#SO MANY ROADS HAD TO CROSS FOR THIS TO HAPPEN AND IT WAS THE SHEER ACCIDENT

[nadiajustbe]

I cannot express how much I LOVE small fandoms because we're all actually like a small village of two and half people where everyone knows everyone and I mean in in the BEST WAY POSSIBLE because this bring the funniest stories ever.

Probably one of my most precious fandom experience I've ever had in a HUGE time of my internet existence happened because I was following one really cool modern AU hmc book fanfiction. And when I really like something I engage with it as much as it's possible to do so, and so I was leaving a pretty big comments (1k+ words each) under every chapter just ranting about the plot, my emotions, predictions and also fitting in some of my favourite hcs. Me and the author had a little chat in the comments for a while, and that's not the main point of the story, but we had pretty similar visions and headcanons for the characters and were both laughing about it.

The funniest thing happened when in one of the chapters they randomly mentioned one of my favourite, random fandom rare pairs, never mentioned anywhere in the fanfiction fandom page before (yes, Justiman. It WAS Justiman) as a canon in the fix instead of canonical pair-up the characters had.

Needless to say I was the happiest person in the world, immediately writing a huge paragraph about how I was absolutely sure that I was the only person shopping them and how good it fit into all the other small details in the fic. Then, between the lines, I asked them where did they get the idea of a ship, because god how happy I was. They said they got the idea from Tumblr and immediately jumped aboard. I asked If they can tell me the name of the account. They did.

It was.

My account.

[zelphin124]

LCB-3 -> Canto 1: Chapter 1

A written account of the LCB-3 adventures from the perspective of LCB sinner Dr. Jekyll. My GOSH this is SO long. SO much happened the first day, but! I wanted to take you all on Jekyll's journey, so here is the first of the many written accounts of the adventures from the LCB.

Masterpost N/A -> Chapter 2

Lmk if you all enjoy stories like this!

~o0o~

One would often think the evening skies are as beautiful as midday on a summer afternoon. However, such a train of thought never occurred to those in the City, where the smoke and clouds covered the upper atmosphere for all the days of their life. To have the skies clear would be a sign of a catastrophe, and the gloomier it was, the happier the people were. In retrospect, happiness was a rare phenomenon of its own. 

The city at night was always empty, for people lived in fear in the crook of their homes to avoid the Sweepers cleaning the streets every night. Commonfolk stood no combative chance against the cult purging the roads like wildfire. 

Though some – either from stupidity, bravery, or sheer dominance – ventured at night. Each is for their different reasons, each risking their death. Yet to find a person in the streets at night was never a good sign. It was told to stay far away from anyone after the sun hit its face. 

That was the first thought that crossed the woman’s mind as she approached the bus. She approached another woman, with short white hair and a circular face, one with a look of absolute omniscience and a uniform kin to the vehicle behind her. She held a long sword by her side, and it was clear she had already spotted her. 

The woman approaching the bus was an average-height doctor. Her black hair was slicked back into a tight bun, woven around a headpiece that supported a red monocle on her left eye. Her uniform was of no importance or visible interest; the only conclusion one could draw from it was the association of its similarities with M Corp. However, the interest was in the weapon she carried. At first glance, it looked like a spear, but investigating it further would lead to the conclusion that it was a paintbrush. It was taller than the woman wielding it, yet it seemed as if it served well in combat, despite the tendency to believe otherwise. 

It appeared that the woman approaching had recently cleaned and tidied herself up as if to make a first impression. A few moments of caution passed before she approached the white-haired woman next to the bus. 

“You must be Ms. Jekyll,” the woman next to the bus stared her down. 

“Dr. Jekyll, yes, uh-” Jekyll observed the bus with her keen eye, before looking back toward her. “Is this…” she paused, before pulling out a mediocre invitation from her jacket. She unfolded the papers carefully and read them with quick precision. “Limbus Company?” 

“That it is.” The woman gently bowed her head. 

Jekyll adjusted the brush to rest on her back before extending her hand awkwardly to the woman. “Pleasure to meet you… Ms…” 

“Faust.”

“Faust. Are you my assigned manager?” The doctor asked, her eyes raised in a hopeful expression. She handed the paper that she signed to join the company to Faust. 

Faust shook her head, “That you are mistaken. The manager you seek is inside the bus, to which you will enter shortly, and give that paper to.” 

Jekyll’s face drooped disappointingly, retracting her hand and folding the paper back into the envelope. “I see. I shall follow you in, then…?”

“Faust will not be entering Metastolphilies.” She explained in a matter-of-fact tone. “Faust will stand by to wait for the last member joining the party. You may keep Faust company if you wish, your presence would be delightful.” 

“Very well,” Jekyll gave a soft smile, strolling to Faust’s side and holding her hands into a folded position in front of her. She rocked back and forth, looking at the sky before back to the ground repeatedly. 

The ever-growing silence bothered the doctor, it was only disturbed by the night sounds of the city. It had been a bit since Jekyll attempted small talk with someone new, but if she wanted to succeed in this place, and get away from where she came from, she saw it worth a try. 

“Have you ever seen the stars?” Jekyll asked, tilting her head towards her. 

“Faust has seen the stars many, many times.” 

Jekyll gave a soft smile. “I hope to see them one day. I hope they are as great as people make them out to be.” 

Faust did not reply, she only turned her head toward the front of the bus, before walking towards the man that stood in front of it. 

Jekyll followed suit to gaze upon the approaching man. She first noticed his shaggy blonde hair combed in strands His face was littered with scars across his eyes and cheeks, but they weren’t as attention-demanding as the disgusted scowl plastered across his lips and hazel eyes. His clothes almost complimented his attitude; his button-up shirt and shaggy shorts came off as uptight, and tough-looking. He carried a blunt weapon that Jekyll could not identify, and she was not curious enough to find out. 

“Mark, is it not?” Faust began to extend a greeting in his direction. 

“It would be a very unfortunate disgrace if this is Limbus Company. What kind of pathetic trash is this?” 

Despite Jekyll having experience with sour mouths, she never failed to zone out the moment more than a few curse words flew through the air. She took into account how the man – presumably Mark – complained about the poor travel experience via W Corp train transportation and how he was unimpressed with the company’s procedure of doing things. 

From Jekyll’s perspective, he yapped about stupid things, complaining despite the luxurious treatment the company had offered him. As far as she was concerned, she was not offered a first-class ticket to a W Corp train, she walked here, taking days in advance to map out her journey. She tuned in and out to the conversation, staying relatively behind Faust in hopes of not being noticed. Jekyll wondered if Mark knew any other words in the common language besides curses. 

After a long and painful conversation, Mark had agreed to head inside the bus, that Faust had named previously but Jekyll could not recall. However, when Jekyll looked towards the door of the bus, Mark met an obstacle blocking his way. 

The obstacle was another man, with blonde hair in a braid and a goatee, which was more well-kept than Mark’s hair. His eyes were a faint blue as if a war glazed over the beauty he could see. He wore a cocky grin of delight as if causing trouble was amusing to him. The rhino horn on his head and the bug wings on his back were a signature symbol that this man was from the former G Corp. He wore a commander’s bennet and stood a few inches above Mark. 

Mark threw curses towards the man, with a few fancy words such as ‘pansy.’ The man through insults back, but as if he was eager to see Mark’s temper explode. Jekyll was convinced that she never heard so many curses within ten minutes. 

Mark tried to push the man with incredible force, but the commander pushed back, smirking slyly. Mark raised a threat Jekyll did not catch, but her eyes widened as she watched the tensions grow. 

However, uncharacteristically, the man stepped back the moment Mark swung a punch. As if some other force compelled him to oblige for his life. 

Mark stumbled onto the bus and immediately took a seat within view, the anger increasing on his face. 

Jekyll swallowed hard, rubbing her hands together. “How long are these contracts supposed to last?” 

“Depends on how efficient you are at your job,” Faust explained, glancing back towards her. 

Jekyll forced a smile, rubbing her face. “Do I have to go in… right now? Like, are there any other members?” 

Faust gave a slight smile and shook her head. 

Jekyll sighed in defeat, feeling her hopes leave her body. She knew she signed up for difficult work on the move, but she was given zero information about the people she would be working with. She debated whether or not it was worth the gamble, and cashed all her luck in. 

And like gambling, she came out empty-handed. 

“Ngh, well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Faust,” Jekyll took a few steps towards the bus before looking back. “Will I see you again?” 

“Faust believes our paths will cross again in due time.” She nodded softly. “Until then.” 

Jekyll felt a tinge of pain as Faust turned and vanished from sight, so she turned and stepped onto the bus as well, minimizing the thought to process later. 

It took longer than she would have wished for her eyes to adjust to the environment. The bus itself seemed small, with maybe twenty seats, most of them already taken. The bus itself was gray and dull, with little to no room like a soldier's quarters. The windows were tinted, and the only interesting thing was the door at the back of the mini hallway. Jekyll decided to glance and get a general idea of who she’d be working with. 

In the bus driver’s seat was a young woman with symbolic gray clothing and a large hat. Her expression was dull and she paid no mind to the people behind her. Her silver hair fell to her shoes as her feet swung back and forth, listening to the person standing over her. 

Jekyll observed the woman pointing at the map in the bus driver’s hands. Her brunette hair fell to her shoulders in a messy cut perfectly around her face. Her eyes were a gentle turquoise, and her clothes had the appearance of sown scraps with many strings hanging from various places. The colors frequently switched from green, lime, and navy blue from her scarf to her shoes. Her skin glowed a golden color, and she talked in such a joyful and excited tone. Jekyll didn’t realize that kind of happiness still existed. Jekyll was only curious about the small blue necklace she wore around her neck, it seemed out of place for the style she presented. 

Jekyll took a seat in the front, the seat closest to the bus door. In front of her stood a tall, prominent man with gray hair and a red gaze that could pierce through anyone’s soul. His clothes were gray, similar to the bus driver’s. He had a looming presence about him, something that was told in the stories known across the city.

Jekyll searched her mind for the exact tale he reminded her of. The closest she could match the man with was the tale of the Red Gaze, a legendary freelance color fixer. His name was told to be Vergilius, and he hadn’t been seen around the City much despite his fame. 

If he was the Red Gaze, why would he be here? Jekyll thought.

Probably the same reason we are here, idiot. To run away. 

Jekyll shook as the other voice in her head spoke, it was more prominent than the previous days. She clenched her hands, fighting for control of her mind once more. 

She successfully repressed the voice again. She sighed in relief. That was close… too close… 

A figure stood up from one of the seats 8 o’clock from her. She wore a cruel and bland expression on her face as she made her way around to each of the sinners. Jekyll observed her long, black ponytail of hair flow gracefully behind her. Her clothes were black with a shard of yellow through them. She was tall and proud, and her emotions were the same level of pissed-off as the supposedly Red Gaze. 

She walked over to where Mark had sat, his feat spread out and his scowl all the same. Jekyll half-guessed the woman was going to slap him across the back of the head for his attention, but what caught her attention, even more, was the man that he quarreled with earlier was sitting right next to him. 

“Name.” The woman demanded. 

Mark turned around and cursed at her before giving her his name, and she replied curtly before turning toward the man next to Mark. “Name.” 

“Othello, darling.” The man’s voice was high, soothing, almost alluring in a shuddering way. He stood up and bowed, taking up the entire space as he did so. Othello still held that same smirk as he did with Mark. “Yours?” 

“Mallo.” She gave him a disgusted look before turning around to the person behind her. “Name.” 

The person she addressed was a tall man with long white hair to his chin. His eyes glowed like a light in the deep ocean, and he had a courageous aura about him. He stood proud with his spear close to his side, and his gaze was more determined than the others she had seen. “Pen,” he answered quickly with a light nod. 

“Mallo.” The tall woman strode away from him as soon as she said it. 

Jekyll’s gaze would’ve followed Mallo if it hadn’t been for Pen immediately walking over to her. “I like your spear,” he shyly mentioned, his eyes smiling at her. “Are you a hunter too?” 

Jekyll was taken aback by his approach, questions, and comments. He seemed sweet, and she didn’t wish to burn a connection that might or might not be there, so she answered carefully, her stutter getting in the way. “O-Oh, yeah, you know I guess this is a spear o-of some s-sorts, haha!” She adjusted the paintbrush to sit behind her. “I-I-I like your spear, too.” 

“Thank you,” he held his spear high and looked up toward it, smiling softly. “So are you-” 

“Name.” Mallo came forward, her expression bland as she stared at Jekyll. 

“Uh- Uh I’m-”

Say the right name. You know the right name. 

“H- Jekyll.” Jekyll shook her head, sighing in relief. “What about yours?” 

Jekyll knew Mallo would respond with her name and leave, and Jekyll winced as she did exactly that, knowing she already knew Mallo’s name. 

Pen also nodded and took his leave, sitting in a seat out of Jekyll’s initial sight. 

As Mallo went up to the front of the bus, Jekyll turned around to spot one more person she had not met. His hair was black and slicked back on his head in chunks like Mark’s hair, he had a scruffy short beard that could barely be seen on his tan skin. He already wore a uniform dedicated to Limbus Company, and he had a neutral expression any man in his late thirties would have. 

“Hello, I don’t think I’ve met you yet,” Jekyll turned around and waved her hand awkwardly. “I’m Jekyll, what’s your name?” 

“Ah, a pleasure to meet you Jekyll.” The man looked up and gave a short bow from his seat in response. “I’m Jatayu.”

Jekyll nodded and smiled upon receiving his name. “Jatayu, that’s a nice name, it’ll be a pleasure to work with you, hopefully,” she chuckles, shooting a glance at Othello and Mark. 

“Likewise,” Jatayu sighed, sitting back in his chair and looking straight ahead. 

Jekyll followed his gaze, resting on Mallo collecting the names of the people up front. Jekyll barely caught anything before the brown-haired woman started moving her hands excitedly, looking at the Red Gaze.

“Oh my gosh! New people! Can I talk to them now, please?!” Her smile beamed with energy, and she could barely keep her feet off the floor as if she was fighting the urge to jump up and down. 

The older man looked at her with a tired look. “Not just yet, Kuvira.” He name-dropped her as Mallo’s attention turned toward the man. She wore an expression of annoyance as if she was upset the Red Gaze didn’t let the woman speak. 

Jekyll’s attention turned toward the silent quarrel between Othello and Mark. She thought it was odd they both would deliberately sit next to someone they disagreed with. She shivered at the thought of having to do that herself. 

She could never. 

“Alright everyone, take a seat.” The older man raised his voice, holding a book in one hand and flipping to a certain page. “I will begin the welcoming speech shortly.” 

No one seemed to object as everyone turned their attention towards the legend. He sighed as if this was something he did not wish to do again. Jekyll pitied the man, perhaps no one had seen the Red Gaze for so long because he was here. 

He began to speak in a dull tone. “Greetings. Welcome to the LCB-3, otherwise known as the Limbus Company Bus 3. You have all been selected by our brightest minds to embark on a journey to obtain… heh..”

He paused for a moment, with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. “…You know... I’ve already done this... Twice now. I wish to not have a third time.” He turned towards the girl he called Kuvira. “Kuvira. Do you wish to be my assistant? Let us see how well your reading comprehension has gotten. Consider this a test to your… ‘extravagant work and effort’…”

Kuvira’s eyes lit up with glee. “Oh my gosh! Really?! I mean, yes, yes sir, I-” 

Vergilius tore a paper cleanly from his notebook and handed it to her. “Show me how you’ve grown. The Sinners are not the only ones who have to grow here.” He didn’t wait for a response before moving to the front, leaning on the dashboard next to the bus driver. She pouted, he moved, and her frown faded. 

Kuvira collected herself and stepped forward, clearing her throat. “Well! Welcome everyone! Before I begin, I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Kuvira Stone, some call me Kuv; I really don’t care what you call me. I am Vergilius’ assistant! I make sure a lot of the work gets done and eases everyone’s load. If you ever need anything, your gal’s got you, alright?” 

Jekyll leaned back in her chair, sighing. Everyone else seemed to get comfortable as well; everyone could tell it was going to be a long introduction. 

“To begin with a…” Kuvira skimmed the paper in her hands. “Gee, do I need to read all of this? This is long.” 

“If you wish to prove yourself via your reading comprehension, yes,” Vergilius answered. 

Kuvira forced a frown. “Okay okay,” she turned back towards the party. “Let’s start with… Oh! A bit of history and background knowledge. Alright… Limbus Company began in the year 984. 10 years have passed since its origins, and has gone through various developments. For the concerns of you all today, your only concern is the LCB team, or the Limbus Company Bus Team. Before you, 2 previous teams have been formed. The LCB-1, and the LCB-2. You all will form the LCB-3.”

How odd, there had been two teams before them and they have more work to do? Jekyll shuddered, wondering if this was a job that was going to be worth leaving everything else behind for. 

“As you have been made aware of before joining the company, you have all been entered into person-specific contracts,” Kuvira continued with a voice that fluttered like butterflies. However, there was a tinge of sass behind her words. “Each person’s contracts may have different clauses, but you will all receive the same reward for your efforts: your heart’s desire.”

There was a pleasant shift in the atmosphere on the bus. Everyone was reminded of the reason they were here. 

“However, in order to obtain your Heart’s Desire, and earn your greatest wish in this world, you must accomplish various tasks in service to Limbus Company.” Kuvira looked up from the paper, the glow from her skin dimming. “And you must do a good job, don’t think this job is one where you can do whatever you want. There’s a reason you are the third team, and we will expect you to follow the contracts. Hopefully, that is understood.” 

The doctor realized she would have to reread her contract to remind herself of the terms she agreed to. It had been a bit since she looked at it, and she signed the paper in haste.

Kuvira’s sigh snapped Jekyll back into reality. “Okay, this is like… really long bare with me guys. Here are the tasks you will need to complete! Number 1, You must Obtain Golden Boughs. As the name suggests, these are mysterious Golden tree branches or boughs.” Kuvira paused and turned towards Vergilius. “Oh! They’re tree branches? You’ve been collecting the…” she pauses, thinking for a moment. “I will ask that later. That’s just really good to know, huh.”

Vergilius’ face was full of impatience. 

Kuvira cleared her throat and continued. “This is your Primary Objective. Failure to obtain Golden Boughs can result in fewer resources funded to the LCB-3’s budget. Which means,” she looked up from the script again. “If you want good food, do your job well.” She smiled and adjusted the paper to read further. “If you have Questions regarding this task, you may ask your Manager Dante, or his Assistant, Jatayu.” 

Kuvira gestured to the man in the back. Jatayu took the opportunity to stand up, wave to the rest of the party with a slight bow, and sit back down. Jekyll couldn’t tell if everyone looked his way to acknowledge the veteran. 

“Secondly!” Kuvira exclaimed. “You will need to protect Dante with your very lives. Dante is your Manager and has the ability to enter Contracts with certain people. You, after being reviewed by our brightest minds, have been picked out as these special people. Whilst you are under a contract with Dante, you will be referred to with the job title of Sinner(s). This is your secondary objective. If you have any questions as to why regarding this task, you may ask your Manager Dante, or his Assistant, Jatayu.” Kuvira blinked a few times. “I suppose any questions will go to Jatayu or Dante… who doesn’t seem to be here at the moment.” 

Jekyll took that as a red flag. Managers should be at a meeting like this, yet the main one they were supposed to protect was not. Were they supposed to already be protecting him? 

Would she be able to protect the manager from herself? 

“Uhhh thirdly! You will need to Defeat Abnormalities and Collect EGO. EGO is special, reality-defying equipment that will assist you on your adventure. Abnormalities are a special type of monster that can only be fought by Sinners or those with EGO.” Kuvira flattened her face in a silly way. “Don’t get too cocky when fighting these guys. If you don’t have EGO, you will be powerless. I don’t care how dominant you were in your background, these monsters will destroy you without EGO…” She looked back at the paper. “Any other method is ineffective- oh hey it’s like this paper is reading my mind, haha!”

The silence was loud as she flipped the paper over. “There are a lot of intricacies and lore surrounding both, however, this is not the time to explain them. This is your tertiary objective. If you have any questions as to why regarding this task, you may ask-” her face flattened again. “I think you know who can take your questions at this point, so I shall skim over that.” 

Jekyll glanced around the room. In her eyes, the only person truly paying attention was Pen, and even he seemed to be slightly more focused on the woman’s radiant skin than what she was saying. Do they not see this as important information? She glared at Mark and Othello. 

Kuvira sighed. “Okay just a little more guys, I think… Uh fourth, you will need to suppress distortions. Distortions are a phenomenon that occurs when a person reaches a mental breaking point and has been occurring throughout the City. Distortions can be saved or killed. This is your quandary objective. If you have- yeah. Basically, you can distort too, it has happened in the company before… If you’re struggling mentally, please come talk to me. The party and the managers would rather not have you distort and disrupt the mission.” Kuvira sighed, “Speaking of, these are all your objectives. However, there is more to discuss. Should you cause too much trouble for the Company to benefit from, your contract with the company and Dante will be terminated.” 

Kuvira let out a sigh of pain in such a way that seemed off from a person like her. “This has happened,” she began. “I watched this with my own eyes, so please, be on your best behavior. It would be ideal that you see to your contract end. Your work will go to waste if you don’t.” 

Jekyll glanced around again, watching Jatayu shifting uncomfortably. She wondered if he was part of the first team, and had to watch both teams get fired… if they were fired, Jekyll needed to find out more information. It seemed important to know, but not information the company would immediately put out there for the newcomers to acknowledge. 

“Oh hey look, we are almost done, guys. There are just some important locations to know about.” Kuvira cleared her throat once more, holding the end of the paper with both hands. “There are various facilities on the bus that you should be aware of. The Hall is where you will be sleeping. You will have personalized rooms. The technology on the bus will cause the rooms to match your mental States, for better or worse.”

Jekyll froze in terror. Their rooms would match their mental state? Her heart rate started to quicken, and she noticed how she violently held her breath. Surely, they were exaggerating… surely it wouldn’t match what she had to fight every day. 

How would the room betray that, if they were telling the truth? 

“Uhh The Ordeal Gauntlet is where the LCB-3 can face ordeals, which are sub-species of abnormalities. Doing so can not only strengthen and train your body but can yield rewards. To practice yourselves, this seminar will end with a tour of the Ordeal Gauntlet for combat training. The third place is the Mirror Dungeons, this is where certain abnormalities that the LCB-3 and previous teams have failed to properly defeat and suppress the first time around. Using special technology, these abnormalities are located here, waiting for the LCB-3 to dispose of them. The fourth palace is the Refraction Railway, which is relatively new. It is a challenging gauntlet of fights not fully encountered in your adventure and yields treasures that otherwise you wouldn’t receive. There is no guarantee you will succeed and win. But doing the challenge proves yourself enough- this is odd wording. Basically, there are three areas to fight some monsters for rewards, or to let off some steam, if I remember correctly.” 

Jekyll noticed the slight smirk Vergilius temporarily wore on his face. 

“The Lunacy Storage is where Dante goes to extract various identities for the sinners. This will be covered by Jatayu during the combat training seminar.” Kuvira gestured to him in the back again, giving a soft smile. “Lastly, the Corridor. At various times during your time here, the Corridor will expand, with new features to enjoy. However, venturing into the corridor is highly dangerous, and has led to near-catastrophic consequences. Under no circumstances should anyone but Faust enter the Corridor.” 

Faust, the person who left in the dark of night moments ago. She said she wasn’t a manager, so why did Kuvira talk about Faust as if she was? Jekyll had many questions, which she figured she’d have to go out of her way to ask Jatayu about. He seemed nice enough, anyway. 

Kuvira gave a smile as she reached the end of the paper. “These are all the notable features of Mephistopheles, the bus, at this current time. And now, because Faust trusts Vergillius to allow Kuvira to read the remainder of this introduction, Faust would like to task Vergillius with explaining the concepts of EGO Gifts to the Sinners. Kuvira, presuming you are reading this, congratulations are in order-” Kuvira turned around and gave a sly smile to the Red Gaze. “Heh, Faust truly does know all.” 

The sigh from Vergilius was rememberable. 

“To the Sinners, however, this marks the end of the speech. Any questions can be directed to either Dante or Jatayu- as said many times, geez. Uh, when the Sinners are ready, Vergillius - presuming he has proven Faust correct - will lead the combat training seminar. Thank you for joining Limbus Company. Your every desire and wish will be answered.” 

Kuvira ended the welcoming speech with a bow and a smile. No one clapped for her. It didn’t seem to bother her as she stepped backward and handed the papers to Vergilius, looking up at him with glee. “How’d I do? Did I do well?” 

“You did… well, yes.” Vergilius sighed. “You’ve proven your reading comprehension to be quite adequate.” 

Kuvira beamed in delight, the glow on her skin radiating brighter. “Thank you! It seems Faust was also knowledgeable about me reading it, haha!” 

Vergilius placed the pieces of paper back into his notebook, heaving another heavy sigh. “Where is Dante?” He ignored Kuvira’s comment. 

“You know, he should’ve been here, let me go find him!” Kuvira took a step forward before looking back. “If that’s uh… alright with you, and you don’t have anything else for me to do at the current moment.” 

“No, no I don’t. Please, go find Dante. You may join us in watching the combat as well if you’d like.” Vergilius dismissed her with a wave of his hand as he searched through his book. 

Kuvira nodded and strolled across the bus between the sinners, but didn’t get very far as the back door swung open, revealing someone of high status. 

Jekyll turned her head to focus on the person who’d just entered the front of the bus. He had a red clock for a head, with yellow and black flames flickering out of his skull-like hair. He wore a pure red suit with yellow stitches and outlines down to his feet. His hands were covered with black gloves and he held many, many papers in his hands. Despite his lack of a face, Jekyll could tell his expression was panicked. 

“Dante!” Kuvira strode up to him with pride. “So good to see you, finally! We were just talking about you and I was coming to find you!” 

A series of clock noises ensued. 

“Here uh, you missed the speech,” Kuvira said in a more hushed voice, taking the papers from his hands and filing them into hers. “Go introduce yourself to your new sinners, I will take care of this paperwork okay? You got this!” 

Dante bowed in respect as Kuvira used her foot to close the door behind her. He then strolled up to the front of the bus with a proud posture, before turning around, raising his hands, and-

More series of ticking ensued. 

The sinners stared blankly, unable to comprehend what he was saying. Jekyll felt her heart sink into her chest. “I-Is this Dante?” She asked out loud. We’re… working for a manager we can’t understand?

The rest of the sinners mumbled under their breaths, giving judging looks toward Dante. 

“Uh, Dante, they can’t understand you yet,” Jatayu grabbed the manager’s attention. “You haven’t shook their hands yet.” 

Dante slapped his head, frantically going up to the closest sinners and extending his hands towards them. 

Mark was the first, scowling at Dante. “Great, we have a spineless pansy for a manager,” he cursed at him, reluctantly shaking his hand. 

Dante made a few more ticking noises, leaning backward. 

“Mark, now go do the others already,” Mark answered, pulling his hand away from Dante and looking out the window. 

Dante moved towards Othello, offering his hand. Othello shook his hand, with the same smile on his face. “Don’t mind Mariachi over here, he’s in a sour mood,” he teased. “Name’s Othello partner, a pleasure to be working with ye.” 

Dante didn’t hesitate to walk over toward Pen, the next closest. The lad seemed happy to meet him. “You must be Dante, our new manager?” 

Dante nodded, shaking his hand. 

“You’re going to lead me to the star, right?” Pen asked, with hopeful eyes. 

The ticking stopped; Dante looked around before speaking to Pen again in words Jekyll had yet to understand. However, his answer seemed to satisfy Pen. The sinner smiled and sat back down. 

Dante turned to Jekyll next, extending his hand. Jekyll stood up in reply, wiping her hands on her jacket and clearing her throat before extending her hand to greet her new manager. “H-Hi, I’m Jekyll-” 

She cut herself off the moment she touched his hand. Suddenly, it felt like a coil around her soul was unwrapped around her and tied to Dante. The fear of death, the fear of merely having mortality suddenly was attached to this man. Her life and death felt as if it was no longer her concern, but the concern of the one standing before her. 

The ticking noises suddenly became audible. “Jekyll! A pleasure to have you! I’m Dante, as I’m sure you know.” 

Jekyll let out a large sigh of relief. “Oh thank the Arbiters, I can understand you now.” She laughed awkwardly and scratched her head. “I was worried we’d have to communicate by writing or something.” 

“No worries,” Dante nodded before he turned toward the last sinner who needed their hand shook: Mallo.

Dante held his hand to Mallo. “Greetings, I am Dante,” he said in a light-hearted tone. 

Mallo stared at the hand, refusing to shake it. She didn’t understand Dante yet, but it seemed like she didn’t wish to, either. 

“Uh, you need to uh… shake my hand,” Dante scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. 

“You have to shake Dante’s hand for the contract, Mallo,” Jatayu informed her. 

“Nah, I don’t feel like it,” the woman replied, leaning back into her chair. 

Pen wasn’t having it. He walked over, grabbed Mallo’s hand, and forced it into Jatayu’s, shaking it up and down. 

Mallo resisted but failed to do so under the force upon which Pen acted. She cursed at him before reluctantly shaking Dante’s hand up and down herself, binding herself to the contract, binding herself to Dante. 

Mark glanced up with all the commotion going on. He made some comments Jekyll didn’t quite catch, but she paid close attention to the events that followed. 

Othello stood up from Mark’s comment, turning towards him. “Marachi trying to beat Mallo in the worst mood on the bus.” 

“You better shut your mouth before I do it for you,” Mark snapped, standing up to tower over the former commander. 

Othello seemed unphased. “You talk a lot for someone who doesn’t act on his word,” he taunted Mark, freely, belittling him and getting away with it. 

Jekyll could theoretically see steam blowing out of Mark’s ears. He raised his fists and cracked his knuckles. There were a few more lines of cursed banter before Mark hissed at Othello. “Let’s finish what we started, then.”

Othello grinned, raising his own fists. “Gladly.” 

Dante tried to step in, “Guys, it’s the first day! Please let’s not f-”

“Stay out of this, clockface,” both of the men said in unison, their eyes locked on the target. 

Othello lunged for him. He swung first, hitting Mark right in the nose, and sending him back. Mark caught his feet and reeled forward, punching Othello in the nook of his neck and shoulder, making him stumble back. 

Dante stepped forward to step in, but Pen stood up and pulled Dante away, standing between the manager and the fight. His spear was ready to kill if anyone dared to step in his direction. 

Jekyll noticed that Mallo watched with glee, a large smirk on her face. Jekyll’s attention returned to the two men as they collected themselves. It’s only day one, are these idiots serious-

Suddenly, without warning, a sharp, red light blinded everyone on the bus. Othello cried out in pain as he fell onto the floor, blood pouring out of his arms at a rapid rate. Everything up to his elbows had been cut clean off his body, and his clothes were drenched in blood. 

However, Othello was the lucky one of the two. Mark immediately imploded on the spot from the flash, turning into a pile of body remains and a puddle of blood. 

Everyone’s eyes widened in horror as the Red Gaze stepped forward, his eyes glowing with great intensity as he eyed down Othello, who was trying to keep his arms from shaking and losing so much blood. His attempts were futile, and he refused to return his stare at the man before him. 

“Couldn’t even go one day when without breaking a term on your contract,” Vergilius seethed, staring into Othello’s soul. 

Jekyll barely noticed the interaction between Vergilius and Pen, and how the Red Gaze explained how he wasn’t going to hurt Dante, so he didn’t need to stand his guard. Jekyll clenched her head, breathing rapidly. Her heart rate quickened as her gaze was locked on the remains of Mark. She felt her sanity drop alarmingly, and the voice got louder. 

HAH! HAHAHAHAAH- A LITTLE MORE, A LITTLE MORE AND I’M FREE! 

No, stop! Stop! Jekyll started to shake, she pressed her hands against her head. Be silent- you-! She couldn’t control the voice. Her vision got hazier, and her control was slipping by the second. Her voice became quieter and quieter as the other got louder. 

Keep staring, Jekyll! Look at the blood on the floor! How beautiful! How enticing! HOWEVER SO MALICIOUS AND-

The voice stopped, it was replaced with the loud sound of a clock rewinding. Jekyll looked up to see Dante clench his fists in pain, before heaving a few breaths and standing upright once more. 

Right before her eyes, Othello’s arms reassembled together, all of the blood put back into place moments before the attack happened. It was as if he had never been attacked in the first place. 

Same with Mark; Mark’s body slowly but surely rose from the ground, assembling in reverse the exact way he was destroyed. Limb by limb, every blood droplet returned to its owner, and Mark stood there, completely unscathed. 

Jekyll sighed in relief, slowing her heart rate down. That was way too close… 

She felt the voice pout. I’m still here idiot. 

Shut the hell up, Jekyll hissed at herself. 

There was more banter thrown between Othello and Mark, but Jekyll had a hard time remembering it and making sure her breathing slowed. Vergilius didn’t seem to address either of them before he went through the back door of the bus and didn’t look behind him as he closed it. 

“Right, you two,” Dante stepped forward. “No fighting your allies, it causes pain to bring me back.” “Ngh, I can do whatever the hell I want!” Mark hissed at Dante. “You're just our personal medic to help us get the job done, with no spine to command us at all. So get out of the way, pansy, and let me finish-” 

“You really want to be imploded again?” Othello smirked, rotating his arms as he got off the floor. “Couldn’t even take a single hit before you died.” 

“Sleep with one eye open, Othello,” Mark roared, getting up with no trouble. “Let’s get on with the tour of this trash, stupid bus already.” 

I love these guys. 

No, no we don’t! Jekyll groaned in pain, massaging her eyes in pain before standing up and giving a polite, passive-aggressive smile to anyone looking in her direction. 

“Right,” Dante sighed, gesturing to Jatayu. “Let’s give them a tour of the bus, I suppose.” 

The party slowly made their way to the back of the bus, which to the newcomer’s surprise, was a lot bigger on the inside than the outside. The hall stretched out to various sections, and each of the doors in the first room they entered were color-coded.

“Right, these are your rooms, where you may stay in your downtime!” Dante began, backing up and resting against the door of his room. “Your uniforms are inside, on your beds. Feel free to explore inside them.” 

Mallo was the first to enter her room, without a word. The others slowly made their way to their rooms, going inside and closing the door behind them. Pen and Jekyll were the last ones remaining outside in the hall, with Pen looking at the exterior of each door to every room, perplexed as if he was wildly suspicious of the bus itself. 

Jekyll shrugged and rested her hand on the door handle. She smiled softly. It’ll be nice to have my own room, thankfully. She opened the door and peeked inside. 

The first thing she noticed was how her room had two very different colors as if it was split down the middle. That was all Jekyll was able to see before she noticed the woman standing in the middle of the room, smiling wickedly at her. 

“Boo.”

Jekyll’s heart stopped. She slammed the door shut, stepping away from it as her hand clenched her chest. Her heart rate picked up again, and she couldn’t catch a breath to save her life. No, no, no, nope, no way, nuh uh, surely there’s another room I can- stay- ack- help-

The door slam caught the other’s attention. Pen was the first one to walk up to her. “Are you okay?” 

Jekyll stood up straight and glanced him in the eyes, unable to stop the laugh that escaped her throat. “Haha! Hahaha, yeah, I’m fine... I’m fine… uh…” 

Pen tilted his head curiously but did not say anything else as Dante came up and asked the same question. 

Jekyll gave him the same reply before her breath finally slowed down. “So sorry- I didn’t mean to alarm everyone, ahah… Do… Do we have to put on the uniforms… right now?” She stared at Dante with a pleading look of pain on her face. 

If Dante could have a facial expression, it would be one of confusion. “Well, I suppose you don’t need it right at this moment-” 

“Oh thank the Arbiters…” Jekyll sighed in relief, clenching her heart before her breath slowed again. 

Pff, weak. The voice mocked her. 

She retorted back. Moron. 

You jumped like a cat, it was hilarious. 

I hate you, I hope you know that. 

That’s the best part. 

Her internal dialogue was caught off as Mark burst the door open, storming up to Dante and grabbing him by the scruff, his eyes raging with fury. “How do you know that?!” He hissed. “How does the company know about what I saw in there?!” 

Jekyll looked around for Pen, but he was nowhere to be found. However, Dante seemed surprisingly calm as he replied. “I don’t- we don’t… We don’t know anything about how your room is, but as explained by Kuvira… your room matches your mental state, and reveals your memories.” 

Mark’s back heaved from the breaths he was taking before he dropped Dante onto the floor and stormed off to the right… He went in the opposite direction that they were supposed to go. 

Jatayu sighed and followed behind Mark from a safe distance, leaving Jekyll and Dante in the hallway alone. However, she didn’t get the chance to say anything before Othello came out of his room, seemingly in a good mood. 

Dante gestured to the left hall, mentioning that was the way to go. Jekyll decided to go immediately, not waiting for the others. She needed time to sort through everything that happened that day. 

To her dismay, Othello followed close behind her. She couldn’t recall if he said something to her or not, but amongst the very, very little small talk they had made, she remembers giving it straight that she would be referred to as Dr. Jekyll. No nicknames, no other names, only Dr. Jekyll. 

She had earned that title and was going to stick with it. 

Aw, I like nicknames though. The voice whined as Jekyll walked ahead of Othello to end the conversation. 

Your opinion is not needed. 

Eventually, Jekyll reached the end of the hallway and entered a spacious room, with some sort of control panel to the left, and another hallway to the right. The control panel only had a few settings on it, and it was labeled Ordeal Gauntlet. Jekyll connected that name to the speech Kuvira gave not too long ago. 

In front of her stood Vergilius with a box in his hands, full of various small equipment. Kuvira was by his side, trying to rummage through the box. Vergilius gently whacked her hand away each time she tried. 

“And what could these be?” Othello strolled up to Vergilius as if nothing happened. 

Jekyll was more hesitant to approach the two. Was it against the contract? Is she allowed to talk to them? Would Vergilius flatten her like a pancake if she tried? Should she even think about trying? Her anxiety spiked as she slowly took a few steps toward the Red Gaze and Kuvira against her better judgment. She vowed to read the contract in detail to make sure she didn’t break any part of it. 

“These are EGO gifts,” Vergilius explained to Othello. “These are for the party to assist them on the journey. Normally, I’d have everyone divide them up to what serves them best. However, seeing as only three of the six of you are here, I suppose it is first come first serve.” 

Jekyll turned around to see Pen walk through the hall into the room. Pen asked her why she was not approaching them, and she explained that she was afraid of the incident that happened in front of the bus.

“I sense no hostility,” Pen shrugged, taking a few steps forward. “I’m sure we will be okay. Come, let’s claim some of the EGO gifts before the others get here.” 

That specific wording triggered something in Jekyll’s brain. She realized the gifts were limited, far and few, and the urge to have the best ones overwhelmed her. She didn’t want to take any chances. Greed overtook her as she went up to the box first, scrummaging through the EGO gifts before choosing three that she thought would benefit her the most. She stepped to the side. Her mind raced as she put the EGO gifts on. 

See? You should listen to me more often. The voice hissed. You get more benefits when you put yourself first. 

Yeah, at the expense of others… Jekyll frowned. 

Do you really want to care about these idiots? No, you take what’s yours. 

I will give them back if someone needs them more, Jekyll argued, putting the last EGO gift on. 

As if I would let you do that. 

“Where are the others?” Vergilius asked openly, staring down the hall. 

“Dante stayed behind to wait for Mallo to exit her room,” Pen explained. “Jatayu and Mark went down the other hall.” 

“Hmm,” He hummed in disapproval, and took a few steps back, resting the box on the floor. 

“Oh my gosh, hi!” The familiar voice of the Red Gaze’s assistant ran through Jekyll’s ears. 

Jekyll glanced up to see Kuvira had approached her, her eyes beaming and her hand extended. Her skin glowed bright, but somehow, it wasn’t blinding. Jekyll was thankful for the recognition and shook her hand. “Good evening… Kuvira, was it?” 

“Yes ma’am! I’m not sure I caught your name, would you be so kind as to tell me?” 

“Jekyll. Dr. Jekyll.” 

“Oh my gosh, you’re a doctor?!” Kuvira’s eyes widened in delight. “That is so cool, like, wow! I’m sure you worked really hard to study for that, and it sure has paid off!” 

Jekyll smiled softly, retracting her hand and giving a slight bow. “Yes, it was hard work, and I appreciate your acknowledgment.” 

“Also before I ask all my questions, I just have to say I love your style, it is beautiful with the simple color scheme, awh! It’s just glorious, and it really compliments you!” 

“Aw, thank you,” Jekyll’s smile widened as she stared at Kuvira. This person is so… oddly kind. People with her energy and happiness would die easily in the city. Heck, most of Jekyll’s clients had stories like that. However, it was nice to finally meet someone with that energy, and still alive. At least, it was nice for Jekyll. 

The voice didn’t seem happy. Disgusting. Let’s kill her. 

“Shut up,” Jekyll’s face soured as she muttered under her breath. 

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t say anything,” Kuvira responded, laughing while messing with her hair. 

“Oh no, I wasn’t saying that to you, I apologize,” Jekyll’s face turned red from embarrassment. “Just… voices in my head, haha-” 

I have a name you know. 

I could care less about your name, Jekyll responded. 

Kuvira shrugged it off, smiling as if it was usual for her. “Just wanted to make sure! I know Vergilius has to tell me to shut up a lot because I ramble like, so much haha! So if I ever need to be quiet just let me know, okay?” 

Jekyll returned her focus to Kuvira. “I don’t think you need to shut up, I would very much like to listen. Preferably, to the answers to some questions I had?” 

“Oh of course!” Kuvira smiled. “I mean, the speech mainly said to give questions to Dante and Jatayu, but I can do my best to assist! What questions do you have, my dear?” 

Jekyll could not get her face to stop turning red, she was not used to this type of friendship and excitement shown to her. “Uhm- uh, f-firstly, I was curious if uh… Have you all been here since LCB-1? How long ago was that?” 

“Oh! Well, I believe Vergilius, Charon the bus driver, and Dante have all been here since LCB-1, Jatayu joined with LCB-2, and I joined midway through LCB-2. It’s been great for most, haha.” 

Jekyll raised an eyebrow. “What about Faust?” 

“Oh, Faust! You probably met her, yes! She was part of the LCB-1, and I believe she still is around as a manager of sorts! She doesn’t work directly with us as much anymore. She has better things to do, anyway!” 

“Right, okay,” Jekyll nodded, taking a mental note. “Is… Vergilius, well, does he kill all of us commonly?” 

“Oh no,” Kuvira glanced over her shoulder at the Red Gaze. “Absolutely not, he mainly gives consultations to the sinners who misbehave or are breaking their contracts. He tries not to kill them when it happens. Why do you ask?” 

“There was an incident at the front of the bus after you left, where…” Jekyll shuddered at the thought. “Mark imploded on the spot, and Othello got his arms ripped off after they started to quarrel.” 

Kuvira sighed. “Ahh, yeah, that might happen for a bit. Every team is bound to quarrel over something sooner or later, but eventually things work out, so I’ve been told.” 

“You mean, this is normal?”

“Yeah, of some sort.” Kuvira shrugged. “After death is no longer in the equation, people get initially violent over disagreements before slowing down. Things settle down after a while. LCB-1 and LCB-2 had that as well, don’t worry.” Kuvira tilted her head as she looked slightly down to meet Jekyll’s eyes. “Which sinners are Mark and Othello again?” 

Jekyll tilted her head and pointed in the direction Othello was heading. “That’s Othello, and Mark… is the one with the blonde shaggy hair.” 

“Gotcha, I will need to learn names eventually, haha!” Kuvira smiled sweetly before glancing over toward Mallo, who had just entered the room. “And she is?” 

“Mallo, if I remember correctly,” Jekyll mimicked Kuvira’s smile. “And over there is Pen.” 

“Gotcha, thank you!” Kuvira gave a soft nod toward Jekyll. “I appreciate the information, I will make sure it goes to good use!” 

“One more question, Kuvira,” Jekyll’s smile faded as she clasped her hands together. The mere thought of asking seemed like a burden, and the voice did not like it. 

I swear if you take one of those things again, I will lash out- 

“Of course! Anything!” Kuvira smiled. 

“Do… Does this workplace provide moonstones to keep our sanity levels the same?” Jekyll asked her visible eye twitching. “It seems our line of work will tamper with our sanity, quite a bit… I wanted to ask if the company had spare moonstones so our sanity can remain fixed.” 

“Oh! M Corp’s singularity,” Kuvira nodded, looking up at the ceiling to think. “Hmm, I don’t know of any moonstones in our possession, perhaps I can ask Vergilius for you, if you wish. I do know that sanity rises and falls when people use EGO, whether or not it's their personal one or ones from a…” Kuvira pauses, clearing her throat. “Abnormalities, so I do know that sanity rising and falling is a key part of the job, but I can see if the company has a moonstone for you. I don’t know if it would be allowed though.” 

Jekyll cursed in her head as the voice laughed with glee. No stability mentally? How was she going to keep sane?

HAHA! Oh, how perfect. 

“But hey,” Kuvira rested a hand on Jekyll’s shoulder. “If you ever need anything from me, to keep mentally sane or just need someone to talk to, I’m your gal, alright? I’m here for you.” 

Jekyll nodded in thanks toward the assistant. “I appreciate you, really. I will… take you up on that sometime, perhaps later, closer to the morning.” 

Kuvira opened her mouth to speak but clamped it shut as Vergilius announced the voting process to fight some ordeals in the gauntlet. She smirked, “Hey, go for the crimson ordeals, I heard they’re better than the amber ones.” 

Jekyll smiled and said her farewell before walking over toward the menu. She did her best to give Mallo space, but they shared proximity as she came closer to view the options. 

Mallo glanced over with a fierce glance at Jekyll. Jekyll met eye contact and started talking without realizing it. “So, have you heard of ordeals before?” 

Mallo’s gaze softened. “Yeah. I've heard of 'em. Nasty things from L Corp. Disgusting things that show up to cause chaos.” She inhaled a large breath from her cigarette and stood up straight, letting it out. 

Jekyll clasped her hands together nervously. It was the first time she heard Mallo speak more than one word. Her voice was quite pleasant. “Ahh... lovely, are they hard to kill?”

Mallo explained how the worms move around and jump, using flavorful curse words to describe them. She elaborated on how they make abnormalities breach and how they explode when killed but reassured it was more annoying than deadly. 

Jekyll nodded and cast her lot. The current votes were two to one, with crimson ordeals being in the lead. She stepped back, sighing. She would have to wait for the others to arrive before actual combat began. She wished not to fight, but it was the job she signed up for. A shudder ran through her spine, she knew what was about to happen. Oh, how wrong you were about this company, Jekyll.

[beacedocrime]

Welcome to

Artemis reads:

I could hear a lot of words often repeated, queer words, for there were many nationalities in the crowd; so I quietly got my polyglot dictionary from my bag and looked them out. I must say they were not cheering to me, for amongst them were "Ordog"—Satan, "pokol"—hell, "stregoica"—witch, "vrolok" and "vlkoslak"—both of which mean the same thing, one being Slovak and the other Servian for something that is either were-wolf or vampire. (Mem., I must ask the Count about these superstitions)

Imagine being like "hmmm I wonder what these people are talking about, let me look through my dictionary" and this is what you find, geez.

Also "I must ask the Count about these superstitions". No actually. You mustn't.

When we started, the crowd round the inn door, which had by this time swelled to a considerable size, all made the sign of the cross and pointed two fingers towards me. With some difficulty I got a fellow-passenger to tell me what they meant; [...] he explained that it was a charm or guard against the evil eye. This was not very pleasant for me, just starting for an unknown place to meet an unknown man;

Yeah, definitely not terrifying. At all. Don't worry though I'm sure he'll be perfectly safe guys.

but I noticed that goitre was painfully prevalent.

Someone else has pointed this out, but I figured I'd also mention it just in case. People with goitre would often wear bandages around their neck, either to heal from the removal or to hide the symptoms, as back then the only known way to heal from it was to remove the thyroid. (Please tell me if I got smth wrong here so I can correct it)

However, we as the reader are well aware of Dracula's nature, and the fact that so many people were wearing bandages around their neck makes one wonder.

The road was rugged, but still we seemed to fly over it with a feverish haste. I could not understand then what the haste meant, but the driver was evidently bent on losing no time in reaching Borgo Prund. [...]

and they kept speaking to him, one after the other, as though urging him to further speed. He lashed the horses unmercifully with his long whip, and with wild cries of encouragement urged them on to further exertions. [...]

The excitement of the passengers grew greater; the crazy coach rocked on its great leather springs, and swayed like a boat tossed on a stormy sea. I had to hold on. [...]

One by one several of the passengers offered me gifts, which they pressed upon me with an earnestness which would take no denial; these were certainly of an odd and varied kind, but each was given in simple good faith, with a kindly word, and a blessing, and that strange mixture of fear-meaning movements which I had seen outside the hotel at Bistritz—the sign of the cross and the guard against the evil eye. [...]

We could see now the sandy road lying white before us, but there was on it no sign of a vehicle. The passengers drew back with a sigh of gladness, which seemed to mock my own disappointment. [...]

said to the others something which I could hardly hear, it was spoken so quietly and in so low a tone; I thought it was "An hour less than the time." [...]

"There is no carriage here. The Herr is not expected after all. He will now come on to Bukovina, and return to-morrow or the next day; better the next day."

Just... all of this. Them trying so hard to save Jonathan, to stall, to get him not to go there. All that anxiety built up over the sheer speed of the carriage, how everyone seemed to urge the driver on, only to find out that it was all for some hope that maybe it would save him. The passengers giving him all sorts of gifts (protection), things that they had to protect themselves.

It's just so... they don't know him, and yet here they are, doing all this.

Then, amongst a chorus of screams from the peasants and a universal crossing of themselves, a calèche, with four horses, drove up behind us, overtook us, and drew up beside the coach.

And then this happens, and all their hope, all their efforts, for nothing.

It seemed to me that we were simply going over and over the same ground again; and so I took note of some salient point, and found that this was so. [...]

By-and-by, however, as I was curious to know how time was passing, I struck a match, and by its flame looked at my watch; it was within a few minutes of midnight. This gave me a sort of shock, for I suppose the general superstition about midnight was increased by my recent experiences.

I figure that them going in circles is just Dracula biding time for whatever is to happen once midnight strikes, with the added benefit of maybe disorienting Jonathan too.

I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place.

Now, I'm aware that Dracula has the ability to lull people into a sleep-like trance (or smth like that) and I am wholly convinced that this is what happened here. Who knows how much of the road Jonathan lost before becoming aware once again?

What sort of place had I come to, and among what kind of people? What sort of grim adventure was it on which I had embarked?

Oh Jonny boy you have no idea

Solicitor's clerk! Mina would not like that. Solicitor—for just before leaving London I got word that my examination was successful; and I am now a full-blown solicitor!

And more mentions of Mina! I can't wait to actually meet her. What I know of her and her and Jonathan's relationship is really fun, and smth very exciting to look to.

"Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will!" [...]

"Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring!" [...]

"I am Dracula; and I bid you welcome, Mr. Harker, to my house. Come in; the night air is chill, and you must need to eat and rest."

Ah, yes, totally normal welcomes. And three of them too. Nothing that stands out at all, no siree (though "and leave something of the happiness you bring" is actually a very good way to welcome someone. I'd love to hear those words when entering someone's home)

The strength of the handshake was so much akin to that which I had noticed in the driver, whose face I had not seen, that for a moment I doubted if it were not the same person to whom I was speaking;

No, Jonathan, whatever could you mean? The carriage rider and the Count being the same person? Preposterous!

"Nay, sir, you are my guest. It is late, and my people are not available. Let me see to your comfort myself."

Ah, yes. Your people. Your staff. The staff that definitely exist. That staff. Of course.

I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!

This poor man just wants to do a good job in his business trip. But the HORRORS. THE HORRORS WONT LET HIM

May 4 / May 7

[midchelle]

how would you rank the beatles album covers?

like this:

13) "By the way, what happened to my idea of putting the parody of our first album cover on the Let It Be cover?” - John Lennon, 1971

Just uninspired. Good for coming up with conspiracy theories about the death of Paul McCartney but not much else.

12) Eyes Still Work After Seeing This? Includes a 24-Page Full Colour Picture Book!

Every time I look at this I find another bizarre thing, but that's not even the real issue because it fails on the basic level where you can figure out what the product is and who made it. The red tinting on the highlight behind the font they used to list the songs makes it hard to read, and BEATLES blends into the background so well you might not even realise it's there. Did they use the circle to design this cover? PAUL?

11) A Covers Band So Good, Sometimes We Even Let Them Sing Their Own Songs!

It might be because of the asymmetrical Beatle heads. It might be because they got beaten to the edge-to-edge cover punch by The Rolling Stones. It might be because it makes me think of the uncanny Mr Incredible meme.

10) POV: You Are Falling To Your Death

I actually like this picture quite a lot but it upsets me... why couldn't they just typeset it so the railings and the writing were going in the same direction...

9) Damn Bro You Got The Whole Squad Laughing

In many ways, she is who With The Beatles wishes she was, but I can't rank it any higher because it's literally just a picture of them. Look, they've had a rough year.

8) Paul is Dead Evidence 2: Electric Boogaloo

The art is nice, but it does just seem like a retread of the Revolver cover. Bit unexciting.

7)

Part of me wishes they'd gone the whole Yeezus route and packaged it in a clear plastic sleeve with THE BEATLES embossed on it, but the blank white is also pretty evocative. There's a whole chapter in Moby Dick about how terrifying the colour white is.

6)  The Beatles, N-U-J-V!

It makes me think of Weezer's Blue Album and that's why it's good.

5) The Beatles Demonstrate The Many Ways To Have A Face

Not many people know this but the middle picture in the George row was actually used as the Tumblr default icon way back in the day.

4) This Strain is Called “Rubber Soul” 😳 You’ll Be Zonked Out Of Your Gourd 💯

'When first I saw your latest LP sleeve My eyes, dear Beatles, I could scarce believe There's nobody, I feel, could like it much Except, perhaps, the vampire-minded Sutch. I tried to Work It Out, but I could not, Why such a very photogenic lot Should want to see yourselves portrayed as freaks;'

- Annabel Lee

3) Honey, They're Crossing The Road Again

Deserves the dub for the sheer achievement of taking a picture of four people in motion where they all look good.

2)

Before you get mad at Klaus for dissing Paul McCartney, remember that he a) made the Revolver cover and b) was really hot. So he can basically do whatever he wants.

1) Paul Is Dead Evidence 3: Faul's Revenge

I still don't know what that creature in the chair is supposed to be.

[harrison-abbott]

Mickey B and Me

Some kid wanted to beat me up after the final school whistle. I heard it in maths class when I was trying to do sums. One of the girls said,

“Mickey B is out to get you at the bus stop.”

I didn’t know what I had done to offend Mickey B. But I’d also seen what he’d done to other, smaller kids in the playground. He was only fifteen or so but he was also about six foot already. Man-size. If you put it that way. There was no chance I was going to win in a fight against him. And when it came to notions like legality; Mickey B was underage and therefore could violently attack as many people as he wanted, without retribution.

What could I do about this dilemma?

Well … I knew where Mickey B lived. He lived four streets away from me. I’d seen him around the road many many times and even though we were in the same year and same classes he had never once said Hi to me on any level.

I had my coat on the back of the chair and in my bag I had my phone (which wasn’t allowed in school) and my sandwich and some coins for the bus and something to eat on the way home. I retrieved the coins and my phone and put them in my trousers. Would have to leave everything else here. And then I got up from my desk and walked towards the maths teacher.

“Excuse me, Mr Atkinson,” I said, “I’m feeling a bit sick. Is it okay if I go to the toilet?”

“Eh, yeah. Okay.”

I was in the new corridor. Without my coat and with my new mission there seemed a new possibility across my body. I quit the corridor and headed out into the playground. And then I crossed the ground and went up the path to the main road and waited at the bus stop. The bus came pretty quickly and I was on my way home.

After twenty minutes I got off into my neighbourhood. With the dreary houses. It was around three o’clock in the afternoon. I was fairly determined not to get beaten up again; for, it had already happened to me so many times in my life; and it made me feel like I was no man; and just because I was skinny and didn’t speak like my beaters, just because I didn’t enjoy violence: it tended to make me be pathetic, drab, a failure, a lost cause.

I walked past the post office and the newsagent and ventured down the streets, passing my street, until I got to the road that Mickey B lived on and I turned right on to that. And walked all the way up to his house. I opened his gate and then I went straight up to his door and rang the bell.

To see if anybody was in. I waited five minutes after ringing the bell several times and there was no answer. And so after that I went down the side of the house and into his back garden. His side gate was unlocked. And suddenly I was in the garden, with the flowers and gnomes and mini windmills … All of these attributes bespeaking of a nice mother. She hadn’t created a nice child.

I remembered him kicking that boy in the nose repeatedly. The sheer span of gore. And the boy was half the size of him. And all he did, so I was told, was to call him “fat”. Mickey B. Yeah, he was a bit overweight.

I picked up a boulder that I found next to the little pond in the garden that Mickey B’s mother had made and then I lugged the boulder back over to the house and I threw it through the kitchen window. It smashed with this bristly crackly sound. And no alarms went off. Rather than pick my way through the broken shards, I unslipped the lock above the frame, and then lifted the frame up. And crawled into the kitchen.

There were photos of Mickey B and his family. Dotted around the walls in pinpoint portraits, all of them in full happy smiles; Christmas, birthdays. His mother and Dad both looked like him. And he was an only child. Nae siblings. I wondered if they knew about his playground assaults … Yes, very likely.

A cat. There was a photo of a cat, too. I didn’t want the cat to die in the fire.

So what I did was head through to the living room, scouting for a possible pet animal. I’d seen no meat bowl in the kitchen. And when I checked the two bedrooms upstairs there were no signs of fur or anything there either.

It wasn’t my intention to slay a little cat.

When all was clear, I returned to the kitchen.

There were tubs of vegetable oil and sunflower oil by the cooker and I poured out all of those into pots and I put the pots on the hobs and ignited the hobs full blast. And then I lit the cooker with the matches. And there were tea towels and bunches of tissue roll laying around. So I put those into the cooker, and made sure that the fabric caught alight with the flame. And soon there were these noxious scents snarling in the air.

I tied the towels together in a string and I made a loop of them that led into the sitting room. I got the matches and I lit the towels form that end, in the sitting room. My efforts were small and didn’t seem to be working much. So I went down the corridor to the downstairs toilet and looked in the cupboard above the sink. Found an aerosol can. [One of those cans that you see in commercials all the time, promoting sexual masculinity.]

I took the can through to the living room and I got another of the matches and I began spraying the sick chemicals all over the couches and pillows in the room. I tried the flameflower trick with the match. But the flame was a bit weak and the scoosh tended to blow it out. So I lit fire to the liquid that had soaked into the fabric.

All the while, the kitchen was burning.

I looked around my back and the kitchen was pulping these hard grey clouds.

Ha.

It was time for me to vacate.

The kitchen made me cough when I went in there; a full gust of burning plastic went up my throat and made me gasp and hack. I climbed out of the window.

Then took off back down the path by the side of the house and then I was in the street again and it was odd and sublime and perfect to be a criminal.

I quit the street and I returned the three blocks back to where I lived and then I simply went back to my own house, where I lived with my mother and my elder brother. My elder brother, who bullied me whenever he saw fit. And my mother who didn’t like me a toss. Neither of them were home when I unlocked the front door and went inside. I went into my kitchen and plonked some bread into the toaster. Got out a jar or jam. Boiled the kettle.

Maybe they would send me to prison. I put a tea bag in the cup and I spread the jam around the bread.

They weren’t going to send Mickey B to prison for repeatedly kicking that wee boy in the nose, outside of the high school, one random afternoon, over nothing. Nothing happened to Mickey, over that.

I took a bite of the toast. I sat on the floor of the kitchen and thought about what my life would be like in a jail cell. Was I a Baddie? Who cared …

[aventurasdeunatortuga]

Xi’an

It’s already time for my last post from China for this trip.

I’ve been in Xi’an the last few days, in the province of Shaanxi in central China. Xi’an is an enormous city, nowhere near the size of Beijing or Shanghai but definitely a huge city. It is very very hot and dry here. For whatever reason the UV rays are also extremely intense here, every day the weather app has had a warning for extreme UV rays. It really feels like the sun is like a laser whenever you stand directly in it. Definitely missing the coolness of Lijiang now.

Xi’an is hot, fast paced, and very crowded. Everyone is constantly on the move and there are always way more people or vehicles than you ever would have thought possible in any given space. Even to cross the street you had to go into an enormous system of underground tunnels to avoid the traffic in the road, because the traffic never stops.

I think I’ve really been coming to grips with the fact that lack of personal space is a cultural thing here. People have no qualms about pushing, shoving, cutting in line, elbowing, etc. It’s nothing personal, it’s just how things are done here. You really have to stand firm and be assertive when you move or you’re never gonna get anywhere.

The hotel I’m at is a nice oasis from all of this. It’s very serene and my room has Japanese style tatami mats with all the furniture directly on the floor and a Japanese smart toilet which is super fancy. I spent Monday evening and most of Tuesday in my room because traveling at the end of a long trip is exhausting, especially in the heat, and I’ve still got about a week to go. The staff at my hotel is really nice and they even helped me order delivery food Monday night because I wasn’t up to going out to look for something to eat.

On Tuesday evening I ventured out a bit in the evening after it had cooled off. I’ve noticed in general in China things tend to stay open pretty late and the liveliest time of day is between 7pm-11pm, the streets will be very busy and lots will be going on. Even families and young kids will be out and about. I walked by a giant shopping mall and the bell tower and drum tower and ended up on the street referred to here as “Muslim Street”. Xi’an was for a long time a stopover on the Silk Road and there is a large population of Chinese Muslims in Xi’an which in turn has influenced a lot of their typical dishes. There is a large concentration of restaurants run by Chinese Muslims on this street and it has become a very popular walking street and a place for street food. I knew about this street but didn’t realize I had stumbled upon it on Tuesday and was blown away by the sheer size of the crowds there. Almost equivalent to the density of the crowds in Fenghuang but the street itself was enormous and yet still very crowded. I went in a few shops and noticed that every time I went in a shop I was surreptitiously followed the entire time by an employee who was pretending not to be following me around. This happened several times in several different shops so I don’t know if it was because they thought I was stealing or because as the only foreigner they thought I wouldn’t understand what to do and would have questions but it was a weird experience.

I ate a gigantic spiral cut potato on a stick and pomegranate juice and then hid in the dairy aisle of the 7/11 to escape the heat and humidity.

On Wednesday I geared up to go see the Terracotta Warriors. These were made for the Emperor Qin Shi Huang, the first emperor of China, upon his death in 209 BCE. He believed that if he constructed terracotta versions of his army and horses to keep in his mausoleum he could bring them with him to protect him after death. They were only recently uncovered in the 70s and are still in the process of being excavated because there are so many thousands of them.

I took a shuttle bus from Xi’an about 86 kilometers outside the city to the archeological site. The site sells 3,000 tickets per hour, so you can imagine how crowded it gets. The site is organized into 3 areas called pits. Pit 1 is the largest area. The crowd there was one of the largest I have ever experienced. I’ve only been afraid of being trampled once before, at a music festival in Guanajuato, Mexico. This crowd felt similar to that. I couldn’t control where my body was going, the crowd just kind of pushed me wherever I ended up going. It was all I could do to stay on my feet, let alone see anything. I ended up going out the emergency exit in a panic and then sat on the curb for about 40 minutes to recover. Then I pulled myself together and went to the smaller pits to try and see some things. It did somehow get slightly less crowded throughout the day, but it was still very packed. I managed to see all three pits and even went back to the first one again because I really did want to see everything.

It was very complicated to get back to Xi’an afterwards and so hot. I couldn’t figure out where the shuttle bus was so I had to take public transportation which took about 2.5 hours total to get back to town. Long story short, I was glad to see the terracotta warriors but my goodness was it exhausting.

I found a Starbucks inside a giant mall back in Xi’an to try and recuperate once I got back to town before walking back to my hotel. One thing I love about Asia is the malls. They are generally enormous and have just about everything you can possibly think of, like a small city, but its all air conditioned. I was at the mall for a while and was going to look for something to eat but I was so exhausted and didn’t have the brainpower to figure out how to look for somewhere to eat and translate the menu and order in Chinese; so I went to the McDonald’s purely because they have computerized ordering systems in English where you just click on what you want and scan a QR code to pay and you don’t have to talk to anyone.

Thursday was my last full day in China. I am definitely noticing how exhausted I am. I stayed in bed for most of the morning and ventured out briefly to visit a park at Wild Goose Pagoda and the Xi’an Museum. It ended up being way too hot and crowded and the museum itself was kind of underwhelming, I’m not much of a museum person to begin with and since I couldn’t read any of the signs and don’t know much about the local history it didn’t mean much to me although I’m sure if I knew more it would be really interesting.

I sat on the ground in the museum lobby for 45 minutes to recover from the heat and crowds and went back to my hotel until the evening. I wanted to end my time in China on a positive note despite how cranky I’ve been lately, I had to tried to book a walking tour but couldn’t because I was only one person and there weren’t any other foreigners signing up for tours. I eventually found a place that was offering dinner and a show at a hotel nearby and signed up for it just to get out a bit.

I didn’t understand anything that was going on in the show but it was showing the life of a famous Empress of the Tang Dynasty that was based in Xi’an and had a lot of traditional dancing and music. Xi’an is well known for its dumplings and I got to try a sampler of a dozen different kinds of dumplings which were really good. I ended up being seated next to the only other foreigner, a guy named Stefano from Italy who had just arrived in China that day. He was equally as confused about everything as I was but it was nice to have someone to talk to. He said that apparently this dinner show thing used to only offer shows for foreigners, then they opened it up for Chinese residents as well and it was about 40% foreigners and 60% Chinese people. Post-covid it is now less than 1% foreigners who attend tourist geared things.

Afterwards since it was cooler out I went and saw the old city wall and walked around in the park for a while, then I went back to Muslim street and got some 肉加缪 (roujiamou) a lamb based Chinese version of a hamburger that is a famous street food in Xi’an. I walked back to my hotel and made it just before a huge lightning storm that caused a power outage. It was literally like lightning multiple times a minute for over an hour, it was wild. I ate my food in the dark and reflected on this wild trip.

China has been fascinating. Traveling China mostly alone post-covid has been another level of travel. It has been at once very humbling and very empowering. While it was very difficult to figure out how things worked and to communicate, China is incredibly safe, well organized, and people are incredibly kind. I never once felt in danger during this trip which says a lot. It’s been a real shock feeling like such an outsider all the time for the last month. I have such a deep newfound respect for anyone who immigrates somewhere completely different from their home country, without knowing anyone and without knowing the language or culture. Being on vacation here has been hard enough as an outsider even with all the privilege I have as a white English speaking American.

Going several days at a time not talking to anyone while simultaneously being constantly surrounded by crowds and being stared and pointed at everywhere I go has been such a strange experience, but very eye opening. I’m glad to have had this experience and even though this entire trip was traveling on “hard mode” I feel sad to be leaving right when I feel like I’m starting to figure things out. China has been unlike anywhere else I’ve been before and despite being here a month I’ve barely scratched the surface. I’ll definitely be back.

I’m doing a quick 2.5 day stop in Seoul before heading home, will update again before leaving.

Until then,

[sohannabarberaesque]

Postcards from Snagglepuss

So Duluth was meant to be laughed at, no?

ON THE SKYLINE PARKWAY IN DULUTH, MN: The motorhome whence Huckleberry Hound and yours truly have decided to continue our everlasting road trip is parked close to the Engler Tower, itself a landmark of Duluth as much as the Aerial Bridge in Duluth Harbour, essentially THE only access between downtown and Park Point. And sipping coffee besides as we drink in a somewhat misty view unto Duluth's downtown below.

"Uh, Huck--did I tell you about the one time I found the CB Bears and reconnected with them practically in this same spot in the parking lot?"

"I think the memory escapes me on that point, Snag," Huck remarked as he took another drag on the coffee--which turned out being the Arco brand, a well-known local such in the Twin Ports and the North Shore regions.

"It was early on in my road trip experiences. Not exactly Route 66, to be honest about it, but the Mini Cooper was my vehicle of choice ... I was driving along the Skyline Parkway, just drinking in the view as we are now ... and just near the Engler Tower, even, I couldn't help but notice the trio of Hustle, Bump and Boogie."

"THEY were the CB Bears, Snag?"

"You had best believe it, recall them, even!" Which had Huckleberry Hound chuckling a modest bit. "Shucks ... how easily yours truly, being one of the earliest of us Funtastics, forgets newer stuff like the CB Bears. Were they those bears named for disco dance moves?"

"Correct, Huck, correct. At any rate, yours truly could not help but be surprised at such a meeting, and with their Perfume Wagon still managing to hold on with the proverbial baling wire ... even though the cases they got from 'Charlie' seemed few and far between."

"So what are they nowadays doing?"

"Huck, that ursine trio happens to be into fishing, and serving their catch on cedarwood planks. But later on, after we met, they decided to try some surfing in as unlikely a spot as on Lake Superior. Up by Palmers, even, along the Lake Superior Scenic Drive--"

"You mean to tell me, Snagglepuss," Huck remarked, "that people can actually surf in such otherwise chilly waters as on Lake Superior?!"

"Correct. And not long afterward, Hustle let me in on a little secret ... that he was originally from along the Gunflint Trail. Out of Grand Marais, even!"

"So where were Bump and Boogie from, if I may ask?"

"Bump turned out to be from somewhere near Yellowstone, having managed to escape from a rather intense forest fire ... and Boogie was originally from Alaska himself!"

"Rather amazing, these backstories we all have. And you wonder if many of us have stumbled on Breezly Bruin, understood, naturally enough, to be from Nome, Alaska."

"Have you seen Underwater America with Peter Potamus, Huck?"

"Snag, now that you mention it--I have. And I couldn't help but find Breezly Bruin looking rather crazy in diver's gear. Even if, as a polar bear, he manages to otherwise dive rather well breathhold."

Stepping out of our motorhome and into the parking lot, the mist had started to clear somewhat to allow for that impressive view down upon Duluth ... even enough to notice another vessel or two crossing under the Aerial Bridge heading outbound. Leaving me to ponder to myself just why "Duluth" was among those names that still brought down the house on the Orpheum Circuit in vaudeville's zenith (and I could still picture George and Joey Bungle trying to generate laughs with the sheer mention of "Duluth").

*************

@warnerbrosentertainment @zodiacfan32 @jellystone-enjoyer @iheartgod175 @haiyis-dark-void @archive-archives @thylordshipofbutts @screamingtoosoftly @princessgalaxy505 @themineralyoucrave @thebigdingle @warnerbros-blog1 @indigo-corvus @xdiver71 @theweekenddigest @railguner34 @warnerbrosent-blog

[fleurcareil]

West Quebec: Papinau-Labelle, Lac Simon and Mont-Tremblant

On the last morning in Ottawa I met my friend Claire (namesake of my sister!) for breakfast during which we caught up on our respective lives, including her recommendation to continue writing the blog foremost to record my experiences for my own benefit as the risk of prolonged traveling is that memories become a bit of a blur... I also use it as a motivation to take pictures & then redact them to the few I want to post, so that I don't end up with hundreds of pics never looked at again. Before leaving Burlington, I went through two boxes of photos that I had carried with me for the last 20 years of which I got ~300 digitized, and also triaged the many Facebook and WhatsApp pictures, so that I now finally have a collection of photos that I really like and can put on a digital photo-frame once I move to Chile. 

The sun was gone in Ottawa and when I drove north I was getting concerned about whether I was driving straight into the forest fires and poor air quality, however luckily it didn't get worse and the sun broke through eventually. I spent the afternoon driving through the Réserve faunique de Papineau-Labelle, which is a wilderness area mostly used for hunting deer and moose. The roads are unpaved and sometimes get quite small, however I did cross 7 other cars which is not a lot but still reassuring I was not completely alone 😊. The beach of Lac Echo was very attractive in its stillness with only some robins taking a bath, but I didn't feel like paddling so instead went up an observation tower and saw... moose!! I love it when it's advertised that you might see something and that it then actually happens! The two moose (a large one and the other smaller = younger/female?) were munching in the water on the other side of the marsh however I could see them clearly in my binoculars and the distance allowed me to move around freely and eat my own lunch while watching them. I've seen moose a few times before but their sheer size keeps impressing me. On the drive out, I suddenly saw what seemed to be two ostriches running ahead of me until I realized they were turkeys on their high legs jumping up & down for higher speed, funny to see!

At the Lac Simon campsite, I sat on the beach with a beer to watch the sun go down, however it disappeared behind the smog early on. I've become BFFs with my newest garment: the buff as it's really effective in preventing mosquitos getting to my neck... I must confess I never thought buffs to be cool (apologies to Debbie who's a big fan) but I'm starting to see their value now. I promise not to complain about mosquitos for the next 4 months however I'm still adjusting to my new reality of having hundreds of "friends" wherever I go, who like a stray dog keep following me without being able to shake them off 😜. In the morning, I got bitten twice in my right eyelid while in the washroom so there's no refuge anywhere!

Back at Papineau the next day, I went on a 9k return hike to Mont Devlin which has undoubtedly a beautiful viewpoint had it not been masked by the smoke. Just when I got there, I heard the first thunder rumbling so it ended up a mini-stay at the top and then record speed back down... The rain started before I got to the end, but protected by the forest I arrived mostly dry at the car. Rolling thunder continued for a bit and then suddenly stopped whilst the sun came back out! My campsite did seem to have received quite a downpour but luckily everything in my tent stayed dry and most of the "living room" stuff too. Phew! Reading a Canadian Geographic magazine for a few hours over a cup of tea was a welcome rest. Early bed tonight :)

Waking up with slight rain, I packed everything before taking a shower, and thought that I had covered my face sufficiently with buff/hat/scarf/sunglasses to avoid being bitten without needing to spray... BIG mistake! Turned out that midgets had gone under my glasses & bitten the hell out of me. Started ok, but the eyelid ended up swelling so much for the next two days that it was really impacting me (you'll see my droopy eyes in the pics), but it's luckily getting better now after some medications. Could not have been a better timing though as I spent two days at ALICE, which consists of the lovely Ivan-Cynthia family with their three daughters and grandparents. Their house in Mont-Tremblant is so comfortable that apart from little errands, including a visit to the new Canadian Tire store 😊, I just hung around the kitchen table with a cup of tea which allowed me to recharge again. It made me realize that I should break up my camping more frequently with hotel stays to allow some recuperation from the constant work at a site to make a cup of tea, set up/pack the tent, do dishes etc. Queue: my next 2 nights at the national park of La Mauricie got cancelled because of the fire risk, so am going to Quebec City instead.

Although I didn't go on any hikes, Ivan showed me around the Mont-Tremblant village and resort area which are stunning in summer (I had only been twice to ski), and also explained how it is to live there with amazing municipal programs for the kids, constant outdoor activities and a lively community, which make it a great place to live. No wonder that they're staying, I would too if I were not on my own way already! 😎

This concludes my first week of the road trip; been great so far although also got to re-evaluate my accommodations strategy to ensure that I keep my energy levels high!

Wildlife: 2 moose (Papinau), 2 turkeys (Papineau), 2 deer (Tremblant)

SUPs: none, too cold

Hikes: two at Papinau

Driven this week: 824 km

[ilearnedthistodaysblog]

#1270 How do cities affect animal evolution?

How do cities affect animal evolution? Animals have to evolve to survive in cities in numerous ways. They have to cope with the heat, the buildings, vehicles, different food sources, and many other things as well. In the history of our planet, urbanization is a relatively recent concept. The first cities appear to have sprung up in about 8000 BC. A good example is Çatalhöyük, which was founded in approximately 7500 BC in what is now Turkey. It was not a city as we would recognize one today, but it made sense in the evolution of settlements. It didn’t have streets like we do today, but was made of a lot of rooms around courtyards, connected by alleys. This made sense because it was the next progression up from villages. Once we learned how to farm and people started living in settlements, these settlements just got bigger, joined together, and became cities like Çatalhöyük. There weren’t many cities, and most of the world was either free of humans or agricultural land for a long time. Only fairly recently have more people started living in cities than ever before. The Industrial Revolution was the start of this trend and now 55% of the world’s population live in cities. That means there are a lot of urban areas that animals have to adapt to. The most obvious animals that have evolved to live in urban areas, or at least around people, are cats and dogs. They started out completely wild, but realized they could live more easily with us. A relationship developed where we used them and fed them in return. These days, they are mostly just pets, but again, that is only quite recently. So, how do animals evolve to live in cities? The first way is by adapting to heat. Cities are hotter than the surrounding countryside because of the urban heat island effect. Rural areas generally have plants and trees, which absorb heat energy and release water vapor, which cools the area down. Plants don’t get warm because they want to use the sunlight and not waste it. Cities are made of dark asphalt (tarmac) and dark concrete buildings, which absorb the heat and heats up, releasing it back into the air. This heats up the air over the city, trapping the heat and creating a heat island. Animals, especially insects, that live in cities have become more heat tolerant over time. Animals have had to evolve to live with buildings as well. A good example of this are some lizards. They have a lot more trouble climbing the sheer materials in the city, such as glass, than they do trees and rocks in the countryside. Lizards that live in cities have evolved more lamellae on their feet to help them grip. This generally happens because the lizards that don’t have these extra lamellae are more likely to fall and the ones that don’t fall are more likely to reproduce. Many animals have evolved to eat different foods as well. A lot of animals have evolved to live off our trash, and some of them have thrived, such as rats and crows. A lot of them learn what trash is being thrown out on what day in what part of the cit,y and you will notice that, the crows at least, come and go depending on the type of trash. Mice in Central Park in New York City have shown an evolution to deal with the food we give them. Recently, our food is high in fat and very processed. The mice there have evolved to be able to digest this food. Many animals have evolved to deal with our vehicles as well. Some dogs have learned to look before they cross a road, but this could just be a case of copying a human and not an evolved trait. Cats know to dash across a road, but they don’t always make it and that could also just be a learned response. Animals are not able to judge the speed of vehicles because there is nothing in nature that moves like a car. Although, that being said, children can’t really judge the speed of a car until they are about nine-years-old as well. Some animals, such as crows, have learned to use cars to help them. Crows will drop hard to open food, such as nuts, in the path of oncoming cars to break them open. If the car misses, the crow will move the food and patiently keep trying. Animals have had to evolve to the light pollution and noise pollution as well. Because of the noise in cities, a lot of animals that use sound to communicate, such as birds, can’t be heard. To cope with this, many birds have been spotted singing in a higher pitch so that their song carries over the city noise. Light pollution is a little more difficult to adapt to. Lots of insects die because of it, and it offsets the circadian rhythms of many animals. Nocturnal animals have been spotted waking up earlier because of the light in the city. There are many other adaptations and ways that animals and insects are evolving to live in cities. Cities have not been around long enough for many animals to adapt fully, but our cities are not going anywhere, so the changes will start to snowball. And this is what I learned today. Try these next: - #1059 Why do some things smell good and some things smell bad? - #324 Could penguins fly in the past? - About me - #60 Why do birds migrate? - #817 Why do birds need to see ultraviolet light? Sources https://e360.yale.edu/features/urban-darwinism-how-species-are-evolving-to-survive-in-cities https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urban_evolution https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/urban-living-drives-evolution-in-surprising-way https://goturkiye.com/blog/catalhoyuk-the-worlds-first-city https://ourworldindata.org/urbanization https://climatekids.nasa.gov/heat-islands https://www.reddit.com/r/explainlikeimfive/comments/6jvmzi/eli5_why_have_animals_still_not_figured_out_that/ Photo by Mike Bird: https://www.pexels.com/photo/shallow-photography-on-black-crow-802255/ Read the full article

[secretariatess]

Kylin 51

            Kylin remained in the seventh village until the rest of the party heading up to the capitol had arrived.  Rei was sending Ofjaet, Taileia, and Morganne for obvious reasons, and Kylin and Preman to act as guards for them.  When Morganne came, she brought Gloryborn with her.

            “To carry all of my supplies,” she informed him, gesturing to the pack laden on the horses.  “Without knowing what’s causing his illness, it is very important to have everything on hand in case. No one will question it.”

            As long as no one inspected all of the bags, that was.  One of the bags contained some preliminary equipment for an apprentice.  If the bags were searched, it could be easily written off or explained as being backup equipment for the Rangers, trusting that no one at the capitol knew the practices of the Rangers well enough to refute them.

            When they had gathered, they met up with Kendra at the sixth village.  Kylin was careful to pull up his mask and hood to ensure that he would not be recognized by Glae, should he cross their path.  He kept it them up even after leaving the village, though more for its added warmth.

            They reached the first village in good time, Kendra even remarking that they had gone faster than she expected.  They spent the night there, leaving early in the morning.  The first portion of the trip out of the Veil was not unfamiliar to Kylin.  Rangers had traveled the path before.  It was only strange when they followed the curve of the path towards the north and River Jeopardy instead of taking a side path away from it.

            They came to the earthen bridge over the river.  While maintaining a brisk pace was the goal, Kylin, Morganne, and Preman could not help but to look over the edge at the rushing water below.  This was the closest they had ever been to Jeopardy, and it was fascinating, to say the least.  Tons of forceful water with white crests tumbling over rocks and crashing into trees that leaned too far over it, disappearing feet beneath where they rode, only to come out on the other side, continuing its dangerous journey.  Having only heard it from a distance, the sheer volume was overwhelming to Kylin.  He wondered how Ofjaet handled it without showing a trace of being bothered.

            Not just that, but both Ofjaet and Taileia were seemingly immune to the charm of the river’s frightful beauty.  They continued on without so much as a glance, Ofjaet caught up in his extraction of whatever useful information he could get out of Kendra.

            It was dark by the time they had cleared the river and entered Harlofelp.

            No.  They had already been in Harlofelp, Kylin reminded himself.  The villages were a part of the kingdom, even if they felt so very different from . . . here.

            And “here” happened to be in the shadow of a towering wall.

            “Chester,” Kendra told them.  “The last town before the Veil.”

            Chester looked like the home of something sinister.  Kylin was quite glad when Kendra steered them away from it.  The land was much more open out here, not as many trees to be near, but sleeping under the open skies was familiar.  Sleeping in such a walled area that looked as though it contained more people than the villages and Rangers combined did not appeal in the slightest.

            “Potential spies?” Ofjaet surmised about Kendra’s decision.

            “And more,” she confirmed.  “As I told your captain, there is a good reason we cause trouble there.”

            In the morning, Kendra followed the main path for a little ways, explaining that this was the merchant path, headed to the east.  It was not a very busy road, with only some bands of merchants and lone travelers traveling to and from Chester.  Passersby would give nods as a form of greeting, but otherwise kept their eyes on the road ahead of them, unbothered by appearance of anyone else there.

            They did not stay on the main road.  When they came to a small town, Kendra informed them they would be taking a lesser traveled road that went straight north.  It was not quite evening when they arrived, and yet their guide started making plans for the night.

            “We still have some light left, and we can provide our own light if need be,” Taileia said.  “Is there a reason we cannot continue for a little while longer, considering we are supposed to go as swiftly as possible?”

            Kendra paused, then let out a laugh.  “Forgive me, I forgot who I was dealing with, and that you would have no qualms about not staying at inns for the night.”

            They did agree to have a quick rest at the town before continuing on.  A decision that made Kylin glad that they were not staying there for the night.

            The soldiers were loud, but this town somehow seemed louder.  It was busier, bigger, and colder.  And there were not as many trees.  He did not know a single face in this crowd of people, not a single shop or store among the buildings, not a single thing about this town.  Even sounds that were similar were not familiar.  Nothing was familiar.

            And he wasn’t even close to home.

            He was so very far from home- Amelia’s cottage, the headquarters, the Ranger camps, the villages, and the entirety of the Veil Forest.  Telling himself that this was not a permanent trip, that he would be back as soon as everything was resolved, did not soothe him.

            Using the excuse of keeping his very excitable horse out of the way of harming anyone, Kylin found a spot that was away from people that was not as busy, even though it did not get him away from the noise.  However, it did make things a little less overwhelming.

            Morganne found him after a few minutes of being alone.

            “How are you doing?” she asked, her tone suggesting she knew why he was where he was.

            He shrugged.  “You don’t happen to have anything to block noise, do you?”

            “We’ll be leaving shortly,” she assured him.  “It’s supposed to get quieter down the road.”

            He sighed, his eyes catching sight of Gloryborn, and he was reminded of burden that awaited him if all went well and Selim was released from his family.

            It was one thing to be working alongside fellow Rangers.  It was an entirely different thing to be given responsibility of one who was learning.  A responsibility he felt wholly unfit for.  He could not guarantee Selim’s survival.  And even if Selim abdicated successfully, Kylin had a hard time imagining that the royal family would take Selim’s death well, especially under someone who was supposed to ensure that didn’t happen.

            Rei was such a fool for making him do this.  This was a disaster waiting to happen.

            Especially with the evil seeping out.

            The others rejoined with them, and they headed out again, leaving the hustle and bustle of the town behind.  Eventually, they moved from the lesser traveled road to no road at all.  All that surrounded them was farmland, barren for winter’s chill.  Some houses and barns could be seen in the distance, with woods in front of them.  It was so . . . quiet.  So unnaturally quiet.  They could see for miles, and yet, there was a sense of unease.  Even Taileia and Ofjaet appeared uncomfortable, though they tried to mask it.  The only one who seemed unbothered by their surroundings was Kendra.  In the gathering darkness Kylin could hear her humming various tunes to herself.  It only made the scenario eerier.

            When the suns were merely a line of light sandwiched by the darkness, the Rangers pulled out their balls of light and attached them to their horses’ breast straps.  The woods that stood before them seemed so close now.  There was no chance they would spend the night in the open, quiet, fields.

            As the trees came into Kylin’s hearing range, he unconsciously nudged Vicious to pick up her pace.  Sensing his excitement, she did so happily.  Her change of mood interested the other Ranger horses.  Not to be outdone, they quickened as well, their pace just under a trot.

            There was a collective sense of relief when they reached the first line of trees.  Kendra had actually fallen behind in their anxiousness to get to the woods.  She watched them with baffled curiosity as they dismounted and set up for the night.

            Morganne did a check of her supplies, ensuring that everything was still good for use and organizing them according to possible need.  Kylin offered his help, which she took to mean using him to hold things.  As she went through the packs and her pockets, she kept up a flow of talk, half to Kylin, half to herself.

            “If someone is attempting to kill him and use the illness as a cover, then I would suspect a poison is being used,” she said, partly mumbling.  “I believe I have everything for a poisoning . . .”  She searched her pockets, pulling out small vials and carefully inspecting them.  “Unless the treatment is the method of assassination, in which case, some of these antidotes will be useless.”

            Kylin watched her with fascination, his cupped hands filled with vials Morganne hadn’t determined where to place yet.

            “But, that also could mean that whoever is doing this is adding one ingredient to throw the treatment off.”  Morganne gave Kylin a stern look, as though he had suggested this complication.  “I imagine I cannot take everything in at once, so what’s in my skirts will have to be immediate. Diagnosing should take precedence, but there are things that will require immediate application.”

            “Are you enjoying yourself?” Kylin asked, amused.

            “I did not have time to organize everything earlier,” Morganne said brusquely.  She paused, scrunching her forehead in frustration.  “But yes. I am.”  She picked through some of the vials in Kylin’s hands.  “Kendra’s description only gives me so much information. And his condition and symptoms can be a result of so many things. I would prefer to be working on it as soon as possible, especially if someone wants him dead, but that just might not be something that can be done. I have to know what I’m dealing with and I have few things to narrow it down. One wrong move, and I can make things worse.”

            She began placing the vials where she wanted them with the concentration of someone solving a particularly complex logic puzzle.  When she had determined what went into her skirt pockets and what could be stored in the packs for later and placed them there, she thanked Kylin for his help and went to go and sleep.

            The next day of travel went much better than previous days.  While the woods were not the Veil, it felt a lot more familiar to the Rangers than the open, treeless fields.  Kylin could hear sounds of animals hiding just out of sight, small branches breaking off and falling on beds of dead leaves, and birds that decided to stay for the winter making occasional comments to each other.  The emptiness of the fields was replaced by the smell of Autumn’s last hurrah.  The color of the trees, save the needles, had dropped to the floor where sparks of orange could still be found among the shades of brown.

            As relaxing as Kylin found it, if he was tempted to take it easy, Vicious was there to remind him that she was waiting for her moment, excited by the familiar surroundings.

            By midday, the solid ground turned into forested swamp.  It slowed their pace some, as they navigated around the softest parts of it and avoided getting their horses stuck.

            They were not clear of the forest when night fell, but Kendra assured them they were very close, suspecting they would arrive at the castle sometime before noon.

            Her assessment proved accurate.

            They had not traveled long before they reached the other side of the woods and stood staring up at the walls of the capitol.

            Figures of guards could be seen standing at the top of the wall.  The gates were open and an influx of people flowed through them in various manners- on horseback, on foot, in carts.  They wore all sorts of colors, in fashions Kylin had never really seen before.  Here and there, he could spot the uniform of the military and he couldn’t help but feel a wave of distaste.  It did not matter that they weren’t in the Veil; they were soldiers and that was enough.

            The visuals aside, the noise was near unbearable.  Too many people were talking.  Too many feet walking on the gravel.  Too many creaky wheels.  Too.  Much.  Noise.

            To hide his expression of distaste, he pulled his mask and hood up.  Morganne gave him a sympathetic look.

            Kendra stopped short of the road, glancing around before speaking.

            “Follow the main road, and you will come to the castle,” she told Ofjaet.  “The farther you go, the quieter it will get. You will pass the university and the cathedral before the castle, so do not mistake those for your destination. The guards will ask why you’re there, but do not tell them the Myst sent you, or mention my name. I do not care what you tell them as your answer- just do not mention me or the Myst.”

            Ofjaet promised her they wouldn’t, and Kendra parted with them.  They  joined the busy throng of people, making their way into the city.  Despite the variety of people present, the Rangers stuck out among all of them.  Nowhere else could the color of their cloaks be found, nor the specific style, the gear they brought, the pins they bore.  Even the garments underneath their cloaks were different.  Every Harlofelpan could pin them as the foreigners they were, staring as they passed by.  Some even stopped in their tracks to get a better look.  The guards watched their journey through the gate, waiting for them to do something that would necessitate approaching them.  Ofjaet and Taileia led the way, not giving the onlookers a glance in return.  They kept their heads up, Taileia’s set and sharp, Ofjaet relaxed yet poised.

            Inside the capitol was nothing like Kylin had ever imagined.  Buildings so close to each other there was barely any room between them.  Shop signs dangling from almost every door frame.  Windows opened on the second floor with more people haging out of them, either calling out to someone they knew on the street or beating the dust out of fabrics.  Music could be heard somewhere, its location obscured by the plethora of voices.

            They continued to draw attention, and Kylin could even catch snatches of conversation regarding them.

            “They definitely are not from the northern kingdoms. I would recognize it if they were.”

            “Those two are so tall . . . how can one be so tall?”

            “They couldn’t possibly be from the Veil? Are they Rangers?”

            “What business do Rangers have here? They can’t be Rangers.”

            There were some curious children who followed them for a while, being forced to fall back as they were called back or reached the bounds of how far they were allowed to go.

            As Kendra promised, the road quieted as they continued.  Not as many people around, though Kylin could still hear it.  The Rangers remained a source of fascination.

            They passed a structure the Rangers agreed was the cathedral Kendra had mentioned.  It had a staircase taller than most of the buildings they passed, ending in a platform leading to giant, ornate doors.  From there, the building only went higher and more ornate, ending with a pointed bell tower.

            After that, they passed the university.  This was not a singular building, but rather a multitude of elaborately designed buildings, surrounded by well kept lawns and intricately carved statues.

            And then, at last, they reached the castle.

            It put the cathedral to shame in terms of size.  Its outward designs were austere, peering down at the ragged Rangers and demanding to know what they were doing.  There were guards at the top of the steps to the main doors, and at the bottom.  When the bottom guards realized they were not just passing by, they stepped in the way.

            “State your business,” one of them said.

            “We are Rangers from the Veil Forest,” Ofjaet began.

            The guards glanced at each other before cutting him off.

            “We’ve been expecting you,” the guard said.  “Allow us to take your horses and we will bring you to His Majesty.”

            As the guards called for stable boys, the Rangers exchanged looks.

            Expecting them?  Kendra had not mentioned that they would be expected.  In fact, the implication had been that they wouldn’t be expected.

            When the stable boys arrived, they dismounted, being to leave their weapons behind.

            Kylin did as they asked, strapping his most obvious weapons to Vicious’s saddle.  He kept a couple of his concealed daggers.  A glance at the other horses told him his fellow Rangers did the same thing.

            The guards looked them over, making sure they were able to approach the king.  When they determined the items they still had on them were safe, they were led up the stairs.

            They were given no time to look at the rooms they were brought through.  They were ushered straight into the throne room.

            Straight in front of the stern glare of King Masitof.

[obey-me-disaster]

Hello! Could you do MC with rode rage, just imagine a little sheep behind the wheel just screaming at people lmao you don’t have to but thank you anyways! Love your stuff :)

A/N: No because imagine a small fluffy pink sheep swearing and screaming behind behind the wheel. Sheep MC probably needs like 7 books to reach the steering wheel 😭

Also I don't know which characters do you want for the hc so I will use the demon brothers. If you want anyone else feel free to request.

Demon brothers x gn!MC

MC with road rage

Lucifer

There is a reason he is the one that usually drives. He had the pleasure of witnessing MC cursing that shit out of some old lady that jumped in front of the car to cross the road.

Who is more angry? Lucifer when Mammon gets in trouble or Mc while driving? The world shall never know.

He saw MC contemplating if they should run over some guys that pissed them off in the traffic or not one time and decided he should be the one to drive. For the safety of everyone around.

No matter how many times he scolds MC about their attitude while driving it never works, he has better chances of making Levi give up on anime than make MC stop having road rage.

If anyone tries to fight back to MC, Lucifer does a 180° and is on their side in that exact moment tho

Mammon

He is the one that usually drives because he just loves driving that much. Especially when MC is right besides him.

They acted calm while being in the passanger seat that it came as a complete shock when MC started to scream at someone while driving.

He fully supports them tho! Will flip off anyone that MC is angry at while driving. Someone tries to fight his human? You can bet he is right besides them in order to protect them.

Finds it hilarious most of the times. The times he tries to calm MC down is because he can see they are genuienely getting into a bad mood.

Lucifer might have to get the two of them out of trouble due to MC's agressive driving at some point.

Leviathan

MC nearly have the poor weeb a sheer heart attack when they started swearing out of nowhere.

Levi was playing on his phone so he wasn't paying attention, so when he heard MC screaming he really thought he upset MC and he started to apologize. It took MC a few minutes to reassure Levi they weren't mad at him.

After he got used to their road rage he fully supported. He goes full blown "Take that normies!".

MC kind of tones down their swearing just to not give Levi anymore heart attacks when he isn't paying attention.

If anyone tries to come to your car to fight he either trying to sink in his seat to not be seen or summons Lotan out of instinct. If he does the latter he won't stop apologizing to MC since Lotan probaby destroyed their car.

Satan

He can't say shit since he is probably worse than MC. It takes more for him to get road rage but once he gets angry enough, not even their road rage can compare to his.

Feels a bit guilty because he feeds on their wrath without meaning to. He has mixed feelings seeing them so angry. On one hand he likes seeing MC like that, on the other hand he doesn't want MC to get angry.

He has a pretty good control over his emotions, but he sometimes gets angry with MC, even if he isn't the one driving. It doesn't happen often but still..

He can talk both of them out of any trouble MC might get in since he has a lot of connections both in Devildom and in the human world.

If MC really wants to run over some jerk he will turn a blind eye to it. He knows how to hide a dead body and knows the right people in order to cover the crime.

that reminds of that one time he offered to kill someone for MC

Asmodeus

He finds it both entertaining and frustrating. He finds it funny the way MC reacts but he is also worried for them, that much rage is not good for their health. "MC, dear, please calm down, it's not good for your skin to be that angry!"

He makes devilgram stories of MC cursing out some poor demon/human when driving. Those always get viral, which means Lucifer finds out pretty quick and they're in for one hell of a scolding..

Offers MC to relieve them of their stress while driving. I will leave that up to you to imagine.

MC gets in trouble with some random demon/human or the police? No worries he will use his charm to get them out of trouble.

If he gets offended on MC's behalf he will make a post about it on social media to probably ruin that person's day. They should have thought better than to do whatever got him mad.

Beelzebub

Who should demons be more afraid of? Some sheep human cursing them out or some giant demon? People and demons alike tend to leave MC alone when they see Beel sitting next to them.

Tries to get MC to calm down, that much anger is not good for their stomach. Big chance he suggets the two of them go to McDonalds or something after that.

He honestly thought for the first few times that MC was expressing some repressed anger in their road rage so he tried to get them into some sport to let out their anger in a more healthy way. It turns out they just have road rage, no repressed feelings probably

Another demon MC calms down for. They don't like seeing Beelzebub lookig like a kicked puppy when they get mad. If they do have a good reason for their road rage, Beelzebub will support them. In what? Probably scaring some demons/people away, they will run just from seeing him.

Idk why but he seems like the type to just pet MC's head when they get angry. Like how he would try to calm down an angry Cerberus when he needs to give him a bath. It works too, which he didn't really expect.

Belphegor

It took him a while to notice MC's road rage because he would sleep thought the entire car ride. When he woke up one day to screaming in the car he thought Satan was driving for a second

As along as MC doesn't wake him up he doesn't mind them cursing out some random demon while driving. MC can run them over for all he cares.

During the times he is awake he finds it entertaining. That's what they get for getting into MC's way.

Chances are he had to use his powers to put someone to sleep more than one time.

After driving he always insists that MC goes and takes a nap with him as a way to relax and let out all that anger. It's a pretty lame excuse for him to get cuddles but MC doesn't really seem to care.

[no-droids]

Ask Me Again Tomorrow

gif credit @pedros-pascal​

Part Sixteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.3K

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

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

***

Headstart—12:17pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Headstart—6:12pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Headstart—6:58pm:

A bus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Headstart—9:34pm

The forest here is different from Naboo, too.

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

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

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

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

You’ve… never climbed a tree before.

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

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

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

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

***

Headstart—11:37pm:

Water.

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

And it was fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 1–12:00am:

“Sweet girl.”

—You nearly fucking fall.

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fair wasn’t part of the rules.”

Well.  Fair.

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

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

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

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

“What are you talking abou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that sound?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 1–6:15am:

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

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

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

***

Day 1–7:06am:

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

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

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

“You were supposed to stay on foot.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 1–1:32pm:

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

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

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

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

***

Day 1–9:51pm:

Oh.  Oh stars, you’re tired.

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 2–12:00am:

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

“Wake up.”

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

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

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

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

No—

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure you did.  You in another tree?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later, this moment will come back to you.  That problem isn’t basic, not many adults would be able to tell you very quickly that the answer is two fifty-six.  You don’t even think Din would.  You would, though.  On Naboo, you used rapidly applied trigonometry in your head to find his location, and that was barely two minutes after waking up.  You should know this.  And he knows you.

But for right now, you don’t pay it a single lick of attention.

“You promise?”  You ask quietly, voice incredibly small as your head tilts back towards the sky, already feeling yourself beginning to fall back into the darkness again.

“I promise,” he vows in return, gentle but a promise nonetheless.  He doesn’t have to do this.  You wouldn’t be able to keep going even if he didn’t offer up this temporary truce, but knowing he isn’t currently gaining ground on you makes the idea of sleep so much more welcoming, something you want to seek out instead of fight.

“Will you, um…” your expression furrows.  How do you say this?  You sigh, giving up before even trying to figure it out.  “I’m… not in a bed.  I’m outside.”

Din doesn’t say anything when you pause, and even through the haze wanting to take over, you know it’s going to sound needy.  You want him to stay.  Even in the midst of an adventure, you want him to stay, you want to hear him breathe as you rest, but there’s not really an integrous way to ask.

You don’t need to ask.

“I’ll keep the comm open and wake you when the sun rises,” comes his lulling baritone before you can elaborate anymore, enveloping you in comfort in this dreadfully uncomfortable bed of grass and dirt.  “Sleep, sweet girl.  I’m right here.”

***

Day 2–5:34am:

The sun shines over the hills and you lift your head up to squint your eyes at it, confused as fuck.  Looking down at your wrist to check the time in the warm rays, hands and clothes dirty from laying on the ground that long—you stay groggy and clueless for just a moment longer, before your heart lurches when you remember Din’s promise to you.

You open your mouth to address him but then catch yourself just in time.  Wait.  Don’t panic.  Listen.

Breathing.  Slow and relaxed through the earpiece, a rhythm now branded into your memory from months of nights spent in pitch black.  He’s… asleep.

Din is asleep?  Seriously?

You can count like… twice that this has happened, and one of those was because he got you to touch him just right after closing up a wound on his back, and his body couldn’t handle the strain and passed out.  You’re never awake when he’s asleep—you’re just not, it doesn’t happen.  Din… sleeps like it’s just a choice for him, he doesn’t ever really need it.  Almost like how he used to eat before he started sharing meals with you, he said he doesn’t even like food that much.  You think he just severed all of those things long ago, things that are basic fundamentals of survival and operated like a bounty droid that lost its voice box.  It’s… nice, feeling like you’re somehow giving back some of the things he lost.  Unintentionally encouraging him to find sleep again.  Making sure he eats more, listening to him speak.

You struggle to your feet as quietly as possible, hearing him continue to breathe slow and relaxed through the communicator.  This isn’t purposeful, you don’t think he actually allowed it.  He promised you, and Din doesn’t take shit back.  If he tells you he’ll do something and he doesn’t follow through, it’s either out of his control or a mistake, it’s never been purposeful.  He didn’t mean to fall asleep.

And, in other circumstances, you most definitely would not find some way to take advantage of this.  You’d let him sleep and do other things in the meantime—make some food for you and the kid, find something on the Crest that isn’t spotless and clean until it is, or just… lay there next to him until he woke up.  But… these circumstances are their own.  You have to capitalize now, this is your chance.  You passed out last night around… ten pm, you think it was, and then he promised to stop at midnight.  That means you have to walk at least two hours before he wakes up if you want to prevent any loss of ground—you don’t know where he stopped, he could be a few miles back even.

You have to find Nariss—you have to.  It’s your only option, if you keep trying to run, it’s just going to make it so much easier for him.  Now is the time to hide.  You know it hasn’t been long, it’s barely been two days since you first left the Crest but it feels like you’re already in endgame, already making moves in self-defense instead of actually planning your maneuvers ahead of time.

The capital should be half a day’s walk from here, then.  As long as you get there, you think you’ll be okay.

***

Day 2–8:28am:

Din’s groan suddenly comes through your ear.

You immediately stop, seeing a busy road in the distance and glad you haven’t quite made it there yet, before trying to disguise your voice as drowsy.  “Mm?”

“Shit,” he breathes, and you hear him get up, the sound of beskar moving as he grunts.

“Mpph,” you groan back, squinting your eyes to see if that’ll help sell the act.  “I thought you… Mando, fuck, y’said you’d wake me when the sun came up.”

“I… fell asleep,” he admits, voice rough with it, sounding just as confused as you felt earlier.

“You said you had days in you before that happened,” you murmur, taking a deep breath and stretching your arms up above your head.  Stars, your back hurts, how does he possibly manage to carry a fucking jet pack around all the time?

“Yeah, I…”  He pauses for a moment and you bite your lip, not liking the quiet as soon as you hear it.  “How long have you been up?”

Op.  Not good.  “Wha?”

He’s not falling for it.  “How long?”

How in Maker’s name?  This is impossible.  How can you hope to hide from him when you can’t even manage to hide the smallest fucking truth from him?  Can you salvage this somehow?  “…Like ten minutes.”

“Least a few hours, then,” he sighs, and you get ready to hit him with the same line he used when you complained about his leg-up, opening your mouth as soon as you hear him speak.  “That was smar—”

“Fair wasn’t part of—”

Oh.  Well.  Apparently you didn’t have a reason to feel shitty about deciding to haul ass while he was passed out even though you kind of ended up doing so anyways.  There was no agreement besides that he wouldn’t move until you woke up.  Reason is on your side, but it still feels a bit like you fucked him over.  Is that valid or are you just so used to being nice that putting yourself first feels like a wrong you’ve committed?

“Don’t feel bad,” Din tells you, and you hear a soft coo in the background.  It makes you smile the smallest bit, your shoulders relaxing even as they ache from carrying your pack around.  “You should feel bad about stealing that poor kid’s shoes, though.  He walked home barefoot.”

You smack your forehead.  “It was just….”

“Yeah,” he scoffs when you don’t finish your sentence, and you can’t keep back a giggle.  “Alright, I’m up now.  See you when you get here.”

And then the communicator clicks, and you’re…

Uh.  What the fuck was that?

No.  Nope, you’re not going to get played.  That was a brilliant attempt at fucking with you, but you’re not falling for it this time.  You’ve grown since that night on Canto Bight, you know him, he can’t just say shit to fuck with your head and then smile at your flailing response from under the helmet anymore.  You normally would stew in that last comment until it got to you, made you make a mistake most likely, but the more you think about it, the more certain you are that he has nothing.  He was just trying to see if you’ll abandon your entire plan just by implying he already knows it.  That’s beginner shit, you’re not falling for it.  Din wanted to leave the conversation with the upper-hand since you gained at least an hour of extra ground while he slept.  You’re certain of it.

***

Day 2–12:35pm:

Nariss is big.  Nowhere near the size of Coruscanti sectors of course, where billions of people are packed from surface to exosphere and require oxygen recirculation towers to breathe at the very top, but just slightly bigger than you expected.  It’s bustling and you haven’t even made it through the city gates yet—you’re approaching them and the large number of people waiting in line, seeing buildings stretch out for miles in front of you and grinning.  Yes, this will work nicely.

As you peek over shoulders in the sizable crowd, you see only two or three people allowing people to enter one at a time… is that a biometric scanner?

Oh.  That looks good and it also doesn’t look good at the same time.  If Din’s safety meant nothing to you, you’d have no trouble whatsoever getting in line and waiting to do a retinal scan, but you immediately pause and consider the potential consequences.

Your dumb ass almost weighs the option of clicking the communicator on and asking his opinion.  You’d give away your location in a heartbeat (if he doesn’t know it already) just because you’re worried he’d… what, exactly?  Stand in line for an hour, take his helmet off in front of a crowd of people, have the system ping his scan, and then hang out and wait for New Republic reinforcements to show?  You have to stop worrying about him.  He’s not a baby, he can handle himself and you need to stop considering the possibility of taking a loss just so he doesn’t have to, even if the self-destructive sentiment feels ingrained in your nature to do so.

So you wait in line, moving at a slow pace but at least moving.  While you’re standing there quietly, a man in front of you decides to strike up a conversation.  You don’t come from a place with an excess of people, but the ones in your sector were friendly and did this kind of thing often, so perhaps for that reason, you decide to chat.

“Do you have some place to stay?”  He asks at one point.  So far the conversation has revolved around him—every time he asks about you, you deflect.  He doesn’t need to know.  “Nariss isn’t kind to drifters.”

This catches your attention, though.  This is relevant.  “What does that mean?”

“It’s expensive?”  He scratches his blonde hair, giving you a soft smile.  “Food, housing, all of it is way out of my price-range.  I stay with my uncle and work overnights at the eastern docks.  It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep a roof over our heads.  We used to live in Gibrath, but then we moved to the city because he’s a good architect and they’re always expanding.  It’s nice, of course, but really expensive.”

He’s handsome, you think… in kind of a boyish, charming way.  Blonde hair, sparkly blue eyes.  He doesn’t look much older than you, and maybe in another lifetime you would’ve found him appealing, but… you like darker features, you think.  Someone a little less expressive.  This guy… talks a lot.

“I thought this moon was a safe world for people displaced by the Empire,” you offer, taking a step forward as the entire crowd shifts.

“Sanctuary II is,” he comments.  “The capital is safe, too—what, with all the orangies walking around,” he tilts his head to two jumpsuited guards trying to organize the glob of people so the line can move faster, rolling his eyes as if they’re some kind of joke.  “But not… welcoming, not if you’re looking for a place to settle.  You would’ve been better off in G’ila.”

“Is there anywhere you know that would take me for free?”  You ask.  You have quite a few credits left, but you don’t think it’s a good idea to stay in an inn.  It’ll be the first place Din checks.

“Are you a virgin?”  He returns, and you immediately pull back at the unexpected question, your heart thudding at the possibility of danger.  The man’s sandy eyebrows shoot up at your response and he quickly apologizes—“Heavens, I’m so sorry to ask like that!  It’s just… the only place I know is the Holy Keja Orphanage on the northern outskirts.  Their signs say they only house children and teenagers, but I’ve heard from other girls your age that they’ll accept any woman as long as they’ve stayed pure in the eyes of the Maker.”

“Oh,” you say after a moment, leaning sideways to see just a few people standing in front of him.  Good, this is almost over.  “Um.  Yep.  That’s me.”

He smiles at you once more, giving you a nod.  “When you get to the city, just go straight through.  It’s about a mile outside of the gates, no more than a day’s walk from this side of town.”

Okay, that’s… interesting.  You think about it while you thank him and begin to exchange polite goodbyes, moving up another step until he’s next in line.  That might actually be a good move.  Din could spend a long time in the city without ever finding you.  Smart quarry go to populated places, but… smarter quarry defy the expectations placed upon them, right?  He knows you’re smart, and even though you’re confident his “See you when you get here” was purely psychological fuckery, that also implies… at the very least, that he’s assuming there is a here to get to.  Meaning, he knows you’re not going into the wilderness to evade him.  He’s not going to comb the outskirts when there are so many places to hide within the city gates, with an entire perimeter of New Republic guards stationed around it.  Even if he does, the signs will say only children and teenagers—categories you do not fall into.

The unnamed man is soon ushered forward but you stop him quickly.  “Oh, by the way.  I doubt this will happen, but if a man in a big metal suit with a tiny green baby happen to ask you the same thing, please don’t tell him what you just told me.”

He furrows his eyebrows at you and cocks his head, but smiles and agrees nonetheless.

***

Day 2–5:43pm:

You have an idea.

You’ve been working on it all afternoon, but you were hit with it the second you were looking for another pair of shoes to buy and find a clever way of putting on.

The cheapest ones were ridiculously overpriced, blonde dude was right.  You blinked down at the tag and asked the salesman where the cheapest shoes in this part of town were, and then he just wrinkled his nose at you and shooed you out of the store.  Granted, you slept in dirt and spent two days walking—you bet you reek, but he didn’t have to be like that.

Though, the man’s displeasure with you had an upside.  You were holding a possible pair of pants and a shirt to buy when he threw you out, not yet having checked the atrocious pricetag on them, but it appeared as if he’d rather let you have them for free than rip them from your… admittedly, pretty filthy arms.  Oh well, you weren’t complaining.  Fancy clothes for free, score.

But now you’re here, and you have the best idea.  You don’t need to change shoes, not yet.  Why?  Because you’ve figured out how to turn your incessant detriment into an advantage.

You’re in the middle of downtown, you think, maybe just some random crowded square, and there’s an inn in front of you.  It’s fucking enormous, and you already know it’s gotta be incredibly expensive just looking at the sheer number of stories.  It’s an eyesore, it sticks out.  But that’s okay, because you’re only planning on staying for a night.

It’s also… right next to New Republic headquarters.  Or fuck, at least a station of some sort, because they’re swarming in and out of the constant crowd, passing by the valet doors.

At first you naturally wanted to steer away from the jumpsuits, since you know they’re bad news for Din, but then you remember what he said before you left.  I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it.  I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.

It’s to your advantage, he said so himself.  Everything lines up perfectly—the street is bustling, the inn is well protected, it’s nice—it’s everything you’re looking for.

And there’s another upside, see.  An omnipresent, omniscient ghost in the form of a communicator clipped to your wrist right now.  If Din is always going to be able to predict you, he’s always going to know when you’re lying, always be able to read you… then you’ll just have to let him.

Let him know.  Let him know exactly where you are.  Right in the middle of the most populated street you’ve seen thus far, a constant barrage of people walking by and New Republic officers patrolling.  If you were planning on staying in the city, this would probably be your best option to hide.  He could waste days here if you’re smart about it.

The concierge doesn’t appear too pleased with your lack of cleanliness and neither do you, honestly, but at least he allows you to book a suite for the night.  It’s… not as bad as you were originally assuming, credits-wise, but it’s worth more than half your stash and you’re going to have to conserve from this point on.  It shouldn’t be too bad—your destination is a holy orphanage, you’re sure they’ll have some extra food and a bed for you even if it won’t be ideal.  Still, you think you’re going to enjoy some lavish experiences for once in your life before you go.

***

Day 2–11:54pm:

Alright, so this was the best idea ever.  This is the shit.

You’re leaning back against a fluffy stack of pillows, squeaky clean from an absolutely glorious bath and watching the flickering drama on the large holonet display in front of you.  You don’t have any idea what’s going on, as it’s being broadcast in Rodian, but you haven’t been able to change the frequency because it’s so fucking intense—somebody’s sister is their mother, you think?  No, that must be a mistranslation, right?

You’re also in a robe.  Yes, there is a motherfucking robe in here.  And… and slippers, it’s like a dream.  Do people normally wear slippers in bed?  You do.  Hell, maybe you should stay here, screw the credits and the chase.  This mattress is even better than the one on Naboo and you’re basking in the luxury after being outdoors for so long.

The lights are off other than that and you’ve opened the drapes wide, knowing you’re on something like the fifteenth floor and nobody would be able to see you anyways.  You just like being able to turn your head and look out at the sky.  Violent and periwinkle tonight.  You wonder if he’s looking, too.

Luckily, you snap yourself back out of it and glance down at the time on your communicator, quickly pressing a button on the remote to mute the Rodian show and then opening the line the moment the hour changes.

Day 3–12:00am:

“Hiya, Shiny,” you say before anything else, laying back and running a few fingers through your damp hair.  Your eyes close against the flickering light, taking a slow, relaxed breath.  Maker, this feels nice.

“You sound happy,” Din comments.  Astute, you feel happy.  Well… you’d obviously feel happier if he was here.  Your eyes flick over to the open bathroom door, still steamy from your bubble bath earlier, imagining him walking through it completely naked and then climbing over you on the covers.  You can only really picture it from the neck down—no, hang on… you can see his shaggy brown curls, that one spot on his forehead you know, how his facial hair would be dark and frame his mouth.  No face, though.  Missing just one fraction of him from your imagination, feeling incomplete but also somehow… complete in a way.

“I feel better after sleeping last night,” you tell him, purposefully leaving out the softness of the sheets underneath you, the sheer comfort of all this extravagance.  You don’t need it, you’ll never need it, but it feels nice to have for once.

“I do, too,” he replies quietly, and your eyes flutter closed.  You… miss him.  This mattress would feel softer with him next to you.  He’d probably be able to translate this show for you, even though you already know he’d fucking hate it.  You can imagine it—you with your eyes closed, him propped up on an elbow next to you and grumbling vague descriptions of the nonsense happening on screen just to hear your chuckles.  Adventures are great, but maybe they aren’t as great by yourself, you think.

“You should sleep tonight, too,” you encourage, but he scoffs.

“Not a chance,” Din mutters.  “Oh, before I forget, we need to charge the communicators today.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”  You ask him, glancing at all the multiple wireless charging outlets stationed around you.  “I’m in the middle of nowhere.”

He doesn’t even take a fucking second before responding.  “Good one.”

You grin up at the ceiling, warmth flooding you.  You love him.  Literally every single time, he just knows.  Your curiosity is too overwhelming after this happening so often.  Your plan to distract him relies on him being able to read you, but that doesn’t prevent you from wondering how he does it so accurately, time and time again.  “How do you know?”

“You slept outside last night,” he immediately tells you, like that should mean anything to you.

Does he… does he truly know you well enough to know how much your back and shoulders hurt today?  How much you were aching for a shower and clean clothes?  A bed to sleep on that isn’t dirt or metal?  You give into the accurate prediction with shameless honesty, not caring if he knows it’s the truth.

“This bed is soft,” you murmur gently, dragging your hand across the mattress next to you.  “You should be here.  I’d make you feel good.”

Admittedly, your comfort is making you a bit drowsy and you said it in the easiest way possible, but you didn’t necessarily mean it sexually.  Well… you sort of did—you’d make him feel so good in this bed—but what you meant was more… comforting.  He could take a bath, or a shower, and get all the grime off him.  He could feel clean and unburdened, take a break instead of constantly moving around.  The baby could have a whole bed to himself if he wanted, though you know he’d probably want to be on this one instead.  You could all look at the sky together.

Din is quiet for a little bit, before his voice comes back through the earpiece.  “Are you in an inn?”

“No,” you say, a little too quickly.  Perfect, that sounded just right for a lie.  You are lying, you absolutely are in an inn, the only difference is that you want him to catch on that it’s a lie, so… why does he take way too long before responding?

“Hm.”

What the fuck—why… how is it even physically possible?  He read you that deeply from one single word?  You’re not sure if he’s somehow psychic and figured the whole fucking thing out or if he just knows there’s something off, but it’s still enough to blow you away.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”  You blurt without thinking.

“Doing what?”  He grunts, sounding like he’s stepping over something, his breath changing intensity as he walks.

“If I look out this window right now, am I gonna see you standing out there just messing with me?”  You don’t even know what to believe anymore.  How do you beat this?  If you don’t want him to know the truth, he’ll figure it out, and if you do want him to know the truth, he’ll still figure it out.  His perception is unbelievable.

After a moment of silence, he murmurs gently through the comm.  “I thought you said you were in the middle of nowhere.”  It sounds like he’s smiling.

“I…”  your eyes shift around awkwardly, “am…”

Din lets out a deep sigh.  He’s right, that was bad, even for you.  “I found your bed a few hours ago,” he admits.  You close your eyes as you listen to him make his way closer to you, step by step.  “I’m nowhere near the city yet.  You have time to sleep.”

Your expression furrows and you frown.  “Why are you helping me?”

“Why do you want me to think you’re in an inn?”  He tosses back, and you huff.

“Because I’m trying to outsmart you but you make it really fucking difficult,” you grumble, not happy about him catching on so quick.

“You’ve also gained about four hours on me since we started.”  His voice is gruff.  You don’t know if he thinks it’s a good thing or a bad thing.  “You should give yourself more credit.  I thought I would’ve found you by now, never expected you to get all the way to Nariss.  It’s… not good for me.”

The honesty creeping in makes you go soft.  It makes you want to reciprocate, even if it’s dumb and you haven’t thought it all the way through.  “Wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me.”  His voice is a bed all its own, deep and gentle and safe.

You say it before you lose the nerve.  “I might just turn around and walk back.”

His footsteps stop and you hear a small sound in the background, a quiet little baby noise that suddenly makes your heart ache.  You’re comfortable but incredibly aware of how alone you are.  People pass by on the streets below, cars and hoverbikes honk in the distance and you’re by yourself.  For the first time in over a year, like you have been for years, you’re by yourself.

“Sweet girl,” Din sighs, and all of a sudden… you can feel his arms around you with it.  You feel so… known, somehow.  Every sentiment you could’ve possibly given in your last sentence, he relays his understanding back with his.  He makes you feel loved with it.  “Never wants to run.”

You don’t say anything, because you suddenly realize you’re totally fucking whipped, up down and sideways for his metal ass and the little floating grimlin that follows him around, and you would throw away the fifth quarry, adventure, the sky—literally everything if you could be with the both of them right now.

But again.  You don’t have to say anything, he already knows.  “Give me your coordinates.”

Your eyes pop open and you bite your lip.  Oh, stars.  You hate that you do genuinely consider it.  He could be here, and very soon.  With the jet pack, both of them could be here in less than an hour, probably.  He could take a shower.  Watch these stupid shows with you all night without needing to be on the move, help you build a bed of pillows for the kid on top of this one.  You could be with both of them again, even if it’s only for a little while.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you finally whisper, looking down at the soft white fabric of your robe, the way one of your slippers is falling off your foot as the holonet program continues to play on mute.

Din’s footsteps eventually start up again, and you both relax in silence together.  You, squinting at the screen because your eyes are getting heavy; him, continuing to travel step by step and gain ground on you.  Let him come.  You’ll be long gone by the time he even makes it to the gates.

It’s been about ten minutes of shared, quiet existence before you hear him bite into something and chew, and your face suddenly lights up.

“Are you eating the purple fruit?”  You ask, your slipper falling off with excitement.  You don’t know why, but it’s like… you’re stoked for him.  Just as proud of him for doing normal things as he does when you step out of your own comfort zone.  You like to think you’re both better that way.  Balanced.

“Mm,” Din replies with his mouth full, and you grin down at your bare legs peeking through the robe while he swallows.

“Is it not the best thing you’ve ever tasted?”  Your voice goes a little breathless with it, and you hear his footsteps stop once more.

“Close,” Din murmurs lowly, sending a small shudder through you.  It suddenly feels a bit warm in here, doesn’t it?  This morning was one of the rare times you were awake while he was asleep… it’s almost always the other way around, and just from the implication in his tone, you’re reminded of the thing he likes doing most when you’re resting.  Maybe he’ll let you do it to him, next time around.  The thought gets you hot enough to warrant the other slipper falling to the floor.

“You’re alone, right?”  You whisper, knowing he must’ve pulled the helmet up to take a bite of the fruit.  He must still be following your path through the hillside, then, not yet reaching the road.

“The kid is awake,” Din tells you, sounding like he’s trying to stop everything before anything starts.  His words are short and clear in their meaning, but…

This has a very small chance of success, you already know.  “…Do you want to—”

“No,” he responds quickly, already way ahead of you.  “We can’t.”

Something in his voice… you don’t know, there’s just something there that makes you feel just a little reckless.  Should you push it?  You’re by yourself in this suite, what can go wrong?

“You can’t,” you correct him quietly, shifting around on the bed just a bit and biting your lip.  It’s a thrill—being able to tease him without having him in front of you, drive him crazy knowing you’re just out of his reach.  “But I can do whatever I want, can’t I?”

There’s a pause, a tense and knowing silence suspended between you before he eventually speaks.

“I’d be real careful,” Din mutters low in warning, but what is he gonna do?

“What are you gonna do?”  You whisper to him devilishly.  Quiet and breathy, beginning to snake your hand down.  Stars, your heart is already pounding.  You’d only likely mouth off like this in person just to see how hard he’d fuck you, but this feels extra dangerous for some reason.  He’s stuck, he can’t do anything about it right now, and you know it’s playing with fire.  “You could hang up if you don’t want to hear me.  Or you could find me before I’m finished.  Come make me stop.”

Din doesn’t say anything but he very much does not hang up, nor does he come busting into your room like you imagine he’d like to.  The sheer fact that your door is still closed and locked tells you for sure that he isn’t just hanging out in the hallway, just letting you have your fun.

You start pressing your fingers against your robe at the apex of your thighs, humming at how nice the pressure feels.  You don’t even spread your legs or push the fabric away, you just sigh into it and wiggle your hips a bit, pressing hard against your clit and listening to him breathe.

“Do you want to listen?”  You ask quietly after a moment, and Din still doesn’t respond.  Likely because there’s not a real answer, both yes and no would imply the wrong thing.  “I’ll talk.”

Still, nothing from him.  Dead silence through the comm.  You’re starting to understand.  For two days, you’ve felt like he could read your every thought just by the cadence of your voice.  He’s staying quiet so you can’t even attempt to do the same to him—if he doesn’t talk, you can’t find a weakness and pounce on it, you can’t feel any more confident or reassured about your own ability to read him.

You’ll just have to push a little harder, then.

“Hm.  If only this fancy communicator could…” you pause to look down at your wrist for a second, studying the menu.  You don’t think you’ve ever really looked at it, you never had the time.

Din’s growl is sudden and sharp through the earpiece.  “No, don’t even think—”

“Ah,” you smile, tapping the face and immediately finding the correct screen.  “Take pictures.”

He’s deadly quiet for a moment, and you bite your lip with excitement.  When he does speak, his voice is a pure threat, chilling you to the bone as much as it burns deep in your tummy.  “…You wouldn’t.”

Ignoring him, you suddenly locate a menu option that sounds phenomenal right now.  “Oh shit, does this holocall?  Or is it a video option?”

“Holo,” he says very seriously while you study the lack of complexity of the built-in camera in skepticism, “and the kid is awake, so you can’t—”

“Oh, it’s definitely a video,” you unclip it from your wrist and he curses as you sit up, and then you press a button and wait impatiently for him.  “Pick up.”

Din takes forever before responding, and you hear the continuous beeps as it attempts to connect, before his quiet baritone rumbles in your ear.  “What if I don’t?”

You feel your mouth pull down at the corners, not so much frowning as you are dubious.  He’s going to turn down the opportunity to see you and your surroundings when his whole goal is locating you?  Really?

“You sure?”  You ask softly, raising an eyebrow.  “You’d get to see me, where I am.  What I’m…” your eyes dip down to the loose robe riding your curves, your skin glowing against the white fabric, “…wearing.”

The beeps continue on for a few more seconds, until they finally stop.  You frown down at the black screen of the communicator, not seeing anything at all.  Did he decline the transmission request?  No… there’s a little red light next to the small lens that wasn’t there before.  Why can’t you see him?

“Why can’t I see you?”  You ask.  You want to look at him looking at you, you don’t want to always be stuck on the other side of a one-way mirror.

“I… have it linked to my helmet, but it only has a front-facing camera,” Din tells you after a moment, and he sounds… slightly out of breath.  “Easier to see, the watch is useless now besides the controls.”

Wait, does that mean you’re… being shown on the inner-display of his helmet instead of his wrist?  Right in front of his eyes, as if he were actually here with you?

“Nobody can see me but you?”  You clarify, and when he doesn’t respond, you bite your lip and lean back into the pillows.  You lift the watch up slightly, extending your arm out until you can get the angle as wide as possible.  “Can you see… this?”  You ask softly, before hooking your fingers in the collar of your white robe and slowly pulling it open for him.

“Where are you?”  Din asks instead, and you hear his footsteps through the earpiece, as if he’s walking away from something very quickly.

You don’t answer him, parting the soft fabric until your breasts are completely exposed and you sigh, closing your eyes and snuggling back into the pillows once more.  “I’ll tell you where I am if you keep watching me.”

“Why?”  Din grits in frustration, coming back around to the same dangerous question he had earlier.  “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know.”  You slowly tilt the camera down until you can spread your legs and the robe falls open with the movement, letting him see your pussy peeking through in the flickering light of the muted screen in front of your bed.  “Can you see that?”

“Yeah,” he says shakily on the end of a breath, and you feel yourself get wet.  Fuck, he sounds so fucking tempted, the sight making his voice come without any of the self-assuredness as it usually has, but… he could also just be saying that.  How do you know he’s telling you the truth?

“What am I doing?”  You test him, lifting your knee just the slightest bit so you really give him something to look at.

“Spreading your legs for a camera,” Din responds without hesitation, voice scraping against your ear, making you shiver and your nipples harden.  Fuck, the way he says it, like it’s wrong and bad even though he’s the only one who can see or hear you do it… it makes you feel even more naughty and emboldened.

You bite your lip and reach your hand down to spread your lips for him, too, hearing his breath immediately catch on the other end.  Already your pussy makes your fingers slick against your soft skin, the sash of your robe still holding the fabric together on your body but also loose enough to allow it to part in the right places and reveal everything you want him to see.

“I am in an inn,” you whisper teasingly, letting your finger drop to brush against your clit and then sighing in soft delight.  Oh stars, that feels nice, it feels so good to treat yourself after being completely nomadic for two days, getting to be clean and soft and comfortable while you feel this pleasure, and Din’s voice growls through your communicator like you’re doing something painful to him.

“Fuck,” his breathing picks up while you begin circling your clit.  “Where?”

“Nariss,” comes your quiet moan, turning your head on the pillow to blink slowly at the camera.  Wanting him to see your eyes as well as your finger slowly dip into where you’re the hottest, caressing the sensitive skin there knowing he’s watching.

“Where in Nariss?”  Din’s voice is as pleading as it is sharp, desperately trying to keep either you or himself on track.

“I don’t know,” you say again.  Truthfully, you don’t—you don’t know the cross streets, you don’t know the part of town, you don’t know much of anything at all besides physical descriptors.  You quickly move the camera to the side as far as you can hold it and let him see you from a different angle with the window as a backdrop.  “But the window is open.  And there are lots of people outside.”

“Can they see you?”  Din immediately challenges.  Of course they can’t, you’re fifteen stories up and the room is darker than it is outside with all the city lights and swirling colors of the sky, but you suppose he doesn’t know that.  You think he just needs to relax—if this is what he’s always like during hunts, you now know exactly why he comes back to you all riled up and tense.

“I don’t know,” you murmur back, starting to rub your clit a little faster, trying to make it feel like him.  It doesn’t—your fingers aren’t large or strong enough to give you those perfect circles; you just feel like you’re meandering yourself towards ecstasy instead of picking you up and hauling your ass there like he does, but it’s okay.  Hearing Din’s rough breathing come through the earpiece, knowing his hands are probably clenched tight into fists, wondering if he’s hard yet… all of it culminates into a power trip unlike any you’ve experienced recently.  It makes you bold, tells you to open your mouth.  “Does it matter?  I’d still let you fuck me against it if you were here.”

“Stop it,” comes his growl, but what is he gonna do?

Your leg lifts a little wider so you can slowly slide your fingers down and push two of them inside yourself, and Din swears as you moan, “Come find me.”

“Give me your coordinates—”

“Are you giving up?”  You offer breathlessly, lifting your eyebrows and your hips up slightly at the question, but you’re… not expecting the extended silence following.  You assumed a growled no would immediately come next, or just another empty threat said with enough force to make you tremble with excitement, but not… nothing.

The response makes you pause just for a second, easing your fingers out and dragging them across your thigh to clean some of the wetness off before extending your arm out towards the communicator.  Din stays quiet while you navigate through the menu with trembling fingers, eventually finding your coordinates and hovering over the unchecked share location box.

You wait with your lip bit, confident he knows what you’re doing and you don’t have to narrate or repeat yourself.  Fuck, you knew you were considering abandoning this entire adventure just to be next to him again, but you had no idea.  No fucking idea that it could ever be a thought in his own mind as well.  You… assumed he likes this, hunting is what he does for a living and he’s the one who conceived of the idea in the first place.  Is he just that aroused by you?  Or is there something more?

“No,” Din eventually murmurs, and you immediately navigate out of the menu so you don’t accidentally press anything catastrophic, before pulling your hand away from the communicator with a resolved hum and settling back into the pillows again.  Making sure to look directly into the lens even if your eyelids are heavy with heat and desire, you slowly lick your fingers and then reach down once more.

His deep, shaky breath is so telling.  Exhausted after all this, but still not hanging up, still doing his hardest to tough it out when he’s only miles away from you and has jets attached to his back.  You don’t want to drag it out but you also do, you want to be kind but something about Din makes you also want to be as formidable as possible.  You’ll never be able to threaten like he does, you’ll never have anyone cower just because you walked into the room, you’ll never be as powerful or strong as he is, but you can still put up a fucking fight against him in your own way.

You whimper softly, your breathing beginning to find a quicker pace as surely as your fingers do.  It begins to spark and build, a red hot flame being kindled by the knowledge that he’s as close as possible without actually being close, right here with you when he always seems so far away.

“Mando,” you whisper, though your expression pulls inwards just slightly because it… in a scenario as sensual and intimate as this, it almost doesn’t sound righ—

“Din,” he whispers back, so quiet you almost don’t hear it, like he almost doesn’t want to but has to anyways, and then you just start to fucking burn.

“D-Din,” you whisper instead, trying to keep your voice as quiet as possible through the rising swell.  He’ll be able to see it, you think.  The way your tummy and chest start to heave, how your body begins to brace for it—and yeah, Maker, he sees it, because his voice suddenly changes.

“Stop,” Din growls roughly, knowing exactly how you cum—knowing exactly what it looks like, the way it sounds in your breathing, what it tastes like, how it feels on the inside.  It’s been so long since you’ve touched bliss without him, months and months since you brought yourself to completion on the floor of the Crest by yourself, and though he’s rarely ever denied you, your own high on newfound control causes it to slip.  He barks your name and tells you to stop once more, but it’s too late.

“I’m gonna cum, Din,” you breathe out—

“Don’t—”

It tears through you, rapid and surging, and he snarls a curse, something loud snapping and thudding and… did he just punch something?  You can’t think, it’s delicious and hard as fuck and everything you needed after two days of near constant movement and thought with little rest, and you bite your lip to keep quiet but a pained whimper still shoves its way out of your tense vocal cords regardless.  It sounds like it hurts because it does hurt; the orgasm shatters your body into pieces and you’re left trembling by yourself on this soft bed, wishing he was with you on a metal one.

You sink into the mattress in the moments following, sluggish and exhausted and just conscious enough to keep the watch facing you.  You bet the camerawork was terrible, shaky at best, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.  You just lay there and listen to his harsh breathing while you work to slow your heart rate, reveling in the filthy little show you just gave him and wanting to finish it out properly.

“Come find me,” you breathe out once more, lazing soft and naked for him, blinking dazedly at the watch as you pan it over you.  Your thighs are still twitching and there’s a thin sheen of sweat clinging to you, but you drag a finger through your swollen lips and carefully wipe the wetness across one of your nipples.  “Clean me up.”

“Fuck,” Din suddenly spits through the earpiece, furious.  “You think—y-you think—”

“What?”  You hum, basking in the afterglow and so, so curious.  Truly, you’re dumb as fuck, you have no clue what you’re thinking, but if anybody would be able to tell you, it’s him.

There’s a moment where his breathing stops.  It’s completely silent on the line, before you hear another few heavy footsteps on his end pick up and then halt just as quickly.

“You think you can taunt me?”   He murmurs, dangerous and deadly quiet.  “Show me exactly where you are, disappear and then make me waste forever trying to get there?  You think that’s gonna work?”

Your eyebrow lifts, considering.  He… may or may not have predicted your strategy perfectly, but his insight has stopped surprising you by now.  “Maybe…”

“Maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep tonight.”

Ooh.  That one sends goosebumps down your arms, but you’ve gained four hours on top of a twelve hour headstart.  He can’t scare you with that tone, not when you’re still woozy with pleasure and he isn’t right in front of you.  Instead of wilting beneath the hard threat, you just blink gently at the communicator, finding strength in being the only one to get him this mad when he’s always so composed, this talkative when he barely says a word.  “Maybe I’ll just stay here then?”

“Maybe you wanted me to know you’re in an inn because you already found someplace to hide that isn’t one,” Din reasons very, very adeptly.  Stars, your heart subtly begins to pick up, your legs continuing to tremble as the small red light next to the lens stares you down.  “Can’t be planning to stay with someone you just met because you’d already be there, can’t be going to a hostel because you found the one city on this moon built for commerce and not aid.  Not staying in another inn, you can’t afford it—the view looks high up, that robe is expensive, and you already bought food and at least five pairs of shoes in two days.  I don’t think the place you found is even in Nariss.  You think you can outsmart me, sweet girl?”

The chill down your spine doesn’t reach your eyes, you won’t let it.  You just feel yourself smile, tilting your head at him and licking your lips while your finger brushes one of your nipples, but Din doesn’t accept your silence the way you’ve always accepted his.  He wants an answer from you, right now, and it’s clear in the dark rumble of his voice, the danger slowly brewing beyond what you originally planned for.

“Tell me,” he orders, unamused and leaving no room to disobey.  “How long do you think you can keep running?”

Your eyelashes flutter, suddenly deciding… why not?  What have you got to lose?  Nothing that you didn’t already go into this situation completely expecting to lose anyways.  What’s the worst he can do?  Find you?

You close your eyes, pinching one of your nipples and wondering if you might just go for another one since he’s still here.  “Ask me again tomorrow.”

But then, instead of immediately responding, you just hear Din’s footsteps suddenly pick up, faster than any pace you’ve been able to keep over the past few days.  You don’t think it sounds like a run necessarily, but you know that his legs and strides are far longer than yours and it’s probably pretty much equivalent to a run for you.  You hear the rhythm of your demise speeding up, coming closer and closer, and everything in you both fears it and welcomes it.

“We’ll see,” he tells you, and then the red light vanishes and your earpiece clicks to silence.

***

Day 3—2:23am:

Even though it takes you much longer to do so than it normally would on a bed so large and comfortable, after such an exciting interaction and not being used to flickering light when you try to sleep but wanting to experience the rarity anyways, you’re eventually able to pass out.

But, not even a few minutes into a restless dream, you turn over and accidentally knock your communicator off the wireless charging station on the side table.  It blinks with four percent battery life.

***

To be continued!!

[fleckcmscott]

Tiny Sparks

Summary: On a beautiful night in Gotham, Arthur and Y/N enjoy a long awaited date.

Words: 3,441

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: @sweet-nothings04 requested a story that covered the date night mentioned in Ch. 5 of Way Back Home. Never had I thought that writing something relatively simple would be such a challenge! 😂 Thank you so much for the request! I hope you all enjoy. 😊 Much appreciation to @forever-fleck​ for allowing me to use one of her lovely edits for the intro-pic.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The refrigerator's glow beckoned like a distant star.

A salad packed for Y/N's lunch tomorrow. One inch of Five Alive orange juice in a plastic pitcher. An open can of Heinz baked beans sealed with plastic wrap. No, no, no. He scanned the door. Universal Foods ketchup, poppy seed dressing, mustard that dated back to 1982...

"Ah ha." Arthur ripped the jar of green olives from the shelf, twisted the lid with the urgency of a man opening a bottle of nitroglycerin. He shoved a spoon into the jar, shoved it in his mouth. The night out would delay dinner by three hours. By quarter past seven, his stomach had gotten loud enough to be picked up by a microphone.

Tummy tided over, he went to the bedroom to finish getting dressed. Though summer, a cold front had rolled in, settled over the city since Tuesday, a refreshing sixty-two degrees. He slid a short-sleeve dress shirt up his arms. Slipped a navy sweater off a wooden hanger, the cardigan with red, yellow, and pink stripes along the placket. A sheer knit out of one of Mabel's catalogs, perfect for layering, according to his sister-in-law. And the splashes of color fit the image he wanted to present tonight.

This would be his first performance since Y/N's and his return from Missouri. He'd written and rewritten, practiced his stance and body language, studied his facial expressions and showbiz grin. Done everything he could to make his material work. Whether it was confidence that spiraled upward or the urgent need to get onstage, he couldn't tell. But he had an inkling it'd all go swimmingly. Would've bet his last dollar on it.

As he folded back the sweater's cuffs, Y/N breezed through the doorway. She swooped to snag a pair of sandals from the closet floor and sat in the corner chair.

"Don't forget to tuck in your shirt," she said. Ankle crossed over knee, she secured a beige strap around her heel.

His movements slowed while he observed her. Since coming home, their emotional connection had deepened to a depth that rivaled the Mariana Trench. She'd seemed to strike an accord, both with him and herself. Revealed an openness she'd hidden behind a disarming smile whenever dodging the rare inquiry about her former life.

Now when she shared recollections, her face brightened more than it darkened. They browsed her photo album a couple times a week, getting through a few pages here and there. Some days only one. There were moments she'd cut herself off, maintain the border she'd built within her heart to banish the bad.

"Old habits are hard to break," she'd say, front teeth shoved into bottom lip, the pressure turning it waxy. But more and more, she pushed forward. Gave space and voice to her experiences. Interlinked their pasts and paths, the roads crisscrossing between them.

In therapy, he'd talked about their trip, what Y/N had told him. Disclosed what was sufficient for Dr. Ludlow to get the drift. "It's hard for Y/N," he said. "I wanna be there for her. I don't want her to be sad anymore." Fourteen years of sadness had been enough.

"I think it's wonderful you want to help her. That many years of caregiving takes a toll. But she loved her father deeply, and sadness is a typical reaction to those types experiences. Let me ask you: if something happened to Y/N, what would your response be?"

His heart became a cannonball that plummeted to his stomach. "I'd die."

"No," Dr. Ludlow said, uncrossing her legs. "You would not die. You'd come to my office, and we'd work through it together. My point - we come back to this a lot - is that no emotion is negative. It's what you do with your feelings that matters. Sadness isn't a bad feeling. Unpleasant, yes, but necessary. It's a wave we all ride, just like happiness or anger. Let her ride those waves and be her lifejacket when she needs it. You'll know. Trust yourself to know."

He'd followed that guidance to the letter. The other night, they'd gone to bed at the usual hour, lain in the mottled blackness of their room. Soft snoring was the usual lullaby that sung him to sleep, but her repeated sighs continued well past midnight. He'd turned to find her on stomach, forearms shoved beneath her pillow. He'd pressed a kiss to the velvety valley between her shoulders. Placed a protective palm on her side.

She'd rolled onto her back. Spoke with a smile and wet eyes. "You give me a lot of strength by letting me be weak."

The inclination to argue had twisted his tongue. He'd gnawed the tip to stop himself. There was no way he'd say what he wanted at half-past lights out, anyway. Plus, he understood what she meant. Weakness was a hard-won refuge, third nature and allowed only with him. Still. During the decades they'd spend together, her characterization would be one they'd never agree on. It went right on the list alongside the greatness of Gotham and the entertainment value of Milton Berle.

Adjusting her champagne dress's petal sleeves, she swished past him to pluck gold earrings from her jewelry box and stepped to the vanity on the opposite side of the bed. She stuck a post through her left earlobe and screwed on the backing. "Mabel wants a tape of your set."

His great inkling suddenly shrunk to a pinpoint. "Why?" Recordings and he had a sordid history.

"She's dying to hear your material. That's a direct quote."

"Well... Would she accept a picture? I can write a joke on the back."

"How about this. I'll bring my recorder, and if you're happy with your performance, we'll send a copy. A lot of comedians record their sets."

"Oh yeah? A lot of comedians who? How do you know?"

"I've been to a show or two by now." She lined her eyes in the usual sable. "It might be good to hear the audience's reactions without the pressure of being on stage. What worked and what didn't."

"But that's why I have you," he said. When she smoothed a thin layer of silky rose shadow on her eyelids, he slinked up behind her. Traced a line down her bare arm and murmured in her ear. "You don't need all that."

"Uh huh. You don't say that when I'm wearing lace." The applicator dabbed his nose, leaving a pale circle in its wake.

Chuckling, he wiped the powder into his sleeve. "Okay. We can tape it. I think I'll be all right. I practiced a lot."

"You'll be more than all right." She spun to wrap her arms about his waist. "Just trust yourself."

A familiar directive, an encouraging echo. Her chin rested on his shoulder, warm breath on his neck. Tender hands followed the curve of her back, the zippered seam of her dress. His wedding ring gleamed in the mirror's reflection. "I will," he promised.

~~~~~

When Arthur had told her he'd signed up for an open mic at a new joint, Y/N had assumed it'd be the usual smoky nightclub, the kind frequented by couples who ordered one too many drinks. She was overdressed for a casual dining restaurant. And what were these kids doing here at this time of night? She would've tucked her nephews and nieces in by eight on the dot.

The microphone stood in the corner, a lone figure lit by the same recessed, sixty-five-watt bulbs as the tables. Behind it was a man in a faded purple t-shirt and rainbow suspenders, telling jokes about the shapes of jars. The ukulele he strummed was missing a fourth string. It struck Y/N that he was the perfect lead-in for Arthur's newest material. Family friendly and a little left footed.

No spotlight was in sight, so Y/N claimed the nearest two-top to be Arthur's spotlight. She retrieved her cassette recorder from her purse, set it in the center of the table, and scanned the crowd.

A man with lush, brunette hair picked his nose. Studied what he'd found while the woman next to him rolled her eyes and cried Oh, Harold. He stuck the golden nugget in a handkerchief. A grandmother wiped spaghetti sauce from her granddaughter's hands and asked for a doggy bag. One pair, in their fifties and looking as fish out of water as Y/N, shared a pitcher of cloudy beer.

Without a drink list on offer, Y/N had to forgo a Tequila Sunrise. She ordered plain seltzer for Arthur and a diet cola. After the show, they'd have Mai Tais at Traffic Light. Enact the plan they'd made surrounded by sunlight and strawberries.

Their vacation remained fresh in her mind, persistent as water flows shaping sandstone. What she'd assumed would be a search for reconnection and amends had turned into the mirror she'd avoided. The parts of herself she'd shielded Arthur from, the wounds she'd submerged in her marrow had flooded outward. A fountain of broken dreams and regrets, deep enough to drown in.

Her husband was a good, kind man. He'd been the first man she'd dated who'd lived her plight. The first chance to share what eight years of caregiving had done to her. Yet, she'd denied herself that comfort, convinced doing so would dismay him. And make her soul hurt all the worse.

And it had. Sometimes it still did. She'd spent too long trying to move on from it all. Yearning to forget. But the haven of Arthur's heart (and not a little prodding) allowed her to let go. Opening herself to him lightened her load, lessened her fear. The moments she felt small, protected by love and acceptance, brought an unexpected bliss. Turned the Shit She Refused to Talk About into the Shit She Could Talk About on Good Days.

Despite her relief, she'd had trouble sleeping when they'd returned. He'd made her chamomile, brought her along to the fire escape. Pulled her to his lap and guided head to his shoulder. Gently, he'd teased that it was nice to have company that late at night.

Puffing a cigarette, he'd shared past mistakes. A sampling of his notions after Penny had had her stroke, the ones that'd made him question if he was a bad person. If he had the capacity to love within him. He'd adopted the formal posture of a licensed therapist. "The doctor says we all them. Those thoughts. It's okay that you've had them, too."

Revealing his shadow self, the trust he granted her even after her confession, fertilized the seed of grace he'd planted at the cowboy bar. Vine by vine it grew, winding itself through each rib, weaving between her collarbones, wrapping around the facets of her neck. Every touch, every glance was an imprint of a promise. That no matter what had happened, no matter what would happen, he would love her.

He was helping her paste her dreams back together.

Rainbow Suspenders ducked out. Arthur emerged from the restroom alcove to the right. Diners seated along the wall offered a smattering of applause, breaking her out of her reverie and into a wide smile.

Nervous sweat shined his forehead, slender fingers played with one cuff. He began with a long breath and exaggerated bow. A trick he'd developed to hide that he was gauging his condition, the likelihood of ill-timed laughter. Once he'd straightened and caught her eye, he gave a little nod, more of a chin bob. She winked and pressed Record on the tape deck.

"Hello," he said, the start of his typical introduction. "I'm Arthur. It's good to be here. You know, growing up in Gotham was like staying in one place. There's a lot to do, but when you're a poor person it's hard to pay attention."

A cackle from the rear, a hearty guffaw to her left. The din of cutlery and conversation lowered. The press of everyone's attention turned to center stage.

With a flourish, Arthur took his journal from his pocket, presented it as a prop instead of an aid. He thumbed through its pages and leaned into the mic conspiratorially. "I've heard it's not nice to talk about someone behind their back. But what if you've talked to their front, and they want to walk all over you?"

~~~~~

Traffic Light was one of Gotham's best deals. Four dollars for an overflowing mound of Thai delicacies, one self-service plate stacked as high as GCR's Twin Towers. Available after nine o'clock Tuesdays and Thursdays. No sharing, please. Avoid waste and take plenty of napkins.

Just beyond the glass entryway, a praying Buddha statue greeted them, the tip of its ushnisha taller than a stupa. Golden elephants marched along sequined tapestries, plastic greenery hung from the ceiling, cradled in beige macrame. Behind the register, floral garlands topped royal family portraits. And facing the bar was a spirit house the size of a fax machine, where green tea and coconuts were offered for protection. Warm, woody incense merged with the pungent smell of curry to make Y/N's mouth water.

Arthur's long strides beat her to the buffet. He grabbed a scalloped plate, held it parallel to his chest. Drummed the bottom while he studied the unfamiliar cuisine. Grinning, she stepped forward to be his guide.

Chicken satay and steamed jasmine rice found an immediate home on his dish, peanut sauce cuddled up to dependable crispy wings. Scallion pancakes were deep friend, making him an instant fan. On her advice, he added a scoop of vegetable tempura, just to get a vitamin or two in his system. When he poked a squid's suckers, his expression was a mask of alarm. The seafood stir fry was a firm pass. Y/N ordered the yellow curry - two star spicy this time.

They settled on brown wicker bar chairs at the counter, which ran along the front window, facing the street. People hustling to work, to a relaxing night of dozing in an easy chair before the television, to fluttery first dates.

"So." Arthur dipped sliced carrot in her curry sauce, speaking and sipping his cocktail. "What did you think? I couldn't really hear the crowd. I was too nervous."

"No one could tell. You were a real professional out there." She nibbled the last vestiges of meat from a chicken bone. Wiped her fingers and pulled a folded tissue from her purse. "I just had a couple ideas."

"You took notes?"

"You can compare them to the tape later."

His set had started off strong and ended on a high note, bridging a lull that'd sagged the middle. He'd only been a beat off at times, a pause post-setup a split second too long. "The crowd got quiet about halfway through," she said.

"Maybe they were listening?" he asked. She didn't have to look to know he was somewhere between a squint and a grin. His tender tone held a challenge.

"It's possible. But I think they anticipated your shtick, the 'why' and 'what do you get' format of your jokes." Her fingertip followed the points on her paper. "Instead of asking, 'Why is marriage like fine wine?' you could deliver the whole joke as a sentence or two. What about, 'Marriage is like fine wine. The more it ages, the rarer it is.' And than make it personal by mentioning your favorite."

"Like, 'My wife and I are a fine Moscato?'"

"Merlot ages better."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he swiveled on his stool in mock offense. "Well, it is my joke." A truth and a tease.

She popped the last bite of spring roll between his lips, followed the gesture with a peck. He caught her jaw and brought her back for another. Head hazy, she dropped her lashes. Leaned into the warm palm cradling her cheek.

He wasn't the funniest comedian she'd ever heard. But he was the one she loved the most.

Just as he dug out his wallet, a couple halted on the sidewalk, breaking their stride directly in front of them. The man wore a pastel, plaid sportscoat, the woman a blue sweater embroidered with a white Scottish terrier. Y/N recognized them as the older pair from the restaurant, kindred guppies in need of a pond.

Plaid Jacket pointed through the window, waved the wave of the overexcited, and darted through the door.

He wiped his meaty hand on his trousers and extended it to Arthur. "Hey, weren't you that guy at Laughs Lots?" His breath stank of shitty casual dining beer.

"Yes," Arthur said, taking the offered hand. His smile started off disbelieving but then crinkled his entire face. "Yeah! That was me."

"Well, I'll be. Always wanted to do an open mic night, never had the guts, though. I play harmonica. I'm Bob."

The woman on his arm gave a swift nod. "Bob's real good, too. He's got 'The Entertainer' down pat."

That wasn't the first tune Y/N associated with a harmonica. But Arthur's style of jokes wasn't what she expected out of comedy, either.

"And that must be the little lady," Bob continued, nudging Arthur's arm. Then his eyes popped. "I've gotta take a leak." On that note, he jogged towards the back of the restaurant, fists at his side like he was running a race.

Y/N snorted and patted her handbag. She hushed her voice and leaned towards Arthur, upper arm brushing his bicep. "See? You can mail that tape tomorrow."

~~~~~

With the brisk night air and clear, velvet skies, they decided to skip the train and walk home. They threaded around trash bags, hopped over sidewalk cracks, ran the last block to Sheldon Park. It'd closed an hour after sunset, but the iron gate's chain remained unlatched, either as an oversight or because the lock was broken. Likely the latter.

Y/N glanced over both shoulders. Pushed the gate ajar and slipped through the opening. Squeezed Arthur's hand and pulled him to follow.

Camping tents were set off from main entrance, tucked behind a dirt trail. Four or five, a number likely to grow given Gotham's continued stagnation. Flames licked the edges of a metal barrel, where men in ragged jackets warmed their fingers. Along the main path, two teenagers sat with a boombox, blasting the latest Run D.M.C. hit Arthur hadn't heard. Their sunglasses must've been to protect their retinas from their sneakers. Their shoes were so white they glowed. The two clinked Tab bottles and swigged.

Cinching the belt of her spring coat, she continued towards the center of the park. For being smack dab in the middle of the urban landscape, it was surprisingly quiet. No horse hooves clacked, no skateboards whizzed past. Hip hop was out of earshot now. About a minute later, he recognized where they were headed.

Ducks busied themselves on the rear side of the pond, chit chatting and grooming one another. Others slept with beaks buried under their feathers. The nearby bench was a recent addition, grass hadn't yet sprouted around its legs. Y/N sped ahead of him and took a seat. Leaned against the backrest and looked up.

It was six seconds before she spoke. "See that?" she asked and pointed at the sky. "That's the North Star."

"It's the bright one, right?" He settled next to her on the edge of the bench.

"In the tail of the little dipper. My father taught me where it was in case I ever got lost." A light laugh left her. "He tried to show me other constellations, but I was terrible at finding them. But on clear nights, we made our own. The Kite. The Tablespoon. The Stethoscope - though I think that's Orion's club or something." She folded her hands together in her lap. "The stars are hard to see here, with all the skyscrapers and lights. They're the one thing I miss from back home."

Arthur studied her face, all the details he'd memorized. Her brows remained relaxed, her eyes dry, cheeks flushed a subtle pink. He laced his fingers through hers. "I'm sorry you can't see them here."

"Don't be." Her gaze locked with his, eased into a smile. "You're the brightest star of all."

Happy roiling whirled his stomach, his pulse skipped a beat. He felt a sudden, indefinable feeling of rightness. He brought her knuckles to his lips, kissed them and kissed her mouth. She tasted like curry and coconut milk.

Scooting away, adjusting as he went, he reclined to rest his head on her shoulder. Look towards the stars and dream.

"Which one's The Kite?"

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @ithinkimaperson @sweet-nothings04 @stephieraptorr @rommies @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1 @another-day-in-chuckletown @hhandley80 @jokerownsmysoul @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics @iartsometimes @fleckficgirl

[creativeashproductions]

Change of Scenery // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: Captain Bobby Nash has kept a secret from his friends, his wife and his step children since 2015 when he came to LA. Bobby’s eldest and only surviving child comes to LA to reconcile and make amends all the while she catches the eye of a certain blue eyed firefighter.

Warnings: Swearing, death/familial loss, pregnancy, blood, angst, injuries/medical emergency, and fluff

Words: 8k

A/N: Back at it with another 9-1-1 fic. Hope you enjoy, and I may just have to do another crossover with 9-1-1 and Julie and the Phantoms.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

There are moments in our lives that define us, whether it can be known as a positive or negative, but the outcome is always the same. A six-letter word that strikes fear and excitement into the souls of humans is change. The fear can be for ourselves or as a result of a child, a sibling, or a parent branching out on their own. Unfortunately, you had gone through a harsh and cruel experience on a cold winter night in the city you grew up in.

A typical Thursday filled with classes at the college you attended in Minnesota on a scholarship, nothing out of the ordinary. The plan had been to drive to your parents’ apartment to catch up with them for the weekend. Saturday morning was already reserved for a girls day with your little sister Brook and your mom. In the afternoon, you’d promised to take your brother Bobby to the ball diamond.

Your bag was packed, the plan to drive straight from class to St. Paul the following day to arrive in the daylight. Your dad struggled with worry when it came to you driving in the dark and especially in winter with icy roads.

“Y/N!” Dottie screeched from the living room of the four-bedroom dormitory. The pretty and curvy brunette had been the first friend you made in college.

Typically Dottie was on the quieter side, so when she screamed, you practically sprinted to the girl.

“Where’s the fire?” You demanded with a smirk at the reference to a topic that was a constant in your family. 

The fire drills your father conducted every four months for an exit plan in case of a fire and general information to save yourselves. He had also trained you to remember fire hazards and how to call dispatch with clear information if that time ever came. It never did and hopefully never would.

“The Lakeview Apartments in St. Paul.” Dottie’s dark brown eyes spoke only of pity and concern. The five foot ten roommate literally caught you as you tumbled into her arms with a loud grief-stricken scream.

You were forever indebted to the brunette for the plans she sacrificed to drive you back to St. Paul. There was absolutely no chance Dottie would allow you to both drive and be alone with no news. The media hadn’t released the names of the 148 deaths the fire relentlessly tore from the land of the living.

“I want to prepare you for what you’ll see. Your mother suffered severe third-degree burns over the majority of her body.” The kind nurse, also one of your friend’s parent, explained as she guided you to the Burn Center in the Regions Hospital, “I don’t want to lie and tell you she’ll be fine. You’re an adult Y/N. You deserve the truth and not be coddled.”

“Is she gonna survive?” You quietly asked, “Has she woken up since she was brought in?”

“The doctor placed her on a high dosage of morphine for the pain. Your father hasn’t left her side.” Lucinda informed you with sympathy written as over her face, The hazel eyes unable to adequately meet yours.

“I’ll check on her, then could you take me to the rooms my siblings are in?” You asked, completely unaware Brook and Bobby had been DOA at the hospital.

Your father hadn’t answered the text messages or the voicemails you had left on his phone—radio silent. You couldn’t be mad when he was with your mom, but a text would have been nice.

“This is where your mother is staying for the unforeseeable future. If you need anything, you can call me.” Lucinda softly replied before turning her heel to head back to the Burn Centre’s front desk.

It was horrific walking into a room with no idea if the occupant who had raised you would survive. The confident, gorgeous mother you had for the past nineteen years was unfamiliar to you, the extensive gauze covering nearly every inch of her body. You almost couldn’t even recognize the man sitting in the chair with his hands wrapped. 

“Dad? What happened?” You questioned the grieving man. The only person left in your family as you would soon come to know.

“Y/N?” Bobby gasped, pushing himself to his feet, staring at his only living child. The guilt ate at him just staring at you with those light brown eyes, “Oh, sweetheart.”

Your dad crossed the room in a few steps. The scent of smoke was still clinging to every part of him, but it was fine. Your dad was okay, minus the wounds on his hands. You’d always been closer with your father than your mother.

“Dad, what happened?” You quietly asked the ashamed firefighter that had to reconcile his feelings on the fire and his career—that struggle ending up pushing you away when he really just wanted you as close as possible.

“The building caught on fire after an ember from a heater lit a blanket on fire,” Bobby informed you with his eyes pinned on his wife. Bobby knew the chances of Marcy surviving were incredibly low, and he had to tell you that.

Bobby only knew the details passed on from a firefighter who pitied the man who’d lost most of his family. 

“Is Mom gonna be okay?” You questioned, and the said injured woman in the bed weakly responded.

“Baby?” Marcy quietly questioned from her absolutely still position on the hospital bed, “Uh, Bobby.”

You left your father’s side to be as close to your mom as possible, with the clear plastic separating you for her safety. Your heart shattered at the sheer exhaustion in her pretty blue eyes. 

“Hi, Mom.” You shakily spoke with one hand lightly pressed against the plastic divider. You didn’t even notice when your dad stepped up too.

“Marcy?” Bobby called out from right beside you, just as torn up, but Bobby carried extra weight on his shoulders, “We’re right here, Marcy. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The muffled grunt of pain, your mom’s attempt to save you from grief, Marcy let out as she turned her head to look at you. You knew deep in your gut that this was the time place you would see your mom alive. And by the look in her eyes, she knew too.

“The...kids…?” Your mom’s breathing became more erratic as she questioned the man she viewed as her hero. The man she believed had saved her and their youngest children, “Where...are they?”

“The kids are fine.” The way your father said it and the tears led to the knowledge once kept from you.

“No.” You whispered, seeing the total grief written clear on his face. The pain meds and agony kept your mom from knowing the truth.

“They’re safe.”

“I knew you’d come and save us.” Your mom breathed as her eyes started hiding the pretty blue you’d now only see in pictures. In your dreams, until even those faded as father time cruelly pulled you along.

Then your worst nightmare happened. You watched as the woman you looked up to flatlined with the thought of her children safe. You’d always know she’d held on just long enough to find out the state of her children. You could only hope she’d forgive your father for lying to her as she died.

“Mom!” You screamed, fighting the arms of an orderly restraining you. You barely noticed the resistance to your frantic attempts.

One minute you were staring at a team unsuccessfully trying to revive your long-gone mother, then you were in a hotel room. The atmosphere tense and quiet between father and daughter, with the ghost of your dead family to keep you both company. You could hear Brook gagging every time you’d kissed your now ex. You could see Bobby toddling after you years ago.

At least you had your father—a father whose guilt festered until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“It was my fault.” He murmured, staring at the barely eaten burger that tasted solely just cardboard. He couldn’t bear to look at your face, “I didn’t mean to leave it on.”

Your head snapped to stare at him in disbelief, “What do you mean you didn’t mean to leave it on?”

“I-I went to the roof to sleep after your mom kicked me out. I didn’t have my keys to the apartment I had below ours.” Bobby began spilling the lies he’d told to you about his addictions. Of the apartment, you’d had no clue was even in his possessions.

The pain of losing your family tore into you, “You took my mom away from me. I’ll never get to share my wedding day with her. Shopping for a dress and gossiping about boys. I’ll never be able to wipe Brook’s tears during her first heartbreak.”

Each word broke Bobby more and more.

“You stole my future. You’re selfish, ungrateful and utterly pathetic. You cost so many people so much, all because you sought out your next high.” You spat, glaring at someone you’d never expected to hurt you. You didn’t notice your hands grabbing your possessions nor opening the hotel room door, “You couldn’t even properly try to get clean.”

“Y/N-”

“Get your shit together before you kill anyone else. I never want to see you again.” You sobbed with regret already festering in your body, but pride held you back from apologizing.

Upon your return to your dorm with Dottie by your side, you immediately began the process to enter an exchange program. Within a month, your feet entered Sydney Airport. You didn’t return to America for several years.

You took a job as a casual lifeguard on Bondi Beach, met Lucas in a meet-cute situation at the grocery store. You graduated college and found a job as a paramedic as you began becoming a flight paramedic. In 2020 Lucas and you discovered you’d be bringing in a little baby into the world.

Learning about your little Cashew growing safe in your womb fanned the flame of desire to reconcile. Ultimately the pride kept pushing the urge to apologize for the cruel words you told your father further away. You naively believed you had all the time in the world.  

Remember the six-letter scary word? If losing your mom, siblings, and father was a devastating blow, losing Lucas was nearly tied. Your little Cashew lost their father before they even got to meet him. That was push enough to pack up your home and fly back to America with your father’s new address as soon as you could.

In the fallout of the apartment fire, your father relocated from Minnesota to Los Angeles. 

Los Angeles, 2020

As soon as you’d found the nicest but cheapest hotel to stay in until you found a place, you walked the streets of LA. The first order of business of approaching your father at his workplace as you had no personal address. Residing still in Minnesota, Deputy Chief Evans had only given you the address of Bobby’s work.

You could only hope Bobby wouldn’t turn you away. That he was willing to bridge the gap, you’d widened over the years. That he could forgive the silence to each email, he sent when you changed numbers.

“We should go out to dinner.” The female voice was what brought you back to the present time. The woman was beautiful with her buzzed head and clear skin.

Right by her side was a dark-haired male of Asian ethnicity with a bag thrown over his shoulder, “If you’re paying, you bet I’ll be there.”

The two continued to converse in their own world until the man had to literally dodge you when they finally noticed you.

“Does Chief Bobby Nash work here?” You inquired, having no desire to enter small talk when the baby was sitting on your bladder again. You nearly retched when the man stared down at your swollen midsection, shocked, “It’s not his baby.”

Hen caught the evident disgust on your face, “He’s in his office. I’ll guide you there…”

“Y/N.” You supplied the firefighter. Hen smiled in response, “And your name is…”

“Henrietta Wilson, but you can call me Hen. That was Howard Han. He goes by Chimney, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy on the name.” Hen chuckled in her steps to the closed door of the fire chief. Hen swiftly knocked on the door to give Bobby a heads up.

“Come in!” Bobby called from his pile of paperwork he had pushed and waited to work on. It had slipped as the date came closer. Your twenty-seventh birthday, the seventh one since he last saw you.

“Cap, a woman is asking for you,” Hen told her friend and boss. It’s a good thing you didn’t choose to surprise your father because Hen was shorted, and your bump made manoeuvring around tricky.

“What can I do…” Bobby trailed off when he saw the girl waiting to talk to him. The pen in his hand dropped to the table in shock.

Hen glanced between the two equally taken aback individuals, “Am I missing something here?”

“Hey, dad.” You whispered to the man who’d been dreaming of this moment since the minute you left. He’d searched for you at your previous college and nearly made a missing person report.

“Dad?” Hen couldn’t pick her jaw up from the floor if she even wanted to because this was juicy information. Sure, Bobby had caved into telling his team, his family that he’d lost his wife and two children in a fire.

He rarely talked about his life before the 118, but he’d never mentioned having a surviving daughter. Not in the handful of times he’d talked about the tragedy, nor did he have any objects or photos of you. 

“You’re really here?” Bobby lightly chuckled with a twinkle in his eye. Hen had only seen a handful of times. All of them had Athena in the scene, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You beamed, stepping closer to the man you’d missed dearly, “I’m so sorry for the way I left. What I said was cruel and untrue. You aren’t selfish, and I can’t blame you for something you couldn’t control.”

Bobby grinned. He’d stepped around his desk only to halt when he took in an undeniable development—the baby bump you carried.

“Is-”

“I’m pregnant. Six months along with a baby girl.” You laughed to the apparent disbelief in your father’s light brown eyes. His gaze continued to shift between the bump and your e/c eyes.

“Wow. Sorry, this is...wow.” 

“She’s one of the reasons I wanted to come back. To fix our relationship because I want her to know her grandpa. You’re the only grandparent Poppy will know.” Bobby was quick to tug you into his arms as soon as the first tear dropped down your cheek.

There was so much you wanted to tell your father, but that overwhelming grief rose higher. You’d left Australia where Lucas laid in a plot in a cemetery. You left the friends you’d found in the city. Left the lifeguard job you’d come to love.

“Where are you and your partner staying?”

“He...uh...Lucas passed away recently.”

The arms holding you tightened in response to your confession, “Oh sweetheart.”

“I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t stay in the home we bought. Not the place he died when I couldn’t save him.”

“I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’-”

“Don’t coddle me. I was...am a paramedic. A flight paramedic, to be specific, so I know that my hesitation could be the reason he died.”

Your career took the father by complete and utter surprise because you’d always planned on a different job. Before the fire that claimed so many lives, you’d never entertained a career in the emergency field.

“We have a lot to catch up on. First, you need to know that I’ll always love your mother no matter what, but you need to know. I met someone when I first moved here, and we were friends at first. She divorced her husband. We started dating...sweetheart, I remarried.”

A wave of emotions flared in your chest, from betrayal to sadness and ultimately happiness. Having lost your first love, you understood and knew if love came around for you, you wouldn’t ignore it. Lucas wouldn’t want that.

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

Re-entering into Bobby’s new life was a difficult adjustment for everyone included. Tension had risen between Athena and Bobby for a brief period. Athena hadn’t even been aware of your existence, but she could fault Bobby. Athena had even told her first husband about her late fiance Emmett when they were still together.

It was difficult for you with the new addition of two step-siblings in the same birth order as Brook and Bobby had been. The Grant siblings had welcomed you into the family without any reservations.

“Did you ever get to fly the chopper?” Harry asked as he scrubbed the dirty dish from the Sunday family dinner. 

It was the first dinner that had no awkward tension since you arrived back in the country. Athena had taken a bit to warm up, but it was nothing personal. She’d actually been the one to find you you’d been staying at a hotel. Mama Athena did not like her pregnant step-daughter living at a hotel. She’d actually stormed your room with Hen and Karen as back up to pack your room and leave for the Grant-Nash house.

“No. I had to help keep the patients alive. If I’m telling the truth...sometimes I didn’t even notice I was in the air.” You whispered to your stepbrother. He was just invested in your career as he had been when Bobby first entered their lives.

“That is so cool!” Harry enthused with soap suds splashing your thin knitted sweater. Harry’s mouth formed an ‘o’ when you flicked water onto his face in retaliation.

“Do you know Bondi Beach in Australia?” You inquired the youth with the chore of dishes completed.

“Yeah! There’s a tv show called Bondi Rescue! I watch the clips on YouTube!” Harry exclaimed, hot on your heels to the couch. Out of May and Harry, he followed you around with questions about your life in Australia.

“I was a casual lifeguard. I’m not featured on that show, but I would get called in when a lifeguard was needed. It paired well with my job as a flight paramedic.” You half-smiled, remembering the Bondi lifeguards who had welcomed you into the family. You became one of them when they started pranking you.

“Did you ever see a shark-”

“Harry, go brush your teeth. Leave Y/N alone.” Athena informed her youngest from the open patio doors. Your father, Athena and May had been outside as soon as the table had been cleared.

“But-”

“Harry,” Athena warned the youngest Grant. Harry didn’t attempt to argue with his stern mother; all he did was hug you quickly. You watched the young boy disappear into the hallway.

“He reminds you of your little brother?” Athena questioned. In your time of reminiscing, the older woman had settled in Harry’s previous position.

“A little.” You whispered, “Thank you for welcoming me into the family. For making my dad happy.”

“You know I may have some baby clothes put away if you’d like to use them?” Athena offered with that smile that made you feel at home. Athena was far different from your late mother, with her presence commanding respect and intelligence. Your mom was similar, but I suppose it could be described as a softer touch.

“Anyway, saving a penny is appreciated. I have a question for you also.” You hesitantly started with a bundle of nerves deep in your belly. Athena turned to give you her full attention.

“Well? Out with it.” Athena pushed, but she had a slight feeling of what you were about to ask her.

“My mom was one the strongest women I know. It hurts that my baby won’t get to experience her love and guidance, and you can say no. We’ve only known each other a short time, but would you consider...maybe being a grandma to my baby?”

Giddy was the feeling Athena developed along with the laughing smile that only came from happiness. The woman could only nod her head in response to your hesitant question. To Athena’s knowledge but not yours, Bobby was softly smiling, watching his formerly estranged daughter getting along with your stepmom.

“Oh!” You gasped as your baby kicked hard enough for her foot imprint to be seen through your knitted sweater. 

Bobby was by your side in concern the second he heard your startled sound, but Athena wasn’t that concerned. Athena remembered having the same reaction.

“Are you okay?” Bobby frantically questioned. He faltered when the woman shared a belly-deep laugh at the sheer fear written in the seasoned firefighter’s eyes.

“Poppy was kicking.” You chuckled as your father’s shoulders dropped in relief, “Here.”

Your nimble fingers clasped around your father’s wrist to bring his palm to the spot Poppy was kicking. A certain lightness flooded your entire body, being capable of sharing this experience with Bobby. Watching tears well up in the grandpa to be’s brown eyes.

“Whoa.” Bobby breathlessly spoke as Poppy kicked against his palm. The feeling building in his was exhilarating with the small amount of grief mixed in, “I remember when your mom was pregnant with you. We didn’t know if we were having a girl or boy, but she was adamant you would be a kickboxer. So active.”

Athena watched as the relationship between father and daughter started healing directly in front of her eyes. The Sergeant was about to give you two some privacy when you caught her hand in your free one.

“Here.” You informed the older woman shifting to place her hand where your father’s hand had previously been. Your e/c eyes sought the wonder-filled different shades of brown eyes the couple had.

“You should get some sleep,” Athena spoke, staring at her hand resting on your bump. Her dark chocolate brown rising to find your gaze, “You won’t be getting a lot once she arrives.”

Bobby and Athena watched as you turned the corner to the spare room Athena’s parents used when they visited. For the time being, you’ve moved into the room, and the Grant-Nash house hoped you would stay. May had always wanted a sister, and Harry loved all the stories you told about Australia.

“You know, at some point, you’ll have to talk to her.”

“I just was-’

“-without anyone else being the buffer. Bobby, both your lives is evidence enough that some things are too trivial to stress over.” Athena pinned her stern gaze on her husband. The same husband is actively trying to avoid her penetrating gaze.

“What I did-’

“Is in the past, Bobby. You have a second chance with that wonderful woman in that bedroom and our grandchild. Now, are you sure that having the party at the firehouse is okay?”

A hand supported the base of your back where an ache tended to stay for most of the day. That ache wasn’t the worst symptom of your pregnancy. You had heartburn constantly that tied with unfortunate constipation that had thankfully lessened. Your purse always had a cardigan for the hot flashes as well.

“Perfect! May has my car, and Bobby needed that.” Athena beamed from the open bay of the 118. One of the firefighters, Eddie, if you recalled, snagged your purse and the specific ingredient for a recipe.

“You could have borrowed Bobby’s-”

“His vehicle is in the shop Buck.” Athena interrupted the only member of the 118 you had let to officially meet.

Now there were two suspects of the sudden shortness of breath you started experiencing. It could be Poppy in the limited space in your body or the handsome firefighter. Buck had to be hands down none of the most attractive men you’d ever encountered. His dark blonde hair had minimal height, but the soft waves made your fingers itch to feel it. His ocean blue eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth.

“Ah, so you’re flesh and blood of Cap?” Buck questioned from in front of you. His blue eyes centred solely on you, with half a mind thanking himself that he could navigate the station blindfolded in the dark.

“For the last twenty-seven years, I have been.” You retorted, stopping at the edge of the stairs to the apparatus. Your keen sense of smell catching one of your favourite meals your father had dug up from the recipes he hadn’t used in years.

A zing of electricity trailed off your arm when a calloused palm met yours. Your e/c eyes followed the path of tan skin until it reached the shirt sleeve of Buck’s t-shirt. The shirt emblazoned on the chest with the department’s insignia. The man in the casual uniform guided you safely up the stairs with his hand on your back.

The pressure of Buck’s hand on your aching back muscle nearly brought what would be an embarrassing moan from your lips. Thankfully a gasp of surprise fell out instead at the banner hanging with other decorations.

“What?” You choked, cupping your hands to your face. Pure unadulterated shock and affection flooded every inch of you.

The entire 118 squad intermixed with their loved ones surrounded the open area with grins. On a table behind everyone was many wrapped gifts. But the cake was the most impressive.

A large rectangular cake in the realistic shape of a fire engine parked in front of a fire hydrant with a fondant hose going to the truck. On top of the fire truck was the turnout boots next to the matching helmet, the 118 proudly on it. You adored the turnout coat draping off the top to hang off the side.

“If you look at the helmet, it says Poppy.” Buck enthused, guiding you even closer to catch the immaculate cake, “It has to be the best cake we’ve gotten from them.”

“Hey, my rebar head cake was phenomenal!” Chimney called with a belying grin on his face. His hand encased by a brunette woman about his height with her heels on.

“It’s a long story.” Buck offered as soon as you gave him a weird questioning look, “Let me introduce you to everyone!”

For the next five minutes, you spend it by meeting the family of 118, including Eddie’s completely adorable son. Christopher was happy to sit next to you as soon as Harry had found you. Slowly the others came closer to hear the stories.

“What’re the most common injuries on the beach?” Denny, Hen and Karen’s ten-year-old son questioned.

“Bluebottle Jellyfish stings. On one day, we had hundreds of people come to the tower for stings, and the treatment for the minor ones is stingose spray and ice.”

“My question is how a girl from Minnesota is a lifeguard in Australia. Especially on Sydney’s most dangerous beach.” Chimney inserted, waving his bottle of pop at you, his eyes kept moving towards the wine Maddie brought.

Unfortunately, the 118 wouldn’t be celebrating with the wine until their shifts ended in a few short hours. It was a damn miracle they hadn’t been called out yet.

“This former Minnesotan spent summers at my best friend’s parents’ place in Cali as a lifeguard. Also, Bondi is not the most dangerous beach in Sydney. That’s Tamarama.” You pointed towards the man who raised his hands in surrender.

“Have you ever seen a dead body?” Harry asked, bringing a sobering silence in the question’s wake.

Your body language changed as soon as he asked, “Unfortunately, I’ve seen death as a paramedic and as a lifeguard.”

“You’re a paramedic? I thought you were just a lifeguard?” Buck asked, interested in the new information. Buck could feel his Captain’s eyes on the back of his head; he was sure Bobby could smell the attraction on Buck.

“Casual lifeguard. Called when needed as a backup.” You turned your e/c eyes towards the arguably youngest member of the 118.

“How many dead-”

“Harry.” Athena warned her son from continuing a topic that killed the ease and happiness you’d shown previously, “Why don’t we stop talking about-”

“Too many, Harry.” You interrupted your stepmom with a gentle smile towards the woman, “It’s not just drowning that claims lives but also the cliffs surrounding the beaches. Lifeguards patrol more than the beaches and water. Lifeguards respond to medical emergencies, mostly spinal until the paramedics arrive.”

“Oh-”

“I had a fellow lifeguard leave the job because of the suicides we deal with.”

“...who wants cake?” Karen used the quiet interlude of the much too serious topic for a group of kids barely in the double digits of ages. All referenced children followed Hen’s life to the beautiful baked creation.

“Sorry for getting dark there.”

“We all know the dark side of the jobs we chose to do. You sound like you miss Australia. Are you going to return there?” Eddie questioned with one eye pinned on his son, consuming more sugar than he wished.

Eddie’s question did raise self-doubt, but you knew that ultimately living in Australia was no longer a viable option. 

“There’s nothing there for me.”

Eddie, Buck and your father understood that mentality to a ‘t’ with family complications keeping them away. Your father for obvious reasons, whereas Eddie and Buck each had a living family with opinions only they saw right.

“You’re always welcome here. Especially when you bring that little cutie to the firehouse.” Maddie cooed towards your baby bump. The 911 dispatcher had asked many questions about your pregnancy.

 Maddie was the type of person who could make a stranger feel like they had known for their entire lives.

“Here.”

A plate of the cake was thrust in front of your face courtesy of Maddie’s brother Buck. It is quite literally the perfect size you could ask for. In his other hand, he had a new bottle of water waiting for you to grab.

“Thank you, Buck.” Your shock must have shown in your voice when his cheeks flushed.

“This whole party is a celebration for you, so you shouldn’t have to get up...unless you want to!” Buck rushed to respond, getting more flustered with the amused look of his older sister on him, “You’re already doing something absolutely amazing, so you should get to rela-”

“Buck!” You laughed, ending the older man’s rambling thoughts. The entire party attendees had started watching Buck’s failed smooth attempt.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Buck mutely nodded in response, “No prob-”

The bell was the one to interrupt him instead. The on-duty firefighters rushed down from the upper levels to the lockers. The swift suiting up impressed you as it was like you blinked, and the bay was empty.

“Should be the last call before they get off shift.” Maddie, still occupied with the cake she was eating, “That wine looks so good!”

Your attention snapped from the vacant spots the 118 vehicles parked to the woman ploughing down on the cake. Sure it was good, but not that good. Maybe you could tell as a pregnant woman, or perhaps you just caught some of the symptoms you felt.

“How far along are you?”

Maddie froze, “What are you talk-”

“You’re pregnant, right?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Chim and I found out recently, but we want to wait on telling people. Once the first trimester is over, everyone can know.” Maddie pleaded with two hands cupped under her chin in a prayer position. The pretty brunette using the puppy dog eyes on the new friend she’d made.

“You should tell Buck-”

“We will once we enter the safe zone. So tell me about your baby’s father.” Maddie swiftly changed the subject, unaware of the ache developing in your midsection.

“Lucas Gowan.” You mussed, recalling the freckled half Australian half Scots man with the thick red locks.

“Ooh, is he still in Australia?”

“Technically, he is. I met him at the grocery store near the university campus. I’d transferred to escape my grief. It was purely an attraction at first sight before developing into love at first sight. We convocated and moved into a cosy little place. We’d only just found out about the baby when Lucas passed away.”

As you told Maddie, your hand had moved to cradle the only remaining piece of Lucas. 

“His death was unexpected and sudden. He’d taken a run the morning of our scan to find out baby Gowan’s gender. He fell off the side of the cliff. I was told he died instantly. The investigator believes his shoelace untied, and he stepped on it. Fell right off the side.”

“I’m so sorry.” Maddie breathed, leaning closer to hold your hands in her own, “He’d be so proud of you. For returning to the states. Do you keep in contact with his family?”

“He was an only child. Parents died in a car accident when he was ten years old. He was in foster care until he aged out of the system. Poppy is named after his mom.”

Maddie instinctively knew talking about Lucas was, “You know you get along pretty well with Buck... I’ve never seen him so flustered.”

“Maddie, I can tell you are a very intelligent woman, but you’re wrong here. Why would a guy like Buck be interested in a pregnant woman with a reconciling relationship with her father and his Captain while grieving her baby’s dad?”

Maddie tilted her head to the side, “Because I know my brother. He’s only ever had that look when I first moved to LA. Back when Abby was still important to him.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

Maddie’s mouth opened to speak, but you were saved by the bell when Athena called you over for pictures. Then her attempts got thwarted once more when the 118 returned to the house perfectly synced to the end of shift.

“Driving here was the last time until the baby’s here. You’ve got precious cargo-”

“I’m seven months pregnant; I can still drive. There’s no law saying I can’t-”

Never argue with Athena Grant-Nash, “It may not be illegal, but I won’t endanger my daughter or my granddaughter.”

“I have to get to my OB/GYN appointment tomorrow. You and Dad each have a long shift during my scheduled appointment. Harry is both too young to drive and in school. May has a shift at dispatch. There’s literally no one available to take me.”

Bobby watched as two of the most important women in his life argued over something as trivial as driving. Harry shook at listening to someone fighting against his mother; she could be terrifying.

“I can take her.”

Everyone in the fir house turned to the voice who’d offered suddenly and found the sheepish form of a tall firefighter. Eddie’s eyebrows raised at his best friend.

“I don’t work tomorrow. I’ve got no plans. Albert’s got some date with a girl at her place.”

“I couldn’t put you out.”

“You need a ride, and I’ll be bored, so why not take my new friend to her baby doctor.”

“Baby doctor?” Hen parroted to her wife in astonishment towards her coworker and close friend. Both the women found the blatant flirting from Buck to the soon to be mother.

“She’ll take you up on the offer. She’s staying in our guest room. Come early for breakfast before you go. We’ll be having waffles.”

Buck found any excuse to visit the Grant-Nash home with the motive to hang out with you ever since the baby shower. From delivering baked goods from your favourite bakery to insisting on driving you to appointments. Didn’t matter if Athena or Bobby could take you; Buck was adamant he drove you.

The friendship was easy going and very natural, like a ball glove still moulded perfectly to your hand. The hangouts in your home evolved to weekly visits to restaurants with guidelines to the current event happening worldwide. 

Ultimately it even led to a test date.

“You look breathtaking.” Buck breathlessly informed you once he’d gently pushed your chair closer to the table.

“Thank you.” You kindly responded despite thinking the complete opposite to the charming man sitting across from you.

Athena and May had helped you get ready for the date with calming words on how going on a date so far into the pregnancy was okay. Then, your father had tentatively inserted himself with sage advice on re-entering the dating scene.

“I thought we could grab some ice cream after,” Buck spoke up as soon as the waiter had taken your drink order. Buck had decided to refrain from alcohol and went with glasses of lemonade and water.

“You shouldn’t say that. I’ll just want ice cream.” You snickered, caressing the taut belly you’d grown to love. In fact, the firm push of a heel announced Poppy’s agreement with ice cream as dessert.

“How is Poppy?”

“The doc says she’s right on track. Healthy all around and in the position, she’s supposed to be at this stage.” Buck adored the affectionate smile that always appeared when the topic of your pregnancy was brought up.

“That’s amazing! Bobby gushes about you and Poppy. The fridge has an entire door dedicated to sonograms of Poppy. Even a few from that maternity shoot Hen and Maddie surprised you with.”

A few weeks had passed since the baby shower the 118 had surprised you with. Maddie had announced her pregnancy to the joy of the chosen family she had. Bobby had put together a crib he had painted. Michael, Athena’s ex-husband, had started making plans for adding on to the house for a room for the baby.

Despite informing the architect, you planned on moving out when you had saved enough, he’d made a sound argument. Athena would want a place for the baby to stay when you visited, or the woman demanded to babysit.

Now you found yourself in a National forest not far from Los Angeles, posing in front of nature. A surprise photoshoot Hen and Karen had organized with Karen’s brother Trey. Maddie and Athena had been the ones who drove you.

“Hold the teddy bear on your bump,” Trey informed you from behind his professional and intimidating camera. The photographer praised you in the rapid movement to listen to his offer.

“Hey! Maddie! You should take a few photos. I need a pee break.” You didn’t wait for Maddie to respond in your rush to the somewhat rustic bathroom hut.

By the time you returned, Maddie was taking a couple pictures. Then you took some with Athena to have on the nursery walls and for Bobby to have a photo for his desk.

“Now one with all three of you.”

Present

“So a daredevil.” You stated unsurprised that the firefighter had a history of recklessness. You don’t go into firefighting without a taste for danger.

“The bruises and blood fit better than the awful bleached hair during my time in Peru.” Buck laughed, recalling the questionable choice in his fashion pre-firefighting. Sometimes he missed the people he encountered in his period of self-discovery.

“You didn’t wear puka sh-”

“I did. Bleached hair, puka shells and Hawaiian shirts were my staples during my bartending years. I fit in with the aesthetic of the bar I tended.”

“Buck!” You nearly gasped at his raw honesty. Buck didn’t hold back any answers to your questions, but you each strayed from the topic of family.

Talking about the tragic family history wasn’t a good idea on the first time regardless of the time you’d known each other.

“You’re telling me-” Buck halted as soon as he caught the flash of discomfort flicker over your beautiful features, “Are you okay?”

“She shifted. Been sitting on my blad-” You cut yourself off with a hiss of pain. Buck’s eyes widened at the pain taking over your features, “Oh, that hurt.”

Buck went straight into work mode, “Have you been in pain for long?”

“No. A few cramps here and there today, but my doctor said it was nothing to worry about.” You informed the experienced first responder resting level to your knees.

Buck didn’t want to say it, but he was sure that you’d gone into early labour. There was no indication your water had broken, but he kept over the last hour together. Every once in a while, you shifted or pressed a hand to your bump.

“Has your water broken?”

You shook your head, “No, but...oh... that’s not a cramp.”

With that statement out, you clenched your fingers tight on the edge of the table as pain rippled in your belly. A contraction that stole your breath momentarily. In your contraction, Buck had dialled 911. Buck recalled that sometimes a woman’s water doesn't break until right before the birth.

“We’re not getting that ice cream, are we?” You snorted upon being lifted onto the gurney. How fortunate or unfortunate you were to have the 118 right there.

Hen had taken a position at your feet to check on your lower body while Chimney took your vital signs. You honestly didn’t like the look Hen and Chimney shared with Buck.

“What is it?”

“We’re gonna need to deliver here.” Hen sighed, giving you the facts that terrified you. When you envisioned having the baby, it was in a medical centre. Not in a restaurant.

“My office is large and away from the crowd if you want. I can show you the way.” Sophie, the restaurant manager, offered already starting to lead the way. Sophie would never know how thankful you felt for being able to have privacy.

“Okay, Y/N, is it okay if I check how dilated you -.” Hen breathed with her hand, gently disappearing until the thin blanket Chimney procured from the stocked ambulance, “Y/N when I saw I want you to do that.”

Hen didn’t need to check your dilation when she could see the baby’s head already.

“I’m right here.” Buck cooed in your ear. He had held your hand as his coworkers did their jobs around you.

“This isn’t the way I envisioned you seeing my pu-”

“Push.” Hen urged, cutting off your almost vulgar language, but it eased the tension in the small restaurant office. You couldn’t even see Buck’s flustered reaction as you bore down with the contraction, “Good! Take a breath.”

“You’re a strong woman. It never ceases to amaze me the strength women have.” Buck spoke, keeping your e/c eyes on his blue ones. His hand raised to push a strand of your sweaty hair off your temple.

“Once more push!” Hen called out just in time with the last contraction. The feeling of the pressure between your legs popping was moan inducing.

Poppy was silent. Your entire body froze, yearning for the sweet sound of crying instead of the eerie silence. The world stood still as Chimney worked on your baby girl.

“Pulse is strong,” Chimney announced, keeping his attention on the task of clearing Poppy’s throat and nose. And that sweet sound of crying commenced, “Congratulations Y/N, you have a beautiful baby girl. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

Your father beat the ambulance to the nearest ER in pure anticipation at meeting his granddaughter Poppy Nash Gowan. He barely noticed as Buck stuck to your side like glue. Bobby waited outside the door as you got checked over in the room.

“Quite the first date.” You mused towards Buck, who hovered in awe over the life form you had carried for nine months. You’d been pregnant for three quarters of an entire year to his fascination. 

“All my meaningful relationships started with a medical emergency.” Buck finally looked up at you. He’d kept Poppy company in the bassinet while you delivered the afterbirth upon entering the hospital.

“Seriously?”

“Had a tracheostomy on Valentine’s Day with Abby, an earthquake with Ali and a newscaster in a crashed helicopter.” Buck listed off. He hadn’t even noticed scooping the newborn into his arms until he’d sat in the chair by your bed, “Why not add a sudden labour and delivery.”

“He would have liked you.”

The sentence came out of absolutely nowhere. Almost like something had ripped it out of your vocal cords. At the look of confusion, you elaborated.

“Lucas. He would have liked you. I think if it is possible, he might have pushed me into meeting you. I’ll still need to take it slow, but I’d like to give this a shot.”

That was all Buck needed to lean in closer to kiss you—the first of many kisses.

Some might disagree on how quick your relationship with Buck developed, but they didn’t know yours at all. It was natural with the firefighter who stepped into the role of father figure for a growing Poppy. By the time Poppy was one, you’d moved into a house not far from your father’s place with Buck. By the time Poppy was three, a pretty ring had sat on your finger. By five, the young girl had a baby brother. 

“Your parents spoil Poppy.”

“You say that like you didn’t crawl into her crib during her afternoon naps.” You deadpanned towards your husband. Buck had the nerve to sheepishly grin, “You give in each time she says ‘pwetty pwease’ for a cookie.”

“It’s a crime to make her sad!” Buck defended himself, but a grin of amusement threatened his act, “Besides, you crack each time too!”

“Mhm. Just wait until Theo can talk.” You pressed a kiss to the sleeping infant strapped into the baby carrier. Theodore Robert Buckley could fall asleep in a thunderstorm if he was in Buck’s arms.

“Oh! Maddie wants to have Poppy over for a play date. Madster’s been begging for her cousin to have a sleepover.”

Maddie and Chimney’s daughter was only a few months younger than your daughter, but the two were thick as thieves. Buck had referred to the Han daughter as Madster with how similar her mannerisms were to her mother.

“Think they’d take the rascal?”

“Is this code for you wanting to have another?” Buck questioned with a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. The same blue Theo had inherited along with a birthmark like Buck’s on his bicep.

“I-” You choked, blinking furiously, “Evan, I pushed Theo out of my body barely three months ago!”

Buck inconspicuously winked in response with the sudden scream of excitement coming from Poppy. The rambunctious five-year-old ploughed into Buck’s legs full force. Falling into the practised ease, you’d unstrapped Theo from Buck’s chest and promptly had his tiny body stolen into his grandpa’s arms.

“There’s my boy.” Bobby cooed to the sleep drunk tiny infant. The little baby is crowded by his Gram Athena and Aunt May, “Gonna have to get you a Minnesota Wilds jersey.”

“Hell no. That boy is LA born and bred. He’ll be wearing a Kings jersey like the civilized.” Michael announced with the sudden arrival of Theo and Poppy’s Uncle Harry.

“Mommy? When are we going to Stralia?” Poppy inquired from right beside your leg. Her tiny handheld is the giant one of her dad.

“In a few weeks. Are you excited to see the mommy’s old friends again?”

“Hm. Can we see Dada?”

Buck may be Poppy’s father, but he’d never let Poppy go without knowing she had two fathers in all. Her first one waiting to meet here decades from the time she was born and solely referenced Lucas as Dada. Buck was grateful for the man who brought Poppy into existence; the little green-eyed tot Buck could never regret. Unlike Buck’s parents keeping his older brother’s existence a secret, the firefighter refused to follow in their footsteps. He’d continue to shower the late Lucas in gratitude and respect. He refused to make the same mistakes as Phillip and Margaret Buckley.

“Of course. C’mon Poppy, time to say goodbye.” Buck guided the little girl to the extended family showering her little brother with love. The little girl was quickly swung into Bobby’s arms, and Athena cooing at your infant son.

Changes. The six-letter word doesn’t have to be terrifying. It can be breathtaking, memorable and beautiful to experience. 

Tag List(s):  (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

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[moonctzeny]

get to you again

pairing: friends to lovers! hendery x fem!reader 

genre: smut, just a tiny teeny bit angsty I guess but with a happy ending, fluff

word count: 3k

warnings: raw sex, creampie, a little corruption kink?

summary:  “You wanted to lurch forward at him, tackle him onto the dusty road, and thank him by kissing every inch of his face. Hold him under the stars until you were covered with his smell, and the necklace wouldn’t be needed anymore; you could cling onto that memory instead. The urge was so strong that it made your heart physically hurt, knowing that you fell for the one person you shouldn’t have. But the heart wants what it wants, right?”

inspiration: get to you again - mac ayres

tagging the lovely: @markresonates

It had been too long since you last saw Hendery.

You two had met so unexpectedly, both trapped in a small coffee shop a couple years ago, drenched to the bone and trying to find cover from the sudden rainfall.

“I was going to ask you if you were willing to share your umbrella, but I’m guessing you forgot it on the wrong day like me”, he joked, so you decided to share a table instead. After the fourth time he had you clench your stomach in laughter, out of the sheer willingness to make a stranger like you cheer up, you decided to exchange phone numbers, thus starting what would become a beautiful friendship.

It wasn’t easy being an idol. Two promotions in Korea, then a reality show in China, then another comeback. You counted the days, one by one until he’d get to you again. Until you’d finally re-watch his favorite movie with him for the millionth time, just to get to watch him laugh over the same stupid lines.

You weren’t sure when you realized you had fallen for him. Maybe it was last winter, almost exactly a year ago when he handed you your Christmas present. He had driven you on a hill on the outskirts of Seoul, the only place he knew with some privacy from prying eyes, and the breathtaking view of the tiny city lights made the freezing cold worth it. You were both sitting against the hood of his car, admiring the big city that seemed to unravel at your feet when you opened the small velvet box.

It revealed a silver necklace of two wings hanging from a dainty chain, with his initials carved on the back of the charm. As you stared at it long enough to make sure you weren’t making things up, you couldn’t decide which one was more beautiful- the pendant or the stars in Hendery’s eyes as he waited for your reaction.

“It’s symbolic”, he started explaining, a little embarrassed with how much effort he had put into the gift, “I know I’m not around a lot to take care of you, but just know that I’m always there if you need me. Like your guardian angel”.

He sounded so wholesome while saying it, long bangs covering his eyes that bashfully avoided yours. You wanted to lurch forward at him, tackle him onto the dusty road, and thank him by kissing every inch of his face. Hold him under the stars until you were covered with his smell, and the necklace wouldn’t be needed anymore; you could cling onto that memory instead. The urge was so strong that it made your heart physically hurt, knowing that you fell for the one person you shouldn’t have. But the heart wants what it wants, right?

Tonight, it was beating as fast as the rhythm of the blinking Christmas lights decorating your living room. How could it not, with Hendery sitting only a few inches away, sharing a blanket with you? He was a few minutes late due to a last-minute photoshoot, but he arrived at your door bare faced and dressed in his favourite flannel shirt. He was just how you liked him, raw and soft and beautiful.

Unlike what you had predicted, he suggested checking out a new romantic comedy on Netflix. It was one of those that come out every Christmas season, all with the same low budget and cheesy acting that ended with some festive spirit that magically solves every plot hole. Two childhood friends, falling in love with each other, yet the girl thinks that the guy is way out of her league so she does nothing about it. The pure irony convinced you that the universe must be surely playing some sick joke on you, forcing you to look at a Hollywood version of yourself getting a happy ending for the next two hours.

“I don’t understand”, Hendery huffs in frustration, midway into the film by now, “why doesn’t the girl just tell him she likes him? What guy doesn’t want to hear that?”

“Maybe she’s scared of the rejection, or ruining everything-“ you start defending the character with a raised voice, realizing that maybe you’re invested in the movie a little too much, “sometimes there is this line between two people, and it’s comfortable to stay behind it because you don’t want to lose them in case something goes wrong”. You draw an invisible line with your index finger between your bodies, and Hendery focuses his stare on it as if it was real. He looks lost in his thoughts, still frozen in place before shaking his head and murmuring: “I guess you’re right”.

Your comment, his response, the sex scene playing on the screen. It all made you so painfully alert with his presence that your whole body tensed up and your mouth dried up like it was filled with cotton. You both chuckle in the midst of all the steaminess, as the actor fails to drag his former best friend at the edge of the bed by tagging on her ankle.

“What a loser”, Hendery scoffs mockingly at the character’s mistake, and you turn around to give him a side eyed glare.

“Relax, muscle man. Like you would do it better”

He mocks offense by opening his mouth dramatically, and you giggle at the distortion of his face that still somehow managed to look pretty. It was so cute, how he always wanted to look ‘strong’ in the eyes of others, reliable and macho. You didn’t care about any of that, you thought his resolutions were stupid. He was perfect in your eyes.

“Of course I would! I’m strong, look-“

The disaster played out in front of you like a filmstrip. His hands on your ankle, then his own ankle tripping over the blanket on the floor, and finally the feeling of his chest weighing down over your own. With him pressed so close against you, you were sure he must feel the way your heart is thumping, filled with so many emotions that it’s ready to jump out of your body.

The room was cold, but with Hendery’s sudden body heat coating you, you felt like you were on fire. The fleeting thought of you taking off your clothes, to relieve yourself of the suffocating feeling made your cheeks burn even more. Hendery’s neck was exposed just inches in front of you in it’s full glory, and you thought about where those veins on the side of it, visible through his pale skin, ended. You’d gladly kiss along the path they drew, let your teeth leave little violet blossoms on the way, while you’d make mental notes of what kisses made him react the loudest.

It’s his bangs tickling your temples that made you realize that he is still on top of you. You look up into his eyes, expecting a frantic look, maybe a string of apologies leaving his mouth. He was strangely serene, staring at your own lips instead, and for a second you thought he’d finally mercy you and give you what you daydream about every time he comes around. You’d kill for the sight of him with puffy red lips and blown out pupils, messy just for you. You’d kill for the feeling of his tongue against your own.

When he plants a kiss on your right cheek, right over the corner of your mouth, you think it tastes bittersweet. You were still high on the intimacy when he finally apologizes and rips his body away from yours, your crash back down to reality brutal. The movie was still playing on a high volume, yet all you heard was a deafening silence after his trip. You don’t object when he tells you he has to go before you get to see what happens to the couple behind the screen. They were eating you away, all the things you wanted to say to him as you sent him off, so much more than just a ‘drive safe, text me when you get home’.

Those thirty minutes after you close your front door felt like a lifetime. You replayed the accident over and over again in your head, the skin burning where he kissed you. The thoughts of calling him, telling him to turn around and finish what he started, were so loud that you felt like a crazy person.

You certainly thought you went insane when you heard a knock against your door. Peeking through the peephole, you’re surprised to see that, as if you’d unlocked the secret of manifestation, Hendery was standing once again in your hallway.

“Guanheng? Did you forget anything?”

He looked restless and fidgety as he walked back inside your apartment, like he couldn’t wait to let out whatever was on the tip of his tongue. His shoulders were coated in a light layer of snow that had managed to flush his face, and dampen his hair and eyelashes as well.

“No- well- yes, I-“. He stopped himself mid sentence and sighed, and you let him collect his thoughts. He looked serious, the expression foreign on his usually bright features, yet the way he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration made butterflies fly in your stomach. “What did you say about that line between two friends again? When we were watching the movie?”

You blinked back at him in confusion, waiting for him to tell you that he’s joking, he just forgot his charger, and he’ll see you again when his company allows him to. But he doesn’t, so you start to roll the pendant he gifted you between your thumb and index, trying to calm yourself down.

“It keeps two people that are meant to be together apart, but there is too much at stake to cross it”.

You start drawing that invisible line again, the one that separates the miserable comfort of denying your feelings for him and everything you wish you were brave enough to pursue.

He would be brave for the both of you.

Hendery grabs your lifted hand, bringing it on the side of his neck before he crashes his lips against yours. You don’t hesitate in kissing him back, hungry for his lips that taste as sweet as you imagined them to. He hasn’t realized how impossibly close to his body he has brought you, not until his embrace gets so tight that your necklace pokes uncomfortably against his chest.

You suck on his bottom lip and he welcomes you with his tongue, the kiss getting so heated now that you can’t help but tug on his hair to keep you grounded. Shivering from your action, his hands are now sliding from your hips to your waist, following the curves of your body until he reaches the underside of your breasts. You mewl against his lips as his thumbs dig into their softness, discreetly trying to cop a feel through your cotton shirt.

A moan leaves your mouth, lewd and desperate as he swallows it with a kiss, and he rips himself off of you when it seems to reach his stomach. He looks disheveled, as if he woke up from an intense, lucid dream; panting, sweating, staring at you with those big puppy eyes.

“We- we shouldn’t. We are going too fast, right?” You nod in agreement at his question but you’re not really listening. You had your fingertips placed on his moving lips, and he identifies the metallic smell as the remnants of you fidgeting with your jewelry earlier. “I should take you to dinner first, to that one place you like so much”. Losing interest in what he is saying, the words being too distant and grey when he stood so deliciously in front of you, you mindlessly start to unbutton his shirt, fascinated with that mole over his collarbone and wanting to see more.

The fire your fingers spread against his skin, in the midst of the chilliness of your living room has him groaning under his breath, with a voice as low and sexy as in his good morning calls. You can practically see him throw all his inhibitions out the window when he kisses you again, pushing you with his body until your back finds the nearest wall. Hendery’s hands are far from gentle now, leaving bruises behind all the soft spots he kneads with his fingers.

“I want you”, you confess with a whisper as you rid him off his flannel for good, and you can’t stop yourself from tracing all the lines of his toned abdomen. You can feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest, its fast rhythm matching yours. You grab his hand to lead him to the carpet next to the Christmas tree that is blinking along with the lights that adorn it- you’re too impatient in your arousal to take him to your bedroom and he doesn’t protest.

Hendery lays you on your back, finding his place between your legs as you wrap them around his waist to bring him closer. You remove your hoodie and the sports bra you had on, his lips immediately latching onto one of your nipples. He circles his tongue around the bud, licking and sucking on it interchangeably until you’re a begging mess underneath him.

Tugging on the elastic band of his sweats, you urge him to get naked for you completely, and he removes the extra garments with a strong pull. His sex bouces out of its cotton constraint, red and throbbing and aching for you. It makes the heat that’s pooling on your lower stomach spread even further, and you wiggle your hips to remove your sweatpants as well.

There’s something about the frilly pink panties you’re wearing- the innocent design on your shapely body that ignites a carnal instinct in him. He wants to ruin you, mark you, make you his. The sound of fabric getting ripped has your eyes bulge out in shock. You’ve never seen Hendery so determined.

He falls on top of you again, leaving urgent kisses on your jawline as he rubs his hard member against your heat. It’s driving you insane, how he’s so close to where you want him but not quite there yet, and you tug his hair again to make him look at you.

“I wanna feel you raw”

And raw was how he’d give it to you. You feel his warm hand over your stomach, keeping you in place as he aligns himself with your entrance, and the pressure his tip’s already feeling has him cursing out.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this”

He dips himself slowly into your pussy, careful not to stretch you uncomfortably much. His worried eyes are glued to your wide ones, reading your expressions to ensure they’re those of pleasure. And indeed they are, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he bottoms out fully, a symphony of both your moans filling the room.

He starts out with a steady rhythm, your pussy adjusting to his size with every calculated thrust. You’re getting drunk with the intimacy, with his smell that sticks to your skin and the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear. You feel addicted to it already, to the feeling of having him be a part of you, and as his growing desperation has him picking up his pace, yours makes you wish you could live in that moment forever.

“I don’t think I’ll last much longer”

”Neither do I”

He can tell how close you are, your heaving chest and guttural sounds giving you away. His cold fingers find your clit then, rubbing your sensitivity in messy circles and pumping more blood to the area.

“Yes, baby. Let go for me”

Little stars of various colors dance around in your vision, framing the sight of Hendery fucking into you so beautifully. You enjoy the hypersensitivity that the continuing motion of his hips gives you, locking your legs around his waist as his thrusts turn sloppy.

“Come inside me”

Just those simple words, slipping out of your pretty mouth are enough to send him over the edge, grunting as he paints your walls in ropes of white. You feel him twitching inside you for a good while, your belly bulging in fullness. It drips out of you slowly when he finally gets off of you, his hands spreading your thighs apart so that he can admire his creation.

He chuckles in disbelief of what you two just did, removing a piece of fake snow that somehow landed on your hair. You can only admire the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down, all the little curves and shadows on his neck, his smile that gives you tunnel vision.

“All this time…”, he whispers softly, “you liked me too?”

You silently winced at the naiveness of his words, knowing damn well your feelings ran way deeper than a simple attraction. Nodding affirmatively, you avoid looking at his eyes by pretending to play with his fingers. You can’t let him see the way they have glossed up, yet the numbing feeling of disappointment is getting hard to ignore.

He doesn’t let you distance yourself from him further, lifting your chin up so you can make eye contact with him again. To your surprise, he looks way more nervous than you, subconsciously nibbling on his lower lip. He takes a deep breath, mustering up some courage before verbally letting his thoughts out of his chest.

“What if I told you I am in love with you?”

You were shocked at the confession, so much so that this reality seemed like a figment of your subconscious mind. You expected to wake up at any moment, to find yourself asleep on your couch, two feet away from him and still stuck in the sucky friendzone. But that moment never came, no matter how long you held your breath to trigger your awakening, and you let it go with a sigh and a blurb of your own thoughts.

“I’d ask you to be mine”

[wintersandthebeast]

10. Corrupted

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Link to Master List

The house was a flurry of activity for the next half hour.  Ethan was oddly reminded of his wedding day; people he didn’t know fluttering around, enough food for an army, two minute conversations and not knowing where anything went or what was happening next.  He smiled when he saw Maricara tying a ribbon-like black bow around Karl’s neck, tutting at him as though he were a toddler.  

She had also brought, of all things, bear fur cloaks for Ethan and Karl to wear.  They were silky and black.  Karl suited the look far more than the blond, but Ethan didn’t even think to protest, because even though he felt utterly ridiculous, he was instantly warmer than he had been since moving to Europe.  

Everyone from the children to grandmothers wanted to play with and hold Rosemary, and though Ethan felt the inner traumatic terror of worrying about her disappearance, he also sensed, felt, that these people were caring.  They were not only aware of her--and Ethan’s, genetic makeup, they seemed to find it perfectly normal and interesting.  It was something, to be surrounded by so many humans.  It had been awhile.  

It felt right. 

Trucks and several horse-drawn wagons appeared out front, and Ethan tentatively looked out the door when he broke away from the furor for a moment.  There had to be a hundred people here, both inside and out, and there was a strange pride in realizing that this group of people cared enough about the travesty of Miranda’s world to mourn it.  

He was also strangely proud of the formidable house.  How lucky it was that it was nowhere near the area Chris’s team had set up to destroy--the front of the manor was at the top of a rolling valley, which led down a long road to a factory that no longer existed.  Ethan could see that far away now that he was out front.  See the crater from a new angle.  He’d caught glimpses of it from his bedroom window, but drew the curtains after the second night.  

Ethan stepped down the front of the manor and watched the congregation as they still prepared.  He saw several antique cars parked along the curb.  Ethan glanced around, wondering if anyone would chastise him for checking out the cars.  Was that proper funeral etiquette?  There was an old Ford, and was that a Citroën?  Ethan couldn’t even begin to guess what some of the others were.  Karl would probably know, he mused, putting his hands in his pockets and strolling toward the parking area.  

He didn’t get that far, however.  As he crossed the gravel, he heard a familiar voice.  

“Ethan Winters, ha! Hahaha!” 

Ethan spun, startled, searching for the voice.  He was parked behind much of the caravan, in the manor’s shrubbery.  The familiar horse and carriage was a welcome sight.  Ethan’s face lit up in a way it hadn’t in a very long time.  “Duke!”

He strode forward as the Duke leaned farther out of his comfortable cushioned area, planting his feet on the ground and taking Ethan’s hand, nearly crushing it just from his sheer size.  

Ethan didn’t even know what to say.  The Duke was chatty and eloquent as usual. 

“So good to see you, Ethan.  I heard that you got your Rosemary back.  Wonderful, just wonderful.  I must hear the tale of your great comeback, my friend!” 

Ethan had so many questions, still wondering who, or what, the other man was, but he realized that simply experiencing happiness was overtaking his will to have all of the answers.  Just as he opened his mouth to thank his one true friend in the world, a bell rang, and a commotion sounded at the front of the procession.  It was time, he realized.  The Duke withdrew before hopping out of his wagon and laboriously walking around to the driver’s seat.  As he moved to climb up the step, he gestured toward the wagon’s bench seat.  

“Shall we, then?”

Ethan smiled.  “Let me get Rosemary.” 

The procession to the edge of the village felt more like a parade than a funeral, in part due to the music that played from one of the horse-drawn wagons.  It was beautiful, Ethan decided as the group descended the dirt road toward the village edge.  It seemed to be the private, owner’s road from the home to the factory, as that was where it had ended.  The area wasn’t on the maps Ethan had of the area months before.  

He turned to look behind him at the mountains as they descended.  The same mountains that he could see from Dimitrescu’s castle.  They looked far more beautiful now, and even the quiet, spooky manor hadn’t quite lost its charm with the Carpathians as its backdrop.  Somewhere in those mountains was the settlement--or multiple settlements--of the Băieși.  

The Duke was as informed as usual.  

“Expect more music, and a bonfire.  They have brought pine and herbs to burn, sending the spirits up with the smoke.  Expect some prayer, possibly in Latin if my eyes don’t deceive me--they have brought an Orthodox priest.  Once the area has been purified, probably some crying, laughing, singing, and flinging dirt into…well, into the grave usually.”  The Duke pondered.  “I don’t believe they’ll be able to make much of a dent in that hole.” 

“I’m so happy to see you again,” Ethan blurted out, and the other man laughed good-naturedly.  

“Likewise Ethan.  And how does it go with Lord Heisenberg?”

Ethan’s warm smile waned, and he sighed.  How strange to be talking about all of this.  He’d set out, ruthless, prepared to kill the man months ago.  Had more or less succeeded, hadn’t he?  The Duke said he felt Karl’s essence in the crystallized form.  Now Ethan’s eyes shot toward the Duke suspiciously.  

Since Ethan didn’t answer, the Duke pressed, “He seems quite fond of you and little Rosemary.” 

“I thought he was fond of finding a way to kill Miranda,” Ethan grumbled, looking up ahead at the long line of wagons and people on foot, as well as several riders on horseback.  He hadn’t seen Karl since leaving the house earlier.  

The Duke laughed uproariously at that remark.  Ethan smiled in spite of himself.  If he was going to live this life, at least he had a friend to appreciate his sour disposition. A real friend.  

“Here he comes now,” the Duke supplied, and Ethan realized he had the equivalent of a side mirror on the edges of the carriage.  The Duke’s eyes were trained on the left side mirror, where shortly after, a large black horse appeared, snorting as though it wanted nothing more than to bolt from the procession. 

Ethan was startled by the large horse, a draught horse even bigger than the very sturdy and hopefully well-compensated horse that pulled the Duke around.  He was even more startled to see the ease with which Karl sat on the horse, with no saddle.  He even held the reins one-handed; his other hand was on his hammer, slung over his shoulder as it had been when Ethan first met him--the asshole, he remembered.  

Ethan’s eyes were even wider than Rose’s (who was squealing with joy at the sight of another horse) but Karl didn’t notice he was being gawked or squealed at; he half-turned and lowered his chin in a small nod toward the driver. 

“Good to see you, Lord Heisenberg,” the Duke greeted warmly, returning the nod, and then Karl was gone.  The horse was still snorting and tossing its mane back as though it found this whole procession repugnant and a waste of time. Heisenberg weaved past the wagons until he was out of sight.  

The Duke had been mostly correct.  Ethan didn’t understand a lot of the ritual’s elements, like turning one way during one speech, and then standing another way for the next.  Something about leading spirits in the proper direction, but--it was mostly a language he didn’t have a hope of understanding. 

A lot of it was this sort of prayer, or calling out.  Ethan simply mimicked what he saw and held his daughter in the chill wind of the morning.  All of the wood that had been brought was to feed the fire.  Through the day and night, where apparently the spirits could leave their grave by the light of the full moon.  Karl was one of several who tended to this large fire.  Once it was lit, and the wreaths of greenery were set inside it, the area became much warmer.  

Finally, the group was turned toward the chasm.  Rosemary’s nap was overdue, and the girl was lulled off to sleep during the…third? Fourth? Prayer.  Ethan wrapped her in the cloak he still wore and stared over the massive expanse of debris.  From the edge of the blast where they stood, it looked like a massive sinkhole over a mine, or something similar.  The only telltale signs of a less-than-natural event were the charred treetops that still stood.  

Ethan closed his eyes, listening to the chant, remembering the people whose lives he’d stumbled upon at the end of their devoted days.  And had found remnants of, in other places.  All the letters he’d read, the homes that he’d sheltered in.  So many lives lost.  He wondered if those affected were also cataloged.  Were their souls really down there, screaming, like the Roma believed?  Were they in need of help to escape their fate?  Ethan only knew some of how the Mold here ‘worked’, but he knew that Miranda threw away anybody not good enough to be her ‘vessel’ so it was more likely that those people were just plain old dead. 

Yeah right, he thought ruefully.  As if anything here is that easy. 

Rose stirred in her sleep, and Ethan heard a strange noise, like a rumble of thunder, as the voices around him distorted. 

Ah shit, he’d done it again.  He opened his eyes.  What he had begun to call the liminal space.  The reality programmed by the Mold.  At least, that’s what it seemed like it was.  When his darkened hazel eyes took in the strange scene before him, Ethan realized what the blond girl had meant.  

In the real world, the site of the megamycete was simply a big collapsed cavern with a lot of trees and dirt over it.  Here, it was an angry red spot, where branches of mycelium reached up and waved.  They seemed injured, he thought to himself, and then as he scanned the ground he saw something even more odd.  

Everything was…frozen.  It looked like a great tornado had begun, made of debris and bodies, but the tornado was not moving.  Ethan saw parts of buildings, parts of people, parts of monsters, all stuck in the air over the red, angry nucleus.  Parts of the castle were there, but sideways.  Upside down.  It was as though the Mold’s data was corrupted, he thought with a mix of pride and horror.  The bombs didn’t kill the organism, but boy, it didn’t look good at its core.  His eyes were wide.  It hurt him to think of Elena…of anyone , trapped in that hell.  Well.  Anyone but that bitch--

“Do you see now?” came the voice near him.  Ethan turned abruptly, happy to look away from the horrifying, dizzying site.  

The blond girl's hair was like woven gold in the sun.  She was dressed in black as well. 

He whispered, knowing he would be talking aloud in the ‘other’ world.  “If we fix it, will it make Miranda stronger?”

“Hmmm,” she said, rocking on her feet.  “I believe it will make you, and Rose stronger.”

More power talks.  It never ended.  Ethan shook his head, and closed his eyes again.  When he opened them, the strange sight was gone.  The trees loomed on the outer edges of the mass grave, looking almost sad.  Perhaps they sensed the other reality as well, he pondered.  

Ethan waited for the last of the prayers to finish, and when the music started, he passed the sleeping baby to Maricara and went to find Karl.  Lines of Roma were stepping up to the edge of the cliff, and flinging handfuls of dirt off the edge.  Some of them were speaking to family members or simply the dead as they did so.  When Ethan found Karl, the man was propped up on his hammer, shades back on his face.  He leaned forward, lifting his eyebrows at the blond. 

“What’s that custom for?” Ethan asked, curious.  

Karl glanced to the side.  “Saying goodbye, I guess.”  He translated one of the sentences that Ethan seemed to repeatedly hear.  “From earth, back to earth.”  Karl cleared his throat, straightening from his lounged position.  “To be active in burying the dead, even if it’s just a symbol.” 

Ethan contemplated this, and abruptly bent forward.  Karl tilted his head as he watched the black-clad man grasp a handful of dirt in his good hand.  With his other, he reached into his pants pocket and withdrew something.  He dropped the somethings into the handful of dirt.  

Rings, two of them.  Gold. Ethan glanced at Heisenberg before approaching the cliff himself, and staring across the void.  He wasn’t earth…not anymore.  But after a short pause, Ethan tossed the wet clump of dirt and his and Mia’s wedding rings into the ravine.  

He didn’t look to see where they landed.  He turned back to Heisenberg, who was staring at him curiously.  

“I’ve got a task for you,” Ethan said simply, refusing to explain himself.