#OH and obviously the end of the previous chapter is OH SO BEAUTIFUL

[kanerallels]

I'm rereading Valiant (again) and truly nothing will ever hit as hard as the entirety of chapter 39

[questionableratatouille00]

𝓜𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓞𝓷 12

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda and Y/n have decided to move in together, in Wanda’s house. Though Y/n is sad to say goodbye to her apartment, especially considering who used to live there with her, her friends help her say goodbye. Life goes on, even though bad things happen. And it’s true, bad things do happen. The most important thing is how you deal with them.

Warnings (Entire Series): This series deals with mature topics, including, but not limited to: death, mental health issues, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, grief, trauma, general unwellness, illness (both mental and physical), and a most likely inaccurate portrayal of group therapy (though it’s much better than whatever was going on in TFATWS.) Please mind the warnings below.

Warnings: fluff and the end. If you spot all the references to previous chapters I’ll kiss you on the mouth.

🌻Series Masterlist 🌻

𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐎𝐧

You walked down the aisle, your dress making you feel confident in every decision you’ve made thus far.

You felt beautiful as you glanced at the woman you love.

Looking at her made everything worth it. You continued to walk down the aisle as the music played.

The beautiful decorations still managing to catch your eye even though you’d obviously been there when they were picked out. Everything was perfect about this day, down to every second.

You were so excited to go home tonight with your favorite redheaded woman, who was wearing her own fancy dress. She looked beautiful and she smiled at you as you walked.

You hadn’t been to a wedding in a long time, especially one you were participating in.

You considered your role to be pretty damn important, considering where you were and what you were doing.

Even though your shoes were somewhat uncomfortable and didn’t fit exactly right, none of it mattered because you were happy.

As you reached the end of the aisle, you stood next to Bucky as he married the love of his life.

At the reception, you met up with Wanda again. She was wearing a beautiful dress, with a sunflower pendant necklace to match her sunflower earrings.

“They look so happy,” she smiles. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” you smile warmly. “I’m glad we’re happy. All of us.”

She grinned, looking up at you. “We really are.”

“You look a lot better.” Sharon said as she took a sip of her vanilla latte.

“I feel a lot better.” You took a sip of your own drink. “Thanks. For everything. I don’t think I would’ve made it out if not for your texts every once in a while.”

She rested her hand on top of yours. “I’m glad I sent them. And I’m proud of you for signing up for therapy in the first place.”

“Thanks, Sharon. That means a lot to me. It does.” You smiled.

“I’m sorry. For ghosting you all. It was dumb of me, and I shouldn’t have just ran like that, and I’m sorry I hurt you, and—“ You were cut off by Melina wrapping you in a tight hug.

“We do not care, sweetheart.” She murmured affectionately in your ear. She then pulled away.

“We are just glad to have you back.” Alexei said, clapping his hand on your shoulder in an almost-painful way. You knew it was his way of being deeply emotional.

“I’m only kind of sorry for breaking in.” Yelena said after a moment. “But I am glad to see you again.” She hugged you.

“Yeah. It’s good to see you too.” You felt a sense of pure love fill you.

You’d developed a new routine with Wanda.

You get up. You get ready. You eat breakfast with Wanda. You go to work. You drive home. You make dinner with Wanda and eat together. You end the night by turning on the TV to watch your favorite shows together.

You didn’t need to divide your life into two parts anymore. The world felt whole, you felt whole. Things were okay.

Life was going good.

“Considering this is our last meeting,” Coulson began. “I’d like to talk about something special.”

“Oh, don’t do that, you’ll make me cry.” Clint laughed.

The whole group chuckled.

“Alright, alright.” Coulson grinned slightly. “In one of our earliest meetings, we played the secrets game. If you don’t remember, that’s when I had you all write down a vulnerable thought or secret down on a piece of paper and we read them aloud. I think now’s a good time to claim our papers.” He set out each piece of paper down on the small table in the center of the circle of chairs.

You found yours immediately and picked it up as the rest of the group picked up theirs.

“How about we go in a circle and read them aloud? To see how much we’ve changed as people.” Coulson guided.

When it was your turn, you read your statement out loud. “I wonder if they regret being with me,” you read from the paper. When Coulson asked how you thought you’d changed since writing the words, you smiled gently.

“I’m more sure of myself. And..I have faith in my relationships and connections now.” You explained. Everyone smiled at that.

Then it was Wanda’s turn.

“Everyone I care about gets hurt.” She reads.

You freeze. “That one—I read that one. That was yours?”

She nods, a sheepish grin on her face. “I know I’ve changed a lot since then. I’m not afraid of losing people I love. Well, I mean, of course I am, but I’m never terrified the world will just suddenly end. Not anymore.” She holds your hand as she says it.

You walk out of therapy with your hand tightly held in hers.

Maybe there had been a point to all of it. Just maybe.

“Anyone up to grab lunch?” Tony called out as he was hopping into his car, Bruce getting into the passenger side.

You chuckled and flashed him a thumbs up.

As you and Wanda hopped into the truck, you turned on the radio. As you pulled out of the therapy center, the soft song filled the car.

Then you're left in the dust Unless I stuck by ya You're the sunflower I think your love would be too much Or you'll be left in the dust Unless I stuck by ya You're the sunflower You're my sunflower.

A/n: hoping I got somebody in the beginning. I have been thinking about that part since ch. 4 lmao.

Anyways I’m gonna start rambling about this series because it means a lot to me. I started this series in the summer (I think??), and I was in a completely different mental state. I love this series and I hope the people who read it do too. I’m glad I got to finish it.

In conclusion, it’s okay to move on. It will take a long time, it won’t be easy, and it’ll be hard. Maybe the things you deal with don’t ever go away, but they can improve.

Love you all. 💕🌻

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune Book 3 Chapter 4 - Old Friend (Part 2)

the way people talk in this volume is so weird, it'd be like:

Person A: [random spiel about a semi-interesting but irrelevant topic]

Person B: [random spiel about a semi-interesting but irrelevant topic that is barely related to what Person A is saying]

Person A: [continues random spiel] + Oh by the way [talks about thing that's actually related to the plot/characters]

Person B: Yeah.

And it's like the random infodumping never happened

Glossary here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

A hitatare is a type of traditional Japanese men's kimono worn by samurai

A nae eboshi is a type of hat worn by commoners and men without official court rank; an ayaigasa is a type of conical hat

The tenchou chikyuu ceremony is a thing where before you start a yabusame, you had to recite prayers and ride your horse around (or something like that)

The subase is when the head of ceremony gives the signal for archers to start galloping

The gaijin ceremony (凱陣の式) is when a drum is hit to signal the end of the shooting.

A gonnegi is a junior priest

Matsuda says this in English

Igarashi says 可以 in Chinese which means "I can" or "sure"

Previous | Next

 Green ivy was twined around the red bricks.

This year as well, many varieties of roses were in full bloom in the central courtyard of Kirisaki High School. The fragrant scent of the roses hinted at England and showed the height of tradition and praise. A gentleman learned the customs of his family from an early age.

Shuu’s pale eyelashes trembled.

“I met her a year ago. I heard that she was a woman with a bad temper, but she was a perfect lady in front of me.”

Senichi and Manji froze.

“…She?”

“Her name is Lily.”

“…Lily? She’s a foreigner?”

Shuu let out a chuckle.

What was displayed on his phone was white legs and a white mane—it was obviously a horse.

“I don’t think I can attempt yabusame if I can’t ride a horse. Lily might have a Western name, but she’s a domestic horse. Thoroughbreds have thin limbs, so if they break a bone, it can be fatal.”

Yabusame was a Shinto ritual in which archers shot at a target from a horse riding at full speed. It was an eight-hundred-year tradition, and it wasn’t only a martial arts competition, but also a prayer for the peace of the country and the happiness of its people. Schools like the Takeda-ryuu and Ogasawara-ryuu inherited that spirit and technique. As an aside, drawing a bow while standing on the ground was called busha, and drawing a bow on a horse was called kisha.

A few days later, a housha ceremony was carried out at the shrine.

The members of the Kazemai and Kirisaki kyudo clubs crowded into the space. That was because Shuu and Masa-san were participating as the archers.

Horses draped in crimson appeared against a backdrop of jade-green maples.

The archers were dressed in beautiful yabusame costumes. They were wearing hitatare (1) made of gold brocade. Shuu’s was purple, and Masa-san’s was deep lapis-lazuli. Their feet were covered in deerskin, they wore nae eboshi and ayaigasa (2) woven of soft rushon their heads. They wore a bracer on the left hand and their yugake on the right. A long sword and a short sword hung from their hips, and they were holding their bows while carrying their quivers on their backs.

After the magistrate chanted the written prayers, the signal arrows were offered up to the shrine.

――The meigen ceremomy.

The archers would make their bowstrings ring out and exorcise demons.

When the group appeared at the front, there was a path for rider and horse to ride on. It was a long and straight path. Spectators lined the path to see the moment the targets would be hit. There were three targets. After the tenchou chikyuu ceremony (3), the procession began. Standard bearers and taiko drummers stood at the vanguard, and ougikata waved their fans. Three people—the heifuri, target watcher, and an arrow retriever—stood next to each target. These people served indispensable roles in this Shinto ritual.

It was finally time for subase.(4)  At the signal of the head of ceremony’s taiko drum, the archers rode forward. The cool breeze, and the beautiful horses running down the straight path. Their smooth and thick muscles rippled, and the hair that covered their bodies shone in the light.

Shuu seemed like the flower and moon reflected on a clear surface, and Masa-san was like the man in the moon.

The moon reflected in the water was unattainable, and the beautiful immortal who lived on the moon.

Tachisukashi in Japanese-style horseback riding involved raising one’s body from the saddle by a hair’s breadth and maintaining a steady position even while riding the horse. It took many years to be able to master such a skill.

The housha!

The arrows that were powerfully released pierced the targets brilliantly.

Despite the loud cheers, the archers and their horses didn’t stop galloping. They quickly pulled out another arrow from their quiver and released it again.

A perfect hit!

They straddled their saddles, put their feet in the stirrups, and gripped their bows. The sound of the horses’ footsteps kicking up the dirt and the voices of people filled the area, but the archers didn’t smile. They didn’t turn around. This was a prayer for peace.

Bows were divine tools. When handling divine tools, one must never take one’s mind away from the gods. One must not give the demons an opening to take hold of you. By adjusting one’s qi, that is, aligning one’s own frequency with the frequencies emitted by people and objects, thereby purifying the space itself. Every time Shuu blinked, the violet fleeting moments activated.

Masa-san followed. He was someone who served the gods and his eyes were the same azure color as the earth. Many gods were watching—the god of the sky, the god of earth, the god of the bow. They were listening. They were holding their breaths. At this divinely solemn moment, the archer gave it his all. That was what this shot was for. Only when the bow, man, and horse became one could they communicate with heaven.

At the beginning of yabusame practice, participants rode on a human-powered rocking horse. Also, there were no warmup exercises on the day of the ceremony. For warriors, who never knew when a battle would begin, everyday life was synonymous with training. They created a set pattern, turned it into routine, and quickly dealt with any sense of discomfort. They kept in mind that even a second’s delay in judgment could be fatal, and did their best to have no regrets even if they crumbled to dust a second later. Bushido and Shinto rituals were inseparable. One felt the blessings of something invisible against one’s skin.

Archers offered up their prayers in a single arrow.

It was a makeshift bridge that connected heaven and humans.

The targets were hit one after the other, and when they had shot all their arrows, they dismounted. Upon returning to the shrine, a feast was held and sacred sake was offered. When they went outside, they shouted “Ei, ei, ei, oh!” to the accompaniment of taiko drums. That was the gaijin ceremony. (5) Inspecting the targets and cheering in victory was also a symbolic identification of the eradicated evil.

After completing their duties, Shuu and Masa-san looked at each other.

“As expected, Takigawa-san. All your arrows hit the center.”

“I can’t believe this is your first time, Fujiwara-kun.”

“Lily is a woman with nerves of steel. I’m grateful to her for trusting me.”

“Shuu-kuuuun!” Ryouhei ran over to them. “Shuu-kun, I wanna ride a horse too.”

“I don’t mind. We can take turns riding.”

Ryouhei and Minato took turns riding the horse with Shuu sitting behind them. Seiya, Kaito, Nanao, and the others also rode with Masa-san. The line of sight was high on horseback, and the body moved up and down with the horse’s steps, so even in this state it seemed difficult to hit the target with an arrow.

Senichi, Manji, Kabashima, Yushima, and Kuon were also there. Kuon lifted his chin and followed Minato and Shuu as they rode together with only his eyes.

Asahina and Eddie were there as well. The two were facing each other.

“That was so hype! The Young Prince of Kirisaki and Kazemai’s coach look incredible! Eddie, did you get them?”

“But of course. Now, let us move to the next position.”

For the two people who just loved flashy things, there was nothing more exciting than this. They applied in advance to the organizing body for permission to film and to share the proceeds from the stream, and secured the best seats. Matsuda, Kanuma, and Igarashi from Haneina High’s kyudo club, as well as their other school friends, participated as support, and videos were taken from multiple angles. The music would be performed with traditional instruments, and there would be explanatory captions in multiple languages for overseas viewers.

Many of the viewers for the kyudo channel “Yumihiki Douji” were foreigners. Their latest challenge was to get people to remember the “Eight Stages of Shooting.” Just like the soccer terms dribble and shoot, they wanted to raise awareness of kyudo terms such as “uchiokoshi” and “kai.”

That was why they started chanting the Eight Stages in the beginning of their videos. The only way to get people to remember unfamiliar words was to have them listen to them over and over again. The more words you knew, the deeper your understanding would be, and above all, the more fun you would have.

Some people might have skipped watching their videos because they recited the Eight Stages quickly. But there were also byproducts. After their viewers who were archers continued to watch them for about a month, they started reporting one after the other, “I don’t know why, but my hitting rate has increased.” The most likely theory was that the brain responded to the mouth saying things out loud, resulting in image training.

Asahina waved to Minato and the others who had finished riding.

“Hey, Kazemai crew! Can I interview you guys? I’ll start with Narumiya. You know both the Young Prince and the priest, in your opinion, how were they today?”

“They’re the same as always. Really cool.”

“Which one was cooler?”

“There’s no way to compare that, is there?”

“Can I have a look at your palm?”

“My hand? Okay.”

Asahina took a step closer to Minato.

“Just as I thought. You’ve got the Buddha’s eye and Mystic Cross on your palms.”

“Is that rare?”

“It is. They say that people with these lines have strong sixth sense and intuition, and are protected by their ancestors and other unseen things.”

“I don’t have a sixth sense, though.”

“Maybe it hasn’t awakened yet. Well, I’m more curious about this than your palms, though.”

Asahina and Eddie immediately touched Minato’s forehead. Seiya and Kanbayashi let out a simultaneous “Ah.”

“You’re full of openings. We have made contact with ‘Minahead,’ and now our mission for today is complete. Our kyudo skills will also improve. Thanks, Narumiya. We’re looking forward to seeing you at prefecturals.”

“We bid thee farewell!”

The two of them were quick to escape, and were quickly lost in the crowd.

In a corner of the shrine.

Masa-san stretched out as he took off his yabusame costume.

He was the only one there, as he had been given a private room. He rubbed his arms, shoulders, and legs with his hands and thanked them for their hard work for today. Since the body was the companion of the soul, it was the priest’s job to express gratitude to it. Masa-san’s priesthood rank, “Gonnegi” (6), came from the word “negu.” He soothed the hearts of the gods and prayed for their blessings.

He changed into street clothes, finished his canned coffee, and went outside. The sky he looked up at was blue and the wind was cool. The trees were covered in young leaves, and it looked like it was going to be a great day for setting sail.

“Am I qualified to exorcise demons? Answer me, Gramps.”

Gramps referred to Yasaka-hanshi, his kyudo master and grandfather.

As if in response to his words, the out-of-season chirping of cicadas sounded. They were chirping loudly and powerfully, but he couldn’t tell if the answer was yes or no. Did he ask the question in the wrong way, or was it presumptuous to ask if he was qualified or not? He supposed his grandfather was telling him to do his job and not just stand around talking nonsense. He was aware that the gods could see through his defeatist attitude, but if possible, he didn’t want his disciples to find out.

Even if he shot a million arrows or landed a hundred hits, his doubts weren’t dispelled. He was doing his best to contain the surging emotions within, putting them into words and erasing them, struggling to keep them unspoken.

Speaking—proclamations represented one’s covenant with the gods. Prayers and curses were the same from their perspective, and cancelling a covenant was no mean feat.

You must not say those words—.

Not only am I a servant of the gods, I’m also those kids’ coach. All women look beautiful to me, but I only think of my disciples as cute. Am I a doting parent?

The trees rustled in the wind.

The encounter was on a rainy night. The twinkling of peridots.

Dreams and reality intersected.

Sensing the presence of someone, Masa-san held his breath.

A woman walked up to him. It was hard to make out her face because she was wearing fancy glasses under the sunlight filtering through the trees, but he could get a rough idea of who she was by the way she was standing.

“Tsucchi-san.”

“I had no idea that the priest who passed by was the coach of the Kazemai High School kyudo club. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Tsucchi-san, you’re the coach for Haneina. I saw you at the venue for the preliminaries, but I apologize for not saying hello to you.”

“I don’t care about that kind of lip service. You called me ‘Ena-senpai’ during the thing with Tetsi. What do you mean, ‘it’s a fine name’? I don’t trust men who are smooth talkers.”

“‘Ena’ is a name that comes from the ena of the Womb Realm, the placenta of the perfected one. It seems that everyone has a memory of being wrapped in their mother cradle.”

“Can a Shinto priest talk about Shingon Buddhism?”

 “Japanese people are a people who celebrate Christmas at the end of the year, listen to the temple bells on New Year’s Eve, and visit the shrine on New Year’s. They live a life that’s true to Shintoism, respecting, integrating, and making the other into their daily routines, and yet so many Japanese say that they aren’t religious, making foreigners confused because they don’t understand.”

“I guess there was a problem with postwar education in that regard. Historians say that those who didn’t learn the myths of their peoples perished without exception.”

“Some works such as the Kojiki and Nihon Shoki are based on true stories of natural disasters and incidents, as well as to teach lessons. Because people don’t study mythology, they make the mistake of thinking that there are no gods or Buddhas, and that humans are the supreme creatures on earth. For the Japanese, God is nature itself. The sun god, mountain god, and the water god who is a dragon, are said to be animistic and primitive, but without the sun and water, almost all living things would disappear, and without mountains, it would be impossible to create buildings, cars, and other man-made objects.”

“The great power is God. I guess the Japanese have been good at anthropomorphizing since ancient times. Everything, even swords and countries are anthropomorphized. Humans are humans, and they become the god of learning or the god of manga.”

“Gods, Buddhas, and humans are all exalted and sacred beings. Tsucchi-san, I recommend you learn the art of self-defense. Until you master it, throw anything you can get your hands on, blind your attacker with scissors, and fight back with low blows. If you step on your attacker’s foot or kick them in the shin with your heel, most people wouldn’t be able to move for a while.”

“Aren’t those all foul techniques?”

“The best self-defense technique is not closing the distance with the opponent or creating a situation where you have to fight, but it’s unavoidable in order to fend off physical attacks, right? Even women who lack physical strength should remember how to protect themselves. Both individuals and nations are exploited because they show weakness. You should learn enough to make people think, ‘Oh, I’m going to be in trouble if I make her my enemy.’”

“I heard that we aren’t the strongest primates or anything. There’s something else I want to ask you. What exactly have you been doing for the last four years since you graduated from high school? I’ve been looking for you.”

“Mmm, last year I took the renshi exam and failed. When I entered the shajo, one person couldn’t keep their feet together and we all failed.”

“Hey, you haven’t answered my question at all. That happened after you graduated from university, right?”

“It was a typical four years at university, so I don’t have much to say about it. Oh, your students are here for you.”

When Tsucchi turned around, she saw Asahina and Eddie, who missed the chance to call out to her. Masa-san disappeared while she was distracted.

Asahina ran his hand through his red hair.

“Despite his appearance, he’s a scary priest. I definitely don’t want him to be my enemy. I bet he would chase me to the ends of hell and beat me up if I did anything wrong.”

Eddie also retied his blond ponytail.

“Well said. He is already immersed in tactics.”

The three started walking.

After the yabusame, the Kazemai and Kirisaki kyudo clubs met up and headed to the large public bathhouse.

Minato and the others were unaware of the words Masa-san and Tsucchi exchanged.

Eddie moved into the Asahina household the day after the yabusame.

There was a water leak in one of the units of the apartment Eddie was renting, and all the unit on the first floor was flooded. Chairs and refrigerators that were floating in the water were lying around, similar to the aftermath of flood damage. When he consulted with Asahina, he said, “Why don’t you come over?” and Eddie moved in immediately.

Eddie received a warm welcome in front of Asahina’s house. Although it wasn’t large in size, it had a simple and sturdy construction with tiles and earthen walls, making it look like an Edo mansion.

There was a man dressed in black at the entrance, calling out loudly to Asahina.

“Is that honored personage your school friend I’ve heard so much about, Waka? You said you wouldn’t let us meet him, but have you changed your mind now? Now, come inside, come inside.”

“Uncle, stop calling me ‘Waka.’”

“Waka is Waka. Ane-san is in the back.”

A woman wearing a chic kimono and had her hair tied back appeared. She was in her forties.

“Oh, son, do we have a guest? I’m about to head to work soon.”

“Mom, it’s fine to gather the neighbors together, but could you please stop dressing in black ceremonial kimonos and black five-crested kimonos? People who don’t know us would think this is a Yakuza gathering.”

“I don’t care about people I don’t know. This is a play party for adults, so they can just leave me alone.”

Asahina’s mother was a former actress. She retired when she got married and currently worked as the proprietress of a small restaurant. Her most famous work was a historical drama, and she played a character named Kikyou, called “Ane-san,” so even the people in their neighborhood called her “Ane-san.” Every month, she held a cosplay competition called the tea party. Her husband was a gentle man who was enchanted by his wife, and he would happily say things like, “Kikyou-san, you look beautiful today as well.” In a sense, they were a couple who were similar to each other and could immerse themselves in a world of lies.

There were many other people living in the Asahina household all the time. That was because Asahina often “found and picked up” people.

These people had various circumstances, such as foreigners traveling on a budget or children wandering around town. He enjoyed sightseeing together with tourists, and with bullied kids, he engaged legal organizations to report the bullies, who were essentially criminals, to the police. If they were beaten, the crime was bodily harm; if money or goods were taken, the crime was extortion; slander posted online was defamation, and shoplifting was theft. One must not be fooled by the paraphrasing of crafty people.

Asahina wasn’t only a boisterous Yotuber, but also the most dependable big brother in town. He was gallant and generous, unable to leave those in trouble alone. He was the model of an Edokko, possessing the determination and ability to do things, as if saying, “If the adults around you won’t protect you, I will.” Eddie, captivated with that side of him, enjoyed being around him.

After Asahina finished speaking with his mother, he spoke to Eddie.

“Well, the guest rooms are full, so let’s go to my room. I’ll ask you to help around the house like a freeloader. Also, don’t tell anyone if you find something.”

By “something,” he was talking about the posters and goods of the idol group “Princess Cheer” that Noririn was part of. Asahina was a group stan and a secret idol fan. He watched their fantastic live performances where they sang hard rock and danced agilely everyday.

“They’re piling up, so let’s clean it up quickly.”

“Will this be finished by the end of today?”

“Don’t run away, partner.”

Asahina’s eyes were sharp.

One had forgotten to mention that while Asahina had the appearance of a good-natured young man, his true nature was a tiger. If he recognized someone as an enemy, he would bite at them mercilessly. Barely anyone knew the face of the raging night.

When he opened the door to his room, it was filled with blinding light.

It was such a beautiful day that it was a waste to stay indoors. Asahina leaned out of his window and looked up at the sun. The way he narrowed his eyes and looked at it reminded Eddie of Icarus, who fell after his wax wings melted, and he whispered to him not to get too close to the sun.

The two turned on their computers. Using video editing software, they processed the footage they captured.

“What should we do here?”

“Nothing. Oh, this is nice. Female archers look so dignified.”

“A request has arrived, it has.”

“Shall we transfer it to Sensei?”

As they started to become well-known, all sorts of people wanted to discuss things with them, but Asahina and the others didn’t respond to them directly. At Haneina, they had contracts with lawyers, patent attorneys, tax accountants, and others, and they tried to involve experts in these discussions. There were many scams, and it was too risky for high school students to suddenly sign a contract. They must also pay taxes as well. In addition, the school intended to teach classes using these actual cases so it would help freelancers, who were expected to increase in the future.

“Hmm, my eyes are blinking too incessantly. I shall take a short recess.”

Eddie groaned, leaning towards Asahina, but Asahina remained glued to the screen.

“I am famished. I shall cry if you do not take care of me.”

“Our yellow-headed chirper is such a pain.”

Asahina opened a bag of pastries and popped one into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie lied down, chewed and swallowed, then opened his mouth again. When he was full, he got up and went back to his computer. On the way, his phone rang many times, but he ignored it. He immersed himself in his work and kept pushing forward. Both of them couldn’t stay still. It wasn’t a runner’s high, but once they reached a certain limit, they felt light and comfortable, like their bodies had gone somewhere else.

Old friend.

They probably met somewhere before they were born.

The person who was always next to them.

The person they could never save.

They probably wouldn’t share this feeling with anyone else. It was a secret between just the two of them. They were similar to comrades in arms, those who survived through numerous battles, those who watched their comrades die, and live with bitter memories that couldn’t be put into words. The sound of a young man crying for their mother and the smell of gunpowder. Whose memories were these and from when? They vowed to themselves that if they were still unable to leave the battlefield after being reborn, they would enjoy themselves.

“It’s peaceful here.”

“Yes, it is peaceful.”

“Oh no, we might not be able to finish by evening. I have to get them to confirm it too.”

Just as Asahina cried that out in front of the large number of materials, the door to his room suddenly opened. The members of Haneina’s kyudo club were all there.

“Let me help,” Matsuda laughed. (7)

“I’ll help if I can compose a poem while I’m doing it,” Kanuma said.

Asahina’s mouth curled into a smile. “You came at a good time. Can you do my homework for me?”

“You can do that yourself. Eddie, give me some work,” the Gardening Prince, Igarashi, said.

“I am indebted to you. Then, please translate these comments into Chinese. Include plenty of jokes as well.”

“Keyi.” (8)

In this way, the “Yabusame!” video posted by the kyudo channel “Yumihiki Douji” gained great popularity.

Put a message that will reach those who will notice—.

Kazemai High School.

From a corner of the school building, the sound of instruments repeating the same phrase could be heard. At first, it was out of tune, but before one knew it, they overlapped and turned into stately music. Sounds were also coming from the kyudojo one after the other.

Minato took his bow and arrow and let out a breath.

His master said, “Breathe through the soles of your feet. Relax your whole body.”

He raised his bow without warping his yumifutokoro. The bow was constantly talking to the archer. Release me, believe in me and surrender yourself to me. I’ll give you everything you want.

“You don’t need any tricks. Just expose everything and embrace the earth.”

He slowly pushed the bow open. The bow and human’s breathing overlapped. The breath he took in from the soles of his feet was exhaled at the top of his head and into the sky. The rising air engulfed the surrounding objects.

Tsurune. Matooto. The sound of gasps from the people watching. When the three sounds came together, Minato lowered his bow.

The first-year Kanbayashi clapped his hands vigorously.

“Senpais, that was so cool!”

“Foot breathing doesn’t make any sense to me,” Keyaki questioned, while Himuro was as expressionless as always.

“When you fold your body in half, the parts that overlap, such as the head and feet, neck and ankles, correspond with each other. Just like how the head has eyes and a mouth, it feels like there are eyes and mouths on the soles of the feet as well. Martial art techniques aren’t expressed with words, but expressed with your body. The only way to learn is by actually doing it,” Masa-san said.

When everyone finished zasha, Tommy-sensei stood in front of everyone.

“Now, did everyone change into their gym clothes. Let’s do yoga today. In kyudo, the vertical and horizontal lines of the body are important. Let’s each check the twists in our bodies.”

The method was simple: walk in a straight line with your eyes closed. When you opened your eyes, your body was twisted away from the line. You also tried lying face down and checked to see if your legs were the same length. Next, check for any contortions. If one of your knees stuck out when you were sitting in seiza, you had a pelvic abnormality. People who had a raised right shoulder were putting pressure on their stomach, and people with a raised left shoulder were putting pressure on their liver. They did corrective gymnastics, yoga cat poses and twisting poses.

Next to Hanazawa, who was striking gorgeous poses, Shiragiku was struggling. Since her body was stiffer than expected, Seo came to help. To conclude, they worked in pairs to massage each other.

Minato and Ryouhei formed a pair.

“Minato, Minato, I’m good at massages, aren’t I? I always do them for my sister.”

“Yeah, you’re good at it.”

“Are your toes going around in circles. I tried to do one for Shuu-kun before, but he refused.”

“I think he was probably surprised by the offer. Maybe he was embarrassed.”

“Really? He didn’t have to be shy.”

As they were chatting, Ryouhei leaned against Minato’s back, causing Minato to groan as he was folded in half.

To Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo, they looked like an innocent Labrador retriever sitting on top of a serious black Shiba inu. Next to them, Kaito and Seiya had expressions of exasperation.

Tommy-sensei announced the next regimen.

“Everyone, bring out your phones. We’re going to record everyone’s shooting.”

They stood in front of the target in order. When they finished recording, they watched themselves on the screen. The things that were always pointed out were visualized, so they were able to accept them. At the end, they repeated the important points with Masa-san.

During the break, Nanao showed everyone the photos he saved on his phone. Kanbayashi was impressed by the figurine of a frog drawing a bow and an illustration of a frog wearing a headband while studying. It was filled with frog pictures.

“Kisaragi-senpai, you’re amazing. It’s a whole parade of frogs, kero. Oh, what’s this one?”

“That’s a picture my parents sent me. They’re obsessed with taking pictures of rainbows. They don’t just take pictures of rainbows in the sky, but all sorts of places like on bicycle reflectors and glass windows.”

“The colors change depending on how the light is reflected,” Keyaki said in admiration.

As Nanao was sliding through his photos, Masa-san asked him to stop at one of them.

“This is…”

“Oh, that photo was taken at a shrine on an isolated island. It looks like a rainbow-colored ring and magenta orb floating, but in reality, the setting sun shining between the torii gates was like a chrysanthemum flower, and each petal was shining in a rainbow color. It was really beautiful, apparently. Doesn’t it look mystical?”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. Sorry, but could you share this photo with me?”

“Okay. But the locals asked us not to post it on social media. There are also worshippers included in the picture, and apparently they won’t be able to handle the influx of tourists on sightseeing tours.”

“Got it.”

Masa-san covered his mouth with his long fingers.

For some reason, Minato felt a chill as he stared at his profile.

Previous | Next

[idontknowreallywhy]

Estera - Ch 9 - Coffee

(Previous… Prologue - Stars are Only Visible in Darkness, Estera - 1 - Colour, 2 - Dinosaur, 3 - Shoes, 4 - Thunderbird, 5 - Lesson, 6 - Safe, 7 - Gull, 8 - Deliver)

(Recrudescence by @sofasurf)

This ended up being the longest chapter yet… but they had a lot of ground to cover. Also, I hope you will forgive the cheesy aroma of self-indulgence at the end but once the idea came I couldn’t quite let it go. And what’s the point of writing a story if you can’t do all of the ridiculous things you want to, right?

A Conversation…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Hello, Scott.”

“Hey, you came!”

She did a tiny jazz hands then folded herself into the seat opposite, unravelling an incredibly long blue scarf from around her neck and face.

“Well at least you dressed right for the weather. I’ll admit I was a little surprised by how cold it is… isn’t it meant to be Spring?”

“Ah, welcome to Sidmouth. The sea breeze adds a certain something.”

“It’s a beautiful spot.”

“Yes, I love it here.”

Scott caught the eye of the waiter. “What can I get you?”

“Triple shot cappuccino please.”

He ordered two.

“I wasn’t expecting you until after the school day? Well, if you came at all, I mean… uh, you didn’t have to of course.” His mouth went dry.

“Of course I came.” She wound the scarf slowly around her hand as she continued

“I was actually supposed to have the day off today but was hoping being at school would be a distraction from it all. It wasn’t really working. I was actually about to leave when you, err, were there, so…” she reached the end of the scarf, placed it on the table in a neat rectangle and rested her hands on top.

“Thank you for your letter, it was… sweet of you.”

“I really am so sorry about the way I…”

She held up a hand. “Don’t, you’ve already apologised beautifully and it’s perfectly understandable. If anything needs forgiving then consider it forgiven.”

The waiter bustled over with the coffees. She fell on hers with surprising enthusiasm. Scott twirled the teaspoon in his fingers, trying to recall the various conversation starters he’d rehearsed to himself over the last 24 hours but they’d all evaporated the moment she’d sat down and any minute the silence was going to get awkward.

She put her mug down and tilted her head to one side, as if sizing him up.

“Zacząć od nowa?” She put a hand to her her mouth and shook her head. “Sorry, it’s been a long day… I mean, what if we started over?”

She held out a hand and Scott lifted his to meet it but hesitated, overwhelmed by a strange sense that his hand might go straight through hers and prove this was all in his head.

“Hello, my name’s Estera Hermaszewska. I’m a primary teacher here in the UK but I grew up in… what used to be Poland. I enjoy martial arts and running, I play the cello rather badly. Oh, and my favourite food is chocolate cake.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Your turn.”

He took her hand and shook it tentatively.

“Scott Carpenter Tracy. First responder and pilot. Ugh, and I guess the business stuff takes up a lot of my time so there’s that. I’m from” he paused “well, Kansas originally. We had a ranch there. I like to run too. Oh, and apple pie.”

She smiled “that’s a good choice.”

Ok. Ok. He’d established she was really alive, she was living and she had a life. Now to find out how it was possible.

“How did you come to be here? In the UK?”

She sighed, the memory obviously a heavy one.

“Well, there was this war on where I lived. I don’t know if you heard about it but it was fairly inconvenient…” her mouth twisted into a wry grin and as she caught his eye he found himself smirking along too. With a jolt he realised the dark humour reminded him of his old air force buddies.

“And you didn’t fancy sticking around?” he asked lightly.

She looked down at her hands and ran her thumb along the edge of the scarf.

“On the day we… met… I realised I had to disappear so they didn’t target my parents too. I knew people were being smuggled out on small aircraft and luckily that night there was a plane leaving from the playing fields just behind our house.”

Scott went light headed as he realised he knew exactly the one she meant. The same one he’d intended to hijack to secure his own freedom.

“They just let you on board?”

She laughed bitterly and blinked rapidly.

“Uh, no. We had to be hidden. There were some wooden crates. I think they were supposed to look like coffins so nobody would check inside. It was…” she trailed off and he suddenly recalled her comment in the cave.

“Hence the claustrophobia?”

Her hands tightened around the scarf and she blushed a little.

“Hence the claustrophobia. I, err, don’t fly well either. At all, actually. Which is fine, I’ve never needed to since.”

“And your parents?”

He immediately wished he could claw the words back into his mouth. The flicker of agony on her features was brief but unmistakeable.

“The soldiers didn’t make the connection, they stayed safe. But…” she swallowed and clenched her jaw and when she continued there was a quiet fury in her words “just before everything ended they both got sick. One of the things the militia did when they arrived was blockade the supply of medical aid. Nobody got the vaccine boosters they should have had and…” she closed her eyes “the malaria was bad that year.”

As he watched her tangle her fingers through the scarf again, Scott felt almost overwhelmed by nausea. He swore to himself she could never know he had survived the monster that had taken her parents from her.

She hurried on “What about you though? I saw the guy with the knife… he looked… I thought he was going to… I thought he had. I was sure of it.”

She didn’t know?

“It was you. You saved me! Whatever you threw… he left me to the other two and chased you instead?”

“He chased me?” She turned her head and stared out to sea. Maybe he was telling her too much, he shouldn’t have said that, she didn’t need to know. Except now she did. He mentally kicked himself. She seemed to come to a decision to file the implications away for later and met his eye again.

“But you didn’t escape?”

Somehow he held her gaze and answered reasonably calmly.

“No. No, I didn’t escape.”

“I’m so sorry, Scott. We heard stories about the camps and… I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t great.”

She looked at him incredulously and he took a breath, feeling he owed it to her to be honest.

“It’s difficult to find words to describe how horrific it was. I’m not completely sure how long it was between my arrival and it being liberated but they told me at least a couple of months. I… I came out sick and pretty broken but…” here he added his own mini jazz hands and a tiny forced smile “I survived.”

She nodded. “And look at everything you’ve achieved since!”

He shrugged that off. He didn’t deserve compliments right now. Something still wasn’t sitting right, still didn’t make sense in all of this. It didn’t fit the facts he knew.

“Estera, I’m sorry to ask this and please don’t answer if you don’t want to. But I have to ask it anyway. After… we met… did they uh, was there…”

He gripped the edge of the table and looked down, trying to steady his breathing. She reached a hand across and leaned into his line of sight, looking up at him calmly.

“It’s ok. You can ask it.”

“Did they… hurt… you?” The words burned his throat on the way out.

“After I left you? No, I never saw them again. I used my keycard to take the side gate from the alley into the school grounds to pick up my handbag… It was a crazy detour in retrospect but I panicked that if they found it they could use my ID to trace my family. Then I left via the back door and thankfully there was no sign of anybody.”

“They… were lying.”

Scott pressed his shaking palms into his eye sockets and shuddered.

They’d taunted him with unbearable detail of the humiliation and violence she’d been subjected to, all because of his intervention. But for him, they’d have had some fun then let her go… but he’d made the boss angry. He’d made it worse for her. If he hadn’t tried to play the hero she’d probably have survived.

It was a lie.

She had! They hadn’t done any of it.

All this time…

He laughed, bitterly. Then tried to explain himself.

“I’m sorry, they uh… told me… you… they… uh sorry.” He leaned back and looked at the sky, blinking to clear his vision, before taking a deep breath and blowing it out vigorously. He got control of himself and looked back at her. She was waiting. Looking sympathetic but not… not shocked or scared of what he might say.

“They told me I made it worse. That you were… punished for what I did and…” his voice caught “that you didn’t survive.”

“You didn’t. And I’m still here.”

“You are.”

“And so are you.”

“Seems that way.” he whispered.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Unprompted, the waiter materialised with fresh drinks and they both took the opportunity to pause and warm their cold fingers on the cups almost too hot to hold. She watched the steam, trying to collect her thoughts.

This conversation was never going to have been anything but difficult. But, it could have been worse. She hadn’t told him everything - he didn’t need to know everything - but what she had said… he’d seemed to understand? She’d not had that experience since the funding for the monthly therapy and support group for refugees was discontinued a year after the war ended. Since then, she’d been on her own. It didn’t seem fair to bring such things up with new friends. The fewer people who had to think about it the better. She raised the cup to her lips and blew away the steam.

Her hand trembled slightly and she slopped half the coffee over the table. Scott immediately contained it with napkins but there weren’t enough and she rooted in her coat pocket for the emergency packet of tissues she carried and produced them in a rush. Something else came out attached to the packet and fell to the table with a slight rattle.

Oh no. Oh no no no nooo.

He reached out and delicately picked it up between a thumb and forefinger.

“So… I can’t help but notice you have a tiny model of my leg in your pocket. Should I be concerned?”

Her face was burning.

“You… you know I work with kids, right? It’s um, not mine. I’m not a crazy stalker person or anything.” She glanced up and was relieved to see he was laughing. “In fact before today I didn’t know there were action figures, it’s usually the trading cards I have to confiscate. That’s quite some PR machine you’ve got there.”

Now it was his turn to look awkward.

“Ah, well… there were so many poor quality ones being sold and they were frankly an environmental disaster and the manufacturing conditions were awful and so TI made some official ones. Proper working conditions, closed loop. All the proceeds to charity so… uh, yeah. It still feels cringey but I think was the right thing to do.” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck vigorously as if trying to warm it up. “The ones of me always lose legs. There have been an embarrassing number of design meetings on the point.”

She nearly choked on her coffee.

“I'm sorry but it's just so surreal that you not only have a toy figure made of you but you actually go to meetings where you discuss your leg strength!”

“My actual leg strength is just fine. I’ve barely ever lost one.”

“That’s good to know” she deadpanned and took a sip of coffee before smirking again

“So… do you have to model for these?”

“Thankfully, no… they do refresh them occasionally and we have to approve any new designs. I have an overarching veto since a novelty collection of them nearly got released for Valentines a few years back… Gordon was the creative menace behind it and cancelling the production run cost him a significant chunk of his trust fund. Although he would tell you it was worth it for the prototypes he got to keep.” He smirked, apparently remembering “Virgil’s was quite amusing in fairness…”

She quirked an eyebrow by way of encouragement to elaborate.

“1960’s artists overalls and palate, jaunty beret, red rose between his teeth. The overalls had an outrageously big floppy bow.”

She thought back to the serious but handsome young man who had gently explained everything to the parents at the rescue site and smiled

“I bet that would have been popular”.

“Probably. Gordon’s was meant to portray the aftermath of his Olympic Butterfly gold, but the proportions were way off and I can promise you nobody needs an action figure of him in Speedo’s.”

She could feel her eyes widen “Oh, well, yikes.”

Her attention was caught by a loud snarling as a dog belonging to one of the other customers faced off with that of a passer-by. She tried to ignore it.

“Dare I ask what was wrong with yours?”

A clatter of crockery and scrape of chairs on concrete as the angry dog slipped its leash and bounded after the other, barking aggressively. The owner gave chase, shouting apologies.

She rolled her eyes and looked back at Scott about to make some comment about puppy training classes but he wasn’t there.

He was sat in the same place but his eyes, wide but with deep lines of tension at the edges, looked straight through her, flitting from side to side as he tracked something she couldn’t see. His jaw moved in a way that suggested he was grinding his teeth and his hand resting on the table had formed a white knuckled ball. He was barely breathing.

She knew this.

Her heart ached for him that he knew it too.

Ever so gently she placed her own hand next to his and very slightly stroked the back of his wrist with the tip of a finger. Sometimes a subtle touch could be grounding, as long as it didn’t shock him.

She carried on talking softly, hoping the sound would help him find his way back but quickly began to run out of nonsense. Clutching at straws, she began to recite the poem she had read to the children during quiet time last Thursday.

“Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;”

After a few moments his jaw relaxed slightly and his lips moved soundlessly. Encouraged, she ploughed on

“Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds, – and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air…”

She paused, racking her brain for the next line. In the faintest whisper he finished it:

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or ever eagle flew –

And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

The gulls called to each other over the water, his eyes suddenly locked on to hers and he gasped.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Chapter 10…

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Main Story: Part 4 - Act 13: Budding Spring - Episode 18: Leaving the Nest

!! this chapter makes a spoilery reference to act 12! act 12 is currently being translated by otomehoneyybearr here!

Muku: It’s going to get lonely without the Spring Troupe here.

Misumi: I’ll give you a triangle for good luck~

Sakuya: What a beautiful shell. Thank you very much!

Citron: I won’t never forget about any of you~!

Tsuzuru: You gotta use ever here.

Taichi: And you’re exaggeratin’! 

Yuki: We’re having a farewell party even though you’re coming back?

Omi: I guess it’s more like a send-off party?

Homare: Hm! This is a meeting to encourage the Spring Troupe as they embark on a new adventure! I shall start by offering a poem to celebrate your departure!

Izumi: The green curry is ready~

Azami: Why’s the menu a set of sushi and curry?

Citron: The sushi was my request~

Izumi: I want the Spring Troupe to remember the taste of the MANKAI dorm’s curry…!

Sakyo: This thing has become the MANKAI dorm’s specialty.

Manager: I’ve decided on our next goods!

Sakyo: Quit while you’re ahead. It’s too elaborate, and we won’t be able to have it in stock forever.

Izumi: No compromises!

Tasuku: All of you leaving right before the performance period is pretty bold, though.

Azuma: I think that’s exactly why they’re doing it.

Banri: Sometimes you gotta try out new things to get a breakthrough.

Tsumugi: Being a Director’s assistant was that for you. Even though each of their goals is different, but it makes you want to cheer them on, doesn’t it?

Omi: Even if it seems like an unnecessary detour, you might end up finding something you need.

Sakuya: Oh, also. Should we use the app Towa-kun uses to chat?

Itaru: BlooCha?

Sakuya: I know we already have LIME, but this one shows when you’re online, and it seems to keep logs of when you leave and enter the chat room, so it’ll feel like we’re in the same place.

Chikage: Why not?

Itaru: The timing’s perfect. BlooCha’s been blowing up lately.

Citron: I’ll download it right away!

Tsuzuru: Seems like you’re asked to create an avatar after registering.

Masumi: There’s no curry avatar…

Chikage: Obviously not.

Citron: My avatar is done!

Sakuya: Eh, is this a cat? No, a worm? Wha???

Itaru: How on earth did you make that.

Citron: I combined a lot of things!

Tsuzuru: I feel like I'll watch the world end if I see this thing talking the way Citron-san does.

Sakuya: Chikage-san’s name is “UC”?

Chikage: I mean, it’s a safe choice.

Citron: Too safe! I feel like we’ll mistake you for an error message!

-

Sakuya: Sorry for leaving so early in the morning.

Izumi: It’s alright. I already saw everyone else off, so I have to see you off too.

Izumi: Did you forget anything? Did you take medicine and the like with you?

Sakuya: You’re worrying too much.

Izumi: Fufu, you’re right. You can buy medicine anywhere, and if you forgot anything, you can just come back to get it.

Izumi: (I saw him off like this when we pseudo-disbanded. But this time it’s so sudden, it feels different.)

Izumi: (With the situation being what it was back then, we all made that decision together.)

Izumi: (This time it feels like he’s really leaving…)

Izumi: It’ll be kinda lonely.

Sakuya: This is not a goodbye. We’re just… leaving the nest. For the sake of our future.

Izumi: That’s true.

Izumi: (Sakuya-kun has grown so big and dependable.)

Izumi: (He’s grown so much that he can think for his and the company’s future, and take action accordingly.)

Izumi: Take care. Stay safe.

Sakuya: I’m off!

previous episode | masterpost | next episode

[ladysomething]

hi hunnnnn. I have 3 things, maybe 4

1. what in the everloving fuck is chubes. I've been wreckling my mind for days because I for the love of the ch words cannot understand what it means.

2. do you have the list of the pro-anti omega drivers that another anon did? just wondering. I wanna read it out of curiosity.

3. anon (s?) with the top Charles fright. I feel you. and before you, my dear Mads (I didn't even know that was your name, so, hi Mads), try to convert me, I myself already tried. it work out like shit because now I have PTSD. I kinda tried to look it up but my knowlegde of how to use ao3 is nonexistent at worst and laughable at best so I kinda ended up in a Voltron with Charles Dickens as the name fic. just kinda. it was something. and then when I deciphered the tags I started reading Yours. and don't get me wrong. it's great, my love to the author. but in my mind fic Charles is just the biggest twink ever and it must remain as such. regardless of where. but y'all do yourselves

4. I was just wondering if in the future you would be open to make some Max POV's from past moments. what I want to say is that I really wanna know what went throw Max’s mind when he hear Fred speak about the bruises. but I mean it like. when you've finished WYGIG obviously.

+1. I have storted things out about myself with this fic. have you seen that funny ao3 wrapped post? the one that's like spotify wrapped but ao3 and goes something like you get a fav author, and then you stalk them, see they are into some weird shit and now you're into that too? that's me with breeding kink. I'm a different person now than I was before starting this fic. (thanks)

+2 anon that wanted to draw them, please I beg you do it. I wanna see some fanarts 😽

so obviously I did 6 things. wow

ok I'll go one by one!!!!

lmao I forget that people aren't like. seeing everything like I'm seeing everything hahaha. but basically the other day the forum was discussing what Charles would do if he got pregnant accidentally, and then somebody suggested Max get a vasectomy, and somebody else said "You can never trust a man, Charles should get his chubes tied." so chubes = Charles tubes. NOT pubes, in case that was an option you came up with hahah

I don't have it on hand, I'm sorry! but I THINK what I told people was Lewis is outwardly pro omega, we'd already discussed Daniel would be pro omega (I think???), Lando was in the publicly staying out of category (but has now been revealed to have nefarious intentions), and George would be completely anti-omega just for funsies.

look I'll ignore what is obviously a very underdeveloped palette from you to address the REAL issue here: how did you end up at a fic with Charles Dickens?????????? pls message me and I can give you a crash course on how to use ao3, because a beautiful world awaits you my friend.

hm well, I probably won't go over it COMPLETELY, but there are some insights into previous Charles chapters when we finally get back to a Max POV.

+ 1. I'll be honest, that was my reaction the first time I read a fic with breeding kink. I was like "oh. this is really something I've learnt about myself huh."

+ 2. SAME!!!! Many big loves to anybody willing to draw Max fucking Charles into oblivion while telling him he wants to get him pregnant. (jk ... but also ... 👀👀)

[xxkitty13]

Circus Freaks

LA Buggy x Fem Reader

Previous Chapters: Part 1, Part 10

Previously: Kija tells his son about the island's history. Specifically, the reasoning behind the Kisha's exile. He explains that a pendant is able to access a powerful instrument that controls the weather elements. Y/n's blood is needed to activate said instrument and Yasi becomes alarmed at the information. He helps Y/n further investigate her linage at the cemetery, where she is met with a vivid flashback. When she returns to the circus grounds, Buggy is trapped by Mr. Dun and Kija. Now, Buggy and Y/n are under Kija's custody.

Part 11: Turmoil

“If you don’t let me out, I’ll slaughter all of you bastards!” Buggy exclaims, tugging on his chains.

He furiously looks through his jail cell, giving a death glare to the mayor and his goons. They're at an unknown location, presumably at an abandoned basement.

“What goes around, comes around. Am I right?” Mr. Dun laughs. “You shouldn’t have messed with me and now look at you, pathetic.”

“Screw you!” Buggy yells out, his nose barely touching the rusted sea stone bars.

The mayor approaches the cell and leans forward. He gives him a dashing smile and goes to flick his nose. The pirate captain snarls at him, "Don't you dare touch my nose with your filthy hands!"

He cackled loudly, "I'll do what I want." He gives him another flick to the nose before pulling away. The mayor snaps his fingers to signal his men for their departure. As he walks away, he turns around one last time. "Just so you know, Mr. Abask is planning to wed the youngsters by the end of the week, and you won't be breathing to witness it."

Buggy's eyes widen at this piece of information. "Wedding?! That bastard! I won't let him get away with this!"— he screams— "Freaks?! Where are my freaks?!"

"Oh, they're not here. No one will come to rescue you. Have fun on your last days, I sure will." With that, Mr. Dun snickers away, leaving the pirate alone in the dark drenched cell.

He trashes around, trying to break free of the chains, but it was no use. Despite the chains made of regular metal, the collar around his neck is made of sea stone. It's not hundred percent pure sea stone, but it is enough to contain his devil fruit's power.

"Shit."

Buggy calms down and plots to the dirty ground. "How do I get out of this mess?"

.°˖✧.°˖✧

Elsewhere, Y/n sits anxiously with Yasi in an intricate room of the Abask's mansion. Beautiful artworks are displayed across the walls, adding dimension to the plain beige color. Though, the dim lighting makes it hard to see. The candles that light the room flicker viscously, almost dancing, the sound of each wild wick with the silence triggers Y/n. Uneasy, she paces back and forth, fiddling with her fingers.

"Y/n, calm down. Buggy will be fine."

She stops her tracks and faces Yasi. "Are you sure? There is no way they're letting Buggy out of this island. Have you seen his bounty?"

Yasi walks to the nearby desk and picks up the bounty poster. "I don't understand, why didn't he tell you?"

"I don't know. . ."

She sighs and sits back down, hiding her face with her hands. Yasi places the bounty poster back on the desk and takes a seat next to her. He consoles her by patting her back.

"Well, obviously he was going to scare you off with that bounty. Would you agree?"

"I guess. . . I still wished he would have told me. My sister was right, I really don't know anything about him."

"It's not your fault. I don't think we truly know anyone." He looks away for a brief moment and takes a deep breath. "You never know what people hide from you."

Breaking the conversation, the door creaks open, revealing no other than Kija himself. The air tenses at his arrival. "Why hello," he says cheerfully. He takes a couple of steps inside the room and scans the area. "You know, this used to be Yasi's old playroom. Now we just store old paintings and junk." His eyes trail to the youngsters, who did not sure the same enthusiasm.

"Okay, enough chit chat. We have many things to discuss, in particularly about the incident earlier."

Y/n straightens her posture, giving a nasty glare to the older man. "Where's Buggy and his crew?" she asks with a stern tone.

"That is classified information my dear. I assure you that you're better off without those people."

"Are you turning them in the marines?"

Kija remains silent.

"Well, are you?" she pressed.

He chuckles, his raspy laugh adds to the ominous atmosphere. "The marines have been contacted. They will arrive shortly."

Her heart drops at the news. Once they get a hold of the pirates, she will lose all contact with them. She clutches her chest as her hands tremble.

"There is no reason to be sad Y/n. That man lied to you, he manipulated you to believe he was good, but pirates are not good people."

"Buggy's different," she muttered, not wanting to make eye contact.

"If you know him so well, then you must know about the atrocities he committed. Being tied with an evil pirate, what does that make you Y/n? Do I have to turn you in the marines as well?"

She balls her first, but before she could speak, Yasi interjected. "Enough father, Y/n wouldn't stay with a man with that reputation. She didn't know."

Y/n tilts her head in confusion, what is he trying to say?

Yasi nudges her to go along with his words.

"Y-yes, I am young and gullible. I didn't know any better."

Clearing his throat, Yasi continues, "In fact, we were talking about the arranged marriage. Y/n has agreed to proceed."

"Oh,"— Kija's face lightens in surprise— "What changed your mind?"

"I've decided to give your son a chance. I realized my future is at stake with that pirate. Yasi is a better candidate."

"I see. . . well then, I will arrange the wedding at once."

"Huh, so soon?!" The two shout.

"Why not? The sooner the better or are you having second thoughts, Y/n?" His words apparently dark.

"No, no. . . I just wasn't expecting to get married right off the bat."

"No need to worry about it, I have people to take care of everything. Remember, once you join the family, the Ti's are safe."

Y/n gulps at the fact. She only nods in response.

"Okay, I'll leave you two kiddos at it. You two are to remain inside of the mansion, understand?"

"Yes sir," Yasi answered.

"Good, I'll take my leave. Expect my return in a couple of hours, I have matters to attend to."

With that he pivots and walks out the room. At his exit, two security guards stand by. Without facing them, he orders, "Do not let them out of your sights, I don't trust them. Report any suspicious activity to me immediately."

"Yes sir."

Back inside the room, Yasi and Y/n look at each other dumbfounded.

"Um, how soon is soon?"

"I have no fucking idea, but we won't let that happen."

"Okay, so what do we do?"

"We need to head to my father's office. Maybe we can find a clue about Buggy's location."

"Right."

As they open the door to leave, they're greeted by the two security guards.

"Fuck, I should have known," Yasi scowls.

The guards are twice the size of Yasi, who himself towers the average man. One of guard smirks at him. “Mr. Abask commanded us to remain by your side until his return. We would recommend that you comply."

Yasi looks at Y/n with the same expression of "What do we do now?" He sighs, grabbing Y/n's hand, and pushes in between the large men.

"Okay, but do you have to follow us everywhere?"

The guards did not say word as they began to follow behind.

"How are we going to go inside your dad's office," Y/n whispered, trying not to look alarmed.

"Don't worry about it, I have something in mind. Just keep calm."

The two make their way to the dining room, where the servants help them to their seats. Yasi quickly whispers by her ear, "Just sit here and wait." He straightens himself and starts to leave the dining area. "I'm going to the restroom; it won't take long." One goes after him as the other stayed behind. "Geez, do you have to be on my tail?" He cuts through corners, in hopes of losing the man, but he is quick. Looking around the passageway, a golden golfclub hangs in a display and a wicked smile plasters on his face.

In a hurry, the guard nears the end of the passageway, but as he looks out, he makes the mistake of looking left first. Yasi swings the golfclub on the back of his head. The hard strike knocks him out cold and his body plummets on the cold floor.

"Whew, I can't believe I did that." He kicks the man's leg, making sure he was out. "I hope I didn't kill him. . ." The man's chest continues to rattle, and he sighs in relief, resting the golfclub over his shoulder. He does an about face and runs up the stairs to his father's office, there is no time to waste.

To his luck, the door is unlocked. He scurries around his large desk, for any clues where they harbor the Buggy pirates. He opens a drawer and finds a note, it states:

"Prisoners will be transferred from the warehouse to the lagoon near the dark forest. Prisoners will be executed immediately."

"Shit, he was never planning on contacting the marines."

He crumbles the paper in his hands and throws it to the ground as he scurried out the office. It wouldn’t be long before the other guard notices that his restroom break was taking longer than usual.

Y/n sat in utter silence, with the second guard awfully close. She could practically hear him breath down her neck, it disgusted her. Then, a loud wack caught her by surprise. She turns around and sees Yasi holding a golden golf club.

“What the fuck?! Did you just kill him?!” She yells, staring at the limp body on the ground.

“Shhh, we don’t want the workers to hear us and no I didn’t kill him. . . I think,”— he grabs her arm— “come on, we have to go.”

Yasi yanks her out the chair as he makes a run for it, throwing the golf club to the floor. They pass the main entrance and head to the other side of the mansion.

“Hey, we just passed the doors!”

“No, we can’t go that way. Knowing my father, he probably placed a security system. I know a place where it won’t trigger an alarm.”

They finally make it to the end of the hallway, where Yasi goes to push a table display out the way. Behind it, lies a small red button. He pushes it and a small portion of the tiles beneath them reveal an opening.

“This is one of the hidden exits in the house. It’s a good thing that it’s one of the older ones since it won’t provoke an alarm. Okay, I’ll go in first and I’ll help you down.” He climbs down the old rusted ladder and reaches his hand out for Y/n.

“Is this safe?” she asks, holding onto his hand.

“Let’s not think about that.”

As they both climb down the stairs, the hole closes behind them. The small underground passage way is lit by an old electric system, barely providing light. Yasi nudges her to continue their route.

“Okay, this will take us outside the property fence. From there we will have to find Walo.”

“Walo? What does he have to do with anything?”

“I found out that Buggy and the rest of the crew are at a warehouse. Bad news, I have no idea which warehouse they’re located at. Your sister’s husband deals with my dad’s finances. Meaning he knows all about his inventory.”

Her eyes widen. “Which means he can tell us what warehouse he could possibly be in!”

“Exactly and we don’t have much time. My father plans on killing them.”

“What?!”

“For some reason he doesn’t want the marine to be involved, but I think I know why.”

Y/n knew exactly to what he referred. Of course he wouldn’t, it would ruin his plan to obtain the lost trinket. She clutched her chest, feeling where her necklace once belonged.

“Say, how come you changed all of the sudden?” she says, changing the subject.

He furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like you did a 360. Why do want to help Buggy?”

“. . . I don’t know. . .”

“You were always so violent towards me, I’m still surprised.”

In the mist of their pacing footsteps, Yasi sigh’s. He looks at her for a brief moment and back at the darkened passageway.

“I want to redeem myself. Especially towards you, I was such an asshole. I’m sorry I acted that way.”

“I don’t know if I can forgive you, but I do appreciate your help.”

Yasi only gives her a weak smile. “I understand. . . I guess I just wanted to feel love for once.”

“Love?” Intrigued, Y/n tilts her head.

“You see, my father has never given that to me. I was raised alone by the servants, I had no other parent. My mother went missing shortly after I was born.”

“Oh, I thought your mother divorced your father.”

“No, my father made that up. I don’t know what happened to her. . .”

Despite the sadden atmosphere, Yasi began to laugh. “I wish she was here to slap some sense into me. I think all I needed was motherly love. Maybe that’s why I clinged onto you,”— he turns to face her— “you know, you resemble her a lot. I have pictures of her and you both carry the same smile.”

Y/n was gagged. It all made sense now. She didn’t know if she should feel flattered or not; regardless, it warmed her heart.

“You know, I do wish she was here. To finally beat some sense into you.”

The raven hair cackled. “Yeah, anyway, let’s continue. We’re almost there.”

.°˖✧.°˖✧

After making their way out of the estate’s perimeter, they lingered in the shadows. Going through the back roads and bushes, the duo made their way to Lyla’s home, in hopes to find Walo there.

Y/n knocked at the back door, to avoid being seen from the front. To their luck, it is Walo who opens the door.

“Y/n? Yasi? What on earth are you doing back here?”

They push through him and enter his home, urging him to close the door. He looks at them confused, watching them frantically close all window blinds and curtains.

Lyla comes down the stairs, trying to figure out where all the ruckus was coming from.

“Um, what are y’all doing?”

“We have no time to explain everything, but this is urgent,”— Yasi recollects himself— “Walo, please tell me everything you know about my father's warehouses.”

“Uhh, what do you want to know about them?”

“Is there one that’s perhaps unoccupied?”

“Let me think. . . hold on, let me grab my paperwork.”

He quickly runs up the stairs and heads inside his small office. His hands run down the files on his desks, and he grabs a folder. He brings it back to the kitchen table where they all await. As the documents are scattered around the table, Y/n notices one paper in particular.

“Okay, so it looks like the only warehouse without any inventory is warehouse number 5. Last thing there were class D explosives.”

Yasi ears perk up at the word. “Explosives? That’s odd, why would he use them all at once.”

“When was that?” Y/n asked, as he examined the paper she held.

“It doesn’t specify, it appeared to have been a Monday.”

“Monday. . . Lyla your parents left on a Monday as well. This paper lists all the products onboard the cruise ship and one of products include explosives.”

“Let me see that.” Walo grabs the document and analyses the warehouse sheet. “The product codes match. . .”

Yasi suddenly gasps.

They all face him, who appears distraught. “I-I recently overheard my father talk about ship blowing up. I didn’t think anything at the time, this is the not the first time I hear him talk about an explosion.”

"You don’t think—" Y/n palmed her mouth, feeling her heart sink.

Y/n’s and Lyla’s face turn pale.

"Oh my god-" Lyla’s body plummets back and Walo breaks her fall. "My parents. . ." she weeps.

“W-wait, we don’t know if it’s true,” Walo says, trying to comfort his wife.

Y/n grabs Yasi by his arm and turn their backs. "Is your dad really capable of murder?" she whispers. He doesn't say word, his shaking eyes says it all.

"He lied to me. Your dad was never going to pardon their debt,"— she pivots and walks towards the door— "come on, we need all the manpower we can get."

"Right."

"Walo, I know nothing makes sense, but we're getting to the bottom of this. I'll explain everything once we return."

He nods as he helps Lyla up on a chair. Yasi waves goodbye before leaving with Y/n. Their only chance to confront Kija is to obtain the Buggy pirates— wherever they might be.

.°˖✧.°˖✧

Kija impatiently observed his men at the Ti's property.

"Keep looking. It should be hidden around here somewhere."

He barges inside the small home; the workers have already destroyed the inside. Clutter fills the space and broken furniture block his path. Kicking the pieces out the way, he makes it to Y/n's room. Most of the place has been cleared, still, he had to make sure no area goes untouched.

He scans the trashed room and his eyes land on a particular object. Thrown on the floor, beside the opened drawer, laid a rectangular box. He opens it and the inside revealed an empty jewelry case. To his surprise, the foam mold is in the shape of a cross.

"Bingo."

Pleased by the finding, he takes the jewelry box and exits the room. On his way out, he snaps his fingers to get the attention of his men, ordering them to leave. The horse carriage waited for his return, and he swiftly enters inside.

"Quick, take me back to the mansion," he orders the coachman. With his command, the worker takes no time to depart.

Upon his arrival, he calls out for the guards, but they do not answer. Stange. He makes way to his office and finds one of the guards knocked out on the floor. Out of anger, he kicks the unconscious man's torso, not caring if it will leave a bruise. He pulls out his transponder snail to contact the other guard, but the line continued to ring.

"Huh, that boy has some guts," he grits.

In a flash, he calls another contact with the transponder.

"Keep an eye out for my son and the girl. We have trouble."

"Trouble? Don't tell me—"

"Yes! Now make sure no one makes it the warehouse." He hangs the call and runs his hand through his hair. Things were not supposed to get out of hand, he needs the necklace. He huffs, there is only one option, but it could ruin his plan. The transponder snail rings once again, he takes a deep breath and the line picks up.

"At your order, sir."

"I have a mission for you, 15."

.°˖✧.°˖✧

What?! An update?!

I'm sorry if it's a bit boring, but least I made it out the wormhole.

[id-rather-be-home]

Oh I wanted to say something about this but I didn’t want to come off as I’m pushing my opinion into you bc some authors take it that way but after seeing your last ask I kinda am just sharing my opinion too now lmao.

Ok when you said that the fic will be bottom Will from now on I remember feeling so sad lol bc there are hundreds of bottom/sub Will fics and not bottom/sub mike nearly half of that. This fanfic literally felt like what the bottom/sub Mike enjoyers have been waiting for all along and after so long we finally got what we wanted and got it waaaayyy better than we could have hoped for. wwtwcs and maybe one other fanfic was our reward for patience almost, it is sacred. And i really love your writing (the characters AND the smut especially the way you write dom Will). Anyways then the Will in the fic said that he prefers topping and I remember literally shrieking with happiness lmao. I also enjoy the few chapters you wrote with Will being the bottom but still being the one in charge, like I said you write beautifully whatever it is you write. (Like i really don’t like reading sub/bottom Will, just something that’s not for me but you sure SOLD ME on it lmao it was beautiful 💜)

Anyway again, this is your fanfiction and you get to do whatever you want with it. I mean isn’t that how we got here and it became my favourite fanfic in the first place? Also just because there are so little solid bottom/sub Mike fanfics doesn’t mean you’re responsible to contribute to it even though you are one of the lead authors of it right now. I didn’t write any of this to pressure. not like you’re gonna care what a stranger on the internet is going to say but I’m just saying this as a person, like a little child I am🙄, who’s scared that one of the key elements in their favourite fanfic is going to change drastically (not your problem either obviously) I wasn’t gonna say anything but after your last ask, I wanted you to see the both sides of your own little fandom :)

this doesn't come across as pressuring to me so don't worry about that at all!

to be completely honest, when i got that comment on the fanfic i was worried that people actually weren't going to enjoy the sub!mike direction that it was taking me and so i tried to shift gears to bottom/sub will but it didn't really work out because i just... can't really write him very well??? top/dominant will just comes so much more naturally to me because for whatever reason that's what i feel would make sense for his character i guess

however, i've clearly gone off on my own for the fic by this point and have been doing what i want and what i think feels best for the flow of the story as well as the natural progression of the characters. and i have been genuinely SO SURPRISED by the love and praise that my work has gotten. i have literally converted some people to loving bottom/sub mike and i absolutely love that

that being said - i cannot imagine this fic taking any drastic turns from where it is already progressing! when i mention bottom or sub will appearing in some of the chapters, i'm referring to things that i've kind of already explored in previous chapters because will is NOT going to get much more submissive than what has already been seen

like, the chapter i'm working on now that i mentioned in the last ask - he's more 'submissive' because he gets eaten out and then wants mike to fuck his thighs because mike loves them, but will still controls a lot of the pace. also we get a bit of a glimpse into will's oral fixation but he can still be in control even with mike's dick down his throat lol

i don't think that will's preference for fucking mike in the fic is going to change because that's my preference to write which i guess is really what it comes down to at the end of the day

and when there are chapters of will bottoming (because i do have a couple planned) he's still very much in control while mike is submitting and just doing everything he can to please will and be good for him. like in the riding chapter i mentioned at some point, will literally makes fun of mike and taunts him by saying "you're whining like you're the one getting fucked"

so i do want to reassure those of my readers that come to this fic and love it because it is primarily submissive/bottom mike - that isn't going to change. it's going to still be primarily that with some bottom will sprinkled in where i have already planned it but it won't be anything drastically different

i have 3 bottom will chapters definitively planned and i doubt that the number will get much bigger than that if i'm being totally honest because writing him bottoming is always a struggle

i really do want to please both sides which is why i've been going back and forth on more bottom will appearing, but with each chapter i write, it's just less and less likely to happen so it really should be marketed as a bottom mike/top will fic since that's what it mainly is

and, anon, you do have a point that there are a heck of a lot more bottom will fics for people to choose from, so i am more than happy to provide something for the submissive/bottom mike lovers out there especially because it's something i love as well

i'm sorry that this was ramble-y or if it sounded a little harsh at times??? it isn't at all directed at you anon, or anyone else! i guess this is just me finally realizing that 'when we touch we are caressing stars' is going to be most enjoyed by those who enjoy submissive/bottom mike and that bottom will truly won't make too many appearances

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 The Cold is Never Violent: Chapter Two

The Cold is Never Violent: You were determined to help Morpheus get his tools back, so you willingly followed him to hell. Hell was not supposed to be this cold. Lucifer has something up their sleeve, making you stay the night in hell before the Oldest Game, and it does not bode well for you.

Warnings: Reader has Hair (For Plot), Explicit Language.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x AFAB!Reader, Pour Vous @melancholypancakes 😘

Word Count: ~2.3k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

 The palace was dark and cavern like, lit with cold fire sconces you grumpily eyed with disappointment. What was the point of fire if it provided no heat? Light, most likely, you could barely see a thing. Luckily Morpheus appeared to know where he was going. His even paced gait eventually slowed down, and rounding a corner you nearly stopped short from the first glance you got of a figure at the end of the large room you had come to.

Two magnificent black wings were stretched out, flapping and stretching themselves. Holy shit that was the devil. As if expecting you and Morpheus, because no doubt they could feel your presence, Lucifer turned in place.

“Hello.” Your eye twitched at the one, eloquently spoken word, and you clenched your teeth to not gawk at the inhumanely beautiful creature in front of you. Why were you surprised? Lucifer was an archangel. Lucifer slowly made their way down from the balcony they had been standing on, running their hand over the flame of the bonfire in the middle of the room. When they stopped in front of Morpheus, they towered over him. What had you gotten yourself into? “Hello, Dream.”

“Greetings to you, Lucifer Morningstar.” Morpheus spoke, his eyes shifting from the towering archangel to the demon lurking at the fringes of the room. “And to you, Mazikeen of the Lillim.”

“Greetings, Dream Lord.” Lucifer tilted their head.

“You look well, Dream. Are you well? And your family, Destiny, Death, Despair, and the others?” Then sharp eyes landed on you and you felt yourself shrink in place. Lucifer had something simmering behind those eyes of theirs, and it wasn’t good. Obviously. “Oh, but who is this? I don’t believe we have met.”

“They are my companion and are of no consequence or interest,” Morpheus responded with a deadly sharpness in his voice. Ouch. You had to admit that stung a little, being considered to be something so menial, unimportant. Then again, it was the truth. You were no-one compared to those around you. “I presume the Ruler of Hell knows this is no social call.”

“Social call, perhaps not, but you have brought a mortal into this realm. You know what this place does to the living.” Another jab at you being a menial, simple human. Was that going to be mentioned every sentence?

“Indeed,” He rumbled. “Which is why I ask that you cease the oppression you lay on her as she is my companion and a guest.” Lucifer and Morpheus entered a stare down for a few seconds and you rubbed your arms, trying to summon any warmth to reduce the chill that was determined to take hold of you. Both you and Matthew were playing swivle head between Endless and Archangel.

“As you wish,” Lucifer cooly replied, you felt a shiver up your spine. Then all those noxious feelings that had simmering within your body disappeared and you let out a sigh. “If you are appeased, it is certainly time to discuss your reasons for visiting. Have you come to join forces then? To ally your realm to ours? To acknowledge the sovereignty of Hell?”

Oh wow, the absolute balls Lucifer had to say that to Morpheus.

Then again, you expected nothing less from the Devil.

Morpheus’s lips curved into a slight sneer. “You know my feelings on that, Lightbringer.” Lucifer appeared to be unbothered.

“Feelings change. Especially when one has been caught and imprisoned by mortals. We expected better of you, sweet Morpheus.” Now that had your hackles rising, and your lip curled in a growl. But Morpheus could fight his own battles and certainly wouldn’t want you interfering.

“I have come because my Helm of State was stolen from me. I believe one of your demons has it. I should like it back. Now.” His last word was stated with a dark gravity that even you had never experienced. Oh yes, he was very angry. You knew that. He was just a little too good at hiding his emotions at times.

“Dream, if only it were that easy. But there are rules, you see. Protocols which must be followed.” Matthew hopped near where you stood, not liking the way Lucifer was speaking. Lucifer turned and headed to the balcony. “Which demon has your helm? Name it and we will bring it here.”

“I confess I do not know the name.” Morpheus admitted. Out of curiosity, which you knew was probably not a good idea, you tentatively meandered over to the balcony. In front of you was a large expanse of… nothing.

“Then we will have to summon all of them.” Lucifer spoke in a carefree tone. With a wave of their hand, your eyes widened when the expanse was suddenly filled with all sorts of monsters— demons. Lucifer glanced at Morpheus. “There, now, Dream, you may inquire. Which demon has your helmet? Shall we interview them one at a time, or…” Lucifer gave Morpheus a smug look.

“That won't be necessary.” Morpheus commented before turning in place and heading away. As he walked away, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from the edge of the balcony, you didn’t know what he was planning, but you knew that something was brewing within his mind.

“It surprises us how easily you would give up, Dream.” Lucifer called as you were dragged along. The grip on your wrist tightened, but other than that, Morpheus made no reaction to their words.  “We know how you relied upon your tools. But tools are the subtlest of traps.” Morpheus came to a stop. “We become reliant upon them and in their absence we are vulnerable, weak, defenseless.”

“Not entirely.” Morpheus countered before pulling out his sand. A lightbulb went off over your and Matthew’s head. He was going to use that as a way to summon the demon with his helm. Morpheus bend down and started pouring some sand to the ground. “I have recovered my sand. It brought me to Hell and now it brings that which is mine in Hell to me.”

A wind began blowing through the dark room, and the sand blew to the right. Then it starts swirling in a vortex and you had to take a physical step backward, not liking the way it felt whipping across your skin. Like it was irritated, feeding off of Morpheus’s mood. In the storm of sand, a figure materialized and you nearly blanched. Now, you trusted Morpheus’s ability and power, but you hadn’t realized just how easy it would be for him to summon the demon with his helm. When it turned around, you saw that it held a very creepy looking helmet in its hands. For a moment you could have sworn that there was a spine attached, you decided to not look too closely.

“Tell me your name, demon.” Morpheus uttered sternly. The demon’s eyes flickered.

“Do I have to tell him?”

“That,” Lucifer spoke. “is Choronzon. A Duke of Hell.”

“Choronzon…” Morpheus repeated, a particular tone of distaste lingering. “The helm is mine. You must return it to me.”

“No. It's mine now.” Did all beings of hell have balls? Because it sounded like it just said no to Morpheus. “I traded it from a mortal for a paltry thing. It was a fair trade. I've broken no laws. And if the Dream King wants his helm back, he will have to fight me for it.”

“Very well. I challenge you, Choronzon.”

“You know the rules, Dream Lord.” The demon spoke with a laugh.

“If I win, you will return my helmet.” Morpheus stated.

“And if you lose, you'll serve as my slave in Hell for eternity… and I get your precious little mortal as my person plaything.” Your eyes bulged and you stepped forwards.

“Wait a damn minute you spike-headed roach, I am not part of the deal,” You started speaking, your words at a hiss. “I—“

“I accept the terms.” Morpheus said, interrupting you. You blanched at him and Matthew let out a screech, flapping his wings.

“And whom will you choose to represent you in the battle?” Lucifer continued, all three of them ignoring you and your priests.

“Hey!” You argued, your head whipping between them. It was like you weren’t even in the room.

“I shall represent myself.” Morpheus told Lucifer.

“Choronzon, whom will you choose to represent you?”

“Hmm…” The demon spoke, its eyes glossing over you. You flinched before collecting yourself and glaring back with your middle finger raised at him. “I choose you, sire.”

You. Were. Fucked.

Morpheus turned to Lucifer while you had an internal crisis, wondering how in the hell you had ended up as a part of this absurd deal.

“Apologies, Dream, but the laws of Hell demand that I become his champion.” Lucifer unapologetically spoke. “But if you would not fight me…”

“I have accepted the terms.” Morpheus said unwaveringly. “Let the challenge begin.”

You were positive that your fate would be decided shortly. But the smirk that appeared on Lucifer’s face leeched whatever hope you had.

“Oh but my dear sweet Morpheus,” They spoke with a soft but entirely devious, smile. “We have a guest, I would hate to be a bad host. Please, allow us to host you and your companion for the night. It would be least we could do.” You gulped and shivered in fear. Whatever they planned, it wasn’t good and Morpheus was in no position to argue. You and he, after all, were guests. “We shall have the challenge tomorrow morning, yes?”

Your eyes, wide with fear, darted to Morpheus. He didn’t look at you, no, he was glaring at Lucifer, knowing that they were doing this for a reason. Lucifer raised their eyebrow.

“No violence shall befall your companion, Morpheus, we will not touch them. You have my word.” Lucifer promised before looking to the demon who had lingering in the background. “Mazikeen, will you please escort our guest to the pomegranate suite?”

You squeaked as Mazikeen strode towards you and directed you out of the room and most importantly, away from Morpheus. Your eyes frantically looked over your shoulder at Morpheus, who’s eyes were glowing a soft silver. There wasn’t much he could do, not in the realm of Lucifer.

You were sitting in a hot springs that, at the very least, was nice and hot… but you still felt very uncomfortable being naked, in hell, without Morpheus around to tell you what was okay to do. Let alone protect you from the beings that could kill you with a twitch of their eyebrow. Why was Lucifer giving you a five star hotel experience when you were a mortal and the companion to Morpheus. There had to be an ulterior motive.

Sniffing and rubbing your nose, you got up from your sitting position and looked around for a towel to cover yourself. You couldn’t find one. Damn it, why did you not think of this before you got naked!? You looked to where you had discarded your clothes and found them gone.

“Awe shit,” You muttered, angry at yourself for letting your guard down so easily. Stupidly, you had let yourself get into a vulnerable position in a place that was not friendly. “I am so stupid.” Your eyes continued to search for something to cover yourself up, not to mention warm yourself because it was so freaking cold, you failed to notice the demon standing off to the side until you twisted around and jumped back with a small shriek of surprise.

It was Mazikeen again, and with a blank face, she held out a dark piece of cloth for you to take. You glanced at it while trying to hide your body behind your arms, then snatched the fabric and awkwardly wrapped it around your body as fast as you could. You discovered arm holes and hastily shoved your arms into them before wrapping the rest of the dark fabric around your body. Glancing up at Mazikeen, you eyed her while waiting to be told what to do next. You quickly learned that she wasn’t that in to talking.

“Follow me.” Mazikeen stated before turning around and marching out of the rather lavish bath. You scurried after her, your bare feet quickly growing cold. Once again you were led through dark halls, and ended up in the pomegranate colored room. Entering the room, you passed Mazikeen and eyed the fireplace in the room. More heatless fire. Were they doing this on purpose? Most likely, you were going to need to ask about your clothes.

“Do you know what happened to my clothes?” You asked, shivering as water dripping from your hair, trailed down your back. You needed to dry off as soon as possible. Mazikeen’s head tilted ever so slightly.

“You will find clothing in the dresser, Lucifer hopes it is to your liking.” Mazikeen told you. “The challenge is in the morning, someone will come to collect you. Do not leave the room.”

“Oh, but what—“ You trailed off as Mazikeen ignored your words and left you alone in the spacious buck cold room. “I’m going to freeze to death in hell.” Whimpering pathetically, you scurried over to the dresser Mazikeen indicated and opened it. More black fabric, and holding up one of the folded pieces, you saw silver embroidery and no buttons.  Eyebrow rising, you took it out and held it up. While it was indeed pretty and made of fabric that felt super nice, it had thin straps and was ever thinner than the robe you currently wore. “I’m sure I’ll get warmer once I change and get into bed.”

You changed quickly, feeling your teeth chattering while you brushed your hair out so it didn’t have any knots. It was painfully clear to you as you slipped into bed and shivered. The room Lucifer had given you was very lavish, the bathroom just the same, you were given clothing that was high quality and treated like you were a highly esteemed guest. Lucifer was giving you a false sense of security, treating you well and giving you what you needed, but the frost in the air was a very apparent threat. You were not welcome.

Date Published: 2/7/23

Last Edit: 2/7/23

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[slut4corbin]

Motorcycles And Date Nights (Chapter 5)

Note : *I think that this fanfiction is so cute, and normally I don't find mine cute!*

Summary : The reader and Baron Corbin both have a crush on each other but what happens when Baron asks the reader if she wants to go on a date with him

Warning (s) : Fluff and slight profanity

Your name (Y/N)

Word count : 721

Tag list : @adriennegabriella @dulcesitapr @sassymox @ava-valerie @wwelovergirl @romanthereigns @mysticvampyre @nerdypanda20

*From previous chapter*

I woke up to the sound of Baron whispering sweet words in my ear and gently rubbing my shoulder. I rolled over, facing him. "Good morning, beautiful." He said, smiling. "Morning handsome." I replied, raising up off the bed and getting on top of him. "What are you doing?" Baron asked, quite confused. "Nothing. I just want to lay on top of you." I replied, laying down on him and burrying my face in the crook of his neck. "Y/N," Baron said, causing me to l my head. "Yes?" I replied. "Kiss me, please?" He asked with puppy dog eyes, and with that, I raised up and kissed him quite passionately, causing him to moan slightly.

After a few minutes of mine and Baron's hot make out session. I finally got off of him so we could get ready for the day. "You want to take a shower first?" Baron asked. "No, you can." I replied, looking up from my phone. "Okay, who are you texting?" He asked curiously. "Oh, just Paige and Carmella." I replied, showing him the texts. He nodded his head before walking to the bathroom and shutting the door. As soon as I knew he had turned on the shower, I quickly Facetimed Paige and Carmella. "Did you actually fuck him Y/N?" Carmella asked excitedly. "Yes." I replied, smiling, causing Carmella to basically squeal like a child on Christmas day. "You seem a little too excited." Paige said laughing, causing me to laugh as well. After a bit of talking, I finally heard the bathroom door open.

I quickly looked over in the direction of the door, and there stood Baron with a towel wrapped around his waist and his wet hair flowing over his shoulders. "What is it?" Paige asked obviously curious. "Oh, nothing, it's just Baron." I replied. "Can we talk to him?" Paige asked, hopeful. Instead of answering, I signaled Baron to come over to the bed, and with that, he walked over to the bed and sat down next time so Paige and Carmella could see him. "What's up." Baron said. "When are you going to ask out Y/N?" Carmella asked with hope in her eyes. "I dont know." He replied, smiling, causing me to lay my head on his upper arm. "You two are so fucking cute I swear." Carmella squealed once again. "Thanks." Me and Baron said at the same time, causing us to chuckle.

"I got to go." I said, ending the call. I instantly put my phone down on the bed and looked up at Baron, who was smiling. "Baron, I want to be your girlfriend, your wife, and the mother of your kids. I know it's way too early for marriage and kids." I said before sighing and looking at the blanket on the bed. Baron slowly brought his hand up and put it under my chin making me look at him. "Y/N, I want to have that future with you too, but right now, let's just focus on a relationship between us, got that." He said, still keeping eye contact with me. I nodded my head in response, sightly upset with what he said, but I understood the reasoning. "But anyways Y/N will you be my girlfriend?" Baron asked. "Yes," I replied, standing up and getting in between his legs. "What are you doing?" He asked. I said nothing. I just my hands on his chest and pushed him back on the bed.

I slowly got on top of him, and rubbed my clit along along his erection. "Babe, I have to get ready." He said. "Why?" I asked, pouting clearly, not wanting to get off of him. "I have to go to a meet and greet." He said, chuckling. "Oh, can I go?" I asked, getting off of him. "Sure." He replied, getting up and grabbing his clothes and walking back into the bathroom. While he was in the bathroom, I put my pants, bra, and shoes back on. After a few minutes, Baron walked out the bathroom. "You ready?" He asked. I nodded my head in response, and with that, we walked out of his room and down the stairs towards the door.

[possiblylando]

Chainsaw Man Chapter 134 Analysis

Woah hey bit later than usual with this one. Had a moment there when I began to grow disillusioned with the current chapters direction. Watched some Baki (2001) and a giant ape taught me the beauty in all things. Anyway, Chainsaw Man. Chainsaw Man will die before the end of Part 2. The Manga has to end eventually. Fujimoto doesn't seem like the kind of author who can leave a story off on "And so the adventure continues". They've already rolled out a replacement Chainsaw Man. If the original died then there's always a Chainfraud Man to replace him.

This chapter felt like it was backpedaling. These last few chapters have all felt that way. Defusing the tension of the previous chapter or even the current chapter immediately. I can understand the reason behind it now, But I still don't like it.

These chapters are here to mirror Denji himself instead of the narrative. We only got to see the peaks of his development without the blank middle. Like I said, I get cutting out the sections where "Nothing interesting happens" but that also defuses alot of tension. I would've much rather we had gotten an Asa Chapter or Two after 132's ending before we got to see what happened with Denji and Nayuta. It feels like it was just written for the weekly audience instead of for the quality of the story as a whole. Reading these chapters back to back it's just. 132. Denji & Nayuta are captured; Oh this is real bad what are they gonna do?? 133. Oh- They let Denji out. Oh wow okay thats a rough ultimatum- Nevermind. 134. Okay he's thought about it more. Because clearly time has passed between each of these chapters. But we don't get any of that time to pondering on what could've happened. It feels rushed is what I'm trying to convey. Idk maybe I'm supposed to feel discontent with what's going on to mirror Denji's feelings. If that's intentional then yeah I guess it's doing it's wrong. This entire chapter is Denji trying to rationalize his decision to himself. He clearly wants both. He knows it, Nayuta knows it, Yoshida knows it.

I can't help but wonder how Denji would be acting if he hadn't lost Aki and Power. He's acting the way he is now because he doesn't want to experience what he did again. He doesn't want to be dragged back down to hell.

I'll get a bit out here for a second. But I think the TV scrolling's message is intentional and important.

Obviously the nouns here aren't exact. Grandpa and Golf aren't the important things here. Keep in mind this is pretty out there and I don't think this is like- Be all end all. So I'm gonna show you basically what I'm seeing here. Also Grammar aside;

I don't know how intentional it is but it mirrors what happened in 133 when you look at it from this angle.

This whole scene is kind of upsetting looking back on it. In Denji's Mind this is his out. He can have two options right now. He isn't turning into Chainsaw Man to do this but he's still Chainsaw Man. Meaning he won't be breaking the rules. Nayuta won't have to get hurt. It'll all be-

*This guy has a passing resemblance to Katana Man, If he was a High Schooler.

You can pin point the exact moment the light leaves his eyes.

The Church are clearly Religious Zealots. It's interesting that they're using Abrahamic Religion as a basis for their uh- Beliefs? Goal? I'm not sure. I wanna go into some of the deeper meaning of this. So obviously it's time to talk about Christianity. *Side Note: Was Jesus a real person in the CSM universe? Adam and Eve were created by God as pure beings. Adam was created first however God soon after used half of him to create Eve. They lived in Eden which was a perfect paradise. However Eve was tempted by the Devil into breaking the only rule set in place by god by eating the fruit of knowledge. Adam not wanting Eve to suffer alone did the same. That's the basic of it. I think it's safe to assume what they really want to do is turn the world back into Eden. A world without Evil. However they seem unaware of the utter impossibility of that. Especially without the actual Chainsaw Man. We as the Audience know that any devil consumed by the Chainsaw is forgotten by humanity, Thus they lose all power. But the thing is this ability's activation conditions are still questionable. Pochita ate War's Guts yet War continued to exist, He only took Nuclear Weapons. Denji ate Makima yet Nayuta exists as the current Control Devil. Maybe because he wasn't in his chainsaw man form? So how can they create a world without Devils? Is it simply an Ideal to strive for instead of an actual goal? As in they just kill all the devils and everything- Okay that's not going to happen. We've seen the pattern. They're going to start dating the Devils again. God damn it. It's sad to see the Church take away all the suffering Denji has been through and put it onto someone else. Imagine if Jesus was replaced by some random guy who claimed to be the true son of god. Jesus still existed and went through all that shit to forgive the sins of humanity, Yet everyone just accepted this new guy was the real deal and the one who saved them.

This last page is also real sad.

Denji doesn't deny that his guy is Chainsaw Man now. He doesn't say "He's not Chainsaw Man!", He says "I'm more Chainsaw Man than him!". He's accepted the fact he can no longer be Chainsaw Man. But he still craves that acceptance. He wants people to like him specifically, and for that to be taken away by a guy he's only met once. It's real rough. I know that this isn't where it'll end for Denji. But there's a part of me that Wishes it was. If he stopped here he would get to live that life he wanted at the start of the series. But that life isn't enough anymore. Stagnation leads to the risk of falling back down to where you were before. And Denji doesn't want to be dragged back down to hell.

[dragon-kazansky]

His Little Dragon

Doc Holliday x OC

Dedicated to @callsignscupcake

[Masterlist]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Doctor John Holliday hasn't seen his darling Little Dragon for many years. Once as thick as thieves, they were quite the pair, but that long since ended when he left. Now, with opportunity blooming in Tombstone, it would seem they have a second chance at the love they lost. However, a threat looms over the town, and if he wants his Dragon back, he has to win the heart of little Baylie too. Nothing is ever easy.

Word count: 1.9k

Chapter Thirty One - The dragon awakens

♡♡♡

Everything ached when Doc woke up. His shoulder was beyond sore and he had a mild headache. Light flooded onto the room, but it didn't seem to bother Rachael who was fast asleep beside him. Her arm was draped over him he smiled.

He turns his head and kisses her forehead softly. John searches for her left hand, holding it up gently when he finds it. There sits the ring he gave her.

His wife. He loved the sound of that. He should have done this years ago, but his younger self would still have backed out. He didn't think himself deserving of this, but now, right here with the love of his life beside him, he knew exactly what he wanted.

John rests his back against his pillow and breathes softly.

The room is quiet. He can hear footsteps coming from down the hall, but other than that, nothing. Rachael is sleeping quietly beside him. Then she stirs. He turns his head in her direction and watches her shift slightly. Her hand settles on his chest and she breathes in. Slowly, her eyes flutter open. She blinks a couple of times, obviously trying to focus.

She smiles.

"Good morning."

He smiles back.

"Good morning, Mrs Holliday," he chuckles.

She laughs. "Not quite yet."

"Soon," he whispers.

Rachael stretches her arms and sits up slowly. John watches her with a smile. So beautiful.

"How are you feeling?" She asks, gazing at him.

"Like I was shot."

Rachael smiles for half a second before frowning. Her darling John Holliday, hurt.

"You need to rest," she tells him.

"I'll rest when I'm dead," he says to her.

"John!"

"I'll rest when we have our Baylie back."

"Oh John... where is she? Where is our daughter?" Rachael asks, holding back from crying. She just wants them all to be safe and together.

"I will get her back. If it's the last thing I do."

"Don't say that. Please don't say that!"

John frowns as he watches her. She's been through enough already. It's time to end this.

"I will bring Baylie home."

Rachael stares at him with a soft look.

"I know you will. I'll be right there with you. But first you need to get better."

Doc shakes his head. He pushes himself up to say something, but is interpreted by a small cough. Rachael frowns as she pushes him back down, running a hand through his hair.

"Are you alright? You need to rest, John."

His soft coughs subside.

"There isn't time to rest. Baylie needs us."

Rachael closes her eyes and bows her head forward. Her fingers still in his hair. His skin is a little warm.

"John..."

"That damn kid was lucky to walk away after shooting me..."

"Don't be angry at him."

John meets her eyes and his face softens. He would not be the man he was today without her. All that time they shared together, and then all that time apart. Now, here he is wounded, yet still the luckiest man alive. A woman he can call his wife, a darling girl to call his daughter.

He won't have this taken from him.

He looks into his eyes and sighs.

"I'm-"

He is this time interrupted by the door opening. Both heads turn to see who it is. It's Wyatt.

"Doc. Rachael."

Rachael doesn't see the way Doc glares up at Wyatt. This was not the time for him to come barging into their room like this. However, the man pays Doc's sharp gaze little mind.

"Can I speak with you, Dragon?" Wyatt asks.

Rachael almost hates the way he uses that name. Wyatt uses it differently to the way Doc uses it. Despite that, she knows what he's asking by using it, and she will not deny the Dragon her revenge.

"Alright."

Before she can rise from the bed to leave with Wyatt, Doc catches her wrist gently in his. Long fingers curl around her hand. She looks at him with gentle eyes. His hand is warm against hers and it makes her heart flutter.

"Why can't you discuss this in front of me?" Doc asks. Though he is looking up at his bridge to be, the question is early directed to Wyatt.

"Because you need to rest," comes Wyatt's reply.

Doc turns his eyes away from Rachael and offers Wyatt a small smile.

"If you say so."

He drops Rachael's hand gently. Her hand longs to be held by his again, but she brushes it against her skirt to distract her from the loss of his touch. She glances at her dear John before leaving with Wyatt.

They walk down the hall and into the living room. Everyone else is gathered around the kitchen table.

Rachael comes to a stop beside Wyatt.

"We think we know where Baylie is, and we want you to come with us to get her."

"Of course!" Rachael says. "She's my girl."

Wyatt nods with a small smile.

"Doc needs to stay here and rest," he tells her.

Rachael eyes him cautiously.

"You know he won't do that. You can't just leave him here. I want him to rest and get better just as much as the rest of you, but Baylie is as much his girl as she is mine. He won't stay put."

Wyatt looks her in the eye.

"Which is why we won't tell him we are leaving."

Rachael can't believe what she's hearing. She shakes her head at him, taking a step back.

"No."

"Rachael."

"I can't do that. I can't just leave and not tell him where I'm going. He'll figure it out and come after us anyway. Wyatt, don't do that to him!"

"If we want Baylie back, we need to leave soon. He can't come with us with his shoulder like that."

"Wyatt..."

Wyatt reaches out and places his hands on her arms. He looks at her with misery.

"I'll leave it to you. Tell him and risk putting him in harm's way, or don't tell him and buy us time to get a head start."

"You can't- Wyatt, no. Please don't do this to me."

"I'm sorry, but Baylie is waiting for us. For you. You could stay here with him and I'll go, but I want you to know, I'm bringing the fight to them."

Rachael can't look him in the eye. Wyatt lets go of her and turns back to the table. He start to run through the plan with them.

Rachael leaves the house.

Alana follows.

Rachael stands outside and looks up at the sky. It's unfair. Baylie shouldn't have to wait any longer than necessary for her rescue. Yet, must Rachael break John's heart by lying to him?

"Miss?"

Rachael turns and sees Alana standing behind her.

"Rachael. You can call me Rachael," she smiles softly.

Alana smiles.

"Rachael. I want to offer my thoughts to you. Do with them what you will. Allow me to keep your man here. You go get that girl back and bring her home to him. I'll keep him distracted long enough."

Rachael sighs softly.

"But he will realise I left without telling him. That I kept something from him." She looks at Alana with a heartbroken gaze. "I don't want to do that to him."

Alana steps forward and takes Rachael's hands in hers. She lifts her left hand a little higher and looks at the ring.

"He will forgive you for it. That man is so very much in love with you. He asked you to marry him, didn't he?" Alana smiles.

Rachael chuckles softly, but then frowns again. "But it will still hurt him."

Alana shakes her head subtly.

"I feel for certain that everything will come to light. Have faith in him. Leave with them, I'll buy you some time. Go get your daughter back. And... if you find Jake, tell him to come home too."

Rachael smiles softly.

"Alright. For Baylie."

Alana gives Rachael a confidant smile. The two women walk back into the house.

Wyatt looks up when Rachael appears again. She stares at him. He stares back. She lifts her head a little higher and then walks past him back to the bedroom. Wyatt watches her go. His eyes then shift to Alana who nods at him. He understands.

Rachael takes a deep breath before entering the bedroom.

John turns his head to the door and smiles when he sees her. He reaches up for her hand. Rachael smiles and takes it, sitting on the bed. She looks over his face slowly, admiring this handsome man.

"What did Wyatt want?" He asks.

Rachael remains as calm as possible as she speaks.

"He was telling me about what you all found. About where Baylie may be. Our girl. Oh, John, miss her dearly. We never should have sent her away. I thought I was protecting her, but I just gave them leverage over us. Over Wyatt. Oh God... that's what this is about. Wyatt."

Doc takes her hands in his and brings them to his lips.

"Calm yourself, darlin'."

"John..."

"Baylie will be alright. As will Wyatt. As will I. When does he plan on leaving for her? I need to get ready."

Rachael shakes her head.

"You need rest first. Get better, then get our daughter."

John sighs as he looks up at her.

"That could take too long."

Rachael shakes her head.

"You can't fight with a fresh injury like that, John. I'm worried sick about Baylie, but need to get better for her. Do you know how upset she would be to find out you got hurt?"

John sighs softly.

"Give me another day. Then I will ride out with Wyatt to get her back."

Rachael can't find the use in using words so she nods silently. She gives his hands a squeeze and then stands. He keeps a hold of her hand.

"Tired of me already?" He teases.

She smiles.

"Never. But Alana would like help on her ranch. I said I could at least do that."

John brings Rachael's left hand to his lips and kisses the ring softly.

"My darlin' wife helping out where she can. What a woman," he winks up at her.

Rachael laughs, her cheeks rosy. She brushes his hand away and turns around, laughing as she leaves. John smiles as he watches her go. The door clicks shut behind her, but she hears his chuckle from behind it.

And then her heart breaks all over again as she joins the others.

Wyatt is waiting.

She looks him in the eye and with a frown.

"Lets go."

Wyatt nods his head at her.

Rachael turns to Alana.

"Buy us as many hours as possible. But keep in mind, once he realizes what's going on, you won't be able to stop him."

Alana nods.

Rachael turns to Wyatt.

"Better keep some men here. He'll grow suspicious if the house is too quiet."

Wyatt agrees and chooses some of the men to stay. They'll help out around the ranch and keep things lively for a while.

Rachael grabs her hat and coat.

"Let's ride."

♡♡♡

@bayisdying - @callsignscupcake - @mrsjaderogers - @cycbaby - @gracespicybradshaw - @askmarinaandothers - @themusingofagothicsoul - @gizmodear - @beaner-life-23 - @luckyladycreator2 - @scissorhandsgirl2000 - @mclintocksdaughter - @ice-doc-val -

[angel-0f-verdun]

13 State of Possession

Previous Chapter 

I realized quickly that I was not going to get through this book very fast. So, I decided that I would need to read only the relevant parts of the chapters. I skimmed the index and got to work happily finding the information I was looking for. Set was certainly a rebellious Egyptian God. His original reign was over the desert, storms, disorder, and warfare. I wondered if this was why I enjoyed rain and storms, glancing at the tattoo on my wrist. Later in the New Kingdom Set was considered a maker of discord and strife, identical to my namesake, Eris. Some of the pharaohs even used him in their names, such as Seti I, Seti II, and Setnakht. They thought of him as the protector of Ra, God of the Sun, the creator himself. Ra had gifted Set a dagger, which was in two pieces. One part is a ruby representing everlasting health. The other was obvious to protect Ra. He used this in his many endeavors such as one of the times he killed Apopis the enemy of Ra. Later when the Europeans invaded Egypt Set was an outcast from the pantheon, thus making Set the new and more powerful enemy of Ra. This changed everyone’s view of him, merging him with Apopis. Thus the ruby and dagger took on a different meaning, darkness, which is how he ended up recruiting Ahmanet.

I sighed, knowing this information was not as comforting as I would have thought it to be. But I was glad to have the knowledge, I closed the book and put it back inside my bag. I closed my eyes thinking about the goddess, Eris. She was the child of Zeus and Hera. She mostly just loved mischief, I remembered a story that used to be told to me at the orphanage, she wasn’t invited to a wedding, but she showed up anyway. When at the after party she threw a golden apple with the words ‘for the most beautiful’ into the crowd, Aphrodite, Athena, and Hera all thought it was for them. This caused some issues between the three as Eris had hoped. Paris, the prince of Troy, offered to help them end the argument by being the decision-breaker. Each goddess tried to bribe him, Hera with power, Athena with wisdom, and Aphrodite with the most beautiful woman in the mortal world. Obviously, Aphrodite won. However, the woman she promised him was already married. Her husband wanting revenge for Paris stealing his wife, started a war to get her back. This became known as the Trojan War, which lasted 10 years.

Now for the last to ponder, Ahmanet. Power-hungry, much like Athena, on a quest to get exactly what she wants. She had even killed her family to reach immortality and greatness. But with a few wrong steps with those smarter than her, Set in particular, she let her desires cloud her judgment. She then became all-powerful, but before that transformation could be complete she was captured and mummified alive. Now she needed me to complete that task for Set to live in a mortal body.

“Oh hey, Winston.” Rick’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts about Ahmanet. I looked over my shoulder, seeing him walking towards us with Winston trailing behind him.

“You know O’Connell, ever since the end of the Great War there hasn’t been a single challenge worthy of a man like me.” I heard him babble, he normally gave this speech when he was inebriated.

“Yeah? Well, we all got our little problems today don’t we Winston?” Rick pulled out the chair next to me as he replied, flicking Jon’s ear to get his attention. The only way to shut Winston up was to get him through his memories as quickly as possible. Rick and I were all too familiar with this. He was one of the first people Rick introduced me to when we had first arrived in Egypt. Jon poured Rick a shot as I finished off my drink setting it down on the bar, gesturing for the barkeep to get me another.

“I just wish I could’ve chucked it in with the others and gone down in flame and glory instead of sitting around here rotting of boredom and booze.” Winston finished up his story, patting the boys on the back. He really needed a hobby other than sitting around and drinking. I could visibly see Rick’s annoyance set in. He looked as if he was ready to call it a day but knew there was more to be done.

“Oh well, back to the airfield.” Winston let out a laugh spinning around and leaving us alone.

“Tell me, has your sister always been?” Rick started to ask Jon, shot in hand ready to throw it back. I received my drink, thanking the man and giving him a bill to pay.

“Oh yes always.” He answered Rick’s question before hearing anything else. I started sipping my refill.

“Well we’re all packed up but the damn boat doesn’t leave til tomorrow morning.” Henderson came up beside me and Jon putting his arm on the bar between us leaning towards me. I watched him closely, curious if we really needed to go through this again.

“Tail set firmly between your legs, I see,” Jon replied to him, sarcastically. I mean what really were they supposed to do, they thought they were going to die from opening the chest.

“Yeah you can talk, you don’t have some sacred walking corpse after you.” Henderson breathed out, confirming the fact that he was scared.

“Ah but we do have a thousand-year-old entity with us constantly and she’s a bore,” Jon replied, knowing that Henderson wouldn’t understand what he was getting at but I certainly did.

“Whoa, be careful, I’m doing my best over here to hold her but she’s a force to be reckoned with,” I warned Jon not to make Ahmanet upset, especially when I was continuing to mentally hold her in her place. But for some reason, it was more of a chore than it had been before, I felt a migraine coming on since I walked through the threshold to the bar and it was only getting worse as time went on. The thought of continually keeping her at bay was becoming less and less a reality.

“What’s he getting at?” He asked me flabbergasted at the thought.

“So uh, how’s your friend?” Rick asked Daniels who appeared next to him, both of us ignoring Henderson.

“He had his eyes and his tongue ripped out, how would you be?” He replied sullenly, not in the mood to converse about the pain his friend had gone through. We all spun around in our chairs watching the entrance to the bar, it really was a beautiful modern area for the time. It almost had a Moroccan theme with the fabrics that were hung to look like curtains, filling the space with earthly tones. The tiles that were embedded in the floor were a nice touch as well, lots of blues and whites. This bar was much better than the others I had been in while looking for Rick. There were some men in the corner sharing a hookah pipe passing it around, happily. Oh, to have no cares in the world right now.  

“Good luck boys.” The four of them clinked their shot glasses together and I with my gin and tonic. We drank to their luck and health getting away from Egypt still intact. Immediately when the drink hit my tastebuds I spat the liquid back out.

“Sweet Jesus tastes just like…” Henderson started.

“Blood.” Rick and I finished his thought, Rick dropping his glass on the floor as he looked at the fountain.

“And the rivers and waters of Egypt ran red and were as blood” Jon quoted the Bible.

“He’s here,” Rick whispered out and took off running in the opposite direction. I took off after him grabbing my bag.

“Rick, wait!!” I called after him, as I realized where he was going.

“Oh Evelyn…” He called her name in a sing-song voice, slowing down upon approaching her so he wouldn’t bulldoze her.

“Oh, so you’re still here?” She asked him, there was some tension here that I wanted no part in deciphering.

“We’ve got problems.” He told her just as a clap of thunder shook the complex. The rain started pouring and I felt queasy, staggering, attempting to get my balance back. I knew that this was no doubt what I had been feeling earlier with the migraine. It felt as if the world was on my shoulders and I couldn’t keep standing anymore.  Neither my brother nor my friend noticed the issue I was dealing with, which I was thankful for. Ahmanet took over as I felt my consciousness fade as I gave into the pressure.

“You are getting weaker, as he rises,” Ahmanet spoke to me in the confines of my mind.

“What do I do?” I asked her, sitting on the ground in an all-black room with no reference as to what was going on outside my head, no reference to my body.

“There’s nothing you can do. Unless…”  I groaned out feeling pain all over, just like when the tattoos appeared.

“Unless what?!” I yelled, hearing my voice echo around the area. I was prepared to do anything at this point to get control back.

“You’re too weak to continue on your own. I am the only reason you are still consciously here, in this place. It was my choice to keep you alive. I could have tucked you away you forever when you fainted.” She told me.

“But you also need me,” I told her skeptically feeling even more faint than I did before.

“Beauty and brains. But this, you will not win.” She laughed as my consciousness faded away for the second time, I relaxed into it accepting my fate. 

***

“Eris!! Wake up!!” I heard his tortured screams as he attempted to wake me. Ahmanet allowed me a glance through a window. Rick was being slashed up by the dagger of Set. This was yet the third time he had been in mortal danger in this entire excursion and I doubted it would be the last. I watched as the curved blade barely touched his skin but ripped through him like razor wire. 

“You talk of bravery like a Medjai, yet you are still mortal, how do you forget this?” Ahmanet questioned him in broken English. Evy was cowering in the corner as the mummy turned to face her attempting to kiss her.

“Rick!!” I yelled to him trapped in my mind, my voice echoed off the walls, bouncing back to my eardrums. I crumpled from where I stood, the pain erupting in my ears and brain. I tried to push forward into the forefront of my mind but Ahmanet’s hold was too strong, she was growing stronger from the darkness and the plagues that were reigning on the world. I watched as she fought with my brother, she had maneuvered him onto the ground, straddling him. She reared up the dagger in my hands, ruby glinting in the fire-born sky ready to plunge it directly into his chest. A cat strode across piano keys directing everyone’s attention to it, the mummy stopped in his tracks and disappeared into a cloud of sand. Jon and the Americans pulled me off of Rick and secured my hands behind my back. 

“We are in very serious trouble,” Rick said to everyone wiping away the blood that had been drawn.

“Let’s get her to the museum,” Evy murmured quietly as she tended to Rick’s wounds. We walked outside and to Jonathan’s car, piling in. It was an expeditious drive for Jonathan to get us there as quickly as possible as they now knew Ahmanet’s true strength. The Americans dragged me from the car and led me by my arms, following Evy’s instructions. 

“He does seem to like Evy.” I heard Jon say from behind me. Henderson was holding my wrists guiding me where I needed to be. 

“Yeah, what’s that about?” Rick asked, I could hear the curiosity in his voice intertwined with anger.

“There’s only one person I know that can give us any answers.” She spoke confidently as she rounded the corner to the Old Kingdom display heading towards the curator's office.

“You?!” Evy exclaimed stopping in her tracks. 

“Miss Carnahan, gentleman… Eris? What’s happened?” I heard Dr. Bey ask as he noticed I was a fugitive. 

“What is he doing here?” Evy asked him not answering his question. I hoped we would get to my situation as soon as possible because it was not fun being a captive in my own head and in real life. Henderson pulled his gun from his holster following Rick’s lead as everyone was tense from the fight with the mummy.

“Do you really want to know, or would you prefer to just shoot us?” Dr. Bey asked rather annoyed that he had guns pointing at him and Ardeth. 

“After what I just saw, I’m willing to go on a little faith,” Rick said as he stepped aside for the two men to view me. 

“Richard, what have you done to your sister?” Dr. Bey asked in a serious tone as he came up to me inspecting my eyes.

“Ardeth, you’d better take a look at this.” He breathed out, stepping away from me with fear in his eyes. I thrashed against Henderson, trying to get free of my bonds. I hissed at Ardeth as the Medjai walked up to me. He grabbed my chin holding me still to take a look at my eyes. 

“Ahmanet.” He breathed out.

“Ah a real Medjai, let’s see what you’re made of,” I heard Ahmanet speak in Egyptian this time. 

“Take her around the corner to her office.” He instructed Henderson. He nodded and moved me towards the walkway, Rick went to follow but Ardeth stopped him before he could go much further.

“I’ll do my best to get her back, but I must do it alone.” He said to him. Rick nodded and backed away with Henderson as Ardeth took my arm in his, his touch burned my skin I felt Ahmanet waning away from control. We walked towards my office, he pushed the door open and set me in the chair. 

“Eris, I’m going to recite a series of prayers. We’re going to try to reduce Ahmanet’s power over your body, at least enough so you can have control again.” He told me, a guttural growl escaped from my throat as Ahmanet did not enjoy what she was hearing. 

“Mother of the gods, the One, the Only, Mistress of the Crowns. Bast, beloved daughter of the sun, send us comfort. Envelope Eris with you. Expel all evil forces from her. Destroy and banish all witchcraft, bonds, and curses. Take away everything that could harm her.” Ardeth recited a prayer to Bast in Arabic. I could feel Ahmanet shrinking from consciousness. As she weakened I pushed forward back into my own body. I sucked in the air, it felt pure. I felt like me again. I couldn’t feel Ahmanet anywhere inside, it was like she had vanished. 

“Are you alright?” I heard Ardeth ask me as he bent down toward my face. I nodded not willing to speak. He turned me around and cut the bonds on my wrists letting me go free. 

“Aren’t you worried she’ll be back?” I asked him. He considered the question for a bit but did not give me an answer instead he wrapped his arms around me in a hug. I felt safe, smelling the lotus and vanilla that seemed to hang over him. His chin resting on the top of my head he breathed out letting go of his inhibitions. He pulled away much too fast for my liking, holding me at arm's length just staring into my eyes. He leaned forward placing a light kiss on my forehead. I soaked in the moment before he rushed out the door to inform Rick that everything was alright. I sat back in my chair staring into oblivion not wanting to even glance at the mirror to my right. I didn’t want to know if she was still there. 

Next Chapter

[rollercoasterwords]

i was just rereading the last chapter of the hand that feeds - as i often do when i need to feel like a knife is digging in my chest and i need to some absolutely scrumptious gut-wrenching angst - and OH MY GODDD!!! i forget how fucking good that ending is and then i reread it and im telling you - literal goosebumps!!! the first section ending with 'This is a story about war.' i literally get chills everytime i read that!!! and the final few lines:

'A butterfly lands in the palm of her hand. She watches it flap its wings once, twice—and then it flies away.

Here is a secret.

Are you listening?

This is a story, and a story is not its end.'

my god reading this part after the emotional turmoil of the previous chapters is literally an out-of-body metaphysical experience. i feel like im dying!!! i love it!!!! :)))))

anyway it just sums up the fic so well and feels like such a thematic like thesis?? it just so perfectly presents such a compelling outlook on life and what defines its meaning and true value. like what makes a tragedy isn't its violent ends or its hateful and tense moments!! its the love and the family and the joy that truly make their lives a tragedy!!! and i love how you so beautifully execute that!!

anyway im getting serious brainrot right now, so i really just had to rant!!! now i have to reread!! kicking my feet and giggling for the angst!!!! <3

AHHHHH screaming u literally Get It. like...YES the ending to thtf is truly so special to me and one of my favorite things i've ever written. gonna use ur brainrot as license to ramble lol SPOILERS obviously

ok so the thing about the ending of thtf is that it is not at all what i originally had planned! like, i don't think it was until i was maybe...halfway? or like two thirds done with the fic that i just sort of had a moment where i was like NO i cannot end it this way it doesn't feel correct...and then i had like a eureka moment where everything fell into place and that last line appeared fully formed in my mind TRULY it was spine-shattering

so like. ok. when i started writing the fic i KNEW that i was not going to do any kind of afterlife epilogue, just because...well personally i was raised to believe in heaven and hell and center my life around that, and i lost that faith as i grew older, and now the idea of an afterlife just. is not something joyful or happy to me. like i know many people believe in some form of afterlife, but personally try as i might i have never been able to, and so i have had to seek meaning in life while believing that like. death is just it. i think ur brain dies and ur done and gone like i don't believe in souls or ghosts or anything lol. but even aside from like whether or not u believe anything happens or exists after death to me personally it's just been so much more meaningful to seek meaning in life absent any conception of an afterlife.

so i knew there wasn't going to be an afterlife. but i also knew i wanted to kill both dorcas + marlene in these very tragic and abrupt ways. like i specifically did not want to give them peaceful deaths. marlene dies afraid and alone and begging a god she doesn't believe in not to kill her here and now with so many things unfinished. dorcas dies consumed by rage and revenge and violence without ever getting a chance to heal from any of it, leaving behind friends and family who love her. and i wanted that partly because i love tragedy, yes, but also because...that is so often what death is. and that is so often what is terrifying about death. like most of us don't get any control over how or when we go, and it could be today or tomorrow and it could be peaceful or violent or painful. and that's so scary!

but i didn't want to end on that note, obviously. because the point of the story i was writing was not just to go "death is terrifying and the End and we don't get to choose when or how it happens!!" what i wanted to say was--death is terrifying and lonely and we can't control it, but life is beautiful and worth living anyway, perhaps even moreso because death is so out of our control. all the painful and scary and beautiful and joyful moments we experience are life, they are living, and there's no one experience that is objectively Better or Worse. like...grief and pain and sorrow are part of the experience of human life, just as much as joy and love and happiness.

anyway, so originally i was going to end with a little epilogue chapter from mary's point of view, sort of her and emmeline after the end of the first war like reflecting a little bit on their friends' lives and moving on. but honestly...that didn't quite fit with what i was saying, because again, what i wanted to say was that life doesn't need to be like...this endless continuing thing to have meaning. like you don't need to be remembered or leave A Mark on the world in order for your life to matter. i didn't want to make it seem like marlene and dorcas's lives were meaningful because of the people who would continue to live after them (although i do think that can be meaningful!! it just. wasn't what i wanted to say).

so what the final chapter ended up becoming is really this synthesis of like. my own worldview regarding life and death--and i feel like writing this story honestly helped me to like pin down that worldview which was a little more nebulous and difficult to articulate before. but like--last chapter. i wanted to take all these moments, both good and bad, from marlene and dorcas's lives--again, to emphasize that the "good moments" are not somehow inherently more important or meaningful than the "bad," that all life is experience and humanity and just...worth it. even the painful moments have meaning. and i also wanted to chop those moments up in time, to show that--hey! time doesn't matter.

like, we're so bound to this very linear view of timelines where life is like...i dunno. a straight line or a road or something. something you start and then you follow through to its end, and it's supposed to be like...a journey with a Final Destination. and we get scared of the End of that linear journey and we try to find ways to prolong it or tell ourselves that it doesn't have to ever end, that it can just keep marching forward in time.

and i mean, i'm still young. maybe my views will change. but as much as we are bound by linear time, i don't think that we need to measure life by those standards. all the moments of your life, good and bad and beautiful, they all exist somewhere in the fabric of the universe, forever. maybe that's a little optimistic streak of the spirituality i was raised with, but...yeah. all moments in life are meaningful, and they all exist somewhere in time, and so why does it matter what the "last" moment is? maybe death will be peaceful, or maybe it won't, but it's okay, because your death isn't your life. and that's what i'm trying to get at with the very last line--literally, a story is not its end. you can go back to any moment of a story and experience it again, you can skip around and read your favorite parts, and a story wouldn't be a story without every word and page in the book, y'know? so why should we fear the very last page? and why should we despair over the conflicts and the bits of the story that make us cry? it's all part of the story! it's beautiful! i love life and i love being human! and dorcas and marlene's lives were beautiful and tragic and wonderful and that's what being human is, and they died alone but they didn't live alone, and just....yeah! this ending is so so special to me <3

[higgity-diggity-dummy]

These Strings That Bind Us

previous (1st chapter)

In which I question the writing voice I want to keep throughout this story, Nico talks with (literally just two) people, and he has strings tied to his fingers.

Also, some string logic important in this chapter: Only people with the feelings of connection to another person see the string; strings are semi-physical, as in they don’t ever get in the way or get tangled (unless I feel artsy and want to make marionette analogies), but they can be consciously moved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

chapter 2

Nico walked back to the doorstep of the Apollo cabin where Will Solace was waiting. He smirked at the half-surprised eyes Will wore. 

“What?” Nico asked him. “Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

Will walked down the steps and stood facing Nico. “No.” 

Nico raised an eyebrow. “Ok well, maybe” Will confessed. “But you can’t blame me for being skeptical. You kind of have a history of running off.”

“Oh so you know my history. Stalker” Nico joked. 

Will rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.” 

“Well, that’s on you for still choosing to be friends with me.” Nico let the words slip out before he can think about it.

Friends. They weren’t friends. We’re they? They couldn’t be. Nico was reminded of the promise he made to himself when they first met: he would not let Will through his barriers. 

But the more time they spent together, the harder it got…

What if he doesn’t even want to be friends with you? A corner of Nico’s mind asked. You probably just freaked him out, assuming you two were friends. You should leave him now before you get attached and he leaves you first. 

You never should have gotten close to him. Are you an idiot? This won’t end well. Especially not with that queer string you have on your finger. 

The thoughts cloud out the world around Nico as they swirl and overpower the importance of the present. Until the sound of laughter…

“Gods you’re terrible.” Will joked. 

Nico snapped back to reality. 

Will turned to walk to the infirmary, apparently assuming Nico is just going to join him (which he is, but still). 

“Hey, what was that conversation you just had with Percy and Annabeth?” Will asked abruptly. 

Nico felt his stomach drop. He stuttered thinking of a possible response that wouldn’t force him to reveal anything. 

But he also wants to reveal everything to Will. He’s so wonderful. 

Don’t be an idiot. 

“I… uhm, it was just…” 

He’s Nico’s soulmate. He should talk to him. Gods, he could imagine talking to that piercing smile and attentive eyes all day. 

No.  

“I kinda just went over there and uh…”

Will looked at him curiously. Nico looked away. 

He should look back at him. Meet his eyes. Stare into his eyes and talk about everything possible. Fate agrees with him. They gave him the string on his finger. The one that’s attached to Will. He’s so beautiful-

Stop! 

“They told me about the plans to go to collage together in New Rome,” Nico finally said. 

Walls back up. Reality checked. Will kept away from his heart. 

Will stayed silent for a bit, obviously tying to read the nuances of Nico’s tone and expression. He twirled his fingers around the rose gold string. 

“That’s all?” He said after a bit. “It seemed like… like it was a bit more…” he trails off. 

Nico refused to look at Will’s face. Just hearing the disappointment in his voice was enough to make him regret not saying the truth. Nico was too easily influenced by him…

He felt the string become more taut. His heart sped up at the reminder of it. At the reminder of the reciprocation of it. The fingers that twirled the string closer to his soulmate’s body. The movement that made Nico’s arm start to slightly raise. The hand that reaches to meet his own-

Nico yanked his hand back. He saw from the corner of his eye Will’s hand stutter in the language of physical comfort, before deciding to retreat back to its place by his side. 

“Let’s just go,” said Nico. 

And he headed off without checking that the son of Apollo was following him. 

~~~

Upon arriving at the infirmary, Will provided Nico with a bed to stay in and told him to wait for him to come back with forms and paperwork. Nico, however, wouldn’t see that paperwork ‘till much later than when Will had previously promised. His body crashed as soon as he laid down on the infirmary bed. It also apparently ignored all the sleep Nico had given it the night before because he was out cold for…

Oh dear gods… how long was he out for?

Why hadn’t Will woken him up? 

Ughh. He did not have the brain power to be thinking about that just yet. The world around him was still just as real as the dream he had just been in. 

When he gained enough consciousness to process his surroundings, the first thing he saw was a hand with a dimly lit maroon string tied to it. 

Fuuuck. 

It wasn’t too late to pretend to still be asleep, right? 

“Nico?”

Apparently it was. Unless…

“Nico, I know you’re awake. Stop trying to gaslight me.”

He groaned and slowly creeped himself up into a sitting position. “Do you really think I could gaslight you? Now I kind of want to try.” 

Percy chuckled at this. “I wouldn’t put it past you. However, my ironclad will is strong enough to kill a grazing goat.”

“An ‘ironclad will’ is a legal term idiot, “Nico retorted. “Also, isn’t your best friend a goat? Wouldn’t he find that offensive?”

“Actually, I’m allowed to say that because my best friend is a goat.” 

“Sounds like faulty logic to me. Also kinda racist.”

“Gods of Olympus, you really know how to escalate a conversation Nico.”

He just shrugged in response. 

Percy chuckled.

The string glowed a little. A new glow. A glow that was surprisingly not eerie. Not haunting. 

And then it faded. And the string turned less opaque. Was it fading?

An awkward silence fell over the two of them as they thought of what to say —of course while avoiding the topic that would make it more awkward. 

“How… long was I out?” said Nico in an attempt to solve this. 

Percy visibly relaxed. “About a day.”

Nico sprang up. “A day!? Why did nobody wake me up?”

 “Will said not to.” Percy shrugged.

“Of course he did,” Nico responded in the most annoyed tone he could muster. “That asshole drags me in here for three days just to have me unconscious for one of them.” 

“So that’s the deal then.” Percy said, as if it were a big mystery for him. “But… isn’t that better for you? Y’ know. Less days awake in this sterile jail.”

While Nico was trying to think of a response to that, apparently Percy had discovered it before him. 

“Oh! Oooh.” He grinned and snapped his fingers into a finger gun. “Heh heh. Heheheh. So you want to spend more time with him? You were happy to accept the three days deal.”

Nico brought his knees up to his chest and buried his face in them. 

“Somebody has a cruuush.” Percy said in a sing-song voice. 

“Keep your voice down,” Nico snapped at him. “Jesus. You-“ he stuttered. “You can’t just say that out loud! Somebody could hear you,” Nico whisper-shouted. 

Gods, that ignorant idiot. Nico looked around him to make sure nobody was paying attention. 

The snarky Percy from just a few seconds ago deflated upon hearing those words. “Are you really scared about that? Like, people knowing?”

Nico groaned. He really didn’t want to have this conversation. He’d had his fill of conversations for the the year —at least. “Maybe? I don’t know Percy. I guess so.” 

“But you were able to tell me and—“

“That was after years of fruitless pining, you idiot. And besides, who knows what people around here would think after overhearing a conversation about the local camp gay.” Nico said that last word significantly quieter than the rest. He looked around again, unable to relax until he saw nobody heard what he just said.

“Nico…” Those staple sea green eyes met his with a look of… concern? Pity? “Nobody thinks that way anymore… or well, I guess some people do. Depending on where you’re from or what your background is and…” he started to trail off until Nico cleared his throat, reminding him to get to the point. 

“Look, this is a safe space,” Percy said. 

Then why did it feel so unsafe to be himself?

“Sure there are some places where it’s frowned upon to be gay, but nobody in camp is like that.”

As if Nico could believe that. He thought about the shock and confusion on Percy’s face when he told him the truth. 

“And if anyone gives anyone a hard time about it, we’ll knock em’ dead… or just educate them on why they’re wrong.”

But they aren’t wrong. It is immoral to have such impulses. Those queers should be purified. 

You should be purified. 

Nico broke eye contact, as if he needed focus to be spent on this conversation with his inner thoughts. 

Too many thoughts.

Too many emotions. 

Too many strings. All tying him up into a marionette controlled by fate and Satan. Making him somebody he didn’t want to be. Somebody he had no control over. He was a jester for the gods laugh at. A performance that he wanted to be done watching. He just wanted to be done in general. He didn’t want to be the way he was. He didn’t like who he was made to be. 

You can change that. 

Can he?

It’s your choice, but you know what the right choice is. Don’t you?

Well, maybe but—

There are no maybes with this you coward! This is a decision and you need to choose correctly. 

But so many people had told him that it was okay to be who he was. From the get-go Jason had told him that he was on his side. And now-

Their thoughts are corrupted and you know it. You need to be clean—

“Nico?”

Oh right. Reality. 

“Are you ok?” 

He wasn’t sure. 

“Yeah. Sorry, I just zoned out a bit.”

That’s one word for it. 

“Well, think about what I said. I should probably leave now though. Breakfast and stuff.”

Nico nods. 

“Ok. Bye Percy.”

And he leaves with a wave. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! Dear god did this chapter take a while to write. I’m struggling with dialogue and pacing right now so if y’all have any pointers or advice I’d love to know.

Also, there’s a scene I cut out of this chapter where Nico isn’t fully over his crush on Percy because I thought that it wouldn’t make sense to have Nico get over him so quickly, but I decided to cut it out because I didn’t know how I could fit that whole “getting over the crush that he is kinda already over” arc in the story. I may post the couple of paragraphs I wrote that birthed that idea though.

[ronearoundblindly]

The Stark Legacy (10)

Wedding, part of Book 1: Reality (see previous or series)

Summary: Cooper Barton's wedding is missing a few key people. Unfortunately, it's not the ones Samantha Stark wants to avoid.

Warnings: Tony is still Tony and struggles to be good at fathering. Illusions to Hydra and past deadly missions between Nat and Bucky. Also YAY we're starting to get more of Bucky's story now! Rated Teen/Mature, so 15+ only, please. WC 4.2k

CHAPTER TEN—July 2038

“Whiskey, neat,” Tony ordered, rapping his knuckles across the marble top. He kept his head relatively low and his tinted glasses on, covering yet another shiner. One of these days, he thought, I’m really going to ruin my beautiful face.

“Thanks for coming.”

He turned to see Sam standing beside him in her long red bridesmaid’s dress. The gold jewelry and shoes shone like a beacon, more Iron Man than his very own wedding.

“I was so excited I could hardly pick a suit,” he replied, downing his whiskey and tapping the counter again. “Keep ‘em coming.” He slipped a one hundred dollar bill into the Murano glass jar.

“Champagne?”

Sam looked at him quizzically, adjusting her shawl across her shoulders and arms.

“You’re old enough right?”

“In several countries,” she said, “not this one.”

“I won’t tell,” Tony mumbled, swiveling to grab one of the pre-poured flutes from down the bar and handed it over. His eyes flicked towards the tables. “You and that boy seem cozy.”

His daughter blushed, rousing mixed feelings in Tony. Love and affection: he could remember the beginning but also the end, and now he resisted watching Sam go through the same.

She didn’t take his bait. “How are Big Sam and Parker?”

Tony hardly let the pour end before ripping the glass up to his lips. He tapped again. “They’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.”

“I can come see Wilson—”

“Not necessary,” Tony blurted, straightening. “He’ll be out before you can visit.” He continued to look out over the tables of guests, some trickling onto the dance floor in the center of the hall.

It all took him back. He’d worn a grey suit, for Pepper, to match the free-flowing feel of her lace gown. No fabric was delicate enough to match her beauty that day. Everyday. Back then. He missed her neck and the way her hair would shift over it when she concentrated. Her head always lolled to the right when she worked. He used to rub her neck for her, call her lopsided, kiss her right cheek and push her head to the other side. He called it ‘evening her out.’

He’d expected to see her among the souls of Mephisto, just to catch a glimpse; the ghost of her, the fantasy, anything was better than nothing. Except nothing was all he got, no glimpse, no ghost, which felt much worse. Maria Stark had looked right at him, and as all moms do, she knew. His mother had come back just to see his misery and relive her disappointment. He couldn’t think about it anymore; that was the goal: distraction. Tony only showed up to this event to avoid silence with the team at headquarters.

Seeing your departed loved ones in Satan’s grasp will do that to you. Obviously, you don’t exactly want to talk about it with ‘others.’

“The chicken was dry.” Tony swirled his whiskey. “Should’ve had the steak.”

Tony tried not to notice the disappointment on Sam’s face. “Really,” she whispered, “nothing?”

He watched Bucky and Natasha approach, relieved. “Oh thank god, you can dance with Terminator here.” Tony patted Bucky once on the chest, asking “make it 40s-style and real awkward. You know, just be yourself.”

Natasha gave them both a look.

“What? I’m gonna go terrorize her date.” Tony swooped off before anyone objected.

Natasha delicately grabbed the untouched champagne from Sam’s hand. “I’ll take that.”

“I don’t suppose anyone would like to fill me in on what happened last week,” Sam thought out loud.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Nat answered, taking a large sip, scrunching her face a little as the bubbles attacked her nostrils. “I’m gonna need something stronger.”

Stoic, quiet Captain Barnes surprised Sam then. “Do you want to dance?” It was a sheepish question from a very bulky man.

Sam looked up at his face for the first time. His hair fell forward, strategically covering several cuts and minor, yellowing bruises. She stumbled for words. “I…think he was joking,” but even as she said it, the retreating Tony swiveled around and made a little hand gesture for dancing legs before continuing his b-line for Lucas. “Also,” she added, “I genuinely can’t dance.”

“No one can these days,” Bucky replied, flicking his eyes over the crowd of celebrators, “clearly.”

“Here we go with the ‘back in my day’ speech…” Nat finished the glass.

“No,” he buffed, “that’s not the point. I’m about 70% sure Stark actually meant that as some sort of order.” When the ladies continued to stare at him in confusion, he added, “it’s a delicate points system I’ve developed.”

Nat baulked. “Did you just…make a joke?”

“Leaving a 30% chance of being nicknamed to death for disobeying. Any bets on which references this time?”

Sam enjoyed the jabs at her father’s expense. “Did it take you twenty years to figure the points out?”

“Four, actually,” Bucky played along.

“So the sarcasm rubbed off on you in twenty years too…” Nat mumbled into a fresh drink.

“You didn’t get that gene?” Bucky shaded his face, but one corner of his mouth twitched anyway.

“I’m 50% sure that I did. Nature versus nurture and all, but I’m 100% sure you know him better.”

“Well,” Nat said, pursing her lips, “I’m only 12% sure I know why we are talking in numbers.”

“You speak Russian, German, Spanish, Italian, your French is okay, English, and probably more that I missed,” Bucky explained to Nat, then opened a palm indicating the other, “Sam speaks math, English, and from what Clint has mentioned, computer, correct?”

It was the most Sam had ever heard him say, and it must have shown on her face. Her clasped hands went a little slack. Her shawl slipped. Nat cut in, “you…what?”

Bucky seemed possessed with a boyishness for a moment. “I don’t just brood, ya know. I’m observant, and I listen.”

The ladies couldn’t come up with any words.

“But you do look lovely in red. 100% Tony there.”

“I think he blew a fuse,” Nat said out of the corner of her mouth.

“Guess their getting lazy with the cradle though,” Bucky added, pointing to Sam’s exposed arm. “Bruce couldn’t fix that for you?”

The playfulness in Sam’s eyes died immediately. He’d gotten cocky, too friendly in his attempts at distraction. She pulled the chiffon shawl back over as much of the arm as possible.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older. Excuse me.” Sam left. Bucky noticed something odd about her walk.

“That was smooth,” Nat snorted.

“I used to be good at talking to broads.”

“What century do you think it is?”

“Well,” Bucky started, shrugging, “you could just tell me who the girl was. The one on the field.”

“You know enough already. She was a mission, and I completed my mission. Now,” Nat replaced another empty glass with a fresh, bubbling flute, “don’t ever mention Sam’s arm to Tony. I’m really warning you, James.” She looked up at his cool blue eyes. “We don’t need that shit-storm coming down on us.”

“So, you’re really gonna keep me in the dark? As if I haven’t been there long enough,” Bucky dropped off, letting his hair fall in his face again.

“I had no idea this was a pity party,” Nat sipped, finally feeling the edge wear off. “Who did you see?”

Bucky paused, watching the festivities unfold, people chatting and dancing, taking pictures, drinking and eating cake. Both their gazes landed on Sam, retreating, and Nat continued in a low voice.

“Every single one of us have used that girl. You were drafted, but at least your father showed you the importance of service. I…knew what the Red Room would make me, and I kept going anyway. Sam didn’t get any choice. She did not get the benefit of orders. Her instruction is all over the place and at best made up of lessons designed for some other kid.” The pair watched Sam awkwardly evade people through the tables, careful not to touch anyone, her head always low. “The world thinks she’s part of us. We’ve done everything possible to make keep her out. No one has ever asked her what she wants. Worse yet, nobody asked us either. We know how that feels, and we went ahead and did it to Tony’s kid anyway.”

Bucky could think of some joke one-liners to respond with: ‘waxing philosophic on me, Romanoff,’ ‘are you a lightweight for champagne now,’ but that gave Bucky the sinking notion that she was right. The bad bits had rubbed off on them all—the glib, deflecting humor, the trivializing of life, the compartmentalizing of loss, the total failure to grieve, and the retardation of personal growth and change. Aside from changing allegiances, Natasha was much the same person she was thirty years ago. Apart from removing brain-washing, Bucky was much the same person he was one-hundred years ago. Why? Was their only comfort as a global, galactic fighting team to be constant?

Steve still complained to Bucky about how restless he was in retirement. Although, Steve Rogers complaining was more like a vague statement of interest and then hearty praise for the accomplishments of others, followed by silence, and then checking to make sure you were comfortable in his home. He couldn’t change; he couldn’t just hang up his helmet and walk away. Steve had to be a protector. Bucky had to be a soldier. Natasha had to be a weaver of webs. Banner had to research something and know why things happened. Tony had to know how to fix everything.

“Honestly,” Natasha finally started again, “I never realized how much I missed Pepper. Even as my fake boss, she was a really good woman. She was a great mother.” Nat trailed off in thought.

“I never had a real conversation with Mrs. Stark.” Bucky searched Nat’s thoughtful face, noticing just the slightest crinkle at her eyes. “She did order me around a few times, ‘stand here’ and ‘wait here’ and ‘not now.’ She wore the pants for sure.”

“At least I spoke French better than her,” Nat quipped.

“Barely,” Bucky chided.

Natasha gave him a look to kill. “You are in a surprisingly good mood…”

“I like to see what it is we fight for,” Bucky let his mouth run loose for a moment, “for people to not know about all the other…darkness we see.”

Nat said nothing, but she did turn to the party with a slightly higher regard for the lightness of mood. Humans were allowed their frivolity. They were allowed to celebrate love and have family and live carefree sometimes. The Avengers hardly remembered that; they’d seen far too much. The two stood there like wallflowers, shadowy figures envying the light.

Tony, however, was basking in compliments and accolades from Lucas who had not stopped his rundown of Stark’s every innovation since the ‘00s. The boy admitted right away to disagreeing with the ‘peacocking’ he accused the billionaire of imposing on the masses, those who could not wield such a large political stick. Lucas was opinionated for a twenty-two-year-old, even critiquing Stark’s choice of whiskey. He also became suspiciously quiet once Sam came over.

“Boys,” she said before sipping her coffee.

“Are you even old enough to drink that?” Tony puffed up a little, eyes still shaded under glasses.

“You’re about two years too late,” Sam replied flatly.

Tony eyed her formal red gown, covered shoulders and arms, the most conservatively dressed of the bridesmaids but the youngest as well. He didn’t see much of Pepper. Sam’s shoulders slouched a bit; she didn’t have the confidence of her mother. She drank from a porcelain mug without a delicate touch, just a clenched fist.

“Your—” Tony started, “dude here was just telling me about his biostasis research at Harvard and its potential applications for us in space travel. Fascinating stuff, but—” Tony couldn’t help but have fun with the kid. “—you may want to look into that power supply because its not exactly a flight-stable compound to be lighting on fire and shooting us out of orbit. Good start though.”

“Arc-reactor tech could power up to what, forty pods, for an 18 month flight, allowing for minimal life support but full navigation and communications,” Sam quickly rattled.

Tony peered over this glasses curiously, revealing a bruised corner of brow. “Twenty months,” he corrected, “give or take weight and distance you travel by thrust.”

“Among several factors,” Sam conceded, eyes down.

“Sir, if I could test some of the simulated outputs of that technology, it would go a long way,” Lucas jumped in.

“Down, Fido.” Tony gripped the young man’s shoulder without removing his eyes from Sam. “What’s Harvard been teaching you?”

Sam went bug-eyed, clutching her coffee. She hadn’t meant to say any of that out loud. Lucas always spoke about his research, and Sam listened, occasionally asking a leading question to have him self-correct a flaw in his logic. She never spoke of her own experiments because Lucas never asked, and she would never tell him.

“Harvard was supposed to teach me? I’m not a stud—”

“S’more!” Lila came rushing forward. “Sorry to interrupt, but will you come over for a picture?” She grabbed Sam’s arm without seeing her drink, and the hot liquid spilled all over Sam’s hand. “Oh god, we’ll clean that up first. We gotta redo your lipstick, too. Do you two mind?” Lila’s motherly round face beamed at Stark and Lucas. Lucas nodded as Tony waved his whiskey hand vaguely. “Family photo at the wedding, ya know,” Lila giggled and led Sam off to the ladies’ room.

That was all it took for Tony to see it. Sam’s ‘older sister’ taking her to put on makeup in the bathroom. Her ‘brothers’ and ‘parents’ waiting near the photographer. His daughter had another family, a whole family. She was a bridesmaid and a girlfriend and drank coffee and went to Harvard. Sam was almost eighteen, and Tony didn’t know anything about her. What had he expected? The more she grew, the more he saw only the Stark heritage, a mini-Howard, a mini-him. Today was the most feminine Sam had ever looked, but she was still covered and plain.

“Sir,” Lucas gently started, “I’ve also applied for the Stark Fellowship.”

“Uh-huh,” Tony mumbled into his glass, watching Sam and Lila return to pose for a family photo. Sam walked so awkwardly in heels, assuming that’s what she wore under the floor-length gown as did the other bridesmaids; Pepper never missed a beat in heels. She ran a company in heels, ran the world in heels, ran circles around the world in heels.

And then Sam smiled for the photo, and there she was. The angle of her jaw, the corners of her mouth, the lift of her cheekbones, the tilt of her long neck; Pepper was right there…or a piece of her.

Tony suddenly cocked his head towards Lucas. “S’more?”

Lucas, caught off-guard by the subject change, took a moment to reply. “Samantha Morgan. Sss-Mor. Coop told me it was her childhood nickname. I just thought… you gave it to her…”

Tony clenched his teeth, looking down at his nearly empty glass. “I’ll see what I can do about that application if you keep working on the power supply,” he said, giving one last tap on the young man’s arm and walking back to the bar. “But right now, I need a drink.”

Sam roamed the infirmary hall of Avengers headquarters still in her flowing red gown. She carried her change of clothes in a bowling bag formerly used by Howard Stark, another Christmas pick from Storage Basement E, and her gold shoes. No one was here to see her limp along on sore feet; the after-party celebration had moved to a bar where Sam may have been welcome but incredibly bored, so she’d opted to come visit Sam Wilson. Unsurprisingly, Lucas saw some benefit to schmoozing the ‘family.’

In one room she saw MJ sitting beside Peter Parker while their children loudly reenacted a play or perhaps a dance. Sam couldn’t tell from her angle at the window. MJ gave a small wave to Sam, but Peter was too busy providing the sound effects for the performance. Sam smiled but moved on. It was beautiful to see a family together. They weren’t a strange sort of sight, but Sam always felt such a distance from that joy. All her life was ’not-quite’: Clint was not-quite dad, Laura not-quite mom, Coop, Lila, and Nate not-quite siblings, the Avengers not-quite uncles and aunts. The only absolutes were Samantha was related to Tony and Tony chose to give her away.

A few doors down was Falcon’s room, a soft trail of music wafting from inside. 

—Over the shadows and the rain to a blossom covered lane—

When she gently pushed open the door, Sam first saw Steve Rogers sleeping in a chair, arms crossed over his chest. Then she saw Sam.

His head was covered in electrodes, face covered in an oxygen mask, and hooked to a feeding tube. This was a lot worse than Tony had let on. Samantha was shocked enough to smash her bag against the door frame trying to enter, waking Steve and dropping her shoes. 

—Faint as a will o’ the wisp, crazy as a loon, sad as a gypsy serenading the moon, Oh skylark—

Ever the gentleman, Rogers quickly picked up each heel and handed them back. He said nothing but smiled and offered his chair for her to sit. Sam pointed to a chair on the opposite wall, and whispered, “will I wake him?”

“No,” Steve replied in a low, calm voice, “he just enjoys Aretha. How was the party?”

Sam gave him a questioning look.

“I came back here after the ceremony. Not much for dances anymore.”

“It was loud, and everyone drank a lot,” Sam said, putting her stuff down to drag the chair close to the bed. Steve snorted. It seemed the seventeen-year-old and hundred-and-thirteen-year-old moved at about the same pace. Samantha tentatively went to Wilson’s side. “Will he wake up?”

“That’s—” Steve hesitated, evaluating what Sam was old enough to hear. “We don’t really know. Head trauma hasn’t made the same leap as other medicine, so we…hope.”

Little Sam took Big Sam’s hand. His skin felt comfortingly warm. “He’ll always have much bigger hands than me,” she reminisced. “I used to think mine would catch up one day.”

Steve absently mumbled, “yeah, there’s a lot you didn’t get from Stark,” before taking his seat again. He was silent for a while, watching Sam and Sam. “Natasha told me about—” he waved his hand over his left side “—years ago.”

Samantha didn’t move.

“I never told anybody else, but I am sorry that I didn’t come see you.”

She remained staring at Sam Wilson’s slow breath fog his mask. He wasn’t on a respirator, a good sign. Little Sam, her first nickname from a friend. She could remember being sad and angry when Big Sam’s visits became less and less frequent. He called less and less. Sam Wilson had taught her humor and sarcasm more than anyone else. He’d explained that having emotions and acting on emotions were two very different things. Big Sam was her big brother, more so and for longer than any Barton, and he just lay there with warm hands and slow breath.

Sam herself breathed deliberately and slow. “It wasn’t your fault, so…” Her eyes met Steve’s.

“I used to put newspaper in my shoes. My feet were too small,” he pointed to her things on the floor, “and I see you now wear two different height of heels.”

“I don’t usually wear heels. Or dresses.”

“Special occasions…” Steve drifted into thought, looking at Wilson’s face, his profile warped under the plastic mask. Steve could remember being small, overlooked by other children, tormented even, saluting all those participating in the defense of his nation while he stayed at home. He remembered the desperate need to contribute, the mania of skirting rules over and over to prove he was worthy. He could see the same desperation in Samantha Stark. She was locked outside the building banging on the door, or at least, it was obvious to someone who’d been there before. It occurred to him that she would want to know not only what happened to her father but to their friend also.

“They saw the dead, Sam.” Steve paused to watch the girl’s face, but she did nothing. If she was curious, she didn’t show it. If she was horrified, she didn’t show it. 

“That was the enemy last week: people who died long ago. For a few of us it was men and women killed by our own hands.” It was clear he didn’t want to mention the assassin past of Bucky or Natasha. He got quieter. “I think Tony may have seen your mother,” Steve slowed seeing Sam slightly adjust to hear him better, “and I can’t imagine how painful that would be.” He leaned forward on his knees. The silence remained cold but open. Sam placed Wilson’s hand on his stomach and returned to her chair, farther away, watching.

He continued, “Ghosts of those you’ve harmed, someone you…it’s not something you forget. I wasn’t there but I know what it feels like to regret what you did with the time you had…” He could feel himself slipping into his own thoughts and tried to buckle down to his point. “We all see and do things in war, in battle, that we aren’t proud of, that we wouldn’t do without desperation. I think Tony—I think because your father didn’t have the training we had, he can’t reconcile a…domestic life with his professional life. He was not acclimated to the mindset of a soldier before the wormhole opened up in New York, but he’s been in the loss for…a long time.”

“I think you’ve been thinking alone in a cottage too long.”

Steve, so used to everyone else’s sidebar sarcasm, went on. “I lost my parents young, but I had my best friend. Bucky never knew his mom, and he was there when I buried mine—”

“Yes, he was there for Pepper’s too.”

Steve stopped his rant at the mention of that awful, emotional, and chaotic day.

Eventually, Samantha composed herself enough to say, “I have no one like that, sir.”

Her formality was endearing. Steve recognized the defensive distancing. “That’s what worries me.”

The beat that followed altered the chemistry of the room. Sam went rigid. “Did it worry you last year?” She let the bitterness gnaw at the bottom of her stomach, a low, sickening rumble that grew into a white hot anger. “What about five years ago? Ten years ago? Why bring it up now?”

“I’m just trying to empathize—”

“You see a girl, don’t you? You look at me and see a little girl. Perhaps a four year old,” Sam tried to reign herself in but failed. She had made it through so much and never lost control like this. “Now, try to really look at me. Sir,” she spat, “I’m a lop-sided girl with a billion dollar inheritance. I’m damaged goods with the mind of Tony Stark. I am…never going to fit here. I was outsourced. Like everything he’s ever created except the suit…” 

It was true, but the flame burned out as fast as it came on. What remained was simply blank, empty. “Everyone here, they see me as a follow up to him, and I just…want to do something else, something he can’t.”

Before he thought about his words, Steve quipped, “well, you fall off the bike, you get back on.”

Sam went silent, as Steve straightened himself up, regretful of his blunder.

“Ms. Stark,” he finally asked, “would you like anything from downstairs?”

“Coffee with cream,” she replied after a moment, “please.”

Steve noted that Sam, like Pepper, was respectful even when offended.

After Rogers had left, Samantha spoke to Big Sam as if he could hear her confession. “Sometimes I wish my remaining parent were one of you, the ones who actually raised me. I know you guys, or at least I feel like I do, but I look at him… and I just don’t see how he could…I understand why I feel better alone.” She held his hand again. A long moment passed, and suddenly she felt so uncomfortable in that dress she could scream. “I promise, I’ll be back. Just putting on my sweats, like you once said, ‘it’s a crime to look this good. Better save your eyes the glory.’” 

As she chuckled at the memory, Sam could hear the energetic voices of those returning for the night’s festivities. She gave an unseen apologetic glance to Falcon; she’d have to go now. When she picked up Howard’s bag, however, Rogers was back with coffee, standing in the doorway. He wore one of the saddest smiles she’d ever seen, and in a low voice said. “You are beautiful, just like your mother.”

She walked to the doorway with her things, her face reddening. 

“I know he’d be glad you came.”

Sam paused in the threshold. She’d found the purpose. “I’m going to fix this,” Sam said, meeting his eyes, “Captain.” She plucked one of the coffees from Steve’s hand and left for the night. She had work to do in Massachusetts.

[Ch 11: Plunge]

[Main Masterlist]