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lostfirefly · 1 year ago

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You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me (Ch.8)

Hello, kiddos! The idea for this fanfic came to me from a dream (again) I had about a month ago. Тhe main characters were T. Cruise & H.Cavill (don't ask me why), but with a light hand they have been replaced. The main action of the dream took place somewhere in the sands. Аlthough this fanfic will feature Sir Crocodile and our beloved Buggy, the action shifts to the desert. No marines, ships etc. The devil fruit's abilities are preserved. Catch the Mummy and Indiana Jones vibes :) Different titles and names from the original source material will be used to emphasise the general OP's vibe.

Since English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

And thank you to my dear @yujo-nishimura and @laurasoretta for believing in me :)

Description: Catherine, a librarian who is searching for the trail of her sister who went missing on an expedition. Notes in books and diaries lead her to Cairo. There she finds a retailer from an artifact shop who, in exchange for selling her a map and equipment, insists that Catherine take her along. They get into a little (or maybe a big) adventure..

Warnings: Catherine is still angry about the phrase Buggy said in Ch. 7 (he's a vulnerable idiot). That's why she can be a little annoying. F words. Croco x OC are two assholes. Adventures and fun are still here. Buggy x OC, Sir Crocodile x OC. Hope you enjoy it!

Words: 3262 (omg!)

The title is taken from «You've Got the Same Dream as Me» (Sonya Belousova & Giona Ostinelli) (One Piece, Netflix)

Taglist: @gingernut1314

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• Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

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"Oh, hi, sister!"

"Oh, hi, sister? Jules, are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been missing for almost two months, I come looking for you, and all you can say is, "oh, hi, sister"? Catherine could hardly contain her anger and slowly approached Jules. "What are you doing here? And why are you with the beehive?"

"Well, after breaking up with Pete, I decided to go on an expedition to clear my head.. There I met a man with a funny haircut in the shape of a three. He offered me an interesting case and good money. And this nice man is his boss", brown-haired girl said with a smile.

"Oh, God! Could you please shut up?" Rika said with annoyance. She walked up to Jules and pushed her towards Catherine. "Welcome to the team of misfits."

"Heeey", Jules squealed.

"All right, ladies and the clown. Enough of this chit-chat and all this drama. Now you put your brains together, if you have them, read your maps, your diaries, and tell us where we're going next."

Crocodile approached Rika.

"You've done a great job, my love. Look and learn, clown, what kind of woman you should choose", Crocodile said with a sneer and kissed Rika again eagerly.

"Thank you! But I want to remind you that you hurt me at that old man's house," Rika returned the kiss.

"It's still ew", Catherine said with disgust.

"Oh, fuck! You've tired me out this week," Rika stopped kissing Crocodile, approached Catherine and grabbed her shoulder. "You know how many times I wanted to punch you in your pretty face, so you'd finally shut up. Now be a good girl, go back to your loser's place and do what you've just been told."

"And when did you have time to contact Crocodile, Rika?" Buggy asked, taking Catherine’s hand and leading her behind him.

"About a month ago, why? Do you feel bad about me not being with you or something? No, thanks. I found the real man."

"Hell, please, no. Just curious. I don't understand why you need me."

"Oh, are you trying to sneak out, my clown boy? Well, somebody had to get us in here. Crocodile doesn’t know the exact way, and you've been here before, albeit from the other side, and you have our box. Plus, I knew you'd fall for the treasure and, obviously, the girl. So. Sorry, buddy."

"Will someone tell me what's going on here?" suddenly asked Jules and glanced at Buggy, "and who are you?"

"They are," Catherine pointed at Crocodile and Rika, "two bastards. And that brown-haired bitch I met at the airport. She gave me a flight ticket. And he..."

"What do you mean, she gave you the ticket?" Buggy interrupted Catherine and looked at her in surprise. "Did you just take the fucking ticket out of that girl's hand? Did you really think a random stranger would just give it to you?"

"Well...," she looked at him with round eyes and shrugged.

"God, you're even dumber than I am," he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Oh, yeah! And this is coming from the 'I don't need a plan' person," Catherine mocked Buggy, standing behind his back.

"That's enough!" Crocodile stepped closer to them. "Listen, clown. Please tell your girl and her sister to tell us where we need to go. Otherwise…"

He grabbed Jules with his hook.

"Okay, okay!" Catherine said, "I'll do what you want. Just don't touch her".

"Catherine, don't!" Buggy hissed.

"I’m not gonna let some guy with the hook hurt my sister or you," - she said in a whisper and blushed slightly. "Come on, Jules. Let's take a look at the map".

"Good girls. Laura, honey, stand next to that fucking clown. He's got powers and he could easily make a run for it," Crocodile sat on the floor and lit a cigar.

"As you wish, boss."

Catherine and Jules sat on the cold rocks, shining flashlights on the map and diary entries. A light breeze walked through the space. They spent a long time going over the pages with their hands.

"Look," Catherine pointed to the coordinates in the diary. "We were here, here, and here. I think we're here now, right? The map’s drawn the path."

"First of all, I'm shocked at what's happening. What's going on? Second of all, what do you mean, the map's drawn a path? And third," Jules smiled wryly, "who's that guy with the red nose?"

"Fuck! I'm begging you, let's first get out of this fucking cave or wherever we are now. This is all your fault. If you hadn't disappeared, I wouldn't have come here and I'd be sitting at home with coffee right now, and everything would be fine."

"Hey, I apologize for interrupting your family drama, but did you find anything?" Buggy squatted down next to them.

"Not yet. Why are you asking? Oh, you're worried you're gonna miss out on the treasure now? And then you can't get a girl for one night at the bar?" Catherine mumbled, turning the pages.

"Why are you so mad?" he asked in surprise.

"I'm not... I don't care about you and your late-sex life, actually. You could go out and fuck every girl in town in one night."

"Oh, wow, right to the heart!" he exclaimed in a mocking tone, but he changed it quickly. "Hey, listen. About what I said.. I want to ap--"

"How much longer are you going to suffer bullshit?" Crocodile asked with annoyance. "Any news?"

"Don't yell at me, the beehive! No upd.. Uh, wait. Buggy, hold the flashlight, please", Catherine ran her hand over the sheets and mumbled something to herself. "Hey, the hook man. Do you have the book with you?"

"Of course. Laura, give it to her," Crocodile said with a low voice.

Laura went to the bag, pulled out the book and handed it to Catherine.

"Thank you, bitch," Catherine barked.

Reconciling the entries in the book and in her diary, Catherine continued to mutter something to herself and surveyed the space. She ran the fingers of one hand over the pages, the other hand drawing some shapes in the air.

"What is she doing?" Jules asked Buggy with a whisper.

"I have no idea, I thought you knew. She’s your sister."

Rika and Crocodile watched Catherine's strange movements intently.

"I got it!" - Catherine jumped up abruptly, grabbing the book and diaries and walked quickly forward. "Jules, look at the map. Are there any changes now?"

"I see nothing," Jules said, looking closely at the map.

"Honey, you'd better tell us where to go next," Crocodile walked over to Catherine and took her firmly by the neck.

"Hey, let her go," Buggy walked over to Crocodile.

"Or what? All right, I can't cut you. But I can cut her. I can cut her sister. Or kill. You're not in a very good position right now, clown. So, save your heroics for some petty squabbling amongst lowlifes like you."

"You can threaten me as much as you want, I don't give a shit about it. But if you lay one finger or your hook on either of them…"

"Then what? Are you gonna kill me?" at that moment, Crocodile's hand began to turn to sand.

"Stop! Please!" Catherine took Buggy's hand and gave him a hard look. "It's okay. I’m fine. Anyway, the beehive, I have bad news for you. The map is useless now until we get out of here. It only points the way in daylight and, as I understand it, in direct sunlight. So, we'll follow the path where the road is drawn now, and if there's nothing further, we'll go blind."

Rika came over to Jules and looked at the map.

"I hate to break it to you, my love, but that bitch is right. So far, the path's partially drawn. I don't know why the fucking thing didn't draw it all the way through. You're not so stupid, are you, Catherine?"

Catherine rolled her eyes and started packing.

"What was that? His hand turned to sand. And what does that big man mean when he said he can't cut that guy?" she asked with horror in her voice.

"Ah, it's a side effect of the devil fruit," Catherine waved her hand, "I'll tell you later."

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They walked along the winding rocky paths for over an hour, lighting the way with torches. The wind continued to blow through the cave, bringing smells of damp and rot.

"God, I don't want to die in a cave and lie here like some pharaoh", Jules muttered to herself, shifting her feet heavily, "And at first that man with the hook seemed so nice."

"Bastards always seem nice at first. Don't they, Buggy?" Catherine cast a glance at the clown and adjusted her bag.

"If you have a problem with me, cotton candy, just say so," he said in a surprisingly calm tone.

"I don't have a problem with you, and I don't want to talk to you," she snapped.

Jules looked at them questioningly.

"But you keep doing it, Cathie-pie", he said with a slight irony in his voice. "One minute you're mad at me, and the next..."

"Shut up, please, I hate you," she interrupted him with a quiet growl. "Shit, if you knew how much you piss me off, silly clown, I'd.... Ouch!"

Catherine didn't realize she'd hit a stone wall.

"What the hell?" she touched the space in front of her.

"Are you okay?" Buggy put his hand on her back.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine... But..."

"What happened?" Crocodile's voice came from behind her. "Where are we?"

"I don't know...," Catherine shone the torch on the wall. "We couldn't have lost our way. We could have taken a wrong turn… in theory... There are a million paths."

"We could have taken a wrong turn, huh? Are you kidding me?" Rika took two big steps and grabbed Catherine's arm. "I swear to God, I'll rip your head off if you take us down the wrong path."

"Get your crocodile hands off me!" Catherine tried to throw off Rika’s hand. "We're in a bloody ancient cave in the middle of Egypt. You think there's only one way in a cave like this? I’m really sorry that it's not lit up like a fucking highway. Just give me a minute. Jules, the map!"

Rika let go of Сatherine's hand and continued to stand by her side.

"That's why I love you, baby. For your temper," Crocodile walked over to Rika and put his arm around her waist.

"It’s still ew, by the way," Catherine snorted and stared at the map. "Jules, the diary! Buggy, please, hold the torch. One more riddle is written here..."

Check the wall, and touch the floor,

It can help to open the door.

You'll be helped by a pillar of fire.

Just take it up a notch higher.

"And what does it mean?" Crocodile asked.

"Well, you're supposed to be the smartest guy here, so think about it", Catherine said mockingly.

"I'm sick of you!" Crocodile hissed. "Laura, I think our redheaded smarty-pants is a little out of touch. Maybe a gun would help. Will you please point that pretty thing at her little sister?"

Laura took out a gun, cocked the slide and put it to Jules' temple.

"You’re truly a piece of shit," Catherine whispered. "If the four of you want to get to the treasure, shooting somewhere in the dungeon is not recommended. You'll turn to sand and escape, the clown will fall to pieces and escape too, and the four of us will be crushed by something heavy. No offense, but that's not how I pictured my demise."

"Very funny, yes," Crocodile grinned. "Now go to your blue-haired friend and open the door."

"Check the wall, and touch the floor.. a pillar of fire. Jules, Buggy, obviously, we need to check the walls and floor with the torch or the flashlight, there must be some clues there," Catherine said this with undisguised admiration.

"I think you're beginning to like this whole treasure hunting thing," Buggy said with a grin.

"No, I just want to go home and be away from you," Catherine tried to sound serious.

With the torch, Jules and Buggy lit every millimetre of the wall. Catherine sat on her knees and ran her hands over the floor.

“You know, Crocodile, I know you're kind of mafia, but maybe you could help. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner you can get your gold”, Catherine said, probing the stone tiles in the darkness. “Check those rocks you're standing on, please.”

Crocodile snorted. Rika nodded her head slightly and they began to check the floor beneath them.

"There are some drawings here," Rika said.

"Yeah, and there are some on the wall, too," Jules mumbled.

Catherine sat down on the stone floor, Crocodile sat next to her. They both stared at the book. Rika and Buggy watched them both warily.

"Look, the hook, you see, one of the slabs in the book is marked with a sign. That's how the ancient Egyptians labelled something like a button, if I'm not mistaken."

"Buttons? To what?" Crocodile looked at Catherine questioningly.

"I don't know. Maybe it's your treasure behind the door, maybe it's sarcophagi with mummies or a bunch of man-eating scarabs. But you see, there's a drawing here. It's a diagram. We have to click on the pictures on the wall and the floor in the right order, I guess... But we need to find some kind of lever that activates it all."

"And if we press in the wrong order, then what?" Crocodile asked in a quiet voice.

"Well, then we have a good chance of turning into mummies, and in a few hundred years local kids will be scared with scary stories about us." Catherine said, barely containing a nervous laugh. "Yes, I've always dreamed of dying next to the sandman and the clown."

Crocodile stood up and offered Catherine his hand.

"Thanks, I guess," she said with surprise in her voice. "Okay, guys, we need to find a lever, a big button or something..."

Catherine and Crocodile continued to look at the book and diary while Laura, Rika, Buggy and Jules were exanimating the walls and floor.

"People, there's another sign here," Laura said, lighting an obscure symbol with her torch.

"Wait, that's...," Catherine sat down next to her, "it's Seth's sign."

"How is Seth?" Crocodile asked.

"God, сome on! You're in Egypt. It's an Egyptian god."

"Then what do these symbols mean?" Jules' voice came from the wall.

Catherine approached her.

"Jules, sister, hold the book. Buggy, hold the torch and the diary," she began to run her hands over the wall and the pages again, muttering something to herself.

"Anything?" Rika asked, coming up behind her.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute, don't distract me," Catherine waved her hand away. "Guys, I get it. Look, these aren't just symbols. It's a puzzle. But not just a puzzle, a puzzle of myth. And a note that says "Beware of Seth".

"What myth?" Buggy asked in surprise.

"Osiris and Isis," Catherine said affirmatively.

"And what's it about?" Laura asked and Rika said together.

"Come on! Seth killed Osiris, Isis' husband, chopped him up and hid him in different places. Buggy, by the way, if you bother me, I'll do the same to you," she said with a slight smile.

"I'm sorry, what?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Isis went in search of her husband's parts. The symbols on the wall and floor match the ones in the book. And if you look in the diary, you'll know in what order to press the buttons."

"But what does this have to do with Seth?" Laura asked. "You know, I don't know much about all these Egyptian myths, but it seems to me that if something is mentioned in the text, you should take it into account."

"Seth is the god of storms and deserts, that doesn't make sense," Jules said.

"But he was also considered the god of deception," Catherine whispered. "We need to press these slabs in reverse order. We have to find the lever and then start this infernal mythological machine."

"There's something like a wheel in here, but to be honest, I don't really want to touch it," Jules said with excitement in her voice, pointing to a small object.

Crocodile and Buggy approached the wheel. Turning it a few times they both looked round.

"And now what?" Crocodile asked.

Catherine looked at the book and started pointing with her hand.

"Now we have to press the slabs in reverse order, that's what Laura, you over here, Jules, you over here, Rika, you on that slab, you two stand over there at those two slabs closer together. Just in case there's a door, of course."

She sat down on the ground, put the book next to her, and started rambling again.

-Feet.. Arms... Body... Arms... Legs. Okay, first brown-haired bitch Rika. Then Jules. No, no, no, no.. first Laura. Then Rika. Then Jules. Then beehive. Then Buggy."

In that order, everyone pressed the slabs.

"And what? Nothing happens. Are you sure you got it right?" Buggy asked with a distinct annoyance in his voice.

"I-I.. I don't know, I hope so."

"If you decided to trick us...," Rika moved with a quick step towards Catherine.

Suddenly they heard a strange noise and the floor started to wobble.

"Please tell me it was you who ran so hard," Catherine said with fear in her voice, getting up from the floor. "Oh-oh, that's not good."

Slowly the walls began to fall down. The floor began to move more and more.

"What's with the door?" Rika shouted.

"It won't open," Jules hit the wall with her hand.

"Oh-oh, that's too bad!" Catherine looked around, dazed with shock.

"Are you sure you read it right?" shouted Crocodile.

"Do you really have to ask that now?" Catherine yelled back.

The heavy stone door began to open slowly. Crocodile and Buggy tried to pull it to move it, but to no avail.

"Yes! Yes! It's opening!! Hurry!" Jules took Laura's hand, and they slipped through the narrow passage.

"Catherine, hurry!" Rika grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the door.

The floor began to slowly collapse. From the bottom of the cave came the muffled sounds of stone hitting stone. Catherine noticed the book that had been left on the floor.

"The book!" she broke free of Rika's grip and ran to get it.

"Rika!" Crocodile turned into sand and picked Rika up.

"Oh, Catherine, this was a bad idea. That's the dumbest idea ever," she muttered to herself as she watched the floor fall down in bigger and bigger chunks.

Suddenly, she felt someone pick her up and book.

"You will be the death of me, cotton candy!" Buggy's flying torso threw her on his shoulder and carried her to the door.

"Damn you and your chop chop abilities," she said, exhaling as she watched the remnants of the floor fall into the abyss of the cave.

As soon as everyone was behind the door, it closed.

"Is everyone alive?" Rika asked, lighting a torch from the wall.

"I think so," Laura and Jules squeaked in unison somewhere.

Buggy lowered Catherine to the ground and put his body back on his feet. She looked around.

"Well. I have two bits of news. One, we're all alive. The second is that the way back is cut off".

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changingplumbob · 1 year ago

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Chopra Household: Chapter 3, Part 1

Cassandra and Rahul always wanted a big family of their own, but will twin girls be the best start?

In this part babies become infants, I keep most of my sanity, and the cloudy day makes the lighting difficult. But at least the chickens and infants are cute.

Back to clean green Willow Creek. When I load into a new household at 3am Saturday if there are babies or infants they always need immediate tending. It appears Savannah and Mercedes have swapped cribs on me, this will not be confusing at all. I did finally notice they both have Rahul's green eyes.

While Rahul feeds the girls Cassandra tries to pump. It appears between rotations her milk has started to dry up but luckily Pandasama made lactation cookies! Unfortunately they are not an instant fix so we are currently out of milk. Cassandra will have to try get it back to keep both girls fed.

Before joining Rahul in catching up on sleep, Cassandra cuddles and rocks both of her twins.

Cassandra: I'm sorry mama doesn't have any more milk right now. But you know what? Papa mixed some delicious formula earlier that we can use in the meantime. Try get some sleep now my darlings. I love you.

If you didn't know, the Chopra's have chickens. A little bit of Henford-on-Bagley for Rahul. Proud white rooster is Mr Cluckton. His partner is the black hen on the right, Mrs Feathers. Their chick Squidge has grown into a lovely brown hen seen on the left.

There is leftover Ramen from the last rotation so breakfast is sorted.

Cassandra: Squidge, what are you doing inside?

Squidge: *clucks* Wouldn't you like to know

Cassandra: Come on out with me, breakfast time

Squidge: *clucks* If I wanted to be outside, that's where I would be

Clean for all!

After breakfast Rahul goes outside to check on his beehive when a starving hen approaches

Feathers: *clucks* Help, I'm starving

Rahul: Are you hungry girl? There's food by the coop

Feathers: *clucks* I grow weak, is that the light

Rahul: I do have the feed on me, do you want some

Feathers: *clucks*

The twins seem content for now so Cassandra begins a pumping session while keeping her eye on them. It looks like the cookies have worked! Cassandra manages to pump them a bottle of milk each. before she can stand however Mercedes starts to wail.

Rahul: OMW, I could hear that outside

Cassandra: Could you try cheer Mercedes up? I've only just finished pumping

Rahul: Of course. Hey there. It can't be that bad surely?

Mercedes would like to say it is that bad actually. Also who knew babies could pull such disgusted faces in Sims 4? Not me

Rahul: I tried

Cassandra: Don't worry, babies seem temperamental

Rahul: Do you want me to feed her

Cassandra: No, I've finished with Savannah, I can do it

Rahul: At least Savannah looks happy

Cassandra: She does. Come here Mercedes, are you hungry? Is that the problem?

Rahul: Cuddles

Cluckton: Yes you may praise me

Squidge: OMW, dad, dad!

Cluckton: What is it?

Squidge: These ladybugs are gigantic! Do we think they could be mutants?

Cluckton: Don't be ridiculous, they are normal sized

Squidge: I thought they were meant to be our claw sized

Cluckton: Nonsense

Cassandra heads upstairs and is shocked to discover it's filthy. Time for the robot vacuum. She begins a yoga routine while the vacuum bustles around the dust bunnies and dust piles. She finishes her routine feeling focused, the same cannot be said for the robot vacuum. Dust is still everywhere 🙄

Rahul collects honey and beeswax from the beehive before turning to garden maintenance. He weeds, and weeds, and weeds, and weeds- seriously? Four times in a row and the weeds are not clearing from this one plant why? Cluckton begins his daily house patrol, so glad sim chickens can't poop inside.

Letting that one patch of weeds win Rahul goes to do some work on the washing machine. He wants to get 6 skills to level 8 so his handiness can use more work. The high-end robot vacuum upstairs has another try at cleaning, still dust lingers. Downstairs the doorbell rings. Bella is visiting!

Cassandra: Hey mum! Just give me a second

Bella: What are you doing

Cassandra: Royalties just came in and reminded me I need to relicense a song

Bella: Well done you

Cassandra: Thanks, I'm working on it. Only being able to licence one song per instrument per week is not the income flow I hoped for

Bella: If you need money-

Cassandra: I'm fine mum

Bella: My granddaughters are becoming infants today?

Cassandra: They are but we were going to wait untill the afternoon

Bella: Don't worry, you won't even know I'm here

Cassandra: I love you here mum, you don't need to be unseen. I think I need to pump now if you'll excuse me

With Casandra busy pumping Mrs Feathers takes the opportunity to have a walk inside. It amuses me how she likes to go and inspect Cassandra and Rahul's room. The other two just stick to the lounge/music/kitchen area but after conquering the external door Mrs Feathers is unfazed by internal doors.

Mercedes has begun to wail again so Cassandra tries to cheer her up. Having no luck Rahul comes and suggests they try food again. Both girls get fed and have clean diapers but are wailing despite the attention of their parents. I guess we're aging up a few hours early.

What do you know, I am successful in having them age up in unison. The age up sparkles and clouds are so cute! A million thank yous to the person who thought of the floating cloud. Both will get small make overs but as per my randomisation rules looks like the first favourite colour of both is blue.

Bella: I guess I should head back

Cassandra: Thanks for visiting, say hi to Milton for us

Bella: I will. Any message for your father?

Cassandra: Not one you need to pass on

Bella: Bye Rahul! Bye Savannah and Mercedes! Grandmama loves you!

When I exited CAS Savannah had put herself here so I guess this is her cot. She rolled the wiggly trait. Since infants can't have painted nails we're going to distinguish them by their socks. Savannah has bumbleebee socks, Mercedes has ladybug socks. Mercedes rolled the intense trait, fun.

Savannah is not happy. Despite being fed only half an hour ago both girls are hungry. Rahul and Cassandra have to use formula which the girls are unsure about but accept. Mercedes burps up the smallest bubbles. Savannah on the other hand turns out to be a Happy Spitter and manages to get everyone!

Mercedes gets put on the playmat while Savannah receives a few more comforting snuggles. Rahul and Cassandra then play with their daughters who follow the toys with their eyes. At the end of playtime both girls unlock the reach milestone, reaching for the toys their parents are holding.

Then its naptime while Cassandra and Rahul have dinner. Mercedes is very annoyed. Turns out she has the Snuggly Sleeper quirk and wants to be sleeping in her parents arms. Savannah, who also has the Good Appetite quirk, tries to smile at her sister but Mercedes is having none of it.

When naps are over Savannah has a massive sulk while Mercedes is unconcerned despite being intense. Mercedes now tries to smile at Savannah, but Savannah is too busy being sad. I haven't had twin infants before, but I love how they are already trying to interact with each other.

Previous Part (Villareal) ... Next Part

#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #rotation6 #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #CassandraChopra #RahulChopra #SavannahChopra #MercedesChopra #BellaGoth #ChopraHousehold #R0606

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gsebsolutions · 2 years ago

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jharkhandboardsolution · 2 years ago

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#Jharkhandboardsolution #JACClass9EnglishSolutions #JAC9thClassEnglishChapter3 #TheLittleGirl

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mandoinevarro · 4 years ago

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NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough” is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

≈

Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @lola-wolf @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical @pascaliprincess @geannad @coaaster @frietiemeloen @yourbucky084 @brynnstudies @elfwoodfae

im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #mywriting #rule maker rule breaker

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starlight-in-my-eyes · 3 years ago

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I have soo many problems with this fucking Indian Education system for fuck's sake dude this chapter in our English course should be scrapped off from the book itself. Here is what it is-

Trigger Warnings: tw abuse, tw child abuse, tw hitting

This is chapter 3 in class 9 ncert beehive textbook- The Little Girl

The story follows a little girl who is about 7-9 years old, who has a really shitty dad. The dad scolds her for no obvious reasons and screams at the little child. When he comes home he makes her remove his boots and keep them in place. Who fucking does that!?

One day her grandmother approaches her and tells her that her father's birthday is approaching so she should make a pin cushion for him. The girl -Kezia- agrees in the hope that maybe her relations with her father will improve. So she makes a cushion and stuffs it with some speech papers belonging to the father.

The result? The father hits her bad.

Now one fine day, the girl is alone in the home with father and at night she has a nightmare. So the father hugs her to sleep and it was soo weird how he did it I am not writing that down u can read it for urself I'll add the pdf.

End of the story the girl realizes that this father indeed has a soul and then SHE FEELS FUCKING SYMPATHY FOR HIM. Because he has to work soo hard everyday at office and obviously he is tired and exhausted when he comes home. Like fucking shit exhaustion is the reason why he abuses her? Bullshit.

And now keeping in mind that you are teaching this story too literal 13-14 year olds what will we learn? To accept abuse? To make up some excuse for that behaviour? I am done. Just fucking done.

here is the pdf btw if someone wants to read the story

#desi #ncert #anti ncert #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw hitting #tw indian education system #tw indian education #manya rants abt how fucking disgusting ncert is

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janetbrown711 · 3 years ago

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Oh, how the Mind Wanders...

Agustín tries to find Luisa and get his mind to stop spiraling at the same time.

Unfortunately, he's pretty bad at both.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

.o0o.

Agustín was worried out of his mind.

Firstly, he was worried about his amor, his corazón, his vida, his wife, his Julieta. The way she strayed from his touch all morning made sense when he felt her practically steaming skin once she was passed out. He thought the bed was unusually hot that night, but he figured it had more to do with the heatwave passing through. Of course, Julieta had been sick before so when she announced feeling ill he wasn’t exactly surprised. He was more so surprised when her stash was gone– Julieta was always prepared, it didn’t make any sense. She wasn’t careless– he was the careless one.

The previous day had been a rough one though. Mosquitoes seemed vengeful this year, so Julieta had to work extra hard to cover those that were made ill and those that were simply bitten, which depending on that day's weather could leave her out for about ten hours. Not to mention Agustín still maintained his clumsiness, even though he had been trying his damndest this week.

Secondly… he was worried that it might be his fault she ran out. That she was asleep and scorching hot to the touch because of his inept-ness causing him to require five yesterday alone. That she might actually be dying because he couldn’t be aware of his surroundings for five seconds. Because he couldn’t stop stumbling into beehives– because he couldn’t just be normal and function like an actual human being and not some utter buffoon or a puppet with half its strings cut. He despised the thought– he was well aware that blame did very little to change the present situation and that he had to remain strong for his girls, but it persisted like the world’s most stubborn bee.

Thirdly, he was worried about his girls– Luisa especially, because he couldn’t find her. Luisa had always been one to keep things that bothered her deep down ever since she had turned five, which was a habit she shared with her mother (though Julieta’s face was always far more telling). It was natural she’d try to run off and do work in a moment of distress, but that didn’t make it any better.

He was also worried for Isabela. She was more than likely snooping on Pepa and Alma with Dolores, trying to figure out what was wrong even though they’re too young to know how little everyone knows what was going on. If nobody stopped those two before it was too late they’d probably hear something they’d both regret. Not that Dolores wouldn't be used to it…

Agustín thought that the gift of hearing was more of a curse than anything.

Lastly, he was worried about his little Miraboo. The poor dear was 4 and without her mamá or papá. Heck- he probably should’ve stayed with Mirabel instead, but Luisa- ugh, why was making these kinds of decisions so hard? Why did Julieta have to get sick so he had to deal with the three of them alone?

“ Not alone ,” He reminded himself. There was Félix and Bruno. Agustín didn’t know what he’d do without his cuñados. They were probably watching Mirabel and Camilo, as well as Dolores and Isa right now. He was fine, everything was probably… fine. At least- as far as they can be, given the circumstances.

Not that the circumstances were necessarily dire… except that Julieta was burning hot and unconscious which, yeah is bad. But Julieta was Julieta, she’d be okay, right? She has healing in her veins, she always makes everyone else feel better, so surely she can make herself feel better, right..? She most certainly deserved to…

God, Agustín hadn’t been this nervous about Julieta since before Isabela was born. Everything had ended up fine, it all had, just…

Agustín was the one who was supposed to be hurt– it would’ve been a lot less frightening if it was just him. Julieta didn’t deserve this, the girls didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve this. At least- he hoped he didn’t.

Luisa.

He needed to find Luisa.

Agustín looked around the crowded square as people buzzed and moved around: it was market hours so naturally everyone was out and about. Including a line of injured people, standing by where Julieta’s cart should’ve been.

“Ay, Agustín! Where’s that wife of yours? It’s getting hot out here,” One man shouted across the way, which earned him a glare from Agustín.

“Julieta won’t be cooking today, she needs to rest!” A familiar, much kinder voice than his would’ve been, spoke for him.

“Félix, glad to see you. Have you seen Luisa?” Agustín asked as the line muttered amongst themselves.

“No, I just picked up the books Alma wanted,” Félix said. “Have you not seen her?”

“Haven’t seen her since breakfast. I hope she’s okay,” He sighed.

Félix patted his back. “I’m sure Luisa will be home in no time. Why don’t you come back with me and we can wait for her there?”

“No, no, I'll keep looking for her here,” Agustín insisted. The shorter of the two nodded.

“Take care of yourself, Agustín,” He patted his back once more before heading back to the casita.

“I’ll try,” He half-joked.

Quickly, he resumed his search for his middle daughter, calling her name and asking villagers where they had seen her last. Unfortunately, she always managed to leave just before he arrived and he’d have to ask more and more. It must’ve been a slow day due to the overall lack of churches moving, which would’ve made it much easier to find her. It also would’ve explained why she was moving so quickly: nothing to do with an anxious mind.

Agustín was feeling the same way.

Repeating said process a total of thirty-two times, he eventually found himself by the old wooden bridge by the river not too far from Casita. The thing was old and half broken– it was rumored and highly suggested that it should be replaced in a few years, but time would tell if anything would happen. Still, Agustín didn’t see Luisa, and so he started to go, when he heard the sounds of a child crying from underneath.

“Luisa?” He called out. The crying ceased at that.

“I-I’m just taking a s-small break, it’s okay Papá,” the voice replied, proving itself to be his little Luisa. He quickly got off the bridge, finding her right underneath the steps up to the bridge hugging her knees and covered in mud. Agustín sat right next to her without hesitation.

“Luisa, querida, what’s wrong?” He asked, wrapping an arm around her.

“I-i know i shouldn’t b-be taking a break, but th-they asked me to r-reroute the river and I want to b-but I fell a-and now my ankle hurts and I-i wanted to go home for Mamá’s arepas but then i remembered she’s sick,” she looked down in shame.

“Are you okay? Let me look at it,” Agustín said. The nine-year-old stuck out her leg and he got a good look at it. Thankfully, it didn’t look broken though a bit swollen.

“I’ll carry you back home, it’ll be okay mi hija,” He kissed her forehead, going to pick her up but Luisa shook her head.

“I-i have to finish, I said I’d reroute it for them,” Luisa said.

Agustín loved the people of the Encanto, he really did… but asking a nine year old to reroute a river? What the hell was that about?

He kissed her forehead again. “I’m sure they’ll be okay for one day. Besides, it’s way too hot and it’ll be better in the long run if you rest now, hm? I’m sure they’ll understand,” Agustín assured, wiping her face of any tears.

Luisa bit her lip before slowly nodding. Carefully, he scooped up his not-so-little daughter and did his best not to slip as he got her out from under the bridge and he headed back towards Casita.

“I’m sorry for making you fall…” Luisa said, referring to earlier.

“I fall all the time, it’s alright,” He smiled.

“I’m also sorry for running off…”

“It’s alright querida, I found you eventually.”

“Yeah…” Luisa went silent for a bit after that.

“...do you think Abuela will be mad at me?”

Agustín had to think of how best to respond.

“Your health and safety matter more than any work getting done,” he decided to say. Luisa nodded slowly, her brown eyes looking down at her hands. Knowing it was likely best to leave it at that, he marched onward, doing his best to not stumble or fall as he weaved back through the town, ignoring any and all questions about Julieta and why Luisa wasn’t working (which he was just sure Luisa was loving… he hugged her a little tighter).

After a while, the pair reached Casita and Agustín brought her to the kitchen where he sat her down in a chair while he looked for bandages (they had to still have bandages, right?)

“Luisa! Are you okay? What happened?” Pepa had been sitting on the stairs, and quickly came over to check on her sobrina.

“I’m okay, just fell by the river,” Luisa could barely look at her aunt, her ears red with embarrassment.

“Oh you poor thing,” Pepa said, patting her head softly as soft rain fell from a cloud above her head.

“Pepa, I thought you were watching Julieta. And where’s Félix?” Agustín asked, finding the bandages and beginning to wrap Luisa’s ankle.

“Mamá kicked me out, so Bruno is watching Julieta for now, and Félix is with Mirabel and Camilo in the nursery,” She said, fighting the urge to correct his bandaging. Agustín noticed this of course, and handed it to Pepa so she could do it instead.

“Guess I'm used to it being the other way around,” He laughed a little. Pepa gave him a pitiful smile before taking his place and wrapping her ankle properly. “How are they doing”

“Bruno hasn’t said anything about Julieta and Mamá went back to her room. Camilo and Mirabel were drawing last I saw, and I haven’t checked on Dolores or Isabela yet. It took awhile for the winds to die down, and even then…” Pepa didn’t need to explain, as a breeze went through the kitchen.

“And what about Bruno?” He asked.

Pepa shrugged. “He hasn’t come out in a while; I wouldn’t be surprised if he was asleep.”

“Papá, can I hang out with Dolores and Isa?” Luisa asked her father.

“Of course, I’ll just–” Agustín started to say but Casita seemed determined to handle this one itself, as it quickly moved the chair to the stairs and then made the stairs move in a way that brought it up and then moved it all the way to Isabella’s room, which it brought inside.

“Well that solves that,” He laughed a little. “Gracias, Casita.” The house creaked softly in gratitude.

“Injuring herself? Luisa never hurts herself,” Pepa crossed her arms.

“She’s nervous, like we all are,” He said, putting the bandages away.

“I thought her powers made her invulnerable,” She said, not meaning any harm. Agustín just shrugged.

“I don’t know about this power stuff, but if she got hurt, she got hurt. I’m sure she’s just used to her mamá being able to fix everything anyway so it’s… a lot,” he huffed.

“Right- sorry,” Pepa apologized. Agustín sighed.

“It’s alright. I just- I’m tired I suppose. The heat woke me up early– I suppose I’m grateful for a little wind,” He again tried to joke, but he really wasn’t kidding.

“It’s the specialty right now,” Pepa half-joked too.

“But you should probably rest. You look like a mess,” Pepa said, well aware she probably did too.

“I.. should, but…”

“Oh dios mio– I forgot for a moment there, sorry,” Pepa facepalmed.

“Looks like we both could use a nap,” He chuckled. Pepa nodded.

“I can make some tea and bring it up for you if you’d like,” Pepa suggested. That did sound good… if Pepa didn’t over boil the water or accidentally mix up the salt and sugar. Tea making was more of Félix’s thing.

“Sure, I’ll just… swap with Bruno then,” he said, not knowing where else he could really nap. Maybe if he set up a hammock, but he was too tired for that, and would rather lay with Julieta– even if she was burning hot and possibly maybe dying.

“It’ll be ten minutes tops,” Pepa smiled before gathering pots once more.

Agustín took his leave, going up the stairs slowly as he truly started to feel the exhaustion settle in. He was ready to just collapse into his bed and to cuddle his sick wife until everything was okay again, that sounded nice.

Carefully, he opened the door and found Bruno kneeling in front of Julieta, but he quickly stood at the sound of the door.

“A-Agustín- I was going to- uh-”

“ Agustín …” A weak voice whispered behind Bruno. Bruno stepped aside quickly to reveal Julieta was in fact, not dead and was looking at her husband softly with a little weary smile.

“ Julieta, mi amor,” Agustín practically sprinted to the bed as he quickly kissed her burning forehead and lips and held her clammy hand that she weakly tried to place on his cheek.

“Amor, are you alright? Do you know what’s the matter? Is there anything I can do?” He asked.

“You have a bump,” Julieta gestured to the giant bump on his forehead with a weak laugh.

“What can I say? I’m the clumsiest man alive,” He kissed her hand too.

“Alright– I’m just gonna leave you two lovebirds to it… Agustín can tell the others you're okay,” Bruno nodded at the two awkwardly, his face a deep shade of red, before exiting the room quickly. Julieta laughed a little.

“I missed you so much, are you okay?” Agustín asked, noticing that while she was awake, she didn’t appear any better.

“I…” he could see her wanting to lie.

“It… it hurts, Agustín… it hurts a lot.”

“Oh amor…” he kissed her forehead again, completely understanding.

“Is Mirabel okay? I- I had promised- I told her I would play, is she okay?” Julieta tried to sit up upon remembering.

“Hey, it’s okay Julieta, I’m sure she’s okay. I heard she’s coloring in the nursery with Camilo and Félix.”

“What about Isa and Luisa? How are they?” She asked, squeezing his hand.

“They’re okay, amor, they aren’t going anywhere,” he said, growing more and more nervous. “Luisa is with Dolores and Isabela after trying to work a bit and hurting herself.”

“Hurting herself? Is she okay?” Julieta once again tried to sit up, but he grabbed her shoulders to keep her put.

“Amor, she’s alright, we bandaged her up, she’ll be okay.”

“Mi niña pequeña…” She whispered as a painful chill shook her body. “I-i should check on her- make her an arepa o-or something.”

“Julieta, no. You’re on strict bed rest until you get better.”

“I just need to make myself something, I’ll be okay,” she fought back.

“No you won’t. Juli- you pushed yourself this morning and it caused you to pass out. We don’t need you to push yourself even more just for us. Rest… please,” he pleaded.

“The village needs me, you need me, the girls need me, Agustín. I-i need to work, please,” she tried to get up, cringing at the pain.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re sick, Julieta, and we need you to get better, the natural way,” he said, fighting a lump in his throat.

“Agustín,” Julieta’s dark brown eyes started to form tears. “This isn’t a flu– this is Yellow Fever. I-if I don’t do something- I-i could… and I don’t want to… I have to-”

“How do you know it’s Yellow Fever?” Agustín felt his heart sink.

“I have books on diseases and medicines in the back,” she gestured vaguely towards her private kitchen. Agustín didn’t know how he and everyone else forgot about those.

“But Agustín, please, I-i… I’m so scared…” she pleaded with him, squeezing his hand even more, the tears now starting to fall. “Everything hurts… I’m so tired… and I just want to help…”

“Amor…” He wiped her tears away. “The best way to help is to rest. You and I both know you’re in no condition to cook, and trying to work would just make things worse, so please… just relax,” he cupped her face with his hand. She leaned into it.

“B-but… what if I don’t get better? I don’t have back ups, I-i could eventually…”

“Juli, please… let’s just rest for now, okay?” He pleaded, his own tears starting to fall. “All we can do for now is rest.”

Julieta clearly wanted to say so much more, her sickly yellow-tinted face was wrinkled with worries and anxiety, but she weakly nodded.

“You’re right, Agustín,” she forced a smile. “Te quiero.”

“Yo también te amo, cariño.”

A pause.

“Can you lay with me..? I’m… I’m not ready for the girls yet…” she said with a slight shame.

“Of course, cariño,” He kissed her forehead once more before changing out of his usual suit into something far more comfortable and slipping into bed with his Julieta, whom he quickly embraced and snuggled up with despite the sweltering temperature of her skin.

“...I’m sorry for scaring you, cariño. I’m just... this has never happened..."

“I know,” He said, closing his eyes and resting his head atop hers. “But we’ll figure it out together, as we always have.”

“As we always have,” She repeated, a small, genuine smile appearing on her face.

They would get through this together…

They had to.

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laequiem · 3 years ago

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boys ain't shit - chapter 1

Jurdannet Folktober 2021- Day 09. Love potion no. 9 @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Taryn Duarte/Nicasia

Rating: Teen

Word count: 1,039

Taryn Duarte, in a desperate attempt to gain Locke's True Love, has brewed a Love Potion. But will the potion actually work?

read on ao3

masterpost

chapter 2 • chapter 3 • chapter 4

Chapter 1. Love potion number 9

Taryn POV

It was no small thing to gather the ingredients I needed. For months, rosehip has been fermenting in a bottle of faerie wine under my bed. I snuck in the gardens to gather fresh rosemary. I could have purchased the items, of course. However, the grimoire I read stated that the more work you put in, the stronger the potion. So I collected honeycombs from a wild beehive and extracted the honey myself. It was messy and exhausting, but there is little I would not do for true love.

Even if Locke says faeries do not love like we humans do, I can make him love me and only me.

It’s not that I don’t want Jude to be happy. I do. They’re just… not right for each other, you know? Locke is all smiles and games. Sometimes I wonder if Jude ever lets her guard down. I have not seen her laugh in years.

The glass vial containing the potion sloshes in my dress pocket as I make my way through Locke’s maze, towards the center where I know today’s festivities are taking place. It’s a regular weekday—Locke and his friends never need a reason to celebrate. Prince Cardan’s bad mood is reason enough, and he’s always in a bad mood when sober. Not that he is any better when intoxicated, but he usually doesn’t pay me any mind when he is and that is fine with me. As I reach the center of the maze, I see that today is no exception. He’s sprawled out on a fine blanket, a whiskered girl braiding his hair. He gives a quick look my way as I emerge, but quickly snaps his head away with a sneer.

The usual.

Nicasia is hovering near him, not approaching but clearly hoping he notices her. She’s breathtaking in an opalescent gown, the sleek plunging neckline showing a large expanse of flawless skin sparkling with glitter. Her hair falls in voluminous blue curls decorated with aquamarine gems and string. On her head sits a crown of shells and pearls.

“My dove,” a familiar voice croons behind me, “you came! I was starting to worry.”

I turn to face Locke, ever handsome in a wine-colored doublet. They’re all so beautiful, I stand out like a horse at a wedding banquet. How could I possibly stand out when they’re so ethereal and I’m, well… human?

“Sorry for the wait,” I tell him, smiling. “I had to sneak past my sister.”

“Jude is always welcome, too,” he tells me as he pulls me in his arms.

I try not to react, not to show him his words affect me. He loves to remind me that he’s dating both of us. It’s part of the challenge he gave me, I suppose. If I can share him with Jude, then he will agree to marry me soon.

“Not Jude,” I tell him.

“I always forget you have two sisters,” Locke says, a hand brushing against my cheek. “You’re all I can see.”

I can feel myself blushing, and he gives a quick kiss to my cheek.

“I’ll go get us drinks,” I say, shrugging out of his arms. “I’ll be right back.”

I saunter over to the banquet table and grab two cups. I fill them with the darkest wine available, hoping it will hide the deep scarlet of my potion.

My hands shake as I reach in my pockets for the vial. I try not to look suspicious as I uncork it, hiding it under the table as I do. A quick look around tells me that nobody is looking my way. I dump the contents in one of the cups and give it a quick swirl, watching as the potion disappears into the wine.

I am really doing this. It’s wrong. It’s the stuff of fairytales, but when one mingles with the fae, one can only win by playing by their rules.

A manicured hand grabs the glass meant for Locke from my hands. I don’t need to look up to know who it belongs to—it’s of a paleness only the fae can achieve, with green undertones that would look sickly on anyone else. On her, however, it’s elegant.

“And here I thought Locke had no human servants,” Nicasia says, gazing down at me with ocean-deep eyes.

I swallow, willing myself not to react. Not to roll my eyes or scowl, no matter how much I want to. Nicasia places a hand to her breast, faking surprise.

“Oh, silly me! It’s no servant. It’s only one of the worms.” She gives me a once-over, her upper lip slightly pulled back. “Could have fooled me.”

I reach for the cup she took from me, but she lifts the goblet above her head, too high for me to reach.

“That is for Locke, give it back,” I say, trying to sound less irritated than I am.

Nicasia waves a hand dismissively. “Just get him another one.”

I try to reach the glass, but she waltzes away. Once out of arm's reach, she brings the glass to her lips and I watch wide-eyed as Nicasia drains the glass containing the love potion meant for Locke. The potion I spent months working on.

“What is it, little wormie?” Nicasia croons.

The potion is supposed to make the person fall in love with the first person they see. It’s fantastical, unbelievable, but my relationship with Locke needs it. And now Nicasia… I hope that all of this was for nothing. I hope the potion was nothing but a hoax.

“You look sick,” she says, tipping her head slightly to the side. “Perhaps you should retire for the night.”

Nicasia reaches out, her fingers slipping through a strand of my hair. I flinch away from her, suddenly afraid that the potion worked and that she is about to kiss me. As I do, I bump into something—someone—behind me.

“There you are,” Locke says as he slips his arms around my waist. “What’s taking you so long?”

He kisses my temple, then looks over at Nicasia. “Nicasia. I hope you are not trying to steal my lover.”

Nicasia snorts, but it sounds fake. Loaded. “It takes one to know one.” -

tag list: @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @lizziebxnnet @hazelsheartsworn

If you want to be added to my tag list, DM me!

#Jurdannet #jurdannetfolktober2021 #folktober #the folk of the air #tfota #nicaryn #nicasia #taryn duarte #cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #rarepair

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iamtwilighttrash · 5 years ago

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My Breaking Dawn

BACKGROUND: I am rewriting Breaking Dawn the way I think it should have been written. To preface, please note that in my Twilight universe:

1) Jacob and Bella were never anything more than friends. In New Moon, they were nothing more than brother/sister-ish friends. In Eclipse, Jake and Edward actually became good friends, and he was ecstatic to hear about the wedding. (NO KISS EVER OCCURRED)

2) Angela is more present in Bella’s life. This is very important to me.

3) Edward and Bella have basically the same relationship: he still left her in New Moon, they’re still the classic/mushy/everlasting romance type, etc. BUT they also are young, they have more fun with one another, and Bella knows how to hold her own a little bit.

4) Bella is much more integrated into Cullen life/family. She, Jasper, and Emmett are closer, and there is no tension between her and Rosalie after Eclipse.

5) Edward does not buy Bella a new car. I like her truck, and so does she, and Jacob and Rosalie are around to fix it up.

6) Please assume that Charlie found out about the engagement in the same way as in the original. I don’t feel like rewriting that, and I thought that it fit the narrative well.

7) Jacob has long hair. This might seem insignificant, but it isn’t, and it means something to me.

Anyway, I’m going to jump right in! I hope you enjoy my Breaking Dawn.

(Stephenie Meyer OBVIOUSLY owns these characters and the saga. I’m just adding my creative aesthetic spin to it. Some elements will be incredibly similar in wording to the original, but for the most part I am entirely rewriting it)

CHAPTER ONE

I was getting married. I was getting married. I was getting married. Tomorrow. So soon, my head spun.

I paced around Alice’s bedroom, the sound of my socked feet just whispers to my own ears; to my vampire family, I probably sounded like an entire marching band. Alice was perched on the edge of her bed, Rosalie beside her, both of them bemused and statue-still. Esme flitted anxiously by my side. Her soft, sincere face broke my firm resolve to bolt from the door.

“Bella, honey, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” she murmured gently, slender fingers framing my face to stop me. I met her gaze, certain I appeared frantic.

I’m getting married! This was the final fitting. I would have to look at myself in the mirror, in the elegant gown of eggshell white, and see a stranger looking back. “Esme, what if its all...wrong?” Before Esme could answer, Alice surged to her feet and gripped my hands. Her touch was stone-cold, hard, but gentle. It soothed me marginally.

“It will be fine Bella, go to your happy place.” Rosalie sashayed to the corner, a vision of grace, to grab the satin dress. The color complimented her skin and hair beautifully. She would make a stunning bride. But what of me, silly, insignificant, young, human girl? Would the fabric turn my skin translucent; would the guests be able to see right through me?

I closed my eyes, trying to listen to Alice. If I couldn’t shut off the ramblings of my mind, perhaps I could redirect my thought. My happy place. The nerve-wracking wedding done and behind me. I had married Edward, fulfilled my end of our life-altering bargain. It would be his turn. Our final adventure together with me as a human. So soon, I would become just like him. The eternity that I had long-hoped for would begin. But, before that, there was just one more thing...

Our honeymoon.

Sex was not so scary to think about in the grand scheme of things, even if I would be having it with a vampire. I trusted Edward entirely. In fact, my only worries stemmed from insecurity. How would either of us know what...to do? Edward had his brothers around to help him. I supposed that I could ask Alice or Rosalie, but then...but then what if Edward heard them think about what I asked? The thought was so mortifying that, in the moment, I blushed.

Okay, so maybe I couldn’t go to my happy place with company in the room. Even barring my embarrassment at having him know I asked his sisters how to have sex, there was still the inevitability of my heart racing at the thought of being with him in that way. If Esme could hear the evidence of how much I enjoyed my happy place...

So, instead, I focused the slip and glide of the satin gown over my skin and the cool brushes of Esme and Rosalie’s hands as they held the garment in place for Alice’s minor sewing adjustments. My weight hadn’t fluctuated much, so there was little that needed to be altered from the last fitting. Just a little bit taken in in the back, I thought, judging by the pinch of the fabric. Esme hummed while Alice worked, and the melody worked to soothe the nerves that threatened to fray.

“Oh, Bella...” It was Rosalie speaking. I opened my eyes to look at her, concerned by the tone.

“What? Is something wrong?” She was looking at me, at the dress, at me in the dress. Oh, god, I’m hideous! I’m too human. Esme had stepped back to join Rosalie, and she daintily covered her mouth with her hands. The only person seemingly unaffected was Alice, who had seen me in the dress many times.

“No, Bella, you’re...”

All wrong?

“Stunning.” The word shocked me. Stunning? Me? Coming from Rosalie’s mouth, Rosalie the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on, that word was like an expletive. I shuddered beneath the weight of her praise.

“You...you think so?” I had yet to turn around and look at myself in the mirror. I was frightened. Would I be able to recognize myself, Bella the bride?

“Oh, sweetie, you look beautiful!” Esme reached out and hugged me; she smelled like lavender, and orange blossom, and breakfast tea. Her body was like ice and yet, as she gave me a little squeeze, my whole body felt like it had been basking beneath the Arizona sun. I hugged her back automatically. In her, I had found a mother in the areas that my own was lacking. Unwanted tears sprung along my lower lash line. On a day such as this, my mom should have been there. I was reminded once again that my choice— becoming a vampire— would effect more than one aspect of my life.

Esme pulled back and wiped away the moisture with steady hands. Alice, sensing my unraveling, was quick to change the subject.

“Alright, Bella. Go ahead, look at yourself.” Simple enough task, but my feet felt like they were buried in cement. Look at myself? How? With an uneven breath, I forced myself to turn and face the long mirror on the wall.

The dress was so...Edward. Even on my body, I could tell it was designed for him. I panicked, trying to see myself in the timeless shape, the Calla Lily folds; even the lace of the sleeves mocked me. I was far too plain, too ordinary. Was I all wrong for him? They had spoken of how beautiful I was, but where? I noticed the splotches on my cheeks from crying, the puffiness under my tired eyes, the unevenness of my body’s proportions: human. Mortal. Meant to end.

“Well?” beamed Alice. I turned back, and three pairs of golden honey eyes appraised me warily, waiting for my response.

“I love it,” I choked out. Esme’s smile vanished. Alice and Rosalie pursed their lips. I could not fool them. I was an awful liar.

“What’s wrong?” The dam broke; I came, at last, undone. Esme was quick to usher me towards Alice’s bed, folding me into a marble embrace. I was glad Edward wasn’t home; the sound of my distress would have roused him to check on me, regardless of Alice’s stern warning to mind his business and stay out of her room.

“I’m not,” a hiccup broke the sentence, “good enough for him. I’m all wrong.” Rosalie— I knew it was Rosalie from her feather soft touch— rubbed my back while Alice touched my hair.

“Isabella Swan,” it was her stern voice that jolted me. I sniffled, conscious of the fact that I was staining Esme’s lilac blouse with my tears, and pulled back to meet her gaze. One strand of spiky black hair had escaped its polished, messy spikes and was drooping over her left eye. She brushed it back, so quickly that my eyes barely registered the gesture. “Edward loves you, you silly girl. He wouldn’t go through all this trouble for just anybody.” It was teasing, but truthful.

“Okay.” Yes, she was right. He loved me. I loved him. It would be okay. I took a deep breath, mortified that I had started sobbing. “Sorry, sorry.” The knee-jerk reaction made me sniffle. Had Jacob been there, he would’ve made me laugh, told me to get over myself— maybe I should call him. As if on cue, my phone buzzed on Alice’s antique vanity, the sound like a beehive. Sometimes, I swore, Jacob could sense my sadness from miles away.

Esme released me so I could answer my best friend. His voice, husky and warm, assaulted my ears before I could say a single syllable.

“Bells, you better not be crying you idiot. I can hear you from outside. I’m here to spring you.” I rushed to the window to pull back the sheer curtains, and indeed he was there, leaning against his bike with my spare helmet tucked under his arm. He waved.

“I have to get out of my dress you jerk. I’ll be down in a sec.” As I spoke, Alice started undoing the pearl buttons on my back.

“Cool. I’m letting myself in and grabbing a snack.” Esme heard that and her soft, soothing laugh began when I snapped the phone shut.

“I’ll go down and keep him company. I’ve been meaning to ask him about the progress on his new car. Oh, and Bella dear,” she said, reaching out to cup my cheek. I gave her my full attention. “Edward might not be biologically mine, but he’s still my son. I know how much he loves you. He smiles so much more now, and I can tell his happiness is due to you. You are so incredibly right for him, Bella. And I—” there was a little catch in the back of her throat, “I’m so happy you’re joining our family.” With that, she kissed my cheek and all but danced from the room.

I couldn’t help but smile. I told myself to relax— all that mattered was that I loved Edward, and he loved me back. The rest— the dress, the wedding, the guests, the honeymoon— was unimportant. I stepped out of the gown, and Rosalie gave me a firm look.

“Bella, this is your wedding. I thought the dress was lovely on you, but if you’d rather wear something else, the choice is yours.”

“Of course, Bella,” said Alice, though her brows furrowed slightly. Visions of me prancing down the aisle in my sweatpants likely plagued her thoughts. “We can come up with something, anything you want, in time for tomorrow. I’ll hand sew a dress myself if I have to.” I looked at them, my sisters, and felt so loved I choked. Forgetting my partial nudity, I wrapped both of my arms around them in a tight hug.

“I love you guys.” They both laughed. “Tomorrow is going to perfect. I’m just nervous.”

“Well of course you are,” Rosalie chuckled. I pulled back to dress myself in my jeans and one of Edward’s hoodies. It smelled like him— I inhaled deeply. “It is your wedding day, after all. I’ve been married so many times and I still get butterflies.” I was so excited to get to attend one of Emmett and Rosalie’s weddings in the future; Emmett promised me that their next one would be ridiculously themed, as it was his turn to decide.

“Okay. I’m going to go spend time with the Best Man before Edward steals him for the Bachelor Party.” That thought put a little knot in my stomach, though Jasper had promised me he would keep it under control. It would just be Edward, his brothers, Jacob, and Seth. 3 vampires and 2 werewolves walk into a strip club sounded like the start to a bad joke, and two of them were underage anyway.

“Don’t forget, your Bachelorette starts at 8:00.” Alice’s tone was stern, but she was smiling.

“Yes ma’am,” I joked, saluting playfully as a ducked through the door. On the way down, I could hear Jacob and Esme talking. After the battle that had rid us of Victoria, Jacob had spent a great deal of time recuperating at the Cullens. He and Esme bonded; I knew he saw some of his own mother in her features, and that warmed my heart.

“Hey Bells!” cheered Jacob. He draped one bulky arm over my shoulder as he finished up his conversation with my almost mother-in-law. In his opposite hand, he held a soda. Esme had started stocking food and drink for the wolves, and for my human father, the latter of the two having only ever braved the threshold once since finding out about my engagement.

“You two should get out of here before Edward shows up and ruins the tradition. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Esme kissed both of my cheeks, and then stood on her tiptoes to do the same to Jacob, before shooing us from the kitchen.

“You wanna ride on my bike, pretty girl?” asked Jacob, wagging his brows at me while he offered me the helmet. I snorted and shoved him a little.

“My mom always told me to say no to creeps.” But I took the helmet, securing the thick strap beneath my chin. “Why aren’t we running?” Riding on Jacob in his wolf form took days of practice, but I had finally gotten the hang of it. Emmett had even taken his fair share of turns, much to everyone’s amusement at the time. Jacob revved the bike.

“I figured we better do something just a little dangerous. It’s your last night as a free woman, Bells. And its the last time I’ll get to spend a full day with human- you.” I swallowed hard at the reminder. I had no regrets, of course, about the impending wedding or my decision to join Edward’s family permanently. Even setting the Volturi aside, I knew I was meant for vampire life. I could feel it in my bones, in my heart— an eternity with Edward was what I wanted. I was almost there.

Jacob started to drive; the bike didn’t go very fast, but it felt like we were flying. I clung to him, watching the forest blur, as the wind whipped my skin. There wasn’t much room for conversation, so my mind— predictably— wandered. I thought of the passed summer, my last human summer, which was coming to its glorious end. I thought of staying out late to build card empires with Jasper and Alice, infuriating chess games, and movie nights with Emmett. I pictured Edward sprawled out in the sun, body engulfed in a see of purple wildflowers, as his diamond skin refracted endless light; they swore that my memories would fade, but I swore that nothing in the whole world could make me forget that. Even then, in the present, I could feel the hard planes of his cool chest as we swam in the hidden lake he’d taken me too in July, could see the way those amber eyes glittered in the moonlight streaming through his open bedroom windows on late June nights.

I would remember more of my last mortal summer than just the Cullens, of course, as I knew they would be mine forever. Going fishing with Charlie— who had begged me to go just one time with him— and hearing the way his surprised laughter echoed in the cab of his cruiser as I told a joke about fish (Why did the trout leave the cult? They were too sacrifishal). Roasting marshmallows with Jacob and the rest of his pack while Billy and Sam raced around the yard; of course, Billy had won. Buying books with Angela. Walking the beach with Jacob. Spending one last weekend in Florida with Renee, painting our nails and listening to rock.

But my human life was soon to be over. I had said goodbye to the possibility of having any more memories like that, as being a bloodthirsty newborn would ensure that I was too dangerous to have those moments again.

Just as thoughts began to somber, Jacob cut the engine. I realized I had closed my eyes— when I opened them, we were on the beach. We both dismounted and stretched, me removing the stuffy helmet so I could gulp in salty air and him tidying up his windblown locks. We headed down to the shoreline in silence. The quiet was comfortable; in it, I could hear the waves crashing against the rocky cliffs and the rhythm of our feet on the damp earth. It was an overcast day, but the sun promised to poke through the cloud cover at any moment.

“I’m going to miss this,” I said after a few minutes of us slipping off our shoes and wiggling our toes in the sand. Jacob nodded. His eyes were on the waves.

“Me too, Bells. It’s gonna be weird, after you...well, when I see you next.”

“I won’t be able to show my face in public for a long time. I’m gonna be a walking freak show.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, teasing. “You’ll be a real circus act.” He took my hand as we continued to walk. With Jacob, there was nothing romantic about the action; he had always just been my sunshine, my best friend. I hadn’t realized until then just how much our friendship would be effected. No more beach trips, or dinner with Angela in Forks, or watching TV on his couch during lazy Saturday mornings. I would be a vampire. Though the pack and the Cullens were on good terms, there would be something in our biology pushing us apart. I was going to be, genetically, his enemy.

“Will you still be my friend, Jake, after all this is over?” There was a lump in my throat. It wasn’t time to say goodbye yet, but it would be the last time I would get to see him alone. He pulled us to a stop and studied my face.

“Bella, how many times have I told you? What you are doesn’t matter to me. You’ll still be Bells. Just a little more creeptastic.” The fake word made me giggle despite the fact that tears threatened to surface. He gave me a goofy smile— when he hugged me, though, I could tell that he held on just a little bit tighter than he would have had this been any other day.

#twilight saga #breaking dawn #breaking dawn rewrite #twilight #twilight universe #meyer #bella swan #cullens #quilieute #jacob black #au #please be nice to me I worked very hard on this

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timelock97 · 6 years ago

Text

Time Never Stops

Chapter Eleven: The PAX Announcement

Word Count: 1559

Prologue Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10

Warning: language, fluff

(Y/F/G): Your Favorite (Video) Game

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I bounce on the balls of my feet backstage at PAX West while the rest of GameSquad gets their mics on. I pull my phone out of back pocket glancing at the screen to see if Tom and Harrison had gotten seats with everyone else.

Thomas💙

We found Sean

He just like grabbed my shoulder

"Dude, you're going into the wrong theatre"

My Future💍

Glad I told him where you guys were

You would have missed the show

Thomas💙

Yeah

But we are all settled.

You ready to tell everyone?

My Future💍

Absolutely

Time to tell everyone of our little bundle

"You doing okay, TL?" I turn and look at Arya, who is smiling at me.

"Yeah, just making sure Tom and Haz found seats with Sean, Mark, and crew." I state, moving to make sure that my mic can be easily turned on when I get to the back of the auditorium. "Are we almost ready to go?"

"Yup, the boys are already in place on right stage and Arya and I will be left stage. All you have to do is go to the back and text me when you're set and we will get the music started." Marz states moving to place a hand on Arya's shoulder.

"Alright, see you all on stage." I smile at them and walk over to the security guard, Greg, that had been assigned to keep an eye on me during the convention. I give him a little nod before following him into the hallway to the front of the auditorium and shut the door behind me. I lean on the door and take a deep breath before texting Marz that I was ready to go.

The sound of GameSquad's streaming music started to play over the speakers, it is left to play for about a minute until it fades and cuts off suddenly. Time to work.

"I cannot believe it!" I groan, stomping up the path, smiling and high-fiving people as I jog up the path and make it up the stairs and climb on stage, "Hold up a second." I pant waving my hand at the audience, making a few people giggle. "Okay, so story time!" I call, making the crowd cheer excitedly. "So, since we had the panel to do, I left this morning to meet up with the rest of GameSquad, because we all know I'm always late, so we decided that we would all stay together until the panel. But," I draw out the word while I swing from one side to the other, looking at the audience while they giggle. "We all enter PAX and within ten minutes, Jac and Kyle done disappear!-"

"I told you if we stopped we would be late-" Jac calls, jogging on stage Kyle tagging along behind him.

"I had to get that pretty thing-" Kyle says, placing a hand over his heart.

"Yeah, I pretty chocolate muffin." Jac scoffs, making the audience laugh.

"So, uh, where is Marz and Arya?" Kyle asks, moving to the left side of me while Jac stays to the right.

"I was getting there, it's nice of you to join me. So," I clasp my hands together in front of me, "as I was saying. The girls and I decided to look over some game merch for (Y/F/G), but when I turn around, I'm alone, so much for sticking together so I wouldn't be late." I laugh, "but it seems I am the only one who is on time-"

"I told you we didn't have time to look at that demo!" Arya yells, running on stage with Marz on her heels.

"I didn't think we would be gone that long!" Marz says with a laugh taking her place beside Jac while Arya moves beside Kyle. "What did we miss?"

"We were all late except TL." Kyle says, throwing an arm around Arya's shoulders.

"Guys, I think we are missing something." Jac said nudging my shoulder.

"Oh yeah, What's up guys, you're on with Timelock-"

"It's JacKlyegameplays-" Jac and Kyle say in unison

"Welcome-" Arya speaks softly

"To Oblivion." Marz calls, "And you're on-"

"With GameSquad!" We all call, making the crowd go wild. I glance down at the first row to the right and see Tom and Haz smiling and clapping with all our friends.

"Okay settle down, we originally planned on playing a few rounds of Cards Against Humanity but I forgot to pack them." Kyle says as we settle on the couches behind us.

"We decided we would do a full day of Q&A's. However, there is a twist!" Marz says with a large grin.

"We have two hashtags for you all to tweet to. You will either tweet to #TruthGS or #DareGS because after six questions, we will spin the wheel," Arya says while Jac lifts up an old farm animal wheel that has all of our names on it. "And who ever it lands on will have to do the truth or dare. However, these have to be appropriate and have to be done here in the auditorium, so behave!"

"Beehive!" Jac yells, pulling the cord on the wheel and a pig snort comes out of the speaker, "No! Why am I the pig?"

"Because you eat like one." Kyle laughs making us all join in.

"Alright, everybody," I clap my hands together, "Let's get started."

After about forty-five minutes, we are all laughing about Kyle having to switch shoes with Marz, Jac having to switch clothes Arya, and me having to pick someone in the audience to go sit on. Obviously I chose Tom, which made everyone aww and laugh.

"Alright, guys, I actually want to cut the Q&A's short for important reasons." I look at the audience before getting nudged by Kyle.

"What are you doing?" He whispers, looking at me in confusion.

"I have a surprise for everyone, but mostly you guys." I state before moving to the front of the stage. "So, for those who have been keeping up to date on videos, you all know that I am moving to London in the next few weeks. But today, I have a very important surprise for my friends here on stage, you guys in the audience, at home." I motion for someone backstage to bring out a bag.

"TL, what is this?" Arya asks, moving closer.

"Well, this is something for you guys. You guys are important in my life, as well as the people in the audience." The four look around for a minute before I reach into the bag, handing each a PS4 controller.

"PS4 controllers?" Marz asks. I don't say anything before pulling out two more from the bag.

"Why are there two more?" Kyle says. I turn and look next to me when Jac suddenly bumps my knee with his, his controller flipped upside down.

"Guys, flip over your controllers." Jac whispers causing everyone to flip over their controllers and gasp.

"They say Uncle on our controllers," Kyle squeals, pointing at Jac and back at himself.

"Marz and mine say aunt!"

"TL are you-"

"Pregnant?!"

"Tom and I are expecting a third player in our party!" I squeal, causing the audience to freak. I look down at Tom and see my friends in the audience patting Tom on the shoulder, while he laughs and smiles.

I smile at the audience, "so guys, that has been why my uploading is off for the past like three months-"

"Wait, so that day you threw up before we played Golf with Friends?" Kyle asks, leaning away.

"Pregnant!" I say, making the audience cheer. The five of us notice the sound guys giving us the signal saying that we had about thirty seconds left of our panel, "Alright guys, I did not plan my timing well enough because we are out of time!"

"Thank you all for joining us today," Jac calls

"We hope to see you at the signing." Kyle calls after.

"We love you all!" Marz and Arya yell.

"Thank you for hanging with-"

"GameSquad." The five of us stand and bow before jogging off-stage.

We exit into a back area five minutes after the crowd cleared from the auditorium. I smile as our friends come jogging over.

"Expecting player three, that was so cheesy." Sean asks, pulling me into a hug and swaying me side to side.

"We thought it was perfect for a gaming YouTuber." I laugh, pulling away to be pulled into more hugs from Mark, Ethan, Tyler, Katherine, and Amy.

"I just have one more question." Mark states, smiling playfully before clamping a hand on Tom's shoulder.

"Shoot."

"We are all aunts and uncles right?"

I laugh, Tom pulling me into his side, "Oh yeah, you all have that title unless you don't want it."

"Oh, we definitely want it." Amy giggles, smiling at Tom and I.

"C'mon guys and gals, we have to move if we want to make it to the restaurant before it closes." Tyler laughs, moving backwards toward the front. All of us follow, Tom's arm wrap around my waist.

"Only a signing then we can go home and relax."

"That's not til Sunday," I laugh.

"Well, I will say one thing, you are definitely entertaining."

"It's my job." I giggle, tugging Tom along to follow our friends to dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! Reblog and comment!

Chapter Twelve

#cg writes #time never stops #dad!tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tomhollandxyoutuber!reader #best friends to lovers #bestfriendstoloversau #bestfriend!tom holland

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lostfirefly · 1 year ago

Text

You’ve Got the Same Dream as Me (Ch.5)

Hello, kiddos! The idea for this fanfic came to me from a dream (again) I had about a month ago. Тhe main characters were Tom Cruise and Henry Cavill (don't ask me why), but with a light hand they have been replaced (sorry, guys). The main action of the dream took place somewhere in the sands. Аlthough this fanfic will feature Sir Crocodile and our beloved Buggy, the action shifts to the desert. No marines, ships etc. Sorry, not sorry :) The devil fruit's abilities are preserved. Catch the Mummy and Indiana Jones vibes :) I have no idea how many chapters there will be. Different titles and names from the original source material will be used to emphasise the general OP's vibe.

Since English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

And thank you to my dear @yujo-nishimura and @laurasoretta for believing in me :)

Warnings: "F" words, slight tension. Adventures and fun are still here. Buggy x OC, Sir Crocodile x OC.

This chapter was a lot of fun and challenging to write. I'm not very good at describing male squabbles. That's why I'm a little worried. As a perfectionist with excellent student syndrome, I tried very hard not to go overboard with everything. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter.

Words: 2170

The title is taken from «You've Got the Same Dream as Me» (Sonya Belousova & Giona Ostinelli) (One Piece, Netflix)

Taglist: @gingernut1314

I had to added one shitty line. I'm not quite happy with it, but now at least my conscience doesn't bother me 😁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"Golly Gosh, his left hand looks like a beehive", Catherine whispered in surprise. At the same moment Rika hissed at her.

The two of them looked at a tall man with purple hair and dark eyes. He was wearing an orange t-shirt, sand-coloured trousers, and massive boots. He was lighting a cigar.

"We? We're not looking for anything. We're just a little lost", Rika whispered, tucking the book into her bag.

"Come on, lassies, nobody drives on this road, unless you've got..... What are you hiding, heh?" he noticed Rika putting the book away.

"Nothing. Just my personal things.."

"Show me!" he bellowed and took a step forward. It felt like his movements made the floor shake.

Catherine and Rika synchronously took half a step back.

"I said sh…

"Heeey, Crocie!"

Catherine heard Buggy's voice from the front doorway.

"Thanks God!" she sighed in relief, a slight smile appearing on her face.

"Buggy the Clown", the tall man turned towards the front door, took a cigar out of his mouth and took two steps forward. "I didn't expect you to be here. To be honest, I thought you'd be chilling out in a bar or lying drunk in a ditch".

"Well, as you can see, I'm full of surprises", Buggy said, spreading his arms.

"By the way, you stole something from me the last time we met. A little black box, remember?" the man leaned over and put the hook around Buggy's neck.

"Crocie, baby, I didn't take anything from you. You got me mixed up with somebody else".

"I wouldn't mistake your nose for anything or anyone, bastard", he put his other hand on the back of Buggy's head with force and drilled him with his dark eyes.

"Crocodile, let him go. I'm not gonna let you get into a fight here", Rayleigh said, glancing over Crocodile's shoulder at Buggy.

"You are so lucky, clown. But remember, there would be no more such exceptions. Now go hide behind those poor girls, because it's the one thing you're best at", he pushed Buggy aside where Rika and Catherine were standing.

"Fucking bastard", Rika said with a whisper.

"I don't give a shit about those three, or your shop, though I must admit you're making some good whisky in your old age. Probably I'm gonna grab a couple of bottles or three just for fun. But you know why I'm here", said the Crocodile, dropping his unlit cigar on the floor and immediately taking out a new one. "Give me the compass", he said in a whisper, leaning towards Rayleigh and putting the hook on the old man’s arm.

Rayleigh placed a small hexagonal brown object on the table.

"Here. Take it", he said with a strange wide smile.

"You see? You’re a good boy. That was easy, right?" Crocodile blew smoke in Rayleigh's face and put the thing in his trouser pocket.

"The compass! I read about it in your sister’s diary", Rika barely audibly whispered this into Catherine's ear.

Catherine suddenly called out to Crocodile.

"Hey, tall man, I don't really know who you are, perhaps you are the coolest man in this desert of yours, but could you buy some whisky and let us talk to this grey…haired… gentleman".

"What are you doing? Are you insane?" Rika asked with a whisper.

"Back off!" Buggy tried to grab Catherine's arm, pulling her toward him. She yanked his arm back.

"Rika, you said you read about that compass. So, we need it, right? And you..", she replied, looking at Buggy, "don't stop me!"

"Are you talking to me, lassie?" Crocodile stretched and turned to Catherine.

"Of course, with you, who else", she walked over to the counter where Crocodile was standing. She discreetly tried to fumble for something heavy with her hand.

"Do you even know who you're talking to? And in that tone of voice?" he put the hook around her waist.

"Are you the local Prince of Persia or something?" Catherine kept her eyes on him as she continued to run her hand discreetly along the counter.

"Listen, clown. Is she with you? Shit, your girl's boring as you are", Crocodile said, running a hook down Catherine's head.

"Let her go, Crocodile", Buggy uttered, clenching his hand into a fist.

"What? Did you mumble something, you stupid clown? I didn't hear you", Crocodile put his hand to his ear.

"I said. Let. Her. Go", he took a few steps forward, putting his back to Rika.

"No, no. like I said, no more exceptions. So, you can give her and her pretty face a short "sorry, good-bye" speech".

At that moment, his hand and leg began to turn into sand.

"What the fuck??" Catherine's eyes darted around.

"What the hell is that??" Rika yelled.

At that same second, something fell backwards and dragged Catherine towards where Rika and Buggy were standing.

"What the fuck is going on?", she stood up quickly and looked at Buggy.

His one hand was holding her denim jacket, the other was dragging Rika towards the exit.

"Holy Christ!! What's wrong with you? Why your hands....", she didn't have time to finish her sentence.

At that moment, Crocodile turned human again and ran towards them. He caught Rika's arm with his hook and brought her down to the floor.

"What the fuck? What the fuck are you? Get off of me!", she tried to get up.

Buggy stood in front of Crocodile, hoping to protect Rika, Crocodile swung his hook, but Buggy separated his body from his legs.

"What the hell is that?", Rika and Catherine shouted with glee, almost breaking their voices.

Buggy reattached his body back.

"Crocodile!", a heavy voice came from behind the man with the hook. Rayleigh stood in front of Crocodile, holding a katana-style hilt., "I said, I won't let you pick fights here".

"Shit. Move!" Buggy yelled at the girls, tried to grab them to get them out of the building.

Crocodile not paying attention to the old man and waved him off, took another swing at Rika but grazed the bag with his hook.

"The book!" he growled, and his hand began to turn to sand again.

"You know, girls, I think, it’s time to exit stage left", Buggy said, take them by the scruff of the neck and drag them outside.

After they were outside, they spotted Crocodile walking briskly out of the shop, holding something in his hand.

"Fuck! The book!" Rika quickly checked her bag and tried to stand up, leaning on her wounded arm. "Fuck!"

"Forget about it, we'll get it back. At least we know where the bastard is going. Although it was obvious enough", Buggy helped Rika up and walked her to the car, "Сathie, honey, are you okay?"

Сatherine was lying on her back in the sand, looking at the sky.

"He turned into sand, he turned into sand.... He just fucking turned into sand. Jesus, tell me it's a hallucination from the heat", she mumbled, shaking her head.

"Hey", she saw Buggy's face above her.

"What in God’s name… you-- you--your body--your hands-- they just did that all…things.. by themselves", she was trying to make some kind of movement with her hands.

"Okay, pie, get up, let's go to the car", he held her by the waist and helped her up.

"Sand. Hands. His arms. Your arms. Your body. His body.. YOUR body. No blood.. There's nothing. Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God. What was that? Please tell me what that was", tears suddenly came out of her eyes.

"Let's just say it's a side effect of the devil fruit", Buggy said, sitting her down on the bonnet of the car, checking for scratches.

"The devil’s… what?" she looked at him with wet eyes.

"Fruit", he wiped her tears with his fingers.

"The only devil fruit I know is durian", she kept muttering to herself.

"Yes, but durian doesn't give you chop chop abilities".

"Ability to what?" the girls asked in unison.

"God, Buggy, I've known you for years, but you've never once said anything about your chop chop shit", Rika punched him in the shoulder, "damn....".

"Honey, hold still. That bastard hurt you, but I think you'll live. I'll take care of you. Wait here", he stepped back and reached into the boot of the car.

Catherine sat on the bonnet, trying to focus on Rika.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?", she leaned over to look at the wound.

"My first battle wound, sustained in a fight with some man who can turn into the fucking Sahara Desert in a second", Rika cursed.

"Girls, if you saw Jinbe, you'd be blown away", Buggy laughed throatily, going back.

"God, he's turning into something, too? Food? Tumbleweed? Or what?" Rika asked, her eyes widening. "Shit, my arm!"

"I said sit still, Rika. I'll sew you up and you'll be as good as new. We should disinfect your wound, but frankly, I don't want to waste good whiskey on you".

"You're very kind, you know that?" Rika said with a slight sneer in her tone.

"I have it!" Catherine said with a squeal. "When I was coming up to this.... what's-his-name. Crocodile... I picked up a bottle of this... Here", she held out a tiny bottle of tequila, about the size of her little finger.

"Yeah, you'd seriously injure Crocodile with a heavy object like that", Buggy couldn't contain his laughter.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't have time to pick out a weapon against a sandman like in a fucking supermarket", she wiped her nose with her sleeve.

"Aaaand, done! Good girl", - Buggy finished stitching up Rika’s arm and checked the steams again. "Good? Good!"

He took her hand and led her to the car.

"Well, pie, are you ready to move on? If that Crocodile didn't scare you, of course", he returned to the bonnet of the car where Catherine was sitting.

"It was very weird. And your chop chop thing is weird too... And..", suddenly she ran her hands lightly over his arms, examining his face and head, "are you okay?".

"Yeah, I'm fine", he gently removed her hands from his head.

"Sorry..."

Buggy cleared his throat.

"So, ladies, how about to get somewhere to camp for the night? After all, I think we need some rest and you still need to come to your senses", he said loudly with a maniac smile on his face.

"That would be lovely, except.. Helloo! Did you miss something? This fucking bastard stole the fucking book", Rika shouted from the car, lying in the backseat. "Sorry.. And the compass".

"Well…Yeah.. Instead of… he didn't take the compass", Catherine said, fiddling with it happily.

⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥫⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭⥭

"I still can't believe you managed to steal that thing from Crocodile", -Rika said, sipping her beer, sitting by the fire, covering herself with a laid plaid. "No offense, of course, but you don't look like.. the girl... who.... well... climbing into a volcano".

She tried to say it as softly as she could.

"As someone said today, I'm full of surprises", Catherine said, sipping whiskey from the bottle.

"Ooh! Someone is finally quoting Buggy the Heroic Clown. I'm flattered", he bowed, taking off his imaginary hat. "Honey, do you know you're already on your second bottle?"

He pointed his finger at a bottle and plopped down on the sand next to Catherine.

"So what? Are you trying to be my mum?"

"God, not again, you guys are boring me. Could you please stop arguing for one night? I’m already sleepy because of you", Rika fake yawned and turned on her other side.

"Hell, looks like that bastard Crocodile got his bloody hook in my head after all", Buggy said, scratching the top of his head.

"Does it hurt?" Catherine asked, checking his head and running her hands through his hair.

"No, I’m ok", he said, gently taking her hands away.

"You know, that.. your… chop chop thing is.. actually.. pretty cool", she said admiringly, taking another sip of whiskey. She set the bottle aside and nestled in his armpit. "Well, I mean, you can separate your body parts and still leave no bloody marks. That's cool. M-m-m.. S-sorry. Can I ask? Did you decide to become one yourself?"

Buggy's face changed.

"No, of course not. Let's just say.. it happened, ok?" he cleared his throat and tried to change the subject. "Listen, are you and your sister close?"

"She's all I have left. Our parents died a long time ago. Why?"

"You.. you just followed her to some unknown destination", he shrugged and placed his hand gently on her wrist.

"She’s my sister. Don't you have someone in your life you'd go on an adventure like this for?"

Buggy thought for a moment.

"I did. A long time ago. By the way, his hair is the same colour as yours. Red. But we went our separate ways a long time ago", he said in a sad voice, putting one of his hands on Catherine's waist and pulling her a little tighter.

Realizing that she had touched on some difficult topic, she decided to remain silent.

"Thank you for saving my life tonight, by the way", taking a deep breath, Catherine closed her eyes. "Good night, Buggy".

"Good night you too, my cotton candy".

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