#I want him to face what he's done and why hale and hearty so he can answer properly for his sins | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanfic-scribbles · 4 years ago

Text

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america fanfic #reader insert #stucky x reader #mcu reader insert

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hyunsuks-beanie · 3 years ago

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Come With Me

Culinary major! Soobin x food vlogger! reader; just some teeth rotting fluff

Word Count: 3.35k words

Mellow speaks: So I finally completed this long overdue and super fun request!!! Honestly, writing this was just so amazing, and I kinda drew Y/N based on my own self, so I hope you enjoy reading it!!

Rushing into his apartment, Soobin didn't waste a single minute in discarding his bag on the floor, rushing towards his laptop and turning it on. As the screen booted, the final-year culinary major prayed to the gods for the livestream to not have started yet. The winner of the contest from last month was to be announced at the beginning of the stream, and even though Soobin didn't have any hopes of him winning, he couldn't help the tiny voice at the back of his head saying, "What if?."

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard a voice, sweet and velvety as always. There you were, on his screen, the biggest of smiles plastered on your face, making him feel warm all over. Y/N L/N, his favorite food vlogger in the world, ready to start another livestream. Soobin had always been more of a silent supporter, his introverted self being too shy to even post a comment under any of your videos, partly because you had a habit of replying to as many of those comments as possible, and he knew for a fact that he would combust on the spot if you were to ever reply to his praises of you.

You see, he greatly admired your love for food and your wanderlust. He was also a great fan of the way you spoke, and the way you articulated your ideas and thoughts. Truth be told, he genuinely liked you, and not just your voyager self. Watching your videos over the years, he had found himself developing a small crush on you, knowing full well that it was probably just him being starstruck. So, gathering all the bravery he had, the boy had finally pressed "Send" on the application form for the competition on the last day, after contemplating it for God knows how long.

There had been only one question on the form, asking respondents to describe what food meant to them. A smile had graced Soobin's lips as you answered it, pouring in his most sincere thoughts on everything culinary. What had pushed him to participate, you ask? It had been the prize, of course. A chance to hang out with none other than you yourself, through a one-on-one video call. He had always wanted to see you in person, to tell you how much your vlogs meant to him. How they had helped discover his own love for food, had helped him find his happiness in the kitchen.

And that had brought him to right now, biting on his fingernails as he listened to your regular introduction, one that he knew by heart and repeated after you, subconsciously. "Hey my food-holics! How are all of you doing today? Hale and hearty, I hope!," you said, following up quickly with a brief overview of the contest, before announcing the winner, as Soobin waited with bated breath. "All your answers were amazing, and I could relate to so many of them! It really sucks that we can only have one winner, since you're all winners to me!," you smiled, and he caught himself copying your expression. "So now, the winner of the contest, and the person who gets to be my new friend, is @aglio_olive!!," you exclaimed, clapping your hands as your eyes crinkled up in joy.

The fact that you had just announced him as the winner of registered belatedly, as Soobin was busy gushing over how adorable you had looked while clapping. He felt his mouth drop open, finding it hard to focus on what you said next. "I'll be contacting you via email shortly," you had said, and that was all it took for the rest of the livestream to go by in a blur for him, as he waited for your mail, checking and re-checking his inbox every two minutes. But it wasn't until the next day that he finally received what he had been peeling his eyes out for. An email from your official account (or that's what he figured), informing him that the meeting would take place on the coming Saturday, at 6:00 pm. Now all he had to do was wait three days, but it was easier said than done.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Soobin was equal parts bubbling with excitement and panicking with nerves. Reluctant to trust his own fashion choices, he had called over his best friend, Yeonjun, hoping to get some much needed guidance. "Should I wear this suit? Or will simple tracks be better?," he had asked, making the older boy shake his head as he patted him on the back. "My friend, Y/N's neither your professor, nor your friend. You're meeting them for the first time, so why don't you just wear something comfortable, that would make them feel at ease too?," he smirks, throwing a plain blue hoodie his way.

As the clock struck 6:00, Soobin found himself seated at his study table, ready to start the meeting. He had even prepared cue cards to help him if he got stuck, and they were propped conveniently next to the laptop. He reached out for them, but just at that moment, his screen came alive with someone waving at him with a smile on their face. Awestruck, he simply waved back, too tongue-tied to say anything. "Wow," he thought to himself, "They look so much better without makeup." A couple seconds later, a new kind of panic set in. "Am I staring too hard? Is it creepy? Should I look down? No but I need to keep eye contact!"

Little did he know, you were having similar, if not identical thoughts. "Wow, no one told me he was gonna be this cute. Blue suits him so well! I'm no staring, am I? Should I speak first? Or should I wait for him to say something?" This finally resulted in the both of you speaking at the same time, something you would later smile about. Because saying "How are you? I'm Soobin," and "I'm Y/N! How are you?," helped you crack into laughter, breaking the ice and easing the awkwardness. Once you had gotten past the niceties, it was time to get to know each other better. The cue cards lay unused, as Soobin just spoke about whatever came to mind, praising your vlogs and thanking you for teaching him more about cuisines. You, on the other hand, took the time to get to know him better, asking him questions about what it was like to study culinary science, something you had never gotten the chance to do.

The hour-long virtual meeting flew by in the blink of an eye, or so it seemed to the both of you. Talking to you, Soobin didn't once feel that you were a stranger or that he was just a fan. You seemed like a genuine and warm person to him that he couldn't help but admire you even more than he did before. To him, somewhere during the meeting, you stopped seeming like a famous vlogger anymore, and instead, all he saw you as was a friend. You, on the other hand, had made up your mind about him being the most interesting person you had ever met, and couldn't stop a sad sigh from escaping your lips as you looked at the time. "Well, Soobin. It's been a pleasure meeting you," you had said, making him smile wistfully.

The moment he had logged out of the meeting, he found himself missing you. He thought back on how nice you had been, smiling when he pictured your face, your hair slightly messy but not too unkempt, an oversized hoodie thrown over your body. To him, it had honestly felt like he was conversing with a friend, and he couldn't bring himself to let such an amazing person walk out of his life. So, without thinking, he began typing out an email to your account, his finger hovering just above the "Send" button. He stopped short though, realizing that your official account wasn't meant for personal mails, and realizing that he had no other means to contact you. Pouting, he fell face-first onto the bed, his energy going down all of a sudden.

He woke up to a "ping," indicating an email on his phone. Unlocking it, he noticed a mail from an account he had never contacted before. Clueless, he clicked on it, the phone nearly falling out of his hand as he read through it. It had been you, after all, reaching out to him through your personal account, and telling him that you had loved talking to him, and would like to be his friend. And thus began the most beautiful friendship either of you had ever forged, full of memories even though you hadn't met each other.

Late night video chats and good morning calls became a ritual, and Soobin found himself busily typing away on his phone every free second he got. You told him all about your escapades and trips, sending him photos and urging him to try cooking whatever you ate and whatever you liked. He, on the other hand, would teach you to cook, sending you tips and giving you suggestions on what to eat. Food was an intergalactic part of the relation you shared, but it was far from being the only thing.

When things got hard for him, you were there to push him towards his dream, reminding him day in and day out that he would have to give in his all to achieve it. "You'll be the greatest chef one day, Soob," you'd giggle, causing him to let out a whine as he said, "How would you know? You haven't even tasted my cooking yet!" He too, was there to provide you a taste of what it felt like to be grounded to one place, to have everything you wanted right next to you. He was there for you to cry to when someone posted a nasty comment under you video, and he was there to virtually feed you when you missed a home-cooked meal. Inside jokes became a thing, as did bitching about classmates and complaining about managers.

Over time, your friendship started blossoming into something more, as Soobin found himself catching feelings, real feelings, for you. The way you smiled, the way you would bite your nails just like him as you went through what people had to say about your videos, the way you cracked stupid jokes and laughed at them alone, he found himself loving them all. He had given his heart out to you, and he didn't want to take it back. You, meanwhile, had been a bit more careful of your feelings, wary of harboring any hopes for a long-distance relationship. But over time, you too, found yourself drowning into the oceans that were his eyes, watching the way his lips moved through the screen, imagining them on yours. Over time, you too, felt your feelings grow, but being your stubborn self, you didn't act on them.

Days turned into months, and soon enough, you were keeping Soobin company through his late night study sessions, talking to him in the hopes of keeping him awake. Helping him prepare flashcards, and letting him teach you a full four-course meal so that he could practice for his practical exams. "What are you gonna do once you graduate?," became a regular question you posed towards him, and every time, it was the same reply. "I don't know yet, Y/N. I want to do something like you. I want to travel the world and learn about different cuisines first-hand."

As Soobin's exams drew nearer, you found yourself bring just as worried as he was, worried about how he'd fare in the examinations, worried about what he'll do when he gets his degree. But keeping your concerns aside, you did your best to push him to do his best, study that last chapter, practice that last technique, memorize that last recipe. "I just wanna sleep, Y/N," he'd whine, only to have you let out a giggle at how adorable he looked. "It's for your own good, bub," you'd reply, your smile somehow managing to give him the strength to put in just a little extra effort.

Seeing him work so hard, you couldn't help but want to give him a surprise by congratulating him in person when he graduated. So, you decided to plan a trip to Seoul, shooting a film vlog just an excuse to finally meet your closest friend, and the person you had a crush on. You had initially wanred to keep the plan a secret, but soon realized what a waste it would be to not use it to your advantage. And so started your ingenious way of getting Soobin to hit the books. "I'm coming to Seoul after your exams, but I'll meet you only if you put in all your effort," you'd tell him, repeating it like a mantra day in and day out.

In response, the boy would pout and whine about how he "hated" you, but started putting in double the effort, just to make you proud. Your tactic seemed to work, but Soobin was still nervous. Nor about the theory, but about the practical exams. "What if I don't do well on the exam? It happens all the time on Masterchef," he said one day, looking into your eyes as you attempted to calm him down. "I know you'll nail it, Binnie," you replied, smiling at him through the screen. "Just think about what makes you happy while you cook, and you'll be good to go." As if on a whim, Soobin muttered out a soft, "You," causing your breath to hitch as you asked him to repeat. "You make me happy," he said again, looking down as he felt his cheeks growing warm. You couldn't help but smile at his sudden confession, sending a virtual kiss his way. "Now go study, you idiot," you giggled, proceeding to tell him about your day as he pored over his books.

The day of his practical exam rolled by, and as you had said, Soobin decided to cook while thinking of something that made him happy. He thought back on the day when you had told him about a delicacy from a city you had visited, and had convinced him to teach you how to make it. The memory alone made a smile appear on his lips, reminding him of how happy the two of you were. And so, that's what he cooked, passing his exam with flying colors. He was so happy he could have kissed you if you were there, and he told you that, causing a laugh to escape your lips. "I'll be there soon," was all you said, fighting to control your excitement.

Soobin passed with flying colors, earning his degree fair and square. And the one person he wanted to thank for it, was you. As you had promised him, a week later found you roaming the streets of Seoul, as you hurriedly made your way towards his college, ready to finally meet him at his convocation. Climbing up the stage to accept his degree, his eyes were busy scanning the crowds, eager to see your face. When he couldn't find you, however, he felt his smile falter, as he took in a gulp.

"Where are you Y/N?," he thought to himself, hand itching to check his phone that was lying in his back pocket. You had told him you'd be here on time, so then, where were you? Just as he feels himself falling deeper into his thoughts, he (like everyone else in the hall) hears footsteps running down the corridor, finally revealing you standing at the entrance, out of breath and with a huge smile stretching across your face. "You're here," he mouthed, his smile matching yours, as you replied with a simple nod and a "Congratulations," your eyes brimming with tears of joy for the boy.

Accepting his degree, Soobin walked off the stage to sit with his classmates, eyes meeting yours every so often as he tried to fight the urge to rush to you and hug you. Once the ceremony ended, neither of you wasted a second in finding each other, throwing yourselves into a hug long overdue. It didn't feel weird as you snuggled your face into his convocation robe, and it didn't feel weird as he did the same into your hair. Pulling away, you just couldn't hide the smiles that threatened to take over your entire face, taking each other's hand as Soobin left you to his parents. "Mom, Dad, this is my friend Y/N," he introduced, and his mom didn't miss the spark in her son's eyes as he looked at you.

Once you were done with the niceties, the two of you made your way out into the city once Soobin had handed his robe over to his mom. Walking the streets with him, with you cracking jokes and him pointing out tourist sights to you, you felt something you had never felt, no matter how many cities you visited. A sense of comfort, a sense of belonging. You felt like you were home for the first time in ages, and it was all because of the guy walking next to you. As if on a whim, you whipped out your video-camera, switching it on and turning it to yourself. Soobin belatedly realized what you were doing, when he heard you recite you introduction. Looking at you in shock, he felt his mouth fall open as he heard you say the words, "Friend," "Soobin," "Featuring," "Guide," in quick succession, piecing the sentence together in his brain.

"Y/N! What are you doing??," he whined, looking down to hide his face. "Awww Soobinnie is shy!!! Sorry guys, it's his first time," you cooed, a giggle escaping your lips as you turned your camera off, trying to convince him to feature in your vlog. "But I won't know what to say!!," he retorted, making you snicker. "Just take me out to eat somewhere tell, and tell the camera why you like the place you like and the food you like. It's not that hard!," you replied, and after much convincing (and some borderline begging), he finally agreed.

He showed you all his favorite eateries and restaurants, gawking at the insane discounts you got him, and just enjoying watching you eat in person, sharing his food. By the time evening rolled out, the two of you were full to your throats, looking out over the river from the bridge. "Thank you Y/N," Soobin said, turning to look at you. "For today, and for everyday. For being there for me, and for being the best friend I have ever had, and more." "Thank you too, Soob," you replied, your eyes stinging as you looked up at him. "Thank you for making me feel at home. Thank you for becoming my home." You hadn't noticed just how close your faces had become, both of you having leaned in subconsciously. Finally, Soobin closed the gap, your lips meeting his in a kiss that's full of the pent-up love and emotions.

His lips were soft against yours, molding with yours like two pieces of the same puzzle. Pulling away, a smile graced your lips as you looked up at him shyly, whispering an "I like you," causing him to repeat your words and adding a "too," cheeks rising up in a smile. Biting you bottom lip, you say, "Come with me," making him tilt his head in confusion. "You said you wanted to be like me. To learn about cuisines first-hand. Then come with me. I don't want to be away from you, I want to be with you 24/7, and not virtually. I want to talk to you in person, to hug you, to kiss you." You notice his smile growing wider, and so you ask, "So, what do you say?," as he replies by placing his lips back on yours.

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zintranslations · 4 years ago

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Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 117

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Chapter 117: Are You Angry?

"So what about my stethoscope?"

Xiao Ji didn't seem scared at all of Lin Qiushi's suspicions, asking his question sharply in return.

"You used the stethoscope this morning, right?" Lin Qiushi asked.

Xiao Ji didn't answer yes or no; keenly, he'd detected that Lin Qiushi's question was a trap, so he didn't speak.

However, Xiao Mei sat beside him spoke up calmly: "Yes, he used the stethoscope to open a chest this morning. Someone else saw it too."

She pointed at a person in the crowd.

The person Xiao Mei was pointing to nodded, indicating that Xiao Mei wasn't lying.

"When I passed by the living room today I saw Xiao Ji opening a chest. He also used the stethoscope."

"Ah, so that means your stethoscope is currently operational?" Lin Qiushi said. "If there are no problems, may I have a look at it?"

With a scoff, Xiao Ji took the stethoscope from his neck and tossed it to Lin Qiushi.

"I'd like to see what you're trying to sell here."

Lin Qiushi took the stethoscope.

"Xiao Mei, you haven't eaten, right?"

Xiao Mei nodded, and spoke with indifference: "Yes. Xiao Ji heard a Hakobito yesterday, so I didn't eat anything."

This wasn't a strange turn of events, in fact was quite normal. The number of Hakobito had gradually increased, after all. It would be odder if, from the start until now, Xiao Ji had never encountered a Hakobito.

"Mh, if it can hear the Hakobito's movements, that means this stethoscope definitely works," Lin Qiushi said. "Let's give it a try then."

He put on the stethoscope and picked a random person beside him, pressing the stethoscope to his own chest[1]. As expected, the stethoscope that should've allowed him to hear something did not pick up any sounds; the end that went into the ears was completely silent.

"I can't hear anything," Lin Qiushi said. "You all can try it too."

He tossed the stethoscope to somebody else.

Another person picked up the stethoscope, and after carefully listening, confirmed that there was nothing audible inside.

Xiao Ji's expression went cold. He said, "you want me condemned based on just that?"

Lin Qiushi shrugged.

"Your stethoscope's broken, so how did you hear sounds from inside the chests?"

Xiao Ji lifted his chin.

"And here I thought you'd have some way to prove I'm guilty. Well sorry, but I've already tried it before. This stethoscope is special. It can't hear human heartbeats at all."

Lin Qiushi's lips curved up.

"Oh? You sure?"

Xiao Ji, "props inside the door are different from stuff outside to begin with. Yu Linlin, you're not thinking of besmirching me with this in order to take my stethoscope from me, are you?!"

He banged on the table violently, seemingly on the verge of a fit over being so wrongly accused.

Lin Qiushi asked, "you're sure that this stethoscope can't hear heartbeats, and that it's just a special item?"

"What? You saying you know my item better than me?"

Xiao Ji was locked in on this answer. After all, the stethoscope's always been on him. He could say whatever he wanted about it and nobody could do a thing.

But Lin Qiushi took the stethoscope back in hand with a sigh.

"What a shame. If you hadn't said that, I really don't know what I would've done."

And as he spoke, he began taking apart the stethoscope.

The earpieces on the stethoscope had metal rings that could be twisted off, with special sound-amplifying discs installed inside. However, when Lin Qiushi twisted one of the rings apart and removed the disc, everybody looking at the stethoscope grew shocked—because the space behind the disc had been stuffed with a wad of solid cotton, firmly blockading the path of sound transmission. Of course it hadn’t been able to hear a thing.

When Xiao Ji first saw the cotton, he froze. Then, expression drastically changing, he roared, "who said you could take my stethoscope apart—"

He lunged in front of Lin Qiushi, trying to take the stethoscope back, but Sun Yuanzhou, already standing ready beside him, held him back.

Xiao Ji saw that he could no longer get his hands on the stethoscope and began to cuss. It wasn’t difficult to see that the intensity of his reaction was weird.

Faced with Xiao Ji's threats and insults, Lin Qiushi remained impassive. He calmly removed the cotton and put the stethoscope back together. This time, with the stethoscope's amplifier placed on his chest, a heartbeat could be clearly and readily heard.

Lin Qiushi laughed, "this is what you used to distinguish whether a chest contained a box person? Very impressive."

Xiao Mei joined him with a sneer. Since the death of her lover, an irreversible change had taken place in her body that had completely expelled the awkwardness and timidity of a newbie and made her incomparably cold.

When he saw such an interaction between Lin Qiushi and Xiao Mei, Xiao Ji finally cottoned on, shooting Xiao Mei a vicious glare.

"You betrayed me?" he spat. "Fucking bitch—you stuffed my stethoscope with cotton?!"

Xiao Mei's arms wrapped around her chest as she watched Xiao Ji coolly.

"And what if I did?"

"Why the fuck did you sell me out??" Xiao Ji asked. "I'm the one who helped you kill Wei Xiude—"

At this, Xiao Mei began to laugh, loud and hard enough for tears to fall. She wiped the corners of her eyes and said, "are you that simple? You helped me? Weren't you just helping yourself? Besides…"

Her voice grew brutal, and her tone was like it wanted to tear a piece skin off Xiao Ji's body itself.

"The Hako Onna killed my lover, and you're working with her?! You deserve to die!!"

Xiao Ji was panting, so angry that his eyes went red.

In order to prevent him from getting away, someone else fetched ropes and tied him down. Lin Qiushi put the stethoscope back together and set it on the table.

"Anything else you'd like to say?" he asked.

Xiao Ji gritted his teeth, and sneered.

"Hah, so what if it was me? Kill me if you can."

He truly hadn't been relying on the stethoscope to determine whether or not there were people in the chests, because he was required to open three chests per day and could only listen to the Hako Onna's directions when doing so in order to avoid any errors.

If he hadn't told them that the chest Xiao Mei wanted to open yesterday contained a Hakobito, he might have been able to make an argument for himself. The way things looked now though, these people seemed to have suspected him for a very long time.

"What a shame. You really think I can’t kill you?" Lin Qiushi stood up and walked in front of Xiao Ji, head down and staring. "There will be plenty of ways."

Xiao Ji first shivered at Lin Qiushi's gaze, but then grew angry at his own reaction. Teeth bared, he laughed,

"Hahahah, you're pathetic too! So what if you kill me? If you kill me your lover's going to come back to life? She's already dead—she died last night, the Hako Onna killed her—didn't you want to ask where the fire extinguisher is? Let me tell you, I was the one who hid it. I hid it in a chest, and so none of you will ever find it!"

Before Lin Qiushi could even move, Xiao Mei's foot came flying in from the side. She kicked Xiao Ji straight to the ground, and then ground Xiao Ji's hand viciously underfoot.

"It's all your fault," she screamed, "it's your fault he's dead. You're the monster, you're the monster who sided with the demons!! Die!!”

"Xiao Mei, calm down!" Sun Yuanzhou rushed to grab hold of her, worried that she was going to do something out of control. Though it'd be a way to get the anger out, she'd pay for it with her life.

"I know." Xiao Mei halted, and spoke icily: "I know. I won't die. I'm going to live. I'm going to live for him."

Reaching up, she wiped away her tears, and her tone went quiet.

"I was supposed to be the one who opened that chest…"

When he heard her, however, Xiao Ji only started laughing—big hearty hahaha’s. He turned to Lin Qiushi with malice in his gaze and horrible words at the ready, planning on further provoking these two about their dead lovers, when there came the sound of light footsteps at the door, followed by a laughing voice that said:

"Who told you I was dead?"

Everyone jolted and looked up toward the door—they saw that Ruan Nanzhu, who should have died the night before, had appeared before them. Ruan Nanzhu looked back at everyone with a smile, slowly trodding before Lin Qiushi before saying: "Honey, I'm home."

Lin Qiushi looked at him and didn't speak.

While he didn't answer, Xiao Ji began a piercing scream: "No way, no way, how could you have survived—No way!!"

Killing Ruan Nanzhu had been his most successful move. Not only had he buried the key, but he had also destroyed an item that could kill the Hako Onna. But this person who should've died had suddenly appeared before him, whole and hale!

"Kiddo, you want to know why veterans don't like jumping newbies through too many doors?" Ruan Nanzhu was watching him with eyes full of pity. "Because only by passing the previous doors do us veterans get the cards up our sleeves. You really think all those doors are for nothing?"

Lin Qiushi stood next to Ruan Nanzhu, sizing up the person beside him. He spotted a red circle newly marking Ruan Nanzhu's wrist—it looked as if it had been tattooed on, and made for a particularly piercing sight on the pale skin.

"Take a look. Aren't I perfectly fine?" Ruan Nanzhu spoke to Xiao Ji. "Are you surprised? Is your mind blown?"

Xiao Ji trembled, so angry he could pass out.

"Holy fuck Zhu Meng, how the hell did you survive!" When she saw Ruan Nanzhu, Liang Miye too was astonished. Now she was asking the question everybody wanted to ask. "You, weren't you…"

"I told you, I've got cards up my sleeve," Ruan Nanzhu said. "No need to worry…"

He peered at Lin Qiushi as he spoke, but found Lin Qiushi utterly expressionless and ignoring him completely—and in his mind he began to curse.

"Let's get the fire extinguisher's location out of him first," Lin Qiushi said. "That's more important."

"Let me do it," Xiao Mei spoke warmly, twirling at a strand of hair by her ear. "I guarantee that when I get the answer from him, he'll still be alive."

"What are you going to do?!" Xiao Ji was terrified by the look in Xiao Mei's eyes, and began to cuss again, a whole series of really bad words. When Xiao Mei seemed unmoved, he tried appealing to pathos once more: "Xiao Mei, I really do like you! Or I wouldn't have helped you kill Wei Xiude!"

But Xiao Mei only laughed.

"Hah, kill Wei Xiude?" She spoke without much emotion at all. "Of course a dumb newbie would be easier to control than a wily veteran. Plus, I don't believe you would've let me go."

Since Xiao Ji and the Hako Onna had come to an arrangement, he definitely would've killed everybody else inside the door in order to prevent the Hako Onna from going back on her word, so he'd be protected by the rule of the doors. Xiao Mei would've really been stupid if she'd believed his nonsense.

This, Xiao Mei was quite clear on. It was also why she chose to cooperate with Lin Qiushi.

After that, Xiao Mei looked toward Ruan Nanzhu.

"I really thought you were dead."

Ruan Nanzhu just smiled, noncommittal.

After that, other people began interrogating Xiao Ji about the location of the hidden fire extinguisher. Lin Qiushi sat at the side, not saying much. As a matter of fact ever since Ruan Nanzhu returned, Lin Qiushi hadn't said anything to him at all.

Ruan Nanzhu was still smiling and teasing Lin Qiushi at first. Only a bit later did he realize something was wrong, and quickly called Lin Qiushi outside for them to speak alone.

Lin Qiushi followed Ruan Nanzhu impassively out to a side room and said, "go ahead. What did you want to say?"

"Linlin, are you angry?" Ruan Nanzhu made that pretty face of his all sad and pitiful as he whimpered, "don't be angry with me, please?"

Truthfully, on any other day, Lin Qiushi's anger likely wouldn't have lasted after seeing Ruan Nanzhu like this. But today, he only huffed once, unfeeling and equivocal.

"Linlin, Linlin…" Ruan Nanzhu said. "Don't be angry anymore, I feel so bad when I see you’re upset."

He took Lin Qiushi's hands and carefully pecked at the corners of Lin Qiushi's mouth.

"Please?"

Lin Qiushi was unmoved.

"Let me just ask you one question."

Ruan Nanzhu, "mh."

Lin Qiushi, "were you sure you'd survive?"

Ruan Nanzhu said, "of course I was s—"

But before he'd even finished speaking Lin Qiushi cut him off—and with suppressed rage on the brink of breaking through the dam, Lin Qiushi called out Ruan Nanzhu's full name.

"Ruan Nanzhu, after all that, you're still going to fucking lie to me?!"

"Linlin, I really did have a way out," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Remember the 'Humans as Mirror" door, when I gave you that red bracelet inside? That bracelet can offset three supernatural attacks…"

He held out his wrist, showing Lin Qiushi that bright red mark on his arm.

"See? Aren't I perfectly fine?"

As he spoke, he smiled cajolingly at Lin Qiushi. But at this explanation, Lin Qiushi only scoffed.

"If you really knew you were going to live, would you have put the key and wooden stake together?" He grew angrier and angrier, until his last words were basically suppressed shouting. "You're just going to play me like I'm some kind of idiot?"

Ruan Nanzhu wanted to explain further, but Lin Qiushi was done listening. He said, "we'll talk about this more outside. I'm not in a good mood right now, if we keep talking, I really will get angry with you."

After that, he turned and left, giving Ruan Nanzhu no further opportunity to explain himself.

Ruan Nanzhu groaned without sound.

Back then, Lin Qiushi had really thought Ruan Nanzhu was done for. It wasn't until he heard Ruan Nanzhu's farewell—"Yu Linlin, I love you"—that Lin Qiushi came to knowledge. He'd understood in a split instant.

If Ruan Nanzhu really thought he was going to die, then when he gave his last confession, he would've at least called out Lin Qiushi's real name, not "Yu Linlin."

Lin Qiushi, once he understood everything, had steadied his crumbling emotional state. He also took all his fury for Ruan Nanzhu and buried it deep within himself.

On the other end, the interrogation had yielded results—Xiao Ji told them where the fire extinguisher was hidden. As for what method Xiao Mei used, Lin Qiushi didn't ask. He wasn't kind enough to forgive somebody who almost got Ruan Nanzhu killed; not taking care of Xiao Ji himself had been his last act of tolerance.

Xiao Ji confessed to everything. He said that immediately after he got here, he'd made a deal with the Hako Onna. He’d gotten a lot luckier than the dead Tian Guxue; the moment he entered the door he'd received the item set on the table and also the hidden rulebook.

Of course, to prevent other people from suspecting him, he'd hidden the item in one of the chests in the living room. Then, after reading the rulebook, he'd put the rulebook away in a corner of the dining room.

After that, Xiao Ji opened three chests in a row before everybody's eyes. He'd opened up the item and one of the Hako Onna's powers to boot.

As for Tian Guxue, she was entirely a smokescreen that the Hako Onna cooked up. Back when Ruan Nanzhu was having suspicions about Tian Guxue, he'd felt something was off, because Tian Guxue hadn't seem anywhere clever enough to be a competent partner. Sure enough, right behind her had been the better player Xiao Ji, who'd been so much better that nobody even suspected him.

But when the unexpected happened to Ruan Nanzhu, it prompted Lin Qiushi to start thinking about all this. He contacted Xiao Mei in private and got her to tamper with Xiao Ji's stethoscope. Then he'd gotten quite lucky—Xiao Ji immediately exposed himself and allowed Lin Qiushi to confirm that he was the mole.

Everything had gone smoothly, aside from the person who'd lied to him.

Ruan Nanzhu—he must have already guessed there was a second mole. He'd even predicted that the second mole would target him, and in order to leave Lin Qiushi out of danger, he’d hidden everything and directed two of Hako Onna's powers onto himself. The reality was that everything Ruan Nanzhu did bore risk; even if he'd been eighty percent sure the bracelet could weather damage from the Hako Onna, there was still that twenty percent uncertainty. That was why he decided to leave behind the key and item, shutting himself up alone in Tian Guxue's room.

Lin Qiushi understood all the logic, but he still couldn't control his anger. The moment he thought about Ruan Nanzhu dying alone in that room without even a body to recover, he found it so damn difficult to bear.

"Are you two alright?" When the two came back out, the peculiar atmosphere between them was worrying, so Liang Miye asked a quiet word or two.

"We're fine," Lin Qiushi answered coolly. "What could possibly be wrong?"

Liang Miye, "…" Y'all sure don't look fine. And this was the first time she's seen such an ingratiating expression on Ruan Nanzhu's face.

"Baby are you hungry?"

"No."

"Baby are you thirsty?"

"No."

"Baby—"

"Don't call me baby."

"Linlin…"

"Shut up."

The above was their dialogue, and everyone around them listening in began to look queer; Sun Yuanzhou forced down a laugh and cleared his throat a couple of times before saying you two sure are cute together, but this was no time to flirt. Let's talk about the matter of the Hako Onna first.

How to get the items, how to kill the Hako Onna and get out of here—these were the most important matters at hand.

"We have at most six days," Ruan Nanzhu said. "After six days, the Hako Onna can probably activate 'I'm Behind You' again. If we're not out by then…well, we might never get out."

"The item we have right now that can kill the Hako Onna is the wooden stake. Once we figure out the Hako Onna's location we can hit her with it, and for her to use a power, she has to cry." Sun Yuanzhou too had straightened out his thoughts. "As long as we wait…"

"That's right," Ruan Nanzhu said. "But the stake can only be used once, and if we use it in the wrong place, we'll have lost a critical opportunity." The wooden stake had to be used prior to opening a chest. He continued, "I haven't used the gasoline we put through the door either. This is also a key item."

"Mh, we just don't know if there's any notable difference between the Hako Onna's chest and the Hakobito’s," Lin Qiushi said. "If the stethoscope can tell the difference between those two, that's for the best. If it can't, then things will be a bit more difficult."

By the current look of things, when the Hako Onna cried, they could only confirm which room she was in, not which specific chest.

So there was still risk in it for them.

"Finding more items would be safer," Ruan Nanzhu said, "but time isn't waiting for us."

Everybody began to ponder the matter.

Today, the Hako Onna seemed to have realized that things weren't looking good, and so didn't use a power or cry aloud. Lin Qiushi could only confirm the Hako Onna was on the first floor, but didn't know a more concrete location.

If the Hako Onna didn't cry, then they could make no progress. They could only wait.

While they waited, Ruan Nanzhu brazenly kept trying to make conversation with Lin Qiushi. At first, Lin Qiushi answered on and off, but after he grew annoyed he didn't even bother replying, just kept his head down and played with his phone.

A resentful expression appeared on Ruan Nanzhu's face; he wanted to be the thing held in Lin Qiushi's hand.

Liang Miye spectated their interactions and held back laughter from the sidelines. Obsidian Leader Ruan Nanzhu was so austere and cold outside the door—who knew he'd be like this inside? Of course, she didn't dare laugh out loud, because if she irritated Ruan Nanzhu and got him truly angry…She wasn't about to get the same treatment as Lin Qiushi.

Lin Qiushi was clearly still angry, and it wasn't just any small upset.

Seeing him like this, Ruan Nanzhu was troubled. He thought that if he couldn't even get Lin Qiushi to come around with an advantage as huge as Zhu Meng inside the door, then it'd be even harder outside the door.

And so going to sleep at night, Ruan Nanzhu crept his way into Lin Qiushi's bed.

"Linlin, I'm scared." The person before him stared with big, dark, beautiful eyes, watching Lin Qiushi all innocently. "Will you sleep with me please?"

Lin Qiushi was impassive: "You're scared?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "yeah."

"That's great. I'm scared too."

With that he got up, leaving Ruan Nanzhu on the bed, and switched over to Ruan Nanzhu's bed.

Ruan Nanzhu, "…" Oh crap, oh crap, his dearest Linlin was actually angry, and of the type that couldn't even be sweet-talked.

Author's Note:

Ruan Nanzhu: Are you angry?

Lin Qiushi: No.

Ruan Nanzhu: Are you angry?

Lin Qiushi: No.

Ruan Nanzhu: Are y—

Lin Qiushi: Ask me again and I will kill you.

Ruan Nanzhu: _(:з」∠)_

The Daily Life of Popuruan and Pipilin[2] hahahaha

Translator’s Note:

That’s definitely what the Chinese said so I’m wondering if there’s a typo. LQS grabbed someone in the group, but put the stethoscope to his own chest and listened to the stethoscope himself.

“The Daily Life of Popuko and Pipimi” is the Chinese title of Pop Team Epic

[Ch. 116] | [Ch. 118]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒 #ready?

218 notes · View notes

strangerobin · 4 years ago

Text

Rue: Chapter 1 (A Jasper Hale x OC Imagine)

Summary:

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you. To spend a lifetime with you. Body and soul.

A chance encounter reunites two lost lovers centuries after their devastating break up. One hardened by life and providence, has forgotten what it is to love and be loved; while the other though hurt by love, has lost neither hope nor heart. When the two worlds collide once again, will it be disaster waiting to happen, or the brink of a new horizon?

Stolen away just nights before their wedding, Jasper had mourned the loss of his lover, Adeline, for centuries. Until a similar face showed up one day out of the blue, just as beautiful and just as youthful.

But you know that I could never stay.

No amount of love or the ring you put on my finger will ever change that.

Save it. Save it for another that will be dearest to your heart, someone who could love you equally, unconditionally, honestly.

For I am underserving. I have much in my life that I wish I could explain to you. Yet this back has been carrying far more that it was made to shoulder already. And I cannot possibly burden you with anymore than you deserve.

So I will go. I will not shackle you to a life of secrets and miseries. Nor will I bind you to eternal gloom and slaughter your happiness, take your sun and hide your moon.

Just know that, in another life where I was free of lies and deceit, I would move heaven and earth just to stay alongside you.

To spend a lifetime with you.

Body and soul.

He took a deep shuddering breath, trying in futile to calm the anguish that was threatening to leak out of his body.

For a moment, he thought his dead heart was ready to burst anytime. But of course his heart had long since ceased its beating, and It had only left with him an equally terrible sense of emptiness.

Why had he decided to go over this again? To rip open scars that were long buried. Old memories that he should long have concealed, lost somewhere in the ocean of his long pitiful existence. He thought he’d be over this by now, after the millionth time. But clearly some things never truly die away.

With care he produced from a small velvet pouch-

A single diamond ring.

It glittered under the moon, splaying the light of a million rainbow everywhere it touched.

Just like how her eyes had shone that day.

When he got down on one knee and proposed to her.

Her mouth agape, lips quivering, staring at him in shock and disbelief. His stomach had churned then when she had simply stood there, dumbfounded; worried that he had taken a wrong move, that she did not love him enough to want to be tied down with him. That perhaps he was still too young, too poor to offer her the life that she deserved.

But then a single tear had dropped from her eyes.

And it was followed by another, and another.

He was thrown in a panic by then, unsure of the mistake he had committed but ready to make any amend just to stop the onslaught of her tears.

Except she had then tackled him to the ground, laughing amidst her tears. Murmuring into his ears, the answer that had only mattered to him.

Yes, yes, yes.

She had kissed him so ferociously that day, stealing his breath away as if she herself would be stolen away the next moment.

A thousand times yes.

And stolen she was indeed.

Left alone in the cold morning light, sheets crumpled from the night they had shared, her scent still lingering in the air. His heart had froze, left with only an emptiness that would rage within him for the next two centuries.

She had only left with him a note and her wedding ring.

Hers. Not his; because he could not tolerate the thought of it being anything else.

And an everlasting memory that would haunt him for the rest of eternity. An aching want and need, a desire left unsaid in the dead of the night.

In those terrible formative years, when he had just been turned, night after nights he would imagine the ghost of a lip, tracing up his spine. Warm breaths at his neck; the touch of a hand, cupping his face gently, as if he were made of glass. Sweet-nothings whispered, empty promises of a life that could have been, might have been. Except none of them were real and every one of which only a figment of his imagination and memory.

Some night he would go on a killing spree, desperate to escape from memories of her that had long since turned into a never-ending nightmare, his raging storm of emotions.

A century and a half later, there were still nights like these, nights where he would meticulously finger the exquisite cravings over her engagement ring. Her name a silent mantra, a prayer from his mouth to the gods he had once worshipped and forsaken.

The pain had dampen over the years but the scars had remained. And the memories still fresh. New companionship may have eased him out of his shell of sorrow. But while he may hold another in his arms now, how could he love anyone in half? When he had long since given away half of his soul to the one who had claimed as hers on that fateful day.

But that was another story for another day.

And his pitiful being could not bear the grief all at once on any given nights; it was alright to remember in portions and halves. That way he would not lose his mind to the remembrance of her then. The one he had lost but must continue to solider on without.

“Oh Adeline.”

“My sweet Adeline, why must you torture me so?”

On the run.

It seemed she was always on the run these days.

No permanent roof ever above her head; even the feeling of a soft pillow and a down quilt seemed foreign to her now. She was more familiar with green moss beneath her head and the stars as her canopy; clothes she snagged from stores, and meals of little preys here and there now. She was always careful not to leave a trace.

Stopping over at the riverbed to cleanse her dusty face; she mulled over her circumstances.

Family they- he, her father had called her.

And yet it was also him who made her life a living hell.

Always asking, always demanding for a hand, a chore to be done, her duties to him as her father, mentor, creator. And when she could not tolerate his iron fist of a control, she did the only thing she was good at.

She ran.

Companionship. Father had told her once. No one can live for long without companionship.

She would’ve proved him wrong then. Scoffed at him. Told him that creatures like them did not deserve anything but misery, and least of all a hint of humanity. Only humans crave company; they had sinned far too much to be deserving of any.

How much blood must be spilled, to satisfy his want for his so called companionships?

But even at times, she had been tempted. A short stay in a town, a job, an education, a short fling. Mindless chatters, a warm embrace to fall asleep to at night. Anything to make herself forget just for awhile how different she was, how she could never blend in with anyone. How over the years she had lost so much, she thought she might as well have lost her heart.

Except her strange family. Whom she completely despised. Mostly.

Ah how she missed those good old days. That one summer when everything was golden and life was simple; the scorching Texan sun, the swaying wheat fields, the straw thatch cottage and its warm hearth and Hettie’s hearty soups, Ralph’s incessant chatter. And those gentle brown eyes and that mop of flaxen hair, shining like golden peat in the summer sun-

She would not let her mind wander there now.

Lock the doors and throw away the key.

She needed to stay vigilant. Her family were not the only ones she was running from. There were more dangerous and mysterious beings out there, ones she did not dare cross. Every little shift in the air, whiff of smell was a signal to her instinct. Even a falling leave could be a sign of the things to come. And right now they were telling her to head north, pass the borders, and into the Canada. There would be ample food and her family would not think to look for her there. In time, she might be able to join a small community, live a life for a little while before moving on to the next.

Keep inland, you’ll be safe. Her instinct whispered.

But she wanted to see the ocean. And the Pacific Northwest coast was a marvel. She knew of a coven near the peninsula; but surely if she stayed to herself, she should be able to cross into Vancouver without a hitch?

Keep inland.

Her instinct only whispered on.

It was the scent she came across first.

The sweet invigorating smell of vanilla and washed linen, that of a babe’s. She froze unnaturally amidst her stroll; this was not the scent of a human, it was… it reminded her of her siblings. Of her kind.

Turnawayturnawayturnaway-

But curiosity got the better of her.

Surely, just surely, a glimpse would not hurt. There shouldn’t be any out there like her. None of the old kinds had the knowledge of… Father had confirmed of this. Or was he mistaken?

And as she tracked the child’s scent; she came into a large clearing of blooming heathers, yet not even the overwhelming floral scent could overpower the child’s scent.

There in the gleaming sun was a child of twelve or thirteen, bronze curls flowing in the air as she twirled around in peals of laughter. Her porcelain skin illuminated; and her heart was thrumming like a little hummingbird.

‘It cannot be.’ She whispered to herself in a daze.

Gasping, the child turned towards her at once, clearly finally discovering that she was alone no more. Initially agitated, the child was quick to drop her caution when she noted how the stranger was still in a trance, staring agape at her. Nor did she miss the equally alluring scent of the intruder, her soft glowing skin and the quick humming of her heart.

Timidly, the child shuffled towards her eyeing her with curiosity. Until the two were face to face each other, apprising the other.

“Are you perhaps…” Like me? Was the unvoiced question.

“Dear God, Child.” She finally found the strength within to muster a few shaky breaths of words, disbelief evidently dominating her countenance. “How is this possible?”

With shaking hands she cupped the child’s cheeks, tenderly stroking the smoothness of her cheeks and soaking up the warmth.

“What of your maker?” She swallowed thickly. “Is he treating you well, Child?”

“Do you mean my Mum and Dad, Miss?” The child furrowed her pretty brows. “They should be just around I think. If you would like to meet them…”

That broke her out of her trance and she immediately straightened her stance. This was dangerous, she was treading on thin ice. A child like her kind would not be left unguarded, her guardians were nearby and no doubt treasured her greatly, judging from her clean attire and priciness of her garments. Any contact would be deemed a threat. She had already overstayed her welcome. And she did not want a fight. Sure she was quick and escaping and hiding had always been a forte of hers, but should she engage in battle, there was no telling if she could even gain upper hand long enough for her to run.

“I must go.” She muttered gravely to the child.

“Wait Miss!” The child chirped in a sing-song manner, unaware of the gravity of the situation. “I’m sure Mum and Dad will be delighted to meet you! And grandpa he-“

Shit. Was this the coven Father had mentioned before?

The idea of meeting an entire coven made her stomach churn. She did not quite understand how the child had come to be, nor did she understand how the Volturi would allow such a coven to exist in plain sight. And she did not intend to find out.

“Child. Child!” She hissed, surveying her surrounding in caution now. “Listen, you must take care. There are people out there who will harm you without a thought or a blink. You must be careful, don’t be so trustworthy of any strangers now.”

She looked the child dead in the eye then.

“Not even me.”

“But you didn’t hurt me! I know you wouldn’t! And aren’t we the same?” The child pleaded imploringly.

“No, not even your kind. And certainly not me.” She smoothed the child’s hair gently and tucked them behind her ear. “Trust no one. Not even your makers.”

“That’s just sad then.” The child replied solemnly.

She stood up and straightened her jacket. “Well, it's a sad and pitiful existence that we lead, Child.” She smiled bitterly then and turned to go. “One day you’ll know.”

She was just about to run when she felt a tuck at her sleeves. Turning sharply, she eyed the child in confusion.

“My name’s Renesmee, Miss. What’s yours?”

She grimaced slightly; well so much for telling the child off, she mused.

“Adeline, my name’s Adeline, Child.”

In hindsight, Adeline really should have seen the attack coming. Her instincts had been screaming at her the whole time after all.

But in a moment of distraction, she had heeded her instincts too late. She did manage to subdue the attack at her jugular with a block, but was still hurled halfway across the clearing. Twisting her body, she managed to land in a crouch; eyes trained on her attacker. He was a strong built man- vampire, tall and handsome, the usual package. And she was surprised to find his eyes golden, not that there was much time to marvel at it. His crouching stance indicated that he was ready for battle and he bared his fangs at her, guarding his child protectively

“Stay away from my daughter.” He growled.

Adeline couldn’t help but rolled her eyes. “That, I had every intention of doing.”

“Stop! Dad! Stop!” She could hear the child- Renesmee crying in the distance. But there was no time for that now.

Leftleftleftleftleft-

Turning to her left, she kicked a pouncing werewolf right in the gut, slamming it into a nearby tree. Right. And then threw a punch at the female vampire that was ready to lunge at her right. Down. Blocked another blow. Shoulder. Landed a hit on shoulder of the she-vampire. Duck. Barely escaped from the wolf’s pouncing attack. Roll. And managed to withdraw herself from the fighting two.

With a final glance at the father and child; Adeline focused her mind in concealing herself before darting out of the clearing.

Promising to herself to avoid the Pacific Northwest at all cost from now on. Wary of the rest of the coven she would find there.

Not to mention the wolves.

And that was how Adeline came across the Cullens for the very first time.

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagine #jasper hale x reader #twilight imagine #twilight #angst #more angst

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for-when-i-have-an-idea · 4 years ago

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A Lonely Figure

Dimitri/Reader

It was on a particularly cold night for the season that Dimitri found himself wandering the grounds of the old Officers Academy. It was not uncommon for him to do this when he found sleep particularly difficult, and tonight finding respite was impossible. Too many thoughts were running through his head: some simply about tasks he would need to accomplish once the sun rose and the others awoke; others were more… troubling, but he’d sworn never to let the voices control him again.

The warm glimmer of candlelight stopped both thoughts and footsteps, and Dimitri found himself undeniably drawn to the warm flickering glow. It came from the classroom that once belonged to the Blue Lions, the once bold banners now faded and tattered. Five years of neglect took its toll on all things, it seemed. A figure stood silhouetted in the room and the blond prince knew exactly who it was – even if their outline had changed somewhat – though part of him still scarcely believed it. They… had been dead, their body disappeared, but a moon ago, yet here they stood, hale and hearty though isolated from the rest of their group.

Seeing (Y/n) again in the streets of Derdriu had been such a jarring moment that Dimitri had originally thought himself hallucinating once more. But when he saw the rest of the former Lions reacting to their presence he knew that what he was seeing was not a ghost, but more a miracle. They had been dead, another voice in his mind. But they had not been of the vengeful kind; they had spoken gentle reassurances, hummed melodies of their people that he had not heard since he was a child. Yet, in some ways, these things had made their ghost the worst of them all.

It had been their and Rodrigue’s deaths combined that had finally broken down what little of him that remained. The two of them were what had allowed for a warm hand to reach out to him in a cold rainstorm, and help him take the last step on one long road and the first onto a new one: the road to redemption. (Y/n)’s plans for the recapturing of both Fhirdiad and Arianrhod – hidden away in the desk of their old room – had been the final push he needed in his decision to return to his people, to save them from Imperial tyranny. He… owed them so much, more than they were willing to take credit for.

Dimitri approached as quietly as he could manage, not wanting to startle (Y/n) from their no doubt contemplative state. They had been far quieter since returning, more solemn. They did not speak as often as he remembered, nor with the same strength or confidence that had always been their hallmarks. But he knew why, he could recognise that look in their eyes anywhere: a deep rooted feeling of unworthiness. Dimitri could, in fact, recall one other time where his former classmate had been driven to a similar silence, and he suppressed a shudder at the memory of watching the Death Knight’s scythe tear into the flesh of their shoulder with far too much ease. Back then it had not been him to bring them out of their melancholy, but this time he would do all he could to help. Just as they had done for him.

As his steps continued to take him ever closer to the former classroom his ears picked up on a sound that he had not heard in years, perhaps even in a decade. The quiet tune was familiar to him, one of the gentle songs that the elders among (Y/n)’s people had sung to children they wished to lay to sleep. Back then, he had not understood a word of what they were saying, seeing as they spoke a language separate from that of Fódlan, but the melody had lulled him and his friends to sleep many nights, regardless. Tonight, however, he heard everything, felt every syllable in his soul. This had always been one of (Y/n)’s talents: when they spoke, people listened and felt.

“You shouldn’t be awake at these late hours, Dimitri,” their spoken word cut through the silence left by what they had sung, and the prince’s attention turned very poignantly back to them, though they remained facing away from him, hands clasped together at the small of their back. “You have too much you need to accomplish tomorrow for such late nights.”

His heart stung a little at hearing them call him by his name. Though he wished so dearly that all of his comrades would call him by it, he was not used to hearing it from (Y/n). He couldn’t remember a time where he hadn’t simply been ‘Mitya’ to them, except for these last several moons. He supposed he deserved far worse for the way he had been acting, so though his heart was heavy at the distance between them, he would take the mercy they were willing to give him.

“I find it difficult to fall asleep this night,” Dimitri replied, finally setting foot into the gently lit room, still attempting to stay as quiet as possible, not wanting to break this spell. “And besides, I could say the same to you.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that there will be much for me to do.” And there it was, that veiled tone of bitterness that had been plaguing (Y/n)’s words since they returned. “Perhaps lay a few plans for the army’s future movements, though I do not think that they will be taken into much consideration.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” Dimitri found himself exclaiming, unable to hold back his own thoughts in the face of their dejectedness. “You have always been one of our greatest tactical minds. Together, you and the professor have devised strategy upon strategy that have not only assured our victories but have kept us alive. Kept me alive, even when I wished that I was not.”

They did not respond to him, simply remained stoically facing towards the old teacher’s desk, shoulders rising and falling with their steady breaths. He could see nothing of their face and it bothered him endlessly in this moment.

“We all owe you so many thanks. I most of all.”

“You owe me nothing, Dimitri,” (Y/n) responded with a speed that caught the prince entirely off guard, their head finally turning to allow him to see the corner of one of their eyes; still, they would not look at him. “I have done nothing that warrants your thanks.”

“That is not the truth, my friend.” A tentative step forward and thankfully they did not move to shy away from him. “You helped me return from the abyss that I had fallen into over the last five years. Your words as you laid there… dying still linger in my mind, and each day you were gone I did my utmost to recall what you and Rodrigue said in your final moments and live by your words.”

“I should have been here!” Finally the nomad spun around to face the prince, face hardened and (e/c) eyes glassy. “I should have been here to support you in your state, not throwing myself into death at your feet! What I did was no more than the actions of a coward that could not stand to see their friends continue down the path they were on! So I took action in the only way I could think. A calculated risk that I had no way of guaranteeing whether would work as I intended or would simply drive you further away from reality. Such actions are not worthy of thanks! They are cowardice…”

And then they broke, the sheen in their eyes spilling over into fat tears that rolled down their cheeks as steadily as the rain had poured down following the battle at Gronder. Dimitri felt his own heart break at the sight before him and before he could stop himself he crossed what distance that remained between the two of them and enveloped his old friend in as gentle a hug as he could manage. His form hid them completely, cloak obscuring them both from any unwanted eyes that might find them. (Y/n) heaved a heavy, broken breath into their lungs and their own arms found their place around his middle. Dimitri said nothing as they stood together in the classroom, the world around them just as silent.

For a long while all that existed between them were the sounds of sorrow – sobs and shuddered breaths – but eventually (Y/n) calmed enough to speak but three words: “I’m sorry, Mishka.”

Dimitri’s own breathing broke at the nickname and for but a moment he was once again ten years old, sitting outside the tent of one of the nomadic families with Ingrid, Sylvain, Felix and (Y/n) by his side, listening to an older woman as she vividly recounted a tale that he had never heard before. The woman – Tanja, he thought he remembered – had called him Mishka for the first time that day. ‘Someday you will be as big and fierce as one, but also just as warm and gentle. I can tell.’ He had never learned what the word meant.

Instead of responding to (Y/n)’s words with ones of his own, Dimitri felt tears gently trace their way down his own face and after allowing himself a single, hiccuped breath, let his face fall onto their shoulder.

And the two of them stayed like that, though neither knew for how long, until exhaustion both mental and physical, came to claim them both. Finally, they slept well for the remainder of that night.

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dearyallfrommatt · 5 years ago

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My late father loved Krystal burgers. Even after his diabetes blossomed into something his battered old body could barely control, if he came near a town that had a Krystal, he’d make Momma drive him by it. When my brother got married in Athens, GA, and a mix-up of Daddy’s meds put him in a serious fog, he had enough presence of mind to have us make a run to the one on Prince Avenue.

Long story short, the Krystal burger chain is filing for bankruptcy. Founded in 1932 and famous for those little hamburgers like you’d get at White Castle up North, the company has a hearing in the North District Court of Georgia Wednesday, citing debts up to $100 million dollars. Regardless how things turn out, some of the 320 restaurants in nine different states will remain open thanks to franchising, but that still makes life a little worrisome for the 5,000-plus people who work for the company now, mostly at part-time wages, of course.

The last time Krystal went bankrupt was 1997 and that was due to millions of dollars of unpaid overtime owed to employees. The company was bought by a private equity firm, Port Royal Holdings, for $145 million dollars. As an aside, the original Port Royale was a famous pirate haven back during what’s called The Golden Age of Piracy, roughly 1620-1720, before becoming a center for “legitimate” shipping and trade in the Caribbean, but I’m sure that’s a coincidence.

Since 1997, Krystal has bounced from private equity firm to private equity firm and has had eight different CEO’s. The last one, Paul Macaluso, left after the company eliminated franchises and management positions, not to mention slashing basic staff, in an effort to not actually turn a buck but the stave off their mounting creditors. The company declared bankruptcy the day their last loan deal with a creditor ran out. At the same time, the company’s dealing with an investigation into their payment practices and a “security breach”.

I doubt this will mean we’ll see the end of Krystal, but maybe. What’s most likely is that yet another private equity firm full of people who care nothing about anything beyond making more and more profit and damn the torpedoes, will swing in to rescue it, finding new and better ways to screw over workers. Because they can never make enough money.

I don’t understand rich people, I really don’t. People who can’t just enjoy their wealth and good fortune, I mean, the ones that have to have more and more lucre. Wrestling legend Jim Cornette - stay with me here - once said the main thing he could not understand about former boss and WWE CEO Vince McMahaon is why he couldn’t just enjoy his billions. He had to have more and, not only that, fuck over other people as much as possible while doing it.

For your edification, after the end of the Monday Night Wars in 1999, the only professional wrestling company that made money was the WWF. McMahaon - who bought the company from his father Vince Sr. in the late ‘70s for one dollar - was literally worth billions. On top of that, it didn’t look like the they’d ever stop making money bringing the rabid fan base the best in sweaty men in small pants pretending to fight.

And then Vince got greedy. First they tried to bring the world two billion-dollar flops in the XFL and a restaurant in Manhattan. I really don’t know from the restaurant except that it crashed and burned, but being a fan of football, I watched the XFL saga with fascinated horror. Going against the NFL is a rum’s game - ask the USFL and President Trump - but the XFL was set up to actually take down - or pretend to, keeping with the wrestling theme - the pro football juggernaut.

The lads from at Old School Wrestling can sum it up better and more entertaining than I could. After all was said and done, the league lost $138 million dollars with their deal with NBC, it cost Vince himself $69 million, and by the time the thing washed out, Vince was no longer a billionaire. In short order, the wrestling boom ate itself and money that could’ve been spent to give their employees some sort of health insurance security went to creditors. Even in the football league, the highest paid athlete made five grand a week and, of course, no health insurance for players.

Now, I’m not ragging on the WWE or even professional wrestling. I firmly believe that one of America’s greatest contribution to world culture is professional wrestling - no, seriously - and a full understanding of the United States’ development and evolution, at least in the 20th century. But this is a fine example of how greed destroys whatever it touches. Call it capitalism’s inevitable outcome or whatever you want to call it, but this is now seen as How Things Are Supposed to Be.

The last decade saw a plethora of long-running businesses go flat broke and have to shutter their doors. Financial experts blamed the death of Toys ‘R’ Us on Millennials not having kids and the spread of Amazon, for example, but the fact is the private equity companies - including Mitt Romney’s Ban Capital - cut and sliced everything they could in the run for more profits and less overhead. ‘Cause that’s all that matters.

I used to do an internet streaming radio show with a libertarian who once tried to enlighten to me the evil of taxation in maybe the dumbest way possible. A friend of his, he said, worked at a private equity firm, putting in 80 hours a week, and because of taxation, she was only able to bring home $180 thousand out of the $200 thousand she “earned” each year. Needless to say, that didn’t cut it.

But again, this is how the world is Supposed To Work. Providing a good consumers either need or really enjoy and in some way makes their lives a little better, that doesn’t even pretend to matter anymore. Taking care of your employees, paying them enough to live on and keep themselves hale-&-hearty because workers that aren’t living in terror of getting sick or a raise in rent are better workers, that’s not profitable.

Well, it is profitable and a smaller, self-contained businesses can totally do that, but the American Way is to gobble up as much as possible for some reason. Instead of enjoying your wealth and the sense of stability never having to worry about which bill you’re going to have to skip this month or if your landlord is going to increase your went for whatever the hell reason, our society encourages the very richest to accumulate and horde as much wealth as possible. If you can step on someone’s face in the process, even better.

And if you fail, no big worry. In 2008, Delta Airlines fired their CEO, Richard Anderson, after four months because the company lost over $70 million. Anderson nevertheless walked away with a severance package that included over $11 million dollars plus a corner office on Peachtree Street in Atlanta. More recently, due to on-going scandals involving their 737′s, Boeing booted their CEO Dennis Muilenberg after ballooning losses and deadly crashes of two of their planes. They did punish him by denying his full severance package, though. Luckily, he still walks away with $60 million in stock options and pension benefits.

So, what is the answer, I hear you say. Hell, I don’t know. These practices are an ongoing problem, but the acceptance of such behavior by the hoi palloi is even worse. We see this as natural and good, the American way. We elected a president who was born rich and was a big mover-&-shaker in a field his father already plowed, and companies under his control went bankrupt at least six times. Had he spent the last 50 years funding art galleries and weaving baskets, just letting the interest do it’s work, he’d arguably be richer than he is now.

Is socialism the answer? Can capitalism be saved? Do we need to look for an entirely different paradigm when it comes to economic survival? Again, I don’t pretend to have any answers. Indeed, my whole approach to anarchistic theory isn’t searching for a specific end result way to “make things work” so much as using the tools I can live with to get by as best I can while maybe making the world a better place along the way. But since no one is ever really punished or suffers from such actions that have proven to be, at best, a crap game, we’ll see more of this.

More profit, that’s all that matters.

#krystal #capitalism #anarchism #WWE #xfl #Delta Airlines #Boeing #greed in America

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kellanved-ammanas · 6 years ago

Text

Space Mercenaries AU: Respawn

The Respawn Chamber was a small white room. Engie wouldn’t have thought much of it if Miss Pauling’s message about it hadn’t explained its purpose as well as instructions/orders on how to set it up. He’d knew of technology that extended one’s life – indefinitely in the right circumstances – but never anything like this. He wanted to take it apart and see how it functioned.

But he wouldn’t even know where to begin with such a task. There were no obvious panels to serve as entry points to its inner workings. He would’ve still tried though if it wasn’t for the explicit order – aimed specifically at him no doubt – to not tamper with it. So, he’d have to refrain from messing with it for now. If he ever got even half a chance though, he’d jump on it.

It beeped as it finished scanning him – a process that had taken about five minutes or so – and the door reopened, allowing him to step out and rejoin the others. They’d all already had their turn in the room, Engie had volunteered to go last, and were all gathered around now.

“So, uh… we can’t die now?” Scout asked.

“Nah, we can die,” Demo said. “We just come back when we do… assuming this thing works the way Miss Pauling said it does anyway.”

“We should test it,” Medic chimed in. “Any volunteers?” He pulled a needle and syringe out of his pocket.

“What the hell is that?” Scout said, speaking aloud what Engie was thinking. Surely not even someone like Medic would carry around a syringe full of a deadly substance just for the sake of it… right?

“A powerful anesthesia that should be deadly in this large of a dose.” Welp, apparently Medic would carry something like that around. At this point Engie shouldn’t be surprised anymore, he was clearly a lunatic. “So, who wants to test the Respawn Chamber?”

There were understandably no volunteers. Someone needed to test it though, it was looking like Medic might be willing to force someone to. The risk of it not working though was pretty severe, Engie was willing to go far pretty far for the sake of science but asking someone else to risk their life for it didn’t sit well with him. … They could test it on an animal perhaps.

Before he could suggest that though, Medic made a strangled sound of pain. Engie’s gaze snapped back to him. Spy had stabbed him in the back. His body fell to the floor with a thump, the syringe full of anesthesia rolled out of his hand and across the floor.

“Y-you killed him!” Scout said, all colour drained from his face as he stared at Medic’s corpse. Poor boy probably hadn’t seen many people die before, if at all. When faced with it in truth he was either going to have hardened up or crumble and retire from his line of work before it had even truly began.

“That is treason,” Soldier said, stepping forward. “You’re…”

“Now, now,” Spy cut him off, calm as ever. “We’re testing to see if the Respawn Chamber works. He was asking for volunteers so I volunteered. If it doesn’t work then we’re down a doctor but I’m sure we could do without if we really had to.” Spy would also be free of the blackmail thing Medic had over him which is probably another reason why he’d done it.

“Oh uh… all right then,” Soldier said, stepping back to his place by Demo. “When will we know if it works?”

“Soon, I imagine.”

All eight of them stood in dead silence, watching the red splotch in Medic’s lab coat spread out from the knife wound in his back. It was right where his heart was, his death had to have been almost instant. The smell of blood was something Engie had almost forgotten – his machines normally took care of people for him, thus it had been a while since he’d been in such close proximity to a dead body.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Scout asked. He managed to get his composure back at least, that or he was good at faking it which was a good first step at learning to deal with intense situations. “If he doesn’t what are…”

Medic’s body vanished. One second it was there, the next it was gone, leaving no trace behind other than the syringe lying on the floor.

“Holy fuck,” Demo said, echoing what everyone else was probably thinking.

“I think that means it works,” Spy said, sounding not at all surprised or disappointed as if he’d known this exact thing would happen. Did he really feel that way though? He was an intriguing mystery to say the least, almost as intriguing as this Respawn Chamber.

Another maybe thirty seconds or so passed before the door opened and Medic rejoined them looking hale and hearty albeit severally annoyed. Everyone just stared at him for a second or two before Pyro started clapping.

He sighed and huffed, though some of the tension left his posture. “At least Pyro is happy I’m back.” He bent down to pick up the syringe and put it back in his coat pocket. “Who did that though?”

“Spy,” Soldier said, pointing to the culprit.

“I should’ve known. Fuck you.” Medic flipped Spy off before pushing past everyone and exiting.

Spy’s answering smile was smug and satisfied. “I guess that settles it then. The Respawn Chamber works, we need not fear death any longer. I don’t know about the rest of you but this has so far proven to be the most interesting job I’ve ever taken. Now I must bid you all adieu.” He gave them all a gentlemanly bow before leaving as well.

“Smug bastard,” Scout scoffed before the rest of them followed suit, quickly dispersing.

Engie gave it a couple hours before seeking Medic out. He was back in his lab on the ship. He looked up as Engie entered.

Engie closed the door and strode over to stand in front of his desk. “When you died, did you see anything?” he asked, not wasting any time with greetings or small talk.

“Not that I can remember,” Medic replied as he closed whatever he’d been looking at on his computer. “I just felt a brief instant of pain and then I was opening my eyes in the Respawn Chamber. I didn’t even have any sense that time had passed.”

“So, this means there’s for sure nothing after death?” That age-old question had finally been answered?

“Not necessarily. If I did see anything, I could’ve forgotten it. Also, I wasn’t dead for long so no, I don’t think that question’s quite answered yet. Would you like to see for yourself?”

The Respawn Chamber had already been proven to work so… “Sure.” He needed see how it worked for himself on top of his curiosity about what it would be like to die.

“Very good.” Medic looked quite pleased as he stood. “Follow me.”

He led the way out of his lab and to his examination room. Where he gestured for Engie to sit on the examination table. “Arm,” he said as he took out what was presumably the syringe from earlier.

Engie held his arm ready, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him to not do this. It was for science and every time he ignored that voice, it got quieter – if he kept this kind of stuff up, it would soon be gone – making it easy to do.

The needle was cold as Medic skillfully inserted it into his vein. He pressed the plunger, emptying it all into him in one go.

“How long?” Engie asked as Medic withdrew.

“Not long, just relax.”

Engie leaned back against the wall. True to Medic’s word, it wasn’t long before darkness crept in on his vision. He embraced it, letting himself drift off into it.

Bright light was suddenly visible through his closed eyes. He opened them to see the Respawn Chamber’s now familiar interior. A shiver ran down his spine; he’d died and come back to life. Like Medic had said, he didn’t even have any sense that time had passed. He was even standing up now, odd.

But also like Medic, he hadn’t seen anything. There really truly wasn’t anything after death or he just couldn’t remember it or was just not dead long enough to experience it. There was no way to know for sure which it was and thus he’d have to go back to purposefully not thinking about it.

“You’re joking, right?” Spy asked when Engie told him about it the next day. They were both up rather early and had ran into each other while walking around outside, enjoying the fresh and vast amount of space around them after weeks trapped in the ship. Engie had told him mostly to make conversation. “You really let Medic kill you?”

“Yep, sure did.”

“Why?”

“I was curious.”

The look Spy gave him in response had Engie bursting out laughing. It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten such a look nor was it likely to be the last. He loved getting that reaction though.

“Humans,” Spy scoffed, quickly recovering from his shock. “I swear you’re all crazy.”

“We ain’t all crazy, most of us got sense. I don’t but most of us do.” Engie said as his laughter died down. “Surely some of your people are insane too.”

“Yes, but they are few and far between. I’ve met far more insane humans than I have sane ones. Your species is just naturally bonkers.” He made a dismissive hand gesture that others may have found offensive.

“Tell me, among your people are you considered one of the sane ones?” As far as Engie was aware he’d never met another shapeshifter but he couldn’t imagine them all being like Spy. His preferred shape was a human one after all, that couldn’t be normal, could it?

The long pause before Spy answered was basically answer enough. “No, among my people, I am not considered ‘sane’.” He even lifted his hands to make air quotes. “Killing and spying is not a profession many of us go into despite how well suited we are for it. I am still more sane than you lot however.”

“If you say so.”

Spy’s only response was another dignified scoff.

Previous / Next / First

#Team Fortress 2 #TF2 #My AU #Space AU #Space Mercenaries AU #Temporary Character Death #Respawn #Spy/Engie

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stereksecretsanta · 6 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @zjofierose!

Merry Christmas (or Happy solstice, in this case), I hope you like it, @zjofierose!

Read on AO3

*****

A Gift From the Gods

The day of the winter solstice, Stiles woke before dawn. He had a lot to do before the sun set that night and the holiday officially began.

Normally, he wouldn’t use candles to light the room - why would he, when he could do it much more easily with the flip of a switch? - but it was traditional and he wanted his request to be looked upon favorably. Showing respect for the gods and their ways couldn’t hurt. And if the gods weren’t as involved in people’s lives as the druid priests believed (if they didn’t even exist, not that he’d say that out loud), following the old traditions might subconsciously encourage his spark to create the opportunity he was seeking. It didn’t really matter if it was the gods granting his request or if it was a case of him literally being the change he wanted to see in the world, as long as it worked.

Stiles was going to meet his soulmate.

Hopefully.

It had been a long time since Stiles and his father had done more than the most basic observance of either of the solstices - not since his mother had died. He wanted to do this right. First, the purification ritual. It was the one of the easiest rituals, involving nudity, cold water (so cold, it was still winter even if he was in California, why?), and a handful of herbs tossed in a fire, but it had to take place at dawn. Considering that he was allowed to go about his daily business without restriction afterward made him think it was just supposed to be a bath. The gods probably didn’t like doing favors for stinky people.

Once he’d dried off and put on his nice warm clothes (all natural fibers, which maybe wasn’t absolutely necessary, according to the High Druid, but it couldn’t hurt, right?), he ate a hearty breakfast and set to cleaning and then decorating the house with the boughs of evergreen and holly he and his dad had cut the day before. Stiles had even attempted to make a wreath, but he’d never gotten the knack of it and his efforts were a dismal failure. He had ended up trading the promise of one of his Yule log cakes for one of Erica’s lovely handmade wreaths, which he now hung carefully on the front door. Next, the fireplace. Since California winters tended to be mild and central heating was a thing that existed, the fireplace was mostly ceremonial; they only used it to burn the Yule log each year. Stiles had arranged for the chimney to be checked earlier in the week, and now he made sure the grate was as clean as he could get it. Later, when the Yule log was delivered, he would fetch the piece from last year’s log to start this year’s fire.

Stiles checked the time. Despite the hours and hours (okay, only a few) he had spent performing his tasks, it was still too early to run his most important errand of the day. Scott probably wouldn’t kill him if he showed up this early, but Stiles wasn’t as certain about Allison. She’d been having trouble sleeping lately and if Stiles disturbed her much-needed rest… better not to take the chance.

He wasn’t going anywhere yet, so he decided to get started on his baking. Aside from the cake for Erica, he’d also promised to make one for Scott and Allison, and there was no way he was going to make two cakes and not have any for him and his dad. Baking three cakes when he only had one pan took time, as did the whole cooling, filling, and rolling process. He had made the meringue mushrooms the day before, because they took forever to make, but it wasn’t a proper Yule log cake without the damn things and there was no way he was skipping them. That part didn’t have anything to do with trying to find his soulmate - Stiles had a Yule log cake reputation to uphold.

By the time he was done icing them (ganache for Scott and Allison, chocolate ‘bark’ pieces for the other two), it was well past lunch and Stiles needed to get out of the house. He wasn’t in danger of forgetting his most important errand, but he was seized by the sudden certainty that if he didn’t take care of it right now, it wasn’t going to happen. He took enough time to box up two of the cakes and put on his coat, then he was out the door.

He very carefully did not speed over to Scott and Allison’s place, but he still managed to get there in record time. He stood on their porch, cake box in hand, and rang the doorbell. As soon as he heard footsteps approaching, he pasted his widest smile on his face, the one Scott said was ‘creepy’ and Allison said made him ‘look like a serial killer’.

The door opened. “Hey-” Scott began, then he flinched and groaned. “Gods, Stiles, why do you do that every time? Get in here.”

Stiles laughed and stepped inside. “I’ll stop when it isn’t funny anymore. Brought your cake, man,” he said, brandishing the box.

“Awesome!” Scott took it from him and they went to the kitchen, where Allison was slumped at the kitchen table, her head propped on her hand.

“Hi Stiles,” she said with a yawn.

“Hey, just woke up?”

“About to take a nap actually. Apparently I need one every three hours now.”

“Growing a person is hard on the body, or so I’ve heard,” Stiles agreed. “How’s that going, by the way?” He waved a hand in the general direction of Allison’s still-slender waist.

“Just fine,” she said patiently.

“Stiles brought our cake,” Scott told her.

Allison smiled, her dimples in full force. “Thank you. Now all we need is the real Yule log and we’ll have everything we need for tonight.”

“Yeah, same,” Stiles agreed. “Once I get one other thing.” He stared at Allison significantly.

“Oh?”

Stiles wasn’t buying Allison’s oh-so-innocent act. Although her ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about’ face was really good. Maybe she had forgotten? Pregnancy brain was a thing, Stiles had read about it.

Allison burst out laughing. “Your face, Stiles, oh my god. It’s in the living room.” She got up and walked out of the kitchen, Stiles following after her like a puppy. There, in a wicker basket on the coffee table, was an abundance of mistletoe. More than Stiles needed, really.

“Did you get some for yourselves? Although it’s not like you guys really need it.”

Mistletoe, when cut down by druid priests and gathered by unmarried young women, was good for fertility, among other things. When it was gathered by married women, it was useful for revealing what was hidden, like someone’s soulmate, for instance. Scott and Allison had both of those things covered.

“Deaton thought you might want extra, just to be sure,” Scott said behind him.

“Oh, ha ha.” It was a joke, probably. Deaton, the High Druid, had a dry sense of humor, but maybe also not the highest opinion of Stiles’ abilities with magic.

“We have some hanging up for luck,” Allison said. “We got it from the Hales.”

“Hmm,” Stiles answered absently, already thinking of all the places he could hang the mistletoe. Having more than he needed couldn’t hurt.

“They’re bringing our Yule log later. They’re in an extra giving mood this year. Are you getting yours from them too?”

“The Yule log is Dad’s responsibility.” Stiles picked up the basket. “Okay, thanks for getting this for me, Allie.” He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ve gotta go. See ya.”

“I see how it is. You got what you wanted and now you’re just going to leave,” Scott said with a grin.

“Hey, I brought cake. Anyway Scotty, you know you’re my BFFL five-ever.” He went over and kissed Scott on the cheek too. “And I really do have to go. Happy solstice! Enjoy your nap!”

His next stop was Erica’s house, well, Erica’s parents’ house. Erica was what the local gossips were calling a late bloomer. It had taken years for Deaton and Erica’s doctors to come up with the right mix of magic and medicine to treat her seizures. She was making up for lost time now, going out and having fun, or at least trying to. Her parents were still treating her like she was sick, and Erica didn’t want to burn any bridges in her push for independence. If Stiles had to guess, she was afraid the treatment would stop working and she’d be back at square one, only without their support. Not that it was any of Stiles’ business.

There was a pickup idling in front of Erica’s house - one of the Hale’s many vehicles. Stiles didn’t recognize the man in the driver’s seat - judging by his dark hair and supernatural hotness, he was most likely a Hale, the best looking member of that family Stiles had ever seen, and that was saying something.

Boyd was practically hanging out of the open passenger-side window, talking to Erica. Stiles got out of his jeep with Erica’s cake, hanging back while they flirted. He wouldn’t interrupt them for the world. Not only would Erica kill him, but Boyd would give him the Look, and Stiles would like to avoid both of those things, especially today. He waited forever, until the Hale Hottie finally said something and Erica and Boyd made their goodbyes.

As they drove away, the driver’s eyes met Stiles’ and the world stopped. But the truck kept moving and the moment passed. Stiles shook his head to clear it. Now wasn’t the time to lose his head over a pretty (who was he kidding, gorgeous) face. Soulmate, he reminded himself, so much better than mere good looks (astronomical hotness).

“That better be my cake,” Erica said, her hands on her hips and a smirk on her lips.

Stiles held the cake box out on one hand and bowed with a little flourish. “As you requested.”

Erica laughed and took the box from him. “It better be the best cake I’ve ever tasted.”

Stiles clutched his chest and gasped. “You doubt my baking powers?” he demanded and she shrugged. It had probably been years since she’d had cake because of the special diet she’d had to follow. Either no cake could live up to the memories she had built up, or this cake was going to blow her mind.

They wandered over to her front porch and sat on the steps. “Excited to meet your soulmate?” she asked quietly.

“Maybe I’ll meet my soulmate,” he said automatically, then sighed. “More nervous than excited.”

Erica nudged him gently with her elbow. “It’s going to be awesome. It’s your soulmate.”

“Soulmates aren’t sure things,” he reminded her and oh shit, what was he thinking? Meeting his soulmate didn’t mean they’d end up together forever (or at all), just that the possibility for forever was there. He was probably just wasting his time. “Not many people lining up to get with all this.” He waved his hand at himself.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, or I’ll show up at your door tonight and make myself your soulmate.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“I’ll make it work that way if you don’t knock it off. And then I’ll spend the rest of our lives making you regret this low self-esteem bullshit.”

“You won’t do it. You don’t really want to be my soulmate.” He grinned suddenly. “I think you have someone else in mind for that role. You were looking pretty cozy with Boyd just now.”

“I’m awesome enough for two soulmates.” Erica tossed her hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin.

“Yeah, you are.” They sat together in silence for a while. Stiles stared at Roscoe, thinking about what he had left to do… which was surprisingly little. He just had to put up the mistletoe, and then he could make his request. “Hey, you want some soulmate-finding mistletoe?” he asked Erica. “I’ve got enough in my jeep for half the town.”

She thought about it. “Nah,” she said eventually. “I need some time to find out who healthy me is before I find my soulmate.”

Stiles wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a sideways hug. “I can already tell healthy you is awesome.”

“Of course. Now go away so I can drool over my cake in peace.”

Stiles pretended to gag, then took his leave.

His stomach was in knots all during the drive home. It was almost time. Despite his doubts, he was still going to make his request. He wanted this; he was ready.

As soon as he was inside, he hung the mistletoe in all of the traditional places - and a few non-traditional ones. He didn’t need to wait for the solstice to officially begin, so as soon as the last sprig was in place, he went to the small altar he’d set up by the living room window and began.

There was no official ritual for the request. In fact, Deaton had been more unhelpful than usual. ‘Just ask in whatever way feels right to you. The gods will answer or not according to their will.’ Well, Stiles was going to take him at his word and do it his way. He lit two beeswax candles and set a single flower on the altar between them. Then, he silently asked the gods to send his soulmate to him, because he would have felt stupid asking out loud.

The candle flames flickered, but that was it. Stiles sighed and looked around the living room. A wave of exhaustion swept over him. It had been a long day, and it wasn’t quite over. He went over to the couch and flopped down on it. He had time for a short nap before he had to do anything else. And it wasn’t like he was expecting his soulmate to appear right there in his living room. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Low voices woke him some time later. He sat up, blinking sleepily at his dad standing in the doorway. “Hey,” he said and yawned hugely.

“Stiles, the house is looking very green.” His dad turned and said to someone behind him, “The fireplace is in here.”

“Yule log?” Stiles guessed. He stood up as his dad entered the room, followed by the handsome unknown Hale he’d seen earlier at Erica’s.

Their eyes met and the world stopped for a second. Again. “Uh,” Stiles said intelligently.

“Derek, this is my son, Stiles,” his dad said. “Stiles, this is Derek Hale.”

Stiles froze for a completely different reason this time. Everyone knew about Derek Hale. He’d been gone for almost ten years, for very understandable reasons, and the sure bet was he’d be gone for another ten before he set foot in Beacon Hills again. And now here he was in Stiles’ living room, holding a Yule log.

“The fireplace is over here,” his dad said mildly, and Derek looked away, releasing Stiles from his almost hypnotic gaze.

One the Yule log was settled in the grate, an awkward silence descended. For once, Stiles struggled to say something, anything. He wanted Derek to stay, get to know him, but if he opened his mouth, he’d probably drive Derek away with inappropriate questions or just plain weirdness.

“I’ll just go get the piece of the Yule log from last year and we’ll get this thing lit,” his dad said. “That alright with you, Stiles?”

“Yeah, sounds great, Dad. It should be under your bed, right where we left it.”

His dad just shook his head and left the room, leaving Stiles and Derek to the silence.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Stiles blurted almost without meaning to. “Sorry. I meant to say that earlier. I just woke up.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Derek said. He looked around the room. “It looks like you’re ready for the solstice.”

Stiles followed his gaze and grimaced at the overabundance of mistletoe. “Uh, yeah. I’m uh… It’s for a ritual? I asked the gods for a favor.”

Derek nodded, but he looked confused.

“Soulmate.” Stiles’ words came without his permission. “I’m trying to find my soulmate.”

Derek stared at him, then, unbelievably, stepped toward him. “Can I tell you a secret?” he said, almost shyly.

Stiles nodded dumbly.

“I’m looking for my soulmate too. That’s why I came back to Beacon Hills.” He looked at Stiles expectantly.

“Oh.” A thought, one he had been ruthlessly suppressing every since Derek had walked into the room, popped into his head. Was Derek…

He held out his hand, waiting to see if Derek would take it. This was probably nothing, just a coincidence. There was no way Derek was his soulmate.

Derek looked down at Stiles’ hand, then back up with a nervous smile. He took another step forward and reached out.

The moment their palms met, tiny sparks began to dance along their skin and the world felt suddenly right in a way Stiles had never experienced before in his life. He grinned. Derek smiled back, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Hello, soulmate.”

#zjofierose #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

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cat-at-dawn · 6 years ago

Text

IN DEFENSE OF THE DEATH OF ████████ , AND AN ARGUMENT AGAINST SUICIDE

This one’s for the manga readers! Post-volume 19 meta, spoilers aplenty! read at your own risk

Though the literal iteration of the death of Ash Lynx can be viewed as a purposeful shuffle from this mortal coil, a specific decision made with weight to return to the New york Public Library to live out his last moments dwelling on Eiji’s letter only to intentionally fade away, here stands a lonely argument; out of the entire cast, no one person deserves death in the same capacity more than Ash Lynx does, and his death is not a suicide. Let’s break it down.

Out of all of the MANY problematic elements of Banana Fish, not even trying to hazard which offense is worse than the next, we can all simultaneously agree that one of the most heartbreaking twists of the series comes at the end of volume 19, when after receiving Eiji’s goodbye letter, which essentially amounts to an incredibly pure love declaration, Ash allows himself to be mentally distracted long enough for Sing’s brother Lao to deliver a killing stab to his intestines. Though Lao dies shortly after Ash’s retaliation, Ash continues to linger in a liminal place. The question hangs in the mind of the reader, if Ash approached a happy ending, why would he not seek hospitalization? Why would he allow himself to bleed out? The manga strikes back hard at the reader with a quite prolonged death sequence, in which Ash retreats to his favorite place to be alone, the New York Public Library, where, with a smile on his face, he falls into a peaceful sleep and dies at a reading table while clutching Eiji’s now bloody love letter. What is the nature of his mindset which dictates this course of action? Why, with Eiji hale and hearty, would Ash choose death instead of medical treatment and a possibly much happier ending to this tale of woe? At this point, I can only wonder if we, the readership, have read the same story. The ending of Banana Fish is hotly debated, and even though as a queer storyteller myself I fundamentally have trouble with gay death as a narrative element, I can’t help but question why people can’t empathize more with Ash’s decision. When judging the manga as a standing piece, I can’t think of a more satisfying, or simply more correct turn of events.

Directly out of the gate, Ash’s death is foreshadowed in the title of the series. A Perfect Day For Banana Fish is a short story by J.D. Salinger which follows the last day in the life of mentally ill World War 2 veteran Seymour Glass, who befriends a little girl while on vacation at the beach. He invites her to catch bananafish with him, and explains that the greedy fish enter holes to gorge themselves on bananas, but become too large to escape again and instead perish in the hole. Later, Seymour returns to his room where his wife is sleeping, and he kills himself. Salinger relates this as a metaphor for his own personal experience in the war, specifically to his time at the Battle of the Bulge and in Nazi concentration camps. He is quoted saying Seymour is an iteration of himself, and has gone so far as to say that he “found it impossible to fit into a society that ignored the truth that he now knew.” The point of the story has always been to examine the irreversible damage done to the human psyche by war. The Perfect Day referenced in the title is exactly that; the quest of a broken man lacking the power to overcome his trauma to find exactly the perfect day to die. So it also is with Ash, we understand from the very beginning that making this direct analogy to Salinger means the manga will be the slow disclosure of someone who is irrevocably damaged by their circumstance as they come to terms with the moment of their own death. From the very first panel you see him, Ash’s death is already fated, and truly the most heart-rending struggle of the series is watching him grapple with this identity, up to nearly the very last second. As a reader, we continuously keep hoping and praying that he might, against all odds, find salvation despite literally every piece of contrary evidence suggesting otherwise. We have violent affection for Ash as a hero, and we want him so badly to live on, to make it to the other side. He both finds salvation and doesn’t find it, because like everything else about this manga, Ash operates thematically on contradictory levels all the way through the story and on to the bitter end. Let’s break it down even further, by considering exactly just how fucked Ash really is.

Ash is born Aslan Jade Callenrese, and then quickly discarded. He briefly experiences a short period of normalcy with the love of his brother and distant father before Griffin is drafted. Almost immediately after, Ash is raped by the Bluebeard of Cape Cod and then blamed for it, and from then on, his life is a progression of non-stop horror. He is kidnapped by Marvin who repeatedly rapes him over a period of years. He is sold into sexual servitude at Club Cod. He somehow manages to avoid getting addicted to the opioids that all the child prostitutes were fed to keep them tame, and when Ash escapes, it is only because he is instead personally taken under Papa Dino’s wing, who specifically sexually abuses him while simultaneously not knowing or caring that Marvin continues to rape Ash, among presumably a handful of other people. Blanca is a small, bright focal point for Ash at age 13 when Ash lets himself briefly believe he has autonomy, and he is released to start his own gang. Ash’s fundamental humanity and inherent leadership magnetically draw people to him, and for the first time in his life, Ash briefly entertains the idea of having a private romantic relationship of his own. He is attracted to a girl he likes very much, but she is murdered almost immediately due to her association with him. He afterward throws himself into the business of his gang without ever fully extracting himself from Papa Dino’s hold. It is only with the discovery of the capsule containing Banana Fish that Ash for the first time in his short life discovers a bit of real leverage he can actually use against Dino. The subsequent drug war sees him beaten, sent to jail, raped many more times, and sent on a cross-country mission on the lam from the law, as well as from Dino’s goons, both Corsican and Chinese. Yut-Lung proves to be a worthy adversary in LA, and his teaming up with Arthur sees Ash murdering his best friend Shorter in cold blood who is forcibly high on banana fish in order to save Eiji from an especially savage disembowelment. Ash is later declared legally dead, sent to a private insane asylum to be experimented on, tortured with the mangled bits of Shorter’s brain, and then after escaping yet again, still forced into a corner when Dino tricks and threatens him into becoming officially adopted, once more in order to prevent Eiji’s death. Ash is drugged, literally blinded, beaten, and emotionally and physically torn down. He nearly dies from intentionally wasting away, and is hospitalized. When he eventually once again manages to escape, it is only to regroup long enough to prepare to engage with his men in actual guerrilla warfare. The mercenary Foxx kills nearly all of Ash’s remaining gang, and once AGAIN, Ash is raped. Ash is ultimately deprived of his revenge when he then has to witness Papa Dino’s death by the hand of someone other than himself. These are the major plot points, and don’t even touch on the myriad of lesser cruelties Ash has dealt with over the course of his short life, of which there are many, many more. (See: The death of most of his friends, that fucklord Arthur, everything about Cape Cod, the pain of using his sexual wiles as a weapon, the pain of knowing if he opens up to others that the lives of his friends will be in danger, the pain of being unable to give his loved ones proper burials, his one hundred issues with classism, his complete inability to trust others with important tasks, the list goes on.)

Around volume 10, I started, in a serious way, feeling like Ash deserved death. Not in the way that a dog is put out of it’s misery when it is sick, but more in the way that when the path is this hard, the reward at the end should be equivalent to the struggle. Being a CSA survivor all on its own demands a certain level of understanding, especially when approaching volatile, sensitive subjects like suicide. The act of taking one’s own life is so deeply personal and hotly debated that there is no true narrative argument legitimate enough to address it’s purpose. All of it is too subjective. However, in the case of Ash Lynx as the thematic hero, the case stands that he never, except for perhaps the small corridor between the ages of 0-7, lived a life anywhere remotely near average, so his many brushes with near-suicide are chillingly understandable. At one point, when forced to either shoot himself in the head or watch Eiji die, Ash even goes so far as to grab the gun and immediately try to blow his brains out. When the gun is proven empty, instead of breathing a secret sigh of relief, Ash only demands that Yut Lung give him a bullet.

Though this emphasizes Ash’s near fanatical devotion to protecting Eiji, whose innocence he both disdains and canonizes, it also represents his constant readiness to die. This flirtation with the reaper is emphasized over and over in the official art, where a sexual element is often present in his interactions with death. Ash wishes for death to embrace him, he literally desires it. This is mostly on a subtextual level, but other times his desire is stiflingly surface-level.

The extent of Ash’s damage is so severe and was inflicted on him so early that his ability to live a normal life was only ever subject to his situation. An argument can be made that his unusually high IQ kept him from the brink of emotional destruction for the majority of his life, but in spite of his incredible virility and strength of character, Ash’s prospects as he aged were always bleak at best. Ash the adult is almost unfathomable. He was literally never allowed to be a child during a key developmental period, and even the manga infers that Eiji’s presence as a romantic element is strongly tied to Ash’s desire to return to a time of innocence. Ash is permanently trapped in a never-neverland of sorts, sexually defiled to the point where his own sexual awakening has been completely obscured beyond his own recognition. His relationship with Eiji is painfully asexual, one, because literally everything about Banana Fish is painful, but also because it is unclear if Ash may have been naturally asexual in the first place or if he was made into an asexual as the result of his childhood trauma. Either way, he certainly doesn’t have a lot of choice about the way that he is, and that way is, fundamentally, morally, and spiritually exhausted. It is only his tenacious spark, his survivors grip to life, and his affection for others in his life whom he loves that are weaker than him, that keeps him stubbornly clung to his own mortal vessel until the very end.

Eiji’s presence as a guiding light is, in THE definitively heartbreaking turn, the permission Ash needs to allow himself to finally die. He has always known that he would die, probably even thought that he should have already died, many, many times over. He is permanently and irreversibly damaged by the course of his life, and though we scream and cry and pray in the hope that Ash can make it, that he can still pull through and come out on the other side living and thriving in love, he was ultimately just never meant to make it that far. Even when Eiji tries to convince Ash that he is not the leopard, that he can come back down from the mountain, we are distantly still aware that this is not true, despite how difficult it is to accept. This difference of character is most clearly seen in Ash’s foil with Yut-Lung; both boys are the savant products of rape-and-murder-riddled childhoods. However, where Yut-Lung lacked anyone to give him acceptance and affection as he grew, Ash ended his time knowing love. Where Yut-Lung survives to the end and goes on to an even higher position of strength, he still has an emotional arc to complete. Yut Lung must discover for himself the value of human life. Ash already knew this value from the beginning, because his moral compass, which sometimes admittedly became scrambled, more or less always pointed true by the end of things.

The argument can be made that as the embodiment of the concept of Salinger’s short story, Ash is fated to die. Eiji, who in many ways is the window through which we experience this world, refuses to bend to fate. He insists in innocence again and again that Ash can change his fate, and for a moment, when Ash finds the plane ticket to Japan in Eiji’s letter, we really, really want to believe him. So, of course, because this manga is singularly cruel, it is here that Ash is stabbed. Of ffffucking course, after everything, death comes for Ash in a fashion which is completely mundane against the grandiose, bombastic scale of the story. An old grudge settled by someone Ash didn’t even have the time to hate in the first place. Ash let himself believe in a real life with Eiji for a single moment, and that proved to be his downfall. When he let his guard down, he let death in. He realizes his destiny immediately, because he is not stupid. His death is not a suicide, it is an understanding.

According to Akimi Yoshida, fate always wins out, but what the manga adds to this sad experience is this; despite everything, unlike Salinger’s broken Seymour, Ash’s heart in the end is full of love. His perfect day to die is the day he reads Eiji’s letter, the letter that declares them permanently bonded. Falling in love allows Ash to let go of himself gently, instead of the infinitely more brutal end he would have met at a villain’s hand otherwise, if he hadn’t fought tooth and nail for his very last scrap of autonomy up until that moment. Eiji’s love as an act of compassion is most perfectly realized; because Ash’s Perfect Day is one of is own making. All the circumstances together form a perfect conclusion. He didn’t see the knife coming, and he didn’t need to. After Papa Dino’s death, after Eiji is gone, Ash can finally stop. He can accept that his trauma is greater than even him. In a life spent being forced back and forth according to the violent winds of his circumstance, he chooses to, (and that’s important, he chooses to,) retreat like a cat to a quiet place of safety to live out his last moments. In this way, Ash’s death is merely a setting down of something unbearably heavy. Because he is loved, because Eiji is safe and far away, Ash is at last released from the prison of his life.

Other Banana Fish Meta: CAPE COD AS PURGATORY AND ASH’S BREAK FROM INNOCENCE

#banana fish #meta #death as a reward #ash lynx #eiji okumura #spoilers #oof #OOF I SAID

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mummybear · 6 years ago

Text

How things change- Chapter 3 The unlikely allies

Words:2432

Warnings: Mentions of bruises and marks from sex, Swearing, Mentions major Character death

Pairings/Characters: Stiles Stilinski x OC, Peter Hale, mentions of Lydia Martin

Alex stood there out in the hall, finding herself between Derek's loft and the outside, just staring, out into the night. At the world outside, the duskiness of the early morning creeping in, as the rain continued hammering down onto the pavement.

One of the only things that had burnt its way into Alex's brain, from less than ten minutes ago Stiles. Everything single thing about him, being in there alone, wishing that she could just stay with him.

Mainly she was completely overtaken by the way that he had smiled at her, just before he had fallen asleep, looking into her eyes as he drifted off. The look of total bliss on his face, but behind that she could also see the burning sadness that lay there, Stiles was trying to hide it, but she knew him, more than she knew anyone or anything.

He was worried about her, he knew she was doing this no matter what happened to her, and he was upset that no matter what he said, that she wasn't changing her mind.

He was desperate to come up with another plan, in his typical Stiles fashion trying to save everyone.

Alex took a deep breath as she stepped outside and into the downpour. Inhaling deeply, she stepped outside the scent of the rain filling her nostrils, a lone tear slipped silently and unseen down her cheek, as the rain completely covered her in seconds.

Trying to shake Stiles' face from her mind was seeming more and more like an impossible task. When she turned for one last glimpse. She remembered leaving him, his face so peaceful. Showing none of the tenseness or worry from the day, the only thing that was visible on his face was a small smile. As he slipped soundlessly asleep and Alex would do anything so that she was able to see that look on his face forever.

The tears continued running down her rosy cheeks, still going unnoticed as she let herself cry, letting her emotions free while she could. Because she couldn't afford to show any, not a hint of emotion at all soon.

Especially not with what she was about to do, in fact, there was no guarantee that the pack or her alfa would ever forgive her.

Alex heard the car before she was able to see any sign of it, she didn't bother wiping her face, as she was soaked to the bone anyway. Instead, she took another deep breath, shutting down her emotions just how she had taught herself to long ago.

Stepping onto the curb she was just in time to see a sleek black car, as it rounded the corner. The car pulled up beside her and the passenger door swung open.

A smirking face looked up at her as she climbed into the car, she shook her head and rolled her eyes at him as she took her seat. Shutting the door behind her, looking over at him she only wanted to roll her eyes again. "Just drive," she said her voice void of any emotion, not daring to look back to where he was.

Her face a mask as he pulled away, Alex could feel his eyes on her but remained silent as she put her hair up into a ponytail, refusing to speak as of yet, afraid her voice would crack

Quickly she wiped the mixture of rain and tears from her face, pulling down the visor she looked at her reflection, using it to help her hair out as well when she spoke.

"Are you sure that you're up for this?" Alex asked turning to look at him.

Peter let out a hearty chuckle, "Do you even know me?" he laughed, with a roll of his eyes as he looked at Alex.

Her expression was not even a little bit impressed, Peter sighed but continued, "Look I will happily wipe more scum from the earth, and I will also put up with the crap from the boy scouts. But you know as well as I do that he will come back. Have you ever noticed that nothing dies for good in this town, I'll probably be killing him again in a months time.

"I can't say you're wrong, but hopefully we can buy ourselves time to come up with something a little more permanent. Like I've said before, while I don't disagree with Scott and Stiles, about you being a dick that is, then there's you being evil and all" she smirked at him and smiled back, nodding for her to continue.

"All that being said, I trust you, I don't know why. I can't put my finger on it but I do, if you fuck me over you will regret it. Make no mistake," she said fixing him with a look that would make most men wither away, Peter, however, kept the same smug look on his face.

"And just like I have said before, leave the ragtag team behind, I am the only Alfa you should be working with, the true Alfa. We could be so powerful together, unstoppable you might say" he winked, he turned to look at her in time to see her rolling her eyes again.

"Dude, seriously, you aren't even an Alfa anymore. And you know that isn't what I want" she noticed the tense of his shoulders, as her words hit him and decided it was best not to piss him off, she really was going to need his help after all.

"No, I know. All the same, I really am looking forward to slashing that little bastards throat" He said calmly with only a slight edge to his voice, which was all the more alarming as the car roared forward.

"Good. Because I am really gonna need to be able to trust you" Alex said, her voice somehow serious and emotionless at the same time.

It was taking her everything she had to keep herself together. Unable to stop the flashes of Stiles, that were constantly running through her mind. Just like a guilty conscious, begging for her not to go through with her plan. but she couldn't listen, she knew that no matter what he thought of her, she needed to do this, for her and everyone else.

Most of all she couldn't let anything happen to him, that adorably goofy dork. Who's smile made her heart tighten and made her cheeks burn. Alex knew how Theo worked though, he wasn't gonna let this go until one of them was dead, or he got his own way.

That just wasn't an option, no way in hell would Alex let him win. No way no how it really wasn't up for question, it didn't matter what happened to her this needed to be done.

Peter cleared his throat loudly, feeling a little awkward as the young girl in his car was lost deep in thought. With tears silently rolling down her cheeks.

Alex jumped at the unexpected noise, quickly shaking herself from her thoughts. "You sure that you're up to this?" Peter asked carefully, more gentle than she had ever heard his voice before.

Alex looked out of the window and noticed they were pulling up outside her house, Alex ignored the question and the tears in her eyes. Instead, the wall went back up, and the mask was back in place, at least until she made it into her house because she needed to get this out of her system, or tonight would for sure be a disaster.

"I'll be ready by seven, get what you need and meet me back here then," Alex said forcefully, pushing the door open but before she could get both feet out of the car, Peter had grabbed her arm.

"Do you like that arm by any chance?" She growled, turning to look at him.

Peter sighed before he spoke, "Look just make sure you're ready, and up for this because we'll only get one shot at this" He was using the best tone of a friendly warning that he could muster.

She just nodded at him, stepping out of the car back into the heavy downpour. Peter was clearly waiting for something, "I'll be ready" she stated firmly. Not waiting to see if he had left she turned and headed for her front door.

Shutting the door behind her, she collapsed back against it falling to the ground. Holding her head in her hands, she thanked God her mother was away on business this week.

Alex sat there for what felt like a minute but it had been an hour when she looked at her phone, she had a missed call from Lydia and a voicemail.

"Hey Alex, look please stay in tonight, I've been having a bad feeling all day, but it's getting worse. I hope you and Stiles managed to work things out. If you need anything you know where I am honey, just call me and I'll come over. Just please stay home okay, I love you.

A tear slipped down her cheek as the voicemail ended, "I'm so sorry lyds" she whispered to her phone as she turned it off.

Sighing loudly she pushed herself from the floor and headed to her bedroom. Finding her determination to end this, she needed to stop this and if killing the son of a bitch took her with him so be it. There was no way in hell she would be bowing to him or his lackeys, and their wishes, at least this way everyone would be safe, for a while anyway.

She was practically marching up the stairs, walking right through her bedroom, she went into her en-suite. Turning on the shower, she stripped the still soaked clothes from her body.

Stepping into the welcoming steam of the shower, as it burned her skin a little she realised that maybe she had sat in her soaking clothes too long. But the burn was welcome as she tilted her head back into the stream, feeling the water cascading down her face, neck and body.

Although this shower felt much lonelier than the one she had just hours earlier.

She could feel every touch of Stiles' lips across every patch of skin, the slowly rising bruises of his perfect grip, on her hips and wrists. As she ran her hands over her body, she remembered everything.

Alex found herself almost moaning, at the feeling the way his warm breath had felt against her neck. The feel of his skin against hers, those perfectly soft plump lips, against her own.

The way they'd looked into one another's eyes when he had first touched her, the anger rolling off of the pair of them. Those fierce brown eyes of his, the determination as he dominated her body, mind body and soul, like no one, ever had.

All the hope in the world had her excited because she would see him again, it was something she couldn't wait for, to be in his arms again where she belonged and she would never leave again.

Alex knew that if anyone ever tried to hurt him she would lose her mind, so god help Theo when he threatens Stiles, which he will.

Turning off the shower she stepped out, wrapping a towel around her body. Her plan would work, that much she would make sure of, as for Peter she had no choice but to trust him.

Alex had to put Stiles to the very back of her mind if she ever had a hope in hell of doing this. Which became all the more difficult as she passed the mirror, a smile spread across her lips as she caught sight of her reflection. She was practically branded, which if it had been anyone else she probably would of hit the roof.

It was Stiles though anything that could mark her had, dropping the towel she giggled, running her fingers over her skin. Since her shower, the marks were all the more obvious, much to her delight.

Then sudden panic struck her if Theo saw this, well it really wouldn't be hard to guess who had done it, he knew how Alex felt about Stiles, heck until tonight everyone except Stiles knew, but this would put in danger.

So she knew she needed to cover up, at least it was a cold night it wouldn't be too odd for her to cover up. It needed to believable that she was leaving Scott, Stiles and the pack behind.

Drying herself off she pulled on underwear, followed by one of her black turtlenecks and some simple jeans. Leather jacket and boots by the front door for when she had to leave.

Alex just hoped that if anything happened to her that, someone would do something. She wouldn't want Scott to change himself but a lot of the time he was a little too nice, even to the worst of people and that was okay. Alex wouldn't change anything about a single one of her friends, they were easily the best people she had ever known.

Checking the clock she realised she had just less than an hour until Peter came back to get her, Alex was a little pissed at herself for not getting any sleep, but she hadn't realised how fast the time had gone.

The memory of those long finger marks on her body kept snapping her out of her zone, causing her to unconsciously lick her lips at the memories. Too much was at stake to let her mind wander, she needed her eyes on the prize his dead body at her feet.

That thought had a very different smile pulling at her lips.

The plan was pretty much in place, both Alex and Peter knew their roles. Seeing car lights streaming through her window Alex checked the time but was shocked when she noticed the time. Peter knew not to be early, and she wasn't expecting her mum back for almost a week.

Surely it couldn't be Stiles he was fast asleep when she left, and he didn't have his jeep.

So it must have been Peter he was the only one she had been expecting, turning off her light she headed downstairs and pulled on her coat and boots.

Hearing a car door slam she opened the door, her eyes widened in shock. "No! You can't be here not now!" Alex squeaked, slamming the door closed and throwing her back against it.

Her breath coming out in rapid pants, this could not be happening, not now!

How Things Change Masterlist

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mystarsforanempire · 7 years ago

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loki in therapy: letter to fandral

Tagging @thedashingone for reasons.

Context: Loki goes to his first therapy session. He talks about his relationships with each of the Warriors Three, and especially talks about Fandral. He talks about how cruel Fandral could be with him, and this exchange happens:

“And – forgive me if I’ve missed something – how did you know this was done with your pain in mind?” Loki blinks, staring down at the knotted string between his hands.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it seems like this fellow, Fandral… You’re saying he flirted with you; that you found him handsome. What makes you think he did this out of some desire to hurt you, as opposed to a desire for you?” Loki is suddenly very aware of the weight of his own tongue in his dry mouth, pressed against the back of his teeth. He thinks of Fandral’s easy smiles, the way he would playfully shove Loki in the side after a battle, thinks of Fandral’s fingers cupping his cheek as he pins Loki against a corridor wall.

“I was his good friend’s younger brother,” Loki murmurs. “I was to him as forbidden fruit. As we each grew older, he ceased his teasing, for I was more confident in refusing his attentions, not falling prey to his japes, and once I was a widower, I’m sure I was less attractive to him. But even then, he would never allow for my solitude. He would constantly draw me into conversations when our band was riding out, forcing me into the spotlight. He would mockingly praise my attributes, or play as my defender when the others spurned me.”

“You mean, he would strive to include you in conversations,” Sven says, not unkindly, “and that he would stand against his friends when they were cruel to you?” Loki feels a sickness make itself known in his stomach, and he stares down at the wood-panelled floor of Sven’s cabin. “Is it so unlikely this young man was just trying to be kind to you? That he genuinely enjoyed, and desired your company?”

So then! Loki sits down to write down his feelings, and he writes a letter to Fandral. Because his entire worldview re: Fandral has kinda just been shattered.

---

To Fandral the Dashing,

I put pen to paper with great trepidation. Long has it been since we spoke face to face, and longer still since we had a conversation that lasted more than five minutes, and yet I find myself compelled to pen this epistle and send it on to you. I would assure you, forthwith, that I am both hale and hearty in my place upon Asgard. With the greatest of hospitality am I hosted amongst these Avengers, strange bedfellows though they might be for a villain such as I, and I write to you not to beg of you to engender some manner in which to release me, nor to manipulate you into taking some tack against Thor, as I have beseeched you in the past.

Nay, I write without especial intention in mind, I confess. It must seem strange, that I, a man ever concerned with how he might polish his words and put them forth into the world, should find himself with so dumb a tongue, and yet here I stand, at a loss.

I write to ask of you a question. No, that seems so simplistic – I write to you for much more than that, and yet, much less. I hold no illusions, Fandral: I do not believe you owe me aught, and if you see fit to burn this missive upon reading it, I shall not blame you.

First and foremost, I believe I owe you to apology. When I took on the throne after Odin fell into the Odinsleep, with Thor still stranded upon Midgard, I was wrong to be so angry, that you, Sif, Volstagg and Hogun should want to rescue Thor from his prison upon the planet; I was wrong to treat you so callously; I was wrong to send the Destroyer down toward you. All of this, I know, and I regret. I would not insult you with some explanation of what feelings prompted the outburst, for they are irrelevant – all that matters is that I know and understand why you might hate me, for what I did, and that I would offer you whatever apology you see fit. If you would ask of me anything I might offer – be it explanation, be it some service, even some humiliation or punishment you would have me suffer, I will submit to it. You may feel free to open this offer to Volstagg, Hogun and even Sif, too, if you so wish it, but I would ask you – as a favour to myself, undeserving as I am – not reveal the latter contents of this missive.

I am embarrassed by them.

No. Embarrassment is too simple a word, and yet as I write upon this page, the nib of my Midgardian page cutting the clean lines of script upon the parchment, I feel as if mere words will never be sufficient to explain the depth of feeling within me, the great well upon which I draw.

You may think me foolish, I think, in what I am about to say. You might be offended, or angry, or worse, you may find yourself laughing at the obscenity of my blossoming delusion. I know not!

I wish I might meet you, face-to-face, but I feel assuredly I would become tongue-tied, as so often I became when we were alone together. Is it not strange, Fandral, that we can have so certain and so well-established an idea of the self we occupy, and yet be so different in the eyes of those that meet us?

Often, I wept as a child, for I was not viewed as that which I sought to be. I did not measure to Odin’s expectations, nor to Thor’s, nor even to Mother’s, at times; try as I might, I felt I could never be that which Asgard wanted to be, and even when I tried…

But no. I am writing upon the page such nonsenses that I might procrastinate the truth I have so steeled myself to ask of you.

Fandral the Dashing, son of Alvis and Helena, I ask you simply, and I ask you plain: would you have considered us friends, before my betrayal? Is that how you envisaged our connection to one another?

Such stark words on so pale a page. So damning. I ask you not out of some insecurity, merely— Look at my writings, Norns, this is more of a stream of consciousness than a letter, and yet I know I could not bear to redraft it. Undoubtedly, I would become a coward, and I would burn the papers entirely.

For so long, Fandral, I have lived under the impression that you thought me nothing more than the ugly thing at my brother’s side, the wolf snapping at your heels. For centuries, end-to-end, I have believed that each of the kindnesses you ever offered me were little more than attempts to mock me, of which I could not fathom the joke; for millennia I have scorned your compliments as little more than japes and jests, intended to lull me into false security. I have called you a fop and a wastrel, a slattern and a dog; I have slapped away the hands that so gently touched my shoulder when I found myself upset; I have insulted you, and humiliated you, and treated you with such fury, and yet…

This week, I found myself speaking with a fellow, of you. I told him of how cruelly you had treated me, in the past, how unkindly you viewed my company, and he held up a mirror to your treatment of me.

For all I described the cruel things you did to me, he read them back to me in a different tone. Where I saw only unpleasantness, and sadism, he echoed my words and said he espied only kindness on your part.

What am I to do? I feel as if my very heart has been cleaved open, and so here bleeds my heartblood upon the page, as ink.

Fandral, I beseech you. Confirm or deny that which I say.

For all these years, have I truly so mistreated the only man who thought himself my friend? Have I misjudged you so? If that be the case, why, I don’t know how I might even begin to beg of your forgiveness. I think of times we have spent together, and short laughs exchanged in tense moments. I think of the times you would walk with me in Iðunn’s orchard, telling me filthy jokes I determined not to laugh at, and always did, in the end. I think of waking from some battle with you at my sickbed, and my venomous tongue spitting insults at you until you left me to the solitude of my infirmary. So memories brim in my eyes like unshed tears, and I wonder if I have truly misjudged you for so very long.

If that is true… I can give you nothing. I can do nothing to mend my behaviours. I can assure you of nothing except that I shall never do so again, for I am no longer of Asgard. If we were truly friends in your mind, Fandral, then I offer you my deepest apologies. I never deserved you.

And if I am wrong, if my fellow was wrong, if you truly meant to be cruel to me in all those encounters, why, nothing needs to change. You can go on hating me, and I shall go on knowing you are probably right to.

Fandral… Ever did I feel trapped upon Asgard, as a bird within a cage, surrounded by those that would mock its feathers and the cut of its beak, threaten to devour it whole. When I fled, when I would wander off to places unknown to Asgard, I did so with the knowledge that I would one day have to return, and so that day would come.

But when I spent time with you? Whether you thought of me as friend or enemy, Fandral, when we spent time together, Asgard felt less small. You made it feel bigger, more adventurous, less cloying. Whether you thought of me your friend or not, as your rival, your enemy, I would have you know that. Know that for all I tried to hate you, I found affection for you all the same.

(And you are charming. You know that, of course, but… Even I found you so. And if you truly wished to seduce me, all those times, know that I didn’t refuse you out of cruelty. I merely didn’t understand the veracity of your desires. Were things different-- But I speak of times long past. Fires long doused, I’m certain.)

And here I find I must end my ramblings. I ought not send this letter, I know as I finish it, and yet… And yet I feel that I must. It is the first step on the road of a difficult journey.

With all the respect I can muster, Fandral, From a man who would be your friend, Loki, son of Böl.

#c; no more dashing than I | fandral #c; superior self | loki #v; brought to justice #GOD THIS IS REALLY GAY HUH

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codynaomiswireart · 7 years ago

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The Dragon, Part 4

This part got a lot longer than I anticipated, but hopefully it was well worth it! Some action and intrigue for you guys in this one. Enjoy!

Inspired by C. S. Lewis’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

The Dragon - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

As they got closer to the bandits raiding the trade caravan, Cassandra both felt and heard Varian take a huge inhale through his nose and mouth. Rumblings and hissings both began to vibrate through his gut as he readied the fire in his belly for an attack as they drew even closer.

“Now!” Cass signaled, and Varian opened up his maw, a bright blue streak of flame shooting down at the unsuspecting masked thieves. Of course, Varian didn’t want to actually set anyone aflame, so he targeted his fire carefully so as to send it like a warning shot between the bandits and the trade carts lined up down the middle of the path. Both bandits and tradesmen cried out in shock as the jets of bluebell flames poured down from above, their surprised and then frightened faces turning up to see the winged reptile from whom it came. (Originally, Cass and the others did all that they could to keep Varian from being noticed by other travelers and townsfolk on their journey, but this was an emergency, and there was no time to be discreet.)

“I got these guys!” Cass called to Varian from his back, aligning several arrows at one time onto her bow string, then letting them fly at just the right moment to pin several of the criminals to the nearby trees by their hoods.

“Ha!” Varian let off a dragonish crow of delight. “See how they like that!”

But Varian and Cass had no time to celebrate, for by now the bandit archers had collected themselves, and now had their glinting arrow tips pointed upward at the exposed belly of the dragon above them.

“Watch out!” Cass yelled, and clung to her saddle tightly as Varian rolled over in midair, the arrows of the enemy archers just missing the both of them my mere inches. Both Cass and Varian retaliated the attack – Cass with her own arrows, and Varian with another stream of flame from his wide-open mouth.

Cass was glad that Varian was so competent in handling his dragon’s fire. Given his past, it wouldn’t have surprised her if he had set multiple things on fire most every day by this point in their journey. But it also seemed that in becoming a dragon, Varian had taken caution to the up-teenth degree, and had used his fire sparingly, but with extreme accuracy whenever he dared use it. It seemed that his discipline was not paying off, as with almost surgical precision Varian continued to break up the fight below them, and Cass warded the bandits off with her own hale-storm of arrows.

“Take them down!” Cass and Varian could hear the men shout below them.

“Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!”

“Get the girl!”

“Archers, shoot at the- Ah!”

Cass quickly looked to see Owl attacking the face of one of the bandit leaders, the man flailing his arms about as the tawny bird swiped at the air right in front of his eyes, Owl dodging the man’s blows with the grace that only a bird of prey could pull off. Cass couldn’t help but give a small smirk, proud of how her little avian friend was employing his training.

“Gah!”

Suddenly, Varian had rolled again in midair, dodging another flurry of arrows, though Cass had been unready this time, and had found herself lifting out of the saddle, barely managing to hang on by one hand as her bow fell spinning down below her.

“Oh no, Cass!” Varian cried, quickly righting himself and gently circling around, realizing that given his current speed and their current situation, there was no way for her to climb back up quickly enough. “Hang on, I’ll-I’ll let you down!”

Again, Cass couldn’t understand Varian’s words, but his actions and signals were enough for her to get the point. Adjusting her grip, Cass gave Varian an affirmative nod, and as they swooped back around, Varian flew fast and low over the crowd below, with Cass timing her dismount just right so as to land square on one of the bandits attempting to escape with one of the trade cart’s horses.

Picking herself back up – the bandit she had landed on lying unconscious at her feet – Cass drew her sword, and immediately began taking on the villains in hand-to-hand combat, most of them not knowing what hit them until it was too late to retaliate Cass’s attacks. By now, some of the tradesmen seemed to understand Cass’s intention to help, and began joining her in the fray, with Varian and Owl continuing to provide aerial support as the bandits began to retreat, far too confused and scattered to think of regrouping now.

“Yeah, that’s right you scoundrels, run!” one of the tradesmen shouted at the bandits’ retreating backs.

“And don’t come back!” a lady merchant yelled, sending a throwing knife just shy of hitting one of the bandits in the shoulder, and instead landing smartly into a tree trunk a few yards away.

Cass chased the last few off with the flat of her sword, and this done, sheathed her blade as she turned to face the group of merchants, now beginning to cluster around her in wide-eyed wonder, Owl landing obediently on the wrist she held out to him, and Varian landing with a heavy but balanced thud behind her. The closest of the merchants shrunk back in fear as Varian landed on the ground, but Cass raised a reassuring hand.

“It’s ok everyone,” she said calmly. “He’s a friend, and you’re all safe now.”

“A friend!?” Varian thought, freezing for a second with first shock and then delight, trying hard to keep a surprised sound from escaping his throat. Did Cass really just call him a friend!?

Cass also seemed to suddenly realize her words, giving Varian a quick, awkward glance over her shoulder before clearing her throat, moving things along hurriedly before she could think about it all too much. “Ahem, sorry if we frightened you all, but we figured you needed our help. Is everyone ok? Anyone hurt?”

“I…I think we’re all fine Miss,” said one of the merchants in a panting, friendly tone, whom Varian took to be the leader. “Thanks to you and your…um, your dragon, yes?”

“Y-yeah, he’s a dragon,” Cass answered with a slight stammer, trying hard to not look at Varian. “Though, he’s not mine.”

“Oh, is that so now?” the man asked…Varian suddenly not sure if he liked the man’s tone…or the way he began to look at him.

“Yeah,” Cass continued…also starting to feel oddly apprehensive, though not quite sure why. “Well, if everyone’s all right, then we’ll leave you to your travels then-”

“Oh, but wait!” another lady merchant chimed in. “We surely must give you something for aiding us in our time of need. Right lads?” A hearty cheer of agreement went of from the crowd around them…but Cass, Varian, and Owl exchanged glances between each other, all of them feeling that something was off…but not sure of exactly what.

“Oh, that’s not really necessary,” Cass finally replied with a feigned smile, moving to get back onto Varian’s back and reunite with the others as soon as possible. “Thank you, but we were just doing our duty. And now if you’ll excuse us-”

“Oh but please Miss!” the leader interjected eagerly. “Please! You would do dishonor to us, and our clan, if you did not accept our thanks for your gallantry just now! Please, allow us to at least give you a token of our gratitude before we part ways! It’s the least we could do for you.”

Cass paused, one foot in the stirrup as she looked again at Varian, both of them uncertain. Cass thought hard, lowering her foot back down to the ground. Something still felt off…but what was it? She looked back at the crowd of merchants. They seemed harmless enough. By now none of them had any of their weapons drawn, and she, Varian, and Owl did just save them from a bandits’ raid. Perhaps they were only looking to express their gratitude, despite their curious nature.

Finally, Cass gave a formal nod. “Ok,” she said. “But make it quick. We have to get going.”

“But of course!” the man replied cheerfully, signaling to several of the other merchants over his shoulder, who began opening the side door of one of the trade carts.

Then-

“NO! WATCH OUT VARIAN!”

Both Varian and Owl started, their heads pricking up at the sound of someone calling Varian’s name from somewhere nearby. But who!? It wasn’t a voice Varian recognized. Was he hearing things?

Noticing his movements, Cass gave him a quizzical look over her shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong Varian? Are the bandits-?”

“IT’S A TRAP!”

Before Cass knew what was happening, Varian had suddenly shoved himself into her, both of them crashing to the ground as a flurry of crossbow bolts were launched from between the opening doors of the trade cart, several of them embedding themselves in the tree that had been directly behind where Cass had stood only milliseconds before.

“Whoa, what the-!” Cass cried out, immediately drawing her sword again as Varian remained hovering over her protectively. “It’s an ambush! Why you-!”

“I wouldn’t make another move if I were either of you!” the leader barked at Cass and Varian from where they knelt on the ground, one of Varian’s wings remaining between Cass and the crowd of now hostile poachers, the black membrane quivering slightly in fear…and in pain, as several crossbow bolts were seen protruding through it to the inside.

Cass gasped at the wounds, giving Varian a quick look of bewilderment as his icy-blue eyes met hers, his countenance clearly pained and scared.

“They’ll pay for that!” Cass thought with clenched teeth, and she and Varian waited tensely for what would happen to them next.

Meanwhile, Owl had taken off from Cassandra’s wrist right as Varian had knocked her out of the way, Owl also managing to avoid the worst of the surprise attack. Quickly, the swift little bird got himself out of range of the archers in the trade cart, and quickly made to fly back to Rapunzel and the others. If Cassandra and Varian were to stand a chance now, they were going to need backup, and fast!

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, dragon!” the leader snapped at Varian, having noticed the dragon begin to charge up another fire blast as the crossbowmen began to exit the trade cart and form a perimeter around Varian and Cass…and – to Varian and Cass’s even further astonishment – were joined by some of the bandits who had reemerged from the foliage nearby. It had all been a setup! (And now explained why the merchants had just kept on missing them with their own arrows and throwing knives.) Varian let off a warning growl, warning them to not get too close. He began to charge up a fire blast again.

“PLEASE VARIAN, DON’T! THEY’LL HURT YOU!”

That voice again! It had to be coming from somewhere in the crowd, Varian was almost sure of it. But who was it!? Varian stopped charging up his fire, listening hard.

“Ah, so it’s true,” the leader said, clearly amused by Varian’s reaction to the voice. “You can understand the speech of other creatures when in that form!”

“When in that-…what are you talking about!?” Cass asked angrily from where she knelt on the ground, holding her sword at the ready in front of her, beginning to be worried about just how much these merchants seemed to know about Varian, given the leader’s statement.

“Oh, but of course!” the main said, face-palming himself in a clearly exaggerated manner. “Where are my manners? I take it you would want to see your old friend again, yes?”

With a snap of his fingers, the leader signaled for a small wooden cage to be brought forward, a small tarp covering it. As his assistant brought the cage to his side, the leader pulled the tarp away with a flourish.

Varian could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the little creature that lay curled in a frightened, fluffy ball inside of the cage.

“RUDIGER!” Varian cried out in alarm, disbelief, and even the smallest trace of delight at seeing the little friend he had missed O so much!

“Varian!” Rudiger called back, grasping the bars of his cage with his small black forepaws, a tone of both tension and relief also present in his voice.

His voice! So that was who had been calling to him this whole time! Oh the brave little creature! He had tried to warn them!

“Oh Rudiger!” Varian breathed. “I-I was so worried about you! You’re not hurt are you? I’m so sorry! I should’ve listened to you! You tried to stop me, and-and I never should’ve left you behind! But I just…I couldn’t-”

“It’s ok Varian,” Rudiger interrupted gently, his chubby raccoon cheeks pressed against the bars of his cage, trying to get as close as he could to his master. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you. I’ve missed you!”

Varian let out a small, dragonish chortle at this, hardly believing he was hearing his best friend talk to him in his own voice like this. “I missed you too buddy-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” the leader finally interjected, covering up Rudiger’s cage again with the tarp, not even so much as flinching at Rudiger and Varian’s growls and hissing of protestation, the crossbowmen raising their weapons in response. Meanwhile, Cass watched dumbstruck at the exchange that had gone on between the two animals, her mind struggling to recall seeing Varian so happy in his dragon form as he was in that moment when he got to exchange a few words with his most loyal friend.

But wait, that was a thought…how did these guys know-?

“It was you!” Cass hissed at them under her breath, all eyes now turning to her. True, Cass had little to no idea of exactly how Varian became a dragon in the first place, but this much was now made plain to her by the fact of them having Rudiger in the first place, and knowing to bring him out for Varian specifically to see. “You did this to Varian, didn’t you!?”

There was a moment’s stunned silence that followed, Varian also feeling his blood run cold at Cass’s words, the pieces beginning to come together in his mind, too. Then, the leader chuckled and grinned wickedly at Cass. “Oh, hardly my dear,” the man began as he dared to take a few steps closer to the two of them. “He did it all himself! We just…shall we say, gave him the means to do it.”

Cassandra gave Varian a quick glance, noting the horrified (and ashamed) expression in his eyes as the man’s words began to sink in. Cass still wasn’t entirely sure what the leader was going on about, but the likely the answer had to do with one thing.

Alchemy.

“And who is this we that you speak of?” Cass continued to question, partially to try to satisfy her own curiosity…and to stall for time as Owl had fled to go get help.

“Why, haven’t you guessed?” the man asked with a smirk. “My dear, we are among the Separatists of Sapora!”

At the mentioning of their faction’s name, the crowd around them let out a cheer and displayed a quick salute, before falling quiet again.

“Oh, you guys again,” Cassandra mocked, both trying to give an air of courage and continuing to attempt to stall them. “I knew you all were idiots and madmen, but doing this to a child?” Cass hissed, gesturing to Varian’s dragon form (him growling, “I’m not a child,” in response, though of course Cass didn’t understand him). “That’s a whole new level of low, even for you lot.”

“Oh, but I just told you my dear,” the man continued arrogantly. “We did not turn your friend into this great beast. He did that himself. Of his own free will. We just gave him the crushed dragon scales needed to carry it out.”

“But why?” Cass inquired, doing all she could to not look at Varian’s stricken (and increasingly angry) face. “Why him? And what use do the Separatists have for a dragon?”

“Ha!” the man guffawed at Cass’s questions. “What use? What use!? Did you honestly ask that question!? Just look around you! If it weren’t for your dragon, there’s no way you could’ve taken on these dozens of operatives all on your own. The creature is practically a one-man army all on its own! Who wouldn’t want such a weapon at their disposal?”

“But why Varian!?” Cass shouted back, struggling to control her temper now. “His offenses are against the kingdom of Corona, not you. What harm has he ever done you that you should instigate such a thing against him!?”

“Precisely m’lady!” the man stated, his eyes glancing wickedly at Varian’s own. “The boy never did any harm to us, true. In fact, quite the contrary. He showed us one very important thing – that it was indeed possible to defeat the kingdom of Corona!”

Another cheer rang up from the crowd around them, Cass shaking her head in disbelief. These guys really were all idiots!

“Hey, meathead!” Cass called to the leader again over the din of the crowd. “What the heck do you mean ‘defeating the kingdom of Corona’? Varian was…” here Cass paused, cringing hard, making every effort to not look at Varian’s face before forcing herself to finish her thought. “…Varian was defeated that day, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh, we know about that,” the man continued with a dismissive wave of his hand, Varian’s eyes narrowing hard, not liking at all at being reminded of his past blunders, nor where this next chapter in his life seemed to be heading. “But never in the history of all our years had anyone ever gotten so close! Perhaps he did not succeed, but he did show it was possible. And that was all the motivation we needed!”

“Oh, motivation to do what?” Cass asked angrily. “Turn a 14 year-old boy you don’t even know into a dragon!? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“It does,” the man said with a horrid smile, “when you take into account that he was one of the few minds within hundreds of miles who could even read such a formula as the transfiguration elixir.”

Cass’s eyes went wide. So it had been alchemy after all. Cass finally dared to look at Varian’s face…though finding his expression hard to read as he listened intently to the troupe’s leader, Cass finding an inadvertent shiver pass through her as she saw the look in his eyes.

He wasn’t seriously thinking-!

“Yes, dragon!” the man continued, now addressing Varian directly. “You see? We never meant you any harm. We just gave you the means by which to exact revenge on those who wronged you! And to offer our services as your allies as well, of course. We can take them all down together! Form a new kingdom! One where the royals do not betray their subjects over petty matters.”

Murmurs of affirmation when up among the group around them…Varian’s eyes softening in response.

“Varian, no, don’t listen-!” Cass tried to caution, feeling a familiar, horrible feeling begin to rise in her gut at the thought of yet another betrayal from the boy, but she was interrupted as the leader went on.

“What have these lackies ever done for you that you should serve them?” the leader questioned, gesturing to Cassandra. Varian nearly followed the motion with his eyes, but refrained from looking Cassandra in the face as he continued to listen. “I must say dragon, it wasn’t very logical of you to have sought them out after your liberation from that tower. What prisoner runs back to their jailors, hm? Though, to be fair, I’m sure you were plenty shocked by what happened to you, and our operatives in the capital did so struggle to track you after you had flown off. But now, here we are! We have found you, and are ready to admit you as one of our own, brother!”

Another wave of approved noises made its way through the crowd, Cassandra beginning to feel desperate, unsure of where this was all going to end up. Varian still refused to look directly at her, instead setting his eyes to a small patch of earth a few yards away, clearly thinking hard.

“No…” Cass thought in alarm, shaking her head in hurt and disbelief. No! Was he seriously thinking about joining them!? After all that happened!? Was he really that bent on revenge that he would join this rebel group to destroy Corona!?

Varian made a few muttering noises under his breath, like one nattering to themselves over a decision, the noise casual, and barely loud and high enough to be heard by the human ear.

“Wait…that’s it!”

At that, Cass did all she could to hide her relief, knowing to be ready any moment to once again fight for their lives.

They were getting close!

“Oh hurry Max!” Rapunzel whispered urgently to the stallion as he galloped as fast as he could down the pathway Owl was leading them on. Of course, Rapunzel, Eugene, and Lance had seen Varian and Cass dive downward out of the sky as they had gone to the aid of the caravan, and feeling something to be wrong, had begun to make their way in that direction. On the way, Owl had intercepted them, signaling them to follow him carefully. It was quickly agreed that Rapunzel and Eugene would go ahead first on Max, with Lance coming up on foot. Max was a strong horse, but he would get along faster with just two to carry, and if anything should go wrong for them, Lance would still be available to provide backup. Plus out of the three of them, Lance was the fastest on his own. It would only take him a few minutes to catch up with them.

As they began to draw closer, Rapunzel and Eugene began to near shouts coming from up ahead, Cass’s being one of the voices they could hear. Quickly coming to a halt, Maximus lowered himself carefully to the ground, Rapunzel and Eugene dismounting, and then the three made their way cautiously forward, Owl keeping watch overhead.

As they drew nearer, Rapunzel could hear a man’s voice going on and on about some sort of liberation from a tower, the ‘capital’, and admitting someone as a new ‘brother’ into some sort of society. As she and the others came up to a line of shrubbery overlooking the scene, Rapunzel had to struggle to withhold a gasp at the sight that greeted them. Varian and Cass were surrounded by dozens of people – most of them men, but some women in the crowd too – and many of them aiming their bows and crossbows at them.

“Why haven’t they flown away!?” Rapunzel whispered urgently to Eugene, who subtly pointed at one of Varian’s wings in response. Rapunzel cringed hard at the sight of several crossbow bolts having embedded themselves into the delicate black membrane.

“What do we do?” Rapunzel whispered anxiously, not sure if the three of them would be able to take on the force that stood before them, even with a frying pan in hand.

“I don’t know-” Eugene began to say, but then stopped short as something caught his eye. Or rather, the lack of something caught his eye.

“Where’s Pascal?” Eugene asked Rapunzel, having noticed the little reptile’s absence from her shoulder.

“What?” Rapunzel asked in alarm, nearly beginning to turn frantic as the little lizard was nowhere to be seen, and having to fight the urge to call his name out of habit.

But before Rapunzel could get too frightened, Maximus gave her a soft, reassuring chuff from behind, gesturing for the two humans to watch the crowd down below.

“Are the rest of them here?” Varian asked Pascal, who had revealed just enough of himself outside of his camouflage for Varian to have spotted him underneath one of the carts.

“Almost,” Pascal replied. “Lance is still on his way, but everyone else is here.”

“Good,” Varian replied, though his tone far from relieved or cheerful. “Rudiger, once you’re free, I need you to get out of the way as fast as you can, alright?”

“Aye,” Rudiger replied quietly from under the tarp. He didn’t want to ruin the animals’ plans by letting on that he and Varian were actually communicating with one another.

“Pascal, tell Maximus to begin the charge on my signal.”

Pascal gave a quick salute, before vanishing again, scurrying as fast as he could back up to where Rapunzel, Eugene, and Maximus awaited him.

“Well!?” the man finally asked Varian harshly, Varian feigning the action of snapping out of deep thought. “What do you say dragon? Will you join us?”

Varian looked down at Cass, dreading the idea of making her think that yet again he was going to be betraying her like this. But she would forgive him surely? After the plan was successfully carried out? He wished he could tell her what his intentions really were, but he had to keep up the ruse, just a little while longer. It had to look real.

“Varian…!” Cass seemed to begin to say, Varian nearly cringing at her pleading tone. That wasn’t like her, and Varian hated to think that anything he was going to do would make her-

Then, a small glint of purple caught his eyes, Cass’s fingers toying with something she had tucked away in one of the pouches at her waist.

It was the piece of Cassandrium Varian had given her! She had kept it all that time!!

Varian’s eyes became surprised as they saw it. He thought for sure she must’ve thrown that trinket away after everything that happened, or else tucked it away somewhere and forgot about it. But there it was!

But, why would she now be-

Oh!

“I know you have a plan!” she seemed to be saying through the gesture, despite her face hiding the fact (and hiding it very well). “Let’s do this together, like that one time!”

With that, Varian put his plan into action.

It was all the Maximus and Pascal could do to make sure Eugene and Rapunzel didn’t leap out to come to Cassandra’s aid and blow their cover as it began.

“No, Cass!” Rapunzel couldn’t help but gasp in shock as Varian suddenly turned on her, sending the warrior maiden rolling across the ground as his tail swung round and hit her. As she rolled to a stop, Cass clutched at her side, glaring daggers back at Varian as she made to rise, and Varian hissed his challenge at her, his one good wing spread high above his head as a display of aggression.

“Oooooh, would you look at this lads!” the leader suddenly shouted, a cheer beginning to rise up from the crowd. “Looks like our new brother wants to show us his stuff! Get his first taste of sweet revenge!”

“Out of the way Max!” Eugene growled angrily and with bewilderment as Max barred his way forward, though by now the commotion of the crowd was too loud for his voice to have been heard by them, and all eyes were on the battle presently being waged before them. “What’s wrong with you!? We have to get in there and help Cass before Varian-!”

“Wait!” Rapunzel suddenly cried, dragging Eugene back down behind the brush with her. “Eugene, Cass isn’t hurt!”

“What!?” Eugene asked, wondering what in the world could’ve given Rapunzel that idea as Cass and Varian circled each other, the warrior maiden showing a slight limp as she moved. Eugene knew that Rapunzel had wanted desperately to believe the best in Varian, but this was going too far now!

“Look, Blondie, I know how this must be for you to see, but Cass clearly-!”

“No, Eugene, I’m serious!” Rapunzel interrupted. “She’s not hurt! Look! See what she’s doing?”

Eugene looked, not understanding what Rapunzel was getting at…until Cass switched directions in circling, her limp shifting to the other leg.

She was faking her injury!

“But, why-?” Eugene began to ask, but fell back into a frightened silence as the two went at each other again, Varian’s jaws snapping at Cass as she dodged out of the way, her blade swinging through the air mere inches away from his head, making him leap back. If one hadn’t thought to look for it, they wouldn’t have realized how fake the combat between these two actually was. In all honesty, Varian was nearly doing his best trying to land a hit on Cass (he had to make it look real), but he knew she was far too skilled for him to accomplish this. It would be Cass then who would see to it that the battle looked real, while also doing it in a such a way where Varian wouldn’t be the one getting hurt.

“They’re both faking it!” Rapunzel whispered in astonished realization.

“But…why?” Eugene asked, he too now noticing the subtleties of fighting style that betrayed each combatant’s lack of aiming to hurt the other.

In answer to his question, Eugene felt Pascal give his sleeve a small tug with his tail, then pointing with his to where Owl had silently swooped towards the back of the crowd, his talons pulling hard at the pale tarp covering what appeared to be a small box.

“What is-?” Eugene began to ask, and then he and Rapunzel’s eyes widened as the tarp fell away, and they could see the small raccoon huddled inside.

“That’s Rudiger!” Rapunzel exclaimed under her breath. “But…why? What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure Blondie,” Eugene whispered back. “But I get the feeling Varian isn’t so friendly with these guys as they suppose themselves.”

To be sure, from the moment Varian had seen Rudiger locked up in that cage, the Separatists had lost any chances of gaining support from him. They had attempted to use the little creature as a bargaining chip, and Varian wouldn’t stand for that. Not anymore. And if they had thought that their explanations would make up for the fact that they had tricked him into becoming their “living weapon”, they would find themselves sorely mistaken.

As Varian and Cass dodged and lunged around each other in mimic battle, Varian kept his ears open for Rudiger’s signal that he was free and clear of the battlefield. Owl worked quickly, sliding the tarp off Rudiger’s cage silently, and the little raccoon carefully grabbing at the keys that hung around the belt of the man standing right in front of him. As his hand-like paws closed around the clinking metal, Rudiger carefully pulled them towards him, Owl helping him insert the keys one-by-one into the lock, waiting for the right one to click it open.

Finally, they both found the right key, and without a moment’s hesitation Rudiger burst out from the cage, just missing being caught by the tail by the man who was supposed to keep watch over him.

“HEY! STOP!” the man called out as his flailing arms attempted to grab Rudiger, the handful of people around him turning to see what he was shouting about, but the rest took no notice. As several others attempted to grab at the creature, Rudiger dodged his way up and down and under and over the arms and hands that tried to grab him. At least, he broke free, and ran as fast as he could up to where Eugene and Rapunzel were waiting with Max and Pascal.

“NOW!” Rudiger shouted down to Varian, who at his call, raised his one good wing again after he and Cass were in place.

“That’s our cue!” Max said, signaling for the others to follow him in the charge as he let out a horse’s battle cry, charging down the slope as the others followed suit.

The crowd clearly had not expected a surprise attack, and confusion ensued as one moment they turned to meet attackers coming from behind them, and then as streams of blue fire suddenly spewed from behind, setting their trade carts – and the weaponry and contraband inside of them – on fire in a matter of seconds. Cass darted in among the flames, cutting the few horses still hooked up to them free with a few swift strokes of her sword, and Eugene also leaping in to help. Meanwhile, with the use of her hair and trusty frying pan, Rapunzel held off the first few separatists who began joining the fray, Owl and Varian then aiming their attacks at the archers, whose arrows began flying left and right.

“WHY YOU TRAITOR!” the leader shouted at Varian, lunging at the dragon with his own sword, Varian just barely managing to dodge him, and sending out more flames from his wide open mouth. But the leader was too quick for him, rolling out of the way before the flames could do him any damage, and leaping up into the air as he prepared to bring his sword crashing down on Varian’s exposed neck.

“VARIAN!” Varian heard Rapunzel call out his name in fright, but it was all happening too quickly, and no one was near enough to help him. Varian shut his eyes in terror.

“Aaargghh!”

Suddenly, instead of the sound of a sword crunching through dragon’s hide, the sound of steel on steel sounded above Varian’s head. His eyes snapping open, Varian saw the leader get thrust down to the ground like a ragdoll, and Lance standing protectively at his side, his own sword drawn.

“Don’t forget about me now!” the former rogue shouted at the leader, again lunging forward to engage him in combat after exchanging a quick nod with Varian.

“Hey, nice to see you finally decided to show up!” Eugene called to Lance from where he was taking out a big man with a club.

“Excuse you!” Lance taunted back, now exchanging blows with the leader, whose scarlet face showed him to be beyond furious at the turn of events. “I just happen to be fashionably late, thank you very much!”

“WHY YOU MEDDLING-!” the leader attempted to shout, but was interrupted by a well-timed blow from Lance, leaving the man winded on the ground, and Lance’s blade at his throat.

“I’d call off your men if I were you!” Lance hissed at him, the tip of his sword coming a few centimeters closer. The leader looked around him, noting how many of his crew had already retreated in terror, and the rest of them struggling to hold their ground as blows continued to be exchanged and the fires continued to blaze.

“A-ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!” the leader finally shouted, feeling the edge of Lance’s blade make light contact with his skin. “YOU WIN! WE SURRENDER! WE SURRENDER!”

#tts #tangled the series #fan fiction #the dragon #varian #cass #cassandra #owl #maximus #pascal #rapunzel #princess rapunzel #Eugene Fitzherbert #lance strongbow #rudiger #ruddiger #long post

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hahanoiwont · 7 years ago

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Can you write some dragon Angus?

I sure fuckin’ can, buddy! Here’s some breakfast dragon Angus for the soul.

If anyone else wants to make a request, feel free to drop by my inbox!

Angus really likes working the the Bureau of Balance. They do a lot of really great things, like saving the world and trying at least moderately hard not to destroy entire cities (he remembers Phandolin now, but the Reclaimers still have nothing on his more violent, distant relatives). The moon was, of course, no icy mountain, but it was difficult for strangers to get to and much higher in the sky than Angus would be able to get a lair to otherwise.

Best of all, though, his lair was a veritable treasure trove, better than he had ever been able to collect before. He may not have an entire ancient palace like his grandfather (well, entire except for the silverware he’d been sent to fetch), but he had the current history of Faerun running beneath his wings. Angus is not a particularly fearsome dragon, but his hoard is something worth bragging about. And better than that, each part of it continues to come back to him.

He worries, of course, when the Reclaimers go off to retrieve relics. The smaller races are infinitely fragile and fierce as they are, they can’t protect themselves from everything. But each time, they come back hale and hearty with stories to be told and Angus can be a part of it! He’s right there over the stones of farspeech, helping them solve puzzles and dodge traps and making goofs with them. But his favorite part is what comes after.

Once the Reclaimers come back from Refuge, Angus is proud to show off the magic he’s been practicing. It comes easier to him than it would to the smaller folk, and Taako seems pleased, if exhausted by his date with death. But best of all, Taako makes so much food.

It’s the day after they’ve gotten back and Angus wakes up to a loud knock on the door and Taako’s voice saying, “Yo, Agnes, open up or I’m blowing your door up!”

Angus does very much enjoy having a door sectioning off his bedroom from the rest of his home, so he quickly rushes to let Taako in, still in his pajamas but thankfully also still in his humanoid form. Taako leans dramatically on the door frame, because Taako is a ridiculous elf.

“Thank the gods, I nearly died waiting there. You took forever, Ango, that could’ve been my whole lifetime. Six hundred years for you to open the door!” he whined, clutching his chest. Angus supposes dragons are wont to lose track of time for a couple decades, but he’s pretty sure Taako was waiting for a maximum of fifteen seconds.

“What can I help you with, sir?” he chirps, ready to start the day. Maybe a new magic lesson? Or a fun puzzle that needs solving?

What Taako’s got planned is even better, though.

“Gonna need a hand in the kitchen, little man,” he says. “Somethin’s up with your eyes, fix that shit first. Meet me in the suite in ten or I’m starting without you!”

And just like that he whirlwinds right back out, umbrella swaying jauntily. Angus rushes to the bathroom and sure enough, his eyes are a brighter silver than is normally achievable. He hastily reapplies his transformation and rushes to the Reclaimers’ suite with eight minutes to spare.

When he gets there, Taako is just arriving, and he groans to see Angus.

“The fuck, it is way too early to be this fast,” he greets, ruffling Angus’s hair. He doesn’t mention the eye thing even though to Angus’s knowledge, most humanoids don’t have changing eye colors, and certainly not structures. He does start banging around Magnus’s pots and pans, though.

“Fuckin’--ugh, what kind of shit is--what I wouldn’t give for a cast-iron pan, swear to god--have to do everything myself,” he mutters, setting a couple of tins and pans he hates the least on the table.

“What are we doing today, sir? Are we making something?” Angus asks, because he’s not gonna mention anything if Taako isn’t. Maybe later, when he’s had a chance to forget it a bit, assume it was a trick of the light.

“Yeah, we’re making a bomb-ass brunch is what we’re doing. Gonna feed those goobers, see if we can lure some others in with the smell,” Taako says absently, holding a pan in both hands and looking hard at it. It begins to turn black where he’s touching it, slowly.

“Sir? I thought you didn’t cook for people you want to not die?” Angus asks, because he would really like to know if Taako’s decided to assassinate the whole Bureau campus before it happens.

“Nah, turns out that whole thing was totally not my fault. Big misunderstanding. HR thing,” he mumbles. “‘sides, you guys are all about human cuisine, right? Thought you’d like to try making some.”

Angus looks intently at Taako, who looks intently at the pan he’s transmuting. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s said anything out of the ordinary, but...silver dragons are well-known for enjoying human and elven feasts. Several of Angus’s relatives will create special forms with elaborate backstories in order to go to a good enough party. Angus investigates.

“You guys?” he asks. Taako still isn’t paying him much attention, though he’s almost done with the pan.

“Yeah, you know,” he says vaguely. “Had a friend like you once. Good year.”

Is it possible that Taako had befriended a dragon before? Has he seen through Angus’s disguise already?

“Sir? What do you mean?” Angus presses. If Taako tells the Director...

Taako finishes with the pan and looks up. “Huh? Sorry, what was I saying?” he asks. He’s got that look on his face that he does sometimes, when he wanders off in the middle of a conversation or asks for someone who isn’t there. An expression very similar to the one he’d gotten after blowing Angus’s macaroons to pieces and carving three letters into the wall.

Was ‘Lup’ a dragon?

Angus whips out his notebook and writes knows dragon? for one year? Lup/forgot??? before Taako slaps it out of his hands.

“Hey, didn’t bring you here to be my shrink, little man. Why don’t you whip up a mage hand and start stirrin’, we’re on pancakes today.” Taako himself starts portioning out ingredients and intermittently hurling them at Angus, who frantically summons a mage hand to help guide them to a bowl.

“Sir, I think this would work better if you stopped throwing things!” he protests, but Taako laughs at him.

“Hell no, little dude, you gotta have fun with it! That’s what partner cooking is all about!” he chortles, and then throws an egg. Gently, but he still is throwing an egg and Angus’s face. He barely catches it. “Gimme some fire!”

And, well. Angus is not a creature of chaos, not like elves in general and Taako in particular are, but it’s very hard not to have a good time when someone like an older brother is guiding you through the delicacies of human cooking and making dumb jokes on the way. He explains each part of the recipe in his offhanded way, never assuming that Angus will know about all the various utensils used by little folk for food preparation, but not quite crossing the line into patronizing without a good goof to make up for it. And when Magnus comes out of his room, looking vague and forgetful, the two of them keep an eye on him while he enthusiastically stirs pancake mix (Taako insists he’s getting it gluey and gross, but Angus thinks he’s probably fussing), and it’s a good morning.

Yeah, the Bureau makes for a great hoard, but Angus think maybe the greatest treasure was love all along.

#writing tag #unedited bc i am a sleepy young man #i hope you like it! and i hope it makes up for your no good sad book!#no one died in the end see?#i couldn't figure out how to end it and it was getting Too Long so i just cut it off here #ninja-kitty-more-like-no

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victorineb · 8 years ago

Text

Alana Finds Out: Zombies!

Another instalment of AFO in honour of Ladies of Hannibal week... in which Alana faces the possible end of the world... and some other unfortunate revelations.

(Also a small warning: there are mentions of offstage character deaths here. None of the major characters are affected, but be prepared in any case.)

Also on AO3.

“…the attackers can be stopped by removing the head or destroying the brain.”

Alana stood watching the television she hadn't even known Hannibal owned, transfixed by the impossibility of what she was seeing. On the screen, a news anchor, sweating through his shirt and a face-full of makeup, was giving details of what no one could any longer deny was the rise of the undead.

“Alana,” Hannibal had appeared behind her silently, his hand on her arm causing her to jump, “I think it is time to go.”

She turned to face him and froze. The man in front of her looked very much like Hannibal Lecter, except he was dressed in jeans, heavy boots and a leather jacket and appeared to have strapped the katana from his bedroom to his back.

“Hannibal, what…”

“The transport is outside, Alana, it is time for you to go.”

She looked up from his unfamiliar ensemble, taking in the firm set of his mouth, the sad look in his eyes. “Why aren't you coming?”

“I have a friend out there who requires my help.”

Alana didn't have to wonder. “You're going to find Will. Even after what he did, what he accused you of?”

Hannibal nodded. “You know as well as I that Will is not guilty.”

In the face of the zombie apocalypse, Alana found it all too easy to accept the truth of this, as well as something else she now knew should have been obvious. “You're in love with him.”

“Yes. I'm sorry if that upsets you but if there still exists a chance to keep him safe, I must take it.”

Alana considered getting upset for a moment but she had never seen her progression from Hannibal's friend to his lover as anything more than a clutch for comfort by either of them. Not to mention, the presence of the armed transport outside, courtesy of Jack Crawford’s calling in of every favour he'd ever earned, rather shortened the timeframe for confrontations. Instead, she simply wrapped her arms around Hannibal, with the words, “Don't be too reckless. Take care of him.” She drew back and met his eyes, “And be honest with him. No metaphors, no literary allusions, no exquisitely crafted obfuscations. Just tell him. I'm reasonably certain you'll get the response you want.”

Hannibal’s eyes lit at this, in a way she'd never seen before. “You are?”

She shrugged, feeling surprisingly light-hearted in the face of the end of both her relationship and, potentially, the world. “The other reason I told him I couldn't date him? When the pair of you aren't trading elegant couplets on the subject of murder, you're eye-banging like no one else can see you. It's not subtle.”

It was this final sentence that meant, as she took her bags to the door, the last thing Alana saw of her former lover, was the unexpectedly beautiful sight of Hannibal Lecter blushing.

Three years later.

Alana would know those curls anywhere.

She was in Florida, helping a colleague to run a week of counselling sessions for traumatised survivors. Given that mostly everyone still alive in the US qualified as such, these events were always utter chaos, a barely controlled swell of emotion coupled with endless paperwork and administration. The chances that Alana would catch glimpse of a living, breathing Will Graham in any context were, she contemplated, microscopic. That she would, through the packed crowds of the conference centre, simply glance towards the refreshments table to see him struggling one-handed with a coffee pot seemed impossible to the point of absurdity.

And yet.

Alana excused herself from her colleagues and crossed the room, almost in a daze. Just before she could reach him, though, she realised with horror that the reason for Will's struggle was the total absence of his left arm. His shoulder simply ended abruptly in a stump, covered with fabric neatly tailored to his altered form. Alana was used to such injuries – there had been far greater call for medics than psychiatrists during the last few years and Alana had found herself in field hospitals all across the country – but she couldn’t keep the words from leaving her lips.

“Oh, Will.”

He turned, clearly surprised to hear his name, still holding the pot in his remaining hand. She watched his eyes light with recognition as he set down the coffee and pulled her in for an embrace.

“Alana, you’re alive! I wasn’t sure, I… I don’t have the connections I had before.” He pulled back to look at her properly. “You’re ok? You’re safe, happy?”

“All of the above.” She felt a huge grin cross her face, the same reflected a second later on Will’s. It faded after a moment, though, as she glanced at the space where his arm should have been.

Will caught her look and said, “It’s ok, it could’ve been so much worse. Should have been. I got bit,” Alana’s head snapped up and she stared at him. “I know. Thought I was done for sure. It was only because of the guy with me, he took my arm off the second after the thing got hold of me. Kept the infection from spreading. Another second…” he trailed off, eyes clouded for a second, then shrugged. “I figure, an arm’s not that much of a sacrifice. And other than that, I’m a hell of a lot healthier than I was pre-apocalypse.”

Alana took a moment to look him over. Will was right – where she had known a scruffy, twitchy, often sweaty mess of a man who concealed his looks behind stubble and poor eye contact, the man before her now was neat and clean, smartly groomed and dressed in simple but elegant clothes. He also looked healthy, well-fed and clear-skinned, with an ease in his posture that she had never seen before. More than anything, though, he was meeting her eyes without hesitation, the expression in them so warm and genuine she wondered how she had ever thought him capable of violence and murder.

She smiled, feeling a prickle of tears in her eyes and then laughed, blinking them away. “The end of the world clearly agrees with you.” Will barked out a laugh, the same one she remembered, and she reflected gladly that some things remained unchanged. Then, without warning, she blurted, “I'm so sorry I didn't believe you, Will.”

He cast his eyes away for a second but then looked back and shrugged. “It's ok. I wouldn't have believed me. It's forgotten.”

“And… you're a free man? They didn't try to put you back in?”

“They made some perfunctory noises about it but, given my exemplary service to the nation in zombie massacring, as well as the fact that pretty much all the evidence against me was lost one way and another, they didn't pursue it too hard. Apparently the going rate for freedom is a couple hundred undead and my total’s well above that, thus I am a fully certified member of the post-apocalyptic society.” He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, I'm not letting you go anytime soon, Bloom,” Will told her, taking her hand and dragging her to a couch in the corner. They sat and he looked seriously at her. “Do you know what happened to the others? Crawford? Katz and her boys?” Alana noticed that he didn't say anything about Hannibal and realised, the thought sinking like a stone within her, that if Hannibal wasn’t with Will, it was because he had died trying.

The tears returned to Alana’s eyes and Will’s expression dropped. She pulled herself together, took a deep breath and told him. “Zeller died early on. He was out on duty when the bodies at the crime scene…” she sniffled, “he went out fighting but he wouldn’t have had a clue what was going on. He wasn’t turned, they just… destroyed him. Price was distraught, of course, Beverly too. He’s still alive, got a partner and kids, named his son Brian. He says if the kid doesn’t develop a terrible sense of humour and a fascination with dead bodies he won’t have done his job right.” Will grinned weakly, his own eyes sparkling with tears.

Alana clutched tightly at his hand with both of hers. She had hoped never to tell this next part ever again. “Jack… Jack’s dead too. He…” Alana was openly crying now. “He made sure he got everybody to safety that he could. Then he… god, Will, he helped Bella to go. They were found in their bed together, there was a syringe next to her and a bullet in his head. He left a note, said that he was tired of fighting monsters and since Bella couldn’t follow him, he’d follow her.” Will pulled her tight against himself and they sobbed together.

Eventually, they quietened and Will leaned back, saying, “He was a great man. A gigantic, bull-headed bear of a great man. I’m glad they were together at the end.” He squeezed her hand and then a frown crossed his brow. “What about Beverly? Is she…”

“Don’t worry. Not all my stories are sad.” Alana took a deep breath and tried to shake off her grief. “Beverly Katz is alive, a decorated hero of the war on zombies and, other than losing an eye in combat, is both hale and hearty and every bit the snarky, badass bitch she ever was.”

The relief in Will’s eyes was dazzling. “Saved the best for last, huh? I bet she really pulls off the eye patch.”

“I think so,” Alana agreed, “it’s really the main reason I married her.”

Will’s stunned expression was a picture. “What?” he nearly squealed. “You and Katz?”

Alana held up her left hand to show off her wedding ring. “She’s pretty amazing. And stupidly hot when smiting the undead.”

Will grinned and launched himself at her for yet another hug. She felt him chuckle against her and say, “Remember when I kissed you?”

“I faintly recall.”

“Really barking up the wrong tree, huh?”

“My finding you attractive was never the problem, Graham.” She smacked him lightly on the head. “Though I must admit, I like the new look better than the flannel.”

“Ah, yeah, there’s a reason for that.” Will released her and held up his own hand, displaying a gold band. “Snap. Wrong hand, of course, but completely official.”

“You got married? To who? Is she here, can I meet her?”

Will grinned, looking pleased with himself. “I believe my darling spouse should be arriving soon. I’ll give you all the gory details when I can make the introductions.”

“You’d better.” Alana decided she had to ask, before Will’s wife appeared and the chance was lost. “Will, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this but the last time I saw him, Hannibal was on his way to try to save you from Chilton’s hospital. He… he was in love with you, you know.” Will looked down. “I’m sorry, maybe you didn’t want to know that but… did he ever find you, did you ever see him again?”

From behind her, a familiar voice interjected, “Who else do you know could cut off a man’s arm and then convince him to marry them?”

Will’s grin could’ve lit the city. “Alana, I’d like you to meet my husband, Dr Hannibal Lecter.”

Alana turned to raise her eyes along all six-foot plus of her former mentor, finding herself unable to move. Hannibal seemed relatively unharmed, save for a wicked-looking scar that ran the length of one cheekbone. Seeing her shock, he grinned from ear to ear and Alana realised, as he leaned down for a hug, that she had never seen such an open expression on his face. Indeed, as Hannibal crossed to his husband, stealing a kiss before sitting behind him and pulling Will back against his chest, she realised how little resemblance this relaxed, loose-limbed, contented man bore to the one she had known before.

“She looks a little dazed, don't you think darling?” Will asked teasingly.

“Positively stunned, dearest,” agreed Hannibal.

“So, I was right about the eye-banging,” Alana interjected, not wanting to let them win.

As Hannibal smirked behind him, Will exclaimed, “What the hell does that mean?”

After they'd finished laughing, they exchanged war stories for a couple of hours, Hannibal equally delighted to hear of Alana’s marriage and Alana entirely unsurprised it took less than two weeks after Hannibal had rescued Will from the BSHCI for their first kiss to occur.

Eventually, as the venue began closing for the night, Hannibal said, “Alana, we would love to have you for dinner.” Will seemed to choke a little as Hannibal clarified, “For you to come to our house to eat dinner.”

“You still cook, Hannibal?”

Will snorted. “As if the end of the world could stop him.”

“Yes,” Alana continued, “but you always cooked meat and it's so hard to come by now.”

“In fact, my darling husband has adjusted well to a vegetarian diet,” Will told her. “Claims a couple of years killing zombies kinda did for his bloodlust.” His eyes twinkled as he looked up at Hannibal, whose eyes crinkled in response. Clearly Alana was missing some inside joke but she chose not to pry.

“In any case,” Hannibal added, “cutting off a large part of the man you love,”

“With a katana,” Will added.

“…has the unfortunate side effect of making butchery somewhat less appealing.”

Alana began to laugh at that, with the two men joining soon after and it took a couple of minutes for them to compose themselves. Finally, she regained enough breath to say, “A vegetarian dinner cooked by Hannibal Lecter. I knew there was a reason I survived the zombie apocalypse.”

#ladies of hannibal #hannibal fic #hannigram fic #hannibal #hannigram #alana finds out #my fic #zombie au

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