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blessednereid · 3 years

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Pity the Living

Daniel Sharman x Reader Series

A/N: The Much Requested, and By Requested, I mean @rogershoe wanted me to write this, MY DANIEL SHARMAN FANFICTION!!!!!! The character that Y/N plays is based on my OC for FTWD and is not an actual character in FTWD. Basic Premise of the setting for this chapter is that they're in high-school/ secondary school. But for the majority of the story(minus flashbacks) it's set in 2016/17 when s3 of FTWD was filmed.

Story Summary: When (Y/N) (L/N) reunites with a high-school friend on the set of the job she's been working on for the past 2-3 years, not only is she excited to work with the guy who inspired her to go into acting, but to hear about what he's done since she's seen him. But the more they talk, the more she realizes, this reunion is not going the way she had planned.

CW: Cursing? brief mention of alcohol, anxiety, mentions of food, fake dagger, fake blood, bets,

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Career Day

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Most of the students around you were chorusing to the tune of your school anthem, but not you. You had heard the melody and sung it almost a million times. Whether you were exaggerating or not, not even you knew. Instead, you were whispering and laughing with one of your best friends, Daniel Sharman.

You met Daniel when you first came to the school. You didn't know many people. You didn't even know yourself in this place. It was a completely foreign experience, but he stuck by your side and showed you around.

Since then, you had made friends, joined the swim team, learned your way around the school without ending up in the boys' restrooms instead of the girls' ones. Despite not needing Daniel to show you around anymore, he still provided plenty of comedic support and pick-me-ups and was a great mate all around.

Your teacher had just finished introducing all the parents who were presenting at career day. The assignment being after the presentations were finished, you were supposed to think about what you wanted to be in the future. You had no idea what you wanted to be. But of course… Daniel did.

"An actor."

"An actor?" he nodded. "Like Macbeth?"

"No, Macbeth is a character. An actor is a person who plays the character."

"Why an actor?"

"Dunno. Just seems right."

You frowned. "Huh, that's nice. Knowing what you want to be."

"You could always try acting. It's worth a shot."

"Hah, if I ever tried acting, it would probably be when I'm old, senile, and look like Betty White."

"Oh, come on. You're a great actress!"

"What's that supposed to mean, Sharman?" you gasped.

"Just that you tell fibs and stories as if they were the truth. That's all acting is."

"I DO NOT!"

"How did you convince your mum that your dog jumped onto the table and ate the cake without making any noise last weekend, then?" You opened your mouth to speak before closing it.

"Cat got your tongue?" he teased.

"Shut up, Sharman."

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L/N Residence

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You and Daniel were both swimming in the pool in your backyard when Daniel asked you the question.

"Did you think about it?"

Still floating, you asked, "About what?"

"Acting."

You laughed incredulously. "You were serious?"

"Of course I was." He swam closer to you and pulled your leg down, making you flop around and splash water.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

"Was just trying to get your attention," he remarked innocently.

You coughed. "You had it."

"Picture this," he waved you off. "Us, on the red carpet-"

"Who's red carpet?"

"Does it matter? We'll be each other's dates anyways."

"Why is that?" you asked.

"Because we're best friends."

"What if one of us has a boyfriend or girlfriend?"

He shrugged. "Ok, whatever. We're on the red carpet separately. It's both of ours red carpet-"

"So, does that mean we're in a movie together?"

"Yes, Y/N," he muttered exasperatedly.

"But that's impossible?"

"Why do you say that?"

You leaned closer to his ear. "BECAUSE I'M NOT BECOMING AN ACTOR."

He jumped away from you, proceeding to splash you with water.

"Mark my words. I know talent when I see it."

You sighed. "Could this just be you not wanting to be lonely in the acting world?"

He jutted his lip and spoke in a whiny voice. "Maybe…"

You laughed before splashing a giant wave of water at him. While he still had water in his eyes, you dove under and pulled him down.

He flailed around before his head popped up, and he calmed down.

"WHAT THE HELL!"

"PAYBACK, SHARMAN!"

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Announcement

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The intercom gave a heavy buzz, and static-y noises ran amok over the building before a voice actually came through the speakers.

"Hello, Teachers, Students, and Faculty. Welcome back to school. We hope that you all enjoyed your holidays and got the rest you needed to pay attention in class today," the last part was passive. Your principal gave more announcements for clubs and sports around the school, such as upcoming games or reminders for students to buy the school yearbook.

You were nodding along interested, or looking for interest really when something caught your best friend's attention.

"The school will also be hosting its first-ever play, Romeo and Juliet. Interested people should report to the music room before the end of the week to receive information."

You saw Daniel's eyes widen only moments before he spoke up. "Hey," he waved at you. "You should audition!"

"Daniel, are you insane?"

He chuckled, "No, but I think you'd like it."

You tried arguing, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. "You're the one who said you didn't know what you wanted to do after you graduated. Doing this cannot hurt."

"Yeah, it can't hurt until I trip on my costumes and break my neck!"

"That rarely ever happens," he said exasperatedly. "Ok, how about this? You audition, and if you end up getting a role and actually doing the play, I'll give you fifty pounds."

You squinted. "Do you even have fifty pounds to give me?"

"Do you even have to ask," he feigned shock in the accusation? You gave a sour face before he truthfully answered. "Fine, I don't have it now. But I will by the time the play comes around."

"What do I get just for auditioning?"

"I'll convince my mum to make that cake you like."

"Fine."

"BUT!" he exclaimed. "You have to audition for Juliet."

"You're kidding?"

He laughed. "No, I'm not. You have to audition for Juliet."

"I hate you," you mumbled before sighing a whispered 'fine.'

He gave a toothy smile. "Then we have a deal."

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Auditions

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You reluctantly walked onto the stage, Daniel's widening grin so visible in the audience. He said that he only put his name on the audition sheet so he could watch the auditions. He would've already been gone by the time it was his turn.

"Hello, My name is Y/n L/n, and I am auditioning for Juliet," your lips pressing into a straight line after saying the sentence.

You stammered through your first few lines. "Sh-Shall I speak ill of him— that is my husband?" You said with a laugh.

"Ah," you paused and clicked your tongue. "Poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name… When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?"

You said your following line in an accusatory manner. "But wherefore, villain... didst thou kill my cousin?" you said, though your voice squealed trying to pronounce 'didst.' "That villain cousin would have killed my husband."

"Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring!" Your voice rose and fell several octaves. "Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy." Fake tears spring to your eyes, your voice cracked, and you began slowly falling against an invisible wall.

You looked down at your paper for what to say next. "My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband. All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?" You wiped your cheeks dramatically.

"Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murd'red me. I would forget it fain;" your lips quivered, and you sucked in deep, heaving breaths before speaking your line.

"But O, it presses to my memory. Like damnèd guilty deeds to sinners' minds! 'Tybalt is dead, and Romeo--banishèd!" You shouted.

You stood back up in a startling jump, and with a proud smile, you said triumphantly, "And Scene!"

The directors and some students in the audience, especially Daniel, gave a round of applause before the director dismissed you.

You took the steps to the stage and sat next to Daniel as the director called the next student to audition.

"You were amazing! The director might as well have given you the role right then and there."

You laughed, "Hang on, charmer. There were a bunch of Juliet's who literally said that entire thing so… fluently. I stammered through the whole thing."

"But you showed more emotion than anyone else. You only had a week to prepare. The actual show will be like child's play."

"They want people who can memorize and recite. The emotion can be added later, but it's worth nothing if they forget their lines."

"There is such a thing called improvising for a reason," he reassured.

"Who in their right, bloody minds wants to improvise Shakespeare?"

He turned his head and chuckled before waving a five-pound note in front of your face. "Here, I got to go before they call me, but you earned this at least."

"Five pounds for being forced to audition for a stupid play so you can prove a point? Wow, you must really fancy me, huh, Sharman?" you said sarcastically.

"Goodbye, L/n," he whispered before sneaking out the back door of the auditorium.

"Alright, next up. Daniel Sharman!" The director shouted your friend's name a few more times before giving up.

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Headmasters Office

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A week after your audition, you were called to the headmasters' office. Thus is the cause of the curious looks from your classmates. Oohs and Aahs flooded your ears as you grabbed your bag and headed out the door to the front of the school.

When you got to the front of the building and went into the headmasters' office, you saw the Theatre director, Ms Parker, standing behind the desk. "Headmaster Leo allowed me to use his office to do this. Isn't that cool?"

Ms Parker was one of the younger teachers in school. She was twenty-four, and this was her first year teaching after receiving her bachelor's degree in education and a master's degree in music production. A fact she could astoundingly ramble about for fifteen minutes. As proven at the auditions.

"I didn't want to call you to the theatre room. That would be too predictable, correct?" You'd come to realize she was a very eccentric woman. "I have called you in here to inform you that you have been selected to perform in this year's play of Romeo and Juliet."

A wave of shock coursed through your body, and you were sure it reflected on your face. "Are you sure?"

"Darling, I'm positive!- your audition was totally spectacular! So brilliant-in fact- that I am completely sure in my choice to make you our female lead- Juliet!"

"What!" Your eyes widened into a blank stare. Your thoughts were running rampant in your mind. You thought that performing on the stage would be a breeze when you weren't the lead.

"Ms Parker, I didn't actually want the part of Juliet! It's just that my friend dared me to audition for Juliet! Is there no way I can get a smaller part? I'm no Juliet. The show would be ruined," you rambled.

The directors' facial expressions softened, "Darling, you are the only choice. None of the other people who auditioned can even compare to the amount of passion you produced in that audition. I am determined to have you as our Juliet."

You whimpered out an "Ok." Professors had a strange way of convincing you to do extra credit assignments or things that aren't necessary.

"We have a chemistry read for you and a few of our other choices for Romeo after school today. Do you need to contact a parent to let them know where you'll be?"

"Uh, yes, please."

After you made your call, you walked back to your classroom with shaky hands. The class period was almost over, but you had to tell Daniel that you had gotten a part in the show. Not just any part- THE PART!

You shuffled into the classroom reluctantly. All eyes were on you as every student had assumed you'd been in trouble. Either suspended, expelled, or told your parents were going to have a sit-down with the headmaster.

You took your seat next to Daniel before taking out a piece of paper and writing out a note, encompassing the words, "I got the part!"

You slid the sheet discreetly onto his desk. When he read it, his eyes widened, and he quietly moved his hands toward yours, beckoning for a high five.

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First Rehearsal

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After the chemistry read, the role of Romeo was given to a kid named James Mercer-Allen got the part. Though it was more because the directors were starting to become tired.

The next day was the first rehearsal. Swimming season was last semester, so there was no clash in schedules with the play.

"Alright, this rehearsal is to get acquainted with the stage, your fellow actors, and directors," she insisted. "Now, let's introduce ourselves. Can our Romeo please stand up?"

James stood up and gave a brief introduction. You were called on next. You stated your name, "I was on the swim team last semester, and I'm in my thirteenth year. I hope I can do this role justice."

More students stood up to introduce themselves. The entire process took more than thirty minutes.

The next thing to happen was that the rest of the students were called to recite lines for various roles. The only parts that had been cast preliminarily were Romeo and Juliet.

You and James had sat on the wooden stools unless there was a scene going on that needed Romeo and/or Juliet.

By the end of the first rehearsal, the majority of the speaking roles were cast. You went home exhausted but not expecting the conversation that waited for you.

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The Talk

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"We're moving?" you shouted at your parents from your seat across from them in the sitting room. "What do you mean we're moving."

"Honey, your dad got a job in the states, so we have to move," your mother argued.

"But what about school? No school will take me in the middle of the year, and it's my last year of secondary school. I don't want to spend the rest of my last year knowing nobody."

Your dad, the man of the hour, spoke up. "Dear, we're moving at the end of the year. After school ends."

"But- What about Uni?"

"You said you were taking a sabbatical year!"

"Yes, so I could intern in London!"

"Can't you intern in California?" Your mother whined.

"We're going to California? It's the furthest state?"

Your dad attempted to reassure you but failed. "Darling, it won't be that bad. Maybe you'll like it there more than you like it here!"

"I could never like anywhere more than I like it here!"

You agreed to go to your room and spent the rest of the day there. Later on, after you finished moping, you ringed up your closest friends to tell them you were moving. You did that until you were so tired you fell asleep on the phone with Sarah before you even called Daniel.

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Confrontation

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"Why am I hearing from everyone besides you that you're moving?" Daniel appeared out of thin air behind you, and the accusation was an assault on your conscience.

You could lie and tell him that you wanted to reveal that to him in person, or you could just tell him the truth- say you fell asleep. Mix-and-Match? You ended up just telling the truth. "I fell asleep when I was making some of my other calls. I was going to tell you, I swear!"

"Why didn't you call me first. I'm your best friend?"

"That's why! It was too hard. I kept putting it off and putting it off and putting it off because I didn't want to tell you, I don't want it to be true, and telling you of all people would make it feel real."

"Why can't you stay for Uni?"

"I already told my parents I was taking a gap year. I didn't apply to any colleges."

"Crap!" he sighed. "Ok, well, we're going to have to make the most of it. And! You're getting a going away party!"

"Daniel, I don't need-"

"No debate! You are getting a going away party!"

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Opening Night

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Four months later, after all the rehearsals and memorizations of lines. After much running around the entire film department, it was finally opening night, and your nerves were shot.

You were scrambling all morning to find everything you needed. All your costumes were at the school, but you still needed to bring your black leotard, skin-coloured tights, and wear your hair in an up-do style.

You decided to do your skincare routine, but your panic got the best of you, and you forgot what every single product was used for.

Daniel came over and helped you get ready but found you practically hyperventilating.

Your parents drove you both to the theatre, and when Ms Parker told you that Daniel couldn't be backstage, you promptly told her that he was your emotional support. After much arguing, she finally let him backstage.

Around an hour before showtime, the director told Daniel that he had to go wait in the audience if he already bought his ticket or that he had to go do it now.

Before he left, he gave you a pep-talk. "Hey, so one time, I was in this play, and the idea was that I was expelled, and there was a piece of paper I had to give my 'mother,' but I lost it. So we had to improvise, but I couldn't find the paper, and I felt horrible. So just know, even if you forget your lines, you must improvise, and remember, it still probably won't compare to the embarrassment I felt that day. So you can laugh at my humiliation. "

You chuckled, "I will. Ok, go before you get in trouble."

"Ok, me, our parents and all your friends will be in the front row. I've already reserved the entire row. I brought a whole bag of jackets just for that reason!"

"You can't do that," you said in between cackles.

"For you, I'll do anything," he grinned.

A few hours later and the show was almost done. "What's here? A cup, closed in my true love's hand? Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end," you wept.

"O, churl! Drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after? I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to die with thine restorative." You leaned over James and let your hair fall to the side of your head to cover your face. You pulled back without actually kissing James.

"Thy lips are warm."

A whispery voice came from offstage, "Which way?" The cue for you to take the poison, which was actually cranberry juice.

"Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger!" You grabbed the dagger and brought it near your chest. "This is thy sheath;" you drew the fake knife back three inches from your chest and stabbed it to where the bag of more cranberry juice was and punctured the bag. 'Blood' soaked through your dress. "There rust, and let me die." You fell dramatically onto the altar and waited for the scene to end as the crowd cheered.

After the show, you dashed into the crowd where your friends and family waited for you. Ovations and Applauses were passed, lauded boxes of chocolates and gorgeous roses were given.

When you got to Daniel, he practically tackled you with a hug. "I actually thought you died for a split second. The blood looked so real."

"Daniel, most people don't bleed that fast, do they?"

"I don't know but fear kicked in, and I couldn't make sense of anything."

You grinned and almost went to your parents before Daniel grabbed your arm. "You don't have a date to the Leavers ball, do you?"

"No, I don't. Why?"

He sighed. "Well, I was thinking that you could go with me. I don't have a date either."

You squinted, thinking there was some ulterior motive behind his actions. "Ok, I'll go with you if you give me the money you owe me before then."

"It's right here," he smiled.

Your face scrunched up, but you reluctantly agreed. You only had a month of school left, and you might as well spend it having fun with your friends.

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The Leavers Ball and the Getaway Party

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You were dressed in a light blue, pleated, Mikado prom dress that cut off at mid-thigh. You had black wedges on your feet and a black pearl-beaded bracelet on your arm.

You were wearing a half-up, half-down style that framed your face and a silver necklace with a circle-shaped diamond.

You were sitting in the parlour when Daniel rang the doorbell. He was ten minutes late.

"Sorry," he said when your dad answered it. "I know I'm late. I was picking up Kat and James."

Kat and James were your and Daniel's respective friends who'd started last year after you and Daniel introduced them.

"Hi," you popped out of the shadows. "Alright, Mom, Dad, we're late, so we're just going to get goi-"

"Wait! I have to take pictures! Go get Kat and James."

"No, Mom. No pictures!"

"It's only right. I just want a few. We can take it outside."

You sighed but reluctantly caved into your mother's will.

The four of you took pictures outside of Daniel's Jeep Wrangler. You took ones with silly faces, just girls, just boys, and ones with all four of you before your parents allowed you to leave.

You were forty minutes late, and the ball was already in full swing by the time you got there.

You got on the dance floor immediately because one of your favourite songs was playing, but the DJ switched the song as soon as you found a decent spot. It was a slow song. You chuckled, and Daniel put his hands on your waist.

"Well, this is awkward."

A few minutes later, Daniel posed an interesting question.

"Did you know that I had a crush on you when you first came to school?"

"Uh, you stammered. "No, I didn't know that."

"Yeah, I did. It was short, though. Surface-level."

"Oh," you said. "Should I take offence to that?"

"What?" His eyes widened in realization with what he said. "No, that's not what I meant. You have an amazing personality. I just meant that… I just meant I like you more as a friend than to ruin that with any of those feelings."

"Oh, ok. You wouldn't have, though."

"I wouldn't?"

"No, everyone needs an ego boost every once in a while."

"Haha!"

"And besides, I've had feelings for you at one point too. But it was very cliche, so I tried to shake it as hard as I could."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows. "And did you?"

"Like I said, as hard as I could. If it's still there somewhere, it's buried very deep, so much so that I was embarrassed."

"Embarrassed to like me?"

"I mean embarrassed to try and make my life seem like some movie."

"Oh, well, if you did, it would've just made you that much better as an actress. Speaking of that, would you consider acting in the least?"

"Maybe, now that I'm leaving, it's basically the last thing I have to connect me to you."

"No," he said, pointing to your bracelet. "You have that."

You had forgotten that it was Daniel who gave it to you, but the realization brought a smile to your face. "Oh yeah, I'll never take it off."

Later on, long before the ball ended, you saw many of your friends leaving.

"Hey, are you ready to go?" Daniel approached you.

"Where is everyone going?"

He wriggled his eyebrows. "Afterparty!"

"But it's not over?"

"Quit being a party popper and just come with us, L/N!"

You gave in, something you did a lot, and you all started driving. When you got there, you realized you were at Daniel's house.

"The afterparty is at your house?" you asked.

"Well…" James answered.

Kat joined in. "It's really an afterparty!"

"This is your going away party!" Daniel finished.

"But I'm not going away for another month."

"Well, now you have an entire month for people to give you gifts and stuff, and you don't have to worry about the party!" He reasoned.

"But why did it have to be after the Leavers ball?"

"Because you're already in a dress, and it has to be a surprise! Surprise!" Kat exclaimed.

"Alright, fine!"

The entire night you partied and danced, and though you didn't drink alcohol, plentiful amounts of pop and mocktails were passed around. The music was a delight to your ears with all your favourite songs. There were chips and pizza with all your favourite toppings.

"This party is awesome!"

Daniel grinned. "Well, I am an amazing party planner if I do say so myself."

☆◦ 。＼｜／。◦☆

Airport

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Daniel's parents drove your family to the airport. Your parents had sold the car. Your dad would return in a week to close a deal on the house. Everything was official, and now you were leaving.

You got out of the car, and the tears forcefully began to fall.

"I'm really gonna miss you, jerk," you said disdainfully to Daniel.

He chuckled. "I'm going to miss you more."

"Impossible!"

He wiped the fallen tear from your eye, and for a moment, you could see every single multi-coloured speck in his eyes and noticed how sometimes they looked blue, and at others, they looked grey or green.

You noticed the curvature of his smile and the chisel of his jawline.You saw the hurt in his eyes that said, 'why do you have to go? You're killing me,' and wanted to never move from that position.

He continued to rub the tears that fell onto your cheek, and the sad moment was as sheltered as it could be. You felt safe with him, in his arms, just looking at his face and being reminded of how he comforted you in a place that felt as familiar as Oz felt to Dorothy.

"What am I gonna do without you?" you whispered.

"Get at least one acting job, get an assistant and an agent, I'll do the same thing, and then either one of us has our assistants reach out to our agents, so we get back in touch in case we ever lose touch."

He sounded so grave that you couldn't help but laugh. "That's assuming I do become an actress, Daniel."

"You're right," he whined. "But don't forget me."

"I promise."

And you tried to keep that promise. Throughout your first year, you interned at UCLA, working in the lab. You then applied to go to school there, and you still tried to keep Daniel in your mind. Maintaining a social life on campus combined with schoolwork already wasn't easy. However, you still wouldn't let yourself forget your best friend.

It wasn't until you entered your senior year and you were about to graduate that he started to wane in your memories. The things you did together became obsolete as new friends and memories replaced the old. The things he taught you were thrown out to make space for the new lessons you learned each day.

Even when you did become an actress, you never really remembered why you decided to. You remembered that your friend pushed you to do that play, but it was almost ten years ago, and for the life of you, you couldn't remember his name.

But you did do it, first as an extra, then a body double, and then you started getting l roles on smaller shows. But your big break was getting a quasi-lead role on the spin-off of a big television show, The Walking Dead. For two years, you enjoyed going to conventions and playing the complex character, Valeria Bishop, and you thought you had it all figured out.

But life has a funny way of coming full circle and throwing you a curveball that knows you off course and changes your life.

#Daniel Sharman x reader #daniel sharman fic #Daniel Sharman imagine #Daniel Sharman fluff #Daniel Sharman angst #very angsty #ftwd imagine #twd imagine #troy otto imagine #dylan obrien imagine #that last one is for exposure #I have no regrets

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ruby-whistler · 3 years

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yes, i’m writing third life fanfiction because i can

grian and scar have become my second favorite dynamic duo right after the memento mori boys and no i do not take constructive criticism <3

even if you don’t watch the series reading this would be appreciated!

all of this is platonic, including platonic hand holding - no real warnings, just bonding and emotional comfort :]

Grian walked up the stairs of the sandcastle, dragging step after step with shoulders hunched in exhaustion.

Despite the slight frustration at its size now, he’d taken a liking to the building. It had taken him days to make, not even counting the effort it took to collect all of the sand and wood. It looked beautiful standing on top of Monopoly Mountain, he had to admit, and the way the hastily crafted sandstone glittered in the light made it somewhat of a lighthouse in the desert, reflecting the moon’s rays at night when the outside was most dangerous.

He reached the top of one of the towers, and his tired expression melted into somewhat satisfaction upon seeing a pink sunset fall over golden trees, his friend’s brown hair softly blowing in the wind.

“Hey, Scar,” he said, hoping not to startle the other.

His legs were hanging over the railings leisurely, the close distance to a deadly drop causing an uneasy feeling to settle in Grian’s stomach; Scar slowly turned his head and gave him a smile.

“Hey there.” He shifted, staying seated on the carved birch. His eyes were glazed over, and his smile slightly slipped off his face into a more neutral expression as he turned his head back around to stare at the horizon.

The silence was nice, Grian thought. That day had been a lot, and adrenaline drenches you of energy quickly. Redstone was caught in the loose threads of his sweater, and there was sand in his iron boots. Running through the desert and struggling to get past their own defenses was like smears in his mind, stained with an echoing explosion and panicked shouts.

“Anything on your mind?” he asked after a while, setting himself down besides Scar.

“I... Grian, are you ever... scared of me, now that I’m a red name?” his eyes drifted over to his friend, heels banging on the walls below them, with no concern of dirtying them - and really, why should he care?

It wasn’t like they would last long. Who focuses on gunpowder in their hair when they’re standing next to a killer, bound by invisible chains?

Grian should stop concentrating so much on the details. It might cost him a lot, someday.

“I mean I don’t... I didn’t want to kill people before. I just wanted to have a monopoly, to- control the economy through an elaborate scheme. I thought it would give us better chances at survival.”

Grian opted to ignore the plural in the last sentence, and hummed in agreement. “And now?”

Scar’s clothing rustled, head tilted forwards with his palms laid bare on his knees. “I don’t know,” he responded, looking into them like he was expecting red, “it’s like I have a drive.”

A moment passed as the two looked ahead in thought, no rushing on their minds now that the day was over. The world moves slower when the battlefield is empty.

“Well, I guess... I’m still gonna be there, aren’t I?” Grian responded, arms heavy and leaning back on his hands.

The promise remained unbroken for now, and so did assurance he would be there for Scar, no matter if he himself wanted it or not.

Well, what was it really that Grian wanted? He didn’t know anymore.

He had simply wanted to scare everyone, just wanted to have fun, once, and it landed him here, in a game of survival, with a reluctant murderer whose time was running short. Life doesn’t listen to what you want, and sometimes that is the only constant.

“Tell me, Grian, do you get a... thrill, from taking a life?” Scar lifted up his head, prompting eye contact. “You didn’t have to propose the trap idea, we wouldn’t have taken three lives today.”

Grian looked back down, conflicting feelings stirring in his stomach. “Well...” he started slowly, a smile creeping into his eyes, “Smajor did call me a chaos incarnate.”

Something of relief, of amusement, of straight up baffled laughter coming out of him, so hard he thought his lungs would deflate - standing on top of the hill, looking down upon the crater of his own creation, destruction caused by the victims’ mistakes and sheer luck.

He didn’t think before that he’d call three people losing a life lucky.

“Well, maybe I’m rubbing off on you?” Scar interrupted his train of thought.

“Uh-huh, sure. More like the other way around,” Grian retorted, nudging Scar’s shoulder with a chuckle. “You’re more of a danger to yourself than to anyone else.”

Scar snorted, rubbing his shoulder with his other hand. “Yeah, says the one who took my first life on accident.”

“I mean, that only further proves my point, now doesn’t it?” Grian ignored the stinging feeling of guilt at the mention of his mistakes, pushing it back with a bittersweet smirk.

“Guess you’re right about that one. I still have a few people on my hitlist, though, and they better be ready for me to be a danger to them. Us, I mean,” Scar corrected.

It felt nice, though Grian didn’t know whether to admit it to himself or not. Maybe it would’ve been easier to choose who to be aligned with, but so far, it hasn’t been the worst to be here.

“Just keep in mind I’m not killing anyone, and I’m not getting killed to save you from being an idiot,” he commented.

“Me? Be an idiot? Never!”

Scar’s wide smirk sparked something like quiet determination. The blueprints for a small creeper farm lay folded in Grian’s pockets. The day might’ve been over for most of the server, but there was still work to be done. A couple more nights awake couldn’t hurt, he told himself through heavy eyelids and bruised hands weighing him down, sleep could wait.

“I’m going to get some water from the river. G’night, Scar,” he lied, pushing himself up to stand.

“Can you answer a question, and please be honest with me - would you still be friends with me if it wasn’t for the life debt?”

Grian stopped in his tracks, turning back to his liege to look him in the eyes, an intangible expression on his face.

“Is that an order?”

The light was dissipating from the sky, and scattered torches below them seemed to be getting brighter. The night approaching made the small castle seem safe; a beacon of peace, for now at least. Fingers rhythmically tapped on the balcony as Grian shifted, eyes fixed on Scar’s line of sight.

“I don’t think so.”

There was an air of uncertainty to the words, much like anything spoken that day. New developments always sparked doubts. It was strange, to pretend anything was evident.

“I don’t think I would be here with you if it wasn’t for the life debt, no,” Grian said, and he knew it was the truth, but it felt like a decision to admit it.

There was no bitterness or disappointment on Scar’s face. Perhaps something in between.

Grian shuffled closer to his friend, now sitting comfortably - or as much as the gritty sandstone allowed him to - and put a hand on his.

“But I... am happy this is how things ended up, I think.”

“I think so too,” Scar replied with a brightness in his voice.

#third life smp #3rdlifesmp #3rd life smp #3rd life fanfiction #grian #goodtimeswithscar #fanfiction #my writing

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captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Eight

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 8 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: abusive parental relationship; extreme canon violence (gun violence, hand-to-hand, baton use, knives); strong language; mentions of drug smuggling, drugs, and human smuggling; mentions of blood and blood loss; major/minor character death (not the mains, don’t worry!); angst; gunshot wounds; heavy alcohol consumption

Word Count: 14,600+

A/N: Listen... you know damn well I had to put some American Pie lyrics in this. The reader’s and Jackeline’s relationship is not modeled after Nat and Yelena lol it was literally the biggest coincidence.

MedBay - The New Compound, 2024, 1:52 pm

“He did what?”

Bruce smiles sheepishly as he lugs Steve’s practically lifeless body onto one of those beige medical beds. Dr. Cho is pacing calmly around the room, getting her instruments cleaned and ready. She tries to ignore the way you’re crowding her, inspecting everything she touches and in turn is going to end up touching Steve.

“He took a bullet for someone.”

“And where is that someone?” you bite. You immediately want to apologize to Bruce for your tone but you’re distracted by the tiny groans of pain coming from the pale super soldier beside you. You have to look away to avoid whimpering yourself, but you can’t exactly make yourself deaf. “Don’t tell me he took a bullet for you.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and steps to the side as Dr. Cho begins cutting away Steve’s pants. “Everyone else is on vacation. He has no one here to take a bullet for besides. It was a shitty liquor store robbery and Steve was, of course, being a hero.”

“Where’s he hit?” you ask, heading over to grab a pair of gloves yourself. No one questions it.

“Femoral artery. Seems like he was plugging his own wound until he could get help.”

Dr. Cho is right. There’s a massive gash in his thigh that’s leaking excessively and the skin surrounding the wound is raised like Steve’s own fingers had plunged so deeply it left an imprint. Not only that, but his hand is covered in his blood. So is Bruce’s, you realize, because he had tried to plug the artery as well.

“How is he not dead yet?” Dr. Cho more mutters to herself than to you guys. Steve’s head is lolling to the side and his lips are an awful shade of white. His eyes are fluttering open and closed… open… closed… and he’s still mumbling random phrases. There’s a rough tug at the bottom of your stomach that pulls and pulls and there’s a weird urge to crawl onto the table to keep Steve warm.

“He needs blood,” you say, even though all parties in the room know that as fact.

Bruce, however, winces. “Sam’s not even in the state right now and I don’t think we have enough time to fly him-”

“Is he Sam’s blood type? What’s his blood type? Why can’t Bucky do it? Bucky’s in Brooklyn, he can be here in five minutes if he runs.”

Bruce starts rummaging through the upper level shelves and freezer cabinets. “Can’t mix the serums. We’ve tried.” He finally finds the blood bags, pulling them all out and spreading them across the clean tables. “It’s - shit - do we not have?”

Dr. Cho is now covered in blood, working as fast as she can to close the wound. “What’s his blood type?”

Bruce repeats it out loud and watches as Dr. Cho’s face falls. “I ran out yesterday. The blood drive isn’t until this weekend. I had a patient come in yesterday, I - I ran out yesterday.”

They seem to be having their own conversation with their eyes and are too focused on each other to see you already stripping your long-sleeve shirt and wrapping that horrible blue rubber band around your upper arm. “Me. Take mine.”

Bruce immediately shakes his head, stuttering as he tries to remove the rubber band. “Nu-uh, I don’t know if you know this but you’re human. I need two bags, three tops. I can’t just take it all from you right now!”

“Then get me some cookies and a juice box. I don’t care how much you have to take to make him speak a coherent sentence. Do me.”

Bruce hesitates but he rushes to the cabinets for the needles, vials, tubes, whatever - “No, do it direct.”

Your words startle the two doctors but they don’t question it. They hook you up and poke the needle in the first vein they find, attaching the tube instead of a single vial and direct it to Steve.

“You sure your blood matches?”

You give Bruce a pointed look as if that isn’t something written on your dog tags or on your weekly personal reports.

In the end, you’re told that you gave him the equivalent of two pints of blood. Not that you were awake for the second anyway but you vaguely remember Steve’s voice ringing in your ears. You’re not awake as he regains consciousness or to witness his very confused glare at seeing you in the bed next to him.

He swears he heard small mumblings… ‘If you die because of some highway robbery, Rogers --- I’m never gonna fucking stop bullying your grave --- haunt it’.... ‘Stay --- with me, please’.... ‘---supposed to apologize first’....

He tests the waters, mumbling a name he only says with annoyance nowadays. But now, it’s gently said. Soft, a whisper that sounds like a fractured hymn.

Present Day, 2025, 12:05 pm

There isn’t a set emotion in the world that seems appropriate. What are people supposed to feel when they’re singled out and chosen to suffer a life of pain? Self-hate? Pity for themselves? Anger? Sadness? Remorse? Nothing?

You really don’t know what you’re feeling. In the middle of rubbing vaseline on your newly acquired cuts and scrapes and bandaging yourself up, biting on a belt as Bucky set your shoulder back in place, and lying with Steve discussing everything and nothing all night after your promise - well, what the hell are you supposed to feel? As inevitable as it was considering he had ordered you shot before, the one feeling you know you feel is betrayed. Because even though Ernesto has proven himself evil time and time again, to his own flesh and blood, there was still a small part in your heart that didn’t think any parent truly wanted to inflict pain on their children. And your heart keeps proving itself wrong again and again.

“You just... jumped out of the car?”

Ramirez’s voice snaps you from your inner thoughts. He was let out of custody this morning. He’s currently filling in anyone who asks about the shipment, about Ernesto’s future plans, about the role he thought he had.

“Against my better judgment, but yeah.”

He chuckles and grins like he’s a kid hearing the best story ever told. “That’s what superheroes do. At least, what I’ve seen in the movies. John Wick, Bond, esos tipos.”

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, Omar,” there’s a teasing tone, “but I’m a fucking Avenger.”

That makes him laugh louder and in turn pulls one from you. “Ya se, ya se. I’ve known you since you were born. It’s weird hearing stories about you saving the world and jumping from bombed cars.”

“Mm, wait until you hear about that time I went into space and landed on another planet. Or time traveled. Take your pick.”

He’s stunned into silence and after a few more praises, he lets you return to typing out your report. There are plenty of other agents around for him to busy himself with. The base is tiny and not at all what you expected, but it’s secure enough to fit Torres, Sam, Bucky, and about fifteen other agents as they prepare for tonight. The plan you and Steve outlined was simple: attend the wedding, butter everyone up, send Steve away to help Ernesto retrieve and move the shipment, Scott and Sam will infiltrate, Bucky would be on standby to help you fight, and the rest of the team at base will begin arrests and sweeps. If everything goes according to plan, at least.

It’s easy to speak negatively about these things - there really were only two ways this could go.

You finish your report and go to stand, only realizing a minute later walking through the base that Ramirez is following you. You send him a funny look over your shoulder and he returns with a small smile of his own.

“Tengo preguntas!”

You stop and let him catch up. “Hmm?”

“Okay,” he starts, motioning his hands wordlessly until he could form them. “Are you and the Captain actually... juntos? Or just Avenger partners?”

“That’s personal, Omar,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “But I guess? That’s weird discussing with you.”

He nods in agreement. “It’s okay, I was just curious. So, him being mad was just an act? He doesn’t really hurt and threaten you, no?” He’s treading lightly, but you can already see the cartel mind turning. He would order Steve’s execution if he had to, even if he believed it to be morally wrong in some situations.

“Never. It was just an act for Ernesto.”

“Ah, Dios. Thank goodness.”

“Yeah, keep your men in line. It’s fine.”

He chuckles at that. “And the other Avengers?”

“They’re my family, Omar,” you grin wide, waking slower for the old man to keep up. “They would never hurt me.”

“That’s good, but not what I was asking.”

“Oh?”

“What are they like?”

Handing your report to one of the agents at a handful of monitors, you laugh loudly. “Do you want to meet them officially?”

“Aye, I know my daughters would like that...”

You raise an eyebrow.

“But I would like to meet them, too.”

“That’s what I thought. C’mon.”

The rest of the team are all relaxing and discussing the past days events in the lounge area, which is really just a glorified break room. Bucky’s still in his morning sweats same as Scott, Torres is already suited up, and both Sam and Steve are wearing their Avenger gear (minus Sam’s wings and Steve’s battered shield). Steve is the first one to notice you enter and he instantly gets up from his chair to greet you with a kiss on the cheek.

“Gross,” Bucky mumbles.

“You’ve been trying to get me a girl for over ninety years, Buck. And now that I’ve finally got someone who likes me back, you bully me for it?”

“Who’s bullin’? I said the same thing when Agent Carter smooched you in the weapon’s room and you thought you were alone.”

You pat Steve’s shoulder. “Think about it, Rogers. When Bucky settles down with someone, you have free reign.”

Steve pulls a thin smile and glances back at Bucky. “I’ll make them hate you.”

“Love and hate are the same thing, pal. It worked out for you two.”

“Okay, we’re done. Everyone, Omar wanted to formally introduce himself.”

Ramirez gives a shy wave. Torres returns it. It’s kind of hilarious to witness. Here you all are, Avengers and some standing over six feet with one of the most wanted drug lords in the world, and the all mighty drug lord is shy.

“I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot.” You notice how when Ramirez speaks to strangers or those he deems good people on his side, his accent is a little thicker. It’s like he wants to speak only in Spanish other than the Spanglish you were all accustomed to. “But it really is an honor to meet you all.”

Scott is the first to stand and shake his hand. “Sorry I pointed my gun at you, man. Habit.”

Ramirez chuckles, “Sorry I broke into your room.”

Steve interjects, “Thank you, though. For telling us what more we’re fighting for.”

Ramirez nods, a solemn look spreading over his face. “The minute I found out, I didn’t know who to tell. I’m lucky you were never truly on his side.”

“And what will you do after all this is over?” Bucky stands. “How do we know we can truly trust you?”

Ramirez sneaks a glance at you and you raise your hands. “Hey, I’ve got the same questions as him.”

Ramirez must know he isn’t getting out of this one because he answers quickly. “Drugs have a market where people choose. I just meet supply and demand protocols. I don’t do the unnecessary violence or blackmail. There is no need to. People will always want drugs.”

There’s a round of agreement throughout the small room. Ramirez continues, “But smuggling humans? There is no choice, nothing moral about it, it’s evil.”

“But people get addicted to drugs. They die from them everyday,” Sam argues.

“I produce and deal what you American’s call weed. Ernesto does the big stuff, as does White. I’m,” he laughs a little. “I’m their weed guy.”

“That is true,” you confirm. You’ve moved and packaged Ramirez’s product before. “Literally just weed.”

Everyone seems deep in thought, like their processing Ramirez’s words and the weight behind them. Ramirez ran with the big boys and was the biggest distributor of marijuana in Mexico and America alike, but he never messed with any other product. Besides producing, selling, and smuggling illegal weed, his only other crimes included conspiring with Ernesto on how to get the product over state lines.

“Okay,” Steve starts. “So how is tonight gonna work? We have to discuss that.”

Ramirez bows his head. “You’ve allowed me safety, you’ve listened to me speak, and you’re saving both my life and my daughter’s. If you must arrest me, then you arrest me.”

“The minute you’re transferred to a prison with less security, Ernesto’s men will get you,” you reason, already shaking your head no.

Ramirez gives a nonchalant shrug, “But you’ll get him and White. That’s all that matters.”

You look over to Steve for some other ideas, but like you he doesn’t have any. No one seems to have any.

Torres matches his shrug and his voice is small as he speaks, almost like his next idea is insane. “We can always put him in the Raft.”

Everyone’s eyes go wide.

“That’s where all the enhanced humans go, no?” Ramirez is stunned. “Do I count?”

“We’ve got no idea,” Steve rubs at his chin, looking at you for confirmation he knows you don’t have. “But it’s an idea.”

The plan is no longer singular. Fury had sent his best field agents for the job, the ones with the best aim, the ones with great strategic planning. Although you and Steve were still in charge, it was no longer just your mission. Your mission was to arrest the big three, big four when including Seda. That was it.

The plan goes like this: half the team will be focused on the venue itself, hidden in the shadows and monitoring the big three as well as your mics, and will aid you in the physical fight and arrests. Some are on the ground while others in the sky. Afterwards, they’ll sweep the estate and collect stolen property or priceless artworks. The other half is split into two, where one of those halves will be spread out for miles to capture anyone that might slip through, like guests who were on the most wanted list or guests that have helped Ernesto in the past. The other part of that half will intercept the shipment (once Steve radios in the location), save the hostages, and shut down the routes.

They instruct Ramirez to call Ernesto and to ask him if there’s a vegetarian menu offered. Ernesto responds with only a muttered groan and in a wild turn of events, asks if Ramirez can call you to make sure you arrive earlier than expected to make sure Jackeline walks down that aisle. He’s completely serious. Not only does Ramirez play along, but Ernesto doesn’t give any indication that he knows about the car bomb. So the team makes a judgement call: this was only Seda’s doing.

Ramirez is then told that the Raft is not an option; both the US and Mexican government want him and the only reason he hasn’t been arrested is because he still has many cards to play. The more he helps, the less time he’ll get.

One thing is known: this is the biggest mission anybody has been on in over two years.

Bucky remembers things in bits and pieces. Sometimes he’ll be minding his own business, enjoying this new world and the countless amenities it offers, and remember exactly where he was on the hottest day of the year in 1936. He remembers the blistering heat, boiling his once pale skin and giving him that beautiful olive he was now known for. He remembers the way his tongue dried almost instantly the moment he stepped outside and how he asked his next door neighbor, Ms. Kranshall, for a cup of water before work. He remembers her massive square glasses and how they nudged the tip of her nose as she nodded sweetly at him. He remembers her high but smoky voice and the way she patted his shoulder as he drank the cup down.

The first time he remembered Natalia was around the same time he remembered Steve. He sees a flash of ember in strands, speed almost matching his, and he sees those panicked green eyes he was once all too familiar with.

She was twelve when he first met her, forced to throw her around like a ragdoll until her ribs were bruised and her spirit broken. He went again and again, and when he wasn’t forced he would teach her how to fight properly and how to shield her most vulnerable areas. Scared as she was, she never showed it in those private moments, and decided to follow his lead in most things. And she learned to be fierce, no matter how hard he hit, and he still remembers the look in her eyes and the pull of her young face as they yanked him away for cryo before he could congratulate her on winning her first fight.

The first time he remembered you was when you leapt onto T’Challa’s back as the chase neared, tackling the young prince become king, and watched with sad eyes as both him and Steve climbed onto the jet for Siberia. He remembers your clumsy punches when you fought him with half his brain and how he kicked you so hard you flew. He also remembers how when you took that kick for Steve, the sound of his wail almost deafened the soldier.

Everytime he remembers something, a memory, no matter how strangled it may arise, the twinge in his chest is good. He’s remembering. He’s James Buchanan Barnes.

He feels that same twinge when a face full of freckles greets him at the entrance, documents raised above her head in a show of selfish glee, and a pep in her step that tells him she remembers him too.

“Sergeant Barnes!” Maribel gives a toothy grin. “Never thought I’d see you again!”

Bucky tilts his chin up and rests the tip of tongue between his incisors. “What? Hydra wasn’t enough for you, you gotta infiltrate the Mexican cartel, too?”

She scoffs playfully, “Other way ‘round.”

He snatches the documents from her hand and leads her inside. “I hope you got something here. Steve put a lotta faith in you.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Y/N does. That’s enough for me.”

Rolling her eyes, she snatches the documents back to turn the pages herself. “Follow me. We need to chat in private.”

“Shouldn’t we get-”

“I’d rather you know, and you tell them later. No audience.”

This causes Bucky to tense. He follows her in further and closes the door behind them both.

The left side of her face had less freckles back in 2012, he remembers, and now she’s covered in them.

Bucky remembers things slowly, but he remembers them.

It’s cold outside, air bruising your skin, and there are hundreds of goosebumps now erupting. You joke with yourself that in the end, you’ll most likely have to ask Steve for his jacket and ruin your overall look but hey, you’ll be warm. The wedding doesn’t start until five in the evening and it’s one’oclock right now, and there are white clouds in the sky instead of gray and the songs of some desperate birds searching for their lunch near your ears. It at least drowns out the constant noise of the agents hammering away at each other and preparing for tonight.

It makes your stomach roll: these agents are putting their lives at risk because of you.

You stepped through the discarded papers and tried not to leave your footprint anywhere important. His office was empty, left in a state of purgatory, and his lamp was still on. It’s like he stepped out for a minute.

You picked everything up: pens, computers, books, chairs. Under everything, there was dust.

He really did die.

As much as you wanted to step on his remains and spit on him, you couldn’t. The gash in your heart was still open and bleeding for everyone else and there was no room left for anger. You were indifferent, for lack of a better word. Frustrated?

A paper crumbles outside his office. No one had followed you in - a week after the snap and every single person on earth was still searching for loved ones or running from something - so no, no one else was supposed to be here. Mexico had been hit hard, it’s government shattered, and every cartel was picking up pieces or tearing the world further apart. There was no line anymore.

You twisted around and aimed your gun at the door, immediately lowering it when you saw Natasha raise her hands. She had this embarrassed smile on her face like she knew she had been caught.

“I meant to say hi over your mic. But you turned it off.”

You sighed deeply and dramatically shrugged your shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Guess who’s not.”

Natasha only nods and steps further into the room. She looks over the same things you did. “He’s gone? Good, good riddance.”

“But his death means nothing if trillions of others died also. It’s so fucking typical of him. If he’s going down, he takes everyone else with him.”

“He didn’t take them, Y/N.”

“I want to be happy,” you spit out through clenched teeth. “I want to feel relief. The fucking bastard is finally gone and I can’t even enjoy it properly.”

Natasha takes one more look at the hallway before letting her guard down almost completely. She envelopes you in a hug, squeezing tighter each time your breath hitches. “Hey, listen to me.”

“He’s gone.”

“I know,” Natasha’s voice is low and reminds you of the gentle hum of record static. “He’s gone and he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But everyone-”

“No,” she pulls away and places both her palms over your neck. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

It takes a while before you’re nodding along, repeating her words gently.

“You’re more than the pain he inflicted. You’re more than his name or crimes. You’re worth more than his impact ten times over. He can’t hurt you anymore. I know everyone’s gone, and we’re going to fight like hell to bring them back, but in this little moment, this little thread you can pull - pull it all out - he can’t hurt you anymore.”

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would you do without Natasha?

The grass beneath your bare feet calms you down. It’s tendrils are a little ticklish and there are droplets of silver morning water fog melting as they touch your skin. Focusing on the feeling isn’t enough to get you out of your own head and for a wild second, you think the God of Thunder is going to come up behind you and hold your hand. It’s peaceful out here, but what you wouldn’t give to see him again.

The day before Steve and Carol returned the stones, he had been here. He did as he promised: the second the flood of happiness extinguished like a Christmas candle, he found you settled in the mass of pillows with only instrumental music playing. He left for two cups of tea, sat in silence with you as you both drank, and whispered a strangled ‘I’m sorry’ as if you weren’t meant to hear it. Apologizing for someone who did come back, and you for someone who didn’t.

‘You know I don’t regret what we did. We brought everyone back.’

‘Don’t try and justify your sadness. Not at all, not with me.’ His voice was stern and his eyes serious.

‘I’m sorry he didn’t come back.’

His eyes had closed, as if he was expecting that apology, and he looked out the window where the sun was just barely rising, shining on him and him alone. ‘I’m sorry, too.’

There are footsteps, though. Heavy ones, footsteps that announce his upcoming presence on purpose so as to not startle anymore. Bucky was too generous for his own good.

“Had a visitor.”

You remain silent as Bucky sits next to you, looking up from his spot and expecting you to sit as well. “There’s water on the grass.”

“There’s water in the air in this godforsaken state, now sit down.” A push of laughter escapes your lungs but you follow his instructions anyway.

You sit in silence for a few minutes, admiring the way the pine trees bend slightly with the gusts of wind and how the birds have changed their pitch. You expect Bucky to speak first so you occupy that time by playing with the strands of wet grass.

“In 1997, I was taken out of cryo for a mission.”

You wince on accident. This wasn’t how you expected the conversation to start.

Bucky continues, “There was this man south of the border.” He points south to prove his point. “Hydra wanted to take him out because he was interfering with the drug routes they were monitoring.”

“Hydra controlled drug routes?”

“Hydra had their heads in plenty of places. They didn’t control them, but they did monitor them.”

You shake your head in understanding. “And this man?”

Bucky sighs heavily. His eyes are focused on the gentle yellows behind the trees instead of you. “He was told to take out another man traveling through and out one of these drug routes. He made a different call.”

“Who was your visitor?”

“Maribel.”

“Wha-?” You go to stand but Bucky gently pushes your left shoulder back down. “Why are you telling me this and not her?”

“She wanted me to tell you. And I guess, in turn, you tell Steve and the rest of the team.”

“Bucky,” your voice trembles on accident. “Tell me.”

“The man I was ordered to take out was Maribel’s brother.” He chuckles at your frantic shuffling and pushes you down again. He continues, “Hey, it’s okay. She never knew him and she doesn’t hate me for what I was.”

You don’t really believe him. But his face isn’t telling you otherwise. You're stuck between wanting to dig for more information and giving him a giant bear hug. “Did you… succeed?”

“The soldier ever rarely lost.”

Your face contorts. “Bucky…”

“He disobeyed orders, Hydra didn’t like that since it disrupted the drug routes, and so I was sent to help. Hydra didn’t seem to care about the man he let go, though.” Bucky shrugs and starts playing with the grass behind your hand. “The thing was, Maribel’s brother had been doing this a long time. Ernesto was on Hydra’s radar but in a good way. Maribel’s brother was also given very specific orders from one other person - their mother.”

The story pieces are all discarded haphazardly, pieces that are from different boxes and don’t seem to entangle properly.

“She told him to let the man go. Because this man was an American, and killing an American on Mexican soil was something that was impossible to hide from the claws of the law. So, this American made it back on US soil safely and was never heard from again. Until 1998, when he tried to re-enter Mexico under a false name but with one purpose. To see his newborn baby girl.”

The yellow behind the pine trees fades into orange.

“Are you saying-?”

“Maribel’s mother kept everything your mother left her when she tried to cross the border herself. Your real birth certificate, her real birth certificate, you.”

Bucky looks over finally, sad smile and all. “Maribel thinks, and now I think, that Ernesto isn’t your real father.”

There are so many questions formulating at the base of your skull that you don’t really take the time to absorb the news. “What did she bring you? What was in those papers?”

Bucky seems startled that your reaction wasn’t one of shock. “Like I said, Maribel’s mother kept a lotta things.” He pauses momentarily before speaking again. “Blood results was one of them. Still trying to authenticate them. The American was a doctor, after all.”

“A doctor,” you whisper.

“A doctor. He changed his name but he’s alive. Maribel’s checked.”

“Why would she tell me this now? Why now just hours before the wedding? Isn’t that why you guys didn’t tell me about what was really in the shipment?”

Bucky winces and his expression tells you he’s sorry.

You continue, “Why now? Why does it even matter anymore?”

He inspects you quickly, scanning your features for any signs of discomfort. “You’re okay? I thought this would surprise you more.”

The chuckle you release is dry, kind of harsh. “It actually answers a fuckload of questions. Like, number one, why he fucking hates me.”

His eyebrows scrunch together. “You think he knows?”

“If he doesn’t, then he’s a super fucking asshole instead of just a fucking asshole.”

Bucky pauses again and smiles up at the sky. The clouds are white and extra large today, and he suddenly remembers the taste of that mini popcorn he had bought and shared with his little sister Becca… Becks… while watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarves at the theater. The salt and butter had stuck to Becca’s fingers and she had wiped them on Bucky’s sweater. He remembers scolding her for that but giving her a napkin in between his giggle fit. He feels the same swell in the meat of his heart listening to you. “We don’t deserve you. You’re like the moon. Always there, shaping yourself into what that person needs, crater after crater beat into you and yet, you move the tides.”

The little snort that leaves your nose hurts a little. “That’s pretty damn poetic for this moment of ‘you’re not the father!’”

Bucky bites his lip and smiles toward the yellow and orange hues. “Like the moon.”

The hotel had replaced the door, no questions asked. The reason Sam decided to bust open the door instead of using the very functional key you had given Torres? No one knows. But the poor receptionist was told that you couldn’t possibly change rooms because this was top secret business and you absolutely wanted to slap Scott upside the head for worrying her. So they fixed the bolts and gave you all new keys.

Didn’t matter much anyway since you weren’t sleeping here tonight. You had already packed and made the beds.

You lay your dress and Steve’s dress attire on the respective beds. The dress sent over was a backless red silk, spaghetti strapped and slit on the left side - you’ve wanted to wear it since it arrived when Scott did.

Steve knocked before entering the room. You almost laughed at the gentlemanly aspect of it. “Thought for sure they’d have kept you for another hour at least.”

“I gotta change sometime. That your dress?” Steve shrugs off his uniform and climbs on top of his freshly made bed.

“That’s my dress. Sort of skimpy for a wedding, no?” You hold it up to show him the front and back.

“Does ‘skimpy’ mean bad?”

“Means slutty.”

He gives you this disappointed look, like he’s judging your vocabulary. “I wouldn’t use that word. So no.”

You silently apologize and move the dress over to the end of your bed. Everyone else was also getting ready for tonight. Agents were posing as local police, many infiltrated the wait staff, suits were being double-checked for any malfunctions. There was so much going on, but all was relaxed in your room. Steve smiles at you from his bed, head resting in his palm as he leans up to stare at you. It’s impossible not to blush under his stare, so you move to climb into his bed. You lay down with your feet to his head, the sides of your hips pressing together; just two upside down puzzle pieces. He chuckles and goes to lay on his back, right arm coming up to lay rested on top of your right thigh.

“All this week I thought I wasn’t ready.” You’ve had no more nightmares. “But I am. I’m ready to end this.”

He runs his fingers delicately along your thigh. “I’m ready to help.” He sighs deeply and cranes his neck to try and meet your gaze. “We’ll make sure they get maximum time.”

“You know that’s not our call.”

“Still.”

You rest for another few minutes, gentle touches calming you. His body is so warm, emitting sweet thoughts like the beginning of spring heat, and it’s impossible not to curl up into it. Steve breaks the comfortable silence, “What are you thinking about?”

You suck in a breath and tell him the truth. “That in the matter of like… five days, you and I are basically lovers now.”

“Lovers?”

“Lovers.”

He laughs out loud and goes to sit up. “I intend on taking you out when we get back home.”

Lifting your head, you rest on your elbows and grin at him. “Oh? And where are you planning on taking me?”

He thinks for a second before pressing his lips together and giving up. “I have to ask Peter or Wanda. I have no idea where you go during the day to eat.”

You laugh, “Seriously? I could’ve sworn you tagged along once or twice.”

“Nope. I always refused.”

You frown slightly, “Riiight.” Not wanting to rehash the reasons why, you try to soften any wrong feelings about what that implies. “I’m sure you’ve been, though. I take Bucky places, too. Ask him.”

“Mmm, I have my pride. Can’t have Bucky thinkin’ he knows more about my girl than I do.”

You smile largely now and hope no lipstick rubbed off on your teeth. “Your girl?”

Steve averts his eyes like he’s just now asking for your name and if you’d like to go dancing. There’s a beautiful scarlet glow painting his pale cheeks. “Like I said, I’m taking you out and asking properly.”

“We’ve already surpassed third base. I remember it vividly.”

His smile falls comically and he turns to grab a throw pillow to smack you with it a couple times. “Crude! Crude as always. Goddamn.”

“I’m sorry! Hey, I’m sorry!”

He stops his attack and pulls you into his chest. He warms your back instantly. “So, you’ll let me take you out?”

“I really, really like french fries,” you hum lightly and tilt your head back to lean into his shoulder.

“That narrows it down, thanks.”

You chuckle due to his sarcastic tone. He rubs his hands up and down your arms. An idea formulates while in the warmth of his body. “You know what I really want to do after we finish with this?”

“What’s that?”

You tell him honestly. “Rent a cabin. Spend a Christmas there, maybe. Catch some fuckin’ fish. Experience the snow properly.”

His eyebrows furrow like he’s dissecting such a claim. “I… wasn’t expecting that.”

You shrug, “Sounds cool though, right?”

“Got room for one more?” He looks down to meet your gaze and there’s a glint of hope shimmering in the blue of his eyes.

“Nat… Natasha.”

Natasha took in a sharp exhale as she lifted her head from the desk, left cheek numb and pink. Steve shot her a funny grin and continued shaking her shoulder until she fully opened her eyes. She slaps his hand away with a huff of laughter.

“Come here to do your laundry? You know, there’s only so many times I can help prevent shrinking shirts.”

Steve scoffs, “I used to do laundry by hand. I can figure out a few buttons.”

“You would think.”

Steve rolls his eyes and bumps her shoulder with the palm of hand before speed-walking into the kitchen. “It’s one of those days.” He opens the high cabinets and pulls a few vodka bottles.

Natasha pushes down whatever was starting to eat at her. She calms her deep breaths and rises from her chair. No words needed to be exchanged. She makes her way over to pull two glasses from the same high cabinets.

Steve watches her a little hesitantly, but she has that lopsided smile that pinches through only one cheek and her eyes are the slightest bit swollen from her power nap, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief. She tilts her head to the other side of the kitchen, that lopsided grin gracing her bare feet. Steve fumbles through a few cleaning supplies and some plastic bags before he finds the bottle.

“I hid it after… after Thor had that meltdown a year ago.”

Now, he was second guessing. It was a small bottle, only half left, but half a bottle of Asgardian liquor was enough to knock the God on his knees. For Steve, a few sips would do the same. But he needed it, he needed it, god help him. It’s been four years, he needs it. “Be my designated driver?”

“How about you spend the night? Y/N wanted to start a new show anyway.”

“I’ll be passed the fuck out during the opening credits.”

“But you’ll be here.”

Steve sighs and pops open the bottle. Natasha puts her hand up to stop him from pouring, “Check under that sink again.”

His eyebrows pinch together but he does as instructed. More cleaning products… more cleaning products. He tilts his head to look at the corners and there it was: a small, pink paper airplane taped mid-flight. Steve hunched his shoulders to grab it and crawled out carefully. “You know, you’re not supposed to tell me where you hide them.”

“Well, I felt bad! I’ve found like fifteen of your blue ones and how many do you have of mine?”

“That’s besides the point-”

“Say it. You’ve found six.”

His cheeks turn hot. “I’m not here all the time.”

“Excuses.”

“I leave mine in good spots. You probably got better eyes or something.”

Natasha laughs, loud and from her chest. “Sure. But hey - I’ll promise you somethin’.”

Steve pours the Asgardian liquor into his glass and straight vodka into Natasha’s. “What do you have in mind?”

“You find more than me by the end of this year, and I’ll take that vacation.”

Steve takes his first sip and tries not to pull a hard face. “You’re on. But what if you win?”

Natasha raises her glass and clinks it with his. He wants to apologize for forgetting to toast but her eyes are playful and forgiving. “You come with me. I’m not the only one who needs it.”

“So, I win regardless?”

She takes a sip and pulls a funny face. “Easiest battle, don’t ya think?”

They’re off their right minds twenty minutes into drinking and the common area is chaos. Pillows are thrown, the TV somehow ends up with dozens of fingerprints, and they’ve broken a couple flower pots. The cushions of the couch know Natasha’s bare feet and Steve’s boots; the walls fail to constrict their loud singing; Rhodey has already snuck past them to get himself a snack undetected.

‘And so I cry sometimes when I’m lyin’ in bed, just to get it all out what’s in my head!’

‘Hit the high note, Rogers!’

‘When you do, I will!... I scream from the top of my lungs-’

‘What’s goin’ on? And I say, ‘hey!’ ‘hey!’ I say ‘hey!’ What’s goin’ on?’

Steve’s still clear-headed enough to twirl Natasha around. She’s flexible enough to climb onto his shoulders.

‘I pray every single day - for a revolution!’

She’s starting to slur her words and Steve wonders if that blond streak in her hair was there last week.

‘The story of my life! I take her home,

I drive all night to keep her warm and time,

Is frozen!

The story of my life, I give her hope,

I spend her love until she’s broke inside!

The story of my life.’

She can longer feel her toes but seeing Steve let go makes her so incredibly happy and breaks her heart. I needed this too, she thinks.

‘So, bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry

And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Singin', "This'll be the day that I die

This'll be the day that I die!”’

She’s all muscle and bone and blood and real. What would Steve do without Natasha?

“You wanna come?”

“Sure. I’ll cut down the trees for wood. Have a real fireplace.” He’s serious, you realize. Like, really truly serious.

Your heart swells with excitement and some other feeling you can’t quite place. But it’s good, like really good. The sigh you release is full of sweet wonder. “A real Christmas tree.”

Steve tightens his grip around your arms. “December’s right around the corner. Trees should be ready and standing tall.”

It’s almost too much to imagine. You have the sudden urge to talk specifics, to plan out this vacation. A beautiful, rustic cabin with only a coffee maker brought from the outside century, knitted quilts, real snow, Steve’s body heat, Christmas lights… inviting Sam, Scott, Wanda, Peter, and Bucky down for Christmas dinner and presents. A whole sleepover filled with ghost stories, candle burning, board games, Christmas movies. You’re up and tucking your knees under yourself to look down at Steve in an instant. “You’d throw on that checkered shirt, grow out your beard even more, and chop down a few trees for me? With me?”

“There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be,” Steve says, eyes crinkling. For a second, he’s worried you’ll realize that he’s quoted your letter. But that same moment, you’re giggling with excitement over your future plans.

“Well, we lasted a week here without killing each other. The holidays always hold a few surprises.”

Steve picks up another pillow.

Business is not conducted during the church service. It feels normal, with half the guests attending the service and watching the happy couple exchange vows, while the other half only arrives for the party.

Jackeline’s dress is modern with a mix of vintage - simple, with long sleeves of lace and fabric that isn’t entirely white but with hints of beige; the dress dips lower in the back than it does in the front, and it’s tight near the waist but loose as it drapes down her long legs. Her hair is left loose and her make-up is heavy, and she illuminates under the sun rays that burst through stained cathedral glass. You don’t even pay mind to Ernesto and Seda seated in the aisle in front of you - not when Jackeline looks the way she does.

As the service ends, Steve tells you to wait until most of the guests exit. The priest eyes him warily, inspecting his young face and build and obvious persona. He says nothing, but he places a gentle hand over the cross on his chest as he follows the guests out. Steve stands, and out of respect dips his fingers into the holy water provided near the heavy wooden doors. He signs the father, the son, and the holy ghost and dips his fingers in again to sign the same on you. With a silent thank you and tender wipe to your forehead, you don’t question it. He’s not Catholic, or at least you don’t think, but you know he does it for what’s to come. No matter your beliefs, he just wants something, someone, to protect you. You turn back to the cathedral and grip the door as you bend down to one knee and tip your head.

Everything is grander, that’s for sure. The decorations are tripled; the violet lights are reflecting like diamonds off every marble and glass surface; the chandelier’s are no longer gold sculptures but diamond; the clay flowers hanging from the ceiling yesterday are now a part of the centerpieces, squeezed in with the largest bouquet of roses and violets; the live bands (because of course there are two) are each still setting up as everyone is getting seated; and there are about fifty round tables circling the large dance floor. There’s still a nice view of the lake and the pine trees ahead, and the tarp was abandoned as there was no rain in the forecast. All in all, and there were a thousand other things you could focus on but didn’t have the energy to, everything was beautifully put together.

Jackeline wasn’t lying when she said half of Mexico was attending. Besides family, there were celebrities in attendance, famous musicians who were simply guests and not performing, family of some of the other biggest drug lords from both countries (minus Europe), and a couple politicians who dipped before the new couple even walked through the doors after seeing Steve. But Steve worked his magic like he had yesterday and had everyone eating out of the palm of hand in pure amazement. He even had a famous actress hanging off his shoulder in under three minutes. Walking away to go congratulate Jackeline, Steve doesn’t miss the quick, sarcastic flick of your middle finger aimed in his direction.

“You’d tell me if you needed my help, right?” Jackeline asks after a while, bottom lip dripping champagne. She wipes it gingerly, careful not to smudge her pink lipstick.

“I would if there was anything wrong,” you respond truthfully. She pauses to swallow her sip and squints. She follows your gaze to Steve, whose right arm is being tugged by a girl who looks about twelve with five multi-colored bows trailing down her french braid, and who is also trying hard not to blush at the very attractive actress he can’t seem to get rid of.

“You’re going to stop him, aren’t you?”

You glance to your left, but it isn’t really a question. Jackeline knows. “Yeah.”

She nods and tilts her chin up, eyes still on Steve. “Make him watch as you burn it down.” You know she’s referring to Ernesto. She continues, “Every last bit of it.”

Smiling down at your feet, you raise your glass at nothing in particular. Just to salute the night air and whoever is watching. A few seconds pass as you both watch the guests enjoy the music and appetizers. Jackeline shuffles in her heels but she doesn’t seem to want to leave your side just yet. “You run, you understand?”

She’s only momentarily startled by your words. “Okay.”

“I never meant to leave you here, Jackie. I just had to find a way out first.”

“You found a loophole,” she chuckles, but the next moment she’s serious. “There is no way out.”

“Might not be,” you admit, downing your glass in one shot. “But I know this. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You don’t exchange more than a few words with Steve before he’s called by Ernesto’s men and motioned toward those massive dry lava rock doors; doors that don’t muffle sound but are strong enough to withstand a bullet wound. You watch him leave with them, and he shoots you a smile over his shoulder to simply look at you. Your eyes swell only slightly, burning the corners and blurring everything. He’s bright and brilliant, walking head first into Hell and shining like the bolts of Zeus.

Steve has faced giants before, from all backgrounds and all worlds. He has blocked their punches, taken near mortal injuries; stared them in the face with every ounce of anger and determination his cells could produce. There was always this whispered voice in his head that warned him of the last day he would pick up that shield. In 1945, the voice was loud and raging as he drove that nosediving plane into the Arctic. Over the last few years, however, the voice had quieted and let Steve ponder his fate himself. Steve swears the voice, or rather his own conscience, is getting tired.

He listens intently, responding only when spoken to, and prays his mic is picking up every bit of this conversation. Ernesto commanded the room as he screamed orders in both English and Spanish. His men fell in line; some as determined as the old man, some quiet, some bothered. Didn’t matter what the orders were. Steve noticed the few who would glance at one another and speak their distaste with their wandering eyes. And when Ernesto would speak directly to Steve, the same men would pinch their lips into a thin line and glare.

The shipment had arrived mid-conversation and as men were sent out to do their jobs, Ernesto kept Steve behind. I need you to stay with me until the shipment is secure and can be moved - you’re my bodyguard, Ernesto had told him, confident and only slightly bending his back in discomfort from the weight of the day. Steve agrees, and hears Bucky mention how they have eyes on the shipment from the sky.

Steve stays by Ernesto’s side even when Ramirez is called in. He’s prepared for a bloodbath, for two big men to cement their graves in this tiny office, but it doesn’t happen. Or at least, it doesn’t happen yet. Ernesto regards Ramirez as an old friend and finally trusts him enough to tell him what the shipment contained. Steve isn’t surprised, however, when Ernesto takes nasty satisfaction at Ramirez’s horrified expression. Because even though Ramirez had already known, the confirmation adds a multitude of terror. Steve can feel his palms sweating.

As expected, Ernesto tells Ramirez that he plans to use his lands for his gain. The safe thing to do would have been to agree, to nod along, and to live in the knowledge that the shipment most likely wouldn’t head out. But Ramirez, for some reason Steve can’t fathom, stands up and says no.

Steve understands now; the odd shaking of your shoulders even when your face was completely blank and emotions calm. He watches the beads of sweat drip from Ernesto’s forehead onto the tip of his nose; he watches the way his chest heaves as his voice becomes louder; he watches until he can’t take anymore and he enlarges the shield with Scott’s tech and tells Ernesto to move away from the other man. Steve understands now - the man really is scary, even if he wants to admit it or not.

“You really are a phenomenal actor.”

Swaying slowly, you try not to step on Seda’s feet as he guides you across the dance floor. The music is calmer than it was five minutes ago, the guests are enjoying dinner and conversing, and Steve had told you fifteen minutes ago that he would be right back. Ernesto had sent you a malicious wink, but you knew better. Steve’s name was written in blue and Ernesto’s real target had to be you.

“Acting with what? Acting that I enjoy this dance? Acting like I respect you?” Your upper lip twitches into a teasing smile. “Or acting like I don’t know it was you who planted that bomb?”

He matches your smile, looking down at you with a glint in his eyes. His grip around your waist tightens. “Acting like you’re really on our side.”

Lowering your voice just a fraction, you lean in, top of your head level with his chin. “I’m on Ernesto’s side. You almost had me and my Captain blown up.”

His left hand is settled on your shoulder and he uses the opportunity to dig his nails in. All around him, his men are watching. “How did you get away?”

You give a dry laugh. “You think that was my first bomb? It was childsplay.”

Seda scoffs, “You speak of this Avenger business like I don’t know who you are. You’re still that scared little girl who hid in her room when alien’s fell from the sky.”

“I may be. But there’s a difference between you and I. I actually stared them in this face and won.”

“The second time, maybe”

Sticks and stones, but goddamn did those words always hurt. Blame goes a long way but you and your team are used to keeping it close to home. “Why do you want me dead?”

His scowl deepens and the wrinkles by his eyes crinkle over each other as he squints down at you. “The Avengers are not secretly on our side. Tony Stark never was but Ernesto loves to tell people otherwise. Same about your Captain. You’ve been playing us for years.”

“What evidence do you even have? For years, we’ve done nothing but clear the roads for you,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief.

He unwraps his arm from around your waist and sets both hands around your upper arms. He’s pressing down as hard as he can but still loose enough not to draw unwanted attention. He breathes a sharp exhale, and the puff of air hits your cheeks. “I don’t know what happened to my men after you got what you deserved. They were good men and just like that, erased.” He smirks. “I know you had something to do with it.”

A guest with bright red hair laughs loudly to your side as she is twirled around by her partner. It’s not as vibrant as you’re used to, but you still imagine that lopsided smile you hadn’t seen in forever. “Does it matter? You know what they did, so why is my hypothetical revenge chastised?”

“Tell me right now that none of your Avenger friends did your dirty work. Tell me your Captain’s hands are clean.”

“I promise you, my Captain is clean.” Seda doesn’t show any signs of believing you. Still, your mouth twitches into a mocking smirk. “But our once mutual friends Tony and Natalia tell another story.”

“Am I supposed to believe that two people who are dead are responsible for this? Ironic,” he grits his teeth.

You repeat, clear and true. “My Captain is clean.”

He fakes a tiny gag but you know he means his disgust. “You turned over so quickly for him. For the heroes who destroyed the world. Pathetic.”

“You really need to stop underestimating me,” you practically order, voice full of warning and annoyance.

Seda continues, “Following orders from a fascist. Following orders from a country that only does harm.”

He turns you around as the dance instructs, a half-hearted waltz that didn’t have a beginning, middle, or end. You take that second to scan your surroundings and weigh your options. “I agree about the country part. But I don’t follow orders from the country, I follow them from my Captain.”

You’re facing him again and in those hellish eyes you see truth. “No, he’s a symbol of everything we hate. Of everything we need to destroy.”

“Touch Steve and I’ll blind you.”

His feet stop mid-step, as do yours. His eyes widen only a little, but it’s all the ammunition he needs. “I knew it.”

It’s barely a whisper, a tickle from a single strand of hair, but you catch it. No longer keeping it a secret, or rather a secret you didn’t care that you let slip, Seda now knows it was all a lie. All this time you had never referred to Steve as anything other than your Captain.

You feel the blunt head of a .22 press against your abdomen as Seda laughs, “You never could get a mission right.”

Twisting his arm and knocking the gun from his loose grip with your wrist was easy. So was catching the gun mid-air and elbowing him in the ribs. Seda falls to the floor in a state of shock, instinctively gripping his chest. You aim the gun at him and like you’ve seen in the movies, place the tip of your heel just below where his belly button would be. He releases a sharp breath and his eyes are challenging, practically begging you to dig deeper and get on with it.

You can hear the screaming and frantic murmuring from the guests surrounding you and the leveling of guns from Seda’s men. But you’re focused on the man trying so hard not to quiver beneath you, his nasty grin spreading wider.

“You’re alone,” he bites. “Your Steve is helping Ernesto right now, no? You’re alone.”

Your grin forms slowly, and you’re counting down the seconds you have until his men start firing, but you lean your upper body down slightly to make sure he hears you. “That’s never been a problem before. Don’t you remember?” You click back the safety as discreetly as possible. “I was trained by the Black Widow herself.”

You quickly raise the gun to shoot the closest of Seda’s men in between his collarbones, effectively starting the bloodshed. You jump out the way in a flash, rolling across the floor and behind a table. Tipping the table over is easy and it seems like a smart idea at first, until you realize the tables are all glass. The tablecloth had covered that detail, which sucks like hell, because now the bullets are shattering through and you’re forced to kick yourself away and run behind the pillars instead. The heels are kicked off at the same time you’re fishing underneath your dress.

A stray bullet hits the pillar’s side making you squeal. It makes you work faster, though.

Once you find the secure nano-tech ‘button’ (as Scott liked to call it), you strip as quickly as you can and slap the button on your bare shoulder. The nano-tech spirals and threads into itself as intricately as frost spreads on a window, shielding you in both metal and kevlar.

When a storm of bullets hits the pillar and cracks the marble, you’re forced to crouch and hope Seda’s .22 and the myriad of weapons you’re now equipped with are enough. Before your thoughts can creep into a ‘last man standing’ mode, a roar of wind sweeps across the estate and between the cracked pillars, causing your loose hair to slap your face and blind you for only a second. Quickly putting your hair up and pulling the metal batons from the back of your suit, you’re met with the best sight - one that was a little late, in your opinion.

“Kind of you to show up!”

Sam ignores your quip as he flies into three men at once, feet first with his wings extended with the might of a guardian angel. He immediately shields runaway guests who were caught in the middle. He takes the ones on his left, you take the ones on his right.

You let them swing first. They’re fast and pulling their punches and are clearly aiming for the end result of sticking you to the ground. But you’re quicker and deflect the punches. You manage to deliver a solid punch upward to crack the nose of one. As he reaches up as instinct, his ribs are open season.

He falls out cold easily after your batons do their damage and the next man isn’t nearly as fast as the first. He doesn’t move enough to his right to avoid the harsh kick to his sternum. Each ambitious kick to the chest seems to demolish the man’s protective wall he’s trying desperately to keep intact, but once you give your legs a break and switch back to the batons, he doesn’t stand a chance. There are bullets raining across the venue, but Sam is shielding you and deflecting them elsewhere. It allows you the freedom to rip into whoever you think deserves it.

You’ve got two men on your tail and after knocking their weapons from their hands, it seems like a fairer fight. The first doesn’t step back far enough to avoid your roundhouse kick and he falls hard on his ass, gasping for a lick of air. The second is closer, however, and manages to wrap you in a chokehold. Releasing yourself to fall deadweight for only a second, gravity tricks him and you use the momentum to kick up and fly over his shoulders. It’s hard to do without a wall to propel yourself off of. But your abs and thighs are clenched and you don’t quite think you’ll actually end up on this guy’s shoulders but you do. You don’t dwell on that moment of personal pride, though. Tightening your thighs, you use your upper body weight to lean downward and wring his neck. Once he’s down, you sweep your leg around across the floor to trip the other man who was just barely standing back up. With the .22, you fire point blank.

Detaching yourself from the gore has never been much of a challenge. Eyes rolling back and clouding, limbs dangling limp after having just been full of life, bodies thumping against the floor after eating your bullets - you don’t so much as grit your teeth anymore.

Sam is dealing with his own mess closer to where that poor cake is now destroyed, vanilla filling exposed and now two stories instead of four. The other cakes are no better. Sam pulls the trigger once more at someone charging at him and he averts his eyes. Sam, however, clenches his jaw.

“Where’s Seda?” you shout, firing at men who are jumping out from behind tables but giving away their location before they even surprise you.

“Lost him. I think he’s heading over to Steve!”

You look over the room and pray everyone got out safely. There are no civilians lying in their own puddle of blood, no guests begging for help, but you can never know for sure. “We need more hands. Where the hell are Scott and Bucky?”

A storm of bullets starts crashing into the tables and pillars beside you. Trying to duck doesn’t work and you’re grazed in the left arm. Sam tackles you behind the stage, wings extending further and out bending around you.

“I’ve been shot!”

Sam can’t help the laugh that erupts from his throat because of your dramatic tone. “You’ve been grazed. The nano-tech has already rebuilt itself.”

“I don’t care, I hate being shot. It’s not nice. I’ve been hit.”

“Dramatic.”

“Y/N?” a harsh whisper sounds from under the stage tables. Watching your eyes bulge paints a mournful expression on Jackeline’s face. Julian is right beside her, pistol out but not shooting. You wonder if he knows you’re the invader.

“What in the hell are you still doing in here? I told you to run!”

“I’m sorry,” Jackeline squeals as bullets continue firing. “Everyone crowded. I was scared so I just got down.”

“Sam.”

Sam nods, already reading your mind. You had to find Steve; you couldn’t stay here. But there’s bullets still blazing in your direction and you find yourself hopping on your ass slightly each time a bullet connects to the ground beside you. The nano-tech does great in deflecting the lead but it really isn’t an invitation to get shot more times. The graze on your arm is already starting to burn.

“Sam is going to guide you both out of here, alright? Julian, cover her. Sam will cover you.”

There’s a war going on behind Julian’s eyes. His face does a thousand things at once as he hears your orders and the scream of guns combined, but he nods. He grips Jackeline’s waist and pulls her in close, but before they can begin crawling Jackeline turns back to you.

“Mátalo. Okay? Para nosotras dos.” She’s got this fierce determination in her eyes and her accent is as thick as can be.

“Okay.”

Sam relays his location over his mic and who he has behind his wings, but before he can safely guide the married couple down the stage, a new wave of men enter and open fire. Sam’s wings can only take so much, and even though they’re vibranium, his suit is not. Ducking behind the table and reloading your gun, you then lift your head over to view the scene. It’s a mess and you could surely take them down hand-to-hand if you were close enough, but you’re stranded with your batons and seven bullets and a world of automatic machinery pointed at you.

The storm of bullets pauses and every single person looks up to the sky. You thank the Gods for no rain today because the absence of a tarp allows for the quinjet to settle over the chaos and create a much needed distraction. Sam takes his leave, wings still wrapped around your sister, and you do the same. Running from behind the stage with batons lit up and tazed, you knock out the closest men. They fall in a strangle of electricity, vibrating and convulsing as each shock travels through their veins, ultimately paralyzing them for however long it turns out to be. This gains the attention of almost everyone else but before they can train their weapons back toward you, the back of the quinjet opens. There were a few tables still standing and it seemed the super soldier liked them better than the flat floor.

The glass shatters from the impact of Bucky’s weight, glasses of champagne and plates with unfinished meals folding onto the shards. He’s dressed in his tactical gear and a dark navy blue jacket without a trusty sleeve. Even if the arm was covered and his hair was long rather than the short length it was now, the men would certainly know who just fell from the sky. Almost immediately, the men scatter. Bucky takes them down one by one, shot after shot, and decides to use his knives for the ones who don’t run. It’s tricky, but he manages to lodge his knives in the base of the spines of those who later changed their minds.

He catches your eye after you manage to snap the neck of one of the runners. He tilts his head toward the left and watches you run to give Steve the backup he needs.

The mansion seems longer, wider, just generally bigger as you rush through the rooms and halls to get to Steve. The stuffed exotic animals follow your gaze and you can’t ignore them for long. There are men following you and men leaving Ernesto. You duck behind the standing polar bear and wait until the footsteps sound farther. Checking the amount of bullets in your gun, just in case, you finally flick the safety off and run.

There’s really only one thing of importance floating around the padded confines of your skull - get Steve out. Another thing you two had in common: both sacrificial idiots. But there wasn’t any way that you would give up the chance to save his life, as he would yours. Didn’t matter if the man you were protecting him from was your father or not. It hadn’t really settled, hadn’t truly digested, and you didn’t think it ever would. Because for years, this man was your father. He was the only man with that title. He wasn’t fatherly, far from it, but he had the label and that’s what you were going to focus on. It made no difference.

You push the office door open and start stuttering over your words. You want to ask what happened, why there’s so much blood, whose blood it is, but all that comes is a fractured series of what the hell’s? The last syllables push through with necessary force, hardly intelligible, but exhaled at last.

Ernesto is kneeling with his head hanging low and his hands behind his back, defeated. But it isn’t Steve who’s holding a gun to the back of his head - it’s Seda.

No, Steve is in the corner clutching at his right hip and gritting his teeth, a wild look on his face that tells you he too was blindsided. He’s hurt. He’s gasping and wincing at the slightest of movements and it ignites the flame you’ll use to burn this world to the ground. It’s splitting your fucking ribs apart.

“Don’t move!” Seda yells, gun still locked on Ernesto’s head but eyes on you. “Put the gun down.”

“Seda-”

“Put the fucking gun down!”

Biting your tongue, you flip the gun in your hand so it’s facing downward and move to gently place it on the table. Flicking your eyes to where Steve is, you get your answer as to why he’s been so easily shot. His massive body and shield are draped over Ramirez, who is also disarmed and pissed.

The self-righteous idiot, you think, he’s always gotta save the little guy.

“We’re gonna talk about this like the gods we are, yeah?”

Your face pulls awkwardly, “Seda, what is happening?”

“Don’t act like you’ve been on this asshole’s side the entire time now,” Seda bites, shoving the head of the gun harshly into the base of Ernesto’s neck. “Go on, tell him.”

“The shipment was intercepted,” you tell him. But you’re not just telling Seda, no, it’s the first Steve is hearing the good news and it allows him to feel a bit of relief. “You’ve both lost.”

“What have you done?” Ernesto screams, cheeks vibrating and face red with anger. He pays no mind to the gun and dares to glare at you. “Tell me!”

The top of your lip greets a run of tears and snot and it isn’t until then that you realize your hands are shaking mid-air and your throat is closing. “My mission.”

Blood or not, this man had the power to tie your thoughts into knots. He only had this power at precious moments and sadly, this was turning out to be one of them.

Seda bites out a laugh - it’s wet and bloody and scares you half to Hell. “I’m not the only one here who wants to kill you. But I’m going to beat her to it. She brought you back, I can’t have that.”

“No!” You curse inwardly at your involuntary hiccup. “We’re not here to kill you!”

“Oh?” Seda raises the gun at you. “What’s the endgame? Que mas necesitas?”

“I don’t need anything. The shipment is intercepted. The estate is on lockdown. Your routes are down. You’re cornered. It’s over.” You let your shoulders drag just a little. “For both of you.”

Surprisingly, Seda doesn’t pull the trigger when Ernesto charges toward you. He doesn’t pull it when Ernesto wraps his hands around your throat, either.

It’s instinct for you to hold out your hand to stop Steve from doing what he does best. He’s already halfway up and wincing with each push to help you, to rip Ernesto from your capable body, but Seda clicks the gun in his direction. Steve watches the way your arm extends, all five fingers spread in a hopeless plea of ‘don’t you sacrifice yourself for me, don’t you dare’.

“I have done nothing but help you! I put food on the table and clothes on your worthless back! You spent my money!” Ernesto’s eyes are practically bulging and his thumbs are almost crushing your windpipe, but his placement is off. You can still breathe air, no matter how bruising his grip may be. “This is how you treat me? I should have killed you all those years ago. I should have ripped you limb by limb until your cries bled!”

“Please,” you whimper out, hand still extended toward Steve and the other attempting to push Ernesto by the chest.

“Please? Please? Te voy a matar aquí, ahora, porque siempre te lo mereciste!”

You let out a strangled scream and are about to fight back. To save yourself and to end Steve’s suffering of watching you suffer, of watching his newfound hope dwindle right before him, when a gunshot erupts. Everyone screams, ears ringing, and there’s blood splattered all over your cheeks and neck, spots and leaks that trail down into the collar of your bodysuit. A heavy weight lands on you and knocks you back into the shelves. You hold Ernesto’s now limp body as best you can, knees locking painfully. There’s a massive hole where the top of his head should be and for the first time in years, you have to look away to keep from throwing up.

“Dejalo.”

You open and close your mouth but regret it when the taste of copper lands on your tongue. You follow Seda’s order and drop Ernesto to your feet, the thud sending a shiver up every single one of your vertebrae.

“Por qué hiciste eso?” you ask him, voice small. You choke on another hiccup.

“Don’t lie to me and say you weren’t going to do it yourself.”

You look over at Steve. His eyes are just as wide as yours and the same red specks, now turning brown, are tainting the flush pink skin of his beautiful neck.

“No,” you whisper. Steve hears your lost accent returning and it clutches at his heart.

“It was for the best.” Seda marches over to grab Ramirez by the tie, ripping him up from the ground and pointing the gun to his head. Steve lunges forward and Seda fires another bullet into the same hip.

“No!” Your throat is raw, scratched, and Steve hits the floor in another heap of muffled groans. Seda returns the aim on Ramirez.

“Imagine my surprise when I saw this one confronting Ernesto with your Captain. Imagine my fucking surprise when I tried to find all our passports, all our files, and nothing was here! Imagine my surprise when I saw that fucking idiot White being taken away by one of your agents!”

“Seda, please.” You were never much of a negotiator. It was always go in and let the others do the talking. Steve was the talker, he was the negotiator, but he was out of his element. He was always the enemy to Seda. He could never convince him otherwise.

“You’ve given me new purpose,” Seda grins and Ramirez is rather calm in his arms, like he accepts this. “Look at the crime scene. I’m using the gun Ramirez got from your team. My men are still loyal.”

He pauses and smiles with all teeth, blood in between most of them. “You shot Ernesto. You shot your Captain. You shot Omar.”

The frightened look on your face seems to fuel him even more. He continues, “We’ll never stop hunting you.”

“Try it,” Steve manages, standing up again and vaguely registering the flash of light to his right. His shield is no longer there. “You’ll have to kill me to win. You’ll have to kill all of us to win. Me, Y/N, Omar, Sam.” He breathes in deep but smiles. “The Winter Soldier.”

You swear Seda’s face pales but his grip around Ramirez’s waist only tightens. “Easy.”

“It won’t be,” you finally say, voice no longer wavering. There’s no plausible way Seda could win. But one thing is fact: whether they’re Seda’s or Ernesto’s men, they’ll never stop hunting you now. “You lost, Seda.”

All stills but there are shouts and the ring of gunshots still echoing near the lake.

“No,” Seda looks to you and to Ernesto’s body. “I didn’t.”

He aims the gun at you and fires.

Steve’s wail is grease to the fire in your soul and you accept whatever pain might hit. There’s space and then there isn’t. There’s emptiness and then there’s a space being filled by that horrid but lifesaving shield. There’s no one and then there’s Scott, blown up to his regular size with shield in hand and in front of you. The bullet bounces off the shield easily and hits the wall. You’re pushed into motion and in about two seconds, you’ve grabbed your gun again and do not hesitate to fire. The bullet hits Seda in his exposed chest and Ramirez fumbles to get the gun from him. Seda hits the floor and no one else follows.

The shot hits its target perfectly. Seda doesn’t so much as stutter.

“God,” Scott grumbles, eyes trying to focus on anything other than the pools of blood. “Was I late?”

You don’t pay any mind to Scott and rush over to Steve, where he’s barely holding himself up with his hip tilted on the edge of the desk. “Steve? Steve. Did he hit anything important?”

“Besides the fuckin’ meat of my stomach?”

There isn’t a way to see beneath the kevlar, but your fingers have a mind of their own as they try to dig in. “You know what I mean.”

Steve huffs a laugh and gently slaps your fingers away. “No, but motherfuck me Christ, I get shot way too much and it hurts no less.”

“Was the shield not enough? You had to sacrifice your one-hundred year old hips? Are you hit anywhere else?”

“I was caught off guard. What about you? I heard over the mics that you were shot and-”

“Are you two done?” Scott interrupts, clearing his throat awkwardly but half a mind still paying attention to his own mic.

It’s like you’re snapped back to reality. There’s not only Steve but others, alive and dead, and the smell of copper is all too familiar. “Sorry, I’m still in shock. I don’t really know how to proceed from here.”

“Y/N-” Scott tries, but you resume.

“We were supposed to arrest them. Just arrest them.”

“Okay, I think we should get you outta here,” Steve acts like he’s the one guiding you, but his weight is falling. You faintly register a phone ringing in the room but Steve, ever so persistent, is still acting like he is holding you up. He lunges forward with a sharp wince, and your hand immediately goes to his hip.

“Captain.”

Ramirez lowers his phone, call ended, and he wears an expression Steve recognizes immediately. It’s an expression that looks all too similar to Dugan’s when he relayed the news of enemy forces breaching their base. “...How many?”

“They’ve already sent the news to their men in Mexico.”

“Have they shut down the border?”

“It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“They don’t know two of their men are dead, so we can-“

Scott shakes his head, shield still in hand with specks of blood drying on the blue stripe. “They know White was arrested. That’s all they need. They’ll assume the rest, the worst.”

You sigh, “Seda was right.”

Scott literally pouts and he looks like he wants to wrap you in his arms. “No, don’t send yourself there.”

Steve, however, agrees with you. “If they know about White, then they know about Omar. Seda had time to tell his men.”

“Then we make sure he’s arrested and taken to a secure facility. We can keep an eye-” Scott starts, but you shut him down quickly.

“He’s wanted by the US government, not the Avengers. We can only transport him. We can’t guarantee his safety.”

Ramirez gives a small smile. “Mija, voy estar bien. No te preocupes.”

“I don’t know.”

Scott looks between the three of you. He places the shield against the wall near the door. He raises his eyebrows at Steve and looks to his wounds, but Steve waves him off. Reluctantly, Scott nods. “I’m gonna go check on Sam.”

There’s a pool of blood near your boots. You don’t want to know if it’s from the dead or from Steve.

“Doll, what are you thinking?”

He can’t hurt you anymore. “That I need you to go, too.”

Steve forgets about the pain in his hip and focuses solely on you. “What?”

“Go. If there’s one more thing you can do for me and my reckless family, go check on Sam.”

“You know I can’t leave you here alone with him.”

Your voice is steady and calm and it’s scaring Steve. It’s scaring him. “I promised myself that you wouldn’t be hurt by this mission. I stand by it.”

“I promise, Captain, I have no resentment. Whatever she does, I will follow,” Ramirez speaks, and Steve doesn’t even pay him a glance.

“I can’t just go.”

“Steve,” you interlock your fingers behind his neck. “Please. Listen to me.” He looks so confused, a million questions flying through his mind and almost escaping those sweet pink lips. Fierce, you whisper for only him. “He can’t hurt me anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore.”

He relishes the feeling of your soft hands behind his neck. They’re bloody, but yours. His neck is bloody, but you don’t seem to care. “Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” you confirm.

He pulls from your hold and turns to leave. He picks up the shield. Before he leaves, he grips the doorway and looks over his shoulder, eyebrows pinched and jaw tense. “Two minutes, I swear to Almighty Christ, Y/N. I’m coming back for you.”

You smirk, the dim light from the office lamps creating nothing short of a sparkle in your eyes. “I don’t expect anything less, Rogers.”

Steve hesitates for a moment and then he walks away. Once his footsteps are no longer heard, you turn back to Ramirez. There’s a voice in your head telling you this was a bad idea and that you were an idiot to have your back turned on him for so long, but Ramirez is simply leaning on one of the chairs and grimacing at the bloody scene before him.

“Remember when Ernesto bought you that car when you were thirteen? And then another when your brother crashed it?”

Your nose pinches, “I don’t feel like reminiscing when he’s lying right there.”

“Do you remember what you told me when he bought you that second car? The sports one?”

You sigh. Ramirez was clearly going to continue speaking. “‘No lo quiero. Soy una niña. Get rid of it.’”

“And I did.”

“You did.”

He smiles, and for the first time you notice all the gray hair dusting his head, the most by his temples. There's a limp in his step too but you can’t remember if he had before or after the wedding. “I’ll get rid of this.”

“What?” you blink, unsure if you heard him right.

“I’m already a traitor. If I spin this, you can continue the mission. You can arrest even more of his men. They’ll come after me instead of you.”

It’s what he’s been trained to do. It’s what he’s done since he transported his first shipment. It’s what he’s done time and time again for Ernesto, for Seda, for some of his own careless men. He’s numb to it, just as you were a few days ago, but now you can’t stop thinking about the aftermath. Where would he put their bodies? Would they be buried here or back in Mexico? Would people really care if Ernesto was dead? They didn’t seem to care when he was snapped out of existence. But Ramirez has this sag in his shoulders that tells you he’s already calculating the best way to wrap the bodies and how deep he plans on sending them… or burning them. Burning them was always easier.

“They’ll come after your family. Your daughters.”

He shakes his head, “I’ve ensured their safety. They’re safe.”

Against your better judgement, you tap your mic discreetly and turn it off. “I can’t let you take one for the team.”

He chuckles, “I’m a part of your team? I’m an Avenger?”

You can’t help but laugh with him. It’s not a light moment, but it’s a moment nonetheless. “Sure, Omar. But we don’t trade lives.”

“I had this coming.”

“No, you didn’t. You don’t.” Straining your ears and shutting your eyes, you mumble a quick prayer in hope that this plan of yours worked. You pass Ramirez your own gun and speak low. “Go.”

He’s shocked and he stutters. “Que haces? Que esta pasando?”

“There’s no one on the east side right now. All the guests were moved to the front. It’s clear. But not for long.” Pushing him to the door, you make sure he’s not leaving any bloody footprints behind. He’s clear. “Go.”

“This will kill us both.”

“But it will give us a head start.”

“No puedo hacer eso! No quiero hacer eso.”

“Omar, they’re not going to protect you once you’re charged. I can’t protect you then. So I need you to go.” You reach into your suit and pluck that random Roman coin you had stolen just a few days earlier. It was a token of good luck but you didn’t need it anymore. You avoid looking at the carving for fear that the likeness to Steve will make you change your mind. You place it in Ramirez’s hand and clench his fist shut. “If there’s one thing you can do for my stupid, anti-hero mentality, go.”

“Que hago con esto?”

“No me llamas. But let me find this.”

He looks at you with pity. It’s so much pity and understanding for your situation that you have to look away. “I owe you my life.”

Eyesight now on the wall over his shoulder, you offer him a thin smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

He stumbles at first, unsure if this is really happening, and finally passes by. “Y/N.”

You figure it’d be pretty rude not to answer. You turn slowly. He continues, face somber and head shaking with so much pity. “The amount of Hell that’s coming...”

It’s funny, really. You shoot him that famous smile you were known for. It tricks him like it’s supposed to. “I’m already going to Hell for the lives I’ve taken and the crimes I’ve committed. But the journey to my fate has been worth it.”

The estate is being swept as quickly as possible. There are agents dressing wounds, reading rights, snapping photos, on the phone, etc. It’s organized chaos and there’s so much happening but it’s never impossible to catch Steve’s side profile in a crowd. His nose is pinched up and he’s dealing with his wounds himself. No one is even looking at him.

Speed walking to him, you hook your arm in his and turn him around. He’s too tall, and your toes strain as you rise on them, but you wrap your arms around his neck anyway. He returns the gesture and squeezes you as hard as you’re squeezing him. After a few seconds, he whispers quietly.

“Where’d Ramirez go?”

If he saw your eyes, he would know you were lying. You keep your arms in place. “He got away.”

He tries to push you away but fails. “Y/N.”

“He got away,” you repeat. Slowly, regretfully, you pull back. “We should go.”

There’s a horrible crease in between his eyebrows and he knows he’s caught you in a lie, but he also knows that if there was one thing he knew most about you, it was that you were just as stubborn as he was. Quick with wit, always asking to be punched, and stubborn to the point it made strangers worry. So he doesn’t question it, and turns with you in the direction of the jet. “Maribel has the safehouse set up. Montana.”

“You sure you can make it to the jet? Should I get Bucky to come with us?”

The quinjet is empty except for a few supplies, a medical bag, and Friday. There are only two seats and by the way Steve’s bending over to show his true pain, you’d be flying it. Once you land, you can fish out those bullets.

“No one else.” Steve bites. He can’t risk anyone else - hell, he doesn’t even want to risk you. “I’ll protect you.”

You board the jet and watch as the trees sway in rhythm to the movements of everyone doing their job. It’s dark, and you push the fact that you’re so horribly night blind to the back of your skull, and it’s starting to eat away at you that the mission didn’t really go as planned. No one seems to notice yet that you never brought them the two main players they were hoping for. It only makes you close the quinjet faster. You sit Steve down in one of the seats and kneel before him. “And I you.”

If anyone asked, Steve would lie and say he was tearing up because of the bullets piercing his skin in half. To protect and be protected.

“Let’s go.”

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

#steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #avengers x reader #reader x avengers #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #to topple #a giant #by Moni #captainsimagines #mob fanfic #trigger warnings listed #enemies to lovers #friends to enemies to lovers #mini-series #part eight #chapter eight #marvel fanfiction #marvel masterlist

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bright-molina · 3 years

Text

together

@jatp-week day two fanfiction prompt: write an au

synopsis: Your sister has been hiding more than a few things from you recently, it’s just not at all what you expect.

characters: Molina!reader (older sister, she/her pronouns), Julie, Flynn, the boys are all briefly mentioned

warnings: follows the themes of the show so there are mentions of death/dying but other than that none

a/n: I’ve been debating posting fics for Julie and the Phantoms for a week or two now and I figured I’d jump in head first for JATP week! Huge shoutout to @meangirlsx cause I know its been like a week since we talked about it but you’re a huge part of the reason I’m posting this!

Lowkey tempted to do a part two cause there’s so much I wanna explore with this reader so thoughts and feedback are very much appreciated <3

A twisting feeling you absolutely despised filled the pit of your stomach as you marched straight through the halls of your sister’s high school. It started with an offer to pick her up and go get ice cream together as you usually did when one of you was feeling down. The fact that she’d been removed from the music program was definitely deserving of pick-me-up ice cream.

Can’t. Busy. Later? She’d responded within seconds and that in itself was worthy of concern. So you’d promptly left the last half of your own school day to go and see what was wrong. It was when you were pulling up to the school that Flynn had texted you, Jules is performing???? Text you updates…

“Julie,” Your voice caught her attention almost immediately, tearing her attention away from the singing coming from the front of the gym.

“Y/N?” She frowned and met you halfway, letting you wrap her in a hug. You being there was the last thing she expected. Her first instinct had been to want to tell you all about the boys. She hadn’t been able to though, not without worrying you. Not without figuring out an explanation first.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You could see the way her eyes widened and you let out a soft sigh. “Dad texted me about this morning and Flynn is the one who told me you were gonna give performing a shot again.”

“Oh that,” Julie relaxed upon realizing you weren’t talking about the same thing but she didn’t miss the hurt look in your eyes. The way you were pulling at the rainbow colored bracelet she’d made you years ago. The way that you didn’t look like your usual confident self and it was all her doing. “I was going to but -”

And then with the absolute worst timing possible the three ghosts she purposely hadn’t told you about flashed into the gym right behind you. Her eyes narrowed at them, not noticing the fact that you thought she was both speaking to and glaring at you. “What are you doing here?”

Julie had no clue who to focus on. A look of hurt flashed across your face, she noticed it right away, but then the boys started talking too and all she could do was look back and forth between all of you.

“Look if you don’t want to tell me that’s fine -”

“Who’s this?”

“I’m here now, though -”

“Wait the family picture!”

“So if you want I’ll stay to watch you sing.”

“That picture really doesn’t do her justice.”

“Don’t even think about it!” Julie’s glare turned impossibly harsher as she focused her glare on the boys behind you.

You, meanwhile, remained oblivious to the fact that she wasn’t talking to you. Admittedly you struggled to force the slightest smile onto your face. It was hard not to let it hurt you. The past few months had been complicated to say the least and now it seemed she was moving on without you. “Okay then, I guess. I’ll see you later.”

“No, not you!” Julie reached to stop you, pulling you so you were now on the opposite side of her as Luke, Reggie, and Alex. She ignored the rest of their comments and instead held one of your hands in hers. “I was just um, a little distracted. I’m really glad you’re here.”

You couldn’t help but relax then and give a more genuine smile, “Well I’m glad I’m here too.”

“Still up for ice cream after school?” Julie glanced behind you as the music ended but didn’t move from her place yet, still ignoring the boys telling her it was time from behind her. “I promise I’m not doing anything anymore.”

“Sure,” You laughed then nodded towards the stage at the front of the gym. “Now go blow everyone away.”

It was then that she nodded and left after giving you one more hug. Meanwhile you moved towards Flynn who immediately grinned and locked one of her arms through yours. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Of course,” She smiled before nodding encouragingly at Julie who had started playing a few notes while you gave her a thumbs up. “Hey, have you thought about moving home? I think Julie could really use you back right now.”

“Believe me I want to,” You gave a sigh and thought briefly of your own home.

After your mom had died your Tia Victoria wanted all of you to move on quickly. Literally. You had noticed right away how much just the idea of leaving the house bothered Julie, Carlos, and your dad. Eventually you’d been the one to give in and accept moving in with her for the pure reason of giving them a break from her constant lecturing.

She meant well, you knew that. And really you did have fun with her and it was nice to have the connection between you grow stronger. But there were also days where all you wanted to do was cry and be allowed to remember. You missed being home more than anything.

“I just don’t know if tia would be too -”

You didn’t get to finish your thought. Before you knew what was happening a bright flash came from the front of the room and the music that had been coming from what you’d previously assumed was the gym speakers started coming from the stage.

Three boys now stood on the stage with Julie singing alongside her as they played. They knew every single word that was coming out of her mouth. Knew the song. Knew the notes. Knew everything.

You couldn’t help yourself. Slowly you walked towards the stage, taking small steps as you tried to figure out what was going on. As hard as you tried you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had seen these people before.

It wasn’t hard to notice the fact that somebody was staring, you could feel eyes on you before you saw them. When you finally looked at the person on the far side of the stage you found the source of the feeling. It was also then that you were positive you knew them, knew him. You just weren’t sure from where.

Then the twisting feeling returned and you felt more anxious than you had been before. Julie was happy. She was singing for the first time in months and all you could think about was the fact that it wasn’t you that had been able to get her there. On that stage she looked free and you were glad, you really were. But you still couldn’t help the voice in your head that kept telling you you’d done something wrong.

You were the first person Julie searched for after the song ended, momentarily ignoring the confused whispers echoing across the room. She found you near the back of the crowd, taking slow steps back towards the door. You knew her well, she knew that, but she could read you just as easily.

She could see the anxiety quickly building inside you as you tugged on the bracelets on your wrist again, identical to the ones she wore. Your movements were a little jittery and rushed as you held up your keys and nodded towards the door. I’ll be outside, she could see you tell her before rushing out of the gym.

“I’m sorry.”

Your words broke the silence that had fallen around you and Julie just an hour later. You’d been wrapped up in your own thoughts as you drove to the ice cream place you frequented then again as you drove to an empty field that was definitely worth the thirty minute trip.

Julie frowned, turning her head so she was looking at you instead of the clouds above her. “For what?”

“I promised you I’d be there.” You hadn’t looked away from the sky just yet. “I told you I’d listen when you needed me to. Support you no matter what it was you wanted to do. After mom died I promised we’d do all of this together and instead I left you alone.”

“Y/N -”

“And now you’re singing again, Julie, and god I’m so proud of you. And those guys, your band apparently -”

“They’re not -”

“I don’t know where they came from but they did what I couldn’t and actually helped you. I don’t know, I’m just sorry for leaving in the first place. I know how hard it must’ve been and I wish I could’ve -”

“Y/N!” It wasn’t until Julie shouted, sat up, and reached over to cover your mouth with her hand that you stopped talking. You stared at her for a moment, watching as she dropped her head and let out a heavy sigh. “They’re ghosts. They live in mom's studio.”

You sat up after her and she waited patiently as you processed what it was she was saying. Eventually you gave a single nod, “I don’t believe you. You sound like Carlos.”

“I swear!” Julie sat up straighter and slammed one hand down on the grass, leaning towards you a little. “And I can prove it.”

“How do you plan on doing that?” Before you knew it, Julie was pulling you up from the floor and in the direction of where you’d parked the car. “Jules, where are we going?”

She stopped and shot around to face you, a newfound smile on her face. “To introduce you to my ghost band. Now come on.”

#jatpweek #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms fanfiction #julie and the phantoms fanfic #julie and the phantoms x reader #jatp x reader #julie and the phantoms imagine #jatp fanfic #jatp imagine #jatp #i have no idea how to tag whoops

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snelbz · 4 years

Text

Reckoning and Retribution {2}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, House of Earth and Blood, & Throne of Glass Crossover, Western AU fanfiction.

Based on a prompt sent in for the 4k follower contest {winner}, from Anonymous: “Ok hear me out: WILD WEST AU CROSSOVER”

@snelbz / @tacmc

The town was much smaller than he had suspected. When he got Rowan’s letter, Lorcan had at least expected to come to a bustling town, but when he arrived, it was surprisingly quaint. As he rode into town, there were only a few out to greet him, and they all had a skeptical look. One thing was clear: this town was not friendly toward outsiders.

Lorcan probably wasn’t too helpful, either. He didn’t have the most welcoming demeanor. Every look, every gesture, scared people away.

He couldn’t help it, though.

It’s what came natural.

He tied up his horse next to the familiar mare outside the sheriff’s office. Patting his blue roan on the neck, he started up the stairs and let himself in.

The front of the office was empty, just a sitting area and some pictures hanging on the wall.

He could hear music playing from somewhere and debated on whether he should go up the stairs or towards the back. The music seemed to be coming from the back of the building.

That meant Rowan was most likely upstairs, as far from the jovial tune as he could be.

Every step creaked as Lorcan stepped on them, eventually landing himself in the nearly empty second floor landing.

True enough, Rowan was in the back office, his boots propped up on the desktop, his hat pulled down over his face.

“This town is so boring all you do is sleep all day?” Lorcan asked, in way of greeting.

Rowan chuckled from beneath his hat. “It’s about damn time you showed up.” He slowly slid the hat to the top of his head and gave Lorcan an amused look. “Welcome.”

Lorcan’s jaw locked. “Don’t welcome me yet.”

“Too late.” Rowan stood and made his way over to his oldest friend. “Thanks for coming, I’m… in a bit over my head here.”

Lorcan leveled him a look. “You expect me to help you figure out how to be sheriff? Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

A quiet chuckle. “Of course not, but I know at some point, I’m going to have to get my hands dirty. It’d be better if they weren’t… my hands.”

Lorcan nodded, thinking about the offer. It’s the same one he’d made him in the letter he’d received a week ago. “And I’d be promised immunity?”

“As much as I can offer,” Rowan admitted. “This would be an under the table sort of arrangement.”

Lorcan was about to say something when he heard the front door open and hurried feet ran up the steps. A young man appeared in the doorway. “Sheriff Whitethorn, there’s a-.”

He froze when he beheld Lorcan standing in front of the sheriff and he swallowed hard.

Rowan asked, “What’s the problem, Luca?”

His eyes darted between the two men. “Ma- may we talk in private, sir?”

“Of course,” he said and followed the man downstairs.

Lorcan sighed and sat down in one of the wooden chairs in front of Rowan’s desk, leaning back and waiting. Only a few minutes later, he heard his friends steps returning and when he glanced back, he saw an amused smile on his face.

Leaning against his desk, he sighed and said, “I brought you here to be one of the good guys, not the bad guys. You can’t scare the shit out of the townsfolk.”

He was smirking, and he said, “But I’m good at being the bad guy. Besides, all I did was ride into town. I can’t help it if the people of this town are pussies.”

“Lor,” Rowan warned, and he held up two hands in surrender. Rowan sighed and said, “What do you say? Are you willing to help me out?”

Lorcan made a show of debating the question, even though they both knew what his answer would be. “Will I be paid well?”

“Of course,” Rowan said, plopping back into the chair behind his desk.

“How are the women in this town?” Lorcan followed.

Rowan gave him an exasperated look. “Seriously? When did you get picky about women?”

Lorcan grinned. “You’re paying for my whiskey, right?”

“If I did that, I’d be broke within the week,” Rowan countered.

Lorcan snorted. “Fine. I’ll stay. For now.””

“For now?” Rowan asked.

Lorcan smirked and repeated, “For now.”

Rowan sighed and leaned across the desk extending his hand. Lorcan took it in his own and shook it as Rowan said, “Lorcan Salvaterre, welcome to Rose Creek.”

___________________

Azriel wasn’t exactly sure how Elain Archeron convinced the ground to produce such beautiful flowers. Everyone else who tried ended up with dead, dry weeds within a few weeks, but not Elain. No, every grave he dug was decorated with whatever floral beauty was growing in her garden that season.

As he stepped out of the little hut they had the audacity to call his “office”, he found her sprinkling water over the buds she’d placed on the grave he’d dug only the day before.

He meandered over to her, admiring her natural beauty as he did so.

“Good morning,” he said, quietly.

Elain looked up at him, over her shoulder with a soft, wistful smile. “Why do I feel like you’ve been digging more graves the last few months?”

Azriel met her eyes. “Well...it hasn’t been your imagination, unfortunately.”

With a sigh, Elain stood up and brushed off her skirts, admiring her display atop the dirt. “I chose lilies. I’ve always loved lilies.”

“They’re beautiful,” Azriel agreed, his voice low. “Can I ask you something?”

She looked at him, surprised. “Of course.”

“Why do you bother?” He asked, nodding toward her flower display. “Most of the people buried here are criminals and vigilantes.”

She turned around, looking back to the flowers she’d placed so reverently on each of the graves. “Because every single one of these men had at least one person who cared for them in our messed up world, yes?” She turned back to look at him, but decided her question didn’t need an answer. She smiled. “Everyone, even the lowliest of criminals, deserves a little bit of beauty and peace in death, don’t you think?”

He nodded. He saw more death than most people saw in their entire lives, had seen things that would make some of the corpses that surrounded him roll over in their graves. But he agreed.

“I also do it so you’ll have something beautiful to see everyday, too.”

He lifted the brim of his hat, looking up at her, and he found her smiling. He asked, “For me?”

“Yes, for you,” she confirmed, quietly, her fingers fidgeting with the sides of her skirts. “I won’t pretend to know what you face, doing this job. If I can make it even the slightest bit more pleasant for you, that is what I’ll continue to do.”

He watched her with a small smile, his eyes narrowed. He had known Elain for a while now, had come to value her friendship. She alone made every day better for him, but he wouldn’t let her know that.

“Thank you,” he whispered, at last.

“You’re welcome,” she smiled, and looked back towards the town. “I should go. Feyre has to work tonight and I promised I’d cook her favorite lunch to prepare.”

“You’ll be alone tonight?” He asked, and though it sounded like a proposition of sorts, she knew it wasn’t, just genuine concern for her wellbeing.

She nodded. “I will. Nesta is expected at seven and Feyre will be there around four.”

Azriel opened and closed his mouth three times before he let it fall shut. He sighed and said, “Don’t leave your cabin, please.”

“I won’t,” she said, smiling at him as she tied the loose hat back onto her head. “I’m a smart girl, Mr. Draeven.”

“Azriel,” he corrected her, but he knew the posterity was for his sake, not hers. She loved to mess with him in that regard. And the smile on his face proved he did as well.

With a nod, she said, “Have a good day, Azriel.”

As he watched her walk back into town, her skirts kicking dust up with every step she took, he cursed himself for not asking her to have dinner with him.

____

Aedion hated working in the mines. He had to do what he had to do, though, and he knew no other trades. His father owned the damn mines, as his grandfather had before him. It made for long, exhausting days, but at least he got paid. None of that easier because you’re family bullshit. Even Aedion’s father worked in the mines with them.

His pay wasn’t much, but it was enough to get a drink and eat a hot meal at the end of the day.

“Dreaming of that lady of yours?”

Aedion looked over his shoulder and wiped sweat and dust from his brow as he took in a grinning Ruhn.

“Back to work,” Aedion snapped, although he was smiling. “And she’s not my lady.”

She wasn’t a lady, at all, but that didn’t stop Aedion from having eyes for Lysandra Ennar, and her alone.

Ruhn’s pickaxe hit the mineral rich dirt in the wall and he grunted with the force of it. “She's a lady.” Another grunt and rain of rocks and dust as the tip of his ax dug in deeper. “You’re obsessed with her.” Grunt. “She’s obsessed with you.” Grunt. “Sounds to me like she’s your lady.”

Aedion smiled again, but it was sad now. “You know as well as I do that she can never be mine.”

The quiet sigh that left him was telling enough. “Yeah.”

Ruhn loved someone trapped in Maeve’s servitude as well, but a wholly different kind of love. Aedion counted his blessings and thanked the gods that he didn’t have to endure what Ruhn did each night. That he didn’t have to watch Aelin whore herself out to atone for someone else’s sins, like he did with Bryce.

In the distance, an explosion sounded and the walls shook. Aedion was throwing his hands over his head, shaking and cursing and going pale as his axe hit the ground.

His ears were ringing, and he couldn’t hear a thing, couldn’t think straight, could only feel the heavy thumping of his heart and his heavy, uneven breaths.

Dirty, calloused hands gripped onto his shoulders and shook him, and next thing he knew, Ruhn was in his face.

The explosion hadn’t been anywhere near them.

Nothing had fallen, nothing had collapsed anywhere close. The men around them were still working, still swinging their pickaxes.

“Hey. Hey!” Aedion could finally hear Ruhn’s voice, trying to bring him back from the memories that had forced their way inside his mind.

Aedion blinked, trying to bring himself back, to orient himself back in the present.

“Hey,” Ruhn said, gripping his shoulders a hair tighter. “You’re not in that shit anymore. You’re here. You’re back with us.”

A shuddering breath left Aedion and then a gasp as his lungs remembered how to function. He was staring at Ruhn, letting the familiarity of his friend’s face ground him.

“You’re home, Aedion,” he said, barely able to be heard over the clang of metal around them. “You’re home.”

Home.

He looked around them, at the dank, dark mine, the tunnels and shafts shooting off in every direction, as far as the eye could see.

Home.

What a fucking joke.

————————

Elide entered the Sheriff’s office to near silence. If it wasn’t for the heavy footsteps upstairs, she would have thought the building was empty.

Picking up her skirts in one hand so that she wouldn’t trip, and holding the handle of the basket in the other, Elide walked to the second floor, where she peeked into Aelin’s office.

And found a man who was definitely not Aelin.

The man met her gaze beneath the brim of his hat, his dark eyes settling on her with a coolness that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

“Pardon me, sir,” she began, quietly, keeping her chin held high even though her voice was hesitant. “I apologize for the intrusion. I was looking for Deputy Galathynius. I brought her a gift to congratulate her on her new position.” She held up her basket, but after seeing that the man behind the desk was not at all intrigued, she let it fall back down to her side.

“Where’s my welcome basket?” He drawled, letting his eyes scan over her. She seemed harmless enough, but Lorcan trusted nobody. Even waif thin ladies carrying baskets of baked goods.

“I’m afraid I don’t know you, mister, but knowing you would not make you anymore entitled to a gift from me.” She held her chin up as she spoke to him, something not many people dared to do.

“And who are you,” he asked, removing his hat and placing it on the desk.

The desk that did not belong to him.

“A friend of Deputy Galathynius. So if you wouldn’t mind telling me where I could find her, sir, I’ll be on my way.”

A dark brow rose. “She and Rowan are out at the Nazari ranch. Had a calf that turned up mutilated.”

He expected her already pale skin to bleach at the talk of gore, but she did no such thing. Instead, her lips parted slightly. “One of Cassian’s calves?”

The familiarity with which she said the rancher’s name displeased Lorcan. “Guess so.” He would have liked to hear her say his name the same. “I’m Lorcan Salvaterre. Newest deputy in your quaint, little town of Rose Creek.”

Elide blinked. She gazed at his black hat on the desk, his dark clothes, even his eyes and hair were as dark as night. “You’re a deputy? Of justice?”

He snorted. “Something like that.”

Elide hummed, because she didn’t have another reaction to the thought of the man in front of her doing anything for the greater good of a community.

“You haven’t told me your name, miss.”

Miss on his lips sounded more like a tease than anything else.

“Elide Lochan,” she replied, chin still raised. “I’m the teacher down at the schoolhouse.”

“Teacher?” he asked, one brow raised. He glanced down at her basket, “And baker?”

“In my spare time,” Elide said, with a nod. “I find that people like it when you gift them with baked goods.”

“Then I’ll continue to wait for my welcome basket,” he said.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you, Mister Salvaterre,” she said, placing the basket on the table in the corner. “You could be waiting for a while.”

She wiped her hands on her skirts and was down the stairs and out the door before Lorcan could even think of what to say.

____________________

Cassian Nazari stood alongside the sheriff and his deputy as they gazed down at the calf.

What was left of it, at least.

“You suppose it was a coyote?” Cassian asked, crossing his broad arms over his chest.

Rowan bent down, stooping to get a better look. Aelin was getting as good a look as she needed from where she stood, thank you very much.

“Might have been a bobcat,” he mused, looking at the uniform gashes along its body.

“It was a knife,” Aelin said, causing both mean to look at her.

Rowan stood and looked down at her. “What animal do you know of that can use a knife?”

Aelin scoffed and put a hand on her hip. Her trouser-covered hips. No ruffles, skirts, or dresses while she was on the clock. Her self-imposed new rule. “Not an animal, you ass. A human did this.”

Cassian stared at her. “This is a lot of damage for a person to inflict. This is brutal.”

“Of course it is. Because it’s supposed to be. It’s supposed to scare the shit out of you, Cash.”

Rowan blinked. “I’m not following.”

Cash’s eyes narrowed. “Are you insinuating the Black Brothers did this?”

“I have no definitive proof who did it,” she said, stepping closer to the mutilated animal. She bent down and pointed to the bullet hole in its head. “But I don’t know of any animals that can use guns either, Sheriff Whitethorn.”

Rowan stiffened, then looked over his shoulder at Aelin Galathynius. They had hardly worked alongside one another at this point, but every little thing she did annoyed the ever loving shit out of him.

“Would you like to say something, Sheriff?” Aelin inquired, noting his annoyance.

“Good observation,” he muttered, looking back down at the calf. He had read about the Black Brothers since his arrival, since he was given his new position. It was true that they were up to no good, but they had managed to dodge the law up until this point.

“I think we should bring them in for questioning,” Aelin said.

Rowan rose to his full height and gave Aelin a questionable look. “Based on what evidence?”

“Based on the evidence that this looks like something they would do, and we have to start somewhere.” Aelin turned her attention to Cassian. “Was anything else out of place this morning?”

He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Not that I can think of. I mostly just noticed this one was missing.” He gestured to the calf. “I looked for her, but I didn’t see a single animal that could do this. None of my other animals are missing either.”

“Hmmm.” Aelin crossed her arms over her chest. She knew Rowan was right, they couldn’t bring someone in for questioning based just on the fact that they were sleazy.

“We’ll keep in touch, Cash, yeah?” Rowan said, shaking the man’s hand. “Let us know if you see or hear anything. We’ll look into some things.”

Cassian nodded his head. “Thank you, Sheriff, Deputy.”

Aelin nodded, and the two of them walked back to the horses while Cassian prepared to dispose of the animal.

“You can’t possibly think the Blacks have nothing to do with this,” Aelin said, turning her gaze on him.

“I have no reason to think Erawan and Hybern Black would do this,” Rowan said, a hand in his pocket as they reached their horses. “Aside from the fact that they’re greedy and would do anything for a quick buck, what would they gain from killing one calf on a cattle ranch?”

Aelin hesitated. She wasn’t sure. It was peculiar, and it sure did not make sense to her, at all.

“We should do some questioning, though,” Rowan said. “Maybe with Hunt, if he saw anything in the middle of the night.”

Hunt stayed at the saloon for most of the night, into the late hours of the morning. He would know who was up and about throughout the night, or at least may know of someone who was.

“Not a bad idea,” Aelin admitted, pulling herself up onto her saddle.

“Mr. Athalar will be our first stop, then,” Rowan decided, helping himself up onto his mare.

They rode back into town, and Aelin had to admit that it was much easier to ride a horse when you didn’t have to ride side-saddle in inches and inches of skirts. She could definitely see herself getting used to the trousers she now wore.

Rowan’s reaction the first morning she’d walked through the door of their building, her hair braided back off her face, the bright cosmetics of the night before nearly forgotten, was one she would remember forever. He’d been drinking his coffee, standing by the stairwell, and Aelin was proud to see it spray along the side wall as she’d stepped inside wearing the high waisted trousers.

Now, after learning how easily she could ride in trousers, she was hard pressed to say she may never go back to dresses and skirts again.

Rowan’s shock definitely had a hand in her decision to buy multiple pairs, too. It was apparently difficult to surprise Rowan Whitethorn, and she had done it only twenty-four hours after they met.

It was a proud moment to add to her long list of accomplishments.

___________________________

With a huff, Feyre dropped the bus tub full of dishes in the kitchen where Luca was busy scrubbing away. “Hunt says we need more glasses.”

He lifted a hand in acknowledgment and Feyre was rushing back out into the lively front room, the sound of card games and merriment in the air. The piano was at the heart of it all and there were girls dancing on the tables.

Not the type of girl like Nesta; no, these girls were here of their own free will. The only thing making them get up and dance was the ale they’d been sinking since before she arrived for her shift. They weren’t trapped into a contract by the Devil’s Wife herself. Speaking of, Feyre couldn’t locate her sister in the sea of faces, meaning she must still be upstairs with a client. She’d have a shot of whiskey ready to slip to her the moment she returned back down the stairs. Being rip roaring drunk by midnight was one of the reasons Nesta was able to endure the physical torture night after night. Feyre would do anything in her power to help, in any way that she could.

Looking around the crowded room, she did catch the eyes of the handsome, young mayor. Rhysand was a fair man, and though he came into the saloon almost every night, he rarely drank. The former mayor had gotten drunk every night, so whether this was a political or personal choice, it caught Feyre’s attention. Not to mention the way he always seemed to be watching her.

Working in the saloon, even as a lowly barmaid, often came with its own struggles. Especially when said saloon was attached to a brothel. Hunt put a stop to it when he could, but sometimes Feyre had to do so herself.

Feyre had just noticed the bar top was full, and Hunt was well and truly swamped. She stepped around a table, headed for the bar, when a firm grip wrapped around her wrist and she was tugged backwards. She found herself face to face with a man about her age, who’s dark eyes promised nothing but pain. “And how much are you for the hour?”

“I’m not for sale.”

It usually worked. Most respected what she said, backed off and let her go on her way.

The piece of shit holding onto her had no intention of letting go.

Feyre jerked her hand back, but the stranger’s grip was firm. She would surely have a ring-shaped bruise around her wrist when he finally got his shit together and backed off.

“I said, I’m not for sale,” Feyre hissed, her chin raised high. “Hand off.”

“I like a little spitfire,” he replied, his drawl strong, the scent of liquor on his breath even stronger. His grip tightened to the point that Feyre cringed, her skin stinging from his hold. “I bet you’ve got even more of an attitude in bed-.”

Feyre’s spit landed in the middle of the stranger’s face before she could even think better of it. Surely, she would pay for the hasty decision in tips, but she wouldn’t let a man take her to bed after she’s said no.

She wouldn’t.

The stranger’s eyes turned hard as he yanked Feyre forward, but that was as far as he got. Someone new was grabbing the stranger’s collar, his fist cracking the drunk stranger’s jaw.

The saloon fell quiet, even the jaunty tune of the piano slowed and stopped as everyone turned to where the man had fallen to the floor in the middle of the room. The men around the table looked up at the man attached to the fist that knocked their friend out as he said, “The lady said no.”

It was a moot point, the man was out cold, and his friends were scrambling to lift him from the floor and hurrying out the door. Apparently, the look on her savior’s face was enough to deter not only a second round of brawling, but also the propositions as well.

Feyre turned to thank the man.

She didn’t know Ruhn Danaan well, not as well as she’d come to know and love his sister since she came to work as a barmaid, but she knew his face well. He came into the saloon every night, and every night, he ordered a whiskey, sat in the corner and nursed it until closing time. He never came to get drunk. He came to keep as close an eye as he could on his sister.

Feyre knew how he felt, knew the feeling. She had to watch Nesta do the same thing Bryce did every night, and it never got easier. If anything, it became harder, more difficult, watching it day after day.

“I can take care of myself, Mr. Danaan,” she said, but her voice was light, her smile soft.

Ruhn chuckled, quietly. “I know, but you shouldn’t have to.”

“Perhaps not,” she agreed, as the piano’s happy tune continued and the saloon went back to normal. “Thank you. He got what he deserved.”

“He deserved worse, but Hunt says no weapons within his walls.” Ruhn looked over his shoulder at the owner, then back to Feyre. “Last time I pulled out my gun in here, I was banned for a week.”

“Well, Mr. Dannan, we can’t have that,” Feyre said, a glint in her eye.

“No, Miss Archeron, we can’t,” Ruhn agreed.

Feyre tried to think of something snarky to say back, working in the bar had certainly made hee more comfortable having a more colorful vocabulary, but before she could, Ruhn’s name was called from across the bar.

His eyes flicked over to where his friends had just walked in. They settled back on her and he said, “Until next time, Miss Feyre,” and was gone, joining his companions.

Those sapphire eyes unsettled her, but also had her stomach tied in knots. Once she remembered how to walk, she hurried back over to the bar, helping Hunt fulfill drink orders and laughing and chatting with her friends who came in.

All the while, she felt sapphire eyes on her, tracking her every move. And violet eyes as well.

#reckoning and retribution #snelbz rar #snacmc #snelbz tacmc collab #snelbz 4k crossover

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iphisesque · 4 years

Note

Joe + Nicky + Saint Sebastian + ☕

(this started out as a fun little question to answer! might throw around some headcanons! might even reference some of my favourite renaissance artists along the way! and here we are, a couple of months and 1.1k words later, with a fanfiction about joenicky, saint sebastian and antonello da messina. i have no idea how this happened --- you can find the link to this on ao3 in the source!)

---------

Yusuf loves drawing Nicolò, that much is certain: whether it be a doodle on the corner of a page in his sketchbook or a painting on a panel larger than either of them, he's always found something almost sacred, almost divine about it, about tracing the curve of his nose, the bright glimmer in his eyes, the relaxed grin on his lips and recreating his image like Allah created man in his own. They often joke about Yusuf making Nicolò into a saint, giving his face to George slaying the dragon, or perhaps painting both of their likenesses onto an embrace of Sergius and Bacchus commissioned by another wealthy Florentine with tastes not unlike theirs, but nothing really ever becomes of it --- until.

They're staying in Venice at Antonello's house, not long after he's returned from his latest travel to the Flanders; him and Yusuf are excitedly discussing the latest news in oil painting, while Nicolò is dozing off in bed as he pretends to follow the conversation, still tangled up in their sweat and spill and little else.

He stretches and stirs, more asleep than awake, and both of them look up at him from the desk in Antonello's room they're sitting at; the man glances at his figure, lightly constrained by the bed sheets strategically covering his body, his face still blissed-out, and reaches for his sketchbook, showing his latest preliminary sketches to Yusuf. A young man, tied up with rope to a pole, arrows penetrating his near-bared body in an intent more sensual than murderous, if the man's expression is anything to go by.

"San..." He can't recall the saint's name on his tongue, but he knows the man is one: it's always saints and Marys with Catholic artists, which isn't necessarily a complaint. "Sebastiano," Antonello helps him, his voice low. "I was commissioned a Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian by the Church of San Zulian, and I thought you might appreciate the idea."

He glances up at his lover, fast asleep in bed still, and back down at the sketch. "Who's the man?" he asks, an artist's silent understanding: every painting contains a part of its maker's soul, but masterpieces such as Antonello's seldom are created without a certain familiar face to inspire the hand that paints its likeness.

"An old friend," he answers, his eyes growing dark. "Loved him and left him in Messina, like too many other things in my life."

Yusuf nods, he too well aware of what it means to leave people behind; his heart still aches when he thinks of his sister Maryam sometimes, watches over her descendants in Mahdia and Tunis as best as he can alongside his beloved. "I'm going back there as soon as I finish this commission, tell you that," Antonello interrupts his thoughts. "I far too much miss my dear Smeralda and my dearest hometown, though I'm sure a man like you would have none such problems."

Yusuf scoffs playfully. "I miss more places and people than you could ever think possible, believe me," he replies, and that much is the truth: the pain of leaving people and places he's loved never stops or dulls after centuries of life, or at the very least it still hasn't for himself and Nicolò.

He comes back home that night with his head buzzing, and dreams of his sister, of his past life in sun-scorched Mahdia, of his beloved's embrace as they ate and drank and recited poetry in his family's house in Damascus, back when they were still learning to know and love each other for the very first time. He dreams other, abstract dreams too: a broken arrow, lengths of rope holding strong muscles tight, his beloved's face enraptured, the near-indecency of a drape slipping off his bare lap, and these don't fade from his thoughts even after he wakes up.

He tells Nicolò of the sketch Antonello showed him, the sketch that hasn't left his mind since he first saw it, and his lover's eyes widen, his interest piqued. "Would you like to paint me like that?" he whispers, his voice low and raspy like he knows it drives Yusuf wild.

He nods, not wanting to break the heavy intimacy of the silence hanging between them, and Nicolò presses a kiss to his lips, his hand caressing at first his cheek and then moving lower and lower.

"Paint me then, beloved," he tells him in that same voice, before dragging him to the bedroom, and Yusuf begs Allah to let him at least finish the sketch that night before succumbing to the desires of the flesh. (If He hears that plea, He seems to pay him no attention.)

---

Centuries later, one French art forger baptised as Sébastien Le Livre has joined their warrior group of immortals, and he finds himself with them at a safehouse in Florence sometime between the two world wars; he's still young, barely been undead for more than a century, and cannot wrap his head around the idea of his mates having been alive since way before his country or the one they're staying in were united. Safehouses like that are a blessing to him, filled to the brim with material testaments of his and his companions' eternal lives, and often hiding pieces deserving of a place in a museum; it is one of these he stumbles upon that afternoon as he explores the dusty old attic, holding a torch high and not too close as he theatrically removes the white cloth covering a painting --- late 1400s, he thinks with a glance at the technique and at the style, further proved by the signature in the lower right corner reading "al-Kaysani, 1479".

Yusuf's old art, and certainly not his oldest, he thinks to himself, and he has a better look at the subject: a Sebastian like himself, painted as was the norm in the day, penetrated by arrows and tied up to a pole, in an expression of supposed agony resembling more of a petite mort than a real death.

Only when he pays closer attention to the face does he realise who the subject is, and he recoils so suddenly he drops his lamp in the darkness --- he cannot look Nicolò in the face for a week following the incident, and they only find out about that when Yusuf goes to store another masterpiece in the attic alongside the cursed San Sebastiano. They laugh it out eventually, of course, and it becomes something to tease them both about, but he is more than glad to be leaving Florence and going to London the week after that, where he starts going by Booker and buries his old name for good.

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A few notes:

1) the mention of Saints George, Sergius and Bacchus is not casual: Saint George, in particular, was the patron saint of the Republic of Genova, and Sergius and Bacchus are two saints martyred together who are often thought to have had a homosexual relationship and are somewhat of the patron saints of the gay community.

2) Antonello da Messina was an early Renaissance painter who introduced Flemish oil painting to Italy and Italian perspective technique to the Flanders; his portrayal of Saint Sebastian, inspired by Andrea Mantegna’s, was among the first ones to popularise what we now consider to be the classic portrayal of the martyrdom of Sebastian, aka “young man tied to a pole and sensually struck by arrows”. In Messina, Antonello was friends with Saint Eustochia Smeralda (the Smeralda Antonello mentions), and he allegedly based his masterpiece Virgin of the Annunciation on her.

3) the headcanon of Yusuf coming from Mahdia belongs to @hottopicmonk, and him having a sister named Maryam comes from a conversation with @tovezza!

#the old guard #the old guard fic #tog fic #the old guard fanfiction #the old guard netflix #nicolò di genova #yusuf al-kaysani #sebastien le livre #tog fanfiction #mine #my fic

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doctor-peggy · 3 years

Text

Chapter 1 of Chasing Ghosts (Fanfiction)

A Kaito and Shinichi role-swap AU that I have also posted on Ao3.

I hope you enjoy it!

TW: Explicit character death (it is canonical and it is not depicted, but it's mentioned pretty clearly).

Something’s not right. The police are explaining to his mother that it was an accident, but Kaito thinks they’re wrong. Because it can’t be, Kaito knows his father’s show backwards and forwards, and this—this is not how it’s supposed to go. He’s seen his father get out of chains like that in less than three seconds. This time he had a whole thirty.

His stomach churns. His father is not—was not—that careless. There must be some mistake. His father can’t just be gone like this.

“I’m sorry Kaito,” his mother sobs quietly when he tells her this, and Kaito feels completely helpless. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why they’re all saying his father made a mistake. If he can just prove it…

Then what? Will that make his father come back?

For the first time in three hours, Kaito really and truly realizes what it means when they say Kuroba Toichi is dead.

He throws up on the tarmac, and then cries till his throat hurts.

Because this isn’t real. This isn’t real. Something is horribly wrong.

Before they go, the police give Kaito and his mother their condolences one last time, and Kaito is gripped with an overwhelming urge stop them. There is this feeling in his stomach, a feeling that maybe the police don’t quite understand what has happened.

A memory from two hours ago flashes across his mind.

“I saw a man in a black suit before the show!” Kaito yells after the officers as they start to leave. The police detectives only look at him sadly. They tell him, that just because there was someone is wearing black doesn’t mean they’re a bad person. They tell him accidents can happen to anyone. They tell him even his father could make mistakes.

“No!” Kaito insists, “he never makes mistakes like that, he—”

“I’m really sorry, Kaito-kun,” a kind-face police officer cuts in gently, “but your father is really gone. I know it’s really scary, but it’s going to be okay.”

“I know he’s gone!” Kaito tries desperately, for a moment too caught up in the feeling of wrongness to realize what he’s saying, “but it wasn’t an accident! You’re making a mistake! There was this man, and he looked really weird and scary, and like he wasn’t even here for the show and—”

He must have done something, he almost says, but that… that can’t be right either. Because even at eight years old, Kaito knows that sounds too much like it’s murder. And murders don’t happen to people like Kaito’s father.

He sees some officers turn away, eyebrows creased, hands covering their mouths.

His mother picks him up.

“Let’s go home, Kaito,” she breathes into his ear as new tears start to fall from his eyes.

“It wasn’t an accident,” he mumbles into his mother’s shoulder. If she hears him, she does not say anything.

When he goes to bed that night, body tired from grief and eyes heavy from crying, the feeling in his stomach still isn’t gone. Someone had made a mistake this morning, and Kaito is sure it wasn’t his father. He tosses, kicking the wall even though his mother has told him many times that he’s not supposed to. He clutches his pillow to his face and screams.

There was no accident. Kaito just knows there couldn’t have been. He’s not sure what it means if someone made the accident happen, but finding out scares him less than the idea of letting it go. Because Kaito is right. Something had gone horribly wrong that day, and it had to do with that strange man in the black suit and the black hat.

And if the police detectives aren’t going to believe him, then Kaito will have to prove it himself.

He decides then that he’s going to become a detective. He’s going to become a detective, and solve the case of his father’s murder.

-x-

When he reads about Kuroba Toichi’s death in the newspaper, the strangest feeling crawls up Shinichi’s spine, like he’s met the man before. He turns to his father.

“He was a friend of mine,” his father answers, eyes unreadable, even before Shinichi can ask.

There’s something about his tone that seems… off.

“Tou-san, was it really an accident?” Shinichi hazards.

There is a pause.

“Don’t ask stupid questions Shinichi, of course it was.”

Shinichi frowns. He’s not a detective yet, but even he can tell that his father’s words and the expression on his face don’t match.

“I didn’t know you were friends with a magician,” he forges on, hoping for some clues. His father just smiles a little ruefully.

“We were more like friendly rivals, really”

“Rivals?”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyhow,” he sighs, before turning to Shinichi with a stern look, “now stop asking questions and eat your eggs.”

Shinichi opens his mouth to argue, but his father’s expression says Shinichi’s not going to get any more answers, so he stops himself.

Rivals, he thinks, rolling the word around on his tongue.

He goes his mother next.

“Kuroba Toichi?” she repeats when Shinichi asks her, sounding almost surprised.

Shinichi nods.

“Well, he was a magician, and a very good one at that. Some people said he was even better than the Kaitou KID.”

Shinichi latches onto the new piece of information.

“Who’s Kaitou KID?”

His mother’s lips twitch downwards slightly, like she’s realized something, but then she smiles and ruffles his hair.

She knows something Shinichi thinks, something she doesn’t want to tell me.

“Playing detective, are we?” she teases, hands moving down to pull his cheeks.

Shinichi knows this is a ploy to distract him to get him to stop asking questions, but he wriggles out of her grasp like she expects him to anyway, because he’s not a baby anymore, come on, Kaa-san, and runs to go find Professor Agasa, slamming the main door behind him.

The pieces finally start to come together when he asks the Professor about it.

“Kaitou KID, huh?” he says, rubbing his chin, “Well, he was a jewel thief. Some even said he was the best jewel thief to have ever existed.”

“Why is he called KID?”

“That’s because of your father, actually.”

His father? Why has Shinichi never heard of this before?

“Tou-san?”

“They were rivals, you know?”

Rivals. There it is again. But his father had said that about… Kuroba Toichi?

“How did my father name Kaitou KID?” Shinichi asks, and the Professor tells him the story, oblivious to the cogs turning in Shinichi’s mind.

Shinichi comes back home in time for lunch, but his father isn’t there.

“He went out for a walk,” his mother supplies, and if she knows anything more than that, she doesn’t let on. Shinichi figures something is up, but lets it go. He’s got his own investigation now.

The next day, he goes to the library and reads everything he can get his hands on about Kuroba Toichi and Kaitou KID. He has two or three working theories, but he needs more information.

Ran, who has tagged along, asks him what he’s doing. He thinks for a second, before turning to her.

“I’m trying find a phantom thief,” he declares.

#fanfiction #DCMK #Detective Conan #Kudou Shinichi #Kuroba Kaito #Roleswap AU #Detective!Kaito #Phantom Thief!Shinichi #Magic Kaito #Um this is how I'm supposed to post my fics onto tumblr right?#Once again I am writing when I should be sleeping #Chasing Ghosts #I know how to tag fluff and angst but I don't know how to tag anything else #my writing

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unsteadygalaxy · 3 years

Text

all is soft inside chapter 10

a miragehound multichapter fanfiction

Also posted on Ao3; my username is the same there!

previous | next

10. feet won’t fail you now

CW: blood, match violence

Elliott lands hard, the impact sending shockwaves through his feet and legs. His heart immediately starts to pound- three sets of footsteps echo around him and he dives into the nearest building. He scoops up a Prowler, inserts a nearby HCOG scope, and just as he’s finishing up, the door in front of him flies open.

He breathes, steadying his aim, and pulls the trigger five times, sending an entire clip directly into a Legend hopeful’s head. The poor man’s face turns white and he immediately drops to the ground. Mirage lets out a whoosh of breath, and finishes him off. He’s got two heavy ammo boxes and a level one backpack, which he quickly takes. Another set of footsteps quickly approaches, and Mirage reloads the Prowler.

The other door bangs open, and just as Mirage turns around, Revenant fires an Eva-8 right at him. Two rounds of double-fire pellets rip into Elliott’s chest and neck, and to his horror, he falls to the ground, bleeding and gasping. Shit! No! It can’t end like this!

“Hey, uh, need help,” he gags into his earpiece, blood pouring from his mouth. Revenant picks up a crate of shotgun ammo and leaves, reloading his Eva-8 as he goes.

“Damn, Witt, lose that winning energy so quick?” Octane teases over the comms, and Elliott can hear more gunfire in the background.

“Oh, you know,” he chokes, “it’s kind of hard to win when you immediately get downed by a goddamn murderbot!” His hands are slick with red and he’s fading fast, and he wants to throw up.

A giant smoke grenade comes careening through the door, and Elliott’s vision is immediately obscured. He presses his hands to his wounds, trying desperately to keep the pressure on so he doesn’t bleed out. “Williams, coming to my rescue? You shouldn’t have,” he says, and he coughs up a glob of blood that splatters across the floor.

“Shut up and let me focus, Witt!!” Anita’s voice is commanding and harsh over the earpiece, and it shuts Elliott right up.

Just as his vision starts to go fuzzy, he hears a percussive beat of bullets close by, and Revenant screams, his modulated voice garbled with rage. “Get back here, you coward!” Anita yells. “Damn you!” Elliott loses track of how much time passes, but just before he passes out, something sharp plunges directly into his heart. “Fuck!” he yells, and his body jolts painfully, sending his arms and legs flailing. Adrenaline and heat surge through his veins, painfully clotting and repairing his wounds. A rush wallops his head and Anita drags him to his feet.

“Come on, Witt, get off your ass and give us a hand, would you?” She’s panting hard as she sticks a syringe into her wrist. Elliott grabs the wall for support as a wave of nausea flows through him, threatening to overturn his stomach.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, Williams,” he chokes out, spitting out the last of the blood. “How many are left?”

“Two, by my count. Revenant got away, and he’s still got a teammate somewhere. Looks like you took care of their third.” She nods over at him, seemingly satisfied with his work. Anita had consistently been the toughest to crack- Elliott had not yet made her laugh to this day- so he would take what he could get.

“Yep, wasn’t a problem,” he says flippantly, shrugging as picks up a nearby shield cell. “Poor guy went down faster than- faster than… uh, poor guy went down fast.” His cheeks burn at his failed attempt at some sort of joke, and Anita’s deadpan expression tells him she’s not amused, either.

She tosses him a Phoenix Kit, and he fumbles it a little before shoving his arm into it. “Not the time. Joke around later. He’ll be coming back for us any second now.” Her voice is short, and it stings Elliott’s ego a little.

The Kit depletes with a hissing noise, and Elliott is good to go. He reloads his Prowler with shaking fingers. “Hey, let me get Revenant,” Elliott says, readjusting his backpack against his shoulders. “Gotta pay the son-of-a-bitch back. You go help Octane with… whatever he’s doing.” “Sure you can handle yourself?” Anita sounds skeptical, and her eyebrows are raised as she reloads her weapons. “Me?” He forces an incredulous laugh. “Of course I can! Didn’t you see how well I kicked his ass the other day? This’ll be a walk in the park.” He hops up and down on the balls of his feet, still feeling a little faint from being brought back from the brink.

“All right.” Anita shrugs and gives her weapon one last check, and she’s out the door before he knows it. She probably just wants to see me get my ass handed to me, he thinks, but it’s not a big deal. He wants to prove her wrong.

Sure enough, the sound of robotic footsteps pounds ominously against the pavement outside. Elliott casts a decoy and stations it next to the door, hoping to buy him a few more seconds. Shnk! An arc star slams into the already fragile door and begins to whine. Elliott throws himself backwards, deeper into the building, and shields his face against the explosion. The door disintegrates into bits, and the sound is deafening in his ears. An orange silencer hits the ground with a sinister whoosh, and Elliott backs up more, leveling his Prowler as his decoy dissipates into the air.

Revenant charges through the open door and through his silencer, hefting his Eva-8 once more. Elliott fires the Prowler, and the bullets smatter against the simulacrum’s shoulders, barely missing his head. Elliott curses under his breath and dodges out of the way as a volley of pellets exits Revenant’s gun. The bullets connect with his shoulder and arm and Elliott cries out in pain. He casts a decoy and sends it running right at Revenant to give himself more time to reload. Revenant grunts in frustration and nearly pulls the trigger again just as Elliott takes aim.

A full magazine of ammo assaults Revenant’s head and chest, and he goes down immediately, his shields melting into nothingness. “Damn you, skinsuit!” Revenant screams, trying to crawl away. But it’s no use- Elliott finishes Revenant off, sending another magazine of ammo right into his metal head.

“Murderbot down!” he shouts over the comms, heaving a sigh of relief. “What’s happening out there?” He loots Revenant’s backpack and heals up while he waits for an answer.

“Two squads down!” Octane crows, sounding extremely proud of himself. “You’re really missing all the fun out here, amigo!”

“Hey, I took care of Revenant, didn’t I?” Elliott replies indignantly as he plunges another syringe into his wrist. “You all should be thanking me.” He’s being cocky and he knows it, but it’s so much easier than admitting he fucked up in the heat of the moment.

“Sounds like you’re two for two with him, Witt,” Anita calls, breathing hard from her and Octane’s fight. “Good work. Keep it up.”

Elliott raises an eyebrow, somewhat surprised by Bangalore’s open praise. “Wow, thanks, Anita! I’m touched, really. You do have a heart.” “Don’t make me regret it, kid.”

“All right, all right, fine.” He smiles and zips up his backpack, and then realizes that Bangalore really isn’t that much older than him. “Hey!”

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

kzzzhhhCRACK!

Shit.

A Sentinel bullet just barely misses Elliott’s nose, and he dives back under the scaffolding. His heart is racing and his pulse is pounding; this match has barely given him and his team time to breathe. They’ve just finished a ridiculous fight in which four different squads had piled up on each other, and he’s absolutely covered in blood and gunpowder. The only perk of continually fighting so many people is that he and Octane and Bangalore are fully kitted with every item they could need. Bangalore is taking a Phoenix kit and Octane is still for once, just getting finished with charging his shields. The banners report that there is only one other squad besides them, and Elliott is grateful. He’s had about enough of being third partied.

Elliott reloads his Prowler with shaking fingers and checks his Triple Take. After making sure the digital sight is correctly slotted, he takes a deep breath and aims up towards Cage. Through the sights, he can see Wattson’s fences crackling around each of the entrances to the upper part of the tower. Caustic’s intimidating form glows red for a moment and then disappears behind the railings. Dammit, Elliott thinks. Wattson’s fences plus Caustic’s gas make for a deadly combination, and an annoying one at that. The only thing that made that duo worse was Bloodhound being on their team, and if that charged Sentinel shot was any indication, Elliott and his team had a miniscule chance of winning if they rushed the tower.

“Who’s up there, amigo?” Octane asks, clearly ready to go. He’s literally vibrating with anticipation, and he makes Elliott exhausted just by looking at him.

“Caustic, Natalie, and Bloodhound,” he sighs, and ducks back into cover. “They’re set up in there like it’s a goddamn fort. Gonna be impossible to charge up in there.” He wipes sweat from his forehead and leans back against one of the posts.

“Well, where’s the next Ring at?” Bangalore questions, pulling out her holomap. She pinches her fingers and zooms in on their location, squinting hard. “Damn,” she swears, and dread fills Elliott’s chest. “The top of Cage is just barely inside the next Ring.” She snaps the map shut angrily and stuffs it back into her pockets.

Octane swears under his breath. “Looks like today’s just not our day,” he says, itching at his cap. He stands and peeks up above their hiding spot, just barely poking out of cover. kzzzhhhCRACK! His body flies backwards, his helmet blinking out of existence, and he scrambles back down to them, sheepishly pulling out a shield battery.

Elliott groans, amused and frustrated. The chances of them feasibly winning this match are fading fast. There’s no way they’ll be able to get up there undetected, and the thought of fighting upwards made Elliott exhausted. He’s so tempted to just recklessly run in, but something stops him.

Bloodhound wouldn’t give up, and neither should you.

He sighs, knowing it’s true. Bloodhound would find any way they could to dominate the situation and reshape it to their will. He’s jealous for the millionth time, and has to remind himself that Bloodhound is human and fallible too, even if he still doesn’t really believe it.

“All right, we’ve got a couple options,” Mirage says, rubbing his chin. “Either we wait them out, or we can charge up there head on before the Ring closes. Personally, I’d vote for smoking them out, but I’m not the one with the missiles.” He inclines his head towards Bangalore.

Anita considers this, then shakes her head. “Neither of them are ideal options. Waiting them out would give us the upper hand, but we could also take them by surprise by charging them now. We’d have to take out all the traps though.” She breaks off, still thinking intensely. “But if we wait for them to charge, we’ll have to deal with Bloodhound’s Ultimate plus Caustic’s gas. The next Ring is small enough that that’ll make the battlefield hard to navigate. Plus, my smoke will be pretty much useless. Bloodhound’s Eye will make sure of that.”

Elliott has to agree with that. He’s been trying to avoid thinking about them all day, but of course they’re on the last enemy squad. The way they had run out of the bar the night before made him extremely concerned, and his stomach churns when he thinks of how stiff and cold they had become. Elliott doesn’t completely know what he did wrong, but he knows he must have brought up something painful for them to leave as abruptly as they had.

But the memory of holding their hands in his makes his cheeks burn a little. He remembers how their grief had rolled off of them in waves, and how he’d felt so utterly helpless. Still, he’d felt closer to them than ever before, even though they were separated across the bar. Their openness had intimidated him a little bit- they were so naturally talented at making him feel better, and reciprocating definitely wasn’t his forte. But most of all, he had been stunned to the core by what he had told them. He would never be able to look at Epicenter the same way again.

“Witt!” Anita barks, and the way she says it tells Elliott that it’s definitely not the first time she has called to him.

“Sorry, what?”

“Ring’s closing in 30,” she warns. “We’re charging up the tower. How many times do I have to tell you to get your head out of your ass?”

“At least a few times more,” he fires back, rolling his eyes. He’s frustrated, but mostly at himself for getting distracted. “Sorry. I’m good to go.”

Anita does not look convinced, but she just sighs and turns back to her map. “All right. I’ll call in my missiles. Ring should be small enough to cover the whole area. Silva, try to get behind them. Witt, you throw us some clones whenever you’ve got them. I’ll toss in some smoke to keep them blinded. We’ve all got at least one digital scope, so that should give us an edge once we get up top.”

“Sounds good, amiga,” Octane agrees. “They won’t know what hit them!” He’s fidgeting with his butterfly knife, and Elliott is one hundred percent positive that Ajay is going to have to deal with his sliced fingers sooner or later.

Elliott nods as he flips on the full-auto mode on his Prowler. His limbs are aching and he’s drenched in sweat, but he’s determined to see this through. Anita’s plan is pretty solid, and he’s got few qualms with it. Her expertise on the battlefield is something he’s always been grateful for. Careful planning and meticulous strategy were certainly her strengths, and she regularly put his on-the-fly ideas to shame.

She checks over her weapons and then pulls out her Ultimate grenade, just as a warning horn blares over the loudspeakers. “Let’s give them a show.”

The Ring moves swiftly, advancing across the plains of green grass with an ominous humming noise. Elliott only has a few seconds, but he peeks back through his sniper sights to see what’s happening in the tower. Bloodhound is still crouched next to the steel fences, and he’s sure they have an easy shot on him. But they don’t fire. They look away from their sights and shrug at him, as if to say, Show me what you are made of. A peculiar heat drops into his stomach.

He looks back through the sights for a split second, but his heart drops into his gut when he realizes they had forgotten something absolutely essential. “Anita, wait! Wattson’s py-”

But it’s too late- Bangalore cocks her arm back and lobs the canister forwards, a shower of red sparks whizzing through the air. Missiles crash into the ground, and Elliott groans out loud. “Shit,” he hisses, punching the ground next to him. As the missiles advance forward, brilliant sparks of blue arc out into the sky over a limited radius, zapping the rockets away like they’re nothing more than flies.

Bangalore groans, immediately popping to her feet. “Come on, we’ve got to go!” She takes off running towards Cage, just barely ahead of the rockets as they begin to detonate.

The ground starts to heave beneath his feet, and Elliott stumbles as he starts to run. Bangalore is much more accustomed to sprinting across the roiling earth, and she does so with ease and grace. Octane weaves in and out of the explosions at an inhuman pace, pulling out his jump pad as he goes. “Vamonos!” he cries gleefully, laughing as he soars into the air.

Elliott can barely keep up, and he can feel the heat at his back as he goes. He nearly trips and falls, but recovers at the last possible second. His entire body is killing him, and he can feel sweat running down his spine as he runs. God, this whole thing is starting to feel hopeless again. He can see it now- they’ll run up to Cage and Caustic will drop gas canisters everywhere, leaving them a minefield of fumes. Wattson will fence up all the entrances and neutralize their grenades, and Bloodhound will weave across the battlefield, taking Elliott’s team out without a second thought. He figures that Bangalore and Octane can easily hold their own for at least a while, but there is no plausible victory for him today.

He’s never felt this hopeless, this reluctant to try and win a match, and it scares him a little. Elliott tries shoving the thoughts away- he doesn’t have time for his self-deprecating tendencies. But the doubt creeps into his veins and stubbornly sinks in its claws, making it really hard to think without immediately assuming the worst. He feels antsy, anxious to just get this over with and go back to his apartment above the bar to sulk for the rest of the day.

Show me what you are made of.

He swears he hears Bloodhound’s voice in his head, and the thought suddenly bolsters his confidence tenfold. Mirage throws a decoy out through the smoke ahead of him, hoping that Bloodhound takes notice of it and not him. Shifting the Prowler in his hands, he winces as the rockets nearest to him detonate, throwing him off balance again. They’re almost to Cage, and he starts to sprint towards the stairs on his left. G7 and Triple Take shots ring out towards him, narrowly missing his running form. He makes it to the steel tunnel and scrambles inside, holding his breath as the last few rockets explode. He hears the horrible screech of shredding metal, and takes bizarre comfort in knowing that the enemy team is that much more exposed up in the tower as the doors explode. A high pitched noise plays over the speakers, and he knows that the final Ring will soon begin to close.

I’ll show you.

“Where’s everyone at?” he hisses through the comms, his pulse roaring in his ears. He’s going to win this game if it kills him, dammit.

“Ground floor,” Anita answers, and he hears her breathing hard. “Got hit by a couple bullets, but I’m healing up.”

“Second floor,” Octane says, not sounding tired in the slightest. “The rockets busted through a couple fences, so we’ve got an opening, but we gotta go fast.”

“Got it,” Elliott says, his mind whirring. “Williams, got any ideas?”

“Always,” she replies steadily. “Send out some decoys and try to join us down here. The zipline on the south side is still in the Ring, so we’ve got our point of entry. If we try to make it around to the other one, we’ll be toast. Only Silva has any chance of running in and out of the Ring and making it out alive.”

“Hell yeah, chica!” Octane laughs, ridiculously upbeat and much too excited for this. “I’ll be faster que un conejo!”

Elliott’s minimal Spanish comes in clutch, and he rolls his eyes. “Sure, buddy. Just don’t get yourself killed up there. There’s a hunter waiting for you.” He checks over his weapons, and after considering it for a moment, he takes the digital threat sniper optics off of his Triple Take. He’s not going to need it now- they’ll be fighting in too close of quarters for him to be effective with it. Best shotgun in the Games, he thinks, laughing at his own joke.

“All right, coming for you guys in three, two, one!” Elliott sprints out of the tunnels, sending all of his decoys spiraling in different directions. As expected, bullets begin to pepper the ground around him as he runs towards an entrance. The Ring is blocking off the two low slats at the bottom of Cage, so he makes his way to the west side door. kzzzhhhCRACK! A Sentinel bullet collides with the top of his head, and he screams in pain, launching himself into the double doors. They give way, and he stumbles inside, slinging off his backpack as he goes.

“S-shit,” he stutters, rooting through his bag for a Phoenix Kit. He locates one and stuffs his arm into it, his whole body shaking. Anita is there in an instant, tossing down a cover of smoke just in case any of the enemy team had decided to drop down to try and finish Elliott off. No such footsteps are heard, and Elliott breathes a sigh of relief.

Time is quickly running out, and the three of them really need to move. “Okay, we’ve gotta get up there fast. This is gonna suck, but I’d rather go down fighting,” he pants as the Kit finishes healing him.

“Already on it!” Octane is somewhere above them, and Elliott hears the whirring noise of a zipline. He looks to Anita, who runs up the ramp and disappears out of sight. Elliott clambers to his feet and follows, willing his hands to stop shaking.

“I’m gonna take out the doors!” Octane announces, and Elliott hears a frag grenade skip across the metal above him. There’s a huge boom, and the doors shred into bits, the noise of it wrenching through his ears. Gas hisses and spews just as Elliott clambers to the open third floor, and Octane begins to cough. “Dammit!”

The smaller man drops down to them via the zipline and immediately pops a shield cell. “I busted the traps, but Señor Apestoso just sent down more.”

“It’s fine,” Anita replies shortly. “Is the pylon still up?”

“Yeah, but it’s out of the Ring, so the circle barely reaches them.”

“Can you shoot it down?”

“No, it’s in a really weird spot. Kind of hiding up there. You gotta be in the middle of the room to shoot it down, and that’s a no go.”

Anita swears, but Elliott smiles, a fantastic idea popping into his head. “Not a problem. Let’s get back up there and send in some distractions,” he says. He hopes to God that things work in their favor, and he readies his Prowler before jumping to the zipline.

His jump pack carries him up, and as he lands he dives to the right, dangerously close to the wall of the Ring. Both doors have indeed been demolished, and so has Wattson’s fence. One post still sits next to the opening, barely blocked by two of Caustic’s gas traps. Elliott shoots the traps down, but a third one comes flying down to take its place. He’s too close to it, and it goes off, releasing fumes everywhere. Gas clouds his vision and chokes his lungs, and he tries desperately to back up enough to be out of it, but the Ring is too close. Sticking a syringe into his wrist, he dips out of the Ring for just a moment. The orange energy field bites into his skin, and he groans in pain, every nerve on fire. Damn, Natalie, way to go, he thinks wildly. Even in the middle of a match, he can still admire his friends’ expertise and genius, and Wattson’s engineering of the Ring is no exception.

The gas cloud dissipates and Anita and Octavio zip up, landing beside him. She shoots in a canister of smoke, and Elliott acts immediately. A decoy sprints through the busted doors, stopping just short of the edge of the Ring. Octane dashes into the room after sticking a stim into his veins, a green blur of activity that Elliott can’t quite follow. He skirts the edge of the Ring and throws a frag up onto the top floor, but it’s zapped away by Wattson’s pylon. A tattoo of bullets beats down onto the metal, and Elliott cringes, willing Octane to get out of there as his decoy disappears in a shower of blue sparks.

“Octavio, come on!” he yells. But Octane is fast, of course- he weaves through the barrage of fire with ease and comes skidding to a stop just outside the doors.

“Told you, amigo!”

“Not the time!” Elliott says, his heart pounding. Anita shoots in another canister and Elliott puts his plan into motion.

Another decoy runs lazily across the floor with a snap of Elliott’s fingers, and pretends to check the pouches in its belt. The three enemies upstairs do not shoot, having caught on to Mirage’s tricks. Anita sneaks in behind it, examines the radius of Wattson’s pylon, and makes a calculated throw with an arc star. To Elliott’s delight, it slips up above them and connects with Caustic’s foot before spectacularly exploding in a wave of dizzying energy. Elliott feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he takes advantage of the distraction.

He aims his Prowler up and fires, and the pylon crumples to the ground in a series of deafening crackling noises. His decoy hadn’t been a decoy at all, and the adrenaline of his plan actually working floods into his chest like a rush of water. His celebration is short-lived though- the sting of bullets begins to slam across his shoulders, and he releases all of his decoys. The cloaking does its job, and he takes a brief moment to hurl a thermite grenade up above him before sprinting out the doors. Wattson’s fences putter out, roasted by the flames, and Elliott breathes a sigh of relief.

He cheers out loud as he heals up, his body shaking in delight and shock. It had actually worked! But the job was not over yet- even though he can hear the other team groaning in pain up above him, he knows they still have to finish them off.

“Let’s go!” Anita calls, and she ascends the zipline, closely followed by Octane. Elliott rounds the corner, reloading his Prowler. Just as he makes it to the zipline, Caustic throws down another trap, which Elliott narrowly avoids before shooting down.

The steady chak-chak-chak of a hopped up P2020 rings through the air, and a collection of bullets from Octane’s gun collides with Caustic’s face and chest. Octavio moves to reload, but Nox catches him with a deadly Mastiff shot straight to the head, shattering the smaller man’s shields. Elliott ascends the zipline and unleashes a full clip of ammo into Caustic’s arms and neck, finishing him off quickly, but Octane takes a bullet from Wattson across the way, and he falls to the floor, unconscious.

Anita fires a full clip of ammo into Wattson’s chest, and the engineer falls to the ground, wincing and gasping. She finishes her off, but the older woman breathes hard, clearly having taken a considerable amount of bullets from somewhere as Elliott was helping Octavio. Sure enough, the percussive barrage of an R-99 shatters the brief silence, and Anita falls to the ground, swearing.

Bloodhound emerges from the opposite corner of the room, and Elliott does not hesitate. The warning horn of the closing Ring roars out, and Elliott leaps down from the upper level, knowing there’s absolutely zero chance of reviving Anita. A few quick bullets follow him, but Bloodhound is smart enough to not completely track his erratic movement. Elliott sprints across the floor and out the doors, throwing himself off the tower and onto the grass below.

He hits the ground running, ankles and knees screaming in protest, and he thanks his lucky stars that Bloodhound can’t keep the high ground. He hears them roar in that deep, otherworldly fashion, and his stomach drops straight into his toes. The Triple Take slides into his hands as he turns, and he watches in awe as Bloodhound leaps off the tower far more gracefully than he had, surrounded by crackling red energy. He backs up, takes aim, and fires twice, but the spread of bullets is too wide and each bullet whizzes past their glowing form. He has to remind himself not to stare- it’s not the time to dwell on how powerful and majestic they look, nor is it time to listen to how heavy they’re breathing and worry if they’re okay. Elliott fires again, and the shot connects, but a torrent of bullets smashes into his chest. He swears, fumbling the Prowler back into his hands. In a panic, he sends a decoy running straight at them to give him more time, but Bloodhound shoots it down. They bob and weave, taking a second to reload.

Elliott takes his chance. He breathes deeply, centering himself, and aims the Prowler right at their head. Time seems to slow, just like it had with Revenant, and he applies the slightest bit of pressure to his trigger finger. The bullets fly out of the gun, and he doesn’t feel the recoil at all. Every bullet finds its mark on Bloodhound’s head, obliterating their golden helmet and sinking into their mask.

Bloodhound drops to the ground and convulses for a moment before going horribly, eerily still.

Shock washes through his stomach, and he drops the Prowler. A buzzing fills Elliott’s ears. He… he actually did it? He… beat Bloodhound?

He approaches Bloodhound’s unconscious form slowly, feeling like he’s in a dream, and stares at them. They look so peaceful, even though blood is leaking from their helmet down into the grass. He picks up their R-99, weighing it in his hands. A flash of memory and feeling comes to him from a few days before- Bloodhound picking up his gun and placing it over his sternum…

Mirage settles the R-99 across their chest gently. As he falls to his knees, a flash of pain crosses his chest. He knows he should feel triumphant- ecstatic, even- but the only thing he feels is sorrow.

Elliott picks up their arm, crosses it across their stomach, and murmurs, “forgive me” as victory music roars over the loudspeakers.

#miragehound #apex #apex legends #bloodhound #bloodhound apex #bloodhound apex legends #elliott witt #elliott witt apex #elliott witt apex legends #mirage #mirage apex #mirage apex legends #miragehound fanfiction #my writing

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steve0discusses · 4 years

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Yugioh Ep 32 S4: Most Disturbing Kid’s Show Award Goes to This Episode

I often talk about how wonderfully effed up Yugioh is. What a freakin delight, how effed up this kid’s show is, somehow still remaining a Y7 kid’s show, despite everything it tries to do to get pulled off the air.

Y’all this was a filler season and it didn’t even have Bakura in it so...why did it go so edge? Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for how many levels of “OK THERE, KID’S SHOW” it was.

But what the hell was that, Yugioh?

Anyway we start off completely normal in this foggy ass graveyard--Halloweens in this season so I’m down for this. Halloween is also...cancelled...this year, so at least I can celebrate it somewhat in a Yugioh episode. Then again, can you imagine how many people would be dressed up as sexy Covid?

So I don’t really talk about the card game mechanics on here, and (full disclosure to any new people) I don’t know how to play this game. But, considering that this card doesn’t usually send you to distant graveyard memories IRL, lets get into it.

We’ve clarified before that Card Graveyard is a place--like an actual place--but that it isn’t the same place that the cards vibe in within the Puzzle necklace. It’s a separate place, but ALSO not the same place as the Shadow Realm, either. Card Graveyard is just...some other third place we never talk about.

TBQH I think the people who make this show have kinda forgotten how many random pocket dimensions we’ve made that are basically the equivalent of hell (including California, PS), and are just like “no one will write a blog about it and list them all in one place, we’ll be fine.”

We’ve only seen Tristan bum out here once in like S1 and he spent most of his time running away from the Grim Reaper. But, if you remember correctly, the Grim Reaper is currently hanging out and living his best life haunting some park in Japan, so now instead of the Grim Reaper it has...this?

So is this a memory stored within the card graveyard, or did Dartz literally take Raphael to the card graveyard and tell him this was a real ass graveyard?

We’ll never know! It gets very vague from here on out!

(read more under the cut)

First off, I’d like to welcome our new guest star--the Rain--there’s a lot of rain in this episode, and we animate it by just making all of our characters glow. This comes through fine in animation, but in caps I just want you to know that no one has gone super Saiyan, they’re just...wet.

PS get a gander at Raphael’s baby boy mutton chop mustache. They somehow got longer with time? And also, when soaked his hair is just as spiky. Everyone on this show has unparalleled hair gel. The real heart of the cards.

Anyway, Dartz shows Raphael a bunch of gravestones and is like “Get it???”

and me, the audience, was like “no???”

The headstones, by the by, aren’t...normal, either, they have Orichalcos symbols on them instead of words. So like...it sort of infers that his family was taken by Orichalcos, too. I mentioned before that it sorta feels like Dartz caused the whole shipwreck to munch up a bunch of yummy souls, and maybe he did in the Japanese version--cuz like...

...why else do all these headstones have Orichalcos symbols on this graveyard that you can only access through a card god like Dartz or Yami?

Just throwing that deep lore out there, and the fact that Raphael can’t really see it or understand is either because that didn’t happen or...Dartz totally killed his family, right? And that makes this relationship between the two of them extremely effed up?

This is a great show for kids with separation anxiety.

Which is...somewhat convincing of a motive for Raphael. He gives Raphael a way to move on from his trauma in the past, and it’s not a GREAT way to move on--but it’s falls in line with things Dartz has done with his other card generals by offering false redemption.

Like Mai needed to move on from her insane jealousy, so Orichalcos was her way to prove she was better than Joey Wheeler (which, honestly, no one needed proof of). Alister needed to move on from his dead brother, so Orichalcos was his way to get revenge. Valon also had a backstory but a bunch of it got deleted in the English version apparently so...

And Rex and Weevil needed...cards? I guess? I think they just needed a ride, mostly. And Orichalcos can give you a ride. It’s not like we had Uber in 2003 and clearly they were not fit for Caltrain.

And like Gurimo.............existed...?

Anyways, they’re looking for justice that they can see. Justice for their pain. To make that pain worth something for more than just suffering. A system where this type of thing can’t happen anymore. But the thing about justice is that...eh...it’s probably not done through cards that kill people.

OH OK, KID’S SHOW.

Mmmmm take in that burying up your grave imagery. Again, this show is rated Y7 for 7 year olds, and I think that’s amazing.

Anyway, this is symbolism that is so heavy handed that it really needs no explanation, so he’s just gonna dig dig dig for...days I guess? Relive his trauma over and over again? Dig up that past like you’re a popular artist on twitter and you gotta make all of your followers relive that time you got called out because you offended a hell ton of people?

(Which is so many people on art twitter right now, ps, you don’t even know which one I’m talking about because It’s SO MANY of them. Art twitter during Quarantine is like watching the fall of Rome but it’s freakin Art Twitter. Everyone’s the freakin worst and just poopin all over themselves as they roll all the way down the steps.)

But I want to know. Who’s grave this is? It has a slightly different meaning if it were his family’s or his own. I guess I’ll have to save it for the fanfiction.

And so to add another level of spook, Raphael’s card mom shows up and kinda just stands there with a sad face?

Raphael’s reaction to seeing his card just alive and hanging out was “I’ll get to you in a sec, I gotta do some unforgivable evil, first.“

WHERE DID THEY GO?

These two shots are like nearly back to back. They’re just GONE. No explanation.

And yes I’m gonna talk about the outfit because it makes no freakin sense, even for a Yugioh card. Granted, this was a show made in Japan, for kids, with a budget that had a limit. A lot of people get involved with these productions, many aren’t artists or historians versed in American History, just basic ass business people. That be TV.

But her outfit looks waaay too modern. Like she’s gonna go to a musical festival, drop acid and climb on top of a statue and take a bunch of instagram selfies and regret all of them 4 years later. If these are Atlantean cards, this is not an Atlantis outfit to match with Dartz, who has been dressed vaguely medieval. So whyyyyy would this girl be dressed more like a vague old western costume bought at a discount so she could vogue in front of installation art at Burning Man in 2008?

Anyway, I won’t even get into the bird that is slowly devouring her face as a stand in for a headdress or wtv. Just a lot of stuff happening here and I just wanna say, Yugioh did it so you won’t need to. Just delete that desire. Yugioh already did it so you are now free from wanting to draw...anything like this problematic situation on your own OCs.

And then Yugioh predicts exactly how I’d feel about this outfit.

And she then lights ON FIRE and falls dead into the grave he just buried for her.

And in case you were like “kinda on the nose there, Yugioh, that got DARK” she climbs out of his own grave with a spooky ass face and no more coconuts to share with her bros and he’s like...

Rapheal’s reaction was like...Ya OK I can get used to this, and Yami is just pointing at the scene desperately trying to follow Raphael’s brain waves.

And like, this is YAMI.

Yami just walked through Yugi Hell earlier today. He’s seen some stuff. He’s already undug his own grave this morning in a more poetic card sort of way. But Raphael’s memories of literally digging up his family’s graves with his bare hands because Dartz told him to was...stuff he didn’t want to see today. (especially since it’s super suggested Dartz was the one who...murdered them in the first place, like I know it’s a reach but...it just feels like we were supposed to reach that conclusion)

But whether or not Dartz put the bodies here or gave Raphael a bunch of phoney graves, Raphael is still essentially siding with the guy who ruined the only thing he has left of his family--this paper card mom--and turned it into an undead evil Mom. And it just had...no freakin impact on Raphael at all.

Like what?

He just murdered your card mom. This is fine?

Card shenanigans continue and Raphael eventually realizes what he should have realized like 10 years ago when he was digging up graves and killing card Mom’s. That maybe it’s a bad idea. So Raphael decides to sacrifice his remaining monsters to “free” them from the graveyard and basically commits suicide. There’s no other way to say it, really. He kills himself.

But wait, right when you figure this episode will end like every other Orichalcos fight before it...They decide not to.

Like an angel from heaven, our drunk ass looking music concert reject descends from the clouds, along with all of Raphael's dead family members!

Yeah.

I REALLY didn’t expect them to show up. This was so much content it’s like...an entire season of any other TV show. I say that a lot with Yugioh but these episodes really like to just jam-pack it in there.

And here I thought I’d actually have to take them off the Death Count one day. Here I thought 4 kids would do something to like...prevent this many dead kids, but I was wrong.

Everyone’s HELLA DEAD.

it’s both vindicating to actually say that, despite 4kids, these kids absolutely died, but also disturbing because even Raphael is like “ah, the hallucinations today are really swell, right?”

NO, GHOST CHILD.

DON’T TELL ME THAT.

And I’ve been over before how “heart of the cards” is a catch-all phrase that can mean literally anything in this show, and it’s not the first time that cards have kept someone’s spirit around. No word on his family members if they are thrilled to be trapped in a Pharaoh situation, or whether they only occasionally drop from the heavens, or whether they have actually been the spirit that was within each of these cards the whole time. I don’t know.

And so the card family “cures” one of the most evil people on this show.

He’s fine now. This guy murdered the hell out of Yugi, our main character, but don’t think nor worry about it. This isn’t the show to worry about such things.

This show has Marik.

Bro and I were talking Star Wars the other day, and mostly about the Kylo Ren arc and how a lot of people happened to dislike that particular ending. Mostly about how there is a difference between your character being redeemed and being forgiven. I think this children’s show wants to redeem Raphael, but honestly, much like Kylo Ren--he’s just forgiven. And that’s fine. You don’t need to have your characters redeemed. We can stop at forgiveness.

And also, Yami forgives him immediately because he knows he can’t throw a single damn stone, his house is made out of 2 mm of extremely problematic glass.

Man, RIP Weevil, right?

Weevil who just pretended to rip up a card that could have been Yugi and got tossed off the freakin Caltrain? Raphael got off so freakin lucky and I am boggled he’s still alive. He freakin killed Yugi!

The injustice to Weevil right now, omg. Not like I enjoy Weevil. I super don’t enjoy that character. But DAMN. Yami murdered Weevil for even mentioning Yugi. Just feels like there’s a bit of a hypocritical line here in how the justice is dished out and...that tracks for a Pharaoh so I’ll just let it go.

And also, looking at that sunshine and I’m pretty sure they’ve been up over 48 straight hours. No one’s slept since Yugi died, right? I mean Yami is fine. We know from Bakura that puzzle people don’t need to sleep, or eat, or have blood in their body. But like Seto really needs to get Mokuba to bed.

(Although I am 85% positive that Mokuba is still part Noah Kaiba so it is...also unlikely that kid sleeps anymore, just leaving Mokuba’s future therapist so much to unpack.)

The GALL of this show right now.

Of all the generals--they saved RAPHAEL? Arguably the worst one?

I would take even Alister. I would take even Weevil.

Raphael?

I mean if he ends up as the next Duke Devlin, just driving us around for the final season of this show I guess I’ll accept this but, damn.

Raphael?

Are you sure, Yugioh???????????????????????????????????

Can’t we just let that guy die? He’s basically dead already, Yugioh. This guy does NOT want to be alive anymore. Literally everyone he cares about is super dead and now he doesn’t even have Card mom because she sacrificed herself to save his soul. This GUY.

I can’t believe Mai is dead but we still have Raphael.

The same disappointment when I watch British Bake off, man, they just...sometimes they save people and I’m like...no man...that one can’t bake. Just because they pulled something off last second does not mean they get to the semifinals. Raphael can’t bake.

Anyway, the episode attempts to end on a cliffhanger but like.

Just want to reiterate how common and boring Earthquakes usually are to a Californian. This was the most normal thing in this episode.

Man.

Freakin Raphael.

Anyway, if you just got here and is like “I don’t know who the hell Raphael even is,” Yeah, I know, I didn’t think twice about the dude until like just now, but if it’s because you’ve never seen my recaps before, I’ll direct you to the link to read these in Chrono order:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

Anyway, stay safe and have a very happy and safe Halloween alone eating your own carmel dipped apple slices.

#yugioh #ygo #recap #photo recap #yami muto #seto kaiba #raphael #weird redemption arc #tristan taylor #tea gardner #mokuba kaiba #joey wheeler #'s still a corpse #someone digs up their own grave at some point #it gets very dark for a character I have literally no interest in #and then like they're cured? freakin #this one was like for the Raphael fans in the house #shout out to you guys I know you must exist or else why is this episode even here?

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gryffindorcls · 4 years

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Meant To Be: Chapter 1 (Concert)

IT’S DAY ONE OF LOVESQUARE FLUFF WEEK 2020!!!

Thank you @lovesquarefluffweek for organizing this event!

I decided to write a multi-chaptered fic this year. Today’s prompt is “Concert”.

Enjoy!

---

Next —->

AO3

FanFiction

Chapter 1: Concert

“What’s that bright light coming from the park?” Chat Noir asked, perching himself on the edge of the roof and observed the scene below, “I know there are street lights down there, but they’re not usually that bright.”

Ladybug moved next to him. “Well, I did see some workers setting up for a wedding earlier today.”

“A wedding? How do you know?”

“My fam…uh,” she cleared her throat, “I mean, my favorite bakery is catering the event this weekend.”

“Oh.”

“But the workers finished hours ago, and I don’t see any people down there right now. I know that they put one of those temporary chain-link fences around the venue, but we should probably go check it out anyway. I doubt it’s an Akuma, but maybe they accidentally left something running?”

“Sounds good, my lady. Lead the way.”

The duo leaped off of the rooftop and landed gracefully inside the fenced-off area. Ladybug dove behind a bush and gestured for him to come. Chat quickly joined her behind the foliage and peered over the leaves. After a few minutes of observation, they both came to the conclusion that they were alone in the park.

“I think everything is safe, my lady,” he declared, “We should get going. I know you’re probably itching to get our patrol started.”

“Wow.” To his surprise, Ladybug ignored his statement, grabbed his hand, and pulled him into the decorated space. “They did an amazing job. It’s so beautiful.”

Everything within the boundaries of the fence was tastefully adorned with an explosion of pink and white. Chairs made of slatted wood-lined both sides of a shimmery aisle runner while large pots containing rose bushes in full bloom were scattered throughout the grounds.

A white gazebo that had been fashioned into an altar was the source of the park’s illumination. Light poured through translucent white curtains that swayed gently in the breeze. A cascading garland of pink and white roses adorned the entranceway.

“It’s like walking through a dream,” Ladybug whispered, reaching out to touch the delicate petals on the make-shift archway.

Chat stood next to her under the flowered veil. “Do you like roses?”

She nodded. “Yeah, the pink ones are my favorite.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that.”

“Thinking of getting me flowers?”

“Purr-haps.”

Ladybug flicked his bell. “I thought this little kitty was smitten with someone else. At least that’s what he told me that last time I checked.”

He turned his head away. “Um...no. Things didn’t exactly work out with her. We were...um...too alike.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Chaton.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

A dull ache resonated throughout his body. Every fiber of his being yearned to be with Ladybug. A lot had changed between them, but she was still his everything. Several months ago, he’d tried so hard to move on from his crush on her, but looking for love somewhere else only made him realize that he’d never stop being in love with her.

After Ladybug became the Guardian, Chat began to spend time with his partner after patrols. He knew that she needed his unwavering support, and he was more than willing to provide it.

At first, their conversations centered around plans to find and defeat Hawkmoth, but they eventually started talking to each other about their everyday lives. Without revealing their identities, they got to know each other on a more personal level.

Soon, Ladybug was no longer just the beautiful enigma who’d stolen his heart. He’d come to discover that beneath her serious exterior was an ordinary girl who led an extraordinary life. She had hopes and dreams like everyone else. She wasn’t perfect, but she was real. Chat always knew that his lady was brave, creative, and intelligent, but he was pleasantly surprised to learn that she was also quirky, kind, and selfless. While he still didn’t know her name, it was almost as if she was someone he knew in his civilian life.

It didn’t take long for them to become each other’s best friends. Once this happened, he knew things would never work out with Kagami. His heart would forever belong to his lady, and loving anyone other than his partner proved to be an impossible task.

So, with a heavy heart, he told Kagami that he was in love with another girl. Initially, she’d been upset, but they eventually came to a mutual understanding. In the end, he was happy that he and Kagami were able to remain friends.

Chat didn’t tell Ladybug about the overwhelming love he still felt for her because he was afraid that she didn’t want to know about it. His lady had mentioned going on a few dates with someone, but she said that she decided to stay friends with the mystery boy. He knew that she wasn’t dating anyone at the moment, but he’d become terrified of rejection. His heart wasn’t ready to hurt again.

Being in Ladybug’s presence made him feel broken and whole at the same time. However, after seeing the wonderment in her expression tonight, he was on the verge of shattering into a million pieces. As he continued to watch her gush over the decorations, a surge of emotion pressed against the fissures in his soul.

When tears started to brim in the corners of his eyes, he turned his head away from his lady and did his best to focus on something else. His gaze eventually landed on a white baby grand piano in the middle of the gazebo.

He sniffled, hastily wiped the wetness from his cheeks, and took a seat on the bench. After lifting the lid, he gently ran his fingers across the keys. He took a deep breath and began to play.

At first, the notes came slowly. As he continued to play, his song started to evolve into a tune that reflected his deepest desires. It was the song that his soul sang every day. He closed his eyes and escaped into the music.

Her voice cut into his reverie and pulled him back to earth. “That’s beautiful, Chaton.”

“Thank you, my lady.” His fingers still danced across the keys while he spoke.

“I’ve never heard that song before. Is it from something?”

“I wrote it. The melody took over every thought and wrote itself on my heart.”

“It’s incredible.” She walked over and sat down next to him. “What inspired you to write it?”

Chat’s fingers went still. “You were my inspiration.”

He heard her breath hitch. “What?”

“I wrote it for you.” He met her gaze.

“Please don’t stop.” Ladybug’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Anything for you, my lady.” Chat looked back down at the keys and started again from the beginning.

He once again lost himself in the melody. Every passing note screamed a hidden declaration of love. As if it was the last thing he’d ever do, he poured every ounce of himself into his playing. He couldn’t find the courage to voice the “I love you” that pounded against his chest, so his song spoke for him instead. Tonight, the piano sang the song of his soul, and he really hoped that his lady was listening.

When the song ended, he became painfully aware of Ladybug’s presence. Chat turned his head only to find his lady looking at her lap. Her bangs obscured her face, making it impossible for him to gauge her reaction.

“Thank you for playing that for me, Chat,” she said softly, “I have to go home now, but I’ll see you soon.”

He reached out as she got up and walked away from the piano. “Wait! We didn’t finish our patrol.”

“It’s a school night, and I have to finish some homework before tomorrow. Paris will be okay for tonight.”

He felt his entire body droop. “You hated it.”

Within seconds, her hands slipped into his own and she pulled him to his feet. “Oh, no, Chaton. That’s not it at all. I loved it. I loved it with all my heart.”

“Then why are you leaving?”

“The schoolwork thing isn’t a lie. I really do need to finish my Physics homework; however, I have a feeling that it’s going to take a little longer tonight because I suddenly have a lot on my mind.”

“But what does…”

Before he could finish his question, Ladybug slipped away and stood in the gazebo’s entranceway.

“I’ll see you soon, kitty.” She gave him a little wave and swung off into the night.

Chat felt the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Goodnight, my lady.”

***

Marinette sighed and stared at the ceiling. She’d been in bed for six hours, and, to her utter despair, she was still awake. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt comfortable. Her usually soft bed had betrayed her.

With a huff, she sat up, fluffed her pillow, and flopped back down onto the bed. She then scooped up one of her throw pillows and screamed into it.

“What’s wrong, Marinette?” Tikki mumbled groggily from her nest of blankets.

“Why is it always the blond ones?” She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling. “Why couldn’t I have just fallen for the cute one with the black and blue hair! It would have been so much easier!”

“Sorry. I’m not quite following you.”

“Do you remember when Luka played me that song when I was trying to get over my crush on Adrien?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when he played that song, it felt like the giant gaping hole in my chest had been refilled. It wasn’t the same, but I felt whole again. It would have been easy to fall in love with him.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with blond boys?”

Marinette squeezed the throw pillow against her chest. “When Chat played me that song tonight, it made me feel more than just whole. I felt complete. Like I gained something that I didn’t have before...something I didn’t even know that I needed. Does that make sense?”

Tikki giggled. “That makes all the sense in the world!”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to think for a moment, Marinette. How do you really feel about Chat Noir?”

“He’s my best friend. My partner. We’ve never been closer, and I trust him with my life.”

“No, really think. How do you feel about Chat?”

Marinette laid her head on her pillow, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. She let her consciousness wander back to the park and the glowing lights of the gazebo. Chat’s melody rang through her mind like the gentlest lullaby. It quieted her thoughts and soothed her soul.

Moments before falling asleep, everything suddenly made sense.

“I love him, Tikki,” she whispered before drifting into a blissful slumber.

That night, Marinette dreamt of spots, flashes of black, and soaring over the rooftops of Paris. It was as if her mind was finally catching up to her heart.

She awoke the next morning with cheeks that were sore from smiling. It’d been so long since she’d felt this way. The heartbreak of walking away from Adrien had crushed her, but for the first time in months, she was walking on air.

Even though she’d only gotten two hours of sleep, she felt wonderful. Her brain was a little fuzzy, but she decided that it was okay. Marinette knew she would spend the whole day dreaming about the next time she would see Chat.

She hummed while she got ready, and she kept humming while she walked to school. When Marinette took her seat, she continued to hum. After taking out her textbook, she rested her head in her arms and stared wistfully into the distance. Her entire world was a blissful blur.

“Girl!” A foreign entity screamed. “ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?”

Marinette blinked twice and looked up. Alya stood before her with her arms crossed over her chest and a smug grin painted on her lips.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Marinette did her best to focus on her best friend.

“Where is your head today? I’ve been calling your name for a full minute. You didn’t even move when I poked you.”

“I...uhh…” She sighed. “Sorry, Alya. I didn’t get much sleep last night. I think my brain is still dreaming.”

Alya laughed. “Girl, you are a mess!”

“I know.”

“It’s okay. I’ll let you copy my notes if you fall asleep in class.”

“Thank you so much! You are a lifesaver!”

“I know. But if I do this for you, then you’ll have to tell me the real reason behind that lovesick grin on your face.” Alya nudged her arm.

Marinette began to panic. “W-what do you mean? My face is perfectly normal, thank you very much!”

“Mmmmhmmm. Don’t lie to me. I haven’t seen an expression like that on you in months. Spill. Who’s the guy? Did you finally say yes to Luka?”

“No.”

Alya leaned in and dropped her voice to a whisper. “It’s not Adrien, is it? I heard he’s not dating Kagami anymore.”

“NO!” Marinette shouted before clearing her throat and adjusting her volume, “No, it’s...wait, when did he break up with Kagami?”

“A few weeks ago. Nino told me.”

“Oh, wow, but um...no. It’s not Adrien.” A pang shot through her heart, and she quickly brushed away the sensation. “You don’t know him.”

Alya squinted. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Fine, keep your secrets. But you will owe me a whole box of pastries when you finally start dating Adrien. I’m telling you, girl, you and he are meant to be! It’s like the whole universe is working to get you two together.”

“Alya, it’s not like that. Adrien and I are just friends.”

“Sure! Go ahead, and keep telling yourself that. Just know that I’d like a mix of eclairs and chocolate croissants.”

“Hey, babe,” Nino called from across the room, causing both girls to whip their heads towards the door, “What’s up? You two look like you’re having a pretty deep convo.”

Alya looked back at her. “Marinette was just telling me about someone who caught her eye.”

“I was not,” she responded through gritted teeth.

Adrien walked into the room and took his seat. “Good morning! How is everyone today?”

“We’re all doing great,” Alya beamed, “Thanks for asking. How’s your day going, sunshine?”

“I’m...um...okay.” He took a deep breath. “I have a lot on my mind today.”

Before Marinette could react to his statement, Miss Bustier sauntered into the room. “Good morning, class. Let’s get started right away. Please open your books to page three-hundred and ninety-four.”

Marinette’s eyes may have stayed open during the lesson, but her consciousness was somewhere else. By the time class had ended, Chat’s melody had once again surfaced in her mind. Even though she couldn’t hear the notes with her ears, she allowed herself to become lost in her memory of them.

Eventually, she began to hum.

A gentle hand touched her forearm and snapped her back into reality. Within seconds, she became painfully aware of two shining green eyes looking into her own. Marinette could have sworn that there was admiration behind Adrien’s softened gaze. It was the kind of look that she had only dreamed of seeing him cast in her direction.

She found it strange how the love she felt for Chat seamlessly transitioned into a resurgence of feelings for her former crush; nonetheless, she allowed herself to revel in his closeness. In doing so, she was transported to a place she never thought she’d have the chance to revisit. Yet, here was the boy of her dreams, looking at her like she was the center of his universe.

It felt familiar.

It felt safe.

It felt right.

“Adrien,” she said breathlessly.

He swallowed before speaking. “Where did you hear that song?”

Marinette’s heart pounded against her chest as she struggled to find an answer.

#miraculous #miraculous ladybug fic #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #eventual reveal #fluff #lovesquarefluffweek2020 #ao3 #fanfiction #Meant To Be #Chapter 1 #Concert

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timetraveller29 · 3 years

Text

At Last

A Doctor Who fanfiction for #WhouffleWeek2020

Day 4 - Coat, outerwear / Food

Featuring the Thirteenth Doctor and Clara

The Doctor was working on a problem that had plagued her for not just days but weeks now. She danced around the console, from tweaking measurements one side to dials on the other, glanced at the displays, grimaced, then changed something yet again. It was proving difficult at the very least. She stopped and exhaled.

Maybe she should stop bothering about it.

But she couldn't help it.

It was so hard to be alone! And she adored her new TARDIS team, sure, but they didn’t know her. They didn't understand the darkness of her past, and if they knew, they'd probably leave her... just like so many companions had left her. And then there were others she had left behind...

The Doctor missed all of her friends with a burning constancy. Bill Potts, Missy, even Nardole! And she knew it was foolish to hope to find any of them, but there was a slight possibility that there was one person she could meet.

On second thought? Maybe it did make sense to give up.

She turned around slowly, boredly, expecting to see that same result she’d grown used to... null. Nothing. Zero. A blank space, and then she’d have to start all over again with a new plan...

Wait!

A wild, crazy grin grew on her entire face, a grin that popped at the eyes and wrinkled her nose.

“Yes,” she whispered. Then, louder and louder: “Yes, yesss, YESSS!”

And she prepared the TARDIS, pressing a number of buttons, turning dials, entering coordinates, until she finally gripped the lever in her hand. At last, long last! She felt the power course through her veins as she held off for a mere second, relishing what she was about to do. And down went the lever with a satisfying, resounding thrum from the engines...

She was off.

“So! Where to, next?” Ashildr said, in a distant and second-hand set of dimensions.

The room was white and blaring. They hadn’t been able to change the desktop theme yet. The manual hadn’t been particularly helpful, and it made Clara understand why most of the time the Doctor preferred to steer through trial and error...

“I don’t know,” she said to her, standing up and staring at the vision screens. One of them showed a rolling peach coloured ocean at a pearly white coast, one of the most gorgeous planets they’d visited in their travels. They didn’t get into nearly as much trouble as the Doctor would, though. That was heartening, what with her delicate... health... She placed a hand on her wrist, subconsciously looking for a pulse again. It had become a bad habit. She noticed, and scratched her ear instead. “Maybe we’ll just... Stay here for a while... We could just have a stroll, look at the view, and have a swim in the eveneing! Who knows what we'll find? And we could always leave the next adventure till tomorrow.”

Ashildr was unconcerned. “Sure, whatever you want.” She sat down on a chair and propped her feet on a footrest, both silver as the floor designs, with a journal on her lap.

Clara rolled her eyes. Her companion could be really unenthusiastic sometimes. Well, what she thought of as her companion.

“Right,” she said, “I’ll be out in reception if you need me... I’m gonna finish up some of that banana icecream from the pantry...”

“You know that eating is probably not recommended in your case, right?”

“It helps me think, okay? And so what if I don’t have a metabolism anymore, I still have senses!”

“Okay,” she said, holding up her hands in a concilliatory fashion, knowing it was a touchy subject. “Okay, go ahead.” And she went back to writing.

Clara glanced at the screen again. “What -?” She flipped her head around at Ashildr, then back again. “Do you –”

“I see it.”

“Should I -?”

“Go! Find out.”

She put her journal aside and stood to observe the second screen, the one that had changed. Her companion dashed inside to change into her waitress uniform. Well, what she thought of as her companion.

Meanwhile, the figure on the screen moved to the counter and sat down.

“Hey!” Clara said to her with a smile, entering the main hall of the diner at last.

It was like water bursting out of the ground in a barren desert. The Doctor looked at her, and everything came alive, fervently and insistently: the Ice Warrior in the submarine, the mummy on the Orient Express, the portrait of her in Time Lord Hell where it hung for billions of years, and the dazzling euphoria of bringing her back on Gallifrey... It filled her heart, and there was only one thing to be said...

“Doctor,” Clara said nodding at her confidently, interrupting her train of thought.

She raised her eyebrows, impressed.

“You recognised me! Clara Oswald, ever full of surprises.”

Clara grinned. “As are you!” she countered. “Where did you find your memories? Guess that Neural Block didn’t work on you for too long, eh?”

“Nah,” she said, broadening her shoulders. “It’ll take more than that to get you out of my head, Clara Oswald! Although I did have a lot of help... Tell me," she said, remembering her point, "how are you? I'm so sorry I couldn't help you more last time, that I –"

"Don't! Don't apologise," Clara shook her head, her ponytail bouncing with it. She looked serious. "You were so amazing, Doctor. This? Me being here, talking? That's all you! So don't ruin the effect by being humble. It doesn't suit you."

The Doctor closed her mouth. Oh, yeah. That's who she had been, after all: proud and entitled. And Clara was the same. Neither her past self nor Clara had ever dealt well with raw emotion. Good reminder; something she would have to work on this time around.

"No matter," she said. "So, go on," she added, raising her tempo to something more cheerful, "Clara, the Time Traveller! Have you travelled much? I see you've picked a scenic spot to park yourself. The vagabond life treatin’ you well?”

“I’ve had some okay adventures,” she shrugged. “Nothing too crazy, thanks to your esteemed absence.”

“Hah! Well, I’m glad you’re taking care...”

“And nice look, by the way!”

“Thank you! I was wondering if it suited me... Brand new face and all!”

“I love your new coat! Very Doctor-y.”

“Oh yeah? I thought you might approveñ”

“It’s gorgeous... On the other hand, the colours? Yellow suspenders? I can see there that you’ve started to call back the... ahem!... fez-like... fashion choices...” Clara read the growing offense on the Doctor's face and popped herself underneath the counter to hide –

“What's wrong with yellow? Plus! Fezzes! Are cool!”

She jumped out of her seat and began to lean across to get a glimpse of Clara and where she was hiding.

“No they’re not!” she teased. “Fezzes have never been cool, and neither are bowties! Come on, it's a new face isn't it, grow some new taste!”

“How dare you! You know I never criticised you for the way you –”

“Oh? Oh yeah?” She popped up from the opposite end of the long table, holding some plastic jars in her arms. “She’s got a face so wide she needs three mirrors!” she said trying to do a deep, gruff voice. The Doctor scrambled over the counter and raced to catch her, but Clara slipped open a door and locked her on the staff-only side. “Oh! Stay there,” she giggled, “stay there, or I’ll call in security!”

“Clara, let me out! – and I only said that because it’s true! What did you need three mirrors for?!”

“It helps to make sure my makeup is even! You know, the face colouring you never understood!”

“Well, I do now!” she lunged her arms forward to get at the latch and escape from her trap behind the counter but Clara slapped her away and raised up her hand, balancing jars dangerously with the other.

“Peace,” she called. “Peace offering! Doctor! Look, I’ve got banana icecream!”

The Doctor dropped her arms at that and rolled her eyes at Clara, who was comically supporting the jars between one arm and knee. Then she chuckled and gave her a warm smile, one that reminded Clara of the way the Doctor would look at her in a earlier, simpler times... “All right,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter and raising her eyebrows. “Okay, we'll let it rest. Just for the banana icecream... Bananas are good.”

“That,” Clara said, settling herself on a stool and setting the ice cream between them, “That, we can agree on...”

The Doctor reached into a drawer to produce some spoons, her heart swelling. It was a strange thing, but it was so refreshing to be around Clara again, to be surprised, to be challenged, even criticised... to be known.

When the universe turns you upside down, there's nothing that can bring you back on your head like an old friend.

... All the while, Ashildr watched them and gave a heavy sigh.

She disabled the audio and stepped away.

It wouldn’t last, she knew. Even with her memories back, the Doctor would have to leave Clara once and for all. The girl was on the final thread of her life, maybe streached out a bit longer, but final nonetheless. There would have to be a goodbye, a difficult one, and simple comfort food wasn’t going to help either of them with that...

Still. At least it happened.

She turned a page of her journal, thinking.

Perhaps, in some cases, it’s better to focus on the good times you’ve had with someone, even the fleeting ones, instead of the pain they leave behind. Perhaps temporary happiness does beat permanent indifference.

Well... for mortals, at any rate.

She glanced up from her chair from time to time as they conversed, gesturing animatedly at each other, as the day wore on. Clara seemed to have forgotten about her plan to go swimming. She was so happy just talking to the Doctor, did she dare interrupt?

No. She smiled. This was what Clara had been waiting for. She'd let her have one day to herself, one day pretending to be alive and with the Doctor, at last.

#WhouffleWeek2020 #whouffle week 2020 #doctor who #thirteenth doctor #thirteen #Jodie Whittaker #Clara Oswald #Jenna Coleman #Ashildr #me #mine #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #whouffle #writingtimes29

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leechtwinsfling · 4 years

Text

Twisted Wonderland @ DISNEYLAND [ Chapter 3 ]

✨ Twisted Wonderland FanFiction ❤

[ Disneyland Date Series - HEARTSLABYUL ]

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

We are lead another portion of the garden as I find decorated tables inside the tall wall rose bushes. A few people are already seated as a server dressed similar to a butler heads our way before bowing.

“Welcome, for two?”

“Ah, no, we actually have five more coming. So it’ll be a total of seven.” I answer getting the butler to nod before leading us to an empty table of eight.

The table has a black tablecloth with three rounded plants in a row on the middle of the table. Each golden seat has a red ribbon wrap around with roses behind. There are three sets of different size plates, and neatly organized cutlery along with tea cups.

Since the size of the table is similar to the seating back at the Heartslabyul’s Unbirthday Parties, I take my seat at the middle of one side as Riddle takes the head. We wait patiently for the others to come as I find small snacks already on the table.

Trying not to drool at the appetizing food, I hear familiar voices nearby getting me to look over to the entrance to find Cater and Trey. Smiling, I wave them for their attention as they are looking around. Seeing us, they inform one of the butlers who was welcoming them before heading over.

“Hey guys.” I greet.

“Hey, the Queen of Hearts mentioned you two.” Trey informs with a chuckle, “Said that it’s a shame Riddle doesn’t have a lover.”

I laugh hearing this as Riddle sighs, “If I have a relationship, I don’t want it to affect my learning.”

“What, is there a rule that doesn’t allow you to date?” I ask.

“Actually -”

“WOW! THIS PLACE IS AWESOME!” a distinct voice shouts getting all of us to instantly know who it is.

Looking over to the entrance again, we find the three stooges grabbing everyone’s attention. I couldn’t help stifle a laugh watching them running everywhere as the butlers try to calm them down. Seeing Riddle getting annoyed, it seems like the three could feel his glare as they stop and look over to us. They halt their crazy running before heading over to us quietly. With how they act reminds me of children who know they’re in deep trouble from their parents.

“There are other people here, don’t bother them.” Riddle lectures them for minutes as I find Cater sitting between Riddle and I.

Trey sits across from him having an amused smile on his face watching the three as usual getting a scolding. When the second year finally finishes with a huff, the three take their seats. Grimm sits beside me as the other two sit across, all with guilty glum faces.

“So where did you go?” I ask Grimm wondering where he went when we were at the theater.

“I smelled tuna, but in the end it turned out to be tuna scented eraser.” the cat sighs as I react with a horrified face.

Tuna what eraser?!

Just when I am about to comment about such an absurd product, trumpet horns ring as I realize that every table is now full of people. A red carpet rolls down the entrance as the mascots that we saw minutes ago walk down towards the larger table at the end. It’s design is near the same replica as all the other tables except for the parts where it’s bigger for the mascots’ hands and size.

“Presenting! Queen of Hearts!” a soldier-like dressed staff shouts as the Queen is the last one to walk down the red carpet.

When everyone is seated, the Queen stands up, “I welcome you all to my Unbirthday Party. Please enjoy yourself!”

With that, people dig into the tea and food offered getting me to wonder how do we pay for all this.

“I’m pretty sure all this is not free, so where do we pay?” I ask Cater who’s munching on a bite-size sandwich.

“Oh, we paid it beforehand. Trey reserved it once we were told we’re coming to Disneyland for a field trip.” he answers.

Okay, not a shock.

“Isn’t she amazing?” Ace asks staring at the Queen like a love-struck boy.

“Ace... you do know she ain’t real, right?” I ask concern for his well-being.

He dramatically gasps at me, “Don’t say that! What if the children hear you? It’s like saying Santa is not real!”

Turns out, someone must have heard him as a nearby table a child begins crying saying that Ace said Santa isn’t real. The parents look over to our table before giving a disapproving glare.

“Good job, Ace. You ruined a kid’s childhood.” I shake my head disappointingly at him.

“Hey! You’re the one who started it!” Ace blames.

“Quiet, let’s all just enjoy the tea please?” Riddle sighs already used to our bickering during times like this.

With us enjoying some small talk about our experiences so far, along with the tea and snacks, I hear Cater soon humming along with the music which I recognize is the ‘Unbirthday Song’. Couldn’t help myself, I decide to hum along getting his attention. He breaks into a smile before singing along with the music and raising his tea cup to me. Laughing, I clink my tea cup with his as we both begin singing the song.

“A very merry Unbirthday to me !” he begins singing loudly that other people look over to us.

“To who?” I sing back deciding that it’ll seem fun despite being embarrassing.

“To me!”

“Oh you!” I point to him looking shocked.

“A very merry Unbirthday to you!” he offers me a hand which I take after putting my tea down.

“Who me?” I question.

“Yes, you!” he quickly touches my nose.

“Oh, me!” I gasp in surprise.

“Let's all congratulate us with another cup of tea! A very merry Unbirthday to you!” he cheers as people begin applauding and cheering.

Laughing at how he amazingly hit that high note, he then pulls me off from the table as he continues singing. Instead of being a small show to each other, it then becomes a huge performance for the whole party.

“Now, statistics prove, prove that you've one birthday.” I speak looking over to a group of children enjoying the unplanned performance.

“Imagine, just one birthday every year!” Cater adds.

“Ah, but there are three hundred and sixty four Unbirthdays!” I cheer.

“Precisely why we're gathered here to cheer!”

“It’s also my Unbirthday!” a child from the crowd raises his hang getting Cater and I to look over at each other before smiling and heading over to the small boy.

“It is?” Cater asks picking the child.

“What a wonderful world this is!” I pat the boy’s head.

“In that case!” Cater puts down the boy.

He puts the boy’s hand with mine before grasping the other boy’s hand and mine. We begin dancing in a circle as we continue to sing.

“A very merry Unbirthday!” we sing as children become rushing over to join the circle.

“To me?” the small boy asks.

“To you!” I smile finding the circle growing big as adults are cheering from the sidelines.

“A very merry Unbirthday!” the audience then begins singing.

“For me?” the children asks.

“For you!” we all shout.

“Now blow the candle out my dear and make your wish come true! A merry merry Unbirthday to you!” we all sing together.

youtube

Once the music ends, I can’t help but laugh as the children demand another performance from Cater and I.

“One more time! Can we please?” a child begs pulling down my shirt.

“Please!” other children chorus.

“Okay! Okay!” Cater agrees, “Everybody get ready!”

Everyone heads back into a circle as another child grabs my hand. I smile at the small girl who smiles widely back at me.

“You have a nice boyfriend, Big Brother/Sister.” she speaks.

Okay, stop right there. How many times has it been that people mistaken me to be with these boys.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I laugh.

“Eh? But you’re holding hands with him!”

“Yes, and everyone else is holding hands with others too, right?”

“Ah!” she realizes, “Yeah!”

After many repeats of singing and dancing, the parents decide to help us as they see the exhaustion on Cater and I. Giving a relief sigh, I feel Cater lean on top of me with his chin on my head.

“Ah~ I didn’t expect to be so tired this early in the morning.” he hugs me, “[N/A]~ Carry me~!”

“You think I can carry your heavy-butt?” I ask feeling tired on my own.

“So mean~”

“Can’t help but tell the truth.” I laugh before feeling him actually put all his weight on me, “Ugh, oh my god, what did you eat?”

“Trey~! [N/A] called me fat!” Cater tattles as I’m trying to support us from not falling face down on the ground.

“I didn’t! How do you expect me to carry a grown man?! I’m still growing!” I argue dragging us towards our table.

“I’m still growing!” Cater gasps.

“Ha, not with your age.” I laugh obviously fooling around.

“I’m only two years older than you!”

“Two years! You’ve eaten more than 2190 meals than me!”

“How did you get that number?”

“Well, there’s 365 days, and the average amount of meal is three. So 365 times three is 1095. Then multiply with two since it’s two years, and that’ll be 2190.” I easily explain.

The boys can only stare at me as the first years look at me like I’m talking gibberish as the older two didn’t expect this from me. “Okay, I might be not that smart at school but that’s only because everything I’m learning is entirely new to me! Remember, I’m from a different world than you guys.” I remind getting them to snap out of their daze.

“Awe, our little transfer student continues to surprise us all still.” Cater hugs me tighter.

I let out a choking sound, “Can’t breath. Can’t breath!”

He releases me allowing me to gasp for air before relaxing, “I thought I was gonna die just then.” “Am I that strong~?” “With the addition of your body weight, then sure~” I continue to tease getting him to gasp and sulk before slapping me playfully. Laughing, I sit back onto my seat as he does the same. The party continues as the mascots visit each table to talk with the children. I, personally, am stuffing myself with this delicious food in front of me.

“Y/N~! Try this!” Cater offers a bite of his small chocolate cake on his fork.

Without hesitation, I take a bite and can’t help but moan from the richness it melts on my tongue. “Right~! It’s so good! Here, have another bite.” he offers another spoonful which I once again eat from.

“This scene reminds me of a mother feeding her baby.” Grimm comments.

“Don’t be jealous that Mother loves me more than a stray cat.” I stick my tongue out at Grimm playfully.

“Ah! There’s chocolate on your cheek.” Cater takes a napkin and gets ready to wipe it but stops.

Instead he smirks and leans in before licking the chocolate off my cheek. My eyes widen as I can’t help but blush like a tomato. The others saw this and are frozen into place as they can’t believe what happened. “There~” Cater smiles acting like nothing happened but knows what chaos he just started. And the party ends with a food fight started by the first years.

[ to be continued ]

#twisted wonderland #twistedwonderland #Heartslabyul #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #cater diamond #deuce spade #ace trappola #twisted wonderland grimm #disneyland #disney #Aniplex #twisted wonderland at disneyland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twff dds #Queen of Hearts #unbirthday song #unbirthday party

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sea-side-scribbles · 3 years

Text

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/75525395

Chapter 56

Nick ran all the way back home while Arthur’s words were taking a toll on his mind. The more he heard, the more horrified he became.

Stop taking Joy! Leave the town forever!

All the bad things Downers would probably pester a Wellie’s poor soul with.

Arthur had never bothered him with that before and Nick had thought he never would.

What if Arthur was not the kind of person Nick thought he was?

What if there was still a bad side in Arthur that Nick didn’t see?

Why would anyone leave?

Why would anyone even not want to take Joy?

What was Nick thinking trying to live with someone like him?

What a fool he was! It would never work!

Heartbroken, he digged a handful of pills out of his pocket but stopped a second later.

What if an overdose loosened his tongue and made him reveal the whole affair to Morrie?

I was in love with a Downer! Can you believe it? Ha ha, what a funny story!

No, that couldn’t happen! He needed his senses!

Back home, he prepared for another heart-to-heart conversation with Morrie, who must’ve been worried all day. And perhaps disappointed or angry or jealous or all at once. Nick was ashamed and regretted that he had to tell even more lies. He’d rather not talk about it and wished they could forget about everything that happened today.

The house was quiet. He couldn’t even hear the band and went all the way upstairs without meeting anyone. Palpating the door handle, he hesitated, trying to look all calm and innocent, just in case his lover was inside. Instead, he found another surprise.

Opening his door, his gaze fell onto a bouquet of Nightblooming Nonsuches. They bathed the room in red light because someone had closed the curtains and turned off the light to make sure Nick would notice. Nick stared at it with dismay.

No, it couldn’t be! They must be a gift from Morrie! He didn’t water Arthur’s flowers in ages, they must be already dead!

Nick hurried to his closet and opened a door - the shelf was empty. He opened all the other doors, hoping that he got the shelf wrong - but in the end he found out that there were no flowers in his room except for those on his side table. Nick searched them for any sign, any message that proved them to be freshly bought flowers.

Finally, he sadly sank down on his couch, realizing that there was no way around this.

Whatever Morrie was thinking already, absolute silence would only make it worse. But also Nick felt betrayed. Why did Morrie search his stuff? What else did he find? His notes? His letters from James?

Nick’s heart beat faster while his mind imagined all the disastrous outcomes.

No,no,no, stop! Calm down!

Nick pressed his eyes shut.

Calm down, he only found some flowers. Perhaps he felt sorry for them, gave them some fresh water and put them on the table because he found them beautiful. Freaking out would only give it all away. Be casual!

Nick took one last glance at the pretty Nonsuches that were actually a nice room decor and then went to take a shower. There was so much he wanted to wash off before he met his lover.

Later, at Morrie’s room, he tried to knock in a casual way but ended up being too loud and harsh.

Well, at least he would hear it.

“Hi“, he said to a surprised Morrie. “Uh, I’m back…“

“I see“, Morrie answered, looking startled. “Is something wrong?“

“No…I don’t know…I guess I was a bit too loud.“

“A bit? You almost gave me a heart attack!“

“Sorry“, Nick said with his most apologetical smile. “Well, if you’re busy, I better leave you alone…“

He started retreating.

“No, wait!“, Morrie shouted after him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Come in.“

Nick stopped. Morrie didn’t look like he’d make a scene, so Nick went along. When his lover sat on his bed and waved him over, Nick was thankful for the gesture. He joined the other man and lay his head on his shoulder.

Now come hell or high water.

“Norrie…about what I said this morning…“, Morrie began in a soft tone, “I didn’t mean to accuse you or anything. I don’t think you could hurt anyone. Not even Kitty. Please, believe me.“

Nick now remembered their stupid fight.

“Oh, Morrie“, he sighed and hugged him. “I already forgot it. I was so upset about the news…it had nothing to do with you.“

“You forgot?…And your dreams?“

“They are only dreams, Morrie. Nothing to care about.“

Morrie fell silent.

“Is that why you looked into my closet?“, Nick mentioned the elephant in the room. “Because you were searching for clues?“

Morrie eagerly shook his head. “No, I’d never invade your privacy like that! I…I didn’t meant to look…but I saw that weird light…and I noticed the smell…I just had to…Then I saw these poor flowers and couldn’t let them rot like that.“

It was like a heavy weight got lifted from Nick’s heart.

“Oh, I forgot I had them…“, he casually said and laughed.

Morrie now eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you put them in a closet?“

Nick shrugged with emphasis. “Dunno…maybe so I don’t accidentally kick them over…“

“Who gave them to you? A gardener?“

“No.“ Nick laughed again. “Just some fan…I already forgot the name. But the flowers are pretty, so I kept them.“

Morrie pondered over that. “They must be really fond of you if they make such an effort to get theses flowers for you. They’re very rare.“

“Are they? I don’t know much about flowers…“, Nick said, waving him off. “It’s crazy what fans do to get close to me. Flowers are the least of my concerns. I’m glad Virgil renewed the alarm system.“ He tried another chuckle. “But I can keep them if you like them…“, he purred and looked up to Morrie. It was a sight his lover couldn’t resist most of the time. Always looking up to the taller man, Nick’s expression was both adoring and adorable.

“How old can they be?“, Morrie went on, unfortunately ignoring Nick’s hint. “Did you have them already when we met?“

“Sure….“ Nick put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, don’t rack your brain about some plants. I had them already, I remember now I watered them sometimes and then forgot. That’s all.“

Morrie sighed deeply. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?“

Nick’s heart skipped a beat. He acted upset. “Morrie, we already talked about this! I see you were angry about Kitty, what she did was really fucked up, but what’s it this time? A random gift from a fan?“

Morrie shook his head again. “I feel like there’s something you don’t tell me.“

“But what?“ Nick gave him the most innocent look.

“I don’t know…there’s something between us that I can’t get through.“

Morrie looked so helpless that Nick began to feel sorry for him. His bad conscious woke up again making him regret that he did nothing but to continue with the lies, endure the burning pain in his chest and ignore the senses that yelled at him to stop hurting Morrie and tell the truth.

“You know, it wasn’t there when we met again“, Morrie said after a short pause. “I didn’t feel that you were shutting yourself off. I thought you were sorry for what you did and would do everything for a second chance.“

“But Morrie, I…“

“Please let me finish, Norrie. It’s about us. You made me feel loved again. I even felt ten years younger at your side. I hoped that we left all our old troubles behind, but now it feels like…we’re going through the same mess again. You’re always gone and I don’t know where and when you come back you take a shower first…“

“Hey“, Nick interrupted, “That was only today! And anyway, why wouldn’t I take a shower for you? I felt greasy, okay?“

“Norbert, I’m not dumb! You always showered after you ’met’ one of your birds!“

“And I never showered anyway? Do you think I never wash myself?“

“You know what I mean!“

“Yeah, you mean I was off shagging a fan because I took a shower!“

Morrie shut his eyes for a moment. “Then what is it? If it’s not that, what is it? Sometimes you look so afraid and I don’t know how to help you…or is there something you don’t want me to see? Other times you look like you wanted to apologize and I don’t know what for. No matter how close we are physically I can’t get through to you. What’s happening?“

Nick, who had blown off steam, felt sorry again. Morrie’s words hit him hard. Everything he did to hide all the trouble from his lover obviously failed and now he could only try to glue the shreds back together.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be distant! Of course I want this to work! I can’t imagine my life without you! I want you to feel loved, Morrie! I didn’t change my mind or anything…“

He decided to stroke the other man’s back as an attempt to shorten the distance between them. Morrie’s gaze was mild, but nothing more. “What is it, Norrie?“

“Uh…well, my entire life is changing again, I’m stressed out sometimes…“

“None of that shit!“, Morrie blurted out and Nick backed away. “I want the truth! Just a tiny bit of the truth! Can you do that for me? For us?“

“Morrie, I promise you…“

“No promises anymore! This isn’t getting us nowhere! You keep promising and vowing ever since we met! I can’t believe anything as long as there’s this barrier around you!“

Nick gulped down all the other promises and fell quiet, staring at his feet.

“You could start with where you’ve been“, Morrie offered him, even sounding softer.

“At therapy“, Nick said promptly. It came out quite confidently because it was half true.

“And where is that? What’s your doctor’s name?“

“It’s at the Health Institute of course. His name is James.“

“James?“ Morrie lifted an eyebrow.

“Er, Doctor James.“

“Doctor James?“

“Yeah…he and some assistants…I keep forgetting their names.“

Morrie squinted his eyes. “And if I’d go there with you, they would know you, right?“

“Of course!“ Nick put his hands into this pockets because they had started to shiver.

“So, next time, we go there together.“

“You don’t need a doctor, Morrie.“

“You know what I mean.“

“But…you’d waste your time. You’d go all the way to the Parade, hand me in, and then what? Wait? You know the process takes hours sometimes. Or just go back?“

“All I want is to know if you’re telling me the truth!“

“Morrie, look at me!“ Nick knelt down before him. “I’m clean! You couldn’t handle me if I was high…“

It was the first time Morrie nodded. “That’s true. You didn’t take anything since we met…Whatever you’re doing, it works.“

“It works because real doctors help me.“

Morrie eyed him, observing the man at his feet who went back to his adoring look.

“But next time you go there, I’ll come with you, alright?“

„Okay“, Nick said without blinking.

There was a short moment when everything seemed to be alright again. Then Morrie stood up.

“So, it’s nothing? All my worries are a hallucination and everything is actually fine?“

Nick got up, too. “I’m sorry that you feel like this. Perhaps we’re both stressed out. You didn’t have a band for a long time and…“

“It’s not the band!. They’re lovely as always! I never had a problem with them!“

“Really? We were fighting about a song again. You let it out on me, but you could’ve scolded them too.“

“Oh god, don’t tell me it’s because of our fight. I regret what I said…“

“I know, it’s okay. We’ll probably fight again. It’s fine. But I don’t believe it leaves you cold…You’re ambitious, Morrie. You really care about where we’re going, musically, and I love that part of you. I bet you’re already thinking about what we’ll do next. You were writing a piece, right?“

He caught Morrie off-guard with that. His cheeks turned a soft tone of pink.

“I…er…it’s nothing, really…I was just experimenting with something new and…No! Don’t change the subject! There’s something wrong, I know it!“

“Just give me a chance! Maybe it’s going away! I’ll focus more on what you need, and you’ll tell me what you want.“

“You mean, apart from the truth?“

Nick fell quiet and did his best to look hurt. The pain in his chest had gone numb by now, but he couldn’t bear to hear his own lies anymore.

Morrie looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and despair.

“If it’s still there tomorrow…“

“I’ll do my best!“, Nick said eagerly. “Trust me, it’s nothing serious!“

Morrie let out another deep sigh and gave up. “If you say so.“

Nick nodded.

Silence followed, in which Morrie refused to look at Nick and Nick stared at Morrie.

“Are you..busy?“, Nick asked quietly. “Do you want me to go?“

Morrie nodded. “You need some time to think, right, Norrie? Perhaps you find the courage to tell me whatever your problem is. Or perhaps I find that I was only dreaming.“ He opened the door.

Nick hung his head and left. It was probably for the best. Still, he felt defeated.

In his room, he crawled into his bed and under the blanket. He wanted to hide himself away, to vanish into thin air, even. Then all the trouble would be over and nobody would be hurt anymore. He was sure, if there was a problem in this town, it was himself.

While his tears broke loose, he also felt a bit of self-pity.

Arthur…

He still felt betrayed. Since when had Arthur been planning all this? All the time he had played the nice Downer, the special Downer, who would never drag him down. Who had given his second chance a meaning that now turned out to be a lie.

Nick had to admit, as much as he loved Morrie and felt loved in return, it seemed like only Arthur had given Nick Lightbearer a second chance. He hadn’t known his past and had simply loved him the way he was - if he had loved him at all.

Morrie always drew a line between Norbert and Nick. He preferred the first while he despised the second and to be loved, Nick needed to turn back into his former self - whatever that meant.

Was he really so different now?

Arthur had never compared him to anyone, with him he had been just Nick, and that had been okay. Well, good old times.

Now he had to let him go. Just like that.

What a payback.

And with Arthur gone and Morrie almost gone, he had his punishment.

If he didn’t learn to hide his secret any better, he’d lose Morrie too. He couldn’t just tell him he betrayed him with a Downer.

Sobbing into his sheets and thinking this over and over again, anger mixed into his shame.

That Downer…why did he even start it in the first place? If he wanted to leave the town, why did he bother with a Wellie? Lure him with a stupid present?

Yeah, everyone wants to shag the Lightbearer, even the Downers!

And it was probably comfy in his suite, with food and shelter and everything! And especially when that drugged rockstar was stupid enough to…!

Nick threw the blanket away. With a few steps he was at his side table. The vase felt cold in his hands when he took a swing and let it crash against the wall.

The next day, he was awakened by a knock at the door.

“Norrie? Are you awake? It’s already late and we want to jam a bit.“

Nick bobbed up, rapidly blinking, and went to open the door.

“Why don’t you come in?“

“I…I thought you wanted to be alone.“ Morrie eyed him from head to toe.

Nick assumed he wasn’t a very pleasant sight right now.

“No, I was still asleep, as always.“

Nick searched his drawer for a comb and then fixed his hair a little, while Morrie found the remnants of the vase.

“What happened here? The floor is all wet!“

“I told you I’m clumsy with flowers“, Nick waved him off. “Who cares? Let’s go, the band is waiting.“

He hurried out, not ready to talk about any of his secrets now. He actually looked forward to jamming, to care about nothing but their music for once, since he hadn’t spend a lot of time on it lately.

Maybe Morrie was right about his musical integrity.

But anyway, he would change that in the future. He would be a completely new Lightbearer.

Downstairs, he joined the Make Believes.

“Are you okay?“, Brad wanted to know.

Nick cheerfully held up both hands. “Couldn’t feel better.“

“Morrie, you coming or what?“, Chris shouted up the stairs. Nick looked up too, worried that his lover would think too hard about the shattered bouquet. But then he finally arrived and seemed to be fine.

The jam session was like a life saviour for Nick. He finally forgot time and place for once and merged with a world where he couldn’t do anything wrong. They didn’t even have a deadline. Still, in the late afternoon, they already had a song recorded. When they congratulated each other and their spirits were high, Morrie began to play the mysterious song again. This time, Nick played along and was glad to agree with his lover after all the trouble in the last days. The others soon joined them and for a while they got absorbed in the meditative, calm and thoughtful piece.

After that, Nick had the feeling that a knot inside him had been opened was as at the edge of crying tears of happiness.

However, when the band decided to celebrate themselves in a pub, Morrie gave Nick a look, and his heart sunk again. Sadly, he told his friends to go without them and promised they’d follow later.

“What is it with you two?“, Chris asked. “It’s like you’re playing a game we’re not part of.“

Matt only gave him a pitiful look, knowing.

“It’s all right between us“, Nick assured them. “We just have to talk something out.“

“Just like every time“, Chris replied.

“Now you’re being unfair. It’s nothing to worry about, really. We’ll be with you soon.“

“Sure“, his friend deadpanned and went out.

Nick then went back to Morrie, preparing himself for whatever the hell he had done wrong now.

“Have you been thinking?“, his lover asked, eyes longing for a ’yes’.

Nick was relieved that is was only that.

“Yeah, all night“, he said and took a deep breath. “You’re right about the promises…I guess I promised you too much too soon and made you think I was already a better person, even though I wasn’t. And now I disappointed you.“

It was hard to look at Morrie but he still tried.

“I didn’t mean to lie… or to play with you. I was just so overwhelmed when you were at my side again and you even wanted me back and give me a chance…I wanted this to work. I didn’t think. I didn’t see how hard it is to turn back into my better self. I’ve been lonely for such a long time, I’ve been begging for attention everywhere and I just fell in love with people…I couldn’t help it. Now I see what I’ve done…again.“

He paused, his gaze directed at the floor.

“I don’t want to blindly follow my feelings anymore. I want to talk to you first, before I act. I really want you back. But I’m afraid you’ll need a lot of patience to deal with someone like me…“

The tears broke out again and his speech ended with heavy sobbing.

And still, Nick felt a bit more free now, even though he was afraid what Morrie would do if he got the hint.

Suddenly, Nick was pressed tightly against his lover’s warm body and ended up crying some more on his shoulder.

“Thank you“, Morrie whispered to his sobbing lover. Then he gently lifted up Nick’s chin to look at him before he pulled him into a kiss.

For Nick, it was their first real kiss after a long time of lies. Later, Nick rubbed his cheek against Morrie’s chest while Morrie caressed his hair.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want to“, Nick said quietly.

“I think they deserve to know that everything is alright“, Morrie gently replied.

Nick nodded.

“And I’m looking forward to be a team again.“

„Me too.“

They smiled at each other.

Morrie gave him another kiss on the cheek before they went out.

#we happy few #wehappyfew #whf #nick lightbearer #whfnick #whf nick #morrie memento #morriememento #nickxmorrie #nickxarthur #whfarthurhastings #whfarthur #whf arthur #roll end credits #please

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