#sure shes real and she’s there and she won’t disappear at any moment but also just simply needing to watch how she reacts to them -

[cupcakeslushie]

Could you elaborate on Venus being a cyborg? I want to write a scene where Donnie performs maintenance, but I’m still not really sure which parts of Vee are metal and which aren’t.

Are any of her limbs detachable? Or is it all a metallic skeleton? Do you think she deals with phantom pains if Donnie has had to amputate anything?

Venus info dump!

@nintendogirl106734-blog Main boys with cloaking broaches!

Not a ton of peaceful moments, but when Draxum would leave the two would be able to relax and spend the day by Three’s wading pool.

Venus mask is stitched on. A lot of her skin/limbs was lost thanks to a combination of spending most of her life in a vat and also her illness. Three has to constantly perform maintenance and update her cybernetics and to make sure the transplants are healthy. So far whatever was causing her body to fail has been stopped from spreading. She does deal with a lot of general daily pain, less from Three’s cybernetics, because he did such a good job on them, and more on the joined spots where Draxum replaced with “spare parts”. It does however hurt when Three has to do mechanical repairs, but it’s normally so light and moves amazingly realistic that Venus often forgets that arm isn’t real.

Venus’s shell and plastron had to be replaced. The shell is mostly metal and much more sleek than her old shell. Three made the plastron replacements look realistic since Venus asked.

@phoenixanddust

Venus will be kind of a sad character for a while, but she will be happy in the end! Donnie and Mikey are the brothers she’s closest to. Donnie spoils her to the extreme, and Mikey is of course her twin so Vee likes to drive Mikey crazy. She is technically the baby of the family, but her and Mikey together are unstoppable when their wants align. Splinter stands no chance of saying no.

Venus does have a very dry sense of humor which leads to Three sometimes not even registering them as jokes. When she gets rescued she’s very much a girly girl. She likes dresses and bows and pink.

Three’s mind doesn’t really think of anything when he’s being rescued. It’s very much a “Savage Donnie” moment where he’s there and talking, but he’s so upset that his mind has gone blank. But even then, Big Mama has kept Venus away for nearly a year, so Three thinks he’s been abandoned and Venus isn’t really on his mind…. Their reunion Cont👇

@cavern-of-shenanigans @orderedchaosthings2

Venus will see Donnie again somewhere in the middle of “season one”. It won’t be a long reunion, but enough for Donnie to realize he’s been enjoying living with his family, while Venus has been stuck being Big Mama and Draxum’s errand girl. He feels extremely guilty for basically giving up on her. He allowed his bad thoughts, and visions (yes he does see her as well) to convince him that she has abandoned him, but it turns out, all this time, it was the other way around.

Unfortunately, Donnie was the only one to see Venus, and he thinks the fam won’t believe him when he tells them about seeing her, but he’s surprised to find out that they do and they all promise Donnie they’ll rescue her.

In season 2 they run into Venus again, and Donnie is able to have a better conversation with her, but Big Mama has done such a good job spinning lies, that Venus runs off before Donnie can convince her he’s sincerely sorry about leaving her behind. This is when the family learns that Mikey and Venus are twins. Mikey feels bad that Venus seems to have fallen into Big Mama’s web, we will see him angry with Big Mama for the first time on Venus’s behalf.

At the season 2 midpoint Venus agrees to help with Draxum’s cleansing ritual.

At the s2 finale we will see her still aligned with Big Mama BUT….[spoiler] and she will disappear to get her mind together.

She will make a short appearance in the movie.

S3 will be very Venus and Jennika heavy, and it’ll all be about their integration into the family unit. Jennika has her own life in the Hidden City, but Venus will split her time with the family and [spoiler].

The boys really all treat Venus as the little, baby sister, but all to varying degrees. April, Donnie, and Raph dote on her, Leo is wayyy too overprotective and Mikey rubs being slightly older in her face all the time, but they will team up to be The Ultimate Youngest™️. Out of all the “sister group” April and Venus get along the most like sisters. April really helps Venus be girly and learn it’s okay to enjoy these things, to be more than just a mindless drone (Leo will very often help with this mindset as well, and it allows them something deeper to bond over).

[corroded-hellfire]

Requested - Eddie and best friend reader who also plays the guitar - Eddie Munson x Reader

So, I had a request and when I went to save it to drafts, it completely disappeared on me. Can’t find it anywhere. So, I will paraphrase the request the best I can remember: Eddie with best friend reader who also plays the guitar. She thinks her crush is unrequited (it isn’t) and Eddie catches her performing a sad song and Eddie worries what’s wrong. If this was your request, I am so sorry tumblr ate it on me.

Note: the song I used for this is Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic by The Police because the lyrics are perfect for unrequited love. But I felt the song was too fast for the vibe the reader has going at that moment. But I found a cover version that was exactly what I was imagining. Since tumblr is dumb and won’t show posts in the tags if you have a link, I’ll add the link to the song on a reblog if you want to take a listen!

Words: 2.6k

Most days Corroded Coffin rehearsals were the highlight of your day. Laughing with the guys, messing around on the guitar, or the joy of finally getting a song down just right. Being the backing guitarist was your ideal part of the band. Eddie got to be the leading man, using all his natural charm and showmanship to win over the crowd, but you still got to have sick guitar solos that got thunderous applause. But there are some days when being in the band gets to you.

The band’s repertoire is pretty big, so it gives you guys a nice mixture of original songs and covers to put together when making a set list. Many of the songs are love songs though, and sometimes your heart turns cynical and the lyrics seem to mock you. Especially hearing Eddie sing them. It seemed like a cruel trick of fate to stand beside Eddie, strumming along, while he sings about falling in love or the woman of his dreams. Usually, you���d try to slip in a real headbanger after love songs in the set list. This way you could take out any lingering negative emotions out on your guitar strings.

It’s even worse when Gareth gets his first serious girlfriend. It’s like his head is full of rainbows and sunshine, all he wants to play are love songs. Yeah, you’ve gotten to know Ash and she’s great, but playing every single song in a show for her seems a bit much. It grates especially hard on your nerves one night as Eddie sings lovesick song after lovesick song.

You’re especially quiet packing up after the show, and you’re not sure if it’s that no one seems to notice, or nobody else can get a word in because Gareth won’t shut up. Ash did look pretty tonight, but there were only so many times you could hear about it before you wanted to shove the drumsticks in your ears.

You slide your guitar case into the back of Eddie’s van, slamming the door as hard as you can afterwards just so the bang can drown out Gareth’s voice for a brief moment. Walking in between the van and Jeff’s truck, you slip into the passenger seat of the van without the boys noticing. Kicking your boots off, you tuck your legs up and rest your feet against the dashboard. You drop your head back against the seat with a sigh, waiting in the cold vehicle for Eddie to climb in. He does, after a few chilly moments. Before even putting the key in the ignition, he tugs off his vest and tosses it in your lap.

“You look cold.”

“Thanks,” you mumble and slip the vest on over your jacket.

The power comes on in the van, heat brimming to life, but the radio also starts blaring a love song, which you immediately lean forward to slam off.

Eddie raises an eyebrow at you. “You good?”

“Fine,” you say as you turn to look out the window.

Eddie shakes his head, not believing you, but doesn’t push it. He backs the van out of the parking space and pulls out onto the road. It’s silent without the radio on, but Eddie isn’t about to turn it back on with the way you took your anger out on the dial.

“Do you not like Ash?” Eddie asks.

“What?” You turn your head to look at him in confusion.

“Is that what’s up?” He glances over at you before looking back at the road. “Is she bugging you?”

“What? No.” You shake your head and look back out the window.

Eddie sighs and drums his fingers against the steering wheel. He tries not to be pushy, but he doesn’t like seeing you unhappy.

“Want to put a tape on?” he asks. “You can pick.”

“No,” you answer. “No music.”

Now Eddie knows something is up. He has no time to question you on it though as he pulls into Forest Hills. Both his and your trailers have no lights on inside as he pulls up in between them.

“Want to come over?” Eddie asks as he kills the ignition.

“Nah, I’ve got a headache. I think I’m just going to head to bed,” you say. You slip your boots back on and hop out of the car without looking at him.

He watches you for a moment before climbing out after you and pulling the back doors open. Each of you pull your guitar cases out silently. You give him a tight lipped smile as you walk past him to head to your front door. His eyes follow you the whole way, not moving before he sees the door close behind you.

Once you close the door, you lean back against it and let out a deep breath. It wasn’t Eddie’s fault that all the love songs are getting to you, so you feel a bit bad about being so cold to him. But your own self preservation was keeping him at arm’s length. You drag your guitar case through your dark home and set it down on your bed. The lamp you click on gives a halo-like glow around the small room as you unclip the latches on the case. You gently pick up your powder blue beauty by the neck and cradle it against your body. Taking a few steps backward, you let your back meet the wall and slowly slide down until you’re sitting on the floor.

Laying the guitar across your lap, you reach into your back pocket and slip out one of the spare picks you always keep there. Your baby is already tuned since you've played a show, so you immediately begin to strum at the strings without thinking about it. A familiar tune comes out and you start to softly sing along.

Though I've tried before to tell her

Of the feelings I have for her in my heart

Every time that I come near her

I just lose my nerve as I've done from the start

Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she do just turns me on

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on

The front door to your trailer sticks, but over the sound of your song, you can’t hear Eddie open it and slip inside. Even though your home is dark, Eddie’s been inside enough times to know his way around blind. He can see the dim light coming from your room and heads down the hallway.

Do I have to tell the story

Of a thousand rainy days since we first met?

It's a big enough umbrella

But it's always me that ends up getting wet

Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she do just turns me on

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on

Eddie stops a few feet in front of your door as he recognizes the song. He’s heard you sing countless times before, but never with that sad, hopeless tone in your voice. Frowning, he leans forward to try and get a glimpse of you. From your place on the floor, you can’t see Eddie in your doorway, but he can see your profile as your fingers glide over the chords.

I resolved to call her up a thousand times a day

And ask her if she'll marry me in some old fashioned way

But my silent fears have gripped me long before I reach the phone

Long before my tongue has tripped me, must I always be alone?

Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she do just turns me on

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on

Every little thing she does is magic

Everything she do just turns me on

Even though my life before was tragic

Now I know my love for her goes on

Tears start to well in your eyes despite yourself. Hands busy, you can’t wipe any away before they start to leak down your cheeks. The more you think of Eddie, the more the tears come. Your chest tightens as your heartbreak manifests into physical pain.

Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah

Every little thing, every little thing

Every little thing, every little thing

Every little, every little, every little

Every little thing she does

Every little thing she does

Every little thing she does

Every little thing she does

Thing she does is magic

Ee-oh, ee-oh, ee-oh, ee-oh

Ee-oh, ee-oh, ee-oh, ee-oh

Ee-oh, ee-oh, ee-oh, ee-oh

Ee-oh, ee-oh, ee-oh, ee-oh

Eddie wracks his brain, trying to figure out who could’ve caused you the pain to sing this song. Maybe he was right after all, and you didn’t like Ash because you were jealous. That didn’t make sense though, as you’ve mused aloud many times before how you would kill Gareth if the two of you were left alone for too long. Names of guys at school scroll through Eddie’s mind, seeing if any spark a memory or reason that would lead you to being so sad. And if you did have a crush on someone, why had you kept it from him?

Every little thing

Every little thing

Every little thing she do is

Magic, magic, magic

Magic, magic, magic

Hey, oh, yo, oh

Ee-oh

Do I have to tell the story

Of a thousand rainy days since we first met?

It's a big enough umbrella

But it's always me that ends up getting wet

Hand falling to your lap after the last strum, you let the pick fall to your carpet and take a deep breath. You gently set your guitar down across your knees and wipe the tears from your face.

“Hey,” Eddie says as he slips into your room.

His presence startles you, and you jump, grabbing your guitar before it can fly off your lap.

“W-What’re you doing here?” You make sure all the tears are gone before you turn your head to look at him.

“I came to get my vest,” he says. You both know full well that could’ve waited until tomorrow so he adds, “and I was worried about you.”

“I told you I’m fine,” you say.

“Clearly you’re not,” Eddie says, gesturing to your red eyes and the guitar in your lap. “Why such a sad song?”

You offer your guitar to Eddie, and when he takes it, you push yourself off the floor. He hands it back to you so you can put it back in the case.

“I just felt like playing it,” you say.

Eddie’s brow pinches together. “Right. Because you always just decide to play songs by The Police.”

You sigh as you shut and lock your guitar case. The case gets returned to its sacred spot underneath your bed before you climb on your mattress and pull your pillow into your lap.

“Just a little teenage angst, I suppose,” you tell him.

Eddie sits down across from you and reaches for your hand. You pretend you don’t see it and tuck your hands under your thighs.

“Talk to me?” Eddie asks in a soft voice.

You shake your head and it breaks his heart. He sighs and scoots closer to you.

“Sweetheart, please. Since when is there something you can’t talk to me about?”

The tears start to well up again and Eddie fights the urge to wrap you up in his arms. You sniffle and look down to your lap.

“I don’t like how we do so many love songs,” you admit shyly.

Eddie tilts your chin up with his fingers and you meet his concerned eyes. Tears start to fall down the right side of your face and he brushes them away with his thumb.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“Too many,” you whisper.

Eddie nods and reaches out to wrap his arm around your shoulder. You rest your head against him and he presses a kiss into your hair.

“Okay,” he says. “We can tone it down.”

“Thanks.”

“Better?” he asks as he rubs his hand up and down your back. You nod and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.

“M’sorry,” you whisper against his throat. The sensation of your breath over his skin sends a chill down Eddie’s spine.

“For what?” he asks.

“Worrying you. I didn’t mean to.”

“S’just cause I care,” he says.

His words cause fresh tears to fall from your eyes and Eddie looks down at you in concern. You wrap your arms around his neck and your tears run down his skin, onto his shirt. His arms instantly encircle you and he pulls you against his body.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he tries to soothe. “I’ve got you.”

Each reassurance only makes you cry harder, his kind words reminding you that his affection for you isn’t the same that you have towards him. Your heart feels like it’s bleeding down into your stomach as you clutch at him, hands desperate to touch him anywhere you could reach.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispers against your hair. “Talk to me, princess.”

You pull your head out from his neck and shake your head, face all red and puffy from the crying.

“Who do I have to beat up, hmm?” he tries to joke. Anything to calm you down and make you feel better. “Say the word and I’ll kick their ass.”

“I love you.”

The words rush out without you thinking about it. Luckily, or unluckily, Eddie understands what you say through your tears.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He puts his hand on your shoulder and you shake it off, harder than you intended to.

“No,” you say. You take a deep breath and use your sleeves to wipe all the tears from your face. “I love you. I want to stop doing so many love songs because it hurts to hear you sing them. It hurts because you’ll never sing those songs about me and I hate it.”

Realization dawns on Eddie’s face and he stares at you with wide eyes. His jaw drops and for the first time in his life, he can’t put words together to form a sentence.

“Me?” His voice comes out squeaky. He clears his throat and runs a hand over his face. “You’re telling me you’ve been sitting here crying over me?”

Still sniffling, you nod your head, unable to meet his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He lets out a small chuckle and your head snaps up to look at him. You were prepared for him not to return your feelings, but you never expected him to make fun of you or be mean about it.

“Honey, no,” he says, seeing your alarm. He picks up one of your hands in his and presses kisses to your palm. “I just can’t believe it. Princess, I love you too.”

“You what?” You’re breathless as you look at him, not believing your ears.

“I love you, too,” he says with a laugh. “I think of you every time I sing one of those love songs. It’s why I’ve suggested so many of them.”

“You love me?” you ask, still not believing it.

“With all my heart,” he assures you. He reaches out to you to pull you into his lap, and you happily oblige. You straddle his hips and wrap your arms around his neck.

“For real?”

“For real.” He chuckles and rests his forehead against yours. “So, no more sad songs, okay?”

“Okay,” you agree. “And I guess we can keep playing lots of love songs.”

“Good,” Eddie says. “Cause I’ve written about seven of them all about you.”

[ugotnojamzzz]

Rulers of Ruin

Chapter 2

Alright so I’ve been toying with this complex mafia!au fic idea for a very long while and I guess it’s time to give it a whirl. I already have about ten chapters written out (I’m expecting it to be at least 20 chapters), but I want to test out the waters first. I’ll start posting more if some of you are interested in knowing what the hell is going on.

Genre: Mafia!au , Slowburn, Angst, Hurt, eventual smut, TW (it is a mafia!AU, after all)

Pairing: Mafia!Jungkook x reader

Synopsis: um, tf is going on??? Stay tuned for more chapters to come.

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language. Also, don’t come for me over the theme, people. It’s an Alternate Universe, which means the bangtan boys are essentially what I like to call meat puppets to serve the storyline. This is obviously not a projection of their actual real-life personas.

Wordcount: 1.6k

Masterlist

Chapter 1

--

“Now that we’re all acquainted” YN broke the silence, turning to Namjoon, “can someone enlighten me as to what brought about this- delightful reunion?”

Namjoon adjusted his cufflinks with deliberate care. “All in due time.”

YN watched as he swung the heavy oak door to the study wide open, his voice sharp as it echoed down the hallway. "Someone get me Taehyung," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for delay.

            After a tense moment, a slender figure emerged from the door, his approach marked by a certain spunk despite the vivid purple bruise that marred his otherwise handsome face. As he stepped into the dim light of the study, he attempted a casual salute. "What’s up, Boss?"

            Namjoon glanced at him with a disapproving eye. "I need you to escort our guest to her quarters," he stated, his tone brisk as he turned to shuffle through some papers on his desk, signaling his preoccupation with more pressing matters.

“But,” the younger man’s brow creased slightly, « the council meeting’s about to start," he reminded Namjoon, his voice low.

Namjoon’s response was dismissive, "Guess that means you won’t be attending. » The subordinate was about to protest but the imposing leader cut his attempt short.  « You’re not going to be difficult now, are you?” he quipped dryly, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a fleeting smirk, “Especially not so soon after getting decked by a girl in heels."

The remark made Y/N stifle a snort, as her eyes flickered down to the red mark on her knuckles. The man’s bruised eyes briefly met hers—irritated yet resigned.

"There’s no available room for her, anyway,” he countered, “none that meet the security requirements for her- status. »

"Then put her in the attic," Namjoon decided with an air of finality, his attention already drifting back to the documents in front of him.

« But, that’s—»  the man began.

"He’ll just have to deal with it, » Namjoon interrupted sharply, cutting off any further discussion. « You’re dismissed. »  He gathered his folder and walked out of the room, conversing quietly with Seokjin, who matched his pace with a thoughtful nod. They disappeared around the corner, leaving the hallway echoing softly with the fading sound of their discussion.

Left somewhat adrift by Namjoon's departure, the slender guy lingered for a moment, his posture relaxed slightly. He exhaled heavily as he turned to face Y/N, preparing himself for the task ahead.

"So," the man began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "you sure know how to make a first impression, huh?"

Y/N couldn't help but offer a small, sardonic smile, her gaze briefly flitting to the injury she had inflicted. "Seems so," she replied.

"Guess I earned that one,” he chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly genuine. “Should've known better than to underestimate a Park," he admitted, his eyes meeting hers, "You could’ve avoided leaving a mark, though.”

"I can give you another to match, if you like," Y/N quipped, her tone light but her eyes serious, an unspoken promise that she was no easy target. “Symmetry is essential, after all.”

« Taehyung, » he introduced himself, extending his right hand.

« Y/N, » she responded, making no move to shake it.

"Alright,” Taehyung said, a hint of formality returning to his voice as he let his hand drop. “Let's get you settled in, shall we?"

He led Y/N through the opulent corridors of the mansion. The walls were adorned with ancient tapestries and portraits. The soft clack of their footsteps on the marble floor filled the space between them as they approached an elevator.

Taehyung pressed the call button, a soft ding echoing slightly. He stepped in first, gesturing for Y/N to follow, which she did, her steps measured and silent. The doors slid closed with a soft whoosh, sealing them away from the watchful eyes of the armed men outside.

Inside the confined space, Y/N turned to Taehyung. "Aren't you nervous?" Her tone was casual, but the underlying implication was clear. Few were those who would willingly step into a confined space alone with someone from her bloodline.

Taehyung scoffed lightly. "Should I be?" he countered with a raised eyebrow, his posture relaxed against the elevator wall. He pulled a badge from his pocket and held it against a scanner, followed by pressing his thumb onto a biometric pad. Only then did he push the button for the building's top floor. The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, and YN wondered what awaited her. A dusty attic seemed hardly better than a dark basement.

Finally, the elevator dinged softly, announcing their arrival on the seventh floor. The doors slid open to reveal what appeared to be a large suite. Taehyung stepped out first, and Y/N followed, her eyes quickly taking in the surroundings.

The space was strikingly modern, the furniture sleek and dark. She assessed her new quarters, wondering about the layers of security hidden within these chic walls. A gilded cage remained a cage, after all.

Y/N's hand reached for one of the doors, eager to know the extent of her new nest. Just as she touched the cool metal of the handle, Taehyung's voice halted her movements. "Not there,” he said, nodding subtly towards another closed door across the room, “you're on the other side."

“What’s this one, then?” she said, her hand still on the handle.

“Did I miss the part where you were suddenly allowed to ask question?” he retorted.

Heeding his direction, she crossed the plush carpet to the indicated door and pushed it open to reveal her appointed bedroom.

The room was a stark contrast to the sparse, utilitarian space she had been confined to over the past couple of days. The bed was large and inviting, dressed in high-quality linens, and the soft glow of the ambient lighting created a warm, almost cozy atmosphere. She’d almost forget her if it weren’t for the

As she surveyed her new surroundings, the elevator opened again, and a group of maids entered briskly. With efficient, almost rehearsed movements, they began removing various items from the suite: utensils, decorative vases, even seemingly harmless items like heavy books and electronic devices. Y/N watched quietly, her eyes sharp, noting the methodical stripping of anything that could potentially be used to harm herself or others.

Meanwhile, Taehyung tapped lightly on one of the skylight windows, drawing her attention. "Bulletproof glass,” he commented casually, but the warning was clear so don’t try and get smart, okay?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, her attention returning to the maids’ orchestrated movements. Once the apartment had been sufficiently- sanitized, they filed out as silently as they had entered, leaving her standing in the center of her stripped bedroom. Taehyung lingered by the doorway, watching her with an intrigued expression.

"You look awfully relaxed,” he remarked, a hint of curiosity coloring his tone, “given your situation."

Y/N turned to face him squarely. « Believe it or not,” a faint, almost imperceptible frown grazed her face as she responded, “this isn’t my first rodeo. »

Taehyung crossed his arms, studying her. "Do you even know why you’re here?" he asked.

Y/N returned his gaze steadily, a hint of defiance flickering in her eyes. "Do you?"

He let out a short, rueful laugh, recognizing the parry in their conversation. "I'm pretty sure I'm currently missing out on the intel, thanks to you," he replied, his voice a blend of annoyance and amusement. The circumstances clearly put him at a disadvantage, something he wasn’t used to or fond of.

Y/N shrugged; her expression unreadable. She sat on the bed with a huff. “If that makes you feel any better, I doubt you’re missing much,” she stated, her voice low and nonchalant. "Money, information, leverage—it’s pretty much always the same shit, anyway."

Taehyung checked his watch, a subtle reminder of the pressing schedule he was under. "Mrs. Shin, the housekeeper, will bring you some things later—clothes, toiletries, and such, along with your dinner," he explained, his tone businesslike but not unfriendly. He paused at the door, turning back to add, "Be nice to her," he said, a hint of warmth creeping into his voice. "She's a favorite around here."

Y/N's response was a half-smirk. "I'll try my best."

Watching her settling on the plush bed, Taehyung’s curiosity deepened. She seemed so composed—every gesture and word meticulously controlled and yet seemingly spontaneous.

He couldn't help but ponder over the danger she represented not just to herself, but to them all.

"And if you need anything—" he began.

"I'll know who to ask," Y/N finished smoothly for him, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Actually,” he halted mid-step, “I was going to tell you not to bother asking.”

“Charming,” she stated, her grin turning sour. She lay there, looking composed and at ease, yet every part of her was tensed, ready. She understood the game well enough to play her part with finesse.

As the door clicked shut, Y/N's smile faded, replaced by a contemplative gaze at the closed door. With a slow exhale, she shifted her focus inward, strategizing silently as she prepared for whatever lay ahead.

--

Hope you liked it. If some of you are intrigued or interested in finding out more, don't hesitate to interact and I'll start posting some more chapters! Also questions and remarks and feedback are welcome xxx

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Taglist

@princess-sunshyn

[jackiebrackettt]

BITB Lab AU Fic (1.3k words)

[this is going to be a tumblr special since i don't plan on doing more with it but i did want to share it anyway! if you like the concept feel free to ask me for more info ^_^ i have alot of backstory surrounding this in mind. alsoo if you would like to write something inspired by it pls reference me/this fic and also tag me! i'd love to see it :] anyway reblogs appreciated as always - fic time]

Rand’s starting to think that no job might be better than a job if the job is this one. Because this job has made him sign several NDAs and has run him through a ridiculous amount of “worst case scenarios” - all increasingly absurd. 

He needs a job, though. Or his parents are going to do something drastic like kick him out for a week. And this is the only place that’ll accept him with absolutely nothing on his resume at thirty three years old. 

“Basically… just don’t be like the last intern, okay?” The scientist in front of him says as they finish up their spiel. 

“What happened to the last intern?” 

“Got too close and now he has to stay here while we monitor his situation.” 

“Oh.”

Maybe no job is better than this one. 

He signs the last NDA anyway. 

His job is essentially to keep an eye on a trio of… aliens? Monsters? One of whom is the intern before him - and contact the scientists and doctors if anything weird happens. 

He’s also there to keep them company, get them things they want - as long as he runs it past a scientist first - and give them shit like food and water. Easy. He could probably even sneak some weed in and pass the time smoking. 

“Just stay here by the entrance.” The scientist instructs. “I’m going to go check on Rolan real quick.” 

They dip into a side door at the end of the hallway and disappear. 

Rand is totally content to not fuck up the first instruction he’s been given. At least until he spots someone staring at him from the window in the first door on the right. 

He’s got long blonde hair, and a pretty face. Kian Stone. 

“‘Sup, dude!” Kian’s voice is muffled. “You must be the new intern!”

After a moment of hesitation, Rand wanders closer. 

“Yeah.” 

Kian sticks his hand out for a handshake, the tips of his fingers pressing against the glass. Rand isn’t sure how he’s expected to respond. 

“I was the last one.” Kian states cheerily. “Name’s Kian Stone. Nice to meet you, man.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Rand echoes. “I’m, uh, Rand.”

The offered handshake turns into a finger pointing at the name tag on his shirt. 

“Tim?”

“Call me Rand.” 

“Fuck yeah, dude, I can dig that.” Kian drops his hand. “Hey, man, do you think you can swing me a guitar? I’m bored as fuck.”

He remembers the brief. It clearly said that he shouldn’t give this guy any instruments. 

“I, uh… don’t think I’m supposed to do that.”

Kian leans in closer to the window and grins wickedly.

“I could make it worth your while.” His voice is low. Rand’s cheeks feel warm. 

“Well, uh, considering what they told me about why you’re in here, I think I’ll have to, like, pass. Sorry, man.”

“Becky’s harmless, dude.” Kian scoffs. “They just hate true love.” 

Rand just shrugs. He’s not really sure he wants to argue. 

“What about… Rolan? That’s the other guy, right?” Kian nods. “What’s he like?”

“Mostly keeps to himself. Real quiet and all that. If you went into his room he’d probably back himself into a corner and freak out about hurting you.” Kian hums, thinking. “That’s what he did with me, at least. Don’t tell the big guys, though. They’re pissed enough at me for the whole Becky thing.”

“Alright, I won’t.” Rand mimes zipping his lips. “Secret’s safe.”

“It’s totally different, though, dude, because, like… Becky is dangerous. Rolan isn’t.”

“Didn’t you say she was harmless earlier?”

“Oh.” Kian blinks. “Did I? Tell that to my mostly melted body over there, dude.”

Kian jerks a thumb behind him. Rand angles to look and immediately wishes he didn’t. He feels sick. 

“Fuck, man!”

Kian laughs. “Shoulda warned you that it’s kinda gnarly, huh?”

Technically, Rand knew that’s what happened to Kian. But reading about it on paper is nothing compared to seeing it in person. 

“They just fucking left that there?“ 

“It’s mine.” 

“I mean… I guess, but… you just want it around?” He takes another cautious look at the mess of flesh in the corner of the room. Another wave of nausea rolls through him. “Isn’t it, like… weird?”

“It’s mine.” Kian repeats. Then he shrugs. “Plus, it’s kinda fun. If I touch it I can feel it both ways.” He waggles his eyebrows, and that grin from earlier is back. “Neat, right?” 

“Gross.” Rand grimaces. “Too much information, man.”

“I’m just messing with you, dude.” Kian laughs. “It hurts like a bitch, actually. I try not to feel it.” 

“Tim!” 

The scientist is walking back down the hallway towards him. They don’t seem upset that he disobeyed his first instruction. Maybe that one was more of a suggestion. 

He looks back to Kian’s eyes fixated on his name badge. 

“You could just tell them you prefer to be called Rand, you know?” Kian says. 

“I’ll do it later.”

He’s not sure why he hasn’t yet. Something about professionalism. But there’s no time to think through that train of thought now.

The scientist stops next to him. Looks at Kian through the glass and sighs. 

“Kian.” 

“They’re still pretty mad at me.” Kian explains to Rand with an unbothered smile on his face. Then he shifts to address the scientist. “So, no guitar?”

“Not yet.” Another sigh. “Later, hopefully.”

“Radical.” Kian presses a book up to the window. “This shit sucks. I’m not a fucking nerd, dude.”

The scientist rolls their eyes. “Graduated practically top of your classes.”

Top of his classes? Shit. They really downgraded with Rand. 

Kian pouts. “Hey, man, don’t say that kinda stuff around the new guy, yeah?”

“Well,” the scientist claps Rand on the shoulder and ushers him away, “you’ve met Kian. Let’s meet the other two.“

“See ya later, dude.” 

Kian holds one hand up in a wave and Rand clumsily waves back, mumbling out his own goodbye. 

Kian’s whole… attitude has thrown him off completely. He figured the other two would be chill - not the guy who literally died about a week back. 

A couple of rooms down is Becky’s. Rand wonders why they’re so spread out. 

She approaches the window when they knock. Her gaze flicks over them with hope before settling into disappointment. 

“Hey, Becky.” The scientist gestures to Rand. “I want you to meet Tim - the new intern.”

Rand waves. She doesn’t even look at him.

“Is Kian okay?” Her voice is soft. “I really didn’t mean to kill him, man.”

“He’s doing better.” 

This conversation is fucking absurd. What a world Rand lives in now. 

“Well, you know how this works - let Tim know if you need anything. We’ll go meet Rolan, now.“

“Sure.” Her eyes catch on his. She looks sad. “Nice meeting you.” 

“You too.” 

Meeting Rolan goes worse than meeting Becky. 

Rolan’s tucked away in a corner, looking like he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. If Rand thought Kian was lying about Rolan, he’d cast all doubts from his mind now. Rolan doesn’t even look up when the scientist knocks on the door. 

“He’s been in a mood ever since the incident with Kian.” The scientist explains. “Hey, Rolan! New guy’s name is Tim.”

Rolan just barely lifts a hand in acknowledgment. 

“Now, don’t be surprised if you see them out of their rooms. I don’t know if you saw, but there’s a door at the back that leads to other rooms. We’re keeping Kian away from them at the moment to monitor his situation, but it all links up back there.”

“Okay.”

“There’s testing most days, but for the most part they just do whatever. And you can, too, as long as you fulfil the job requirements.”

“Sounds good, man.” Oh, yeah, he could definitely smuggle some weed in here. And maybe he’ll try and rope them all into a game of dnd. He’s not exactly sure how it’ll work when they’re so spread out, but he’ll think of something.

[rxvonna]

"We've located him, but…" The way that Mobius glanced at Ouroboros and trailed off, Ravonna knew that he was about to break something to her very gently that she wasn't going to like. She steeled herself for it against the workshop counter, but she was pretty sure she already knew what was coming.

"He's in a branched timeline. We sent an agent in. He…won't remember you."

There it was.

"I don't care." Her response was out almost before he could finish his sentence. It was pretty much the worst case scenario. The smile she felt herself forcing was extremely tight, but it was all she could do to keep from crying in that moment. "I don't care. I'm not leaving him there. He doesn't belong there."

Mobius nodded, and she wasn't sure which was worse—his sympathetic expression or the fact that he couldn't seem to meet her eyes. He'd never really had that problem before. He also didn't immediately come up with solutions or suggestions, which was his usual way of handling things. No doubt he and OB had already discussed everything before she arrived for the update and they felt there was no good way to fully get her husband or his memory back since the TVA itself had been unkind and sent him away.

If there were even memories left within him to retrieve. That was the difficult part of a broken down TVA, wasn't it? The uncertainty of what happened when it glitched somehow, no way of really knowing if it wiped minds thoroughly or left remnants behind like He Who Remains did.

But him not having his memories wasn't going to stop her from going to his branch and doing her best to bring him home. In the past, her more insecure days, she might have left him there for his own good; her mind would've made her believe he was better off..and maybe he was, all things considered. It was no secret he was the best of them both. Everyone thought so.

But now, she owed it to him to go. He would've never given up on her if the situation were reversed. She wasn't about to give up on him.

"Give me the information."

Within hours, she was down on the timeline. His branch. From a bench across the street, dressed in appropriate clothing for the time, she watched him arrive at the building she had been surveilling for about an hour, heart leaping into her throat when she saw him stop and talk to someone just outside the doors and then laugh. There was no real concept of time in the TVA, but she knew it had been entirely too long since she'd seen and heard that laugh. Weeks? Months?

Could she even possibly get through this? She was beginning to have her doubts. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest and a before she knew it, she was fishing in her bag for a tissue. It didn't hurt to be prepared, and it wouldn't exactly be out of place where she was going.

By the time she looked up again, she realized he had already disappeared into the building and she cursed under her breath. She didn't want to be late. It was imperative she not be late. She jumped up and crossed the street quickly and without warning, much to the chagrin of the drivers who nearly hit her. She ignored the vulgar hand signals and yelling hurled her way by the motorists and hurriedly passed into the front doors of the building, reading the signs for her destination.

Once at the correct room—139 | Group, it read— she took a deep, shaky breath before turning the handle and opening the door. Eight sets of eyes swiveled to look at her, but only one of them mattered, and for a long moment she just stared into the blue of them, frozen. But she did just manage to get herself together and somehow smile weakly as Steve looked at her curiously. Curiously and without recognition.

Thank goodness she already expected that, not that it made her soul ache any less.

"I'm sorry. I'm a new sign-up," she explained quietly. "Is it too late to join?"

@herosquandary

[mysteriousanderfels]

Script for a DMC 6 plotline

The following is a plot idea for a sequel to Devil May Cry 5.

Dante/Vergil 

First time writing in this fandom. I kept it simple because the bar has already been raised far high by a certain antarctic writer, so I decided to just write it like a script, the way it came in my head. not much description, paraphrase, metaphores etc...

Only one thing worth mentioning : References to the work Parousia by Auntarctica. Heavily inspired by story setting from there which made me really happy to follow through as I consider Parousia as my personal unofficial sequel to dmc5. Other references and winks to her works are also sprinkled in here. ‘Cause she’s my secret muse and it just… makes me happy to have shadows of her works in my first dmc scribble.)

It’s been four weeks since our return from the Underworld. Yes. Our. I returned back eventually, and made sure my brother was in tow. 

I hadn’t given him a choice anyway. It was either that or it would be a fight to the death, but I will not leave Vergil here again. I’d rather die. I was already half-dead ever since I lost him anyway, so it would’ve been just a technicity. 

But Vergil was alive - resurrected - in flesh and blood and not in obsidian armor and I will bring him back with me or fucking die trying. 

Thankfully, Vergil had not been averse to the idea which I had coated in an umpteen challenge and laced  with my devil may care shtick.

“If I win this round brother, you’re coming back home with me.”

Vergil had smiled - that discreet little pull of the lips that counted as a smile if you were versed in Vergil Theology - and I almost lost that round ‘cause he kept flashing me that twitch of his lips when the stakes were high for me this time around.

And although it had been a draw in the end, Vergil had sketched another illusive smile and with a profound sigh, had said ‘Let us go, Dante. I would like a change of scenery.’

It’s been four weeks now. It’s nearly not close enough to make up for the twenty four years I spent aching but mercifully, the impending glacier between us had been broken the same the night of our return.

After the awkward tension that had leadened the air between us while each took a long-merited shower, and after I offered Vergil my bed for the night, him declining and I insisting, after I had to watch his retreating back about to get up the staircase and out of my sight - out of sight without any guarantee that he won’t fuckin’ disappear come the next day - I had dropped my bottle of Jack and leaped from the couch to collide with my returned-to-me brother’s back. 

Tears that inspired the name of my shop fell down again for the same reason they had that baleful day - I cried more later - and I’d said all that I’d been dying to from the moment Vergil’s real body had appeared and turned his head to gaze at his surroundings in slow dispassion.

In that embrace alone, his back against my chest, we had rekindled our past history that we both thought the other had severed after all this time severed from each other.

This peculiar history between us of consanguinity and comorbidity because we are twins but also half devils, so we love each other but also not like the others - this sui generis history of the sacred and the profane.

So I’ll say we hadn’t wasted any time in consecrating our reunion.

I won’t even call it fucking what we’re doing. It’s something more ravenous and at the same time more intimate than fucking itself. 

It’s something I’ve not felt in years and never will with someone else - and I know Vergil is the same. It’s something lopsided that satisfies and gratifies both our human and devil souls. 

I will never have something better than my dear brother; returned in the most sublime form of his prime like a divine phoenix.

He’s my twin - nah, I'm his twin, as he'd sure correct me - my other half in the womb and my whole in the years that had followed.

I’m relaxing in the bathtub right now - unusually without his company. He had wished to make something on his own for dinner and who am I to deny him this humanly-mundane task. 

Truth is, I’m secretly into everything that draws Vergil to stupid, earthly things; even as far as simple, honest sleeping. Fuck, I think to myself, smiling. I’m soo far gone. 

Now, although Vergil isn’t in my peripheral vision right now, you’d say it’s been four weeks already. 

No.

Four weeks isn’t enough for me. We may have thoroughly talked, made love, made promises, and gone outside from time to time, but four weeks is not enough to heal a twenty four years gaping wound.

But Vergil wants to cook something good.

For us. 

It’ll be a first. Usually we order home something good. 

So Vergil had asked me to go take a bath while he’d start on things and I said yes like I often do to anything my twin brother asks of me nowadays.

But I get it; it’s Vergil’s way of saying ‘I’d like some time on my own while I get reacquainted with this exercise.’

That’s why I’m currently alone in my bubble bath, unable to suppress the smirk from my lips as I dip back and pick out every minute of these last four weeks and bask in how everything is just… all right, now.

It's aaall finally all right…

Until a loud crash is heard and it’s not. 

I freeze for a second. 

I think maybe I heard wrong but there’s no maybes when it comes to the twin half of me, so I straighten up—and there’s definitely no maybes when another loud thud reaches my ears.

Something seizes my heart in a powerful clutch and I recognize what it is. It's the fear. The Vergil-connected fear—the only kind that really attains me.

I leap from my clawfoot tub in a frenzy of splashed water and barrels down the hallway and the stairs. 

I think I call out for Vergil but I don’t in reality. My vocal chords are congested by my heart which has lodged itself between them - in fuckin’ fear. 

at the three-quarts of the staircase, I pause to sweep the first floor with my eyes. 

It’s odd that it’s so poorly lit but I sense Vergil’s presence to my right, leaning against the wall, so I leap sideways over the balustrades, naked and dripping soap but who cares, there’s Vergil.

“Vergil!” I hear myself this time now that he's in front of my fucking eyes, subconsciously realizing that I’m definitely not ready to let him out of my line of sight, yet. 

“Dante,” Vergil says and his voice is breathless. Wait—his voice is breathless and he’s sweeping at a cut in his lip.

What the fuck?

I touch his cheek to reassure him - and myself - and whirl around, putting myself between him and the rest of the room. The whole picture is probably a knee-slapper as I summon my sword, butt-naked with soap bubbling over my body and hair. I’d be the first to let out a good laugh—if it had been anybody else behind me. 

The room is plunged in practical darkness which I don’t get as Vergil surely hadn’t been hanging around in the dark, but the streetlamp seeping through the blinds helps and I eyeball my office, having no trouble finding the silhouette of the intruder. I’m quick to call out a “Hey, didn't your mother teach you to knock before entering?” 

It’s a demon, alright, but looking like any I’ve encountered before. I can see large horns curling upward, connected to the geometrics of a blackened face, and seemingly clad in heavy armor. 

“Dante,” I hear Vergil call my name behind me again, his voice pressed and strained. He touches my shoulder and makes me turn my face toward him. 

“Focus.” 

“Yeah, I’m more than focused, Verge, I’m pissed,” I say with swag and grit. But my brother grabs me by the neck and presses me further with piercing eyes.

“No, Dante. Focus. Deeply,” he says again, and his solid hand on my neck does ground me as I frown in question. 

So I pause for a beat, looking into those - gray shards of moonlight - eyes unmoving, doing as I’m told—and that’s when I sense it. 

My blood. 

It’s—acting up—but not in the way it does with Vergil.

Vergil makes my blood flutter. It’s a reverberating tingle I always wish I could reach down and scratch until it becomes a rash—but I can’t; that’s another reason why I need my brother. He has the technique and the remedy that leaves me both rash-free and blissed out. the best win-win deal in the world.

No, my blood isn’t pleasantly tingling that way.

It’s chanting.

I don’t understand. I never felt this way before. It’s like there’s a choir caroling inside a church and my blood is both alarmed and elated like priests before the rapture.

I turn around, face the demon standing still in my office and that’s when he opens his demon mouth. What comes out is a rumble so deep it feels like it’s coming from the bowels of hell. 

“And Dante.”

“...”

“My sons.”

…

Something happens next, but I can’t exactly remember because I black out.

…

…

I wake up on the ground. 

I’m still stark naked, still on the first floor of my shop - next to my couch and coffee table now. 

I stir and groan immediately. Fuck, I’m hurt - and the moment I realize that, my mind snaps and my heart lurches. Is Vergil hurt— “V—Vergil?!”

But my brother is lying beside me. And he seems unconscious, too.

I’m seizing with fear again as I wriggle close to him and I can’t believe what’s going on. My limbs feel so fatigued I can only wriggle to my brother’s side?!

I cradle his face in my hands and I lean close. “Vergil. Vergil, wake up.”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t and his lip is cut and he has a couple of scratches now. I don’t remember those?! Am I bruised, too?

What in the fucking hell?!

“Vergil!” I call out again, panicked by the second. He’s breathing, I can see it, but the fuck that’s not enough! “Vergil, for fuck’s sake, wake up. Please— Verge—”

He stirs, at last. I kiss his soft lips and nuzzle my nose against his, feeling both our healing kicking in between my hands. fucking finally.

“Vergil, are you okay?” 

“Nnh… Dante…”

“I’m here, I’m here, Verge. What the hell happened?”

Vergil tries to rise, slowly leaning on his elbows as he frowns deeply and his mouth curls into a mix of both pain and disdain. “Dante…” he grits as his eyes harden. “he took our swords.”

I don’t understand. “What?”

Vergil seems to be still in a haze, reliving something in the loam of his mind, making me realize I've missed a good chunk of the shebang. “He took our swords…” he repeats, then finds my eyes and hisses, “He took them back.”

I’m stunned by his side and I don’t dare to move a finger as I let what my brother’s telling me reach the high levels of my brain. I want to utter another ‘what’ but I’m too stunned and I guess slightly afraid by this point to ask for more clarifications. 

“I tried… to stop him… He said he needed them; that in this way, we would stay out of it…”

“Hold on a second. Hold on a fuckin’ second, who's ‘he’?” 

Vergil stares at me.

“You don’t mean… what that demon said before… what he called us…”

Vergil falls quiet. Somehow he looks more pissed than anything. Well, I ought to be pissed, too, of course, but I’m more dumbstruck and horrified right now. Oh I’ll have time to be pissed, don’t worry.

“Yes, brother, it appears that it was our father who came for a visit.”

I know what my brother is saying; I register the sentence but on a surface-level. The meaning and the implications though, elude me in that moment.

I have so many things that ripple at the forefront of mind, so many questions and exclamations I want to articulate; and while I cast about with open eyes and mouth, my brother is sailing different waters.

He’s gazing somberly at the ground between us, his face twisted in a way I haven’t seen in four weeks. And here I thought nothing will ever be able to slash my brother’s features in daunting outlines anymore.

“Vergil… that can’t be,” I say as I try to temper the storm casting upon his beautiful face. “Everyone believes he’s dead.” 

“How do you explain what happened then?”

“I don't know what happened. What exactly happened?” 

“You charged but he seized you with some invisible force and you were tossed aside. He said… he didn’t wish to fight us…” Vergil looks at me then and his voice ripples like a lake hit by a pebble, “and that he was proud of us…” 

Oh fuck.

So this is real. This can be. 

“Father’s… alive.” Even if I say it in a whisper, I need to voice it out at some level to grasp the full blow of its meaning.

Vergil echoes my whisper, “... He was alive in all these decades I spent in torture…”

I raise my head to look at him when I feel the icy gloom encompassing the air between us.

I take Vergil in my hands, touches his neck to remind him that he has my love and his arm to remind him that my strength is also his, and I tell him, “He has a lot to answer for, that’s for fuckin’ sure. But he can’t hurt us anymore. As long as we have each other, nothin’ can, remember.”

Vergil lifts his pools of crystalline gray slowly. I’m waiting for his reply; I feel like it’s gonna be either something sweet or something bitter - but nothing comes. He just looks at me with a look that wrenches at my heart and leaves me barren and powerless like that day on the precipice of my waking nightmare.

I can’t stand looking at sorrow in Vergil’s eyes anymore—I wish I could erase that word from the encyclopedia of his mind and soul for the rest of his life. So I take him in my arms and face the other way. “We’ll get back at him, brother. We have a score to settle now.” 

Vergil softly scoffs, then, and that breathy exhale is enough to free the tangle in my throat.

His hand finally finds my jaw.  “Brother mine, you are as charming as you are naked,” he allots softly and lets himself be cradled in my arms. 

“Glad you like it,” I quip back. “And where’s your apron?”

Vergil hangs his head on my damp shoulder and stays quiet.

We stay in the quiet and in each other’s arms for a time. 

“He took back our swords… his own legacy to us,” murmurs Vergil.

“... Did he say why?” I ask quietly.

“Only that he needed them for the time being.”

“For the time being? Does that mean he intends on givin’ ‘em back?”

“He said it will be a way for us to stay out of it.” 

I frown. “Out of what?” 

“I don’t know, brother.” 

“This is really weird, Verge.”

“A lifetime since he hasn't seen us… and he doesn’t spare a single explanation…” Vergil mutters, almost to himself.

I feel for my brother heavily at this moment. Vergil… has always been more attuned to our father’s creed. Dad had given him the Yamato as his firstborn. He thrusted him with the well-being of our family.

Vergil wanted to finish what our dad started with Mundus.

Our father’s nature, weapons and deeds are his whole legacy. I don’t feel it that intensely for me, but I understand it the more Vergil opens up about it - after all, I’m not the one our dad took by the shoulders and entrusted our well-being to. Four weeks are not enough to teach me how to let my brother out of my line of sight but it’s plenty enough hours and minutes for painful confessions and confidences.  

“Vergil.”

Vergil gazes up at me, his gray eyes as transparent as the anguish eating at him.

“Right now, I’m finally at peace. As long as I have you, I don’t care if the world is falling apart. So tell me, brother. What do you want us to do?”

My brother watches me silently for a minute but I can see in his flickering pool of grays that he’s thinking, wondering, calculating and mapping out the right moves to take. So I wait calmly, my heartbeat returning to its serene cadence just by surrendering my mind and thoughts to the cool color of his pale gaze.

So I wait for my big brother to tell me what to do - ‘cause daddy's apparently back but that weirdly doesn’t move me with the same ferocity as when my twin brother came back. 

“I believe you said he has a lot to answer for?”

I nod.

Vergil stares at me, his eyes sharp like Yamato being drawn from a shuddering wound. “I believe you’re right, little brother.”

[everyonewasabird]

Brickclub 5.5.6 “Each in his own way, the two old men do everything so that Cosette may be happy”

Do they. DO THEY???

I mean, “in their own way” I guess, if you say that Valjean’s way is literally erasing himself out of Cosette’s family and Gillenormand’s way is trapping her in his awful world by overwhelming her with unbelievably expensive gifts.

Does Hugo know? I really, really, really can’t tell. Everything in this chapter is so BAD, does he know it’s bad?? The bad keeps piling up!!

Valjean is being very clever with his mayor’s toolkit, building up a respectable background for Cosette so that Gillenormand and/or Marius won’t refuse the wedding--because he knows they might if they found out who Cosette really is. I like that little nod to the status of misérables, especially since we don’t see any others except maybe through the extreme contrast, since these chapters are very, very far away from the milieu of the rest of the book.

But Valjean isn’t thinking about Cosette’s feelings and what it must be like for her to have this ambiguous, highly questionable story suddenly appear around her, and for her father to suddenly not be her father anymore. He thinks he doesn’t matter, and his actions on the basis of that assumption are incredibly cruel. “I’m not your real father, but I’ve always loved you as if I was” is NOT an impossible thing to say! Might’ve helped!!

But all this would be great characterization and a fascinating arc if Hugo acknowledged it was happening! Horribly, I’m never sure he’s that much more aware of Cosette as a person than Valjean is.

Cosette learned that she was not the daughter of that old man whom she had so long called father. He was only a relative; another Fauchelevent was her real father. At any other time, this would have broken her heart. But at this ineffable hour, it was only a little shadow, a darken­ing, and she was so joyful that this cloud was quick to disappear. She had Marius. The young man came, the good old man faded away; such is life.

wtf wtf that’s not how anything works.

It’s so strange the ways the ending of the book seems to both take Valjean’s view and also doesn’t: the book surely knows that Valjean doesn’t deserve to waste away in isolation, and it surely knows Cosette loves him. But it does also keep trying to confirm Valjean’s frankly fucking abysmal view of her, that she doesn’t have enough attention span to remember the existence of more than one male family member.

What the absolute fuck.

And, like. Hugo sucks, but Cosette’s characterization doesn’t. It makes perfect sense here that Valjean’s shifting status is less momentous to her: everything is happening so fast, and is so entirely directed by the old men, that she barely knows which way is up, and she’s barreling towards a wedding that’s two months away. It makes sense that being inundated with wealth and fashion is a weakness of hers, and that she’s learned not to ask questions when things feel weird.

And yeah, relationships to parents do change when you build your own life, move out, maybe partner with somebody, and also, that doesn’t have to be LITERAL DEATH. But there may be a problem here where Valjean’s issues are way too close to Hugo’s own, and so the narrator is shifting confusedly between “Valjean’s view is wrong” and “No he is literally right about daughters marrying” without being able to find a stable place to stand.

I hate it so much.

I do appreciate the follow-up paragraph:

And then, for many long years Cosette had been used to seeing enigmas around her; everybody who has had a mysterious childhood is always ready for certain renun­ciations.

She continued, however, to say "father" to Jean Val­jean.

Yes, please, let’s have more of Cosette living with the ramifications of her past, drawing conclusions based on it, and sticking to her guns. Still wish Valjean had taken her aside and bothered to have ANY kind of conversation with her before he dropped the bomb of her new legal ID on her.

Valjean is being self-effacing and practical, and meanwhile Gillenormand is aggressively winning Cosette over with absurdly expensive cloth and the promise of fashion at a level she’s never been able to achieve before. Again, if this is meant to be part of an arc where we eventually reckon with the falseness of what’s currently seducing her, it's fantastic. Is that supposed to be what’s happening???? Unclear! We definitely definitely never get that reckoning, because Cosette’s internality somehow isn’t something this book cares about!

Marius, eerily like his grandfather, has changed who he has his opinions about but not the nature of those opinions. He says:

"The men of the Revolution are so great that they already have the prestige of centuries, like Cato and like Phocion, and each of them seems a memoire antique [antique memory].”

The men of the revolution (and, I imagine by proxy, his friends) have entered his mental category of the Dead Who Need Worshiping. He’s never altered his assumption that the dead need worshiping, or that the past is better and more worth looking at than the future. He’s still stuck in the death-like paradigm of the convent.

Again, if this is a gothic horror about how Cosette is trapped in this world, we’re doing absolutely fantastically.

Speaking of which, in the middle of a long, long speech about how much more fun everything is when you have excessive wealth and an ancien régime noble title (Hugo must know! He MUST. Mustn’t he??), Gillenormand says:

Who loves well lashes well.

Girl, RUN. Just fucking run from this fucking household, we’ve seen several times over that Marius is way, way, way too much like his grandfather already. Don’t tie a knot you can’t untie, RUN NOW.

And it really is disturbing how much of this show Gillenormand is running. His idea of a wedding is exactly what they’re going to have for their wedding--and his idea of being a husband afterwards is very, very terrible. Is that going to follow, once Cosette is drawn into the trap? Maybe it’s just his flaws on display and not Marius’s.. but these kids are not managing to do much to escape the world he’s setting up for them, and Marius has behaved like his grandfather under pressure in he past, and Valjean’s efforts to efface himself and vanish into thin air are Not Helping.

Meanwhile Mlle Gillenormand is floating around the house as a barely-living shadow, disregarded and petty, like a sign of what living in this house under a man like Gillenormand will turn you into.

WHY isn’t all this the prelude to Cosette finding herself in some kind of Lotus Eaters story, or some kind of Bluebeard story? Everything is setting her up to wake up a little ways into marriage and realize “Oh God what did I get trapped in??” and yet the story never ever gives her that moment, and as far as I can remember seems to actively discard the possibility of it.

WHY.

[mywifeleftme]

36: The Exploding Hearts // Guitar Romantic

Guitar Romantic The Exploding Hearts 2003, Dirtnap (Bandcamp)

It’s a very stupid thing to believe in rock ‘n’ roll, but that was my milk. Not that I was raised to think of rock as a thing one could do, per se—it existed like God, manners, and Twix bars as one of life’s generous and unambiguous positives. “Wild Thing.” “Take Me Home Tonight.” “Stay.” When she was young, my mom was radicalized by ‘70s FM radio: her high school friends gave each other nicknames from J. Geils Band songs (Wooba Gooba, Raputa the Beauta etc.) and she protested the music selections at her prom by burning disco records on the lawn outside the school. Burning music is a dumb thing to do, and there are a lot of particularly nasty reasons to hate disco that I’m sure my mom wasn’t consciously aware of, but I have to respect caring enough about a thing that you are moved to stand up for it. As I aged from a child to a teen in a weird loft bedroom with no walls to separate my place from the rest of the house, rock certainly felt important. Whenever I needed to disappear, I could always lay very still in bed with my little discman, headphones on, humming like a tuning fork.

Rock (and feel free to substitute ‘rock’ for ‘music’ or ‘art’ or ‘the sublime’) is that heavensound an error of the brain lets us experience, but also the sweaty fact of making noise. Nights alone in the garage or the bedroom or the studio. Days and nights and days and nights together in a van with other highly defective people sharing the same new-dime dream. Reliving the last show the whole next day, that fifteen minutes of power and light. I never let myself figure out how to participate in music till I was in my 30s, but I got a tiny taste of something like it grinding and touring as a poet. Making it pulls out the part of you that dreams and desires, reveals things it can take the rest of your life to come to terms with.

The Exploding Hearts are famous for two things. One is their debut, Guitar Romantic, a ‘70s pop punk revival record that converts anyone into that sound into an instant believer. I won’t appeal to logic here, but what I’m saying feels true: no matter its quality, any modern album in a bygone style will lack that inarticulable novelty and sense of discovery that pushes an album from good to great. I can’t tell you why an album that sounds 99% like Exile on Main St. doesn’t quite achieve the same effect—I only know that it doesn’t. But Guitar Romantic is the exception to that rule. It couldn’t exist without the Buzzcocks or The Undertones, but it feels just as timeless and candy-eyed and smart-stupefied by love as their best—and is probably a more satisfying front to back non-compilation LP than either of those pioneers ever cut.

The other thing The Exploding Hearts are known for is the van accident that killed three of the four touring members of the band just under four months after the release of Guitar Romantic. I think about the way I’ve felt driving out of the nighttime midwestern wastes and seeing Chicago begin to reveal itself in an orange netting of suburban lights. Of cometing over the George Washington Bridge after a gig blasting good kid, m.A.A.d. city and feeling like I had finally found my way. Of the lifting I would feel every morning at the idea of the road to another show, no matter how badly performed or attended the previous one might’ve been. I have no idea what the conversation was like between the Hearts on their way home from San Francisco, but even if they were weary and miserable, there must have been that knowledge also that they were doing it, that thing which having been done, even for a moment, sustains legends and never-weres and also-rans alike. The Exploding Hearts were the real deal, and they deserved so much more time to do that thing. But not even those who deserve it always get it.

36/365

[aparticularbandit]

Let’s call this one feeling some things out.

Agatha Harkness/Eve Fletcher

Eve has never once liked these calls.  She usually hopes that the seniors will be able to keep their wits about them until the end (even though she knows from experience this isn’t always the case) or that their caretakers – children, spouses, grandchildren, someone – notices the slippage of their mind before it gets to this point.  It’s worse when it’s someone who used to be so well respected at the center, who has slowly but surely turned into a raving, ranting, raging rascal.

She remembers meeting Evanora Harkness for the first time, remembers how soft the older woman’s hands were, the prim way she smiled, and that she always smelled faintly of olives and roses.  The more she slipped, the less the roses – all olives, all brine, all sharp, harsh tang. But Evanora had been one of her first seniors – not one who had been visiting the center before she was hired, but one who started visiting right around the time she’d gotten her first job. Evanora had even still had her wits about her when Eve became first the coordinator and then the executive director. She’d thanked her.

Looking at her spitting, seething, scathing felt like she’d lost something, although she didn’t know what.

Evanora’s daughter, Agatha, is almost Eve’s age, and when she looks at her, Eve can see just why Evanora used to say Eve reminded her of her daughter. But Agatha is stronger than she is. When Evanora begins to spit out curses, Agatha covers her mouth – Don’t be so rude, Mom.  They don’t deserve that – and Evanora bites through the back of her hand, drawing blood.

Eve bandages Agatha’s hand after Evanora is moved – for her safety, for theirs – apologizing ahead of time when she pours hydrogen peroxide on the cut.  Agatha hisses through clenched teeth, hisses again when Eve places a soft pad atop the cuts and winds gauze tight around it.  I’m sorry, she says, although she has done nothing wrong, and when her gaze lifts from Agatha’s hand to her bright blue eyes, she sees another wound there that she cannot touch.

Agatha curves her hand in Eve’s and then gently raises it to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.  For being so kind to my mother, she says, when she has never once deserved it.

For a moment, Eve wants to say that she doesn’t understand what Agatha is talking about – Evanora has only ever been kind to her – but she hesitates, noting the pain in Agatha’s eyes again, and she keeps those words to herself as the beautiful young woman leaves her office, finds her mother, and disappears.

~

When Agatha’s spouse, Cian, dies a few days later, Eve wants to reach out but feels like that’s not really her place.  It isn’t like she’d known Cian, and her only real relationship with Agatha was centered around her relationship with Evanora.  They weren’t friends.  They didn’t really know each other.  She felt like she would be invading some private space.

When Evanora dies about a week after that, Eve musters her courage and goes to the funeral.  Partially due to the friendship she’d had with Evanora herself, but also partially to support Agatha during her time of loss.  It’s the nice thing to do.  The right thing to do.

(Of course, being unable to get Agatha’s eyes out of her mind doesn’t help at all.  She has been unable to see any porn with women whose eyes are that shade; whenever she does, she just thinks of Agatha, and that’s not fair to a woman who had just lost her spouse.  She doesn’t want to be objectified that way, so she doesn’t want to objectify Agatha that way either.

But she wonders, sometimes.)

Eve sits in the back of the funeral home and hopes that she won’t be seen. She walks up for the visitation afterwards, thinks about saying something to Evanora, and instead ends up just placing her hand atop where the older woman’s have been posed clasping together.  Then she turns and sees Agatha, standing alone – Evanora’s only remaining child, unaccompanied by the spouse who should have been standing with her – and can’t stop herself from going to her.  Just as with Evanora, Eve places her hand on Agatha’s, notes the rough scabs from the teeth marks Evanora left in the back of Agatha’s hand, and says, soft, I’m sorry for your loss.

Agatha glances up, meets her eyes, and offers her half of a twisted smile.  Thanks for coming, hon, she says without a hint of strain to her voice.  She would have appreciated that.

Almost – almost – Eve says, I’m not here for her, but that wouldn’t be quite correct.  Instead, she gives Agatha’s hand a gentle squeeze and says, even softer, I’m not just here for her.  She hesitates, considers, but doesn’t act.

You’re a sweet gal, Agatha says in a tone that suggests she doesn’t believe that one bit, and she leans forward the way Eve didn’t and kisses her cheek.

Thanks for coming.

~

The text comes a few hours later, when Eve is sitting in her bed, a video from her new favorite genre of porn playing in her lap, fingers poised just so, and she pauses for it – it could be an emergency, after all.

Meet up for drinks?

Then, two seconds later: This is Agatha.  You gave her your number?

Eve blinks.  She had given Evanora her number once, many years back, when she’d been events coordinator.  Evanora had known some people who might have been helpful for speaking or crafts.  She’d known a lot of people, had a lot of connections, and Eve hadn’t seen any problem with lending out her number if it meant it would help the center.  If anything, she’s surprised she not only still has it but that Agatha has been able to find it so easily.

That she’d wanted to find it.

She sends a quick text back – Just tell me where! – and forces herself to hold, the way she’d seen some of the women order the others in her videos, until she gets the answering text. It’s only then that she allows herself to return, to finish, and surprises herself when she finds that she doesn’t need the video anymore, that she doesn’t even turn it on.

~

Eve expects Agatha to have invited other friends of hers and is surprised to find the other woman sitting at the bar alone.  It makes this feel a little bit like a date.  (She’s not sure if she wants that or not.  A part of her aches for it; a part fears hurting Agatha by assuming.)

Agatha drinks rum, scotch, whiskey – a lot of things in a very short order – and for every shot she takes, she offers one to Eve.  Sometimes, Eve drinks with her.  Others, she doesn’t.  She knows her boundaries, and she doesn’t want to go drink for drink with someone whose stomach is apparently much stronger than Eve’s has ever been.

They talk – Eve tries to bring up the funeral, how Agatha must be feeling, but Agatha shuts that down quickly.  She doesn’t want to think about that.  She doesn’t want to think about any of it.  Instead, Agatha asks about Eve’s life – what it’s like to work at the senior center – and when Eve speaks, she listens.

You’re really strong, babe. Agatha lifts her glass, knocks back another shot.  I don’t know that I could be around all those old folks just to see them die.

Eve looks into her glass.  You never get used to it.

Agatha searches her face and smiles somberly.  No, she says, I don’t believe you do.

When Eve finally places her glass down and Agatha orders her another glass of wine with ice (Two, she says, with a wry smile, before turning back to Eve; because I just have to try it), Agatha reaches for her old glass, licks the tip of her finger, and begins to run it around the outer rim, sending a soft, sharp note ringing in the air.

Oh, wow.  Eve stares at her.  How do you do that?

It’s simple, dear.  Agatha takes Eve’s hand, wets her finger with her tongue without thinking, and then slowly moves it around the lip of the glass.  You just have to find the sweet spot, and then—

The same note rings out, but Eve isn’t paying attention to the note.

See? Agatha says, pulling her hand away from Eve’s as Eve continues to idly pull out the same note.  It’s not hard.  You’re a natural, super star.  Her bright blue eyes flick up to meet Eve’s, and Eve has a hard time swallowing.

This really feels like a date. Her heart pounds a little too hard in her chest.  It’s probably not actually a date.  That’s probably all of the porn videos talking, where anything and everything can be an excuse for sex.  Even just a meeting at a bar.  They’d probably title this something to do with grieving widow has the sadness fucked out of her or something like that, but in more…porn terms.  Lots of XXX or MILF or…something like that.

When the wine gets there, Agatha lifts her own glass in a feigned toast, clinks it against Eve’s new glass, and then takes a sip before making a face.  This is horrible, babe.

Eve reaches across for the glass.  If you don’t like it, don’t drink it!

But Agatha pulls away, holding it to her chest.  No.  This one’s mine.  I like to finish what I start.

Eve licks her lips, bites her lower lip, and then nods once.

~

Agatha calls her a taxi, even though neither of them are drunk.

Eve feels a rush of warmth.

Agatha bends down close to her, and Eve thinks, Well, this is it, then, and leans up to kiss her.

When Agatha freezes, tenses, Eve realizes she has read this entirely wrong. She pulls away, wraps her arms around herself, and apologizes.  Profusely. Multiple, multiple, multiple times. She tries not to look up, to see Agatha’s shocked face, and turns to walk away.  It isn’t like she lives that far.  She can walk home and then come back for her car in the morning.  It’s not like she has work or anything.

She doesn’t even make it a block before she feels a hand on her wrist, and she turns with wide eyes to see Agatha behind her.

Agatha gives her a wry smile.  Come with me, hon.  Then she tugs on her wrist.

In spite of herself, Eve goes with her, a little bit scared but mostly curious.

When they make it to an abandoned alleyway, Agatha glances left and right before pushing Eve up against the nearest brick wall, pressing one hand flat against it, and kissing her.  She pauses briefly, searches Eve’s eyes, and asks, voice soft, This okay with you, babe?

Eve nods wordlessly.  Then she finds herself pressed harder against the wall as Agatha takes her lips roughly, desperately in her own.  She likes to think that she gives as good as she gets, but Agatha is in another league. Eve pushes her hands through Agatha’s jacket, grabs the inside of her shirt, and clings to her, pulls her closer to her.  Agatha grabs her ass and squeezes until Eve can feel her shorn nails through her pants, and when Eve moans into Agatha’s mouth, she can feel the other woman smiling against her.

You like that, hon?

Again, Eve nods wordlessly.  She doesn’t know what else to say.

Tell me what you want, Agatha murmurs as she traces her nose along Eve’s neck.  Tell me.  She kisses her neck.  What.  Again. You.  Again. Want.

Eve breathes heavy and forces herself to speak, but the word comes out somewhere rough and rasping, More.

More of what, doll?

Everything.

Agatha smiles against her neck before biting down, hard, where Eve’s neck curves into her shoulder, eliciting another moan as Eve shudders, falters, but Agatha keeps her standing upright.  Eve hitches her leg around Agatha’s waist – only one, but then Agatha is lifting her against the wall.  She doesn’t know how she’s doing it.  She doesn’t care how she’s doing it. Agatha’s fingers find the edge of her shirt and trace soft, gentle back and forth along Eve’s skin, and Eve shudders.

Tell me what you want, pet.

Eve takes a shuddering breath in, but she doesn’t say anything.  Instead, she moves a hand from Agatha’s hair (when did it get there?), takes one of Agatha’s hands in her own, and guides it down into her pants.  Please, she says.  Please.

And what if I say no?

Eve whimpers.  She can’t help it; she whimpers, twists to get some sort of touch, some sort of pressure just where she needs it.

Agatha considers this for a moment.  She meets Eve’s eyes.  Then she pulls her hand away, slowly lowers Eve so that her foot touches the ground again, and then steps back, grinning.  She licks the fingers of the hand Eve guided, head tilting, eyes examining her.  Then she smirks.

Not yet, babe.

Not yet? Eve whines.  When?  She reaches out, grabs Agatha’s wrist.  You can’t just—

I can’t?  Agatha glances up, meeting Eve’s eyes again.  Who’s going to stop me, babe? You?

Eve licks her lips, swallows, and then drops her gaze.

That’s what I thought.  Agatha pats her cheek then leans forward and kisses her other cheek.  Maybe next time, hm?

Next time?  Eve glances up, unable to keep the hope out of her voice.  When is next time?

Agatha just smirks.  I’ll let you know, hon.  Until then….  She reaches out, grabs Eve’s crotch, and then runs a finger along the inseam just there. Something to remember me by.

Eve is still shuddering when Agatha leaves.  Confused.  Aroused. Desperate.

~

Later, when Eve is curled up in bed, when she’s taken care of herself and fallen back, exhausted but nearly content, on her pillows, her phone vibrates with another text.  She reaches over and hesitantly picks it up.

Don’t worry, pet.

I like to finish what I start.

Eve bites her lower lip and, despite how content she already was, closes her eyes and slips her fingers down again.

~

Agatha doesn’t ask her out for drinks again.

Agatha doesn’t text her again.

Three weeks pass without any communication, any notification, any anything from Agatha.

Every time Eve’s phone vibrates with its gentle hum, she reaches for it, scans it, waits eagerly for any one of those gentle vibrations to be Agatha deciding she wants her again, but there’s nothing.

A long line of nothing.

Sometimes, Eve thinks about texting Agatha first, just to see what would happen, but she never does.  Agatha just lost her mother, just lost her spouse!  It’s not really appropriate for Eve to be going after her right now.  She should give her time to mourn.  Besides, if Agatha wants her, she can text her again, just like she did the first time.  She certainly doesn’t want to be a bother.

But the weeks pass, and the months change, and Eve begins to wonder just how long a mourning period should last.  She hates herself for thinking that.  She shouldn’t be preying on Agatha’s obvious weakness.  She should leave her alone.  That’s exactly what she should do.

Eve throws herself into her work.  It’s not like that’s hard.  She goes through more porn, although none of them make her feel quite like those moments in the alleyway did, and more often than not, she starts to let her mind wander to that, to imagine what it might have been like if Agatha kept going, if she’d given in to what Eve so desperately wanted—

And then feels ashamed of herself for imagining something that Agatha very clearly hadn’t wanted, no matter how good it makes her feel.

Three weeks stretch into four, and four into five, and Eve stares at her phone and then decides, finally, to send Agatha a text.  Just a friendly sort of text.  That…that should be fine, right?  That should be fine.  Of course, she goes back and forth over what she’s going to say for so long that five weeks begins to take a sharp corner into six, and by then maybe it’s been too long, but those last texts are so loud and bright, that Eve can’t help but send something.

Hey, it’s me, Eve, just wondering when you were—

Agatha?

I thought you finished what you started, why haven’t you come to finish things yet.

Hey!  It’s been a few weeks!  Thought I should check in and see how you were—

Eve quickly erases that last message, and as she’s in the process of doing so, she sees the three little dots in a bubble that say Agatha is typing something.  Her breath catches in her throat.  She stares at the screen.  Something, something, and then – nothing.  The dots, and the bubble they are in, disappear.

She blinks twice, thinking maybe that will fix it, but there’s still nothing and there is no text.

Without thinking, Eve sends, What were you typing?  As soon as the text is sent, she wants to catch it, to erase it.  She shouldn’t have sent it, she shouldn’t have—

The bubbles appear again almost immediately, and in a few seconds, she gets her response: Nothing.  ;)

Eve stares at the message.  She stares at the winking face.  That’s flirting; she’s certain that’s flirting.  She bites her lower lip, tugs it between her teeth, and then sends: Why don’t you come over here and wink where I can see you?  Again, as soon as it’s sent, she wants to pull it back – not because she doesn’t want to try and flirt with Agatha but because that was really poorly worded.

Bubbles.  No bubbles. Eve’s breath hitches.  Then the bubbles again.

What are you wearing?

Eve takes a deep breath.  Why don’t you come and find out?

Come and find out, or find out and cum?

Eve licks her lips.  Her gaze shifts left and right.  Her fingers hover over the letters, but she can’t get herself to type Both.  She swallows once, and as she does, the bubbles reappear.

Where are you?

It’s easy, to send her address.  Eve doesn’t know why it’s so easy, but it is.

What is less easy is dressing for the occasion.  She has nothing for this.

…somehow, Eve thinks that nothing is exactly what Agatha wants.

~

It has been years since Eve has invited anyone back to her place.  That isn’t what this is, but that’s what it feels like when she opens the door to Agatha Harkness.  Her heart leaps into her throat, and as soon as she shuts the door behind her, she reaches out for her, only to be stopped by a soft, Not yet, pet.

Eve doesn’t ask when.

She doesn’t lead Agatha into her living room or into her kitchen; Agatha goes where she wants, eyes scanning everything, as she removes her black jacket and folds it neatly over one arm.  When she turns to Eve, she appraises her – the soft dress that fits snug against her body, the low cut that reveals the curve of her breasts, the gentle fall of her dark waves about her shoulders, so similar to Agatha’s own and yet not – and she gives a little hum of approval.

Show me to your room.

Eve takes a breath in before saying, hesitant, as she’s heard so many other women say in way too many porn videos, Make me.

Agatha’s eyes sparkle, and she grins.  Is that a challenge?  She steps closer, places her hand possessively on Eve’s throat, but doesn’t press, doesn’t nick, even though Eve can feel her thumbnail sharp against her skin.  Is that what you want, babe?

Eve tilts her head back and meets Agatha’s eyes.  She’s not sure how long she can do this, but it’s worth a shot.  I want you to finish what you started.

Agatha nods.  She licks her lips.  Then she tilts her head so that her lips are almost touching Eve’s.  Show me to your room.  Her hand traces down Eve’s dress, fingers skimming the soft surface, and then she stops, one finger just above where the waistband of Eve’s underwear would be, if she was wearing any.  Then she moves to whisper, breath hot on the shell of Eve’s ear, That was not a request.  She pulls away just enough to meet Eve’s eyes.  Or do you want to be punished?

Eve tries to lean forward to kiss her.

Agatha stops her, placing a finger on Eve’s lips.  You’ve waited this long, hon. Surely you can wait a few moments longer.  She moves past Eve and drops her jacket on the arm of the couch before turning back. I’ve got a bad back, you see.  Beds help with the pressure.

To be quite honest, Eve isn’t sure whether Agatha is lying or not, and she finds that she doesn’t really care.  She’s spent nearly two months waiting.  Without another word, she takes Agatha’s hand in her own, interlaces their fingers, and gently, gently, gently tugs her down the hallway to her bedroom.

~

The important thing here is this: no one interrupts them.

Agatha is…thorough.  Much more thorough than anyone else Eve has ever been with. She makes sure that Eve is well taken care of before she even so much as removes her shirt – unzips the back of Eve’s dress, kisses gentle and without a moment of desperation, and then sits her down on the edge of the bed and gets her close to the edge before laying her back and telling her to wait until she gives her permission.

She finally does when she kisses her, smiling as Eve moans into her mouth once more.

But that is only the first of multiple, and Agatha comes well-prepared with a toy she’s christened Grunty. (Eve does not ask why.  She’s not sure she wants to know.)

When they’re done – or, more, when Agatha is done with her, because Eve isn’t sure that Agatha can ever truly be fully satisfied (or perhaps, in the future, she will be, perhaps Eve only needs more time with her to learn, to study, to apply herself in the proper moments) – Agatha curls against her chest, defenseless and small, and looks up at her with big, bright blue eyes. Did I do good?

Eve isn’t sure why she’s asking.  Of course, she says.  Of course, you did good.  The best. I haven’t known anyone better.

But that isn’t enough.  Agatha just stares at her, pleading with her eyes, searching for something.

Then Eve gets it.

She smiles, runs her hand through Agatha’s tangled mess of curls, and whispers, You are a very good girl, Agatha Harkness.  A very good girl.

Agatha smiles up at her – smiles, not grins, not smirks, not smugness – and then curls a little closer. She doesn’t say anything.

She doesn’t have to.

[melanielocke]

Happy Halloween! 🎃👻

Is there a possibility to make a mix of this two?

🕸“You’d be a lot more intimidating if you weren’t dressed like that.”

🌙Soulmates trope - but make them demons! 

Thank you and no pressure about this ask, you do lots anyway 🤍

I postponed this to the last possible day, and also included the Haunted House prompt I'd been given by @spears-in-small-spaces who I can't seem to tag and also @tessherongraystairs

The Unforgiven

‘What a place to meet.’ The young woman took in her surroundings as she entered the old house.

‘I didn’t choose it,’ the other woman said, raising her shoulders. ‘This is where the gateway is going to be. This midnight.’

The first woman walked up the creaking stairs. What a lovely place this way. Old, abandoned, and probably had a couple of ghosts in the attic. She had always been able to see ghosts, long before she’d become what she was, but hadn’t spent time with any in a while.

‘Afternoon, Cordelia,’ she said. ‘You look…’

‘Like a demon? Intimidating? Beautiful?’  

‘Beautiful, sure. But you’d be a lot more intimidating if you weren’t dressed like that.’

Cordelia was wearing something that looked like a Halloween demon costume. A short and revealing red dress with a red tail at the back. Although Lucie knew the small red horns coming out of her head were real, they looked like they were a part of the costume and the headband had just disappeared under Cordelia’s thick red hair.

‘They’re having a haunted house event in here,’ Cordelia said. ‘This way I’ll blend in. Everyone will be dressed in costumes like these. We can reach the gate without anyone asking what we’re doing in here. The event won’t start until seven though, if we’re lucky we find the gate before then.’

   ‘How sure are you of the gate?’ Lucie asked. ‘We’ve been wrong before. Many times, in fact. Every year on Halloween you drag me all over the world to haunted mansions and pumpkin fields and claim you’ve found the gate to free the Unforgiven but every year we find nothing.’

‘I know. I’m sorry for last year,’ Cordelia said. ‘At least we had fun, didn’t we?’

Lucie had come to enjoy Halloween, it was true. Every year, she and Cordelia would go on some sort of Halloween activity, and it was fun right up until the moment midnight had passed and they had to admit they’d failed to locate the gate to where the Unforgiven was locked up again.

‘We did,’ Lucie admitted. ‘But I don’t understand why this year would be any different.’

‘Because we have help now,’ Cordelia said. ‘An angel.’

Lucie stared at the other demon. ‘An angel? You’re kidding.’

‘There have always been angels sympathetic to our cause,’ Cordelia said. ‘Who believe the Unforgiven’s punishment is unjust and he deserves to be freed. Who know he never did anything wrong. The problem is, very few of them have the kind of power to help us. We’re far more powerful than your average the angel. The problem is that there’s more of them, they’re highly organized, and the archangels are too strong for us.

But this new one. You should see him. He’s strong. Not exceptional, sure, but he broke into the Archangel’s stronghold. He found a map and pinpointed this location, and then brought me the information. He’s meeting us here later tonight.’

‘Can’t wait,’ Lucie said.

She hadn’t seen an angel in a very long time. They kept to their city nowadays, and Cordelia was right, the majority of angels were far weaker than either Lucie or Cordelia. Lucie had never truly been an angel herself. Her father had been one, but her mother had been born a demon and Lucie had been something in between until she’d chosen to embrace her demonic side. She could have chosen differently, sure. She could have chosen to become an angel like her brother. Lucie had never seen the appeal though. Believing you were good and pure did not make it so and Lucie believed demons had been right all along.

Cordelia had been born full angel, but that was a long time ago. Her brother had been the first to fall. They said he couldn’t take it anymore, that he had chosen to pursue the freedom the angels abhorred. He’d never meant to start a war, but the angels had never hated anything more than what he’d become, and had dubbed him Unforgiven and locked him far away. No one could remember his name now.

After the Unforgiven had fallen, many others had followed. Including Cordelia and her mother. Cordelia had spent centuries trying to free her brother from his imprisonment. She might have forgotten his name, but she had not forgotten that she loved him. That had been long before Lucie was born though, when she’d met Cordelia she had already been a demon.

‘So, what’s the plan for when we do find the gate?’

‘Go in, free my brother, get out,’ Cordelia said. ‘Before the night is over and the gate closes. Otherwise we’ll be trapped for a year.’

The gate to the realm where the Unforgiven was imprisoned was only open in between six in the evening and midnight of October 31th every year, which gave them a very limited time window. Lucie had never quite known where Cordelia got her information for the different locations she’d searched.

‘What do you think your brother’s going to say when he sees you and you’re wearing that costume?’ Lucie asked.

Cordelia shrugged. ‘I brought a change of clothes for once we pass through. But I needed a Halloween costume and pretty much everything is like this. But I look good, don’t I?’

‘You do.’

‘I thought you’d like me like this.’

‘For a lust demon,’ Lucie continued.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. ‘It’s so dumb that lust demons are almost always portrayed as sexy women. If anything, the personification of lust would be sleazy men with neckbeards drooling over said sexy woman. Lust is the feeling of desire, not being desirable.’

‘True. But I imagine the men with neckbeards much prefer watching movies with lust demons who look like you.’

‘They’re not the ones I want to drool over me though.’

‘I can assure you, I’m positively drooling,’ Lucie said. ‘Wait, do I need a costume too? You don’t happen to have a last minute costume for me?’

‘You’re dressed like you’re from a different century, I’d say you’re fine,’ Cordelia asked.

Lucie guessed that was true. She was wearing a black Edwardian day dress, something she wore regularly. Demons tended to get stuck wearing the fashion from their days and while Lucie tried out modern clothes frequently, she tended to go back to Edwardian fashion out of habit.

‘You don’t think there are any real ghosts here, do you?’ Cordelia asked. ‘That would be one way to pass the time.’

‘I didn’t realize you could see ghosts.’

‘You’d think demons could, but no. Seems like you’re the only one who can.’

‘Who knows what the Unforgiven can do once we free him,’ Lucie said.

‘I hate calling him that. He’s my brother, and he’s not unforgiven. I should be able to remember his name and call him by it.’

Angels believed names were everything. Legacy, power. Even once you were long gone, you could be remembered by your name. That’s why it was something they liked to take away, that was why they’d dubbed Cordelia’s brother the Unforgiven.

‘You’re right, it’s their name for him, not ours. What do you think we should call him?’

Cordelia shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’m sticking to my brother for now. That’s the best I could do.’

Someone knocked on the door and Lucie went downstairs to open it. A very tall young man dressed in a nice suit and a top hat. Lucie didn’t think she’d ever seen him before.

‘Hi. I’m looking for Cordelia Carstairs? I was supposed to meet her here.’

‘Right. You’re the contact. Come on in. I’m Lucie Herondale. Cordelia’s girlfriend.’

‘Oh, of course,’ the man said, a little awkward.

Last Lucie had heard, angels were still highly queerphobic. Of course, this man had chosen to betray the archangels and work for Cordelia instead, so who knew?

‘Your contact’s here. And he’s not dressed for Halloween either,’ Lucie said.

‘Uhm, this is a costume,’ the man said. ‘I am dressed as an Edwardian gentleman.’

‘Oh, right. I forgot modern human men don’t dress like that anymore. Real shame,’ Lucie said.

‘You two match,’ Cordelia pointed out. ‘Lucie, this is Thomas, the angel. Thomas, this is Lucie.’

‘A demon,’ Lucie added.

‘We have another hour until the gate opens,’ Thomas said. ‘I thought maybe we could order some food, I don’t like working on an empty stomach. Wait, do demons eat? What do you guys eat?’

Cordelia rolled her eyes. ‘Of course we eat,’ she said. ‘Mostly the same things as humans and angels. Though angel food tends to be bland.’

‘Eating too much is considered sinful,’ Thomas said. ‘Or food that is too flavorful.’

‘So basically, anything fun is against the rules,’ Lucie said. ‘Seems like it hasn’t changed much since my day. No wonder my dad chose to marry a demon woman instead.’

‘Yes, that sums it up,’ Thomas said. ‘My parents don’t really agree with the angels, and my dad tried to change things from a seat at the angel council, but that didn’t really work. I believe we have to bring back the Unforgiven. He’s the only demon powerful enough to stand against the archangels.’

‘Cordelia’s pretty powerful,’ Lucie said. ‘But then she’s his sister. Ordering food before we go looking is actually a pretty good idea. Cordelia, do you think we should order anything for your brother? I imagine he might be hungry after being imprisoned for so long, it would be rude not to give him something to eat.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

Lucie started exploring the mansion, mapping it out and searching for places where the gateway might be hidden. They had to be back within those six hours, they should aim to waste as little time as possible searching for the gate. When she’d made a list of all the difficult to find places where the gate might appear, she returned to Cordelia and Thomas, who had just accepted several bags with food.

‘What did you get?’ Lucie asked, excited.

‘Persian food,’ Thomas said. ‘I figured Cordelia’s brother might like that.’

They finished their food, leaving a portion behind for the Unforgiven. It would be a real shame if they didn’t find him now, because the food was very good. Two minutes to six. The clock was ticking, and the silence was almost unbearable.

‘So, are we splitting up, or searching the house together?’

‘Splitting up is faster,’ Thomas said.

‘Splitting up is how people die in horror movies,’ Cordelia interjected. ‘We don’t know if the archangels are going to try anything, and we have to face them together if they come. Preferably with my brother there.’

‘Kiss for good luck before we go?’ Lucie asked Cordelia.

Cordelia put her hands on Lucie’s waist, pulling her closer before kissing her. ‘Good luck,’ Cordelia said as they broke apart.

They found the gate only a few minutes after six. It was in the attic, and while Lucie had been worried about recognizing the gate, she shouldn’t have. There’s no way anyone could have missed this. In the middle of the attic was an area of pure darkness. Something like a black hole.

There were footsteps on the stairs up. People visiting to celebrate Halloween? Or archangels? Lucie wasn’t eager to find out.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, taking Cordelia’s hand in hers, and Thomas’ in the other.

Together, the three of them stepped through the gate. For a moment, there was nothing. All she could feel was Cordelia’s hand, still in hers. Then they were in a dark cave, a faint light shimmering through the corridors.

‘It’s a maze down here,’ Thomas said. ‘But my friend Kamala gave me a magic thread we can follow back to the entrance.’

‘That’s useful,’ Lucie said.

‘Not sure how we find the Unforgiven though.’

‘Through me,’ Cordelia said. ‘I have a spell that will lead me to my brother. You roll out the thread so we can find our way back.’

Cordelia cast her spell, and a flame led the way deeper into the maze. They had to run to keep up, the flame was fast, and the three of them were completely out of breath by the time they entered the center of the maze.

 It was a round room with several corridors leading to a different place into the maze, and in the middle of it was a young man with black wings. He looked like Cordelia, but his hair was black rather than red. His hands were bound behind his back, tied to the floor.

‘Brother,’ Cordelia said. ‘We have come to set you free.’

The man looked up and into his sister’s eyes. ‘Layla. You came for me. I never thought I’d see you again.’

‘I found you, I finally found you. Come, we’ll break your chains.’

‘It takes angel blood,’ the young man said. ‘A clever trick they pulled on me, because what angel would wish to set me free?’  

‘I’m an angel,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ll give you the blood you need.’

The young man looked at Thomas, his eyes wide with surprise. Thomas took out a knife and made a small cut at the base off his wrist.

‘Now what?’

‘Smear the blood onto the chains.’

The moment Thomas’ blood touched the chains, they dissolved into nothing, and for the first time in centuries, the Unforgiven rose. He was truly as magnificent as the demons had been led to believe. A pair of black feathered wings, the biggest Lucie had ever seen. He radiated power. Yet at the same time he seemed so vulnerable underneath it all. It’d take time to reclaim his strenght.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘What is your name?’

‘Thomas. Thomas Lightwood. What about you?’

‘It’s Alastair,’ he said.

‘Alastair,’ Cordelia breathed. ‘Of course. That’s your name. I’d forgotten for so long. Come, we’ll take you home.’

‘I’m not sure I’m strong enough,’ Alastair said.

‘Lean on me,’ Thomas said.

Thomas, it turned out, was too tall for Alastair to comfortably lean on, so instead Thomas picked him up, carrying him in his arms as they followed the thread back to the gate.

‘There it is,’ Cordelia said. ‘You’re going to be safe, I promise. I won’t let anything else happen to you ever again.’

They all walked through the gateway together, back into the attic of the haunted house. And they were not alone.

In front of them, were four archangels. Including Elias. They said he was the reason Alastair had fallen in the first place. They said he was the most terrible archangels who had ever lived. Lucie had never known him, even when she’d still moved among angels he had actively avoided her.

‘I always thought this would end in a fight,’ Lucie said. ‘Good thing I’ve come prepared.’

@alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @amchara @all-for-the-fanfiction @imsoftforthomastair @ddepressedbookworm @queenlilith43 @wagner-fell @cant-think-of-anything @laylax13s @tessherongraystairs @boredfangirl16 @artist-in-soul @leslutapologist @ikissedsmithparker

[everythingapartfromnothing]

Parallel Lives

Full. 

-

I was washing dishes when I saw myself. She was hovering there above me, smiling. Like I’d done something right. Or like she was reminiscing on a moment that was pure, simple. I looked up at her and I couldn’t help but to smile back. In that moment there was calm. And then she was gone. I continued scrubbing my plates, happy I saw her. 

There was obviously something peculiar in that moment, but I loved thinking about it. A version of myself forwards in time from now. Grateful I’d done the dishes because they’d been stressing me out and now I had time do other things (nothing) but that time was precious. It was needed. It was nice to share that moment together. 

I can’t say when reality started to split for me. When there wasn’t just one. Many that could not coexist with each other, but did anyway. Could’ve been when my grandma died. When I hated the words “death” but people kept saying it. My ears seemed like the only ones burning. 

Maybe that’s when reality started to split in two. When I recognized the world outside myself. I obviously didn’t know what it meant then, but I sure do now. At some point it pierced through me. It split me in two. Soon after it was three. Of course there are the decimals. But I think all together they’re about three. 

I used to believe in god once. Prayed with every fiber of my being on the floor of bathroom floors. Why was I in so much pain? Sometimes it felt like all that existed was tension. Slamming doors, shouting at walls. Hating. I don’t know when I got that way. Looking at her now I had reason to be that way. I just didn’t know yet. Didn’t know which reality I was existing in. That’s infuriating. 

I try to send her messages sometimes. But I still get scared. It’s not an easy thing to do. There are so many unforgiving lines. They’ll stunt me or shred me if I’m not careful. Sometimes I don’t care. Sometimes they disappear, but it’s too often not a good sign. She’s not always talking to me. But every so often I hear her messages as they pass by. I always hope she’s alright, even though I know she’s not.

At first I thought they were imaginary. Coping mechanisms to keep me afloat. It was cathartic to daydream about versions of myself that hadn’t happened yet. A scientist, a writer, a mathematician. Sometimes they were simple. She had an apartment, and food to eat, and a job to support her. I somehow found myself to the latter. That’s who I am now. Living quietly, propelling versions into the future and protecting my past. 

It was in my darkest moments they became real. When I’d visit the past and she could hear me. When I’d plead to the future, and she came to my aid. Where I became a fixed point by which the lines could cross, and effect the now. It’s still hard to completely wrap my head around, let alone explain, but I’m trying my best. I’m thankful for these lives that were and those that haven’t happened yet. 

Sometimes I’m visited by the decimals. Lives that were never and won’t ever. Iterations that live inside the three. They can visit at any junction. Lives that become lines, crossing at a junction. Whenever there’s a decision to be made, when the realities have a chance of multiplying. The lines can be soft and bendable. They can also be sharp and hard to cross once I’ve touched them. It’s not their fault. It’s as real for them as it is for me. 

We live at the same time. Being drawn in parallel yet completely on top of each other. Mixing, morphing, multiplying, disappearing. It all depends. Living in categories - pain, survival, protection. Past, present, future. I preside somewhere in the present, but my line, like all lines, fuzzily straddles these epochs. And my line, like all lines, depends on the perspective. To the girl I talk to in my childhood, I am the future. To the woman who visited me while washing dishes, I am the past. Relativity is a key and a machete. Illuminating and destructive. 

And when I saw her for the first time I was in so much pain. I couldn’t move for days. It felt like death. Like night sweats and cramps, broken thoughts, hopeless dreams. She reached out and touched me. Led me to a shower, spoke kind words to me. Told me I shouldn’t do this. Reminded me I’ve come so far. I have her to thank for sitting here now, writing these words. I hope she’s out there somewhere. That I haven’t passed her. I wanted to write about her. Write about the girl in my past. I hope they feel every key stroke, every passing thought. Grasp onto my messages and know that I am here. I am real, just as they are. 

[whitesuited]

she knows better to try and convince him that their crossing paths in the hallway a few moments before was purely by chance ----------- he hasn’t been around her all that long, but certainly more than enough to appreciate what sort of reach she has ----------- but that little detail won’t stop her from insisting that very thing as she beckons him to follow her into a strategically located little alcove with a curl of her finger and a matching one for the corner of her mouth. it’s probably one of the few things she’s come to like about vought tower ( present company being at the top of that very short list ) with it’s almost unending amount of places to hide if you really don’t feel like being seen. which, considering how much vought likes to parade them all out in front of the press like they’re nothing more than a suited bunch of show ponies, was an unexpected surprise.

so naturally, she learned early on how to use the opportunity to disappear behind a pillar or linger just out of sight because of a hallway’s poor sightline to her advantage. and that skillset comes in especially handy when it’s being used in tandem with an attempt to sneak in a few minutes alone with the face of the company ----------- even if it ends up making him late to one of those one - on - one meetings stan edgar always likes to call when he feels like causing trouble for trouble’s sake. ( especially when it ends up making him late to a meeting with stan edgar. ) at least now she knows he’s just as ambivalent as she is to pay a visit to someone who likes to feign interest in what you have to say only to turn around and do the exact opposite.

which also means she can’t see him being all that against a bit of a delay here and now -------- one that comes along with her fingers curling around the edges of his chest plate and pulling him closer. he’d been gone by the time she’d gotten herself out of the shower earlier, a disappearing act she knows is nothing personal, but more of a necessity while everyone at the company is on pins and needles waiting for the official lineup of payback to be announced. professional distance at least needs to appear real now more than ever, and especially considering how notoriously vocal she’s been about not wanting any special treatment ( though the already nearly - faded marks on her neck from the night before would argue there’s at least some form of favoritism going on behind closed doors ).

she manages to pick up the sound of footsteps echoing off the tiled floor before they get close enough to cause any real interruption ----------- a quick pause for a breath and tipping the odds that the still unidentified suit suddenly remembers they’ve forgotten something at their desk for the meeting that needs to be retrieved means she and @antisupe​ get to continue on without a hitch for now ----------- at least until his presence is missed enough that they track him down, and he has no other option than to go.

( there’s only so much she can do to keep him out of edgar’s office ---- it’s an inevitability not even her good luck can counteract forever. )

            “i can’t guarantee being able to stop the next person who comes looking for you, y’know,” she hums against his mouth, regretting even saying it out loud as soon as it shifts from her lips to his. but even hearing it outside of her own head doesn’t convince her to let him go; instead it encourages her to make it that much harder for him to go once they do come to get him. ( the way her teeth drag over his lip in time with his fingertips pressing into her hips are certainly going to make it a little more difficult to pry themselves away from each other. )

but those footsteps are already on their way back in their direction. he pauses, and now she’s sure he hears them coming too. ❛ my god, you’re fun to kiss. ❜

she wants to groan, knowing this is when she’s going to have to let go of his vest, but she can’t help herself for just a little more to tide her over. “that’s a serious compliment,” teeth sink into her own bottom lip for a change, grinning briefly before leaning back in for another little bit of ‘fun’ as he’s now officially deemed it ----------- she’s got expectations to match when he’s on the other side of this meeting. “maybe the means you should do it a little more often. you want me to wait outside for you? or back upstairs?”

[truckreincarnation]

First Spark | Miles | 1.1 | Re: Bian, Perry, Manami

To put it lightly, Miles had been absolutely miserable in the last few hours, even if he hadn’t been panicking as visibly like some of the others. Just being in this situation had been bad enough, but… now someone was dead, and this horrible ritual would begin, because of it. Not only that, but they’d be force to figure out who had done it to sacrifice as well, or risk themselves or someone else having the same. The investigation itself hadn’t exactly raised his spirits any either, and… 

Now, they were expected to wade through water to get things started. Without comment, Miles does so, not having his boots on that were good for this sort of thing today and thus forced to feel even his socks begin to get wet in the water as he had to figure out which desk was his. Between… Frank, and Theophania, huh. He glances over at 19 on the other side of the room, but… there’s nothing much he can do now but give a nod, and sit down. He would deal with the horrible sensation, just like he always did.

People are saying things right off the bat, and… well, Miles’ heart hurts for Bian, first and foremost. He’d seen her at the scene as upset as she was, known she was one of the first to find the body, but… still, hearing her speak now highlighted just how she was feeling yet again.

“I… didn’t know that you could take more than one weapon if you were planning a murder with them before this investigation, or even… realize that your name and weapon checkout disappears from the sheet when you put it back. Or… that you don’t have to use your real name to check out.”

Guess that’s why his Grenade Pouch was first on the list still, huh? He sure is still wearing that on his person, and has been this entire chapter. But… he looks at Bian for a moment. 

“…Bian, I know… that it might not help to hear this, but… There’s a lot about this situation that’s hard to know how to handle for us, and… hasn’t been clearly explained, likely on purpose. We can… maybe keep an eye on it now that we know better, and say something in our magic journals? But… there’s still only so much that one person can do, and I don’t know if you… could have stopped this. I don’t blame you, Bian. And I’m… sorry you ended up having to find things like that.” Even if she still blamed herself.

But… as more people talked, it was Perry first confuses Miles, before he flinches at her slime theory. Oh. So… she hadn’t believed him, huh…? And if she still spoke of the slimes like that, well… there was no way she hadn’t been judging him for everything he’d said, right? Not much he could do about that now.

“I… said this to my group before, but… I’ve… interacted with the sap creatures a lot in the past week, so I… know a bit about them and their habits I can share. First… the sap creatures don’t naturally eat anything, and won’t attempt to consume things on their own unless you explicitly hand them something like that to them for that purpose.“

“And second… if they do consume something upon being prompted, it remains visible in their transparent bodies for a substantial period of time, depending on the size and type of thing. About… 20 minutes for something tiny and digestible, and longer for… larger things. They also likely can’t digest metal at all, given… the key in the puzzle.” 

…Miles, have you been feeding the slimes? Apparently so, if he knows all that.

He looks with confusion, again, at what Manami adds to that though.

“I don’t… think they have daggers, though…? Unless… you’ve seen something I haven’t, but… Um. Yeah, the larger vine seemed to have been cut halfway with something sharp and frayed more roughly the rest of the way, and one of the… eight swords had green residue on it in addition to the blood, so I think it was probably with that.”

“I… also don’t believe the slimes can hold things like swords, and they don’t even… really attack, just push things around if you get near them without pacifying them. Um… relatedly though, I did notice that none of the blood smears around the room or under Francis’ body seemed like they came from the slimes either, so they likely… avoided everything going on? There was… a lot of blood places. But, it didn’t look like… a sign of a struggle to me either? I’m not sure what it was about.” 

That was… a fair amount of evidence presented from him, right? He hadn’t shared his own alibi though, instead just giving… Manami something of a troubled look but not opting to speak up about anything there. He was probably just weirded out a bit hucidhius. Well, maybe he’d share his alibi if someone really wanted him to. 

[zivazivc]

Pinocchio AU

Okay people want the explanation for this comic so here it goes. It’s long and complicated and MESSED UP because of course it is, this is me. I’m going to write in points because my small tired brain can’t handle good english atm but basically to sum up the Adrien was a sentimonster theory or Pinocchio AU as I like to call it:

Young married Emilie and Gabriel can’t have kids. Gabriel reluctantly accepts this fate and even brings up adoption as a possibility once, but Emilie doesn’t want to hear any of that. She’s a bit of a Marinette in the sense that she pictures this romanticized ideal life for herself and a child—her flesh and blood—HAS to be in it.

They keep trying to get a baby while other young families Emilie knows keep growing. She feels left out and hurt and depressed, then her newlywed twin sister announces she’s expecting a baby too and something within Emilie just unhinges.

She eventually lies to some of her friends, who she was out for coffee with, that she’s pregnant too. She mostly does it just to see their reaction and feel what it would be like but it quickly spirals out of control where she just starts pretending she’s pregnant until you can’t even tell if she believes it herself.

Gabriel is confused at first because he hears the news second hand (a friend/family member congratulating him) so he’s apprehensive when he approaches his wife but she convinces him that they really are getting a baby and Gabriel is ecstatic.

It’s only later at a doctor’s check up that Gabriel learns that she indeed is not pregnant. The doctor even speaks to him alone explaining that his wife is in denial and that he should make sure she goes to see a psychiatrist, something she definitely wouldn’t do alone.

Gabriel is unsuccessful with that because he’s not entirely persistent, doesn’t want to be the guy with the crazy wife having to tell everyone she lied about being pregnant, and hopelessly believes she’ll just get over it eventually.

That is until her “pregnancy is near due”—her sister already had Félix in England a few months ago—and he stumbles on her transformed with her peacock miraculous (they already have both of them) creating a sentimonster newborn.

They have a huge fight about it but because Emilie refuses to destroy it, won’t tell Gabriel where the amok is, and Gabriel can’t just hurt the baby with his hands, Emilie just… wins. Fucked up, yeah?

Now she tried creating kids before this one, using her imagination to try and blend her and Gabriel’s looks but it just wasn’t working. So she decided to copy of photos of baby Félix because he already looked almost like a copy of his mother, and Amélie and Emilie already looked alike so it’s not so weird?—is what her mind was telling her.

She didn’t dare alter his looks but she decided to give the baby Gabriel’s eye color to include the “father” in some way. (Yes in that comic I made I gave Adrien a mix of green and gray but that was mainly to get the point across to the perceptive readers)

Now we got Adrien, a normal baby boy to the whole world except for Gabriel who’s forced into his wife’s fantasy through social expectations.

Why are we only at this point and this post is already so long AAAAAAAA!!!

Adrien physically basically grows in a way where Emilie just keeps changing his appearance to match what Félix looked like a few months prior.

Mentally he’s like a robot just taking in information without really needing to learn it. So Emilie decides when he says his first word, she decides when he learns to walk,… He knows how to walk, he just wasn’t given the command to do so yet.

But even so he does develop a personality over time, just slower, because unlike a normal child who’s always testing his boundaries, how far they’re allowed to go until they’re in real trouble, Adrien just can’t misbehave. At all.

But he does have his favorite foods and favorite toys, and jokes that make him laugh the most. The problem is just that Emilie could just decide that his favorite food is strawberries and he’d just start acting accordingly, rewiring his belief. 

He also isn’t allowed to argue or be mean to others which is why Félix thinks he’s a goody two-shoes weirdo while Chloé the brat adores him.

This behavior isn’t so hard to hide with a toddler who’s fickle but it’s harder and harder as the kid grows. Which is why the family becomes very secluded over time.

Gabriel always keeps distance with his “son”. He’s not Dad, he’s Father, he doesn’t do hugs and cuddles, he doesn’t say I love you. But Adrien knows he loves him because his mom told him so and he loves him back unconditionally because Mom said that’s what families do.

Now even though Gabriel is traumatized by this whole ordeal and knowing Adrien “isn’t real” freaks him out he does soften a bit over time. I’m going to give an awful example but like someone who hates cats softening for a cat that their partner/roommate decided to get/had from before. Continuing with this example: But still becoming appalled when the cat starts acting odd/unusually.

Okay I think you get the gist. Let’s move on…

Emilie loves her son more and more as he grows and his sentimonster behaviours start bothering her more and more too. She hates being reminded that he’s not a real boy by people mentioning he looks young for his age because Emilie forgot to make him grow for a while. She hates when he does everything like he’s told. She hates that he has no real friends because they’re afraid to expose him to the outside too much and without supervision. She hates to think about his future.

Her desire for him to be real keeps growing and is what drives her to search for a solution in the miraculous spellbook.

She cracks the script after years, when Adrien is nearly a teen, and finds a way to transfer the creators soul into a sentimonster.

It’s a long process that takes time and while she falls ill to everyone around her, Adrien becomes more real.

Gabriel starts realizing what’s happening when he notices Adrien hesitate for a second when he’s playing a video game and Gabriel wants him to do something, groan when he gets bothered watching TV, huff, complain, have slightly opposing opinions to his and Emilie’s, when he argues with his mother when she tells him she’s feeling fine; when he notices his son’s eyes are greener. Or is it all in his head?

He confronts his wife too late, when she’s extremely ill already, her normally vibrant eyes dulled match Adrien’s bluish gray, and he pieces together in his head what she’s doing.

Before Gabriel could properly think what to do to stop the love of his life from turning into a lifeless doll, in a fit of panic he tries to take her wedding band (where he knows Adrien’s amok is) to get rid of Adrien instead, but is unsuccessful in getting it off her so he snatches her peacock brooch instead (which she needs to complete the spell obvs) and breaks it. (Heyoo! broken peacock miraculous. things are coming together)

Because the spell was almost complete anyway it’s Emilie who falls unconscious. But she doesn’t disappear because she’s not a real sentimonster, she just becomes dormant like one.

This is the point in the story where Gabriel makes it seem like Emilie ran away or something like that—basically disappear. Now he’s living knowing he has an almost sentimonster wife in the basement, knowing he almost killed his son (or her), and having to care for a son that suddenly became much more alive, questioning, arguing, angry, screaming, not accepting, crying, grieving, staring at him with Emilie’s eyes.

Instead of becoming a real parent, Gabriel shuts him out.

Soon Adrien evolves desires for socializing, company, getting away from the suffocating home which eventually leads to him going to a public school.

He slowly starts to live life freely without the restrictions that were put around his thoughts.

Gabriel has an even stranger relationship with Adrien now because he still loves him in a way but also holds resentment toward him. But mostly he sees him as something valuable.

The show happens here…  And now finally we get to the comic…

Gabriel gets a hold of the ladybug and black cat miraculouses. (There’s no epic fight in his lair as you see there’s no Ladybug in the comic but that’s not really important)

What’s important is that Gabriel had deciphered the miraculous spellbook with the help of Emilie’s notes and had decided to use the unification’s “wish” power to awaken Emilie.

He’s aware he’ll need to sacrifice something for the wish to come true and he’s certain Adrien should be enough because the soul inside him is literally the one thing Emilie is missing.

✨Adrien (poor boy just lost his miraculous) is taken to Gabriel’s lair, where he finds out his father is Hawk Moth, sees his mother, learns he’s a sentimonster, and that he’s going to become a sacrifice ✨

Of course the last part is not what happens. It’s Gabriel who ends up being sacrificed.

I can’t decide if Gabriel ends up sacrificing himself because he changed his mind in the last moment while Adrien was screaming for him to stop, OR  because he didn’t love Adrien enough for him to be considered an equal exchange for his wife… O.O

But anyhow…

Emilie wakes up with Gabriel’s soul within her (hence the bluish gray eyes in the comic).

Adrien is traumatized for life.

This took me hours to write… I knew there was a reason why I didn’t want to do it. I hope I didn’t forget anything and my brain made sense of it all

Well there you have it, peeps. The Pinocchio AU. It’s as messed up as my sleep schedule. Good night. 

[artistfingers]

There’s one ~silver lining~ of my iPad being broken: I’ve had loads of time to think about my many half-formed undercover phantom au ideas! Since I have no idea when or what will make it to comic form, here’s the lowdown…. AKA, everything that’s been rattling around my brain recently :P

For context: Danny, Sam and Tucker have never met, and nobody knows Danny is Phantom. When Vlad’s newest bit of tech gets Danny stuck in ghost mode (with the rest of his powers on the fritz to boot), he meets Tucker and Sam—who instantly see through his disguise and lend a helping hand. (Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4!!)

So. After that, Danny—no, Phantom—becomes friends with them. It’s exciting! He was invisible at school even before the ghost powers; he was pretty isolated and lonely and being Phantom for the last year hasn’t exactly been a social boon. Kid’s lonely, ok?

But now… two human friends? Who’re his age & share his interests? It’s like a dream come true! If only they weren’t exclusively friends with his ghost self… and if only they didn’t wanna be so involved in his dangerous ghost hunting things…Uhhh. Hm. Could be a problem.

Danny angsts about the danger he’s putting his new friends in, and about not being able to befriend them as a human. He plays with the idea of telling them Everything but that’s… risky to say the least. He’s only known them a few weeks! ugh….!! it’s too much. maybe he should just throw the towel in.

Buuut Sam & Tucker don’t take no for an answer. Especially after they rescue him a third time.

Thus… Phantom friendship shenanigans!!

Sam filched some parts from the Fentonworks Lab when Phantom took them there, and later convinced Tucker to help her build a custom mini ectogun in case of emergency. They didn’t tell Phantom.

Danny is really sentimental about that DP hat he wore when he first met Sam & Tucker. He wore it as Phantom for a while but it got singed in a fight. He still wears it when he hangs out with Tucker & Sam but otherwise keeps it squirreled away for Sentimental Reasons.

“So Phantom, how old are you?” “I’m 15.” “15 now? Or 15 when you died?” “Yes.”

Tucker has a bunch of awful 90s button up shirts, and gives one to Phantom

They aren’t able to convince Sam to wear one too, but they sure do try.

Phantom won’t tell them when he died, so once he starts wearing 90s shirts they start using terrible 90s slang with him

“I am NOT from the 90s!!! They didn’t even SAY that then!!!” “methinks the lady doth protest too much…..home slice” “NOOO!!!”

“Phantom I have an extremely important question. Like, life or death. SHIT is on the LINE here. Are you listening?? I really need to know…. Do ghosts play video games”

The answer may surprise you (no it won’t)

Sam is completely convinced they can ACTUALLY get a good working guess of when Phantom lived and died based on the fact he liked Nasty Burger when he was alive, since NB’s a regional chain with a not-so-distant past. Tucker meanwhile thinks Phantom probably has a good reason for keeping them at arm’s length—but regardless of method, they can agree: they want to break down Phantom’s walls.

The next arc is less “Undercover Phantom” and more “Undercover Fenton” because the juxtaposition of him having to do hidden identities squared (squared again) is too good for me to pass up. It boils down to this: during a ghost attack at school, Danny finds himself stuck being “protected” by Sam and Tucker.

Sam and Tucker take their new jobs as Phantom’s ghost hunting companions too seriously to let this skinny stranger they just met run TOWARDS the danger. WHY does he keep trying to run TOWARDS the danger

NO YOU CANNOT GO TO THE BATHROOM THE SCHOOL IS ON G H O S T L O C K D O W N

Sam pulls out her ectogun.

Danny: WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?!

Sam does not tell him.

“Wait, your last name’s Fenton? Like Fentonworks Fenton?” “No, the other Fenton.” “Oh… well, that’s too bad…” “YES LIKE FENTONWORKS FENTON”

Sam is initially wary of Danny because of his parents’ super strong anti-ecto views. Danny is clueless as to why she isn’t very friendly to him-as-a-human when she’s great with him-as-a-ghost. but she warms up after he helps resolve the ghost issue in a way that shows he doesn’t subscribe to his parents’ views.

afterwards you get this excellent situation where Danny is now friends with Sam and Tucker as Phantom and as Fenton, and they’re not connecting the dots as quickly as they did when it was just “that’s Phantom wearing a hoodie and a cap with his own logo on it”.

the potential here? *chefs kiss* here’s a few things but honestly? the possibilities are limitless

Danny pretending to not have a cell phone because he already gave them his number as Phantom

Tucker: *dials Phantom*

Danny, standing directly next to him: *frantically attempting to silence his phone*

Sam & Tucker try to introduce Danny and Phantom. Danny has to make excuses to avoid this happening in both forms.

Danny takes Sam & Tucker down to the Fentonworks Lab to get them some real equipment. Sam & Tucker pretend (very badly) that they’ve never been there before

Rooftop chill sessions as Phantom, late night teenage hijinks as Fenton, plus school AND fighting ghosts does not do any favors for Danny’s sleep deprivation. Tucker introduces him to caffeine pills with… mixed results.

Tucker and Sam teach Phantom some sign language. Later Danny slips up and uses it casually with them as Fenton

…. And many other silly mixups that I’ve yet to think of because I live for that shit

Sam & Tucker have theories about the Fenton-Phantom connection and they’re all wrong but somehow also plausible and that freaks Danny out just a little bit if he ever overhears them

Ultimately, I see this AU having a final arc where a New Situation occurs in which Danny-as-Phantom has to—once again—pretend to be human. This time, he’s with Sam & Tucker as Phantom from the get go, and can’t disappear or transform, even if being Phantom is extremely dangerous at that moment. Somehow this scenario would lead to the Fenton-is-Phantom (or, in this case, Phantom-is-Fenton) reveal…. But the details still escape me :P

so in short………… I really like hidden identities

[no-droids]

Ask Me Again Tomorrow

gif credit @pedros-pascal​

Part Sixteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.3K

Warnings: SMUTTTTT, following/stalking, some fluffy moments but mostly just a lil action and interaction, I don’t think there’s any other warning besides language and the smut (comm sex WITH A TWIST YALLLLL) but if you happen to find something else that warrants a tag, please let me know and I will do so accordingly!

A/N: The response to this story has grown beyond anything I could’ve ever imagined and I genuinely thank you all from the bottom of my heart for the privilege of writing for you.  Hope this one ends up being okay and I’ll get to work on the next chapter soon!

***

Headstart—12:17pm:

The sky is so pretty.  There isn’t much to look at on the surface—rolling hills and plains, grassy but with dry bare spots breaking up the green stretches, but the sky.  It’s an oil painting above you, pastel swishes of yellows and pinks and purples with an enormous ringed planet taking up half the horizon and another sizable moon hanging high.

You should probably be running.  Like, for real sprinting, but you can’t push yourself to go faster than a brisk walk.  It’s so… free out here, more hills springing up every time you get to the top of the next, warm air filling your lungs.  Even though you know realistically that the beginning will likely be the hardest—where you need to focus most on running and putting distance between you instead of hiding—truth be told, you’re not foreseeing making it more than a full day.  You’re going to try, obviously, but in the grand scheme, you wouldn’t be surprised in the least if he finds you tomorrow.  So, instead of wasting all your energy going as fast as you physically can right out of the gate, you just decide to stroll and think for a little bit.

You know what your goal is.  Obviously, to last as long as you can, but more specifically… well, if Din is going to chase after you, then he’s going to try to think like you.  Anticipate your movements, if he can’t already see the tracks you leave plain as day.  Very soon, he’ll be walking this same exact pathing, following the footprints you’re leaving behind, but if you’re ever able to shake him or throw him off course, he doesn’t have a tracking fob.  He doesn’t have any mechanical device that points him in your direction—if you can lose him with the footprints, then he’ll have to rely solely on predicting you. Which means you need to think… exactly the opposite of yourself if you want to outsmart him.

That’s harder than it sounds though, because… is he going to predict you predicting him?  At what point does it stop?  You somehow have trouble seeing this as an advantage the way he said it would be—you almost wish you had someone else chasing you, someone you didn’t know and someone who didn’t know you if only so this paradox could end before it begins.

You’re walking for about ten minutes before spotting a dirt road in the distance.  There’s a person following it in the direction of the sun—you don’t know this planet’s magnetic field but you do know it’s after noon and the sun would set on Arvala-7 in the west, so that’s what you’ll call it for now.  You call out to them as soon as you’re in range, and the stranger turns to you.

“Excuse me!”  It’s a woman, you see it as you get closer.  “I’m so sorry to bother you, but can you tell me where this road leads?”

She removes a sheer yellow shawl covering her dark hair and gives you a friendly smile.  “Hello,” the lady greets, before spinning around and pointing back the way she came.  “Osiruu is a few hours that way.  There’s not much there, but it will take you to G’ila, a transport hub with many opportunities for drifters, or Nariss, the capital.  I’m on my way to Shabeth,” she points in the other direction.  “It’s far—a day’s walk, but it’s a holy place and offers quite the view.  I would be glad for the company, but I understand its lack of practical appeal.”

So this place is safe enough to be inviting strangers along on your travels, noted.  You’re going to have to make the decision right now, then.  Which path should you take?

Something deep inside you tells you that you want to see this holy place, and just from a few sentences, you already like this woman and feel safe with her.  But then all of a sudden, you remember something.

Last known locations tell you a lot about a quarry, Din’s voice drifts back to you, sounding soft and distant from the dark forests of Naboo.  Smart ones go to populated planets, planets like Coruscant, planets that make it nearly impossible to find people.  Brave ones go to dangerous planets, suicidal ones try their luck in the Unknown Regions, idiots continue to go about their business on their homeworld without caring.  But planets like this—like Naboo… those are the pacifists.  The ones that don’t ever put up a fight.

You suppose you should decide what kind of quarry you want to be.  Friendly company and a view is something you normally crave—it’s something your soul speaks to after going without it for so long during your previous life.  You never pictured yourself as the fighting type.  When Din first asked you, you told him you wouldn’t run from him if he was chasing you, and choosing to accompany this kind stranger to her destination is essentially just that.  Sacrificing a chase for a pretty view.

“Does Shabeth have a sizable population?”  You ask her, and she shakes her head.

“It’s the sight of an annual pilgrimage that happens in a few months, but it’s beautiful there and I like to go whenever I can,” she tells you with a soft smile.  “But there’s nothing for miles outside it, I’m afraid.”

Your footprints will lead directly there.  He’ll find you easily.

“It sounds very nice, but I need to find somewhere with a lot of people,” you give her an apologetic smile.  Truly, you think she would’ve made for a nice friend.  “Thank you for your help, though, and good luck with your journey!  I hope we meet again.”

“Do you need any food or supplies?”  She asks you, and you stop short of passing her by.  “I don’t have much with me, but know what it’s like to be a newcomer to Sanctuary II.  I’d be glad to help.”

Good Maker, is this how everybody is here or did you just hit the jackpot with this lady?  She seems like… you, almost.  Her voice is gentle, she looks like she’d give nice hugs.  You’re about to politely turn her down, but then you realize the brilliant opportunity that’s presented itself in her image.

“Actually, this might sound like a really strange question, but…” you tell her, before looking down at her feet.  “Wanna trade shoes with me?”

***

Headstart—6:12pm:

You don’t think it’ll work, but as you walk into a small settlement a few hours later in a unfamiliar and worn pair of sandals, you decide that you’ll need to do this as often as possible.  You can’t come up with anything else that’ll throw him off your physical trail besides constantly switching shoes—is that bad?  Are you just an idiot with no hope?  You’ve had—you check your watch—like, five hours to think of a game plan, and all you’ve come up with is shoes?  You’re screwed.

At least there’s food here.  Plenty.  There’s vendors stationed along the street, multiple people passing by and going about their business.  Osiruu, that nice woman said—not much here, but you think she was wrong.  There’s children giggling and jumping rope on the corner, a shopkeeper sweeping her storefront, a graying man with an empty cup plucking an unfamiliar melody on an unfamiliar instrument—and while your tummy growls and you know you should quickly buy supplies and be on your way, you still stop for just a few minutes to listen.

It’s a lovely tune.  You drop a few credits in his cup after he finishes and find yourself humming it as you look at the plethora of goods being offered by the vendors.  Water, food—you buy enough of everything to sustain you for at least a couple days, not wanting to go hungry but also feeling realistic over optimistic.  The cuisine is foreign and you just point to things that look appetizing since you’re not sure about the name or pronunciation, but after paying and taking a bite into a rather large piece of purple fruit, your eyes nearly cross at how sweet and tasty it is.  Holy Maker, that might just be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.  You ask for two more after you finish the first, tucking one in your backpack next to your blaster and munching on the other as you keep browsing.

Suddenly you see shoes—yes.  Fucking shoes, your salvation.  You take a good look at all your options, of which, there aren’t many.  Generic men's, women's, and children's, all in the same color and design.  It’s good in a way—you see most people walking around in the same type of clothing here and you pray there’s not a way for him to track your gait or the whole thing is a bust, but truthfully, what you’re most worried about is the fact that you’ll create a brand new set of footprints wherever your old ones disappear.  Unless you trade with someone else, you won’t ever have a back pathing, you know that Din will probably be able to easily spot it.

“Three pairs of these, please,” you point to the correct shoes and tell him your size, but then—“Oh wait, actually, can I actually have one of them that’s the next size up?  And another that’s the same but in men's?”

The man behind the counter gives you an odd look but acquiesces, measuring the size of your preferred pair to multiple men’s shoes to find one that looks roughly the same—you doubt he’s ever had a request like this, but you’re also a generous tipper.  His smile is grateful when you tell him to keep the change and then you’re stuffing the new shoes into your backpack and moving onward.

Would there be some kind of map here, you wonder?  One that shows distance so you won’t waste time trying to reach a place you won’t be able to walk to?  That lady said a transport hub and the capital are through this settlement, but she didn’t provide much information beyond that.  You don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere when he finally catches up to you, you’ll need some place to hide.

When you stop to ask an elderly gentleman as he passes by, he freely provides you a basic gist.  There’s a large forest beyond Osiruu—after it will be a road that passes through a few notable places, with a town called Sijua to the west that leads north to G’ila, and Devain to the east that leads northeast to Nariss.  Both are within walking distance, though it may take a couple days to reach your destination.

Alright then.  Through the forest, you suppose.  You probably should’ve asked which way is east, but he’s already leaving and you don’t have the nerve to ask him to stop again.  You have a finger point, that’s all you need.  Making sure to use one of the small restrooms near the square before heading out, you eventually decide to make your way towards the direction he said this forest would be.

***

Headstart—6:58pm:

A bus.

You’re not going to take it, of course, but it’s the perfect solution to the problem you’ve been mulling over.  It’s at the very edge of the small settlement, and you quickly speed up into a half-jog as soon as you hear its engine running.

“Last call for the seven o’clock!”  A large man stationed near the doors yells as you approach.  “Last bus to G’ila until tomorrow!”

The sun is setting and you have to extend your hand out in front of you to not be blinded by it.  “Hello,” you give him a smile, before grabbing one of the handles on the side and stepping up onto the metal platform.

“Ah!”  The man quickly stops you, moving to stand in front of the open doors.  He’s as wide as he is tall, big enough that he blocks the entire exit.  “That’ll be ten credits, miss.”

“Oh,” you say, patting your empty pockets and pulling your eyebrows inwards, trying not to move too much in case the sizable amount of credits you have stashed in your backpack happen to rattle.  “Oh, no.  I think I lost my wallet.”

He sighs.  “Off the bus then please, miss.  Come back tomorrow if you find it.”

You nod, leaning your forearm against the paneling and beginning to take your shoes off.  “Will it be parked in the same place exactly?”

The driver looks curiously at you, clearly confused at both the strange question and your strange actions.  “I’m sorry?  Please—off the bus.”

“One second,” you tell him, now barefoot on the platform and digging into your backpack for the slightly larger sized shoes you bought earlier.  The sound of credits clink against your blaster, but you hope he takes your lead in purposefully ignoring them.  “Does the bus to G’ila park in this spot every single day?”

“Yes,” the man tells you impatiently, eyeing the way you’re stepping into the new pair with a subtle look of distaste.  Everyone is polite here, it seems.  “It will arrive back at seven am sharp with passengers from G’ila, in the same exact place.  Please get off the bus.”

“Thank you, sir,” you tell him with a smile, watching him step to the side to allow you to drop down into the dirt again and continue on your way.

Brilliant, if you do say so your fucking self.  Eliminate the need for a back pathing.  All footprints facing this direction are going to be the first footprints, and all of them facing the opposite way are going to be the last; if Din manages to figure out you didn’t take the bus, then he won’t be able to tell which new set are yours and which belong to the other passengers.  You pray the helmet can’t track gaits, but while you’re still paying enough attention, you make sure to keep your steps just slightly longer and even try placing more weight on the edges of your feet to make it look like you have a slightly higher arch than you actually do.  You’d put a pebble inside of them or something, but you know you’re going to be walking through the night and you don’t want to commit to having your feet hurt more than you already know they’re going to.

Eventually the quaint shops and small houses disappear behind you, and the sun setting over the horizon turns the clouds above turn more dusty green and brown than yellow and pink.  You hope Din opened up the ramp after you left.  You want him to see the sky.

***

Headstart—9:34pm

The forest here is different from Naboo, too.

Maybe it was because you only saw it while you were in crisis-mode, but that forest seemed much scarier and darker than this one.  The vegetation there was thick and overgrowing, but these trees look like they’ve never had leaves on them at all.  No twigs or small branches that sprout from the trunks—the branches are all thick and gnarly, criss-crossing with each other with how close they’ve grown together.  You bet their roots are practically one at this point, stretching for miles and miles but all sharing the same system.

Because there aren’t any leaves, there's nothing to block the moonlight shining clear and crystalline through the twisting maze of branches.  Sanctuary II appears to have a sister moon—Sanctuary I, perhaps?—that’s likely a similar size, because it’s the same one you've seen all day and it’s barely moved a few degrees that you can tell.  It must orbit incredibly close and be tidal-locked with this one then.  Two massive satellites swinging around each other as they circle a ringed gas giant, but it makes a stunning view and reflects more than enough light to see.

The sky is deep blue and maroon and you’ve been walking in a straight line for hours, using the stationary moon overhead as your guide.  The only issue with this plan that you’ve been able to come up with is that there’s no widely traveled path through the trees—even you can see your footprints and the clear trail you’re leaving behind.  You’ve been trying for a while to figure out another clever evasion tactic, but it’s harder than it sounds.  Can’t just change shoes again, that’ll be a dead giveaway.  How do you lose him?

You stop for a second, reaching into your bag to grab some water and stay hydrated.  Looking up once more at the beauty of the swirling colors peeking through the branches above you, you find yourself pausing after returning the bottle to your pack.  There are… an atrocious number of branches up there, and all of them are long and tangled and thick.  Sturdy.

You’ve… never climbed a tree before.

Without thinking much beyond that, you decide to bend your knees and jump, grabbing hold of one of the strong wooden tubes over your head and then swinging your legs up.  Ouch—the bark scrapes against your palms and you have to hold on tight with your thighs while you shimmy yourself upwards, but at least the wood is solid as fuck.  It takes you a minute or two, but you’re eventually able to shuffle yourself around so you’re straddling the thick branch, and then you look out to see the large collection of them criss-crossing in every direction around you.

Oof, this is dangerous.  You know it even before you start.  The gaps leading to the ground are bigger and more numerous than your potential pathing forward, but the only thing that gives you reassurance is how thick the wood is—you’re almost certain the branches aren’t going to break as long as you’re careful.

Okay.  Shoes, these are too big for the kind of dexterity you’re going to need.  You take them off slowly, being extra careful not to drop them, and then exchange them with the better-fitting pair you bought earlier, making a mental note that the sandals and the larger shoes are the two you’ve already worn.  If your pursuer manages to catch on to the multiple footprint changes, your most recent ones should ideally just… disappear right there, shouldn’t they?

You grin, before struggling into a low crouch and looking around your wooden cage for a safe way forwards.

***

Headstart—11:37pm:

Water.

A blessing, and not because you’re thirsty.  You have clean water in your bag and decades of habits formed in the desert to ensure you’re taking breaks and drinking enough—what you need is a way to disguise your footprints once you get back on the ground again.  This was good; scuttling your way along thick and twisting branches for as long as you have was time-consuming and exhausting, but it allowed you to avoid touching the ground for at least a mile or so, which means he’ll have to comb that entire radius to look for your drop.

And it was fun.

You even found yourself giggling as you ducked and scooted, ignoring the bark scraping your skin and your panting breaths, the way your face got sweaty and hot.  You had to do some brave maneuvers at tricky spots—jumping, balancing, hugging—but it almost just felt like an exciting little obstacle course for you and you’re honestly having a fucking blast right now.

Water, though.  Water is an unexpected beauty, even more than you’ve always considered it to be.  Water is an eroder.  Not only powerful enough to smooth down the rough edges of strong elements over time, but it will hide your footprints as soon as you create them and leave no indication that you were ever there.

Eventually you see it—a babbling stream cutting a considerably wide line through the trees.  You creep forward and hang tight to a branch above you to make sure you won’t fall, wiping the sweat on your brow with your other hand as you study the terrain.  The water is… a considerable distance below you, maybe about ten or so feet, and there’s quite a few branches on either side that extend and hang out over it.  You could probably find your way to the other side somehow, but something tells you to avoid the road beyond the forest if you can.  It leads to multiple places, it would be better to follow the stream until you can eventually merge with it later.

That means you’re… fuck.  You’re going to have to jump, aren’t you?

It’s the only way—you can’t leave footprints which means you’re going to need to land in the water.  The trees clear too far from the shoreline, so you can’t shimmy down the trunk of one for a shorter fall.  You’re going to have to climb out on one of those long branches until you’re suspended over the stream, and then you’re going to have to lower yourself as far as you can and then let go.  With your height already accounting for at least half the distance plus the length of your arms as you hang, you should only have to drop two or three feet before reaching water, and then maybe another two feet to the floor under it.  It looks forgiving enough—the moonlight shines and the stream is clear and you can mainly just see sand at the bottom, no sharp rocks or other potential dangers to be found.  This… this is doable.

Okay.  If you pull this off, you’re a badass.  If you don’t break any bones or seriously injure yourself in any way, you deserve some kind of commendation.  This is probably kiddie shit to Din, who keeps literal rockets strapped to his back and jumps out of ships flying thousands of feet above the ground, but this is a challenge for you and you’re feeling just excited enough to be up to it.

You’re eventually able to climb onto the thickest, sturdiest branch you can see that happens to hang over the water, straddling it and beginning to scoot.  Your thighs are killing you at this point but you’re holding deathly tight to the wood, your movements becoming more and more cautious the further away from the trunk you get.

You’re directly above the water now, but you need to go out a little further.  Aim for right in the middle so you don’t accidentally leave any tracks or prints on the shoreline if you need to catch yourself.  The unfamiliar wood in this forest is admittedly sturdy, but the branch begins to subtly sag with your weight as you keep slowly scooting forward, and you’re just about to the correct spot when—

Day 1–12:00am:

“Sweet girl.”

—You nearly fucking fall.

“Maker,” you gasp, suddenly scrambling to catch yourself on the branch before you can plummet.  It creaks and groans under your weight but supports you nonetheless, and when you’re one hundred percent certain it isn’t going to break, you jerk your head down to the communicator and see that it’s midnight, on the dot.

Shit.

Your heart slams against your ribs and your arms shake with adrenaline while you study it for just a moment longer, trying to calm the fuck down.

“Hey,” Din’s voice comes sharply from your wrist, crackling and tinny through the comm, nearly scaring you again.  “Answer me.”

You don’t want to sacrifice your grip right now, but you have no doubt he’ll fly the Crest out to you if you don’t respond.  So you quickly let go to press a button on the front face and then latch onto the branch tight once more, raising your voice because you can’t risk bringing your wrist up to your mouth to speak.  You hope he’ll be able to hear without the microphone picking up the sound of the stream below.  “Uh.  Ahem.  Hello.  Yes?”

“You’re too quiet,” Din’s disembodied voice immediately informs you.  “Or something on your side is too loud.  There’s an earpiece built into the side of the communicator, take it out and use it instead.”

You study the wrist brace without moving, until you finally see what he’s talking about.  It’s a small, wireless piece of machinery hidden on the left side of the electronic display, and you quickly pop it out and stuff it into your ear just in time to hear the sound of hydraulics clanging through the speaker as you clutch the branch again.  You’d know that sound anywhere, it’s the ramp of the hull closing.

“Are you already on the move?”  You ask him incredulously, your thighs starting to go numb with how deathly tight you’ve been squeezing this tree.

“Can’t sleep,” Din murmurs, sounding so much closer and deeper than before.  Does he have his earpiece on under the helmet or something?  Stars, is that why his voice sounds that good?  It’s like it’s coming from inside your own head, bassy and rough.  “Ready or not.”

You huff, your tummy going warm.  Of course he can’t sleep, of course he’s going to look for you as soon as he’s allowed to.  If he waited until morning, you’d probably be slightly offended.  You try to slow your heart rate into something acceptable, but being this far above water and hearing his baritone murmur directly in your ear make it difficult.  “But I’m… sleepy.”

“You’re always sleepy,” he tells you, and though you can’t actually hear him walking, the sound of his footsteps shake through his voice just slightly as he speaks.

“Hang on,” you huff, ducking your head to drag it against your shoulder, keeping the sweat from your eyes without using your hands, “you’re gonna make me stay up all night just because you do?  This isn’t fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules.”

Well.  Fair.

Stars, you can’t stay here.  You don’t know how long he wants to check-in for, but you’re also not confident with this branch’s ability to hold you for an extended time when you’re this far out from the trunk.  You need to get in that stream one way or another, but now that he’s here, you have an extra problem.  Din is going to hear you no matter what.

“Um.  Can you give me a second?”  You ask him, glancing around to make sure there’s no better way of doing this.  Nope, you realize very quickly—this is the best idea you’ve got, and you don’t really know what that says about the quality of all your other ideas.

“What?”  Din grunts shortly, but you just clear your throat.

“I need to… mute myself.  Give me like… five minutes.”

“What are you talking abou—”

“You of all people cannot be upset about asking for five minutes of quiet,” you return testily, looking down at the distance to the stream once more.  That’s a long way.  You… you can’t swim obviously, but again, the water doesn’t look too deep.  Just a couple feet likely, shouldn’t go past your knees.

It’s fitting that he doesn’t say anything, which you eventually take as disgruntled acceptance, so you quickly press the proper button on your wrist to silence the mic and then take a few deep breaths.  You have a time limit now, you have to do this.

With incredible patience and precision, you eventually slide until you’re clutching the branch upside down like an only slightly quicker and less coordinated sloth, before slowly dropping your legs and hanging over the water.

It’s… admittedly a bit further down than you anticipated, or maybe that’s just you making things worse than they actually are, but you’re committed at this point and there’s no going back.

You close your eyes, count to three, and then you let go.

The sandy floor meets your feet with considerable force and you make a hell of a splash doing it, nearly falling but just barely managing to keep yourself balanced and upright at the last second.  The water is cool and comes up just over your knees, your backpack miraculously didn’t get wet and all your limbs remain shaky but unbroken.

Okay.  Okay, fucking success.  It feels… thrilling, accomplishing a dangerous feat, and you quickly let out a loud whoop before clearing your throat, trying to sound normal as you press a button on the communicator’s face once more.

“Mando?”  You ask, slightly out of breath.  “Sorry about that, I’m back.”

Okay, now which way do you go?  Downstream seems like the easier path after getting in so much unexpected exercise, so that’s the one you go with.  As soon as you lift your foot from the sand bed, you watch your footprint almost immediately disappear through the moonlit water, and you bite your lip at just how well everything turned out for you.

After a moment though, you realize he hasn’t answered you.  You look down at the communicator again to make sure you pressed the right thing.  “Hello?  Shiny?”

“Did you trade shoes with someone?”  Din’s voice suddenly comes through the earpiece, sounding absolutely incredulous.

“Shit,” you tell him, trying not to smile.  “Hoped that was gonna buy me more time.”

“It… might’ve, if you kept walking in the same direction as they were,” he informs you after a moment.  “Your shoes went south, but this other pair got all the way out here just to turn back around again?  Good idea, but the execution needs work.”

Maker, he’s smart.  It was the first attempt at a footprint change so you weren’t thinking much beyond tricking the tracking mechanism in his helmet, you ignored his logic completely.  Essentially, the exact opposite of what he told you to do.  You like to think you’re getting better at it by this point, thinking beyond just the original exchange, and you’re hoping you’ll be able to trick him with at least one of the other fifty times you changed shoes today.  You’ll have to see tomorrow night, if you can make it that long.

Also, the road you were on apparently goes north-south, that’s important information you make sure to take note of.  The man in Osiruu said Devain and Nariss are to the east, and that Sijua and G’ila are westward, right?  Remembering that you thought south was west earlier, you do some quick calculating and immediately come to a stop in the moving water as soon as you figure out your positioning, turning around and walking upstream instead.

You want to go to Nariss.  The capital, and the biggest city in walking distance.  Smart quarry go to populated places, places that make it nearly impossible to find people.

“Alright.  Mando: one, Me: zero,” you finally acknowledge, swinging your backpack around and unzipping it to dig inside for another piece of fruit.  You’ve been hungry for hours but had to use both hands to stay safe and far above the ground, it’s the perfect time to eat.  “How’s the baby?  Behaving himself?”

“He kept trying to follow you after you left,” comes Din’s response, and you stop with just your teeth piercing the flesh, wondering if you heard him right.  You actually open your jaw and pull the fruit away with just a bite mark in it.

“You’re joking.”  No fucking way, not that little demon.

“Wish I was,” he tells you solemnly.  “Made a fuss, tried to open the ramp a few times.  Didn’t cause any trouble after, just… pouted.”

That’s… that’s exactly how he responded the very first time Din left the kid on the ship with you instead of bringing him along.  He threw a fit, tried to ditch you for his dad multiple times, and then ultimately just looked cute and mopey with his limp ears until Din came back.  Do you think it’s just him rebelling against change?  That has to be it, right?

“He better not be giving you any hints about where I am,” you warn his father.  “I’d tell you to put him on but I don’t want the earpiece getting lost forever.”

You hear it.  The softest laugh—barely a breath, coming after years of learning to make it just quiet enough not to be registered by the helmet.  It gets picked up by the communicator in all its understated beauty when normally it’d be silent, and it’s just jarring enough to make you careless.

On your next step, you accidentally lift your foot too high and make a splash, and you already know you fucked up before he can say a single word.

“What’s that sound?”

You immediately stop moving, allowing the cool water to move as silently as possible past your stationary knees.  Shit.  “Uh.  What sound?”

You think he purposefully doesn’t say anything.  Probably because it feels a little like cheating, doesn’t it?  It’s to your disadvantage, having him be able to catch hints from your environment when he’s the one who made check-ins mandatory, but then again… how smart do you think he is?  Something tells you that he might not need to track you at all—what are the chances he stumbles upon this little stream and just naturally assumes you were clever enough to use it to hide your trail?  Did you waste time trying to engineer a vanishing act when it’s not going to matter regardless?

Oh well, too late now.  You quickly decide to change the subject.

“You should try the big purple fruit that one vendor sells when you get into Osiruu, by the way,” you tell him pleasantly, taking a big chomp out of it and then letting out an extended hum of delight that only really fucking good food or sex causes a person to make.  “I’m eating one right now, it’s so good.  Be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

“Mm.  Doubt it,”  immediately comes his low response.  Fucking immediately.

“Mando,” you gasp, scandalized and giddy enough that juice dribbles down your chin a bit.

“Are you having fun?”  Din asks, instead of pushing the conversation any further in that direction.  You don’t know if you’re thankful or disappointed with how quickly he decided to abort, but you take a moment to consider his question while swallowing and wiping your mouth.  Not the answer, you know the answer—but why he bothered to ask.  Did he know you were going to enjoy yourself as much as you have?  Your only possible lament is how you’re talking to him through a communicator instead of having him next to you.

“I am,” you say warmly.  “Be… be better if you were here, though.”

“Give me your coordinates,” Din proposes, and his voice is just low and rumbly enough to make you pause.

You’re really, really proud of yourself for only considering it for a few seconds before scoffing.  “Psh.  Nice try.”

“Was worth a shot,” he sighs through the earpiece, and you smile, taking another bite of fruit.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you offer, grinning at the implication.

“We’ll see,” you hear him return, and though his tone doesn’t really change, you know he’s probably rolling his eyes.  He won’t have to ask for your coordinates because he’ll already be there, but it’s nice to pretend for a while longer.

And then you both walk all through the night, sharing casual banter with each other for hours.  He never once implies he wants to disconnect, even when you hit him with more nonsensical questions—

“What’s your favorite food?”  (“I don’t have one.”)

“Okay, well what about just a food that you like?”  (“I don’t like food that much.”)

“What do you mean?  Everyone loves food.”  (“Not me.”)

“Alright, well um.  What’s your favorite color, then?”  (“I don’t have one, either.”)

“Come on, you must have some kind of color you like.”  (“What’s your favorite color?”)

“…Brown.”  (“Then that’s my favorite, too.”)

—until the sun rises and you both say your goodbyes.

***

Day 1–6:15am:

You resolve to waiting until you see another person to allow your feet to touch dry land, figuring the longer you stay untraceable, the better off you’ll be.  Your toes are wrinkly and your pantlegs and shoes have been drenched for hours, but then you finally spot a few fishermen standing upstream with their backs to you, speaking to each other in the dawning light.  Two look to be full-grown, but there’s a smaller one in the middle, maybe a teenage boy, and you pause for a second, looking at the riverbank next to them.  All their valuables—water, food, bait, extra rods, but also… their shoes.

Quietly, you reach into your backpack and remove the pair of men’s shoes you bought earlier.  The ones closest to you on the shore seem to be the smallest, so you sneak over as silent as possible and rapidly make an exchange, fitting the new ones on your wet feet before allowing yourself to touch dry land and then speed walking away.

The ones you left him are newer and roughly the same size anyways—yikes, maybe slightly smaller now that you’re thinking about it—but at least you have a back pathing.  If that kid decides to take your offering and the shoes fit, Din will follow him, and if he decides to go barefoot instead, he should still follow him, right?  You’re not really aiming to trick him outright, mostly you just want him to waste more and more time.  This likely wouldn’t work if there wasn’t a time limit attached to this hunt, but you’re going to do everything you can to disappear while he’s still far enough behind you.

***

Day 1–7:06am:

You get to Devain remarkably quickly after finding the correct road.  The pit stop is much bigger than Osiruu, big enough to call an actual town instead of just a settlement, but still not large enough to feel concealed.  You want a city.  This place at least has cars and ships moving about and overhead respectively, but you’re looking for somewhere with lines.  Somewhere that feels as cramped and busy as possible.

Still, you find a restroom to use and then decide to grab some more food for your trip, happily spotting your new favorite purple fruit in one of the shop windows.  As you’re reaching out to hand the storekeeper the appropriate amount of credits, Din’s gruff voice comes through the earpiece so suddenly that you jump, nearly dropping them all on the counter.  “Hey.”

“Holy shit, what?”  You gasp, earning a confused look from the lady in front of you.  You quickly shake your head at her and mouth an apology while Din grumbles in vexation.

“You were supposed to stay on foot.”

Ah.  So he got to the bus, then.  Okay.

“Oh,” you answer ambiguously, exchanging the money for your bag of food and giving her a polite smile.  Din stays completely mute while you grab your snack, stuffing the rest of the goods in your backpack and then turning to leave—mute for so long that you have to double check you didn’t accidentally do it yourself.

“…Smart girl,” you finally hear him say.  Quietly muttered under his breath, half proud of you and half frustrated for making his job more difficult.  “Which one of these is yours then?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you announce, before taking a large bite as you leave the establishment and talking with your mouth full.  “You really gotta try the purple fruit, it’s great.”

The communicator abruptly clicks to silence on his end without anything else and you laugh so unexpectedly that a few pieces of it fly out of your mouth.

***

Day 1–1:32pm:

Somewhere miles away from you, Din jerks to a halt in the middle of a forest.

He looks around the dirt floor, walks a few paces and hears the kid coo gently from his cradle.  Behind the visor, the red footprints he’s circling are the last ones around for hundreds of meters, as far as his display can read.

His helmet slowly tilts upwards, and follows the endless maze of thick branches overhead.

With the beskar hiding his face, no one can see the way he slowly breaks into a beautiful grin.

***

Day 1–9:51pm:

Oh.  Oh stars, you’re tired.

You’ve been walking all day without really seeing anything, not having any place to disguise your tracks in the wide open plains.  You could’ve stuck to the road, but you started to feel the exhaustion creep in during the early afternoon and you wanted to be far away from other travelers and potential danger if you needed to rest.  You knew this would be a long journey when you left Devain earlier—over a day’s walk, a group of children told you—you even tried skipping or jogging a bit to see if that would inspire more energy in you, but it didn’t help much.

The large cup of caf you bought while in town was drained hours ago and it didn’t help much either, probably because your exhaustion is more physical and not necessarily mental.  It just felt like a sweet warm drink to sip before you go to sleep, that’s how much the caf helped.  Still, you kept walking, kept moving forward even as you squinted in the setting sun, your feet aching from traveling for this long wearing unfamiliar shoes.  The last time you changed them was hours ago, pulling another bus maneuver but with an air shuttle instead.  Still, you don’t think it’ll be enough.  You don’t even know where Din is but you already feel like you’re losing ground just knowing that he’s the one in pursuit.

You feel it—the hair standing up on your neck, the tingles in your hands, the stirring of your tummy—whatever the incessant gogogo that your instincts happen to scream when you’re in first place but you know the person behind you is quickly closing in.  It’s day fucking one, it’s day one and you feel him in the wind as it brushes through your hair, you can’t even pause to rest because nobody knows better than you that he’s an absolute fucking machine when he wants to be.  The kid may have powers beyond that which can be explained by the laws of nature, but Din is a force all his own.  He drives you forward when everything inside you is telling you to stop.  He keeps you awake and determined when you just desperately need to rest.

But that only goes so far.  You’re bordering on two full days without sleep, and though you’d normally be able to suffer through, the constant movement is just brutal after being confined to a stationary ship for so long.

There’s a lone tree in the distance, you think.  It’s hard to see.  Not because it’s dark—well it is, just a bit darker tonight compared to last, but mostly because your eyelids have grown heavier and more burdensome than the bag around your shoulders.  That looks like a good place to just sit for a second, right?  Maybe eat some more food, try and wake yourself up?  Yeah, that’s a good idea, you’ll head towards the tree and just… sit…

***

Day 2–12:00am:

Completely dead to the galaxy and sitting on your ass with your back against rough bark, the comm clicks and Din’s voice comes through the earpiece.

“Wake up.”

It startles you enough to make you lurch forward and jerk your head around in a panic, looking for any flash of beskar so you can instantly break opposite to it.  You scramble on all fours to look around but you don’t see anything, not even behind the trunk when you crawl, and then you take a deep breath and use the bone of your wrists to rub your eyes vigorously after a moment, knowing your hands are filthy.  “Fuck, how’d you—”

“You’re always sleepy,” Din repeats, and you collapse back into the tree with an exhausted groan, not entertained but not even having the energy to get mad about it.

“I… I gotta sleep,” you tell him, already feeling your body let go of its tension and search for the darkness of unconsciousness once more.  “Shit.  How d’you… mm.  Stay awake all the time…”

“Sleep,” Din encourages, you can still hear him walking.  “You need rest.  I’ll see you soon.”

No—

“No,” you whine like a child, moaning and shoving yourself upright.  Maker, you’re trying to focus, but asking that of yourself is almost impossible right now.  Everything swims—you were dreaming, you think, but you can’t remember and it’s not important other than to emphasize how woozy you are.  Things still feel like a dream, somehow.

You think he can hear your struggling through the comm, because the sound of his footsteps pause.  “Go to sleep.”

“You go to sleep,” you tell him bluntly, giving your head a violent shake to try and wake you up.  You want to slap your own cheek but you don’t want him to hear it.  “I can’t sleep if you don’t.”

“I’ve have at least a couple more days in me before that happens,” Din murmurs, and you bet he knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing to you.  You start to slouch, hearing the voice he uses when he’s curled around your body in the darkness of the hull.  So warm, so gentle.  If you use your imagination, you can feel his fingers drawing slow circles on your back, the vibration of his low voice rumbling against your ear as you lay your head on his chest.  “If I hunt you the way I’d hunt a quarry, I’m going to find you before you wake up.”

“Then I’ll jus’ have to… not let tha’ happen,” you slur.  Even this close to unconsciousness, you try your best to throw in a misdirect.  “Already… paid for the bed an’ everything.”

“Sure you did.  You in another tree?”

You immediately frown even as your eyes drop closed, too tired to fight but still managing to sound upset.  “You makin’ fun of me?”  You ask him with a harumph.  Genuinely, you’re not smart enough to figure it out right now.

“Not hardly,” Din sighs, sounding… you don’t know.  Is that displeasure or not?  It’s not immediately clear.  Does it sound that way because you’re just dumb stupid right now?  Or because Din can’t actually decide how he feels about it?  “Lucky I heard water over the comm last night, I would’ve wasted hours in that forest.”

“Noooo,” you whine in response, trying to push yourself off the tree but tipping sideways in the process, “that’s not fair—”

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules,” he repeats himself again and… nope, you don’t even have the energy to snark something back.  You just grumble your best imitation of him while you do everything you can to heave yourself upright.  It’s pitiful, you lose your balance not even halfway through and just plop on the grass for a second and groan.

“Stop,” Din eventually orders through the earpiece, tired of it.  “What’s sixteen times itself?”

You’re loopy to the point where you don’t even question why he decided to ask you that.  You just furrow your brows for a second and try to think about it, before suddenly realizing you… don’t know, you can’t remember.  Multiplication tables and squares up to twenty are elementary to you, you know them by heart.  Sixteen times sixteen.  One forty-four.  No… no that doesn’t sound right, is that twelv—

You take way too long answering what would’ve been an immediate response two days ago.

“I’ll stop here for tonight,” Din tells you with a resolved sigh.  “I won’t move until you wake up.  Go to sleep.  You’re putting yourself in danger, you can’t even do the basics.”

Later, this moment will come back to you.  That problem isn’t basic, not many adults would be able to tell you very quickly that the answer is two fifty-six.  You don’t even think Din would.  You would, though.  On Naboo, you used rapidly applied trigonometry in your head to find his location, and that was barely two minutes after waking up.  You should know this.  And he knows you.

But for right now, you don’t pay it a single lick of attention.

“You promise?”  You ask quietly, voice incredibly small as your head tilts back towards the sky, already feeling yourself beginning to fall back into the darkness again.

“I promise,” he vows in return, gentle but a promise nonetheless.  He doesn’t have to do this.  You wouldn’t be able to keep going even if he didn’t offer up this temporary truce, but knowing he isn’t currently gaining ground on you makes the idea of sleep so much more welcoming, something you want to seek out instead of fight.

“Will you, um…” your expression furrows.  How do you say this?  You sigh, giving up before even trying to figure it out.  “I’m… not in a bed.  I’m outside.”

Din doesn’t say anything when you pause, and even through the haze wanting to take over, you know it’s going to sound needy.  You want him to stay.  Even in the midst of an adventure, you want him to stay, you want to hear him breathe as you rest, but there’s not really an integrous way to ask.

You don’t need to ask.

“I’ll keep the comm open and wake you when the sun rises,” comes his lulling baritone before you can elaborate anymore, enveloping you in comfort in this dreadfully uncomfortable bed of grass and dirt.  “Sleep, sweet girl.  I’m right here.”

***

Day 2–5:34am:

The sun shines over the hills and you lift your head up to squint your eyes at it, confused as fuck.  Looking down at your wrist to check the time in the warm rays, hands and clothes dirty from laying on the ground that long—you stay groggy and clueless for just a moment longer, before your heart lurches when you remember Din’s promise to you.

You open your mouth to address him but then catch yourself just in time.  Wait.  Don’t panic.  Listen.

Breathing.  Slow and relaxed through the earpiece, a rhythm now branded into your memory from months of nights spent in pitch black.  He’s… asleep.

Din is asleep?  Seriously?

You can count like… twice that this has happened, and one of those was because he got you to touch him just right after closing up a wound on his back, and his body couldn’t handle the strain and passed out.  You’re never awake when he’s asleep—you’re just not, it doesn’t happen.  Din… sleeps like it’s just a choice for him, he doesn’t ever really need it.  Almost like how he used to eat before he started sharing meals with you, he said he doesn’t even like food that much.  You think he just severed all of those things long ago, things that are basic fundamentals of survival and operated like a bounty droid that lost its voice box.  It’s… nice, feeling like you’re somehow giving back some of the things he lost.  Unintentionally encouraging him to find sleep again.  Making sure he eats more, listening to him speak.

You struggle to your feet as quietly as possible, hearing him continue to breathe slow and relaxed through the communicator.  This isn’t purposeful, you don’t think he actually allowed it.  He promised you, and Din doesn’t take shit back.  If he tells you he’ll do something and he doesn’t follow through, it’s either out of his control or a mistake, it’s never been purposeful.  He didn’t mean to fall asleep.

And, in other circumstances, you most definitely would not find some way to take advantage of this.  You’d let him sleep and do other things in the meantime—make some food for you and the kid, find something on the Crest that isn’t spotless and clean until it is, or just… lay there next to him until he woke up.  But… these circumstances are their own.  You have to capitalize now, this is your chance.  You passed out last night around… ten pm, you think it was, and then he promised to stop at midnight.  That means you have to walk at least two hours before he wakes up if you want to prevent any loss of ground—you don’t know where he stopped, he could be a few miles back even.

You have to find Nariss—you have to.  It’s your only option, if you keep trying to run, it’s just going to make it so much easier for him.  Now is the time to hide.  You know it hasn’t been long, it’s barely been two days since you first left the Crest but it feels like you’re already in endgame, already making moves in self-defense instead of actually planning your maneuvers ahead of time.

The capital should be half a day’s walk from here, then.  As long as you get there, you think you’ll be okay.

***

Day 2–8:28am:

Din’s groan suddenly comes through your ear.

You immediately stop, seeing a busy road in the distance and glad you haven’t quite made it there yet, before trying to disguise your voice as drowsy.  “Mm?”

“Shit,” he breathes, and you hear him get up, the sound of beskar moving as he grunts.

“Mpph,” you groan back, squinting your eyes to see if that’ll help sell the act.  “I thought you… Mando, fuck, y’said you’d wake me when the sun came up.”

“I… fell asleep,” he admits, voice rough with it, sounding just as confused as you felt earlier.

“You said you had days in you before that happened,” you murmur, taking a deep breath and stretching your arms up above your head.  Stars, your back hurts, how does he possibly manage to carry a fucking jet pack around all the time?

“Yeah, I…”  He pauses for a moment and you bite your lip, not liking the quiet as soon as you hear it.  “How long have you been up?”

Op.  Not good.  “Wha?”

He’s not falling for it.  “How long?”

How in Maker’s name?  This is impossible.  How can you hope to hide from him when you can’t even manage to hide the smallest fucking truth from him?  Can you salvage this somehow?  “…Like ten minutes.”

“Least a few hours, then,” he sighs, and you get ready to hit him with the same line he used when you complained about his leg-up, opening your mouth as soon as you hear him speak.  “That was smar—”

“Fair wasn’t part of—”

Oh.  Well.  Apparently you didn’t have a reason to feel shitty about deciding to haul ass while he was passed out even though you kind of ended up doing so anyways.  There was no agreement besides that he wouldn’t move until you woke up.  Reason is on your side, but it still feels a bit like you fucked him over.  Is that valid or are you just so used to being nice that putting yourself first feels like a wrong you’ve committed?

“Don’t feel bad,” Din tells you, and you hear a soft coo in the background.  It makes you smile the smallest bit, your shoulders relaxing even as they ache from carrying your pack around.  “You should feel bad about stealing that poor kid’s shoes, though.  He walked home barefoot.”

You smack your forehead.  “It was just….”

“Yeah,” he scoffs when you don’t finish your sentence, and you can’t keep back a giggle.  “Alright, I’m up now.  See you when you get here.”

And then the communicator clicks, and you’re…

Uh.  What the fuck was that?

No.  Nope, you’re not going to get played.  That was a brilliant attempt at fucking with you, but you’re not falling for it this time.  You’ve grown since that night on Canto Bight, you know him, he can’t just say shit to fuck with your head and then smile at your flailing response from under the helmet anymore.  You normally would stew in that last comment until it got to you, made you make a mistake most likely, but the more you think about it, the more certain you are that he has nothing.  He was just trying to see if you’ll abandon your entire plan just by implying he already knows it.  That’s beginner shit, you’re not falling for it.  Din wanted to leave the conversation with the upper-hand since you gained at least an hour of extra ground while he slept.  You’re certain of it.

***

Day 2–12:35pm:

Nariss is big.  Nowhere near the size of Coruscanti sectors of course, where billions of people are packed from surface to exosphere and require oxygen recirculation towers to breathe at the very top, but just slightly bigger than you expected.  It’s bustling and you haven’t even made it through the city gates yet—you’re approaching them and the large number of people waiting in line, seeing buildings stretch out for miles in front of you and grinning.  Yes, this will work nicely.

As you peek over shoulders in the sizable crowd, you see only two or three people allowing people to enter one at a time… is that a biometric scanner?

Oh.  That looks good and it also doesn’t look good at the same time.  If Din’s safety meant nothing to you, you’d have no trouble whatsoever getting in line and waiting to do a retinal scan, but you immediately pause and consider the potential consequences.

Your dumb ass almost weighs the option of clicking the communicator on and asking his opinion.  You’d give away your location in a heartbeat (if he doesn’t know it already) just because you’re worried he’d… what, exactly?  Stand in line for an hour, take his helmet off in front of a crowd of people, have the system ping his scan, and then hang out and wait for New Republic reinforcements to show?  You have to stop worrying about him.  He’s not a baby, he can handle himself and you need to stop considering the possibility of taking a loss just so he doesn’t have to, even if the self-destructive sentiment feels ingrained in your nature to do so.

So you wait in line, moving at a slow pace but at least moving.  While you’re standing there quietly, a man in front of you decides to strike up a conversation.  You don’t come from a place with an excess of people, but the ones in your sector were friendly and did this kind of thing often, so perhaps for that reason, you decide to chat.

“Do you have some place to stay?”  He asks at one point.  So far the conversation has revolved around him—every time he asks about you, you deflect.  He doesn’t need to know.  “Nariss isn’t kind to drifters.”

This catches your attention, though.  This is relevant.  “What does that mean?”

“It’s expensive?”  He scratches his blonde hair, giving you a soft smile.  “Food, housing, all of it is way out of my price-range.  I stay with my uncle and work overnights at the eastern docks.  It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep a roof over our heads.  We used to live in Gibrath, but then we moved to the city because he’s a good architect and they’re always expanding.  It’s nice, of course, but really expensive.”

He’s handsome, you think… in kind of a boyish, charming way.  Blonde hair, sparkly blue eyes.  He doesn’t look much older than you, and maybe in another lifetime you would’ve found him appealing, but… you like darker features, you think.  Someone a little less expressive.  This guy… talks a lot.

“I thought this moon was a safe world for people displaced by the Empire,” you offer, taking a step forward as the entire crowd shifts.

“Sanctuary II is,” he comments.  “The capital is safe, too—what, with all the orangies walking around,” he tilts his head to two jumpsuited guards trying to organize the glob of people so the line can move faster, rolling his eyes as if they’re some kind of joke.  “But not… welcoming, not if you’re looking for a place to settle.  You would’ve been better off in G’ila.”

“Is there anywhere you know that would take me for free?”  You ask.  You have quite a few credits left, but you don’t think it’s a good idea to stay in an inn.  It’ll be the first place Din checks.

“Are you a virgin?”  He returns, and you immediately pull back at the unexpected question, your heart thudding at the possibility of danger.  The man’s sandy eyebrows shoot up at your response and he quickly apologizes—“Heavens, I’m so sorry to ask like that!  It’s just… the only place I know is the Holy Keja Orphanage on the northern outskirts.  Their signs say they only house children and teenagers, but I’ve heard from other girls your age that they’ll accept any woman as long as they’ve stayed pure in the eyes of the Maker.”

“Oh,” you say after a moment, leaning sideways to see just a few people standing in front of him.  Good, this is almost over.  “Um.  Yep.  That’s me.”

He smiles at you once more, giving you a nod.  “When you get to the city, just go straight through.  It’s about a mile outside of the gates, no more than a day’s walk from this side of town.”

Okay, that’s… interesting.  You think about it while you thank him and begin to exchange polite goodbyes, moving up another step until he’s next in line.  That might actually be a good move.  Din could spend a long time in the city without ever finding you.  Smart quarry go to populated places, but… smarter quarry defy the expectations placed upon them, right?  He knows you’re smart, and even though you’re confident his “See you when you get here” was purely psychological fuckery, that also implies… at the very least, that he’s assuming there is a here to get to.  Meaning, he knows you’re not going into the wilderness to evade him.  He’s not going to comb the outskirts when there are so many places to hide within the city gates, with an entire perimeter of New Republic guards stationed around it.  Even if he does, the signs will say only children and teenagers—categories you do not fall into.

The unnamed man is soon ushered forward but you stop him quickly.  “Oh, by the way.  I doubt this will happen, but if a man in a big metal suit with a tiny green baby happen to ask you the same thing, please don’t tell him what you just told me.”

He furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head, but smiles and agrees nonetheless.

***

Day 2–5:43pm:

You have an idea.

You’ve been working on it all afternoon, but you were hit with it the second you were looking for another pair of shoes to buy and find a clever way of putting on.

The cheapest ones were ridiculously overpriced, blonde dude was right.  You blinked down at the tag and asked the salesman where the cheapest shoes in this part of town were, and then he just wrinkled his nose at you and shooed you out of the store.  Granted, you slept in dirt and spent two days walking—you bet you reek, but he didn’t have to be like that.

Though, the man’s displeasure with you had an upside.  You were holding a possible pair of pants and a shirt to buy when he threw you out, not yet having checked the atrocious pricetag on them, but it appeared as if he’d rather let you have them for free than rip them from your… admittedly, pretty filthy arms.  Oh well, you weren’t complaining.  Fancy clothes for free, score.

But now you’re here, and you have the best idea.  You don’t need to change shoes, not yet.  Why?  Because you’ve figured out how to turn your incessant detriment into an advantage.

You’re in the middle of downtown, you think, maybe just some random crowded square, and there’s an inn in front of you.  It’s fucking enormous, and you already know it’s gotta be incredibly expensive just looking at the sheer number of stories.  It’s an eyesore, it sticks out.  But that’s okay, because you’re only planning on staying for a night.

It’s also… right next to New Republic headquarters.  Or fuck, at least a station of some sort, because they’re swarming in and out of the constant crowd, passing by the valet doors.

At first you naturally wanted to steer away from the jumpsuits, since you know they’re bad news for Din, but then you remember what he said before you left.  I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it.  I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.

It’s to your advantage, he said so himself.  Everything lines up perfectly—the street is bustling, the inn is well protected, it’s nice—it’s everything you’re looking for.

And there’s another upside, see.  An omnipresent, omniscient ghost in the form of a communicator clipped to your wrist right now.  If Din is always going to be able to predict you, he’s always going to know when you’re lying, always be able to read you… then you’ll just have to let him.

Let him know.  Let him know exactly where you are.  Right in the middle of the most populated street you’ve seen thus far, a constant barrage of people walking by and New Republic officers patrolling.  If you were planning on staying in the city, this would probably be your best option to hide.  He could waste days here if you’re smart about it.

The concierge doesn’t appear too pleased with your lack of cleanliness and neither do you, honestly, but at least he allows you to book a suite for the night.  It’s… not as bad as you were originally assuming, credits-wise, but it’s worth more than half your stash and you’re going to have to conserve from this point on.  It shouldn’t be too bad—your destination is a holy orphanage, you’re sure they’ll have some extra food and a bed for you even if it won’t be ideal.  Still, you think you’re going to enjoy some lavish experiences for once in your life before you go.

***

Day 2–11:54pm:

Alright, so this was the best idea ever.  This is the shit.

You’re leaning back against a fluffy stack of pillows, squeaky clean from an absolutely glorious bath and watching the flickering drama on the large holonet display in front of you.  You don’t have any idea what’s going on, as it’s being broadcast in Rodian, but you haven’t been able to change the frequency because it’s so fucking intense—somebody’s sister is their mother, you think?  No, that must be a mistranslation, right?

You’re also in a robe.  Yes, there is a motherfucking robe in here.  And… and slippers, it’s like a dream.  Do people normally wear slippers in bed?  You do.  Hell, maybe you should stay here, screw the credits and the chase.  This mattress is even better than the one on Naboo and you’re basking in the luxury after being outdoors for so long.

The lights are off other than that and you’ve opened the drapes wide, knowing you’re on something like the fifteenth floor and nobody would be able to see you anyways.  You just like being able to turn your head and look out at the sky.  Violent and periwinkle tonight.  You wonder if he’s looking, too.

Luckily, you snap yourself back out of it and glance down at the time on your communicator, quickly pressing a button on the remote to mute the Rodian show and then opening the line the moment the hour changes.

Day 3–12:00am:

“Hiya, Shiny,” you say before anything else, laying back and running a few fingers through your damp hair.  Your eyes close against the flickering light, taking a slow, relaxed breath.  Maker, this feels nice.

“You sound happy,” Din comments.  Astute, you feel happy.  Well… you’d obviously feel happier if he was here.  Your eyes flick over to the open bathroom door, still steamy from your bubble bath earlier, imagining him walking through it completely naked and then climbing over you on the covers.  You can only really picture it from the neck down—no, hang on… you can see his shaggy brown curls, that one spot on his forehead you know, how his facial hair would be dark and frame his mouth.  No face, though.  Missing just one fraction of him from your imagination, feeling incomplete but also somehow… complete in a way.

“I feel better after sleeping last night,” you tell him, purposefully leaving out the softness of the sheets underneath you, the sheer comfort of all this extravagance.  You don’t need it, you’ll never need it, but it feels nice to have for once.

“I do, too,” he replies quietly, and your eyes flutter closed.  You… miss him.  This mattress would feel softer with him next to you.  He’d probably be able to translate this show for you, even though you already know he’d fucking hate it.  You can imagine it—you with your eyes closed, him propped up on an elbow next to you and grumbling vague descriptions of the nonsense happening on screen just to hear your chuckles.  Adventures are great, but maybe they aren’t as great by yourself, you think.

“You should sleep tonight, too,” you encourage, but he scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Din mutters.  “Oh, before I forget, we need to charge the communicators today.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”  You ask him, glancing at all the multiple wireless charging outlets stationed around you.  “I’m in the middle of nowhere.”

He doesn’t even take a fucking second before responding.  “Good one.”

You grin up at the ceiling, warmth flooding you.  You love him.  Literally every single time, he just knows.  Your curiosity is too overwhelming after this happening so often.  Your plan to distract him relies on him being able to read you, but that doesn’t prevent you from wondering how he does it so accurately, time and time again.  “How do you know?”

“You slept outside last night,” he immediately tells you, like that should mean anything to you.

Does he… does he truly know you well enough to know how much your back and shoulders hurt today?  How much you were aching for a shower and clean clothes?  A bed to sleep on that isn’t dirt or metal?  You give into the accurate prediction with shameless honesty, not caring if he knows it’s the truth.

“This bed is soft,” you murmur gently, dragging your hand across the mattress next to you.  “You should be here.  I’d make you feel good.”

Admittedly, your comfort is making you a bit drowsy and you said it in the easiest way possible, but you didn’t necessarily mean it sexually.  Well… you sort of did—you’d make him feel so good in this bed—but what you meant was more… comforting.  He could take a bath, or a shower, and get all the grime off him.  He could feel clean and unburdened, take a break instead of constantly moving around.  The baby could have a whole bed to himself if he wanted, though you know he’d probably want to be on this one instead.  You could all look at the sky together.

Din is quiet for a little bit, before his voice comes back through the earpiece.  “Are you in an inn?”

“No,” you say, a little too quickly.  Perfect, that sounded just right for a lie.  You are lying, you absolutely are in an inn, the only difference is that you want him to catch on that it’s a lie, so… why does he take way too long before responding?

“Hm.”

What the fuck—why… how is it even physically possible?  He read you that deeply from one single word?  You’re not sure if he’s somehow psychic and figured the whole fucking thing out or if he just knows there’s something off, but it’s still enough to blow you away.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”  You blurt without thinking.

“Doing what?”  He grunts, sounding like he’s stepping over something, his breath changing intensity as he walks.

“If I look out this window right now, am I gonna see you standing out there just messing with me?”  You don’t even know what to believe anymore.  How do you beat this?  If you don’t want him to know the truth, he’ll figure it out, and if you do want him to know the truth, he’ll still figure it out.  His perception is unbelievable.

After a moment of silence, he murmurs gently through the comm.  “I thought you said you were in the middle of nowhere.”  It sounds like he’s smiling.

“I…”  your eyes shift around awkwardly, “am…”

Din lets out a deep sigh.  He’s right, that was bad, even for you.  “I found your bed a few hours ago,” he admits.  You close your eyes as you listen to him make his way closer to you, step by step.  “I’m nowhere near the city yet.  You have time to sleep.”

Your expression furrows and you frown.  “Why are you helping me?”

“Why do you want me to think you’re in an inn?”  He tosses back, and you huff.

“Because I’m trying to outsmart you but you make it really fucking difficult,” you grumble, not happy about him catching on so quick.

“You’ve also gained about four hours on me since we started.”  His voice is gruff.  You don’t know if he thinks it’s a good thing or a bad thing.  “You should give yourself more credit.  I thought I would’ve found you by now, never expected you to get all the way to Nariss.  It’s… not good for me.”

The honesty creeping in makes you go soft.  It makes you want to reciprocate, even if it’s dumb and you haven’t thought it all the way through.  “Wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me.”  His voice is a bed all its own, deep and gentle and safe.

You say it before you lose the nerve.  “I might just turn around and walk back.”

His footsteps stop and you hear a small sound in the background, a quiet little baby noise that suddenly makes your heart ache.  You’re comfortable but incredibly aware of how alone you are.  People pass by on the streets below, cars and hoverbikes honk in the distance and you’re by yourself.  For the first time in over a year, like you have been for years, you’re by yourself.

“Sweet girl,” Din sighs, and all of a sudden… you can feel his arms around you with it.  You feel so… known, somehow.  Every sentiment you could’ve possibly given in your last sentence, he relays his understanding back with his.  He makes you feel loved with it.  “Never wants to run.”

You don’t say anything, because you suddenly realize you’re totally fucking whipped, up down and sideways for his metal ass and the little floating grimlin that follows him around, and you would throw away the fifth quarry, adventure, the sky—literally everything if you could be with the both of them right now.

But again.  You don’t have to say anything, he already knows.  “Give me your coordinates.”

Your eyes pop open and you bite your lip.  Oh, stars.  You hate that you do genuinely consider it.  He could be here, and very soon.  With the jet pack, both of them could be here in less than an hour, probably.  He could take a shower.  Watch these stupid shows with you all night without needing to be on the move, help you build a bed of pillows for the kid on top of this one.  You could be with both of them again, even if it’s only for a little while.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you finally whisper, looking down at the soft white fabric of your robe, the way one of your slippers is falling off your foot as the holonet program continues to play on mute.

Din’s footsteps eventually start up again, and you both relax in silence together.  You, squinting at the screen because your eyes are getting heavy; him, continuing to travel step by step and gain ground on you.  Let him come.  You’ll be long gone by the time he even makes it to the gates.

It’s been about ten minutes of shared, quiet existence before you hear him bite into something and chew, and your face suddenly lights up.

“Are you eating the purple fruit?”  You ask, your slipper falling off with excitement.  You don’t know why, but it’s like… you’re stoked for him.  Just as proud of him for doing normal things as he does when you step out of your own comfort zone.  You like to think you’re both better that way.  Balanced.

“Mm,” Din replies with his mouth full, and you grin down at your bare legs peeking through the robe while he swallows.

“Is it not the best thing you’ve ever tasted?”  Your voice goes a little breathless with it, and you hear his footsteps stop once more.

“Close,” Din murmurs lowly, sending a small shudder through you.  It suddenly feels a bit warm in here, doesn’t it?  This morning was one of the rare times you were awake while he was asleep… it’s almost always the other way around, and just from the implication in his tone, you’re reminded of the thing he likes doing most when you’re resting.  Maybe he’ll let you do it to him, next time around.  The thought gets you hot enough to warrant the other slipper falling to the floor.

“You’re alone, right?”  You whisper, knowing he must’ve pulled the helmet up to take a bite of the fruit.  He must still be following your path through the hillside, then, not yet reaching the road.

“The kid is awake,” Din tells you, sounding like he’s trying to stop everything before anything starts.  His words are short and clear in their meaning, but…

This has a very small chance of success, you already know.  “…Do you want to—”

“No,” he responds quickly, already way ahead of you.  “We can’t.”

Something in his voice… you don’t know, there’s just something there that makes you feel just a little reckless.  Should you push it?  You’re by yourself in this suite, what can go wrong?

“You can’t,” you correct him quietly, shifting around on the bed just a bit and biting your lip.  It’s a thrill—being able to tease him without having him in front of you, drive him crazy knowing you’re just out of his reach.  “But I can do whatever I want, can’t I?”

There’s a pause, a tense and knowing silence suspended between you before he eventually speaks.

“I’d be real careful,” Din mutters low in warning, but what is he gonna do?

“What are you gonna do?”  You whisper to him devilishly.  Quiet and breathy, beginning to snake your hand down.  Stars, your heart is already pounding.  You’d only likely mouth off like this in person just to see how hard he’d fuck you, but this feels extra dangerous for some reason.  He’s stuck, he can’t do anything about it right now, and you know it’s playing with fire.  “You could hang up if you don’t want to hear me.  Or you could find me before I’m finished.  Come make me stop.”

Din doesn’t say anything but he very much does not hang up, nor does he come busting into your room like you imagine he’d like to.  The sheer fact that your door is still closed and locked tells you for sure that he isn’t just hanging out in the hallway, just letting you have your fun.

You start pressing your fingers against your robe at the apex of your thighs, humming at how nice the pressure feels.  You don’t even spread your legs or push the fabric away, you just sigh into it and wiggle your hips a bit, pressing hard against your clit and listening to him breathe.

“Do you want to listen?”  You ask quietly after a moment, and Din still doesn’t respond.  Likely because there’s not a real answer, both yes and no would imply the wrong thing.  “I’ll talk.”

Still, nothing from him.  Dead silence through the comm.  You’re starting to understand.  For two days, you’ve felt like he could read your every thought just by the cadence of your voice.  He’s staying quiet so you can’t even attempt to do the same to him—if he doesn’t talk, you can’t find a weakness and pounce on it, you can’t feel any more confident or reassured about your own ability to read him.

You’ll just have to push a little harder, then.

“Hm.  If only this fancy communicator could…” you pause to look down at your wrist for a second, studying the menu.  You don’t think you’ve ever really looked at it, you never had the time.

Din’s growl is sudden and sharp through the earpiece.  “No, don’t even think—”

“Ah,” you smile, tapping the face and immediately finding the correct screen.  “Take pictures.”

He’s deadly quiet for a moment, and you bite your lip with excitement.  When he does speak, his voice is a pure threat, chilling you to the bone as much as it burns deep in your tummy.  “…You wouldn’t.”

Ignoring him, you suddenly locate a menu option that sounds phenomenal right now.  “Oh shit, does this holocall?  Or is it a video option?”

“Holo,” he says very seriously while you study the lack of complexity of the built-in camera in skepticism, “and the kid is awake, so you can’t—”

“Oh, it’s definitely a video,” you unclip it from your wrist and he curses as you sit up, and then you press a button and wait impatiently for him.  “Pick up.”

Din takes forever before responding, and you hear the continuous beeps as it attempts to connect, before his quiet baritone rumbles in your ear.  “What if I don’t?”

You feel your mouth pull down at the corners, not so much frowning as you are dubious.  He’s going to turn down the opportunity to see you and your surroundings when his whole goal is locating you?  Really?

“You sure?”  You ask softly, raising an eyebrow.  “You’d get to see me, where I am.  What I’m…” your eyes dip down to the loose robe riding your curves, your skin glowing against the white fabric, “…wearing.”

The beeps continue on for a few more seconds, until they finally stop.  You frown down at the black screen of the communicator, not seeing anything at all.  Did he decline the transmission request?  No… there’s a little red light next to the small lens that wasn’t there before.  Why can’t you see him?

“Why can’t I see you?”  You ask.  You want to look at him looking at you, you don’t want to always be stuck on the other side of a one-way mirror.

“I… have it linked to my helmet, but it only has a front-facing camera,” Din tells you after a moment, and he sounds… slightly out of breath.  “Easier to see, the watch is useless now besides the controls.”

Wait, does that mean you’re… being shown on the inner-display of his helmet instead of his wrist?  Right in front of his eyes, as if he were actually here with you?

“Nobody can see me but you?”  You clarify, and when he doesn’t respond, you bite your lip and lean back into the pillows.  You lift the watch up slightly, extending your arm out until you can get the angle as wide as possible.  “Can you see… this?”  You ask softly, before hooking your fingers in the collar of your white robe and slowly pulling it open for him.

“Where are you?”  Din asks instead, and you hear his footsteps through the earpiece, as if he’s walking away from something very quickly.

You don’t answer him, parting the soft fabric until your breasts are completely exposed and you sigh, closing your eyes and snuggling back into the pillows once more.  “I’ll tell you where I am if you keep watching me.”

“Why?”  Din grits in frustration, coming back around to the same dangerous question he had earlier.  “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.”  You slowly tilt the camera down until you can spread your legs and the robe falls open with the movement, letting him see your pussy peeking through in the flickering light of the muted screen in front of your bed.  “Can you see that?”

“Yeah,” he says shakily on the end of a breath, and you feel yourself get wet.  Fuck, he sounds so fucking tempted, the sight making his voice come without any of the self-assuredness as it usually has, but… he could also just be saying that.  How do you know he’s telling you the truth?

“What am I doing?”  You test him, lifting your knee just the slightest bit so you really give him something to look at.

“Spreading your legs for a camera,” Din responds without hesitation, voice scraping against your ear, making you shiver and your nipples harden.  Fuck, the way he says it, like it’s wrong and bad even though he’s the only one who can see or hear you do it… it makes you feel even more naughty and emboldened.

You bite your lip and reach your hand down to spread your lips for him, too, hearing his breath immediately catch on the other end.  Already your pussy makes your fingers slick against your soft skin, the sash of your robe still holding the fabric together on your body but also loose enough to allow it to part in the right places and reveal everything you want him to see.

“I am in an inn,” you whisper teasingly, letting your finger drop to brush against your clit and then sighing in soft delight.  Oh stars, that feels nice, it feels so good to treat yourself after being completely nomadic for two days, getting to be clean and soft and comfortable while you feel this pleasure, and Din’s voice growls through your communicator like you’re doing something painful to him.

“Fuck,” his breathing picks up while you begin circling your clit.  “Where?”

“Nariss,” comes your quiet moan, turning your head on the pillow to blink slowly at the camera.  Wanting him to see your eyes as well as your finger slowly dip into where you’re the hottest, caressing the sensitive skin there knowing he’s watching.

“Where in Nariss?”  Din’s voice is as pleading as it is sharp, desperately trying to keep either you or himself on track.

“I don’t know,” you say again.  Truthfully, you don’t—you don’t know the cross streets, you don’t know the part of town, you don’t know much of anything at all besides physical descriptors.  You quickly move the camera to the side as far as you can hold it and let him see you from a different angle with the window as a backdrop.  “But the window is open.  And there are lots of people outside.”

“Can they see you?”  Din immediately challenges.  Of course they can’t, you’re fifteen stories up and the room is darker than it is outside with all the city lights and swirling colors of the sky, but you suppose he doesn’t know that.  You think he just needs to relax—if this is what he’s always like during hunts, you now know exactly why he comes back to you all riled up and tense.

“I don’t know,” you murmur back, starting to rub your clit a little faster, trying to make it feel like him.  It doesn’t—your fingers aren’t large or strong enough to give you those perfect circles; you just feel like you’re meandering yourself towards ecstasy instead of picking you up and hauling your ass there like he does, but it’s okay.  Hearing Din’s rough breathing come through the earpiece, knowing his hands are probably clenched tight into fists, wondering if he’s hard yet… all of it culminates into a power trip unlike any you’ve experienced recently.  It makes you bold, tells you to open your mouth.  “Does it matter?  I’d still let you fuck me against it if you were here.”

“Stop it,” comes his growl, but what is he gonna do?

Your leg lifts a little wider so you can slowly slide your fingers down and push two of them inside yourself, and Din swears as you moan, “Come find me.”

“Give me your coordinates—”

“Are you giving up?”  You offer breathlessly, lifting your eyebrows and your hips up slightly at the question, but you’re… not expecting the extended silence following.  You assumed a growled no would immediately come next, or just another empty threat said with enough force to make you tremble with excitement, but not… nothing.

The response makes you pause just for a second, easing your fingers out and dragging them across your thigh to clean some of the wetness off before extending your arm out towards the communicator.  Din stays quiet while you navigate through the menu with trembling fingers, eventually finding your coordinates and hovering over the unchecked share location box.

You wait with your lip bit, confident he knows what you’re doing and you don’t have to narrate or repeat yourself.  Fuck, you knew you were considering abandoning this entire adventure just to be next to him again, but you had no idea.  No fucking idea that it could ever be a thought in his own mind as well.  You… assumed he likes this, hunting is what he does for a living and he’s the one who conceived of the idea in the first place.  Is he just that aroused by you?  Or is there something more?

“No,” Din eventually murmurs, and you immediately navigate out of the menu so you don’t accidentally press anything catastrophic, before pulling your hand away from the communicator with a resolved hum and settling back into the pillows again.  Making sure to look directly into the lens even if your eyelids are heavy with heat and desire, you slowly lick your fingers and then reach down once more.

His deep, shaky breath is so telling.  Exhausted after all this, but still not hanging up, still doing his hardest to tough it out when he’s only miles away from you and has jets attached to his back.  You don’t want to drag it out but you also do, you want to be kind but something about Din makes you also want to be as formidable as possible.  You’ll never be able to threaten like he does, you’ll never have anyone cower just because you walked into the room, you’ll never be as powerful or strong as he is, but you can still put up a fucking fight against him in your own way.

You whimper softly, your breathing beginning to find a quicker pace as surely as your fingers do.  It begins to spark and build, a red hot flame being kindled by the knowledge that he’s as close as possible without actually being close, right here with you when he always seems so far away.

“Mando,” you whisper, though your expression pulls inwards just slightly because it… in a scenario as sensual and intimate as this, it almost doesn’t sound righ—

“Din,” he whispers back, so quiet you almost don’t hear it, like he almost doesn’t want to but has to anyways, and then you just start to fucking burn.

“D-Din,” you whisper instead, trying to keep your voice as quiet as possible through the rising swell.  He’ll be able to see it, you think.  The way your tummy and chest start to heave, how your body begins to brace for it—and yeah, Maker, he sees it, because his voice suddenly changes.

“Stop,” Din growls roughly, knowing exactly how you cum—knowing exactly what it looks like, the way it sounds in your breathing, what it tastes like, how it feels on the inside.  It’s been so long since you’ve touched bliss without him, months and months since you brought yourself to completion on the floor of the Crest by yourself, and though he’s rarely ever denied you, your own high on newfound control causes it to slip.  He barks your name and tells you to stop once more, but it’s too late.

“I’m gonna cum, Din,” you breathe out—

“Don’t—”

It tears through you, rapid and surging, and he snarls a curse, something loud snapping and thudding and… did he just punch something?  You can’t think, it’s delicious and hard as fuck and everything you needed after two days of near constant movement and thought with little rest, and you bite your lip to keep quiet but a pained whimper still shoves its way out of your tense vocal cords regardless.  It sounds like it hurts because it does hurt; the orgasm shatters your body into pieces and you’re left trembling by yourself on this soft bed, wishing he was with you on a metal one.

You sink into the mattress in the moments following, sluggish and exhausted and just conscious enough to keep the watch facing you.  You bet the camerawork was terrible, shaky at best, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.  You just lay there and listen to his harsh breathing while you work to slow your heart rate, reveling in the filthy little show you just gave him and wanting to finish it out properly.

“Come find me,” you breathe out once more, lazing soft and naked for him, blinking dazedly at the watch as you pan it over you.  Your thighs are still twitching and there’s a thin sheen of sweat clinging to you, but you drag a finger through your swollen lips and carefully wipe the wetness across one of your nipples.  “Clean me up.”

“Fuck,” Din suddenly spits through the earpiece, furious.  “You think—y-you think—”

“What?”  You hum, basking in the afterglow and so, so curious.  Truly, you’re dumb as fuck, you have no clue what you’re thinking, but if anybody would be able to tell you, it’s him.

There’s a moment where his breathing stops.  It’s completely silent on the line, before you hear another few heavy footsteps on his end pick up and then halt just as quickly.

“You think you can taunt me?”   He murmurs, dangerous and deadly quiet.  “Show me exactly where you are, disappear and then make me waste forever trying to get there?  You think that’s gonna work?”

Your eyebrow lifts, considering.  He… may or may not have predicted your strategy perfectly, but his insight has stopped surprising you by now.  “Maybe…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep tonight.”

Ooh.  That one sends goosebumps down your arms, but you’ve gained four hours on top of a twelve hour headstart.  He can’t scare you with that tone, not when you’re still woozy with pleasure and he isn’t right in front of you.  Instead of wilting beneath the hard threat, you just blink gently at the communicator, finding strength in being the only one to get him this mad when he’s always so composed, this talkative when he barely says a word.  “Maybe I’ll just stay here then?”

“Maybe you wanted me to know you’re in an inn because you already found someplace to hide that isn’t one,” Din reasons very, very adeptly.  Stars, your heart subtly begins to pick up, your legs continuing to tremble as the small red light next to the lens stares you down.  “Can’t be planning to stay with someone you just met because you’d already be there, can’t be going to a hostel because you found the one city on this moon built for commerce and not aid.  Not staying in another inn, you can’t afford it—the view looks high up, that robe is expensive, and you already bought food and at least five pairs of shoes in two days.  I don’t think the place you found is even in Nariss.  You think you can outsmart me, sweet girl?”

The chill down your spine doesn’t reach your eyes, you won’t let it.  You just feel yourself smile, tilting your head at him and licking your lips while your finger brushes one of your nipples, but Din doesn’t accept your silence the way you’ve always accepted his.  He wants an answer from you, right now, and it’s clear in the dark rumble of his voice, the danger slowly brewing beyond what you originally planned for.

“Tell me,” he orders, unamused and leaving no room to disobey.  “How long do you think you can keep running?”

Your eyelashes flutter, suddenly deciding… why not?  What have you got to lose?  Nothing that you didn’t already go into this situation completely expecting to lose anyways.  What’s the worst he can do?  Find you?

You close your eyes, pinching one of your nipples and wondering if you might just go for another one since he’s still here.  “Ask me again tomorrow.”

But then, instead of immediately responding, you just hear Din’s footsteps suddenly pick up, faster than any pace you’ve been able to keep over the past few days.  You don’t think it sounds like a run necessarily, but you know that his legs and strides are far longer than yours and it’s probably pretty much equivalent to a run for you.  You hear the rhythm of your demise speeding up, coming closer and closer, and everything in you both fears it and welcomes it.

“We’ll see,” he tells you, and then the red light vanishes and your earpiece clicks to silence.

***

Day 3—2:23am:

Even though it takes you much longer to do so than it normally would on a bed so large and comfortable, after such an exciting interaction and not being used to flickering light when you try to sleep but wanting to experience the rarity anyways, you’re eventually able to pass out.

But, not even a few minutes into a restless dream, you turn over and accidentally knock your communicator off the wireless charging station on the side table.  It blinks with four percent battery life.

***

To be continued!!