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aspenmissing · 1 year

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𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙸𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚒𝚍𝚎 (𝙿𝚝 𝟸)

Y/N climbs the tall stairs onto the porch. A handwritten sign says ‘No solicitors, that means you! No asking for donations. No selling ANYTHING!’

"He seems nice," Y/N mutters before ringing the buzzer, then bangs on the security door. She hears a noise and looks up to see a security camera moving to train on her.

"What?" A man's voice says from the intercom.

"Hi, uh, Rufus?" Y/N asks.

"Yeah, even if I am, the question is still the same. What?"

"Um, I'm Y/N Winchester. I'm a friend of Bobby Singer's."

"So?" Rufus says.

"You called him this morning."

"So?" He repeats.

"Uh..." Y/N tries to grin at the security camera "...you told Bobby about a British chick who made contact with you"

"And so?"

"You know where she is?" Y/N asks.

"Yeah."

"Great. Could you tell me where I could find her?" She asks.

"No."

"Course not," She mutters before clearing her throat. "Look, Rufus, man..." The door then opens to show Rufus with a bowl in hand.

"Look, let me point something out to you. You are knocking at my door, so don't "Look, man" me. I'm not your man"

"I'm sorry, sir"

"All right, let me tell you a little story. See, once upon a time, Bobby called me, asked me to call him if I got a whiff of this Bela Talbot. I got a whiff. I called. The end" Y/N smiles.

"Wonderful story, okay, yeah, if you could just tell me where she is, I mean, that would be great"

"Y/N Winchester, right?" Rufus asks.

"Y/N," She answers.

"Y/N, do I look like I'm here to help you?"

"I'm gonna say no?"

"Then get the hell off my property."

"All right, yeah, fair enough. I got one more question for you, though. See, I got this, uh, this bottle of scotch, and... uh, is this considered good?" Rufus eyes the bottle, eyes Y/N, and starts smiling. A little later, Y/N and Rufus sit at the table with glasses in front of them.

"Bottoms up," Y/N says, clicking their glasses together and drinking.

"You know, I don't even bother drinking unless it's this stuff. Nectar of the gods, I'm telling you."

"Yeah, it's a nice change, you know. Most of my whiskey comes from a plastic jug." They both laugh. "So, Bela was here because..."

"She wanted to buy a couple of things, which is gonna take me some time to round up."

"Where is she now?" Y/N asks. Rufus watches her closely.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," Y/N says, taking a drink.

"You got three weeks left." Y/N chokes on her drink, surprised. "Why are you wasting your time chasing after that skinny, stuck-up English girl?"

"How do you know about that?" Y/N asks, suspiciously as Rufus leans forward.

"Because I know things. I know a lot of things about a lot of people."

"Is that so?"

"I know ain't no peashooter gonna save you," Rufus says.

"What makes you so sure?" Y/N asks, taking another drink.

"'Cause that's the job, kid. Even if you manage to scrape out of this one, there's just gonna be something else down the road. Folks like us...there ain't no happy ending. We all got it coming."

"Well, ain't you a bucket of sunshine?" Y/N jokes.

"I'm what you've got to look forward to if you survive," Rufus says, smirking and raising his glass again. "But you won't."

Somewhere in a forest, Sam and Dean pulls over their rental car and turns off the engine. They check their map again, gets out the car and begins to walk into the forest, locking the car.

"Man, I miss baby" Dean mutters, stuffing the rental car keys in his pocket and continue to follow Sam into the forest.

"So, Bela..." Y/N says.

"Hotel Canaan. Room 39. But watch your back," Rufus says, by now quite drunk.

"I think I can handle Bela."

"Oh, don't be so sure about that. There are things that you don't know about her."

"Oh, and you do? Right. Because you know things."

"Yep," Rufus says, feeling superior.

"And let me guess...you lifted her fingerprint?"

"Yep."

"And that got you jack."

"Yep," The two chuckle as Y/N takes another drink. "She burnt them off. Probably years ago."

"Yeah, so you're right where we are."

"Nope," Y/N looks at him funny. "You did her ear?"

"Sorry?" Y/N asks with a frown.

"You did her ear?" Rufus repeats. "Ears are as unique to humans as fingerprints."

"No kidding."

"Of course, that don't fly in the courts over here, but in England, they're all over it," Rufus explains. "A friend of a friend...of a friend faxed me 10 pages of confidential files within a day. All I had to send him was one clean shot off the security camera."

"Right. One clean shot of her ear," Y/N says, taking a drink. Rufus stands up and walks towards his desk. He pulls out a file folder and walks back to the table, dropping the folder in front of Y/N.

"The so-called Bela Talbot," Y/N takes and opens the file. She looks up at Rufus as he takes another drink before looking back at the file to read it.

Sam and Dean enter a cabin with torches and they look around. Sam finds a journal and pockets it. Dean moves to the cellar. A man's dead body is lying on the operating table.

"Sam," Dean whispers up to Sam. Sam makes his way down the stairs and looks to the body on the table. The two share a look of disgust. Sam moves closer to the dead body, slowly bringing his fingers up to his neck to feel for a pulse. He looks back at Dean, shaking his head. The two then look around before hearing a slight noise and Sam looks through a ragged curtain to see another body.

"Dean," Sam whispers. Dean looks to him. "There's another body." Sam gestures to the curtains and they move closer. A woman is strapped down on another operating table, her arm stretched out beside her and covered in maggots. She is missing skin from where the maggots are. Dean curses under his breath, looking away in disgust. Sam leans in to place his fingers on the pulse point of her neck before suddenly the woman gasps and her eyes spring open, startling Sam and Dean. Dean goes over to the other side of the woman.

"Shh! Shh! Shh! It's okay. We're here to help you," Dean whispers. "We're here to help you. We're gonna help you." Sam grabs a cloth and wraps it around her wounded arm, shushing her the whole time. The woman holds in a scream of pain as the cloth touches her arm.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," They hear a door open upstairs. The woman starts crying, unable to help herself. Dean covers her mouth but Doc Benton hears and starts down the stairs with a lamp to investigate. The woman, Sam, and Dean are gone and Doc looks up to see a window open.

Sam and Dean run through the forest, Sam holding the victim bridal style. They get closer to their rental car.

"The door, Dean, open the door!" Sam says. Dean quickly unlocks the door and Sam places her in the back seat. "Okay, watch your head, watch your head. Sorry." Sam runs around and gets into the passenger seat while Dean gets into the driver's seat and begins to get the car started. Benton then comes out of nowhere, grabs Sam's head and slams it against the dashboard, all the while the woman is screaming. Dean then reverses wildly, making Benton fall over. He changes gear and floors it, driving straight over Benton. As the car speeds away, Benton rises and looks after them, his head at a crazy angle. Dean looks to Sam, breathing heavily.

"Not telling Y/N?" Dean asks. Sam nods quickly.

"Not telling Y/N."

"Bela enters her hotel room, turning to close the door behind her before Y/N pushes her back against the door and lays her arms across Bela's throat, pointing a gun at her face.

"Where's the Colt?" Y/N asks.

"Y/N," Bela says calmly.

"No extra words."

"It's long gone, across the world by now."

"You're lying," Y/N says before grabbing Bela's bag from her hands and looks in it.

"I'll call the buyer. Speak Farsi?" Y/N grabs her around the waist, pulling Bela against her.

"What the hell are you..." Y/N quickly frisks her, finds her gun and holds it up to her.

"Don't flatter yourself," Y/N uses the point of her gun to snap on the room's lights, then points it at Bela again. "Don't move." Y/N begins searching the room, leaving Bela standing against the door.

"I told you I don't have it."

"Oh, yeah, I'm definitely gonna take your word for it," Y/N turns her back and continues riffling through Bela's drawers as the woman herself slowly slides along the wall towards the door. A bullet goes through the door, inches from her head making her freeze.

"That was a warning shot. Don't move," Y/N continues searching.

"It's gone. Get on a plane if you must. Track down the buyer. You might catch up to him eventually," Y/N finishes searching and returns to Bela, taking a stance and pointing her gun at Bela's head. "Are you going to kill me?"

"Oh, yeah."

"You're not the cold-blooded type."

"You mean like you? That's true. See, I couldn't imagine killing my parents," Bela seems shocked but soon regroups.

"I don't know what you're talking..."

"Yes, you do," Y/N cuts her off. "You were, what, 14? Folks died in some shady car accident. Police suspected a slashed brake line, but it was all too crispy to tell. Cut to little Bela...Oh, I'm sorry, Abby...inheriting millions."

"How did you even..."

"Doesn't matter," Bela sighs and looks down before back up with a small smirk.

"They were lovely people. And I killed them. And I got rich. I can't be bothered to give a damn. Just like I don't care what happens to you," Y/N pushes her roughly against the door with her arms across Bela's throat again. A strand of woven herbs is dislodged from the ledge above the door but no one notices.

"You make me sick."

"Likewise," Y/N takes a step back and again points her gun at Bela's head, smirking. She stares back, then closes her eyes. Y/N is distracted and looks up, spying the herbs hanging over the ledge before looking back at Bela, thinking. Bela opens her eyes as Y/N puts the gun down.

"You're not worth it," Y/N drags Bela aside and leaves. Bela lifts her hand which now has a scrap of paper in it. She looks at it, a motel receipt, The Erie. Bela grabs her phone.

"It worked. She found me. No, Sam and Dean weren't with her. But I know where they are."

"In the motel room, Sam's phone rings and he picks up, placing it on speaker.

"Y/N."

"Yeah."

"Did you get the Colt?" Dean asks.

"What do you think?"

"So, does that mean Bela is, uh..." Sam is cut off by Y/N.

"No, no, she deserves to die a dozen times over, but I couldn't do it."

"Theo..."

"I'm really screwed, guys."

"No, you're just..." Dean is cut off by Y/N.

"But you two were right. Bela was a goose chase. The Colts gone, and this time I'm really screwed, guys."

"Maybe not. Look, Y/N, we found Benton's cabin," Sam says, looking at the paper that was in the book.

"You, okay? Was he there?"

"Yeah."

"Did you kill him?" Y/N asks.

"No," Dean answers.

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Y/N, please just listen for a second. I found his lab book, and it has the formula," Sam says, looking at the paper that was in the book.

"What, the live-forever formula?"

"Yeah."

"Great, let me guess. I got to drink blood out of a baby's skull?"

"No, that's the thing. It's not black magic. There's no blood sacrifice or anything. It's just science, Theo. Very, very extremely weird science, but..." Sam trails off.

"Wait, wait, wait. What are- What are you saying? You think..."

"Y/N, I think it might be doable. I mean, I know we've hit a lot of walls, but I... I think this formula, I think it might be it. This could save you" Dean says, smiling.

"Okay, so, this formula..."

"Well, I mean, look, look, we're not in the clear yet. There are still things that I don't get..." Arms come from behind Sam and Dean and their mouths are covered with a rag, causing Sam to drop the phone.

"Sam? Dean?" Y/N asks, hearing the struggling "Sammy! Dean!" She looks at the phone before throwing it on the seat beside her, driving faster.

Later, Sam is strapped to an operating table, his eyes are taped open while Doc Benton is beside him, patting Sam's arm.

"You can relax. It's all gonna be okay. Aint nothing gonna happen here that you got to worry about, Sammy. Your chances of coming out of this procedure alive? Very, very high. Dean, however, maybe not," Sam hears struggling and muffling from upstairs.

"How do you know our names?"

"Oh...I know. You think I'm some kind of monster, don't you? Well, I got to tell you, I have never done one thing that I did not have to do. This whole eternal-life thing is very high-maintenance. If something goes bad, like my eyes here...you got to replace them," Benton glides his fingers over Sam's head, making Sam shake his head and breathe heavily. "As for your brother, well, he has some nice arms that will help work better. And sometimes things get damaged, like when your father cut out my heart. Now, that...That was very inconvenient. So, I'm sure that you can understand all the joy I felt when I read all about myself here in his journal," Benton says, opening John's journal to show Sam the page on him. "Kind of makes this whole thing just feel like some kind of family reunion, don't it?" Sam looks at Benton terrified.

Y/N makes her way inside the cabin, careful to not make any noises. She clenches her jaw every time the floorboards creek. She walks around the house before spotting someone tied up to a chair, she walks around them slowly, pointing the gun at them. Their heads lift up to reveal Dean.

"Dean," She breathes out, and pulls down his gag. He breathes heavily. "You, okay?"

"Yeah, but he's got Sam downstairs with him," Y/N goes to untie Dean before he shakes his head. "Forget me right now, just quickly go and help Sam." She nods and leaves Dean who begins to try and get out of his restraints.

"Well, I guess it's about time that we get this thing started," Benton brings his scoop very close to Sam's eye about to scoop his eye out before three shots ring out, shooting Benton from behind and he turns to see a furious Y/N.

"Shoot all you want," Benton approaches and Y/N lets loose two more bullets. He then throws Y/N into the wall and she falls to the ground. Benton approaches again, leaning down only for Y/N to plunge a knife into Benton's chest which causes Benton to laugh. "A knife? What part of immortality do you no understand? Pity about the heart, though it was a brand-new one.”

"Good. It should be pumping nice and strong," Y/N holds up a bottle of chloroform. "Sending this stuff through your whole body. See, I picked up your little bottle upstairs after having a nice chat with my brother and dipped the knife in it." Doc Benton then collapses backwards and Y/N breathes heavily. "Night Night, bitch." She leans back and closes her eyes, before remembering. "Sammy!" She runs into the room where Sam is strapped, and trembling. She begins to untie him. "You’re okay, Sam. I'm here now." After all the straps are taken off, he sits up and pulls her in for a hug. She chuckles, and rubs his back. "Both your eyes are still there?"

"Bad timing," Sam mutters.

"Just wondering."

"Yeah, uh? Whenever you’re finished, I'm still tied up here!" Dean shouts from upstairs.

Doc Benton awakes strapped to the operating table. Dean, Sam, and Y/N stand over him.

"Oh, hiya, Doc. Wakey, wakey, eggs and bac-y," Y/N says, leaning over Benton.

"Please."

"Please what?" Y/N asks. "You've been killing poor bastards for over 150 years and now you got a request? Shut up."

"No, you don't understand. I can help you. I know what you need."

"We might have to cut him up into little bits. You know, this immortality thing is a bitch," Dean says, picking up one of Benton's tools.

"I can read the formula for you. You know...immortality...Forever young, never die," Benton says, looking at Y/N.

"Y/N," Sam says. Y/N sighs before looking at Sam.

"Sam," Y/N replies. Sam walks out the room, indicating Dean and Y/N should follow. "What?"

"I mean, we're talking hell in three weeks. Or needing a new pancreas in like half a century," Sam says.

"Yeah, well, you can't exactly get those at a Kwik-E Mart."

"It's not perfect, but it buys us more time to think of something better. We just need time, Y/N. I mean, please, just...just think about it," Dean says.

"No."

"Y/N, don't you want to live?" Sam asks.

"What he is isn't living," Y/N sighs. "Look, this is simple."

"Simple?"

"To me it is, okay. Black or white; human, not human," Y/N walks back to stand in front of Doc Benton. "See, what the Doc is a freakin' monster. I can't do it. I would rather go to hell."

"You don't understand. I can help you!" Benton calls out. Y/N covers a rag with more chloroform and places it over Benton's mouth.

"Now, I'm gonna take care of him. You can either help me or not. It's up to you."

Doc Benton wakes and lights a match to show he's in a small box. He can't get the lid open. He struggles to lift it and bangs on the door. Sam, Dean, and Y/N watch from above the hole as the refrigerator shakes- the Doc's book on top of it.

"No! No! Don't! Stop it! I can help you! No!" Benton pleads.

"Enjoy forever in there, Doc," the three begin shoveling in the hole.

"Let me out! I can save you! No. Don't."

Bela slowly walks down the hallway and picks the lock on a door. She removes a gun from her jacket and quietly enters. She raises the gun and puts two bullets into the bodies lying under the covers on each bed, then moves closer, turning on a bedside lamp. A clock beside the lamp shows it is 11.56 pm. She pulls back the covers of the beds to find sex dolls slowly deflating. The phone then rings and she quickly picks it up.

"Hiya, Bella. Here's a fun fact you may not know. I felt your hand in my pocket when you swiped that motel receipt," Y/N says.

"You don't understand."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I understand perfectly. See, I noticed something interesting in your hotel room. Something tucked above the door. An herb. Devil's shoestring? There's only one use for that," Bela sits on the bed. "Holding hellhounds at bay. So, you know what I did, I went back and I took another look at your folks' obit. Turns out they died ten years ago today. You didn't kill them. A demon did your dirty work. You made a deal, didn't you, Bela. And it's come due."

"Is that why you stole the Colt, huh? Try to wiggle out of your deal, our gun for your soul?"

"Yes," Bela answers.

"But stealing the Colt wasn't quite enough, I'm guessing."

"They changed the deal. They wanted me to kill Sam."

"Really! Wow, demons untrustworthy. Shocker. That's, uh, kind of a tight deadline too- what time is it? Well, look at that, almost midnight."

"Y/N, listen, I need help," Bela says, crying.

"Sweetheart, we are weeks past help."

"I know I don't deserve it."

"You know what, you're right, you don't. But you know what the bitch of the bunch is? If you would have just come to us sooner and asked for help, we probably could have taken the Colt and saved you."

"I know, and saved yourself. I know about your deal, Y/N."

"And who told you that?" Y/N asks.

"The Demon that holds it. She holds mine too. She said she holds every deal."

"She?" Y/N asks.

"Her name's Lilith," Y/N frowns and looks to her brothers.

"Lilith?" The two look at her. "Why should I believe you?"

"You shouldn't but it's the truth."

"This can't help you, Bela, not now," Y/N sighs. "I'm gonna hang up now," Y/N says.

"No, no, wait!" Bela says, sniffing. "There's more. When she changed the deal, she told me things about you." Y/N freezes.

"Things? What kind of things?"

"About how you’re not like your brothers, how you're different. How like Sam, you too have an ability, given to you by accident from someone who saved you. How demons, kings, and heaven angels want you."

"What are you talking about?" Y/N asks, shaking her head. "Come on, there's gotta be more than that!"

"That's all she told me, I swear," Bela's voice breaks.

"Why are you telling me this?" Y/N asks, sighing. "Why tell me that at all?"

"Because just maybe you can kill the bitch. She talks of you as if she's afraid of you, so use her fear of you against her," Y/N nods, frowning.

"Goodbye, Bela. I'll see you in hell," Y/N hangs up, and Bela sits on the bed listening to the dial tone. She hangs up and takes a deep breath just as the clock clicks over to midnight, and exactly as the clock strikes midnight, a deep howling starts in the distance.

#supernatural #older sister winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #reader insert

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riacte · 4 years

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HBomb watching Grian’s world tour.

It’s like 1h 30mins long with the commentary. Here’s some highlights lol. Keep in mind most of this is paraphrased :P

*seeing Grian has 61 eps* Hermitcraft is nuts. They are so invested and talented.”

“Did they makes little railing things to send messages to each other? That’s the cutest thing ever. It’s like when you’re living on treehouses with your next door neighbour.” OK HBOMB WAIT TILL YOU SEE THE SEASON WHEN REN AND FALSE LITERALLY LIVE IN THE SAME AREA.

Grian, about the mansion: It’s lacking soul

H: WHERE??

H FREAKING OUT ABT STRESS’S BUTTERFLIES

About Grian’s chest monsters: “I’m starting to realize me and Grian have a lot in common.”

“You can give villagers dragon heads?”

He was stunned into silence by Scar’s Big Dig. For like fifteen seconds. Just gaping.

About the Big Dig: that’s more work by Scar than we put into Dream SMP

AND YEAH HE HASN’T EVEN SEEN THE SHOPPING DISTRICT???

About Mumbo’s base: “This is so beautiful”

H said people really under appreciate Minecraft grass and leaves. YEAH HE’S ON TEAM HEP LMAO.

He smiled so much at Grian and Mumbo’s shenanigans lol.

He screamed “ISKALL!” the moment the Omega Tree came into view. And he proudly told chat “I KNOW THAT GUY!”

H legit made the POG face when he saw Stress’ base. “I thought they all lived super far from each other.” “I know Stress too!! She’s on Vault Hunters!”

“I wanna see more of the dragonflies”

“Renpog renpog renpog? That’s my MCC9 Teammate”

About Ren: “he’s nuts”

About Ren’s Darth Vader base: “this would take me a full year to build”

AND THEN REN SAID “<3 <3 <3” in chat

“We love Ren in this chat. Ren’s out of his mind.”

Now he said Ren put in more effort than everyone on DSMP except Sam.

Grian: I struggle with terraforming

H: I struggle with everything compared to the Hermitcrafters.”

“It’s so crazy!” H said while massaging his head.

“Mumbo Baggins.”

“I forgot about Keralis! I haven’t watched him in so long.”

H also stared at Keralis’ build for ten seconds just making the Pog face.

“I can’t tell how big that is. 30 blocks or 300.”

“I feel like there’s always 40 people on the server.” Good try, H. Lol.

Grian fell down Keralis’ hotel’s elevator chute but flew himself to safety. “Grian’s at 3 hearts. Thank God’s he’s so good with an elytra.”

H about graffiti: “Oh I love this”

H saw the Keralis Bee in front of X’s base and instantly made the same face.

Grian admitted he doesn’t watch his friends.

H: as a content creator, it’s very awkward to watch your friends. 100%.

He said Etho was the first MCYT he fanboyed over aaaa

About Etho’s base: ohh it’s so cool

“I love that the beacon is going through the end crystal!”

About Wel’s base:

Grian: I don’t think he’s on very much

H: that’s more than I built in my lifetime

H confusedly squinting and peering at Zedaph’s base lmaoo

About Tango’s base: “that looks straight out of a Doctor Suess novel. I LOVE IT. I LOVE THESE TWO (Tango and Impulse’s) BUILDINGS.”

About Impulse’s base: the quartz and water combined look really cool

Grian, about Impulse’s base: is this mega?

H: y e s

Grian: no

H: that thing is freaking huge. I’ll say that’s mega. That’s huge. It’s mega.

Grian: it’s not mega

H: it goes down the water IT’S MEGA

H ARGUING WITH GRIAN ABOUT MEGA

H stared at Tango’s base for fifteen secs. “I love it. I love it. Chat, have I ever told you I love it.”

“Did he make an iron farm with ravagers?!”

Grian: I don’t know what I’m doing with farms

H: I don’t know what I’m doing 24/7

LMAO BOTH H AND GRIAN BEING CONFUSED BY TANGO’S PEASHOOTER CREEPER FARM

HE RECOGNIZED FALSE’S BASE AYYYY

“She’s nuts, chat”

“When I raid False, I ask my chat to ask her to show her base because it’s so freaking cool”

Grian: is False’s base mega

Grian: this is juuuuust mega

H, screaming: JUST? I’m gonna throw hands with Grian

H: LET’S TALK. CHAT.

Then he proceeded to talk about False’s water at the bottom of her base and how she had to place water sources and blocks (chat told him she used ice, but hey it’s the thought that counts)

“That’s insane, chat!! It’s so cool!”

“I’m ready to throw hands with Grian.”

He wanted to win the mega argument with Grian lol. “Hbomb VS Grian.”

“I actually don’t know what Grian looks like irl. He might beat me up.”

H stared at Cleo’s armour stands. “OHH THAT’S SICK!”

“WHY IS SHE ABLE TO MAKE BETTER MINECRAFT CREATURES THAN MOJANG. EXPLAIN.”

“I’m still mad at you on the megabase thing. Other than that, we’re good.”

He watched False make the Nether hub on Twitch.

Grian: X made this Nether build-

H: X gonna give it to ya

“Ren and False are just built differently.”

H’s face legit froze when he saw Cub’s base. And he bellowed “WHY?!”

H: size matters

“Link’s ready to throw hands with Grian” (Link is H’s dog)

“He managed to make our Targay look absolutely irrelevant.”

“Do you think they’ll let me on to play with them? Just for like, twenty minutes? 🥺👉👈”

“THAT IS DOPE!!”

“Walls made out of ancient debris. Jesus Christ. WHY?!”

Pomo, donation: impulse once raised his base by one block bcz he thought it looked better

H: oh no

“Imagine there was an ancient debris wall on the Dream SMP, chat. It would be there for an hour. Maybe two. Maybe.”

“Doc was another Minecracker”

He was so relieved when he saw Joe’s stuff lol. Since people can be “normal”.

About Mt. Goatmore: OHH THAT’S DOPE!

He went to a Bdubs meet up when he was in college. And had a photo and autograph of Bdubs and Gen.

“Yo that cliff is dope”

About Bdubs’ castle: I won’t be surprised if he used diamond blocks.

“I love how Bdubs use the nether wood trapdoors.”

He loved the anvil droppers thing and said he’s gonna steal the idea. He also mentioned Beef and Mindcrack.

H is such a HC stan now lol. AND HE WANTS TO PLAY THE HC MINIGAMES. PLEASE LET THE MAN ON. Also he’s gonna vibe so well with Grian. Not only do they have similar views in MCC but also in a lot of other things (don’t watch their friends, chest monsters, etc).

#hermitcraft #hbomb94 #mcyt #ria.txt #would tag more #but im tired

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

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Genji Heavy Industries (End) Turning Point

After all this way, we finally see the MC reach the turning point in her life.

If you’ve read this far, I thank you very much. I hope this has made you love the world of Dragon Raja

You could no longer see Caesar or Chu Zihang, but at this point, you weren’t looking. Your eyes were locked on Chisei Gen. Caesar’s final orders rang in your head like a command from Heaven. Your hands were caked in dried black blood. You were trembling with pain and fatigue, but that last brief surge of Blood Rage had revived your senses enough to stare at him, much like a cat would, eyes dilated and your body flexed. If he moved a muscle, you would draw your weapon.

Chisei watched the flames with resigned calmness however. He was tied firmly and his life was in Caesar and Chu Zihang’s hands just as much as yours was. “MC.” He said. “Where did you learn how to fight like that?”

He’s looking at you now, with the fire reflected in his eyes. His stare was confident. Even though he was asking a question, there was no question in those eyes. No curiosity. It was as if he were asking a question he already knew the answer to.

But how could he know the answer? The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You’d learned how to shoot and hand-to-hand combat from your training in Black Swan Bay. Your training in Black Swan Bay was mostly centered however on your Yanling, focusing your spiritual energy into the ground, learning the limits of your power, how much you could manipulate the earth without suffering physical effects… This was all ingrained into you in a way that bordered on lab experiments with each result meticulously recorded and logged. It was just constant testing and while you were being tested, you learned your power and how to control it.

But Chisei hadn’t seen you use any of that. What he had seen from his vantage point in the mural hall rafters was you, walking out after Caesar and Chu Zihang armed with nothing but the laser sight of a Soviet era rifle and a pistol which you used to bait a member of the Deadpool into attacking their own kind. He observed how closely you could read the actions of the deadpool and how you picked her targets to attack. He heard your giddy laughter echoing on the mural hall walls.

After that, he would have seen clearly how you fearlessly approached that deadpool after she was exhausted, shot her in the head and then used her severed claw as a knife. How you used the non-lethal bullets from your pistol like a fist. How you were using that claw as your only weapon to render these A-ranked super monsters as weak as worms. It was no wonder that he looked at you when he was using Majesty to subdue the deadly and left a few living ones in his trail of mass destruction for you to kill. He had wanted to observe you close up.

When you don’t answer immediately he turns back to observe the fire. “Among the Hydra we have a name for that fighting technique you’re using. It’s called “God’s Eyes”. The heart of God’s Eyes is to subdue the enemy by your understanding of their movements and by your complete control of the battlefield. According to those that describe it, it takes at least a decade to approach mastery of elements of this technique. But you have mastered all of it and you’re so young. I’ve never seen anyone use God’s Eyes like you. You had to have learned from a master… but there are no masters of this technique. Only a few books that reference it or reference other works that describe it. It’s a technique that’s lost to history.”

“There’s only one man I know who can use God’s Eye on your level. And that’s Hilbert Ron Anjou. But you two just met a few weeks ago. Right?”

His eyes watch your face, but you nod, completely innocent, and his eyes narrowed to slits. You just stare back at him. He finally sighs. Whatever theory he may have had about where you learned your technique collapsed.

“Anjou can clear a room with just his pocket knife. Just like you. I don’t know anyone else who can do that.”

You do, of course, but disclosing that involves your deepest secrets and given the huge deadpool tank you found at the bottom of Genji Heavy Industry, you can be excused for not exactly trusting this man with secrets about your past. “Perhaps after this is over, we can talk more. Over sake?” You ask, taking a page from Caesar’s book.

“I would like that.” He sighed again. “I would also like to know how someone like you ended up with these people from Cassell?”

“I ask myself that every day.” Your lips quirk upward.

This was the first time you actually had a moment to sit and talk with Chisei Gen one on one and it actually wasn’t that hard. It took your mind off your pain enough for you to crack a little joke. Chisei lowers his eyes and, much to your delight, he chuckles and your smile grows.

“For my last moments, if these are my last moments… I suppose I could have worse company then these weirdos. My only regret is that Lu Mingfei isn’t here. But knowing him…” You roll your eyes to the ceiling, imagining him flapping his arms and squawking about how much danger you were in. “...nah, I'll take that back. What I really regret is that if we don't make it out of here, he’ll have lost all his friends. I know how that feels. I don’t want him to feel that.”

You rest your head against the wall of the elevator and gaze out into the flames. “Looking back, my life is very odd. Even if you ask me a thousand questions about myself, I wonder if I would even be able to answer a single one. Simple things like… where were you born… Who are your parents? Where did you go to school…?” Your voice trails off. After a moment's thought, you shrug.

Chisei looks at you, silent.

A burst of gunfire and a sudden sharp explosion made you squeak and flinch! This was it, you think, this was the end. Was it really going to end this way? Caesar’s last order was to make sure that Chisei Gen did not touch the elevator door, but he also told you to stop seeking death! You only had your miserable little peashooter pistols, your miserable little claw and your miserable little knife and your miserable laser pointer.

You were suddenly struck with a sudden and intense desperation like nothing you’d ever felt.

You force yourself up to your feet while Chisei Gen sits there astounded. “What are you doing?” Chisei shouts.

Your voice is choked off as you stagger toward the elevator door, groaning with intense pain, but this fierce determination drives you forward. Chisei can now see the full view of your ruined back, your skin-tight combat suit is torn to ribbons where the Deadpool’s claws sank deep into muscle tissue.

Caesar and Chu Zihang were visible again! Caesar held two Sten submachine guns with both hands and Chu Zihang had one. The two back to back were using the bullet screen to suppress the group of deadpool while moving slowly in the direction of the elevator shaft. The group of deadpool that had been overturned by the shockwave of the explosion regrouped, their hideous golden eyes surrounding Caesar and Chu Zihang, the bullets repeatedly knocking them to the ground as they repeatedly straightened up and charged forward. The only thing that protects them is the bullet screen in front of them, and once the screen disappears the group of deadpool will pounce and bite.

You stand in the door, a silhouette in the light of the flame, shoving a magazine into your pistol. Your black hair is being pulled by the intense flaming winds like you were standing right in the breath of a massive creature. You finally relent. You finally gave in. You finally believe the last words of your friend. You finally believe the words of Caesar and the eyes of Chu Zihang.

You have to live!

The pale red columns collapsed one by one. The hot wind and black smoke rampaged through the hall, the frescoes curled in the fire, and the painted dragons and snakes finally flew away in the black ash.

The two rival men were fighting back to back, and the group of deadpool were getting closer and closer, so close that Caesar once passed the barrel of his gun into the deadpool’s open mouth before shooting it out. Chu Zihang stuck his sword and Onimaru in front of him, so if a deadpool got too close he would draw his blade and force it back, and then pick up his gun and fire. But sooner or later the bullets will run out, just like a man holding a torch to scare the wolves would eventually see that torch go out.

So you wait, watching them, hand on your pistol, observing the battlefield with God’s Eyes! You knew how many pieces of ammunition you had and, from your observation of Caesar’s reloading, you could make an estimate of how much he had left. When you determined that they were close to being out of ammo, you raised your pistols and opened fire!

The staccato rhythm of your pistols is like the rhythmic hits of a boxer’s gloves. The bullets strike the sensitive areas of the beasts, their eyes, their open wounds, their burns. They hiss and flinch as though being stung by a sudden swarm of bees. You drop the empty magazine and reload and shoot again and again and again, cursing them with the deepest and blackest of words.

Each bullet was precious, like a drop of life’s blood. You couldn’t waste a single one. You watched the behavior of these monsters. If they reached for your friends, your bullets stung them like the whip of a ringmaster before vicious tigers. If there was even a possibility that they might think twice about doing it again, your quick and painful punishment gave them pause. If they hesitated, you rewarded them by not shooting them. But if they looked ready to pounce you shot them where it hurt.

Your support is just enough to turn the tide. The resistance of the deadpool falters and this time it doesn’t recover. If they rise up they’re either hit by the two men and if they’re not hit by the two men, they’re hit by the pistol fire.

A strange noise like the pop and snap of firewood shifts your focus and your pistol swivels and points at Chisei. “Stay Down!” You roar.

Chisei’s face is a mask of pain. His body was writhing strangely, his joints were all dislocated, and the bones moved independently of each other. It was like his arms had turned into spaghetti!

“I said stay down!” You lower your pistol to his ankle and pull the trigger.

Click. Your eyes widen.

Chisei smirks. “You’re out of bullets. It’s okay…” He grunts. “I’m not going to run. If they want blood…” He gasped. “I’ll give them blood.” Before you could comprehend what was happening, he suddenly freed himself from his restraints by wiggling out of his shirt. His bare chest looks like an ugly bag of broken bones! He cut himself across the wrist with Dojigiri, staining the white fabric of his shirt red. He stood up and walked to the elevator entrance and threw the shirt into the fire.

With that last act, Chisei Gen completely collapsed. You tried to catch him but the action pulled at your wounds and you both went down to the floor. Both you and he had given your all. You let him fall to the floor and just tried to annoy them with your laser pointer while you grit your teeth, but the Deadpool had a far more tantalizing target in mind already. You realize what’s happening, but you can’t pull the unconscious Chisei back into the elevator. You’re so choked with smoke and exhaustion you can’t even call for help.

"What's going on?" Caesar couldn't believe his eyes, the smoking muzzle points to the ground. The guns in his right and left hands stopped firing, but still no monsters pounced on him.

They were about to run out of bullets when the swarm of deadpool suddenly withdrew from them and scrambled to slither up to a corner of the hall. A minute ago they were still a seasoned suckling pig roasting in the fire, and now they suddenly turned into a disgusting slop, and the whole group just left.

"Hurry! Run!" Chu Zihang yelled.

Caesar suddenly woke up. Tight now they do not have time to think about the rationality of this miracle. The fire burning C4 explosives may explode at any time. It was still too early to celebrate. They simultaneously took off running. They shed off every entangling weight, taking off their heavy windbreakers, which still had scattered firearms and bullets in them. There was a loud bang and a searing wind behind them. It was some piece of C4 explosive behind the shaded wall that had exploded. It was so powerful that it completely took the wall down.

The first thing he saw when he cleared the smoke was you struggling with Chisei in the elevator door. His fury spurred him faster. He was coming at you like a raging bull. You couldn’t even begin to explain! Caesar didn't hesitate to pull the trigger, and blood exploded from Chisei’s calf.

“Caesar!” Your voice is a useless squeak. Caesar had grabbed Chisei and unceremoniously tossed him like luggage back into the car.

Chu Zihang picked you up and hit the door close button on his way in.

The pain woke up Chisei and he was just about to struggle to sit up when Caesar rushed into the elevator and threw a straight punch at his face.

“Stop…” Your voice is just a hiss, and you realized that you’ve completely lost your voice. Perhaps the heat, the dry air, and your screaming in pain had ruined your vocal cords.

The chain of explosions had already begun. Blinding sun-like lights are lighting up the corners of the hall as waves of hot air swept through at speeds that exceeded those of a hurricane, setting other blocks of explosives ablaze. The old freight elevator squeaked and closed with difficulty, and with a few centimeters left in the doorway, a hot air stream a few centimeters wide burrowed into the elevator, a bright red that ignited the remaining files in the car. But the elevator door finally closed.

It slowly sank into the elevator shaft, and a few seconds later there was a heavenly explosion from above, and a bright wave of air rushed into the elevator shaft, throwing the burning corpses of the deadpool into the void. The snake shadows burned in the fire, their fat dissolved, until gradually the bronze skeletons were revealed. These tyrannical creatures finally were cut off from life, and as they died they gathered around a shirt and shredded it..

As the freight elevator rumbled down, Caesar stomped hard on the burning documents, and then lay down exhausted on the file box, and kicked at Chisei’s face.

“Stop it!” You hiss. But Chu Zihang held you tight and you were far worse off than he was. Turned out that weird period style armor had actually protected him quite a bit. You dug your nails into him but he didn’t even flinch.

Chisei said nothing, powerlessly wrapping a cloth band around the wrist wound. He had cut an artery, and soaked at least a fifth of the blood in his body into the shirt. He made his shirt irresistible to the monsters. The result was that he couldn't even stand up. Caesar wasted no time, tying him up even tighter.

You’re breathing a bit easier now. Instinctively, you take deeper breaths. As your adrenaline lowers, fatigue crashes again like a weighted blanket. Breathing now became agony, but with no voice, no one could hear you moaning. There’s just the strange whistling noise, like the soft whine of a little dog.

"What do we do with this guy?" Caesar pointed at Chisei with the Desert Eagle.

You don’t even lift your head.

"It's naturally best if we can take him prisoner. But it's hard to leave Genji Heavy Industries by ourselves in this situation, and it's even harder to take him away." Chu Zihang said. He tilts his head down to look at you. “She doesn’t seem to want any harm to come to him.”

"How about using him as a hostage threat? There is no way the Yakuza would give up the precious Emperor, right?"

"It's hard to make sure we're not followed, Tokyo is the Hydra Yakuza's home turf, and we won’t be able to escape it no matter how much we run.”

"It seems the best way is to shoot this guy. Sooner or later the Academy and the Hydra family will have to go to war, such a precious weapon can not be left in the hands of the other side. Anyway, his body is flowing with dragon blood, I have to kill him as a dragon slayer!" Caesar pulled the bolt and loaded the gun.

No way! Caesar hadn’t killed anyone this whole time! And now that you’ve come this far and you had fought beside Chisei and he’d saved all your lives, he was going to kill him?

You jerk against Chu Zihang and try to sink your teeth into him. His strong arm tightens. He whispers so softly you can barely hear it. “It’s a bluff.”

In a moment of silence, you hear something else sigh.

There were only four people in the elevator, and you heard a fifth breath!

The side wall of the elevator car suddenly caves in! Before Caesar had time to react, the monstrous bony claws penetrated the sidewall and plunged into Chisei’s ribs from behind! Blood rained down like a fountain on the sneak attacker's face as it let out an ear-piercing scream of joy!

Even Caesar was stunned when he saw the Deadpool, even though they had just stepped out of the hordes of Deadpool that were trying to kill him. This Deadpool was so amazing. It was more than twice the size of the others! The longest of them was over five meters, the shortest was only about three meters, and their upper bodies were about the same size as a human, gradually getting thinner and longer below the waist, before finally taking on the shape of a snake. But this monstrosity is more than eight meters long. Its abdomen is bloated, like a pregnant queen ant. It dragged this overly deformed lower body upward but fell down, so it had just arrived at the mural hall. It became the only survivor. It was attracted by the smell of Chisei's blood and recklessly tore through the elevator car..

This deadpool had the face of a middle-aged woman, and her face was not as pale as the other deadpool. Instead, it was rosy and lustrous, like a woman who had become rounded in pregnancy. Caesar took a glance at its abdomen and suddenly understood. Its snow-white, scaleless abdomen had snake tail-like traces shining through. This was really a pregnant Deadpool and a pregnant deadpool could only give birth to those more fearsome than itself, because the fetal dragon blood would be purer. The fetuses also seem to have felt the freshness of the blood of Chisei and are stirring in the mother's body.

What had been suspected all along was confirmed, the Deadpool was capable of producing offspring, and this bloated, deformed mother's womb was breeding devils!

The Deadpool clung to Chisei, licking the blood excitedly. Chisei clung on to the handrail to keep from being dragged into the elevator shaft. Deadpool's bloated body weighing hundreds of kilograms hangs below the elevator by that single grip.

Chu Zihang presses his hand firmly on your mouth. You wanted to scream in rage, pure frustration and despair. But the monster hadn’t noticed you at all yet. You were too weak to fight this thing. You all were. You said ‘no more sacrifices’ but now you really had no more to give but yourselves, and this monster wanted Chisei. You could get away scot free if you left him behind.

Caesar tried to aim several times in the process of raising his gun, but he had no chance of hitting Deadpool, who was hiding behind Chisei. If he fired, he would first have to injure him, and it was unknown whether the force of the bullet could do that and injure the deadpool. He just fired a shot at Chisei but now he needs to shoot him again. But Chisei is extremely pale from blood loss. He originally had a feminine beauty, and now he looks like a dying girl. His soul is leaving his pale body. If he suffered another gunshot wound, Chisei could certainly die.

This world was so black, so dark, that the minute you started to believe that perhaps Caesar could be right and you could live and you could live with all your friends, that scythe of death came to collect its taxes on your happiness. You hated this world, you hated this life!

Deadpool licked the back of Chisei’s neck with her long tongue. Her sharp teeth are seeking the veins in his neck as she begins to give birth to her babies. The green and white snake-like fetuses fell one by one.

At this time there was a "thump" sound above the elevator, and the speed of the elevator's descent suddenly increased. The elevator filled with boxes of documents was close to the upper limit of the load. The weight of the giant deadpool plus the four of you exceeded the limits of the elevator, not to mention that it was running in the fragile track after the earthquake. It was slamming into the depths of the elevator shaft at an accelerating rate, at which point the Deadpool would of course be smashed to death, and the four of you would invariably be buried with her.

"Shoot!" Chisei yelled with his last strength.

You watched Caesar look into the eyes of Chisei in surprise.

"Shoot me! Hit me in the neck! Its head is right back there!" Chisei spurted out a mouthful of blood.

Caesar gritted his teeth fiercely. He was ready to shoot.

But his fingers were trembling, it was as if the blackness of the world had surrounded him and was pressing in on him, closing in and laughing, mocking him. You stood in that darkness and you could offer no answer. After all, what mercy had the world ever offered you?

A mere few days ago, you wouldn’t hesitate to reasonably make the judgment that sacrificing one person can save everyone, and it's worth doing. But now you stared at Caesar and shook your head. You didn’t want to live in a world without his justice.

You take your bronze claw dagger and stab it into Chu Zihang’s side! Caesar turns at his gasp of pain. You rise up like a lioness to seize Caesar’s wrist and push it upward, pointing the Desert Eagle in the air. You’re face to face with him and bare your teeth.

"’Never leave a friend’ is your justice.” You force the words through your dead vocal cords. Your eyes stare into his eyes and they’re cold and black as the ice sea. “I live for your justice and I will die for your justice!"

Caesar stares for a moment and, for that moment, the cheeks on either side of his face grow gradually pink.

Chisei suddenly smiled. He rarely smiles. His smile is surprisingly beautiful.

"Gattuso-kun, in fact, I have thought about being ...... friend of justice." Chisei let go of the handrail and was instantly sucked into the void outside the elevator car.

Caesar barely prevented you from plunging out there with him in your effort to stop him. He threw you back against the door of the elevator. Your vision exploded into sparks and for a moment you couldn’t move.

“Chu Zihang!”

The elevator suddenly stopped, pressing you to the floor. You blink your eyes open. Caesar and Chu Zihang are gathered by the hole in the elevator wall, shoulder to shoulder. They weren't moving, in fact, they were grunting with great effort. They were backing up from the gap and in their hands was the rope. The rope that he’d tied Chisei up in was being pulled up back into the elevator and attached to that rope was Chisei!

You gasp and crawl forward. He was unconscious, pale like death. His sword was stuck through him, front to back, but he was alive. He was still alive. Caesar looks down at you, but oddly doesn’t meet your eyes. He looks shy, almost embarrassed?

“We need to find a way out of here.” Chu Zihang, ever practical, hands you the claw dagger back. You stare at it a moment and then tuck it in your belt to let Caesar carry you out.

Together, you climb out of the elevator and into the darkness of the shaft, until you take a rest on the beam. Caesar is puffing on a cigar. You’re sitting in Caesar’s lap like a child. Exhausted, you’re turning the bronze colored claw dagger over and over in your hands, watching the play of light on it.

You all sit in silence like this for an hour.

Your head was burning and you felt numb and yet, deep down, the arctic ice that had held onto your soul since waking up at Cassell was starting to fracture and the summer sun was beginning to rise. You rest your head against Caesar’s chest and look up into his eyes.

He lets out a puff of smoke. “You’re not going to fall for me, are you?”

Your eyes narrow and then you huff. “No. I was just thinking…You weren’t going to let me die from the moment we met, right? You stinker.”

Caesar tapped the ash over the edge of the beam. “So you finally get it.”

“Uh huh. I’ll always miss my friends.” Your lip trembles a bit but you once again control it. “But… I think… with you… That’s okay.”

Caesar bit his cigar and grinned. “Glad to hear it.”

You lower your eyes to Chu Zihang who had been tending to his own injuries and was now working on Chisei’s many wounds, while he rested on the beam. “Sorry, I stabbed you.”

“It was impressive.”

You laugh, unsure of how to respond to that.

The building was chock full of Hydra operatives now. You couldn’t leave the elevator shaft yet. They were probably all looking for Chisei so you had to wait for him to wake up.

Chisei started to stir under Chu Zihang’s medical care. Caesar carefully settled you against the wall of the shaft and catwalked over to stare down into Chisei’s eyes. He pulled the last cigarette from his pocket, stuck it in Chisei’s mouth and lit it, the fire illuminating the man’s pupils. Chisei struggled for a moment but he was still in pain and tightly bound.

"The emperor hybrid is really different, huh. A serious wound like harakiri only took an hour to heal. I want to have such a good body.." Caesar moved the lighter closer to his face and illuminated it to Chisei, showing his healing injury. In the next moment, he’d kicked Chisei off the beam. The rope pulled taut where the end was tied and Chisei Gen hung from it.

"Won't you consider untying me?" Gen Chisei smiled bitterly, "It's a little inconvenient to smoke and hang from a rope."

"Not quite. With someone of your low integrity, I still can't believe you. The minute I untie you, you’ll assault us again.." Caesar gripped his cigar, "Let’s just have a good conversation."

"Is the family style of the famous hybrid Gattuso family that shameless?" Chisei exhaled a puff of smoke.

"You call this shameless?" Caesar shrugged, "If you think this is shameless, you haven't met my studly old man." After a few seconds of silence Caesar mumbled. "Sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for. At the time I really wanted to escape and leave all you behind. I'm not a friend of justice. I've done a lot of bad things, I've killed people."

"Ghosts?" Chu Zihang asked.

"We call them Ghosts, but they are actually the same hybrid species as us, only more likely to become deadly." Chisei whispered, "To some extent all of us are ghosts."

"The mural is ruined, but we took pictures. Although you do not want us to, we have to take these pictures. The Academy and the Hydra are now in a hostile relationship, and now that the Deadpool group is also finished, your cooperation with us is over, and we all revert to hostile relations." Caesar took a drag on his cigar.

You listen to the conversation and your heart is surprisingly calm when you hear that you won’t be seeing Chisei any time soon. Chisei looks up at you. “I guess we’ll have to make plans for sake later?”

Caesar gives you a look of sharp disbelief.

You stick your tongue out at him. “I meant it as a lady.” But you offer no further explanation. It wasn’t his business.

"Then you have to leave quickly, with my recovery speed, this rope won’t hold me for long.." Chisei smiled again.

"You can’t fool me. This rope can tether an elephant. I also tied it with a sailor knot, so the more you struggle, the tighter it will get. Your body is not as strong as we thought. You super hybrids are slightly stronger than us, but your bones and muscles can not be compared with a real dragon. You might be worse than those deadpool but the minute you release your Yanling you’re defenseless. In short, you're strong, but not necessarily without flaws." Caesar sneered.

"Well, well you guys see through me. What do you want to do with me?"

"It was too difficult to take you away, and, in the end, I decided to leave you here. Your men are looking all over the building for you, but they didn't expect you to be hanging in the middle of the elevator shaft just yet. Seriously, I think that Assistant Sakura likes you a lot, don't you?" Caesar waved his cigar.

"I'm not getting a girlfriend until I leave Japan, and isn't it a bit much to ask a woman like her to give up her life to go to France with me to sell sunscreen?"

"Isn’t that exactly like leaving behind your status as the head of the big family to go to France?"

"I am a person who has done a lot of evil. My hands are stained with the blood of many ghosts, fleeing to France to settle down would be good, I am not going to France, I’m trying to escape." Chisei said leisurely.

"You said you also want to be a friend of justice?" Caesar raised an eyebrow.

"Everyone wants to be a friend of justice when they are children." Chisei said faintly.

"Are you mocking me for still being stuck in a child's state?" Caesar gave Chisei a poke and sent him spinning.

You giggle. It hurt but that struck you as funny.

“What are you laughing at?” Caesar smiles at you.

You reply "Friends of Justice are the words from Ultraman, a cartoon for kids."

"Ultraman?"

"Superman who came to Earth from the universe to help Earthlings fight alien monsters. The heir of the Gattuso family should not have seen that kind of thing. We all watched it when we were kids. In elementary school, kids could be seen discussing which Ultraman was more powerful and saving their lunch money to buy plastic models of Ultraman. Did you do this MC?”

“No,” you chuckle. “I was a Sailor Moon fan. And James Bond fan.”

“Ah…” Chisei sighs. “Ultraman said his fans are friends of justice. We are friends of Ultraman, so we are also friends of justice. The more powerful monsters will be defeated by the friends of justice. Every episode they say that, so as children, we are convinced." Chisei mumbled slyly, "One year school performance, I went on stage to sing the theme song of Ultraman, I still remember the tune ......"

"Beep beep beep,

lots of monsters.

Look behind you,

beasts through the street there,

just to your left and right.

Can't get enough, can't get enough.

Fly one foot and hit three low,

don't presume to fly away.

Who comes from the universe to fight for freedom?

Who will be faithful to defend the world?

It is you, the great friend of justice!"

You clap your hands. “You have a good voice, Chisei.”

This scene is really weird. The big head of the Japanese yakuza and the only emperor hybrid hanging in mid-air singing the theme song of "Ultraman". The heir of the Gattuso family, Caesar Gattuso and A+ blood Chu Zihang, and you, the S-ranked young woman, are his audience. Everyone should have laughed, but no one did. All of you had childhoods that were long gone, and you paid respects to them the same as you would a long dead ancestor.

The song ended and Caesar clapped his hands.

"But I didn't become a friend of justice, I became the bad guy." Chisei said softly, "My friends are bad people. Yasha turned out to be a street fighter. Crow is a loan shark organization's strong man. Sakura is a killer. And I have done a lot more bad things than you can imagine. You might think the Japanese executive bureau is here to maintain order. But more often, it all just ends in bloodshed.. The mob is like this. In this business only violence speaks. The ones who are the most violent are the loudest. We live by doing evil. We belong to a family. We must be loyal to it. For the benefit of the family, we may strike at the innocent. For the benefit of the family we can sacrifice our companions or ourselves. Everyone can be sacrificed so that more people can live a good life. This world is so cruel. I am not Hikari Ultraman.I can not save everyone. If doing evil can make my people live a better life, then I am willing to become a bad guy."

"Bad people can become good, but bad things will never become right." Caesar said.

Chisei made the effort to give Caesar a look, "At your age you can still say such things, Gattuso-kun. I envy you."

"Is that another Japanese style taunt?"

"No, people who strongly believe in justice are happy people." Chisei said softly.

Caesar was silent for a long time and raised his eyebrows: "What a bitter thing to say. But there's no time for your bitterness, I hear footsteps approaching, it's your people looking for you, right?"

"Goodbye then, have a good trip." Chisei said.

"The next time we meet, we'll be enemies again. Can't we say some warm and fuzzy goodbyes?"

"Don't get involved in this. Leave Japan if you can, this is not something you can get involved in."

"That kind of bullshit might as well be Saying Sayonara.”

"Sayonara." Chisei said softly.

"Sayonara." Caesar said, "People who could have been friends end up like this. The world isn't cruel. It’s Bullshit.”

You stare down at Chisei. You want to say something, but you feel like you and Chisei were strangely similar. You were both violent people and trained to be so from an early age. You both felt similarly when Caesar spouted on about justice and being right and good in a world that was cruel.

“Chisei… please don’t give up…” You whisper, but your voice is still hoarse.

“Come on, girl, he’s not worth your time.” Caesar once again lifts you up on his shoulders like a child and starts to climb. But you look over his shoulder. You and Chisei lock eyes as he hangs there in the void and you keep looking at each other until you’re both out of sight.

#Dragon Raja

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pinnithin-writes · 4 years

Text

Hardly An Apology

Written after 417 aired. 2093 words.

There was still blood on Pleck’s face.

This wasn’t necessarily a problem exclusive to him. They were all a little bloodied, a little shell-shocked, a little worn out. The entire crew had been put through the ringer, atoms arranging and rearranging in rapid succession as the Dame took them on a ride through time. On her last day alive, too. That was nice of her.

Lately, Pleck had thought a lot about what he was going to do on his last day alive. Y’know, after he’d learned about the whole “throw yourself into the Allwheat” thing. He’d tried to stay optimistic about it - he wasn’t exactly a master problem solver, but he hadn’t resigned himself to oblivion just yet, poking at the dilemma from different angles as he tried to find another way out.

Late at night, with the eldritch thing whispering to him, he had to admit his fate was hard to ignore.

He stood at the bathroom sink, mechanically rinsing the blood from his mouth and nose, avoiding his own reflection. He knew he needed a shave. He knew he needed to comb his hair. The chores of self-maintenance piled up as the days bled together in a meaningless smear while Seesu’s campaign spun its wheels. At least they’d finally gained some traction today.

No thanks to him. Sometimes, Pleck wasn’t even sure why he came on the missions for all the good he did them. He lacked Dar’s confidence. C-53’s intellect. Even AJ, headstrong and fearless, pushed them toward their goal with his actions. What did Pleck do? Well, lately, he just sort of hung around.

A favor for Dar, really. They had asked him to be there, to be him, so Dar could effectively be Dar . And because Dar had asked, Pleck had done it. He owed Dar a hundred favors for how many times they’d saved his sorry skin.

He cut the water off. Dried his face with a towel and let out the ghost of a laugh - a short, humorless exhale through his nose. It sounded louder than it had any right to be in the silence of the bathroom, with only the buzzing fluorescent light overhead to keep him company.

Pleck had been promoted today. Second Lieutenant. Or, Lieutenenant, he guessed. A rank and a job, given out of what, sympathy? Kindness? It didn’t matter, really. Turns out he’d repaid that kindness with a blaster shot to the brain.

Coming back to Bargie after all of that was a nauseating experience. He grimaced at the memory as he hung the towel up to dry. They all had a bad habit of putting up humorous walls around themselves when they were uncomfortable, grasping at distractions, latching onto funny details like they were lifelines in a stormy sea. Making jokes was something they knew how to do, something they were good at, something grounding. It anchored them, but anchors were oh so heavy.

Yeah, keep it tight! Great slogan! Great pants! Great job! Good one, guys!

They still watched someone die right in front of them. And then watched another someone pass on moments later. A one-two punch to the gut. Nothing a couple good jokes couldn’t fix, right?

A brief moment passed where Pleck thought he was going to lose the contents of his stomach, slapping a hand against the bathroom wall to brace himself as the vertigo twisted his gut. He saw it on the backs of his eyelids when he blinked. The zing of blaster fire, smashing in a starburst against Dar’s body. They were dead before they hit the ground.

His fault. Just like everything else.

He pulled in a shaky breath, managing to fight down the nausea. Rodd, he’d been mid-apology when it happened, too, as part of owning up to his long and exhaustive list of mistakes. It didn’t matter that he’d pulled the trigger years ago, when he was someone else entirely. It was still something he needed to make amends for. “Sorry I shot you,” he’d meant to tell Dar. “It was wrong and I feel terrible.”

Now what was he going to say? Sorry I killed you and left your body in the mud? Sorry you had to watch yourself die and then clean up my mess?

Guilt crawled into Pleck’s throat and settled there. He tugged his robe tighter around his torso, a self-soothing habit he’d developed over the past few months, and exited the bathroom. Instead of wandering down the hall to his closet, his feet carried him in the other direction to the adjacent room. He heaved open the door and flicked on the light, greeted by the gentle hum of the air unit and a distinct rise in humidity as he stepped inside.

The memory of the thick air on Flerp smacked him in the mouth and he had to take a second to lean back against the door. Calm down, calm down, he told his racing heart. You’re in the hydroponics room. Aboard the Bargarean Jade. You’re not on a distant planet in a downpour watching your friend die. He rubbed the heel of his hand into his good eye and pulled in a steadying breath.

It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re all okay.

That was it, right? Why he felt so wrong about it all. Like he didn’t have permission to grieve. There was nobody to grieve - Dar was with them on the ship now, and Dar was with them on the ship in the past, and everything had turned out alright. It was fine, they had a laugh, and they went about their business.

Pleck still felt shitty, though. He tried to swallow past the guilt in his throat.

He pushed off from the door and padded to the first rack of grow trays. He’d been coming in here a lot lately, having nothing to do around the ship. The warmth of the air and the moisture it held made him think of warm summer rains back on his home planet. Pleck remembered walking barefoot out in the grass fields as a kid, feeling the soft give of the soil under his toes as he watched the irrigation structure crawl a lazy track across the farm.

This room wasn’t exactly like that, but he did often go without shoes in here. More for nostalgic purposes than anything. The smooth metal flooring still felt nice on the soles of his feet, warm from the blaze of the grow lights. The system in here was automated, racks of machinery operating the whole process without any assistance needed from a sentient. There was no possible way Pleck could have jucked this one up.

Just like he’d-

He’d-

Pleck shook his head to clear it, focusing on the hum of the fan and the gentle sway of the plants in front of him. It made him feel a little homesick, actually, following the little seedlings to maturation. These were mostly leafy greens - butter lettuce, romaine, some spinach, a few varieties of cabbage - kept in the dark as they germinated for a few days within a square plug of peat moss and polymer. Watching the mechanical arms rotate the baby sprouts from the darkness to the light was hypnotic, and Pleck often found himself passing hours in here without realizing it.

It made him feel useful, even if he wasn’t really doing anything, making a slow circuit of the room and checking on the plants. Pinching off dead leaves where they appeared, refilling the nitrogen caddy, checking the roots for rot, harvesting and bagging the vegetables for the fridge later. Mindless, repetitive motions that slowed his pulse and passed the time.

He needed to be here right now.

Pleck tended the greens, grounding himself in a tactile comfort as he tentatively turned over the day’s events in his head. He skirted around the time stuff - it hurt just thinking about it and he preferred his feet planted firmly in the present - instead uttering a small prayer for the passing of Adelaide Wiggles. The last of her species. The Memorex had died with her, slumped to the cobalt floor of a crumbling mansion. Dignified, somehow, despite the biscuits clattering across the floor as she fell.

She’d looked her end in the eye and greeted it jauntily. Pleck wished he had that kind of resolve.

Watching the Dame’s life gently snuffed out like candlelight, while quite sad, was much easier to focus on than the other thing that gnawed at him. The thing he had done. It lodged in his neck like an extra set of teeth. He traced a fingertip over the gentle arc of a lettuce leaf, wondering if that had been the one to pull the trigger.

Pleck didn’t make a habit of firing guns, not past the old peashooter his father used to let him borrow as a kid. Sometimes they’d go out after X-Marse to the ditch behind the farmhouse and shoot bottles off the broken fridge that had lain there rusting for years. A rare treat. A Rangus vacation. Pleck smiled softly to himself at the memory as he plucked off a sick leaf and discarded it.

A blaster was different, though. It held all the kick and the power needed to kill a sentient, and in a blind panic, Pleck had done exactly that. It had happened so long ago he didn’t even really remember what it felt like, but he did just watch it happen, the stock hammering into his ribcage because he was holding it wrong. He at least remembered the purple bruise that had bloomed there afterward. Taken two weeks to heal.

How selfish he’d been. How utterly ignorant. The fact that his cowardice had gotten Dar killed snagged in his brain like a fishhook.

He stopped in his tracks in front of a healthy grow tray, pressing a trembling hand to his mouth.

He’d really done that, hadn’t he?

Killed Dar.

His captain, his friend, unshakeable in their confidence. That powerful solar flare of a being, all loud words and bold decisions and unstoppable will. Barreling through life like a freight train. And they cared about Pleck even when Pleck didn’t care about Pleck. One infinitesimal moment and they were dead.

Second Lieutenenant. Please. If he had a badge he’d turn it in.

The sob that escaped his chest was more of a thin sigh, rolling over him like one of those summer Rangus storms. His shoulders curled up and he pressed his hand harder against his mouth, as if he could hold the emotion in. He was so sick of having breakdowns in here. It was his cry spot of choice, the ventilation fan just loud enough to keep Bargie from overhearing, and he’d lost track of how many times the Allwheat’s record scratch of a voice had knocked Pleck’s feet out from under him.

He sucked in a shuddering breath through his nose, blinking away the burning in his eye. Dar wouldn’t want him crying over this. He had no right to be crying over this. He wasn’t the one who watched themself die today. Dar alone held that privilege - they were the only one who’d actually done anything about it, stepping up and taking charge, as was their nature, while Pleck stood there uselessly, as was his.

First Beano, now this. Pleck had to start keeping a tally of the friends he’d killed. Another joke for the crew to anchor themselves with. Who was next? C-53? AJ? Watch out, guys. Pleck’s coming for you.

He stood there, trembling in the misty room while the guilt soaked him to the bone, knowing he could never make this right. Dar had already done that for him.

Minutes passed, and the tension eventually ebbed from his shoulders. His breathing evened out. The greens in front of him bobbed passively on their trays of water, up-down-up-down, gentle like his heart. Letting out a long, slow exhale, he leaned his head against the cool aluminum of the hydroponics structure. He was grateful for this room full of life after the death he’d witnessed today.

Maybe one day they could talk this over. Maybe he’d find the impossible words needed for this insurmountable apology. And they could laugh about it, for real, full and genuine and from the heart. For now, though, he needed to hide himself away in this sanctuary, entombed ever so softly by the humid air and the swaying leaves. He couldn’t face them just yet.

“I’m so sorry, Dar,” he whispered to the empty room.

I’m so sorry.

#ink #fanfiction #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #can you tell this episode fucked me up #once again apologies to everyone tracking the mtz tag #mission to zyxx

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candlestyx · 3 years

Text

Getting acquainted with a Lexacon

She caught my eye one fateful afternoon in Limsa Lominsa, a strikingly beautiful Miqo’te standing alone by the docks, her white hair gently swaying in the ocean breeze, looking ahead like in a dream. I couldn’t help myself but to walk up to her and ask her who she was, because in a crowded place like Limsa someone of her beauty sticking out is someone I really need to know.

I approached her slowly and in a calm, controlled voice, I yelped, “Hiiii I’m Candle so nice to meet you! You come here often!” and I bit my lip in embarrassment. She turned to me and let out a simple “hi”. I asked for her name and was met with a slow and unaware “Lexa”, blissfully unaware of her surroundings. I was....smitten, to say the least. She was wearing a red tube top and baseball hat and baggy pants, and she looked like she was going too or from some sort of raving danceathon. Not to be defeated, I attempted to woo her into conversation.

“I have this little friend here, you see. It’s an abroader otter. He likes to fish and he’s home here in Limsa! You may have him for a pet, he really likes pretty kitties!” I said, nervously. She turned her head and her eyes lit up at the little guy, and I felt I really made a connection! She accepted the gift and nodded to me. I had to keep this going. “So, Miss Lexa, Would you maybe like to hang out? Go see a show or an adventure or something?” I was nervously twitching so bad I may have accidentally hit her with my elbow. Hard. Right in the belly. She gave me a really dark sneer and had me aback, I may have blown it! Instead, she responds with “Come with me I need to kill something.” I was so excited! A woman after my own heart!

We explored the depths of the Tam Tara deepcroft. Quite a dismal place for a first date I admit but it was what she wanted to do so I obliged. I didn’t even wrap myself up in plastic as I would usually do in a place like that cause my mind wasn’t on it! I whipped out my peashooter to show of my mad pewpew skills and instead she got in there and just annihilated everything herself. To say she already stole my heart was an understatement. We got out safely, covered in grime and blood. I wiped off as much as I could and looked her in the eye and gave my most seductive grin possible with bug guts covering my face. “Did you enjoy it, Lexa? Would you like to hang out again?!” I nervously asked.

Then she grabbed me by the head and kissed me! I will tell ya I was lost for words. I got lost in it I’ll tell ya, and stood there dumbfounded for a good 20 minutes when she stopped and kept asking me if I was ok. I think I responded with something super smooth like “Uhhhh yeah uhhh” and smiled like a goof. She asked me if I wanted to go kill giant slugs in the salt flats of Ala mhigo next and I was like “duh”. But that is a story for another time. Now we are a full couple, with a house and a doggie and a beach to swim in and I am just so taken with her. I’m a lucky girl, although she can tend to be a bit...sadistic, with her obsession with killing like, everything. But that's ok! Unleash your dark side, Lexa! Kill the things I’ll be here cheering you on!

#ffxiv #miqo'te #ffxiv rp

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judgmentofcorruption · 4 years

Text

Episode 10–The Court Ends; Scene 5

Judgment of Corruption, pages 288-294

These spectacles by the name of “trials”—when was it that Gallerian had first made them into a farce, I wonder.

Was it when he declared Bindi innocent? Was it what happened with Loki? Or perhaps it was when he first acted as head judge in Ma’s trial.

No, now that I think on it, it was the first trial that Gallerian had been witness to—when he was a baby, and Elluka had received the death penalty.

From birth, he had always been involved in sham trials.

“I shall declare my verdict.”

Head judge Gallerian’s calm voice rang through the courtroom.

The visitor’s gallery was packed with people. This spoke to how closely society was watching this trial.

“Kill the vicious general!” someone from the gallery shouted.

As the courtroom began to fall into an uproar, Gallerian pounded the gavel he held in his hand twice.

“Silence.”

With just that single, calm word, the courtroom immediately fell silent.

The power to command the room—you could say that was one of the abilities sought after by a head judge.

…Looking at Gallerian now, I couldn’t help but feel as though I was seeing what Hanma Baldured had once been.

I know what happened to him after he left the Dark Star Bureau.

But I have no need to explain that here.

This is Gallerian’s story, not Hanma’s.

“Defendant Tony Ausdin—is innocent.”

Just as expected, the gallery exploded into chaos and shouts from Gallerian’s pronouncement.

“You’re bullshitting me!”

“There’s no way you’ll get away with this tyranny!”

Most of them were leveled at Tony and Gallerian.

He ignored them, and proceeded on to explain the reasons for his verdict.

--To sum up, he essentially accepted Tony’s version of events.

That the act of the second division was a just deed, committed due to the possibility of the Zenosai villagers having defected to the enemy, and to protect their unit.

His reasoning was that it was a villager who attacked first, and thus the unit’s counterattack was not an issue in wartime conditions.

Second Lieutenant Shiro Netsuma’s death was an accident due to a gun misfire, and not through any error of the defendant…And so on.

After finishing his explanation, Gallerian announced amidst the continuing racket:

“Court is adjourned.”

Then he struck his gavel one last time.

After taking a look at Tony’s satisfied smile, Gallerian stood and started to head for the exit.

--There was a figure in the final row of the visitor’s gallery who quietly watched him go.

It was the former sergeant major of the USE allied forces, Gammon Octo.

He had quit the military after his older brother’s trial. It seemed that presently he had become a member of the “Tasan” party in Elphegort.

After Gallerian left the courtroom, Gammon muttered to himself, “…Now you’re finished. Gallerian Marlon.”

Just as he said, this was to be—the final trial Gallerian would conduct as head judge.

There to greet Gallerian when he returned to the director’s room was Bruno, Hel, and Feng.

“Oh, what’s wrong? You’re all three here.”

Hel stood in front of Gallerian as he cheerfully took his seat, and declared:

“—I’ve decided to quit PN and the Dark Star Bureau, effective today.”

“…What!? You can’t just do that without permission from—” As Gallerian thoughtlessly moved to stand, Hel smacked his cheek with the palm of her hand. “…What are you thinking, Hel?”

“I’ve had enough. First it was Bindi, and now you’ve declared Tony innocent. –Tony, the man who murdered our friend Shiro. I’ve tried to put up with it, but I can no longer stand to be by your side. I don’t want my child to be ashamed of me, working for such a corrupt man as you.”

“…Were you not watching the trial? Shiro’s death was an accident.”

“Like I’d believe you after you accepted a bribe from the defendant!”

“That’s nothing but a rumor!”

Bruno moved between the two of them as they shouted at each other.

“—Director. We’ve received word from our secret intelligence unit. It seems that the Tasan party in Elphegort has obtained information that Tony’s defense attorney deposited money into your account. They’ve already started on the proceedings to indict you for this.”

“…Why did you not inform me of this before the trial!?”

“I only heard about it just now. After you had already gone ahead and declared your verdict. Tasan also apparently intends to investigate into suspicious areas of your past as well, Director.”

Gallerian turned back to Hel.

“I see. So you heard all that and thus hardened your resolve to leave me. –Hey, Feng. She struck me just now. That’s an act of assault. …Arrest Hel!”

But Feng didn’t move. Instead, he said to Gallerian, “Sorry, but I’m also no longer a member of PN.”

“…You’re abandoning me too!?”

“That’s not it. You betrayed us first, Gallerian. That I’ve obeyed you for this long was out of my sense of duty for you…But you threw that away yourself.”

“—Tch.” Gallerian pulled out a pistol from a drawer in his desk and pointed the muzzle at Feng. “If you two are to become my enemies, then I’ll kill you right here.”

“Hold on. I don’t know what’ll happen if that goes off in a place like this, and I don’t think you know either. And anyway…I wouldn’t be felled so easily by a peashooter like that. It’d be simple enough to rip out your throat before I die, at the very least.”

“…”

Appearing to give up on thoughts of detaining them, Gallerian quietly put the gun down.

“Gallerian. We’re leaving the Dark Star Bureau…but we don’t intend to become your enemy. We have no designs on your life—Though I won’t deny that I have thought about it. You need to face the judgment of the law, after all. The law that you twisted to your own ends.” Feng turned around, and said finally, “…For that’s what you yourself believed in, once.”

Then he left the room with Hel in tow.

Gallerian and Bruno were left alone in the director’s room.

“—What do you intend to do?” Gallerian asked Bruno.

“…Nothing. Only continue to serve you as I have done.”

“Your friends have left me. That just leaves Ma and—and two dead soldiers, a serial killer, and an inscrutable mail carrier. …You’re the only one who’s decent.”

“I wonder at that. I might just be the craziest of us all. I haven’t turned on you yet, despite these circumstances.”

“Why? Why have you not betrayed me?”

Bruno replied, chuckling faintly, “If I wanted to, I would have done so long ago. …To speak frankly, right now you are just as Feng says—you’ve forgotten the convictions you once held. You’re trash. Even if you have Michelle.”

“…”

“But I suppose it’s enough that there be at least one person who will stand by such trash until the end.…Just like the ‘Servant of Evil’, who once remained as an ally to the prideful princess, the ‘Daughter of Evil’, even dying in her place.”

“What, did you borrow that book from Ma and read it too?”

“Unfortunately I look nothing like you, so I wouldn’t make much of a body double, Director,” Bruno said, this time laughing more openly.

Several days later, just as Bruno’s information said, the Tasan party moved to indict Gallerian.

But contrary to expectation, they weren’t able to arrest him immediately. On Gallerian’s request Bindi had made preparations beforehand in secret, forbidding the World Police from acting.

--But this in turn invited the worst possible result.

Losing their temper, the Tasan Party leaked all of their information on the corruption of Gallerian and those around him to all forms of mass media.

These changes affecting the world that still hadn’t stopped, the continuing warfare—already miserable from these things, the hearts of the populace were ignited by these reports on the corruption that enfolded their government, their military, and their justice system.

On September 4th, year 983, a portion of the people in Holy Levianta’s capital Alicegrad started an uprising.

And from there, Levianta was engulfed in the flames of a civil war.

<<prev------directory------next>>

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baekuaena · 4 years

Text

Shadows

Zoe and Baekhyun have known each other since they were childs. Brother and sister, best friends, lovers. Shadows

Destiny is not etched in stone. Fate doesn't exist.

And sometimes the shadow must be set free

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You are sitting on this comfortable chair, made of red velvet and wood. In any other occasion, you would take some time to appreciate the caress of velvet on your skin and how the cushion you are sitting on seems to conform to the shape of your body; But your muscles are tense and your mind is only concentrated on one idea.

You glance nervously to your left. He is standing by the window, his arms to the sides, staring at you as if he is waiting for you to say something, but it would be too risky to talk to him right now.

- Do you know why you are here?

You turn your head toward the doctor. He is quite old, in his fifties as the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes can attest. His hair is white, and his eyes are light blue, like the color of a blue lagoon on which the sun is mirrored on a hot day of summer. His entire person seems to have been through some bleaching process that wiped every bright color out of him. He looks like a living ghost.

- My mother asked me to come to this appointment, Doctor, you answer vaguely.

- Do you know why? The doctor insists.

You look to your left again. He is smiling at you and, in his crescent eyes, you can read love and support. He mouths “I love you” slowly and distinctly and you feel your heart getting warmer in your chest.

You are not alone in this.

- I do not know Doctor, you lie.

----------------------------------------------------

Little Zoe is playing on the playground. There is this big sandpit, but it has been raining for a week and her mother forbid her to go in it. Instead of digging into the sand, she has set her eyes on the swings and is now moving her legs backward and forward in order to move a bit. Sadly, she is a little thing, and the wind is blowing. Despite all the efforts she puts in, she does not swing much.

- Mom! Please push me!

Her mom is reading a book, sitting on a bench. As usual when she reads, Zoe’s voice doesn’t distract her from her reading and the little girl sighs. She hopes her mother will find her a dad someday and that the two of them will give her a little sister or a little brother so that she would have a playmate at last.

- Do you want me to push you?

Zoe jumps out of the swing with fright and turns over quickly, ready to defend herself like her mother has taught her.

It is with her two hands raised in front of her face in a defensive position and fright into her green eyes that she meets Baekhyun for the first time.

Zoe and Baekhyun are eight.

---------------------------------------------------

- As you probably already know, I have been talking with your mother. You know she is genuinely concerned about you.

You roll your eyes. When will that old hag finally let you go and let you live your life on your own?

- To be honest Doctor, I’m only here to please my mother. I don’t really know what she has told you but I’m a hundred percent sure that everything is fine with me. I should apologize for wasting your time.

You smile and behind the frowning doctor, he raises his thumb into the air in sign of encouragement.

The doctor writes something down on his papers and you sigh. Outside, the sun is shining. You and Baekhyun should be having a picnic by now and not being trapped in this rathole.

- She told me you have a friend, the doctor says. I think she mentioned his name. Does the name Baekhyun ring any bell?

----------------------------------------------------

Zoe is in mathematics class. She hates maths. Everybody hate maths, why do they need to know about stupid Pythagoras and Thales; the men have been dead for centuries.

The teacher is rambling on and Zoe is not paying any attention. Three tables away from her, Baekhyun is half asleep, his hand supporting his head, but he is placed in such a way that the teacher can’t tell if he is asleep or studying ardently.

You little sh-, she thinks

She grabs the handmade peashooter she has made from a ballpoint pen and hasten to insert a tiny ball of paper in it. From the way Baekhyun’s head is turned, she is sure she can hit him in the eye and wake him up. She approaches the peashooter to her lips, takes a deep breath and blows.

The insult that comes out of Baekhyun’s mouth when the paper ball hits him is covered by the school bell ringing and Zoe laughs out loud.

- The fuck you’re doing Zoe, grouches Baekhyun as they both meet outside of the class. You know that the peashooter wasn’t supposed to be used on you or me!

He rubs his right eye and moan in pain.

- Did I really hurt you?

Zoe is not laughing anymore. She just wanted to wake her best friend up because she was bored, not make him a one-eyed man.

Baekhyun is still rubbing his eye and Zoe can’t tell yet but he’s smiling.

- No you didn’t, you idiot, Baekhyun exclaims suddenly as he opens his arms and imprisons his friend with them.

He passes one arm around her neck and rubs the top her head with his fist. She screams, outraged by the little game of her friend and yells at him to let her go. He laughs.

Zoe and Baekhyun are thirteen.

----------------------------------------------------

- Zoe, do you know who I am? Do you recognize me?

You frown. The doctor is looking at you as if you were some kind of freak.

- I’ve never seen you before, how the hell am I supposed to recognize you?

The doctor writes something down on his papers again. The friction of the fountain pen on the paper is the only sound in this cold wooden room. Why do doctors always have wooden rooms to receive patients? It doesn’t feel warm or comfortable, it just feels intimidating.

By the window, Baekhyun finally moves and places himself just behind the doctor to read over his shoulder. From the look on his face, you are guessing that what the doctor is writing is not a delightful novel and your heart is tightening into your chest.

- Zoe, if you don’t remember me, do you remember Baekhyun?

- What an odd question, of course I do.

The doctor writes something again and you stretch your neck to read some of it, in vain.

- Who is Baekhyun then?

Behind the doctor, Baekhyun looks up and stares at you. You blush slightly. You have confessed to Baekhyun years ago but having to do it again all of a sudden because of the doctor pressuring you is not that easy. Nevertheless, the words come out of your mouth without you really thinking about them beforehand.

- He is the love of my life and my soulmate.

----------------------------------------------------

It is a Saturday afternoon and Zoe and Baekhyun are walking on the coastal path. The sea is calm, the wind is playing gently with their hair and some seagulls are flying in the sky.

- There, says Baekhyun while pointing to a dirt road. Follow me.

Zoe is a little nervous but the excitation she feels surpasses her apprehensions.

- You’re sure we’re not gonna get caught? She asked while going deeper into the dirt path.

The tall grasses are whipping her cheeks and one tickles her nose. She sneezes and Baekhyun turns around.

- You’re not a baby anymore Zoe, he says while imprisoning her head between his hands. We are sixteen now, you need to act like an adult!

Usually she would have made a face or spit on his face as a joke, but his eyes buried into hers are making her fuzzy, her legs are weak, and her heart skipped a beat.

Baekhyun and Zoe have been best friends for years now. They don’t have any squad like the other kids, they’re not invited to birthday parties or class gatherings. They only have each other and they have never needed a third person.

Zoe and Baekhyun. Baekhyun and Zoe. Each other's shadows.

But lately, Baekhyun is different. He is taller, his jawline is showing, his shoulders are broader and his arms stronger. The other day when they went to the beach, Zoe noticed Baekhyun’s body for the very first time while he was running to the sea. His back is muscular now and so are his abbs.

- Let me go, grunts Zoe.

The two of them continue their way into the tall grass and finally reach an area clear of any plants.

- We can sit there!

Baekhyun sits cross-legged and looks up at Zoe, still standing up.

- What are you doing, wuss, sit down! Do you have the lighter?

Zoe sits next to her friend and hands over the lighter to him . Baekhyun seizes it, smiling, before taking the cigarette they stole from Baekhyun’s father out of his pocket. He puts the cigarette in his mouth and Zoe’s gaze lingers over his pink wave-shaped lips.

She thinks it would be nice to kiss them.

---------------------------------------------------

Baekhyun is smiling at you now.

- I love you too, he says.

You know the doctor can’t hear the voice of your beloved, so you just remain quiet. You will talk to Baekhyun once you are out of this consulting room. You can’t wait to kiss him, to feel his breath on your skin and his warmth surrounding you. This room is cold and unwelcoming.

- Your mother says she often hears you talking to Baekhyun? Continues the doctor. Is it true?

You deny it. No good would come from saying the truth, the doctor would just think you are crazy and send you to the mental hospital.

- So you know that Baekhyun is no longer with us?

You chuckle. Nothing they can say could change the only fact that will always remain true as long as you will be alive. Baekhyun is your shadow. You are his shadow.

They will never be able to understand.

---------------------------------------------------

It’s prom night. Zoe is eighteen.

She is wearing a long red dress and high heels that hurt her feet. She tied her hair into a complicated bun and some strands of hair are stuck into her earrings.

She is not used to be dressed like this. She never wears heels, she prefers sneakers, and she thinks dresses are not as comfortable as the old pair of jeans she always wears.

But tonight is prom night. Tonight, Baekhyun is taking her to prom and she can’t wait to see him all dressed up in his suit.

It is 7pm. The doorbell rings.

Zoe is sitting on a chair in the kitchen and she doesn’t stand up right away. She is nervous and her head aches a little. Tonight, is the big night. Tonight, she is going to confess to Baekhyun. Tonight, she is going to tell him that she is in love with him.

Tonight, she wants to finally taste these lips she has been dreaming about for two years.

The doorbell rings again and she finally opens the door.

- Hello Darling, says Baekhyun in a weird British accent.

Perched on her high heels, Zoe loses her balance for half a second. He has never looked more handsome. His dark hair, usually done coconut style, are styled and revealing his forehead. His white shirt fits closely to his chest and Zoe can easily guess the pectorals underneath.

When Baekhyun’s eye fall on Zoe, they open wide and his jaw drops.

They face themselves for a couple of seconds without exchanging any words. Outside, the night has fallen, and they can hear the kids playing from the playground. The same playground where they met each other for the first time ten years ago.

- You are breathtaking, Baekhyun whispers .

His voice is so low Zoe is not sure if he is speaking to her or to himself., but the compliment warms her heart and she feels like she could take wings.

- Do you want to drink something? She asked shyly.

Her hands are moisty, and her heart is racing into her chest, echoing into her ears. She would not be surprised if Baekhyun could hear it as well.

- No it’s ok.

Baekhyun clears his throat, finally taking his eyes off Zoe. He seems agitated.

“No it’s ok”.

Those are the last words Zoe will ever hear from Baekhyun’s living mouth.

They go into the car together, both of them awkward for the other look astonishing and they both can’t think straight anymore.

---------------------------------------------------

Zoe was in love with Baekhyun since she was sixteen. Baekhyun realized he was in love with her best friend when she opened that door and appeared looking like a princess in that long red dress.

Prom night was written in their history. This night was supposed to be their first dance, their first awkward smiles, their first kiss.

Zoe knew she has met the one she would share her life with. She knew Baekhyun was her soulmate.

Somehow, they both knew it from the moment they met in the playground.

They would have shared a beautiful life together. Baekhyun wanted two kids, she would have given them to him. She wanted to be a writer; she would have written novels for kids. He wanted to be a lawyer; he would have been the best lawyer of the State.

Even destiny can be changed. Even what seems to be etched in stone can be erased. Fate doesn’t exist.

Unless fate is that green car and this old drunk man that collided with Baekhyun’s car.

Unless fate is that green car and this old drunk man that broke eleven bones in Zoe’s body.

Unless fate is that green car and this old drunk man that took Baekhyun’s life.

---------------------------------------------------

There is a tear on Baekhyun’s cheek, and you can’t understand why. He smiles, but you can tell from the look in his eyes that his heart is aching.

- Zoe, the doctor sighs… I need you to come back to reality now….

You frown. Baekhyun wipes the tear out of his face.

The doctor opens a drawer of his desk and gets a piece of paper out of it. He puts it in front of you.

The page is damaged and crinkles as if someone’s tears fell on it. You come closer to it, intrigued as you recognize your own handwriting.

- What is this? you ask.

The doctor stands up. He seems sad somehow.

- You should read this… This is a letter you wrote in this office a week ago, in front of me. You made me promise to show it to you if your delirium comes back…. I don’t have any other choice.

Without any further explanation, he leaves the room.

- What the fuck is going on?

You look at Baekhyun, searching for any kind of explanation. He is silently crying, and you feel like your heart is falling into an abyss.

- Baekhyun, what’s going on?

He avoids the desk and gets closer to you. You don’t really know why but your throat is choked up and some tears are already spilling down your cheeks.

He kneels down next to you and take your hand in his. The warmth of his skin reassures you for a moment, but the expression of sadness on his face just makes you want to run away forever.

- It’s going to be ok my love, he murmurs.

He kisses you slowly on the lips. Your kiss is wet and salty from all the tears and the taste of iodine reminds you of the beach Baekhyun and you used to go to as teenagers.

- Read the letter baby, he says while caressing your cheeks.

You are afraid. You don’t know what is on that paper, but you are aware that it contains a horrible truth you don’t want to know.

Or maybe deep inside you, you already know.

Your hands are shaking when you take the paper. This is your handwriting indeed.

And as the reading goes, you realize the paper crinkles from the tears you shed on it a week ago.

---------------------------------------------------

Hello Zoe

This is Zoe. Your lucid self.

If you read this, it is because doctor Zelner’s treatment didn’t work, and your delirium has come back. I am so sorry for you. I am so sorry for myself for failing on doing better.

I am sure you remember the car accident. The one when you were eighteen and heading to the prom with Baekhyun. Your knee still hurts when it’s raining outside.

On that day, Baekhyun died.

I don’t know how deep in your delirium you are. Sometimes, you know that Baekhyun is just a ghost and you are just convinced he came back to live by your side forever as a spirit. Sometimes, you don’t remember his death and think you two are married and have kids. One day, you tried to drive them to school and scared a poor teacher.

You tried to cope in your own way. You are still trying.

I know how painful it is. I know you love him. I know you miss him. I know it because I love and miss him too.

Please Zoe, you have to let him go. It’s been twenty years. He has been gone for twenty years…

I think he loved us. He never had the chance to told us but I’m certain he did. He has been a brother and a best friend to us. He would have been a boyfriend, a husband and a father if life wasn’t that cruel.

You will always love him, but you have to let him go.

You are not his shadow anymore. Don’t let him be yours.

I love you Zoe. Take care of us.

And be brave.

#baekhyun #oneshot #exo #baekhyun fanfic

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ask-pearson-and-crew · 5 years

Text

Oh boy this is a thing

Neighborville! The brand new battlefield on the block, where more chaos resides than the Backyard Battleground has ever known.

“QUIET!” screamed a sunflower with a military beret. Her hands were decorated with medals. “This is no walk in the park! you’ll be eaten alive out there with your ignorance! Literally!”

Let’s rewind a bit...

One plant team from said Backyard Battleground has proven to go above and beyond the line of duty. Accepted into the ranks of L.E.A.F., they have shown extreme skill and determination both on and off the battlefield.

In reality they were a bunch of friends who managed to get lucky and do some shit that ended up being important. These friends are a Peashooter, Sunflower, and Chomper, with the very unique and not-obvious names of Pearson, Suzie, and Chad. Very unique names yes.

They were headed to Neighborville via flying RV. Fantastic Exposition, no? Just go with it. Pearson and his friends were dropped off at the center of the Plant base, next to the battle-ravaged Giddy Park. He looked up to see a sunflower glaring down at him.

“I’m Major Sweeite,” she said flatly.

“Okay. I’m--”

“Pearson Peashooter, Susan Sunflower, and Chadwick Chomper? Agents of L.E.A.F., new transfers...”

“That’s us, yeah,” said Pearson.

“Says here you went AWOL for several days. What was that about?”

“Nunya.” He shivered, remembering those god-awful trials of Gnomus. A rinse and repeat of trial after trial, fighting countless porcelain pests as he desperately tried to lift whatever curse they had put on him.

“Everything’s my business, Shoota.”

“Look, it’s done and over with, where’s the way onto the battlefield so I can get into battle? I’m stiff from that mind-numbingly boring trip here.”

“QUIET!” She screamed, her medals clinking together. “This is no walk in the park! you’ll be eaten alive out there with your ignorance! Literally!” “Ignorance!? I’ve faced Zombies, Gnomes, time-travelling dinosaurs, The Smash, Brainstorm, And a bunch of other fucking abominations, and you call me ignorant!?”

“Look, normally I’m all sunshine and lollipops, but we just got word that the town center’s been overrun. We’re low on troops. Since you three seem to be able to handle yourselves, I’m keeping you two here-” She pointed to Chad and Susie. “-While you-” She turned to Pearson. “-Go to the Town Center so that I can pull troops from there and bring them back here.”

Pearson nodded, looking around for his helmet. He had an astronaut helmet that he had brought from home - It was the one thing that he wore to distinguish himself from the other peashooters. He found it resting behind him, dropped off from the RV. He picked it up and brushed off some dirt, placing it onto his head and looking around.

“What are you waiting for?” Major Sweeite asked.

“Where am I supposed to, uh... Go.”

“Oh.” She looked at him awkwardly. “I didn’t specify that... Did I.”

He shook his head.

“That way.” She gestured to what Pearson immediately identified as Penny, Crazy Dave’s time-travelling RV. “Penny and Vivian can being you where you need to go.”

#This is a bad start #Itll get better I promise #Also since its not about Rustbolt it's not going on the Rustbolt blog #Pvz #battle for neighborville #story #Chapter 1

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badgerpride96 · 5 years

Text

A Wild West Experience Part 4

Hey! Look! More writing! I am alive. It’s been a long and yet extremely quick two weeks so i apologize for how long this took. But here. Have a short heartwarming installment.

“I’m home, my love!” Gio called as he shut his front door. Their house was one of the oldest in Haven, and thanks to Mary, the most elegant. It was their own personal style, more made for comfort than entertaining. They had lots of space, with a large two stories for just the two of them.

“Ah, finally!” Mary came out to give him a kiss. Her black hair shone against her light blue house dress, made with the lightest linen for summer. “You certainly took your time.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry. You won’t believe the day I’ve had, though. He followed her into the sitting room. Her camera was set up. “Did you have a Bride come for portraits?”

“No it’s for a new portrait. So,” she said, fiddling with the shutter button and delicately looking into the viewfinder, “did you get my message?”

Gio’s stomach suddenly knotted up on itself.

“Yes, is everythin alright, my love? If I did somethin to make you angry, just tell me what it was and I will do my damndest -”

Mary laughed. “No you ridiculous man, I’m not angry.”

“Oh. Is it your health then? I asked Walt today, but he said you hadn’t been to see-”

“No no, if it were serious you would know, honey.” Mary sat on the arm of the chair across from him. “But yes it has to do with my health.” She went quiet for a moment, studying his face. “I know you love this town, and being the sheriff. And you love me and Elek and Gigi and Walt. You give your whole heart to all of us.”

Oh God Above, Gio thought in panic, She wants to leave Haven. He opened his mouth, but Mary held up a hand to stop him.

“There is so much that you love here, honey. But I have encountered a great change, and I have something to ask you.”

Her face lit up in that angelic smile Gio did indeed love so much. “What I need to ask is; do you think you have love enough for one more?”

Gio stared at her for a moment. His brain was still processing this change from his hasty conclusion.

“One more?” He croaked. “I don’t-”

Then he saw Mary put a hand to her stomach, still smiling. And in that moment, the sheriff’s whole world shifted.

“Mary, my love.” He whispered. He hardly noticed as his hat dropped from his hands. He brought one hand to his mouth, his eyes filling with tears. He reach the other hand out to her. He barely registered the clicking of the shutter. All that mattered was Mary, dropping the shutter button as he swept her up into his arms and kissed her. She kissed him heartily back.

“You are the most wonderful creature in the whole world,” he whispered to her several minutes later. He sat them bth back down on the armchair. “And I love you more than anything, but will certainly find room to love a child of ours.”

Mary laughed and leaned her forehead on his. “I love you too, you ridiculous man.”

“...in any case, I’m bringing her to the Goose as soon as Elek opens.” Gio wiped his mouth. “I certainly have work for her in the office. Jones is retiring, and until I find a new deputy I’ll need some help. At least with letters and petitions and all that.”

“Jones is finally retiring. I never thought he would.” Mary drained her water glass. “I can’t wait to meet this woman.”

“I think I made the right call. Not jailin her, I mean. What do ye reckon?”

“Dearest, I would’ve been angry if you had jailed her.” Mary reached across the table and patted his hand, and helped herself to more bread pudding. Trenton, Haven’s baker, had made fresh loaves that morning, ust as Mary was walking by the storefront. She told her husband she simply had to buy one loaf for bread pudding. She and their cook worked out a recipe and baked it ahead of the hottest part of the day, to keep the house cooler. Mary and Gio didn’t have many servants, though some of the wealthier townspeople did. They had a cook, who often helped Mary, in an odd reversal of roles, and a girl who came a few days a week to help clean. Otherwise, they did everything themselves, including the washing.

“I’m glad you agree,” Gio said sincerely. “I have an oddly trustful feeling about the lass. Hard to explain. She’s pretty though, I hope Sass takes a shine to her.”

Mary made a dismissive pff noise. “Sass hasn’t had a fancy in all the time I’ve known you two, and that’s since we were all younguns.”

“Yeah but when we were 13 maybe, you didn’t go to school with us, that was the year your father took you out teach you himself. Sass was mad as hops about this girl.”

“What happened?”

“Well, nothing. She turned him down when he asked to take her to the races, and then her father inherited and move the family back east.”

“Poor Sass.”

“Ah, he moved on. He really got the morbs for a while, but in the end his true love became the bar. I hope he likes Kelly though.”

“A regular matchmaker, you are.”

“Well I certainly made the perfect match for myself.” Gio raised his glass to his wife.

“Indeed,” she laughed. “So, tell me, what is she like, this outlaw woman?”

“I just did?”

“No you told me what happened, but barely even described what she looks like.”

“Oh,” Gio said. “Well, I suppose she was pretty. She has blonde curly hair. I didn’t do much noticin of the lady, I was more concerned about the bullet in her side. She’s right stubborn, but very intelligent. She liked the horse screen particularly.”

“You’ll have to invite her to dinner, then, so I will get more than curly blonde hair.”

“Mary, my love,” the sheriff said nervously, “I can’t invite an outlaw on trial to have dinner. She may have murdered her husband, for god’s sake!”

“And you just said yourself that you hope your best friend falls in love with her! Now unless you and ass have had a fallin out that I was not made aware of, that suggests to me that you believe her to be innocent. You also said you found her to be trustworthy enough to not be placed in jail, but rather given a room of her own. In any other man I’d say you were thinkin with your peashooter and not your brain, but I know you. If you say you trust her, then I trust you. If the trial ends against her, then we will simply have been wrong.”

Gio smiled and shook his head. His wife never ceased to surprise him with her logic. “Alright, my love, if you say it is so.”

They passed a very pleasant evening, ending in Mary reading a novel by Jane Austen. New editions had just come from England, and she was finally reading them aloud to Gio as they laid in bed that night. Just as they finished the part where Mr. Bingley raced off to London and left poor Jane Bennet in his dust, Gio fell asleep in the arms of his wife.

And when he awoke, and remembered her news, he thought that Bingley was the biggest fool of whom he’d ever heard in his life.

Buy me a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/badgerpride

-–

For more Content, check out @contentcreatorshaven or www.contentcreatorshaven.com! We are a creator collective dedicated to helping each other make it in this very crazy world.

#writing #short story #A wild west experience #badger scribbles

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thebrotherscupheadandmugman · 6 years

Text

Santa Cup, That’s Me!

Happy Holidays! This wasn’t supposed to be half as long as it turned out to be, and I got the idea literally Christmas Eve and have been working on it since. Sorry it’s late, but way better late than never!!

When I originally started writing this, it was going to take place in the current year this blog is in, 1935, but since it’s so long and elaborate, we’ll consider this the Christmas special of my rewriting, placing it in 1934.

I also hid a few Easter Eggs here and there. See how many you can find! On that note, always keep in mind that none of the characters (except for Sue, Logan, and Tick and Tock,) belong to me, and that Reblogs > Likes!

Cuphead and Mugman were nestled quietly in their beds, eagerly awaiting the dawn of Christmas Morning. Cuphead always had trouble sleeping Christmas Eve, and this time was no different. He’d begged both Mugman and Santa for an electric train set, and he was almost certain he was getting one!! The boy tossed and turned in his bed, trying to sleep,but not being able to.

Suddenly, Cuphead heard something clop clop clopping on the roof. The child shot straight up out of his head as he listened closely to the sounds. Clop clop clop. Jingle jingle jingle. There was only one way these sounds could be coming from the roof above his head. Santa. “Mugs!!” Cuphead whispered, jumping out of bed and over to shake his brother awake. “Mugs, Mugs, wake up! Santa’s here! Wake up wake up!” “Cuphead?” Mugman mumbled with a sleepy sort of snort. “Mugman wake up, wake up!! Santa’s here! Santa’s here!! We should catch him and say thanks!!”

Cuphead dragged his brother out of bed, and pulled him downstairs and down to the Christmas Tree, hoping to catch Santa before he climbed back up the Chimney.

But alas, it seemed the brothers just barely missed him. Cuphead couldn’t help but peak under the Christmas tree and...no train. Talk about disappointing, but Cuphead was still going to thank Santa if he could! “Maybe we can catch him outside!”

The brothers rushed outside, just to see--

There he was. Santa Claus. In the flesh and fur coat. Cuphead never thought he’d see the real Santa! Usually it was just Brineybeard or some other old geezer posing as Santa. The boys could hardly contain themselves. “SANTA!!” Cuphead shouted. “Ho ho?!” As Santa turned around, his foot slipped on the snowy roof, and he quickly fell off and onto the ground with a loud thud before Cuphead could say ‘thank you!’ The brothers gasped, terribly frightened at what had just happened. “SANTA!!” They both cried, rushing over to his body. “Cuphead, he’s not moving!!” “Golly, Mugs!! What are we gonna do?!” “We just killed Santa!! No, worse!! We just ruined Christmas for every other kid!!” Cuphead was on the verge tears.”

Cuphead grabbed his brother’s cheeks and looked him right in the eyes. “There’s only one thing we can do. Hide the body and take his place.” “I-- Cuphead we can’t just--” “Do ya really wanna go ta prison fer th’rest of yer life because we literally killed the Santa Claus?” “No, not really...” Mugman mumbled as he began to consider it. He didn’t particularly want to think about how to hide the body of St. Nick, but what choice did he have?

Mugman eventually sighed. “Fine! But we need to deliver these presents first!!” “Gimme a boost, let’s get up to the sleigh and we’ll look at the list!” “Right!” Mugman nodded, lifting his little brother onto his shoulders, so that the younger could reach the roof with his hand and climb up. “Cup, help me up!” Without another word, Cuphead planted his straw in the snow, to have something to keep him from slipping himself, and grabbed his brother’s hand and pulled him up. “Let’s get to th’sleigh!” The brothers quickly and carefully crawled up the snowy roof and climbed into Santa’s red sleigh. “How does this work?” Asked Cuphead. Mugman looked around in the sleigh and unrolled a long list of names and addresses of citizens on Inkwell. “It looks like this is his nice list.” Cuphead opened up the large red sack of gifts behind the seat, only to reveal more sacks of gifts, each in a different colored bag. “All these bags are different!” “Looks like it’s color coated. How did he do that?” Mugman pondered quietly.

“Alright, here’s the plan! If we split up and cover more ground, we can get all of Isle One done in no time!” Mugman decided. “How?! We can’t carry all these to the houses outside of the village on foot! They’re too far away!” “I didn’t say we’d be walking.” “Mug! Are you nuts?! We don’t know how to drive this thing!!” “I mean we’ll use our Aeroplanes!” Mugman reasoned. “You start off at the main village and get the residents in town, Like Clara Candlewick and Billy Baker! I’ll take care of the spread-out houses, like Mac and Honey Crisp, and Carrie Blossom!” “Gotchya! I’ll take the big sack in my plane! You just take what you need inta yours!” “Perfect! Let’s save Christmas for Inkwell!”

So the brothers made quick work and took over for St. Nick. Clad in their scarves, earmuffs, and goggles, they flew around above Isle one, landing on the rooftops of each house, and delivering the presents to the folks inside as quietly as they could. Cuphead would often find a bunch of houses close together, and jumped from rooftop to rooftop to deliver each set of gifts. Meanwhile Mugman would have to be careful and quick, since each house was so isolated from the next, if they even had a house at all. He was rather surprised Cagney celebrated Christmas, much less wrote a letter to Santa at all.

“Isle Two next?” Cuphead asked. “Yeah. Thankfully very few people actually live there outside of who we already know, so this should be quick and easy.” Mugman informed, reading over the list as he sat in his grounded plane. “Heck, Wally and Djimmi’s names are under the same address for some reason, so that’s one less stop than we’d already have to make!” “Swell! We should do Wally’s house last, our planes would prolly wake him up.” “Good thinking, Cup! Let’s make tracks!” With that, the ceramic duo were off again, quietly creeping about the isle and delivering all the gifts to good girls and boys within the closed carnival.

That was until the boys hit a roadblock at the Warbles’ house. As the two somehow managed to sneak past a sleeping Wally and climb down the chimney, the brothers fell right into a net, and tumbled out with a loud clink and a poof of soot and ash. “Cuphead, what did you do?!” Mugman coughed, trying to maintain a whisper. “I didn’ do nothin’!” Cuphead hacked. “Somethin’ grabbed me!” The two struggled to break free of the fishnet they were entangled in, pushing and kicking against the ropes in attempts to break free. Mugman hadn’t thought to grab his Charge Shot, so he couldn’t use that to break the ropes, all he had was the Peashooter, which were too small to rely on now. “Cups, did you bring the Lobbers?” “I-I think I left it in my bag at home! But I have the Roundabouts!” “You’ll hit me with that before you break the nets!”

With all the ruckus and coughing from nearby, a little chick began to stir and open his eyes. Santa came. And he fell right into his trap. “Puphead! Wake up!” The chick whispered, shaking the wooden boy next to him awake. Puphead slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with a sleepy yawn.

As the smoke cleared, and the porcelain brothers were revealed to be the ones caught in Junior’s trap, Puphead and Junior were shocked to see that it hadn’t been Santa after all, yet they did have a blue-green bag of gifts with them. “What’re you two twit’s doin’ here?! You tryin’ ta steal our Christmas presents?! Is dat it?!” Junior accused, marching over to the brothers. “Wuh-oh.” “Busted!” Mugman turned his head to look at Junior. “N-no! You’ve got it all wrong, we--” “Ooh, my dad was right about yous two!! Just wait until I tell him! Then you’ll really be sorry!!” The chick took a deep breath as Puphead covered his ears, knowing that he would scream for Wally. “No, no, Junior wait!!” “Junior! Stop! We’re tryin’ ta help Santa!!” Junior paused at that. “Wuffor?” He toyed. “He, erm, hurt himself! He twisted his ankle on a piece of firewood sticking out by our chimney, and he can’t climb down chimneys no more! So we’re helping him in our Aeroplanes until he can climb again!” Cuphead lied. “Just let us out, we still got Isle Three ta do!!” “Uh huh...And why should I believe you?” Puphead tugged on Junior’s arm at his suspicion, fully believing the story. “What is it? You believe dis crap?” Puphead nodded, and pointed to the sack in the net that the brothers had. “What the toys dey stole?!” Puphead shook his head and pointed to the fireplace. Junior’s eyes widened. “I...Gosh Puphead, yer right! Dere’s no way they could have taken the gifts before setting off the trap!” “Junior, untie us, please! We need to hurry up and get started on Isle Three before morning comes!!” Mugman pleaded, looking at his watch. “It’s already almost 11:30! We only have 30 minutes to get the whole entire city!!” “What?” Junior questioned, already starting to open the net. “Ya think dat da whole city’s gonna just get up at midnight ta open presents?” “No...” Mugman answered, “but someone might!” "Man, you two really are dumb! Ain’ no one gonna get up at midnight ta open gifts, most people’ll be asleep still! I’d say dat the earliest kids are gon’ wake up is at least tree AM. Ya twits still gots time!” “Yeah, but not much! Do ya even know how many people live in th’big city?!” Cuphead pointed out.

Puphead grabbed both of Junior’s shoulders as the brothers were released, and looked at his friend with pleading eyes. Junior turned his head at the touch, and looked the puppet in the eyes for a few moments before he sighed. “Yer right. Tree ‘n a half hours ain’t enough time fer just th’ two ah yas ta cover the entire city.” Junior placed his hands on his hips and puffed up his chest. “But maybe da four of us can make it!” He proclaimed valiantly. “Hot dawg, you’ll really help, Junior?!” Mugman cried. “On one condition! Ya leave dat sack ‘ere fer me ta examine!” “Deal!” The brothers said. “I’ll get my nest! Puphead, yer with me!” Puphead jumped up and down excitedly.

With the presents unbagged and two new recruits by their side, the four Christmas heroes quickly flew into the city and began their work once again. Apartments, homes, and more, the children were quick to break in and leave their gifts and fill their stockings. Forkington Silverson, Tick and Tock Clocke, Sue Zanshwane, Toby J. Sodor, no house was missed, and no child was forgotten. Every name on the list was crossed out with each house, one by one, and little by little, each house was visited and gifted.

After what felt like hours of work, the four went back to the carnival and landed. “Junior, you guys got Nancy Nightingale?” “Yup!” “Cup, you went through every apartment in Sally Stageplay’s apartment complex!” “It wasn’t as complicated as the name made it sound!” Mugman snorted at that. “Anybody happen to get Logan Rhythm or Debbie Doll?” “I got Logan!” Cuphead exclaimed, raising his hand, “Puphead n’ I got Debbie!” Mugman crossed off two more names. “Guys! We did it! That’s everyone on Inkwell before two AM!” “Yahoo!!” Cuphead cheered as Puphead jumped in excitement. “Great. Merry Christmas.” Junior grumbled, trying not to appear as happy as he was feeling. “Puphead, ‘m tired, let’s go home!” Puphead nodded, and walked walked back to Wally’s house with Junior as he waved the brothers good night. “Merry Christmas Junior!” Mugman called. “Merry Christmas Puphead!”

Cuphead sighed, with a visible breath and turned to his brother. “Mugsy, ‘m tired too. We should go home and sleep before we wake Elder Kettle.” Mugman was surprised that his little brother was choosing to go to sleep over opening presents on Christmas Morning. Cuphead had to have been really tired to make a decision like that! “Yeah, we will. I’m freezing anyway. I feel like there’s frozen milk in my straw at this point. Just let me double check to make sure we didn’t miss anyone. “What? Why?” Cuphead asked, already crawling back into his Aeroplane. “You just said we got everyone!” “Santa always checks his list twice! The song Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town says so!” “Wasn’t that written last year?” Cuphead grumbled, before something in Mugman’s plane caught his attention. The giant red sack of toys didn’t look so empty...

As if on cue, Mugman’s straw popped out of his head to form a shivering exclamation point. “Cuphead, we missed someone! A little girl named Evelyn Etting in the village!” “There’s another bag in there! It’s gotta be fer her family!” “Let’s shake a leg!” The brothers cried, hopping into their Aeroplanes and flying as close to the village as possible.

Unfortunately for them, it began to snow, so they’d have to go into the town and get on the roof by foot due to dangerous weather conditions. The brothers ran as they rushed to her house, Mugman worried about not being able to find a way up to the roof or inside the house. “Look Mug! A ladder!” Cuphead motioned with his whole hand. “It leads up to th’roof!” “That’s swell!” The brothers quickly climbed the ladder of the green house, carefully crossed the roof, and dropped down the chimney with the purple bag of gifts. There was quite a lot to unload, but one the ceramic duo was finished, they each had one cookie and a shared glass of milk, then crawled back out the red bricked chimney.

“Oh Golly! That was a lot.” Cuphead sighed, stretching his back as he stood on the chimney. “Cuphead, get off the chimney before you fall and shatter yourself.” Mugman scolded. “Golly Mugs! Look at the town from up here! The snow makes it look so nifty!” “Cup. We need to get home before Elder Kettle realizes we’re gone.” “Wait a minute, Mug! We took Santa’s place, right? There’s somethin’ we still gotta say before we go home!” “What? ‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night?’ Cuphead, there’s at least five Jewish kids in our school that don’t celebrate Christmas, you’ll just be annoying them if you wake them up for that.” “Maybe, but we can say somethin’ else so that the Jewish don’ feel left out!” “Cuphead, let’s just get off the--” Mugman’s left foot suddenly sank into the snow, causing him to wobble and lift his right foot in the air as he lost his balance. Cuphead, however, didn’t notice, but instead put his left hand up to his mouth as he took a deep breath and cried,

The clock tower chimed with two loud BONGs, and the screen soon faded to the Kettle’s front lawn.

Aeroplanes abandoned for the time being, the two brothers returned home, having forgotten what started this mess in the first place, until Cuphead suddenly remembered. “Mugs! Santa!! Whadda we do about him?!” “Oh no, you’re right!” The brothers began sprinting to where the body once was, but instead of Santa’s motionless carcass, they only found an imprint in the snow of what once was there. “What the-- where’d he go?!” “Cuphead, look!” Mugman jabbed his little brother with his elbow and pointed to the roof with two fingers.

Just as Cuphead looked up, Santa was there, alive and well as if nothing ever happened. He flicked the reigns, and his reindeer galloped off and away, flying overhead as he left Inkwell Isle.

“On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer, and Vixen! On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen!” “Woah!” The brothers both gasped. “Oh ho ho ho! Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night!”

The brothers stood for a moment, before Cuphead suddenly sneezed, not a single drop of milk leaving his head, despite the sudden motion. “Bless you.” “Mugs, did we just get used by Santa?” “I don’t think so. I think he was just knocked out and we took it upon ourselves to help.” “Hitchiew!” “Bless you. We’d better get inside before we catch a cold.” “Fine.” Cuphead sniffled.

The brothers stepped inside, and were welcomed with a completely different scene than what they had left with. There had been twice as many gifts than before, and their Christmas tree was bigger, brighter, and prettier than ever. “Wowza...” The brothers both gasped. “Mugman, look!” Cuphead motioned to a letter in the middle of the tree. Mugman grabbed it and opened it, holding it low enough for Cuphead to read as well. “What’s it say?!”

“Dear Cuphead and Mugman,

You two gave me quite the scare when you suddenly showed up outside. I certainly didn’t expect you to leave the house when you saw the presents.” As Mugman read the note, the voice of Santa himself could be heard, as if he was speaking directly to the brothers.

“I thoroughly appreciate you wanting to thank me for what I do every year, Cuphead, but as always, your actions do not match well with your good intentions. Oh, but don’t worry. It’ll take a little more than just a silly old fall to make jolly old Saint Nick take the big sleep. Thank you so much for putting the rest of Inkwell’s needs before trying to get yourselves out of trouble, boys. Santa’s little helpers not only put Junior Warbles higher up on the nice list, but also made him begin to understand the true meaning of Christmas.

As thanks, I left you boys extra gifts this year, some perhaps against your grandfather’s wishes. Cuphead, the large red box under this note is for you. After tonight, you’ve certainly been a good enough boy to have earned this: be careful not to spill! Mugman, the round one in blue is yours. I hope you think back to this night whenever you listen to it.

Never stop striving to do the right thing, regardless of what you fear. Always remember to learn from your mistakes, and do what you believe in.

Merry Christmas to you both.

Signed,” “Mr. C.”

The brothers looked at each other for a few moments as the heard the floorboards above them creak. Somehow, they must have woken Elder Kettle up. Panicked, the brothers scrambled to kick the snow off their boots, and hide their scarves and earmuffs under the couches. Just as they could hear the stairs creak with their grandfather’s presence, the boys looked at each other and flipped the other’s straw upside down to hide the frozen milk on the other end. “Boys?” “Elder Kettle, Santa came!” “Have you any idea what the time is?!” “We’re sorry, Elder Kettle, we didn’t wanna wake you.” “Yeah! Mug an’ I were just curious ta see if he came! We were gonna letchya sleep in a little longer!” Cuphead added before he paused, and grabbed his left wrist. “...But since yer up, can we open presents now?!” “Good gosh, Cuphead.” Mugman sighed, putting a hand on his face.

Elder Kettle sighed. “I suppose. Since we’re all already up!” He smiled as he continued climbing down the stairs. “Yaay!!” The brothers immediately grabbed the gifts that Santa mentioned in his note, and quickly tore off the paper. Since Mugman’s was so much smaller, it hadn’t taken him long at all to open the record. “What’d ya get, Mugsy?!” Mugman turned the vinyl over in his hand, and read the title out loud. “Santa Claus, That’s Me!...” “Well then, shall we listen to it?” Elder Kettle offered, holding his hand out for the record. Mugman gave his grandpa a smile and nodded as he handed the song to him. Elder Kettle quickly shuffled over to the record player, and put on the song.

A string followed by jingling bells filled the room, accompanied by Cuphead tearing open the large gift. “Way up above me is The ice and snow where the eyes of no one may see With my dear little men And my wonderful shop Little ole Santa Claus, that’s me!

I’m building my toys For girls and boys A labor of love is mine. And I’m more than repaid For visits I’ve made When children’s eyes dance and shine! As time rolls along With a very old song At work I am always found. For I’m busy each day But in a wonderful way But when Christmas time comes round,

Then away I go Over the ice and snow To finish my trip before the day is dawning. I’ll carry my pretty toys For all the girls and boys To make them gay and happy Christmas morning!”

Mugman smiled at the song, just as Cuphead had finally unwrapped his present. “An electric train set!!” Cuphead squealed with joy. The child was so thrilled that he hugged the package with small milky tears in his eyes. He’s wanted one of these for years, but Elder Kettle always thought they were dangerous. Elder Kettle was about to scold the boy, and tell him that they’ll have to return it, but seeing his grandson with tears of joy made him choose otherwise. He didn’t have the heart to tell Cuphead he couldn’t have something that made him so happy on Christmas. “I’d better not find that thing left on, young man!” “Yes! Of course, Elder Kettle!!” Cuphead beamed as he giggled with pure joy.

The brothers continued opening their gifts, as the snow jingled as it fell down outside. As the picture was zooming away from the Kettle’s house, it soon circled to black, as the cursive words ‘Happy Holidays’ wrote themselves in gold on the screen, before finally fading to black.

#Santa Cup That's Me!#Word on the Wind! {Rebloggable Content}#Cuphead #Mugman #Puphead #Wally Warbles Junior #Santa Claus #Elder Kettle #Cuphead and Mugman: Don't Deal with the Devil #Christmas Special #Merry Christmas!

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bamby0304 · 6 years

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The Hart II: Highway

Summary: Off on her own, without the Winchesters, Bobby, Ellen or Jo, Lizzie tries to get back to what she does best… hunting. But time is running out, Dean’s soul is on the line, and now everyone knows Lizzie is psychic like Sam. Can the brothers and Lizzie work through their problems? Or will they lose everything?

Bamby’s Masterlist

The Hart Masterlist

The Hart II: Highway Masterlist

Part Twenty-Nine: An Eye for an Eye

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Medical stuff. Implied death.

Bamby

DPOV

Sitting in Rufus' office, the bottle now three quarters empty, I looked down at the glass in my hand, admiring the dark liquid. It really was good stuff.

"Bottoms up." I lifted my glass just as he did, clicking them together.

After we both took a drink, Rufus lowered his glass and looked to me. "You know, I don't even bother drinking unless it's this stuff. Nectar of the Gods, I'm telling you."

"Yeah, it's a nice change, you know." I grinned. "Most of my whiskey comes from a plastic jug." We both laughed. "So, Bela was here because...?"

"She wanted to buy a couple of things, which is gonna take me some time to round up."

"Where is she now?"

He watched me closely. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." I shrugged. Anything to get the answers I needed.

"You got three weeks left. Why are you wasting your time chasing after that skinny, stuck-up English girl?"

The fact he knew about my situation, had me suspicious. "How do you know about that?"

Leaning forward, he gave a cocky smirk. "Because I know things. I know a lot of things about a lot of people."

"Is that so?"

"I know ain't no peashooter gonna save you."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Cause that's the job, kid. Even if you manage to scrape out of this one, there's just gonna be something else down the road. Folks like us... there ain't no happy ending. We all got it coming."

"Well, ain't you a bucket of sunshine?"

"I'm what you've got to look forward to if you survive." Smirking once more, he raised his glass again. "But you won't."

Not liking where the conversation had turned, I steered it back on track. "So, Bela..."

He didn't even hesitate before giving me what I wanted. "Hotel Canaan. Room 39. But watch your back."

"I think I can handle Bela."

"Oh, don't be so sure about that. There are things that you don't know about her."

"Oh, and you do? Right. Because you know things."

"Yep.

"And let me guess... you lift her fingerprint?"

"Yep."

"And that got you jack."

"Yep. She burnt them off. Probably years ago."

"Yeah, so you're right where we are."

"Nope." I waited a moment before he went on. "You do her ear?"

"Sorry?" Surely, I hadn't heard that right...

"You do her ear?"

Apparently, I did hear him right... "Hey, man, I'll try anything once, but I don't know. That sounds uncomfortable."

"Ears are as unique to humans as fingerprints."

"No kidding." I'm calling bull. Though Liz and Sam would probably know if he was full of shit.

"Of course, that don't fly in the courts over here, but in England, they're all over it. A friend of a friend... of a friend faxed me ten pages of confidential files within a day. All I had to send him was one clean shot off the security camera."

"Right. One clean shot of her ear." I nodded, downing the rest of my drink. This guy was nuts. I was wasting my time. He gave me Bela's address, I should just leave.

Reaching over to a nearby desk, Rufus grabbed a folder and handed it over to me. "The so-called Bela Talbot."

SPOV

Torch in hand, both Lizzie and I entered the dark and abandoned cabin. We began looking around for anything that might let us know we were in the right place. Looking at the books on the shelves- where I found and pocketed a journal- and searching every space where there could be something that might help us.

Starting down some stairs, we headed into the cellar.

The body of a man was lying on an operating table just a few feet in front of us. A sheet had been thrown over him, but Lizzie and I both knew what would be underneath the cover. Looking around a little more, we spotted another body through some ragged curtains. Inching closer, we weren't sure what we would find on the other side...

It was a woman, strapped down to another operating table. Her arm was stretched out beside her and covered in maggots where she was missing a large amount of skin.

As I reached forward to check her pulse, she gasped and her eyes shot open the moment I touched her.

"Shh! Shh! Shh!" I lifted my finger to my mouth, gesturing for her to be quiet. "It's okay. We're here to help you. We're here to help you. We're gonna help you."

"Here." Lizzie moved to grab a cloth and handed it to me.

Still shushing the woman, I grabbed her wounded arm and wrapped the blanket around it as gently and carefully as possible. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Okay-"

The sound of a door opening upstairs had us all freeze.

Unable to help herself, the woman started crying. I reached over to cover her mouth, needing her to be quiet. But it was too late, the footsteps were already headed our way.

Lizzie grabbed my arm and gestured to a window.

We knew we couldn't break it without drawing more attention to our whereabouts... but, turns out, we had a way to get around that.

As I lifted the woman into my arms, Lizzie stepped up to the window and carefully used her mind to pry the glass open, with minimal noise. She climbed up and out before reaching for the woman. The two of us worked on getting her out safely. Once she was set on the grass outside, I climbed out as fast as I could, before I grabbed the woman and dashed off, knowing Lizzie was right by my side.

EPOV

Carrying the woman bridal style, Sam was just a step behind me as we ran for the car.

I pulled out the keys and unlocked the car seconds before we reached it. Opening the back door for them, I then got in the front and started the engine as Sam and the woman slide into the back.

"Lizzie, lets-" Sam was cut off as the glass of my window was smashed.

A hand reached in, grabbing and pulling on my hair as Benton tried to pry me out of the vehicle. As I struggled against him, he shoved me forward, hitting my head on the steering wheel with a surprising force.

"Lizzie!"

As Benton continued his assault, I managed to grab the gear stick and slam my foot on the accelerator, jolting the car into reverse suddenly.

The woman was screaming as Benton changed his grip so he was holding the car before the force made him spin around until he was on the hood. But he didn't stay there for long, his hold faultering, sending him to the dirt road.

With the headlights shinning on the monster, I got a good look at him. He glared at me for a single moment before I put the car into gear and floored it, driving straight over Benton. I didn't even look back as I got us the hell out of there.

DPOV

The moment Bela walked into her room and closed the door, I was on her, turning her around and shoving her against the wall. Laying an arm over her chest and aiming my gun at her face, I got straight to it.

"Where's the Colt?"

"Dean." She was as calm as ever.

"No extra words."

"It's long gone, across the world by now."

"You're lying." I grabbed her bag from her hand and began to look through it.

"I'll call the buyer. Speak Farsi?"

Finding nothing in her bag, I dropped it and grabbed her instead. My arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against me.

"What the hell are you-"

As I quickly frisked her, I found a gun which I then held out in front of her. "Don't flatter yourself." Using the point of my gun, I reached over to flick on the room's lights before aiming it at her again. "Don't move." With that warning, I began to search the room.

"I told you I don't have it," she insisted.

"Oh, yeah, I'm definitely gonna take your word for it." Turning my back on her, I started for some other drawers.

The room had fallen too silent. Turning around, I spotted her reaching for the door.

Raising my gun, I pulled the trigger, missing her- on purpose- by mere inches. "Don't move," I warned again before I continued searching.

"It's gone. Get on a plane if you must. Track down the buyer. You might catch up to him eventually."

Having searched the whole place, I moved back to her, pointing my gun at her head, wanting nothing more than to pull the trigger again. Only this time, I wouldn't miss.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Oh, yeah." My smirk was one of anger and frustration.

"You're not the cold-blooded type."

"You mean like you? That's true. See, I couldn't imagine killing my parents."

She was shocked, but tried to play it cool. "I don't know what you're talking-"

I cut her off, "Yes, you do. You were, what, fourteen? Folks died in some shady car accident. Police suspected a slashed brake line, but it was all too crispy to tell. Cut to little Bela... oh, I'm sorry… Abby, inheriting millions."

"How did you even-"

"Doesn't matter."

"They were lovely people. And I killed them. And I got rich. I can't be bothered to give a damn. Just like I don't care what happens to you."

Her words pushed me over the line. I pushed her against the door roughly, pressing my arm against her throat. "You make me sick."

"Likewise."

Taking a step back, I aimed the gun at her again, smirking as I got ready to shoot. She stared back for a moment before closing her eyes. That's when I spotted something I hadn't before. Looking up at the top frame of the door, I noticed some herbs hanging over the ledge. But not just any herbs. Devil's shoestring.

As she opened her eyes again, I lowered my gun, shaking my head at her. "You're not worth it." Grabbing her shoulder, I dragged her away from the door before leaving.

SPOV

I sat at the desk in our hotel room, picking up my phone as it rang. "Dean."

"Yeah."

"Did you get the Colt?"

"What do you think?" He was clearly pissed.

Which was why I wasn't going to tell him that not only had Lizzie used her abilities tonight, but also had a cut on her head from the amount of times Benton hit her head against the steering wheel. It had been hurting when we got back, so she'd taken some pain killers and crashed on Dean's bed, and hadn't moved since.

I sighed, "So, does that mean Bela is-"

"No, no, she deserves to die a dozen times over, but I couldn't do it."

"Dean..."

"I'm really screwed, Sammy."

"No, you're just-"

"But you were right. Bela was a goose chase. The Colt's gone, and this time I'm really screwed, Sam."

"Maybe not. Look, Dean, we found Benton's cabin."

"You two okay? Was he there?"

"Yeah."

"Did you kill him?"

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Dean, please just listen for a second. I found his lab book, and it has the formula."

"What, the live-forever formula?"

"Yeah."

"Great, let me guess. I got to drink blood out of a baby's skull?"

"No, that's the thing." I flicked through said book as I explained it to him. "It's not black magic. There's no blood sacrifice or anything. It's just science, Dean. Very, very extremely weird science, but-"

He cut me off again, "Wait, wait, wait. What are...what are you saying? You think..."

"Dean, I think it might be doable. I mean, I know we've hit a lot of walls, but I... I think this formula, I think it might be it. This could save you."

"Okay, so, this formula..."

"Well, I mean, look, look, we're not in the clear yet. There are still things that I don't get-"

An arm reached around from behind me, shoving a cloth over my mouth. I dropped the phone and struggled as best as I could, but the hold was strong, and before I knew it I was out cold.

...

I was tied to a chair in Benton's basement, facing an operating table where Lizzie was bound, her eyes taped open.

Benton stepped up to her, speaking in a calm voice. "You can relax. It's all gonna be okay. Ain't nothing gonna happen here that you got to worry about. Your chances of coming out of this procedure alive? Very, very high." He nodded as she whimpered.

I struggled against my binds. "Don't touch her."

"Don't worry, Sammy. She should be fine," Benton insisted.

"How do you know my name?" I asked, struggling against my tight binds.

He moved over to one of the benches, grabbing dad's journal. "So, I'm sure that you can understand all the joy I felt when I read all about myself here in his journal." Shutting the journal, he then grabbed some kind of tool that looked like a melon baller... "Kind of makes this whole thing just feel like some kind of family reunion, don't it? Well, I guess it's about time that we get this thing started."

I had to watch as he moved, reaching down to scoop Lizzie's eye out.

Three shots rang out, stopping Benton as he looked down at the three wounds in his chest before turning to see Dean standing behind the tattered curtain.

"Shoot all you want." He started for Dean.

Dean let more bullets loose as he backed away from the doctor as much as he could. That was until Benton reached him, and threw him across the room. Walking over to my brother, Benton then leaned down over him, so confident in his actions. Even when Dean stabbed him in the chest with a knife.

Benton laughed. "A knife? What part of immortality do you not understand?" He stood, pulling the knife out. "Pity about the heart, though. It was a brand-new one."

"Good. It should be pumping nice and strong." Dean held up a bottle of chloroform. "Sending this stuff throughout your whole body. See, I picked up your little bottle upstairs and dipped the knife in it."

Benton only had a few more seconds of consciousness before he collapsed on the ground, knocked out cold.

EPOV

I stood next to Dean as he held his arm around me, the two of us and Sam looking down at Benton where we'd tied him on the table I'd been tied to.

"Oh, hiya, Doc. Wakey, wakey, eggs and bac-y."

At the sound of Dean's voice, Benton began to wake. "Please."

Dean shook his head. "Please what? You've been killing poor bastards for over a hundred and fifty years and now you got a request? Shut up."

"No, you don't understand. I can help you," Benton insisted. "I know what you need."

Dean ignored the doctor, looking over at Sam on the other side of the table. "We might have to cut him up into little bits. You know, this immortality thing is a bitch."

"I can read the formula for you," Benton offered. "You know, immortality. Forever young, never die."

Sam stepped forward. "Dean…"

Dean sighed, looking up at his brother again. "Sam."

The look on both of their faces told me what each of them were thinking. Sam wanted to save Dean. But Dean wanted to save everyone else.

Seeing as the only way to decide what we were going to do was to talk, I grabbed Dean's hand and nodded for the brothers to follow me. We walked to the other side of the curtain and then came to a stop, speaking in hushed tones.

"What?" Dean looked to Sam expectantly.

"I mean, we're talking hell in three weeks. Or needing a new pancreas in like half a century."

"Yeah, well, you can't exactly get those at a Kwik-E-Mart," Dean noted.

But Sam was determined to do this. "It's not perfect, but it buys us more time to think of something better. We just need time, Dean. I mean, please, just... just think about it."

I shook my head. "No."

Sam turned to me, surprised. "I thought-"

"So did I," I admitted, knowing where he was going. "I was getting so desperate, and so willing to do whatever it takes, that I'd actually been thinking about making my own deal so the two of you could stay together. But it's not our choice Sam. If Dean wants to live, it has to be his choice."

"He does want to live."

"Not like this." Dean gestured to Benton. "What he is isn't living. Look, this is simple-"

"Simple?" Sam clearly didn't agree.

"To me it is, okay." Dean went on, "Black or white. Human, not human." He grabbed my hand and walked us back to the room with Benton. "See, what the Doc is... he's a freakin' monster. I can't do it. I would rather go to hell." He let go of my hand and grabbed the bottle of chloroform.

"You don't understand. I can help you!" Benton insisted.

Dean ignored him again, pressing the chloroform rag over the doctor's mouth as he looked up at his brother. "Now, we're gonna take care of him." He gestured to me and himself. "You can either help us or not. It's up to you."

...

Standing over the open grave, I watched as Benton tried to push the door of the fridge open. The fridge he was in, which we'd chained closed and put in the grave, along with his journal.

"No! No! Don't! Stop it! I can help you! No!"

"Enjoy forever in there, Doc." Dean nodded as he grabbed one of the shovels off the ground and began to shovel dirt into the hole.

Sam and I grabbed a shovel each as well, helping him as Benton continued to yell and scream.

"Let me out! I can save you! No. Don't."

DPOV

Driving along the road, phone to my ear, I waited until the person on the other end answered. The moment they did, I spoke.

"Hiya, Bela. Here's a fun fact you may not know. I felt your hand in my pocket, when you swiped that motel receipt."

"You don't understand."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I understand perfectly. See, I noticed something interesting in your hotel room. Something tucked above the door. An herb. Devil's shoestring? There's only one use for that. Holding hellhounds at bay. So, you know what I did, I went back and I took another look at your folks' obit. Turns out they died ten years ago today. You didn't kill them. A demon did your dirty work. You made a deal, didn't you, Bela. And it's come due. Is that why you stole the Colt, huh? Try to wiggle out of your deal, our gun for your soul?"

"Yes."

"But stealing the Colt wasn't quite enough, I'm guessing."

"They changed the deal. They wanted me to kill Sam."

"Really! Wow, demons untrustworthy. Shocker. That's, uh, kind of a tight deadline too. What time is it?" I asked just as Sam showed me the time on his phone from where he sat next to me. "Well, look at that, almost midnight."

"Dean, listen, I need help," Bela cried.

"Sweetheart, we are weeks past help."

"I know I don't deserve it."

"You know what, you're right, you don't. But you know what the bitch of the bunch is? If you would have just come to us sooner and asked for help we probably could have taken the Colt and saved you."

"I know, and saved yourself. I know about your deal, Dean."

"And who told you that?"

"The Demon that holds it. She holds mine too. She said she holds every deal."

"She?"

"Her name's Lilith."

I paused, looking over at Sam for a moment. "Lilith?" That got both his and Liz's attention. "Why should I believe you?"

"You shouldn't but it's the truth."

"This can't help you, Bela, not now. Why you telling me this?"

"Because just maybe you can kill the bitch."

Tensing my jaw, I sighed. "I'll see you in hell." With that, I hung up seconds before the clocked struck twelve.

Bamby

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x oc #elizabeth rose hart #the hart #the hart ii: highway

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camilliar · 6 years

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zimbits mpreg scrap 1/3

So, this is weird: I’m posting the carcass of this Jack/Bitty mpreg fic I started writing in spring 2016. It was the first thing I began to write for Check, Please, mostly because I was just like, well, there’s no good mpreg for this fandom, someone ought to do it. I’ve returned to this well since, and I’m sorry I never finished this story, because I think it has the bones of something that could have satisfied. Maybe what I’m going to bring here still has the potential to satisfy, if someone’s interested in a Zimbits mpreg fic generally? I will post the rest of it separately.

Looking through this and posting it in an incomplete state is a marker of how my attitudes about the comic and the characters have changed, and also helpful for me in terms of seeing how I work on stories and what helps me finish things successfully, or not. If you read through this first part (of three!), you’ll see bits where my interpretation of the characters has definitely changed in the past two years, either because the comic itself challenged my interpretation, or because my initial impressions have become affected by being in the fandom and living with this story and its actors for a while. This is probably the most evident with Jack, whereas I think even after the start of year 4 this Suzanne Bittle is probably still how I’d write her now. It was the farthest thing from my mind that Jack would actually win a g.d. Stanley Cup in the g.d. comic!! I’m still just like wow, that happened. But like, in 2018, I don’t think Jack and his father would ever have the conversation I was writing them having here -- I don’t think either of them has it in him and, more to the point, I don’t think the comic will ever get near this kind of resolution; I think it’s chosen instead to just handwave it as everyone being okay now.

Because I can’t write anything straight, the plot is that Bitty and Jack are trying to have a baby, but it’s not going as planned. When I write mpreg, I tend to just go with setting the story in an amorphous AU where men just ... have babies. That said, hockey players don’t, but this entire thing just sidesteps any explanation for how or why men can, so if you’re looking for good mechanics in your mpreg this isn’t going to be that fic.

R-ish, Jack/Bitty, 6k/18k, mpreg

Eliminated in round one, and Jack woke up on the Monday after last week’s humiliating defeat in game six to a familiar feeling. It was failure entwined with relief, and the press of Bitty’s hand against his dick. “You’ve had enough time off,” Bitty said, hard against Jack’s ear. It was odd—his lips were so soft. “Let’s get back to work.”

“It’s not work exactly,” was the response Jack managed, as soon as he got his eyes open. There it was, atop him—Bitty, his short hair and his big eyes, the nervous smile he got when they were going to try again. It had been two years of trying. It was the promise of the long, hot summer before Jack’s eyes: morning runs, light traveling, and getting Bitty pregnant—or not, as the case might be. Jack was himself indifferent to children, or indifferent to having children. He liked children when they were out of diapers and cooperating. Jack had spent a lot of time thinking about this: he was dead-convinced that he’d make an awful father. He really shouldn’t be a father. He played hockey, for one thing; he couldn’t promise himself he’d always be there. He had rotten genes, for another. Or, good enough in most ways, just, bad brain, he liked to think of it.

But Bitty wanted it. Jack had thought many times of his own parents. They’d been a little older, in their early-mid thirties. Jack was just thirty now, Bitty five years younger. He started on the topic of kids quite suddenly when he’d moved in. “Well, I don’t know,” Jack had always said, when it came up. “We’ll see.” But Bitty wanted it. He wanted it, and Jack wasn’t managing to deliver. Like he hadn’t managed to deliver during Thursday night’s Power Play, not with all eyes on him, not like last year when he’d helped inch the Falconers into the finals. There’d be no finals this year. Jack had shaved the meager stubble from his face but hadn’t yet cut his hair.

So, it was kind of work—but pleasant work, enjoyable. Like hockey. The sort Jack got off on. Literally. He felt good about following through on this. He missed switching up. Postseason was too intense, so much back-and-forth; not a lot of quality time with Bittle. “Let’s make it count,” Bitty would say, and what he meant was, “If you’re too tired to do it more than once, it’s my turn.” He’d said that once, actually. It hurt, kind of, but the press of Bitty’s tight ass around his dick took out some of the sting. Well, there was one positive in loss: now they’d have time to take turns.

“You go first,” Jack said. He patted the sheet bunched around his thighs. “Get on up here.”

“I prefer second,” Bitty replied, “because I need to let it sort of set.”

“Like it’s a pudding,” said Jack. “Or a mousse?”

“Don’t.” Bitty swiped at him, kissing Jack’s chest and down to his stomach. “If you want me, honey, best get ready.”

“I was born ready.” It was true, and it wasn’t. He’d been born with all the parts, but he’d struggled to put them into play. He’d let his team down—no Cup again this year. He’d let Bitty down, too, though Bitty wouldn’t admit it. There was tension when they did it now—who wasn’t coming through? Which of them was defective? Jack would have said it was him, he was defective: bad brain, slow to realize, unable to make sense of other people. On the ice things were different, but then, how different were they? When Bitty was inside him, Jack tended to let go. That morning, his thoughts swirled around the fear Jack had managed, for two years, to avoid articulating, even to himself: What if he couldn’t give Bitty what he wanted?

And what if he didn’t want that, anyway?

Jack detested idleness, but he reveled in Bitty’s skin, in his short hair, in the way they kissed sloppily and breathed heavily on each other’s faces, the pure yellow light of April sun diffusing across Bitty’s toned shoulders when it spilled through their curtains. New England sun was cold and it wasn’t especially springlike yet; Jack hated springy postseasons anyway, because hockey was supposed to remind him of home. Yanked out of home already this year, he was grateful that Bitty wasn’t going in until the afternoon. When they lay in bed together, Jack got a pass. It was a pass he gave himself. Or Bitty gave it to him. He got a pass. He needn’t feel bad about running after breakfast instead of before.

“I’ll make something,” Bitty offered, sliding out of bed. The sheets cost…a lot of money. They were icy blue with scalloped edges, and they matched a quilt Bitty had bought on Brunswick last summer when they’d rented a cabin with the Bittles over a week in July. Coastal Georgia wasn’t Jack’s domain; he didn’t really care for the quilt. It had spilled onto the floor, anyway, or maybe Bitty had pushed it off the bed so as not to “mess it up,” which had happened with their last set of sheets. “What’re you hungry for?” Bitty asked. He picked up the quilt and was folding it, though throughout he kept twitching his hips. Jack had caught that move early on; only after the first time Bitty was inside him did Jack really understand what that little gesture meant: Bitty was trying not to leak.

“Don’t get it on the carpet.”

Bitty tossed the folded quilt on the bed and grinned. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Surprise me.”

“Okay!”

When Bitty had gone Jack lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Sometimes he had the misfortune to overhear people discussing him: commentators, gossip columnists, bloggers, fellow classmates, strangers he met on the street, fans of the opposing team, friends of the Bittles on one awkward visit a few years back, people one table over at the restaurant…all and sundry, really, were wont to comment on the inner life of Jack Zimmermann. The cruelest jab was when they assumed his mind was blank, that he was empty.

His mind was not blank. It was too full. He had too many thoughts. They scared him.

Bitty assembled parfaits. Jack ate his at the breakfast table with an espresso and the sports section from yesterday’s Journal. He thought about it: Greek yogurt, good source of protein. Raspberries, good source of antioxidants. Bitty’s granola, with flax seeds, good source of fiber; maple syrup, too sugary, but okay, since the berries were bitter. It wasn’t really the season yet. Cinnamon-sugared almonds, inadvisable, but he’d live. The fact that breakfast looked like an ice cream sundae: delightful. Bitty chided him not to read over breakfast. “I got work at one,” he reminded Jack. He was an assistant skating coach, not a bad one. Not a high-profile one. Over the summer he led camps for grade-schoolers. His “work” today would consist mostly of calling local stores to ensure they stocked the equipment Bitty recommended his campers’ parents buy. Jack pretty well knew what Bitty did at work, since they’d text each other ceaselessly throughout. Jack considered going to the rink and skating, but he needed a moment away from Bitty today. He’d miss Bitty, but then he’d fill up with guilt again: Bitty with kids, Bitty wanting a kid, Jack trying to give Bitty a kid, Jack failing to do that. With a sigh, he shed the sports section.

“I think I’m gonna go for a run.”

“Should I join you?”

“Yes.” Jack nodded. “You should. It’ll be fun.” They ran together pretty often. Bitty was fast. And he looked good in little running shorts and a tank top. Maybe they could do it again after the run. Maybe they could do it again in the shower.

Jack had not struggled to find himself lunch for years now. Bitty left him Tupperware filled with elaborate leftovers, often with handwritten instructions. Jack found a good one: grilled chicken breast, saffron rice pilaf, poached asparagus and peashoots: you can put a soft-boiled egg on if necessary, said the note. Of course Jack found it necessary; of course Bitty kept a Tupperware of soft-boiled eggs just for Jack to add to his lunches. He reheated according to direction, on one of the microwave-safe plates. Once Jack had put a piece of Bitty’s formal china in the dishwasher. It was fine, but also, ruined. “Do they not have porcelain in Canada?”

“Of course they do—we do,” Jack had said.

Bitty had sighed, “Oh lord,” and stared deeply into the face of his slightly faded plate. “So help us, don’t put any more of my nice plates in the dishwasher. Or the microwave. Or the oven.” Jack had promised.

He put on PBS and ate his lunch over the coffee table in the den. They had a big house. Not relative to other people’s, but relative to what they needed, which wasn’t much. Bitty liked to entertain, which, of course he did; Jack liked to sit quietly and watch documentaries. If Bitty hadn’t gone to work they would have eaten at the breakfast table again, and if Bitty did come home from work to catch Jack eating outside of the kitchen he’d probably get snippy about it: “That’s a fifteen-thousand-dollar couch, can’t you exercise a little caution? Why do you have to eat in front of the TV?” They’ve had that fight a couple of times, with Jack’s view being firmly that if Bitty would be upset by ruining a couch that expensive, they should have a cheaper couch. Ironically, the sofas in the living room were less expensive, and Bitty let people eat in there all the time. Jack wasn’t even sloppy. He didn’t get yolk anywhere but his soccer shorts.

Anyway, the house was too big. Jack missed his parents’ house, which was larger, but something about it didn’t feel quite so empty. He missed sitting in the backyard and watching the clouds pass over Westmount, then heading back into the house to find his parents and their friends laughing over drinks in the living room, low classical music filtering around the place. He had loved, as a boy, to read and re-read the inscriptions on the plaques and trophies that filled the house. He’d loved to look at the same glamor shots of his mother, over and over again. It was a strange wistfulness he felt for that place, since he’d spent so many nights there awake and absolutely terrified. “I was a happy kid who was miserable,” he’d once said to some therapist, and that made a lot of sense. If he couldn’t get comfortable in this house in Providence, she’d helped him see, it probably because he wouldn’t trust the Falconers would keep him on another year. Maybe he’d have to go elsewhere. “But I could keep the house,” Jack always said, whenever he talked about it. He didn’t talk about it much, though. When he started thinking about it he really preferred to eat leftovers in front of the TV.

Which Bitty caught him doing, hours later, in front of a documentary about Wallis Simpson. “What are you watching?” Bitty asked. He dropped his bag on a pocket chair, still dressed for work in his jeans and checked shirt, corduroy blazer. The fit was obscene. Jack would have liked to have torn it off of him.

“Did you get on the ice today?” Jack asked.

“No.” Bitty eyed the empty plate on the coffee table. “Did you get any food on my couch?”

“Our couch,” said Jack, “and, no. I don’t think so.”

With a sigh, Bitty removed Jack’s plate to the kitchen for him, and came back with a glass of sangria for himself. Why did Bitty get to drink wherever he liked, but Jack couldn’t eat lunch in front of the television? How was that fair? Thinking about it must have given him some look of judgment, because Bitty caught him staring and asked, “Did you want something?”

“No.” But he was actually thirsty, so he sat for another minute or two to prove his point, and then got up and went into the kitchen for some water. When he came back, Bitty had turned off PBS and put on some soap masquerading as “prestige” TV. Jack stood in the doorway for a few minutes drinking his water and trying to get into whatever this was on the screen.

Finally, Bitty paused it, turned around, and said, “Honey, you’re being creepy.”

“Okay,” Jack agreed, because sure, he probably was. He sighed, then left. He hoped Bitty felt guilty and came to find him before it was time to make dinner.

[OKAY in this section I was like, all right, I’d better introduce some other elements of the comic into this fic, Shitty should be a character, he and Jack are BFFs, I’ll write him in, I guess he lives in Boston and is a lawyer, let’s go from there. Obviously I was unaware that after summer 2016 Ngozi would stop writing about Shitty and start writing about like IDK Tango and Marty and the other characters we all love but I don’t care about. Pour one out for Shitty I guess. Except don’t, I wrote a whole other fic about him maybe I’ll post ... sometime.]

One thing Jack did with increased frequency over the off-season was drive to Boston and meet Shitty for lunch. He was clerking for the First Circuit Court of Appeals, routinely bored, and fond of offering Jack legal advice. In fact, Jack had a lawyer who specialized in sports law, who worked extensively with Jack’s agent and with whom Jack had virtually no contact. He had really only needed direct advice when his contract re-negotiations had come up, when he’d negotiated contracts for appearances and endorsements, and when he’d come out. Jack had few questions about law and expected that most of his activities were in compliance with it. Still, most of his conversations with Shitty these days turned into cautionary tales.

Jack mostly cringed through Shitty’s stories and tried to direct the conversation back to more domestic topics, with which Shitty seemed to have more trouble. It made Jack feel a little superior, which was nice.

[This was supposed to be something telling about Bitty working with kids and he would be good with his own kids etc.]

“Is he good with them?” Shitty asked. He meant the kids, Jack could tell.

“He’s great.”

[You can tell I was burning with passion to include other members of the cast in this stupid fic. I guess I thought I had to.

Something I was trying to do was build up skeptical voices around Jack and Bitty, who I was trying to characterize as insular and needing characters outside their relationship to counterbalance their insularity. Thank god that’s not an issue in the comic.]

For some time now Jack had wanted to spend a vacation somewhere else—on the other side of the world, across an ocean, someplace they didn’t speak English, maybe. He was interested in French-speaking locales: Geneva, Guiana, Réunion. He related somehow to the process through which displacement had deposited French nationals around the globe, turned them all into something other than French entirely. Surely those places had other customs, other foods, other dialects which would confuse and frustrate his wobbly joual. He’d written one essay on this topic for a freshman writing seminar themed around globalization, and had revised it into a term paper on French colonialism for his historical methods seminar the next year.

He’d never talked about travelling with Bitty; it was sort of pointless. Their schedules didn’t match; they really, really didn’t match. And Jack’s was unpredictable: he could be done playing and get some time off as early as March or as late as June. They’d never been to the West Coast together, save for one weekend at the start of Bitty’s spring break as a senior in college, when he’d flown out to Los Angeles and spent two nights there with Jack after a routing by the Kings. It was hot; they’d both gotten sunburns on the beach and spent the rest of the afternoon feeling miserable and blaming each other for having done so badly with sunscreen. Jack had been distracted by the loss and anxious to get back home so he could practice, and Bitty was frustrated with his anxiousness and trying to pretend he wasn’t scrambling to make up incompletes before he graduated. They really hadn’t agreed on what to do. Bitty had wanted to explore the finer points of California culture, which was to say, he wanted to scope out celebrities and go out at night in West Hollywood, eat doughnuts every time he turned around, and window shop for new clothing. When Jack had acquiesced to flying Bitty out to meet him, he had been envisioning running in the canyons, then running on the beach, swimming laps in nice pools, and maybe another run before dinner in a totally different canyon. “I’m not going to spend my whole day running!” Bitty had protested. “Lord, you’re crazy! I can do that at school if I want, sheesh. Just go on vacation for once!”

Jack was pretty confident he’d never been on vacation. He looked back on this trip and projected the experience forward: if he ever went anywhere he would spend it arguing with Bitty about what to do, exactly. Also, he would worry deeply, perhaps to the point of ruining himself, about disagreeing with Bitty and, worse yet, not being able to control his schedule. The idea of a romantic European village with twisting cobbled streets or a market square on some exotic isle evaporated when he considered that those places probably didn’t have top-flight gym equipment, or at least, Jack couldn’t ascertain whether they did, and he could just see himself in some gym in some hotel having a total breakdown over the fact that they didn’t have the particular size weights he wanted, which would be embarrassing. Then Bitty would probably have to come and get him, and Jack could imagine Bitty freaking out: “Why are you ruining this? Why can’t you just be normal and enjoy nice things?” Bitty had never flung any such accusation at Jack, at least, not in any way that wasn’t teasing and good-natured, but Jack could not see that Bitty would never, since even the patient had breaking points. It was all very speculative and what if and he sometimes drove himself to the point of exhaustion on these grim prognostications, but just because Bitty hadn’t didn’t mean that Bitty would never, and Jack’s particular dread was finding out at some point, some day, eventually that he had used up all of Bitty’s patience.

For all of this they had spent the past five years taking the same vacation: a week in Montreal, and a week in Georgia, over the end of June and the start of July. As with the year before, Bitty had to work, and so he had, as was his way, chosen to prioritize Georgia over Canada. Which—was fine by Jack, maybe. He would fly up and Bitty would meet him several days later.

[This section is just ... not written, and I don’t know what I was planning to put there -- something about being in Montreal, I guess, or maybe something about Jack’s parents.]

“It’s just that I am trying to accomplish something that I am failing to accomplish.”

“Well, what makes you say you’re failing at it? And more to the point, Jack, why do you look at it in such a narrow way? There are many games in a series, you know. You don’t have to sweep the series to move to the next round. There are many seasons in a career.”

“Why are you talking to me like this? You’ve never failed at anything. You don’t know what it feels like.”

“I’ve very clearly failed to instill you with a sense of self-worth,” said Bob. “I apparently failed to show you how to tell the difference between failure and making your own path. I’ve failed to teach you not to hurt yourself. I live with those failures every day.”

“You don’t know, Papa. You don’t know.”

“Jack, I don’t want you to win because winning in and of itself is great. I’ll be there for you no matter what. You’re my son no matter what. I want you to win if you want it. I don’t like seeing you suffer, Jack. It’s very draining.”

“Well, I can relate to that, at least,” Jack said.

“Oh?” his father asked, but Jack chose not to elaborate.

Having had this conversation, at least, was a relief for Jack. The rest of the visit was better, even relaxing. He lay that night wide-awake in the guest room with Bitty’s naked calves against his thighs. Bitty rubbed Jack’s stomach and said, in a quiet voice, “We should try tonight, unless you don’t want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“You don’t usually want to at your parents’ house.”

“That’s a silly thing for me to have worried about,” Jack said. “We can try. I’ll get some—did you bring any stuff?”

“Well, I didn’t, because I didn’t know if you’d wanna.”

“There’s some lotion or something slick, I’m sure, in the bathroom.”

“Oh, sure, okay.” Bitty untangled his legs and sat up. “I’ll go get it.”

Used to creeping about, Bitty snuck across the hall. Jack replayed the conversation with his father over again in his head. Years into his relationship with Bitty, he still felt odd being in his childhood home and not sleeping in his bedroom. There was musty wallpaper hung with a collection of his medals and clippings, and a little twin bed. Were it not for Bitty he would climb back into that bed and relive his best and worst. There had been a lot of unpleasantness, and Jack had spent many sleepless nights there. There had also been a lot of good: his mother kissing him awake on his birthdays and Christmas mornings, tangling his hands in Kent’s boxers, drifting to a deep medicated sleep on a nice set of sheets after a strong win, reading his acceptance letter to Samwell over and over and over, so many times that the paper became gray where his fingers had been clutching it. Bitty was there but the guest room would never contain Jack’s bed; it would never be his room. This room had a lighter palette and more furniture, and a whole lot less of everything else.

It was true that Jack did not feel entirely comfortable with doing it in his childhood home, but the sex wasn’t bad, just brief and efficient. Afterward, Bitty lay on his back with his legs up in the air—“pudding position,” he was calling it now. Jack couldn’t help but smile at that. He was uncomfortable with his own nudity, though, and got up to put a shirt on. Afterward he went into the bathroom to drink some water, then decided to go downstairs for ice. When he returned to bed with his glass of ice water in one hand, a second in the other, he found that Bitty had already climbed under the covers and gone to sleep.

They were due in Madison proceeding July fourth. Again this year they’d drive to the coast with the Bittles—in tandem, separate cars—and spend the holiday at the beach. The Atlantic was not the seascape of Jack’s dreams but Bitty was in his element there. Southern produce was phenomenal and Jack thought about different fruits and vegetables on the plane: the sweetest corn, a rainbow of cherry tomatoes, sopping watermelon, all kinds of summer berries like shiny jewels. Bitty would spend the holiday in the kitchen, recording videos and baking with his mother, working on elaborate summer dinners and trading gossip. Except for lunch at a touristy crab shack Jack would spend his days on the beach, under an umbrella with a stack of books. Bitty’s father would engage him awkwardly in small talk about sports. The NFL was something Jack followed from a distance; college teams from the South were more obscure to him. High school was off his radar entirely. He’d try to brush it away with the excuse that he was from Canada; it was years into this thing and Coach would still rib Jack about sometimes saying “American football.” “It comes naturally,” Jack would demure. He didn’t mind his beachy exile from the sweltering kitchen, but he would have preferred to pass it in silence. He was still reeling and had a lot to think about.

Jack would not spend Canada Day anywhere but Montreal. On the morning of the second, Jack’s father drove them to the airport. For the first time, as they were caught in traffic, Jack began to consider that someday, perhaps someday not far off, his father would no longer be able to drive and Jack would have to break this to him. Bob was a young 63 but this was all Jack could think about in the car: his parents were in their sixties, Jack was in his thirties, and it was possible that when he was in his forties he’d have to wrest control from his parents and make them stop doing the things that, for Jack’s entire life, they had been doing on their own. His father and Bitty were chatting, or Bitty was blathering about their Georgia plans and Bob was asking kind questions about it. For years now Bitty had been pressing Jack’s parents to come to Georgia.

“Seems like it would be awfully hot down there, son,” Bob was saying. “Wouldn’t it be better to go for Christmas?”

“The baking’s good at Christmas,” said Bitty, typically, “what with all the family in town, but we like hosting everyone! And besides, everyone in Georgia drives all over. There’s air conditioning everywhere. You might be cold, actually. Summer in Georgia needs a sweater.”

“I’ve never needed a sweater for cold in my life,” Bob bragged.

“But air conditioning is a different kind of cold.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not organic,” said Bitty. “It’s not elemental. It’s artificial. It’s mean.”

“That’s interesting.”

Jack would have engaged with this, because he knew what Bitty was talking about. But he was fixated on adding up numbers in his head: if he got Bitty pregnant this summer his parents would be 81 when the kid graduated high school and started college. They’d be 85 at college graduation. They’d be unaccountably ancient if their grandchild ever decided to get married. All Jack could think about was how this has never occurred to him before. He was sitting in the backseat and Bitty was next to Bob, spiritedly trading climate insights. Until Bitty entered Samwell he’d never seen a frozen pond, let alone skated on one; in Montreal the summer days could be intense but the heat would burn off by evening, whereas in Georgia the heat and humidity lingered and lingered throughout the evening.

“My parents’ house has a porch on it and you sit out there to get a nice cross-breeze.” It sounded more like Bitty was looking forward to this than purely describing it. “You sit out there with a glass of lemonade or sweet tea or, let’s be honest, a mint julep, and—”

“I thought they drank those at the Kentucky Derby,” said Bob.

“They’re good all the time, actually!”

They were stalled at a light and so Jack’s father turned to ask him, “Have you ever had a mint julep?”

“I don’t really drink,” said Jack. He could tell that they were both a bit unnerved that he wasn’t saying anything, and Jack couldn’t blame them. He was trying to add up all the milestones to his parents’ current ages. It could take another five or ten years to have kids. Internally, Jack berated himself for not having done this math. He had never particularly wanted kids and so he’d never pressed himself to think about it. His plans, until now, had been centered around hockey seasons and, in college, academic calendars. Weirdly, the two tended to sync up. Projecting beyond this framework was beginning to make him a little anxious.

Bob insisted on getting their bags out of the trunk, hugged Bitty, and put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You are going to be okay,” he said, in slurry joual. “But call me when you land in Atlanta anyhow. Call me any time, in fact.”

“You shouldn’t use French around Bittle. It’s rude,” Jack replied, in English.

“My French isn’t so bad.”

Jack raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“Have a good holiday,” Bob said to both of them. “Enjoy the sweaty weather.”

Bitty said, “We will, thanks! Lovely as always. Give Alicia my best.”

The flight was broken up with a layover in Chicago, where Bitty purchased gourmet popcorn and ate it in the first-class lounge with a mimosa and a cup of coffee. Jack had nothing and just sat with him, staring at the O’Hare tarmac. They had learned long ago that immigration and customs at Hartsfield would spoil a trip before it began. Jack recalled things being easier as a kid, especially when he was very young and his mother would take him from Montreal to Pittsburgh to see his father play. He did not recall having a passport then. In his memory crossing from Canada to the US was as effortless as passing back and forth between French and English.

“You’re so quiet,” Bitty said, and he offered Jack his bag of popcorn. It was a mix of neon orange cheddar and brown caramel. “What’s wrong?”

Jack shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

The Chicago-Atlanta flight was under ninety minutes, and Jack resisted Bitty’s attempts to talk with him. “You know I hate it when you bottle it up,” he kept insisting, which just made Jack want to go to sleep. “Did your dad say something to you, about the team?”

“No,” said Jack.

“Did your mom?”

“No. She wouldn’t.”

“Are you going to be grumpy the whole time?”

“I’m not grumpy, I’m quiet,” said Jack. He saw Bitty motion to pull out his phone. “Do not purchase in-flight internet just to Tweet that.”

Bitty laughed, and asked the flight attendant for another mimosa when she passed.

Landing in Atlanta, they struggled onto the Plane Train, sleepwalked to baggage claim, collected their things, and were on the road to Madison in a rental car in thirty minutes. Bitty chatted as he drove, telling the same stories he’d told before about this rest stop or that billboard. It was hours later, but Jack’s thoughts were stuck on the idea that his parents would be 65 in two years. He had never thought of his parents as old before, but 65 was very old. This was inarguable. It was all Jack could think about.

They spent the afternoon on the porch with Suzanne Bittle, who made mint juleps. Jack had water. When Bitty was on his second julep, he leaned into his mother and said, sadly, “Maybe I shouldn’t be drinking so much.”

“Well, it’s a holiday,” she replied, though the holiday was two days off.

“Maybe it interferes with fertility,” said Bitty. “Maybe that’s why—”

“Well, people get drunk and fall pregnant all the time,” Suzanne said, “so if it interfered that wouldn’t happen.”

“Are you saying we should give it a shot this afternoon?” Bitty wrapped his free hand around Jack’s thigh and leaned in. “I’m feeling optimistic!”

“Um.” Jack could see Suzanne staring at him. He took an awkward sip of his water. They both laughed at him.

“Oh, honey,” said Bitty, his voice full of joy. “Never change, okay?”

After dinner, Bitty and his father hashed out their route for the next morning’s drive. They planned to take “scenic backroads,” which Coach swore would be less trafficky for the holiday. Jack listened in for a moment and then floated back into the kitchen, where Suzanne was washing up.

“I love having you boys,” she said. She wore yellow rubber gloves. Jack had never seen his own mother in a pair. “Y’all have to come down more often.”

“It’s hard during the season.” Jack never felt quite comfortable with her; she had always been kind to him and was often, in fact, over-the-top enthusiastic, but on their first meeting he had been incredibly rude. He would never get over this. It would haunt him forever.

“I understand,” she said. “It was always hard for Coach to get away. He always wanted to come up to Samwell and see Dicky play, but a schedule’s a schedule.” She cleared her throat. “So, I understand.”

“Thank you for understanding,” said Jack, “and for your hospitality.”

“Of course.” Her words slurred together like Bitty’s did, so that it came out uh-curse. “You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I’m all right.”

“Can I tell you something? Can I talk for a sec?” She turned off the faucet and peeled off the gloves. She didn’t wait for him to say yes and just barreled into it: “I’m worried about Dicky.”

“Dicky’s fine,” said Jack.

“I know couples talk about these things together,” she said, “but it’s not easy to talk about this stuff.”

“What stuff?” he asked, though he knew immediately that she meant sex, more or less.

“You oughta encourage him to go see a specialist,” she said, softly. “You’re both young. He’s only twenty-five, you know, there’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to—you know. I mean, if you boys are trying, which, y’all are trying, right?”

Jack’s entire body seized up in discomfort. He hated this. He hated having this talk with her. “Yes,” he said. It was all he could get out. What he should have said was, “We are, but I worry that my lack of certainty is somehow emotionally hindering the process.” But he knew that wasn’t, medically, any kind of reason. He kept his mouth shut and listened.

“I bet there’s someone good up there y’all could see,” she said. “One of the neighbors, her husband’s brother’s up at Emory Hospital. He’s a fertility specialist. I could ask, you know, if he knows anyone, and you don’t have to tell Dicky you heard it from me. But I hope you can talk him into this, because I hate seeing him like that, you know? He doesn’t want to talk about it to me.”

“So, why the suggestion now?”

“Because he mentioned it earlier,” she said. “It’s hard for him to say difficult things to me. It’s always been hard and he’s stubborn about that.”

“He is stubborn,” Jack agreed. As they had to be up early, he did not bring it up with Bitty that night.

Jack brought it up in the car the next day. He had to talk himself into raising the issue, because Bitty was driving, and Bitty was not an exemplary multitasker. Here they had the radio on, the windows open, and Bitty was trying to keep an ear out for directions from his phone, Siri or whoever. Jack wasn’t totally sure who or what program was advising them to make such-and-such a turnoff around Macon, or whatever, and his offer to give directions with a paper map was met with, “Honey, please.” It had come in the glove compartment of the rental and it seemed, to Jack, a shame not to use it. Then again, he’d gotten his way and they were now listening to local country stations, so it would have been ungrateful to press it.

But when else were they going to talk about this? “So, uh, your mom—” Jack began.

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Bitty replied.

“I’m trying to. Did she give you the same lecture?”

“No, what lecture? I mean, offering you a drink—the nerve! I always tell her, Jack’ll get his own drink if he wants it, Mother, don’t even offer it to him. She’s going to want to take so many pictures of the Fourth, I’m almost dreading it. Pictures of me with pie dough on my hands and my hair all messed up, and such, I know she means well but she’s so intrusive it’s—”

Jack interrupted. “She actually asked me to talk to you about something else. She said she knows some guy who knows some guy who could maybe help us find a fertility specialist in Providence?” Jack paused. “I guess?

“The nerve of her!” Bitty exclaimed, snapping off the radio. “I’m so sorry, I can’t deal with this whiny music right now. I have told her it’s none of her business!”

“Isn’t it kind of, though? But in any case it seems clear that parents do not let up. You really can’t tell her not to get involved or she’ll somehow get more involved.”

“She is my best friend but she really ought to keep her nose out of it, is what she ought to do.”

“Okay, but, even if annoying—she’s not...wrong?”

“How isn’t she wrong?”

“Maybe you want to...see someone.” Jack said gently.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of it. I just feel so defective, like, why can’t I do this one very straightforward thing?”

“That’s what you consult a doctor to find out.”

“I can’t believe she roped you into lecturing me about it.”

“How do we know I’m not defective? Maybe that’s what she was talking about.”

Bitty laughed. “Ha, no. But, say you were. What business is it of hers?”

“She wants grandchildren, I guess. Also, maybe she’s worried about you.”

“Oh, everyone wants grandchildren, good for her. And you are not defective! How dare she suggest it?”

“I don’t know,” said Jack. “But in the past I have proven to be fairly defective. So, maybe she’s onto something.”

“Well, I’m sorry she cornered you, anyway.”

The rest of the drive was predominantly silent, except when they pulled off the road to get gas. They bought a Styrofoam cup of hot boiled peanuts and ate them before getting back in the car. Jack really loved them; Bitty pronounced them “the worst of Georgia” and went on to clarify, “There’s nothing wrong with boiled peanuts—lord knows, I love me a good peanut boil. But food should not be sold, let alone purchased, at a gas station. It is unseemly.”

“What’s wrong with gas station food? People need to eat.”

“I’m not going to explain the many things wrong with what just came out of your mouth,” said Bitty. They got back into the car and finished the drive to Tybee Island.

They went out for dinner that night with Bitty’s parents, who had somehow found the priciest place in town. Like many visitors to the South, Jack did not understand and refused to develop any comprehension of most Southern foods, but he ate them anyway because they were delicious and, more to the point, what was available. He ordered a whole broiled brook trout and it came with sides of ham-studded collard greens, pimento grits, and some variety of corn pudding. He ordered an iced tea to go with dinner and was greeted with the question, “Sweet or unsweet?”

“Just get the dang sweet tea,” said Bitty, who was drinking wine, “because you know you want it.”

“Do I really, though?”

Bitty asked the waiter, “Don’t you think he should have sweet tea?”

The waiter did not seem amused by having to answer: “If you’re undecided, I can come back later.”

“No,” said Bitty’s mother, “we’re ready to order. What are y’all doing? Dicky, just leave him alone, he knows what he wants to drink.”

“Well, sometimes he doesn’t.”

“Can the rest of us finish ordering, then?”

“Sure,” Bitty agreed, and they all placed their food orders.

Finally, the waiter came back to Jack and asked, “Do you want to order a drink, sir?”

Jack mumbled, “I’ll stick with water.”

After dinner Bitty’s parents drove home, and Jack and Bitty walked down to an ice cream shop. The little town culminated in a beach, and they sat by the ocean while they ate. It wasn’t particularly pleasant; it was a windy twilight and sand was blowing into their ice cream. The handful of families lingering on the beach were making an awful racket, and as they were facing the water, the sunset was behind them. Everything was flanked with palmettos and Jack began to wonder if that telltale chirping sound was made by crickets, or something else. Was it a locust year? Did they have those in Georgia? He did not ask because Bitty was blathering about going to the beach as a kid and crying when he got sand in his bathing suit. The longer they sat the more Jack became aware of the many mosquitos.

“Well, did y’all not have bugs in Canada?” Bitty asked, when Jack finally managed to bring it up.

“It is quite a bit colder by season,” said Jack, “so I don’t remember getting bugs like this, no.”

“Well, down here we just put up with it.”

“Yes, I know, thanks.” His scoop of cherries jubilee long finished, Jack tossed his empty paper dish into the nearby trash. “I guess you put up with a lot.”

“What do you mean? I’m okay.”

“I mean, me, your parents, work stuff.”

“That’s not stuff I put up with! It’s stuff I really love that can be a little annoying sometimes.”

“Oh. Well, that’s flattering, I guess.”

Bitty was still clutching a half-eaten cone in one hand; with the other, he brushed Jack’s bangs away from his eyes. ”Maybe you want to get a haircut after all. It’s getting a little unkempt.”

“That’s not important right now.” Jack felt the sticky ice cream wrapper in his sweaty hand. He would have traded anything to get up and walk back to the rental car, drive back to the place, and take a shower.

#fic post

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