seasoned host, knew how to not only change to the original plan but how to do it elegantly

As a fan it disturbed me that Emil Meek had to put on Bård’s costume to sing Vegard’s part

Side note: I am fascinated by the lighting changes throughout the show

The dentasticks in the glasses were a nice touch when serving the meal

I still don’t understand how they edit that Garden segment.

I loved that some got very into the actual design part of the recreation of the coat of arms and putting aside the fact that it’s made out of feces

I agree with the boys‘ anger about the golden bucket. I didn’t agree with Linda getting it and I also didn’t agree with Siri’s reasoning for it

But Bård could sometimes use a filter before speaking up, he’s relentless

Vegard taking Siri’s and Linda’s side surprised me, and more so that he sounds like he means it

Calle starting a women vs. men discussion and Vegard not wanting to get into it was another thing I didn’t see coming and I wonder how much of that got cut

Ever so often the Ylvis brothers disagree on a huge level and I have to admit it’s entertaining to watch

Vegard looking like the scottish Scrooge McDuck with that hat is adorable

And instantly followed by little shit brother Bård bonding with Aleksander over his wish that Vegard will lose every game

Bård losing the golf game must have hurt but I guess if he has to give the win to somebody, I would think he's glad that it’s Calle

At the end Bård forcing an impro song on Vegard and Vegard panicking and making it sound like an angry fake italian version of the Las Ketchup song. I know he can do better than that.

But all in all a very good second episode after a mixed start with the first episode.

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Unraveling at the Seams Pt 4

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Alex Høgh Andersen/OFC, Henry Cavill/OFC Warnings: Language, Sexual Innuendo, Possible NSFW Rating: M Length: Multi Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: so far this is my favourite part. Also thank you all for the feedback, it is massively appreciated 

thank you @flowers-in-your-hayr​​ for the header :D

Catch Up Here

The iPad was on its side, the stand holding it in position as Nell moved around the kitchen. She had an hour before meeting Alex, which may or may not have been giving her second thoughts and butterflies. Not the good kind. Why had she agreed to this? Why was she feeling stressed about this? What she wanted more than anything was someone to hug her and tell her that this would be fun. A night out, with somebody other than Ivan. It was a new experience and if she didn't have fun, she never had to go again.

A call from mom always helped, right?

“Where's Ivan?” Evelyn asked, her daughter had called her in the middle of her work day. At first she had assumed something was dire, when the nerves seized, the Stewart Matriarch relaxed.

“He's next door, Jordan and Sophie are letting him hang out there tonight.” Bridie had a family party and Nell was hell bent that she was not missing it, because of her plans to have a drink with Alex. Ivan would welcome the change of pace, Jordan would surely engage Ivan's imagination with his skills as an actor.

The last time Ivan had gone there for a few hours, Nell had returned to find Jordan and Marco had built a full on fort in the middle of the living room, they'd had makeshift costumes, an imaginary dragon, and some sort of new language. Ivan had a way of charming people into doing whatever it was he wanted. A dangerous power for an almost eight year old to wield. These were the sort of fantasy games Henry would go along with, creating whatever world his son wanted to live in for the moment. Jordan had happily gone along with it, no questions asked and Nell would remain grateful.

“Have you told him that Henry is coming to  visit?”

“No, why? Wait?” Nell turned to face the iPad. “How?”

“Henry told me.” Evelyn answered in a painfully obvious manner. Nell wrinkled her nose, her stunned look told her mother all she needed to know. “We talk almost weekly, you know. Just because it's rocky with the two of you, he's still the father of my only grandson.”

Nell's older brother Michael had two children, daughters. Her older sister, Michael's twin, Sadie also had a daughter. Ivan being the only boy took the title proudly.

“I'm glad Henry finds the time.” Nell snorted. Evelyn rolled her eyes and shook her head, avoiding a lecture, Nell derailed her mother. “I'm glad that he's comfortable talking to you.”

“You still talk with his family, do you not?”

“I suppose.” Nell accepted. “What else did he have to say?”

“He's busy working, he's excited to take some time off for Ivan, he's looking forward to seeing your brother next weekend. He said you didn't sign up?”

“I don't have time to run this year. I'll send a donation.” Nell shouldn't have been annoyed that he brother was running a marathon with her ex, yet she was. Less annoyed that Michael was doing a charity run and more annoyed that she hadn't been asked.

“Your father and I have sent ours. Other than that, there isn't much going on. Something about a new job in Hamburg? Hungary? Somewhere with an H in Europe.”

Nell frowned, Henry hadn't mentioned anything to her about a new job. Not that he had to, it was his right to take whatever jobs he wanted. In the past he had told her the second he was allowed to talk about them. Aside from his agent, Nell had been the first person to know that he'd been cast for Man of Steel, The Man from U.N.C.L.E, even the film nobody had ever heard of called The Cold Light of Day.

Again, Henry had a right not to tell her every detail of his left. Nell wasn't always forth coming with every detail in hers. Outside of Ivan, they didn't have to ever speak, if they chose that route.

Lord knows that there were many things that Nell never told Henry. Her date with Alex for example. She had spoke with Henry last evening, yet hadn't said a word about going out. A pang of guilt rose. Henry always told her when he'd gone out with somebody new, his reason was that – if this woman should become something more, he wanted Nell prepared as the woman he shared a child with. Transparency was the key to keeping their life mess free. Plus, it was better she heard it from him and not some trashy newspaper.

“Whatever it is, I'm sure he'll do well.”

“I'm sure he will. Did you remember to send that parcel? Tomorrow is his birthday.” Evelyn could remember Henry's birthday, yet had forgotten her Husband's birthday for the last three years.

“Yes, mom, I sent it two weeks ago. Ivan will call him tomorrow, talk to him, and then we probably won't hear from him until he gets here.”

“Why are you always like that, Nelly? He's trying. You know that he's trying and it's not easy, being...”

“Mom.” Nell was firm. She didn't need to listen to her mother explain everything she did wrong, when it came to Henry Cavill. “It's not that, it's...you know what, mom. I'm not doing this. Not tonight. I called, because I just needed to talk.”

“Okay, so let's talk. How is work?”

“That's the thing, you see, there's the guy at work who...” Nell paused, her doorbell ringing. “Shit. Mom, I have to go. That's Alex.”

“Alex? Male or female, Alex?” Evelyn smirked.

“Male. I will talk to you later, love you bye.” Nell hurried to turn off the call.

She didn't want to look desperate rushing to the door out of breath, nor did she want Alex standing there waiting. Taking a few calming breaths, she straightened herself out and coolly approached the door.

On the other side, Alex stood shaking like a leaf. He was probably sweating through his button down as well. Great! He was going to show up looking like a hot mess, asking a woman who already barely tolerated him to be seen in public with him.

This was a mistake! Why had he listened to Sophie?

“Alex, hey.” Nell opened the door in the nick of time. Alex had briefly thought of turning around and running away. Why did this woman do this to him? He'd never been intimidated by a woman before. “Come in, please.”

Stepping inside the first thing Alex noticed was the smell. An odd thing to notice, perhaps? It wasn't an unpleasant smell. The opposite, actually. The townhouse had a – homely smell. Warm and welcoming, fresh and light. It reminded him of summer and gingersnap cookies. Funny, summer and cookies is what Nell reminded him of.

“I brought you this, I didn't know what else to bring, but I wanted to give you something and here.” He held out the framed photo. It was the best way to begin, scared of what he'd say if he didn't lead with the gift.  “It's one of the photos I took, early on. I remembered it was your first solo design and...”

“Alex.” Nell cooed, gently taking the framed photo of Judith, played by Jennie Jacques in the lavish dress. “I don't know what to say. Obviously, thank you. I'm speechless. This is amazing.” She leaned in giving him a fast peck on the cheek.

The photo had to be one of the sweetest gifts she'd ever received from a guy, on a first date, not that Nell thought of this as a date.

“That dress is one of my favourite costumes.” Alex blushed. “I was in awe every time I saw it. You did amazing.” It was Nell's turn to blush. “And this is for Ivan. I thought he may like it.” He passed over a book of 1,001 Brain Teasers for Ages 8+.

“He's going to love this. Thank you.” Nell accepted the book, still lost in the beauty of the photo. Alex was talented with a camera, Nell had saw some of his other works and they blew her away every time.

“No problem, I loved things like that when I was his age. He's so smart.”

“Too smart.” In more than one way. Intellect was one thing, being smart ass was another. The boy had mastered both swimmingly. Nell dreaded the day he turned into a teenager. “Would you like a drink?” She stood holding the photo and book.

“I thought we were going out for a drink, but we can have one here. If you want. I don't mind.” Alex felt like a helpless fool. Damn it. Why was he such a blundering idiot tonight?

Oh right, because he was in over his head with a positively impressive and attractive woman. He'd dated attractive women before, most ended up being superficial.  A disappointment to say the very least. Nell was not going to disappoint. If either of them were a disappointment, it was Alex.

Damn it. He needed to be more confident. Marco had warned him about this. Not to let his doubt in or this would be a disaster of epic proportions.

“You know what,” Nell took a final look at the photo before setting it on the kitchen table, it would be safe until she arrived home. “Let's go for that drink. Should I call a car?”

“Please.” Alex nodded.

“I am going to call and grab my purse, feel free to make yourself comfortable.” Nell smiled, before disappearing.

She was hardly gone long enough for Alex to make himself at home, so to speak,  he didn't mind. If he was alone too long, his thoughts would get the best of him and this not-a-date-date would be over before they left the house.

Leaving the townhouse, Alex caught sight of the two shadows in the window across the courtyard. Nudging Nell, they both waved, laughing when Jordan and Ivan ducked disappearing from sight. They were having too much fun spying and Nell would hear about it in the morning. No doubt Alex would be teased as well.

Safely in the black taxi, Alex was being the perfect gentleman. Holding doors, helping Nell in an out of the car. He was doing what his mother would expect of him, nothing more. Being polite was costing him nothing and he enjoyed seeing Nell smile each time he did something chivalrous.

“I hope you don't mind, but I thought we could go somewhere a little more low key?” Nell watched the outside pass, the taxi navigating the streets effortlessly.

“I don't mind low key at all.” Alex replied casually watching Nell watch the outside world.

“It's a nice place, I promise.”

The driver was cordial when Alex slipped him his payment, insisting that he get it, after all it was his idea to come out. The least he could do was pay for their cabs, secretly he planned to grab the tab too, despite Nell telling him he really didn't have to get the cab and she would get the drinks.

Helping Nell from the car, Alex stood aside happy to follow wherever she led. Strolling down the street, Nell nudged her chin forward to indicate that this was their destination. A quiet bar front, if there was such a thing, with a small sign on the front advertising their establishment.

“Here we are.” Nell announced, bumping into Alex when they both reached for the door. “Sorry.” Her voice was a whisper when his hand found her lower back. Guiding her through the door, Alex's gaze was telling her more than his words could have.

“Shocking, but I don't think I have ever been here.” Alex glanced around the front entrance of the bar. He'd been to nearly every bar in Dublin and the surrounding area, but never this particular one.

“I used to come here, a lot, when I lived here before.” Nell led the way to the back of the building. Alex took note, it was certainly nicer and quieter than the other bars he frequented. A large bar in the front, which seemed to serve the larger part and in the back, where Nell had immediately bee lined, was a smaller area complete with a smaller bar.

“Cozy.” He noted pulling out the high bar chair for Nell to sit.

“It's nice. I like it here.” She slid onto the stool with ease. Catching the bar tender's attention. “Lagavulin, neat please.” Nell ordered without thought.

Alex took a beat to decide. “Ardberg, on the rocks with a twist, please.”

Nell grinned.

“What?”

“Nothing. I like that you just went for it. I enjoy when a guy knows what he wants.” Nell shrugged lightly.

“Laugh it up, I know the whole adding ice and all that ruins the flavour blah blah blah.” Alex took the teasing with grace. “I can't do it neat, bad things happen if I do for it straight up.”

“Oh, no. I have witnessed far worse than asking for ice.” Nell looked as though she was processing some sort of horrid memory. Alex waited, she would either tell him or move on. The bar tender slid their drinks to them, giving Nell a few seconds to decide on her story.

“Ivan's father was given a bottle of Chivas Regal once for a birthday present, my brother got the idea to mix it with chocolate milk. I have never saw something so disrespectful.” Nell cringed. Alex involuntarily made a disgusted face. Who mixed chocolate milk with scotch? Further more, why disrespect a perfectly good bottle that way.

“Was it even good?”

“By itself, I swear there were angels singing, whenever you took a sip. With the milk, I don't know. I contemplated disowning them both on the spot.”

“Blasphemy.” Alex smirked, taking a sip of his drink.

“But that's enough about Henry and Michael. I will add, they're lucky I still speak to them both.” Nell sipped her drink. Licking her lips, she sighed happily. It had been a while since she'd gone out for a proper drink. Pouring herself a glass here and there, after a long day wasn't the same as sharing a drink with somebody in a pub or a bar.

“I would say so.” Alex held his glass, “I will say a cheers to you and your forgiving ways. May Henry and Michael know how blessed they are.”

“Here, here!” Nell raised her glass, gently tapping it to Alex's. “This is nice.”

“Lagavulin, is one of the best you can get I mean...”

“No, no. Not the Lagavulin,” Nell blushed, her eyes casting down. “I meant having somebody to talk to, to share a drink with. It's been forever since I have left my house after 8pm, to do something other than work. I'm going to risk sounding like one of those people, but I am usually in bed by now.”

“Me too.”

“Really? Wow, when I was your age, I was never home on a Friday night.” Nell winced. “Sorry, I didn't mean...Oh fuck that came out wrong.”

Alex laughed at her earnest. “I know what you meant.”

“Sometimes my mind and mouth don't engage. My mother says it's one of my biggest downfalls. I'm working on it.” Nell passed it off playfully.

“My mom says my downfall is that I am too stubborn and I don't know when to give up.” Alex revealed.

Nell tried to hide her chuckle. “A lesson, between us, moms know their sons better than anyone.”

“I'll remember that.” Alex's smile was full of mischief. “Any other secret mom tips that you're allowed to reveal?”

“Uh,” Nell tapped her chin, “Mom's really do have eyes in the back of their head. They're the hardest working people on this planet, and we have an excellent bullshit detector.”

“All useful.” Alex played into it. Leaning closer, his eyes dropped to watch her lips as she spoke. Licking his lips, he took less than a breath to snap back. Nell wasn't the type you hit on just because. “And what else can you tell me? This time about you, not as a mom.”

“Oh.” Nell shifted in her seat, adjusting her skirt, smoothing it over her calves. “I have two siblings, they're twins. I hate cake, as you know.” She smirked. Alex nodded. “And I have never dated somebody younger than me. Now you.”

“I have a sister. I play guitar, not well,  it's a budding hobby. And I only ever date older women.” Alex shrugged, swirling his scotch in the glass, taking a drink. Smooth. What a way to sound like a moron.

He'd really felt this was going somewhere, until two seconds ago.

“Alex, so you know, I don't really think that this is going to go beyond tonight.” Nell's gaze fell uncomfortably. “I like your company, as a friend.”

That was a fair answer. Alex was a tiny bit disappointed, not that he had a right to be. He was lucky that Nell had agreed to come at all.

“Can I ask you something? If you are uncomfortable, don't bother. You can also tell me to fuck off, but why did you agree to come out with me?” He pushed his hair behind his ears, his eyes locked on hers. “I'm happy you did, but I don't understand. Maybe I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Alex, it's not that I don't like you.” Nell felt the weight of the world suddenly on her shoulders for making him feel this way. “I think you're lovely. You are very kind and a great person.”

“But?” Alex knew it was coming. This kind of statement always had a but.

“But, it's complicated. I love working with you, but I know what happens next, because I've been there. So, if I stay guarded, you eventually go away, and nobody gets hurt.” Nell waved to the bartender, ordering another drink. This time a double.

Ordering another drink, Alex mustered up the courage to ask his next question. It lingered on his mind, but he'd never had the balls to come out with it. “Is it because of your ex?”

Nell accepted her new drink, draining half the glass in one gulp, before nodding. “And it's a stupid excuse. I know that.”

“No, I've heard worse.” Alex thanked the bar tender for his fresh drink. “You loved him? It had to have hurt when that ended. I get it.”

“We were together for almost three years.” Nell took the time to explain her behaviour a little. Alex had been the brunt of her rash and unfair treatment, all because of something that had absolutely nothing to do with him.

“So, it was serious?” Beyond having a son with the guy, of course. He didn't have to say it, Nell had figured out how to read between those lines.

“Not in the way I saw a future, but in the way that I knew we were comfortable.”

“You worked together?”

“We did. I mean, in a way. Yes. I was an intern.” Nell tipped the glass up to her lips. “We met while he was on The Tudors.” Nell shrugged picking at her drink napkin. “It's partly why I have this job. They loved what I was capable of and hired me back, when Janet had to leave.”

“I'm glad they hired you.” Alex offered, tipping his drink. “I don't plan on having a kid with you, but I am glad they hired you.” He smirked trying to break the tension.

“Happily I will accept that.” Nell smiled. “I didn't want to think about being married  or having a kid at 22, but you know.”

Alex could relate, he couldn't imagine being married. Or having a kid. Not right now. His life was going great and there was no need to complicate things. Not that he assumed Nell found Ivan a complication or a regret.

“I think it's pretty brave of you to raise Ivan, the way you have been.”

“It wasn't all me. His dad helps a lot.” Nell bit her bottom lip, she wasn't entirely alone. “We lived together for the first year after Ivan was born. Henry adores Ivan, you know.” She wanted to make that clear.

“I didn't doubt he would. I'm sorry if this feels like me prying, but why did you split?”

What kind of man would leave someone as fantastic as Nell? How stupid was he? Alex had to know. If she became uncomfortable she would tell him, surely. No, Alex was confident that Nell would tell him to shut up if he was going too far. If he left here alone, covered in scotch, then he had deserved it.

“It was too much, having a baby and trying to bolster a career. You know how it is, appearing to the public in one way, while living another. It was too much, he was gone all the time and I was alone anyway, so I moved back home.”

Fleeing London to take refuge in St. John's had only lasted a year. Nell loved being close to her parents and sister, but needed something more. She'd been used to the lifestyle in London and soon found herself heading back. Before too long, she was back in Britain, living there until getting the call to move back to Dublin.  

“Oh.” The word formed on Alex's lips without breath.

“It's complicated.”

In other words, Nell was often left angry with herself, over the situation. Blaming Henry had become easier, along the way, it was a go to when she needed it.

“Most relationships are.” Alex scoffed. “But we get back on the horse and keep trying. Isn't that what we're taught?”

“It's hard finding a guy who wants to date a woman, who has a kid.” Nell shrugged. She hadn't had much luck dating in the last few years. There had been one or two guys who had stayed around for a month, maybe two, then it always ended once they found someone better. “It's harder finding someone to date, once they find out your son's father is Superman.”

And that is how she knew she'd had possibly gone too far. Here they were now, might as well keep going. Get it all out on the table. This was the part where Nell over shared and Alex never spoke to her beyond tonight.

“Every man thinks he's Superman, at some point.” Alex laughed lightly. Seeing Nell in a new light, he couldn't imagine somebody not wanting to know her or Ivan. She was an excellent mom.

“No,” Nell's brow creased. “He's literally Superman.”

“I don't follow.” Alex's brow creased in confusion. How drunk was she?

“His father,” Nell swallowed the last of her drink. “My ex is legit Superman. Clark Kent, Man of Steel. Kal-El?   Henry Cavill is my ex.”

The look on Alex's face as he tried to piece all of this together was becoming comical. This was generally the part where the date would ask some stupid, mundane question and then leave. Or he would attempt to try and impress her with a pointless show of masculinity. Alex was going to be neither of those. She could tell with the way his face contorted and his eyes softened.

“I had no idea.” Surely he wasn't the only one to not know this. The man's name was Henry, it was the only detail he'd ever had to go on. Nell had met him working, okay? There were thousands of Henrys in the world.

“You didn't know?” Nell began to chuckle. “Seriously? I thought everybody at work knew. Ivan's last name is Cavill.”

“There are more than one family of Cavills in the world.” Alex defended his ignorance. Until right now, he had never heard anybody use Ivan's last name and had always assumed it was Stewart. “Henry Cavill.”

Alex mulled it over for a second, having to say the name to somehow make it real. “Hmm. Well, at least he's not some sort of crazed inmate, who is hell bent on revenge on any man who talks to you.” He smirked, side eyeing Nell. “He not crazed and hell bent on revenge, is he?”

“No, probably not. You can ask him, when he's here in a few weeks.” Nell waved the bar tender over to pay. “Although, I think you will be safe. Start running, he's big, but slow.”

@funmadnessandbadassvikings​ , @kawennote09​, @smutgoblin​ , @nickysurfer28​ , @peaceisadirtyword​, @igetcarriedawaywithyou​ , @lif3snotouttogetyou​, @akamaiden​ @angelaiswriting​, @neeadinghugs​, @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly​, @ilvebeenabad​ , @naaladareia​, @imgoldielikehawn​ @tephi101​, @sdcyumyum​ @unacceptabletatertots​, @sparklemichele​ , @titty-teetee​ , @smolasianwinterbean​ , @capitanostella​ , @captstefanbrandt​ @bloodyivar​  , @normanallthewayforever​  , @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​ , @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ , @nikky-the-writer​  , @seremedyxiii​ , @laketaj24​ , @deleteidentity​ , @tornupandbored​ , @hoeghfabulous​ , @ateliefloresdaprimavera​  , @mydarlingwhim​ , @kenzieam​ , @jar-of-love​ ,  @angelswannawearmyredshooz​ , @manuugxlvis​  , @lost-in-my-thoughs​ , @ivars-snowflake​ , @lisinfleur​ , @fumblingthroughchaos​ @pebblesz892​ , @nelson-and-murdock​ , @nothingeverdies​, @bluearchersstuff​  @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone​, @ivarlothbroks​, @badassbaker​  @cris101071​ @fucktrucks​ @ohjules​ @mrsadrianraines​  @angelic-kisses13​ @whenimaunicorn​ @marthasantos95​ @atlanticowe​ @hows-my-hair​ @omgshuddupmeg​ @moviegirl50​ @havenoffandoms​ @gearhead66​​ @happydaysandersen​​ @rekdreams-fandom​​ @lovemylife2618​​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​​ @heavenly1927​​ @zoe-rachel-crisp​​ @blogandreea11​​ @shileen91​​ @geekandbooknerd​​ @mzliterarydreamer​​ @youbloodymadgenius​​ @ainatirb-j​​ @carlya65​​ @sawendel​​ @sinflowersugar​ 

- if you want to be added? removed, please let me know

[mrsreinhart]

HUSTLERS’ LILI REINHART ON NEVER WEARING LOW-RISE JEANS & ALL THAT FAKE VOMIT

And that time she was too scared to talk to Will Ferrell on set.

“Slutty Hannah Montana.” Lili Reinhart quips about the pop stars that were inspiration for the costume design on her latest film, Hustlers. Yes, those bandage bodycon dresses made an appearance. So did mystery-alloy-plated nameplate hoop earrings and rhinestone “SEXY” chokers. For Reinhart’s character, Annabelle, electric blue eyeshadow to match her polyester mini dress. You’ll even spot an occasional sparkle mid-cheek that’s gone rogue from one of her co-star’s body glitter. But low-low-low rise jeans, those should stay in 2003 if Reinhart had any say in it.

Ahead of the world premiere of Hustlers—which features a stacked cast: Jennifer Lopez, Constance Wu, Keke Palmer, Julia Stiles, Cardi B, Lizzo, Madeline Brewer (and more, but no spoilers here)—I sat down with the Riverdale star during TIFF to talk early-aught trends, all those vomit scenes, and what her and boyfriend Cole Sprouse are going to be for Halloween.

What made you want to get involved in Hustlers?

“It was so well written. Lorene [Scafaria] is so talented. When I first read the synopsis, ‘big hustlers’ popped up in my inbox, and I was like ‘OK?’ and then it was like, ‘strippers get revenge on Wall Street men,’ and I was like, ‘oh god, what is this?’ Then, I saw Constance [Wu]’s name attached and Jennifer [Lopez]’s name and Lorene as the director, and then I was like ‘this is actually something. The synopsis is not doing it justice here.’ Even today, the trailer doesn’t do the film justice. You think you have an idea of what this movie is going to be, [that] it’s going to be a party for an hour and a half, but it’s really not like that. You get an hour of a nice party going on but after that it gets really intense and emotional. [You] realize that you’re actually getting stories of these women and who they are. It’s not just like, ‘oh, it’s a movie about strippers,’ it’s a movie about women who strip. You watch the film and you’re like, ‘Wow, that movie was about women and this sisterhood that they are in, and they’re trying to fend for their families and themselves.’ It’s a good story.”

The costume design [in this movie] was pretty incredible. Was there one look you that absolutely loved?

“To be honest, I kind of forgot the movie took place in a different time period when I arrived to my fitting. I guess I wasn’t really sure what to expect. Then I got there and I was like, ‘oh my god, we’re traveling back in time to when I was in middle school!’ I was a little too young at that time to be wearing those bodycon dresses from Charlotte Russe and Guess. God, it was so trippy to see just how much the fashion has changed, and Mitchell [Travers], our costume designer, blew it out of the water. He was incredible and had so much work to do but somehow pulled it off. I walked in [for my fitting] and he was like, ‘I think we want [to do] sweet and innocent, but also trash.’ He said it in such an of course kind of way. We’re playing with 2013 and Mitchell called it, ‘slutty Hannah Montana’ because [it was around the time] Hannah Montana was on, and [our costumes were similar to] the clothes from that time, with an added edge and sexiness to it. It was really fun. Awful jewelry [though]… the cheapest. I’d put it in my ear and it would fall apart. I was like, this is perfect.”

Ha! That jewelry that would turn your skin green or blue:

“It was just the best discount bodycon dresses money can get.”

Was there a look you just refuse to wear from that era?

“I refused to wear the hip-hugger jeans.”

The low-low-rise and muffin tops?

“It truly mortifies me that I wore those. Obviously, I wore them in middle school. My mom sent me a picture of [myself] wearing those pants the other day, and they are literally like you’re about to see my vagina. It’s right on the cusp. And my mom goes, ‘where is your crotch?’ She sent me that photo because there is like thismuch space between the top of my jeans and my legs. I was like, ‘I truly don’t know. I couldn’t tell you.’ All I know is [I was] 13, so I clearly didn’t have any love-handles going on—nothing to grab onto, I was like a stick. So it worked at that point, but Mitchell made me try on a couple [pairs], and I was like, ‘no, don’t do it.’”

“MY MOM GOES, ‘WHERE IS YOUR CROTCH?’ SHE SENT ME THAT PHOTO BECAUSE THERE IS LIKE THISMUCH SPACE BETWEEN THE TOP OF MY JEANS AND MY LEGS.”

What about the bodycon dresses?

“I don’t wear bodycon dress ever. So, no. I really don’t think I would want to wear anything that I wore in that movie in my life. Even walking from my trailer to set, to the bar where we were filming or the strip club, I felt so self-conscious about the way I looked because it was so over the top. I had blue eyeshadow on… horrifyingly blue eyeshadow. It felt so out of my comfort zone. It was kind of insane because I’m very minimal. Especially day-to-day, I don’t wear any makeup. So it was a whole other world to be glammed and dolled up so much every day and to have my boobs on display all the time. It was quite a different experience. I’m more conservative than that.”

Your character has a pretty adverse reaction to stress, but she’s made it so endearing. Was it hard to film all those vomit scenes?

“People [would ask] ‘are you nervous?’ I don’t think I was. It was more-so like, here goes nothing! I don’t know what to expect. I’ve never had to do this before. I mean it was funny, I think Lorene said ‘poor Annabelle’ like eight-thousand times while we were filming.”

Seriously, poor Annabelle!

“She’s so young and sweet. It’s such a genius way of reminding the audience that she’s so young. Instead of being like, oh yeah, she’s the baby of the group, or she’s new to this, or she got pulled into this. That story is told by her vomiting because she’s just overwhelmed. I don’t have that reaction when I’m overwhelmed, but I can appreciate the people who do and how unfortunate it is. It was definitely an experience.”

What is fake vomit made out of?

“Well, it’s different for every scenario. People come up with all kinds of things. Mine was best case scenario. It was crushed animal crackers and sprite. It tasted like leftover animal crackers in my mouth. It was fine. Mushy food really grosses me out so that was my biggest fear, having to put that in my mouth…like actually making me want to throw up from putting that in my mouth. But it was fine.”

What day on set sticks out in your mind?

“Will Ferrell came to visit us, and I literally avoided him because I was so starstruck. I was like, ‘I don’t want to meet him. I’m nervous, I don’t want to.’ He’s one of the producers of the movie, so he came to visit one day [when] we were shooting at the club, and I literally avoided him because I was scared.”

What was it like dancing beside J-Lo?

“Look, clearly I’m not good at dancing or trying to look good. [I] was just trying to have fun, like how you would drunkenly dance with your friends. So, it’s more-so like god, please don’t watch that and think I’m trying to look good dancing. It was fun in the moment, and it was really cool and special experience.”

I heard you’re pretty good at special effects makeup. What are you going to be for Halloween?

“I am! Oh my god, I haven’t done that in a really long time actually. I kind of went from special effects makeup to face-painting. So, I’ve done a lot in the past. Now, I don’t really have the time, which sounds so stupid but I really don’t. It takes a lot of time to do those things. I think I’m leaning in towards a character for Halloween. I think I’m going to do it with my boyfriend Cole. I don’t want to spoil it if it’s not going to happen, but it’s a TV duo.”

That a good little teaser:

“No special effects this year, but maybe a wig.”

[missdutch21md]

Music of the Night | 2

A/N: Hello Dear Readers!! 

Here I am w/ a trash chapter for Halloween! I’m so sorry to subject you to this.. 

please enjoy? 

All my love, 

Soul  💖

Summary:The time is 1856. Location: Paris, France at the Opera Populaire. Taehyung is living his life when who should stumble into his life than the most beautiful singer he has ever heard? She was the missing instrument to his orchestra. She would complete the score for his… Music of the Night.

Pairing:  Opera Ghost! Taehyung x Singer! Ballet Dancer! MCUniverse: Phantom of the Opera AU

Genre: Fluff 🥰, Mature 🔞

Characters: rich! Seokjin, rich! Yoongi, dance instructor! hoseok, officer! Jimin, stagehand! Jungkook, chorus girl! BlackPink

⚠️Warnings⚠️: mentions of religion (reader prays), stalking, slight yandere themes

Please keep in mind this is a work of FICTION this in no way reflects on any BTS members or Taehyung as a person. This is simply a story for the imagination.

Go B a  c k | Turn p a g e | M.List

After the two weeks it took for rehearsals to finish, I caught up as best I could. Excelled even, according to Hoseok and Namjoon.  

In the two weeks I was part of the company, I learned that Hoseok’s birthday was only days before mine. This made me all the more amazed by him. How was he so talented? It felt like his knowledge was beyond his years. He was only a year older than me and he had already done so much more with his life.  

The cold February months turned to crisper days of March. There was a magical feeling in the air as I learned my way around the opera house. I learned there were many places to hide and look out at us while we practiced for stage rehearsals. On the off days when we were not practicing the day away, I was exploring the depths of the opera house.  

I also learned that the voice I had been hearing in the chapel while I prayed was not a distant voice. But someone who vowed to teach me how to harness my voice and give it wings. My days were spent in the studio learning the production and refining my skills with Namjoon and Hoseok. And at night I would continue my vocal training with my Master, as he asked me to call him.  

I hummed a cheery tune as I was sent to go find the costumers to let them know of notes the managers had for final preparations for the designs in the production. Yoongi had noticed that some girls were just wearing plain cloth where other dancers, such as myself, were wearing the entire set.  

As I came into the workshop where the costumers worked, I smiled in greeting. “Hello Mademoiselle” the several costumers called. I waved and said hello. Watching as they turned the fabrics into wondrous things. I offered to help while we talked about the changes that the managers wished to see done.  

“I’d have them in the actual costumes. But they ripped them yesterday during the dress rehearsal!” The head costumer wailed. I gasped as I saw the tattered garments that were produced from a drawer.  

I nodded in understanding. I would pass the message along. I offered that maybe the mock up could be made to look a little more like our garments did. I grabbed some paint and did a little sample for the costumer.  

“Mademoiselle, you are truly gifted!” The older women laughed in wonder. “Is there anything that you can’t do?”  

I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know how to ride horses,” I giggled as the group busted up laughing.  

“Tell the managers that the costumes will be ready for the show tonight if they let us keep you to help with this.“  

I nodded and made my way to the stage to let the managers know. With Jin’s blessing and a stern reminder from Yoongi to not goof off; I spent the day painting and laughing with the costumers and mending the original costumes as much as we could. When it was time for lunch the costumers sent me away telling me to spend time with my friends.  

Thankful for the break, I made my way to the kitchens and was happy to see my friends waiting for me. I ate happily with them and marveled at how I wanted to come back to dance but I still had some mending to help finish with.  

“Finish quickly so you can come back to us!” Jisoo urged me.  

“Besides I think Hoseok misses you,” Rose laughed.  

The dancer had become somewhat of a mentor to me but that’s all there was to it. Still it didn’t mean that I didn’t blush whenever he got close. I wasn’t blind to his charm and appeal. I shook my head as a light blush dusted my features. I was sure that there was no way that he ever could think of me that way.  

“No. Don’t you know?” Jennie chimed in. “Our eonnie is in love with her tutor,” she giggled.  

This only made me blush even redder as I ducked my head as though it would keep them from seeing my reaction.  

“See?” Lisa laughed. “she’s much more interested in this mysterious man.”  

We finished eating and I couldn’t help the feeling that someone has their eyes fixated on me. No matter where I looked in the mess hall, I failed to see the eyes that I was sure were trained on me. Shrugging it off, I went back to the workshop with the costumers and finished the tasks they gave me as quickly and efficiently as I was able. I rushed back to the front of the opera house just in time for the final run through to begin. I quickly took my place beside the other girls.  

The final run through felt perfect. We were all in sync. Neither Jin nor Hoseok nor Yoongi felt the need to stop the production at any time.  

At the end they told us they were looking forward to opening night and hoped that we would be able to have a good show tonight. We were rushed off to rest and recuperate and have some time for ourselves. I happily followed the younger girls as they happily giggled, talking about how they would spend their free time.  

I mulled it over in my thoughts. I wanted to see my Master, but would he be in our usual meeting spot? I wasn’t so sure. I told the girls I wanted to look over the projects I helped with and that I would spend time in the opera house today.  

“Please come with us!” Jennie pleaded and Rose joined in. They both had their hands clasped together under their chins making their eyes as big and sad as possible.  

“I really want to do a good job on this project they gave me,” I sighed giving them both a sad look. “Next time, I promise, I will go out with you guys.”  

“Promise?” they both asked their voices rising an octave.  

“I promise,” I answered.  

Both girls grinned, crushed me into a hug and rushed off to find Jisoo and Lisa who had continued up to our chambers to get changed into regular clothes.  

I made my way to the workshop where the costumers all worked. I happily chatted with them while I checked on the three costumes that I had slapped together for the better part of my day. I was happy that the paint seemed to be drying and was glad that I was able to do this myself. I wasn’t a very talented sewer, though the head costumer begged to differ.  

“You did well, just go rest or have some fun!” one of the older ladies smiled at me.  

I nodded and decided to make my way down to the chapel to sit and pray and hopefully get some time with the one person who I knew could calm my nerves that kept bubbling up.  

Much to my disappointment, my tutor never came. I heard the opera house come back to life as one hour slipped into three. I sighed despondently and got ready to go up to the bed chambers to get changed into my costume for the night.  

When I made it to the vanity that I shared with Jisoo and Rose, there was a new deep black velvet ribbon waiting for me where I usually kept my tattered silk ribbon. The offending marron scrap no-where to be found.  

“Did you bring this back for me?” I asked Jisoo as I ran my fingers over the very clearly luxurious, fine material. It would have cost more than a pretty penny; I didn’t want her to waste money like that on me.  

“It was here when I got here,” she answered while applying her rouge, not really paying any attention.  

“O-oh, I see,” I blushed a little and fixed my hair into the appropriate style for the production using the new ribbon. I went through my mind, trying to figure out just how this got here but decided to not dwell on it as I rouged my cheeks and used burnt cloves to line my eyes just right and darken my brows as Jisoo had taught me a few nights before.  

Faster than I could blink, we were on stage getting ready for opening curtain to reveal us to the audience. “Just take deep breaths,” Lisa reassured me from my left.  

“You know this routine,” Jisoo reminded me from my right.  

I nodded and continued counting through the music to when the curtains would open. The production was a blur, if it wasn’t for the other dancers around, I would have surely lost my way. I was happily dancing along with the other girls, when the closing overture finally came; I blinked in surprise.  

After a successful opening night, I happily made my way down to the chapel and sat silently. I was buzzing with excitement. The high that came from being on stage still hadn’t left my system and left me feeling dizzy. There would be 6 weeks of this performance and I had promised myself I would do better and better with each performance.  

As I sat silently, my thoughts wandered off yet again to my mysterious tutor. I hummed softly and tried my best to keep my spirits up through the sting of rejection that I felt earlier today. I finished my prayers and I still didn’t hear the deep timber of his voice that seemed to come from the depths making the high of performing decline drastically.  

My heart sank.  

Today must not be a day where he was pleased with me.  

Go B a c k | Turn P a g e 

[hummingbirdsaltimolockia]

I recently made a list of all the musicals I’m pretty familiar with and it came out to 63. and since my sisters won’t listen to my recommendations this is a masterpost of all those musicals with a few of my Thoughts and Opinions. this gets hella long so prepare yourself

-Les Miserables

ah, you never forget your first. I heard the symphonic recording when I was six? seven? so it has become the definitive version in my mind, but cast members (michael ball) are weak, and unfortch I haven’t come across a recording were all the cast members are top notch, though the 25th anniversary concert comes very close (norm lewis!! lea salonga!!)

-The Little Mermaid

ok so on the whole this show is not particularly great or interesting and honestly didn’t do very well on stage BUT hearing sherie rene scott sing poor unfortunate souls literally changed my life and is what really sparked my interest in musical theatre. also norm lewis is there

-The Band’s Visit

unlike any broadway musical you’ve heard fs. based on the movie of the same name, it’s about the egyptian police band being stranded in a middle-of-nowhere town in israel for in 1996. it’s a simple story but incredibly charming and ernest and surprsingly emotional. also the music is played onstage by the actors which is always cool!

-In the Heights

lin manuel miranda’s first musical and is honestly just as good as hamilton, if not better (I said what I said). it’s a slice of life kinda story about people living in washington heights. great music, great story, great characters, feels very real without being like....depressing.

-Aladdin

most of the songs from the movie stay mostly the same, I think they only changed arabian nights, and friend like me (which for the latter was a huuge improvement. I can’t NOT dance whenever I hear it. james monroe inglehart is a fantastic genie). and the flying carpet!! looks amazing!!

-Once on This Island

this story made me v mad initially (the female lead just. dies at the end), but I kept coming back to it because I loved the music, and it took me a while to figure out why and it’s because the caribbean island vibes are off the charts, and that reminds me of my childhood in sofl. and the vocals of the ensemble are amazing and the 2018 revival used a in the round stage with actual sand and live animals how cool is that

-She Loves Me

a super cute, super enjoyable, super fun musical based on the old film shop around the corner. zachery levi and laura benanti make some quality faces

-Next to Normal

oooof. a very intense show both in terms of theme and music. deals with bipolar depression, schizophrenia, drugs, suicide, hallucinations, death of a child....yeah. a very good show that handles all those heavy themes realistically

-Hamilton

so yeah when it first came out five years ago it was very hyped up and was called lin manuel’s “masterpiece” and when I listened to it I was like....dam they’re right. the lyrics and wording are so precise and having a story told by the protag’s enemy is so narratively juicey. plus the music is incredible (also listen to the hamilton mixtape if you haven’t it’s great)

-The Lion King

if you’ve followed me for any time you know I love the movie and the musical only makes it better. the songs, the music, the puppets, heather headley, the songs in zulu, the costumes...ugh perfection. the most successful disney show on broadway

-Aida

ever wonder what it’s like to be so darn good at singing that sir elton john writes a musical for you? well that’s what happened to heather headley and she completely deserved it. it’s a bit problematic in that the egyptian conquerors are all white and all the nubia slaves are black and like....they’re both in africa dude

-Anastasia

ok so I know it didn’t happen but the premise is so compelling and so gd tragic and christy altomare’s voice has such a fragility to it which is such a contrast to who anastasia actually was and the show features a song about russian refugees having to flee their homeland and it’s like the saddest song I’ve ever heard

-Anything Goes

honestly this musical on the whole isn’t that great for some...reasons, but it does have some great Friendship songs and Great tap dancing and sutton foster is in it and she is the epitome of a triple threat

-Cinderella

honestly just watch the brandy version because it’s the best version. better than the broadway version for sure, even though laura osnes is fantastic in everything she does and the show does have an amazing onstage costume change, but the brandy version has the coolest cast and costume and sets

-Ragtime

ho boy. so much to unpack here. while I think this is a “good” musical, it is too long, has too many characters and storylines, and deals with some heavy themes but doesn’t handle them very well so by the end it’s just exhausting and disappointing. BUT it does have the incomparable brian stokes mitchell and audra mcdonald, who is literally the best performer to ever grace broadway

-Thoroughly Modern Millie

there is so much spirit in this show it’s infectious. also sutton foster

-Dear Evan Hanson

sigh. so this musical gained a lot popularity among the Young People and...it..didn’t...deserve it? like again it deals with heavy issues like social anxiety, depression, and suicide, but like ragtime it doesn’t handle them very well; not in an honest way. and like everything they talk about is handled better in next to normal so

-Tuck Everlasting

based on the book, not the movie. the music is something really different and I don’t think broadway was ready to accept it so it didn’t run very long. and the adaption isn’t very strong, but the lead (sarah charles lewis) is very good and it does have a very sad song about miles losing his family

-Come From Away

so this is about the 38 planes that were diverted to a small town in newfoundland on 9/11. now with as much as america loves to talk about 9/11 I had never heard this story so it was cool to hear a different side of it. also it has a song that makes me tear up every time I hear it

-Annie

not much to say about this one. a classic

-Oklahoma!

speaking of classics, if you think this musical is boring and outdated, please listen to the 2019 revival. it rocks in every sense of the word

-West Side Story

this one is also a classic, and often called a masterpiece for good reason. the music is so strong and is integrated so well and it represents the characters on both sides. this video explains it really well. tho productions consistently have trouble finding puerto rican actors to play the puerto ricans....

-Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812

this one deserved sooo much more than it got, coming out in the same year as dear shmevan shmhanson. the lighting and set design is incredible and the music reflects each character’s emotion so it feels really honest, and almost like a supporting character. it’s so good guys. it has josh groban in a fat suit

-The Phantom of the Opera

unpopular opinion (maybe): I think gerard butler was a really good phantom. probably andrew llyod webber’s best work

-Waitress

based on the film of the same name, also the first broadway show with an entirely female creative team. also what baking can do came after my entire life

-Hello Dolly!

I fell in love with the movie version with barbra streisand, but then I learned that the original broadway production had a all black cast which is awesome but wasn’t reflected at all in the movie and that’s disappointing. great show tho

-Wicked

I can distinctly remember the first time I heard the ending crescendo of defying gravity. and the fact that it has so quickly become classic staple of broadway is a testiment to how strong it is

-You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown

yes there is a broadway show of charlie brown. the songs are funny and childlike and honest, and very ernest. also kristin chenoweth is hilarious as sally brown (she won a tony for it!)

-Chess

I love the music in the show, and some songs have very complex lyrics but the main character is kinda annoying. like yeah dude deserting your country with another woman and leaving your wife and kids behind is gonna have negative consequences. don’t know what to tell you

-Finding Neverland

not as good as the movie it’s based on. while some of the music is very pretty, the songs are pretty simple and kinda boring

-Venice

ok this show also isn’t very good, the character’s motivations are not clear, especially the villain, and the female lead’s songs are weak. but the premise and some of the songs are arresting, and I kept coming back to them

-The King and I

like wws, it took a very long time for a production to cast this show accurately, and it still hasn’t....quite done it. but the songs are very beautiful. r&h strike again.

-Matilda

features a bunch of v talented children and manages to be lighthearted but also really gets you. just listen to when I grow up

-Little Women

on the whole, not a great adaption. some good songs. sutton foster is great

-Bonnie and Clyde

oh boy you want some bad guy songs? how bout a whole musical of them? oh no the public hated us and we closed after 36 performances. ah well. at least laura osnes got her first tony nod

-Beetlejuice

very catchy show with a killer aesthetic. give alex brightman a tony just for being Like That

-Hadestown

this show has such nice lyrical rhythm, even in the spoken words, and it is so smartly composed and balanced. and even tho the broadway cast recording is out, it’s worth it to listen to the earlier album as well

-Catch Me If You Can

based on the film. just two hours of aaron tveit being a little brat and norbert leo butz flexing on everyone else’s vocal chords

-Miss Saigon

an extremely problematic and infuriating show that is unfortunately very beautiful. introduced lea salonga to the world, so that’s good at least

-The Hunchback of Notre Dame

speaking of problematic but beautiful shows. exceeds the movie in my opinion. the choral vocals just cut right through you

-The Fiddler on the Roof

I listened to the 2016 revival after not listening to this show for years and you know what? it’s really good! like heck!

-Mean Girls

yes they made a musical of mean girls. yes it’s pretty great. regina has a killer song near the end that I love to belt out

-Bandstand

one of the only musicals to make me cry actual tears just from listening to one (1) song. it’s about WWII veterans coming together to form a band just months after the war ends. also laura osnes fricking kills it in the last number

-Into the Woods

I’m not a huge fan of “fairy tales but make it realistic and therefore disappointing” but stephen sondheim is a very good writer and musician so it’s worth checking out. and the witch is played by bernadette peters in the musical and meryl streep in the movie so it’s a win both ways

-How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying

what it says on the can. a very fun, ‘don’t take this too seriously’ show. the lead was played by daniel radcliffe and nick jonas at one point so like. come on

-The Last Five Years

honestly this is a very depressing show, but it’s told in a interesting way. it’s about a couple who meet, fall in love, get married, drift apart, and ultimately get divorced, but not in that order

-Newsies

ok so the broadway version is very different from the movie, but it’s still worth checking out! the new verse at the beginning of seize the day makes it worth it!

-Legally Blonde

yes they made a musical of legally blonde. yes it’s great

-Daddy Long Legs

a little known musical about a young woman who is aging out of an orphanage and finds out she is being sent to school by a mysterious benefactor. meghan mcginnis has super sweet voice

-My Fair Lady

another problematic show about a british asshole who takes it upon himself to turn a flower girl into a “proper lady” (no one asked you to do that dude). but it is funny

-South Pacific

ok so I’m not actually super familiar with this show but it does have a very important song called you’ve got to be carefully taught about how racism is not “something you’re just born” so stop making excuses nellie

-Once

again I’m not super knowledgeable about this show, I’ve listened to it a few times, and read the wiki summary but I still don’t quite know what it’s about. but the music is really good, really different from a traditional broadway show. very enticing and sentimental

-Beauty and the Beast

I think this was the first disney movie that made it to broadway? I could be wrong. like hunchback, I think it exceeds the movie, esp if I can’t love her??? shoutout to my sister’s friend for blowing my socks off with that song in 2005

-Six

not a full blown production, just a rock show about the six wives of henry viii. I thought it would be like riding off the hamilton craze of “history but make it cool” but it actually kicks ass all by itself

-The Sound of Music

another classic, and edelweiss makes me emotional

-Billy Elliot

ahh this show has so much tangible emotion in it and it’s heavy but children are it and they carry it so well and the juxtaposition of the protests an d the dancing UGH

-The Lightning Thief

yes the percy jackson musical! is good and enjoyable! doesn’t take itself seriously at all (as it shouldn’t) and the last two songs go so hard!

-The Music Man

this is imprinted into my brain because of my sister’s drama group and from that day on I have never known peace

-The Scarlet Pimpernel

based on the film of the same name, it’s really good, the opening number goes really hard, and it SHOULD be revived with laura osnes

-Oliver!

this show is....good..but it’s just too long. too many extra songs that don’t do anything

-Sussical

beautifully whimsical and heartfelt. features an array of suess characters and stories

-Moulin Rouge!

the cast album that came late year and it kicks ass. it keeps some of the songs that were featured in the movie, and brings in songs that have come out since the movie like shut up and dance, royals, and bad romance

-The Greatest Showman

so technically this isn’t a broadway show, but it’s going to be, and I think it will be much better as a stage show than a movie.

[krsnlove]

Friendly[ish] Competition

A/N: Dedicated to the bff @alj4890 who has been dealing with things I’m unsure how any human being can function at this point but—this ones for you, A! Feel better ASAP! I need chapters 👀🙊😂💀JK [ish]

Pairing: Thomas x Amanda [OC], Matt x Addison, Ryan x Holly [platonic], Seth x Jessica [implied]

Guys, 1) I’ve NEVER played RCD so uhm go easy on me. If the characters are off, sorry 😬. It’s my first time writing for them. And 2) Last time I played laser tag was back in elementary school 👀🙊😂. I’m going off of pure memory in this.

Since shifting the car into park, his only thought is the innate desire to run...

From the people he foolishly acquainted himself with to the frivolous building he found himself walking through with its dingy doors.

“Hey! Look who made it!”

“Ryan,” Thomas’s voice devoid of emotion, “Was this necessary?” He gestures to the dim lighting in the room.

The actor doesn’t notice Thomas’s scowl at the friendly arm around his shoulder.

“Very,” Ryan simply said.

5 MINUTES LATER

“Ready?,” Matt asks no one in particular.

“Been,” Seth is the first to answer.

Thomas shakes his head at seeing the solemn look on the comedian’s face.

“Let’s goooo!,” Chadley shouted, sprinting out of the room.

“I’m coming for you Holly,” Ryan hovers over the bench, his eyes fixate on the exit door as he double-knotted the laces to his sneakers.

Thomas disregards the competitive spirit in the room, carefully placing his cufflinks into an assigned locker, he rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.

“Just so you are aware,” he calmly states, “I will be removing you all from my life when this is over.”

10 MINUTES LATER

“Go, go, go!”

Matt whispers to the four men crouched behind him save for the bored director at the end of the line who stood tall, scanning his email.

“Thomas!,” Ryan pulls on his arm as they inch closer to a corner.

“He’s going to get us killed,” Seth muttered.

“And become a hero,” Thomas said, his voice mildly amused.

Matt ignores the conversation and motions with his hand for the dysfunctional team to move forward.

15 MINUTES LATER

“You’re brilliant,” Holly’s eyes begin to moisten despite the commotion surrounding her.

The compliment does little to slow down the usually calm blonde who has become a ball of energy, quickly helping Amanda with her gear.

“We have to hurry!,” Addison exclaimed, her voice low on purpose.

“Remind me again,” Amanda is barely able to get the words out before a weapon is thrust into her hands, “Why did you ask me to keep my visit a secret from Thomas?”

The disturbing grin on Addison’s face did not go unnoticed.

“Addison? Are you okay?,” Amanda asked, she looked between the two women who had recently become close friends on her numerous trips to Hollywood.

“I’m fine.”

“She’s in the zone,” Holly said with a tinge of excitement.

30 MINUTES LATER

“Man down!,” Chadley shouted from an unknown location.

Matt, Ryan, and Seth looked to the direction of his voice.

“Damn it,” Seth groaned.

“I can’t believe I’m asking this but can I leave...now?,” Thomas impatiently asks, noticing the time on the clock nearby.

“No!”

“Ssshh!,” Matt hurries to quiet a panicked Ryan. “They’ll hear us!,” he whispered.

“No one leaves until the timer is through,” he clarifies to an irate Thomas, “The team with most members on the floor in the end, wins.”

“How much time do we have left?,” Ryan searches the nearby walls for the timer.

“20 minutes,” Seth answered. “We’ll have to take one out to at least tie with them.”

45 MINUTES LATER

Amanda crawls behind the make-shift barrier made of old tires, trying her hardest to focus on following the vague instructions given to her by Addison.

“Man down!”

She recognizes the voice belonging to Seth and stops to take shelter behind the dirty tires.

“I’m coming for you, Summers!”

Amanda turns her head to Holly’s voice nearby, hoping to see her or at least another team member.

“Amanda!,” her prayers are answered when Addison suddenly appears next to her, behind the barrier.

“Holly got him!”

“Who?,” Amanda asked.

“Ryan!,” she gives a breathless account of Holly’s heroism.

1 HOUR LATER

With his back against a wall, Matt surveys the seemingly empty floor,

He was the last of his team still standing.

Except, Matt looked back at his only other companion, who was now on the phone.

“Amanda,” Thomas unbothered by the dwindling number of his teammates, “I’m stuck at this ridiculous place,” he continues his message on her voicemail, “But I’m on my way out. Call me when you get this, please.”

“We still have a few minutes left Thomas,” Matt reminded him.

He winces at the outburst of expletives coming from the director’s mouth.

1 ½ HOUR LATER

“Was that Thomas’s voice?,” Amanda eagerly turned with an enthusiasm she didn’t know she possessed. The exhaustion from her red-eye flight was beginning to set in.

Addison pulled her back into their hiding space.

“We’re still tied, Amanda.”

“I know,” she admitted. “We can always come back later and break the tie.”

Amanda attempts to stand from her crouched position before she is pulled back down.

“No!,” Addison’s strength and sheer will caught the Duchess off-guard. She’d never seen the usually level-headed, costume designer in this light.

It was almost frightening, Amanda thought.

1 HOUR 45 MINUTES LATER

“It’s over Matt,” the two remaining team members walk side by side towards the locker room.

“I know,” the actor accepted somewhat begrudgingly.

“Actually…,” a voice from behind surprises the two men as Matt feels the gear strapped to his chest power down, “We still have about two minutes left.”

Addison lifts her hands up in superiority, celebrating her team’s victory while jumping over Matt in excitement. He covered his ears in an attempt to protect himself from hearing loss at her squeals echoing the room.

Her solo party is quickly cut short when she feels the neon gear attached to her upper body power down.

Both Addison and Matt look to Thomas, lowering the laser-gun in his hand, face devoid of emotion.

“You were the last one Ms. Sinclair,” he said, tossing the gun away.

“I’m leaving now.”

He turns in the direction of the exit, ignoring the celebration Matt was now having, when Amanda suddenly walks in.

Thomas narrowed his eyes, skeptical of his eyesight. He blinks a few times, confident the enclosed space he had been trapped in for the past hour was now making him delirious.

“Hello Mr. Hunt,” she playfully greeted.

Amanda can’t help her smile, watching the realization dawn on the features of Thomas’s handsome face.

It couldn’t be, he thought to himself, yet he found his pace quickening towards her.

Or someone who bore a striking resemblance to Amanda.

It isn’t long before the long-distance couple is reunited with Thomas immediately pulling her to him in a loving embrace.

“I’ve been calling you all afternoon!”

Amanda gave him a remorseful shrug.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

The knowing smirk on his face brings a faint blush to the Duchess’s cheeks.

“Let’s go to my place,” he quickly moves to lead her out.

In the corner of her eye, she spots Addison eyeing the timer just above her head.

“5 seconds, Amanda!,” she shouted.

Thomas, confused by the sudden outburst, turns to look back at her when he sees Matt shaking his head.

“Behind you!,” he yelled to Thomas.

It was too late.

Thomas glances down at the now darkened, unpowered, neon-colored chestplate.

Addison’s celebratory squeals are once again heard throughout the room.

“Suck it Matt!”

“Cheaters!,” he accuses her.

A few feet from the quarreling Rodriguez couple, Thomas stares at the woman who claimed to be in love with him.

“Not you too, Amanda!,” he grumbled.

She sauntered over to him and placed her hands on his broad shoulders. Leaning into him, she briefly gazed into his eyes, her lips inches away from his.

“Surprise, Mr. Hunt,” she purred.

Tagging: @liam-rhys @vickypoochoices @desireepow-1986

[rpdrficexchange]

New Traditions (Sashea) - Peridot

A/N: Merry Christmas folks! I wrote this for the lovely roza @leljaaa for the @rpdrficexchange 2019! Feel free to leave any feedback here or over at @artificialperidot :) Hope you enjoy!

To Roza: Merry Christmas darling! I’ve never written Sashea before but I gave it my best shot and I actually really enjoyed it! I hope you enjoy this little coffee shop au with a festive twist, and that you appreciate the little theatre references I just had to sneak in there for you. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas angel!

Shea’s heart was in her throat.

Fingernails dug into her thigh. A strong arm was held firmly around her waist, binding her like a rope. The words he said in her ear blurred into nothing.

This was it.

This was the last straw.

She was done. She had to leave. She was going to leave, right now.

She felt a kiss on her cheek as the hand around her waist clenched tighter.

Fuck no.

Shea pushed him off and slapped him in the face, and ran away as fast as she could.

She heard him call after her.

But there was no turning back now.

***

Sasha was one of very few odd people who actually didn’t mind working on Christmas.

Now don’t get her wrong, she still loved Christmas. She loved the coloured lights, buying gifts for others, the Christmas carols, even the cold weather - it reminded her of her home in Russia. And of course she missed spending Christmas with her loved ones, but she didn’t mind waiting just one more day to open her presents and eat her turkey. After all, that meant her family had two Christmas Days, and she didn’t mind missing out on one of them.

Christmas was actually one of Sasha’s busiest working days. She owned a quaint little café in the middle of New York City, and it was usually the only place open for miles on the 25th. Her café was her pride and joy. She was so happy to be able to create a safe space for everyone who entered through the door, and let them forget about the outside world for a little while. Each detail of the café had been hand chosen by her, from the books on the shelves along the walls to the different coffees and teas they served.

She had spent a few years (and probably too much money) designing it in her own vision. Clean, white walls with bookshelves, wooden counters, glass tables, low hanging neon coloured lights, and brightly coloured chairs, in magenta and bright yellow and electric blue. She wanted to create a comfortable, welcoming space for artists in New York like her, of which Sasha knew were many.

The colourful chairs had since been wrapped in silver tinsel, and the coloured lights set to reds and golds and greens to create a warm, festive atmosphere. Besides Sasha busily working behind the counter, the café was desolate, just as she had expected. She had a few loyal employees, but she would never expect them to work on Christmas, even for double the pay. And, she never expected anyone to come into the shop on Christmas either- even those who didn’t celebrate Christmas usually didn’t want to face the snow and ice. Though, Sasha still prepared the usual cakes and pastries if any customers did decide to brave the cold, as well as some festive treats (gingerbread and shortbread and Christmas cake) which she would likely bring home to her family at the end of the day, having remained untouched.

Instead of busily serving customers from behind the counter as she usually would, Sasha had a new task on Christmas, one that made missing the day with her family all worth it. Every December 25th she would spend her morning kneading and stirring and creating the most magical Christmas desserts and cookies and cakes, complete with fondant icing and Christmas decorations. Sasha wouldn’t necessarily call herself a baker, but she was most certainly creative, and so she made use of her creative streak to invent a multitude of new sweet creations, and had received some pretty great reviews in the past. She would use up all the ingredients she had in the café making as many treats as her brain could come up with, each new addition as delicious as the next.

Whilst they were in the oven, she’d start her next task- wrapping as many shoeboxes she could. The café collected empty shoeboxes from their customers from the beginning of November, and thanks to their generosity, easily over one hundred would be donated. Then, using a combination of customer donations and her own money, Sasha would buy gifts to put in each box – warm clothes and bath products and blankets and sweets and toys for children.

Once everything was wrapped and baked, Sasha would gather each present and dessert and load them into her car, before driving down to the local homeless shelter, where she would stay until midnight. She would hand out her gifts to all of those who gathered there for a warm meal, and serve her cakes and cookies and pastries, which everyone loved. She would talk to them and sing carols with them all evening, and had formed a close friendship with the staff and the homeless people over the years for her generosity.

She wanted to make sure that everyone had a good Christmas, and give back to the community that had done so much for her over the years.

And this Christmas was no exception.

Sasha was busily kneading a lump of dough for her mince pies with her flour covered hands and absentmindedly humming to ‘Hark the Herald’, when she heard the shop door open. She jumped a little in surprise, and turned her head sharply to see who was the source of the footsteps that were headed her way.

Sasha hadn’t expected anyone to come into the café on Christmas Day.

Especially not a woman dressed as an elf.

Especially not a women dressed as an elf who was crying her eyes out.

To say that Sasha didn’t know what to do would’ve been an understatement.

She approached the counter, her running mascara staining the green collar of her shirt with black smudges.

“Uh… can I get a black coffee, p-please?” the girl muttered in a weak, shaky voice, as if she was on the verge of crying again.

Sasha stood silently for a second, eyes wide with utter bewilderment. She could’ve laughed at the sight of the poor girl – she’d never seen an elf with such little Christmas spirit. But, that wasn’t Sasha’s nature, so instead she started making the beverage, giving her time to think about what to say.

She handed over the drink and collected the girl’s money with a small smile, trying desperately to comfort her but not having a clue how to. The girl muttered a quiet “thanks” and turned to leave the store.

Sasha knew she couldn’t just let her leave.

Not on Christmas.

“Hey,” Sasha called out, “how would you like some company while you drink that? We could sit a while, talk?”

The girl wiped a tear from her eye and smiled hopefully. “Um, okay. Thanks.”

***

The pair spent the next hour or so talking to each other, losing track of time. Sasha had laid a table and made two hot chocolates with marshmallows, one for her and one just in case her new companion wanted something sweeter than her coffee. Free of charge, of course.

Sasha learned that the girl’s name was Shea, and that she was originally from Chicago, but moved to New York 3 years ago to study fashion design at college.

Sasha could’ve said how ironic this was considering her Elf costume, but she bit her tongue.

Besides, Shea still looked pretty good in it regardless.

“Then, after I graduate, I wanna design costumes for Broadway shows,” Shea continued on.

“That’s awesome! I used to do loads of theatre when I was younger,” Sasha reminisced.

“Same! I was such a theatre kid!” Shea laughed fondly. “I played Heather Chandler when we did Heathers in my senior year of high school.”

“No way! Heathers is one of my favourites!”

“Me too!” Shea exclaimed. “Fuck, I got to see Falsettos with the original Broadway cast a few years ago and it was honestly the highlight of my life.”

Sasha’s jaw dropped. “I am so jealous!”

Shea laughed and looked down, her dimples and the creases by her eyes forming a beautiful picture that Sasha never wanted to unsee.

And there wasn’t a single tear in her eyes anymore. Shea’s sadness seemed to be forgotten, at least for now.

Sasha tried to convince herself that she was looking for traces of teardrops in Shea’s eyes, but who was she kidding. Shea has the most warm, welcoming eyes Sasha had ever seen, eyes that drew her in and sparkled under the Christmas tree lights and allowed Sasha to catch a glimpse of the fiery soul that lay behind them.

She couldn’t help but stare. Although she had just met Shea, she was sure that she wanted to stare into those eyes for more than just an hour.

Sasha shook herself back into reality, now quite aware that she had been staring for a little too long. Embarrassed, she quickly tried to draw attention away from her staring.

“So, Uh, what stopped you from pursuing the whole acting thing?”

Shea shrugged. “I don’t know… I always wanted to do it, but people kept telling me it was unrealistic.”

“People like…”

“Mainly my boyfriend,” Shea mumbled. “I mean, my ex-boyfriend now.”

“Ex-boyfriend?”

“Yeah, I…. I left him today, actually.”

“Is that you were upset earlier?” Sasha asked.

Shea bit her lip.“Sorta… I just felt bad doing it on Christmas.”

“Don’t feel bad! I’m sure he probably deserved it anyway,” Sasha said, shaking her head.

“Trust me, he did,” Shea scoffed. “He was a dickhead.”

Sasha smiled and met Shea’s eyes for a second, before she quickly glanced away. “Um, can I ask why? It’s totally okay if you don’t wanna talk about it and I get it if you-“

“No, no it’s fine, I’ll tell you, don’t worry,” Shea replied, a sad sort of smile forming on her lips. “In all honesty… he was a jerk. He would, um, try and control my life, and what I wore, and what I did and stuff. Even today he was being a control freak. We both work part time jobs at Macy’s, as Santa’s helpers, and I had booked the day off to spend Christmas with my family, and he was still working and he, uh, he wasn’t too pleased about me leaving him on Christmas. So, uh, he changed my work schedule to make sure I was working on Christmas and didn’t tell me.”

Sasha felt her heart rate quickening. Oh my God. “Fuck, really?”

“Yeah. At first I thought he just didn’t wanna spend Christmas without me, but really, he just wanted to show off to his friends who took their kids to see Santa Claus. He didn’t even get me a gift.”

“Shit,” Sasha said in disbelief. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’s fine, I guess. I’m so done with him now though,” Shea said through gritted teeth. “I tried to talk to him earlier, to tell him how I was feeling, but he didn’t listen. He just started flirting, playing it off as if it was nothing. And then he was grabbing me, and I slapped him and ran off.”

“Fuck, Shea.” Sasha furrowed her brow and bit her lip until she tasted blood.

Shea pursed her lips and inhaled sharply. “I know, it was really fucking bad, Sasha. I’m never going back. I don’t wanna see him ever again.”

Sasha genuinely couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This girl had been through hell and back, and yet was still able to articulate everything so perfectly, and Sasha felt priveleged that she trusted her enough to tell her story.

Sasha wished she knew the right words to say. She wished she could rewind time, reverse what happened to Shea. She wished that she could make sure that it would never happen again. “You’re so brave for leaving him. So brave. I’m so proud of you.”

She saw tears start to well in Shea’s eyes, before her face crumpled and she allowed her emotions to come out. Sasha grabbed the girl’s hand across the table, squeezing it tightly and trying to show her how loved she was, how she didn’t deserve any of this shit.

Shea allowed the tears to flow, each wave of emotion overflowing her senses, until she calmed down and started to feel okay. She wasn’t sure why she had allowed herself to be so vulnerable in front of Sasha. Something about her made her feel safe.

Sasha’s fingers remained interlocked with hers as her breathing began to slow, and she saw a smile creep back her Shea’s face.

“Sorry,” Shea eventually murmured, “for getting upset and shit.”

“Don’t say sorry. Emotions are healthy,” Sasha smiled sympathetically.

A weak smile appeared on Shea’s face as her rising chest settled and she was back in control.

“Well, I guess if that shit never happened I never would’ve ended up coming here,” Shea chuckled, the final tear rolling silently down her cheek before being flicked away. “You’re the only place open on Christmas for miles. Except McDonald’s.”

“McDonald’s doesn’t count,” Sasha scoffed, a sarcastic eyebrow raised making Shea giggle.

“Shhh, Ronald will hear you!” Shea exclaimed, before the two found themselves in fits of laughter.

“Well, I’m certainly glad you came in,” Sasha smiled.

“I am too. I’m really glad I met you, Sasha.” Shea beamed, the twinkle of sadness in her eye fading to a spark of hope. Sasha stared for a little longer than she probably should have. It was so easy to lose herself in her kind eyes.

Snapping back to reality, Sasha quickly glanced down and cleared her throat. Damn it. Shea must have noticed her staring that time. She’d need to be more careful about that.

When she dared to glance back up, Shea’s eyes were waiting, staring back into hers. Fuck. There was something so special about this girl.

No. Sasha had only just met this girl, they barely knew each other, and she had just broken up with her boyfriend for Christ’s sake.

This wasn’t happening.

This was crazy.

But maybe, Sasha liked crazy.

Maybe it was the fire in Shea’s eyes, or her fingers still interlocked with Sasha’s, or even her dumb elf costume that gave Sasha the confidence to say what she said next.

“So, uh, if you have no plans for Christmas anymore, then maybe you could stick around and help me with a few things.”

Shea smiled. “I’d like that.”

***

The next few hours blurred into clouds of flour and the sweet smell of gingerbread, as if Shea had stepped into Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory for the first time. Sasha was grateful for the extra pair of hands around the café to help her prepare for the evening, but even more grateful for the company. Being with Shea was always exciting, always fun, and Sasha somehow felt at ease around her. The empty café was now renewed with a sense of Christmas spirit, with a cacophony of laughter and Christmas music and the whirring of whisks filling the air around the two. Shea’s terrible Christmas had been long forgotten, and instead filled with candy canes and sugar and sweetness.

Shea didn’t have a clue how to bake, so whilst Sasha handled the difficult parts, Shea was set the task of decorating the gingerbread men, which she did with glee – she gave each biscuit a name and a different outfit and told Sasha made-up stories about each cookie character, making the smaller girl giggle. There was something infectious about Sasha’s laughter. God, she was adorable.

Once Sasha had seemed their collection of baked goods satisfactory, they began on their next task - wrapping. Shea felt more in her element here, given her experience with fabric, and so set off on a mission to show Sasha how amazing her wrapping was. She covered her first shoebox with glittery gold paper and streams of ribbons and bows, as if the present was fit for Broadway itself. She proudly handed it over to Sasha with a nod, before glancing over at Sasha’s gifts. Each one was precisely wrapped with crisp, neat folds, tied up with a flourish of ribbon. Not to mention the fact that she had wrapped 7 boxes in the time it had taken Shea to wrap one.

Upon noticing Shea’s gawking, Sasha laughed time herself. “It’s all in the math. Wrapping is essentially geometry,” she said, curling a length of ribbon with her scissors. “I like your wrapping more though. It’s more fun!”

Shea smirked. Damn. Smart and nice? Did Sasha know how perfect she was?

Shea knew alright.

***

The sound of a chorus of voices singing ‘jingle bells’ poured out from the homeless shelter, which was buzzing with life and activity. It had been decorated in rainbow-coloured fairy lights, a beacon of hope and magic in an otherwise dark and cold December night.

The two girls walked through the double doors side by side, arms bundled with seemingly endless wrapped boxes and silver tins of desserts. They were greeted by friendly faces and handshakes and hugs from volunteers and homeless people alike, thanking them for contributing to their Christmas.

Shea was sure she hadn’t understood the meaning of Christmas until now.

They began handing out the gifts along each row, Sasha offering hugs to those she had gotten to know over the past few years. Seeing the genuine, heartfelt reactions of those who appreciated such simple gestures as shoeboxes and cakes made Shea’s heart soar. For the first time in a long time, she felt alive.

Maybe it was Sasha who made her feel alive.

She couldn’t really tell.

After an evening spent singing carols and eating Sasha’s Christmas desserts, the two left arm in arm.

“Hey Sasha,” Shea said. “Thank you for all of this. For saving me.”

Sasha beamed. “You make it so easy.”

And thus began Sasha’s brand new Christmas tradition.

She would still go down to the homeless shelter and bring her desserts and her gifts. Of course.

But now, she would bring Shea with her too.

And now, they both dressed as elves on Christmas.