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[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 1 of 27)

Summary: Not every adventurer wields a weapon. You, a hearth witch living near the banks of River Chionthar, are witness to a craft falling from the sky, and wondering if anyone needed assistance, ran down to find survivors. That was your first mistake. Going along with the survivors on their crazy adventure? That was your second mistake. Will you survive your next mistake of letting a hungry vampire bite you?

Author’s Notes: Full disclosure: at this point, I’ve only played through act 2 without romancing Astarion. So why the fuck am I writing some wholesome Astarion x F!Reader? Because I’m dumb and got spoiled on Youtube, and now I can’t stop thinking about the poor guy. Also this is heavily influenced by a couple of wholesome manga (“Life in Another World as a Housekeeping Mage” and “The Forsaken Saintess and her Foodie Roadtrip in Another World”), but I won’t be writing an isekai. You (reader) are from Faerun like everyone else. I’m just here to have some wholesome feels and hurt/comfort. Let’s go go go.

Tags: wholesome, cozy camp time, Astarion x F!Reader, slow burn, good alignment, BG3 Spoilers

Chapter Word Count: 1,843

Ao3 Link here, Darling.

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Act I, Chapter 1 - The Beginning

You are a hearth witch, living on the banks of the River Chionthar, making potions and herbal remedies for the small villages nearby. For the past three years, you’d been happier than you’d ever been in your life. You loved helping people, but you made sure not to reveal your real name, nor why you always wore long sleeves and gloves, even in the middle of summer.

But the nearby villages had been emptying as of late. News of the goblin camp that recently appeared nearby had first scared off the traveling merchants, and then the locals. You realized that you too should leave, otherwise you’d either have no more customers or goblins on your doorstep. You only had a dagger and a few spells that did little in ways of actual damage, so defending yourself against a horde of enemies was out of the question. So you began to pack up, figuring out what you could bring with you, and what needed to be repurchased once you reached your new home, wherever that might be. 

On a warm sunny day, you decided that this would be your last day here. Your pack was filled, your cottage cleaned out. Tomorrow morning, you would take off to the east, following the river to the next closest town. For now, you decided to grab a few more ingredients for the road, and so, you were out by the river bank, gathering fresh herbs and mushrooms. 

A booming sound followed a strong gust of wind that whipped around you, twigs and grass flying everywhere. Then you saw a ship crash nearby, the land and water being torn asunder, debris flung in all directions. After the chaos died down a bit, you went to go check for survivors. You couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away if someone might need help.

That was a poor decision on your part.

The first survivor you found was a young, dark-haired woman, passed out on the shore. She seemed standoffish, but after helping her up and giving her a drink from your waterskin, you convinced her that the best thing to do was to get out of the area and rest at your cottage while she regained her bearings. 

A little while later, the two of you came upon the strange sight of a single arm, sticking out of a glowing purple rune. You and the young woman, Shadowheart, pulled the poor man out. He introduced himself as Gale, and also joined your party.

As the three of you continued back to your cottage, you came across another stranger. Skin as pale as marble and hair to match. Had some scars on his neck. Perhaps he got them on the ship? He seemed harmless enough. Another escapee of the craft that fell from the sky.

That is, until he tricked you into looking for something in the bushes.

If only he hadn’t touched your exposed neck with his bare hand. Then you wouldn’t have felt the fear, underlined by a desperation you knew all too well. 

The leash is cut.

It made you empathize. And that was one rule that had been burned into your mind at a young age. 

Do not empathize with the enemy.

Fortunately, Gale and Shadowheart talked him down from stabbing you. The man even apologized to you, though it seemed more for show than for sincerity. 

Astarion was his name. He introduced himself with aplomb and decorum, and your hackles raised at the sight. A noble.

After a bit more conversation, they agreed that their shared affliction was enough of a reason to travel together and find a cure.

Swallowing down your general prejudice against nobles, you ignored him and made small talk with the others as you led them back to your cottage. 

***

Your cottage had only one room, enough space for your bed, some storage for herbs and tools, and a work table for your alchemy. Most of your things were packed, but you pulled out enough to take care of your guests. 

The yard to the side of the building was set up as a small campground for travelers to rest. You had figured out a couple years ago that for a small fee, traveling merchants would gladly rest on your land where it was safe, while you made them fresh, nourishing meals and cast spells on their bedrolls to make them feel warm and comfortable. You even managed to get a small tub built in the back to provide a warm bath for an extra fee.

It had been a lucrative idea, one that made you enough money to be quite comfortable out here in the sticks.

You may only know a few cantrips, but you had manipulated them beyond what most people did. Your mending cantrip could fix whole swaths of cloth, your prestidigitation cantrip could keep bedrolls warm all night, or baths hot for hours. It was why you had several repeat customers, traveling merchants who would alter their routes to come to your place to rest. 

You told them of the surrounding area and cooked a meal for them, a simple stew with seasonal vegetables and herbs.

The noble said he wasn’t hungry. You supposed your poor peasant food wasn’t to his taste.

He can suit himself.

While the others were eating, you set up the campground. While you were quietly casting the comfort cantrip on each bedroll, you sensed someone watching you.

“Yes?” you asked, biting the inside of your mouth to keep from being snippy.

Astarion stepped closer to you. He remained standing, looking down on your kneeling form. “What an interesting way to use prestidigitation.”

You shrugged. You had nothing to say to a noble. You finished your spell and started to shuffle over to the next bedroll, but he remained standing in your way.

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all, darling.” He didn’t budge.

You let out a short huff and crawled around him. One bedroll left. Ignoring the man, you began the cantrip.

By the time you finished, you looked up to see all three of them watching you.

“What?” you asked, a little disturbed by the attention.

“I hadn’t thought to use that cantrip like this before,” Gale said as he knelt down to touch the bedroll. “How long does it last?”

“All night,” you responded, feeling a little proud of yourself.

Shadowheart was already crawling into the bedroll. “This feels amazing.” She buried herself into the cloth. “It feels like I’m sleeping on a warm cloud.”

Gale shrugged and followed suit. ���Gods, you’re right.” He sat up and looked at you. “I don’t know how you manipulated that spell, but it’s absolutely brilliant.”

You felt a zing of joy. Your little custom cantrip impressed a wizard!

The noble watched you for a few more moments before he too, crawled into a bedroll. His eyes widened slightly. “Oh. My, this is rather comfortable.”

You jutted out your chin, but refrained from being too catty about it. Instead, you switched to being polite. 

“Sweet dreams,” you said to everyone, and went about cleaning up around camp. By the time you were done, the three of them were fast asleep.

***

The motley crew thanked you and took off in the morning to explore the area, seemingly never to return.

You looked around at your unpacked things, and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to start off tomorrow morning instead.

Your plans were sidetracked once more, however, when the group returned that evening with a fourth member, grouchy and prickly as a threatened porcupine. After a couple of bowls of your herbal soup, she became a little bit less prickly. Lae'zel was her name, and she punctuated her Common speech with her Githyanki tongue. You found it a bit endearing, the way one finds a stray animal that always hisses at you endearing. 

You cast a warming spell on their bed rolls once more, burned incense to keep the insects away, and made sure they were all comfortable in your little camp area outside of your cottage before going to bed.

The next morning, you got up early to make breakfast for them before they left to explore the ruins that they had found the day before. As you checked your rabbit traps, you noticed one of them was tripped, but the rabbit within was a mere husk, as if it had been dehydrated. 

Curious. 

You reset your trap and returned to camp.

“What’s that?” Shadowheart asked when she saw the husk of a corpse in your hand.

“A dried up rabbit.”

“That doesn’t sound appetizing,” Lae’zel remarked. 

You shrugged. “I can at least sell the pelt later. Sorry, you’ll have to make do with another vegetable stew tonight.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “That is, if you’re coming back here.”

The four adventurers looked at each other.

“I think we’ve taken advantage of your hospitality long enough,” Gale said. We’ll start heading west from here.”

*** 

The group had finally left, and you had finished packing. You had been delayed by their arrival, but no longer. They truly seemed gone now, with the sun setting and no sign of their return. Tomorrow for sure. Tomorrow, early in the morning, you would set off—

You heard your name being called. Off in the distance, you could see Gale, waving sheepishly at you, followed by the others. 

You sighed. Biting back your annoyance, you smiled and waved back. A customer was a customer. At least this group was entertaining, and quite generous with their gold. And this time, they brought you back some boar meat.

There was one new face, a man with a stone eye. He introduced himself as the Blade of the Frontiers, Wyll. He seemed nice, charismatic even. Someone who had the manners of a noble but the heart of a commoner.

They set up camp once more in your yard, and you unpacked just enough of your supplies to make them a meal. 

"You look like you're ready to go on a journey," Gale commented as you all sat around the campfire, eating a boar roast with herbed potatoes.

"I'm moving. Many people have moved away because of the increase in goblins in the area, and a lot of my business has dried up. And having goblins this close doesn't make me feel all too safe."

“Any plans on where?”

You shrugged. “Not really. I was just going to travel until I found a place to settle.”

"Well, why don't you come with us?" 

Everyone looked at Gale in shock, but then they all looked at you. 

"You do make camp much more comfortable," Shadowheart finally said. 

“And one of us would be standing guard at camp as well, so you would be safe,” Wyll added.

You saw no reason to decline. You liked most of them, save for one snotty noble. A constant flow of income would be nice, for once. You negotiated a decent wage and agreed to head out with them at first light.

That, dear hearth witch, was your second poor decision.

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Chapter End Notes:

Yeah, I basically made up a “hearth witch” class as a combo of druid, wizard, and cleric, but hey, welcome to Dungeons & Dragons, where homebrew classes happen all the time. Hope you enjoyed the fic! I'm actively working on the next chapter!

Update 4/4/24: All chapters are here!

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | 

Act III - Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 (18+) | Part 28 (END)

[artficlly]

the horselords of naraik [chapter two]

A quiet civil war has raged across the kingdom of Garwic for nearly three decades. The cruelty of the Duke of Garwic knows no end, bringing death and misery with each raid upon the lower-class. The horselords of naraik have fought to protect those suffering under the Duke's violence. The reader being the daughter of the duke is captured and held for ransom, only things are not as they seem. The reader can only hope that the horselords recognise her as a victim rather than a villain before it is too late. Fantasy AU

Pairing: horselord!bucky x duchess!witch!reader

Warnings: huge selfharm warning, self mutilation, suicidal thoughts, starvation (in a SH context), violence, blood, wounds, death, swearing, yelling, angst, tension, mention of sickness, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: going to start working on the last 1/2 chapters of this fic now that i've cleaned up the ending of the third chapter. this chapter is particularly triggering in regard to sh/depression topics so please read at your own risk. not proof read - sorry for any typos

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as you began your work. The day previous you had concocted a herbal remedy for Aunt May’s cough – Peter collecting fresh herbs from the outskirts of camp and the group of healers who traveled with the horde. It would take many weeks to heal the cough fully, the herbs would only ease the symptoms enough to allow her body time to strengthen. 

You had pressed the fresh leaves and flowers with a rock, hurriedly pouring the juices into a bowl to be given to May to drink. As much as you poured good intention into the herbs, you knew they would only scratch the surface of her sickness. No matter how many concoctions you made, the herbs would not help until the fever broke. 

Peter had done as you asked, retrieving a length of rope from camp and a heavy rock from the river bed. May had slept with the rope laid across her chest and abdomen, the twine and fibers capturing the fever that ravaged her body. Peter had been nervous when he had delivered the rope, cautious of touching the fibers in case he caught the fever trapped inside. 

He was familiar with witchcraft, the both of you had watched your mother and her friends at work many times all those years ago. The horselords equally would have witnessed magic before, but not so openly. Steve – who had come to guard you once more – eyed the process suspiciously. A portion of the camp had heard of Peter’s desperate efforts, although none had moved to stop you from your tasks. Despite their hatred for your status as duchess, the horselords still thought you were a witch. They would not deny you had power since part of your blood came from Idamir, rather they worried that your intentions were to cause harm over good. If Bucky had caught wind of your performance he hadn’t said a word, the two of you riding in silence the day before. 

Now sat at the base of a tree, once again tied up your back flush against the rough bark, you performed the magic which had grown to be desired and despised. A small crowd had gathered as you worked, watching as you weaved the length of rope into three large knots larger than the size of your palm. The knots were complicated, multiple layers of strands overlapping each other into an intricate design. 

Once the knots were sufficiently layered and tightened, you wove the remaining rope around the river rock. The knots would need an anchor, so you ensured the knots were tight and would remain steady in place. 

“You must throw it into the Khurak River. The spot must be fast flowing, not stagnant.” You instruct as you grit your teeth, fingers straining as you tighten the final knot in place. “The knots trap the fever within, the water will soothe and cleanse the fever until it is no more.”

“Why not burn it?” Peter asks, a nervous look in his eyes as you hand him the rope. The small crowd hums in agreement, leaning and looking over each other's shoulders to catch a glimpse at the knotted rope. 

“The knots trap the fever within, if you burn it the knots will release. The fever will be set free, it will take hold of May again or maybe another.” You explain, giving the anxious looking Peter a curt nod. “The fever will break overnight.” 

Steve disperses the crowd with a grunt, reminding them that they had a camp to tear down yet. Luckily, the horde had been following the Khurak River south, so Peter would have plenty of opportunities throughout the day to dispose of the knots. You lean back against the tree trunk once more, bark digging into your back as you sigh. Behind you the river lazily flows, the sounds of birds ringing out through the trees. 

“Will the fever truly be broken by tomorrow?” Steve asks. You crack open a single eye, squinting at him. He stands by the remainders of his usual fire, wood smoldering as it reaches its end. 

“Do you have no faith in my abilities?” You joke, tilting your head at the man. He grunts in annoyance once again, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you with little amusement. 

“I do. I just have never seen such methods. Our healers usually just give the sick yarrow and willow bark and pray for the best.” 

“I am surprised you never adopted Idamiran witches into the horde, like you did Peter.” You reply, opening your eyes fully. You have to lean your head back to look at him, he towers over you normally but even more so when you are sitting. 

“Most of them are dead.” He responds bluntly, any sense of amusement falls from your face. He wasn’t wrong, so many had died over the decades of raids. The nobles despised not only the lower class, but magic users. Even if the southerners were the ones to farm the food and craft the goods, the nobles made the taxes higher until protests rang out across the land. The king of Garwic watched it all happen and never lifted a finger to stop the slaughter, instead it seemed he encouraged it. The king had always been whispered to be mad, fuelled by a bloodlust and cruelty that rivaled even the duke. Down south his name was whispered in fear, even his brothers who were kings in neighboring kingdoms did not dare challenge his reign. 

“I suppose we have my father to blame for that.” You manage to utter. You don’t dare close your eyes, you know the faces of the dead will paint the blackness and consume you whole. 

Steve’s expression is unreliable, a tense silence consuming the both of you before he speaks. “Why didn’t he kill you?” 

Your mouth remains closed, limbs suddenly feeling numb. You rip your gaze away from his, instead staring out into the camp watching as tents are torn down for travel. Your jaw clenches as you can hear the cracking, screaming, the hot pain arcing up your spine. So many faces, all forever imprinted into your mind. Would they have held on? Would they have given up? Why had you held on for so long, why had you held on for hope of a savior? You had been doomed since your birth, your mother decided to tempt fate regardless. Your fingers itch for the athame, a haunted look glazing your eyes. 

“I don’t know.” You say, voice shaky. You wonder if Steve knows it is a lie. 

xxx

A few days later Bucky had permitted you a bath. You were unsure if it was out of pity or because he was sick of riding with you constantly covered in mud and bark. May’s fever had broken as you predicted, Peter bringing you the good news immediately. You continued making the medicine from herbs each morning for May, she was still weak but had a fighting chance with your help. Even Nat had reluctantly accepted the new routine, wordlessly watching with a scowl as you ground the juices from the leaves and flowers. 

Nat and a few of the women were to escort you to a slow flowing section of the Khurak River – it was common for women in the south to bathe together. You had spent time assessing each woman as you had walked, wondering if there was a chance to overpower the small group and run. Run to where? You did not know. You knew it was a foolish plan. Your eyes rested on one of the women you had heard much about due to her unfortunate circumstances. She had traveled north with her husband and the rest of the raiding party, only for him to be killed during an encounter with the Grawic Guard along the way. Not only was she left a widow, but she was left heavily pregnant. You imagined it was frightening for her, the prospect of bringing a child into the world alone. At least she had the other women of the horde to help and guide her. 

You examined Wanda now, belly swollen and fatigue in her eyes. The healers predicted she would be due any day now. From the glimpses you had caught, you knew the healers were nervous. The midwife that had meant to travel with Wanda had died during the same raid her husband had – using her last breaths to protect Wanda from Grawic steel. 

“What will you call him?” You ask the auburn, watching as she unlaces the front of her dress. Her slender fingers pause their movements, eyes darting to meet yours. 

“How do you know it will be a boy?” Wanda asks, behind you Nat makes an irritated noise. 

“I just do.” You reply with a soft smile, Nat marches over so she is in your vision. She gives you a warning look, placing herself near Wanda in a protective manner. You had noticed the redhead had a soft spot for Wanda. 

“I wouldn’t trust anything this witch says.” Nat hisses, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“It is fine, Nat. She meant no harm.” Wanda defends you, waving her hands dismissively at the redhead. “What else do you see?”

“Wanda.” Nat warns, placing herself between the two of you. You bite your tongue, fingers finding the lacing on the front of your dress. 

“She helped May, I am sure talking won’t hurt.” The auburn huffed, stepping around Nat as she looked at you. “Go on, tell me. What else do you see?”

You are slow to reply, sighing through your nose as you unlace your dress. The other women have already entered the water – oblivious to the conversation unfolding. Nat is rigid in place, jaw muscles tense as she stares at you. You know it isn’t because she’s afraid of you throwing enchantments, rather not wanting to scare Wanda with the news of a painful birth. 

“He will be born during a storm, a doncayo, it means where lightning has struck.” You speak slowly, lifting your eyes to stare hard at her swollen belly. You tilt your head as you listen to everything and nothing at all, hair raising across your arms. “In Idamir it is a good omen to have a doncayo babe. It means the boy will be a great blacksmith, strong enough to bend steel with his bare hands. Since he is a Naraik babe, he will be a strong warrior.” 

“You know birth well then?” Wanda asks, a warm smile having spread across her face. You note how her palm rests on her belly, stroking the swell absentmindedly. Beside her, Nat has visibly relaxed but still casts you an irritated look. 

“Not really. My mother did, she helped when the midwives could do no more.” You explain, watching as Nat scoffs. 

“Your mother… the whore.” She comments under her breath, earning a scowl from Wanda. You bite your tongue with a shake of your head. You turn your back on the two women, pulling the last of the lacing free so your dress hangs loosely from your shoulders. You watch the women in the water, a tense silence growing between the three of you.

“How do you know when a witch is born? They say they don’t know if an Idamiran babe is a witch until they are born.” Wanda asks and you pause. You cast a look over your shoulder, eyebrows knitted as you take in Wanda’s curious expression. 

“The wind goes still.” You start, turning your body to face her. “All the birds go silent, like when they know a predator is near. Even the river stops running, the tide of the sea frozen. The land grows quiet as if in mourning.”

“Why?” Wanda asks, voice barely above a whisper. You swallow hard, pushing your hair over your shoulders. It tangles messily, covering your back fully as you allow your dress to pool at your waist, chest exposed. 

“I do not know, it is just the way of things.” You reply. Nat’s eyes have widened as if she is horrified. Wanda’s mouth parted in shock. They are staring directly at your chest, at the spot between your breasts. There lies the sigil you had carved into your flesh, raised white scars curved across your smooth skin. The scar starts as a point on your sternum, parting as it separates into three different points like a diamond - two points under each breast while the final continues down to your stomach. The tips curl into different patterns of swirling lines, but at the center of the diamond lies an eye shape which stares unblinking. You don’t flinch under their gaze, don’t even bother to react as you allow your ruined dress to pool at your feet. 

“That sigil, where did you find it?” Nat asks, stepping closer. You step backwards in return, a confused expression gracing your features. A sense of urgency has taken over Nat’s demeanor, walking closer as if she is afraid you will disappear into the aether at any moment. 

“Find?” You question with a quizzical look, backing away further until you are knee-deep in the river water. Wanda looks between the two of you with a look of disbelief. “I designed it.”

The two women are rigid, Nat frozen in place only moving to look back at Wanda. Wanda’s previous inviting behavior melting into something more uneasy, a disturbed sensation crawls across your skin. One of the nearby women noticed the strained interaction, watching with a questioning stare. 

“Get dressed and go get Bucky.” Nat snaps at her. The woman doesn’t question the command, instead rushing to get dressed while the rest of the women follow suit. Despite the sense of dread sinking into your bones, you submerge yourself into the water before Nat can bark a command at you too. 

xxx

The bath had been what you expected, quick and heavily monitored. Wanda and Nat muttered between each other, worry clear in their faces. You tried to keep yourself impartial, now allowing the anxious confusion to gnaw at your stomach. The two women had provided you with some replacement clothing, your old dress ruined from days of travel. You were secretly happy for it, much preferring the loose linen and cotton clothing of the Naraik. It was similar to what you wore in Idamir - a simple green linen skirt that reached mid-shin, a section of lacing at the top used to adjust the fabric to frame your hips. It had been paired with a white shirt with a string lacing front and long sleeves. 

By the time Bucky arrived you were half dressed, having only just slipped the shirt on to cover your back and arms. You had pulled your hair over your shoulders, covering your breasts with the long damp strands as Bucky marched over to Nat and Wanda. He barely cast a look in your direction at first, instead muttering away with the two women. 

Steve stood nearby, eyes fixed on you with a hard swallow and you began lacing the shirt from the bottom up. You look up to meet his eye, dragging the strand of cord through the eyelet with a forceful jerk of your arm. He clears his throat, eyes diverting as you smile wickedly at him. 

Bucky has his sword in hand once more, you swear it is like an extension of his own arm. He prowls towards you, pointing the sharpened tip at the sigil. You cease your movements, watching as he cocks his head to one side. 

“So you are a witch then?” He asks, voice rough and low as always. You hadn’t shared words in days, hearing the gravelly tone sent a near shiver down your spine. 

“You never asked.” You reply bluntly, watching as speechless thoughts tick away in his mind. His eyes are firmly planted on the sigil, a look of conflict crossing his rugged features. 

“First the spells for May, and now this. I suppose this means the rumors about your mother are true.” Bucky drawls, you narrow your eyes at him. Steve seems to shift awkwardly in place, glancing at Nat who gives him a long look. You know better than to snap back at Bucky, instead opting to pull the fabric of the shirt closer together. The linen covers the swell of your breasts better than the damp strands of hair. You begin pulling the cord through the eyelets once more, briskly lacing the two pieces of fabric together. 

“What? You are not going to deny that your mother is a whore, Duchess?” Bucky jeers, poking the tip of his sword over the pupil of the sigil, forcing you to pause your lacing. You look up at him, eyes flashing in warning. You nearly consider baring your teeth like a wild dog, raising your hackles and tearing his throat out in a fit of rage. 

“The dead can defend themselves, they will strike you down if you taunt them so.” You spit back at him, swatting the blade away with the back of your hand to continue lacing. Bucky chuckles darkly, pressing the blade in further so it rests against your skin. You catch the sharpened edge in one hand, fist closing around the steel. 

“That sigil, what does it mean? Where does it come from?” He asks, continuing to provoke you. He pushes the blade further into your hand. You do not give in, even as blood begins to seep from the growing wound. Pain shoots down your forearm, skin slippery against the steel. 

“It is from nowhere. Sigils are uniquely crafted to suit the spells need. This one was for protection.” You grind out, eyes narrowed. 

“Protection…” Bucky drawls with a scoff. “And how is that going for you?”

The blade digs harder, blood dripping onto the muddy riverbank. You do not yield, you have endured more pain than a simple cut. The pain you had endured was ancient, centuries of women before you that had been tormented by men and life alike. In that moment you felt them all, the pain you all shared, the pain that radiated from every scar that lined your body. Your eyes remained fixed on Bucky, locked in a silent conversation. In your mind's eye you could see shadows of a memory, voices overlapping each other as the events grew more muffled and distant. You dig deeper, staring harder into his eyes as the blood runs slick down your arm. The voices become screaming, each trying to drown each other out. The world feels silent, only the roaring of battle and the scent of smoke consuming both of your senses. His memories are jumbled and frantic, swallowing you whole. 

The sound of a whip cracking jolts Bucky from the trance, a haunted look overcoming him. His eyebrows knit together, his arm locked in place as he tries to pull the sword from your grip. You hold on steady, watching as he begins to squirm. Memories, thoughts, long forgotten whispers… they swirl around and consume you. You could release the blade, release him from the spell but you can't help yourself. You cannot stop yourself from wanting to punish him, you want to make him understand. As you read deeper into the corners of his mind, he can equally see yours, a mirror of pain and torment. Much like you, he wouldn’t be able to see anything specific, he would only be able to feel your pain, your emotions or hear the way that you screamed. You could not present him with a full reenactment of your memories, nor could he play his to you, but you could share every way that you had both suffered through sensation. Somewhere in the distance you can hear the muffled shouting of Nat, blurred shapes in the corners of your vision. 

Everything snaps back into place as Wanda suddenly slaps your hands away from the blade. You release the steel with a hiss, hand throbbing as blood pools in your palm. Wanda stares between you and Bucky in shock, the blade now laying in the mud at your feet. You expect Bucky to strike you, to bare his teeth and attack with words. Instead he stands like a stone, watching you with a conflicted expression. 

“What the fuck was that?” Nat barks, Steve holding her back by one arm as you examine the cut across your palm. It was deep, you would need to stitch it together and apply a poultice to prevent infection. 

“An enchantment to corrupt my mind, like her mother did the duke.” Bucky speaks up finally, although his words sound hesitant and conflicted. Even if the spell was broken you could still feel the wisps of his emotions ghosting your mind, confusion and sympathy swirling around a void of rage. You clench your fist, teeth grinding together as the wound comes to life with shooting pain.

“No.” You gasp out. “I was showing you the past. My situation isn’t as simple as you wish it to be, don’t you understand?.” You explain, but Bucky only shakes his head with a sneer. Whatever sympathy or pity he was feeling didn’t show on his body or face, any softness replaced with his usual underlying anger. 

“You have the blood of a madman and the magic of a wicked whore.” He hissed at you, any sense of confliction gone as his eyebrows pulled together in rage, lip curled into a snarl. 

Anyone else may have backed down at the sight, an enraged Naraki Horselord was one to be feared. Such anger would be whispered of during bedtime stories, warnings to never cross the warriors of the southern plains. A sense of frustration grew in your gut, an exhaustion of having to defend your position. You had shown him the past, shown him how your suffering was one in the same. You had both seen death, battle and loss, yet he was in denial. He was so stuck in his own prejudice and grief that he could not see past it, could not overlook your blood and realize you had the same enemy. 

“You don’t know what you are speaking about–” You begin, but are nearly immediately cut off. 

“Why are you alive?” Bucky asks, prowling forward so he stands above the sword at your feet. You lift your chin in defiance and meet his gaze “Why was the duke so eager to keep you as his daughter? You are illegitimate, you have no value to him. All you prove is that you are exactly like your mother.”

“You know nothing of my mother!” You snap, warning a cold laugh from the horselord. 

“Blindfold her.” He commands sharply to a tense looking Nat. 

“Buck–” Steve starts, only to be dismissed with a wave of Bucky’s callused hand. Nat is by your side, wrapping a strand of cloth around your injured hand. You don’t have the energy to protest, nor argue with Bucky any longer. 

Bucky glances at you with a look of distaste. “Gag her too if it pleases you. I think I preferred it when she didn’t speak at all.”

xxx

You hadn’t had the heart to inform Nat or Steve that a blindfold would not prevent you from using your magic. Your talents were in your blood, a part of your body and soul. It was always with you, even in the darkness. You felt foolish and defeated for ever thinking that these people may help you, let alone accept you. You had hoped that you could’ve used your healing knowledge for good, helped them and in turn they would have helped you. But Bucky was stubborn and cautious, you supposed it was for good reason. He wouldn’t see any reason to trust you, any tender feelings or doubts he would easily chalk up to your magic interfering with his mind.

It felt like you were in the manor once more, isolated in a house full of people. You stopped talking entirely, no longer finding a need. Either your father would eventually pay the ransom and you would be returned to your previous purgatory, or the horselords would kill you. Both seemed a similar fate, but the latter would be the kindest. 

Your visits from Peter stopped, due to your argument with Bucky you were no longer allowed to make the remedy for May. Instead the healers made it each morning and you would sit in silence as the world slowly woke up. You could tell the horselords were unnerved by your silence, muttering in hushed whispers when they walked past. Even on horseback, your back flush against Bucky’s chest, you could feel their burning gazes on you. 

“You have to eat.” Steve’s voice broke through the evening air, the feeling of a plate being nudged in your hands for the fifth time in the past hour. 

With the depression and defeat came a hunger strike. It wasn’t a rebellion, rather an admittance that you didn’t care any longer. A same bout of depression had hit you in the manor months ago, only coming to an end when your father had you force fed after days of fasting. You had quickly realized there were easier ways to die than starvation, at this point it was more to punish yourself. Or maybe to feel something other than the numbness that settled over your soul. 

The first day you had stopped eating, Steve had assumed you were doing it to be difficult. It was only on the third day that him and Nat had become concerned. By the fourth, Wanda had come and begged you to eat. You didn’t. You didn’t eat, you didn’t speak, sometimes you wished you didn’t breathe. 

You hoped one night you would close your eyes and never open them again. You would not, no, you could not return to that manor house. You could not live out the fantasy your father planned for you. You could not play duchess, feasting and living in luxury while the king ordered raid after raid upon the south. 

You would wake each morning, listen to the river flowing, the birds as they darted through the trees and the bustle of the camp. It was serene, a piece of calm that you breathed in and savored. Then you would be hoisted onto Bucky’s horse and spend hours on horseback. By the end you would swear you wanted to sob, to curl up into a ball and let the earth swallow you whole. Bucky barely spoke to you, only to make snide comments and jeers at your expense. The quieter and weaker you grew, the more concerned Steve and Nat seemed to become. You weren’t sure when Nat had decided she liked you. Maybe it was because you stopped eating, but you also placed her kindness from the moment she spotted the sigil on your chest. 

That afternoon when Bucky had pulled you from the saddle your knees had given in, collapsing next to his stallion. He hadn’t laughed, rather huffed in surprise as he realized how frail you had become. A part of you wondered if he cared, if he were worried at all. But you would not be able to tell the difference between a worry for a ransom or a worry for your person. 

“Maybe the blindfold is sucking all of your powers away, Duchess?” He had said, poking you with the toe of his boot. You hadn’t replied, silent as ever. Nat had rushed off her mare to your side, pushing your hair from your face as she cradled your cheeks with worry. 

“She hasn’t eaten in a week, Bucky.” Nat had snapped at the man, helping you to your feet. 

“Good. Maybe she should starve.” Bucky had cut back, walking off with a huff. 

Pulled from your thoughts, you hear Steve grunt in annoyance. Leaves crunch beneath him as he shifts in place, seated next to you under the large willow tree. The plate of food in your lap was cold by now, adding to the lack of appeal. 

“Eat,” Steve commands, nudging you with his foot. You bite your tongue, leaning your head against the bark of the tree. The breeze was slow and cool, strands of hair tickling your neck. You listen to the birds, the bubbling of the river. Beside you, Steve drawls your name once more, near begging as he taps his finger against the wooden plate. “You will die if you do not eat.”

You can’t help it – a dry laugh leaves your lips. Your throat feels raw from lack of use, your laugh sounding croaky. You wet your lips with a smile, pointing your head in his general direction. For the first time in days you break your silence.

“You think I don’t want to die?” You say, voice rough and gravelly though laced with amusement. You can almost imagine the deep frown that would cross his face. 

“You are upset. You have made your point, but I don’t think you actually want to die.” Steve responds gruffly. You can hear the sound of him running a hand through his beard, coarse hairs scratching against his skin. 

“I would rather die than go back to my father.” You mutter.  “If he doesn’t pay the ransom, Bucky will kill me anyway. I have thought it all through – every outcome ends with my death. It would be a mercy to get it over with.” You wave your hands wealy for effect, arms straining against the rope that ties you to the tree. 

“I think you have known every outcome long before this hunger strike. Why now? What changed?” Steve asks, you chew on the inside of your cheek with a sigh. 

“I thought I could change fate. I am just repeating the mistakes of my mother.” You admit reluctantly, tilting your head back to meet the bark once more. “I thought the horde could save me, that I could earn their respect by being a healer. Bucky hates me and I do not know why, but I know that he seeks my death so I am better to just…accept it.” 

Steve contemplates this for a moment before speaking. “He has his reasons to be… cautious.” He says, words slow and carefully chosen. 

“So you think his hatred is justified?” You retort.

“I think he is conflicted.” Steve sighs. “He has a great respect for you, I can see it. He has always had a respect for the people of Idamir.”

“Respect?” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“Why do you think he lets you ride with him? Most prisoners we take are tied up to walk behind the horses, then when they can walk no more we drag them.”

You scoff in response, “I do not understand you horselords. You claim to respect me one day and then threaten me the next.” 

“You need to understand that Bucky and the duke have history, his hatred is not for you but rather your bloodline.” 

You let out another dry laugh, cutting back sharply, “I cannot help my blood.” 

“I know. I will explain,” Steve starts with a sigh. “There was a raid, a bad one, years ago. The duke took some of the women hostage, made a show of whipping them as torture until they could barely walk back to his estate. Before we could rescue them, he executed them publicly. Bucky’s mother and sister were among them.”

You were tight-lipped as Steve recounted the story, dirty fingernails dragging over the linen of your skirt. You knew of your fathers affection for whippings, he was a cruel man who enjoyed torturing his victims until nearly all life had left them. The prisoners of the duke did not fear death – rather the torture that came before. You had grown to know each of his whips intimately, from the simple leather ones to the ones with metal barbs attached to the tip. 

“Bucky’s left arm - I am sure you have seen the scars - was nearly chopped off by Grawic soldiers while fighting to try to save them. He was unsuccessful, barely escaping with his life. The witch healers of Idamir helped him, nursed him back to health. He has a great respect for them, which is why their slaughter was so hard upon us.”

You feel a cold dread rise in your stomach at the mention of the slaughter – visions of your mothers body pierced by a spear. You clench your fists around your skirt – snapping back before you can think. “Yet he despises me?” 

You can feel Steve’s disapproving frown at your harsh tone. “That is where the conflict lies. He wants to like you, because he knows you are more Idamiran than duchess. But he made a promise to himself to kill the duke and all of his bloodline, so they could never hurt or kill ever again.”

A cold chill seeps down your spine, previous anger quelled by an ice in your veins. It wasn’t simple, just a hatred for your father, it was so much deeper and visceral than a simple promise made in haste. Bucky didn’t want to just kill the duke, he wanted to destroy him and everything that he had ever built. 

“He wants to wipe the duke’s blood from history.” You whisper.  Your hopes for being saved by the hoard seemed even more futile, like any efforts you may have made in past weeks were pointless. No matter what you did or what you tried, Bucky would not turn. He wanted to wipe you from history.

taglist | @boofy1998

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from EcoWatch:

There are currently more than 200 coal-fired power plants in operation in the United States, but the country has been scaling back since reaching its coal generation peak in 2011. By the end of 2026, the U.S. is projected to have retired half of its coal capacity.

Coal plants emit toxic pollutants into the air, water and soil, leaving a legacy of contamination that must be cleaned up after their decommission.

But what happens to coal plants after they shut down?

Michigan’s Environmental Law & Policy Center (ELPC) sees retiring coal plants — once viewed as industrial scars on the landscape — as “canvases for the creation of new greenways, parklands, wildlife habitat, and clean energy development,” a press release from ELPC said.

“If you look around Michigan, and you look around many of the other states in the Great Lakes region, there is a large number of coal plants sitting on the shores of the Lakes. And lakefront property is, of course, valuable. If you look at it as a coal plant site — which is how most of us are used to looking at a plant where there’s been a coal plant operating for 40 or 50 or 60 years — it’s sometimes easy to forget that these sites are often right along the lakefront or right along a river, or in some cases, next door to a state or international wildlife refuge,” Howard Learner, president and executive director of ELPC, told EcoWatch.

From 2010 to 2019, 290 coal plants with more than 100 gigawatts (GW) of capacity were closed across the U.S.

“Once these coal plants retire, each of the sites begins a multi-year retirement process that includes decommissioning, remediation, and redevelopment,” the press release said.

Major Michigan utility company Consumers Energy has plans to retire two of its remaining coal plants 15 years ahead of schedule by 2025. Their closure presents a unique opportunity for the repurposing of the industrial brownfields they will leave behind into hubs of renewable energy, community collaboration and environmental solace.

“About 10 years ago, we began to map out where the coal plants are around the Midwest that we thought might be shutting down in the reasonably near future, either because they were very old and using old technology that was being displaced in the market, or the economics were leading to the plant shutting down, or other factors. And we came up with a list of plants from our energy expert side that seemed to be candidates for retirement over the next decade. Then we mapped that out with a natural resources perspective — not an energy perspective — but where are they located, and what added values in terms of outdoor recreational use, beaches for public use and access, wildlife habitat and conservation purposes might be achieved in some of these locations,” Learner told EcoWatch.

With its new Power Plants to Parklands (P2P) initiative, ELPC plans to reinvision the redevelopment portion of the transition from wasteland to sanctuary.

[reasoningdaily]

The Conversation: The importance of shining a light on hidden toxic histories

Indianapolis proudly claims Elvis’ last concert, Robert Kennedy’s speech in response to Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination, and the Indianapolis 500. There’s a 9/11 memorial, a Medal of Honor Memorial and a statue of former NFL quarterback Peyton Manning.

What few locals know, let alone tourists, is that the city also houses one of the largest dry cleaning Superfund sites in the U.S.

From 1952 to 2008, Tuchman Cleaners laundered clothes using perchloroethylene, or PERC, a neurotoxin and possible carcinogen. Tuchman operated a chain of cleaners throughout the city, which sent clothes to a facility on Keystone Avenue for cleaning. It was also the location where used solution was stored in underground tanks.

Inspectors noted the presence of volatile organic compounds from leaking tanks and possible spills as early as 1989. By 1994, an underground plume had spread to a nearby aquifer. By the time the EPA became involved in 2011, the underground chemical plume had seeped more than a mile underneath a residential area, reaching a well that supplies drinking water to the city.

When geographer Owen Dwyer, earth scientist Gabe Filippelli and I investigated and wrote about the social and environmental history of dry cleaning in Indianapolis, we were struck by how few people outside of the dry cleaning and environmental management fields were aware of this environmental damage.

There are no markers or memorials. There is no mention of it – or any other accounts of contamination – in Indianapolis’ many museums. This kind of silence has been called “environmental amnesia” or “collective forgetting.”

Societies celebrate heroes and commemorate tragedies. But where in public memory is environmental harm? What if people thought about it not only as a science or policy problem, but also as a part of history? Would it make a difference if pollution, along with biodiversity loss and climate change, was seen as part of our shared heritage?

The slow violence of contamination

Environmental harm often takes place gradually and out of sight, and this could be one reason why there’s so little public conversation and commemoration. In 2011, Princeton English professor Rob Nixon came up with a term for this kind of environmental degradation: slow violence.

As underground storage tanks leak, shipwrecks corrode, coal ash ponds seep and forever chemicals spread, the creeping pace of poisoned soil and water fails to garner the attention that more dramatic environmental disasters attract.

Certain interests benefit from hiding the costs of pollution and its remediation. Sociologists Scott Frickel and James R. Elliott have studied urban pollution, and they highlight three reasons for its pervasiveness and persistence.

First, in cities, small factories, auto repair shops, dry cleaners and other light industries sometimes only stay open for a decade or two, making it challenging to regulate them and track their environmental impacts over time. By the time contamination is discovered, many facilities have long been shuttered or purchased by new owners. And the polluters have a direct financial interest in not being connected with it, since they could be held liable and forced to pay for cleanup.

Similarly, urban neighborhoods tend to have shifting demographics, and local residents are often not aware of historical pollution.

Finally, it can simply be politically expedient to look the other way and ignore the consequences of pollution. Cities may be concerned that publicizing toxic histories discourage investment and depress property values, and politicians are hesitant to fund projects that may have a long-term benefit but short-term costs. Indianapolis, for example, tried for decades to avoid mitigating the raw sewage flowing into the White River and Fall Creek, arguing it was too expensive to deal with. Only when required by a consent decree did the city start to address the problem.

Toxic legacies are also difficult to track because their effects may be hidden by distance and time. Anthropologist Peter Little traced the outsourcing of electronics waste recycling, which is shipped from the places where electronics are bought and used, to countries such as Ghana, where labor is cheap and environmental regulations lax.

Then there are the toxic traces of military conflicts, which linger long after the fighting has stopped and troops have returned home. Historian and geologist Daniel Hubé has documented the long-term environmental impact of World War I munitions.

At the end of the war, unused and unexploded bombs and chemical weapons had to be disposed of. In France, at a site known as Place à Gaz, hundreds of thousands of chemical weapons were burned. Today, the soils have been found to have extraordinarily high levels of arsenic and other heavy metals.

More than a century after the end of the war, little grows on the contaminated, barren land.

Toxic tours and teaching moments

There’s a growing movement to make toxic histories more visible.

In Providence, Rhode Island, artist Holly Ewald founded the Urban Pond Procession to call attention to Mashapaug Pond, which was contaminated by a Gorham Silver factory. She worked with community partners to create wearable sculptures, puppets and giant fish, all of which were carried and worn in an annual parade that took place from 2008 to 2017.

Cultural anthropologist Amelia Fiske collaborated with artist Jonas Fischer to create the graphic novel “Tóxico,” which will be published in 2024. It depicts petroleum pollution in the Ecuadorian Amazon, as well as the struggles of those fighting for environmental justice.

Toxic tours can educate the public about the histories, causes and consequences of environmental harm. For example, Ironbound Community Corporation in Newark, New Jersey, offers a tour of severely contaminated sites, such as the location of the former Agent Orange factory, where the sediment in the sludge is laced with the carcinogen dioxin. The tour also goes by a detention center that’s built on a brownfield, which has only undergone industrial-level remediation because that’s the standard all prisons are held to.

In 2017, the Humanities Action Lab organized “Climates of Inequality,” a traveling exhibit co-curated by more than 20 universities and local partners exploring environmental issues affecting communities around the world. The exhibit brings attention to polluted waterways, the impacts of climate change, ecological damage on Indigenous lands and the ways in which immigrant agricultural workers experience heat stress and chronic pesticide exposure. The exhibits also explore the affected communities’ resilience and advocacy.

These stories of pollution and contamination, and their effects on people’s health and livelihoods, represent only a sampling of current efforts to curate toxic heritage. As sociologist Alice Mah writes in her foreword to “Toxic Heritage”: “Reckoning with toxic heritage is an urgent collective task. It is also unsettling work. It requires confronting painful truths about the roots of toxic injustice with courage, honesty, and humility.”

I see public commemoration of hidden toxic histories as a way to push back against denial, habituation and amnesia. It creates a space for public conversation, and it opens up possibilities for a more just and sustainable future.

[female-malice]

Almost every gas station eventually pollutes the earth beneath it. The main culprit: the underground storage tanks that hold tens of thousands of gallons of fuel, one of the most common sources of groundwater pollution. Typically, two or three of these giant, submarine-shaped tanks are buried under a station to store the gasoline and diesel that gets piped to the pump. A large tank might be 55 feet long and hold as many as 30,000 gallons; a typical tank might hold 10,000 gallons. Leaks can occur at any point — in the storage tank itself, in the gas pumps, and in the pipes that connect them. Hazardous chemicals can then spread rapidly through the soil, seeping into groundwater, lakes, or rivers. Even a dribble can pollute a wide area. Ten gallons of gasoline can contaminate 12 million gallons of groundwater — a significant risk, given that groundwater is the source of drinking water for nearly half of all Americans.

As a result, time-consuming cleanup efforts are unfolding all across the country, with remediation for a single gas station sometimes topping $1 million. Leaks are such a huge liability that they’ve led to a high-stakes game of hot potato, where no one wants to pay for the mess — not the gas station owners, not the insurance companies that provide coverage for tanks, not the oil companies that supply the fuel. In some states, polluters have shifted tens of millions of dollars in remediation costs onto taxpayers. Roughly 60,000 contaminated sites are still waiting to be cleaned up, according to the Environmental Protection Agency, or EPA — and those are just the ones that have been found.

The catastrophe was set in motion in the years after World War II, when many Americans bought cars and moved to the suburbs, spurring demand for gasoline. Oil companies helped build hundreds of thousands of gas stations around the country and installed steel storage tanks beneath them. But those steel tanks and piping, exposed to soil, corroded over time, and petroleum began seeping through cracks and holes, carrying carcinogens into the groundwater.

(continue reading)

[trimbakeshwarnasik]

Top Reasons To Perform Kaal Sarp Puja At Trimbakeshwar

Trimbakeshwar is one of India's most sacred spiritual destinations, located in Nashik, Maharashtra. It houses one of the twelve Jyotirlingas of Lord Shiva and is a powerful center for performing various Vedic rituals, including the Kaal Sarp Dosh Puja. People from all over the country visit this sacred temple to resolve issues caused by astrological doshas, particularly Kaal Sarp Dosh, a condition in the horoscope that can lead to obstacles and misfortunes.

If you’re looking for a permanent solution to Kaal Sarp Dosh, Trimbakeshwar offers the ideal environment, expert pandits, and divine energy for effective rituals. Let’s explore why Trimbakeshwar is the best place to perform this puja.

Understanding Kaal Sarp Dosh

Kaal Sarp Dosh arises when all the planets of a person's horoscope lie between Rahu and Ketu, the two shadow planets. It creates hurdles, delays, and struggles in all spheres of life like career, health, finances, and relationships. Kaal Sarp Dosh Nivaran Puja at Trimbakeshwar is a very effective Vedic puja that mitigates the above effects and brings peace, prosperity, and success to the devotee's life.

Why Conduct Kaal Sarp Puja at Trimbakeshwar?

1. Holy Jyotirlinga Temple

Trimbakeshwar has one of Lord Shiva's twelve Jyotirlingas, which makes the place very sacred. In such a divine setting, Trimbakeshwar Kaal Sarp Puja becomes even more effective since the ritual's results are multiplied by Lord Shiva's blessings.

2. Experiential Pandits and Traditional Procedure

The temple is famous for its pandits who are highly experienced in performing Kaal Sarp Dosh Puja. A deep understanding of Vedic scriptures and the precise execution of rituals ensure that the puja is conducted effectively and yields the desired results.

3. Spiritual Significance of Trimbakeshwar

Trimbakeshwar is not just a temple, but it is a highly spiritual place where the river Godavari originates. This gives the rituals held here a more sanctity. The holy atmosphere does cleanse and heal spiritually. So, it is the perfect destination for Kaal Sarp Dosh Nivaran.

4. Powerful Dosha Remedies

Kalsarp Pooja Trimbakeshwar provides relief from the following:

Financial instability

Career Obstacles

Marriage delay

Health issues

Family disputes

5. Reasonable Cost of Puja

Kaal Sarp Dosh Puja Cost in Trimbakeshwar is also quite reasonable and accessible to devotees from all walks of life. The cost is usually in the range of INR 3,000 to INR 10,000, depending on the arrangements and requirements. If the booking is done through reliable sources, then the experience will be transparent and smooth.

6. Customized Puja for Specific Requirements

Trimbakeshwar pandits design the Kaal Sarp Dosh Nivaran Puja by considering the devotee's horoscope and the severity of the dosh. This individualized puja ensures that the dosh is handled effectively to tackle specific challenges.

Benefits of Kaal Sarp Dosh Puja

Removes Obstacles: Delays and barriers in career, finance, and personal growth.

Improves Relationships: Family conflicts are solved, and relationships are made stronger.

Restores Peace: Gives mental clarity, emotional stability, and spiritual well-being. This prayer attracts good fortune, wealth, and success towards the worshiper's life.

Guarantees Spiritual Development: It nurtures the devotee toward higher energies with divine sources.

How to Perform Kaal Sarp Puja in Trimbakeshwar

Meet with Expert Pandits: Approach expert pandits from Kaal Sarp Dosh Nivaran specialization.

Observe Ritual Conducts: Devotees need to keep fast and maintain cleanness before puja.

How to Get Ready for the Puja: Reach early before completing the required preparations: paying the temple fees as well as offerings.

Conclusion

Sacred environment, expert pandits, and divine blessings—such a combination makes Trimbakeshwar the ultimate destination for Kaal Sarp Dosh Nivaran Puja. Whether one suffers from astrological malposition or wants to invoke positiveness and success into life, doing it here is a transformative spiritual journey.

Book your puja through trusted platforms like Trimbakeshwar Nashik to ensure a hassle-free and fulfilling ritual. Let the divine energy of Trimbakeshwar help you overcome life's challenges and achieve peace and prosperity.

[thewelllitweenie]

It's not often the grand banner of the Condiment King was raised calling the knights together from their mercenary work to unite into the Grand Army, and Mustard Flanks was stewing in frustration waiting for a river crossing back to his Chapter's Fortress. Staring across rapid currents Mustard watched as the flat barge sat moored at a pier for seemingly no reason at all as the minutes stretched into hours and the hours sunk into a slow eternity. Regret grilled at the edges of his mind, he should have hiked across the pass and forded where the river shallower but no he didn't want to ruin his hose and have to clean the greatsword since his recently elevated squire had taken up with the hammer swinging idiots in the Order of Ketchup. That shame, the Champion for Mustard losing his aspiring Squire to a rival chapter had yet to have any real social ramifications but the practical application of travelling over land without someone to help was certainly being felt. The anger had faded to regret and Mustard had been left feeling like he had failed his comrades in Condiment arms, had his own glory and adventuring ways made him a poor tutor and mentor to an aspiring knights who wanted their own spurs. Still it had happened and he can only hope to fight side by side his former mentee, and maybe just maybe rejuvenate that relationship. Heinz Meiesterfüd's old mail and sword hung like a millstone around mustard's flank, his own personal greatsword had long stopped being sensation he was aware of in his tired arms so when it slipped and crashed into shin it shattered the revery as surely as it crashed through shields.

It was then that Mustard Flank was aware he was not alone on the pier, sitting attentively and with great excitement was small goblin with an assortment of pots and pans tied to it's body, a roasting pan strapped to its chest was blazened with heraldry of a bright white dollop of something. "Brother! I have travelled long and not seen hide or hair of another spurred knight called to the war!" Exclaimed the small creature, strapped to its back was long two pronged grilling fork "I am Sir Squelch, Champion of the Ranch" it stated standing up executing a precise parade ground salue. It was then that Mustard fully took in the sight before him, Squelch stood proudly, the pots and pans were in fact pots and pans but arranged and polished like the cuirass of a knight. slashed sleeves of clashing colours, broad feathered hat at a rakish angle and an obnoxious cod piece the goblin was carnival mirror image of Mustard. Except and oddly galling was that Sir Squelch was attended by a squire, standing behind and to his side was a human adolescent of ambiguous age or gender in the livery,chain mail and serious expression common of chapter aspirants across the land. "And of course my squire, Belch Burply" he said after a moment following Mustard's gaze. "Well met Sir Knight, I am Musta-" he was cut off by an enthusiastic and joyful cry "Sir Mustard Flanks, champion of the Mustard Muster, hero of the pastry crisis, slayer of the Glus and liberator of No'Radzere. Your fame precedes you and we're honoured to make this river crossing along side with one of the King's greatest champions." Interrupted Squelch positively beaming. Belch cleared his throat gaining Squelch's attention "oh yes, Belch at rest, get comfortable. We're all comrades in arms here" the squire dropped onto a nearby crate dropping the heavy burden of their travelling pack with a deep sigh. " Good sir knight, where is Heinz? Your faithful squire, solver of the lament configuration, mapper of dread mountain, reigning record holder of pink fear‽" Squelch's eyes widened as he spotted the pain in Mustard's face "oh I'm so sorry, we are all lesser for his loss" he blurted out certain he had created a faux pas with no remedy. Waving a gloved hand dismissively at squelch, as if waving the apology away like errant smoke drifting "oh no he's fine, just took up his knightly orders with another having finished his time with me. Hienz is a fully elevated brother at arms now so I'm between squires. He'll be winning accolades in his own right and inspiring a new generation of aspirants under the red of the Ketchup order." It was the first time he had said it out loud to another who would, at least should understand the magnitude of what this meant.

[talenlee]

Skyjacks and Sporekin

Skyjacks and Sporekin

It’s a growing concern when I write about the world of Cobrin’Seil that I’m creating a vast and sprawling set of locational information that is not interesting for a player to engage with and not detailed enough for a world nerd to truly love. Part of it is really that I’m filling out a map, and each place I fill out, I want to be both a real enough place with an economy and a vision of everyday life, and yet I also want each country described to be its own place with a reason for it to be its own place. When there are multiple countries that are like one another in a reasonably close proximity, Europe style, I tend to think of them as ‘provinces’ of a larger body politic.

What’s more, I feel like I know what I like to see in a Nation writeup but I also know the things I need in a Nation writeup. A Nation writeup is a hook, a place to belong, and I want you to give me ideas like how my life as a person in that space might be a thing I can feel and inhabit. A Nation writeup is also a thing a DM needs to be able to check for useful data with signifiers quickly, because it’s a place to come from but also a place to go to. Basically, it is a dessert to consume but there are vegetables to have first.

Presented in a book, I know that I’d be presenting a big splash graphic, with sidebars, and mechanical references in nice formatted popouts. Not so here, where the only visual material I can generate is either icons, stock art, or morphed/warped pictures of similar locations from the inspirations. The rest, all I can do, is with words, words, words.

Come with me to learn of Motesso, the Skyjacks, the Sporekin, the Citadel Ironsky, and the River of Madness.

The Player’s Basics

Here’s your top level summary for players:

Mosetto is a small country with two major cities in it, and between them is an enormous canyon that takes about a month to circumnavigate. In that canyon, there’s a huge fungal forest, whose air is full of weirdo chemical drugs that are extremely hazardous to inhale and has a bunch of monsters in it that will definitely eat you. They call it the River of Madness because exposure to the drugs tends to permanently damage people’s minds, even if they survive the exposure.

To manage this canyon, which is a reasonably recent development the two cities have constructed Skyships, you know, zeppelins, to fly between the two cities regularly, delivering goods and services to keep their economies going. It takes a month to go around the forest, but the skyships move back and forth in about a day, and if they’re really booking it can do a round trip in one day. They have to be sealed when they go over the forest because spores can float, and they need to be cleaned thoroughly, creating opportunities for characters to inspect things for nasties that can be potentially harmful or profitable. You get your steampunk industrial centres here, with petticoats and fancy hats and a vision that with the right and sufficient technology in the hands of the deserving people, there’s no problem that can’t be fixed.

Since the forest occasionally produces, like, giant flapping dragons made of fungal spores and strange rhizomes, there’s a flying fortress nearby, on patrol protecting the sky, known as the Citadel Ironsky, and it’s a militarised city that’s equal parts prison and fortress complex. It’s a very large, visually important metaphor, which means that in any given game you can bet your DM is planning on crashing it into something as a good, bad, or amazing thing.

The remaining culture is composed of weirdoes who live in villages and towns in the space between the cities and the canyon who may have odd relationships to monsters based on folk remedies and spore tending, or defending themselves from regular attacks from big bugs or spore monsters. ‘Rural’ Mosetto is the kind of people who have peculiar ways of doing things but also have managed to live somewhere that’s pretty inhospitable for a long time, and the cities tend to gloss over how they live, assuming they’re pretty similar.

Some example characters that might come from Mosetto:

A Skyjack, a character used to flying high, using magical tattoos or chemical tanks to fly and maintain distance, probably trained on the Ironsky and with a history of monster-hunting.

A well-meaning citizen who has firm opinions on whether the River should be maintained or destroyed. Why, It might have amazing resources! Or it might be an existential threat! Or it might be worth preserving for its own sake!

A denizen of the communities between the River and the cities, someone who lives under siege or maybe considers their strange wildlife tolerable and tameable

down below, whose lived experience in the forest are at odds with the way they’re told the world is, host to a benevolent symbiote or colony of them exploring to learn about the world together.

Important inspirations for Mosetto are Nausicaa: The Valley of the Wind, The Children of Time, the Magic: The Gathering setting Ikoria, the World of Warcraft zone Zangarmarsh, Bioshock Infinite’s Columbia, and the planet Garuda from Robotech: The Sentinels. Skyjacks, with their aesthetic of leather straps and swords and gas tanks, are inspired by cosplayers of Attack on Titan, a show about which I know very little.

Mosetto

Land-locked Urbanised Independent Nation, The Kingdom of Clouds

Cultures

The people of Mosetto are largely humans, in the cities, with populations of common urban populations that that implies, like Abilen, Goblins, Half-Elves and Half-Orcs, and Tieflings. The rural Mosetto population are a little more reclaimed, with Elvish population present in many rural communities, and a number of Orcish territories on both sides of the River of Madness. Kobolds have been seen trading, suggesting that they have reach into the country, too. The Eladrin have declared that there is a single Manse within the boundaries of Mosetto, mostly to affirm that the River is not their fault and to make it a punishable offence to transfer any of the River’s spores into their territory.

The typical image of a Mosetto person is definitely a city dweller, with industrially made clothes, either cheap or expensive, with a distinct aesthetic for the working class, the managerial class, and the professional or moneyed class. Outside the cities, there are the rural class and in the River, there’s a secret, extra class of the people who live in the forest, symbiotic with its dreadful spores.

Common: Abilen, Goblins, Half-Elves, Half-Orcs, Halflings, Humans, Tieflings Uncommon: Eladrin, Elves, Kobolds, Orcs Rare: Dio Baragh, Drow, Shadar-Kai

Reputation

Outside of Mosetto, people are likely to consider it a nation renowned for its Skyships. Some countries have their own Skyship towers, meant to be docked by the rare arrival of Mosetto Skyships, and that’s where a lot of people first understand anything about Mosetto. Mosetto is also known for its daring engineers-and-mercenaries known as Skyjacks, who often ply their trade outside of Mosetto after doing their time in the Ironsky.

The next thing people know about tends to be the River of Madness. It’s a topic that’s common for artists and heliographers to appreciate, since it interrupts a landscape of green forest, and brown and grey cities with a sprawl of bright neon colours of cyan and purple. Lots of people travel to Mosetto, and the Skyship rates are pretty reasonable to do so, like they want to make profit off them as a prestige point more than they do to sustain the system.

Largely, if you’re aware of Mosetto, you’ll know that there are two large cities: Zesiva and Gsetto (pronounced ‘Js-etto’). Zesiva is the capital, and rests mostly on the higher hill of the pair. Gsetto is connected to the Kings’ Highway, though neither are Eresh Protectorate cities. As a concession to the Highway, though, Gsetto does have a Eresh Knight Chapterhouse, even if it is a four-in-one affair, which is seen as a bit of a compromise.

Locals

If you live in Mosetto, your life is probably one with a lot of romantic presentation. The Skyjacks are spoken about as daring and reckless, the Ironsky’s defenders as bold and proud, the people who compose the songs are even writing about themselves, and in general, Mosetto is a culture that loves to talk about how great Mosetto is. It’s very common for Mosetto’s workers to have a very direct, tangible vision of what they’re doing and how they relates to society at large, though they’re also commonly used to the idea that what they do involves a level of specialisation that nobody around them appreciates.

Unless you’re rich, of course, in which case you have the immense burden of considering the way that nobody appreciates how hard you work moving money around and making trades and deals on the volatile and lucrative trade networks. Positioned where it is, Mosetto can do emergency shipments to the Abilen trade network and several Halfling tradeship companies, which means that constant flows of information and being prepared for just-in-time material deliveries can be incredibly lucrative for a country that, prior to the Skyships, was as useful to the trade boats as a cardboard hammer.

Travellers

The cities of Mosetto are widely open to visitors, and they love to see you. They want to know what you know, what you’ve seen, and what you’ve dealt with through your travel to the city. Have you any news? Have you any news. Have you any news? The Mosetto industrial system has become bent around information brokering, both short term and long and it makes them extremely interested in keeping people flowing through, one way or another.

Travellers in Mosetto are sometimes surprised by what they need to pay for – it’s not uncommon for inns and restaurants to (for example) charge for access to facilities like toilets and showers. People spending time in the park are often moved along by the guards if they’re too present for too long. Mosetto wants you to be happy but also keep moving.

Rivalries

Mosetto does not consider itself a nation with rivals as much as it considers itself an innovator ahead of losers. Skyships are the future! Skyships are great! They cost a lot, but what are you going to do, load things onto a train? Run by kobolds? How ridiculous! Mosetto is surrounded on all sides by the Corrindale forest, too, which means that, as a nation, they tend to think of themselves as isolated, and the skyships let them address that, becoming connected like they’d somehow built a bridge over the ocean.

Trade

Mosetto trades a lot, with all its nearby nations. Skyships allow them to move goods that are very precious, and often need very specific containment rules, even if they’re not as good at moving things in bulk. Mosetto produces a lot of lumber, too – fungi that grow even out of the River’s boundaries are often treated and sold as cheap wood to other nations, lightweight and pretty strong. This wood isn’t used inside the cities, for, y’know, the stigma.

Mosetto also trades in information and maintains ongoing gambling houses tracking the values of different companies that are traded by share. This is a kind of gambling rich people seem to find very interesting and it can involve the companies themselves getting contributions of money, which also makes it desireable to criminals.

Look, pragmatically speaking, airships are the worst possible way to do what they’re doing unless they’re the only option. Transporting cargo by airship is expensive and hard because making things float is hard and the heavier they are the harder that is. When you start working on magical solutions, at scale, you eventually hit the problem of: why don’t I just teleport things there? Or, forking off that, you can look to solutions like the lightning rail, where magic is used to create an item that doesn’t need magic to run, and the resultant industrial object can do a ton of transport consistently and reliably. It’s a clear thing to the economists of Mosetto that skyship trade can’t do the volume of trade ships, can’t build infrastructure like the Abilen, and can’t do raw rote repetition like the Kobold trains.

The Skyships are only useful if you’re presented with an obstacle where going over saves enough time and presents enough reward to beat the much more convenient going around. This is what the River of Madness represents. At first the skyships weren’t even doing transport. They were doing surveyance, and then they were doing remittance – keeping the whole growth contained.

Now, the economy of Mosetto is bent around these things, made to manage all the needs of the Skyship and the things that Skyships let you do more, better, and faster. Because of that, they trade away a lot of their goods on the Highway for things that need to be used in bulk.

Makes and Sells: Magical components, cheap wood substitutes, peaches, apples, pears, finely machined shipping components like cables, blocks, tackles, plugs and struts. Wants and Buys: Mosetto imports a lot of grains, even though they grow some of their own. Their demand for leather and canvas is almost bottomless, and as the Skyships became common, they began to demand all their components to the extent of needing to import them. They buy a lot of glass from Visente.

But About That River

… yes. In the River there’s a whole set of cultures of their own. These cultures tend to be small, ingroup focused, and often the result of mystical symbiosis with their own kind. The symbiosis makes them capable of surviving in the River, and they can present their own opinions of what the River means.

Glossary Note: Conventionally, the term used in D&D for this mechanical package is race. This is the typical term, and in most conversations about this game system, the term you’re going to wind up using is race. For backwards compatibility and searchability, I am including this passage here. The term I use for this player option is heritage.

One of the most important elements of the River to these people, the Sporekin, is that the spores are a communication system. Sporekin can breathe in and out spores that other Sporekin have breathed and use that as a communication system. In fact, breathing in the same kind of spores can transmit this information, which means the Sporekin have a surveillance system within the River that outdoes anything the Mosetto nation can have.

The Sporekin are a whole heritage – and they’re going to look familiar to anyone who knows the 4e heritage known as the Revenant.

Special Thanks: My friend Jade contributed a lot to the names in this country!

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#DungeonsDragons #Games #CobrinSeil

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[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi i saw that your request is open, can you please make a Thomas Shelby x Witch Reader where the reader is a kind of a seer she can see the future thats all 😅 if thats okay if you don't want to its alright anyways love your stories ♥️

Love, I am so sorry this is so late. It's a magical request and I enjoyed it a lot. Things on my end are pretty rough right now but I'm so happy I got this together. Thinking of making a second part to it but I'm not sure yet! Hope you enjoy it and I'm sorry for the wait.

Warnings: magic, reader in distress, peaky canon type violence and what not, reader has anxiety, fluff, slight hurt comfort.

You cleaned up the small shop as you closed for the day. The rain was only getting heavier as the afternoon went by, the sound of it oddly comforting. However you were grateful that your flat was just above the shop meaning you wouldn't have to brave the wet streets. 

Things had slowed down once the thunder had picked up. You made yourself a cup of tea and sat down on a stool behind the front desk. You looked over the store feeling a sense of warmth in your stomach. You had managed a successful way of honoring your heritage and knowledge. You sold teas and herbs, often being able to see what ailed people as they walked in. Your remedys never failed, earning you a sense of respect amongst the people of Small Heath. There were a few talents that you had inherited from your mother, talents you had kept partially hidden from the public. Your mother was a psychic, a very talented one, the attention it brought only dragged the two of you into more and more suffering. You decided a long time ago that you wouldn’t engage in that type of stuff publicly. 

These thoughts ran through your mind as a lady was approaching the shop, you could see her in an old dress holding a newspaper over her head to stop some of the rain from falling into her pale hair. She was desperate, her anxiety was thick and it wrapped around you tightly. Your heart was immediately pulled towards the poor woman, your mind started screaming in protest. This was only going to lead you to the same life your mother had to endure….

You sat there feeling your body twist up into tight coils, you weren't going to do this, you werent. This was dangerous. 

An image of her looking over the glassy eyes of  hungry children punched you in the face, suddenly the air was out of your lungs as you felt them crying out. You saw her husband insistent on placing a bet, something about a horse. You could feel her pleading desperately with her husband. All these images ran through your head like a rushing river. 

The bell rang and the sound of rain increased as she pushed the door open further. You looked into her scared wide eyes. 

“He’s got the right number on the wrong horse. Switch to the black one.” - More words about the bet and situation blurted out of your mouth before you could stop them, the woman looked positively shocked. 

“Than-” 

“Just go and don't tell anyone. Ever. Please”  You pleaded with her and hoped the look of gratitude on her face was trustworthy. She quickly left the shop and you slammed your head down on your folded arms. 

Another image ran through your head. A man with a mustache?

“What did I just do? '' You whispered into the worn wooden countertop.

____

You felt tense but the rest of the weekend moved along without anything abnormal. You scooped up your cat on the way up the stairs to your apartment. Each step you took up the stairs, away from the locked up shop, the better you felt.  

The rain kicked up again during your nightly routine, you let it comfort you. Seeing it as a blanket around your apartment, separating you from the rest of the world. 

You slipped away into dreamland easily tired from the busy weekend. A darkness crept into your mind, swirling images of a man with a mustache started to pull you out of your slumber. You heard a crashing sound and realized that someone was downstairs. You sat up, heart hammering as you listened to the sound of people moving throughout your shop.

You grabbed the old wooden bat you kept under your bed. Your hands were shaking as you moved into your apartment. 

The door suddenly burst open and you saw three men with guns standing in the entryway of your tiny apartment. 

“I’d put the bat down, love. Not much of a point” The man with the mustache waved his gun. You reluctantly lowered the bat to the ground as you surveyed the men. Two of them were around the same height. A tall lanky looking boy, you could see it in him that he didn't want to do this. The handsome tall man in the back seemed to agree. However there was no sense of wrongdoing or upset coming from the man with the mustache. 

He was here for a reason he believed in. He had a fear pushing down on him, but it was something he felt was much more menacing than a woman in her nightgown. 

Thoughts of why three men would be in your apartment at such an hour with guns shot through you. They clearly were not here to talk about tea….

“Look, we know you helped the Wilson family with the race. We don’t really want to cause you any harm, but you must have gotten your info from someone.” The man paced your apartment easily, surveying the space carefully. “Give us your contact, and we will be out of here leaving behind… Minimal damages.”

“S’not what we agreed upon!” The younger man called out. He was oddly familiar looking, small frame, angular face. The man shot him a warning look and he shut up. 

There was limited light and you struggled to see who the men were. 

“Can you turn the light on please?” You asked softly. The tallest man near the back hit the lights without question, earning him a clear look of displeasure from the man in charge.

You surveyed the men carefully. The youngest looking man was without a doubt one of the Shelby boys. The other boy with dark skin had on the iconic hat confirming your suspicion. You knew that the Shelby family were starting to move up on the ladder of organized crime - or you assumed such from the reputation they left behind them. Elizabeth was a close friend of your mother, often needing her help with various things. You simply adored her growing up, but maintained a healthy distance from the life they began to pursue. The last time you saw her was at your mothers funeral. You remembered her promising you help if you should ever need it. Looking at the boys you figured now was as good a time as any to reconnect. 

“Are you related to Elizabeth?” You watched the boy's face give himself away. The race must have been rigged by the Shelby family. You didn't know what type of business they did… fuck. This was bad. The mustache man seemed even more anxious and angry. 

“Yeah she’s my aunt.” He answered easily. He seemed to have given up on whatever cause the mustache man had rallied them for. “If she knows Polly, we either bring her back to the shop, or we leave and have Tommy visit her later.” 

The man sighed and clenched his fists. Your gift had clearly caused him a big deal of trouble with his boss…. Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut. 

“Finn, we have to handle this before it gets to Tommy.” He snapped angrily. 

“I know Polly, maybe I could speak with her about it?” You often thought about seeing her again. Surely you could explain what happened, she would help you. Finn looked over your nightgown and made his mind up over the situation.

“Let’s take her back. This is wrong and you know it.” He challenged the mustached man and you could feel the struggle in the air. Eventually the man strode out of the room. 

“Erm - just-  uh leave the bat there and get dressed please” Finn said, moving to wait by the front door. You dressed in a hurry, hands still shaking. You prayed that Polly would take mercy on you. You could hear the men talking. The mustache man was Michale, the tall man was Isiah, and Finn was confident that they were going to get their asses kicked when they got home. 

___

You sat comfortably in the back of a fancy car next to Isiah. He was a very polite man, opening doors for you and holding your arm as you moved up the steps towards the front door of a mansion in the middle of nowhere. 

If only he was a few years older and not involved in abducting you. 

You shook the ridiculous thought from your mind as you moved into the entryway. These were the last types of men you were going to get yourself involved with….. Something in the back of your mind disagreed with you. 

“Just wait here a moment.” Isaiah said leaving you alone as the three boys made their way down the hallway into a room near the staircase. You looked around the entryway in amazement. You thought of the vision you had of the woman's children and compared it to what's in front of you. Suddenly you didn't feel so bad about the situation, they could lose one race and still be perfectly well off. There was a heaviness to the place you didnt understand. It wasn't a feeling you had experienced before. 

Suddenly the door blew open and Polly stormed down the hallway. 

“My dear! I can't apologize enough!” She pulled you into a crushing hug and your heart sparked at the warmth, suddenly missing your mother. 

“Polly! I’m so glad you're here - I can explain everything-” You were ready to plead with her, you could feel that there was something tense about her. 

“Let’s go through to the kitchen so we can talk properly.” Your vision was obscured, normally you could see a glimmer of what awaits you on the other side of decisions, but after stepping into the kitchen it faded out. 

Was this death? 

You looked into her kind eyes not feeling as if you had another option. You followed her and were relieved to see a beautiful kitchen. It was prim and proper, but there were hints of comfort and gypsy heritage if you looked closely. You sat down at the wooden table and watched as the woman moved around the space preparing you a plate of treats. Soon you were sitting in front of a pile of cookies and biscuits, a cup of tea, and a glass of whiskey. 

“Now how could you possibly be mixed up in riging races?” She looked at you with a warm smile that didn't take away from the burning curiosity in her eyes. If you admitted to what happened you would keep your life, but it was obvious  you would take the space in Polly’s life that your mother had occupied for so long. 

“A woman came to see me hoping that I could help her the same way my mother used to help people. I wasn't going to Polly - please understand that. I don't want trouble, we both know what that  reputation gets you.” An image of your mothers lifeless body ran through your mind making you shiver. Polly nodded with sympathy.  “God but I saw her life - her kids- and the words just fell out of my mouth. Normally I can just press it down. But this time they just flew out of me, I had no control.” Tears started to well up in the corners of your eyes. 

“It’s alright love. The boys are…” Polly started but was suddenly cut off by a man's voice. 

“Difficult, and undisciplined. I apologize for barging into your shop in the dead of night. This whole situation is better left forgotten.” You jumped wiping your head around to see a tall handsome man. Someone you had never seen before. Normally you could get information about a person just from looking at a photograph, you’d know more from looking at ghosts. He was completely unreadable. His eyes captivated you, keeping you from realizing you were staring at him with an expression one would wear when seeing a bear for the first time. 

“What do you see!” Polly snapped getting up moving towards you. “What do you see for him?” You stared at him unable to look away, he looked at Polly with a curious look but you were infatuated with the way his face shifted from expression to expression. 

“Nothing” The words were out of your mouth without your control again. Your heart was hammering and your skin was hot. “I look at him and I don't see anything” Your voice was breathy. 

“Take his hand” She put your hands together and your cold hand was engulfed by his warm hands. You wanted to keep touching him, the thought of letting go of his hand seemed out of place. Like having your shoe on the wrong foot for the rest of your life. 

“Sorry, I just - nothing.” It was blissful and amazing. You were always burned by the pressure of other people. Whether you got insistent images of what was going to happen to them, or constantly seeing their true intentions, their presence would  push against you wearing you down.. Touching people was impossible, all these things intensified, but right now all you felt was warmth seeping out of calloused skin. 

“Suppose that’s alright then eh? No ones going to steal my horse?” It was a joke but his voice seemed incapable of humor. 

“I wouldn't know, '' You said in disbelief. 

“He’s going to pass soon? Is that it?” Polly said after finishing her whiskey. Her worry was consuming her, you could feel a motherly pain radiating off of her. 

“No. No, normally I can see how people are going to die. It’s an easy thing to see when certain situations have been put into play.” You shook your head. “This is something else.” 

“The curse then?” Tommy asked coldly. 

“I don't see a curse on any of you?” You said in a puzzled tone. 

“Then your a shit seer.” He scoffed without emotion. 

“Well I know that isn't the case, so maybe you're running from the wrong thing.” You quipped back feeling his fingers tighten around your hand. 

“Who says I’m running?” His face moved closer towards you making your head swim. 

“Just a feeling I get.” your eyes narrowed. 

There was a heavy silence that fell over the kitchen. Polly’s curiosity about the situation pulled you out of the transe his eyes had set on you. 

Her eyes had a smile in them when you finally looked away. 

“Stop it.” You said firmly, the embarrassment threatening to crush you. She only let out a laugh. 

“You’d be good for him” 

“That’s the whiskey talking. Everyone knows I’m no good for anyone. Now if there is no further business to discuss I’d like to get back to my home.”

“Business  eh? Lots of that to discuss. Polly says you're the best there is, so I’ll expect you around tomorrow at noon.” 

“She’s wrong -” 

“I’m not. You're better at this than your mother was.” There was a sadness in her tone that made your heart hurt. Both of them were closing in on you. 

“If you had any respect for her or my family heritage you would drop this. Keep this as far away from me as possible.” 

“Your right, but I’m tied up in other causes that make this worth it. It pains me to ask you, but I can ensure your safety.” You felt Polly’s distress over the situation. Images of  various conflicts, and scenarios, a dead daughter trying to reach for her through the veil, the two sons: the mustache man and a heavy nothingness tangled in a vicious fight. Your vision went blurry and your chest constricted tightly. You realized suddenly that you were still holding his hand. You tried to let go  but he only squeezed your hand tighter. 

“Are you alright?” He asked you. Things got hazier and you couldn't bring yourself to argue with him. Suddenly you felt yourself pulled away from the room and everything faded out. 

____

You woke up to a cold cloth being pressed to your head. Did she drug you? You knew she didn’t. This was a result of the mountain of stuff surrounding her and her family. You closed your eyes and listened to her voice try to bring you back. You took a few deep breaths. This wasn't the life you’d wanted or seen for yourself, but the track had obviously changed paths. Your eyes focused on Tommy’s looming figure leaning against the wall. 

“Stay” Your mothers voice swam through your thoughts. You sighed, things had definitely been decided. 

“We can do business.” You nodded trying not to cry. All you wanted was to kick and scream, you’d done absolutely everything you could to keep yourself safe. All efforts wasted. 

“Is she hurt? Does it hurt her to-” Tommy asked looking the slightest bit disturbed by the scene you were causing. Maybe he was worried? Or he just didn't want you to croak at his kitchen table. 

“No, not normally. That was just a lot at once.” You smiled weakly trying to keep your composure. 

“Good or bad?” Polly asked. 

“Undecided. But there's a lot of work to be done.” Looking at Tommys face in the fire light you could see the dark bags under his eyes. He already knew what was a head. 

“Stay the night, start in the morning. I’ll have a contract drawn up for you.” His eyes watched your reaction carefully but all you could do was nod your head in response.

___________

Working for the Shelby family was… interesting. You would be picked up three mornings a week by a large black Bentley. You were always taken to the main shop where the family had their offices. You did all sorts of things, sat in with meetings, got a read on people and where certain dealings would lead. Most of the time it came down to dollar signs, but every now and again your talents kept someone alive. 

People started to wonder who you were to them, Thomas only told them that you were his assistant and kept notes for him during meetings. It was a respected title except to those who wanted the notes for meetings they didn't attend….

You could see the car approaching before it turned on to the road you were walking down. Looking around at the dark street you started to run as fast as you could towards the pub. The car spotted you and that was the end of your grand escape. 

You knew who they were and why they had taken you. You thought about telling them the truth but your heart sank when you remembered how much you enjoyed your time working for the Shelby family. Polly was always making you laugh, John and Aruthur were always around to help you bother Tommy. You wouldn't betray them. You had faith that they would come for you. 

Your body ached as you looked out the window, the dark city flashing by as they drove you further away from home. 

You sat there and endured things, mostly just really boring explanations about why they had taken you and what information they needed. They landed a few blows across your face that stug enough to make your jaw hurt and your eyes water. 

You knew all their secrets, including the preferences of a certain priest in their company… You’d speak to Thomas about that when he got here. If you were going to kidnap a lady, you’d definitely make it more interesting, this just felt like lazy writing. They had already told Thomas they had you and what they wanted him to do to get you back. You could already feel the family preparing to do something else. So you sat there making them as miserable as possible. 

“Just say anything, woman!” 

“Have you ever read the Miss Arabella’s Mysteries of Passion series?” You asked them while looking up at them through your glasses at the end of your nose. You knew it made you look ridiculous which made up for the annoyance of not being able push them back to where they should sit. The rope around your wrists was making your fingers go numb. 

The man made a loud noise of annoyance. You took a deep breath and went into a deep presentation of your thoughts and criticisms of your favorite series. You could see that he had sent people to grab copies to see if you were giving them information by code. You just wanted to annoy them as much as possible in the short amount of time you had left. You could feel the slow darkness creeping in on you which always happened when Thomas was near. You’d never been happier to feel that sleepiness that radiated off of him. 

You could feel his even pace moving closer to you, you imagined him walking through the building like he owned the place. Soon the door was kicked open and everyone in front of you died. That wasn’t supposed to happen, he must have made that decision as he opened the door. He looked at you finally and your heart stopped. For a second you were conflicted over the dead look in his eyes, your stomach squirmed as you realized he might just remove you from the situation all together. Too much of a liability. 

Things moved impossibly slowly as he crossed the room towards you. He picked you up in a tight embrace and carried you out of the building as if you weighed nothing. Lifeless bodies littered the floor and you found the rest of the boys making noise in the parking lot. You assumed you would go with them to the pub, drink away what happened. You thought about that possibility but quickly knew that would not be your fate. You felt that you would be closer to Tommy than usual for a long period of time. 

You got placed gently in the passenger seat before he shut the door and went to go give orders. You watched their expressions change as Tommy spoke to them. He was not in a good mood and you made the mental note not to give him as hard a time as you normally did. 

His hand found yours as he tore down the road. He was so angry, but his presence still had that calming numbness that put yourself at ease. The look in his eyes and the set of his jaw should have been a warning to keep yourself on your toes. But his hand felt nice holding yours tightly resting on your thigh. Nice enough to just close your eyes and take a few deep breaths. You hadn't realized you were shaking so badly. 

You were vaguely aware of gravel crunching under the tires of the car. Your eyes opened as he got the door for you, placing your feet down the driveway you could sense you were being met with a choice. A clear path to the guest bedroom, a life alongside the shelby’s, running the shop, being alone. Or a path to the master bedroom and nothingness. You knew what the smart choice is, what a good woman would do…. Maybe you didn’t. Thoughts started to swirl in your head, arguments shouting at top volume as to what you should do and how much of yourself you should risk. You finally looked up at him. 

He was standing there looking down at you with a curious expression, hand outstretched to help you out of your seat. Your body responded without consulting your brain. You grabbed his hand and he led you upstairs, he paused at the top of the main staircase but you already made your mind up. 

“Yours is fine” You said absently. 

His eyes widened and he couldn’t hide the small smile on his face. 

You entered his room blissfully unaware of what was going to happen to you. You followed him to the bathroom and watched as he fussed over your split lip and bruised knuckles. Checking you over carefully for even the smallest of injuries. It was wordless, but you knew from his face alone how much he hated seeing you injured. 

He really cared for you. In his own strange way. 

So the only thing you could think of was to lean in and press a kiss to the tight line that was his mouth. You felt him tense up, but there isn't room for worry or embarrassment before his presence and need engulfed you. 

You’d never known such silence or passion.

Tags list in the comments

[beardedmrbean]

Gul Makai from Swat district in the northwestern Pakistani province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa was forced from her home after floodwaters inundated her village.

Although the waters have receded, the flooding has left behind unsanitary conditions in which dangerous pathogens can easily spread. Medicine and clean water are scarce in this remote area of Pakistan.

Makai is staying in a flood shelter 3 miles (4.8 kilometers) from her home and tries to cool her crying infant son with a handheld fan.

The 11-month-old fidgets on a plastic floor mat constantly scratching his skin, which has been infected with scabies. Two of her other children are also infected. The ailment is spread by microscopic mites that burrow into the skin. 

"Look at the rashes and scabs on his body. He scrapes them with fingers and cries, while the humid heat adds to his misery in this tent," Makai told DW. The temperature hovers around 30 degrees Celsius (86 degrees Fahrenheit) with 60% humidity.

Flood destruction displaces communities

Much of Swat district is situated in a river valley surrounded by mountains and it was one of the worst hit areas in northern Pakistan by last month's record flooding, which washed away infrastructure and houses.

Local authorities set up tent camps for displaced people on the grounds of a school. Makai said she received medicated cream for scabies after arriving at the camp, but was not given any further medical assistance.

Cholera, diarrhea and dysentery are also spreading in the displacement camps due to lack of clean water.

Nauman Khan from the Pakistan Islamic Medical Association (PIMA), a medical NGO, told DW at a camp in Swat's capital, Saidu Sharif, that stagnant rainwater used for drinking and washing was spreading disease.

Cases of mosquito-borne dengue fever have also been reported. Khan said mosquito nets and repellent are needed.

He added that women are also unable to maintain menstrual hygiene, as pads and tampons are not available.

"I detected eight cases of yeast infection in just one day and found the repeated use of a piece of cloth [by menstruating women] caused it," he said. Women are also unable to access pain relievers.

A 23-year-old woman told DW anonymously that the tablets and herbal tea normally used to treat menstrual pain are not available. 

"We have to drink warm water or walk around for relief, but those home remedies fail to save us from the embarrassment of men knowing about a matter very private for us," she said.

Medicine in short supply

Aid organizations say more medicine is urgently needed to stop the spread of waterborne diseases after the flooding. Pharmacies are out of painkillers, antibiotics, and medicines for skin and gynecological issues, diabetes and eye infections.

Asadullah Khan, an aid worker from the Pakistani social welfare charity Edhi Foundation, told DW that many of his acquaintances in Swat have contacted relatives in other parts of Pakistan hoping to acquire insulin and other medicine, only to find pharmacies are out of stock.

Khan, who is based in the Swat valley's northern Kalam region, added a World Health Organization (WHO) team visited a local hospital and promised provision of essential medicines and other goods.

Pharmaceutical companies have blamed the government for drug shortages, as a price cap has raised the cost of production and led to suspended manufacturing.

"When a finished product costs us [companies] more than the allowed price, how we will continue manufacturing it? It's the simple principle of doing business," Pakistan Pharmaceutical Manufacturers Association chairman Hamid Raza told DW.

He added the issue would be resolved if the government hiked prices in proportion to inflation.

Swat District health officer Mohammad Saleem Khan told DW that a health crisis could spread out of control if medical supplies are not provided soon.

"We [health department] are trying our best to ensure the availability of medicines but things are fast worsening. We need more medicine," he said.

[plentyghosts]

mbs characters + the crane wives

Reynie - Daydreamer

Two steps forward and one step back

I’ll take a one-way ticket anywhere

It’s not over, this is only a setback

We’ll just have to move a little bit faster now, faster now

Daydreamer, you’re falling behind (falling behind, falling behind)

I’ll get there in my own time

Kate - Sleeping Giants

I feel the mountains, I feel the mountains

Shifting under me

The sleeping giants are finally waking

Waking finally

My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears

I hear something calling me

My pulse is clear, rushing in my ears

I hear something calling me

Sticky - Keep You Safe

When I was a child

My nerves ran wild

When I watched my friends ride to the tops of the trees

With the risk of fall

I never climbed at all

Every day I told myself, "I'm not ready"

My daddy always said, "Nothing worth doing comes easy"

Time is not your friend

Time is not your remedy

No amount of waiting will make you, make you brave

No amount of fear will keep you safe

Constance - Take Me To War

I've earned myself a reputation

That my bark is much worse than my bite

But I keep snapping at Goliath's hands

With all of my tiny might

There are no stones at my disposal

There's no God to award me a crown

But I am always swinging at

Somebody I can't knock down

All of the fire I've swallowed

All of the sparks that went dark in my gut

I am always burning up

Martina - Tongues and Teeth

I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel

It's all that I can give to you, my dear

And when you come in quick to steal a kiss

My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear

And I know that you mean so well

But I am not a vessel for your good intent

I will only break your pretty things

I will only wring you dry of everything

And if you're fine with that

You can be mine like that

Jackson and Jillson - Down The River

I've been wishing that you'd prove me wrong

That you'd come clean and rue the damage done

Restore my faith in you

But you've got no reason to

'Cause ain't it easier to just move on?

One door closing means another one

Opens unto

Some unsuspecting fool

SQ - The Moon Will Sing

Tell me once again

I could have been anyone, anyone else

Before you made the choice for me

My feet knew the path

We walked in the dark, in the dark

I never gave a single thought to where it might lead

All those empty rooms

We could have been anywhere, anywhere else

Instead, I made a bed with apathy

My heart knew the weight

Ten years worth of dust, and neglect

We made our peace with weariness, and let it be

The moon will sing a song for me

I loved you like the sun

Bore the shadows that you made

With no light of my own

I shine only with the light you gave me

I shine only with the light you gave me

[tanyawritesstories]

Love Comes With A Hat | Kung Lao x Reader

So this fic was actually based off of a dream I had a few months ago. It's based off the movie characters looks because that's the way I saw it in my brain. It's the first fic I've written for a Mortal Kombat character so I hope y'all like it and that it's accurate.

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: technically there's smut but it's brief, pregnancy, drinking, angst, feelings, pregnant reader, Bo Rai Cho is a warning all his own

•••

You stared at the test in your hand, not experiencing the emotions you expected. You were shocked more than anything, it had only been one random night. It was an accident. An accident you remembered quite vividly. It had started as just a few innocent drinks with Kung Lao, Liu Kang, and their master Bo Rai Cho. But if you learned anything about Bo Rai Cho that night, it was that he liked to drink and he liked to buy drinks for everyone. That's how you and Kung Lao both ended up more drunk than you wanted to be, and if you had learned anything about Kung Lao that night it was that he was a flirty drunk. A very flirty drunk. You were too tipsy to care about your respectful relationship with the Shaolin monk and just happy that your friend was showing you some romantic attention. You shamelessly flirted back and for some reason Liu Kang, who you later learned wasn't actually drunk and just kept lying about the supposed vodka soda he was drinking, let you and his best friend continue to get more and more handsy with one another.

At the end of the night, Liu had dropped off you and Kung Lao at their temporary earthrealm lodge and gone to take Bo Rai Cho home since he was blackout drunk. At least you and Kung Lao could still stand. The second the door was closed and locked, he was on you. His hat was thrown to the side as his lips moulded perfectly with yours. You could taste all the alcohol he'd consumed and it only intoxicated you more. After spending half the time at the bar with his hand up your skirt, Kung Lao wanted the real thing. He had picked you up and set you on the table, laying you down and stripping everything off your bottom half. He eagerly explored the treasure between your legs with his fingers. Even when drunk, Kung Lao was precise with his movements. He brought you to the edge with just his fingers before licking your juices off of them and taking off just enough clothing to free his member and plunge it deep within you.

Everything was a blur after that. He was thick and scraped every euphoric nerve in your body with his movements. Your muscles burned and twitched with every groan and growl he let out, his mouth right next to your ear. It wasn't long before that delicious pressure built back up within you and snapped with a few well aimed thrusts. You remember the warm feeling spread through you as Kung Lao released inside, both of you too drunk to worry about protection beforehand. You laid in an uncomfortable position on the table until Kung Lao pulled out of you and stumbled to the bathroom. You were able to get up and clean yourself off a little, put your skirt back on, and collapse on the sofa. Which is exactly where Liu Kang found you when he got back. He let you sleep and took you back to your apartment in the morning after giving you some herbal pain remedies.

You didn't feel any different the next day, or the next week. You threw up a few times the day after, which you were sure was because of the amount of alcohol you consumed. A whole month and a half passed before your nosey roommate, Mia, brought up the idea that you might be pregnant. She had been keeping track of every strange thing you had done for the past month. From getting up to go to the bathroom in the night more than usual, to the random mood swings, to falling asleep at your desk, and eating pickles with hot fudge the other day. Not to mention, your period was three weeks late and you hadn't even noticed. Mia wanted answers, for you as well as herself, and had already bought you a pregnancy test which she promptly thrust at you.

Now, staring at the little stick that read 'pregnant' in plain English, it was all starting to hit you. You didn't go to see Kung Lao and Liu Kang very often. Once, maybe twice, a month if you weren't busy, to put it simply: you didn't know what to do. You heard knocking on the bathroom door before you heard Mia's voice. "You ok in there, hun?" You blinked back tears of confusion and answered her. "Yeah, I'm ok." You stuck the test in your pocket and exited the bathroom to find Mia standing right outside the door. "So, what's the verdict?" You didn't say anything and just handed her the stick. "I knew it, so who's the daddy?" You cocked an eyebrow at her blunt question but decided to answer. "One of my best friends," you said quietly. Her eyes widened as she handed the test back to you. "That's gonna be tough, how are you gonna do it?" You frowned. "Do what?" She shrugged, the nonchalant look on her face starting to annoy you. "Tell him, ya'know, that he knocked you up." You looked at the test in your hand, feeling the strong urge to just snap it in half. "I don't know."

~~~~

You waited two more months, deciding not to tell Kung Lao. He and Liu were your best friends, you didn't want anything to ruin that. You couldn't stay away from them forever, they were already wondering why you hadn't come over the last couple times they invited you. You sent them your work over the computer instead of in person, all the information you had been gathering about potential new champions. Just a few days ago Liu had called just to check in on you, thinking you might be sick or injured. You assured him you weren't but you knew you didn't convince him, he could spot a lie from a mile away.

You had started going to the doctor, getting the proper care and tests done to make sure you and the baby were healthy. You even had ultrasound pictures of your little one, that seemed to cement something in your mind. You needed to tell Kung Lao. Sooner rather than later, before you started showing, there was no hiding it then.

You called Liu Kang before you left and asked him if you could come stay at their place for a night or two. That concerned him a little bit but ultimately he was glad that you would be coming to see him and Kung Lao again. You packed for a couple days and drove for a few hours into the woods where the boy's temporary earthrealm residence was. It was secluded back in the woods along a river popular with fishermen in the morning hours. It blended in and allowed the boys to hide in plain sight, mixed in with the few other fishing cabins along the river. No outworld ruffian would look there.

You arrived at the cabin later than you wanted to, having stopped three times to use the restroom along the way. You had tried not to pack your bags that heavy but you needed clothes and you needed all your computer equipment for work. You grabbed the lightest bag you had and went inside, hoping one of the boys would be able to help you with the rest. The door was unlocked, as they had been expecting you, and you walked right in. You entered the living room and found that master Bo Rai Cho was also visiting. He was sat plopped in front of his new favorite thing ever since you introduced him to it, the television. You set your bag on the floor and he took notice of you. "Y/N!" He got out of his chair, fast for a man his size, and strode over, pulling you into a tight hug. "It's good to see you again." You winced in his tight hug until he let go and you smiled at him. "It's good to see you too, Master Cho." He returned the smile and clapped you on the shoulder before walking to an open window. "Liu Kang, your friend has arrived!" He shouted.

It was only a few seconds until Liu Kang came bounding into the room from outside. You smiled at him and he walked over to pull you into a hug, he almost seemed relieved to see you. "It is good to see you again," he said, pulling away. You half smiled and nodded. "It's good to see you too, Liu. Um, you mind helping me unload my stuff?" He agreed without a second thought and walked out to your car with you. You stopped by your trunk and swallowed hard, your muscles tense and nervous. How were you going to tell Kung Lao? "Is Kung Lao here? Usually I'd see him," you commented. Liu grabbed a few of the heavier bags, lifting them with ease. "No, he is out running errands. He should be back in an hour." You sighed and hung your head, not knowing what to think of that. "Is something wrong?" You took a deep breath and looked over at the concerned young man. "Liu, I need to talk to you."

You both unloaded your car before walking down by the river, through the small flower garden they'd planted. You both took a seat on top of the retaining wall, separating the river from the land. "Now, what do you wish to speak to me about?" Liu sat with his legs criss-crossed, perfectly relaxed. You tried sitting the same way but ultimately just dangled your legs over the wall. "Um, I know I haven't visited in a while, and there's a reason for that.." you stared at the water, avoiding eye contact. Though you could see Liu out of the corner of your eye, looking at you with a worried expression. "That night I crashed on your couch...did Kung Lao ever tell you what happened?" You hesitantly looked over at Liu and his eyes fell to the dirt. "Yes, he told me the day after." You looked back at the ground and sighed, Liu reached over and placed his hand on your knee. "There is no need to be ashamed, you were inebriated. Your judgement was clouded, both of yours." You closed your eyes trying to will yourself not to cry. "There's more to it.." you figured you just had to say it and blinked away tears, looking over at Liu who had his head tilted in curiosity. "Liu, I'm pregnant."

His mouth slowly dropped open as his mind processed the information. His gaze dropped to the ground and his reaction just made you feel worse. "I know, I'm sorry," you said. He looked back up at you. "It is not your fault," he squeezed your knee reassuringly, "this is Kung Lao's business now, you need to tell him." You sniffled and a tear managed to escape down your cheek. "I know, when he gets back will you tell him I need to talk to him? Maybe, give him and I some privacy so we can talk it out?" Liu nodded and gave you a small smile, "of course." You could tell Liu was still trying to comprehend what you told him as you both walked back to the house and he helped you settle in. He tried to strike up normal conversation but it was awkward, you felt like an outsider. After a while you offered to clean the place to try and distract yourself and neither of the men objected.

Kung Lao was gone for longer than expected but eventually he came back, Liu took him aside while you unpacked the groceries. You saw them standing in the corner talking though you couldn’t hear their words. You stared for a second and could read Liu’s lips. ‘Talk to her’ he was saying. You tried to calm yourself down and at the same time psyche yourself up for what you had to eventually tell Kung Lao.

You had just finished putting everything away when Kung Lao approached you. “Liu Kang said you needed to speak to me, privately,” he said. His tone was curious this time, not as serious as he usually was. “Yeah, can we..” you trailed off as you motioned outside. He nodded and waved for you to go first. You walked back out to the same spot you and Liu had sat earlier, on the retaining wall by the river. Kung Lao took off his hat and set it next to him, he knew it was easier for you to talk to him without it ever since you said it was distracting and you were staring at it instead of him. He smirked at the memory and looked back at you, waiting for you to speak.

“What did Liu tell you I needed to talk to you about?” You asked, wondering how to start the conversation. “He just said you needed to talk and that it was important,” he answered bluntly. You nodded and fiddled with the ultrasound pictures in your hoodie pocket. You had worn it to hide the tiny bump that had started to form over the last couple days. “Um, about that night a few months ago-” “I’m sorry,” he interrupted, “I know I should not have gone that far. We were both not ourselves that night.” You smirked. “No, I’m not complaining, but there’s more to it..” you sighed. “I’m not sure how to tell you this but..” you could see him becoming worried. You took one of the photos out of your pocket and handed it to him. He looked confused but took the blurry image, trying to figure out what it was. “You got me pregnant.”

His eyes widened and he looked over at you. “I’m sorry,” you said with a sad look on your face. You weren’t sure what compelled you to say it but you felt like you had just ruined someone’s life. You watched him as he stared at the picture, nothing was clearly visible but it must have seemed convincing enough to him. You slipped the pregnancy test out of your pocket and showed it to him too. You heard him sigh and just kept silent, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts. “How far along are you?” he finally asked, his voice scarily cold. “A little over three months,” you answered. You bit your lip before asking a question you needed an answer to. “What are we going to do?” He handed you the test and picture back. “I don’t know.” He said. You were hurt, he had nothing else to say? Your moment was interrupted by Bo Rai Cho calling out that dinner was ready.

Kung Lao helped you up and you walked inside together, he was silent the entire time. You made eye contact with Liu for a split second as you took a seat at the table and his shoulders fell, your expression gave away your emotions. Bo Rai Cho set down the meal, a kind of special fish concoction he had come up with that you normally loved. This time though, it made your stomach turn. The second the aroma hit your nose, nausea hit you badly and you could practically feel the vomit rising in your throat. “I’m sorry, excuse me,” you said quickly before getting up and dashing to the bathroom. You had just enough time to brush your hair out of the way before you emptied your stomach into the toilet.

“What might be wrong with her?” Bo Rai Cho asked. “I didn’t mess it up again, did I?” Liu looked at Kung Lao, his expression urging the other monk to go check on you since this was his doing. But Kung Lao stayed put and just stared back at Liu Kang, his expression unwavering. You could still be heard throwing up in the bathroom down the hall. Liu finally got up and went to check on you. He grabbed a cup of water and a wet cloth to clean off your face. “Lao?” You asked out loud between dry heaving breaths. “No, it’s me,” Liu answered. He kneeled down next to you and rubbed your back until your body finally stopped it’s rejection. “Why didn’t he come?” you asked, sounding defeated. “He does not know how to, right now. He will learn soon," Liu tried to assure you. "He doesn't want any part of this, I know he doesn't," you admitted as you slumped into the corner. Liu handed you the glass of water and watched as you downed it all, thinking. "He will come around, I will talk to him."

You spent the rest of the night in the spare bedroom, hiding and crying. The realization that if Kung Lao didn't help, you'd basically be left alone to raise a child and that idea terrified you. You hoped Liu could talk some sense into him. You loved Kung Lao, only you didn't know how to tell him. The thought of him completely rejecting you because of this was heartbreaking, you wished there was a better solution or any solution at all. Bo Rai Cho felt bad that his cooking had made you sick and made up for it by making you some calming tea and getting you anything you wanted. But the thing you wanted most was Kung Lao back.

You barely slept that night and asked Liu if he could bring your breakfast to your room. You could smell how good it was from your room but you didn't want to get up, you just wanted to hide. Someone knocked on the door and you called out for them to come in. You expected it to be Liu Kang with your breakfast, but Kung Lao had brought it instead. You immediately looked away from him, all the shame and embarrassment coming back. "May I sit?" He asked. You shyly nodded and allowed him to sit on the edge of the bed and hand you your food. "I thought Liu was bringing me breakfast." You wondered out loud. "I wanted to," he said, "I need to apologize for yesterday. I reacted badly." You shrugged. "You reacted normally to shocking news," you replied, slowly starting to eat your food. Kung Lao looked at the floor as he thought about what to say. "I thought about it all last night and...I want to be a part of it. I'm not going to let you do this alone."

Your eyes locked with his and you could see the sincerity in them. You couldn't believe it, your eyes welled up with happy tears. "You're serious? You want to help me?" You questioned. A small smirk came to his face and he took one of your hands in his. "Yes. This is something that will affect us for the rest of our lives. I want to be a part of my child's life." You set your food aside and threw your arms around Kung Lao, hugging him. He was caught off guard but hugged you back. "We can do this," he whispered in your ear. "When is your next doctor appointment, I want to be there." You pulled away just enough to see his face. "Not for another month, are you sure?" He nodded. "I think it's about time I showed up to one," he said with a smirk.

~~~~

You met Kung Lao in the hospital lobby and checked in with him, finally glad to have him with you. It was a lot less embarrassing and anxiety inducing, despite the fact that most people were staring at his hat. He stayed by your side with one hand on the middle of your back protectively all the way up to the correct floor, where you had to check in again.

"I'm here for an ultrasound appointment," you said to the receptionist. "Alright," she said, glancing questionably at Kung Lao. You smirked to yourself, he was intimidating. Nobody would dare fuck with you while Kung Lao was at your side. "And who have you brought with you today?" The woman asked, looking again at Kung Lao. You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it. "I'm her boyfriend, and the father," he answered. The woman nodded and went back to her computer. You turned your head to look at him, a huge smile coming to your face. Not wanting to give anything away, Kung Lao just looked at you and winked.

The receptionist got you checked in and you both sat down to wait for your name to be called. You leaned close to him and whispered. "Boyfriend, huh?" He smirked. "It was the only way I could think to tell you," he said, his tone of voice giving away his teasing. You giggled and rested your head on his shoulder, happy when he put his arm around you in return. Your name was called and you both walked back to an exam room. Kung Lao took off his hat and leaned it against the wall, the room was small and he didn't want to accidentally cut anyone.

The nurse took your vitals and asked you a few questions before leaving you and Kung Lao to wait for the doctor. "Can I see it?" You turned to look at him. "See what?" He uncrossed his arms. "The baby." "You will be able to see it on the ultrasound-" he shook his head, interrupting your sentence. "No, your stomach," he clarified. You understood now and laid back on the table, pulling your shirt up to expose your stomach. Now on month five, your bump was getting increasingly hard to hide.

"Can I touch?" He asked. You nodded with a smile, his curiosity and interest was adorable. Kung Lao placed his hand on your stomach and after a moment he began to rub it around. A sudden discomfort peaked in your stomach area and you looked at Kung Lao, who was as surprised as you. "Was that.." you put your hand on your stomach right next to his and after a couple seconds the discomforting, tiny jolt happened again. "It's kicking!" You beamed, “this is the first time I’ve ever felt it.” Kung Lao took your free hand in his, the look on his face seemed genuinely happy this time. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt,” he said. “Besides the night we made this happen, that is.” You let out an actual laugh, there was the Kung Lao you knew.

The doctor came in and set you all up for the ultrasound. Kung Lao waited impatiently by your side. “The gender should be visible if the baby cooperates, would you like to know?” The doctor asked. You exchanged looks with Kung Lao and came to a conclusion. “Yes, we would like to know,” Kung Lao answered. The doctor nodded and Kung Lao held your hand as the doctor moved the device around your gel covered stomach. The doctor let you both see the screen as they looked around, pointing out things and details that made no sense to you. As long as the baby was healthy that was all that mattered to you.

The doctor finally removed the device and handed you tissue to wipe off your skin. “Looks like he’s all good in there, just stick to what you’re doing and take it easy,” the doctor said. You smiled, “he?” You looked at Kung Lao who looked back at you with a smile. “We’re having a baby boy..” Kung Lao didn’t think, he just pulled you into a tight hug. He’d never been happier in his life. He was going to be a father to a little boy, one he could teach everything he knew, one he could get his own little hat. Everything would be perfect. He kissed your cheek. “I can’t wait to tell Liu Kang.”

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: What Spring Does To The Cherry Trees, Chapter 7

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Narcos

Ship: Javier Peña/OFC (Eva)

Tags/warnings (whole thing): slow burn, h/c, a bit of violence (nothing as bad as canon), guns, knife injury, pain and suffering, the loss of a parent (both actually), angst, ptsd, javi being a lil prick but also soft!, (safe) piv sex, masturbation (female AND male), fingering, unprotected piv sex (in the words of the Spice Girls: be a little bit wiser baby, put it on, put it on), pregnancy risk, death of an animal, talk of cancer, so much internal conflict, insomnia, killing coyotes, snake bite, oh my god just get over yourselves already, some eye fucking if you squint.

Summary for the whole thing: Javier Peña has resigned from the DEA and is back at his dad’s ranch in Texas. Life is slow and uneventful, until an unfamiliar face shows up at the local watering hole one night. Eva is retired from the army and lives in her old pickup truck with more than one ghost. She’s looking for ranch work and when her path crosses Javier’s, maybe they can help each other along in their lives?

Chapter summary: In the heat of high summer, life at Big River Ranch is pretty slow and uneventful. Plenty of time for yearning.

A/N: There are baby cows.

Tagged: @amneris21 @chronic-nosebleed

It was not until after Eva got her period that Javier realized just how on edge he had been since That Day. The news of her bleeding melted away some of the stress and shame. He noted with some amount of relief that Eva seemed less tense around him after that night when he offered her what meagre home remedies he had available. He didn’t do it for redemption, but he’s happy the gesture seemed to have bought him some. Her demeanor was still wary, but she would look at him and speak to him. The way she had carefully avoided his gaze was a strange move for someone who had studied him so fearlessly during their first encounter. Javi was glad they were back to some kind of normal.

The cigarettes that he chain smoked while waiting for a verdict for the copulation are forgotten on the dresser in his room when the days turn warm and humid. Sweat glistens on Eva’s muscled arms when she rides Zorro through the herd, eyes out for renegades. Javier forgets himself every now and again, and catches himself staring at her. She always stares back, honey-chocolate eyes narrowing in a silent, provocative Just what the hell are you looking at? He likes that, likes the challenge, but would never let her know that. He can’t break this ceasefire.

She drives into town a lot to visit the library, returning with novels that he sees her reading on the cabin’s small porch in the evenings, when the lingering heat still makes Javi’s shirt stick to his back despite the sun having disappeared below the horizon. He comes over with two cold beers but catches the tightness in her jaw at being disturbed in the middle of reading, so he doesn’t do it again. He misses the evenings on the porch they enjoyed together at the beginning of summer.

He sees Johnny throw glances at her when leaving the homestead after his workday has ended. He’s painfully curious about what has transpired between Eva and the younger man, but would never ask. It’s none of his business – although he’s secretly very happy about Eva and Johnny now seemingly enjoying a strictly professional relationship.

Eva’s energy levels seem to multiply with the rising temperatures. When everyone else grows slow and lazy, she seems to flourish. She clears out the weeds in the back garden, finding herbs that have fought through the invasion of unwanted plants and self-sowing flowers. Despite the late season, she buys chilis and tomatoes, planting them with great care and lots of water. She also cleans out the barbecue pit and treats Javier and Chucho to vegetarian burgers one night, when a welcome breeze cools the air slightly.

“More?” she asks when the men’s plates are empty. Javier has already eaten two. His belly is straining against his jeans, the belt buckle an uncomfortable pressure, but the burgers are lighter than the ones he’s used to and so good that he finds himself asking for a third one.

Chucho declines the offer, leaning back in his seat with a deep, satisfied sigh.

“You spoil us with these meals, Eva,” he tells her, clearly happy with being spoiled. Eva throws him a rare smile from the barbecue pit. Her face is flushed and hairline shining with sweat from the excess heat. It’s a good look on her.

“You’re welcome. Happy you liked it.”

“It’s delicious,” Javi acknowledges. “Almost makes me want to become a vegetarian.”

“Almost,” Eva repeats meaningfully before returning her attention to the grill. Javi leans back in his seat and burps discreetly before taking a swig of his beer. He watches Eva, the back of her olive tank top dark with sweat, and imagines what it would taste like to trace his tongue along her spine. Savory and sweet, with a hint of smoke, he reckons, just like barbecue sauce. A little spicy, just enough to make him thirsty, but not so much so that he’d abandon it altogether for something more refreshing.

He catches a look from his father, and realizes he’s all but whipping his dick out and beating off while drooling over her. Frowning, he looks down at the weather-beaten table, traces an old crack in the wood with his finger.

When Eva returns to the table, a third burger for Javi and some grilled vegetables for herself, Chucho clears his throat.

“I’m looking to buy a stud from a farm near San Antonio,” he tells her. “I’m driving up there tomorrow. You handle the cattle.”

“Sure,” she nods. “Western pastures?”

“Yes.” Not much changes in his weathered face, but Javi can read the look in his father’s eyes: Chucho is very pleased with Eva. And why wouldn’t he? In the field, Eva is everything Javi is not. He knows Chucho enjoys her few-worded company, her initiative, her work ethics. She’s a perfect fit for the ranch.

“What’s the horse?” she asks before bringing the fork to her mouth. A little bbq sauce stains the corner of her mouth, and Javi has to fix his eyes on Chucho. As his father and Eva talk horses, Javi focuses on the third burger, learning quickly that he shouldn’t have insisted on having it. It’s left half eaten on his plate.

“Wasting food is a sin,” Eva points out to him when they clear the table together. He hates that he can’t tell if she’s joking or not.

“Wouldn’t be my worst one.”

“I can imagine.”

Javi detects no hint of judgment in her voice. She doesn’t even look at him, busy as she is stacking plates and collecting cutlery. He desperately, pathetically wants her to look at him, to be engaged in a conversation with him. To acknowledge that he’s not a bad person despite his sins. Some ends do justify the means, don’t they?

Maybe she caught him ogling her earlier. Maybe she knows that he was thinking about catching the drops of sweat on her neck with his tongue. She knows he’s a creep. She knows about the women he fucked on the job, the ones he was supposed to protect but couldn’t –

“Are you taking these?” Eva interrupts his descent into self pity with her demand masked as a question. Javi follows her nod to the tray of condiments and empty beer bottles.

“Sure.”

She disappears into the air-conditioned house before him, and with a deep sigh as his full stomach makes itself known with a digestive rumbling, Javi follows. He shouldn’t have tried to have that third burger. He’s getting pot-bellied. He was always slender, flat everywhere, hips ridiculously narrow against the broad expanse of his shoulders. Now there’s a roundness above his jeans that didn’t use to be there five years ago. He should cut back on fried food, and beer.

Eva is rinsing plates in the sink and glances up at him when his stomach complains again.

“Need something to settle your stomach?”

He doesn’t know what to say.

“There’s plenty of mint out back.”

“Mint?”

“Mint tea. For indigestion. You didn’t know that?” Now she has a tone. Javi’s jaw tightens when his heart clenches.

“It’s too hot for tea,” he tells her abruptly as he shoves the condiments into the fridge and leaves the bottles on the kitchen table before stomping off. The lingering heat of the day is like a punch in the face when he steps out of the house.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Erratic thoughts swarm his brain and make it impossible to hold down any reason. She’s going to think he’s an absolute asshole now, for sure. And she would be right.

He hears the door open and close behind him, and draws a deep breath. He turns around, ready to apologize, but Eva just pushes past him towards the table to collect what’s left after dinner.

“Eva.”

She slams down the bowl she was holding, and lifts her chin. Dark chocolate eyes pierce into his. There’s a trio of vertical lines between her eyebrows.

She waits, and Javier holds up his hands in a gesture of reconciliation.

“I’m sorry.” In his mind, he doesn’t only apologize for being brusque, but also for his lewd thoughts earlier. Not that she’ll ever know, but he feels better about it.

Uncompromising and still silent, Eva stares at him, making him even more uncomfortable. Fuck. She’s just so utterly fucking relentless –

He scratches his head and moves his gaze to the resplendent greenery of the backyard. It looks almost as good as when his mother was alive.

“My… mom used to make me mint tea when I was a kid and had a stomach ache. She’d sit with me and gently blow into the cup to cool it down for me.”

The smell and taste of mint is so intimately woven together with this image of his late mother that Javi hadn’t been able to even chew spearmint gum since she died, but he doesn’t tell her that. In the periphery of his field of vision, he sees Eva turn her face away and bite her lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Javi.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s on me. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Should I maybe not have touched the garden?”

“It’s good that it’s looked after,” he confesses. “Mom would have liked that.”

He’s still looking at the garden, realizing that he’s now unsure about its layout. Did the tomatoes grow against the trellis over there, or did his mother plant them against the fence? The mint surely didn’t take up this much space twenty years ago? The cornflowers had not spread across the path, which is now invisible to the eye?

He has been away for so long, and looked without seeing when he returned. Slowly, he walks through the dense brush of mint, stirring the leaves into surrounding him with their strong, fresh aroma that hits him right where it hurts the most. He walks over to the tomato plants and crouches next to them. The smell of mint is still strong, but the rich scent of tomatoes does its best to fight against the coolness. There are several ripe tomatoes waiting to be picked, and Javi wants a taste of them all.

He always wanted that. He wanted it all.

Eva appears right next to him, arms crossed over her chest. As Javi picks a tomato, firm yet yielding under his fingers, she holds out her hand. He gives her the red fruit and watches her lift it to her nose. She draws a long, deep breath, smelling it.

“It hands us the gift of its fiery color, and the totality of its coolness,” she murmurs, as if to herself.

“What?”

“Neruda. He wrote an ode to the tomato.”

He peers up at her, not seeing her face against the setting sun.

“He liked tomatoes that much?”

“He saw beauty in everything around him.” She bites into the tomato. “But they are good.”

Unable to hold back a labored groan, Javi straightens his legs, pulling himself back to standing. He looks down, weighs his words, silently cursing his inability to find the right ones in her company.

“You… see it yourself?” he asks eventually, staring stubbornly at a blazing red tomato on the stalk in front of him. “Beauty around you. After what you must have seen… is there any beauty left?”

Maybe he’s asking because he wants to know if he himself could find it again. Sometimes it seems impossible.

“Sure there is.” The answer is instant and filled with certainty. “Even if I don’t see it all the time, there’s lots of things that make it all worthwhile.”

“Like tomatoes?”

“Like tomatoes,” she confirms. Javi thinks he hears a hint of amusement in her voice, but can’t be sure. He rubs at his mustache. The tomato smell invades his nostrils. Hesitantly, he meets her gaze.

“I… wouldn’t mind that cup of tea.”

Eva raises her chin a little and regards him for a second, forehead slightly furrowed, as if in thought. She then nods.

“Go get the kettle on, I’ll pick the mint.”

///

His pain hits so close to home.

Dawdling, Eva picks the fragrant mint, selecting the largest and finest-looking leaves with exaggerated care in order to prolong her stay outside. Inside her head, there's a whirlwind of over-activity. She and Javi have been good with each other – or at least she thinks so, it’s hard to say what with him sometimes just staring at her like that – since she was certain she wasn’t pregnant. She got herself checked, as well, driving into Laredo to go to a clinic as soon as she could.

It was okay for as long as he didn’t show any feelings. But the second he started talking about his dead mother in that quiet voice which reminds her of her own loss, it got complicated. It makes her feel for him, and that, in turn, brings back memories of that day. The day they shared some of their old wounds, and she actually felt for him when he bared another side of himself to her. The day they kissed. The sex. She wishes she could say the sex wasn’t good, but damn it, it was good. Unplanned and not ideal, but good. He knows how to use his hands. He knows how to kiss. He has a really nice dick, she can’t argue with that. It all reminds her of what she’s missing out on.

It was the day she almost broke down. The sex, Javi, Chucky. It was almost too much for her. The nights sleeping out with the cattle helped her, and once she returned to the homestead, making herself busy in the garden kept her from thinking too much.

Figures that mint would be to Javi what café de olla is to her. That thing which pulls at her heartstrings and makes her want to be a little girl in an intact world again, comfortable and taken care of. Not having to worry about anything but bedtime and even that was nothing but a pleasure because her mother would join her in bed and read her poems.

Sighing deeply, Eva stands up and braces herself to go back in. There’s no use thinking of the past, of things that happened thirty years ago. She has to deal with the situation at hand.

Coming back into the kitchen, she finds Javi pouring hot water into a pot. Two mugs are already waiting on the kitchen table.

“You want one, too, right?” The question is hopeful, and Eva doesn’t have it in her to deny him the company, so she nods. Disposing of the leaves into the pot, she puts the lid on and takes it to the table, sliding down onto one of the chairs. Javi follows, taking a seat on the other side of the table.

“Did you grow up with a garden?” he asks. Eva’s not sure if she likes the subject matter. It feels too risky. But Chucho is within hearing distance, comfortable in his recliner in the living-room, listening to the radio on low volume. If there’s a chance of him overhearing, Javi would surely not step into too hostile a territory, would he?

“Small one,” she shrugs. “I was so young when the farm was sold. Don’t remember much.”

It’s a lie. She remembers a lot, but is still not willing to talk about it.

“For me, it’s the smells,” Javi admits. He suddenly looks tired. His eyelids droop heavily, the lines in his face appear deeper than just moments before. He rubs his forehead and passes his hand over his head, drawing back the thick, full locks before they fall down over his forehead again. “I don’t necessarily remember specific things, but smells trigger the… grief, I guess.”

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Eva finds herself filling it. “When you’re so unprepared for it.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at her candor, but he finds himself quickly.

“Yeah.” A slow nod, and brown eyes that tear into her own freckled ones. There it is again, that stare that she can’t figure out. It’s not the one a guy uses to undress her with his eyes, it’s not the hostile looks of enemies, whether they be in Kuwait or in old pickup trucks outside roadside diners stateside. No, it’s nothing like that. It’s curious but hesitant, definitely a little flirty but… no, she can’t read it. And it drives her nuts.

“Why are you always gawking at me like that?” she snaps, but without vehemence. Javi winces visibly and lowers his gaze.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Javi clenches his teeth, clearly uncomfortable with the development.

“I guess I don’t know I’m doing it.”

She knows it’s not true but that momentary recklessness she felt when asking him has disappeared as quickly as it showed up, and she’s not ready to pursue the matter. Instead, she has a peek inside the teapot and decides that the brew is ready. Stretching across the table, she fills Javi’s mug before pouring some for herself. Sipping the hot drink carefully, she looks at him over the brim of the mug.

“I remember the mistflower covered in butterflies in July. It was… like they grew on the plants. Like they were the flowers. And when you came up to the flowers and disturbed them, it was like petals flying away.”

She looks down at the mug, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth at the memory.

“I think I remember that the butterflies disappeared when she died. Just like that. Gone, each one of them. I’m sure I’m wrong, but that’s the image I have. Mistflowers without butterflies.”

Javi’s head is slightly cocked, his eyes soft and condoling. Eva meets his gaze across the table, and shrugs. Sips the tea.

“We had to sell quite soon after.”

“I sometimes wish pops would’ve done the same.”

He presses his lips together after that confession, glancing towards the living-room, evidently alarmed that Chucho may have heard him. The radio program is playing Johnny Cash, and a loud snore is heard. Eva wonders if it’s fake; is Chucho listening in? Or is he really deep in a post-dinner nap?

“Less hassle?” she asks quietly.

“Less memories.”

“You have the chance of taking the good with the bad. I had to pick which belongings I loved the most, and leave the rest. I was a kid, and all I wanted was my mom back. I had no idea what to pick.”

She doesn’t want to compare miseries, but for a moment, she’s jealous. Javi still had a functioning father, the ranch. But he chose to run away from it all. She was never given the choice.

He looks pensive, takes a sip of the tea. Nods at the mug when he puts it down.

“Good tea.”

“Just water and leaves,” Eva shrugs. “It’s not that hard.”

“You offered.”

His voice is so quiet she can barely hear him.

“That’s what counts.”

She shrugs again, unable to look at him. Quickly, she drains her mug, burning her mouth on the hot drink but doing her best to not show it.

“I’ll check on the horses. Good night.”

Heart pounding against her ribs, hands sweaty like she was sixteen and being asked to prom, Eva hurries out of the house and takes her refuge in the stable.

///

Chucho took the Ford truck, leaving Javier with the old Toyota with no working AC. The sun’s beating down from a clear blue sky and Javier’s lavender shirt is dark with sweat in no time when he takes lunch out to the crew. He opens the windows, hoping for at least the slightest breeze when driving.

They have herded the cows to the man-made lake surrounded by trees on the west side of the property. The animals drink, rest underneath the trees, and the cowhands are lazily trotting by the water’s edge, keeping the horses on long leashes to allow them to drink. Javi parks the truck underneath a live oak, startling a few calves that get up and leave. Their antipathy towards him disturbing them is expressed in upset mooing, and Javi throws a muttered curse their way. He wipes his sweaty brow and draws a deep breath, only to have his lungs fill with heat. He gets out of the car and hopes for a breeze, but finds none. With heavy steps, he walks to the back of the car, and grabs the cooler.

Eva, riding Zorro, comes trotting towards him. She looks flushed and tired when she dismounts and ties the horse to a low-hanging branch.

“Water,” she says curtly, and Javi hands her a bottle. She drinks greedily before breathing deeply and removing her hat so she can hold the cold bottle to her glistening forehead.

“The cattle okay?” Javi asks, knowing by now that she’s unlikely to answer any questions about her own well-being, but will talk about the cows until the second coming. And the cows don’t handle heat very well.

“Yeah, at least so far. They’re taking it easy.”

Miguel, Pete, and Johnny come over as well, and Javier catches a glare from the youngest man. Or does he? Maybe he’s imagining it. Whether or not there is a rivalry, he’s tired of thinking about it.

They eat in silence underneath the oak, insects buzzing around them, the high whine of crickets punctured every now and then by bovine sounds. The heat is pressing Javi’s eyes shut, making him sleepy and sluggish. It’s hard to focus on anything.

The two seniors are slumbering, backs propped against the tree trunk, and Johnny is chewing on a long grass straw. Eva is keeping an eye on the cattle, fingers drumming quietly against her thighs. The back of her t-shirt is dark with sweat, and when she bows her head to wipe her forehead, Javi catches droplets running down the back of her neck.

He looks away, ashamed by the thoughts that form in his slack brain.

A loud bellow disperses his thoughts. Frowning, Eva comes to her feet and starts to walk in the direction of the sound. The cattle move nervously, letting her through. When Johnny gets up as well, and the two older men start to shift, Javi feels compelled to not be worse than any of them. They all follow Eva until she stops and holds out her arm to the side, elbow bent in a ninety degree angle, fist closed. The order to stop is so clear that even if Javi hadn’t seen it in the field in Colombia, he would have still understood it.

“I think we have a snake here somewhere,” she calls out. “Watch where you put your feet.”

Eyes trained on the grass in front of her, she resumes her walk, now at a faster pace. As the cattle disperse, Javi sees a calf on the ground, its muzzle already swelling up.

“Shit.”

Eva is kneeling by the animal, looking it over.

“It needs antibiotics,” she tells the men. “You have any at the ranch? Tetracyclines?”

Johnny nods quickly. “Medicine cabinet in the stable.”

“Javi?” Eva looks up at him. “Can you go get it?”

“It’ll take me forty minutes there and back again,” he tells her, hesitant about the calf’s chances. Its breathing is already sounding strained. “Can we get it onto the truck?”

“That animal weighs close to 300 pounds!” Johnny protests, but Miguel and Pete are already working something out.

“Tarp at the back of the truck. Get it under her, and we’ll all try to shift her.”

Javi dashes off to the truck to get the tarp.

“Ropes, we need to bind her legs so she stays still – “

“Get the tarp!”

“How’s her breathing?”

“Truck, Javi, get the truck here!”

Barely fifteen minutes later, Javi’s speeding through the grounds as fast as he dares to, Eva and the calf on the truck bed. It took every ounce of strength the five of them had to lift it, and his arms and back are aching. But now at least the poor critter stands a chance.

He keeps throwing backwards glances in the rearview mirror, never seeing anything but the back of Eva’s neck, and her shoulders. When he’s back at the homestead and pulls up next to the stable, she’s swinging over the side of the bed before he’s even come to a full stop, and is inside the stable before he’s even out of the car.

She’s back in a heartbeat, a first aid kit in hand. Pulling out a syringe and a little vial of liquid, she checks the instructions in the kit before filling the syringe, and shooting it into the calf’s neck. The animal’s labored breathing and swollen muzzle stay the same, and Javi doesn’t really know what to expect. Eva pets the calf’s head, murmuring soft words in Spanish, and when he shifts unsurely, she looks up at him.

“Call the vet and let them know what’s going on.”

He nods, grateful for something to do, a chance to be useful. Walking up to the house, he once again tells himself that he needs to get a cell phone.

The vet gives him instructions and promises to come out a little later to check on the calf, and Javi brings back the news to Eva, who’s now sitting on the edge of the bed, the calf’s head in her lap. The animal is still breathing with difficulty, but it doesn’t sound as bad as it did earlier, and the dark, moist eyes seem a little more curious.

“Is she better?” Javi asks, a little surprised at the development. Eva smiles down at the animal and scratches it behind the little horns.

“It looks like it.” She sounds relieved, almost happy. Javi smiles as some of the tension starts to leave his shoulders. He starts to feel his body in a different, yet more unwelcome way: his soaked shirt, the tremble in his arm muscles, his hurting back, his hair plastered on his skull. He’s thirsty and warm.

“The vet’s on his way. Said we did everything right.”

He passes his hand through his sweaty hair and down his slick neck.

“How did you know what to do?”

Eva scoffs. “You think this is my first rodeo? I’ve been here before. Adult cows are so large that they usually don’t react at all to the poison, but little ones like this…”

“300 pounds is not that little,” Javi grunts, leaning against the truck. “My back’s going to kill me tomorrow.”

“It’s hardly her fault if you don’t know how to lift with your legs.”

He likes the bickering. It makes him think that she trusts him. He hopes that she does.

By the time the vet arrives, the calf is already on its feet and has been coaxed down a ramp. After a check-up, the vet gives it a clean bill of health, and by the time he leaves the homestead, the sun is getting low. Chucho returns, having struck a deal about the horse which is to be transported to Big River in the following week, and the ranch hands come back, Zorro in tow after Johnny. The calf, now increasingly unhappy, is placed in Chucky’s box for overnight observation, before being returned to the field the following morning.

///

Javi recounts the day’s events for Chucho over dinner, and the old man seems pleased.

“Quick thinking,” he praises Eva, who just shrugs.

“Not the first time I’ve been in that situation,” she brushes it off. She’s seen many a snake-bitten animal in her life, and while the amount of venom won’t affect a fully grown cow or horse, the young ones don’t have enough body mass to fight it off. And as the bites usually occur on the face, it often leads to breathing difficulties.

“And it was a team effort. Wouldn’t have been able to shift her on my own, or just with a couple of us there. It was dumb luck that Javi happened to be there with the truck.”

“Miguel said he spotted the snake, and killed it,” Javi fills in. “Copperhead, apparently.”

“Many more where that one came from,” Chucho adds. “They usually stay clear of the cattle, but the heat makes all animals act strange.”

Eva hums, finishing up her dinner.

“I gotta go check on the calf. She wasn’t happy about being in the stable. Thanks for dinner.”

The miserable cries of the calf travel out of the open stable doors, and only when Eva gets into the box with it, does it grow more placid.

“You miss your mama, don’t you?” Eva speaks softly to it, scratches it between the budding horns, passes her hands over its soft ears, accepts its tongue in the palm of her hand. “Have you eaten at all? No? You are weaned, you poor little thing. You can have whatever the horses are having.”

The calf whines as Eva leaves the box to feed the horses, and it doesn’t eat until she comes back to it to pet it over the back.

“I’m going to be stuck with you all night, aren’t I?” she sighs. “Okay, then. Bring it. I don’t have anywhere to be.”

She doesn’t mind. The stable with its ventilation and concrete floor is cooler than the cabin, and she enjoys the company of the animals. Returning to the cabin only to pick up a book, she makes a quick detour to the main house to get a treat for the animals. Finding Javier doing the dishes, she stops momentarily at the sight of his broad shoulders, slightly hunched over the sink. The house is pleasantly cool, and he changed his shirt before dinner, but she can still smell his sweat, sweet and musky. The t-shirt is olive green, and tucked into his jeans, bound by a belt around his narrow waist. There is something so contradictory about his masculine body, the way he moves it, and the traditionally feminine chore he’s currently engaged in. It makes her curious, gives her the impulse to slowly peel him open, like an onion. Expose every layer. Smell whatever it is that makes him him.

“You okay?”

She never saw him turn around and catch her staring at him. A small smile in the corner of his mouth tells her that he knows.

“I’m fine,” she replies immediately. “Came to get some apples and carrots.”

“You going to spoil those animals again?”

“You bet.”

“The calf will be fine, you don’t need to sit with it all night.” Javi puts the last items to dry in the rack next to the sink, and reaches for a towel.

“I won’t,” she guarantees, before slipping out of the kitchen with several apples and a couple of carrots.

///

It’s midnight, and the lights are still on in the stable when Javier makes his way across the yard to it. Cricket song and the occasional snort from a sleeping horse is all he can hear. Softly, he makes his way to Chucky’s old box, and looks into it.

Eva and the calf are asleep, curled up in the hay, her spooning the animal with an arm thrown over the round belly, her other arm serving as a pillow to both herself and the animal. He almost bursts out laughing, but manages to pipe it down, instead grinning widely when remembering her promise about not staying there all night.

Silently making his way out of the stable, he turns off the lights, closes the doors, and returns to the main house, where he showers before falling into bed and a deep, dreamless sleep.

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Ahkmen’s new school year starts with a bang.

Notes: guess who has imposter syndrome!!!! heres my next work i think??? idk where my inspiration is gonna pull me at any given time. i just wanna say this takes place when ahk’s pretty young! not like ten or something lmao but lets just say hes not an adult. by the way, the reader is indian (indus valley, at the time). WC: 7.3k

+

"Don't we look like a dream?"

A sharp inhale brought his eyes to shoot open, staring through the cold air to the blank ceiling above him. For a moment he frowned, as his bed had a silk canopy above it, but he quickly realized he had passed out in his friend's room again. He groaned softly, raising his hand to rub his face.

"What... happened last night?" He grumbled, his voice turning to a whisper when the volume of it left him wincing.

No response.

"Piye?"

Ahkmen raised himself, though very strenuously, and looked over the tables and stools thrown beside him. Splinters nearly dug into his fingertips, but he jerked away before anything could lodge.

Piye was much in the same position. Quite literally, with their limbs strewn about, hair a knotted mess upon their head. The only difference was that Piye was lying face down, their face squished into one of the table legs. He almost laughed, but even the spreading of a smile sparked a headache, so instead he poked his blacked out friend.

They groaned, loudly, but did not move. Ahkmen continued to poke them until they finally had enough, pushing themselves upwards.

"What the hell do you want?" They asked, their voice low and scratchy. Even their eyes had yet to open, stuck shut with crushed eyelashes.

"What did we do last night?" He asked in a mumble, resting his weight on the thin edge of a fallen table.

"You invited Panya and she killed us with beer," Piye breathed out, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hand.

"Fuck," said Ahkmen. "An... what day's today?"

Piye breathed very deeply before opening their mouth, letting out a roar of a yell, "DAD?!? What's today??"

Ahkmen winced away, covering his ears until Piye lay back down, still relaxing into the pile of chairs and tables.

"It is the eleventh of Khuiahk," came Adom's voice from around the corner of the tiny hallway leading to the door of Piye's room. Ahkmen heard a flip of papyrus before he spoke again, "you have school today, if that's what you're wondering."

"Ah... shit," Piye sighed.

"That means I have school too," Ahkmen said with widening eyes, a pitiful sense of dread overcoming his hangover. "I can't learn like this. I haven't showered since yesterday, I – I barely have a hold on my thoughts, I can't stand loud noises –"

"If you can still gripe like that, you're fine," Piye said flatly, lying for a moment more before their eyes opened, making way for them to sit up and stand.

"But –"

"Calm down, my Prince," Piye said with a derisive bow. "It's quite alright. I'll get us ready within the hour."

Having Piye as a friend came in handy a number of times, but especially when it came to maintaining his image of a perfect son. His parents adored him dearly, but Ahkmen was convinced that that status could be stripped at any moment, and that they would begin to treat him as they did his brother, Kamun. Thus having Piye to excuse away his mistakes was beyond helpful to him, let alone the secret capabilities of the palace physician's child.

In a calm-as-ever demeanor, Piye shoved both him and themself into clothes too warm for the sunshine already beating down on them through windows. The Prince felt a little off––a little more disgusted with himself than usual––but his discomfort was quickly remedied with a stop by the Nile, where the two quickly washed themselves.

Returning into clothes was made easy by the sun that dried the water on their skin within a minute of leaving the river. The two dressed, shoving their legs into skirts and golden bands as they walked, stumbling through the streets with soaking wet hair.

"One last stop," Piye said before they reached the center of the city, pulling Ahkmen off down a hidden alley.

Boxes and carts of goods had been stacked as wide as the thin alley, but they were easily climbed, and the two found themselves in an entirely different part of town.

"How quick is this stop going to be? We're already going to be late," Ahkmen said, but continued to follow Piye without fail.

"Wouldn't worry about it," they assured as they directed him into a tent of red and purple drapes.

Smoke welled in the ceiling, already uncomfortably low for Ahkmen, and even worse for Piye. It must've been important, whatever Piye was trying to do, as they were particularly sensitive about their height at times, and tried not to draw attention to it. The only true light inside the tiny shop was the burning incense, and what little sun could make it through the dark fabric that made up the ceiling and walls. When Ahkmen caught the scent, he recognized it easily––myrrh.

"What are we doing here?" Ahk whispered, trying to look over Piye's shoulder as they led the way through continuous halls of silk.

"Yogi?" Piye said, knocking against the first hard surface they could find.

There was a moment of silence before the wall of satin before him rustled, rippling till it split open to reveal you; a small, foreign child about his age, with a bright red dot on your forehead above wide eyes. His heart thumped erratically as you met his gaze. While he couldn't directly place where you were from, the style of your home and lavish clothes as well as your facial features assured him you were not Egyptian.

"Be needing something, Piye?" You said in a thick accent, looking up at the magi who towered above you.

"One of your drinks," they said. You nodded and ducked back into your room.

"We don't need more to drink," Ahkmen whispered.

"It's a hangover cure. You'll be wanting it."

"Oh."

A moment later you returned, two clay cups in hand swirling with a red mixture. Ahkmen looked suspiciously into the liquid, trying to decipher the ingredients, before Piye knocked their whole cup back and swallowed it in a single gulp. Scuffing his sandal against the floor, he copied his friend's movements.

Sweet, but thick. Like dough, but slimy, and the sensation of it slowly sliding down his throat only brought about more questions as to the ingredients.

"You must be one of their friends," you said once they both finished, handing their mugs to you.

"Well, um..." Ahkmen looked up to Piye, "yes. We're on our way to Osiris' temple."

"You are, then... students?"

"Yes. I study language and morals, Anpu here studies law," Piye answered for him, patting Ahkmen's shoulder.

"The bell will start soon. You should go, the priests are not made of give," you said as you set the cups aside, showing them out the door.

Blazing sun burnt the back of his eyes as he stepped outside, back into the radiating heat and the empty street, which lay an alley's walk away from the Temple of Osiris. He squinted, searching for the boxes he'd climbed earlier.

"Over here," Piye directed him, and he followed.

"Where's your friend from? Doesn't sound like –"

"- like Egyptian is their first language," Piye finished. "I've never bothered to ask, but if I had to guess, somewhere in the east. Our friendship is mostly limited to school, and medicine."

"They study medicine?" Ahkmen asked incredulously. If you weren't native to Egypt, and it was painfully obvious you weren't, it would be a feat beyond God to achieve any form of education concerning the human body.

"Not proper medicine, mind you. It's back-alley magic," Piye said, opening the door to the temple and allowing Ahkmen to pass in front of them.

"Quite literally," Ahkmen mumbled beneath his breath, scanning the main temple for any sign of the priests.

"Right."

"And what was with that fake name?"

"I don't think they –"

"I cannot imagine it will be a fantastic impression on your teachers that you are late on your first day of schooling," came a voice from behind them.

Both Ahkmen and Piye whirled around, wide eyes meeting the High Priest of Osiris, an older man named Yafeu that had never been fond of the royal family. Fortunately, he would not be teaching anyone––the High Priest's position was 'too important' to concern itself with the younger generations teachings. Osiris and his temple required constant cleaning, as well as regularly cleaned offerings of jewels and flowers, plates of delicacies that reached the knee of the massive statue sat at the head of the temple.

In fact, that was where Ahkmen stood; before the statue of Osiris. Somewhere he was not supposed to be.

"We're having trouble finding our class," Piye said before Ahkmen could even think of how to reply.

Yafeu raised a single brow, scanning the both of them with an unimpressed expression. He raised his finger to point at a small door behind Osiris.

"That way."

"Thank you, sir," Piye said with a small bow, taking Ahkmen's hand and rushing him out the door.

While the temple of Osiris held much land, and much of it was occupied by caretakers both priestly and humble, who worked to please Osiris, commoners and non-priests were generally not allowed. Gardens bloomed around the sacred lake, lovingly tended to fit the needs of the temple.

As Ahkmen and Piye walked down the long, open hallway, which on the left side held the many rooms of those working in the temple, and on the right displayed the wealth of the courtyard, the Prince wondered upon the subject of the temple. Very few people were allowed inside––hence his apprehension upon being caught––but considering the amount of people it took to care for the temple, it seemed to him a little unfair that others couldn't come to bow at the statue's feet.

Perhaps the priests, and his father, did not want commoners coming to Osiris with petty issues.

"You handled that quite well," Ahkmen said as he noted the arch to class approaching.

"I fucking hate priests," they seethed, but the expression gave way for a smile in an instant when they both entered the room.

Yafeu might've been old, but the priests that retired into teachers were much older. Last year, Ahkmen's teacher had been a much younger scribe, but this year his class of four would be taught by a priest who had spent his better years tending to Sobek's temple, and consequently had lots of experience with crocodiles. That was about the only interesting thing about the man, except for the fact that his name was Setet, which according to Ahk’s classmate meant 'Daughter of Set'.

A very strange name indeed. Ahkmen let the thought of it occupy his thoughts for a minute or two, but grew quickly bored of the subject, and eventually his mind wandered back to the events of the morning. If Setet had the gall to be this uninteresting, Ahkmen could be allowed time to think and gather himself.

Last night, he thought, chewing on his bottom lip. What had happened?

The details were fuzzy in his head––more a mess of mangled half-memories soaked in beer and wine. According to Piye, who now sat cross-legged on the carpet beside him, something had happened with his friend Panya that made both of them drink a lot of beer. A drinking contest, maybe––Ahkmen was, at times, too prideful for his own good.

Panya couldn't really be considered a friend. She was rarely ever kind to him, and he treated her in much the same light. Despite her crude behavior, she was quite beautiful, and attended the same prestigious school as he did––only in a different class.

What is he talking about? he thought to himself blearily, trying to focus back in on the man in front of him talking.

Then there was the question of you––the pretty little potionmaker––and with that thought implanted in his mind, he left the classroom in every way imaginable except physical.

Ahkmen very rarely met anyone from other countries that weren't royal, so the sudden presence of you was something he could think about for a good, long while as he waited out the school day. He thoroughly enjoyed any research into the cultures and activities of citizens in countries his own and not his own.

You came up about to his shoulder––which meant you were only as tall as Piye's elbow––and your skin was of a darker, more vibrantly red color than those of the Egyptians he usually related himself to. The lighting in your tent had been subpar, making it hard for him to recall what color that dot on your forehead had been. All he could remember was that it existed.

The hangover remedy you had concocted had, without Ahkmen entirely noticing, taken away his headache and minimized his sensitivity to light and sound, which convinced the Prince that you had some sort of schooling behind you. Maybe you weren't as poorly as you looked––all respect to you, of course––and, maybe, you were someone of similar noble standing.

He wasn't sure which theory he liked more.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember your name, and now that class had started he would have to wait until lunch to ask Piye.

When midday finally did come around, he, Piye, and the other two students in his class were excused to the garden. In the center of the courtyard, the High Priest readied himself for the midday ceremony by bathing in the sacred lake placed there by hand. Clerks and jewellers flitted about from place to place, carrying the finished products of beautiful works that would never see the light of day beyond Osiris' temple. Similarly, weavers and barbers tended to Yafeu as he bathed in preparation.

"What was that eastern brewer's name again?" Ahkmen asked, tugging on Piye's skirt as he attempted to catch up with their long strides.

"The one from the alley? Yogi," they said with a curious tilt of their head. "Why?"

"Oh, I've been thinking about it all morning. I couldn't remember but I know you called them by name."

"Right. Hungry?" Piye asked, stopping before the door to the kitchens.

"I want to find Panya first," Ahk said as he scanned the courtyard.

"Well I want to eat. If you want to try and wade through that crowd for a woman who hates you, go ahead," Piye said, waving him off before promptly slamming the door behind them as they left.

"... right," Ahkmen muttered to himself under his breath.

There were far too many people going about the temple that, standing from his position, it was impossible to see everyone. One thing he did know about Panya, though; she always brought her own food and always sat alone.

Ten minutes later Ahkmen found himself yelling up into a tree that Panya had managed to scale.

"Get lost, goldie!" She yelled from above, picking one of the dates and lobbing it at his head. He dodged, eyes darting down at the ground, where the date had made a dent in the dirt.

"Come on, I just have a question!" He said, squinting from the sun shining directly above him.

"The answer's no. Now go away! You're going to attract one of the priests with all that yelling," she said, cocking her chin into the sky.

"Oh, fuck you," he muttered as he at last looked down, his neck sore from craning it so long. So much for figuring out last night.

As he made his way back to the kitchens, he crossed the middle of the courtyard and spied through the pillars of stone the open door of the inner temple. Inside grew an ethereal blue light, surrounding the figures of stone, warped with smoke as Yafeu knelt to his knees before Osiris. His mouth moved in constant prayer, but Ahkmen could not hear from his distance. He could only watch.

Until one of the clerks shut the door.

He frowned, but headed on his way, soon sliding in next to his friend, Piye. They had taken a seat on one of the many carpets set out on the floor, the open roof allowing sunlight to flood the otherwise dark room. All that protected the students and chefs from the heat of the sun, as well as the heat of the ovens, was the thin tarps covering the majority of the ceiling, though not entirely. There was still room for a couple rays of unbroken sun.

"Find her?" Piye asked through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, but she wouldn't talk to me," Ahk said, irritant in his movements as he began to eat his own lunch.

"Sounds like her."

By the end of school, the sun was already cresting the horizon of low mountains, leading his shadow to tall heights as he walked with Piye, their backs to the sun. Inside the courtyard of the temple, servants and workers planted seeds in the black mud gathered from the Nile's banks. Outside it, however, bustled the busy life of Memphis markets that always received the most amount of patrons after school and work was finished for the day.

Wading through the crowd had always been more of an art than anything, though Ahkmen couldn't practice that art very well with Piye beside him. They stuck out horribly, too tall to duck beneath the swaying barrels and baskets, and unable to pass people by without seeming rude.

"Oh shit!" Ahkmen exclaimed in a moment of remembrance, raising his hand to stop Piye. "I remember why Panya came over."

"Really?" They pulled both of them to the side, pressed against a restaurant wall. "What was it?"

"Drinking contest. Remember last Friday? We had that bet and then I lost, and I had to give her one of my necklaces, but I couldn't part with any of mine, so I just stole my mother's. Then my mother started asking questions, and... oh fuck. Mother's going to kill me," Ahk said with wide eyes, raising his hands to cover his mouth.

"I would love to help you out with this problem, but she's really not going to do anything, and I need to help my father collect ingredients from the market. Is that alright?"

"Yes, I... I understand. Any advice though?"

"Go find Yogi. They might be able to help. See you," they said as they turned and left, all but their shoulders and head disappearing in the crowd.

Ahkmen had little on his persons except the clothes he wore, and the bands he had on his arms marked him as royal. They could not be sold, bartered, or traded in any way, as any non-royal found wearing them was jailed or enslaved. He could not give them to Panya in exchange. Panya might've been annoying, but she didn't deserve something like that.

Since that was the only idea he had, he found himself sneaking back towards Osiris' temple, and going through the streets leading to it in hopes of finding that alleyway once more. It was less of an alley and more of a space between two close buildings, but that distinction easily led him back to climbing over boxes of storage.

In the warm blush of evening, it was hard to make out the different alleys leading to this singular space between buildings, where nothing had been built except that tent of yours. It appeared as though you had blocked it off purposely––made your home secret for a reason.

Questions swarmed his head as he ducked beneath the flap of your home, watching his head for anything hanging too low. He raised his hand, searching for a hard surface––something to rapp his knuckles on, as Piye had.

"Uh... Yoshi?"

"My name is not that. Do not call me that," you said, walking out from behind what Ahkmen thought was a wall. He nearly jumped at your sudden appearance.

"Sorry. I was, um, here this morning, with my friend Piye? They said you might be able to help me," he said in a rambling manner, playing with his fingers.

"What help you need?"

"I had a bet with this girl from my school, and she ended up with my mother's necklace, and I need that necklace. My mother was asking me about it earlier, so I know she's noticed."

"Hmm..." you glanced to the side, placing your hands on your hips. "What was.. your bet on?"

"Drinking contest."

"Ah," you said with a sudden smile. "No problem. You find your girl, bring her here. I will give her my beer."

"You brew beer?" Ahkmen asked incredulously, his eyes widening. Beer-making was something generally reserved for adults.

"I do many things. Do not worry. She will not die," you said, shaking your head as though that would assure him.

"Why would she die?!" Ahkmen asked with even larger eyes.

"I just tell you she will not die! Now go grab her. I will be here with your cups. Tell her you want to do it again," you said, pushing him out the door. He was not at all swayed by your efforts, but allowed you to move him anyway, and soon he stood outside in an evening where the sun had set too fast.

A chill ran over his skin, at which point he acutely missed the warmth of your tent. How you kept it so comfortable, as well as clean in there was a mystery, but that was not at the forefront of his thoughts. Instead he tried to recall where Panya might be––perhaps at school, perhaps at home, or maybe with her friend. She only had one.

After clambering back over the wall of boxes and crates, he snuck back into the courtyard of the temple, keeping a careful eye on any movement he saw. The task proved hard after about five seconds of being in there, as the next ceremony was soon approaching. The Priests would put Osiris to rest for the night.

In several of the rooms he passed, he found other children of noble bearings discussing quietly with the older priests and clerks, who passed the time of their elderly years raising the next generation. He checked each door, but in the end he found Panya on the edge of one of the creeks that ran like veins with the lifeblood of the Nile.

"Can we talk now?" He asked, taking great enjoyment in her surprise as she turned.

"I'd prefer we didn't," she said, turning back to look at the river.

"If I recall correctly," which he did not, "I won last night's contest, right? That puts us at a tie."

"You big liar," said Panya, who also did not recall the events of last night. "I quite distinctly remember rubbing your face in my win."

"Come now, all I'm offering is one more drinking contest. You get to get drunk for free. If you win, I... I'll owe you one favor. One thing you ask of me, I'll do, no questions asked. If I win, I get that necklace back."

"You're vain sometimes, you know that?" She said in a quieter voice as he stood to face her, watching her fingers play with the massive emerald that now dangled from her shoulders.

"So are you."

She raised an unimpressed brow, scanning the Prince before she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Very well. Is Piye going to be overlooking it again?"

"No, no," Ahk said with a dismissive hand, dropping his other to grab Panya's hand and direct her along. "They're busy tonight. I've got someone else on board."

It took a little convincing to get the noble girl to climb up and over the boxes for a secret part of the city, but he eventually won her over and directed her inside your tent. She was about your height––maybe a little taller––and had no problems standing in your low-roof home. Ahkmen on the other hand took a seat as soon as he could.

You introduced yourself with a small bow, bringing forward a low table with a long strip of embroidered cloth, upon which you placed four small cups built of what appeared to be clay. All of this you did in a smooth, practiced swoop that lasted only a moment before Ahkmen was forced to face Panya once more.

Ahkmen might've been a desperate man––in more than one sense of the word––but he would not resort to cheating by stealing. Not to good people. Thus he would keep his word concerning the prizes of the competition, no matter how certain he was that he would fail.

He was a prince, accustomed to constant fine wines and thick beer that smelled strongly of alcohol. A sipper in small amounts.

Panya was not. She had quite a lot of money like his family, but she was far more connected with the world of other teenagers than Ahkmen was.

"I like you to state what you will win if you... win," you said, standing beside the table Ahk and Panya sat at. "That way, it is honest."

"If Panya wins, she can tell me to do one thing that I must do without question. If I win, I get that necklace back," Ahk said as he pointed to each of the things he referred to.

"Okay. Let us begin!"

Four cups. Two on either side of the centerpiece of the table. Ahkmen reached forward at the same time as Panya, grabbing the cups from the right and downing both of them quick as he could. The less he thought about it, the better. Panya soon copied him, finishing much faster than he had, and slamming the cups down so hard he nearly jumped.

"Good start," you said with a nod. "Feel good?"

"I feel about myself," Ahk offered.

"Then you have not drinking enough." You brought out another four cups in a flash. "Try not to let any of it fall!"

It burned his throat––physically burnt it from the alcohol level. No beer or wine had ever done that before, and he nearly spit it out, but managed to swallow it and hide his teary eyes at the same time. He then watched Panya carefully for any reaction, and noted the same surprise in her expression.

"Is a bit stronger. That is how my game works. By your six rounds, it only takes a cup to get a little," you grinned and rolled your eyes in two different directions. Ahk raised his brows, unable to look away, but said nothing.

"God damn," Panya said after downing the second cup of her's on the table. "Where do you get this stuff?"

"I make it. It is levels of dizziness."

"Do you mean drunkenness?" Ahkmen asked, looking apprehensively down into his second cup.

"Whatever. It is family's secret. I sell it to markets, get a good price, people like becoming drunk," you said with a shrug, taking the old cups, and refilling them with yet another mixture.

"Come now, Ahk," Panya chuckled from across the table. "Gotta finish that second cup if you're gonna challenge me to this kind of a competition."

Ahkmen glared at her for a moment before raising his cup to his lips, knocking it back as he attempted to once again ignore every sensation happening in his throat.

"Good boy," you said, taking his cup and setting it on the shelf behind you.

Four more cups were then placed on the table, and the drinking continued.

By the fifth round, he was already inebriated, his tongue soaked in the numbing powers of this drink you had concocted. There was a part of his not-all-there brain that thought you had taken this drink from the underworld; some sort of backwards world where the Nile flowed with pure alcohol.

If you were telling the truth, and he quite well trusted your word this far, he could be dizzyingly intoxicated with your next drink. He barely had the state of mind to look at Panya, much less decode her own level of drunkenness. That left him blind to the status of his likelihood of winning. And yet, when the next cup was set down in front of him, he gulped it like a sober brewer. Panya did the same.

"Feeling a little of it now?" You asked with a grin.

"Some... something dike lat," he mumbled, his mouth smushed against the hand he supported his head on.

"Do you one finish?"

"... what?" Panya asked, her brow furrowed as she stared intensely at you.

"Do one of you give up?" You tried.

"Hell no," Panya said with an adamant shake of her head. "Get me another!"

"Me too!" Ahk said, raising his hand high as his head fell to the table, knocking against it with a loud thunk. He hissed, curling back on himself with little grace.

Panya snorted, leading into a long laugh as she cherished the look of drunken disdain painted over the Prince's face. You said nothing, but went to fulfill their requests, returning with the same drink as the last one.

"This my strongest drink. What you had before. It is good for you!"

"It may be good for me, but I think my friend over there is going to pass out," Panya said, grabbing you by your collar and forcing you to lean down so she could talk closer to your ear. You giggled.

"You have big strength," you said, stepping away as she downed yet another drink.

"Thank you, uh.. what's... your name?"

"... it is Yogi."

"Well then, Yogi. Another!"

If you had some sort of secret plan to get him to win, he was desperate to see it. This drink of yours had only seemed to be detrimental to him, not to Panya, and anxiousness stewed as he glanced into his cup. She was already ahead of him––to equalize the cards, he had to drink another cup, just to be equal.

You reentered the room as he knocked it back, carrying two more cups. When he set his cup down, you placed the others in front of him, and grabbed the empty one to clean it.

Ahkmen looked up, and through the haze of his thoughts, he might've seen you wink at him with a sly smile. Maybe. It was also possible you had just blinked and his eyes were being slow.

He grabbed his cup, and before he could think about it he chugged it. In a horrifying moment of clarity, he recognized the drink he'd had that morning––some sort of hangover cure that felt like smooth, squishy mud in his mouth. You returned a minute or two later, more drinks in hand. By then your mixture took effect, and much of his wooziness faded away, bringing him back to the land of sobriety before being offered his next cup.

It was all he needed.

Panya went on for a good long while, but without the special concoction she lost by the tenth round. During that time, Ahkmen had plenty enough beer, and had returned to the spinning thoughts of his alcohol-fueled brain, now focused on the one who had helped him so readily––you.

"What are – are you gonna do with... her?" Ahkmen asked through a half-stuffed nose, gesturing weakly to Panya, who had passed out in the corner only moments earlier.

"Do you know her parents?"

"... sort of," he answered vaguely. He definitely knew about them. Her father was Yafeu, and though he did not like Ahkmen, Ahkmen had a fair amount of information about him.

"Will they... scared, about her going.. missing?" You said, slowly piecing together a sentence you had clearly never said in Egyptian.

"You mean does she have to be home tonight?"

You nodded.

"She'll be fine. Her father will... worry, a little, but she can say she was sleeping in a friend's house. They won't.. uh... worry," he said in a mumble, laying his head to rest on your table.

"Then we put her to sleep. Let her rest for a while," you said, bowing your head as you collected the rest of the cups, disappearing behind yet another wall.

He tapped his fingers against the wood, keeping them close to his eyes so as to see his hand better. A long sigh left him.

"Will you go home? Or stay?" You asked upon your return.

"I – I have a lot of answers for you," he said, suddenly quite vindictive and stern as he pointed to you with a shaky finger. "And I want you.. to question..."

He trailed off as he realized his mistake. Embarrassment was clear on his face as he shriveled into himself, but you just giggled, sitting down across from him with a large bag in your lap.

"What is your questions?"

"What's your name? Your full name. You don't... seem happy when.. people say Yogi," he said, resting the majority of his weight on the pillows built up against one of the rare solid walls.

"Well, I come from a long travel. My name is not something many know here," you said with a shrug, digging your hands into the bag and rooting around it. "It is Yogasundari."

"Y.. yogetsury?" He tried on his clumsy tongue.

"Yogasundari. It is okay you can not say it. It is why most call me Yogi."

"So – where do you come from then? If y-you come from," he pushed down a hiccup, "from far away?"

"The east. My city was named Harappa. We live in a beautiful river, like you," you said, smiling a soft, thoughtful smile as you recalled images of your past. "Our city was great. Had all things. But my family is poor and it is easy to live here. We can make our own great.. um..."

"Riches?"

"Yes! Gold, and – and silk, you have, but we change the shape of iron," you said, your grin spreading into excitement. "We have good drinks. You want them here, so we come here, and we live much better than we live in Harappa."

"So you're... here with your family?" He asked in genuine curiosity, looking up at you from his collapsed position on the floor.

Your expression fell away, and an anxiousness overtook your demeanor.

"I was," you said, then frowned with spiteful eyes. "Those kings of yours kill my family, sell them. I love this, the river, but your kings are unjust. They take my parents and I never saw them again."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It is okay. It is not your fault. I have a good home and I know how to stay away from soldiers. They go everywhere in this city. Not like my home. So that is why I am here," you said, gesturing to the patterned cloths that made up your ceiling.

"And it's just you here?"

"There is the cat," you said, looking back down to his chest, where unbeknownst to him, a thin, hairless cat had made a bed.

"Oh," he whispered softly, taken aback.

The purring was nice––actually, most of the cat's presence was nice, except when he went to pet it, and it raised its' head. At that point he saw the gaping holes where eyes were supposed to be, where they probably once were, and he just about jumped out of his skin, and would have if its' claws weren't kneading at his stomach.

"What the fuck," he whispered in a tense breath.

"She is good. Very kind. You do not worry."

"Where'd you find her?" He asked, eyes darting between you and the cat.

"On the street," you said, nodding. "She comes in for eating at some times."

"... delightful."

"What of you?" You asked. "What are you from?"

"I..." he paused, recalling your contempt for the royal family, and then the much earlier occurrence of Piye using a cover name. "... my father's a priest at Osiris' temple. Not the High one, but.. one of them. That's why I go to school there, and that's how I met Panya."

"Are you good friends?"

"Not really," he chuckled. "We have our fights but I respect her, most of the time."

"More with Piye, then?"

"Mm... yeah. How'd you meet them?"

"You have to ask them. They came in my home one day and asked for my brew."

"Which one?"

"The good one," you said with a wink that had Ahkmen snorting. "I have forgot to ask your name. Your friends name you two things."

What had Piye called him that morning? Panya had used Ahk, that he knew definitively.

"Ak'anpu," he answered after a moment's thoughts.

"It is a nice name," you said, bringing your lips to a glass contraption. With one flame on the other end, you breathed in deeply, exhaling thick clouds of smoke that easily outweighed the smoke of incense already flooding the ceiling.

"What is that?" Ahk asked with a groan as he brought himself to sit up, forcing your cat to jump off his middle.

"Shemet. I get it at the markets, by the river. It is good to sleep and calm down. Want to try?" You offered the tool to him.

"Sure," he said, though he was fairly certain he'd already had this before, and that you were simply pronouncing the name strangely.

From the taste alone he recognized it as something he and Piye had used extensively at some points. It didn't pair well with beer, which he knew from experience, so he took only one more puff before handing it back to you with a quiet 'thank you'.

"I must get home to my father, he's –" he tried to stand, falling back down when he tripped over his own feet. "He's gonna want to see me in the morning."

"You are a little... drunk to be seeing a father yet," you said, a grin tugging at your lips.

"That you are most certainly 'bight'," he said as he, again, attempted to stand.

When he nearly caught his head in one of your hanging scarves, you jumped to your feet, grabbing his arm and pulling his whole body back before he ran into it. He stumbled backwards, spinning around just in time to catch himself on the wall with you in front of him.

"Oh..." he stuttered, a warmer blush filling his head as he looked down at you. "I'm.. sorry."

But you just laughed, much harder than the times you had before, till a dark flush built in your creased cheeks, stark against your bright eyes.

"You are funny. It is alright," you said, patting his bare chest. "I don't think I trust you will get home safe."

"Is this because I'm drunk?" He asked in a teasing tone, leaning in closer with his own cocky smile. For a moment he worried your hand on his chest would feel the thundering of his heartbeat.

"It is because you are stupid," you said, ducking out from his grip and pulling the necklace from Panya's neck, handing it to him.

You took his hand in yours, carefully leading him out of your home without wrecking any of it. The ascent over the crates was a little more clumsy than usual, but in the end you both landed safe back in the regular streets of Memphis, the temple of Osiris to your right and the palace to your left.

"Which way is your home?" You asked, looking up at him after you confirmed it to be a vacant street.

"Easy there," he said as he raised his hands defensively. "I'm – can't go home this.. like this. I'm gonna go down to the Nile, and... I'm going to wash up."

"They say not to go by yourself," you said, following him when he turned to the right. "Dangerous animals."

"More guidelines than rules, really," he said as he shambled along. "And I have you now, d–don't I?"

"If fish eat your ass, I am not saving you," you said with a certainty.

Ahkmen spluttered into a laugh.

"What?" You asked, your own smile growing as you watched him, confused.

"Don't – don't ever say that again. Don't talk about anything eating ass," he said through a massive grin.

Once the two of you reached the river, which didn't take long at all, Ahkmen stripped himself of his garments, setting aside his jewelry in a neat row on the banks. His mother's necklace he set on his clothes, making sure not to dirty it in any way.

"It is funny how you Egyptians do this," you said, perching on one of the boulders present.

"Do what?" He asked, looking over his bare shoulder. Your eyes darted up from staring at something lower.

"Wash in the river."

"Not everyone does," he said, kneeling in the water. "A lot have small pools in their homes. Mostly the rich, I guess. Everyone else just bathes here."

"Maybe I am just... not knowing much about being without many clothes," you attempted to translate, the words clearly spinning in your head. You looked to him to see if he understood you.

"That I can see," he said, bringing the water over his legs and chest, trailing up to his face. "You've got quite a style. Very.. colorful. It looks expensive."

"I make my own clothes," you said with a small, but proud smile.

"You're a seamster?"

"I am many things."

"So I've seen," he chuckled. "How do you know so many things?"

"I had to learn. I had to teach me, from what I could see my family doing," you said, your feet wagging back and forth from the boulder's height. "I get not many people who.. who buy. But I have many things. I think it helps."

"Impressive," he said softly as he returned to washing himself.

By dunking his whole head into the cool water, he hoped to return more of his senses to himself, and with it his more prolific words. He didn't need drunken sentences messing up your understanding of him further. Besides, it was hard enough on its' own to try and piece together your own sentences that were jargled and brambled words of what you'd picked up in Memphis.

"Are you ready to go?" You asked after having fidgeted for several minutes, now letting your head hang upside-down off the rock.

"I suppose so," he said, rising to his feet. "I think I can probably bathe more once I get home. And if not, the morning will come, and I can wash then."

As spiritual an experience as it was to bathe in the lifeblood of Egypt, Ahkmen couldn't deny he missed the lavender soaps and gentle oils massaged and soaked into the skin.

He stumbled his way back to shore, slipping easily on the slick mud beneath him, making up the fertile silt of the Nile. You laughed from your vantage point, knocking your head back with the loudest belt of a laugh he'd ever heard. It was made especially amusing by the fact that such noise could come from someone so small. By the third time he slipped, though, you spared a little pity and climbed down from your tower to help him.

"You are funny," you said with the brightest grin he'd seen, offering him your hand with a long reach in an attempt to keep your shoes clean. Unlike Ahk's, they were made of a sort of fabric.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his legs shaky from his laughter and yours. "This doesn't usually happen."

He reached forward, setting his hand into yours, and allowing you to direct him forward. To your unfortunate surprise––though, still, very amused surprise––his weight ended up pulling both of you down, slipping into the shallow reaches of the river.

"Oh Gods," he said as he resurfaced. "I am so sorry, I -"

Your clothes, and you, were then soaked in both water and mud that easily stained to the palms of your hands as you hauled your heavy clothes out of the river. Wide eyes looked to him, your mouth open in surprise. He cringed backwards, a horribly apologetic look on his face as he watched you stand, shaking your body to test your new weight.

Glancing around your legs, midsection, and arms, you found mud dug into your elbows, your knees, around your hips, and all across your shoulders.

You laughed. Relief flooded him upon the sight of your smile, covering your mouth with a dirty hand.

"Don't we look like a dream?" You giggled.