★「 𝒹re4m𝒢1RL」

   DIAL 1-800-HOT-N-FUN. MESSAGE & DATA FEES MAY APPLY 𓂃₊🐈‍⬛  a selective and private blog for a headcanon-based felicia hardy ( 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙘𝙖𝙩 ) not heavily affiliated with the marvel fandom & highly critical of the source material

THAT'S MY NUMBER. HIT MY LINE * ( headcanon & alternate universe heavy ━ thieved by corazón, she/they, 21+, est. 2023

⟡ ━━━━ @maskg : now tuning in, a livestream

lady.eunhye gifted 5000 heart pangs! bright colored flashes emit in the darkness of their room, the blur of hours long smoke re-enters their lungs, the taste of peppermint lingers on their tongue. it's snowing outside. it's almost christmas time: it was valentine's day the first time they heard of mask girl, practically new years when they started frequently watching. leitha, a private eye, investigator in their own right, korean born and hubris filled, was merely doing research. stalkers have reached out to them plenty, attempting to hire them to find her identity, all of them declined. they're not interested in plastering some girls real face online, in fact, they could care less. this was, in fact, nothing more than girls supporting girls. they like the music. hardly watched the dancing. it's not the worst use of their money. it mainly plays in the background as they work. it's hardly a distraction. right? lady.eunhye is typing in the chat ... what's the song for today 마스크걸님?

‘ lady.eunhye ! thank you for the 5000 heart pangs ! you’re the best ! ’ she joins her hands,    painted today in bright green and red to bring forth holiday spirit,    in the shape of a heart.    then her finger twists to feign contemplation on her plastic chin.    ‘ well.    what should i sing for you all    ?    hmm….    why don’t you pick lady.   eunhye    ?    ’

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

they are disjointed pieces from the same picture. trying to find their place, their right shade and pattern. it's hypocritical to criticise her, having himself spent a decade slipping in and out of other people's faces. at least she reinvents herself, while he can only ever pretend to be someone else. at least it used to be purely professional, but these days it barely feels like pretending and more and more like escaping. mornings spent avoiding the small mirror above the sink. the shudder of relief when, after drying himself off, he could finally activate the implant and see alec's face in the reflection, instead.

as the lines begin to blur, he cannot help but wish they'd blur faster.

"they are a big deal." clover looks of half a mind to stop her from going on stage, but presumes that would only rile her up further, and thus makes no motion to. still, he's not about to give up the argument. "it's not like cyberware cosmetics. you can't undo this stuff, mo mi ..." for a moment clover looks away, chewing at his bottom lip. there's a faint ringing in his right ear, something that has come and gone ever since the explosion. "might end up stuck with something you didn't want."

‘ i can pick well.    ’ a mused sigh,    ‘ this is my job.    my passion.    why would i not risk it    ?    ’ alcohol makes her more sincere,    her depression forgotten,    or maybe it’s his fault.    filling the silence is a direct threat to her own too - cool,    aloof positivity persona.    ‘ nothing in my body,    so don’t stress out,     ’ a wink,    ‘ i was born naturally gifted there.    ’

— she felt one thousand years old. she also felt like maybe she was a condescending brat. she wanted her bike. she wanted her friends, who were also one-thousand-year-old condescending brats. she wanted to live in a world where she was surrounded by one-thousand-year-old condescending brats.

he wasn't actually following her, but there's no use arguing with the performer at this point. they'd come into contact a handful of times before at her place of employment, and the two had an occasional comment to make in passing. she's busy doing her work, entertaining, making money for the local cantina, and din is simply passing through on his way to a new bounty. there's no need for them to interact beyond one word here or there, but clearly his presence, his usual silence, and the direction of his walk back to the parked razor crest has mo-mi feeling concerned — concerned enough to whip around, face him, and accuse the mandalorian of trailing her. it's probably quite unsettling, din realizes, wandering down a narrow alleyway and hearing the faint crunch of boots in the distance. worrisome, then, to look behind you and spot a mandalorian warrior, armed to the teeth, taking the same pathway you are. he's not offended. as of right now, he has no use for her. no interest. if she really wants him to back away, it's no skin off his teeth.

so, the king has also seen what torment and imprisonment can do to people. this version of her songbird was borne from hopelessness, the rabidity of a dying animal. eivor snatches her quicker than lightning strikes a tree, rendering her fight inert. it brings them no pleasure, but there is no time to be lost in this siege. a moment of hesitation could cause the ravens to lose the upper hand, and this woman’s fit is not cause enough for a distraction.

❛❛ have it your way, ❜❜ they grunt, hoisting her up thrashing and flailing over their armored shoulder.

her wailing will not be heard over the sound of clashing steel, the crackling of fire set to structures, and the shouting of men dying. bodies fall around them, but more in the distance where the greater throng has begun to fight. eivor strides with purpose back down the hill to where a wall had been breached ( blown open by some force ), and further still to the shallow river that stretches beyond. many longboats sit half-run up onto the embankment, a few warriors wearing the same colors as eivor stand guard or usher fleeing folk into the boats.

the king barks some orders toward them in a tongue their captive will not know, and roughly maneuvers her to be sitting on the deck of one ship.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

the sea made her sick.      the land even more so, something reeked of ancient magic.      her skin cursed to want to steal the colors of another lamenting over the fading of her captor-savior’s hands. an unperched bird… or she would’ve been if she had not endured injury on her leg before their meeting, they had insisted.      and she could not realistically run far.      so she did the next best thing: stare at the king and… pretty much anyone that stared back with cold resentment. ungrateful, ugliness from within...      they all must think.      she hopes they do. she can’t understand them anyway when they mutter under their breaths.