of the light that burns within my soul.

There's an inevitability that lends to the finality of it. Death itself, that is. And as badly as Margot needs to do what she does, she can't fathom why it would ever need to be at Hara's direct expense.

I don't think you'd hurt me.

Good.

Where Hara is wilting and curling in on herself, Margot is rigid. Too frozen to provide comfort to either of them—not a reassuring hand on Hara's back, not an offering of whoever's water glass is closest.

"I wouldn't. I couldn't."

She didn't love him, yet ... she never got the chance (if she did, Hara couldn't be friends with Margot again ... and this would have ended with one of them in jail or in a shared-grave).

❛ You did it so easily, Margot ... and I don't understand how you could. It didn't seem to affect you after either. ❜

⊱ ░ 𝖧𝖠𝖱𝖠 ₍ ? ₎ fabric tearing because neither of you has the patience for buttons.

it's been a blind waltz from the moment they climbed out of his truck ━━ all faith in whatever deity watched from high up in the sky to not trip over feet that were threatening to tangle and any scrap part that might be lying in his yard covered by night... BUT REALLY IT'S ALL MEMORY. steps he takes to unlock the same door every day and push it open with a certain jiggle of the handle, only now it's done in between laughs and smiles and kisses, and relying on every sense he has except his eyes. because he's too busy looking at @petitsdieu. ( she might be the prettiest girl he's ever seen, ) pretty and smells nice and tastes even better every time his mouth catches her like a hook [ ... ] it's a damn shame he had to take his hands off her for the few seconds it took to turn a lock.

the trailer isn't much to look at, if either of them decided to look at all once he guided her backward steps inside. clean. not fancy━ never fancy, but clean. WITH ITS YELLOW LIGHT THAT SOFTENS THE ROOM WHEN HE REACHES FOR THE SWITCH JUST AS BLIND, and it's well lived in; something old and built upon rather than fussed over being decorated. like every shelf was hung by his own hands [ ... ] like every repair was finished on a saturday afternoon with whatever he already had lying around on the land ━━ because it was. the couch he leads her to has seen better days, and the springs groan and dip when he pulls her down onto his lap.

She nips at his shoulder right before the door swings open. Making a near-end to her playfulness. Sex is serious. The giggles and play stop the moment her nipple catches some air. Even the sound of her rings differently. A fluttery little moan butters into something deeper, lewder as his mouth climbs down her throat. She barely registers the moment it takes to get from his front door to his lap ... let alone take in the surroundings. Her eyes are open. Technically. The vellicate, lids red hot where they veil. Her hips dig a need into him ... a need so significant it could either empty churches,

or fill them.

She wants, needs him to fill her until there's nothing left in her head. The buttons? Little, little in-the-moment prices to pay. In-significant. When he says he'll fix it, she should believe it ... he fixes everything for everyone, it seems. But that too fades to some back-backer mind place. With the buttons, the color of his walls, or whatever consequences she'll gain later.

MARGOT IS ALWAYS CAREFUL WITH HER PRIZED POSSESSIONS, BUT SHE TRUSTS HARA. That's all there is to it. She trusts Hara, and Hara got too close. (Margot doesn't know she needs to be more careful with where she hides Nate's key.)

To another killer, Hara would need to be dead. She's an unjustifiably high risk. But Margot knows what she's done; she knows what Hara thinks she's done herself - by virtue of existing as Hara. This isn't black and white; this isn't something that can be handled in the heat of the moment.

"Hara-"

My fingers, in your mouth - it would only happen if you asked. I would never do that to you.

Even the gunshot - Margot would never do Hara the indecency.

❛ ... I don't know? ❜

She knows what Margot said ⸺ the franic moving things into place, a messy tuck under the rug, quick and without proper discussion or aftercare ⸺ what she remembers what was said. He probably wasn't good for her. He wasn't good for her.

She twists in the couch corner. Her palm provides a place for her cheek as she naturally falls into herself. Margot's never seemed so serious and forlorn ... it solidifies an instinct that survival and entrusting Margot is one in the same ⸺ because at times she can be naive, a needy vessel willing to pour herself into anyone that shows her an ounce of care she lost out on growing up ... internally and deeply she must know Margot won't dispatch her for this (like most killers in her position would do).

She's almost too locked into the graze of his knuckle to catch his warning. Her right hand palms her left tit, effectively holding up her bikini top before it falls off. Her fingers flex in to white-knuckle an attempt of her own. The nacre-shine underneath the ruffle of her bathing suit bottom.

She turns, her hip rubbing into at least one of his lingering hands, and thinks at the same time ... the full picture of what exactly? would what be alright? Her body is not normally shy but for special occasions it makes an expectation. It's a tell-all book before a sexual instrument ... so it blushes accordingly.

She nods, ❛ Yes. It's alright. ❜

Parts of her wishes she didn't turn around. Told him to try again so she wouldn't have to look him in the eyes right now. See him on his knees, in this historical exonerated-needed pose. ⸺ find out for sure that he isn't just objectively pretty but personally pretty, too. and whatever animal he is (woof), she trusts it ⸺ And what would he need to repent for? That maybe he doesn't want to tie her bathing suit on.

AS INEVITABLE AS MARGOT BELIEVES THIS WAS, IT STILL HURTS TO HEAR.

Maybe she's being unfair or unreasonably hypocritical. Why would Hara's subconscious go there? Doesn't she know Margot loves her wholly and unconditionally and would do anything to keep her safe? Just look at what she's already done!

Exactly. Look at what she's already done.

Sitting in her unfairness and hypocrisy, Margot wonders if Hara brings this up now to hurt Margot.

Mentally, she takes a step back. Physically, presently, she takes the popcorn bowl from her lap and sets it on Hara's coffee table.

"How?"

❛ With your hands. Your fingers in my mouth. It almost felt intimate. ❜

Until it didn't.

The erotic connection between fear and sex is an abutting thin layer. Like the epidermis and dermis. Most people experience this arousal with things like roller-coasters or scary movies ... Hara veers closer yet. As if trying to make sense of moderate levels of scared. Or metabolize it into something worthy to stomach.

again feel free to switch around sender and receiver in these after pasting!

1)  sender takes receiver’s hands because receiver is cold,  rubbing and blowing warmth into them. 

2)  sender washes receiver’s hair while they take a shower together. 

3)  sender brings receiver a potted plant rather than a bouquet so it will last longer. 

4)  sender brings receiver a bouquet of flowers (feel free to specify what kind) 

5)  our muses are walking somewhere together and sender casually takes receiver’s hand,  bringing it up to kiss the back before simply holding it the rest of the way. 

6)  receiver is getting dressed and,  unprompted,  sender helps them zip up, attach a necklace, tie a tie, etc. 

7)  sender shows up at receiver’s door with homemade food to comfort them or because they aren’t feeling well. 

8)  sender remembered something receiver mentioned they liked and brings it or something related to it as a gift.

9)  sender randomly gives something to receiver that reminded sender of them (feel free to specify)

10)  our muses are talking and sender wordlessly reaches over to fix receiver’s hair without breaking concentration.  

11)  receiver has had a hard day and comes home to sender drawing up a bath and preparing their favorite comforting beverage. 

12)  receiver has had some task they needed to get done around their home and they find sender doing it for them unprompted. 

13)  sender wordlessly picks something out of the fabric of receiver’s clothing and then smooths it over while they’re having a conversation. 

14)  sender soothingly runs their fingers through receiver’s hair while they talk or are in a group setting. 

15)  sender brushes receiver’s hair out and fixes it for them. 

16)  sender places their hand on receiver’s thigh while they’re talking or in a group setting.  

17)  sender offers their arm for receiver to take while they walk. 

18)  sender slips their arm through receiver’s while they walk.  

19)  sender places their coat around receiver after realizing they’re cold. 

Even planets he heard of only during his classes when much younger, places he never thought he'd go to. Turns out, they were needed far beyond the mid rim and outer rim. No time to catch a break, really. At some point, he had gotten used to it. Never being able to have some free time for too long, having to call the space ship his home instead of the Jedi Temple he ended up growing in.

He didn't even remember the last time he put a foot in a place where he wasn't needed for warfare. Well ... That is until today.

He had receive a communication, or more like an invitation, to visit an old friend. Not recently, of course, but he was finally able to make it, and he could only hope that Hara wouldn't mind young Skywalker's habitual lateness. Not that it was entirely his fault.

Stepping down from his aircraft, astromech in toe, he began his walk on the path he used to be quite familiar with once upon a time ... Blue gaze taking in the sights. Not much had changed, even after this long. Rare were the times he was able to see such nice paysage as of late, not broken in any ways by the continuous battles. It was a nice change.

As he finally joined the meeting area, it was her voice he heard first ... Before his gaze laid upon angelic traits he would often see in his dreams, whenever he managed to get some rest. Even after all this time ...

❛ I said I'd come back, didn't I ? ❜

A little smile, then a slight bow.

By framing patience into a virtue, you strip it of its redeemability and/or skill. It becomes an endurance, an apparatus to suffer in silence for any ideologue to use. It's not bad ... necessarily but it doesn't necessarily make you good either ⸺ the having or having-not of "patience". Because patience is not a virtue. It's a coping mechanism. One she does not have.

This is one way he slights her.

⸺ would he think her less good for not having patience?

❛ Patience and morality ... I never understood the connection. ❜

She cuts ceremony. Behaves as if she were still alone. Her artful posing stays casual. Sighing into her role of host instead of angling herself the Princess-host she ought to be ⸺ they are friends? (still?) afterall. Four fingers fan a gesture to sit with her. It flaps once, twice like a wing of a bird before fluttering down to pluck her cup. A generous sip to swallow down the astringency. The tea she's made needs no added sugar, it's already naturally sweet.

Culturally, it would be a big insult if she felt serenity in his absence. If she could meet him without bitterness of loss of time. Her people miss people like people would miss limbs. Anything else is uncaring.

She looks back at him once more. Her eyes carefully drag him over to see if he's missing anything. He appears to have no major seen injuries of war. But she knows some of the biggest woes are internal. Like whether she can acknowledge the rebuttal, it certainly shudders ... no, most of her didn't think he'd come back.

❛ Come. Sit. ❜