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mandolovian · 4 years

Text

1. kannida

part 1: i’m not a general

pairing: the mandalorian x f!reader

words: 3.2k+

warnings: some depictions of anxiety-inducing moments for the reader

a/n: thank u for all the love with the preview! if you’ve read that, the first part of this chapter is the same as the preview.

Felucia, despite the monstrous mountains and swathe of greenery, held seedy secrets within its city. Its flagship 84’s Cantina was hidden away in the depths of the city, and its front door was half sunk into the ground - as if the years of activity had resulted in the building slowly becoming one with the planet. Inside, the darkness was sticky and nauseating, and the bass of the cantina band was less good, rather more permeating.

The counter of the bar was fixated in the middle of the room - circular, encircling a twisted cabinet with shelves stretching towards the ceiling, heavy with half-filled bottles of spirits and poisons. The bottles glimmered in the dim light, the colours muffled by the considerable layer of grime that sat on the surface of the glass.

Towards the back of the cantina was a low-rising stage, only about a foot or so off the concrete of the floor. The wooden floorboards were sunken in the middle from years of use and, as the sleepy band played its final songs slightly out of key, the music was accompanied by the quiet groans of the yielding wood. Above the band was a string of bare lightbulbs thread haphazardly through the booms of the ceiling - many missing their glass casing, and the remaining bulbs flickered rhythmically with the kick of the drum.

There were a precious few patrons gracing the cantina - after all, there were but a few hours until the sunrise, so the ones that remained could not have been there by choice, but rather because of necessity.

The Mandalorian approached the counter. He was an imposing man. If the beskar didn’t intimidate you, it was his stance. The hand that rested against the blaster on his hip, casually, one of his fingers trailing against the edge of the trigger. The pulse rifle slung across his back that he hadn’t unclipped. The glint of the hard edges of his cuirass, polished enough so you could see your twisted reflection against it.

You put away the glass that you had been wiping in the cupboard under the counter, and walk towards him. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ you asked quietly. ‘We’re about to close up, but I can still get you a drink if you’d like?’

Only an imperceptible shift of the glinting helmet told you that he had heard you. He was silent for a moment, and you wondered if he had understood what you had said. You had precious little knowledge of the Mandalorians, and you couldn’t recall if you had ever interacted with them before. He turned his body slightly on the stool, and you were momentarily blinded by the reflection off of his armour.

‘I’m looking for someone,’ he said. His voice was gravelly, crackled from disuse, and although his words sounded tired, there was an undertone of commandment to it.

You pursed your lips. ‘I might not be of too much use then,’ you replied. ‘I’m not really familiar with anyone other than the regulars here. Maybe I can direct you to someone else who can help?’

The Mandalorian ignored your question. ‘I’m looking for the Chief Medical General from the Kannida Hospital.’

It was a miracle that you kept breathing.

You shifted uneasily on the balls of your feet. ‘I think you might be mistaken sir,’ you said. ‘That hospital doesn’t exist anymore. That city doesn’t exist anymore.’

He ignored your words again. ‘I have employment for her, if she accepts,’ he pressed on. ‘I understand that she’s recently become-’ he faltered a little, ‘-for the lack of a better phrase, unemployed.’

You bit your cheek, and winced when a metallic taste filled your mouth. The Mandalorian’s stance remained impassive as you struggled to keep your composure. ‘You can’t say… the tragedy of Kannida was… made unemployed?’

‘The Chief Medical General,’ he repeated, and you just stared at him. ‘That’s who I’m looking for. I won’t leave Felucia without a conversation with her.’

The audacity. There was a slight ringing in your ears, and you twisted the towelette under the counter. A strange heaviness began to settle in your stomach as you stared blankly at his visor. Made unemployed?

‘If she did… exist,’ you began, your tone measured. ‘If she was still alive, then she’s not here. No one like that has come through here. I’m sorry to disappoint, sir.’

Turning away from the counter, you breathed in deeply. The wave of nausea rising up inside you made your head spin, you gripped the towelette in a tight fist. In. Out. Counted the clean glasses in front of you. Eight. Counted them again. Still eight. Still eight? You counted them again. Eight clean glasses. Your eyes flickered between the rims. Definitely eight. You were sure of eight. Slowly, your breath evened out, and your heart left the lump in your throat to settle in your chest again.

‘Please.’

You turned, and the Mandalorian was sitting forward against the counter, with his forearms resting on the grimey counter. The lightbulbs crackled above him, and his armour gave off a muted glow as he shifted a little. Was he uncomfortable?

He let out a sigh, and it came out garbled and tinny through his vocoder. ‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,’ he said. With a huff, he hung his head down. ‘I heard about Kannida from our covert,’ he said, speaking into his hands. ‘I think about it often. Destruction like that… it’s callous. Shameful. Pathetic. I’m sorry.’

You nodded slowly, not truly knowing how to respond. There was a modicum of strain to his voice, as if he was holding back, struggling to keep his words level.

‘I understand that it’s been a difficult time,’ he said.

He traced a groove in the wood of the counter with a gloved finger. Letting out a breath, he tilted his helmet to look up at you. ‘I don’t think I can fathom what it did to you. But all I ask is a conversation with you, and I’m truly not lying about employment. You can’t be happy here.’ He tipped his head to his left, and you followed his indication to see a portly man snoring on one of the booths, hiccuping intermittently.

You looked back at the counter, and you knew that your brain, somewhere in the recesses of your head, was counting the glasses again. You wanted it to stop.

‘The Chief Medical General isn’t here,’ you said weakly. You knew it was lacking conviction.

‘I know,’ said the Mandalorian. He stood up, his seat scraping against the concrete. In your periphery, the straggling patron snuffled in his sleep.

The Mandalorian tipped his helmet towards you. ‘All the same,’ he said, ‘my ship is in hangar nine. I would appreciate a conversation.’

-----

A year after graduating from university (just shy of first class honours - xenomedicine had never been your strong point), you were completing a rotation in Bingjai-Tin - a fairly forgettable merchant city on the Outer Rim. It was a dangerous rotation; the merchants and miners had questionable morals, and you were a fairly naive young graduate. Still, the entire planet was under Imperial control and skirmishes happened often, so from a purely medical standpoint, you had plenty of work to do.

It’s just an exercise in patience, your supervisor would say, after you had set your eighth broken limb of the shift and began complaining about the repetitiveness. You hone your skills while you can, young one. There are great things waiting for you.

One time on a slow day, as a challenge, your supervisor had asked you to examine a patient while blindfolded. She picked a patient that she promised was not dying, not about to stab you, just has an interesting heart. So you tied a strip of bandage around your eyes, promised her that you couldn’t see, awkwardly consented your patient (with a preemptive apology of I’m so sorry, my supervisor is an idiot) and began your examination.

The patient was quiet, mumbling a response to your request for them to sit up for auscultation. You put your hands on their back, expecting to feel smooth skin, and instead felt cold plastoid. You jerked your hand back.

‘Could I ask you to take your armour off?’ you asked. ‘It’ll make the examination a little easier. I can make sure all the curtains are drawn for privacy.’

You heard the patient shake their head, a soft clunking of a plastoid helmet against pauldrons. ‘I’m sorry, doctor,’ they said. ‘I won’t be able to do that. It’s against the rule of my commander to disarm in front of strangers.’

You whipped your head around to where you knew your supervisor to be standing, and glared as hard as you could at her through the blindfold. ‘How am I meant to listen for a murmur through plastoid?’ you hissed, gesticulating wildly at the patient. You could hear them laughing behind you.

Her reply gently teased you. ‘You figure out that murmur, I give you twenty credits,’ she replied in a singsong voice, and you heard her leaving the patient’s cubicle. The patient laughed uproariously behind you, and all you could do was let out a sigh.

-----

‘I’m here to see the Mandalorian,’ you said. ‘Hangar nine.’

The droid at the hangar office lengthened itself to lean over the reception desk, and you took a step back in surprise. It burbled in beeps as it gave you a once-over, and you had half a mind to pull the exposed wires at its neck.

‘He did not approve of any visitors,’ it garbled out as it retracted itself, and you pinched your nose in frustration. ‘There is nothing in the hangar notes, nothing that I-’

‘Listen, you pathetic sack of metal,’ you began, bristling and defensive. ‘If that godforsaken Mandalorian hadn’t personally asked me to come here, I wouldn’t even be bothering you, so if you could just ask him-’

‘Not a fan of droids?’

The Mandalorian’s armour was much more reflective in the light, and you suddenly get the impression that you’re staring directly at a Coruscant skyscraper in miniature form. You blinked, looking up from his cuirass to the visor of his helmet, and he tilted his head at the eye contact.

‘I’d like to twist out their circuits,’ you said earnestly. He hummed in response.

The Mandalorian looked behind you to address the reception droid, who had now straightened up to attention at the sight of the warrior. You narrowed your eyes at the sight; fickle droids, you thought to yourself, stupid hunks of metal.

A quiet burbling noise to your left caught your attention. At the Mandalorian’s hip was a spherical pod, hovering off the ground, rocking with the back and forth of his vambrace. The pod was half-opened, and within the bundle of blankets inside, a pair of green petal-shaped ears peeked out. The ears were accompanied by what you thought must be the biggest eyes in the galaxy, sparkling and blinking up at you.

‘You have a baby?’ you asked incredulously, watching the ears flutter and raise. The baby cooed, and a tiny three-fingered hand grabbed the edge of the pod. The Mandalorian placed his hand against the edge of the pod, and the baby grabbed his finger happily.

‘I’ll be in the mezzanine room,’ said the Mandalorian to the droid, who hurriedly tapped away his words into the hangar log. ‘Don’t interrupt me. And keep the hangar closed.’

He then turned to look down at you. ‘Follow me, General,’ he said, inclining his helmet down the dark corridor.

‘I’m not a general,’ you muttered to yourself, but followed him all the same. The Mandalorian makes a soft sound of acquiescence, and you file the conversation away for another time. Instead, you watch the baby turn around in his pod to face you. He babbled at you, while waving his hands animatedly, his tiny voice echoing off the dark walls of the corridor.

‘How long have you had him?’ you asked. ‘I see he likes to talk.’

The Mandalorian sighed, slowing his steps so he was walking beside you, with the pod floating between you. The baby chattered gleefully and smacked both hands against the edge of the pod, sticking his tongue out at you. You stuck your own tongue out in response, and he fell back against the blankets in a flurry of giggles.

‘A few months,’ replied the Mandalorian. His voice sounded caged and distant, and as a silence settled between the group, you wondered how much of the crackle was the vocoder, and how much was his own.

The room into which the Mandalorian turns into is a balcony, stretching out between the two wings of the hangar bays. The piles and boxes of scrap metal and parts litter the floor, and you step carefully to avoid stepping on loose screws. The dust in the air of the musty room seemed to stick to your clothes, and you suddenly got an overwhelming urge to dust and tidy the area. You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, flexing your fingers at your sides in an attempt to suppress the strange janitorial urges settling at the soles of your feet.

The Mandalorian indicated for you to sit on a crate, and he did the same opposite to you. He stretched out his legs in front of him, and lifted the baby out of the pod to set him on the floor. The baby wobbled a little on his feet and promptly plopped on the ground at the Mandalorian’s feet, grabbing onto his boot.

As you watched the baby, you wrung your hands together, unsure how to begin. ‘I know you wanted this conversation, but how did you know who I am?’ you asked. ‘How did you find me? I haven’t, I- it’s been years since…’

‘Kannida.’ The Mandalorian finished your sentence for you, and you nodded in response. ‘I wanted to apologise for how I talked to you last night. Possibly not the most sensitive.’

‘No it wasn’t,’ you said. The incline of your head was intended to be forgiving, and you let out a breath when he bowed his own in return. A clean slate. A new conversation.

The baby burbled at you.

‘You had a bounty on you a few years back,’ the Mandalorian said. He noticed your panic and held his hand up in surrender. ‘It got deactivated halfway through my hunt. I tracked you to Felucia and then had to let you go. That’s how I knew you were here.’

Your mouth was dry. ‘Deactivated?’

‘It happens sometimes,’ he continued, idly rubbing against a dull spot on his beskar. ‘It might have been withdrawn, the bounty setter might have died; either way, I didn’t ask questions. I followed the puck. ’

You didn’t miss the past tense in his words, and watching the baby’s huge ears perk up was enough of an explanation.

‘He’s a bounty,’ he said, referring to the baby. ‘I’m not exactly sure why, but it means we have to keep moving from planet to planet. He’s a target.’

‘Targeted by whom?’

With a soft groan, the Mandalorian stretched his neck from side to side. ‘Bounty hunters, mostly. We were up against Imperial forces a while back, and the recovery has been rough.’

The Mandalorian let out a sigh, and all of a sudden, despite not showing a shred of skin, he seemed like he was years older than he was, as if there was exhaustion engraved on his bones.

‘A few weeks ago, we were attacked by a Cerean - just a little unassuming thing. Good with a knife, got a few cuts in.’ He rubbed subconsciously at his forearm at that. ‘But she had this weapon, and I still don’t fully understand how she used it - maybe her blades were tipped with some sort of delayed-action poison - I don’t know. All I know is that I was dehydrated and near-unconscious for days. Just laid in the hull of my ship. He was distraught when I came to.’

The baby babbled and raised his arms, and the Mandalorian lifted him up to set him on his thigh. Content, the baby grabbed the strap of his rifle and pressed his face against the beskar, and the Mandalorian sighed again.

‘This keeps happening,’ he said. ‘I get blindsided, and if I have enough time I can always recover, but just cannot leave him alone like that, not again.’ He ran fingers along the edge of one of the baby’s ears, and he let out a satisfied coo.

‘You want a medic,’ you realised, and the Mandalorian nodded.

‘There’s space on my ship,’ he said. ‘I can provide a place to live, food, credits - I know it’s a position that’s beneath you, General, but I-’

‘I’m not a general.’

It was a repetition. The second time you’ve said it. But you needed the Mandalorian to understand it. General. The word made you dizzy, as if you could feel each individual neuron in your head firing, as if a soap bubble was growing inside your chest, growing and pressing against your ribs without bursting, as if-

‘Are you alright?’

Your eyes just burnt. You blinked away dry tears, and left your hands in fists on your thighs. Slowly, you forced yourself to breathe raggedly through your nose. Two big breaths. You counted as they settled into your lungs.

‘Don’t call me that,’ you whispered. ‘If I work with you, you can’t call me that. Please.’

The Mandalorian nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’

There was a beat of silence. The droids in the level below whirred between the hangars, and you let your eyes shut. If you listened carefully, you could hear the baby’s rapid breaths huffing against the surface of the beskar, and you tapped your finger in time to his breaths.

‘Is there anything else I can do?’

You looked back up, into the tint of his helmet. ‘What?’

‘What can I do,’ he said again, ‘to make this easier?’

He looked interested. Involved. He leant forward, cradling the baby against his chest with one hand and leaning his other hand on his knee. He wanted to know what you wanted, what you needed, and seeing this war-hardened warrior tenderly stroke his sleeping baby’s ear tapped away at your resolve.

‘I’m not the best in small spaces,’ you began, only continuing when the Mandalorian gave an imperceptible nod. ‘I’m not comfortable with the quiet either, but I don’t think that would be too much of a problem with that little one.’

The baby snuffled a little in his sleep.

‘Could I come see your ship?’ you asked.

He was quiet for a moment, and you became worried that you’d crossed some fine line. ‘Of course,’ he said after a while. ‘If there are any alterations you’d like to have done to the ship, I’ll see that it gets done on Felucia before we leave.’

He stood up, and you did too. The baby had fallen fast asleep, his petal ears rising and falling with each breath.

‘Are you sure you want me with you?’ you asked. ‘You know what happened on Kannida. I- I just want to know that you’re certain about this.’

‘I know what happened on Kannida, but I also know your track record,’ he replied, and you could hear him biting back the honorific. ‘There are precious few strangers that I’d be inclined to trust my life with.’

-----

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tag list (please lmk if you’d like to be added/removed!): @mndalorians

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raendown · 4 years

Link

For the @madatobiweek prompt the was only one bed.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5104 Rated: T+ Summary: Hashirama runs in to an old friend unexpectedly and Tobirama - well. Tobirama would like to have a firm chat with life's manager. No way is it fair for any human being to look that delicious.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Woodn’t It Be Nice

‘Just an old friend from middle school’ Hashirama had called him. Tobirama didn’t doubt that part, his brother had a habit of befriending every person that crossed his path by sheer force of will, but he found himself slightly upset that Hashirama hadn’t seen fit to warn him even a little bit before introducing him to the human wet dream known as Uchiha Madara.

Madara had, at one point, big plans to follow along with the dreams his family had for him to become some big business exec. Evidently those dreams had been cast aside at some point when he realized the high stress lifestyle was not how he wanted to spend his years. Tobirama didn’t really see how anyone went from business school to taking up a career in lumberjacking but he was hardly about to complain. Living in the deep woods and hauling trees for a living had clearly done wonders for Madara’s figure.

And Tobirama really wanted a piece of that.

It was truly unfair how good that man made tartan look considering how many times Tobirama had snuck in to his brother’s closet only to despair that such patterns still didn’t suit him. Also high up on his list of unfair things was the sheer mass of all that thick dark hair falling in wavy tangles and how utterly scrumptious he looked without, apparently, having yet discovered the socially accepted function of a hairbrush. Given time and a good keyboard Tobirama was sure he could have produced a thesis length paper on why he should be allowed to bury his hands in all that hair. Two on why he should be allowed to touch that chest.

Because wow the chest. With a rib cage the size and general shape of a barrel and a waist line built for standing his ground against at least a smaller sized tank, it was almost enough to distract Tobirama from the thick muscle outlines clearly visible under the flannel – almost, but not quite. If he looked any harder his eyes might actually fall out of his head but he couldn’t seem to stop or even convince his mouth to close.

Using his mind to juxtapose the image of an ax over those stubby thick fingers, Tobirama swallowed hard and wondered how many people had tried to pick this man up with some sort of bad wood puns. And more importantly whether that would work for him too. He definitely had some wood sprouting up that he wouldn’t mind letting Madara take care of.

“What do you think Tobi?”

“Glorious…”

“Right? I do have good ideas sometimes!”

“Huh?” He turned to find Hashirama beaming at him but his brother was already turning away without giving him a moment to clarify that he hadn’t actually been paying attention to the conversation.

Clapping his old friend on both shoulders, Hashirama smiled so wide he nearly split his own face in half. “You’ll love staying at our house. And you’ll love sharing a room with Tobi!”

“Wait, what!?” Maybe he shouldn’t have taken quite so much time to admire that chest.

Hashirama laughed. “You didn’t think I’d make him sleep on the couch did you? Not when you have a perfectly good spare bed in your room!”

“But that- that’s Itama’s bed. What if Itama comes home?” Growing up with four boys in the same house, each only a few years apart from the others, it still felt wasteful for all of them to sleep in separate rooms even now that they were older and Hashirama’s job at the hospital had paid for a much larger house. It didn’t matter that Tobirama had actually been getting a little lonely while their two younger brothers were off at university in another city. Extra space or not there was no way he would survive sleeping in the same room with Madara unless he was granted an hour or so of alone time first. And knowing his older brother’s enthusiasm for socializing that wasn’t likely to happen.

“Itama called last night,” Hashirama reminded him with an absent smile. “He’s off this weekend with his roommate to some concert happening a city away from them. I would ask Madara to sleep in Kawarama’s room but he’s still not over that cold he’s been fighting all week. We wouldn’t want our guest to get sick!”

“Appreciated,” Madara grunted.

Slightly panicked, Tobirama cast about in his mind for any other excuse he could think of. “What if I’ve caught it too? He'd still get sick.”

“Nonsense, Kawa hasn’t let anyone near him except the dog. Neither of us is sick.”

“I don’t know, Anija, I feel pretty warm.”

“Maybe because it’s like a hundred degrees out,” Hashirama laughed. “Come now, Tobi, if you keep saying stuff like that I’m going to think you don’t want Madara in your room!”

One look at those massive flannel-clad arms and Tobirama quickly swallowed his next words. The man could probably crush his head without thought and as delicious as it was to imagine being caught between those biceps he was also quite fond of living. While his brother threw an arm around broad shoulders Tobirama forced his eyes to look elsewhere, contemplating the restless night ahead.

Thankfully for his sanity he was at least able to sit alone in the backseat on the drive back from the hotel Hashirama just happened to spot his old friend going in to. Madara sat up front and nodded or grunted along to the man’s endless chatter. The backseat was quiet, free of tempting muscles, and gave Tobirama all the room he needed to stretch his legs across the width of the car. He noted Madara stealing glances at him in the rearview mirror several times but it was hard to tell what expression might be hiding under that scruffy beard. The fact that it was apparently due to be shaved off at the first opportunity was probably one of the greatest tragedies this world had ever seen.

As a history buff Tobirama felt particularly qualified to make that call.

When Madara was finally encouraged to speak more than a word or two strung together he told them how he had come to be in town with no plans and nowhere to stay. Apparently his younger brother Izuna still lived in Konoha and he’d planned his vacation to make a surprise visit. Except he was the one surprised to discover the house locked, one of the neighbors calling over to him that the whole family had left on a vacation of their own just a few days before.

“Good thing we caught you then!” Hashirama declared. “No point in spending money on a lonely hotel room for two weeks when you could be catching up with me! I can’t believe how little you’ve changed!”

“Really?” Tobirama muttered under his breath. If Madara had looked like this back in middle school he definitely would have remembered a face like that. Puberty would no doubt have smacked him in the face several years earlier.

After a slow blink Madara grunted, “Beard.” That was, apparently, all he had to say on the matter.

Never before in his life had Tobirama been quite so grateful to arrive home as he was that day, spilling out of the car and heading for the door as if all the devils of hell were chasing him. He made it in to the kitchen with enough time to set the kettle boiling and slip back out towards his bedroom before the other two even made it inside. The planet earth itself would fall out of its heavenly rotation before he let Madara walk in and see the absolute mess he typically lived in, research notes strewn here and there, clothing left on the floor where it was shed after yet another twenty hour binge on the latest project. No one needed to know the shame of his bedroom during the months when Itama was gone.

Just as he kicked out a foot to steady a precarious stack of textbooks the door opened and Hashirama cheerfully invited their guest in to a room that wasn’t even his. Madara blinked around, eyes pausing on the one bed that had clearly not seen any recent use.

“Hope you didn’t clean up or anything,” he said. “It’s just me.”

“Oh don’t worry, Tobi’s always really clean!” Hashirama chirped, oblivious to his brother’s uncomfortable shifting.

“Right. Where can I drop this?”

Madara held up the duffel he’d been carrying when they spotted him on the street. When told he could put it anywhere he liked it was tossed on the floor with little care, a sure sign there wasn’t anything too breakable inside. A moment later he seemed to think the better of his actions and asked where the bathroom was as he stepped across to riffle in one of the duffle’s pockets.

As quickly as he had hurried to his own bedroom Tobirama was gone again just like that. The kettle should be going off any second and he was pretty sure if he stuck around for Madara to come out of the shower all damp and delicious and possibly half naked - well, suffice to say the police probably wouldn’t accept any of the excuses running through his mind just then.

Like it always did, a large hot cup of tea helped to settle him in his skin, leaving him feeling much more in control of his own reactions by the time Hashirama came back downstairs. His brother gave vent to a gusty contented sigh while he poured a cup for himself.

“It’s hard to believe Uchiha Madara of all people is upstairs in my home!” he said. “Honestly I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. But, isn’t it funny, i was just thinking about him the other day!”

“Whatever keeps you going when Mito tells you to bite the pillow,” Tobirama murmured.

“No! Ew! It’s not- hey! She doesn’t make me do anything like that!” Hot tea sloshed all over the counter as Hashirama slammed his cup back down and bent double to gag exaggeratedly. Sometimes it was hard to believe he had failed drama in highschool what with all the dramatics he filled every day with.

Tobirama let the poor idiot catch his breath a little before daring to ask, “He taking a shower before dinner?”

“Um, I guess so. He didn’t say. What would you like to eat?”

Dinner - fish, of course, since the choice was left to him - was about as quiet as meals in their house ever got with Hashirama chattering endlessly. Amazingly Madara actually seemed to be listening to it all, nodding in the right places or humming in tandem with Tobirama whenever it was needed. It was nearly impossible to tell what was actually going on in his mind and Tobirama hated himself just a little for being so desperately intrigued by it. He’d never loved anything more than puzzles, taking things apart to see what made them tick, digging and digging until he ran out of questions to answer. People like Madara were exactly the sort of rare person who were able to hold his attention.

Even more so since their guest came down for the evening meal with a clean shaven face, dark shaggy beard sacrificed to the waste bin upstairs, and Tobirama came to the horrifying conclusion that it needed to be glued back in place as soon as possible. Surely it had to be illegal for any human being to walk around looking as delicious as this. It wasn’t fair.

Under normal circumstances he would have said that going to bed was a relief, being allowed to crawl between familiar sheets and allow the privacy of his own room to unclench the tensions in his body. With Madara stumping in to the room after him he knew that he had nothing to look forward to but a few hours of restlessness until he gave in and snuck off to shame himself in the bathroom down the hall. Itama’s ancient bedframe gave a mighty creak the first time its new resident sat down. Normally it bore a much lighter load than all the rippling muscles clinging to Madara’s frame but it held up alright and the two of them were able to lay their heads down with goodnights murmured in to the darkness.

Tobirama lasted only an hour and a half. He really hoped the other man only thought he was getting up to pee.

During the day things weren’t so bad. For the most part Madara spent his time with Hashirama getting dragged from one end of the city to the other to re-experience all the things they had done in their childhood together. It was actually somewhat of a relief not to be the center of his brother’s attention for a while, left blissfully alone to work on his research and occasionally greet the ghost of Kawarama whenever he ambled past for food or water before holing up again. With one sibling down for the count and the other away for university the task of indulging Hashirama’s ceaseless energy had fallen entirely to him and it wasn’t until he was finally able to be productive again that he realized just how little he’d been getting done lately.

Even meal times weren’t too terrible if he kept his eyes on his food instead of the tasty meal he would rather be having across the table. It was the evenings when he truly suffered. Getting Madara to come out of his shell and actually engage in conversation had taken a couple days, out of practice as he was from spending most of the few years quietly knocking and hauling lumber, but once he finally opened his mouth long enough to say more than two words together Tobirama was exasperated to discover a mind as beautiful as his face. Was there any way this man wasn’t perfect for him? The universe must be having a grand laugh at him, that was the only explanation he could think of.

Still, as much havoc as it wreaked on his libido it was wonderful to have someone else to converse with who could actually keep up with him. Madara understood the basic concepts of his research, asked intelligent questions, even offered a few philosophical insights that Tobirama himself hadn’t thought of. If he didn’t want the man in his bed so badly it hurt he might have been tempted to offer him a job as a research assistant.

He saw the signs coming from a mile away of course. Stopping it was impossible, though he still gave it the old college try. Catching feelings for his brother’s friend, a man who was only in town for a few weeks and then would likely never be back again, was probably one of the stupider things he had ever done. Tobirama wanted to be mad at the idiot for not just being a pretty face he could seduce and then let go of but it wasn’t like it was Madara’s fault that he checked every box on a lonely albino’s list. He probably wasn’t even aware of how tempting he was. Tobirama really hoped the poor man hadn’t noticed all the drooling and staring and whatnot.

For a little over two weeks things went on like that, so close and yet so far, sleeping in the same room and slipping away to the bathroom for a while just to get himself to sleep. Even as a teenager his body hadn’t ruled him this much. If their family hadn’t been raised to be so frugal it was entirely possible that nothing would have changed, that they would have parted ways as nothing more than a what-if. But Itama loved that old bed no matter how it creaked and groaned and so none of them had ever thought of replacing the ancient thing until one night Madara flopped down on to the mattress and with a loud protest the entire frame shattered underneath him. Almost more shocking that that was the indignant squawk that gurgled up his throat, so unlike the smooth deep baritone he usually spoke in. Tobirama could do nothing but stare from where he stood halfway through the motion of getting up, one arm outstretched, and try to process what had just happened. Apparently all that muscle was too much for the bed to handle.

He could relate.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Madara blinked up from the center of the now very lumpy looking mattress.

“I’ve been better.”

“You didn’t hurt anything did you?”

“No. Well, I think I hurt the bed.” With a groan he rolled off the mess and stumbled to his feet where he stood looking down with a wry expression. “I’ll pay for that.”

Money was not exactly the most pressing concern on Tobirama’s mind at the moment. “That, ah, is that just some of the frame pressing up from underneath?”

Praying to all of his ancestors that the mattress was still usable even if it had to rest on the floor, he watched the other man haul the entire thing up with one hand like it weighed no more than a feather and tried not to whimper. With no light but the moonbeams twisting around the curtains it was easy to see there was nothing directly under the mattress that would make such shapes.

“Bunch’a springs broke under the pressure, I think,” Madara concluded. When he let the whole thing drop back down it did so with a muffled thud much like Tobirama’s heart inside his chest. “Guess I won’t be sleeping there anymore.”

“Not unless you want metal springs digging in to your spine all night long.”

Madara nodded slowly. “Couch it is, then.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be an option,” Tobirama reluctantly called the man back before he could get halfway to the door. He tried not to be obvious about cringing when Madara turned to pin him in place with dark eyes turned obsidian by the shadows around them.

“Why not?”

“You’ve been here an entire week and I’ve never once seen you sit comfortably on the sofa. It’s just not built to hold someone of your...stature.”

For the space of three heartbeats Madara did nothing but stare and blink. Then he sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose with one hand because it was true. Hashirama had bought most of their living room furniture for his tiny wife and his three whipcord thin brothers; he himself preferred to disappear in to the single cushy armchair that could actually hold his tall frame. If Madara went to go sleep on either of the two couches he would probably roll off the first time he tried to take a full breath in.

Genius that he was, Tobirama had already done the calculations. He already knew what doom was about to fall upon him. In their house there were four beds for four people and two couches. One of those beds already had two people in it, Mito quietly arriving home from her work trip earlier that evening. Another contained one highly contagious whiny Kawarama and stank of dog after several days of the two curled up together in it. Now the third bed had collapsed, frame and mattress and all, leaving only one other place left as an option for sleeping.

Tobirama squirmed. Why had he ever thought it was necessary to buy such a roomy bed? He was only one person, surely a twin mattress would have held him and saved him from eyeing the several feet of unused space at his side with defeat in his bones. It was this or ask Madara to sleep on the floor.

“So if I can’t sleep on the couches then where the hell am I supposed to sleep?” He even eyed the carpet as though wondering whether it was plush enough to let him get some rest but one night wasn’t the problem. Laying flat out on the ground for several days in a row would do murder on anyone’s back and just because his job left him in the wilds for months at a time didn’t mean he had to play at camping even in his off time.

“I’ve got room here,” Tobirama forced himself to say.

“You don’t have any sort of air mattress or anything?”

“Not anymore, no. Our dog got in to the closet and chewed them all last summer.”

He watched the other man nodding slowly, a small frown drawing his brows together, and wondered if the option was really so detestable to consider. The offer was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Mito would share a bed with him instead for a few days so Madara could rest beside the friend he had much better reason to trust but the words never had a chance to be spoken.

“You don’t kick or anything, do you?”

“No,” he murmured, hardly daring to breathe.

“Right.”

Then Madara snatched up the same pillow he’d been using for the last couple weeks since Tobirama only had the one on his own bed and stumped across the room with all the grace of a bear. As unsexy as that image was Tobirama still managed to find his thoughts in the gutter, privately thinking that he wouldn’t mind taking up bear wrestling if this was his opponent.

Somehow he managed to keep such thoughts to himself as the mattress dipped to accommodate more than double the weight it was used to. Convincing the anatomy inside his trousers that it was not Go Time was a little more difficult to do. Tobirama carefully rolled on to the side facing away from his new bed partner; at least in this position he was only tenting his own clothing rather than the bedding as well. Nothing could possibly make his desires more obvious. After a moment’s pause he felt Madara shifting around and finding a position to settle in to as well, hopefully facing away from him though he couldn’t exactly see what was going on. When the movement finally stopped he cleared his throat.

“Night,” he mumbled awkwardly. Madara grunted, which he had learned was about the equivalent of him saying it back.

In the silence that followed Tobirama dearly regretted leaving the curtains cracked. Just that small amount of light made shadows on the wall for him to trace with his eyes and glare at as though they were the source of all his problems. If there were shadows on the wall that meant there was enough light for Madara to see if he threw back the covers and tried to escape to the bathroom. Not to mention that it would be much harder to sneak off even after the man had fallen asleep when there was a chance any shifting of the mattress could wake him again and alert him to Tobirama’s nightly embarrassment.

He smothered a groan and curled a little tighter in to himself. Sleep was an impossibility when all he wanted was relief and there didn’t seem like a safe way to achieve that with the source of all his delicious miseries lying so close. It seemed he was doomed to simply lie here while his balls turned bluer and bluer.

“Alright?” The word rumbled low in the space between them and Tobirama nearly leapt out of his skin.

“What?”

“If you’re not feeling good I don’t want to catch anything.”

Clenching his fists he grumbled, “I’m not sick.”

“Seems like you’re not alright though,” his companion mused.

“Oh and how would you know?”

A beat passed before Madara answered. When he did his tone sounded almost hesitant in a strange way. “You don’t usually sleep all curled up in a ball. Is it your stomach? Maybe dinner doesn’t agree with you.”

Pausing in his prayers for death to take him in a localized strike of lightning, Tobirama frowned in to the darkness. It wasn’t such an unusual question - or it wouldn’t have been if they had known each other for any appropriate length of time. He struggled over whether or not to say something until finally his curiosity couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do you...watch me sleep?”

Choking sounds accompanied the sudden brush of air against the back of his neck, startling enough that he instinctively shot up on to one elbow so he could twist around. There he was greeted with the sight of Madara spluttering and cutting his way through several disconnected syllables. It was hard to parse which part of the scene before him was the most shocking, the fact that Madara was quite obviously embarrassed or the fact that he had apparently settled down to sleep facing the center of the bed rather than away towards the wall.

“I’m just...observant!” He finally managed to choke out.

“While we’re both lying down on opposite sides of the room you somehow manage to observe my position every night when your eyes are supposed to be closed?”

Madara flushed visibly. “I have trouble sleeping a lot. Sometimes I sit up for a while!”

Fascinating as it was to see a new flustered side to such a composed man of so few words, Tobirama couldn’t truly enjoy this rare opportunity when he was distracted with yet another devastating revelation.

“How long does it usually take you to get to sleep?” he whispered.

“A couple hours.” The words had already passed the man’s lips before Madara seemed to realize what he had just given away.

“Oh.”

The two of them stared at each other, wide eyed and silent, as they both processed what the other now knew. If Madara was awake each night long enough to observe what position Tobirama fell asleep in then he was awake each night to observe him slipping out of bed and down the hall for much longer than one would need for a simple nightly piddle. He knew. And he hadn’t said anything.

“It’s not every day,” Tobirama blurted without thinking. “I’m not some kind of obsessed nymphomaniac or anything.”

“Right.”

“I’m not!”

“Okay. So. Is it just...me then?”

The twitch in his pants said yes but the flaming heat in his face, well, that probably also said yes despite what he would have preferred. All the genius in the world couldn’t help him think his way out of this particular spot, lying in the same bed with a man he could already feel himself developing very ill advised feelings for while that very man stared back at him processing the knowledge that he was very interested in taking up certain physical activities together. What would Hashirama do, he wondered, if he woke up tomorrow morning to discover that his little brother had been smothered to death by those glorious and very strong biceps?

“Didn’t mention it to your brother yet,” Madara finally spoke again. “Wanted Izuna’s opinion on the idea first. But I’ve been thinking about moving back in to town lately. I got a job offer at one of the factories.”

“O-oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Think maybe you’d want to grab a coffee or something sometime?” Somehow the man was able to project both flawless confidence and an adorably unexpected shyness at the same time.

Tobirama nearly swallowed his own tongue trying to rein in his own frantic nodding. “I’d like that.”

“Good, good.”

All plans for throwing himself off the edge of the earth were put on hold. How the hell he had missed his dream hunk returning any sort of interest was beyond him but the last thing he would be doing was complain about it. Who was he to say no when being handed everything he thought he couldn’t have? All wrapped up in a pretty package with gorgeous unruly hair, naturally pouty lips, and thighs he would be happy to have his head crushed between. Whatever small fragment of the universe had taken pity on him deserved a massive ethereal fruit basket in thanks for giving him this.

“You wanna make out?” Madara cut in to his thoughts. “Or do we need to wait for that first date?”

“Now is good,” Tobirama breathed, already twisting the lower half of his body to face inwards as well. Maybe later he could take the time to be ashamed of his own enthusiasm but right now he had an entire beefcake to throw himself on and judging by the appreciative moan that greeted him it didn’t seem like Madara had any problems with that.

He had already managed to roll himself on top of this woodsman adonis and gasp at the stretch in his thighs for how wide they had to open just to sit astride those hips when he paused, pulling away from quite possibly the most mind-bending kiss he’d ever experienced in his life.

“What’s your opinion on wood puns?” he mumbled.

“I will kill you,” Madara replied with absolutely no inflection.

“Noted. Can I wear your shirt tomorrow?”

“You would look absolutely terrible in tartan.” One dark eyebrow lifted slowly, something like hunger gathering in the man’s eyes. “Sure.”

Tobirama shivered and decided if he said anything else he would probably spill every dirty possessive thought his brain had ever come up with. It was much safer to dive in again and tremble under the feeling of large hands curling around his bottom.

Maybe - maybe - he was glad that Hashirama had decided to take a different route home that day and happened to spot his old friend. A reward this good was definitely worth the torture of thinking it was all beyond his reach, that he would suffer through the stages of falling in love and then be forced to ssay goodbye when Madara left, to never see the man again. Whatever it took to convince him that moving back in to town was a good plan he would do it. Even if he had to track down this Izuna fellow himself and beg on his knees for a little support.

For now the only thing he planned to do on his knees was moan, however. Possibly beg. That depended entirely on how far Madara was willing to go before they even made it out for a simple coffee or discussed anything between them with any sort of depth.

Whatever the case, he just really hoped his brother was well and truly asleep down the hall because he had zero plans for staying quiet after finally getting his hands on such a perfect dream.

#rae writes #madatobiweek2020 #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #fanfiction #modern au

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trinity-blood-translations · 6 years

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Radio Head - Chapter IV. (Trinity Blood RAM 5)

Radio Head - Prologue Radio Head - Chapter I Radio Head - Chapter II Radio Head - Chapter III Radio Head - Chapter IV Radio Head - Epilogue

* * *

Chapter IV

Page 228

At first sight it looked like a steel spider crawling up clumsy from the gaping wide hole on the floor. However it was impossible that such a being in nature would exist. The colossus which revealed himself on the deck with a giant body close to 4 meters in diameter, shedding a dim light from the steel body and with a weird rotating gatling gun tower ---- was XAM. Additionally from the head of the spider were rotating cameras to see. An external speaker occasionally spat scratching noises mixed with a voice.

〈CAN……CAN NOT die……〉

It sounded as if a dead person were sobbing while crouching at the entrance of the netherworld. At the beginning it was so quiet, that it was hard to understand. Lament with interruptions, but it tended to become gradually stronger till it reached a level of a shrill scream.

〈CAN NOT die, CAN NOT die, CAN NOT die, CAN NOT die, CAN NOT die, CAN NOT die, CAN NOT die, CAN NOT dieeeeeeeee!!!〉

“Huhh?!”

The screech of the woman and the scream of the sergeant overlapped each other. Giving a roar similar to the operating noise of the machine saw the gatling gun threw gunfire. The 12,75 millimeter machine gun bullet is enough to transform an armored vehicle easely into a honeycomb. As the detonation blast sounded on the surface of the deck, the above mentioned giant sergeant who was about to lift the muzzle, and the soldiers were turned in an instant into a bloodstained lump of meat. The salty sea breeze was mixed with terrible blood smell.

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“G…..gyaaaaaaa!!!”

The next scream came from all the passengers who stood a bit away from the place of the tragedy and saw everything with their own eyes. The iron monster that suddenly appeared and the death he has scattered seemingly made the people lose their mind. Although the soldiers tried to control the situation with warnings, but even so, everybody tried to escape by running as if they didn’t hear---- but nevertheless, the multi-legged tank turret rotated faster. Deep holes drilled into the deck, one by one, and severed the escaping people right in the middle like a devilish sword. Moreover the gunfire stretched out upwards without a pause and skewered the airship that noticed the incident and was trying to change the course straight from the front.

“Th…this voice is Francoise?! Idiot, she is…..”

The airship with the smashed gasbag turned into a gigantic fireball accompanied by a load explosion. Claude muttered dumbfounded while he was watching the explosion lights and the blaster above his head. The soldier just like he were watching a daydream wandered his gaze around, but suddenly came to his senses and raised his gaze, besides he drew closer to Puppeteer who was holding his chin with a self-satisfied look.

“Ex…explain it, you bastard! What on earth is that?!”

“Hmm, there is a theory of mine…”

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The young man answered in a serious and disappointed tone while on his beautiful face appeared sorrow indeed, but in fact he was desperately trying to resist to the urge not to roll around on the floor laughing. He pointed his sharp chin toward the iron spider, which was going berserk among the passengers and the soldiers who were running for their life, and took its victims en masse with its fireline and gigantic body, one after another.

“The brain of your beloved suffered by the accident an irreparable damage, isn’t that so? At the time Dr. Dupree made his wife resurrect, I guess, he gave up to restore the brain in its original state. And finally, instead, he was searching for an exterior replacement……at any rate, at that time this thing was obviously just around the corner with its high-powered electric intelligence, the computer that could be used for that purpose.” “The control system of XAM! Really? That’s why Lois was walking around the whole time with this monster. Because Francoise was in there…”

“Something like that. However, to be exact, most likely it’s only a part of her soul copied into the machine, because only the memory field was substituted.”

The evil speech of the young man did not seem to have reached the ears of Claude. No, even if he heard it, he probably would have ignored it. He dropped his gun and sauntered off empty handed on the shaken deck. The iron monster screaming with the voice of a woman was there still producing blood, flesh and death en masse. The man walked in front of the monster without a sign of fear.

“Francoise…….are you suffering, aren’t you……?”

The voice of Claude was soft and sounded for an insensate military person quite strange. Putting up both hands frankly as if he was about to hug his love he kept walking toward the multi-legged tank.

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Page 232

“Francoise, poor……”

〈CAN NOT die,…… CAN NOT die〉

The front camera similar to the head of a spider turned toward the approaching man. Accompanied by inorganic machine sounds the foot actuator began to operate and the colossus turned to Claude. But the man showed no sign of fear at all while he was standing in front of the approaching woman, tearfully in front of his former lover, whom he had stolen her life. He gently whispered with a solemn expression on his face as he looked up to the multi-legged tank which was moving his legs ominously smooth toward him. At this moment----- The foot of XAM stopped. Literally, the forefoot hung up in the air.

If the he would have stopped about 2 minutes later the body of Claude would have been squashed with the weight of more than 10 tons. The gigantic foot with the metal tube and the actuator implemented in it, touched even his hair but stopped in the air.

Was it because a god felt pity about the unfortunate soul or maybe an angel was emotionally touched by the love which had overcome even the fear, that it caused a miracle to happen ---- but it was such a beautiful sight completely reminiscent of a religious painting.

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In this sacred tranquility Claude reached out his hand to touch the tank and whispered to his beloved.

“No matter what shape you have become, you are still you..... I love you. Let us go together. Somewhere at a quite place, just the two of us, let us stay together, Francoise……”

The love of the man was sincere without and if nobody interrupts this confession may last until eternity ---- if that steel foot overhead wouldn’t simply crush down onto him and smash his brain.

“…….oops, that’s what I call instant death”

From the man whose head was easily trampled only his body was twitching on the foot of the multi-legged tank. On the other hand the tank gained again mobility. It didn't care about the man who just became a lump of meat. It lifted its leg and pulled up blood and cerebral fluid like a thread and returned to battle mode again.

“Oh, what a heartbreaking scene…. however it was the doctor who gave her this shape but the original cause were you, Lieutenant. Being told by such guys, 'I love you!', usually makes one just angry.”

〈kill,....me kill....kill, kiLL, kILL, KILL, KILL〉

While Puppeteer was immersed in deep emotion the multi-legged tank continued its death march. Over the armed group that have lost their will to fight and the surviving frightened passenger swirled the sword of massacre once again.

“Oh my, ……..is it totally out of control?”

Puppeteer lamented in front of the tank, which trampled the people trying to escape or continued to mow them down with the machine-gun fire.

Page 234

But meanwhile he moved his fingers, reminiscent of a pianist, with fine movements in order to implant his “threads” into the corpses lying around. No matter how many people died, he wouldn’t care but if the ship sinks he will be in a big trouble. It’s really cold. And he really didn’t want to swim in the middle of winter.

“I’m not supposed to have such a fight scene[1] as my hobby, ……..besides, this sort of trouble should be dealt with by “Magician”.

The young man grumbled while the “puppets” began to move.

Just a few minutes ago those lumps of meat lived, laughed, were talking about love. Now the heads were blown off by bullets, the internal organs were entirely squashed by the steel foot. But still, the muscles which were about to torn and the bones which were about to break have began to obey according to the pseudo-signal transmitted by the “threads”

and they started to deal with the requested tasks -------- the dead silently standing in the way of the multi-legged tank began to bury their claws into the monster. They used their already torn muscles to crawl up on the frame of the machine.

Of course the self-defense program of XAM bombed the opponents getting closer with a storm of bullets but as you know the dead have no fear. With half of the bodies blown off, though the strange insect-like crowd was still stuck to the frame and were trying to hook their fingernails into the tiny crevices of the armoring an tear it off. It seemed that the iron beast would be helplessly a prey of the crowd of the dead…..

“Wow!”

Suddenly Puppeteer who was looking bored by the sight of the awful scene turned his eyes away,

Page 235

because a flickering light exploded around the XAM. The field of vision which had dyed pure white for a moment, normalized again after a few seconds. In his sight which began to regain colors again emerged shadows of the “puppets” clinging on the multi-legged tank and now they began to fall down one by one. All of them carbonized beyond all recognition.

„Wow! That’s amazing! Was it an electromagnetic net? It was just killing more birds with one stone!”

The young man frowned by the stench of burned flesh rubbed his still unclear eyes. However as he saw that the multi-legged tank which burnt his “puppets” to ashes turned toward another direction, he couldn’t help but ducked.

“Oops, no time to admire. Well then, should I do…?”

For implanting his “threads” into the corpses in the surroundings and make a shield of them wasn’t enough time left. Moreover all the corpses have suffered heavy damages so that they aren’t suitable for manipulation. Nevertheless he still tried hard to launch his “threads” some of the bodies, but…..

„O-oh….don’t say it’s too late?”

The “puppets” just stood up with many trouble were trampled down easily again and the iron monster rushed over to “Puppeteer’s” direction ------- at this moment he showed an unusual serious expression.

MPH-ARSL-GAIOL[2]、By the name and the sign of the mighty and petty Nothingness, I summon the seal of the sacrificial blood.....

This voice sounded like it wouldn’t come from here but from another world. Maybe as if it was coming from across the distance of the stars or from the deep bottom of the sea.

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Tell me, you angel, even if you has fallen. By the water of life of the innocent, I will set the seal of the contract on this pontoon. Therefore the nameless one who has many names – according to old oath – brings the extermination of our enemy ---- seal of Baphomet, come!

At this moment the huge body of XAM fleshed with red lights.

No, it wasn’t that. At the feet of the multi-legged tank which was closing in on “Puppeteer” appeared suddenly a dazzling light. The source of that glow was a strange circle which unnoticed pierced the deck. It was painted with the fresh blood of the dead who have just died in devastating death. It was as if a crimson snake wriggled drawing a complicated and mysterious magic circle ---- just like as it were a trap to catch the prey.

〈”Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”〉

A dull scream from came from the speaker of XAM. Despite the fact that no blood was flowing in the steel body, it sounded like there were blood blister mixed in the scream.

However a further abnormal phenomenon appeared on the car body: as the magic circle emerged from the floor as if it were the deep-seated grudge of the dead and covered the body of the multi-legged tank from the feets ---- Wait, no! If you look closely, where the body of the multi-legged tank touched the deck, it looked like as if red rust would gradually devour it quickly from the soles on. Although it’s unthinkable that ordinary steel rusts that rapid like this. Not to mention for such an armour-plate made of special steel is absolutely impossible. But actually, in a matter of seconds was the huge body of XAM completely painted with the color of blood.

Page 237

As the distinctive stench of iron rust occasionally tickled the nose of “Puppeteer”, the giant completely eaten up by the red rust crushed down to the ground with a thunderous noise.

〈”Ah, ah, die, I …..!”〉

The speaker partially buried by rust vomited the cracked noise with interruptions.

〈”Yes…. I can die with this…..with this…..With….Th….”〉

Perhaps it was just a mere coincidence that at the same time as the voice that used up all his strength stopped like a large animal breathes his last ---- the neck of the external camera broke off. However “Puppeteer” looked at this scene with eyes as he would see something very disgusting, he gave a deep sigh of relief in his heart.

“This method gives evidence of bad taste….was that you, “Magician”?”

〈” …..you always say that I have bad taste, don’t you?”〉

The sarcastic laugh resounded from under the feet’s of the young man.

As the reddish brown eyes looked down, his shadow strangely began to bent and then emerged like a thread of dripping darkness while as if somebody would pull it up.

“My “Seal of Baphomet” is an electrolytic corrosion ---- this is surely an extremely sophisticated “magic” using the potential difference between dissimilar metals and discharge of ions. Calling it as bad taste or something like this….besides that, by all means it saved your life. Apart from what you really think, how about to show a little gratitude at least on the surface, “Puppeteer”?

Page 238

“If you intend to make someone feel grateful take a bit better timing into consideration.”

The young man tried a meager protest against the completely black dressed gentleman who just literally gushed out from the darkness. He pointed at the bloodstain on his coat and pressed accusingly his lips together.

“You know, this coat was pretty much my favorite one….so if you can use your magic trick to get rid of the stain, I will thank you with all my heart.”

“Please don’t force me to something irrational like this. It bears repeating: my “Shadow”…… the wormhole isn’t available indefinitely. In the first place the wormhole is a micro-Black Hole of ultra small size. In the second place the world of quantum physics is dominated by far more troublesome principals than the macro-world…..”

“Oh, how nice of you to say that![3] You saw me being bullied[4] and you were engrossed in your typical immoral pleasure, weren’t you? I sense a faint perversion and scent of conspiracy in your current timing.”

Puppeteer looked at his colleague who was keen at trying to justify himself and made a roguish sound with his throat. Then his gaze randomly shifted to the rusty iron lump lying on the ground.

“Still, she was happy at the end to die, isn't that right?....Well, with this, I wonder if this story has a Happy Ending?”

“Honestly, it sounds like you're dissatisfied that the story ended happily, isn’t that so Puppeteer”?”

There was nothing but everywhere miserable corpses of people who had enjoyed their lives without worrying until a few minutes ago:

Page 239

bodies turned into mincemeat by the bullets, burnt internal organs, besides, by the influence of the “fibers” still struggling severed arms and legs ------ The black haired gentleman pulled out somewhere a cigarillo while walking towards XAM trying not to step on the human remains scattered in the bloody mud. While he relaxed lit a fire, declared whit a deep voice:

『Da der Tod (genau zu nehmen) der wahre Endzweck unseres Lebens ist”』[5] ----Mozart. Well, although many things happened, with this she got a rest, and even if we are bored, we will have from now on a calm journey. We all got what we were looking for. Isn’t that great? That’s right, if you like we could return to the lounge and get a drink to celebrate……..Huch ?

The sight of the “Magician” who was exhaling deep purple smoke fell unexpectedly at his feet. The eyes resembling of those of a dead fish were observing the crimson rotten scrapheap. A little while later he turned back to his travelling companion at ease.

“Oh, this is bad, “Puppeteer”………it seems like I have to take back what I said before.”

“He, what’s wrong?”

“Mmh, our wish for a calm journey is seemingly fallen through. It’s because of this…..”

〈The body damage has exceeded 90%〉

In the machine voice which interrupted the mellow voice of the “Magician”, there was no change at all since it was running wild just a while ago. However, it was neither the dead bride nor that ghost or something like this.

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The camera which should have stopped to operate rotated weakly and the lens captured the black-haired gentleman stood there very disappointed and the young man with the pretty face who was approaching from behind.

〈From now on in order to maintain the confidentiality of the prototype this machine will switch into self-destruction mode. Persons within a radius of one hundred meters please leave this machine as soon as possible and get into guard position. I repeat: this machine…..〉

“…..Hey Isaak, what does this mean?”

“Oh, it seems like the body has returned to sanity ---- presumably as the pseudo-ego in the operation system disappeared, I guess the normal program started to running.”

“No, that’s not I wanted to ask…… can you stop it? If it explodes in such a place this won’t this ship possibly sink?”

“I quite agree with you…..unfortunately, it seems it’s a bit too late.”

Raising one eyebrow expressively “Magician” slightly stepped aside in order to let his companion see the running counter from before on the digital display of the lower part the multi legged tank. Right after that all the numbers on the liquid crystal display changed to zero ---- an then there was a violent explosion.

(End of Part IV)

[1]荒事 - Kabuki genre with brave warriors and grim deities and demons

[2] In Enochian (occult language recorded by John Dee and Edward Kelley in 1582), Mph Arsl Gaiol is the Holy name of the element Water.

[3] そんなこと言って – used if somebody gets angry or mad

[4] I guess he means by it that he was in trouble.

[5] As death, when we come to consider it closely, is the true goal of our existence. - This sentence is in the original Japanese novel written in German with katakana.

#tb never forget #trinity blood #Sunao Yoshida #Thores Shibamoto #Isaak Fernand von Kämpfer #Dietrich von Lohengrin #rosencreutz orden #light novel #Rage Against the Moons #radio head #rco

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 7 years

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December 12, Christmas Caryl

my newest fic: Carol tries to guess Daryl’s favorite Christmas movie (also on 9L)

It’s a Wonderful Life

“Now look here,” Daryl instructed, pointing to some wires underneath the hood of the mustang and holding one between his thumb and forefinger. “This one connects here...” He fiddled with the wire as Carl leaned in close.

Pulling her coat tightly around herself, Carol watched from the opposite side of the hood. She’d learned a lot since Daryl had offered to show them, in rotating shifts, how to check, fix, and up-keep their cars—and sometimes his motorcycle. Just another way they all made each other stronger and bolstered their community, especially now that they had gates and walls and beds and weapons.

Glenn and Maggie continued mapping the tombs, Michonne and Sasha strategized escape routes and employed test runs, Hershel taught Rick farming and gardening, and Daryl educated them on vehicle maintenance and weaponry. Thankfully, they’d raised the outdoor kitchen just before the cold weather hit, and now they spent their days maintaining what they’d acquired. The council had even decided to celebrate Christmas, which had made Carl antsy the past few days.

Carol watched the kid bounce up and down on the balls of his feet as Daryl instructed him on the finer points of car care. He’d already asked Daryl to dismiss him twice, but the man took his teaching role seriously. “Soon’s we’re done, you can head back in to work on your Christmas gifts,” he’d told Carl, ruffling his hair good-naturedly. Carl had sighed but resigned himself.

Daryl’s voice drew her back to the present. “…and the car won’t start if it ain’t connected.” He looked at Carl, who nodded, then flicked his eyes to her, eyebrows raised with a question.

With a small smile, she mimicked Carl, and he bent over the car again.

“Now, Imma take it out, and you can try.” He reached down to undo his work.

“Carl?”

Carl and Carol watched Mika approach just as Daryl cried out.

“Son of a…nutcracker!” he finished, his eyes on the young girl.

Carol turned back around to see Daryl, whipping his hand back and forth, clearly in pain but no worse for the wear. She sucked her cheeks in to refrain from laughing, facing Mika again in order to hide her mirth.

“Carl, Rick said it’s your turn to watch Judith. He needs to check his traps before dark.”

“Go ahead. We’ll pick this up again later,” Daryl affirmed, his voice laced with pain, when Carl looked to him for permission to leave.

The kids ran off together, and Carol sidled up to Daryl. “What happened?”

He peered down at her, mirth in her eyes, though she sounded concerned. “Ain’t nothin’” he assured her, holding his right hand in his left.

“Come on,” she coaxed, reaching for his hand. “Lemme see.”

Daryl watched helplessly as Carol, a force of nature he’d already succumbed to, drew his hand toward her with a commanding but easy pull, her gaze inspecting his smashed fingers, her lingering touch light but sensual.

He cleared his throat, trying to reign himself in. “Will I live, Doc?”

Carol turned his hand over, her fingers grazing his palm, and continued inspecting his hand intently. “I do believe so,” she murmured, slowly dragging her fingertips along his skin as she let his hand go.

He stared at her intently, praying his boiling blood would cool in time not to make a fool of himself, as she looked up at him.

“So…Elf, huh?”

“Pfff,” he puffed out, embarrassed she’d caught the reference. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“Oh, come on. ‘Son of a nutcracker’?” She chuckled. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for an Elf-watcher.”

“What’s Elf?” he tried again to play ignorant.

She smiled gently, a look of nostalgia crossing her face. “Sophia watched it for the first time a few years ago. She laughed through the entire thing. And then watched it on repeat the entire Christmas season. I considered breaking the DVD just so I didn’t have to watch it anymore, but it would’ve destroyed her little Elf-loving heart.” Carol came back to herself, focusing on Daryl. “I’d recognize a quote from that movie anywhere.” She smiled at him. “So really…Elf?”

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath.

“Was that your favorite Christmas movie?” she prodded, leaning one hip against the car and crossing her arms, a teasing smile lacing her tone.

“It ain’t ‘cause I wanted ta see it,” he defended himself, frustrated, and snatched the red rag from his back pocket to wipe the grease off his hands.“Damn Merle…every time he’d get high or piss-drunk between Halloween and Christmas, he’d put that idiotic movie on and laugh like a fool. Used ta irritate the hell outta me. Til he’d laugh so hard I couldn’t help joinin’ in.” He shook his head in derision. “Bunch a damn hyenas, we were.”

He looked up at Carol to see her smiling, not at him, making fun, but with simple pleasure at his story.

“So…is that your favorite Christmas movie, then?”

He huffed. “Not in a million.” He motioned for Carol to move as he prepared to close the hood of the car.

She stepped around to stand next to him as the hood fell and latched into place. “What is it, then?”

Daryl glanced down at her, not deigning to answer, though one side of his mouth quirked up.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Ain’t got a favorite,” he stated, cupping his hands around his mouth and blowing warm breath on them. “Come on, let’s go inside and warm up.”

He ambled toward the prison, slowing his gait to match hers.

“Come on, everyone has a favorite Christmas movie. Even a Scrooge like you,” she added playfully when he remained silent.

He chuffed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, and kept walking.

“Is that it?” She hopped along sideways, facing him, eagerly awaiting an answer. “Is your favorite movie A Christmas Carol?”

Daryl glanced around the courtyard, finding it empty, and took her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and murmured, “Carol is always my favorite,” before placing a sweet kiss on top of her hand.

Carol blushed, overcome by the sincerity in his tone, the tenderness of his touch, and a shy smile bloomed on her face.

Though they hadn’t spoken any type of commitment to one another, they’d grown closer recently. Close enough she’d almost call them a tentative couple. Even still, she felt much more comfortable with teasing and tempting him into embarrassment than being the object of his compliments and direct but searing affection.

She eased her hand gracefully out of his, willing her heart to calm down, and tried to re-command the conversation. “Nice try, Romeo. So it is A Christmas Carol?”

He shook his head, half-amused. “Here I am spoutin’ romantic shit, and all you wanna talk about are Christmas movies.”

“Some Christmas movies are ‘romantic shit’,” she mockingly chided.

He gave her a doubtful look.

“The Holiday, Love Actually, every single Christmas movie the Hallmark Channel aired each year.”

Daryl chuckled good-naturedly. “Di’you buy into that romantic shhhowcase of Christmas love?” he corrected himself mid-sentence at her look of disdain.

“I didn’t ‘buy into’ it. But it was a nice escape from the Christmas tragedy I lived.”

She watched sorrow and regret tinge his expression.

“None of that,” she reprimanded gently, cupping his face with one hand. “Besides, not all Christmas romance is shit.”

She stood on tiptoes as she guided his head down until their lips met. Shivers ran down her body—and not only from the chill of the air.

“So…” she murmured as she pulled away. “Clearly those movies weren’t your favorite.”

“Carol is, like I said,” he muttered, chasing her lips for another kiss.

She smiled against his hot, eager mouth and sunk into his warmth as he slid his arms around her. She tangled her fingers in his bed-head mess of hair, letting him play out a few moments of his favorite Carol.

“Hmm,” he hummed when she eventually pulled away. “Maybe you were wrong. Maybe I do like romantic Christmas movies.”

She withdrew from his arms, a cheeky smile on her face. “Maybe we can make one of our own then,” she murmured seductively, backing slowly away from him. She watched a light blush grow on his cheeks and eagerness fill his eyes. “As soon as you tell me your favorite Christmas movie.”

“You’re a damn tease,” he growled.

Carol shrugged, slowly walking backwards toward cell block A. “Are you complaining?”

“Right now I am. I told you: I ain’t got a favorite.”

“I don’t believe you for a second,” she admitted cheerfully. “What about Charlie Brown’s Christmas? Or the old claymation movies: Frosty or Rudolph?”

The look of disgust on his face had her giggling.

“Something more spirited like Miracle on 34th Street or White Christmas?”

Daryl shook his head, eyeing the ground where he toed the crack in the cement. “Alright, fine,” he sighed. “But you cain’t laugh.”

Carol signed a cross over her heart with one finger. “No more than you did learning my love for romantic shit Christmas movies.”

He glared, but she just continued smiling cheekily at him. Finally, he spoke. “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

Carol glanced around the prison yard. “I wouldn’t say it’s wonderful, but we’re doing better than we have since the Turn.”

He stared blankly at her, her deadpan expression nearly convincing him she’d missed the reference, but he knew better.

“I’m serious.”

“Aww, really?” she gushed, pleasantly surprised at his answer.

“Yeah. ‘S just…that man had it so tough.” He shuffled closer to her as he spoke. “Born into a life he didn’t want, got trapped by his family. He kept pushin’ on but didn’t get anywhere. Didn’t know people cared about him. Thought everyone he knew’d be better off with him dead. I ain’t at all as good as him—never did things to help others like him—but…I know that feelin’. Couldn’t help sympathizin’…”

Carol had closed the remaining distance between them as he spoke and placed a hand against his chest, over his heart.

He peered down at her, at the ache in her eyes for him. “Saw it for the first time when I was…probably 14. My nana used to watch it. Made us watch it, too. Some years, when Merle wasn’t around, she’d tell me…” He swallowed hard, and she stared up at him, riveted by this piece of Dixon history. “She’d tell me he reminded her of me. She’s the only one who thought I was smart. Could do more than just…follow in Merle’s footsteps. She knew I felt trapped, and…well, she’s the only one who saw me as more than another male to carry on the Dixon legacy of tragically failin’ at life.”

“Oh, Daryl,” she sighed with a mixture of ache and love, her heart hurting with each beat at the pain in his past.

He stared down at the woman before him, this woman who’d coaxed a silly memory from Before from him with a few teasing words and her heart of compassion.

“Turned out okay in the end though,” he assured her, “Everyone pulled together. Helped him back on his feet. Made him feel whole again. Let him know they cared about him, that he had more value than just what he could do for them.”

She nodded, understanding the depth of his words carried far beyond the movie she’d so loved.

“He got his ‘Mary’ Christmas,” he punned, sliding a hand through her hair to cup her head, a small smirk on his face. “An’ I got my Christmas ‘Carol.’”

He kissed her again, tenderly, gently, imbuing his affection with all the love that he’d never received.

Though her eyes slid closed, they stung with tears for the man in her arms, this man whom no one had treated kindly but whose arms held her fragile heart like a treasure.

He really was the redneck George Bailey of the apocalypse.

#caryl #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #christmas caryl #caryl fanfiction #christmas caryl 2017 #personal #my writing

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jacksgreysays · 7 years

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946. 'You and I will never / be a great love story. / That's ok! / Let's see what kind / of story we'll be. / (Oooh! Oooh! I hope it's science fiction!)' KibaxShikako

You and I will never be a great love story.That’s okay!Let’s see what kind of story we’ll be.(Oooh! Oooh! I hope it’s science fiction!)

—

(Never Lookin’ To Come Back)

“Again?” Shikako says, stepping out from the shadowed cover of the ship, “You don’t get hazard pay for starting a fight with a bunch of civilians.”

Kiba’s hackles don’t quite rise–never against her, not after what they’ve been through–but he does scowl something fierce, “It’s my shore leave, cap'n, I can spend it how I want.”

Akamaru, the traitor, wags his tail at the sight of her, whining a plaintive request to stop this whole disaster in the making.

“And what are you doing bringing Akamaru?” she asks, crouching down to scrub at his ears, “They don’t serve ninken on this rock, and it’s not fair to make him clean up your mess when he can’t even have fun, too.”

Akamaru barks an agreement.

“Get on back inside,” she says to him, head jerking toward the gangway, “I’ll deal with this idiot.”

He goes, claws clacking against the metal of the ramp as he heads back inside the ship.

Shikako stands up, meeting Kiba’s eyes in a familiar way that almost makes him want to bare his throat, “I’m not here to lecture you.”

“Sure feels like it.”

She rolls her eyes, “Come on,” she says, walking away, the tails of her long brown coat flapping behind her, “let’s get drunk and fight some Rooters.”

—

There’s a difference between being a part of Konoha and being a Rooter: the first is like a pair of shoes, too tight and constantly chafing, blisters forming, and yet unable to take them off.

The second is a knife to the back.

They’re not the same, and of course the latter is far worse, but it’s terribly easy to stab someone if they can’t run away, isn’t it?

—

On the bucket of bolts that is their ship, there are the following:

Two “reformed” brown coats whose ferry and delivery service may or may not include smuggling contraband.

Two mercenaries for hire who have never so much as killed a single person between them and have accidentally inspired, on more than one occasion, cult followings about their heroic deeds.

One mechanic from a far off moon who swears that no matter how talented she is, the ship is going to crash without a replacement grav unit, she means it this time.

One Organization member who rents the starboard shuttle and might be a high class escort or possibly an assassin, the jury’s still out on that one.

One Teacher of the Will of Fire who knows a suspicious amount about the inner workings of Konoha and is far more connected than a man who has given up his last name should be.

And one ninken who is way too skilled at opening locked doors, that food’s not for you, damnit Akamaru, spit it out.

On a somewhat fairly routine smuggle and ferry, their number goes up by two.

—

The four core planets of Konoha were Aburame, Akimichi, Hyuuga, and Uchiha.

During the Uprooting, the planet of Uchiha was destroyed, the blame pinned on the rebellion.

Whether they believed it or not, the tragedy galvanized the other three core planets into putting their full power behind bringing a swift end to the war...

... and Root, the jingoist half of what remains of the Senju Administration, filled the gap of the fourth power in Konoha.

—

“Go get me some passengers,” Shikako commands, waving an imperious hand out towards the town they’ve landed near. It’d be more impressive if she weren’t curled over face down on the table, awkwardly trying to eat porridge without lifting her head.

Regardless, it’s not exactly a new or surprising sight, not after the years of being her XO and the year before that of being her lieutenant. Still funny as hell, but not unexpected.

“Aye, aye, cap'n,” Kiba shoots back, not moving from his seat whatsoever. Akamaru huffs a doggy laugh, nosing upward for some rehydrated meat substance.

“I have to get some parts,” TenTen says, ignoring their captain’s disgraceful posture and petulant groaning, “I think I can make do with the current rotator belt, but the grav unit won’t survive another atmo crossing, captain.”

Shikako grunts.

“And I’m running low on duct tape,” TenTen adds, which, apparently, makes the request of vital importance: the credits are dispensed immediately.

“Lee, go with her. Now everyone leave me alone, I’m trying to eat.”

Four hours later, Naruto returns with a small herd of passengers practically throwing money at him–thankfully, after Kiba already stowed the contraband away, otherwise that’d be a disaster–and Lee and TenTen return with a different grav unit, a crate of duct tape, and a suspiciously posh looking man with suspiciously large luggage looking for a quick and discrete way off the planet who is willing to pay five times the rate. Suspiciously.

“We need the money,” Shikako mutters.

“I’m not saying we don’t,” Kiba argues, “I’m just saying that we definitely don’t need the trouble that comes with it.”

“Oh, now you’re worried about trouble?” she asks, a sardonic eyebrow raised.

“This is a different kind of trouble,” he says, nose wrinkling, “I can smell it.”

“How bad can it be?”

—

The daughter of the chancellor of the planet Hyuuga is missing.

Kidnapped, all official reports say.

It is a very bad kind of trouble.

A/N: Presenting the brand new ‘verse, Never Lookin’ To Come Back, a FireflyxDoS fusion featuring a Kiba/Shikako relationship that can be romantic or platonic–it’s up to the readers to decide for themselves.

So… the ratio of Kiba/Shikako to worldbuilding perhaps wasn’t the highest it could have been, but I got carried away with trying to adapt the Firefly ‘verse into a fusion with DoS. Which I think is totally an acceptable excuse?

Anyway, what should I name the spaceship?

Number + Character/Ship + (optional) AU –> my ask box

[If anyone else wants to do a softer world prompt that isn’t on the list, you can just send the page id number for the original comic instead.]

#jacksgreyson #anonymous #prompt response #a softer ask box #writing #fanfiction #dreaming of sunshine #naruto #firefly #never lookin' to come back #alternate universe #shikako nara #kiba inuzuka

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cubetoasty · 8 years

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Patater Week Day 4 - AU

Alexei laces up his skates on the bench, humming tunelessly but cheerfully. Of the many PR duties that the Falconers have, stuff with kids is one of the few things that he genuinely looks forward to. He’s glad he was one of the ones who got to do it this time. And this, volunteering with the Little Falconers program, was even better than the Children’s hospital because these kids aren’t sick. He could see some kids on the benches some distance away with their parents lacing up their skates, looking at him shyly and clearly gathering the nerve to come over. There was a small group of them already out on the ice, clumped around Snowy and looking at his goalie equipment with awe. They were shorter than Snowy’s waist and it was probably one of the cutest things Alexei had ever seen.

“Are you really Mr. Tater?” A little girl had become brave enough to approach Alexei, her hair in tiny braids and wearing a miniature Zimmerman jersey.

“Yes, you can call me Tater,” he smiled down at her. “Your name is?”

“Marissa,” she said with slight lisp.

“Well, Marissa, you ready to skate?” he asked. At her eager nod, he gently took her hand and helped her over the lip of the rink and onto the ice. She barely wobbled at all.

“Come on, let’s skate!” he said to the rest of the kids who were watching from the bench. “Can you catch us?” Alexei towed Marissa, who was shrieking with laughter, down the ice, The rest of the kids caught on and chased them, shouting too.

A sharp whistle cut over the sound of yelling and laughing kids. “Come on guys, time to start!”

Alexei looked up at the voice and immediately forgot any English he had ever learned. The man standing on the ice with the whistle was probably the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He was blonde and lithely muscled, freckles gracing his scrunched up nose as he smiled fondly at the kids hanging off Snowy’s gear. His eyes were some kind of crazy color; Alexei couldn’t tell if they were blue or grey or hazel–

Alexei’s skate hit a divot in the ice and next thing he knew he was flat on his stomach. He heard a little voice say, “Mr. Tater fell!” and next thing he knew he was crowded by little bodies looking down at him and trying to figure out if it was a game they could play. Alexei had a sudden flash of fear as he thought of their precarious balance and sharp blades attached to their feet, before the same voice from before said, a lot closer, “Okay, give him some space.”

A hand reached down. Alexei took it and next thing he knew he was face to face with the beautiful man, who was keeping an admirably straight face, although his eyes were dancing with laughter.

His eyes looked green, now, and he had cowlicks in his hair.

“You okay?” the man asked, corner of his mouth quirking up.

Alexei stared.

He tried desperately to remember English, any English. “Da, yes, yes.” He swallowed, sweating. “Fine.”

“Good, because I don’t think we can afford to lose one of our best d-men because he was taken out by a bunch of children. Although, if kids this size could knock you off your skates maybe we’d be better off, huh?”

He was funny and smart, too. Of course he was.

Alexei laughed, but he was pretty sure his face was doing something weird. He couldn’t feel it at all. From the incredulous, amused expression that Snowy was giving him over Kent’s shoulder, he was pretty confident that he was making an ass of himself.

“I’m Kent Parson, I run this program,” the man said, reaching out to take Alexei’s hand. “We’re really glad you guys came today.”

“…Yes,” Alexei said, knowing that he sounded like an idiot. Luckily Snowy stepped in to save him.

“We’re really happy we could make it, man,” he said. “I’m sure it will be a great day.”

Kent threw them both a beaming smile and Alexei felt himself die inside, just a little.

“Right, listen up!” Kent clapped his hands and turned away, starting to give the kids instructions on the first drill. Snowy gave him a Look behind Kent’s back, and Alexei knew that he wasn’t get off easy. He was in for a lot of chirping later on, he was sure. All he could do was pray that Snowy hadn’t already said anything in the Falcs group message.

The kids were divided up into groups of six to eight, by their ages, and split up to work on drills in separate areas. They would rotate after about twenty minutes. Alexei and Snowy were each given an area to be in charge of, mixed in with a bunch of volunteers. Kent seemed to be everywhere at once, making sure everything was going smoothly.

At one point, he stepped in and demonstrated a stickhandling drill for Alexei’s group. He handled the puck like a dream. It didn’t even look like it touched the ice, he made it look so easy. Alexei would have been turned on if he wasn’t overcome with overwhelming existential despair.

“You’re fucked,” Snowy mouthed at him gleefully, somehow having time to watch Alexei’s misfortunes while practicing butterflies with eight children.

Alexei went to flip him off before remembering that there were children present. He settled for mouthing “fuck you” instead. Snowy just laughed.

After the drills were finished and Alexei and Snowy had signed autographs and the kids were returned to their parents, Alexei noticed that Kent was skating around by himself, picking up stray pucks.

Alexei took a deep breath and then grabbed the couple pucks on the ice near him and skated them over. He was a Mashkov, and Mashkovs weren’t cowards. Or at least that’s what his mom always said when she was talking about why she couldn’t end her decades-long feud with her neighbor.

“Here,” Alexei managed, holding the pucks out awkwardly.

Kent looked surprised, but started to smile and held out the bucket for Alexei to dump the pucks in.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Is no problem.”

There was an awkward silence as Alexei desperately tried to think of something to say.

“You very good. Why not go to NHL?”

Kent froze and Alexei immediately wished he had never even learned to speak in the first place. In fact, it was probably better if he didn’t even have a mouth.

“Sorry! Sorry, didn’t mean—“

“Nah, it’s okay.” Kent’s shoulders dropped and he sighed, skating over and grabbing another puck. “It wasn’t a big tragedy, it’s not like I got injured or anything. I was pretty good, and I probably could have been drafted, yeah, but then my dad skipped. And it was just my mom, and you know…hockey’s an expensive sport.”

Alexei knew this well, his parents having worked harder than they had let him realize to pay for his equipment and rink fees. He remembered his mom sighing as she looked down at his chest protector and complaining that he had grown again. He knew now that it hadn’t been easy for them. But still, Alexei had always had what he needed, and he had never had to worry about not being able to play. “Sorry,” he said, feeling pathetic that it was all he could come up with.

“It’s okay. I have this program, right? I started it to maybe help some other kids who want to play and can’t afford it, and honestly, I don’t regret not going pro. I really love it, you know?”

Kent wasn’t looking at him, now, and was just smiling softly down at a puck in his hand. Alexei felt his heart leap in his chest.

“Yes,” he rasped. Oh, he was so fucked.

“Are you single?” he heard his mouth ask without any input from his brain, and almost choked.

Kent looked up at him, confused. “What?”

“Ummm.” Alexei felt like dying, but it was too late now. The only way out was through. “Can I take you out sometime?” he asked all in one rush.

Kent was silent for a long, terrible moment, pretty mouth hanging open. “Like, on a date?” he asked.

Alexei nodded, so red he was probably steaming in the cold rink air.

“Yeah, okay.” Kent kind of had a disbelieving smile on his face as he shook his head and took out his phone. “What’s your number?”

Alexei froze for a second in disbelief, before realizing that he actually wasn’t hallucinating. He managed to get his whole number out without stuttering or forgetting English, and to say he looked forward to it at least somewhat smoothly.

When he skated back to the bench triumphantly, Snowy, who had clearly watched the whole thing, surprisingly didn’t mock him at all. He just held out his fist for a fist bump. Alexei ignored it and crashed into him like it was a celly on the ice, and when he heard Kent laugh behind him he wasn’t even a little bit embarrassed.

#Patater Week #Patater #Check Please!#Kent Parson #Check Please fic #my fic

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