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theredherb · 4 years ago

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The Red Herb’s Top 10 Games of 2020

Hey, fuck 2020. You might notice that many of the “Best Of” lists you read this year and last can’t help but mention how terrible 2020 was. That’s because every day was like hitting a new, splinter riddled branch on our 365 day plummet off a shit-coated tree. The year brought with it a viral pandemic that served as a pressure cooker for the societal and systemic issues boiling beneath the surface of our every day life. And we’re not out of it.

At least one positive holds true of 2020: the games were pretty darn good. One has to wonder, though, if 2020 was the last year of what can be called “normalcy” for the video game industry. Now that the remainder of titles brewed in pre-Covid times are out in the wild, what will the future of gaming look like as studios shift to work-from-home and distribution models migrate to digital as the primary bread winner? What will games look like going forward?

I have no fucking clue. We’ll get there when we get there. But looking back, I’m glad to have had such solid distractions from the stress and strife. If 2020 is any indicator for the industry going forward, then my takeaway is that games will continue to grow in prominence because of their ability to help us cope and, more importantly, stay connected.

Anyway, here’s video games:

10. MARVEL’S AVENGERS

Oh, Marvel’s Avengers. I know you expected to be on more prestigious Top 10 lists than mine. Truthfully, I debated whether or not you should be here. But I had to search my soul (stone) on this one. Really assemble my feelings. Tony Stark my thoughts (?). Here’s the short of it: Marvel’s Avengers has a great story campaign with a surprising amount of emotional weight thanks largely to Kamala Khan’s quest to reassemble the heroes of her youth. Once the final cutscene ends, though, players were expected to take their play box of Marvel heroes, jump online, and duke it out against hordes of villains for the privilege of precious loot and level gains. It would be impossible to get bored because Crystal Dynamics was going to continually Bifrost in new quests, cosmetics, and heroes -- for free!

Except, after fans blasted through the campaign (took me a solid weekend), they found a multiplayer mode filled with repetitive fights against non-descript A.I.M Bots, a handful of dull, un-Marvelous environments (the PNW?! In a video game?! Wowwee!), and a grind for gear that became useless minutes after it was equipped. Oh, and bugs. Tons of bugs. It must be hard for A.I.M. to take earth’s mightiest heroes seriously when they’re falling through the fucking earth every other mission.

So why the Kevin Accolade™? Of all the mistakes and underbaked ideas, Crystal Dynamics got the most important thing right: they made me feel like I was a part of the Avengers. Cutting through the sky as Iron Man; dive bombing, fists-first as the Hulk; firing gadgets at cronies as Black Widow; cracking a row of skulls with Cap’s shield… Avengers is a brawler on super soldier serum.

The combat is crunchy and addictive, and surprisingly deep once you unlock your character’s full suite of skills and buffs. The gear matters little. But choosing a loadout that works for you -- like ensuring enemy takedowns grant you a health orb every time or turning area clearing attacks to focused beams of hurt -- does matter. When it comes to games with disastrous launches, Avengers is the most deserving of a triumphant comeback story because, if you clear the wreckage, I think there’s a solid game here. If I was able to spend hours playing it in its roughshod state, I can see myself digging in for the long-term once it’s polished up and given a healthy dose of content. You know...if Square Enix doesn’t outright abandon it.

9. STREETS OF RAGE 4

Here’s a fact about me: I love beat ‘em ups. From Final Fight to X-Men to The Simpsons, I prioritized my quarters for the beat ‘em up machines (and House of the Dead simply because House of the Dead fuckin’ owns). Unfortunately, Streets of Rage wasn’t in arcades, and I didn’t own a Genesis growing up, so I didn’t get around to the series until Sega re-released as part of a collection. Though my history with the 29 year old brawler is shorter than some, the basics stand out out right away: it’s an awesome side-scrolling brawler filled with zany character designs and high octane boss fights.

SoR4 nails that simple spirit while adding an electric soundtrack, buttery smooth animations, and an art style that looks like a comic book in motion. You can button-mash your way through the game or master your timing to combo stun the shit out of bad guys. Same screen co-op is a requisite for the beat ‘em up genre but I have to call it out nonetheless given that it's next to obsolete these days. The story campaign is, of course, finite but a stream of unlockables and a Boss Rush Mode pad out the package nicely.

I really don’t have to go on and on. I’m on board with any game that captures the arcadey high of classic beat ‘em ups, and Streets of Rage 4 does it with flare.

8. RESIDENT EVIL 3 REMAKE

Resident Evil 2’s remake was my game of the year in 2019. It’s a pitch perfect revision that captures the pulse-pounding fear of the original while beautifully updating its graphics and gameplay for modern audiences. The most striking aspect of RE2’s remake is how it expands and reconfigures the classic game’s environments and set pieces. Capcom managed to recontextualize, and even improve on, the original’s design while staying faithful to its tone and atmosphere.

Resident Evil 3’s remake is less successful in modifying and improving on its source material. If the game feels like it was handled by a different team than RE2R, your gamer hands have good eyes (roll with it). It was developed by a separate internal team (three different teams, in fact), but that’s actually one of many choices mirroring its 1999 forebear. Just like the original, RE3R is a tighter (i.e. shorter) experience that launched less than a year after its predecessor. And just like the original, the game skirts away from survival horror in favor of action horror.

Unlike last year’s remake, however, RE3R paints in broad strokes with the original material much in the same way that 2004’s Dawn of the Dead remake shared a vague resemblance with Romero’s ‘79 classic. Capcom at least nails down what matters: you play as Jill Valentine, beaten and discredited after the Arklay Mountains incident, during her last escape from the zombie besieged Raccoon City. Her exit is complicated by Nemesis, a humanoid missile that relentlessly pursues her from minute two of the game. Her only chance of making it out alive is by teaming up with a gaggle of Umbrella dispatched mercenaries, including an overly handsome fellow named Carlos Oliveras that you control for a spell. But fans struggled to get over what Capcom didn’t remake. Several enemies, boss fights, and a “divergent path” mechanic that had you choose how best to escape the Nemesis in a pinch were omitted from the remake. Even an entire section set in a clock tower was cut. But, let’s be honest, the biggest omission is a secret ending where Barry Burton saves the day using only his beard. For real, YouTube that shit.

If you look at what the remake does instead of what it doesn’t, you’ll find a lightning paced action game highlighted by tense, one-on-one fights against the constantly mutating Nemesis. The tyrant’s grotesque transformations evoke the mind-rending, gut turning creature designs found in John Carpenter's The Thing. It’s sad that Nemesis doesn’t pursue you through the levels as diligently as he did in the original, or as Mr. X had in last year’s remake, but these “arena fights” end up being harrowing and fun, culminating in a memorable final encounter. The remake also treats us to the best incarnation of Jill to date. She’s a cynical badass, exasperated at how Umbrella upended her life, and can take a plunge off of a building yet still muster enough energy to call Nemesis a bitch. RE3R also shines thanks to its snappy combat, including a contextual dodge that feels rewarding to pull off, less bullet-sponge enemies than RE2, and an assortment of weapons to get you through Jill’s Very Bad Night(s). It makes for a necessary, though shorter, companion to last year’s stellar remake.

7. HADES

I’m experiencing a new type of shame including a title that I haven’t beaten on my Top 10 list, but I can assure you that I’ve dumped hours into its addictive death loop. It’s probably because of my resistance to looking up any tips, but given the skill-check nature of the difficult boss fights, I’m almost afraid the top shelf advice will amount to “die less, idiot.”

My failings aside, Hades is brilliant. It’s the perfect merger of gameplay and storytelling. You play as Zagreus, son of Hades, and your entire goal is to escape your father’s underworld domain. You pick from a selection of weapons, like a huge broadsword or spear, and attempt your “run,” seeing how far you can make it before an undead denizen cuts you down. It’s familiar roguelike territory, but where Supergiant separates their game from the pack is in the unique feeling of constant progression, even as you fail. With each run, not only is Zagreus earning a currency (gems or keys) that unlock new skills that make the next go a little easier, you’re also consistently treated to new lore. The fallen gods and heroes that line your father’s hall greet you after each death and provide a new insight into their world. The writing is bouncy and hilarious, the voice acting ethereal and alluring, and the character designs could make a lake thirsty.

Supergiant’s stylistic leanings are at their peak here. They’ve managed the impossible feat of making failure feel like advancement. Sure, it totally fucks up other roguelikes for me, but that’s okay. None of those games have Meg.

6. DEMON’S SOULS

Whereas Capcom takes liberties with their remakes, Bluepoint took the Gus Van Sant approach and made a 1:1 recreation of the 2009 title that launched the “Soulslike” genre. The dividing difference is a 2020 facelift brought to us by way of the PlayStation 5’s next-gen horsepower. There’s been online arguments (surprise) regarding the loss of Fromsoftware’s visual aesthetic in translating the PS3 original in order to achieve a newfound photorealism. It’s true, some beasties lose their surreal weirdness -- a consequence of revisiting designs without the worry of graphical or time constraints -- but the game’s world is still engrossing, morbid, and bleakly gorgeous.

That’s not to say all Bluepoint did was overhaul the graphics and shove this remake out the door. No, their improvements are nuanced, under-the-hood changes that gently push the genre into the next-generation. For one, the loading times are incredible. You could hop between all five archstones in under a minute if you wanted. And this game is a best DualSense controller showcase outside of Astro’s Playroom. You can feel a demonstrable difference between hitting your sword against a wall compared to connecting it with an attacking creature. Likewise, the controller rumbles menacingly as to let you know enemies are stomping across a catwalk above you. “Better rumbles” was not on my wish list of next-gen features, but the tactile feedback goes great lengths to make you feel like you’re there.

Granted, sticking so closely to the original means its pratfalls are also carried over to the next-gen. The trek between bonfire checkpoints is an eternity compared to the game’s successors, and Fromsoftware hadn’t quite mastered the sword ballet of boss fights prevalent in Dark Souls. Instead, a handful of bosses feel more like set pieces where you’re searching for the “trick” to end it versus having to learn attack patterns and counters. Still, it’s easy to see the design blueprint that bore a whole new genre. From having to memorize enemy placements to hunting down the world’s arcane secrets in the hopes of finding a new item that pushes the odds in your favor. Bluepoint’s quality of life improvements only make it kinder (not easier) to plunge into the game, obsess over its idiosyncrasies, and begin to master every inch of it. That is until you roll into New Game+ and the game shoves a Moonlight Greatsword up your ass.

5. YAKUZA: LIKE A DRAGON

Here’s a fact about me I’m sure you don’t know: I love beat ‘em ups. Streets of Rage 4 had an easy time making it on this list because it can be classified as both a “beat ‘em up” and “good.” Here’s another fact about me: I’m not the biggest fan of JRPGs. I’m told this is not because of any personal preferences I harbor, but rather due to a distinct lack of culture. I’ve made peace with that. At least my uncultured ways are distinctive.

But my disinterest in JRPGs is notable here because it illustrates how very good Like A Dragon is. Transitioning the Yakuza series from a reactive brawler (entrenched in an open-world SIM) to a full-blown turned-based RPG was risky -- especially 8 entries into the mainline series -- but it pays off explosively for Like A Dragon. Not only does the goofiness, melodrama, and kinetic energy translate to an RPG -- it’s improved by it. Beyond a new protagonist -- the instantly likable and infinitely affable Ichiban Kasuga -- we’re finally treated to an ensemble cast that travels with you, interacts with you, and grows with you. Their independent stories weave into Ichi’s wonderfully and end up mattering just as much as his.

The combat doesn’t lose any of its punch now that you’re taking turns. In fact, it feels wilder than ever and still demands situational awareness as your enemies shift around the environment, forcing you to quickly pick which move will do the most damage and turn the fight in your favor. RGG purposefully made Ichi obsessed with Dragon Quest (yes, specifically Dragon Quest) as an excuse to go ham and morph enemies into outlandish fiends that would populate Ichi’s favorite series. It’s a fun meta that never loses its charm.

This is the best first step into a new genre I’ve ever seen an established franchise make and I hope like hell they keep with it for future outings -- and that Ichi returns to keep playing hero. There’s plenty of callbacks and treats for longtime fans, but RGG did a masterful job rolling out the virtual carpet for a whole new generation of Yakuza fanatics.

4. GHOST OF TSUSHIMA

Sucker Punch’s dive into 13th century Japan doesn’t redefine the open-world genre. But like Horizon: Zero Dawn before it, Ghost of Tsushima takes familiar components of the genre and uses them exceptionally well, creating an airtight experience that can’t help but stand out. I can tell Sucker Punch mused on games like Assassin’s Creed and Breath of the Wild, tried to figure out what makes those games tick, and then brought their own spin to those concepts. You can feel it in their obsession to make traversal through the environment as unobtrusive as possible, letting the wind literally guide you to your destinations instead of forcing the player to glue their eyes to a mini-map. You can feel it in how seamless it is to scale a rooftop before silently dropping on a patrol, blade first. You can feel it in the smoothness behind the combat as your sword clashes against the enemy’s. Every discrete part is fine-tuned yet perfectly complements the whole. The game is silk in your hands.

The mainline story can be humdrum, though. It mirrors the beats of a superhero origin story, which isn’t surprising when you account for the three Infamous titles and satellite spinoffs under Sucker Punch’s belt. But Jin Sakai’s personal journey outshines the cookie-cutter plot. His gradual turn from the strict samurai code to a morally ambiguous vigilante lifestyle (to becoming, eventually, a myth) is a fascinating exploration in shifting worldviews. This is bolstered by the well-written side-missions dotting your quest, some of which play out in chains. It’s these diversions about melancholy warriors and villagers adjusting to life under invasion that end up being the essential storytelling within the game. Whatever you do, don’t skip a single one.

Before GoT can overstay its welcome with collectible hunting and stat-tree building, the ride is over. If you find exhaustive open-world titles, well, exhausting, Sucker Punch coded enough of a campaign to sticking the landing and not more. But if you were looking for more, the game’s co-op Legends mode is the surprise encore of the year. It strikes its own tone, with vibrant, trippy designs, and a progression system that embarrasses other AAA titles in the space (I mean Avengers. I’m talking about Avengers).

3. THE LAST OF US PART II

The Last of Us is widely regarded as a masterpiece. It’s a melancholic trek through a realistic post-apocalypse, driven by the budding bond between a world-weary survivor and a would-be teenage savior. The fungal zombies and violent shootouts with scavengers were scary and exciting, but ultimately just window-dressing compared to the level of complicated, and honest, human emotion on display throughout the tale. While a segment of detractors helpfully pointed out that The Last of Us’ story isn’t unique when compared to years of post-apocalyptic books, comics, and movies, that argument seems to forget that a narrative more concerned with the human protagonists’ connections to one another instead of saving the world or feeding into a hero complex is pretty unique for games -- especially a high profile, AAA budgeted game.

Still, fans made heroes out of Joel and Ellie because of their own connection to their journey. And that connection is almost instantly challenged in the opening hours of The Last of Us Part II to heartbreaking effect. But I’m here to tell you that any other sequel would have been dishonest to the legacy of the original game. To be given a hero’s quest as a continuation, an imagined sequel where Joel and Ellie do battle against the viral infection that’s swept the earth, would have been a despicable cash-in. It would have been a mistake to follow-up the original’s careful examination of human nature just to placate an audience that seems to have missed the point Naughty Dog made. The Last of Us Part II hurts. But it has to or else it wouldn’t have been worth making. It’s a slow-burn meditation on the harmful ripples revenge creates, how suffering begets suffering, and how, if we don’t break the cycles of violence we commit to, suffering will come for us.

To drive this point, we’re given two distinct perspectives during the meaty (and somewhat overlong) campaign, split between Ellie Williams, the wronged party seeking revenge, and Abby Anderson, an ex-Firefly whose actions set the sequel into motion. The greatest trick Naughty Dog pulls off isn’t forcing us to play as a character we hate, it’s giving us reasons to emphasize with them. It was gradual, and despite some heavy-handed moments meant to squeeze sympathy out of the player (how many times do I have to see that fuckin’ aquarium?!), I eventually came to love Abby’s side of the story. The obvious irony being that she unwittingly walks the same path Joel did in the original.

My love for the narrative shouldn’t distract from how well designed the world is. Being a King County local, the vision of a ruined Seattle strikes an uncomfortable note -- it was eerie seeing recognizable buildings overgrown with vegetation but otherwise devoid of life. Maybe the heart-wrenching story also distracts from the fact this game is, by definition, survival horror. Exploring toppled buildings in the dark, hearing the animalistic chittering of the infected, defending yourself with limited resources… It manages to be a scarier entry into the genre in 2020 than even RE3R. There’s a particular fight in a fungus covered hospital basement that easily goes down as my Boss Fight of the Year. Human enemies make for clench-worthy encounters, too, with incredibly adept AI that forces you to keep moving around the environment and set traps to avoid getting overwhelmed.

Admittedly, the subject matter -- or more to the point, the grim tone -- was tough to stomach during an actual pandemic which has happily treated us to the worst of human nature. Still, The Last of Us Part II is absolutely worth playing for its balance of mature themes and expertly crafted world, and the way it juxtaposes beauty and awfulness in the same breath.

2. SPIDER-MAN: MILES MORALES

The most impressive thing about Miles Morales is that, despite being a truncated midquel rather than a full-blown sequel, it’s a better game than 2018’s Spider-Man. It’s not because of the instantaneous loading times or the fancy ray-tracing techniques used on the PS5 version of the game. Rather, it’s how it takes the joyride of the original game and hones it into a laser focused experience filled to the brim exclusively with highs. Like Batman: Arkham Asylum going into Arkham City, Miles starts the game off with his mentor’s best abilities and tools. From there, he discovers his own powers, his bioelectric venom strike, which ends up feeling like the missing ingredient from the first game’s combat.

Your open-world playground -- a locale in the Marvel universe called “New York City” -- is exactly the same size as the previous installment, which helps avoid making the game feel “lesser.” But Insomniac wisely consolidated the random crimes Peter faced into a phone app that Miles can check and choose which activity to help out with. Choices like this really trim the fat from the main game and help alleviate “the open-world problem” where the story’s pacing suffers because players are spending hours on end collecting feathers. This is great because Miles’ story is also great. The narrative kicks Peter out pretty early on, focusing on how Miles assumes the role of city protector, primarily focused on his new home in Harlem. Insomniac avoids retreading the same path paved by Into the Spider-Verse by telling a relatable tale where Miles defines his identity as Spider-Man. With a strong cast led by Nadji Jeter as Miles, the game lands an impactful story that weaves its own new additions to Miles’ mythos (light spoiler: I loved their take on The Prowler).

Miles Morales was pure virtualized joy from start to finish. A requirement of the platinum trophy is to replay the entirety of the game on New Game+. I didn’t hesitate to restart my adventure the minute the credits were over. Everything I loved about 2018’s Spider-Man is here: the swinging, the fighting, the gadgets, the bevy of costumes. But it gave me a new element I adore and can’t see Insomniac’s franchise proceeding without: being Miles Morales.

1. FINAL FANTASY VII REMAKE

I love subversive media, I do. And Square Enix’s “remake” of one the most beloved video games ever made subverts expectations by openly acknowledging that, yes, the original story you love exists and is consistently referenced in this game. But this is not that story. This is something..else. Because the truth is, SE could never have recreated FFVII and delivered a title that matched the Sacred Game fans created in their heads. That impossible standard is like an imagined deity, given power by feeding on raw nostalgia reinforced by years of word-of-mouth and appearances on Top 100 lists. I’m not saying FFVII is a bad game or that fans give it too much credit. Not at all. There’s a reason it’s so influential -- it’s good! But memory works in a funny way over time. We have a tendency to codify our perception of a thing over the reality of it. The connection we make to certain media, especially when introduced at a young age as FFVII had been to a whole generation of fans so long ago, creates a legend in our heads. Unfortunately, it’s a legend no developer could achieve when tasked with remaking it.

So Square...didn’t. Final Fantasy VII Remake has the same characters, setting, and plot beats as the first third of the original game but it’s not the same game, nor is it a remake of it in the traditional sense. It’s something new. And I fucking love that about it.

Everything is reconfigured, including the combat. After years of trying to merge RPG mechanics with more approachable (and marketable) real-time action (see FFXV and the Kingdom Hearts games for examples), Square Enix finally landed on the perfect balance. You fully control Cloud on the battlefield, from swinging your impossibly huge buster sword to dodging attacks. The ATB gauge (no one knows what the acronym stands for -- that information has been lost to time) gradually fills up, letting unleash powerful moves. But best of all, you fight in a party, and you can switch who to control on the fly.

That may not sound revolutionary, let alone for a Final Fantasy, but each character has a completely unique feel and suite of moves. At times, it feels like playing a Devil May Cry game where you can switch between Dante, Vergil, and Nero on the fly (that’s a free idea, Capcom. Hire me, you cowards). You can soften up an enemy with Cloud’s buster to increase their stagger meter, switch to Barret for a quick gatling barrage, and finally switch to Tifa to crush them with her Omnistrike. You can accomplish this in real-time or slow down the action to plan this out. It’s a great mix of tactics and action that prevents the game from feeling like a mindless hack n’ slash.

What really, really works here is the character work. Each lead walks in tropes first, but the longer you spend with the members of your party, the more their motivations and fears are laid out. You end up having touching interactions with just about the whole main cast. There’s a small segment, after Cloud saves Aerith from invading Shinra guards, that the two make an escape via rooftop.They make light conversation -- small talk really -- but it’s exchanges like this that feel genuine, perfectly framing their characters (stoic versus heartfelt), and grounding an otherwise larger-than-life adventure.

Many bemoaned the fact that FFVIIR only revisits a small portion of the original game, but I think it was a brilliant choice -- to massively expand on areas we only got to see a little of in the original. I honestly didn’t want to leave Midgar. It’s a world rife with conflict and corporate oppression, sure, but Midgar is beautifully realized, from the slums below the plates, populated with normal people trying to make the best of life, to the crime controlled Wall Market, adorned with gaudy lights and echoing honky tonk tunes. It very well may be years before FFVII’s remake saga comes to a close, but if each entry is paved with as much love and consideration and, yes, storytelling subversion as this introductory chapter… It’ll be worth the wait.

#gaming

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kumeko · 4 years ago

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Title: Corrin’s not-so-fun vacation

A/N: For the Fire Emblem Press Start Zine! I like making happy AUs where everyone can just live together.

…

Standing in front of the Residential Services, Corrin frowned. She was far too familiar with these large oak doors, with the rooms hidden within. In fact, she could count the number of times she’d visited this place in the past week with both her hands. Most people, she heard, only visited this place once a month at most.

“Is something wrong?” Azura asked, clutching her hands anxiously. Dressed in a blue-white sundress, she looked like the picture of island living. She even had a large, floppy hat.

She wished she could look just as carefree, but summer fun had to wait. Corrin sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Nothing, it’s just…” She eyed Azura again, taking in the healthy tan of her skin, the lack of worry lines on her face. For a woman who used to seem like she was on the brink of collapse, she looked like the epitome of life now. “You like it here, right?”

“Of course.” Azura smiled softly. She clutched the brim of her hat as she bashfully added, “I have to thank you for bringing me here. You were right, we really did need a vacation from…well…” Trailing off, Azura glanced at her helplessly. “You know.”

Oh, did she know. Corrin could only nod her agreement. There wasn’t an easy, quick way to bring up the war between Nohr and Hoshido, between the land of her birth and the land she was raised in. And that wasn’t including the heartbreak of fighting her siblings, the strangeness of her newfound powers, or any of the other things that occurred during her mission to bring peace.

The worst part, perhaps, was that it didn’t end with peace. No, even with her families leading their respective countries and Xander and Ryoma signing a treaty to end all conflict, there was still so much work to be done. Rebuilding took time and effort, whether it was property or relationships. It was taxing. For months, Corrin’s eyes looked like that of a raccoon’s. At some point, she just had to take a break from it all. Chuckling deprecatingly, Corrin smiled wearily. “Well, we wouldn’t be much help if we collapsed, right?”

“Certainly.” Azura tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, troubled. “Though I am not sure if it is a good idea to leave our countries for so long.”

“It’s fine.” Corrin reached out and squeezed Azura’s hands tightly. “Time passes slower here, remember? They won’t even notice we’re gone.”

“That…is true,” she admitted reluctantly.

Emboldened, Corrin continued, “It might just be a single day that’s passed. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“I hope so.” Azura giggled, a bell-like sound. She smiled appreciatively. “I have to say, though, Jakob managed to find the perfect Deep Realm. This world is quite idyllic.”

“I wonder just how many he went through to find this place.” Corrin scratched her cheek, considering her faithful butler. Honestly, sometimes she wondered if Jakob was even human—he could track her down anywhere, find whatever it was she needed, and was equally as capable in the castle as he was on the battlefield. “Though the inhabitants here are…strange.”

Azura glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot before agreeing. “I still cannot believe there are talking animals here. I am not sure what is odder, that the citizens here are all animals or that there are maybe one or two humans in existence.”

Corrin leaned closer, speaking in hushed tones. Even though she doubted anyone here had a weapon, let alone could wield it, she didn’t want to raise their ire. She had enough angry citizens to deal with at home. “It’s so weird. They sound like they’re saying gibberish, but it also makes perfect sense. And they just give away entire islands!”

Azura nodded as she leaned close too, her voice a low whisper. “They did just give you this entire island when we first arrived at that—what did they call it? Airport? Maybe they don’t have kings here?”

“But how do they function then?” Corrin raised a brow, unable to imagine it. Leo might know, or maybe Xander or Ryoma. Even with all the time she’d spent pouring over books, absorbing information of the outside world, Corrin had never once read of a place without royalty. “How do they run things?”

At a loss for words, Azura shrugged. Even that simple movement felt elegant from her. “Maybe they do not, and that is why they gave you this island. Though, they are fast builders despite this lack of oversight.”

“They are ridiculously fast, aren’t they?” Corrin glanced at the building they were about to enter. All she had to do was enter, request a change, and by the time she woke up an entire house had been built. Or moved (and somehow, without the occupant waking up). “I haven’t seen any magic here, though, so I don’t get how they do it.”

“Maybe the magic they use is undetectable by us,” Azura suggested, looking toward the beach where the airport was. “We did fly here, after all. And without any incantations or diagrams.”

Corrin stopped herself from replying. These were questions that neither of them could answer. There was no point in stressing out over this, that was the exact opposite of the reason they were here. Taking a deep breath, Corrin counted to five before letting go of Azura’s hands. “Alright, that’s enough of that. We’re just going to go in circles.”

“That might be the case,” Azura agreed, her hands falling to her sides as she also took a deep breath.

“We’re here to relax and have fun.” Corrin glanced at the door again, remembering just why she had made her nth journey to this building. “And you’re having fun, right?”

Azura nodded, giving the same answer she’d given earlier. “Of course. You have done an excellent job managing this island.”

“Okay, then if you’re having fun here, why is everyone else driving me crazy?” Corrin grumbled, opening the door. Inside was a large room, portioned into two main areas. A counter divided an office space manned by a giant tanuki and a golden dog. “I should have known better than to have everyone vacation at the same time.”

“What do you mean?” Stepping after her, Azura gave her an inquisitive look. “I thought everyone liked the island?”

“They do.” Despair dripped in her voice and Corrin rubbed her forehead as she walked over to the counter. “They just don’t like being together.”

Before Azura could press, the tanuki noticed them. Tom Nook, as he was called, got up from his desk and rushed over to them. In a strange, high-pitched voice, he asked, “What can I do for you today?”

No matter how many times she heard it, Corrin couldn’t shake the strange feeling she got when she heard the locals speak. Their voices sounded like Elise’s scribbles when she had been younger and learning to draw. Yet the words organized themselves perfectly in her head. Still, they could communicate, and that was all that mattered in the end. With a strained smile, Corrin admitted, “I need you to move two houses apart.”

“Again?” Incredulous, Tom stared at her. Awestruck, he pulled out a form. “You’re really reshaping the island! I wonder what it’ll look like now.”

“Who needs to move?” Azura asked, looking surprised as well.

“Xander and Ryoma.” Corrin sighed, slumping forward slightly as she remembered her older brothers’ arguments. They were the kings of two nations. They’d fought in a war, created peace, and were even drinking companions at night. Yet somehow, on this island, they had developed a fierce attachment to their houses. “They’re both trying to recreate Hoshido and Nohr in their homes, and—this is like the war all over again. Ryoma wants a bamboo fence, Xander wants a stone wall, and there isn’t room to have them both.”

“Oh.” Patting her shoulder sympathetically, Azura consoled, “I see what you meant now. Perhaps it would be better if they requested these changes themselves?”

“Unfortunately, we can only accept our leader’s requests,” Tom interrupted, an understanding smile on his face. “Though I am sure they are impressed by all of your hard work.”

“I hope so,” Corrin grumbled. Before Tom filled out paperwork, he pulled out a map. She leaned forward to study her brothers’ houses. It looked like the river blocked them one way, an orchard the second, the museum the third, and the town plaza the fourth. There wasn’t enough room to move them apart from each other, nor was there anywhere she could relocate one of them. “There’s nowhere to go.”

Tom studied the map before nodding sadly. “No, I’ m afraid there isn’t.”

“Drat.” Corrin pinched her nose but she was still here, staring at a useless map. “Alright, I’ll let them know then. I guess they’ll have to sort it out themselves.”

“I’m sure they can handle it,” Azura comforted, squeezing her shoulder now. “They managed a peace treaty, after all.”

“I hope I don’t have to jump through as many hoops for this.” Corrin straightened her posture, forcing away her irritation. “Alright, they’re going to have to compromise. Thanks, Tom.”

“Let me know if anything else needs moving!” Tom offered, rolling away the map.

“Hopefully not,” Azura answered, a weary smile on her face.

Corrin side-stepped to Isabelle’s half of the room. She was a strange, dog-like person and looked like a cuter version of Kaden’s fox form. “Anything I should know, Isabelle?”

Isabelle worried her lip as she grabbed several papers and stepped closer. With a nervous smile, she started, “Well, first things first, our town’s rating has gone down.”

“What?” Azura gasped, covering her mouth. “But we’ve been taking such good care of this place.”

“You have,” Isabelle agreed, looking a little antsy. “The problem is that there’s a lot of trash.”

Corrin blinked, not sure if she’d understood. “Trash?”

“Yes, trash.” Isabelle rubbed her arm. “Takumi’s house has been overrun by trash.”

“Takumi—” Corrin had a sinking feeling she knew why her brother was in that state. “What about Leo? Did he do something? Or get something?”

“Well, I don’t know if he did anything, but he is certainly having a terrible time himself. There have been rotten turnips around his house, attracting swarms of flies.” Isabelle rubbed her chin. “I don’t get how that happened.”

“A minor war,” Azura sighed. “I would expect this from Takumi, not Leo.”

“Like I said, I should have just had them both on different islands. One for Nohr, one for Hohsido. There wouldn’t be any issues then.” Honestly, she should have just snuck here by herself, or with Azura. Just a small vacation for the two of them, sans any annoying siblings. Corrin hesitantly asked, “Anything else?”

When Isabelle nodded, Corrin wondered if she really needed to hear the answer. Pulling out another sheet, Isabelle continued, “Elise and Sakura have requested that the town’s flower be changed.”

“Elise and Sakura?” Corrin echoed, not sure if she’d heard correctly. “They both want it to be changed?”

“They’re working together!” Azura clapped her hands happily. “That’s good.”

“Oh, no, they both want a different flower.” Reading the sheet, Isabelle explained, “Sakura has asked for it to be a sakura, while Elise wants it to be a daffodil.”

“Oh…okay…” Corrin felt her energy drain. Well, there went that short-lived hope. “That’s a simple thing, at least.”

“And I have a letter for you from the airport!” Isabelle held out an envelope, her smile bright. “And that is all I have for updates.”

“Camilla and Hinoka seem happy,” Azura consoled. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah, that’s…” Corrin trailed off as she looked at the letter. That was Hinoka’s writing. There were no two ways about it. Suppressing a groan, she opened it. “What happened now?”

“Corrin, save me!” Azura read aloud. Startled, she glanced at Corrin. “She’s in danger? I thought there was nothing harmful in this world.”

“No, we brought the harm ourselves.” Corrin continued reading the letter aloud, “I keep trying to get into the island, but the airport refuses to let me in. I’ve given them all my weapons, so it isn’t that. They said someone’s blocking the entry. Could you check?”

“Is there something wrong with the airport?” Azura asked, perplexed.

Isabelle shook her head. “There is nothing wrong. If anything, Camilla has been flying in and out a lot lately. Our airport is running in tiptop condition!”

Corrin had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what was going on. “Camilla isn’t letting Hinoka on the island.”

Surprised, Azura glanced at the letter again. “Can she do that?”

“Yeah, if she keeps going in and out like that.” Corrin groaned. All of her siblings, all eight of them, were causing chaos on this island. On this vacation. She was supposed to have a stress-free couple of weeks. This was the exact opposite of that. “Azura?”

“Yes?”

“Wanna run away together?” Corrin asked, half-serious. Maybe they could start afresh on a brand-new island. An island only filled with animal-people.

It would be so peaceful.

#azura #corrin #fire emblem fates #animal crossing #tom nook #isabella #fanfic #the family is dysfunctional #no matter where #but the wars here are at least over fences

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bookworm4664 · 4 years ago

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Pokemon loud house chapter 1

i would like to thank my friend Fanfictionranger who helped me fix my spelling and change my story a little bit by adding more stuff to it,witch is very good.i will be doing more pokemon in this story but you have to wait and see.Next month will be the 25th anniversary of Pokemon and that is why I want to do this story...and we all wanted pokemon to be real when we were kids so this is close enough.

i do not own pokemon and the loud house so enjoy

Lincoln was walking on the sidewalk with a dejected look on his had just ran away from his house to get away from Lori and Lynn Jr, whom seemed to have it out for him for whatever reason.

He kept waking, while thinking about having a friend...a friend who would be loyal and possibly protective of him when things get rough. Sure he had Clyde, Ronnie Ann, but even they had their limits at times.

He shook his head of the thought, there was no way that anyone would protect him from the combined forces of his sisters.

Suddenly... Lincoln heard some trash cans cluttering next to him and slowly walked over to check it out.

"Hello...anyone here?" Lincoln asked.

He didn't get an answer.

He was about to leave, thinking it was just his imagination, a raccoon digging for trash, but then he heard a sad whimper.

He back to see in front of him very small yellow creature...the poor thing looked like it was a few days old two.

Part of him knew it was a Pikachu, a familiar creature of a video games series he's been playing lately.

But on the other hand...Pokemon didn't exist, yet here in front of him was a creature that looked like such, down to the red pouches on his cheeks (he saw the familiar zig zag tail and knew it was a boy).

Perhaps a stray cat then with a Pikachu costume?

He shook his head as he heard the creature whimper once more, his round black eyes looking at the boy.

"Hello little guy, are you hungry?" Lincoln asked.

The creature could barley move, and Lincoln didn't need to have animal knowledge of Lana to know the strange creature won't last very long without food.

"You poor thing...you must be…how about I take care of that for you...if you let me." Lincoln said, siling as he lends a hand to the yellow mouse.

The Pikachu nodded, carefully jumping into Lincoln's arms ready to get the care and attention that he needed.

With that, Lincoln carefully walked home with his new companion, one he had no idea that this strange creature would change his life...

As Lincoln walked home with the small yellow creature, he knew that he had to convince one of his parents to let him keep him.

Sure the house already had four house pets, not to mention the many reptiles Lana keeps in her room.

But all them seem to have bonded with his sisters more than himself, and for once he'd like to have someone whom bonded close with him.

It wouldn't be easy, considering the fact that he doesn't know what he's able to eat, plus Lisa might do horrible experiments on hi just by the look of such strangeness.

Even Lana might try to keep it as her own, even though since she already got like 10 different reptiles.

Not to mention the little guy was cute looking, and that meant the rest of his sisters would fight to claim him as their own too.

When he arrived at the familiar beat up house, he took a deep breath, and quietly entered the house...only to be greeted by his sister Lucy.

"Hello Lincoln." Lucy said. She was sitting on the couch watching her favorite vampire show.

"Hey you know where mom and dad are?" Lincoln asked as he closed the door, trying his best to hide the mouse.

"Dad took Lori and Lynn to the store, and mom is in the dining room working on her novel." Lucy said, her eyes still focused on her show.

Lincoln nodded, thankful for the show's distraction, slowly walked into the dining room ready to face his mother.

He looked one last time at the mouse, and with a confident smile looked up at his mother.

"Mom? can I ask you something?" Lincoln asked.

Rita was typing away on her computer, her hands flowing across the keyboard as she speaks, "Sure Lincoln, what is it?"

Lincoln shuffled his legs, "You see, while I was walking around to calm my nerves, I heard a sound in the alleyway." Lincoln started.

Rita sighs annoyed, "Hope it wasn't Lana...again. People will think we are treating her as an animal again."

"It wasn't was...this little guy that I'm carrying." Lincoln said.

Rita, expecting a dog, a cat, anything usual animal Lana would find, only to see a yellow, puppy size creature with two red spots on it's cheeks.

Rita's eyes went wide, for she never seen an animal like this that. She silently wished it wasn't one of Lisa's experiments run loose again.

"Lincoln..." Rita slowly stated.

Lincoln shook his head, "I know what you're going to say, but he was alone, and hungry. If I wasn't there in time to save him then he could die of hunger!" Lincoln voice cracking, and not the fake one to persuade, but one of true hurt that such a creature could of succumbed to such a fate.

"Lincoln.." Rita stated again, but again was interrupted by Lincoln.

"I know I'd have to be responsible. And yes at times I've not been such, but I have also shown in the past too. I want to help him back to to full health." Lincoln pleads.

Rita sighs, looking at her only son, "Your father is going to be upset about this but...I'm going to let you keep him, but only if you keep him in your room." Rita says.

Lincoln nodded, smiling brightly as he makes a quick stop to the kitchen.

Grabbing some food and drinks for him and his new friend, he then ran upstairs with the mouse and supplies in tow.

As the Pikachu smiles back as he's given a classic PB&J, Lincoln couldn't help but feel something big was going to happen, all with his new partner by his side.

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 5 years ago

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Pour Some Salt on Me || Matty and Kaden

TIMING: Present LOCATION: Soul on the Rocks PARTIES: @likeamattoutofhell and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Matty meets Kaden at the bar and deals with some of his baggage. AKA: Did someone order a Margarita? Extra salty?

It wasn’t often that Kaden spent a free night at a bar that wasn’t the Silver Bullet but he was always up for something new and different. Plus, for all he knew, he could be walking into a prime opportunity for hunting. Not to mention, he could always use a few more drinks to deal with everything that had happened in the past week. Mimes. Wings. Banshees. Werewolves. It was too much. He could use a normal night. The bar was loud. Very loud. It was going to take a lot for him to concentrate on any conversation and not get overwhelmed. He took a deep breath. It’d be fine, as long as he was prepared. He saw a guy at the bar, pretty sure on the end he was supposed to meet him. “You Matty?” he asked. “Kaden. Aka that guy whose dog found a fucking head the other week.” He almost added ‘not a mime-fucker’ but then he thought better of reminding anyone of that before needed. “How’s it going?

So. This had been a day, hadn’t it? Or, well. A night. But, at least some shit didn’t change. Soul on the Rocks was still standing, and nobody gave a crap how you came. Which was good, given that Matty looked a little like a half-drowned poodle, his hair still damp and curling, crazily, from his make-do shower at the pool. Whatever it took. Bit into his budget a little - man, everything cost more, these days - but he was two rounds into the special, and had enough left over for a few more. Solid. He’d just raised a hand for another when some… guy, sleek, sharp-faced, dropped onto the stool next-door. Kaden? Right. Maybe into mimes? According to the internet, but. Couldn’t believe everything you read, duh. “Yeah, that’s - yeah.” The vibes, on this poor bastard. “It’s… going, alright.” Why not shoot the shit? There was plenty of it. “Pipes in my place are, uh. Under reconstruction? Got real messed up last week, full of something fucked, I don’t know. At least the neighbors aren’t, you know, weirder than usual.” Which had been saying something, alright. But he’d draw a line, sure, at suddenly taking up miming. At other people. In the hallway. Matty shrugged, vaguely. “Same shit, different day, around here. How about you, man? What’s up?”

Kaden raised a brow and gave the guy a one over. “I can see that.” The guy looked rough, alright. Soaked and a little bedraggled. “Bad pipes, huh? What happened? Do you live anywhere near the funeral home by chance?” He almost asked if it was vampires or necrophages since that always seemed to be the cause of leaky pipes in buildings. Occasionally pixies. Usually dead things. But he thought better of it. That joke only landed in a hunter bar, really. He waved down the bartender and ordered a beer, wasn’t sure he trusted the liquor to be drinkable let alone mid shelf. “I’m alright. Less severed heads in my life so that’s been good.” A lot more wings and banshees and death but it was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. He gulped down a sizable portion of his drink. “I mean, yeah. It’s been a fucking week. Got attacked by the wo-- an animal in the woods the other night. Nearly fucking died. So I’m sure yours is going better than that. Least I hope so.”

Funeral home? Matty frowned, faintly, not sure what that was supposed to mean. “Don’t think so?” Hopefully that was a no. Not somewhere he needed, or wanted, to hang around. With actual corpses. “Just some shithole, you know what it’s like.” Fuck, it was a shame you couldn’t smoke in bars anymore. Still had some of that good weed, from Margot, kicking around. And he was itching for something, anything. Matty gave the bartender a seriously grateful nod as the next Moscow mule landed, shaking off a sudden, cold shiver. A bad one. God, he’d have to get ahold of Felix. Soon.

But. A couple drinks wouldn’t hurt, and the company probably wouldn’t. Jury was out, as of yet.

“Solid.” Less body parts flying around in general, the better, yeah? Elbow up on the scratched-to-shit counter, he took a long, needsome drink, hearing Kaden out. The wo-what? His head tilted, there, doing some wo-wondering. Not too much. His week. Where to start? With the waiting to find out if a couple super scary motherfuckers were going to duke it out to the death over at Hanging Rock, come the weekend? Hanging around a psychotic old-ass leech with fancy tastes? Getting thrown out of a tree by a bloodsucking... monkey, with iron teeth, or some shit? No, thanks. “Oh, totally.” Matty tossed off a tired sorta smile, and raised his glass. “Here’s to - death-defying, huh? Life goes on.” Close enough. “The hell were you doing in the woods, anyway? Nothing but crazy and mosquitoes out there, seriously…”

Kaden nodded at his current companion’s words. “Ah, not related to that then. Nevermind. But yeah, I do know how that goes. Surprised I don’t live in a complete dump here, but I got paid a little more than I’m used to when I took the job at Animal Control.” Out of the sheer desperation they had to fill the position. He felt a chill run through him before taking another sip of his beer. Strange, was the door open or something? He looked back but that was stuoid, it wasn't even that cold out anymore. Odd. Must have imagined it. Or the beer was just really cold.

“To deth-defying.” Kaden raised his glass in a toast and gave a small nod. And a wince as he lifted his arm. Side still hurt, he almost forgot, despite toasting his near death. “I was camping. Didn’t want to stay in my apartment any longer.” He gave a shrug. The details weren’t ones he was ready to dig up so soon. Or share in a bar. At least not this sober. “I’m also in animal control so I’m there a lot anyway. Got attacked by an animal.” Explaining what it was seemed unnecessary. Most people accepted “animal” right off the bat, anyway. “You ever had any near death experiences?

Lauren Langley couldn’t stand to watch this any more, this fraternizing with supernaturals that her son kept indulging in. He'd made his choice to turn away from his duty. He didn’t even do a basic check on this man to see the glaringly obvious. The man at the bar was obviously undead. Kaden should have been able to listen and hear the hollow emptiness where his heart should be beating. And yet he sat there, toasting, making small talk. Disgusting. Disgraceful. She could no longer contain the anger raging inside of her. She pushed out her power, let her anger extend outwards and the lights started to flicker, the sound cutting in and out, as she floated towards the man in question, standing between him and her son, glaring daggers at him that she knew he could see, the blood sucking filth that he was.

Animal Control. Okay, then. Matty’s eyebrows slid upwards, but, hey. Whatever paid the bills. Not like he could talk. “Well, hey. Nice.” Did he want to know about… dogcatching, or whatever this guy got up to? Not exactly, but - he’d always been curious. “Seems like a rough gig. Especially in this town, fuck...” Christ knew what kinda freaky shit Kaden had to deal with, on top of bears, and cougars, and rabid raccoons. Had to feel a little sorry for him, yeah?

Cheers, anyway. To camping, too, sure. Whatever the dude was into. “Cool, yeah. I get that, man. Space. Nice thing to have.” Matty drank. And twitched, as the electricity fritzed. Weird. He blinked, throwing an uncertain glance over the rest of the Rocks, watching as the jukebox glimmered in and out, the static sneering into his too-sharp ears. Near death. With a shook-out laugh, Matty turned back to try and field that one - only to find some lady. Some ghost lady, all silvery; more substantial than most, though. Nobody he knew. Right? No. He was pretty sure. But that stare. The grin was staggering away from him, on its last legs. “A… a couple…” Leaning back on his stool, Matty cleared his throat. Took another drink. “Animals, yeah.” He was stumbling, quailing under those eyes. Maybe they weren’t, you know, familiar, but. If looks could murder. Violently. “Maybe we oughta take this outside?” Matty winced, suddenly, sliding to his feet. Ghosts got stuck to places, didn’t they? “Just, seems we’ve got some… fucky wiring, in here. I mean, this joint’s probably a total fire-trap…”

Kaden froze, glass at his lips, as the electricity cut in and out. For half a second he wondered if this was just a result of shoddy wiring. This bar wasn’t exactly high end or upscale. But the shocked looks and startled reactions from everyone around him gave him the feeling this wasn’t a typical occurrence. Putain. He really wanted a night off from the supernatural. Didn’t look like he was going to get it. It seemed like his present drinking buddy was looking through him or around him. Hard to say for sure, but it didn’t seem like his eyes were meeting his. Hmm, maybe his near death experiences were a hell of a lot worse than Kaden’s. Shit, might have hit a nerve. “You alright?” he asked, brow raised as the guy started to freak out. “Yeah, I noticed.” Kaden glanced around the place, didn’t see anything else strange, but there was a bit of a cold spot as he stood to follow. “I’m guessing this isn’t normal for here. Got any better suggestions?” Bullet was out so he supposed it was another night at Dell’s. He shrugged as they headed outside, could be worse.

He wasn’t going to get away so easily. Lauren knew he saw her; he must know her feelings as well. Or at least sensed them. And she hadn’t even spoken yet. “Leaving so soon, vampire?” she asked, smirk on her face. “I wasn’t finished here.” Her voice was laced with venom, but it was still and even all the same, cold and poisonous at the same time. Once again, she pulled into her anger and used it to send the unused glasses from the bar exploding out in every direction, but most of the glasses aimed at the vampire. Unfortunately, her son, too. But he could tolerate the pain. And maybe it would give him a hint to either leave this loathsome creature or, better yet, kill it. She disappeared a moment and then flashed back in front of the vampire, spectral face inches from his. “My son may not put a stake through your heart. He’s gone soft, you see, but I sure will. Better yet, I’ll make sure he does.”

“Me? I’m good, yeah, just...” Haunted. “Honestly, I…” Matty trailed off, a shudder creeping down the back of his neck, all the way. That kind, he realized, now. He’d met his fair share of ghosts. Or, well, his unfair share, depending on how you looked at it. This one was - well, bad fuckin’ vibes, all over, was what she was. Why the hell was the vampire thing her problem? Matty tried to pin his attention down to Kaden, hurriedly tugging his ratty denim jacket on. They’d just fuck off, and he’d try the Rocks again… in a week. Or two. A month from now. Oh, that would blow.

Not as hard as the fuckin’ rain of glass that shattered over them. Matty had heard them rattling just in time to turn, barely soon enough to drop, shoving Kaden by the shoulder, turning his back into a storm of smashing tumblers and sharp edges. Ears ringing, hands shaking - bleeding, somewhere, he could smell it already - Matty gasped out of it, and pushed away across the sticky, glittering floor as the ghost gathered in front of him, face to face. Son? His eyes ticked to Kaden, quick. Back. Yeah, around the eyes, he could see it. Just his fuckin’ luck. Getting in the middle of some kinda family drama.

Wait. Wait, wait. Gone soft? Too soft for staking. Shit. Slayer family drama? Just his fuckin’ luck.

“Listen, I don’t - I don’t know you, or him, or… what your problem is, I...” What he did know, was salt. Salt for ghosts. How, specifically, not so sure. But the salt would be behind the bar - he’d downed enough tequila here to know. Behind the bar, where he was going, fast.

“Shit!” Kaden shouted as he saw the glasses rumble. He raised his hands to shield his head and found himself shoved down out of the way of the oncoming onslaught of glass. White hot pain from his side flashed through him as he twisted and ducked. After the deafening crashes of glass came the screams as patrons started bolting for any exit they could find. Couldn’t blame them. As Kaden stood up straight, his brow furrowed, another wince of a pain, and yeah that was definitely blood dripping along his hands. Fuck. “You o--” He started to ask his drinking buddy as he tried to evaluate the extent of his wounds. Minimal, thankfully. But his words cut short as the other man started speaking to the air.

“Who are you talking to?” Kaden asked, brows furrowed, and stomach sinking. He had a feeling he fucking knew who the hell it was he was talking to. Putain. Also that meant this guy could see ghosts. Well that narrowed it down a little. Medium maybe? Zombie? Wait what was he going for behind the bar? Shit, time to pull a knife out, just in case. He grabbed a standard blade first but started rummaging in his pockets. Had to have an iron one on him somewhere.

“Oh, how cute. The bloodsucker found the salt,” Lauren smiled and shook her head, arms crossed in front of her incorporeal body. “Do you really think that will stop me?” Lauren disappeared and sprung back next to Matty’s left, voice slithering right into his ear. “I need you to tell my son something, you filthy animated corpse. Before you turn to dust.” She vanished again and reappeared on his other side, eyes fixed on Kaden even though he couldn’t see her as she spit more venom into the vampire’s ear. “Tell him he should have been better. And that he’s all but proven he’s no son of mine.” Her visage was gone one more for the moment. With a loud crash, half the tables in the bar burst, sending drinks and food tumbling to the floor and wood shards flying in every direction. If that wasn’t a hint for her disgrace of a son, nothing would be.

Shit. Pawing around behind the counter, Matty was doing his best to think, clearly, with blood on the air. Human blood. He’d eaten earlier, but - pig, or something, whatever Nic had drained into those juiceboxes. Not enough to keep the good stuff from being distracting. “Uh…” He stammered, hearing Kaden. Asking a totally sensible kinda question, in the middle of something not sensible at all. There - pinch-bowls of salt. A couple went spilling onto the counter as Matty flinched, that chilling, creeping not-breath riding up his spine again, that hiss an itch across the back of his neck. Tell him.

Oh, this cow could eat it.

“Fuck off, Jesus!” He rasped, flinging a handful of the stuff. Where she’d been, anyway. God, usually ghosts were chill. Why’d he have to wind up drinking with some hunter who had poltergeist-grade baggage? Snatching up another desperate handful of salt, Matty glanced Kaden’s way. Or, almost. Everything went to shit, before he got a good look at the guy. Again. Worse. The back-mirror splintered and sheeted apart as pieces of table and chair stabbed through, into the wall, quivering furiously. “Your mom!” Shouting over the noise, Matty cowered behind the bar, panting hard and panicky from where he’d hit the dirt. “I swear, man - that’s what she says...” Why she felt the need to let him know, well. That, Matty sure as shit couldn’t answer.

Kaden was still fumbling for anything iron when the tables exploded. He dropped down and ducked, once again using his arms to shield himself. Fucking shit. This had to be an angry spirit, right? Shit, he was so far out of his depths here.

He shot up at the man’s words. “My mom?” His brow creased and he looked around, as if he’d be able to see her. “Putain de merde!” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. He had a feeling that was the case. He really wished it wasn’t. Fucking fuck. “Circle yourself in salt!” he shouted

Wait. Did that mean?

No. That. No. It couldn’t be.

As soon as her son froze, Lauren knew he’d figured it out. She’d hoped that he would, maybe a little sooner, but her faith in him had waned. “Do it, mon petitou. Do it.” She whispered in his ear as if he could hear him. All she needed was for him to stake one measly vampire and then she could move on. Maybe.

Kaden shook off his stupor as he felt a chill creep down his spine. There’d be time to evaluate this later. Right now he needed a plan. And to figure out how to stop this. “Want to tell me why the fuck you can see ghosts?” he shouted to Matty. “And why my mother is pissed as shit at you. And me. But you seem like the cause here, too.”

Lauren could feel the rage building up inside her again. Why was he talking? Why wasn't he acting? She threw back her spectral head and screamed, pushing her anger out to shatter all the glass and windows. It lashed out and added more scrapes and cuts to her son’s body. She didn’t care anymore if her son bled. Maybe then this vampire would show its true nature and Kaden would remember that he was meant to fight monsters, not protect them.

Circle of salt. Right. Ghosts, couldn’t cross. Only, then he would be stuck, here, in deep with Langley, who - who, whatever he might be, had shit going on that Matty wanted fuck all to do with, frankly. No offense to the dude, just. No. Kicking some of the wreckage aside, Matty scrambled to draw that circle out, wincing as his supply ran a bit thin. It’d be enough, right? Maybe. He’d stretch it. Did he want to tell Kaden why he saw ghosts? Like hell, if Mama Langley’s hate-on said anything about how she’d raised her son. “It’s, uh - genetic!” Matty shouted back, a little frayed about it. Seemed to work for Nora. Though, Nora was a pretty shit standard for what totally normal people would believe. Obviously. Fuck.

The hot, spattery smell of blood sharpened up, suddenly, tugging at Matty’s teeth until his jaw ached. “I don’t know, man! Maybe she’s just a raging bitch?!” No, the guy didn’t need to hear what mommy dearest was going on about. He shook his head, woozy - a sluggish lick of dark blood dribbled down the side of his cheek, dead and cold. And tried to fix that fucking circle.

Kaden was getting fucking sick of playing duck and cover with a poltergiest. The wounds probably wouldn’t take too long to heal but it still stung. In more ways than one. “Genetic?” Had to be a medium then. Why the fuck was she so mad about a medium? Then his mind jumped to Blanche. Whatever it was, it had to do with her, right? And certainly Regan. There was no doubt there. Fuck. They had to get out of here, but he knew damn well his mother would follow him if they just cut and ran. He had no iron on him. And funny enough, rock bars weren’t exactly filled with it. He looked around on the floor, between the shattered tables and fallen plates, he saw something. A fucking margarita glass. Rimmed with salt. Plastic. Never been so happy to be at a cheap fucking bar. He grabbed it and started swinging it wildly, wielding it like a weapon. “When you see her disappear, fucking run!” he shouted, whirling around the room and waving the salt rimmed glass around.

The hell was Kaden up to? Peeking out around the counter corner, Matty strained to keep his boots in the circle and his eyes on the action. Which was something to see, for fuckin’ sure: Langley, swinging like a drunk playing pinata. Right across his shrieking-mad mom, the spiderwebby substance of her rending apart. And not coming back. For a beat, Matty couldn’t believe it. But, he didn’t have to. Unfrozen, he lurched alive and out - the shattered front window, the shortest path to away from all this. Stumbling wildly into the parking lot, Matty hit the asphalt at a sprint, with a skitter of glass, and didn’t stop. Not until he was far, far away from the blood, and that mess of a bar, and Kaden Langley’s totally batshit mommy issues.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #writing #pour some salt on me #matty #likeamattoutofhell #lauren langley

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sebthesnipe · 5 years ago

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How To Hold Your Dragon

February Prompts 2/26

Prompt List

First // Previous // Next February Prompt // Next MDP Chapter

The February Collection on AO3

My Dearest Procyon

Other works by me

Prompt: Crest / Collect

Ship: Prinxiety and Logicality

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

Roman shifted in his sleep, curling protectively closer around the swaddled bundle in his arms. He had moved from the spot against the tree, where he had been dozing at some point during the night, careful not to jostle Virgil too much.

Patton chewed his bottom lip absently as he stared at the two, concern furrowing his brow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had messed this whole thing up with his overprotective nature. He shouldn’t have come on so strong when he and Logan had rushed to the men’s aid. He was just so worried at the time.

Roman gave a small shiver, tightening his hold around the raccoon, and drawing it closer against his chest for warmth. Patton gave a squeak at the sight. It was just so adorable! He shifted to dig into the pack next to him, producing a blanket before pushing to his feet.

It was obvious that the dragon meant to cover the two, protecting them from the cool night air but he hesitated. The memory of Roman recoiling from his touch flashed across the forefront of his mind, causing him pause. Did Roman recoil out of fear? Was it just the stress of the moment? Or perhaps, it was disgust. From what Logan had told the smaller man, Roman had the grand notion that dragons were barbaric monsters meant to be slain by knights and heroes. It was no wonder he drew back at Patton’s touch.

“Um… Logan?” the man’s small voice came as he clutched the blanket to his chest, beginning to shake slightly as he glanced down at the witch who was currently taking stock of their provisions.

“Yes, Patton?” Logan replied, too distracted to glance up at the moment.

Patton hesitated, feeling silly about his next request. “Roman looks cold,” he commented.

Logan took a moment to set aside the rations he had been counting before glancing over at the prince briefly. He took in the sight of Patton hovering by the fire, blanket clutched against his chest. For a moment, the image of a small child clinging to a favored stuffed animal for courage came to mind, despite how ridiculous the notion was when compared to the god-like power the man before him possessed. Still, the look on the dragon’s face was disconcerting.

“Perhaps you should offer him the blanket?” Logan offered in confusion. Patton nodded, gaze still on the sleeping prince a few feet away. He didn’t move.

“Patton?” Logan asked softly, studying the way he toyed nervously with the corner of the fabric and how his bottom lip was slightly swollen from the worry of his teeth. “Is everything alright?”

“I just…” the dragon began but paused, unsure of what to say. It was foolish, he knew, but he was scared. What if Roman never warmed up to him again? What if Patton never got to be apart of that bright smile that he always flashed when Patton made a horrible joke? What if he never got to feel one of the man’s overly flamboyant embraces? Roman gave the best hugs! “I just don’t think it would be a good idea if I did it,” he admitted finally turning his attention to the tall witch.

Logan’s confusion only grew at the admission, trying to piece together what could possibly make providing a blanket to someone in need of one a bad idea. Perhaps it was one of those odd social etiquette rulings that he never quite understood. Typically, right about now, Virgil would be chiming in with a sarcastic comment or sassy remark to provide him with some context on the matter. However, given his companion’s state of unconsciousness, it appeared he was on his own for now.

“Isn’t that why you retrieved the bedding to begin with?” Logan asked curiously. The question had Patton’s brows furrowing further, making it appear as if he were about to cry. “Or perhaps the blanket is not the problem!” Logan rushed. He did not handle others crying well. Comfort was most certainly not a strong suit of his.

“C-could…” Patton stuttered, voice cracking softly as he hugged the folded material against his chest. “Could you maybe…” he continued, giving the witch a pleading look as he trailed off.

“Could I take the blanket to him?” Logan clarified, earning another small dip of Patton’s head in affirmation. “Certainly.”

Tension drained from Patton’s shoulders as Logan moved to stand.

The witch offered an outstretched hand to collect the blanket. Patton paused, unsure for only a brief moment before handing it over, wrapping his now empty hands around himself for warmth.

Logan offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile before turning towards the sleeping prince. Patton’s gaze followed the shirtless pagan as he turned his back to the dragon. The wounds were still visible in the moon’s pale light, making discolored patches appeared darker than they had in daylight. The sight was just as disturbing as when Patton had spotted it through the witch’s glamour when they had first met.

Logan unfurled the blanket in one efficient movement before draping it over Roman’s sleeping form, making sure to cover Virgil as well. He knelt to check up on the fur covered beast wrapped in Roman’s cloak.

Logan hid his pain well, but Patton could see through the composed exterior. Each of Logan’s movements were no doubt agonizing. The fact that he managed to hide it so well was impressive. For a human, death would probably be preferable to the torture of a simple breath. So, why then was Logan so determined to survive? What drove him? That was the whole point of the venture wasn’t it; to discover a way for him and Virgil to live without the tie to their master?

Was it revenge? No, Logan didn’t seem the type to be driven by such a dark emotion. Perhaps it was out of spite? No, again that wasn’t very fitting of the man. He certainly was an enigma. There wasn’t much that Patton came across anymore that caused him such confusion. Logan, however, was a puzzle he was looking forward to solving.

The witch straightened once more, the moonlight brushing against the crest of his dark hair, catching on his mismatched eyes. He was very attractive to be sure. It had been quite a long time since Patton had seen anything that could compare. The fact that anyone would wound such a beautiful being in such a way was an atrocity.

“Are you alright, Patton?” Logan asked softly, stopping just short of the smaller individual.

“Hm?” Patton hummed, glancing up from where he had begun to stare off, losing himself in his thoughts. “Oh. Yes! I’m fine! I’m great!” the dragon rushed, perhaps a bit too cherrily.

Logan’s lips pursed into a thin frown at the answer, pausing to consider his response. “Patton, I understand that you are a magnificent creature that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend,” he replied softly, making the shape-shifter glance away with a flush, “but from what I have observed you have the same complex and intense emotions as we humans. Perhaps, even more so. Yet, it appears that you hide them with an overly pleasant exterior."

Patton's frown returned at the accusation, though he took no offense. The fact that Patton was so transparent was just a bit surprising to the man.

"I cannot pretend that I have proficient knowledge or experience with emotions, but I can assume that keeping those feeling bottled up cannot be healthy. It is okay to feel things that are not pleasant. Virgil once informed me, and forgive me for the terminology, ‘Feeling like…" Logan hesitated, uncomfortable with the idea of cursing in front of the smaller man. Despite the knowledge that Patton was an ancient being capable of phenomenal cosmic magic, he always seemed so innocent to the witch. "’S-shit’," he stuttered, gauging the dragon's reaction curiously. Patton offered a small upturn of his lips in amusement, spurring Logan to continue, "Feeling like shit can be good because it makes the good feelings better than they were before,’” that earned a small huff of laughter from the small man. “While the phrasing is a bit unpolished, I believe he had a point.”

Patton rubbed his upper arm absently as the man spoke. Logan was intelligent beyond his years, that much was clear. For someone that claimed to be ignorant of a lot of things, Logan understood Patton more than he had expected. The fact that the witch was not only brave enough to point out his disillusion, but was obviously trying to comfort him about it was endearing.

Logan took Patton’s silence as an indication of the witch’s overstep and tensed. “Of course, it is completely likely that I am mistaken. I cannot pretend to know-”

“Logan,” Patton chuckled, finally meeting his gaze with a soft smile, “It’s fine, kiddo. You’re not mistaken,” he reassured.

Logan relaxed slightly at the reassurance, offering his own smile in return. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“I dunno,” the dragon shrugged, ducking his head in embarrassment. “It’s kind of a lot and I don’t like icky feelings. I prefer the happy fun ones that make everyone smile,” he added, forcing a grin as he bounced on his heels for emphasis, “I just… don’t know if I can provide those right now,” he sighed.

“Well,” Logan offered, “perhaps, since it is just you and me at the moment, you can allow yourself to properly manage those ‘icky’ feelings?” he offered, with an arched brow.

Patton’s softed smile returned as he peered up at the taller man. “Yeah… I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Good,” Logan huffed mirroring the soft expression as he lifted his arms. “Perhaps, an embrace might be preferable?” he offered, unsure if this was the appropriate course of action.

However, the suggestion had Patton instantly beaming. Logan had never offered him a hug before! In fact, He had never seen the man offer anyone a hug before! Only Roman had ever allowed Patton to hug him!

The dragon preened, feet dancing as he bounced from one to another in his excitement, hands lifting to his mouth, digits tapping against the giant grin that split his face. A screech escaping him, high pitched enough that Logan was certain only dogs could hear.

If that wasn’t affirmation enough, the dragon proceeded to launch himself into the witch’s embrace, arms tucked in close against his chest, far too conscious of the man’s wounds to return the embrace himself.

Logan grunted at the impact, giving a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest as his limbs locked around the small form. Patton instantly melted, his own heat seeping into Logan’s cool skin pleasant as they stood next to the fire. Despite Patton’s immeasurable power, he somehow felt safe in the witch’s hold, as though even his own nightmares couldn’t touch him there.

Patton had been so inequivalently wrong; Logan definitely gave the best hugs (but Roman was a close second).

To be continued...

Taglist:

@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @aequinoctiale @sumersnowlilly

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generallynerdy · 6 years ago

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Babysitting (Carol Danvers & Sister!Reader)

first 10 minutes of endgame spoilers im warning u

Summary: When Carol goes to find Tony Stark and company on Titan, she regretfully has to leave behind her little sister, (Y/N). She isn’t pleased with the arrangement, at least until she discovers a raccoon and a particularly friendly cat in the compound.

Requested by & Anon: I'd love a Carol Danvers x little sister! Reader who loves animals! Like, she takes care of Goose and she loves Rocket, even though he insists he's not a raccoon

Key: (Y/N) - your name Warnings: nova calls the Decimation by the Snap bc that’s clearly what it should’ve been called, Cursing Probably, f l u f f, insinuations of death by plum-man Word Count: 2,202

Note: this focuses a lot on the avengers w/her sister sorry not sorry it’s cute and i needed to write rhodey tbh

“Woah!” The little girl gasped. “This place is so big!”

She was led along, hand in hand with a blonde woman in a sort of suit of red, blue, and gold. She skipped as she went, little stuffed dog wrapped tightly in her free arm. Her companion took her to a massive compound that looked relatively empty.

The blonde laughed. “Yeah, it’s pretty big, huh?”

“Carol,” the little girl whined as they got halfway across the building’s huge lobby. “Up.”

Carol leaned down, plucking her tiny partner from the ground and scooping her into her arms. “You are needy, you know that?” She teased, booping the child’s nose.

She giggled and shoved her hands away, using the stuffed puppy to cover her face from further attack. “Do you have to go?” She whined suddenly.

“(Y/N), I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t have to,” Carol sighed.

Carol went to brush her little sister’s hair behind her ear, but her hand was shoved away spitefully. She didn’t want to leave her baby sister, but sometimes duty called. In this particular case, she was headed out to find a certain Tony Stark and company, who were hopefully on Titan.

“Ah, there you are--” Someone said before stopping.

Carol stopped as they approached the elevators and ran into a redhead, who stopped them there. “(Y/N),” Carol said to the girl in her arms, “This is Natasha.”

“Hi,” (Y/N) whispered, waving shyly at her and burying her face in her stuffed friend.

Her older sister smiled fondly. “She’s gonna help take care of you while I’m gone.”

“I don’t wanna go,” she whined again. “I wanna stay with you and go save people, Carol, please!”

Carol sighed and kissed her forehead. “I know, kiddo. But this one will be faster if I do it myself. They’re gonna take really good care of you and I’ll be back before you know it. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered, though reluctantly.

“Can you take her?” Carol asked Natasha. “They’re waiting for me in the hangar.”

Natasha nodded and was soon given the terrified child. Carol kissed her on the cheek once more and was gone, (Y/N) waving miserably after her.

“I know being left with strangers is horrible and scary,” Natasha said to the girl once her sister was gone. “But we’re gonna make the best of it.”

(Y/N) nodded slowly, but her expression didn’t change. She was scared out of her mind.

Natasha didn’t try to force her to talk, as she knew that would only make her more uncomfortable. So, she took her upstairs instead, hoping that the others would be able to make her more comfortable with things. After all, she could be stuck with them for days before Carol came back.

The pair walked into the meeting room, where part of what was left of the Avengers gathered. Thor had yet to show, rather preoccupied with setting his people up in a new place to live, but Steve was downstairs sending Carol off.

Bruce and Rhodey were the only ones in there, as well as Rocket, who was closest to the door. (Y/N) spotted him first.

“A raccoon!” She gasped.

The others looked up instantly at that, Bruce shooting Nat a confused expression. She just smiled a little and shook her head at (Y/N)’s reaction.

“Why do people keep saying that?” Rocket huffed, not quite realising that a child had said it. “I’m not a raccoon!”

“Guys, this is (Y/N),” Natasha said, kneeling to the ground to put the girl down. “Carol’s little sister.”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. “Hi, (Y/N). I’m Rhodey. This is Bruce.”

“That’s Rocket,” Nat added, gesturing to the raccoon.

The girl nodded a little before wandering over to Rocket, who looked terrified at this action. She just kind of pet his ear, giggling a little.

“You’re so fluffy,” she said.

He couldn’t help smiling slightly. “Yeah, one of my best qualities.”

Meanwhile, Nat sat beside the other two men in the room, sighing as she did. She didn’t want to make them help her watch (Y/N), nor did she want them to do so at all. They were grieving, all of them. They didn’t need this. But, of course, they were heroes and they would offer to anyway.

“How long are we babysitting?” Rhodey asked.

“Who knows?” Nat sighed. “Until Carol gets back.”

Bruce moved from the table to kneel in front of (Y/N), who had moved away from Rocket to the computers on one side of the room. They displayed the faces of the missing and, frankly, he didn’t want her to ask about them, so he decided to distract her instead.

“Hey, (Y/N), what do you do for fun?”

(Y/N) put a hand to her chin thoughtfully. “Carol likes taking me to new planets! And sometimes we sing to old songs on the way there or play hide n’ seek in the ship!”

“Hide and seek, huh?” Bruce asked with a small smile. “Do you wanna play that?”

“Yeah!” She exclaimed, hopping up and down. “You seek and I’ll hide! But you hafta count to 200, ‘cause that’s how much we count in big places.”

Nat barely held in a laugh and Rhodey failed entirely. The kid was adorable. Maybe she was what they needed around here.

“Okay, 200. Got it,” Bruce said. “Ready?”

By the time he was at 5, (Y/N) had sprinted out of the room, tiny stuffed dog in hand.

Rhodey didn’t have much to do at the compound except worry about Tony. So, he took to pacing the halls, finding unexplored rooms that had been abandoned since the Snap. What he didn’t expect to find when he turned a corner was little (Y/N) tugging at a stuck door with all her might.

He laughed at the sight, glancing down the hall, but seeing no one. So, he approached the kid.

“Uh, hey,” he said suddenly. “What are you doing?”

“Tryna get in,” she answered bluntly.

Rhodey had a silly grin on his face. “Aren’t you supposed to be playing hide and seek with Bruce?”

She shrugged. “He’s bad at seeking. And Nicky’s office won’t open.”

“Nicky…?” Rhodey asked. He glanced at the name on the door and stopped cold. Nicholas J Fury. “You know Fury?”

“Uh huh!” (Y/N) said proudly, still pulling at the door handle. “Carol tells me stories about him for bedtime. Like when they saved the world from Kree! That’s my favourite.”

Rhodes shook his head a little. “Here, lemme help you with that.”

He managed to get the door unstuck and followed the girl inside, viewing the office with a sense of reminiscence. He was too busy looking around to realise that (Y/N) was looking for something-- or someone-- in particular.

“Goose!” She whisper-called. “Goosey, Goose, Goose. Where are you?”

When Rhodey did hear he, he tilted his head. “Goose? What are you--?”

He was interrupted by a meow and watched in awe as a ginger cat appeared from behind Fury’s desk. It greeted (Y/N) instantly with purrs, making her giggle and pet it lovingly.

“There you are!” She cooed.

“I didn’t know Fury had a cat…” He muttered.

(Y/N) picked up the cat and held it up, looking into its blank eyes. “You’re even cuter in real life! Carol’s gonna be so happy I found you!”

“Did your sister tell you stories about Goose, too?”

“Yeah!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “She’s like the coolest pet ever.”

Rhodey hummed. “Didn’t take Fury for a cat person. Or a pet person.”

“Goose isn’t a cat,” she huffed. “Goose is a Flerken. She’s way better than any cat. Isn’t that right, Goosey?”

“Mrrow?”

He simply paused, looking between the girl and the cat, the latter of whom stared back somewhat eerily. “Flerken. Right.” He furrowed his eyebrows, muttering to himself. “What the hell’s a Flerken?”

(Y/N) was at the compound a little longer than they had anticipated, but they quickly got into a routine with her. Natasha, Rhodey, and Steve were in charge of making sure she got food and everything else she needed, while Bruce and Rocket were in charge of fun. Thor wasn’t in the mood. Nobody else really was either, but they were willing to put aside some things so that (Y/N) was taken care of.

One night, as Steve was tucking her in, she asked him something.

“Steve?” She called before he could close the door. “Can you tell me a story?”

The captain stopped dead in his tracks and turned to her with a little smile. “A story?”

“Carol tells me stories,” (Y/N) whispered quietly.

So, he pulled up a chair beside her bed and settled in. The girl was just missing her big sister. He wanted to give her as much comfort as he could until she came back. Goose was pretty helpful when it came to that. In fact, she was curled up beside the little girl, looking like she was waiting for a bedtime story, too.

“What kind of story do you wanna hear?” Steve asked.

Her answer was instant. “Carol tells me stories about when she was in the air force. Or when she and Nicky saved the world.”

“Okay…” he paused, exhaling sharply. “I’ve got one.”

So, he told her about the time he and his best friend, Bucky, went to the Stark Expo. He also mentioned how he tried to illegally sign up to fight in the war, which she thought was funny. He didn’t go much further than that, but he did linger on Bucky a little.

“Carol has a Bucky,” (Y/N) yawned when he finished his story.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh huh. Her name’s Marie,” the girl said. “We go visit her an’ Monica-- that’s her daughter-- a lot. But we don’t tell Nicky when we come visit, ‘cause we visit a lot.”

“Is this the Marie that was a pilot, too?”

(Y/N) nodded drowsily, smiling before frowning. “I asked Carol if we could visit ‘em this time, but she said we can’t. D’you know why?”

Steve’s heart broke. He couldn’t be sure, but he had a pretty damn good hunch on why (Y/N) and Carol wouldn’t get to visit Marie and Monica. It took everything in him to lie to this kid, to tell her something that was so far from the truth.

“No, I don’t,” he lied through his teeth. “But maybe you’ll get to see them before you leave.”

“I hope so,” she muttered as he went to leave her room. “G’night.”

“Goodnight. Sleep well, kiddo.”

(Y/N) stumbled into the kitchen one morning, Goose following her as she carried her stuffed friend there. The cat followed her pretty much everywhere.

A gasp left the little girl’s lips at the sight of a familiar blonde head of hair.

“CAROL!”

She ran into her big sister’s arms, laughing excitedly.

“Oh, there’s my girl,” Carol groaned at the impact of the attack hug, kneeling down to her sister’s level. “I told you I’d be back before you knew it.”

“Lookie who I found!” (Y/N) said, rushing over to Goose.

She picked the cat up and showed her to Carol, who smiled instantly at the sight. It was a bittersweet smile as she remembered why Goose was all alone in the compound, but a smile nonetheless.

“Hi, Goose,” she greeted softly, grinning when the cat rubbed up against her fondly. “Remember me?”

(Y/N) giggled. “Of course she does!”

“You know what, kiddo?” Carol asked, not noticing the smiles on the faces of her fellow Avengers, who were scattered about the room. “I have a surprise for you, too.”

“You do?” (Y/N) gasped.

Carol nodded. “I made breakfast-- French Toast!”

“YAY!” The girl squealed, racing to find a chair at the table as her sister went to grab her food. “Can Goose have some, too?”

Goose climbed up on the chair beside her, almost on cue.

Carol laughed. “Yes, Goose can have some, too.”

She placed one plate in front of her sister and a smaller one in front of the Flerken, who was practically drooling in anticipation. (Y/N) dug in, but Goose had to hop up on the table to reach her food.

The other Avengers watched with small smiles as the Flerken nudged her food experimentally with her nose. Carol waited. It was gonna be perfect.

Goose’s mouth snapped open and tentacles cascaded from deep in her throat. She gobbled up the French Toast in seconds, doing it so quickly that (Y/N) barely saw it. The kid knew the stories about the Flerken, though. The Avengers did not.

“Jesus--” Bruce gasped out when the tentacles disappeared.

All of them were wide-eyed and fearful, some even backing up a little ways away.

(Y/N) giggled at Rhodey’s face particularly. “I told you she wasn’t a cat! Goose is a Flerken! Isn’t that right, Goosey?”

Goose rubbed her chin against the girl’s outstretched hand, purring up a storm. “Mrow!”

“Okay, that I get Fury having as a pet,” he whispered. “That’s freaky. That’s-- that’s terrifying is what that is.”

Masterlist

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ma-at-thought · 5 years ago

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Mun Dash Game

Rules: Name your top 10 favorite characters from 10 different fandoms and then tag 10 people.

Tagged by: Nobody, just saw it and thought I’d do it too. I saw this on @mremaknu ‘s page.

Tagging: Same deal; anyone who sees it should do so and tag me so I can see your answers.

Rupert Giles, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He’s a remarkably charismatic character portrayed so well by Tony Head. A stodgy librarian by day, a super-hero mentor by night, Giles is best known for tolerating a ton of teenage bullshit while genuinely trying to save the world, if everyone would just stop mooning over romances or popularity for five minutes. Bloody colonials.

Kaylee, from Firefly. She’s just so stinkin’ adorable that I cannot fail to adore her. She’s a straightforward character with a natural knack for a “man’s job” and she keeps Serenity flying long as she’s got workin’ parts, and she’s still allowed to be girly. Kaylee seems able to find the bright side in just about anything she encounters, and she’s so engaging and shiny that she adds enjoyment to any scene she pops into.

Perrin Aybara, from The Wheel of Time. I like that he’s a big burly blacksmith, yet super shy and quiet and careful. Might be a frequently used trope, but I’m always a sucker for it.He’s such a loyal friend who is slow to judge, but quick to aid. He runs with wolves like he is one himself, leads armies that follow out of love and loyalty, and cannot for the life of him manage to handle his wife’s wild side, not even a little bit.

Rocket Raccoon, from Marvel Comics and Movies. Seeing something small and fuzzy and cute be so filled with anger and sarcasm and spite gives me life. He’s got a whole lot of bravado and bad attitude to cover up some high-quality backstory pain, which shows through now and again. To me, he comes across as something broken that the team helps glue back together, and I really like that Found Family aspect.

Jake (and Oy) from Steven King’s Dark Tower Series. Jake is a fascinating character because he has a story of his own to tell while also being a significant moral test to the main character. Roland must decide between Jake, his recently acquired traveling companion, or the personal quest he’s been on for most of his life. Oy is a dog-like ‘pet’, but has a big part to play both with the group of the story and for individual characters, and is treated as another traveling companion instead of just an animal.

Vlad Taltos, from Steven Brust’s Jhereg Series. A flippant and sarcastic professional assassin in a world of myth and magic takes his telepathic animal companion on adventures! Really flippant and sarcastic adventures. Vlad’s attitudes and reactions to events that impact his life are entertaining to read, and here and there you’ll find some deep social commentary hidden within the witty banter and tough character decisions. He’s a very engaging character with plenty of faults and imperfections whose line of work can include a certain amount of dark hilarity.

Commander Sisko, from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. He punched Q. Right in the face.

No, there’s more: While I wasn’t a big fan of the spiritual sub-plot of the show, I’m a huge fan of the rest of it, and Sisko is part of why. Watching him grow and change through the seasons, as well as how his relationships with his crew and his son develop was great for me. He had no tolerance for subtle politics, but he played them just fine. He had a knack for seeing two problems and realizing the ways in which those problems could interact to create a solution to something.

But he punched Q. Right in the face.

Q, from at least three Star Treks, plus a delightful number of books. Q is amazing. He may come off as commanding, brash, demeaning, narcissistic, demanding, and obnoxious, but hints through the TV shows and the books show that he’s, in many ways, very child-like. Partly in that he has something approaching wonder about humans and how they live, and an insatiable curiosity for how they handle various sorts of adversity, and partly in that he constantly follows you around yelling and yanking on your clothing to try and get attention because he’s Just That Insecure.

Duke Crocker, from Haven. A laid-back, responsibility-free smuggler, Duke gets very reluctantly dragged into deeper mysteries of the town, where he winds up having to, despite his criminal nature, help the police in handling the supernatural dumpster-fire that is Haven, Maine. He’s got some great lines and a witty sarcasm that I always enjoy in characters, and he’s thrown into the job of ‘hero’ without wanting to be anywhere near any of that, which helped make him a very engaging character.

Hermoine Granger, from Harry Potter. Everyone likes to see representation, so I always love it when nerdiness saves the day. Like me, she was always ready and excited for school and her studies, much to the confusion and occasional mockery of other students. Also like me, she was exceptional at applying her studies to daily life with spells and potions. Okay, maybe I lacked the spells and potions, but it was still nice to see youthful nerdery be positively displayed in a main character.

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trashpandaorigins · 5 years ago

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An Exchange

Rocket said they were going to get Gamora back. He didn’t say anything about how.

Sequel to A Favor

“You said we were gonna get her back!” Quill sucked a breath through his teeth, shivering in the cold.

“I know what I said,” Rocket growled through gritted teeth. “I didn’t say anything about how.” The humie stepped forward brows knitting in anger. Rocket preparing himself for the fiery words but Drax’s large arm intercepted placing a large hand on Quill’s shoulder momentarily placating the man. The six of them resumed their steely brooding, allowing the wind to take away whatever words they may have uttered.

“Your companion was sacrificed to the Soul Stone,” the thin voice of the weirdo with the red skull intoned. “In order to retrieve her another must take her place. Only then can you…”

“Yeah yeah, we get it.” Rocket waved a paw dismissively. Mantis sniffled, tears nearly freezing on her red cheeks. She stood beside Nebula who’s look of determination spoke for itself. Finally she stepped forward.

“I will…”

“No,” Quill snapped in that voice Rocket learned to recognize as a mind made up. “I’ll do it,” he breathed, looking around at the rest of them. Nebula’s dark eyes flashed, going immediately to a place of anger.

“I can’t let you do that.” Quill leveled his gaze at the cyborg woman.Years of misbegotten fury projected towards her. Born from Gamora’s half-told stories. He clenched his jaw against the cold of the mountain.

“And why not?” He demanded, the woman remained tense in her place like a spring ready to go off. Unwavering in the frigid wind. Her eyes narrowed,

“She loves you too much.” Quill blinked for a moment his face quickly grimacing into anger once more.

“Well...she doesn’t,” he cleared his throat, “exactly hate you either.” Nebula looked away, fists clenching at her side.

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll…”

“I AM GROOT!” Quill, Nebula, Drax and Mantis followed the flora’s wide eyed stare of horror carved into his face. They turned just in time to see ringed tail pitch over the edge of the cliff.

“No!” Quill sprung, only to be thrown to the ground as Groot’s elongated arm shot past him, following the raccoonoid down over the edge. “Groot,” he gasped watching with dismay as the flora retracted his empty hand. Nebula poised over the edge, head bent, lips drawn into a thin line. The wind howled, Quil groaned picking himself up off the ground watching. Waiting, hung in suspended horror. It had to work...it had to.

“...Peter?” That voice. Tears pricked the edge of his eyes and he took a breath before turning around. Bracing himself for the possibility of another illusion. Yet there she was, standing before them.

“Gamora!” His arms were around her in an instant gripping her tight. She was here, she was alive and physical and here. He sniffed, throat catching with her scent. He closed his eyes even as Drax’s large arms enveloped around them. Mantis squealed something through her tears but Quill didn’t catch it.

He clung to her, pressing her tight against him as if he could hold her there forever. Before too long, she grew restless, pulling away. He beamed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“What happened?” Gamora wondered aloud, head still in a fog though Quill’s embrace was somehow bringing her back slowly, like returning to the surface of the water and breathing again. One minute falling, then pain...then...orange light everywhere and now, here she was standing again on solid ground before them. “Thanos! Did he…?”

“Dead.” Drax broke off his hug, Mantis and Groot and the rest of them parting to behold the cyborg woman. Gamora could only nod, numb. Her eyes slowly taking them all in. Quill, Drax, Nebula, Mantis, Groot.

“Rocket,” she whispered, searching. “Where’s Rocket?” Quill swallowed folding his arms against the freezing wind. Her stomach dropped. “Peter where is he?!”

“He jumped,” Nebula answered gruff, still poised over the edge of the presupposes. Gamora’s knees nearly buckled. I asked him to shoot me, she recalled bits and pieces. He felt responsible.

“Puppy?” Gamora lifted her head, at Mantis’s gasp of joy; looking past Quill to where something shifted between the craggy rocks. It couldn’t be….

“Rocket!” Quill laughed, bounding towards him. “You son of a bitch how...how did you..” Rocket, on all fours curled his body tightly fur bristling, he bared his pointed white teeth, letting out a low growl. Quill stumbled to a halt hand dropping to his side in defeat. Rocket only snarled once more, his hackles raised staring at them with ferocious fear.

“I am Groot!” Gamora bit her tongue as Groot shoved past them, reaching out a hand towards Rocket. The raccoonoid’s ears twitched, examining the wooden hand.

“Furry friend,” Drax’s bombastic voice broke the spell. “We were afraid you were lost to us! What a relief that you…” Rocket snapped his teeth, scarcely missing Groot’s fingertips. He jerked his head backward and uttered a ferocious chittering sound before turning tail and dashing on all fours in between the boulders. Quill’s large eyes stared back at her, searching for answers she couldn’t give.

---

Back on the Benetar Gamora watched Quill try to contain Rocket, who hadn’t said anything but hisses and squeaks. “What are we going to do with him? Quill’s border line squeaked.

“Let us keep him!” Drax suggested, making no attempts to come any closer.

“Wh...what keep him? Keep him what like a pet?” Quill grunted, struggling to manage the writhing animal in his arms. The tattooed man nodded with amusement.

“No,” Nebula came forward “That is the last thing he would’ve wanted.” As much as Gamora hated to admit it, she was probably right. The he in question twisted his neck, jaws opening and clamped down on Quill’s vulnerable hand.

“Shit!” He dropped Rocket with a thud, pressing against his wound as the blood dribbled down his arm. “No one help me!” He yelled, dashing after Rocket. Gamora rolled her eyes, s houldn’t he know better then to use sarcasm? Still, she ran down the metal corridors of the ship after him. Drax, Mantis, Nebula and Groot only stared at each other in confusion for a moment before getting the hint. When they finally caught up, the raccoonoid, or actual raccoon as it now appeared, was backed into a corner between two storage bins. Every hair on his body sticking straight up, tail lashing.

“Let me,” Gamora stopped him with a look. He bit his lip, finally relenting with a grunt and a nod. Gamora crouched down, a shiver running down her spine beholding Rocket’s face. Foreign eyes, large and dark with no distinction between pupil and iris. His wet nose sniffed experimentally “Rocket,” she whispered, intent on keeping her voice level. “Rocket it’s us...it’s alright. She knew better than to reach her hand out. Rocket only sniffed once more, his ears perked forward in a curious stare, whiskers quivering. She watched as he dropped on all fours again. “That’s it…” she continued, his face unreadable. All those times spent bickering, his relentlessly irritating argumentative rants, the memories continued to come back like waves, breaking upon her consciousness. All the late night hours spent down in the engine room helping him work out the kinks in his cybernetics...realizing they were both not quite monsters. Come on Rocket you are better than this, stronger then this I know you are. She searched for that knowledge in those dark eyes but there was nothing. He only licked at his nimble paws and padded off down the hall with disinterest.

“What did it do to him?” Quill’s voice tore Gamora from her thoughts. “That place….how did he come back..?” The words of the red skull echoed in her mind…. a soul for a soul. No…

“The soul stone requires the sacrifice of one soul for another,” she mumbled, carefully stepping down the hall. “But Rocket...he wasn’t born with a soul...at least not like ours.”

“What are you saying?” Quill’s voice hitched as they rounded the corner, Gamora searched for Rocket’s small form amid the boxes and weapons.

“An uplift Peter,” she sighed. The weight of her return suddenly heavy. “He was uplifted in a lab.” She watched him take it in, the veins in his neck pulsing. A gun skidded across the ground by Rocket’s crawling.

“But...you mean...he’s not…” Quill looked at her with reproach. Gamora shook her head, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“He is as he was before...before he was given a soul.” Her face twisted in disgust, “as if it was a gift given to him by the grace of those scientist.” Images of Thanos torturing Nebula, the feel of his cold steel and electric devices against her own flesh.

---

The stars gleamed beautifully through the large windows of the Benatar. The galaxy, so vast and infinite. Ever expansive. Unknowable. Like the soul realm itself. She took a breath, leaning against the cool glass. Groot sat across the common area, head hunched over his game. He hadn’t spoken since his last attempt to coax some sort of recognition from Rocket. The low tone of music emanated from their room. He too hadn’t said much. None of them had, all of them tip toeing around the dilemma.

“Rocket!” He climbed up with his paws onto the lip of the bench where she sat. His wide eyes gazing out at the universe before them. She waited for some response, anything. Silence. He only raised his little hands to the window and licked at it. Gamora folded her knees to her chest. Rocket dropped to all fours, and she started as two little leathery paws clutched to her leg. “Rocket?” He only sniffled, eyes blinking with incomprehension. Words rose up inside her, the need to speak on some hope that somehow he would understand.

“You were right, Rocket. I”m not a monster. And neither are you.” He only rubbed his paws together, licking at them. “I just wished it hadn’t taken this…” she shook her head as if the thought could escape her mind. He had always pushed them away, always argued and cursed. So jaded and guarded. Rocket who hurt people and expected to be abandoned, who stole and drank and hated everything and everyone. He was really the most kind and soft-hearted, most compassionate one of them all. In his own way. “Thank you.” Gamora reached out a hand hesitantly. Rocket scurried down from the bench before she could touch him. He waddled across the common area to where Groot busied himself over his game. Only looking up in confusion as Rocket sniffed at his leg and began to climb. Up his side, around his torso and wound himself around Groot’s neck. Gamora let herself wonder as Groot looked perturbed, but flicked his game off. A small smile cracked on the edges of his mouth as he too leaned against the adjacent window. He reached up, gently stroking Rocket’s head. Gamora smiled, letting her eyes close. Some things never changed.

#my writing #gamora #rocket raccoon #groot #post iw #post infinity war #there needs to be more fics of gamora and rockets friendship

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codynaomiswireart · 6 years ago

Text

Varian and Ruddiger One-Shot

Inspired yet again by some discussion we had on the TTS/RTA discord the other day! I didn’t really have a particular plot line or AU in mind while writing this, so feel free to picture pretty much whichever one floats your boat. Hope you enjoy it!

Rating: T

OC info for those curious: (x)

[Warning: Contains angst, mentions of blood, pain, and a near death of a major character. I’m sorry!]

Varian cringed, hissing hard through his teeth as he tried to rise onto one elbow from where he lay on the dusty ground, and his brain buzzed with a frightened urgency as the wild kirlok began to close in on him again. Varian blinked several times, and shook his head as he attempted to clear it after taking such a hard hit from the bear-like beast. Fortunately, the light armor Varian had on prevented him from getting any deep scratches from the animal’s strong paws as it struck at his side. But the force of the creature’s swipe had still sent Varian flying, tumbling, and skidding across the turf, and it must’ve been only by some miracle that he hadn’t ended up with anything worse than some cracked ribs and some painful bruising.

As Varian felt the creature’s heavy footfalls vibrate through the ground beneath him, drawing steadily closer, his hand scrambled desperately at his side, reaching for his shoulder pouch where he had a few more goo balls and alchemy vials left at his disposal. If he could just manage to aim his throw right, he could probably stop the angry beast in its tracks, and then be able to make his escape from there.

But, to Varian’s horror, he found his hand only pawing helplessly at empty space, with his alchemy pouch nowhere in sight! With a new wave of terror, Varian’s eyes scanned rapidly around him; looking for something, anything that he could use to get out of this situation. But the only thing his eyes caught hold of was his staff glowing a few feet away from him. Varian knew it wouldn’t do much to deter an enraged kirlok, but his fight-or-flight instincts had taken charge now, and Varian quickly lunged himself at it as the kirlok now came at him in a full charge.

In desperation, Varian grabbed his wooden staff with both hands, and held it above him defensively as he saw the kirlok make its own final lunge for him, its fangs glistening in the light of the moon. His courage now spent completely, Varian found himself taking one last look into the beast’s steely eyes before scrunching his own tightly shut, Varian now only waiting helplessly for when he would hear and feel his staff snap underneath the kirlok’s strong paws, and feel its teeth and claws begin to tear into him like the prey that he had become.

From behind the darkness of his eyelids, Varian suddenly heard both a great roar and yelp pierce through the air around him, and heard loud thuddings and snarlings follow immediately afterward, with their source getting further and further away from him. Varian’s eyes snapped open at this, and as he scrambled to sit up from where he lay on the ground, Varian caught sight of what had interrupted the kirlok’s attack on him. Some other giant animal had now joined the fray, and had engaged the kirlok in a vicious fight as their two, shaggy forms flailed about in a ball of claws, horns, fur, and teeth, and it was only after they pulled apart again for a moment that Varian recognized the other creature for what it was.

Or rather, for whom it was.

“RUDDIGER!” Varian cried, his brain both frightened and confused at seeing his loyal little friend somehow redonning his giant feral form. Then, Varian remembered his missing alchemy bag, and immediately concluded that in his own act of desperation, Ruddiger must’ve taken some of Varian’s animal mutation serum and ingested it to make himself large enough to fight the monster that had threatened Varian’s life.

It was a terrible thing to watch and to listen to as the two giant creatures clashed with one another. Varian remembered hearing and seeing once a fight between two barn cats in Old Corona some years ago, and it was a sight and a sound he had never wanted to encounter again. But now, here, it was like seeing that all over again, except on a much larger and louder scale, and with far more at stake than some petty feline row. Varian could only watch helplessly as the two beasts went at each other, Ruddiger constantly getting himself between Varian and the kirlok, and Varian feeling his own phantom pains on Ruddiger’s behalf as the raccoon took several hard knocks from the kirlok’s horns, and lost chunks of fur as its claws tore at his chest and sides. But Ruddiger was the more nimble of the two titans, and more than once did the kilok miss its target, and Ruddiger managed to get in a bite and swipe at the creature’s back and shoulders as he tackled it to the ground.

But the kirlok was a beefy animal, and it was all Ruddiger could do to remain on his feet as he was thrown, kicked, and knocked around over and over again by it. Varian tried repeatedly to rise to his own feet, and to help Ruddiger somehow in the fight, but the shock and fear of everything had all but paralyzed him, and Varian could only wait with pounding heart, shaking knees, and rapid breathes as the animals’ fighting sillhouttes stood in stark contrast against the light of the moon; being permanently burned into that part of his brain specifically reserved for the things to fuel his nightmares.

While the fight may have lasted for only a few minutes, to Varian it felt like forever as he watched his friend get torn to pieces by the kirlok. Then, with one last exertion of will, Ruddiger threw his entire weight into the kirlok, sending the both of them off the edge of the cliff and down into the gorge below, with each of their frightened roarings echoing off the rock walls and deep darkness below.

“NOOOO!” Varian screamed as he saw his friend disappear over the side, and heard the sounds of crashing rocks and sliding soil coming from below. Then, silence.

Varian all but dragged himself towards the cliff’s side, with hope, denial, and despair all raging a battle of their own inside of him. “RUDDIGER, NO, PLEASE!” Varian shouted. “PLEASE NO!”

But then, as Varian came to within a few feet of the gorge’s side, he heard a series of low growling’s and whimperings, and to a relief so complete that Varian felt like fainting, he saw Ruddiger’s paws come one after the other up and over the side, and with one last great push, Ruddiger’s great form flopped down onto the side, his strength now utterly spent as he lay panting hard.

“RUDDIGER!” Varian shouted yet again, and attempted to make a dash towards his friend to see if he was all right. But as Varian got close, he shielded his eyes as a bright blue light enveloped Ruddiger’s body, and Varian couldn’t help but cringe as he heart the sounds of bones, muscles, and tendons shrinking back to their original size. After the light had passed, Varian knelt down quickly beside Ruddiger, his little friend curled in on himself, breathing hard, and with dark mud caking his fur.

“Oh Ruddiger-” Varian began as he made to pick up his friend, but his voice stopped in his throat as Ruddiger cried out with sharp pain, and Varian realized that it was not mud that was splattered across Ruddiger’s fur.

It was blood.

“Oh no-!” Varian gasped, his small moment of relief now replaced with a whole new wave of sick fear. “Oh no oh no oh no! Hang on Ruddiger, hang on!” Varian pleaded as his brain raced to figure out what to do, and he tried again – more carefully this time – to pick Ruddiger up and cradle him in his arms.

“Wh-where did you find my pouch, boy?” Varian inquired to Ruddiger as he rose shakily to his knees. Following Ruddiger’s eyes, Varian made a dash to where a few bimberry bushes grew close together – very near to where the kirlok had sent him skidding before – and found his pouch tangled up in their branches. After extracting the pouch from the bushes, Varian gently laid Ruddiger down on the work apron he had stowed inside it, and immediately set about to applying whatever first aid he knew how to do. It was hard going though, as Varian’s hands were so shaky, and the sight and smell of so much blood nearly made him faint or throw up.

But Varian had to do this. It was clear now that Ruddiger’s wounds were of the severity that his life was now at risk, and Varian knew he would never forgive himself if he lost Ruddiger due to his own weak constitutions.

“It’s-it’s gonna be ok Ruddiger,” Varian tried to tell his whimpering friend as he did his best to clean Ruddiger’s wounds and apply pressure to where they bled. “It’s gonna be ok. I promise. You’re gonna be all right. I’ll-I’ll figure this out…”

Varian continued to mutter on like that to Ruddiger as he worked, but as the moments ticked on by, Varian began to realize that Ruddiger’s condition was beyond Varian’s skill to handle. While Varian may have been able to slow the bleeding, he did not have the right materials for applying stitches, nor did he know how to set any broken bones either.

Ruddiger was running out of time. Varian had to find help.

As quickly yet gently as he could, Varian wrapped Ruddiger up in the apron he had laid him on, and slinging his pack over his shoulder, Varian took off as fast as he could into the night, cradling Ruddiger in his arms. Varian remembered passing by a town not too far from them. Perhaps there was someone there who could help save Ruddiger!

“Hang on Ruddiger!” Varian began saying to his companion again as he jogged his way back down the path, Ruddiger’s face both frightened…and tired…

“Stay with me Ruddiger! Stay with me!” Varian cried between breathes as he stroked a hand over Ruddiger’s head, trying to both comfort and rouse him. “We-we'll get you help! Just hang in there! Just- NO! Don't fall asleep Ruddiger! Don't do that!” Varian exclaimed, feeling his heart leap into his throat as Ruddiger’s eyes threatened to drift shut, and Varian dreading the idea of them never opening again. “I-I know you're tired! You fought so hard! You were so brave! But y-you gotta stay awake, ok? Just s-stay with me boy! You got this!” Varian paused in his words to swipe a quick hand over his nose, and tried hard to keep his feet going forward and his breath giving him enough air as the sobs now broke his voice. “I-I know you do Ruddiger! Just…just keep fighting! Keep going! I'll get you there! I promise!”

On and on Varian ran, talking to Ruddiger the whole time and trying to keep him awake, until finally Varian caught site of a dim glow through the trees, just off to the side of the path. Varian didn’t recall seeing any settlement on their way up the path earlier that day, but now there was no mistaking the presence of a thatched-roofed cottage that sat there, with its front gateway marked by a small lantern.

“Please!” Varian prayed as he picked up his pace, and shoved himself in passed the front gate and up the front walk. “Please! Let this be someone who can help save Ruddiger!”

As he sprinted up to the front door, Varian began pounding on it with all his might.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! “PLEASE! ANYONE!?” Varian yelled as he knocked. “MY FRIEND HE-HE NEEDS HELP!”

Varian waited a few seconds for some sort of reply, but there was no answer. “No…” Varian thought to himself, shaking his head in denial as he knocked again, even louder.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

“PLEASE! SOMEONE! ANYONE!” Varian all but screamed at the top of his lungs, and now dashing from window to window and peering in to make sure that no one was there. But from what he could tell, the inside of the house was as dark and vacant as the silence testified to.

“HELLO!?” Varian now shouted aimlessly in the air around him, staggering a little as hopelessness began to sink in. “HELP! SOMEONE! PLEASE, HELP!”

But only the silence of the forest around him met him in reply, and Varian looked down at Ruddiger who lay limply in his arms, with his eyes half-lidded and looking glazed. There’s no way they would be able to make it all the way to the village in time now.

“Please…” Varian now only whispered through quivering lips and heartbroken sniffles as he again tried to keep Ruddiger conscious. “Please! Someone…h-help!”

In response to his master’s crying, Ruddiger used some of the small amount of remaining strength he had to bring a weak forepaw out of the folds of the apron and up to Varian’s face. Ruddiger didn’t have the strength to wipe Varian’s tears away, but he was able to guide Varian’s face downward towards his own. “It’s ok…” Ruddiger seemed to be trying to say as he nuzzled feebly into Varian’s cheeks. “You tried your best. I know you did. Thank you Varian. It’ll be ok. Don’t cry.”

Varian’s heart broke as he sank down onto the lawn of the cottage, doing his best to offer Ruddiger what little comforts he could as despair began to take hold of the alchemist’s heart, and he did his best to keep Ruddiger dry as he could feel raindrops begin to fall on his head, shoulders, and back. It seemed as if all of heaven were now also weeping with Varian for the pure, brave life that was soon to leave the earth.

“I’m sorry Ruddiger!” Varian cried between sobs. “I’m so sorry! D-don’t leave me, please!”

But Ruddiger only let out a weak trill in response, doing his best to reassure Varian as he grew more and more tired. They both knew Ruddiger wouldn’t be able to stay conscious much longer, and Varian found himself half humming and half singing to his friend for reasons he didn’t quite know what. But it seemed right somehow, and Ruddiger was grateful for the gesture, and felt at peace with the idea of his last moments on Earth involving being held by Varian, and the boy’s voice being the last thing his ears would hear before darkness took him.

But then, as Ruddiger’s eyes threatened to slip shut one last time, there was something else the raccoon heard in addition to Varian’s voice.

It was the sound of footsteps running up the path, and making splashing noises as they dashed through puddles and up the wet cobblestone front pathway to the house.

Ruddiger then heard what sounded like a lady’s voice coming from somewhere in the air above them, and then felt Varian pull his face from his own quickly, startled by the sudden appearance of another person. Ruddiger tried hard to hear Varian’s words in reply, but the world was all a confused blur now, and Ruddiger could barely make sense of anything as he felt himself sink further into Varian’s arms.

Then, Ruddiger felt a hand (not one of Varian’s he knew) touch his forehead, and thought he heard the lady say something more, and for a moment Ruddiger almost thought he understood her words as the world suddenly took on a sharp, energizing clarity for a moment, and he felt as if his whole form had been immersed in some kind of hot soda water. Or at least, that was the best way Ruddiger could’ve ever thought to describe it, as his nerves and skin all tingled with an almost bubbly, electric kind of feeling all over – one that left him with a pins and needles sort of feeling, but also not excruciating pain.

Ruddiger had no idea what was going on, and for a moment he wanted to wriggle away and flee from whatever was happening to him, and whatever/whomever was doing it. But before he could even attempt to do so, Ruddiger felt himself fading into unconsciousness, almost certain that this was the end for him now.

“Goodbye Varian,” Ruddiger purred as he felt around him blindly, and finally laid a paw on his master’s chest, right above where he could feel Varian’s rapidly beating heart there within. “I love you…”

Varian sat staring intently as Sabine dressed the last of Ruddiger’s wounds, and moved to place him carefully on a cushion by Varian’s bedside. “Well, I’ve done all that I can for now I’m afraid,” Sabine said as she began to clean up her medical tools and concoctions, and looked at Varian kindly with her one good eye as she turned to him. “But he is a fighter, for sure. If he makes it through the night, he should be in the clear. I can’t promise he will, but from what I’ve seen, I do believe he stands a good chance.”

“…Th-thank you…” Varian managed to reply in a raw voice, feeling again both hope and anxiety rise within him in a splendid mess as he settled himself down beside his companion, feeling Sabine lay a gentle hand on his own shoulder as he did so. Involuntarily, Varian flinched away at the contact, remembering what had happened to Ruddiger when she had touched him as he had been hanging on to the last threads of his life but an hour or so before.

“Um, wh-what did you do to him?” Varian couldn’t help but ask now, not daring to look up at Sabine’s face as he did so. “Out there on the lawn I mean?”

Sabine’s voice was kindly and full of understanding as she replied, “I’m sorry if that starled you. ‘Tis a jolt when one sees a spell for the first time.”

“A…spell?” Varian asked hesitantly, the skepticism very clear in his voice.

“Only a minor one,” Sabine replied as she adjusted the purple strip of cloth that covered her left eye. “It…Oh, how should I explain it? I suppose you could say it put your friend into a few moments’ suspended animation, during which time the spell could also work some restoration magic while his bodily functions and organs were temporarily frozen in time. It really can be a lifesaver that one, but it doesn’t always work. And had I gotten to you but a few moments later, it would’ve definitely been too-”

Here Sabine cut herself off as she noticed Varian’s growing distress at her words.

“Well, I do believe it worked and in time for this little one,” she continued on, stroking a wrinkled hand across Ruddiger’s head fondly. “Though, he certainly had some strange injuries I must say,” Sabine commented, noting Varian’s fallen countenance as she hinted at an inquiry, and Varian making no effort to respond to it. Not tonight. Though by the way the boy himself looked so worn out, Sabine could hardly blame him.

“Perhaps we can discuss that in the morning,” she opted to rounding things off instead as she gathered up her medicine kit, and made her way to the bedroom door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to bring you a light supper, and then I’ll leave you both for the evening. Though please feel free to fetch me at any time if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Varian replied again as he watched Sabine leave. After she had closed the door softly behind her, Varian turned his attention again back to Ruddiger, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully as his side rose and fell with slow, deep breaths.

Varian cringed as his eyes scanned over the bandages all over Ruddiger’s body, and he felt his eyes grow misty again as he thought of how close he had come to losing Ruddiger that day, and how they still were not out of the woods just yet. Very softly, Varian scooted himself up closer to Ruddiger, laying his head down next to Ruddiger’s so that their foreheads touched, and Varian stroked his finger’s tenderly atop Ruddiger’s head.

"You can do this Ruddiger,” Varian murmured to him as he shut his eyes. “You've gotten this far. I believe in you. You're strong. SO strong Ruddiger. I know you can make it. You will make it. You...you were always there for me. Now I'll be here for you, too…You got this…"

Soon enough, Sabine came back into the room carrying a plate of fruit, cheese, and crackers, only to find Varian finally passed out beside his friend. With a sympathetic smile at the two of them, Sabine carefully made to quietly take her leave for the night. …Though not before casting a small spell for a dreamless sleep over the both of them as she did so.

“No nightmares tonight,” Sabine said to herself as she closed the door softly behind her…and Ruddiger nuzzled himself a little further into Varian as the warm embrace of the night made to bring them both safely into the new day tomorrow.

A few hours later, as the first traces of dawn streamed in through the clear glass windows of the safe house, Varian felt himself awakened by the feeling of something tickling his cheek, and the sound of snuffly breaths near his ear. Blinking his bleary eyes open, Varian was soon sitting bolt upright as he saw Ruddiger peering back at him with bright, and very much alive eyes.

“OH RUDDIGER!” Varian exclaimed as he gingerly but enthusiastically cupped Ruddiger’s head in his hands, and planted a kiss on his friends furry forehead before nuzzling him again with his cheek. “You did it Ruddiger! You did it! I knew you could make it!”

And Ruddiger trilled happily in return.

And Ruddiger lives y’all! (My gosh though, it’s definitely gonna be a while before I try writing something quite like that again. My poor pure raccoon baby! D’x)

Also, the kirlok that Varian and Ruddiger encounter here is not one of the ones owned by the Keeper of the Spire or Calliope, but is a wild one.

And a special shoutout to @dj-chan who had the idea for the scene at the end of Varian waking up to Ruddiger snuffling his cheek (so cute!), and for giving some good general feedback on the discord as the scenario was being developed. Thank you!

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aliferous-ly · 6 years ago

Text

For When There’s Nothing Left To Do: Chapter One

Chapter Summary: Roman meets a mysterious stranger who only introduces himself as “Anxiety”. They decide to travel together. Strength in numbers, after all.

Pairings: eventual LAMP, chapter contains prinxiety

Warnings: swearing, fear, anxietyyy, wyrm?, self deprication, wounds

Read on AO3

Art by @anxious-but-whatever (i cri) [here!!]

Roman vaguely regretted parts of his actions. Of course, he lived life looking forwards, not backwards, but perhaps he’d been a bit rash. A bit. His place back home, as impersonal, lonely, and pathetic as it was, seemed palace-like now.

And, of course, there was food. And warmth. Warmth was a big part of that. “That” being his desire to go home.

Teeth chattering, Roman wondered if extreme chill caused one’s very thoughts to stutter.

Being cold... well, Roman didn’t do “cold”. He never got cold. Usually he retained enough energy to remain under respectable body temperatures. Usually he went to bed in his feather-stuffed comforter, too, but usually wasn’t his life anymore, was it?

Roman allowed his eyes to stray to the only being within miles, probably. They shivered, almost imperceptibly, curled into their body and face trained towards the quickly freezing earth.

Roman gazed at the sputtering fire, fingers twitching underneath his cloak.

“You’d think the stars would show up away from the city,” Roman heard himself say. His companion glanced at him in something akin to surprise, perhaps irritation.

“It’s not like we’re in the plains,” his companion said, voice blank. “There’s trees. Surprise, stars can be blocked by foliage.”

Irritated, then. Roman could work with this.

“There are still places where you can see the sky,” Roman countered, tensing his arms and rubbing them against his sides.

“Apparently not enough for your entitled ass,” they muttered, slowly but surely bending into a ball.

“Ex-cuse me for wanting to see the stars,” Roman said, infusing his voice with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “I should’ve known you’d want to be in pitch dark.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” they said sharply, dark eyes glaring at Roman, their pupils flickering in the firelight.

“Twas a dark and stormy night, and the emo prince of Darkness decided to creep out of their cave of the damned,” Roman said in a stage whisper, wiggling his fingers for effect before tucking his hands back against his body.

They flinched a little too violently to be justified, eyes staring daggers into the ground. “When I creep out of the depths of hell, you mean. And, he/him, but I didn’t think you’d be considerate.”

Roman didn’t mention the way the man’s voice warbled, saying instead, “of course, cave of the damned being the entrance to the depths of hell. And who am I to assign such labels?”

A soft noise came from his figure which Roman decided to interpret as a laugh, or in the least, a soft snort. In the dead of the night, Roman felt as if anything could happen.

“How did you end up here?” Roman asked, voice soft. Before he could respond he continued with, “I think I’m young enough to restart, but I don’t know if I want to. Sometimes I feel forced into... life.”

An audible silence stretched between the two and Roman maintained his gaze, his companion’s figure seeming to fade into the dusty background as the quiet continued.

“I left,” he said, and Roman nearly started at his voice. It was... gentle, and scratchy, full of more emotion than the dry sarcasm from before. “I left because I am tired of being forced into life.”

“You’re more admirable than I,” Roman said, pushing sincerity into his tone, because he knew that more often than not he leaned towards superfluous and gaudy tones, inaccurate to his true feelings. He needed him to, well, to know that he was more than his (amazing) dramatic exterior, than his (beautiful) loud voice, than his (...) irritating personality.

“Doubtful,” he said, voice like a steel trap. Something clogged in Roman’s throat and he found himself unable to respond.

Icy fingers of wind pushed past Roman’s clothes, scratching goosebumps onto his skin and trailing a deep chill against his bones. Roman ignited his inner flame, his personal furnace, and nearly missed the way the man across the (dying, flickering, shrinking) fire shuddered violently.

“We should get some rest,” Roman said pointedly, rising with legs like logs and crusted joints.

He glanced at him without moving his head. “Alright.”

When he didn’t move from their seat, Roman frowned. “Well, are you coming?”

“I don’t have a tent,” he pointed out, jerking his arms to his body and tensing.

“I am aware,” Roman said slowly. “You’re using my tent.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, sarcasm and dry tone returning full force. “Where would you sleep?”

“My tent,” Roman said, amusement shining through.

Willing to bet he had no response forthcoming, Roman started towards his tent, pausing to look over his shoulder. “It’s either my tent or the embers.”

“I could just die,” he said instantly. Roman couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, and he didn’t particularly want to challenge that notion.

“I can’t have your death on my conscious,” Roman said instead. “C’mon.”

When he still hesitated (Roman couldn’t imagine why; he’d shared sleeping quarters with other men multiple times. Not necessarily wonderful times, more like packed together during training, but it was experience nonetheless), Roman held his arms out. “Have I lead you wrong yet?”

“Jury’s still out,” he said, words jumping out of his mouth. Roman shrugged helplessly and he stood, finally, stretching only slightly (the wind chilled anything that it touched).

Smirking to himself, Roman turned on his heel and started towards his tent, trusting he would follow. He’d set up the tent not too far from the fire on purpose, and Roman opened the flap, waving his arm through with a dramatic, “after you.”

He glared at him, understandably so, and ducked under the entrance.

“What should I call you?” Roman said, realizing that while they had traveled all day together, he’d never received his name.

“My name is–” he cut themselves off, then said, “You can call me... Anxiety.”

“Anxiety?” Roman thought out loud. “I’m assuming that is not your name, then?”

“No,” he said, notably lacking regret. “Names hold power.”

A series of images flashed through Roman’s mind’s eye. “Very true.”

His scabbard, holding his run-of-the-mill iron training sword, felt hollow.

After preparing for sleeping, exchanging a few more quips with Anxiety, and settling underneath the cloth, the brunt of the day hit Roman full force.

Oh hell, was he really out in the Perilous Forest?

Originally he considered the name a joke, because who named, or called, a forest “Perilous?” It didn’t seem serious at all. Of course, he’d never entered the forest before. No matter how funny Roman thought the name was, Perilous Forest was not to be taken lightly.

Having traveled before in less than desirable conditions, Roman assumed himself up to the task, but the moment he set foot in the Perilous Forest, he just... knew.

It was only describable to those who’d entered before. Simply knowing that the area you walked through was... less than average. Weird. “Strange things happen here, unexplainable things” kind-of weird.

That, and he saw a blood-red fox within fifteen minutes. They had blinked at him with amethyst eyes (purple, Jesus Christ, foxes don’t have purple eyes) before disappearing. The brush didn’t move.

And yet, Roman knew – knew, this instinctual, explainable force that lead his life, really, this knowing – that he must travel through. When he ran into Anxiety within the first two hours, well, he knew they must travel together.

Plus Anxiety had a small rock which, when he threw it at a large dyre-raccoon, turned the creature into solid rock. When he saw Roman he threw another rock at him, but when it hit his shoulder (yes, it did hit him – rocks turning animals into solid rock could be distracting) it merely sparkled in gold light and fell into his palm.

They decided to travel together. Strength in numbers, after all.

Anxiety didn’t talk much. Roman didn’t mind. Talking, at that moment, had felt exhausting.

“Words should be spared,” Anxiety had said at one point. Roman let the phrase tumble through his brain, tinkering with meanings and purposes. Anxiety had sounded rehearsed, the phrase repeated.

An old mentor? A sibling? Parents?

Roman forced himself to stop thinking about Anxiety. Anxiety was only a travelling partner, nothing more. Especially since Anxiety obviously wanted nothing to do with Roman. Especially since Roman needed to find–

Anxiety hadn’t deigned to tell him his name. Roman felt that relatively self-explanatory: I don’t trust you. We aren’t friends.

Which he shouldn’t, and they weren’t. Roman, daft, loud, exuberant Roman, should not be trusted. And Anxiety had met him that day, really, Roman couldn’t blame him.

He really needed to stop thinking about Anxiety.

Roman turned his mind to duller thoughts, an attempt at sleep. Rest made everything better.

Well, he hoped. And hope continued to remain one of his few solaces.

—

Virgil, used to being cold, felt incredibly, wonderfully warm.

He snuggled deeper into the soft blankets beneath his hands, exhaling softly to feel the warm air flutter against his fingers. His old room retained cold incredibly well, the hard floors and unforgiving walls far from his bed making him feel vulnerable and weak, unable to protect–

But, right now, warmth settled to his bones, relaxing his muscles and making his entire body pliable. Safe.

The thought sent warning bells, ringing between his ears, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to jerk to his feet or do anything else drastic and likely unneeded.

Still. His instincts had never failed him before, and safety usually meant something or someone – no, no, no, someone someone only one person had made him feel that way – just, awful. Safety gave a false sense of security and Virgil was tired of falling victim to its wiles.

Slowly, slowly, Virgil edged away from the heater to his right. Roman. Roman, the talkative, nice, prince-like (prince-like) man who’d decided they were to be traveling partners.

Virgil didn’t mind. He rather... no, he appreciated it. The Perilous Forest (who really named these things?) held many dangers beyond his imagination. Of course, he could always take off his gloves.

Virgil hated taking off his gloves.

When he was a reasonable distance from Roman’s sleeping figure, he sat up, and was struck with a mortifying realization.

The tent, despite his former thoughts, claimed quite a bit of space. Roman and Virgil had plenty of room for both of them to sleep comfortably and distanced from one another, as strangers should. Despite, well, despite the extra room, Virgil had gradually shifted closer to Roman – to Roman’s heat, of course.

Virgil paused. Why was Roman so warm? Virgil wasn’t commonly around other people, not enough to know the average heat one should exude, but Roman almost certainly ran higher than “most people”.

Virgil pushed down his personal space warning bells and hesitantly reached forward, brushing the backs of his fingers against Roman’s cheek and drawing away almost immediately. Eyes blown wide, Virgil glanced between his fingers and Roman’s cheek. Yes, Roman was most definitely burning up.

Did that mean Roman was sick? Did Virgil have to take care of him? Virgil had no idea how to care for a sick person, especially in the middle of the Perilous Forest, of all places. A small seed of resentment planted in Virgil’s head. Really, could Roman have picked a worse time to come down with some virus?

“Ah...” Roman let out a small noise, blinking his eyes open and staring at Virgil’s wide-eyed expression. “...uh.”

“You’re awake,” Virgil said dumbly, flexing his fingers subconsciously. Realizing that he was on his knees, kneeling towards Roman, he jumped back.

“I am,” Roman said, a smidgen of uncertainty edging its way into his voice.

How? He was on fire a moment ago...

“How are you alive?” Virgil demanded in his tactful way. “Your face is at melting temperature.”

“Melting temp–” Roman blanched and reached up to touch his face absentmindedly. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Don’t get sick in the middle of a forest,” Virgil snapped, knowing his irritation was irrational and he was likely ruining all future positive interactions with him. Yet he couldn’t stop the words from running out of his mouth. Roman couldn’t die on his hands! He could tell Roman was a good person, someone who might make a difference in the world, as opposed to him, who would probably die and sink into the dirt before he turned thirty, if he was being optimistic.

“I’m not sick,” Roman said, his sigh interlaced with relief, exasperation, and something else Virgil couldn’t identify (he prided himself on being able to read expressions and moods, came in handy when figuring out if one despised him or was simply putting on a front).

“There’s no other explanation,” Virgil said shortly, crossing his arms.

Roman stared at his hands wordlessly, moving his fingers as if trying for the first time. “I run hot.”

“That wasn’t just hot, don’t give me that shit,” Virgil said, words sharpened into points.

“Alright,” Roman said slowly. Holding his fist in front of him he said a simple, “don’t freak out,” (at which his anxiety instantly spiked, because one does not start anything ever with that phrase) before his fist lit on fire.

After an admittedly embarrassing squeak left his mouth and his body went into half-fetal-position-we’re-in-danger mode, Virgil realized the flame was glowing a soft orange as opposed to the changing reds and oranges of a campfire. “Oh what the hell.”

“Yeah,” Roman said eloquently, relaxing his hands and letting the orange flames dance around his fingers. “Orange is only one setting, but that’s why I’m so hot when sleeping. Of course, I’m hot all the time,” he said, voice cheeky enough that Virgil could tell Roman was no longer talking about temperature.

“One setting?” Virgil said. “How much... magic do you have?”

“More than the average person,” Roman deflected, extinguishing the flame swiftly. “But, I told you. Don’t go... yelling it to the winds, or anything.”

“You assume I care that much,” Virgil said, barely meaning the words. Perhaps he cared a little too much – after all, he related on a scarily similar level. Having high levels of magic in this world... that could be dangerous.

“You have more magic than normal,” Roman pointed out, harshly reminding Virgil how alarmingly perceptive he could be.

“You’re not wrong,” Virgil evaded, looking at the exit to the tent. “We should get ready. We’re losing daylight.”

“Okay,” Roman said easily. He pushed the blankets off his body and started preparing for the day, Virgil gradually following his movements. Virgil still wasn’t entirely sure how to... survive on his own. Used to being catered to, Virgil carefully copied Roman’s movements and noting them for when they split and he was... alone again.

“If we keep going east we’ll hit the edge of the forest by tomorrow, most likely,” Roman said.

Virgil made an affirming hum, fiddling with his pack and double checking if he had everything.

“But if we stop a little earlier tonight, I can reserve some energy for the fire and keep us a bit warmer than last night,” Roman said.

Virgil blinked at the casual reference to his magic. Normally people muted their magic, used it for small tasks, didn’t mention it in daily life. “Okay.” Roman had no such qualms, and it was... refreshing, in a way.

When they started out, little was spoken between the two. Virgil despised talking while walking, and no late night heart-to-heart would change that. Roman made a few benign comments and small talk throughout the day.

At around noon, the hair on the back of Virgil’s neck stood up. The wind picked up, only slightly, but noticeable enough that Virgil felt instantly on edge.

“You alright?” Roman asked, chewing on some dried meat from his pack. Virgil noted how at ease Roman appeared, how obviously Roman could not tell something was off.

“Yeah,” Virgil had said, lying through his teeth. Roman nodded without a second thought, and they continued, Virgil keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary.

Clouds covered the sky, and they trekked onward.

—

Roman sprinted, slipping and sliding on the leaf-covered ground. Shit, Anxiety, where – a tree seemed to materialize out of nowhere and he darted to the left to avoid it, tripping over his feet and slamming into the ground. He instantly jumped to his feet, the smallest sting pricking at his arm.

Tears burned in his eyes and Roman forced himself to keep going, keep running, keep –

The ground disappeared from underneath his feet and he screamed, tucking his arms against his head and seeing harsh, jagged rock, the bright stars, and rain-slick cliffs before crashing into the ground. He felt his body snapping, shock injecting into his system, and the world flashing bright white before cutting to black.

—

Virgil glanced at Roman, the sky darkening far quicker than it logically should. He could taste rain in the air, but Roman seemed to have no indication of stopping. When the first drop fell, Virgil paused mid-step, but Roman continued.

“Are we walking in the rain?” Virgil finally asked, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice (and likely failing).

“Of– oh,” Roman stopped then as if seeing Virgil for the first time. “Oh, yeah, we probably should, shouldn’t we?”

“Uh...” Virgil squinted at him in a half-hearted attempt to interpret his actions.

“In training,” Roman clarified. “We rarely stopped for anything. Sometimes I forget I’m not... there anymore.”

“Training for what?” Virgil asked.

“To be a knight,” Roman said, the phrase a strange mixture of dejected and pompous, as if he was so used to saying it with extreme dramatics and pride that he didn’t know how to say it naturally.

“Noble,” Virgil said, not knowing what else to say.

“I guess.” Roman pursed his lips. “Seems like it should be.”

Virgil would say how being a knight was supposedly the epitome of being noble, but he knew personally how un-noble the knights – real, full-fledged knights – could occasionally be.

Roman, Virgil decided, would be one of the best knights he’d ever met.

“You’ll continue your training when you return, then?” Virgil said carefully.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” Roman said, rubbing at his face in frustration. “I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

“Shut up,” Virgil said. “You’d be a fine knight. I would know.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Roman said. He paused, then added, “How?”

A flash of fear jolted through Virgil’s body. “How what?”

“How would you know I’d make a good knight?” Roman clarified, despite Virgil knowing exactly what he was asking.

“I just do,” Virgil said vaguely.

“Mmkay,” Roman said, blatantly not believing him. “Tell me whenever, or never. I don’t mind.”

Virgil’s memory flashed to the night before, to Roman holding his fist in front of him and lighting it on fire, to “But, I told you. Don’t go yelling it to the winds, or anything.”

“I’m the prince,” Virgil blurted, slapping a hand over his mouth a split second later.

Roman stilled. “What?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” Virgil said, rushing through his sentences and stumbling over words. “Let’s just keep going or set up camp or something.”

“No, you just said–” Roman stopped in front of him and caught his forearms with his hands. “Anxiety–”

“That’s not even my name, you don’t know me,” Virgil spat, wrenching his arms away from Roman, away from the knight-in-training, away from the fire-wielding stranger he just spilled a close-kept secret with, someone who would send him back to the palace back to his old life back to being constrained by everyone and everything –

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Roman said softly, soothingly, holding his palms forwards and backing away, giving Virgil space to breathe. “I’m not going to tell anyone, I promise. I just... need confirmation. The prince?”

Virgil nodded, unable to speak for the moment. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands against his upper arms, feeling the soft fabric of his gloves rub against his skin comfortingly.

“Alright. Okay. Wow. I, uh... Wow, I don’t really...” Roman stuttered more than said. “Should I... bow? Or kneel? Oh man, I slept right next to you, that’s probably breaking all sorts of laws–”

“Stop, oh god,” Virgil waved his hands in front of his face. “I ran away for a reason. Please do none of that.”

“Call you your highness–” Roman continued, a teasing edge to his voice.

“I swear I’ll arrest you if you do,” Virgil said gravely.

Blatantly ignoring the dark tone in Virgil’s voice, Roman laughed. “Alright, dark and stormy, whatever you say.”

A crack tore across the sky and the light sprinkles transformed to a downpour within seconds. Virgil found refuge under a tree without checking for Roman, who ended up following him anyway.

“Damn,” Roman said. He flicked some wet hair out of his face and peered through the drops. “That was fast.”

“Really,” Virgil said, hugging his arms to his body. “When I ran I didn’t realize how cold I’d be all the time.”

“Ah.” Roman’s figure lit up in soft orange light, small flames flickering above his skin. Virgil instinctively leaned closer to him, closer to the warmth suddenly radiating from Roman.

“The fire won’t burn you,” Roman promised, his arm hovering uncertainly above Virgil’s shoulders. “Orange never gets hot enough to wound.”

“How many colors do you have?” Virgil asked. Eyeing Roman’s arm and falling on his common philosophy of fuck it he leaned into Roman’s side, the man’s arm falling naturally onto Virgil’s shoulder and enveloping him in warmth.

“Orange is warmth, Yellow is mostly pure light,” Roman said, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb on Virgil’s shoulder. “Uh, green helps ward away sickness, I think. Light green, I mean. Dark green gives me more protection. Dark blue helps plants, which was weird to find out. I don’t have all the colors, yet, like red, purple, pink, other things.”

“Can you make normal fire?”

“Yeah, of course.” Roman flicked out the thumb not against Virgil’s shoulder and lit the tip of it, reddish-yellow flames flickering on the tip.

“That looks pretty red,” Virgil said.

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t think it’s my red fire.” Roman doused the flame and tucked his hand against his chest, the orange glow turning a little brighter. “The colors show up as time goes on. My first color was dark green.”

“Dark green,” Virgil repeated. “For protection?”

Roman’s form stiffened, telling Virgil more than his words ever would. “I guess. Didn’t have much – I mean, it was a totally random color, y’know? Never figured out why, I mean...”

“When I was younger,” Virgil said without thinking. A small part of him screamed at him to shut up shut up shut UP but another part couldn’t handle the orange flame starting to dull, and not because it would mean less warmth. “Objects started responding to me in ways that didn’t make sense.”

Roman’s arms squeezed his shoulders, prompting him to continue.

“It was little things at first. A snake toy would start moving, or a marble would always go to the right spot, or my blanket would always reappear near me. My parents thought it was little magic I’d find, there’s lots of magic pockets at the palace,” Virgil said quietly, swallowing down apprehension at sharing his life. A lightning bolt crashed across the sky, igniting it and splitting it in two for half of a second.

“I, uh, it ended up just being me,” Virgil said. He put his hands in front of him. “That’s why I wear gloves. Then I don’t affect things.”

“Those rocks you were throwing?” Roman said, realization dawning in his voice. “You touched them and they turned the animal into rock. But they didn’t do anything to me.”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s a fickle magic.”

“I think it’s fate,” Roman said.

Virgil stared at him with a deadpan expression, rolling his eyes when he saw the teasing grin Roman wore. “Of course.”

“How else would a dashing knight-in-training meet the brooding, rugged prince?” Roman said, dramatics oozing from his pores. “It’s a fairy-tale waiting to happen.”

“Make the knight in training female and the prince ridiculously handsome and you have the plots of at least a dozen books I can think of off the top of my head,” Virgil said.

Roman looked like he was fighting to say something, shoulders twitching, when he blurted out, “One of those is already true.”

Virgil backtracked, rerunning over his statement. “Oh, shit, are you a woman? Have I been misgendering you this whole time? Shit, Roman, I’m sorry–”

“No!” Roman said loudly. “I’m not a woman.”

“Oh,” Virgil said, sighing in relief. Realization hit him like a brick. “Oh.”

Roman thought he was handsome? Roman? If he were to quote himself, then “ridiculously handsome”, oh, oh.

Heat traveled to his face and Virgil said a quiet, “oh” that came out as more of a squeak than anything else.

(How could Roman believe that Virgil was handsome? Roman, with his beautiful face, Roman, with his strong stance, Roman, thought Virgil–)

A loud growl interrupted their mutually rapid thoughts and they stiffened simultaneously. The rain seemed to slow, the number of drops just as numerous yet falling at a slower rate.

“Oh no,” Virgil said softly. He knew that growl. He knew exactly what that growl meant.

“What? What is it?” Roman asked him, just as softly and staring into the slow drops of rain, trying to see.

“On the count of three, run,” Virgil muttered, slowly edging his way backwards.

“What? Anxiety, you’re not making any–”

“One.”

“I can’t just run away, that’s–”

“Two.”

“Anxiety–”

“Three!” Virgil grabbed Roman’s wrist and sprinted in the opposite direction of the growl, running, running, running because there was nothing else one could do when–

The wyrm howled and crashed through the trees, unholy screeches and the cracking of trunks filling Virgil’s every sense, his rain-slicked palm sliding against Roman’s wrist until suddenly he couldn’t feel it anymore, and Roman was gone, he wasn’t behind him anymore, and–

“ROMAN!” Virgil screamed, throat raw and panting and scared. “NO! ROMAN!”

The wyrm rapidly approached him and Virgil hoped, hoped to any god or being above that Roman’s remains weren’t mangled in the wyrm’s stomach. If the wyrm focused on Virgil, then it couldn’t focus on Roman, and Virgil felt his glove fall off and his fingers wrap around a stone before he could think.

Virgil threw the rock behind him and heard an explosion shake the trees followed by an ear-splitting screech.

He didn’t look, he didn’t stop, because he knew the moment hesitation snuck in he would be a goner. Rain pelted his face and arms, branches cutting streaks into his skin and leaves blocking his vision. The dull roar of the storm and the pitched shrieks of the wyrm pounded against his ears and Virgil sobbed, tripping on roots and twisting his ankle, he was sure, but he couldn’t stop –

Or, he could. Death by a wyrm sounded brutal but truthfully, in the grand scheme of ways to die, there were worse. Well, a wyrm sounded like a noble death regardless, right? Wyrms were large terrifying creatures, nobody would question if Virgil was too slow or too clumsy to outrun one.

He could die here.

Wasn’t that what he wanted?

An echo of the cacophonous sound rang through his head and the world was quiet for one clear moment. Limbs moving in slow motion, the rain glinting off of light, trees deep brown and green, long, ridged scales swirling with a gaping maw lined with teeth...

Virgil read the anger in its eyes, the almost defensive stance of its head, the blades of shining, clean silver, sharpened...

A clean, clear voice cut through the chaos.

“Stop!”

Virgil saw pale, weathered wood as the world rushed back into focus. Run, run, run, don’t get eaten–

A lone figure stood in front of a door and wow, that sucks was all Virgil could think before he ran headfirst into the wall, the world flashing to black.

#okay i canNot stop staring at the wyrm like??? what/?? the hell???? its so good jesus #ts-storytime 2018 submissions #sanders sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #for when there's nothing left to do #IM SO TIRED OK

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woozletania · 7 years ago

Text

What happened to the rabbit?

Three months after The Snap, three months after the Battle Of Wakanda, Thor finally has a moment free from responding to disasters to wonder: What happened to his furry little friend? He will not be pleased with the answer, but the God Of Thunder does not readily give up on a friend.

https://halfhumanhalfworld.tumblr.com/ kindly allowed me to reference his excellent Axe handle story in this one. http://readasaur.tumblr.com/ reminded me that there should be music involved. Huzzah!

It wasn't the first time Thor landed in New York City. For a time it had even been home. But since his disastrous failure to kill Thanos at Wakanda he'd been very busy. The loss of half the world's population - seemingly at random - created a host of disasters that demanded his attention.

Over a thousand jetliners crashed in the wake of that incident. That was only the tip of the iceberg. Literally millions of vehicles were suddenly driverless on roads around the world. Millions of high speed crashes inevitably followed. The police, fire department, hospitals, were all critically understaffed with no warning. Then there were the really big problems, like power plants without sufficient workers to keep them going - including nuclear power plants - unguided container ships larger than aircraft carriers, millions of fires from now-untended cook and campfires, and more.

Thor was now, it was commonly thought, the most powerful being on the face of the planet. The Hulk hadn't been seen in months. Even were the Green Goliath present, Thor won their last contest and his power had doubled since then. So when a volcano erupted or a dam crumbled and someone needed to respond, he did. His control of the weather - for he was more than the God of Thunder, the storm was his to call or dismiss - made his presence still more desirable. When natural disasters were absent, The Captain often called for his aid. Teleportation via the Bifrost meant he and his allies could be anywhere almost instantly...but there was only one Thor.

The many-headed hydra of disaster and near societal collapse kept him very busy. Luckily, he was indeed a god. He could go days without eating or sleeping with little impact on his health.

Three months flew by with hardly a break. Now, finally, he and the other heroes, along with various governments and civilian organizations had pruned back enough hydra heads for him to get a day off. Thor was left with one thought foremost on his mind.

What happened to the rabbit?

It nagged at him over the days and weeks. What had happened to his little comrade? The last he saw him the rabbit was shattered and grieving from the loss of his tree friend. Later, Thor learned that this was not the only casualty among the furry little warrior's moron comrades...and the rabbit knew it. The trackers he'd given each of his friends told him they were gone.

The little warrior was, if you didn't count the blue cyborg Thor heard about but never met, the sole survivor of the Guardians of the Galaxy. Every single person he knew and trusted was gone. Now his one friend on Earth had time to wonder what became of him after Wakanda.

Thor landed with great care not to crush anyone with his dramatic arrival. So softly did he land that the sidewalk barely cracked at all. Nevertheless you couldn't miss the clap of thunder that heralded his arrival and a crowd formed.

"Thor! Thor, it's Thor!" He smiled and nodded, pausing for a picture with an elderly couple who by great good fortune stayed together when The Snap killed half the world's population. Then, begging off any further photos, he made his way to the side door of Avengers Tower.

"Welcome, Point Break," Friday said, and Thor smiled as the door opened. Even in these dark days Stark was irrepressible.

A swift ride up the priority elevator - Tony warned him not to land atop the tower due to newly installed and as yet untested defense systems - and he was on the management floor.

"Mister Stark is out, sir," said the attendant. "He is not expected back until this afternoon. Problems at the geothermal plants in Iceland."

"That is all right," Thor said. He leaned on the counter, which creaked alarmingly under his weight. Asgardian flesh is denser than human flesh. "I am mainly here about the rabbit. I am told he came here after Wakanda."

'After Wakanda.' Which was to say, after the death of half the sapient beings in the universe.

"What rabbit," the attendant said, and just then Pepper Potts appeared.

"Ah, Mrs. Stark," Thor said. "I heard you survived. I'm pleased that not everyone suffered." He paused. "I apologize. That was poorly said."

Pepper smiled. The stress of the last few months, running Stark-Pott Enterprises in its ever-elaborating role as the hub of global technology disbursement - in partnership with Wakanda, of course - had turned the tips of her hair gray. She never seemed to find the time to dye it and with half the people in the world gone fringe industries like cosmetics were a lower priority for rebuilding than, say, agriculture, power production, food distribution, planetary defense....

Pepper hugged Thor. "It's all right. We're all just trying to get by. But I hear you didn't just stop by to say hello?"

"Yes. I am concerned for my rabbit friend." Thor indicated a height somewhere around his knee. "I only knew him briefly but he and his tree were valiant companions. Now I'm the only person he knows on Earth, unless he's made new friends."

"Rabbit," Pepper said thoughtfully. "You mean raccoon?"

"What's a raccoon?"

"Friday," Pepper said, but a screen was already popping up. On it was a grayish-brown animal with a ringed tail. It was busily feeling around in a stream, presumably in search of food.

"That looks like him, but that's an animal. He is not."

"I know," Pepper said, and waved the screen away. "He's here. Two floors down, south hall. See if he'll talk to you. Please. He won't talk to us. Tony wanted to get with Bruce, Shuri and Rocket - his name is Rocket by the way - about possible orbital weapons platforms, but he won't come out of his room."

"Thank you, Pepper. I'll see what I can do."

Technicians in the hall stared as he approached. A wide door stood open and a handful of men were lugging crates and cases out into the hallway, placing them on powered carts and driving away. As he rounded the corner he found a short hall behind the door with a second door at the end. Two techs were running scanners over this one.

"What goes on," Thor said, and a door tech jumped. What must be the supervisor explained.

"Every so often the raccoon lights that indicator," he said, pointing at a light outside the outer door. "To let us know there's stuff to pick up. Look at this." He opened a case. Inside were neatly racked weapons with a futuristic look. Another case held grenades. "The things he makes. These are gravity pulse grenades, they create a localized singularity that sucks everything nearby in. We're still not sure how they work. Or half of this stuff," he gestured helplessly at the crates. This tech is just...alien. impossibly advanced." No two of the weapons were quite alike but all were sleek and deadly.

"Dark elves use grenades like that," Thor noted.

"Last time the door opened there was an antimatter bomb in here. Mister Stark said it would take out a whole country. Written on it was 'For Thanos'. They stored it on the moon with the rest of the really dangerous stuff."

"What are they doing?" The two techs at the door looked up. They were still running instruments over it.

"Trying to figure out what he did to the door. It was steel. Now it's harder than diamond. Even vibranium barely scratches it."

Thor ran his hand over the door. "It feels like crystal." He shook his head. "What does he eat?"

"We put food in every time he opens the outer door," the supervisor said. He pointed to a stack of food containers and a flat of bottled water. "He never touches it."

Thor took a moment to open a couple. They contained an assortment of food and smelled good. Naturally Stark wouldn't be cheap when feeding...what? An employee? "Are you saying he's starving in there? How long has it been since he came out?"

"He doesn't come out. He won't talk to anyone. He just sends out weapons to use against Thanos and his troops."

"How long." Thor said. "Since he came out?"

The supervisor backed away as Thor loomed close. "He went in right after he got here from Wakanda. He doesn't come out and he doesn't talk to anyone."

"He'll talk to me. Out."

"We're not done -"

"Out!" The lights overhead flickered as a spark as thick as a man's finger jumped from the Asgardian axe slung across Thor's back. Seconds later he was alone in the hallway. "Shut the outer door."

This time there was no argument. As it slid shut Thor looked at the ceiling. He didn't see any cameras or microphones but he was sure they were there. "Rabbit...Rocket. Let me in. We need to talk."

Nothing. "Rocket. I know what it's like to lose family. You know this. You helped me when I needed help. Let me help you."

The silence stretched on. Stormbreaker slipped into Thor's right hand. "This door is very strong. It will not stop me, Rocket. I'm coming in whether you like it or not."

A moment later came a click and the door slid to the side.

It was dark inside, with pinpoint overhead light sources illuminated tangles of machinery, stacks of half complete weapons. The built-up animal musk of a raccoon who hadn't left the room in months filled Thor's nose. Music from unseen speakers almost drowned out the sound of machinery. Thor knew just enough about earth music to recognize Fleetwood Mac's The Chain.

To one side a series of machines hummed as they worked. Each was different, having a handmade look, but each continually dispensed shaped metal parts for weapons. Gangly mechanical arms collected the parts. Thor followed the assembly line, guessing the raccoon would be at the end doing final work on each weapon.

His path took him to the brightest spot in the room. Overhead lights cast artificial sunlight on a small table with three flower pots and a watering can. Dead, dry twigs protruded from the pots. Curiously Thor reached out.

"Don't touch that!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadowy figure jerk upright. A shaking hand raised a blaster.

"Rocket," Thor said, and showed his hands. "It's me."

Slowly the blaster dropped. With a clatter it hit the table and small noises followed as the raccoon went back to his labors. Thor could just make out the tools and parts being worked.

For a moment Thor lingered by the pots. He recognized the wood, though dry and dead. Stormbreaker's handle was of the same material. When The Snap happened and the tree crumbled away, the desperate rabbit - Rocket - rushed over and demanded he bury the handle in the hopes his friend would sprout anew from this last remnant.

It did not work. Rocket thought it was because the tree broke the handle off himself some time before The Snap and that it was dead before the main plant fell. Thor wondered if it were due to the enchantment on the whole axe, handle and blades. Just the same they waited together for an entire day only to have the hoped-for green shoot not materialize.

It was the last he'd seen Rocket until now. "You're trying to grow your friend back. I'm sorry it didn't work."

"Not my friend," rasped out of the darkness. "I don't need friends. Just work."

"Rocket," Thor said. He eased closer, making no sudden moves. "I'm your friend."

"I don't have any friends," came out of the shadows. Thor was close enough to make out the skinny figure hunched over the table, hands busily assembling something. "You're just someone I know."

Rocket was ignoring him and Thor used the opportunity to move close enough to get a good look. Rocket looked bad. Threadbare, grease stained clothing covered his chest and upper legs but the fur that showed lacked the healthy sheen it'd had in the pod and on Wakanda. Thor was certain that the raccoon had lost weight, and not a healthy amount of it. So much fur had shed from his tail that the colored rings were barely visible. For the first time Thor noticed the bolts protruding from Rocket's collarbones. He didn't know the raccoon's story but he knew cybernetics when he saw them. The bolts were signs of a large, maybe even body wide augmentation.

But even a cyborg needs to eat and he could see that Rocket hadn't, or at least not nearly enough. Thor remembered the boxes in the hall. "Rocket, when did you eat last?"

The raccoon shrugged as he worked. "Dunno. Last time I was hungry." He waved at a device in the corner. Thor moved over to have a look.

He'd seen things like this before in prisons. A relief system, a self contained power cell and banks of molecular filters and assemblers. Rocket had built a recycler that turned his waste back into food. Initially horrifying until you remember that practically all food has been not-food before, most likely many times. If done properly, this was a reasonable approach.

A reasonable approach in a prison...or for a hermit. Thor hooked a food pellet out of the dispenser with a finger and crunched it between his teeth. Bland was an understatement, but you could live on it.

"They leave you food in the hall," he said as he turned back toward Rocket. "It's much better than this."

Rocket didn't look up. "I have all I need here. I don't need anything from them but materials.". He turned to a series of hovering screen set to such low intensity that even an Asgardian's keen eyes could barely make out the details. Each was covered with formulas, schematics. Weapons.

"Gravity bomb didn't work," Rocket muttered. "Shoulda known space stone would protect him. Nova bomb didn't work. Power stone absorbed the blast. I'll get him. Antimatter didn't work. Reality stone stopped it. I'll get him."

He looked up for a moment as he thought. His eyes were sunken into their sockets. His little clawed hands, so sure on the controls when Thor last saw him, trembled. "I'll get him. I just need to figure it out. Monowire? Maybe monowire."

"When did you sleep last, Rocket? Where?"

"Dunno," the raccoon muttered. His hands began snapping together parts though his eyes were vacant, distracted. "Somewhere."

The shed fur and dust bunnies under the workbench told the tale. Rocket worked until he collapsed, then rose and worked again.

He was a tough little creature. Even a cyborg has limits, though. Eating little and working until he dropped was killing Rocket. To keep from thinking about his loss he worked and worked but something had to give, and soon. Soon he would be able to work no more.

"Rocket," Thor said. "Open the door. I'm leaving."

"Good. Don't need ya anyway." Rocket waved absently and the inner door slid open. "Go kill Thanos for me, god man."

If it were that simple, the Mad Titan would be dead already. When the inner door was firmly shut the outer slid open and the waiting techs once again harvested the fruit of the raccoon's labors. Thor didn't have the heart to snarl at them.

Pepper waited outside the door. "How is he?"

"Killing himself," Thor said grimly. "Working himself to death to get at Thanos."

"I was afraid of that. Tony's like that sometimes. I've talked to Nebula when Tony brought her by. She told me about Rocket. He was an experiment, tortured into existence before he escaped. He won't talk to us and losing the Guardians destroyed him. They are the only friends he ever had."

"No," Thor said. He slid a card out of his belt. "He has one more."

"Your Avengers stipend," Pepper said when she saw the card. Avengers were allowed a thousand dollars a week for personal expenses, more if she or Tony approved it. "You hardly use it."

"Only for ale, mead, beer," Thor said. He didn't smile. "But I won't use it for that today."

Ten minutes later he was on the street. The loss of half the population meant that until society adjusted - some towns would be entirely abandoned - there were shuttered stores even here next to Stark Tower. It was still New York City and he soon found a deli.

"I have a sick friend," he told the woman behind the counter. She was wide-eyed at the sight of him but nodded professionally as he went on. "He needs food. Good, healthy food to put some meat back on his bones."

"A care package," she said. "I know how it is. We sell baskets to put it all in."

Thor watched as she assembled the package. Sliced ham, potato salad, baked beans, fresh bread. Grapes, jam, cubed watermelon, packets of condiment for sandwiches. Cooked chicken, three small cherry tarts, a thick slice of lemon cake. Dinner rolls, pretzels for snacks. More. Enough food to satisfy a small family accumulated in the basket before he told her 'enough' and paid her twice what she asked.

"Now," he told the very attentive woman. "Where would I buy a bed for a small creature, say, yay high." He indicated a point just above his knee.

In the pet store he bought a round, padded bed big enough for Rocket. He chose the most expensive and was still not satisfied with the quality. It would do, for now. With a flat of bottled water under one arm, the pet bed under the other and the basket in his hand he returned to Stark Tower, ignoring the bemused glances following the thunder god gone shopping.

"Out," he told the two technicians still taking the pulse of Rocket's inner door. He didn't need to tell them to shut the outer one this time. They did it on their own.

"Rocket," he said to the ceiling. "You know I can come through this door if I choose. Then you would have to fix it. Open it."

And it opened. In the shadows of the work room he found Rocket at the bench, from all appearances not moved from his spot two hours ago. He didn't look up. "Is Thanos dead?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

The raccoon let out a startled yawp as Thor's fingers closed on his collar and lifted him from the seat. He was noticeable lighter than the time he stood on Thor's shoulder and as his shirt went tight his ribs showed. "Put me down! I got work ta do!"

"You can go back to work after you eat," Thor said. He kicked the round bed under the work bench and plopped Rocket down next to the basket.

"Can't eat now," Rocket said, and looked longingly toward his floating screens. "Gotta work. I got something new, I think it'll get him."

Rocket's teeth clicked together as Thor slapped the floor hard enough to make dishes jump. The thunder god had most of the food out of the basket. "You can work," Thor said firmly, "after you eat."

"Fine," Rocket grumbled. "But just for a sec'." His little clawed hand plucked a grape out of a bowl.

As though possessed by a separate being his hand went out for another grape even as the first popped between his fangs. And then another grape, then a chunk of sliced ham, and Thor watched as the raccoon fell on the food like a demon, eating with no thought of manners or moderation. Rocket ate with his hands and tore at the bread like the starving man he was. He ate and ate until Thor wondered if he'd indeed brought enough food.

When Thor began to worry that Rocket might actually do himself an injury overeating the raccoon finally sat back, took a long drink of water from a bottle and burped.

"'Kay," he muttered as he licked the strawberry jam from his fur. He had eaten it right out of the jar. "I ate. Happy now?"

"Not yet," Thor said as he reached out. Rocket protested weakly as he was once again picked up, cradled this time in Thor's great hands and slid into the padded bed.

"No," he complained as Thor kept him from crawling back out. "I can't sleep. Gotta work. Gotta find a way."

But an iron will can only carry a man so far. With a full belly and days - at least - behind on sleep, Rocket was asleep almost before the words left his lips.

The music, always present, changed. Thor noted the little black device on the workbench, manifestly Earth-made unlike virtually anything else here. The new song was louder and Thor tapped the device. Sure enough a display popped up. The fast, jangling melody was by something called Five Jacksons. He found the pause button.

The result was immediate. With the music gone Rocket twitched and whined in his sleep, his claws scrabbling at the bed. As soon as Thor restarted the music he quieted. So. For whatever reason music gave him comfort. Music he would have. Thor leaned back against the wall and waited.

Asgardians are hardy folk, able to do without sleep for days if need be. Thor sat and watched as the raccoon lest Rocket wake and go right back to work. He needn't have worried. It was twelve hours before Rocket even stirred. Thor blinked awake from a brief nap of his own to find the raccoon had left the bed, presumably used the relief station, then crawled into the picnic basket and fallen right back to sleep. It made him smile to see the brave little warrior curled up in the basket, resting on a half eaten pie. Thor let him sleep.

Twice the raccoon shuddered in his sleep, his claws scrabbling at the wicker. Both times Thor reached into the basket and petted him until he calmed down. He knew what was happening. He'd had fifteen hundred years to learn to live with horror and death. He doubted the little raccoon had a hundredth that.

When Rocket finally woke his fur had the beginnings of its normal gloss and his hands less of a tremor than before. Apparently his augmentation allowed for fast recovery...when he ate and slept, that is. He unapologetically used the relief station again before speaking.

"Okay," he grumbled. "That food was good. Now I gotta get back to work."

"Certainly," Thor said as he stood. "I will leave you to it. But."

"But?" Rocket cast a worried look at the pet bed, afraid he'd be shoved in again.

"I am going to instruct the men to tell me if you don't take the food they leave for you, rabbit. If you don't, I will come back and we will do this all again."

"Okay," Rocket said with a suspicious lack of protest. Thor wasn't fooled for an instant.

"And the next time I visit - and I will visit, rabbit - if you haven't eaten that food I will know. And if that bed hasn't been used, I will know that too. Then we will have words."

"Why are you doing this," Rocket said. He didn't know what to do with his hands, one picking stuck-on cherry pie from his fur and the other reaching for the last few grapes in the bowl. "You're not my friend."

"Of course not," Thor replied. "How could I be your friend? We're hardly met. I just value your work." He waved at the stacks of weapons, bombs, grenades, and devices less obvious in their destructive potential.

"We need you, rabbit. We need your hands and your mind. If you starve yourself it's one less weapon we'll have when we find Thanos."

"Oh," Rocket said as he chewed a grape his hand popped into his mouth between words. "That makes sense."

"I have to go now, rabbit. I'll be back in a few days."

"Sure," Rocket said as he turned back to his work bench. "Have fun."

The inner door slid open as Thor approached. He knew what was happening. He'd done it himself a few times over the centuries. When you lose everything, you decide that the best way to never lose another friend is simply to have none. To push everyone away, to lose yourself in your work. Or you work yourself to death.

That was not going to happen. Thor had lost people, too. His family, most of his friends. He wasn't going to lose this one too. If he had to come by every night to make sure Rocket ate and slept he'd do it. And when the raccoon finally broke down and let the grief pour out, he'd be there for him too.

It would take time to coax Rocket out of his hole. It would take time to get him to accept friendship again. That was all right. Thor had all the time in the world.

#Thor Odinson #infinity war #Rocket Raccoon #Groot

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greylilacs · 7 years ago

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the2wolves24 said: I have been a vet tech for 24 years. My previous cat was indoor only and at 9 years old, got out and never came back. Let me tell you the what ifs still torture me to this day. My cat now I got as a 2 week old bottle baby. At 12 weeks it was clear I was not going to be able to sleep him in. He played with the dogs regularly, I taught him to fetch paper balls and constructed my own cat condo out of an old armoire. Complete with carpeting, shelves to.climb, hammock and the2wolves24 said: Litter box protected fr9m the dogs behind the cabinets. He wanted out period. At 12 weeks he even launches himself over a full grown Doberman to get out the back door. Since then I put him on my late Pomeranian puppy harness to give him an idea of the area. He got a teaspoon of fancy feast every night so he would associate that with coming home. He has slept inside every night since I have him. He’s 8 years old now by the way. To train him in car safety I put I’m in a the2wolves24 said: Dog crate on my front lawn and for fibe.minutes had all my friends drive by, honking horn and driving up on the boulevard grass. Since then the second he sees a car, he jumps on the nearest lawn. I also neutered him at 4 months and he stays within a 2 house quadrant. He is vaccinated, eats hill’s metabolic food and is on revolution monthly. I took a class on inappropriate urination in cats at the NAVC. Outdoor cats are more psychologically healthy as their daily prey the2wolves24 said: Drives are met. They spend much of their time outside walking, keeping their weight in check. At a year old a kitten followed him home. I have never been able to get that cat to willingly come inside, Burnie is so regular for his meals, that if inclement weather is approaching I can catch him to bring him in. He is also neutered, vaccinated and on revolution. I think it’s unfair of you to.point out the negatives of outdoor cats without pointing out the positive. the2wolves24 said: By the way, giardia and coccidia are often self limiting when in adult animals with health immune systems. ------------------ Okay So! LEts go down the line of the points brought up here > You’re a vet tech for 24 years > You let a cat outside > You scared the fuck out of it to teach it not to go near streets? > Stays within a 2 house quadrant > Outdoor cats are more psychologically healthy as their daily prey drives are met > Giardia / Coccidia things SO! It’s made apparently clear that no matter the amount of experience one has, they only care about one things: Themselves and their pets.

As you so bluntly said- you’re a vet tech for 24 years and yet it didn’t dawn on you once that while you work on cats and dogs all day, there’s vet techs across the world who are dealing with the damage caused by your insufferable mentality of ‘my cat wont stay inside’ because apparently Panic at the disco never got through to you and you never shut the god damned door.

Now, additionally- a study was done on wildlife admitted into a clinic over 11 years and they found out this:

The study examined nearly 21,000 patient records, including 11,144 small mammals and 9,777 small birds, admitted between 2000 and 2010. Of this total, 2,970 patients were admitted due to confirmed interaction with cats.

And this:

Of all small mammals admitted due to cat attacks, more than 70 percent died or had to be euthanized. For small birds, the mortality rate is a staggering 81 percent. So while I knew that some people could be selfish, here I was thinking that those in the vet world would be at least honorable enough to understand that they wouldn’t let their cat outside to be an addition to the devastation caused by outdoor cats. Y’know, the ones that either are or aren’t recorded because why would you bring an already dead animal into a clinic or better yet admit that your precious cat killed and ate a state bird who knows.

But for the ones that were recorded you’re looking at around 297 per year over the 10 years in JUST this study

Or the 24 per month

or the .81 admitted per day because fuck native wildlife when you can say that you’re proudly a vet tech so that somehow makes what your cat and promotion of other cats doing so immune from being dragged through the mud like the impacted bullshit it is.

No.

Vet tech or not, I don’t give an actual shit when you go “yah no I see that hundreds of cats are admitted per year, thousands of cats die per year by car crashes but let me go ahead and just say that letting your cat outdoors is fine because I don’t know how to fulfill my cats needs of the easiest thing TO fulfill on a cat even though I got him at 2 weeks old and in that time could have conditioned him to be an inside cat”

Fuck off.

Also lets just touch on the fact that you put your cat in a crate and scared the shit out of it for quote “five minutes” because that’s how cat psychology works and your cat TOTALLY didn’t associate the crate with the horns honking and instead associated the road with it.

Additionally, lets put a pin in the fact that your cat frequently crosses the road and becomes other peoples problems who may be allergic to cats or even hate cats and want nothing to do with a cat shitting in their yard but they’re too nice to say anything.

because as long as you’re content with ignoring your cat all day amirite.

Now, lets move on

“outdoor cats are psychologically healthy because their prey drives are met”

Because you totally couldn’t do that with a fucking rope toy or door teaser, could you?

Not to mention you can even give your cat whole prey raw/ franken diets to fulfill that needs but by golly that would be so much harder and you’d actually have to /do something/ to keep your cat entertained?

Well as someone who wanted a cat but didn’t want the ability to let it outside by a road that just won’t work, would it?

Now! Let’s move onto my favorite part of all this

Cocc. and Giardi. are self limiting /in the hosts/

But like most parasites- it’s not the initial hosts you have to worry about. It’s the hosts shitting and exposing the parasite while it’s active to other things. Giardia intestinalis itself can be found in 40 different species and And Cystoisospora can be transferred to mice and other cats in the neighborhood, potentially infecting dozens of animals during the time period OR EVEN HUMAN CHILDREN who- y’know, play in their yards. Their yards that shouldn’t have cat shit but :O imagine that, now they do.

Not to mention - not even touched on by you- is the things that can kill your cat that dont live on your cat. And we’re not talking about cars. Humans

Dogs

Hawks

Foxes

Poisons (either intentional or unintentional)

Other cats

Groundhogs

Possums

Raccoon

The list. Goes. on. And On. And On.

But I'm speaking to someone who literally sees dead cats from cars on a monthly (if not weekly) basis.

According to this there’s at max, 27000 companion animal practices in the US There is (according to this) 5.4 million cats killed by cars each year. And I can’t find a consistent statistic on the ones who live so lets just go with that.

That means, if we did the math and this was anywhere near correct, each clinic would probably see around 200 cat vs. car fatalities every year!

So you’ve probably more than likely seen a cat or two hit by cars - hell, you admitted your own original cat passed away from it (Which I am sorry to hear about, truly :/ )

And yet you still think it’s a good idea

Just because “he really wants to go outside and gets bored if I dont let him”

Build a fucking catio. Put up a fence

Cat rollers

“but that costs money” PETS . COST. MONEY.

I am not saying cats “Can never touch grass ever”

I’m saying- leashes exist. Fences exist. Fuck, there’s a thing on ebay that costs like 250 dollars and has a roof that would be perfect for a catio.

Lookit this fucker. It’s wicked.

It has never, will never be just about YOUR cat.

It will always be about the animals that are affected by your shitty choices.

Your cat throwing a pissy fit does not matter to me.

The wildlife that is dying at an astronomical rate because YOU can’t be a responsible pet owner? THAT matters to me. Grow the fuck up and realize that you can have 50 years in vet experience but the day you willingly admit and promote to neglecting your pets safety that shit means nothing.

Just yesterday there was a case of a vet being charged with 16 counts of animal cruelty. Does it somehow make it okay just because he’s a vet?

No. it makes it worse.

So stop patting yourself on the back, it’s apparent you’re just as shitty as the other outdoor cat owners.

#cat idiots

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blackwaterhq · 5 years ago

Photo

Name: Oliver Moon Age: Nineteen Pronouns: He/Him Species: Necromancer Faceclaim: KJ Apa

Prologue

You are the attempt of two people who love each other very much trying to start a family. Trial and error is how the tumultuous time would be described by your parents, who spent many years trying to start a family. They had thought, foolishly so, that it would be easy to bring a little bundle of joy into their lives but the harsh news was broken to them during a doctor’s appointment; they were unable to conceive. They were two healthy, young adults, the doctor could not understand why it was almost impossible for them to have a child but it was just so. The heartbreak drove a wedge between your parents and for a year, they had to live with the knowledge that they could not have everything they wanted. They began to look into the world of adoption and fostering when it all had to be put aside when tragedy struck.

Your mother found out her father had died, this caused the pair to fly out to her home state to deal with the proceedings, only to find out a week before the funeral, that she was pregnant with you. To most people, the timing would have been incredible; a new life to replace the one that was lost, but your mother did not see it that way. Your father told her that they could take the time, that it didn’t have to be like this but she didn’t listen to him. Nine months later, you are born but the ache in your mother’s soul is visible in how she handles you. It should be a happy time for her, but she is anything but. Fights erupt between her and your father, causing them both great amounts of unhappiness, before it ends the only way it can. Your mother leaves. You are only 8 months old.

Chapter I

You are raised by your single father in a small, yet comfortable home, on the edge of Blackwater woods. You spend your days at kindergarten and your nights making a home out of the vast expansion of trees that lay out before you. Your father does his best to give you everything a child could want, but it is difficult and he spends many hours working to keep your lives stable. You were alone more than you would like to admit but even as you cycled through babysitters, you found that the only place that could ease your loneliness was the woods. You don’t dare venture inside because your father has warned you not to but you find yourself all too eager to do so.

Eventually, you have to break the promise. You step foot into woods and find that it is quiet and stretches out before you for miles. It is like a breath of fresh air, though you don’t quite understand the feeling, and are soon pulled back from the brink by the frantic shouts of the babysitter you managed to slip past.

You are six years old when you find yourself in the forest with five other children. None of you know what’s happening as days pass, one blurring into two until it’s been seven days. It is a shock to your system because up until that point, the woods had always been safe, they had always been a home, but they don’t feel like that anymore When you are reunited with your father, you note that he tries to act brave for you but it’s not long before he begins to show the cracks. He becomes more protective of you, warning you twice as much to stay away from the woods, all while trying to find a new place to live. You don’t need to be warned to go back into the woods, they no longer feel safe for you, and while you don’t get a new home away from them, you don’t feel enticed to go back into the trees.

Chapter II

The world changed for you after that, the fear and confusion that was left after such an event was bottled up and turned into anger. It was all you felt after that. An anger so deep within your body that you couldn’t feel anything else -- your turning to anger worried your father and teachers, though you aggressive behaviour was always directed at yourself, never anyone else. The woods no longer felt like a safe haven, so you turned to another option. The swimming pool in your high school. You develop a knack for swimming, joining the Blackwater swim team. The lack of anything you feel when you go beneath the surface is enough to quell everything you feel. When the swimming season is over, you take up football. When school lets out for the summer, you take to swimming in the lake, even if everyone claims it’s just as dangerous as the woods.

But even as you turn away from them, the woods still call to you. You decide it’s time to face your demons and go out there one night. You walk for hours and hours until you come across a ruined graveyard. You assume that it’s been there longer than Blackwater has but it’s not the graves that call you but the bone chilling feeling of death, in it’s purest form. Not understanding what it means, you let it guide you to the mewling kitten behind one of the markers. You see no choice but to bundle it up in your jacket and head home. Your father isn’t too keen on bringing in a stray cat but you manage to convince him. You’re not sure she was who you were meant to find but, in fact, death itself. It follows you both. You name her Poppy and she becomes your one true companion.

As you personal life crumbles, as you no longer find yourself friends with the other six children and instead falling in with a group of people who barely know you, Poppy seems to be the only thing you have. You tell yourself that accidents happen all of the time, that pets managed to wriggle out of homes all of the time, but that doesn’t make it any less devastating when she does get out and runs into the path of a vehicle. You don’t want to believe she’s dead, you don’t want her to be, and as you beg her not to be, you go back to the graveyard you find her in. It was the first time the anger gave way to sadness, as you begged the woods to give her back to you, asking anyone who would listen, and just when a crash of emotion was about to hit, you suddenly felt exhausted, and fell asleep.

You awoke hours later, to your father’s frantic voice letting someone know you were safe, as you sat up on the couch, curled up in your lap, sleeping soundly, was Poppy.

Epilogue

Your life only seemed to get more and more confusing after that. You find yourself at home in the Blackwater graveyard, the names of the dead there feeling like old friends. You’re not sure you had something to do with Poppy’s miracle but when you pass deceased animals, you attempt to do it again. Nothing would happen in the moment but later, when you saw a stray raccoon or a bird take flight, you’d wonder if it was the same one, if you had played a part in their rising.

You don’t choose to stay in Blackwater, it just seems like the right thing to do. You don’t have college plans -- not that you’d get in anyway -- and you prefer to be home with your father anyway. Tales from your childhood do follow you but you choose to neither outright deny them or embrace them. You simply ignore them and try to get on with your life.

You don’t want to believe that death is a fixture in your life and the letter shouldn’t be an indication of it, but it feels heavy in your hands. Days later, when you get the news that your teacher is dead, you don’t find yourself surprised. It doesn’t affect you the way it affects others. For whatever reason, you don’t feel as though she’s permanently gone.

Appendices

Eugene ⇴ You were once best friends and besides your cat, Eugene was the one person you felt like you had. And you know it’s your fault that you don’t have him anymore. You like to blame going into different social circles in high school for it but you know you pushed him away and you know you didn’t fight it when he began to push away too. But it had nothing to do with high school and everything to do with your feelings ; as yours changed for him, you were so inadequate with dealing with emotions that you weren’t sure how to react and what happened was so catastrophic, you don’t have him in your life anymore. You never even said goodbye to him when he left for college and a part of you is angry at him for leaving. But even so, there have been many times when you thought about reaching out, talking to him, only to shun that idea completely. Knowing that he’s coming back into town, you’re not sure what to do, if you should act on your feelings or, like most things, they’re better left buried.

Cami ⇴ She was one of the six that you’d never been close with as a child but you shared the same social group in high school and you understood what it was like to have friends that weren’t really your friends. You bond easily with her, finding yourself comfortable around her in a way that you’ve never had before. You know that you two are closer than most people are and you want to attribute that to your shared pain but you know it’s more than that. You know there’s a reason why you can sense her before she enters the room, why she’s the one you know you’ll seek out in crowds, why she seems to mirror you in ways that you can’t explain. It might be nice to have answers to know why but you’re grateful to have her in your life, so there’s nothing to question.

Layla ⇴ You know when it comes to her theories, you’re not her first choice. In fact, you’re probably not her second or third. You guessed that you were almost a last resort and even you were apprehensive to answer her calls but you did so anyway, just so she could have someone. You know you’ve have your own strange experiences and that’s probably why you don’t actually dismiss her thoughts, you don’t write her off as obsessed or crazy. But you haven’t told her about your own experiences as you do worry you might fuel something you can’t take back. With recent events, you think she’ll already be working on new thoughts, trying to understand it, as though nothing had changed since high school. You’re going to accept her crazed, 3am texts when no one else will answer. Weirdly enough, you’re okay with that.

#oliver #c.

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