#(SHOOT I THOUGHT I UPDATED YESTERDAY MY BAD)
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Fluent Freshman - Part 26
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Nicky can’t help but bounce his legs as they sit in the waiting room at the hospital. He’s had to leave the waiting room a couple times already because in Aaron’s effort to comfort him, and wow how far they’ve come he’s really raised Aaron to be such a thoughtful young man, the jackass has unknowingly made four more Miss Congeniality references.
This is a waiting room full of nervous families and Nicky is NOT about to be the guy who can’t stop laughing because Aaron mentioned World Peace in a snapback at Kevin.
Nicky is not going to be the one to explain FF’s jokes. He MAY already be planning a Miss Congeniality movie night. Neil, Aaron, and Kevin may not remember but ANDREW will and watching Andrew realize his friend was referencing an AMAZING movie when talking about how he took out one of the FBIs most wanted was all he wanted at the moment.
Another nurse comes in and calls out “Elias Smith?” But Wymack doesn’t get up from his seat still sipping his now lukewarm coffee. There’s been 14 different times she’s called for a ‘Smith’ family but Wymack hasn’t moved for any of them and different waiting families have gotten up to get updates and taken back to see their family members.
Maybe he wants to see Andrew’s face a little less than he wants to see FF’s right now. He has his flowers on a chair next to him and a get well soon card that he’d had Wymack also sign. He was waiting for Smith’s grandma to come to see if she wanted in on some card real estate
“Seriously, how many Smiths got stabbed yesterday?” Kevin marvels.
“At this point it’s at least 12.” Aaron remarks.
“I’m at 14 not including Smithy.” Nicky says.
“At least we’ll finally get to find out Smith’s first name.” Kevin crosses his arms and leans back heavily into the chair, “I’m hungry.” He whines.
“Yeah, at least there’s that.” Nicky agrees because not knowing FF’s name at this point made him feel like an incredibly BAD friend. Even mores than the fact that Nicky raised the man that stabbed FF last night. He turns his thoughts away from those thoughts, “You wouldn’t be hungry if you hadn’t bitched about the breakfast burritos I had us pick up.” Nicky argues.
“It was greasy! I’m already slipping on my diet after Thanksgiving and eating that pie.” Kevin argues back.
Nicky can’t help but think of Kevin as a pageant contestant in that moment.
Nicky looks heavenward for the strength not to laugh.
“Then go get something.” Aaron says from Nicky’s side, “There’s gotta be a cafeteria or something around here.” Aaron adds.
“I don’t want to go alone.” Kevin shoots back and Nicky can HEAR Aaron roll his eyes.
“Fine, whatever I need more coffee anyways. Let’s go find a cafeteria.” Aaron says getting up and Nicky looks at his cousin, “Text us if you get a room number.” He says.
“Will do.” Nicky agrees.
Then it was two.
It’s about five minutes before, “David Wymack?”
Nicky’s head shoots to Wymack and he sees the smug amusement on their coach’s face.
That motherfucker.
Nicky followed Wymack up to the doctor in question. “How’s he doing?” Wymack asks.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about…” The doctor says and Nicky feels his stomach sink into his toes.
***
Neil has NEVER been more relieved to be out of a car and that includes the ones Lola had him in (though that might be because being out of those cars meant he was closer to his death by way of Nathan).
Granny Smith had not spoken a word unprompted since they had climbed into the car. Granny Smith had the exact same expressionless face as her grandson did but it is only now that Neil realizes that there was always some hint of emotion on FF’s face. Neil wasn’t great at knowing exactly what those emotions were but they were there.
Granny Smith’s rage was pretty hard to miss.
“I think she knows.” Andrew had said with his hands white knuckled at 10 and 2.
“How could she?” Neil questions. “Smith’s phone fell in that toilet before he got stabbed.” He says but he can feel the anger and can feel it directed towards them.
She had seemed so nice with Paul!
Though Paul didn’t have anything to do with her grandson getting stabbed. Neil could understand how that might sour any niceness.
Neil and Andrew had pulled into the parking lot and it was only then that Granny Smith leaned forward and pointed towards the entrance.
Words weren’t really necessary then.
Before Neil could even try and trudge through offering to bring her bag to her the woman was out of the back of the Maserati and through the sliding doors of the hospital.
“Maybe…maybe she’s just like that? Smith likes to sit in silence too?” Neil tries but Andrew doesn’t say anything as he turns the Maserati into the parking lot to find a space.
They walked in only to find the receptionist looking confusedly at Granny Smith as the woman spoke in rapid Polish but was getting nowhere.
Neil watched as Andrew squared his shoulders and walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned around she the fear and anger shown through in her expression. Neil could understand in a way. FF was her grandson and considering the fact that FF had likely gotten his interest in languages from learning Polish from her?
They’re probably close.
Neil is pretty sure that normal close family members worry like this.
Almost positive.
He may not have the best examples in his own life but he has watched enough television and enough movies to start to see what might be considered normal!
Really!
Anyways…
Andrew points towards the doors that would lead them towards the elevator that they could take up to the waiting room.
Neil watches as Granny Smith visibly struggles before nodding. Andrew holds out his hand and she stares at it before Andrew points at her bag.
She blinks, looking taken aback.
“I can carry it.” He offers.
It’s a few moments of looking between Andrew’s face and his hand before she hands over her bag.
Andrew puts it over his shoulder and the three of them silently made their way up. The elevator ride was slightly less excruciating than the car ride but only just.
They got off and saw Nicky, Wymack, and a Doctor.
“…so he may not wake up.” Neil hears and watches as Andrew’s shoulders go instantly tense and Neil feels his own heart jump into his throat.
Then Nicky laughs.
“Of course he’s sleepy!” Nicky throws his head back.
“Yes, he had a high level of cortisol, that’s the stress hormone, in his blood. He should wake up either late today or early tomorrow though.” The Doctor says.
“Oh thank GOD.” Nicky says with a relieved slump to his shoulders, “You really gotta work on how you start conversations like this Doc! I thought you were going to tell me Smithy died not that he’s just going to sleep like the dead for at least 18 more hours!” Nicky exclaims before his gaze slides off of the Doctor and onto their group. “Oh!” Nicky moves past the Doctor and stops in front of them. “You must be Smithy’s grandma!” He says and offers his hand like the sweet respectable young man that Nicky absolutely isn’t.
“Nicky, she doesn’t-“
“Ty musisz być Nicky! Jesteś taki przystojny, tak jak powiedział mój kurczaczek.” Granny Smith knocks his hand away and pinches his cheek. Nicky visibly melts at the warm tonę even if he doesn’t know what is being said to him.
“Oh!” Nicky says, “I hope I don’t butcher this, Dziękuję! Uwielbiałem Pani ciasto!” He says haltingly before pausing, “Nazywa go Pani swoim kurczakiem? Jakie to słodkie!” he says but this time his enthusiasm has the language come out more smoothly.
Granny Smith seems to light up even more. “Czyż nie?”
“Nicky, since when did you know Polish?” Andrew asks brows raised slightly in shock.
“What? You two aren’t the only ones who decided to learn a cute foreign language so you could have secret couple conversations.” Nicky huffs frowning at the two of them, “Erik’s company has an office in Poland, he thinks it might be fun to try living there for a while so we’ve been learning the last year and a half.” Nicky says, “Smithy’s been such a huge help on it too!” He adds.
Neil opens his mouth, thinks about it, and closes it.
That’s fair.
MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU
NEXT
EDIT: 6/8/23: Thanks @shirlai for fixing my janky Polish for Nicky!
@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @fuckyeahjeanmoreau @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie
@theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themundanemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupandfries @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit @lesbian-blackbeard @lesbiansupernatural @silvermasquerade @thepeachfuzz @minniemariex @kazoo-the-demjin @gaypomegranate @ji-nk-ies @neilimfinejosten @omgrubelangel @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice @percabethotplove @cozyrosykay @foxyatlas
The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.
As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?
Also if anyone fluent in Polish wants to correct me on any of the Polish wants to correct me / sends smoother Polish please do! I am just using Google Translate for GS.
Translations:
Ty musisz być Nicky! Jesteś taki przystojny, tak jak powiedział mój kurczaczek. = “You must be Nicky! You're so handsome, just like my chicken said.”
“Dziękuję! Uwielbiałem Pani ciasto!” = “Thank you! I loved your pie!”
“Nazywa go Pani swoim kurczakiem? Jakie to słodkie!” = “You call him your chicken? That’s so cute!”
“Czyż nie?” = “Isn’t it?”
#Fluent Freshman AU#Phew!#Finally got this one out#You might be wondering#Where did Aaron and Kevin go?#The answer is that Kevin saw the nutrition office#and was compelled to go ask for advice#Aaron left him there because he needs to find the cafeteria to get coffee#What happens first#Will Aaron get back to Kevin before the nutritionist runs out of patience?#Tune in to find out#Is Nicky about to experience the highs and lows of having a loving grandma?#Yes#Will Neil and Andrew get to experience those same highs and lows?#time will tell#It's me#I'm time#I will tell#I do think it's funny that I start feeling bad when I don't update this#and it's been like 4 days since the last update#which is not all that long ago#The OCD completionist that I am is taking a lot of joy just minesweeping the map in tears of the kingdom#I am one of those psychos that has to get all the korok seeds#I still have not progressed the plot#but I am free#AFTG AU#AFTG OC#AFTG#Andreil#My Fics
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so yesterday I was at the Kansas City Chiefs victory parade. I luckily didn't hear any gunshots or see blood, but we (me, fiance, mom, and a couple friends) were close. the shooting happened as the rally was ending. the crowd became very congested and we couldn't move much while trying to leave, which caused me to be a bit nervous, but there were a lot of people at the rally so I thought it was natural busyness.
someone behind us yelled there was a shooting and to move. even at that point, I didn't want to overreact as there have been instances where people say that and it's not happening. but then people started to hop a small wall to get out of there. my mom had knee surgery a year ago so I was worried she wouldn't be able to, but once she did then I knew all of my group was going to do the same.
my fiance and his friend were the last two climb up, I waited for them as the rest of my group stepped further up a hill. once we got back with them, I could see groups of people running down the street, making me fully realize something bad was going on. while my group wanted to hop down into the street to make our way to a friend's close by apartment l, I told them we should wait because I didn't want us to get hurt or lost in the waves of runners. once people were just walking fast, we could safely make our way out of there.
police sirens were blaring and various sections were closed off, already for the parade but more tape was going up. I stayed closer to my mom as she was having a hard time believing it was going on. my friend's apartment was taped off as one of the shooters apparently ran past there and fired a shot (before we arrived there and no one injured). once inside for safety we could follow the news (as down at the parade there were so many people cell service wasn't working, which is now scarier looking back as we wouldn't have been able to receive any updates). we left and got food, but what had been a really fun day was definitely ruined with 1 person dead and more than 20 injured, mostly minors.
fuck the NRA, fuck republicans, fuck "pro-second amendment" democrats, and fuck anyone who puts a (mis)interpretation of a clause on a piece of paper above human life. my fiance is more shaken up today than yesterday, unable to stop watching videos of what happened in Reddit. it also happened right in front of the building I proposed to him at, so it sucks we will now have that memory tainted as well. I hate it here (the United States).
#im so tired today#if i get any spottier on replying to messages this is why#also 800 security members (from national to local police) were there and couldn't prevent this? fuck them#gun violence#tw gun violence#cw gun violence#kansas city#kansas city chiefs
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two strangers (1)
summary: when bucky rescues you, you didn't think there could be a more indecent person. but as the days go by, you realize he may have a chicken heart.
pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader
words: +6k
warnings: a lot of bad words and mentions of wounds and blood.
read this for some context! so fyi this is set in an alternate universe where mercenaries exist, but like a society, like john wick, and the avengers rescued bucky from hydra's control and all that, but he decided to keep his life in the mercenary side, taking missions to get rid of really bad people, and even though he isn't part of the society per se, he's very known by it but he doesn't care to join them.
note: hi guys! i decided to publish this in different parts, seeing that my inspiration had a big strike and yesterday i just couldn't stop writing. i think the updates will be weekly, but you'll know the exact date in the masterlist page. so i hope you like it! and know feedback is always appreciated! love you all 💜
Bucky never thought the rescue would be difficult. It was a huge house, three floors, a hundred windows and doors, with a garden that directly overlooked a wooded area. The walk to the entrance was not at all dissimilar to the ambiance of the whole area, as it was at least a forty minute walk through trees and bushes. There were about fifty people guarding each entrance and access, but Bucky knew that there would be a shift change at ten o'clock at night, at which time there would be about 25 people that he would have to face in less than 10 minutes to reach the target, and after that he would have just under two minutes to get at least ten kilometers away from the house and avoid being followed.
Except that Bucky wasn't riding the bike back to town and had a piece of a shirt pressed against the side of his abdomen from which blood was pouring out, while a couple of other bikes were following behind them and they could barely dodge the bullets.
Bucky knew he couldn't play with words again.
“Drive faster,” Bucky mumbled over the sound of the wind and bullets, barely able to hold onto the abdomen of the woman behind the wheel, whose name he couldn't remember.
“Fucking hell, I'm doing everything I can!”
Bucky peered over the woman's shoulder watching as the needle pointed to one hundred and ten kilometers per hour and raised his eyebrows. How that tiny woman was able to keep her balance and zigzag through the trees at that speed was a complete mystery.
While it was true that the bike had more speed, it was quite dangerous to increase it seeing the wooded road full of natural obstacles in front of them. So Bucky just pulled out of his right side the gun he always carried with him and started shooting at whatever he could aim at. Maybe that way he could get some leverage.
After a few minutes, Bucky began to make out the lighted streets of the city and was minimally glad that the rescue had not been a failure.
“When you take the road, turn right and then left, there you go straight ahead and increase your speed as much as you can.”
The woman barely nodded toward Bucky's words as she maneuvered through the branches and downhill slopes until she made it to the asphalt, and it was like falling off the end of a roller coaster. Bucky thought he had flown off the bike.
When the woman made the turn Bucky indicated and found a track that stretched along without a possible end, she accelerated so much that she was sure that, had she not had a helmet, she would have been out of eyelashes in seconds.
It didn't take them too long to lose the criminals following them and find the safe house where they would spend the night. Bucky felt his body still vibrating with the bike as the woman parked it in the subway parking lot. The walk to the stairs and what he rode inside the house was one big blurry moment inside his head as the adrenaline began to wear off and the pain throughout his body became more and more noticeable.
He barely remembered lying on the white couch, staining it entirely with blood and mud, and the woman in front of him trying to stop his bleeding.
-
You did everything in your power to stop the bleeding in the man's side. It was difficult, but you managed to get a halfway decent stitch and tried to disinfect it with what you found in the first aid kit in the house. You wrapped his abdomen with gauze and bandages as best you could and finally left him alone. He had fainted the moment you put alcohol on the wound with gauze, and you didn't know if it was because of the pain or the lack of blood. It was probably the latter, he looked like a strong guy.
A strong guy who had definitely underestimated his mission. Strong but his arrogance was a major flaw.
You had tried to arrange the whole room as you had found it, because you'd made a big mess carrying that man who weighed twice as much as he looked to the couch. In the end, cleaning up the blood was the most complicated thing.
You went to bed at dawn, after an exhaustive session in the shower. You washed your clothes by hand three times and then soaked them for at least an hour until you washed them again. You got clean clothes and changed when the first traces of azure blue began to adorn the sky.
But you stared at the ceiling for a while. Memories of what had happened in the last few days and years flooded your head and kept you moving your hands under the sheet. Restlessness, new friend. Reminiscing about it, the sound of bullets, the adrenaline rush and the blood of the man in the room almost kept you awake. But, at some point, out of exhaustion or pity, your eyes finally closed.
-
Bucky cursed, moving around the room. Trying to walk to the bathroom, he had dropped everything his hands had touched. And the pain in his side didn't make things any easier. He didn't know what the woman sleeping peacefully on the second floor had done, but it seemed the pain was sharper than yesterday.
As his body moved closer to the bathroom, he heard footsteps coming from the stairs. The silhouette of the woman materialized in front of him, who was trying to climb the five steps that separated him from the bathroom.
“What are you doing? You opened your wound,” Bucky observed the woman's scowl with hair standing on end like a cat in the face of an imminent threat.
He watched her in slow motion and infrared as she tried to move closer to him, decreasing the distance between them and making it difficult for him to walk to the bathroom.
The woman raised her arms to touch him, but before she could do anything, Bucky threw a swipe. She staggered, and without a second's hesitation stepped away from him.
Bucky thought he saw a hint of fear in her eyes, but it had to have been a figment of his imagination, because the next moment she was only looking at him with annoyance.
“How surly.”
“Don't get in my way.”
“I was trying to help you.”
“Standing in my way doesn't help me at all.”
“"You're bleeding again…”
“Fuck, I need to use the bathroom.”
The woman silently moved to the side. And Bucky barely glanced at her as he passed her and finally climbed the fifth step that separated him from his destination.
That was why he had stopped accepting missions like that. It was so much easier to just show up at a place to shoot someone in the forehead and then run away, he didn't have to spend days and days waiting to finish the mission. He could even do more than three in a single day, when the targets knew each other or were in the same place.
But, yes, even if it didn't seem like it, so much death at his heels was also a bit overwhelming if he was honest. He'd heard from other mercenaries, the ones who weren't so sadistic, that rescue missions were sometimes a respite to get back into the action again. Bucky had done it before, but there was always something that went wrong. And this time was no exception. Maybe he wasn't cut out to rescue people, to save them…
When he came out of the bathroom and made his way with great effort into the living room, the smell of bacon and eggs filled the room. Scattered on the dining room table were all the items he could find inside a first aid kit and there was also a bag with what appeared to be bloody gauze.
“I thought the bath swallowed you up.”
Bucky noticed when the woman came out of the kitchen wiping her hands with a white cloth. She was wearing different clothes than yesterday, white and neat, totally in contrast to the stained and dirty clothes he was wearing.
“Sit down. I need to check you over.”
“I'm fine.”
“Don't be foolish.”
Bucky shifted, willing himself to lie back down on the couch he'd woken up in. He vaguely noticed that on one side of the furniture was a bucket of water and bubbles and some sponges, one submerged and one over an edge of the couch that was bathed in blood.
“You do know there are people who clean these places?” Bucky spoke as he tried to find a way to sit down without having to bend over or exert too much force by bending his legs.
“No.”
“Well, now you know. Don't spend time cleaning these things.”
“It looks bad.”
“It's just blood… argh.”
Bucky arched as he made a very bad move and rested one of his hands on the back of the couch. He barely heard the woman sigh and then her footsteps approaching.
“No, no… I can.”
“God, what a stupid man.”
“What the fuck did you just-? Ah, ah, ahhhhh.”
The man hadn't even noticed when you came up behind him and pushed him to move before his head could process it. He fell noisily onto the couch and bit his lips to keep from moaning in pain.
“I like you better when you're quiet.”
Giving up the fight, Bucky let his body fall against the backrest and dropped his limp hands on either side of his legs. With his eyes closed, he heard a flutter of things on one side of him and guessed that the woman was digging through the things she had placed on the table. He barely had any memories of the night before when they arrived and most of them included a terrible pain that drove him into unconsciousness.
"Well, let's see…" the woman mumbled to herself and Bucky soon felt her hands moving over his bandaged abdomen.
It was instinct and he couldn't stop his left hand, metallic and dulled by the bloodstains that spread over his body, from clinging with superhuman strength to the wrists of the woman who had only intended to tend to him.
Even with his eyes closed, he heard her gasp in surprise and felt her tense in front of him. Her small hands, which had not the slightest chance before his exorbitant strength, stirred under his grip in slight movements. Without seeing her, he could tell she was so frightened she didn't know if she should keep shaking or stay still.
Bucky opened his eyes to realize that his instinct was right. The woman was pale with fright.
Sighing, the man loosened his grip until finally releasing her.
The woman fell backwards on the floor trying to get away from him.
That was the look he was used to seeing on all his victims.
Turning his head away, Bucky cleared his throat.
“Ask first next time.”
It was several seconds before the woman moved again. She had stood there, still and tense, watching him, waiting for any sudden movement to bolt. She moved closer to him on her knees, but not as close as she had been a few minutes ago. Her breathing was just beginning to become more leisurely until she finally seemed to have calmed down.
Bucky kept his gaze anywhere but on the small woman in front of him, who seemed to fear she would be swallowed alive.
“I'm going to-”
“Yes.”
That time, when the woman moved her hands back to the bandage around his abdomen, Bucky tensed, but kept his instincts to himself. He knew the woman had sensed that moment of hesitation, because she almost moved her hands away, but came closer again when nothing happened.
Thus Bucky allowed himself to be attended to, until he fell back asleep on the couch.
-
When the man woke up again, you had already eaten breakfast and finished washing the couch, except for the place where he was lying. You had also cleaned up the trail of blood he had left on the floor from the bathroom all the way back to the living room. You had tried to make everything in your reach neat, free of any mud or blood stains. And when you were done in the living room, you went to fix what was needed in the kitchen.
You were halfway through going to get your clothes when you heard him.
“Fuck, how the hell did you make it hurt more than it did before?”
You turned on your feet at the top of the stairs to see him as he leaned forward with a grimace.
“Maybe I wouldn't have had to double stitch you if you weren't such a moron.”
“Double stitch? Does that exist?”
“I don't know!”
“You double stitched me?”
You shrugged. “Just in case!”
“Argh… No fucking way.”
Dropping his head on the back of the couch, the man brought his right hand over his forehead in a weary gesture.
“Whatever. I left you some hot water in the shower and a rag. Try not to get your wound wet.”
He lowered his head to look at you, but you hurried on walking to the cleaning room.
That man was scary. And it was much scarier that you were in an almost-abandoned house in a ghost neighborhood alone with him. The chances were that if you shouted, no one would hear you; or if you did and someone did hear you, they would prefer to keep on walking. That's how troubled the place you were in looked.
You were surprised that your brother had sent someone like that to look for you. At least he would have made a little more effort to find someone more decent. You had to crawl to get you both out of that wrecked house, when it should've been the other way around. As you folded your clothes, you wondered where your brother had gotten that man from.
You were heading back to the room when you heard a snort down the hall. Against the alarms in your head, you approached the hallway to see towards the back, into the living room, as the man had gotten up from the couch and had walked that way about seven steps with the goal of reaching the stairs. At the pace he was going, you wondered how long it had taken him to get there. And with the winces of pain he was making, you knew it was taking all his strength not to make sudden movements.
You sighed as you dropped your clothes on the basket next to the door. That man was going to give you green gray hair.
“Let me help you,” you spoke once you were near him, at the top of the stairs.
It really wasn't that many stairs, only ten steps were separating the man from that bathroom. You didn't know why that kind of platform was there, instead of just making a flat floor for the whole house being so big, but you couldn't judge an architect's decisions.
And yet, even though it was only a few stairs, it seemed like a hundred when you had a bullet wound in your abdomen.
When you started to descend, the man said nothing, just watched you intently as your feet went one in front of the other holding onto the handrail. His deadly gaze caused you to shiver slightly because he looked like a lion about to eat a gazelle.
Still, you stopped at a safe distance.
“May I?”
The man kept his gaze on yours for a while longer, as if he had to weigh every possibility in a short time. You wonder what he saw in you that he had to be so alert. You barely reached his chin, what could you do without him stopping you two seconds before? You didn't even have the option to think of anything.
So when he sighed, you realized he had given in.
-
Bucky took a pleasant nap on the bed in the master bedroom when he finished showering, if anyone could call what he had done a shower. He ran a washcloth with warm water all over his body, with the tiniest amount of soap and unable to wash his hair. The woman downstairs had offered to do it for him, but Bucky didn't even consider that possibility.
Still, he felt fresh enough to really rest for a while.
And by the time he awoke, moonlight was filtering through the curtains.
It was daring to get out of bed. But it was worth it when he reached the kitchen and the smell of meat made his stomach growl loudly. He hadn't eaten anything for over twenty-four hours. He hadn't even accepted the breakfast the woman made because he still felt as if at any moment he was going to vomit up to the air.
But at that moment… at that moment….
“Ah, you finally woke up.”
“How long did I sleep?”
“About twelve hours.”
Bucky moved his head to look at the clock above the entrance to the kitchen, and yes, it was already eight o'clock at night.
“How are you feeling? How's the wound?”
The man stirred when he heard the woman's voice nearby. She had moved until she reached the kitchen entrance, not a step more, not a step less.
“It doesn't hurt as much as it did before.”
“That's good,” the woman shook her head in a nod and walked back into the kitchen. “Sit down. You need to eat.”
Bucky obeyed silently, because dealing with food he didn't want to grumble. He heard the sound of dishes and silverware before the woman came out with two large plates in her hands. When Bucky saw what she had cooked, his mouth dropped open in surprise.
“I hope you like meat,” the woman commented in a light voice, but at Bucky's silence she began to perspire. “I also cooked a vegan option if you-”
“No,” Bucky cut her off, moving his hands to grab the silverware. “I definitely like meat.”
Bucky didn't notice how the woman's shoulders relaxed as she watched him savor each thing on his plate nor how she kept her gaze fixed on him to make sure he didn't choke on how quickly the food was being stuffed.
And when they were both finished eating, the woman pulled out a bag that had been sitting on a chair and set it on the table, bringing it closer to Bucky, but not too close.
At the man's arched eyebrow, she said, “Medication.”
Bucky's eyes lit up, but he shook his head quickly.
“Why the hell didn't you give this to me before?”
“Because there was none before.”
Bucky frowned. “And where did you get this?”
As she answered, the woman got up to pick up the dishes and carry them to the scrubber. “There's a store about five blocks from here. I had some money so I bought it. It seemed necessary.”
The woman went to grab the silverware Bucky had used, not noticing the man's steady gaze on her, when his metal hand stopped her from taking the silverware away.
She unconsciously cringed at the sudden movement, and sought the man's gaze in alarm. Bucky felt such overwhelming anger make its way inside his chest that he didn't even think twice before letting his body act first.
“You did what?”
The woman sputtered a couple of times, like a fish out of water, before replying, “I just went for meds. So you won't get the wound infected.”
“You left this house alone? Are you out of your mind?”
Bucky raised his voice as he rose suddenly from his chair. His metal hand pulled the woman's wrist and slammed it against her chest in one violent motion. She barely managed to take a deep breath before tears welled up in her eyes.
“Do you even have any idea what I had to go through to get you here? And you're telling me you walked out of this house like it was nothing? Alone?!”
Still cringing at the tone of voice Bucky was using, the woman replied shakily, “But nothing happened. I'm fine…”
“Ah! Right! And how can you be sure that no one followed you here? How can you be sure that you didn't compromise our location?”
“I swear I took a good look when I left and arrived. There was no one… There wasn't… Please just... let me go.”
Bucky pursed his lips and took one more detailed look at the woman's contracted face. He angrily let go of her.
She didn't hesitate for a second to start up the stairs.
“Just take the fucking meds,” she spat from afar, and the next thing Bucky heard was the slamming of a room door.
Staring at the empty space through which the woman had disappeared, Bucky took a few seconds to calm his breathing and emotions. Now he had to make sure they weren't going to be ambushed by surprise while he slept and the two were distracted. He could go stay all the rest of the night in the camera room after placing a motion bomb over every entrance to the house… but he was too tired to do that, and he most likely wouldn't be able to find the necessary items in that house to make those traps as invisible as possible. The only thing he could do was to sit in that armchair with a shotgun in his hands and wait. Hope that it was true that no one had followed her.
Bucky sighed. Fuck, he had to learn to manage his attitude.
His eyes fell on the bag on the table and he felt the tiniest whip of guilt inside his chest. It disappeared as quick as lightning. He picked up the bag to rummage inside to find four boxes and a piece of paper.
He shook the bag on the table and the medications fell free. He grabbed the paper with a frown and the whip of guilt returned as he read what had been written in black ink:
“Stranger,
I'm writing this note to tell you how you should take these medications.
The blue one is to prevent infection, so you should take it every 12 hours.
The red one is for pain. If it hurts too much, take it every 6 hours, and if it doesn't hurt too much, take it every 12 hours.
Yellow is an analgesic, it will most likely put you to sleep. Take it when the pain is unbearable.
And the green box is vitamins. Take one after each meal.
These boxes will last for at least a week. Hopefully by that time the wound will have healed much more.
Take them judiciously.”
Bucky stared at that piece of paper as if it were to blame for all his misfortunes. In spite of everything, the woman did try to care for his wound, even if he did nothing but reject the support she gave him.
The sound of something similar to a bell brought Bucky out of the depths of his head.
It was the satellite phone.
Bucky moved to the kitchen, where the sound was coming from. There, beside the blender, was the phone. He wondered if the woman had used it before.
He picked up the device and held it up to his ear in silence.
“Barnes?”
“Jacob.”
“Fucking shit. Why are you answering until now? I've been calling for a while now.”
So she hadn't used the phone.
“I was asleep.”
“What?”
“Long story.”
The man on the other end of the line barely took a deep breath.
“Are you with her?”
“Yes.”
“And she's okay?“”
“Yes.”
“Ah,” the man exclaimed in relief. “When are you going to bring her in?”
“You know I have to wait at least five days before I leave the house.”
“Argh, yes, yeah, right. And have you two got enough? Food? Clothes? Has she eaten well? Have you seen her take care of herself?”
“She's fine. She's more than capable of fending for herself. Stop worrying.”
“It's easy for you to ask me that when it's not your family member who was kidnapped.”
Bucky twisted his lips. “Why are you calling me and not Alejandro?”
“He left early. Seems there was a problem with the New York headquarters.”
“Ah, the troubled mercenary society.”
“Yeah, you should have seen the look on his face from these brats again,” Jacob let out a short laugh that was not reciprocated by Bucky. “Well,” he throat cleared, “let me know if there's any news.”
“Okay.”
And Bucky hung up.
His gaze lingered on the white kitchen wall before returning his attention to the colorful boxes on the dining room counter.
Fuck he was going to apologize to the woman.
-
You were stunned when you woke up the next morning and breakfast was ready and there was no sign of the man anywhere near the kitchen. The same thing happened at noon and at night.
You wanted to meet him somewhere to thank him, but at the same time you wanted to never see him again. However, what you thought about most was his wound and that you should've changed his bandage more than six hours ago. But the man was nowhere to be found. He would only show up to cook something and then vanish.
Still, you tried to comfort yourself with the thought that he had taken the gauze and bandages, because you couldn't find the first aid kit anywhere either.
At some point you thought that would be a good thing, not to find him even by accident for the rest of the days you had to spend in that house. You didn't think you would be able to keep up with his temper, clearly driven by emotions he couldn't control. You'd better take that time to take care of yourself and try to process everything that had happened instead of continuing to repress it, as always.
But… every time you tried to think about what had happened, what it had been like to be in that mansion in the middle of the trees, in the middle of nowhere, a suffocating sensation would make its way from your stomach to your chest and throat, and suddenly you felt short of breath. You couldn't spend more than a minute trying to cope with those emotions and memories you kept locked up in your memory because bringing them up made you feel like you were choking on air.
Maybe it was still too soon.
Yes, maybe it was.
It was already close to midnight when you finished organizing the kitchen. It seemed like the meds were kicking in if the man could spend so much time on his feet cooking and then washing dishes.
Remembering the anger that had sailed across his face the night before still gave you chills. You were trying to get that image out of your head.
You were on your way to the yard when you heard a sound down the hall. There were a couple of doors in that house that you had seen around but had no idea what was behind them, and now you were hearing a sound behind one of them.
Thinking of the man, you moved and walked to open the door, encountering stairs descending to the left and a light at the bottom of the stairs. The sound repeated, and with the door open you could also identify music.
You carefully descended and followed the hallway to the left after descending. Whatever it was you were expecting to see, a gymnasium opened up in front of your eyes. And in the middle of it all, the man, punching a large sandbag as if he didn't have a bullet wound in his abdomen.
You didn't know if you had made a noise or he had a sixth sense, but suddenly he moved his head and his eyes met yours. His expression denoted nothing but indifference and he promptly hit the bag again.
“You do know you have a large wound in your abdomen?” was the first thing you said as you stepped through the glass door.
The man didn't even turn around.
“You could open up the wound.”
“I've been here all day and nothing's happened to me.”
“Yeah, lucky you. Watch how you stretch to hit that.”
The man stopped to look at you when you got too close trying to see his injured side. Feeling prey to his intimidating stare, you backed up a few steps.
“Check it out if you want to so badly,” he turned around to face you and raised his arms waiting for you to come closer. You had barely noticed that he wasn't wearing a shirt.
“No. Did you change your bandages?”
“Yes. The wound is fine. I haven't even had to take the pills.”
You frowned at him as he went back to focusing on his sandbag. “Not even the vitamins?”
The man gave you a sidelong glance before striking again.
“Oh, c'mon,” you exclaimed in annoyance. “At least make my act of recklessness worthwhile.”
His gaze traveled to your face again, his expression incredulous and somewhat angry. He shook his head as if he didn't credit your words and went back to focusing on his blows. One after another. One, two, three, four.
“It really doesn't hurt?”
This time he hit the sack so hard with his metal arm that it flew off and crashed against the wall in a thud.
You barely cowered in place.
“Take off the bandages so you're sure.”
Again he turned his body toward you, his posture nonchalant even though his features were hard, like polished marble.
“Stop,” you raised your hands, “I'm sorry.”
The man sighed, lowering his shoulders for the first time at will. The only times you had ever seen him relaxed had been when he slept.
He began to untangle the bandages around the knuckles of his right hand as he approached the sack he had pushed out of its holder.
“What's your name?”
“Huh?”
“Are you deaf?” the man turned with a frown, but quickly turned away taking a deep breath. “What's your name?”
“Uhm… Y/N. Didn't you already know that?”
“Yes. But I'd forgotten.”
“Ah.”
“I'm sorry, Y/N.”
“Why?”
“I'm not used to… whatever it is you do,” he waved his hand vaguely as if trying to clarify a point.
“You mean help you?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Don't you get help very often?”
“I work alone. That's what I mean.”
“Ah, that makes sense.”
“Well, anyway. I'm sorry I yelled at you last night. I shouldn't have lost control.”
“Yeah…”
“And you shouldn't have gone out on your own like that. Don't ever do that again,” his accusing index finger pointed at you.
“Okay. I'm sorry.”
He sighed and turned around again to look at the sandbag on the floor. He had already removed his bandages and his knuckles looked somewhat swollen, the red color standing out against the olive of his skin. If he'd been like that all day, he must have at least some pain in that hand. You frowned watching him there, not moving.
He couldn't bend over.
Maybe he wasn't so sincere in saying it didn't hurt.
“I can lift it,” you spoke before you even thought it through.
The man, whose name you hadn't asked yet, turned to look at you with an ingrown eyebrow. You tried not to think too hard as he swept his eyes over your figure and then looked back down at the sandbag on the floor, probably taller than you and certainly heavier. But you could do it. Besides, you couldn't allow him to make that effort if there was a chance of once again opening up the wound.
When he took a step back and turned to look at you, your palms sweated. Maybe you really couldn't…
No, you could. You definitely could. It was a piece of cake.
Under his watchful eye you approached the sandbag. You looked at it with narrowed eyes, like your nemesis. You moved your arms, wanting to loosen your shoulders a bit before overexerting yourself lifting the thing, and at that moment you heard a short, thinly disguised laugh through a cough.
When you turned to see him, he kept coughing like it was nothing and turned to walk to another side of the gym.
Ha, how funny.
You turned around to focus on your task and, well, it was crunch time. You felt so determined to shut him up that you didn't even think it was the first time you'd seen an emotion other than indifference and anger in him.
You hugged the sack and gathering all your strength you moved back.
Nothing moved.
You tried again.
Nothing.
You snorted as you stood up for the fifth time and saw that the bag had barely moved less than a foot from its initial state. You rounded the object and sat down in front of it. You swung your legs over and planted your feet on the side of the bag and began to push hard.
You could move it. Not much, but you could move it.
You kept doing it until it was under the support where it had been hanging before the man's anger sent it flying. You put your head up and realized that the support was too high for you to push the bag up. It was impossible.
“Leave it,” you heard the man say.
You found him across the gym in front of you with a bottle in his hands. He took a big sip as he watched you in amusement.
Then, without a word, he moved a little to his left and pressed a button on what appeared to be a joystick. There were many other small buttons and levers that you had absolutely no idea what they could be for in a gym.
Then, you heard something over your head. You watched in amazement at what the man's button was doing.
The bastard had let you try to do something he knew was impossible for you to do, knowing that there was a stupid button that could do it for you. From the back of the gym, a sandbag was moving from the ceiling to where you were, guided by the mechanical system above your head. You barely noticed then that, in the shape of a circle, there was a kind of rail along which the brackets hanging from the ceiling moved.
You wanted to choke someone.
When you looked back at the man, he had his lips cocked in a smug smile. Damn him.
“I'm not going to offer to do anything for you again,” you exclaimed as you stood up and proudly decided to walk out of there with what little dignity you had left.
“Oh no, you should keep doing it. It's very entertaining.”
You stuck out your middle finger at him as you walked in the direction of the exit without turning to look at him. You heard more real laughter when you were far enough away.
-
It was quite late at night when Bucky came out of the gym. It had only been a few hours since you had left and he thought maybe he should follow in your footsteps and go rest, but for some reason he decided to stay a while longer.
On his way out, he saw the sandbag on the floor again and was too surprised by the urge he had to crack a smile. But he restrained himself.
In the house the lights were still on. It was almost midnight. Bucky had prepared dinner with the goal of getting you to eat and go to bed, because it seemed that every time you ate you had to go to sleep afterwards, even if it was just a short nap. But it looked like that wasn't going to be the case this time.
When he came into the living room he found you lying on the big couch in front of the TV on. Some news channel was playing in the background and it looked like you were deep in concentration listening because you didn't move when he approached.
“What are you doing awake still?” Bucky spoke with a frown before he could repent. “It's almost-”
You were asleep.
Bucky stopped at the side of the large piece of furniture when he saw you with your eyes closed and hugging one of the cushions, with half a sheet over your legs. Of course, it was going to be weird that you were still awake.
Bucky had always seen you walking, alert, moving around, always looking for something to occupy you. Your moments of rest were always away from him. However, looking to the front where the glass table was, Bucky quickly noticed the rag on the table and a small bucket on the floor.
So even all tired out you had been looking for something to do.
Bucky sighed shaking his head.
He took the rag resting on the neatest glass he had ever seen, along with the bucket filled with soapy water, and carried them to the laundry room where he put everything back in its place.
When you returned, you had shifted on the couch and looked like you wanted to find a position to stretch out because your body was more tilted than before.
Bucky turned off the TV which had low sound and stood in front of you on the couch.
He couldn't carry you to the bed without risking too much force that would compromise his injury and seeing how worried you had been about that earlier, he preferred to avoid straining too much. For some reason, he had the feeling that you would prefer to sleep on the couch if it would keep the wound in his abdomen from opening up.
So, he opted for the safest option. He brought down some pillows from the master bedroom along with another larger, thicker sheet. He planted himself in front of you thinking about the best way to accommodate you so you wouldn't wake up sore, although the cushions on that piece of furniture weren't as hard as the ones in the dining room.
Finally he opted to follow the direction your own body was taking. He nestled a pillow over the armrest of the couch, punching it and molding it until it looked comfortable enough. Then he ran his left hand carefully down your neck and his right hand circled your shoulders until it reached your back. He moved you slightly forward keeping you stable and then began to let your body slowly fall onto the couch.
When you were lying flat, he gently pulled his left hand out and stood up. Quietly and very carefully, he removed the small cushion you were hugging, and before you could make any grimace, he rolled a larger pillow between your arms. Bucky watched you sigh in contentment.
Finally, he pulled back the small, thin blanket between your legs and arranged the large sheet he had brought that almost doubled as a bedspread. It would probably get you warm in a few seconds, but that was good, because the nights were cold in that house.
Finished with his task, Bucky nodded to himself.
It was only after he finished that he really realized what he had done. He frowned, watching your placid face as you rested comfortably.
Why had he done that, without even a second thought?
Bucky suddenly felt the need to run away. Now he wanted to undo all that because tomorrow you would wake up and surely ask questions he wouldn't know how to answer. That he wouldn't want to answer. Maybe he could play dumb and say that's how he'd found you when he'd left the gym. Surely you'd been so drunk on sleep that you hadn't even realized what you'd done.
Maybe that had happened to Bucky. Maybe he'd been so drunk on exhaustion that he hadn't realized what he was doing until he'd done it. Yes, surely.
Inside his chest he again recognized the feeling of guilt he'd had when he saw the paper you'd given him with the pills, and that only increased as he remembered he hadn't taken a single one.
It was guilt that made him move like that.
Yes, that was probably it.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes angst#bucky fic#bucky x you#bucky barnes#bucky fluff#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes fanfiction
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A Taste of Plums | Astarion x Female!Tav
Chapter 5: Doubt
Summary: Tav tries to be a hero. Astarion is himself.
Chapter Warnings: PG-13. Tav has a panic attack but it happens from afar and is only vaguely described. Descriptions of gore and violence. Full tag list on AO3.
Tag List: DM me or reply to a chapter if you would like to be tagged in any updates!
1 . 2. 3. 4.
There was shouting up ahead. How fun. Perhaps there would be a fight, Astarion hoped.
“Give us back Mayrina! We know you have our sister!”
Two loud angry men have cornered the doddering old granny from the Grove against an ancient tree. One braces a pitchfork threateningly at the unarmed old lady, the other clumsily brandishes a meat cleaver. It’s obvious to Astarion that these men are farmers, not seasoned highwaymen. Then the old woman spots Tav and the pleading begins.
“Petal! Please help me, I have no idea where their sister is,” she warbles feebly. It’s not enough to move Astarion, but Tav instantly jumps to the rescue.
“Leave Auntie Ethel alone, she’d never hurt anyone!” Tav declares. Ethel, that was her name.
“She’s with the hag!” One of the men yells. He lunges for Tav and Astarion springs into action, plunging his dagger into the man’s side. Beautiful blood spurts across Astarion’s leather doublet and the man crumples before him with a cry. It was going to be a good day.
“Thank you so much sweetness,” Auntie Ethel coos once the two men lay dead before her. “They were looking for their sister, Mayrina, the poor girl who’s-“ she pauses for a moment, then her face splits into a crooked grin. “-The poor girl who’s staying with me.” Tav’s heartbeat picks up, hammering in her chest. Behind her, Gale, Shadowheart, and Astarion all exchange a dark look.
“Do stop by my house. I’d love to thank you proper.” Auntie Ethel’s feline grin splits even wider as she vanishes in a puff of foul green smoke. Tav whirls around, immediately locking eyes with Astarion.
“Holy shit. Auntie Ethel really is a hag, isn’t she?” Tav’s eyes are wide, her voice frantic. Astarion shrugs.
“I don’t spend a lot of time around old ladies. I take it this isn’t normal?” Astarion says. Shadowheart rolls her eyes.
“No, it’s not normal to disappear in a puff of smoke after tricking a group of adventurers into killing your enemies!” Gale shoots back.
“We just killed innocent men.” The color drains from Tav’s face as her body begins to tremble. “I need to sit down,” she says. Gods below. They were two strangers who attacked them. There are worse crimes. Astarion sighs and crosses his arms as Tav leans against a tree, trying to collect herself. This was a far cry from the girl who had fearlessly insisted they investigate a desiccated tomb, who had threatened Mizora until she left their camp in a blaze of flame, who had helped Lae’Zel bully a tiefling just yesterday. After a moment Gale follows her and begins speaking to her in a low, comforting tone. Shadowheart and Astarion exchange another look.
“Here I thought Tav was proving to be capable,” Shadowheart says to him in Elvish.
“As was I. She better pull herself together soon or I’m going back to camp,” he returns.
“Really? You’d abandon your meal so quickly?” Shadowheart gives him yet another withering side-eye.
“Of course not. I still need her,” he replies under his breath. The soft golden light of a Calm Emotions spell envelops them and they turn towards Tav, whose heartbeat is slowly returning to its resting rate. She straightens up and makes her way back towards them, Gale in tow.
“I’m sorry about that, everyone. I made a bad call,” she admits. Her face is still flushed with shame.
“The old woman is clearly a hag of some kind. Hag deals are notoriously deceptive and unfair, but even so, it could be worth listening to what Ethel has to say about our parasites,” Gale interjects.
“We’ve come all this way. Might as well,” Shadowheart agrees, speaking in Common again.
“She sounds powerful, too,” Astarion adds, also in Common.
“And Mayrina is with her,” Tav says. Astarion shoots her an annoyed look. “I’m not saying we have to help her, I’m just saying we should check it out,” she explains.
“She’s ‘staying with Ethel’ because she almost certainly made a deal with her,” Astarion counters. “Mayrina is exactly where she wants to be.”
“Maybe. But let’s see for ourselves,” Tav urges. Astarion frowns, but it isn’t worth the fight. She will see that he’s right when they get to Ethel’s house.
~
They pick their way through the sunny marsh in silence. Tav leads the way, followed by Shadowheart, then Gale, and finally Astarion, who brings up the rear. Tav’s kindness had served him well so far, but as Astarion trudges through the sticky, sucking mud he decides that Tav’s kindness is getting out of hand. He doesn’t like how willingly she extends her kindness to others. It makes her weak, easy to use. So far that had worked to his advantage, but would they be running after every lost soul they met on their travels? At least the hag could help them. What could this Mayrina do? Unless she knows how to control ilithid parasites or she has experience killing powerful vampire lords, Astarion doesn’t care what happens to her.
Maybe he was wasting his time with Tav. Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing after all. Maybe her sweet, soft heart would only get her killed. Or worse, get him killed. He cozies up to Gale, who has hiked his robe up around his knees to avoid the muddy bog.
“I’m enjoying our long walks together, aren’t you, Gale?” Astarion says warmly, lowering his voice to a sultry hum. Gale looks over at him, confusion written plainly across his face.
“I am. In silence,” Gale says firmly. Astarion rolls his eyes. Wizards. Tav looks back at them and Astarion sees a clear flash of hurt flicker across her face. His stomach plummets and he feels a sharp stab of hatred for himself, but this is what he has to do. If Tav is too weak to handle this excursion, if she’s too busy fussing over strangers to advance his interests, then he will find someone who will. It doesn’t matter how nice she’s been to him. Or how well they get on. His literal skin is on the line. Unbidden, his mind conjures an image of what Cazador will do to him once he has him again and he grips the handles of his daggers until it hurts. Never again.
Despite the bright, warm sunlight the wetland is eerie. There’s a marked stillness about everything that makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and stand. Astarion realizes that it’s completely silent: there isn’t a single note of birdsong, not a hint of animal life. A soft breeze ruffles his curls and he smells it: fresh blood.
“What’s that?” Shadowheart points to something up ahead just beyond a wave of marsh grass. Tav crests the small hill and stops dead.
Blood drenches the remains of what must have been a quaint little camp. The bedrolls are ruined, the linens stained beyond repair. The fire has long since guttered out, half-cooked sausages smoldering on the coals. Uneaten food and abandoned packs sit ripe for the taking amidst slick pools of coagulating blood. Curiously, there isn’t a single carcass to be seen. Tav picks her way gingerly through the mess, picking out a blood spattered lute from the wreckage.
“Care to play us a song?” Shadowheart jokes. Tav gives the instrument an idle strum and winces. “Not like this, it’s out of tune,” she quips. She slips the bloody lute into her pack and turns away, rifling through the soiled supplies. They silently join her despite the grisly scene. Times are hard and supplies are thin.
“What do you think did this?” Tav asks lightly. She’s trying to sound calm, but Astarion can hear the subtle strain in her voice. She’s scared.
“I don’t know,” Gale answers as he pockets some cheese. “But we shouldn’t stick around to find out.” They all murmur in agreement and quickly move on, picking a new path through the swamp. Whatever it was, it wasted all that lovely blood.
For a while there is only the sticky slosh of their sodden footsteps through the muck. Astarion is sure his boots are ruined by now. Tav better buy him new ones. Then, the soft baa baaing of sheep reaches them. Sheep? In a swamp? The echoes bounce across the water in bright, distorted peals. Tav pivots them towards the sound.
The sheep are strange little creatures that toddle oddly over the grass. They almost seem sick. As Tav approaches them she bleats a loud, tremulous cry. One sheep baas back, a clumsy retort. Tav’s face stiffens and then reality as they know it melts before their very eyes.
Rot assaults their nostrils as the grass beneath them withers and dies, sinking into thick, black muck. Warped, petrified trees spring from the ground to pierce the endless sky, which leeches to a stony gray. Fog begins to roll in, settling into an ominous haze that obscures what little they can still see. And the dumb faces of the sheep crack and splinter apart, revealing the hateful eyes of ravenous redcaps.
No one moves. The fey glares at Tav, fangs bared. Its companions size them up them but make no motion to attack. Tav takes a deep breath.
“BAA!” She yells, her cry echoing impotently throughout the bog.
The redcap’s face contorts. “Baa,” it growls back with barely concealed animosity. Tav strides confidently past the creatures and they all follow close behind her, Astarion giggling all the way.
Once they are out of sight Tav’s self-assured composure collapses and she whirls to face them. “You saw that too, right?” She whispers, gesturing to the mire.
“Oh yes, her spell is well and truly broken now,” Gale says. “A fancy bit of illusion magic that falls apart at the slightest inspection.”
“Almost like she wants it to,” Astarion says.
“It’s an intimidation tactic. Lure in the fools but scare away those smart enough to see through her,” Shadowheart observes.
“So which are we?” Gale asks.
“We’ve come too far to turn back now,” Tav says. Her brow is set, her jaw is firm. But her eyes dart about the swamp as if looking for an escape. “Unless you want to confront those redcaps again.”
“Then by all means, lead the way, Oh Fearless Leader.” Astarion gives her a mock bow and gestures forward with a flourish. Tav curtsies back, bending deeply at the knees and twirling imaginary skirts. But she swiftly brushes past him, her sweet heart rabbiting in her chest.
~
“Please Ethel, I just can’t eat anymore!”
Mayrina’s begging is getting on his nerves. Usually he likes it when someone other than him is forced to beg, but Mayrina’s whining is neither pretty nor amusing. It’s just pathetic. What else did she expect? She made her bed and now she has to lie in it.
Tav seems to disagree. “You’re hurting her,” she says. “Do you treat all your guests like this?”
“She’s eating for two,” Ethel says contemptuously, her grandmotherly mask slipping. “But you should watch your tone, sweetie. That worm isn’t going to remove itself.” The threat is there, sharp and pointed. Mayrina snuffles loudly, drying her eyes on a handkerchief. Her hand rests protectively on her pregnant stomach. Tav eyes her, not completely cowed.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Tav asks Mayrina gently.
“Busybodies are not welcome here. I’ll talk about your wriggler, but that’s it. Last warning,” Ethel interrupts. Something in the atmosphere drops and Astarion can feel the vibrating hum of wild magic in his fangs.
“She is a pregnant lady in distress. We can’t just stand by and pretend she’s not here!” Gale insists, his quiet fury palpable.
“You’re making it worse for her,” Astarion hisses. Auntie Ethel will punish Mayrina for their insolence. He knows the signs. “Let’s not make trouble for strangers. We have our own problems.” Tav hesitates, considering his words.
“Can you really remove it?” Tav asks Ethel.
“Quicker than you can say ‘yes Auntie.’ What do you say?”
“That depends on the price.”
“And that depends on the job. But I like you, petal. For you?” Auntie Ethel pauses, pretending to think. “I’ll take one of your pretty little peepers.”
Tav recoils in horror. “You want one of my EYES?”
“Don’t be precious. You have two, don’t’cha?”
“Absolutely not! The deal is off,” Tav says. Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart all breathe a collective sigh of relief.
“Please Auntie, can I just-“ Auntie Ethel gives an irritated wave of her hand and Mayrina vanishes in a flash of green.
“That brat has had enough pampering for one day,” Ethel says scornfully. “Well then. Best be on your way now if there’s nothing I can do for you. But you know where to find me if you change your mind.” The old woman smiles her mean, fey smile as she shows them the door.
“That was a complete waste of time.” Astarion whines as they descend the stairs to Ethel’s house. “Can we go now?”
“Mayrina is still in there,” Tav says. “We can’t just leave her to the mercy of a hag.”
“I agree,” Gale says. “If that’s how she treats Mayrina in front of guests, then Auntie Ethel must be something truly special in private.”
“This place gives me the creeps. Whatever we do, let’s just wrap up our business here quickly,” Shadowheart says primly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Unless one of you wants to trade an eye for a dubious cure.” No one seems particularly keen.
“Darling,” Astarion begins, “I know you want to play hero like in one of your lovely little songs, but this is none of our business. The girl’s already made her deal.” Tav chews her lip.
“I know, but she’s made a bad one. Auntie Ethel is clearly hurting her. I can’t just walk away without trying to do something about it.”
“And what do you intend to do exactly? Kill a hag?” Astarion scoffs. On second thought, that might be pretty fun.
“I don’t know! Maybe, if it comes to that.” Tav swallows. “Maybe we can make another bargain for her or something. But if we leave now then we leave Mayrina to her horrible fate, a fate which we accidentally sealed.” She pauses, takes a deep breath, then continues. “We killed her brothers. We murdered innocents who were just trying to protect their sister. They may have been the only family she has. If we don’t intervene now, then no one will. We owe it to them and we owe it to her to help.” Astarion scowls.
No one had helped him. No one had intervened for him. His family, his friends, his colleagues, and his lovers had all left him to rot. No one had stopped Cazador from doing whatever he had pleased with him. Why did Mayrina, a foolish little stranger, deserve mercy and not Astarion?
“I agree with Tav. We can’t simply turn aside,” Gale says.
“As our leader commands then,” Astarion sneers as they all trudge back up the rickety stairs to Ethel’s home.
~
Astarion had been in worse places than Auntie Ethel’s Tea House, but not many. Auntie Ethel was a woman who delighted in tormenting people, who offered them hope, then twisted her help into a grotesque punishment for her own sick amusement. Astarion knew her type well.
The depths beyond Ethel’s fireplace were both a prison and a torture chamber, where Auntie Ethel kept her brutalized victims suspended in magical bonds. Tav reviewed each cell with her characteristic thoroughness, poking around where she definitely should not. Gale’s eyes roamed Ethel’s chamber of horrors with a grim, clinical eye that belied a deep fascination with her magic. Shadowheart remained quiet, silently cataloguing Ethel’s creations with disgust. However, there were moments where Astarion thought she almost seemed impressed.
But Astarion was right: there was nothing they could do for the hag’s victims. Tav tried to approach the only conscious victim, an elf, who was huddled in a corner whispering to himself. Tav bent down next to him, speaking sweetly in a soft tone. “Mindflayer!!” He shrieked, curling in on himself in an inconsolable ball. Astarion wanted to feel smug but he only felt a hollow emptiness as they left his elven kin quaking in the mud.
They followed the grotto, pushing past Ethel’s magic door and into a fetid, overgrown tunnel that spiraled into stinking depths. Clouds of poisonous fumes lingered in the cavern, choking them as they carefully picked their way forward. Eventually the tunnel opened up into a subterranean cave that shimmered with the light of bioluminescent stalagmites. Thick, twisted roots wound their way throughout the cave. Above them, a rotten cage hung suspended over a black abyss. Inside, Mayrina hiccuped and sobbed.
“You come into my home, interfere with my business, and now have the gall to barge into my private playhouse?” Auntie Ethel shrieks, materializing seamlessly out of the shadows. The sweet grandmother dissolves and a haggard, spindly witch lurches out of the darkness in her place. Her mouth gapes and yawns, her numerous teeth shining like terrible needles. “I’ll rip your spine out your arsehole!” She screams. Tav shoots Astarion a look and he nocks an arrow in his bow. “I’ll spice your blood to make my stew!” He pulls back the drawstring. “I’ll-" He lets the arrow fly and it strikes true, skewering Ethel where she stands.
“You little shits!” She snarls, bilious blood gushing from her wound. The hag unravels and splits into dust. How easy, Astarion thinks.
“You want the girl so bad, take her!” A disembodied voice screeches as Mayrina's cage explodes in flame. Four new hags rematerialize from the darkness, each one of perfect copy of Auntie Ethel's hideous form.
“We have to act fast!” Shadowheart cries. Gale conjures a deluge of water, quenching the flames as a rush of black smoke fills the cave. They all cough and hack, momentarily blinded. Ethel strikes, clawing Gale across his abdomen. A sour, noxious scent fills Astarion’s nostrils as the wizard bleeds. Gale gives an agonizing cry, but rebounds quickly with a hard rap of his staff to the hag’s skull. The illusion unravels and splits, dematerializing back into the smoke.
Meanwhile Astarion crouches down, easily blending into the smog. “Got some rat still stuck in your teeth, slave,” the witch whispers in his ear, her breath warm and rancid on his face. Ethel’s taunt hits him through his heart and he whirls around furiously, jabbing his dagger into any flesh he can. The mirage simply vanishes with an ugly chuckle.
“There she is!” Shadowheart points across the chasm, unleashing a bolt of radiant magic into the air. This time Shadowheart strikes true and Ethel is sent reeling across the mossy floor.
“Pretty clever, but not clever enough,” Ethel snarls. She gestures with her claw and suddenly Mayrina is cowering before them, transported from her wet cage. Her face warps and splits into multiple copies, an awful kaleidoscope of flesh. Each Mayrina cries and begs them not her hurt her.
“I’m the real Mayrina!” One sobs.
“Don’t listen to her, I am!” Another one chokes out.
“Mouthier than an arse and twice as full of shite,” Tav bellows. Ethel’s mask slides away as she recoils from Tav’s mockery. The real Mayrina collapses to the ground in a fit of hacking sobs. Astarion lunges towards the hag, putting his full weight behind his dagger as he plunges it into her stomach.
“You’re one thirsty night away from betraying everyone!” She screams, ripping Astarion off of her. Astarion stumbles back and falls to the ground, his daggers clattering out of reach. Her words fill him with a torrent of awful emotions: rage, shame, despair, recognition. If he unpacks it all now he may die.
Gale blasts the witch with Magic Missile and she severs herself again into three more copies, the real Ethel dissipating into invisibility. Suddenly Astarion’s limbs wrench themselves outwards of their own accord, locking him into place. He tries to fight it, but he’s trapped within the grip of a Hold Person spell, expertly cast by one of the hag’s shadows. He watches in frozen horror as another shoves Gale, who teeters on the brink of the pit. Shadowheart hurls flame at yet another, missing the hag by centimeters. A hag lunges at Tav, rending her open with its wicked claws. The enticing smell of Tav’s spilt blood fills his senses and he thrashes desperately in his magical bonds. He’s pathetic, helpless to do anything as they’re all slaughtered.
Gale rallies himself and casts another round of Magic Missile, aiming his projectiles towards each individual apparition. The phantoms all shatter on impact, releasing Astarion from his magical bonds. He falls to his feet, snatching up his knives.
Clutching her bleeding side, Tav pivots sharply and casts Faerie Fire, throwing the spell as widely as she can. The pink light of the ring illuminates Ethel’s hideous face, her invisibility spell broken. Shadowheart raises her hands for the coup de grace, necrotic energy sizzling in her fists.
“Wait, lovelies,” Ethel gasps. “Killing me is a waste of time. I’ll find a way to return. Always have, always will.” She licks her thin lips. “But it’s unpleasant. So let’s be civil about this. After all, I have something you want.”
“Hah!” Tav barks a laugh. “This should be good.”
“Just wait until you hear my offer,” Auntie Ethel purrs. “Let me leave with the girl and her babe and I will give you power!” Her claws begin to shine with the sickly green glow of her magic. Now Ethel has Astarion’s full attention. “You want to be smarter?” She looks at Gale. “Wiser?” She turns pointedly to Shadowheart. “More dexterous?” She gestures to Astarion. “More charismatic? Done! It your choice, sweetness.” Well, well, well, what a delicious turn of events.
“If you want your worthless little life, you’ll give me everything,” Tav orders, her voice like sharpened steel. “I want the girl and the power.” She advances on the hag, placing the blade of her rapier against Ethel’s bobbing throat. The air crackles with psychic energy, wreathing Tav in a vicious violet halo.
“You greedy little shite,” Ethel sneers, sizing her up. There’s a moment of terrible stillness.
“Fine.”
Ethel reaches up to her oily scalp. There’s a wretched tearing sound and the hag hurls a chunk of something wet and hairy at Tav’s feet. It glistens in the muck.
“But what about our deal? What about my husband?” Mayrina pleads. Her bloodshot eyes are ringed with smeared kohl.
“Deals off you dumb cow! And you have this one,” Auntie Ethel jerks a thumb at Tav, “to thank for it.” Mayrina rounds on Tav, rage flashing in her eyes. “But not to worry,” Ethel continues, “I’ll find another one just as plump and ripe. People always need lotions and potions,” she smiles wickedly.
“Good luck, auntie.” Tav jeers.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” She gestures to the sickening clump of skin, “It’s only the deal that counts,” Ethel replies. “Bye, bye, petal. I’ll not soon forget this,” she threatens ominously. Ethel disappears for good in a flash of foul green light.
Tav bends down and plucks the slimy piece of hag scalp from the cave floor. Astarion considers her, regarding her with dark appraisal. She’s soft, but she has an appreciation for power and an eye for opportunity. Potential. He remembers how fascinated she had been with the Necromancy of Thay. Maybe she just needs some of his guidance. Some shaping. Together, they could take so much more than magical trinkets. Perhaps this hadn’t been a waste after all.
“You miserable bitch!” Mayrina howls, rounding on them all. “You’ve ruined it! You’ve ruined everything!”
“We saved you from a hag!” Tav yells back, incredulous. “She was mistreating you, we all saw it! Aren’t you happy to be free again?”
“I don’t want to be free! I want my husband back, alive and well!” Mayrina wails.
“Ethel was never going to help you. I’m sorry Mayrina, but it’s the truth,” Tav replies adamantly.
“Yes she was! Soon my child would have been born and this nightmare would have been over!”
“I’m sorry, your child? You were going to give your baby to the hag?”
“Don’t you dare judge me!” Mayrina hisses. “I have nothing. My baby would have been raised in rags. This is the nicest dress I own.” She gestures to her filthy emerald shift. “Ethel would have given my child a good life. Taught them magic, even! More than I could have done.” Mayrina leans against a gnarled root, sagging in defeat and despair. She places a hand on her abdomen, rubbing soothing circles on her swollen stomach. She seems so young.
“No she wouldn’t have, Mayrina. Hags never truly give you what they promise.”
“I didn’t bloody ask you!” Mayrina shouts, incensed once more. “Now I’ll never see my husband again. And I’ll have to drag his coffin and our baby back to our empty house through the mud all by myself! I hope you’re fucking happy!” Mayrina storms away, disappearing with her unborn child into the overgrown tunnel and up into the world.
“Did we do the right thing, or did we just ruin that woman’s already miserable life?” Tav asks. She’s caked in dirt and blood. She doesn’t seem proud or heroic, she just seems tired.
“Well, what’s done is done,” Astarion offers. “There’s no point dwelling on things you can’t change now.”
Tav sighs. Astarion knows that she feels responsible for this mess, but in his experience it’s better to simply not reflect on things. If you don’t reflect, you don’t have to feel.
“Grief can be a bitter wound. It’s too fresh now, but once Mayrina has time and space to think she’ll see the great service you did for her,” Gale says soothingly. “With our help, of course.” Gale doesn’t wink, but Astarion can feel it in his smug voice. Tav smiles weakly back at Gale and Astarion almost pushes him into the chasm himself.
“It’s true. Most don’t see loss as a gift at first. But in time, those that accept my Lady’s blessings will find comfort in her embrace,” Shadowheart recites.
“Thank you, Shadowheart,” Tav sighs. Shadowheart says her lines dutifully but Astarion can see, perhaps clearer than the others, that her eyes are far away.
“Besides,” Astarion chimes back in. “Just look at the delicious little snack you have now.” Lice skitters across the scalp, disappearing into the dirty hair.
“Yummy,” Tav says flatly.
“Unless of course, you’d rather give it to me?” Astarion pouts playfully. He’s joking, but he would also snatch the horrible scalp up in a heartbeat.
Tav bumps him with her hip. “No way, it’s mine! Go find your own,” she laughs. He supposes it was worth a shot.
~
Even the putrid air from the foul swamp seems fresh after Ethel’s lair. Everyone is exhausted and covered in refuse. All of them need at least two baths. They begin the long walk back to camp when a particularly disgusting wave of air hits them. Everyone recoils, but Astarion recognizes the awful smell: ironvine. A monster hunter is nearby. His lip curls. A Gur.
~
Chapter 6: Found
#astarion#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion fanfiction#astarion longfic#A Taste of Plums#The Night Shift#Auntie Ethel#Mayrina bg3
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Hello all,
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I apologize for my sudden departure from this blog, which came following some massive changes in my life (both good and bad) that meant I didn’t have time for daily updates anymore, despite my desire to still post. I didn’t feel I could keep pace with this blog and as my last update became further and further away, I set this project aside, but I never forgot about it and all of you.
All of that being said, there was a mass shooting at my campus, Michigan State University, yesterday evening. Although I am an online graduate student, there are no words for the horror I felt seeing dozens of emergency emails come through and watching the videos of students running and endless streams of police officers showing up to my school.
There are no words for the fear that I felt for my classmates who were on campus.
I don’t personally know anyone who died or was injured in the shooting yesterday, but it was still my school, my classmates and we are all grieving and I am still in shock of what’s happened.
This being said, I’m revisiting this blog and, knowing the impact it's had on my life and the lives of others, I’m going to try to begin giving weekly updates on the epidemic of mass shootings in this country. Maybe one day I’ll figure out how to code auto-updating posts, but, for now, I still do not have the time or capacity to commit to daily updates on these tragedies.
Thank you to all of you who’ve sent me messages checking in. Your comments meant more than you’ll ever know.
I’ll update later this week updating everyone on 2023’s mass shooting metrics, but in the meantime, please join me and the rest of MSU in mourning our three classmates who passed away and the five who are in critical condition and keep their families in your thoughts and prayers
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Tsurune Book 3 Chapter 3 - The Song of Naru (Part 1)
Things that happened in this chapter
- Yotube drama
- Mustaches
Watch Ooku guys!
Glossary here
Full list of translations here
Translation Notes
1. Nakiryuu means “crying dragon” and it’s a common motif in Buddhist temples
2. I don’t know what this means. I think it’s some kind of Japanese wordplay that flew over my head
3. Oogiri is “a form of comedy that focuses on improvisation by providing a funny answer on the spot for a question or thematic topic”
Previous | Next
Haneina High School’s Asahina was eating an onigiri.
He had spread out a picnic blanket in the courtyard during the bright afternoon and was eating lunch. Next to him, Eddie was stuffing his cheeks with triangular onigiris. Before studying abroad, he had learned of the existence of onigiri after watching a Japanese historical drama, and now he was captivated by them. Every day he thought about what to use for the filling, and today’s filling was kiwi fruit.
When Asahina was on a school trip in elementary school, he saw that only his onigiris were cylindrical while everyone else’s were triangle-shaped and thought, Huh? Why am I the only one who’s different? He asked his mother about it after he returned home, and she told him that she was from Kansai and that onigiri had always been made like this back home. Apparently, it was easier to pack in a lunch box.
There was an unpleasant scraping sound, and Asahina stopped eating.
“Ow, I bit the inside of my mouth.”
“If you bite the inside of your mouth, that is your body’s way of informing you that you are eating too much and it doesn’t wish to eat anymore.”
“Really?”
A quick internet search revealed that when the body was in poor condition, such as fatigue or poor physical condition, it was difficult to control jaw movement well. It said to get plenty of rest and get in shape. It had a point. Last night, he had been too focused on video editing and didn’t get enough sleep. Eating too much—he did have second helpings of Wan-Nyan cheese curry at the place he visited yesterday.
The Haneina second-year Asahina You and American exchange student Eddie Fox were Yotubers who ran the channel “Yumihiki Douji” together, and they were well-received. The standard orange kyudo uniform was Haneina’s color. They also had customized orange bows and arrows, all of which were uniquely theirs.
Anyways, it was “aesthetic.” Rather than kyudo that emphasizes spirituality, they aimed for kyudo that people could enjoy watching.
On today’s practice, Asahina wore a pongee kimono as he drew his bow. When he learned that the kyudo wear he usually wore was training wear and that people wore kimono in formal occasions, he started to collect kimonos. It was said that patterns weren’t allowed and solid colors were OK, but finding those were difficult. Kimonos were expensive, so most of them were recycled items, and washable polyester materials were tried as well.
Their videos were almost completely ignored as soon as they were uploaded, and after a while they were filled with comments like “their shooting form is terrible,” “they’re so bad,” “that hairstyle is so ugly,” and “you’re disrespecting kyudo.” But since it was for class, they updated every week, and positive comments like “I look forward to it every week” and “Same same. I learned so much from them.” As they took in the opinions and feedback of the viewers, their archery skills also improved. Recently, their collaboration project with a channel about Japan became trending.
One day, someone wrote in the comment section, “I started kyudo because I admired Zen in the Art of Archery. Can everyone in Japan do what Awa-sensei did?” It was a request from a foreign viewer.
Shooting a target in the dark.
Two arrows were shot in the dark. The first one pierced the center of the target, and the second one split the first one down the middle, the shaft halved in order to reach the center. This was a superhuman feat. Asahina had also heard this story from his grandfather when he was young, and it remained somewhere in the back of his mind. He would love to attempt it. Even if he didn’t hit the center, he would probably hit the target at least.
The results were terrible. He couldn’t see the target at all after turning off the lights in the target area. They tried lighting mosquito repelling incense, but they only produced faint white trails of smoke and he couldn’t find his aim. When they went to pick up the arrows, they found that the arrows had avoided the targets and pierced the azuchi at an angle, or landed right in front of them. It looked like a battlefield. Now he knew how much he usually relied on his eyesight.
He had considered trying again during daytime, but it was no use in the first place. If you could aim and hit, then you’d already hit. The shape of the bow, which had existed since the beginning of time, had changed, and despite the difference in materials, it had reached a point where it couldn’t be changed anymore. And now it had reached the present. The Japanese bow, which had been imbued with the lives of generations of bow makers, was a tool that even the wisdom of mankind couldn’t yet control.
That was why the bow chose the wielder. What should one do to be chosen?
Asahina gave a big stretch.
“Haa, ‘don’t do today what you can do tomorrow.’ Tomorrow is fine, so let’s think about it tomorrow.”
“’Tis a Turkish proverb. This humble one takes it to mean, ‘Do it today because you may not be able to do it tomorrow,’” Eddie said.
“Really?”
Can’t be helped. They were going to stay at the kyudojo until nighttime today as well.
He heard the gathering bell. He listened to the nostalgic sound that tinted the sky an azure color.
He heard the gathering bell. He listened to the nostalgic sound that tinted the sky an azure color.
On that day, Asahina and Eddie were at the temple gate.
The two walked along the cobblestone path to the main hall. Two dragons were painted on the ceiling of this temple, and when they clapped their hands in prayer right below them, there was an echo like the roaring of dragons. They were called nakiryuu. (1) In fact, the two of them met in this nakiryuu room, and moreover, it was in a dream. Their conversation went something like, “It’s been a while. When was it, a few hundred years ago?” “Well then, shall we go all out?” When they actually met each other at school, they were both silent, wondering if this was a continuation of the dream.
There was a fellow second-year of the Haneina kyudo club standing in the temple.
“You guys really like the nakiryuu room, don’t you,” the fierce-looking Matsuda said.
“I guess so,” Asahina answered.
“I don’t really know what the dragon’s expression is like, but the resonating sound when you clap your hands together feels good.”
Matsuda was poor-sighted. He couldn’t see the outlines of things very well, but he had a great ability to sense the presence and feelings of people. He could tell that Asahina and Eddie had an unusual relationship, but he thought that it was something that must not be mentioned. He liked watching their red and gold hair sway, so he quietly stayed by their side. The three of them chatted with each other a lot, and right now Matsuda was putting his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He felt an unfounded sense of security that these two sun-colored people would never treat him like a freak or exclude him.
On the other hand, the fourth member of Haneina’s kyudo club, Kanuma, was a man who went at his own pace and didn’t care about anything. He was obsessed with haikus, and when he started thinking about them, he often got lost in his own world and froze in the middle of conversations. Incidentally, his haiku skills were mediocre.
Even right now, he was muttering to the temple wall.
“Maybe a line about dragons? It’s even more difficult if the motif is mundane.”
“Kanuma, have you composed a poem? I’d like to collaborate with you on a haiku and kyudo project for the next Yumihiki Douji video,” Asahina asked. “Yeah,” Kanuma answered.
“Kanuma, I want to ride the dragon on the ceiling. Can you help me?” Matsuda asked, and was answered with “Yeah.” No matter what was said to him, he only answered, “Yeah.” Eddie threw in the towel. “This is hopeless.”
There was another person glued to the wall. More precisely, a boy was staring at the patterns on the wall.
Igarashi had a nickname: the Gardening Prince. He grew various plants, took precious care of them, and drew them. His bows and arrows were decorated with a profusion of flower drawings, and at competitions, the people of other schools let out gasps of admiration when they saw his bow and arrows.
After imprinting the pattern on the wall into his eyes, he looked at Asahina.
“I saw the last Yumihiki Douji. There was another comment from ‘that guy.’ Is everything alright?”
“Oh, you’re talking about ‘Tetsi’ right?”
“They write complaints in other people’s comment section every time. Isn’t that like going into other people’s houses and renting a room?”
As their views increased, someone calling themselves “Seigi no Tetsui” would write things like, “Kyudo is a traditional Japanese martial art” and “What kind of kyudoka would have red or blond hair? If you’re Japanese, dye your hair black like a Japanese.”
Eddie waved his own blond ponytail at Matsuda.
“My blond hair is my natural hair, and I am not Japanese, but American, so how about that?”
“It’s an old trick to throw in mistakes on purpose to get people to bite, isn’t it? Don’t get lured in.”
“As you say. I shall ignore it.”
Kanuma, who they thought wasn’t listening, turned around, gave a thumbs-up and grinned.
The Yotube channel “Yumihiki Douji” was Asahina and Eddie’s channel, but it was actually run by the six of them: Matsuda, Kanuma, Igarashi, and Coach Tsuchiya.
When the five exited the temple gate, they heard the laughter of elementary schoolers on their way home from school.
It happened at the end of the holidays.
A protest was posted on several channels set up by Haneina students with the title “Attention Haneina High School.” The writer was Tetsi, or “Seigi no Tetsui.”
Your school is making students selfish and egotistical in the name of freedom. Since children are immature beings, adults should firmly admonish them to follow the rules of the world. Someone who isn’t disciplined in that way would commit foolish acts later in life. The behavior of the kyudo club is especially unbearable to watch. Kyudo uniforms are white. This should be stopped immediately. They are a disgrace to kyudoka—.
Because the school was named, a staff meeting was held.
The principal said, “Our school’s educational philosophy is to ‘cultivate people with reading comprehension and communication skills.’ Listen carefully, think for yourself, and share your opinions. Communicate calmly with people who have different opinions. Videos are the place to practice these things. First, Tsuchiya-sensei will show the students an example. I shall take responsibility. Do it to the best of your ability.”
The next day, Coach Tsuchiya stood in front of a camera.
“To everyone who watches this channel, thank you for your continued support. My name is Tsuchiya Ena, a teacher at Haneina High School, as well as the coach for the kyudo club. Recently, we received the following comment. As a faculty member, I sincerely apologize for my poor choice of words. From now on, I would like to choose my words more carefully. Regarding kyudo uniforms, in accordance with competition rules, we wear white during tournaments and only colored clothing during practice. We appreciate your understanding.”
The next day, a new video channel was opened. The owner was Tetsi. There was a black sheet covering their entire body, and they were wearing a Noh mask. Their voice was also modified.
“It’s one thing if you’re university students, but it’s deplorable for high school students to wear orange. It’s a lax mindset. There’s something you should do before worrying about your clothes. You should study harder. Are you going to destroy the traditions that kyudoka have cultivated over centuries?”
After this, Yumihiki Douji and Tetsi continued to post responses to each other’s videos.
――There is no basis for claiming that the students in our club aren’t diligent in their studies. The school will not publish data that only extracts the grades of some students. That is your delusion. Also, there is no reason why this is acceptable for university students but not for high school students. The white kyudo wear we wear for competitions is practice wear, and kimono is worn on formal occasions. By wearing kimono on a daily basis, the students are trained to avoid careless blunders in formal situations.
――Who does this young woman think she is? What kind of university did you go to? Don’t tell me you’re from an F-ranked school. A school that would hire such a bottom-of-the-barrel girl is clearly not worth anything. What a stupid school. There’s no point in talking to you. Get me the principal.
――The university you graduated from has nothing to do with your kyudo ability. In the past, there apparently used to be a section on the examination form where you must fill in your last place of education, but this has already been eliminated. The precept of our school is “learning from the past.” We visit the old to learn the new. You can’t break the mold if you don’t know it. We respect the teachings of our predecessors.
――Where’s the respect? You should respect your elders. I’m senior to you.
――I said the old, but predecessors aren’t necessarily older people, and just because someone is older does not mean they are superior. It’s just a way to honor a person’s achievements.
The videos were clipped and spread widely, and a controversy arose as to what color kyudo gi should be.
“It should be white.” “No, green should be OK as well.” “White, black, and navy blue are fine, but fluorescents are going too far, aren’t they? It’s too bright for the eyes.” “What color should I buy if it’s not white? Can I dye it lavender or something?” “Who’s this Tsucchi? Can the coach be my girlfriend?” “At my school, if you buy a different color, you’ll have to buy a new one, but I don’t have the money.” “I’m in the table tennis club, but I get more motivated when I chose a gi that stood out.” “The length of the sleeves is just right for kyudo gi, aren’t they?” “Tsucchi and Tetsi together make Tsutecchi.” “My dad’s Chicchi.” “The bow’s micchi is kewacchi.” (2)
It was a flood of words that was pretty much just an oogiri. (3)
Asahina raised his hands.
“Hey, Tsucchi, let’s stop responding to Tetsi, okay? This is taking over the channel. Our channel name is Yumihiki Douji, right? The adults are butting in too much.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I just got so mad when my adorable students got criticized.”
One day, Tetsi’s disguise got peeled off.
They wrote, “You guys should just shoot your bows quietly.”
Their comment section became a huge mess.
“It’s not ‘shooting a bow,’ it’s ‘drawing a bow.’ Saying you’re shooting a bow means you’re making a bow. If you’re an archer, that should have been the first thing they taught you.” “You’ve never referred to their shooting forms at all, have you? Maybe you don’t know the Eight Stages of Shooting at all? You’re not an archer at all, are you, Tetsi?”
The identification people showed up and very easily found Tetsi’s identity. Tetsi was a female office worker, a classmate of Tsucchi’s from the same university, and had zero kyudo experience. An hour later, all her videos were deleted, and Tetsi’s account was gone.
She was just an outsider who was stirring things up by using words she heard somewhere to provoke them. The flood that had been blocked by the dam continued to flow, and all the talk about what the color of kyudo gi should be got lost somewhere in the middle. Just what was all that fuss about?
The pair returned to normal operations.
“Hello, this is Asahina of ‘Yumihiki Douji.’”
“This humble one is called Eddie.”
“She, or rather, Coach Tsuchiya is working hard as a teacher, her main job. It’s encouraging, so if you like, please give her a high rating.”
The Kazemai High School kyudo club was continuing to work hard at practice today.
After the training camp, when everyone put on their hakama, there was a feeling of “this is what an archer is,” and they felt somewhat proud.
Tommy-sensei was holding a box. He pulled out small kasumi-mato from within. They were handmade by him, and the frame was made from the cores of duct tape.
“Now then, everyone, let’s use these mini targets today. For those who hit the target, I will give them a present along with this mini target.”
Tommy-sensei pointed to Masa-san, who was wearing a silver mustache. He was holding five “fake mustaches” in different colors.
Masa-san stroked the ends of his outward-curling mustache.
“If you put this on, you’ll become an archer like Tommy-sensei.”
Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo clasped their fingers in a prayer-like pose.
“I would just love to have the pink mustache. I shall do my best.”
“I guess I’d go for the light blue.”
“Black is classic. No, white might be fine too.”
The girls were excited for some reason and were choosing the color of their mustaches.
The mini targets really did look small once they were placed on the azuchi and the archers stood at the shooting line. They were smaller than the kinmato used for celebrations.
The first-years were standing in front of the targets. Nanao quickly put on his headband and was ready to go.
“I have to give it a try, don’t I? I’ll shoot through your heart!”
Several girls fainted in the stands.
While they were waiting for their turn, Keyaki and Kanbayashi were chatting. It was about the recent video incident.
“I’m glad that Asahina and Eddie from ‘Yumihiki Douji’ have recovered from this. I was thinking of unsubscribing if it became a channel for watching Tsucchi,” Keyaki said.
“If someone asked me what color I want my gi to be next time, I’ll go with white if possible. White is safe and effortless,” Kanbayashi said.
“I heard that most of the girls in the Kirisaki kyudo club were navy blue hakama in the summer. I thought that they were required to wear navy blue gi, but I was told that they run on a merit system and have no specific rules on what to wear.”
“I don’t think people who want to stand out in the first place would choose kyudo as their club activity. Archers gravitate towards the world of wabi-sabi and mania than dazzling luxury… It’s more that we prefer the austere and understated.”
While they were talking, arrows were being shot one after another, but without success. They were allowed to shoot the mini targets as many times as they wanted to within the time they were given, so everyone was going through their arrows.
In the fourth round, a beginner first-year successfully hit the target. Cheers erupted, and when the round was finished, everyone rushed forwards. They took back the mini target with the arrow in it and handed it to the person who shot it. They were moved to tears.
Time was up when each person had finished shooting up to four arrows.
In the end, only the first-year, Ryouhei, and Shiragiku were able to successfully hit the mini targets, while all the others were disappointed.
Kaito silently pulled out his arrows. His two arrows had pierced the azuchi around the mini target, as though avoiding it.
“If it had been the usual target, I would have landed all my arrows. To think I didn’t land a single hit…my training’s not enough.”
After returning from retrieving his arrows, Nanao took off his headband.
“Even when everyone didn’t hit the mini target, they’re closer to the center than usual. It’s strange.”
“So does that mean it’s possible to hit an arrow in the center if you’re conscious of it?”
Next to him, Seiya smiled daringly.
“But you’ll never become a master if you keep aiming and hitting at the target. You haven’t trained enough, have you.”
“Gaah, this is just full of contradictions.”
Minato was looking at the upper right, as though he was thinking about something.
“It’s like you’re looking, but you aren’t looking, and it’s like you’re not looking, but you are in fact looking. In kyudo and zazen, you don’t stare at a single point, but vaguely look with half-open eyes.”
Hearing that, Ryouhei approached Minato and Seiya from behind.
“I learned that in kendo. If you don’t focus on a single point and vaguely look at the whole body, you can quickly sense your opponent’s movements before anyone else. Basically, they’re telling you to not get caught up in the information coming in through your eyes.”
Masa-san was standing behind all of them.
“You guys noticed something important. Kendo and kyudo are both martial arts, so they have a lot in common. Takuan Osho left behind the phrase ‘kenzen ichinyo,’ where ichinyo means the state of being one. In English, it’s explained as ‘The sword and zen are one.’”
Keyakia and Kanbayashi had both stopped cleaning and were leaning forward to listening. Himuro was of course unmoving.
“First of all, you have to get used to it. As you gain experience, you accumulate data, and your body learns trends and countermoves. The ultimate goal is to be able to draw a bow in the same way no matter when, where, or under what circumstances. Well, I also had a tough time getting there as well.”
Keyaki became at a loss upon hearing that.
“If even Masa-san says it’s difficult, I wonder when I’ll be able to do it.”
“Don’t rush, don’t rush. Miyamoto Musashi also wrote in the Book of Five Rings, ‘See to it that you temper yourself with one thousand days of practice, and refine yourself with ten thousand days of training.’ Have you learned the essence of ‘No-Look Shooting’ of the Kazemai-ryuu? Now, take these as a souvenir.”
Tommy-sensei prepared slightly smaller mustaches as participation prizes. They were handed out when practice was over, and everyone wore them on the way home.
The next day, people started calling the kyudo club, the “Mustache Club.”
Tsucchi, a.k.a. Haneina High School faculty member Tsuchiya Ena, was being followed by a suspicious person.
The suspicious person was dressed in baggy clothing, and wearing a mask and a hat pulled deeply over their face. She had been followed by people in the past, but this one seemed particularly persistent. They followed her to work and back home every day.
“Tsucchi, shouldn’t you tell the police about this soon?” Asahina said.
“It is as Asahina said,” Eddie said.
“Mm, thank you. But some people get mad when you involve the police, so I’ll observe the situation for a few more days. Maybe they’ll get tired of it soon.”
“We understand, but if anything should happen, please notify us immediately.”
It happened on her day off.
When she finished shopping and passed through the crowd, she sensed someone following her. When she increased her speed, they got even closer and she could hear their heavy breathing behind her. It made her feel so sick that she finally couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Hey, who are you? Are you Tetsi? Stop this. If you have something to say, show your face!”
Suddenly, the suspicious person attacked her. She quickly got onto the defensive and dodged, but since she was wearing heels that day, her feet got caught on the unevenness of the ground, causing her to stumble.
Crap, she thought, covering her face, but no impact came. When she slowly opened one eye, she saw a man catching the fist of her attacker.
The tall man spoke.
“I know you’re following this person. I’m willing to go to the police with this.”
The wrist he grabbed was thin—the suspicious person was a young woman.
The woman threw out her back and prostrated herself on the ground.
She was screaming.
“I’ve cancelled my phone, but I’ve still been getting a lot of phone calls at work, and the girls I used to be friendly with won’t even talk to me anymore, so there’s no place for me anymore! My life is all messed up because of that woman!”
“This is called reaping what you sow, and in Buddhism, it’s called karmic justice. However, the reaction to a single karma is only once, and it isn’t a chain reaction.”
Tetsi slammed her hat and mask to the ground. She looked just like an ordinary woman, so she didn’t look like the type to write such coarse words. Her hands tore at her hair.
“But, isn’t it unfair!? In university, I tried to talk to Tsucchi, but I got ignored, you know!? She was active in kyudo, everyone makes a fuss over her on Yotube for being a beautiful woman, and she can say whatever she wants to say! Even though we’re the same age, she’s the only one who ever got help, and I got left alone because I’m not cute! After rewriting it over and over and sending it to the planning committee, they rejected it, saying that it was ‘a proposal that was too womanly. Do it again.’ Does that mean I can’t be trusted without a title!?”
She started talking to herself.
Aah, this is such a pain. I don’t remember being approached by her. I worked hard at kyudo, and I have nothing to do with her not doing well at work. Either get back at your boss or quit. Just as Tsucchi was thinking that, the man bent down.
“I don’t know about other men, but all women look beautiful to me. Please raise your head.”
Tetsi looked up as instructed. The man continued.
“You don’t need to change your appearance or title. Just stop belittling yourself. You don’t have to beat anyone to live.”
“…Are you a Buddhist priest? Your head isn’t shaved, so maybe you’re wearing a wig? Ah, I’m so sorry!”
“…How about using that imagination to change jobs to become a screenwriter?”
What’s with this skit?
Don’t tell me that this is some kind of hidden camera prank?
While Tsucchi was thinking this, the man picked up the fallen bag and hat and handed them to Tetsi. He looked as though he was about withdraw at any moment.
“Please wait! Just who are you?”
The man turned around. “I’m just a Shinto priest passing by. You’re Ena-senpai, huh. It’s a good name. I’m rooting for you.”
That was all he said before he quickly left.
Tetsi also said “I’m sorry” and left, leaving Tsucchi all alone.
Oi oi, isn’t he too much of a smooth talker?
Not a Buddhist priest, but Shinto? How incredibly shady.
She could still understand where Tetsi was coming from. That was because Tsucchi also had similar experiences, such as being made fun of because “she’s just a woman,” being sexually harassed and groped on the train. She had the appearance of a woman but was a middle-aged man on the inside, so she just beat them all up. In addition, she was called “Ena-senpai.” Not many people called her that.
She searched her past memories and came across a person with a similar face.
When she was a third year in high school, the start of the awards ceremony was delayed. It was said that the name of the archer who won the kyudo boys’ competition, the one who hit with all his arrows, was different. Because he had used his old name when he entered, so he took part in the tournament under that name. It was dealt with without issue, although it appeared to have been pointed out from within.
She remembered that remarkable ochi. In another tournament, when Tsucchi was about to have her arm grabbed by her male junior, the taller boy made a loud sound that scared off the younger boy.
After that, she thought that the reason why she couldn’t find his name in the student tournaments was because his last name had changed, but she never saw his face at the venues. The remarkable ochi had disappeared.
If she remembered correctly, his name was difficult to read.
His name was—.
As Tsucchi picked up her phone, thunder sounded in the distance.
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it’s 4am i have the worst migraine of all time. i’ve had it for four days now. it was okay yesterday so i thought ut was over but it’s back again, and i have to go to work cause i’ve got a huge makeup gig today. i have to do hair and makeup for 10 models, and im just, exhausted emotionally. i was supposed to do some drawings and attach them to the file, and i told my client i would do it many days ago, but i didn’t do it. partly because of my headache and partly because ive been forgetful.
update: it’s 8am, i haven’t slept, took some painkillers, been getting spontaneous bursts of anxiety since yesterday afternoon. i always feel a little anxious before a job, but it’s only part of the reason. i feel terrible rn. i feel bloated and crusty, and my hair looks terrible. a huge part of how i feel is based on how i look, and until im happy w the way i look (hair styled, outfit pressed, makeup done, accessorised) i don’t feel okay. and i just hate the way i look and i hate everything rn. i’m having one of those moments where nothing is okay. it is entirely in my head because on other days everything could go wrong and i’d still feel okay. i hate being at the mercy of my emotions. i need more time to gather myself than i have. work is in two hours, at least it’s only a 10 minute walk from my place so if i forget something or whatever, i can come back and get it. but i feel really anxious. i can physically feel it. and i’ve misplaced everything, and suddenly my room is all messy again. and all i want to do is sleep and complain. i wish i didn’t feel so crusty 99% of the time. and i felt so lonely yesterday, not the kind of loneliness that makes me wanna talk to people. it’s the kind that just is there. i don’t wanna talk to anyone. i hate everyone. and i just wanna be by myself. but that also feels bad. i have a social life, and i love my friends but it’s different. i could even see people if i wanted to but i don’t want to. why do i feel this way. i don’t wanna be with people i don’t wanna be by myself either. at least i don’t feel suicidal lately. i just feel annoyed. frustrated. especially with the migraine i just wanna throw things and break things. i never have and i never will actually throw or break things. but that’s how i feel. just super. irritated. i need time i hate being in a time crunch. none of my thoughts make sense and im simultaneously over and under stimulated. how is it too hot and too cold at the same time??? it’s too hot in my blanket but too cold if i take it off. and i can physically feel my skin, like i can feel a separate layer on my body. and im itchy and im so annoyed. its too loud and too bright. and i hate that the sun is up again, and i hate the sound of my alarm. i hate it. and u hate every terrible thing that has happened to me or to anyone. and my heart breaks for those who are going through so so so much worse. and nothing is right. this is not how it’s supposed to be. and i need my therapist. i’m gonna have a mental breakdown. i am having a mental breakdown. i can’t even cry lately. i don’t even drink water. i suck. of course im gonna feel this way. i dug myself into this hole.
another update: it’s almost 8pm, finally got home from work. it was just the most draining day ever. i’m exhausted but also strangely anxious. extremely anxious. the shoot went well, i think?? i hope!
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hi! here's my req for a match-up:
fandom: haikyuu
individualistic, funny, enigmatic, quiet
🍎 nonsense by sabrina carpenter (why's it catchy omg)
misc: no angst pls </3
hope you're doing well <3
hi hi hi that song gives me vibes of such a giddy kind of love??? like you can't stop looking at them and twirling your hair but also smacking yourself not knowing what to do with all those feels??? and the song IS hella catchy!
i would match you up with HANAMAKI TAKAHIRO. you give mattsun-adjacent vibes in that you seem quirky and chaotic in the best way possible, and honestly a bit hard to figure out! so i thought maki would be a great kind of friends-to-lovers match for you. i think you would be the one making insanely underrated and hilarious jokes under your breath about things you observe, and maki overhearing and spitting out his water at your quips. he would be so intensely drawn to you and how you march to the beat of your own drum - he'd want to find out more about you but also be respectful of the space and quiet time that you need. also, oikawa would have no chance when the two of you start roasting him - so that's always a win!
some drabble below the cut (and i'm finally starting to put gifs on these where i can LMAOO)
❀ LATE NIGHTS WITH YOU
"what's got maki in a good mood today?"
"some girl on campus he's been talking to."
he whirls around defensively, "she's not just some girl, dude. she-"
"okay, okay. no need to be so dramatic."
the three can tell he's down bad about you since he doesn't bother with a retort - the typically sassy maki lets it go today
"wasn't he working the overnight shift yesterday? it's kind of creepy how happy he is right now."
hajime isn't wrong - he was working an overnight shift at the 24/7 ramen restaurant near campus. on weekends, it's typical for drunk kids to stop by after a night at the club, but yesterday was particularly quiet
you catch his eye when you come in at 2 a.m., a bit disheveled from a nighttime study session - but to him, you look absolutely stunning
he recognizes you from one of his classes - so when he brings out your food and a bubble tea on the house (the flavour he notices you bring to class), he shoots his shot and asks if he can sit down with you - no one else is in, after all
you grin and offer him one of the takoyaki you order, and for a while, you sit and watch the anime playing on the restaurant screen in silence
all it takes is one joke you crack about one of the silly characters looking like him for you to both burst out laughing, pointing things out about the show you're watching and teasing each other like old friends
the next hour is filled with lively chatter and good food, until you start to get sleepy - though he offers to walk you home when his shift is done, you live right across the street so you settle on him standing outside to make sure you get home safe
he also gives his sweater to you, insisting as he's also brought a jacket - and though you get a bit shy about it, you take it
when you finally get up to leave, you call with a wink,
"if you're gonna keep giving me such good 2 a.m. noodles, this might become a bad habit of mine."
that line is all he can keep replaying in his head, ignoring his three friends as they continue to tease him about you
not sure if this totally worked out but all i could imagine was a silly late-night run in with food and good company, blossoming into a romance that even his friends notice. so i hope you enjoy!
anyone can request a matchup here 💫
probably only doing a few more - have 4 (?) to complete after this which will bring me to 13 i think? so then probably 2 more to 15. i'll update the linked post when i get around to it lol
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Catching a Killer
Part one
Civilian was furious. Not only had her target been right in front of her eyes—sitting next to her—but she’d been foolish enough to get drunk by the cities most powerful villain! Drunk!
Who knows what she babbled about?
Her own failure wasn’t the only thing shooting back and forth in her mind, Civilian had a headache on top of that. She should’ve considered the possibility of a hangover when she began drinking. Honestly, she shouldn’t have, but she had figured at the time that if she drank a little bit then the strange woman would give up on accompanying her and distracting her from the goal.
She was the goal the whole time.
Tiredly, she rolled to lay on her back. The driver had unceremoniously dumped her on the bed, then promptly left. Remembering last night only made her head pound harder. It was like a drum was pounding inside her brain, and all she wanted was to sleep. And sleep more after that.
Unfortunately, duty called, and she picked up the phone.
“Civilian.” Boss started formally. “How is your mission progressing?” His questions always came out closer to a statement. And his jokes were worse.
Civilian cleared her throat and tried to think of something. Anything. “Uhm…I didn’t find Villain yesterday night—but I encountered a woman who gave me a lead.”
She worried she sounded hungover, but if she did then her boss ignored it.
“Be sure to update if anything happens.”
“Yes sir.”
—
—
“Sunshine!” Villain clapped her hands, tilting her heart-shaped sunglasses down. “What brings ya back in these parts?”
“You know exactly why I’m here.” Civilian glared, sitting on the same stool as last night.
The bartender peeked over and she flipped him off for the fourth time that hour. Frankly, she was in no mood for any drinks after last night and the awful start to her morning. She didn’t want anything but to arrest Villain.
“Oh?” Villain smirked, glancing towards the bartender and nodding. “Care to indulge me?”
“You knew I was looking for you and you—you had the gall to sit right next to me and act all innocent and friendly!”
“I merely gave you what you wanted.” She rested her head in her hands. “It isn’t my fault you didn’t connect the dots. Plus, if I’m not mistaken, isn’t it your job to connect dots?”
“Well—“ Civilian’s cheeks heated up. “My point stands that you had the nerve to do that! You still sat by me all night and pretended to be innocent.”
Villain pressed a hand to her heart. “Is it so bad that I cheered you up?”
She moved a stray strand of pink hair from her eyes, and the colorful lighting illuminated her earrings. Her lightning bolt earrings changed color in the light and made it look as if it were a real lightning bolt flashing.
“When you got me drunk? Yes. It is so bad.” Civilian responded. She shook her head. She was aware she was staring; she was aware that this situation made her seem bad at her job. That isn’t it, she tried to assure herself. Villain was merely a paradox—nobody understood her or her motives or anything really—not even other villains who interacted with her. But Civilian's boss thought she could handle it. That had to be something.
One night wouldn’t ruin it all.
Yet her heart was pounding against her ribs, fighting to get out. Her blood felt warm. Too warm. Civilian was hyper aware of her posture, her breathing, how her body felt and every tiny movement around her, and Villain watched it all with her head faintly tilted and her lips curled in amusement.
“We’re going outside to handle this.” Civilian decided, grabbing Villain’s wrist.
The outside was only a brick wall and a few dumpsters. There was little trash on the ground, and the walls were empty spare a window a two. Music still blared from inside, and multicolored light was visible from the windows, but it was secluded enough for Civilian to slam Villain into a wall. Or try.
Try was the better word. She did send Villain backwards, but Villain grabbed Civilian, determined that if she were to fall then they’d go down together, so Civilian stopped snd held both the bodies up.
“You’re Villain.” She stated.
“You’re Civilian.” Villain raised her eyebrows. She wrenched her wrist away and rubbed it. Her expression made it look like she was betrayed. Like a friend stabbed her in the back. As if Civilian was the evil one here.
“You’re under arrest.” Civilian began. “You—“
“Need a warrant.” Villain smirked. Her eyes traveled to Civilian’s pockets, eyebrows raised suggestively. Horror hit Civilian first.
Slowly, she reached in her pocket, and her fingers found nothing. “You didn’t dare.”
“Oopsies.” The other held the slip of paper between her pointer finger and thumb. She began circling Civilian, a cat and a mouse. A predator and prey.
Civilian didn’t give her the satisfaction of following her. Instead, she stayed rooted in place with her hands in fists. “How come you didn’t kill me yesterday?”
Her heart pounded. Am I bad at this? Suddenly the idea that she was fodder became a new headache.
“I play with my food.” Villain slinked closer. “Same time tomorrow?”
“The only time I’ll see you is when you’re in handcuffs.” Civilian threatened.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Villain mused. She tapped a finger to her chin and tilted her head, contemplating. “I do have a room in the back—“
“I’m arresting you, and not erotically.” Civilian shook her head.
Villain smiled, beginning to stroll back into her nightclub. “If you say so, sunshine. Anyways, since you indulged me, I’ll indulge you. Come back tomorrow night and you can try and arrest me. But I won’t go easy on you…” She winked, then disappeared in a flurry of bubblegum pink.
—
—
That night, Civilian slept, but before that she set an alarm. There was a fire burning in her belly. Determination. Unbridled and wildly ravaging at her heart. It devoured, but it also fueled a new passion. Something so strong that she hadn’t felt for awhile. For some reason, she didn’t feel as jaded as she did before. Villain made her flustered and angry and upset. She didn’t feel like this on most missions. The only answer was that this wasn’t a mission for work anymore.
Now, she had her own reasons.
She wanted to seek Villain out, and she would.
#villain x civilian#heroes and villains#writing snippet#civilian x villain#wlw#lesbian#detective x villain#slow burn#enemies to lovers#Chaotic villain
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General update on where I’m at art wise under the cut! And energy-to-make-art wise too I guess (some minor tw for very general discussion of like. Current events and life stuff.) I promise I’ll be back to mostly art on this blog soonish.
So, here’s what the year is looking like for me right now. I mentioned last week that I’m in the middle of a stretch of big bang art. Well, I’m really smack dab in the middle of the Star Wars big bang — I’ve got 2 or 3 pieces to do over the next three weeks, still, but I’ve already got 4 done that will be posting up across June, and I’m pretty hype to share those, and see the fics go up.
I’ve also just recently matched up with some really dope authors with some fics taking some big swings that are verrrry interesting, in dinluke and sandman bangs. I’m thinking I’ll get to do some very dope art for those.
There’s like. One more bang in 4Q I’m sort of thinking about (signed up to pinch hit only for now) and a couple zines I’m eyeing, but I’m like. Trying to be somewhat better about saying no to myself lmao. I did also have the crazy three AM thought “I should make a fan comic” but like. I know how long that takes so. Probably not lmao. I’m sort of waffling if I want to continue signing up for so many bangs, given the givens, (my heart says yes but my brain says “really?”) so if I do tone it down, maybe next year?
Oh and not art exactly, but I’ve also been working on a suite of tools for big bang moderators. I’ve made a spreadsheet that emails people for you and a spreadsheet that generates a google doc. The use cases here are sending out claim match emails and generating summary documents for claims. Next on my to do list is a spreadsheet that generates a google form, for mods who want their artists to rank every fic for claims. Once I get that done I’ll bundle them up with some advice maybe. If the ones I have complete sound like something you could use now though, let me know over DMs.
I just hope my energy comes back from the war lol. I churned out the first 3 pieces for the swbb really fast, but between a couple really difficult weeks at work, my trainee sucking the life out of me (and my weekends. I’m about to murder her), and a slew of bad news, I’m like. Man what puppy did I kick.
I wrote up my venty post yesterday and then there was a shooting like 5 minutes from my place and when I called my mom to tell her I was safe I got told my aunt had started having seizures after a head injury and was just coming off a ventilator. The hits just keep coming lol.
Despite all that the biggest drain is actually my trainee. I’ve worked two weekends in a row covering for her now. That’s my art making time.
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I posted 4,757 times in 2022
312 posts created (7%)
4,445 posts reblogged (93%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@franzis-frantic-thoughts (LMAO)
@kd-heart
@nonbinary-nicolo
@bundibird
@martinbelovedblackwood
I tagged 4,748 of my posts in 2022
#misc - 1,183 posts
#rqg - 454 posts
#fanart - 431 posts
#described - 282 posts
#ofmd - 280 posts
#dracula daily - 240 posts
#tma - 224 posts
#fan art - 222 posts
#hamid saleh haroun al tahan - 206 posts
#rusty quill gaming - 200 posts
Longest Tag: 140 characters
#given we live in germany in a city my mum knew it couldn’t have been a snake. and when my brother said he would never go back to kindergarte
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Take heart afresh, dear husband of Madam Mina
Finally a male character is referred to as a woman’s husband. Move over, “Dracula’s Brides”. “Mina’s husband” has arrived.
456 notes - Posted October 4, 2022
#4
[ID: A two panel meme showing stills from CW’s “Supernatural”. In the first, Castiel, crying, is confessing his love. In the second, Dean stares back impassively. He’s saying “The queen is dead.” /end ID]
653 notes - Posted September 8, 2022
#3
[ID: A tweet by Maddy Searle (@Maddy_abstract), posted on October 14th, around 3 pm BST. It reads “Sadly, I am among some staff cuts at Rusty Quill, so I am available for work in podcast/radio sound design, production, directing. 3+ years experience with clients including Stripped Media and Picturehouse Cinema. Links to my work below.” followed by aforementioned link with a headshot of Maddy /End ID]
So Maddy is leaving RQ, citing “staff cuts” and thereby implying it wasn’t her decision, following a rather surprising hiatus at Rusty Quill which affected Chapter & Multiverse, Trice Forgotten, as well as Patreon Bonus content, such as Problemagicians and Compulsory Film Appreciation.
At the same time, RQ is putting out multiple updates daily for their stupid little TMA ARG. teasing “The Magnus Archives 2″.
What. The actual fuck. Is going on in this company.
They’re Rusty Quill. Not “The Magnus Archives Incorporated”. They have other shows that have fans. They have other shows that could make them money, if they only promoted them decently.
The Magnus Archives had a great ending, stop milking a dead cow and instead focus on the ones that are still alive.
Stop shooting yourself in the foot.
Can’t believe I’m supporting this shit show with a patreon subscription. I am seriously going to reevaluate this decision.
EDIT: The tweet has since been deleted, but Maddy’s bio still reads “Formerly @TheRustyQuill” on twitter. Go and send her some love.
951 notes - Posted October 14, 2022
#2
I’m so glad Lucy and Mina saw some good cows today. If TMA has taught me anything, it is that seeing good cows means everything is well and nothing bad is about to happen.
1,484 notes - Posted August 10, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Yesterday, I was told by a friend that it’s really unfair to call Boris Johnson a cunt because he has neither the depth nor the warmth of a vagina and he definitely has worse hair.
9,899 notes - Posted July 8, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#false#franzis thoughts
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ambs' sleepover sunday/monday!
good afternoon! been a while since i've written or done any sleepovers so we shall start today again! i got a ps4 yesterday for free from a family friend so i spent my day updating the sytem and adding my games into it so i can play with friends and my brother (:
anyway enough about that! we shall do a sleepover sunday tonight as I will not be sleeping until 1am lololol
ships: send in a description of yourself and i'll ship you with a character (within anyone i write for! tom/marvel/supernatural/etc)
character playlist: send a character and i'll make a playlist for them!
song recommendations: send me a description of yourself and i'll give you a song that reminds me of you
movie reviews: send me a movie and if i have seen it i will give my honest review of it
fic recs: tell me what fandom/character you want me to send you a recommendation for!
free compliments: send me your work (fics/moodboards/playlists) and i'll compliment it
question: ask me anything and i'll give you the honest answer
advice: ask me anything and i'll try to help!
rant/vent: let it out if you need to!
get to know me: send me a prompt from this list!
blurbs: send me a prompt and i'll write a blurb for it!
blurbs: (anger/argument)
"what the hell is wrong with you?"
"you think it's okay to speak to me like that?"
"i'm actually sick of you and your god awful attitude?"
"get the hell out of my house!! i can't even look at you right now!"
"this will be your only warning, get away from me."
"you better get the fuck out of my face."
"you're really trying to paint me as the bad guy? all this is your fault!"
"it's not my fault you're so selfish!"
"put your hand on me again and i promise you that i'll break it."
"you're such an asshole, i don't even know why i like you."
"why do you make loving you so damn hard?"
"i don't remember asking for your opinion?"
"you wanna fucking go?"
"sometimes, i wish you'd walk out that door and never come back."
"wow, i can't believe you'd ever say that to me."
(angst)
"i wish we didn't have to leave this behind."
"no, don't say that, we can get through this."
"i have a really bad feeling about this."
"do you think this is it? the end?"
"why do you even wanna talk to me? i just broke your brother's nose."
"i'm not saying i don' trust you, but i don't trust you."
"do you even love me anymore?"
"if you're here to tell me what happened after i left last night, don't bother. someone beat you to it."
"you really think i have a choice?"
"i honestly thought you were different, apparently not."
"are you here to rip my heart out again?"
"shoot me, it would honestly hurt less."
"do it, just take a chance on me. i don't want you to spend your life thinking about what could have been."
"don't make this any harder than it already is, i'm begging you."
"i'm not giving up on you, i'm not giving up on us."
(comfort/hurt)
"just go back to sleep, i promise to be here when you wake up."
"if you're hurt you can tell me, i don't mind carrying you, honest."
"will you listen to me? i don't care where you are, what time it is or what happened. if you need me, i'll be there."
"don't look at them, look at me. you're okay, stay in this moment, with me."
"go to sleep, you're gonna be better in no time."
"i said no! you're hurt, just for ONCE do what i ask."
"you don't need to be the strong one all the time. besides, even if you're not strong at that particular moment, it doesn't mean you're weak."
"nobody will take you away from me again, i promise."
"i hate knowing you're hurt and there's nothing i can do."
"you're telling me to calm down? you're the one who's been shot!"
"please just talk to me, i know it's hard but i need to know you're going to be okay."
"this is going to sting a little, ready?"
"please, just let me help you."
"i wouldn't have offered to help if i didn't mean it."
"you're hurt, not dying, come on now."
(funny)
"what's the point in having powers if you don't get to have fun?"
"when this goes wrong, like i said it will, don't you come crying to me."
"i swear you two have a collective of a singular brain cell, you both have half each."
"are you dumb?"
"what the hell is going on- actually, you know what? forget i even asked, weirdos."
"when have i ever been wrong?"
"shut up, that was literally ONE time!"
"i'm honestly surprised you haven't been arrested yet... in fact, i take that back, no i'm not."
"please don't tell my mom, she will throw a shoe."
"your logic gives me a headache."
"you're honestly about as funny as that tree."
(fluff)
"how about we just spend the day in bed?"
"you look adorable in my shirt."
"have i told you that i love you today? yes? well, i'm just gonna tell you again."
"how come you always seem to end up in my bed?"
"it's been exactly 10 minutes since you woke up, so why have i not had my good morning kiss yet?"
"you're cute when you blush."
"your voice is the best thing for me to hear, even if it is far away."
"can i have a cuddle?"
"i can't stop thinking about you."
"look at me, sweetheart!"
"wait there just a second, did you just kiss me?"
"falling in love wasn't exactly on the list of things i wanted to happenin in my life, but i'm glad that i did."
"you're my person."
"can i wear your sweater/hoodie? it smells like you, i can't promise to give it back though."
"i thought you always knew you were my favorite?"
specific moment prompts:
child's first words
child's first time walking
first family christmas
high school graduation
birth of a sibling
new parental figure comes into the family
getting suspended together from school
ditching school together with friend/significant other/sibling
unexpected pregnancy / either young or older
family vacation
parent's wedding
family reunion
high school reunion
#ambs talks#ambs writing#tshwritersnet#prompts#tom holland#marvel#supernatural#peter parker#sam winchester#spider-man#bohemian rhapsody#sebastian stan#andrew garfield#tobey macguire#lucas till#ben hardy#gwilym lee#harry holland#harrison osterfield#warren worthington iii#roger taylor#brian may#matthew gray gubler#spencer reid#bucky barnes#winter soldier#jared padelecki#promtps#fics#tom holland x reader
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Since yesterday, after I read your post about interaction/engagement, I‘ve been trying to figure out how to reach out to you… been trying to find the „right“ words, even if I know that that is impossible. I‘ll try anyway…
I completely get how you feel.
I‘ve been very insecure about my own writing since I started posting chapters of 5 years back in september and didn‘t get many interactions. A few likes here and there, some lovely comments (that I cherish very much!) but not more. I started second guessing my skills, started regretting the decision to publish the story in the first place, etc. It basically ended in a downward spiral where I considered taking it down and wished for the ground to swallow me whole because I thought I was so bad that people don‘t even want something to do with me. Sometimes, that wish still sneaks up on me. But then I get the loveliest comment from one of my regular readers and I think: Hey, that person still reads the story, that person still waits for an update, etc. and I get a new spark of motivation that keeps me going. I know it‘s hard and it‘ll keep being a challenge to find joy and motivation in the interactions of the regular readers, but I guess we‘ll just have to learn to do exactly that. Maybe it helps to know that you‘re not alone in facing that challenge. I‘m right at your side🥰.
On the other hand, I understand the POV of the people with social anxiety. I‘m suffering from that too (first and foremost when I‘m face to face with someone) and it‘s awful. Regarding the internet, I started overcoming it by joining the TGM fandom here on Tumblr. Before summer 2022, I would have never dared to comment on a story, let alone reblog it. I thought I‘d be too invasive, I‘d annoy the creator etc. But one day, I decided to shoot blind and wrote a message to @bradshawsbaby . I swear, I‘m not kidding when I say that my heart threatened to beat out of my chest😅. I was so afraid that she would cringe about that message, but boy, was I wrong! She wrote such a cute and sweet reply that almost made me bawl my eyes out🥹. And from then on, I kind of „realized“ that there are real humans behind all these amazing accounts, yours included, that can feel my love for them and their creations that I try to express in my messages/comments. But it takes a lot of courage and the will to step out of your comfort zone and I get that some people maybe aren‘t ready or just not willing to do that. Of course, that doesn‘t make it easier for creators, but no one can be forced to do something they don’t want to do.
I dare to claim that it‘s safe to say that it‘s a frustrating matter for both sides. The creators who wish for feedback to improve their writing skills to make their readers happy and the readers who feel pressured to do something they‘re not comfortable with. I‘m not sure if we‘ll ever be able to work it out so it works for both sides, but perhaps every side can define their boundaries more clearly so that everyone knows where they stand…
Anyway, I hope this message isn‘t embarassing🫣😬. I just tried to express how I see things regarding this topic, but I‘m just a 19-year-old girl who has no knowledge of anything😅🤷🏻♀️. Please, let me know if I embarassed myself with this.
Many hugs and so much love to you💗!
BB 😭❤️ you said this so much better than I could and wow I so appreciate the time and thought you put into this 🥹 thank youuuu
These messages are bringing me so much clarity, and wow like even if I disagree with some things people have shared I still appreciate everyone taking the time to write out such long and detailed responses because it sounds like there are definitely things I could be doing as a writer to make this space more accessible for people in a way that works for everyone, I have a much better understanding of the issue from both sides, and I’m just genuinely grateful this could be a conversation
To your first part, it is so scary as writers to put ourselves out there and whether we want to or not, we can get in our head about things 😭
And in general, I manage my expectations around interactions. I know and respect that everything I write is not going to be for everyone nor is everyone going to want to interact. But I am here to engage and get to know people so quality (in whatever way works) is important to me. And at this point, I really am just here answering Hannix asks 😂 😅
And primarily with writing that responds to asks, I do have anxiety here and I’m not going to minimize that part even while I am learning that it is something I need to work on. I grew up in a home where people were emotionally unpredictable and withheld affection and emotional validation in order to control my behavior. When I am giving someone something that was asked for, that is emotionally vulnerable (writing in general), and it feels like there’s little to no response I go into full blown panic that I’ve done something wrong or made them unhappy with me. I actually seize up because what I learned as a child is that I could be emotionally and physically punished if I don’t recalibrate. I start triple guessing and overanalyzing and that’s not really a place to write from. I could close my asks, say no more Hannix Football Rivalry. But it does *seem* like that makes people happy, that it’s something they love and I love giving people that. But it was taking a toll on me and I wanted to see if there is a solution instead of automatically shutting down
This is not a call for everyone to comment or reblog or dm or trigger their own anxiety to engage. But if someone was not understanding what was happening on my end and is like oh yes, happy to do that so we can all continue to enjoy this universe (or explore other ones!) then that is so so appreciated
Because no, I don’t want to be on here triggering other people’s anxiety 😭 And maybe it’s those people responding because there’s a shared understanding of what that experience is like, how out of control it can get even when you present yourself with logic or try to reason your way out of it
I think while there is frustration, there is also the shared experience of wanting to be recognized for our whole person even when we’re operating as writer and reader and I think Tumblr does give us a chance to recognize ourselves on a deeper level than we may in other interactions. So I do want to take care with that for everyone
No one should be forced to do something they’re uncomfortable with and you are spot on with defining boundaries!! This is not engage or get out or I’ll hold my work hostage. It’s more like, I’m struggling and asking for help if someone can give it because I want to keep giving you something you love and makes you happy. It didn’t seem fair to set boundaries without understanding where everyone is coming from
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Hi, ChaLynn stan checking in to cheer you up
I peeped yesterday's show. Painful shit, I know. These garbage plots stinks. It angers me the writers are minimizing Chase's cop instincts, ignoring both his observations of Lincs treatment of both BLQ and Blaze for plot purposes. Who in their right believes Blqthink of how all this will magically reap sweet ChayLynn rewards in another few months. (I'm giddy with excitement 😬 seee?)
Brook Lynn Quartermaine will NOT sign that nda contract. She signs the nda and its GAME OVER. If she values her self respect (questionable atm) and keeping Chase in her life that nda won't mean much if she doesn't sign it. Dont give Linc another W. Her pride and fear is getting in the way again. Imma give her this one benefit of the doubt this time only. If Chase knew about the nda, Linc would be a dead duck.
These writers I swear...smh. I like Blaze, but if she shoots her shot with "detective" (again questionable atm) Chase, I won't be mad at all. Girls no fighting please.
Blaze is BLQs placeholder with the singing voice. They look similar in profiles. She is living out BLQs wildest dreams singing w/ Chase, the love of BLQ's life. What Blaze said to Chase about him reminding of her passion for music when they sing together, she didn't want him to leave cause she feels safe around him, still stuck in a contract with Linc, that's BLQ. Blaze is verbalizing what BLQ isn't saying to Chase. Some detective he is. Hahaha. Silly concept.
How is Chase to know how BLQ feels when he can't wait to move on with his life without her. (liar liar pants on fire) Boy has it bad for her, can't ya tell. Lol
BLQ is in deep (awww). I haven't seen that look of despair on her face since she had to give back Bailey Lou. Yes, losing Chase is right up there. They were a little family unit at one time.. times that pain x10. It will get worse before for her tho. I can't wait for ChaLynn's official ILY. eeek!
🥰 Shoot I'm waiting on Sprina too, lucky me. Im not sure what happens in a couple if months from now cause I don't read spoilers. If this miserable mushball wants happiness, she's gonna have to fight for it. BLQ lost her voice once, she can't let Linc take it away from her again. This year's Nurses Ball will be the first since Nelle attacked her. I don't believe those emotional wounds have healed since then.
She's watching the love of her life slip away from her. We should be enjoying this "journey" that their on, no matter the cheese factor. We already know how Chase feels about BLQ, were waiting for her to catch up with him. (run BLQ run)
Endgame. Endgame. Endgame!
Update: I'm presently working on my one shot fic for you guys. Im rusty but ChayLynn is motivation. This is catharsis for me till we get over this slump. Hang in there.
Stay tuned. ❤
Yeah, the dumbing down of Chase and upping the selfishness of BLQ isn't working for anyone. Idk how the writers could think it does.
I have yet to see yesterday's episode, but I know that Chalynn was not one of the highlights, so I dread that viewing experience. I thought BLQ already agreed to sign the NDA, or she already did sign it, but is that not the case? If so, I hope she doesn't sign that crap. The serial sexual harassment is something that he can absolutely be nailed for.
I like Blaze a lot, and I think she has great chem with Chase. I absolutely wouldn't mind them having a fling or a genuine relationship (and it won't last too long since Blaze likely isn't going to stay).
I feel like Chase is still too angry at BLQ for what she did to come down and realize he still loves her, and while I'm glad there is a lasting consequence, I'm still not okay with BLQ getting worse treatment than Millow when Millow also wronged Chase brutally.
I wish we had a new Bailey Lou story, that or we fast-forward to them being back tovefht and saying their "I Love Yous." I want to enjoy the journey, but we've waited for years, and once we got what we wanted, it got taken away from us immediately. At this rate, I want shortcuts and proper redemption. If they're meant to be "long-term," the show should act like it.
And that's amazing! I can't wait to read it (and I will share any related links for it)! I'm glad it's working as catharsis. And thank you for the cheering up, it's always appreciated ❤️
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I hate how hard it is for me to get to this site, it's just rare for me to have time & focus to open my laptop & scroll through. I do really need the influence of the content here even more so now that I'm doing shoots on the regular now.
But an Update
- I have a photoshoot hopefully tomorrow doing a Doom Generation vibe
- I have a marketing photoshoot for a '70s themed bar this week
- I'm modeling for a workmate who is an absolute killer photographer & visionary who has quite the following. He's been going through the same bullsh*t with his maybe ex (that's the bullsh*t, his ex is hanging him on even though ended the partnership??) I invited him to a kinky girls night out at a bar. We didn't win the main prize of a stripper pole but we got a penis sippy cup...
- My audio & assistant camera mate & I have had these really deep conversations that are so f*cking therapeutic lmao. I'm featured in his behind the scenes documentary for the Richard Bellia shoot, that I'm eager to see.
- Might be featured in my college's first ever photography magazine. I saw the other entries though & lmao! I am not nearly their quality, which yeah, I suck in comparison but I'm not going to look down on myself. Some people like prog, some people like pop. I'm just a bit rudimentary, that doesn't equate to "bad".
- I'm hopefully getting my Traffic & King Crimson tattoos on Winwood's birthday ♡ Fingers crossed that that day is available.
- Still struggling really bad with rumination & depression. & really wish I exercised more.
- The metalhead I have a crush on in my audio class & I have something so nice! I really don't want to do anything though since I'm still in the crosshairs. But us laughing about Vince Neil & talking about Motley Crue felt so good : ) & that comes to something audio guy & I talked about yesterday, can we file away the interests & associations that are attached to specific people? It's hard for me to listen to Rush, but just now Subdivision was on the radio & as I was getting ready to turn it off, I thought it's time to do some exposure therapy, like dude I liked Rush before I met the ex so? So I'm trying to file away & make new associations. Every time the metalhead & I talk music it's always Pink Floyd, Metallica, Megadeth, Judas Priest, & Def Leppard & now yesterday Motley Crue. 3/4 of those 6 bands are affiliated with the ex & a lot of my knowledge comes from him so it's kind of f*cked. Maybe I'll get the metalhead into new wave or prog, even though he's trying to get out of his " '80s rut " babe, not a rut haha.
But yeah, things are progressing & I'm excited but holy sh*t, the depression waves hit so hard. & I keep having difficult dreams.
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Day 128: Monday May 8, 2023 - “After Action”
I spent the day feeling very accomplished and proud of myself as I debriefed with Audrie, regaling her with stories from our three day excursion through Phoenix and St Louis and back. It was my first solo trip flying with William, who at 22 months is still breast feeding and working on potty training. This was a big bite. A very big bite for this Dad who is working hard to figure it all out and be a rock. This was huge - not something that I had to do, but something I wanted to do; something I needed to do, to level up. It felt exactly the same as the first time I threw my heavy back pack on for my first ever overnight in the Wild and how proud and confident and bad ass that felt. Exactly the same feelings. And with the literal non-stop task-loading I did from Friday at 3:30pm until Sunday at 7:00pm, I was pretty mentally drained when I hit my pillow; but today on the day-after, I could sit back in awe with some real pride of how it all came together.
Looking back over the 3 day run, I noted the things Id do different (like maybe make sure to pack shoes!), and shared the things that I thought really went well (I definitely aced bringing the big mama-water). I laughed at my “Jesus Take The Wheel” presentation to TSA and how now I think I could go back and ace that like an old pro after my two trips through. Ben sent me a picture he’d snapped at Lambert Airport before hugging goodbye - with me carrying my intentional planning (literally) - the bones of the whole operation on display. Car Seat, Suitcase to check with both of our clothes and bathroom bags, messenger bag of books, snacks, and toys, stroller, diaper bag, and the old “throw it in there” bag which will absolutely be a staple of every trip I take with him from now on. The intentional planning of every piece - checked the car seat and the suitcase, kept my shoulder bag and everything else went under the stroller, which was gate checked, with the ease of a bullride. I played it all through in my head several times the week before to make sure I had it all visualized and knew how it would go before it went, taking my weekend Dad-show on the road. And it went, just as I had visualized. My operation is aced.
I couldn’t have done any of this on intentional planning alone. As is usually the case with the standby game, getting there with confidence was easy, with load updates right up until boarding. Its the getting home that is always the crap-shoot. I thanked my lucky stars for the run of good standby luck, made possible by my skillful planning to give myself the best options by starting the trip Friday out of Phoenix AND the blind luck of an intoxicated guy getting booted to ensure my one spot home. But I felt confident that either way that would’ve gone yesterday, travelling back, I was ready for it. 5 hour energy, snacks to the gills, books including the long Choo Choo book - I was ready to play the long game if I had to; I worked hard to manage my expectations. My mind was steady through it all - “slow is fast. slow is fast” | “take it as it comes” I literally coached my way through the weekend with my “Dadconscious.” And just like weekends at home, I checked the waypoints until the only thing left to do was get home on this 3.5 hour middleseat flight. We were the last two rushed on in a standby stroke of luck, helped by a Flight Attendant that carried William for me, and sat us down where I was too cramped to even get my headphones or snacks. I buckled in and knew it was on me to bring this whole trip home strong by relaxing William to sleep, keeping him comfortable and steady and off the people on either side. Id skillfully worked Sunday to try to line up this flight with a long hard earned nap and it worked as planned. But now, with no entertainment and nothing to do but to just sit there still as I can be letting him sleep, I passed the slow time, mentally preparing for the witching hour coming my way once he woke up, and how I’d manage the close quarters here on the descent with a rested excited stir crazy toddler and no back up aside from my own resilient mindful will; the one thing that no amount of intentional planning could help with. I would now be leaning full on to my mindfulness as I rode this last wave. With about an hour to go, he started to wiggle himself awake, until finally his eyes opened, and mindfully I worked with him to land the plane with no tears and no real struggle. With our wheels back down in Arizona, the only left now was to get our luggage, and get to the car, and drive home. Mission accomplished.
And it was nice today, to be able to sit in my success and be proud of it, and share what I had learned as if I had just climbed some mountain or aced some trail - some real adventure. And I suppose thats what its always about, out here living a great story. That no matter what it is that you’re trying to do, that you go for it and stretch your boundaries, and level up. I definitely did that this past weekend, and today I felt like a whole new Dad.
Song: Brian Wright - You Got It All
Quote: “Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure.”
― J.K. Rowling
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