#how to keep crickets alive for fishing

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[erik-golding76]

// trying out something new, aka writing. Pls give honest feedback ;)

The last year of middle school, oh, how time flies. The year was 1990, the date, probably sometime in October. Yeah, October. The air grows colder and the colors start to shift from bright greens to grey and occasional orange, yellow and red. Though, mostly boring grey and brown, just like all the rest of Nockwell.

Oh, fuck yeah, Nockwell. One would be more surprised if someone heard of the town rather than not. It was small, though if you took a 30 minute bus drive, you could make it to a bigger town, city, even. Thats where the fun is at. Nockwell is like a raisin or an old piano. Old folk like it because it reminds them of something it no longer is. It's the memories that keep them comfortable and the people don't actually enjoy the town all that much. These days it seems like it's more of a place where very Christian gather.

Why is Erik thinking all this crap?

Erik Golding, 13, the star of this show, taps the paper on his desk. Boring. The teacher was going on and on about... something. Quite frankly Erik sat at the desk furthest from Mr... fuckface? Kimberly? Kimmel? Okay, no, he has to ask someone. Not remembering will eat Erik alive.

Looking up from his doodles, the boy glances at the biology teacher who seemed to be talking to a fish in his tank. Whatever makes him happy. Erik pokes a kid in front of him with a pencil. A girl with braids and a purple glittery beanie turned to look at Erik, a bit confused but smiling. Campbell..?

- Ashley? - Erik muttered, something between asking if he got her name right and making sure she was listening

- Yeah, Erik? What's up? - The girl nodded and stared at Erik, waiting for him to say something else.

- What's the teachers name? - the boy nodded in the teacher, who now seemingly was trying to squeeze a skeleton of a fish from inside some tube-bottle.

- Oh! I think like, Mr Cricket?

- Damn... Thanks.

Erik leaned back and decided to continue watching.. Mr Cricket. The man's voice was oddly quiet for a teacher, it seemed like even those in second row would barely hear him. Maybe he was just shy. But why on earth would this motherfucker become a teacher if he's shy? He looked to be barely reaching his 30s, what kind of moron chooses to teach and study instead of partying and getting a girl? Though considering.... Mr Cricket and all related to him, Erik came to the conclusion that perhaps the guy doesn't want a girl. Or happiness.

Erik rolled his eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall in irritation. Wow, 15 minutes left. Okay, what game should we play? Who's hair looks weirder? Or throw paper at someone and see if they notice? Or open the pen and drain it's ink? Drink the ink and pretend to be dead?

All sounded fun. But okay, let's go with the hair game. How do you play, you ask? Well, it's easy. You pick a random person, examine their hair throughly (from a distance, duh), and conclude what their hair resembles most. Let's start with... Ashley. Her hair is brown, kinda long and has some glitter stuck in it, presumably from her beanie, which was ynow, covered in glitter.

After a few moments of thinking and staring at the girls hair, Erik came to realize that..... her hair just kinda looks like hair. Boring and just... hair. The beanie looks like a condom though. Okay, not really. Forget it.

Chugs hair looks like grass. Chug could make a very convincing impersonation of a floating island. Green grass ontop and brown-ish everything below.

Tiffany has a bunch of small braids that stick out of her hair like she's a sea urchin, but orange.

Joe's hair looks like... nothing. But it does look like he needs a shower. Has needed it for a while, at that.

Erik stared at one of his classmates. He couldn't really decide, his hair looked both like piss yet gold at the same time. Not like Travis needed to be aware of Erik's judgement, yet it felt wrong to say that the pastors son has piss hair. Though... so does Kenneth.

"Mister Phelps it is, young man!" - the firm voice of Erik's mother echoed in his head, making him grimace.

"Yes, mom, Mister Phelps has piss hair" - Erik thought to himself, pretending to have a conversation with his mom in his own head. This is what modern schools do to children, this orgy or teachers, meatloaf, bologna and really, really bad pumpkin soup is driving Erik insane, middle school is giving him SCHIZOPHRENIA. Voices in his head and oh dear God, hallucinations, swirls of color!!

Wait. Erik pulls his hands away from his eyes as he opens them. The pressure from his palms on his eyeballs dissappears, only leaving less and less of those "hallucinations".

Holy shit this is torture.

Erik looked at the clock. 3 minutes left. Okay.

Erik digs his left hand into his backpack and rummages through, searching for something. Finally he feels the familiar texture of worn cardboard and sharp edges. His treasure, his everything, his savior and his secret. A pack of cigarettes the boy totally didn't steal from the store.

This lunch break will be special, Erik is equipped with matches. He will finally try smoking. As his uncle said, any self respectful man has tried to smoke at least once and continues doing it until he becomes a father or dies.

Erik only cared about the "self respectful man" part. The boy grins at the thought, feeling warmth of pride in his chest.

[withinthebrain]

He Called me Trudi: A Moment with Gertrude

Dust sprays into the air like an erupting geyser as I drop the family photo album on the kitchen rug. I spent all afternoon digging through the boxes in the spare bedroom to find it. My cousin rang at lunchtime and plans to be in town tomorrow. The speckled red cardboard album is splayed open on the floor with pictures spilling from the pages. But there, on top, is an image of Arlin.

"Trudi! Trudi! Come quick, you have to see this!" Arlin yelled to me from behind the tool shed. I rounded the corner to see him holding a bullfrog in each hand. He was covered in mud from his toes to his elbows. "I see you were rolling around in the cow pond again," I spat, annoyed that I would have to clean him up before mama got home. "Since you are already muddy, you best catch a few more so we can fry them for dinner," I suggested, knowing it would at least keep him out of my hair while I finished my chores. Arlin shoved a frog at my chest. He yelled, "Hold!" and dropped it in my hand before ripping open the tool shed door. He grabbed the first bucket with a lid, shoved the frogs in, and ran for the murky pond.

I leave the open photo album on the floor and return my focus to the pie. The oven is hot and the heat makes the kitchen cozy in the autumn chill. With a fork, I pinch the edges of the cherry pie and carefully cut slits in the top crust. Cousin Bruno will be in before the rooster crows tomorrow, and a slice of cherry pie has always been his favorite breakfast. "

A healthy slice of homemade cherry pie is as good as an apple a day," he used to always debate. I never agreed with him, but when Arlin was alive, he quoted Bruno like he was a doctor in a scientific magazine. Cousin Bruno is five years older than me, which made him eight years older than Arlin. Arlin thought he was better than Superman. Arlin looked forward to our camping trips with Bruno and Uncle Pen and Aunt Sylvi.

The tents were lined about 10 meters from the rushing stream. Bruno and Arlin had fishing lines tossed in the water. Aunt Sylvi and I were draping hammocks in the line of evergreen trees behind the tents. Uncle Pen called to the boys, "Unload the food and raise it up in the tree." It was infrequent in this part of the park, but bears had been known to wander through a campsite. "Trudi, did you see me fishing?" Arlin asked as he skipped to the truck. I was surprised he was content with just throwing his fishing line in. Normally, he would have caught 10 other critters by now.

The rich, sweet smell of cherries pulls me from the memory. I wipe the table where the jar of flour sat. Releasing the now lukewarm water from the sink, I reach for my glasses on the windowsill. The sun is setting, and crickets hum replacing the sound of my birds.

Slowy, I kneel over the album of pictures. I push through the images in search of a special memory: our last trip with Arlin. I can see the picture in my mind like we were standing on the tarmac now.

"Look how big the plane is, Trudi!" Arlin had not stopped talking since Momma and Pa had woken him up that morning. He had been so excited to see the ocean. So had I. "Which one did you think we will ride on?" I had questioned as I had taken in the expanse of the airport. Planes had been taking off and landing, and people had been bustling around us almost in panic. Pa had been calm and collected, holding our boarding passes in hand. "Come this way," Pa had summoned, leading us down a stairway. A bright white plane had sat just outside a double door. A woman in an airline outfit had waved and opened the door. Arlin's smile had covered his face. "A real plane!" he had squealed. Pa had ruffled his hair and had sent us to stand on the dark black tarmac. I had picked up Arlin and had held him as high as I could. He had reached as high above him as he could. "I'm a plane!" he had giggled.

A tear rolls down my cheek as I remember six-year-old Arlin. Another tear rolls as I remember that he called me Trudi. Nobody else has called me Trudi since. It was by sheer happenstance that I was not in the car with them the day after our ocean vacation. It was just by coincidence, I did not feel up to going for ice cream the day my brother died in the accident.

The timer dings and I pull myself up from the floor. As I open the oven, the glistening juices from the pie are picture perfect and I wish I had a camera to capture this moment. I know Bruno will be excited to have pie for breakfast.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Oxenfree Headcanons but they’re just about Alex being freed from the loop by Riley

Being brought back to reality is incredibly jarring after spending five years in the loop.

First of all.

Panic attack.

This is not a part of the script. This has NEVER been a part of the script. She’s given up on getting free a long time ago, but now she suddenly IS FREE, and it doesn’t make sense.

Cue Riley having to quickly calm her down.

Second of all.

MAJOR sensory overload.

She’s so used to the loop, reacting to the exact same stimulus, that so much other sensory input is extremely overwhelming. Her senses have basically heightened, and now everything is too much, too much, too much.

The sun is too bright. It feels like her corneas are being melted off or her eyeballs are being carved out with hot iron tools. Colors are so vivid and vibrant, and it gives her a headache.

Every single sound grates on her ears. The splashing of the water, the chatter of other people, the blare of the ferry’s horn. Even Riley’s voice, soft and gentle, is enough to make her ears bleed.

The smells. Saltwater, gasoline, wet grass, smoke from a burnt out campfire, baked goods from a storefront, even her own unwashed body. It stings her nose and makes her nauseous.

And the sensations.

Oh god, the sensations.

Every single touch is mind-shattering agony.

Her skin is so unused to feeling anything beyond what’s scripted in the loop that everything is foreign, terrifying, and painful.

Riley supporting her weak body is like being stabbed right in the arms.

It’s so bad that even her hair brushing against the nape of her neck is like dragging a serrated saw blade across an exposed bundle of nerves.

She feels so raw.

But that’s not the only thing she feels.

She can feel everything going on inside, too.

Her biological processes completely stopped while in the loop, and after awhile, most of her organs stopped functioning, too. The Sunken would keep her alive, after all, so there was no need to expend energy on things that didn’t need to work.

But now that she’s out of the loop, her entire organ system is rudely awakened like they’ve just been shocked by jumper cables.

And she can feel all of it.

In her stomach, her small intestines writhe like eels.

In her chest, she can feel her lungs expand and deflate.

When she speaks, her vocal cords rub together like the slimy legs of a cricket.

She’s acutely (and uncomfortably) aware of every vein transporting blood through her body, every twitch of her diaphragm, every beat of her heart.

Her fingernails connected to her nail beds, her hair sprouting from her scalp, her teeth growing in her gums—she feels it!

And, for a moment, she considers asking Riley to throw her back into the loop like she’s a fish being returned to a lake.

Sure, the loop was a fate worse than death, but at least she doesn’t feel like this.

But she endures. She has to.

She just wishes her body would make it a little easier.

So, she’s freed, and everything hurts!

But despite this, she still can’t bring herself to pry away from Riley, who she’s been clinging to ever since she got free like the woman is her lifeline.

And, to her, Riley very well may be one.

Alex is so afraid that if she lets go for even a second, her connection to the real world will snap, and she’ll be right back in hell.

But they can’t stay like that forever, and when Riley eventually coaxes her to let go, nothing happens. She’s still solid. She’s still stable.

Walking is kinda hard. I feel like gravity in the loop and gravity in the real world, as well as gravity in the void, which she definitely spent time in, is very different from each other.

It certainly doesn’t help that when she stands, she can feel the aching drag of her tendons in her legs and the discomforting creak of her knees trying to support her.

For lack of better words, she looks like a baby horse trying to walk for the first time.

Maybe if she wasn’t in such a deep daze, she would have cared more about how silly she looks.

Because, oh yeah! She is still heavily in shock. What happened, being set free, hasn’t really caught up to her just yet. She’s only dimly aware of what’s happening to her.

But the pain? The pain she’s fully aware of.

She doesn’t get mercy from that.

Because when is the world ever that kind to her?

Anyway.

The early morning this is hypothetically set in is pretty cool, but Alex is shivering like she’s naked in Antarctica.

Her body isn’t really used to regulating its own temperature.

So she’s just so cold.

Riley gives her her jacket to try and keep her warm. The last thing she or Jacob need is the poor kid keeling over from hypothermia.

Speaking of those two!

They have obtained a void child! What now?

Well…neither of them know.

When they went to the island, they were expecting spooky ghost shenanigans. They were expecting weird cult bitches. They were expecting the concept of time being majorly fucked up.

But a tortured child trapped in a time loop? They never could have predicted that.

It’s kind of like unexpectedly picking up a puppy that’s being sold on the side of the road, but no. It’s really not. Because at least caring for a puppy is common knowledge. Something you can get the supplies for with ease.

What the hell do you do for a teenager rescued from the void?

They decide that’s something they can mull over later. Right now, they need to get the hell out of dodge.

So, they decide to take Alex back to Riley’s house and go from there. What else is there to do?

Operation Disguise A Girl Who Went Missing Five Years Ago So She Won’t Be Recognized: COMMENCE!

Alex has Riley’s jacket on, so that’s one thing covered, and Jacob tucks all her hair up into a hat to hide that, too. And then she’s told to keep her head down and don’t talk to anyone.

She’s fine with that. She’s not really in a talking mood, truthfully.

Jacob probably has to carry her to the ferry because, like. Homegirl is having some trouble walking. Also still having a sensory overload. Also still in a lot of pain.

Alex has another panic attack while they’re going across the water on the ferry because she’s never made it to the other side. So she’s just waiting for the illusion to shatter, and for the void to press itself in again.

But that doesn’t happen.

That’s what makes her a little more lucid. Everything starts to feel a little less like a dream and a lot more real.

Riley keeps assuring her again and again that she’s safe, that she’s okay, that she won’t let anything happen to her, and that she definitely won’t let her go back to that horrible rift, and Alex is just so daunted because it’s been so long since anyone has treated her with kindness beyond the scripted lines spoken in the loop.

The moment she gets to the car, she passes out. Somewhat from the pain, mostly from fatigue.

It’s been FIVE YEARS since she’s had a nap. She is EXHAUSTED.

Riley and Jacob are pretty shot, too, but they shake it off for the sake of the girl. They can rest later, once this is all settled.

They go pick up breakfast and then have no idea what to get Alex. And they don’t really want to wake her up because she’s clearly tired.

“A sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich sounds good enough, right?” “What if she’s a vegan? Or a vegetarian?” “Shit, you’re right. Do you think she is?” “I don’t know! Should I wake her up?” “No! No. Let her rest. We’ll think of something.”

“No, Jacob, we’re not giving her coffee. I think coffee will stop her heart.”

They do eventually have to wake Alex up when they get back to Riley’s house.

Riley gives her a little tour.

Alex, although tired and dazed, gets the gist.

Now that she’s awake, they give her the food they bought, but she isn’t up to eating very much. Even though it’s been five years since she’s eaten anything (or drank anything, aside from a little alcohol in a few of the loops), and even though she should be hungry, the mere idea of food makes her even more nauseous than she already is.

But Riley convinces her to at least eat a little bit, just to have something in her stomach, and Alex complies.

She has to stop after just three bites, though, because the tastes are so strong they burn her mouth, and she almost throws up.

But at least she’s eaten something.

Riley then convinces her to take a shower while Jacob runs to the store to get her some clothes that he hopes will fit. After all, they can’t have her lying around in the frankly disgusting clothing she has on.

Even though she’s extremely exhausted, a shower does sound nice, so Alex agrees.

Maybe she can wash away all the trauma sticking to her skin like glue.

(Ha.)

(As if it would ever be that easy.)

Parting with her jacket is a bit difficult, but Riley swears up and down she’ll give it right back after it’s washed, which she does while Alex is in the shower.

In hindsight, perhaps letting the barely awake girl in a ton of pain take a shower unassisted wasn’t the best plan.

The hot water is like an assault on Alex’s sensitive skin.

It’s so excruciating that she literally goes blind for a few seconds.

Long story short, she blacks the fuck out, and Riley has to go do ANOTHER rescue mission to help her.

After that whole ordeal, Alex is dressed in the clothes that Jacob bought (he had to guess on her size, but it was good enough), got her newly washed jacket back, and then promptly conked out again, this time in an actual bed.

Meanwhile, Riley and Jacob slump into the couch and reflect on what the fuck they’ve gotten themselves into.

Here’s some fun appearance things as a bonus!!

A majority of Alex’s hair is chopped off because it kept bothering her (see the part where her skin is so sensitive that even her ponytail brushing her neck hurts). And they need to try to make her look not like herself.

They don’t go to a hair salon, as they’re afraid she may get recognized, so Jacob very confidently takes scissors to Alex’s hair while Riley supervises anxiously.

The result is…very messy. Even when Jacob was looking at a WikiHow article on how to cut hair (with pictures!). There are uneven parts and it kinda sticks out weirdly, but Alex doesn’t really seem to mind.

They also have to re-dye her hair. Alex doesn’t care what color, so Riley and Jacob argue over what’ll look the best. Alex gets a little kick out of it.

They settle on green.

Okay, so y’all know the whole glowing red eyes thing? Well, consider: Alex’s eyes are permanently red. Like, the irises. It’s like they’ve been branded by the possession she once went through.

Also consider: Alex, covered in scars from injuries in past loops.

[chihomichannel]

the different flavors of lollipops

| pairing: choso x gender neutral! reader | genre: fluff | warnings: slight manga spoilers  (ㅅ´ ˘ `) | word count: 2676 words

| a/n: hi! this is clem! this is my first jjk fic that i posted. this is  a 3 part series and i hope you guys like it!  (๑•ᴗ•๑)

| next ►

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The first time you met Choso, you had been trying to kill each other. With the other siding with opposing sides, the two of you started off in the wrong foot. You saw him as a cursed spirit raving havoc with his little group of misfits, and he saw you as the friend of the people who killed his brothers. What started as an equal fight of power ended up with you writhing out in pain as the poison of his blood manipulation coursed through your veins. He left you to die as you bled out on the underground station of Shibuya.

The next time you met him, he was no longer an enemy but rather an ally. But of course, you didn’t trust him. He did side with those who killed your friends and even if he was “manipulated” and turned out to be Itadori’s brother, you still did not find the nerve to trust him. He hasn’t earned it yet and he did try to kill you once. To say that you held a grudge against the guy was an understandment.

When he saw you alive, he was surprised to see you survived. He did poison you after all. Every now and then, his eyes would fall upon the gash on the left side of your face just beside your ear. He would be reminded that it was his fault it was there. It is a scar you earned from fighting him. And he would feel bad whenever his eyes landed on it.

You found yourself spending more time with him than you wanted. Being a level 1 sorcerer, you were assigned to keep an eye on him. Whenever you explain something to him and be met with his impassive face, you would feel your blood boil. You didn’t trust the man and being a sorcerer yourself, it took every nerve in your body not to exorcise him. You have been exorcising cursed spirits your entire life and having to suddenly baby sit one was appalling.

He was nice though, you thought. And you did admire his love and devotion to his brothers. In times when he would talk about them, you would find yourself thinking about your family. It had been years since you last saw them. They were a sacrifice you were willing to take in order to separate them from your life where death followed you everywhere. You wondered if he would turn against all of you if Itadori ended up not being his brother after all. But he was so sure you almost believed it too.

One time, it was night and everyone was fast asleep and you found yourself outside of the hideout. It was only you, Choso, Itadori, Yuta and Megumi left and Yuki and Maki left to go to Tokyo Jujutsu High. They were coming back in the morning and everyone found themselves some place for the night. Unable to sleep, you climbed on a tree and sat in peace with the moon your only source of light. You sighed, staring at the forest that laid in front of you. Soft breeze hit your bare skin, making you shiver. You fished out a lollipop from your pocket and propped it in your mouth. Savoring the fresh air, your peace was soon interrupted when you felt a presence behind your back.

“Choso?!” You shrieked at the man who stared at you with his ever deadpan face. His overall dark demeanor made him look more creepy. “You ought to stop sneaking up on people like that!” He moved to sit beside you, his eyes still on you “Sorry, I thought it was suspicious of you to go out on the middle of the night when everyone’s asleep”

“You’re the suspicious one here, dude” You scoffed at him and propped the lollipop back in your lips. His gaze felt heavy and you looked back at him, uncomfortable “Why are you still staring at me?”

“What’s that?” He asked, pointing at your lollipop. Letting out a “hmm”, you took one last lick of your orange flavored lollipop and replied “A lollipop, it’s a sweet. Want one?” You offered, reaching for your pockets and pulling one out “Try it” You handed him a lemon lime flavored one and he stared at it confusedly before putting it in his mouth.

“No! You need to take off the wrapper first, Choso” You chuckled, pulling his hand down to remove the lollipop from his mouth. He stared at you confusedly “Here, do what I do, okay?” You unwrapped one more lollipop and watched as he tried to do the same. You laughed at his attempts and Choso blushed lightly but not enough for you to see. He put the lollipop in his mouth as he pouted. This caused you to laugh harder. At times like these, the walls you’ve built between you and him began to crumble down. But you never noticed as you felt yourself unconsciously begin to trust the cursed spirit. You learned he could be soft the longer you were with him.

“I’m sorry” Choso began “Huh?” You looked at him perplexedly. Choso nibbled on his lollipop as he kept his eyes straight to the forest “Your scar-” Your hand traced the scar on your left cheek “-I’m sorry for giving you that scar”

“Oh…” was all you could say. You didn’t expect him to be conscious about it. A few seconds of silence passed by as you racked your brain of what to say. You glanced at him in the corner of your eye and nibbled on your orange lollipop “Heh, it’s fine. It was a different situation back then”

You pursed your lips when Choso didn’t say anything after that. It was quiet, only the faint chirps of the crickets echoed through the night. Having had enough of the cold, you stood up and told Choso you’d be going back and sleep when he slipped a hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks “Do you still have some lollipop?” You handed him a cherry flavored one.

You watched as he discarded the stick of his former lollipop and propped the cherry one to his mouth. His shoulders slumped and Choso let out a sigh. His gaze turned to you and he smiled softly, his cheeks flushed pink “It’s sweet” That was the first time you saw him in a different light.

After that night, Choso took a liking to lollipops often asking you for more. This lead you to buying a whole packet when you found yourself near a convenience store. His obsession on the sweet deeply amused you. You had never once thought a cursed spirit could taste food until Choso came into your life. This made you wonder if they also needed to eat to survive. When you saw the way his eyes lit up at the sight of the packet of lollipops, you couldn’t help but smile. The longer you spent time with him, the more you found yourself warming up to him.

You built a camaraderie with the man, learning to trust and coordinate with him when you found yourselves fighting for your life. The two of you found common ground on protecting Itadori. Once, you were so beaten up after an attack that you would’ve been in much worse condition if Choso hadn’t come in time to swoop you away from the scene. It frustrated you to no end how weak you’ve become. Or maybe you have always been weak, just a tad bit better than your peers. Choso would notice when these kinds of thoughts cloud your mind and would pull out a lollipop from his pockets and give it to you.

You stared at him, he reminded you of a parent handing his upset child a candy to lighten their mood. You almost felt offended but he looked so genuinely concerned it warmed your heart instead. You muttered a low “Thanks” and put the sweet into your mouth. He watched you as you did so, scanning your demeanor and feeling relieved to see your mood lightened. He patted your head causing you to stiffen. You ogled at him as he continued to caress your hair “You did great” He said and you felt your heart lighten from your worries.

Cranberry, it was the taste of the lollipop Choso handed you. Cranberries symbolize abundance and gratitude and gratitude is what Choso felt for you. Choso found himself protective of you as he is of his brothers. But not quite in the same way, he just couldn’t put his finger around it. On the other hand, you found yourself hot and bothered with Choso’s new attitude around you. You found yourself flustered whenever he’s around and it bothered you to no end. You often reprimand yourself for being flustered in the first place ‘He’s a cursed spirit!’ You remind yourself ‘A cursed spirit!’

But Choso made it much harder for you. At times when you thought your passing feelings for the man had subsided, Choso would make it his goal to remind you of those feelings. Not like he’s aware he does so. Choso did not understand the concept of attraction. Being locked away for more than a century, the only love he knew is the one he held for his brothers. And so when he found himself feeling a certain way for you, Choso mistook it as the same he felt for his brothers. Care, that was what he felt for you.

But when he saw you chatting animatedly with Megumi, he hated how you laughed and how close you sat next to the boy. Choso’s eyes shot daggers at the poor boy who remained unaware of the looming darkness behind him. But Choso remained in his seat, and looked begrudgingly at you and Megumi. That was the first time Choso felt jealousy, not that he knew what that feeling was exactly. He realized, ever since he met you, he’s had a whirlwind of emotions he never knew existed. And it irked Choso just how much power you held over him.

The next time you were alone with him, he sat opposite from you, maintaining a distance as he gazed suspiciously at you. You noticed his behaviour and gave him a questioning look but was only met with a huff for a response. You frowned, confused. Tapping your foot on the ground, you met Choso’s gaze and held it like you two have a staring contest. The other wouldn’t budge and it bugged you that Choso wouldn’t speak. Just as you were about to give up, Choso stood up and dashed to your side.

You bounced on the impact of him plopping down next to you. Facing you, Choso’s eyebrows scrunched together as he stared at you intensely “Is this like your technique or something?” He asked, confusing you even more “Huh?”

“This!” He motioned between you two “-you hate me don’t you? This is why you’re doing your cursed technique and making me feel this way”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-t” You did not understand a word he said ‘What the hell is he talking about?!’ You thought ‘Technique? Hate him?!’

“Why would you think I hate you?” You asked, your voice cracking slightly by the end. It’s true you didn’t trust him in the beginning and sure, you did hate him before he became an ally. But now that you know him, you couldn’t comprehend as to why he would think like that. Had you been mean to him? Had you been unconsciously mean to him?! You panicked at the thought. You consider him a friend at this point, you thought he felt the same way. Or at least knew you were fine with him. Like, geez, he had been making you blush. What is up with him?

“You make me feel weird” Now he lost you “Huh?”

“You make me feel nervous! I don’t get nervous easily! At least not when I’m in a fight” “Okay-” “And you also make me happy! Just being around you makes me happy” “Wait, what-” “And earlier! I had this nasty feeling. Like something is gnawing at my stomach, my ears, my heart, my entire being!”

“HUH?” You held your cheeks with your hands, face now flushed red “I really hated it when you sat so close to that black haired kid and I wish it was me you were laughing with-” You collapsed at this point “-In short, you make me feel really weird!”

Your eyes refused to look at him, trying to hide your reddened face away from him “Hey, say something” Choso cooed, planting his hand on your wrist making you jerk “Umh-Ah-a-H-Ch-A” You stammered, unable to make out words. You had never felt so flustered in your entire life. Concern replaced Choso’s fury and he held your shoulders, calling out your name.

“Huh, am I interrupting something?” You and Choso turned your head towards the sound and found Itadori standing by the doorway “ITADORI!” You cried out “What’s wrong with her?” Choso asked at the same time. Maki appeared behind Itadori and the two looked at each other knowingly before giving you guys an amused look “Get your hands off her or she’ll probably die” Maki said making Choso let go of you instantly “Why?!”

Maki laughed as she went to the both of you and grabbed a hold of your body to take you away. Itadori could only chuckle “Choso, you’re impossible”

That night, Choso sneaked out of Itadori’s watchful eyes to pay you a visit. He had confided in Itadori about his concerns but was left frustrated when Yuuji only laughed at his face saying that Choso is “in love” with you. But “in love” like how? 

“As in ‘in love’ romantically” Itadori explained  “But what the hell do you mean by romantically?” Choso walked out when Itadori howled in laughter, no longer saying anything comprehensible.

Knocking, Choso gained your attention. You had been laying on the couch thinking back to Choso’s words to you. When you calmed down, the absurdity of the situation dawned on you. You realized that Choso didn’t understand his feelings and having him feel that way towards you made your heart flutter. It made you feel special that someone like him, who did not even understand what it’s like to be in love with someone, somehow fell for you. And seeing him now looking at you worriedly made you come to terms that you needed to talk to him.

“Hey” You called him softly. You sat up and patted the space next to you, and Choso made himself comfortable beside you. Silence engulfed the both of you and you felt yourself flush under the heavy atmosphere. You racked your brain for words to say but your thoughts were interrupted when Choso began “I can’t really say that I’m sure about what I feel and from what I have gathered, I think understand what it is now” Your blush deepened, your eyes unmoving from his figure “-all my life, this is the only time I have ever truly lived. And even now, I’m still in hiding. I don’t know much about life and I don’t really know anything other than Jujutsu but-” he turned to look at you

“-being by your side these past few months, I have learned a lot of things” Choso put a hand on his head, scratching his hair. He glanced at you, a faint smile on his lips “-and I want to keep on living the rest of my life with you by my side”

You almost choked but managed to compose yourself. Your face hurt from the amount of heat his words made you feel. Unable to say anything else, you shoved a lollipop on his hand. The butterflies in your stomach burst into flames when you felt his hand enveloped yours “Okay” You squeaked out, the warmth of his hand still present in yours even when he pulled away.  He smiled, the taste of bubblegum melting in his mouth “Okay”

[angrenwen]

One question often asked when talking about dwarves is… “what did they eat under their mountain?”

Well we know dwarves – especially in times of great riches – traded large quantities of food with men.  To quote Thorin Oakenshield: “we never bothered to grow or find food ourselves” (-p28 – The Hobbit).  To sustain a large population of dwarves however ocasional trade of food from the surface wouldn’t have been enough to prevent mass starvation underground.   Which brings us to the question, what is there too eat in dark places of the world ?

Firstly we need to get a bit of an idea of how many dwarves we are feeding.  At the end of the Third age dwarven numbers were on the decline, but judging by the dwarven armies, the fact that 1/3 is female and dwarves aren’t exactly rabbits when it comes to reproducing, numbers couldn’t have been much higher then 15.000 at any given time. Let’s take the Lonely Mountain in 2760 of the Third Age, some ten years before Smaug attacked… The Halls of the Lonely Mountain would have been bursting with dwarven life, likely up to 8.000 dwarves around this time.   So this amount of dwarves isn’t fed by the occasional food trade with the men, nor by the stray bat… it would take a food industry to keep them alive and thriving.

If we consider healthy dwarven males and women would eat about 1100 grams a day,  And we take into account a population of 8.000, we need just over 3 million kilo’s (6,6 million Lbs) of food per year.  If dwarves would rely on trade to feed their own then they would need about 13.000 wagons (230kg a piece) fully loaded with food each year, or about 35 a day.  So, I believe it is safe to say there is no way Dale and the surrounding region could have sustained the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain.

This creates a major challenge you might think… where do the dwarves find over 3 million kilo’s of food under a mountain ? Is it even possible ?

Yes, it is… let me tell you how.

First thing you need to know is that bats are the corner stone of the dwarven food-pyramid.  Bats are not just hunted on by chance, in order to sustain a dwarven population of several thousands, dwarven cities would have had several dozens of bat farms.  Bats aren’t just usefull for their meat, in fact they would have been mainly used for their sh… uhm.. their droppings (guano).  Yes you read it correctly, their droppings… which would have provided nutrition for a whole foodchain.  The guano is food to countless creatures, including flies, beetles, bugs, millipedes, springtails, cockroaches, worms, mites and moths. These animals are in turn fed upon by the cave crickets, centipedes, scorpions, whip scorpions and spiders. And these provide food for small mammals (rats, cavemice), cavecrabs, frogs, toads, salamanders, snakes and turtles.  The dwarves would have farmed many of these animals, sometimes growing them by the millions or billions, either as a direct food source or as food for the dozens of fish, frog and turtle farms found under the dwarven mountains.    Bats even provide milk, indeed… bat milk… not going into the details on how they were milked, but trust me, it is possible.

Now in most temperate caves – climates found in most of dwarven caves of Middle Earth – dwarves run into the problem that it is too cold to support the amount of fauna needed to support their population.  In order to sustain large amounts of life in caves, the micro climate inside the mountain needs to be warmer, verging on tropical.  This allows the bats to breed faster, providing more droppings, which in turn allows the insect population to boom – ensuring a steady food supply for the fish and bat farms under the mountain.

Even in the colder subarctic climates of the Grey Mountains dwarves managed to create different inner climates in their Halls that allowed to sustain the food sources of their population.  This is done mainly through creating lava chambers deep in the heart of the mountain and creating steam channels that lead to the various halls in the mountain.     Their adapted mountain microclimate would have also provided for quite a few natural salt caves, which isn’t only handy for seasoning or keeping food.  In case you believe living underground would be tremendously unhealthy… in our modern times people pay hundreds of dollars to spend a few hours in fake salt caves.

Also, their mirror systems allowed them to channel natural sunlight from openings in the mountain sides to every corner of the underground mountain, even allowing them to grow some vegetables (potatoes and carrots), northern grains and berries deep inside the mountain.

With all of the above in mind, the Lonely Mountain dwarves in our example would have been eating the following over the course of a year (some examples of dishes added there too – by the way these dishes actually exist – so for the squeemish… you’ve been warned)

* 1.190.000 kilo’s of batmeat (crispy fried batwings, batsoup)

* 1.120.000 kilo’s of fish and crab (boiled cavecrabs, cavefish cassarole)

* 146.000 liters of fishoil

* 890.000 kilo’s of bugs (crickets on a stick, cheesy beetle dip, millipede-paté)

* 657.000 kilo’s of snakemeat (snake hotpot)

* 340.000 kilo’s of spiders (fried spiders)

* 124.000 kilo’s of turtlemeat (turtle stew)

* 216.000 liters of batmilk – you would need to milk about 5800 bats for that each day – but still possible though

* 450.000 kilo’s of vegetables (rootpuree, cavepotato soup)

* 235.000 kilo’s of scorpionmeat (scorpion kebab)

* 389.000 loaves of bread

as you can see, no shortage of food in the mountain  

[yanderemommabean]

A Yiga attacks you, drawing blood. A mighty roar sounds in the distance, and not even a minute later, a feral Sidon emerges from the water, enraged and ready to kill. With a few well-placed snaps of his powerful jaws, Sidon has ripped the Yiga to shreds. When you get back to the Domain, Sidon is livid with you, berating you for trying to run away.

Tears run down your face uncontrollably as the Zora prince begins screaming at you, angry and ballistic as his stance makes you feel small and pathetic. You honestly weren’t trying to do anything! All of this started because of a misunderstanding and he won’t even take a second to listen to you!

Words are stuck in your throat as he sighs and turns around, too angry to look at you. You’re always starting trouble! Always ignoring his warnings! Why is it so hard for you to listen?!

“Sidon please I wasn’t-“

“I don’t want to hear it!”

“If you would just listen to me-“

“I SAID I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT!” He snaps, eyes turned to slits as he glared at you, mouth formed into a snarl “I don’t want to hear another word from you. You’ve deliberately disobeyed me and nearly gotten yourself killed! Unless the next words from you are an apology you can keep quiet for the rest of the day”.

You clench your fists, his words hurting and making you feel like a child being scolded. “If I knew you would treat me like a fucking child I would’ve let the Yiga kill me. I’m so tired of you acting like I can’t take care of myself. Fine. You want silence? Have it”.

Dramatic theatrics always pissed you off, and Sidon having the gall and audacity to act like he was scolding you out of love was asinine and grating on your nerves. Perhaps you should have been the one shredded by his teeth, at least then he’d actually do you a favor.

Not being allowed to go anywhere, be allowed to do anything, or even be allowed to speak your mind was absolute hell! You’re so fucking tired of it! If he wants to play games and be emotional then you can too.

Childish? Yeah but nothing about this situation was mature or on a level of calm and collected.

Hours go by, and you’re examining the bruises left by the attack as you sit by the waterfall. Another Zora guard is by your side, and he seems to want to say something but only nervously rocks on his feet as you stare down at the waters below.

“...He’s just looking out for you...you know?”.

You make a noise, looking up at the pale green Zora as he clears his throat and looks away. “The prince. He’s not doing it in the best way but...he just really cares about you and your well-being”.

You shake your head, not believing a word the fish said. “He’s got a funny way of showing it. That’s for fuckin’ sure” you bite out, looking up where the prince was pacing back and forth in the throne room. He still seemed livid and feral, but there was a hint of remorse behind those usually kind eyes.

With a sigh, the guard nods his head, toying with the shaft of his spear “The prince has had many hardships that he had no control over. You’re the closest person he’s been able to have in centuries. He doesn’t want to lose someone important again. I know he goes about it in a strange way, but you must know it comes from a good place”.

Sure. A good place. Right.

What’s so good about being treated like an incompetent child? Or being blamed for something you had zero control over? No, Sidon is just being cruel and controlling. Nothing sweet about it.

The Zora could tell you were hard set on brooding and frowing. Understandable given your circumstances. However he felt the need to try and cheer you up, even if just a little.

“Perhaps now that things have calmed down...you two could try to talk again? I’m sure even if you have choice words to say, it’s better than giving him the silent treatment”.

“HE’S THE ONE WHO WANTED ONE!” You spit, splashing the water slightly with the gesture you made with your hands. You huff, seeing the look on the guards face and turning to face the waterfalls again. “He won’t listen anyway. He’s mad at me and I’m tired of him. He only cares about how he feels, not about how I feel”.

“That’s not true, my pearl” a familiar, deep voice replied. You stiffen, turning to face the larger, more colorful Zora. Even now his eyes still held anger, but not for you. No he was angry with himself for letting his emotions take over, allowing instinct to muddle what he was truly trying to say.

He hurt you, and he can’t forgive himself. He swore to protect you and all he has done is smother the light you used to shine.

“...” you say nothing, turning back around and trying your best to stay silent. Crossing your arms over your chest, you shrug your shoulders as the only attempt at communication. Sidon nibbles his lips as he plays with his fingers nervously, debating on how to apologize and approach you.

He too stayed silent, giving a head tilt towards the guard to leave his post. Once the other left, he sat down in the waters beside you, drumming his fingers on the floor as his lips pout in thought. The sky was turning into a beautiful twilight, and the moons light casting upon you only made you look even more stunning. He could see the bruises made on you, and his chest ached knowing you were hurt.

You had defensive signs all over you. Signs that you didn’t go with the Yiga warrior willingly. Marks that proved you were scared and needing his protection and all he offered in return was anger and blame.

“...I’m sorry...” he said softly, eyes lowered “I...I thought you and the yiga...I...well-“

You cut him off, not looking in his direction as you finish what he was struggling to say “You assumed I was teaming with the enemy. I know” you bitterly state, fingers clenching your elbows as your arms were folded over, cradling yourself as a form of comfort. “Shows how much you trust me....”you weakly added, voice cracking.

Guilt was bubbling inside of him. He’s known you for so long yet he let his insecurities taint his image of you. And look where that’s gotten him! Your warmth was dying out because he can’t seem to realize that you aren’t like the others. Sidon knows you aren’t fragile and that you’ll always be by his side, but time and time again he ignores these facts over his emotion.

It goes silent again, the crickets chirping in the distance being the only noise for a while as he watches your face glimmer in the starlight. Amazing and breath taking as ever. His hand reaches over towards you, gently laying ontop of your own, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“I can’t take back what I did. But I can say that it’s eating me alive and that I hate how it even left my mouth. And...I want you to know I do care about you. I know I’m controlling and intense and unreasonable...and the fact you haven’t tried to kill me yet is amazing “ he jokes, smiling when he sees the little bit of amusement etched into your face.

You squeeze his hand and give half a smirk “well...you make up for it when you let me get away with stealing snacks from the store...so I’d say it’s even”.

Both of you share a soft laugh, and you swing your feet over the falls as you clear your throat. “I-I know you’re just worried about me but...Sidon, I’m not some fragile toy. I’m not some bad guy either. I wouldn’t ever do anything dangerous and despicable like join the Yiga...or leave you”.

Sidon lowers his head, pressing it against Yours as he holds your clasped hands to his chest. “I know...I know and I’m such a fool for thinking otherwise. I’ll make this up to you darling, anyway you want! Just say the word and it’s yours!”.

You gently kiss his cheek, and give a soft breath in thought. “Anything?”.

He nods in affirmation “Anything.”

You grunt, standing up to maneuver onto his lap “Well...for now just hold me. I’ll think of something extravagant later. Deal?”.

He laughs, holding you closer and nodding his head “Deal”.

-Mommabean (was this ok???)

[smarchit]

Look Around, Look Around pt 3

Summary: You escaped an abusive marriage, pregnant with your husband’s child. He sends a bounty hunter after you to bring you back. Everything changes. Din Djarin/pregnant!reader, no use of y/n

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Pregnancy/related topics, implied/referenced rape, mentions of abuse

Notes: yaaaaaaall better get ready bc the story really starts to kick in during this chapter - stay tuned!

So you'd been travelling with the Mandalorian for a little over a month now. A month of helping him as best you could around the Razor Crest, which usually meant watching the baby while he was out looking for work.

He'd kept it to touring mostly well-populated planets for now, and ones usually far less dangerous than he was used to working on. He didn't want to put you in any unnecessary danger than what came with one in his field of expertise, so it was mostly touristy things on larger planets.

You had fun at first, but those weren't the type of places his work usually stuck around on. So you had to keep moving, keep hopping from skughole to skughole in pursuit of work.

Presently, you were seated on a crate outside of the Crest while he negotiated a docking fee from the Twi'lek woman who owned the hangar and adjacent inn. You rubbed a soothing hand over your stomach while the unborn baby inside you did somersaults. It's okay, little one. I'm right here.

"Need a room for your wife?" the woman asked, slightly louder so you could hear her. She raised a brow at the Mandalorian, who slightly turned to face you.

"She's not my wife - and no," he corrected sharply. "We don't. Just need the hangar spot for a day or so."

You sighed and looked down at the bounty hunter's little one that was currently trying to chase down a cricket nearly as large as he was. He'd tire himself out, which would be good for you later on.

It had been getting a little more difficult for you to sleep at night, not due to anxiety, but due to the creeping pressure on your back and hips.

The Mandalorian, stoic and chivalrous as he was, had offered you his bed to sleep in. He'd found some extra bedding in a shop on Tatooine and bought it all for you so you weren't suffering anymore than you had to. You were nesting. The child constantly was snuggling in the bed with you, and would make his way into your room while the Mandalorian slept, much to his panic. He'd wake in the morning and frantically search for him at first, but now he knew right where to find you.

"Ready?" the Mandalorian asked, making his way back over to you. He had a bag slung over his shoulder and the keys to a speeder in his hand.

Dare you say it, it looked very dad-like, and you actually found a smile creeping across your face at his casual pose.

"Where's this one hiding?" you asked as he shut up the door to the Crest. You scooped up the child, something that was getting increasingly difficult with each day, and stood with him in your arms.

"About a four hour ride that way," Mando said, gesturing with his whole hand pointing east.

You groaned internally. "Four hours!"

"You can stay here if you want," he said with a shrug.

You glanced around the old hangar and scowled. It was completely walled in, and you could see none of the planet from here.

"I'm coming," you said firmly.

He nodded once. "Alright then. Let's go."

***

It took almost five hours to get to your destination, due in part to the rough terrain and also to the fact that your baby thought it would be a wonderful idea to park itself on your bladder.

Coupled with the fact that you were carrying a squirming infant on top of that didn't make for an enjoyable trip.

You finally made it to a small inn in the middle of nowhere long after dark. The soft yellow light from the windows lit up the otherwise overwhelming darkness around you and the front door opened quickly as you neared the inn.

You pressed your back against his chest in fear. This was out in the middle of no where - you hadn't seen another settlement in hours. They shouldn't know anyone was coming...

"They're waiting here for us," Mando explained. "There's nothing to worry about."

You didn't relax even as the bike slowed to a gentle stop in front of the house. Mando jumped off first and held his arms out to you to jump into. The step down was higher than you realized and you stumbled off of it, landing against him heavily. He caught you with ease and set you back on your feet.

The child cooed in your arms when he realized how close his adopted father was. You gently shushed him and pulled his little swaddle over his head.

"Mando!" a booming voice called from the doorway of the in. You jumped a mile and yelled in fear. On instinct, you jumped behind the Mandalorian and turned your body to protect yourself and the two children from any harm.

"Dern," he said, holding up his hand in a greeting to the hulking figure in the doorframe of the inn. "Thank you for agreeing to house us. It's... Greatly appreciated."

"I'm always happy to help you after what you did for me all those years ago," the one called Dern said. He finally stepped into the light. A Devaronian man smiled down at you and you tried your best to not cower from him. He towered over the Mandalorian, who was already tall compared to you, and you had to crane your neck to see him.

"Don't mention it," Mando grumbled. "Really."

The Devaronian roared with laughter and slapped his hand on Mando's backplate hard enough to send him stumbling forward. He then approached you and you squeaked, holding the child tight enough to make him give a sharp cry.

"What's this?" he cooed, giving you a quick once over. "You have two little ones now, Mando? The green one Xi'an's or something?"

"Neither are mine," he said, sounding midly disgusted. You hoped that wasn't directed towards you. "I'm raising the one. The girl is a friend."

Friend. The word, you found, stung more than it should have. You were only that, you supposed. Patched him up a few times. He held your hair back when you got motion sickness on more than one occasion. You were the one he called for when he had a nightmare. He was the one you ran to when you first felt your baby kick - you had laughed when he called your baby aruett'ika when it stopped moving as soon as you managed to convince him to put his hands on your belly. Friend.

"Well, I'm always happy to give you shelter when you need it," he said, nodding in the Mandalorian's direction. "And as for her, I'm just happy to give shelter to anyone who can put up with you and not want to dump you in the Sarlacc pit."

You swore you heard Mando's eyes roll back into his head as he retrieved the bag from the rack on the speeder.

Dern held the door open for you and bowed when you entered. He waved one finger at the baby in your arms, who blew a tiny raspberry and made a mean face.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," he said, making a sweeping gesture at his living space.

You looked around, noting all the potentially soft places for you to lay and you sighed wistfully before making your way to a pile of cushions. The child wiggled out of your arms and plopped itself on a black cushion and babbled up at Mando, who gave a heavy sigh.

"I made supper," Dern offered. "Wasn't sure what guests you brought with you, so I made a bit of everything."

"Something with bones for the little one," Mando said.

"Anything that isn't fish," you said quietly, leaning back in the cushions. "It's been turning my stomach."

"Aren't you glad you didn't stay on Sorgan," Mando teased as Dern turned to the pot on the stove.

"Could have been making a fortune as a basket weaver," you hummed, pressing a hand to your belly. The baby had been restless all day and still hadn't settled and you shifted uncomfortably as they chose that moment to kick particularly hard.

"You okay?" Mando asked. He sounded worried and he leaned forward in his chair to get closer to you.

"Fine, fine," you murmured, "She's just jumpy."

"You think you're having a girl?" he asked, resting his elbows on his thighs.  

"Omera thought I was having a girl, so it just sort of stuck," you replied with a shrug.

"Might be nice," he mused. He sounded distant, like he was thinking about something. 

You wanted to ask him why, but Dern returned with two bowls of hot soup and a cup of broth for the child.

Mando gave an awkward cough and stood, taking the large bowl in both hands.

"Ah, forgive me, my friend," Dern said. "I have forgotten. A guest room is set up for you - please, eat there."

He nodded and thanked his host before he disappeared down the narrow hallway.

In the few weeks you'd been travelling, you realized you never saw him eat, never saw him take food into a room to eat. He must eat long after you and the baby go to bed. The thought broke your heart. How often did he wait for you to decide you were sleepy and go to bed so he could eat?

"So," Dern chuckled as he watched the baby slurp his broth, "You've been traveling with him long?"

You shook your head. "A month," you murmured. "He... saved me."

Dern nodded. You hoped he didn't ask anything else. It wasn't like it was hard for you to talk or make friends, like you imagined it potentially could be for Mando, but you really didn't want to consider the possibilities of all the stuff that could have happened to you had another hunter found you.

Would you be dead? Alive? You shuddered at your internal question - would you still have your baby?

"See?" Dern said, "Man's got a good head on his shoulders."

You nodded absently in agreement. You'd been told that by Cara before, and by a man named Greef Karga only a week or so prior when he realized you were sticking around for a while. The Mandalorian made an impact. He killed with such an acute precision and his skills as a bounty hunter were unmatched. Yet he was gentle in ways that you don't think anyone would believe if you told them.

You, the child, and the Devaronian ate in silence. You hefted yourself off the cushion and walked to the sink basin. Your host got up to follow you into the kitchen.

You were aware of his proximity to you as you took a sponge to wash your dish. He watched you with dark eyes and you felt your pulse rise in fear.

"If you're just a friend, who's child is it you carry?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

"My ex husband," you said. Then you added dryly, "He's dead."

It was a bold faced lie and you hoped he wouldn't notice and leave you alone. No such luck.

"Perhaps then you need some... Assistance with raising your bundle."

Dern trailed a broad hand up your arm and you shied away from his touch. Goosebumps broke out on your skin, but the act of touching at all made your flesh crawl.

"I'll manage," you said firmly. You heard the quiver in your voice and you kicked yourself.

"Are you sure?" Dern didn't even wait for you to reply. He reached a hand over and roughly grabbed your belly. He dug his nails into your arm and spun you so he had you pinned against the counter. One of the drawer pulls bit into your back. His hands gripped you tight enough to bruise your skin.

"She's sure," came a gruff voice from behind you.

Mando was standing there, bowl in hand, helmet firmly back in place. You could tell from his body language that he was upset.

Dern took a step back, his hands raised in surrender.

"Come here," Mando ordered, nodding at you. You walked over to stand by him, your legs shaking bad enough that he wrapped a hand around your waist to steady you.

"She's going to bed," Mando said, keeping his eyes steady on Dern. "Got it? If I find out you did this again, I'll reactivate your tracking beacon. I know quite a few people looking for you."

"Whatever," he grunted, turning to the dishes.

Mando took you down the hall to the guest room, making sure to not frighten you.

Once inside the bedroom, you let out a loud sob and a shaky breath. You leaned heavily against the door and pressed your hand to your mouth to calm yourself. 

"Breathe," he whispered, his strong hands on your shoulders the only thing keeping you upright.

"Just breathe. I've got you, okay?"

You nodded quickly and tried to even out your breathing so you wouldn't hyperventilate.

"Can I hug you?" Mando murmured. "Is that okay?"

You thought for a minute and then nodded. No one had ever asked if they could touch you before...

He gently wrapped his arms around you and held you. His gloves were warm as they spread across your back. You expected the chest of his beskar to be cold, but it felt warm against your belly.

"You're safe," he promised, the modulator of his helmet made it come out in a whisper. "No one is going to touch you unless you let them first. Just breathe. I'm here."

You took a few more gulping breaths and relaxed into his arms, one hand gripping the fabric between his arm guards. You didn't think a metal man would give great hugs, but you also didn't think there was a way out of your marriage. You've been known to be wrong before.

There was a gentle flutter in your belly and you laughed, wiping your cheeks. "It's okay, little one..."

Mando pulled away from the hug slightly and looked down at where your hand rested on your stomach. He made a slight move to pull away but you grabbed his wrist and gently placed his hand beside yours.

"I still can't feel it," he said softly but with as much seriousness as he could muster, "Aruett'ika."

You laughed louder than you had in months.

TAGLIST (ask to be tagged!): @miscellaneous-mando @lestrange2703 @someplace-darker @the-last-twin-of-krypton @divineangelix @c1996 @mell-bell

[xlostinobsessionsx]

An Unforgettable New Year’s Eve | Charlie Gillespie - 3/3

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x fem! Reader

Warning: none

Word Count: 2,536

Plot: Plot: (Y/N) doesn’t want to go to the new years eve party where her ex would be with his new girlfriend. Sadly, she promised her best friend she’d go. But instead of letting her wallow in self pity, Charlie makes it his mission to give her a new years eve she will never forget, which makes her ask herself one question: Can you fall in love in just one night?

A/N: Again, a big thank you goes to @a-tomb-with-a-view for also proof-reading this part! This fic wouldn’t be finished without you!I hope you all enjoy the last part of this short fic. 💕

Part 1 | Part 2

Masterlist

The road underneath them was gone. Instead, they drove over an earthy and rocky path. “Where are you taking me?” (Y/N) tried to ask over the loud sound of the engine.

“Just you wait,” Charlie replied, the joy evident in his voice. They came to a halt on top of a hill. Charlie climbed off the bike and held his hand out to (Y/N) to help her getting off the bike, too. They took off their helmets and placed them onto the ground. Charlie opened the small trunk of the bike.

“Is this the place where you’re going to murder me?” (Y/N) asked amused.

Charlie laughed. “Yes, this might be the best place for it.” He pulled out a blanket out if the trunk and spread it out onto the ground. “But I think this blanket is in much better use if we just sit down on it, instead of strangling you with it, don’t you think?” he chuckled.

 (Y/N) laughed “You’re right about that!”

Charlie helped her to get comfortable on the blanket and took a seat next to her. For the first time (Y/N)’s gaze fell forward. From here they could see almost everything. The lights of the city were shining bright. Her smile grew wide. Below them it was noisy and full of people, but up here it was quiet. She just could occasionally make out the chirping of crickets. “Have you’ve been here often on New Years Eve?” she asked, turning towards Charlie.

He was looking in front of them, observing the city. The moon illuminated his features. (Y/N) smiled. She had never seen someone so handsome. Never met someone as friendly and adventurous than him. Never been with someone who made her feel so alive. Charlie smiled and turned to her “Only once or twice, actually.” he answered her question. “I like to keep it to myself.”

(Y/N) cheeks heated up a bit “Well, I’m honored to be here.” she answered cheekily.

Charlie laughed slightly. His gaze fell down to their hands, which were almost touching. Suddenly he laid down. “Lay down?” he asked her “You can see so many stars from here.”

(Y/N) laid down next to him. Her gaze drifted off to the sky, which was filled with brightly shining stars. Ocassionally, she had seen the stars before when she had wandered the streets by night after a night out. But mostly they’d been hidden by the big buildings and the air of the city. She took a deep breath, feeling the fresh air filling her lungs. She smiled brightly and turned her head to Charlie. “Thank you for showing me this place. Not only for that. Thank you for tonight. You really made this night unforgettable.” she admitted with a shy smile.

Charlie smiled slightly. “I’m glad I could make you happy again.” They looked at each other, eyes meeting. Charlie took in her features. She looked so peaceful and carefree, the total opposite from how she’d been looking at the party. He broke the silence. "Tell me a secret" he whispered.

 "What?" (Y/N) laughed.

 "Tell me something you've never told anyone before." He requested.

 "Uhm,okay...well, I think I've never been really in love" She admitted, looking shyly at him.

Charlie frowned "But didn't you have relationships before?"

(Y/N) sighed and nodded slightly. "I just think that..." she chuckled nervously "I've never felt as alive as I've felt tonight...with you. Shouldn't you feel this way in a relationship, too?" She looked at Charlie.

A smile formed onto his face, "Yeah, you should feel this way with your partner. I think they should make you feel alive all the time" He agreed.

(Y/N) nodded slowly. "Now you," She demanded.

Charlie laughed slightly, then he went silent and looked up to the sky. He took a deep breath. "I didn't speak to you at the party because I just wanted to make you feel better." He admitted. (Y/N) frowned. He turned his head to her. His eyes were sparkling because of the faint light. His lips turned into a small smile. "I spoke to you because you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen." He smiled at her nervously. "The moment you had walked into the room you've taken my breath away."

The words made (Y/N)'s heart beat faster. She might have only known Charlie for a few hours but he made her feel so different than she had ever felt before. "Why didn't you talk to me sooner?" She asked him, smiling shyly.

(Y/N) turned so that she was lying on her side, her hand supporting her head. She looked down at the guy next to her. He was looking at her so...lovingly. She smiled slightly. "You didn't made a fool out of yourself. This is one of the best nights Charlie sighed, a shy smile forming on his lips "In all honesty, in the first hour I was trying to figure out what to say to you without looking like a total fool." of my life. Probably even the best night ever." She smiled brightly at him.

Charlie sat up. His beautiful face taking on a slight shade of pink. "Probably? How would your perfect new years eve look like then?" He asked her.

(Y/N) sat up, too. Her gaze followed Charlie's. She could make out the lights of the city below them. A warm feeling spread out inside of her. "Well, I would be at a party." She started "I would be alone but then a cute guy would be there. He would start to talk to me and take me on an adventure. Then near midnight we would be on this beautiful spot. Just the two of us…" her gaze fell to Charlie.

By now he was looking at her with a nervous smile. (Y/N) glanced to the clock on her phone. "Then we would count the last seconds of the year together. 10...9…" Charlie smiled at her. "8…7…" he started to count with her.

Slowly they leaned into each other. Her gaze wandered from his beautiful bright eyes to his lips. It made his lips drew into a smile. His gaze fell to her soft lips. "6...5…" Charlie gently pulled a strand of hair away from her face, his hand softly caressing her cheek. Their noses brushed against each other slightly. "4...3…" she smiled, looking into his eyes one last time before closing hers. "2...1…" they whispered and then their lips touched.

Big fireworks were erupting in the streets underneath them. Small fireworks were erupting throughout her body. Heat radiated from Charlie and made her lean in even more. His lips moved gently against hers. It made her feel like she stood in fire. This feeling was entirely different from any other feeling she had felt before. Slightly, they pulled away from each other but still stayed close. Their noses brushed against each other. (Y/N) leaned in again. She never wanted to lose this feeling. She wanted to feel forever the way Charlie had made her feel in just one night.

Suddenly her phone rang. She parted from him. (Y/N) pressed her lips against each other trying to hold onto the taste of him for a little moment longer. She sighed, fishing for her phone in her pocket. With an apologetic look she excused herself "Hello?"

"(Y/N), HAPPY NEW YEAR!" the shrill voice of Maya sounded through the phone. (Y/N) could make out the loud music and the people cheering in the background.

(Y/N) chuckled, "Happy New Year,” she replied. She gazed to Charlie, who was looking at her with a smile. His lips looked slightly swollen and reddened. His hair looked disshelved. (Y/N) felt her cheeks heating up just thinking that she was the one who was responsible for it. She asked herself if she looked the same.

Maya’s voice broke her train of thoughts "Where are you? You said you'll be back by midnight!" Her friend exclaimed.

(Y/N) sighed. She didn't want to go. She just wanted to stay here, With Charlie. "I'll be right back," (Y/N) said into her phone and rose from her spot.

"Okay, see you soon!" her best friend exclaimed before ending the call.

(Y/N) sighed. With an apologetic look she turned to Charlie. "We gotta go. Maya is waiting for me."

Charlie nodded slightly and also rose from his spot on the ground. "Then we should get on the road." he grabbed the blanket from the ground and put it back in the trunk of his bike. He climbed onto it and held out his hand for her to take. She climbed onto the bike as well. Out of habit her arms circled around Charlie's torso. She leaned into him, feeling the heat radiating from his body enjoying this feeling for one last time tonight.

Even though the drive took a little longer, it only felt like a few seconds passed before they turned back into the street where the loft of Colin was located. (Y/N) took off the helmet and gave it to Charlie. They walked inside and stood side by side in the elevator which took them directly to the loft.

"Thank you, for tonight I mean." (Y/N) broke the comforting silence. She looked at him with a shy smile.

Charlie nodded, a sad smile forming on his features. "I'm glad you had a good time."

(Y/N) turned to him "We should talk about - " but she got interrupted by the sound of the elevator, announcing their arrival at the loft. The doors opened but they couldn’t stop looking at each other. Charlie's lips parted slightly, words about to leave him. But before he could say anything (Y/N) was pulled into a tight embrace. "There you are!" her best friend exclaimed. "You totally missed the countdown!"

(Y/N) shrugged "I'm here now." she replied.

Maya slightly pushed her away and looked from her to Charlie. "No, it's alright. I bet you had a good time, too." She winked at the pair in front of her. (Y/N) felt her cheeks heating up. She turned to Charlie. A faint smile was evident on his lips but his eyes blankly stared behind her into the room. Before (Y/N) could say anything her friend pulled her into the crowd.

Charlie was staring at the spot (Y/N) had just stood in mere seconds before. His gaze followed her disappearing  into the crowd. He sighed. It would be hard to find her again in this packed room. With drooping shoulders, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Suddenly, he felt something metallic in his hand. His eyes grew wide. Quickly he scanned the room but couldn't make out her small figure in the packed place. He tried to make his way through the crowd. 

After a few minutes of searching without success he gave up and decided to just ask (host name). "She just left with Maya, because her friend wasn't feeling that good. Guess it was one shot too much." Colin laughed.

Charlie sighed. He tried to look over the crowd towards the elevator. Suddenly he could make out her (hair color) hair and red coat. "Sorry, I need to get through!" He apologized to every person he had slightly pushed out of his way, But it was too late. He saw the doors of the elevator closing right in front of them.

——

"I'm never gonna drink that much again." Maya sighed as (Y/N) tried to help her get into bed.

"You say this all the time." (Y/N) chuckled.

“I know, but this time I mean it.” Maya let herself fall onto the mattress.

“That you also say all the time.” (Y/N) replied, playfully rolling her eyes. “Tell me about your night.” Her best friend requested with a yawn. “How was it with the guy? He’s really handsome.”

“He is,” (Y/N) agreed with a laugh.

“Did you sleep with him?” Maya asked bluntly.

(Y/N) looked at her friend in shock “Maya!” she scolded her “Of course not.”

Maya chuckled “Okay, but did you at least kiss him?”

(Y/N) felt her cheeks heating up. “Maybe,” she replied shyly.

Maya nodded with half-opened eyes. “Are you going to see him again?”

Y(/N) sighed “I don’t know. We totally forgot to exchange our numbers.”

Maya groaned “Really?”

(Y/N) nodded sadly. Suddenly, she remembered something. She grabbed her wrist. A smile occured onto her face. Even though she was devasted that she forgot her bracelet, which she got from her grandma, with Charlie, this could mean that she was in fact going to see him again.

——

The following day Charlie kept another promise and helped Colin clean his loft. “I wasn’t even here the entire time and I’m still helping you,” he pulled a face when he picked up old pizza lying around. “This is just gross.”

Colin groaned “Not that loud, my head hurts like hell.”

“Well, I guess that’s your own fault.” Charlie chuckled.

“What about you? You really didn’t drink anything?” Colin looked at him suspiciously.

Charlie nodded while collecting empty cups. “And where even were you the entire time? Did someone get lucky?” Colin raised his brows.

Charlie rolled his eyes “No. I was just hanging out with (Y/N).”

Colin’s eyes grew wide “Noah’s ex (Y/N)?” he asked, surprised. Charlie nodded in reply. “And?” Colin pressed.

“It was a great night. We went ice-skating, grabbed something to eat, danced in the streets, watched the stars and the fireworks,” he answered.

“You can’t tell me that was everything.” Colin tried to get more out of him.

“Maybe not.” Charlie shrugged. “You might not have her adress?”

——

“Maya, I’m quickly going to the bakery. We ran out of toast,” (Y/N) called out before shutting the front door of their flat behind her. She made her way outside into the chilly air. She turned to the right to go to the bakery when suddenly a voice sounded behind her.

“Hey.”

Slowly she turned around. A bright smile crept onto her face. “Hey.” she replied.

“I think you forgot something.” Charlie took out the bracelet from his pocket and held it between them.

(Y/N) took the object from him. She smiled brightly at him “Thank you. I knew you would bring it back to me.”

Charlie chuckled “You were sure of it?”

“Yes, you promised to take care of it. You don’t break promises,” she replied cheekily.

Charlie nodded in agreement, “you’re right.” he took a step closer to her. Nervously, he rubbed his beck. “I was wondering…” he took a deep breath “I was wondering if you would like to repeat last night and maybe officially call it a date?” he asked sheepishly, His nervous eyes observing her features.

The smile (Y/N) was sporting grew even wider. It made him smile, too. “That sounds amazing,” she replied happily.

Charlie , sighed in relief. “Great!” he smiled brightly at her.

 “But this time I’m gonna choose what we’re going to do, if that’s alright. You showed me your favourite spots, now it’s my turn,” she said.

Charlie laughed, “Okay, you’re gonna tell me what’s waiting for me?”

(Y/N) shook her head “No, it’s gonna be a surprise. But you’re gonna like it,” she answered cheekily.

Charlie’s smile grew wider. “You promise?”

(Y/N) nodded “I promise.”

[paversandplatters]

||𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙|| (2/20)

Apocalypse! Au (TW! Minor gore and cussing)

Reader x multiple

Chapter 2: The church

Y/n puts the vehicle in gear carefully making a U turn and starts down the road in a westerly direction. Her original plan was find refuge in one of the larger towns along North Florida’s citrus belt such as Lake City or Gainesville- still seems viable despite the fact that the engine continues to ping and complain- something has come loose during the plunge to the woods and she doesn't like the sound of it. They need to find a place to stop soon look under the hood, get their wounds looked at- rest maybe, maybe find some provisions and fuel.

“Hey look!” Nick speaks up from the shadows of the rear seats pointing off to the Southwest at the end of the lot.

Y/n drives another 100 yards or so and then brings the Escalade to a stop at the gravel shoulder. She kills the engine and silence crashes down on the car’s interior, it’s almost deafening. Nobody says anything at first- they just stare at the road sign in the middle of the distance. It's one of those cheap translucent white fiberglass ones, set on wheels with the big removal plastic letters still bearing the words “Calvary Baptist Church all welcome Sunday 9 -&- 11.”

Through the spindly Cypress trees and columns of pine that line the road, she can see the luminous white gravel of a deserted parking lot. The long narrow lot leads to the front of a building, it's broken stained glass windows partially boarded up. Its steeple caved in on one side and scorched as if its seen a bombing raid. She stares at the huge steel cross at the top of the steeple- which is covered with a patina of rust- has come loose from its moorings.

It now lays upside down dangling by the remains of its rotted hardware. She can't help but get very still while gazing up at the ruin upended cross, the symbolism isn't lost on her but it may only be the beginning. She never been one for religion but realizes that this may very well be a sign that they've been left behind and this is the rapture and the world is a purgatory now. They’ll have to deal with what remains like junkyard dogs or vermin stuck in a sinking ship.

“Remind me”she says almost under her breath not taking her eyes off the building in the distance one of the windows in the rear has a dull yellow incandescent glow, behind it the chimney is spewing a thin wisp of smoke into the lightning sky.

“how much ammunition did y'all manage to scavenge before we left Calhoun?” the two young men give each other a quick look

Nick speaks up “I have one of the 33 round mags for the Glock and a box of two dozen .380s for the other pistol and that's it..”

“That's more than I managed.” George grimaces “all I managed to grab ammunition wise is what was in the office which I think it's like 6 rounds, maybe 8?”She picks up her Glock from the seat counting the number of times she's fired since they left Calhoun she's got six rounds left.

“All right gentlemen ... I want you to bring all of it, all the hardware locked and loaded.” she opens the door “and look alive…”

The two men get out of the vehicle and join her in the Golden light of the dawn. Something is wrong, Nick notices His hand are shaking as he injects a fresh magazine into the hilt of his pistol

“Y/n, I don't understand” he says finally.

“what are we loading up for? I doubt there's anything in there but scared church people. What are we doing?”

But she's already started down towards the church- her Glock is gripped tightly in her hands, arms dangling at her side like a calling card.

“It's the end of the world boys there's no such thing as church anymore it's all up for grabs…”

The two young men glanced at each other for a moment before hurrying up to catch up with her. They approached the property from the rear, through the grove of sickly eucalyptus trees that mark the outer edges of the churches lot. She can smell the stench of menthol and ammonia in the air as she creeps across the weed whiskered gravel, careful not to make too much noise when her boots crunch under the stones. The light in the chapel's rear window has dwindled with the morning sun and the roaring of crickets fade now, the silence returns over making her heart throb in her ears.

She pauses behind a tree about 20 feet away from the lighted window ... With a few quick hand signals she rouses the two who are hiding behind a nearby oak. Nick moves out from behind cover carrying the pistol against his solar plexus like a vestigial appendage. George moves behind his friend wide eyed and jumpy flinching at the twinges of pain. These two are not exactly the crème de la crème in the world's new survivor class she realizes but perhaps she should see these young men as they truly are. Loyal partners, and friends- surviving all the same.

She issues another signal stabbing a finger at the rear of the building. One by one the three of them move toward the small woodside annex off the rear of the Chapel- she’s in the lead her pistol now gripped in both hands, now pointed downward. The closer they get the more the sun rises over the horizon the more they realize something isn't right. The windows of the building and rectory of the deacons quarters are lined with aluminum foil. The screen door has been ripped off its hinge and the inner door is nailed shut and crisscrossed with lumber. The stench of the dead permeates the air and gets stronger as they approach. She reaches the building first and she gently stands with her back against the boarded door signaling the others with a the tip of her finger to her lips.

They approach as quietly as possible, stepping lightly over the trash and dead leaves that are skidding across the back of the deck in the morning breeze. George stands just behind her, while Nick keeps to her side, both keeping weapons at the ready. She reaches down to her scuffed boot and pulls out a 12 inch Randall knife from the interlining. She carefully wedges the point under one of the boards near the door latch and Yanks.

The door probes stubborn. She pries at it repeatedly with the knife making more racket than she cares to but she has no choice they would make even more noise if they had tried to break through one of the windows. The nails give slightly the creaking sound amplified and the hushed daylight. She has no idea of what they're about to find inside this building but she fairly certain now that both humans as well as the dead inhabit this place.

Zombies don't build fires and the average survivor with the access to soap and water doesn't usually smell like death. The door finally gives and the two men moving closer to her, guns up now as they enter at the same time. They find themselves in an empty room illuminated by dim yellow light and the smell of stale smoke and Bo smacks them in the face. She crosses the floor, her boots making the floorboards creak. She makes note of the small potbelly stove still radiating the heat of the dying embers, the braided rug stained with blood, a desk littered with teabags, dishes, candy wrappers gossip magazines, a few empty 44 bottles and crumpled cigarette packs…

She goes over to the desk and looks down at the display of playing cards arranged in the classic poker pattern it looks like somebody, likely a hand full of people, were here only a moments ago and left in a hurry. A noise from behind the inner doors suddenly takes her attention. she whips her head around to the source, both men stand across the room gazing sheepishly back at their leader.

Again she puts a four finger to her lips giving them the signal to hush. The two mens eyes are aglow with nervous tension, on the other side of the door shuffling noises build, the telltale sound of dragging feet. There's also the reek of mortified flesh almost as pungent as the methane and it's getting stronger. She recognizes that a number of undead are trapped in an enclosed space. She turns and points to George’s shotgun.

Nick understands that he's supposed to blow the lock off the door and George is supposed to back them both up. Neither young man is very happy about this plan. Nick looks pale and George is drenched in sweat both of them nursing wounds and perhaps even internal bleeding. Neither seem gung ho about fighting off and undetermined number of biters. But she is an irresistible leader and the mere look in her eyes is enough to kill any dissension in the ranks. She holds three fingers up. She begins to countdown. 3, 2-

A loud crack sounds as a rotten hand covered with mold burst through the weak spot in the lumber.

Nothing in reality ever seems to play out the way George imagines it should. He trips on his backward shuffling feet and falls on to the floor. The pain in his ribs explode the injury jostled by the impact and at the same time another pair of hands thrust their way through the busted slats of the door. Looking up he sees she has pulled something from her boot. He watches as a dull gleam of a Buck knife strikes through the air. She drives the blade through the tissue and cartilage sawing through the bone it’s hands flopping to the floor as neatly as tree limbs being pruned.

George watches as he tries to sit up, the back of his throat burns and his body threatens to upchuck the paltry contents of a stomach. Things are moving quickly now, hands are flopping around him like fish on a boat’s deck, slowly growing still as the electrical impulses from the reanimated central nervous system drains out. George’s vision blurs his mind swimming dizziness gripping him as his wounded lungs labor to get air.

She's already scooped the fallen shotgun from the floor pumping shells into its breach with a single jerk of her arms as she turns back to the door George manage to get himself back up into a standing position kicking the ghastly hands out of the way . She slims a boot into the door and it implodes revealing the interior of a dark Chapel. Nick gets a fleeting glimpse of the sanctuary before the 1st blast shatters the tableau.

What was once a quaint little church with stain glass and pine pews now resembles an arbiter from the 9th circle of hell. The dead number in dozens maybe as many as 40 or 50 most of them chained to the pews with heavy chains. They react to the light of the outer room as if she had just turned over her oktan exposed a colony of vermin.

Insensate faces jerk towards the noise, some are decorated with spiked collars and others have large makeshift cage like muzzles. The scene gives a a sense of some sort of demented zoo or kennel for these reanimated cadavers. Stranger still, in that terrible instant before the first flash of the 12 gauge, it seems like somebody apparently tried to administer these beings after they were reanimated.

In front of each are dead birds morsels, pieces of roadkill or unidentified human remains are scattered in the pews next to each being. The candles still burn in the same sanctuary on the advert stands in the front room on the modest little altar. Somewhere the buzz of a live microphone drones. The air smells of modified sewage perfumed with rancid flesh and disinfected.

Nick gets one final glance at her before the air lights up- the look on her face is a mixture of sorrow, rage, loss and regret. It's the look of someone confronting the merciless abyss. Then the shooting starts.

The first blast flashes and takes the closest cadaver down in a puff of carnal tissue, the shell ripping through the skull and taking a chunk out of the wood above the door. Three subsequent shots happen, making their ears ring. Already covered with blowback her anguished face stippled and splattered, she now moves deeper into the Chapel and starts in on the others.

It only takes a few minutes, the air flashing like a fireworks display as she goes from pew to pew, either vaporizing skulls or thrusting her Randall knife through petrified nasal cavities before the things even get a chance to bite at the air. George staggers towards the open door to get a better view and he notices Nick just in the side Chapel entrance.

She has the strangest look on her face now as she finished off the last of the monsters with a hard quick slashes of the knife the gun has been emptied, 8 shells peppering the wall behind the heaps of moldering flesh. Completely slick with blood, her eyes burning with inscrutable emotions, she almost looks beatific as she dispatches with the last re animated corpse .

For one terrible moment watching this all from the doorway Nick thinks of a woman having an orgasm. She lets out a voluptuous sigh of relief as she impales the skull of what seems to be an elderly woman. The Crone sacks against the back of her Pew, she was once somebody's mother, somebody's neighbor. She may have once baked cookies for her grandchildren search for famous bread pudding add ice cream socials and laid to rest her beloved husbands of 47 years in the Cemetery out behind the rectory .

Y/n pauses to catch her breath staring down at the woman, head bowed for a moment, when all at once she abruptly stops and looks up narrowing her eyes. She cocks her head to one side and listens closely to something in another part of the building at last she fixes her gaze on George and so softly whispers

“do you hear that ?”

@the-wandering-pan-ace

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Parting Gift

Summary: Virgil navigates an empty world he didn't see before and he can't see now. Thankfully the modified roomba his parents left him helps in the absence of people.Just a silly little fic I thought of because we recently got a robot vacuum.

Warnings: apocalypse scenario, food mention, insinuated death (not described or shown), mild swearing. If there’s more please let me know!

Ships: background Lociet (background Logan x Janus)

WC: 2405

General Taglist (ask to be added or removed) @im-an-anxious-wreck @logans-library

The tap-tap-tapping of Virgil’s cane as he moved along the road matched perfectly with the beat playing out of the one working earbud in his ear. Whatever town or residential area he had stumbled into was quiet and barren though seemingly not nearly as destroyed as the last one he had been in. Changing direction slightly as he has started to stray into wet grass he continued along what he assumed was a sidewalk, carefully feeling for the edge to make sure he was centered before continuing to sweep the cane in front of him to avoid whatever rubble or trash or non working car might have ended up on the side of the cracked road. 

Virgil didn’t know what the world had looked like before and he could only imagine what it looked like now. Everything had happened so fast he doubted he’d be able to recognize it anyway. He had never been able to see and it had never bothered him as much as it did now; with no way to know if someone was on the road other than the sound of footsteps he hadn’t heard in months and nothing to keep him company except his music and- well he supposed he couldn’t complain. Tripping slightly over a stray rock he hadn’t felt brought him back from his thoughts and into the real world once again, shivering as he realized just how cold it was getting and how truly tired he was from walking all day.

Continuing on only a couple more feet revealed a pathway leading off to what he hoped was a house or a store. As bad as he sometimes felt about it, there was no one around anymore- at least as far as he had managed to travel thus far- no one would miss a couple cans of ravioli and a few bottles of water if he could manage to scrounge them up. The walkway seemed pretty thin leading away from the main road so he assumed he was in a residential area with houses rather than near anything like a general store or pharmacy; he really hoped he came across one soon he was running low on band-aids. He could only do  so much with a cane and though he wished his palms and knees were tougher by now that he wouldn’t have to bandage them every time he fell sadly his callus just wasn’t thick enough.

Long grass brushed his ankles under his too short jeans, wispy blades rustling quietly as he passed. He took his headphone out as he walked after turning on the beat up ipod and pressing where he knew the pause button was from years of the same motion. Crickets began their evening concert as the birds finished their own, the air growing cooler as Virgil imagined the sun finally dipping below the horizon. He shifted the weight of his book bag more to one shoulder as he slipped it off the other hoping to reach an entryway of some sort soon since his feet were protesting the day of doing nothing but picking a direction and walking. Hitting a step he nudged the cane up until he could judge how high it was- sometimes they were high enough to trip him and other times they were so low they were more of an annoyance than anything else- and carefully made his way up all three of them. There were plastic feeling columns on either side of the top step so he assumed he was on the front porch of a house, some careful prodding revealing one of those rubber welcome mats he was constantly getting the soles of his shoes stuck on since when he was tired he refused to pick his feet up properly. He faintly heard his dad telling him to straighten his back and walk like he was alive but he shook it off with an eye roll. Posture didn’t matter if there was no one around to see it.

Fumbling around a minute for the door handle he stopped as his cheeks reddened, reaching up to knock first. Just because he hadn’t run into anyone yet didn’t mean it couldn’t happen and he  really didn't want to break into someone’s home if they were still there and startle them. He didn’t fancy getting shot after so long of surviving o his own and to have that compromised because he was a heathen who didn’t knock anymore would be an idiotic way to go for sure. KNocking, however, proved fruitless. Nothing answered but the crickets though as he knuckle raps turned to rather loud pounds on the door they began to quiet. A part of him still wished sometimes that someone would answer, it had been so long since he’d heard another voice. He knew realistically that if he was still here there would have to be other survivors and that if he kept walking he was bound to run into them. 

After years of doing nothing but that had yet to turn anything up though, and it seemed that this time would be no different. His hand fell to the knob once again as he took a breath and held it before twisting and pushing open the door. Hesitantly sniffing the air revealed nothing but old, unaired house smell and dust that had been kicked up from the bottom of the door brushing the carpet in the entryway. He sneezed loudly, the sound echoing sadly as if the house had missed the concept of sound, and wiped his nose on his sleeve before sighing in relief. Sometimes he entered a house or store and there would be...different smells. Ones that would make him gag and bolt from the building so the hot, cloying scent wouldn’t stick to his cloths. Those days were declared laundry days anyway, sullenly dunking his clothes in the rivers he always stuck close to trying to rid himself of the memory with the fresh smell of laundry detergent and sunlight. The day after that was spent moving as far away as he could as quickly as he could to get away from the dark scent that hung on the streets. It was safer to scrounge out granola bars from the bottom of his bag on those days than to risk looking for anything more substantial in the buildings he might be able to get into.

As it was Virgil stepped in the house and carefully closed the door behind him, swinging his bookbag around and cringing at the sound of the zipper echoing faintly in the doorway. Grabbing a smaller, padded drawstring bag out he opened it and carefully set the Roomba down, giving it a little pet before turning it on. It beeped out a pleasant little tune before the whirring sound of it starting up and moving away filled the house and he smiled, leaving his bag by the door and getting up to explore the house with Stuart.

Stuart the vacuum, as dumb as it was, was Virgil’s only source of company and had been since he was about four. The world was already crumbling at that point and rather than risking going out and about to find Virgil a seeing eye pet that wouldn’t last his whole lifetime if he lived long, his dads had modified their small vacuum for him in the hopes that it would last. And it had. Rather than having to plug into a power source it was solar charged, which the front of the bag it was kept in and his backpack was clear plastic to allow it to charge during the day, storing hours of energy to be able to work when Virgil needed it. Instead of vacuuming it simply went about bumping into things and storing a digital map of any small area, letting Virgil then walk beside it and stop when it beeped, nudging him in a different direction so he didn't bump into or trip on anything. This of course was before he was proficient with feeling his whereabouts with his cane adn at this point it was like letting a trusted pet out for its nightly walk rather than out of any necessity but Virgil loved it as if it was a dog. His most loyal companion...who he kept in his bag all day. He snorted as he felt out what was feeling to be the kitchen; he’d take anything over the oppressive silence of an empty house.

His mouth tightened as he felt around in cabinets for cans- all smooth labels of course, nothing to differentiate the corn from the beets from the manwich spread. He hated the fact that dinners were so often a surprise just because no one had thought to universalize a system to put a bit of braille on cans. Even some raised lettering underneath the label spelling out one word descriptors would be fine, instead he could only go by smell and taste and hope to god nothing he put in his mouth had expired. He missed grilled cheese and fried chicken and french fries- all things he didn’t have the means or resources to make. He never learned to hunt or slaughter anything and he doubted he’d be able to learn when he didn’t even know how to tell what parts of an animal to eat, let alone see what he was doing to cut it out and cook it. He was lucky he taught himself how to start a fire some years ago- he couldn’t imagine actually catching a fish and knowing when it was cooked enough to eat without just burning it to a crisp. Sighing as he opened a can with his old can opened he tentatively sniffed at the contents. 

Baked beans were good. He’d rather have them hot but he had no motivation to go out and start a fire right now and there was no way in hell he was going to try inside- so cold bean jelly it was. He’d had worse. He grabbed his cane from where he had leaned it against the counter and began walking back into what he assumed would be the living room as Stuart beeped to notify him he was done. Smiling as he felt a small nudge he changed direction to navigate around what felt like a dusty leather couch and settled on the floor in front of it to eat his dinner. Stuart came to rest beside him while he dug a spoon out of the smaller bag he always carried and he smirked slightly, feeling around to place a single baked bean on top of the vacuum as a reward for a job well done. 

He tucked in as he thought of what his dads would say about him doing that; both of them would more than likely find it endearing but relentlessly tease him about it for the rest of his life. He imagined his father’s face wrinkling up in an amused smile, scars tugging around crows feet and wispy hair tickling his fingertips. Dad’s smile was a lot smaller but no less sincere, mostly held in his eyes that had his lower eyelid just barely lifting. He missed feeling their faces- they’d let him do it whenever he’d ask to make sure he knew what emotion they were displaying. Both of them were awkward when it came to voicing their feelings and Virgil was always terrible at picking up social cues from simply listening, so being able to read a face as easily as a book often helped put them all at ease.Idly he brushed the top of Stuart’s “head”, feeling nothing but cool, hard plastic beneath his fingers. 

He cleaned up as best as he could, throwing the top of the can away in a trash bin after wiping it off and setting the actual can on the back porch with another full one for whatever might come by. His cane was carefully tucked just underneath the couch as he unrolled his sleeping bag and small pillow to get comfy for the night, placing his little vacuum by his head before snuggling down into bed and sighing quietly. Reaching out he felt for the button on the side of the roomba, a little rough and worn from years of the same routine of day. Biting his lip he pressed it in before snatching his hand away and tucking himself in completely, squeezing his eyes shut like he’d been sleeping all along.

“Is he asleep?” His father’s silky voice cut through the silence.

“I should hope so, it’s dark out and he needs his rest.” Dad was always very matter of fact, Virgil could imagine his arms crossing as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“...Do you want to start or should I?”

Virgil’s dad sighed. “I hope that you got to sleep at a reasonable hour this time, and that you had a good dinner that was as balanced as you could make it. That- that you’re somewhere safe-”

HIs father stepped in smoothly. “We hope that you’re taking care of yourself as best as you can, and taking care of Stuart as well. Hopefully there are people around that can help you when you need it and you aren’t afraid to ask for it- but if there aren’t I know you’re capable enough on your own.”

“We wish you only happiness, no matter how bad things are or get, always remember that it has the capability to get better as long as you are willing to work for it. I know whatever you’re working on or towards you’re doing the absolute best you can do, and we couldn’t be more proud.”

“We love you, Virgil. So, so much and don’t you ever forget that. take care of yourself and please stay safe.”

“Goodnight, Virgil.” He could still remember Dad brushing his fingers through his hair before the weight had disappeared from the bed.

“Goodnight, Virgil. Sweet dreams.” He felt a phantom kiss on the cheek from memory long since passed, the blankets pulled up and tucked around him. The door creaked shut and the recording ended, Stuart beeping softly to indicate he was shutting down. Safely tucked into his sleeping bag with a full stomach in the silence, Virgil let his eyes drift shut, a smile still on his lips as he fell into a peaceful sleep.

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[tpointtechblog]

International Men’s Day: Celebrating Men and Promoting Gender Equality

International Men’s Day: Celebrating Men and Promoting Gender Equality International Men’s Day is celebrated annually on November 19th to raise awareness about issues that men face, promote gender equality, and celebrate men’s contributions to society. This day aims to create a positive image of men and encourage dialogue around issues that particularly impact men. The theme for International…

[echo-three-one]

A Forgotten Memory

An Alex x OC fic

Tenth Chapter!!!!

Link to the start here

⚠️Slight implied nsfw things warning⚠️

Reviews appreciated Constructive criticism is loved as well.

X - Samantha

Samantha could hear her heart thumping, orchestrating with the crickets around the forest. A gust of chilly midnight air seeped through her clothes, which happened to be very thin.

Taking each step very lightly as to not create a sound, Samantha obediently followed behind her boyfriend. Her hands shaking as she gripped on her gun, wishing she won't have to fire it.

"We're almost headed to safety. You hanging in there?" Alex turned to her, she couldn't make out his whole face but she felt safe as she saw half of his face illuminated by the moonlight. She called the view breathtaking, despite the dangers surrounding their situation, he kept her sane.

"Lead the way." She replied as she took a deep breath. Alex wrapped one arm around her while they hug the thick forest trees for cover making their way southbound.

Green dots started to dance in front of them, prompting Alex to slowly push her down to crouch as a group of soldiers passed by them. Samantha tried hard not to let any sound come out of her mouth, covering it with her palm.

Three suppressed shots was all it took before she heard a soft thud on the ground. She was convinced that Alex took care of them, not wanting to look at the mess he made.

"Let's press on before they find the bodies." Samantha nodded. She couldn't say a word as her thumping heart felt like pushing hot acid out of her esophagus.

"They're over there!" One enemy yelled from behind them, forcing them to run as fast as they could. Samantha followed behind him as they traversed across the thick jungles of wherever they are.

"A cliff." Samantha said as they reached the end of their path. Below was a raging river about a few meters below the edge of the cliff.

"Can you jump?" Alex asked her as he points his gun against the dark jungle. The leaves rustled from every direction.

"Give us the girl." One soldier emerged in front of them as two others surround him. A few more followed from their sides, forcing the couple to slowly step backward until they reached the end of the cliff.

"They won't shoot you. Don't worry." He whispered, leaning to her.

"What about you?" She whimpered, gripping his arms tight.

"I'll be fine. As long as you're safe, everything will be okay."

"But-"

"DROP YOUR WEAPON AND GIVE US THE GIRL!" He angrily roared, causing some sleeping birds to fly away from their nests.

A single gunshot was fired toward them.

Samantha was afraid of guns but this time she didn't expect for it to be fired so she didn't have the time to close her eyes. What she saw was a taller figure that shoved Alex to the side which caused them to fall to the river. She saw Alex hit his head on the edge of a cliff rock before they both got plunged on the raging river.

The fast cold current pushed her away as she tried to locate Alex's whereabouts. It was hopeless, but she still tried to propel herself to the other side of the river. Unfortunately, she ran out of energy and the rapids overpowered her causing her to float freely to wherever the river brings her. Alex nowhere to be found.

~

Samantha choked freshwater as she slowly regained her consciousness, Alex being the first person she thought of. Quickly getting up on her feet, she found out that they were washed out on a part of the river shallow enough to not push them any further, still in the middle of nowhere.

"A-" She attempted to call out his name, but then she remembered that they're still being pursued. A quick scan of the area alerted her of a body, not too far from her. She rushed to his aid and dragged his heavy body to safety. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't been able to do so but the sudden rush of adrenaline allowed her to do it, slowly shivering as the cold breeze of dusk blew through her already cold clothes which were hugging her skin.

"Come on. Wake up!" her teeth clattered as she began to feel cold, softly slapping his cheek in an attempt to wake him up.

No dice. With the last of her energy, she pinched his nose, inhaled deeply and breathed life on Alex's mouth. She knew he's a tough one and she never gave up on him. Another deep breath... and another.

Then he finally coughed, as he got up and panted heavily, like someone deprived of breathing. Samantha cried in joy as she saw him open his eyes, not minding her clattering teeth as she looked at him.

"Oh thank God, you're okay!" Samantha smiled as she hugged Alex tight, leaning on his chest.

Alex slowly got up and rubbed his forehead, wincing in pain as he touched a bruise. Samantha traced the said bruise and assured that she'll take care of it. He fished out his communicator only to find out it's busted from the river ride.

"We... bett..er.. get.. shelter..." Alex slowly stood up as they limped their way to the shore, looking for a place to stay. Samantha was quite worried as Alex momentarily trips even when the moonlight is clearly illuminating the way.

"You okay?" She said as she places the last leaf of their makeshift bed, setting a shivering Alex to lay there. He hugged himself with his arms trying to nod yes.

"You might be suffering from hypothermia." Samantha suggested. Alex shook his head in disapproval. He is fine, was what his body language wanted to say.

Samantha thought of making a fire, but the strong winds along with the approaching storm denied her from doing it. She had to eventually find a way to create heat before it's too late.

"Ggggg...go sssss...search... Ffffor.... hhhelp." He mouthed, the struggle in his voice made Samantha frown.

"I'm not leaving you here!" She scolded him, determination filled her voice. She had one last idea, it may sound awkward but it could generate enough heat and keep him alive.

"We need to get you out of these..." She said, slowly lifting his wet shirt and pulling off his pants. The wetness of his clothes actually adds to the cold so it should be gone, she convinced herself.

Alex's teeth clattered as his body shivered. Samantha shyly took off her clothes and proceeded to lay on top of him, slowly rubbing her skin against hers, trying to make heat through friction. Then her mouth somehow made it's way to his, attempting to make his respond. He weakly kissed back, but she knew it was working. It was completely bizarre but she could feel him starting to feel warm through her kisses.

She blushed at the thought of her situation. She couldn't have expected this kind of situation to happen. But Alex risked his whole life for her safety and it was the only way she could do the help him back. She continued her actions, hugging him tight and letting their body heat radiate the small cave they're stuck in, as the raindrops poured from the sky, making it more challenging for her to keep up the temperature. Then a few more minutes of intimate warmth, Alex slowly regained consciousness and started to feel a little less cold.

###

The chirping of the birds echoed across the room, causing the sound to actually wake Samantha up. She felt a heavy feeling on her chest as she opened her eyes to see the cause of her dilemma.

Her eyes first saw well sculpted shoulders and she tilted her head to Alex who was laying on top of her, sound asleep. Her cheeks blushed red as she realized her situation. They shared body warmth a few hours ago as he suffered from hypothermia. But now, all she could see was a peacefully sleeping man, who happened to be his boyfriend.

"Pssst. Alex" She whispered, he slightly winced in surprise as she felt something warm by her thigh. She closed her eyes in embarrassment. Of course it had to be there.

Alex groaned complaining how he wanted more sleep but it looked like he also had a grasp of their situation, causing him to quickly get up and look for his clothes.

"Holy Shit. I'm so sorry." He said, quickly putting on everything as Samantha curled up in a ball to cover herself. He immediately exited the cave to give her privacy.

"Looks like no one from our pursuers made it this far. We could find a nearby settlement if we go to higher ground." He yelled from outside. Samantha slowly emerged from the cave and winced as the suns harsh rays hit her eyes.

"Hey. Thanks for saving me out there." Alex said, holding her hand. She could tell he's blushing or whatever but they had to do it for survival.

"Yeah. You got my back, I got yours." Samantha smiled as they made their way to higher ground. Even it was a matter of life and death, Samantha couldn't help but remember that night, forever.

[maybankiara]

WHERE DO WE GO NOW? CHAPTER ONE

summary:  Her hand finds his and she squeezes it, lightly. He looks at her. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  JJ nods and he’s about to leave, when she squeezes his hand again and he gives in. His arms wrap around her torso and pull her closer and closer, until their bodies are pressed together and he buries his head in the crook of her neck, face hidden in her hair.

  He closes his eyes. In that moment, Kiara feels like a lighthouse to his ship lost at sea, and he lets himself feel, just for a short second. His eyes get wet but if anything escapes, he can’t tell.

  JJ is the first to pull back.

— in which things take a significantly better turn when john b returns from the "fishing trip" with ward, and the pogues get a chance at a happier life.

pairing: JJ x Kiara

words: 2.2k

read on archive of our own

Things figure themselves out bit by bit.

  First things first, the Pogues get the gold. That bit happens quickly.

  JJ, Kiara, and Pope are hanging out at the Chateau when John B storms right past, not even sparing the three of them a glance. They begin asking what’s wrong but it’s almost as if he doesn’t her them; he is too focused on whatever it is he’s doing to perceive his surroundings.

  They follow him into the house. Kiara is asking what’s wrong, Pope is trying to get John B to stop, and JJ is just following him.

  The only time he’s seen anyone look like this is in a mirror.

  ‘John B, you can’t just storm in without telling us what’s going,’ says Kiara, and Pope tells him to ‘Take a second and breathe, dude’ and Kiara asks him to ‘Just talk to us, please,’ and Pope says something else and John B is just searching for something, looking for it all over the house, not hearing a single word they’re saying.

  Kiara asks JJ to do something.

  He walks over to John B, suddenly realising what’s happening. His friend is hunched over his backpack, rummaging through it like a scavenger. His hair is a mess, his hands are frantic, his breathing is ragged and he is sweater than he should be in this heat.

  JJ crouches next to John B, tuning out whatever it is the other two were saying. They don’t know how to deal with this.

  He does.

  His hand takes hold of John B’s wrist, gently, but firmly enough to make his best friend—hell, brother—look at him.

  JJ’s jaw tenses when his eyes meet John B’s. They’re bewildered, outraged, full of bitterness and danger that he never would’ve thought his friend possessed. His cheeks are red but it’s not the heat, and his lips are twisted in all the wrong ways.

  ‘It’s not here,’ he says, quietly.

  ‘Where is it?’

  JJ swallows the lump in his throat, then shakes his head. John B asks again, and when JJ stays quiet, he tries tearing his arm out of JJ’s grip. He doesn’t succeed.

  Kiara and Pope join them, each at one side of John B.

  ‘What do you need it for, John B?’

  He just stares. It’s almost as if JJ is the only one he sees, and it makes him shiver.

  John B tenses; the muscles in his jaw tighten and none of the four people in the room breathe for a few, long seconds. Then he relaxes, shoulders hunched, and his hand goes almost limp in JJ’s.

  He looks at the ground and lowers his head.

  ‘Ward Cameron killed my dad.’

  Kiara drives them to the police once they’ve all calmed down enough to stop trembling. JJ is in the backseat with John B; with nobody saying anything and no music playing, it’s eerily quiet. The only sound is the car itself and somehow, that makes things even worse.

  JJ doesn’t think about Big John being dead. He thinks about the other Routledge instead, the one that’s still alive and kicking, and he wraps an arm around his shoulder.

  In the rear view mirror, he sees Kiara watching them. Her eyes lock with his – he gives her a small smile, as much as he could muster.

  We’re going to be okay, he tries to say.

  They walk John B into the police station. People stare; they are all dishevelled, and even if JJ‌ has done up the buttons on John B’s shirt, it’s not enough to fabricate that he’s falling apart.

  Peterkin sees them and she begins talking to John B sternly, until her eyes grasp the state he’s in. She looks to the rest of the Pogues for answers, but they don’t give any. John B will tell her – they’re not allowed to go inside.

  The waiting room is cold and people are giving them odd looks. It’s not a new thing for JJ, but he thinks this time the weird thing might be the lack of anything weird about him, or any of his friends. They aren’t talking. They aren’t being the upbeat teenagers the police officers are used to chasing.

  Kiara is sitting in the middle. Her eyes are on the hands in her lap, and she’s breathing evenly, quietly. It helps JJ to concentrate on that rhythm to keep his thoughts from spiralling. His right leg is jumping up and down, his fingers are in his mouth and his teeth are doing a number on the nails, and he’s looking all over the room.

  There’s a hand on his thigh. His leg comes to a halt and he looks at Kiara. Her face is lifeless, broken, exhausted – they all are. He takes the hand off his thigh and into his own, running his thumb across the back of her palm. Her eyes close, flutter, and a tear streams down each of her cheeks.

  JJ wants to wipe them away, but he doesn’t. He just clenches his teeth and continues rubbing her hand, looking over to Pope, whose mind seems to be elsewhere.

  To each their own, JJ thinks.

  Peterkin walks John B out of her office a few minutes later. They drive him to the Chateau, Kiara and Pope go to pick up some food from the Wreck, and JJ stays with John B.

  ‘I‌ want to kill him,’ John B says. ‘He deserves to die.’

  With Kiara and Pope away, it’s just the two of them, just the way it was at the very beginning. They’re sitting in the hot tub JJ bought because the night is starting to get cold, and he thinks of all the memories they share. Even before third grade, they knew each other, but since then, they’ve been through thick and thin together.

  A life without John B isn’t a life JJ‌ would recognise, or want.

  ‘You’re not going to jail.’ JJ tells him. ‘And if you do it, it will haunt you for the rest of your life.’

  ‘So what? My dad doesn’t get the rest of his.’

  JJ splashes water in John B’s face. ‘Shut up. You’re being an idiot. This isn’t what your dad would want. You’re not killing anyone.’

  John B just looks away, defeated.

  Kiara and Pope show up not long after that, with fries and burgers for all. They listen as John B tells them that Ward pressed charges against him, convicting him of attempted murder, but John B’s account of events corresponded with what Mrs. Lana had apparently told the Sheriff, and that’s enough to convict Ward of the murders.

  They don’t tell Sarah – nobody thinks she would believe them over her own father, and they could risk Ward finding out and potentially going after John B again.

  ‘We’re with you,’ Pope declares. ‘Pogues always stick up for Pogues.’

  Kiara nods. ‘No matter what happens. We’ll find a way out.’

  They look to JJ, but he just shrugs. ‘Ward’ll get what’s coming for him.’

  Later, when the night falls, he and Kiara walk to her car. Pope stays behind to talk to John B for a bit, and the crickets are the only thing audible between the boy and the girl at the car.

  Kiara leans against it, running her hands through her hair, over her face. She lets out a shaky breath and JJ sees her crumble for a second, before she pulls herself together, face hidden behind her hands.

  He places a hand on her upper arm, rubbing it softly. When she looks at him, her eyes are bloodshot and face stained with soundless tears.

  ‘Don’t let him do anything stupid.’

  ‘Ha. It’s nice to not be the one who could do something stupid, for a change.’

  Kiara slaps him on the shoulder, but smiles at his bad attempt at a joke. ‘Seriously, JJ. I‌ know things are hard right now—’

  ‘He’ll be okay. I’ll look after him.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Am I‌ what?’

  ‘Okay?’ She bites her lip, the way she does, and his hand falls off her arm. ‘I know how much Big John meant to you.’

  JJ leans against the car, too, and looks past Kiara, towards the ocean. ‘Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.’

  Her hand finds his and she squeezes it, lightly. He looks at her. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  JJ nods and he’s about to leave, when she squeezes his hand again and he gives in. His arms wrap around her torso and pull her closer and closer, until their bodies are pressed together and he buries his head in the crook of her neck, face hidden in her hair.

  He closes his eyes. In that moment, Kiara feels like a lighthouse to his ship lost at sea, and he lets himself feel, just for a short second. His eyes get wet but if anything escapes, he can’t tell.

  JJ is the first to pull back. ‘Go take Pope home. He needs sleep for his big day tomorrow.’

  Kiara nods and smiles, softly. JJ tries to shake away the feeling of Kiara’s body against his, the smell of her hair, her skin underneath his fingertips.

  It’s forbidden and he takes the Pogue rules seriously.

  When Pope joins them, JJ tells him to ‘geek it all out!’ at the interview tomorrow. He hugs him, too, and it makes him feel like maybe he won’t fall apart once it’s just John B and him.

  The two leave. John B cries and cries and cries and doesn’t stop until well into the morning, so JJ‌ doesn’t let himself fall apart, because he wouldn’t be able to handle his friend if both of them were fucked. Instead, he brings out two cans of beers, cracks them open, and they begin the day the only way JJ knows how to deal with life – intoxicated.

  Sometime in the morning, they wake up on the floor of the living room, to the sound of John B’s phone ringing. JJ searches the house for it and when it’s Sarah calling, his heart sinks to his stomach.

  When he walks over to John B, his friend is sitting on the porch, looking out to the sea with nothing behind his eyes,

  ‘I think you should get this,’ JJ says. ‘It’s Sarah.’

  John B listens, for once. As soon as he presses the button, loud sobbing is coming from the phone and JJ walks away from the situation. It isn’t his to deal with.

  Instead, he walks over to the hot tub and turns it on, stripping down into his underwear. He doesn’t care if anyone sees him like this – it’s nothing his friends haven’t seen already. The water in the tub heats up fast and JJ plays with the settings, letting it spray all over his face.

  He hasn’t been home since the fight with his dad, but he can’t think about that right now.

  On the porch, John B is still talking to Sarah. His hand is covering his face but his shoulders are shaking and JJ thinks it’s probably Ward being arrested. Maybe killed.

  He’s not really sure which one he’d prefer.

  The bubbles get into his shorts and he moves around, not letting his eyes leave his friend.

  John B joins him minutes later, informing him that Ward has been arrested and Sarah is being held for interrogation. After that, she and what remains of her dysfunctional family—Rafe not included—are going to their house in the Bahamas until things have settled are bit.

  Pope and Kiara roll in almost immediately afterwards, taking off their clothes and jumping into the hot tub. Once Pope announces the news of his scholarship, they manage to forget about Big John and Ward for a little bit, and things don’t seem so bleak.

  They get the gold when the night falls. The house is up for sale, managed by Rose Cameron’s company, and it’s entirely empty. They take their time with the operation, filling up John B’s van gradually, until they’ve got it all.

  They’re filthy rich, and it’s the best feeling in the world.

  The gold gets hidden over several locations over the Cut and Figure Eight, places only they would know to look for. Some of it is left in the Pogues’ possession, some of it is taken for a road trip across the state where they exchange bits of it for money. When they come back, JJ pays off Barry and Pope gives him money for the damage to Topper’s boat. Sarah is still away, and she should be back in time for their senior year, but the Pogues still have fun.

  John B chooses to emancipate himself from Ward Cameron’s custody and JJ does the same with Luke Mayward. With Big John’s death now official, the Chateau belongs to John B, and JJ moves in permanently and officially. John N goes back to working for Figure Eight’s richest on their boats and JJ finds himself a job at the garage.

  They don’t spend the golden money, not really. They allow themselves some luxuries, occasional road trips, but they know that using it to go full Kook would only draw attention to them, and it’s the last thing they want.

  So they live, happily, for a month until the summer is almost over. Sarah comes back from the Bahamas and she becomes one of them, gets her share of the gold, and they are ready to start their final year of high school before going away for college, or whatever the hell is going to happen to them.

  Things are about to change, and they all feel it.

[unholyhelbig]

Part Two of the lifeguard/ blood moon thing? I like that universe

Read on Ao3 | Send me more Legacies Prompts! 

Title: Uncharted Waters [P2] 

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman 

(Read Part one here) 

Electronic music hissed and pounded, the windows of the small house shaking with the tempo. Lizzie couldn’t bring herself to exit the car. Not with the group of people crowded on the front step, taking easy gulps of whatever cheap alcohol filled red plastic cups. With each wary glance towards the Chevy, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

Josie reached across her in a fluid motion, turning the key until the engine didn’t purr anymore. “People wouldn’t be staring if you turned off your headlights.”

“They’re staring because I almost let a kid drown.”

Lizzie kept her eyes forward. She was sure that she had the license plate of the car parked in front of them memorized. WTV-2869. It was an obnoxious shade of yellow that had once been white- Virginia is for Lovers, it read, but she wasn’t feeling any of it.

Kaleb was accustomed to throwing the end of the summer parties filled with alcohol and at least three bad decisions. It was a celebration of a good season and a flaunt of money that each of them had struggled to save up over the past three and a half months of being crammed in hot plastic chairs and mopping up fluids no one wanted to identify, not fully.

“That was almost a week ago, Lizzie.” Josie’s voice was tender and her fingers traced the seatbelt across her chest. She wanted to unclip it and pad up the front steps until she ran into the other girls that worked at the snack shack. All of them smelled like fried dough and artificial cheese but Lizzie never mentioned it. “I’m not saying you should get over it, it’s scary, I know. But no one else is holding it against you.”

Lizzie scrunched up her nose “Hope Mikaelson is, even though I apologized and thanked her for saving my ass.”

She finally conceded after a pointed glare from her twin, because yes, she had been talking about it non-stop for the past couple of days. Lizzie couldn’t shake the odd feeling she got when they walked past each other at the park or ended up being the last two in the locker room again.

The auburn-haired girl had switched all of her shifts to early mornings and refused to make eye contact. Lizzie had the deep and running feeling that Hope Mikaelson was avoiding her like the black death- and the only explanation she could conjure up was a fit of running anger from her own lack of awareness when manning the wave pool.

Both girls exited the powder blue car and breathed in the last summer breeze the season had to offer. There was a hint of autumn in the air that made her want to fold into herself with a good book. The grass vibrated with the sound of the latest pop song, neon lights flashing against the dirty windows. Kaleb knew how to throw a party, and a small part of her admitted that.

Lizzie stopped short of the drive and blinked up at the blanket of stars. The moon, she had noticed, was finally at its full peak. It shone bright like a crimson ornament in the sky, hung expertly on the best branch.

“It’s kind of cool isn’t it?” Josie smiled softly, craning her neck “And spooky.”

Lizzie tore her gaze away and growled “I wish people would stop saying that. Come on, if I absolutely have to be here, I can’t do it sober.”

And maybe Josie was right; she didn’t’ feel the looming eyes of her coworkers prosecuting her for her mistakes. No one even dared a glance at the two of them, not right away. MG stood against the mantel with his own cup of mystery liquor, and he gave a slight dazzling wave.

The pungent scent of weed leaked from the upstairs floor and greasy pizza littered the granite countertops in the kitchen. A few lifeguards loitered by the fridge, laughing quietly about the Polaroid’s tacked up with alphabet magnets.

Lizzie wandered over to one of the counters and fished through the ice bucket filled with alcoholic lemonade and bud light. She opted for the off-silver can, pushing off the extra ice and water. She was content with a slight buzz and staying to herself in the corner, Josie rushed off once she found her usual shift leaders crowded around a table converted for beer pong.

Jed was lingering at the edge of his pack of friends, hand wrapped around a glass bottle and eyes flashing towards her every once and a while. Lizzie pretended not to notice and instead started to scroll through her camera roll like it was something more engaging, setting the nearly empty can on the counter.

“Hi Liz,” He had moved closer, smelling of aftershave and sweat and whatever masculine scent his car had adopted. “I didn’t think you would show.”

Lizzie snapped her gaze up and shoved her phone in her pocket. “And why wouldn’t I?”

“You nearly let a kid die?” Kelsey had pushed herself close to the island in the middle of the kitchen, running a hand through dirty blonde hair that threatened to be greasy. She lifted the oil-stained lid of a pizza box before frowning and letting it fall back down. “I’m sure a party beats a jail cell.”

“Oh well, it’s never too late.”

She shoved herself from the counter, fully intent on joining MG next to the fireplace. Even if she did just stand there and listen to his off-handed conversation about who would best win in a fight between Superman and the Green Lantern. Jed took a step to block her path, giving a wolfish grin.

“Okay, Jockstrap, maybe you should get out of my way.” She knew her voice had gotten darker with the amount of patience she had left. People had never classified her as friendly, especially when she had a saint for a sister, but she had adopted the persona of intimidating.

Kelsey laughed, taking a long gulp of her own drink, “Sweetheart, we just want to know how on earth you even passed your entrance exam?”

Lizzie felt her nails dig into the palm of her hand because she knew she was a damn good lifeguard. She was human and she made mistakes, never had it been one that dire before and her mind was still grasping at that. She had studied for weeks and passed with flying colors- but she wasn’t about to give Jed or his little lackey the satisfaction of her fighting back.

“Leave the girl alone.”

Both lifeguards tore their predatory gazes away from Lizzie and situated them on the entrance of the kitchen; Hope Mikaelson seemed to stumble upon them, once again saving the day. Lizzie felt her blood boil because she had it handled. Much unlike the situation at the wave pool.

“Hope?” Jed had taken a half-step back “I didn’t’ think you were going to come tonight.”

“Funny, I was under the same impression.”

Kelsey swallowed loudly and lifted her chin in defeat, maybe even acknowledgment before the two of them stalked off and out of the kitchen entirely. Hope’s eyes were dark, darker than she had ever seen them before. Darker than that night in the locker room. She let out a sigh that was deep enough to echo a growl.

“I didn’t need your help.” Lizzie protested.

“Oh really? It seemed like you did. Jed and Kelsey would have eaten you alive, trust me.”

Hope turned away at once and left the kitchen through the hallway entrance. A small passage lined with photos of Kaleb’s family, one on the beach and two graduation shot’s. Lizzie pretended to ignore the fact that there was none of him. She followed her quickly.

“You can’t keep doing that.”

“Doing what?” Hope asked innocently.

“Swooping in like I’m some damsel in distress and you’re the hero that saves me from certain doom. I’ve got it covered, okay?” Lizzie reached forward and grasped at Hope’s wrist, trying to stop her halfway through the corridor.

Her back was suddenly against the drywall, the picture frames shaking at the strong impact. Though she had a few inches on Hope Mikaelson, she felt her heart rate spike. The other lifeguard had her pinned, a hand splayed next to her head and a dangerous hint in her stare.

“Don’t touch me, Saltzman. Not tonight.”

Lizzie gulped in the scent of vanilla and something metallic that she couldn’t’ place. Her voice came out a slight whisper and Hope’s impossible gaze flicked down to her lips. “What’s so different about tonight?”  

“Coming here was a mistake.”

Hope tore herself away from the situation and pushed towards the front door. Through a group of people too stubborn to move. Lizzie blinked twice and tried to clear her head of the intoxicating allure that she had never registered before. She followed her again, instant relief washing over her once she was away from the stuffy house.

Anger still bubbled like an unchecked stew. What Hope had just done was shockingly intimate and her skin tingled where her hands had all but lingered. She glanced up at the moon sparingly and padded onto the walk where she searched either direction, but no Hope.

A thicket of woods surrounded the back of Kaleb’s house and for some pulling reason, Lizzie decided to brave it. The neon light of her cellphone was enough to make up for what the Blood Moon didn’t- and really, it wasn’t so hard to move along the wet trees and the subtle sounds of crickets.

“Hope!” she called out, breaking the near silence.

Lizzie shouted out a few more times before she stumbled into a clearing surrounded by stars. The stretching grass reached her knees and swayed like a crimson ocean in the scattered light. A deep pit formed in the center of the blonde's stomach; because maybe this was a terrible idea. The hairs on her arms stood up at attention. She didn’t feel alone.

She scanned her eyes against the tree line as the wind picked up until they landed on a set of eyes. Too low to the ground to be human, glowing like the moon above as they bored into her. She had read somewhere that in the face of an animal you had to make yourself look bigger but all she wanted to do was shrink.

Lizzie was rooted in her spot, helpless as the creature slowly stalked from its home in the shadows. Large and black and bigger than any type of dog that she had spotted before. Its eyes were a dark red and a deep growl erupted from the wolf’s chest. Lizzie felt like her own was on fire.

Another, smaller wolf, that was spotted in gold followed, its stance strong and offensive. Now would be a good time for her to run, or to cry, she wasn’t sure which instinct would latch onto her first but with the way her eyes felt heavy she considered it was the latter.

“Good doggie,” Lizzie held her palms out and lowered them because she saw it in a Chris Pratt movie about dinosaurs once. But the animals kept approaching and her legs felt like Jell-O. “Nice doggie.”

The larger one snarled and crouched lower to the ground. Its tail tucked and nose crinkled, and suddenly it was increasing its speed. Lizzie dropped to her knees and clenched her eyes shut, and she waited for impact.

For the warmth of blood and the sound of her own screams. The thought of News Vans and police officers and yellow caution tape flashed in front of her instead of some poetic movie of the good parts of her life. Maybe they wouldn’t even find her body because it would be picked clean to the bone.

Instead, she breathed deep on the scent of soil as she felt it work its way under her nails. There was another noise, one that was louder than her own heart. A yelp of fear low enough to only come from the animal lunging at her.

She propped one eye open and saw the black wolf on its back, hissing out in what could only be described as palpable fear. The yellow one had its tail tucked and eyes averted, golden and flashing in the light of the moon.

Lizzie dug her heels into the dirt of the clearing and pushed herself back a couple of inches, propping up on her elbows. Another wolf, smaller than the black one and so gray it was almost white like snow, emitted a loud and commanding rumble.

She felt her hands dig right into the roots of the grass as if she gripped it for stability. The black wolf rose from its position and let out a huff of air before dashing back into the cover of the trees. Inky and all too consuming.

The newcomer sent out another warning growl before the second animal scampered away entirely. But Lizzie could still feel the fear in the air like electricity as the white wolf shot an accusing glare at her, leaking with the annoyance of something larger.

The hair on the wolf’s back suddenly smoothed out and its ears were flat, head dipping and brilliant golden eyes shrouded with worry.

Lizzie conjured her words “I’m okay. Thank you.”

She sat and stared at the creature for a long moment, feeling the sting where her palms had scraped against rocks and dirt. It cocked it’s large head to the side as if questioning her, and took a daring step forward.

“You’re not so scary, huh?” She leaned up a little bit and the wolf let out a huff of air as if to protest the statement. “Oh? And you can understand me too.”

Maybe this was a fever dream, she realized suddenly. She had fallen in the woods looking for Hope and had hit her head on a log or a rock. Someone would come looking for her eventually and she would wake up in a hospital bed with enough ammunition to get even with Hope Mikaelson for saving that kid.

“Lizzie!” The call of her sister broke the world that they were in and the wolf took a few ample steps back. Those brilliant marigold orbs scanning the tree line.

“Wait, don’t-“

But the wolf had already caught wind of the scent and was rushing in the opposite direction of the way it carried. Fluid and so strong in its motions that Lizzie was entirely sure that none of this could be real.

Her sister, covered in muck and dirt, sprouted through the trees, nearly falling over herself. Lizzie felt bad for the worry on her face and the pure fear that soon followed. “MG said he saw you run out of the house and go into the woods- what are you doing out here?”

“I needed some fresh air.” She didn’t even buy that.

“Then why are you on the ground?”

“Looking at the moon, you’re right. It is kind of cool.”

Josie suddenly got a pensive look on her face as she squinted at the apple-red color in the sky. She shook her head and reached a hand down to her sister, not minding the dirt or the possible blood that coated her own palm. She pulled her to her feet and glanced around apprehensively.

“Come on, it’s creepy out here and I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Lizzie didn’t’ answer, instead, she followed Josie and hoped that the shorter of the two knew where she was going. But her nerves eased as the electronic sound of the party's music started to fill her ears once more. She couldn’t help but agree;

This was too much excitement for one night.

[antihero-writings]

A Touch of Song and Salem (Ch2)

Fandom: Hetalia (Firefly Crossover) 

Summary: Earth got used up. They got used up. So the nations of the world had to flee into the black...but they'll only ever be half alive now.

America forgot how to smile at the academy...but maybe a day out planetside is all she needs. Hopefully the people on said planet won't try to burn her down. 

(A fusion-style crossover with fem!America and Canada from Hetalia in the Firefly universe, cast as Simon and River during the dance and witch scenes of the episode "Safe.")

Notes: Written for my friend @ladynephthyss’ birthday!! The characterizations of the Hetalia characters are based on her characterizations of them!! (She plans on posting some Hetalia stuff soon, please go check her out!!)

We both love Firefly, especially Simon and River, and as I love writing fusion-style crossovers I thought this would be perfect!!

I’ll reblog this with links to Ch1, as well as reblog ch1 with ch2 soon!! 

If you enjoy this fic, please consider commenting and/or reblogging!! It really means the world to me!!

Chapter 2: 

Amelia doesn’t remember everything. She doesn’t remember every war between countries, every petty squabble between her family. She doesn’t remember all the things Jackson said when he was angry, and Roosevelt when he was calm. She doesn’t quite remember how she felt when it rained after too-long summers. She doesn’t remember the feeling of wildfire, of too-long winters where they had to eat the men after all. Of every man hunt over silly things like color, if we’d like to share everything after all. Not entirely. She doesn’t quite remember what it was to have fields, open and untamed.

She doesn’t remember Roanoke; she doesn’t remember Salem. She tries not to.

She doesn’t remember how the sea boiled, the earth choked, and the sky burned when they had to move off world.

She doesn’t remember what it felt like to burn.

She doesn’t remember everything from the academy. She doesn’t remember how school was more like that of fish; that they had to stick together or they’d be picked off one by one and devoured. She doesn’t remember how they shoved needles into her brain like toothpicks, and gobbled up the pieces, her thoughts appetizers—(so what was the main course?).

She, smart girl, sane girl, doesn’t remember sending letters made of jumbled notions, speaking of monuments and worlds they’d never seen, events to which they’d never been. A fraud in coded verity. She doesn’t remember laying, eyes open, knowing tomorrow would not be molded together out of sunshine, and rain, and open air, it would be sewn out of blood and their own brains.

What she does remember...fragments. A flash here. An emotion there. She sees ghosts. Some benign. Some…not so. And she’s not always sure what’s a ghost and what’s a figment, a figment of yesterday, or just today’s unlucky daydreams. Though perhaps she’s always seen them.

She feels things. Too much.

She doesn’t remember everything. All of American history is too much for one girl’s head.

But she does remember Matthew.

She remembers how much he risked to save her from the needles. She remembers the feeling of his arms around her for the first time since she left him—(all for the sake of a little knowledge…She hated how she could be so petty sometimes). The way he still, after all this time, smelled like maple, and freshly fallen snow, and cigarette smoke. How he saved her.

(Though some of her got left behind.)

She remembers how Matthew danced with her, long ago—though the occasions bleed together.

They never much liked parties.

She remembers sitting curled up with him, and a good book, by the fire, petting a dog with her toes. Thinking of home. Knowing they were close enough.

So when they take him…she forgets how to smile.

It’s a game, surely. Hide and seek. She remembers that, at least. She must be “it”.

That thought alone keeps her from breaking. Breaking. Breaking the world down, herself in it.

So she counts to ten, and she runs. Through the forest, each tree—(no sweet sap from them this time of year)—like scarecrows pointing no particular way, just there to scare off the birds, and maybe a sensitive child or two.

She remembers the farms, and the wind over the wheat, scarecrows like sentries.—Why do they say ravens are bad omens?—The farms, the plantations, and the songs gliding over them, songs of a home those working in the fields could never return to.

And she finds him. He wasn’t hiding altogether well. In fact, he’s with people out in the open, some strangers—Are they friends? Are they playing too?

“Found you~!” The smile returns. It’s okay. He’s safe. They can go back to dancing now.

The horror in his eyes tells her the world might just have to break after all.

“Amelia! Amelia, no!” He breaks free from the not-so-friends holds, grabbing her too tightly, pushing her away.

“Found you—!” She repeats the words, though the tone is entirely different, choked ang confused, as the men wrap their arms around her, and their grip is not kind, and they smell like blood.

Well…if they are to return to the needles…at least they will be together.

******

Matthew knocks lightly on the door to Arthur’s study and walks in, despite having been given no sign of welcome.

Arthur is sitting at his desk, his glasses on the tip of his nose, scrutinizing a book, his brow creased a little too hard.

Matthew sits in the chair across from him, and sets the letters down in front of him; the topic of conversation.

There is a full cup of tea on the table in front of Arthur.

Full? Yes. Steaming? No.

Arthur never lets tea go cold.

That alone would be enough to warrant the next words;

“Something’s wrong.”

Arthur looks up, those blue eyes stormy and perfectly clear at the same time. “Yes, I gathered that as well.”

“You called me in here?” France knocks lightly before marching in. Despite it being Arthur’s study, Matthew is the one who responds;

“Yes.” The Canadian is tapping his foot a little too much, a little too quickly, a dull ache in his bottom lip. “It’s about Amelia’s letters.…Didn’t they seem strange to you?”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one.” Francis sits by the bookshelf. “They seemed quite odd indeed. Especially the part about the Darbanville’s. We don’t know anyone by that name.”

“What do you think is going on?” Arthur’s eyes fix on Matthew.

Matthew looks between them, then at the letters, the words rearranging themselves on the pages. He hoped they wouldn’t think he was crazy.

“I think there’s a code.”

The two older men exchange a glance, slight surprise on their faces, then resolve. Matthew presses on.

“We get a few letters, then nothing, then this? …She’s trying to tell is something.” The knot in his stomach just keeps getting tighter, the ache in his lip sharper. “Something that someone doesn’t want her to say.”

There’s a moment of thought

“…What do you suggest we do?”

He looked down, fidgeting with his hands before looking up, fire in his eyes.

"We go get her.”

******

The moon is particularly bright this night. Not whole. Almost. Just a little bit off. Like them.

The moon. In the sky. Where it belongs. Something from a spellbook, that would turn them into wolves when drunk on starlight. Not just a dull hunk of rock in the vacuum-shield in front of them.

On better worlds this would have been a quiet night. There would be crickets and frogs, and a brother and sister would have smoked weed or tobacco, lying on the grass and named the stars. On better worlds they would have spoke of life, and politics, and absolutely nothing at all.

On better worlds Salem had ended.

But this is not a better world.

So everything is so loud. The shouts of a people who forgot they lived in a universe where superstition was just that renders the silence speechless. They speak of God, and broken little girls, and this not-Earth resonates with their tones. One word rings through the mob like gunshots, and everything sounds a little too much like yesterday.

The word, the yesterday it conjures, mix into poison in his veins, which turns to venom on his tongue.

Matthew marches up to the patron. A respectable man, with a sense of justice. A cruel man; a sense, yes, but he filled the blanks in the wrong order. The words a bitter demand, and not a plea. No desperation in his voice, no hesitation; his head is level, and he thinks the patron’s is too. The trade would be fair and simple. There’s still hope. There’s no reason to resort to anything drastic just yet. The anger in his voice is barely bleeding through;

“Take me instead. Take my life for hers.”

“The witch must die. God commands it.” He didn’t even ponder it in that thick, empty skull of his.

At those statements, the two fists shaking at his sides, want to take this man’s neck and snap it between them, singing an old war song, and throw his body over a cliff, letting hungry waves devour him, or better yet out the airlock, where he will float breathless into the void for eternity…or maybe just lead him into the fire they’re intending to feed his sister to.

He could do it. He wanted to. He could fly away on Serenity’s wings and never have to answer for such a crime. He’s killed better men in wars before. And sometimes outside them.

But, no. He must sit quietly, and watch, and wait for the end. Amelia may not be very happy if her brother killed a man in front of her. Or…

He tried not to indulge the thought that maybe she would.

And when he sees the other men holding torches, torches licking their lips, about to let them lose on his sister—

—Lighting a poor girl on fire for the simple the charge that there was a demon inside her, like we all don’t all have ten or twelve—

All that anger comes pouring out. And before he fully comprehends what he’s doing he runs to them.

“Get away from her!” that venom drips off his lips, his hands fangs, grabbing at their clothes and wrenching them and their orange beasts away.

One of them throws a punch at him. Matthew may look weak, but he has been in far worse brawls against far bigger men, in far darker streets, and these ones just so happen to intend to hurt his sister, so it’s no trouble for him to knock the three of them down.

Once they’re on the ground or clutching their faces he turns to the crowd, rage boiling in his gut—

—Why? Why? Why is it always her? Why do they do this to her? When she was just a girl who wanted to live her life in peace?—

“She has done nothing to you!”

Because she never did. She never did anything to hurt anyone, and they always found some reason to kill her for it. Some charge worthy of death. Some reason to light her on fire. They always do that with the good ones. She knows this better than anyone. And he says the words he always wanted to say, to all of them, sadness breaking through the venom—It was so simple, why couldn’t they get that seeing ghosts is no charge worthy of burning?—

“If she dies tonight it won’t be God’s will that killed her! It’ll be you! Your lunacy! Your ignorance!”

He stares out at them, and they don’t respond in word or action: they don’t try to refute his words, or pull him away. They just stare, their eyes blank, a court of zombies. They’re at a stalemate, neither giving up the floor.

And he does what he should have done long ago, what he should have every time, every time he saw her in pain, every time they persecuted her to the point of torture, or death:

He raises his heel, and takes a step back onto the platform beside her.

“That’s not gonna stop us.” Says one of them.

He resists the urge to say Never once did I think it would.

Amelia turns to him, and he expects to see fear and bloody memory in her eyes—

But she smiles. Like she had hours ago. Like nothing’s wrong. Like they’re still dancing. Playing war games. And she says, calling back to something he told her earlier today;

“Post holer. Digging holes for posts.”

He looks at the post behind them; the one she’s tied to. The one that just might be the death of her.

Post holer. For the ground.

Long ago she had ground. In America. When they caged her wild plains in with fences and wire and laws, plowing holes and raking lines across her amber fields, and it wasn’t always bad, some were nice, there were farmers who just wanted to make an honest living, a pair of explorers, once, who just to see a little bit of the world…

They weren’t always bad, no…but she’d rather be free.

And now they dug a hole, and put in a post to burn a not-quite-girl, with her golden locks, and her wild fantasies—wild fantasies like being happy, some day—this girl who, earlier today, was smiling for the first time since the academy. Some savage mob on an innocuous world dug a hole for a post to burn America down.

He wraps his arms around her, and she is warm, and she smells like hay, and summer, strawberries, and gunpowder.

There’s no hesitation, no pain, nor even anger in the words this time. They are sheer resolve:

“Light it.”

He is willing to die for her. With her. If they can die at all. If they can, it’d be fitting it’d happen out here on a twisted echo of a worse America.

They’ve spent too much time starving in the black.

“Time to go.” Amelia says softly. And the words are not pained or afraid…there’s almost longing there.

If this is it, if this is how things will end, he thinks, it’s not the worst way to go. Fire’s certainly better than water, because at least in fire you can breathe. It’s better than the cold, because the cold has a way of ridding you of feeling before the end. At least in fire you can feel something. Because the cold is slow, and makes you rather eat your friends after all…People don’t do that with fire. He always thought burning would be a fitting end for the Great White North. It’s not the worst way to go; by his sister’s side.

This will be how America and Canada end: on some nameless world, tied to a post, devoured by flames and ignorance. And…they’re alright with that.

Then there’s another sound. A sound that isn’t shouts or flames or anything natural. Something that sounds mechanical. If he was delusional he’d think it was the whirring of a ship’s engine.

He feels a gust of wind brush by him, and a bright light forces him to open his eyes, squinting.

“Well look at this,” Out of the smoke a voice breaks through, and he says it like he came upon a good game of cricket. “Looks like the twins have got themselves into a spot of trouble.”

Arthur is marching through the crowd holding a gun, Francis at his side.

“It appears we arrived just in time. What does that make us?”

“Ehh, how would le’Amerique say it?” France puts a finger to his chin as if thinking, then says in his best attempt at an American accent; “Big damn heroes.”

“Ain’t we just.” England does the same. Then, as he arrives in front of the platform, in his normal accent: “So sorry for the interruption, gents. But it appears you have something that belongs to us. And we’d very much like it back.”

“This is a holy cleansing, you cannot think to thwart God’s will.”

“…Would you be ever so kind as to direct your attention to the lovely lady hanging out of the spaceship with the rather large gun?”

Matthew did the same, only to see Ireland; red hair like flames in the light, another line of red piercing the air as she aimed the gun around, looking like she’d like nothing more than to pull the trigger. He’d been privy to such a look on her face only a few times, and he could confirm hesitation was not in her vocabulary.

“I’d like to introduce you to my sister. She has taken a liking to the girl currently tied to the post, and she might just be in the mood to kill one or two of you. So rather, it’s her will you ought worry about thwarting.” He backs up, speaking to the twins now. “I must say, the two of your’s ability to get yourselves into trouble is near miraculous.”

“…Yes I’m very proud.”

“Cut her down.” And there’s a sting to his words this time.

“She’s a witch.” The patron says, as if, upon hearing the words, Arthur will reply Oh? A witch? I wasn’t aware. Go about your business.

“Quite frankly, I’m surprised you’re bright enough to notice. Yes, she is. But she’s our witch.”

His eyes aim at the respectable man, and they’re far more threatening than the gun pointing at his head. The words contain a venom related to Matthews, but it’s the way his eyes blaze that remind Matthew that he’s watched the world burn more than once;

“So cut her the hell down.”