#015.

their honeymoon was magical — making memories, travelling to new countries, and beginning the next chapter of the rest of their lives. despite gallivanting around the world, the two chose to return home. although, to nyala, home is wherever he is. currently, it’s the familiar scene of new york. it’s a stark contrast compared to their old surroundings. yet, she can’t help breaking into a smile, though honestly, there’s multiple reasons for her blatant happiness — the main one, of course, being here with nixon. nyala is awake, nestling above his frame, enjoying his warmth, the feel of him. admittedly, she fell asleep like he was her personal pillow with her head resting against his chest. he is still in a deep sleep, his rhythmic breathing matching her own. tranquility channels bone deep so she stays for a moment, enjoying the stillness of the morning, thinking, reminiscing... 

after a few minutes, with him still asleep, nyala quietly slips out of bed — already missing the warmth. with small steps, she immediately heads towards the kitchen. she is starving, and imagined nixon would be too when he finally wakes up. ignoring the persistent rumbling in her stomach, she makes breakfast for the two of them. it’s a very small gesture compared to every thing he has done for her but the girl hopes it will suffice. there’s an evident pep in her step, overflowing with delight when returning to her position from before. she whispers his name then decides to stir him awake with kisses all over — from his neck, to his cheek, to finally his lips. “nixon,” his name is spoken with a melodic quality. “baby, i made you somethin’.”

     They’d only greeted each other before in passing, but Arjuna doesn’t remember most of it. He doesn’t remember forced words he’d given with a smile, for those had been a dime-a-dozen. Truly, interacting with others in Chaldea had been tiresome. What he does remember, though, is this Saber’s overwhelming loyalty when faced with the one they both called Master. And so when he’d polite-fully requested Arjuna’s advice, the hero had answered cordially in kind.

    Still, it’d been hard to keep a straight face in front of such... bland taste. But true to himself as ever, Arjuna managed to remain calm and collected, the tight grip on his spoon wavering only slightly.

     “I’m not sure where to start, really.” For truthfully, there were no words for this ill-fitted dish. Nothing worth saying out-loud, at least, and Arjuna rose from the table gracefully before duty called for him to taste again.

The True Mandalorians, Fett says, and the Mandalorian wonders at who amongst their ancestors truly held that title. How many generations were there between him and Mand'alor the First? How much of their traditions were distilled through the years?

Just seeing Fett's face makes his skin crawl, like he's looking at something he has no right to. He shouldn't know the shape of Fett's nose, nor the sound of his voice without his modulator, nor the colour of his hair (or that he even has hair). The whole thing is so jarringly unfamiliar to him, and yet entirely ridiculous because Fett treats his armour the same way he would. Because Fett is the same, and yet not.

The Mandalorian's fingers flex idly at his side. He hates sitting with discomfort.

"I wish I could've seen it," he says instead. The oddity of Fett's existence is set aside. "What the Great Forge was like. I've only heard stories, same as you.

"When I was young I wanted to be an Armourer."

His helm remains dipped low, watching the motions of Fett's hands over each piece he owns. The admission, though quiet, is significant; the Mandalorian has never said this to anyone outside his Tribe, and even then he'd let that dream go years ago.

"It is the highest honour," he murmurs. "To see beskar'gam last so long is..."

You don't really see that, any more.

FENRIR GREYBACK, SCOURGE OF GREAT BRITAIN, KILLED BY THE MINISTER OF MAGIC IN LATE NIGHT ATTACK ! 

Talvez eu seja mesmo um erro Criei meu próprio pesadelo Eu não consigo mais dormir Eu só não quero mais fugir Eu nunca enxergo onde estou preso É muito mais do que um desejo É muito mais que uma ambição Sou uma eterna (confusão)

Eu prometo, não vou cometer os mesmos erros Eu prometo não cair na tentação desses buracos negros Eu prometo não voltar e espero que entenda Eu prometo esse lugar nunca foi minha tenda

Eu precisei entrar profundo Dentro de toda escuridão Pra enxergar qual a saída Da minha dor sem atenção Eu não reconhecia a luz Eu não reconhecia o erro Eu fiquei preso no passado Que desliguei por (sentir medo)

eu não sinto mais (medo) eu não vou voltar (medo) eu não sinto mais (medo) não é o meu lugar (medo)

Para que a luz possa brilhar em mim intensamente A escuridão em mim também precisa estar presente. Eu digo (adeus) Lobo da Rua pela última vez Por que nenhuma escuridão pode durar pra sempre

Eu prometo, não vou cometer os mesmos erros Eu prometo não cair na tentação desses buracos negros Eu prometo não voltar e espero que entenda Eu prometo esse lugar nunca foi minha tenda Eu prometo não voltar e espero que entenda! Eu prometo esse lugar nunca foi minha tenda!

Eu não vou mais voltar Eu não vou mais voltar Eu só quero voltar EU NUNCA VOU VOLTAR

wes: the weirdest fucking shit just happened