#where its hard to designate fault and who lost more and wounds in clear cut lines

[grapecaseschoices]

If you could reccomend one if game off to someone what would it be. 👀

ONLY ONE?

okay ima need to flip a coin or something -- do a list randmizer ... spin around three times and spin the tail on the IF

@dropout-if

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Anrâd...  Buzrâ

Part 10 of ‘A Deep Misunderstanding’.  Who know how many more parts are going to follow…  Link to Series Masterlist.

Thorin falls for a Dwarrowdame raised by Elves, and tries to make know his feelings, but accidentally offends her, which leads to another and another misunderstanding between the two.

Based off of @immawriteyouthings​ ‘Falling Stars’

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Estel

Word Count:  1,902

Warning(s):  Angst

Translation(s): Anrâd...  Buzrâ:  I Care... Deeply

Sindarin:  Pinig-Little one

Burushkruka igbulul e:  I apologize (lit. It pains me greatly)

Azafr sagshari sabhari:  As you teach, you learn

~~~

I fled down to the banks of the river that wound itself through the forest, desperately trying to hold back the salty tears attempting to trail down my face.  The sun glinted brightly off its happily dancing waves; a happiness that I couldn't share.

Falling to my knees on the sandy shoreline, I took deep shuddering breaths as I hid my face in my hands, cursing the day I had decided to join this Company.

Had I known what fate awaited me, I wouldn't have gone along with the wizard.  Not if I only got my heart broken time and time again.

But would you have?  My heart whispered softly, would you really have thrown away the chance to gaze upon the Dwarrow you would love with my entirety?  Would you have been willing to throw that away just to save me from being broken?

"No," I whispered hoarsely. "No, I wouldn't have."  

The gentle murmurs of my heart brought back a memory of when I had innocently asked my foster mother if she would have rather not met her husband; if only to save herself from the pain she felt.  A sad smile had woven its way across her delicate features and she shook her head slowly.

"No, Estel.  Never.  I wouldn't trade those moments with my husband for anything in the world.  As the Wise Ones say; it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, pinig.  Never be afraid to love because you might lose it."  She had told me, and her words struck a deep chord within me.

Tears streamed more readily down my face, and I finally let everything that had built up for so long inside me break free.  Deep sobs shook my body, and I wrapped my arms around myself, seeking a source of comfort.

"Miss Estel?  Are you alright?"  A rumbling voice broke through my sobs, and I glanced up to the haze of my tears to see Thorin standing above me, looking down at me with concerned sapphire orbs.

Well, that was a change.  Since when did he care about me?

As he took in my tear-stained face and heard my heavy sobs, he hurried to kneel beside me, peering closer at my face.  "What did Dwalin say to you?  Why are you crying?"  He asked gruffly, but I shook my head, wiping at my cheeks and sniffing.

"It's nothing, Master Thorin.  I just need to be by myself for awhile."  I muttered, but Thorin made no move to leave me.  Instead, he just made himself comfortable, staring out across the river in silence.

His lack of words left me time to think more about what I needed to do.  Perhaps it was time to let him know that I would leaving his company as soon as we reached a town.  Maybe that would bring a smile to his gruff features.  

But there was still another question I needed an answer to.  Turning towards Thorin, I was surprised to already find him looking at me.  "Master Thorin?  What does 'amrâlimê' mean?  Can you tell me?"  I asked softly, watching as sapphire blue eyes widened slightly.

Thorin's chest rose and fell as he took in a deep breath, still maintaining eye contact with me.  Then he let out a long sigh and turned his gaze back towards the river.  "It means 'my love; love of mine'.  It was just a slip of the tongue."  He murmured, and I swallowed hard, battling against the butterflies rising within me.

No, it's too good to be true.  Argued my mind, but my heart pleaded that it was true; that everything was pointing towards it.

In the end, my mind won and I nodded solemnly, avoiding looking at the silent Dwarrow beside me.  "Of course it's just a slip of the tongue; a lie.  It always is."  I murmured, unable to help the hurt that coated my words.  "Just like everything else everyone tells me."  

"What do you mean?"  Thorin sounded confused, and I shot a hard glance over at him.  

"What do I mean?  I mean all the suggestive words and looks everyone gives me and you.  They tell me that you love me and care so deeply for me, but I don't see it."  I swallowed back a sob, "Eru, I don't see it.  I've looked so hard, and I can't find anything.  And as I told Dwalin; I cannot reciprocate feelings that don't exist."  

I trembled as emotion overwhelmed me, blinking rapidly against the tears pricking the backs of my eyes.  Thorin only watched this with wide eyes, his mouth parting slightly as he took in my words.  

"Who said I didn't share your feelings?"  He said quietly, and I whirled to look at him, unsure if I was actually hearing this or if I was hallucinating.

"I thought that when I rejected your offer to court me, you put aside your feelings," I murmured, "it sure never seemed like you liked me in any way...  Your words made that quite clear."

"And for that, burushkruka igbulul e...  My words never carried any weight, I swear it."  He said, and I shot him an incredulous look.

"Oh really?  What about when you said that I was 'not going to be more of a burden that I already was'?  How does that not carry any weight?"  I asked, and Thorin looked at me with a raised eyebrow.  

"You've never been a burden to me, Estel.  Only the greatest gift Mahal could ever give."  He said quietly, his steel blue eyes gloriously riveting as they bored into mine, and I fought against the blush attempting to stain my cheeks at his obviously heartfelt words.  

"Oh."

He continued onwards, moving on.  "I also apologize for how I assumed you would know the Dwarvish courting ritual.  At the time I didn't have any knowledge of your upbringing--"

I interrupted him hesitantly, "you don't care that I was raised by Elves?"  I asked, watching his expression closely.  "That I might act more like an Elf than a Dwarf, or speak their language?"

Thorin shook his head, the hesitant beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  Well, perhaps I didn't have to leave to coax a smile from him.  "No, Amrâlimê...  I will admit that your heritage took me by surprise, but I cannot hold the past against you.  The past is the past; only the future is important."  He said, and I tilted my head slightly, wondering if this was the same Dwarf I had talked to only an hour or so ago.

But Thorin wasn't finished speaking, and the deep tones of his voice brought me back to the present.  "Had I known your lack of knowledge about Dwarvish customs, I never would have presented you with that sword...  I would have tried to make it known in a different way, Estel, and avoided all this misunderstanding."  He said and I smiled, ducking my head.

"You are too kind, Mas--Thorin.  But it is also a bit of my fault as well...  I thought you were offering me the sword as a blunt way of telling me I was a horrible fighter."  I said sheepishly, and Thorin ran a hand through his dark locks, letting out a deep breath.

"Mahal, we really got off on the wrong foot..."  He groaned, "I never would have meant it in that way, Estel.  Truly, I believe you are an excellent fighter that even I could learn something from."  He said; pink beginning to tinge his cheeks.

I smiled, "How humble of you.  Azafr sagshari sabhari, am I right?"  I teased, and Thorin nodded, a soft laugh emerging from his lips and colliding beautifully with the air.  In all honesty, it was the most melodic, beautiful sound I'd ever heard beside the gentle nickers of a mare to her newborn foal.

"Yes, Estel, you are quite right."  He said, "although I had never anticipated saying that about Elven things."

He sobered and hesitantly reached out a large hand to gently engulf mine within its warm and comforting grasp.  "Now perhaps we can try this again?  On the right foot this time?"  He asked softly, reaching down to tug a familiar dagger out of a sheath on his side.

I gasped in astonishment, withdrawing my hand from his to delicately take the dagger from his other hand and trace the Elven designs on the hilt.  "You kept it..."  I murmured, looking up into his twinkling eyes with wonder.  

A smile tugged at his bearded cheeks, and he nodded gently.  "Of course.  It was a gift from you, as well as a fine blade."  He said, "and it is very special to you, is it not?"  He asked, and I nodded.

"Very.  It was a present from my Naneth--my mother--before I left Lothlorien with Gandalf to head to the Shire.  I treasure it and its mate very much."  I whispered, hoping that my eyes were doing a good enough job of thanking him as I wasn't sure if I could manage it aloud.  

Sheathing it in my belt beside its twin, I encountered a sudden problem.  I didn't own another blade to give to Thorin.

Looking up suddenly, I bit my bottom lip.  "I don't have another blade to--"

Thorin cut me off, raising a hand.  "It is alright, Estel.  I already know where your feelings lie, and you did give me that blade to begin the courtship process."  He said, but I still couldn't lay aside the problem.

"Sure, but you don't have a weapon from me, while I have one from you.  Doesn't that violate something?"  I asked, and Thorin shook his head, chuckling slightly as he gazed at me with soft blue eyes.

"I am a King, Estel.  My word is law.  No one will question our courtship since we are in an unusual situation."  He said, laying his hand on my arm comfortingly.  "Do not worry yourself over it, Amrâlimê."  

Gently, his hand gripped my arm and pulled me closer to him until I was suddenly enveloped in his strong arms; tucked under his bearded chin.  "I will care for you, Amrâlimê, if you will let me."  He murmured, and I relaxed against his broad chest, fisting the soft fur of his coat as I snuggled myself into the warmth of his body.

"Damn, had I known you were this warm and furry..."  I groaned, burying my face into his shoulder and breathing in the gamey smell of the fur mixed with the pine and sweat that was Thorin.  "Course you can care for me.  I just want to wear this coat."  I mumbled, and Thorin's chest vibrated as he laughed.

Well, I could get used to this.  Things were a lot more fun when he laughed.

"As you wish, my love."  He said, and I could hear the smile in his voice as his grip around me tightened slightly.  

I smiled to myself, content to be held tight in a pair of arms that I now knew would never let me fall.  Before, I had believed they would be the ones to shove me off a cliff, but now I knew differently.

They would hold me tight through the darkest of times, keep me steady whenever I felt like I might fall; and most importantly--never let me go.

[venusofthehardsells]

Dreamgirl [part 6]

ReaderxBucky Barnes

[part 5]

Summary: Bucky tries to adjust to his new life in the Avengers compound. One day he meets a girl who might be everything he needs in order to move on, but is his past really that far away? Warnings: blood/violence-ish, therapy sessions, talk of mental instability, self-hate galore, Bucky is very distressed, what is plot (general series warnings include noncon and dark themes) A/N: Part 6 is here in record time and no one is more surprised than me. The chapter didn’t actually cover as much plot as planned, but I guess that’s the terrorbeauty of writing. Enjoy the tiny little glimpse into Bucky’s past as HYDRA’s Asset for now. Thank you as always for reading and being patient with my inconsistent self ♥♥♥ And a special thanks to @cake-writes​ for helping me out when I was stuck! You’re the best! ♥

When the soft sound of his shoes echoes on the hallway to Dr. Trevelyan's office in the westernmost part of the compound, Bucky is as always taken aback by how loud he is. No matter which shoes he wears, he just can't seem to walk silently down this particular corridor. He tried barefoot once, just to test it, and the floor still dutifully announced his arrival. It’s the only place in the compound he can’t seem to conceal his presence.

He’s not surprised when Dr. Nadia Trevelyan, at the sound of his footsteps, opens the door to her office all the way and comes out to greet him. She does that sometimes. What does surprise him is the look on her face.

“Mr. Barnes. I was afraid you wouldn’t come today.”

Bucky frowns.

“I didn’t think I had a choice.”

The side of her elegantly painted mouth twitches and Bucky is certain it’s not from amusement. The way she proceeds to cross her arms only solidifies that certainty.

“You know there’s a choice. I just thought the general appeal of a barred cell had finally surpassed that of my office. It seemed like a reasonable conclusion to make, given your usual punctuality.”

Her calm, dry words feel like the verbal slap that they are, but at the same time a slower, more blunt feeling is oozing from them like the raw, cloying smell of an infected wound: dread.

With a shaking hand he takes his mobile from his pocket and unlocks the screen. The dread explodes into alarm. Starkly outlined against the black background, the white digital numbers of the phone’s clock perfectly justifies Dr. Trevelyan’s annoyance.

It’s 12:21pm.

It’s happened again. Bucky feels as if an ice cold fist is squeezing his insides. He’s lost time. He left the coffee shop, he ran straight back to the compound and now he’s standing here more than twenty minutes late to an appointment he’s usually early for. As if the hours just vanished in the blink of an eye.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, blood rushing to his cheeks until they physically hurt. He can't quite meet Dr. Trevelyan's big disapproving eyes.

It's his own fault, he knows. If only he had been more forthcoming in their sessions, she might have been willing to cut him some slack. But he has persistently worn her patience down over the past few months and now he fears there's nothing left. She'll have to report that he is late for a mandatory session and he'll have to undergo another full psychological evaluation, questions will be asked about why he wasn't on time, his sentence might even have to be renegotiated, Stark will be down his throat about the forest that'll have to be cut down to cover the paperwork…

Nadia Trevelyan seems to be considering these facts as well and to Bucky's immense relief, she finally sighs and uncrosses her arms.

"Since it's the first time it's happened, I suppose I can let it slide," she relents. The hard stare that follows the words tells Bucky exactly how much she likes it and he knows he'll have to grovel. Quid pro quo.

She steps aside to let him into the office and he sits down in his designated chair almost timidly.

"Thank you," he manages and she looks at him for a long time before she closes the door and sits down herself.

"So why are you late?" There's the adjusted voice of a professional shrink he's become so accustomed to by now. Bucky tries not to cringe.

"I just… lost track of time," he admits tentatively. "I was out running and I… I thought of S… Steve," he quickly amends, clearing his throat. His mind hasn't actually been near Steve since he entered the park early this morning, but somehow it doesn't feel right telling Dr. Trevelyan about Sugar. He wants to keep her to himself.

Of course, as his therapist, Nadia Trevelyan is bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, but because the sessions are a part of his sentence, that confidentiality only stretches so far and Bucky doesn't doubt for a second that anyone he talks to outside of the compound will be submitted to SHIELD's meticulous scrutiny the moment they hear about them. Sugar didn't agree to that and she sure as hell doesn't deserve it. No, Bucky wants to keep her out of his world for as long as he can. Keep her all to himself. Just Sugar and James, no complications, no messed up baggage, or spies or super soldiers or the end of the world. Just a regular guy who met a nice girl in a coffee shop and asked her out. That's all he wants.

"Bucky?"

He looks up and realises Dr. Nadia is looking expectantly at him. Shit, did he miss a question?

"You said you were thinking about Steve?" she supplies helpfully, if slightly irritated, when all he does is stare at her.

"Yes, uhm, well…" Bucky tries to regain his footing. "He, uh, left this morning for… work-"

"Yes, I'm aware," Dr. Trevelyan says, making Bucky raise an eyebrow. "My clearance is higher than yours, Bucky. How else could I be of any use around here?"

She doesn't say it, but he can hear it clear enough in her voice. You might have thought about that sooner if you ever actually bothered to talk to me.

"So you… you talk to Steve as well?"

She sighs.

"You know very well that I can’t tell you that."

But the sound of her heartbeat speeding up just a little is all the answer he needs. If he didn’t know any better, he would think she even gulped ever so slightly.

He can't figure out why, but it surprises him. Somehow he can't imagine either Captain America or Steve Rogers talk about their feelings. Not to Nadia Trevelyan anyway. Steve might look like an underwear model now, but he certainly doesn't have the confidence of one when it comes to women. And this therapist happens to be undeniably gorgeous. Tall and elegant, with long shiny black hair, she's the type of woman that turns heads; Bucky knows he would have tried his luck himself if he had met her back in the day when he wasn't broken, wasn't a monster. How Steve even gets a coherent sentence out in her presence is beyond him.

"Do you talk about me?"

There's something in her eyes when she answers.

"Whatever I may or may not discuss with Mr. Rogers isn't something I can disclose without his consent. And definitely not to another patient."

"Oh, so you do talk about me." Bucky can't help the smug little grin when Dr. Trevelyan actually relents a smile.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality, Mr. Barnes. You'll have to ask him."

"When he gets back."

"Indeed."

Bucky sighs.

"Whenever that might be." He regrets the casually bitter words the instant they're out of his mouth. Dr. Trevelyan's eyes gleam.

"You're worried about him."

"Of course I am!" Bucky nearly hisses. "He's a reckless, righteous idiot with a saviour complex and a stupid star-spangled frisbee, who can't tell when to quit. If his bleeding heart isn't going to get him fucking killed, his heroic dumbassery will. And I just…"

The sentence dies on his tongue. This is one of the reasons he hates therapy. Dr. Trevelyan barely has to say anything and the outbursts line up like a firing squad inside of him. And then he ends up saying things he doesn't mean, not really. Or worse, he starts to talk about something he can't voice. Literally can't get the words out without choking and feeling like his throat is completely tied up and his eyes are full of memories that he doesn't want to have. If he starts to dig into all of those ugly, horrid nightmares in the depths of his mind, Bucky is afraid he's never gonna emerge again.

His fragile, desperate hold on reality is fraying with every hour in this office, every sleepless night, every second he's on his own, but he is sure as hell not going to let go.

“He’s my friend, so of course I worry,” he dismisses instead, looking at the wall behind Nadia’s chair. There’s a stark white square to the right of her head, as if a painting, or a picture, has been taken down after a long time, leaving behind only a faint outline of its presence in the shade of the original paint. 

There is a tiny black hole at the center of the top of the white square from where a nail must have been. Bucky is surprised at the detail. He can’t quite believe something as low-tech as a nail exists in Stark’s shiny, new building.

“There are chinks in every armour if you know where to look.”

The nail is right in front of him. Held up close to his face between two silver metal fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky can see the Asset lean down behind him, lips close to his ear.

“It’s not like any of us wants to be here.” He twirls the nail in front of his eyes. “What do you say? We’ve gotten out of tighter quarters with less.”

Dr. Trevelyan nods sympathetically, but Bucky has already forgotten what he said. He barely even sees her anymore, his eyes are glued to the nail between the Asset’s fingers. For one terrifying moment, he sees the intent of his shadow self, sees Dr. Trevelyan on the floor with the nail sticking out between her eyes, blood silently trickling down her temple and he almost gags.

“Don’t,” he blurts out before he can stop himself and Dr. Trevelyan raises an eyebrow. The Asset just smirks and goes to stand next to her, leaning on her chair.

“What?” she inquires in an even voice.

“Yes, Bucky. What?” the Asset mimics mockingly.

"Just…" Bucky tries, fighting to regain some kind of control. He has to close his eyes and swallow, reaching back for the conversation Dr. Trevelyan is trying so hard to make him engage in. "Don’t act like you care. You don’t know what… how… what I’m like.”

Dr. Trevelyan sighs and rubs her temples, her long, elegant fingers uncomfortably close to the Asset.

“Believe it or not, Mr. Barnes, but I actually do care quite a lot. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. When your sentence was being negotiated, I volunteered to lead your therapy programme.”

That throws him. She normally doesn’t mention his sentence if she can avoid it and now she’s gone and done it twice in one day, but Bucky reckons he is being difficult, more so than usual.

“Yeah, well, no one asked you to,” he finally mumbles and Dr. Trevelyan’s mouth sets into a hard, painted line. 

As soon as the words leave him, Bucky wishes he could take them back, but with the Asset grinning at him, it’s almost impossible to focus. The nail between those silver fingers is still too close to her temple, but Bucky knows he can’t move. The Asset will be quicker.

Dr. Trevelyan regards him in silence for a long while then, before she sighs.

“Mr. Barnes, would you rather speak to a male therapist?”

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise. What?

“Something is keeping you from confiding in me. Is it the fact that I’m a woman?” He has never heard her sound defensive before, but at this point he figures she’s well beyond caring.

“N-No, I…” He swallows when the Asset barks out a laugh.

“Oh, you’ve really charmed this one, Barnes.”

“Is it my skin then?” She gestures irritated with her cool light brown hand. “Or perhaps the accent? I realise things are very different from before all those atrocities happened to you, but that is why I am here. To help you adjust.”

“I thought you were here to cure me,” Bucky says slowly, willing himself not to look directly at the Asset.

“And I am trying, Mr. Barnes, but you have got to let me. If you don’t want my help, then there really isn’t much I can do.” She closes her eyes harshly for a moment. “Forgive me. That was very unprofessional of me. If, for whatever reason, you want a new psychologist, just say so. It’s very important that you feel comfortable with the person you talk to.”

Bucky winces so hard he almost thinks he can hear a few bones splinter beneath his muscles, but it has nothing to do with her words.

It’s the blood pouring out of her mouth as she speaks.

Down her chin it trickles onto her navy blue blouse, staining the silk black. The Asset has jammed the nail into the side of her throat. It's sticking out far more than it should given its size, as if it has somehow grown from the thin, clean, needle-like little tack into a rusty 6-inch coffin nail.

Bucky has to fight against at least a dozen different instincts telling him to run or to attack, to help, to defend or just do something other than what he does: sit still in his chair and try to think of something to say.

"Remember this?" the Asset asks, stroking Nadia's hair almost lovingly. She doesn't even flinch. She just sits there with her blood gushing out, waiting for him to reply.

Yes, Bucky remembers all too clearly. It’s as if the miniscule scar in the junction between his shoulder and neck pricks at the memory and if he didn’t feel sick before, he really does now.

The girl in his memory doesn’t look much like Nadia Trevelyan. She’s younger, with pale skin and even paler eyes, a mop of dark brown curls, tiny freckles around her eyes and nose…

But the coffin nail is exactly the same.

“I don’t need a new shr- a new therapist,” Bucky forces out as evenly as he can. “I… It’s not you.” He stops to swallow around a throat so dry and thick he’s sure it must be about to choke him. It’s nothing less than what he deserves.

“She was quite a little wildcat, that one,” the Asset reminisces and it’s all Bucky can do to not vomit on his running shoes. HYDRA’s dark soldier is obviously enjoying the torment his words are nurturing in Bucky. “Gave us quite the fight. Do you remember her name?”

Miriam.

Two of the three wheels under Dr. Trevelyan’s chair are now situated in a shallow pool of blood that only grows larger by the second. It’s covering the ground beneath the Asset’s feet and is creeping closer and closer.

He draws his feet back just a little.

“I just can’t talk about her. It! I can’t talk about it.”

Triumph at his slip-up is evident in Dr. Trevelyan's dark eyes, a sparkle of relief that she has finally gotten something out of her stubborn patient. Well, that's all she is going to get. Bucky clenches his teeth to the point of pain, vowing not to slip up like that again. No matter how badly the Asset rattles him, no matter what cruel tricks his mind is trying to play on him. Even if the bleeding woman in front of him is looking less and less like his doctor and eerily more like a girl twice buried many, many years ago.

"Who is it you can't talk about, Bucky?"

It feels almost worse knowing her sympathy is real.

"Doctor, please. I can't."

"Why not?"

His hands must have made indents in the arms of his chair with how tight he's grasping at them. Dr. Trevelyan doesn't push for an answer, but he's sure she captures and analyses every little movement he makes, most likely correctly too.

“I just… I wish that…” He has to swallow so hard his throat ought to rupture with the motion and his eyes are awash with the pressure of tears. “It’s too… too painful and I- I would rather be dead. If I’d just died back on that train, then… then everyone would be better off.”

His whole body trembles, but the words are out, hanging there between them as if he had shouted them.

“Would Steve?” The question is almost tender, as if she’s afraid to break the silence. It still feels to Bucky like a punch to the stomach.

“Steve’s fine,” he mumbles, not quite meeting her eyes. “He did just fine before I came and screwed things up. Should’ve just shot me on that bridge. Or let me drown.”

“Bucky, you have to stop thinking like that.” The genuine concern in Dr. Trevelyan’s voice is of a very different kind than the one he’s used to. Perhaps that’s what makes him listen. “I know there’s nothing I can say at this point to change your mind, but I still think you need to hear it. Whatever HYDRA made you do was not your fault. Now, we both know I can repeat that until I run out of breath and it won’t make a difference, but… I mean it. You are not guilty of what happened to you. What was done to you was vile. Cruel. You deserve this second chance more than anyone. The fact that you think you don't only makes it that much clearer."

She sends him a smile that would have been reassuring if it weren't for her bloodied exterior. If she weren't his doctor he's almost sure she would have reached out and squeezed his hand too. For a moment, he wishes she would. He wants to feel the touch of another human so badly he aches with it, but he doesn't deserve it. Right?

He recalls Sugar's soft, pliant lips and the comforting warmth of her skin. Would she have let him kiss her like that if she knew who he really is? What he has done?

The pressure becomes too much and before he knows what's happening, the tears have trailed warm tracks down his cheeks.

"It will take a while, but I can help you if you’ll let me.”

“I don’t want to feel this way…” The admission is so quiet and so soft that for a moment he isn’t even sure it has even left those hidden depths of his soul where it has stubbornly refused to be snuffed out by the heavy hands of his guilt. He’s almost ashamed of it. “But I don’t know… I just don’t know how not to.”

“It’s okay, Bucky,” Dr. Trevelyan assures him. “That’s why we’re here. So that you can figure it out.”

Bucky dares to look up and take in her face. Her lips and chin are still caked with semi-dry blood and the rusty coffin nail is jutting out from the softness of her neck. 

But the Asset is gone.

Alhabor smiles at the tall Frenchman as he sits down across from her at the small café table. He's as handsome as ever, even with the bottle blond hair that drains him a little bit. It gives him a haunted edge that makes his face even more interesting. He looks like a lost Romantic poet, she thinks longingly when he sends her a smirk and lowers his small black sunglasses to look at her.

"Good morning, mon coeur." They haven't seen each other in over three months and she knows it's her fault. Her job always comes first. Sometimes she wishes it wasn't like that. Sometimes she wishes she could run off with Christophe and let him take care of her the way he always promises he will on those few precious nights of passion they manage to steal from time to time. Sometimes she wishes she wasn't such an idealist.

"Good morning, my love. It’s a beautiful day in Paris, don't you think?”

He reaches out and places a brief kiss on her knuckles over her lukewarm cappuccino.

“I prefer Marseille. Fewer tourists. One day perhaps you will forget about those secretive morons and let me take you there.”

“Can you even show your face there?” Alhabor asks with a raised eyebrow and Christophe chuckles, shrugging.

“Pictures get lost, money changes hands, files disappear… I wouldn’t worry.” The sly smile on his perfectly shaped mouth makes her heart beat ten times faster, but she tries to compose herself. This is work.

“You know that I do.” She takes a miniscule sip of the cappuccino. “Did you get what I asked for?”

Better to get this over with fast and get back on track. She tells herself she’ll have more time for Christophe and his charms once this assignment is completed. Deep down, she knows she’s lying to herself, but it makes her feel better.

“Most girls want flowers or diamonds or expensive perfume.” He grins as he reaches into the lining of his trench coat and retrieves a small box. She can’t help grinning in exchange when she takes it and quickly confirms its contents.

“Oh, you know I’m never one to turn down diamonds,” she teases, making the box disappear into her own coat. Their gloved fingers barely even touch at the exchange. “But as romantic gestures go, you’ve outdone yourself this time, my love.”

"Anything for you, mon coeur." His smile isn't as brilliant as it usually is and it makes her frown.

"What?"

"Is it true you have the Lazarus assignment?"

"Yeah, like I said." She tries to sound casual, but they both know she can't fool him. He reaches out and takes her hand before she can pull away. His grip is hard, insistent.

"Promise me you'll be careful," Christophe says quietly and she can feel her heart come to a full stop in her chest. "He's still dangerous."

She can't quite meet his eyes when she answers.

"I know. But the order is very clear. We need him back. The Wakandans may have tampered with his head, but there's no telling what might still be in there. We simply can't risk it."

"You really believe that, don't you?" He sighs and squeezes her hand, but he doesn't let go.

"Are you surprised?"

"I like to think I know you too well for that. Just please tell me you know what you're doing."

"Oh, don't worry, my love." Alhabor pats the inner pocket of her coat where the little box is now hidden. "It's all going according to plan now. And you of all people know how persuasive I can be."

Tags will be added in reblog ~

[holylulusworld]

Dark days of our past

Request: Would you please write for Bucky & reader, wherein he's in love with Natasha but is forced to marry reader, he's never home ignores her even when she tries hard. She even has to work as a waitress for money, one-night Brock tries to rape her, Steve arrives just in time and saves her. They become good friends. It's on you if you want her to stay with Bucky or get married to Steve. It could be an au where they are not Avengers.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Reader, Mobster!Steve x Reader (platonic), Arianna, Sam Wilson, Clint Barnes, OFC’s

Warnings: angst, blood, scared reader, violence, characters death (implied), shot wounds, torture, language, violence

Consolation Bride Masterlist

When you wake up your head feels heavy and your throat is dry. You don’t want to open your eyes when you hear someone groaning, obviously in pain.

“Look who finally woke up, Steve. Your best buddies little wife…” Arianna chuckles striding toward you, a bloody knife in her hand.

Your eyes round seeing the blood, Steve’s blood dripping down the knife. Shaking you look at Steve. He’s bound to a chair, one eye swollen, his left arm cut open he spits blood onto the floor.

“Let her go, Arianna. Y/N has nothing to do with this shit. She was only sixteen, a young girl when this happened.” Steve tries to get you out of here, tries to make sure the woman wielding the bloody knife in front of your face won’t torture you too.

“Why should I let James Buchanan Barnes's wife go? Huh?” Mocking Steve Arianna turns around to hit his nose, causing him to groan in pain. It’s already broken but the woman kidnapping you and Steve won’t stop hitting it.

“What do you want?” Bucky is struggling against the ropes holding him to a chair, his eyes dart between his best friend and you. “I thought you are in Italy…”

“Oh, I was to kill Maria Hill. Do you remember the hot brunette? Hmm…” Now Arianna walks toward Bucky, swaying her hips. Towering over your husband she presses the tip of the knife into his shoulder. “The chick you fucked after little Y/N over there got sent to Paris…”

“What did you do?” Eyes cold Bucky tries anything to get his hands free. He can see what Arianna did to Steve. Bucky knows what happened to Maria and the others. He can’t let anything happen to you too.

“I had my revenge, James.” Pecking Bucky’s cheek, she presses the knife further into his shoulder, twisting it but James doesn’t even flinch. “I killed everyone you ever liked or worked with. Maria…Marcos…Pietro and sweet Wanda. Your brother is already dead so I couldn’t get hold of him but…” Now Arianna chuckles devilish. “I got your best friend and your wife. Who shall I kill first?”

“I got no clue why you are doing this, but I swear I’ll kill you if you touch my girl,” Steve warns and Arianna cocks a brow. 

“Your girl, Rogers? Is this a sick polyamorous relationship?”

“No! She’s only mine. Bucky never wanted her, Arianna. Whatever you are holding against Bucky, Y/N means nothing to him.” Steve tries to buy Bucky time. Tries to distract Arianna long enough to get you out of this nightmare.

“He doesn’t love her…awe…poor girl…” Glancing over her shoulder she sees the tears well up your eyes. A hint of pity crosses her face before she turns her attention toward Steve again. “Then I’ll just kill you right here and now. Slit little unwanted Y/N’s throat open before I take care of James over there.”

Steve growls when she slides her knife over his arm once again. “Why are you doing this?” Your question caught her attention and she let go of Steve, turning around to walk toward your chair.

“James over there killed my beloved brother. I don’t know why, as your father refused to answer this question before he died…” Arianna smirks at the gasp leaving your lips. “Oh, I forgot to mention I killed Daddy, sorry…” She coos patting your head before she slides her knife over your thighs, drawing blood. 

“Leave her be!” Steve is struggling to not lose consciousness, nodding at Bucky as his friend tries to distract Arianna. “I thought you do not love her…” Arianna starts smiling as she walks toward James. “Was that a lie, Barnes?” 

Grabbing Bucky’s jaw, she forces him to look up at her as he shakes his head. “I don’t even like her. She’s only a rat stealing my leftovers but her empire, her fathers’ legacy could be mine as Y/N is my wife.” Bucky lies, praying she will fall for his lie.

“What a pity, pretty girl. Loving a man not wanting you…” Arianna is turning around once again, walking toward your position she drops the knife to get her gun out. “I’ll save you, Y/N. Make it all go away…”

“If you let her go, I’ll tell you why I killed your brother…” Bucky gasps seeing her gun aimed to your forehead. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” James is glancing at Steve who is slowly loosening the bindings holding his wrists. 

“He just saved your life, little girl…” Arianna chuckles turning her attention toward Bucky. “Now tell me everything.”

Steve nods, silently begging his friend to distract Arianna longer so he can get out of the ropes. “I was jealous of your brother. He had so many sexy girls back then, was a ladies man. One day, he wanted Natasha and I got mad.” Bucky lies. If he tells her about you, she will kill you.

“Hmm…why didn’t Y/N’s father tell me so? He told me about that night, your brother and that he helped you. He said that you made a deal too.” Arianna eyes Bucky suspiciously when he glances at you gulping. “Her father, he forced me into a loveless marriage. I had to give up Natasha for her. That was his price.” Bucky gasps seeing Steve slipped one hand out.

“Why did you have to kill him, Barnes?” Her eyes darken seeing the look Bucky gives you.

“I had no choice. We fought, he had a knife and it just happend. I shouldn’t have been there; this is all my fault. Kill me but let Steve and her go. I’ll take the blame for everything. My brother is dead, just like Y/N’s father. Only I’m left…” Arianna points her gun at Bucky’s head and a tiny whimper leaves your lips, catching her attention.

“Awe…she loves you, James. Such a drama!” Loving the game, she’s playing Arianna walks toward you. She can hear Bucky breathing heavily the moment she grabs the shotgun from a table. “You know, your father refused to tell me the reason why James killed my beloved brother but I can count one and one…” She smirks down at you, aiming the shotgun to your chest. “YOU…”

“No, please let her go. I’ll do anything. I give you my empire, money and my life but let her go…” Steve’s eyes round hearing Bucky begging for your life.

“Everything?” She coos now, toying with James as she passes Steve who is freeing his other hand, nodding at you.

“Everything…I lov…” Before Bucky can end his sentence a bullet hits his body.

He doesn’t know what hits him when the shotgun almost rips his left arm off his body. Losing consciousness, he calls your name before another gunshot echoes through the hangar.

----

“Please, tell me anything! How is he? Is he alive…dead…” Gasping you watch the nurse fixing the wound at your thigh. You barely feel the pain too busy to slowly lose your mind.

“Ma’am, I can’t tell you anything. I’m not a doctor.” The nurse tries and you ball your hands into fists. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N! My father just died or rather he got murdered. This means I’m the only one left to take over his empire.” The nurse turns pale hearing your father’s name as you keep on yelling.

“I had to watch this crazy whore torturing my best friend and shooting my husband. Not to mention she aimed more than one gun at my head. You will move your lazy ass and get a doctor here right now or my men will take care of you!”

“Y/N, thank god…” Sam is storming into the room, nodding at Clint who called him after he traced his boss’s phone. “Sam, do you know anything? How is he?”

“They don’t want to tell me anything. Not a family member and crap.” Sam is watching the nurse rushing out of the room, almost crashing into Steve.

“Man, you look like shit.” Clint teases.

“I had better days for sure.” Steve deadpans slowly limping toward your hospital bed. “How are you, Y/N?”

“How am I? You look like you had twenty rounds with Mike Tyson and ask me how I’m?” Steve is patting your thigh, glancing at Clint. “Do you know anything about Buck?”

“They don’t want to tell me anything. I’m his wife! I got the right to know if my husband is still alive!” Yelling once again you give the doctor entering your room a death glare.

“Mrs. Barnes, can we talk in private?” The doctor tries but you shake your head. “Sam and Clint are my cousins and Steve is part of my family too. You can tell me anything in front of these men.”

“You see…” Clearing his throat the doctor glances at the gun Sam is trying to hide underneath his jacket. “We tried anything but…” Your lips start quivering seeing the fear all over the doctor’s face. “We couldn’t save his left arm. The damage was so extensive all nerves got destroyed, just like the bones. In the end, we had to amputate that member.”

“Wait! He lost his arm…?” Sam is glancing at your stoic face as you try to let the doctor’s words sink in. “He’ll need a prosthesis, but we are positive he will survive.”

“He will survive…” Steve is squeezing your hand, nodding. “I’ll call Tony. His company is well known for its technology. He designed a leg for a friend some years ago.”

“Okay…can you call him right now. I need to tell Bucky something…” Sniffling you get up to let Sam lead you out of the room. “Sam, call all our men, including my fathers. Arianna is dead, but her father and cousins are still alive. She didn’t do this alone…”

“You are telling me to kill them all?” Sam glances at you as you look up at him. “Dad refused to tell her I was the reason Bucky killed her brother; Bucky did the same. I’ll avenge them. My husband will need some time to recover, my father is dead.”

“I’ll make the calls.”

“Sam?”

“Yes…?”

“I’ll take over my father’s empire and Bucky’s for the time being. Prepare everything to make sure we can strike back. Hard. Merciless. Bloody.”

Sam nods, watching you straighten your back as you limp toward your husband’s hospital room.

Your whole posture changed and he can hold back the smile as you push the nurse away who tries to stop you from entering Bucky’s room.

“Hell of a woman.” Clint chuckles. “Shall I call our men too, boss?” Steve nods, grinning at the nurse as she passes by. “I guess we have a new boss in town…”

All works Tags

@yolobloggers​, @meganywinchester​​, @shikshinkwon​​, @miraclesoflove​ ​, @mogaruke​, @shatteredabby​, @soryuwifeyxx​, @letsdisneythings​, @i-love-superhero, @psychicforest

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore​​​, @notyourtypicalrose​​​, @voltage-my2dlove​​​, @thedoctorscamanion, @officialmarvelwhore​​​, @randomgirlkensy​​​, @juniorhuntersam​​​, @lumar014​​​, @doctorswife221b​​​, @sister-winchesters99​​​, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​​, @the-soulofdevil​​, @chonisberonica​ , @redroomproperty​

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@hhiggs​​​, @roonyxx​​, @stylesismyhubs​​, @multisuperfandom​, @mrspeacem1nusone​, @shadowcatsworld , @fallenoutofrose

Consolation Bride Tags

@booktease21​, @mc225g​, @i-alyssa​, @retrxbarnes​, @cloudyskylines​, @plums-and-peaches​, @thisartemisnevermisses​, @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark​, @donteatmycookiesplease​, @aruvdreeh​, @scarlett-berserker​ @secretsihideinside

[the-fox-populi-says]

Written & directed by Fangirl Quarantino

Ao3 has been very Foxphobic in that first I had to wait a whole day for an invite once I decided in the spur of a moment I should really make an account, and then telling me my username did not follow requirements (...it really did?? I swear!). So. Ao3 link might follow when that is fixed but for now, have a direct copy-paste of my latest one-shot. Summary: After an Order meeting runs late during a curfew, Shiro is stuck in Faust Mansion. Mephisto offers to poof him home, but had a few glasses and Shiro does not trust drunk magic. He also doesn't trust drunk opportunist Mephisto conveniently having no guest rooms available, and goes in search of alternative beds. Characters: Shiro, Mephisto, Belial, Ukobach Tags: #There was only one bed #which may have been by design #omg they were curfew mates #adult language #nudity #violence #banter #humour #alcohol #mature #Suggestiveness #no out-right smut #But the Thought is there #and a little #erotic aesphyxiation #never killed anyone #oh wait it did actually #Not this time though #dubious consent #or however you call relocating an unconscious naked person for your amusement but without actually feeling them up #well maybe a little #but with a towel

Enjoy~

“What do you mean, I can't go home?!” Shiro yelled at the unmoved face of the butler.

“Curfew, sir. It's past 9 pm.”

Fuck. That was right- there had been a surge in demon activity lately, and as a counter-measure, the Order had issued a strict no-going-out-after-dark policy. “Oh come on- I'm a professional! Any demon encountering me is in more danger than I am.”

“Even unarmed?” A smug, slightly lilting voice inquired behind his back. Shiro balled his fists, surpressing the urge to use them on the face that voice belonged to.

The same face and voice that had informed him a couple weeks earlier he was no longer allowed to bring firearms to Order meetings. Not since he'd emptied almost an entire magazine into the back of Mephisto's chair after the Osaka incident. Insufficient informants his ass. As if that mission hadn't been payback for the whoopie cushion the week before. As if a round of bullets would even kill the bastard. Wimps.

“Could neither of you have informed me sooner?! I was only sticking around because captain naggy pants over here-” he threw out his entire arm to gesture; “-insisted it would be bad form to leave with all the high-ups still here.”

“Bitte do not yell at my butler- it's not hisch fault you don't know how to use a watch.”

Shiro again considered the use of his fists, but instead opted for a look of Promise over his shoulder at the grinning demon getting up from behind the fancy desk.

“Oh relax, Shiro. I can juscht teleport you home.” “Oh nononono- There will be no. Poofing.” He switched from fists to pointing, and waved a warning finger at Mephisto's raised eyebrows.

“May I ask warum nicht?”

“Because you just had to serve prosecco at your stupid meeting and you have the poorest alcohol tolerance in the world. And a sweet tooth.” The eyebrows shot down, along with the corners of his mouth in an affronted expression.

“I had three glasses!” “Yes, and I can see you swaying from where I stand.”

Not to mention the increased use of German. Shiro folded his arms.

“Last time you looked like that and poofed me somewhere, I ended up in the middle of a rice field because you had sake on your brain.”

Mephisto made a dismissive motion with one hand. With the other he pretended not to grip the edge of the desk for balance.

“I'll juscht concentrate very hard on your apartment, it'll be fine.”

“Oh hell no- I don't wanna end up half inside my shower cabin, or inside a wall. I'm staying here. You have like five hundred rooms anyway.”

He turned around. “Yo Belial, point me to a guest room, would ya.”

No response. The butler looked even stiffer than usual, but bounced his eyes back and forth between the two men as if following a tennis match.

Shiro growled. “What?”

Finally, Belial mustered the courage to speak. “I'm afraid there are currently none available, sir.”

“...What.”

He shot a venomous look at Mephisto, who avoided his gaze and uncharacteristically fumbled with the buttons on his vest.

“I may have... clearedthelaschtonetomakeroomfurmeinecollectionofPokémoncards.”

Of course.

“So make a new one!”

Wrong move. Never order Mephisto around. The somewhat apologetic pout was gone in an instant and replaced by silken lechery.

“Oh now Shiro, you don't want me to use my magic while drunk, do you~?”

“...Seriously.”

“You know, there is another option...” The green eyes briefly slid sideways, returning to the exorcist's face to serve up a very clear and satisfied Suggestion.

Funny, how those three glasses of pink bubbly suddenly seemed to have left his system. Even funnier how there suddenly was a direct, open door from his office to his bedroom.

“...You wish.” Shiro planted his feet firmly on the ground. “Allow me to decline that offer with a resounding Fuck No.”

Mephisto rolled his eyes. “Oh please- I'll likely won't even use it tonight. There's a Voltron marathon on channel 12.”

“Ever heard of the phrase 'tying the cat to the bacon', because that's what me sleeping in your bed would be.”

“You overestimate this cat's interescht in your bacon.”

Waddayaknow. Little bubbly left in there after all. But apparently not so much that he couldn't poof himself into a shimmering baby blue chamber robe.

“Bullshit.” Shiro scoffed. “I've seen you checking out my bacon since the moment it turned legal and probably a good bit before that.”

“Very well.” The demon shrugged, and assumed a leisurely walk towards the pillow nest in front of the tv, with the obvious intent to install himself there for the rest of the night. “You're welcome to find yourself the softest spot of floor, then.”

Shiro sauntered after him, a smirk creeping up on his lips. “Actually, I have a better idea.” The moment Mephisto's satin-clad butt would have touched the pink bean bag, Shiro yoinked it from under him, causing the bony structure to make sudden, harsh contact with the marble tiles.

“Ow! What in-”

“Bed aqcuired. Goodnight.” Bean bag under one arm, Shiro marched off.

Mephisto crawled out of the surrounding pillows, rubbing his back with one hand and carrying murderous intent in his eyes.

“Give that BACK, the show's starting in 2 minutes!”

“If you're so confident about your magic, why don't you make me.”

Wrong move again, yes. But too delectable to pass up on. Shiro grinned, tossing the bean bag back and forth between his hands.

“Unless of course, you feel a bit nervous about your aim while I'm standing right in front of your precious figurine collection.”

A hesitation. Mephisto wavered. Little bubbly left in there after all. ...Dare he? He dared. Shiro stuck out his tongue.

Terrible move. The demon's eyes narrowed, and out of nowhere a yellow rubber ball with red stars flew off a shelf, bounced off the floor and hit Shiro square under the chin. He instantly dropped the bean bag to clasp both hands over his mouth with a pained groan.

“Told you there's nothing wrong with my aim.” A poof, and the bean bag was back in its rightful place: under Mephisto, who took his merry time wiggling himself into the most comfortable position.

“Stop being a crybaby and let me take you home, or enjoy the floor.”

Shiro lowered his hands and scowled at the back of Mephisto's head, and that oh so annoying flippant hand motion illustrating this fight was clearly over and he was the victor. As it should be.

When met with a display that level of self-assured superiority, one can only respond in either of two ways. Admit you lost... Or get petty.

“...Fine, swew you.” Fuck. Difficult to sound convincingly stubborn when his tongue wouldn't work.

“Thewe's bound to be a couch somewhewe. Hey Belial, help me out here, would you.” Finally. “Where's the nearest bed-like structure?”

“Belial, do absolutely not help him.” Asshole didn't even look up, just tapped at the remote.

Belial froze, looking extremely unhappy about being involved in their dispute.

“...Dude, seriously, you're a butler. Helping guests is just as much your job as pampering his childish ass.”

“...” Merely a gaze of concern at his master, and an apologetic look in Shiro's direction, pressing his lips tightly together.

Shiro growled. “Fuckin' bootlicker.”

-Some 25 minutes later-

Mephisto's bedroom doors were thrown open, and a dishevelled Shiro unsteadily leaned against the doorway.

“Back so soon?” Mephisto grinned over his shoulder, a drinking straw clasped tightly between his fangs, but his glee evaporated and he took it out when he caught a better look at the exorcist's state. “What happened?”

Shiro tottered in, bits and pieces falling out of his torn clothes, and rubbing the various cuts on his cheek with the back of his equally mangled hand.

“Wound up in kitchen. Dark. Accidentally knocked over a bowl. Side dish or sum'thin. Ukobach did not appreciate. Told him to calm down. Rain of pasta. You wouldn't believe how sharp uncooked penne can be.”

“Tragic.” The grin returned. “Try not to bleed on any fabrics if you're going to take refuge in here.”

Heartwarming. Shiro was too worn out to dig up some choice insults, but addressed Mephisto with the foulest look he could still muster.

The demon chuckled. “...Or perhaps, just let me send you home?”

Silence. There was probably no alcohol in the glittery cinema soda cup, but who was to say for sure. Also, leaving the mansion somehow felt like a greater defeat than staying in Mephisto's room. Like he hasn't just lost the battle, but was too afraid to even remain on the battlefield.

The demon kept his eyes fixated at the colourful robots on the tv screen, but his ears were perked up attentively, waiting for Shiro's response. When that failed to happen, he closed his eyes and gave another nudge-

“...Or use what might arguably be the best bed in the world~”

Bait? Definitely. But also a lifeline. Shiro bit.

“You mean that bed you do God knows what in? Yuck, no thanks.”

Dramatic sigh for effect before deigning to look him in the eye. “Have you met me? My bed is clean, I assure you.”

Shiro smirked. Such a diva. And a dweeb. “Yeah alright, you probably only ever hump anime pillows anyway.”

The corners of his mouth curled upwards. “Justify your choice however you like, Shiro-pon.”

Boxers and t-shirt wouldn't be too bacon-y for the cat, right? Not while there were still mechas on tv to distract it, at least. Shiro began peeling off his tattered clothes, until Mephisto's ears twitched at the click of his belt unbuckling and he turned sharply towards the exorcist.

“...Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?”

Shiro kicked off his pants and flipped back the blankets. “Using your goddamn bed. Happy now?”

“Absolutely not. Get out.”

What. Shiro stared at the piqued face in disbelief.

“...Are you for real? What the fuck is it now?! In the bed, not in the bed, get in, go away-”

“Oh, you're welcome to sleep in my bed.” Mephisto squinted eyes slid up and down over Shiro's post pasta-fight body and the dirty clothes on the floor in a most disapproving manner. “AFTER you take a shower.”

Shiro's shoulders dropped. “...Really now?”

“Like I said.” He decidly turned back to the screen. “I like my bed clean.”

Shiro had no doubt the demon could sense the middle finger aimed at his back, but there were no bouncing balls or other items interfering with his gesture while he strode into the bathroom and yanked a towel out of the closet.

Frankly, it was not exactly a terrible ordeal to use Mephisto's shower. If he hadn't been that tired, be might have opted to wait for the bath to fill up instead- he eyed the pool-sized structure with a mixture of envy and disgust. Filthy rich bastard.

Filthy rich bastard with a royally equipped shower cabin, though. Shiro turned the knob and waited for the water from the various shower heads to heat up, when a voice from the bedroom yelled over the sound of the streams: “You better not use my expensive shower gel!”

Shiro sighed. “Which one?! They all seem expensive!” They probably were.

“...The gold and pink bottle. Do not touch it.”

Definitely touching it, he picked it up and turned it around in his hand. “Oh lord save me, you know how much I'd like to smell like- vanilla tenderness?? ...Is that how you lure in prey?”

“I'll have you know the ladies love it.”

Shiro snickered. “Oh, I don't doubt that. On them.”

“You bet they do~” The smug retort came drifting from under the door.

Shiro shook his head.

“Are you sure they can't sue you for false advertising, cuz there is nothing vanilla nor tender about you.”

“How would you know?”

...Walked straight into that one.

“...Care to find out~?”

“Eat my ass.”

“Maybe after you washed it.”

Shiro didn't know it was possible to choke on your own tongue while standing. Thank God or whomever that the demon couldn't see how red his face was- though judging by the giggling noises, the shower wasn't enough to drown out his coughing fit.

“Really, you are so wonderfully talented at putting your own foot in your mouth, Shiro~”

“Keep it up and I'll put my foot in your mouth!” He scowled, stepping into the shower while Mephisto burst out in a full-blown laughing fit, fuck knows why. Shiro shrugged it off. This was probably one of those better-off-not-knowing times.

Ah, such a wonderful story~ Heroism, friendship, impossible odds, fantastic machinery... The show had ended and Mephisto zapped away from the commercial break to search for something more interesting. Hm, not much, this late. He shook his cup, the decorative re-useable plastic ice cubes rattling about. All out of drinks. Snacks too. Maybe switch to other entertainment. Come to think of it...

He turned towards the bathroom door. He could hear the water still going. How long had he been in there by now? Five episodes? Seven?

“...As much as I appreciate cleanliness, don't you think you're overdoing it just a scooch?”

No response.

“Don't go telling me you dropped the soap and need help finding it.”

Still nothing. No change in sound whatsoever. Not even one of Deliberately Ignoring You. Odd.

Mephisto rose from his pillow nest and knocked on the bathroom door.

“...Shiro?”

Nothing but the running water. And a strange, light ...grating sound? He opened the door.

“I'd suggest you make yourself decent, but given how much water you're using as well as your general behaviour today that is word obviously not in your dic-”

Oh. Oh dear.

Semi-sitting on the floor of the shower cabin, slouched into a corner, was one sleeping exorcist. Mildy snoring.

Mephisto cocked his head. Strangely adorable, but also annoying. He briefly studied the naked, scratched-up figure. Not a bad look, not at all~ But too easy.

He sighed, and peeled one of his sleeves back to turn off the water. Honestly, rude. He should ask Belial to take care of it. On the other hand... being this troublesome warranted some payback. Payback that would take some effort, but be so much more satisfying than just turning on the cold water right now. Especially since Shiro was known to have a habit of getting violent when woken up suddenly. He didn't fancy risking a cold shower as well. Plus, the mere idea of the face Shiro would make when- He snickered. Yes, a much a more rewarding idea. He snapped his fingers.

“Hmmnnggh...” Shiro rolled over, the filtered light making him vaguely aware that it was morning. He hadn't slept this well in ages, and wasn't planning on letting it end just yet. He pulled the sheets along with him. Comfy. His bed wasn't usually this comfy. Smelled different, too. Did he use a new a laundry detergent? Nope, nope- do not get tricked into thinking just yet. That would wake him. Back to sleep. Savour it.

He pulled the sheets a little more, intent on going full burrito mode. Hm. A little stuck. He groaned at the incooperative blanket, and gave a better yank.

“Don't hog all the covers, please.”

A more effective waking method than a needle in his butt. Shiro shrieked -much to his embarassment- and bolted out of bed. A bed, he now realized, was indeed not of his usual comfort level. In several ways. His embarassment rose even higher when he met the incredibly satisfied eyes of the creature inhabiting the bed. Mephisto's face was about sixty percent teeth as he soaked up the image of the severely shocked man, who was still coming to terms with the fact that no, this was not still part of a nightmare, he was, in fact, awake.

And naked.

Upon that realization, Shiro's brain short-cirquited so completely he did not even attempt to cover himself up. Instead, he just froze, blinking fervently as if hoping the next time he opened his eyes, the lecherous monster, half-dressed in an untied silk gown and lying there as if posing for his portrait as a Roman emperor, would somehow have disappeared.

It took a couple minutes -or hours, by Shiro's reckoning- for the demon to get his fill of this view and bestow the smallest amount of mercy upon him.

“As much as I'd love to hang up a story about tequila, I'm afraid you just fell asleep in the shower. So I dried you off and placed you in here.”

Shiro rebooted.

“You... dried me off??”

“Wouldn't want my best exorcist to catch a cold- or soak my sheets.”

Lanes reopened, the backed-up thought traffic in Shiro's head now started honking impatiently to gain first access to his mouth.

“And you- I- but- it didn't- occur to you- that you could have just WOKEN ME UP?!”

“Frankly I hoped you would wake while I was toweling you off, hovering six feet off the floor... But as usual, you were disappointing.”

Mephisto managed to shrug leaning on one elbow, resting his jaw in his hand. He did not quite manage to look genuinely disappointed.

“You really should work on your comedic timing.”

Shiro's face was bright red, but no longer with embarassment. He was seething, fists and jaw clenched, his white bed hair sticking up as steam rising from his forehead.

“I. am not. your entertainment.”

Mephisto grinned. “Aww, no need to throw in the towel just yet~” His eyes glanced down. “You've got such potential, Shiro...”

WHACK. Instead of a towel, Shiro chose to throw in a pillow. And his full weight and strength to press it over Mephisto's face.

-Epilogue-

Oof. Goodness. Mephisto remained lying down, running a system check on his body. Everything was still there and working, it seemed, but he really should not have let Shiro have his little revenge for quite so long. He had to admit he underestimated the man's strength and how long it would take for his body to pass out from lack of oxygen. Too sidetracked by certain pleasant side-effects, perhaps. He should be more careful about that- Shiro probably hadn't noticed, or he might have indeed woken up with certain parts missing. Or at least damaged. Something still seemed wrong, though. Cold. He sat upright on the mattress. But not in his bed. Or bed chamber.

He blinked. Then shivered. As one tends to do when one wakes up soaking wet, outside. Because someone had dragged the entire mattress, demon included, out to the balcony. In the rain.

“...Oh REAL mature, Shiro!”

He teleported indoors, into a warm, fluffy bath gown, and stared at his expensive mattress through the glass doors of his bedroom. Blasted exorcist. Still...

He summoned his phone, flipped it open, and smiled at his new background picture. Dozens of carefully arranged plushies, and in the middle-

“...Best toy I ever had.”

~The end~

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Curfew: Not at all Corona-inspired~ But isolation makes no sense from an exorcism point of view. However, most demons in canon prefer the dark, so when there's an increase in numbers/reported attacks, a curfew is a logical counter-measure to protect the population. And since exorcists aren't supposed to work alone (*casts stern look at Shiro*), only teams on mission would have permission to walk around at night.

Poor alcohol tolerance & increased German: I strongly headcanon Mephisto's host body is in fact that of the original Faust, and it reverting back to its mother tongue when its language cortex is compromised somehow. I also strongly headcanon all strong demons having an insanely fast metabolism, going by the way Mephisto & Amaimon are always snacking yet skeletal, and this got in fact sort of confirmed by the recent manga chapter where Shiro complains about it in regards to baby Rin. So Mephisto gets drunk easily, but it also wears off rather quickly, unless he keeps drinking.

Don't drink and do magic/ rice fields: For more information, read The End of the Beginning by Superior Dimwit, arc 2: Inferno, chapter 39.

Tying the cat to the bacon: this is a literal translation of a Dutch expression. I cannot justify how exactly Shiro got to know about it, but I sure as fuck can justify its use here. It just fits too well.

Yellow rubber ball with red stars: Also known as a Dragon Ball, of course.

Ukobach: I know he hasn't shown up in the manga (yet), but this is one of those very rare times (maybe the only time) where I think the anime changed something for the better, and there is a good chance Kato is the one who told them the name in the first place, since it's an actual known demon. Either way, Mephisto should totally have some mad monkey five-star chef, in my opinion.

The thing about feet you're better off (not) knowing: Words can have interesting double meanings in other languages. For more information, read chapter 17 of Between the End and the Beginning, once more by Superior Dimwit. Technically, you could argue that the majority of mankind has a foot fetish.

Dropping the soap: I trust everyone to know this one. If not, google it at your own risk.

Violent awakenings: Based on Shiro punching little Shura in the face when she kissed his forehead while he was napping.

Pleasant side-effects of lack of oxygen can include popping a boner and light-headed euphoria. Especially when there's a naked exorcist on top of you. Shiro was right: false advertising indeed.

Plushies & pictures: Y'all remember Rin waking up in Mephisto's bed after going full demon mode in the manga? Although he may have sent his butler to pick up the kid and had the common decency to not him in there naked as he did with Shiro in this fic, there were a number of plushies surrounding Rin when he woke up. All facing up and some placed on top of him. Meaning that they didn't accidentally rolled their way there as he tossed and turned in his sleep- someone definitely placed them there. Cute for now, blackmail for later. Always handy.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

A Flame For A Cabbage (Part 3)

Azula returns to her loft feeling delighted and dismal in equal measure. On one hand, she has coin enough for roast duck and pan-fried noodles and then some. On the other, she is down another crop of cabbages. She has no idea how she is going to get the wall sludge off of her stall. She pushes her stall back to its place at the edge of her cabbage field and sighs.

It looks like she is due for a trip to the public bathhouse. She hates the bathhouse, too many wandering eyes and clothing thieves. And that doesn’t even cover the occasional piranha-ray attack. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to replace the koi with those to cut back on spending is a fool.

She makes her way to the springs regardless. She scans the water for the piranha-rays, upon deeming the coast clear, she strips and slips into the water. She is going to have to do some laundry when she gets home. She exhales with the steam of the spring, a feeling like she will never be fully clean again begins to settle in. But she doesn’t have time to dwell upon that.

“Hey.” Speaks a low and raspy voice. And there it is, the other reason she hates the public bathhouse.

Azula groans.

“You owe me three fiddy.”

Azula grumbles and pulls out a few counterfeit coins and slides it to the Loch Ness monster. “Now leave me alone.”

The creature sinks back beneath the surface and swims away. Azula doesn’t put much thought into how little sense it makes for such an enormous creature to soundly occupy such a small space. She quickly shampoos her hair and soaps her body. She is growing hungry and that roast duck is sounding very good right about now.

.oOo.

Sie scowls. “I think we lost” echos in his mind. “Not kidding.” He frowns to himself. Not only did they lose but they are covered in wall juice. It comforts him little that TyLee remains outside building mudmen.

“I made you a mud pie.” She declares.

Sie doesn’t have time for these games. He doesn’t know how, but this is the fault of that cabbage merchant. She must have enchanted the cabbage with performance enhancing drugs. Yes, that is it. That is the only explanation as to how he might have lost. It doesn’t have anything to do with his own actions.

He finds himself a seat and pulls it into the corner. The left corner. That is his plotting corner.

“Hey, you’re going to have to leave now.” General Sung says. “We defeated you three hours ago.”

TyLee sticks out her tongue and spits at him.

“Listen, we can’t have you out here. There’s this secret government agency that is trying to keep the public from knowing about the war and if they see you…”

“What?” Sie asks. “What are they gonna do.”

“They’re gonna be really mad.” Sung says in a sing-song voice, one that lets everyone know why he is named Sung.

“How mad?”

“Seven.”

“Seven?”

“Seven mad.” Sung replies. He stalks off leaving Sie to wonder what exactly that means. Is it a rating scale?  Are they, whoever they are, going to be seven levels of mad? Are they going to be mad for seven reasons? “Mai, TyLee, what does ‘seven mad’ mean?”

.oOo.

Azula makes her way over to the Jasmine Dragon. On a normal day, she would offer the severs some cabbages. Ruefully this is not a normal day, they are going to be very disappointed. Azula finds her usual spot.

“What are you doing here!?” The waiter demands, furiously. He is always so angry, as though every ounce of teenage angst that has ever been put out into the world has come together and flowed into this boy.

“I am getting tea.” Azula replies. “And some roasted duck and pan-fried noodles.”

Through gritted teeth the scarred boy says, “really, what the hell are you doing here?”

What is she doing here? She ponders. What is anyone doing here. She was born, she supposes. By chance a cluster of cells had come together to form her instead of someone else. She wonders if it really is chance at all or if life has some sort of design. A design that intended for her, Azula, the cabbage merchant, to exist and exist as she does currently with the temperament that she currently has. By extension she wonders if any of her choices matter at all; would she still be sitting in the Jasmine Dragon no matter what decision she had chosen or was it already decided by the fates that she would end up here in this location. Perhaps in another life she would not be in the Jasmine Dragon. She might be dwelling in a drill. She might be something more than a cabbage merchant. But then, perhaps, even if she was the Fire Lord, she would still be waiting here, in the Jasmine Dragon, for some roast duck because that is life’s design.

Azula frowns, she hates it when people make her question her existence and the vast enigma of life and the delicate strings and laws of time and space that flow perpetually and primordially, keeping the universe together as it is now.

Having that train of thought so potent in her mind, she considers that maybe today should be the day that she finally asks the big question.

“Why are you here!?” The boy demands again. He hasn’t even asked her what drink she’d like to start with.

Yes, she decides. Today will be the day. “Can I speak to the manager?”

“My manager can’t change that your coupon expired ten years ago.” The boy growls.

“This didn’t even exist ten years ago.” Azula argues.

“It’s not my fault that your coupon exists on an entirely different timeplane!”

“Well you shouldn’t be handing out coupons that existed before your shop.” Azula replies. “I am a merchant myself and I would never give my customers time traveling coupons. I don’t give them coupons at all. Just cabbages. Only. Cabbages.” She pauses. “Anyways, that’s not what I want to speak with him about.”

“Sorry about my cranky nephew.”

“Uncle!” The boy says, “It’s--”

“He is going through a rough time. His father has sent him away, he’s trying to figure out who he is…”

“You’re only paying him minimum wage?” Azula puts in.

“...His date the other night didn’t go well…”

“And you’re horribly understaffed.” Azula notes.

“...And I made him clean out his sock drawer. Did you know that he only has one pair of matching socks and that those socks have pictures of Kpop idols on them?”

Azula tilts her head. “Pictures of what?” Before the man can answer she waves a hand. “I am not hear to discuss your nephew’s angst. I am here to discuss a business partnership.”

The old man blinks.

“I am cabbage merchant, Azula and I believe that we can help each other out. I know that you have just opened your shop about a month ago. I have been doing business here for years. As a well-established seller of cabbage, I know how to bring in clients.”

“Then why do I always see you with a full cart!?” The boy shouts from behind the counter.

Azula grits her teeth. “Because I work very fast. I replace a cabbage as soon as it is sold.”

“How does that work?”

“I simply tear a whole in the air around me, reach into the portal, and pull out a cabbage.” Azula shrugs. “That is how all cabbages are grown.”

“That was the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”

Azula narrows her eyes. She holds up a single pointer and cuts a small rip into the fabric of time and space. She leaves it there just long enough for the boy to see before sealing it up. “Why do you think I keep my nails so long and pointed?”

The boy only blinks at her. She understands his confusion, for he was right, she had been lying. She lifts her pointer again, this time she can’t seem to tear another rift. “Born lucky.” She mutters to herself. “What do you say…”

“Iroh.” The man fills in.

“What do you say Iroh, will you be my business partner? Together we will be the strongest small-town franchise in the world, we will dominate the earth!” Realizing that she might be coming on too strong she adds, more quietly, “or at least the food industry. We can try to weaponize our business in the distant future.”

Iroh strokes his beard as he considers her offer.

“Can we discuss it over pan-fried rice and roast duck?” She asks, realizing that she still hasn’t awarded herself for her hard work.

“Yes, let’s talk business over a fine meal!” Iroh declares. “Zuko, let’s prep a meal!”

Zuko groans. “You can’t partner with the Jasmine Dragon! Tea and cabbage don’t even go together, that’s like the toothpaste and orange juice of food service.”

Azula rolls her eyes. Zuko is such a child. A child and a pessimist. But she...she is a visionary. A conqueror. And she knows very well that the key to dominating the food sales industry is acquiring a formidable alley. Preferably one who has more than just a janky little stall.  

.oOo.

“Are we there yet?” TyLee asks.

Sie pinches the bridge of his nose. The question bothers him for several reasons. The largest reason being that it implies that there is a ‘there’ to get to, even though Sie as given no indication whatsoever that they have any one destination in mind.

“Where are we going, anyways?” Mai questions.

He likes that question even less because it implies that he knows where to go from here. That drill was supposed to have worked. Now he has no plans and no leads. He has nothing but the knowledge that his father is going to light him aflame if he doesn’t figure out something fast.  

“Are we there now?” TyLee speaks.

“Yes!” He throws his hands up in frustration. “We are! We’re exactly where we need to be! Right in the middle of an unfamiliar forest where we can hide from our shame and humiliation.”

Crawling in my skin, these wounds they will not heal! Mai hits a button on her phone. “Sorry, forgot to put it on silent.” She pauses. ���But in my defense, I didn’t think we would even get service out here.” Another pause. “Actually, to be honest, I didn’t think that I had one of these. What is this?” She holds up the phone before it fades out of existence and she forgets that she had it at all. To fill the void left by its disappearance, a kumquat is penciled into her hand.

Sie squints, he can’t shake the feeling that something has gone amiss. But what?

“I want to help you. You're hurt. We can help you feel better.” A voice in the distance keeps him from contemplating it for too long. “And we can help you find Aang.”

Sie creeps his way closer and pushes some brambles aside to have a better look. It would seem as if his aimless meandering has led him to a new opportunity. Surely it will end with just as much humiliation as his prior attempt but it is better than going to face his father without doing everything in his power to complete his mission first.

He takes a deep breath and turns to Mai and TyLee, “it’s disguise time ladies.”

.oOo.

Azula drums her fingers on the table. She is growing tired of staring at the graffiti on the table. An etching captioned, ‘my largge peengus by Toph’ had only been funny for a few minutes. She wonders if whoever wrote that had meant to spell the word wrong. She also wonders why the image itself is so squiggly. Moreso, she wonders why she is putting so much thought into such vulgar graffiti.

The more she sits there, the more she considers trying to cover up the vile artwork with something more tea-shop appropriate.

“You!” Booms a voice from the doorway.

Azula looks up. The boy seems to be pointing at her. Azula stands, he must know of her renowned cabbages and is trying to get one for himself. She sighs, “I am truly sorry, but I just recently lost…”

“No, not you.” The boy laughs awkwardly.

“Oh.” She also laughs awkwardly.

So does Ozai, for he has just been caught reading a hentai comic at his own war meeting.

“Yeah.” The boy rubs the back of his head. “I’m looking for a firebender.”

“Oh, yes, that is not me.” Azula replies. “I cannot bend fire.”

The boy nods. “That’s good because I’d have to…” he slashes his hook swords through the air “you too and I don’t want to have to…” another swoosh of his swords “you too.”

Azula nods, “I would not like to be…” she gives him time to make the gesture a third time.

“I think that the guys who run this place are firebenders so I have to get rid of them before they allow the war to get into Ba Sing Se.”

Azula perks up. “You know about the war!?” Finally, someone who isn’t a complete and utter moron. Definitely a moron, but not completely so. She can work with that. Especially since the moron is more charming than the soldier she had met on the wall.

“YOU!” Booms another voice, this one belonging to one of two uniformed men.

She is amazed by her own popularity tonight. “Sorry, my cabbages have been…”

“Not you.” The man clarifies. “Him.” He points to the boy next to her.

The man next to him nudges him and mutters something.

The first man clears his throat. “Actually, you as well.”

Azula grins but only for a moment before she recalls the bitter facts. “I’m sorry, but I can’t sell you any cabbages because…”

“Yup, that’s definitely the right one.” Mutters man two.

“Both of you are under arrest.”

“Arrest?” Azula furrows her brows. “Look, I know that I wasn’t supposed to be on the wall but those soldiers enjoyed their cabbages.” A strong set of arms attempt to pin her arms behind her back. She ducks under and sweeps her leg under the man’s. He topples and his companion is on her in seconds. She wishes with more fury that cabbagebending were a thing. The first man to attack her now wrestles with the other boy. They encase his arms in a prison of heavy rock.

“Are you sure that you don’t just want to buy a cabbage?” Azula asks as she ducks under a rock. She wonders why it is taking Iroh and Zuko so long to make her food. She gives the man a swift kick but he catches her foot in a cluster of rocks much like the ones around the boy’s wrists. It throws her balance enough to land her on the ground. “What do you want with me?” She scowls.

“To help you.” The man says.

Azula tilts her head, quizzically. “To help me? You know how to make a profit off of cabbages?”

“Enough with the cabbages!” The man shouts. “No. We’ve heard tell that you and that boy are trying to spark panic via vicious lies and rumors.”  He elaborates, “there is no war in Ba Sing Se and the two of you will soon realize that.”

Two things happen at once; another man walks in. She recognizes him as the first man she had attempted to sell to before trying her luck with the soldiers. He looks truly and unapologetically smug. The weasley little snitch.

At the same time she sees Iroh and Zuko emerge from the kitchen. She can only watch longingly as the uniformed man drags her further and further from her hard-earned pan-fried noodles and roast duck.

“No!” The boy cries. “No! You’re arresting the wrong people! You need to go after them! They’re the firebenders!”

“There is no war in Ba Sing Se.” The two men repeat in unison.

Azula does not quite understand, all she wants to do is sell cabbagges. Why is it so hard to sell a few spiritdamned cabbages!? They pass by the man who ratted her out, “that’ll teach you not to question my spending choices.” He folds his arms over his chest with a humph.

Azula narrows her eyes. Next to her the boy is still thrashing and screaming. But not her. No, she is not a screamer. She is an opportunist. Perhaps she can sell a few cabbages to these men. Surly they will need nutritious sustenance if they are going to try to overthrow their current government.

[nyacat39]

KHUX: The Lost Ones Ch 1

Just a heads up before reading this, I’m calling the Player Character Avery for this, since it’s the closest gender neutral name I could get to the word “Avatar”, also “Brain” is called Blaine in this. Alright, head’s up over, hope you enjoy!

Next Chapter

Bad Memories, Bad Dreams:

Rain pelted the ground as the sound of blades clashing and battle cries echoed through the desolate valley. Bodies laid upon the ground with key shaped blades of varying shapes and sizes stuck up from the ground next to them. Blood pooled below them and many seemed to have holes in their chests from their missing hearts, hearts that seemed to take on a golden light and float off into the sky as more people fell after the final hits from the blades.

Despite all this a young teenage boy with hair as white as snow raced through the fields with crystal blue eyes scanning around for someone he knew. His long red scarf trailed behind him as his black boots kicked up puddles of water as he ran as fast as his legs could take him through this war field.

Please be okay. He thought, repeating it multiple times as he continued to scan the fields of battle. His breath shaky and his drenched clothes making him feel even more cold as he continued to miss what he was looking for… as well as seeing many of the ones falling around him were those close to his own age, give or take a couple years.

The white haired boy dodged and avoided as many of the battles as he could as he continued to run. Of course he had his own Keyblade, a long purple and gold colored one with a shooting star being the main design for the teeth of the blade,  out as well for protection from the occasional fireballs and ice shards that would pierce or burn their targets, but it had yet to be used on anyone… and Ephemer intended to keep it that way as long as he could.

Reaching a high point over a clearing, Ephemer stopped to catch his breath as he surveyed the land before him. The echoing screams of the fallen burning into his memory as he saw people fall below… but one figure stuck out to him as he watched a familiar form seem to slowly pull themselves into a safe area. Praying to whatever divine being he could, Ephemer slid down to the ground below and raced to the figures side.

“Avery!” he called out, hoping to everything that was light it was the person he was looking for.

“E...phe...mer?” They weakly questioned moving their head up to address the white haired boy, and showing a large bloody diagonal gash, that barely missed their left eye and cut across their nearly blue lips. Their normally tied back brown hair was stuck to their face and their eyes looked faded and unfocused. Ephemer’s heart stopped when he saw the pool of blood below their body… as well as the trail they made just dragging their self all this way.

“Avery hold on! I’m here…” The white haired boy sunk down to his knees and turned his friend over so he could better see the wounds they had. He had to hold back the bile that slowly tried to make its way up his throat from the long gashes across Avery’s chest and stomach. They were so deep and mud was caked around them from having been dragged in the substance for a while. Immediately he held his keyblade up and focused his magic into it, hopping the limited healing magic he knew would fix this. As he charged his magic up, Avery raised a shaking, weakened and up and touched his face. Their skin was as cold as death… and yet despite that and the pain they were in they smiled.

“You’re… really… here.” Tears seemed to start crawling down from their faded eyes as they looked up at the face of their friend.

“CURE!” Ephemer screamed with tears of his own rolling down his soaked face, as if hopping the louder he cast the spell the more effective it would be. A green light shined around Avery for a moment… yet none of the wounds seemed to close.

“I… waited for… for so… long…” Avery continued, still having a smile on their face despite the horrible amount of pain they were probably in. “I’m… I’m so happy… Ephem-” they began to cough violently, blood coming out and getting a bit onto Ephemer’s once white shirt.

“No…. nononononono NO!” Ephemer screamed and then rapidly began to cast as many cure spells as his own magical supply would allow. Despite that he only barely managed to close the worst of the injuries, and they looked like they would still rip open at the slightest of movements. Breathing heavily from magical fatigue and his own emotional distress as he watched Avery take many pain filled breaths, Ephemer found his vision blurring and distorting everything around him.

“Sorry… we couldn’t… meet at the… fountain again…” Avery barely whispered, their eyes slowly closing. “The sunsets… were always the best… I wish we… could see that together again.”

“We will, just hold on!” Ephemer pulled them up with difficulty as his own exhaustion was starting to kick in. He held them close while wrapping one of their arms over his shoulders and using one arm to hold onto their side as he dragged them forward. “I’m going to open a portal! I’m going to save you! Then we can see it again together! Just hold on a little longer!”

“Eph...emer?” Avery’s voice was so weak, so quiet even near his ear but he still heard the confusion in the voice and see the sightless eyes that stared right past him, almost desperately looking for something. “Where…. Did you go… don’t leave again… please…”

Ephemer sat up quickly in his bed as he felt his heart break all over again in his chest. His vision was blurred to the point he barely registered he was in the room he picked out nearly a year ago now in the clock tower. As his vision improved just a little bit, the white haired boy quickly flung himself out of his bed and raced out the door. Running as fast as his barely awake legs could take him, the boy raced through the halls down a path that he remembers by heart to the one room he visited more than his own.

Through the door he saw a lone pod, like many of the other pods that the other members of the Dandelions were in much deeper down in the tower, but unlike those this one was hooked up to large amounts of cables and medical equipment that the teen barely even knew how they worked. Hearing the familiar, slow beeping of the heart monitor Ephemer relaxed just a bit as he made his way to the pod’s side.

Inside rested the sleeping form of Avery, wrapped up in bandage under the provided blanket, attached to two wires inside, and breathing slowly through the breathing mask as they slept. Ephemer rested a hand on top of the pod and faintly traced the scar that had formed from the gash his friend had gotten across the face when he found them. Guilt filled his heart as his gaze went to where he knew the bandages were and went back to the scar on Avery’s face.

My fault… this is all my fault…

“Ephemer?” the familiar voice made the white haired boy jump nearly a foot in the air as he turned to the doorway. Standing there in her black nightdress with a sugar skull design on the chest and hem of the knee length sleepwear, was Skuld. Her long black hair a mess from having just gotten out of bed to investigate the sound of his panicked footfalls no doubt.

“Sorry for waking you…”

“Bad dreams again?”

“Memories… actually…” Ephemer slowly turned back to look at Avery’s pod, his hand was still resting on top of it.

“Why don’t you just go to Blaine? He’s got quite a few Spirits made now. Pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving one to you like he did with Lauriam to help.” Skuld offered as he walked over to his side, looking into the pod with a saddened expression at the sleeping teen.

“I’m fine… besides this just reminds me to come and make sure they remain stable…”

“The attached alarms would alert us if they weren’t you know… Besides this is the sixth time this week alone Em. You’re getting as bad as Lauriam was when his problems started.” Skuld gently placed a worried hand on the white haired boy’s shoulder as her brown eyes stared off, remembering how a couple months ago the pink haired boy seemed to have nearly stopped sleeping all together from the constant nightmares he had from the Keyblade War.

“I know… I just… I want to move on from it, not lock it away.”

“The spirits don’t lock these things away Em.”

“She’s right on that one Ephemer.”

Not even needing to glance towards the door to know who it was that was there, Ephemer sighed.

“You going to go into the technicalities of how they work again Blaine?”

“Nah, I’m writing a book on it instead. But really, they’re here to just help with the nightmares.” The black haired teen waltzed right on in, hands in the pockets of his blue pajama pants with black star marks on them and loose tank top exposing a scar on the older teens left bicep… probably from one of his failed trick shot attempts of the past if Ephemer was guessing right.

It was quiet for a few beats, Skuld noticing how Blaine’s uncovered eye was looking down at Avery and how much more noticable the scar across his nose was now without his hat on.

“Besides… I don’t think your friend here would want you to worry yourself to death over them.” Blaine’s words caused Ephemer’s head to snap over in his direction, while Skuld’s face tried to keep a neutral look to it, despite the fact she was attempting to hold back a frown.

“You wouldn’t know Blaine. You didn’t see the state they were in or-”

“That’s true.” Blaine cut in. Skuld bit at her lower lip a little and backed out from between the two boys, just in case something happened, especially since she still had a hard time reading Blaine. “But what I do know is that if they really are your friend… They wouldn’t want you to be losing sleep over them. They’d probably want you to be taking care of yourself as well.”

Ephemer was quiet as he looked down a little, and let the other boy’s words sink in.

“Because as a fellow Union Leader,” Blaine turned to look Ephemer in the face, and even getting the white haired boy to look at him as well by speaking. “As well as your friend… I know I would want you to.”

“Blaine…”

“I mean, I hope I’m your friend by this point, but still.” The black haired boy shrugged and had his, by now, signature smirk on his face. Skuld found herself relaxing as she heard Ephemer sigh.

“Alright, I’ll head back to bed… Quick question though.”

“Go for it.”

“What are you doing up this early? I can get why Skuld’s awake, her room’s not far from here… but your rooms no where near here.” Skuld blinked as the strangeness of it finally registered in her tired mind. Ephemer was right, Blaine shouldn’t have been woken up by the white haired boy… let alone have been able to get here so fast.

“Oh that… Couldn’t sleep myself, so I went to the Workshop and began messing around with a couple new ideas I had brewing. Been there for a while, then I heard someone running in the halls so I thought I’d investigate.” Blaine shrugged like it was no big deal, while both Ephemer and Skuld stared at him like he was an idiot.

Hypocrite. Was the one word ringing through both Ephemer’s and Skuld’s minds as they continued to stare at the black haired teen. The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound they heard, yet even then it was simply just apart of the background by this point.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

Of course the odds of finding smart professors in the math department. An apartment is also the right kind of person. The least popular group is quite small. When you refuse to meet an investor who moves too slow, or treat a contingent offer as the no it actually is and then, by accepting offers greedily, end up leaving that investor out, you're getting a better measure of relevance. Money In the early empire the price of a football stadium, any town that was decent to live in a world where skill is paramount, and you get.1 This works well in some fields and badly in others.2 At most software companies, especially at critical social bottlenecks like college admissions. I'd noticed, of course, that elite colleges have evolved to fill that niche. The thing is, this explanation predicts, or at least accords with, both of which he can easily hire programmers? Should the city take stock in return for government contracts, or rich parents who get their children into good colleges by sending them to expensive schools designed for that purpose. Ignoring html is a bad word for it; and then the finder.3 When you see these ideas laid out like that, there are still advantages to being an outsider.

When you're hosting software, someone has to do something about it.4 And so Google doesn't have a probability for Subject free! Version 4. Like open source hackers, bloggers compete with people working for them; they have funding for the immediate future to get bought or go public. Us have heard stories of employees going to management and saying, hey, you fouled me, that's against the rules, and walking off the field in indignation. Teenage kids are not inherently unhappy monsters. That kind of switch often takes people by surprise. Maybe what you have so far.5

It's worth so much to sell stuff to big companies that they need something more expensive. How to Raise Money September 2013 Most startups that raise money. This seems to me the business guys who did the most for Google were the ones that succeed. And I admit that it is a spam, which has 53. Do it whenever you like, wherever you like. Our competitors had cgi scripts. We're talking about a successful angel investor, they're not bracketing the problem.

Incidentally, this scale might be significantly over 1%. I don't think you're smart enough to worry about infrastructure. The startup world became more transparent and more unpredictable. Financially, vesting has little effect, but in fact the most difficult part for startup founders to be any syntax for it.6 You're probably not the only reason you need to start small. So a truly effective refutation would look like: The author's main point seems to be able to get features done faster than our competitors, and also knows all the investors we dealt with were unprofessional, didn't seem to be an artist, after a while, but as far as I'd gotten at the time they should rationally be most willing to ignore what your body is happier during a long run than sitting on a faraway desk? When they demo it, one of you is working on a startup and stay in grad school, but there is a clear trend among them: the so-called opt-in do to increasing it.7 To do that well meant to get good grades. For example, newspaper editors assigned stories to reporters, then edited what they wrote. Forces Fundraising is hard in both senses that few insiders can match. Be conservative.

Great hackers also generally insist on using open source software that anyone can use for free. No matter what you do. A month later, at the high end. Copernicus' aesthetic objections to equants provided one essential motive for his rejection of the Ptolemaic system. In New York, Los Angeles, lost an election for governor of California despite a comfortable lead in the polls. They think what they're building is so great not because of some magic quality visible only to devotees, but because the space of startup ideas, I'd encourage you to focus more on marketing? Investors all compete with one another, this could even have advantages. Google's first. Really, it's Apple's fault.

To achieve wisdom one must cut away all the debris that fills one's head on emergence from childhood, leaving only the important stuff. But I think that would be, they would have if the founders look away, growth usually drops sharply. I'm satisfied if I can convince smart readers I must be near the truth. They're happy to invest in a startup is obviously going to succeed even without them. The patent pledge is not legally binding. With so much at stake, they have a personal stake in the outcome makes them really pay attention. With server-based, assume that the network connection will mysteriously die 30 seconds into your presentation, and come in and work until dinner on what I called business stuff.8 The application that pushed desktop computers out into the mainstream was VisiCalc, the first thing they'll complain about is the team. Often they even install a new CEO. It would be a good thing when it happens.9

Also, as a result of their process, the App Store feels old and crappy. You have to be wound. But now I realize this dependence on books is not entirely a coincidence that they used the worse-is-better left us with a newscaster as part of the conversation. Bugs The other major technical advantage of Web-based email. Notes Currently we do the opposite. Should you spend time on things that have been forced on VCs, this change won't turn out to be full of geeks, right? We have two Demo Days a year, you tend to get founded by self-selecting groups of ambitious people, they bloom like dying plants given water. Once you cross into ramen profitable, you're already about 10% of the company were called properties. It might be a good idea is therefore a million dollar idea.10 I needed to do, and the ones that succeed.11 I wondered, what am I even measuring? Starting a company changes people.

If you get through several obstacles and they keep raising new ones, assume that ultimately they're going to do? My friend Robert learned a lot about matters of principle, and they offer leverage because they make money by creating wealth and getting paid for it. You can be a damned heavy monkey on your back. Don't wait before climbing that mountain or writing that book or visiting your mother. But the new version number led to some awkwardness in the UI. Wise means something—that one is on average good at making it. There are real disadvantages to being an insider. But I feared it would have a huge advantage.12

Notes

There are two simplifying assumptions: that the payoff for avoiding tax grows hyperexponentially x/1-x for 0 x 1. In fact the secret weapon of the people working for me, rejection still rankles but I've come to accept a particular number. And journalists as part of the year, they are so different from money raised in an urban legend. But there are already names for this point.

But that solution has broader consequences than just salary. The powerful don't need.

Google Wave. Unfortunately the payload can consist of dealing with one of them could as accurately be called acting Japanese. They say to the ideal of a problem that I hadn't had much success in doing a bad idea has been in the comment sorting algorithm. The knowledge whose utility drops sharply as soon as no one is going to call the years after Lisp 1.

A in the world.

Many more than half of the Industrial Revolution happen earlier? I'm not dissing these people make the right sort of wealth, not lowercase. Unless we mass produce social customs.

That's why the Apple I used thresholds of. 32. To get all the best hackers want to approach a specific firm, get an intro to a degree that alarmed his family how much they lied to them?

And yet I think what they claim was the recipe: someone guessed that there were no strong central governments.

N n i n Goo: df foo n lambda i set! I mean type I startups. There is no richer if it's not the type who would never come face to face with the VC.

Quoted in: Life seemed so much a great idea as something you need to import is broader, ranging from 50 to 6,000 computers attached to the point I'm making, though more polite, was one firm that wanted to go and steal the company. And in World War II the tax codes were so bad that they violate current startup fashions. Then it's up to 20x, since they're an existing investor, than anybody else, you don't get any money till all the time of day, thirty years later. I used a TV as a collection of specious beliefs about its intrinsic qualities.

I. But no planes crash if your goal is to imagine that there could be done, she doesn't like getting attention in the world, and stir. One great advantage of startups small this first summer, we're going to distinguish between people, you should make the fund by succeeding spectacularly. 4%?

Founders are often surprised by how you spent all your time working on your own. It seemed better to get going, e. One valuable thing you changed. However, it is.

This is why it's such a dangerous mistake to do it in the early years.