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fallowdoe · 4 years

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All roads lead to Hell

MC gets kidnapped and has to make their way through Hell to reunite with everyone.

GN!reader x everyone (can be treated as platonic/romantic)

Trigger warnings for this chapter: none

I apologise for the quality of writing however this is a translated version of my fic.

If anyone is interested in that I was listening to Casey tells the truth, the whole Split soundtrack is my big inspiration for this story. I’d advise onto playing it in the background while reading.

Chapter 1 - Prolouge ⇒

A few candles lit up the room. The gentle light was adding to its already mysterious aura. Solomon’s dorm was filled with all kind of grimoires and spellbooks. The floor was covered with tons of torn-out pages and patterns drawn on a yellowish paper.

Trying out one spell after another MC seemed to grow more and more annoyed. The upcoming exam was one of the most important ones and Solomon’s constant teasing wasn’t the most helpful.

"Focus or you won’t get anything done, MC." The sorcerer stated while leaning against a wall. He wasn’t even trying to hide the amusement in his voice.

"I am focused" They mumbled irritated. It was their ninth try of casting this, so-called easy, spell. A marble laying on the table seemed to look at them pitifully. It was a one bastard piece of glass. Even more irritated MC moved their hand above it once again.

"Neque ultra intuebitur eum" they mumbled. The space around them seemed to start drawing energy towards their hand. A quiet electric buzz filled their ears and they could feel their cheeks heat up. But just as they were about to direct the energy towards the toy it would suddenly unload. The marble remained untouched, and MC could bet that if it was possible it’d poke its tongue at them. Or maybe even raise a very specific finger up. "Neque ultra intuebitur eum!"

Nothing.

"No! It’s impossible! It’s impossible and that’s it! You gave me a broken marble." They grunted and dramatically sat on a chair pouting.

Solomon snickered at them and approached the table. He muttered the words of the spell and the marble was gone immediately.

"Cheater. I bet it was enchanted or something."

"Maybe." He smirked. "Try again."

MC groaned under their breath but stood up again. The sorcerer walked up to them and placed his hand on their arm giving them a reassuring look. "That’s gonna be seriously lame if you fail again tho.”

They replied with a huff and tried to refocus. Closing their eyes, MC began collecting energy again. It was a weird feeling. Suddenly they’d notice that the whole room was in fact like a river full of it. Their task was to change its current toward themself. This spell didn’t require a lot of effort, only a bit of thought. Stronger spells could even sweep someone off with an uncontrolled current.

They’d never admit it but sorcerer’s touch was rather helpful. It made them feel grounded. Goosebumps rose on their hand. They cast the spell again.

"Lame." He chuckled.

"Huh?!” Their eyes shot open searching for the marble but the table was empty. They laughed and playfully punched his chest, making him laugh. "Asshole.”

Content, MC threw themself on the bed as a mark of their victory, Solomon was quick to follow.

"You realize that this was shit compared to regular magic?” watching them struggle was incredibly amusing to him, apparently.

"Like I don’t know" They frowned. He smiled in response and laid back next to them.

The silence of the room, moving flames of the candles and its overall aura was really comforting.

"You should be able to pass the exam tho" he mentioned.

"It’s a lot, you know? Everything." MC wondered.

"I know."

"I just can’t wrap my mind around it.” They began playing with their hair.

"You could do much more without a hassle.” He stated like it was something obvious and leaned on his elbows while looking at them with a smirk.

"Wow, thanks for being an asshole.” They muttered, the hair they were playing with fell on their face.

"A supportive asshole.”

"I’m not sure if I could do more.” They spoke trying to blow the curl off. Hesitation making its way in their voice. "It’s still too new and…”

”Overwhelming?”

"Yeah… Convincing someone that hell is real is one thing but throwing them inside is something else.” They followed gentle shadows of the flames on the ceiling with their eyes.

"Why? You’d prefer a flaming river and little red devils instead of your seven demon boyfriends?”

Both of them laughed at the image of the brothers' with spiked tails and tridents.

"No, I don’t think I would.”

Empty walls of RAD were enhancing every sound, making every single word echo for a few seconds before disappearing.

"MC, ya comin’ or what?" Mammon was standing at the end of the hallway talking with Beel.

"Just a second!" they screamed while taking stuff out of their locker and putting it in a bag. They were planning on returning to the House of Lamentation as soon as the school day was over to prepare for an exam. But their Devildom History textbook was nowhere to be seen. "Ugh, I left a textbook in the classroom. Wait for me, I’ll go get it!"

"Just hurry up! I’m not explainin’ to Lucifer why we’re late again!"

The palace garden was full of exotic flowers, nothing like what they’d seen before. The number of colours and shapes worked wonders, some of the plants were gently glowing and lighting up the eternal night. Some had spots and some seemed to move on their own. MC could swear that they could even hear glassy sounds of a few.

"No matter how many times I see those flowers they always amaze me.” Diavolo was lazily examining the garden grounds. "Some of them only grow here. I’m doing what I can to keep them from going extinct. The species come from all of the three realms. That’s why you can spot some familiar ones.” He explained. ”I’m hoping to replant them one day on its original grounds.”

"Thanks to magic?” MC was sipping on some tea.

"Thanks to a good gardener, actually.” Barbatos smiled.

"Oh.” Both men laughed at their confusion.

The quiet evenings in Lord Diavolo’s castle were a nice change from their usual ones. Their small chats quickly turned into a regular thing, always accompanied by a nice tea made by Barbatos.

"Magic definitely helps as well.”

The wind was shyly blowing between the palace columns. Moth-alike creatures were roaming the garden, their wings glooming in the soft darkness.

"I don’t think I can get used to it. The magic.”

"Maybe, it’s a good thing. Living in constant awe of something." The Demon Lord smiled and gave them a soothing look.

They quietly hummed in response.

Lucky for them, the classroom was open. They entered not bothering to turn the lights on. The lost textbook was waiting for them on their desk. A dark and empty classroom felt really heavy, MC grabbed the book and just as they were about to return to the hallway they noticed an envelope that must have been hidden underneath it.

"What? " They muttered. An elegant paper and a wax stamp made it look important. If not for their name written on the back they’d probably leave it alone in fear of getting hexed or pranked. Instead, curiosity made them break the stamp.

"Geez, what is taking ‘em so long?" Mammon huffed. They were gone for only a few minutes but making HIM wait was quite an offence.

"Maybe we should go and check on them" Beel mumbled from between his sandwich bites.

"Hm, to get lost on your way for a textbook. Dumb human." Mammon stated annoyed. He was energetically tapping his foot.

"Come on, they probably locked themself in the classroom or something."

As soon as MC fished the sheet of paper from inside the letter, they started shivering. Cold air began circling them, their vision fading. All the sounds of the world around them suddenly gone. Sudden exhaustion taking over them, an empty void. It was a calm, soothing sensation. Like falling asleep…

"It’s empty” Beel stated exiting another classroom.

"Ow, come on! They gotta be somewhere ‘ere!" anxiety was slowly making its way in Mammon’s voice.

"Try this one – he pointed at the door on the other side of the hallway."

"If they’re not in the…" a powerful charge of energy went off when he tried to reach for the doorknob leaving both demons in shock for a second.

"MC!" Mammon bailed inside an empty classroom.

Loud voices filling the House of Lamentation kept the atmosphere tense.

"So they forgot a textbook…" Lucifer tried to keep calm, but his furrowed brows showed how tense he actually was. "…and went to get it…"

"Yeah!"

"…alone." He shot his brother a disapproving look.

A guilty nod.

"So, you went after them and discovered a sudden burst of energy in the classroom." The whole situation was more than inconvenient. It was a tragedy to be specific. An exchange student disappearing on the grounds of the academy. The exact one who couldn’t protect themself from any magic. The foreign trace of a powerful spell didn’t make the situation any better. The eldest took a quick glance across the room.

"We found this." Beel pointed at their textbook laying on the table.

"Are you sure that they just didn’t go somewhere?" Satan uttered.

"I’m tellin’ ya how it went! They’re just gone like that!”

"They sure can’t be far, right?" Asmo’s question was left unanswered.

A motion of loud voices filled the room, everyone discussing what might have happened.

Lord Diavolo approached the table with a stern look on his face. If it was true that something happened to MC while they were at RAD then he was the one at fault for not keeping the academy grounds safe for them. He took the book and examined it. Devildom history. It had MC’s name written on the first page. Nothing appeared to be wrong with it. Just a regular textbook. "It’s just a textbook if anything had to do with their disappearance it couldn’t be it. Is Solomon on his way here?"

"Yes, I called him a while ago he should be here anytime." Lucifer confirmed.

It wasn’t even about the project anymore, MC was missing and it filled all of them with an unpleasant feeling of guilt.

"Can’t Barbatos use his powers and find them?”

The butler sadly shook his head.

What previously was a state of anxiety, now was slowly shifting into a panic whit every passing hour. As long as they were alone in Devildom, they definitely weren’t safe.

"Something happened to MC?!" Luke’s voice caught their attention.

Both angels and Solomon were standing in the entrance to the dining room, looking rather startled.

"We don’t know yet." Diavolo stated calmly.

They joined everyone by the table and Solomon took the textbook. He gave Diavolo a specific look and the demon lord nodded in response. He started studying it.

"Are they safe?! Why aren’t you worried?!" the young angel kept questioning.

"I’m sure that MC’s okay." Simeon’s white lies weren’t exactly suited for an angel.

"Of course, everyone is worried." Belphegor stated irritated. "That’s why we called you!"

Solomon tried to quiet out the rambling and kept examining the book, but just like Diavolo confirmed, there wasn’t anything extraordinary about it. That was unless he opened it and a single sheet of paper fell out.

#obey me! shall we date?#obey me!#obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #obey me solomon #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor

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jcogginsawriter · 4 years

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Hand to Hand: Mark Waid’s Flash

I have been a fan of comic book characters for a long time. I started with the cartoons, and as I got older, I began doing deep dives into wikis, reading fanfiction, and participating in that shallowest of internet past times, the vs debate. I dabbled in writing fanfic for myself, but I spent far more time thinking about writing fanfic instead. I would come up with all these ideas about what I would take from the various different versions of the characters, and don’t get me started on the idea of Crossovers. The point is, I knew a lot of what happened in the comics, but I never read many comics. I didn’t know where my local comic shop was, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have had the money to spend on them. The comics that I did read were usually fan translations of manga. I did read a few comics, big name stories like Death of Superman or Crisis on Infinite Earths, but they were few and far between.

Recently, I’ve begun to change that. I now follow several comics as they come out, most notably the current X-line. This change sprang in part because I began reading a lot more comics criticism. In particular, I followed the blog of a certain Superman fan, and began to eagerly digest his various takes. I wanted to be able to ask him questions about new comics without looking like an idiot (This is how 90 percent of my interactions on comics twitter go, BTW) and that was a kick in the pants for me.

After getting into a steady habit, I decided to look into reading some of the classic runs I’d read so much about throughout life. To go from knowing them second hand, to knowing them first hand. After a bit of hemming and hawing, I’ve settled on Mark Waid’s legendary run of Flash Comics to start off with.

(Spoiler Warning for some 30 year old comics, by the way)

As of this writing, I have read up to the final issue of his story arc Dead Heat, wherein Wally does battle with the speed cultist Savitar. Before we get into things like plot and characters, I want to discuss the art, because no discussion of comic books is really complete without talking about the art. Unfortunately, the art in this run hasn’t done much for me, but that’s not really it’s fault. I read this comics in manner that they were not created to be read, digitally and zoomed in. These comics were drawn with physical issues in mind, and I don’t doubt that they’re good in that format. It also doesn’t help that I’ve read far more manga than I have American comics. American comics have never clicked with me the way manga does. Even now, I still find the layout of manga more legible than the layout of an American comic. That’s not a value judgment, it’s just my personal experience.

I do distinctly recall thinking that the art was better up to issue #79 (The conclusion to the Return of Barry Allen storyline), than it was after. I prefer the less exaggerated character designs, and lighter inks, though it could very well be a case of me having gotten used to the initial style and not liking the change. One thing that thing I can say about the art is that it helped me grasp how Wally’s costume differed from Barry’s. Before this, I was incapable of separating them in my mind, but seeing them side by side made it clear to me how different Wally’s Costume was colored and shaded.

Now, onto the writing of the run, we’ll start with the lead, Wally West. My previous touchstone for Wally was the Justice League series from the DCAU, which I watched a lot as a kid. The Wally in these comics comes off as more serious that his DCAU incarnation. Not too serious, he still cracks jokes, but he’s more on the ball. He takes his adventures as seriously as any hero would, rather than the more carefree attitude I recall his DCAU version having. This is not unsurprising, Wally here is the lead whereas there he was part of an ensemble cast, and here we get his internal monologue which gives us a much more thorough sense of his headspace. Not to mention, the DCAU version was voiced, so we know with no ambiguity what tone his dialogue’s in. In text, tone is more up to interpretation.

Perhaps the biggest thing that set Comic Wally apart from DCAU Wally is that the Wally in the comic was more consistently angry and frustrated. While his DCAU incarnation had hidden depths, I can’t recall a time when he got seriously angry. This Wally is frequently irritated, usually by things which are enitrely understandable. On occasion, his irritability causes him to be rougher with the bad guys than he could be, and that feels uncomfortable sometimes, though thus far he hasn’t gone too far.

Going into this, I knew that one of the issues that Wally had to overcome was his mental block about surpassing Barry, and to my surprise, it wasn’t as much of a through-line as I expected. I was expecting it to be a reoccurring issue that was solved by the Return of Barry Allen storyline, but in reality there are only one or two times something like it comes up, usually in the context of him not being able to do the vibrating through walls trick. In the Return of Barry Allen, it feels more like an issue introduced in that story than a long running plot line. Granted, it may only feel this way because I’m solely reading Mark Waid’s Flash. I didn’t read the issues prior to his take over, so that storyline could have been more apparent there for all I know.

Moving on, starting with Waid’s run had another knock on effect, that being that the character introductions aren’t introductions. I came into this expecting to see when Wally met Linda, when he met Jay Garrick, when Pied Piper redeemed himself, but all of that happened before Waid took over the book, so they’re already part of the cast from the start. Again, not a flaw of the work, it’s just a result of my personal experiences. Now, let’s take a look at some of these characters.

I’ve heard a lot about Linda and Wally’s romance, and so far it’s not bad. I wouldn’t rate it as one of the best of all time, but I haven’t gotten to most of the major moments yet, so that’s not a huge surprise. One thing that’s very apparent is the Lois Lane DNA in her character. Some of that is to be expected, which the love interest to your superhero is a reporter, but I see a lot of similarities in their personality as well. There’s a lot of the same fire in her. Fortunately, the fact that Wally’s identity is public lends a very different arc to their relationship than what you see with Lois and Clark, so Linda doesn’t come off as a Lois rip-off. Linda’s concerns that there’s no place for her in Wally’s wild superhero life is the kind of relationship hurdle that isn’t present in Lois and Clark’s Relationship.

Next, let’s take a look at the first Flash, Jay Garrick. Within this series, Jay is perfectly pleasant, and by no means unlikable, but he also comes across as...kind of superfluous? There are three elderly male speedsters in this comic, and of all of them Jay is by far the least defined and has the least role. Max Mercury is the Wally’s mentor in the ways of speed, the one with the most knowledge of the Speed Force. He’s basically what I expected Jay Garrick to be going into this. The third of the group is Johnny Quick, a speedster who is the father of another speedster, Jesse Quick. Jesse is also very skeptical of Max Mercury’s teachings, which veer from the scientific into the mystical.

Because Johnny takes the role of skeptic, Jay is left without a role in the narrative because being the nicest of Wally’s friend group. Veering over to Hollywood for a second, whenever a book gets adapted into a movie or TV Show, minor characters get lost in the transition. Either they get composited with other characters, or they get cut entirely. Game of Thrones is the most prominent example in recent memory. I bring this up because, if Waid’s Flash were to go through that process, it’s hard to argue that Jay wouldn’t get the ax. Despite being the most important of them in the context of the universe at large, Jay is the least important Speedster in this narrative. Of course, Jay’s importance in the context of the larger universe means that in this hypothetical adaptation, he probably be composited into either max or Johnny. More likely Max, since mentor is the logical position for the first Flash to take in the Third Flash’s narrative.

I mentioned Jess Quick there, so let’s talk about her. Thus far, her most prominent role in the narrative has been to call Wally out and be his critic, though she does have very good reasons to be angry. In the Terminal Velocity storyline, Wally believes he’ll die soon, and tells the Flash Family that Jesse will be his successor, but it turns out to be a lie in order to motivate Bart Allen to take things more seriously. Jesse has remained angry with Wally since then, though it hasn’t seriously impacted her hero work. That’s good, because her continued competence lends legitimacy to her anger within the narrative. She’s not being punished for being mad at Wally for mistreating her. Hopefully it stays that way going forward.

Now let’s take a look at the character Wally chose over Jesse, Bart Allen AKA Impulse. I’ll say up front that I’m not reading Bart’s solo series during this read through, as I didn’t want the hassle of going back and forth between books. As such, the only issues of it that I’ve looked at are the ones that tie into the Dead Heat arc. I feel it’s important for me to say this, because I’m basing my opinions of Bart primarily on his showings in Wally’s book, not his own. In Wally’s book, Bart’s character flaws are more on display.

Bart is a character deliberately designed to be obnoxious, and such characters are a hard tightrope to walk in fiction. Gotta be annyoing enough to get the point across, but not annoying enough to turn people off from the work. Bart in Wally’s book isn’t perfectly balanced, and tends toward the too much pile. Not to an egregious extent, but a little bit. I found myself echoing Wally’s frustration with Bart more than a few times. In Bart’s defense, Wally does share some of the blame here. He doesn’t do a very good job as a mentor, and handing those duties off to Max is probably for the best.

I find it interesting, that a character like Wally who is so defined by inheriting a legacy is a poor mentor, to both Bart and Jesse. He makes different mistakes with both of them, but he still fails both of them. I’m eager to see how that plays out in the future issues.

Now that we’ve discussed the supporting cast, let’s discuss some of the book’s villains. We’ll start with the one who is most infamous, Eobard Thawne. Thawne’s spends the majority of his time in this book thinking he’s Barry Allen, and if I’m being honest, he’s more effective under that guise that he is as Eobard. The scenes where what appears to be Barry Allen turns evil out of jealousy of his successor are powerful, more so than the more traditional villain Eobard displays after the reveal. Not that it would have been a good idea for it to actually be Barry, of course. Much as I prefer Wally to Barry, having Barry go full supervillain would have been very out of character. In any case, this run had a profound impact on Eobard’s character going forward, solidifying him as an agent of toxic fanboyism, making him a dark mirror of Wally West.

The next major villain of the run is the cult slash terrorist organization Kobra. That might bring thoughts of GI Joe to your mind, and you honestly aren’t far off. So far as this run goes, the biggest differences between DC’s Kobra and Hasbro’s is A) DC’s version prefer green over blue, and B) Hasbro’s version has more in the way of distinct characters. Kobra thus far is more of a plot device than anything else. They’re generic terrorists with little to make them distictive. Their storyline, Terminal Velocity, is more notable for it’s introduction of the Speed Force, Wally preparing for his upcoming ‘death’, and Linda going on a revenge quest after said ‘death’. All things that Kobra is incidental to, any villainous organization would have sufficed.

The final, as of my current point in the run, major villain is Savitar. Savitar was formerly a soviet test pilot who gained a connection to a the speedforce, gave himself the name of Hindu god, and started a speed worshipping cult. It says a lot about my mind that my immediate thoughts upon reading Savitar’s origin were. “Huh, an AU where Hal Jordan became a Speedster the same way would be neat.”. Savitar is in some ways an improvement on the Kobra Cult from Terminal Velocity. This time the Cult has a more direct connection to the Flash and his mythos. Dead Heat is by no means a retread of Terminal Velocity, but if you wanted to mesh them into one story, it wouldn’t be hard. And it’d improve on both, in some ways.

One of the things I like to do in my fanfic ideas is connect the other speedsters to Thawne’s theme of Toxic Fandom, and it wouldn’t be hard to do that with Savitar. His entire motivation is to deprive those he considers unworthy of their speed, and that can easily by played as a metaphor for gatekeeping.

Over all, while the run is far from perfect, I must say I’m enjoying these comics a good deal, and if you’re like me and have read a lot about comics without actually reading them, I don’t think you’d regret jumping into them.

#opinions #personal experience #dc comics #The Flash #wally west #mark waid

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wittystarkk · 5 years

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The Last Five Years | Part One | Bucky Barnes

author: wittystarkk

word count: 3k+

relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader

Warnings: None.

Summary: In New York two young lovers work their way through lust, love, work and letdowns. A handsome actor finds himself skyrocketed into fame. An aspiring writer finds herself stuck in a mundane hamster wheel of rejection. Each works to make their lives together successful, each finding it harder and harder. Their tale is shared from different perspectives.

A/N: Hi everyone! So, this is basically my retelling of the movie ‘The Last Five Years’. I wanted to practice writing, and see if I could affectively (from memory) translate what I saw on screen onto the page. So I wrote this. It’s going to be 16 parts, all corresponding to the songs of the movie. As a disclaimer: i do not claim any of the film, and I do not claim the characters. Et cetera. This is purely a self indulgent fic that I thought I would share with all of y’all! I hope you enjoy it. Additional information: this story is told 2 ways - Reader: end to start. Bucky: start to end.

Next Chapter

The subway was hot and stuffy from the bodies of all the passengers crammed in like poorly packaged sardines. Everyone was tired and longing for their exits. (Y/N)’s hair had gone flat and her back was sore from having to curve around a pole to keep herself steady. She’d had to remove her jacket in order to survive heat stroke, and was elated when she was cold enough to put it back on. The subway had smelt like human body odor and an underlying scent of fermented garbage. Had she not been a semi-regular subway passenger, she would have completely given in to the throws of misery. She hated how used to things she could become. How complacent and accepting she tended to be. Ohio had been a small Hell that she had ultimately gotten used to, just as had been the subway. She felt she could overlook anything.

(Y/N)’s anticipation for home had risen every second she’d spent away. She was unhappy. She was tired, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Wanted to curl up in bed and put the entirety of Ohio behind her. Put the entirety of everything behind her. Her previous weekend had been one of the worst, and she prayed that coming home would ease that pain. Ease every hurtful word and emotion she’d heard, said and felt some two days ago. Ease the anguish in her chest since he’d left. She had spent the entire time thinking, “soon I’ll be home. I can make it a few more hours.” Trying to reassure herself that things were gonna be fine. That they were gonna be fine. That when things to be at their worst, they always have a knack of swinging around to good again.

The cab from the dingy train station to home wasn’t excruciatingly long, but felt like an absolute eternity. (Y/N) knew she would soon be home and was growing more uplifted with every passing street. She would feel better, hopefully happier. Nothing that happened in Ohio would matter when she walked through the doors of her apartment and saw all of her things, and him . He would make everything good again, with his hugs and his words of support and soliloquies of I missed you and his sorry . His I didn’t mean it . He would heal all wounds, fix the crack that had nearly split the two of them apart. He had been the one to make it, after all.

When the cab parked in front of the three story brownstone a wave of something washed through (Y/N). She couldn’t describe it and was entirely sure that she didn’t like it. “125 West 119th Street,” the cab called to her from the front seat as if she didn’t already know the address of her own apartment. She remembered the day that they had signed the lease on it. How scared she felt, and how he kept telling her that it was gonna be great. That their home was gonna be great. That they were gonna be great.

(Y/N) snapped out of her daze. Handing the cabby her fare signified the end of her trip and the feeling she had intensified. Stepping out of the cab, she gave a glance up to the second floor window of her apartment. The curtains were half drawn and the lights were off denying a proper peek in. It was nearly six in the evening and the sun was completely cloaked behind a jacket of clouds. If he was home, surely he’d need a light on. (Y/N)’s stomach knotted.

The cabby retrieved (Y/N)’s bag from the trunk while she was staring up at the window, hand fisted around the strap of her purse. She wasn’t aware that more than ten seconds had passed, and was startled when the cabby dropped her suitcase at her feet, huffing loudly. (Y/N) dismissed him with a ‘thank you’ called over her shoulder as she bent to pick up her bag, carrying it towards the stairs of the brownstone.

Her keys were clipped to the strap of her purse, her fingers finding them easily. They gave a small hassle while trying to unlock the deadbolt of the main door but didn’t prove to be too big of a challenge. When she closed the main door behind her there were hushed voices from down the hall.

“(Y/N), is that you?” Mrs. Zaldana asked from her front door at the end of the hallway. She was dressed in a tattered purple robe, with slippers that had seen days better than the present. She figured that the voices she had heard were coming from the blaring TV that was stashed somewhere within Mrs. Zaldana’s apartment. The poor old woman was deaf as a doornail and it was made even more apparent by the volume she listened to things at.

“Yes, Mrs. Zaldana, it is.” (Y/N) loudly replied, looking longingly at the staircase to her right. She was in no mood for a conversation, merely one flight of stairs away from / him/. She didn’t want to prolong the wait. “I’m sorry to be rude, but I’m exhausted. I’ll talk to you tomorrow morning. I might bring muffins,” she told her, not waiting for a response as she ascended the stairs. Her footfalls sounded so loud, echoing against the walls. Were they always like this?, she wondered.

As she walked her mind busied itself with quick thoughts of him. They’d fought the last time she’d seen him, they’d argued and she’d cried. He’d yelled, and he’d looked angry. She knew he would surely not be over it. Couldn’t be over it. No, he never did let things go like she did. He held onto everything. Let his anger or resentment fester like an infected wound. Wouldn’t let her clean it and heal it and mend it. He was so stubborn. So hateful sometimes. She loved him madly.

A hiss sounded when she reached the top of the stairs. Mr. Martinez’s cat was perched on the banister of the staircase, it’s legs tucked underneath her orange body. She gave the cat a soft stroke when she reached her, letting the cat affectionately nuzzle into her palm. After a moment her hand left the tabby’s fur, dropping to her side. Her heartbeat sped again as she took the final distance to the apartment, readying her keys to unlock the door. She gripped the handle to pull the door towards herself, the only way the old bolt would disengage, and found it loose. She narrowed her brows at the brass knob, giving it a tentative turn. The door opened with a squeak.

“Bucky?” She called into the apartment, following the door inside. The apartment was dark and empty. She shrugged out of the black leather jacket covering her arms. Kicking off her shoes, she realized the chair to the desk in front of the window was pulled out. Her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach, her hands becoming clammy and shaky. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. Her mind began pulling forward every awful scenario that could be happening. That could be the reason for a dark apartment and an unlocked front door. She wanted none to be true.

She sat down on the chair in front of the desk, her knees feeling too weak to support herself. The desktop had been cleared of nearly all of the objects that once littered it before she left. In front of her was a stark grey envelope that had her name written on it in a familiar messy scrawl. She cleared her throat, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She couldn’t open the envelope yet. Couldn’t breathe. Her throat felt dry and scratchy, like she was struggling with a bad cold.

“You can’t do this to me,” she managed to whisper out, seeing the gold band that had been carefully set atop the envelope. Her hand trembled minutely when she picked the ring up, turning it around her finger. The outside was scuffed and dirty, showing the wear and tear of three years on his finger. The inside, however, was smooth and polished. She figured it was from all of the times he’d taken it off. She set it down with a pained look like suddenly the metal had sparked a flame against her skin.

She noticed the keys next, deciding they were the reason her front door had been unlocked when she had returned home. She saw the house key and the mailbox key both attached to a dull metal ring. She plucked them up, sliding the metal ring along her finger until it sat at the base. She held the finger up, looking at the keys while she spun them around. She wanted to be able to throw the keys out of the window and the pain that she was feeling with them.

She dropped the keys to the desktop with a thud, deciding to finally face the letter. He throat felt drier than before and she had a tingling in her nose that indicated she was on the verge of crying. Inside the envelope was a piece of off-white paper folded thrice. Unfolding it revealed that he’d written his final letter to her on a slip of paper that read “ James and (Y/N) Barnes ” at the top. “How fitting,” she said to the empty room. “Writing your goodbye on our stationary.”

She held the paper tightly in between the first finger and thumb of both hands, eyes scanning over the scratchy script. She felt like every letter was being burnt into her cerebellum as tears rolled down her cheeks leaving streaks where the foundation had been washed away.

She let the letter fall from her fingers to the desk, her breath held in her chest as she moved her gaze to focus out the window. The sky outside was still dark, the clouds an angry grey. She felt as if the weather was mocking her. Saying she didn’t deserve to see the sun since hers had just walked out on her. She pushed up from the chair, her knees feeling wobbly as she did. She took a few tentative steps, reaching her hand out to grab onto the arm of the couch. She thought of how much she hated it when he’d picked it out, and couldn’t help but chuckle at the realization that the fight they’d had over it was the most inconsequential thing now, but had held so much weight before.

She sunk to the floor in front of the couch, resting her back against it. She hadn’t stopped crying. The tears felt like they’d started coming faster, pouring down her face like they were on a race to see who could make it down her neck the fastest. She brought her knees up, her arms wrapping around them in a self hug. She didn’t know what she could do, what she could say. She felt numb. Her whole being had frozen like gridlocked traffic. She couldn’t bring her thoughts away from him, couldn’t even begin to worry about what she was going to do now. What she could do now that she wasn’t his, he wasn’t hers, and he wasn’t here.

She looked around the apartment that once had been theirs, where their memories were made and their lives were shared. Where they’d started their lives as two and joined together to become one. A unified being.

“Bucky’s gone,” she heard herself whisper into the apartment. Her voice sounded weak and scratchy from the sobs that had been echoing from her throat since she’d begun reading the letter. She rubbed her cheek against her shoulder, sniffling hard to clear her nose as best she could. “He thinks this is all my fault,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief.

Had she not tried? , she wondered. She’d dragged him to therapists, sat on couches uglier than the one he’d picked out for them and aired all of their dirty laundry to a therapist with a judgmentally arched eyebrow and a pen that never moved. She’d lauded over him, poured her heart out in a flood on the floor. Listened while he blamed her for every problem, abhorred her for every instance in their lives when they were unhappy.

“You always thought that I was the problem,” she said, raising her bloodshot eyes to look at the picture of the two of them on the fireplace mantel. “I’m sure you’re doing just fine, knowing you were the one who got to decide this. Got to leave. Chose to cut and run, to what? Find something better?” she hissed. “Find someone better,” she amended. She felt anger bubbling up, quickly tampering that down to stifle it. She needed to feel her pain first. Accept that she was heartbroken, not deny it. Not cover it up with easier emotions.

“You don’t -” her voice broke, her hand rubbing at her nose. “You don’t get the easy way out.” She felt insane, sitting on the floor and talking to a picture. Knew that it wasn’t going to solve anything. She was going to still be hurting, and he was completely oblivious to it all. “God,” she groaned. “What about you? Huh? What about you, Bucky?” She used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe her nose, figuring her hand unfit for the job. “You think I’m the problem?” She asked of the picture which would stay mute. “You had your secrets, Bucky! You knew you had to hide things from me. Keep them locked away in some vault within yourself. Throw them out when they got to be too much. Ignore them like you ignored me. Bring them back, Bucky! Bring back your lies. Hang them on our wall! Hang them with our wedding photos and the photos of you and I where you were already falling out of love with me. Why not?” She stood from the floor, a sob ripping through her chest when she caught a glimpse of his ring again.

She trudged the short distance across the apartment to the small kitchen, grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter. She reached up and removed a wine glass from the shelving unit where it was held, setting it down with a clink to the faux granite countertop. She ripped apart a drawer in order to find the corkscrew, cursing over the fact it was never easy to locate. She uncorked the bottle and threw the screw into the sink where it made a loud metal clang. Pouring the liquid into the glass she became aware, again, of her trembling hands. She wondered how she wasn’t dousing the entire kitchen with the wine.

She walked out of the kitchen armed with a half full glass of wine in one hand and a bottle in the other. If anything were going to help her, it was inebriation. “You know something?” She asked, aware that she would never hear an answer. “Here I am, stuck in this fucking apartment that you wanted. Covered in invisible scars from every fight we had in this place, and you? Where are you? Hiding away? Chasing something that you’ll never find? Fuck you.” She chugged the wine from the glass, refilling it as she sat down on the padded bench in front of their - her - bed. She set the bottle down by her feet, holding the glass firmly between both hands. Memories were racing back and forth as she looked around the apartment.

She was certainly still hurting, she decided. No more anger from before, though her tone could have fooled an outsider. Nothing but pure, unadulterated pain. Pain for everything they were, pain for everything they’d yet to be, pain for everything that they should have been. She finished her second glass, setting it down beside the bottle. “Maybe, maybe if you’d stayed. If you’d have talked to me. Told me your goodbyes in person… Maybe then I could understand how you could leave. Maybe then I’d see that you never thought we had a chance at all.”

She stood from the bench, walking to his dresser which she knew was empty now. She paused for a moment, wanting to open the drawers. Wanting to see his clothes in them. Wanting to see some evidence that he wasn’t really gone. That he hadn’t really left after all. That this was just a fucking act to try and change her. Make her cave and shape herself into the wife he thought he deserved. One that turned a blind eye to everything he did. One that knew how far they’d cracked apart, but would be able to salvage it. To rebuild everything between them.

(Y/N) looked down at her hands, spreading her fingers out. She wiped at her cheeks, sniffling before splaying her hands out again in front of herself. She looked from the old golden ring with the adorning pearls she always wore to the small silver one that she would spin anxiously. She then moved her attention to her wrist, unlatching the watch that was looped around it. She was out of time with the one who had given it to her, she felt no need to keep it on. Sliding it off of her wrist, she had to pull her lips in between her teeth to keep from making any sounds. She set the watch down atop the dresser and moved to take off the golden bracelet that had accompanied it. She set it down next to the watch, taking in a shaky breath.

She looked back down at her hands again, seeing the last thing he’d given her. The diamond band around the ring finger of her left hand. She sobbed, this one sounding more pained than she ever thought she could. More raw and vulnerable than she’d ever been in her life. She twisted the ring off of her finger for the first time in three years, setting it down atop the dresser. She rubbed at the skin of her finger for a moment, feeling the phantom weight of the ring like it were still there. She took a few weak steps back from the dresser, eyes trained on the jewelry that had once held so much value to her. She sank back down onto the bench, hands falling into her lap.

“What now?” (Y/N) wondered of the empty apartment, voice drained and heart heavy. Where could she go now? Where could she turn? She wanted to lay on the bed and have him to curl against, to lay with and be comforted by. How could he be the one she needed the comfort because of? How could he be the one who broke them? Broke her? Let something that was once so wonderful die?

She was still hurting, alright. And God. She wondered when that would change.

#sam writes #sams post #sam posts #my first fanfic posted on this blog!!!#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fan fiction #sebastian stan one shot #sebastian stan fan fic #bucky barnes oneshot #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan fiction

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thatmultifandomhoe · 6 years

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Strawberry Cream and BBQ - 10

Pairing: Hybrid Hoseok and Human Reader

Overview: Your best friend knows she can count on you for anything, so when she asks you to watch her hybrid while she’s gone for a study abroad trip for four months, you can’t say no. But when these four months are over, things have changed in a way no one expected.

Word Count: 2,676

Valentine’s Day Surprise Update

Genre: Hybrid AU, Fluff, Future smut, Angst, Best friends to Lovers

Warning: Tissues should be on stand by, Angst, Hoseok’s backstory, our lovely Joonie, and an appearance by Mr. World Wide Handsome himself.

Master List

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25 (Final) - Move in Day: A SC&BBQ Drabble

©thatmultifandomhoe Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

“What am I doing?” Hoseok asked himself.

Running a hand across his face, he leaned his cheek on his closed fist, elbow propped up on the black high table he was sitting at with his back to the door.

Shortly after you left, he had been running around to clean up the kitchen. There wasn’t much to do really, but he didn’t want you to come home and see the dirty dishes incase you got back before him.

By the time he reached the café he had five minutes to spare. Dressed in ripped denim blue jeans and a black tee-shirt tucked in at the front, he had his trusty acorn pouch attached at the hip. Usually he would be bundled up, but the café he had asked Namjoon to meet him at was kept warm during the winter, making jackets a pain to carry or wear.

A ding echoed throughout the café and with his ears perking up, Hoseok straightened up and turned to watch Namjoon. Upon inspection, the wolf hybrid’s face relaxed when he saw that the only other people here, including the staff, were hybrids.

That was the other reason Hoseok picked this café, not just because some of the best pastries he ever tasted came from here, but because the owner, Seokjin, was a good friend and a hybrid himself. A Siamese cat hybrid to be specific. While the laws had changed over the last twenty years to make it easier for hybrids to live like everyone else, there were still humans out there who thought hybrids were just fancy pets.

“Hey,” Namjoon greeted Hoseok, taking the empty seat in front of him. “I didn’t know Jin owned a café.”

That was right, sometimes Hoseok forgot the Namjoon was still somewhat new to their group of friends. It had been a year since Namjoon joined them, but it had taken the majority of that time for him to become comfortable with everyone. Hoseok felt like he knew him longer though because they had bonded easier and quicker. He liked to joke and say it was because of the dog genetics that they shared.

“Yeah, it’s kinda where us hybrids meet up for some time without the girls,” Hoseok said, leaning back in his seat.

“I was wondering why he kept saying we needed to get together at Kim Seokjin’s. I just thought he liked talking in third person occasionally.”

Hoseok laughed at Joon’s explanation, having to set his coffee back down so he wouldn’t spill it on himself. “Nope. He’s just really confident.”

Namjoon smiled, taking off the knitted hat he wore, allowing his wolf ears to straighten up again. He left the grey fingerless gloves on as well as the green jacket.

“Did Katie knit the hat?” He asked, noticing the way it looked hand made instead of store bought.

“Yeah, and the sweater I’m wearing too. She likes being able to make me things, and it’s sweet that she does it. Plus, they’re warm too.” Namjoon’s eyes had brightened at the mention of Katie, his owner, even going so far to take off his jacket for a moment so Hoseok could see the cream-colored sweater.

It made Hoseok smile, his mind wandering back to you for a moment. The thought of you wielding two knitting needles made him nervous.

Namjoon had been watching Hoseok’s face though, the corner of his lips lifting as he put his jacket back on. He knew what was happening, had gone through it himself even. Before he could question Hoseok about it, Jin appeared at their table then with a smile.

“Looks like you finally decided to come to Kim Seokjin’s,” he said to Namjoon, setting a clear glass mug down in front of him on a blue saucer.

A chuckle escaped Namjoon as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, figured I’d come down and see the place.” His eyes glanced around at the small, but homey, café.

The counter was made out of dark oak wood, and the display case had an array of pastries and treats that had everyone’s mouthwatering due to the smells. Behind the counter were all different types of coffee and espresso machines that looked too complicated for someone who didn’t make a living selling coffee. There was a couch on the left side of the building with a few armchairs around a coffee table, the rest of the furniture being high tables. Jin even had floor to ceiling windows with the name, Kim Seokjin’s Café, written in black cursive paint on one of them.

“It’s amazing,” he complimented Jin.

The Siamese Cat hybrid beamed at the compliment, grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you! By the way Joon, that’s Devil’s Blueberry Chocolate Mocha. I have to get back to baking. Enjoy the coffee you two.”

Hoseok waved his hand as Jin walked behind the counter and went through a door, disappearing from sight. Sighing, he wrapped his hand back around his own mug and took a sip of the steaming dark roast, taking a few minutes to collect his thoughts.

Namjoon took advantage of the silence to try the, bizarre coffee Jin had brought him. The name alone had him nervous. At first glance, it looked like a plain black coffee. But when he tilted the mug, the sunlight managed to hit the drink and he was able to see the purple hues. When it finally touched his lips, he was able to taste the dark chocolate. It wasn’t rich or creamy like some mochas tended to be, and upon taking another sip, he could taste the sweetness of the blueberries. Despite its name, it was borderline angelic.

“Jin likes to experiment with his coffees,” Hoseok explained. He had the same thing happen to him when he first came to the café. “To see what works and what doesn’t.”

Namjoon nodded, wrapping the mug in his hand as he sat up. “So, what exactly happened.” He didn’t want to beat around the bush anymore, especially when he was fairly certain he knew what Hoseok was going to ask him.

Hoseok stared down at his caramel colored coffee, chewing on his lip as he wondered if this was some mistake. Maybe he was wrong and was overthinking everything. But as soon as he thought that it died off like a shriveled-up raisin. No, that wasn’t possible either. You couldn’t not be his mate. Your smile alone sent his heart racing while calming him. And every time he had you in his arms, it was like he had the key to understanding everything.

Fuck, he just needed to know. “Is it…is it possible, to know someone for years, and only recent discover that they’re your mate?” He slowly asked, only meeting Namjoon’s gaze at the end.

Only, Namjoon’s face was neutral. It was neither happy or upset and surprisingly, that helped Hoseok to relax. If Namjoon had seemed excited, then Hoseok would start to get his hopes up. If he had looked upset though, Hoseok could only imagine what would happen then.

“Well…it all depends,” Namjoon thoughtfully spoke, shifting back in his seat. “Is it possible though? Yes. Common? Not really. But when it does happen, it usually occurs because the hybrid was going through a traumatic event. It’s like when someone gets hurt really bad and their body goes in to shock, they don’t feel the pain as much until they’re in a safe place and can relax. But once they’ve calmed down and the adrenaline has left the body, they get hit full force with exactly how much pain they’re in.”

Hoseok blinked and was immediately back in the past, more specifically, three years ago. He had been homeless and starving. The Shelters that were created to help hybrids had been overfilled, and it was his fifth shelter in twelve years. Prior to that, he had been left at an Adoption Center when he was twelve years old. And if he went even further back, when he was still a pup, he had been ripped away from his parents and sold to a rich family who wanted a hybrid for their daughter.

Her name was Carly, and she truly was a sweet girl. They had grown and played together, she snuck him sweets when her parents told her not to, and they were as close as possible. Then one night, she mentioned wanting a cat and the next day he was dropped off at a shelter with his backpack hurriedly filled with his belongings. Hoseok didn’t blame Carly though, not once did he think it was her fault. Back then, the two of them had talk about wanting a real pet cat, not a hybrid, but her parents must have thought otherwise.

He stayed at the Adoption Centers until he was eighteen. By then he was an adult and was done with it all. Yes, they provided food and warm rooms, but he was older and known for being transferred multiple times. People didn’t want to adopt a hybrid who seemed to be more of a hassle then he was worth.

For a year, he was on his own. Everything he owned was in the small backpack that had been worn thin over the years. He had slept in parks, ate whatever food he found, and in an effort to blend in with the humans so as to not get sent back to a shelter, he wore hats to cover his ears and tucked his tail either under his shirts or down his pant legs, which hurt like hell at times. Rain or shine, he suffered through it all.

When he wasn’t able to find a bridge or tunnel, he was stuck in the elements. Even after three years, he still dislikes the rain. He hated the memories that were associated with it. Like how it used to soak through his clothes, and the way the wind cut through his body all the way down to the bones. He lost track of all the times his tears mingled with the rain dripping down his cheeks.

Then one day, he woke up to find himself sleeping on a cot in an open room, surrounded by other cots with hybrids on them. One of them had been reading when he woke up and explained everything.

Apparently, he had been found passed out and unresponsive and when they took off his hat, his ears were a dead giveaway. They brought him to the Homeless Center for Hybrids, but they didn’t stick around to see if he was okay. Cold, exhausted, and hungry, Hoseok accepted his fate. This was the life he meant to live.

The Homeless Center for Hybrids not only gave a place for hybrids to stay, but also worked on trying to find new and safe homes for them. It was hard, especially with how so many of them had been mistreated, but the staff only wanted was best for the hybrids. They worked long hours, doing extensive background checks on the new possible owners, and often bought things when the Homeless Center was low on funding.

Hoseok lived there for a year. He watched friends come and go as they got adopted or found ways to support themselves. To take his mind off of his own circumstance, he tended to spend his time over at the Dance Studio that was nearby.

The Dance Studio was extremely inclusive. While they offered classes that required a payment, they waived the fee for those that were unable to afford it, or sometimes even offered the same class but for free if there was a large group of people interested. They didn’t stop there. If the rooms weren’t being used to teach classes, the public was welcomed to come in and use them for their own practice. As long as you shared the same love and passion for dancing and didn’t break anything, it was fine.

That was exactly what Hoseok did. He took the free classes and eventually joined an unofficial street dance group that practiced there. It was the only thing that took his mind off of being homeless.

Then…then Sue came in to the shelter on his twenty first birthday. She was twenty and her parents had recently passed away in the accident. The staff had told him that she was looking for a friend, someone who could help fill up the silence that came with the now empty house. By accident, he saw her. The door opened just as he looked over someone’s shoulder, allowing him to see her for a split second.

She was in the waiting area sitting on one of the green chairs, her head down as she stared at her feet, arms wrapped around her stomach. She had looked so alone and scared, everything he had felt way back when he was twelve years old. It brought out a protective instinct from within that he had obviously pushed down for years.

Hoseok went home with Sue that afternoon. It took a couple months, but once he was comfortable around her, she brought him around to meet her friends and their hybrids. He remembered that day, especially when he met you. The minute he smelled your strawberry cream scent he was hugging you. At the time, you had a boyfriend and he was still adjusting to his new life. Everything was still raw for him back then.

“Hoseok?” Namjoon called out. When the hybrid didn’t answer him, he reached over and shook his shoulder.

Startled from his memories, Hoseok blinked several times in an attempt to refocus his attention. He wasn’t homeless or bouncing around in the Adoption Centers anymore. He most certainly wasn’t abandoned either.

“Are you alright?” Namjoon asked, taking a napkin out of the holder and handing it to Hoseok. “You looked really lost in thought and well… you started crying.”

Silently, Hoseok touched his cheek, surprised to find that his skin was wet with tears. Looking around, he spotted several hybrids uncomfortable shifting in their seats, glancing in his direction every now and then with their ears pulled flat against their heads. “Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Namjoon just shook his head, this time placing the napkin in Hoseok’s hand. “It’s okay Hoseok. Really, it is. You just need to take a deep breath.”

“I need Strawberry,” Hoseok automatically corrected, his hand stopping on his cheek as he paused.

The wolf hybrid merely raised an eyebrow at his friend, not surprised with how quick he was to fill in your special nickname for what he wanted. “She’s single now.” He quietly said, watching Hoseok for a reaction. “It’s been three years for you Hoseok. Life has settled down for you. I’m not saying that what happened is in the past, three years isn’t that much time, but it was enough for you to be ready for the next chapter of your life. And this time, it involves her.”

Hoseok held the crumpled-up napkin his lap, trying to think of some happy thoughts to relieve the sadness he had unconsciously projected out to everyone else.

“Take it from a wolf hybrid,” Namjoon gently said, a faint smirk appearing. “We believe our mates were created from Destiny. Sue just so happened be going to study abroad for four months, and you get to stay with your best friend, who’s single. The entire scenario screams Destiny.”

Hoseok scoffed at that, but the edges of his mouth were curling up in a smile. Lifting his head, he licked his lips and looked out the window for a moment. It was still early and you wouldn’t be back from classes for at least another two hours. He drank some of his warm coffee as he sat up. “Well,” he asked, “how do I tell her she’s my mate?”

Namjoon smirked, his features looking more wolfish by the second. When their gazes met, the male hybrids shared a knowing grin. “By making her see that you’re the man she’s always wanted.”

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coolgreatwebsite · 5 years

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Cool Games I Finished In 2019 (In No Real Order)

We’re here. The end of the decade. 2019 was a weird, turbulent year for me. Despite my cross-country move already being a year behind me somehow, nothing’s really settled yet. Living situation is still weird, still separated from most of my belongings, I left my full-time QA job for a contractor position at a mobile game advertising company that may or may not convert into a full-time position... everything about what’s going on with me still just feels like I’m completely winging it, and while that’s not a position I’m really comfortable being in for such an extended amount of time, everything seems to be working out okay enough despite it. All this is probably why I spent most of my time playing the shit out of a handful of games rather than playing a bunch of different games this year! Needed some sort of stability. Also when I did manage to pull myself away from the timesink games and play something else, a lot of them ranged from “okay” to “real bad”. But I still managed to play just enough stuff that I liked to where I can put out yet another one of these. Here’s a bunch of cool games I experienced for the first time in 2019.

Phantasy Star Online: Blue Burst (PC, 2005)

I haven’t bothered to do two thirds of the story quests yet and have barely touched any Episode 4 content so this game technically doesn’t count for this list, but if I left it off I would be neglecting to mention an extremely large portion of my video game playing time this year. I fell back into PSO preeeettty hard this year after the surprise announcement of Phantasy Star Online 2 finally coming to the US. Guess what: game still rules. It feels stiff to play and it’s obviously far less expansive than it seemed back in 2000, but the core of Phantasy Star Online is still as fun as it ever was and the aesthetics are still entirely my shit. I love everything about the way this game looks and sounds, I love stumbling on a weird new weapon, I love participating in the custom seasonal events the server I’m on runs, and I love how oddly relaxing the experience of playing this game and taking it all in is. I will probably continue to play Phantasy Star Online into 2020. I will probably still dip back into it after PSO2 US servers finally launch. If I know you and you want to join my Discord server for PSO get at me. PSO forever.

Cookie’s Bustle (PC, 1999)

You ever play a game that just speaks to you? Even through a language barrier? A game so incredibly out there and bizarre in the exact way you love that you can’t help but adore it despite barely understanding it? Holy moly did I ever find that game. I learned about Cookie’s Bustle through a news story last year about some rare games leaking from a Japanese collector’s stash. Didn’t manage to get it to run back then, but my off and on attempts to get it working finally paid off in March of this year and I’m so glad I kept trying. I knew nothing of this game other than it had a weird name and was about a bear doing sports, and it turned out to be a fully voice-acted and mostly unsubtitled adventure game starring Cookie Blair, a 5 year old girl from New Jersey who sees herself as a teddy bear and has traveled to Bombo World, an island nation once visited by aliens and currently in the middle of a civil war, to participate in the Bombo Sports Tournament. Dead level, I probably shouldn’t have been able to genuinely love Cookie’s Bustle as much as I did. The only context I had for what was happening and what I was supposed to do was provided by a 20-year-old Google translated walkthrough with broken images, the game’s slightly higher than usual reliance on English loan words, and 30-ish years of video games and anime allowing me to halfway pick up on a handful of Japanese words. However, Cookie’s Bustle is dripping with an undeniable and off-beat charm that genuinely transcends language. Even if you can’t understand the words and specifics, you can understand the basic plot, characterizations, and emotions they’re going for. Cookie’s Bustle manages to both be completely off-the-wall bizarre and feel totally genuine and heartfelt at the same time, a balance very few games manage to successfully hit but many of my favorites do. One could say that’s why it seems to have resonated with a decent amount of other people this year, too. Games rarely make me feel sad that they’re over. but when they do that’s how I know they’re one of the good ones. Seriously, go look up a longplay or stream of Cookie’s Bustle if you (understandably) don’t want to go through the hassle of setting it up and figuring out how to play it, it’s impossible not to love.

Devil May Cry 5 (PlayStation 4, 2019)

Here’s something crazy to think about: Devil May Cry 4 came out 11 years ago. Aside from being a potent reminder that time is moving too fast and we’re all going to die soon, that means that there hasn’t been a DMC for over a decade. Devil May Cry 5 does not bare this fact even a little bit. Not only did they pick up right where they left off and manage to make another Devil May Cry game without missing a beat, they made arguably the best Devil May Cry game. I mean I still like the story and single-character focus of DMC3 the best, but DMC5 is the best playing game in the series without a doubt. Nero finally feels like he has a complete and complex toolset, Dante is the most mechanically dense and fun to play he’s ever been, and they even added a new guy that’s... neat to play as, until you start trying to S-rank the harder difficulties. Then he’s kind of annoying to play as. But it’s still cool that they tried something totally different and mostly got it to work! They also did something very stupid that I love and used this game as an excuse to make literally every single piece of Devil May Cry media canon. Like, characters exclusively from the anime and the books show up and act like they’re someone you already know and love? And they go out of their way to explain the most esoteric lore shit possible?? And despite it all they still intentionally give DMC2 as short a shrift as they can??? It’s so dumb, it rules. It’s just one of the many things about the game that show that even with so long of a gap between entries, no love for the series was lost by the people that make it. I don’t think the suits at Capcom expected this game to hit as hard as it did though, because despite there being clear areas where the game could be expanded on with DLC there still hasn’t been anything announced. I hope they’re maybe saving it for some sort of DMC3-esque special edition, or maybe just already working on DMC6, because even after getting all S-ranks I still wanted to play more. The game’s just that damn good.

Hypnospace Outlaw (PC, 2019)

I expected very little from Hypnospace Outlaw. I backed the game on Kickstarter solely because it looked cool and I thought a game about fake GeoCities was neat, and then I immediately forgot about it until it released. Admittedly my lack of expectations stemmed mostly from the fact that it’s kind of hard to set expectations for a game you never really thought too hard about, but even in the brief period of time where I considered it enough to give it money, I never expected it to be much more than a pretty-looking 101 Great GeoCities Jokez delivery vehicle. Boy was I wrong. I mean, it is incredibly good at that, but Hypnospace Outlaw is so much more than a funny period piece. The basic premise is that you’re in alternate universe 1999 and have just become a community moderator for an Internet service provider that allows people to connect to the Internet while they sleep. You’re tasked with browsing the game’s weird fake Internet and issuing demerits to users who violate the five basic Hypnospace rules, but it quickly evolves into something way bigger. Hypnospace Outlaw’s greatest strength is its exceptional ability at weaving together subtle world building, small and engaging character arcs, esoteric microjokes, and a genuine sense of mystery and discovery into an incredibly cohesive and engaging package. It’s as much a game about the people that use and run its weird fake Internet as it is about that weird fake Internet itself. And a lot of the problems both face echo the problems we face with our real world Internet today. When I was mapping out writing this article like a month or two ago I was prepared to go on about how at its core, Hypnospace Outlaw is an incredibly poignant story about how uncaring tech corporations actively harm their users and always have, but then a couple of days ago I read Colin Spacetwinks’ game of the year list and his #1 entry put most everything I would have said about that topic down in a way more eloquent and well-written way than I ever could have. And then I remembered that Friend Of The Site Heidi Kemps covered some of the same angle but from the perspective of the early Internet in an article earlier this year, again way better than I could have. So I highly recommend you read those when you’re done here. What I wanna bring up instead is just how effortlessly surprising and interconnected a lot of stuff in Hypnospace feels, using a mildly spoiler-ish late game example. Two of the first “zones” you’re allowed to moderate when you start Hypnospace Outlaw are Teentopia and Goodtime Valley, which are essentially alternate universe Yahooligans and a little slice of Hypnospace just for Boomers respectively. On Teentopia you’ll see a bunch of kids that are wild for Squisherz, Hypnospace’s alternate universe version of Pokémon, and over in Goodtime Valley you’ll see (much like there was back in real world 1999) a few pages made by religious fundamentalists convinced that everything the kids like these days is the work of Satan. This of course includes Squisherz, and you can find a page by one organization full of crackpot conspiracy theories with flimsy evidence that TOTALLY DEFINITELY backs up their claim. Squisherz contains a wolf, which the Bible warns about many times! This giraffe monster CLEARLY has a pentagram in its design!! And the eye of this snake-like Squisherz is the eye of Horus, an Egyptian occult symbol and NEED I REMIND YOU that Lucifer took the form of a snake in the Garden of Eden!!! It is very clear what this page is goofing on and throughout the course of the game it doesn’t get updated at all, so it’s very easy to laugh at it and forget about it. Very late into the game, you get an optional sidequest. Adrian Merchant, one of the CEOs of Merchantsoft, the company that created Hypnospace, was found out to have logged traffic indicating he was a frequent visitor of a website called Children of HORUS, and a call is put out to investigate what that even is. You can easily find the website, but it asks you for a password if you click the Enter button. Adrian Merchant is consistently portrayed throughout the game as a complete idiot, and the solution to this puzzle has you capitalize on that. Another early game objective ended up with you finding a list of cracked passwords, and one of those passwords happens to be for the instant messenger account of Adrian Merchant. If you can remember that he was even in that text file from forever ago, and then put two and two together that of COURSE that dumbass would use the same password for everything, you just punch in his messenger password and you’re granted access to the Children of HORUS page. It turns out that HORUS is an acronym that stands for Hiding Occult References in Utmost Secrecy, and the page itself is a basic leaderboard with a list of names and two numbered columns reading “Hidden” and “Found”. In that list of names you’ll find A. Merchant, along with the names of various other CEOs and celebrities you might have read about elsewhere in Hypnospace. One of the other names on this list is F. Kazuma, the CEO of Monarch, creators of Squisherz. The funny conspiracy theory website from the beginning of the game that you most likely forgot about was, about this one specific thing, correct. There was an eye of Horus hidden on the snake from Squisherz. Not as any sort of Satanic plot, mind you, but only as part of some weird millionaire dickwaving contest. This dumb tiny revelation is not called out by the game at all and nothing comes of it, it’s just there for you to notice if you’ve been paying enough attention. Hypnospace Outlaw is LITTERED with stuff like this. Weird small interconnected things you wouldn’t expect to be interconnected. Little dumb things you wouldn’t expect to have any sort of payoff but somehow do. And it’s also just as chock full of big things. Having all the pieces fall into place at once to where I was able to access Hypnospace’s equivalent of the dark web was the best sequence in a game this year for me, even beating out the outlandish shit in DMC5. Getting and solving the final case was a rush. Hypnospace Outlaw is full of incredible moments big and small. It’s genuinely engaging and affecting, which is so much more than I was expecting from a game that was pitched to me as “Funny GeoCities Cop”. It almost has no right being so good. But it is. Hell, even the music rules! I didnt even get into that! I don't have enough time or space to get into that now! The music is so goddamn good! I know I started these lists because I had no interest in ranking games, but every year I sort of jokingly-but-not-jokingly say “haha this game sure would be my number one if I did that!” for at least one game. It’s time to fully lean into it. I don’t gotta rank ‘em all, but I can pick a favorite. Hypnospace Outlaw is my favorite game of 2019 with a goddamn bullet.

These games were also cool, I just had less to say about them:

Etrian Odyssey (Nintendo DS, 2007): Man, this series just started out good, huh? I dabbled with the first two games in college when I got a DS flashcart but never really dug in until EO4, and the first game is enjoyable in just about every way the modern ones are. Definitely more barebones and punishing though. Kero Blaster (PlayStation 4, 2017): This is a game by the creator of Cave Story that does not aim to be Cave Story, and that’s fine! A fun little shooter in its own right, though I do think the shooting in Cave Story felt a little better than it does here. Space Invaders Extreme (Nintendo DS, 2008): I played the shit out of this game in college thanks to that flashcart I mentioned before, but I never finished a playthrough in full until this year for some reason. Still way stylish and way fun! I need to get a copy of the second one... CROSSNIQ+ (Nintendo Switch, 2019): Incredibly chill puzzle game that can be as hard or easy as you want it to be. Almost uncanny in how well it emulates the style of late PS1/Dreamcast games. Super Mario Maker 2 (Nintendo Switch, 2019): Mario Maker 2 is kind of weird for me. It’s a solid improvement in a lot of aspects, but a clear regression in a lot of others. Also the online multiplayer is the second least amount of fun I’ve had with a video game this year (Secret of Mana swooped in and stole the number one slot near the end). Still, I had a lot of fun with it and I’ll probably end up going back to it eventually. Katamari Damacy Reroll (Nintendo Switch, 2018): The original Katamari Damacy is still every bit as fun and charming as it was upon its original release. This port is weirdly based on the Japanese version with the English text inserted, which means no English voice acting and Wanda Wanda only plays in the multiplayer mode. The Joycon sticks also aren’t the greatest for doing charge rolls. But none of these faults detract too much from the game. Bring on We Love Katamari Reroll! Earth Defense Force 5 (PlayStation 4, 2018): Sandlot somehow keeps finding ways to make each new EDF bigger and explodier, and EDF5 is the biggest and explodiest yet. I think the mission design in 4.1 was more solid overall, but 5 feels the best to play and has the most fun tools. Also the dialogue is the most absurd its ever been, and the final boss goes for it way harder than the series ever has. Pokémon Shield (Nintendo Switch, 2019): This game is honestly just okay, but leaving it off would again be neglecting a game I put a ton of time into this year. Pokémon Sword is fun in the way most Pokémon games usually are, and extremely half-baked in basically every other aspect. I’m still having a good time putting together teams and finding shinies and doing The Pokémon Thing regardless.

And that’s 2019 (and this decade) in the bag! I don’t know where anything’s going from here, but I’m going to ride it out as best as I can! I hope you do too! As always, thank you so much for getting to the bottom of all these words. I’m hoping to be in a more stable place mid-2020, and then I want to get back to all the things I haven’t had time to do. I want to get back to streaming, I want to write more dumb articles like The Best Babies, I want to do it all! I hope I will be able to do it all. Until then!

#article #year wrapup

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batsoulscrolls · 3 years

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PMD: Unbounded fates

Chapter 12

Kidnaped

[PEV] [NEXT]

Ruby can’t sleep with everyone talking, so she gets up from her cot and looks around trying to find Sevin, so that she can leave the guild without the hassle. But he is nowhere to be found, Ruby goes to where she last saw Sevin sleeping, he is not there either. She looks under the cot and his satchel is still there. Ruby left the mess hall and took a look around the guild hall. He was not there either. Where in the void is that Zoroark he can’t be that far.

Then she hears faint sounds of fighting coming from the stairwell, so she went to the stairwell to see who's fighting and probably join in the fight.Ruby walks up the stairs and fighting gets louder, then when she gets a clear view of the second floor. She sees Sevin gripping Decidueye's face with one hand, then a blast of red, black, and blue throws Ruby back into a wall, knocking her out.

./.

She hears a deep bell ring and then the sounds of chains being pulled.

Then she sees Mama Aggron much younger than the last time she saw her. Mama Aggron is holding a bundle of scrolls, Mama looks at her and smiles “Detka, let's show your mother what you make.”

Then Ruby pulls up a very poorly made Zorua with her stubby little arms. Its legs are a bit too long, the blue button eyes are not sewn on properly and red hair is yellow but she loves it.

Then the chains stop pulling as they reach the third floor.

Then Ruby runs off into a room and then pushes through a long curtain and into another room where Lucario is standing behind a large desk with paper scrolls stacked on it. Ruby ran towards her, dawning the hand-made Zorua. Lucario takes notice and picks up Ruby with a bit of difficulty “Goodness you're getting big and what is that?” Lucario ask with very caring voice

Then Mama Argon comes in “Guildmaster Shasha, I have finished with a translation guide for Russian to telica.” Mama Argon informs

Lucario sets down ruby “Thank you Eriks, lets just hope no pokemon have to use these translation guides ever. But it's good to have them just in case another human comes into this world.”

./.

Ruby wakes up with soreness engulfing her body.

Ruby takes a look around and the walls are all stone. But an opening with a fading light shines through. Ruby gets up with some difficulty and tries to leave but is stopped by an invisible forcefield. Which becomes a faint blue and hexes in a gridlock pattern appears when Ruby touches it.

Then a figure blocks the opening and throws an unconscious Raboot towards Ruby. She catches the Raboot, then the figure leaves. Ruby sets down the Raboot and walks up to the forcefield “HEY, WHAT THE VOID ARE YOU DOING! GET OVER HERE OR I’LL BREAK DOWN THIS BARRIER AND MAKE YOU WISH YOU WERE EVER BORN!” Ruby yells but she get no response only the echoes of her voice

Ruby then uses Dragon claw on the forcefield but nothing happens then she does it again and again, until she is physically tired and breathing hard Ruby sits down.

Ruby starts to play with the small rocks keeping her mind busy because she knows that they are not going to release them, unless for info on her or the Raboot or they are going to be used in an ransome.

The Raboot begins to wake up, rubbing her eyes then yawning. But then Raboot see Ruby and the stone wall that around her and she start panicking. Then she ran into the opening and hit the barrier. Ruby just sits “Don’t bother breaking the forcefield, I already tried.”

“Where are we? Are we kidnaped?” Raboot say still shaken up and not fully comprehending what is going on.

“In a cave probably and probably yes to being kidnaped. So just sit down and wait this out and talk.” Ruby says

Raboot takes a moment before sitting down across from Ruby. “So what's your name Gabite? I go first i’m Cindy the Raboot.” Cindy ask still shaken

“Name’s Ruby” Ruby replies

“So do you have any stories to tell?” Cindy ask

“If you have any stories to tell.” Ruby sarcastically replies

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #PMD: Unbouned Fates

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verdelet · 8 years

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen, M/M Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Dazai Osamu & Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: Fix-it fic, Shippy but it can be friendship if you close one eye, Oda survives, Dazai shows up in time, Oda Needs A Hug, Dazai Needs A Hug, Comfort No Hurt, Kunikida Doppo (Brief), Atsushi Nakajima (Brief)

Language:English Series: Part 1 of the Another World, Another Story series Published: 2016-11-10 Completed: 2016-12-26 Words: 5163 Chapters: 4/4

Summary: Oda knows he's going to die. That's fine though, because it hurts and he can't risk losing more.

It's perfect, like the end of a performance. Both actors down to the last gun, the last magazine, the last bullet. Harmonious, as though they'd rehearsed this a million times. Synchronised, face-to-face, muzzle-to-chest. Trigger fingers tensing- "Odasaku!"

Chapter 1: History Retold

"Odasaku!"

Gide jerks back, falling to a crouch. The wall cracks as a bullet pierces through the plaster. His arm snaps to the side-

"No," Oda thinks, Ability translating thought to future to vision. A split second shift, what-will-be becoming what-could-have-been. Only a second, only one second, and it's enough for Gide to swing his arm back to Oda-

Twin shots fire. Pain, red hot and burning, sears his flesh.

"... Absolutely perfect, Sakunosuke," Gide rasps, his smile bloody and serene.

The ever-shifting visions, the conversation that could have been, severs. The words Gide never said echo in the silence, loud in the stillness.

Gide falls to the side, blood spreading on his cloak. The world does an extremely unhelpful spin. Oda barely registers the shock of his knees hitting cracked marble. Too focused on the searing pain in his side, clawing at torn nerves and flesh, breath lodging in his throat-

"Odasaku, you absolute idiot," someone curses at him.

"Dazai," the name tears itself from his lips, and in the haze, he realises that he's alive. He's alive.

"You idiot," Dazai snaps back, as though Oda hadn't heard him the first time. "You nearly- It's gone right through- Why on earth are you smiling??"

Funny, he doesn't think he's ever heard Dazai sound so hassled before.

Dazai shrugs off his coat, folding it messily and pressing it against the bullet holes. The pain stabs into him with a vengeance and forces a grunt out of him, cutting right through the high. His hand fumbles, holding Dazai's coat in place. The other arm gets over the back of Dazai's shoulders, pulling his weight against his friend's side.

"Odabaka," Dazai hisses, hands fisting in Oda's shirt and squeezing hard around his wrist.

"Y-Yeah..." he manages, struggling to keep his feet under him as he's pulled up. Black flickers at the edges of his vision, the floor shifting under him even though he hasn't moved an inch.

"Don't you dare, Odasaku," Dazai growls, and the first step is almost too much to handle. He's had worse though, so he steels himself. Forcing his feet forwards against their will.

"Yessir," he grits out. At any other time, Dazai would tease him for the title. At any other time, Oda would crack a smile. As it is, it's all he can do to hold onto consciousness. He's bruised and more than a little broken, ribs aching in a way that suggests cracks. Bullet grazes sting worse as adrenaline gives way to fatigue.

Even with Dazai's help, the trek to the entrance is a slow process. A silver van pulls up at the entrance of the mansion, barely decent enough to not scream "mafia". The suits and conspicuous guns in the van most definitely scream "mafia". Oda lets them drag him in anyway. He's aware of Dazai right behind him, a familiar presence close to his shoulder.

Blood loss and shock drags him under even before he hits the leather seats.

"... -impressive, indeed. How many men were there?" Who...?

"Close to thirty, not including the leader. Most of them had been shot, but one of the rooms showed signs of an explosion, likely caused by grenades." Da... zai...?

"Ngh..." Whatever he'd been trying to say slurs into a single sound, his lips gummed together by sleep. It's hard to open his eyes, his head full of cotton and coiling haze. The ceiling swims into focus, white and painful. Hospital...?

"Odasaku." Dazai's voice calls his name, and Oda tilts his head to the side. Dazai's next to him, perched on the visitor's chair with crossed arms.

"Dazai..." His throat feels like absolute shit, and his voice sounds it, dry and rasping. Someone steps forwards, and he blinks a few times just to make sure he's actually awake. "Boss...?"

"Good morning, Oda-kun." Ougai smiles that 'you're not going to die yet' smile, which is a good sign he supposes. "How are you feeling?"

"... Not in pain," he answers after a moment. Which is true, and surprising for some reason.

"That would be the morphine," Dazai informs him, and Oda notes that yes, Dazai is still pissed at him. He wonders when that had become less terrifying and more worrying.

"You did well in subduing Mimic, Oda-kun," Ougai praises, but Oda is noting the way Dazai holds himself still. "It's somewhat unorthodox, but I believe that you could receive quite a promotion for your achievement."

"Thank you, Boss..." His head feels too fuzzy to fully process the words. His tongue feels stupidly heavy even as his brain cells work overtime to unscramble themselves. The morphine isn't helping in the least. "I... I'll take it into consideration."

"That's all I ask for, Oda-kun," Ougai murmured. Oda decides that mentioning Ougai had also asked him to investigate a certain triple agent is a possible bad idea, and keeps quiet instead. "I have to be off now, but do give me your response soon."

And just like that, the leader of Port Mafia sweeps out of his room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake. Oda stares at the door for a while, then looks up at the corner of the ceiling. He turns his attention to the bedside table, and what he can see of it without lifting his head. His guns are there, which means Mimic's hideout had been cleared completely while he'd been unconscious.

Dazai still hasn't moved. Oda finally looks at him, but all that's visible is his hair and the ever-present bandages around Dazai's head.

"I know I'm an idiot." If it had been possible, Oda would have sagged into the pillows he's laying on. Dazai doesn't so much as twitch, but Dazai's trained not to twitch anyway.

"If I had been even a second late, Oda," Dazai says quietly, and it's the proper use of his name that clues him in to how shaken his friend is.

"Yeah..." His side doesn't ache, but his arms feel like limp noodles- all efforts to move them go to waste. "Thank you, Dazai."

"Do you really think that that's enough?" Dazai still isn't looking at him. It's a terrible time for Oda to not be able to move, all in all.

"No. Feel free to cuff me to the bed so I don't anything else that's stupid." As far as jokes go, it's terrible and somewhere around half-sincere. Dazai huffs, a laugh and a snort rolled into one. A small victory, at the very least, maybe worth a third of a point.

"Why did you go alone?" The rawness in Dazai's voice takes Oda by surprise. He turns barely in his chair, gaze is locked somewhere around Oda's knees, fingers curled into the faintly rumpled material of his pants. Distantly, Oda wonders whether he'd gotten any sleep or eaten a decent meal in the last twenty four hours.

"I couldn't risk waiting." It'd be easier to look up at the ceiling, fluorescent lights bright and glaring. Let it never be said he takes the easy way though, because he's straining to catch a better glimpse of Dazai's face. "I couldn't risk Gide sending another invitation."

It's strange. He remembers all too clearly, the freezing anger in his veins when he'd killed Gide's men. Yet in that timeless world where their Abilities had met, anger had turned to understanding. Not forgiveness, never forgiveness, but the hate had lost its razor sharp edge.

"But alone...?" Dazai tips his head forwards, expression is hidden behind the fall of his hair. The question is clear though, behind the hurt that laces each word.

"I couldn't risk you." With the kids gone, he only has one person left in this world. Given a chance to change things, he knows he wouldn't have decided any differently. "Dazai, you're a genius, but I couldn't risk you. I can't when you're..."

Maybe it's the morphine, but he doesn't think he's ever felt so open before. Dazai draws in a sharp breath, head tilting in his direction. It's still not enough for Oda to see the face Dazai makes, but it's still enough. Dazai knows.

"... And what do you think you are to me, Odasaku?" There's an edge there, something close enough to a challenge that Oda takes his time assessing his response. His thoughts drift to the arms holding him up, the voice by his ear cursing at him and keeping him conscious at the same time. The same voice that had nearly broken down the middle of his name when they'd stood in front of the kids' pyre.

"I didn't know at first," he breathes at last. "I never wanted to assume..." It's a struggle to free his arm from the blanket. He must have been out for at least four days to be this weak... Still, he manages to leave his arm lying on top of the blanket, palm up in offering.

"You... really need to work on your self-worth, Odasaku," Dazai whispers back, but he's reaching out to hold Oda's hand. His palm is warm against Oda's, their fingers lacing together.

"Ahah... I might need some help with that, if you don't mind..." He hasn't been awake for half an hour, but he's already feeling tired again. Dazai squeezes his hand, an answer and an assurance, and Oda doesn't fight the smile that curls the corners of his lips.

He doesn't let go of Dazai's hand, but Dazai doesn't let go of his either.

Chapter 2: A Brighter Future

The days pass slowly. There's a routine, now that Oda is conscious. A nurse comes in every morning at eight to change the bandages with fresh ones. Dazai usually chooses to saunter in during this time, taking his usual seat by the bed and watching the nurse too closely for her comfort.

"We match now," he'd told Dazai once, gesturing at the white stretched around his middle and the square patch on his cheek. Dazai had insisted that Oda simply could not pull off the 'beautiful while injured' look, and neither of them comment on the obviously feigned disinterest of the nurse.

After that, he's given breakfast and he prods Dazai into eating half of it.

"I wouldn't make you if you actually ate proper meals," Oda points out, and Dazai eats the other half of Oda's pudding cup too in retaliation. Oda doesn't stop him.

Dazai leaves after that to sort out whatever dirty deeds the mafia has lined up for him, and Oda is left alone.

He has books at least, novels Dazai had brought over from Oda's place. He doesn't recall ever handing his keys to Dazai, but things like locked doors have never stopped Dazai before. There's a few from what he thinks is Dazai's own collection, and he finds a strange sort of amusement from No Longer Human. The cover of the novel is worn, the pages curled slightly at the corners, and he wonders how often Dazai had thumbed through these pages. He pictures slim fingers turning the pages, the quiet focus of dark brown as they take in printed words, and it's an image he finds he doesn't want to let go of.

Natsume Souseki's novels are there too, Oda recognises them as his own copies by the broken spines and the old coffee stain on one of the covers. He's certain that, if tested, he would be able to recite each volume, line by line. They're ingrained into his memory, countless hours trying to understand each character to picture some sort of appropriate resolution lending him a near-perfect knowledge of the script. Still, they welcome him like an old friend when he turns the pages, and he thinks of the old metal chair and the patter of rain against the window close to his ear. The hospital bed is too far away, and the weather forecast predicts only sunshine for the rest of the week, but it's peaceful nonetheless.

By the fourth day since he woke up, he reaches the last volume again. Once again, the novel ends too soon, and once again Oda traces the last line with a finger, as though the ink may whisper its secrets against his skin. It's different this time, he notes. Not the words, but his perception of them. An incomplete end. Of course, for those alive would only know what they experienced up to their present. For those still alive, there is no end. Not yet. Not for a while.

"'Humans live to save themselves. They know this when they die.'" His voice is the only one in the room, but he wonders if it will reach the old man who had taught a child hitman to live. "Thank you."

To write novels is to write about humans. To control how they live, and how they die.

He doesn't think he's ready to put pen to paper yet, but that doesn't mean there aren't other ways of writing.

He's awake when Dazai slips in the next morning. The nurse comes in a few minutes later, and they sit in silence until she leaves again, breakfast set out on table.

"Odasaku, what are you thinking?" Dazai asks once the door has clicked shut, and Oda doesn't even try to feign innocence. Instead, he shifts to the side so Dazai can sit next to him, perched on the edge of the bed.

"I want to leave." That's not all though, and he holds up a hand before Dazai can respond. "Working with the mafia... isn't something I can keep doing. Dazai, I want you to come with me."

Upon hindsight, Oda thinks he could have counted the number of times he's seen Dazai speechless even if both his hands had been cut off. Now though, there's no mistaking the way Dazai stares at him, mouth slightly open.

"You said it before..." Somehow, he doesn't feel worried at all. Maybe it's almost dying, maybe it's the time he's spent reflecting, but he feels ready. Certain in a way he hasn't before. "That you want to find a reason to live. That stepping close to the core of human nature might fill that hole in yourself."

"I did... but what-" Dazai stops when Oda cups the side of his head. Their eyes meet, and Oda refuses to look away.

"It's not here, Dazai," he says as gently as he knows how, and watches the way Dazai's eyes widen. "That hole you have in yourself can't be filled by anything in this world. Nothing will ever truly meet your expectations and if you stay here, you'll be trapped in the darkness forever."

"Odasaku... what..." Dazai trails off, thrown so far off-track it's obvious even to Oda. He stills, not even breathing for a worryingly long moment. Then his breath stutters out, hand coming up to rest over Oda's almost subconsciously, and Oda is reminded of how painfully lost Dazai likes to pretend he isn't. "How do you... know that...?"

"I'm your friend, aren't I?" He smiles. It feels so strange, the knowledge that he can consider himself as such. A gift he can only repay by proving himself over and over. It's a payment he doesn't think he'll ever mind. "Of course I know."

For the first time, Dazai looks away. Oda can read the doubt there, a child stumbling in the dark for so long that any light would burn him. But even the burns would be a mark of hope, he thinks. Once the shadows have fallen apart to let the child create his own light.

"You want me to come with you?" Dazai is quiet, more uncertain that Oda's ever heard before.

"Saving or killing people... You don't feel a thing either way." Dazai's looking at him as though seeing him for the first time, and Oda hurts thinking about how lonely his partner has been. I'm sorry I've kept quiet for so long. "So choose the right path with me. You may not care about justice or evil... but becoming a better person is such a wonderful thing, Dazai."

"Odasaku.... You weren't kidding when you said you were going to be a writer." Dazai smiles, and that's all the answer Oda needs.

"We can write our own stories together," he murmurs, and means it. Their stories, their lives, they'll write it down into time itself so that no one will ever forget they were here.

Chapter 3: Looking Forwards

"You owe me one," Dazai tells him, eye glinting in a way Oda knows better than to trust. It's not like he can deny it, though it doesn't mean he won't try.

"Why can't you just wash it?" It gets him exactly the response he wants. Dazai's expression scrunches up, looking as though Oda had just insulted the creator of linen bandages.

"Odasaku, that's gross," Dazai says flatly. There's no bite though, no sign that it's too soon to joke about almost getting killed, and Oda is grateful. Some sixth sense whispers of rough nights ahead of them, but he can handle those so long as he has this.

"It's cost-efficient," he counters, even as Dazai makes a show of not listening to him and instead goes traipsing off into the shop. Oda revels in the warmth unfurling in his chest, studying the sleek coats and leather satchels draped over mannequins in the display window before following suit.

Dazai's got his hands stuffed into the pockets of a sandy brown trenchcoat half an hour later, the coattail swishing heavily as he spins around on a heel to grin at Oda. The crystal on his bolo tie glints, blue like the sky above them and just as bright.

"At least wear it properly..." It's money well-spent, so he can't begin to sound as petulant as he wants. It's amazing to watch, really. With the decision to leave, both of them had abandoned their homes. Packing only what they needed into Oda's car and withdrawing as much cash as they could without drawing attention. They have about a week before the mafia notices. It's just enough time to get most of their funds out, and hopefully find a place they can lay low in.

Even with the shopping list of things they have to do, Dazai's readying himself for whatever task he's lining up, pulling on a persona that's familiar as much as it isn't. It's the lackadaisical behaviour Oda's used to seeing, taken to another level. It's a persona that hides the cold genius, but Oda is well-aware that Dazai isn't suppressing it at all. Just keeping it back so that others underestimate the abilities of an eighteen-year-old mafia executive.

There's a lightness in his steps Oda doesn't think is entirely false though, and that's what he marvels at as they walk side by side.

"There's a man we can meet tonight," Dazai informs him, fiddling with the cuffs of the trenchcoat. "He'll get us a place to work at."

"Is it a surprise?" They'd agreed that Dazai would pick their jobs. In all honesty, Oda would have been happy with almost anything honest, but well... Following Dazai had always been interesting and he knows that whatever Dazai signs them up for will be no different.

"Of course~" Dazai rubs his palms together, looking like a child about to raid a candy store. Actually, now that Oda thinks about it, Dazai looks like he's about to raid a pharmacy. "We have a few hours until then, so there's time to perfect our new looks."

"... Do I have to?" As one, they look at Oda's outfit. The only difference is that he's lacking his coat, and that's only because it's too torn and bullet-ridden to be used ever again. It's a loss he truly feels should be mourned.

"True, Odasaku already does look like a good law-abiding citizen..." Dazai contemplates aloud, then bops a fist into his palm. "How about a black coat to make you look like a thug?"

Oda considers that for a second, then shrugs. "As long as my holster harness fits, I won't complain."

"Oh? And how do you know you'll need your guns?" Dazai sidles close, the motion accompanied with a ridiculous eyebrow waggle, but it quickly melts into a laugh with the look Oda levels on him.

"I know you," Oda points out, and is startled by the pleasant surprise that lights up his partner's face.

"You do," Dazai agrees, an unfamiliar contentment in his voice. Oda steps closer without thinking, their shoulders bumping. There's no response to that, but Oda doesn't think it's necessary anyway.

They find another trenchcoat in a secondhand shop, scuffed at the elbows and stained with coffee at the hem. Dazai laments about the lack of 'newness' in the 'new' image for half a minute, then goes alarmingly quiet when Oda slips the coat on and adjusts the lapels. It's a little on the loose side, but they can afford to get it tailored so he isn't too concerned. He's more worried about the way Dazai is eyeing him, dark eyes flicking from his face to his chest region a few times before finally settling on the former.

"You're getting this one," Dazai informs him, and- Oh. Oda fights the tug at the corner of his mouth, turning his attention to the trenchcoat itself and sliding his hand inside to gauge the amount of leeway he has. Even with the adjustments, there would still be space for his guns, he thinks, so long as he doesn't fasten it closed. The material is durable too, even if he estimates its age to be somewhere between two and five years. Thick enough to provide some level of insulation but not so much that it would be absolute hell during the (relatively) cooler parts of summer.

Assessment complete, he lifts his gaze to find Dazai still staring, and can't help but tilt his head to the side slightly. "The quality is fine, but I'll need to have it adjusted slightly. Do you want to keep looking, or...?"

They leave the shop five minutes later, Oda's secondhand trenchcoat draped over one arm and Dazai's elbow hooked around the other.

The man they're meeting is Chief Taneda Santouka. Oda only finds this out in the bathroom, as he helps Dazai unwind the bandage that encircles the younger man's head, and has to blink a few times to process the words. Dazai misses the gesture because Oda's standing behind him, and carries on as though he hadn't somehow made contact with the acting commander of the Special Abilities Division.

"He doesn't know that we know where he'll be," Dazai points out, even though Oda hadn't said a word. Not for the first time, Oda wonders if mind-reading is Dazai's true Ability.

"His schedule must not have been easy to find out," Oda muses, because he hadn't seen Dazai using the phone recently (even if no one would actually dare to bug the phone of Port Mafia's Demon Prodigy) and he can't imagine how else Dazai would have found this out when neither of them have a laptop (that they could afford to throw away should it be tracked, anyway).

"Oh, you know me, Odasaku. I have my ways." Dazai waves a hand, brushing the matter off like he does the locks of hair that fall over his face when Oda loosens the bandage and frees them. There's a moment where constant pressure has made impressions on Dazai's hair, leaving a good inch and a half flat against his scalp, and the effect is just so odd to see that Oda has to run fingers through his hair a few times to at the very least mask it, grinning helplessly the whole time.

Then Dazai turns around, and... Oh. Oda can feel the grin melt right off his face, everything coming to a stop as he takes in the sight of Dazai blinking slowly, likely adjusting to having a wider field of vision. He's staring and he knows it, and so does Dazai when those dark eyes focus on him, Dazai's body turning on the lowered toilet cover to make it easier. Oda considers looking away or saying something to detract from his own rapt attention, but dismisses the thought just as quickly. Instead, he reaches up to curl fingers under Dazai's chin, tilting Dazai's face up before sliding his hand along the other's jaw so he can brush a thumb over just under the newly-revealed eye.

"Odasaku?" Dazai's smiling, that little smile Oda's only ever seen in private - that teasing smirk that's just that. Teasing, with no threat, no freezing indifference, and no mockery.

"You look good," Oda explains, and Dazai's eyes flutter shut as his fingers carefully work to peel off the square patch still taped over Dazai's cheek with the help of an alcohol swab.

"It only seems right," Dazai murmurs while Oda works. "You're the one who opened my eyes, after all." And that... Oda doesn't really know what Dazai means by that, aside from the possibility of a pun. But there's a smile on Dazai's face, the closest thing to contentment that he's ever seen. The permission he'd been given to not only see past the physical guards Dazai had put up, but to actually have a hand in taking those guards down is not a privilege lost on him, though how he'd earned it is certainly up for debate.

He doesn't ask though, just spends a little longer than is strictly necessary stroking the silky smooth skin of Dazai's cheeks and smiling as Dazai leans into the touch. Later, Dazai will catch onto Oda's newest accessory, the familiar band of white wrapped a few times around his wrist and pinned in place, and Oda will be accused of stealing Dazai's look. Oda will shrug, and Dazai's expression when Oda tells him that it's simply a reminder will be just like the one Dazai had given him when Oda had offered a way out. And just like that... maybe Dazai will never find a way to be free of the loneliness, but this closeness Oda has earned... It's a start, at any rate.

Chapter 4: Four Years Later

Kunikida Doppo is a man worthy of respect. He has a sharp mind, honed by years of working for the agency and solving cases most would flounder in. He has discipline, the kind that would suffocate any other person but only serves to make him thrive. He's genuine in ways that are both obvious and not, the way he picks up snacks for the rest of the agency some days before arriving, and the way he is always, always looking out for his colleagues, regardless of whether or not they need looking out for.

For all that the agency teases him, Kunikida Doppo is very much the spine, holding them up and keeping them together.

Still, it's been four long years, and Oda firmly believes Kunikida should have expected something like this by now.

"I'm going to kill him," the agent in question seethes, fingers twitching like talons. Oda puts a hand on his shoulder, both to placate the man and to stop him from jumping into the river himself.

"Good luck," Oda tells him, and means it. It's not like Kunikida would ever truly try anyway. For all that he's literally knocked Dazai around, Oda's caught him tending to Dazai miscellaneous "I live a dangerous life, Kunikida-kun~" injuries more than once.

They find Dazai about five minutes later, and even Oda is surprised by that. Not because of how quickly they'd found him, but because they'd actually found him instead Dazai finding them and possibly getting river water on them in the process.

(It doesn't compare with the smell of blood and burning metal and sewage, but that doesn't mean Oda is willing to smell like whatever Yokohama throws into its water system.)

"Dazai!" Kunikida shouts, and Oda only listens with half an ear, filtering out everything he's heard a dozen times before (which is most of it, honestly). There's a boy next to his partner, with silver-white hair and drab clothes that hang off his thin frame. From what Oda gathers in the loud exchange between his co-workers, the boy had 'saved' Dazai from drowning. Oda highly doubts drowning of all things would have managed to even injure the brunette, but it's the thought that counts.

Dazai's prodding Kunikida into repaying the boy for saving him, and that's what catches Oda's attention. A quick glance to the side to mark a route, and Oda jogs across the connecting road to meet Dazai while his partner finalises the 'deal' with Kunikida by blatantly ignoring the state of the blonde's wallet.

"My name is Osamu Dazai," his partner is saying when Oda catches up, and the breeze that swirls past makes the pose Dazai's striking far more dramatic than it needs to be.

"You're also going to get sick," Oda points out, and can feel his own mouth hitching up at the corner at the grin Dazai offers him. The boy standing a few feet away just about jumps a mile at Oda's arrival, but he ignores that for the moment. Instead, he shrugs off his coat and tugs at Dazai until the man sheds the sodden trenchcoat and exchanges it for Oda's.

"And this is Odasaku, Atsushi-kun," Dazai introduces, slipping his arms through the sleeves of Oda's coat. "He looks scary but he only bites if you ask~"

"Oda Sakunosuke," Oda greets. "Dazai bites even if you tell him not to, so he's not one to talk."

The kid, Atsushi, looks ready to jump back into the river. He does accept the hand Oda offers though, his grip too-loose and too stiff, and Oda suspects no one's made the gesture to him before. Still, Dazai's approved of him for a reason, so Oda's curious to learn why.

"Ah- Kunikida-kun~ You're here!" Dazai calls, looking over Oda's shoulder, and Oda holds back a sigh because Kunikida is most definitely still annoyed. He can tell that much without looking because Atsushi goes pale, and Oda can't help but inch a little closer just in case Atsushi trips back into the river.

All in all, it's a peaceful walk to the nearest restaurant that serves tea on rice. The sky's turned orange-red, flocks of birds turned into moving smudges of black overhead. Dazai prods at Kunikida relentlessly and Kunikida hisses like a disgruntled kitten, but the only action he takes is the handkerchief he uses to scrub Dazai's wet hair.

Oda's content to fall behind, side-by-side with Atsushi, though neither of them speak. Atsushi's fidgeting like he has something to say though, so Oda decides to wait. He won't hold back anymore, not when he has the choice to reach out, but there's a time and place for that, and now and here is not it. Not yet.

#odazai #bungou stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #dazai #oda #odasaku #verdy writes #another world another story #i just realized i never posted this holy shit #oda sakunosuke

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barpurplewrites · 6 years

Text

...and the world moves on - Chapter thirteen

@anonymousnerdgirl

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warning for chapter thirteen: fluff.

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Irma adjusted her hat and smiled as she watched Belle put on her boots. She was so excited for today that she’d levitated the cups at breakfast. The coffee stains on the table cloth were worth they wide smile on her face.

“Do you have everything?”

Belle patted her pockets just as Nosty drifted down the stairs with a book in his hand.

“Looking for this?”

Belle took the copy of Little Red Riding Hood from him; “Thanks Nosty,” – she tucked it into one of her many pockets and smiled at Irma, - “Okay I’m ready.”

Nosty drifted in front of her; “Now remember what I said. Anyone gives you or Ruby hassle you let me know. I’ll set ‘em right.”

“You won’t be lonely one your own today, will you?”

He gave her a toothy grin; “Nae way lassie, I’ve got a little job to do, that’ll keep me oot of trouble.”

Irma had a good idea what Nosty’s ‘little job was, but she’d rather be able to deny all knowledge in case things got out of hand. She hooked Belle’s hand onto her arm and Apperited them to Middlesbrough.

They appeared in the church hall causing Father MacAvoy to jump slightly. His reaction wasn’t as bad as the first time Irma had Apperited in front of him, the poor man had fallen on his backside in shock that time. It had taken several nips from his hip flask for him to calm down. She couldn’t help but glance at his breast pocket, the outline of his flask was still there, but it no longer contained cheap whiskey. Joseph had developed a taste for pumpkin juice and she was more than happy to keep him supplied with the drink. He’d sworn off alcohol since he became responsible for young Graham.

“Good morning Irma, you’re the first to arrive, and this must be Belle?”

Belle shook his offered hand and looked around. The church hall was decorated in the same type chipped magnolia paint that had covered the walls of Belle’s school. On one wall was a large fireplace that looked out of place in the room. A flash of green fire flared inside it, rapidly followed by a blur of red.

“Ruby!”

Ruby jumped out of the fireplace and brushed as smudge of ash from her sleeve.

“Hey Belles!”

The two girls hugged as Father MacAvoy hurried over to the fireplace and helped Ruby’s Granny out.

“Good morning Mrs Lucas, erm, would you be able to help me with the tea urn? It’s only pouring green tea with milk for some reason.”

Martha Lucas flicked ash from her robes and nodded curtly; “Aha, yes it can be a bit touchy first thing in the morning, let’s have a look.”

She nodded hello to Irma and bustled off to the reluctant tea urn with Father MacAvoy on her heels.

Irma glanced around and found Graham stood by the tea urn pulling a face at the concoction it had poured. He waved at Ruby and then was distracted by the arrival of Arthur Weasley and his two eldest boys. More people were Apperiting in, now was the perfect time to introduce Belle to the others who would be part of her year at Hogwarts.

Irma strolled over to where Belle and Ruby were already chatting with Graham and the Weasley boys.

“Good morning Arthur. What’s Charlie got there?”

“Moring Irma, it’s salamander. He wouldn’t come today unless he could bring it with him.”

A loud crack echoed around the hall; “Ah the Knight bus is here.”

Within moments more people were streaming into the hall, most of the adults making their way to the tea urn that Granny now had in working order. Irma watched as Dora Tonks dragged a shy boy along behind her. Arthur had been watching the new arrivals too.

“Is that the Gold boy?”

“Yes, I believe it is. You heard about that I take it?”

Arthur cleaned his glasses slowly on a handkerchief; “Yes, bad business, looks like Dora is bringing him out of his shell a bit.”

Rumple trailed behind Dora, she’d opted for long bright blue hair today and it kept flapping across his face as she pulled him along. She skidded to a stop; he bumped into her shoulder and had to blow some of her hair out of his face. Once the blue was clear from his eyes he saw two shocks of bright ginger hair bent over a tough looking metal crate.

“Bill, Charlie, this is Rumple Gold, Rumple, Bill and Charlie Weasley. Bill will be in your year at Hogwarts.”

The boys looked up and grinned at him. Rumple managed to stammer out a hello.

“Gold? Your parents were Death Eaters, right?”

Rumple’s throat went dry. This had been a terrible idea, of course everyone was going to know about his parents, they had been all over the Daily Prophet for the past week.

Charlie punched him lightly on the shoulder; “Hey don’t worry about it. Not like you get to pick your family is it?”

Bill chuckled; “Yeah, if you could we would have picked Great Aunt Muriel.”

Rumple laughed a bit, maybe this would be alright after all.

“Right, this is Graham, he lives here with Father MacAvoy, he’ll be in Charlie’s year.”

The quiet dark-haired boy nodded at him as Dora turned to the others in the little group.

“This is Ruby. She’ll be in your year too, that’s her Granny over by the tea urn.”

Rumple couldn’t tell which Ruby’s Granny was because of the crowd around the tea urn. Ruby brushed some of Dora’s wild blue hair behind her ear.

“Wotcha Dora, loving the locks today.”

Dora bobbed a silly curtsey and Ruby turned to look Rumple up and down; “So Rumple, guessing you got stuck with a stupidly long wizarding name as well hey?”

He nodded, “Yeah, Rumplestiltskin.”

Ruby’s eyes went wide, and she whistled; “Wow and I thought Rubernocta was bad.”

Graham snorted; “Not as bad as Nymphadora.”

He grunted and doubled over as Dora’s elbow connected with his ribs. Rumple grinned, he’d learnt not to call Dora by her full name very quickly, that elbow of hers was very pointy.

Behind Ruby was a small girl with wavy brown hair and very blue eyes. Ruby pulled her forward into the circle and said; “This is Belle French. She lives with Madam Pince now.”

From the grateful look that Belle shot Ruby Rumple figured there was more to her story than her friend was letting on.

“I’ll be starting Hogwarts in September too.”

“Anyone else coming today?”

“Yeah, Myron and Kirley will be along later. Mary Margaret had the flu, and the Nolan twins are grounded. Flying their broomsticks in front of Muggles, idiot show-offs.”

Rumple was half-listening to the others, but most of his attention was on the box on the table in front of Charlie. He cocked his head and listened to the grumbling coming from inside.

“What’s in the box Charlie?”

“A salamander, he’s a bit peaky today thought, not sure why.”

“He says the coal you’ve been feeding him doesn’t agree with him.”

Six pairs of eyes turned on him and Rumple wanted to disappear, but Dora had grabbed his hand.

“You can talk to him?”

The salamander poked it’s head out of the crate and blinked at Rumple.

“Please tell them about the coal. I can smell the good stuff they’ve got here. Ask if I can have some of that, please?”

Rumple looked around at everyone, nobody looked disgusted with his talent, in fact they looked impressed. Very slowly he said; “He’d like some of the coal from here please. He says it smells good.”

“Wow, that’s awesome Rumple!”

“So cool.”

“Go on Rumple ask him something else.”

Their excitement had come to the attention of the adults who were looking over to see what the fuss was about. Rumple really wanted to vanish, but Dora was hanging on to his hand while she had a whispered conversation with Belle. Belle slipped around behind him and took hold of his other hand, just as Dora let go and hurried off to her father.

“Dora didn’t want you disappearing.”

He couldn’t bring himself to return her warm smile or to shake her hand off so he could vanish. Mr Weasley, Madam Pince and Ted wandered over to them.

“What’s going on here then?”

Charlie was bouncing on his toes; “Dad, Rumple can talk with lizards. My salamander doesn’t like the coal we’ve been feeding him.”

Mr Weasley blinked a few times; “Doesn’t like the coal we’ve been feeding him, hey?”

Mr Weasley was smiling at him, but Rumple was shaking now; “I’m sorry. I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to. Please don’t hurt him!”

Charlie defensively hugged the crate where the salamander was curled up. Bill, Ruby and Graham stepped in front of him as if there was a chance of the adults moving to hurt the lizard. Dora and Belle were by Rumple’s sides, all glaring at the adults.

It was Ted Tonks who calmly said; “No one is going to hurt the salamander Rumple. That’s another cool talent you’ve got there, son.”

“It’s, it’s not a bad thing?”

Irma had an inkling as to the source of Rumple’s fears. Parseltongue was generally viewed as the mark of a dark wizard, but he wasn’t a Parselmouth. She smiled at Rumple and said; “There is nothing wrong with your skill at all. I correspond with several witches and wizards who a Dragonspeakers, just like yourself.”

Belle tapped him on his arm; “See there’s a name for it and everything. Do you think you can teach us some?”

The children gathered around Rumple asking for a lesson. He grinned and said; “We need to get him some coal first.”

Father MacAvoy was happy to provide some coal and organize a scuttle full for the Weasley’s to take home with them. Graham rolled his eyes as MacAvoy negotiated for Mrs Weasley to knit a jumper for him.

“Always worrying about me being cold,” – he grinned at the salamander, - “not going to be a problem today is it?”

Munching on it’s new coal the salamander was happily glowing giving off a pleasant heat. Although everyone was looking at the salamander Rumple was the centre of attention as he translated and tried to teach the other some simple words. It wasn’t easy, because the words just made sense in his head. It was Belle who came up with the idea of asking the lizard to say something simple like ‘hello’ and for Rumple to repeat it so the others could hear it and try themselves.

By lunchtime Rumple was feeling a bit overwhelmed, he wished he could curl up and have a nap like the salamander had. Everyone was talking about Quidditch as they ate. When Ruby and Bill had gotten into a heated debate about the changes of the Holyhead Harpies winning the league, Rumple had ambled away to a quiet corner to eat his pumpkin patsy.

He was looking out of the window at the bare garden behind the church hall when Belle joined him.

“How you doing? It’s just you looked a bit overwhelmed.”

“I’m not used to so many people.”

She perched on the windowsill next to him.

“Dora said that you thought you were a Squib.”

Rumple looked down at his fingers as the familiar twisting emotions that came with thinking about his parents rose up inside him. Dromada had suggest that he take a deep breath and if he didn’t want to talk about them then he could say so. Belle was nice and kind. Looking at her he decided he could talk about it a bit.

“Mother and Father always said I was because I didn’t do anything magical enough for them. They were very disappointed in me.”

Belle gave a wry laugh; “My Papa would have been over the moon if I had no magic. Him and Mama were both Squibs, he hates magic and now I’m a witch he won’t talk to me.”

There was more to her story than that, he knew there was, but she wasn’t pushing him for the grim details of his own, so he accepted her words as they were.

“Is Madam Pince part of their families, is that why you’re living with her now?”

Belle shrugged; “No. I’d don’t know how I’d find who their parents were. Papa never talked about his family. Mama had a picture, a wizard one that moved, but I had to leave it at home when I moved to Irma’s house.”

He looked out of the window as he considered her words. A figure in blue had just apperited into the garden.

“Hey, I bet she could help you.”

Before he could explain further, Granny Lucas swore; “What is she doing here?”

Ruby ran over to the widow and growled. Belle couldn’t see that face of the woman that had provoked this reaction because her hood was still drawn up.

“Who is she?”

“Madam Bleu. Ministry busybody who has to check on me to make sure I’m not nibbling the rest of you. Can’t have loads of werewolves starting Hogwarts next September.”

Father MacAvoy had hurried out to great Madam Bleu while Irma and Ted tried to calm Granny down. Apparently, this was the third ‘surprise’ visit Madam Bleu had made in the last month and Granny was getting sick of her.

Rumple was confused, that wasn’t why Madam Bleu had visited his parents earlier in the year. He wasn’t a werewolf, maybe she looked after lots of different things at the Ministry.

Mr Weasley had started a game of exploding snap, which to be fair was a good distraction for the kids until Madam Bleu stepped inside and lowered her hood.

Belle gasped and blurted out; “But you’re in my Mama’s picture! You’re her Great-Aunt Fay!”

#rcij #rumbelle christmas in july #rumbelle #anyelle #Harry Potter universe

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