#and my bread keeps getting moldy before i can eat it all

[grinchwrapsupreme]

life is a constant cycle of "if i do my physio will i have time to shower?" "if i shower will i have time to cook food?" "if i cook food will i have time to wash dishes?" "if i wash dishes will i have time to do laundry?" "if i do laundry will i have time to clean my house?" "if i clean my house will i have time to eat?" "if i do the things necessary for living will i have time to do my hobbies?" and between it all is Working A Job and having to replace things as they break without being able to buy anything you actually want

[kuyurasu]

Spider Lily

Dottore x Reader

Part 2

Part 3

Summary ; Soulmates are tied with their lifespan. After being sold to a man as a slave in Sumeru, you forgot about the boy you saved as a child. He didn't.

WC ; an obscene amount

Reading time ; depends.

Warnings ; look at part 1

Authors Note ; enjoy

"Pack up, then, foolish girl. You will want to get some warmer clothes for this."

It took a while. But when you felt your own heart beating in your chest as you woke up, you were surprised. Your head was aching with a pounding headache like never before. Surprisingly, you were still alive. After your mental breakdown, all you could think about was how this was it for you—you were certain of it, so how were you still here? Alive? Breathing?

"You're awake." A cold, distant voice sounded. It was masculine and slightly rude, but there were creases of concern for you in his eyes. You turned to look at him, your eyes feeling dry and blurry.

He sat across a fire from you, a mask over his face and a hood drawn over his head. He wore dark clothes, like he belonged to some weird cult. You didn't have any words as you looked at him, your eyes wide in shock and concern. Would he take you back? Was he one of them?

"You were asleep for 4 days. I had to convince three harbingers that I hadn't abandoned my post just for you. You should consider yourself lucky in more ways than one." He rambled on, looking at you with a dismissive gaze, before standing and walking over to a bag, pulling out some soft food. "You went into shock. I had to fucking pull you out of an entire mental breakdown before you killed yourself." He grumbled quietly, walking over to you with a flask of water and food. "Not too quickly."

You took the water and followed his warning to not drink the substance too quickly. Your heart pounded as it suddenly had what your body craved, and your head was getting dizzy for a moment. You had always had a limited supply of water, not only to keep you from getting too strong, but because out of 20 slaves, it could be pricey. And Lord, help them if they had to spend too much money on slaves.

"I noticed your tongue. Can you speak properly?" He asked quietly, pulling his hood down to show his pale blonde hair. It suited his equally pale features.

You gave a so-so expression, opening your mouth to show that your tongue hardly touched your teeth if you tried. Talking was complicated.

He was silent for a moment, looking blandly at the display, before sighing. "If the doctor was here, he'd be able to fix that shit, but..." He sighed quietly and looked up at the young woman with a subtle frown. "You should learn to speak simple words. I heard you talk before you passed out, but that's because you were dying. Your body can do more when on the brink of death. I would know." He handed you the soft meal, giving you a warning to eat it slowly as well.

You nodded faintly, your teeth clamping down and chewing on the meat as he talked. It was delicious—well, he didn't seem pleased with it, but considering you had stale or moldy bread your whole life, this was a luxury.

"You're a slave, or were a slave, I should say." You nodded quietly, your heart squeezing painfully while a cold sweat went down your back. It was unreal to think that a few days ago, you were in chains, walking hundreds of miles for work, and now you were sitting by a campfire at dawn with a stranger. "You should get those slave tattoos covered. You don't want to meet your old masters as they see your marks." He commented after a while, taking a bite of the meal as well.

It took a while before you felt comfortable trying to talk to him, being wary and not all there mentally, but he was patient, surprisingly.

His name was Zakhar. He told you he was a Snezhnayan resident. You had never been to that nation on account of the cold and other reasons the slave owners didn't disclose. Something about Fatui Zakhar was relatively chatty, yet some of his words had a distinct accent that took a while for you to understand. He also began to teach you how to extend your shortened tongue to speak as well as possible.

"Sss. Try it. You need to curve your tongue slightly and press it near your teeth. Again." He commanded you, showing you how to properly say the S. It took many tries, but you got there.

"Ch.. s… Sss… S." You sounded finally, looking up at Zakhar, as he seemed a bit proud and pleased. He nodded his head and gestured for you to continue.

That night, he took off his mask for the first time. It was when he came back from washing himself that his face was covered with his normal clothing, but there was no mask on his face. He probably assumed you would be asleep, but he should've known by now that you could hardly ever keep your eyes shut. Whether it be because of the screams and terrors or the world you could not see enough of,

"Zak…har." You slurred slightly, looking up with surprise. You didn't expect the bright red eyes to turn and look at you with a startled expression. You blushed instinctively, feeling like you were getting caught looking at something you weren't supposed to.

He quickly put his mask back on, not wanting to be seen without it. "You should've been asleep." He nearly growled out, turning away from you so he could continue drying off his hair.

You swallowed and remembered his teachings for your stupid tongue. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." You quietly laid down on the blanket that had become your bed.

He shook his head, signaling he didn't wish to talk any longer. It made you sigh but listen to his warning.

The next day, you awoke to nearly half of the stuff already packed away. The mini-camp Zakhar had set up was nearly gone. He was stuffing some things in his bag before noticing you were awake. Your eyes are glued to his form. He sighed and looked at you. "I need to leave for Snezhnaya. I was supposed to be there yesterday; the doctor will have my head if I don't leave now." Your heart slightly dropped at the information, and the agonizing realization finally dawned on you.

You would be alone. He was leaving you. Why? Why was he leaving you? Your heart began to race, your eyes staring off in the distance while you processed all of this. He was leaving you, abandoning you. Just like everyone else. Your breathing began to get labored, and tears you didn't realize slipped down your cheeks as your body lightly trembled. It was like you were stuck in a trance—your mind not wanting to process this or even think about what this meant. He was leaving you alone. Could you convince him to stay? He's taught you so much; there were so many things you had to learn and think about with him as your teacher. Your heart feels like it just may give up again.

Hands braced your shoulders and snapped you out of your almost meltdown, securing you as your breaths continued to shake.

"Stop. I know you're probably used to people leaving you; we need to work on that." You didn't know if it was Zakhar's voice securing you or if it was his hands. It was the only thing that made you able to be relatively there. At the words of working with him in your panic, you relaxed every so slightly. He wasn't going to abandon you. "Listen to me. You are about to make a very important choice. Something that was taken from you." The power of having control He was giving it to you in the most realistic way possible, by making you understand the seriousness of the situation. It made you feel... electric, almost. You had a hand in what was happening.

You nodded faintly, trembling still, as he slowly released your shoulders. He sat on his knees in front of you, a mask covering his features. Everything but those bright red eyes.

"I work in Snezhnaya. It is a cold, cruel nation. My sister is there as well, and I believe it could be beneficial to you to learn and get help. She is better at this than I am." He gestured to himself and then at a space in between you two, knowing he wasn't quite up to the job of helping undo the trauma that soaked your bones. It was practically imprinted in your mind after hundreds of years, and something told you it would take you just as long, if not longer, to help with that curse of yours.

You thought of the offer and already knew your choice. It was a clear and easy decision considering, at this moment, he was all you had. "I want to go with you."

He smiled. It was the most you got from him when you pleased him, especially when you finally spoke about what you wanted.

"My apologies, Lord Harbinger." He said it with an almost shaky tone.

A day later, you were on a ship off to Snezhnaya, warm clothes and all. Zakhar placed his hood over his head for the first time since meeting you, covering most of his face with shadows once more. He gave you a mask as well. He was adamant about it and seemed nervous when you questioned it with a slight tilt of your head. While on the ship, Zakhar fidgeted with his fingers, looking off in the distance, which no doubt was where the nation would be. It confused you as to why he was so nervous. He went silent after a while as well, getting closer and closer to the frozen tundra.

He grabbed all your things, and when you both docked, he was guarded, reserved, and hostile. Just like when you first met him. It didn't really bother you since all your life was harsh; it just boggled your mind why the suddenness of such an attitude changed.

"2 weeks. You have been absent far too long." A cold, harsh voice sounded from the distance. Standing across the docks was a man with light blue hair, fancy Snezhnayan clothes, and a scowl on his face. A crow-like, almost plague-like mask covered most of his features, but from the energy that radiated from him, you knew this man was lethal. It made you tremble and almost instinctively bow.

Zakhar guarded you with his body, hiding you from view from the man as he bowed his head and swallowed thickly.

So this man was the reason why he was nervous, you thought.

"Do not try to apologize. Prime would have given you hell if he were aware of your foolishness, unless it was for me. You are lucky he left for business."

The only question in your mind, though, wasn't about what you had to do or where you had to go. But who was that man?

Zakhar swallowed and nodded his head, not daring to speak anymore without permission, especially after knowing how angry the harbinger clearly was. You didn't make a noise either, even as the man slowly walked closer. His pale skin almost looks a bit sickly.

"Is this feeble woman the reason for your disappearance? You decide to disregard your duties for a mere fornication with... this beast?" He turned his eyes to where you stood behind him before scoffing and laughing in his low, intimidating tone. You had your face and body covered, but you could tell he thought you were hideous. How could he not? You were sickly-looking, weak, and feeble, and you were barefoot.

Zakhar remained silent, knowing that if he spoke without permission, he may very well be killed.

The man continued to walk closer, closing the gap of distance between the three of you, and Zakhar guarded you like his life depended on it with his head bowed. "You reported the discovery of a rare artifact for testing. Give it to me now. Or else your cock will be chopped off for this offense."

Your friend trembled for only a moment before retrieving an item in his bag and handing it to the other man, his eyes behind the mask clearly judging the item with cold precision.

"Very well. This will suffice. You are expected to report to the palace tomorrow at the normal time. Do not expect Omega or Prime to be as forgiving as me." And with that, the man turned around, the cloak he wore falling behind him as he walked back into the frozen, snowing city. It caused a sigh of relief for both of you. He was probably someone you felt the most danger from yet. It made you tremble.

"Right… That was something. Let us go. We have... much to do." Zakhar sighed and took your arm in his, knowing that it would be easy to get lost or have bad luck in this nation.

[crossyourheartspreparetodie]

Thinking about the quiet ways it broke Cross's heart when he was faced with the aftereffects of the crushing poverty Allen grew up in. Like showing Allen his room the first time and Allen being taken aback because it was the first time he got to get a bed, let alone an entire room. Or how he had to take moldy food out of Allen's hands to keep him from eating it in fear it would make him sick. Be horrified to learn Allen had days going by without eating anything and only got to eat meat when Cross picked him up. Bothered by his lack of proper nutrition I can see Cross take up cooking courses and then lie to Allen that it is to attract partners because he knows Allen would feel like he is a burden

Ahhh yes...

In my modern AU I am working on a chapter where one of Allen's habits is stealing because of his life before Cross. Cross doesn't pick it up immediately because this skill was something that Allen perfected (sort of like how Cross perfected his aim with guns even though he wears a mask). So when Cross sees Allen pocket something at the market his first instinct was to go towards the route most parents go to, getting pissed.

However he's aware of the habits Allen picked up for survival (being afraid of wasting food and even go so far as to eat moldy bread, etc) so instead of getting pissed at the kid and shaming him publicly, I think Cross take him back and sneak the item back on the shelves. He'd tell Allen he doesn't need to steal things, if he wanted something, just ask.

Although I feel like this habit would resurge in Allen's teen years as a sort of rebellion stage...still playing with it.

God I can imagine Cross taking cooking classes and doing research on how to make the most nutrient rich dishes. I think at first Allen would eat very little, like when he was at Mothers. But as his stomach got used to being in a place where food was readily available he'd become a human vacuum cleaner.

I also have a running chapter where Cross gets all nervous because Allen isn't growing like his peers due to malnutrition in his younger years. Also that when he first got toys for Allen, he got bored with them immediately because he didn't know how to play with them 🥺 (Cue Cross trying to resurface his inner kid to try to get Allen to have fun with toys lol)

I can also see Allen hoarding food in certain areas of the house.

[carnagechicken]

Ok this post is a collection of all the cooking tips, tricks and loose knowledge I've learned,

My credentials: both my parents work/have worked in restaurants. I cook for myself for pretty much every meal I eat (except of course the dinners my siblings cook). When I was little I would spend hours just watching and helping my mum make food, so cooking is not a new thing for me, I was standing on a chair to reach the counter to cut veggies or stir soup as a wee toddler. (<- this was not something I *had* to do, this was what I did for fun. I'm autistic, my version of fun involved anything to do with sorting)

Here we go,

>if you put too much salt in a soup, add potatoes. They suck up the salt like edible sponges

>you wanna know if your chicken is fully cooked but you don't have a meat thermometer? Take a sharp knife and stab it in the thickest part of the breast and thigh, right down to the bone, pull out the knife and if the juice that comes out is clear you're good to go (however if you're like me and are a bit paranoid of salmonella or food poisoning, just overcook your poultry a bit. It will be a bit dryer but that's OK, especially if it puts your mind at ease)

>nutritional yeast (nicknamed "nooch") is your best friend. Your soup/casserole/shepherds pie filling needs a boost? Add Nooch. It gives a wonderful umami flavor AND is good for you

>when adding spices to a soup, wait 10-15 minutes before taste testing. It needs time for the flavors to blend and really settle. This is why sometimes soup is better the next day

>if you notice some mold on a block of hard cheese, just cut it off. The cheese is still good. Mold doesn't permeate through hard cheese easily. (Soft cheese is a different story)

>ABOVE DOESN'T APPLY TO BREAD. if you see even the smallest hint of mold on bread throw the entire bag out, the whole thing is contaminated (even if you can't see it), and the mold that grows on bread is terrible for your health. I repeat, DO NOT EAT MOLDY BREAD.

>a sharp knife is actually *less* likely to cut you, because it cuts through the things you want it to and stays on course. A duller knife is more likely to slip and go in directions you don't want it to. Combine that with the fact that you have to use way more force to cut things with a dull knife and you've got an accident waiting to happen

>different oils have different smoke points (i.e. when they start to burn). Olive oil burns at fairly low temperatures, canola and sunflower oil can get quite a bit hotter before they burn, making them great for deep frying. (Butter will burn at the drop of a hat)

> GREASE FIRE SAFETY: always keep a metal (not glass) lid handy, this is for covering the pot/pan and suffocating the fire. Fire needs oxygen, lid takes that away. Baking soda can stop a small fire (key word being small). Baking powder and flour will make the fire worse, do not use them. Never never NEVER throw water on a grease fire. Never. Look up what happens when you do. It's terrifying.

>a small spot of blood in an egg is not a big deal, it's not dangerous, and it doesn't mean the egg or the chicken that laid it is diseased. It just happens sometimes. On the topic of eggs, if you crack one open and the yolk is deep orange, that just means the chicken has a healthy diet. The darker the yolk, the healthier the chicken.

>fat carries flavor. I repeat, FAT CARRIES FLAVOR. Add butter. Add oil. Add bacon fat if you want. Fat makes food taste better, do not deprive yourself of it.

>using the water that you boiled pasta or potatoes in is a great way to thicken sauces

>garlic is a personal thing. Never let a recipe limit how much you add. Recipe calls for 2 cloves? Add 15 if that's what you want

>don't believe recipes that say you can cook potatoes in 25 minutes. Potatoes are dense, it always takes longer than you think.

>also, no such thing as an overcooked potato. Unless it's been burned to hell, it's a perfectly cooked

>if your curry/stew starts to stick to the bottom of the pot and burns, don't despair! Stop stirring, you don't want to dislodge the burnt layer, pour the good stuff in a separate pot, making sure no burnt bits fall in, add a bit of water to thin it out, and it should still be good to eat. (The pot with all the burnt stuff gets filled with water and left to soak for a while. This will make it easier to scrub later)

>recipes are guidelines, not something that needs to be followed to the letter. Add more things, leave things out, substitute ingredients, just have fun with it! (This does not apply to baking. That shit is chemistry that needs precise amounts of everything. Which isn't to say it's hard! It just has way less leeway than cooking)

>always *always* start with a small amount when adding flavorings. You can add more if needed, but it's way harder to take away

>Don't put the heat really high, that won't actually make it cook faster. What's more likely to happen is burnt on the outside, undercooked on the inside. And some things need a "low and slow" approach to make them taste the best. (And just like with the flavorings, you can cook something for longer but you can't uncook it)

>pepper is great... But salt is essential. Salt makes everything better. Even desserts need salt, that's how important it is

>hand blenders are a great way to beat eggs for scrambling

>Brussel sprouts are good. The bitter taste was breed out of them in the 90s, so if you used to hate them, try them again and I *promise* they'll taste good. Roast them in the oven with lots of oil and salt until they're so soft you could cut them with a butter knife. Enjoy!

>if you have trouble digesting cows milk but you still want to drink milk, try goat milk. Usually it's the lactose that people have issues with, and goat milk has less lactose, as well as having smaller fat molecules that are easier to absorb

>no you don't *have* to peel carrots or potatoes. Personally I just find it to be an unnecessary step.

>and finally, there's no such thing as bad food preferences. There's just stuff you like, and stuff you don't. Pineapple on pizza isn't a moral issue, eating plain pasta is fine, and if you like an unusual combination of foods, more power to you. And if anyone makes fun of you for the way you like your food, you have my permission to hit them with wet socks until they leave the kitchen

[that1fanficwriter]

A Night of Chaos

This lovely idea was requested by @bisexualbumblebeeblogs thank you! As always my asks are open to anyone! Feel free to drop by with a request, a question, or just to chat!

Pairing: Jonny Goodman x reader

AN: this isn’t based off of a singular episode I just put together some of my favorite antics to create absolute chaos. Also, I am currently on mobile so I am not able to add a keep reading even though it is very long.

As you stomped up the driveway to the Goodman’s house in the pouring rain you noticed an additional car terribly parked on the front stoop. Instead of trying to get to the front door you decided to just trudge around the side entrance to the kitchen. Before you could get to the door you noticed a man standing in the shadows that looked suspiciously like “the father: Martin Goodman.”

“Uncle Martin, what are you doing out here?” You called out to him.

“Ah hello my dear, there was a perfectly good loaf of bread that Jackie threw away. It only had a few moldy bits on it but she wouldn’t let me eat it in the house because we have company.” He explained.

“I see. Well, if you’re finished with your “perfectly good” moldy bread I can let you in.” You suggest.

“That would be lovely Y/N thank you. How has your relationship been doing with your male?” He inquires as you unlock the door.

“Ugh, god, not this again.” You groan, as you step inside. “Hi Aunty Jack!” You call out, as you blatantly disregard Martin’s previous question.

“Hi love! What a lovely surprise! What brings you around in this weather?”

“Mum is fighting with Larry for the third time this evening. I can’t take much more of it.”

“Well why don’t we get you out of your wet jacket and I’ll get you a cuppa. How does that sound?”

“That would be lovely Aunty Jack, thank you.”

“Of course love. Jonny and Adam are in the living room if you want to join them; please make sure they behave themselves.” She says before turning to Martin trying to sneak out of the kitchen, “MARTIN! Stop wearing your little miss muffet boots in the house! It’ll ruin my clean carpet!”

You quickly take your own wet shoes off and drop them by the front door before making your way to the living room.

“Ah hello puss face!” You say while sitting on Adam “and Jonny, the one I hate the least! How are you lads doing this fine and gloomy evening?” You ask, moving to sit between the two brothers with a cheery smile on your face.

“Come on Y/N, you know you love me.” Jonny says while trying to squeeze every last breath out of you.

“Yeah, I guess I do love you quite a bit JonJon.” You tease.

“How have Mum and Dad not figured out you two idiots are together yet?” Adams asks, flabbergasted.

“We’ll your dad is about as observant as a brick.” You state.

“Yeah, and we just avoid Mum all together.” Jonny adds.

“Oh Y/N dear, I didn’t know you were popping round.” Nellie says as she enters the living room.

“Grandma Nellie! I didn’t know you were here either! It is so good to see you again.” You say as you get up to give her a hug. “Who else is here?” You ask everyone, “I’m guessing you’re not the company Uncle Martin was referring to when he told me Aunty Jack made him eat his moldy bread out in the rain.”

“That would be Lou!” Nellie informs you.

“He’s her “lover”.” Jonny tells you with disgust.

Just then a short man, very formally dressed, walks into the living room. You make the educated and accurate guess that the angry looking man before you is Grandma Nellie’s Lou.

“Who are you?” He asks you.

You barely have time to tell him your name before he’s asking more questions.

“Why are you here? Are you dating the gerbil or the bean stalk?” He barks at you.

“My mum Val and I are close friends with the Goodmans and we live just down the street. My mum was fighting with her boyfriend again and so I decided to come over here instead of hearing that racket.” You explain.

“Alright, and are you dating little or large?” He asks you again.

You try incredibly hard not to laugh at the ridiculous names Lou is calling Adam and Jonny but one rogue chortle makes its way past your lips.

“What’s so funny?” Lou glares.

“I’m sorry, it’s just the nicknames you’ve given Adam and Jonny are hilarious!” You laugh.

“You filthy punk rockers are ridiculous!” Lou tells all three of you before sitting back down by Nellie.

“Is everything all right in here?” Jackie asks as she pops her head into the living room.

“We’re fine Mum.” Jonny says.

“Yeah, Y/N is just having a laugh at the terrible names Mr. Morris has been calling Jonny and I.” Adam adds.

“Alright, we’ll, dinner is almost done so if you all would like to come through to the dining room?” Jackie suggests. As everyone is moving to the dining room the doorbell rings. “Y/N, would you please check who’s at the door?” Jackie asks you.

“Of course Aunty Jack!” You call out to her. “I’ll be right back; save me a seat.” You whisper to Jonny before heading to the door.

“Hello Jackie?”

“Hi Jim.” You say, trying to stay pleasant.

“You’re not Jackie?” He asks.

“No, I’m not. I live just down the road.” You answer.

“Ah, I see. And you’re friends with…”

“Jonny.” You begin to say.

“Jonny, the short”

You cut him off; “the taller one.”

“Yes, the taller one.”

“What do you need Jim?”

“I wanted to return some fish Jackie so graciously let me borrow a few weeks ago.”

“Ok; well why don’t I just go fetch her real quick. Just wait here Jim.” You rush back to the kitchen to ask Jackie to deal with Jim. “Aunty Jack, Jim’s here to see you. See said he wanted to return some fish he borrowed a few weeks ago?”

“Of course he has to return week old fish right now.” Jackie complains “Why don’t you go ahead through to the dining room and I’ll bring everything in in a few minutes.” She tells you.

Once you walk into the dining room, you move to sit down at the corner beside Jonny before you notice Nellie and Lou eating each other’s faces right at the table.

“What is happening? And why is it happening at the table?” You exclaim.

“Grandma and Mr. Morris are snogging; again.” Adam groans in disbelief.

“Why does this happen every time? Just make it stop. I’d rather gouge my eyes out than watch this again.” Jonny complains.

But before anyone else can continue to complain the door bell rings again.

“I’m going to go check on that.” Jonny says, jumping out of his seat.

“I’m coming with you! I can’t stand to be in this room any longer.” You say.

“Me too!” Adam jumps out of his seat.

You all rush out of the dining room eager to get away from the Nellie and Mr. Morris. The three of you scurry down the hall and as Jonny opens the door to your mother sobbing on the stoop.

“Larry broke up with me!” She wales.

“Again? Mum, you can’t keep doing this.” You say, utterly disappointed.

“I know. Where’s Jackie?”

“She’s talking with Jim in the kitchen.” Adam says.

Everyone makes their way to the kitchen following behind a sobbing Val.

“Hi Jackie.” Val says, still crying.

“Another Jackie?” Jim asks perplexed.

“No Jim, that’s just my friend Val. You’ve met before.” She tells Jim. “I don’t think now is really a good time to continue this so why don’t you head home?”

“Oh Val what’s happened? Is everything alright.” Jackie asks Val.

“Nothing new happened,” you tell everyone, “Larry just broke up with her again.”

“Oh Val, I’m so sorry!” Jackie exclaims, embracing Val, “That’s just horrible. I can’t believe he broke up with you again!”

“Oh my god, let’s just go sit in the living room.” You suggest to the boys.

“Good idea, I can’t take much more of this crying.” Adam says.

Once you make your way to the living room you all are about to sit down when Martin bursts in from the garage, covered in something strange and without a shirt (surprise surprise).

“Dad, what happened?” Jonny asks in disbelief.

“Ah hello bambinos. Now don’t tell your mother but I accidentally threw away some of my old things that I told her I’d get rid of.”

“So then why are you covered in that?” You inquire.

“Ah well, I didn’t mean to throw everything out so then I had to go into the bin to get everything out.”

“Yes, that makes total sense.” Adam announces to the room.

“Well, I’d better head back to the garage, I need to finish taking everything to the shed.” Martin says.

“We are never going to be fed are we!” Adam says.

“The three of us could just go for a chinese and not tell anyone?” Jonny suggests.

“That sounds like a great idea. I’ll drive.” You say “Grab all your stuff and let’s get out of here before someone sees us.”

[yong-bokk]

all in³

pairing: unit chief ! bang chan x neighbour ! reader

genre: neighbours-to-something-more fluff

notes: this is so unnecessarily long and i can't end it well for the life of me but here u go </3

why hello thereヽ(＾▽＾)ﾉ

u must be new around here

well u are !!

that’s because u just moved into this new apartment building

i mean the apartment itself isn’t new new

but it certainly doesn’t look like the building is going to fall apart any time soon so that’s a good start right

besides,,,,

u scored a lovely studio flat

it’s a small space but

it’s cozy and has everything u need

bonus points: direct sunlight and a friendly landlord lady

literally my dream apartment can i move in with u :(

best thing about moving is u got to leave ur old roommate behind

we’ll skip the details but let’s just say u sure are glad u don’t have to worry about coming back to someone else’s moldy dishes in the sink anymore ತ_ತ

at first u were kinda bummed u couldn’t get the corner unit right beside u bc it's a little bit wider

but after unpacking and organising everything,

u made peace with it bc ur new home is just so lovely (❁´◡`❁)

so

after the chaos of moving in,

u decided to bake a few batches of cookies to give out to ur new neighbours and introduce urself

that day, u met everyone living on ur floor

the old lady from across the hall even gave u one of her succulents as a present

well

everyone except the one who lives right next to u

the corner unit neighbour !!

no one answered the door when u knocked that day

or the next day

or the day after that too

(´･_･`)

at the end u just stopped knocking and ate the cookies urself skdjfs

but yeah

all this time u thought the apartment next to u was vacant

that is, until the day u actually run into said neighbour

u had been working overtime and only managed to get out of the office a little before midnight

u were walking towards ur flat when u saw someone standing in front of the door next to urs

man just stood there and let out a heavy sigh like hhhhHHh is he okay

“hello? are u looking for someone bc i think that apartment is empty”

he looks at u confused...... and tired

but mostly confused

“i, uh i live here”

????? (´･ ･｀｡) ?????

now u look at him confused

“i forgot my keys………. i’ll just (sigh) go back to the office i guess“

“do u want to come in for awhile?”

“it’s 1 am are u sure”

and that’s how u end up cooking and eating ramen in the middle of the night with bang chan, the corner unit neighbour who u thought was nonexistent all this time

u’d cook him better food but u haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while so all u have is ramen ;—;

but he said he doesn’t mind

and u guess he really didn’t seeing how he wolfed down 5 packs of it skdjfksjf

“so how come i’ve never seen u before”

chan gives u a sheepish smile and tells u that he’s the chief police and work is why he rarely comes back to his apartment

“it’s so much easier to sleep on the couch back at the office instead of coming back here”

“u know sleeping on a couch is bad for u right :/”

“but it’s a sofa bed!!”

……….

anyways

chan helped u wash the dishes and excused himself after the meal, spending the rest of the night back at his office bc he didn't want to bother u

“thank you for the food and for the company”

“no problem neighbour :}”

after that night

u two run into each other once in a while

well

whenever chan comes back to his apartment, that is

just friendly exchanges of ‘hi’s and ‘how are you’s here and there \( •⌄• )✧

often if u know he’s home, u’d cook an extra serving and share ur dinner with him

or have him come over

bc u once knocked on his door to ask if he has sugar

but u found out all he has in his apartment is a sofa bed (identical to the one he has in his office) and a near-empty fridge :/

sigh

,,,,,,,,,,,,,

u’ve also met special agents hyunjin and jisung when they came to fetch something from his apartment

“what do u MEAN he didn’t give u the key hyunjin i will SMITE u”

“i may or may not have left it on my table………“

“I SWEAR TO GOD-“

u stepped in right before violence ensues

“excuse me, are u looking for chan?”

( ・◇・) (・◇・ )？

the two introduced themselves and ended up explaining the situation to u

hyunjin: “we kinda forgot to bring the key he gave us”

jisung: “o(-`д´- ｡) what do u mean we-”

hyunjin: “anyways, we’ll just head back to the office, sorry for bothering u (◠‿◠✿)”

but then u remember that u have a spare key to chan’s apartment

bc he got tired of forgetting his keys in the office and getting locked out again for the 129834th time so he asked if u would keep a spare key to his flat for him

so u told them u’d open the door for them if they could call chan to verify

that night chan knocked on ur door and gave u a couple of breads he picked up from ur favourite bakery nearby

“thank u and sorry for the trouble ヘ(>_<ヘ)”

“hsdhfsdhs u didn’t have to,,, it really wasn’t trouble, i was the one who offered”

“meeting them was enough trouble >:”

chan says that but u’ve had enough dinners with him to know how he always talks about the agents in his division with so much love

so yeah

for the longest time

chan has always been ur lovely forgetful neighbour and occasional dinner partner who can’t eat spicy food for the life of him

u'd be lying if u say u weren't surprised when u came home late from work one day

and find him standing in front of ur apartment door

“hey chan !! are u locked out again?” u asked him teasingly

but his head shot up at ur voice and he let out a sigh when he saw u

“no.…”

????

“are you okay?”

“i just… u weren’t home and i tried calling but u didn’t answer and i guess i kinda got worried”

(｡•́︿•̀｡)

“oh !! i had to work overtime and i didn’t realise my phone died, i’m sorry for making u worry”

“no, no… i’m glad u got home safe.... i uh i’ll get going then-”

he was about to leave when u held his hand

“stay for dinner?”

a smile made its way back to chan’s face

bonus:

chan knows better than to take jisung and hyunjin’s relationship advice but it was already too late when the pick up line left his lips

“u must be one spicy dish bc u’re making my heartburn”

………..

“i’m sorry that was bad-”

“that was cheesy but i think u’re grate (´͈  ᵕ `͈ ）”

hjshJSDHFJSF

[tayne-dot-exe]

My recent autism "I need to categorize and list everything" obsession is foods and flavors, but for just my taste and the cheapest/easiest way for me to have it whenever. Long diary post.

Like I need to list out every food I ever want, to remind myself what are all the things I like to eat and what are my options, especially trying to figure out what flavor profiles/foods are most DISTINCT from each other and if there are versions of similar stuff where I would never choose one if another was an option (eg. teriyaki chicken vs braised pork), I've basically come up with a list of things that could pass as a fairly varied restaurant menu, or a buffet catered personally to me. Stuff thats good in the cupboard or freezer indefinitely I already try to keep stocked for myself for any time I feel like which is basically an awesome munchies spread of chips, candy, packaged pastries, and ice cream, but I wish getting cheeses or fun breads didnt have such a time limit or it was easier to get/make just a couple servings of them so I dont have to plan HAVING to finish whole packs/batches of stuff before it gets moldy. But I honestly think if I had the option to star trek materialize any food any time for free I might never really stray from a list like this because while I'm not really afraid of trying new foods, when I do I'm doing it in the pursuit of finding out every possible food I want in my Repertoire. When I go to a new restaurant I usually try to figure out what is the item on the menu that has either the highest combination of flavors I either already know I like or that I can't "INTJ calculate in my head".

I wish I could try more flavors of things to compare 1 on 1 the best version of different things (love adam ragusea or babish vids where they actually do the experiment of if a regular person can appreciate differences in techniques every online recipe just Says is the best way) or even just to Know more things without having to commit to like 10$ blocks of 20 different cheeses I've never had before or even the continuous funky packaged snacks with flavors of the month that might just be made to trick people into trying 1 time and not to actually be good, we need cheese tasting parties but for every kind of food and snack you may not have otherwise organically encountered without having to spend 6$ per package of a ton of things you might not finish. I feel like maybe there was a reddit guy era of having hot sauce tastings? I feel like bbq sauces also have so much variety that you could do something like that, I'm a big sauce fan.

For most of these things I think I have pretty basic and cheap taste and don't have the palette to care about differences of fancier cooking techniques or subtle flavor differences or the best mouthfeel combination of chocolate and caramel. And to some degree theres only so many foods that bring entirely distinct and strong flavor components out there, especially since the flavors you're predisposed to liking are somewhat limited by whats familiar to you, but sometimes I'm like what if there are flavors out there I could never "INTJ calculate in my head" and have no idea I need to try in the right context to know this (like how guys will specialize in how to mentally approach tasting what kind of coffee you like). Or worse what if theres something I would love so much but could never find locally, I am so use to abundance and having the same access to things all year that this would be like a faerie food curse to me (not really, tbh stuff being even just a little more expensive than things that are easy to make and stock usually deters me anyway but "I have the OPTION to spend 30$ to have. idk lobster in the middle of Texas even though I'm not willing to spend that much hardly ever" feels different than "what if my potential favorite fruit in the whole world is not sold in any grocery store in america").

Anyway you know that post about what chicago guys put on their hot dogs. I feel like out of just my list of very flavorful INGREDIENCE I get excited when its on any thing at a restaurant, I could mix together a bunch of vegetables and condiments that maybe could be called a "salad" that I can just put on any combination of carbs or protein like "you know what every single sandwich is missing? 3 types of cheese, 4 types of pickled vegetables, sun dried tomatoes, avocado, green onions…." Like I want to see just how many strong flavors I can put together while still actually tasting most of them individually. If they overpower each other then I will not know where to cut back because maybe I just want to know that everything I like is all together and I am having it.

[the-fiction-witch]

She’s Not Yours P3

REAL LIFE X THE LAST LEGION

COUPLE TBS X READER

RATING SMUT + DARK

WARNINGS FOR VARIOUS ABUSE AND SEXUAL ABUSE

I sat in a council meeting bored as usual but I had new things to focus on, every morning she has done that to me and I couldn't stop thinking about it, all except this morning we where running very late and we didn't have time. And I could feel it, it was throbbing, it was rock hard in my pants often having to cross my legs under the table to try and restrain it somehow. I'd do anything to get my cock back in her mouth again, I need her so badly, I couldn't keep my eyes off her as she walked around doing drinks and such. Watching that beautiful body move concealed by that little dress, 

"That's enough, for one day," I said and they all nodded "come on" I told her heading out the room she followed as always struggling a little as I marched back to my room shutting the door quickly behind me 

"Something the matter my king?' she asked turning to me I didn't answer I just grabbed her waist kissing her as intesely as I could, she kissed back confused but egar too I grabbed her ass folding her over that thin dress till she pulled back "I am sorry about this morning Thomas"

"It's fine. It's not your fault. But…. My darling please"

"What is it Thomas?"

"I need you, it hurts, please…"

"I see" she smiled holding my hand tugging us over to the sofa I was confused as to why but she kissed my hand and turned away before she bent over using the higher part of the sofa to rest her stomach 

"May I?"

"You may my king"

"Ummmmm thank you my darling' I told her kissing her cheek I was excited we'd never done it before but I wanted to badly. I pushed off my pants and she tugged up her dress exposing herself me "uuhh darling, your beautiful" I told her she clearly blushed but didn't answer I didn't waste time slowly pushing in, it was a thousand times better then her mouth, I grabbed her hips as soon as I was inside, my hips working on there own fast and hard moans falling from my mouth like a waterfall, lost in my own little world like nothing existed but me and her. Knew I was being rough but I couldn't stop it, I couldn't control myself hearing her lusty groans and gasps was driving me wild. "Uuuhhh uuhhh my darling! Y/n! Please…. I'm so close!" I begged she gently began to move her hips meeting them with my own and I was on another fucking planet! Lost in my own world my hips moving so fast and hard I didn't even care about anything but how good she felt! 

I heard a knock on my door but I couldn't bare to stop I honestly don't even think of I tried I could

"What!" I yelled 

"Your advisor wishes to see you about something my king" I guard said 

"Umm… um…. Tell him to come back later! I'm busy!" I yelled back trying hard not to moan but I felt her tighten around me and she screamed louder then ever before which made my hit my own moving my hips like crazy Inside her before collapsing in her "fuck I love you"

"I love you too Thomas" she giggled between her gasps "did I please my king" she asks getting up and wrapping her arms around my neck 

"Umm you always do my darling," I smiled picking her up making her wrap her legs around me carrying her to my bed "again!" 

"What?"

"You question your king?' I smirked "I said again my darling, I wanna hear you scream for me again!' I growled dropping her on my bed and crawling on top of her kissing all over her wrapping my arms around her as much as I could 

But the door knocked again

"I said I'm busy! In fact…. I'm gonna be busy. All night long" I smirked "and if someone disturbs me again. I'll cut off whatever hand they knocked on the door with" I warn 

I stood on the balcony watching the sun begin to set across the city having a little wine 

"Thomas?" I heard y/n call, I had left her in my bed to sleep, we had visited the flower gardens across the city today and they made her walk all the way there and back so I was letting her sleep a while that Andi had I just had her on her back pushed into my matress the last hour and a half she wondered out only her chain around her neck she came over and wrapped herself up with me 

"Hello you, get back inside. You'll get cold" I told her kissing her head 

"It's to hot"

"Is it now?" I laughed giving her lips a kiss "go on, I don't want everyone to see you. You know the kinds trouble someone found you here"

"I am your maiden, I take care of you. I'm meant to be here" she giggled going back inside making sure I watched her 

"Ummm your not usually naked thought"

"I can be if you'd like my king"

"I bet you can." I smirked "put your dress on"

"No"

"No? You deny your king?'

"Because I know my king wants me naked"

"How do you know what I want?" I smirked going inside shutting the door behind me 

"I always know what my king wants" she smiled giving my lips a kiss and stroking my half hard cock thought my pants 

"Smart girl. Bed. Now" I ordered 

"Yes Thomas" she giggled 

I laid in bed unable to sleep, u couldn't turn my head off tonight

"Ummm" I heard her gently moan on my chest I smiled giving her a little kiss, we had to be very careful but I managed to let her stay up here with me some nights even if we had to be quiet. 

"Y/n?" I asked her 

"Hummm?"

"Sorry, I know your tried but… I have to ask you something"

"Of course ask away my king" she smiled cuddling closer to me 

"How long… have you worn this?" I asked tracing my fingers across her chain 

"I was give it, when I was born"

"Born?"

"Umm my mother was a slave so, I was give one as soon as I was born, they had new links are you get bigger so it still sort of fits" 

"Sort of?" I asked she sat up sitting on my stomach she moved her chain back slightly it pressing hard into the other side of her neck to get some gap on the other side and I saw where the chain rubbed her skin raw all day everyday a scar that would never fully heal from years without it being removed "doesn't it hurt?"

"It does. You learn to ignore it" 

"Y/n. What is it like? For a slave?"

"You don't want to know that Thomas"

"Y/n. I'm there king. I need to know, and I need to know the truth and your the only person who can tell me that" I begged "so please, tell me everything"

"Yes my king" she nods "my mother was a maid in the palace, no older then us. One of the council men or so she said tried to use her but she forced him away, so they sent her to the amours to serve there…. They would burn her, and whip her, torcher her, and rape her. When I was born from… one of the men she didn't know who, I was sent to the laundry I would wash clothes and bedding mostly I… I never saw my mother again. They would hit your knees and ankles if you didn't do right the laundry" she explained "when I was to big for the laundry they sent me to the library to assist the book makers" she said "but… the men there, liked little girls."

"What do you mean?"

"They… liked little girls best."

"Y/n, my darling. Why didn't any of them day anything?"

"Of course we did. You think anyone listens to slaves? We where just slapped and ordered to be silent. When I got to old there they sent me to the kitchens, it was hot work and hard they'd boil your skin for speaking, burn your toes for messing up, whip you if you where slow, cut our your tongue if you where caught stealing food even just bits of moldy bread" she explained showing her various scars from all the places she has worked and the things that he been done to her 

"Why would people steal moldy bread?"

"Because there starving,"

"Starving? I thought slaves where always homed and fed"

"Homed? You sleep on the floor of whatever you worked. Often chained to work stations having to sleep in puddles of your own and other piss and shit. Fed? Someone might be thrown some rotten meat or old bread once a week if you want to eat it, you have to fight for it like rats. I've seen children's hands cut off for stealing apples because there so hungry they are days from death, seen old men whipped to work faster on broken bones, women forced to work while in labour. And God forbid you speak back or try to escape then… death was a mercy" 

"Why have you never told me this before?'

"I didn't think you cared" she shrugged

"Y/n of course I care. I…. I didn't know they treated you all that way. I…. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. If I'd known I would have-"

"It's alright Thomas. You barely even leave the palace. I can't blame you for not knowing" she smiled "what about you?"

"What?"

"I want to know what it's like. To be a king"

"Okay" I smiled "my mother was the only child of the last king, so they got her married off pretty quickly, my father was prince of the outlanders they hoped it would bring union but… it didn't really work. My uncle killed him"

"I'm sorry Thomas"

"It's fine. I never even met him. My mother was already pregnant then and… when I was born it just. It ripped her apart, she died a few days after. I never met either of them all I have is the statue of them in the hall. They kept me safe and made me king the council and the advisor did it all till I could walk and talk I think they mostly still do honestly, it's strange you have… very little freedom as a king. I keep getting told I can do anything I want and yet I'm not allowed to bathe myself or dress myself, but I don't know anything else. I was crowned king at three the first real choice I ever made was… you."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"I couldn't. You where… scared of me. And that's not the sort of king I wanted to be and I… kinda liked you" I smiled "I wanted used you happy, not see you dead, there's alot of things I wish I could change"

"Like what?"

"I'd like it to stop. All of it. I don't want people to suffer for me. I don't want people to starve while I have more food then I'll ever eat, I don't want women to give up there bodies for food or just the safety they won't die tomorrow. And I… I wanna marry you, not just have you as some little slave girl who I have sex with. I want to marry you, make you my queen"

"That sounds very nice Thomas" she smiled nuzzling with my neck

"I will, someday. I promise" I smiled kissing her head.

I sat on my throne bored, nothing was going on so I just had to sit here. 

"A drink my king" y/n smiled bringing me some wine 

"Thank you darling" I smiled taking it from her "why am I doing this?"

"I don't know my king. The advisor says you must"

"He says I must do alot of things" I sighed "y/n, come sit with me"

"I can't my king it is the throne" she says 

"Do you deny your king?"

"Never" she blushed 

"The come and sit with me" I smiled she giggled and came sitting beside me but both of us barely fit "hang on." I said moving her hips to sit on my lap "there. That's better isn't it darling" I smiled kissing her cheek 

"Much better my king, much cosier" she giggled

"Umm bet your much more used to sitting here"

"Very much so" she giggled

"Now… as were alone. How about we, have a little fun" I whispered and she giggled and nodded "that's my girl" I smirked making her stand a moment as I tugged my pants down she giggled and pulled her dress up, she moved back and gently slipped down my cock every inch pushing Inside her heavenly pussy "ummmm you feel so good. Why would I ever need any other woman in the world" I smirked gently moving her hips to move her back and forth sending ripples of pleasure across us both, I bit on her shoulder a little to stop my moans "ummm quiet darling, we'd be in alot of trouble I'd we got caught" I smirked 

"The king fucking a slave girl on the throne of the kingdom" she giggled

"I'm sure knowone would blame me they saw your gorgeous pussy" I smirked starting to bounce her up and down "but there not going to. Only I get to see my beautiful darling" I smirked getting faster and faster trying hard not to moan, I moved a hand up her dress to fondle her breast as she bounced faster and faster I bit down hard giving her shoulder love bites to stop myself from screaming and from someone hearing us I felt her tighten she moved my hand to her mouth to muffle her screams as she came I smirked and kept bouncing her until I hit my own groaning into her ear as I finished as deep in her as I could making she she got every drop. And just as we walked down I heard footsteps, she quickly jumped off my lap and stood by the throne as usual fixing her dress I smirked blowing her a kiss and doing my pants back up and just as I did the door opened with my advisor and the council with some rather unimportant news, I was barely listening just smirking to myself glancing at her beside me seeing how tight her thighs and legs where as she desperately tried not to drip everything down her legs.

I sat in the meeting room undeniably nervous, I kept y/n close to me, I heard them marching down the corridor, I held my breath as the doors flew open showing five men, my uncle in the centre 

“Hello Nephew”

“Hello Uncle,”

“You think I can be summoned to your audience like some damn dog!”

“Well you clearly can” 

"What do you want"

"I want. This to stop. The attacks on my people the desecration on my lands the -"

"Enough. I understand" he says "you've grown up. Starting to really sound… like your father"

"It's been a while since I saw you last"

"Just because your older. Doesn't make you anymore of a king. I cannot simply call of my men, they have a habit of doing whatever the want" he smirked as the men he brought with him beg wrecking the room "that's something you don't understand is it, when people don't do whatever you ask of them"

"I am the king!'

"And they are not your people they are mine, I am there king. So why would they listen to you" 

"Because I'll execute them if they don't"

"Will you now? You know the rules kiddo you hurt one of mine or I hurt one of yours" he smirked "she's beautiful" he smirked looking at y/n

"She is no concern of yours"

"Isn't she? I think she is" he smirked "hello beautiful" he smirked going over to where she stood "you get more beautiful every time I visit" he smirked his hand on her arse 

"Do not touch her"

"Why? She's a slave, is what's she's for" he smirked "infact, for dragging us all this way. boys! For a present for you!" He smirked throwing her over to the other men who started grabbing at her

"Leave her alone!" I yelled "by all the gods in this world you will leave her be!" 

"Oooh you really do like her don't you, naughty naughty liking a little slave girl, let's see what you like about her then" he laughs "boys, have you turn with her" he ordered 

"No! You leave her alone!" 

"Ignore him, carry on!"

[dollsonmain]

My eating was more regular when I was able to buy fruit because I would eat fruit as snacks on a schedule (fuck That Guy’s vehement opposition to eating on a schedule it’s the only thing that kept me from eating constantly AND also made sure Son DID eat), and be satisfied.

I had to stop buying apples because they were consistently rotten in the cores. Apples were perfect snacks. Eat the apple, it’s gone, oh! Snack’s over! Whereas eat some chips, there’s still more chips, mmmm salt, keep eating chips.

Stopped buying strawberries because they were already moldy on the shelf.

Same with blueberries. I’ve thrown away multiple pans of blueberries because there was mold hidden in the middle and stopped bothering to try.

Snap peas are hit or miss. I tend to end up throwing out about half a batch every time for brown, slimy rot.

The seasons really don’t seem to matter.

Stopped buying white bread, the only bread I can eat, because I hated it so much it went moldy before I got through it. Wish I could buy a half-loaf. But that’s on me, that stuff is preserved all to hell it just took me too long to choke it all down.

Aldi’s tropical snack mix had rotten nuts so many times that I got in the habit of throwing the nuts away without even trying them. Then the raisins started being boozy. I keep telling That Guy to stop buying it. Maybe if I don’t open it no one will, then no one will eat it (no one eats anything unless I open it), and we’ll not buy it anymore.

I NEVER buy produce at Aldi. It’s always moldy and rife with fruit flies.

Just.... Rotten. So much rotten food. Even frozen veggies tend to have rotten bits that I have to sift through and pick out.

So instead of eating a piece of fruit on a schedule and keeping my eating even and relatively kidney friendly, I’ve been overeating things like chips and salty snack mixes, and Cheez-its, and Aldi cookies, and home-made fruit leathers which aren’t necessarily bad since they do still have some of the fiber but not all of it because the skins are gone, and drinking like 5 cups of sweetened coffee with milk a day.

I think I thought I hadn’t eaten as much today because it wasn’t until 12:30 that I got my second coffee.

I’ve been wanting to go shopping somewhere else (we have a Weis, a Martin’s, and a Food Lion, though our Food Lion tends to be no better than Walmart) and we keep going to Walmart because it’s cheaper. That Guy makes 6figs a year and insists we get our groceries at Walmart because it’s cheaper, and faster, and it’s a one-stop thing other than I refuse to drink Walmart’s plastic-flavored milk so we get milk at Aldi and a lot of the time that’s rotten, too.

Which isn’t Aldi’s fault, it’s the local distributor’s for sending them rotten food. Though you’d think they’d be like “Hey this is rotten we can’t put this out.” and send it back or something.

I’d rather see an empty shelf than one full of inedible, bug infested, literal garbage.

It could be rectified by letting me get groceries by myself on the weekends when he’s not using the car. I don’t mind the time it takes to go to multiple stores and get not-rotten food. Grocery day is the only day I leave the house and I don’t WANT to be rushed through Walmart real fast so we can get home again as fast as possible because That Guy HATES doing the grocery shopping.

Or if we had a second car I could go during the week. I like going on Monday mornings. It’s quiet.

But he won’t let me do it. He demands to be the one in control of shopping even though he hates it and makes it miserable for everyone. He also demands that I pay attention to him when he’s not at work, so me being out on the weekends is unacceptable.

Just like when I started looking for work and he got upset even though he demanded I do so, or like how he suggested I work at the gas station in town but changed his mind when I looked into that and reported back that the only positions available were overnight meaning he’d be sleeping alone.

He makes everything hard.

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 11, (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Boiling heat and salty water.

Notes: this mentions a lot about feet for a while but i swear its just relating to theexperience i had at the dead sea WC: 4.5k

+

Anytime you could find shade, you stopped to set your weights down and to breathe. Most times you pulled out the map as well, stretching it across the flattest surface you could find as both of you pressed up against each other, studying the large papyrus.

It was nice to have gotten water in Jerusalem, but it wasn't enough. Ahk had a horrible feeling it wouldn't be, but, taking more would've been more detriment to the village slums than he wanted to cause.

His mouth tasted horrible. Most of the breads you'd gotten earlier were now looking rather moldy, and at each stop you had to throw more and more of the food away, picking at the white and green molds spanning across the surface but keeping the rest. Taste meant little now––all he looked for was sustenance, something to fill his stomach. But the near-rotted bread, combined with a severe lack of water to wash his mouth out with, made him feel more unclean than ever before.

Wind blew hard, pushing about the sand at his feet and hot air into his face. He squinted as he held a hand up to block the sun's glare, looking out across a deep valley, and within it, the Salt Sea. It shined like a long stretch of gemstone, near white and surrounded by colors of yellow and deep, iron red. A gash of melted silver in the earth.

"Hell of a sight," he said, a headache forming from the knot in his squinted brow.

"It is hot, and dry, and wind," you grumbled as you rolled the map back up.

"Well, hopefully it'll be better in the valley," he said with a sigh.

Most of the time you were quite lenient––slow to anger, and rarely complaining. You did, however, complain about dry heat quite a lot, which he understood considering you kept getting bloody noses. By now you stopped wiping away the blood with your sleeve, as your sleeve was now stiff and far too dirty for comfort.

You made it into the bottom of the valley by late afternoon, but you didn't reach the water's edge until early evening, when the heat finally started to dissipate. When you dropped your bags you took in a deep breath, flopping down alongside the baggage. Ahkmen chuckled as he dropped his own bags, taking a seat beside you before promptly realizing the ground was too hot for his bare thighs, and jumping back up again.

"How are you touching the ground like that?" He said in an almost horrified voice.

"Clothes, pretty boy!" You said with a boisterous laugh.

"Very funny. Now are you going to come look at this water with me or not?" He gestured behind him to the nearby shore.

"Why do I do that?" You asked, kinking a brow upwards.

"Because it's salty? I don't know. Come on, let's go," he said, grabbing your shirt and pulling you to your feet as you moaned pathetically.

"You..." Ahkmen suddenly let go of you, and all your weight balanced onto him, "are so mean," you said, glaring up at him, your chest on his.

Nonetheless, you did come with him to the water, and knelt at its' side, balanced on the pads of your feet. You poked a single finger into the heated sea.

"Warm," you commented, pushing deeper till you felt the slick mud beneath. "And... smooth."

Ahk knelt down with you, swishing the water around with his whole hand.

"Hmm," he said.

"We can go in it?" You asked after a moment's silence.

"You probably can," he said with a sigh. "I've got cuts on my feet so I think it'll only hurt me. Like rubbing salt into an open wound."

"Ouch." You cringed back at his words.

"Yes, well... I might do something with the mud here. I think Job said something about it being good for you," he said, digging his fingers into the dirt and pulling out a massive clump of wet clay.

"Okay, but do not be eating it," you said as you stood.

He chuckled, occupying himself with making a small mountain out of the dirt––as well as shifting away whenever the shoreline decided to move closer to his sandals––while you walked away. Two minutes later and you returned, shoeless, as well as naked.

Unable to look away, he stared as you waded out into the river, his eyes falling inevitably to the small of your back, down the shape of your thighs that soon submerged into the water. You turned back to him as you began to float, yelping a little when you nearly turned over. He laughed, falling back on his own butt.

"This is – VERY strange," you called in an alarmed but humored voice, laughing as you balanced yourself in the water. "I float so good!"

"Really? As in, you don't have to swim at all?" He asked curiously.

"Not much," you said in softer giggles as you splashed your hands into the water. "Why do you cannot come in?"

"I think it'll hurt my feet," he said.

"Try, try to come in," you said, paddling closer to him till you knelt in the mud, half of your body in the water and half out.

He grimaced but obediently tried, shuffling the sandal off his foot and dipping the toes into the water. Blisters and bumps that sprouted between his toes instantly began to burn, and he hissed, jerking himself out of the water. You frowned.

"We can do a," you mimicked wrapping a bandage around your arm, "for the feet."

"We can try," he said miserably, already ready to give up.

"Yes, that is the ghost," you said with a grin, jumping to your feet and jogging across the hot sand to your bags.

"That's the what?" He asked in a laugh he couldn't hold back, dimples and blush spreading across his cheeks.

"You know, the – the feel, the minute – uh..."

You switched between your feet, the bottoms of them burning on the hot ground, till your skin got used to the temperature once more. Eventually you found more spare bandage, running back over with it in hand.

"Did you mean 'that's the spirit'?" He asked, grinning.

"Yes!" You said with an exasperated sigh, smiling at him as well.

You knelt back down in the water in front of him, grabbing one of his ankles and balancing it on a raised knee as you set to wrapping the linen around him. He watched you work, a knot in his throat, unable to look away. Fortunately for him, you weren't as preoccupied with him as he was with you, and you successfully wrapped the bandage around his left foot, setting it back down on the ground and reaching for the right. You repeated the process till he wore white stockings up to his calf.

"Okay," you said, throwing the linen onto your pile of bags before scooting away. "Try it now."

With a steadying breath he gingerly dipped his foot back into the water, shocked to find it didn't hurt as badly. It still hurt a little, but it was much more bearable, and if he could float like you did, then keeping his feet up would be no problem.

"Better?" You asked.

"Much," he grinned.

The air only grew cooler as the evening progressed, bringing welcome relief to your tired and aching caravan. Ahkmen didn't spend too much time in the water, considering it still did hurt a little, and instead worked on a small shelter for the evening. Finding sanctuary in the tall cliffs might've been easy, but they were too far away for you to bother with.

Ahkmen sat beneath the tarp, a sort of fabric roof, mirrored by a blanket set out on the ground. It left you with no actual blanketed covers over your bodies, but Ahk surmised neither of you would want it anyway. Shade was more important once the boiling sun came overhead again.

He grinned whenever you slipped in the water, recalling as he drew in the dry rocks the night you met. When you ended up covered in mud, he was horrified he'd ruined his relationship with you completely, but you simply laughed, just as you did now whenever you slipped and landed on your ass trying to get out of the water. He stifled the louder snorts when you fell on your face.

You returned to him dripping wet and covered in mud, standing outside the low tent like you were waiting for instructions from him. Considering he had none, this confused him, and he exited the shelter with a curious look on his face.

"You alright?" He asked after realizing you weren't going to speak first.

"I feel like a baby," you said, your arms held out stiff from your torso.

"A baby?" He repeated with wide eyes.

"Coming out... all the naked, and the wet, and all in.. muddy bloody," you grumbled, trying to wipe away some of the mud stuck to your arm.

"Do you want some help?" He asked, chuckling as he crossed his arms.

"No, we will get dirty our blankets for this," you said with a sigh, still attempting to fleck the dirt off.

"Then we at least need to get the big chunks off or else they're going to peel off and it's going to hurt," he said.

"You know it will hurt?" You raised a brow.

"I've gotten into my fair share of... entanglements, with mud in the Nile," he offered, careful not to give any of his more indecent escapades away. Before you could ask questions he continued with, "I'll have to use my hands though, since you don't want anything else to get dirty."

That certainly distracted you from what he'd said earlier. You stiffened, tensing just barely enough for him to notice. He'd gotten you to the point where you were fine being naked, and then to being naked around him, but he'd never been able to touch you before. Even in day-to-day life he rarely touched you, limiting your interactions to hair-ruffling and nudges.

"I can get my arms," you said quietly. "You can get my back. And my," you tapped your shoulders.

"Alright. Stand over here, that way we can wipe it off our hands on this," he said, leading you over to the boulder your shelter was balanced against.

You took a careful seat on the still-warm rock, setting off to wiping streaks of red clay down and off your arms. Ahkmen sidled in behind you, his hands waiting poised above you as he convinced himself to touch you, and to break a barrier that was never there.

He bit into his cheek and set his hands on the back of your neck, earning a sharp breath as he lowered them on and off your shoulders, shaking the clumps of mud off his hands. More and more clumps and piles ended up surrounding him, wiped and flecked off his hands as he combed your back. You began to chuckle softly.

"Something wrong?" He asked, removing his hands.

"No," you said with a sigh that calmed down your giggling. "You are sweet."

"Oh," he rasped out meekly, losing his sense of self entirely for a full ten seconds.

You returned to cleaning yourself and he did as well, wiping the rest of the softened clay off your body. The longer sections of your hair had clumps of them as well, and he carefully combed through the locks, dutifully removing the clay that reddened your hair, forming it into scales like a serpent.

"You look good like this," he said softly. You were long done cleaning off your arms and legs––to the extent you could, at least––and were swinging your feet back and forth off the boulder's edge while he worked your hair.

"Naked?"

"No," he laughed. "I mean, yes, but I meant your hair. With this clay in it. I wish you could see."

"The mud... Job says, that it is good for you?" You asked, looking back partway.

"I think he did say that, yes," he murmured.

"You can keep it in," you said as you stood, turning back around to face him. "It does look good?"

"Yes," he said, mesmerized by the look of your hair pulled neatly back, colored iron red and forming thick tendrils unlike anything he'd seen before.

"Maybe... it will make me cool, in the day," you said as Ahk made his way to his feet.

You grinned, almost shyly as he approached you, an enchanted look in his eye.

"Are we a little strange?" Ahk asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

"My mother says I am strange," you said. Ahk belted out a laugh, his hand shooting up to cover his wide grin.

"So does mine," he admitted.

Your bodies ached as you laid them down to rest, still partly covered in mud and water, and the bottoms of your feet aching and blistered along with your cracked dry hands.

The sweat beading on your forehead, dripping down your spine, returned easily in the light of day. You awoke not to the sun, however, and instead to Ahkmen slapping you in the face as he turned over in a haze of dreams. A jolting awakening, but it gave you an excuse to wake up Ahk in the same manner.

Rest stops were taken sparingly, despite the heat trapped in the deep valley, as there was no shade to be found whatsoever. The best you had was at times closer to absolute night and the middle of the day, when boulders casted shadows that were absent during a midday sky. You both reasoned that it would only make sense to stop in the shade, a promise you found yourself regretting, as your only break during the day was when you finally climbed out of the wide valley and collapsed beneath the nearest, almost leafless tree.

By then midday had passed into afternoon, and most of your water was depleted. The only comfort was the fact that you could see the city of Jericho––distant, and rippling in the hazy heat, but visible nonetheless. You wordlessly passed the last of your flask to Ahk, who took a small sip before he spoke through an achingly dry voice.

"Do you want the last of it?"

"No, you can take," you mumbled, your head tilted back and your eyes closed.

He glanced at you, gauging if you were lying and needed it more than him, before turning back and knocking back the rest of the water.

"You know what we need?" You said suddenly after having tucked the now-empty flask away. He made an inquisitive grunt. "That bread that is two cook, they heat it for two times."

"Oh, I bet that'd last longer," he said with a nod.

"Yes," you said, sighing as you pulled out the last of your bread loaves.

Massive chunks had been taken out of it throughout the length of time you'd had it. The honey coating kept it preserved for a while, but there was still precious little left that you split up between you and Ahk.

For the remainder of the day, you walked in drudging steps towards Jericho, the shaky mirage growing closer and clearer with every passing hour. At evening you stood before the outer walls. No buildings were outside the city limits, and rising above the first wall was a second wall, taller and thicker. Turrets lined the pillars of each wall.

The road that lead to the nearest gate to the city was set up in a sort of grid pattern––the sunburnt remains of what once was a system of wheat fields. Ahk found himself not breathing whenever he thought about it too hard.

The two of you were stopped at the gates by soldiers much in the formation as they had been in Jerusalem. Two long rows down the hallway resting beneath the brick wall.

"What is your intent for entry?" One of the soldiers asked, dressed in more comfortable, yet still honorable clothes than the others.

"We wish to stay the night, find a hostel and some food," Ahk answered.

"Where do you hail from?"

"We're coming from Egypt. I was born there, but my friend wasn't."

"Where will you be going after you leave?"

"That is not a problem for you," you said, crossing your arms. Ahk hushed you.

"We're travelling eastward, towards Babylon," he said.

"Any weapons?"

"Two daggers," Ahk answered honestly.

"We'll have to confiscate those," the soldier said, holding out his large hand for Ahk to place the weapons in.

But Ahk didn't give them up, at least not immediately. First he frowned, looked up at the man, and asked him why.

"It's the law. All visitors must turn in their weapons," the soldier explained.

You and Ahk looked to each other before giving in, unsheathing your knives and handing them to the guard, who handed it to another guard who, in turn, disappeared into the one of the wall's doorways.

After that they raised the gate for you to enter, flooding both of you with relief. Sounds of life fluttered about the air, ardently filled by crowded conversations and rushing water, the sound of which you'd only heard while straining for the past week. You sighed deeply, energized despite the increasingly late hours.

"Look at that," Ahk said, turning to you with a smile. "They let us in. I told you not to worry about it."

"Shut your mouth," you chuckled.

Hostels and taverns appeared to litter the city like pests, some abandoned and some flocked with people. The abandoned ones remained, for the most part, within the outer reaches of the city, protected only by the first wall. Those within the second fortification fitted much the style of the other buildings on that level––dignified, mostly clean, and taken care of by polite, enterprising owners. They were also much more expensive, and considering the length of your tip, Ahk thought it best to try and keep the budget aim low as possible.

Your eventual room was sandwiched between the two other buildings, the room occupied by little other than a hammock and a shelf. Bathrooms and other such necessities were shared by all the patrons. There was no food or drink to buy in the main room, so the two of you left your heavy bags in the room, locking the door as you left. Sephys, who had not left your bag for the entirety of the trip, remained as well, and you made sure to keep the windows closed so she couldn't run away like she had last time.

As expected, the outer ring of the city was inhabited by travellers, mostly––foreign merchants who managed to get through the deserts to the stone oasis, and those on long journeys like yourselves. Most of the shops were contained to small carts, things that could be packed up and moved at the merchant's whim. Those that were built into the earth with clay and limestone contained more artifacts, more variety, and usually larger prices.

People still walked in their large groups, speaking only in quiet voices with one another in a way that would be inaudible in the middle of a Memphis market. The streets, though more narrow, weren't as filled up as most of the cities Ahk had visited.

"I would love to find a bathhouse, honestly," Ahk admitted out of nowhere as the two of you strolled down the torch-lit streets, the private homes bustling with life and illuminated by great fires.

"But that takes much money," you said, recalling your earlier conversation with him about your budget.

"True," he said with a long sigh, "but if we find a cheap one, I'll take it in a heartbeat."

A magi's shop ended up being the first store to catch your eye, and you immediately pulled Ahk into it, your mouth hanging open as you marvelled at the massive pike of crystal set in the middle of the entrance.

Very few people were in the shop, but the shelves were still stocked full of different herbs, glass bottles, and premade 'potions' said to do any number of things. Incense filled the air, emanating from several different plates of burning frankincense. Great clay barrels were stocked with spices that created tall, cone pyramids colored anywhere from red to black and to gold. More shallow dishes held similar sands in the same golden and red hue.

Your wide eyes flickered to every object, from spices and potion ingredients to crystals and bones immaculately cleaned. Ahkmen chuckled at your interest but followed you around anyway, trying to see everything through your eyes, and to find some interest in the objects. Yet the disconnect remained––a lack of faith, in himself, in his land, and in his Gods. Dragging his heart down into his stomach. The statues and imageries of God were incredibly well made, though. More beauty than would ever truly exist on earth in the form of a man or woman. He tried focusing on that instead.

"Is there anything you want to get?" Ahk asked you quietly, keeping his voice down in order to hear the singing bowls another customer was playing with, allowing the tones to reverberate through the whole store's bones.

Gong. Ahk could feel himself ripple with a change in note.

"No, I... yes, but Sephys... I did not get her food, because we did not have any, so I will really need to get her food," you said, gazing at the nearest totem necklace wantingly.

It was an African symbol he'd seen from some of the tribes surrounding Egypt––a tortoise that stood for adaptability.

"You like this one?" Ahk asked, taking the necklace off its' hook. The trinket appeared to be made of a sort of black stone, carved into the rock and lined with a shimmering green paint.

"Yes, but –"

"Come on, it can't be that much," he said, already walking over to the seller's table.

"Aganu!" You laughed weakly through your whine.

"Here, we're getting this," Ahkmen continued to the merchant before you could even make it over to him.

You appeared at his side with a faux frown, your arms crossed sternly as Ahk bore a pleasant smile.

"Two copper rings," the merchant said after studying the necklace for a quick moment.

Ahk gave him the coin and promptly took the necklace after, hanging it over your neck for you. You bowed your head for his ease, but still glared when you looked at him, despite your growing smile.

"You look wonderful," he said, cocking his chin up as he grinned.

"Wonderful?"

"It means beautiful," he said with a soft chuckle.

"Ah. You, are wonderful," you said, grinning wide when he found himself at a loss for words.

Ahk accidentally caught the eye of the unimpressed merchant, and thenceforth rushed both of you out of the shop before you could bother the man any more. You couldn't stop from giggling once you left, earning your fair share of continued judging stares as you walked down the street, side by side with a man who was taller than most inhabitants of the city.

"I say we get food," you said once you finally stopped laughing to yourself. "And then beer?"

"Perfect. I've been wanting for something besides bread," he said, sighing. "It's not very nutritious, you know."

"It is more than nothing, it goes in the body... it is good for me," you said. He pretended to know what you were talking about.

Jericho, despite being under heavy influence from both Egyptian and Phoenician parties, did not carry many of the laws and social structures that places like Egypt had. Things were a bit more carefree, less controlled by an all-powerful government. That also meant there was no distributed bread or grain, and instead the two of you had to look through marketplaces for any sign of stalls that carried more than just beer and bread.

It was difficult to search through the whole of the many markets stationed around the areas of Jericho, but the closer you got to the center of the city, the more diversity there was. Stalls sold massive rolls of cheese, different colors of rice, with spices to be added onto any fried vegetables. Cooked fish was also added to the mixture, giving you a little extra protein which would be vital during your continuing trek.

You both bought whatever caught your eye, and it ended up being quite a lot. Fortunately, you still had quite a bit of money saved up, and you could easily afford the splurge. With your food in hand you searched the city for quieter areas, ending up beside a small party that lit up a massive bonfire in the middle of the street.

As the many people dancing around the fire began to shout and whoop, it became impossible for you to tear your eyes away from the spectacle, humored and somewhat concerned at the same time. You chewed slowly as they began to pour an entire cask of beer down one of their throats.

"Looks fun," Ahk said quietly, returning to his food after several minutes of shocked silence.

"It do," you said. Ahk had to stifle his laugh.

You spent the rest of the night in an alcoholic haze. Neither of you fully remembered how many beers you could drink, and neither of you had tried the beer made in Jericho, leaving you stumbling back up the steps of the hostel. Most of your weight was balanced on Ahk, who had some trouble keeping himself up even without you leaning on him.

The two of you fumbled with the door handle for a full minute before you could get in, collapsing on the bed in giggles that scared Sephys into hiding back in your bags.

With your clothes tangled around you and the bedsheets, you very clumsily turned yourself over to face Ahk, a flushed look on your face.

"Aganu," you mumbled, resting your hand on his cheek.

He fell silent as he waited for you to speak, caught in your gentle hold.

"I will give you poison while you sleep," you said in the same, dreamy voice.

"What?" He wheezed, falling back into laughter.

"You will make as a ghost," you said, though you couldn't stop yourself from smiling, "and we will fly to Harappa."

"Sure," he laughed, shaking his head. "Sure, we can do that."

It felt only natural––instinctive, to reach forward and kiss you. He almost did, too. Leaned in and looked in your eye, only for his gaze to flicker down to your lips that he was sure would still taste like the beer you drank.

"I am happy you have come with me," you murmured, the words pulling him out of his trance and back into reality, where you were not okay with him kissing you.

"I am too."

His body still ached from the long journey, his joints barely flexible enough to pull his clothes off. Pounding resided in his feet, an aftereffect of having walked so long, replicated in his tender legs and the strange tightness of his chest, like he'd been wearing something that squeezed him for the past three days. Whenever he breathed, he stretched out those muscles and they replied with a burning sensation.

But the bed was comfortable, and he was clean, and you were beside him. Sleeping, of course, but still there. Still reaching out to him with unconscious hands.

[vercopaanir]

Bad Men

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 13

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Words: 4.8k

Rating/Warning: Teen-Mature for violence and graphic descriptions of injuries.

Summary: The Mandalorian finds you.

Notes: Y’all got me nervous to post this chapter, now. I hope it uh. Delivers? But! Everyone who sent a message, left a comment, shared, and liked this story has my heart. You can’t believe how much this has uplifted me, especially having some health problems the last few days. I appreciate each and every one of you!

AO3

It’s been days.

It’s been days since you breathed in the sleeping agent that knocked you out from under your own feet, leaving you with a throbbing headache. You overhear two men laughing about it, later, that you were carried right by the Canto Bight police. When they’d stopped to inquire, they were told you simply had too much to drink. That they were helping you home. 

It’s been days since you could feel your arms. The binders securing your wrists are enclosed around a metal pipe, and your arms are twisted so tight that they’re asleep within minutes. It stinks where you are, a musty, spicy odor that must be from animals, because you can hear them close by. You can’t move your legs, you can’t even stand up or walk. When they take you like an animal on a leash to relieve yourself, they laugh when you fall, and they continue to laugh when you try over and over to stand. 

It’s been days since you could open your eyes. Freedom has made you irreverent, giving you a confidence you never possessed before. When the man who had drugged you brings in a chair to sit, you glare as hard as you can, and he grins with wide, straight teeth. He has no hair and large, dark eyes that seem to reflect the light, even when there is none.

“You know where you’re at?”

“I’m blind.”

“Yes, and not stupid.” You lean away instinctively when he brings a hand close to your face, waving it in front of your line of sight. “Ah...so you can see some things.” You scowl when he leans away, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring down at you like you are some kind of specimen. It makes your skin crawl, and you shift uncomfortably on the floor. He cocks his head to the side and demands, “How much are you worth?”

There’s a cold trickle of fear working it’s way down your back, and you feel sick to your stomach. He chuckles at whatever secrets your face betray, and you grimace. Of course, he’s a gambling man, after all. He can call your bluff, see your tells. 

“I know slaves enough to see the signs. Come on, now. Is it that low a price?” he laughs, and your hands flex behind you. When you say nothing, he grins with wide, white teeth. “I’ll guess, then. A few thousand credits? Your hands are soft, skin clear, hair long and...pretty.” Tears form in your eyes when he reaches forward to tilt your chin up, and you try to blink them away. They fall, and you can’t stand the tenderness in his touch. “How much did he buy you for?”

“I-It’s not like that,” you whisper, flinching when he laughs again, a barking, grating sound.

“No? A Mandalorian did it out of the kindness of his heart? Assuming he has one, it wouldn’t be yours. You’d know that if you were smarter.” He almost sounds sorry for you, letting your chin go. “You know who I am? He tell you?”

You blink the misty vision away, sniffing and looking down at your lap. “Tycho Ivalice, gambling ringleader. Wanted by...someone.” You frown, trying to recall the conversation you’d had with the Mandalorian, what he’d said. All you can remember is how soft his voice was, how he’d asked for the closer side of the bed. How he called you Cyare, and made your heart ache.

Tilting his head, Tycho hums. “And my brother. Know where he is?”

In carbonite, on the Crest.

“No.”

His hand connects with a solidity that you fear dislocates your jaw. Your ear rings, head spinning with a liquid imbalance that has you slumping to the side. The shock settles in, having gone for so many years without being struck, and you know holding your breath will only delay the inevitable. When you open your mouth, your lungs instinctively contract, forcing you to breathe. Heat courses through your neck and face, a throbbing, pulsing pain that leaves your vision pricked with black dots.

“I don’t like liars,” Tycho says after a moment, as if letting you gather your thoughts that he’d just slapped out of your still-ringing ear. “But we’ll come back to that.”

He did come back, every day, to ask the same questions.

Where is the ship you arrived on?

Where is his brother?

Who is the Mandalorian?

You think you must have smiled at the last one, because he grows impatient, and powerful men who do not get their way are more dangerous than loaded weapons. You feel your eye bleeding when he strikes you for that, the hot, sticky mess painting your cheek and neck as it drips and stains your torn dress. The scent of dirty copper gags you, and you want to cry so badly, but you know that will only make it worse. When your cheek puffs, the delicate skin swelling and shutting your eyes, you find some relief because it stops the bleeding. You don’t smile after that.

A small child visits you that night, no older than you had been when you’d gone blind. She uses the dirty hem of her dress, dipped in the water cup they’ve given you, to clean the dried blood away. You thank her before she disappears again, saying nothing. You think you can hear her crying somewhere nearby at night, and you wish more than anything to sleep. 

It’s been days since you’ve seen the child. Your child, you think pitifully in the dark to yourself. The little one you’d come to give your whole heart to, with eyes as dark as ink and a tiny smile that makes you proud to take care of him, to be a source of his affection. You hope he doesn’t miss you, because you don’t want to be cause for his sadness. You desperately pray he is far from this damn city, from people like these who could hurt him. 

And you do pray.

Servants and slaves alike give up the hope of something higher, too tired or scared or sick to afford the luxury of dreams and thoughts that could save them. But you have kept your prayers close to your heart ever since you were small. Ever since you cowered beneath that old bed the stormtroopers dragged you out from under, making you look at your father with his dead eyes staring up and seeing nothing, you felt it was an act of defiance. You prayed for your lady when you heard the Moff strike her, and you prayed for that Moff to go far, far away. You prayed for the girls misused in the brothel near the cantina. 

You pray for the child, every night, that he would grow up happy and sweet and good.

You pray for the Mandalorian. You hope he assumes the worst-that you took money and left, rather than what truly happened. You think it might be better, because it would mean he’d move on sooner, and you don’t think this place is good for anyone. You pray for Din Djarin more than yourself, and when you allow yourself to think of his name, it keeps you as warm as his cloak.

On the third or fourth day, there’s a small boy who brings you moldy bread. You thank him after he reaches for your face and pushes the hair from your eyes, and he helps you eat without saying a word. On the fifth day, your jaw feels healed enough to dare to speak to the young girl, this time.

“Where am I?”

You hear her fear; it’s in her hesitation, in the way her knees knock together as she kneels beside you. Her small hand shakes when she tugs the torn shoulder of your gown up, for you were left indecent before by the cruel men who made you walk when you couldn’t feel your own feet.

“A stable,” she whispers. You frown, wincing at the pain it causes, and she shuffles closer. “The fathiers are noisy, it covers the sounds of people calling for help.”

You focus very hard on swallowing down the thick desperation threatening to send you into a panic. It would not serve you now. The desire to tug at the binders, as useless as it is, is strong, but you no longer feel your arms so you don’t even attempt it.

“What’s your name?” you whisper, leaning your head back against the metal pipe. You lick your lips, tasting sweat and blood and something foul. You can hear her shuffling beside you, and you imagine she draws her knees up to her chest, hugging herself. You did it, too, when you were her age and scared, wishing to make yourself small.

“Corde.” 

“You are very brave, Corde,” you whisper, feeling tears sting your eyes. Maker, it hurts, it burns like fire, like that first time the sun left your eyes so scarred you couldn’t see. You try to blink through your swollen eyes. “I’m sorry you have to be here.”

She is quiet for a long time, and your sleep deprivation begins to find you. You’re almost nodding off when she tugs at your torn dress again. It won’t stay up. “Did you get sold, too?”

You push your head to the side, towards her, hoping your injured face doesn’t make her nervous. She seems so sweet, and lonely, and sad. “Once, a long time ago. Not this time.” You think of that woman’s voice, oily and inviting like a flower with three leaflets, the kind the child would be tempted to pick that you would never let him near. You swallow hard. “This time it-it was my fault.”

Corde frowns, and you can hear it when she looks up at you and says, “I don’t understand.”

You lick your cracked lip again before you answer her. “I...I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.”

I trust you to be smart.

Stars, you want to scream, to lash out. He was right, he was right, he was right…

“Bad men,” Corde whispers, and you feel a bubble of a laugh threaten to come out. You fight it down and simply nod, gritting your teeth. Bad men always find ways to hurt little girls.

The two of you sit in silence, and inch by inch, the child scoots closer until you feel her pressing against your side, leaning her head against your arm. The sound you make, a mangled whimper, escapes your lips before you can hold it in, and there is more salt stinging your eyes. “I-I don’t even know why I’m here,” you whimper, sniffling against the stink of animal. “It’s wrong.”

Corde’s voice is so small, and you can feel how thin she is when she leans against you. Her voice trails off, though, and you can hear her fear again. “Will…?”

You try to shift from your cramped position, sighing deeply when it’s for nothing. “Will what, sweet girl?” you ask, angling your chin down toward her.

“Will...when the Mandalorian comes, will he take me and my brother with you?”

The question shakes you to your core. You can’t move, you can’t breathe. Your mouth opens and closes, working on words that won’t come out. When you finally speak, your voice is hoarse. 

“What...what are you talking about?”

“Tycho said it,” Corde whispers, and you can tell she’s got one hand beside her mouth to muffle her noise as she shares her secret. “He said there’s a Mandalorian coming for you.”

The questions Tycho asks you now make sense. It was a trap, and you were the bait. You feel even more ashamed than before, even more foolish than a stupid no-named girl from the outer rim. At least someone else in that cantina would’ve been smarter, you think. He could have picked anyone. But he chose you, and he chose wrong.

“The Mandalorian isn’t coming.” 

Even if you wanted him to, it had been days.

Saying it out loud doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. It’s simple, an understanding you had known from the beginning that the man had told you himself. He would protect his child at all costs-no matter the cost. You like to think some part of him held affection for you. But he’d trusted you, trusted you to be smart, and look where you are now. 

You wonder how this gambler had formed such a half-brained idea.

“Oh.” 

You detest how heartbroken she sounds, because you have nothing to offer her by way of comfort. You wish you could tell her that you would take her with you, that you would protect her, but how could you say such a thing when you can’t even protect yourself? 

Children know better, and they know the lies of people who swear false promises. If you could be anything for her, you would be someone who would at least tell her the truth.

You learn the little boy is Corde’s brother, Venka. He doesn’t speak at all. Corde tells you he hasn’t spoken since they were sold. They sleep in the empty stall beside yours, and they’re waiting to be moved where other child workers are kept. When Venka brings you a wet cloth to press to your swollen eyes, you finally cry in peace, the salt washing away with the dirty water. He wipes your face with gentle, pudgy hands, and you whisper your thankfulness. He hugs you around your neck, and you have never, in your life, wished to harm another person so much as you do the men who keep these children locked in the dark.

The privilege, however, is not yours.

It happens near midnight of the fifth day after you were taken, and a jolt goes through you, waking you from the half-sleeping slump. The two children are nestled close to the spare warmth of your body, the girl laying against your side and the boy with his head in your lap. You’re unsure why they were allowed to remain with you. Usually they’re forced into their own stall, but you soon realize the door to your paddock is open as if someone forgot to shut it. Both children are awoken by the sharp, short burst of gunfire that sounds like it’s echoing just outside the building.

Your heart is beating like a bird losing feathers, mad to get out, and Corde sucks in a breath. “It’s him, isn’t it?” she whispers, the hope in her voice prettier than a song.

“Get behind me,” you tell them, voice harsh with your own fear trapped in your throat, threatening to climb out. You didn’t want to hope it was him, wishing for nothing but for him to take his son and run far away from this foul city. But you feel a rush of relief against your will, and stars, of course it’s him. 

The paddock door slams when a body hits it, and you tense when a mass of footsteps storm right up to you. A familiar odor of stale beer and unwashed skin hits your nose, and Tycho has your binders off before you can wonder what he’s doing. Tiny hands grab at your dress, and your arms fall uselessly, weak, in front of them.

“Up we go,” Tycho rumbles, and Corde cries out as you're dragged onto your feet. Is this the last thing you’re going to see? Is this some kind of mercy kill before he’ll give the Mandalorian the satisfaction of finding you?

“I-It’s okay,” you whisper to the two cowering children, shaking at the idea of being led away to be silenced. You wonder if your father knew, before they beat him to stillness, that he would die. Perhaps that’s why those lies people tell children come pouring out of you. “It will be alright, I promise-” 

When Venka won’t let go, Tycho’s boot reels back and lands squarely, knocking him into his sister, and all three of you are screaming, trying to fight him. Stumbling on legs that you can’t feel, like a newborn foal, you fall as he drags you by the back of the neck, and cry, “D-Don’t hurt them!”

There’s a brighter light where he drags you from the stall, but you don’t have time to try and open your eyes before his robust arm, thick with muscle, traps your neck against the front of his chest, forcing you to try and balance on your unsteady feet. Everything is a swath of blurred shadows, a dim, running painting of mangled shapes that you have no way of discerning, and all the blood rushing to your limbs leaves you breathless. You are not unlike a rag doll that’s been abused, dizzy and lightheaded, and you keep your swollen eyes closed, focusing on staying conscious. 

“Not so trigger happy now, Mando?” Tycho bellows, and you can hear the power of his deep voice all the way into his chest. It rattles your bones, and you suck in a breath when his arm tightens around your neck. “I’ll take my money back, now. And an apology.”

The Mandalorian’s shape, familiar even in your disabled vision, even from between aching, pained squints of your eyes, stands still as stone, a gun still smoking held in his hand. There are bodies on the floor, blood dripping from one of his gloves. His voice, though, is like thunder, quiet and rolling and cresting deep from within, and hearing him is like an allowance you don’t deserve. “I’m not negotiating with you,” the forbidding baritone bites out. He is raspy with anger, and severe enough to make you fear what he is capable of. 

“No?” 

Tycho’s arm tightens, and tightens, and tightens, drawing you back until the tips of your toes barely brush the floor, and your voice breaks on a whimper for air. Your hands shake and scratch at the thick, corded muscle of his forearm, but you might as well be an insect he can’t be bothered to swat away.

And nothing happens.

You wonder, briefly in your dazed, slowly slipping mind, if you die here, what will become of the two children in the stall. You hope someone is kind to them, and does not fail them like you have.

“S-Stop. Stop it.”

Tycho’s arm loosens, and you gasp in the dirty, stinking air of the stable, gagging on it as he allows you just an inch or so of leverage. “Ready to negotiate now?” he asks, giving you a small shake in his hold. You feel your teeth rattle, your body swaying as if drunk.

There’s no sound, no movement for a moment until you hear a loud metallic clunk hit the ground. 

“Good. Now put your blaster down, and kick it over to one of my men.” 

Don’t do it. Please don’t give him that.

The clatter of steel on the concrete floor follows bluntly, and you hear the rattling scrape when it’s sent skittering across the ground. A man nearby picks it up, checking the chamber and release before aiming it at the Mandalorian. Your heart grows hot with indignant anger in your breast. This-this animal didn’t deserve to be cowered to, not worthy of anyone’s deference. Certainly not by the Mandalorian.

Tycho releases you and in the same, abrupt motion, kicks your feet out from under you so that you land hard on the floor. The use of your legs and arms are still shaky, and your whole body spasms with pain. Beskar hits the ground when the Mandalorian kneels over you, and you’ve never felt so weak, so pitiful when he pulls you up against his blessedly cool chest plate.

Desperate, leather clad hands cradle you with urgency, and he leans you back against his leg, propping you up so your breath fogs the shine of his armor as you inhale the scent of clean skin and cool woods. His helmet kisses your brow, and you can hear, now that he’s so close, how labored his breathing is, how tight and tense his arms are while he rocks you. His whole body shakes like a vibroblade, like the electricity before the crack of lighting, and you have never felt safer. 

You smile, a small, sad thing that doesn’t meet your eyes. “You came.”

A tiny, pathetic sound slips from beneath the lip of his helmet, and one of his gloves cups the side of your face, his thumb pressing just beneath the bruised and reddened skin of your eye. You can’t stop yourself from leaning into the cool leather, biting your cracked lip with relief, but a chuckle from somewhere behind you makes both of you go still as stone.

You hear the click of a blaster being aimed, and you know it isn’t trained on the impressively armored man who holds you in his arms.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Tycho says, towering above where the Mandalorian stays kneeling over you, and forcing the bounty hunter to look up with an air of utter hatred. You have never felt him so angry, so glacial and still. “If you both want to leave, I’ll need something else. Let’s call it interest for the disrespect you showed me and my brother.” 

You press your cheek to his chest plate, your fingers curling into the fabric at his waist. If you were going to die with a gun to your head, at least you won’t be alone, and you won’t be without this man, you decide. It is more than you hoped for, even if the way he breathes, like a wild animal, makes you wish to comfort him.

There’s a nigh imperceptible tilt of the Mandalorian’s helmet, and Tycho smiles and says, “I want your helmet.”

Your fingers dig into his waist with desperation, nails biting into the skin, and you suddenly can’t be close enough, can’t stop what’s happening. “N-No,” you whimper, struggling against the Mandalorian’s firm hold, trying to clamber to your feet. “You can’t do that-!”

“I’m no longer negotiating,” Tycho growls, leveling his blaster’s aim at the crown of your hair. 

“Stop, please-” he chokes out, arresting you so tightly against his chest, you can’t move. You want to fight him, you want to shake this dear man under the steel because he shouldn’t sound like that, like a ruin. He should be brave, no matter the cost. “I-I’ll do it.”

“No!” Your entire body is a force to be reckoned with, adrenaline dumping into your system, but the Mandalorian traps you around the middle, locking his arms around you so you’re pinned to his chest. You turn your face into his neck, tears forming in your eyes. “No, y-you can’t-!”

Two men move to flank the bounty hunter, and you feel him tense, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. That is what you expect of him, the urge and hunger to fight. Your breathing is so heavy, your mind so alight with passion that your entire frame hums. 

“I want her to do it.”

“I will not!” you shriek, something feral and foaming bursting from your chest when you wrench against him. Everything begins to flicker before your eyes, the fireside touches, the hand stroking your hair by the stream, the arm that has held and supported you over worlds. He is stronger than you, but he doesn’t seem interested in seeking to detain you as much as he seeks to keep you from hurting yourself against the beskar covering his body.

“Cyare,” his deep baritone rumbles against your ear, too low for anyone else to hear. “Trust me.”

You go still, your arms slowly circling his waist and tucking your cheek against his chest plate. His heartbeat is like a war drum beneath the armor, and you bite your lip when you feel his arms slowly release you. You keep your eyes closed, your heart squeezing in Tycho’s fist as he and his men begin to chuckle at such a great warrior defeatedly drawing his hands down to his belt while you lift yours to cradle his helmet. Your lip trembles, fingers smoothing over the beskar warmed by your own skin, and then-

A clap of thunder, followed by an overwhelming flash, and the Mandalorian throws you to the side, rolling you beneath him just as the flash grenade he’d detonated sends everyone into a panic. Blasters suddenly go off in every direction, and you’re thankful when the Mandalorian crouches over you because you aren’t sure which way is up. His leather glove brushes your cheek, and you can’t hear what he says, but he disappears from your line of sight. There are muffled shouts, screaming, and you curl in on yourself, listening to the sounds of battle. You can hear a blade slashing flesh, smell the residue of gunfire, and you feel when a body hits the ground one after another.

And then there’s silence.

It takes an olympic feat of strength to pry your eyes open, and the pain is nearly unbearable. You see a blurry set of boots striding towards you, and you let your gaze fall closed when the sweet sound of beskar brushing the concrete floor meets your ears. You feel the cool leather touch your face, moving to your neck and up to cradle your head. No longer able to open your eyes, you manage to move your fingers enough to touch his wrist where a small sliver of heated skin is bared. Veins of hot blood that you had traced in the dark sing beneath your touch, and a tear slips from the corner of your eye.

You hear him muttering in another language, fast and rapid beneath his helmet, as if everything that has happened is too much for his mind to translate in the moment and he’s only able to speak the words he learned as a child. It’s the sound of that beautiful speech that breaks you.

He lifts you up into his arms, trying to hold your bones together as your body spasms through sobbing, wailing, because you’re still alive somehow. You can’t control it, you can’t stop it, and you’re worried you won’t be able to. A leather glove, wet with blood, turns your head so your hysteria is smothered into the fabric of his shoulder, and your hands can’t find a place to hold onto, wrenching and pulling at this man who’s saved you twice over.

When you are exhausted beyond speech, beyond the ability to lift your head from where it lolls against his neck, the Mandalorian moves to rest you back against the wall. His gloves cradle your injured face, and you again wonder what he sees. Does he see your foolishness? Certainly, your weakness. Bile rises in your throat, and it’s all you can do to choke on it as well as your pride.

A sound, not unlike the skittering of a mouse, triggers the Mandalorian. He draws his blaster and cages you between his body at the wall faster than the flash grenade, and you hear a small gasp come from the paddock.

“D-Don’t,” you mumble, your lips cracked and your voice dry from your outburst. You imagine the two children, staring at what is rightfully known to be a legend who coldly holds them at gunpoint, cowering back behind the soiled hay. “Don’t hurt them.”

You hear the strain of leather where the warrior holsters his weapon immediately, but nothing happens after that for a long, tense moment. There’s another shift of fabric, and he’s kneeling over you now, sighing wearily. 

“They helped me,” you murmur, forcing your eyes open enough to see his visor is tilted in the direction of the little girl and her brother. “They’re-”

“I know.” 

The Mandalorian stands and approaches the children, and you strain your ears to hear what he says when he begins speaking softly to them. Corde tells him something, ever the brave little thing you’ve come to know, and he seems satisfied when he kneels back down beside you.

“We need to go, Cyare. Can you walk?” he asks, touching your jaw with a brush of his fingers.

You wince when you move your feet in your boots, and that seems to be enough of an answer for him. He leaves you again, speaking to the children, and your mind wanders until you’re not sure if you’re awake or asleep. Perhaps it is the lack of food and water, or not having slept for nearly a week, but it feels as if your body is shutting down. The shock from everything is wearing off, and you can’t even feel his arms when they slip beneath you to lift you up.

“You were right,” you murmur, laying your cheek against the warm fabric of his shoulder. You can feel his helmet tilt down to you, almost as if telling silently for you to go on. You close your eyes. “We can’t trust anyone.”

-

Mando’a Translation

Cyare - beloved, loved

Taglist (if I’ve accidentally left you off, pls message me!): @lavenderl3mons @itzagoodthing​ @letaliabane​ @kateb013​ @yodaswrinkles​ @catsnkooks​ @notawhitegirlblog​ @ihaveashield​ @sinnamon-bunn @just-a-dreammm @tiffdawg @lackofhonor @btillys  @collectivefandom @kylolover96 @little-ms-fandom @earthtokace @blondecity @gaybroadwayloser @forever-rogue @lizajane3 @rzrcrst @themandjalorian @netflixandsnuggle @mrsparknuts @lonelystarship @adikaofmandalore @avoreahspromise @emilykjhgsj @fioccodineveautunnale @paryl 

[heyhey-heyward]

NO I DON’T | part one

series masterlist

summary: In which you go on a boat and John B accuses you of having feelings.

word count: 1.7k

let me know what you think!

You drove through the familiar backroads of The Cut until you parked in front of a dilapidated fishing shack lovingly called The Chateau, home of one of your best friends. The sound of your car pulling up alerted whoever happened to be inside, because you saw Pope’s head peeking through the window. You smiled at him before parking your car and sliding out, moving to the back to grab some of the groceries you had brought, leaving the two duffel bags for the boys to get later.

The porch creaked under your weight as you stepped in, but it was nothing in comparison to the sound the screen door made when you swung it open. Inside you were greeted with a familiar sight—beer cans, smoked joints, and JJ crashing on the couch. Pope and John B were sitting with him, Kiara had claimed the chair, and they all greeted you with grins.

“Mom is here, and she brought food!” John B cheered, jumping up to take the bags out of your hands. You playfully shook your head at him, letting him take the load from you so you could use your newly freed hand to pinch his cheeks. He pouted dramatically, leaning his head back and out of your reach.

“I also washed your guys’ laundry, so you have to get that out of my car.” You explained as John B left to go put the food you had brought away. Ever since John B’s dad disappeared and his uncle left town, you had taken on a mother hen role to John B, and eventually JJ as he slowly took up residence in the spare room. It wasn’t a hard decision to make, you had been family friends with the Routledges since you were a baby, and even when your parents’ surf shop had taken off with the tourists and they moved you to Figure Eight to embrace your new Kook status, you stayed friends with the brunette boy you called your best friend. So when you saw how he was struggling to function on his own, you took it upon yourself to use your newfound fortune granted to you by your class jump to keep him alive—and stop JJ from eating moldy bread so often.

“I didn’t even know you took my clothes.” JJ furrowed his brows, looking up at you from the engraved lighter he had been messing with. You rolled your eyes, dropping into the spot John B had vacated between JJ and Pope.  

“And that’s why you need me.” You sighed, grabbing his jaw to hold him still as you pressed a dramatic and sloppy kiss to his cheek. He grimaced, groaning as he leaned away from you. With a grin, you shoved his shoulder before resting your head against it.

For the first time since your arrival, you looked over to Kiara, who was watching your interaction with the blonde with a smug grin. JJ’s attention was back on his lighter, flicking it open and shut mindlessly, Pope was nose deep in some comic that he found laying around, and John B was still putting groceries away, so none of the boys were paying attention. You raised a brow at her, asking a silent question, and hers shot up in surprise, like she couldn’t believe that you didn’t see what she was talking about. Your silent conversation was cut off as John B entered the room, and he gave you no warning before dropping onto the couch, immediately earning grunts from you, Pope, and JJ. No words needed to be spoken before you three shoved him off the couch and onto the floor, his body landing with a heavy thud.

“This is literally my house.” John B groaned, and you subconsciously grinned.

“Yeah, but I clothe and feed you, so.” You shrugged, poking him with your foot.

“You see John B, I don’t complain.” JJ told his friend, careful to avoid him as he stood up from the couch, offering you his hand to pull you to your feet. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you and all that shit.”

“So poetic.” You joked, rolling your eyes despite the smile you were wearing. Remembering the reason everyone had gathered at The Chateau, you nudged John B with your foot once more. “So are we going out on the boat or not?”

And with that, everyone climbed to their feet and headed to the dock. Kiara grabbed her cooler, and you grinned devilishly at her, knowing that hidden underneath the sandwiches and snacks she brought, there were beers she had snuck from her parents’ fridge. The dock creaked under your feet as you walked across it, and though it needed some serious repairs, it was the same dock you had walked on since you had learned to walk.

You were the last person to board the boat, and Pope offered you his hand to help you on, which you readily took so you could balance. As soon as you were steady, though, JJ’s arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you away from Pope and into his lap as he sat in the seat besides John B who was driving. You laughed at his actions, shoving at his chest despite making no move to get up.

Your relationship with JJ had always been on the more flirty side. When you met him, you had already been friends with John B for years, and when JJ joined your duo, he decided your friendship would be based on teasing. And when everyone seemed to realize girls didn’t have cooties, his teasing turned to playful flirting that never led anywhere. You were just friends, and were perfectly content with how things were.    

The sun was beating down on you, and the shirt you were wearing wasn’t much help in cooling you down. So you sat forward, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling the material over your head. Leaning back, JJ’s arm that had been loosely wrapped around your waist tightened and he let out a low whistle. You nudged him with your elbow, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t help the grin that grew on your face.

“JJ, do you have to be like that, like, all the time?” John B groaned, and once more you caught Kiara’s gaze on you and JJ, and she was wearing the same grin from before, as if she knew something you didn’t.

“What? I’m just appreciating the beauty before me.” JJ feigned innocence and you playfully shot Pope an exhausted look as a result of the blonde’s comment. The look you received in return from him was similar to Kiara’s and you briefly wondered if there was something that you had missed.

“You should be appreciating me.” You teased, turning to look at JJ over your shoulder as best you could. You caught a glimpse of his mischievous grin and glint of something unrecognizable in his eyes before facing forward once more.  

“Trust me, I am.” You snorted at JJ’s comment, grabbing his forearm as John B hit a wake and the boat jostled. Instinctively, his hold tightened on you to keep you in place and he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Oh my god, lay off.” John B groaned. He had always been like your brother, so when JJ started blatantly flirting with you, he got protective. It was all in good fun, he knew there was nothing going on between you and JJ, but he liked to give him a hard time. You smirked at the brunette, even after years of teasing you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to make a joke at his expense.

“You’re just jealous no one is appreciating you, John B.”

After a day on the boat, any assortment of Pogues could be found at The Chateau. John B had dropped Pope and Kiara off at the docks by their houses, and JJ had announced he was going to pass out in The Chateau as soon as he got off the boat.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” You called to JJ’s retreating figure as you and John B settled into the hammocks. The blonde waved without turning around, and it was seconds later that you heard the screen door open and shut as he disappeared into the house.

“So?” John B questioned from the hammock next to yours. You sat up to look at him to try and get an explanation about what he was talking about, but by the expression on his face it was apparent that he assumed you were playing dumb.

“I’m going to need a little more information, JB.” You told him, brows furrowed in confusion. Instead, he just gestured dramatically to the house where JJ had just disappeared. Still, you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Is there something going on between and JJ?” He finally explained, and you screwed your face up in confusion. You were used to getting questions like that from other Kooks or your parents, people who didn’t know how your relationships with the other Pogues worked. But this was John B, the same boy who was in every single one of your childhood photos and knew you better than you knew yourself most of the time.

“We’re just friends.” You stated, casting a weary glance towards the door. You knew there was no chance that JJ could hear you, but for some reason the idea of him listening in as John B questioned you was embarrassing.

“You act like you have a thing for him.” There was a grin on his face that only widened when he saw your frown.

“No, I don’t.” You huffed, settling all the way back down into your seat. John B let out a loud laugh at your comment, and you just knew he was going to say something.

“A bit defensive, don’t you think?” He joked, shooting you the same mischievous look you had grown up seeing. It was one that spelled trouble, and you knew you had to set them straight.

“I’m serious, John B, we’re just friends. I’ve known him for forever, we’re just close like that.” You explained, tone lowering to the one that you had used throughout the years when trying to get him to listen to you. His expression softened, though you knew he still wasn’t convinced, you didn’t feel like fighting him on it any longer. He paused a second, letting the sounds of the insects in the trees and the waves gently crashing against the shore fill the air before speaking again.

“If you say so.”

—

taglist:

@pixelated-pogues​ @obx-direction-sos​ @emptycanvasposts​

[rudysrings]

Twin Pogues of the OBX - 5

A/N: See? I promise I’m back lol...let me know what you think of this one...appreciate it.

Warnings: Cursing, Marijuana, Mentions of sex, Slow burn, Abandonment issues, snakes, etc.

Word Count: 3150

Masterlist

ON WITH IT!

John B’s van rolled up to where you and JJ were smoking at the side of his house. John B gestured with his fingers for you guys to get in and you snuffed out the joint, JJ readjusting his shorts as he walked up to the van. “Let’s ride.”

On the way to pick up Pope and Kiara at the Wreck, John B filled you in on what happened after you guys had fled. John B had been chased by square groupers and ultimately had to hand over the compass to Sheriff Peterkin. You honestly didn’t care given the fatal history that seemed to follow the compass.

John B stopped the van in front of the Wreck and Pope came out, his hands in the air. Leaning over the railing, he said, “She said she’s not coming.”

You wrinkled your nose, turning to your brother. “What did you do to her John B?”

John B leaned over the steering wheel, hissing. “Shiit. Hang on, I’ll deal with it.” He slammed the door and walked into the Wreck.

Pope climbed in and you questioned him. “Why isn’t she coming?”

Pope shrugged. “I’m not sure, but we got split up along the way and I think something happened between Kie and John B.”

Your arm out the window, you slapped the side of the van in frustration. “Fucking John B…doesn’t make a move when he’s supposed to and ruins everything with his goddamn timing.”

John B and Kiara came out within a minute, seemingly cool with each other.

The sun went down on your way to God knows wherever John B was taking you guys. You all had eventually stopped questioning him, hoping your presence on this adventure would bring him out of his delusions.

Once again, JJ and you were rolling blunts in the back of the van. “You mind if I just relax on this one?” JJ didn’t look away from his roll. “It’s been a long day.” He held it up to his mouth to give it a slick lick and seal it. “A lot of weird stuff’s gone down. I’m just going to lay low.”

Pope looked at JJ with exasperation, to which he offered his joint. “Oh, did you want a hit of this?”

Pope whacked JJ’s wrist away. “I-keep the signal clear,” Pope asserted.

JJ rolled his eyes. “Dude, okay. Do you understand that your problem is that you don’t get creative? If you got creative, then—”

John B interrupted, saying, “Look, I—I know I was wrong about the lighthouse, alright?” He looked down. “And pretty much wrong about everything else going on…But I-I was right about one thing!”

You ruffled your brother’s hair from behind his seat. “And what’s that John B?”

He took his hand out of your hair and gave it a sharp squeeze. “Dad’s trying to tell us something.”

You rolled your eyes, all of you sharing skeptical looks.

It looked like John B had brought you guys to a graveyard, quickly walking in a familiar direction.

Kiara spoke up. “This place is scary. John B, what are we doing?”

John B rudely shushed her. “Shut up. You know how you are trying to remember a song, but you can’t remember who sings it?”

You took note of the gravestone you were approaching and gasped slightly, taking hold of Pope’s arm, apologizing, and letting him go immediately. He nodded at you, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

“Redfield isn’t a place, it’s a person…” John B trailed off, raising his lantern to illuminate the concrete lettering of the words Redfield.

John B looked over at you. “It’s our great-great grandmother…Olivia Redfield. Redfield was her maiden name.”

There was a concrete door underneath the letters, but even with all your combined strengths, it wouldn’t budged. As you guys were pushing, you noticed movement in the corner of your eye and heard an ominous hiss.

You all jumped back as a large snake with raven scales exited through a small hole in the corner of the door, slithering away.

“Yep, that’s a moccasin alright!” JJ yelped. He started barking at it, which caused you all to panic.

Kiara whisper shouted at him, “JJ! JJ Shut UP!

“You’re gonna wake the freaking dead, man!” Pope shoved JJ.

JJ shrugged. “What? They’re afraid of dogs…everybody knows that.”

Pope looked to John B. “Look, we’re not going to get in there. It’s not budging.” He nodded at the door which you guys had all been pushing at. “We should probably just go.”

Kiara had her flashlight pointed at a medium sized hole at the top of the door. You looked at it, estimating the size before saying, “I can get through.”

“What?” John B looked at you looking at the hole. “No, no, no. You think you’re going to fit through the hole?”

JJ’s hand gripped your upper arm as he shot you a look of disapproval. You turned to John B. “Look, this is about Dad.” Shaking your head, you said, “And honestly, I really don’t believe in it, but you deserve to know the truth. I’ll do it. Besides, it’ll be fun.”

John B’s shoulders sagged with guilt, but you saw his eyes light up with hope. You wordlessly brushed JJ’s hand off your arm and walked closer to the door.

The rest of the pogues moved the branches out of the way and JJ ran a hand through his hair before taking a knee. He had his palms up on one knee, indicating for you to step on it.

“Ok, I’m going to boost you. I’ve seen it in the movies several times. Ready?” You stepped into his hands, using one of his shoulders and the concrete door for support. “On three, alright?” JJ asked.

You nodded, but in a rush of adrenaline, you pushed yourself up as JJ said “One.”

“Alright, just forget about three,” he said, breathing heavily.

You pulled yourself through the door and gathered your bearings. “Flashlight?” You asked into the pitch-black opening.

Pope handed it to you and you turned it on, getting up and heading deeper into the canal that you saw.

Worriedly, John B asked, “You alive?”

JJ added, “You got like a heartbeat and everything?”

Smiling softly to yourself at their concern, you continued on. “So far.”

You realized you needed more light and asked your brother for the other lantern.

You noticed something innately synthetic sticking out of the rocks in the walls. “Oh my God,” you breathed.

You reached in and pulled it out. It was a FedEx envelope…addressed For Bird & Starfish.

You handed it, along with the lantern to John B, who took them from your hands. He stepped away as JJ neared the hole, reaching his arms up to help you out. You swung your legs out, now sitting in the ledge. Putting your hands on his shoulders, you let JJ’s arms grip your waist bringing you down gently. He let out a breath and nodded at you, making sure you were alright. You patted his cheek and gave him a tight-lipped smile to ensure him that you were and walked away.

Just then, headlights flooded the graveyard and JJ hissed. “Code red. Code red. Square groupers. Square groupers!”

You all shuffled behind the side of the grave, crouching down and turning off your flashlights. Only, John B wasn’t able to turn off his lantern, instead struggling to muffle the light under his clothes.

You giggled slightly at the absurdity of it all, earning you weird looks from your friends. You laughed, simply standing up and pulling Kiara’s hand. “Screw this!” You whispered before taking off in a run with her.

Her eyes widened as you dragged her along, but her legs quickly started moving, as did the other pogues as they followed the two of you.

The large front gates were blocking you guys from the van. You helped Kiara up, giving her a boost over the gates. You were almost up, your abdomen hanging over the top of the gates when you felt a shove at your behind and turned to see JJ helping you over. You almost slapped his hands away from your lower half and watched as he giggled, mumbling something about ‘not minding his hands on your ass.’

As you got over, you watched as John B and JJ cleared it easily. Before you guys could run to the van, you noticed Pope struggling, his shorts having gotten caught on the gates. The men were closing in on him. You saw JJ instinctively grab for his gun and John B dived on him, the two of them getting into it with each other as John B tried to prevent a shoot-out. You and Kiara pulled Pope, who moaned that his shorts were going to tear.

Sure enough, as you got him down, his shorts tore off, remaining on the iron gates as Pope was left in his boxers. You all laughed as you climbed into the van, shutting the doors and driving away as fast as you could.

John B patted your knee, quirking an eyebrow at you, “You sure you’re alright? No snake bites or anything?”

You crossed your arms. “I think you would know if I had been bitten by a snake, John B.”

“It’s too bad really, a snake bite would have been badass…” JJ pretended to drool at the thought and Kiara slapped him over the head playfully.

You were all quiet, probably wondering what was in the package when JJ broke the silence. “Honestly, guys, I think the real question here is how Big John managed to squeeze his way through that rat hole in the door to put the thing there in the first place!”

You all broke into laughter at the thought of your dad trying to get his larger than life body through the hole you had barely fit in.

Back at the Chateau, John B was sat at the dining table, you behind him, your hands holding on to the back of his chair as you leaned over him to see the package.

JJ was trying to eat some sort of moldy bread, which you all wrinkled your noses at.

Kiara and Pope were on either side of John B as JJ walked over, just as your brother was opening the seal.

He overturned the package, dumping the contents. John B unfolded a map, laying it out on the table.

The first thing you noticed was a prominent swirl, a hurricane. Agatha. Then you saw the X. Holy shit.

“X marks the spot.” Pope pointed at the map and John B nodded, whispering to himself. “Longitude…Latitude.”

Then he felt something under the map. Your brother reached under and pulled out an object. A tape recorder.

He pressed play and instantly, the rustled, tobacco filled voice of your father rang out in the Chateau. “Dear Bird and Starfish…”

“Who are they?” asked JJ.

You touched your pendant, which JJ noticed. “It’s what our dad used to call us,” John B explained.

“Bird, I hate to say ‘I told you so,” but I told you so. And you doubted your old man.”

You remembered the fight the day your dad vanished. It had been awful. John B had cried the entire night afterward.

“I suspect right at this moment, you’re filled with guilt and self-loathing over our last fight,” your Dad predicted. John B’s shoulders sagged slightly as he buried his head in his hands. “But don’t kill yourself yet, kid.” You heard a tearful laugh sound from your brother’s crouched figure.

“I didn’t expect to find the merchant either.” At this, John B raised his head and all of you leaned in closer to the tape recorder, listening intently.

“You were right to call me out. Wasn’t exactly father of the decade,” Your dad admitted.

You tried to control the shaky breath that you released, but you knew that a squeak had made its way out of your throat.

“What can I say, kids? I could smell the barn…And hopefully, we’re listening to this in our brand-new sugar shack down in Costa-Rica, livin’ off passive investments and pulling on permits.”

You snorted inwardly at the idea.

“If not, and if you find this for less than optimal reasons, well, that’s what the map is for.” All of your eyes turned to the X. “There she is, the wreck of the Merchant. If somethin’ happens to me, finish what I started. Go for the gold, kids.”

John B picked up the tape recorder, as if he could feel it coming to an end. “I love you guys. Even if I didn’t always act like it.”

Your hands shook with tremors and you gripped the chair harder, your knuckles white.

“I’ll see you on the other side.” That’s what broke John B. He got up, heading to the door and leaning on the side of the front entrance.

JJ looked over the map one more time and exclaimed, “Holy shit, he did it! Big John—He—He found the Merchant!”

You heard the muffled cries of your brother from the front entrance to the Chateau. Kiara approached him, glaring at JJ, “Can you…Can you, please just?”

JJ closed his mouth, mumbling an apology. You watched as Kiara wrapped her arms around your brother, shushing him as he processed his grief. He had been guilty for so long, carrying the weight that your dad had left because of him. Now, John B knew that your dad would have left no matter what.

You felt hands come over your own and turned to see JJ laying his palms over your hands, which were still gripping the chair with an intensity that should have splintered the wood.

“Sorry,” you whispered, letting the chair go. But your hands still tremored. It was like hearing a ghost.

JJ grabbed your hands in his own, nodding at you. Pope walked over and put his arm around your shoulders and you couldn’t say a word. It was taking all your energy just to swallow back the cries.

You shook your head and didn’t stop, refusing something invisible. Worried, JJ grabbed your chin, keeping you still. “What is it, Y/N?”

Your eyes wide, you whispered, “I forgot what he sounded like.”

Your friends headed to the docks, deciding to hang out there for a while to get some fresh air. John B told them to go ahead, walking towards where you were still standing in the same spot near the chair.

“You alright, Star?” He asked once everyone left. You flinched at the sound of your nickname.

You didn’t move, not even looking at him. He touched your shoulder, forcing you to turn towards him.

You looked up at your brother, his eyes still red and swollen from crying.

“He was gonna leave us no matter what, wasn’t he?” Your voice cracked.

John B’s jaw clenched, and he simply wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead. You pushed him away after a moment. “I’m sorry, just-just go with the others. I need some time.”

John B nodded, giving your hand a squeeze, and leaving.

Releasing a breath, you felt your knees shake, no longer able to support your weight and you gingerly sat down, bringing them to your chest. That’s when you finally let the tears that had welled up in your eyes fall, using your hands to muffle the cries that threatened to escape your mouth…listening to Kiara’s ukulele and the excited laughs of your friends.

You were lost…so much so that you didn’t hear when someone entered and sat down next to you.

JJ didn’t look at you, somehow knowing that eye contact would make you feel too weak…to exposed right now. He always knew. You lay your head on your shoulder, your bottom lip quivering visibly.

JJ held your head to his shoulder as your hand took hold of his shirt, bunching it up in a fist. You turned your face into him, shutting your eyes tightly, unable to prevent the tears from resurfacing no matter how much you tried.

“I-I miss him…so much,” You finally admitted, sobbing even harder at the confession.

He only held you tighter, letting you use him as a literal shoulder to cry on. As you quieted, your sobs becoming cries becoming hiccups becoming sniffles, you turned your chin upwards. You were looking at his jaw, which was set in a manner that looked uncomfortable. He looked angry, or maybe…sad.

“It’s not fair,” said JJ. “It’s not fair, and I wish there was something we could do but we just—can’t.”

“I know I said I didn’t, but I have to believe he’s alive, JJ.”

JJ nodded, finally meeting your eyes. “I hope for the sake of you and John B that you’re right.”

You finally began to straighten, pulling yourself together.

“Parents are good at disappointing us, aren’t they.” He said it like a statement, like a truth of the universe that couldn’t be denied.

You chuckled, your throat still stuck, wet with tears. You echoed his words back to him. “At least…At least you’ve still got us, right?”

A beautiful grin spread across JJ’s face, making you smile as his crooked teeth showed.

You flicked his nose. “You’re such a mama bear, JJ.”

His nose wrinkled. “Excuse you?”

You smiled. “The way you’re so quick to get defensive? And rarely self-defensive…it’s always someone making fun of Pope or someone treating Kie wrong…you’re runnin’ at em’ guns-a-blazin’…literally.”

JJ reached his hands behind him, placing his palms on the floor of the Chateau and leaning back. He stared at the ceiling. “You do the same thing.”

You snorted. “That’s where you’re wrong, my friend. I’m just mental. I go looking for fights. It’s not normal; it’s not out of the goodness of my heart. It’s-It’s borderline self-destructive is what it is.”

JJ pushed your shoulder. “At least she’s aware.” He straightened up, leaning closer to you. “Trouble is what you are.”

You nodded. “Does that scare you?”

JJ shrugged. “A little. Don’t want you getting into trouble that you can’t get out of is all. You wouldn’t do that, though, right?”

You had a feeling he was thinking about your earlier conversation about drugs. You winked. “No promises, Bear.”

JJ laughed in disbelief, eventually just lying down on the floor and closing his eyes.

He opened his eyes a minute later and you cleared your throat, looking away to make it less obvious that you had clearly been admiring him.

You could see his smirk in the corner of your eyes but choose to ignore it.

He stood up, pulling you up with him and leading you outside. “Come on, Trouble, our friends are waiting.”

You had the sinking feeling that if he took your hand like that, you’d let him lead you anywhere. Now that…that scared you.

Tag List (If there is a strike through your user it’s bc I couldn’t tag you bc tumblr is wack sometimes...)

Masterlist

@hurricane-abigail @omigodyall​ @timotaychalabae​ @kaelyn-lobrutto24​@caswinchester2000​ @meghanisdeadinside​ @harrysbbby​ @official-maddibrown @xdelicates @maybebanks@yourwonderbelle @treestarrrrrrrr @loco-latte @sspidermanss@theradvibes @eviction-notice-no666 @screamingnewsies @the-fandom-life-forever @dolanfivsosxox @vibin-n-thrivin @em-aesthe  @the-real-jort @riverdaleserpent04 @free-pool-trash @mileven-reddie @drewswannabegirl @queen1054 @eternalharry@alwayshopelesss @superqalifragilistik @smileyxdolans@fangirling-all-day @dianaillusion @catonthesideoftheroad @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise​ @thelovelydreamer17 @http-cherries @theradvibes

I’m also kind of new to tagging and rlly bad at it so if something is wrong, I’m sorry and pls let me know and I’ll try my best to fix it!

Stay safe and stay healthy!

[invaderlynx]

Booker and La Campagne de Russie

I just watched The Old Guard and honestly, it was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a VERY long time. Of course, now I’m having all sorts of thoughts about the whole thing and particularly about Booker because his backstory intersects perfectly with my historical interests. I know that all the immortals in The Old Guard have experienced all sorts of terrible trauma, but because I am a history major with an affinity for the Napoleonic period, especially the Russian Campaign (and because Booker is my favorite character), I’d like to give you guys an idea of just what sort of torture he faced even before the pain of losing his family (also for fair warning, I have not read the comics):

Please place yourself in Booker’s shoes. You are one of over 600,000 men mustered to march into Russia. You’re serving in an army you never wanted to join, taking up arms for the glory of an empire that’s never done anything for you. You’ve been separated from your three beloved sons and your wife whom you love more than life itself, and have been sent off to fight in a foreign land that’s nothing like the home you’ve left behind. That much becomes evident immediately. 

The invasion starts in the summer of 1812 and it is hot, unseasonably hot. You feel it, laboring as you are under the thick heavy materials of your sweat-soaked uniform. Each step is its own torture in the heat as you struggle through mud left behind by hard summer rains. More than a few men kill themselves at this point and although this is just the beginning, you can hardly blame them. Some of your comrades get the bright idea to start discarding some of their extra layers of clothing—underthings and the like. Perhaps you join them, anything to lighten the load. You can’t be expected to carry all this over the long miles ahead. You’ll live to regret that decision.

The fighting itself is worse than the conditions. You never quite get used to the violence. No matter how many times you’re thrust into battle, your mouth still goes dry, your heart still thunders as loud as the military drums’ tattoo, you still choke on that thick gunpowder smoke. You nearly threw up the first time you killed with a bayonet. You remember sticking the man in between the ribs, a swift stab and he is bleeding out. It is only then that you see his face and realize just how young he is. He is a boy, maybe a few precious years older than your eldest. He cries as he falls. You didn’t speak Russian at the time but you didn’t need to to recognize the word “Мама”.

The only thing that makes it possible to keep putting one foot in front of the other (besides your family, of course) is your comrades-in-arms. Against all odds, you’ve found friendship here, men with whom you can share stories and jokes and drinks. You find a few men of around your own age with families, wives and children that they lovingly speak of, but many of these soldiers are young, young enough to be your sons, far too young to be out here slaughtering and being slaughtered. Over your meager meals you tell stories of home and it is enough to hold off the impending horror, at least for a moment. When that doesn’t work, you turn to drink. You drink an awful lot.

The conditions of this foreign land are mercurial at best and your woes are only compounded by your lack of proper supplies. The Russians have been scorching nearly everything in the wake of their retreat, making it difficult for you to forage for food. Your search parties turn up very little by way of provisions and your food supply continues to fall in tandem with the temperature.

Borodino is hell. You see the man to the right of you receive a cannonball to the chest and fall in a spray of red, you see the man to the left crumple as a shot rips through his handsome, hard-lined face. One of your friends, one of those boys that you’d come to regard as a surrogate son who was barely old enough to grow hair on his chin, catches a bullet in the leg. He dies in agony four days later, one of the thousands of casualties of that damned battle. In your lowest moments, you wish you would have joined him.

You were never a particularly happy man, even before the war. Prone to fits of melancholia, they would have said back then. Your darling wife and your three sons certainly helped to alleviate that heavy, aching emptiness that resided in your chest, but it never went away, not fully. It resurfaces with a vengeance now. Sitting with your gun in your hands and far too much liquor in your belly, you think about ending it all. How easy it would be to put a bullet in your brain and finally die. In the end, it’s your family that saves you again. You may not want to live for yourself, but for them- for them you can keep fighting. Besides, Moscow is only 70 miles away and once you take the ancient capital, Russia will have no choice but to surrender. That’s what everyone is saying and you force yourself to believe that it’s true.

Moscow was a lie. You took the capital but there was no peace. There was no food either. The Russians took it all when they abandoned the place, leaving almost nothing for your starving army. Nothing but liquor, which you are very grateful for at least. Your superiors probably aren’t, you think wryly as you raise the bottle to your lips and drink, drink, drink.

Moscow passes in a drunken haze for you. You drown yourself in Russian booze, drinking yourself absolutely insensate. There are entire days you spend propped up against the wall of some ramshackle Russian establishment, surrounded by empty bottles, too drunk to even stand. You remember bits and pieces, shattered memories drifting in and out of the fog. The looting and the things you took (a fine scarf, a silver flask, maybe more), a ladies’ fur shawl wrapped about your shoulders to keep out the chill, the burning heat of a terrible fire and the screams in French and Russian, the acrid taste of bile in your mouth as you splutter sick all over yourself only to raise the bottle to your lips again for another drink. In the end, you’re forced to leave Moscow as the position becomes untenable, the abandoned city burned to a shell of its former self. You never do learn who first started the fire, even years after the fact. 

The retreat is hell on Earth, worse than anything else that came before. La Grande Armée is hardly an army any longer, you’ve lost practically all discipline. By now, you’re just a bunch of exhausted, cold, starving men who want nothing more than to just make it home alive. Most of them won’t. The temperatures have dropped to below freezing at this point and you are wishing more than anything that you still had those infernal layers that caused you so much pain in the summer months. The clothing you and your comrades drunkenly plundered in Moscow—silken scarves stolen from abandoned trunks, heavy furs pilfered from store inventories, ladies’ shoes that hurt your feet but do a better job of keeping out the slush than your tattered boots—help, but not enough. Your fingers stiffen to near icicles in the cold as you try your damnedest to massage even a little warmth back into them, your face is wind-chapped and scabbed. You feel as though your very marrow has frozen, and you are one of the lucky ones. Men freeze to death in their sleep in less than an hour. Fifty men will sit down at a fire and only the twenty or so closest will ever get back up again. You all begin to loot the bodies of the dead and—as you grow more desperate—the dying as well. Corpses are stripped naked and left in the snow as the survivors squabble over their threadbare uniform pieces. Sometimes the corpses still twitch and moan but you try to ignore that.

There’s no food either. In addition to freezing, you’re starving too. The lot of you fight and quarrel over moldy crusts of bread, and in some cases even kill each other for them. The more clever turn to other sources to fill their writhing, empty stomachs. Some eat their boots, but there isn’t much leather left in any case. Some carve their meals off the horses as they walk, tearing bits of bleeding flesh off of the warm, moving flanks in a short-sighted attempt to get even a few morsels of meat in their bellies. Others, in mad desperation as the march (if you can even call it that any longer) wears on, turn to each other.

Perhaps you take part in this, perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you sidle a man out of the way to get closer to the fire, perhaps you take a coat off a corpse that you don’t know for sure is dead yet, perhaps you accept a piece of meat that you do not quite know the origin of. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

In the end it doesn’t matter. You die anyway. You don’t really remember how it happened the first time. Maybe you were finally picked off by the advancing Russians, maybe it was exposure, exhaustion, starvation, sickness, any of the hundred ways that you could die in this frozen wasteland. All you know is that one moment you were on your feet, shambling mutely forward, the next you were lying on the icy ground, gasping air back into lungs that had fallen completely still. Four faces are burned into your memory and from one you can still hear the gurgling, watery screams.

That’s when the dreams start, after that first death. Though, you wouldn’t classify them as dreams, they’re far more alike to nightmares. You see that screaming, drowning woman often. You feel her fear as she slams her body against her metal coffin. Even awake you can’t get the sound of her choking out of your head. Sometimes there are soft moments interspersed with the horror. You see a woman with short hair (it reminds you of a coiffure à la victime) laughing, you see two men resting in each others’ arms, foreheads pressed together gently, blissfully happy. To be quite honest, these ones hurt worst of all because they make you regret ever waking up.

You die a few more times before you finally decide to desert. You can’t take it anymore. That tyrant Bonaparte has abandoned this army, why can’t you? You take flight under the cold cover of night, trying to get to the Russian border. You don’t make it very far. You are dragged back—aching, tired, and hungry—and are hanged by the road as a deserter. Perhaps there still is a little discipline left in these ranks, at least enough to allow these soldiers to kill their comrades in the name of orders. You have to wait three days for the road to clear before you can finally run. In that time your body is almost entirely picked clean by looters. You continue your desperate trek back home in spite of it all and die many more times in the weeks (or was it months?) that follow. It never gets any easier.

 It’s near the border into Prussia that you finally meet one of the figures from your dreams. Perhaps it is the woman with the short hair who offers you a drink and a coat to put around your shoulders, and tells you bluntly but not unkindly that you’re immortal. Perhaps it is the curly-haired man who helps hold you upright when you stumble and is careful and caring with his words as he gently explains the situation. Perhaps it is his lighter-haired lover who catches you when you fold in on yourself from the weight of his words and offers you affirmations and condolences in a voice reminiscent of a priest. Whoever it is, they ask you to come with them and explain that there are others like them- like you out there.

“What about my family?” you stutter out, almost unconscious of the words as the tumble from your mouth “My wife? What about them?”

They favor you with a sad smile and try to explain, but you will hear none of it. They do not stop you when you tell them that you are going home, and you are glad for it.

With the supplies they give to you, you manage to hobble your way back home. You’ve been taken for a dead man, you realize, everyone you pass seems to think you’re a ghost. You don’t care. You only have one person on your mind.

Your wife answers the door dressed in black. She starts to cry when she sees you and throws her arms around your neck. You nearly crumple, weak as you are. “Bastien, Bastien,” she sobs against your shoulder “What happened?”

That question fills you with icy dread. Your stomach drops as you realize you cannot explain to her what you’ve been through, not in a way that she’ll understand. Even if you explain the immortality and she believes you, she won’t understand the horrors you’ve seen. No one will. A soldier’s burden.

You stay silent and instead cradle her closer as your boys appear in the doorway. You have them and, for now, that is enough. You won’t forget, you will never forget, but for now at least you have this.

[thatbloodymuggle]

the one with the cheeto puffs

Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 2/?

masterlist

word count: 2.6k

warnings: cursing, drug use, mentions of death

read it on wattpad

playlist

-

If there's one thing you should know about Rosie, it's that she hates crying.

It made her feel weak. And she hated feeling weak. She especially refused to cry in front of others. Because once you've seen someone break down, it changes your view of them—intentional or not.

The last time she'd cried in front of her friends was in the 8th grade. JJ had shoved her off a boat and she cut her arm open on the blade of the motor. Granted, Rosie did cry February 14th as the life slowly left her mother's eyes. But she was alone then. And ever since, Rosie had come up with a routine to avoid crying at the thought of her loss.

When she felt her eyes beginning to water and her throat tightening, Rosie would pick up her least favorite book (one she'd stolen from a library a long time ago), Twilight. She'd divert her mind to Bella Swan's stupid life until she couldn't remember what she was upset about in the first place.

So it was no surprise when Rosie scrambled for the cursed book upon entering the house she hadn't been inside since the day her mother passed. She wasn't sure what had triggered it specifically: the dying vegetable garden her mom had worked so hard on, her mother's forgotten glasses on the kitchen counter, or just the overall feeling that something was missing. But sure enough, Rosie snatched the stolen book and flipped to a random page.

"Your scent is like a drug to me, like my own personal brand of heroin."

Rosie turned her nose up at the line.

"At least he's hot," she grumbled to herself.

The 17-year-old flipped mindlessly through a few more pages until she couldn't take it anymore. She thoughtfully placed the book in the front room of the small house, in case she'd need it again soon.

The four-room house felt odd. Rosie felt as if she didn't belong, despite having lived in it for nine years. She knew she would have to box up and clear out her mother's things at some point, but the thought weighed her down and made her long for her book again.

Rosie pushed the uneasiness to the back of her mind and set to finish her unpacking.

Before she knew it, it was already 8:00 PM and her stomach was rumbling. She'd have to go out and get groceries tomorrow, but until then she'd snack on something at John B's. The teenager quickly put a swimsuit on underneath her outfit and set out for the Chateau again.

The 3-minute drive was quick, and Rosie was glad to be out of the suffocating house. She pulled the Mini-Cooper into the familiar gravel driveway for the second time that day and killed the engine. Rosie skipped up to the front door and swung it open, not bothering to knock. She frowned at the empty room before her.

"Hello? Anybody home?" she called out.

Silence.

Rosie huffed and walked back out to the porch. She squinted her eyes into the distance, trying to catch sight of her missing friends.

"JB? Kie? Pope?" she paused, before adding, "JJ?"

Her yells echoed and she was met with a few moments of silence before a voice replied.

"Do you have to be so fucking loud?"

Rosie's head shot towards the source of the noise. Lo and behold, there sat JJ in the back of John B's van with the side door wide open. His arms draped along the back of the seats, and his legs were in a complete man-spread. He held up a silver lighter to the joint between his lips.

"Where'd everyone else go?" Rosie rolled her eyes and strode towards the van.

JJ shrugged, "Dunno. One minute I'm napping, the next they all leave me. Shitheads," he grumbled, discarding the lighter and taking a deep drag.

"Well, I'm starving. Gonna go make myself something to eat," she began to walk back towards the house but was stopped again.

"Unless you want a ketchup-on-moldy-bread sandwich, you're not finding anything in there," JJ watched in amusement as she huffed and kicked a rock in frustration. "The best thing you're gonna find is in here," he held his joint in his right hand a pulled a bag of Cheetos Puffs out from underneath his seat with his left. Rosie nearly ran forwards, but was stopped in her tracks.

"Ah ah ah," JJ pulled the bag out of her reach with an infuriating grin, "I can share but you have to be nice."

The girl cocked an eyebrow at him, "Can't make any promises, but I'll try."

Rosie didn't wait for his reply. She hopped into the van, slumped in the seat beside him, and ripped open the bag of chips. She didn't hesitate to shove a handful of the cheesy goodness into her mouth, moaning at the taste.

"Ay, keep your Cheeto dust off me," JJ made a show of wiping the crumbs that had fallen onto his lap.

Rosie ignored his protests and sucked the orange dust off her fingertips.

"Puff for a drag?"

JJ held up his joint to Rosie's lips while simultaneously snagging a couple of Cheeto puffs from the bag in her lap. She took a deep drag and nodded to signal she'd gotten enough, cueing him to pull his hand back.

Rosie began to cough violently at the tickling sensation in the back of her throat. Her eyes watered and she struggled to catch her breath.

"Gone for four months and it's like you've never smoked before," JJ smirked at the struggling girl, "thought you could handle yourself, Connolly."

"Shut up, I'm out of practice," Rosie croaked, forcing herself to settle down. "Here. Hit me," she sat crisscrossed and turned to face him.

JJ gave her a 'whatever you say' shrug and took another drag from the joint. He deeply inhaled, making a show of taking as much as he could. He turned to face Rosie with mischievous eyes. He leaned towards her and blew out the smoke. She leaned in, just inches away from his face, and inhaled the smoke emitting from his mouth. Rosie forced herself to take it all. The pair of teenagers were nose to nose.

A now foggy-minded JJ leaned back into his seat. Rosie held in his second-hand smoke for a moment. She formed her lips into a tight 'O' and blew it out in rings.

"Ay, she still has it," JJ laughed in a very dazed manner. Rosie couldn't help but giggle, the familiar foggy feeling taking over her as well. She slumped back into her seat beside him and rolled her head back.

"Told you 'M just out of practice," Rosie mumbled with a dopey grin.

JJ grated on her nerves 85% of the time, but she genuinely enjoyed moments like these. She liked not having to think every once in a while. It was refreshing. Sometimes (maybe more often than she should), she just wanted an escape. JJ was the only one of her friends who never questioned her motives. Rosie and JJ had an unspoken rule. If one was rolling a joint, the other always joined; no questions asked. I mean, two potheads are better than one. Right?

The pair of teenagers watched with hooded eyes as the smoke drifted from inside the van to the starry sky above. Rosie subconsciously let her head fall onto JJ's shoulder, who barely noticed. He was too busy focusing on how he could literally feel his toes tingling. They sat in relative silence for who knows how long, munching on Cheeto Puffs and running the joint out.

But too soon, they were pulled out of their comfortable silence.

"JJ, you better not be crossed. We could smell your weed from, like, a mile back," John B's voice penetrated the night air.

Rosie and JJ lazily turned their eyes to John B, Pope, and Kiara who were now standing outside the van. John B and Pope laughed at the sight of the two stoned teenagers.

"We've made the discovery of the century," JJ laughed with a lopsided grin, "Cheeto Puffs and kush are just a.. an...," his voice wandered, "they're an immaculate combination."

Rosie burst out in a fit of laughter, nearly rolling off of JJ who was quick the join in. Their three friends stared at them incredulously, but couldn't resist joining in their laughter.

"Why do you two idiots only get along when you're high?" Pope laughed, climbing into the backseat with them. Kie took the passenger seat while John B situated himself behind the wheel. He revved the engine and Rosie bounced in excitement.

"Oooh, Johnny where are you taking us?" she giggled. Suddenly, her face switched from dazed to serious. She grabbed JJ's bicep and turned him towards her so they locked eyes, "Oh my god, JJ! He's kidnapping us! He's gonna take us to the cops!"

The blond mimicked her concern and threw his arms in the air, "Stop the damn car, JB. We're not going anywhere with you!"

"Would you two shut up? We're going cliff diving, remember? And if you two don't sober up in the next ten minutes, you're gonna be watching us have fun from the top," Kiara laughed.

"Oh sorry, Kie! We'll be quiet now. Quiet as mouses—mices—mice—which one is it? Shit, JJ, I forgot which one," Rosie whispered to the boy next to her who merely covered her mouth with his hand and leaned back in his seat.

Pope dug out two water bottles from a cooler and handed them to the stoned teenagers. "Drink these."

Rosie fumbled around with the cap but did as he said. The next ten or so minutes were filled with mindless chatter between Kie, John B, and Pope while JJ and Rosie downed their waters.

"All right," John B pulled the van into an empty clearing about a hundred feet away from the edge of the cliff, "we're here."

The Pogues all piled out of the car, but JJ and Rosie were stopped by Kie.

"Not just yet, you two. You're not about to drop down 30 feet if you're not in your right minds."

The two began to protest, but she shut them up again.

"Follow my finger," she moved a finger from side to side, watching their bloodshot eyes struggle to keep up.

"You need more water. And ibuprofen. Here," she dug through her bag and pulled out a bottle of the painkillers. "Take two each," she shoved the pills in their hands and pulled out two more bottles of water. "And drink these. If you're better by the time we get back, we'll let you come with us second round."

She pushed her friends back inside the van and shut the door behind them. Rosie whined in protest, but her cries were ignored. She slumped back into her seat next to JJ and set to work downing her second water bottle instead.

JJ and Rosie sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping on their waters and listening to the muffled screams of their friends. The silence was broken, however, once Rosie had drinken about ¾ of the bottle.

"JJ, I need to pee so bad," she slapped his arm.

"No one's stopping you," he grumbled, nudging the girl off. He seemed to have almost completely come down from his high. Rosie, on the other hand, was only about halfway there.

"I need help," she cried.

JJ scoffed, "Fuck that, I'm not helping you pee. Do I look your bitch?"

"Please," Rosie drew out, tugging on his shirt. "Just help me get behind a tree. If I go alone I'm gonna get lost and then it'll be your fault for not helping me."

The boy groaned but reluctantly slid the door open. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her towards the wooded area a few yards away. Rosie struggled to keep up with his quick steps and ran into him when he came to an abrupt stop in front of a crowd of bushes.

"Make it quick," he let go of her and leaned against a nearby tree.

Rosie carefully made her way behind the covering, careful not to trip over any roots. She struggled to do her business and took much longer than necessary, much to JJ's displeasure.

"Finally," he sighed as she approached him. "Come on, I'm not missing the second round."

He led them back to the clearing. Just as they were about to exit the woody area, a devious smile creeped onto JJ's lips.

It all happened in slow motion. First, he stuck out his leg in front of Rosie. Then, Rosie shrieked as she tripped over it. Next thing she knew, she was lying face first in a pool of mud. JJ's booming laughter filled the area. Rosie pulled herself up in shock and wiped the mud from her face. Then, rage took over.

"What the fuck, you asshole!?" Rosie let out an ear-splitting scream.

At least she'd finally come down from her high.

JJ's laughter heightened, but was abruptly stopped once Rosie yanked his leg, causing him to slip and join her in the mud pile.

Now it was Rosie's turn to laugh, "You're a colossal idiot," she began to pull herself out of the mud, only to be pulled back down again.

Cue JJ's laughter, "Worth it."

And so they continued. Pulling each other down, back and forth in an endless cycle of wet mud and screams. They would've continued for hours if their friends hadn't shown up.

"What the hell?"

Kie, John B, and Pope started incredulously at the two idiots for the second time that night.

"She started it," JJ shoved Rosie's face down and jumped out of the mud.

"Liar!"

"Bitch"

"Well looks like you two are back to bickering again which can only mean you're sober. Good enough for me," Kie laughed and helped Rosie out of the mud. "Come on, let's go jump. The first round was amazing. The water was so warm."

The group of Pogues ran to the edge of the cliff. Rosie peered down at the soft waves below and grinned. She didn't hesitate to strip herself of her muddy clothing until she was only in a swimsuit. The five friends stood in a horizontal line and linked hands. Pope next to Kiara next to JJ next to John B next to Rosie. They braced themselves from the drop. John B began a countdown to jump.

"3... 2..."

"Here's to the best summer ever!" Kie cried.

"...1!"

The teenagers took off in sync. A chorus of cheerful screams filled the night air. The exhilaration was like no other as they crashed through the water and were submerged. The group of friends floated back up to the surface and swam to shore with adrenaline coursing through their veins.

Rosie couldn't wipe the smile off her face. This was her home. Doing stupid shit with her friends was her home. The Outer Banks was her home.

And she just knew Kie was right—this would be the best summer ever.

-

taglist:

@tangledinsparkles​

-

and there's part 2! 

feel free to message/pm me if you’d like to be added to the taglist

enjoy :)

[coinofstone]

Combining 4x12 and 4x13 The Sword in the Stone pts 1 and 2 into one post, no commentary tracks on either episode, unfortunately.

4x12 The Sword in the Stone pt 1

I really don't mean to question any of this homoerotic comedy gold, but why has Arthur got his chainmail on before his pants? Surely chainmail is a post-trouser application?

"No one likes to be called fat, Merlin"

Arthur sitting there moping over Gwen is the biggest self own. "I look for her in the room, and she's not there. Then I remember why." Yea cuz you threw her out you DUMBASS. Sick of TV trying to make me feel sympathy for dudes who played themselves.

Can you hear the music when you see this

Such a great shot. AND a great piece of music too.

Dear reader, you're probably expecting me to make a shit ton of hypnosis jokes, and you know, you're not wrong, but first - there is something pressing that needs to be addressed:

Behold, the most awkward handshake of all time. Eoin is literally going for his bicep instead of his forearm, what even is that?!? And poor Percival, he's got one injured dumbass hanging off him on one arm, and another dumbass trying to shake his other hand like he's never seen an arm before. It looks like he's reaching up into his armpit because of the angle 😂😂 I'm cackling watching this gif loop.

Same energy:

(Gif credit not found)

THIS is why Elyan/Percival is the superior side ship:

Look at that sweet sweet chemistry. I almost always see Percival paired with Leon or Gwaine in fic and I just... how on earth can you pass this up? These two are perfect together. That LOOK Elyan gives him and Percival's giddy face as he looks over at Merlin and Arthur 😍😍😍 it looks better in the video than I can reproduce in gif

Christ, he DOES play the bimbofication well, doesn't he? "Whatever you say I'm entirely in your hands." I feel like at the time that was the line that spawned a million fanfics.

Morgana that is a magic snake, not a pen

Agravaine is so fuckin creepy. I mean I'm glad it took this long for him to go full blown creepazoid but we ALL saw it coming. Even tho he's NOT her uncle it's still gross, he's twice her age and disgusting.

How many brothers did Ygraine have anyway? Tristan I guess we'll never know but why would Agravaine really want his sister's SON dead? Fuckin royals.

Is Arthur listening for woodworm?

Why is Tristan twice Isolde's age

I miss Simpleton Arthur, but at least King Arthur looks good fighting in those tight capris

Arthur's all moody about Agravaine betraying him and Merlin is so supportive. If I were Merlin I would've been dropping "I told you so's" left and right.

What I don't get, is if Merlin knew Gwen has been in Ealdor, why has he never told Arthur this?

Gotta figure the people of Ealdor are not gonna be too happy about their village coming under attack cuz King Arthur is hiding out there. He's not even their king 😂

4x13 The Sword in the Stone part two

It's weird to have what feels like a ending moment ten minutes in

Tristan is such a dick

Won't eating moldy bread just make Gaius sicker

Hey um... how did Arthur get his clothes back? Did he keep a spare set in Ealdor? You know, for all those times he visits Hunith with Merlin? What's that you say, I'm getting fanon confused with canon again? Am I though?

Actual scene from when Merlin was telling Arthur the Bruta coda:

Omgggg the way he looks at Merlin's mouthhhhhhhhh before he goes to try and pull the sword from the stone

This is probably the second most iconic scene in the series, after the round table scene

and yes, I realize I'm going to hell for this but I can't be the only pervert watching this and thinking about how incredibly ... phallic it is.

There's a whole other level of subtext to this. Not just the phallic imagery but Merlin literally leading a doubtful Arthur to this ... performance space in front of a crowd, where Merlin is in full control of what's about to happen - and he guides Arthur through the motions, encouraging and confidence boosting, until Arthur becomes the truest version of his self. I say Merlin is in control but that's not even entirely accurate, he's only in control of releasing the sword from the stone, but that in and of itself is of no consequence; the power in this scene lies with Arthur, in his faith in himself - which is what Merlin is really helping him reclaim; the sword is just metaphor.

But am I supposed to believe that this subtext isn't intentional? Especially immediately after Merlin had Arthur in a trance-like state where he became more pliant and willing to be led?

My god if I were involved in this fandom when this was airing this episode would've made me lose my MIND.

Daaaamn Leon coming on a bit strong there but okay.

Nice to know that Morgana Pendragon, last priestess of the Old Religion, powerful Socereress and current ruler of Camelot, freezes and whimpers in terror at the first glimpse of an unexpected octogenarian in her castle.

I never watched any cast interviews beyond the SDCC panel that was in the S3 extras but I really want to know where that little laugh Old Man Merlin does came from. That little 'heh' is just the greatest thing ever, I'm dying to know if he based that on anyone or anything in particular.

Hey remember in S2 when Morgana got a whole bunch of hairbrushes for her birthday? Bet she wishes she knew where those had got to now.

This brief moment between Gwen and Arthur is actually perfect. Arthur has for so long gone been brooding about how he loves her but he's angry, even though we, the audience, know he has no business blaming her, none of the fucking characters do, including Gwen. But Gwen has also been through a lot, and he's given her zero benefit of doubt the whole time. So watching her march up to him and angrily tell him that she still loves him, then walking away without letting him speak - him, the king, her, leaving the 'tho God knows why since you behave like such an ass' unsaid at the end. It's really a beautiful, perfect moment.

Arthur: what happened to you, Morgana?

Morgana:

We love a mirror corridor fight scene

Percival and Elyan tho 😍😍

"Hold me"

No parallels there, nope, not at all.

Arthur: will you marry me?

The castle staff: christ, not again

Merlin's got himself a new coat for the occasion and everything!

Why is it that Merlin never checked on Aithusa? Never even asked Kilgharrah about her? You'd think he would've felt some kind of obligation, as the last Dragonlord, towards her. Yes I'm going with 'her' don't @ me it's hc.

As per usual, if there's anything worth commenting on in the special features for S4 I will create a separate post.