#what do you call a place full of privilege but lacking in love?

[hibiscus-intern]

YOOOOO DAISUKE! congrats on the internship, tho how the heck did you end up in the freighter business??? didn't think that was ur thing... or that they did internships over there in the first place LOL. how's it been so far?

Maybe this is where I find my thing! Boss has me doing so much reading that my eyes are starting to huuurt. I've got to learn something!

Slight elaboration on the second panel in tags!!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hm..im kinda shy about asking this, because maybe it's just an english language thing that i don't get (it's not my first language lol) but ive always wondered what the difference between "prefect" and "housewarden" was,, like, wouldn't the mc/yuu technically also be a housewarden, since they're the only one running ramshackle? aaa sorry if it's a bit of a silly question lol, but i just don't understand the difference,,, thank you, and i love your work very much!! 🩷🩷

So to clarify, Yuu is called 監督生 (“kantoku-sei/kantoukusei”), which roughly translates into “prefect”. Dorm leaders (or housewardens, as they are called in EN) are called 寮長 (“ryōchō”), which refers to “dormitory managers/leaders/superintendents”. The two positions are treated very differently in-game (and generally, prefect is NOT the same as a dorm leader), but it may be different in real life depending on the institution you’re looking at for comparison.

As I've mentioned in this post, I see dorm leaders as NRC's version of RAs (resident advisors/assistants). They’re students who work with school administration to oversee and to conduct activities for their respective dorm buildings/residence halls […] Similarly, the dorm leaders in TWST have certain responsibilities but are also granted power within their own dorm as well as certain privileges which extend beyond that. Common duties of a RA (I'll list some examples from TWST) include, but are not limited to:

Organizing and overseeing student educational programs and dorm activities (Riddle helps his students study to avoid failing, including Cater in Riddle's Dorm Uniform vignettes; he states that not a single Heartslabyul student has dropped out since he has become dorm leader. Various activities are orchestrated by dorm leaders, such as unbirthday parties, renting out their dorm for events, throwing banquets, etc.)

Planning accommodations for students and conducting new student orientations (dorm leaders canonically assign rooms to their dorm members, the prologue shows the dorm leaders escorting newly sorted freshmen to their dorms and showing them around, etc.)

Cleaning up and conducting monthly facility inspections (under the instruction of the dorm leader, members help with setting up and cleaning after events)

Enforcing rules and regulations, reporting incidents and recommending or enacting disciplinary actions as needed, and resolving conflicts between students in the dorm (most obviously seen with Riddle collaring students in the main story, but we've also seen other instances like Leona and Idia dealing with unruly mob students from their own dorms, each in their respective Dorm Uniform vignettes)

Acting as a liaison or representative between the school and students, or between the school and the community (Vil and Riddle especially stress the importance of their dorm members keeping in line, as it reflects poorly on them as the leaders if their students do not behave)

As you can see, many of the duties of a RA are carried out by TWST's dorm leaders. It is these responsibilities that define what a "dorm leader" is. A prefect is described by the Oxford Dictionary as “a senior student authorized to enforce discipline”. The definition implies that a prefect has fewer responsibilities and power than a RA (ie a dorm leader). We see this lack of responsibilities and power reflected in Yuu (who, again, is often called "prefect" in characters' voiced lines place of their name). For example, Yuu is NOT present in dorm leader meetings and does not participate in planning committees for events such as the cultural festival of book 5 or the interdorm tournament of book 2.

It is likely that Yuu is not acknowledged in the same capacity as a dorm leader for various reasons:

Yuu is not a full student (Grim is their "other half) and lacks magical capabilities at a school that is known for training mages. They are also not from Twisted Wonderland. Therefore, they are not a good "representative" of NRC.

Ramshackle is no longer considered a dormitory since it has fallen into disrepair; even if it was still considered a dormitory, Yuu has no students to watch over since the Ramshackle Ghosts are not students and Grim only counts as half of a student.

Since Ramshackle is not a dorm anymore, it likely does not receive funding for dorm-wide activities, maintenance, etc. Yuu has very few resources to do anything.

Yuu does not command any real authority through their title alone (which largely has to do with their status as a non-mage + otherworldliness and the “illegitimate” nature of their dorm); even the main cast has to be shown their merits through actions before Yuu earns a modicum of their respect.

If we put it like that, Yuu's only formal prefect responsibilities are to basically to keep Grim out of trouble and do whatever odd jobs Crowley saddles them with. I guess you can also say that Yuu "enforces discipline" on the NRC students when they get out of hand, but this depends on your interpretation of what Yuu does in the main story. In my opinion, Yuu does very little to actually "enforce discipline" and often relies on other students to do the heavy lifting for them; Yuu is just the one initially sniffing out the root of the problems.

It should also be noted that while the formal definition of "prefect" refers to a "senior" student, Yuu is considered a first-year student along with Grim. Seniority does not play a role here. (Although please keep in mind that being a "first year" does not necessarily mean Yuu is 16 by default; there are exceptions to the age = grade thing.)

In summary, dorm leaders are presented in TWST as generally "higher up" on the food chain compared to a prefect. They have more powers and tasks to carry out; the prefect, by comparison, does not. Most likely, Yuu was granted the title of "prefect" so that the characters have a generic thing to call them that is different from "dorm leader" but is also not their name (since players could change this); this is common for many joseimuke games.

[doberbutts]

Lord thank you for posting that new Julia Serrano article. Literally immediately after I read that I was browsing tumblr and ran across some headass posting “you can tell so much about someone depending on if they refer you to Julia Serrano or bell hooks” (their blog was full of potshots at trans men). Like 1) are we lumping cis Black women in with trans men not worth listening to now? And 2) have you even read Serrano’s newer work? Venn diagram of racists and people who hate trans men once again works out to be a near-perfect circle.

I won't deny that she has had some... interesting... ideas on what she thinks happens to trans men, but she also herself has admitted that her analysis is incomplete because, surprise, she's not a trans man. Which is fair, because any trans woman analysis I have is also incomplete due to me also, you know, not being a trans woman. Like. Lack of lived experiences is what makes it so important to listen to each other rather than just deciding for someone else what they do or don't experience. That's always been my point.

Anyway I keep saying that the theory I keep quoting is stuff that has been taught to me by A: black activists and B: trans women directly in person so like. This is shit I've been saying in no small part *because* a trans woman who I highly respect taught it to me, so it's incredibly annoying to get accusations that I'm not listening to trans women when I GOT THIS THEORY FROM TRANS WOMEN IN THE FIRST PLACE.

As for the bell hooks thing honestly? It all comes back to what I keep saying that tumblr activists say they love and respect black theory but the second that black theory says something they don't feel like listening to, it's suddenly the most cringe and toxic and privileged thing they've ever heard. Just like how a bunch of white people said black lives matter while it was trending but treated the actual black people in their lives and social spheres like garbage, because it was all a matter of lip service and no real call for change.

People don't want to learn theory and use what they've learned to make any real actionable change. All they want to do is use the theory they've learned to say the right buzzwords while doing jack shit to fix their own internal biases or build community within their lives. People want an acceptable punching bag, not change. So they say all the right words until someone says "hey, this applies to you too" and then it's either excuses or hostility.

[auncyen]

"I cannot spite write a whole ass au that is WAY too long to spend on spitefic"

"but maybe I can spite write a tiny au"

"...hm. this is taking longer than I planned"

anyway what I wrote tonight (the au is that a certain 9/24 revelation isn't the case, but there are definitely spoilers up to then):

The prince loved this country, and he believed it could become better.

You love the prince, and he will get better. That’s why you head to Grand Trad with Gallica to find the agent. That’s why you enter the tournament for the throne in his stead. One day, the prince will wake. You’ll see his kind smile again. You’ll return his book, and he’ll invite you to read alongside him, slowing down for you in patient consideration. Or maybe you read fast enough to keep up with him now! You’ve been practicing while traveling. You’re fighting for the throne in his place, so you must be as wise and eloquent as he would be to convince people of his ideals, and reading helps with that.

You have to work on other traits as well, of course: to be as brave as he would be, and not show any of your fear; and to be as tolerant as he would be, and full of imagination as he was, to see the country he loved past the scowling faces calling you pagan and devil and believe that one day the country that let your village be razed to the ground could tolerate your existence.

It helps that you’ve met people who are genuinely kind. Strohl, a noble-born clemar who cares more about using his privilege to serve people than to lord it over them. Fabienne, a paripus who looks out for all her tavern regulars, and Maria, Grius’ sweet daughter, who doesn’t deserve the hardships she’s going through. And of course, Gallica’s been at your side this whole journey. There were times you felt you could just be yourself around them. A country full of people like them… it would truly be a utopia.

But with the race intensifying and the country in a state of unrest, you are not who they need, but the prince. Of course—you would never claim to be as good as him. But you try to uphold his ideals, to reflect his light as the moon does the sun’s. It’s…hard. You’re not as strong as him, merely a pale imitation. But you can’t let on when the others are counting on you as a leader. Besides, soon this long, dark night will end. Soon a morning will come when his eyes open again. Maybe by then, you’ll truly believe in his vision for this country. But if not, surely he could make you believe?

Either way, you could rest. No one looks to the moon for guidance when the sun glows in the sky.

“You have quite a lot of faith in the prince,” Heismay remarks once, as the two of you are reminiscing about your journey so far, and you smile.

“He was so kind to me when he didn’t have to be. I was just an elda with… absolutely nothing… and he treated me as a friend. As an equal. I know he’ll lead this country to a brighter future.”

Your words don’t move Heismay’s heart, even though yours beats strongly. Ah, have you said something wrong? It figures… you try to motivate your friends, but you mess that up quite a bit. You’re lacking something. You glance at Heismay.

His red eyes are searching you. “And do you think of yourself as equal?”

You jolt. “No, of course not! If I come off that way—“

“You don’t,” Heismay says, his voice heavy.

“Then…” You’re confused. You thought he meant you’d been arrogant? Just because the prince was kind enough to treat you as an equal doesn’t mean you were. You know that.

Heismay looks down at the table before shaking his head. “Don’t sell yourself short. An ‘elda with absolutely nothing’? You’ve more bravery than most, and a kind heart.”

…Hah.

“Thank you, Heismay,” you say.

But your heart is borrowed from the prince. When Strohl asks how you can stand the constant degrading remarks about you being eldan, you shrug and say it’s better to let it roll off you but you are barely holding it in sometimes. When Basilio talks about how he fell in with Louis because of how rotten the world is, you understand. If you hadn’t already seen how Louis uses his power, and how power tends to get used against the weak—

(If you hadn’t felt flames licking your face and heard your neighbors screaming as their own burning house collapsed on them, if you could ever forget your mother’s last instruction to stay quiet and hide before she ran back into the peril)

You think you might prefer Louis’ vision to the prince’s, if you didn’t already know how destructive it could be. But you do, and you love the prince, you want to believe in his vision, and so you must make it come true, you must fight in his stead and do as he would, speak of the world he could see—

And then Louis tells you that the duel was a diversion. That he’s found the sanctum, the prince’s safe place, your last safe place, and ordered an assault.

The prince is going to die. The prince is going to die.

Your sun will never rise again this world will never accept you it will take every loved one from you AND YOU WILL TEAR APART EVERY PERSON WHO MADE IT SO. Somewhere under the roiling pain and agony of the spell Louis cast, you hear that this is your true form, that the elda are humans and monsters. You hear Strohl, scared of you. Strohl, who accepted you—

You must be a monster, then. You tried so hard to be better than the anger and outrage coursing in your heart, to borrow the prince’s heart, but it was all for naught, and you are ready to give in and let all the poison out and curse the world, but then Gallica is there, right in your face, the first who would die, and even if you are a monster you have to claw it back, hold it all inside, you cannot hurt her.

This is not your true self, a voice whispers, and you don’t know what is true anymore. Soon you don’t know anything.

Then you know you are waking, and that you should not be waking. You’re laid out to rest in the break room of the gauntlet runner. Your blanket’s been dragged out of your capsule bed to cover you, though it slips at the patch of turbulent air the runner’s hit.

You don’t understand why you’re alive.

“Hey, he’s awake,” Basilio’s deep voice tells someone before he’s leaning over you. He’s smiling.

You don’t understand why he’s smiling. Didn’t he see what you are?

The smile quickly drops into a wince as he rubs the back of his head. “Ah, yeah…bit of a rough go we had there, huh? You back to yourself?”

The gauntlet runner shakes with turbulence again. Flight hasn’t been this bad before…is Neuras pushing it faster than usual—?

The assault.

Maybe there’s still time to save the prince.

That’s why you’re alive. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Oh, that’s a load of shite,” Basilio says breezily as Eupha kneels by you, checking you over, “But everyone will be right glad you’re awake at least.”

[scorbleeo]

Book Review: Corrupt

Devil's Night (Book 1) by Penelope Douglas

Source: Google Images

Erika

I was told that dreams were our heart’s desires. My nightmares, however, became my obsession.

His name is Michael Crist.

My boyfriend’s older brother is like that scary movie that you peek through your hand to watch. He is handsome, strong, and completely terrifying. The star of his college’s basketball team and now gone pro, he’s more concerned with the dirt on his shoe than me.

But I noticed him.

I saw him. I heard him. The things that he did, and the deeds that he hid…For years, I bit my nails, unable to look away.

Now, I’ve graduated high school and moved on to college, but I haven’t stopped watching Michael. He’s bad, and the dirt I’ve seen isn’t content to stay in my head anymore.

Because he’s finally noticed me.

Michael

Her name is Erika Fane, but everyone calls her Rika.

My brother’s girlfriend grew up hanging around my house and is always at our dinner table. She looks down when I enter a room and stills when I am close. I can always feel the fear rolling off of her, and while I haven’t had her body, I know that I have her mind. That’s all I really want anyway.

Until my brother leaves for the military, and I find Rika alone at college.

In my city.

Unprotected.

The opportunity is too good to be true as well as the timing. Because you see, three years ago she put a few of my high school friends in prison, and now they’re out.

We’ve waited. We’ve been patient. And now every last one of her nightmares will come true.

ISBN: 9781518783876 (2015) | Source: Goodreads

Enjoyable but Also WTF?

Going into this book, I already expected to read some messed up things but I am slightly taken aback that the level of messed up did not reach my expectations? For example, that whole revenge scheme? Taking away everything felt so mild and other than the assault that really disappointed me (in terms of the boys disappointing me), the only thing the boys did that I thought was edging towards evil was that box of remembrance. Maybe because I am a rather sentimental person so I cannot imagine what kind of hell I would rain down if someone destroyed my box of remembrance. Unfortunately, that "act of evil" was not even a planned event, it happened coincidentally just because box was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I would have called that pathetic.

Moving on to the attempted assault, I lost so much respect for Rika, honestly. I knew it was a misunderstanding from a severe lack of communication and so much miscommunication, but her forgiving them for attempting it was just, pathetic. Rika really should have more backbone in this regards and at least get some revenge. Instead, she slept with Michael. Utterly pathetic.

Something else I was not a big fan of. The boys constantly described Rika as fearless and a little screwed up but I don't see that at all. What I saw was a privileged girl with kinks and some amount of guts, that's all. Personally, Alex was a much better badass than Rika. Rika's character arc is something I don't quite like in the female characters I read about.

Corrupt might have been full of flaws but on some level, I enjoyed my reading time with it. Rika's relationship with Michael was boring but I loved reading about Kai. The way Douglas wrote the scenes of Kai with either Rika or Michael were filled with so much tension, it was so fun to read them. I guess that's probably why the threesome was unexpected but I do not mind it.

Oh, before I end this review. Trevor? Man, that boy is one of the most pathetic people I've ever read about.

Rating: ★★★☆☆

P.S.: Do not let my over-usage of pathetic take away the fact that I still ultimately enjoyed the book.

[throatcoat]

//i thought i was maybe turning into something different this time//

i am falling back in love with self-destruction. i am falling back in love with how simple it is to rewind and reset, to get back the progress i allowed to leak out and away in the presence of feeling like i meant more than i thought. when that feeling dissipates, as it always does when they finally see what is really underneath the surface, the only thing that remains is how none of it really mattered anyways, and this was how it was always going to end. the miles in between the lack of sleep, i refuse to appear as weak as i actually am. fragile, wind me up, the music box broke and all you will hear is silence in place of piano keys. i hope that no one says a damn word as i slip further and further again, i want to rot from the inside out. i'll hide calories in smoke clouds, fill my growling stomach with hot water until it feels like it will drown. they won't say anything until it is almost too late, they never tried to notice anyways.

i can not control how people feel, but i can control how they perceive me. the damage is physical, and one day, i know it will make me the ghost i fear i already am. i disgust myself, and i need the disguise of not giving a shit. the only thing that terrifies me is that there is not a single person who knows me well enough to deliver that eulogy. the podium will be bare and it will be like it always was, someone who no one will recall in a few months once the snow dethaws.

the only thing anyone knows about me is how sad i am. it is an illness that eats you alive and spits out the sinew and bones and teeth it can not digest. sometimes, i wish i was more than that, but it is a constant companion, and sometimes, i think it may just be who i am. there is not a person who could tell you my favorite book, the one filled with poems my dad would read to me as a child. there is not a person who could tell you my favorite song, the one i always play when i first get into the car. my favorite flowers and the way they smell in the summer. the movies that felt the most real, in the worlds i always lose myself in. rewatching the same films constantly, i like knowing the ending, that everyone forgives and the antagonist was really the protagonist the whole time, albeit misunderstood. it feels like safety. the diner and how i always get the same meal, blackberry french toast and black coffee that never seems to get cold. how i like my coffee in the morning, or rather, 2 p.m. in the afternoon.

the green room where i cried in the stall over saying the wrong thing again. the notes i keep from ghosts who do not think of me. how it felt the first time a girl kissed me. the details of every vehicle i have ever sat in. how my heart ached at being told i no longer had the privilege of using their full first name. how i still have his yo-yo, and i still give money when i have it to the charities for kids like his sick brother. how i felt in the dark of a room that smelled like every room where i lost pieces and parts. how it feels to notice that people all begin acting the same when they see through my ruse of convincing myself of some sort of permanence. they slowly stop texting you, and now they no longer care about your day. now, your promise of loving someone is only stifling, and the idea of laying in bed with me is suffocating. you ask if everything is okay, grasping for that reassurance that not everything will end the same, but it always does, and asking just makes the reality a thing to think about. like i put the idea in their heads when i grasp on with my fingertips, afraid of drowning in the columbia, falling asleep in the bathtub. the phone calls stop, and they slowly remove their presence from every facet you barely got to share. the texts go unseen and the letters unread. now, i am the nameless stories they share of a girl that can only haunt them when they can not sleep at night. the moral thing to do is put down the sick dog. keep me around for as long as i am needed, until somehow, you need more.

my feet hit the pavement, the shock sends signals through my ankles and my legs buckle. i do not believe the promises any longer, that there is something more to see in me than simply forgetting in the first place. i think about Jeremy, how he was the first to leave me alone and now i am just angry. i think about how i keep looking for the same person in everyone, but that person never existed in the first place. maybe, i just want to find myself. something untainted. somehow, whole.

i want to be beautiful, for it all to no longer hurt.

i want to be more than the bed you sleep in.

i want to be worth it.

i think i have given up on the idea of being worth anything at all.

i want to be the poem you read over and over as a child, something about being blue and being seen right through. a tree stump cut down, she gave it all and he only wanted more. the apples were never enough. the shade did not keep him from getting burnt. a monster in a cave sleeping in a pile of other monsters, maybe i can find a home there on that island.

all i ever am and will be is never enough.

i missed being sick.

at least i know what to expect.

[gandhiks]

What is means to be a BITSian - my reflections as BITS turns 60 & I turn 11yo BITSian

2008B5A3***G, I predominantly lived in AH2-236 doing some notorious activities in the room and samaj seva (read: Nirmaan) in areas around the campus and I fell in love with Physics plus a few more during the 4 years I spent in Goa.

Through my time at BITS; I had realised that it's an echo chamber, like many places can be, so out of choice and because of some natural circumstances; immediately after graduation I developed a 90% non-BITSian friend circle. I did not come from a biz family nor did I have family wealth to take the kinds of risks I took upon graduation. I worked in a place called Upli Babhan for a company established in Berkeley, HQ-ed in Jaipur. There I happened to meet Yash (& family), Jacob, Anay, Sudeep, Vicky, Naresh, Abhay, Ashok, Ranjeet, Shivraj - and more and Puja, Fenella, Catherine, Meredith, Alok ji, Tanmay ji, Vasundhara Raje ji, Dushyant Singh ji and many more noteworthy people.

Then due to some uncontrolled chaos which I was a bit young to fathom, I left the job and took a couple of months off at home finally deciding to join a fast growing enterprise founded by the only Indian Thiel Fellow. At that time I had read all about Peter Theil and the PayPal mafia and Elon Musk was not that big a name. But I knew that someone who is a Theil Fellow must be smart and holds the potential to build a great biz. That was my 2-year MBA. I worked with management consultants and Ivy League grads and high energy entrepreneurs, sharp with Excel, Data, PPTs, Structure and what not. Often times I was outsmarted. But many noticed my energy and hustle. One smart chap who scored 100% in CAT commented, "What you lack in smartness, you cover up by your hard work." I made some lifelong friends there, all non-BITSians who are doing phenomenal work.

Moving on, I left the job in 2017 to be closer to home, in Mumbai.

A close friend, mentioned to me that folks at SEDEMAC are doing something good, you'd like it here.

So I applied to SEDEMAC, for some exploratory work on IoT which was an epic buzz word then. By now I knew a thing or two about the corporate world, high-growth, product building and importantly my own strengths - what I can and can not do. So I decided that I have to build a team who can compliment my skill sets. I started calling my friends again. Then I got connected with Rajdeep and we had discussion I shared my thoughts and he must have thought "Reasonable lagta hain" so he came along and we started working on a demonstrator - and then Sudeep joined in and subsequently there was a full team working on it. It was a privilege and a dream come true because I always wanted to build a tech-hardware product - I had nothing but some imagination and wild impractical ideas.

Intertwined to all these, I got married and had a daughter; COVID hit and many other things happened. Fast forward to 2023, I took over reigns of marketing & IR.

As matters of brain and heart goes; if not in sync can create panic attacks - having realised that my work style was not sustainable; I decided time to retire. Yet, my family and close friends (who anchored trust in me) told me to stay put and helped me course correct - put me through required rigorous hard work needed to maintain focus and build conviction. As luck would have it, was able to broker a $100M transaction in course leading upto a year ago to today, sans IB. Leave aside startups shutting shops, IPOs floundering, here was an island who was able to close $100M without much external help. There is merit in competing with large guys, makes you large in case you succeed or leaves you a mature person.

How is all of this related to BITS?

Journey of each BITSian is fodder for not just BITSians but others to see and adapt from; it's a species survival mechanism. Each one who makes to BITS learns competitive capitalism and its place in the society. Sans public support, one learn to stand on their own and respect others who have.

One thing which has worked for me so far is that I never worked with BITSians; because I always wanted to save myself from echo chamber. As friends, I always told my fellow BITSians that stay away from BITSians for a while upon graduation, learn to stand on your own, be independent. That's how you add something to your alma mater. Like all universities, especially universities dependent on itself for financing its means it is an important role of it's alumni to win some bread on their own and give back. Think about why BITS was incepted? What was the founding thought? And every once every 10 yrs ask if you have contributed. Today, BITS is 60 yrs old, only 16 years younger to our elder brother the IITs but we are a part of the process which competes with institutes who 150 years old and much more prosperous.

Happy Sweet 60 BITS!

[theprayerfulword]

May 16

James 1:22 Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.

Proverbs 3:27 Do not withhold good from those who deserve it, when it is in your power to act.

2 Corinthians 2:17 Unlike so many, we do not peddle the word of God for profit. On the contrary, in Christ we speak before God with sincerity, like men sent from God.

Isaiah 40:30-31 Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall, 31 but those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

Psalm 126:6 He who continually goes forth weeping, bearing seed for sowing, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him

Matthew 11:29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

May you understand, and not be surprised, when victories in your life are not only followed by, but are often the cause of, troubles and persecution from others. 1 Samuel 18

May you walk continually in meekness and respect toward those in authority as David did before Saul, behaving wisely with prudence and discretion in the face of opposition and perverseness in others, even as Jesus endured contradiction of sinners against Himself without becoming weary or discouraged. 1 Samuel 18

May you ever be aware of, and humbly grateful for, the privilege of being brought into the family of the King of kings! 1 Samuel 18

May you find in the fellowship of God's people the rest and refreshing, the advice and counsel, which comes from living in communion with God, for that is not found in the workplaces or the rest-spots of the world. 1 Samuel 19

May you remain faithful to the teachings of the Lord and live by what He says, abiding in the Word, for then you will really be His disciples and shall know the truth which will set you free. John 8

May you accept the freedom from slavery that you are offered by Jesus, the Son, that you may do the works of God, the Father, and find a place in His family forever. John 8

I call you to battle, My child. You must take the kingdom of God by force. The land of the soul has lain fallow for many years, and intruders have laid claim to it, building strongholds to defend themselves and the territories of the mind and the heart that they have claimed for their own and seek to hold sway over. These principalities do not acknowledge Me, and they pervert My knowledge, neither glorifying Me nor thanking Me, drawing others to worship the creation rather than the Creator. Be clear on My order, My brave one, and remain true to My calling. Be ye perfect, be ye complete, put on the whole armor of God that you may stand. Let perseverance finish its work in you, fully developing your endurance so that steadfastness may have its full effect, making you mature, perfect, complete, and lacking nothing. Know who it is that you are fighting against, My trooper. Know that you are not wrestling with Me, lest you compel Me to put you out of joint, nor do you wrestle against flesh and blood, whom I have ordained you to serve by wrestling before Me in prayer for them. Your greatest struggle is against the fleshly nature that resists the things of the spirit; that is the perseverance that is required as long as you inhabit the body, bearing the inheritance of Adam. It is an individual fight, My love, and you need the refreshing that I bring to you. Spend time with Me, alone, in quiet, for I have much to give you. Always remember, though, that what I give you is for others, for though your walk is an individual path, it is not a solitary path. I place you in the Body where I chose, and I establish you in the troops where I will. As each part, each member, works properly, supplying to the other parts that which I have given to meet their needs, you will find your needs met by the others who are walking their paths, individual, but not solitary. As you stand in place, shoulder to shoulder, leaving no gap in the hedge, you will find that no weapon of the enemy will prosper against you, and every tongue that speaks lies against you, judging you, shall be judged and the lies stopped, the falsehoods turned to honor, for My Truth shall prevail. Learn My voice, My warrior, stand firm in the face of resistance, endure afflictions for My name's sake, and receive the victory I have won for you, for My will shall stand.

May you fear the Lord and find great delight in His commands, for then you will be richly blessed with spiritual abundance from God. Psalm 112

May you steadfastly trust in the Lord from your heart, for then you will have no fear of bad news, and in the end you will look with triumph on your foes. Psalm 112

May you not avoid the wise, but consult and inquire of them, walking with them in love and accepting rebuke, reproof and correction that you may live and prosper in the Lord. Proverbs 15:12

May the joy of God's salvation through Jesus Christ enlighten your face with cheer as His renewing Spirit heals the broken and crushed spirit within you. Proverbs 15:13

May you have a discerning mind and an understanding heart which provoke you with an irresistible desire and a burning hunger to seek for and search out the eternal truths of God and the hidden treasures of the Spirit, giving you no peace away from His presence and finding no satisfaction in the temporary enjoyments of the world. Proverbs 15:14

[destineeallison]

Random things I wrote between 2007 and 2016

Originally Re-Posted on Facebook on Various dates.

Dreams and aspirations, serve only to torture.

-

I live my life on a canvas; each day as another little stroke of the brush, adding up to the final big picture. Color and full of highlights, in all of my finer moments and dark shadows, for the moments I fell short.

There's emotion to every work of art What does this life convey? A deeper meaning behind every success, failure, and missed opportunity.

-

We live like notes bending and folding over the musical scale I am the high while you stay low

We live like melodies surrounding each other.

We are the music, everyday we change.

We fit a mood set by our minds and actions.

We feel the way our sounds do.

Embrace the beauty within us as one.

Put us in motion and we are forever changing, forever progressing, forever fitting.

Put us together and we drift, sway, and hiccup along these scales we call our homes.

While filling the empty sounds, we follow the leads of the metronome.

Silence cannot break us, Silence is our enemy in this war we call a song. Every sound in our ensemble, perfect together as one,

The rhythm we follow is what will hold us together, if we act as one, folding and bending over our shared scale.

-

What if every morning we woke up as a new person, knowing the past, of who we've become. What if every morning we woke up with new emotions, forgetting the ones that haunt us from where we once came.

Right outside the sounds are empty, and time is moving slowly. I'm anxious for something to come and sweep me away. Taking me to a new place, full of sounds, and actions. A place where the next step is always right around the corner.

-

We're one big play on words game. You tell me yours, and I'll recite back mine. We coincide so well, our words mixing together as opposites attracting. In one Idea, that I want you, and you want me, gone.

Reality is not a dream, and dreams are not real. So why do we live reality as getting everything we "dream" of, setting high expectations for ourselves, only to fall short in the end. We know that things never go as we plan, completely. Yet, we still live within our dreaming mentality.

-

It's amazing how someone can look so calm and peaceful on the outside, but you'd never guess the chaos and chemicals raging in their body. I guess you just have to look for the signs hidden in their eyes.

-

Inner-peace, happiness, self-love, selfless love, self-respect, serenity, a positive attitude and an open mind are necessary, and they all start and end with you.

Attain what you can for the benefit of yourself. Money and material won't make you feel rich, just momentarily privileged.

-

Happiness depends upon ourselves.

Dependency is nothing but a burden.

Make your own choices,

Do things that take courage.

You won't find happiness, sitting at home, wishing your life was better.

-

I'd take your breath away,

but I don't want to watch you suffocate.

I'm here to lift you up,

I'll breathe in the life you're missing.

-

The only one not going,

Family members always hospitalized, I thought it was another scare.

Quickly I learned that it's real you're unconscious, and because of the timing I can't be there.

I hope you know I love you. happy birthday bitch, it's life, I called to say what's up, letting you know you're brothers suffering and sometime this week hell be laying in a coffin.

Alcohol weed pills uppers downers we can try to numb the pain but one day when we're at work hiding from reality we'll turn around and catch her sucker punch to the face. She'll hit you so hard you lose your breath and no matter how hard you try you'll lack any ability to control how hard you cry . She'll take your life your pride your family, have you selling your soul. Anything to keep hold of the heart hardly beating.

I'm sorry, but The pain I feel isn't even that you're gone, it's the pain that your death left with mom.

She said she's feeling empty. it's untouchable And I have no control over her emotions. it's eating my inside that all she wants is to see her little boy alive. Death takes a toll and it's collecting on our mother, 60 years old, outliving her mother, son, and younger brother.

I visited the house we grew up in today. Seems like just yesterday you were helping take care of us. Look what became of is, siblings that never speak, holding on to grudges because of silly things, and our stubbornness to accept help when we need it the most. I know you lost hope. I saw it in the house, the cement floors and holes in the walls frank, why didn't you call? Any of us, we're family, I hate myself for turning down my mom sending me out here. I hate that I let you live alone, you were barely surviving, not living a life but making it by till you died. I feel infested, and not from the roaches, but the feelings I can't even bear to lock into. Frank, I love you, and I hope that you're in a better place, of peace and grace. As we lay you to rest our family will do their best to say their goodbyes one last time, just know that you will never be forgotten. Rest in peace, big brother.

I felt I couldn't cry till I saw your children walk in the chapel to witness the tree fallen that once held the apple. As the tears stream down the face of our mother, I can't help but notice laying in that casket is not a man I know as my brother.

Over the years, as we may have grown apart, our siblings grow old with each time the sky gets dark. It's not a matter of I love you, or the anger we've all felt, but the times that we need each other, we're there, still kids in our minds forever avoiding life's belt.

-

Don't jump so fast to clench another by the throat if your judgments impaired, leaving you unaware of intent. Listen to the words and view cues within how the body language curves before you fire back with your anger.

-

I hate the need to explain, when the understanding isn't there.

Why waste my time dumbing it down?

I know you're locked in on a blank stare.

-

[popeofmars]

This is for a dnd character/book character I've made, a barbarian with an eyepatch but no other scars people can see, hope yall enjoy!

Long have I seen your sideways stares and whispered inquiries at my injury my comrades, also have I heard whispers of the bets in place over how I lost my eye so long ago, so gather around if you wish to hear once and for all the truth of the matter, for I dare say none of you may have guessed the truth of this mystery.

You see it is a simple and yet shocking thing that lead to my partial Blindness, a wonderful act of love and sacrifice did gift me this scar if it can be called that, and because of this I brandish it proudly.

Years ago I cared for nothing but adventure and glory, seeking unwinnable battles to claim victory over and sights unseen and yet unsung by any. Ever has my heart yearned for what lies beyond the next bend of the ground before me. Then, thoughts of my adventures and the wonders I'd found were washed away by the a glimpse of the one to whom I cannot begin to describe in full and can only call cosmicly divine.

From the moment I laid my unworthy eyes upon them with that hair of flowing midnight and eyes the silvery blue of only shared with that of comets I found myself wholey starstruck and enchanted by the infinite expanse of their beauty.

In that splitsecond that to my mind blissfully stretched on and on, I knew no matter what ever else I may find in life my sight could ever dream of comparing too my newfound deity of incandescence before me, and vowed that they would be the last thing I would see. For what better sight could one hope for when shedding this mortal coil of life than heaven incarnate beckoning you into its arms.

I knew I could not fulfill that oath by daring to never leave my loves side, for even the flames of the sun that envies them would soon be snuffed for lack of oxygen if it was smothered so. Naturally this would not do.

Nor would I be able too carry on my person a relief of that blessed countenance for two reasons. First of those being that no painting, drawing, or carving could capture the entirety of their unending beauty for I know of no artist so skilled as to capture infinity in a still image. Second being that I know I have not the strength in my heart to carry on my person such a sliver of Divinity lest it be tarnished by my bloody and mud covered work. While it is true it would for ever fall short I have not the heart to stain any retelling of your visage.

Lost in that turmoil I found my answer in a place far too often overlooked by many, the words of mine own mother. With her voice echoing wisdom in my ears battling my paramores image at the forefront of my mind I took their hand in mine And spilling all these feelings I hold now out to her and my purpose in doing so asked for my dearests permission to take the appropriate action.

Thinking my proclamation a jest they gleefully signaled me to continue and always being a man of extremes I took the knife from my belt and put razors edge to curved socket, insuring that at least in part my eternal Deity of light and beauty would be the last thing I would witness and all I had to give for such a holy privilege was one measly eye.

Only did I regret that my action brought tears to those glistening orbs of theirs out of empathy for my pain as their hands as soft as snow dabbed at my wound with a cloth all the while proclaiming me a wonder but idiotic fool. To help console them I had only to draw their cerulean gaze to my checks where no tears did flow, for pain is a fleeting thing I am old friends with in the face of a love so true I swore to give to them.

After all what tears need be shed for the loss of a single eye, for my mother did say love is a blind thing and so blind I shall be for who am I to deny such a law of nature.

Now even to this day my darling dearest does often scold me light heartedly for my actions, a scolding I take with a wink and a smile for if I am a fool then I declare myself the happiest fool to walk the land. No matter where this life takes me or where my road may end I rest easy each night with the certainty that when the light of my life is smothered by shade, and I spend my last breath thanking my beloved for allowing me to spend my life with them it will be their Holy and Celestial visage that takes my hand and walks me into the next life, a life I plan to use chasing them down once more.

[cumberbitchhhh]

if you’d like to chat about jo koy sexism, and privilege, there’s a rant under the cut 💗

i’d love to talk with other people about this, and, as always, if there is any misinformation in this, please let me know so i can acknowledge it and correct it!

just wanted to come on here and have a conversation about jo koy, the golden globes, and sexism in general.

as a lot of people know, jo koy made MULTIPLE questionable, controversial, and just genuinely disrespectful comments when he hosted the golden globes on monday, 8th january this year, multiple of which were directed towards women or media about women. rightly so, he has been called out on social media over the last few days for his rudeness and lack of respect during the event, to which he has responded to in a (somehow) even more insulting way, backing up his original monologue.

i can’t even explain how much it infuriates me that, not only has he made these misogynistic and rude comments, but that, when given the chance to acknowledge where he went wrong, he doubled down and made yet another disrespectful comment.

i think this ties into the privilege of men in today’s society and how their comments can affect other people around them. i’m not one of those people to go on whole rants about how much i hate men and say that they’re horrible and shouldn’t have rights, because that is the complete opposite of the entire feminist movement, which was what barbie, a movie that he commented on in his monologue, was about in the first place.

i really don’t understand how you can watch a movie like barbie, which has an extremely strong message of equality, feminism, and a lot of references to mental health, and ‘dumb it down’ to a movie about ‘plastic dolls with boobies’. genuinely what compelled you to say this? barbie has empowered so many women and, since release, has made me, personally, change my outlook on a lot of things. it should not be disregarded as a movie about dolls with tits, because that removes the entire message and point of the movie.

feminism is not able getting women rights and getting rid of men, it’s about equality. if we, as women, said that only we deserve rights, we’re the exact same as all of the men that used us so, so many years ago, and the exact same as all of the men that still do that now. we want equality. we want to be treated with respect like men are treated with respect. so many people disregard the feminist movement as ‘women wanting to be better than men’, when that’s really not the case. we want the same wages as men. we want the same opportunities as men. we want the same privilege as men.

i, as a straight, white female living in the uk, i can admit that i have privilege. i have access to food, education, a good support system, and a house. not everybody has that, and realising that i am extremely lucky compared to so many people that are struggling out there was so, so important for me. i am in a place where i don’t have to worry about my next meal or whether i’ll be warm or cold enough. i can see that, and i can realise and help other people realise that a lot of people don’t have that same opportunity.

privilege isn’t a bad thing, but it’s whether you choose to acknowledge it and what you do with it that matters.

for a full list of rants/other people’s comments on sexism at the golden globes, click the last tag, #leahs golden globes rants

[vaovalis]

I’ve always liked the night.  Everyone else is always awake during the day, and they’re always so busy, so occupied, so demanding and so full of expectations. I don’t for one second imagine that I’m different or somehow better than them. I’m quite certain that they’d have every reason to find me tiresome just like I sometimes do them, maybe moreso because I’m quite...enthusiastic? Not quite the right word, but I lack for a better one. Night time is when they all go to sleep. They have to rest. I don’t.  And that’s always meant for me that the night was my me-time.  Just me and the darkness. I am very comfortable with my own company.  I think my experience of loneliness must be different from that of others, because it seems to be a thing that is quite severe for other people, so much so that some of them seem crippled and made neurotic by it. My idea of feeling lonely is wishing I could talk to specific people that aren’t there, or that are dead and will never be there to talk with again.  For me, it’s missing the presence of specific others, and I’m not sure what other peoples’ experiences that they call loneliness really are. We use the same words for many things, but sometimes mean substantially different things, other people and me.   Tonight, I went walking through a part of Paragon City called Founder’s Falls.  It’s clearly a part of the city where the more privileged folks get to live. It’s cleaner than a lot of other places I’ve been so far, and it seemed, at least for my strolling glance, like it was generally kept safer.   I think I like the poorer parts of the city better. They’re more honest.  Founders Falls looked and felt to me like such a perfect-teeth fabrication. It’s too pristine, too clean, too manicured.   Turns out I not only don’t like that, but I’m kinda offended by feeling that it’s trying to deceive me into thinking that everything’s great here, nothing wrong at all; perfect place to raise your kids, let your guard down, sip your fizzy drink by your pool and tell yourself a pretty little story about how your retirement investments will keep you warm when you’re old. My weird-ass apartment is in Skyway City, and at ground level in Skyway City, it couldn’t be made clearer that the little people down in the darkness were never meant to do anything but trudge, labor and gaze with envy at the towering overpasses, dreaming the impossible dream that someday, they too might be up there in the sun, driving away from all the smog and barely-making-ends-meet almost-destitution down there on the ground. Every new part of this city that I see tells me more and more of its stories.  I see the hopes and the wishes these places were built upon.   It’s like looking at a baby and adoring its innocence despite knowing that someday, that baby will grow up and probably be just another mostly selfish asshole in the world. Innocence is very inspiring when it’s intact and pristine.  It foments big dreams, wondrous hopes and magnificent intentions of the noblest varieties. Reality rapes dreams, murders hope and locks noble intentions in the sewer with the snot monsters.  Reality hates these things and loves nothing so much as ruining them, and it seems to have an unsurpassable success rate at doing exactly that. From King’s Row to Founder’s Falls, all I’ve seen is easily summarized as the rotting corpse of a city of dreams, innocent hope and wondrous intentions.   It’s tragic in a unique way that reminds me of nothing so much as finding the savaged, decaying bodies of young people that might’ve had big, bright futures ahead of them.    This city really could have been something special.   Some people say it still is, but I don’t think they’re seeing what I’m seeing. I don’t think they can. I’ve got a true outside-looking-in perspective on this, and none of it’s personal for me.  My biases are not colored by me wanting it to be this or that, or having been raised on ideas of it being one way or another.   Paragon City is a rotting body of a once-beautiful thing that, by the sound of things, really could have been something unbelievable.  It didn’t survive reality though.  Now, people still crawl around in its remains and tell themselves whatever it is they need to believe about what it all is or isn’t, but this city is dead and I don’t see it as likely that it’s going to do anything but continue to rot away. Maybe it will prove me wrong.  Time is the canvas upon which that story will tell itself.  These kinds of stories always do. As for me, I thought Founder’s Falls sure looked like a pretty veneer.  Bought a funnel cake and liked it.  Tried a salted caramel mocha iced coffee and didn’t like it.   Looked at jewelry and, specifically, the crystals they had on display in one of their fancy shops.  A lady there got a bit cross that I wanted to buy tools for making such things.  Apparently, jewelry merchants here don’t sell jewelry-making tools, and they think you’re weird for looking at jewelry stores for that kind of thing.   Makes as much sense as a lot of other things here, I must say.  

[thisistheworsttimeline]

#TransgenderFirst

In many ways, I am very privileged. I am a white person, raised in a stable home, where I rarely was anxious about money. This is also just part of what my mother calls my temperament; I’m almost never anxious about money, even if I don’t have it. This is starting to change. My parents cannot and would not pay for my college education, and after a gap year of full-time work paid for my first semester, I am realizing I still have 7 to go, and no money.

Even if you have more money than I do, college is overwhelming. Large sums of money hanging over you for the rest of your life is overwhelming.  Transgender students have several added disadvantages; prejudices, lack of familial and parental support, gender dysphoria, and isolation. Not every trans person experiences all of these things, but many do.

College is expensive, and it’s frankly an unrealistic burden for any young person to take on, particularly one without or with less outside support.

Now, affording college is one thing. Getting there, being there, living your life there is another. I cannot speak for every experience. Most cis people look at me and assume I’m cis. I go to a very small, religious school (though for contrast, we’re the ‘liberals’ of the religious college circles.) These are questions and realities I faced going into school;

-Will I live in a communal hall? Will I room with a women? Can I be sure that they won’t be homophobic or transphobic? How can I decorate my side of the room, and what will be the thing that takes it one step too far?

-When my teachers call my given name, do I correct them? What is my name? Do I give my pronouns in class, even if no one else is doing it? Do I put my pronouns in the theatre program, even if my family is coming to see the show?

-How long will it be before I hear a slur? Before someone calls me a slur? Am I safe in my building? All of our key cards work the doors.

- When my friends forget and casually misgender me, how big of a deal do I make of that? Is that worth the friendship? They’re good friends otherwise.

-I love to sing. When I get to sing, I will undoubtedly get “ladies!”-ed. How long can I handle that before I start to shut down?

And more. These are questions I face, as a cis-passing genderqueer person. There are undoubtedly more for the people who can’t afford to slip under the radar as easily as I can, whose transition is a necessity. For the people who don’t have white privilege, or who don’t have passing privilege, or any of the countless other privileges I have.

College is a place of secrets and late nights. These are not safe things for marginalized students, kids who don’t fit the right boxes. This is scary. This is isolating. And isolation and fear, those things drain your soul. You start to wonder if it’s worth it.

[rogersideup]

Free Love

Nomad Steve Rogers x Avengers Reader

Word count: 4187

Summary: Steve lost everything defending Bucky, so you gave everything up to gain everything you’ve ever wanted- a future with Steve.

Warnings: Mentions of depression, crime, and political opinions. Tooth rotting fluff! My blog is 18+ only! All minors and blogs without an age in bio will be blocked!

AN: My favorite song and my favorite character combined into one, nothing could be better than that. Hope you enjoy!

A phone call.

One single phone call.

That's how you ended up here, laying in lush unkept grass in a field on a hill in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. The mid summer air was so humid that even if you weren't sweating, there was a permanent sheen and layer of moisture on your skin. Hundreds of cicadas buzzed in providence of some not-so-white noise, sometimes the frogs would join in to create a harmonious soundtrack to the jumbled up mess you found yourself in.

You appreciated the way the shine better out here, the lack of big city light pollution did wonders and allowed them to twinkle and flutter to their full potential. Although you just gave up everything in your life, your heart felt fuller. Nothing to your name, nothing to tie you down.

No bills to pay, commitments to attend, house to clean, boss to please, a world that lost the privilege of your protection.

It was just you, Steve, and the sweet frog cicada melody.

All because the tiny, outdated, plastic burner phone you hid in a tampon box in the cabinet of your bathroom rang, and you decided to pick up the call.

But that's just the thing- you always picked up the call.

The sound of the burner phone ringing punctually at midnight every Tuesday going into Wednesday was your second favorite sound in the world. The first being the sweet yet raspy voice that sounded straight to your ear whenever you'd click the tiniest of green answer buttons.

The moment Steve knew that there was no place for him other than a small cell in a high security containment facility, you had always been his first priority.

He told you what was going to happen; he had to run and you had to stay put.

Throughout the civil war you were always on his side, but with a gut feeling and a lump in your throat the two of you always made it look like you weren't. You both knew it would end poorly, but believed in the cause enough to continue fighting strategically. So, you staged arguments, pretended to fight against him on Tony's team that one day in Germany, even took it as far as moping around and crying at the mention of his name. You feigned anger and resentment as what was left of the team tried picking up the broken pieces and settle into the compound after the Avengers had officially split.

You wanted to run with him, but you also knew Steve would never forgive himself if he took everything from you. He feared you'd be unhappy and start to resent him for it- he would never be able to handle a single glimpse of pure regret in your eyes every time you looked at his face.

So instead of running with him, he reassured you that you two would take the time to make a plan for the future. He'd send you a new burner phone every three months, call you at the same time every week for exactly one hour, and calculate an exact equation that would allow the two of you to live your lives together.

That's exactly what he did. Every time he'd call, he would try is absolute hardest to reassure you that he was doing perfectly okay. That he missed you with every fiber of his being, but playing hide and seek in the far corners of the world would be worth it in the end. He was fine.

His well being was true up until a month ago. You noticed during your weekly calls that he was seeking more and more comfort, dragging on for minutes past what would be safe. He didn't care if the government was able to track his calls, he just needed to hear your voice for a few more minutes. You grew increasingly worried about him- even his voice sounded tired.

You knew something was wrong the whole week leading up to this. You felt it scrape your bones and pain your joints as if a thunderstorm was brewing, so when the phone rang at 11:56 instead of 12 on the dot, your heart sank.

He was having a breakdown, yet still trying to hold it all back. It took hitting the point of explosion to finally confess that he was achingly lonely, exhausted beyond his own means, and missed you so much it physically hurt. He was talking about giving up, mentally he had given up weeks ago.

It took an hour and twenty eight minutes to convince him to let you leave and run with him. It honestly came as a shock when he finally agreed, and you knew that if he was in a better mindset he would've said no.

You, however, were more confident than ever. After almost a full year of thinking it through, you knew as a fact that this is what you needed to do.

The next night you snuck out with nothing but a backpack with some spare clothes, a fake passport and ID, and your most recent burner phone in your pocket knowing you had some stuff where you were headed.

The two of you agreed to meet up at your late Aunt's vacation cabin in the same nowhere you were in the middle of that you had secretly inherited off all records and documentation. When you signed onto the Avengers, you knew it would be important to have a fallback plan and it turned out to be rather useful.

You had turned it into the perfect safe house. Renovated it to be true to its rustic feel but modern and reflective of your personal taste and personality. Hidden money, food and water rations, and a back up power generator.

Steve had been going there from time to time. It was his favorite place to be when he was just too tired to keep trucking along. It became his ultimate place of comfort. Your energy seeped off the walls and into his skin, it tricked his brain into feeling closer to you. Sleeping in a real bed owned by you, bathing in the clean water you made sure he would always have, and staying dry and warm in blankets you've been wrapped up in before.

You arrived a few hours before he did and spent that alone time making your home away from the compound as lively and comfortable as could be.

Freshly washed the sheets and made the bed, filled vases with wildflowers you foraged off the stunning property, and even made sure you got a nice meal for the two of you. It had been awhile since Steve had a meal he could actually enjoy, it was important to you that he got the mental break he really needed.

Fluffing the throw pillows and pacing aimlessly came along with the anxious jitters, the anticipation of seeing your love for the first time in almost a year was killing you slowly.

When you heard the code knock at the door to let you know it was really him and not an intrusion, tears stung your eyes before you even saw him.

But when the door opened to reveal your sweet Steve on the other side, you couldn't help but to break down with him.

He opted to grow a beard, and the blonde hair on his head was long and grown out. The expression on his face combined with his posture told you everything you needed to know about his mental health. He was deep in the gutter.

You weren't really sure why it had shocked you so much. It could've been because you never spoke about appearance on the phone, he never mentioned his change of heart when it came to being clean cut, or maybe you were just in shock because you hadn't seen him in so long. Either way, he looked phenomenal.

No words were exchanged as you held each other in your arms. You both cried for what felt like an eternity- both of you rocking from side to side in order to keep balance on your weak knees before he pulled away to inspect your face.

It was only when you grinned at him did he let out a chuckle and a big smile. You kissed that very same smile, and those tears of grief over lost time turned into tears of joy.

"I don't even have the words" he practically whispered between little sniffles.

"You don't need 'em" She smiled before placing another peck to his soft lips. "I don't think words would really do justice to how I feel right now. I'm so happy to see you."

"Happy tears?" He questioned, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe them from underneath your eyes, while his own fell down his cheeks and onto his shirt.

"Yeah, very happy tears" you confirmed as your hands roamed his back, trying to let your brain catch up to the fact that he really was here with you right now.

"You're even more beautiful than I remember" His hands refused to leave your face. It was almost like he was convinced that if he let go, he wouldn't see you for another year.

"You're hairier than I remember" You joked, still processing his glorious hair and stunning beard.

"That bad, huh?" He sheepishly questioned, eyes hitting the floor.

"God no- you look incredible" You kissed both his cheeks, followed by his nose. "Nomad looks good on ya"

"I'm glad you think so, it keeps people from recognizing me" He explained.

"How are you?" You couldn't even help the hand that made its way up his back and ran through his hair. "And if you tell me you're okay I'm going to call Secretary Ross and turn you in myself"

You were relieved when he laughed and shook his head. "Kind've a hot mess, but just seeing you has already made me feel a million times better."

"I've been so worried about you" you admitted for the first time since getting yourselves into this situation.

"I know" He nodded, pulling you snuggly into his chest and happily keeping you there. "It hasn't been easy on either of us."

"You're okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay, I'm perfectly okay" He reassured you. "Haven't necessarily been fighting any battles recently, that's a huge benefit to keeping a low profile. Are you okay? How'd your travels go?"

"Really turbulent but it didn't even matter. It was still perfect. I don't think you understand how happy I am to be here"

"Are you sure about this?" The question hung heavy on his tongue as his heart ached at the thought of everything you gave up just to be with him.

You pulled away and gripped his shoulders to be able to look into his eyes. "I've never been more sure about anything."

"You haven't necessarily committed any crimes yet, it's not to late to go back." He tested.

A big smile and a giggle snuck past the lips you could barely keep off of his. "I'm pretty sure I'm harboring a fugitive as we speak... traveled with fake identification, and we're in a property I paid to have scrubbed off of maps- miles away from civilization. I think the crime has already been committed"

"How did we even get here? From law defending superheroes to fugitives in the blink of an eye" He let out a deep breath.

"The system is broken, My Love. It's in place to protect the rich and elite while working class citizens and minorities get beaten down further every single day. The law doesn't give two shits about what happened to Bucky or any of those super soldiers who had all fate stacked against them, and it seems like all the service we've put in means nothing to them now. America is in need of serious reform, and I think that their golden boy not backing down for what he believes in is an amazing start." You reassured him.

"You really believe that?" His fingers ran up and down your back taking in the texture of your cotton ribbed tank top. "I've been thinking about it so much that it feels like an exit-less maze. I don't even know what to believe anymore"

"Of course I believe that." The sincerity behind your kind eyes allowed him to believe that maybe he was staying on the right path. "You know I'm stubborn at best, and when I believe in something I'm not going to back down until I get what I want. I've never believed in anyone more than I believe in you, Steve."

"I don't know what I did to deserve you" He kissed your forehead. "I love you so much, Darling"

"I love you a whole bunch" Your thumbs ran over the deep lines between his concerned furrowed eyebrows- pulling the skin gently away from itself. "You can relax now. There's nothing to run from for a little while, alright? We have time for you to settle in and unpack your bag. You know you're safe here?"

"This is where I come to feel safe" He nodded. "Even better now that you're here."

"You'll never have to be alone again"

"I'm going to thank the stars for you everyday"

And that, he did. After dinner and a shower- that's how you ended up under the twinkling stars with your burner phones in the trash, snuggled up in the untamed grass that had gone wild and free in your time away from the safe house.

The blanket underneath your bodies did nothing to keep away the bugs that made your body their  living feast, but you didn't even care about the bites. You had all the time in the world to regret not putting on bug repellant later.

Right now, you were free.

You felt as though your lungs were full of helium, if Steve wasn't cradling you in his strong arms you'd float away and be okay with it as long as he had your string tied around his wrist.

He flicked a small mosquito off your shoulder that you didn't even know was there. The flowing lake on the land really had the mosquitoes out for the two of you. "Tomorrow I can come out here and tame the land." He rested his chin on your shoulder from behind. "Just got you back- can't have the bugs eat you down to nothing. Maybe more of them will go away with short grass they can't hide in."

"Yeah? I can help. Don't really have much else to do." You mumbled in contentment. "How nice is that? Nothing to do tomorrow?"

"Or the day after that" You could hear the grin on his voice.

"And after that?" You questioned.

"We're always going to have nothing to do tomorrow." His laugh sounded like heaven softly whisking into your ear. "You're going to get so tired of me."

"Never" You shook your head. "I like the idea of fixing up the property tomorrow, then finding ways to entertain you every day after that."

"Anything else you need fixed up around here? I wouldn't mind planting myself here for a while"

"We can do anything to it" The tone of your voice was making him feel the excitement of possibility. "I redid the place before I even really knew you. Maybe this time we can fix it up to reflect the both of us. We can have a real future here Steve... do you see it?" You motioned your hands in front of your faces as if you were setting a scene for him.

"Honestly? I haven't thought of a future for myself in a very long time. I'm always just thinking about what I'm going to do tomorrow." He admitted.

"Okay, then allow me to paint the picture for you" You sat up a bit, the view of the whole property in your sight. "Imagine, our house way up on this hill."

"I can see it." He chuckled at your antics.

"Can you though? I want you to really see it" You emphasize. "We can have dogs running around our yard, maybe some fruit trees growing in the fields."

"You know I've always wanted a golden retriever" Steve beamed at the thought, allowing himself to envision the life you had created in your head.

"You can finally have one, maybe even two" You shrugged. "The possibilities are endless. We're right next to the water, really it can be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen."

"We're going to have to put up some fencing to keep our dogs in." Steve noted.

"See! Now you're dreaming big. White picket fences... or white oak? Surf green" you settled.

"Both of our favorite color" He noted.

"Imagine this is our little place. We can be completely and totally free, there's no one for miles it's just you and me-" You started.

"-and the dogs" Steve corrected.

"And the dogs" you confirmed. "What do you see?"

You saw the wheels turning in his head before a blush raised to his cheeks and his mouth opened and closed a few times before anything actually came out.

"I see a few more animals other than dogs." He stated confidentially. "Some chickens, maybe a cow? You told me it's your dream to have a donkey. I see a whole homestead, like the Barton's but better cause it'll be ours."

"That sounds just like how I see it in my head."

"Some raised garden beds along the south wall of the house, they'll get the best light there. It's soft in the morning so our plants won't wilt. Herbs, vegetables and fruits."

"You're going to have to be in charge of that, you know I don't have a green thumb"

Steve laughed at your statement. "Baby, you killed that cactus we bought at that cute plant store. It takes a lot of talent to kill a cactus, especially one you swore you wouldn't."

"How was I supposed to know you can over water a plant?" You pouted at him.

"You cried about that for a whole 15 minutes. That's when I knew you'd be the sweetest most compassionate person I'd ever meet" Steve placed a kiss on your cheek.

"It was adorable! Any reasonable person would cry over committing murder" You justified your tears.

"And that compassion is exactly why you'd be better at taking care of the animals" He smiled. "You're motherly that way"

"I'm glad you still think I'm motherly after killing a cactus." Really, the thought warmed your heart. "After you left I was feeling a little lonely so I got a pothos plant and I kept it alive for two whole months before it got sunburned. Who knew plants could get too much sun?"

"Wow! That's a new record. I'm proud of you" Steve let his eyes move back up to the hundreds of stars in the sky while leaning back until he was laying down.

"Anything else?" You questioned while laying down too, your head resting on his stomach. "Don't think I missed the way your cheeks blushed."

"Of course you noticed" You could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "You always notice."

"It's a talent of mine. I love seeing you blush, I'd be damned if I missed a single moment."

"I was blushing because in my head I saw something else." His tone changed from confident to coy as he reached down and grabbed your wrist. Lifting your hand up from its resting spot as you spread your fingers apart to look at it. "After dealing with me and all my antics for years I think I owe you a ring. Riiiiiiiiggghhhhtttt here" He used the tip of his index finger to point to the bottom of your ring finger on your left hand.

"Just to be clear, you don't owe me anything." You wiggled your fingers as you imagined a band on your finger, marking you as Steve's sweetheart for the rest of time. "But, I wouldn't be opposed to belonging to you."

You rolled off of him and laid on your stomach next to him. Once again, he found something more beautiful than the stars to gaze at.

"You don't belong to me, you complete me" He corrected. "It might be a while before we can legally get married, but we can play pretend."

"You could propose with a spare nut from the picket fences and I'd still say yes." You clarified.

"How do we feel about kids?" He raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side like a puppy.

"Love 'em" You confirmed with a smile that stretched ear to ear.

"We can have some of those running around too" He suggested. "Our free range, organic babies."

"Hopefully we don't get them confused with the chickens" You poked him square in the chest before letting your hand relax and reside on his sternum. "How many? I was thinking two or three."

"Kids or chickens?" He joked, your restful hand playfully smacked him. "Kidding! You know what would be awesome? Twins"

"Oh yeah" You agreed. "A two for one deal. That would do it for me. I can even do an all natural birth right here in our house to help us keep maintain a low profile."

"That sounds great, but really painful." He noted.

"It's a small price to pay for a dream come true, dontcha think?" You questioned rhetorically. "Temporary pain for a lifetime of tiny Steve's running around."

"Oh no, I want them to be like you."

"Like me?! Now you're just setting yourself up for a complicated home dynamic." You warned bashfully.

"How about we settle for a perfect balance of the both of us?" Steve was now looking at you like you were the stars in the sky, and if there was any truth behind his admiration for you, it was that you shined brightly just for him. He was the reason why your eyes twinkled and your soul lit up to brighten all the dark places.

"I'm willing to compromise."

"I wish I could provide a little more than this." He admitted quietly while his hands traced shapes into your lower back. "Maybe one day we'll be pardoned and our kids can grow up in the city. They can go to fine arts schools and tell all their friends that Dad is silly ol' Captain America and Mom is the best Agent the world has ever seen. You can have a big rock on your finger, and our white picket fences won't even be necessary because real estate is dense in Brooklyn."

"That sounds expensive" You noted.

"That's pretty much the life we had going for us before I got everyone into this mess" He challenged. "Maybe one day we can get it back."

"Any life we can create for ourselves sounds like an amazing future" You admitted. "As fun as city life is, I don't need anything fancy and expensive to be happy. The simple things are far more than enough for me- I don't need anything more as long as I have you."

"You're not just saying that?"

"No, of course not" You shook your head before placing a kiss to each of his cheeks. "I know you feel guilty, but all I feel is pride. This will all be worth it. It's not a setback or an inconvenience. This could be one of the best things that's ever happened to us. We get to sleep at night knowing we aren't going to be woken up to world ending level threats, we can relax. For once we finally get to settle down and put ourselves first."

"This is the first time I've ever seen the bright side"

"Besides, you've already given me all I could ever want, and it's completely free"

"What's that?"

"Love" You stated confidentiality.

"Oh baby, I've got lots of love for you. It'll never run out" He kissed your lips.

"That means we already have everything we'll ever need right now. Kids, chickens and Donkeys sound nice but it’ll all happen with time. But for now, let’s stick with the simple things.”

“You forgot the ring and the dogs and cows” He pointed out. “I learned to love the simple things.”

“Our whole fairy tail life starts tomorrow.” You grinned at him. Your teeth were brighter than the stars.

“Tomorrow when we cut the grass” he smiled back.

“Maybe the day after that I can start sourcing wood for our fence” He pondered.

“We can paint it together, we just have to pick a color.”

“We can use the scraps to build the garden beds.” Steve suggested.

“I can forage leaf litter to fill the bottoms, it’ll aerate the soil” You noted.

“Well now it seems like we’re always going to have something to do tomorrow”

“How nice is that?” You beamed. “We’re going to build our dream life with our own hands, one fence post at a time, and all we needed to start was some free love.”

“Oh free love”

[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!!

[urgonnaneedabiggership]

A/N: In case you feel more comfortable reading on AO3, you can find the link right here. Since there are several chapters already, I'll create a masterlist for you to easily go from chapter to chapter. Comments or feedback are greatly appreciated!

Word count: 2,248

Warnings: MCU typical violence, mentions of war, mentions of death and un-aliving people.

Namor cursed under his breath when the brush once again went a little too much to the side, leaving behind a crooked line. With a frustrated huff, he carefully scraped it off before starting over. The Talokanil man knew his mind was somewhere else, and his usual distraction wasn’t working as well as it should.  It wasn’t just that Mercedes had called him by a name that didn’t feel right coming from her anymore, but the way she had said it. Hell, it was more like she had spat it, but mixed with the anger that laced her words was something else. Something that caused his chest to hurt a little if he thought about it for too long: betrayal.

It was then that he realized the girl actually thought the only outcome was for him to relent and let her go back to the surface. And what troubled him was that he had actually considered it for a moment until the presence of Namora and the recollection of their previous conversation made him realize doing so would only prove her right.

Later on, he found himself wanting to visit Mercedes in her quarters to try and smooth things over. While he had said he was sorry, it felt more like a meaningless courtesy rather than the true apology he felt compelled to offer. Everything had happened so quickly and there were many things he hadn’t said out of fear of seeming…soft. Namor was still, however, a proud man, and so he bottled up those worries and retreated to his murals, attempting to find solace in the symmetry and colors of his paintings.

He took a deep breath, slowly releasing the pure air of his surroundings before leaning closer to the wall, and slowly dragging the brush across it. And, of course, she was serious about missing that day’s lesson. That was another missed opportunity to try and talk to her alone. Namor had planned to cover the elaborate way in which the Mayans had used the city of Chiꞌ Chꞌeꞌen Its Jaꞌ and its privileged location next to a cenote to trick the neighboring tribes into believing it was an entrance to the Underworld. She would’ve loved the story. He peeked over his shoulder at the manuscripts on the table for one second too long and by the time he remembered the brush in his hand, he had drawn yet another crooked line. As he hurriedly scraped it off, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

“That’s not supposed to look like that, is it?”

“I thought you were skipping your lesson. What are you doing here?” He asked, distractedly placing the brush behind his ear, his focus now elsewhere.

“I’m not here to apologize,” Mercedes clarified adamantly, “And I want you to be aware that I do not intend to stay here for another month.”

“Is that so?” He replied, turning around pretending to fix something on the painting to hide an amused smile. She was so fragile compared to him. Helpless, even. Namor knew he could very easily retain her in Talokan for as long as he pleased, and she probably knew it too, and yet Mercedes refused to accept her lack of control over her situation. Still, he did not intend to anger her further.

“For how long are you willing to extend your stay then, Xmeech?” He replied. She was too smart not to realize he wasn’t taking her that seriously, but a little bit of teasing never killed anyone.

“One week. That’s all.” She replied, her voice full of resolution. “Do we have a deal?”

He could’ve asked what she would do if he refused. While they had taken walks around the tunnels, he had made a point of not taking her anywhere near the exits, most of which were below sea level, and led to a new maze of underwater caves. Even with an oxygen supply, attempting to blindly find the way out of such caves was certain death. She wasn’t leaving until he decided so.

“Fine,” He agreed with a smile. She reached out her hand and he stared at it in confusion before remembering her surface customs and shaking it.

A tense silence settled between them, both of them secretly doubting each other’s intentions. Mercedes looked at the unfinished mural once more and scoffed at the crooked line. Namor’s pride didn’t take kindly to it.

“Think you can do it better?” He huffed in a challenging tone, gesturing towards the wall.

“It’s a straight line, it can’t be that hard,” Mercedes muttered, snatching the brush from his hands and pulling her hair up, pinning it in place with the long handle before picking another from the table, which she judged to be of better width. She leaned closer to the wall, carefully placing the brush against the rock. Right before she could slide it, Namor’s voice interrupted her.

“Don’t hold your breath,” He instructed.

“What?” She asked, his words causing her to unclasp the handle for just one second as she furrowed her eyebrows almost apprehensively.

“Just breathe. If you hold your breath, your hand will start to shake and it will be even harder.”

“I swear if you try the ‘here let me show you’ thing and come any closer, I’ll tear each and every piercing off your pretty face,” Mercedes scowled, moving closer to the wall to hide the awfully uneven line she’d just painted.

He just laughed and raised his hands to prove his innocence, slowly backing away from her. After several attempts, Mercedes was once again washing the paint off with a cloth to start over.

“Are you trying to erode the rock to make an escape tunnel?” Namor asked mockingly.

“You know what? Forget it. My brain is too oxygen deprived for this,” Sadie huffed, giving the brush back and grabbing a glass of water that rested atop the table, taking a large sip just to start coughing so violently that she almost spilled the content.

“What is this thing?” She asked, her voice hoarse as she carefully smelled the contents of the glass.

“Definitely not what you thought it was,” He replied with a chuckle, “You might like it if you’re careful, though.”

Hesitantly, Mercedes took another sip. He wasn’t wrong.

“It’s really good, but I have made it my policy to never drink alone,” She said, standing up to look for another glass.

“I’d rather not.” He replied while shaking his head.

“Oh, come on, don’t…”  Suddenly, something seemed to dawn on her as she pursed her lips thoughtfully, “Oh, right. Sorry, I get it, you probably shouldn’t drink around someone…you don’t…” She seemed to struggle to find the words and left the sentence unfinished knowing he would understand.

“No, that’s not it, I just…” Namor sighed and snatched the glass from her hands, reaching out for the bottle and pouring himself a little less than half a glass.

Barely smiling, Mercedes sat down and poured herself a full glass, carefully turning her back on him before putting some manuscripts away. When she did, Namor quickly grabbed the bottle and poured himself some more.

“One glass, I swear,” She affirmed, punctuating the word “one” by lifting one finger. He nodded firmly.

“I just don’t understand how the whole water thing works,” Mercedes once again started rambling, “Do you need it? How would you drink water underwater?”

“The Talokanil don’t need it,” Namor replied, absorbed in watching the beads of his vibranium necklace slide from one side to the other when he tilted it, “I don’t need it either, but I drink it sometimes. I like the way it tastes.”

“That makes no sense!” Sadie protested, her voice rising two octaves, “What the hell does water taste like?”

“When you spend five hundred years surrounded by saltwater you realize that any other type of water does have a taste.”

After pondering his statement for a few seconds, Mercedes suddenly started to laugh, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head. She had folded her arms on top of the table and her head was nestled between them, but then she lifted it and laughed while looking at Namor through a few strands of her hair.

“Has anyone ever told you that you can be insufferably pretentious sometimes?”

He was sitting on another chair closer to the wall, leaning against it. The alcohol had warmed him up, so he had placed the teal shawl that he’d been wearing and on top of his knees, carefully folded. From where she was sitting, Mercedes could admire the beautiful embroidery work and wondered what kind of material it was made of, and whether it was as soft as the clothes they gave her. He was a warrior, and his rough vibranium chest piece seemed more fitting for his brash personality. However, right then he didn’t look like a warrior. The warm light of the shelter shimmered in his eyes, and a drowsy smile tugged at the edge of his lips.

“My cousin. All the time,” He replied to her question, emphasizing every word of the last sentence.

“I think she’s right,” Sadie sighed, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand, “I’m a terrible influence on you.”

“Did she say that?” Namor asked, slightly furrowing his eyebrows like he did whenever he was upset.

“It was more complicated than that,” Mercedes said dismissively, “And I get it, you are their leader and not my friend and it wouldn’t look good for you to…you know…fraternize with the enemy,”

“I thought I’d told you I’m not your enemy,” Namor protested, standing up and unsteadily making his way toward her despite his best efforts to walk normally. Finally, he managed to reach the table and dropped himself on a step next to her. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t fraternize with you,”

“Alright, then maybe I shouldn’t fraternize with you,” Mercedes protested, poking his chest with her finger to further accentuate her words, “Where I come from, there’s a word for people who form emotional bonds with their kidnappers, you know?”

“Stockholm Syndrome,” He replied, to which Sadie looked at him with raised eyebrows, “What? Did you think I only read ancient manuscripts?”

That made her laugh again. However, it was more like a repressed snicker followed by a deep sigh. After a few minutes, Namor turned to look at her and gently grabbed her shoulder.

“Mercedes…I’m sorry, I don’t remember your last name right now,” He said, once again chuckling, and maintaining eye contact, “I would like to be your friend.”

He was close enough for her to be able to smell his breath. It smelled like alcohol, but there was also a hint of the honey that the liquor contained, along with something vaguely floral.

“Sure, why not?” She replied with a shrug, turning her head back to the front and leaning back against the wall.

“Are you sure it’s not Stockholm Syndrome?” He asked jokingly. She shook her head negatively.

“No. I still think you’re a narcissistic idiot.”

“That’s a new one,”

When Mercedes turned to her right once more, she realized Namor had fallen asleep, so she stood up as quietly as she could and walked towards the exit.

“Xmeech? Where are you going?” Namor’s voice stopped her.

“I better get going,” Sadie replied with a yawn, “I need some sleep before I wake up with my worst hangover in a while. I’ll see you later, kän-än.”

He repeated the word quietly, not understanding it. Before he could ask, Mercedes continued.

“You can’t be Namor anymore, can you? And K’uk’ulkan can get too formal.”

She lifted her hand to pull back a strand of hair and her fingers found the handle of the brush she’d used as a hairpin earlier. Apologizing, Mercedes was about to pluck it out to give it back until Namor stopped her.

“No, it’s okay. You can keep it.”

With a subtle smile and a nod, Mercedes left the room and disappeared among the halls.

Mercedes was right about the hangover part. Namor woke up what felt like days later with his mouth uncomfortably dry and sticky, a pulsing ache coursing through his entire skull and blurry memories of the conversation held hours before. He replayed whatever he could remember in his brain, dreadfully waiting for the embarrassment he was sure would come. Except it didn’t. All he felt was warmth all over his chest, unsure of whether it was because of the remnants of alcohol in his blood. Still, he felt compelled to apologize to Mercedes for whatever he might’ve said, or even worse, done in that state.

So, slowly as to not cause himself any further pain by tripping or something, he made his way to her room.

“Mercedes? It’s me. Are you awake?” He called from the other side of the tapestry, receiving no answer. The poor thing was probably in as much pain as he was. Namor was about to turn around and come back later when he realized something.

Not a single sound was coming from inside the room.

Not a single painful groan, or snoring, and not even her soft breathing.

Carefully pushing the fabric aside, he stepped into the room. At first glance, everything seemed normal. However, one detail caught his attention and froze him in place. Every single piece of clothing they’d given her during her stay was neatly folded and placed on the table, and right atop rested the brush he’d told her to keep.

Namor, having almost forgotten his own pain, rushed back to the room where they kept the suits to find his worst assumptions confirmed.

There was an empty spot next to the only suit left.

The Translations

Chiꞌ Chꞌeꞌen Its Jaꞌ: Also known as "Chichén Itzá", one of the main cities of the Mayan culture located in the Mexican state of Yucatán.

Kän-än: Guardian. This is Lacandon Mayan from the state of Chiapas as opposed to Yucatec Mayan, which explains why Namor is unfamiliar with the word.