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teshamerkel · 1 year

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Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 47]

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After discovering Asra the crobat's fate, Tobias and Nia head east to seek out Edme. Along the way, memories are shared.

Tobias is vaguely aware of Nia leading them back to the road. She coaxes him into sitting against a rock on the side of the dirt path, and while she keeps an eye out for a ride he stares blankly out at the desert as night falls. His emotions and thoughts ebb away along with the desert’s heat.

Eventually, she manages to stop a cart pulled by a pair of tauros, and tugs Tobias up into the back of the cart with her. Her paws on his arm are freezing, and that’s the thing that reels Tobias back, just a bit. He sits against the side of the cart and doesn’t say anything when Nia presses her cold fur against his side.

The ride is silent, for a while. Nothing but the steady clomping of the tauros’ hooves and the gentle creaking of the cart. The occasional howl of wind. Nia’s chattering teeth slowly fall quiet as she warms up.

Tobias stares at the goods in front of him. They’re stacked in bags and crates in dark, ambiguous lumps, lit faintly by the moon and his own small tail flame. He’s holding their satchel in his lap, absently kneading it with his claws.

Distantly, he notes Nia sending him worried, probing glances. He doesn’t meet her eyes. He doesn’t want to talk right now. He doesn’t want to think, either. He doesn’t feel the raging fury or the devastating grief from earlier, but all that’s left in their wake is a sort of numbness. He feels tired. Empty.

The night rolls by, calm and quiet. Tobias should probably be grateful that they don’t have to fight off any bandits. That would give him something to do, but right now he can’t guarantee that he wouldn’t space out mid-battle and make a stupid mistake.

Nia clears her throat. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Tobias stares at her without really seeing. He feels irritation spike in him before snuffing out just as fast. He shrugs and plants his chin down in his arms.

Nia takes her time responding. Hours worth of time, if the slow lift of the moon into the sky is anything to gauge by. Tobias thinks he dozes off a few times, since the stars seem to tick by in leaps rather than at a crawl. Or maybe he’s just spacing out.

Throughout the night, Nia shifts restlessly. She opens her mouth countless times before closing it again. Tobias ignores her, lost in a tired haze. Maybe he should just go back to sleep for now. He still feels exhausted from his earlier blow-up.

It’s near midnight when Nia finally speaks, voice soft. “Would it help if I talked about something?”

Tobias shrugs again. He doesn’t particularly care either way.

Nia eyes him, deep in thought. “I…if you don’t want to hear about this, then tell me and I’ll stop. But I know you were wondering before and, well—“

Tobias grunts an impatient sound.

A pause. “I know it’s not—not anywhere near the same, but when I miss my family, it helps for me to think about them. I-I mean, it hurts too, but…I didn’t ever tell you about them, did I?”

Tobias finally looks at Nia, curious despite himself. He’s kind of surprised she brought this up now, instead of avoiding the topic like a pitfall, but it’s the first thing drudging up a sense of anything from the numbness that has settled over him. Even if that something feels sharp and painful.

“Would…you like me to? Tell you about what I remembered about my family? I-I don’t have to. I know after, uh, everything, you probably don’t want to have to think about—“

Tobias tunes Nia’s nervous rambling out. The thought of hearing about Nia’s family makes the terrible ache in his chest threaten to return, and he isn’t sure it won’t spiral from there. But…he does want to know. And maybe she can distract him from the bad thoughts he logically knows he’s keeping at bay across a moat of static and empty thoughts. No telling when those will break through.

“Whatever,” he mumbles, moving his gaze back across the cart and past it, to the moonlit expanse of the desert.

Nia still hesitates. Then, she takes a deep breath and says, “I had…dreams about them. When I was sick. More like memories, but…it was like I was there with them. My mom and my brother. Toni.”

Tobias blinks. “Toni?”

Nia smiles wistfully, relaxing a bit. “Yeah. I guess she’s not my family by blood, but she’s my best friend.” After a beat she hastily adds, “In the human world.”

Tobias doesn’t respond.

“She’s always been the brave one between us. But she made me feel braver too. Pushed me out of my comfort zone, helped me try new things. Although she does get us into trouble sometimes. Her mouth moves quicker than her head when she’s upset.”

Tobias snorts, though it’s weak. “Sounds like an annoying rookidee I know.”

“Oh. Oh wow, yeah, her and Junie would get along like a house on fire.”

“They’re never allowed to meet.”

That startles a laugh out of Nia. Tobias’ mouth twitches. “My mom loves her. Toni’s basically her second daughter.”

Tobias’ throat closes up as he thinks of his own mom. Of soft humming and a toothy grin and bright blue eyes, a mirror image to his own.

“Your mom?” Tobias rasps, a desperate sort of prompt.

Nia casts him a worried look, hesitating, but something about his expression must urge her on. “My mom is…really sweet. She’s a lot like Maggie, actually! Funny too, but she had to be stricter with us than she would’ve liked since she had to raise us on her own.”

Tobias’ brow furrows. What about her father? He doesn’t want to ask in case he’s gone but—

Nia must see the question on his face. She shrugs with a wry little smile. “He died when I was an infant, so I never really got to meet him. I could tell Mom and Clay missed him, but I never really knew him to miss him.”

Tobias isn’t sure if he should apologize or…what the proper response would be for that.

Luckily, Nia keeps talking, tipping her head back to look up at the stars. “I guess I always missed the chance to have a dad? And the person I was told he was. But that’s about it. Although Clay was definitely more protective of me because our dad was gone.”

“Clay?”

“Oh.” Nia glances at him, almost nervously, before focusing again on the sky. “Yeah, he’s…he’s my brother.”

Tobias’ breath catches, surprise warring with a sudden pang in his chest. “You had—you have a brother?”

“…Yeah. I think you two would get along really well, actually. Once I remembered Clay, it made a lot more sense why I latched onto Xander so quickly—“

Tobias makes a weak attempt at a scoff. “If he’s like Xander then we would not get along.”

Nia laughs, shaking her head. “No, they’re really different. I think it was just the protective big brother instincts that felt familiar to me. Clay is more chill. A bit of a jokester, actually. Like Ezra or Junie.”

Tobias gives her a dry look, hoping to convey that he’s even less convinced they would get along.

Nia laughs again. “Okay, he’s not exactly like either of them. You remind me a lot of him too! I just…see bits and pieces of him in different people, y’know?”

Tobias thinks of the shinx kids and orange scales and big eyes full of childish joy, gold then green, and his heart twinges. “…Yeah.”

“Other than Toni, Clay is my best friend,” Nia whispers. “I miss him. He always makes stupid jokes and distracts me if I’m sad.”

Tobias doesn’t answer, swallowing against a lump in his throat. He’d distract Vivi when she was upset, too. They’d paint the cave walls with homemade berry paint, or go out on mountain trails to explore. He couldn’t resist her teary eyes and she knew it.

Nia chuckles. Tobias sends her a questioning look.

“Sorry, I just remembered when Clay hid wasabi in my toast. He liked to mess with me, too. One second he’d be a protective brother bear and the next he’d make me spit out my breakfast.”

Tobias doesn’t know what wasabi is, but he gets the gist. He snorts. “It’s part of the big brother code. Occasionally you just have to lie about stupid stuff to mess with your younger sibling.”

“You would take his side! I bet your sister was—oh. Um."

Nia snaps her mouth shut with a click. Her ears pin back as she looks to Tobias with wide eyes. As if knowing that she’s crossing a line by mentioning his sister out loud.

For a moment, Tobias isn’t sure how he feels. He feels like he should be angry, territorial of Nia even mentioning Vivi. That’s forbidden ground, not meant to be thought of and certainly not meant to be mentioned.

But…Tobias is thinking of Vivi now as he did when she was alive, instead of the usual haunting image of her lifeless body. He’s thinking of her not with the usual crushing guilt, but instead with the fond annoyance he held for her when they were kids and he was just her older brother. Protective, sure, but not the literal barrier between life and death.

Strangely, it feels…nice.

Tobias swallows. “Vivi was…I would get so annoyed by her sometimes. When she wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Saying it feels like a confession of some horrible sin. Like he doesn’t deserve to say anything bad about her, when he let her die. But some part of him feels lighter, too, and Nia doesn’t look disgusted with him. If anything, she looks a little awed, eagerly drinking in his words.

Tobias looks down at his fists, consciously relaxing them. He takes a shuddering breath. “But she was my best friend, too. Not much to do on an isolated mountain aside from get into trouble together.”

“You lived on a mountain?” Nia whispers, spellbound.

Tobias nods. “Way up, where the air was thin and the clouds were below us sometimes. One day Vivi wouldn’t shut up so I convinced her that they were actually really big Pokemon who would attack us if she didn’t quiet down.”

Nia barks a laugh. “Clay did the same thing with me! Well, he told me clouds were made of cotton candy. I was so upset when I found out he lied that I cried for an hour. Mom went out and bought actual cotton candy from the nearest gas station just to calm me down. To be fair, I was two.”

Tobias smiles. He doesn’t really know what Nia looked like as a human—let alone a little human—so he pictures a tiny riolu pup instead, pouting with big ruby eyes.

“Told you, it’s the rule. Older siblings have to mess with their younger siblings at least a little.”

“I bet Xander never does,” Nia counters.

“Xander is literally the least fun Pokemon I’ve ever met.”

Nia pushes him with a scolding, “Tobias! Be nice!” The rebuke is ruined by her laughter, though.

Tobias grins at her, not the slightest bit remorseful. “He’s a good brother, but as company? A rock could do better. Not a geodude, but an actual, lifeless rock.”

Nia laughs harder. “Be nice! He has three little hellions to watch over!”

Tobias scoffs. “Please. Vivi got into three times the trouble with a third of the body weight.”

“Oh?” Nia asks, trying to catch her breath.

Tobias nods, trying to remember the worst offenses. He’s purposefully avoided thinking about this kind of stuff, about Vivi and his parents, for years. But it’s surprisingly easy to filter through his memories, and his chest only hurts a little as he thinks.

“Okay, so listen to this one. Every week or so our parents flew us down to one of the towns at the foot of the mountain range, right?” Tobias says. “To pick up food and supplies and let us play with other kids.”

Nia nods, leaning in closer to listen.

“Mom was a mail ‘mon,” Tobias says, clearing his throat when his voice catches. “So she knew everyone. But we had to stop by someone’s house to drop off an instrument my dad had made for them. Some kind of flute or something.”

Tobias shifts in place, feeling as if he’s dusting off his own brain. A strange mixture of mirth and heartache mixes in his chest. He doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry, so he makes a sound somewhere in the middle.

“Our dad was kind of a quiet guy, and he never complained. But this customer? He complained about him. About how much of a jerk he was and how he always had something to critique just because he didn’t like Dad. But he was rich and always paid up, so Dad must’ve figured he’d deal with the bad attitude.”

Nia nods.

“So Dad makes the guy his flute. What I didn’t know—what no one but Vivi knew—was that earlier that day Vivi had tried playing the shiny new instrument herself when Dad and I took a nap after lunch.”

“Oh no,” Nia whispers.

“Yup. And she also tried playing it when she had hiccups,” Tobias continues, giving Nia a dry look. “You can imagine what happens when a fire type gets the hiccups.”

Nia’s mouth drops. “No!”

Tobias bites back a laugh. “Yeah, she hiccupped and caught the thing on fire. Put it out, panicked, and stashed the piece of kindling back in its box like it was still good as new.”

Nia’s giggling now, and Tobias can’t help grinning with her. “No! Wait, so your dad—?”

“As far as he knew, it was in perfect condition when he put it in its box that morning! I thought Vivi seemed quiet on the trip down, but it wasn’t until the client pulled out the flute that we realized something was wrong.”

“What happened?!”

Tobias leans forward, grinning. “Okay, so this snooty gumshoos pulls out the flute, right? And the thing is charred. It is crumbling to pieces in his paws.”

Nia snorts, paws moving up over her snout.

“And this gumshoos, he looks at my dad and says—” Here Tobias straightens up and adopts a snooty expression. “‘How do you expect me to play this?! I knew you were far from an expert but this is nothing more than garbage, blah blah blah.’ And Vivi, Vivi takes one look at me and Dad and realizes that she’s definitely getting in trouble for this, and after he’s badmouthing Dad we all kind of hate him, so she might as well make this disaster funny.”

“No!” Nia shrieks, delighted.

“So Vivi steps forward, half this guy’s height, grabs the flute, and chipper as can be says, ‘You play it like this, mister!’ And she tweets the loudest, most ear-screeching note I’ve ever heard, and the flute just. Disintegrates. Just falls apart right there on this guy’s fancy rug.”

Nia cackles, loud in the night air.

Tobias laughs along with her. “A-And at this point it is dead silent in the house. And Vivi, this little brat, she turns around with the most serious expression I’ve ever seen and says, ‘I think it might need a tune-up.’”

Nia’s almost crying she’s laughing so hard, wiping at her eyes. “She didn’t.”

“She did!” Tobias stresses, laughing too. Laughing harder than he can remember doing so in…a while. “She got us kicked out of there so fast. If you think I’m bold, Vivi was a whole other story! I could tell even Dad thought it was hilarious despite losing a customer—and Mom even more so, she lost it, she always said how it wasn’t worth working for that guy—but they still had to punish Vivi somehow, so she was grounded. No flying for a whole week.”

Nia howls with laughter. “Literally grounded!”

Tobias snorts, wiping at his eyes. “Well, duh. What else would ‘grounded’ mean?”

Nia only laughs harder, trying to catch her breath in little bursts of giggles.

“C-Clay would’ve loved that,” Nia says. “He was always getting into trouble. Usually he’d drag me along and then we’d both have to face the music. I started forming a natural defense of, ‘I don’t know what’s happening here and I don’t want to know,’ but he’d just drag me along anyways and promised that I’d love it.”

Tobias raises an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Literally not a single time. And half the time he’d try to pin it on me! One weekend him and his friends made this terrible ramp out of metal and plywood and cardboard so he could launch himself and his bike into the lake. Insisted I be there for it, like, ‘C’mon, you’ve gotta see it!’ No, that just means I’m complicit when Mom interrogates you about your missing bike!”

Tobias snorts. “Did he get in trouble for it?”

“Oh, big time. He had to use my pink tricycle with rainbow streamers when he wanted to go riding with his friends, since Mom refused to buy him a new bike. His knees hit the handlebars.”

Tobias looks up, thoughtful. “I guess I pinned a few things on Vivi, especially when she was little and I didn’t really like her yet. One time I swore she was the one who climbed on top of the storage cabinets and ate all the coal cookies.”

“Oh?”

“Would’ve been a better defense if she was old enough to crawl.”

Nia grins. “That sounds like one of my plans. Okay, so this one time, we wanted to look like a couple of cartoon characters for a game we were playing, right? So we decided we’d use markers to make these giant rainbow stripes on our faces and arms and legs. I suggested we use permanent markers so they’d stay on longer, and I mean, I wasn’t wrong. But Mom didn’t appreciate that when she was trying to scrub ink off our arms and we looked like we had a disease.”

“We did the same thing with berry paint!” Tobias laughs. “We wanted to make ourselves into ‘shinies’ and stained our scales purple for days. Do you know how hard it is to stain your skin so much even a fire bath won’t burn the color away?”

The last of their laughter dies down. Nia’s smile slowly fades into something a bit more downcast. Bittersweet. She lifts her chin to look up at the moon.

“I miss him,” Nia murmurs.

Tobias hums, the familiar pain in his chest resurfacing. He tips his head back to follow her gaze, looking up at the stars. He thinks of Vivi’s berry-stained face, framing bright green eyes and a toothy little grin. “Yeah.”

It’s quiet again.

This is the first time Tobias can remember really talking about his family since the incident, and a part of his heart feels like it’s being lanced through with sharp claws. But somehow, despite the pain, he also feels leagues better than when they’d boarded the cart. After talking, it feels like he can breathe again. At least a little.

He hasn’t thought of Vivi or his parents like that in years. Happy and smiling. Alive.

“Thanks,” Tobias murmurs.

“‘Course. Thanks for telling me. And letting me talk.”

The two of them fall silent again, and Tobias closes his eyes. He listens to the sounds around them, the creak of the wheels and the heavy steps of the tauros.

“Sooo…”

Tobias knows that tone. He rolls his head to raise a brow at Nia. “What.”

“I was just thinking. It sounds like you’ve got music in your blood, if your dad made instruments. And you can’t let Vivi show you up, so…am I going to get to hear you play that guitar you got from Granite, or..?”

The words are lighthearted, but gentle. As if Nia can sense that music is a touchy subject for him so she’s giving him an out. Tobias appreciates it.

“It wouldn’t be good. I haven’t played anything in…years. And it isn’t even the same instrument I was learning.”

Nia hums. “It’s not like I’d be any better. Pretty sure I was tone-deaf in the human world. I just…I’d like to hear it, if you ever want to try.”

Tobias doesn’t answer, stopping himself for all of ten seconds before hesitantly opening the satchel in his lap. He stares down at the sleek neck of the little guitar, its strings shining in the moonlight. His fingers twitch, itching to hold it.

Nia studiously keeps her head tipped back and her eyes closed, but Tobias can tell she’s listening. Waiting to see what he’ll do. In the end, it’s her easy acceptance of whatever decision he makes that pushes him to act.

Tobias pulls out the little guitar, setting it across his lap. Something about the sensation of sleek wood against his skin, of the shape settling against him, immediately brings to mind a flash of the past. Being held by his father, feeling the low rumble of his voice as he guided Tobias’ claws and showed him which strings to pluck. The memory hurts, but it’s warm too. Like a too-hot sip of delicious soup.

Tobias gently strums his claws across the strings, and Nia winces. The instrument, predictably, is horribly out of tune. He hesitantly gets to work putting the guitar back in order, hoping he’s remembering the basics of the process right. He needs to see if the guild has a guide he can reference when they eventually head back.

Still, even with his halfhearted attempts, Tobias gets the instrument into semi-working order. He takes another experimental strum and is satisfied when Nia doesn’t flinch away from the sound this time. Tobias tries plucking a few cords, long-buried memories rising to mind of learning scales and nursery rhymes. After a few clunky starts and stops, he starts to recall the right order and rhythm of the basic movements.

His fingers almost seem to move of their own accord, slowly building up a different tune, something gentle and sweet. It takes him a few minutes to realize what melody it is: a lullaby, once so familiar but now dancing at the edge of his mind like whispers in the wind. He blinks back a sudden rush of hot tears, trying to follow the notes of his patchy memory. There are too many moments where he has to pause, entire chunks of the song forgotten, and jump ahead to a different line. But it’s there, in bits and pieces.

When his fingers still, stinging from pulling at the wire without any callouses built up, Nia finally looks at him. She’s beaming. “I loved that!”

Tobias snorts. “It was terrible.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t love it.”

He flicks her leg with his tail and gets back to work adjusting the strings and testing out the cords again. “I was trying to play an old lullaby my mom would sing. Can’t remember all the notes, though.”

“Oh. Well…you can fill in the gaps, right?”

Tobias hesitates. He…supposes he can. Some part of him feels like that’s wrong, like it’s desecrating his mom’s memory. But…what else can he do? Leave gaping blank spaces throughout the melody? He doesn’t know where he would find the original song, so wouldn’t it be better to fill it up with something new until it’s whole again?

Tobias stretches out his hand before going back to his music.

It’s not until later, when Nia has started humming along to the melody he’s trying to solidify, that he remembers something he wanted to bring up.

“Hey. Before, back in Asra. After the mission.”

Nia sits up and tilts her head at him, expression curious and open.

“You…wanted to invite Samir to join our team. Right?”

Nia cringes. “Yeah. I’m sorry for springing that on you so suddenly. I realized right after I suggested it that it was probably a pretty big decision we’d need to decide together. Was what I said okay? About Samir coming to the Lexym Guild?”

Tobias nods. “Yeah. Arceus knows Samir deserves a better situation than whatever they’ve got going on out here. And August would make sure they got that.”

There’s a moment of hesitation as Nia looks at him. “So…how would you feel? About Samir possibly joining our team in the future?”

Tobias’ immediate impulse is a no. But the guitar under his fingers gives him something do while he thinks. He strums idly at it, trying to slow down his thought process and question why his immediate reaction is so vehement.

“Samir worked well with us,” Tobias agrees, slowly. Grudgingly. “I think they round out our team well.”

“Me too!” Nia agrees, eyes sparkling. “But..?”

Tobias takes a moment longer to stall. Because he knows why he’s hesitating and it’s, quite frankly, embarrassing. Sure, he’d be hesitating anyways just because it’s a big deal basically signing on to be life partners with someone. But he knows the main reason.

His gaze drifts up to meet Nia’s. She’s watching him patiently with ruby red eyes. He flushes and looks away. How can he say that he doesn’t want it to be anyone else but the two of them without it sounding horribly desperate?

“I’d just be worried,” Tobias eventually says, awkward and stilted. “About the team dynamic changing.”

Nia’s expression softens. “That’s understandable. I thought maybe you just didn’t like them or something.”

Tobias snorts. “Oh, they’re annoying all right. But most Pokemon are.”

Nia laughs, sitting back to look out at the passing scenery. Everything is bathed in silver moonlight. “You know, I don’t think you’d have to worry too much about what we’ve got here changing.”

Tobias gives Nia a prompting look.

“I mean…we’re around a lot of different people every day, right?” Nia says. She looks back to him with a warm smile. “But that’s never stopped us from getting along. It’s still always me and you at the end of the day, right? We’re partners. That wouldn’t change.”

Tobias’ fingers stumble over the cords as he stares back, feeling his face heat even as something anxious in his chest settles.

What does he say to something like that?

Luckily, Nia seems equally embarrassed after her words register. She hurriedly looks away. “I’m just saying, you know? It’d still be us. Just…with more friends along for the ride. More people watching our backs.”

Tobias swallows and rips his gaze away, back to the guitar as he tries to find his place. He still feels jittery and embarrassed, but in a pleased sort of way.

“Right. I…guess I wouldn’t be against it. If Samir wants to.”

Nia is clearly thrilled at that, tail thudding happily against the wood of the cart. She smiles and looks back out at the desert.

Tobias could see it, actually. Vaguely. Him and Nia and Samir, maybe a fourth ‘mon. Catching the pangoro and arcanine and continuing on to become top-tier Seekers. The world will need them more than ever, with the slow increase in mystery dungeons and other phenomena cropping up. And Nia—

Nia…isn’t planning on staying, once she finds a way home.

Tobias’ hand falters. Nia’s ears twitch at the jarring sound, and she glances at him. Something on his face makes her sit up.

“You’re going back to the human world, once you find a way home,” Tobias whispers. He doesn’t like how his voice shakes.

There’s a loaded silence left in the wake of his words. Nia’s mouth opens and closes as she blinks at him with wide, off-guard eyes. Tobias regrets bringing it up. Wishes he’d just kept his mouth shut and not ruined the peace that had fallen over them.

“Hey,” Nia finally says, voice tentative. She puts a paw on his arm until he looks up at her, then continues with a strained smile. “You never know. Maybe we’ll find a way to go back and forth or something! So that way I can come back here and visit, but still live with my family in the human world.”

Something in Tobias’ chest clenches. Because even Nia, ever the optimist, doesn’t sound very hopeful about such an easy answer. And because the selfish part of Tobias doesn’t want Nia to leave, at all. Even temporarily. He wants his partner here, with him.

Is that why she’s pushing to bring Samir on? So he isn’t left a pathetic, lonely mess all on his own when she leaves? Hah. Like he’d stay on a team with just him and Samir. Tobias doesn’t want to be a Seeker at all if Nia isn’t his teammate.

Tobias shoves the ugly thoughts and the grief already boiling under his skin further down. Bottle it up, Tobias. You’ve had enough meltdowns for today.

In the end, all he says is a quiet, much less convincing, “Maybe.”

He dives back into his music, but can’t help thinking that the notes sound colder now, somehow. Sharper. Nia must be able to tell he doesn’t want to talk anymore—or maybe she doesn’t want to talk about it, either—because she sighs but falls silent.

One moment. Two.

Nia scoots closer. Then, she leans heavily against him and plops her head onto his shoulder.

Tobias tenses. “What—“

“Could you just…play some more?” Nia asks, quiet. “Music calms me down.”

Tobias pauses. He has a feeling she actually wants him to play to make himself feel better, but it would probably work. So Tobias grumbles quietly, comforted despite himself by the warm, soft weight leaning against him. He goes back to playing, and readjusts the instrument to accommodate Nia on his shoulder and in his elbow space. She taps her fingers along to the melody, likely as lost in thought as he is.

The moon sinks overhead as the hours pass.

Tobias must fall asleep eventually, because he finds himself back in his family’s cave, beneath the warm tent of his Papa’s wing with Vivi asleep at his side. A melody is still being hummed somewhere nearby, near the front entrance of their home, the voice a bit off-key but familiar enough to be soothing.

This time around, Toby recognizes the old lullaby for what it is, even when the song skips over the parts he doesn’t recall.

Toby shifts, trying to get comfortable. Vivi snuffles in her sleep, pushing her head into the crook of his neck. Normally, Toby would push her away. This time, for some reason, he lets her be. Her soft breaths puff warm and soothing against his skin.

Papa shifts, getting more comfortable in his own nest, and Toby can tell by the quiet way he moves that he’s still awake.

“Papa?” Toby whispers.

Papa stills, then rumbles a quiet, questioning noise that Tobias can feel in his chest.

“Did the clouds go away? Are the stars out yet?” Maybe if they are, Toby can go and sit with Mama until he gets sleepy again.

Papa doesn’t answer, but he does turn to duck his head under his own wing. In the warm, dim light cast by Toby and Vivi’s tails, Papa’s face comes into view. Somehow, it feels like Toby hasn’t seen him in forever, and he’s transfixed by the crystal-clear clarity of his features. Bright green eyes that he passed on to Vivi. Sleek but powerful edges to his jaw and horns. His mouth is curled into a warm, sleepy smile, his lower fangs peeking out.

For some reason, the sight makes Toby’s chest ache. His breath hitches.

“You’re all right,” Papa says, nuzzling him.

“I don’t know why I’m sad,” Toby murmurs, feeling tears well up in his eyes.

“That’s all right. Sometimes we don’t know. It will pass.”

Tobias wakes with a start, throat tight and eyes wet. He blinks rapidly against a cloudy pre-dawn sky and sits up, trying to figure out where he is. The warm weight that was on his shoulder whines as it’s displaced, and Tobias looks down to see a sleepy Nia curl up against the side of the cart with a disgruntled expression.

“Oi! You awake back there? We’re taking you north with us if you don’t get up. Storm’s rolling in.”

Tobias jumps, realizing now that the loud voice must have been what woke him. It takes a moment for him to place where he is and who the voice must belong to, coming from the front of the cart. They’ve stopped moving.

“We’re up,” Tobias calls back, clearing his throat. “Where are we?”

“Near the Lilycap River. The riolu said you needed to get to the swamps around Eastern Metreja. The river is the best way to do that.”

Tobias had completely forgotten that they didn’t even have their specific destination figured out. Great. Well, hopefully someone can help them find Edme, or at least the Hollowberry Inn Nia had connected to the mysterious Pokemon.

Tobias takes a moment to scrub at his face and shake off the dregs of sleep. Then he looks at his partner and sighs. Nia is hard to wake on the best of mornings, let alone after an emotionally draining day and a long night spent awake. But they need to get going now if the tauros’ impatient tone is anything to gauge by.

Tobias shakes the riolu, ignoring her sleepy whines of protest. “C’mon, Nia. We gotta go.”

Nia growls and buries her face against a sack of rice. Tobias rolls his eyes and shakes her harder, until she cracks open her eyes, clearly irritated.

“What?”

“We gotta go. We’re here and the tauros wanna keep moving.”

Nia groans but must know that Tobias will only wake her again if she tries to go back to sleep. Slowly, she drags herself into a sitting position, rubbing at her eyes and yawning big enough to show off sharp teeth. Tobias nudges her until she groans and stumbles to her feet.

Tobias gathers their satchel and the guitar. Then, he drags himself over the side of the cart and to the ground. Nia stumbles down after him, following him to the front of the cart where the two tauros are waiting impatiently, tails lashing.

“Thank you for the ride,” Nia yawns. The normal types look a bit soothed by the thanks.

“D’you know which way to go from here to get to the river?” Tobias asks, squinting into the pre-dawn darkness. He thinks he can see a smaller footpath and hear a low, constant noise in the distance.

The nearest tauros tosses his head over his shoulder. “Quickest way is a mile or so down that path. If you’re lucky, the ferry will be there. They’ve had issues with flooding the past few months—weather going out of whack and all. But if the boat’s running it should be able to take you where you need to go.”

Tobias slumps. He knew traveling on the river likely meant they’d have to board a boat, but as a fire type that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. Plus, big bodies of water means reflections, which means Giratina. Even with what Nia said about Giratina helping down in the mines, Tobias would rather not test that tentative trust until they get some answers from Edme.

After Nia thanks them again, the tauros pull away, taking their cart down the dirt road. The ground here is tacky and cool, as if it rained recently, and tire tracks are left in their wake. Tobias and Nia watch them go. A quiet roll of thunder sounds in the distance.

Nia takes a deep breath, sniffing at the rain on the breeze and eyeing the sky. Her ears twitch, angled down the path. “I guess we just follow the path and…hope for the best?”

“I can’t believe we have to take a boat of all things,” Tobias grumbles, leading the riolu off the well-worn road and onto a much smaller footpath through the weeds. They’re heading for a forest, though the foliage looks different from the Haven’s even at a distance. Slightly more tropical. It’s still lush and green despite it being fall, and the air is a bit warmer, too, which is nice at least.

Nia gives Tobias an amused look as she starts to wake up. “I guess it makes sense you wouldn’t be a fan of boats. I mean, we can walk if you really want, but…”

“How sure are you that Giratina isn’t going to immediately yank us into the Distortion World when we board the ferry?”

“I’m like…80% sure he won’t. Probably.”

Tobias glares at her. “Only 80%?”

“85%?” Nia offers, grimacing.

Tobias groans. “We’re dead.“

“Hey, look on the bright side! I’ve thought that many, many times since coming to the Pokemon world, and I’m still alive!”

“I am not awake enough for this,” Tobias mutters. Nia snickers, apparently awake enough to tease him.

The path gets even less defined as they travel into the forest, tangled with lush foliage and weeds growing in from either side. A wooden sign sits crookedly in the soft ground, pointing ahead and saying nothing more than “FERRY.” Tobias crinkles his nose as water drips from the leaves above to sting his skin.

“They really have been getting a lot of rain here,” Nia says, stepping around a muddy puddle taking up most of the road.

Tobias pulls his poncho out from their satchel and yanks it over his head. “It must be pretty bad if the river is flooding. Usually there are systems put into place to avoid that in major waterways.”

Nia makes a troubled noise in her throat. Tobias, not eager to misstep, keeps his eyes on his feet. In the puddles they pass, he can see the gray light of dawn against the stark black outline of the treetops overhead, and he nervously eyes the flickering shapes cast by his tail flame for a hint of Giratina. He doesn’t know if it makes him more or less nervous to not see any sign of the titan.

They follow the distant, muffled sound of what Tobias now recognizes as the river. Dawn struggles to lighten the land under a heavy cover of clouds. The ground gets even sloppier and rife with water the closer they get. By time they see the trees clearing out and hear the loud rush of water right ahead, Tobias’ legs are muddied and cold.

Nia stops in her tracks. Her voice is almost drowned out by the dull roar of the river when she says a quiet, simple, “Oh.”

Tobias looks up from his careful steps to see what caused that reaction.

When the tauros mentioned the river flooding, Tobias didn’t realize how much the normal types were underselling it. The river is not just flooded but swollen to a dangerously high level, the muddied brown water stretching wide in a swift, frothy current. It swallows up the bottom halves of trees and Tobias can’t even see the dock and other structures he would expect to find, everything apparently long since swallowed by the current.

Still, a ferry is indeed present, nudged up close to the steep, muddy area serving as the river’s bank and tied to two sturdier-looking trees since there is no longer a dock in sight. The boat is fairly large, with at least two levels to it and a railed-in upper deck open to the air. A large wheel-like structure sits at the back of the boat, dipping deeper into the water every time it sways in the current. The ferry’s chipped white and orange paint is dull and muddied near its hull, but a deep blue AQUA JET is painted on its side in bold letters.

There’s a laid-back flurry of activity surrounding the ship. A croconaw wearing a coral-colored scarf is standing at the edge of the riverbank, pointing downstream and calling out directions. She’s speaking to a Pokemon who is bobbing in the river, somehow managing to stay in one place despite the powerful current. After a moment, Tobias recognizes the Pokemon’s bright orange coloring and sharp facial markings—a floatzel. A moment later, another Pokemon surfaces at his side, her sleek blue feathers bright against the muddy water. A golduck, her eyes sharp as she quietly takes in the croconaw’s words.

A call comes from the upper deck of the boat itself, and Tobias is surprised to look up and find a torkoal peering out from the railing. Tobias follows his gaze towards the trees, where a small quaxly is struggling to untie the ropes keeping the ferry ashore, pulling at the knots with his beak and flapping his little wings wildly.

The crew seems busy but at ease, calmly dealing with the conditions even as thunder rumbles in the distance. The floatzel calls out a cheery affirmative before diving under the river’s rough surface, the golduck following. The croconaw turns and heads to the quaxly’s side to help. It’s the torkoal who spots Tobias and Nia, yelling something to his crewmates.

The croconaw glances over at Tobias and Nia, clearly surprised. She finishes untying the first knot and heads over to them. “Hey! You folks wanting a ride?”

Nia tears her eyes away from where the golduck and floatzel are doing…something near the base of the boat. Clearing away debris? “Oh! Yes, please. You’re the ferry, right?”

The croconaw laughs. “One of ‘em! We’re the only one still running in this mess. Name’s Cordelia. Welcome to the Aqua Jet.”

Tobias eyes the ferry nervously. “You’re the only boat still operating?”

Cordelia grins, showing off her maw of sharp teeth, but the gesture feels more aggressive than friendly. “Someone has to. Even if it’s rare to see anyone wanting a ride nowadays, Pokemon don’t stop needing supplies just because the weather’s throwing a hissy fit.”

“Oh.” Nia looks back at the boat, clearly nervous herself now. “I-Is it, um…safe?”

Cordelia laughs again. “Any captain worth her salt would tell you that boating in a flood is never safe. But with my crew, it’s as safe as you’re going to get on the water right now. So it’s either take the long way and walk, or get on board.”

Tobias glares at Cordelia, already not a fan of the water type. He knows that walking isn’t an option—not only would it take ten times as long, but they’d likely get lost and run out of energy and provisions long before then. Not to mention having to navigate the swampy terrain and find a way to cross the treacherous river.

Nia answers for them. “We’d like a ride, if possible. S-Sorry, we’re just nervous. Not, uh, used to boating. Even in normal conditions.”

Cordelia nods. “Gotcha. Well, we’ve stayed on the water the past few months despite all this mess. We’ve got a pretty good system going. While I can’t guarantee anything 100%, we’ll try our best to get you where you need to go. Where y’all wanting to head anyways?”

Nia glances at Tobias, looking unsure.

Tobias sighs. “We’re looking for a Pokemon named Edme. All we’ve got is that they probably live in close proximity to someplace called the Hollowberry Inn and they’re somewhere in the swamps.”

“Hollowberry?” A new voice pipes up. It’s surprisingly young, and Tobias and Nia look over to see the quaxly waddling up to Cordelia’s side. He can’t be older than 10 or 11. “We go right by Hollowberry!”

Cordelia gives the little water type a proud grin, ruffling the feathers atop his head. “Hey now, little navigator, don’t go taking my job just yet!”

The quaxly preens and puffs up his little chest, flicking back the feathers atop his head.

“Cas is right,” Cordelia says, looking back to Nia and Tobias and planting her hands on her hips. “Don’t know this Edme character, but Hollowberry Inn is in a town just off the riverfront, in Shivergleam. We were heading south towards the sea anyways for our next shipment. Can’t guarantee this Edme ‘mon hasn’t left the area with all the floods, but we can get you there by tomorrow, if Suicune blesses our currents.”

“Fine,” Tobias sighs. “What’s your price?”

Surprisingly, Cordelia doesn’t charge them an arm and a leg, though it’s still a decent chunk of their remaining cash. As Tobias digs out the coins to pay, the floatzel and golduck pull themselves out of the muddy river, the former shaking his pelt free of water. The golduck rolls her eyes, but wordlessly heads over to the trees to continue untying the ropes.

The floatzel comes to their side, smiling amiably. His voice is deeper than Tobias expects as he says, “Do we actually have some customers today, Delia?”

Cordelia snorts and hands their payment to Cas. The quaxly barely manages to hold all the coins in his little wings before scurrying off and boarding the ferry. The torkoal picks himself up from the upper deck and moves out of view, presumably inside the boat to meet the little water type.

“It’s nice to see some fresh faces,” the floatzel continues, voice light. He’s older than Tobias thought at first glance, too—he’d expected the water type to be on the younger side with how easily he moved through the powerful current, but the floatzel’s fur is graying and sagging a bit with age. “I’ve missed talking to folks other than our little crew. I’m Beck.”

The water type holds out a paw, and before Tobias can try to figure out what to do with it, Nia perks up and gives it a shake. She’s clearly thrilled to meet another conversationalist. “Nia! Nice to meet you.”

From there, the little crew finishes unmooring the boat and prepping it for travel downstream. Cordelia goes to help the golduck, so Beck leads Tobias and Nia up the ramp and onto the ferry. It rocks and sways underfoot, making Tobias feel like he got hit by a confuse ray. He immediately hates it. He grabs onto the railing with a white-knuckled grip.

Beck shifts naturally with the motions of the boat, clearly used to it. He gives Tobias a sympathetic smile and says that as long as they’re careful, they’re welcome to stay outside on the upper deck as long as it doesn’t start raining or the ferry doesn’t run into any unexpected trouble.

Tobias doesn’t respond. He’s too busy trying to keep his nauseous stomach from throwing up his last meal.

“And if anything does happen,” Beck says, catching Tobias’ eye. “Nori and I will be keeping an eye out while we clear debris. We’re pretty experienced rescue ‘mon in the water.”

Tobias isn’t sure whether to feel reassured or offended that he was singled out for that statement. He should probably go inside, but he hasn’t worked up the strength in his jelly-like legs to make the five steps to the door.

Beck dives off the side of the boat and disappears into the frothy, muddy current, streaming through the water effortlessly. The golduck, Nori, glides past to the other side of the boat. Cordelia passes by Tobias and Nia to head to the front of the boat, while Cas runs around making sure everything is tied down before departure. The torkoal is nowhere to be seen. Maybe the ‘mon in charge of the steam system?

Finally, the boat starts to move. Tobias clings to the railing and stares down at the river, heart pounding. He isn’t sure if he would even notice Giratina appearing in the broken reflections right now, tense as he is.

Nia comes to his side, lightly holding the railing and looking out excitedly at the forest and water as they start to move. She glances at him, happiness faltering into something sympathetic.

“You wanna head inside?” She asks.

Tobias glares at her. She doesn’t have to use that tone of voice. He isn’t a lost child in a dungeon. He wants to snap at her but he doesn’t think he can without stuttering.

Nia, pathetically, must see right through him. Her mouth twitches with a smile. She wordlessly pries his fingers off the railing, thankfully ignoring the way he grabs her paws in a vice grip, and tugs his stumbling feet after her to the door. He isn’t too proud once inside the cabin to collapse against the first seat he sees, claws digging into the tough material. The rocking is still making Tobias’ stomach turn uncomfortably, but at least in here he can pretend they aren’t floating downstream on a death-trap of a river.

Nia bites back another smile but doesn’t say a word, turning to the open window to watch the trees go by.

#pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd #pokemon #charmander #riolu #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes

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femdomdiaries · 7 months

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Kinktober 2023 Day 1: Macro/Micro

Sub!Knockout x Reader Drabble

Warnings/Tags: NSFW 18+ stuff, masturbation, weird car anatomy that i made up, 600+ word Drabble, PwP, gender neutral

Synopsis: You accidentally turn Knockdown on

It wasn't intentional; it was just a bit of clumsiness on your part. You were trying to get some much-needed shuteye in Knockout's backseat, sprawled out across the heated leather as he escorted you from town back to the Nemesis. He gave you a strict warning not to get drool on his interior, but other than that, allowed you to do as you pleased. As you slept, the hum of his engine became a calming background noise, along with Knockout going on about the most recent human film he'd seen—something about a train and zombies.

Your phone went off halfway through the ride, and the sound was so out of place it jolted you right awake. Unfortunately, it was resting on your chest at the time, and your erratic movement sent it flying under the front seat.

Knockout went silent for the first time in a while. You weren't sure, but you thought you heard a low moan come from the con. You didn't have time to dwell on it because he asked, "What was that?"

"Dropped my phone," you answered honestly.

"Be more careful, you clumsy short-life."

"Yeah, yeah."

It should have been an easy retrieval, but it was rather deep underneath, and it was too dark to see. You dropped down and stuck your arm as far as you could underneath, brushing your hand around the whole area to try and get a feel of the phone.

Knockout screeched to a stop so fast you nearly became one with the chair in front of you.

"Ow! What the fuck, Knockout?"

He transformed, pulling you from his interior so fast you nearly got whiplash. He placed you on the ground and turned his back on you, using a servo to prop himself against the side of the nearest cliff formation.

"Hey!" You attempted to get his attention, but he wouldn't look at you. From your position however, you could kinda see that he was moving his other servo rhythmically against his body.

"F-frag, (Y/n)," when he finally spoke his words came out breathless, followed by a low whine. Now you were concerned. Was he mending himself or something? "What's going on? Did I hurt you?”

You moved to try and get a better look at what he was doing, but he adjusted his position to keep you facing his back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to—”

"No, (Y/n), you didn't hurt me. I--" here, he whined again and then said, "Frag, I told you to be careful."

"Because…" The wheels were turning in your head, everything was starting to click. "Did I touch—was underneath the seat one of your—was it an erogenous zone?"

Upon receiving no response other than low moaning, heat rose to your face. "Oh." You cringed slightly in embarrassment as you realized that you had mistakenly given the mech a boner. As far as you knew, that wasn't easy to do. Or at least that was what you had heard from some of your other associates. But maybe Knockout was different because of his obsession with humans, which you were now beginning to doubt was as innocent as it seemed. "Do you want—do you need help with that?"

Knockout was a prideful mech. So when he nodded yes, you didn't waste the opportunity. You ordered him to come down to your level, so he turned and collapsed back against the cliff face, red optics peering down curiously at you. Now you had an unrestricted view of the problem at hand.

His cock—or rather his spike—was silver and looked to be made of a sort malleable metal material. It was stiff like a regular hard-on but also seemed to hold most of the other physical properties. It was leaking transfluid from the tip, covering the sleek shaft with a luminous energon blue. His servo was still at work, pumping himself desperately to try and ease his aching member.

Considering its size in proportion to your body (you were nearly equal sizes), you had your work cut out for you.

Might do a part two when I do the rest

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #transformers prime #tfp #tfp knockout #knockout #knockout x reader #sub!knockout #sub!tfpknockout

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itsbenedict · 1 year

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I saw a post recently that was like "I like it when stories are more confusing and ambiguous", and my initial reaction was to go "Yeah, I agree! I love being confused!"

But the thing is- I don't always love being confused. Confusion, in an of itself, is not the experience I'm looking for. What I like is the feeling of becoming more and less confused. What I'm looking for is the... average absolute value of the derivative of confusion.

Let's graph some stuff:

A good story- or at least, the kind of story I enjoy- should be something like... a roller coaster:

Some stories, like, say, your average coffee shop AU fanfic, are never confusing. These are like riding a train- you ride them to get to your destination, and there's some pretty scenery along the way, but you know exactly what you're in for and the whole thing stays at a minimum of confusion.

Other stories, like your average horror story, ramp up the confusion and just stay there, never going down, because the confusion is there to build tension and scare you, not to be resolved or anything like that.

Neither of those are my cup of tea. I want some movement- which is why I like mystery so much.

Many more straightforward mystery stories build up a stock of confusion right up front, and then reduce the confusion gradually over time, occasionally spiking a bit when a strange new clue is discovered, but mainly sloping straight downwards, like biking down a big hill. Exhilarating!

The best mysteries are the ones that are always going up and down in confusingness- introducing new questions and new answers at a pace that ensures you're always at some point becoming less confused about one thing and more confused about another, until it all wraps up at the end. The... rollercoaster analogy breaks down a bit here, since it can't be going up and down simultaneously...

The different colors are different plot threads, I guess. You've always got something resolving and something building.

Sometimes the medium is something like a long-running franchise, a series, a cinematic universe- where you can't tie every piece of confusion up at the end. Gotta have something for the next installment. These sorts of media tend to have slightly less satisfying pacing, because when you chop up a story like that, you're sacrificing satisfying conclusions to maintain an audience's interest over periods of the story not happening. You can try to find places where lots of plot threads have local minima of confusingness to break on, but it's often not going to be natural.

And sometimes you get things like Harrow the Ninth, where it stays at an 8 for most of the book and then rapidly oscillates back and forth:

or Blaseball, which just intends to monotonically increase in confusingness forever:

or… uh, whatever Homestuck thought it was doing.

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absideon-ephemeral · 1 year

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Sky | Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: The sky is always changing. Never the same twice. But it’s never been the same since you’ve been gone.

Warnings: ANGST, slight gore, descriptions of blood and death. Violence. I want to make someone cry (probably myself). Language, not a happy ending.

A/N: First off, y’all shocked the hell out of me. 1k+ likes on Dog Tags?!?! Thank y’all so much. I was inspired by the book Strange The Dreamer to write this.

The sky is ever changing.

Never the same twice.

The sunrise is always different and so is the sunset.

Nothing is ever the same when it comes to the sky.

And nothing will ever be the same for him either. . .

It was supposed to be an easy mission. A simple take down. But when has anything ever been easy for any of you?

It started when Sam received word that a new group of extremists were forming in Madripoor. It was small, a rag-tag Flag-smasher wannabe group. They preached the same message: those who survived the snap were forgotten when the rest came back and deserve the same help as they did. Not wanting to repeat the whole situation over again, Sharon (who had yet to come out as the Power Broker) contacted Sam who then contacted you and Bucky to help solve this rising problem. After a quick debrief from Sam, you three were boarding a plane (courtesy of Sharon) and off to Madripoor.

From there, the rest seemed like a blur. You remember suiting up and the debrief, locating the exact place. You remember the ride there, sitting alone in the back seat while Sam drove and Bucky rode shot gun. You remember looking out the window as you drove on, the sky a pale gray; the kind indicating a storm coming in. You remember Bucky calling your name, asking if you were okay. You nodded, not letting on to the growing unease within you.

It was a fairly short ride. You parked a distance away as to not attract attention. When you finally snuck up on the building, your unease turned to dread. The rag-tag group chose an abandoned steel mill as their hide out. That meant all sorts of sharp metal pieces were probably lying about. Now you had to worry about those kind of hazards as well. As you three snuck over the wrought iron fence, mindful of the sharp spikes on the top, drops of rain began to appear. Your feeling of dread increased the closer you go to the building.

“Guys, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” You moved into position to breach the door. Bucky and Sam glanced at you, concern flashing over their faces. They knew you, and when you say you have a bad feeling, majority of the time you’re right.

Bucky glanced back at Sam. “She’s right. Something’s off. It’s too. . .quiet.”

“Look, we’ve got to take out these guys before they cause too much trouble. We’ll just have to be more careful. We’ll watch each others six and the minute we see something too dangerous we’ll pull out, okay?” Sam replied. You and Bucky nodded, understanding that this was something that had to be taken care of.

You three breached the back door, already suspicious that no alarms had been triggered. You three moved along the bottom floor, weaving in and out of old machines and metal. It was quiet. Too quiet. Your thoughts were racing - either they’ve relocated or all hell is about to break loose. Just as you three moved out from under the second story balcony, the latter came true. You were the first to see it, the glint of polished black metal moving above.

“Get down!!” You barely had any time to yell before figures popped up from above and began raining down bullets.

The three of you were forced to split up, taking refuge behind machines. You couldn’t see either of your partners and you assumed they couldn’t see you. The bullets pinged off oft the metal as the people above kept trying to get a better shot at you.

“Are either of you hurt?!” Sam yelled through the comms.

“Negative!” Both you and Bucky yelled back. The bullets paused a moment - reload time. You took this as your opportunity to pop up and and take a couple shots, downing a few of them. You only managed to shoot three before the bullets began again. One managed to graze your left arm as you ducked down.

“Shit!” You press your hand to the graze, palm coming back bloody.

Bucky frantically called your name through the comms. “What happened, did you get hit?” His tone was frantic and laced with worry.

“Just a graze. Took down three of them. How you two holding up?”

“Can’t get a single shot in,” Bucky said.

“Neither can I. I’m deploying Red-wing.” Sam deployed the little robot and had it zooming around the room, hitting people with small little bombs or electrical charges. Between you and Red-wing, most of the people were either dead or incapacitated. All except one.

That single person took off running, ending their gun fire and allowing you three to get up.

“Split up! We can’t let him get away!” You yelled. Before the other two could protest, you were on your feet and sprinting after the criminal.

Your blood was pumping. Heart racing. The criminal was sprinting, almost inhumanly fast. You had to dodge machines and steel and objects thrown in your way. You managed to get all the way to the third floor when you lost sight of him. Coming to the end of a hallway, there was a split. A 50/50 chance you would either catch this guy or not. A curse fell from your lips.

“Sam, Buck, you got eyes on our guy? I lost him on the third floor. Don’t know if he circled back around.” You kept glancing back and forth from your left to your right. Straight ahead of you was a window out looking the fence you crossed over earlier. The rain had stopped and the sky began to clear its way into the beginnings of a sunset.

“Negative on the second floor,” Bucky replied.

“Nothing on the first either,” Sam added.

You sighed. Weighing your choices. You were just about to turn back around when you caught movement out of the corner of your eye.

They were fast - too fast. You barely had time to block before they were swinging at you left and right. When the shock finally wore off you began to fight back. Trying to match their pace but beginning to fail. You went to kick, but they dodged and your step faltered.

Big mistake.

The criminal used this to his advantage, grabbing you by the neck and slamming you against the glass window. You couldn’t breathe right. You tried to gain leverage but just couldn’t. Your comm has been knocked out and effectively cut you off from help. He slammed you against it again, and again. The window began to crack and spider. Your adrenaline rose with the noise and with a newfound strength, you managed to get your legs up and kick him hard in the chest and groin. Stunned, the man let’s go, and you drop to the floor, gasping for breath.

But the fight isn’t over yet.

He straightens, you scramble off the floor, and the dance of death begins. Both of you were exchanging blows left and right: dancing in an intricate circle to live. You turn again, your back to the window. And that’s when your bad feeling came true.

All it took was a moment of hesitation.

A moment where Bucky came skidding around the corner and into the hallway to your left.

A moment where he yelled your name.

A moment to turn your head and take your eyes off your opponent.

And then you were through the window. Shattering glass as the man drop kicked you straight through it.

For a moment you were weightless. Like time had stopped and you were floating in the air surrounded by bits of glass.

But then gravity kicked in.

And you were falling.

Normally a three story fall wouldn’t be so bad. You would end up with a few broken bones or minor injuries that could easily be healed (thank you advanced tech). But, that’s only if you land on straight ground.

No one said anything about an iron fence.

The grief on Bucky’s face as he stood in the window and the pinkish hue of the sky were the last things you saw before your body suddenly jerked and everything went dark.

And Bucky, your poor, poor Bucky, saw it all.

He shot the guy down a second after you went through the window, racing to the edge to see if you would be fine. But he too, forgot about that wrought iron fence. He was helpless. He could only scream your name as you fell to your death. His cry of anguish could be heard all throughout Madripoor as your body collided with the fence and on one of those sharp iron spikes. It went right through your chest - the force of the landing snapping your spine, ensuring a swift death.

He backed away from the window, slowly, and once he could no longer see your body, he ran. Down to the first floor, past a confused Sam (who ran after him), out the door, and to you.

He hoped it was all just some bad dream. You looked too beautiful to be dead. Even as blood ran into your hair and dripped down the fence you still looked beautiful. Your body was arched over the iron: back curled and arms open wide as if you were rejoicing. The spike sticking straight out from you chest and glistening with dark blood. Your eyes open yet dull. He stopped right under you.

Sam, the poor fool, had heard his partners screams and followed him when he ran past. He was a few paces behind Bucky, slowly walking out to meet him. As he approached, his stomach sank.

There you were - beautifully arched over a iron fence, covered in blood, and a spike through your chest. Sam felt sick. Just a few moments ago you were running and shooting. You can’t be dead.

The same thoughts were running through Bucky’s head. He just saw you. You had looked at him. You were alive and fighting mere seconds ago.

But now you were gone.

Bucky called your name softly, tears beginning to silently fall. He approached the fence and placed his hands under your neck and at the small of your back. He painstakingly lifted you off the fence, the wet squelch from blood sounding as he did. He made it but two steps from the fence before collapsing with you in his arms. His hands and arms were now soaked in blood. He kept calling your name, begging you to wake up. Sam slowly approached and kneeled in front of him.

“Buck,” Sam called softly. Tears began to fall down his face as well.

Bucky shook his head. “No, no we can still fix her. Call an ambulance or something. We can still help her.”

Sam said nothing. Only staring at his partner holding the love of his life in his arms. Upon hearing no answer, Bucky lifted his head, bloodshot eyes meeting Sam’s.

“Sam do something! Please, please help her. Sam, please,”

Sam could do nothing but shake his head. She was gone. Nothing could help now.

A gut wrenching sob tore through Bucky and he curled around you, laying his head in the crook of you neck, trying to keep hold of what little warmth your body had left.

The two boys sat, one silently crying, mourning the death of a partner and the grief of his friend; and one furiously sobbing, clutching the dead body of his love.

As the two sat in the abandoned steel yard, the sky gave away to a beautiful sunset. One with oranges, purples, pinks, and reds.

Nothing was the same for Bucky since the day you died.

And the sunset began to haunt him, reminding him of you arched over the fence with a beautiful sunset behind you.

No, nothing will ever be the same.

Especially the sky.

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky fic

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a-gal-with-taste · 1 year

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Certainties & Mistletoe - Part 2

Summary: Mistletoe, the only decoration the old bastard could bear to stand during the winter-months. You thought it harmless, simple and almost forgettable... but the events it causes, is anything-but.

Ebenezer Scrooge & F!Reader | 4946 Words |

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Tags: Slow-burn, humor, banter, internal-thoughts, boss/employee relationship, maid!Reader, some world-building, pining (?!?), denial of feelings/everyone has denial, Scrooge being a grump (shocker), I literally don't know where this is going but gosh is it fun

A/N: Second chapter. Why? Haven't figured it out yet, and also don't know where this is going. Enjoy the ride!

If anything was affixed in reliability in regards to your strange-sort of new-reality, it was the fact that it was difficult to ignore that pesky little sprig.

Not just difficult.

Quite impossible, actually, considering it sat prominent at the corner of the undecorated desk of Mister Ebenezer Scrooge.

A desk currently unoccupied.

The district of Cornhill in its entirety left shaken by the sight of such a man on the prowl, particularly in this season’s time. Pity as it was to wish-upon the innocent the presence of Scrooge, you felt free alone in his business-quarters as you went-about your normal, average routine...

As normal as could be, with the singular reminder of your transgression still sitting upright and full of life, on that small glass of water at the miser’s desk. Right there... right there, out in the open, for all, and especially the Master-himself, to see!

It felt like a mockery. Taunting you, with a memory already half-repressed, forcing it back into the forefront every time you saw the spiky-leaves from the corners of vision, the crimson berries gleaming-still in candlelight...

You half-thought the thing lived-on, refusing to even consider wilting, just out of spite.

Henceforth, why you chose to regard it with an eye full of loathing, and offer a wide-berth around its immediate proximity. A fact that was as ridiculous, as it was entirely unignorable by parties not-privy to your internal conflict.

“Miss?”

You hummed in a way that proved you were listening, despite the venomous staring-match you were engaged-in. With a plant.

“Fairly sure those berries are only poisonous when eaten... they don’t jump out ‘atcha, frankly.”

Ah, Robert - though he swore that Bob was the name written on record - ever the relieving fresh-air in the stifling atmosphere that was Marley and Scrooge. His humor politely-stifled on most days to appease his mentor and employer, the brief freedom allowed between the hours of mid-morning, to five hours past-noon, were well-spent with an easy smile, and a more at-eased attitude.

Usually, it was a well-welcomed attitude.

But the mischief that gleams in bi-colored eyes, that shift from yourself and to the out-of-place sprig, is enough to leave you wary before he even speaks.

“Though I can’t quite decide... whether your loathing comes from its poison, or spikes. Have you pricked yourself, perchance?”

“Were I lacking more wit than I currently possess, perhaps, but I am not-yet that clumsy,” You insist, but there’s a small smile shared from you to him, one that does-away with most of the troubled glint in your eyes. Most.

“Strange, ‘innit?” He hummed in that almost-sweet, disarming way that had earned your gratefulness early-on in your employment. “Thought I’d be a-long into some great beyond before ol’ Ebenezer decided to stock up on decorations.”

It’s spoken all in light joviality - out of respect, seasonal mood of jolly or legitimate amusement at the old man, you weren’t certain - but the second-opinion of the foul little thing does little to ease your mood.

Your eyes slowly trail-back to it, nails digging into the meat of your palms as they tightened into fists.

“I would think the very-same,” You murmur, eventually finding yourself able to turn your back on the desk and what resides there, in order to begin work along the shelves, all under Cratchit’s keen gaze. Keen, very-much curious, and unfortunately, eager for gossip to pass the hours.

“Well then. Have you any idea why he-?”

“Why-what? Who knows why that man does anything he-wills to do?” Too hasty, you knew, not only by how swiftly eyebrows shot-up, nearly touching his hairline.

Honesty would relieve you of some of the worry, you knew.

But it also seemed unbearable. To admit one's misconduct was enough of an embarrassment, but the crime-committed felt so much more severe than a slip in composure or social-graces...

Yet, it only took another lingering stare at the surviving twig of holly, before you wrung the dusting cloth between your fingers, “Mister Cratchit, have you ever done something truly... dreadful?”

No one would ever think a dear such as Bob capable of anything less-than goodness, but the copper-haired lad nodded rather quickly. “Oh, indeed! Rightfully so, my missus never lets me forget it.”

Stunned, breath caught between two-lungs, you asked out in a rush what it was.

“Thirty minutes late, I was, to own second girls’ arrival.” He confessed, a great and sorrowful light entering the eyes of two-shades as he wags his chin mournfully. “Nothing more-dreadful than that, Miss. It’s only out of blessing and that gold-heart of hers, that Kathie has never scorned me for it.”

Your heart sank - not necessarily from the story, though you did pity the family-loving man - but because it wasn’t even remotely-comparable to your own situation, and all the complications that now come with it.

Though, likely being the sole-woman alive who has so-willingly bestowed a kiss upon the lips of Ebenezer Scrooge, there was very-likely none to properly seek confidence-in.

So, physically shaking your thoughts from mind, you turned your inquiry to a subject far-less combustible, and humiliating. “Yet another child I find myself privy to be learning-of. Tell me, Robert, what good have I done to deserve such knowledge?”

“Bob, or Mister Cratchit if-you-please,” He corrected immediately, but with a pleased grin assuring you that no-offense was taken. “Two-years anniversary comes soon, since you’ve strode into this very office. It seemed appropriate.”

“In a way of celebration, I trust?”

“No other way I would speak of your presence here, miss.” The assurance is cut off, as Bob raps his knuckles upon his desk once, twice, with a canine briefly worrying at a chapped-lip before he continues. “That, and... well, you might very well privy to the sight of my children, soon enough. Two of them, to be exact.”

“Oh, Mister Cratchit, surely you don’t desire to host them among the company here.” You certainly had no issue with their attendance, but the office of Scrooge and the late Mister Marley was hardly a place of welcome for children.

“Oh no, they’d be so horribly bored, and Mister Scrooge would likely be-” A darting of eyes, much akin to your own, is paired with a gulp as he lays a gaze upon the somber work-station of the man-himself. “... displeased. But Kathie is of-age to begin work, with a voice as lovely as the Queen’s, I'd say! She might design to come ‘round upon her day, with my little man.”

“A son, too?”

“Tim, man ‘o the house when I'm here, hard at work!” The declaration is spoken with pride, and it’s quite easy to respond with a small smile at the proud-father.

Perhaps it was selfish, but discussion of his life, rather than your own recent actions, was far more welcomed, even as something terribly weary entered his eyes before he continued.

“My... my boy would dowell with walking. Winter has never-quite been a friend with him, and... well. It’s come to the point where the exercise is much-needed, y’see, and I-”

“Mister Cratchit,” You interjected, sympathy in your eyes. “You need-not explain further. Perpetuating your woes with my curiosity was never an intention.” And it was clear, even with a lapse of details, that the situation with the Cratchit’s son was a woe-indeed.

“Right... right!” It was now his turn to shake-himself free of his troubles, which he did with a zeal that left his bright-copper hair to flip over his forehead. “Well, regardless... Miss, ‘ve no-doubt they’ll make the occasional trip! ‘Tis only natural for Cratchits to wish in staying-close, even when hard-at-work, though I can assure you, they��ll keep their business outside!”

“Tis not me you need to assure-this-to, but the caution is appreciated.” And the fact gave you plenty more to mull-over between the repetitiveness of your daily routine, dust collected and shaken-off the dusting-cloth with practiced ease. “Have I time and ability, I can spare a cuppa, warm, for the little-ones.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you-”

“And you haven’t, it’s merely an offer,” The smile you gave back was meant to invite ease, something which the clerk accepted after a moment. “Free-of-charge. Though darenot tell the Master of-that.”

“Heh, right... I shan’t.” A pause, the quiet words of gratitude nearly-silent, but no-less sincere. Again, pleasantries were a rarity in such-offices... three-years gone by, and still Cratchit was slow to get-used to them in your presence.

Keeping to normalcy. A lifestyle you thought mastered, and now something you missed bitterly, as your routine now seemed to revolve around... it, at his desk.

Foolish, it very-much was, but nonetheless, your steps naturally merged upon a new-path as you went about your duties - a bit quicker than normal, after the pauses taken during your conversing with the clerk - and kept ensuring you made as little visual-contact as possible with the sprig of your ire, the reason for that writhing cluster of uncertainty gathering inside you.

Why keep it?

And, more significantly, why display it? As some sort of warning? Perchance it was a form of mockery, a private joke of which only one gains twisted-humor from...

But was there humor to be had? From yourself, certainly-not, but recollection reminds you swiftly of the man’s own reaction to the incident...

Averted eyes - surely out of the morbid embarrassment of the unprompted action.

Rapid, repeated clearing of the throat - solely for discomfort, you dreaded what occurred whenever the gentleman fell-ill, and what that entailed for you to do.

Your concern of some ailment only increased at the memory of reddened-cheeks - an occurrence that had twice been a happenstance. The prior evening upon your departure, and just this morning, upon your return.

With a sigh as you shuffled the books back unto their place on a cleaned-shelf, you resolved to detour from home to speak with a physician, speak on behalf of his welfare. A second-opinion... was it not what was desired in the first place, except for another scenario entirely?

You supposed you had to take victory elsewhere. If you could not succeed in unraveling the frazzled, mangled remnants of your good-sense, at least ensuring your employer was not catching-cold, was an acceptable alternate achievement in defeat of another.

That is, of course, what you tried to convince yourself. You feared you didn’t succeed much there either.

Speaking of the man, the clock struck the fifth-hour of past-noon.

By the second-ring announcing the time, you were dusting yourself to an acceptable greeting-condition - picking-up the pace as you passed the desk, and its topside contents you so-loathed.

The third and fourth tolling of bells both near-and-far finding yourself positioned, as always, by the front-door to brace to take hat & coat. Arms extended slightly, expectantly enough that your eyes slipped-closed as you sighed, bracing for the temporary flurry that would be let-in. From the season’s snow, and Mister Scrooge's return.

The twelfth-toll.

The minute-hand passed the twelfth-rung entirely, marching onward to time forever and ever... and the front door did not open.

Understandable. It had slushed more than it had snowed the night previously, making the banks of snow less-pleasant to traverse through by oneself... doubly so, for Prudence would not make traveling conditions any-easier, despite the companionship she provided.

Allowing this consideration, a moment passed without fanfare. A second moment, another... but by the forth, you began to peer at the doorway rather perplexed, a frown gathering on your lips as you squinted out the port-window of the entryway, stretching upon your toes, and still catching no-sight of your employer.

A flicker of... something, unpleasant, crossed your mind.

“Robert-”

“Bob, miss.”

“-Mister Cratchit. Master Scrooge is late.”

“Oh no.” Less of alarm, more of polite-dismissal, the clerk raised his ruddy-nose high-enough over his freshly-inked book to squint-down the corridor to the back-offices, the grand clock sitting proudly at the back. “Hardly even five-after... five minutes after, miss! Hardly a wink in time."

You shook your head, glancing between the unopened door and clock. "Mayhaps, but this is Mister Scrooge we speak off. A man who considers ‘time to-be a finite resource to be transacted sparsely, to avoid its waste.’"

After nearly two-years, Ebenezer Scrooge was nothing, if-not predictable when it comes to stifling-speeches of practicality. You liked to think you did a well-enough mimic of voice and posture too, but the humor is lost quickly when six minutes pass.

A seventh. “He surely hasn’t gotten into an argument of some sort.”

“Mister Scrooge is rather, erm, efficient with those, miss. Doesn’t much-like getting caught up in one such as those.” An eighth, flirting close with the tenth-past the hour.

But Cratchit’s words were true enough; it was quite-possible that the man was among the most stubborn of humankind, the kind to be set-firm as stone, plowing through as efficiently and steadfastly solid as marble.

Which was why you started to pace at the entrance, when the minute-hand reached the first ten-moments of the hour. Sitting at the windowside, two-minutes later, with that cluster of troubled-nerves within you building and building, to the point you feared a combustion would take-place.

The avoidance should have been welcomed.

Extra-time, even only the length of only a quarter-hour, was something you would normally see as a blessing and something to be welcomed wholeheartedly, entirely, and without any questioning as to the why.

But then you glance at the almost-empty desk, your eyes catching-sight of what exactly made the desk only almost empty.

The sprig of holly doesn't seem as much like a physical taunt, at this moment.

It's motivation.

One you find yourself taking subconsciously, as you rise from your waiting-seat at the windowside, and march over to the coat-rack. With your bonnet shoved over your hair as you tug on your coat, the voice of the bystanding clerk is enough to cut through the fog of your swirling-thoughts, "Leaving sooner than normal? No emergency, I hope?"

"Only the emergency of a search. I worry the worst, Mister Cratchit."

A slow blink, and lowered quill as the man frowned. "For Mister Scrooge? Surely not... yes, it's not-normal that he's absent for so-long, but I'm certain he's right-as-rain-"

"And if he's not?" You demanded, fingers a flurry over the buttons as you bundle yourself up to prep for the outside-chill. "Slicked-cobble is a nightmare, even for a man with a cane. Especially so, mayhaps, and God-knows there's few willing to help him if he's slipped or fallen."

Most would probably laugh, though you-yourself find little-humor in the thought.

"Oh, come now, miss, someone would fetch the doctor, surely! Imagined we would hear Prudence half-the-city away if something befall the fellow, besides-"

"I'm quite certain of it, but I need to be sure!" You insisted, tugging your gloves into place as you turned towards the door, turning to Cratchit in the midst of your strides. "I... I only wish to ensure all is well. If such-is, I'll be back only momentarily-"

The sharp, sudden gust of pure ice to your cheeks was only barely-registered, in time with the modestly-sized office building shaking from the force of the door flung open.

You had very-little time to register these two-sensations.

Even less time, to slow-down enough to prevent the collision, of you striding-out, and your fashionably-late employer marching-in.

Rather spectacularly, soundly colliding against his chest, your hands are coming up too-late to cushion the blow, and curl on his vest. It's only thanks to the sudden-rigidity in your body that you don't stumble-along with the gentleman as he staggers, winded from the blow, and you-yourself are able to keep upright.

Though, your legs feel slightly-weakened at the sharp, flabbergasted inhale that you feel, more than hear.

Another-breath is felt beneath your cheek, after the man finds his center-of-gravity once more, and after the faint deflating of his chest at sharp-exhalation, Prudence slices through the stifling fog of the incident with an excited bark at your feet.

Hands curled tighter, before you push yourself off his chest with chin still tucked-low towards your own. "I-I... You... I apologize, but you were running quite-late."

A poor, poor excuse. And hardly an apology, something Ebenezer Scrooge sincerely agrees with, as evident by his scoff.

"A typical occurrence, miss, when one requires a detour from average paths."

"Well... yes, but I had-fear that you slipped, the cobbles are quite-slick this evening-"

"My relation with gravity is of such grand-importance to you? Humorous, considering you nearly made me fall-"

"You only did just the same, Mister Scrooge! An accident of equal blame, you can hardly push responsibility solely onto...." You trailed off, a bit lamely, as your gaze has raised in response to man.

Pompous and sneering as his words are, you quickly take notice that Ebenezer has held himself in such a way that can only be described-best as stiff... he also refuses to look at you directly, line of sight barely-skimming over your brows.

The non-whiskered skin of his cheeks still host some redness from his exposure to frost, even if the door has already swung-closed behind him. Excessively so, as the flushed-hue upon his skin extends from face, down to neck, peeking upon his ears from beneath his hat...

And...

He's also holding a fresh sprig of holly in a gloved-hand, newer than even the one hosted at his desk. Fist clenched tight about it, as if his body was subconsciously, fiercely opinionated on its existence.

You cannot yet-tell what that opinion might be.

"What... what is that?"

CLICK HERE TO READ THE REST ON AO3

#i can't believe netflix made me do this #AGAIN #scrooge: a christmas carol #scrooge 2022 #scrooge x reader #scrooge 2022 x reader #ebenezer scrooge #netflix #reader insert #this is only 50% joke #guess what the other 50% is #female reader #fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #writing #christmas

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powdermelonkeg · 1 year

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Tears of the Kingdom: The Final Analysis

Part 4

Part 3 here

Up next we have Link leaping into a ball of water sort of thing.

First off, the green in this pedestal looks much more vibrant than the other Zonai glows we've seen so far. It could be lighting, but I think it's more indicative of something that can be activated or deactivated at will.

The water seems to coalesce around this central core thing, which seems to vary in size as they're approached:

Then there's what looks like a splotch of malice over here:

Which might mean the sky isles aren't as safe from Ganon as they appear.

Then we have this weirdly shaped shadow. Is this a person? A mentor for Link as he runs through a training course? A weirdly-shaped tree?

Link dives through a laser-filled pit, with Zonai lights framing the edges of it.

Then he spreads his wings.

For some reason, he has a wingsuit; we know he has a paraglider and can dive as needed, so maybe this indicates that the paraglider will be unavailable at some point?

Also, those lasers go down a long, long way. This might be a passage to the underground.

Next, we have this giant gatchapon thing.

Collectable quest or dungeon mechanic? It's huge, so it must be important, at least.

The wheel has Zonai script on it, and I believe these do translate into actual letters. We'll likely get a key to them shortly after TotK releases, just like the Sheikah text.

Also, there's something just over here that looks differently shaded to the rest of the platform. It's likely movable; possibly a loose piece for Ultrahand.

Link glides through a gap that looks like the Lomei Labyrinths. The only odd thing I can really pick out here is the blue sparks; they're persistent throughout this clip, like an ambient effect. So this location is isolated somewhere. Maybe the inside of one of the generator shrine things.

Link rides his horse through the Fort Hateno battlefield.

This is definitely of Zonai make, but it doesn't seem to have any special effects when it's swung. It's probably just a base set, like the Gerudo Scimitar or the Forest Dweller's Sword.

Hateno townsfolk are fighting off monsters over here; whether this is a scripted event or a recurring one is impossible to tell.

There's also a guy with what appears to be a soldier's helmet just standing there doing nothing. Funny at first glance, but it might also mean these guys need too be ordered around.

Here, we have a better view of the new battle scene.

Hello, sir, what fine horns you have.

Then we have the only Sheikah reference in this entire thing, which means that somewhere, somehow, it is still possible to access.

This is the translation of it, by the way. Is this inside a tower? Does the tower connect the surface to the underground?

This guy. What is he.

Clearly a Zonai, right? But what is he?

He's got some kind of snout with a horn at the end, and gold-edged feathers along his cheeks. His eye shape reminds me of the Rito. A predecessor, to confuse Rito heritage even further?

Ears with tassels on them that blend into his hair. Are they furred, or is it a style?

Gold-tipped horns, and a closed third eye. Notably, a third eye with three spiked lashes. Pair that with the tear facepaint under his open eyes:

And it looks really familiar.

On either side of him, we have blurred shapes that look to be other members of his tribe.

And that's a very Rito-like foot, with a glowing ball of light attached to it.

But what worries me about this scene are the sparks.

Malice-like fragments everywhere, like during a blood moon, while these guys aren't moving. Are they corrupted? Are they standing at the ready during a battle?

I'm out of picture space again, so look out for Part 5!

Edit: Part 5 is up!

#loz #zelda #totk #breakdown #analysis #long post

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stardustshimmer · 9 months

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Meta Pirate AU stuff: The Forgotten Land Arc

Buckle up, buttercups. This is gonna be a long, wild ride.

Angst tw!

...

So in this section of the AU, we're focusing on just Captain Meta, Magolarr, and Cap'n Daroach, the three leaders of their own respective crews.

Introduction

Each captain had received a mysterious treasure map that presented the locations of various treasures scattered throughout the infamous Forgotten Land, or as some others call it, “the New World.”

…

Word of the existence of this New World had been passed down from pirate to pirate: it being a connection of many islands only accessible by traversing through Another Dimension, which has been deemed practically impossible to do unless you had some kind of advanced technology on your hands. Although most pirates could only DREAM of pulling something like that off, only one swashbuckler had successfully managed to accomplish it for real.

Many, many years ago, a pirate, whose name had been long forgotten, had somehow come across Another Dimension, and unexpectedly landed in the New World due to the ship’s GPS going haywire. They had gone exploring through the unfamiliar surroundings, discovering plenty of creatures and plants that were completely different from where they lived. They also found that the place was rich with hidden treasure.

Unfortunately, the pirate’s calming adventure had come to a stop, as they had encountered a dangerous beast that was 30 times their size, guarding what looked like a highly rare piece of treasure. Most pirates would tell you that the beast was… a gorilla. When the pirate attempted to fight the giant gorilla… they had met their doom.

Rumor has it that the pirate had recorded their observations in a journal for the purpose of bringing it back to share with their folks back home… but they couldn’t even make it all the way past the first island.

…

After discovering that all three maps showcased the same place, Magolarr had convinced the other two captains to put their rivalry on hold and join him on the Jolly Starcutter, as the ship was advanced enough to not only access Another Dimension, but to also withstand the journey through there. When Meta and Daroach agreed, they ordered their crew to stay back and take care of their ships. Magolarr did the same with his crew, except the three were told to cover him at the goods shop he ran.

And just like that, they were off in a blast! Next thing they knew, the Captain Crew had safely landed in the middle a lush jungle. Observing their surroundings, they all realized that the stories they’d been told growing up were truer than true.

Once the three made it out of the parked Jolly Starcutter, they made an agreement to split whatever riches they found. And together, they began to make their way through the mysterious Forgotten Land…

Adventure Highlights and Lore

In Natural Plains, it was confirmed that the beast that had taken the life of the unnamed pirate was a giant gorilla. However, with Daroach and Meta’s combined combat skills, along with Magolarr’s magic, the three were an unstoppable force. They took the gorilla down with ease. At that point, they had already made it past more than what that pirate was able to. They (especially Daroach) were completely confident that their names would go down in history.

Captain Meta ended up finding that journal as well. It contained messy, but legible sketches of the animals that inhabited the area and little notes about the appearance of the environment. It seemed to Meta that there was no choice but to continue the lost pirate’s work as they venture further and further.

In Everbay Coast, when the crew climbed a ladder up a cliff, there was nothing to be seen (normal Tropic Woods would be there, but in this AU, he lives in Popstar). The treasure was a distance away, however, the cliff had been rigged with all sorts of traps, from spikes to flames, all shooting from the ground beneath them. It was quite the struggle to get there and back, but they were successful!

The three ended up spending an entire day enjoying the attractions at Wondaria before continuing their journey.

When facing a fearsome leopard in the big top, she seemed to be attacking Daroach the most. Surely this has nothing to do with her cat instincts kicking in when seeing a mouse, right? Right?

The crew nearly froze in Winter Horns. NONE of them were expecting to encounter such frigid conditions.

Now you may be wondering… what about Dedede? If HE’S not in the New World, then who’s the crew gonna fight against?

Let’s just say that it’s… a certain little girl that would pretty much change Meta’s life afterwards.

Yeah, I’m talking about my very own Meladee.

Meladee was found in Winter Horns as a baby and was taken in by the Beast Pack, who had pretty much raised her her whole life. However, they pretty much forced her to spend her time in Winter Horns, doing nothing but sitting in that frozen, worn-down palace and guarding their treasure. They didn’t even teach her how to fight properly, she was just handed a hammer and told to use it however she could. So when she finally saw that people were coming after her, she got stressed and took that stress out on the crew. Meladee fought HARD. But once she was defeated, she ran off crying. Meta felt especially sorry for the poor child. He knew something was wrong.

The wacky armadillo that lived deep in the canyons of Originull Wasteland was the largest treasurer hoarder of them all. It had collected all sorts of weird-looking artifacts, and had even made a few of its own.

Meladee had been caught by her caretakers after she had run off from her post. They had given her a possessive mask in hopes that it would make her more obedient. She was then taken to Redgar Forbidden Lands, which is where the final battle(s) took place.

I probably should have mentioned this to begin with, but Elfilin is nowhere present in the AU as of right now, nor is Fecto Forgo. So after breaking the mask off of Meladee and freeing her of possession, she had joined the Captains’ side, standing up to the Beast Pack. Together, the Captains and Meladee took down the head of the Beast Pack, a large lion that, unlike the other Beasts, talked.

As a last resort after being defeated, the lion roared at the top of his lungs and ordered the entirety of the Beast Pack, all creatures great and small, to charge at their enemies, which now included the very penguin they raised. They all narrowly escaped to the Jolly Starcutter and blasted off once again through Another Dimension, bringing home their hard-earned riches.

Captain Meta had decided to take Meladee in as his own since he felt deep sorrow for her.

The tension between Daroach and Meta continued afterward, but they took it down juuuust a notch.

…

Long story short, take the entire story of Kirby and the Forgotten Land, but swap Kirby with Meta Knight, Daroach, and Magolor, replace Dedede with Meladee, cut Elfilin and Fecto Forgo out of it entirely, and boom, there’s the arc for ya. This is, in no way, the perfect story, but it’s 4 in the morning and I’m tired as heck, alright?

If you made it to this point, I hope you enjoyed my long rambling. You no longer have to read this anymore.

I spent all night writing this. My fingers hurt. Good night!

#kirby #kirby au #stardustshimmer’s meta pirate #my oc #rambles #shut up stardust.

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honourablejester · 2 months

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Starfinder Character Concept: Vercite Ice Trucker

Because I saw an image of a research ship stuck in arctic ice, this island of yellow light amidst black water and white ice, and it reminded me that I love Verces, Starfinder’s tidally locked Pact World whose dark side is an icy industrial hellscape. And I still want my ice trucker, since Xalke turned out more of a stationary industrial worker out on one of the ice rigs. I want a tough little hover trucker making deliveries to the industrial platforms out on the endless midnight ice.

I did want to build this around trucking. Vehicles. The Piloting skill and the Ace Pilot theme. And that suggested a Dex build, so, you know. Let’s go Operative. For fun points, Operative actually has a Driver specialisation, so yeah. That fits nicely. And then I just had to decide her race, and …

Did you know Space Goblins get racial bonuses to Engineering, Survival and Stealth? Because they’re tough, scrappy little buggers who are used to roughing it out in the holes and garbage pits where other species are disinclined to venture. And, like. Who takes a shitty job that nobody wants, driving out alone onto vast icy hellscapes where no one wants to be? A goblin, is who.

I did, mind you, also consider a dwarf. Because dwarves just feel like science fantasy truckers. But I think goblin wins here.

Character Concept: Girta Highhands, Vercite Ice Trucker

Name: Girta Highhands

Age: 34

Starting Statistics:

Strength 10, Dexterity 16, Constitution 14, Intelligence 12, Wisdom 12, Charisma 9

Starting Skills:

Ranks in: Acrobatics, Athletics, Computers, Culture, Engineering, Medicine, Perception, Sleight of Hand, Stealth

Specialisation Skills (Skill Focus plus auto rank per level): Piloting, Survival

Skill Bonuses: +2 to Engineering, Stealth & Survival (Goblin Scrounger feat), +1 Piloting (Ace Pilot), +3 to Piloting & Survival (Skill Focus), +1 to everything (Operatives Edge)

Race: Space Goblin

Starfinder goblins are stowaways and scavengers and clever little buggers who eked out a whole civilisation for themselves in the maintenance ducts and mechanised bowels of other species’ homes. They’re tough, smart, tenacious little buggers, and they go where they’re not wanted, and they stubbornly survive regardless. Not even necessarily out of spite, but just because what? This is liveable. Y’all don’t like it down here? I love them. Them and ysoki fill a particular niche for me.

And I do like the Scrounger feat for an ice trucker. Bonuses to Engineering, Stealth and Survival. What better set of skills to get bonuses to when you’re piloting a lonely vehicle out over monster-infested ice sheets? If your truck breaks down out there, you’ve got the skills you need to stay hidden, stay alive, and get it moving again.

Granted, goblins aren’t naturally found on Verces. Absalom and the Diaspora are more their sort of haunt. For a start, they don’t have any form of cold resistance, and Verces’ Darkside is fucking cold. But. That’s what technology is for. And goblins hitched rides on ships (not always with the ship’s knowledge) and wound up pretty much everywhere, so this tough little goblin wound up on Verces, and there were shady companies offering money for shitty, dangerous work, and you know what? She can do that. Don’t even worry about it.

Description:

The heavy door of the truck popped open with a pneumatic hiss, and out of the reasonably large opening a surprisingly tiny bundle of armour and snow suit hopped down onto the ice, clicking its heels together to deploy the ice spikes in its boots. A surprisingly well-tended laser pistol jostled for position with a collection of tools on a grubby belt as the figure turned, a gleam of scowling red eyes the only visible feature under the weather gear. Even that was abruptly obscured, however, along with pretty much everything else, when the creature activated the light projector in the armour and blinded everyone in a fifty foot radius.

“Well?” a surprisingly high, growly voice asked, hands on hips while they all blinked the dazzle out of their eyes. “What are you all waiting for? Shit’s not going to unload itself!”

(Notes: among her equipment I’m giving her Frosthiker Soles, because ice sheets, and the Light Projector armour upgrade, because midnight ice sheets. She’s a one-woman floodlight. Also, obviously, Environmental Clothing (cold climates) and an Engineering Kit. I’m not fully sure how to go about functionally equipping a Starfinder Character, beyond armour, weapons and ammo, but I figured I’d throw in a few bits for flavour).

Theme: Ace Pilot

Trucker! Ice trucker! Also goblin, so she just likes vehicles. Mostly self-taught regarding how they work and how to drive them, there may or may not have been a large amount of dismantling wrecked (or not-so-wrecked, at least before she got her hands on them) vehicles in her youth, but she just likes mobile machinery. And the bigger the better, so a good solid slab of a truck is quite appreciated. Might make climbing in and out of cabs a little tricky at 3ft tall, but don’t worry about it. She’ll make it work.

Class: Operative (Driver Specialisation)

I love the description of Driver subclass. “Your lightning reflexes and cool-headed judgment are without equal when you’re behind the wheel.” It feels somewhat geared towards getaway driving, which you might not think makes too much sense for an industrial ice trucker, but do you know what’s out there on the Vercite ice sheets? Trust me. A good (read: living) ice trucker knows when to get shit in gear real quick. Heh. Operatives also have several exploits that double down on the vehicle thing, but that might be overkill. I just wanted her to feel like a trucker first and foremost. A professional driver.

That operatives are also skill monkeys and potential snipers is also not a problem. There are a lot of problems out on Verces’ ice sheets that are best solved with a nice sniper rifle from a comfortable distance away. Like from the nice warm cab of a hover truck, for example. Heh. Not that I think I’d be starting her with a sniper rifle or anything. Probably small arms. But she would vibe with the sniper ethos, for sure. Quick, quiet, and preferably a long way away, that’s how we roll.

Summary:

Verces is just really pretty? In a bleak, industrial, horrifying sort of way? It might be my second favourite Pact World after the Diaspora, although Liavara and the Sun are also in the running there. I just really vibe with the midnight icy and the floodlit industrial platform aesthetic of Darkside. And I know I already did Xalke, another Darksider, but she was stationary, an industrial station worker, and I wanted to go back to the ice trucker idea, the lone traveller out on the ice, doing a shitty job in a scary place. And you just. You gotta love goblins? They’re tough, they’re scrappy, they’re willing to wade through shit, they’re a lot smarter than you think. I deeply enjoy them.

Verces also just warps people, I think. Like Xalke, I want Girta’s first feat to be the Toughness feat. Darkside is about survival. Industry, horror, and survival. So a goblin really does fit. Engineering, Stealth and Survival. The perfect trifecta of Darksider skills. Heh.

So. Have a frozen bundle of goblin grit bombing cheerfully along in a hover truck across the midnight, monstrous ice sheets? Girta Highhand, a goblin Vercite ice trucker!

#starfinder #ttrpgs #character concepts #verces #darkside #goblins #science fantasy #space truckers #or alien ice truckers in this case #verces is just really really cool?#i love it #second favourite pact world for sure

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tinalbion · 2 years

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So I was recently introduced to the Joy Ride movies and ooh boy, I am mad I never watched these sooner. So I am officially writing for Rusty Nail, the main villain in all 3 films, though I much prefer 2 & 3 actor-wise. When I write for him, I'm mainly picturing Mark Gibbon's role. That man is SO fine, I SWEAR. So yeah, this is just testing the waters to see if writing for Rusty works for me, and I already have ideas for future things! I really enjoy it and I hope you guys do, too!

“Lone Star Sleepover”

The Sassy Cat Saga Part 1

Rusty Nail x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Honestly a lot fluffier than I expected

Length: 4.7k

The road trip you decided to take on your own had been going perfectly fine, you nodded along to the music that blasted on the radio, and you didn’t have a care in the world as you drove at high speed down the empty interstate. It was your first time taking a trip on your own since it just so happened to work out that way, but you figured you could do it. You were a young adult and had the need to travel, the funds were there, you just had to get up and go.

So go, you did.

As you neared closer toward a town as the sky darkened, you heard several loud pops and your steering went completely off the road as you screamed, your hands clutched the wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. You caught your breath as you pulled off toward the side of the road and just took a second to pull yourself together, your eyes darted to the street and saw that no one was driving in or out right now.

“Shit,” you groaned. You quickly pulled out your cell phone and saw you got no coverage. “Double shit.”

With an annoyed grunt, you slid out from the driver seat and looked down at the damage, and oh boy, that was a lot of damage. Large slivers stuck out from your left side tires, possibly nails or some sort of spikes, and you leaned against the hood as you tried not to scream. You had a spare tire, sure, but not two. You sighed and grabbed everything important that you had to carry on your person, you locked up the car, and trekked your way up the road as you stared down at the printed-out directions from Google Maps. Your eyes stung from how badly the wind picked up from the coming storm, of course, it would start storming. How lucky could you get in one day?

The bright neon lights up the road signaled to you that you were close to something, and you hoped it would be full of people who could help, or at least point you in the right direction. When you were mere blocks away from salvation, the rain came pouring down on you and soaked you to the bone almost immediately, to which you just sighed irritably and continued on your way. You figured your map was useless now.

Rusty had been frequenting a local diner on his stops through town as of late, so when you came bursting in from the rain looking as disheveled as a cat that crawled its way from the gutter, it made for an interesting evening for everyone. He had to admit, there was something rather interesting about you as you kept your head held high with your hair clinging to your face, but you didn't seem bothered by the rain in the slightest, at least that's how you tried to play it off as. You didn't seem in distress, not to the others that frequented the diner, but Rusty could see it in your eyes; you needed help. He overheard you talking to the waitress asking to use a phone, what your name was, and what issues you were having. The woman that held the pot of stale coffee was always worn out but kind to those who showed it in return, so when she saw how desperate you needed the phone, she pointed toward the back and told you to bang the side of it at least once to make sure it doesn’t cut out in the middle of the call.

When you were standing there as you listened for the other line of the phone to ring, you looked across the diner mostly to people watch, and then you saw him. You didn't know who this man was but he was big, burly, and had a pair of the sweetest lips that were barely visible under that hat he was wearing. You didn't notice much, but you could easily make out his stubble, his thick hair that poked out from beneath the hat, but you were soon brought back to reality as the other end of the line stirred and you lost all track of what you were thinking about.

Your car had some sort of damage to the tires, but you could easily stay in it overnight if it came down to it, but when you described the situation to the tow company, they said they could take it into a ship in the morning, but they suggested you go to the nearest motel for the night and they could tow it there at the very least. So that's what you planned and you called for a tow truck to take you to the closest motel, which they'd meet you at the diner in a half an hour. With a defeated sigh, you shook your head and hung up the phone.

The man's eyes were on you yet you had no clue, but he watched you as you shuffled back toward the exit and thanked the waitress for allowing you to use the phone.

The walk back to the car was miserable for you as the rain still came down pretty hard, but it didn't matter as you slid into the front seat and just sat there for a little while. You weren't sure how long you sat there and stared out of the windshield, but your hand reached down toward the mic of the CB Radio that had been installed in your car.

There wasn't much you expected from using it, but it was installed as a precaution in case something like this happened, so your finger clicked the button and you cleared your throat before speaking out.

"Hello, uh, could anyone out there help me? I'm at the truck stop diner just a few miles from 97C, Highland Valley Road, can anyone tell me if there's a motel nearby? My car broke down and I'm not from here…" You released your finger from the button and hoped for the best as you leaned your head against the wheel.

A few moments passed until a deep voice rumbled through the channel. "The Lone Star, about a few miles northwest from there," he replied coolly.

Damn, you liked this voice a lot, you could listen to it all night, but now wasn't the time for that, so you thanked him and tried to think of conversation starters to keep him on the line for a little longer.

"I didn't catch your name," you squeaked out.

"You can call me Rusty Nail. What do I call you?"

You laugh to yourself and hold the talkie up to your mouth for a moment. "Call me… Sassy Cat, I suppose."

Rusty laughed and shook his head as his thumb clicked the button again. "Probably very fitting," he teased, "but I'll be on, like I usually am, if you need me."

"I'd appreciate that, thanks, Rusty."

You waited for the tow truck to arrive, you finally catch a lift up to the Lone Star Motel and climb in for the night. Room 13. Rusty kept an ear out for you and even made a short journey from the spot where you broke down to the hotel to check on you. He normally didn't do this, he was usually busy with running loads of stock and not having to worry about someone losing their car, but this week was a bit of a slow one, so why not make sure you made your way safely.

There you were walking along the sidewalk of the motel rooms as his big rig pulled in close, cold cans of drinks in your hands as you seemed to look exhausted. You went up to your car and leaned on the hood, hoping that whatever help you'd get would come early enough so you could be on your merry way. The radio in your car sounded loud and full of static, which scared you half to death as you jumped up from the hood. You scrambled inside and set your armful of stuff down.

"Hello?"

"Sassy Cat, is that you?" A familiar voice called out.

"Rusty?"

"Ahh there she is, was just calling in to check on ya, makin' sure you arrived safe and sound."

The thought of him worrying about you made you blush. "Oh, well that's awful sweet of you, yeah I made it alright, Rusty. Isn't it late? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I'm doin' just fine, little miss. What about you? Shouldn't you be resting up?"

Truth be told, yes, you should have been, but sleeping in motels alone wasn't exactly the easiest thing to do. "Uhh, can you keep a secret?" You asked shyly.

"Of course."

You bit your bottom lip and laughed at yourself, you laughed at rhe ridiculousness that was you feeling at ease with a stranger as you chatted over a CB Radio. "I've never driven this far by myself before, I don't like being in these sorts of places alone, so it's hard to sleep."

Rusty sat back in his seat and watched you in the distance as you looked to be lost in thought, you looked tired, but he could tell that you were telling the truth. He leaned forward and clicked the button again. "Well, I could offer you an idea. I could stay on this channel with you and if you need to say anything, you go right on and say it. I can listen."

That was an awfully sweet gesture for a stranger to give, but you figured they drove long distances all the time, having someone to talk to wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for guys like this. You liked the offer, you liked that he meant it and didn't pity you, at least you thought he didn't.

"Rusty, you don't have to do that, that's honestly so kind-"

"Look, no worries there, kitty cat, a girl shouldn't be alone in strange places."

Your mind swam to treacherous waters, how could you even THINK of asking what you were about to ask. Your safety should have been your number one concern while taking a road trip alone, then being stuck in the middle of nowhere, but something in your gut whispered to abandon all sense and just take the leap.

"Rusty, could I ask you a favor… and please don't take this the wrong way, I just…" your sentence trailed off and you didn't know how to necessarily ask such a favor. This wasn't something you did often, let alone at all.

"Whattaya need?" There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, you could tell.

"Umm, I know it's a lot to ask from a stranger, but could you meet up with me here? Maybe just sit with me for a few hours if you aren't doing anything? I'm just… I'm not used to being alone…" you repeated.

Rusty heard you right, right? He didn't really know how to respond to that nor was he familiar with meeting up with strangers outside of working hours. How he'd handle this, he had no damn idea. But once your voice came back over the radio, he snapped back and blinked.

"I'm sorry, that was a rude question, I didn't mean to be weird or anything, I just really like the company and you seem like a decent guy what with helping me out earlier." You rambled you always rambled when you were nervous or you thought you made things uncomfortable, it happened often, you rambling.

It was almost comforting when you heard his laughter over the radio channel.

"Well, I've never done nothin' like this before so uh, I suppose I could help you out. You've been mighty kind, not many people see us truckers as kind folk so they don't show it to us. Let me meet you there, then, Sassy Cat."

"Thanks, Rusty. See you soon."

You placed the radio down and your heart was beating so quickly while you tried to calm yourself in the driver's seat. You reached out for one of the drinks and opened it as you stared out through the windshield of the car. 'Why did I do that? What if he's some sort of weirdo? What if he thinks I'M the weirdo?' You were so wrapped up in worrying that you barely saw the large black semi pull into the lot a while later.

That was probably him, you were shaking in the car as your eyes were glued to the scene of the door swinging open and watched as a large man wearing hefty boots stepped out. The hat he wore was pulled down to hide his face from the harsh lights of the neon signs overhead. You recognized the jacket he wore and the scruff of his facial hair, that was the same guy you were admiring at the diner! Oh that made you feel much better, you knew that he at least looked pretty decent for someone you didn't know.

You stepped out of the car and watched as his face lifted and looked directly at you, you swore you could feel his eyes burn a hole right through you. Christ, he was so large!

When you finally walked to meet him halfway, you held out your hand despite it shaking so damn much. "You must be Rusty Nail, a pleasure to meet you." You seemed chipper and excited, but deep down you were nervous as all hell.

He looked down at you with a smirk and grabbed your hand more gently than you expected. "Sassy Cat, I presume. You're cuter than I expected."

It was forward, but just enough to give your ego a little boost, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it coming from his mouth. "Well, thank you, Rusty. If it's not too forward, I think the same about you." Damn, your face was turning bright red from how hot it felt, you'd bet money on it.

"So uh, I brought along a six pack in my cab if that's your fancy," he began as he reached back and rubbed his neck. "Not sure how I can assist, but I'm here ta' help if you need it."

"That's very kind, thanks for the offer. I got some drinks from the vending machine. You want a non-alcoholic beverage?"

Rusty smirked beneath his hat. "Well, sure, I'll take you up on that. You wanna stand down here by your car, or wherever you're comfortable, darlin'."

You almost melted to the sidewalk from that nickname alone, damn, you'd love to hear him say your actual name some time.

"Well, if you're okay with it, the room would be fine. I can grab more drinks and maybe get some takeout? I just can't sleep, this is a hell of a lot on my plate."

"Don't be embarrassed," Rusty said as he picked up on your body language, "not everyone can handle stuff like that, it's normal. But I'd be honored to accompany you this fine evenin', just lead the way."

You nodded and swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was all just a lot to manage for you, just chatting with him would calm your nerves, at least you hoped it did. So you beckoned for him to follow you as you began to walk toward your room, you heard his heavy footfalls behind you, following obediently.

You got to your room and unlocked it with your hand still shaking, you glided off to the side to allow the giant man step through, and then closed the door eagerly behind him and locked the door. He shifted around the room and found a seat on one of the chairs as you nestled onto the corner of the bed with your legs crossed.

"So uh, again I'm sorry I even dragged you out here like this, it was a spur of the moment sorta thing…" you looked down and played with your sleeves on the night shirt you wore.

Rusty couldn't help but chuckle at how much you apologized. "S'alright, Y/N, don't worry your pretty little head about it."

"I appreciate- Wait, how'd you know my name?"

"You were at the diner, and it was easy to overhear you talkin' to Jolene about your predicament. Didn't mean to eavesdrop, just happens when you're in the line of business I'm in, ya learn to listen."

You should have felt more odd about it, at least you were convincing yourself that you should, but you honestly didn't. This was a man who was aware, who paid attention, you were thankful he did to be honest. He noticed how quiet you'd been and it weighed heavy on him.

"I hope that didn't scare you none, I'm sorry about that, it's a bad habit you just sorta pick up."

"No, no, it doesn't bother me at all, just surprised that anyone paid attention at all. I was an outsider there, so it was just nice to have someone give some sort of damn about my plight." You laughed and scratched at your hair, which was still drying from your unexpected shower.

Rusty couldn't help but smile at that as he shifted in the chair and grabbed the drink you gave him. "Well, of course, we all look out for one another here, most times anyway."

With a long stretch as you raised your hands above your head, you almost felt comfortable enough to feel the grasp of sleep barely nipping at your heels. Rusty took notice of that too and watched you in silence for a moment.

"How ya feelin'?"

"Better, much more relaxed, thanks to you."

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs. "You want me to get goin'? I don't wanna be a bother."

"No!" You cried out, "please, not yet. If you're able to, please stay." It was embarrassing how you were acting right now and for your sake, you should have stopped and let the man leave, but something deep within you wanted him to stay put.

He stared at you under the brim of his cap, the shadows hid his expression rather well and the lighting in the room was already pretty poor as it was, but it allowed him to remain mysterious as he sat there across from you and tried to read you. He didn't know what to expect or why you were so terrified to remain alone, so much to the point you'd want a complete stranger around you.

"I won't bore you with details," you began softly, "but I'm just going through a lot and I thought this trip would help me. It's only been one shitshow after another."

Rusty thought for a moment and then stood up from his chair, he weaved around the poorly placed table as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it to the side. He sat down beside you on the bed while the mattress sunk from his weight, which caused you to tumble into him unexpectedly. You let out a surprised gasp as his hand caught you, his arm wrapped around your shoulder.

"You alright?"

You looked up and could see more of him from this angle, you never expected his eyes to be so bright. "Y-yeah, I'm good." You wanted to simply disappear under his touch as you felt his fingers flex around your arm as he sat you back up.

"You need to relax, I reckon," he pointed out as he reached behind him and grabbed the top blanket and draped it over you. "So how about you lay here and I keep watch? You'll pass out sooner or later, and neither of us wants that to happen behind the wheel, now do we?"

The urge to snuggle against him was so irresistible that you didn't even know your body went ahead and did it without you giving a second thought about it, but he didn't retract his hand from your shoulder, yet he stopped you.

"Hold on," he instructed as he stood from his spot and walked to the other side of the mattress, then he laid down onto the bed and patted the spot next to him.

You obeyed and crawled into the bed beside him, the smell of tobacco and damp earth wafted through your nose, and even a hint of his cologne. You felt at ease in his presence, as if you were under some sort of spell that he had you trapped in, but it was one you never wanted to get out of.

"Better?" He grumbled in his husky voice.

"Much." Your hand instinctively grabbed at his flannel to secure your position, and your head rested gently beside his chest. "I don't know how I got to this point of my evening, but I can't ever repay you for this, Rusty."

"We can work that out later," he replied teasingly. "For now, You should rest, Y/N, don't worry so much."

His hand stroked your hair and the sound of his breathing lulled you into a quick sleep. You barely had time to register what the hell got you to this point, but right now, you didn't care.

For Rusty, this was an odd evening to say the very least, but he had an attractive little thing next to him in a bed, what more could he want? Your soft skin touched his and it felt as if his skin was aflame from the mere contact of it, your hair felt even softer between his fingers as he caressed it, but what really threw him off was your immediate draw to him. Your hands were gripping his shirt tightly as if to keep him there, your face pressed against his chest as if you'd known him your whole life and trusted him with it.

Whatever the hell got him here, he hoped he wouldn't lose consciousness and wake up to find it one cruel joke, but he'd live here in this moment, even if for a little while. Rusty didn't even notice his eyes grow heavy, but the darkness enveloped him and he was asleep.

* -

You were sure you dreamt that entire evening up, you were absolutely sure of it. But when you woke up with the sun streaming brightly through the windows of the motel room, you stirred and tried to move around so you could block the sun from your face, but a large arm draped around your waist stopped you from moving too far. Your eyes peeked over and saw the large trucker you met yesterday was sleeping rather peacefully next to you, his breaths deep and steady as his arm didn't move from your waist. He looked rather peaceful sleeping here, you wanted to reach out and just touch his face to admire him, but you didn't know this man and you surely didn't want to have him live through a rude wakeup call.

Instead, you nestled back against him and pulled the blanket further over you, the desire to wake up wasn’t really there despite how urgent your need was just mere hours ago. You blinked and let out a low sigh as you moved slightly, wanting to gain more warmth against him before you both had to wake up and go your separate ways. But as much as that seemed like the most likely possibility, the thought of it made you feel oddly sad. You enjoyed his company and just how sweet he was, hell, he was so respectful and never tried to do anything that made you uncomfortable.

You hoped you would see each other again.

As you were lost in thought, you felt the mattress stir and you gently opened one eye, noticing Rusty had slowly sat up to stretch his arms. You took in just how large he was and how toned he'd been, you'd taken in the marks he had peeking through

beneath his and thought of all the ways he could have gotten them. He seemed like a simple, sweet guy, so maybe you didn't want to know how he got them right away. But it didn't help that your eyes wandered way too far for too long, your imagination wandered, and you didn't even notice him looking over his shoulder and staring down at you.

"Mornin'," he greeted with a deeper voice than usual. "You sleep okay?"

You couldn’t find your voice this early but you gave him a short nod in response while you stretched out your body. His eyes glazed over your form a bit longer than he anticipated but you didn’t mind, though you made a noise of protest when he stood up from the bed. All Rusty did was chuckle as he walked to your side of the bed and patted your head softly.

“Just hittin’ the bathroom, kitty cat, don’t you worry,” he grinned. He left you there to your own devices and came back almost as quickly as he’d gone, then as if he could read your mind, he slid in next to you again and found his place beneath the covers. He couldn't admit to it just yet, but he really found this to be the most comforted he's been in a long time.

You didn't say anything yet, you just wanted to revel in the moment for as long as you could until the harshness of reality bit you both.

"Didn't you need to get towed this mornin'?" Rusty asked suddenly, his voice lowered to almost a hushed tone.

"Mhm, yeah, I did, but I think I'm liking this too much to care right now." Your eyes were closed because if you looked at him with his face being so close, you weren't sure how the moment would play out, and that scared the hell out of you.

That comment made Rusty smile, and your face seemed to be so at peace with the expression you wore, his hand reached out and brushed your wild stray hairs from your face. He was begging to feel all too familiar now, and he couldn't stop himself when he leaned forward, nose to nose with you.

"Y/N," he said softly, and you opened your eyes, "could I do somethin' stupid right now?"

You nodded, afraid to speak in case it broke the wonder of the moment.

Rusty closed the small space between you both and captured your lips in his, his hand half cupping your face and half pulling your chin forward so he could deepen the kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed again and you pushed against him now, your hands found themselves wrapped in his salt and pepper hair, and the way he was kissing you only made you hum in approval against his mouth.

It was hard for him to let go, he knew he shouldn't have done this with someone who he only knew by first name, but you were pulling him in with every moment you looked at him. His large hands roamed down your arms and slid against your stomach as he lifted the hem of your shirt slowly, your back arched in an instinctive response, which was so inviting.

He swallowed the moan against his mouth and pulled you further against him, and you could feel the invitation of his excitement against your leg at this angle, was it bad that you wanted to feel it elsewhere so soon?

Rusty was making you feel anxious in the best way, his stubble tickled your chin as his kisses lowered from your mouth to your neck. You wouldn't have stopped him from continuing to assault you, but to your dismay, he pulled away and stared down at you, breathless.

"Y/N, as much as I'd love to continue this with you, and trust me I do, I'm not that kinda guy. I hope you understand, I'm a bit old-fashioned albeit the favor I did for you…" He brushed more of your hair out of your face and could easily see the disappointment. "So lemme ask you this, would you do ME a favor?"

You cooked your head a bit in confusion. "Sure, Rusty, anything."

His smile grew. "Allow me to take you on a proper date, then."

Your face must have visibly turned red because Rusty laughed at your reaction. "I'd love that, Rusty," you replied.

"Good," he beamed at your response and how genuinely you seemed to be excited.

"Well, don't I need to know your name if I'm going on a date?"

All he could do was laugh and shake his head. "In due time, kitty cat, in due time."

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brunchable · 2 years

Text

Conflict Resolution Chapter 1 — Languish || Surgeon!S.S. × Asian!Reader.

Warnings: Coarse Language, Sexual Elements, Medical elements Pairings: Stephen Strange x Asian!Reader (OC) A/N: I have no ownership of this story, all credits go to Kate Canterbary for her book, The Worst Guy. The whole time I was reading the story I couldn't help but think of Doctor Strange asdfghjkl. I'm assuming you wanted to be tagged in this if you liked the master list post. If you want to be removed then let me know. Peace. I have a messy tag list and I always miss people, I'll try to make a google form so you can send in your usernames ;_;

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Stephen

My dick was languishing. Stephen learned that word recently. Languishing. Not depressed but not thriving. Just drifting along, one unsatisfied day melting into another. And—before you get the wrong idea—this wasn't a performance issue.

Stephen performed beautifully. He always rose to the occasion and he stayed standing until everyone was satisfied. Most mornings he awoke to find himself at full salute, wrenched out the quickest flash of gratification, and then went back to feeling nothing. With the bitter aftertaste of that thought in his mouth, he kicked the bedsheets away and rolled his head to the side.

Glaring out the window felt right, seeing as his view consisted of a brick wall and a hazy slice of early morning sunlight. He understood everything about that wall.

Hard as fuck and not a damn good thing to be done about it. Languishing, to be sure. None of his usual vices did the trick. There used to be a time when the mere mention of college volleyball players was enough to get him off. God, he missed being twenty-four.

Most people assumed his fascination with hardcore competitive volleyball was about the outfit. It wasn't. Those competitions—the ones where they go on full rallies, spiking the ball, digging for the ball like permanent neurological damage was no big deal—chilled him the fuck out.

Volleyball players was to him what true crime podcasts were to women with attachment issues. Also, he couldn't tear his eyes off the Spikers. There was something about their thick, powerful thighs. They all had them. Of course they did. You couldn't launch into space without some rock-solid quads and they had them.

Fuck, did they have them. He wanted to live in a world of pear-shaped women and wear those thighs as earmuffs every night. Every damn night. Wanting it didn't mean it would ever happen. The primary reason for that was the gaping hole where his interpersonal skills should've been, the hole he was certain he'd had from the early days and which had widened over the years. He lived a solitary life and he liked it that way for reasons he was too hard and miserable to enumerate this morning.

The fact he had a group of friends at all and they continued to request his presence was a curiosity he still did not understand. He assumed they'd adopted him as some sort of wonky mascot. The secondary reason—not far disconnected from the first—was he didn't enjoy people and he really didn't like them in his space.

If there were to be earmuffs in his life, he'd have to haul himself to the earmuff's apartment. That sounded great at first but knew it would become a hassle. His work hours tended toward unpredictable—neuro surgery was a pain in the ass like that—and there were many days when he came home too fried to form words.

As much as he liked the idea of a sexual relationship conceived without the requirement of speaking, he knew that wouldn't last. It couldn't. The day would come when he'd hear—barely, since her thick, glorious thighs would cancel out most sound—her ask about his day. Or, god forbid, she'd want to talk about feelings or the unholy curse of where is this going. That led quite naturally to the final reason that nothing so miraculous would ever happen to him: he didn't know how to keep people in his life. He could give all the beard rides in this time zone but that didn't change the fact he was thirty-two years old and didn't know how to make anyone stay. His mother was the only person who'd ever stuck around. His little sister Donna too, but it wasn't as though she'd had much of a choice in the matter. So, here he was, with his languishing dick and sudden apathy for collegiate volleyball players with thunder thighs.

Not that his dick ruled his life. It did not. Hell, he didn't know who had the time to live that way. Maybe when he was in his twenties, grossly self-involved and capable of engaging in social activities after work, but he couldn't do that anymore.

These days, his life went to hell if he didn't get at least seven solid hours of sleep a night. Maybe it was wrong but he was more interested in chasing a good night's sleep than a partner for some earmuff action. Just didn't seem like there was any point, and he knew that didn't make sense. Not that any of this made sense. A lot of things were going right in his life these days. He didn't have any reason to be so…bored.

Things were finally, strangely good for him and he was more unsettled than ever. He hated that feeling. It was like his skin was too tight and the sun too dim and every passing minute a second too long. Everything was off, and his dick, the original canary in this coal mine, had figured it out before he could. Rude.

What the fuck did I have to be unhappy about? Why couldn't I be content with the handful of decent, functional things I had in this miserable, broken world? Why couldn't any of this be enough for me?

He shifted away from the window with a long, obnoxious sigh. Enough of that whining. He had to get ready for work. He didn't have time for this. Emergency surgery didn't care whether his dick was in high spirits or not—and that was why this was the gig for him. He didn't have to think about himself at all.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

His life looked a little something like this: surgical on-calls, sleep, research, complaining about the weather in this dark, frigid concrete jungle of New York, hunting for good avocados, clinical care, death march running sessions with his part-time sadist friend Anthony, hating everything, third-wheeling it with Anthony and his wife because they were the only people who tolerated him on account of him vocally hating everything, migraines, and covering for other surgeons in his practice who, unlike him, went places, did things, and enjoyed the company of others.

And that was how he found himself working a twenty-four-hour surgical on-call shift because someone else in the practice was going to a wedding or vacation or some other nonsense. When these storms of his own stupidity arose, he always swore up and down he wouldn't cover for anyone ever again, and then he prayed the last few hours wouldn't blow up into a massive shitshow.

Today was one of those shitshows but instead of waiting until the last hours of his shift to blow up, it started the minute he arrived. He was too busy to notice hunger, exhaustion, anything.

Surgery had a way of putting those basic needs on the back burner. All the same, the last hours were a damn mess. All of his residents and their interns were slammed, he couldn't find his fellow anywhere, and every time he cleared one surgery consult, another two sailed in.

It was two hours past the end of his never-helping-another-colleague-again marathon shift and he was jamming through the last of his charts when he heard, "Strange? Is Strange down here?"

There were several reasons he hung out in the emergency department, but chief among them was he could always find a quiet corner where he wouldn't be disturbed. It was the noisiest, most hectic spot in the entire hospital complex but calm could always be found in chaos.

Except right now. He knew that voice. It had been burned into his brain on a daily basis with all of your perky, peppy screeches of "Hello there!" and "Good morning!" and "Have a good one!"

My god. The last thing in the world I needed was a conversation with Ainsley Park.

He'd sooner fling his body into the Hudson River and wait for nature to do its worst than willingly submit to a conversation with the reconstructive surgeon who lived in his apartment building while he was operating on zero minutes of sleep in a whole fucking day.

Maybe he was fragile as fuck but he required a full night of sleep and a protein-packed breakfast before daring to look you in the eye. He had to be prepared for you.

The exam room curtain clattered along its rod as you whipped it back. "Dr. Strange. I'd like a word with you."

With a quick glance starting at the floor, he took in your lavender sneakers, navy scrub top and pants, and a circular pin announcing Vaccines Cause Adults. That much Stephen could agree with you on.

Stephen returned to his charting. "By all means."

"Did you staple a facial laceration?"

"I've been here since eight yesterday morning. I've stapled a lot of skin in that time. I'm going to need you to be a hell of a lot more specific."

You let out a huff, like the aggravated little noise that puppies made when someone didn't give them the precise form of attention they wanted. "Female, age twenty-eight, orbital fracture and—"

"—a perforated bladder and internal bleeding from an MVA. Yeah." He'd worked on her and another case from that motor vehicle accident twelve hours ago. It felt like it'd been twelve days, "What about her?"

Your grip on the curtain tightened. "You stapled her face."

He pecked at the keyboard for a moment. He was shit at dictation and he didn't believe in using interns as scribes so that left him to write up his cases, which he did with the most specific, detailed notes to minimise the risk of a resident calling him in the middle of the night with a question. When he walked out the door, he was gone, and he wasn't letting anyone pull him back in until it was his time.

"Sure did. She wasn't in a position to lose any more volume and it was my call to address the lac pre-operatively."

You huffed again, and though he didn't see it, it certainly sounded like you'd stomped your foot. Stephen watched you push your black-rimmed glasses up your nose.

You didn't wear the glasses too often which was for the best, it really was. They made you look like you were inspecting something and never pleased with your findings. Your black silky hair was up in a ponytail with a few loose tendrils trapped behind the arm of your glasses.

Stephen went back to the keyboard. "Do you have other questions or is that it?"

"You stapled her face," you repeated. This time, a metallic whine sounded from the curtain rod.

You were still yanking the damn thing, your knuckles shining back at him, bony and white, as your fist tightened on the fabric. Your hands were petite, your fingers slim. Perfect for plastic surgery, Stephen was sure. You were the substantial, sturdy kind of small—short, compact, could probably beat the shit out of a punching bag—and you needed a step stool to reach the table in the OR.

He'd never noticed your hands before. You saw each other in passing all the time though it was usually your big, messy, bun that caught his attention. Couldn't miss it.

You moved in the same group of friends too though both of you rarely talked. He could tell you were a bruiser behind all that outward sunshine. You'd be nice as hell but you'd cut anyone who dared to cross you. Not that he cared.

Stephen spared you a glance as he returned to his notes. One last case and this annoying conversation to get through before he was done with this place for three whole days.

"I suppose this is an inefficient way of telling me that—as far as plastics is concerned—staples are not the standard of care for such a case."

"I'm telling you that your staples were clumsy and careless."

Stephen jerked his head up. He wasn't annoyed anymore. Now he was pissed, "I doubt that."

"You doubt—" you stopped yourself, your lips pressed tight together, your facial muscles twitching and your shoulders sharp like you wouldn't tolerate his response.

You stood tall—or as tall as a little bit like you could—your feet anchored a shoulder's width apart in a stance that said fuck around and find out. Stephen gave you a solid minute to finish that sentence.

When you didn't, he said, "I staple lacerations all the time. If we're able to clean it up, we do, but we're also aware they can wait until we've saved the patient from dying on the table to make their superficial injuries look nice. I'm sure you can agree it's more important to stop a haemorrhage or preserve organ systems than wait for plastics to put a face back together."

Your eyes flashed as you drew in a breath, "Do you know anything about skin? Or suturing? Or healing? Because—"

"Especially when there's an orbital fracture involved," he continued. "Isn't that the entire reason for plastics and reconstructive surgery? To put things back together after the life-threatening priorities have been sorted?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Many things, but my treatment prioritisation has never been one of them."

You would've continued your tirade, of this he was certain, if you hadn't delivered another feral yank to the curtain. Instead of further debate as to the hierarchy of interventions with trauma cases—and whether he knew his shit—you tore the curtain from its clips and dislodged the rod from the ceiling in the process.

What came next was pure instinct. He didn't think about his actions at all. Maybe he should have, but if stopping and deliberating over split-second decisions was part of his brain's wiring, he wouldn't be a neurosurgeon. If he wasn't a neurosurgeon, he wouldn't be hiding out in this exam room, arguing about treatment plans with this screech owl of a plastic surgeon.

He wouldn't have sprung off the gurney and pushed you out of the way as the rod fell, along with two ceiling tiles. He wouldn't have flattened you to the floor when the rod hit a metal procedure tray and sent it cartwheeling into an interior window, wheels first, while the supplies stationed on that tray rained down over both of you and the unmistakable sound of slowly shattering glass filled the room. He wouldn't have stayed there, in that small, half-hidden exam room, with his body curled over Ainsley Park's and a hand holding your head to his chest while the glass crumbled from the window casing.

And he definitely wouldn't have yelled, "What the hell is wrong with you!?" while a half dozen emergency department employees rushed into what was left of the exam room.

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