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rambleonwaywardson · 3 months ago

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Clegan Olympics AU - Event Finals Part 1

Masterpost Now on AO3 - Sous Le Ciel de Paris

Part 11 I think?

Author's note: sorry for the delay on this guys, but I just couldn't get it to a place where I was happy with it for a while. And I don’t like putting things out when I’m not happy with them. Plus I wanted to wait until I watched event finals to make sure I felt relatively okay about the logistics. Plus I've been very busy with life 😬. But this part is a bit longer, so maybe that makes up for it?

Hope everyone is enjoying the Olympics! Here's Bucky's event finals, as promised.

---

The first day of individual event finals, Bucky is alone. Just him, his coaches, and seven of his new closest friends – the other athletes from around the world competing for a medal on men’s floor exercise. The only other men’s event today is pommel horse, and none of the U.S. athletes qualified. Croz damn near did, but he placed ninth after a form break, and only the top eight on each apparatus advance to finals.

So it’s just Bucky back here in the Bercy arena warm-up gym, and he feels oddly bereft. He doesn’t remember the last time he walked into a competition alone, without Curt at his side. It’s been the two of them at the top of men’s gymnastics for years. Even when they competed in college for different schools, they met up at competitions and became fast friends. Since then, they’ve trained together. They’ve competed together. They’ve faced the world and this crazy ass sport together. And now Bucky is alone.

It’s nearing 9am in Paris, and he’s getting ready to do his fourth floor routine of this Olympics. His fourth floor routine in about a week, after qualifications, team, and all-around.

We don’t think it’s a good idea for you to do floor yet, the doctors told him months ago. It’s too much of a risk. It’s too hard on your leg.

Bucky basically told them to fuck off because he planned to try for Paris. Once the idea was in his head – the idea that it could be possible – he couldn’t let it go. He needed to at least try. Honestly, not even he himself knows if he really expected to get this far. On one hand, yes he absolutely did. He’s John fucking Egan; as far as he’s concerned, this is what he was meant for, a destiny set forth by the gymnastics gods. On the other hand, did anyone really expect it after the year he’d had? Did anyone think it was possible? Did anyone think he could do it without hurting himself all over again?

And yet here he is. He wasn’t supposed to do floor exercise at all, and now he’s doing it four times in one week. And honestly, not even he’s sure that it’s a good idea. Not even he’s sure that he isn’t in over his head today.

But that kind of mentality does not have a place on the gymnastics floor.

A wet nose presses against Bucky’s thigh as he sits on the floor, securing his brace once again as he prepares to head out into the arena for warmups. It’s his ever-dutiful good luck charm, getting Bucky through these Games just like he got him through trials.

“Hey bud,” Bucky says, patting Beacon on the head. The golden smiles at him and wags his tail, as if he’s saying you’re not alone, you have me, and it makes Bucky smile, too. “Yeah, at least I have you,” he says. “Just you and me against the world, Bea.”

Beacon licks his hand in agreement.

The golden almost hadn’t made it to the Games, but Bucky and Curt had personally advocated to find a way to get him and his owner across the pond to Paris. USA Gymnastics wasn’t going to turn down their two stars, and they pulled some strings to make it happen. Since it’s an international event, the dog can’t be out on the competition floor, but USA Gym negotiated a way to have him back by the warm-up gym, and at this point just about everyone agrees it was the best decision anyone at the Olympics had ever made. He’s become not only the team USA therapy dog, but the therapy dog for every Olympic gymnast who needs a little extra comfort. Many of the athletes from other countries have made friends with him in the last week, taking photos with him and de-stressing by petting or playing with him. No one goes out onto the floor without petting Beacon for good luck.

Beacon, who started as a USA Gymnastics celebrity, is now an Olympic celebrity. Everyone knows who he is, especially at Bercy. After winning team silver, Curt laid his medal around Beacon’s neck for a picture, citing him as part of the team. He attends interviews with the boys, gets professionally photographed, and can be spotted from time to time around the Olympic Village. The dog even has his own custom “Beacon the Good Boy” pin for the Olympic pin exchange, and it’s quickly become a highly sought after souvenir for the athletes.

A Japanese gymnast, the favorite to win floor finals, walks by as he prepares to head out into the arena. He stops to lean down and scratch Beacon on the ears, and Beacon wags his tail and boops him on the arm. Bucky and the other gymnast exchange a smile and wish each other good luck, and then Bucky’s coach is grabbing his bag for him, letting him know it’s time to go.

As Bucky gives Beacon a kiss on the head and walks away, he’s aware of every single athlete heading out to floor exercise – all eight of them, no matter what country they’re from – stopping to pet the dog. For good luck.

As the announcer calls his name – “For the United States of America, John Egan!” – Bucky walks through the open doorway into Bercy Arena, the American flag projected on the wall behind him. He smiles and waves at the crowd packing the arena on all sides and heads over towards the tumbling floor with the other gymnasts. As he walks, he feels some nerves begin to return, and he runs a hand through his hair and bites his lip as he takes a deep breath.

One more time, he tells himself. He’s hit every other floor routine this week. He can hit this one, too.

He’s leaning over his bag, which his coach had set on one of the chairs to the side of the tumbling floor, when he hears a familiar voice. “Egan, why don’t you give me a smile?”

Bucky whips around, and he can’t stop the grin that breaks out across his face. “What the fuck are you doing here!”

He pulls Curt into a hug and claps him on the back. The other gymnast, not competing today, is wearing one of the red USA Gymnastics coaching polo shirts. He has his Paris Olympics ID card and a floor pass strapped across his body on one of those pink and blue Paris lanyards. Hand-written on the pass in a messy scrawl are the words “MAG Coach 2” – Men’s Artistic Gymnastics coach 2.

“Pulled some strings,” Curt says. “I’m your other coach for the day. Thought you could use some of my awesomeness down here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but hugs Curt again. “Thanks, man.”

Curt grins at him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s rack ‘em up and knock ‘em down.”

When it’s Bucky’s turn on floor, he spares a glance up to the stands. When he was younger, cockier, he’d interact with the crowd constantly during meets. Sometimes his coaches would reprimand him for it, telling him to focus. He didn’t really listen.

He didn’t necessarily lose that cockiness, but a greater wariness has welled up within him during his recovery, dimming it. In the last week, he’s been finding a better balance again, but he’s been different since he returned to competition. During trials, he tried to block out the crowd, not wanting to let it get into his head. He didn’t have quite so much fun, didn’t want to think about anything other than the next apparatus, the next pass, the next skill.

But that was before he cared about who was watching. Here, in Paris, he’s made a point of knowing exactly where Gale is sitting, as if that alone can fight off his nightmare from before all-around. As if that alone can keep his leg together, keep his mind and body on the same page, ensure he can stick the landings on these tumbling passes that his doctors don’t think he should be doing.

Gale Cleven. Bucky’s other good luck charm.

Gale is exactly where he said he’d be, five rows up, right in front of the tumbling floor. Benny is beside him, and Marge, fresh from winning team silver in show jumping, is in the next seat over. She waves excitedly when he looks up, and he waves back. Gale notices him at the last second and breaks into a smile that takes away any last remnants of nerves that had been swarming around Bucky’s head. Any anxiety he feels starts to simply melt away, because Gale smiling at him like that is like basking in the glow of the sun.

On Gale’s other side is Croz, Alex, and Brady. The rest of Bucky’s team, here to hype him up and cheer him on. Brady has a tiny American flag stuck behind each ear, and all three of them are wearing quite obnoxious custom John Egan t-shirts. Bucky wonders how they got them without him noticing.

He stops at the chalk box and kicks the slides off his feet before stepping into it, coating his feet in white chalk as he waits for the go-ahead. Then he leans over to the elevated chalk bowl and does the same to his hands. Over the quiet chatter as the audience waits, he can hear Brady yell “Yeah you get that chalk!” And it makes him laugh.

The commentators on TV will note that John Egan has the second highest start value in this competition. Second by a mere tenth of a point. If he chose to compete the floor routine he wanted to – before he fought with his doctors and coaches over the integrity of his leg and the importance of not fucking it up – he’d have the highest start value by a mile. But as a compromise, he chose to omit one of his harder passes due to the danger of over-rotation and re-injury. The commentators still talk about how it’s incredible that he’s doing what he’s doing at all, that he qualified second on floor after the injury he had.

Bucky knows that, injury or not, his gymnastics speaks for itself. His floor routine speaks for itself. His difficulty score speaks for itself. He knows that, injury or not, he is seen as one of the best gymnasts in the world right now, and that is why he’s here. But sometimes he wishes the commentators and the interviewers and the media would see it that way too, that they’d stop qualifying his accomplishments by saying he’s doing a great job “for being terribly injured just months ago.”

Injury or not, he’s John fucking Egan. And he’s going to make sure everyone in this stadium knows it. Sure he already has the all-around gold, but as long as he’s here, he needs to keep proving that he’s more than a comeback, more than a pity story.

He’s John fucking Egan.

When the green light comes on and the announcer says his name, he swears he can hear his friends cheering for him over anyone else in the stadium, and he lets it fuel him. He salutes the judges, steps into the corner of the floor to set up his first pass, and he throws himself at it with every last bit of energy he has.

Triple twisting double back layout. Perfect stick. Applause. Combination pass. Near perfect stick. Applause. Double salto forward. Stick. Applause. Cartwheel, somersault into the splits. Japanese handstand – his non-acrobatic element – arms straight out to the side, hands pressing into the floor holding himself up, head no more than a fist’s width distance from the floor, legs straight in the air. Hold. Roll out of it. Three more passes left.

On the penultimate pass, he can feel it when he’s only midway through, still ten feet in the air. It’s a feeling no gymnast, no matter how well trained, likes to have: he’s going to under-rotate this. When he lands, in an attempt to save himself from falling on his face, his left foot hits the floor at a very strange angle in front of him and causes him to stumble back a step on his right. He grimaces when he feels a painful tug on his left knee, straining the joint.

Not now, he thinks. Not fucking now.

The commentators on TV will comment on the disconcerting way he landed, the look of concern that flashes across his face before he schools his features once again and regains his balance. They’ll mention his knee, his injury, his comeback, the fact that his doctor’s didn’t think he should do floor but he wouldn’t be stopped.

Curt watches with concern, wondering if his fears were right, that today was just too much. He tries to analyze the way Bucky landed and the look on his face and what it might mean. He’s playing coach today, and he’s trying to make heads or tails of what’s going through Bucky’s head right now. But like any coach, it’s not up to him. Out there on the floor, it’s up to John and John alone. All he can do is watch what happens next.

In the stands, Croz, Alex, and Brady all cringe at the same time, making Gale go “What? What’s wrong?” with his eyes wide in alarm.

“He landed a bit weird on his left,” Croz explains. “Looks like he’s gonna keep going, but…”

Shit.

He’s gonna keep going, but he’d keep going even if he shouldn’t.

Bucky’s fine. Enough. He’s fine enough. He needs to be fine enough. He’s still standing, so there’s no other option. He can still move, so anything else he can work out later. Whether he’s actually fine or if the adrenaline coursing through his body is masking the pain, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t matter.

He cocks his head, shakes his arms out as he brings his feet together in the corner once again. Just gotta make it one more, he tells himself. It’s fine. We’re fine. He can hear Curt on the sidelines, yelling encouragement despite his own uncertainty. “You’ve got this! Get it done, Bucky! Get it done!”

Bucky takes a deep breath, looks across the floor at the opposite corner. He can see the judges, watching his every move, finding every possible little fault in his performance. He stares them down, like a dare. They all know he has to be perfect on this last pass.

He thinks of Gale. Find your line.

“Find your line,” Gale whispers in the stands. Benny puts a hand on his knee and squeezes in anticipation.

Ignoring the slight stinging pain in his leg, Bucky runs, flips his way into his dismount, and launches himself up into the air to complete the triple full. When he hits the floor, that spike of pain shoots through him again, but he grits his teeth and forces himself to stay in control. He landed with one of his heels just barely out of bounds, and he knows that one-tenth deduction will probably cost him the gold, but he stuck the landing perfectly otherwise. He gets too much power on that pass; he always has, and he’s quite frankly surprised this is the only time he’s landed out of bounds the entire routine. He laughs a little bit anyways, because even if it’s not gold, even if that Japanese gymnast beats him out, he fucking got it done.

He will be only the second American male gymnast to ever win an Olympic medal on floor exercise, and the first since 1976.

Deafening chants of “USA! USA! USA!” go up around the arena, and he salutes before pumping his fist in the air and jumping across the floor, leg be damned. He waves his arms to pump up the crowd, and they cheer for him. Because they know, no matter what country they’re from, what it means for him to be here right now.

“LET’S GOOOO!” He yells out, and he can hear Curt doing the same as he goes absolutely crazy on the sidelines. When Bucky haphazardly shoves his slides back on his feet and hops down, he jumps right into Curt’s arms as the other gymnast lifts him off his feet, jumping up and down in celebration.

“That’s how it’s done!” Curt exclaims.

If Bucky’s in any pain, as the commentators, his coaches, his friends feared he would be, when he steps up onto the podium for the medal ceremony, no one notices. He hides his slight limp. He waves to the crowd. He can’t stop smiling as he bows his head to receive a silver medal. His third medal of the Paris Olympics.

He shakes hands, he poses for photos with the other medalists. He blows a kiss to Gale in the stands. He waves to the crowd. He talks to a reporter about what this means to him.

He has one event left.

—

Bucky sits on the uncomfortable mattress, leaning back against Gale’s warm chest. He’s polishing off one of the infamous chocolate muffins from the dining hall, which he’s been looking forward to all day. Curt snagged it for him earlier that afternoon after Bucky complained about not being able to get to the dining hall to get one himself, and Bucky could have kissed the guy for it. Sure, maybe he still has one more event to go bright and early tomorrow morning, but he’s earned himself a damn muffin and then some. Gale bumps the side of Bucky’s head with his nose, and Bucky raises the muffin up so Gale can have a bite before it’s gone.

Curt and Bucky’s small bedroom is full the night of his floor exercise silver. Tomorrow, he and Curt have rings and vault finals, so it’s a chill night in for them. No drinking or painting the town red or even mingling with the other athletes in the USA House. Bucky and Gale sit together on Bucky’s bed. Curt sits on his own bed, Croz beside him and Brady half laying across them both. Alex sits on the floor in the small space in between, leaning back against Curt’s bed, with Benny also on the floor, leaning against Bucky’s. Marge sat out their little gathering in favor of meeting up with her jumping team, which benny gave her shit for.

Ice is wrapped around Bucky’s knee, which is still sore but doesn’t seem to be seriously damaged. He’s been able to walk fine unless he stays still too long, and Gale took it upon himself to massage his leg earlier in the afternoon (which Bucky totally did not try – and succeed – to turn into a makeout session). Either way, he thinks the soreness might be worth it, because he has three Olympic medals hanging around his neck. And they’re heavy.

“Maybe you should compete with those weighing you down,” Alex jokes. “Give the rest of us a fighting chance.”

Bucky laughs and holds up his second silver medal, bites down on it like he did for the photos on the podium. “Jealous, much?”

“Of Olympic all-around gold medalist, comeback kid of the year, John Clarence Egan?” Alex says dramatically. “No. He’s an ass.”

“Oh fuck off!” Bucky laughs and throws his pillow at Alex, who doesn’t have time to dodge and lets it smack him in the chest. Then he takes it for himself and shoves it behind his back.

“Wait! Bite down on the medal like that again,” Croz orders, motioning to Bucky as he pulls out his phone.

“Aren’t there enough pictures of me biting an Olympic medal?” Bucky asks. There’s at least several from each event so far this week, and if everyone in this room is being honest, they fully expect him to add another medal to his collection tomorrow morning.

Gale makes to unwind his arm from around Bucky to get out of the frame, but Croz says “No, Buck, you stay there.” Gale arches an eyebrow but slowly wraps his arm securely around Bucky once again, pulling him close.

“Oh! Hold on,” Bucky says. He tells Curt to grab his silver medal, and Curt understands. He pushes himself off the bed, nearly knocking Brady to the floor, and grabs his medal from his bedside table, because that’s obviously the perfect place to store an Olympic medal. Reaching across Bucky’s bed, he motions for Gale to bow his head, and he places the medal around the blonde’s neck. A stand-in for his own eventing silver medal.

“There,” Bucky says, pressing his fingers to the medal now resting on Gale’s chest. “Très beau.”

“Très beau,” Gale agrees with a soft smile.

“Okay, look over here,” Croz tells them. And he takes their picture.

Bucky decides not to even be shy about it. He posts the photo on Instagram immediately, with the caption “silver medalists ❤️” at the bottom. Bucky biting down on his silver medal with a smile as he leans back against Gale’s chest. His other two medals hanging around his neck. Gale’s arm wrapped around him as he holds up his own silver medal with his other hand, smiling shyly. Both of them in comfy team USA t-shirts. The ice on Bucky’s knee is barely visible at the bottom of the frame.

“Aren’t you two cute,” Benny teases, reaching up to pat Gale on the leg.

Gale rolls his eyes as Bucky kisses him on the cheek. “We sure are,” Bucky agrees. Then he looks at his teammates on the other side of the room, as if he just remembered something very important. “Did you guys see the adorable pictures of Buck and Whiskey after the medal ceremony?”

The other gymnasts shake their heads, and Bucky insists that they look. Gale blushes, trying to hide his face in Bucky’s hair, but Bucky won’t let him. He pulls out his phone and forces Gale to look at his own post with him for about the hundredth time. Gale may be the one who posted it, but Bucky is the one in love with it, as is the rest of America. It’s been re-posted by the US Equestrian, US Eventing, and Team USA accounts, so millions of people have seen the pictures at this point. Between that, opening ceremonies, and the media tracking his and Bucky’s “love story,” he’s gained hundreds of thousands of followers during the past week alone.

After Gale won his individual silver medal, the first thing he did when he saw Bucky again was shove his phone in his face and say “look at my girl!” It wasn’t even himself he was proud of; it was his horse. As usual.

Aside from the professional photos that came out later that day – photographs of Gale on the podium, Gale on Whiskey with a pretty second place ribbon attached to her bridle, Gale and Whiskey together as he held up the medal around his neck – there’s also countless non-professional photos, mostly taken by his groom, Kenny, after he got back to the stables that day.

Bucky’s favorite, though, is a selfie that Gale took, still looking sweaty with his cheeks flushed, hair sticking up in all directions, as he held up the medal. The picture was taken from below, so you can also see Whiskey’s face. Her forelock, which had just been released from a braid, is also sweaty and sticking up in all directions, but she looks like she knows exactly what she just accomplished. Her ears are perked forward and she’s sticking her tongue out at the camera. Bucky’s favorite part is the ecstatic smile on Gale’s face. Him and his mare and nothing but pure exhilaration.

Bucky wasn’t the only one who liked the picture either. It’s tucked in the middle of the photo set Gale posted that night, but it’s the most shared photo from the entire set, circulating across social media platforms and even on the news. The eventing team had been invited to the Today show to talk about their Olympic success, and they displayed that very picture for everyone tuning in to see.

Now Bucky looks around, satisfied, as the other guys find the post and instantly like it and comment on how awesome Gale and Whiskey look, because apparently he’s that kind of boyfriend now. The kind that wants anyone and everyone to know how awesome and adorable and successful and sweet his boyfriend is.

And… boyfriend. Wow. Okay. That’s the first time he’s thought of it that way…

It makes him feel funny. A little scared and uncomfortable and unfamiliar, but also warm. It makes him… happy? Proud.

Before he can really panic too much about it, though, Croz is holding up his hand and saying “Wait wait wait, is it true that the horses fly on a plane called Air Horse One?”

Gale chokes on a laugh, blowing warm breath into Bucky’s hair where he’s still hiding his face. It makes Bucky feel fuzzy. He’s been sitting here, wrapped safe and warm in Gale’s arms as he ices his leg for quite a while already, but he’s suddenly very very aware of it.

“Yes and no,” Gale says.

“Air Horse One exists,” Benny explains. “But our horses didn’t fly to Paris on it this year.”

“Well what’s the fuckin’ point then?” Curt exclaims.

Gale shrugs. “Just kinda depends what company is available to fly ‘em. It’s pretty much the same treatment no matter what.”

“Didn’t you say the horses have passports?” Bucky asks. Almost experimentally, he leans forward, out of Gale’s hold, under the guise of taking the ice off his leg. He quickly realizes, though, that he really misses the warmth and security of Gale’s embrace, and that information assaults his brain with all the subtlety of a freight train. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know why he can’t just admit that he loves this guy and be okay with that and let himself be happy and not question it anymore. But every single time he feels himself coming to a new realization about it, it throws him off guard.

Just let yourself be fuckin’ happy, you idiot, he thinks.

He realizes Gale is answering his question. “Yeah, they all have to have a passport to travel internationally. Just like us. Whiskey’s technically been to more countries than I have.” Benny scoffs from the floor below them.

Curt gets up and takes the ice pack from Bucky. “You good?” he whispers, no doubt seeing the startled look on his face. He also accepts the medal that Gale hands back to him.

Bucky nods as he leans forward, basically folding in half as he stretches his leg out, then rubs at the joint.

Gale, who, of course, noticed the concerned exchange between Bucky and Curt, puts a gentle hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You need heat next?” he asks.

Bucky’s heart stutters because yes he does need heat, and of course Gale thought about that and wants to make sure Bucky has what he needs because he’s thoughtful and sweet and it’s not like anything Bucky has ever had before. And why does Bucky feel emotional about that?

And Gale and the others were having a totally different conversation but now everyone is looking at Bucky instead because he got freaked out and pulled away and Gale got concerned because of course he did and now Bucky’s face feels hot.

So he just nods and looks at Gale and sees those beautiful blue eyes looking back at him, wide and sweet and concerned. “Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Yeah, heat would be good.”

Curt gives him a knowing look, flicking his eyes from Bucky to Gale and back, that says almost exactly what Bucky just told himself: stop overthinking this and just be fuckin’ happy that this amazing guy likes you. Curt knows everything Bucky has been through in the last several years. He knows how stupid Bucky can be. And he knows that Gale is one of the best things that could ever happen to him. If Bucky would just accept that.

“I’ll get the heating pad,” Curt tells him, with another look that says now lean back into his arms and quit bein’ stupid.

So Bucky does. He sighs, and he lets himself lean back, and Gale’s arm immediately wraps back around him like it belongs there, and then gentle lips are being pressed to the top of Bucky’s head. And Bucky lets himself smile again.

“Wait what country has Whiskey been to that you haven’t?” Croz asks, now that the attention is off Bucky again.

“Austria,” Gale replies. “That’s where she was born.”

Benny pops his head up and looks, surprised, at Gale. “She was born in Austria?! I thought she was born in Germany.”

“What?” Gale laughs. “Just ‘cause she’s a Hanoverian?”

“Well, yeah,” Benny nods.

Gale shakes his head. “No. Austria. I’ve been to Germany.”

“You imported your horse from fuckin’ Austria?” Brady asks, incredulous. This makes Bucky snort, because clearly Brady knows nothing about these ridiculous equestrian folk. Not that Bucky does. But he’s learning a lot.

Gale nods, and Benny adds, “My gelding came from France. Just about an hour from here.”

Curt returns with the heating pad and helps Bucky wrap it around his leg. “15 minutes, okay? No more.” Bucky nods and Curt returns to his own bed, manhandling Brady so he can sit back down. Brady promptly flops back across his lap.

“Fuckin’ equestrians,” Alex mutters, shaking his head. “Buying horses from Europe and then full sending themselves over shit at break-neck speeds.”

“Yes, that is the motto of FEI eventing,” Gale deadpans, and that makes Bucky laugh, too.

“And he’s funny,” Brady exclaims, nearly smacking Curt in the face as he throws his hand up dramatically. “Damn, Bucky. You gotta tell me where you found this guy so I can find one just like him.”

“On a plane,” Bucky says through a yawn. He grabs onto Gale’s hand, which is resting against his side, and pulls it up close to his chest, interlacing their fingers. “A very special plane.”

This somehow leads into a weird conversation about dating horror stories that Bucky doesn’t much feel like contributing to. The whole world already knows his biggest dating horror story, after all. How much worse can it get after a crazy ex forces your coming out on a global scale?

He’s started letting himself drift off instead, his eyes blinking tiredly closed as his breathing slows, and he settles even more fully into Gale’s arms.

“How’s your leg?” Gale asks him eventually. Bucky blinks his eyes open again when he feels Gale shift, leaning forward to carefully unwrap the heating pad from his leg. The caring gesture makes Bucky feel as warm as the heat did. “It’s been 20 minutes,” Gale whispers. “Don’t tell Curt, but I understand wanting that heat just a little longer.”

Bucky smiles sleepily. “It’s alright,” he says. “A little sore. Somethin’ fuckin’ weird happened when I landed the second to last pass.”

“I know,” Gale says soothingly. “You gonna be alright for tomorrow?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be alright.”

—

Bucky has always liked rings. Any other event, the slightest inkling of nerves can have a domino effect on your entire body, and one second you’re doing fine, but the next, a bit of tension in your neck can cause you to land all wrong or smack your foot on the apparatus. Next to no one, for example, ever wants to start all-around on pommel horse, because if you are anything other than completely relaxed and perfectly focused, the odds are high that you fuck it up.

Many of the other events are not much better, in that way. There’s no room for nerves or fear on the competition floor, because no matter how good you think you are at hiding them, your body will betray you. It’s Bucky’s biggest concern this season, in his first handful of competitions back after near-certain career death. He’s used to being the cockiest bastard on the floor, for better or for worse. He’s used to having next to no doubt about his capabilities. In the past few months, though, he’s found himself still battling the remnants of the anxiety and the fear that nearly kept him from returning. He fears the pain that he felt when he flew off that high bar. He fears another set back.

After nearly having his career ripped away, after crawling his way back, he fears losing it again. For good.

Still rings are the most forgiving for people like Bucky, who have the brute strength to pour their entire being into that routine. That’s what still rings are about – pure strength. It’s about holding your body as still as can be in positions that other people think look impossible. It creates an illusion of sorts, making people wonder how it can be real. It can be almost meditative, despite the burning in his muscles. All he has to do is hang on and channel the wayward energy in his mind and body into staying still. No matter what Bucky is feeling, he can pour it all into rings and it’ll hardly cost him a thing.

In Tokyo, it was anger. He became known for “angry gymnastics” after his sister died. Between that and the pandemic, he was mad at the whole world, and he shoved all of that emotion into his gymnastics. He limited his focus to one event, and then another, making sure every single move was perfect, crisp, strong out of pure spite and adrenaline. He pushed his way through all of it, straight-faced and with a sheer determination to keep going. Don’t look around, don’t look back, don’t look forward, just do.

The rings are served well by that kind of emotion, and that’s what got him his first silver medal on this apparatus three years ago.

He’s not angry anymore, though. That’s another thing the commentators have caught on to. He’s not angry. He looks like his normal, cocky, carefree self, just having fun out there. The angry, rough gymnastics he was doing three years ago has refined itself into something elegant, strong, unbreakable. He came out the other side somehow better than before, they say.

He’s not angry anymore. But he isn’t always carefree either.

He’s relieved all he has left is rings. Because he’s worried anything else would betray the anxiety slowly creeping over him, the exhaustion weighing him down, the pain crawling up his leg like a vine. He can try to push it away, convince even himself that he doesn’t feel it. But the apparatus always knows. The body always knows. Even if your mind doesn’t. If Bucky’s learned a single lesson through the process of returning to the gym, it’s that.

In the hall outside the warm-up gym, Beacon keeps gently booping John’s bad leg like he knows something is wrong with it before staring up into John’s eyes and wagging his tail. Don’t be dumb, he seems to be saying. Don’t hurt yourself.

“I know, bud,” Bucky says, reaching down to pat Beacon on the head with an encouraging smile. “I’ll be alright, though.”

“The dog’s tryin’ to tell you something,” Curt points out as he sits on the ground beside Bucky, stretching out his hamstrings. Rings and vault finals are on the same day, so Bucky and Curt arrived at Bercy arena together, bright and early this morning. “You sure you’re alright?”

Curt is still worried about the way Bucky landed on that pass yesterday. It was just the right kind of slightly off that it could easily have screwed up something in Bucky’s knee, and he’s concerned that it was something more than some ice and heat last night could fix.

Bucky just shrugs as he straps on his brace. He’d been debating over whether or not he should wear it for rings, since the entire routine relies on upper body strength alone aside from the dismount. But after yesterday, even he can admit that the brace is probably a good call right now.

“It’s a little sore,” he admits. “I mean, I’ve done three all-arounds and an extra floor routine in less than a week. I think that’s to be expected.”

Curt frowns and pauses his stretching to sit up and look Bucky in the eye. “Would you tell me if it was bad?” He knows what it is to push through pain to hit that one more routine. Just one more vault. One more pass. It’s the nature of the sport, always has been. That toxicity of gymnastics might be getting better now, but every athlete is the same. Every gymnast. Just one more. I can do one more.

Bucky shrugs again. “I’m fine, Curt. Just one more event. And it’s my best.”

He smirks before kneeling down in front of Beacon and giving the dog a good scratch and a kiss on the head. “Got my good luck charm and everything. What can go wrong?”

He pats Curt on the shoulder, and he hopes to God he’s right.

Today is Bucky’s fifth day walking through that doorway to thunderous applause in Bercy arena, and no matter what, it always feels surreal. Today is his last day in this stadium, and Bucky takes a deep breath as he walks out, smiling brightly and taking it all in one last time. He knows better than anyone that the career of a gymnast is uncertain. He hopes this isn’t his last Olympics; he thinks, if he plays his cards right, he could make it to LA. But there are no guarantees in this sport, or in any sport, especially after the injury he’s had. So he looks around him at the Olympic rings on the walls and the packed stadium cheering “USA! USA! USA!” as he walks out. And he actually lets himself think, for a moment, about how goddamn lucky he is to be here.

The Tokyo Olympics were a mess for him, between COVID and the death of his sister looming over him. Paris has been the exact opposite, with team and individual success, good times with his friends, meeting Gale, getting to actually be with other people. He has loved every single moment.

Despite having to prepare for vault finals, taking place in just a couple of hours, Curt manages to leave the back gym and get to the competition floor for Bucky’s turn on rings. He stands to the side of the rings podium with the coaching staff, calling out things like “You got this!” and “Show them what’s what” and “Just remember, you’re a fuckin’ Greek God! Buck said so!”

Bucky chokes as he takes a drink from his water bottle, looking over at Curt and mouthing what the fuck?

“It’s true! He did!” Curt yells back.

Bucky laughs and shakes his head. Somewhere inside, he knows Curt said that on purpose to get him to relax, but hey, if it works it works. His eyes scan the crowd as he adjusts the ring grips on his hands and rubs chalk over them. He quickly finds the rest of his team, and right beside them are Gale and Benny, who have taken the time to be here this morning before rushing to Versailles to watch equestrian in the afternoon.

Bucky waves, as has become custom this week. As if he can’t start his routine without waving. Gale smiles at him and waves back.

“Go John!!!!” Benny yells. He’s quickly joined by the other gymnasts, who get to their feet and jump up and down obnoxiously, yelling his name. Bucky shakes his head and re-focuses on preparing for his last event of the Paris Olympics. He checks his brace one last time.

When the green light finally comes on by the judges’ table and the announcer calls his name, he salutes, and then he jumps up to grab the rings. His coach grabs his legs from behind and lifts him higher while he adjusts his hold, then eases him down so he’s hanging from the rings, arms straight. Bucky’s on his own.

He rotates himself upwards, keeping his whole body perfectly straight, so his legs swing up over his head and then back down again in a full 360, leading into his first strength hold, a cross. “The iron cross,” they call it, because the gymnast is meant to look immobile, still as a statue, a pillar of strength. Bucky has spent years perfecting it. He spreads his fingers out, letting go of the rings so his hands rest flat on them, just to show off a little. It’ll make the commentators laugh, because even though it’s such a small gesture, it’s so characteristically John – a little bit of a show-off.

He lets himself drop down, feeling that familiar pull straining his shoulder muscles before he pulls his hips upward, folding himself in half with his upper body upside down, legs straight, toes pointed towards the ground. He holds himself like that for just a moment, gathering his strength, before launching himself upwards, flipping his legs up towards the ceiling so he’s upside down again, landing in an inverted cross. His muscles ache as he holds himself up, arms out to the sides as straight as possible.

Don’t wobble, he thinks, trying to keep his legs still and straight, toes pointed towards the ceiling. 2 seconds. Each strength hold must be held for 2 seconds, but sometimes those 2 seconds feel like forever.

Letting himself drop out of the hold with a quick exhale of relief, he throws himself into a couple of swing elements, flipping around first in a tucked position and then in a piked position until he stops stock still in a perfect maltese. His body is perfectly parallel to the floor, his arms extended below him, holding him steady. One. Two.

From there he sinks down until his body is level with his arms, his arms out to the sides. A maltese cross. One. Two.

Relax. Drop, hang upside down. Flip up into a handstand. Hold. Drop. Up into another handstand.

And then the kicker. The skill that, if he can hit, will indisputably secure him another medal in this event. It’s the reason his difficulty score is the highest of anyone here. The reason he qualified first in the world for rings.

He used to flip himself up into another maltese cross, impressive and highly valued in itself. But before his accident, he’d been working on another skill that he’s wanted to achieve for years. When he came back to gymnastics after months of being told he never would, with his leg giving him grief but his upper body strong as ever, he threw himself into perfecting this skill because, if absolutely nothing else, he still had rings.

First he does another swing element, flipping himself up until he stops, perfectly immobile, in another cross. One. Two.

Then ever so slowly, he tilts himself back, his legs extending out in front of him until he’s parallel to the ground again but facing upward. His arms are extended out to the side, level with the rest of his body. An inverted maltese cross.

His shoulders burn. His core. His back. His everything. But this skill has been attempted by so few, and done well by almost none, that of course John Egan took one look at it and went “I can do that.”

So he did it. He’s doing it.

He competed the skill in qualifying, but chose to omit it from all around in an attempt to save his upper body. He made the decision to bring it back today, because he can’t resist a little showing off. And, he won’t lie, he wants that damn gold medal. It’s only the third time he’s ever performed this skill in competition – once at Trials, and twice in Paris, and he grits his teeth and forces himself to breathe through it as the two requisite seconds seem to pass in slow motion. One… Two…

But finally, they do pass. Fighting the urge to gasp in relief, he lowers himself out of the strength hold and flips up to one final handstand. A couple flips on the rings to build momentum, and then he’s launching himself up into his dismount, flipping and twisting through the air until his feet hit the ground and he sticks the landing perfectly.

The moment his feet hit the mat, the entire arena is cheering and applauding for what he just accomplished. Even in a foreign country, an unmistakable chant of “USA! USA! USA!” goes up around the stadium for John Egan. He forces a smile, feeling a sense of pride wash over him for a fraction of a second. It’s just too bad that it can’t last, because the moment his feet hit the mat, no matter how perfect of a landing it was, he felt the pain.

Pain shooting up through his left leg, filling him with some instant, vague sense of dread and nausea that he knows he has to push through right now.

He keeps that damn smile on his face. And why not, he just gave the best rings performance of his life. He hit the skill he’s dreamed of hitting for years. He’s in Paris, and a French stadium is blaring with a chant for the United States, for him.

He salutes the judges, because he isn’t officially done with the routine until he does. He pumps a tired fist in the air. It’s uncharacteristic, not like his typical scream of “LET’S GO” as he hypes up the crowd, much like he did after floor. But he just… can’t. He can’t right now.

“Fuck,” he mutters instead.

He needs…

He lowers himself slowly to the ground with a grimace, pulling his left knee up close to his chest as he leans back on his left hand. Then even that is too much, and he lets himself fall onto his back so he’s staring up at the ceiling, staring up at the bright lights that blind him.

“Bucky!” Curt yells from the side. “John?”

The USA chant disintegrates into nothing as the stadium goes silent.

...

Please don't be mad.

Much of Bucky's rings routine comes from Asher Hong's in 2023 (right through the first maltese cross)

After the maltese cross, I have Bucky doing an inverted maltese cross (or inverted swallow), which is kinda insane

Side note: I would die for Stephen Nedoroscik ❤️❤️

#clegan olympics au #he’s John fucking Egan #beacon the good boy #John is an idiot #Gale can do no wrong #Curt is a good bro #clegan #mota #masters of the air #john egan #gale cleven #buck x bucky #clegan fic #bucky egan #buck cleven #curt biddick #mota fic

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destielomegaversebigbang · 3 months ago

Text

Into the Fire

Posting September 16, 2024

Fic by Crematosis

Art by spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

Rating: Explicit

Summary: As an omega, Dean has always had to work harder than anyone else to be taken seriously as dragon slayer. Castiel might be a bigger dragon than most, but Dean's still confident he can take him down and prove his worth. The whole plan falls apart when Dean discovers Castiel isn't actually interested in fighting him.

Tags: Omega Dean, Alpha Castiel, Top Castiel, Bottom Dean, Dragon Castiel, Shifter Castiel, Horse Impala, Alternate Universe-Medieval Fantasy, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Heat Sex, Handjobs, Mentioned Past Sex Work, One-Sided Enemies to Lovers, Castiel Loves Dean, Canon Typical Violence, Injured Dean, John’s A+ Parenting

Excerpt below the cut

Dean took a step back. “Uh, what are you doing?”

“Draw your sword, Dean.”

Dean’s heart pounded. While Castiel was human, it was easy to forget he was still a dragon and still a threat to him. He quickly drew his sword.

Castiel twisted Dean’s arm behind his back.

With a yelp of surprise, Dean’s hand spasmed and the sword clattered to the ground.

“For starters, we should discuss your reaction times. I disarmed you very easily.”

Dean huffed as he cradled his injured hand to his chest. “I fight dragons, not people.”

“And humans are much weaker opponents than dragons. If you really want to take out a dragon, you should ensure you can handle a human first.”

“Well, that would be where you’re wrong. I can handle dragons just fine.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “And yet, you’re having difficulty fighting me.”

“Yeah, so what? You’re a big-ass dragon that nobody can kill. And even though you look like a normal human now, you’re still all dragoned up so it doesn’t count. I could handle anybody else.”

“So does that mean you’re going to give up on fighting me?”

“Hell no,” Dean scoffed. “Dragonslayers never give up.”

“Very well. If you want to continue fighting me, I can help you with some training exercises.”

“What? You’re going to teach me how to fight you?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve seen the way you fight. And you’re very likely to get yourself killed at some point. Another dragon won’t be kind enough to bring you home to care for your injuries.”

#destiel omegaverse big bang 2024 #fic promo #destiel #omegaverse

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ancha-aus · 7 days ago

Text

Gifted Drabble - NewAgeAU - Required Feelings

Hey @spotaus !! As promised! A little thingie :3 As always. No worries about it being canon canon or not hahah. the end choice is up to you ;)

So Spot and I were talking about Killer and his story and it got me thinking about something we already established would happen and happened.

Mostly Killer's interest in Ccino. Because with everything going on with Killer? That makes that so much more interesting. Especially because Killer is still figuring out who he is after everything and Ccino is pretty much a social chameleon.

You guys ready? So here are some drabbles on pretty much a normal average day for Killer since coming to the castle!

Warnings: unhealthy relationships. slight sexual harrassment (not by the guys in focus but done by a background character.)

Also this got a... bit longer than planned... woops. i schemed too hard.

*--------------------------------------*

The last two months had been... strange.

Don't misunderstand. the training? brutal. But so good.

Killer never knew that it could be... fun to move and exercise.

He is so used to only running when he is running from the guards. He is so used to fighting only being adrenaline filled movements to keep the guards back so his best friend- ... so Chara could escape.

He is used to having to tug himself in tight places to hide. places that are uncomfortable.

Training with Nightmare is strange and difficult but fun.

The first time they sparred though?

Well... Killer is never afraid obviously. Chara said that being afraid is useless. But as Killer had stoof ready Nightmare had stopped. Tilted his skull at him and shaking his skull.

Killer had been terrified he had failed. Was his stance wrong? Was he not in the right defences postion? what did he do wrong? Please... He can do better.

Nightmar ehad walked over to him and looked at him calmly before saying that he wouldn't hurt him.

Killer had been frozen in place. because he knew that of course. Killer knows there is no use to training by hurting him. He learned that. Nightmare forced him to stop trianing and taking breaks at the start when he noticed that Killer was pushing himself to far. another difference from chara...

Nightmare had pretty much told him that his body didn't seem to agree with Killer. so that they would go back to Killer attacking him and Nightmare just blocking.

They haven't tried to spar yet since.

Killer sighs as he just wanders the halls. It is his thing at the moment.

When he isn't training, eating or sleeping. He likes to wander the grounds and area. explore a bit. Lay in the grass nad think about Ccino.

Sigh...

Ccino...

Killer is still unsure what to do with these... things he feels. He knows what this is of course. A stupid childish crush. Chara told him about them before. That people get stupid when they have tiny crushes. Especially when it is on someone that is way out of their league.

Killer had nobbed because it made sense. Chara would never have someone being out of their league. More that Chara was out of the league the other person was in.

So here he is... having a little crush on someone who is unobtainable.

Which Killer had known since the start so why did his stupid soul decide on this?

But... at the same time...

Killer looks outside as his mind wanders... His soul shifitng from the target to the more normal soul shape. Could you blame him? Ccino is... Ccino. He is so smart and everywhere and always so controlled and just always knows what to do and who is who...

Killer watches the forest in the distance and sighs wishfully... It would be easy.. especially now that he has a bit of gold... Tehy could get on one of the few horses together. and just ride off into the forest. They would keep going until they found a city where they could hide... Ccino and him. Just them...

He leans against the stone and smiles. Killer could show Ccino everything he knows from living in the city. How to get food where and how to dodge people. Ccino would be there for him. Help him and be nice and just... be there.

"Hello Killer."

Killer shotos upright and turns quickly. Only to come face to face with Ccino. Well not face to face as Ccino is a bit shorter but it is close.

Killer feels his body warm up slightly as he coughs to clear his throat of nothing but stupid nerves "Ccino! I didn't hear you." he grins "You sure you aren't a trained spy or guard yourself?"

Ccino tilts his skull and looks slightly amused "Very sure. I think i would notice the training for one." He looks around and looks through the window for a moment "I saw that you were just standing here and was wondering if something was wrong." and Ccino waits.

Oh gods what does he say? that he was just staring outside and thinking about the future they could ahve if they just made a break for it? that is not going to fly. oh fuck why are his hands sweaty.

Killer shrugs as he grins "Me thinking? You should know by now that i never think!" oh please just end him. what is he doing?!

Ccino frowns slightly before shaking his skull. Killer would feel bad about it but he has a tiny smile! That is something! that is something amazing!

Ccino looks back at him and frowns "Are you okay?"

Killer jsut... blinks at him... him... okay? of course he is okay? "Why wouldn't i be okay?"

Ccino keeps frowing as he just looks at him "Because your soul is a little... woobly... I was wondering if you are okay." he looks a lot stricter "If you aren't okay or feeling alright you need to tell us."

Killer however is... well he isn't NOT listening because how can he not listen to him? But Killer is sligthly panicking. of course his soul is woobly. Because his stupid soul is feeling stupid feelings about Ccino which just get worse when Ccino is here and what does he even say?! Wait! distract and redirect! Easy!

killer grins "Checking out my soul? You should take me on a date first."

WRONG DIRECTION! DIFFERENT DIRECTION! DON'T REDIRECT INTO THAT DIRECTION!

Ccino doesn't even blink at his very poor attempt at a flirt "Killer. I am being serious. Are you feeling okay? If you are sick you need to take time to rest and heal before anything else."

Killer snorts nad shrugs "Euh. I would be fine anyway. The king would probably hate me skipping training for something as stupid as me not feeling okay."

Ccino frowns at him "Killer... I know for sure that our king would much prefer you taking your time to heal and feel okay over you hurting yourself or getting sicker by pushing yourself too far."

Killer snorts as he mutters wiht a shrug "You jsut think that because you have priveledges..." which Killer immediantly regrets. it sounded like an insult or rude or whatever it is called.

Ccino shakes his skull as he mutters "No it is..." he sighs as he rubs his skull for a moment before focussing on him again. "Killer. I can assure you. I swear and promise. our king would not react poorly to hearing you are not feeling well." and he gives him this tiny tiny smile.

Killer feels weird and he has so many impulses and thoughts he doens't even know what to do at the moment. his body is unsure and killer jsut stays put as he looks to the side wiht a shrug.

Ccino watches him for a moment but doesn't push further. Instead he just nods as if Killer made any type of sense as he looks down the hall "Were you going to get dinner? it is about time for it."

Killer takes the out wiht both hands as he answers "I was going into that direction." and if he wasn't before he is now!

Ccino nods "Then we can walk together." he starts to turn and looks at him.

Killer feels his hadns get sweaty again. the impulse to hold the other. to just wrap his arms around the other and never let go. The need to pull him back and away. The other need to just sit with him and stare.

He can not be near him now. Ccino is offlimits and Killer is a mess.

Killer finds his voice "You know... now that i think about it... dinner? yeah... i dunno. Not exactly hungry... maybe you have apoint about me not feeling well. I am going back to my room and rest."

Ccino frowns at him but once again nods "okay. If you still feel ill tomorrow just tell one of the maids okay? Take it easy and try to get some sleep." and ccino walks away. towards the area to get food.

Killer rushes back to his room and falls on the bed. He groans long and loud. Why is he like this? why is this so hard and weird and strange?

Why does he never want it to stop.

Even so Killer jsut lays in the bed. feeling his soul slowly calm down from the racing pace it had been going. slowly it calms a calm pace and Killer thinks he slept for a bit.

Killer wakes up of course. He is hungry.

Ugh. this is what he gets for lying and skipping dinner.

Killer groans as he sits upright... he hopes there is some stuff still in the kitchen for him to raid and-

something in here smells delicious?!

Killer looks around and finds a plate of food on his nightstand. It is mashed potatoes with some greenery in it... hotchpotch? with something that looks like a large meatball and there is a tiny note.

Killer takes the note and reads it. It is ccino. telling him to take it easy and that he left him a meal for when he feels hungry.

Killer takes the plate. and while the food isn't hot anymore it is still warm. He takes a careful bite. but instead of chewing or swallowing he just waits and feels.

He enver realy had meals with intent before. Killer was never in a position to get those. And most restaurants places he took food from hadn't had a chef that cared enough to put intent in.

THe cooks here put a lot of intent in the food. Of nourishment mostly. the want that they feel good.

Killer didn't feel it right away so he doesn't think the normal cook made it. especially because it was chicken planned for dinner today.

He feels it.

It is weak and so light but it is there. Care. soft care from a magic that killer hadn't felt fully before. But the same care he could see shinign through Ccino's eye lights.

It feels like the magic... holds him. but not like guards grabbed him before. but softer and gentle and if he can break.

Killer only finishes his bite onces he absorbed every last bit the intent. He looks down adn ignores the fact that the goop from his sockets are dripping. that the goop is way more watery than normal.

-----

There are a lot of cats out in the castle.

Killer at first hadn't understood why.

Killer knew the church for nim used the animals as sacrifices. That he had...

Killer however also knew that Nightmare is very against sacrifices. If he learned anything in his four months here it was that. Nightmare hates everything that relates him back to his mother.

The news that nim and ngihtamre had been related... well... Killer will admit he had been looking back on those old fantasies or running away wiht a certain someone much more seriously.

But nightmare hated the old ways. He looked at them with disgust each time they were brought up and tried to make sure no situation happened where they woudl be needed. Killer is unsure what nightmare will do once something needs to happen that require those very things.

Maybe Nightmare will just keep refusing to do it. He seems to be very set on doing that.

Either way.

Cats.

So many of them.

Killer right now stands in a hallway. staring at a very sassy little grey with brown spots creature. The cat looks completely unimpressed with Killer.

Killer... hadn't tried to pet the cats yet. He had been... unsure...

Killer knows what he did. What he has done to these very creatures. The pain he caused their brothers and sisters before. Killer had the feelign the cats knew too. That they knew he was a terrible person who hurt those like them before.

Killer still really wants to go that direciton though... He has training with nightmare and nightmare and him had finally moved unto to sparing and Killer found it fun. He wanted to get all the time to spar that he could.

Killer stares down at the tiny creature "come on bud... I really need to go that direction."

The little grey and brown spotted cat looks unimpressed at him before rolling unto his back. showing that forbidden tummy.

Killer may never have petted a cat but he knows that is a trap. Killer shakes his skull "Can't do buddy... I know you will attack me."

The cat just does a slow blink at Killer. The picture of perfect innocence as he lays there. His eyes seeming to say 'why won't you pet me? aren't i cute? and don't i look soft?'

Killer slowly crouches down near the cat "I mean it bud. I need to go the direction you are blocking. Can you please move?" his hands slowly nears the cat. his hand is shaking lightly.

The cat makes that little mrp noise as he nuzzles the floor. wiggling in place.

Killer ligthly touches the cats side-

and the cat snaps to grab his hand with his little claws and bites it.

Killer yelps "ow! Hey! No fair!" the cat already let go and stands at the end of the hall. Looking very proud of himself before throtting off.

Killer glares as he jumps up "hey no wait!" he knows the library is there and Killer doesn't want the cat to start clawing stuf in there. the library is nightmare's pride and joy! he rushes after the cat "Hey! come back here!"

It takes amoment but he finds the cat and grins "There you are Bite!"

and amused voice "Bite?"

Killer turns around and Ccino is right by his side. Looking intrigued as he looks between Killer and the cat he had finally managed the corner.

Killer blinks and searches for the words "Yeah... Bite.. because he bites."

Ccino hums as he looks at the cat. He easily walks by Killer's side and killer tries not to shiver when their sides brush adn touch. Ccino crouches down and lets the cat sniff his hand for a moment. Ccino titls his skull as Bite just starts headbutting his hand and arm.

Waht a traitor.

Ccino chuckles as he picks Bite up and Bite purrs loudly and Killer swears the cat is staring at him smuggly

Ccino hums as he pets the cats "Sorry she bit you. cats need to learn not to see hands as toys. I think she thought you were trying to play with her."

Killer blinks "Her?"

Ccino nods "Yeah. Bite is a girl."

Oh gods please don't tell Killer that he officially named one of the cats and the name is BITE.

Killer rubs his hand "You sure it was just playing?"

Ccino nods "should be... did she do damage?" he frowns slightly.

Killer blinks and checks himself. No. no damage. huh. he shakes his skull "Nah. she didn't do damage... aside from emotional damage that is."

Ccino snorts and nods "Tehy are good at that. Well. I will take this little trouble maker in that case. You good luck at your training. Take the path behind the armour stand. It will take you right to the triaing area and you wn't be ridiculous late." and ccino opens his arms to let Bite jump out.

Killer shakes his skull "wait i euh... how come all the cats like you so much? are they yours?" he does remember the direction for later.

Ccino tilts his skull "They aren't mine. tehy are all strays... i guess they just like this place and see it as safe." a bit of a guilty smile "I do feed them however... which isn't helping the cat situation."

Killer snorts "must take a lot of money to pay for." maybe he can help a bit? share the costs?

Ccino shakes his skull wiht a smile "doesn't cost me anything. Ngihtmare just makes sure there are supplies for them in the castle." at the shocked look ccino smiles a bit softer "He knows I like them. So our king makes sure that they cna stay." he pets the feline by his feet "And what can i say? they are amazing pest control."

Killer laughs and nods "I can imagine. So how did you get them all to like you cat whisperer?"

Ccino looks amused but must be in a good mood as he decides to share his wisdom "Getting a cat to like you is easy. You just need to respect their boundaries and learn their language."

Killer fucking knew it! Killer grins "You can talk to them?"

Ccino blinks and looks a bit sheepish "oh no i can't. I meant... their body language. Cats communicate a lot with body language. Learn to read that a bit and you will know what a cat is annoyed or wants to be left alone. Then you respect their limits. if you are calm a cat is more likely to like you. and if you let a cat leave when it wants to they are more likely to return to you."

Killer gives a slow nod. huh..

Ccino nods "Etiher way. you got training that started like five minutes ago. Use the pathway i pointed out. See you around Killer." and he turns and leaves.

He turns the corner and Killer rushes after him to say thank you but- he is gone... Ccino must have used one of those pathways that the servants all use.

Bite is still by his side. she is looking at him with the most unimpressed look that Killer has ever seen on a cat.

Killer huffs and crosses his arms "What? it isn't like you would know how to trat a crush."

Bite clearly disagrees as she licks her paw before rubbing herself against his leg before throtting off. Looking confident and happy.

Killer sighs before jumping. shit his training! He rushes towards the armour stands and finds the servants path easily enough as he rushes towards the training room.

------

Killer is not sure if he even wants to be here.

Here, being, this stupid council get together thing.

Killer isn't even sure what it was. Just that there are a bunch of council members and old nobels. Something soemthing about it still being from Nim's time or something and Nightmare needing to deal with it.

Nightmare had asked if Killer had wanted to be there. Get a better feel for what normal guard duty was. So he could better understand why his duty was so much different.

Killer figured that it would be helpful. He had been here for six months now. a full half year. and while his training to be a Knight was progressing nicely he didn't know why it was special.

Nightmare had asked if he wanted to rotate with the guard for a while. to better understand their positions and jobs so he could see why his was different?

Killer had agreed.

and it was so different. His private room for one. but also the special training. the fact tha tnightmare would speka to him one on one and ask for his opinions and thoughts.

Being a knight... being a knigh was kinda like beign a personal guard and advisor in one go. It was a honour. and Killer jsut kinda.. stumbled into it.

Killer hadn't even been seriously concidering the job for the first three months he had been here! But then he got curious and figured he could stay and watcha bit longer. just a tiny bit couldn't hurt.

ccino walks by his row of guards and each guard quickly grabs some of the tiny snacks he offers. Ccino stops by a guard that doesn't grab one and gives thema look. the guard notices and eats the snack before ccinoe moves on. Killer grins at him as he grabs his snack and he gets agrin in return before ccino rushes of to take care of the other guards.

it also helps that ccino is here.

Killer is still unsure how ccino is just head of the house and not nightmare's main advisor and right hand. ccino is smart and clearly the most loyal of everyone in the kingdom. How could nightmare only let ccino be head of the house? sure it is a big role but killer doens't think it holds enough respect... but maybe that is just him.

Killer watches the nobel man and woman do their thing. he watches as advisors lean clsoe together to mutter and scheme. mmh. killer will have to point that out later to nightmare. make sure he noticed and knows there may be something brewing with those.

Killer still doens't get why Nightmare doesn't just fire them all. He is the king. he can do that. but someting about not wanting people to revolt or something. taking it step by step to clean it all out.

Euh. Not his job. at least not until he is a full knight.

For now he watches for trouble for Nightmare but everything seems fine... So his sight wanders to Ccino as he weaves through the crowds wiht a practise ease.

Killer is always enchanted by Ccino just. moving with ease and confidence. The way he knows how to move and never bump into anyone. How he gracefully dodges any hands or people stepping back.

Killer still watches of course as Ccino makes his way around the crowd. And he is reasonable near Killer, and Nightmare for that matter as Killer is positioned closest to him, when it happens.

Some nobel person Killer doesn't know who he is or why he is important and he doens't care. Reaches out and grabs Ccino right by the spine and rubs it.

Killer feels his hand for a fist as he moves his hand towards where his knife is stashed.

Ccino manages to twist free, which cna't be comfortable with how he was grabbed and manages to make space "Excuse. I didn't realise i was that close."

Killer has his knife in hand.

The nobel man smirks "If it isn't the pretty skeleton! I must say it is refreshing to still see you here! pretty as always." he looks him up and down and Killer gets ready. There isn't a straight line but Killer could be there within seconds.

"One of the better things of Nim! giving you your job for us all to have something pretty to stare at." the man laughs.

Ccino has a iron hold on his own face as he remains calm "The old king's name should not be spoken. As our own king rules now."

the man smirks before frowning "Though you have let yourself go! Already much fatter than before. such a shame and waste of a pretty face. Though I am sure it would still be fun to have a night together. Especially if we invite some of my business partners-"

And Ngihtmare is there. He grabs the nobel man and throws him across the hall into the wall. Killer can hear bones break and crack form his place.

People gasp and move towards his side but Killer isn't paying attention to that. He seems to be the only one who watches their king and ccino.

Nightmare looks beyond furious. His tentacles are all posed and sharp. ready to strike. He lowers himself and it reminds Killer of the big cats. How they get ready to strike.

A hand on Nightmare's shoulder.

Nightmare turns with a glare but meets ccino's unflinching face. Ccino just shakes his skull at Nightmare.

Ngihtmare breathes heavily and killer cna feel the rage in the air. Is he the only one who notices? because he is already getting sensitive to their king?

Nightmare glances back to the man on the ground and ccino shake shis skull agian. He straightens his spine, killer can see the pitch of pain on his face and nightmare clearly does to as his rage just increases. Ccino shoots him another look. He striaghtens his spine and stands still before looking pointedly atnightmare.

Ngihtmare pants but stands up striaght.

Ccino nods and rolls hsi shoudlers before relaxing them both. Killer can see his hand is still slightly shaking but he forms a fist and forces it still.

Nightmare breaths and his shoulders relax and wiht it his tentacles unsharpen.

Ccino raises a hand and waves it by his face. when his face has gone by his face turned from his frown to a neutral face.

Nightmare takes another deep breath but his face calms down.

Ccino nods and takes a few steps back. his arms and hands hidden behind his back but killer can see them shake slightly.

Ngihtmare walks over ot the nobels "As you should know by now. I do not take kindly to those who dare to threaten those who fall under my employment. I employ them in in trade for their service I keep them safe and comfortable. Yet you dare to enter my home, on my invitation, and threaten those around us? Those who work hard to ensure you have a pleasant evening? you will be removed and stripped of your title. Leave." he waves his hand and returns to his throne but on the way he stops by Killer.

Killer stands ready.

Nightmare mutters "Get Ccino to the healer. You are to make sure he gets there safely and gets to his room safely where he can rest." he eyes the knife that killer still has in his hand and looks appreciative of it. before schooling is face again and nodding. Not once mentioning that he saw the weapon which is very much not part of the normal guard equipment.

Killer nods and bows "Of course my king." and he rushes to ccino's side with a cheerful grin. hiding his own rage under easy company.

He will make sure ccino is fine. Then... when killer earned his right as knight and when he is allowed solo trips... he will make a special trip to the nobel.

after all. if he doesn't have hands he can never make a grab to anyone ever again.

-----

Killer sighs as he pets the cat in his lap. eight months. eight months since his life changed twice over. first wiht chara leaving him behind. abandoning him. and then him taking the deal with nightmare.

So muhc had changed. He had changed.

Killer pets the cat sleeping peacefully in his lap. It is still so strange. That he is still here. He hadn't... he never wanted... it hadn't been the plan to stay.

But after a while. Leaving seemed even worse of an idea.

Killer just dind't like the idea of leaving anymore.

Just until he uncovers the secrets.

Just until he satisfies his curiosity.

Just until he is over his crush.

All three misions failed.

But instead of feeling like it is time to cut his losses and move on. Killer just continues to want to stay here.

Killer sighs as he leans agianst the wall.

very soft steps and Killer grins as he looks over. Ccino turns to corner and tilts his skull at him "Well don't you look cozy." he takes a glance and smiles "I see Bite finally stopped attacking your hand every second."

Killer snorts "nah." he raises his bites covered hand "She just got tired." and he goes back to petting her.

Ccino nods as he walks over "How is your training doing?"

Killer nods "good." and that is the problem. because it is going well. Nightmare told him as much. Killer would soon have his first mission and he is worried.

What if he can't do it?

what if he can do it but doens't want to?

what is he can do it. does it. but dind't want to do it?

is the loyalty he feels... for nightmare? or for the idea that he has to be loyal.

He isn't sure.

Ccino nods "that is good." he tilts his skull at him "excited to be a full knight?"

Killer is feeling ballsy today. reckless even. Killer grins at ccino "What if i don't want to be a knight?"

Ccino doens't flinch and instead tilts his skull "I mean... you would ahve spend a long time training for soemthing you didn't want... so i figured you would have realised earlier."

Killer shrugs "waht if i did? but ust wanted more training?"

Ccino looks a thim and shrugs "I don't believe that. I think you want to be a knight."

Killer glares "And what makes you think that?"

Ccino smiles atiny bit "emotions and intent. If you hadn't wanted it. you wouldn't have tried so hard and made progress this quickly."

Killer blinks and looks forwards "What if i just believed it is what i wanted?"

Ccino shrugs "They yuo have to make a carreer switch."

Killer snorts "Oh yeah. Nightmare is going to be fine with that." he rolls his eyes.

Ccino lokos amused "Yes out king." he stresses the title "Will be fine wiht that."

Killer shoots him a look "oh come on! I knew there is more going on over him just being your king and you just being a loyal servant."

Ccino looks forwards wiht a tiny smile "I have no idea what you are talking about. Only those most trusted by the king would know personal affairs of the king." and he grins.

Killer looks amused "Okay. what if i just become knight to learn all the secrets. and then when i am saticfied i will just leave." he knows he is looking at him smugly.

Ccino tilts his skull amused "Relaly now? When you figure out all the secrets?"

Killer nods "indeed."

Ccino laughs "good luck with that." and he starts walking away.

Killer tilts his skull at him "What is that suposed to mean?!"

Ccino stops and glances backwards "You are a smart cookie. you will figure it out." and he turns around the corner.

At this point Killer knows better than to try and follow ccino. He will be gone before Killer can even get to the corner. probbaly on the other side of the castle already.

Killer keeps forgetting to ask him how he does it.

....

euh.

He will eventually ask him... Maybe...

after all...

He will only leave once he learns all the secrets...

So maybe keeping one or two in tact is a great idea...

You know...

Just because he is curious. And no other reason at all.

#utmv #NewAgeAU #killer sans #nightmare sans #ccino sans #FUN FACT! The scheming started with only the bit wiht the council.#that is where i started with my scheme #but then i figured that... it would be intersting to see how killer reacts to having a crush.#when he is barely a person.#and it helps that ccino is untouchable and unobtainable.#it means ccino is just safe for killer.#ccino is a constant and there and it HELPS #Killer can look safely at ccino and see what he likes nad doesn't like.#It is very muhc. killer dealing with a lot of stuff.#as his crush evolves along with him #the crush never leaves it just changes shapes as killer learns about himself and the world and about relationships as a whole.#He still has a way to go. and more to form as a person.#but he is getting there.#he is ttrying to figure out who he is and who he wants to be. and that is all anyone can want honestly.#why is ccino searching killer out?#ccino wants to check in on everyone. see how everyone is doing. and make sure they are okay.#so ccino makes sure to talk with people.#adn ccino is professional. but he is also a social chameleon and can read the vibe and energy in a conversation very well.#so he very very quickly figures out that killer reacts well to just. having an open conversation. he is okay wiht prodding.#just don't speka for him.#ccino gives him open questions. Not leading to one side or the other. because killer needs to pcik which way to go.#ccino also asks questions which killer can easily answer with a short answer. but killer wants to talk with him #so killer tends to not shorten the conversations he gets.#until he gets the question on his training. the subject he is unsure about. that he shuts down because he doens't have the right words #or answers for those questions.

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alvivaarts · 6 months ago

Note

oi i’m like two weeks late but 6 from the artist ask game??????

Ay no worries you're the first person who's asked anything from it! (insert confetti here).

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

Tbh I focus on a lot of theoretical biology for my mer stuff, for those I'd have to say either the 'ology' books and/or the Spiderwick Chronicles. I just love to break down the creatures in a practical or scientific way, but add into it like. More based in reality biology and anatomy and stuff.

Above are some of my favorite 'ology' books, and below are some of my favorite Spiderwick monsters! (Not to mention, the entirety of the SCP wiki. I live there some nights)

Oh yeah, and not to mention I also loved the How to Train Your Dragon and Neverland Fairies books as a kid.

Otherwise, I really enjoy werewolf movies. Like super really enjoy werewolf movies, my personal fav being An American Werewolf in London. I've found myself writing a lot of essays about the psychoanalysis of lycanthropy and werewolf transformation in film, as well as trying to subvert traditional lycanthropic themes in my academic art. But! I will always love werewolves. Here's a link to my favorite part of the movie, the transformation! (Warning for nudity (David Naughton's butt) and a lot of screaming and agony and some AWESOME practical effects. No CGI here!)

youtube

Second to last, I super love tarot symbolism such as seen in Dragon Age Inquisition. I used to run an Etsy (before I realized Etsy was stealing 2k a month from me) where I made custom handpainted tarot decks, my pride and joy being my Attack on Titan deck, though I had plans to expand to other fandoms including Critical Role, my own take on the Dragon Age tarot, SCP, etc. And a lot of others people requested.

Finally, I grew up non-denominational (and still am), so I find religious symbolism to be really prevalent, especially in my more recent works. Such as but not limited to sacrifice, lambs, the innocent, community, undeath, etc etc. Probably because of the severe lack of genuinely beautiful places to worship in my home country. Tbh, that's probably why I always end up playing an aasimar bard or monk in D&D.

I think those would be my subconscious inspirations, at least those that I could think of after sitting here for a bit. Other than that, I love dark fantasy and medieval style fantasy games like D&D, Dragon Age, and so forth. And media like the X-Men, Stranger Things, Lord of the Rings, Ghibli films, and a handful of anime that I find really fun! (FALIN ART INCOMING hOLY SHI-) Other than that I really aspire to reach the lever of artwork of Alphonse Mucha and traditional early renaissance artists like the classic greats. Aka the namesakes of the Ninja Turtles. I know I won't ever get there, but it's still very fun to try and emulate!

(Funnily enough I was never allowed to watch stuff like H2O, Winx Club, or much else along those veins) Sorry for the long ass answer, but this's been a fun exercise to figure out some stuff and to share!

Here's the Weirdly Specific Artist Ask Game for anyone else who wants to join the fun!

#answer #art #ask #illustration #artist ask #man this was fun #artist ask game #pixie hollow #how to train your dragon #dragonology #ology books #religious symbolism #dragon age #tarot #stained glass #mermaids #dragons #fantasy

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sun-lit-roses · 10 months ago

Text

A Non-Exhaustive List of Twenty-First Century Concepts

That Chris would be genuinely enthusiastic about and Una would go along with because she likes being an agent of chaos and suffering:

Abbreviations (i.e., text speak)

(Chris: What a fun way people used to chat with each other by comms! I'll send this to the comm team so they can reference it in the weekly ship's bulletin for their 'Fun Notes.'

Una provides orders only in abbreviations for a solid month until the entire crew has memorized the article in self-defense. Then she switches to disdain and asks everyone to 'Speak in Standard, please. You're on duty.' She submits the results to Starfleet as a report on recommendations for conducting routine exercises in Handling Psychological Warfare.

This does come in handy the next time aliens try to take over the ship and the crew uses Text Speak to blatantly organize their secret rebellion out loud and frustrate their captors to no end.

Chris: I didn't realize the Fun Notes section was so popular!)

Camping rough

(Chris: Hey, you can ride horses out to the site. And there's fishing - Joseph will be happy.

Una, planning on how to sabotage their gear so this also qualifies as the required Annual Survival Training exercise everyone keeps avoiding: Excellent idea, Captain. I'll handle the supplies.)

Festive ugly sweaters

(Not sure what Federation holidays exist - Founders Day Ugly Sweater Party in the Captain's quarters? Attendance and ugly sweaters made mandatory through the XO's subtle threats. If you show up without a sweater, one will be provided. You do not want the one provided.)

Halloween

(Chris: ...and then people go through a haunted maze! Or house. Or field? I think there were variations on the theme. Unless it's a very long maze. Oh! And then everyone gathers around to eat themed snacks and watch scary visual entertainment.

Una, mentally making a list of their crews biggest fears and how to terrify the living daylights out of them via decor: That seems like a lot to plan on your own. Why don't you organize the snacks while I take care of this 'haunted experience?')

*Matching* festive ugly sweaters

(Chris: Team bonding! After all, last year's Founders Day Party went very well.

Una, with eyes already on the prize of forcing their entire senior staff into matching hideous knit monstrosities with emblems of all the Federation planets in neon colors and a row of Vulcan hand salutes around the hem: Absolutely. That will definitely build camaraderie.)

#the possibilities are endless #as are the ways that una will turn them into a training opportunity #and sure you might have recurring nightmares or flinch when someone says lol #but doesnt that still beat a two hour seminar or 60 slide powerpoint on contingency planning and incident response?#strange new worlds #christopher pike #una chin riley

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rea-grimm · 8 months ago

Text

Dragon of Masyaf 2

warnings: blood and injury

Your training and various exercises sometimes took place outside the fortress and outside the city itself. Together with Altair, you went to the desert, where a small enemy camp was supposed to be located.

The plan was to stay the night in the desert, reconnoitre the enemy's territory and get the flag from there, which was located in the very centre on high ground. After that, you were scheduled to go to Jerusalem, where the Grandmaster was supposed to have a meeting with the Rafiq there.

You had travelled some distance from Masyaf when the enemy camp that Altair spoke of appeared in front of you. You camped not far from it and it was up to you to get the necessary information.

Altair often taught you about the mistakes of his past, so he made sure that you used your intuition, but that you found out the necessary and correct information.

When evening came it was up to you to prepare the fire. You got wood and everything, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get the fire going. You've probably tried all possible methods. Using sticks, stones... Nothing. You were slowly running out of patience.

“I'll do it,” Altair said after a while of you competing with the flintlocks. You nodded in agreement and handed him the rocks. Altair slammed them together a few times and you thought you didn't see any spark.

But he crouched down to the hearth and began to blow into it. You watched curiously as you noticed what seemed to be a flame coming out of his mouth. Suddenly, smoke appeared from the hearth and the fire was on. You couldn't believe your eyes.

“Thank you, Master,” you finally said, swallowing your other questions. How? What it was? Etc. He taught you to question, but right now you were questioning your eyesight.

"You're welcome. And Y/N? Just call me Altair," he said and you felt like his eyes were shining gold. But you attributed that to the illusion created by the flames.

You wanted to execute the infiltration plan at dawn when the guards were changing. You got in without any problems without anyone seeing you. You got to the flag and you had the impression that it was suspiciously easy.

Your suspicions were justified because as soon as you touched the flag, an arrow pierced your shoulder. You immediately pulled back and focused on the direction the arrow had come from. You noticed the archers. Looking around you found yourself surrounded. So they waited for you. It was a trap and you fell into it.

You broke the arrow so it wouldn't get in your way and even with the flag in hand you ran away. Now that you've had it, you're not going to leave it there. You jumped off the lookout tower and ran away.

You ran around the tents so they wouldn't see you, but when you got to the gate they were already waiting for you. They've completely blocked your path.

You drew your sword in your good hand and were thankful that you were learning to fight with both hands, just in case. Enemies rushed at you and you were clearly at a disadvantage.

Although you always tried to focus on the one closest to you, spotting who would attack and the like, despite that you knew that this was a problem. Fortunately for you, Altair was watching the whole situation and as soon as you were hit in the hand, help was on the way.

Just when you were starting to feel like you couldn't handle another attack, an assassin swooped in. He deflected one attack with his sword and blocked the other one aimed at you with his hand. You saw the sword go through his uniform, but you didn't see the blood. However, you had to focus on your opponents.

Together, you finally managed to kill the bandits and get to safety. At a sufficient distance, when you reached your camp and horses, you wanted to look at his hand. After all, you saw how the sword hit him. Altair showed her to you, but there was no injury on her. You looked at his hand in confusion.

"A lot was going on at once. Maybe someone else got hurt like that," he said, focusing his amber eyes on your shoulder, which was still bleeding and had a piece of arrows sticking out of it. "I'm more concerned about your injury," he said, inspecting it.

He carefully tried to help you out of your uniform, but it only got worse. A sharp pain shot through your shoulder and you looked unusually pale and exhausted. He didn't like this at all. This injury required proper treatment.

"We'll head straight for Jerusalem," Altair ordered. "Can you stay in the saddle?" he asked you worriedly. You nodded in agreement. After all, this little injury won't put you out of the game, right?

Unfortunately, you couldn't have been more wrong. After some time in the saddle, fatigue began to overtake you and the pain began to spread like a contagion throughout your body.

At one point you had the impression that your eyelids were made of stone and that you couldn't keep them open any longer. You blinked and then blinked again.

Then you could no longer open your eyelids and the peace of darkness enveloped you like a pleasant blanket. It wasn't until too late that you realized you fell asleep. It only dawned on you when a pair of hands grabbed you.

"You'd better ride with me," Altair said firmly. You nodded your head in agreement. He helped you onto his horse and settled behind you. He tied the reins of your horse to the saddle, held you around the waist with one hand so you wouldn't fall, and held the reins of his horse with the other. You leaned comfortably against his body, which warmed you pleasantly. Before you knew it, you fell asleep again.

You only woke up to the noise of people who were also heading to town. You stopped away from the main gate which was guarded by guards on each side.

"Can you get in?" Altair asked you as you regained your senses and surveyed your surroundings. Your shoulder still hurt, but you had already stopped bleeding.

"I'll make it. I'll blend in with those monks over there and sneak in with them undetected," you replied. Altair nodded his head in agreement. He helped you off the horse and onto the ground, putting his cloak over your shoulders. He didn't want your injury to attract unnecessary attention.

You did as you said and got through the guards to the city unnoticed. There you sat down on the bench and waited for the master, who joined you after a while. Together you walked through the alleys to the district where the base was located.

Normally you would have gotten there via the roof using parkour, but now you didn't want to risk making your injuries worse. Plus, you didn't want to risk running into the archers patrolling the rooftops.

When you finally reached the base here, you sat down on a bench in front of the building while the master made his way there via the roof. There was also a secret entrance, but only the local Rafiq knew about it. When you finally got inside, your injury was the priority.

Malik, the local Rafiq, with Altair's help, got rid of the rest of the arrow and tended to your wound, which began to bleed again. You were given the day off and rather your task was to rest. That wasn't a problem for you.

You lay down on the soft carpet that was littered with pillows and closed your eyes. You thought you were going to fall asleep again, but you probably weren't that tired again.

You still had your eyes closed and were listening to your surroundings. Nothing very interesting. That is until you heard the voice of the master and Rafiq. They were talking about something.

"…It was supposed to be a simple mission. I went to check it out myself. I have no idea where they turned up. If I wasn't sure myself, I wouldn't have sent her there," you recognized your master's voice.

"I see. I'll try to find out more in the city," Malik replied. There was silence for a moment.

“Now tell me since when have you personally been training the novices?” Malik asked in a different tone. Altair didn't answer.

"Does she know about it?" was Rafiq's next question.

"No. I didn't tell her the real reason. Besides, she indeed has potential," finally replied the Grandmaster.

"Just be careful," Rafiq said finally.

"I know. But sometimes I have this urge..." you didn't hear the end of that sentence. Overall, the conversation was weird and didn't make any sense to you.

Sure Altair acted strange at times, but what other reason could he have chosen to keep an eye on you? But now you had the impression that you wouldn't find out much. You'll have to go about it differently.

You left Jerusalem as soon as your shoulder healed. You surveyed the surrounding situation, Malik, who you found out was Altair's best friend, was overseeing your training for a while. Even so, they kept nudging each other. Malik kept calling him a novice, even in front of you, and it annoyed Altair.

Unlike the Grandmaster, Malik taught you in maps, documents, and generally in that direction. A proper assassin should develop both body and mind.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Assassin's Creed Masterlist

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed x reader #altair x reader #altaïr ibn la'ahad #altair #dragon altair #dragon of masyaf #dragon

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crimsonwolf715 · 4 days ago

Text

Burnout

(TW: mentions of Dazai forcing himself to throw up, minor blood, minor injury, fatigue, and overwork. Things you need to know: Meow meowing something off the table is a reference to how cats swipe things off of tables, but Dazai does it. He’s not a cat, but he sure acts like it sometimes.)

Dazai walks into the conference room where Chuuya’s waiting for Kouyou so they can have lunch.

“Cancel your plans. We have another training to do,” Dazai says.

“Oh no, my lunch. What’ve we got?” Chuuya asks, leaning back in his chair.

“Mori’s got us doing another stupid training exercise. On the positive side, Elise threw an entire pitcher of fruit punch on Mori so he had to go shower and change before he takes us, so we have like fifteen minutes because there’s no way that man showers properly.”

Chuuya just sits there for a minute, then hums. “I guess that’s fair. Do you have any idea what kind of bullshit this training is going to entail this time?”

Dazai nods. “Something about infiltrating and you throwing something. That last part may not be accurate because I stopped listening after he complimented Elise for the fourth time and said that you’re ‘incredibly powerful’. Which wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t say everything like he’s the world’s biggest creep.”

“Yeah, I’ve always had an odd need for validation, but I hate when he compliments me. Anyone else, and I normally take it well, but it’s just the way he says it.”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t really like compliments from anyone aside from three people, but Mori gives me the heebie-jeebies. Anyway, we should change the topic before he comes in. He’ll make us do more stupid shit if he hears us making fun of him. How have you been since we last talked? I know it’s only been four hours, but I’m curious.”

“Well, I wasn’t paying attention earlier, and smacked into a door frame. I didn’t sleep last night, and I still haven’t gotten coffee. Oh, and to make it better, I apologized to the door frame too. What about you?”

“I saw Ango earlier and called him Mom. Saw Odasaku and luckily didn’t embarrass myself. Interrogated someone who defected and ruined a perfectly good shirt. Oh, and then Mori told me we were going to this stupid training.”

“Sounds like the ruin of a perfectly good day. I was looking forward to having lunch with Kouyou, but here we are. Speaking of which, I need to text her.”

“I have to call Odasaku and tell him I will not be up for going for drinks later. I’m already tired and sore, and we haven’t even done anything yet.”

Chuuya laughs. “Yeah, fair. I’ve been working a lot recently. It feels like no matter how much I do, there’s always more to get done.”

“Yeah, it sucks.”

Mori walks in with Elise right behind him.

“Hi, boys,” Elise says, waving.

“Let’s go, you two. We have things to do and we’re behind schedule.”

“Why are we behind schedule?” Chuuya asks, smiling innocently.

“It’s not relevant. I got held back, so we need to get moving. Dazai, what are you doing?” Mori asks.

Dazai, who’s half under the table, answers, “I’m getting my pen. I dropped it while I was spinning it on the table.”

“Why do you care if you dropped your pen? It’s not like you’re not used to making a mess, and not cleaning it up,” Chuuya says, smirking.

“Well, I like this pen. I’ve got it, so we’re good to go. And Chibi, you make a ton of messes you don’t have to clean up. Get off your high horse. Oh wait, you’re so short that you couldn’t get on a horse.”

“I’ll have you know that I know how to ride a horse. Also, normally when I make messes, it’s your fault. At least I’m not showing up at your house, and throwing drinks on the floor. Or how about that time when you purposely threw up on my couch?”

“I didn’t purposely throw up. I absolutely hate throwing up. I don’t normally throw drinks on your floor. Only sometimes.”

“First of all, sticking your fingers down your throat counts as throwing up on purpose. Secondly, you constantly meow meow drinks off of my table when I’m not doing what you want me to. You’re like an unruly bitch.”

“First thing, don’t remember it, didn’t happen. Second thing, I like meow meowing things off tables. You shouldn’t leave drinks unattended if you don’t want them on the floor…”

“Stop it, you two,” Mori says forcefully. “Let’s go, we have things to do.”

“Fine, but it is still not my fault that you have the manners of a goat.”

“How dare you, Chuuya!”

“Stop fighting,” Mori says. “If you two don’t stop, you’ll be working until dawn.”

“Eww, fine.”

“You weren’t planning on doing that again anyway? That’s new,” Chuuya says, shrugging.

“If you two behave, you can go home at five. Does that motivate you to behave?” Mori asks.

“I don’t know what time it is now, so I don’t know if that’s motivating.”

“Yes, because I haven’t gone home before nine in like two weeks, so I don’t really care what time it is now. I will not punch Dazai in the face… probably.”

“Yeah, don’t punch me in the face, Chuuya.”

“That’s what I just said. You have got to put your listening ears on.”

“Sorry, Mom. I will.”

“Bitch.”

Mori takes the two of them to a car and they drive to an empty area in the middle of the woods.

“There’s a base about two miles walking distance from here. Get there, get the intel from their computers, then deal with the base itself. I don’t want any trace of it left, boys. Do you understand?” Mori asks, holding out a data stick.

Dazai takes the data stick. “I guess.”

“Wait, you don’t want any trace left of what? The building, the organization, or the computers?”

“The building and anything in it. This is the only base we currently know about, so this is the current target. Clear enough?”

“Rubble and everything?” Chuuya asks.

“Chuuya Nakahara, I clearly do not mean that.”

Dazai starts laughing.

“It wouldn’t be the first unreasonable thing you’ve asked us to do. You once asked me if I could disintegrate things with my ability if I tried hard enough.”

“One time you asked us to take out seven buildings in one night,” Dazai adds. “While we did manage it, it’s still unreasonable.”

“Knock it off. Go, you have work to do. Come back here when you’re done and we’ll go back to base for paperwork.”

“You know what would motivate me? Not having to do paperwork.”

“I’ll do it, but you can’t go home until I’m done.”

“How would I annoy you the whole time if I went home?” Dazai asks.

“I would be annoyed the whole time if you did go home,” Chuuya replies.

“Fair enough. We’ll head out now, Mori. You look like you’re gonna strangle us.”

“I’m not, just go,” Mori replies.

“Ok, we’re leaving. No need to tell us again.”

So the two start the long walk to the base. It turned out to be a four mile walk instead of a two mile walk and the base is heavily guarded.

“Would you look at that? So many new friends to murder,” Chuuya says, motioning towards the base.

“Yay, murder,” Dazai replies. “I don’t think I brought enough bullets for all of our new friends. I only have like two magazines.”

“Good thing I don’t need bullets.”

“Yeah, that is a good thing. You up for a long, drawn out fight? We haven’t slept in like a week.”

Chuuya laughs, though it does sound a bit hysteric. “I don’t really have a choice. Let’s just get this over with so I can go home.”

“Okay, guns blazing it is.”

Chuuya and Dazai storm the base. The two of them deal with the goons until they find the computer room. Dazai downloads the data from the computers while Chuuya continues dealing with the guards, who seem to be never ending. Dazai finishes up and then throws the computer on the floor.

“Alright, we can go,” Dazai says.

They make it back to the loading bay and Dazai notices a box labeled explosives.

“Hey, wanna have some fun with this?” Dazai asks.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you want,” Chuuya replies, looking down at his bloody knuckles.

“I’ll bandage up your hands when we get back to base.”

Chuuya uses his ability to move the box of explosives to the middle of the loading bay. Once they get far enough away, Dazai blows it up. The building explodes with much more ferocity than Dazai anticipated, making him laugh.

“Can we rest here for a minute?” Dazai asks. “I literally feel like my legs are gonna give out on me if I keep going.”

“Yeah, we can take a minute. I’m going to pick the glass out of my hands. All of the things for that man to have hit me with, it had to be a glass bottle,” Chuuya mutters, dropping onto the grass.

Dazai sits down, then lays down on the grass.

“Oh, I’m gonna kill Mori,” Dazai mutters. “I’m fine with working a lot, but I told him that I’m not cut out for this much physical labor.”

Chuuya scoffs, his eyes still trained on his hands as he pulls glass slivers out of his bleeding knuckles. “You’re such a princess.”

Dazai sighs. “Maybe a little, but this is more work than anybody should be doing. We’re being abused, Chuuya.”

Chuuya laughs. “Yeah, well, at least no one’s beating you. It could be worse. I could smack you every time you say something stupid.”

“Please don’t. I’d have way too many bruises and Ango asks way too many questions.”

“Boo hoo. I wouldn’t do that anyway.”

“Yeah, it’s because we’re friends.”

Mori’s car drives up and Mori gets out.

“What is taking you two so long…? What are you doing on the ground?” Mori asks.

“I cannot move,” Dazai answers. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’m taking glass out of my hands, and it’s taking a long time, because my nails are so short they’re practically non-existent,” Chuuya says, still without looking up.

“Get up,” Mori demands. “I’ll get the glass out of your hands in the car. Dazai, get up. We have things to do.”

“What things do we have to do? I thought it was just paperwork, and then we could go home,” Chuuya says, dragging himself to his feet.

“Yes, the paperwork. Kouyou also requested your presence but I told her she can wait until tomorrow, so you’ll have that to look forward to, Chuuya.”

Dazai forces himself to his feet. “Wow, just paperwork and then we go home. I’m gonna do the paperwork though because Chibi’s knuckles are all messed up.”

“I don’t care which one of you does the paperwork, as long as it gets done,” Mori replies.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna need stitches in this one spot. I’m still bleeding. You’re definitely going to have to do the paperwork,” Chuuya says.

The drive back to the Mafia’s base is quiet. Mori deals with Chuuya’s injuries while Dazai does paperwork.

“Do I label this as training or as a mission?” Dazai asks. “You said it was training, but it definitely felt like a mission.”

“Training,” Mori answers. “Elise, grab the bandages and wrap up Chuuya’s hands.”

Elise walks over and grabs the bandages, then hands them to Mori. “You do it.”

Mori sighs, then takes the bandages and wraps up Chuuya’s hands. “There. As usual, I can’t give you any meds unless you really need it. Let me know if anything gets infected.”

“Yeah, ok. I mean, I don’t plan on talking to you for the next few days, but you always try to ruin my plans anyway,” Chuuya says, sulking.

Before Mori has a chance to respond, Dazai gets up. “Paperwork is done so Chuuya and I can go home.”

Mori looks over it. “Alright, go ahead. Take tomorrow off too. Come back ready to do more work the day after.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Dazai replies.

“I’m going to sleep through tomorrow. I know Kouyou wants to see me, but I don’t care. I’m just not going to exist tomorrow. Do you wanna come to my apartment with me?” he randomly asks, turning to Dazai.

“I mean, I don’t have anywhere else to go. Odasaku’s God knows where and Ango left an hour ago for some out of town meeting. Since nobody seems to like my little shipping container house, I guess I’ll come with you,” Dazai answers.

“Ew, of course no one likes that. Come on though, I want to get home as quickly as possible.”

“Coming.”

The two head back to Chuuya’s apartment to get some much needed rest.

#whumptober2024 #whumptober #no.29 #burnout #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #mori ougai #bsd elise #light angst #feels #fluff #crack #whump #mild blood #minor injuries #whump writing #writing challenge

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