#this got so meandering this has no structure at all

[cuubism]

Okay but AFTER Dream dramatically storms into Desire's realm yelling "WTF did you do to Hob" I can't imagine Desire just...ignored that. They 100% had to go check out this human and see what is so interesting that Dream is all twisted up in knots over him. Can very much picture Desire swanning into the New Inn in their craziest Lady Gaga outfit already drinking a cosmopolitan and introducing themselves to Hob. Because Desire realises that rather than plotting Dream's downfall they can fuck with Dream INFINITELY more by bothering his immortal crush. It's the sibling instinct.

oh. they DEFINITELY will. and like. eventually dream explains his whole thought process, and the fact that desire has fucked with him in the past (hob: dear god why is your family so fucked up), and dream is basically like: DO NOT. ENGAGE WITH DESIRE. IF THEY TRY TO TALK TO YOU. just call me (he still does not have a phone so unclear how this will work) and i'll kick their ass.

critical point: dream did not in any way tell hob how to IDENTIFY DESIRE.

---

The person who struts -- it's really the only word Hob can think of -- over to the bar at the New Inn makes him uneasy, though he can't say why. Hob is not made uncomfortable easily, he's lived too long and been in too many scrapes to feel intimidated in his own pub, of all places.

But something about them makes his hackles rise. The eyes, maybe. They're too cunning.

But he's not in the habit of throwing people out on looks so he just offers a tight smile and says, "Get you something?"

He's tending bar himself, today. Gives him something to do between terms. And he finds himself strangely grateful to have the bar between him and his strange customer as they slide onto one of the bar stools.

"Cosmo, please," they say, voice like sugar halfway to caramelizing, a bit of pop and smoke in the smooth glide.

This is a bit of an odd drink selection for eleven in the morning, but Hob has, at various points in his life though thankfully no longer, done lines of cocaine before even having breakfast, so he really has no pedestal from which to judge.

"Coming right up."

The bar at the New Inn is well-stocked nowadays. Used to be, they served mainly beer and wine, nothing fancy. Then Hob made the horrible mistake of promising his students an end of term cocktail-making class if they came to all the exam review sessions -- because he does actually know how to make drinks, he's been alive for six centuries, thanks very much -- and now it's become a thing and he's stuck doing it forever.

Then Dream took to his drinks, and alcohol is no substitute for food but getting Dream to eat or drink anything is a bloody miracle, so if that anything is the bougiest mixture of alcohols Hob can come up with, well--

Actually. Actually that might be worse than nothing at all.

Makes Dream happy though, so what is Hob to do? Keep ordering luxardo cherries and elderflower liqueur until he outlives them, that's what.

He finishes shaking the drink under the heavy gaze of his guest and pours, sliding it across the table to them.

Hob feels like he's being sized up by a predator as they take a long, delicate sip. The color of the drink matches the pink of their blazer. Hob is struggling to recall if said blazer was actually pink when they arrived.

"Ah. You mix a good drink, Hob Gadling," they say, propping their head on their hand, looking a him from under their lashes, and, ah, so that's what this is.

Hob leans on the bar. "What sort of... entity are you, then?"

Their whole face brightens in what Hob thinks is delight. "Oh! So you are a perceptive one. Get a lot of entities in here, do you, Robert?"

"'Bout as many as can be expected. That's not an answer."

They pout. "Neither is yours. And can't a being just pop by the local speakeasy for a drink without being interrogated?"

"Seems a little unfair that you know my name, and I don't know yours," Hob points out. "Names have power, and so on, isn't that the thing?"

His guest studies him. "You are both far more normal and far less normal than I'd been expecting. Fascinating."

Um.

Before Hob is forced to respond to that, the door swings open to reveal Dream, shrouded in darkness and nighttime and vibrating with electrical fury. Shadows crawl up the windows. All the lights in the inn flicker out.

Oh boy.

"I," Dream says, each word a thunderclap, shining gaze fixed on Hob's guest at the bar, "Explicitly. Forbade. You. From. Interfering."

"What are you going to do, hit me?" taunts the other entity, leaning back on their stool, drink balanced in one hand.

Hob looks back and forth between them, wondering if he should fetch a weapon. He keeps a cricket bat here somewhere, surely...

"Dream, love," he says, once he's decided it's better to try to deescalate the situation rather than introducing further weaponry, "your usual?"

Dream nods, stalking over to the bar. His gaze flits briefly to Hob, softening, before snapping right back to the other being.

"I see you remain incapable of heeding a warning," he says, all ice.

"It's not really part of my nature," they say. "I see it, I like it... well, you get it."

Oh. Oh no.

Cautiously, Hob slides his drink over to Dream. Without breaking eye contact with... Desire? it must be, and thanks, Dream, for the complete lack of description, Dream picks up his drink and downs the whole thing in one long swallow.

Ooooooh boy.

"Desire," Hob says, and they perk up at his realization of their name, looking over at him, "might be better if you were going now."

Desire lets out a frustrated huff. "Ugh, of course. I certainly don't want to upset 'ole Nightmare here."

"You certainly don't want my fist in your jaw," Hob says, more audible threat in it than he intends -- but he remembers Dream's halting confession, about how often love had turned out to be manipulation, and he thinks he should be congratulated on his restraint, actually.

Desire just laughs, and-- ah, Hob is starting to see that there's no winning with this one. Even and especially when you haven't agreed to the game.

"I suppose I'll be going then, before the fists start flying." They slide out of their seat and glide towards the door, waving. "Nice meeting you, Robert! I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again, soon."

I don't doubt it, Hob thinks.

They take their drink with them. Hob's not feeling particularly inclined to chase down that glass.

Dream still hasn't moved. He stares after Desire, empty glass about to crack in his grip.

"Dream?"

"I said that you should call for me," Dream says, the ghost of words.

With what means, exactly? Hob thinks. Damned enigmatic shadow of a man. "You didn't tell me who to look out for."

"Oh." Dream finally snaps out of his daze. "Yes. I apologize."

"Come sit down."

Hob fetches a glass of water and drags Dream over to their usual booth, pushing the water into his hands. "Drink that."

Dream stares down at it. "Why?"

"Because you just chugged a drink you usually sip for hours. Drink."

"I will not get drunk unless I choose to," Dream says.

"Have you tested that?" Hob asks.

Dream's brows furrow. "...No."

"Then let's not do that now. Drink. Come on."

Dream sips at the water. "I am sorry," he says, slowly, "about Desire."

"And I'm sorry I didn't actually punch them," Hob says, making Dream look up at him in surprise. "Well. Sort of. Wouldn't want to make it worse."

A smile tugs at Dream's lips. "You would... defend my honor?"

"Always," Hob vows. "I'd defend you. Don't care if the devil himself has it out for you."

"That may well happen," Dream says.

Hob stares at Dream. Dream stares back.

"Oh," Hob says, or maybe just hopes, "you're making a joke."

"No," says Dream. "Lucifer and I are on poor terms at the moment. She may seek revenge."

Hob keeps staring at him. Dream meets his gaze evenly.

Hob scrubs his hands through his hair. "Lucifer and you..."

Why was it always like this?

When he looks up again, Dream is smirking at him. "You're a menace," Hob tells him. "One day, you're going to give me the full rundown of everyone who has beef with you so I can be prepared."

"That will be a long list," Dream says.

"Of course it is," Hob sighs.

Dream takes his hand as if he can comfort Hob through all of the insane interactions he's sure to have with strange beings in the near future. The worst thing is, it works. Hob squeezes his hand and immediately remembers why he's willing to do anything for him.

"I'd go to Hell for you," he says. "I'd prefer not to, though, if it's all the same."

"That is my preference as well," says Dream.

There's a lot Hob would do for Dream. It's probably unhealthy. But what's the point of living six hundred years if you're going to spend it all being healthy, anyway.

"Why do so many people have problems with you, anyway?" Hob asks.

Hob knows. Hob fucking knows why.

Dream pouts. "Matthew tells me my social skills are 'less than adequate.'"

That's one way to phrase 'you act like an arrogant dick 85% of the time.' Matthew should receive a medal for his tact.

Hob loves that arrogant dick, though, God fucking damn him.

"All the more reason to get me that list, then," Hob says. "Maybe we can prevent you from creating an interdimensional incident."

"Will you accomplish this by threatening to punch them in the face?" Dream asks, completely neutral.

"Okay, you know what? Fair," Hob admits, and Dream chuckles. "Perhaps neither of us is cut out for diplomacy. The point, though, is: of course I'd defend you. I love you."

Dream kisses the back of his hand. As if he's only just now realized what he's done to Hob's pub, the lights all flicker back on.

"Thank Christ, I thought I was going to have to replace all those bulbs."

"Do you think I would do that to you?" Dream says with a tiny smile, Hob's hand still pressed to his lips.

You've done worse than that to me, Hob thinks. Better, too. So much better.

"No, love," he says, "I know you wouldn't."

[syndrossi]

resonant ch25 dvd commentary

Inspired by @cloud-harasser's ask, some dvd commentary of the latest chapter. No idea how I'm gonna be structuring these, so we'll just meander aimlessly until I settle on a format!

Favorite line: "The crown he had so coveted, she mused, had come to wear him." (Rhaenys)

Mostly because there's so much behind it. Obviously there's Rhaenys's own bitterness over the Great Council and her belief that Viserys's rule has weakened their family. But also how it has, in many ways, weakened Viserys himself. His health, his happiness, his relationship with his family. The crown consumes, if you are not strong enough--and perhaps even if you are.

In general Viserys + the weight of his crown is a subtle (or perhaps not!) theme in the chapter:

"He gladly forgot his crown when it did not suit him, only to brandish it like a sword when it did..."

"Viserys looked from Daemon to her, and then back, closing both hands around his cane, as though it were a scepter."

"His hand found his hair, as though to push back the weight of his crown, his sigh loud in the sudden quiet of the room."

"If Viserys decided to take his supper with only his crown for company, that was his own choice."

The crown constantly isolates and wearies Viserys, which is why he's constantly trying to put it down, and be just Viserys: a brother, a cousin, an uncle, a father. But to Rhaenys's point, he only puts it down and picks it back up when it suits him.

(I always worry that people think I dislike Viserys or am going out of my way to make him unlikeable, but honestly I find his struggle to be a very compelling one.)

Favorite moment: A toss-up between Rhaenys reaching for the wine to deal with this bullshit and Daemon comforting Jon by the hearth.

Favorite dynamic: Rhaenys and her cousins. Rhaenys's viewpoint of them is somewhat frozen in time (moreso Daemon than Viserys), but it's still pretty accurate. Since this story is very Daemon+Jon+Rhaegar-focused, we usually see Daemon in a very positive light, OR we see him as the ultimate villain from Alicent and Otto's POVs. Rhaenys is a fun middle ground. She is able to call attention to / muse upon his faults while still remaining fond of him.

"Quick" hitters:

This was one of the more frustrating/difficult chapters for me to write, because it took me a while to settle into Rhaenys's voice. Her POV is one of the most heavily edited scenes I've done.

I went back and forth between two versions of the boys' disappearance. There's a natural pause in the Viserys-Rhaenys-Daemon conversation (when they're talking about the Princesguard and also the Stepstones) where you could slip a scene break in. I wrote it originally from Rhaenys's POV, which is what we ultimately got, but I also partially wrote it from Jon's before deciding it was stronger to have Rhaenys's perspective. We'll save the secret passage spelunking for another time!

I originally had Jon bestow the name of his hatchling in this chapter when he introduced him to Rhaenys, but this wasn't really the appropriate place for Daemon + Rhaegar to react to it, so it got moved to 26, which is all about dragons! (The chapter is literally called "Dragonkeeping"!)

It's subtle, but Rhaegar latches on to Rhaenys hard as the first Targaryen woman he's encountered. Hugging her almost choked him up, and he was upset when she announced she'd be leaving soon.

Cut partial Jon POV scene in the secret passages (standard disclaimer that this is raw/unedited lol:

“Are we lost?” What Rhaegar had assured him was a five minute walk through tunnels beneath the holdfast to emerge in a small crypt on the edge of the garden—one of many for Queen Rhaenys, whose body had never been returned to her homeland—had become fifteen minutes of navigating tunnels that ended abruptly or in doors locked behind chains, or switches that did not work. “Much has changed,” Rhaegar said, fixing the latest dead end with a betrayed glare. “Or changed after, I suppose. Some of the tunnels must have been extended later, and chains removed.” He frowned in thought. “During the Dance, perhaps? It is not known how Aegon escaped the Red Keep.” Their plan to sneak to the king’s chamber in support of their father, exchanged in hushed whispers in Princess Rhaenyra’s chambers, was beginning to look doomed to failure. Jon followed Rhaegar back to their current tunnel, where his brother exhaled in frustration. Their hatchlings, who were entertaining themselves by zipping along the dark corridors, did not seem to mind. In fact, they seemed to rather enjoy the cave-like interior of the rougher-hewn spaces. Rhaegar held his torch up, their only source of light, turning to peer down each side of the tunnel. “There is a small passage near the tunnel to Flea Bottom that leads to the Queen’s Ballroom within Maegor’s Holdfast. I did not want to use it, because we will have to cross most of the holdfast to reach the king’s chamber. We will be spotted before we reach it.” “How far?” Jon asked. “Another ten minutes. We are on the opposite side of the Red Keep right now, nearer to the Tower of the Hand.” Jon grimaced. By the time they reached it, Laenor would almost certainly have raised an alarm, but the same was true of returning to the passage leading to Rhaenyra’s chamber. Then he remembered Rhaegar’s story from before. “Aren’t we near where the dragonglass mosaic is? Beneath the Tower of the Hand?” Rhaegar turned to him in surprise. “You wish to see it now?”

[hottakehoulihan]

This is a rant/musing/meandering about Worm fans WRT Wildbow. I think it's time I at least once made myself an unsubtly dissenting voice, since silence indicates agreement to so many. Move on if you like. This is probably mostly for me.

I'm white, from the USA, grew up with thrift store clothes and scavenged pencils but got to visit the dentist when needed, and was raised in the same ethnocentric, homophobic, fatphobic, ableist, Puritan-influenced culture that most of us were. I try to routinely examine and correct my biases and blind spots. I am trying to see what I might be missing, with as open a mind as I can manage.

I reread Worm (fourth readthrough, but my retention is meh) these last few months actually looking for any evidence at all I could find of the various phobias (all of them, it seems, and also the vaunted hates-drug-users) that some folk like to assert Wildbow has. I didn't find much that didn't--IMHO--more closely fit an accurate description of how the characters (including Taylor, who is literally a child that grew up in an even less-enlightened environment than most of us) are biased. This, coupled with an unfortunate shortsightedness of methodology (do NOT use dice when you write your story. It seems like a good idea to naive youth, but We Do Not Live in a world where you can just let RNG dictate that your [insert bad thing] is committed by [insert group that is already stereotyped as doing that bad thing]. (Though sometimes that's gonna happen in real life too, and art depicting things that happen in real life is Not Always Bad you just have to be careful about context and tone.) Also, try not to accidentally/subconsciously follow Hayes code-influenced patterns. ...though that's hard to do when you're making almost EVERY character a morally grey one) is all the support I see.

Whew, that was a weird parenthetical juxtaposition. Should I rewrite? Nah; it's already taking too much time.

Seriously, how many actually 100% goodguy fleshed characters does Worm have? Arguably zero. Even Yamada and Legend, by dint of having to work within the confines of their structures, made concessions to evils. Dinah made her ruthless calculus decisions just as Cauldron did. Taylor's famously grey self-justifications were agonized over no more or less than Parian's. A perfect character would be a blemish, arguably. (I'll just take Amy as my woobie; after more than a dozen years of emotional abuse and neglect by her kidnappers, she deserves a bit of consideration and rehabilitation.)

And just like I'm willing to assume that Gregor's somehow flawed, like he offscreen asserted that there are acceptable civilian losses when you're doing crimes or assaulting Cauldrons, and that's clearly bullshit because there's no actual evidence Gregor is anything less than perfect but it's easier to assume evils (and more fun to talk shit) than not, I figure a bunch of folk are trying to fit in by agreeing and priming their confirmation biases accordingly.

And this is without, even, considering the millions of other words in non-Worm stuff. You're gonna read Pale and tell me this same junk?

...though, well, perhaps my cutie Biscuit, and a thing Louise said about addicts essentially vanishing from the lives of their loved ones, might count as being against habitual recreational narcotic use. I'll think about that over my next bottle of wine.

I like reading light novels, and fluffy fanfics, and similar, even though usually the characters involved seldom have what you might call facets. When the retired orc warrior who started a gnomish coffeeshop moves on to her next volume, I'm there, and I don't care if I never find out that she once had to choose between leaving baby goblins to die in a fire or saving a teammate from a spike trap.

I've read so many stories where there's no such thing as an 'ism', or rather there's just no example of representation, because every character is two steps away from being an AFGNCAAP (Ageless, Faceless, Gender-Neutral, Culturally-Ambiguous Adventure Person)

I think Wildbow is serious about trying to always be a better writer in the approaching-MFA sense. I see efforts to portray believable behavior of real "human" (whether human or not) characters from multiple backgrounds, in a world that scans as plausibly diverged from the same sort of ugly we live in today.

I do not see any more latent phobias of any sort than I see in pretty much anything else available to read, from fanfic to bestseller lists to "new favorites" lists at the local library. In fact, I see markedly less, to include some (fuck 'em) commenters complaining about shoehorned-in wokeness.

It's weird to me that, given the body of work and the literal black-and-white facts about who and what exist within, and the extra time and effort the author made and makes (too much, IMO) generously engaging with the fans, the default is to diss the author for not doing even more. In their first work. Of which half the concept and much of the worldbuilding dated from grade-school practice. And it's still great.

And I'm saying this about a story where a significant number of the villains are literally white male nazis, torturemurderers, and literally inhuman terrorists. You wouldn't expect people to be demanding a lot of nuance if you were an outsider to this story. But Worm delivers, IMO.

This is not in response to anything recent; I've been chewing on this for years prior to even joining tumblr or creating this username.

tl;dr: Are you sure you're not talking shit about Wildbow just to fit in with the other cool snarksters and feel cool and cynical and superior? Instead of sincere? Because I went looking, and, respectfully, I think you're wrong. And it's a bit ugly and sad.

[roguephenon]

IV: The Delightful Tale of Sector Z and the Last Soopreme Leader, Numbuh Three

Link has been reestablished. Now resuming trans—

ERROR. ERROR.

Re-calibrating…

The Big Super-Computer-ma-bob apologizes for this inconvenience.

Please enjoy this supplementary operation report while database is reconstructed.

:Accessing way-back mission archives:

Now loading kids next door mission:

Operation: T.E.A*

Terrible.

Evil.

Arises.

*Warning. System has tagged operation designation as a duplicate. SYSTEM ADMIN, please rectify…

many, many, years ago

In space, no one can hear you scream.

Unless you were on Kids Next Door Moonbase.

There? People could hear you screaming out the wazoo.

Why, there was so much screaming going on there; it was practically white noise for Global Command. If there ever was a moment when there wasn't the lively chatter of a buhmillion kids from all walks of life communing on the base to end all bases, then it was either winter holiday break or something was terribly, horribly wrong.

At the moment, it was barely Thanksgiving. And given how quiet the Moonbase currently was, it was safe to say the silence was due to the latter scenario.

I.e. something bad was going down.

In docking bay eleventeen, a gaggle of operatives stiffly patrolled the area. Their movements were almost robotic, and their once bright eyes were now dull and listless as they meandered about, attending to some command with nary a fuss.

"Come on, guys! Snap out of it!" came a muffled shout from a holding cell. A fist pounded against the metal door, frantic eyes glaring out the tiny peephole. "You gotta fight it!"

The guard of the door, a random cafeteria working armed with a SCAMP rifle, narrowed her eyes at the door. "Be…quiet…"

Her tone lacked agency. Devoid of any emotion.

The prisoner redoubled their efforts, the door trembling under their futile efforts. "I got injured operatives and scared cadets in here, you jerk!" His voice was littered with panicked urgency. "One of them needs an inhaler! ASA-NOW!"

The cafeteria guard ignored him, focusing on her single-minded directive.

Suddenly, the docking bay lit up as a single SCAMPER hovered up to the loading terminal. Nearby, an out of place DOH-DOH Squad officer jerkily directed a gaggle science nerds to form up around the galley plank.

All children present crowded around the ship, the sights of their rifles steady against the hull's structural weak points.

The door to the SCAMPER hissed open, weapons humming madly in response.

"Don't…move," the kid in charge demanded of the unknown pilot. He glared. "State…your…business."

From the bowels of the ship, an accented voice cried, "Pizza delivery!"

"We did not order a…" the guard blinked, everyone looking down confused as a pizza box was chucked in the middle of their group. "…pizza?"

The cardboard lid slowly opened on its own, an angel choir sounding off as they all bore witness to the golden glory of the fabled Ninety-Nine Cheese New York Style Pizza.

Even in their mind-addled stated state, all operatives present couldn't stop their mouths from salivating.

Steam rose from the pie's crust as the cheese atop it began to boil and bubble.

SPLOOOOOOOSH!

The uncut, medium-sized pie exploded in a gooey burst of Parmesan, Asiago, and mozzarella. The force blew back all caught unaware, their bodies glued and trapped to nearby surfaces by hot, sticky cheese.

The way clear, a small figure cockily ambled out of the scamper. An African-American boy strutted onto the Moonbase proper, dressed in a worn, orange jumpsuit, the torso folded down to reveal the stretchy white jersey baggy against his chest. He kicked the toes of his Nike sneakers against the deck, pumping up his kicks for the inevitable butt-whooping he was about to dish out.

Jerome Kingsly used the nozzle of his blaster to adjust his shades, combing through his messy fro whilst his lips curled into a self-assured smirk. "Down in Brooklyn, we call that the Nine-Nine Special."

"Numbuh Nine-Nine! Over here!"

WARNING. This a long chapter. Please give yourself breaks :3

[nathanbatemanfucker]

summary: never wanted love, just a fancy car.

pairing: cowgirl!reader x cowboy!din

contents: 18+/nsfw/smut, cowboy au, typical Wild West violence & values (murder, stealing), flirting, pining, perceived unrequited feelings, yearning (if you squint)

wc: 4k

an: part two comin at yaaaaa. these two are so special to me. reader does have a code name in this that she uses, so if your name is scarlet sorry in advance!

series masterlist | writing masterlist

ch 1: takes one to know one

You don’t discuss the logistics or practicality of sticking together, you just do it. After meandering in Strawberry a few days longer to garner more money and supplies the two of you head southeast.

Din has a tent. You’ve gotten used to traveling as light as possible and staying in structures that already exist so as not to draw attention to yourself. But you already feel safer traveling with him. You feel yourself loosening up in the wake of his companionship and competency. And in that, you find a discomfort you’re not ready to unpack.

The town you end up in after dabbling in Strawberry– Cheyenne– is the closest thing you’ve seen to a true city. There are talks and whispers of New York and all the structure and opportunity it brings. Bustling with thousands of folk, buggies, art, and theater. Not to mention proper plumbing. But, settling down isn’t an option right now– or ever—you quickly remind yourself, as not to get your hopes up for something that doesn’t exist. Besides, you’re not sure you could ever imagine yourself working a steady job. Staying put in one place sounds so…stagnant.

Cheyenne is markets in back alleys, crowded streets, and a view of the sea. You’re grateful for the cool, salty air of the coast during this hellish summer. But the city has its cons: mixed in with the salty air is the stench of pollution that comes with such a populated place. Its lawman force— ever present and large— works to you and Din’s disadvantage. The work you do is harder in a place like this but the spoils will last you ten times over than in places like Strawberry or Annesburg.

You and Din have taken a room at an inn close to the edge of the city. You’ve just returned from a bath down the hall, one that was well overdue. Din’s already dressed in sleeping clothes, his hair wet and slicked back from his own bath. For just a moment you wonder what his hair feels lik. If it's as soft or thick as it looks. Whatever spell that is breaks when he closes his eyes as you enter in just a towel, turning over in the bed.

There’s nothing there for him, not that you can pick up. It shouldn’t matter, there’s nothing there for you either. He’s your partner, life has been so much better with him at your side already. It runs smoother, it feels safer. The fuzzy, unfocused picture that you were living in sharpened. Why would either of you even think to jeopardize something that works so well with the simple thought of more? You won’t.

“There’s a big wig in this city. Robert Leroy— folks call him Bobby,” You say to distract yourself from the sinking feeling in your stomach.

“What’s he got to do with anythin’? We’ve got our targets.”

You and Din had stopped at the jail as soon as you’d entered the city, eager to pick up as many bounties as you could. It earns you some trust with the lawmen and gives you an excuse to meander the city at any time, asking questions to get the lay of the land and search for real targets. This time it was easier than that, but it doesn’t mean you won’t maximize your time here, exploring every possible avenue of income.

“Bobby is the reason they’re our targets. I used my charm on the sheriff, he says Bobby’s the one who put the price on their heads. We get them and maybe we get invited to that big fancy party that’s next week.”

You aren’t able to see it, but Din frowns, teeth gritting at the mention of using your charm. He should be used to it by now, and it should never bother him. But in the recesses of his mind, there’s no denying that it does. None of those men deserve to look at you, let alone witness your charm.

“Party,” Din repeats, sounding skeptical.

“It’s at his house. His mansion. The one full of expensive shit,” You explain as you slip into the only thing of your mother’s you have left— an old, scratchy nightgown.

“You’re still not sellin’ it, girl.”

“We can’t pass up all the riches in that man’s house, Din. You’ll have to deal. I’ll charm, you’ll steal and we’ll leave this place,” You insist as you slide into bed next to him, facing away so that your backs are just a few inches apart.

Din’s body radiates heat and despite the sweltering heat, you stay beneath the blanket with him. Sometimes if the two of you sleep close enough to the other, you’ll wake up tangled in his arms the next morning. Neither of you say anything about it, going about those mornings as if they’re any other. And maybe they are.

“Do we gotta?”

“Strawberry’s reapings will only last so long,” You reason, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“You charm, I steal,” He repeats his version of your words and you can hear the mirth in his sandy voice.

“I just said that.”

“Did you? I didn’t hear,” He stretches, snuggling further in the mattress.

“You’re full of shit.”

He snorts, shaking his head, “Go to bed, girl, we’ve got busy days ahead.”

Din was right— the next week the two of you work from sunrise to sunset capturing all the bounties you’d collected from the sheriff. Some are easier than others, frequented black markets or popular bars for folk that run in your lifestyle.

But there’s one that’s tedious to catch; Stagecoach Mary, a notorious cowgirl who you’ve always admired all holed up in her little shack that rests in its own little bayou just outside of the city. The shootout with her eats up most of your ammo, and a bullet ends up grazing your arm. Din gets Mary hog-tied and strapped to his horse before he comes to check on you. He’s deathly quiet like he always is, but you can feel the urgency in his movements. He removes your button-down without asking, using some of the water in his canteen to cleanse the wound before he covers it in salve and wraps it.

“You alright?” He asks quietly as he helps you back into your shirt.

Your eyes go a bit wide at the raw sound of concern in his voice, but you quickly brush it off, “S’just a scratch, I’ll be just fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, Din,” You say gently, and though it stings like a bitch, you aren’t going to say differently. The last thing your resolve needs is him fawning over you, worried about your health.

His gaze raises to meet yours, eyes narrowing to appraise you before he sighs and starts towards his horse. Mary is quiet on the ride back thankfully, and when you drop her off at the sheriff’s office, you get exactly what you two have been working so hard for. Bobby himself is there– the sheriff had told him about you and Din, how promising your skills had been so far and he wanted to thank you both personally.

He looks like money, with frills and shiny leather shoes, his hair slicked back with a pomade that smells like pine, ““I can’t thank you fine people enough. She’s been a real thorn in my side.”

You take the hand he’s offered, shaking it daintly, “We’re happy to help Mr. LeRoy, no one should have to leave in fear.”

Leroy squeezes your hand before bending to kiss it, “Please, sweetheart, call me Bobby.”

You giggle softly, batting your eyelashes at him, “Bobby, then. I’m Scar. This is my partner Djarin.”

Din blinks in surprise before quickly schooling his expression into the impassive mask he’s so good at. It's the first that he’s heard of your name. He knows that this is part of the charm, knows that you wouldn’t give this man– or any man– your real name, but curiosity blooms inside of him. Had you just picked it randomly? Did it have any deeper meaning? Is it close to your real name?

“Scar? As in Scarlet? What a precious little gem,” Bobby runs his hand down the length of your arm, turning to look at Din with a glint of jealousy in his eyes. “Djarin, bet you never get enough of this sweet woman’s charm.”

“We aren’t— she’s my workin’ partner, s’all,” Din says firmly, though the way that he clenches his jaw says otherwise.

But who is Bobby to tell a grown man how he truly feels? Especially if he can reap benefits. He grins, turning back to look at you, “Well I’ll be hog wallered, I thought a dime like you’d be taken, Scar. If that’s true…I’m having this grand party in just a few days. Come, the both of you.”

“Oh, we couldn’t Bobby!”

“I insist!”

A sly grin spreads across your face and you smooth your hand over his, “Well if you insist. We’ll be there.”

A few nights later, after spending the days in fitting rooms, shopping (and stealing), you and Din are finishing up getting ready for the party in your inn room. You peek around the partition to make sure that he’s dressed and your mouth goes dry. He’s in a sleek black suit, the silver accents of his belt buckle and cowboy boots glinting in the last rays of sun that flood the small room. He looks incredible, his hair wet and slicked back, skin scrubbed completely clean. You lean back, bracing yourself against the wall as you force those thoughts out of your head. A distraction, you need a distraction. You look down at your dress, toying with the skirts– perhaps your distraction could be in distracting him.

“How do I look?” You ask as you step from behind the partition, holding your arms out as if to present yourself.

Din simply stares at you, and you’re about to tell him to forget it when he finally speaks. “You look—“ He stops, going quiet for what seems like forever before he clears his throat.

“What, is it? I look bad, don’t I? It’s stuffy, but we gotta look the part.” Your head tilts as you turn this and that way, watching the skirt flutter as you twirl.

“You look—it’s good,” He supplies, turning towards the mirror to fiddle with his tie. He swallows, ignoring the way the fabric of his tie sticks to his sweaty hands.

You turn to look at him, frown deepening as you smooth your hands down the intricate corset of the dress, “You sure? I need him to look at me, and if it’s not pleasin'—“

“It’s plenty pleasin’, now finish up and let’s go.”

You and Din rented a carriage, standing out to others invited would just make this evening worse. The ride– like most of your traveling with Din– is quiet, and you fiddle with your fingers, forcing yourself not to pick at the polish you’d gotten down for the occasion.

The mansion is grand, all cream with pillars and statues so delicate they look fit to shatter if you look at them wrong. You’re guided inside by men dressed in impeccable suits, hor devours and glasses of champagne pressed into your hands as you make your way through the expansive foyer and down the stairs into an even large backyard.

This is something you could only imagine in those moving pictures you’ve only had time to see once or twice. There are tables full of food and alcohol, droves of people dressed to the nines dancing and laughing and eating. And while you’re impressed, disgust accompanies it. The excess when there are so many who don’t have enough to make it a week. You’d seen plenty of unhoused folks on the streets as you and Din explored Cheyenne and this party could feed them all for days on end. You swallow your disdain for everyone here by focusing on the goal and painting a smile on your face as you breeze through the crowd. Try as you might, you can’t find Bobby so you park at a table that’s moderately far from the various groups of others.

“Maybe he hasn’t come out yet,” You whisper to Din as you pretend to look over some of the food. It looks so fancy that it’ll make you sick.

“Stay here and watch for’em, I’ll see what I can find out.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he skates through the crowd easily and your mouth turns down in a frown when he’s stopped by a beautiful woman. To your surprise, he doesn’t blow her off, smiling as he begins to talk to her. You’ve never seen Din like this before. In the short month or so that you two have been together, you’ve been the lead on charming as all the places you’ve been in teem with men and their testosterone. You aren’t sure what this feeling is that rises in your chest as you watch the woman Din is talking to throw her head back with laughter. What you do know is that you want to end. Your feet are moving you towards him before you can think logically about it.

“Djarin, could I speak to you for a moment?” You say in your sweetest, most polite voice— emphasis on your southern drawl.

The woman he’s speaking to gives you a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes.

Din excuses you both, walking you over to a quiet spot beneath an ice sculpture that is surprisingly intact despite the heat of tonight’s air, “What is it, girl?”

Delicately as not to draw anyone’s attention, you remove your arm from his grasp, mouth pressed into a thin line, “What the hell happened to ‘you charm, I steal’?”

“She’s been in the house before. I was gettin’ the lay of it. You ain’t doing much charming if you’re chewin’ me out, are you? Look who it is.”

Bobby has finally made an appearance.

You narrow your eyes at him but stay silent. Din just stares back, unphased and you eventually give up, slinking off to do your part. To charm. Once you’re by his side, Bobby stays close to you like a bee stuck in honey– it's annoying really but this life has given you incredible acting skills so he’s none the wiser.

Lucky for you he gets distracted by some bigwig oil men who start to throw around some big numbers. You stand by his side, listening politely– gathering the names of these men just in case you ever run into them again– until you grow bored. You excuse yourself to the powder room, assuring him that you’ll return shortly as you leave the sweetest kiss on his cheek. You feel the way he shivers against you, his eyes cloudy as he nods.

Not long after you’d gone to talk to Bobby you’d seen Din slip out of the crowd and into the house. It may be a pain to find him a place this large but if you’re caught it’ll be realistic to play a dizzy, turned-around maiden.

As soon as you’re out of sight you spit, wiping your mouth with your sleeve in a move most unladylike as you try to find Din. The halls are empty, it seems as if Bobby’s staff is either occupied with entertaining guests or off for the evening.

“Up here, girl,” Din calls from above you, and when your eyes meet he holds up a sack that looks fit to burst. The smile that spreads across his face is different than the one he’d given the woman he talked to early, this one is genuine and it makes your heart flutter.

“How’s it going?” You ask once you make your way up to the stairs to stand beside him.

“Good, last room we got left is his office. C’mon.”

You follow after him closely, keeping your steps light like a cat so as not to draw any attention from below. When the two of you turn a corner down the final hall which holds Bobby’s office, there are two guards— one blonde, one brunette— standing outside of the door that is gilded in gold. You roll your eyes at its gaudiness but step forward with wide, guileless eyes.

“I’m sorry you two, it seems we’ve got lost trying to find the powder room. Could you help us?” You bat your lashes at the two men, standing up a little taller to push your breasts out.

“Back the way you came, down the stairs, to the left,” the blonde one says, unaffected by your attempt at charm.

Nevertheless, you try again, getting a little closer to the brunette, whose eyes have had a hard time staying on your face.

You gaze up at him with puppy dog eyes, “Could you maybe walk us? I mean— we are lost.”

You raise your hand to fiddle with the distracted guard’s tie, but the first one’s hand shoots out, wrapping tightly around your wrist. You gasp, looking over at the guard in feigned offense, like you’re some helpless maiden– like you wouldn’t slit his throat if your knife wasn’t buried under so many layers of fabric.

“It would do you best to walk away ma’am or I’ll have to call the lawmen,” The blonde says, his grip tightening around your wrist until it makes you wince.

Din takes a step forward, his voice so low and rough it sends a welcome chill down your spine. You don’t have to look at him to know how terrifying he looks right now, “No, it would do you best to let her go or I’ll have to crush your windpipe.”

“You threatenin’ me, yokel?”

You lean closer to the brunette guard, grimacing as you say, “Well this ain’t gonna end well is it?”

His eyes widen for a moment, flickering behind you and you know that Din is moving, already going in for the kill. You do your best to pry your hand from the other guard’s grip but it is tight, and as you struggle the one in front of you struggles to get his gun. As soon as your hand is free you reach for his neck, planting your feet so that you’ll have the strength to snap his neck. There’s a loud crack from beside you before you can get your hands in the right place, and your glance over to Din, seeing the way he followed through— the man's face is red and limp, the blood vessels in his eyes busted.

You regret getting off track because it seems the guard still alive is successful, getting off one shot that flies up into the ceiling. Refocusing, you knee him in the stomach, and his gun clatters to the ground just as you get your hands around his neck and twist as hard as you can.

“Fuck,” You breathe as the second man’s body hits the floor. His gunshot will absolutely draw attention, you and Din need to move quickly.

“In and out, no safes, whatever is unlocked and out in the open.”

You follow his instructions with no hesitation, stepping over the two bodies and moving through Bobby’s office with ease. There are solid gold paperweights, stacks of bonds, maps of train routes and what they’ll be holding, and even a few stacks of money in drawers. It's a jackpot if you’ve ever seen one and the two of you share a look of wonder before kicking it into gear to get out of there. You can hear the footsteps of lawmen rumbling through the house and give Din the signal to move into the room across the hall– it's another powder room. The two of you squeeze into the shower, listening intently as the lawmen call to each other, trying to figure out where you’ve gone.

You hear a voice say, “They must’ve gotten by us. Comb the streets.”

That works perfectly in your favor, and you grin over a Din, knowing that the streets are not how you plan to escape. As soon as the coast is clear, Din grabs your hand, leading you the opposite way of all the lawmen and house staff that have started towards Bobby’s office and bedroom. The two of you sneak out a side door and make your way toward the bayou in the backyard. You’d already set up a boat there to make an escape— no one would expect it since you and Din had rented a carriage to arrive.

He helps you step in the boat, grasping the hem of your skirts so that it’s easier for you to step in, and joins you as soon as you're settled. He doesn’t know how to row— not well at least— so you grab the oars and get to work. Your horses are strewn up to trees not too far from here and afterward you’ll collect your belongings from the inn and leave Cheyenne for good.

Din has started to count the money he retrieved, thumbing through the bills with his steady fingers.

“I pocketed a few things here and there while I waited for you— mostly watches but some wallets too. This should be a lot, we could rest in the next town for a bit if you wanted,” You whisper into the night.

He nods at you but doesn’t stop counting, pulling out a few gold bars you imagine he got from a safe. Once he’s finished counting he restarts, wanting to make sure he’s right.

“This is enough to get outta this,” He mumbles once he’s finished.

You think you’ve misheard him. “What?”

“This enough to get outta this,” He says again, looking up at you. You’re too busy rowing to gaze back at him and he takes this opportunity to look at you unabashedly, something he never lets himself do. It’s foggy enough that even if you were to notice his eyes burning into you, he could play it off, blaming it on the wispiness in the air.

Though you both look ridiculous, stiff, and dolled up for this party even as you row diligently through the muggy bayou, everything about you still shines through. His eyes are syrupy slow, following the curve of your jaw, the swell of your cheek, the line of your nose.

“Din?”

“Hmm?”

“Outta this profession, you mean?” You repeat the question he hadn’t heard as he got lost in you.

He clears his throat and sits up, staring into the fog, “You can’t tell me you never thought about it. Slowing down with a little patch of land, few animals and crops.”

Sure you had– on your loneliest days you’d let your mind wander. You let yourself dream about a life like that with someone. When Din came into your life, those dreams became a little more specific no matter how many times you tried to push them away.

Your brows shoot up as you finally look at him, face twisted in surprise, “You want to settle?”

“I said I’ve thought about it. This is just enough to get far enough that no one knows us. We’d need a lot of money to get everything for a stead. Not to mention makin’ it sustainable.”

This is the first time you’ve ever heard him talk like this and though you’ve only been doing this together for a month or so, you’d think it was something he would mention before entering into a partnership with someone. But hell— he still doesn’t know your name. It's worked so far, hasn’t it?

You make it to where your horses are, Augustine and Cresida look at you both expectantly, as if they’ve been waiting all day and have places to be.

“You’re serious,” You say in disbelief as he helps you out of the boat.

“There’s no reason for me to lie, girl,” He starts to shed his layers, removing the suit jacket and the crisp white button-down in favor of his long-sleeved undershirt. “You’ve never…”

You fish the pair of jeans you stashed on your horse out, hiking them up under the huge skirt of your dress before you take a knife and cut through it. You easily cut through the fabric of the tight corset, letting out a relieving breath.

“I have. Here and there. Didn’t see a point for it if it was just to be alone,” You murmur, shrugging into your shirt.

He’s quiet for a moment, before whispering into the night, barely heard over the symphony of crickets and cicadas, “Different now, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Everything’s been different since meeting him. As the two of you mount your horses and start off into the night, your mind can’t help but wander back to that key detail— this man wants to settle down with a wild, nameless woman like you. Maybe that says enough. Maybe it’s all you’ll need.

ch 3: eyes full of stars

series taglist: @honeybrowne, @hotchs-bitch, @jazzelsaur, @lesbianhotch, @ivyheliotrope, @campingwiththecharmings, @frogers, @juneknight, @obscurexsorrows

[runnning-outof-time]

A Moment of Respite | Tommy Shelby x Reader

Request: yes by @dandelionprints

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Tommy has a dream of the woman he met in France.

Warnings: talks of war, PTSD-induced dream, one ‘f-word’

Word Count: 2775

A/N: this was such a unique story to write. I found myself battling with the structure of it at times, so I hope that it makes sense to y’all. Enjoy! :)

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

———

Tommy laid his head down on the pillow, finally ready to - try to - sleep after completing his night time routine and getting his mind ‘right’. He always hated this part of the day, and tried his best to avoid it as much as he could. But after going on a four day rally of avoiding sleep, his body needed some rest. So he closed his eyes and hoped that he'd be able to at least keep the shovels at bay.

But of course, it didn't take long for him to be transported back to the dark and dingy tunnels that he spent so much time in both during, and after, the war. Except tonight, he was the only member of his company in the tunnel. There was nobody with him, but yet the sounds of the shovels were intensifying. He needed to make it out before the German soldiers broke through and he was forced into an unfair fight.

He quickly started moving, trying to get to the end of the tunnel where he knew the ladder was. Disaster struck before he could get very far. The walls and floor of the tunnel started to shake after he took only a few steps from his starting point. Panic coursed through him as he felt like the walls were closing in, about ready to crumble around him. He reached his arms out, finding the hard clay on either side of him, and he used that as a guide to get through the cavern quicker.

It felt like the walls were getting smaller with each step he took, to the point where he wasn't sure if he'd make it out of this alive. Maybe today the shovels would win. But just as he thought the walls would pin him in, a light shined at the end of the tunnel. A feeling of immediate relief washed over him as he rushed towards the light, no longer caring that the walls of the tunnel were closing in around him.

The light was so bright that it was blinding and as he fully stepped into it, he was surrounded by white, enough to make him think that maybe he'd actually met his end in the tunnel. But someone's voice pulled him out of nothingness.

"You comin', Shelby?" it was the voice of one of the men in his company, Marcus, and when Tommy focused again, he realized that he was standing in front of a pub's doors surrounded by four other fellow soldiers.

"Yeah," he answered, trying to make his voice sound steady as he walked back to the group so that they could all enter the pub.

They all walked to the bar and ordered a drink of their choice before going off and doing what interested them. It wasn't often that they got time off from the trenches or tunnels, and they sure as hell were going to enjoy it. Tommy wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to show up here, but he also wasn't going to let this moment of reprieve slip past him. While the other men meandered about the pub, Tommy stayed seated on the stool he'd sat down on upon first coming to the bar.

"Not interested in what your friends are doing?" a woman's voice came from beside him, her accent one of the sweetest things to grace his ears in a long time.

"Excuse me?" Tommy asked as he turned to look at the woman, who he'd swore he'd met before in his life.

"You're sitting here, by yourself, while your friends are over there having a good time," she pointed out, nodding over to where the three other men were talking loudly in a group with some of the pub's other patrons.

"Not in the mood, I guess," he shrugged her statement off, taking a drink before looking at her again. "Have I met you before?" he came right out and asked her, his brows furrowed.

A smile formed on her face as he asked her this question. "Of course you have, Tommy," she answered him, saying his name like she had thousands of times before. This only made him more confused. "I'm surprised your company leader allowed you to come back so soon," she added then, leaning against the bar after she finished speaking.

"I...I'm the company leader," Tommy just about stammered out, trying to make all of this make sense.

"Oh...so you must've really enjoyed the time we spent together," the woman commented, her grin growing even more.

"I must've..." Tommy trailed off, racking his brain to try and figure out who this woman was. He couldn't believe that he'd forgotten this literal angel that had supposedly been sent to him. He looked her over, taking in her features in hopes that something would click in his mind. Then it did. "(Y/N)?" he asked, hating the fact that his statement sounded like a question.

"Yes," she smiled, nodding her head as she let out a slight laugh. "I thought you wouldn't remember," she said, sounding a bit more timid now than she had before.

"I remembered, I just...I'm a little confused is all," he admitted, shaking his head as he tried to come to terms with what was going on. This wasn't the part of war that he normally remembered. Seeing (Y/N) again was like a breath of fresh air.

"Confused?" (Y/N) phrased the single word statement like a question.

"I'm a bit unsure of how I got here," he answered, not realizing the fact that his statement made him sound slightly crazy until after he said it.

"You've surely been granted leave for some time...that's why you're able to travel into town," she tried to explain to him. Tommy had a feeling that that wasn't the case - he'd been brought right to the pub from a crumbling tunnel, but he didn't argue with her on it. He himself couldn't quite wrap his head around what was happening.

"Never mind it," he brushed her off, waving his hand to show that he wanted to move away from the topic, "let's enjoy the time we've got, eh?" he prompted her then, a slight grin forming on his face. Hell, he wasn't in the tunnels with the shovels hitting against the walls for once...he was going to make the most of this time.

"I like the sound of that," (Y/N) shared his sentiment, a similar grin forming on her face, "but I feel like we'd have a better time somewhere other than this dingy pub," she added, her eyebrows raised slightly as she hoped he'd catch her drift.

"I..." Tommy trailed off with a breath of a laugh, "I feel like it'd be a bit improper to make my way to your house this early," he told her, hating the fact that he was acting like this around her.

Luckily, (Y/N) didn't comment on his nature. "I wasn't suggesting we go to my home, Tommy," she said, pushing his shoulder playfully. She leaned in next to his ear then, and he had to bite on his bottom lip as the feeling of her breath on his neck roused goosebumps to form on the skin. "But that wasn't something you worried about last time," she reminded him, the grin apparent in her voice.

Tommy swallowed, hating how her simple sentence affected him immensely. "I'm not lookin' for that tonight," he told her after he gained his footing again. Although he'd happily welcome anything of that nature, especially if it was with (Y/N), he wanted to get to the bottom of all of this. He wanted to know why he wasn't trapped in the tunnels tonight.

"No?" (Y/N) pulled back, looking at him with surprise. She didn't let the expression stay for long, and she moved her entire body slightly closer to him this time so that she could gently rest her hand on his clothed forearm. "What exactly are you looking for tonight then, hmm?" she asked him, her voice sounding saccharine; like music to Tommy's ears.

"I'm looking to make sense of this mess that I'm in," he answered her, his eyes staying locked onto hers as he spoke.

(Y/N) sent him a closed mouth, sympathetic smile as she heard what he was looking for. "I'll try my damnedest to help you," she told him in a soft voice, squeezing his arm gently before she slipped her hand down it to take hold of his hand. "Why don't we still get out of here though? Can't do any real talking while in the midst of all of this noise," she suggested, then squeezing his hand in hopes that he'd get the idea and follow her to the door.

"I like the sound of that," Tommy agreed with a slight nod before he allowed her to take the lead and walk them to the pub's door. He ignored the hollers from his company mates and continued walking with (Y/N), out of the pub and down the dark street.

It had just finished raining, and Tommy admired the fact that the streetlights glowed off of the puddles that had been left behind. Everything looked so normal, and it was like he could, if only for a second, try to imagine that the war wasn't going on.

"The war hasn't hit our town yet," (Y/N) commented as they walked, surely reading his thoughts.

"No," Tommy agreed, "it still looks so...normal," he finished his thought while glancing around. There weren't many people out, but those who were seemed to be carefree and having a decent time. It's like they didn't even know, nor care, that a war was being fought in their country. Tommy felt a pang of jealousy in his stomach from the mere thought.

"Doesn't feel it though," (Y/N) mused, bringing him back to the conversation, "with all of the men gone and the shops nearly closed...it feels like we're a shell of what we used to be," she pointed out, making Tommy realize that this town probably had been affected much like his...the men who didn't know better, or felt like they could help their country, were out on the frontlines while those who had the money or the means stayed behind and got to continue on with everyday life.

"I'm sure it does," he said in a somber voice, his eyes downcast to the road. "You'll come out on the other side of this though," he tried to give her some hope.

"You think?" she asked, her eyes widening slightly as she looked over at him.

"I think," he affirmed with a nod.

"How can you be so sure?" she questioned him.

"I..." Tommy paused, feeling a hesitance in him. He knew that it came from the fact that he'd come out on the other side of the conflict, and had learned that the town that he'd visited with his company, this town, had remained mostly untouched. But he couldn't get himself to admit this here. "I just have a feeling," he settled with a vague statement, squeezing her hand as he tried to offer some extra insurance.

The two walked slowly down the street, enjoying being in each other's presence. "What are you worried about, Tommy?" (Y/N) asked him after they'd been quiet for some time.

"Me?" he asked even though she'd addressed him.

"Yes," she nodded.

"I'm worried about my family," he answered with a sigh, "we've been met with some potential moves to make within the business; moves that can really set us on our way to becoming more cemented in the area we work in..." he trailed off, not feeling funny at all that he was recounting these recent business moves to a woman he hadn't physically seen in two years, "but my family won't budge on it...so I'm stuck between doing what I know will earn us our take, or doing what will keep my family in tact," he ended his dilemma by stopping and looking (Y/N).

"So you've got the classic case of a fight between the head and the heart?" she asked him, quirking one eyebrow as a slight smile formed on her face.

"I guess so," Tommy responded with a slight chuckle.

(Y/N) pursed her lips as she thought about what advice to give him. Tommy was willing to wait, desperately wanting some outside opinion from someone who wouldn't benefit from him choosing either side. After a few moments, (Y/N) finally spoke: "go with your head. Your heart will follow along if you explain why you made the decision you did. They're in your heart for a reason."

"Ok," Tommy nodded his head as he digested the advice he'd just been given.

"You'll go for it?" (Y/N)'s eyes lit up.

"Yeah," he nodded again.

"Good," she affirmed, a smile on her face, "and you'll come out better on the other side of it. I just have that feeling." she turned his previous words around on him and he recognized that, chuckling in response. The two smiled at each other then, coming to a silent understanding that finalized in Tommy's mind what he should do. He'd take her advice and move forward with the business strategy that he'd planned out before the opinions of his family became known. "Should we go back now?" (Y/N) asked him, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"So soon?" Tommy asked her, hesitance in his voice. He didn't want this peaceful moment with her to end.

"Your men are probably looking for you," she pointed out.

"Fuck 'em," he brushed her statement off.

She giggled at his response. "It's time to go, Tommy," she told him once her laughter had subsided.

He let out a soft sigh, knowing the deeper meaning of her statement. "Ok," he finally agreed with her, turning with her then so that they'd be facing the pub's direction again.

They walked in silence until the pub came into view. Tommy brought them right up to the building before stopping, making (Y/N) look at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. "What're you doing?" she asked him, her eyes searching his.

"I wanted to thank you before we go back inside," he told her, turning towards her. She, in turn, leaned her back against the brick building, having no care for how dirty her dress might get. Tommy fought back the grin as he moved closer to her.

"Thank me?" she sounded even more surprised...if that was possible.

"Yes. For all that you've helped me," he answered her, "for giving me a moment of respite."

(Y/N) smiled at him as she heard what he had to say. She was about to respond when the sound of whistles came from behind Tommy. "Way to go, Shelby!" one of his company mates called, making him sigh and shake his head.

"Sorry 'bout them," he apologized to her, wanting to turn around and tell them off.

"It's not a problem," she brushed his apology off, giggling slightly as their wolf-whistles continued. "And it’s not gonna stop me from doing this..." she trailed off, grabbing ahold of his uniform’s lapels so that she could lean in and kiss his lips. Tommy fastened his hands onto her waist, holding her tight against his body. The kiss ended too soon, but he swore he saw heaven when she pulled away to smile at him. "Stay safe, soldier," she whispered, searching his eyes once more as she gripped onto his lapels.

Tommy leaned in again, wanting one more kiss before this moment had to end. As his lips pressed against hers, everything around him started to shake. He gripped onto (Y/N) tighter, holding her as close to his body as possible as he heard her gasp against his lips. He kept his eyes shut tight, not wanting to watch her disappear. Things stayed black until the overwhelmingly bright, white light overtook him.

He sat up in bed with a start, breathing deeply as he felt the sweat beading on his forehead. He looked around the small bedroom that sat on the second floor of his Watery Lane home, the realization quickly washing over him. (Y/N) wasn't with him; she was just a part of his dream.

But the sun was starting to shine through his window - this was the first time he'd managed to sleep the entire night in a long time. Seeing her again granted him a moment of respite, and he couldn't be more grateful for it.

———

Tagged: @mgcllovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @raincoffeeandfandoms @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08

MASTERLIST

[mxdreemurr]

Frisk and Chara Loop de Loop

Words: 4347

Summary: Frisk and Chara are in The Underground, still.

Includes: Meandering structure, interpretive character study, some melancholy, some grief, mention of continuous resets, allusion to no mercy, the difficulties of communicating with people you care about and asking for help, determination.

Chara and Frisk are explicitly part of the Dreemurr family in this, so don't read if you don't agree with that I guess.

Enjoy!

“Oof.” 

You let out a small ‘oof’ as you hit the pile of leaves, landing on your back and staring up at the hole you fell through. The purple stone of The Ruins is all around you. After a moment of blinking slowly upwards, you extend your left arm and raise your hand palm-up in the air over your head. You’re thinking about how it looks like in anime openings or AMVs sometimes when characters do that, and that it’s cool. 

It does kind of look like that. And it is kind of cool.

“How many times has this been?” I think at you.

“Only three or four,” you think back.

I huff mentally. “No, Frisk. Not falling down these holes and landing on the leaves. The whole, everything. Not even just resets, but getting to see Asriel and everyone leaving The Underground and stuff.” I try to cover up my small outburst of emotion and hope you didn’t notice too much.

You lower your arm, resting your hands on your stomach. “I don’t know,” you think. “It’s like Flowey says, it’s—. It’s like waking up from a dream sometimes, you know? They kind of blur together a couple back…” You heave a big sigh and kick your feet. “What about you? Do you know how many times?”

“I…” I mentally furrow my brows. “I’m not great at keeping track of stuff like that. Math is for losers. Tch.” So what if I’m not as great at hiding my emotions as I’d like to be.

Silence stretches on with neither of us saying anything. You close your eyes fully. Eventually I speak up again in your head.

“Frisk… How many more times do you want to keep doing this…? It’s not like Asriel and I need our bodies back that much… Perhaps a change of priorities is in order, and it’s like Asriel said, our parents have moved on, them seeing us again—”

“Stop. Chara. You deserve a happier ending. Both of you do. And your mom and dad love you! They wouldn’t be anything but overjoyed to see you again, I know this. And me too… It’s not just for you, you know. Your family loves you.”

I mentally lean my head on my hand and roll my eyes at you, but I can’t help giving the energy of a small smile.

You smile as well, and lace your fingers together.

“Can we just lie here for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course, yeah.”

***

After only a moment of pause, Papyrus continues on with: “WELL!!! THIS CHALLENGE!!! IT SEEMS… MAYBE… TOO EASY TO DEFEAT THE HUMAN WITH. YEAH! WE CAN’T USE THIS ONE!!! I AM A SKELETON WITH STANDARDS!!! MY PUZZLES ARE VERY FAIR! AND MY TRAPS ARE EXPERTLY COOKED! BUT THIS METHOD IS TOO DIRECT! NO CLASS AT ALL! AWAY IT GOES!”

The various spikes and spears and flamethrowers and dogs are retracted back from whence they came.

“PHEW! WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT!? THIS WAS ANOTHER DECISIVE VICTORY FOR PAPYRUS!!” 

“NYEH!!” 

“HEH!!” 

“…” 

“HEH???”

After Papyrus confusedly makes his exit, you step off the rock-painted-like-a-bridge, feet crunching into the snow covering the ground. You turn and look over at Sans still planted in his spot to the side where he’s been watching the scene unfold. Sans shrugs at you and says, “i don’t know what my brother’s going to do now. if I were you, i would make sure i understand blue attacks.”

You give a polite nod at him and turn to continue on towards town, but he stops you. Seems like he has something more to say?

“hey, kid. you’ve got this look in your eye… you seem dead set about something. determined, you could say? i know you must want to befriend my brother real bad, but uh. no need to be a hero about it. take care of yourself.”

You set your mouth in a line and give another nod, then a hesitant little wave over your shoulder as you turn and head towards Snowdin.

…

“Frisk… I hate to say it, but do you think he may have a point?

You shake your head side to side. “No. Sans is funny, and likes to assume his assumptions about things are true… but it’s not like he really knows anything about us.”

I pause for a second

“…Assume his assumptions…?”

“Sumptions his wumptions?”

“Gumptions his dumptions???”

(… That little bit of impromptu nonsense wordplay got you smiling.)

“Chara.” The goofy smile falls from your mouth a little and turns into something more wistful (Uh oh). “I know you’re trying to look out for me. Thank you.”

“You’re… very welcome.”

“We don’t need to be turning to Sans for advice, though.”

“…I suppose we can agree on that at least. I don’t like when he threatens you. And his puns are B grade at best.”

“Okay no need to grumble, Chara,” you giggle. “And Sans isn’t that bad, in the end. The point is though, I want you to trust me. If there can be one human you can trust—”

“Frisk!!!” I laugh, “of course I trust you. We’re, like, family, you know? How many times has Toriel adopted you? I’ll always trust my family. And I’m sure you could even count as honorary monster at this point, if you wanted.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about it…” You do a dramatic little shrug. “But, good. I’m glad you trust me. We’re going to keep on going and I’m going to save you. Both of you.”

(Oh. Oh no. Oh geez, oh crud.)

“Um, Frisk, I don’t know if—”

“Ah ah ah!!! You don’t get to say you don’t deserve it! We talked about this, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember, but—”

“No-butts!!! Hey, how about we go get a cinnamon bunny? I bet that’ll cheer you up!”

“… That’s very thoughtful of you Frisk. Alright.”

“Yesss-!” You do a little victory pose and start skipping to get to the shop faster.

…

“Frisk, you remind me of myself sometimes.”

“Thanks!!!”

(…I don’t think you get it.)

***

Water falls all around us as a familiar tune begins to play. You kneel in front of the old statue, the red umbrella propped up in its arms. The ground is wet and dirty, but even still, you know I would be kneeling beside you if I could. You know I would bow my head if I could. I would put my face in my hands. I would embrace it in a hug and weep on its shoulder. Every time.

You pat your hand on the ground beside you, seeming to understand. I can feel the stone and grit.

“You’ll get your hands dirty. Not to mention your knees already. The water makes all the gravel and stuff stick to you.”

“I know.”

“Woshua wouldn’t be pleased.”

You chuckle lightly, and bow your head for a quiet moment.

After a long couple minutes of silence, you tentatively ask: “Do you remember the music box that’s in here?”

“Of course. It was a gift from our parents. Asgore had a friend who did craftwork like this. It’s beautiful… I, uh, I think this is a good home for it now. We really loved exploring Waterfall.”

You smile a little. “You know it’s not that long until we can see Asriel again, right?”

“I know that!!! Silly!” I respond, exasperated but a little amused. “It’s just that, well… Ugh. You know…” I trail off.

“I do know.”

“He deserved better, he does deserve better. He was so scared and alone as a flower, and then, and then there’s this, the journey and The Barrier, but then he’s just alone again? Even when we can get him to come with us, he still won’t tell mom and dad who he is… and he’s still stuck as a flower! How is that fair…”

“I feel the same way… but about you too. Stuck without a body, also not ready to tell our parents. And I bet that he would feel the same as well. Asriel would want us to be doing this.”

…

(Ugh. If only they knew.)

“Just let them go. 

Let Frisk be happy. 

Let Frisk live their life.”

(What have I been doing. Frisk… you… You have a life too…)

You only seem to be half expecting a response; you’re already hoisting yourself to your feet, and leaning over to give the statue a goodbye kiss on the top of the head. You have so many confident, bright feelings radiating off your soul. I take another look at the statue as you politely step back, before you turn to continue on. 

Asriel…

“Um. Yeah, I guess you’re probably right, huh. He would want us to be doing this.”

You smile confidently and give a nod, marching onwards and outwards through the caverns of Waterfall, its denizens mostly watching on from out of the way. 

(Frisk… I remember when we first met, when you first fell into The Underground. You were so frightened, so afraid and beaten down. Every kindness was like a miracle to you. You were intimidated by the size of the pie, wouldn’t leave mom, and then kept getting captured by Papyrus because you wanted a place to stay. Look at you now, huh… I just hope you can stay this way, keep your determination and your hope, I don’t know if what you’re trying to do is even possible…)

***

The sweltering heat of Hotland is all-encompassing as you make your way along the stone path, the large pool of magma stretching out to your right with The CORE plunked right in the middle of it. Always a little uncomfortable coming through here with that sweater of yours. Not that I can critique your choices in clothing, though.

You stop midway along the path and turn and look at The CORE.

(I’ve been doing my narration schtick as usual, but I’ve been kind of tense since the statue in Waterfall… Maybe it’s time for a good-natured joke.)

“Hey, Frisk,” I nudge you mentally, “you ever think about jumping in there?” I ask, referring to the large pool of magma.

You roll your eyes at me. “Uh, yeah, obviously.” I raise a figurative eyebrow at you. “Not like I’m going to though. Too hot for a bath, don’t wanna become Frisk Soup today.”

I chuckle at that. “Also the magical platforms that save you if you fall.”

“Oh yeah, also that.” We’re both giggling a little now.

After a moment though you cross your arms and put your hand on your chin  thoughtfully as you survey the familiar scene before us. “Hey, Chara. You know Gaster?”

“Uh, yeah…?” I have no idea where you’re going to go with this question, but I hope nowhere too personal about my past.

“… What do you think was his creation that he fell into…? Was it The CORE?”

“The CORE?” I echoed, “hmmm. Lots of places to fall into in and around it I suppose. All the magma that feeds it, and then all the glow-y foggy stuff inside… It’s certainly magical as heck in order to generate magical power, obviously, but I’ve never heard of a reason for it to have the power to shatter someone across time and space…? Not like I know that much about it though… it’s not my specialty,” I sniff.

“And you’re not even a scientist. And you’re like thirteen.”

“I suppose,” I say, doing the mental equivalent of looking at my fingernails. “You’re like, twelve though? So don’t get on my case about it.”

“Hmm, I suppose,” you say in mockery. We manage to last two seconds before smiling at each other and giggling again.

…

(Perhaps it would be constructive to inform Frisk more about what I know of the machines in The True Lab… Well… Maybe one of these resets if it becomes relevant. We’ll see.)

***

Your quiet footfalls across the wooden floorboards make some of the only sound to be heard in the house right now. The white and grey colour scheme lends a feeling like an old photograph. It’s so quiet, no one happens to be visiting at this time, and Asgore spends so much time in the garden taking care of the flowers. I clench your fists unconsciously.

“Before we get the keys and your stuff, is there anything in particular you’d like to see this time, Chara?”

“… The teacups. In the cupboard in the kitchen.”

You nod, and smile, and take us over there.

You reach up on your tip-toes and open the cupboard doors. Inside are plates, bowls, and a collection of painted teacups, all sitting on a yellow checkered cloth. I mentally indicate which one I want and you pick it up for me and bring it down. It’s white porcelain with a soft green and yellow floral design on it. I can feel the weight and coolness in your hands.

I remember sitting at the big table, beside Asriel on the long side, mom and dad on both ends. Sometimes, an hour or so after dinner, the family would have tea together. And I was always invited (But it was okay if I didn’t go, and stayed in our room instead). My brother and I would have herbal teas, I liked the floral ones. I remember mostly listening, to the warm happy conversation of a family (My family, I’d only just barely been able to accept that). Listening to the low, comforting sounds of talking back and forth between our parents, my brother’s bright, excited additions to the conversation, it’s a memory that is unspeakably precious to me now. I would occasionally be asked to join in with my thoughts on something, or how I’ve been doing, but never pressured to talk more than I wanted. Everything was always gentle encouragement but never forcing me into anything I wasn’t comfortable with yet (The kindness was overwhelming, I’ll never be able to pay it back in full).

I remember Asriel nudging me under the table, passing me a folded-up note while our parents were talking. A promise in his handwriting to show me a new secret hide-away, along with a little doodle of us. 

We smiled at each other then, and I can feel myself smiling now, my emotions soaking over to Frisk’s body across the soul that we share.

“It must be a good memory,” Frisk thinks to me.

“Mhm, it is,” is all I respond.

I blink the tears out of Frisk’s eyes, coming back to the present. I look around the empty kitchen and feel us in an empty house. The reality is still there, my family is scattered; my brother and I died, and mom and dad at complete opposite ends of The Underground. And it’s my fault.

I look at the teacup in your hands and think about if we were to drop it how it would shatter. I think about how once we reset it would be back together, back on the shelf. I think about Flowey.

I don’t think about the warm mental waves of comfort that you’re sending me, or how you’ve lowered your trembling body to the ground in a crouch and are rocking us back and forth soothingly. I don’t think about how I failed to make my thoughts as private as I would have liked.

“Hey, Chara, it’s not your fault, okay? You’ll be okay, we’ll get your family together again properly, I promise. I’m not going to stop trying. It’ll be okay…” I listen to you go on with your reassurances. I’m appreciative for it. It takes a minute but I manage to even out our breathing which I hadn’t noticed had become slightly frantic. “…Your family loves you, they would never blame you for anything.”

I gaze out the kitchen doorway at the family dining table, focussing on the details of what I can see. I take the biggest inhale and let out the biggest sigh possible, and send you a mental thumbs-up. I take all my feelings of guilt and failure, and I take all my feelings of belonging and love from my memory, and I try to hold them between your hands in this teacup.

After insisting repeatedly that I’m okay enough for us to get up, you do get us up, and return the teacup back to the shelf we found it on.

“Alright Frisk, you lead the way. Let’s get to seeing Asgore soon though, I still feel like I’m suffocating a little bit from all of this memory and feelings and junk.” (And the empty house and the quiet and how I’m not going to cry more I just need to get moving). “It’ll be nice to see him again, even if he’s… going to try to kill us— oh geez we’re on a rollercoaster until the end huh.”

You grab the key from the kitchen and add it to your keychain, and then set off in a little jog out through the dining and living room to the hallway. “Not true! We’ll have a nice event with Alphys and Undyne set up! Courtesy of Papyrus and his Flowery Friend.” You do a little smile at me. I do a little mental eye-roll at you, but smile too.

“Thanks for your help Frisk, you’re a real life saver.”

“Hehe, shucks Chara, anytime.” You add the hallway key to your keychain as well. You linger outside the door to me and Asriel’s bedroom, as if asking if I’m ready. I signal an affirmative and you open the door.

Two neatly wrapped presents, as always. “Thank you Flowey,” I say in a slightly teasing but affectionate tone. You sit down cross-legged to open up the two gifts. My heart-shaped locket and rusty knife, best comfort items I could ask for.

…

Before you can get up off the floor, I speak up and think at you “You know Frisk. You’re putting a lot of burden on yourself for me. This… mission that you’ve taken upon yourself for me and my brother’s sake. I’m grateful, very much so. But I want to make sure you know you can rely on me too, you can ask for help, I’m here if you need to talk about anything… I feel like it’s been a few resets since we’ve visited the quiche room—” 

“Ha—! Chara, you’re hilarious. You know I’m always okay!”

“That’s… not true.” I’m a bit surprised at your sudden reaction.

Perhaps realizing that that sounded slightly forced you wiggle awkwardly in place and try again. “Well, I may have climbed a mountain that it’s said people disappear on, that’s true. But! I’ve made so many friends, and I have a new family now! It’s all so bright and colourful, and I’m so happy to have ended up here. This journey together through The Underground, meeting everyone… There were tough parts, but finding out how kind monsters can are…! And then the catharsis at the end, I couldn’t ask for more.”

“Okay, but… This has all happened, according to both of us and what we can remember, uncountable times since the first. How is it going enjoying being with your new family when we keep leaving everything and going back to the start?”

“I—,” You sound taken aback, “there was a time I stayed with them on the surface for a while!!!”

“And then you came to me begging for me to reset again, because you couldn’t bear not having gotten the perfectest, best, most happy ending! Because you need to be the best, most perfect kid possible, and you need to be everyone’s hero!!!” … I stop, realized that was maybe a bit harsh. And that I might have accidentally said all that out loud with your mouth.

I slump and let go of your body. “I’m sorry, Frisk. I’m going to say it outright, which is hard for me; but you really do remind me of myself, and not in a good way. I don’t want you destroying yourself over trying to save everyone. I can’t make you stop, and I’m not going to abandon you, we’re partners in this; but I just want you to know that it’s okay to ask for help. Will you remember that? Please?”

“…Yeah, I’ll do my best.”

Shoot. You sound kind of broken-hearted. 

“I’m really sorry Frisk. I’m just. Scared for you. But I shouldn’t say things like that. It’s not your fault. I love you, Frisk, you’re the best sibling I could ask for. Or, well, tied for first place. I hope you understand.”

You giggle a little bit. “You too Chara. I never thought I would have a family like you, and Asriel, and Toriel and Asgore… I love you too. And I guess you’re right. Maybe I do have problems.” You’ve leaned back from your cross-legged position and are now lying on the floor. “And you’re the last person I should be hiding from. We share a soul. So it’s kinda silly.”

“It’s not silly, but… I see what you mean.” We smile at each other again.

You tilt your head back, peering under my bed. “Hey Chara! You want anything from under here? Oh—, woah… I never realized how cluttered it is under here…”

“No, thank you, Frisk. I’m good,” I laugh. And I do feel good for now actually. “I can collect my things once I have my body back. And it’s cluttered because eventually I was no longer hiding under there all the time.” I chuckle a little and you beam an absolutely radiant and sappy smile at me.

Even if you’re hell-bent on repeating my past mistakes, I’ll be right there with you the whole way.

After your lovely commentary on how I keep my side of the room, we’re ready to get up and continue on our way. We a brief look around in Asgore’s room, head back out to the middle of the house, and then turn to make our way down the stairs. Just as you’re about to step down, we both notice something yellow out of the corner of your eye. You turn your head, and there’s Flowey, in the front doorway of the house. He looks at us, and we look at him, and then he burrows away into the ground.

***

Streaks and splashes of colour and light fill the world around you. Like a thousand prisms broke open and spilled their rainbows. Stars rain down like the sky was falling. The world is ending. Again.

We hug Asriel tightly.

***

“Frisk… Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Asriel twists around a little to look at you from where he’s kneeling in front of the golden flowers, having sat down when he thought you were leaving. His small look of surprise changes to a pinched brow as you sit down beside him. You cross your legs and start running your fingers over the flowers, both of you bathed in golden light from the late afternoon sun.

Asriel settles back into his previous position, resting his paws on the soil on either side of his knees, looking down at the flowers, up at the hole in the ceiling, and then sideways at you. He gives a little sigh.

“I guess you can stay here a little longer, just… not too long, okay?”

You nod a little at him. A minute or two passes.

“You know Frisk, I don’t know everything that’s going on with you… The Barrier has broken and monsters can go free, but it’s okay if you still have your own problems.” He shuffles nervously. “I hope you know it’s okay to ask for help out there; you have a new family who really loves you! Of course you could tell me about anything, but… it’s just that I’m going to be a flower again soon… But you should tell Toriel, Asgore, or even Papyrus if there’s something on your mind!”

“I will”, you sign, and smile.

When you get up to go, I manage to quietly mumble out “See you later, Asriel.”

***

“ …

I’m sorry.

You’ve probably heard this a hundred times already, haven’t you…?

…

Well, that’s all—”

“Wait”

“Wait? You want me to wait?”

“I have— I have heard it. A hundred times before.”

“Hah, and what, you want to gloat about it…?”

“No, you’re right. It’s been too many. I want to ask for help. I couldn’t ask for help when I was still alive, but I’m doing it now. And I know you want us to let Frisk go, but Frisk is too, we’re asking for help.”

“… You and me both,” Flowey smiles ruefully, “what do you want me to do about it though?”

“Nothing right now, I just. Thought you should know. Keep the family in the loop whenever we can and all. We’ll talk after the reset, okay? Try not to attack us right away.” I smile back.

“Haha, well, no promises. I don’t know what you two are up to yet, and I can’t say I’m pleased it’s taken this many resets, but. I guess I’ll look forward to being filled in, in the past.” He scoffs a little. “See you soon, Chara.”

I take a ghostly breath, clench my fists, and fall back.

***

You open your eyes and see the morning light filtering down from the hole above us, filling the cavern around us, and dancing on the golden flowers cradling your body. Motes of dust drift through the air.

You sit up and rub your eyes, looking around. Flowers, crumbling pillars, and an entranceway before us.

Just beyond that entranceway, Flowey is straining to hear what’s going on in the room he just ran away from when a human fell into it. Farther than that, a grey door stands stark against a rocky wall of Waterfall. A clam monster is waiting to gossip about her neighbour’s daughter. The Underground is still full of mysteries to discover, people to meet, and things to do. I know we’ll find a way forward, together.

[chr0macide]

Orientation Day

posting two things one day wow im on fire

i kinda wanted to write a lil bit about magdalena but this fic ended up being more about purge university and shes kinda just there lol. i didn't put anything about her time in college while i was making her intro post cause i was lazy. i said she made no friends but maybe that was cap, she did meet markus there.

this shows a little bit about what i think purge university is like. it wouldn't be the same for every student but this is more or less what i think it would be like for the impoverished attendee. i write this fanfic as if break in happens in the "real(ish) world" instead of roblox so stuff has to be different. and yeah this is canon to the rest of the fic unless i start feeling like something conflicts with game canon too much.

also im seeing people with like 100 ocs when it took 100% of my power just to make this single one, lmao how are you guys doing that 😂

alright this is like 3300 words divided into 2 chapters les goooo

Chapter I – Ticket to Nowhere

“Purge University, huh? You excited?” asked the taximan.

The girl did not reply. He looked at her in the rear-view mirror and pouted when she simply lay her head against the window. Nobody waved goodbye to her.

Magdalena was the first one in her family to attend college at all—not that her relatives appreciated that—but she had thought she was finally about to leave this decaying urban hellscape. And yet, every request she’d sent to every collegiate and federal financial aid office had returned the same response to her. Denied. Denied. Denied.

It didn’t make any sense. Much to the disdain of her parents, she had studied until the dregs of coffee had long since dried into a rock-hard crust at the bottom of her cup, lest she be stuck in this slum forever, so why was she still here?

The taxi meandered through the streets and over a pothole. There were plenty of those in Magdalena’s neighborhood. She pinched the bridge of her nose as the motion briefly jerked her out of her brooding.

“Sorry. Wherever our taxes are going, it’s not towards the roads,” the driver chuckled. Magdalena rolled her vacant eyes. Everyone knew where the city’s coffers were going. Straight into the pockets of one of the local mafia dons… but maybe she ought not to complain. It was thanks to one of them that Magdalena was going to college at all, although the interest rate on her loan was horrendous and it came with the stipulation that she attended Purge University. Tuition was exorbitant there, not to mention that the place was notoriously corrupt. While Magdalena would admit it was preferable to living in a leaky trailer for the rest of her life, she would rather have gone literally anywhere else. She should have been anywhere else, the girl seethed inwardly. There was nothing she could do about the situation now, but the thoughts had kept intruding ever since she’d opened the acceptance letter.

The crumbling structures in her district became less dilapidated as the car approached the university. The college grounds rested on the boundary between the destitute and the affluent, so the buildings here looked like they actually might be livable on the inside.

The driver pulled into the parking lot outside the residence hall.

Well, some of the buildings looked like they might have been livable.

The driver ducked out of the car and removed Magdalena’s lone suitcase from the trunk. She put a few crumpled notes in his palm.

“Let me help you carry your-”

“No,” Magdelana cut him off.

The taximan looked at her for a moment longer, but she was already walking away, so he shrugged as he got back into his car and drove off.

Magdalena swiped her identification card. The scanner beeped. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, not really minding the odor of mildew. Her home didn’t smell too different.

“You don’t gotta use your card. The lock doesn’t work,” said a nearby voice with a slight accent. There was a burly student sprawled across an entire sofa in the lobby. Magdalena guessed by the color of his ID lanyard that he was a sophomore. She made a sound of acknowledgement and made her way to the front desk, but there was nobody there.

“The receptionist went on break. Beer?” offered the student.

“I’m underage.”

“Nobody in here gives a shit, believe me,” he said as he tossed her a can from the 6-pack on the end table. She caught it in her hand and stared at it for a second.

The student gave her an odd look. “What? Never drank before?”

It wasn’t that. Magdalena had booze a few times when her family’s water had been cut off. Her parents didn’t keep much else in the fridge. Magdalena popped the tab open and took a sip as another student came down the stairs.

“Where’s the RA?” the newcomer demanded.

The sophomore craned his neck to see who had just shown up. “Oh, hey, Isaiah. I think he’s out back. Why?”

“My roommate ripped the fucking sink out of the—is that my beer? I just fucking bought that!”

“Relax, man. I was gonna pay you back.”

Magdalena placed her can on the reception desk sheepishly, but Isaiah wasn’t paying attention to her.

“Like hell you were,” snapped Isaiah as he grabbed the remainder of the 6-pack off the table and stormed out of the lounge.

The lingering student took another swig. “Sheesh. I’d like to tell you he’s not always so bitchy, but… heh.”

The door behind the front desk finally swung open. “ID?” requested the receptionist. The lady didn’t glance twice at the can on the counter as Magdalena handed her card over. She didn’t know whether to be glad for that or concerned that this hall had such lax restrictions.

The receptionist passed a key to Magdalena along with her ID. “Room 217,” she told the girl.

“Hey, we’re roommates,” the sophomore piped up. He chugged the rest of his beer. “I’ll show you where our dorm is.”

Magdalena started towards the elevator as he stood up. His orange hair almost brushed one of the light fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

“The elevator doesn’t work, either,” he advised her.

Magdalena sighed. “Of course it doesn’t.”

The student lifted Magdalena’s luggage with one hand and carried it up the stairs for her. “Name’s Markus, by the way.”

“Magdalena.”

“I haven’t seen you before. You a freshman?”

She nodded

Markus set her suitcase down in front of their dorm. The smell of cigarette smoke clung to the discolored runner. Their neighbor’s door was open. Magdalena could hear pressurized water spouting out from somewhere inside, but Markus didn’t seem to notice as he unlocked their own dorm. “Sorry about the mess. Old roommate left most of his stuff behind.”

Notebooks and stationery were strewn across the desk. There was a backpack and a large folder on the ground underneath it. Even a laptop was still resting on the nightstand. Magdalena’s side of the room looked as if someone else still lived here.

“Did he graduate?” the girl asked.

Markus’s expression hardened abruptly. “No.”

He didn’t elaborate, but his tone warned her not to probe any further. “But they assigned me a new roommate,” he said, gesturing at Magdalena, “so I doubt he’s coming back. I guess you can keep some of his junk if you want. I’ll throw the rest of it out tomorrow.”

If Markus was reluctant to speak of him, it wasn’t hard to deduce what might have happened to the last tenant. Perhaps Markus’s roomie pissed off one of the mob’s higher-ups. Those who talked about it out loud too often were prone to disappearing, but most people knew Purge University doubled as a front for organized crime. Too bad for him, but Magdalena wasn’t one to turn down free stuff.

She moved to the nightstand and opened the laptop. It was greasy. Magdalena wiped her fingers on her coat. There was a password, but she was sure the IT department could deal with that.

“Huh. Almost didn’t think it would turn on,” Markus remarked. Yeah, the thing was pretty ancient. The fan sounded like it was on its last legs and there was duct tape over a corner where the plastic exterior had cracked. “You actually want that old thing?”

“I don’t have my own,” Magdalena told him. Markus’s eyebrows crept up.

“You made it all the way to undergrad with no laptop?”

“Not everyone is rich.”

“No shit. That’s why we’re here,” Markus japed, but it was plain that Magdalena didn’t come from money. Her attire was somewhat ill-fitting. Her luggage didn’t weigh anything, and neither did she, by the looks of her. “For real, though, how did you get anything done?”

Magdalena didn’t answer. She shut the laptop and commenced unpacking her suitcase, but there wasn’t a lot to unpack. With nothing else to do, Markus booted up his own computer. “Quiet type, huh?”

The girl produced a annoyed huff from the back of her throat as she moved the presumably dead guy’s clothes aside and hung up her own in the closet.

“Hey, we’re gonna be stuck with each other for a while. I was just trying to get to know you better. Don’t make shit awkward,” Markus muttered.

Magdalena murmured something unintelligible under her breath—probably an insult—but she humored him. “Used the library computers. Checked out some textbooks when I had to be a home.” She practically lived at the city library, though the administrators eventually put a limit on how long unaccompanied children were allowed to be there each day. The bigwigs had decided they didn’t want street urchins ruining the scenery.

“Sounds like a lot of work for… uh… what’s your major?”

“Mechanical engineering and biotech.”

“Oh, a smart kid? I would’ve taken your lunch money back in the day,” Markus kidded. Magdalena glared at him. “Ha. Sorry. Bad joke. I’m a business major.”

The girl gave him a once-over. “Figures.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Magdalena was silent again as she returned her attention to her suitcase. Markus stuck out his lower lip childishly and turned to his laptop. They both heard a pool of water making its way out of the next dorm and flowing through the corridor outside.

“Does that sort of thing happen often?” Magdalena asked.

“You get used to it.”

Chapter II – Spontaneous Expulsion

“And for those of you who have science classes this year, this is Gearwise Hall,” the campus tour guide introduced.

The freshmen looked up at the building’s hypermodern exterior. Someone had to be power washing those walls on the regular. Magdalena saw through the windows that there was even a sculpture of a DNA strand suspended from the rafters. It wasn’t hard to tell that they were in the rich kids’ part of the university. It was either that or mafia territory. She was seeing a lot of bowties and pinstriped suits.

The guide hauled one of the double doors open and ushered everyone inside. “There are a few students making up an exam, so try to be quiet,” he said in a low voice.

The interior was just as blindingly white as the façade. “Here’s the common area,” the guide told them as he led them across the rounded foyer and into an adjoining room. There were a few students sitting at the tables and poring over their books, getting a head start on studying, Magdalena supposed. The room opened into a terrace whose style was much more gothic than the building itself. It must have been there before the hall was built. It actually looked nice, Magdalena thought, but she noticed the students outside casting unpleasant glares at a student wearing a faded, wrinkled t-shirt. A few of them soon stood up and began hassling the kid until he grabbed his things and left.

Maybe Magdalena’s kind wasn’t welcome at this particular spot.

The guide led them past the many lecture halls and up the stairwell at the end of the corridor. “Freshmen usually only have classes on the first floor, and we’re running out of time, so we’re gonna skip the rest of this place. I need to take you guys to Purge Hall.”

The group mumbled various grievances, but the guide shook her his as they reached the second floor. “Bear with me, guys. Everyone has classes in Purge Hall sooner or later, and it’s really important that you don’t get lost in there and wander somewhere off-limits. Really, really important.” He opened the exit to escort the gathering across the bridge and into the adjacent building.

Magdalena didn’t know what she’d expected, but it didn’t look that different from the other buildings around this here. It was a lot emptier, though, and her footsteps echoed conspicuously. In fact, she couldn’t see anybody else except for the tour group. Magdalena peered over the edge of the entresol. The ground floor was vacant as well.

She was startled by the sound of someone’s phone alarm. It was the end of a class period, it seemed, because students began trickling out of the lecture halls.

Most of them didn’t speak to each other at all. The ones that did were murmuring almost imperceptibly.

“First of all,” the guide began, “that is the Head—I mean, President Purge’s office.” He pointed at the imposing double doors at one end of the pathway. The fancily carved redwood stuck out like a sore thumb from the more contemporary architecture. “Don’t even go near it. And don’t go to any of the basement levels, either. If you’re in the elevator and somebody hits a button for a negative floor, just get out and wait for the… next one… uh…”

The guide faltered. There was a dull metallic clank ringing out from somewhere in the distance, but the sound was getting closer. “Don’t block the walkway, guys. Move up to the wall,” the guide urged, herding the troupe aside. The freshmen were puzzled, but they fanned out and stood against the wall, and Magdalena figured out why when as ground trembled ever so slightly.

A man threw the door open on the other end of the entresol and stepped inside. Well, not a man per se. His “skin” was rough and burnished like steel. Two more followed close behind. Magdalena had never seen the bosses in person before, as prolific as they were. She’d thought Markus was a giant, but these things made him look almost shrimpy.

The one at the head of the trio—Mr. Clockturn, it was—made his way towards the Headmaster’s office without so much as a passing glance at the students, even as they stared at him with wide eyes. His crowbar clinked against the floor as he walked and Magdalena could hear the ticking of his innards when he drew near.

The second one—the only woman; it must have been Miss Gearwise—spared them a smirk. Magdalena nearly had to shield her eyes. She blinked dark spots out of her vision. The light was dazzlingly bright when it glinted on the automaton’s gleaming golden exoskeleton.

The last one flashed smiled at the tour group almost affably, to Magdalena’s surprise. He even winked at one of the ladies. That was kind of gross, actually. He’d strolled off while Magdalena was trying to remember how much older he was than the college students, but his coppery luster denoted him as Mr. Cogsworth.

The university belonged to the mob, certainly, but Magdalena hadn’t expected the Headmaster’s underbosses to show up here so brazenly. Magdalena wondered for a moment why law enforcement had quit raiding this place, but she figured the mob had paid the police department off a long time ago. What would the cops do, anyway? Shoot an ironclad robot?

A cluster of students ahead of them scattered as the three approached. One of them had his back turned to the automatons, however, and he evidently didn’t get the memo. Mr. Clockturn hefted his crowbar. Magdalena looked away.

The student was already out cold when he toppled over the railing. Magdalena heard a loud crack. The people on the first floor shrieked. He hadn’t stuck the landing, apparently. The automata tittered as they peered over the barrier and continued into the Headmaster’s dwelling. It was too dark in the chamber for Magdalena to see much when Mr. Clockturn pushed the doors open, but she glimpsed President Purge’s luminous yellow eyes, corners crinkled as if he were smiling.

The tour guide waited until the doors were closed again before he finally resumed speaking. “I apologize you all had to see that. Y-you never know when those guys are gonna show up. Listen, they take it as, um, rudeness when you don’t move for them. Just-”

“They just fucking killed somebody!” one of the freshmen exploded, motioning vehemently at the spot where the student had fallen from.

The guide shushed the dissident. “There’s no need yell!” he said whispered harshly as he glanced at the office uneasily. “Seriously. You don’t want those things to come back out here right now. As I was saying, that kind of thing won’t happen to you as long as you stay out of their way.”

The guide was clearly trying to remain collected, but to no avail. He fidgeted with the lanyard around his neck as he did a silent headcount of the tour group.

“Let’s just move on to the next building. Most of you don’t have courses here this year anyway.”

He hastily steered the tour group through the entrance where the automata had come in from, and the remainder of the outing passed by in a blur.

Markus looked up from his laptop when he heard the dorm door unlock. Magdalena walked in and dropped her backpack next to her desk. It sagged on the floor glumly.

“Fun tour?” her roommate asked. No response, but he was getting used to it quickly.

He put down the beer he’d been nursing. Drinking in the morning? Magdalena didn’t blame him. She couldn’t think of many reasons for people to stay sober around here. “Aw, I’m just messing around. Someone posted the vid already,” Markus told her, gesturing at his screen. A video of the student splattering against the vinyl tiles played on loop.

“Does that sort of thing also happen often?” Magdalena questioned.

Markus scrolled away from the post before speaking. “Guess that depends on what you mean by often.”

Magdalena stared at him.

“Come on. The Darwin Award is a thing everywhere. Don’t look at me like that,” Markus said.

“This is how I always look.”

“Oh.” He perhaps should have figured that out already. Magdalena was wearing that catatonic expression in the murder video as well. “Well. You saw those guys. The bosses, I mean. You’d have to be pretty stupid to stand where they’re walking, right? That’s, like, natural reflection, or some shit.”

“Natural selection.”

“Yeah. That. Whatever.”

Magdalena collapsed onto her bed and let out a sigh. Markus rested his face on his hand as he observed her through lidded eyes. There was a small smile of amusement on his lips. “Don’t tell me you’re already tapped out. You didn’t even know the guy.”

It wasn’t just the impromptu homicide. It was everything. Magdalena watched a roach as it crept down the cracked drywall. “Maybe I should have gone for an online degree. This university is shit.”

Markus drank to that. “This entire city is shit, babe,” he laughed. “I guess that means you thought you were gonna move away for college…?”

The cockroach made it to the window and squeezed through a gap in the frame, scrambling away to freedom.

Magdalena sighed again. “Yeah.”

“No need to give up just yet. I knew a few graduates who scraped up enough cash to leave.”

“I can’t move away. I owe money to the mob.”

“Oh… yeah, nevermind. You’re fucked.”

“Thanks.”

Markus laughed again. He crushed the empty can in his hand and pitched it at the waste basket. “Nah, you’ll be fine. Maybe. You want some advice from a guy who’s had to deal with this place for a while?”

“Shoot.”

His face grew serious. “Worry about yourself. Not morons flying over guardrails and shit-talkers going missing at night,” he warned Magdalena, looking pointedly at his old cotenant’s belongings. He’d said he’d toss them, but it was starting to seem like Magdalena would have to do it. “No one’s gonna cover your ass for you. We’ve all got our own problems going on, you know? And people who stick their noses in other people’s business don’t last that long.”

What reassuring counsel. “I’ll keep it in mind,” Magdalena replied blandly.

The girl rolled over in her bed. Markus’s eyes drifted back to his laptop screen. They didn’t say another word to each other until classes began.

[transparencyboo]

I recently played through Mystic Ark (1995) each night before bed during the last week or so. I initially saw a promotion for the game next to Terranigma (a longtime favorite) in a Famitsu magazine earlier this year, and got mesmerized by its Labyrinth-esque cover artwork in particular. I immediately knew I had to play whatever this was.

So I took the slowburn approach by first going through The 7th Saga and Brain Lord, two previous games by developers Produce. While not remotely essential for this venture, they still gave me some neat context and groundwork for the game's roots. I think they ultimately helped me appreciate this game all the more.

In Mystic Ark you wake up alone on a desolate eerie island and need to travel to different worlds in search of the titular arks to grow stronger and regain your freedom. These worlds act as self-contained stories with distinct vibes, genres and presentation. It's a delightfully novel idea for a game to take an anthology approach, and I wish more games would attempt this because it's highly effective in keeping up intrigue and wonder. Every time you depart for the next world is a big mystery and you usually need a moment to piece together what each new tale is gonna be about.

For example, the first world is a light hearted tale about war and conflict told through two rivalling factions of pirate cats. The game sees you meandering in back-and-forth fetch quests to support both sides' advances towards the same goal, it has a lot of cheeky humor about this and presents itself in a very cute and endearing fashion.

Another story has you enter a mysteriously abandoned world devoid of even monsters, only populated by a few orphaned children who play in a ghost town by day and then go home to a mansion run by a suspicious nun. As you go along with their antics and babysit them out of dangerous situations, the situation only keeps getting stranger.

One world in particular locks you inside a horror story without your party members, as you work your way through a labyrinthine haunted house by solving puzzles interspersed by ominous scribbles by a paranoid previous resident. The atmosphere hangs heavy and the suspension has you on needles, it's a lovely showcase of Mystic Ark's core concept that it effectively pulls these twists and turns without ever feeling jarring.

One aspect I enjoyed in particular was the semi-point and click flavour in your interactions with the world. Many points will pull up an extra menu with a nice picture of what you're looking at and various options of how to fiddle and prod at it. Supposedly the 1999 Playstation sequel Mystic Ark: Maboroshi Gekijo leaned even further into this, and I'm not at all surprised. Would love to play it whenever someone decides to translate it or I get good enough at Japanese. Whichever one comes first.

Mystic Ark is a gorgeous and rich experience that continuously rewards the player for sticking with it. Even though the individual tales all have satisfying conclusion, the game still maintains a lot of mystery by keeping the finer points untold. You rarely get the full picture and that only helps to make you keep wondering. The ending to the game itself is as vague as it begins, and allows for many different interpretations. My take is that the game, through its anthology structure, tells us about the many little worlds we can find all around us, the stories that reside in anything. The worlds are entered by interacting with regular objects like a ship model, a painting or a storybook, and recurringly we must return to the island to gather figurines of lost actors in the stories to progress. I think Mystic Ark emphasises the player's power as a sort of story teller, fiddling with the plots in interesting ways, to build a genuine interest. At the end we are seemingly encouraged to take this depiction of narratives and inspiration to go out into our own world and find our own stories to tell.

It's a mesmerizing all-timer and for sure a new favorite of mine. /Kiki

(Extra note: The game was only released in Japan, so I played a fan translation. There are two of them and after some comparison I went with the one by Dynamic Design because it felt a bit more vibrant and inspired in its word choices. Your preference may differ though and they both seem to be good.)

[mk-writes-stuff]

WIP Questionnaire

Rules: answer as many (or as few) questions as you’d like!

Thanks @kaylinalexanderbooks and @illarian-rambling for the tags! This one seems like a lot of fun :)

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

For the Seven Stations, I created Belladonna, Cassie (although her name was actually Cass for a bit) and the general concept of “stations floating in the void” all at once chilling at a bus stop going “I want to write space fantasy.” Belladonna and Cassie were created as “stuck-up noblewoman (actually being abused) and her rude (but actually not a bad sort) bodyguard who hate each other and are in lesbians about it.” The stations came about because I went “wow I don’t want to write about planets I just want to be on a ship” so I structured the world so I could just do that.

The Pirates’ Roost is a fanfiction so I started with that. I think the first independent thing I came up with was Amelia’s wife and Malcolm’s husbands. Then Malcolm’s tragic backstory (which slowly got worse, sorry Malcolm). Then Julian and Finley as the first major OCs.

If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

The Seven Stations would probably call for a custom space-opera-esque orchestral piece. Somewhere between “ball music” and “Star Trek theme song.”

The Pirates’ Roost - well the theme song I currently have for it is Sea Shanty Medley by Home Free, but the Pirates of the Caribbean theme song would also suit well.

Who are your favourite characters you’ve made? Why?

Seven Stations it has to be Stellaris. He’s the world’s sweetest most awkward autistic nobleman who’s trying really really hard and still keeps screwing it up (relatable). I love writing him - he’s so blunt - and he’s always so earnest. For later books, Septimus and Shen are two of my other favourites, but I haven’t talked about them that much.

For the Pirates’ Roost, it’s Tatum. I love them. Tatum is probably the most dysfunctional individual on Ixalan who’s been through so much shit and keeps going through so much shit and everyone hates them. They’re trying really hard but every circumstance is stacked against them and also they’re dying, so it’s not going too great.

What other pieces of media do you think would share a fanbase for your story?

Hmmm this is a hard one. I feel like “fantasy space lesbians” might grab some of the Locked Tomb fans for Seven Stations but I know they’re pretty different outside of that. I’m not entirely sure yet?

The Pirates’ Roost is fanfiction so I’d hope some of the Magic: the Gathering fanbase would be interested :). Also the Our Flag Means Death fandom might get some interest because gay pirates

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Honestly, with the Seven Stations, mostly actually writing the thing. That and trying to keep the story aligned to an actual plot and not just meandering to do all the cool things and forgetting why I’m here. I think I’ve done a pretty good job :)

With the Pirates’ Roost, pinning down some of the characterization has been surprisingly hard. Malcolm was difficult to get consistent. Also figuring out how to post it in something readable - I still don’t know if I’ve achieved that.

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

The Seven Stations have bees. That’s literally the only animal on the stations. They’re exclusively used for farming. They’re absolutely vital to the stations’ ecosystem but they are not plot relevant lol.

The Pirates’ Roost has a lot of animals - there’s a side arc about a kid who, among other things, really wants a pet dinosaur - but I have to focus on Francisco. Francisco is a very intelligent Ixalani Black parrot who was rescued from the hold of a smuggling ship by Malcolm. He’s basically Malcolm’s therapy animal - Malcolm lavishes affection and attention on Francisco as a way of coping with his own neglect and abuse over the years. He also inadvertently trains Francisco to spy for him by teaching him the question, “Who said that?” There is an incident where a deckhand cuts Francisco’s primaries and Malcolm sneaks into their room and shaves them bald, including their eyebrows.

How do your characters get around?

On the Seven Stations, within stations, they get around through walking and elevators. They travel between stations and ship cargo via shuttles. There is also a generation ship they encounter briefly but it quickly gets stranded.

In the Pirates’ Roost, other than walking (or flying if you’re Malcolm), it’s pretty much all ships. Sailing ships are the only practical long-distance travel. The Sun Empire rides dinosaurs sometimes though!

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

Draft 1/1.5 of book 1 of the Seven Station Chronicles! I always do one quick editing pass immediately after I finish a scene so drafts 1 and 1.5 kind of happen at the same time.

The Pirates’ Roost is on the backburner but I’m currently posting what I have! Hoping to post Tatum’s first focus short very soon for anyone who’s interested :)

What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

For the Seven Stations, I’m hoping the novelty of it being all on space stations will get some attention. Also I have a lot of representation in the series, so I’m hoping that’ll catch a few eyes. Besides that, we have enemies/annoyances to lovers, lots of space politics, and cool regency space aesthetics.

For the Pirates’ Roost, well - pirates! Also dinosaurs. Again, lots of representation. Found family, chaos adventures, the world’s most cinnamon roll protagonist, his grumpy but loving boyfriend, and his deeply deeply traumatized friend (whoops they’re all deeply traumatized actually).

What are your hopes for your WIP?

I want people to read and enjoy it! For both of them - I would absolutely love to get even a handful of excited fans, that would be the dream for me. Even for Seven Station, I think I’ll be going down the online self-publishing route but I’d hope to get a few really excited readers! I just want to share my creations with the world and have people like them :)

This was a fun game! @elsie-writes @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @finickyfelix y’all want to try this one out? Questions are below:

What was the first part of your WIP that you created?

If your story was a TV show, what would the intro song be?

Who are your favourite characters you’ve made? Why?

What other pieces of media do you think would share a fanbase for your story?

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

How do your characters get around?

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

What aspects of your WIP do you think will draw people in?

[davnittbraes]

The Third Step - Chapter Twenty-Two

Part of The World Is Light, Embodied.

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (not this chapter but series as a whole)

Word Count: 5100

Warnings etc.: anxiety, introspection, a smidge of fluffy domesticity, a pinch of banter, excessive description of nighttime, ANGST, mentions of past emotional and physical trauma, mentions of slavery and forced confinement, mentions of potentially abusive strict religious code, two poor lil bbys finding solace in each other I’m crying 😭

Notes: I’m going to officially jump off the edge into AU territory here, because I just can’t resist using a headcanon of mine re: The Tribe’s social structure and culture and I get the feeling it won’t align with what we actually see in the show. Filoni, please don’t fail me in S3.

Mando’a translations at the end of the chapter.

Please check out the Series Masterlist page for more info.

The mid-afternoon sun filters down through the trees, painting the forest floor in dappled blues and greys, catching on the blue-leaved saplings and ferns that grow in patches scattered over the forest floor. There’s nothing but forest as far as you can see, endless stretches of trees and gently rolling hills, the only sounds the soft susurration of the wind through the leaves above. 

You’d shed your jacket before setting out and slipped on a sleeveless shirt, anxious to fully immerse yourself in the natural beauty of this little planet, and the breeze is pleasantly warm on your skin. 

It’s grounding, being in this sort of solitude again. You haven’t been this far from another person - and you’re still only about half an hour’s walk from the Crest - since before you’d joined Mando and the kid. It almost feels like seeing an old friend after a long time has passed, familiarizing yourself with how you used to move about the world, the quiet that makes your thoughts bloom brighter, louder, nothing to interfere or distract them. 

You slip through the trees, meandering, no particular destination in mind, keeping the sun on your left so you can find your way back when you’re ready. 

Smiling to a tree as you pass it, your fingers graze the small bump in your blaster holster belt - there was always Mando’s comlink if you get lost. 

Kriff, how embarrassing would that be, though. Having to call him to come rescue you because you got lost on a little walk through the woods?

A memory flashes across your thoughts - flying above Mos Eisley, his arms cradling you close to his chest, your nose tucked into his neck and the scent of him filling your lungs.

Ok, maybe being rescued by him wasn’t so bad.

The branches just above your head rustle, a distinctive skittering of tiny claws on bark. 

A quick scan of the trees above doesn’t show you anything, maybe it’s gone -

There. 

It’s only a blur of grey, movement so quick you can’t really make it out before it disappears behind the truck of a tree. 

One of the small, tree-dwelling animals, must be. 

The creature is probably just curious, and you have absolutely no intention of disturbing it. 

But there’s a lot more of them than there is of you. 

Your gaze drifts over the trees around you, searching for any movement, any sign of animals or otherwise. 

Nothing. 

Except - the trees thin out, just over there. You can see swathes of the pale blue sky between them, instead of the shifting glimpses in the forest around you. 

Curiosity wars with caution. 

Less trees means less cover, more exposure to anyone - or anything - that might be around. 

But when are you going to get another chance to free roam through a beautiful forest like this one?

Curiosity is already moving your feet before you can think of a counter-argument. 

You weave through the thinning trees, all senses tuned for signs of movement around you. 

Dank farrik. Beautiful.

The forest ends abruptly, cut off by a wide canyon that eats up most of the ground in your sightline, with a steep drop down to thick brush below. Cliffs of white stone shimmer in the sunlight on the far side, dotted with - are those caves? Interesting. 

A tree branch just over your shoulder suddenly bends, dips sharply.

Your blaster is out of its holster and in your hand before you register the round, furry creature on the end of the branch. 

It’s curled in on itself with all four paws gripping the branch tight. Standing on its hind legs, it would probably be as half as tall as the kid. Grey and silver-striped fur covers its entire body, down to the tip of its long, thin tail, which is currently wrapped securely around the branch it’s perched on. 

And two large, circular eyes stare at you, unblinking, bright blue irises fixed on the blaster in your hand. 

Slowly, you relax your finger off the trigger, keeping your voice soft and unassuming. “Hello.”

Those bright blue eyes flick to yours, snubbed snout twitching. 

Ok, well. That’s better than attacking you. 

So not inherently aggressive toward people, at least. 

“Sorry to disturb you, I was just taking in the view.” You shift your feet just a little, intentionally, watching for its reaction. 

The creature glances at your boots then back to your feet, tail twitching on the branch. 

Likely one of the larger predators in this area, then, if it doesn’t spook easily. 

But if it’s not scared of people and also not used to being threatened, that could mean it’s not afraid to act aggressively, too. 

Time to go. 

You give the creature a little half-smile. “Well, I should be getting back. Enjoy your evening.” 

That bright blue gaze never wavers as you deliberately turn to the forest, step back into the trees. 

You only get a few paces before the skittering of little paws sounds off above your head. Looking up, you can see flashes of grey fur and a rounded body moving quickly through the treetops, following your path. 

The creature stops right above you, this time sitting out in the open, blatantly watching you. 

With curiosity, hopefully. 

It follows you all the way back to the clearing the Razor Crest is in, occasionally leaping from one branch to another in order to keep up, though it never moves closer, maintaining what it obviously seems is a safe distance from you. 

Which you’re fine with, the last thing you want is for it to feel unsafe in its own home. 

As you near the clearing’s edge, the sunlight glints off the Razor Crest’s hull, dazzling your vision for a moment. A quick glance shows you no sign of Mando or the kid, but they’re around somewhere, no doubt. 

The rustling above stills, and you pause, looking up into the trees, searching - there, two bright blue eyes peeking out between a cluster of leaves, just out of your reach. 

“Is this where we part ways?” You gesture to the ship, and the creature’s nose twitches again in something like a response. “I’m guessing you’re not eager to get close to the giant shiny thing. Or the smaller but equally imposing shiny thing and his tiny green sidekick.”

The creature suddenly chirps, a high-pitched shrill sound, and takes off in a flurry of frantic movement. 

Your instincts kick in hard, and immediately your blaster is in hand again, boots shifting to turn and assess the danger, heart in your throat. 

Mando. 

Standing there a few paces away, the kid in the crook of his arm. 

The black visor turns back to you from where it was focused on the animal’s departure. “Adding to our collection of adorable creatures again?

You smile at the reference, remembering the sweet little houjix on Kinyen. “Unfortunately, the recruitment campaign was unsuccessful this time.”

“We’ve got our hands full, anyway.” He bends to set the kid down, the little guy wriggling free at the last minute to start shuffling toward you. 

Holstering your blaster, you squat to grab him, dramatically swinging him up into your arms as you straighten, laughing along with his giggle. “Is that right, kiddo? We got our hands full with you?”

Big amber eyes blink up at you, his ears slanting downward just a bit in a perfect expression of innocence. 

You lightly flick the end of an ear. “Can’t fool me with that look, I know who ate all the cookies I hid from the last supply run. And it wasn’t me or your dad.”

He suddenly turns away, squirming to get down, and you carefully set him back on his feet, clicking your tongue as he shuffles away. “I see how it is, confronted with the truth and you take off. Well, don’t go too far, we’re going to practice reading in a minute.”

Mando watches the kid move away, black visor trained on him while a gloved hand lifts toward you, pulling you closer when you take it. “He missed you.”

Your smile grows as you move to stand beside him, pressed against his arm. “I missed him, too. Though it was good to get out for a bit.” Glancing at Mando out of the corner of your eye, you squeeze his hand once. “What about you? Miss me?”

The helmet tilts in consideration, playful regret heavy in his modulated voice. “Guess I’m getting used to having you around.”

“How unfortunate for you.”

“I’ve dealt with worse.”

You shift closer, and the helmet turns to look at you, his hidden gaze heavy on yours as you press your breasts to his bicep, run your free hand down his arm to slip a finger under the cuff of his wrist and caress the warm skin there. “Still. What can I do to ease your suffering?”

His arm flexes slightly, a tremor you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been so close to him. “I can think of a few things.”

A spark of want flickers in your core at the low rasp of his voice, but it’s quickly suppressed by mild amusement as movement across the clearing catches your gaze. “You’ll have to tell me later. Right now, we should probably handle that.”

The helmet turns fast, a muttered curse you can’t quite make out filtering through the modulator as he obviously spots the kid clawing his way up the trunk of a tree, already a few feet off the ground. 

Both of you move as one, striding quickly toward him, and even though your hands had parted with the motion, you feel the warmth of his palm against yours for a long time after. 

*****

Night comes slowly on this planet. It creeps along the horizon, a barely noticeable shift of colour and light that washes infinitesimally through the trees, shadows growing longer until they blend together and blanket the world in comforting dark. 

The hull of the Razor Crest is still warm from the fading sunlight as you lean against the frame of the open crew door. Soft sounds float through the hold behind you, Mando putting the kid to bed after an evening of play and reading practice. A small smile curves your lips, remembering those big, amber eyes studying the words on the datapad as you and Mando took turns showing the kid the respective objects. 

Trying to teach him “ball” might have been a mistake - as soon as you brought out the metal sphere that screws onto one of the levers on the ship’s control console, the kid’s attention had shifted immediately and lesson time abruptly ended. 

You were happy with the progress, though. Well, not that there was much, it was hard to tell what the kid understood. But he’d been attentive, surprisingly focused. You had hope he would learn to read, and be able to move through life with a skill you knew from experience was worth more credits than you’d ever earn. 

Now lesson time was over, play time done, and you and Mando have the night to yourselves. 

Breathing deep, you close your eyes for a moment, focus on feeling the cool, sweet air filling your lungs, the rustle of leaves in the trees on the edge of the clearing as the breezes sifts through them. 

Kriff. This is nice. 

It’s been a while since you simply stood and enjoyed the night like this. Probably Bakura, that would have been the last time - sitting on your back deck, thinking about where the next step in your life was going to take you, just before a certain Mandalorian had appeared, looking for help for a sick kid. 

But before that, you had loved it, the transition from day to dark. It had been - still was - a moment of peace, calm. Tranquility. 

With the night came quiet. Time to lose yourself in thought, no demands to be met, no fear of retribution for resting. 

A dull throb of something like hurt swirls through the pit of your stomach as memories float to the surface of your thoughts. 

Memories usually buried deep, locked away. 

You open your eyes, automatically tilting your face up, gaze fixing on the two moons rising above the treetops. 

Memories of looking up to find other moons, on countless other planets, sometimes through windows, sometimes through cracks in ceilings. Sometimes only in your mind, the cold press of binders on your ankles nothing like the cool brush of dewy grass on your skin, as hard as you tried to imagine it was. 

Swallowing back the lump in your throat, you force yourself to smile at the moons. Because those memories - that’s not now. They’re old, faded with time, distant in the past. 

Now, you have this, a quiet night on a remote planet, a ship you call home, a little creature who has nestled deep in your heart. 

And him. 

Soft bootsteps head toward you from the hold, and moments later a strong arm is curving around your waist, solid frame standing close. 

“Kid is asleep.” His modulated voice floats just over your shoulder. “You ok?”

“Yeah, just… thinking.” You push those memories aside, leaning back into his embrace. His pauldron digs into your shoulderblade, sparking an question you’ve been musing on for a while. 

The problem is, you’re not sure if it’s… inappropriate. Maybe it’s frowned upon, even shamed. 

But you want to know more, want to understand -

“You’re thinking too loud again, tionas.”

“Dank farrik.” Sighing, you turn to face him, resting your palms on his breastplate. “You sure that helmet doesn’t come with mind-reading abilities?”

He hums noncommittally, free hand settling on the small of your back. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Ok. This is him, it’s fine, just ask. 

You slip your hand across his chest to trace the symbol on his pauldron. “Can you tell me about this? What it means?” 

Too much, too forward, you shouldn’t -

Anxiety chips away at your forced confidence, and it instantly crumbles. “Pfassk, I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer, I just - I don’t know, teaching the kid to read tonight brought back some memories and I got lost in the past there for a minute and when I came back I realized I don’t really know much about your past and that’s ok because that’s what we agreed to when we met, that we don’t have to share our secrets, really it’s fine if you don’t want to tell me, please just forget about it and crikking hells I’m rambling I’ll shut up now.”

The last few words push out of you in a rush, and you groan in frustration, bringing both hands up to cover your face. What is wrong with you, kriff, you need to get a hold of yourself, you can’t be dissolving into nonsense like this. 

Long, leather-clad fingers wrap around your wrists and pull your hands away. Your vision fills with black and silver, reassuring, steadying the reactive nervous flinch that tries to pull you away from him. 

He calmly places on of your hands back on his chest, the other over the symbol on his pauldron. “A lot has changed since we first met.”

You huff a laugh, still fighting to shake off the itch of anxiety. “Understatement.”

His soft chuckle is soothing. “It is. Everything is different with you, now.”

Those familiar words sink through your skin, the warm bright thing in your chest flares in response, burning away the last of your anxiousness. 

He leans in, gently taps his forehead to yours, the beskar cool on your skin. “My secrets are yours.”

Your heartbeat skitters, a deep breath steadies it as your fingers glide over the symbol. “Ok. Then will you tell me what this means?”

The helmet turning to look down at your hand on his shoulder. “It’s my clan signet.”

A memory, his soft voice telling you how he had defeated a massive beast. When he first saw the kid use his powers. “The mudhorn?”

He nods once. “My tribe’s leader said I earned it but I… resisted, at first, because I thought…”

A deep breath filters through the modulator, his shoulders rising and falling with it. “The kid was a quarry. It didn’t feel right, an enemy had helped me. But the next time we spoke of it, she gave me my mission - reunite the kid with the Jedi, care for him as my own until then. She insisted I had earned my signet.”

You slip your fingers under the cloth of his cowl, find his warmth underneath. “She must have known how important he was to you, even then.”

He pauses, clearly considering your words, then hums in agreement. “She is very wise. I should have listened to her the first time. But I doubted myself. The earning of a signet is a rite of passage. Especially for someone like me.”

There’s a hint of something heavy in his voice, something like regret. You slide the hand on his pauldron down to find his bicep, squeezing reassuringly. “Someone like you?”

“A foundling.” He pauses, words muted by emotion despite what you can tell is a strong effort to ignore it. “Mandalorians view adoption as the same as blood relation. We have a saying - aliit ori’shya tal’din. ‘Family is more than blood.’ But the foundlings rescued during the Clone War are… kept separate. Adoption isn’t allowed for us. We are expected to found clans of our own, to replace those that were destroyed.”

He’s said these words to himself many times before, you can tell. Practiced forcing pride for his people’s ability to survive against all odds into the words, repeating them until it sounded convincing. 

But you’ve grown accustomed to listening for any slight inflection, any hints of emotion in his voice. And you can hear it, the hurt underneath those words. 

The pain of being forced to be different. Of not being permitted a clan. A family. 

Maybe it’s louder because it echoes the hurt in your own heart. 

What comfort can you give him, when you’re still trying to heal that same part of yourself? 

A breeze floats through the open door, carrying the cool scent of the forest. Those memories resurface, those many moons and stars and dark horizons, the ache in your chest as you gazed upon them.

Your fingers find the outline of his collarbone underneath his cowl, thumb grazing the shape through his layers of clothing. “Mine are yours, too, you know. My secrets.”

He lifts a hand to gently cup your cheek in silent thanks, warmth of his broad palm quickly seeping through the leather of his glove. 

Your words falter, unsure. “Can I… show you one? A secret of mine?”

“Of course.”

Anxiety surges up the back of your throat, bitter on your tongue, and you swallow it back down. 

You can do this. You can face those memories, for him. 

Taking Mando’s hand, you lead him down the ramp into the clearing, pausing when your boots hit grass to look back at the ship. “Can you close the door? It’s best if there’s as little light interference as possible.”

He releases your hand, deftly keys the command into his vambrace, looking back to you as the door slides shut. The only light is moonlight, filling the clearing with a pale glow that blurs the edges of shapes and outlines. 

Perfect. 

You move a little further away from the ship to the centre of the clearing where the night sky is most visible, and cross your legs underneath you, sinking down to the ground. A shuffle of movement and he joins you, stretching one long leg out in front of himself, bending the other at the knee to prop an arm up. 

The moonlight glimmers off his armour, setting it aglow, and for a moment you can’t think, can’t remember what you were doing here because your thoughts are filled with him, the fluid grace of his movements and the blatant strength behind them, the way he follows your silent request to join you in sitting without question or hesitation. 

If you had any doubt left about whether or not you could trust him with what you’re about to say, it would have vanished in that moment. 

The warm bright thing in your chest pulses in time with your heartbeat. 

Gesturing toward the sky, you look up, let your gaze drift over the star-studded dome above you. Take a deep breath. Begin. 

“When I was a kid, night was always my favourite. My owners were usually asleep, so it was the only time I had to myself. No chores, no duties, no demands, just me and the dark. I would sit at whatever window I had access to and watch the world, covered in night.”

His helmet tilts, black visor turned to the sky, gloved hand finding yours in the grass. The way his long fingers curl around your palm is a blessed distraction. 

A reminder that he’s still here, despite knowing who - what - you used to be. 

Breathing the silent reassurance in with the cool breeze, you smile, let your thoughts drift. “Everything looks so different, at night. Buildings, mountains, plains, all of it. Like those trees -“ you point toward the forest - “so pretty and delicate in the daylight, now they’re shadows with mysteries of the creatures that live among them. As if they lead two different lives, one they show to the light world and one they only show in secret.”

A subtle movement in the branches nearby draws your attention, but it stops before your gaze can fix on it. “The animals are different, too. At night, nocturnal creatures invade, move along the same paths as those day dwellers, making them their own for the night. Animals who have learned to live without the comfort and safety of warm sunlight, to not just exist but thrive.”

The helmet flashes in the moonlight as he follows your gaze, again when you turn back to look at the sky once more. 

Even though you’ve seen a starry night sky countless times, there’s something about it that still takes your breath away, turns your voice soft with wonder. “Then there’s the sky. That’s always my favourite part.”

Words fail you for a moment, your gaze taking in the endless expanse of stars and swathes of dust in wide lines, pricks of light and shimmering arches against a field of dark. Countless planets, moons, nebulas - worlds, filled with cities and wilderness and as many people as there are stars. 

He shifts beside you, letting go of your hand. “Stay like that.”

You watch him move to sit behind you, confused. “What are you doing?”

“There are night filters on my helmet I can’t turn off.”

Realization fires panic through your veins, and you turn away frantically. “Oh, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, we can stop -“

“It’s ok, I want to see what you see.” His back presses against yours, and a glint of metal flickers in the corner of your eye, his hands setting something in the grass beside him -

His helmet. 

Your heartbeat pounds in your throat. 

He’s right behind you, bare-faced. All it would take is a simple turn of your head and…

Something hot and sickly turns your stomach. 

You can’t even think it. 

He trusts you. More than he’s ever trusted anyone before. 

And you’ll never betray that trust. 

The breeze catches on the tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, and you blink to clear them, refocus your gaze on the sky above. “I’ve always thought the night sky is the most beautiful part of any planet. The stars, planets, moons - light and dark, contrasts that could never exist in the day. And there’s a depth that your eyes can never quite see the end of - no matter how hard you focus on the dark parts, it’s like there’s always something, some little faint light that your eyes can’t see. But it’s there, and it could be a tiny star, or a planet with trillions of people. Only the universe knows.”

He’s quiet but you sense that he’s still listening, so you continue, bringing your knees up against your chest and hugging them close, as if they were a barrier protecting you from the dull throb of emotion that grows with every word you speak. 

“I used to try and see those faint lights as a kid, figure out what they were. Imagine that, maybe, they were planets or ships with people who…” The words stop up in your throat, and you breath deep to clear them, push them out. “People who knew me, knew where… where I came from. And maybe they knew I wasn’t supposed to be a slave, that there was somewhere I belonged, and they were looking for me.”

The night sky disappears from your sight as your eyelids squeeze shut. “I used to imagine I had a family up there, and I would find them one day.”

Tears threaten to spill and you shake your head firmly. No, you will not cry over those memories. Not any more. Because they are the past, and what you have here, right now, is important. 

Clearing your throat, you open your eyes, focus on the dark outline of the trees swaying gently in the breeze. “Sorry, I got away from myself for a moment there. I just wanted you to know that I… I understand what it feels like to not… belong. And to wish you did.”

A flare of anxiety makes your fingers twitch. “Anyway, it probably sounds like a child’s silly daydream - or night-dream is that a thing? Well, there’s dreams you have at night, but that’s not what I mean, obviously.”

“Every child dreams of things they don’t have.” His unmodulated voice is so soft, it’s familiarity soothing the sharp edges of your memories. “And you had more reason than most to dream.”

You blink up at the stars, processing his words. “Maybe. But you’re right, every child dreams, just as every child has to struggle through something. We can’t compare our struggles, only try to understand them. Because surviving those struggles is what makes us who we are.”

A stillness settles over him. You look down at your knees, uncertainty squirming behind your ribs.

Did you say something wrong? Did you go too far? What -

“You remind me of him.”

His words pull you out of the threatening anxiety spiral, and you tilt your head just a bit, curious. “Of who?”

“Din Djarin.” 

Mild confusion buzzes through your limbs, and you frown at the dark trees.

He takes a deep breath, a sigh that moves gently against your back. “I will always be grateful to them. Without my tribe, I would not have survived.”

There’s a rustle of motion, whatever he’s trying to say obviously making him restless. “When I came of age, I put on the armour, swore to follow The Way to my last breath. Became a Mandalorian. Faceless. And nameless. That’s how we ensure the Creed stays true. By erasing who we are. Making us only Mandalorian.”

A particularly strong breeze swirls around the two of you, pulls the edge of his cowl along your arm, and your fingers dig into the skin of your calves with the urge to touch him. Let him speak, let him finish, he needs this. 

He huffs a laugh - not his usual one. This sounds is full of disbelief, heavy with regret. “But you remind me that under the armour and the Creed - maybe even despite it… Din is still there.”

Time stops. 

Realization washes through you, cold and hot at the same time. 

Din is still there. 

Din Djarin. 

His name. 

That warm bright thing in your chest suddenly bursts, fills your entire body with an overwhelming need to somehow prove that you see him. Under all of it, despite all of it, you see him. “Everything you’ve been through… you… you call me ‘undefeated.’”

The words shift, change as they push past your tight throat into the night, soft. “I think Din is ne’kotir, too.”

Silence. 

Drawn out, thick and heavy, settling over you, undisturbed by the steady, gentle breeze. 

Then he’s moving, quick motions that you can’t follow by listening, and -

His arms pull you back against his chest, legs border yours as he wraps his frame around you, and your eyelids slam shut instinctively just as a gloved hand slides over them, tilts your head back into the crook of his elbow. 

Then his lips are on yours and you stop breathing. 

His free hand cradles your face, fingers curve along the back of your neck, holding you there as his lips move so softly, coax a whimper from your chest.

You can taste them - the words he wants to say, sweet, the same words that hover at the tip of your own tongue. Remain unsaid, but there, in the way his breath stutters against your cheek. 

Slowly, he pulls away, gently turning your head back to face the trees and letting the hand over your eyes fall to your waist. 

Your lungs fill again, shaky, fluttering at the same pace as your pulse. He settles closer to you, tugs you deeper into his embrace, arms securely around your midriff, chin resting on the top of your head. 

It’s quiet in the clearing, a few moments passing with just the sift of the wind through the leaves. 

His hands find yours, threading your fingers together over your stomach, his voice soft and low. “You’re right, tionas. Every child struggles. Fights to survive.” He swallows hard, presses his lips to the top of your head. “I survived before I met you. Now, I live. Din lives.”

The words reverberate, weave through every part of you until they find their echo in the depths of that warm, bright thing in your chest. 

And you know there is no reply, nothing that could be said to convey everything you feel in this moment.

So you pull his arms tighter around you, breathe deep the scent of the night mingled with him, with Din, and let your gaze drift up to the sky, seek out those dark voids where dreams used to hide, and smile at the reality surrounding you. 

***** Mando’a translations

Tionas - question

***** Previous Chapter Next Chapter

[mayakern]

just wanna say i love what you do and i love your creations!! you can feel the care and time you take in your designs, and they always turn out so lovely. i now own five of your skirts!! i plan to own more as skirt restocks come out (i have my eye on that cloud one when it comes out, for sure.) a tad sad ill never get my hands on the milk skirt as milk is like, my Thing™, but i can understand discontinuing it for lack of sales. i still think it was cute regardless!!! thank you for your time and effort. got my eye on your book series when it comes out in full (i hate waiting between books). hope you have a lovely day.

aw thank you that’s very sweet!! 🥺🥺

thank you for enjoying and supporting my work / our store

spitfire won’t be finished finished for a couple years at least, as i’m currently in the middle of editing the “first” book (which is being split into books 1 and 2) and am about 1/4 the way thru writing the “second” book (which is being split into books 3 and 4)

the hope is once i’ve finished the structural edits on book 1 that i’ll submit to pubs, and even just hearing back from pubs takes months tbh, not to mention the whole process of trad pub (if it gets accepted by trad pub)

anyway all that is to say, it’s a slow process so i hope ur ok with waiting!! and also thank you to everyone who already read spitfire (and maybe even firebrand) and who has been so supportive and patient of this strange meandering path i’ve been taking 😭

[thequeenofthewinter]

Your answer on the pantsing/planning ask actually got me super curious :> Talk to me about your experience writing specifically a series, where you have multiple installments in the same 'verse, so to speak. Did you know you were going to be writing a multiple-volume story when you started, or did it sort of unfurl on its own? What are the main differences in your experience of writing the first installment, vs working your way through the second? Do you carefully plan all the beats in advance, or do you enjoy meandering through the milestones and seeing where the journey will take you? Bonus: is there a point, for you, where the universe of your story starts taking a life of its own, and feel like it has a logic of its own, or do you stay close to canon throughout? Relatedly, are there side stories in your specific series 'verse that you'd like to tell, but haven't gotten to yet? No rush, and thanks for indulging my curiosity ;)

Ah, well, in true pantser fashion…uh, when I first started out on this jaunty stroll into madness—I mean—writing, I had very loose beats, so to speak and an even loser concept of what was going to happen or where it was going other than:

Civil War

A romance with the most controversial and possibly most hated character in all of Skyrim. (Because I am self-indulgent and I like controversy.)

So, really great plan, right?

Anyway, if I am 100% honest if you, I wasn’t even sure I was going to finish it. The first time I opened my Word document, (I was working in Word then instead of Scrivener.) words were so hard to word and I almost gave up after the first three paragraphs. (Which are still in their untouched original state in chapter one.) 

So, I guess to answer your first question, no, I had no idea I was going to be a multi-volume story, and it very much unfurled its sail all on its own.

As for the main differences between writing the first installment to the second…it might be a weird thing to say, but I have a much laxer approach to it. When I just started writing I fussed with every word in every sentence and how it would be received, and I’m much more—free flowing? now. And I like that. I used to worry so much about trying to get things “perfect” or how people would like this or that or if this idea was stupid or too dramatic—and you know what? Fic is fun. It can be whatever I want it to be and it isn’t going to be perfect in the plot or the structure and not everyone is going to like every bit, but it’s mine and I am damn proud of it. Learning to let go and just do was the most important lesson for me.

Ideas go from brain to fingertips with more ease for me now, and I believe that I have learned a lot and have improved in the 250k words from the first fic to the second where I am about to hit another 100k.

As for the next question, I think it is a little connected to the last. When I started writing, the plan was “Civil War” and maybe try to throw in some other things. So all those beats were mostly planned for me, but the way to get there was very open. I am a rambling, meandering soul by heart. I don’t make detailed outlines or take extensive notes, and I know some would look at my writing in absolute horror because of it, but it has been working for me.

A major difference between the first installment of the series and the second is that it’s “totally” unscripted for the most part, meaning that I don’t have the game to guide me and use as a crutch. Once I got halfway through “In the Midst of Winter”, I started thinking about where I would go and where the logical conclusion would be. We could end at the Civil War, but well, we all know what would happen next: the Moot. But we never get to see that in the game. So, that’s where I wanted to go, and as you kind of already know I am currently navigating a snake pit of politics, and later, we’re going to try to take a stab at a 2nd Great War. How will it go? No idea. But will I have fun along the way? You betcha, and that’s all I am concerned about at the moment.

Bonus question? I always take the extra credit. 

I would say that I try to follow canon within reason as in we are not going to suddenly make Ulfric a giant cuddly teddy bear, but at the same time I think the universe and the characters DEFINITELY take a mind of their own. Don’t even get me started on that. They take the wheel frequently and “turn this car around” to tell me that we’re going the wrong way to pick up a Wendy’s frosty. So, perhaps I would say it’s a little of both? 

As for side stories, definitely. If you continue reading “In the Midst of Winter”, you’ll eventually meet another OC named Narile. While I do tell a bit of her story in the sense of what happens to her in the moment, she has a backstory which I haven’t had the time to tell. And well…I also started post-main quest and I could tell THAT story as well. Or even write about Dahlia’s time in the College. So many words, so little time.

Thank you very much for the questions, Para. I thoroughly enjoyed answering these questions. <3

[ethanhuntfemmefatale]

Thank you for being so kind! I’m always a little self conscious taking film thoughts directly to someone because they uh…Go Hard. But I also just can’t ever shut up, and it’s got to go somewhere 🙈

Your point on voyeurism is interesting. I’ve never really thought about it from that angle but it’s funny, because one of my favourite shots in the movie is when the camera moves to over Max’s shoulder when they’re watching the coyotes, and Tom Cruise’s eyes are doing something unknowable but devastating as Vincent cracks open a little, and it’s obscured by the partition glass of Max’s cab. I’ve always found that obscuring to be impactful and significant and I’ve never really thought about why, or why Mann blocked it like that. In terms of the gaze, I wonder if part of the emotional power of that shot is to do with the obscuring of Vincent from ours.

In terms of ‘doomed to death for a neat narrative’ I can see how that would be the likely case for lots of films, but I’m more doubtful of it in a film made by Michael Mann. I do think watching Mann’s filmography is enriching to all of his work in a way that is different from most other filmmakers - Mann is so consistent and so preoccupied by the same themes and questions that his entire career has been a return to the same conversation. I think you can feel his respect for Vincent - He values ethics, integrity and skill, and he gives Vincent heaps of it. Even Vincent’s backstory (or lie, depending on what parts you believe) is something he shares elements of with Mann’s other protagonists who are his special little dudes who get to wear well tailored expensive grey suits (honestly this guy, Michael Mann the mind that you are). And I do think Mann is deliberate not to pit Vincent and Max against each other in terms of classical good vs bad. In another life Vincent is Max’s life coach and Max is Vincent’s therapist, and you feel that potential in them. I love their genuine, cosmic chance connection but I also love that they don’t want to kill each other - they might have to, to fulfill their own sense of duty, but it’s not their motivation. And I think Mann is careful to emphasise the luck involved in the outcome. It keeps Vincents death from being a condemnation. In a way Vincent’s death is a fulfilment of his pure dedication to his ethical structure, and in that way his integrity remains intact. Max not leaving him to die alone and unnoticed is Max coming into a fulfilment of his own, and it’s a less nihilistic ethics than Vincent’s that he embodies. In doing that, he shows up the falsity of Vincent’s belief that there is no human connection in the world, because there he sits sharing one with Max in his last moments. And genuinely, I think it’s a feeling of missed potential between them that really lingers. There’s a real loss to it.

Ok I am back to answer this ask now that I’ve seen a couple other Mann movies, I still cannot boast of anything like Mannderstanding but I stg the coffee scene of Heat alone puts collateral in an entirely new light. Also……Heat…..what a film holy shit

I love the points you make here. I started a rewatch of collateral last night and I have some thoughts, also responses to your ideas, mostly just a kinda meandering rant as a thank you for your ask

First of all…I definitely see what you mean about special little guys in grey suits. So iconic mr mann. Second of all definitely I strongly see your point about the two of them being driven to kill each other, but ultimately not wanting to at all, and that’s presented so strongly in Heat too. Their sense of ethics, and the people (or in Vincent’s case, jobs/systems) they’re responsible for, make conflict inevitable, and there’s respect and intimacy/kinship and regret that comes with being equals and opponents.

Heat to me felt like it set up a lot of ideas about the near-omnipresent conflict of love and duty, and how in a sense, love ends up always being love Despite. And people who care about each other are set against each other constantly in a thousand ways by the systems that they are beholden to. I can’t help but see that strongly in this movie too. There’s a constellation of people with character traits in common, who have a capacity for connection, to help each other or care about each other, and most of those possibilities are cut short before they can even begin. Not just Vincent and Max’s connection, but the jazz trumpeter Vincent kills (the affinity between them is pretty devastating) and there’s a lot of similarity between Vincent and Annie, too, even though they never really interact! And Fanny, whose death is shockingly sudden, feels like a Mann protagonist, and has a brief but important connection with Max.

On the topic of Annie-Vincent affinity, I really love the juxtaposition of their initial conversations with Max, because there’s so many parallels. The two of them react to Max in pretty similar ways, although Vincent’s bluntness and cynicism rubs Max the wrong way. The song choices even feel similar, the one for Vincent’s conversation in particular is striking to me, the gentleness and intimacy it gives that scene that lends it an almost meet-cute quality despite the fact that Max is a bit put off by Vincent, and Vincent misreads him (you’re a guy who does things instead of talking about them…ironically by the end of the movie that becomes true). When I first watched the film I took the similar conversation beats as a measurestick for understanding that Max didn’t like Vincent too much—but on rewatch it’s more complicated, the three of them are tied together in a way. And Vincent is close to being the kind of person Max could really like.

It’s interesting that you mention that Vincent’s backstory isn’t unique to him in the Mann filmography. I’m interested to see the other examples of it because that moment hit me so hard. The backstory itself, and the particular sequence of it, is so evocative of Vincent’s relationship with his past. It’s interesting to me how readily he confesses it—both his mom’s death and his father’s abuse—especially in combination with “I like to think of myself as his friend” in the hospital, Max’s mom talking about Max not having friends, really everything about his interactions with Max’s mom and with Max about his mom. There’s complicated emotion happening there, identification, discomfort, probably envy, a sense of connection that is unusual and overwhelming for someone as isolated as Vincent. All of that makes it simultaneously more likely for him to admit to his own past, and more difficult. (Vincent is pretty forthright. But it still surprised me that he talked about it.) And then when he says he murdered his father…that’s the crux of it, when he says he killed him, specifies that he was twelve, and then says he was kidding. That to me represents the fixation, simultaneously a fantasy and a source of horror, on killing his dad, and also an unwillingness to commit to it entirely, even to commit to the lie. The way he invokes the specter of patricide, arguably a more “monstrous” sin than anything he does in the movie, not to mention a personal murder—then walks it back. It speaks to how much he increasingly is invested in Max’s perception of him, wanting to prove his own viciousness and also disown it. It’s a devastating scene ngl. Then Max saying “I’m sorry,” Vincent saying “no you’re not”—a mixture of defensiveness and honesty. It’s also a cracking of Vincent’s persona, which has been almost disconcertingly pleasant so far despite the violent threats. Anyway I fucking love that bit

It’s interesting to me to compare the Vincent/Neil dynamic in Heat to the Vincent/Max dynamic here. They seem like they’re in conversation with each other. Definitely the final scenes are directly evocative of each other. Vincent and Neil have an immediate affinity Despite—a lot of interchanging shots where the two of them are in the exact same position, with the same expression—not to mention everything about the coffee scene. They’re very similar men with a lot of professional respect for one another, and so despite the very few direct interactions they have their connection is obvious. Vincent and Max are different men who don’t connect immediately, which works well for a movie that pairs them so often, keeping their relationship exciting and dynamic. Like we’ve talked about before, they have important aspects in common, mostly their situations as invisible outsiders with no support network, highly effective silent cogs in a wheel. And you can see in their initial conversation that idea you mention—Vincent as life coach, Max as therapist—that these are two people who maybe could grow to care about each other a lot, help each other a lot, given time. Then Vincent’s job throws a massive wrench in the works. Still they get shoved together and they grow to care for each other despite themselves, in a way that goes against both of their instincts. And they cause each other to develop in ways that ultimately set them as opponents, equals like Vincent and Neil. interestingly, through that process the kind of metaphorical “positioning” of the characters change—through most of Collateral, Vincent is behind Max, and there’s a divider between them, but in the end, the two of them are face to face.

(Incidentally I am also fascinated by the way Vincent is obscured in the coyote scene. To me it adds to this sense that we, like Max, are witnessing something we maybe aren’t supposed to.)

Max is an unusual Mann protagonist in the beginning of the film (says guy who has seen only three Mann films) until Vincent pushes him increasingly towards the commitment, drive and sheer gutsiness of Mann’s idea of the masculine hero. To your point about Max’s code of ethics, the one you describe that he develops through the movie and fulfills by shooting Vincent and then staying with him while he dies….his ethical structure in the end seems to me to be the movie’s response to Vincent’s own code, which relies on detachment, the idea that no one cares about random death, so neither should he. The care Max holds for Vincent (like the care the audience holds for Vincent) happens against all odds, but it is there, and it proves something that’s inherently contradictory to Vincent’s ethical structure. Which is why that structure has to unravel in the end. Heck, Vincent only is set against Max because Max cares so much about a woman who rode in his cab once that he is prepared to risk his life—even kill—to save her. I love your point about Vincent fulfilling his own ethical code in the end. It’s hard to say that he failed when his job wasn’t about survival in the first place.

Anyway those are some scattered thoughts and I would be very interested to hear more of yours but also completely understand if you are tired of back-and-forth ranting lol. I deeply relate to the idea of having Thoughts and nowhere to put them and would like to say that I love getting your thoughts! And love to discuss. Pretty much always.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

I woke up a couple hours before my alarm this reason for absolutely no reason and ended up contemplating, what else, story things and writing things.

(I have a one track mind. The only song it knows is "Writing?")

I've been editing this current draft since my CP got me notes back in March, and then picked up the editing when I got back from Japan in April. I'm almost done, but it has been taking the vast majority of the brain space I have for writing at the moment because I'm working so intensively on fixing things.

But while I was waiting for notes back, I was at loose ends with nothing else to work on, so I drafted about 25k words of the Next Thing (Avel's book). I’m very excited for it, but I’ve reached a point where I needed to unknot some things to continue in a useful way (instead of just wasting time writing junk that will never contribute to the story and just gets cut later anyway), and I don’t have tons of capacity to unknot what I have of that book when I'm trying to unknot a completely different story with different characters in a different subgenre with a different setting about different things and, well. Yeah.

But despite that, I still mull over it occasionally without assigning tons of brain power to it, and I realized this might end up helping before I get back to it, because I’m really thinking about what things excite me about this project and thus what things to focus on and what plot choices will emphasize and show those off best. What kinds of things will actually contribute to the story arc.

Still not outlining, but brainstorming slowly because I’m not just working at it in an excited rush, and it seems to be working on. Like “hm maybe that bit should go because if I want the story to be about passion and sacrifice and what is worth doing what you love that part was going on a different tact. Or I could make that bit go like this and it could fit in better?” Etc.

YuuMori has actually been exactly what I've needed in this regard: it's a very focused story. It knew from the start what it wanted to be about and what it wanted to say about what, and it really committed to that in a very clear way very fiercely without too much meandering or wandering off in other directions.

And as I was considering that...well...doesn't that structure really reflect William, in many ways? He's so focused on his goal and his plan that he has very little time for other things, like...figuring out who he is. Obviously YuuMori is more expansive than he and really digs in and does several things at once at all times, but the focus, the goal, that reminds me of him in some ways.

Compared to something like JR, which I also love dearly, but is very slow and meandering and wanders off and discusses ten different things in one short story, it feels very different. But JR is also lead by Seigi, and Seigi's arc is learning about the world and exploring it and himself, and the exploratory meandering also suits that and the kind of story that JR is.

But I've always had a problem with pacing and meandering and never getting to the point. I don't need JR's help with that. But this draft I'm editing now is the first time I've ever gotten notes back that aren't about the f'king pacing and meandering, so even though getting there wound up with 100k words in my Scrivener trash, I have gotten better at it.

And I know it's because I spend so much time thinking about the way YuuMori does it (and talking about it).

Anyway, perhaps this overlap and break from Avel's book means I won't end up with 100k words in the trash because I'll have better focus and a better ability to execute because I've thought through options in advance.

We'll see how it goes.

Thanks for listening to this morning's writing rambles.

[hatterstan-shameblog]

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Fake It 'Til You Make It: Chapter 1

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Epilogue

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Chisiya, Kuina, Kuzuryuu, Aguni

Pairings: None

Warnings: language, mentions of weaponry, show-typical stuff relating to games and all that

Summary: The Two of Clubs, but with a surprising twist.

Notes: This fic will be three chapters, plus or minus a little epilogue at the end if I'm feeling extra motivated. Although we're mostly setting the scene in this one, be prepared—this is a comedy, and it's about to get downright silly.

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The game is simple.

Sixteen players enter the arena—in this case, a once-luxurious and modern hotel in the heart of Tokyo, the towering structure still managing to look regal despite the decay that has begun to take over the city. The inside, although filled with the stuffy scent of decaying floral arrangements and boasting a thick layer of dust on its white marble floors, is no less impressive.

Registration ends and phones light up. A Two of Clubs makes a handful of participants sigh in relief; Clubs are, by many, regarded as the simplest of games. And, a level two implies a high rate of survival.

A letter pops up on each individual screen. Six A's, twelve B's. The A's are instructed to follow proceed to the left, and the grateful minority meanders out of the lobby. In a game with unequal teams, it's almost always better to be in the smaller group.

The B's, meanwhile, have two sets of tasks to complete. Firstly, choose a partner. For many, this is very simple—and if it isn't, a three-minute time limit spurs interpersonal negotiations forward, and everyone beelines to the right to board an elevator and complete the second part of their first challenge.

Kuina, Chisiya, Kuzuryuu, and Aguni file into the elevator at the furthest end of the hall and let the gold doors close behind them.

"Why'd you pair me with specs?"

Kuina shifts the straw between her teeth from one corner of her mouth to the other. Her arms crossed loosely around her middle, she leans against the wall in an almost bored fashion as the elevator begins its languid ascent.

"He's got the highest rank, so he gets priority," Aguni answers. He switches the safety off of his gun, the metallic click a sharp contrast from the pleasant music being piped in from the speakers. "You do Clubs, so you've got the best chance of getting him out of this alive."

"How noble of you," Chisiya smirks from the corner, "Even when we're not at the Beach, you're still loyal to the cause. Hatter has you trained well."

The mood grows ever more tense in the tiny space as Aguni's ire rises. The grip on his gun becomes a choke.

"Knock it off," Kuzuryuu chides. He rubs his glasses clean on the bottom of his shirt, then holds them up to the light to inspect for missed smudges, "Now's not the time for petty insults. We need to talk strategy."

"There's a real chance we'll all be working together even though we've been divided into pairs," Kuina says, "So, I suggest we stay close. And if you can't stay close, stay in touch. The easiest way to lose a Clubs game is to keep information to yourself. Communication is key."

"And if we happen to be pitted against each other, I suggest we do our best to minimize the damage," Chisiya adds. "I can treat a knife to the shoulder much easier than a knife through the eye."

Kuzuryuu puts his glasses back on his nose. His brow furrows.

"I also think we need to prepare ourselves mentally. I don't mean to be impertinent, but the fact that we're playing in a hotel as pairs could have...intimate implications."

Kuina cocks her head to the side.

"Do they really make games like that?"

"They make games for everything," Aguni says, "But that sounds more like Hearts. Or even Spades, I guess."

"And it wouldn't make sense to remove a group of players at the beginning if that were the case," Chisiya supposes. "So I'd say it's unlikely."

"Thank God," Kuina mumbles. She glances towards Kuzuryuu and shrugs. "No offense."

Kuzuryuu waves her off.

"None taken. I suppose all we can do is wait and see what happens."

He looks to the digital display above the doors. 28...29...30. It's only a matter of moments before they arrive to the top floor, the 38 button glowing merrily on the wall panel next to Aguni's shoulder.

"Gentlemen, I know this is a lot to ask," Kuina sighs when the elevator comes to a halt, "but try not to fuck this up for me, okay?"

She is the first to leave the car, a sassy sashay in her hips as she swans her way into the hall with confidence. A stony-faced Kuzuryuu follows leisurely behind, although there's a glint of amusement glittering in his eyes at his new partner's dry wit.

Aguni does not look back to see if Chisiya follows him out of the elevator; follow he does, albeit it as his own frustrating pace.

Not that they have particularly far to go. Almost immediately, they find themselves in the back of a queue, a pair of metal detectors blocking their path.

Women remove necklaces, men remove wristwatches. Piercings unclipped and weapons surrendered. Plastic bins in inoffensive beige have been provided, and into them go the shining treasures and trinkets of each player.

"Shit," Aguni curses, "Fuck."

"Just like being at the airport," Kuina comments. She reaches for her hair and unclasps one of the tiny silver clips glinting there. "Think we gotta take off our shoes, too?"

"If we do, it'll be the first time the Beach's dress code has ever been useful," Kuzuryuu scoffs. He turns to his partner? "Do you need help?"

Kuina allows it. A young person towards the front of the line gets to work unclipping the many buckles up the length of their bubblegum pink platform boots. At least they haven't been given a time limit for this part, because it's proving to be a very tedious and time-consuming event.

"Never seen you in a game without a firearm," Chisiya mentions to Aguni. He already has his MP3 player in hand, ready to part with the device when they get to the front of the line. "It'll be interesting to see how you do without it."

"I could snap you in half," Aguni hisses. He switches the safety back on his gun and holsters it once more.

"Vertically or horizontally?"

"Hey," Kuina snips, "what did I just say about fucking this up?"

"Yeah," Kuzuryuu adds. He removes another tiny ornament from Kuina's hair. "There's no 'I' in team. There's also no 'being a dick,' so if you two can't be nice, be quiet."

For better or worse, that shuts both men up. Kuina and Kuzuryuu chat here and there, even striking up a bit of conversation with the players in front of them. Apparently, they're newlyweds—a honeymoon to Japan has, unfortunately, diverted to the Borderlands. When it's their turn to walk through the metal detectors, both women seem reluctant to part with their rings.

But part with them they do, just like Kuzuryuu parts with his glasses and Chisiya parts with his wallet. Aguni is the last to pass through the metal detectors, looking a smidgen shorter but no less intimidating without his boots.

Phones vibrate, and one-by-one, the players begin to read through the instructions.

Game:

Dinner Date

Objective:

Place one of the rings provided on your left ring finger.

You and your partner must convince a panel of judges of your romantic involvement. If the panel correctly guesses which three couples are faking, every pair will be eliminated. If the panel is incorrect, they will be eliminated.

The other players begin to approach the table and select rings. The wives Kuina had been befriending share a bewildered, nervous giggle before clasping hands and fetching themselves a new set of jewelry.

The four Beach residents, however, are not so enthusiastic.

"Well," Kuzuryuu mutters, "I'll be damned."

His eyes go wide when Kuina bumps her shoulder against his. She leans on him, a hand coming up to rest on his lower back.

"C'mon, babe," she teases. It almost sounds natural, and the easy smile on her lips is a far cry from her unimpressed countenance of moments before, "It's been too long since you got me new jewelry."

"Right, ah," Kuzuryuu squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

When he opens them, he is a new man. Gone are the sharp edges and clenched teeth that so define his inquisitive nature; now, his posture has loosened, and the hard lines about his frowning mouth have softened. He nods towards Kuina, and something akin to a chuckle bubbles up from his throat.

"Diamonds or rubies?" he asks playfully, which earns him gentle shove from his new date.

Chisiya and Aguni share a bewildered look.

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"Oh, aren't you two just the sweetest," Kuina gushes, bringing a hand up to her heart as if emotionally touched, "You don't have to be shy—I think everyone should get to see just how much in love you are."

Her brow raises just a fraction, but it's enough to get the message across. The panel of judges aren't the only ones watching. A few heads turn in their direction; fellow teammates looking to suss out the fake couples from the real ones.

To Chisiya's surprise, Aguni reaches over and gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. Like Kuzuryuu, his expression has lost some of its usual steel, and when their eyes meet, there's only a fraction of hatred hiding in the darkness of his pupils.

"I'll go get you one, too," Aguni says, still curt, but less aggressive than usual. When he lets go of his hand, Chisiya fights the urge wipe away any traces of the man on his shorts.

"Hurry back," Kuina calls as Kuzuryuu and Aguni go to procure their mandatory accessories. She watches them make their way through the small crowd.

"And you," she says lowly, her false smile never fading, even as she elbows Chisiya in the side, "better step it up. Remember what I said in the elevator?"

"How could I forget?"

"Good. Now, get ready, loverboy," she says, "because our men are on their way back."

part 2 coming (hopefully) soon!