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#this is mostly an excuse for me to make some of that specific brand of horror

lepusrufus · 2 years

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No actually I will inflict random search and rescue AU upon you because I can

Vi has the best record for finding kids, to the point where if a child goes missing they're always like aight someone get Vi

Caitlyn is their K9 team and her dog is just this stubborn Malinois named Sniper (bc her dog must be called that in every au idc) but he listens to her suspiciously well

Caitlyn is also an ex cop that got fired, to put it mildly, after she got her nose too deep in the new Sheriff's corrupt business

Vi went to prison and then did self defense lessons for a while before being a full-time SAR officer

Jinx is their best climber hands down. If they find someone stuck on a cliff or a tree or something she's on

She even has her monkey as a patch on her uniform

Ekko and Jinx are the best team to fix up any sort of malfunction. And their radios get fucked up a lot. They're really tired of that bs

Ekko also has a secret passion for botany and can recognize every species of plants that grow in the park

He's really fond of fireflies too

Vander is their boss and best dad

Benzo is like the chaotic uncle whose life purpose is to embarrass Vander

Ex military Mel who got utterly sick of the pressure put on her by her mother and just wanted a job helping people

She and Caitlyn are actually acquaintances bc of Jayce and like to swap stories about shit colleagues

There's this big white wolf living in the park that they nicknamed Warwick. They're like 60% convinced it's actually a ghost but they got bigger things to deal with

One time it followed Jinx but she also carries snacks with her everywhere so take that as you will

Jinx got her name from a rescue mission that went very very wrong and she was accused of having jinxed it. She later adopts the nickname and insists it actually brings good luck

Jinx and Cait are also like... friendly rivals of sorts

Like Jinx will wingwoman for the two disaster lesbians but also somehow get her hands on embarrassing baby pics of Caitlyn and tape them in the main office

Oh did I mention this is horror by the way

They really are sick of the radios acting up

Sniper adores Jinx for some reason. Which is fine and dandy until she gets a big slobbery lick on her face. Does Caitlyn let it happen? Maybe but you got no proof

The first time they're searching for someone together and Sniper points up a sheer cliff before losing the scent, Caitlyn is utterly confused. Vi just lets out a tired sigh and says "not this shit again"

Listen to me. The women of arcane wearing cargo pants. You're welcome

Don't touch the stairs in the woods. Nope. No.

Ok should probably mention that one, I don't really know much about being a sar officer and I'm either winging or changing stuff for the narrative. And two, if stuff sounds familiar that's because it's heavily inspired by the "I'm a search and rescue officer" series of stories. They're one of my absolute favorite pieces of horror and I def recommend giving it a read or a listen on yt

#arcane #arcane sar au #idk enjoy the random au stuff while i drag my feet through comms and editing the next ch #this is mostly an excuse for me to make some of that specific brand of horror #the unsettling kind that just makes everything feel off u kno #plus cute lesbians bc duhhh

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magicratfingers · 4 months

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Progress report ! ૮ ºﻌºა ✨ kind of a work-in-progress diary for myself. v indulgent.

intense world of dick terrifying - goin good! got a main character, some supporting characters, figuring out the big rivalry today. Gotta figure out a format. I was thinking of basing it off of the Day at the Airport book bc it's only about 11 spreads but there's a lot going on on each one. Could leave it a comic but I also want it to be printable hmm catnips cantrips chooseyer-by-mail test - learning a lot! the world-building has been reallllllly fun - like the kind of fun where you want to go a little deeper bc you like it not bc you have to. perfect situation. Gotta resolve the mix between the DM roleplay and the actual postcards. Made and branded a whole gmail account and character to handle lost postcards - Pizza Kentucky III of the Isekai Post Office. Haven't been keeping up with the blog. But the blog is supposed to be more of a holding container than a 'thing'. One thing I did not expect to be learning was spreadsheets. Keeping track of names and addresses and choices and paths has given me a new perspective on pacing and structure. Also? Been a great excuse to finally play with UV epoxy and it's so straightforward that I'm mad it took me so long. media thats not just webcomics - dunmeshi is out!!! Laios my beloved. Still afraid to find and read Kotteri's Veil bc it will make me too feelings. Started reading books I loved as a kid (Redwall!!!) and some story craft books (found an NPR list somewhere) WRHP s2 - started to feel like work but changing up the backgrounds freed me up, feels fun again Sorcerer comic - paused while I wait for fashion inspiration to pull the ending together Emotional support paladin - paused till I feel like it. It's got such a specific delivery style that I don't wanna force to get the story out, so i gotta wait for some story aspects to firm up Bonnie & Clawd - more of a character study than a comic - fun to practice cutie pies cuddling. But... how DO birds and wolves smooch. Saw a youtube video about how ravens and wolves are friends and work together. So perfect. Valentines day thing - got some supplies coming tomorrow, gonna try out my idea. If it works maybe sell it? If it doesn't work, oh well, probably will learn something. Wanted to make perforated cards and stickers but got a little overwhelmed thinking about printing. Might just do a digital thing if an idea comes to me. Been wanting to make holographic stickers but when I sit down to think of a motif it feels stressful. Maybe I just test the Poodle Broadcasting System logo? I've always loved the aesthetic of valentines day but never felt like it's been delivered right. I certainly never felt indulged - something is always a little not-cute or too-cutesy. Think it could be really fun to have it be an annual 'surprise box'. I lost my halloween fam in the schmivorce so I could use a holiday to go crazy on. (For years I would drive out and help build a whole haunted house in a garage and it was like a week-long party with great food and movies and laughs. Sad to lose it, sadder still to know it was so easy for them to lose me. ) Dishupon - ok not as many players and responses as I'd hoped. But that wasn't really the point. Point was to invent some sanrio-y characters for fun - which i did. And I will also say that the exercise of coming up with a variety of cozy, fun, silly, spicy ways to think about dishes has made MY dishes mostly effortless. Even made a little foam clay Tiger coach and he's sitting on the window above the sink. Perhaps I will think of a game to get my car inspection done.

Overall January is great. Granted, it's the 4th. Had my ten year work anniversary (idk how old everyone thinks I am but it's Not 20) and got to 1010 followers on twitter on the same day. And the new d20 is out on the 10th so that felt real nice and square. Bit worried that all the good vibes I built up over holiday vacay will get smashed when I'm put on a new work project. But i feel like I'm about to level up a little bit art-style wise. Feelin grateful, feelin warm & cozy

#process #progress report #posts feel more real than journal entries do

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slymewitch · 5 months

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Christmas Carol autism rant

Honestly of all the stories and songs and such that get oversaturated during christmas, I unironically enjoy how many versions of A Christmas Carol there are. Not only because its a good story in general, but because unlike something like Rudolph, every single version has a uniqueness to them. The simplicity of the plot allows for so much messing around with the setting, the timeline, the mood, its all so malleable. And then there are the characters. Scrooge, Marley, and the ghosts specifically are all fairly simple archetypes, but because of their simplicity, each variant of the story can expand on said archetypes however they want, heck they can even completely zigzag the archetypes and put something completely different in the slot of one of the characters. Especially for the ghosts. Usually they’ll just go with the archetypes of angel, santa, death, but every single version gives the trio their own flavor. An angel can be a lot of things, like a girl, or a candle, or a dirty taxi driver, or the Eleventh Doctor. But Scrooge himself is probably the most interesting. Compared to the other characters in the story, he’s the one that changes the least between each adaptation on the surface. Grumpy old man, hates christmas, greedy, bad childhood, bad friends, bad breakup, the works. These guidelines are mostly unflinchingly rigid, but the exact brand of bitterness, and the details of the events, are left up to whoever’s writing. My favorite version by far though is unironically the Muppets version. Unlike most other adaptations, Scrooge doesn’t seem that hateful in that version. He still does the same greedy and evil crap as the other Scrooges, but he isn’t as angry as the rest are. You don’t get the impression that he hates anyone, and he seems more depressed than anything else. Even when he outright says that poor people should die, he just sounds done. Like he’s only saying it because he doesn’t care enough to filter what he says. And of all other Scrooge’s he’s the most willing to change. When he’s shown his past he immediately brightens up upon seeing simpler, more familiar times. When hes with the ghost of christmas present and sees the cratchets and his nephew, he makes the least wisecracks of any other Scrooge, and seems genuinely hurt by how lowly people think of him. And when yet to come arrives, he goes with him willingly, knowing that this is something he must face if he wants to be saved. Oh yeah, if you can’t tell, the muppets version is my favorite, the Marleys scene solidified Statler and Waldorf as my favorite muppets and is easily the highlight of the movie for me. But for some close contenders, George C Scott’s version is definitely the creepiest version Ive ever seen and it gives a lot more context about Scrooge’s life than most others. The Ghost of Christmas present is surprisingly intimidating, and dear GOD yet to come gives me chills. It’s strange how much mileage you can get out of a creaking gate sound effect. The Doctor Who version is also a personal favorite for being both weird and clever at the same time. Weird because its on an alien planet where sharks float in the air and can be used to drive chariots, but still SUPER clever for how it screws around with the story. I dont want to spoil too much, mostly because I want an excuse to not explain how bonkers the story is, but the way they mess with the “past present and future” theming is genius, because of course it was this is doctor who we’re talking about. And of course theres Spirited which is also extremely clever with how it messes with the story, but is also just really fun and charming to watch.

I’ve already written so much that I do not have the energy for a well written conclusion so uh, my point is that Christmas Carol adaptations are awesome despite the fact they probably shouldn’t be, and um…stay hydrated!

#a christmas carol #christmas movies #christmas #long rant #autism rant

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whumpcloud · 1 year

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Can we see another instance of Most Pathetic Boy Vincent being the most pathetic & desperate whumper ever? Pretty please? 😟😟😟 Also you're AMAZING at this absurdly specific brand of whump, the unwilling cuddling scene will forever live rent free in my head

afsfdfd yes we can absolutely have this. i have been microwaving an idea for days and this is the perfect place to put it. also hehe thank you <3 i've grown a fondess for writing characters (but particularly whumpers) that are just like. so bad at their role. like literally what are you doing. anyway

content: lady whump, vampire whumper, slapping

This isn't the first gathering that Vincent has dragged Clary to, but it's certainly the most annoying one. Vincent seems to be getting more irritated by the second. Why does he even go if he doesn't want to see any of these people? At least no-one has fed from her this time. If she was more creative she'd think of a better metaphor about it than 'being drunk without the part where it's fun'.

"Nikolai Dezhnyov!" Vincent says suddenly, pulling Clary over towards another vampire. "It's nice to see you again."

Clary seems to perk up at the name.

"Mhm." Nikolai eyes him with zero interest. "Victor Maddox, was it?"

"Vincent," Vincent replies, trying not to grit his teeth. "Though last time we met you were much more fond of referring to me as a 'pathetic whelp'."

Nikolai's lips turn up into a smile. "Yes, that sounds like something I'd say to you. And I suppose you think dragging that poor girl around with you makes you worthy of being referred to as something else?"

"I--" Vincent's grip on Clary tightens. "I'd hope so."

"What's your name?" Nikolai asks, turning to Clary.

Vincent starts to answer. "Her name is--"

"I did not ask you," Nikolai says sharply.

Clary can't help giggling at Vincent's prompt mouth-shutting. "Clary Nikitin. Nikitina."

"Nikitina?" Nikolai says, then something Vincent doesn't understand.

Clary grins and replies. Oh. They must be speaking Russian. Vincent picks at his nails. What is this feeling?

Is he feeling jealous?

That's stupid. Why would he be feeling jealous that Clary is talking to a man who called him a brat? Clary laughs, and it isn't a spiteful or mocking laugh, it's just nice, and Vincent is suddenly furious.

"Excuse us," Vincent snaps, and pulls Clary away.

"A-Ah-- da svidania!" Clary calls, and receives a smile and a wave in return.

Vincent shoves her into an empty room and up against the wall by her shoulders.

"Don't do that again," Vincent hisses.

Clary stares at him like he's an idiot. "Do what?"

Vincent doesn't have the words to actually express what he wants, but Clary seems to get it after a short silence.

"Are you mad that we were speaking Russian?" Clary says, in total disbelief.

"Yes!" Vincent growls, hitting the wall beside her head. It doesn't make him feel better when she jumps.

"Did you feel left out?" Clary mostly wants to tell him that he's being an idiot, but she doesn't. "That's... you're being unreasonable."

"You're mine," Vincent says, as though he's trying to convince himself he has some control here. "I don't like it. I should know what you're saying and doing at all times. Don't do it again."

"What, so I'm banned from speaking a language now?" Clary snaps.

Vincent slaps her, hard enough that it stings his hand for a very brief moment. "You know that's not what I meant! Don't speak to me that way!"

Clary gently touches her nose, and her fingers come away bloody. "...fine."

taglist: @whumpsday @whumpycries @whumpwillow @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @whumpshaped @suspicious-whumping-egg @chibichibivale @melancholy-in-the-morning @zillastar13 @bloodinkandashes @whump-me-all-night-long @sickophantic @itsmyworld23 @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpdreamz @thebirdsofgay

#polly's prose #things end | people change #clary nikitin #vincent maddox #one of vincent's many problems is that he's like. a fucking poser afsfdfad #anyway reminder that vincent was a total bastard #also if you're wondering. nikolai is another vampire oc i have. he's chill if weird afsdf

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pixiemage · 9 months

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I'll preface this by saying that I love Monty Gator. He's a HELLA cool character whose presence as an angry puppy dog in Ruin gave me way too much joy, and his boss battle in SB proper was SUPER fun! (I do wish Steel Wool had stuck with the stealing-Monty's-legs plotline rather than his claws, mostly for the sake of consistency but also so the excuse for his leg upgrade could've been so he could do some sick dance moves during shows - but I digress.)

I say this because I'm about to say something some folks might disagree with, but every time I see someone argue that Monty couldn't possibly have decommissioned Bonnie, the arguments they use sometimes make me want to just - throttle people for their lack of logic and their willingness to cling to anything that might help prove their point. There are some really well-thought-out arguments in there too sometimes (Bonnie being decommissioned pre-Monty's-claw-upgrade comes to mind, though I always wonder if the reason that was fucked up was due to the switchover from Monty's legs to his claws, and people assuming his lack of upgraded claws means he couldn't hurt a fellow animatronic without them, even though Moon seems more than capable of ripping apart Staffbots and the Staffbots are capable of wrecking Freddy in the Vanny endings - anyway) and I'm always down to see what alternate concepts folks have come up with! But sometimes - sometimes, not always - when I do watch those Monty-Was-Innocent videos, the folks making them are pulling in proof that feels more like they're grasping at straws, which unfortunately weakens the argument they're trying to make.

The popular one as of late is "the green paint around the claw marks on Bonnie's chest are definitely not from Monty's hands, and it's obviously an older coat of paint that we see because the blue layer was scratched away" which...I mean...good concept in theory, but. No?

Bonnie has never been associated with green. In the Pizzaplex, the Glamrock characters have set color palettes that are associated with their respective brands and merchandise. Bonnie's color set is blue, purple, and red, both in his Glamrock form and his Bonnie Bowl design. In all past games, he's been blue or purple. Even factoring in Springtrap, no version of Bonnie has ever been green, not even as an accent color. So why in the world would Glamrock Bonnie have an undercoat of green paint?

And even if he WAS green at one point, then wouldn't it have shown through in - I don't know - any of the other horribly cracked pieces of his chassis, rather than only being centralized around the claw marks cutting into his chest cavity? Every other crack or bit of damage outside of that chest wound is lined in either black or a darker shade of the surface color, not green. It's an extremely specific design choice on Steel Wool's part and I'm more inclined to believe they designed Bonnie's coloring that way on purpose.

Now don't get me wrong, when someone gives me an actual theory detail where something else left green residue behind, I'll give 'em kudos for thinking outside the box (especially when they're on to something solid). I love when people are able to put together clear puzzle pieces with enough proof to back 'em up. But the "old paint" bit feels so much more like Monty fans grasping for straws and I really wanna see people think harder than that. I want to see something concrete, because I get excited when someone finds something I haven't seen before!

In the Ruin DLC, Steel Wool dumped details in our laps to expand on the breadcrumbs they'd already left behind. They had a neon Bonnie sign be the thing that electrocuted Monty, the carpet Bonnie's body is on matches the carpeting in Monty Golf, and they went out of their way to line the claw marks with green. (And that's not even counting stuff that was hinted at in the base game). I'm all for theorizing alternate possibilities, but if someone wants to form a legitimate argument against Monty being the killer, then at least come up with something strong enough to counter what's in the games.

In truth, a few people have put out some really well-thought-out videos rallying for Monty's innocence, and I respect them for the work they've put into it. They've managed to really make me think! I just want to see more folks like that, people who think about what they're saying before positing their thoughts in a twenty-minute YT video trying to save their favorite boy.

Because let's be real, Monty is a fantastic character. I love seeing people who are passionate enough to fight for him. For me, I still lean heavily into the "Vanny made him do it" camp because people aren't wrong, Monty wouldn't have done something like that to Bonnie of his own free will...but the evidence Steel Wool set out for us to find is a bit too damning for me to think Monty was completely uninvolved. I'm just hoping we get some damn clarity from Steel Wool soon because I think, between Who Killed Bonnie and the disagreements over which ending Ruin takes place after, some minor wars and disputes are starting to break out across the fanbase that I reeaaally want to avoid lmao. Give us a hand here, SW! If you're gonna keep us guessing with everything else, then at least give us the answers to something!

#FNaF Ruin Theory #kind of #FNaF Theory #Monty Gator #Glamrock Bonnie #Montgomery Gator

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sakumasmut · 1 year

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from 🌊

i'm gonna cry because i had a whole draft already written but closed out of it on accident,, god help me. anyway what i was going to talk about is how yuzuru is a service dom in more ways than one. he really likes to use different means of pampering or serving you to lead into sex.

sometimes it's not reeeally service or pampering, more like a thinly veiled excuse to pleasure you. he's not above giving you a massage that eventually devolves into just fingering you, or offering to clean your genitals... by giving you oral, of course. if he's feeling too shy to ask directly, he might serve you pineapple juice, hoping you'll catch on and call him over. and he's embarrassed to admit it, but he has a fetish for formal wear, so from time to time he'll buy you a nice dress or suit to "try on" with the end goal of taking it off and fucking you. he'd love to fuck you while you're wearing it, but his instincts as a butler won't let him risk staining a brand new garment with cum or lube.

that said, most of the time it is about the pampering. he has a hard time being vulnerable around others, so it means a lot to him that you'd willingly put yourself in a vulnerable position in front of him. it moves pretty slowly, but in a good way, it feels nice to have someone brush your hair or do/remove your makeup for you every once in a while. he especially likes to do this before bed, so he has more courage to ask if he can make love to you to help you decompress. little do you know he really just wants some gentle, loving, vanilla sex with the person he loves muahaha (you definitely already knew.)

also, yuzuru is the type to cry during sex. i will not accept any "debate" on this subject as i am 1000% correct and there is nothing to debate (joking.) seriously though, he's a very emotional person under that serene facade. for example in the milky way story ("fall of a great star" pt3 specifically) he was moved to tears when tori gave him a shoulder rub to grant his wish of having more skinship between them. if that's all it takes to get some tears, he definitely cries at least a little during sex. being so intimate and close with someone who he cares about deeply makes him emotional, and he can't help but want to hold you afterwards. please just let him. don't tease him when he buries his face in your shoulder or the crook of your neck, don't laugh when you feel teardrops hit your skin or hear some quiet sniffles or erratic breathing. just hug him and let him be vulnerable for once </3

that was more emotional than i expected it to be uh anyway

honestly I really agree with all of this. very good yuzuru ramble, he deffo seems like the type to mostly hint at stuff rather than request it outright. and him crying because he loves you so much…ough

#nsft es!!#enstars smut #yuzuru fushimi smut #thirsts #🌊

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gascon-en-exil · 2 years

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as someone who is wlw thought i'd put in my two cents. i dont have any issues with people liking edelgard for being bi, queer people have coopted characters who weren't always intended to be the best rep before and bi women esp tend to get used for the male gaze a lot. I just wish more people actually realized that in the first place.

Though I will say I feel like that even if you removed byleth she still has some fairly romantically coded interactions and endings with dorothea and manuela so i wouldn't say she's just bi for byleth. lindhardt is a much worse offender of it in my opinion. he never even hints he likes guys in any other support, and while bi people who prefer the opposite sex are of course valid, if you dont show the bi part of being bi is it really there?

I also wish people wouldn't use her queerness to automatically make her woke and would bend over backwards to excuse literal imperialism for it. ig it's more telling of the fandom's western us centricness than anything. two of my friends from eastern europe, slovakian and romanian specifically, felt fairly alienated in the fandom because of how uncomfy they felt with edelgard and how many people liked her. one of them is a history student too and she's mostly focused on the romans so she knows her shit about empires

i feel like western fandom is becoming more aware of what to look out for that can be a tad...sus in japanese media, esp given the whole AoT controversy about the author being a japanese nationalist, and while i dont think three houses is really falling into specifically that brand of japanese nationalism, i just think they shot too close to the sun in trying to make a morally complex situation and the fire emblem games being historically reluctant to let women be fully malicious, but i do think it's worth being mindful of japans history as an imperialist power and that the sentiment they were right in that situation still persists in people in the country.

I don't have much to add, although you are right that bi characters need to express actual interest in characters of multiple genders to read as bi, because fictional characters lack any interiority that their writers don't show to the audience.

I think people who try to push Edelgard as progressive either don't know or don't care that FE, like a lot of popular fantasy, has always been quietly reactionary and more interested in character drama than political relevance. I've always considered its queer context - both subtext and text - more of a piece with its other unconventional sexual elements like incest and dragon lolis and teacher/student relationships than a deliberate effort by IS to be progressive. It's just particularly irksome to me because it relies so heavily on the belief that only Avatar S ranks matter to the conversation - which is missing more than half the picture, easily, and leads to terribly discourse-laden conclusions like what you mentioned.

#Fire Emblem #FE16 #Fire Emblem Three Houses #Fire Emblem Three Hopes

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fishklok · 1 year

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"Hey! Thank you for giving me a chance to ramble about them lol. I'll try not to make my answer too long. I'm also gonna try and avoid going too deep into headcanon territory."

Do it. That's one of the reasons why I'M following you!

Okay I'm using this anon as an excuse to expand on my Magnus/Charles post, now with my personal au.

My default backstory (i.e. regardless of fic) is that Magnus and Charles "met in college". The specifics of that vary depending on which fic I'm focusing on, since I want them to be able to stand on their own. So in W3, they were roommates for 3 years, had a "will they won't they" dynamic, and they learned a lot about each other's inner worlds including Magnus meeting Charles' family. But in Encore, the specifics of how they met are vague and they didn't go through as much together back then.

But my timeline for them (which mostly remains unchanged) goes like:

Magnus and Charles meet in college (again, specifics vary).

They part ways post-college. Magnus settles down in Arizona and Charles goes to Harvard Law and later gets a job in a New York law firm.

Magnus forms Dethklok with Nathan. They do hire a different manager (as seen in DSR), but that fails to work out.

Magnus goes "hey, didn't I go to college with someone who's good at this number shit? And tries to poach Charles, as if he's going to give up his cushy lawyer job to manage a brand new death metal band.

Charles does, because Magnus was able to ask him at a time when he was vulnerable and miserable enough to drop everything and start over (the specifics of this bullet point is that Charles was going through a major depressive episode after battling a serious substance abuse problem).

Upon realizing that he gave up his lucrative career to manage Dethklok, Charles goes into overdrive making sure this does not fail. But he and Magnus still rekindle their relationship, which they're keeping a secret.

In an attempt to maintain his dignity, Magnus goes along with being Charles' secret.

Charles gets Dethklok a record deal. Yay, Magnus has good taste in management.

But not good taste in drum patterns. Magnus gets kicked out of Dethklok.

Magnus assumes that his closer relationship with Charles will grant him some special treatment. But when Charles hears the specifics of what happened, he refuses to even humor in. Again, Charles' entire livelihood and reputation is resting on this band doing well.

Using his legal savvy, Charles convinces Magnus to sign away his rights to Dethklok's music in return for paying off (some of) his medical bills and not taking him to court. He's not leaving any loose ends.

Magnus spends the rest of his days in obscurity and in dumpsville.

Overall, Magnus was way more into Charles than the other way around.

#magcharles #magnus/charles #magnus hammersmith #charles offdensen

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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 1 year

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I LOVE LOVE LOVEE the reunion between Rhaenyra and Babey. It’s so cute and heartwarming when they communicate. When Babey said

“talk to me. Stop shutting me out. I can handle it, I’m old enough now–”

It really holds very true to their particular brand of sisterhood. I’m not a younger sister so I can’t relate specifically but the line still hit me.

Babey really knows her Daddy Daemon, each chapter you reiterate how they’re such a perfect match honestly. Babey is his good influence 😂

Mmm Daemon unlocked a new kink haha ✅🍼 I feel like this has been long awaited by many of your readers hehehe 👀

Thank you for answering all my questions in the last ask lol. In the next season I hope the give us more dragon scenes, more fighting and fire breathing scenes specifically 🥺🥺🙏 It’s called House of the Dragon HBO. As much as I love watching unhinged individuals I want more dragonsss. Although it must cost a lot in cgi

Surprisingly Babey’s cravings don’t seem gross, they’re pretty tame and actually sound kinda good? Like I’d eat them all except for the full pot of honey. I thought she’d be asking for way crazier food combos.

Uni update: I’m on Easter break but I’m still getting emails about grades cause my profs are just mean like that lol. I was 0.5 points away from an A on an essay and the prof didn’t round up so I’m mad at them.

Random question: What’s your take on why some fans of HOTD strive to make their faves seem “good” or excuse their actions as “oh they had some trauma”? What’s the obsession with “defending faves”, UR FAVE IS A GASLIGHTING CRIMINAL AND YOU SHOULD BE PROUD OF THEM. Accept that everyone is morally grey/complex and interesting except Larys, fucking hate him and just enjoy the drama and derangement. It’s a fiction show at the end of the day. This is mostly based on tiktok discourse but I do sometimes see it on tumblr too

Always remember to put yourself first and take some rest and relaxation! Thank you so much for the chapter! You deserve all the good karma and positive interactions 🫶🏻💖💖💖

-💎

AAAAAAH, hello, 💎!!!!! I hope you're doing well!

I'm thrilled you enjoyed the Rhaenyra-Babey reunion scene! I wanted there to be a work-through that wasn't aggro but still packed the punch it needed to, so I hope that works out how I intended.

DAEMON IS GROTTY and we all love that for him, tbh. He's a horny ol' peepaw. I stan.

I NEED MORE DRAGONS, I swear. Not even just from a writing point, because it makes it fucking hard to write interactions with dragons with limited source material, HBO!!!! But I wanna see what the dragons can do, manoeuvre-wise. I imagine we're about to get a good look at warfare on dragonback, or I hope we will. Come OOOON, guys, GIMME DRAGONS!!!!

Babey's gonna escalate to something a little weirder in terms of cravings next chapter, haha. But mostly - thank gosh - she's not completely gross. Maybe I'll revisit this in another pregnancy - just truly heinous cravings, and Daemon's all "what the fuck evil spawn is in you????"

Ugh, your professor's a grade-B BITCH. You tell 'em I told you that. They ain't grade-A because apparently they don't know what an A is, so HA! B-grade. I am sure your essay was a work of fucking art, so they can suck my fat dick. (Um, my encouragement is a bit... aggressive. You got this, booski.)

To answer your question: short form, people suck, lol. I think there's a stunning lack of critical thinking among the general population, probably because of inconsistent schooling. There's a conversation to be had about standardisation globally insofar as this is possible (i.e. language barriers), because the disparity between nations can be whack. (I'm not exactly endorsing standardisation as that has its own pitfalls, but like - there needs to be some sort of benchmark, for fuck sake.) People don't know how to rationalise liking a character that is deeply flawed because they lack the ability to separate that from their own moral code; they think liking a 'bad' character makes them 'bad', very loosely. Also, people just generally suck and like to start fights because it's in our nature to be anarchist fuckwads, etc. Lol, my faith in humanity is shining through!

I am doing EXCELLENT, 💎, never fear. The next chapter is coming out very soon! Thank you so so so much for your support, it means the WORLD TO MEEEEE!

#fanfiction comments

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smokeybrandreviews · 3 months

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Culture Vulture

I had no intention of weighing in on this Travis Kelce/Taylor Swift sh*t because it’s outside my wheelhouse. I don’t care all that much about NFL football anymore and I wouldn’t call myself a Taylor Swift fan. Plus, the zealotry on both sides is kind of a turn-off. I’m old enough to remember the crowds Michael Jackson brought in during his Eighties/Nineties prime. Swift, as large and dedicated as her fan base is, could never. I wouldn’t consider myself a fan of her music, I find it kind of juvenile and mostly harmless, but witnessing so many MAGA Cultists lose their sh*t over it is uncomfortably hilarious. Like, bro, really? Taylor Swift is a psy-op? Because she’s a massive celebrity who uses her voice in ways that she’s passionate about? Word? Sure, whatever. It’s all just white noise to me, which is why I was giving it no attention. That is until I hear someone in my real, actual, life, refer to a fade as the “Travis Kelce.” Excuse me? I had to double check what this dude looked like. Did he have some crazy, Dennis Rodman, type sh*t on his head? Was he going full country with a mullet-hawk? Nope. Mans still just had a high-and-tight. That’s basically just the white people version of a hi-top fade. I literally turned to this man who said that ridiculous sh*t, looked him in the eye, and asked, point blank, “The f*ck is you saying to me right now?”

For those of you who are new around here, I am Black as f*ck. Specially, the giant, scary, black man type of Black as f*ck. In my lifetime, I have had three main hairstyles; Buzzcut, Afro, and Fade. These three cuts are integral to my culture, specifically the fade. Now, I take mine a little lower than most. I prefer to start the fade just above my ears, with a low two or three up top. That allows my waves, when I have them, to pop. And that brings me to another point; The fade is basically the foundation for just SO many of our culture’s hairstyles, it’s absurd. Waves, the Caesar, making Twisties look respectable, and cleaning up Dreads. It even makes that weird, nappy headed trend I’ve seen, that thing kids do with the sponge or whatever, look professional. Hell, I occasionally use the Fade to clean up my Fro from time to time. Yes, there is a thing called an Afro Fade and it is glorious. It’s more a Taper, but even that is a type of Fade. Obviously, the fade isn’t an Black invention, the military has been using the High-and-Tight for decades, but we, as a culture, have adopted it as our own. That sh*t is as intrinsically Black as Hip Hop or Soul food. And like all things Black, it’s appropriated by the Whites and I hate it. The “Travis Kelce”? Really? Right in front of my Black History Month?

The most ridiculous thing about this whole scenario is the fact he adopted the fade while dating a Black woman. That’s right, Travis Kelce, started rocking the “Travis Kelce”, after his Black woman told him he’d look good in a fade. Kayla Nicole gave that man all of his swag and he took everything she offered until he didn’t anymore. She has come out recently to say some not-so-nice things about mans but the fact remains, this wave of popularity, everything that gave Kelce the aesthetic which captured Taylor’s attention (and the nation, apparently), was given to him by a Black woman. Story as old as time. Black women are commodities used to build your brand. White woman are the trophy you claim once you reach a level of success. “He gon leave your ass for a White girl.” Usually, that’s a Black man stereotype but I guess it’s any men at this point. I can get into that all day on its own, and I might (it is Black History Month), but this rant is more about how White culture steals so much from MY culture, and never gives anything back. I mentioned Hip Hop, but it’s everything. Our slang, our swag, our music, our whole vibe; Snatched, sanitized, and gentrified, for bland ass White tastes. A few years back, someone tried to claim Bo Derek rocking box braids was this fashion forward, shattering of industry norms, and that sh*t was, straight up, a way for slaves to smuggle food into the fields. Box raids are called corn rows because they look like rows of corn AND because they could hide crop seeds to later plant for their own purposes. That’s how sh*t like rice and certain grains made it to the Caribbean. Enslaved Black people did that, but let’s credit the White super model from Long Beach with making them popular. Even though Cornrows have been a staple of Black culture since actual slavery times and, arguably, before. That sh*t is gross and we’re seeing it again with this “Travis Kelce” bullsh*t.

Black women are built thick. They have curves. They have breasts. They are genetically voluptuous. I imagine that has something to do with our origins in Africa but I’m not trying to get into an anthropological thesis right now. I know lack girls who were teased for having a dump truck. They were ridiculed by cats for having a fat ass. Along comes Kim Kardashian. Who, admittedly, had a relatively shapely bottom being of Persian descent, got those ass implants. Now, all of a sudden, everyone wants ass implants. All the little middle class White girls want their Daddies (be them sugar or otherwise) to buy them a BBL. Something Black women were ridiculed for, has been snatched, sanitized, and gentrified so White women can basically just cosplay as us. More than one Kardashian has done this sh*t. Iggy Azalea exists. Black women can’t even have their god given physicality, without White people figuring out a way to take that sh*t! The problem isn’t just Travis Kelce and his absurd attribution of the Fade, it’s the entirety of how “American” culture is just Black culture and no one gives us credit for it. Every profitable aspect of American culture, is just Black culture. Literally, around the world, the only aspects celebrated by America, are the Blackest parts. Street fashion is wildly popular in Europe and Japan. Never mind that the bulk of KPop sounds like early Nineties, New Jack RnB, the fact that they fry chicken is a thing. That sh*t is a staple of their cultural identity, and it came over with Black GIs during the Korean war. You think Grime would exists in London without American Hip Hop? We made Jordans hot and now they are a worldwide, billion dollar, brand. We made Champion hot. That sh*t was budget rack, K-Mart, junk until we decided otherwise. Black people are the taste makers of this country. We are why American pop culture pops so hard, but I gotta hear about the f*cking “Travis Kelce” like I didn’t rock a fade with a lightning bolt part, back in the fifth grade. Use us until they use us up. In every sense of that statement.

The wildest thing about this whole situation? Yo, we share. We want people to enjoy US. The fact that Kelce got put on to the Fade in the first place, is proof of that. We love bringing people into our culture. We are crazy supportive. When you’re out doing your thing, and you see a gaggle of the Blacks doing theirs, we will encourage you to join us, to shake your tail feathers right along with us. Don’t matter if you’re good at it or not, it’s that energy we want you to have, that vibe we got. Even though this country hates us and is literally founded on the bodies of my ancestors, we still love. We still accept. We still support. And that’s the real tragedy ion all of this. You don’t need to steal or misappropriate or scavenge. We are very willing to accept you into the fold, as long as you are sincere. Eminem was fully embraced by Black people on the merit of his battle skills. White kids took to him because he looked like them but, when all of the backlash and controversy happened over his lyrical content, Black people supported the f*ck out of him Jim Carrey has gone on record to say that it took the Wayans taking a chance of him, in order for Hollywood at large, to deem him safe enough in which to invest. Ace Ventura happened as a direct result of In Living Color. The Black culture is one of Community. We raise out kids together. We accept strays who don’t have that stable family unit. I have, an Indian, White, and mixed little sister; None of whom are related to me by blood, all of whom I’d go to jail for. My best friend, rest in peace, called my momma, “Momma”, and he treated her as such. The White kid who lived behind my childhood home, had issues with bullies and we let him hang out in my home until late then hop the fence to avoid getting jumped. Hell, a former friend of mine’s ex-wife walked to my house, in the middle of the night, barefoot and in her pajamas, because she was too afraid to be at home with her then husband. She felt safe enough to come to me with that sh*t because of the love. To this day, I would do for Renay without hesitation. That’s just how we’re raised. That’s just who we mare as a people. I know, better than anyone, that this will fall on deaf ears. This is America. But it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to steal sh*t from us. We are more than willing to share. We are more than willing to put you on. We find joy in that. We find love in it. It’s just such a shame that sentiment isn’t shared. But, of course it isn’t. The next time I go to a barber shop, I gotta ask for a Travis Kelce now because he has been ordained the inventor of the f*cking Fade.

#The Travis Kelce #Fade #Some ol' bullsh*t

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smokeybrand · 3 months

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Culture Vulture

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bosslevelagency · 4 months

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What Is Guerrilla Marketing? 11 Examples to Inspire Your Brand

The word “guerrilla,” in its written form, looks pretty intense. It conjures images of rebellion and conflict. Put it next to the term “marketing,” which makes many people ask, “Huh?”

But guerrilla marketing isn‘t some sort of combative form of communication. In fact, it’s actually a very unconventional form of marketing in that it raises brand awareness among large audiences without interrupting them.

What is guerrilla marketing?

Guerrilla Marketing Examples to Inspire Your Brand

Guerrilla Marketing Tips From Experts

What is guerrilla marketing?

The term itself was created in the early 1980s by the late business writer Jay Conrad Levinson, who wrote several books about guerrilla tactics in several professional areas.

Of course, marketing at that time looked very different. While guerrilla marketing is still used today, the ever-growing digital landscape is changing what it looks like.

Roots of Combat

When we hear the term “guerrilla marketing,” it’s hard not to think of guerrilla warfare — which makes sense since that’s where this marketing style got its name.

In the context of battle, guerrilla tactics depend mainly on the element of surprise. Think: “Ambushes, sabotage, raids,” according to Creative Guerrilla Marketing.

But how does that translate into the work we do every day? In marketing, guerrilla techniques mostly play on the element of surprise.

It sets out to create highly unconventional campaigns that catch people unexpectedly during their day-to-day routines.

Budget-Friendly

What marketers enjoy about guerrilla marketing is its relatively low-cost nature. The actual investment here is a creative, intellectual one. Its implementation, however, doesn’t have to be expensive.

Michael Brenner summarizes it nicely in his article on “guerrilla content,” he frames this marketing style in the same context as repurposing your existing content, like taking specific report segments and expanding each into a blog post.

It’s an investment of time but not money, per se.

In a way, guerrilla marketing works by repurposing your audience’s current environment. Evaluate it and determine which segments can be repurposed to include your brand.

Types of Guerrilla Marketing

As niche as it might seem, there are a few sub-categories of guerrilla marketing, as outlined by the firm ALT TERRAIN:

Outdoor guerrilla marketing adds something to preexisting urban environments, like putting something removable onto a statue or putting temporary artwork on sidewalks and streets.

Indoor guerilla marketing. Like outdoor guerrilla marketing, it occurs in indoor locations like train stations, shops, and university campus buildings.

Event ambush guerilla marketing. This tactic engages the audience of an in-person event — like a concert or a sporting game — to promote a product or service noticeably, usually without permission from the event sponsors.

Experiential guerilla marketing. This includes all of the above but is executed in a way that requires the public to interact with the brand.

Without context, guerrilla marketing can be a little confusing, so let’s see how it’s been executed by a few other brands.

Guerrilla Marketing Examples to Inspire Your Brand

1. UNICEF’s Dirty Water Vending Machines

I’m as guilty as anyone of wasting money on bottled water. I have no excuse. I have a reusable one. My workplace offers filtered water from a machine, not a traditional cooler, yet it remains a bad habit.

This guerrilla marketing campaign from the relief organization UNICEF resonated with me. It posed the question, “What if those bottles of water you waste money on were filled with dirty water?”

It reminded the privileged masses that in too many parts of the world, entire populations have no access to clean drinking water.

So, instead of frivolously spending that money on bottled water, UNICEF suggested putting it toward efforts to bring clean drinking water to these areas.

It created makeshift vending machines that sold dirty bottled water, with each button labeled as a disease caused by a lack of clean drinking water.

The big takeaway: Guerrilla marketing works in the not-for-profit sector, too. And while scary, saddening images are often an impactful way of communicating your mission.

There’s a way to convey it by creating something less in-your-face and interactive for the public.

2. BBC’s Dracula Billboard

When I think of Count Dracula, I conjure the penultimate villain synonymous with everything that goes bump at night. The BBC wanted to capitalize on this feeling to promote their show Dracula.

By day, their billboard was designed to be minimalistic, with red text on a white background with a few bloody stakes. However, like its subject, the billboard changed completely every time night fell.

The stakes were strategically placed to cast a shadow of Dracula himself.

The installation was featured in Adweek and had some viral success for its creativity and skillful implementation.

The big takeaway: Think outside the box for your advertising materials. In this case, light and shadow were enough to convey the message and capture attention.

3. Burger King’s Moldy Whopper

In the history of fast food, who’d have thought that a rotten burger would be the face of a widespread ad?

Not many people — which is probably why Burger King thought it’d be a good idea to release a time-lapse video of their Whopper burger decaying for 35 days.

Many people complain about how near-perfect burgers and cereal look in ads, so Burger King did the exact opposite to show how successful they were at removing artificial preservatives from the Whopper sandwich in European countries and the United States.

The images show the mold growing over the burger, from the buns to the freshly sliced tomatoes, lettuce, and onions to the juicy beef patty.

In the ad, there’s a reference to the number of days that have passed since the burger was made. And underneath, a statement read, “The beauty of no artificial preservatives.”

While it may seem very gross, the target audience did appreciate the ad’s message, and some even admitted that they’d choose the Whopper burger over others.

The big takeaway: Don’t be afraid to go to the extreme when marketing your products. It just might have the effect you want. Be cautious — but don’t be afraid.

4. Airbnb’s ‘Night At’ Campaign

If you were jealous of Beyonce and Jay-Z’s shooting their “Apesh*t” music video in the Louvre and want to experience it, get in here. Quickly.

To demonstrate its appreciation for art and its dedication to providing positive, unmatched experiences, Airbnb offered customers a chance to experience a night at the Musee du Louvre (yes, you read that right. Free.).

For its experiential marketing campaign titled “Night At,” Airbnb transformed the glass pyramid in the Louvre Museum into an enthralling bedroom where guests can spend the night surrounded by the world’s most cherished (and expensive) artworks, including the famed Mona Lisa.

In doing this, Airbnb bridged the gap between art and hospitality, creating lifelong customers of art aficionados who experienced this.

But Airbnb didn’t stop at the Louvre. It transformed other iconic locations into homes for a night, including the Shark Aquarium, the Paris catacombs (for Halloween Night), Dracula’s Castle in Transylvania, and the Great Barrier Reef.

The goal is to offer people the chance to immerse themselves in places with cultural, emotional, or historical significance — something Airbnb has achieved to the max.

The big takeaway: Connect with your audience emotionally by offering experiences that capitalize on their desires and interests.

5. Paper Tree x Rock Paper Reality Campaign

Rock Paper Reality (RPR), an immersive content and design firm, collaborated with Adobe Aero and Google’s Geospatial Creator to create an augmented reality (AR) experience for the Paper Tree origami store in Japantown, San Francisco.

Visitors in the area would scan a QR code, allowing them to view large, 3D origami sculptures integrated into the world around them through their device screens.

Beside each sculpture was a list of materials people could purchase in the Paper Tree store to recreate the model.

This increased business for the origami store and showed how companies can use Adobe and Google tech to make 3D experiences more accessible to their customers.

The big takeaway: If you cannot create an elaborate marketing campaign in the real world due to budget issues (or any other inconvenience), you can make it into a 3D digital experience that your target audience will love.

6. Budweiser’s Reunited With Buds Campaign

The spread of COVID-19 made 2020 a challenging year for everyone, including brands like Budweiser that aim to bring people together for a good time.

So, to celebrate the reopening of bars, Budweiser launched their Reunited with Buds campaign, which focused on uniting people after a challenging year.

In the ad, Budweiser’s adorable Labrador retriever puppy and its famous Clydesdale horses each make long journeys to meet up, presumably after spending the past several weeks social distancing.

With the spirited song “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen playing in the background, the Reunited with Buds ad celebrated the excitement that comes with family, friends, and colleagues being able to grab a drink at the closest bar again.

In addition to accurately portraying the excitement of reopening, Budweiser displayed its product positively through balanced storytelling and nostalgic music.

The big takeaway: It’s okay to get a little sentimental and fill your campaign with elements that invoke powerful (and feel-good) emotions in your audience.

7. KFC Crocs

I’ve got two questions: Do you love KFC’s world-famous fried chicken? Now, do you like Crocs?

Suppose your answer is yes to both questions. In that case, you’ll understand the genius behind KFC’s decision to partner with Crocs, the pioneers of arguably the most comfortable shoes that exist right now (that’s just my opinion, though).

In 2020, KFC and Crocs released limited edition Clogs featuring a realistic Kentucky Fried Chicken pattern and the recognizable red-striped bucket.

The two Clog versions — the heeled and the regular — came with detachable drumstick-shaped Jibbitz charms attached to the top.

Beauty icon Me Love Me A Lot (MLMA) debuted the heeled version of these KFC x Crocs clogs at New York Fashion Week, one of the world’s most significant fashion events.

This garnered a lot of attention, which led to the limited edition Clogs selling out in less than an hour after the official release.

For every pair sold, KFC donated $3 to the KFC Foundation’s Reach Educational Grant Program, which helps KFC employees get college scholarships.

The big takeaway: To get as many eyes as possible on your campaign, launch it at a big event. You can also incentivize people to buy your product by making donations or doing some charity work that you love.

Or you can do both, like KFC and Crocs.

8. McDonald’s Quarter Pounder Fan Club

For nearly five decades, McDonald’s Quarter Pounder burger has been a fan favorite. In 2020, McDonald’s decided to capitalize on the Quarter Pounder’s popularity in Sweden to generate more buzz for it.

And it did so by setting up a Quarter Pounder Fan Club — a secret club for Quarter Pounder enthusiasts.

Not only did this club have limited membership slots, but the people who were accepted were given a special club card and access to Quarter Pounder-related perks, such as a candle pack, mittens, calendars, T-shirts, stickers, and pins.

This campaign motivated members of the fan club to share their experiences and love for the Quarter Pounder on social media platforms.

This piqued the interest of those who haven’t tried the iconic burger (or any McDonald’s menu item), and the giant fast-food chain got more customers through the campaign.

The big takeaway: Create a sense of exclusivity and make your customer feel special by creating a fan club or group of some kind. Then, offer them incentives to draw more attention to your campaign.

9. Samsung’s Capture The Night Campaign

To promote the launch of the new Galaxy S23, Samsung launched its Capture The Night campaign, which served to bridge the gap between creativity and technology.

Originally titled “Captura la noche” for its Argentine users, Samsung showed how much love and appreciation its users had for music as a way of life, as an intimate language, and as a coping mechanism.

Samsung created a web platform where its users can upload their night photos taken with Samsung Galaxy S23’s unparalleled night camera. This platform analyzes the photos and uses AI algorithms to define the style of music for each photo.

Not only can Samsung users figure out the kind of music they’d like to listen to, but they can use the platform’s suggestions to create original songs of their own, just like Agusto Schuster did.

The big takeaway: Figure out something your target audience loves and find a way to give it to them through your campaign.

10. Google Pixel Fold campaign

Foldable devices have been all the rage for nearly a decade, so when Google Pixel launched the Pixel Fold, it knew it had to go above and beyond to highlight its amazing features.

Working with Anomaly, an innovative marketing agency, Google Pixel launched a campaign with 3D anamorphic DOOH.

Anomaly used larger-than-life 3D illusion billboards and animation to showcase the foldable phone’s sleek design and highlight its immersive display features, among other things.

There is also footage of the displays that’ll be shared across social media to garner more attention.

The big takeaway: Figure out some innovative, novel ways to use regular marketing channels, such as billboards, video commercials, and social media.

11. SPAR Dress To Impress the AI Campaign

When it comes to guerrilla marketing, nothing beats interactivity. SPAR Slovenia knew this when it partnered with advertising agency AV Studio to set up an interactive city light right at the entrance of Interspar stores.

When a customer stands in front of the city light, the machine learning algorithm will scan their clothing style and use that to determine the customer’s musical tastes.

The process takes less than ten seconds and is safe as the system doesn’t store users’ photos. It only scans a customer’s clothing and plays music that matches their style, including rock, pop, and hipster music. The city light also recommends songs that customers might enjoy.

The big takeaway: Think about the things your audience might just pass by every day — and make those things do something unexpected and interactive.

Guerrilla Marketing Tips From Experts

Here are some tips to help you run a successful guerilla marketing campaign:

1. Know your target audience.

Since you know the product you‘re promoting, you likely have a good idea of the kind of people you want to target with your guerilla marketing tactics.

However, because of the spontaneity, creativity, and sometimes interactive nature of guerilla marketing campaigns, you’ll need to develop a deeper understanding of your target audience.

Guerilla marketing isn‘t just about reaching people but about forming a connection with a segment of your target market that has the same interests, needs, and values as the brand you’re promoting.

To do this, study your audience and figure out:

Where they hang out (online and offline).

What they like and dislike.

What they care about.

How they communicate.

What their routine looks like.

What can surprise them?

How they spend their leisure time.

Knowing this information can help you choose an appropriate location, craft a message that resonates, and pick out the right online promotion channels for your campaign.

“The secret sauce is really getting to know your audience like the back of your hand,” says Sudwir Khatwani, the director of The Money Mongers.

Khatwani explains, “It’s about chatting with them, understanding their quirks, and figuring out what really gets them excited. When you nail this, you can whip up a campaign that feels like a heart-to-heart chat rather than a sales pitch.”

That‘s what Red Bull did with their Stratos Jump campaign. It was a huge success because the brand understood and tapped into its audience’s interest in adventure and extreme sports.

That’s why they sponsored Austrian skydiver Felix Baumgartner’s groundbreaking freefall from Earth’s stratosphere, generating worldwide attention and increasing brand awareness.

2. Be creative and original.

The beauty of guerilla marketing is in its idiosyncrasy. It’s a marketing tactic that requires you to think outside the box for a way to embrace the element of surprise and create something relevant yet unexpected.

With guerilla marketing, the last thing you want to be is a copycat.

So the onus is on you to either come up with something that’s never been done before or put a unique spin on an existing concept — while ensuring that your idea aligns perfectly with your brand identity and values.

Adebayo Samson, the founder, and CEO of Academicful, believes that ambient marketing is the way to express your authenticity and creativity.

Ambient marketing involves integrating your messaging seamlessly into the environment in which your target audience interacts.

“It’s about becoming a part of their world, whether through strategically placed visuals, memorable experiences, or interactive elements,” Samson explains.

Samson says, “This approach ensures that your marketing efforts feel natural and unobtrusive, capturing potential customers’ attention without being intrusive or disruptive.”

Location does make all the difference with guerilla marketing. Jon Morgan, the CEO of Venture Smarter, knows this all too well.

“One memorable guerrilla marketing campaign involved a travel agency placing life-sized cardboard cutouts of exotic animals in unexpected urban locations. This sparked intriguing conversations, ultimately driving more people to their travel packages,” Morgan says.

This campaign’s goal was to encourage people to explore new destinations and experience wildlife in their natural habitats. It worked.

As Morgan says, “The key is to evoke emotions and make people stop and think.”

3. Test your idea before executing it.

The main goal of a guerilla marketing campaign is to wow your target audience. But if you execute your unconventional campaign without testing it first, you might end up doing the exact opposite.

No matter how genius your guerilla marketing idea feels, Tom Golubovich, the head of marketing at Ninja Transfers, advises that you test it on a focus group first.

“Guerilla marketing is unique and awesome, but it’s always a good idea to understand and respect the limits of your target market so as not to cause an opposite effect,” Golubovich says.

“Pick a small group of people to test your ideas beforehand, ask them for their thoughts, opinions, and feedback, and make your decisions accordingly,” he explains.

Testing your idea on a small group of people helps you predict how your larger audience will react to your campaign and the results you’ll get from it.

4. Promote your guerilla marketing campaign online.

After executing your guerilla marketing campaign, what happens next?

Some marketers choose to sit back and watch results pour in.

But a much more productive approach to take is the one that Jas Banwait Gill, the growth manager at SwagMagic, advises — which is to amplify the impact of your campaign through online marketing.

“Once the show is over, maintaining momentum is crucial. Keep the buzz going by hyping the success of your guerilla marketing campaign across your brand’s online channels. This extends the life of your campaign and keeps your audience engaged and excited about your brand,” Gill says.

Gill’s right. The presence of an offline guerilla marketing campaign shouldn’t mean the absence of an online campaign.

Instead, both your online and offline campaigns should work in tandem to increase awareness and generate qualified leads for your brand.

You can use different online channels, such as social media, email, blogs, podcasts, and PR, to promote your campaign, amplify user-generated content, and share testimonials and behind-the-scenes content.

You can even create a hashtag for your campaign and use it across all your marketing strategies, including content marketing, influencer marketing, and paid advertising.

5. Don’t focus on going viral.

Who wouldn’t love their marketing campaign to go viral? I sure would!

However, don’t let the prospect of virality make you take your eyes off the goal you want to achieve — providing value and getting more customers for your brand.

Going viral simply means that your campaign will reach many people; it doesn’t guarantee that it will reach the right people. So, while the guerilla marketing campaigns outlined above went viral, this shouldn’t be what you pursue.

Focus first on adding value to your target audience. If you go viral in the process, that‘s great. But if you don’t, you‘ll still get good results because you’re targeting the people that matter.

6. Analyze and learn from the results of your campaign.

When your guerilla marketing campaign is over, you need to analyze your results and see what you did right (and what you didn’t).

Jon Morgan, the CEO of Venture Smarter, proposes that you measure the success of your guerrilla marketing campaign using both quantitative and qualitative metrics.

“Track engagement, website traffic, social media mentions, and sales, but also pay attention to the conversations and brand sentiment it generates. These insights will help you fine-tune your strategy for future campaigns,” Morgan says.

You can also collect feedback from your target audience, partners, and stakeholders. Through this feedback, identify what worked well and what could be improved.

Document the entire process and note some best practices to adhere to for future reference. This ensures that you don’t struggle too much when you run another campaign in the future.

Guerrillas in the Wild

Starting to make a little more sense?

Hopefully, you’ll be inspired by these examples, especially if you’re promoting a smaller brand. Don‘t be afraid to crowdsource the content for these campaigns.

After all, creative approaches to your work help maintain guerrilla marketing’s budget-friendly, inbound nature.

Remember: Catch people where they are, and insert your brand there. Don’t interrupt, but invite them to participate.

Editor’s note: This post was originally published in July 2018 and has been updated for comprehensiveness.

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hexdsl · 4 years

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Pattern Recognition (by William Gibson)

Yes, I am aware of Mr Gibson's opus.

This book was published in 2003. William Gibson wrote it (I know, Blowing your mind with FACTS!) The last time I read a new William Gibson novel was about 15 years go. Maybe more. It's odd to me that I don't seek out more of his work considering that Neuromancer is one of my favourite books ever.

I should really to a "Book Club" post about Neuromancer specifically. Also, that gives me an excuse to re-visit it, yet again. I didn't want to wite this and have people only read the opening, then tell me how I should read "The Sprawl" trilogy. I am quite familiar with the author. I "love" at least some of his work and I "like" more. So please don't read this thinking its my first ride.

Today however, we are here to talk about Pattern Recognition...

Words. So many glorious words!

William Gibson knows how to write. Fuck me. He knows how to write. He spins a novel in a way that makes it read like poetry without being so boring as to strive for rhythm. His work reads effortlessly cool. Something about the way he puts the words on the page make you "feel" the places and the moods. He does things that will have you swear he is borderline supernatural. He was good when I read The Sprawl Trilogy but now (this one was published in 2003) he's, well.. Back to "fuck me." He maybe the most elegant writer I have ever clapped eyes on. He climbs inside your damned mind with nothing but mystique and a cool that is uniquely his own.

With all that in mind, it may come as an odd redirect that I didn't really "love" this novel. I adore his writing style and the beats that keep the plot moving but ultimately I didn't give a shit about the actual plot. I was there for my fix of his style not for the resolution of the story. I know, an odd mix of feelings.

Whats it about?

Cayce Pollard (Case, I raised an eyebrow too, there is no connection) is a marketing consultant and hunter of new street fashions and movements. She is framed as being somewhat remarkable at what she does.

She lost her father in the 9/11 attack. And I do mean "lost" as in, he went missing but is assumed dead however this is a side story and emotional fuel for the character and not a real part of the narratives main thread.

She has an odd allergy like reaction to brand labels and trade marks. It is assumed that this sensitivity aids her in her job. Allowing her to see through the fake and embrace the authentic. Interesting concept that I really liked.

In her personal life she follows a series of web videos known only as "The Footage" that are around 40 seconds long and are uploaded randomly to assorted locations on the web. Remember this was 2003 so there is some period context for all this. The detailed descriptions of her logging on to the web, and using cyder cafés brought back some very nostalgic memories for me.

Eventually she is hired by "Bigend" yes... that name... The owner of a marketing organisation to "find" the "maker" of the footage.

In 2020 we would consider this whole thing an ARG and the puzzle would be solved by reddit in about an hour. But in 2003, it was a different time. The internet did not have the power and reach that it does now. I think in some ways this hurt the story. Gibson had to do things in such off ways where as now he could use GPS, wifi and global mapping to spin a much more intricate tale I think.

She then makes some logical leaps that baffle me a little. Makes some new friends. Has some out of context memories. Goes to japan to get her hair cut, and then to Russia to wait for a reply to an e-mail. Theres more narrative around this in the book. But my summery is quite accurate. I assure you.

Thoughts?

The main plot, searching for the "Maker" is almost an after thought each event on the journey seems almost an after thought. Mostly we bask in the characters perceptual tangents and indulge in the descriptive wonder that Gibson uses constantly. It's incredibly how consistently palatable the writing is given the density and verboseness of it. I would have been just as happy reading William Gibson's diary I think. Imagine how deeply he could make me feel "putting on socks" and "buying a new jacket."

The logical leaps that Cayce maker though are a little strange to say the least. At one point she really does go to Russia on the off chance some email will turn up and lies to her employer, who is an unexpectedly nice bloke, even though Cayce is convinced otherwise.

If any other writer had led me on such an ultimately pointless journey I would have thrown my Kindle at the wall and tried to forget how to read.

Also the obsessive mentioning of "Buzz Rickson" Jackets drove me mad. For a character who is obsessed with avoiding labels she banged on about her jacket like it was product placement. It actually may have been given that Rickson have a "William Gibson series" of jackets. Yeah. That rubbed me up the wrong way.

So should I read it?

If you have never read Gibson's work, start with Neuromancer. It has it all. Its just THAT good.

If you have already drank from the well of Gibson, and liked it. Yes. Read this. As I said. I loved the journey even though the points along the way fell flat for me.

Closing thoughts sir?

Gibson's effortless cool and affinity for the digital makes me wonder why he doesn't go way more sci-fi than this. It's ultimately a mystery novel with a lot of technology. I want him to dig deep into the future and show me something wonderful.

I won't be reading the next in this series but I had a wonderful time with this little dip.

#William Gibson #Pattern Recognition #books #review

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no-droids · 3 years

Text

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!!

#the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #smut #reader insert #fanfic #rough day #no-droids #tw: stalking

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

What if nmy, jgy and lxc can hear each other thought after they became brother?

ao3

Lan Xichen was dreaming.

He dreamt that he was walking along a road, dust on his feet, a small pack on his back, and bruises on his face from where he’d fallen; it felt as if everyone was looking at him, gawking at him, every one of them acting as though they knew everything about him just by looking at him and he hated them –

Do not succumb to rage, Lan Xichen thought, the familiar rule popping into his mind at once.

Rage isn’t the problem, some part of his mind thought back at him. The problem is – why do you care what they think? They’re always going to think something.

They were judging him. How dare they judge him? He’d made something of himself, made himself smart and tricky and capable, but no one cared about that, they judged him, they sneered at him –

Sneering for no reason is prohibited.

Oh for – he just said that they were sneering for a reason.

He did not! The whole point of what he said was that they were sneering because they were unfairly judging him, Lan Xichen argued, and was momentarily amused at himself for arguing with himself in a dream. He would have to write down this dream in the morning and see if he could explore whatever internal strife within him was the cause. And that they weren’t worthy of judging him.

I thought ‘Arrogance is forbidden’?

Are you quoting Lan sect rules at me?

Excuse you both, he was trying to think here!

I’d say brooding rather than thinking.

Lan Xichen agreed with that. It really was mostly brooding, brooding on all the wrongs that had been done to him and paranoia against the whole world. Brooding and walking, walking and brooding –

Like a chicken.

He was not like a chicken. What the fuck. Who the fuck compared lusting for revenge to chickens?

I’m just saying, if you’re going to be brooding, you may as well have some eggs –

Lan Xichen woke up laughing. He still wasn’t sure what the meaning of the dream was, but he did meander down to Caiyi town in order to have some eggs.

He passed it off as a craving.

Lan Xichen knew from the first sight of the jingshi how this dream would go.

He would be walking, slowly and gravely, knowing already what he would find: the sight of Wangji kneeling in front of his mother’s house. Only six years old, too young to understand, and yet faced with such terrible loss.

He would go up to him and take him by the shoulder, seeking to comfort him, and he would turn and that would be when Lan Xichen would see his face – dead eyes vacant, blood spilling from his mouth, thirty-three whip marks tearing his back apart and yet that did not seem to be the greatest blow…

The dream never changed.

And so Lan Xichen walked.

He walked, slowly and gravely, and he saw little Wangji, and he –

He’s like a little figurine!

Lan Xichen paused. It was true, of course; he’d had that thought a dozen times before when thinking of his younger brother in his youth. Just not usually in this dream.

One of the expensive ones, his bizarre train of thought continued, utterly nonsensical. The ones you can only get in the shops in the city, all pudgy-faced and red-cheeked with eyes half the size of their face. I always thought those were dreadfully unrealistic.

Perhaps a little.

They’re scary is what they are, another part of his brain thought. Can we get to the part of the dream with all the blood instead?

Seriously?

At least he’s an adult when that happens.

Fair enough.

Wait, hold up, go back, since when am I scared of dolls? I’m not scared of dolls.

Neither was Lan Xichen.

Not dolls. Creepy unliving mannikins in the shape of dolls that are almost but not quite human, that move in stuttering motion that is almost but not quite right, that smile and look at you when they shouldn’t be able to move...

Huh. Apparently I am scared of dolls, the first part of his mind thought, bemused, and Lan Xichen agreed. He’d never known about that particular phobia of his before before, but now that he thought about it, it sounded pretty awful.

He really hoped such dolls wasn’t going to be making in appearance in this dream. It was bad enough as it was.

He sighed, and lifted his foot to continue walking.

Couldn’t you just not go up to him?

What?

That’s a good point. If you already know you’re dreaming, there’s no point in just walking through it.

But…Lan Xichen always went. It’s his brother!

Maybe it’s a creepy doll. Can you really tell the difference?

Wangji was not a creepy doll. How did they get on the subject of creepy dolls, anyway?

No idea. But it’s definitely about as stupid as chickens when it comes to stupid dream thoughts.

Great. Now Lan Wangji – sitting there in all his Lan white – has transmogrified into a chicken, plump with white feathers.

Lan Xichen hoped his subconscious was happy now.

No, this is great actually. No killing livestock within the Cloud Recesses, right?

What?

If he’s a chicken, he’s immune from –

Lan Xichen woke up out of sheer frustration.

(Still better than the usual dream, he supposed.)

He was walking through a forest, big loping steps that ate up the ground almost like a run. There were so many things to do, and never enough time to do it in – everything was always a rush, and only the dead had time to sleep.

He was walking through a forest, and the moon was big and bright above his head, shining a dull red in the night sky, a killing moon that boded ill. He could feel the pressure of it on his shoulders like a weight, like an extra presence that never left him; it was both friend and foe, loved and hated, for it would show him the way and rob him of it at the same time.

He was walking through a forest, and he wondered to himself why his dreams recently always featured so much fucking walking.

Oh, no, now you’ve ruined the mood, some part of Lan Xichen’s brain complained, and it might actually be him, come to think of it. I was enjoying that. We were going so fast, it was almost like running.

It wasn’t anything like running.

How did you manage to stop the dream, anyway? Some other part of him thought, sounding almost wistful. You barely got five steps into it before you were making unwarranted comments.

Lucid dreaming.

Was it the moon that gave it away? I’ve never seen it hang so low or so threatening.

It’s not a moon, it’s a metaphor.

All dreams are metaphors, really, Lan Xichen protested, but he was snickering. But also, hold up, look up a second – is it just me, or doesn’t it feel like the moon looking at us?

The moon doesn’t have eyes, the smart voice said immediately. It doesn’t have eyes, so it can’t be – okay, never mind, the moon is definitely looking at us. Also, it’s angry about it.

That was because it wasn’t a moon. He really wasn’t sure what was so hard to grasp about this.

The moon is growling at us! That’s pretty hard to grasp!

If this dream is lucid, can it be changed? Lan Xichen asked, trying to force his dream self to move or dodge or something without success. The moon was getting larger in a threatening sort of way that suggested that it was coming closer. Rapidly. A change would be good right now, really –

I don’t want to be eaten by a moon! I don’t want to be eaten by a fucking moon!

Stop saying it’s a fucking moon already! It’s not a moon! It’s just Baxia!

Lan Xichen opened his eyes and sat ramrod-straight up in bed in a single movement.

“Oh, no,” he said.

They met in Qinghe, which had the virtue of being Nie Mingjue’s sole domain in a way Gusu wasn’t yet, for Lan Xichen, and which Lanling was likely never to be for Jin Guangyao.

“All right,” Jin Guangyao declared, stalking in through the doors looking more upset than Lan Xichen had ever seen him. “Which one of you was responsible for the chicken comment?!”

Nie Mingjue coughed.

“I knew it!”

“I wasted a great deal of time on dream analysis after that,” Lan Xichen said, because apparently they were going to be discussing this rather serious issue affecting both himself and his two sworn brothers in the stupidest way possible and he was oddly all right with that. “I even consulted Uncle.”

Nie Mingjue coughed again, except this time it sounded less embarrassed and more like he was (badly) trying to hide laughter.

Even Jin Guangyao stopped scowling and started having to fight a smile. “Really?” he asked. “You told – about the chickens?”

“He thought it suggested a desire to settle down,” Lan Xichen confessed.

“The man wants grand-nephews,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “You could dream of anything and he’d interpret it as wanting to settle down. Speaking of settling down, would you both like to do so? There’s calming tea.”

Qinghe had a very specific brand of tea they meant when they referred to ‘calming tea’, imported from the west and south for its reputed use in subduing even the most vicious temper, and it was most definitely not made of flowers. However, as mild intoxicants went, it didn’t have quite the same crippling effect on Lan Xichen as liquor, and he was happy to accept a cup.

“So,” Lan Xichen said after a while. “We’ve been sharing dreams.”

“It certainly appears that way,” Nie Mingjue agreed.

“How do we make it stop?” Jin Guangyao wanted to know.

“I don’t know how it started,” Lan Xichen said. “Much less how to make it stop. Unless this is familiar to either of you…?”

They both shook their heads.

“Could it have had something to do with the sworn brother ceremony?” Jin Guangyao suggested.

“Improbable,” Nie Mingjue said.

“There have been plenty of sworn brotherhoods throughout history,” Lan Xichen agreed. “Someone would have mentioned dream-sharing if it were a side effect, if only because it would be so useful.”

“Dream-sharing?” Nie Mingjue said, frowning. “That’s your problem?”

“It’s useful, but intrusive,” Jin Guangyao said. He was frowning, which he rarely did in public – or even in front of Nie Mingjue these days. The revelation had clearly shaken him deeply. “Dreams can’t be controlled. What if one of us started dreaming about, I don’t know, killing each other?”

“We would agree in advance not to take offense,” Lan Xichen assured him. “As you say, dreams cannot be controlled –”

“I don’t mind the dreams,” Nie Mingjue put in. “It’s hearing your thoughts that’s getting to me.”

They both turn to look at him.

“What?” he asked. “Oh, that hasn’t started for you two yet? Something to look forward to, because it’s a pain.”

They ultimately concluded that it was a curse.

A curse gone wrong, of course, but it had the markings of one, and after some research they were even able to narrow down to which one it must have been at the start.

“Why did it go so wrong?” Lan Xichen wondered, looking at the historical records they’d dug up in Qinghe’s library. “Whoever it was surely wasn’t planning on us having this sort of connection.”

“Baxia deflected it, I think,” Nie Mingjue said, and Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen shared unnerved looks.

It was one thing to know that your sworn brother had a spiritual weapon to which his soul was tied and which he sometimes spoke of as if it were a person; it was yet another to feel that bond, the foreign energy that seeped into his skull at all times, to know that his lucid dreams were due to his persistent awareness of that extra being, to be able to sense the personality that was Baxia lingering on him like a ghost. Or a guai, more accurately.

“It must have happened during or very soon after we swore our oath,” Nie Mingjue continued, oblivious as always to their disquiet. “Our qi was in parallel at that time, binding us together, and she would have been able to spread the attack between us all.”

“The ultimate goal of something like this is to drive someone mad – specifically you, da-ge, since it seems to be hitting you first and hardest." Lan Xichen said, grimacing. And given the Nie sect’s infamous tendency towards qi deviations, they might have thought they could get away with it without anyone finding out…how utterly vile. “Whoever did it must have a great deal of hatred.”

“Or not a lot to lose,” Jin Guangyao said. His hands were gripped tightly behind his back, thumbs digging into his wrists. He seemed to be thinking the word vile, vile, vile on repeat – possibly he was agreeing? Lan Xichen couldn’t quite tell; the curse was affecting him a little more slowly than his two sworn brothers. “Desperate people do desperate things.”

Nie Mingjue looked up with a frown. “Meng Yao, what do –” he started to say, then frowned, having clearly been sidetracked. “You think it’s an insult when I call you that?”

Jin Guangyao, equally distracted, stared at him. “You mean it as a compliment?”

“I don’t exactly like your father,” Nie Mingjue pointed out, sounding a bit puzzled – which, in fairness, he had never been anything but extremely obvious about his disdain for Jin Guangshan. “Why would I think adding his name to yours is a good thing? I’d rather honor the side of your blood that gave you that brain, since it isn’t the Jin sect.”

Jin Guangyao looked flattered – or, no, he didn’t look anything, but Lan Xichen was getting that distinct impression from him nevertheless. It seemed he’d reached the sensing-feelings stage: Nie Mingjue felt a little embarrassed at the reaction, and they were both feeling warmer towards each other.

Maybe they should postpone curing this thing, Lan Xichen thought briefly. If it could help them repair –

“Absolutely not,” both of his sworn brothers said together.

“We’re fixing this at once,” Nie Mingjue insisted, glaring at Lan Xichen.

“Immediately,” Jin Guangyao agreed.

Lan Xichen made a gesture of surrender. “I already have some ideas on how to cure the problem,” he said. “I won’t drag my feet, I promise.”

“Good,” Jin Guangyao said. “I would kill to get rid of this.”

“Speaking of that,” Nie Mingjue said, and he looked like he was starting to get angry, “let’s go back to that discussion of desperate people and how you were thinking about how to kill me –”

Lan Xichen had always respected Nie Mingjue – as a man, as a leader, as a friend – but his respect had recently reached new heights when he realized exactly how much the man wanted to murder just about other every sect leader out there, and yet didn’t.

Baxia’s unstinting support for this idea didn’t exactly help.

Jin Guangyao – who Lan Xichen was discovering to be far more vicious than his pleasant smile might have suggested – found Nie Mingjue’s grudge-bearing pettiness to be absolutely hilarious.

What about that one? he asked gleefully. Do we want to kill him?

yesevilkilldestroy, Baxia murmured. doitnow.

Please do not murder Sect Leader Lu, Lan Xichen said. He didn’t think Nie Mingjue actually would, but he felt the need to put his views out there.

I don’t know, Nie Mingjue said thoughtfully. He tried to flirt with me once.

That’s not a crime –

I was ten.

killevildestroy

I’m with da-ge on this one, Jin Guangyao chimed in. Just murder them all. I can provide an alibi.

He could provide six, in fact, each one of them smoothly unrolling like crisp paper in their mutual mind-space – they’d figured out a way to get some privacy – and Nie Mingjue huffed a mental laugh even as Lan Xichen sighed.

It would just figure that his two sworn brothers liked each other much more now that they had access to each other’s secret vicious thoughts – thoughts Nie Mingjue would never act on, given his principles, to the point that Jin Guangyao had once doubted he even had them; thoughts that Jin Guangyao thought would disgust them both, but which Nie Mingjue seemed to rather enjoy as long as Jin Guangyao never took any steps to actually execute them.

What disasters they both were.

“No murder,” Lan Xichen said sternly, futilely trying to conceal the warmth of his affection for them both.

His uncle turned to frown at him. “Xichen?”

Lan Xichen realized he’d spoken aloud by accident and flushed. “Forgive me, Uncle. I was –”

Reciting Lan sect rules!

“– contemplating the obligation not to take lives unnecessarily,” Lan Xichen said, finishing the lie almost smoothly. He’d gotten much better at it ever since the curse began.

Somewhat worse at self-restraint, though, which was a problem because he was apparently the only one of them with a functioning moral compass – Nie Mingjue had principles, which were most emphatically not the same thing (the concept of unearned mercy seemed to puzzle him, as did sympathy for people forced by circumstance), and Jin Guangyao…

Well, he tried.

Sometimes.

Mostly he faked his way through it.

Which was about what Nie Mingjue apparently did most of the time, too, so…

Lan Qiren was giving Lan Xichen a doubtful look, but seemed to accept the explanation and returned to his own meditation. Which was Lan Xichen was supposed to be doing, but Nie Mingjue was dealing with some minor sect leaders in his district with accompanying commentary by Jin Guangyao (supposedly supervising something in Lanling but actually bored out of his mind), and it was just so much more interesting…

You can meditate later, Nie Mingjue thought at him. I appreciate your level-headedness – as do my advisors. I’ve been getting compliments on how well I’m keeping my temper.

Thank A-Yao for that, Lan Xichen said. He’s the sneaky one.

I am, Jin Guangyao said, utterly shameless. And da-ge’s the straightforward one who punched my father in the face.

They all had a collective moment of gleeful bliss at the memory.

Do not damage others, Lan Xichen finally reminded them, albeit reluctantly.

Do not keep company with evil, Nie Mingjue shot back.

Do not act impulsively!

Do not argue with your family, Jin Guangyao interjected. For it does not matter who wins.

…ouch.

He got you there, Nie Mingjue crowed. A-Yao – mark your words.

Yes, yes, Jin Guangyao grumbled. I acknowledge you both as my real family now; will you stop holding the attempted murder thing over my head?

No, never, since it was quite possibly the only way to squeeze any empathy out of his (charmingly) self-absorbed sworn brother.

Anyway, it turned out well in the end, didn’t it? Nie Mingjue added. He thought I hit him because it turned out that he’d instigated the curse to be set against us.

Only you would end up getting a confession out of punching someone, da-ge, Lan Xichen said, amused. It’s positively unfair to the rest of us.

Yeah, da-ge. Leave some luck for the rest of us.

You’re acting sect leader of Lanling in light of your father’s imprisonment, Nie Mingjue reminded Jin Guangyao. How much more luck do you need?

I got that through hard work, thank you.

killevilliesLIES

…I retract the statement and request that Baxia stop glaring at me. Please.

Nie Mingjue snickered.

Lan Xichen laughed.

“A-Huan,” his uncle said. “What on earth is so funny?”

Lying was forbidden, so Lan Xichen was just – not going to explain.

Ever.

#mdzs #lan xichen #nie mingjue #meng yao #jin guangyao #my fic #my fics #troika #Anonymous

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ghostietea · 3 years

Text

Furuba autistic headcanons

With it being April, or autism acceptance month, I wanted to finally drop my list of characters from Fruits Basket that I read as autistic! This is based a lot on my own experience, as well as that of other autistics I know or have seen talk online. I hope some people can get something out of it, feel free to tell me what you think 😊, though please refrain from getting upset that I would dare suggest your fave is autistic.

Hanajima

Before becoming able to better control her powers, she would be constantly overwhelmed by the things she heard to the point that she couldn't even really go out in public. This reads a lot like sensory overload.

Constantly picked on in school because other kids thought she was weird. Eventually reclaimed this weirdness and turned it into a whole persona.

Seems to talk usually in a relatively flat tone.

Had trouble socializing with no friends outside her family until middleschool.

Has a very funny, dry sense of humor that I find very similar to a bunch of autistics I know, including myself.

Hatsuharu

Listen. You have seen the funky little man, you have seen the way he talks, the way he acts around others. He is, and I mean this in the best way, a weirdo. I do not know how you could look at him and see a neurotypical.

Once again, like Hana, Haru is funny in a way that feels very autistic.

Very flat, dry, tone delivery. Sometimes just Says Things that make everyone else go huh??? Suuuuper blunt. Doesn't emote facially a lot of the time.

When this man sees a social norm he doesn't get he WILL NOT follow it. Pierces his ears just because his hair got flak, defends Momiji wearing whatever he wants because sometimes y'know the social rules are just dumb and don't make sense. Especially dress codes.

Sometimes says things not befitting the current tone of the situation.

Represses (masks) a lot of his emotions, leading to outbursts that seem uncharacteristic.

His main childhood trauma revolves around adults branding him as "dumb" and ridiculing him. Haru, however, is super smart and wise!! Just in an offbeat way that not everyone may get.

Machi

Reads as very "flat" emotionally to the point that others would call her boring. Also has a flat vocal delivery.

Relies on specific habits or ways of doing things or else she gets super upset (her hatred of imperfection.

Has trauma surrounding adults completely misconstruing her intentions and thinking she's doing something malicious when she's not.

Generally behaves in a way that's hard for others to understand, one of her formative moments with Yuki was him saying he wanted to "see how the world looks" through her eyes.

Once again, trouble socializing.

Tries super hard to please her parents but in the end they still see her as somehow inherently "defective."

Listen. A lot of this one and the last two are mostly vibes, hard to verbally define. You just have to look at them and trust me.

Tohru

Displays behavior very reminiscent of masking throughout the story, a huge part of her arc is about how she hides a lot of herself and has a very controlled persona. I think it would fit very well if she had other autistic behaviors that she suppresed also it helps explain why she is relatively socially adept, it's learned behavior to make people like her more.

Yes she is very good at saying what others need to hear, but especially early on she is pretty blatantly imitating her mother's words. She only gets better at getting through on a more personal level later on (see her with Rin and Akito v. early series Tohru). She does this by relating her own experiences, a very autistic way of showing empathy that often gets us written off as self centered. The way she relays things her mom said could also be seen as this, and she even worries at a few points that she's being insensitive for going on about things like that.

While emotionally repressed she is hyper empathetic and feels other's emotions so strongly she cries.

Her speech patterns are all imitated from her father and she often copies verbal things from others (see Ritchan-san). Noted in canon that people think her way of speaking is slightly off/not befitting of someone her age. Additionally, her father was polite more sarcastically, while she plays it straight and sometimes takes things very literally or fails to get the message, indicating trouble with reading tone. Has numerous strange verbal tics, including saying parts of her internal monologue out loud without context.

Very expressive with her hands including waving them around and flapping them up and down.

Does have a bit of trouble with accidental insensitivity in social interactions, like how she constantly fixates on her mom and realizes that might bug the Sohma.

Has trouble paying attention in school since it doesn't have much to do with her interests

Her only friend until she was a middle schooler was her mom

Has a pretty unique outlook on things compared to others, people seem to think she's pretty eccentric. There's always a "this girl is nice but in an odd way, she's our weirdo and we love her" vibe.

Sometimes has an "inappropriate" emotional response to situations

Has a lot of trouble with change, similar to Akito. Which oh, look at the time, next hc coming up.

But first, a disclaimer. It is cathartic for me to read Akito this way, but with that reading comes the baggage that she would, mayhaps, be showing a more negative side of things... It doesn't bother me since it's a joint hc with other characters and she does develop at the end but yeah, general villain hc baggage. This is in no way me trying to excuse her being The Worst being autistic doesn't absolve you of being able to do wrong . Also, a lot of these points can and do have other explanations related to her upbringing, but things can be for more than 1 reason. With that said, she really strongly comes off as autistic to me, in a way that's sorta hard to explain. I wrote a lot more for her than the other, both because I felt I needed more to convince people and that this headcanon was more sensitive and I needed to be careful in my explanation. Also hey! She's my special interest within a special interest.

Akito

Shown to have a dislike of summer weather due to heat and brightness, could be due to sensory issues in tandem with sickness things. Also covers her ears when people raise their voice sometimes which is partially her trying to shut down opposition but also 🤔 can read a different way. She'd also avoids louder Juuni like Ritsu and Ayame because she can't handle them.

Wears pretty much the same outfit every single day. Said outfit is also pretty loose fitting.

Always seen sitting in a pretty unconventional way. Evidence:

Of course this is also the isolated in a cult thing and there is a level of her purposefully doing things to intimidate but: doesn't follow a lot of social rules (overly touchy with strangers, legit doesn't get that what she's doing is wrong, ect.). Repeatedly confused when people indicate she should act otherwise without explanation. Has a breakdown when this comes to a head and approximately says that "they" shouldn't expect her to know "common sense" if "they" never explained it to her, that the way that she was was her "common sense."

Often talks in a way uncharacteristic of her age when shown as a child in a more faux mature/pretentious way. Might just be the translation and idk how to explain it but her speech as an adult also seems off from what one would normally use in conversation. Additionally, when she tries to fake being friendly in her intro chapter, it comes of as extremely stiff and unconvincing.

Generally displays behavior that could be thought of as childish as an adult, but a lot of this behavior could also read as autistic (covering ears, emotional deregulation and meltdowns, ignorance of basic social norms, ect.). It's also important to note that she knows that this behavior makes her seem younger and more helpless to the older zodiac and uses it as a manipulation tactic. Has issues regarding people treating her like a child or only hanging out with her because of pity. While she does weaponize it, we can tell that this grates on her, as seen with her finally blowing up on Kureno, which is partially triggered by the maids saying some sorta infantalizing stuff about her. Irl, a lot of autistic adults and teens struggle with being infantalized for our behavior generally or treated as little babies that can do no wrong. Even in fandom, you see people doing stuff like jumping to call autistic adult characters, such as Entrapta from Shera, "minor coded." It is also common for us to have at least one bad experience with someone hanging around us out of pity. This is something that really gave me a similar feeling in Akito's arc. She's not a baby and she can understand and do better if she is given the chance to learn and break from all the freaky cult indoctrination she's been subjected to instead of just being constantly enabled. In the end, a lot of her growth is represented by her showing that she is capable of changing and being independent.

Shows particular difficulty with socialization, often sits by herself spacing out at social events. A lot of her fear is rooted in the fact that she doesn't know how normal relationships work, becoming overly reliant on the curse because she doesn't know how to make friends.

Clings desperately onto the notion of being "special" and in some way superior to others to be worthy and to make up for perceived inherent "flaws." It's the nd gifted kid burnout vibes for me.

Easily bothered by things that don't bother others. Feels emotions very strongly to the point of getting physically ill and has bad emotional regulation.

Relatively good at reading others in an analytical sense (though has more trouble when it comes to seeing how they feel about her since she's wildly delusional) but brings up her observations in a very cold, detached way and hurts people even on the rare occasion she didn't mean to. Has extreme trouble connecting to others and understanding their point of view. This makes her come off as pretty unempathetic even though that might not fully be the case. Also thinks that people like Momiji are trying to look down on her when they try to empathize with her. A lot of why Tohru can get through to her is that she manages to convince Akito that she's not condescending by relating shared traits and experiences. As I said earlier, autistics often empathize by sharing their own experiences with someone, and I know I often have an easier time confiding in other autistics because of a fear of being seen as lesser by those that don't understand me. I think the connection between these charachters and the way that Tohru manages to reach Akito like that while others couldn't makes a lot of sense through an autistic lense!

Additionally, when Akito herself gets around to trying to help others instead of just projecting trauma, she tries to reach out to the old maid by relating back to her own experiences. This however, doesn't work.

Has "cold" emotional reactions sometimes even to things that do make her upset. For example, how sort of calm and detached she acted after her father's death can make her seem uncaring. However, we know that this event did mess her up a lot and she is still (poorly) dealing with a lot of grief from the death of her father years later.

Copies mannerisms from others, the most blatant example is with Ren, who she directly parrots lines from as a child to Yuki.

Partly just her posturing, but gestures a lot with her hands when she talks. Also seen several times clutching her hands in her hair.

Deals extremely poorly with the idea of things changing to the point that it is a driving force of the story.

Does not understand when people tease her.

Ect. Ect. Ect. Listen, I could go on for ages but just trust me, the mean gremlin lady is autistic.

#fruits basket #akito sohma #tohru honda #saki hanajima #machi kuragi #hatsuharu sohma #actually autistic #meta

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