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edie-k · 4 years ago

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Living Legend (R/Hr, PG-13)

Title: Living Legend

Summary: Harry confronts his legacy as The Boy Who Blocked

Pairing: Ron/Hermione

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine; just having some not for profit fun.

So, based off discussion of this awesome piece of art shared on the Romione Discord, I wrote this fic. It started as very tongue in cheek idea and ended with some heart.

Harry entered the crowded pub and glanced around. He’d been held up almost an hour completing paperwork at the Ministry so he expected he was the last one to arrive. It didn’t take long for him to focus on the boisterous group in the back and he made his way towards the table with a grin.

“Hey, there he is!” said George, with a raise of his glass and assorted greetings joined in from the rest of the group.

“Oi, thank God, you’re here Harry,” said Seamus. ��These two,” he said, gesturing at Ron and Hermione, “are getting gross.”

Hermione gave an indignant snort and Ron glared at Seamus but he was smirking. Harry laughed as he dropped into the empty seat next to Ginny and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He glanced around the table at the crew - George, Angelina, and Luna were already seated at the other end and Dean was plopping down on the other side of Ron, next to Parvati. There was still an empty seat with a half drank glass in front of it and glancing around the room, he spotted Neville at the bar. He gratefully accepted the mug his girlfriend had slid in front of him. “And what do you expect me to do about the two of them?” he asked, as he took a swig of his drink.

“Break out some of that cockblocking magic you’re famous for,” said Seamus. The entire table burst into laughter. Harry was so shocked that he momentarily choked.

“Honestly Seamus!” said Hermione, although she looked much more amused by the comment than Harry would have expected.

“What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?” Harry asked.

“Do you not know what cockblocking is? The term seems pretty self explanatory but it’s when-”

“I know what it means, Seamus,” growled Harry.”I just don’t know what you mean.”

“I believe that’s his colorful way of talking about the fact that you were the main obstacle preventing Ron from progressing beyond friends with Hermione,” suggested Dean.

“Uh, in the name of gender equality, he was also the main obstacle preventing Hermione from making a move on Ron,” said Parvati. Dean tipped his drink in her direction in agreement.

“Human birth control, if you will,” suggested George.

“The opposite of an aphrodisiac for the two of them, if that’s a thing,” said Ginny. Harry gapped at her, startled by her comment.

“It is, it’s called an anaphrodisiac,” Hermione supplied.

“Oh, that’s interesting. What things are considered anaphrodisiac?” asked Angelina.

“Alcohol, right?” said Dean.

“Not in my experience,” said Seamus, wagging his eyebrows.

“That’s not what Cara Johnson told Padma,” said Parvati.

“Alcohol and tobacco and some other elements that go into pain relieving medications and potions. There was also recently a study around licorice of all things.”

“Red or black?” asked Neville, who had just returned from the bar with a fresh pitcher.

“Hmm,” said George thoughtfully. “Licorice wands but droopy. There’s a Wheeze in there somewhere.”

“Dabberblimps are also said to have an impact on sexual desire but I think that’s more due to the smell,” said Luna.

“No, wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait,” said Harry, completely aghast. “Are you all saying it took Ron and Hermione two years to get together and it was my fault?”

“Look, Harry, no one should be saying you were the main obstacle in it. Hermione and I certainly could have done more to rise above it,” said Ron in what he thought was a consoling tone.

“Honestly, everyone at this table could have done more,” said Neville, gesturing to the group who nodded in agreement.

“But it is fair to say that Harry carries most of the blame,” said Seamus.

“Outside of Ron and I,” Hermione clarified.

“This is unbelievable,” said Harry.

“Look, Hermione and I have talked about it and there’s no hard feelings. It all worked out in the end.”

“You’ve talked about this?!” Ron shrugged. “Hermione,” Harry turned to his friend with a pleading tone. “You are the most rational person I know. You can’t seriously agree with this?”

“I pluck up the courage to ask Ron out and you created as much noise as possible and practically threw a bowl across the room before I could clarify it was a date.”

“It was awkward!”

“Are you saying we’ve never done anything awkward for your sake?” Ron chuckled.

“No but… come on, it was obvious that was a date!”

“I told you I thought she asked me as a friend and you never said anything!”

“Wait,” said Angelina. “Harry, there was a misunderstanding between them that you knew about and you didn’t say anything to clear it up?”

“It was awkward!”

“Not only that,” said Hermione. “I asked him why Ron was angry with me so I could fix it and he knew why but he didn’t tell me.”

“It… was awkward,” said Harry weakly. “And! And! The reason Ron was angry with you was ridiculous. You had snogged Krum two year ago. I didn’t want to make him look stupid.”

“Yeah,” said Ron dryly. “You really kept me from looking like an idiot in sixth year. Cheers.”

“I’m sorry,” Parvati said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you saying that if you had one awkward conversation, we would have avoided the entire debacle that was Lavender and Ron?”

“Yes,” said Hermione.

“Pretty much,” said Ron.

Parvati turned to Harry. “Potter, there are hours, days, WEEKS of my life that I will never get back that I spent dealing with that nightmare.”

“What, do you think it was a picnic for me?!”

“No! That makes it worse!” cried Parvati.

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” exploded Harry. “Just go up to Hermione and say, ‘Ron is jealous as hell that you kissed Victor Krum You should go talk to him and get this sorted before Slughorn’s party’?”

“YES!” shouted the entire table.

Harry noticed that Ginny had joined the chorus and rounded on her. “What about you? You could have stepped in just as well as I could have!”

“I was mad at Ron and for good reason!” she retorted. “But yes, I could have done more. I’ll admit, part of it was that up until the point that you kissed me, I was a little worried that you were doing it because you had a thing for Hermione. I was worried that if I helped get the two of them together, you would totally spiral.”

“I thought that was why you were doing it too,” said Dean.

“You did?” said Ginny with a smile. “You never told me that. I guess we were pretty compatible back then.”

“Hey! Am I not getting dealt enough blows?” said Harry indignantly and the table laughed.

“Harry was never interested in Hermione,” said Luna with a tone of declaring the matter settled. “I did suspect he fancied Ron though.”

“Wha- okay, Luna, no,” Harry sputtered. “So I’m apparently responsible for the dumbest fight the two of you ever had but-”

“Not responsible for the fight but you showed a lack of accountability in resolving it,” clarified Hermione.

“Fine. So why didn’t you get together after Ron and Lavender broke up? You didn’t kiss until the final battle. How was that my fault?”

“Didn’t Ron tell us Harry tried to break up that kiss too with some sort of snide comment?” George said to Angelina.

“Snide comment?” Harry asked disbelievingly. “I reminded them that there was a war going on. THERE WAS LITERALLY A WAR GOING ON!”

“It was coming to a natural conclusion,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

“So that was really the first time you two kissed?” asked Dean. “Because when we uh, met up that spring, it seemed like something was going on.”

“Well, we certainly made some progress to understanding we were on the same page,” said Hermione. “But things were complicated.”

“It was miserable and it really would have been pretty awkward to start something with Harry around all the time,” said Ron.

“Good call,” said George. “After tonight, I think we all know that Harry’s boggart takes the form of awkward interactions.”

“At the point we found Dean and Luna, we both knew it was inevitable but we also had to finish helping Harry,” said Hermione.

“Plus, you want to talk cockblock? Harry has nothing on Griphook,” said Ron. Dean nodded sagely and Hermione wrinkled her nose in agreement.

“Finished helping me? You weren’t picking up my dry cleaning, we were saving the world!”

“Harry, you are taking this way too personally,” said Hermione. “We don’t think you were truly trying to keep us apart but your desire to stay out of our relationship and your mild self-absorption caused a lot of complications.”

“I don’t know why someone would take being called self absorbed personally,” George remarked and Ginny snorted.

“Hermione, you don’t get it. You’re letting him off the hook too easily because you’re a woman. A man does not prevent a friend from getting laid. It’s basically an Unbreakable Vow that’s entrenched in our DNA,” said Seamus.

“Ugh,” scoffed Parvati. “I honestly don’t know why we hang out with you.”

“No, really,” insisted Seamus. “Take tonight as an example. Dean and Neville. You two are solid mates, yeah?” Both men nodded. “Right, so Dean goes up to the bar to get a new pitcher. Who comes up to wait on him but Hannah Abbott. Suddenly, Neville needs a glass of water. And what happens next?”

Neville turned red. “I uh, I went up to the bar to ask Hannah for a glass while she was waiting on Dean.”

“And as soon as Neville appears and starts talking to Hannah, I gave him a nudge and say ‘I have to hit the head. Can you bring that back to the table?’”

Harry scoffed. “How does you sticking Neville with the tab help him?”

“You never did read that book I gave you, did you?” said Ron, incredulously.

“I didn’t take a piss, I came back to the table so Neville could chat up Hannah. And?”

Neville gave an embarrassed smile. “I’m taking her out tomorrow,” he admitted.

“Ha!” Seamus punched the air triumphantly. “One friend getting another friend laid. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a first date,” Neville protested. “We’re not going to-”

“We’ll work on it,” Seamus assured him.

“Ron’s never tried to get me laid!” Harry shouted desperately. This comment was met with general revulsion.

“Whoa! Come on,” said Dean, his face contorted.

“That’s his sister,” said Neville.

“For fuck’s sake man,” said Seamus disgustedly. The idea that Seamus was disgusted with him made Harry even more defensive.

“Hermione is like my sister!” insisted Harry.

“To be fair to Ron and it pains me to do so,” said Ginny. “Ron really only got in our way that one time after we broke up and as pissed as I was at the time, I think it came from a genuinely good place.”

“And I had no idea you liked Ginny until you snogged her right in front of me!” said Ron.

“You never said anything about Hermione until we were in the woods!’

“Oh, Harry, really?” said Ginny with pity. “I don’t think that’s the way to go.”

“Yeah, okay, but - hey, what about that one time with Cho?” Harry said accusingly to Ron.

“I called Cho out for being a bandwagon fan one time when I was 15 and now I’m doomed to a life of interrupted shags,” Ron appealed to the room.

“You’re together now,” said Harry weakly.

“Despite your best efforts,” joked George.

“And yet you haven’t relinquished your title as The Boy Who Blocked,” said Ron.

“You do have extraordinarily bad timing,” said Hermione.

“Back to Seamus’s original point, you two are pretty gross.”

“I’m sorry, are you saying that I still am-”

“In a much more literal sense now,” said Ron. Hermione gave him a playful smack on the chest.

“Give me an example!” Harry insisted heatedly.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that was familiar to Harry but he didn’t recognize. “Harry, it really isn’t a big deal,” said Hermione reassuringly.

“Well, last weekend, right?” said George. “At Shell Cottage for Fleur’s birthday. You wanted to get Ron so he could try those beignets Gabrielle brought and we told you they would be back soon but you insisted on walking down the beach and…”

“Yeah, and I found them past the alcove and - wait,” Harry stopped suddenly. “Is that why you were-?” Harry made a gesture too vague to interpret but Hermione squirmed in her chair and Ron inhaled sharply.

Harry’s jaw dropped. “And last month when Ginny and I were over to listen to the Cannons’ match and you were so weird when I came in the kitchen to see why the snacks were taking so long…and Thursday? Hermione is that why you…” He trailed off as Hermione bit her lip and looked away while Ron rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh my God,” said Harry incredulously.

“Harry, we’re so sorry if we made you uncomfortable,” said Hermione, sounding sincere for the first time all night.

“Oh my God!” Harry repeated louder, this time, disgusted.

“We were making up for lost time, which you have a part in,” Ron pointed out.

“Oh my God,” Harry said a third time, his tone full of realization.

“Are you okay Harry?” asked Ginny gently.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said distractedly. A quiet set over the group within the roaring pub.

“So Neville,” said Angelina in a voice full of forced cheer. “Where are you taking Hannah tomorrow?”

“Oh, you should take her to this great new place in Hogsmeade. Padma and I had lunch there last week and the dinner menu looks amazing,” Parvati said.

Harry looked glumly at his drink, barely noticing the glances his two best friends were exchanging.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Harry?” came a familiar voice from the fireplace.

It was the next morning. Ginny was off to practice and would be staying the evening with her team, as she did the day prior to every match. The standing tradition was that on these days, he had lunch with Ron and Hermione. As much as he loved Ginny and knew that Ron and Hermione did too, he liked having time as just the three of them.

But he had cancelled this morning, citing a hangover and crossed his fingers that Ron would be able to persuade Hermione to leave him be.

No such luck.

He heard a whoosh, followed by a second. “Harry?”

He sighed. “In here,” he called quietly from his armchair. Both of his friends popped around the corner. “Couldn’t hold her off?”

Ron sank into the chair across from him, threw his legs on the ottoman and grinned. “Actually, I didn’t even try.”

Hermione tapped Ron’s feet and he scooted them over to give her enough room to sit on the ottoman. “Harry, why are you avoiding us?”

“‘m not,” he mumbled. “Just drank too much last night.”

“You got there after everyone else so you missed the first two rounds of shots Seamus forced on us and I only saw you refill your glass once.”

Harry shrugged. “I had a couple drinks when I got home.”

“Look, we didn’t mean to upset you. Like Hermione said, we had a few before you got there and we were just having a go,” said Ron.

“Yeah but it was true,” said Harry sullenly.

“Well,” said Hermione, flattening her skirt nervously. “Yes, all of those things happened. But it was a long time ago. We’ve been together almost three years now. And we were certainly exaggerating a bit to have some fun. So there’s nothing for you to be upset about.”

Harry straightened up in his chair. “You don’t get it! Since I started at Hogwarts, you two have been the most important people in my life and you still are, plus Gin and Teddy. And you cared about me and you two always tried to do what you thought was going to help me and be best for me and last night I realized...I didn’t do that for you!”

“Harry, you know that’s not true!” said Hermione.

“Yes it is! I thought about how Cho and I couldn’t even look at each other anymore and I didn’t want that to happen to you two. It was always best when it was the three of us and I didn’t want anything to mess that. You were right, I was so self absorbed!”

“Harry,” said Ron, rolling his eyes.

“Of course you were,” said Hermione dismissively.

“Okay, now I am regretting letting you come over here,” said Ron.

“We all were!” she said, rolling her eyes. “Harry, Ron and I were so wrapped up in our own drama sixth year that we didn’t realize the depth of your fixation with Malfoy until you had practically murdered him!”

“Well, whose fault is that? There would have been no drama had I said something! And all our friends think I didn’t say something because I was in love with Hermione. I mean, you must have thought that too,” Harry said miserably, gesturing to Ron.

“I never really thought you were interested in Hermione but I was terrified Hermione would fall for you,” said Ron.

“What’s wrong with me that you didn’t think Harry would be interested?” said Hermione in a teasing tone that was clearly meant to lighten the mood, flicking Ron’s foot.

“Absolutely nothing. This git doesn’t know what he’s missing, thank God.”

Harry ignored them. “Had we cleared that up the year before, we could have avoided a few devastating weeks during the hunt, yeah?”

“Harry, there’s no way I’m letting you take responsibility for what the Horcrux said or for me leaving you two,” Ron said.

“We’re certainly not re-litigating any of that,” said Hermione. She turned and looked at Ron. “But when we were talking about all of this at home last night, we both agreed that once we were on the run, we made conscious decisions to not start anything until the war was complete.”

Ron nodded. “It’s true, I felt the same.”

“Great, I did it again,” Harry moaned. “You two were worried about me instead of enjoying your evening.”

“Harry, we still enjoyed our evening-”

“Twice,” interrupted Ron.

“But you’re our friend and we are always going to worry about you,” Hermione finished, paying Ron no mind. “It actually made me realize that we maybe could have had a relationship and taken care of you.”

Harry groaned.

“Harry, you took care of us too,” Ron said. “I mean, in the end, you didn’t want Hermione and I to stop being friends because you knew that would make us just as miserable as you. And you weren’t wrong. And I don’t know, maybe this was all just the way it was supposed to be. Maybe Hermione and I are better because we got all the petty shit out before we were together. Maybe the three of us are better friends because we focused on that for so long. So we’re okay, if you’re okay.”

Harry sat silently for a moment. “I’m going to try to be better about the .. you know, blocking. But seriously, I know we have a bit of a don’t ask, don’t tell on the subject but you could have clued me in,” Harry complained to Ron.

“Fair enough,” laughed Ron.

“Or you could not shag at parties.”

“Just… if you suddenly don’t see us, wait at least 10 minutes before you come and look for us,” suggested Hermione.

“Oi! 10 minutes?” said Ron, offended.

“Harry,” Hermione sighed. “It is apparently very important for you to know that Ron satisfies me sexually.”

“I assumed that once I figured out you were willing to do that for him there on Thursday,” Harry said.

Hermione blushed. “You’re making that sound much worse than it was. And you keep biting your tongue!” she finished, pulling her legs up and shifting back so she was sitting in the chair next to Ron.

“I didn’t say anything!” Ron said, although he looked very pleased with himself. “Now, can we please go get lunch?”

“All right, you two figure out where to eat. Give me 10 minutes and we’ll go,” Harry laughed, standing up from his chair.

“Harry, have you learned nothing? Make it 20,” said Ron.

#ROMIONE #fanfiction #fanfic #hp fanfic #romione fanfic #ron x hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger #trio friendship

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kurodachimagic · 3 years ago

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Chocolate and Cherries - Chapter 1

Summary: When Adachi falls into the arms of a kind stranger his life changes for the better.

Rating: Pg 13

Tags/warnings: Fluff, getting together, au, Writer Adachi, Chef Kurosawa.

Word count: 6.2k

A/n: This story was written for the cherry magic mini bang! Thank you @hiwatari-art for inviting me to join! Had a lovely time working with you as always. Thank you to my other artist over on twitter guacagabs. The entire story is being posted right now. Thank you to @schnaf for being a great friend and beta!

Read on ao3

Adachi dragged his feet on the pavement as he made his way home from work. He was already too exhausted to start his writing day with the best mindset but it would have to do. He’d already skipped four days this week and if he didn’t actually sit down to work on his book, it would never be published. He let out a deep sigh and shook his head slightly.

The situation was not ideal by any means, he was not great at cooking and it was already too late to start dinner, but he definitely needed to eat something or his mind would absolutely quit on him, he knew that much.

Adachi knew he should probably get something healthier but he refused to waste even more time walking to the store, so he decided to stop by the food cart near his flat for his usual emergency menu: two tuna onigiris with mayo - along with a can of soda in the hopes that the caffeine would boost his creativity. He was not too happy about it, but he didn’t have much time to contemplate his choice because as soon as he had paid, the first few droplets of water hit his shoulders. Looking up, he felt the next few drops hit his nose and his forehead. He cursed inwardly and simply took off awkwardly running the last few blocks home, trying his best not to slip and fall, his dress shoes nothing but a hazard in this particular situation.

The building door was so close, he could see it through the pouring rain; just a few meters and he would be home. Adachi rushed, his hand extended already to grab at the door handle when his body collided with something - someone - and fell backwards. It was as if time had slowed down; he could see the face of the person he ran into frozen in shock, his eyes widening as he saw Adachi falling, while Adachi could only think about the pain this would cause him, physical, yes, but mostly emotional. He always managed to get himself in embarrassing situations and now -

His neighbour extended his hand just in time to catch Adachi’s and pulled him upright effortlessly, his expression switching from shock to a relieved smile. “Are you ok? I’m so sorry, I hadn’t seen you.”

“Thank you! I’m so sorry,” Adachi said, feeling the heat rise to his face, partly because of his clumsiness and partly because his neighbour had not let go of him yet. In fact, Adachi could have sworn that the guy was rubbing his thumb on the back of his hand. He didn’t know what to do, so he tried again. “Uh, sorry. I should’ve been more careful.”

“It’s ok, I’m glad that you didn’t get hurt.” The man seemed to suddenly remember they were standing in the pouring rain and pulled Adachi to the door. “Come, you’ll catch a cold in this weather.”

No matter how hard he thought, Adachi couldn't remember ever catching his name but he had seen this man before in the elevator and in some of the common areas. He seemed to be a bit of a recluse, much like himself.

The man opened the door and finally let go of his hand before ushering him in. “After you, Adachi.”

Adachi’s eyes widened; he didn't know how the man knew his name, but he didn’t mention it. He walked inside and called the elevator, followed closely by his saviour. Once the doors opened, he stepped in and turned around, pressing the button for the fifth floor and finally facing the man. "Thank you, again…" he trailed off.

"Kurosawa. My name is Kurosawa." He pressed the fourth-floor button.

Adachi smiled and bowed to him. "It was nice seeing you, Kurosawa. Have a good night."

The elevator dinged and Kurosawa bowed with a smile before exiting. “Good night, Adachi,” he waved.

Adachi hesitantly waved back as the elevator doors closed. Before he knew it he was one floor up, opening the door to his flat, throwing his work bag on the sofa and taking his wet clothes off with a groan before going to the bathroom.

What a day. Not only had he stayed late to finish on that project Urabe had handed to him but he also made himself look like a fool in front of his very cool neighbour, and to add insult to injury now he needed a hot shower to hopefully avoid catching a cold. He shook his head and hopped under the stream, washing himself thoroughly and letting the hot stream relax his muscles.

Feeling in a bit of a better mood, Adachi got out of the shower, wrapped himself in a towel and went about getting into a comfy set of pyjamas. He finally sat at his desk and opened the white doc of doom, checking the time and cursing as he realized it was 9 pm already. He slouched in his chair, throwing his head back with a groan. This book was going to take a million years at this rate, he really needed to prioritize his schedule, put on some good hours into it each day, especially during the weekend, he needed to -

Adachi’s stomach growled loudly, reminding him that his emergency dinner laid abandoned in its bag. He got up and stomped over to the sofa, unwrapping the onigiris and eating them without so much as a thought before returning to his spot. He promptly sat down to continue with the daily task of staring at the document while he begged his brain to type something - anything - out. But his mind had other plans though, Kurosawa’s face and gentle smile kept popping in his mind. Maybe it was because of the way he moved, how he had kept him from falling with his sharp reflexes, or maybe it was how elegant he looked even when he was soaking wet, how well his suit fitted him. Kurosawa was like some sort of superhero, or… no, he was more like a Prince Charming from an epic battle world. That was a start - it was not the murder mystery he had thought about, but it was definitely a start.

The sound of Adachi’s footsteps worked like a metronome, helping his mind settle into a rhythm. He was starting to see things in more detail: The brave prince paced in his castle, his sword close by his side, the problems his kingdom was facing were almost too much to bear and with his father on the brink of death, it was all on him. A shadow appeared above the citadel - the… the… ‘kingdom x’ was being attacked by a three-headed dragon. How would he fix this and save his people? Had someone sent the dragon or did it act with free will? Did the soon-to-be king have secret magic powers? Maybe they were a secret even to himself!

With renewed energy and excitement, Adachi sat down to work. This new world just wanted to be written, to become a reality, and he was not going to stop it. Aided by the occasional sip of soda and a few “stretching breaks” that were more like actual pacing, he managed to draft four thousand words by 5 am, effectively breaking his 3 thousand word record from just a few months ago. If he could keep up the pace he could finish the book within the next month and send it to Tsuge for editing and review. He sent a quick text to his friend to tell him the good news and got into bed; he would probably regret staying up so late tomorrow, but now he didn’t have it in him to care. Writing was definitely his call - even if he was very close to missing his goal of being a published author by 30.

---

The commute to work was nothing short of hell. The morning started with Adachi missing his usual train and having to take the next one during rush hour - not that he ever managed to avoid rush hour, but he usually took the first train during it so it wasn’t as crazy as later in the morning. This resulted in him having a very unpleasant ride, squeezed half to death between the sea of people, feeling like a canned sardine with a bad case of insomnia. That was the other issue, the previous writing night ended up being a success but even though he’d been exhausted by the time he was done, it had been impossible to fall asleep. Now he was on his way to a long workday with a pounding headache and a sour mood. If given the opportunity, Adachi would’ve chosen to take the day off to sleep and feel refreshed enough by sundown to continue writing.

His job was definitely a necessary evil, but sometimes he couldn’t help but resent it. On the verge of thirty, Adachi spent most of his day at the office, writing his reports, Urabe’s reports, and occasionally picking up the slack of some of his colleagues. There was barely any time for hobbies or relaxing and least of all to be an aspiring writer. To be completely honest, Adachi had started viewing his day job as his second career in the past year. His heart and soul were focused on his new goal, what he really wanted. In the end, if writing didn’t become his main income, it wouldn’t matter, he was passionate enough about it to continue no matter what. After all, living in the fantasy worlds he created was more than enough for him.

Adachi made it to his desk just on time, but running those last few blocks only served to make his mood even sourer. He pulled at the collar of his shirt with a small huff, still thinking about his writing and leaned back in his chair until it touched Urabe’s shoulder, startling him.

He turned around swiftly, blush already rising to his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Senpai.”

Urabe nodded and waved him off. Then, he cocked his head and looked at Adachi in more detail. “What is going on with you, Adachi? You look tired.”

“I just had trouble sleeping last night, that’s all,” Adachi said with a heavy sigh. He could picture so many things he would rather do than give explanations about his personal life, but he would feel too guilty if he was rude to Urabe when he was only worried about him.

“Hmm, are you sure that’s all?”

“Yes. I’m ok.” He attempted his best smile. “Thank you for asking.”

“Adachi,” Urabe pouted, his brows burrowed into a childish frown, just like every time he would ask Adachi to take on more work, any semblance of concern already gone out the window. “Can you finish this report for tomorrow? The boss is really piling stuff on my shoulders and I already had other plans for today.”

Sometimes Adachi wished he was a bad person, or a bad colleague even, but he couldn’t help taking on the extra work when it was needed, after all, he didn’t have much of a life. He rolled his eyes but nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“Oh, wait. Is your birthday today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And you’re turning 30, right?”

Adachi nodded once again, hoping to end the conversation as soon as possible; he didn’t want to be reminded of the passage of time or how much he hadn’t achieved by now.

Urabe rolled his chair closer and elbowed him. “Aaah, you sly weasel. Do you have a date?”

“Of course not. I’m just looking forward to getting home and sleeping.” That was literally his birthday plan.

Urabe frowned and gave him a quizzical look. “But you have... ‘dated’ before, right?” He winked.

Adachi shook his head slightly and saw the same look many people gave him, a mix of pity and judgement.

“You should ask one of the girls out. I’ve heard Yui is single and she’s very pretty!”

Adachi slowly turned his chair towards the copy machine and saw Yui across the room. She was, in fact, very pretty, but… she didn’t spark anything in him. She looked like a work of art, pleasant to look at, but not for him. “No, I don’t think that would work.”

“Adachi, if you don’t date someone by the time you turn 30, you will turn into a wizard!” He whispered.

“What? That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s true, you’ll see!”

Adachi rolled his eyes and turned back to his desk, finally starting on the reports needed. The sooner he was done with that, the sooner he could return to his writing.

The elevator opened its doors for Adachi and the ding that followed made his muscles relax instantly. Only a few more minutes and he would be up in his flat, taking his shoes off and cooking something quick before sitting down to write. He felt inspired by the beginning of this new story and he wasn’t about to let a bad day at work ruin that for him.

Just as the doors started to close, someone put a bag between them to keep them open. The first thing Adachi saw was a girl with a cute and gentle look, a black wispy fringe framing her face and a sweet smile. She nodded at Adachi and he smiled and nodded back. He wondered if he would ever date a girl like her, if sharing his life with a partner and doing things together would be so different than what he did now. The answer was probably not, since he assumed nobody would be supportive of him working all day and writing all night; if he was honest with himself, he didn’t really have time for a relationship, even if he sometimes yearned for a bit of company - theoretically. Adachi blinked repeatedly, suddenly crashing back into reality when he saw the looming presence of Kurosawa behind her, giving him a weird look he couldn’t quite place as he ushered the girl into the elevator.

Out of sheer awkwardness, Adachi nodded and mumbled a quiet hello at him, looking away as a blush crept onto his cheeks. Was that Kurosawa’s girlfriend? He groaned and let his head fall back against the elevator wall. He’d been caught staring at his neighbour’s girlfriend like a creep. He ventured a sideways glance and realized Kurosawa was still looking at him with a weird expression.

Thankfully, the ride was short and only a minute later, Adachi was home, barely paying any attention to his basic needs as per usual. He made some instant ramen and added a bit of egg to it before eating it mindlessly, daydreaming of his new story and the magic system involved.

Perhaps it was quickly becoming a much more ambitious project than he had anticipated but as long as the writing flowed, everything would be ok. What was supposed to be a long writing session soon turned into an early night after Adachi’s brain decided to shut down mid-sentence, putting him to sleep sitting at his desk, his head hanging down and his spine hunched over.

#cherry magic #cherry magic fic #mine

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lizacstuff · 4 years ago

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SCK Asks: Episode 38

(asks under the cut)

Anonymous said: happy edser just HITS different. maybe it's because we've been so deprived of them together and blissful, it's such a joy to watch. i had a silly grin on my face during all their scenes. sure the tumor cloud is looming over our heads, but this episode only laid the foundation for that and then went into romcom mode, which i really appreciated because we've been bogged down for SO LONG with heaviness, it was nice to just take a breather.

OMG! Yes, all of this. And I’m not sure if it’s happy Edser that hits different, or if it was whatever magic and sparkle these writers injected into this episode that made it hit different.

The magic was BACK. The sparkle was BACK. These writers took the most ridiculous scenario idea (these two famous architects deciding to solve a murder) and just made it sing. I grinned through the whole thing and laughed out loud, A LOT.

This was the first episode in ages where I wasn’t watching the clock and waiting for some uncomfortable or unpleasant moment or scene to occur. Instead watching was pure joy and no anxiety, even with a tumor diagnosis.

There was so much good Edser in this episode it’s hard to know what to talk about. I loved every moment they were on screen together.

Anonymous said: I have to hand it to you, you said that the reason they were doing this pregnancy story is so that we could find out that Selin and Serkan never slept together. ngl I wanted her to suffer more, but as long as she’s gone I’m fine with her punishment being the humiliation of having to admit that in front of Eda.

Ha! Yes, I have said that all along, and I’ve never been more relieved to be right. They really went the extra mile with having Selin spell out that it hadn’t happened. With the English subs it almost sounded like they had never, ever had sex, even before. If so, I could actually believe it, their prior relationship seemed to be very business like, like they were each other’s safe, convenient date to business and family functions, and it wasn’t emotional or physical for him.

After the gross story around Selin, and how much damage she did and how much she got away with, this was not nearly enough comeuppance to sate my thirst for her pain. These writers started this story and introduced Selin’s role in it, so it’s not like they 100% inherited something they had nothing to do with. However, between Bige’s limited availability due to her father passing, Sarp Can having covid, and the way the other writers drug it into the ground, I’m also just happy it’s over and will deal with this being all we get, plus, while she didn’t get punished adequately, she did take her lumps. It’s humiliating that Serkan went around acting incredulous to everyone who would listen that she could be pregnant because he never touched her, even while she was his fiancé. I mean that’s a shrinker. Can you imagine agreeing to marry a man who you knew didn’t want to touch you? Everyone now knows her sad, pathetic desperation to have him under any circumstances. Yikes.

And as you say, she then had to stand in front of Eda and Serkan and admit he didn’t touch her. Admit that Serkan never wanted her, and it’s humiliating that everyone at Art Life knows what she did and thinks she’s a monster. Serkan finally knows she’s an awful manipulator who tried to trick him, and in the end she gets an unplanned pregnancy with a man who doesn’t love her and whom she doesn’t love. So it’s not like she’s winning by any stretch of the imagination.

(Though I really wish everyone knew (mostly Serkan and Eda) that she sabotaged Eda’s presentation. It’s important for the characters to know that she can’t be trusted professionally as well as personally... but oh well.)

Anonymous said: Two things: 1) I kinda love it even more that they got the tattoos before he found about the illness.. idk why but it was even MORE romantic. Also does this mean they're kinda sorta engaged again since the reason she said no in the first place was Selin? and 2) I need more of that "ring for love" bell ASAP. My jaw actually dropped when he lifted her up since we were deprived of it in 26.. please more breaking of family structures!!

Oh I agree, I found it very romantic they went and got the tattoos and the only impetus was their desire to have a symbol of their love. I already love those tattoos so much, and I love that they sat their designing them together. They really do signify the ultimate commitment.

I’m not sure if they’re engaged or not. Maybe they’re in a place where it’s obvious they’re going to get married, they both know they’re going to get married, but we’re still going to get one more proposal to make it official?

As for the ring for love bell, when and where did he get that!? Hee. And yes to more breaking of the Turkish family structure. That lift and twirl through the living room was... HOT. And it was just so effortless, there are just no words at times for how good Hande and Kerem are, I’ve really never seen anything like it. They don’t really have time to rehearse on set, or limitless takes or the time to really block and perfect things, but they’re just so good together they make magic happen every time they’re on screen. Amazing. Enjoy this kids, because you probably won’t see anything like it again.

Anonymous said: With the nature of these shows, Eda and Serkan will not a blissful happily ever after without something hanging over there heads or some new drama until the show actually ends. So if the new angst is Serkan's potential illness, I'm down for the potential angst it'll create.. it's already a good sign that, although he hasn't told her about it yet, he's not pushing her away in fear, but instead the opposite. I also don't think, and really hope not, him keeping it secret rn won't cause trouble.

Yes, I like that even with that heavy health news hanging over the episode, it was still light and funny and romantic and had that old sparkle. That tells me that they’re going to strike the right tone with this story which seems to be a very carpe diem thing with Serkan.

It didn’t bother me that he didn’t tell her. First, he told the doctor that he didn’t want anyone to know until he had a diagnosis. That makes sense, why worry her, or any of them, before they know. I’m sure I would feel different if he was pushing her away because of the diagnosis, but since he’s holding her close and just seems to want to spend time with her, without that heaviness hanging over her head, I’m okay with it.

Also, as seen in the new fragman, if this story is an excuse to get them out of the office and put them in all sorts of scenarios together it would otherwise be hard to justify, bring it on. Let’s see how far down the list of things to do they can get!

Anonymous said: i know no one reaaaally cares because they're not most people's favorite side characters, but it's really much nicer to watch aydan and ayfer scenes now that they're both on "team edser" and have become really good friends. i swear, the AAA trio scenes were so unbearable to watch when they were fighting over him and i was fast forwarding through all of them.. at least i can sit through team "united" aydan/ayfer scenes.

They’re actually enjoyable scenes now! I love that they’ve become actual true friends, best friends really, and along with Seyfi I love their little trio. Love that Seyfi and Ayfer were being so supportive about Aydan rekindling something with Kemal. And I agree that we can root for them when they’re working for Edser’s well-being and happiness. I just hope Aydan doesn’t do something stupid if there begins to be some question about Serkan’s parentage.

Anonymous said: the scooby doo gang ending had me laughing so hard i was tearing up when more and more people kept sneaking in and eda and serkan were getting more and more exasperated. erdem accidentally using flash took me tf out lmao. i love when sck does comedy with the whole cast and not just the usual "comedy" characters.. they're some of my favorite scenes! both "asking for the girl" scenes come to mind.

You could see Erdem using the flash coming from a mile away, but that still didn’t blunt the comedy when he actually did it. So funny. Also Engin not recognizing Eda, imagine him thinking Serkan is there with some rando woman. I also love the full cast comedy scenes, they are so much fun and really should be utilized as often as possible.

The scene where Edser walk back into the house and Aydan and Kemal were there paying their respects had me screech-laughing! So so so funny. Both sides being incredulous that the other was there and wanting answers! I also enjoyed that Serkan obviously put Erdem in charge of Kemal’s project, because he wants that project to go away. Unfortunately for Serkan, I think it’s going to take more than Erdem to drive Kemal away.

Anonymous said: Everyone is saying serkan planned the whole thing, do you buy into that? Idk would he really put everyone in a gunpoint situation where they don’t know it’s fake? Cause that’s some potentially trauma inducing stuff. Also I have no idea where they’re going with this, since it’s been a 4 day break from set which is kind of worrying. And do you know why Melisa wasn’t in the ep? I know Sarp can got Covid but wasn’t Melisa posting with cast members on her story throughout the week?

Wow, this is a lot of negative energy and fretting after a really good episode. Deep breath. Since you sent this, we know that Hande and Kerem have been shooting for 2 full days at a romantic looking beach location for 39, so it looks like Edser has some sort of mini-getaway. I don’t see any reason to be concerned about the 4 day break last week. (now the fragman’s out, hopefully that puts your mind at ease)

No idea why Melissa wasn’t in the ep, other than the way the ep was structured with the supporting characters, if she had to miss the ArtLife shooting day then I can see that they would have had to write her out of the full episode, because most of their scenes were there and it set up everything for the rest of the episode. So perhaps she was in quarantine for a Covid exposure, maybe she was legit sick/injured (she has had a foot thing) or maybe she had a conflict for that one shooting day. No idea, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Also her absence gave us Ferit/Melo scenes and I’m 100% behind that, give us more of those!

As far as if Serkan planned the whole thing, he did look pretty smug and relaxed while sitting there at the end, but he also wasn’t planning for the whole group to tag along and make a mess, lmao. We’ll have to see.

Anonymous said: Do you think bad ratings makes sck in danger of being cancelled or do you think high social media engagement keeps it safe?

Friends, I don’t know anything about the Turkish system, but it seems to me that SCK will either go through May or extend into summer and end then, regardless of the ratings. We shall see. As I’ve said before I’m not going to engage in the fretting and worrying and discussion on this topic because no fan really knows what they’re talking about and there is nothing we can do to change what will happen. So just enjoy the show while we can, the news on when it will end will come when it comes.

#Sen Çal Kapımı #Sen Cal kapimi #edser #sck episode discussion #sckask #sck 1x38 #asklizac #anonymous

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inventors-fair · 4 years ago

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Kald’ve, Would’ve, Should’ve (and Finally Did) Commentary

No no, of course I didn’t forget, you forgot. And I couldn’t blame you if you did, it’s been some time coming. Commentary may be a special action, but it obviously still uses the stack - and as it gets stacked under more and more things, it can take a while to see it resolved. While I can’t promise the next one is going to have split second timing, I’m definitely going to be adjusting my schedule to make getting things out on time more manageable.

This challenge revisited what I started with the release of Zendikar Rising, albeit with a slightly looser approach, and I definitely enjoyed the increased diversity that I saw in submissions because of it. I think it’ll take a couple more of these before I'm able to mould my prompt to hit exactly the kind of results I’m looking for, so I doubly appreciate everyone participating in my little mad science design experiments in the meantime.

That said, let’s not keep you waiting...

@bread-into-toast - Halvar, God of Battle // Sword of the Realms

Flavour: This was a direct cleanup of a card that was already in the set, so there wasn’t a lot of flavour to credit you with specifically. There is new flavour text on the front face (which wasn’t an option on the printed version thanks to the MDFC frame treatment) that I suppose gives us slightly more insight into Halvar’s personality.

Mechanics: The front face has one minor change to the timing of the combat ability that does succeed in making it objectively more powerful, but probably does not make for more interesting gameplay overall - it pushes more of the combat math onto your opponents, essentially reducing the decisions you make to “what punishes these blocks the most.” The back face has a more significant change, trading out the original’s recursion ability for an ability that I assume is supposed to better represent the Omenpaths flavourfully, since it’s certainly not a core white effect. In practice I have to imagine the recursion ability plays more nicely with the equipment theme than a ramp effect does.

Nitpicks/Templating: The front face trigger would read “At the beginning of the declare blockers step each combat,” which is admittedly confusing because “beginning” implies that it’s before blockers even though it wouldn’t be - the awkwardness of the template is probably a reason we don’t see it more often. The ability on the rear face would want to specify where you’re casting the spell from like Sram’s Expertise does, otherwise you’re leaving it up to players to guess which spells it’s allowing them to play, and they’ll often guess wrong.

Overall: Shop the art all you want, I still think he’s as handsome as ever.

Charmera - Imyir, God of Tracking // Bow of Freedom

Flavour: I feel like I might be a little sketchy on the flavour for this one, but I believe the idea is that Imyir was fated to track “the Wolf” but never catch it, and had to break free of that fate in order to finally succeed. That definitely sounds like a neat concept, and I think you could’ve been even a little more explicit in delivering on it to really drive that story home - though I suppose this does already have more space devoted to flavour text than any of the Gods that did see print.

Mechanics: The ability on the front face is very powerful, I suspect the fact that the draws are temporary is a relatively small downside compared to the ability to chain card draw by hitting creatures one after another. The back face is... Well, I’ll be honest that I don’t know what you intended it to do. Indeed, both sides are exiling cards from your library face down, meaning you have no idea what they are, but allowing you to cast them. Is it supposed to be casting one at random? Did you forget to include the part where you look at the cards? That confusion aside, the 7-mana legendary artifact that mills you for 10 every turn (but explicitly hoses any graveyard synergies) doesn’t sound particularly exciting, though I guess if the effect isn’t intended to be random the free cast would be quite powerful. But just imagine casting this in multiplayer and milling yourself for 50 cards just to get to cast one for free - the ratio doesn’t seem appealing.

Nitpicks/Templating: If you want players to know what’s under their face down exiled cards, you’ve got to include a “look at” line. If a player was able to look at it once they’ll be able to look at it as often as they like for as long as it remains exiled, but that first look has to happen explicitly. Also: 8 lines of text does not have room for flavour text.

Overall: I just hope the Wolf made it out okay.

@col-seaker-of-the-memiest-legion - Scythed Whirlwind

Flavour: Embittered with time is definitely right up Egon’s alley, though the card name and the other aspects of the flavour don’t feel like they resonate particularly strongly with me. If there’s a way the flavour is supposed to lend itself to the mechanics, I’m not immediately seeing it.

Mechanics: You mentioned in your submission that you intended this to be a “skill-testing” board wipe, but I’m struggling to imagine what skill this would be testing. This is obviously just a board wipe in the vast majority of board states, though obviously it does - somewhat - encourage you to play creatures with equipments, but in practice this is still just going into (near-)creatureless decks.

Nitpicks/Templating: Targets are chosen as part of casting a spell, so they can’t be conditional like this. You’d want the spell to be modal, as you won’t be obligated to select targets for the mode you didn’t choose.

Overall: Maybe it’s just me, but the name conjures images of kamaitachi more than anything out of Norse mythology. But I’m also not an expert.

@corporalotherbear - Explore the Realms

Flavour: You acknowledged that flavour was your focus with this one, with the flavour text here hinting at an upcoming Phyrexian corruption of the ten realms. That makes some sense in the context of Vorinclex’s unexplained appearance, and indeed may wind up being something Kaldheim has to deal with in the future.

Mechanics: An Explore variant that lets you drop two lands instead of one, albeit for one extra mana. Ramping by two is a lot more powerful than ramping by one, but the requirement of having two lands available makes this a little less consistent. Generally speaking, cards with high power level and high variance tend to lead to unsatisfying play patterns, so I’d be nervous about the games where this does succeed in ramping from 3 to 6, even if it does so unreliably.

Nitpicks/Templating: Most quotations in flavour text are credited to someone, and while it’s not strictly necessary in a case like this, I think it would go a ways to helping deliver on the flavour.

Overall: Ten realms is an upgrade over nine hells, I guess.

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@deg99 - Nith, Root Gnawer

Flavour: Your goal was to deliver on more dragons, and this kinda does that. I’ll admit that I’m lost on why it’s also a Troll, as those are completely separate species and it doesn’t appear to be an obvious crossbreed of the two. It’s not immediately obvious what the lands in graveyard clause is supposed to represent flavourfully, but if Gadrak is any indication that isn’t really necessary.

Mechanics: What stands out most here is - obviously - the repeatable land destruction. Against anything but the rampiest of decks, if you have this on the battlefield by turn six it is very unlikely for any opponent to recover from blowing up a land and creating a large token every turn. The fact that it’s unable to attack early really doesn’t feel relevant, because it’ll rarely be attacking late either - the upside of denying your opponent resources while expanding your board is almost always just much better than 5 damage.

Nitpicks/Templating: Templating favours common contractions, so it’s “can’t attack,” and (for whatever reason) only subtypes are ever capitalised: “4/4 green Troll Warrior creature token with trample.”

Overall: Repeatable land destruction is certainly a trollish thing to do, I’ll give you that.

@demimonde-semigoddess - Huatli, Guiding Hand

Flavour: Huatli on Kaldheim is a curious inclusion, feeling even more out-of-place than the existing non-native planeswalkers - of course this isn’t exactly a bad thing, as planeswalkers aren’t really supposed to blend in anyway.

Mechanics: The interplay between the three abilities here seems reasonable enough, the downtick creating tokens that trigger the first ability, and the uptick allowing them to trigger it on both attacks and blocks. It’s a little unexpected that both ways of triggering the ability are inherently aggressive (the block trigger only succeeds in tapping down blockers for the next turn), and cute that the otherwise unique tribal effect works with changelings in the set. It’s a little hard to gauge the overall power of three-mana planeswalkers as there’s often a thin line between unimpressive and broken so I won’t pretend to know how powerful this is just by looking, though I imagine the difficulty of blocking against it would give creature decks lots of trouble.

Nitpicks/Templating: You likely know the creature type in the first ability should be capitalised, and abilities with multiple targets read “each get” for the sake of clarity.

Overall: Is it the dinos that her hand is guiding, or something else?

@dimestoretajic - Calix, the Hidden

Flavour: This is an unexpected take on Calix, taking on a rather different appearance presumably as a disguise. It’s not immediately clear to me what he’d be hiding from, but the reference to Kratos is cute even if it’s ultimately confusing.

Mechanics: Always hard to evaluate planeswalkers without the benefit of iteration, but the abilities seem roughly in Calix’s wheelhouse. The first ability is a scry that upgrades to a draw if it hits an enchantment, probably reasonable enough at three mana; the downtick lets you trade him in immediately for a Stasis Snare effect; and the ultimate gives you a bunch of free Sagas. I think the idea of Calix interacting with Sagas is a little cute, though he definitely had that opportunity on Theros and didn’t so it might have been best to do it a little more subtly.

Nitpicks/Templating: The first ability feels like it has a lot of decision points for digital; I’d consider just revealing in the first place to save some clicks. The second ability is probably much wordier than it should be; I don’t think you gain much by naming the token (or by making it green), and the exile effect should probably just look closer to original Calix’s downtick. Be careful with so many wordy abilities on one planeswalker; I understand the desire to be clever, but ironically being elegant is even cleverer than being clever.

Overall: I’m down for Calix with a beard.

@driftingthruthecosmos - Immortal Triumph

Flavour: This appears to be playing into the trope space of Valhalla, letting your permanents ascend to the beyond only to return for a prophetic final battle. I think the art is an actual depiction of Valhalla, and the name generally signals toward the same concepts without actually embracing Kaldheim’s application of the same trope space, “the Worthy.”

Mechanics: This card definitely doesn’t work as written, but I prefer to judge design on the design’s merit’s, so I’ll do my best to work out how you expected it to work. The fact that this hits any nonland permanent makes it quite versatile, allowing it to return the same permanent turn after turn which can be difficult to overcome - even something as innocuous as Omen of the Sun can be pretty overbearing being recurred turn after turn with relatively little room for counterplay.

Nitpicks/Templating: The first ability leaves a few unintuitive holes where permanents can be lost despite the replacement effect. The second one appears to grant foretell (and a foretell cost) to a card it just put in your hand, which isn’t logistically feasible since your hand is a hidden zone. I’m not sure why the ability didn’t just turn the chosen card face down and make it foretold a la Ethereal Valkyrie.

Overall: I think my biggest wish for this one would be that the ‘glory’ was actually something you had to earn, rather than being totally universal.

@evscfa1 - Mistlebranche, Cosmic Prank

Flavour: The core idea of a weapon based on mistletoe deriving from the story of Baldr is really sweet, though some of the aspects of this design seem to stray a bit from that core concept. Most significantly the decision to make it a snow permanent with a snow equip cost seems rather unexpected.

Mechanics: Not to sound like a broken record, but the snow equip cost is what catches my eye the most: it makes the design very narrow, being completely useless without two snow sources plus a creature to put it on. Once it’s equipped, deathtouch and menace means that any creature this goes on will immediately be trading 2-for-1, making it really difficult to keep up with in any deck that’s able to produce tokens. Exiling planeswalkers too is a cute addition, and particularly powerful alongside making your creatures highly unprofitable to block.

Nitpicks/Templating: If you’re gonna make a weapon based explicitly on a plant, how did it end up anything but green? I imagine you designed the abilities first and chose the color to fit, but in this case I think the color was probably an important aspect of delivering on the concept and wasn’t a good place for compromise.

Overall: The name Mistlebranche sounds so elegant, though.

@fractured-infinity - Firja, First of the Valkyrie

Flavour: Reusing the Firja character with a new title. There’s enough about Firja elsewhere in the set to inform her character a bit, but that also means the title change can only do so much to change my perception of her.

Mechanics: The four life as a cost is pretty close to free here, but it does at least force you to adjust your play patterns to preserve your life total as you work up to it. In practice this is the kind of card you generally hold onto until you can guarantee some value from, and since we don’t see many Angels below three mana, this would often be waiting until eight to get played. That’s probably reasonable though, as once it does get going it tends to end games very, very quickly. This has the interesting upside of being less bad in multiples than most legendary creatures, as the second copy of this can still be cast to generate a token off the first.

Nitpicks/Templating: “First” in the name and each instance of “Angel” in the text ought to be capitalised, and life is always expressed with numerals: “4 life.”

Overall: Nice to see her growing out of that awkward Judge of Valor phase.

@hypexion - Kaya’s Gambit

Flavour: A play on the existing Divine Gambit design, with a couple minor tweaks. Interestingly, the flavour text comes very close to standing on its own - I didn’t remember the original’s, and yet it made some sense on its own (though perhaps it would’ve made less if I wasn’t aware of Divine Gambit already). The biggest miss is that the “gambit” part of the name makes virtually no sense with this design, as there’s no risk involved in using it.

Mechanics: Flexible if conditional removal. At worst it’s Disperse, at its best it’s just an exile effect. The biggest differences between this and the original are the open information and the (virtual) lack of a failure rate: with open information you’ll never be surprised by what your opponent gets back from this, and only returning the card to hand means that it’s rarely just not worth doing at all. This is clearly a more powerful version of the effect, but I’m not convinced it’s either more interesting nor a more appropriate power level.

Nitpicks/Templating: You probably want to use “with that permanent” instead of “with it”, as the text refers to multiple objects and they like to be as unambiguous as possible. I looked for examples that used “it,” but I didn’t immediately find any.

Overall: There are white cards, and then there are good cards.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes - Winter Travels

Flavour: The name definitely conveys both the concept and the mechanics reasonably well, and the flavour text itself is really evocative and has great imagery to it.

Mechanics: A mistake designers tend to make when designing for a known format is throwing multiple elements of that format onto the same card: when not done carefully, the result is a card that only works in a narrow intersection rather than being interesting in each archetype it makes use of. In this case, Snow archetypes make much better use of this than foretell archetypes, meaning this probably should’ve just accepted it was a Snow card and dropped foretell altogether.

Nitpicks/Templating: The template is unclear about whether the second condition - all snow mana - applies only when the spell is foretold or not, which is always going to be a problem with double-conditional cards. Also: this card had 9 lines of text before you put flavour text, it’s important to know when to make cuts.

Overall: Maybe I’ve read too much Robert Frost, but I really appreciate how poetic the concept here feels.

@ignorantturtlegaming - Elendriel, Twisted Prophet

Flavour: It’s not super clear to me who or what this is supposed to represent. The name and typing is enough to hint at a broad identity, but there’s a lot going on and not enough string to really tie it all together.

Mechanics: Like I mentioned for the submission above, throwing lots of a sets themes/mechanics onto a single card generally makes that card narrower and less exciting, rather than more exciting. In this case you’ve got a card relying heavily on foretell outside of the foretell archetype colors, unable to meaningfully contribute to its own colors’ archetype (Elves) without foretell, plus a boast ability that feels out of place both mechanically and conceptually...and also depends entirely on foretell.

Nitpicks/Templating: Flavour text was pretty important for the boast cards. While there were a couple rares that didn’t have room for it, notably the legendary ones both did because the flavour text was instrumental in selling the mechanic.

Overall: Elves > Foretell > Boast > ??? > Prophet!

@kavinika - Tjalfi, the Godly Messenger // Fjara, Doomskar Lookout

Flavour: Your submission took some time to explain the top-down basis for these two - a servant of Thor (Tjalfi) and one of the roosters of Ragnarok (Gullinkambi) - though obviously you’ve taken some slight liberties. The biggest issue with the flavour here is that it diverges from what the set establishes the Gods to look like - double-faced creatures with elements closely related to their divine duties on the reverse. With the set having only limited space to create and deliver on expectations, there probably just isn’t space to also subvert those expectations.

Mechanics: Mechanically, it’s awkward to have a red card that generates longterm card advantage, even if the condition for doing so is essentially a red thing. The two sides sort of push you in the same direction - lots of nontoken creatures - and the trigger on Fjara theoretically helps to reclaim Boast creatures that were lost trying to trigger the opposite side. The mana costs seem hard to pull off in the same deck, but I can at least see the play pattern it’s trying to encourage - though I can’t help but wish Fjara’s ability was a Boast ability, just to really help the card enable itself as most of the Gods do.

Nitpicks/Templating: Tjalfi’s triggered ability runs on a bit, it probably wants to be separated into two sentences: “ [...] of your library. You may reveal [...]” I’ll also a nitpick that if you’re going to base a character on something as unique as a rooster that crows at the end of the world, you probably want to make the connection as clear as possible - I don’t think anyone is going to make that connection here.

Overall: Maybe I’m just salty that I didn’t get the chicken version.

@kytheon4-4 - Gunnar the Breathless

Flavour: You made sure to include flavour text, which I think was really important to selling the Boast ability as it appeared on cards in the set. The specific flavour text you chose comes off as wordy, the story it tells is hard for me to parse (one can only imagine where they’d tucked the troll’s club away whilst hitching a ride), and doesn’t feel like it connects in any obvious way to the ability on the card. One of the fun aspects of Boast was how well they focused on creating stories to explain the specific ability on the card, but apart from maybe interpreting the troll’s lunch as life gain, I’m just not seeing that on this one.

Mechanics: You’re right that it would’ve been nice to have one of the Boast enablers show up at a lower rarity, though I’m suspecting that it probably didn’t for power level reasons - Boast is actually pretty powerful, and I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the rare enablers had started out at uncommon and gotten pushed to rare for being too impactful. I think it’s nice of you to try to make the ability broad enough to work outside of just Boast - there are a few things this breaks in older formats, but in Standard the scariest thing it can do is enable Kargan Intimidator or Subira, both of which are probably safe enough even with free abilities.

Nitpicks/Templating: All the templating stuff looks fine.

Overall: The irony of “the Breathless” holding a horn is not lost on me.

@masternexeon - Aggravated Berserker

Flavour: This card is a little light on flavour, which I’m normally just fine with, but in the context of Boast the flavour does a lot to bring the mechanic to life. It’s clever that the name is a throwback to Aggravated Assault, but I think a little more attention to detail could’ve helped it really pop.

Mechanics: Obviously this was really close to one of the winners, with the big difference being the Dwarf tribal element. Obviously I favoured the version that had a slightly broader appeal, but since Dwarf tribal was one of the themes of the set, there’s probably a version of this design that does both (extra combat for everyone plus a bonus for Dwarves) that I would’ve liked better than either.

Nitpicks/Templating: You’ll want to make sure to capitalise “Dwarves” in your rules text.

Overall: No spoilers, but this one almost seems designed with my next challenge in mind.

@misterstingyjack - Toralf and Valki Deceive the Giant King

Flavour: Boy howdy, that’s a name - I’m impressed that your renderer got it to fit. This is a top-down story about Thor disguising himself as his own mother in order to trick a giant that wishes to marry her into returning his hammer. The chapters of the Saga follow that pattern pretty precisely, letting you disguise one of your creatures and - over a couple turns - steal an artifact from an opponent. You might have considered swapping chapters 1 and 2, so that the destruction effect could represent the hammer going missing which prompted the whole endeavour. Indeed, then you could even move the mill effect into that ability, to represent the hammer being buried after it’s stolen.

Mechanics: Similarly, I think putting the destruction effect up front would’ve done this card some good. The copy effect is cute, but it’s not the most powerful effect on the card, and as written this is pretty easy to blank with a removal spell. I do really like the way the abilities intersect the colors - destroying an artifact or creature requires both colors, temporary copy effects from a graveyard feels both red and black, and recurring an artifact is something red can do that still feels pretty black.

Nitpicks/Templating: As much as I respect how ambitious the name was, I’m confident you had shorter options available.

Overall: It’s always lovely to see a top-down story that you enjoy getting represented as a card, nice choice.

@mtg-ds - Koll, Breath of the Bellows

Flavour: I definitely understand your frustration that there aren’t more smiths that do actual smithing in Magic, instead just encouraging you to build a deck that simulates their doing so. This correction for that is pretty straightforward, making axes and shields to equip to your army.

Mechanics: The low costs on this are going to lead to a lot of Equipment tokens on the battlefield at any given time - any time you have unspent mana you’re going to pour it into making tokens, especially since you can do so at instant speed. Combining that with the first ability reducing the Equip cost to zero, you’re going to have a mass of equipments shifting constantly from creature to creature, which just seems logistically difficult to keep track of.

Nitpicks/Templating: Everything looks right to me.

Overall: I have to assume stumpy Dwarven limbs are to blame for why they’re wearing shields on their shoulders rather than strapping them to their arms like the rest of us.

@naban-dean-of-irritation - Niko, the Defiant

Flavour: Niko was immediately a beloved character for a lot of us, so I can definitely understand wanting to reimagine that character more in line with your perception of them. It’s hard replacing the first iteration of a planeswalker because all the lore we have available is the card that exists and stories based on that card - so it’s just inherently difficult for me to see how these abilities relate to the character, since it’s essentially establishing a different character with the same name.

Mechanics: The most glaring issue is the fact that the first ability essentially gives haste on a WU card, which qualifies as either a very strange design choice or a pretty significant oversight. The third ability also feels like it’s skirting the color pie, presumably attempting an Omniscience impression that just feels out of place for this pair. The uptick and downtick feel like they’re designed to do pretty similar things, both primarily saving creatures from unfortunate blocks. I suspect the reason is that the ‘instant speed on your turn’ effect pushed the design into rather narrow space, where two abilities came out very similar while the third simply doesn’t really benefit from the instant speed.

Nitpicks/Templating: No obvious templating woes.

Overall: As much as I respect their defiance, defying the color pie is where I draw the line.

@nine-effing-hells - Fraenir, the Greed-Cursed

Flavour: I always enjoy top-down designs especially, and this story of a Dwarf hoarding treasures until they transform into a Dragon is such an excellent place to mine for those designs - and really, what set wouldn’t want more Dragons? The abilities themselves tell a story of murser and greed, even without needing flavour text to help it along.

Mechanics: I think my biggest issue with this design is that rather than the transformation being something you work towards or work to avoid, it is awkwardly positioned between the two - there are times the Dwarf Berserker will be larger by virtue of controlling lots of non-Treasure artifacts, making it unclear what the play pattern of the card actually is. It does have the benefit of being easy to avoid transforming when you don’t want to, but I think it would suit the design better to arrange the abilities to make the comparisons between the two states clearer (for example, giving the Dwarf non-combat abilities and saving the combat abilities for the Dragon half).

Nitpicks/Templating: Easy mistake, you missed the word “token” in the sacrifice trigger.

Overall: I’m really curious what the art for a card like this would look like.

@partlycloudy-partlyfuckoff - Pagan Chamberlain

Flavour: I have to assume the whole design was for a chance to use that flavour text, as the other aspects of the card don’t seem to align with Kaldheim as a setting - the world has no actual vampires, and the concept of a non-believer makes a lot less sense in a world where gods are as tangible as this one.

Mechanics: Similarly, this isn’t playing into any of the mechanical themes of the set; there isn’t even a strong monocolor theme to run counter to. I suspect the rationale is that each of the gods in the set are monocolor creatures, but seeing as there’s already a card in the set with protection from Gods, it seems strange to try to be subtler about it than that one.

Nitpicks/Templating: Nothing much to nitpick over.

Overall: In this set, the answer to that question is usually “an artifact.”

@real-aspen-hours - Ill Omen

Flavour: The name aligns well with the foretell mechanic, and the flavour text helps connect an important story beat to a broader narrative and to the flavour of the card itself. I’d be a little reticent about including such a significant spoiler in flavour text, but perhaps there’s a way to phrase it so that it reads like a prophecy until you find out it’s already happened.

Mechanics: This is effectively three-for-one removal, which is a lot of value for a single uncommon. Locking it to sorcery speed gives at least some incentive not to foretell it, as that delays it for a full turn - it won’t be often you cast it straight, but that I can at least imagine the situations is a plus. It’s especially powerful in that when it isn’t useful as a removal spell, it allows you redraws for something more useful.

Nitpicks/Templating: Foretell shows up after the spell effect, even for those cards that care whether they were foretold. While we’re here, good catch on including a target in the card draw effect - while it would be easy to exclude one, ensuring that the spell has two targets keeps the whole thing from fizzling if the targeted creature disappears before it resolves.

Overall: This feels like it’s only a slight push away from being constructed playable, and I’d be interested to explore what more it takes to get it there.

@snugz - Surtland Rimereader

Flavour: I rather like the flavour here, a Giant that’s able to see the future with the help of the snow allowing you a Future Sight effect specifically for snow cards is pretty satisfying. It’s not immediately obvious what the last ability represents, but the rest of the card feels like it sells it well enough anyway.

Mechanics: I’m not entirely sure that blue is still able to play lands off of this type of effect; the original obviously did, but none of the blue variations since then have, and I’m not sure ‘snow’ is a blue identity to bend for it. The triggered ability feels a little bit awkward with the overall design since you specifically don’t have much control over the first spell you cast when you’re doing so from the top of your deck.

Nitpicks/Templating: Good catch on the updated template for Future Sight, as I don’t think they’ve actually printed any cards with that wording yet. It was updated some time after Bolas’s Citadel was printed, and we’ve yet to have another card in that style see print.

Overall: Would’ve loved a rime-rhyme pun somewhere in the set, and this feels like an opportune place for it.

@stormtide-leviathan - Kvasha, God of Magic // Kvasha’s Birth

Flavour: In this setting, the connection between enchantments and Spirits and flash doesn’t feel immediately obvious. Now naturally this is trying to create a connection where one didn’t exist previously, but it does feel like it muddles the flavour slightly to do so.

Mechanics: This is large and evasive enough to serve as a finisher even without making extra tokens, though the tokens can serve as some resiliency against removal. I’m not entirely sure how the flash ability relates to the rest of the card, except to change the template of the Saga’s first ability. If that were so important I’d have looked for a first chapter ability that could take advantage of being cast at instant speed, but then more likely I would’ve just cut the flash bit entirely.

Nitpicks/Templating: I’m not sure what it was intending, but there’s no way for a chapter ability to see the object it’s on entering the battlefield - that ability won’t resolve until well after the permanent has entered, and if it somehow re-entered the battlefield it would do so as an entirely new object. The last chapter ability will want to specify whose controller the object returns under (usually its owner’s), and you’ll want to move the ‘face-up’ bit into reminder text - you don’t need rules text to make it work that way, but it’s definitely worth clarifying for players who might not realise.

Overall: My favourite god designs in this set were the ones that let you use both sides with just one copy.

@thedirtside - Ragnarock

Flavour: The setting for Kaldheim reworked the concept of Ragnarok into what they called a Doomskar, leaving the original name feeling out of place within the setting. The color combinations used for the spell also aren’t represented in the setting, making it difficult to imagine what part of the world this is supposed to be representing in practice.

Mechanics: The most obvious point here is that the foretell cost and the casting cost don’t overlap, making it almost impossible that any given deck will actually have the option of casting it both ways - since the options it provides are the only thing that makes foretell interesting, intentionally designing to hamper that doesn’t seem like a good use of the mechanic. The foretell cost is also much easier to pay than the casting cost, making the added bonus for foretelling the spell feel really counterintuitive.

Nitpicks/Templating: It’ll take a slightly wordier template to achieve the second part of this effect, something like: “For each permanent destroyed this way, CARDNAME deals damage to that permanent’s controller equal to that permanent’s mana value.”

Overall: That must be a really big rock.

@theobligatorysql - The Sagas of Worlds

Flavour: One of the fascinating things about Sagas is the way they use art to represent the stories for them - this set uses carvings, reliefs, even tattoos as a form of storytelling. So while the idea of compiling them all into a single tome is cute, it feels to me like it isn’t exactly fitting for the world itself. I could definitely see it as the work of an outsider - Tamiyo, for example - but it feels like it makes less sense as something native to the plane.

Mechanics: I’m a sucker for designs in the vein of Treasure Map and Mazemind Tome, so an artifact with a cheap scry effect is right up my alley - though admittedly, I’m not sure why this inventivises scrying to the bottom as that complicates the calculus and will cause players to make bad scrying decisions for perceived value a nonzero amount of the time. I’m never a big fan of tutoring as it tends to lead to repetitive gameplay, and the fact that it takes at least 4 full turns to set this up to draw even a second card means that it’s nearly always going to be fetching up a cheap Saga instead of a random draw.

Nitpicks/Templating: I’d probably just use “scried” in the first ability, though admittedly that templated hasn’t been used yet.

Overall: This would be a great opportunity to finally get the word “edda” on a Magic card.

@wolkemesser - Bard of the Fallen Meek

Flavour: This was actually far and away my favourite submission to this challenge in terms of flavour, as I love the way it draws attention to the difference between Istfell and Starnheim, and shows regular individuals within the setting reacting to the concept of the Worthy. The flavour text itself could probably stand to be pared down to be a little punchier about the point it’s making, but I absolutely love what it’s trying to do.

Mechanics: That said, the implementation is a little messier. The skulk mechanic was used in one block five years ago, so certainly doesn’t qualify as evergreen. I like that the creature itself has stats that make it easy to safely get its Boast ability going, though the ability itself feels rather unexciting. I’m not sure what about the card demands the double white in the mana cost, or even what makes this a rare over an uncommon.

Nitpicks/Templating: You missed capitalising “Spirit” in the Boast ability.

Overall: I would’ve loved to pick this as a winner, next time try an extra pass or two to make sure you’re hitting all the aspects of the challenge.

#inventors fair #commentary #kalda woulda shoulda #3smuth

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3pirouette · 4 years ago

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Fic: Iterate (1/1)

Title: Iterate By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Spoilers: Up through Endgame. Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: 2953 Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Summary: Steve lived through the 21st century twice, the second time hurt much more than the first.

A/N: I literally made myself cry today on the way to work while I was working this out in my head. It was SUPPOSED to be FLUFFY. I’m not exactly why I decided on this format, all I know is that it felt right. I hope you enjoy. Steggy is just mentioned, more Steve-centric.

It was supposed to be a stupid, fluffy story about Old Steve living with his granddaughter and being a LITTLE SHIT to her all the time because he’s 100% comfortable with modern things and it drives her nuts. I’m sorry.

Also, please pay attention to vague time stamps. Certain details are changed for impact. Hence, AU (Even though I FULLY BELIEVE that once the stones are placed back there is only ONE main timeline where Steve lived, was Peggy’s husband, and that’s how he showed up at the end of Endgame. Fight me.)

AND I’M SORRY.

~*~ October 2023

He supposed he’d always been waiting for this day. Steve knew he’d be around for it, one way or another. At least, he’d always assumed that, though he’d thought he’d experience it in a very, very different way.

He didn’t know the exact time, just a vague recollection that it was early afternoon, that there had been sunlight they’d blocked out with the blast shields, that they’d tried to eat lunch but they were all too nervous.

Funny. Same thing happened to him today. He couldn’t manage to get anything to slide down past the lump in his throat, couldn’t fill his stomach to calm the butterflies. He tried coffee first. It was warm and robust but had no effect.

He pulled out the tin from the back of the cabinet and made a cup of tea from one of the few remaining bags there. He sipped it and imagined Peggy sitting across from him, telling him off for using old tea that would be bitter and teasing him for how much sugar he put in it.

He drank a beer and wished to god that he had just one flask of whatever it was Thor used to carry around. He needed something to calm his nerves.

He caught his reflection in the window over the sink. For just the briefest second he saw his young self, so broken by so much, not knowing that today would be the day he’d be put to his greatest test. But the sun shifted and he could see every wrinkle in the refection, every grey hair, the haziness to his eyes that the doctor said was the beginning of cataracts.

A lifetime ago this day had changed everything for him without him knowing. Today, he was just as eager for the moment when Banner would put on that glove, this time for very different reasons.

~*~

In the end, Steve Rogers managed to live a fairly normal life.

Once back with Peggy, he kept away from the spotlight. Unsure if he’d created a parallel timeline or if he was living in his own, he did his best to avoid changing things.

Because even when he wanted to change things, he realized very quickly, he couldn’t.

He became enamored with sci-fi and fantasy that included time travel, with physicists who wrote books on the subject. He wanted to understand it, to know the unknowable.

He eventually decided that he was prescribing to the Doctor Who Theory of time travel: that it was all very, very complicated but that some things, no matter what, had to just happen in their own time and some things were simply fixed and would always happen the way they were supposed to. He’d seen this first with Zola- as he’d tried to get the man and his influence away from SHIELD they only dug their heels in deeper and kept him. It was later reaffirmed when, despite every effort, The Winter Soldier escaped him and Howard and Maria were left for dead in their car, young Tony devistated.

After that day, he stopped trying so hard to avoid squishing butterflies and focused instead on enjoying what he had.

What he had was, after all, quite a lot: A wife, two young boys, and a second chance at the life he’d missed while fighting other men’s wars.

~*~

Despite knowing all that laid ahead for him and his friends in the future that was now his past and yet somehow once again his future, Steve eventually started longing for the new millennium as decades past him by. He missed the technology, the ability to have whatever kind of entertainment he waited at the tips of his fingers. Though he’d known a good portion of what would happen from history books, once he’d gone back, he’d lived an entire lifetime full of surprises, experiencing things like the moon landing and the Vietnam war first hand. But now, as he grew older and he knew his days with Peggy were numbered, he longed for the small comforts of familiarity, for e-mails and smartphones and heated steering wheels on cars that parked themselves.

As the 2000’s arrived, he felt himself get more and more comfortable with the things around him: the news, the events he’d already experienced once and would again in a different way. It felt good to feel at least on solid ground with the world around him, knowing what was to come for him.

His home was lonely after Peggy was gone, and he made his only granddaughter an offer she couldn’t refuse: free room and board if she helped him keep up the house. An elementary school art teacher, Maggie was happy to step in for a little financial relief as she tried to navigate the churlish economy.

If he never told her that he was perfectly capable of taking care of the house by himself, it didn’t quite matter. The company was more than enough. And if when she smiled she looked just a little like her namesake and it warmed his heart… well, that wasn’t a bad thing, either.

The best part, he’d found though, was that it was hilariously funny to drive his granddaughter crazy. He’d lived through the early decades of the 21st century as a young man. He’d learned how to navigate the internet, interface with the most complicated technology there was to offer, and listened to music that wouldn’t be written for years to come. He loved watching her face as he sang along to Billie Eilish on the radio or realize that she didn’t have to explain to him how to use an iPad or Facetime.

~*~

She yelled at him the first snowfall. Skidded her car (all-wheel drive, thank goodness he’d convinced her to get the newest model) into the freshly shoveled driveway and tore out of the driver’s seat, yelling at him a mile a minute.

They’ll think I’m some kind of self-centered princess letting a centenarian shovel this and try to kill himself! She’d yelled, trying to take the shovel from his hands.

He was still stronger than he should be, and held his ground. I don’t want you hurting yourself on this stuff.

Me? She’s screeched, and he’d laughed. He couldn’t help but smile and find her concern at least a little comical. Deep down he understood, knew that he should be trying to sell his age a little more, be trying to hide that he was still strong and fast and in better shape than some of his middle-aged neighbors.

As much as he’d like to push her off, tell her to go inside, he couldn’t. She wasn’t a self-centered princess, but she was his princess, and he bent to her whim like a branch in the wind. He’d kissed her on the head and finally handed her the shovel, leaving her the last bit of the path to her to clean up, and promised to take better care of himself.

She didn’t know that when she left for work, he still went down the basement and bench pressed 225 on an easy day.

~*~

She teased him about his record collection. Even though records had come back in style, she still thought it was silly to have a whole wall dedicated to them when she could access nearly all of musical history on her cell phone. He showed her his own digital playlists and popped in his airpods when he was reading sometimes, but he loved the sound the needle made when it hit the wax.

One night, when he couldn’t listen to her teasing anymore, no matter how good natured it was, he played dirty.

You know, there’s a new song coming out by one of those artists you like. WAP? Heard it’s a cover of a song your Nana and I used to dance to all the time.

Two weeks later, he heard the familiar opening bass to the song Barton had played incessantly in the gym while he was working out and had quoted for months, the song that he hadn’t been able to get away from even in the past with random phrases like macaroni in a pot popping into his head at the most inconvenient times.

Barely half a verse in she’d either shut it off or turned the music way lower. At dinner she couldn’t look at him.

That was not at cover, Pop Pop. And I don’t want to think about you and Nana like that… ever.

~*~

She cried when she came home, a year after Peggy’s death, to see Peggy’s beautiful vanity had been moved into her room, Peggy’s jewelry box on it front and center.

What did you do? She’d kept asking him, tears in her eyes.

She’d want you to have it. He knew it was the truth. He hugged her tight as she sniffed and knew he’d made the right decision. He remembered Peggy sitting with Maggie on her knee on the small stool, letting the girl paw through her necklaces and play with her big fluffy make-up brushes. Maggie reaching for her eyeshadow and Peggy deftly pulling it away. Peggy being just a little too slow with the lipstick and the toddler bouncing around the house, proudly showing off the circle on the bottom half of her face to anyone who would look at her.

They’d loved their boys, but Maggie had both of their hearts in a way they hadn’t been prepared for.

Steve had to make up and excuse to leave the house the next morning when Maggie came down to breakfast, wearing the single pearl drop necklace he’d gotten for Peggy on their 25th wedding anniversary and her signature red lipstick. It was a good pain, but the first time he saw her in her grandmother’s necklaces, it was pain none the less.

~*~ Spring 2018

He knew the date it was supposed to happen. He’d kept up enough to know that it would, too. His other self was out there, somewhere, fighting what would become the biggest battle of his life.

Steve decided to focus on the small things. He kept the house stocked up with food and drinks, nonperishables that would last months and even years, toilet paper and paper towels. He ordered big metal shelves for the basement and made sure there was enough for multiple people for the long haul.

He didn’t know what would happen to his family in the snap- who would make it and who wouldn’t, but he was going to be sure whoever survived would be set for the following months where there was chaos, food and water shortages, and fear.

It would be a long five years for anyone that was left.

Even though she was home most nights, he asked Maggie for a standing Thursday night date. Some nights he showed her how to keep the house up: where the water main was, how to shut it on and off, where the gas line was, what to do if the roof started leaking. He made notebooks full of lists of things to do, how-to’s for the house and for life, and even, when he was awake in the middle of the night, wrote her letters so she wouldn’t be lonely.

Somehow, he just knew it would be him this time. He had survived the first snap, but if there were two of him and one survived, the other, statistically, did not. Thanos was very clear on how half worked.

Maggie, at first, had been scared. His family knew he had a knack for predicting the future, but didn’t know quite why.

Are you dying? Maggie had asked, fearing the worst when she started to realize that their Thursday night take-out and movie date was about more than just spending time together.

No, he’d said so very often, I just want you to be ready for anything.

Despite all of her questions, she went along with it.

When the day came, he couldn’t quite keep the sadness out of his eyes. Couldn’t quite smile at her. They ate pizza in front of the TV, watching a comedy Maggie had picked. He kept his eyes on his watch. It was coming.

His fingers itched. Like he could already feel his cells pulling apart.

He reached out, taking her hand in his and covering it with is other hand. “Maggie, you know I love you, right?”

She smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She’d sensed his anxiety all day. “Of course, I do. And I love you, Pop Pop.”

He looked away and then back at her. “I promise you, whatever happens, I’m alright, and I’ll be back.”

“Pop Pop,” her eyes filled with tears, “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, “I’ve left you everything you’ll need, and I promise I’ll be back.”

A tear fell from her eye as she squeezed his hand tighter. “But where…”

It was as if the world went silent as it started to happen. Though the television droned on in the background, he could swear the air was stiller. He started to see the dust fill the air and tried not to breathe.

But it was wrong.

It wasn’t him.

Her hand was falling to nothing in his, the fear in her eyes haunting as the skin of her cheeks flecked into the air, swirling before falling along with the rest of her into a pile on the couch.

It was so fast. So fast.

And it wasn’t him.

“No…” The word fell from his lips as a whisper, sobs starting to form in his throat.

~*~

He wondered, nearly every night for five years, if Thanos knew. If it had somehow been a conscious choice to keep him alive, to make him suffer just a little more. To make him watch his other self on television trying to promote healing.

Sometimes, he realized that this was a blessing. His sons and granddaughter were safe while they were snapped, protected by the fabric of the universe. Bucky had told him that he didn’t remember anything from being snapped, didn’t feel any different when he woke up than if he’d taken a long, heavy nap.

Somewhere, his family was taking the universe’s longest nap without him.

But they’d be spared these memories. They’d be spared lonely nights of missing loved ones and too little to eat while the world sorted out the jobs that were suddenly empty to keep things running for those that were left behind.

They’d be spared the fear of the gangs that started roaming the streets of half abandoned cities, looting for food and clothes in stores that had never officially closed but also couldn’t open with their owners simply gone.

They’d be spared the rolling blackouts and the contaminated water scares.

They’d be spared the fear of the country as the government suddenly found itself missing elected officials and the infighting and the rhetoric that came with martial law and hasty elections.

They’d be spared so, so much pain and loss.

Every day, he relived it all, twice over.

He counted every day for five years, making his way through each week and month motivated by only one thought: they were coming back. He needed to be ready for them, for her.

He helped his daughter in law keep their house, managed his other son’s apartment in DC and kept his things ready and waiting, made sure Maggie’s things were safe and in working order, made sure her bank account stayed open and her phone bill was paid. He’d never, not once, considered he’d be the one left behind, and the logistics of all there was to do left him busy for the first few weeks.

Everyone told him his hope that the dusted would return was infectious, but after the first year, people stopped listening. He knew, for a fact, they’d come back, but everyone else didn’t. Even the past him was operating on the idea that they’d never be back.

Some days he didn’t make it out of bed. He laid there, talking to the ceiling, whispering to Peggy, wishing she could talk back, wishing she could be one of the ones brought back. He missed her with a ferocity that hadn’t changed since the first time he’d been in this time, but had only been tempered and strengthened by a lifetime together.

As the days drew closer to the five-year mark, he began to make arrangements.

~*~ October 2023

He cleaned the living room and set it to the way it had been that night. He pulled out every note and letter he’d written Maggie and his children and put them in the kitchen, ready and waiting.

He sat on the couch, facing the blank television, a new, piping hot, pepperoni pizza sitting in front of him, untouched.

He still couldn’t eat.

He still didn’t know if this was the right timeline. As he’d gotten closer to this day his faith had wavered. What if all he’d come to believe wasn’t true? What if this wasn’t the one fourteen million? He wanted to believe, but he didn’t know for sure.

He looked at his watch, watching as the seconds ticked by. What were a few seconds to him? He’d lived more than one lifetime, and that had been enough. He had barely made it through these five years the first time. The second time had almost truly broken him. He was ready for this to be over. He was ready to stop having to deal with loss and to be able to live whatever time he had left with the family he loved.

He held out his hand, and waited.

#3P's Fic #so sad #I am so sorry #yes #that's the end

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ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years ago

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Persephone Will Have Her Fill

Pairing: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Rating: Explicit (E) Notes: Here’s part two of my little hannigram verse. You should absolutely read the first part before you take a peak at this one. Word Count: 9.4K Warnings: There be some cannibalism and talk about killing. Oh, also - Will suffers from encephalitis, so there’s that, too! Summary:

After meeting the mysterious darkness that is Will Graham, Hannibal finds himself snared by the presence he brings into his life. When a question sparks up the need to truly be seen, Hannibal sets out to do just that. Earth-rocking realizations ensue.

Read on AO3 here.

“Have I ever seen any of your work?”

Looking up from the cutting board in front of him, the chef’s knife in his hand stalled through the rough chop he was treating the cilantro to. Hannibal took a second to draw in breath, then tilted his head – a contemplative look on his face.

“I’m surprised you haven’t pieced it all together already,” Hannibal replied smoothly, his body shifting to turn in Will’s direction. For a second, Hannibal let himself soak the other man in. His hands were covered in blood from the preparation of the organ on the butcher block in the middle of Hannibal’s kitchen. The man’s latest acquisition, a heart that would make great steaks for their dinner that evening, and then a lovely addition to a stew that blew Hannibal’s mind the last time Will shared it with him.

There were so many hidden components to Will Graham that Hannibal still didn’t completely grasp, but this one, the element that brought freedom and dropped the masks – Will flourished in it. The pinch of his shoulders eased and the fluid motion of hand to knife created art; a sort of relaxed talent that Hannibal only ever knew of himself before the whirlwind of Will swept into his life.

And, while they didn’t indulge the other in shared secrets of recipes and know-how in the kitchen, they each brought their own pieces to the game and let the innate connection between them bring about the result. The last few months of collaboration were some of Hannibal’s greatest culinary triumphs.

A coy smile directed Hannibal’s way brought him from his thoughts – the killer gleam in Will’s eyes reminding him of the existence of the wild animal the other man only barely kept at bay. He watched Will drop his knife, hands still covered in blood and viscera, and make his way directly into Hannibal’s space. There was a beat of shared breath, and then Will was suddenly behind him – his arm wrapping around Hannibal’s upper arms, pulling him until they were flush together, back to chest.

A blood stain in the shape of Will’s hand on the bicep of Hannibal’s shirt contrasted the stark white of the color – Will’s mark on him tangible in that moment in more ways than one.

The slightest height difference between them made it easy for Will to hook his chin over Hannibal’s shoulder, his lips already pressed delicately against the sensitive shell of his ear.

“I’ve thought about your design since the second I met you,” Will muttered, the words kissed into the soft skin just below Hannibal’s ear. “You’ve been killing most of your life – probably started young, caught the bug and had the talent to back it up. You’re knowledgeable in anatomy, so your dissections are precise. You only take what you need and use the rest to send your message.”

Each word felt like a direct hit to the walls in Hannibal’s mind. The palace that existed there, while generally untouched by outsiders, called out to Will. From the day they met, Hannibal felt himself making expansions, rooms being added on in an attempt to fit Will Graham’s infiltration.

“What I can’t decide on, though,” Will continued, the hand not gripping Hannibal already drifting down svelte sides until it settled on the middle of a trim stomach, “is whether you make a grandiose display, or not. You already play with your food, but do you reconstruct it, too?” There was another shift, Will practically plastering himself to every part of Hannibal he could reach.

Hannibal, unable to resist the temptation of the delectable heat behind him, pressed back, his right hand reaching up to grab onto Will’s forearm. In this position, he could feel warm breaths against his neck and the gentle rise and fall of Will’s chest. Despite the topic of conversation, the rate of Will’s heart didn’t pick up – the lack of acceleration more thrilling than a flare of excitement would’ve been. Finding someone so similar to himself was disarming, and yet, Hannibal didn’t know what he might do without it now that he understood the taste. His palette was redefined, covered and shaped by his darkness and its interaction with Will’s.

“And now? After getting to know me – what do you see?” Hannibal questioned, his back pressing more firmly against Will’s chest. The thickness of Will’s erection was there against his back, heat and want adding to the odd intensity they found themselves in.

A nip to the neck tore a sigh from Hannibal’s throat, the answer to Will’s interest now smashed up against the zipper of his pants – the well-tailored suit slacks for once a nuisance, hindering his pleasure. Not usually so submissive, Hannibal fought against the urge to turn around and pin Will to the counter – these moments where Will shed the façade were few and far between. These interactions acted as gates opening to the empathetic mystery.

Will’s hand on his cheek had Hannibal turning his head, their lips joining in a warm kiss. He could feel the patches of Will’s hand that were still wet with blood – the liquid smearing wherever work-rough hands touched. The scent of copper and sweat were prominent in the space between them; an aphrodisiac if Hannibal ever knew one.

Tongues tangled in a desperate attempt to draw something from each other. When Will kissed, or touched, or even looked – the air went a little thin and every part of Hannibal was on display. Empathy or not, Will’s ability to look past the heavy walls and see within was unmatched and equal parts confusing and tranquil in its own right.

Parting for air became necessary – in their tussle to be as close as possible, Will pressed him hard against the counter. There was no space between their chests, no room to draw in a breath, even if he wanted to. Hannibal used his extra weight to lean forward, effectively cutting their kiss off. His chest heaved, and with every pulsing beat, Hannibal felt his cock throb – the timing of it eerily close to the pace of Will’s huffed out breaths.

Sure hands were quick to grab onto him again, Will used his leverage to turn Hannibal around – the two men practically nose to nose. The easy way Will stripped him down to this person that just did what was prompted, it was disarming and intoxicating all at once.

Those same hands were cupping his face then, Will’s thumb lightly running across Hannibal’s bottom lip. Will took his time looking Hannibal over, the tender brush of the man’s empathy caressing his skin. “I think you’re an artist, Hannibal. Sometimes you like the audience,” Will peppered kisses around the skin of his mouth as he spoke, “and sometimes, you keep your brutality all to yourself. I’m willing to bet that several names in the media over the last few years apply to you.”

“Such a clever boy you are, Will,” Hannibal said in reply, both hands wrapping around Will’s hips. “My most recent hunts have been underground, but one day – very soon, you’ll truly see me.” There was a soft breath shared, and then their lips were upon each other again.

It didn’t take but a few steps to get down the hall and into the study – the idea of walking up the stairs completely out of the question. In their time together, Hannibal was quick to understand that the physical urge to own and connect would come whenever and wherever it wanted. Will carried chaos with him and used it to his advantage – his impulsive, yet completely strategic actions were off putting and wild – absolutely delicious in its juxtaposition. Each of the rooms in his house now stored lube in at least one of its drawers.

There was only so much expensive olive oil Hannibal could let go to the cause.

Hands fumbled to rid bodies of clothing while trying to keep the tension of lip on lip. Hannibal made quick work of Will’s blue and green flannel; his fingers nimble on the buttons. A gasp left Will’s lips when fingers made their first touch on bare skin – an entire army of gooseflesh overtaking the sensitive flesh.

By the time they made it into the study, Will’s pants were hanging open, the belt flapping wildly with every movement. Hannibal, on the other hand, still wore his waistcoat and shirt, both of which were unbuttoned, yet hanging off his shoulders. His cock pressed ruthlessly against the seam of his dress pants, and every part of him ached to have Will in any way on offer.

Huffing out an exasperate breath, Will stepped back from their embrace. He made quick work of the clothes that still clung to him, his cock slapping his belly obscenely as the last layer fell to the ground. His eyes were ablaze, the usual blue of them completely overtaken by the lusty black that made Hannibal think of paranormal beings – beautiful little monsters with dark eyes and so many tricks under their sleeves.

“Have I told you how much I dislike all the layers you wear? While sexy, the suit takes so damn long to get off,” Will grumbled, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip. “I’m not patient enough right now, either.”

As he spoke, Will climbed onto the couch, his forearms settling against the armrest – the rest of his body a delicious temptation. Knowing how good he looked, Will glanced over his shoulder, a devilish glint in his eyes. He didn’t need to say anything, either – he simply maintained eye contact and reached behind himself, deft, coppery red fingers prying his ass cheeks apart; the cherry pink of his hole on provocative display.

“Take it off, Hannibal – or don’t. Just get over here and fuck me.”

Unable to think any further than that request, Hannibal shrugged off his waistcoat and practically dove onto the couch behind Will. He let his eyes roam over every inch of Will he could before impatient hips pressed back against him. The string between divine and desperate constantly hung in the balance – Hannibal frequently forgot the things he learned over the years; control and patience no longer existing.

Ducking between the delectable spread that was Will in that moment, Hannibal allowed himself to take in a long breath. The earthy musk sat in the back of his nose – his senses overcome with how manly and right the scent registered to be. It was a catalyst, the final notes of reign over himself falling as he tucked in and let the entire expanse of his tongue press against Will’s most intimate spot.

Like a man starving, Hannibal set about claiming his prize. He started with small licks around the rim, Will’s muscles already starting to relax under such simple ministrations. The first taste drove him mad with hunger, his tongue flattening after the first few teasing brushes to press more insistently against the still tight pucker. Pushing Will’s hands away, Hannibal took over the job of spreading supple cheeks, his longer fingers pushed into the flesh. Wanting more width, Hannibal shifted, practically yanking the globes even further apart.

The pleasure-pain of it tore a growl from Will’s lips, the man pressing his hips back against Hannibal’s face roughly in retaliation. Though he could see the redness start to overtake skin, Hannibal continued on – he felt familiar enough with Will’s interests to know that his counterpart appreciated the heat of pain just as much as delicate pleasure.

An abundance of spit both on Will’s skin and around Hannibal’s mouth and chin made the whole process easier – the point of his tongue and the tip of a rogue finger were easily admitted access. Little by little, Will loosened around him. Hannibal’s ministrations, like the rest of him, were precise – dealt with the intention of taking Will to pieces. Yet, Hannibal felt like he was the one falling apart; every rough touch and drawn out moan felt like a hit straight to the soul.

No one – not even Mischa, laid Hannibal so bare to the world. Especially with something as simple as a well-placed look or cleverly worded demand.

Only Will.

Groaning at the thought, Hannibal pulled back, a hand coming up to wipe away some of the moisture from his face. His chest was heaving, the cardiovascular system within him used to heavy lifting, not marathon tongue fucking.

The small gap in movement and Hannibal’s preoccupation was just enough for Will to once again take control of the situation. Where he was splayed against the side of the couch just moments before, Will was now facing Hannibal, his eyes alight.

Strong hands pushed against Hannibal’s shoulders until his own back was resting against the opposite arm rest, his long legs stretched across the entire length of the couch. Will settled into his lap nicely – strong thighs bracketed Hannibal’s, each clench and pulse of muscle bringing them closer, magnifying the feeling of touch and stimulus. Hannibal didn’t even have his pants off, yet, he felt just inches from the delirious cusp of that little death.

Hannibal watched with a contained awe as Will reached for the end table drawer – his brain was so strung out, he completely forgot that lube existed there. The soft slam of it being closed snapped him out of his haze. Hannibal tried to make quick work of getting his pants open – though, was quickly thwarted by Will, who merely let him get the zipper down before he was reaching in and grabbing Hannibal’s cock without any sort of finesse.

Will impatiently opened the lube and poured a decent amount directly onto Hannibal’s length – his teeth gritting against the cold of it. Fingers followed the flow. Will’s hand wrapping around the girth of him brought sharp canines down into a kiss swollen lip – Hannibal never had to fight so hard with the quick to cum trigger reflex that attempted to fail him right that instant. Fingers were tight around him for too short a time; instead, they trailed from his swollen flesh and found their way to Will’s hole, the man fingering himself open just enough to spread the slick.

Before Hannibal took his next breath, or had a second to find some control, Will lowered himself onto Hannibal’s rigid cock – their joint pants of exertion sounding around the room, overtaking the entire space. In an attempt to stop himself from finishing right that very second, Hannibal gripped Will’s hips tightly – his fingernails digging into the skin there, each one drawing up little welts of blood; Hannibal’s mark visible now, too.

“Fuck, Will – don’t move. Please,” Hannibal mumbled, his forehead resting against Will’s breastbone, his chest heaving with short, abortive breaths.

The slightest roll of hips was Hannibal’s answer – Will adjusting their position to better fit his own comfort.

While more movement did not follow, the filthiest words did, instead. With his hands gripping either side of Hannibal’s neck, Will used his leverage to tilt Hannibal’s head up until they were looking eye to eye.

“You look good like this – completely undone. Your clothes are less than immaculate, there’s wrinkles and sweat stains. Your pants are barely open and, in this moment, there’s nothing that could get you to care any less about it. I wonder what you would say if you saw yourself – splayed open like the pigs we hunt, looking at me like I’m both judge and executioner. Do you think you would like what you saw?”

Biting down hard on his lip, Hannibal fought each second to keep their eye contact – the words were delicious, and so eerily on point. Nodding his head seemed to be the best course of action – words were failing him, his brain short circuiting one neuron at a time.

How did Will get to the very core of him? With all things considered, Hannibal constructed walls that no one else came close to touching, let alone blowing apart the way Will seemed to. It felt like losing himself in a way – giving up those pieces to be cared for by this beautiful monster of a man.

Sensing Hannibal’s dilemma, Will started to move his hips in earnest. His rhythm a perfect distraction. There was a subtle roll down Hannibal’s length, then a powerful drive up until only the tip occupied space. Up and down, over and over – Will drove him closer to a new kind of insanity. This one would take everything from him; mind, body, soul – even the heart that didn’t seem to exist until the murderous temptation that Will embodied walked so easily into his life.

For a few exquisite minutes, Hannibal clenched Will’s hips tightly in his hands while the man worked him over. At one point, Hannibal wondered if Will got off more on the power, than the actual physical closeness – but, a particular hard drive into the man’s prostate made the answer obvious. Power over Hannibal drew him to madness. The power of Hannibal’s body and the pleasure he could achieve from it – that gave him strength.

“Don’t hold back anymore, Hannibal. I want you to own me,” Will whispered against raw lips.

With the permission to do so, Hannibal surged up – their barely there kisses turning into something brutal as his grip tightened on Will’s hips, his own finally breaking free of the self-induced confines to pound ruthless up and into the tightest heat ever experienced.

He felt wild and completely undone – his being only used to this adrenaline pumping feeling after the satisfaction of a hunt well done. It was crazy to be so unleashed, and yet, Hannibal let himself go, anyway; what Will wanted, he got.

When finality became something he could no longer hold back, Hannibal leaned forward and dug his teeth into Will’s shoulder – his teeth marks from previous encounters still there, getting deeper and more defined by the bite. He clenched his jaw down and with the skin still between his teeth, came harder than ever before (which was saying something, because sex with Will was always an adventure). The rhythmic pulse and flutter around his length signaled Will’s jump over the cliff edge with him.

Sticky cum in the space between their chests seemed pedestrian after such a connection. Physical representation of their joining didn’t matter – the mental connection overwhelmed it all.

The come down a few minutes later consisted of blood in his mouth, long drawn in breaths, and the feeling of Will’s palms on his cheeks. It felt like too much effort to fight anything from that point on, so he leaned back, his eyes catching Will’s. Their shared look made his stomach clench – the overwhelming feeling of being taken apart more alive in that moment than their entire coupling.

“Will – “ Hannibal tried to say, his voice so thick and scratchy from pulled out moans, new feelings, and heavy sighs.

Will’s thumbs brushed chiseled cheekbones, the flat of his fingers settling on the edge of Hannibal’s square jaw. “Shh,” he said in reply, their lips joining for a surprisingly soft kiss. “I know – me too.”

----

After that night, something shifted. For so long, Hannibal conducted himself as a solitary creature – life was simpler when his plans consisted of his own wants and desires. Even after meeting Will initially, Hannibal figured things would stay separate – work, play, and the occasional murder taking up their own sphere in his life. The sudden realization that neither he, nor Will, wanted any sort of separation, was monumental. In almost fifty years, Hannibal never saw something like this coming.

With the addition of Will in mind, Hannibal went about planning his next tableau. The Ripper hadn’t made an appearance in a while and his sounders were due. Will understood what it meant to take someone’s life – their shared desire to see the light in someone’s eyes fade was apparent. And yet, Will chose to elevate his prey by making them into meals that anyone would drool over.

In his own experience, Hannibal appreciated the consumption of his victims because of the control it gave him – they weren’t worthy of anything in life and as their flesh passed his lips, their sole source of meaning was to feed him, to nourish him – to provide the needed macro and micro nutrients that were essential to life.

Even still, The Ripper’s message took things a step further. The elevation of murder into widespread art truly spoke of Hannibal’s innermost feelings. Most people were beneath him and their only redeemable quality was their ability to be changed into priceless beauty. In his attempt to boost the lowest of low, Hannibal found himself – power of the hammer and all.

If anyone were to truly understand him and the tangible personification of his darkest and most intimate thoughts, Will Graham continuously proved he could be that person. With eyes that already saw so much, Will simply needed a nudge to truly see Hannibal – in every way.

Though completely terrifying, the thought brought about a new sort of excitement, too. To truly be seen and understood – Hannibal never even fathomed the occurrence. Living outside the confines of society came at a price, and no matter how many people graced his dinner table or laughed at his well-timed jokes, a divide between him and them existed. People turned a blind eye to what they didn’t want to see – it was easier to ignore the things in front of them than genuinely accept inferiority.

Will, though – he gripped the chains of normalcy and broke them between his fingers. Still trying to piece together the extent of his empathy, Hannibal didn’t quite know the complete depth of Will’s ability to truly see. In the same breath, Hannibal swore that he could feel the intensity of the unique gift in everything Will did. While Hannibal wore a finely tailored person suit, Will used his ability to become the things people revered and those they feared whole heartedly – so simply, with just the roll of his shoulders and a long, deep breath.

The Ripper deserved the right audience and finally, after so much time of not knowing how much he truly wanted the echoing applause, Hannibal found someone worthy of it.

Planning such a grandiose thing took time. For weeks, Hannibal went about everything as usual. On the nights that Will cooked late, Hannibal made the trip out to Wolf Trapp – his Bentley eating up the miles with relative ease. Winston, who took a liking to Hannibal immediately (he was sure the freshly made sausage had a lot to do with that), expected play time and pets before Hannibal could even think about joining Will in the kitchen.

The weekends, however, those belonged to Hannibal. Unless otherwise occupied with a last-minute client, Will spent both days in the glorious confines of Hannibal’s fancy brick and mortar. Most of that time, admittedly, was spent in the kitchen – Will’s passion for food (and not just that of the human variety) kept things interesting. There was always a new knife technique to try or a rare ingredient to add to the mundane. When they weren’t cooking away, or eating their weight in their creations, both men simply existed together.

Will let Hannibal sketch him in whatever way requested, and in return, Hannibal brushed his fingers through Will’s hair as he perused cookbooks and academic articles. A give and take existed that shouldn’t – not between two very peculiar men who took to murdering others as a hobby. And yet, Will kissed him goodbye when Hannibal mentioned something about hunting on his way out the door. Picture perfect domestic bliss.

One particular weekend a few months after falling into such a routine, Hannibal convinced Will to join him at the opera. After weeks of preparation and recognizance, he finally felt ready to reveal his most coveted persona to the man that quickly became the most important part of Hannibal’s existence. Why not make a night of it?

As usual, they made dinner together – Will’s latest victim’s kidney made for a delicious steak and kidney pie. The crust was buttery and flaky, rolled thin to perfection. When it came out of the oven, Will preened at the proud look on Hannibal’s face.

“Looks amazing, Chef,” Hannibal complimented, his fingers already twitching to scoop a fork into the molten confines of golden pastry.

Will continued to beam as the table was set and Hannibal, in all of his unselfish glory, handed over the serving spoon. Despite being the one to take the lead on most of their meals, Will gave the dishing out honor to Hannibal – even at his own table. There was a power dynamic that existed, and each man understood their role.

Will sent him a genuinely intrigued look, his eyebrow lifting. Instead of questioning, however, he simply gripped the utensil and went about portioning out their meal.

They made small talk throughout the devouring of their joint efforts – Hannibal spoke of his latest client’s swiftly developing obsession with him and watched delightedly as Will grew more menacing by the second. Franklyn never stood a chance, but the opportunity to push at Will’s boundaries wasn’t something he wanted to pass up. Jealousy, though such a base emotion, could lead a person astray very quickly. For the first time, Hannibal wanted the tenacity and rage that came with the juggling act. Someone he craved wanted him just as much and would fight tooth and nail to keep it that way.

And though not entirely thrilled to be amongst the masses in a “penguin suit”, Will cleaned up nicely – the tailored tuxedo was midnight black, enhanced with a single, dark pinstripe down the side of each pant leg. He finished the look with a stark white shirt and black bow tie – elegant and simple, yet dangerous at the same time.

Finishing up his own look, Hannibal retreated from his walk-in to find Will casually seated on the edge of the bed. Merely lounging there, he looked absolutely exquisite.

His eyes were closed and for a moment, Hannibal wondered if he were asleep sitting up. He cleared his throat in an attempt to rouse Will, his long legs carrying him until there was only a couple of inches separating them.

Blue eyes blinked open slowly, a faraway look overtaking Will’s face before finally registered Hannibal’s presence.

“Are you feeling alright?” Hannibal asked, concern heavy in his voice. He reached to press a hand to Will’s forehead and found the skin there warm, the slightest bit of moisture sitting just barely on the surface. All tell-tale signs of an oncoming fever.

Reaching up to grab Hannibal’s hand and lacing their fingers together tightly, Will attempted a smile – the man’s mask not as secure as usual.

“I’m fine – just a bit of a headache. I haven’t been sleeping very well the last few nights, so it’s probably just some fatigue.” While he spoke, Will got up from the bed, his persona shifting with a soft roll of his shoulders. Now cognizant, the process came easily. His eyes were already a little clearer and any sort of weakness that existed in seconds before, was completely gone. Will Graham, the unsuspecting chef, Hannibal’s partner, stood in front of him once more.

“Are you finally ready?” Will asked, an eyebrow quirking.

Shaking the worry off, Hannibal grinned at the cheeky question. In their time together, certain habits made themselves known. Will drooled when in deep sleep and didn’t always pick up his wet towels. And while completely put together outside of the walls of his room, Hannibal was fussy and took a lot of time to get ready – the construction of his person suit more time consuming and labor intensive than Will’s would ever be.

“Snarky thing,” Hannibal immediately remarked. He pressed forward to press a chaste kiss to Will’s forehead. “Let’s go, darling. I have something for you after the show and am suddenly impatient to gift it.”

Will’s simple nod brought a brief surge of panic to his chest, but he quickly brushed it off. Though not the reaction he thought he’d get, the line of sweat still painting Will’s brow reminded him of the blurriness he encountered just moments before.

Leaning in again, Hannibal tucked his nose into Will’s neck and took a deep breath. Apart from the normal smells of bergamot, vanilla, and the slightest bit of wet dog, Hannibal scented something warm and sweet – the rising fever in the other’s skin taking on the body of over-ripened fruit.

He was met with the same intrigued look from their time at the dinner table when he pulled back. In an instant, Hannibal suddenly realized that was Will’s way of expressing his curiousness. Will usually pieced together the situation before it happened and reacted accordingly. Most people broadcasted their thoughts and feelings unconsciously, and Will’s intelligence made it easy to fill in the blanks. Hannibal, however, kept things locked tight – meticulous thought and effort went into making sure people received the exact message he wanted them to.

Though completely disarming himself, Will found a peculiar sort of mystery in Hannibal – the appeal of the unknown one of the things Hannibal could easily tell attracted Will to him so holistically. Like the true predator he was, Will enjoyed the chase. One that they both knew would probably never dull with the lifestyle they both kept.

The realization made his heart drum rapidly; love never took on a definition before, but in that moment, Hannibal finally understood. How interesting the realization came barreling towards him so out of the blue, yet so naturally. Like companionship – love didn’t ever seem like an option.

A soft touch on his cheek brought Hannibal back to the room – he blinked quickly, smiling to cover up the absentmindedness. The same curious look was on Will’s face, eyes never leaving Hannibal’s.

“Are you okay?” Will asked, his other hand pressing against Hannibal’s chest. “We might be late if we don’t go soon.”

That was all Hannibal needed to get back into gear – they made quick work of getting into jackets and climbing into the car. Hannibal held the door open for Will and before he could sit down, pressed a kiss to his lips.

“You don’t have to butter me up – I’m already in the tux.” The words came out of his mouth, yet Will couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks or the duck of his head.

The drive over was uneventful – there wasn’t any talking, but the soft tones of Mozart kept the atmosphere calm and serene. Will’s hand landed on Hannibal’s thigh halfway to the venue – Hannibal dragged his bottom lip between his teeth to stop the megawatt smile from overtaking his face. Instead, he wrapped Will’s hand up with his own, their fingers tangling effortlessly.

Out of all the reasons why Hannibal donated to the arts, the preferred parking had to be one of the best among them. He pulled into his designated space a while later and shot will a playful wink.

Will snorted, his head shaking – “pretentious prick.”

They arrived just in time to schmooze for a few minutes before having to take their seats – a fact that Hannibal was over the moon about. Through months of dating, he never got the opportunity to show Will off. Aside from the fact that the man shone with impressive energy, Hannibal selfishly wanted everyone to see who he managed to attract; a very special man came into his life and despite it all, chose to stand proudly by his side.

With a soft kiss to Will’s cheek, Hannibal gestured to the bar. “I’m going to grab us a drink. I’d like to introduce you to a few people, if you’re not opposed.”

“I don’t mind – you’ve been dying to show me off for ages. I’m surprised you were able to wait this long,” Will retorted, a look of absolute knowing on his face. He casually slipped his hands into his pockets, the needed mask for the occasion slipping into place. “You know where to find me.”

Turning, Hannibal glided easily to the bar, ordering the same vintage chardonnay he always did and a whiskey neat for Will. The bartender recognized him immediately, the gold membership card that sat in his breast pocket unneeded.

“I’ll put it on your tab, Doctor Lecter.”

“Thank you, Tyler. It’s a pleasure, as always.” He saluted the younger man with the drinks in his hand and set off to find Will.

Without even having to try, Will drew people to him. The ever-curious Mrs. Ellen Komeda stood proudly in front of his beau, her eyes cataloguing him sharply. In a lot of ways, the two of them were very similar. Where Ellen lacked the empathy, she made up for it in pure grit and tenacity. She could read a room because she knew just about everyone and everything in it. Someone like Will, a gorgeous outsider, more than likely called to her from the moment she saw him.

“Where have you been hiding this one, Hannibal? He’s an absolute delight,” Ellen remarked the second he was within conversing distance. She eyed him up, then nodded approvingly.

Handing Will his drink, Hannibal let his now free hand wrap around Will’s waist. A moment existed where he thought Will might tense up, but he simply leaned in closer – the doting boyfriend act both natural and highly manipulative. What a delightful boy.

“We’re both busy men. Will here is the mastermind behind that delectable pate from my last dinner party.” The pride he felt carried over in his voice – people knew how Hannibal felt about food; the compliment held a lot of weight.

From the surprise on Ellen’s face, she too understood the sentiment.

“That’s high praise indeed. When I didn’t see you still wrapped in your apron when I arrived, I should have figured something was up.” She turned to Will then, her smile challenging. “Tell me Will, how did you charm the good doctor so?”

Seemingly unable to stop himself, Will chuckled, then pressed himself closer to Hannibal. “I bumped into him in a gourmet cheese shop. My refined palette was the major selling point.”

Before anyone else could say anything, a gentleman making his way into their little group stopped the conversation in its tracks. Hannibal watched Will’s eyes flash, the other man’s arm tightening around him. It was a minute reaction but telling all the same. He pulled at the seams of his person suit, the edges tightening up imperceptibly.

Luckily, Ellen saved them all, her social graces without fail. “Mr. Bowerman, it’s been some time since I last saw you at the opera.” Her mouth quirked as she spoke, like the words were bent nails in her mouth.

“Yes, well – since my wife’s passing, getting out to these fancy shindigs isn’t nearly as fun.” He took a long sip of his drink, his eyes shifting to Hannibal, only to linger on Will a second later.

“Walter Bowerman,” the man announced. The words were spoken into the open nothingness of the air, but his eyes – they were glued to Will.

A rush of murderous rage ran down Hannibal’s spine, his nostrils flaring.

Will didn’t miss a beat though, the brilliant boy he was. Tossing back his drink, Will waved the empty glass at the newcomer, a neutral look on his face. “Walter.” The single word was dismissive, only to be aided with a subtle turn of his body. He flashed a smile at Mrs. Komeda next, his expression softening slightly. “Ellen, it was glorious to meet you. Have Hannibal pass on my information – I’d love to cook for you some time.”

Understanding without any further prompting, Hannibal bid them both an absent goodbye and let himself be led by Will. He watched blue eyes track down a waiter, where he deposited his glass before continuing towards the theater door.

There wasn’t a sound made until they were alone in Hannibal’s booth – Will’s face was sweaty again, eyes slightly hazy. “Is it common knowledge that Walter Bowerman killed his wife?” Will asked lightly, breaking the silence. He swiped at his brow, looking a little off kilter.

Thrown off by the bluntness of Will’s words, Hannibal tuned out everything but the question. A sliver of pride sat in his chest at the other’s deductive abilities – Hannibal instantly knew there was something off but wasn’t able to pinpoint exactly what. Will’s mind – it was a beautiful thing.

“Tonight happened to be the first time I’ve made his acquaintance – Ellen seemed put off, but I think the interruption to our conversation played a big part in that. You are very charming,” Hannibal admitted easily. Even he had been impressed.

“He got pleasure from mentioning his wife’s death. There was that murderous glint in his eye that just felt – wrong.” He moved to continue, but the stage lights flickered, and the heavy curtain started to pull back.

For a while, previous interactions fled from Hannibal’s mind – the mind-numbing drift a welcome gift after the stress of the evening. He let Will take his hand before the aria started, the touch the only anchor he wanted to the present. After a beat, the soprano opened her mouth and started to sing. Merely relaxing back, Hannibal let the music wash over him.

About halfway through the first act, a tightening grip on his hand brought Hannibal out of his mind space, a confused look on his face for a split second before it was quickly replaced by worry. Will’s face was covered in sweat and his chest seemed to be heaving, despite the dwindling awareness. He looked at Hannibal helplessly, mouth opening around unspoken pleas.

Finally, Will managed to grab ahold of himself for a second – his words a little slurred when he babbled out – “I think there’s something wrong.”

Acting quickly, Hannibal jumped out of his seat, suddenly glad for the privacy of his usual booth. Getting up wouldn’t disturb anyone, so there was room to get Will out however he needed. The man was cognizant enough to help Hannibal pull him out of the chair, but that only went as far as the hallway outside of their seats before Will went limp. The seizure that followed so nicely allowed Hannibal to get Will to the bathroom, the convulsions starting the second he got them pressed against the solid surface of the door.

His hands cupped Will’s cheeks, the grip of them strong to keep the back of his head from smacking against anything. Will’s eyes were open, but the pupils were completely blown – there was no focus or constriction whatsoever. Holding Will as tightly as possible, Hannibal rode out the storm.

When the shaking stopped, Hannibal counted out five minutes before Will came back around – his once slack body clenched all at once, fear and confusion flowing through him. “H-Hannibal?” Will chocked out, the syllables running together.

Bringing his face up to do a quick check of blue eyes, Hannibal let out a breath. There was finally some response in the dark pupils. He ran his thumbs softly over the apple of Will’s cheeks, maroon eyes roaming everywhere at once. “Are you with me, Will? You just had a seizure and you’re burning up. Can you hear me?”

“Hannibal?” Will questioned again, his chest heaving once more.

Unable to stop himself, Hannibal leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Will’s cheek – the contact just as much for him as it was for the confused man in his arms; an earthshattering need for comfort overwhelming. They needed to get out of there while Will was still upright and conscious. The increased heart rate and continued confusion meant there wasn’t much time left to do that.

Instead of forcing Will to respond anymore, Hannibal got them into a position where he could take most of Will’s weight – thankfully, Will was with it enough to walk with the help. The lobby was empty – an absence of sound appropriate to the situation at hand.

Being in the heart of downtown made getting to a hospital quick and easy. Every couple of minutes, Hannibal reached across the middle console to check on Will, his heart slamming into his chest in the scant seconds between touching and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Though the seizures didn’t return, Will’s consciousness diminished with each passing second.

The Bentley skidded to a stop outside the emergency room doors, Hannibal hopping out in a fit of adrenaline – he threw open Will’s door to pick him up bridal style. There was a second where their eyes met, a brief connection before Will slumped into him, his fight with whatever was burning him up coming to a swift end.

----

It took two days for Will to completely regain consciousness.

Throughout those two days, Hannibal worried incessantly, sat by Will’s bedside, and didn’t think once about the tableau he set up that was probably discovered by the authorities, already.

Being so thorough in his work, Hannibal didn’t use a sing brain byte to dwell on it – there wasn’t any evidence. There never was.

After carrying Will into the ER in the most dramatic fashion as possible, the hustle and bustle of brain scans and medication deployment took up all the space in Hannibal’s mind. In the bouts of time that Will got swept away, Hannibal went home to shower and change; once, he made the trip out to Wolf Trapp to get Winston and clear out the remainder of Will’s fridge. No matter what happened, a hospital stay was in Will’s future. The least Hannibal could do was take care of his dog and make the already harvested meat into delicacies to be eaten when Will felt better.

Despite trying to keep busy with arrangements and appointment reschedules, the minutes between Will’s decent into unconsciousness and his waking were long and torturous. The encephalitis diagnosis made a lot of sense after thinking about Will’s behavior over the last few weeks. The increase of headaches and nightmares, a dwindling appetite, and large periods of losing track of time were all there pointing in brain swelling’s direction.

It was pure luck that Will’s body had such a severe reaction to the neurological change. If things were different, he might’ve dived very slowly into madness; both visual and auditory hallucinations were common symptoms of Will’s particular brand of encephalitis. The spike of fever came at just the right time – the majority of his treatment would be minimally invasive and able to be given outside of the hospital.

The most confusing part of the whole situation was Hannibal’s feelings towards it all. Of course, Will couldn’t help the fact that he thwarted plans that were many months in the making. Yet, the anger he figured would sit under his skin, waiting to erupt, didn’t exist. Instead, Hannibal felt the claws of worry drag along his back.

Every second that Will didn’t wake up, Hannibal dipped a little further into unease. Going fifty years without the look in Will’s eyes was one thing, but now that he knew – now that the feeling crept under his walls, there was no going back. How did he exist without the rambunctiousness and intelligence that accompanied the experience that was Will Graham?

His earlier thoughts about love came back to him with a not so delicate slam to the chest. The world felt like it was ending without the shine of Will’s personality surrounding him because of the love he felt for the man. And what a thought – being in love with a soul so similar to his own. The match they made was perfect and for many reasons, shouldn’t exist whatsoever. Yet, Hannibal could barely remember what life felt like without Will in it.

He didn’t want to, either.

When Will eventually completely came to, Hannibal had his forehead pressed against their joined hands – his eyes closed in a desperate attempt to escape to the happier rooms in his mind palace. It was getting more difficult to filter everything out, so the halls were more cluttered than usual. The immense distraction almost made him miss the gentle squeeze to his hand – Will’s fingers tightened around his own for the first time in more than fifty hours.

Sitting up, Hannibal didn’t have a chance to stop the affectionate smile from slipping across his lips. His chest felt a little lighter – Will’s eyes were the same shade of deep blue and shining just as brightly as he remembered. The glassy nature of them was to be expected, the physiological expression of symptoms a reassurance that the body was actively fighting. After what seemed like years of waiting and worrying, Hannibal found comfort in all of Will’s disarray, bed head and sleepy smiles included.

“Hannibal?” Will questioned softly, his voice hoarse and scratchy from being unused. Upon hearing it, Hannibal reached to press the nurse’s button to get Will some water – they would want to know he was awake, anyway.

“Will – I’m so glad to see you,” Hannibal admitted easily, his body ditching the chair to sit on the edge of Will’s bed. He craved the length of Will pressed against him, any sort of familiar weight, really. Just the sign that the man was alive and with him was more than enough.

Reaching up to brush a curl from Will’s forehead, Hannibal spoke up again. “It’s been a couple of days since you last opened your eyes. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted,” Will mumbled immediately, his brows pinching together with every move as he adjusted. “You said two days? Did this happen at the opera? Hannibal, I’m – “

“Don’t even begin to apologize, Will. Your brain was on fire – the last thing I’m worried about is a subpar rendition of Don Giovanni.” There was a beat, then a subtle move forward to press lips to Will’s still clammy skin. “I’m relieved you’re going to be okay, Will. Everything else is moot.”

There wasn’t much talking after that – the exhaustion Will complained about took him under shortly after coming around. The nurses were able to document his stats and get a doctor in to see him before fatigue won out and Will became lost to sleep once again.

To occupy himself, Hannibal let his emotions run wild across the pages of his sketchpad. Despite being exhausted himself, sleep did not come. Memories and things yet to come crept through the halls of his mind – his hand manifesting them on the smooth paper at record breaking speed. With all of his energy drained, Will made the perfect model. Hannibal found himself able to get the man’s lips right for the first time he laid pencil to paper. Drawing his partner in a much happier state of being made coping a little easier – the smile he could replicate brought a warmth that Hannibal couldn’t admit he wanted with him at all times. Though, he so desperately did.

A hand on the top of his sketchbook brought him out of his artistic stupor. Hannibal moved quickly, sliding his fingers between Will’s before the hand could retreat, or suddenly disappear like he feared. The skin there was warm, but not scalding like the days previous. When their eyes met, the blue depth of Will’s seemed much clearer – like the rest was actually doing him some good.

“She looks like you,” Will said, turning his attention back to the sketch pad he reached for initially. “Who is she?”

The feeling of being exposed washed over him for a second, Hannibal pulling in a deep breath in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. A Thursday in the middle of the night wasn’t how he figured his past would come to light – dark news needed an ideal setting. And yet, what better way to break down the last wall between them?

“This is Mischa, my sister. Even after all these years, I’ve never been able to do her true justice,” Hannibal replied, his voice just steps away from melancholic. “She was this beautiful spirit – free and intense. Kind of like you, actually.” A soft smile overtook his features, the truth of that statement ringing in his ears.

No wonder.

Will’s hand tightened slightly, the fatigue keeping him weak in his touch. “Mischa – I like that. She’s beautiful. You both have that little curl in your nose.”

A laugh escaping Hannibal’s chest broke whatever tension remained – the depths of his chest finally clear. The days of worry and not-sleeping were catching up to him, and like it was so natural to do, Will cleaned the chaos up, his words sweeping out the cobwebs Hannibal let develop. Sucking in another long breath, Hannibal let that last bit of himself in hiding step out into the light.

There was another clear shift in the air between them then, the softness in Will’s eyes something that didn’t exist before that very moment. While so wrapped up in his own masks and Will’s ability to see through them, Will was sneakily putting himself up for display, too. Breaking down walls brought about a gentleness that didn’t befit ruthless murders, and yet – Will caressed Hannibal’s hand softly, the touch for comfort’s sake alone.

Without being prompted or asked, Will moved until a spot that maybe half of Hannibal could fit into appeared. Taking the offer for what it was, Hannibal dropped his sketch pad on the table, the pencil sitting lovingly over the cupid bow of Mischa’s lip. He climbed in, the two of them rearranging limbs until Hannibal’s arms were wrapped tightly around Will. It took a second to settle – then, sleep came quickly and kept them under for the rest of the night.

Will spent another two days in the hospital before Hannibal could convince the staff of his capabilities as a doctor. They were willing to release him after all of the intravenous drug administration was finished – the rest of Will’s recovery would be based around rest and recuperation, anyway.

There wasn’t any discussion about where Will would end up – the man simply climbed into Hannibal’s car, curled up in the passenger seat with his head in Hannibal’s lap, and slept on the trip back to Baltimore from the hospital. Hannibal made a quick trip home while Will sat in the MRI machine for the last time during his stay – both Winston and the kitchen were ready for Will’s arrival.

It took Will most of his energy to get from the car to the door, but when Winston came jogging around the corner, a burst of joy sent him two steps forward until he could easily wrap the dog warmly in his arms. The whispered “I missed you” into the dog’s fur more than making up for the hair on all the surfaces of the house.

When the reunion was over, Hannibal helped Will walk upstairs, the man already dead on his feet from just a couple of short encounters. That previously unnamed warmth took up space in Hannibal’s chest again – the overwhelming feeling of being so deliriously dedicated to another human being exhausting in its own right.

“I thought maybe you’d like to take a bath,” Hannibal said, his legs already carrying him towards the bathroom to start the water.

“Will you hold me, instead? I know I probably stink like hospital and it’s killing that nose of yours, but all I really want to do is be in your arms.”

Looking over his shoulder, Hannibal stopped in his tracks. There were no masks on Will’s face, in the moment, so raw and open. The man who stood before him was stripped bare and asking for something – when he usually did nothing of the sort. The warmth bubbled a little bit more, the intensity of it growing with every passing exchange. He didn’t need to think about what to do next – instead, he kicked off his shoes and went about turning the bed down.

Hannibal climbed in, reclining back against the nest of pillows. Though he figured he wouldn’t sleep, Hannibal was more than willing to simply sit and catalogue Will a little more. The replica in his mind palace wasn’t quite what he wanted, and the perusal of finer features was exactly what he needed to make the perfect rendering.

For a while, that’s how things went – Hannibal kept Will against his chest until the call of food preparation took precedence. It usually took all of Will’s energy to get downstairs to the table, so the first few meals were taken in bed.

Little by little, Will spent more time awake than asleep, the clarity of his thoughts returning as the days past. Surprisingly, the only thing that didn’t return was the mask Will wore. Maybe it was the lack of energy, or maybe – after all was said and done, there was no need for them anymore. Seeing and being seen – it did something to a person. Especially ones like Will and Hannibal.

Then, a Saturday morning two weeks after his diagnosis, Hannibal woke to the feeling of Will’s hands running down his chest and arms, nimble fingers pressing into skin, fingertips tracing and memorizing with every touch. Hannibal kept himself still, letting Will have whatever he wanted before the realization of having an audience occurred.

The rise and fall of Will’s chest sped up a little, his body heat rising for a much better reason than the earlier fever that ravaged him. Without meaning to, Hannibal shifted back into it – giving himself away in an instant.

“I know you’re awake,” Will mumbled against his spot on Hannibal’s neck, hips pressing forward ever so lightly.

Rolling over, Hannibal used the quick movement to pull Will under him, their bodies lining up from head to toe. Will’s legs opened just enough to allow Hannibal access to gap, the length of them wrapping around Hannibal’s hips in the next instant. There was a clench of muscle, then no space between them at all.

“I see you’re awake, too,” Hannibal whispered, his hips pressing down – erections grinding together with the barest of touches. “Are you feeling better?”

Hips pressing up for a longer drag of cock on cock was his only answer. Unable to ignore the call, Hannibal moved against him, the friction building there absolutely exquisite. They shifted and moved until their lips met and the oxygen in the room steadfastly escaped. Every pull of breath in was more of Will – more of his scent, more of his presence – more.

Though neither made any move to takes thing further along, Hannibal could feel the intimacy building up between them. It wasn’t so much about the heat of the physical, this particular moment more than just a sexual connection. Where Hannibal pulled, Will pushed – their hearts beating in tandem.

A crescendo didn’t carry them away – instead, a sort of peace overtook the room. The feeling so foreign that they looked and touched just to make sure the other existed – that after everything, the other was there and the affection that zinged between them wasn’t one sided. Two psychopaths falling in love was never on the top of anyone’s love story list, yet – it happened without either of them knowing.

When Hannibal pulled back this time, the words on the tip of his tongue, he let them fall effortlessly from his lips.

Brushing his nose against Will’s, Hannibal stayed close, the words “I love you” leaving his chest and sitting in the air. It felt odd and for half a second, he thought Will might not feel that way about him after all. The two, three, four beats of his heart before any sort of response were agonizing, both too short and much too long.

Those warms hands were there, though, Will’s palms cupping his cheeks and fingers digging into the longer hair around his temples. Their eyes met, maroon holding blue – and the worry melted away. No mask, after seeing past it, could hide the devotion existing in the ceaseless pools of gorgeous blue.

“I love you too, Hannibal.”

#hannigram #murder husbands #will graham/hannibal lecter #hannigram fanfic #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fanfic #persephone will have her fill #bobbie writes #will graham #hannibal lecter

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mingisanshine · 5 years ago

Text

KHJ: Chasing Rainbows Preview

Paring: Painter!Hongjoong x Reader

Warnings: Eventual smut! Lots of crying, angst, a lot of confliction with feelings, these two have a lot of sober and not sober deep talks, alcohol is consumed by people of age. Overall wholesome. ♥︎

(Also Hongjoong is not color blind. I just want to make that clear. It’s okay to be color blind and if you are maybe you can relate. I didn’t want to accidentally offend anyone and that’s why I’m putting this here. It’s supposed to me a mental block.)

Summary: Kim Hongjoong. The artist you inspire to be. The artist that inspired you to be something more than what you were. Everything about his work fascinates you, but when you meet him you see that’s he’s much different then what you expect him to be like. What happens when he tell you that can no longer see color? How do you keep from failing him with the burden he’s laid upon you?

»»————-　♡　————-««

You stare in awe at the canvas in front of you.

Everything about it seemed to be captivating.

The way the brushstrokes laid nicely on the canvas.

Or how the colors perfectly blended together, as if in harmony.

Then there were the tiny details. The shading, the way each grass strand was different to complete a puzzle.

It was perfect, but everything Kim Hongjoong made was always perfect.

“You’ve been staring at the same picture for the past twenty minutes.” You jump at the sound of Seonghwa’s voice. Rolling your eyes as he interrupted your thoughts whilst scaring you in the process. “Seriously I don’t think you’ve breathed since you saw it.” You sigh, turning to your towards your brother.

“You wouldn’t get it Hwa.” You grab his hand and tug him a little closer to the artwork. “Every single brushstroke laid on this canvas tells a different piece of a much bigger story.” You let go of his hand and smile gently before turning back to face him. “ The only art you consider art is your dumb acting.” Seonghwa dramatically opened his mouth in feigned shock.

“My acting is anything, but dumb. This is just colors on paper.” You gasp in pure disgust at how crude your brother could be to such fine work. Playfully hitting Seonghwa in his chest you roll your eyes. “What? Only art nerds look at a picture and search for a deeper meaning.”

“Well since I’m an Art History Major it’s my job to analyze art from everywhere. So I guess I am a certified art nerd.” Seonghwa scoffs playfully, as he grabbed a flute of champagne from behind him.

“What even is your deal with this guy?”

“I’ve been his biggest fan of his since forever. Back when I had tumblr I use to literally reblog all of his post.” You blush slightly vividly remembering all those times your day was made when you saw that he had posted something new.

“Wait is his name...Kim Hongjoong?” You perk up immediately upon hearing his name.

“Yes! How’d you know?!” You almost squeal.

“One I’m not blind. I can see his name on the plaque next to the photo.” Seonghwa looks down at you, with a mischievous smile on his face and you curse your brother for being blessed with the gift of height. “He also is here.” Seonghwa said casually downing the rest of his flute.

“You’re kidding?!” People look around you in annoyance at your volume, but you’re too excited to care.

“I actually got the invite from him. Well technically the company he’s under, but he is hosting this event.” You smile, but it immediately fades when you look down at your outfit. Your black turtleneck, tucked into black pants and simple boots, were nothing compared to people dressed in Gucci and Dior.

“I bet you’re glad I let you borrow my Chanel belt huh?”

“He’s going to think I’m a waiter.” Seonghwa chuckles at your statement trying to suppress as much laughter as he could. “I’m going to make myself look like a fool in front of one of my biggest inspirers ever.”

“And who might that be?” A new voice asked. You almost laugh, totally not acknowledging the presence of a new person.

“Seonghwa were you not paying attention? This man has been my idol since I was seventeen. He’s like one of my biggest cr-” An obnoxious laugh cuts you off and you turn to meet your brother only to see a new face.

Well not new, but definitely not someone you ever met.

“I’m glad I’ve such a big inspiration to you.” Your mouth flies open for a solid second before snapping back and spitting out gibberish.

“Holy sh- You’re Kim Hongjoong!” He laughs at your, very obnoxious, scream. He scratched the back of his neck slightly before shrugging.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

“Oh my god! I’m such a big fan! I’ve- wait. How much of that conversation did you hear?”

“I’ve been eavesdropping since Seonghwa here said my work was just paint on a canvas. Started listening when you said you were an Art History Major.”

You wanted to crawl up in a ball and die at that very moment.

“Y/N is an art nerd.” Seonghwa laughed, setting the flute glass down.

“Then I guess I am too. I went to school for Art History as well. I actually really enjoyed it.” You laughed partially at Seonghwa being lowkey roasted and partially out of embarrassment.

“Great two art nerds. You guys can talk about how blue and yellow make green while I go get some more champagne.” Seonghwa walked away, leaving you alone with the most terrifying person ever.

“I really am a big fan of your work.” You mumble, turning back to the painting, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs.

“Why?” He asked more to himself then to to you.

You’re silent for a moment. Shocked at such an obvious question.

“Why?” You repeat sarcastically. “Because the story you tell with your work speaks to me. The tiny details you put into your paintings instill me with hope. Your work shows me something I could never see before. Every single stroke of your brush creates something wonderful. Your art is simply...amazing.” You could feel the emotion and passion building within you.

Then he laughed. He shattered the beautiful illusion you had just created.

“You really see that when you look at paintings?” He asked almost in a beggingly.

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it.” You turned back to him finally building the courage to look at him. Almost astonished to see his face twisted in disappointment.

“That’s one of the kindest things anyone has ever said about my paintings.” He turned looking at you, eyes slightly watered.

“Oh my god, please don’t cry. If you start crying I’ll start crying.” Hongjoong shook his head, laughing.

“How much does art mean to you?” He asked eyes closed. You quirk your eyebrow up in slight confusion.

“It’s everything to me. I couldn’t imagine my life without it.” Hongjoong opened his eyes and grabbed your hands. If you weren’t blushing before, then you most definitely were now.

“Do you think you can come to my studio?” You stare between him and his hands. Not sure whether to be scared or to be flattered.

“Why?”

“I think you can help me with my next project. I have a certain block.” You remove your hands and step back a little. Suspecting where this was leading.

“Look you seem like a nice guy, but I’m not that kind of gi-” Hongjoong cut you off before you could finish your statement.

“You didn’t think I was asking you to sleep with me where you?” You blush and look down at your boots, only for Hongjoong to grab your hand again. “I’m not that kind of guy. I would never ask you to do something like that. I just wanted some fresh eyes, from someone who can see things from a different perspective and has knowledge on art. Please don’t feel pressured to say yes.” You hesitate for a moment. Looking back at his eyes only to be met with pure sincerity. Almost making you combust right there.

“Are you sure?” He nodded looking down at you. “I mean why would why I pass up this offer?” He smiled and pulled you through a crowd of people causing you to yelp in shock. You make eye contact with Seonghwa and see him jaw dropped, mouthing an apology.

“Thank you so much.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Holy shit.” You breathed out as Hongjoong opened the door to his studio. It looked almost unreal. Mason jar lights hung from the ceiling, big wide windows brought in the gentle rays of the sun, casting a small shadow. The back wall was filled with sketches and paintings. Blank and covered canvases filled almost every corner of the room. Other crafts hung from the walls and a couple plants littered the studio. Faded and some new paint splotches cover the easel sitting in the middle of the room. You felt as if you were walking onto a scene for a movie. “Hongjoong this is beautiful.” He shut the door and laughed lightly. “I don’t know how someone can have a block when being in such a lovely setting.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s hard for me to grasp on to as well.” He took his jacket off and hung it on the rack before walking over to the covered easel. “Y/N I want your complete and honest answer. Don’t hold any punches. You have to promise me you won’t.”

“I promise.” He lifted the cover of the easel and you gasp.

“Is it that bad?” He bit his bottom lip, nervously.

“Hongjoong. It’s beautiful.” You hand runs over the canvas gently.

“What do you see?” He asked eyes closed. “Give me every detail.”

“I see a child. Running after a sun set. The tinted glow of the sun setting a shadow on her and the tiny farm house in the back. She’s running like she can reach the horizon before it’s gone. Like she’s running for hope.” He lets out a shaky breath, before breathing in again.

“What colors do you see?”

“Pink, yellow, burnt orange, red, crimson and gold. Typical colors you see during a sunset. Why’d you ask such a silly question?” He dropped the canvas cover and turned towards you with the most pitiful look in his eye.

“I can’t see it.” You freeze and question what he means.

“What do you mean you can’t see it?” He walked away from the canvas and sat down on the couch in the corner, resting his head in the palms of his hands.

“I haven’t been able to see color for almost three years.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

𝑨𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒛 𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

𝑴𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

A/N: This isn’t edited yet. So they’re most definitely going to be mistakes, but I just wanted to put this out there. I wrote majority of this in a day and I’m actually loving it so far. Tell me what you think!!

Love you!!♥︎♡♥︎♡

#Chasing Rainbows #Chasing Rainbows Preview #ateez fanfiction #ateez #kim hongjoong #hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong fluff #hongjoong smut #hongjoong angst #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #Ateez Fame Series

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perfecttimeseleven · 4 years ago

Link

Perfect Times Eleven Ep. 1 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE ONE

REMINGTON

Goddamn it! You really think tying a tie wouldn’t be this hard.

VOICE FROM PHONE

And that, my friends, is how you tie a tie!

REMINGTON

(overlapping)

No! No it’s not! Fuck you!

VOICE FROM PHONE

Hope you found this video helpful. Hit up that “like” button below and don’t forget to subscribe to my channel for more pro bro tips from Menswear Mike! Hang tie-ght. Haha, get it? Just a little joke for ya on this fine Menswear Mike Monday morning.

(REMINGTON grabs her phone and turns the video off.)

REMINGTON

Shit. Ah.. maybe if... nope. That’s worse. Is that a zit? God hates me.

(exhales)

My name is Remington Long and I am here because I hear eleven voices in my head and a teacup chihuahua tried to claw my eye out — no. That’s too on the nose.

(pauses)

My name is Remington Long! How are you? I’m perfectly sane! Fuck. Uh...yeah, no. I’m already talking to a mirror. Who’s gonna believe that? Okay. My name is Remington Long, and oh, heavenly therapist, please bestow the blesséd knowledge upon me so I can maybe, maaaaybe have a shot at normal life. Except, y’know, my life’s already fine, except sometimes animals attack me, I guess, like the chihuahua from yesterday. So I actually don’t know why the hell my parents are paying you. But yes! My name is Remington Long and I’m here for a heaping helping of therapy! Fuck yeah! Ugh.

(1. Therapy Upstate.)

REMINGTON

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

IT’S UNFAIR TO ME. Here, I’ll give it to ya straight —

WELL, KIDS, YOU KNOW YOUR PARENTS THINK YOU’RE REALLY PSYCHO

WHEN YOU’RE FORCED TO HIKE OVER TO DELAWARE COUNTY FOR

THERAPY UPSTATE.

I’VE LIVED FOR EIGHTEEN YEARS LIKE THIS! I THINK I’VE GOT THE HANG OF IT BY NOW.

DON’T NEED SOME PRETENTIOUS PRICK’S USELESS SHIT ABOUT MEDITATION OR HOW

TALKING ABOUT MY FEELINGS WILL MAKE EVERYTHING SO, SO MUCH BETTER!

PLUS, HE’LL PROBABLY BE OLD AND WEAR ROUND GLASSES AND A TARTAN SWEATER.

Ugh, I can see it already, HE’LL SAY

”TELL ME ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS” AND I’LL BE LIKE ”ERR, I GOT NONE!”

AND THEN WE’LL JUST SIT, STARE AT EACH OTHER FOR A BIT

IN SILENCE TILL THE SESSION IS DONE.

Plot twist! WE’LL. FALL IN LOVE

HE’LL TREAT ME WELL BUT I’LL GET HIM FIRED

FOR HAVING RELATIONS WITH A MINOR —

Wait. No. I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. Shit.

A WHOLE ASS ADULT BEING MADE TO GO TO

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

WHERE THERE’S TONS OF TREES AND ALL THE STORES CLOSE AFTER EIGHT.

I’M JUST CONSIDERING EVERY POSSIBLE SCENARIO IN AN ATTEMPT TO PREPARE ME,

SO I WON’T HAVE TO GO TO MORE THERAPY UPSTATE.

SO I’VE GOT VOICES IN MY HEAD! WELL, I CAN STILL HAPPILY EXIST!

I CAN’T EVEN HEAR THEM IF I KEEP THIS TACKY BRACELET ON MY WRIST.

AND EVEN WHEN I DO, THEY JUST...REPEAT ELEVEN RANDOM WORDS.

(REMINGTON unclasps her bracelet and it drops to the ground.)

REMINGTON’S VOICES

(jumbled and overlapping)

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS

REMINGTON

See? THEY AREN’T THAT ANNOYING AND THEY’RE QUITE EASY TO IGNORE

JUST LIKE REAL-LIFE PEOPLE THAT TO ME, KINDA BORE.

WHAT WOULD THIS THERAPIST KNOW THAT I DON’T ALREADY

ABOUT WHAT I’VE DEALT WITH MY ENTIRE LIFE? OH, YES, I’M FEELING PETTY ABOUT

THERAPY! THERAPY UPSTATE.

THEY SAY THIS IS NOT UP FOR DEBATE

BUT I’M AN INDEPENDENT MAN WHO DON’T NEED NO MAN

TO SHARE ALL MY CARES WITH AT THERAPY UPSTATE.

I KNOW I’M A BURDEN! I DON’T WANNA BECOME MORE OF ONE!

STOP THROWING MONEY AT THIS! IT WILL NOT GO AWAY.

SAVE THOSE FUNDS FOR MY COLLEGE, OR, BETTER YET, ACKNOWLEDGE

THAT I WON’T GO TO COLLEGE, AND THAT IS OKAY!

I CAN BE NORMAL! I’LL DO FINE! I PROMISE! I PROMISE! I PROMISE.

THERAPY. THERAPY UPSTATE.

YOUR PARENTS SEE YOU CAN’T HANDLE YOURSELF...HOW GREAT.

IT’S A MARK ON THE CALENDAR TO CONFIRM THEY’VE RAISED

A DISAPPOINTMENT, A HOPELESS, CRAZED

FREAK WHO THEY HAVE TO CODDLE, WHO AIN’T GOING ANYWHERE AT THIS RATE!

OH, PLEASE HAVE SOME HOPE IN ME!

I DON’T NEED HELP TO COPE, YOU SEE!

DON’T WRITE SOMETHING FRIGHTFUL

ON MY PERMANENT RECORD OR I’LL NEVER GET A JOB I DON’T HATE!

OH, PLEASE, DON’T SEND ME TO THERAPY UPSTATE!

ACT ONE

SCENE TWO

DR. MORELLO

Yes, uh, hello, Remington.

DAISY

Remington? That’s fucking wack! Remy, like the rat!

DR. MORELLO

Daisy. Language!

REMINGTON

Uh, hi.

DAISY

I’m Daisy, Ratatouille!

DR. MORELLO

My name is Dr. Morello.

REMINGTON

Yeah, uh, my parents told me about you.

DR. MORELLO

Good. This wasn’t what you expected, was it, dear?

REMINGTON

Oh. Uh, no. Don’t get me wrong, this is a very nice house, but yeah. Like I was expecting some really clinical looking...space? You are also not what I expected, but, uh, in a good way! This...is also...such a warm color scheme I’d never have imagined...

(catches herself going off topic)

It is very nice to meet you, Dr. Morello! How can you help with the, uh, voices in my head thing?

(pauses)

Shit. Sorry. I mean, shit, oh sh-...sorry. Shouldn’t have cursed. I didn’t mean like you’re seeking me out to help me, I’m the one seeking your help —

DAISY

You’re making it worse, nerd.

REMINGTON

Yeah, also there’s, uh, Daisy? Um, there’s children here. Didn’t expect that. Who? Why? Uh, who’s the other one?

DR. MORELLO

Ohh! Yes —

REMINGTON

Yes, there’s children here.

DR. MORELLO

Yes, yes. Remington, I would like you to meet my other patients. Come over here! Be polite!

JAY

Ugh.

DAISY

I said hi to her already!

JAY

Hi, I guess.

REMINGTON

Okay, I can respect a girl with a well-defined aesthetic —

JAY

Then why are you dressed like a sad lawyer?

DR. MORELLO

Kids, this is Remington’s first appointment, and you both know what that means.

DAISY

(bored)

I’ll get the fear-puke bucket.

REMINGTON

The what?

DAISY

Wait. Hold the phone. Hold on. Remington Long...Are you the kid who got attacked by the...

JAY

Oh, wait, yeah! Shiiiiiit!

(DAISY and JAY try to contain their laughter.)

DAISY

...teacup chihuahua?

(JAY doubles down in laughter.)

REMINGTON

(unamused)

Yeah. Nice to meet you.

DR. MORELLO

Kids, be nice. Okay, now this is Jay.

(DAISY and JAY calm down.)

REMINGTON

Who’s already mocked me twice. Good start. Hello.

JAY

(clears throat a little)

Hey —

DR. MORELLO

(interrupting)

Now that that’s out of the way —

DAISY

(exiting)

Fear-puke bucket time!

REMINGTON

Okay, what does that mean?

DR. MORELLO

(ignoring her)

— let’s get down to business. Now — That bracelet on your wrist. It’s the accessory you use to block the voices out, yes?

REMINGTON

Yeah.

DR. MORELLO

And when you take it off, can you describe what these voices are like?

REMINGTON

There’s like, a lot of them, and they just say words, I guess. It’s overlapping and each voice says a word, and then that just repeats, like, I don’t know, over and over, like —

JAY

Like a broken record in your brain.

REMINGTON

...Yeah. What she said.

(turning back to DR. MORELLO)

Wait, so all your patients have the same problem?

DR. MORELLO

Essentially, yes.

(pauses)

Of course, I do too.

REMINGTON

What?

(DAISY enters with a big yellow bucket, which she plunks in front of REMINGTON.)

DAISY

Fear-puke bucket time.

JAY

It’s always more like panic attack puke, if anything —

DAISY

Yeah, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it.

REMINGTON

What’s this for?

DAISY/JAY

Just in case.

REMINGTON

Of what?

DR. MORELLO

Remington, this isn’t some disease or disorder. You see, ah, living things have a soul, right?

REMINGTON

Okay, yeah, I guess?

DR. MORELLO

Well, souls don’t die with the living thing. They go on to inhabit another body.

REMINGTON

Reincarnation?

DR. MORELLO

Yes, some call it that. A transference of energy. A shift of...ah, physical matter around an entity, a...crowding of energies for space, a—

REMINGTON

Wack.

DR. MORELLO

Wack indeed, Remington.

REMINGTON

So my voices are some byproduct of, like, reincarnation?

DAISY

Sorta.

DR. MORELLO

If the soul lives a good, fulfilling, pure life — at least, as the books say — such a thing -- a “pure life” -- is hard to define, it gets reincarnated as human.

REMINGTON

And if it doesn’t?

JAY.

It turns into an animal.

REMINGTON

Damn, that’s rough.

DAISY

(to JAY)

She’s taking this surprisingly well.

DR. MORELLO

People who hear these voices are people whose souls have been reincarnated as human for several lifetimes in a row. The voices are remnants of previous human lives.

REMINGTON

So what you’re saying is voices mean there’s, like, dead people in your head?

DR. MORELLO

That’s putting it a little crassly, but...yes.

REMINGTON

So...there’s dead people in your head?

DR. MORELLO

Yes.

REMINGTON

All of you?

DAISY/JAY

Yeah.

REMINGTON

Me?

JAY

(a little irritated)

Yes!

REMINGTON

So this is some kind of therapy for dead-people-in-your-head...people? Fine. But why do these dead people say random words? Does it all mean anything? Am I just really stupid and not connecting some obvious dots?

JAY

Yes.

(DR. MORELLO stands up. 2. Dead-People-In-Your-Head People.)

DR. MORELLO

NOW, A SOUL MOVES FROM BODY TO BODY,

BUT EACH LIFE LEAVES ITS TRACE.

A SINGLE WORD FOR EACH HUMAN

TOO OFTEN THOUGHT ABOUT TO ERASE

NOW WHEN SOULS HAVE BEEN REINCARNATED

AS HUMAN SEVERAL TIMES IN A ROW

IT GETS TO THE EXTENT WHERE THE SOUL IS SO HUMAN,

ITS HOST HEARS ECHOES OF LONG AGO.

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

EVERYONE’S GOT DEAD PEOPLE IN THEIR HEADS, PEOPLE!

JAY

ONLY WE’RE THE LUCKY BASTARDS WHO CAN HEAR ‘EM.

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

THERE’S NO WAY TO MAKE ‘EM GO AWAY!

DAISY

NO MAGIC PILL, POTION, OR SERUM!

JAY

SO USE THEM TO YOUR ADVANTAGE IF YOU’RE NOT A LITTLE BITCH —

DR. MORELLO

Jay!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WE’RE ALL DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE

DAISY

AND THOUGH IT SOUNDS A BIT DARK,

WE’VE JUST INHERITED SOULS FROM PURE AND WHOLESOME

FOLKS WHO’D CLEAN UP LITTER IN THE PARK!

REMINGTON

OH, SO USE THEM TO YOUR ADVANTAGE SINCE THEY’RE ALL LITTLE BITCHES —

DR. MORELLO

No! WHAT JAY MEANT IS WE CAN LEARN FROM THEM.

YOU’LL FIND THEY’RE NO MYSTERY!

IF YOU

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

CONCENTRATE ON ONE WORD,

DR. MORELLO

YOU CAN UNLOCK A HISTORY.

WE’RE TIES BETWEEN GENERATIONS

WHO OBSERVE AND PRESERVE

THIS SOUL’S UNTAINTED PURITY

SO WE GET THE NEXT LIFE WE DESERVE!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WHEN YOU’RE DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

No pressure, but your past lives all were really good...

WE’RE SORTA RARE, SO WE’D SORTA CARE

TO NOT GO EXTINCT...UNDERSTOOD?

DR. MORELLO

SO WE ALL CONSIDER BEING MORE SELFLESS...

JAY

NOTE THE KEY WORD THERE IS “CONSIDER”!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

WHEN YOU’RE DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

YOU’RE WORKING FOR A HIGHER PURPOSE!

THERE’S SO MUCH MORE TO EXPLORE;

WE’VE BARELY SCRATCHED THE SURFACE!

BUT, BEFORE WE START, HERE’S THE MILLION DOLLAR QUESTION...

DR. MORELLO

How many voices are in your head?

REMINGTON

Eleven.

DAISY

Holy shit.

JAY

Are you sure you’ve counted right?

REMINGTON

Yeah, I’m fucking sure I’ve counted right after 18 years of counting! What’s so weird about eleven?

JAY

Nothing. You just beat my record of ten.

REMINGTON

SO I GUESS I’M A

DEAD-PERSONS-IN-MY-HEAD PERSON!

I’M GLAD TO BE JOINING THE TEAM.

I’LL TRY TO CALMLY ACCEPT I’M AN ANOMALY

AND NOT FEAR-PUKE OR SCREAM!

I’M READY TO GET STARTED WITH THIS THERAPY!

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

Yeah!

SHE’S A DEAD-PERSONS-IN-HER-HEAD PERSON

JAY

Having eleven isn’t problematic at all!

DAISY

SHUT UP, YOU CUCK!

PETER

IT’S JUST OUR LUCK

THAT YOUR PARENTS GAVE ME THAT CALL

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

‘CAUSE NOW, YOU’RE HERE WITH US!

ALL

AND WE’RE ALL

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE!

EACH HOUSING A VERY NICE SOUL.

THOUGH WE’VE GOT DIFFERENT NUMBERS,

WE’RE ALL PARTS OF A WHOLE!

DR. MORELLO

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

DR. MORELLO/JAY

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE,

DR. MORELLO/JAY/DAISY

DEAD-PEOPLE-IN-YOUR-HEAD PEOPLE...

REMINGTON

THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN MY HEAD!

DR. MORELLO/JAY/DAISY

OH YES, THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

WHY STRESS? THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

GOD BLESS! THERE’S DEAD PEOPLE IN HER HEAD!

#transcript #px11 #perfect times eleven #Remington long #Rupert morello #jay mazziotta #daisy noxx #episode 1

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 years ago

Text

Witness : 25

Seeing Red

new moodboard created by @jessicagoddamnjones Thanks to them and to anyone who wants to create one of their own or some art, I would be eternally grateful. You all are so amazing!

Character(s): dark!Bucky, dark!Steve, too

Masterlist

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

In this chapter, no major warning.

Summary: The Reader lashed out.

Notes: So a bit late in posting today. It was a rough night for me. I spent half of it sleepless due to a severe anxiety attack. I was not doing well at all my dude. Now I'm feeling a bit more stable, thank god I have a day off finally. The good news it I did finish a fic for tomorrow before I went to bed and sunk into existential dread so yay for that. Also Happy Together will have another chapter on Friday. Let's move past me, I love you all. Thanks for following. I'm still pepping myself up to write the last one or two chapters to this series overall but we're on a good track here. This would be nothing without you guys. For real. You've made this series so special to me and I can't thank you enough. <3

Please, reblog and or reply with your thoughts!! I’ll see you in the next one. :)

When you woke, your throat was scratchy and your head felt as if it was being crushed. You could hear voices and they slowly drew you back to the surface, your eyes fluttering open as your head lolled towards the sound. You were strewn across the bed as two figures stood a few feet away; arguing.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Bucky growled, “You could’ve fucking killed her!”

“I know what I’m doing. She’s fine,” Steve returned sharply. “Besides, what do you care? I mean, it’s not like there aren’t other woman out there you could train just as easily.”

“And start over?” Bucky scoffed, “You ever think I get tired of cleaning up your messes. I shouldn’t have ever told you about her. I should’ve kept her to myself.”

“Ha, I would’ve had her on her knees eventually and you know it,” Steve mocked, “I always do.”

“She’s not another one of your toys, Steve,” Bucky was royally pissed. You actually hadn’t heard him in such a state. Sure he was direct but he was never so venomous. “She’s mine and I plan on keeping her for more than a couple months.”

“Oh, yeah? You think this one will last a whole year?” Steve turned and neared the bed, looking over you. “She’s awake.” He made to get back on the bed but Bucky caught his shoulder.

“No, you’re done,” He pulled him back, inserting himself between Steve and the bed frame. “She’s done for the night.”

“Oh, come on,” Steve sneered, “I didn’t even get to finish.”

“Do it yourself,” Bucky crossed his arms, “Not my fault you can’t fucking control yourself. Now get dressed and go.”

A heavy sigh sounded followed by a grunt of frustration. A momentary stand off permeated with tense silence before Steve finally backed off. He dressed wordlessly, only pausing at the door to look at you prone across the bed. He winked as you lifted your head to watch him and left with an air of triumph. You dropped your head back to mattress and moaned, touching your neck daintily.

“Fuck,” Bucky settled beside you on the bed, carefully moving your hand to examine your neck. “You’ll have to cover those up.”

You coughed as you tried to speak, brushing his hand away from you and rolling over so your back was to him. His words echoed in your head;‘You could’ve killed her’. He had almost sat there and watched you die. Well, what did you expect? Upon your first meeting he had promised your demise if you did not go along with his perversion. Shit, you were in some demented sex bunker, only a moment ago letting yourself be used like a sex doll. That’s all you were, really.

“Let me take you home,” His hand was on your shoulder. It wasn’t the cold vibranium you were used to. “Y/N,” He wasn’t calling you a good girl or bad girl, he was actually speaking to you as if you were a person. “Come on. Let’s get dressed and get you out of here.”

You didn’t say anything but sat up, slipping away from his reach as you hid the tears at the corner of your eyes. Even if you thought you’d been able to summon your voice, you didn’t know what you could say. Anything that did come to mind would earn you a punishment and you had little faith that this moment of empathy would last if you provoked him. You just wanted to go home. You wanted to be away from him.

When you were dressed minus your ruined panties, Bucky opened the door and led you up into the evening chill. You shivered as you sat in his car, his eyes lingering on you as you tried to ignore him. He started the car, driving in silence as you stewed in anger and humiliation. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly, his eyes glued to the road. You just stared out the window, no response. “Now, Y/N, what did I say about answering me when I speak?” It was a weak warning but you didn’t want to test it.

“What do you care?” A painful hiss shredded your battered throat. “If I don't answer, what then? You going to make me suck your dick again? I'd rather get out and walk.”

“I understand you're upset so I'll let that slide,” His tone was surprisingly placating, “I didn't mean for that to happen. Really. Steve is just--”

“My car is still at the office,” You interrupted, “You can just drop me off there.”

“No, I'll drive you in the morning,” He insisted, “Are you hungry?”

You eyed him darkly. You shook your head looked back to the window. “After that?”

“I guess not…” He said awkwardly, a new silence rose between you.

The rest of the ride was thick with anger and unsaid words. Bucky followed you into your building but you didn't acknowledge his presence, hoping he would just go away. You wondered why he was even sticking around. Perhaps he still had some torture planned. You slammed your purse on the counter and leaned against it. You touched your throat as you listened to his footsteps move around your apartment. The muffled grind of the faucet sounded and water splashed against porcelain.

“I ran a bath for you,” Bucky came up and sat on the stool beside you, “I can make you some tea.”

You looked at him like he was growing grass on his head. This was weird. He was being weird. You blinked at him dumbly and shook your head. “No...thank you.” You backed away from him, irritated by his uncharacteristic demeanour. To act so kind after he had watched another fuck you like some lifeless doll. “You don't have to do all this. You can just go. I'd prefer it if you did.”

He exhaled deeply and stood. “Alright,” He sounded almost submissive. He passed you on his way to the door, turning back as he twisted the handle. His mouth opened as of he wanted to say something but he quickly thought better of it and snapped his lips shut. You watched the door close behind him, a scowl creasing your features as you locked it behind him.

You went to turn off the tap before the tub overflowed. You grabbed your phone from your bag before undressing, just then realizing how sore your entire body was. Your thighs ached, not to mention your ass, and your neck was starting to seize up. The muscles of your back were racked for the strained bend Steve had put in it during his excess. You dialed your mother's number as you lowered yourself into the steaming water, the ringtone droning endlessly until the voicemail answered.

“Hey, mom,” You croaked. You wished you had never moved away from her. All this would never have happened. “I just wanted to say that...I miss you.” You stared at the tiles and sniffed, “I love you.”

You hit end and set aside your phone, sinking into the water, languishing there until you were pruny and cold. You wrapped yourself in a towel, your reflection stopping you before you could leave the washroom. Your neck was dappled with bruises in the shape of Steve's thick fingers and there was a burst blood vessel in your cheek. You backed away from the mirror and scurried to your room, falling onto the bed as you tried to smother the rising tears. It would never end.

You figured that Bucky would approve of the turtleneck you wore the next morning to hide the bruises. A little concealer over the burst blood vessel and you looked like a real human being. When you grabbed your keys you recalled that you were missing the part which would make them useful. Your phone vibrated and a private number blipped up with a text attached. ‘Downstairs’.

You made no haste in meeting Bucky, shuffling carelessly to his car and dropping into the seat like a sack of bricks. He glanced over at you, his hand gripping the wheel. He nodded in approval of the snug collar poking out from beneath your jacket. You kept your eyes ahead and waited for him to put his foot on the pedal.

“I'm leaving today. Me and Steve have a mission,” He stated flatly, “We're gone at noon.”

“Okay,” You answered quietly, unsure of how else to respond.

“It'll give you time to recover,” He said plainly, “I know last night was difficult. Not just for you, you know?”

“Yeah, I'm sure it was very hard for you,” You huffed, doing nothing to hide your irritation.

“I'm going to talk to Steve. It won't happen again,” He explained, “And if he doesn't want to play along he's not gonna play at all.”

“Oh wow, thanks,” You said with as much salt as you could muster. “You're fucked, dude. Really. At this point you may as well just kill me. I mean this whole thing started because I was afraid but you know what, it can't be worse than this.”

Bucky's nostrils flared but he said nothing. He pulled up to the tower and into the parking garage. You got out of the car and made for the stairs only to find Bucky's metal arm blocking your path. “This is your pass. Watch the way you speak to me.”

“Fuck your pass,” You made to shove past him but he caught you around the waist and pressed you to the car. His chest rose and fell, his blue eyes alight.

“I'm sorry,” He gritted out, “Okay?” He released you roughly as your head spun at his words. He raised his hands and backed away.

He apologized to you? You drew your brows together, looking away from him as you spoke quietly. “If you were sorry, you would've stopped by now.” You turned and this time he didn’t stop you, your heels echoing up the steps.

tags: @they-call-me-le @holylulusworld @petit-funsize @alexakeyloveloki @ladyofmyst @kellyn1604 @thelostallycat @grayxswan @collette04 @butteryoptimisticpeanut @buckycaptspideypool @blackpantherimagines @lilithhellfire @captainfreecandyvan @spaghettyrogers @phoenix21love @sathlens @iheartsebastianstan

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platonicone · 5 years ago

Text

Devotion - Story of the Oracle and her Shield

Chapter 28 - The warmth of cold

What can melt a frozen heart? I wonder…

It was 7 a.m. and he was already up and running. As soon as he stepped out of his room, a medic was standing there with his medicine in hand. Knowing that medic was simply following Luna’s order, there was no point in arguing with him. He took his pills and made his way to the manor gates.

The silver-blond woman showed up a few minutes later. He looked at Aranea and she wore a long fur-lined black coat and a muted red scarf with matching fingerless gloves. The zipper of her jacket has a large round accessory with a red gem. Her long-heeled boots matched her leather trousers.

“Aren’t you overdressed?” he asked, as she approached closer.

“No, dummy, you are underdressed. Go back and put on more layers of clothes. It is below freezing where we are going.”

“I think I should be fine,” he brushed it off.

“I can’t take any chances. Your girlfriend would kill me if you get hypothermia,” she exclaimed.

“For the last time, Luna is not my girlfriend,” he shook his head.

“Who said anything about Luna? You brought her up. The proper response should have been, ‘I am an emo loaner and I don’t have a girlfriend.’” She smirked.

“Ugh. I hate you,” he moaned.

“Aww sweetie, I hate you too,” she replied, playfully punching on his arm.

“Whatever,” both Squall and Aranea said at the same time.

“So predictable,” she caroled in a singsong voice. He just ignored her.

“Now go put on some more clothes while I raid the pantry,” she instructed, walking in the manor.

Once ready, they made their way towards the railway station.

“Are we going by train?” Squall asked.

“No, we are going in that,” she pointed at an imperial airship.

“Is that safe?” he asked with concern.

“There is no place safer than that. It is my airship,” she proclaimed.

“Wow!” He marveled at the state-of-the-art airship.

“Hello Lady A,” welcomed Biggs, as they entered the airship.

“Hello Biggs and Wedge,” she greeted her loyal companions. Wedge just nodded in response.

‘Hmm. Biggs and Wedge, these names sound familiar.’ He wondered.

“Thank you so much for taking care of things at Lucis.”

“It’s our pleasure lady A,” Biggs replied courteously.

Everyone saluted her as she walked into the ship.

“You never told me your rank,” Squall noted.

“Because it’s not important,” she brushed it off. “But if you must know, I am the commodore of the Niflheim Empire's Third Army Corps 86th Airborne Unit.”

“Impressive,” he admitted.

This airship was the first time Squall got a close look at Imperial technology. It was a scientific marvel. The airship’s thrusters roared, and within seconds they were soaring in the sky.

They were barely a few klicks away from Tenebrae when the entire landscape changed. The lush green terrain was replaced with layers and layers of unending snow. The temperature dropped sharply.

“What’s our mission?” he asked, looking outside from the window at a frozen snowscape.

“To retrieve a legendary item called Frozen Tear,” she stated.

“What’s so special about it?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. The legend has it that whenever Shiva suffers immense pain, a tear escapes her eyes and due to the extreme cold, it is crystallized instantly. It is said that the luster of this Frozen Tear would put a thousand diamonds to shame. Niflheim retrieved one such tear when they killed Shiva,” Aranea informed.

“One of our scouts reported observing Frozen Tear on Shiva’s corporeal body. We will go check it out and if it’s true, we will grab it for ourselves before Niflheim can get their hands on it,” she briefed.

“But, aren’t you working for Niflheim?”

“It’s complicated,” she stated, clearing a strand of hair on her face.

The snowstorm outside was intensifying with every passing second.

“Lady A, we won’t be able to go much further because of this snowstorm. You would have to get there on a snowmobile from here,” informed Biggs.

“That is fine. You can drop us here,” Aranea agreed to the plan.

“Alright, lowering the altitude,” he announced to the crew.

“Your snowmobile is in the hanger,” Wedges informed.

Aranea nodded and got up from her seat. Squall followed her as well. She opened the door connecting the cabin and the hanger and made her way in.

Squall stepped in and looked at the snowmobile. It was a military grade snowmobile with a high-caliber machine gun mounted on it. He noticed a strange carving near the bottom of the vehicle. He crouched down to inspect. It had Trepe etched into it.

“That’s the name of my snowmobile,” Aranea revealed, looking at his quizzical expression.

‘Trepe, where have I heard that name before?’ He wondered.

“I did not know you liked to give names to objects,” he pointed.

“Shut it, scar-face.”

“What is this ship called?” he inquired.

“It’s called Save the Queen. I am not very sentimental about names, but having names makes things easier to locate,” she reasoned.

“Strange choice for a ship name,” he remarked.

She just shrugged. “The crew came up with it.”

Once Squall got up from examining the snowmobile, Aranea handed him something. “Take this pill.”

“What is it?” he asked, inspecting the red gel pill.

“This pill would prevent body temperature from dropping down even in extreme conditions. A mad scientist named Dr. Verstael created it when we fought against Shiva.”

‘There was a mad scientist in my world, but for some reason, I can picture him wearing clown’s clothes. Weird.’ His mind recollected a distant memory.

Squall took the pill and swallowed it quickly.

“Lady A, this is as far as we can go. Let me know when you are ready and I’ll open the hanger,” said the overhead voice of Biggs.

“Can I drive?” Squall asked with the eagerness of a child.

“I know this terrain better, so I’ll drive. How about you ride it on the way back?” she offered.

“Deal,” he accepted, reluctantly.

After sitting properly on their snowmobile, Aranea gave the signal to open the hanger.

A cold wind rushed in as soon as the hangar door opened.

“Ready to go?” she asked, glancing back at him from the corner of her eyes.

“Always,” he replied, giving a thumbs up.

She glided her snowmobile, Trepe, from the hangar onto the snow. The snowmobile landed, sending puffs of snow in all directions.

“We go north from here,” she declared, looking at the inbuilt compass next to the speedometer. “Also, brace yourself for the cold.”

“Where are we?” he asked, looking at their surroundings. Everywhere he looked was just a sea of white snow.

“We are in Ghorovas Rift within the region of Vogliupe. This is a treacherous icy terrain enveloped in a perpetual blizzard,” she informed.

They went at slow speed for a while, which made Squall wonder if that was the max capacity of the snowmobile.

“Ready for some thrill?” She asked, breaking the silence.

Before Squall could even respond, Aranea floored the accelerator and zoomed away. Squall didn’t know if he should be thrilled or scared.

The frostbite and the chilly wind felt like it was cutting through the skin, yet the speed at which they were going gave a satisfying thrill. As the speed picked up, the adrenaline took over, giving them a thrill of their life. The snowmobile seemed to glide on the snow almost frictionless.

In spite of low visibility because of the blizzard, they were now close enough to see the giant corporal body of Shiva.

Aranea suddenly braked hard, causing her snowmobile to spin a couple of times. Squall barely held on as it spun out of control, eventually coming to a stop.

“What happened?” he asked, breathless.

“Daemons,” she growled, narrowing her eyes.

Squall immediately looked around, but could not see any threat. “I don’t see any daemons,” he stated.

“Not around you, look beneath you,” she instructed, jumping off the snowmobile.

He looked down, and the snow started to shift on its own. Suddenly, hordes of Snaga came out all around them. The 4 ft monster was relatively weak, but what it lacks in strength they made up with overwhelming numbers.

“Be careful, they like to steal potions from people,” Aranea warned.

Both being seasoned fighters made the fight easier. After clearing the horde of Snaga with relative ease, they continued their journey deeper into the blizzard.

The path got narrower through the snow-covered woods as they progressed, eventually to the point where the trail was just wide enough for their snowmobile.

They soon came to a stop, as the only path forward was blocked off by fallen trees. They got off their vehicles to clear out the path, only to be ambushed by Wraith. It was a 9 ft tall macabre daemon that levitates. It kept its victims at arm's length to grapple and squeeze the very life from its prey.

They were surrounded by 10 Wraith, shutting down any chance of escaping. They closed in on them slowly as both warriors stood there with weapons ready to strike.

“Any bright ideas?” Squall asked.

“Wraiths are slow-moving. If we hit them from the back, we can link up our attacks.”

“You go, I’ll distract them.”

Aranea nodded and with one high jump disappeared from the sight and landed a few feet behind the Wraiths.

Squall released a salvo of bullets from his gunblade at multiple Wraiths enraging them. Some rushed towards him for a physical attack while others targeted him with a magical attack. Squall deflected all physical attacks and used other Wraiths as the cover to dodge the magical attacks.

“Incoming at 6 o’clock,” declared Aranea, preparing a high jump attack.

Squall knew what she meant and replied, “Ready.”

Aranea’s attack the Wraith directly behind Squall and he capitalized on that vulnerability to execute his link attack, Relentless Revolver. Together they decimated the Wraith in one conjoined attack.

Aranea jumped back to create some separation between her and wraiths while Squall drew their attention.

“3,” he heard Aranea say.

“Okay,” he stated, giving the signal to attack.

The Wraith to the right of Squall was decimated next.

Leon and Luna made a balanced team with one focusing on offense and the other providing the defense. Squall and Aranea, on the other hand, were an all-out offensive team, that could devastate the mightiest of foes. They were like a well-oiled machine working in perfect synchronization.

Knowing the fighting excellence of Aranea, Squall never had to worry about protecting her as he knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself, which made it different from fighting with Luna. Aranea had the same trust in Squall’s abilities, which made them a fierce team.

One after another, they picked off all the Wraiths and continued their journey further.

“This used to be a holy site. Pilgrims from all over Eos would come here to pay tribute to the Goddess of Ice. In M.E. 745, Niflheim slew the awakened Astral Shiva, leaving her gigantic corpse lying in the gorge. A strange phenomenon turned part of the desert wasteland into a dark icy landscape ever since. We lost many lives that day. It is said that those fallen soldiers became daemons and haunt these very grounds,” she explained.

“You mean to say that the Wraith we slay back there were people once?”

“Yes. It changes the whole perspective of the fight, doesn't it?”

“Yeah.”

“Niflheim has started converting civilians into demons to gain an advantage in the battlefield. I don’t agree with that practice. I signed up for the military so I could protect those who can’t protect themselves, not for this. I’ve been thinking about quitting and going back to being a mercenary. But I do love my country too. I am not really sure what to do anymore,” Aranea narrated.

“I see,” he replied, sounding uninterested.

“Is that all you are going to say?”

“What am I supposed to say about other people’s problems?” he replied callously.

“You know are such an ass sometimes. When someone shares their problems, they are expecting you to either console or advise them. And not be indifferent about it,” she chided him.

“I am sorry. I wasn’t trying to be indifferent towards your problem. I just didn’t think that my opinion on this matter would have swayed your decision,” he revealed.

“Why would I ask your opinion if it didn’t matter to me, dumbass? You are my friend, of course, your opinion matters,” she urged.

“Ask yourself, would you be able to do more good by staying with the Empire or against them? If you stay with the Empire, you get information on their movements, research, and can protect civilians. As long as you have something worth protecting, I think you should stay,” he counseled.

“See, was it so difficult to just share your thoughts? You think too much and never say enough, that’s why that scowl never leaves your face. Sharing your thoughts is a necessity in a healthy relationship,” she advised.

“Ya, you are probably right,” he acknowledged.

Once again silence accompanied them as they moved on.

“You haven't said anything, is my charm making you nervous?” she joked, breaking the silence.

“Oh please,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Squall. Is there something on your mind?” Aranea asked.

“Not really,” he replied.

“Not really,” she said, almost in sync with Squall. She broke into giggles.

“What's so funny?” he asked, getting annoyed.

“Funny? No, no, it's not that! I'm just happy. I feel like I'm finally beginning to understand you a little. That's all,” she stated, clasping her hands.

“I'm more complex than you think.” He folded his hands and looked away like a child.

“Then tell me. Tell me more about yourself,” she appealed.

“It's none of your...”

“...Business!” she finished his line and started laughing once again.

“You are annoying,” he fumed, before walking ahead.

They cleared out another horde of Wraiths as they got closer to the fallen Shiva.

“We should walk from here,” she instructed as snow intensified. “Welcome to the resting place of Shiva.”

The cold wind amplified with every step they took towards Shiva. The visibility dropped greatly as the snowstorm picked up. They had to put a hand in front of their face so snow doesn’t go into their eyes directly. The corporeal form of Shiva was hundreds of feet tall. She lay on the ground froze in time. Her entire body was submerged in the snow with her upper torso visible. The expression on her face was of pain and anguish.

Once they got close enough, Aranea shined a laser on Shiva’s face.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“This is a special laser which would refract from a prism. Using this, I am trying to locate the Frozen Tear.”

She had been scanning her face for a few minutes, but she did not locate the legendary treasure. She was starting to believe it was a myth.

“Let me try,” Squall appealed, finally getting tired of waiting in this extreme cold.

“If we don’t find it in the next two minutes, we leave,” she declared, handing him the laser.

The two minutes had gone by and even Squall wasn’t able to find anything.

“We should go now. This was a waste of time,” she complained.

Just as he was retreating the light away from Shiva’s face, Aranea noticed something shinning.

“Wait, I got it. I saw something shining just as you were retreating the light. It was somewhere around her left eye.”

Squall scanned the area carefully. Finally, a rainbow-colored pattern was formed at the edge of her eyes because of refraction from prism-like Frozen Tear. Shiva’s hair covered the edge of her left eye, masking the tear.

“This is awesome,” Aranea exclaimed. “I’ll go get it.”

She tossed her spear towards Shiva and warped there. Her warping was different than the ones Lucian soldiers used, it left a red trail behind indicating magitek use in it.

She proclaimed the mythical treasure while Squall stood there wondering what it would feel like to warp.

“We got it, Squall,” she proclaimed, hugging or rather tackling Squall in excitement.

Squall pushed her off and got up first, “Good. Now, let’s get out of this frozen hell.”

As they were making their way towards the snowmobile, a hailstorm of snow flew in their direction as something huge landed with a thud. They turned around and a 46 ft tall demon awaited them.

“I was wondering where did the Deathclaw go?” Aranea said with an eerie excitement.

Deathclaw had a bulky bone structure. Its name stems from the giant talons on both of its arms. Fighting one is said to equivalent to tempting death itself.

“Let’s get the party started,” she said, readying her spear.

“Aren’t you excited to see him? Your boyfriend?” he suggested.

“No, based on the looks, it must be your relative.” She retorted.

“Whatever,” he said, as he launched into the daemon.

“Squall, be careful of its laser attack,” she warned as she took the aerial route.

Squall unloaded a round of bullets as he ran towards the monster, but it barely flinched. Aranea landed on top of him, impaling her spear, but it shrugged her off.

Both the warriors took turns attacking it from either end, not giving it enough time to use its deadly laser.

A few Wraiths and Snaga emerged from the snow, joining the fray. This distraction gave Deathclaw enough time to conjure its magical laser attacks. The rays spun around it and flew out in straight lines, damaging anything in its path.

Because of snow, Squall’s mobility was severely limited and was unable to dodge the attack in time taking the brunt of the damage.

Aranea landed behind him and healed him with a potion. “Told you to be careful.”

“Sometimes pain brings the best out of you. Here goes, Renzokuken,” he unleashed his limitbreak and followed it up by the Blasting zone causing enormous damage to the beast.

“Not bad. Now watch this,” she jumped and disappeared from the sight and landing square on the Deathclaw with great impact. Her technique, Highwind, was equally effective as Squall’s limitbreak.

The game of one-upmanship carried on as both tried to outdo the other. Which was great for them, but not for the beast.

The Deathclaw created some separation from them and drew its claws together to form a single large laser beam. By now they were familiar with the attack pattern, so they dodged it expertly. However, the powerful laser beam had landed on their snowmobile and bore a hole through the fuel chamber.

Aranea was closer to the snowmobile noticed fuel leaking from the vehicle, “Shit.”

“Squall we need to run,” she yelled.

Squall, who was engaged in close range combat with the beast was oblivious to what had just transpired. “We can defeat this. I got this, don’t worry.”

“Squall, Trepe was hit by the laser attack and our fuel tank is damaged. We have to retreat before all the fuel leaks out.”

“Damn, without snowmobile we would freeze to death walking all the way back,” he realized.

“Come on, hurry,” she urged.

Squall landed one fierce blow on Deathclaw causing it to stumble back. He used this opening to dash toward the snowmobile. Aranea of her part was ready to drive away as soon as Squall gets there.

The snow made it very difficult to run as his feet would sink in the snow with each step he took. Deathclaw had recovered enough by now and started chasing Squall.

Squall was trying his best to run as fast as he can, but the Deathclaw was catching up quickly. “I am not going to make it, you leave and come back for me when you can. I’ll defeat this and find shelter somewhere,” he yelled, running towards Aranea.

“Did anyone tell you that you give out stupid ideas sometimes? I am not leaving you here to die in this cold. Your pill would wear out in a few hours and without it, you would be a statue like Shiva.”

“Come on, be pragmatic,” he urged before turning around and shooting Deathclaw a few times.

“I am not telling your girlfriend that you died under my watch, she would kill me,” Aranea replied.

“Stop being annoying and listen for once. I’ll find a way to survive, trust me.” He commanded.

“Stop being stubborn and listen for once. You don’t have to be a hero every time.” She countered.

The Deathclaw pounced on Squall and he parried its attack in time. He fought with Deathcalw again to damage it enough to create some separation. They were losing fuel with every passing second.

After sufficiently damaging the daemon Squall ran again. He was getting close to the vehicle when Deathclaw got up and lunged itself towards Squall. The demon was right behind him now, he could sense its breath. It raised a claw to take a swipe at Squall when it was impaled with bullets.

Aranea was manning the machine gun on the snowmobile, unloading on Deathclaw. He ran. The monster chased him. And a friend impaled it with bullets to save him. It all felt like a déjà vu.

“You drive, I’ll take care of this,” she instructed.

Squall hopped in the driver’s seat and they sped away while Aranea shoots at the Deathclaw, keep it at bay.

Soon they were out of a narrow trail and into the open and seemingly endless field of snow. They speed away as the fuel gauge was almost empty. Soon the snowmobile came to a standstill.

“Not good. We still have a long way to go. It would take us hours to get to the airship on foot.”

“The sun will set in a few minutes,” he added, further complicating their situation.

“Biggs, can you hear me?” she asked, tapping her communication earpiece. She waited but got no response.

“I think we are still out of range,” she admitted, disappointingly.

“Then let’s keep walking towards it till we get in range,” he suggested and starting to walk.

Neither of them said much as they pondered for a solution for their precarious situation. Considering their distance from Shiva, the chill wind was relatively bearable now, although visibility remained low because of the blizzard.

Aranea kept testing her earpiece frequently, but she got no response. After 20 minutes of walking, Aranea finally connected with Biggs.

“Biggs, can you hear me?”

“Lady A, there is a lot of background noise, I can barely hear you,” replied Biggs. The gushing wind in the background drowned out her voice.

“Squall, can you stay quiet please?” she turned around and said to him.

“What? I haven’t said anything!” he defended, taken by surprise.

“I know, I am just messing with you,” Aranea said with a grin.

“You are insane to be joking at times like this,” he complained, with a facepalm.

“Biggs, Trepe broke down and we are stranded, can you send a rescue team please?”

“All I heard was Biggs, breakdance and rescue,” Biggs relayed to Wedge.

“What? That makes no sense. Let me talk,” said Wedge, taking Biggs’ earpiece.

“Lady A, this is Wedge. Can you please repeat yourself?”

“I said Trepe broke down and we are stranded, can you send a rescue team please?”

“Lady A, we can barely hear you. Can you try from a different location please?”

“Okay,” she resigned.

“What did they say?” inquired Squall.

“They can barely hear me,” she cited, as she marched in the direction of the airship. After walking for 10 more minutes, the wind had slowed down considerably.

“Can you hear me now?” she inquired.

“Yes, Lady A, we can hear you loud and clear,” came the reply from Biggs, who had taken his earpiece back from Wedge.

“Trepe broke down so we are walking towards the ship.”

Biggs tracked her location using the inbuilt GPS in her earpiece.

“Lady A, you are a considerable distance away from the ship. I can dispatch a rescue team but it will be nightfall by the time they get there.”

“What are my options?” she questioned.

“We can dispatch teams to escort you back here. We’ll have to fight daemons on the way back,” he offered.

“No, that would be reckless. We might lose some men if we do that,” she disputed.

“Your safety is our priority, Lady A,” Biggs argued.

“And to keep my crew safe is mine,” she replied instantly.

“But Lady A we--”

“My decision is final. You are not to dispatch any rescue team at this hour.” Her commanding tone left no room for argument.

“Then what can we do?” Biggs asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, unsure.

Squall chimed in, “Aranea you mentioned that this used to be a trail for pilgrims, right?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Then shouldn’t there be heaven somewhere?” Squall wondered aloud.

“That’s a great idea! Who says you are dumb,” she said, playfully punching his arm.

“No one says that!” he replied, taking an offense.

“You get flustered so easily, it’s almost cute,” she replied with a laugh.

“You are unbelievable,” he hissed.

“Tell me about it,” she replied, with a playful wink.

“Whatever.”

“Guys, is there a haven nearby? This used to be a trail for pilgrims, there has to be a haven somewhere.” She inquired.

“Let us find out and get back to you on that,” Biggs responded.

Biggs frantically scanned the terrain to find any spot where they could get shelter. Wedges dug through the archive data for any clue.

It was over five minutes and she still heard nothing from them.

“Lady A, we found something,” announced Wedge, in an excited tone.

“There is an old haven by a thawed lake just two klicks east from your current location.”

“Great! We can spend the night there. You can send the rescue team at sunrise.”

“You got it, Lady A,” Biggs affirmed.

“What did they say?” Squall asked curiously.

“There is a haven two klicks east from here. If we hurry, we should be able to make it by the nightfall.”

“Let’s go then,” he said, walking in the east direction as the darkness was starting to take over.

Author's notes:

So, what do you think about this chapter? Let me know in your comments below. If you don't have much to say then at least say 'Hi' so I know someone is reading this. It would really brighten my day. Thanks :)

PS: I hope everyone is safe and healthy in this COVID-19 outbreak. Isolate and prevail. Introverts (like me) have mastered this skill lol

6 notes · View notes

epizkage · 5 years ago

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the first chapter of my good omens fic! its a uni au, the main ship is ineffable bureaucracy but there is also background ineffable husbands, hastur/ligur, and maybe future dagon/michael! i’ll be uploading this to ao3 tomorrow, as well as uploading a page of sketches for each chapter both on here and on my art insta. thank you for reading, im grateful for any feedback at all!! tagging as #ineffable neighbours on all platforms!! (here, ao3 and instagram!)

“Crowley, what the fuck?” Bee groaned, incredulous, as Crowley handed them another houseplant through the car window. They were sat in the passenger seat, knees near enough at their chest with how far forward the seat had been pushed, their lap and arms already full of plants which they may as well have been juggling in trying to make room for more.

“I have to bring all of them, Bee, they’ll be lonely if I don’t.” Crowley answered sincerely, handing them another, which Bee shoved rather frustratedly into one of the cupholders by the gear stick.

"Oh, don't worry about me-" Bee huffed sarcastically, taking the tray of mini cacti that Crowley handed them and sliding it onto the dashboard. "-I'll just be a fucking shelf, shall I? It's not like I wanted to say goodbye to our mothers or anything."

"Language, Bee!" Came their mum's joking voice, though from where Bee couldn't quite tell, their peripheral vision on both sides blocked by leaves and greenery.

"Yeah, Bee, language." Crowley mimicked petulantly, having the gall to try and hand them one last plant through the window only to be stopped by a string of very colourful curse words. Bee managed, after a lot of growling and swearing and heightening claustrophobia, to transplant the innumerable pots into the vacant driver's seat, swinging the car door open with enough vigour to nearly hit Crowley as they made their escape.

The tiny battered car was stuffed to the brim, back seats folded down to make room for two lots of possessions, Crowley and Bee's lives packed up into boxes and stacked in the world's most audacious game of Tetris, scraping the roof and blocking the back window entirely; sure to make Crowley's already terrible driving even worse.

"Arsehole." Bee scowled, stepping back from the car to join their parents on the pavement, all watching and doing nothing to help as Crowley attempted to strap a way-too-big suitcase to the roof.

"Don't call your brother an arsehole, dear." Their mama said jovially, nudging them in the side.

"He is a bit of one, though." Replied their mum - the other one - coming up to their other side. Bee smirked at the two of them, and busied themselves with rolling a cigarette.

"Oi!" Crowley called, turning to throw them all a faux-offended pout, ignoring the suitcase for just long enough for it to start sliding off the roof. At the sight of him frantically trying to stop it from either hitting the ground or smashing one of the car windows, Bee choked on a laugh and dropped the filter they'd been holding between their lips, figuring it was karma for laughing as Mama rushed to Crowley's aid.

"You could help, you know, dear sibling." Crowley yelled, way too loud for a quiet, late September morning, as he tightened the straps on the makeshift roof rack. The neighbours, inevitably, would talk amongst themselves - middle class businessmen asking "oh, aren't you glad that those bastard kids are finally going back to uni?" over a neat and orderly breakfast, wives responding "I never did understand them anyway, Karen mentioned Satanic witchcraft, but really I think they're just hippies." Maybe they'd even pop round with fake neighbourly intent, presenting the couple with a rehearsed spiel of "my Sophie left for uni again a few weeks ago, you don't appreciate the alone time until they come back!" and a horrid fake laugh when really all they were trying to do was nosey around and determine whether their neighbours were lesbians or just really good friends.

Really good friends, who shared a surname, raised children together, and held a garden party last year to renew their vows.

Bee ignored him and sparked up their cigarette. Both mothers shared a glance and rolled their eyes, and Crowley rounded the car to lean against it.

"Is that everything?"

Bee nodded through an exhale of smoke, and suddenly their parents had zoned in on them, Crowley being dragged into their huddle while Bee was made to extinguish their cigarette.

"Oh, we'll miss you, horrible children." Their mum laughed, pulling both Bee and Crowley into a tight hug and kissing them both, Bee on the crown of their head and Crowley on the cheek, before passing them off for Mama to do the same.

"We'll miss you both too." Crowley replied, his smile showing clearly all of the anxiety he was trying to keep hidden.

"Don't worry, kiddo-" Bee slapped him on the back as they spoke, a rare moment of genuine and open kindness flashing between them and making their mothers smile from ear to ear. "-Everyone's nice, you know that."

It was Crowley’s first year while Bee was going into their second, and Crowley was to move in with Bee and their friends that they’d met last year. Crowley had met them all before, too, even considering them friends of his own after spending a lot of time at Bee’s flat, though nothing could help keep the anxiety at bay.

Truth be told, the poor kid looked like he might cry, and so with a sigh Bee decided to take control.

“Come on, we gotta go, I’ve got all the keys and I don’t want Hastur or Dagon tearing into me for making them wait.”

Crowley looked understandably dejected, but nodded nonetheless, and with one last long family hug the two bundled into the car.

Bee got in first, bringing all of the plants back into their lap to make room for Crowley, who soon after slid into the driver’s seat, hands balled into fists on his thighs as he took a deep breath.

“It’ll be okay, kid.” Bee tried to be reassuring despite their voice sounding bored and their face being almost entirely blocked by plants, but Crowley smiled at them anyway.

“I know, it’ll just be weird to be so far away.”

Bee nodded with a hum, both of them waving goodbye to their mothers, before they set off for their new house-

-which was fifteen minutes away, in the city. ~

Crowley and Bee had managed to unpack the car and near enough move everything in before the first of their housemates even showed up, perfectly chaotic and exactly at the wrong time, as Crowley battled to fit the giant suitcase through the front door while Bee laid on the sofa and did nothing to help.

Her arrival was made known by three things: the sound of Britney Spears’ ‘Womanizer’ muffled through car windows and getting ominously closer until coming to a head as she pulled up, a crash as the aforementioned car hit the lamp post outside the house, and then a loud, blunt exclamation of “fuck.”

“Ah, Dagon’s here.”

She ran out of the car, leaving the engine on, door open and music still blasting, and gave Crowley a hard clap on the shoulder as she pushed past him and threw herself into Bee’s lap, only to be promptly deposited onto the floor.

“Aren’t you guys buzzed?” She grinned, red hair messy and falling into her face, partially covered by a black baseball cap that said “women want me, fish fear me” on the front.

“I was until you got here.” Bee fired back playfully, snatching the hat from Dagon’s head and shoving it on their own. It was way too big and the peak fell down over their eyes every time they moved, and they readjusted the size, quite intent on wearing it for the rest of the night, as they got up to help Dagon unpack her car.

Dagon had brought with her far too much of what she didn’t need and far too little of what she did; half of her car being taken up by a giant fish tank (“I’m going back home tomorrow to get them, I hope they don’t miss me too much.”) while the tiny suitcase on her passenger seat apparently held all of her clothes for the year. The music, still Britney Spears, was only turned off once Dagon had unloaded the car completely (as Bee and Crowley had discovered, she had created a playlist of every single Britney Spears song on Spotify), by which point many of the neighbours had already given them some rather distasteful looks from behind their net curtains.

With the playlist blaring again, now through a speaker upon Dagon’s insistence, the three of them had split up to investigate the house. The outside was irregular and dirty-white, made complete by a wooden door with chipped black paint and a half shiny, half rusted number six nailed to the wall. The inside was no better, old carpets and ragged papering complimenting holes in the plaster and rusty radiator pipes.

None of them had even bothered to look around the place before signing the contracts - an offer of cheap rent and ‘satisfactory’ facilities more than enough to sway them.

Bee had taken to the garden, itching for nicotine, and they extracted a cigarette from behind their ear, scattering loose tobacco through their mess of black hair and making no effort to even acknowledge it, let alone remove it.

The garden was small, narrow and void of greenery completely, except from a pitiful looking tree that looked more like a long twig that had been plunged into a patch of gravel than anything that had ever been remotely alive. The ground was plain concrete, mossy and damp and unappealing in every sense, resembling an alleyway more so than a garden. Bee thought it crunched nicely beneath their thick-soled boots as they walked, and that was enough for them.

They hopped up onto the shoddy brick wall that ran the length of the garden fence, almost barreling straight into the tree-that-once-was, and once they’d found their footing they paused to light their cigarette.

Crowley would be sure to try and bring the thing back to life, of that they were certain.

Eyeing the fence, Bee was sure that it would fall down before the year was up, what with the rot and knot-marks and holes between the panels; and they suppressed a laugh at the death-rattle it gave when they kicked it. They spared a glance over into their neighbour’s garden, and then their nosiness overcame them and they draped their arms over the fence entirely, wrinkling their nose a little at how nice next door seemed in comparison.

It was a wide, open space and the tiles on the ground looked brand new and almost shone under the early afternoon sun. Bee didn’t feel in the least bit bad about dropping cigarette ash all over them. In the middle was a patch of neat green grass, in the far corner a russet-painted shed, and the entire back fence was painted with a sunset-inspired mural.

Inside the house Bee saw a lone girl, busy packing things away into the wall units in the kitchen. Bee found themselves very intrigued, her deep brown skin flawless and shining with a rich gold highlighter that caught the sun every time she moved, and she wore a loose, ruffled white shirt that flowed with her movements and made her look like an angel.

For someone so seemingly put-together, she’d sure picked a rough neighbourhood to live in.

Bee stopped staring, then, and as they turned to duck down behind the fence to finish their cigarette they met eyes with Crowley, making his way out of the back door to join them.

“Dagon’s setting up her tank," He waved vaguely behind him as he spoke, up on his tiptoes to peer eagerly over the fence.

"What's next door like?"

"Nice." Bee replied genuinely with a nod, waiting for Crowley's hum of approval before continuing. "When's your boy moving in?"

Crowley choked, and Bee snickered when his face flushed almost as red as his hair.

He had started dating a boy named Aziraphale, though Crowley would only ever call him Ezra, Zira, or Angel, over the summer, having met online and hit it off in a fresher's group chat for their university.

"Weird name." Bee had commented, and then had immediately taken it back upon remembering that their legal name had very nearly been Beelzebub.

The two had met up a few times, and soon become an official item. Bee could still vividly remember the absolute joy on Crowley's face when he'd found out that, arguably through some sort of divine intervention, Zira would be living just next door when term time started.

Who else he was living with, however, Bee and Crowley hadn't the faintest. All Zira had said was that there were four of them, two second years and two first years, and all of them had met through family friends, university societies and extra curricular youth groups. Nerds.

"Uh, h-he-" Crowley cleared his throat, removing his sunglasses as if it'd help him think better, brown eyes so light they almost shone yellow darting this way and that but never meeting Bee's own. "-He should be here tomorrow, or the day after."

Bee smirked at him, quirking an eyebrow.

"You'll have to introduce us.”

Crowley very quickly brushed it off with an awkward nod.

“What do you think the rest of ‘em will be like?”

Bee finished their cigarette and stubbed out the end on the wall, little ashy embers flying back at them as they flicked the filter in the general direction of the drain by the back door.

‘Get something to put your dock ends in-’ Bee reminded themselves as they followed Crowley back through to the living room. ‘-Asshole. Think of the planet.’

“Insufferable, probably.” Bee shrugged, leaning back against the sofa and crossing one leg over their knee, their foot beginning to twitch and shake out of habit. They decided not to mention the girl they’d seen in the kitchen, knowing full well that Crowley would mislay the information to Dagon, who in turn would mislay it to Hastur, over-exaggerated and not at all true stories of Bee and the mystery girl somehow being an item forming from nothing more than boredom and a need for drama.

“Yeah, probably.” Crowley’s reply was half-hearted, paying no real attention as he instead stared down at his phone.

“Zira likes them, though, so I’m sure they’re nice enough.”

Bee made no effort to reply, but if they had, it would’ve been cut off. First by a crash, followed immediately by the second customary exclamation of “fuck” of the day.

It was beginning to feel like home already.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanart #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #ineffable neighbours #my writing

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jarienn972 · 5 years ago

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A Simple Spell - Chapter Eight

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

I’m a tiny bit late getting this latest chapter of my @cssns story posted this evening but I'm going to try my best to get back on track with posting updates every other Monday as long as the real world doesn't get too crazy.

The last chapter had Emma reacting to learning she was related to the Mills sisters, angrily lashing out at Regina about keeping such a huge secret from her before getting drunk and having a heartfelt talk about it with Killian. As she settled in to sleep off too much rum, Killian was rendered unconscious by an invisible attacker. This chapter picks up the next morning and by the end of this installment, you'll have a good idea who the real villain of this tale is and an inkling of what Emma has gotten herself into.

As always, I want to thank the event organizers for all of their hard work. Definitely looking forward to the completion of all of this year’s stories and for the newly announced 2020 event! I also want to extend huge thank yous again to @lassluna for all of her help as a beta reader and to @cocohook38 for the incredible art work featured in the header.

Catch up from the beginning on AO3, FF.net or here on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

The morning sunlight filtering through the break room mini blinds was every bit as unpleasant as Emma had expected when it hit that perfect angle to land directly on her face. Her head throbbed from her over-indulgence in rum last night, but she had no one to blame but herself. Tossing the blanket unceremoniously over the back of the sofa, she pushed herself up to a sitting position just as a somewhat bewildered Graham strolled in to brew his morning coffee.

"Emma? What are you doing here?" he asked, face scrunched in confusion. "Did you sleep here?"

"Yeah," she replied groggily as she stretched and forced her feet to the floor. She stood up to find the room only spinning slightly but increasing her nausea. "Had a little familial disagreement so after a few drinks with a friend, I came here to sleep it off."

"Must have been one rough night…"

"You don't even want to know…" she insisted as she made her way into the locker room in search of a change of clothing. She'd learned a long time ago to always keep a clean shirt and a pair of jeans on hand for emergencies. This way, she knew she had something available to make herself feel a little more human and look at tad more presentable before she embarked on her quest to confront those who'd kept her mother's real identity a secret from her. "Are you making coffee?" she called out to Graham as she changed from yesterday's attire.

"Just starting it now."

"Think you can make it extra strong?"

"I think I can manage that," Graham replied as he fished two mugs out of the cabinet mounted above the break room sink. He placed the mugs on the counter, knowing better than to ask anything else about her night. He'd slept off his own drunken benders in some unusual places too, so before switching on the coffee pot, he removed the bottle of aspirin that they kept in the cabinet and placed it next to her mug. He knew she'd appreciate it.

Emma emerged a few minutes later sporting a clean, rust colored tee shirt and blue jeans, eagerly inhaling the enticing aroma of the fresh brew. Graham was no longer in the break room but she immediately smiled when she saw the aspirin bottle atop the counter. Coffee and a few pain relievers were just what she needed right now before she set off down the street to have a chat with a squirrely pawn shop owner.

**********

Fueled by caffeine and a reinvigorated desire to get some answers about her mother's mysterious past, Emma stormed her way across and then down half a block of Main Street with Gold's potion booked clutched tightly in her left hand. Since the aspirin hadn't yet had time to kick in, her head was still pounding which was leaving her in no mood to take any crap from the pawn shop's owner.

Gold had opened up the shop for business at exactly 8AM, mere minutes before Emma shoved open the entrance door and stomped her way to the counter where the proprietor stood. She dropped the book onto the display case in front of him, almost hoping that the glass would break. Unfazed by her action, Gold glanced down at the potion book resting on the countertop then back up at the deputy's irate face.

"Good morning, Deputy Swan," he greeted her with little emotion in his voice and showing a considerable lack of interest in the very item that he'd requested her to retrieve for him.

"I found your book," she informed him very matter-of-factly, patting it with her fingertips to ensure she had his attention. "Found the little surprise inside of it too…"

"Surprise? Whatever are you talking about, Ms. Swan?" She wasn't the least bit surprised that he'd feign ignorance of the photograph and letter and she wasn't buying it.

She flipped open the book's cover to reveal the photo of her mother as a child and the faded, handwritten letter from her grandfather. "I suppose you're going to deny that you knew these were inside the book?"

Gold shrugged nonchalantly as he carefully lifted the aging photograph to examine it. "I loaned this book to Cora a very long time ago. I certainly can't speak for what she might have stuck inside it's covers."

"But you knew…"

"Knew what, Dearie?" he rudely interrupted her statement.

"You knew that Cora and my mother were sisters," she stated, undaunted by his apparent disinterest. "Why is it that everyone in this town thinks that it's such a horrible thing for me to know who I'm actually related to around here?"

"I would suppose it is because they weren't certain how you might react to learning the truth about your mother."

"And I suppose that it should have been left up to me, not them!" she countered, raising her voice angrily. "I've had it with all of the secrets! I want those items that belonged to my mother as I kept my end of the deal and I want you to spill what you know about my history!"

"Do you think you can handle the truth about your lineage?"

"I'll let you know. Now, why don't you start telling me what the big secrets are?"

"Fine," he relented as he made his way over to the ornate cabinet where he'd stored the items belonging to Ava Nolan. "You fulfilled your end of our deal by returning my book so your mother's items now belong to you." He tugged open the cabinet door and removed the small box and books he'd shown Emma the previous day and then placed them atop the counter. "I will answer some of your questions as a courtesy to your mother as well, but not out here. How about we go have a seat in my office where it will be more private for you to interrogate me?"

"Lead the way…"

Gold held the heavy beaded curtain aside as he gestured for Emma to pass through the doorway to his office and storeroom that lay beyond the sales floor. The decor of this not-for-public-eyes area was even more eclectic and disturbing than the shop itself but since she wasn't here to debate his decorating choices, she withheld commentary. She was only here this morning to learn about her mother, not discuss interior decorating.

"Have a seat, Ms. Swan," he said, directing her to a fancy upholstered chair that was probably as old as the town itself. Emma sat down on the offered chair, but she didn't allow herself to get too comfortable. She wasn't planning this to be a long, social visit. "I don't have all of the answers you seek, but what would you like to know?" he asked as he took a seat to her right on a burgundy divan.

"I guess we'll start with the same one I've been asking since last night - why was my mother's identity and place in this town such a secret?"

"That was a choice made by your family, I'm afraid. As you know, Storybrooke is a town with an unusual pedigree that they sought to protect. How much of the history of this town do you know?"

"I know a little. I know it was founded by the Blanchard family after the Civil War, in the late 1800's."

"That is correct - your great-grandparents founded the town in 1872, selecting this remote area of Maine to create a safe haven for those who wished to practice the magical arts, both dark and light. They welcomed fellow witches and warlocks and opened a portal across the bay to connect to other magical realms. However, the magic that Storybrooke was founded upon came with a price. To secure the magic that supports the town's infrastructure, your great-grandparents formed a pact with a very powerful warlock from a distant realm. That warlock agreed to share his extensive powers with the town of Storybrooke in exchange for an agreement that he could return whenever he chose and demand a duel for the powers of any practitioner he chose. Should his chosen competitor lose, he would gain their powers, Should the opponent win, the warlock would consider the debt paid and leave forever."

"That seems like an awfully big price to pay just to have magic in this town, but I don't get what that has to do with my mother…"

"I'm getting to that," he assured her, frowning at the young woman's impatience. "The warlock has returned to Storybrooke twice since the town's inception and has won the challenge both times. Your mother was his unfortunate second victim."

"She lost her powers?" Emma asked, partially for clarification, although she'd understood Gold's explanation of the warlock's competition, so she already knew the answer.

"She did. Her challenge caused her to be tricked into making an ill-advised choice, but that's really all I know of it. After losing her magic, she attempted to stay here in town and live a normal life. She married widower Robert Nolan, had you, but then one day, something changed and she took you and disappeared."

"When I was growing up, she never once mentioned that she'd had powers of any kind," Emma stated as she attempted to process all of this new information. "I always thought that she'd run from something bad, maybe something abusive, but after meeting David and learning about our dad, that didn't make sense anymore and now it makes even less sense… What caused her to run away from her home and family?"

"I'm afraid that you'll need to ask those questions of your family. I can't tell you what pushed her away or why they kept her identity a secret from you, but now, if you don't mind, I should be getting back to work."

"I understand. One last question though," she began as she stood up. "Do you have any idea what ill-advised choice she had to make?"

"Afraid not, dearie. All I know is that the warlock came into town and weaseled his way into her life, leading her to that decision. She chose poorly."

"What the hell did she have to choose?" Emma repeated the question to herself while exhaling a deep sigh.

Gold shook his head and shrugged as he ushered her out of his office. "I don't remember much from that time, but from what I do recall of your mother, it likely involved a man."

"What?" she exclaimed as she crossed the threshold back into the main shop. "What do you mean by that?"

"Growing up, your mother had very bad luck with the men in her life. Your grandfather died when she was still rather young and she had a string of boyfriends but few serious relationships. Perhaps your brother or your cousins will remember more?"

"Well, this just keeps getting better and better…," she muttered under her breath as the old man disappeared behind the curtain without another word. Befuddled, she gathered up the few belongings her mother had left with Gold, collected the photograph of her mother and aunt along with her grandfather's letter and wandered out to the sidewalk completely lost in thought. She now had the knowledge that her mother had once possessed magical powers but lost them after being on the losing end of some sort of challenge from an evil warlock - a challenge that had involved some sort of choice - but what? By Gold's description, this challenge had taken place a few years before her mother had run away to Boston so it didn't seem as though the loss of her magic had been the catalyst that caused her to bolt. So, what had it been? What choice had the warlock forced her to make? Had it actually involved a man like Gold had suggested or was there more to it?

She was anxious to see what was inside the mysterious box Gold had held onto for all of these years and to learn more about the books that accompanied the box. First though, she had to take a break and feed her grumbling stomach. The coffee had been a good way to start the morning, but she needed to fuel her growling belly and Granny's was tantalizingly close… Three or four more cups of industrial strength coffee couldn't hurt either.

She took a step into the street, barely noticing the car parked curbside in front of the pawn shop and too distracted by her own thoughts to realize that there was another person in her path. She walked straight into that unseen pedestrian, the collision sending them both tumbling to the asphalt. Emma managed to hold on to her mother's box, but the books fell from her grasp.

"I'm so sorry…,' she began to apologize profusely to the man she'd collided with. "I wasn't looking where I was going…" She pushed herself to her knees and began to gather her belongings, almost afraid to look to see who she had so awkwardly run into. "Are you alright? I hope I didn't knock you over too hard…"

"It's alright, Emma…," the familiar voice said with a chuckle. "This isn't exactly how I planned to run into you, but I'm not going to complain." Recognizing the voice, she flushed with embarrassment. It may have only been Walsh, but she would rather he not see her this flustered.

"Walsh, I guess we literally ran into each other," she said with a shy, awkward grin. "I'm really sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"No worries. I wasn't really paying attention either. I was just heading over to visit Mr. Gold and see if there were any updates on my incoming shipment. What about you? I thought you were off today but that intensity in your gaze says otherwise."

"Oh, I was just returning a book to Gold in exchange for this old stuff that used to belong to my mother. Now I'm heading over to Granny's to get some breakfast and take a look at this stuff. Wanna join me? I'll buy to make up for getting your suit all dirty…"

"I just might take you up on that offer," he said as he brushed some invisible dust off of his dark, coffee bean brown suit. Yeah, she had coffee cravings on her brain again… "Let me finish up my business here but I'll stop over when I'm all done."

"Sounds good," she replied with a hopeful smile. "I'll take my time. After last night, I'll probably need to go through a couple of pots of coffee…"

"Last night? What happened last night?"

"Let's just call it an interesting night that ended in a few too many drinks after having way too much unloaded on me too quickly…"

"Ah… I have heard that the full moon can lead to some overwhelming revelations around here…"

"Oh, just a few revelations… But I'd better let you get back to business. I'll save you a seat if you decide to take me up on the breakfast offer."

"Sounds great, Emma. I'll try to keep things short," he offered, not exactly promising that he'd make it but leaving her hopeful that she might gain some company for breakfast. She had so much to process and she hadn't even gotten to the relatives yet. Maybe it was best to have someone to share the discoveries with her instead of sitting in the diner alone?

Walsh held the smile on his face until as Emma continued (cautiously this time) across the quiet street towards her intended destination of Granny's diner. Once her back was fully to him and he was no longer in her purview, he straightened his sport coat and reset his composure. Projecting a decidedly more business-like demeanor, he entered the pawn shop to seek out its owner.

Alerted by the jingle of the bell attached to the door handle, Gold knew that someone had come into the store, but believing it to be the deputy returning with more inquiries, he responded before poking his head around the curtain.

"If you're back for more, there's not much else I can tell you," Gold said as he stepped around the room divider to see that the person awaiting him in the lobby wasn't Emma Swan, awkwardly finding the face of Walsh Gibbons instead.

"More about what?" a confused and curious Walsh asked as he noted Gold's reaction.

"Mr. Gibbons. My apologies. I thought Ms. Swan was returning with some additional questions about the items she just obtained from me." Gold did his best to conceal his embarrassment over his faux pas of making the statement before confirming his audience.

"Ah, yes, she mentioned that she'd traded for some old items of her mother's."

"A few small things," Gold said, not intending to go into further detail. "So, how can I help you today, Mr. Gibbons? As you're aware, the ship carrying the items you desire isn't due into port until Monday. The captain expects to be in the harbor around noon should fair winds prevail."

"Yes, I'm aware of that delay. I'm actually here for something else, specifically some assistance with a particular potion…," Walsh informed him as he reached into the right hand pocket of his sport coat, withdrawing a folded slip of paper that he slid across the glass countertop to Gold. "Think you can put that together for me?"

The pawn shop owner picked up the paper warily, slowly unfolding it to see what was being requested of him. "I believe I have all of the ingredients for this but whatever do you need it for?"

"That is my business," Walsh replied with haughty tone. "Your business is to make it for me, right?" Gold found himself reminded of his conversation earlier that week when he'd assured Emma that his dealings with Walsh were strictly business. Clearly word had reached Gibbons who was now throwing it back at him. "How long will it take?" Walsh asked to snap Gold back to the present.

"If I have everything required, I can have it to you in about an hour. Let me take a quick gander at my storeroom."

"Please do. I'll wait."

Gold vanished behind the heavy fabric divider while Walsh waited impatiently to learn if the potion could be completed in a timely manner. The shopkeeper was out of sight for less than two minutes when he returned with his response. "I do have all of the necessary ingredients. The potion will be ready for you in an hour."

"Perfect. I guess I'll go take Emma up on her breakfast offer while I wait," Walsh grinned. "See you in an hour."

Gold stood silently behind the counter as Walsh exited his shop. He'd made many potions for Gibbons over the years they'd been doing business together, but this latest request had him puzzled. It was unusual, even for Gibbons, but business was business.

**********

Elsewhere in Storybrooke, (at least he hoped he was still in Storybrooke) Killian Jones had awakened in near total darkness. His last recollection was of walking a very tipsy Emma to the Sheriff's station then returning to the Jolly Roger - but how long ago had that been? There was no way to know if it was day or night or whether minutes or hours had passed. He vaguely recalled a choking sensation that he might have dismissed as a dream were it not for the lingering ache in his neck.

He knew he was no longer aboard his ship as there was nothing familiar to any of his senses - no gentle rocking and swaying on the bobbing waves nor any scent of marine air or teakwood. No, wherever he was, it was dank and dark. There was no light filtering in through any crack in the stone or cement walls of this chamber and there was a musty, earthy odor to his surroundings.

Where the hell was he?

Using the nearest wall both for support and to gain his bearings, Killian pushed himself upright, immediately realizing that he was missing something - his hook. He knew he'd been wearing it when he'd left Emma but now its familiar weight wasn't there. He still wore the brace that secured it yet the prosthetic implement itself had been removed.

A renewed vulnerability washed over him as he inched his way along the wall in the inky blackness yet he was determined to take stock of this prison. His hand felt for any recess or crack that might signify a possible exit as he made his way to the chamber's first corner. He continued moving to his right along the second wall discovering that it was little more than an arm-span distance between the corners. Whatever this awful hole was, it was narrow.

The third wall proved to be only slightly longer than the second which provided him a rough estimate of the room's dimensions - approximately six or seven feet wide and perhaps nine or ten feet wide. It would be about the size of a small storage room or closet - or even an actual prison cell.

But at least there was some hope. As he reached the next bend, his hand came in contact with wood. A door frame. A doorway. At least if the room had a way in, there was a chance he could find a way out, although that might prove a tad more difficult without his hook. His hand surveyed the frame and door in search of a key hole or some type of locking mechanism but he found neither. Whatever purpose this chamber served, it was secured from outside which left him with the chilling realization that it just might be a prison cell and he was its unfortunate occupant.

Questions flooded his brain as his psyche tried to make sense of his situation. Where the hell was he and how the bloody hell did he get here? He didn't remember leaving the Jolly Roger, at least not willingly. He'd sensed no one else on deck with him and a skirmish would certainly have drawn the attention of his crew.

Someone had brought him here and locked him away in this miserable, lonely pit, but who? He'd barely been in this port for a week but had he unexpectedly crossed someone unwittingly? There was so much he needed to know…

"Hello?" he shouted in the direction of the sealed door, unsure if anyone would even be listening. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Hearing nothing except the echo of his own voice and the pounding of his heart, Killian slumped against the nearest wall. He knew he needed to think this through and to conserve his energy. There was no indication of any water or provisions left here for him so either his captor planned to bring him sustenance or he was intended to slowly starve to death - the latter being an option he wasn't prepared to consider.

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs au ff #cs ff au #witch emma #a simple spell #and that spell will come back into play in the next chapter #but for now the mystery deepens #well - for emma at least

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