#maybe ill just...... drag snipe in anyway

[bonefall]

you mentioned before that brightheart's cut kits might pop back up in other clans as the result of honor sires, would windclan be a good use case for them if you're struggling with the amount of cats?

It's a good candidate Clan, but the technical issue that I ran into is that a low-population Clan has no fucking parents for them

The Queen's Rights are my favorite tool, but what I realized was that if I "Deploy The Cloudbright Kids," what I'm doing is essentially making an interesting QR case. Something I could have already done without using the Cloudbright Kids as planned, you get me?

So the MOST useful things are fresh outside cats, like Brushblaze and Snapstorm, followed closely by those who can pad out litters. For example, if you look at the WindClan family tree, you can see how often I had to do single-kit litters in order to stretch the 100 canon cats across Tallstar's Revenge's missing generation.

Rest assured though, the 4 cut cats are going to come up somewhere in ShadowClan and/or WindClan. Cloudbright's 3, Snowbush, Ambermoon, and Dewnose, plus Eaglewing who is no longer in Blossomfall's litter of 3.

[vagrantblvrd]

so i started watching The Old Guard because of your posts and mashes so well with the Immortal!FAHC so i was wondering, what are your thoughts on that, like who is the oldest, which era is each member of the crew from, how did they die the first time, and so on :3

Yesssss. >:D

But, no I hope you liked it, friend!

The first time I watched I was thinking that too!

As to Immortal!FAHC I have many thoughts on it from before watching this movie.

I’m also no good at history, and get my eras mixed up? (Like oh my God I had that intense focus thing going on as a kid for a while for WWII warplanes after watching Memphis Belle with my dad, but aside from that, yeah???)

(All of this is to say please excuse inaccuracies as most of what I know is from media and Wikipedia. Also, some of these are more well thought out than others, so pls to keep that in mind.)

Presented in no particular order:

My favorite take on it though has Gavin as the oldest, right? (Pretends he isn’t, but the others find out over time because he stops trying to hide it when he realizes it’s not an issue with them the way it’s been with other immortals he’s run across for whatever reason.)

Born during the Bronze Age and the person he was back then was just awful, horrible little asshole without redeeming qualities to speak of whatsoever.

Came from a wealthy/important family which is something that’s people can still tell to this day even if he’s not a bastard about it anymore.

He died alone and unloved (no reason to love the person he was back then, something he freely admits to anyone asking who wants the real answer) to thieves/bandits or some wasting illness, idk.

From there he learns how not to be a complete piece of shit and honestly, it takes him a long goddamned time.

Lifetimes, really. (Not his, of course, but as time goes and all that.)

Watching and learning from the people around him from the poor farmers and so on who take pity on this dirty traveler on the verge of starving to death to emperors and kings and queens and other puffed up royalty and such.

Favored Italy and England enough that he’s woven both into the Golden Boy’s persona with the accent and references to this grandfather of his that he makes to people who don’t know he’s an immortal.

(Definitely has ties to the mafia, if not served as the head of the Italian mafia for a time, making a comeback as a long-lost/bastard descendant recently discovered with a remarkable likeness to a former mafia head who’s since moved to Los Santos, because of course he did.)

To be fair, he’s still learning with the Fakes, found family and all, and he’s the happiest he can remember being? (Because sappy feels and the whatnot.)

Jack I picture as a viking, because the beard and uh, not much else reason for that line of thinking.

Just this great warrior/peacemaker among his people who dies in battle. (Possibly betrayed because jealous fellow viking at how well-liked and respected Jack is and so on.)

He’s “mellowed” over time, likes to play friendly and affable and so on, will let himself be insulted if it serves the crew’s interests and such? But oh, wow, watch out when he’s angry? (Especially if it’s due to someone hurting someone he cares about.)

Ryan I see as medieval times with the whole kings and queens and knights. (Possibly due to the influence of Kings AU???)

Noble born and served as a knight before being killed in battle or spot of ~intrigue by a political rival/enemy.

Totally got his revenge before realizing the kind of trouble he’d be in if he tried to reclaim his life - unnatural and all - and ended up living a nomadic lifestyle after that. (A vagabond, if you will, because that never not stops being funny to me.)

He gets tangled up with thieves and the like for a while, did some murder for hire that’s been his main career path ever since.

(And okay, if one of the thieves he worked with for a while was this skinny bastard with a big nose and the most ridiculous questions that’s possibly a thing that happened, because reasons. And Freewood.)

Michael I see coming in around the Revolutionary War?

Family moved to the colonies when he was a kid and so on. Signing on to fight against the British and dying in a battle against them, still remembers what it felt like bleeding out in the mud. Has nightmares about it sometimes.

There used to be this whole Thing about it when he met Gavin whenever he leans hard on the British bit that gets even more involved after Jeremy joins the crew.

(Also, also. If Michael and Jeremy collude together against that British asshole, well. That’s a thing that happens. Along with smooches, because none of your goddamned business about that, okay?)

Jeremy comes in during the whole cowboy era, because of the Rimmy Tim getup and I think it’s hilarious as hell.

Originally from Boston (hence the dumb running joke with Gavin and Michael)and moved to the ~wild west as a kid because Adventure and then shenanigans?

Died in a train heist gone horribly wrong and just. He doesn’t like to talk about it, but since he mentioned once it has something to do with his fear of heights, just.

Yikes, you know?

Also, also, the whole bit about cars becoming a thing just before he died (I’m trying not to make a joke about it being of dysentery on a certain trail, but it’s so hard), which is part of why he’s got a Thing about cars now.

(Vroom-vroom fast and that armada of his.)

Trevor, okay, Trevor.

Based pretty much on what his GTA V character used to wear and Trevor himself makes me think of Prohibition-era gangster along with Alfredo?

He and Alfredo started out as street kids in Chicago and the fastest/easiest way to make money for kids like them involved the mob and it was just.

A thing that happened? The two of them coming up in the ranks and BFFs (possibly something more, who can say???) before getting gunned down by rivals one day.

Would have woken up together if the morgue hadn’t fucked up so they went a few years thinking the other had died before accidentally running into one another again, because reasons.

They’ve been together ever since, a pain in Geoff’s ass before he managed to get them to sign on with the crew.

(Trevor kept the fashion sense he had from back then, because of course he did. Doesn’t always dress like he used to, but sometimes he gets the urge and Alfredo laughs at him for it, but he never says a word against it because Trevor looks good like that, you know?)

Speaking of Geoff?

Born around the time Trevor and Fredo were running from Elliott Ness and his Untouchables.

Lied about his age to join the Army and served overseas in the European theater in WWII. Infantry, saw his share of battles that took the shine out of things (what there was to the stupid he kid he was) really damn fast.

Actually survived through the end of the war and made his way back to the US, did some odd jobs here and there for a while as he tried to figure things out.

Listened to the wrong friend (or right one?) and ended up working for some criminal-types, got dragged into the life before he knew it.

Managed to stay alive, learning the ins and outs of being a criminal and all that up until his luck ran out and he ran afoul of some corrupt cops.

Woke up in a ditch somewhere coughing up bullets and freaked out as hell - anyone would be - and then, uh.

Kind of kept going?

Figured shit out as he went, and ran into Jack sometime in the fifties, sixties? Whenever and it was them for the longest damn time before Geoff got the idea to set up in Los Santos for a bit, see how that worked out for them.

(Regret. So much regret because look at all the assholes fucking up his life after that, you know? Really, Jack, stop laughing at him because you’re part of the problem, jackass.)

Lindsay I see as being either relatively young - died in the 80s, 90s? - or as old as if not older than Gavin, depending on the day? (My day??? Idk, I love both a hell of a lot.)

Died in a bank robbery when the asshole responsible for setting the charges to get into the vault miscalculated how much explosives were needed and it was just.

Messy.

Super, super messy.

Fiona is absolutely the youngest, someone Gavin ran into in Europe when he pulled the thing about being his own descendant.

Met her in Paris on his way to the US when she got so goddamned angry at him for accusing her of picking his pocket (a thing she totally did, btw), but she cased such a scene she managed to escape before the cops or Gavin could do anything about it.

She dies in Liberty City working for some assholes who never deserved her, and Gavin happens to be there when she makes the mistake of picking pockets to get enough money to get the hell out of the city before anyone realizes she’s not as dead as she could be?

Terrible disguise of baseball hat, big sunglasses and a scarf over her face, but her response at being caught out as a thief is too similar for Gavin not to realize it’s her.

And then, you know.

He mentions this crew out in Los Santos that would be interested in someone like her? Not as a pickpocket because she’s clearly awful at it - “Hey!” - but they’ve chatted a bit and she mentioned something about sniping - or maybe just perked up when he brought it up.

(Visiting a sniper he used to work with and so on.)

Anyway, why not look them up if she’s ever in Los Santos?

And then she does, of course, and then shenanigans???

Also, also, some of them definitely crossed paths over the years. Ran into one another and are all, “Oh, this asshole again,” maybe work together for a while before going their own ways

They all have this story about meeting Gavin for the first time that no one, no one puts together for the longest damn time.

Like.

How the hell could Jack have met Gavin back when he was being a viking when Gavin claims he died in the 60s?

(Claimed to know the Beatles personally, because of course he did.)

Ryan and that thief he met that one time, got all these FEELS for him that had them being partners in crime for a long, long time before circumstanced forced them apart.

...And then met him again a century or so later and on opposite sides before Gavin did a heroic “sacrifice” to save him at the expense of his current cover. Like, they totally picked up where they left off afterward, because not that stupid? But they got maybe fifteen, twenty years after that together before they were forced apart by circumstances again.

Pattern repeats for a long goddamned time before they happen to meet up again around the time Geoff and Jack get to Los Santos and so far their luck seems to be holding steady. (I just. Man, I love the idea of them being the kind of assholes who are stupid in love with one another but the universe at large is like, lol and tosses a wrench into the works every once in a while for the hell of it and them eventually finding one another again. Because DELICIOUS ANGST.)

Or Michael when he was marching to the next battle and some asshole asking him the stupidest question imaginable next to him? (British accent, sure, but he wasn’t the only one on their side with one, so yes.)

Jeremy and that one Pinkerton agent that one time???

Lindsay and that asshole working for a rival gang who didn’t kill her even though he could have? (When she asks sometime after joining the Fakes he’s just ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  even though he didn’t like the asshole he was working for at the time and actually engineered the bastard’s death, but yeah, sure, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .

Fiona, well.

Everyone knows that story because she’s like “YOU MOTHERFUCKER,” when she sees him at the penthouse the first time he strolls through the door after she joins the crew.

And just.

Yes.

They put the pieces together at some point and are like son of a bitch because they figured Gavin’s story about being a beatnik or whatever he said he was when he died was the truth?

And Gavin’s like, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  because technically it wasn’t a lie.

He was a beatnik when he died in the 60s, it’s just that that wasn’t the first time he died.

Eventually he tells them about it in bits and pieces, because they don’t push, demand an explanation. (God knows they’ve all got their secrets and reasons for them and such.)

He tells them because he trusts them and they prove he’s right to by not betraying his trust in them and I’m just, like. Full of FEELS right now, so yes.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

ALSO.

Bonus?

But I seriously love the idea of Meg being the inspiration behind the Morrigan.

Just.

Yes.

And if she happens to meet Ryan and Gavin while those two idiots are thieving their way across Europe sometime? That’s definitely a thing that happened.

Also, also, you know she checks up on them in Los Santos from time to time, because old friends (possibly more?) and gets along with Lindsay and Fiona like a house on fire.

Sometimes literally, the three of them >:DDDDDDDD while Geoff’s back at the penthouse shut up in his room because no, no, do not tell him how much of his city’s on fire, Trevor, no.

Idk whether I like former Roman soldier Dan or medieval knight Dan, but whichever one it is he and Gavin go way, way back and they delight in shenanigating about almost as much as Meg and her terrors do in that Geoff is very much :(((((((((((((((((((((((((( when they get together because some part of the city is guaranteed to be on fire at any given point.

[shikikira]

Pajama Problems - Ch 03

Ko-Fi | Master Post | AO3 | FFN | Other Pages

Previous Chapter

Summary: What if the pajamas Jumin had bought hadn’t quite fit Ami (MC/OC)? What if she was much bustier than she seemed? The issues Jumin and Ami suffer as he attempts to dress her each night.

Rating: M

Word Count:

Slumping over the top of the dresser, Ami moaned as her sensitive breasts dragged across the polished wood. She groaned as her fingers fell out of her soaking sheath.

She lied there breathless, too enraptured by her recent bout of bliss. Her little bout of pleasure just now hadn’t even whet her appetite, much less quenched it.

Still panting, she slowly rolled over onto her side as she basked in the afterglow. Her eyes lazily roamed around the room as the haze of lust lifted from her gaze bit by bit.

Eyes sliding across one wall, she bolted upright, nearly falling to the floor in her haste, as her sight landed on the closet entrance.

As if mocking her, the door swung open wider.

With wide eyes, she cursed her own stupidity and libido. “Bloody fucking hell!”

Utterly humiliated, she rushed to her feet, and hurried to close the jeering door.

Face completely flushed, she hastily peek down the hallway, checking if anyone had heard her screams.

Seeing no one coming, she quietly shut the door. Back pressed against the dark wood, she slid down, bare bottom touching the carpet floor.

Burying her face in her arms, she prayed that she wasn't as loud as she thought she was. But knowing her vocals as well as she did, she was probably even louder.

Irritated with herself, she shrugged off the ruined button, and wiped herself clean with it.

“What the hell happened to staying rational and not letting your hormones control you, Masami?” she groused sourly as she shimmied back into her panties and pajama bottoms.

“It shouldn't be that hard to abstain for a night. You do it all the time at sofu-sama's (grandfather’s).” She angrily pulled a random T-shirt from the racks, and pulled it over her head, not caring about how it swallowed her slim form.

“And what the hell was with that last bit anyway? Why did Jumin suddenly replace Shi-chan?” Roughly balling the pajama top, she threw the nightwear viciously to the ground.

Tears filled her eyes as she collapsed to her knees, a distressed whimper tearing itself from her throat.

Why?

Why, why, why?

She thought she had gotten over her crush. Thrown it out of her heart, and left it in the past where it should have stayed with no power over her.

She was getting married in a little over a month to the love of her life. She had even gone in for her final bridal fitting on Halloween, and was eager for Christmas to come. She wanted to make her marriage finally official.

So what the hell was wrong with her?

Why was she imagining having passionate, mind blowing sex with Jumin rather than her fiancé?

Admittedly, she was sexually attracted to Jumin. She couldn’t deny it no matter how much she wanted to. And it seemed her mind wasn’t about to let her forget it either as she suddenly pictured the tent that had been in Jumin’s pants.

Judging by the size of his bulge, she’d guess his penis might even rival Shigeru’s in length and size.

Just imagining how large Jumin was had her mouth watering as her lust threatened to consumer her again.

Promptly slapping herself, she put a stop to her lewd thoughts.

She was a taken woman. She didn’t need to nor should she be having fantasies about other men that weren’t fiancé. She had never in her life so much as even fantasized about another living person before.

If she didn’t have her own set of morals that she firmly adhered to, she wouldn’t have minded Jumin’s attentions. Her guilty fantasy would probably even be a reality if she didn’t love Shigeru as much as she did.

But she did love Shigeru, and she was completely and wholeheartedly devoted to him and only him.

Curling up on her side, she hugged her knees to her chest, feeling more miserable than she already had before coming into the closet.

It was one thing to fantasize about fictional characters, but it was a completely different matter to fantasize about another person. Especially one that really could lead to her cheating on her husband in all but name.

She wanted to call Shigeru and talk with him, but this was something that had to do with him too.

Wracked with guilt, she didn’t know what to do.

Maybe I should call Mama or one of my siblings… she wondered, lips pressed thin in anxiety.

Growing up, she had never been particularly close to her family, and had never called her parents or siblings much.

Loneliness. Boredom. Advice. Excitement.

She had never once called her family about anything. When things happened, Shigeru had always been the first person she sought out.

Even though they were family, she hadn’t spent much of her childhood with her parents and siblings. And she wasn’t exactly close with the majority of siblings; even less so with her blood related ones than all the ones her parents had adopted over the years.

When Shigeru had entered university at just five years old, she had been from her parents and sent to America to keep him company. It might have been her grandfather’s orders and for Shigeru’s benefit, but it really made her wonder.

Had her parents even cared about her?

Had she only been born to fulfill her grandfather and Shigeru’s grandfather’s promise to each other?

Did her parents even actually love her? Had everything they told her been nothing more than pretty lies?

“Why else would they have so easily given me up?” she mumbled miserably, eyes squeezing tight at the hurt she still felt from the isolation.

She had only been three years old when she had been uprooted from her life with her parents. Still just a toddler when she had been taken from her home, family, and friends. Not even old enough to take care of herself yet.

Her parents hadn’t seemed to have even hesitated when they had taken her to America and left her in the care of her cousins Shokichi and Daiki and a single bodyguard and caretaker, Kirizaki Kenshin.

Her lips twitched upwards at the thought of her bodyguard turned brother-in-law.

She had been an absolute menace to him when he had been assigned to her, having frequently disappeared from his sight and once bitten him hard enough to scar. But the oddly cheery man had for whatever reason taken a liking to her, and she was forever grateful for that. Kenshin had become one of the few bright constants in her otherwise dark and lonely childhood.

Almost immediately a frown took her lips.

It had been some years since she had last seen the head of her security detail. The blond had disappeared overseas for some sort of assignment shortly after his wife and her sister and cousin Emi’s death, leaving their newborn twins, Toshiyuki and Rie, in her family’s care and one of her elder adopted brothers in charge of her safety.

She always figured he had left to get revenge for Emi; their whole family wanted revenge for the murder of one of their brightest lights. But it had been a heavier and harsher blow to Kenshin than anyone else.

During one of their more serious conversations, her brother-in-law had once described Emi as being akin to his north star. The light that always guided him home and back on the right path. She had been the light to his darkness. The stars to his shadows. His love for her was a constant like the ever rising sun.

She hoped he came home soon. Even without his north star, he and Emi had created two new stars. Her niece and nephew needed their father, not their aunt and uncle.

Uncurling herself, she rolled onto her back, one arm slung across her chest while the other was spread out towards the side.

Even though Toshiyuki and Rie had been left in her and Shigeru’s joint guardianship, the twins were mainly cared for by her parents.

If she compared how her parents raised the twins and her other siblings versus how she had been raised, there were far too many differences to count. She was glad for it though, loved that her niece and nephew were so cherished and doted on. Their childhood was so completely different from her own that it hurt.

Would her childhood be like the twins’ if she hadn’t been sent to America?

Would her parents have loved her as much as they cherished their non-biological children and grandchildren?

Would they have even cared about her as much as they did now if she hadn’t become a successful actress?

With each question, she could feel her heart breaking more and more, her mind providing a loud, resounding no.

They never wanted you. Her mind hissed scornfully.

Tears falling, Ami choked back a sob as the heartache threatened to overwhelm her. The pain had her feeling nearly as miserable as when she had been twelve.

If they loved you, they wouldn’t have shipped you off every chance they got. Her mind continued to whisper disdainfully. America. France. England.

“That’s not true,” she snapped back. Her knuckles turned white as the fingers of her left hand wrapped around the pendant of the necklace she always wore, a precious custom gift from her fiancé.

It was all so your mom and dad didn’t have to deal with how useless and pathetic you are.

“Shut up,” she growled louder.  “You know it wasn’t like that!”

You know Shigeru’s too good for you. He deserves someone smarter, prettier, better; someone not you. Her mind sniped venomously.

That’s why you’re fantasizing about another man fucking you! You’re nothing but a sex crazed harlot.

“Shut the hell up!” she shouted, slamming her free hand viciously against the floor. The impact of her fist echoed in the closet; the sound barely muffled by the numerous clothes hung up.

Pulling herself up, she buried her face in her arms, hands gripping her hair tightly.

“C'mon, Masami. Get a hold of yourself. It's only your illness talking. Don’t let it get the better of you.

You are good enough for Shigeru. There's no need for you to prove it to anyone,” she reassured herself in a rushed but soft tone.

“We’ve gone over this before, Masami. Mama and Papa love you. They only sent you away for your own benefit. Living in America despite all the trauma is better than being treated as a servant by your aunts and uncles your entire life. Moving to France was only to keep you safe and away from the demented doctor. ”

A shudder racked Ami’s body at the thought of the lunatic and one of her worst traumas at a hospital.

She remembered the absolute terror she felt upon waking up and finding herself strapped on top of a medical table, completely immobilized. How the operating room lights were directed down at her, blinding her sensitive eyes. How horrified she was when she saw that doctor’s face looming right above her, insanity gleaming in his eyes and a wide, deranged grin spreading across his bare face.

She had screamed in fear and panic upon seeing his blood covered scalpel. The fresh, dripping blood and cold metal had glistened sinisterly under the operating lights.

Dread had filled her as she had quickly realized what was happening to her and recognized the crazed man.

The doctor operating on her had been the same one her parents had placed a restraining order against, and had taken off her medical case. The man had been a long time member of the medical staff that took care of her whenever she was hospitalized. He had been the one doctor who had been the most insistent on having her internal organs removed and having her connected to a metal stomach. Even after multiple denials, the man had been persistent, unceasing in his obsession with her body, pursuing her cousins with a constant pleas and deals.

She didn't remember much of what happened after that nor any of the words the psychopath had said to her. She only remembered hearing the operating room doors banging open while the mad man had been talking before promptly fainting from shock.

The next time she had woken up, it was to the somber faces of her cousins, the anguished expression of Kenshin, and the thundering voices of her parents as they furiously rebuked the medical staff.

Shivering, she shot up to her feet and started pacing around the closet, hoping to rid herself of the grisly memory.

“All right, Masami. Let’s get out of your own head,” she muttered to herself, running a trembling hand through her hair roughly. “You’re safe now. You’re not a little kid anymore. You’re not stuck in a hospital again. You’re not at the mercy of a medical team you don’t trust. You’re safe.”

“Just breathe, okay? Take some slow, deep breaths, and everything will be all right,” she babbled to herself, on the verge of hyperventilating as she continued to pace across the floor.

As her breathing slowly returned to normal, Ami continued to calm herself, reminding herself of the promises she had made earlier and all the good that was soon to come.

“Okay, we just talked about this. Let’s keep calm and don’t let your emotions get the better of you. Remember what your therapist said. Just let the moment pass; the feelings won’t last forever,” she breathed out in a slow even pace as she continued to take deep breaths.

“Everything will be all right. Emi-onee-sama won't come back to life, but she'll finally be able to rest in peace with her killer finally behind bars,” she reassured herself. “Just a little longer before we can go home.”

Finally feeling more rational and like herself, she started to think of who she could talk to. Because she definitely need to talk to someone, and it couldn’t be Shigeru; and she absolutely refused to divulge her thoughts to any of the R. F. A. members.

She couldn’t just keep her emotions bottled up like she had done most of her life, but she couldn’t unload her problems on just anyone. She knew how heavy a burden it was to be another person’s confidant could be after all. Having been that person for not just her fiancé but many others as well, she knew the mental stress of that came with that trust given responsibility intimately.

But who could she talk to without being judged?

With her personality and mindset, her first adopted sister was probably the easiest and the best person to talk to about her current situation. The former intelligence agent would be the most understanding, and would probably give the soundest advice.

“But it’s already almost ten. Yumi-nee’s either putting Masayoshi, Rie, and the twins to bed right now or spending time with Mitsuyoshi-onii-sama right now.”

Her lips pursed as she thought of who else she could possibly talk to.

Yumi’s younger biological brothers were also an option, but both were busy with their own matters. Yukichi and their other adopted brothers who had come to Korea with her were busy dealing with the all the bull shit of capturing Rika and her cult. Kei, on the other hand, was in Santa Monica with her own older biological brother. The two of them were overseeing the World Championships for one of their many game creations.

Sighing, she wondered if there was anyone she could possibly call at this time of day. A majority of her siblings didn’t even live in the same time zone as her; many of them having chosen to pursue careers in their family’s business but sent them all over the globe and still allowed them to return home to Tokyo.

Going through her mental list, she mumbled out the names of all her siblings who were currently staying in a country where it was still a reasonable hour. Even though she wasn’t particularly close to a majority of her siblings, they were close enough that she kept track of each and every one of her dozens of siblings

She thought it over for a bit before her eyes widened in realization and she felt like slapping herself for her idiocy.

Grabbing the ruined button up, she raced out of the closet, being mindful to close the door, and headed for the living room.

“Why didn't I call Zen and Kazu earlier?” she muttered as she dove for her purse, and grabbed one of her three phones—her private line—from her bag.

She should've realized it earlier that the two were the only ones she could talk to about her predicament with confidence. Zen and Kazu, respectively also known as Teizen and Kazuhiko, were the two brothers she was in a pseudo triplet set with and whom she was the closest to out of all her relatives.

If she was right, her two younger brothers should both be in Oxford or somewhere else in England right now. While they had all been in Paris, Kazuhiko had mentioned that he was going to follow Teizen back to the UK after Shigeru’s birthday.

Checking the time, she quickly dialed her baseball playing brother’s number, and waited for Kazu to pick up.

If she was lucky and remembered Teizen’s schedule correctly, she should be catching them just as they were out getting lunch.

Her foot tapped rhythmically against Jumin’s pristine tile floor as she impatiently listened to the dial tone, waiting for the signature click of a connected call.

“Moshi moshi, Macchan?” she finally heard from the other line.

“Hey, Kazu,” she smiled as she spoke in her native Japanese, glad to hear the youngest of their set’s mischievous voice. “Are you with Zen right now? How are you enjoying England?”

“It’s been pretty good. Oxford’s nothing like London or LA, but I’m not too sure how I feel about the food though. And yeah, he’s with me right now. What’s up? Do you need him to talk to him for a project or something?”

“No, but are you guys free to talk right now?”

“Of course! We just getting lunch. I’m gonna put you on speaker—”

“No, no speaker please,” she cut him off pleadingly. “At least not if you’re with others and in public.”

“Hm? All right. We're at a gastropub right now, so gimme a sec.”

Ami winced at her brother’s tone. The baseball player was already suspicious, and she hadn’t even told them what she wanted to talk to them about yet. Like the rest of her siblings, the bespectacled man was perspective to a fault.

Even with him pulling the phone away, she could still hear her brothers talking on the other end, but they were somewhat muffled by the surrounding clamor.

A moment later, she heard Teizen's deeper, placid voice talking to whom she assumed must an employee.

The noise of people chattering grew gradually louder before becoming more distant, muffling the sound of her brothers’ footsteps.

There was the creak of a door opening, and the sound of chairs scraping across the floor soon followed. Her brothers spoke with the wait staff a little longer before a soft thud muted the commotion of the eatery.

“You still with us, Macchan? You’ve been real quiet,” Kazuhiko asked, concern coloring his tone.

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Kazu, put her on speaker.” She heard her cousin turned brother and later brother-in-law say.

“Already ahead of you, Zen.”

“Kazu! I—” she made to protest.

“We’re in a private room. There’s no one else here, but us,” Teizen interrupted succinctly.

She bit her lip, worried that she may have called the wrong siblings. She knew the other singer could be rather cold and curt with his words at times, but she had rarely ever been on the receiving end of them.

A loud smack was heard shortly after as Kazuhiko spoke. “Geez, do you have to speak like that? She’s already unnerved as it is.”

“There’s no point in coddling her,” Teizen argued back. “She might be emotionally delicate than we are, but she’s not glass.”

“And people say I’m the callous one,” their youngest grumbled. She could practically see him rolling his golden eyes—one of the few defining features that told her and her brothers apart—behind his blacked framed glasses.

“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. Should I call back some other time?” she whispered, feeling as if she were being scolded by one of her paternal aunts.

“Aiz, it’s fine,” Teizen finally said, a sigh in his voice as if he could sense Ami’s growing anxiety. Given how close they were, he probably could. “If you need anything, Kazu and I are both always here to help and listen.”

“Yeah, so lay it on us,” Kazu added on. “You’re talking to us, remember? Not one of the people at the main house.”

“Even if it’s a little um… tmi?” she squeaked out.

“Even then,” Teizen assured.

“But if it’s about your sex life, you really should be talking to Shigeru about that,” Kazuhiko joked his cheeky voice grinning.

“…”

“Wait what? Don’t tell me this really is about that, Macchan!?” the pro athlete cried in shock.

“You should be calling Kiyoshi-nii, not us,” Teizen quickly supported.

“Masami?” “Aizaki?” her brothers took turns calling her by her given and middle names when she didn’t respond.

“…It’s not about that,” she murmured, running her free hand tiredly through her now dried locks. “But it’s sort of related.”

“So not about your sex life then?” Kazuhiko asked for clarification.

“No,” Ami shook her head. “But…”

“But?” Kazuhiko encouraged.

“It’s sort of related…”

“And you’re calling us because Kiyoshi-nii can’t know about this, yes?” Teizen guessed in an almost bored manner.

“Wouldn’t it have been better to call Yumi-nee about this kind of stuff?” Kazuhiko suggested.

Immediately after, a harsh and swift slap was heard as flesh connected with flesh.

“Ow!” their youngest shouted. “What was that for?”

“Think of the time, idiot,” Teizen scolded lightly.

“Oh… Um yeah, good call not calling her.”

Ami couldn’t help giggling. She could practically see Kazuhiko’s wide-eyed and then embarrassed expression as he realized what their older sister and brother could possibly be doing at this time of night. 

“You finally laughed,” both men breathed in relief.

“Huh?”

“We were worried about you, Aiz,” her fellow musician explained. “We might not be Kiyoshi-nii, but we can tell when something is wrong with our sister.

“It’s only been a few days since we saw each other, but you’re acting strange. Whatever’s bothering you, it must’ve just happened. Everything all right on your end, Macchan?” Rare concern filled the catcher’s voice.

“I’m all right, physically anyways,” she placated, her hand once again running through her hair. “Just really conflicted. Probably the most I’ve been in some years.”

“What about?”

“What do you guys constitute as cheating?”

“Aiz, tell me you didn’t,” Teizen pleaded, his voice an odd mix of distraught and calmness.

“No, I didn’t, but I need to know,” she confirmed. Immediately, she heard Teizen let out a “thank kami-sama” as she continued to explain.

“You know I’m more than happy that Shi-chan and I are getting married next month, and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him intentionally. But…”

“But?”

“Is it normally to have fantasies about someone you’re not in a relationship with?”

“Isn’t fantasizing about others normal? I wouldn’t constitute that as cheating,” Kazuhiko provided his own two cents.

“I don’t know what normal is though. Our family isn’t normal. I’m pretty sure nothing in my entire life can even be considered remotely normal,” she sighed. “You and Zen are the closest to normal I have, Kazu. Even though how we became ‘triplets’ isn’t normal either.”

“Normal is a relative term. Everyone has a different sense of what normal is, Aiz,” Teizen interjected. “Remember, what you consider normal is always going to be different from someone else’s normal.”

“Yeah, our normal can be another’s extraordinary!” Kazuhiko agreed. “It’s the same as pain. A two for one person can be another person’s eight. Everyone’s going to have a different gauge for things because of what they’ve experienced.”

“That’s true… Thanks, guys,” she smiled softly, embarrassed to need consolation but glad that she had called her brothers.

“What made you consider your fantasies as cheating?” Teizen asked, curiosity in his normally cool voice.

Ami winced as she fumbled on how to express herself. She had rarely ever divulged her problems to anyone, having spent her entire life channeling nearly all of her thoughts and emotions in her acting and music instead. It had taken her therapist months to even get her to break the habit and actually talk about her issues.

She could always try to act, but her brothers would see right through the facade and know she wasn’t being honest.

“Do you remember that guy I had a bit of a crush on at my debutante ball?”

“Han Jumin?” Teizen supplied immediately.

Without missing a beat, Kazuhiko continued where their brother left off. “The ass who made you cry on your big night?

“You remember him?” she blinked, surprised by their swift answers.

“How could we ever forget him? He’s lucky that Mom and Dad didn’t cut ties with his family’s business over what he did,” the baseball player spat. “They were absolutely furious with how he had treated their little princess.”

“Since when was I a princess?” Ami asked, a brow quirking up in confusion. Aside from being a long line of blue bloods on both sides of her family, she had no claim to princesshood as far as she was concerned.

If we went by just clanship and were back in the Sengoku era or earlier then maybe.

She mused over her family tree. If she traced her paternal lineage, she could find a connection with nearly all of the other noble clans, both existent and extinct. The same could be said about her mother’s side of the family.

“No, never mind. That’s not important right now,” she quickly backtracked, shaking her head vigorously as she did so.

“So what is it about Han?” Teizen asked, bringing the conversation back on track.

“Well… um… He’s kind of a member of the Tanabata knockoff… and um… Jihyun’s best friend…” she stumbled over her words.

“And?”

“Some… stuff happened, and um… I’m kind of… staying at his place tonight,” she finished in a hurry.

“You’re what?” both brothers bellowed, loud enough that Ami had to pull her phone away less she wanted to go deaf in one ear.

“Um… I’m staying at Jumin’s place for the night,” she reiterated, feeling awkward. She’s always known that her brothers and sisters despised the C&R heir, which was one of the other reasons why she had been so hesitant and reluctant to come see Jumin.

“Let me get this straight, you’re staying at the guy who ruined your debutante ball’s house?” Kazuhiko started, his tone unusually serious.

“Um… yeah…” She scratched her cheek nervously at the awkward position she was in.

“Why?”

“He’s going through a lot right now, and I couldn’t just leave him. You remember how much of a womanizer Han-san is, right? Well, his newest tramp has him completely wrapped around her gold digging finger. The chairman is basically handing his son and company over to her on a silver platter,” she explained hurriedly. “Jumin was completely distraught when he found out! And he hasn’t been the same since. I couldn’t just leave him alone when I know how that feels.”

“Aizaki, sometimes you’re too nice for your own good,” she heard Teizen sigh in exasperation as well as one of her brothers smacking their head against their lunch table, probably Kazuhiko.

“Sorry for worrying you guys,” she apologized meekly. “But I really don’t know what to do. It’s not like Shi-chan and I have ever discussed what would constitute as cheating what with my career and all.”

“Rather than asking yourself what’s constitutes as cheating, maybe you should ask yourself whether or not you have any intention of actually doing it?” Teizen suggested. “Fantasies are one thing, but they don’t translate to a person actually wanting to act on them. You should know this from your studies in psychology.”

“I know,” she sighed, restless fingers twirling a lock of her now dry hair. “But knowing the principles doesn’t mean I can apply it in practice. It’s more complicated than that. Plus, I got that degree almost a decade ago.”

“You can apply that specific principle at any time, Aiz,” Teizen said brusquely. “The only on— Kazu!” she heard him hiss in obvious pain.

“Leave it, Zen. It’s her first time dealing with something like this, so lay off. She’s having a hard enough time dealing with it on her own as it is,” Kazuhiko snapped. “If it wasn’t bothering her so much, do you think she would have called us? Do you want a repeat of sixth grade?”

“Kazu,” she warned softly, stopping her younger brother’s lecture. “It’s fine. It’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s not fine, Masami. We—” the baseball player bit out, breaking off when his own emotions started to get the better of him. “We almost lost you. And not just once.”

Ami bit her lip at her brother’s retort, heavily reminded that for all intents and purposes, she should be dead ten times over. It was only luck that she hadn’t died before she had even hit her teens. “Sorry, Kazu…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Just don’t say you’re fine when you’re obviously not,” Kazuhiko chided her. “We are going to talk about this the next time I see you, Masami.”

Ami grimaced at that declaration. 

Despite being the youngest and the most carefree of their trio, Kazuhiko was unexpectedly their group's sternest disciplinarian and the one who normally kept them on task. He was worse than Teizen, who was already well-known for being strict and studious and an even harsher taskmaster. 

She was so not looking forward to the lecture she was going to get. 

“Putting that aside, let's get a few things straight. That all right with you two?” Kazuhiko said, resetting their group’s pace. “Alrighty then. Macchan,” he started after a beat of silence from the other two of their set. “Do you have any intentions starting a sexual relationship with Han or cheating on Shigeru?”

“Absolutely not,” she answered immediately. 

“That was fast,” Kazuhiko joked in an attempt to bring their moods to something more lighthearted despite the seriousness of her issue. “You know can you can tell us if you did. We're not gonna tell Shigeru, right Zen?”

“Ah,” Teizen breathed out in agreement.

“Never. I’d never, ever cheat on Kiyoshi,” Ami cut in firmly, her lips pressing together into a thin frown. She had even switched to using her fiancé’s middle name, something she would subconsciously do whenever she was dead serious.

“Then what are you so worried about?” Kazuhiko grinned. “Let yourself enjoy the fantasies. Didn't your sexuality psychology class say they're good for you?"

"Fair point," she smiled, grateful for the assurance. "Thanks for listening to my nonsense, guys. I honestly don't know what I'd ever without you two."

"Probably stuck at the main house and being trained to be a “good” house wife,” Teizen responded semi-jokingly.

She couldn't stop a self-deprecating chuckle from escaping her. It was the truth after all. If it hadn’t been for her music and acting skills, she probably would have been forced into being a housewife. And by the gods, she would rather die than be a useless trophy wife. 

"Anyways, you guys flying in on Sunday right? Do you have anything you guys want to try when you get here?" she aked, turning their conversation to something more pleasant.

“What don’t we want to try is the better question?” Kazuhiko answered back jokingly.

She couldn’t help giggling at her younger triplet’s response.

What with the mandatory military draft for South Korean men, it wasn’t often her brothers got come to Seoul much less South Korea as at all. Their parents had gone through great pains to keep all of her brothers from being registered as Korean citizens and forced to serve in their military.

Seeing how rare of a trip it was for them, she wanted them to enjoy their time here as much as possible. And with that thought in mind, she happily continued chatting with her brothers about their birthday plans, an excited smile taking its place across her lips.

Notes

Ami’s full birth name is Masami Aizaki Ryu-Choe; her legal Korean name is Ami Choe.

Shigeru’s full name is Shigeru Kiyoshi Miyakazu eventually Shigeru Kiyoshi Miyakazu-Ryu

Etymology

Kiyoshi (淳) - Purity

Miyakazu (宮和) - Palace of Peace and Harmony

Tagging:

[builder051]

Okay, so you know your series with Bucky/Steve where Bucky is recovering and you write the fics set during different holidays? I'm really curious how Bucky would deal with Steve getting food poisoning... Like maybe a bit further on in his recovery? I'd love to see a fic for this if you're willing and up for it!!

This is quite long, so brace yourself… And it’s fairly plotless too. :)

We are in Powers/No Powers Choose-Your-Own-Adventure.

_____________________________

Steve leans back into the couch, hands behind his head, and watches the Minnesota Vikings make a touchdown.

“Yes!”  Clint practically jumps out of his seat, pumping his fist in the air.  His son Cooper, who’s sitting on the couch between Clint and Steve, glances at his father and follows suit.

“Why are they your team, again?” Bucky asks, peering around Steve and Cooper to address Clint.

“I don’t know.  Thor likes them, so I figured I’d adopt them as my team too.”

“For not being that into them, you’re really into them,” Steve observes with a hint of friendly judgmental incoherence.

“Yeah, well, what can I say.  Sunday is football day.  And just to throw it back at ya, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two dudes less into a game,” Clint throws back.

“It would be different if the Giants were playing,” Bucky provides with a bit of a yawn.

Steve reaches over to pat Bucky’s knee.  “Tired already?” He asks quietly.  Bucky’s been doing better lately, but that doesn’t mean the nightmares are completely gone.  The jumbled sleepy groaning had turned to shouting around 4, and they’ve both been awake since then.

“I don’t know.  I’m ok,” Bucky replies.

“This game’s almost over, if you’re ready to split,” Steve suggests.

Bucky shrugs.  “I’m ok,” he repeats.

Laura swoops in from the kitchen, picking up bowls of snacks from the coffee table and carting them away.

“You could at least wait until a commercial break,” Clint playfully snipes at his wife as she momentarily stands between him and the TV.

“Yeah, yeah, suck it up,” she teases back, rolling her eyes and dancing in place as she loads a bowl of potato chip crumbs under her arm.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Steve offers.  He jumps up and grabs the bowl of onion dip and a plate of baby carrots and celery.

“I got it,” Laura tries to say.

“No, really, you’ve been waiting on us all day,” Steve says.

“Now you’re really blocking the view,” Clint complains.  He sticks out his foot to trip Steve as he carries the dishes into the kitchen, but Steve easily sidesteps the obstacle.

“I’ll get dinner served in a few minutes, here,” Laura says, gesturing to the potatoes in the oven and crock pot of chili on the counter.

“Thanks for the offer,” Steve replies, “But we should be getting home.  You’ve fed us enough already, and we’ve got a long drive home.  Gotta be up for work tomorrow.  You know the drill.”

“Yeah, sure do.  He doing ok?”  She glances at Bucky, still watching the TV in the living room.

“Oh, yeah, he’s doing great,” Steve explains.  “You’ve seen how far he’s come getting back to his old self.” Steve paws in the bowl of chips for a couple sizeable crumbs, swipes them in the onion dip, and throws them into his mouth.  “We just had kind of a long night, if you know what I mean.  The nightmares still bug him sometimes.”

“I bet they still bug you, too,” Laura says with a sympathetic eyebrow raise.

Steve half-shrugs and dips another chip.

“You know, that’s been sitting out for over 6 hours.  I’m not sure you want to eat it now.”  Laura snags the bowl of dip from under Steve’s hand and dumps it into the sink.

Steve swallows the chip anyway.  “I’ll be fine.”  He tries to help stack up a few more dishes.  “I think I amgonna drag Bucky home now.  Thanks for everything.  All the hospitality.”

“Sure.  You know you’re welcome anytime.”  Laura dries her hands on the seat of her jeans and hurries to find their coats.

Steve meanders up to the back of the couch and starts massaging Bucky’s shoulders from behind.  “Ready to run?” He asks.  “I gotta be up early tomorrow.”  He doesn’t really, but it’s an easy out.

“Yeah, sure.”  Bucky stands up and claps Clint and Cooper on the shoulder before donning his jacket and following Steve out to the car.

They’re on the highway before either of them speak.

“How’s it going?”  Steve’s used to Bucky’s long silences; he just sometimes feels the need to check in to ensure they’re contented stretches of quiet instead of depressed ones.

“Fine.  Good.  I’m good,” Bucky says.  “I’m just, I just wonder… I think I like the Giants, since they’re a New York team, but I don’t really remember seeing a lot of football before the war…”

Steve shifts slightly in his seat and replies, “Yeah, I don’t think we paid a lot of attention to football…  If you decide you don’t like the Giants, you can always go for the Jets…”  Steve stifles a belch behind his hand.

“You drink too much coke or something?”

“I’m fine,” Steve automatically replies.  He’s sure he is.  He can’t remember the last time he was sick with anything, not even a sniffle.  The slight grumble in his stomach has to be from an afternoon of munching junk food and ignoring the need for physical activity.  Though even as he commits to the thought, the unsettledness takes a dip toward pain.

Dusk is falling.  Steve can see the edges of orange sunset peeking in the corners of his rear view mirror as they sail from the beautiful stuck-in-time Virginia countryside back toward the concrete bustle of the DC suburbs.  He wishes they were travelling west so the beautiful sight could be in front, like a paradise to travel toward.

“Maybe we should move to the country,” Steve dreamily suggests.  “Get a farm house like Clint.”

“Could,” Bucky says in a doubtful tone.  “But I think we’re city kids.  We could go back to Brooklyn…”

They dissolve into a stretch of silence again.  The sun continues to plummet, and the harvest gold glow glints off the car mirrors in a harsher manner, making Steve squint against the assault on his eyeballs.  It’s beginning to make his head hurt, which isn’t coupling well with the tumult in his stomach.  Wave motion is creating white-capped froth against the sides of his abdomen, and it feels as though it’s splashing up into his chest.  Steve tries to stealthily let out another burp, and he tastes the sourness of acid reflux.

Then Bucky’s saying something, and Steve’s completely missed it.

“Huh?”

“Are you ok?”  It’s definitely not what Bucky said the first time.

“Sure.  Yeah,” Steve replies.

“I think, maybe, you’re not,” Bucky says, his eyes trained on Steve’s face.  “Your stomach hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Buck, really, I’m ok,” Steve says.  But internally, he admits to himself that he’s definitely uncomfortable. The first flecks of nausea are starting to materialize under his tongue.

“No, you’re not feeling good,” Bucky insists.  “It’s been a long time, but I used to take care of you.  I remember how you’d look when you felt sick.”

“That attractive, huh?” Steve asks, attempting to chuckle and swallow at the same time.

“If you feel bad, pull over,” Bucky says.

“It’s not that bad.”  Steve realizes what he’s let slip as soon as the words leave his mouth.

“But you do feel kinda bad.”

“Eh.  Kinda.”  It’s not worth disagreeing, now that there’s something like an invisible boa constrictor simultaneously squeezing his stomach and esophagus.

“You want me to drive?” Bucky suggests.

“You can’t,” Steve says, swallowing a mouthful of bitter saliva.

“I can drive,” Bucky says, somewhat defensively.

“Yeah, but you don’t have a license,” Steve reminds him.  “I’m gonna be fine.  Let’s just…get home.”

The sensation stretching from his stomach to the back of his throat has reached the point of definite illness.  It’s been such a long time since he’s felt sick like this; it brings back flashes of being a weaker version of himself, laid up in bed before the war.  But with Bucky still by his side.

He pushes on for five rough minutes.  When the flips of his stomach bring sleepy heaviness to his jaw and vertigo to his forehead, Steve knows he’s screwed.  Sickness is imminent.  A disgustingly wet belch works its way up his throat, and it’s all Steve can do to swallow down what’s quickly becoming the urge to gag.

“You should pull over.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a second…” Steve mutters in a choked whisper.  He takes the next exit without knowing exactly where it leads.  He gulps against a surge of bile and speeds through a yellow light to quickly merge from the off ramp to the main road.  There’s a gas station about a hundred yards down, and Steve pulls into the parking lot.  He sloppily stops the car across two parking spaces and throws the door open just in time to heave onto the dirty cracked asphalt.

“Hey, alright,” Bucky murmurs from behind him.  There’s a click as Bucky releases his seatbelt, then a shuffle as he clambers to his knees to balance his stump arm against Steve’s seat.

Steve feels the warm pressure of Bucky’s hand on the back of his neck.  It has the essence of comfort, but also the sensation of pushing him forward into the choking sling of his seatbelt as his stomach continues to evacuate.

He retches hard again, and a torrent of undigested food and soft drinks erupts, splashing over Steve’s knee and the edge of the door frame.  The seatbelt has him bound too far into the vehicle, and he fumbles his trembling fingers over the mechanism to unbuckle himself.

“I’m coming around to your side, ok?”  Bucky pats Steve’s shoulder and scrambles up.  He produces a dizzying ricochet when he slams the passenger side door.

In barely a second, he’s around the front end of the car and hovering face to face with Steve.  He quickly leaps backward a step as Steve lets out another flood of vomit onto the toes of Bucky’s boots.

“God.  Sorry,” Steve croaks, dabbing his mouth with the back of his hand.  “You’re tired; we should be home…”

“It’s ok, you’re just all messed up,” Bucky says, squatting by Steve’s left shoulder.

Steve nods absently in agreement as he tries and fails to suppress another gag that ends up delivering a thin stream of liquid.

“You want to go inside?”  Bucky jerks his head in the direction of the gas station’s convenience store.  “Try to get in a bathroom?”

“Nah, I’m…I don’t want to move.”  Steve’s hands shake visibly as he rests his face in his palms.

“But you’re, I mean, everything else is doing ok?”

“I’m not shitting myself, if that’s what you’re asking,” Steve embarrassment coming out in an edge in his voice.

“Hey, whatever’s going on, no problem.  I’m just here to help.”  Bucky says.  He uses a Kleenex from his pocket to swipe a few chunks of sick from Steve’s knee, then keeps his hand comfortingly on his thigh.

“Yeah…”  He retches agonizingly, then spits onto the ground as his body continues to force out air and fluid in painful belches.  “Jesus fucking Christ…”

Bucky’s inexplicable lover’s radar seems to inform him that the filthier the curses, the more excruciating Steve’s condition.  His hand finds Steve’s, and he squeezes as tightly as he can.  “Do you think you’ll be ok for a minute?  I’ll grab you some water.  Maybe some antacids.  Or some ginger ale?  I don’t know what’sgonna help the most…”

“I’m ok,” Steve gasps through a cough.  He means in general, though he also knows he’s blatantly mistaken.

“Ok.  Breathe, alright?  I’ll be right back.”  Bucky forces the Kleenex into Steve’s hand and lovingly strokes the back of his knuckles with his thumb.

Bucky’s gone for all of five minutes, but Steve can’t stop his body from contracting forward again.  Twice he heaves, and twice white-tinged stomach acid falls into what’s becoming an ocean of puke running across the concrete and under the car.

In his peripheral vision, Steve sees Bucky’s strapping one-armed form exiting the store’s glass doors.  He has a plastic shopping bag in the crook of his elbow and his phone pressed between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Yeah…” Steve hears Bucky muttering as he approaches the car.  “Ok, I’ll let you know if anything changes.  Ok.  Thanks.  Bye.”  He slaps the shopping bag around his hips as he fumbles the phone back into his pocket, then he bends over Steve’s back again.

“Alright, how’s it going,” Bucky asks.

“Oh, god,” Steve groans, fighting a hiccup.  “Just…so nauseous.”  He takes a stabilizing breath.  “Who were you talking to?”

“Just Laura,” Bucky says.  “I wanted to let her know, in case someone else was getting sick.”

Steve gives a thick swallow.  “’S nice of you…”

“And I, well, you know I’m kind of rusty on this,” Bucky admits quietly.  “I mean, you’ve been doing so much for me, but it’s been a long time since I’ve done this.  I want to make sure I’m, you know, doing it right.”

“I don’t think there’s a lot you can do,” Steve murmurs, bringing a fist to his mouth.  “What did Laura say?”

“To push fluids.  Get you home.  Go to the ER or call Sam to start an IV if it gets too bad.”  Bucky sets the shopping bag on top of the car and starts rummaging in it.  “And to remind you to not eat something if she tells you not to eat it.”

Steve glances up and sees Bucky’s smile.

“Yeah.  Point taken,” Steve says.

Bucky squats down to face him again, squeezing a bottle of water between his knees as he screws off the cap.  “How long’s it been since you brought anything up?”

“I don’t know.  A few minutes,” Steve gauges.  “But feels like I could go again any second.”

“Here.”  Bucky offers the water bottle.

Steve eyes him doubtfully and gives a small shake of his head.

“Better to puke up water than just acid.”

Steve has the slightly nostalgic feeling that he’d told Bucky the same thing not many months ago.  The full scope of the role-reversed scenario suddenly hits him, and Steve’s struck with the desire to be cooperative, though his body still seems to have other ideas.  He accepts the water bottle from Bucky and loosely grips it in his sweaty, shaky hand.

“Yeah.  Ok,” he sighs.  “Just…not really appealing.”

“Take a couple sips and I’ll drive you home,” Bucky encourages.

“You still can’t drive.”  Steve brings the bottle to his lips, the condensation beading on its surface making it slick in his hand and against his mouth.  The water is refreshing, but swallowing gives him the distinct impression he’s forcing his system to work in the opposite direction of its current preference.

“I can drive.  It’s a medical emergency, and I won’t get pulled over,” Bucky insists.

The water immediately hits Steve’s stomach, and the bubbling reaction it seems to set off is less than pleasant feeling.  He burps under his breath.

“Ok?”

“Maybe,” Steve says.  “It’s not setting that great.”

“Well, you seem ok for now.  You think maybe you’re ready to get going?”  Bucky rescues the plastic bag from the top of the car and stoops to offer Steve his stump shoulder as support.  With difficulty, Steve accepts the handhold and pulls himself to standing, remaining slightly bent at the waist with one arm protectively draped around his middle.

They sidle around the large splash of vomit on the ground and somehow maneuver to the passenger side.  Steve can barely concentrate on moving his feet as he trembles around the front of the car.  He sinks into the plush seat as soon as Bucky guides him to bend his knees.  He swallows hard as the water he swallowed threatens to come back up.

“Here,” Bucky says, reading Steve’s panicked expression.  He reaches over Steve to place a container of Tums in the cup holder, then hands over the empty plastic bag.

Steve imagines the car’s tires streaking through the lake of sick as Bucky reverses out of Steve’s awful parking job.  He doesn’t look to confirm his prediction.  With his palm pressed firmly into the steering wheel’s 12 o’clock position, Bucky steers them easily back onto the highway.

It’s only 25 minutes or so before they reach the exit for Falls Church, but Steve still can’t handle the smooth motion of the car on the road.  He leans his head into the window for as long as he can, but ends up hanging over his own lap as saliva trails from his lower lip into the crinkly plastic bag.

“You’re good,” Bucky says, shooting Steve a sympathetic glance.  Steve nods and belches out a mouthful of acidic water.  Hardly anything more comes up, but he stays hunched, not trusting himself to move.  At the first stoplight they get to, Bucky takes his hand off the wheel to stroke his fingers down Steve’s back.

Once they’re safely parked in the garage, Bucky unlocks the front door and Steve immediately slips past him to set up camp in the downstairs bathroom.  He kneels in front of the toilet and buries his face in the bowl, folding his arms over his aching head.

“What do you need?” Bucky asks from the doorway.

“Nothing, I don’t know,” Steve says around the threat of a gag.  “If you just want to come sit…”

“Yeah.  Of course.  With ya till the end of the line, remember?”

[prairiesongserial]

8.10

Val and Friday had lost Miss Jef’s trail by the time they escaped the town hall meeting - Val thought he had seen her leaving, but if she had, she was already long gone. Staking out the orchard was the logical next move, and it would mean skipping dinner, but Val wasn’t so sure that they had the money for dinner anyway. Not even with Friday’s ill-gotten gains from the afternoon, which she still hadn’t gone into detail about. Val got the feeling he didn’t actually want to know.

“Do we have enough for another night at the hotel?” he asked Friday, glancing to her as they made their way down one of the town’s main roads. It was getting dark out, the setting sun painting the sky an ominous dark purple.

“We will once we get that reward,” Friday said, somewhat grimly.

Val supposed that would have to do. All their things were still at the hotel, but he couldn’t envision Andy just throwing them out on the curb. She was the one who’d tipped Friday off about the job, anyhow, so she knew they would be good for the money eventually. As long as they caught the apple thieves, that was.

“Do we have a plan?” he asked - another question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.

“Of course we do,” Friday said, more confidently than he would have expected. “We just have to get to the orchard before the apple thieves do.”

The plan, as it turned out, involved a lot of waiting. Friday had borrowed a ladder from Harry Digby’s shed, with his permission, and dragged it over to one of the trees near the center of the orchard. She and Val had climbed it, disappearing into the foliage as they found sturdy branches to sit on, reaching a vantage point that reminded Val of the bell tower in the old church in the woods. Only this time, they were watching for thieves, not sniping muties who might have wanted them dead.

Val didn’t know how long they’d been up in the tree so far, but the sky had faded from purple to a true, deep black, and Friday had been quiet for an awfully long time. He’d been quiet, too, listening for the sounds of anyone rustling around the orchard, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness so he could watch for any movement. There had been nothing so far, except for some kind of bird flapping around that might have been an owl.

“You think they’ll actually come tonight?” Friday asked eventually, from somewhere above him. She’d gotten much farther up the tree, due to her general flexibility and athleticism, and Val couldn’t help but wonder how she was going to get down fast enough to chase any thieves they might spot.

“I don’t know,” he said, honestly. They were both keeping their voices low to avoid being heard - which seemed silly, since no one else was around.

Friday was silent again, for what felt like a long while.

“Can I ask you something, preacher?” she asked, somewhat abruptly.

Val glanced up towards where he knew she must have been sitting, but he couldn’t see any of her, not even her legs dangling down. “Depends on what it is.”

“How do you know how to fire a gun?” Friday asked. She sounded almost hesitant to ask it, like she knew it wasn’t her business. “I’ve never seen you shoot before, but in the woods, with those muties...you were good. Better than a priest has any business being. You can’t tell me they taught you that in the convent.”

Val laughed. “They didn’t.”

“So how’d you learn?”

“It’s a long story,” Val said, well aware that he was being cagey. But it was a long story, and a story that no one who hadn’t lived through it knew about.

“Well, we seem to have a lot of time on our hands,” Friday said, with a snort of amusement, or possibly derision. “If you don’t want me to know, feel free to say so, but I could use a story to pass the time.”

Val sighed, and considered how best to begin. It was easier with Friday than it would have been with anyone else, he knew that for certain. She’d known him when he had just come to Vegas, which happened to be where this particular story ended, so the conclusion would be more or less foregone before he even told the damn thing. Maybe he ought to start there, then.

“You know I was sent to Vegas to replace the priest who was there before me,” he said, slowly, like he was testing the ice.

Above him, Friday made an affirmative noise. “Yeah, I remember. He wasn’t much of a priest, though.”

“Well,” Val said, and declined to comment on that bit. “I was supposed to travel from New Orleans to Vegas by myself. On a motorbike that no one had used in about a decade.”

“But you can’t drive a bike,” Friday said.

“I can’t,” he agreed. “I made it as far as the Mississippi before the thing broke down. But I met someone who was going out West, same as me, and he offered me a ride.” He paused, steeling himself for what came next. It was easy to talk about this when he was just talking about facts, laying them out like Blackjack cards on a table. But the details, the parts he knew would dredge up old memories...well. “He was a traveling salesman, and he had a big trailer full of junk hooked up to his truck. Plenty of room for both of us. And he was my age, or around it. It was like...I thought him showing up was some kind of miracle.”

“Oh,” Friday said. Val waited for a question, or something else, but it never came.

“His name was Hezekiah - well, Hez. We took turns driving during the day, and covered more ground than either of us would’ve alone,” he went on, to fill the resulting silence. “We slept in the trailer at night. Hez had a mattress in there, and it was better than a tent. Safer. But we still ran into muties, so he - he was the one that taught me how to shoot. So the muties wouldn’t unhook the trailer and make off with all the goods. He had everything in there. Guns, candy, old maps…”

He trailed off, and went quiet. He could still remember the trailer in his mind’s eye, the mattress surrounded by stacked crates full of things - musty blankets, bars of soap, loose handfuls of buckshot that rattled around whenever the trailer shifted too far one way or the other. The smell of old paper overlapped by a dozen other scents, the sound of glass bottles hitting each other and chiming as they bounced in their cases. Hez’s voice, loose and drawling, and the smell of peppermint gum on his breath.

“Anyway,” Val said, coming sharply back to himself as the owl hooted somewhere nearby. “We traveled to Vegas together, and Hez left me there with my things. He had to keep going. Traveling salesmen usually do.”

Friday hummed from above him. Val wasn’t sure if it was a sympathetic sound, or just one to let him know she was still listening.

“Did you ever see him again?” she asked.

Val swallowed. “No. I didn’t.”

“Did you want to?”

Val worried his bottom lip with his teeth, wondering what answer Friday expected to hear. He had wanted to see Hez again - hell, he’d even tried his damndest to convince Hez to stay with him in Vegas. Hez was the only friend he’d ever had outside the convent, at least back then, and Val hadn’t wanted to lose him. Had been angry at the prospect of it, even. Angry, and then sad. A part of him was still sad about it.

“I did, but I think I knew even then that it wasn’t realistic.” He exhaled a long stream of air, completely emptying his lungs before he breathed in again. “So, yes and no. And before you ask, you’re the first person to know about all of it. Not even the sisters at the convent know.”

“Well, thank you for trusting me,” Friday said. Something in her voice was a little strained, though Val couldn’t quite place what it was.

“You’re welcome,” he said, mostly by force of habit. He was finding more and more that he did trust Friday, though - he’d always trusted her, more or less, but he was pretty sure he trusted her implicitly now. With his life. And his secrets, though maybe not all of them. Not just yet, anyway.

“He sounds like a bastard, anyway,” Friday said. “That Hez guy. Just dropping you in Vegas like that, without even trying to stick around.”

Val laughed, maybe louder than he should have, feeling like a weight on his chest had suddenly lifted.

“He -” he started, unsure if he was going to defend or condemn Hez, but saved from the decision by a sound from below. Voices, and footsteps squelching through the mud.

Val snapped his teeth shut around the rest of his sentence, whatever it would have been, and squinted down into the dark. Someone was moving down there. Probably apple-thieves. They were too far away to hear what they were saying, exactly, but a group of people walking through the orchard at this time of night didn’t bode well.

A tap on the shoulder nearly startled him into exclaiming, but he glanced behind him and saw Friday shimmying down the trunk of the tree, making it look easier than it should have. She pressed a finger to her lips, and pointed down.

Val got the message loud and clear. Hauling himself off the branch he’d been sitting on, he let his legs dangle for a moment until his foot found purchase on the top rung of the ladder. He took a breath, steadied himself, and started to descend.

8.9 || 8.11