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faeriecap · 1 year

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Ask No Omen

“Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen, but his country's cause. ”

Sam blinks and elderly Steve seems to have merged into thin air. He stares at the vacant space beside him on the bench, knuckles clenched around the edges of the heavy case. Its circular shape is familiar, and yet entirely alien to him. He stays that way for a minute, ten minutes, maybe. Bucky, probably still gazing forlornly at the platform, or the bench, doesn’t approach. Banner mutters under his breath about five minutes, just five and pushes every button on the keypad with furious fingers.

Silence falls amongst the group, save for the quiet sound of Bucky trying and failing to privately cry. He said he was gonna miss him. Sam thinks, and looks away from the dejected face of the man who is slowly but surely becoming his friend. His tamped down sobs sound loudly in the empty space, the only other background noise the rustling leaves in the wind. Then, all at once, the portal whirs to life and a figure forms from millions of sparkling atoms in a nanosecond. Steve gapes at them all: Bruce’s wide, open-mouth (also green inside), the shock shining in Sam’s expression, the way Natasha seems to shrink a little behind him. Bucky looks as though he’s been slapped across the face, and his cheeks glisten.

“Oh, hey…” Steve steps in, forcing down the urge to fling his fists around. He can't fight this, the source of those tears. He’s the cause. He’s made Bucky cry. His fingers brush them away. “I know I promised to knock the lights out of anyone who hurt you, Buck, but I already wrestled myself once and I just got back.”

Bucky chokes on a watery laugh, and claps Steve on the back a little too hard. “Fuck you, Rogers. Seriously,” His hands slide down his shoulders and curl tightly around his hips. “I can’t believe you did that!”

Steve’s pelvis seems to gravitate closer to Bucky of its own accord.

“What, you really thought I’d leave you? I told you what I was doing!” His fingers card through the hair falling just before Bucky’s eyes. “End of the line. I’d never go back on that.” He adds seriously, getting his own grip on Barnes’ waist, thumbs swiping over the outline of his hip bones.

“But… You were late.”

“Only by a few minutes. Turns out Schmidt was still alive, sort of-”

“No!”

“Yes! And no one thought to tell me that the Guardian of the Soul Stone was my fucking wartime enemy?” Steve throws his hands up, shooting a glare at the rest of them. “Good thing I know how to piss him off already, it came in handy getting Tasha back.”

“Yea- How did you…” Bruce cuts in, but he falls quiet when Natasha, finally unspooked, throws her arms around him.

“I thought… I thought you really did it. Went back to Peggy with the extra particles.” Bucky sniffs, and hugs him tighter.

“Uh- what?” Bruce lifts his chin from Natasha’s hair.

Steve shakes his head, once, firmly. “I did. Got that last dance. She showed me pictures of her wedding, her kids, her “husband,” her new flame who’s a movie star. Hell, Buck, she won an Oscar, and she knows how to make pasta from scratch! How would I have lived up to that?”

“You’re right. You burn toast, Rogers.” He says it so lovingly, though, that Sam, who’s been inching closer to the portal, feels like he should take another step back and give them some privacy. Damn.

“Captain America. War material yes, domestic husbandry material, no,” Steve agrees with a sigh. “Anyways, it was tempting. To-to stay. I mean, it was familiar, it was Peggy… But after everything that’s happened- I’m just not the guy she fell in love with anymore. She’ll always love me. The me she knew. And I’ll love her as I remember her. But she’s moved on. She wanted me to do the same. And that time, it wasn’t any more familiar because I slept through it. This is home now.”

He meets Bucky’s eyes with a shy, soft smile. “So I completed my mission. Returned every Stone to its proper place. The only thing I really changed was Nat.”

His shoulders square, and he raises himself up to his full height, imposing against some unseen challenger. “I returned the Stone, and neither the one who paid for it, nor the recipient were the one to use it. Tony-” Steve’s voice still breaks a little on the name. “He took a free ride. Clint didn’t. And I brought it back, which is more than Thanos could say. So… It was only fair.”

Steve preens a little as Bucky laughs incredulously and socks him in the arm. Leave it to America’s Most Righteous Ass to figure out how to best the very order of the universe.

“So- You didn’t tell Peggy where you… were?”

Steve’s smile twists into something more delicately sad. “No. I figured… Better to leave things as they are, rather than wishing for more I could never have. We don’t trade lives. Maybe Cap was supposed to come back when I did, to save all those people when they needed me. He could have done a lot of good in the last century, but then who’s to say what would have happened when the time to assemble came around? If we weren’t all together… Maybe nobody gets saved.”

“So OG Cap’s still frozen?” Bruce confirms.

Steve nods, growing a little uncomfortable. Sam’s temples throb with an oncoming migraine. He’s still dumbly standing there, holding the shield. He averts his eyes, shifting the case under one arm to wave a hand in front of their starry eyes.

“Wait…” Sam cuts in, with an unimpressed expression. “So, if you came back here… And you didn’t wake up yourself in the ice...”

“Uh huh…” Steve nods, sounding lost.

Sam shakes his head, running an hand across his forehead and down to rub at the back of his neck. “Then who the hell was that old guy, man?”

Steve falters, his bemused expression going from blank to rigid. His back stiffens and his hard eyes scan the area, fists balling at his sides. “What old man, Sam?”

Sam’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Uh… The old dude. He was just here. And he was, well, he was you. But like, ancient.”

“Right.” Bucky cuts in, one hand still scrubbing over his wet lashes. “I figured it was you, Stevie. I mean he looked just like you… and he had the shield.”

The disappointment in his voice is gone as quickly as it came, replaced with the bright surprise of having Steve, his Steve, in his arms again.

“He had my shield?”

“Shiny and new, doesn’t look a year over 1945.” Sam replies, unzipping the case to flash the vibranium. All three men have become pictures of tension.

“What the fuck?” Steve breathes, staring around at the empty grass before them. Back behind them, Bruce and Nat look as equally lost standing by the portal.

“Uh, guys, is everything okay?” Bruce calls out. “Because, seriously, I’m pretty intelligent and I have no idea what the hell is going on right now.”

“Let me get this straight.” Sam starts, holding up a hand, and laughs a little at the irony of the statement. “Did you give me the shield, this shield-” Sam lets it fall to the pavement with a sturdy thunk. “To become the next Captain America or not?”

Steve’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. He clutches Bucky as though to hold himself up with one hand, and his chest with the other, like he still has arrhythmia. “What? No!”

A wounded look flashes across Sam’s face, and then Steve slips into further panic.

“No, no! Sam!” He backpedals. “You’d be a great Cap. Honestly, I think that would be a great idea… I haven’t wanted to be him for a while now, being truthful. What I meant was that definitely was not me who told you that before.”

“Then who the hell was it?” Natasha chimes in, already sounding on the alert and back to her old self.

They all hear the off-kilter and slightly over dramatic giggling as it echoes around the trees, sending at first a cold shiver down their spine, and then a spike of dread through their veins. Steve just feels tired, honestly. He sags a little against his best friend, whose confounded face, void of recognition, still peers around the vacant park. The laughter gets louder, and a golden helm flashes through the branches of one of the trees.

“I always was good at impersonating you, Captain, but I think this was my best yet!”

Sam looks down with a scream; a thick white snake slithers around his arm, the empty case unzippered at his feet, kicking up dust where it fell.

“Loki…” Bruce growls, clenching his huge teeth.

The god in question flashes them a cheeky grin, vanishing in a spark of blue light before any of them can draw a weapon. Well, Bucky throws a knife with one hand, but it hits the tree behind where the trickster squatted a moment before and lodges itself into the rough wood.

“God, was he always that annoying?” Steve barks, and Natasha rolls her eyes with a shake of her head.

“Ugh. Yes. I call not having to deal with that particular loose end. I died already.” She tosses a tiny grin at Steve, a secret smile of a moment shared between them upon her return.

“I thought you’d do anything for family.” He quips back, pulling her into another hug, one arm around her, the other draped over Bucky’s shoulders.

“Yes. But I’m hungry as hell right now, and exhausted. I want a peanut butter sandwich, and Clint, in my room at the base immediately. He can tell me the story before I take a nap.”

Bruce whistles like it pains him. “Yea… We sort of lost the complex.”

“It blew up.” Sam helpfully supplies in a deadpan, waving his arms, sans snake, in the motion of a large cloud.

Natasha, to her credit, doesn’t seem very surprised.

“And Tony…”

“I know.” Natasha stops Bruce, laying a hand on his meaty forearm. “Steve told me. I’m sorry I missed the service.”

“We’re just glad to have you back.” Steve says quietly, muscling her into the waiting car. He knows this isn't the end, that it's going to kick in soon. Natasha’s alive, everyone’s alive, thanks to the Iron Man’s sacrifice. And he’s going to have a lot of explaining to do… To baffled Bruce, to Scott, to Hank Pym. But for now, his friend needs to eat. He wonders if that old place still has shawarma. They could get it in Tony’s honor.

Later, when everyone’s stomachs are sated, and Natasha’s curled under a heavy blanket on Sam’s couch after a much longer processing session by all, with tears and curses and happy shouts of elated disbelief (everyone hugs Natasha about a hundred times, including Clint, who shows up immediately, and won’t let go), Sam and Steve are out on his porch, watching the cars lazily snake down the streets in the golden glow of the setting sun. He’s got a glass of sweet tea, an old addiction he picked up from Riley, in hand. The cool frost on the glass trickles down his fingers.

“Did you mean it? About me… Taking the mantle?”

Steve eyes him for a moment in contemplative silence. “Yes. I can’t think of anyone more deserving, or capable. You did much more for me when I came back than just fight in my battles. And that’s what really proved you were right for the job.”

Sam seems a little stunned, or flattered, or both. He ducks his head with a slightly crazed chuckle. “Well, I’ll be damned. Sam Wilson, Captain America. What’ll you tell the world?”

“I gotta tell ‘em anything? Maybe they’ll just think I died… I know I’m good at speeches, but I’m a little tired of my every other word being a monologue for someone else’s sake.”

Sam nods, knowing it’s not his decision to challenge. “But you’ll be around… In case-”

“In case the world needs me? I’ll be around. I’m not actually gonna die. But I was a wanted man… And the lack of a shield or a star spangled suit didn’t seem to stop me from helping others.”

“No, man. In case I need you.” Sam’s voice goes serious, vulnerable.

“To what? Kick your butt on a race course?” Steve smirks, nudging him with one shoulder. “As your mentor, you don’t need me. You’re doing a pretty good job on your own. As your friend, always. I’ll be here for a long time it looks like.”

Sam thinks back to when he lost Riley. He can’t imagine losing him twice, but Steve did, with Peggy. With Bucky too. With his actual timeline. Given the chance, he turned away from a do-over in his life, forced himself to face his problems head on. Sam’s pretty sure he’d make the same choice, but he knows it couldn’t have been easy. Maybe that’s what Steve sees in him. But before he was Cap, he was Cap’s friend. His best friend, maybe, besides Nat and Bucky. So he gives the hand beside him a quick squeeze. If Steve wants to talk about it, he knows Sam’s there. But if he doesn’t, he won’t push him. So that’s why what he says next is: “And what about the… Shield and all that?”

“Well. New Captain America. Means new shield, new suit. New incarnation. Seems best to leave it up to you to decide.” He looks Sam in the eye. “You get to define the mantle now, bud. Don’t let it define you like I did.”

Sam nods, a little bit overwhelmed with emotion. He’s already thinking about plans for a new shield. Maybe still using vibranium, but ethically sourced, not smuggled, this time. Maybe if he works it out, T’Challa and Shuri would be more than happy to provide. And wings… He thinks he might miss those if they weren’t worked into the design. Steve beams at him, happy to see him already losing himself to his thoughts.

“Happy daydreaming, Cap.” He murmurs, with one last squeeze, and the sound of the screen door sliding open again as Steve Rogers heads back inside.

reblogs are appreciated :)

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sokkascroptop · 4 years

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traitor. (sokka x f! reader) pt 1

part 2 | part 3

Azula was good at that, doing and saying things that made you want to yell back. It was her favorite thing to do on purpose and had become like second nature by accident. Y/N, in response, had become very good at holding her tongue over the years, and very good at calming herself when she wanted to lash out. More than once when they were children Azula had lobbed a fireball in her direction that had singed the clothes or skin it was aimed at.

“Do you remember when we first met?” Azula asked. She was lounging on a chaise near the window cleaning her nails with a sharp blade. The sun was setting behind her basking her in a glowing, warm light. It made her gold eyes brighter, gold eyes that were staring intensely at her, waiting for an answer.

“Of course I do. I came to the palace for a party with my parents,” Y/N responded. She was a ways away on Azula’s bed lying on her stomach. She flipped over and hung her head off the bed letting the blood rush to her cheeks. Azula was smirking at her.

“No, at school. When I chose you.” Azula tossed the knife she was using and it thudded into the dark wood of her door frame. A door frame that was sliced with notches of where the girls–her, Azula, Ty Lee and Mai– would measure their heights when they were younger; or where Azula would stab her knife deep in the wood, for safekeeping, she would always say.

Chose. That was a word that Y/N was familiar with. It usually meant that you were special, but to her, to Azula and the girls and Y/N’s parents, it just meant she was lucky.

“Of course I do,” Y/N repeated.

Y/N started at the Royal Fire Nation Academy for Girls later than most. She was already nearly ten and had always had a slew of private tutors. But her father had been recently promoted to Commander and it was insisted that his daughter, his progeny, had the right type of upbringing–and apparently that meant not running through the forests of Ember Island barefoot.

She not-so-fondly remembered the heavy uniform they wore, so different than her thin cotton pants and tunic she was used to. The Capital City was in the same climate as Ember Island, so why did they wear silk? It was so hot. Y/N had hated moving back to the Capital City, and out of their summer home that had become her year round home the minute her mother decided it was much better to be away from the city.

“That first week was hellish. I’d never had to listen to authority before, or hang out with children my age and suddenly that’s all I had. You saved me.”

“Saved you,” Azula scoffed. “I do remember you being quite the little heathen.”

“Hey! I just meant from lashings from the teachers,” Y/N laughed and threw a decorative pillow at Azula’s head. She caught it quick as a cat-snake with one hand and brought it to her chest.

They sat in an easy silence, Y/N wondering why Azula had brought up the moment they met. The first words that she’d ever said to Y/N echoed in her mind. “We’re going to be great friends.”

Azula wasn’t wrong when she prophesied that they were going to be great friends. Azula wasn’t necessarily the ‘welcome with open arms’ type, but she did whatever was closest to that with Y/N. She became a part of them, almost instantly. They had class together, they ate lunch together, they went back to the palace and trained together. Everything, together. Ty Lee was the most friendly of them all, she often braided Y/N’s hair over and over, taking it out and braiding it back, just to have something to do with her hands. Mai was sweet once you got past her glum exterior. Azula was, well, Azula. She was cold one minute and hot the next, literally. Her emotions changed as quickly as the weather. She might throw a fireball at your head if she was mad. But the next moment she’d sweeten you up with fruit tarts she’d stolen from the kitchen and all would be forgotten.

Y/N kept thinking about Azula’s words as she trained with one of the palace guards later that evening. He wasn’t the best with a sword, but he was a fire bender, and that gave her a better workout.

Y/N was a non-bender, but masterful with a sword. It was her father’s favorite hand to hand weapon and he had insisted on her training with it even at a young age. By the time she started at the Royal Academy, she was able to beat her trainers regularly.

Becoming friends with Azula gave her access to some of the best fighters in the Fire Nation, and even that was becoming boring.

Y/N slashed at the guards neck. He threw a fireball at her that dissipated harmlessly where she once stood. She landed in a crouch and kicked her leg out at the back of the guards knee, it buckled and he fell. She bounced to her feet and pointed the tip of her sword at the back of his neck. She saw a swatch of pale skin there which dripped with sweat. A small part of her wanted to dig her sword in and draw bright red blood.

A slow clap echoed through the courtyard that awoke her from those dark thoughts. Y/N smiled at her friend and patted the guards shoulder. “See you later.”

She jogged to join Azula who was starting to walk away. “Come to watch and fawn over me for old times sake?” Y/N giggled and wiped the sweat off her brow. She sheathed her sword and felt the familiar weight bounce against her hip.

“You give yourself far too much credit.” Y/N could tell Azula was in a good mood. A better mood than she’d seen in a while. They reached Y/N’s room and she dropped her sword on the bed.

“Why are you so chipper, ‘zula?”

The left corner of her mouth tilted up in the ghost of a smile. “Father wants to speak to you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Me?”

“I think I know what it’s about but I won’t ruin the surprise. Come on, we don't want to keep him waiting.”

Y/N’s stomach turned. She’d only stood in front of the Fire Lord a handful of times. The first being the first time she traveled to the palace when she was very young. At the time she didn’t know the weight of what she was doing, now she did and she was filled with terror. What in Agni’s name could he want with her? She was just a Commander’s daughter who had befriended his daughter.

The throne room was cold despite the summer heat outside and the fire burning around the Fire Lord. It was dark as well, the black marble floor and columns absorbed the only light from the flames licking upward to their Master. The only sound was the crackling fire and the click of Y/N’s boots; Azula was always so light footed she hardly made a sound.

A drop of sweat leftover from Y/N’s workout dripped down her spine and she shivered at the feeling. Ten yards away from the throne, Y/N dropped to one knee and bowed her head. Azula bowed slightly and stood behind Y/N’s right shoulder.

“Fire Lord, it is an honor to be in your presence,” Y/N said. She could feel the heat from the flames now that she was closer. Whether from nervousness or the warmth that filled her face, she began to sweat.

“You may stand.” The Fire Lord’s voice was higher than she remembered. It didn’t fit the aura he gave off and he sounded bored. Y/N stood with her hands behind her back at attention. She didn’t want to have any excuse for Azula to chastise her when they left. “Azula tells me that you are gifted at sword fighting.”

Y/N fought the urge to send a questioning look to her friend. Azula talked to the Fire Lord about her? She stared at the black outline of his tall figure seated in his enormous chair. “I’m adequate, sire.”

“Beating every single one of my palace guards is more than what I would call adequate,” the Fire Lord remarked.

“Your palace guards are extremely well trained in fire bending but not in sword fighting, sire.” Y/N grimaced and ducked her head, cursing internally at her mouth that was too quick for her brain.

Azula chuckled softly behind Y/N. Now she did turn around to stare at her friend. She whipped her head back not knowing how disrespectful it was to turn your back on the Fire Lord.

“Azula will be leaving tomorrow for the Earth Kingdom to capture my brother, General Iroh and the Fire Prince Zuko. I want you to go with her.”

Y/N paused for a beat. Capture them? The last she heard was that they were on a pointless mission to catch the Avatar. Iroh was disgraced and went with Zuko when he was banished because Iroh couldn’t face his brother when he abdicated the throne for his failure at Ba Sing Se. What could they have done searching for a dead Avatar that could get them into more trouble? Y/N could feel Azula’s sharp nails dig into her arm behind her back and she knew she had waited too long to speak.

“It would be an honor to accompany Fire Princess Azula on this mission, My Lord.” Y/N clasped a fist in her left hand and held it below her right palm and bowed deeply.

If the Fire Lord was pleased with her, his tone didn't show it. “Wonderful. You’re dismissed.”

Y/N couldn’t get out the room fast enough.

Azula was more excitable than ever on their walk back to their rooms. She grabbed Y/N’s arms and tugged like she was a small child. “This is going to be so amazing for me, Y/N! For us!”

Azula seemed to notice Y/N’s hesitation to agree with her. This earned her a sharp look. “Don’t you want the honor and recognition that bringing home two traitors would give you? You’d be promoted higher than your father. Agni knows you’d be more deserving of the title.”

Y/N gave Azula the smile she was waiting for. “Of course. I guess I’m still a little shell shocked at the Fire Lord giving me such an amazing opportunity.”

“Well you can thank me for that.”

Y/N stopped at the door to her room. “Thank you, Azula,” she said before she could snatch the words back. Azula rounded the corner to the stairs that would take her to her room and Y/N took a deep, calming breath, working hard to push away the anger the Azula had incited.

She slid down the wall inside her room. Did Y/N want the honor and glory that Azula talked about? She should, with how she was raised, but now that it was offered on a silver platter, Y/N wasn’t so sure that it was for her. Recently, it became all Azula wanted to talk about. Training and war meetings had become her life so suddenly. And if they were Azula’s life, they were Y/N’s life as well. Y/N wasn’t allowed to sit in on the war meetings but it didn’t matter because Azula always came back to relay what happened in them. ‘Relay’ was the wrong word, more like brag about them. Azula was anything but informative when she spoke. Y/N tried to find some interest in the things the Fire Nation was accomplishing but to Y/N it just turned her stomach. She’d never admit it to anyone, especially Azula but she was sickened by the war.

When did life become this way? All about war and capturing cities and cleansing the world? She wished things were back to simpler times when the girls ran the palace wild and teased Zuko and the maids. She knew that in the past three years since Zuko’s banishment, Fire Lord Ozai had been calling on Azula more and more frequently, upping her firebending training to half the day. But Y/N never thought it would come to this.

Y/N skipped out on dinner that night, just told the maids to take the tray of roast turtle-duck back to the kitchen. Her stomach had been in knots since leaving the throne room. Her and Azula were leaving. Sure, Y/N hadn’t lived with her parents in years; this would be her fifth year of calling the palace home, but for some reason, she didn’t feel like she was going to come back.

Y/N instead slid into a hot bath that she drew for herself for once and mulled in her thoughts. As if the steam in the room was steeping her memories like tea leaves she thought of what this mission was supposed to entail. Things that happened around the palace and behind closed doors were usually hidden from her unless she heard gossip from the servants or occasionally, Azula. But she didn’t seem like she was going to give up any information about it. What did Iroh do to betray the Fire Nation? He was one of the best General’s they’d ever had, even after his defeat at Ba Sing Se. And what did Zuko do that was even worse than his banishment?

None of that matters, she told herself. Her previous ideas about the kind of men they were didn’t matter anymore. If the Fire Lord said that Zuko and Iroh needed to be captured, then that’s what needed to be done.

A/N: uh oh, settle in for more inner angst as y/n tries to figure out where her heart lies. what is more important? honor? friendship? peace?

#atla #a:tla #avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #sokka x reader #sokka x female reader #suki #katara #aang #zuko #azula #toph #toph beifong #ozai sucks #avatar resurgence #sokka x y/n #uncle iroh

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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Humans are Space Orcs, “Comic-con.”

You guys wanted something fluffier and lighthearted, so I took a suggestion from a group of the Discord server, and did this with it I hope you guys like, and thank you for the suggestions. “Where are you taking me? And why am I wearing this?”

Adam frowned at her, “Don’t be such a party pooper, I took you to watch MMA last week, and now its my turn to pick the fun activity.”

Sunny held up the glowing weapon --of facsimile of a weapon--, “What is this called again.”

“It’s an energy sword, from a really REALLY old video game.”

“And what are you supposed to be.”

Adam turned to look at her, shaking his head in disappointment, “Sometimes, I am sad for your lack of pop culture education.”

“And whose fault is it for my lack of pop culture education?”

He tapped his chin, “I suppose that is true.”

“To be fair the pop culture you subscribe to is like two thousand years old.” She looked him up and down. He was wearing a spacesuit and a jetpack. This might have been normal for him were it not for the painstaking hours that he had spent painting the thing and applying decals.

Where the standard issue UNSC space - suit ranged anywhere from white to silver to dark blue, this one was in a gaudy combination of white with green and purple highlights with a blue decal on the front embossed with the outline of stylized white wings. Under that, he had taken the time to dye one of the old undersuits purple, and was now wearing the hood to complete ‘the affect’

“Seriously though. What are You?”

He turned to look at her grinning and patted her on the shoulder, “Just wait.”

She sighed and did as told following him out of the underground parking lot and up into the sun. She threw her hand over her face as they came up into the sun, and when she withdrew her hand, she found herself surrounded by hundreds of humans all walking towards the same destination, and all of them were dressed, strangely… she couldn’t tell which ones for sure, because humans always seemed to dress strangely, but something bout this gave her the feeling that these ones were doing it on purpose..

At her side, Adam was grinning.

Following the line of people her eyes traced up to the large, and spacious building just up ahead. The walls were made out of metal and glass paneling, and across their surface scrolling scenes from movies and comic strips flashed.

Off to her side, a man in a blue and red suit, with a big yellow S on the front went floating past, his hover boots giving him the effect as if he were flying, red cape billowing out behind him.

Someone else to their side was walking a rather large brown dog towards the building. It had a teel collar and a couple of painted on black spots, while he was wearing a green shirt and brown pants. He looked like he really needed a haircut.

Sunny tilted her head to better read the letters on the building before her.

J. HAIL CONVENTION HALL

They were just outside the doors when someone ran up to them. THey looked younger, maybe in their teens, dressed with an elaborately colored wig, and strange colorful clothes, “Holy Shit! Your costumes are awesome, Can I get a picture?”

“Hell yeah.” Adam motioned the kid closer, pulling Sunny down beside them so the kid could grab a picture and then turn to look at Sunny, “How did you make it look so real. You look just like the Drev from that movie.”

She stared at him before looking down at herself.

Adam laughed, “It looks real because it IS real.”

The kid stared at them in disbelief, “No way.”

“Yeah she's a real life actual alien.”

Eyes went even wider, I...w...wow.”

Sunny shrugged and waved one of her arms to the kid as Adam dragged her further up the line.

“Here, hold out your hand.” She did as told and he wrapped a small plastic bracelet around her wrist. The letters on the band read VIP

Walking over to the doors they were stopped by a group of people holding up their hands. One of them walked around them, and pointed at Adam’s jetpack, “YOu have a licence for that?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

He reached into one of the pockets on his suit and pulled it out to show them. THey looked it over and then nodded, and he grinned. Tey read off some rules before they were suddenly interrupted.

Voices behind them, and Sunny turned.

A group of people walked up, one of them was dressed like a cowboy with a yellow shirt and blue pants, with a brown hat.

Another human in a blow up dinosaur costume pointed at Adam’s uniform,

“And what does that button do.”

Adam grinned, and Sunny watched him with a fond shake of her head as he approached them, putting on some sort of character voice.

“Ill show you.” Looking around to make sure that everyone was clear, he deployed the wings of the jetpack, striped in red and white.

The group oohed and ahhed.

THe cowboy moved forward, “Oh what, these are plastic, he can’t fly.”

“They are a trillium carbonic alloy and I CAN fly.”

“No you can’t”

“Yes I can.”

“Can’t.”

“CAN.”

“Can’t Can’t Can’t.”

“I could fly around this convention center with my eyes closed.”

Sunny just stood there watching them nervously shifting back and forth. She had a feeling that they were arguing, but it also felt very scripted, though how it could be scripted, she didn’t know. They had never seen these people as far as she was concerned.

The other man moved very close, “Ok then my light beer, prove it.”

“Alright then, I will.”

He held out his hands voice growing a bit more serious as he did, “Everyone step back.”

They did as told, and the cowboy was smiling now instead of frowning.

“Adam, is this legal.” Sunny wondered.

He turned to look at her, “Yes, the convention center has its own airspace just for this. I had to sign a waver.” He turned back to the others and ignited the engin on the jetpack kicking off the ground.

His flight was far more controlled than his original flight, and he flew in a fast circle around the area, dropping in with a flip to land before them to the cheering of an amassed crowd.

He pointed at the cowboy, “CAN.”

“That wasn’t flying, that was falling with style.” The man protested though he was grinning even as he walked over to take a picture with Adam.

“Pretty sure that made my day, your costume is awesome. Is this a real spacesuit.”

“You bet it is.”

“Where did you get your hands on one.”

“Oh I have my sources. Did you make your costume?”

“Sewed it myself. The hat and boots I bought though.”

They parted ways with Adam’s new friend and stepped inside the convention center scanning their bracelets as they went in.

“Welcome, Sunny to the biggest nerd convention ever conceived of by man...ComicCon.”

She turned in a wide circle eyes wide at thousands of booths, thousands of people all talking and laughing. He grabbed her hand and dragged hr further inside, “IF your good, I’ll buy you a sword.”

“Nerds want swords?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “Of course nerds want swords. Here, lets start over there and movie this way, through the art section first.”

Sunny did as told, following after him.

She never knew Adam being one to spend a lot of money, he had no reason too, but after the first ten minutes she figured out that he was a little bit of a spender when it came to nerdy things. Posters and drawings and other related items.

However, she was surprised to find that they did have leather workers and blacksmiths as they were called, and she did…. In fact… get herself a sword which she recognized from the lord of the rings movie he had made her watch. It was a pretty good sword all things considered as if whoever made it actually knew how to make swords.

They were coming around a corner when they almost ran into another group of people. Adam dropped one of his bags and the other reached down to pick it up. When he stood, Sunny's eyes widened. Blond hair green eyes and an eyepatch, “Sweet Costume!”

She shook herself thinking she had bumped her head or something and was seeing double, but no, when she looked closer she realised that this person couldnt have been more than fifteen or sixteen…. And dressed like Adam.

She looked over at Adam who was standing mouth open eyes wide.

“Can I get a picture!”

Sunny just nodded her head as the kid jumped over next to her and had his friend take it before running off yelling back at her about her amazing costume.

Adam turned to look at Sunny, “Did I just>”

“I think you did.”

He shook himself, “Wow.”

She nodded

After that it started happening more and more.

Adam was everywhere, in all stages of life. They had recreated his uniforms, his flight suits, his space suits. They brought their dogs. There were even gender bent versions of him, blond women wearing eyepatches, brown jackets and jeans making it very clear who they were .

It got even more weird when Sunny started seeing herself.

Small children in costumes made of foam.

People wearing onesies that sort of looked like her, and even one costume that had a woman on stilts for her legs, and a complex system of homemade mechanics to allow her to move around.

Adam stood there mouth open just staring at them.

Sunny laughed at the irony.

He was here as a guest, and no one knew.

If only they had any idea that the real deal was here and dressed like a space ranger from a two thousand year old cartoon.

Sunny tilted her head listening to the announcements which said there would be a “Adam Vir look alike contest going on on the other side of the convention.

She turned to look at Adam and they both began to laugh hysterically. She grabbed his arm. We have to see this.

They wandered over just as the others were filtering in. And there were TONS of them, all dressed like Adam. One stopped next to him, spiky blond hair, clearly dyed for the occasion, wearing a flight suit and aviators.

Adam Tried to avoid eye contact with anyone as they sat down to watch, however no one recognized him, not even close.

They sat, watching the judging.

An adorable little boy with blond hair and a NASA T-shirt won for the younger age bracket.

The jumpsuit wearing kid to their right won for his teenage years.

At the end it was up between two men, one in casual wearing and one in a uniform. The one wearing the uniform had a similar lopsided grin as Adam and she would have chosen him as a dead ringer, and was almost put off when they chose the other man, who was, on the other hand, roguishly handsome.

She snorted, “He looks nothing like you.”

“But he does look like Keith Jenning who played me, so I guess people sort of conflate us as being the same person.”

“This is so unreal.”

They laughed again as they walked away sunny pointing out he probably would have lost the contest if he had tried to enter, and he laughed along with her.

THey were perusing through a booth with a bunch of old vintage movies when another announcement came over the intercom, saying that the cast of Adam’s movie was going to be speaking.”

Adam’s eyes widened, and together they made their way wanting to see what all the fuss was about. There were hundreds of people packed into the large room, and they were only able to get space just along one wall.

Up at the table, he recognized Keith Jenning, Rita. Ortiz, and Adler Handen, the voice actor for Krill and the woman who played Sunny.

Adam leaned back against the wall to watch.

Keith didn’t look anything like Adam at this moment, his hair back to brown like it usually was.

Hands raised in the crowd as questions were shot out, “What was the hardest part of playing Adam Vir?”

Keith laughed and then paused, “I think it might have been the eyepatch. I stubbed my toe like…. What was it Rita, we kept track on set.”

“About 456 times during the course of filming.” She added, and the group of them laughed.

“How accurate is the story to what actually happened?” Someone called out

Adler Handen leaned forward, “You know it was actually pretty accurate because Adam Vir was actually consulting through the whole process, though I think it is glammed up to make him look maybe a little more….”

“Poised.” Rita added, “Ellis gave him a bit of an action hero spin.”

“What is he actually like?”

Keith smiled as did Rita, “He’s hilarious, and kind, and a bit of a clutz I would say.”

Rita laughed, “That is one part of the movie that is inaccurate. I think they should have put it in, but he was like the last man to step onto Proxima B, and when he did he says he actually fell out of the shuttle and landed on his face.”

There was laughter from the crowd.

“Honestly a really modest guy all told.

“He has the personality of a golden retriever…. In a good way obviously.” Rita said

Keith had stood up from his palace at the table and was looking around the crowd for more questions, when his eyes fell on Adam and Sunny not a few rows away leaning against the wall.

The recognition was instantaneous, despite them not having seen for a long time. He pointed his eyes wide, “Adam…. Adam is that you. Sunny?”

The entire crowd turned and thousands of eyes fell on them.

Adam was stuck like a deer in the headlights hands held up.

“No way It IS YOU. Someone grab a chair and get him up here.”

Rita stood in her seat and waved.

Now people were standing to get a good look at them as two security people motioned them up.

Adam was bright red in the face as he was pushed to come on stage. The people looked confused, but when Adam pulled off his hood, and pulled on his eyepatch the entire convention center began cheering.

“Yeah give the man a round of applause.” Keith said pulling out a chair for him to sit on while Rita did the same for Sunny.

Adam shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“Nice costume, is that from Toy story?”

Adam shrugged, ‘Yeah, or the Tv show I guess.”

Someone hurried over with another microphone as the crowd below continued to babble and point.

Keith leaned forward, “Did I mention he was a raging nerd. Did you wear the costume to hide or….”

Adam shook his head, “No, I've been coming to the convention since I was a kid.”

There was cheering in the crowd.

Hands were raised high into the air for questions, and Adam blinked a bit red in the face still.

“Is it true what they said about Proxima B?”

Adam smiled, “uh yeah I fell flat on my face, right out the door. You see the movie had a ramp, but a ot of our ships don’t have ramps, they have doors because it would kind of be…. Impractical to have a whole ramp opening up into an airlock. So instead it had a door and stairs. And I got so excited that I missed the second stair and just fell.

“How accurate is the rest of the movie?”

He shrugged, still blushing, “They did make me look a little more… heroic, than I actually am. I mean there is a little known fact among members of the UNSC that doing a warp without a warp dampener like we did on the Enterprise was…. How shall we say… extremely hard on the body. About fifty percent of the men on the bridge peed themselves and passed out.”

There was laugher from the crowd.

“Were you part of the fifty percent?”

He snorted, “ I was nineteen of COURSE I was part of the fifty percent. Captain Kelly had a bladder of Iron though.”

More laughter.

“And when it came to meeting with aliens for the first time, I was so excited that I ran after them right….. Well as it turns out, to the aliens it looked really, really bad. Like they thought I was going to eat them.” More laughter, “We are still trying to repair human/Bran relations five years later because of me.”

More questions.

“What is your funniest story, something that didn’t appear in the movie?”

Adam had to think about it for a minute, “Did I ever tell you about the first time we met Iotins or the Celzex.”

Cheering in the crowd,.

“Ok ok, so The one thing you need to know about Iotins is that they smell good, and I don’t mean your girl’s perfume good, I mean like continental breakfast with bacon and eggs and potatoes and I don’t know what else.” Sunny smiled as she listened to the sound of the crowd’s amusement, “This is the kind of smell that turns you into one of pavlov’s Dogs. Drooling all over yourself stomach grumbling the whole nine. So when we met them for the first time, it was during a GA convention and my men hadn’t eaten since breakfast. It was so bad, I drooled all over my uniform and we scared the Iotin council half to death.”

He smiled as the crowd encouraged him into more stories.

“Then of course there is the Celzex, a very war-like race, very honor bound and very easy to offend. And yet they are about a foot tall rainbow colored, fluffy and with adorable pig ears. These guys were designed to be cuddled, and yet, not one human has ever done it for fear of pissing them off since they have weapons that could glass our entire planet.”

He was Animated as he told his stories, and the crowd was animated with him

“Sunny, i have a question.” She lifted her head in surprise, “Is it true you grew up in a stone hut/”

She hummed deep in her chest, “Yes, where else would I have grown up.”

“So you didn’t have electricity?”

She shook her head, “No, why would we need it?”

She answered a few more questions.

And then one young man stood.

“So, I was wondering, you supported the LFIL during their protests.”

Adam shifted nervously in his seat, “I did.”

“And it’s because of you that they are in a probationary state of legality.”

“Yes.”

.”“So I was wondering, considering all that and considering your relationship with Sunny. Have you tow ever thought about dating.” Adam blanched white and you could have heard a pin drop.

Sunny glanced quickly over at adam. A part of her really wanted him to admit it to people, but another part of her-- the bigger part-- knew that doing it here in front of thousands of people would be a disaster. He opened his mouth to stammer out a question but Sunny leaned forward towards her mic.

“You misunderstand Drev courting customs. He would have to be able to beat me in a fight first.

Factions of the room muttered, and Sunny quickly moved the conversation on to more Funny stories.

Adam turned his head towards her with a look of relief.

With her head turned form the cameras she gave him a brief wink before turning back.

They didn’t exactly get to see the rest of the convention as they were waylaid by people wanting autographs and to talk to him. He of course was good natured and answered all their questions with a smile and gave pictures with enthusiasm.

She smiled

He was kind like that.

Thought some worries gnawed at the back of her mind.

People were beginning to suspect, and that could be a big problem for Adam.

293 notes · View notes

hankwritten · 3 years

Text

Immaterial Witness

Demoman/Soldier, 5k

Request for r2mich2, Ghosthunting

Demo was less than thrilled about being selected for mandatory company ghost-busting work. His enthusiasm dropped even lower when he saw who’d be accompanying him.

“You!” he exclaimed.

“You!” Soldier replied. “Except with a different inflection! To indicate I am also not happy to see you!”

“Bloody hell,” Demo groaned as the looked at the man before him. “Jesus of all the BLU’s she could have picked for a ‘cross team eradication venture’, and she went with you.”

“I didn’t agree to this either, maggot,” Soldier assured him. “I am under orders not to strangle any REDs until this mission is complete, but my tractability will be put to the test if said RED is such a weakling and liar.”

“For the last time, I never called you a-”

“And what about all the things you did say, you son of a bitch?”

Demo scowled, not looking forward to going through the same recycled arguments over again. She had some nerve putting the two of them together after what she’d put them through; complete and total destruction of a friendship, and for what? Just to decide TF Industries was going to be managing both teams a few months later? It was a load of crap if Demo ever heard it.

“What are you even wearing?” he scoffed at Soldier’s new uniform.

“This is regulation specter pummeling gear, you sissified maggot scum!” Soldier puffed up proudly. Gone was the red jacket and fatigues, instead superseded by a singular beige jumpsuit.

“And what’s that?” Demo pointed to the canister vacuum strapped to his back. No bells, no whistles, just a regular old vacuum with a flexible nozzle.

“Ghost sucker,” Soldier said plainly.

“Right. Obviously.”

“Well what did you bring RED?” Soldier accused. “These ghosts are going lift you up by your frilly little underthings and fling you right out the door if you do not have anything to protect yourself from their disembodied maliciousness!”

“I,” Demo said, flexing his fist, “have this.”

Engineer had built it with such efficiency, Demo was sure he’d made the blueprints years ago and was just waiting for someone to ask for a ghost-capturing device. The device’s visual design was similar to that of the gunslinger, but instead of a limb replacement, it functioned more like power armor, cradling the outside of the wearer’s hand and increasing their grip tenfold.

“This ‘lil beauty has everything,” Demo continued haughtily. “EKG readings, built in spooktralizer, and-” He pulled back his fingers, activating the now-glowing disk in the center of his palm. “Anti-gravity net. No spirit’s going to escape this vortex, which is a good thing because you can’t suck up a ghost with a vacuum cleaner.”

“Shows how much you know, buster,” Soldier said. “All those doodads won’t do jack when you are staring into the blood-red eyes of a flesh-hungry phantom—these are creatures of the other side! Of the great beyond! They do not care about technology.”

“Oh aye?” Despite himself, Demo got right into Soldier’s face. “We’ll se about that when my power glove’s saving your sorry arse from having spectral boot shoved up it.”

“I will take that bet, princess,” Soldier spat back.

“Uuhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggg,” a new voice cut into the conversation. “If I have to sit through another one of your lover’s spats I’m going to kill myself. Again.”

Soldier’s eyes narrowed, fixating on something over Demo’s shoulder. “Oh great. The sword is here.”

“Yes! The sword is here!” the Eyelander chirped sarcastically. “And since I’m bloody gracing you with my company, you can do me a favor and get on with this thing. We’ve been standing out here for ten minutes.”

“It’s right,” Demo admitted as Soldier continued to stare daggers at the weapon strapped to his back. “Let’s head in.”

Demo didn’t wait to see if Soldier followed him as he took his first creaking step onto the house’s porch; by company orders, they were stuck together for now, no matter how much bad blood ran between them.

“So why are we clearing this place of ghosts anyway?” Eyelander asked as Demo pushed in the front door. The doubles groaned with an appropriate level of eeriness.

“The Voice’s orders,” he shrugged. “She wants this for a new battleground, but she wants it ghost free. Apparently there’ve been too many complaints about the past few Halloweens for her liking.”

“Really?” Eyelander said aghast. “Who doesn’t like Halloween?”

“Eh. Some of the mercs think it’s too random. Chaotic, hard to focus on what’s going on. They don’t like all the candy packs and the fact that idiot in a robe shows up and turns a ten minute match into a thirty minute nightmare.” At the last, he eyed Soldier over his shoulder.

“Do not look at me!” Soldier barked. “That isn’t my fault!”

“Yes it is! Last time he even said ‘SOLDIER THIS IS YOUR FAULT!’ as he was dropping bombs on our heads!”

“Well I am not the only causer-of-halloween-related-problems in this company,” Soldier said, jogging to get ahead of Demo to block his path. “The giant floating eyeball with red wig and child-sized overalls certainly wasn’t mine.”

Demo rubbed his face. “Jesus, just forget it. The only reason we have to tolerate each other is because there’s some soul with soon-to-be-finished business lurking around here, and we picked the short straw. So let’s find whatever apparition, spirit, or poltergeist is squatting in this dump and get out of each other’s hair.”

About to offer some stupid retort, Soldier was abruptly cut off as Eyelander yelped, “w-wait! Poltergeists?? You didn’t say anything about those arseholes!”

Demo and Soldier exchanged a look.

Soldier leveled a frown at the Eyelander. “You are a ghost, maggot. How on God’s green earth are you afraid of ghosts?”

“I’m afraid of poltergeists, eejit,” Eyelander snapped back. “You don’t bloody mess with a geist unless you want your immortal soul turned to shreds and left to wander the infinite abyss forever.”

“Whatever, this is getting us nowhere.” Demo pushed past Soldier. “C’mon. We’ve got a job to do.”

As he passed under the precarious looking chandelier overseeing the foyer, Soldier murmured, “tch. Only ever got the job. Typical.” Demo pretended he hadn’t heard.

What he did hear—over the sounds of the Eyelander whining about powerful forces they didn’t understand and eventually sinking into resigned grumble—was the sound of an organ playing in the deep bowels of the manor.

“Thirty bucks says there’s no one playing it when we get there,” Demo said.

“Deal,” Eyelander replied.

They readied their weapons. Well, not exactly weapons (and definitely not weapons in Soldier’s case, as he strangled his vacuum’s hose in a viselike grip), but tools that would get this bloody ghost out of here and let Demo go home for the day. His footsteps scraped decades old rugs as he padded carefully across the ground, power glove extended into the gloom before him. No readings yet, save for Eyelander’s steady thrum, but as soon as they crossed the barrier of the music room the EKG jumped like crazy.

“Called it,” Demo said as the organ continued to press down one ivory key after another, despite the only human beings in the room being the two mercs who had just entered. “Pay up, Eyelander.”

“Sure! Let me just grab my wallet.”

“Smart-arse.”

“It’s called a pommel.”

“If you two ladies are finished,” Soldier growled, drawing closer to the haunted piano, “let’s bag this ghost-maggot.”

Demo rolled his eye, sweeping to the other side of the organ that’s girth took up the entirety of the room, pipes clawing at the ceiling as wax burned down to nubs around it. “You ‘n your cleaning supplies just stand back.”

“And let you fumble our ticket out of here? I don’t think so.” Soldier flipped on his Hoover.

The glove began to gyrate in Demo’s palm. “You’re the one who’s messing this up! If you’d just believe me when I tell you something-”

“How can I believe you when your history of treachery continues?”

They were nearing the organ now, the disk glowing a menacing red and the vacuum jumping like it was trying to escape Soldier’s hands. The music doubled its tempo, growing more erratic with every step the pair took toward its console.

“There is no history,” Demo spat. “I didn’t do it in the first place!”

“But you still took the contract!”

“Because you did first!”

There wasn’t so much music now as random mashing of keys, a pained wailing accompanying the stressed notes in an unholy shriek. A bolt of electricity shot from the glove collided with something on the piano seat, revealing a ghastly form in the middle of the two men.

“Maybe I would have gone back on it!” Soldier roared as he struggled to maintain control of the hose, writhing in his hands like a viper. “If you’d talked to me I would have known it wasn’t-”

“THAT SHOULDN’T BE MY RESPONSIBILITY.”

“WELL IT HAS TO BE SOMEBODY’S.”

As Soldier screamed his final words, the ghost between them joined in the crescendo. The two forces on either of its sides pulled and pulled at its edges, wind howling and light flashing until-

Demo and Soldier were thrown into opposite walls with a resounding crack.

Grimacing, Demo pushed himself up, rubbing away the white spots in his vision that their techno-vortex had left him with. When things were mostly clear, he blinked at the organ seat, finding no trace of the specter the power glove had briefly outlined.

“Did we get it?” Soldier asked, likewise suppressing aches as he got to his feet.

“Dunno.” Demo tapped a few buttons on his glove. “Well there’s only one reading now. Maybe we fried it?”

“Bag isn’t full,” Soldier noted, poking the vacuum. “Must’ve.”

“Hm. I suppose that was climactic enough. I’m fine with leaving if you are.”

“There’s nothing I want more,” Soldier said, already halfway to the door.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Demo grumbled, following him out. “Went down pretty easy, all things considered. Barely a quarter of ‘ole Merasmus’s hit points. Can’t believe Eyelander was scared of that.”

The Eyelander said nothing.

Demo stopped walking. “You alright, mate?” he asked over his shoulder to where Eyelander was sheathed.

Still, it didn’t respond. He pulled it out, a soft sssth in the now quiet music room, and held it in front of him. He was about to ask it again, when Eyelander finally blurted, “oh uh! Right, me. I’m fine, just peachy, how are you?”

Soldier paused, and turned on his heel. “RED. Why doesn’t your sword have a stupid accent anymore?”

“Uh, crap uh,” the sword sputtered. “Blimey is what I meant to say governor! Pip pip bob’s your uncle and all that!”

“You!” Demo said, squeezing the imposter ghost for all it was worth, to which it gave a tiny eep! “What have you done with Eyelander?”

“Look, this doesn’t have to be a problem right?” the geist said. “I can still be a haunted sword! And do whatever it is the old ghost did, but please don’t make me get out. I’ve been trapped in that organ for fifty years! I want to go, see the world, oh please oh please take me with you?”

“Maybe we let it,” Soldier snorted. “Can’t be any more annoying than the old one.”

“That’s not funny,” Demo snapped, then turned his singular glare to the sword. “Listen here you useless lump of ectoplasm, you tell me what you did with my friend or I’m going to turn your soul into sizzling anti-matter.”

“No!”

And to Demo’s shock, the sword went flying from his hands, shooting up into the room’s ceiling.

“No, I won’t go back!” Encased in an orange glow, the sword maneuvered under its own power, spinning wildly until it had become an airborne lawnmower blade. “Screw you guys!”

“Shite!” Demo said as he charged out after it as it went shooting into the hall.

He followed it all the way to the foyer again, sprinting around each corner just to keep it in sight, but when he arrived out of breath at the grand staircases he had to admit there was no catching it.

“Shite,” he repeated.

“What in the goddamn hell was that about?” Soldier had, of course, followed him back to the entrance. “Now we’re stuck here until we find it again. Couldn’t have withheld your groveling freak out for one damn second.”

“I wasn’t just going to let it steal Eyelander’s sword!” Demo retaliated.

“You and the fucking Eyelander,” Solder swore, helmet wobbling as a snarl curled on his features. “Always with the Eyelander. You care more about that sword than you do anyone else, and you always fucking pick it in the end.”

They were in each other’s faces once more, nose to nose as the manor creaked around them. Demo glared, and softly replied, “well maybe the sword is better company.”

That might have been the end of it any other time, but they were too close now, too entwined, and Soldier grabbed the front of Demo’s shirt. “…God damn you,” he muttered. His face rippled with something unrecognizable. “That’s what I mean. Maybe that wasn’t you in the video, but when you took that contract you started saying crap like that.”

A hard knot found itself in Demo’s throat. He ignored the beeping coming from his glove. “After hearing ‘I never liked you’ enough times, it’s hard not to believe it.”

“…We ever going to stop lying to each other?”

Demo pulled the hand from the front of his shirt. The beeping was growing incessantly loud but he blocked it out, only focusing on stamping away from the Soldier-

And not noticing when the chandelier above him gave an ominous jolt.

His head whipped up too late when the chain broke, the glove practically screaming as he froze in panic for split second-

The cacophany when the chandelier came down was earsplitting, hundreds of glass teardrops shattering on the marble floor below, crashing into each other as their frame became nothing more than a bent pile of metal. Demo wheezed, having been thrown into a solid surface for the second time in less then ten minutes, and his brain caught up enough to realize he wasn’t dead.

The Soldier, having tackled Demo to bring him out of the worse of the poltergeist’s attack, had taken the brunt of it. He winced, rolling onto the hip that didn’t have any glass stuck in it.

“Christ,” Demo hissed, staring at the broken fixture. “It really is trying to kill us now, isn’t it?”

“You threatened to atomize its soul,” Soldier grunted. “Can’t blame it.”

Demo’s eye reaffixed to the bleeding BLU, tongue catching on the question. “You-” But what was he even supposed to say?

Soldier avoided his gaze. “Shut it, maggot. This was merely a rescue based on contempt and rivalry—no one’s allowed to kill you but me, yadda yadda, you get the picture.”

“Soldier…”

Years of bitter hatred choked down whatever else he would have said, but they couldn’t stop the swell of concern as he watched blood bloom on Soldier’s jumpsuit.

“Here,” he said, getting to his knees and picking his way through the broken glass. “Let’s get you up.”

Soldier glared in suspicion. Their argument still hung hot, bar of iron glowing yet unforged, not sure what shape it was suppose to take. But the blood was moving steadily down Soldier’s leg, and with distaste he resigned himself to being lifted under one arm.

“I can do it myself, maggot,” Soldier said once Demo had helped him to the stairs and tried to push up his pant leg.

Demo stared at him for a moment, hand holding the bandage he’d torn from the jumpsuit’s opposite leg, eye unargumentative as he gazed at the Soldier. A few more seconds of reproach ticked by, but then Soldier sighed in resignation, glancing away as Demo tied up his leg.

When it was over, he wasted no time getting to his feet, refusing Demo’s arm this time. “Definitely can’t let that thing run wild now,” he said. “Get your stupid glove to tell us where it is.”

There was an obvious limp to his walk, but Demo knew he had survived worse. That Demo had put him through worse.

The Demoman tapped his wrist a few times and said, “this way.”

The second floor was just rows and rows of suits of armor. All of them identical, all of them leaning down menacingly as the mercenaries passed beneath, listening to the spooktralizer’s pulse become a steady companion. There was constant draft, a thrumming chill up Demo’s spine, and he tried to remind himself that ghosts had the power to get inside your head and trigger your fear response. The fact that the haunt had turned murderous was nothing to be worried about—that he was, in all reality, afraid of no ghost.

The nearest suit of armor vibrated, and he jumped three feet in the air.

So did Soldier, bristling like a cat and demanding, “show yourself Casper! I am not afraid of your pathetic saber rattling!”

In response, every suit in the hall lifted it arms.

Soldier yelped, and he and Demo found themselves back to back, their respective ghost hunting equipment bared in front of them. But they were surrounded, the suits jerking to life and taking their first halting steps off their pedestals, clanking stiffly at the two mercenaries. They were forced backwards, one step, then two, until suddenly Demo found himself on the ground, the creeping terror that he’d been repressing now roaring overpoweringly. It was just a mind trick, just a manipulation, but knowing that and being able to act were vastly different things—and as the ancient warriors drew closer, he reached out and clung desperately to the closest thing he could find.

Clang went the greaves in front of him, coming to a stop as the full-body rattle started again. Shaking and shaking and Demo didn’t look, burying his face in Soldier’s shoulder-

“Ayyyiiieeeeeee,” a voice screamed as something small and spectral went spinning out of the armor.

After several seconds of silence from the suits around them, Demo finally lifted his head. All the armor had gone stiff and immobile, and the only clue to their previous animation was the ghostly impression of a sword floating a few feet off the ground.

“Eyelander?” he blinked.

“Uhhhg…my rain gaurd…” the Eyelander’s apparition groaned. “What…urhg…what happened? …….And why are you two cuddling?”

Demo looked down to find Soldier was clinging to him just as tightly as Demo was to he. Soldier realized it at the same time, and immediately pushed Demo off him, saying, “I did not give you permission to use me for comfort and safety, maggot!”

“Oi! You were the one who started it!” Demo turned his attention to the Eyelander. “What the bloody hell was that about? You trying to make us crap our pants?”

“Urhg, I don’t know!” Eyelander snapped. “If I’m not concentrating on anything in particular I just end up doing ghost type things. Like how you just start making horse noises when you think you’re home alone.”

Soldier snickered. Demo shot him a glare.

Ignoring him, Soldier got to his feet and dusted himself off. “That’s one thing to check off the list.” He paused, inspecting the form floating before him. “…Why are you a sword?”

“…I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Wait, no, Soldier’s right,” Demo said, getting up as well. “You’re not in the blade anymore, you can look like anything you want! You used to be a mortal, didn’t you?”

“I don’t remember okay?” it snapped. “That was centuries ago, I don’t know how to be anything but a ghost sword.”

“Aw, give it a shot mate,” Demo encouraged. “If we’re going to hunting around for the geist that stole your sword, you might as well try a new form.”

“…Alright, I guess I can give it a try.”

Slowly, the illusion in front of them melted, growing until it was humanoid, then rippling as details began to make its shape. The jaw strengthen, and a hole appeared in the right side its face, features sharpening until a near-copy of the Demoman stood next to the suit of armor. It was a hazy reflection, as though looking at himself in green glass, but a reflection just the same.

“Hey, don’t be me,” Demo said.

“Yeah, we already got enough of those,” Soldier added under his breath.

“Uhg,” it complained. “Sorry. You’re the most recent person I’ve been.” The uncanny valley was further emphasized that Eyelander forgot to move Demo’s mouth when it was speaking.

“Just be yourself,” Demo insisted, as much due to the ghost-him’s creepiness as the fact that he was a bit curious about who Eyelander used to be. “Go on, give it a shot.”

Grumbling without moving its mouth, the Eyelander began to change again, Demo’s features swept away as though lost on the wind. It grew inexorably, towering of the mortals below it like a warrior from myth; then it shrank, arms and ghostly blade disproportionately detailed like recalling a fighting feeling.

Both of these faded, other particulars bubbling up from the surface. A tartan hood crawled over the general shape of a head, plunging the face into inscrutability. From its shoulders sprung a cape, one that would have pooled across the ground if the mirage weren’t floating a half-foot off the stone. A thick tunic billowed, then fell down to the mirage’s knees, held in place by a sash across its chest.

The face beneath flickered. Morphing, becoming-

“Damn it,” Eyelander groaned as the features fell back into darkness, effort weakening its voice. “I really don’t remember.”

“Ach, it’s fine Eyelander,” he assured it, hearing the clear disappointment. “We’ll get your sword back in no time.”

“…Thanks mate.”

Suddenly, Soldier pushed past him, far roughing than necessary. “If the ghost is done having an identity crisis, lets get back to busting.”

Demo frowned after him, but according to the readings he was headed in the right direction, so he said nothing to it.

Eyelander was a different story. “OoooOOOoooo, jealous again are we?” Catching up to him was no problem when it could simply glide across the ground, cape fluttering behind it.

“Silence apparition!” Soldier stated. “You cannot get inside my head with your devil words, nor your OoooOOOoooo.”

Eyelander cackled, floating in front of him and forcing him to walk into it. He shivered as he passed through the ethereal dregs, breaking from his path and pivoting into the nearest set of doors. They found themselves in the grand library, tiers upon tiers of floor-to-ceiling books simply rotting in the dust. Cobwebs clung to everything, ancient lamps and moldering fainting couches, rendering the entire room silent.

“Touch a nerve?” Eyelander was enjoying its new ‘body’, swinging a spectral arm over Soldier’s shoulder that he was unable to shrug off. “Not still mad he likes me better than you?”

“Only goes to show how poor his taste is,” Soldier snapped.

Demo had to jog to catch up. The library’s various stone busts turned to watch him as he moved.

“Maybe, if he was hanging out with you to begin with,” Eyelander persisted. “Does that bother you, yankee doodle?”

“Eyelander, lay off him,” Demo said, surprising even himself when the words came out of his mouth. Soldier didn’t look, breathing heavily through his nose

“Why?” the ghost huffed. It was odd seeing the body language to accompany it for once, the entity folding its arms across its chest. “He’s the one who throws a fit whenever I’m around, and I’m bloody sick of it. Why should I have to put up with some moron you don’t want anything to do with?”

“Shut your nonexistent mouth!” Soldier was really heated now. “If you keep talking to me I will put my boot up so far up your ass you will feel it in the afterlife!”

“OoooOOOoooo,” Eyelander said, and it was a proper ghostly ooo that reverberated about the empty library. “I’m so scared. Should I start crying out in fear? That’s all a lout like you knows how to do, just yell until someone cries and then piss off entirely. Well guess what, eejit, he’s just fine without you.”

“I am warning you…” Soldier growled.

“Oh but that doesn’t stop you from getting all possessive does it?” Eyelander just goaded, heedless of anything else but its own petty revenge. “More possessive than me, and I’m the one possessing him! Is that the sort of bond you’re going for yank? Spending a lot of time in-”

With a furious scream, Soldier launched himself at the Eyelander. On instinct, it jerked to the side to try and avoid his murderous hands, but it didn’t matter either way as Soldier when flying through the ghost’s form and crashed into the bookcase behind it.

The bookcase swung like a revolving door, and Soldier disappeared from view.

Eyelander and Demo shared a glance. “Did that just…?” he asked.

“Hold on.” It glided forward, passing through the bookcase unimpeded. A moment later, it stuck its head back out through the wall and said, “aye! It’s a secret passage! Some stairs going down into a basement of some sort.”

“Stairs? Is Solder alright?” Demo worried as he came forward and tried to trigger whatever had moved the loose shelf.

The Eyelander stuck its head in, then back out again. “Eh, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Demo found him, if not exactly fine, then stabilized. His leg had started bleeding again, but the tumble down the basement stairs had shaken the fight out of him. He let Demo rebandage his injuries with barely a word.

“Good work finding the passage, lad,” Demo said, as though he didn’t feel a terrible heat of embarrassment on the back of his neck. “Based on the readings, that’s where the ghost is hiding.”

“Hm,” was all Soldier said. He wouldn’t look at either Demo or the levitating knight.

“…Eyelander, why don’t you float on ahead?” Demo said after a moment. “Scout things out a bit for us?”

“Yeah, sure. Not being bound to a mortal vessel anymore gives you a lot more free range of movement.”

Demo helped Soldier to his feet. Several long minutes were spent walking down a cold, damp tunnel, only illuminated by bulbs covered in metal grates that flickered in sync. When Eyelander had drifted far enough ahead in its impatience, Demo asked what had been on his mind since they’d come down here, spinning over as the guilt he’d been holding back for years weighed heavier on him than it ever had.

“…Jane?” he mumbled. The Soldier jumped at his real name. “What Eyelander said back there…have I really been…?”

“Don’t believe anything that comes out of that ghost’s pie hole! Its ghost pie hole! Where it puts its ghost pies!” Soldier barked hastily. “It is- I don’t-!”

Demo let Soldier sputter for a moment before frowning at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

Soldier choked mid denial and whipped his head so hard his eyes showed wild underneath the helmet. “You- What?”

“You were right,” Demo rubbed his face. “About always lying to each other. Saying we didn’t care, just to make it easier. And you’re right that I treat my friends like crap sometimes, picking the sword—the job—over anybody else. So I fucked up too, believing their lies just as much, listening to them because it was the easiest.” He lifted his head, making eye contact with the alarmed Soldier. “So maybe I do pick the sword sometimes. But I never should have taken a bribe over my best friend.”

They’d stopped walking, Soldier just staring at him, mouth slightly open.

Soldier breathed in deep. “…Your best friend?”

Cautiously, taking care not to startle Soldier or his own frayed nerves, Demo reached out and held Soldier’s hand. He could hear Soldier’s labored breaths, even as the BLU looked down so steeply at their linked hands that his helmet obscured is whole face.

“Aye.”

Soldier’s mouth writhed a second longer before saying, “I’m sorry. Too. For all the crap I said to you after. I didn’t mean any of it either, I always liked you. I always…”

Demo squeezed his hand. “We’ll talk after we get my sword back, aye?”

Soldier finally lifted his chin, a grin of joyous relief across it. “Affirmative! We will beat the crap out of that weapon-stealing cheat, and then boot it back to kingdom come.”

“Our powers combined, eh?” Demo wiggled the fingers on the power glove.

Soldier lifted his hose. “Lets get this spirit-maggot!”

“Are you two coming?” the Eyelander demanded, reappearing in the grimy tunnel before them. “There’s this big evil laboratory at the end of the hall and the bell-end body-snatcher is just waiting for someone to come and kick its pommel.”

Demo grinned at his once-again best mate. “Don’t worry Eyelander, that bastard’s got another thing coming.”

The rescue squad stormed into the evil lab, magic and science and supernatural forces in hand. The room was exactly what you’d think: test tubes full of pulsating green goo, an open slab with leather straps around it, giant Tesla coils pointing all which way as though the whole space was ready to zap you at a moment’s notice.

“You!” Eyelander demanding, pointing a menacing spectral finger at the sword floating in the center of the room.

“Aw crap,” it said as it turned and saw the trio of ghostbusters that had come for its soul.

Immediately, it tried to make a run for it, zipping off on a trail of orange magic. But Soldier was faster, flipping the Hoover to ‘suck’ and immediately summoning a typhoon from the nozzle’s end. The geist shrieked as it was pulled backwards, forward momentum fighting against the suction until was it pulled taught mid-air. Demo wasn’t going to inadvertently help it this time, though. Instead, he stood shoulder to shoulder with his best mate, and sent a pulse of magnetic energy to join the vacuum’s pull.

“NOOOOOooooo,” the geist screamed as it began to lose ground.

It still wasn’t enough. A humanoid shape was being drawn from the sword, but that only made it struggle harder, fighting tooth and nail as it screamed all the while.

The Eyelander’s spirit stormed forward. With both hands it gripped the sword, pulling away from its rival ghost with its impressive incorporeal biceps. The geist screamed harder, but in a three-on-one it was losing, even as it tried to wrench the hilt away. Eyelander grabbed above the crossguard, and a gush of ethereal blood splattered on the floor, but the extra leverage worked, and it ripped the blade free from enemy hands.

Eyelander reared back, and the ghost went falling into the vacuum with a scream.

The impact knocked Demo flat on his ass. It wasn’t as rough as the first explosion, but he still groaned as he sat up. “We get it this time?”

Soldier poked the bag, which moaned in protest. “Yup. We got it.”

“How about you Eyelander?” Demo got up and walked to where the sword had fallen. “Everything back in the bits?”

“Uhrg…my whole fuller hurts,” the blade on the floor said in what was definitely the Eyelander’s voice. “Put me back in my scabbard…I want a nap.”

Demo chuckled, and did as he was asked.

“Teamwork saves the day!” Soldier declared, walking up to the pair. “Goes to show what camaraderie and true American sprit can do.” He clapped Demo on the shoulder, and the two exchanged a smile.

“…Did I miss something?” Eyelander asked from its sling on Demo’s back.

“Nah,” Demo said. “Jane ‘n I just worked some things out. Don’t worry your pretty little locket about it.”

“We are best friends again!” Soldier was too excited to hold back. He grabbed Demo’s hand again and squeezed.

The two shared a look of shining eyes and full hearts.

“Yuck,” Eyelander noted. “Do I have to be here for this?”

“Ah, shut it,” Demo said. “We just saved your life.”

“I didn’t want to be brought along in the first place!”

“You hate being left alone at the base,” Demo pointed out.

“Yeah but that was before you brought ghosthunting into the picture. You should have known better! What if one of your stupid machines had malfunctioned and killed me instead?”

As they walked back up through the secret passage, Soldier leaned toward the scabbard and said, “looks like there’s trouble in paradise after all, huh.” Demo had never heard him be smugger.

“Keep grinning, eejit,” Eyelander grumbled. “Next time we get into battle I’m carving a new smile into your throat.”

Soldier snickered, and they left the manor victorious.

#boots n bombs #demosolly #tf2 fanfiction

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photorose11 · 4 years

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An Unbreakable Bond Ch. 1

Here is my latest Ichiruki fic that will be multi chapter! I haven’t started Chapter two yet but I’m sure I will soon. This takes places after almost three years after Ichigo loses his powers after the battle with Aizen. I know in the manga him and Rukia are separated for 17 months but I wanted to put a little more time into it. This is probably kind of sappy, maybe a little AOC but i tried. lol I listen to a lot of music when I write, two good songs that go with this chapter. “I Can’t Breathe” by Bea Miller. and “Lost Without You” by Freya Ridings. Both are beautiful songs. I hope you all enjoy this, please let me know what you think! <3

Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach. (If i did, it would have ended a lot differently.)

---

Chapter One: Lost Without You

It had been two years. Two year since he had seen her. Heard her voice. Felt her reiatsu. The first year was hard. Every morning he would wake up, without hearing his closet door open up and seeing her jump out. The first few weeks, he thought he could still hear it because he had gotten so used to the sound in the morning. But every time he looked, the closet door was still closed. She was not there. Every morning he would give a sigh and then reluctantly begin his day.

He tried to focus in school, after a few months it got a little easier to focus and his grades went up because of it. He wished that made him happy, but it didn’t. Frankly, he didn’t care. He tried to, but after spending so much time fighting hollows, arrancars and Aizen. Seeing death, experiencing death and bringing brought back to life (thanks to Orihime) he didn’t know how school can feel that important after going through things such as that.

Every night after eating dinner with his family, he would get ready for bed. Take a shower, get in his pajama pants, brush his teeth and try really hard not to stare at her Chappy designed toothbrush that was still there next to his. He knew she wasn’t coming back, but he didn’t have the heart to throw it away, at least not yet. She had loved that toothbrush. After brushing his teeth, he would crawl into bed, stare at the ceiling and think of her. He would look back at the closet door, imagining how it would be if she was still on the other side of it. He knew he would be a lot happier, if she was still here.

The first year, the pain in his heart felt like someone stuck there Zanpakuto through it and twisted it before ripping it out. He felt it the most at night while staring up at his ceiling, remembering her.

The second year, it wasn’t better. It became worse. He started questioning everything. What was the point of everything that happened if it meant in the end, he lost his powers and lost her? Were they destined to meet just so they could be ripped away from one another? What in the hell was the point of living in a world he didn’t feel like he belonged in, because she wasn’t there with him anymore?

During the second year, every night after getting ready for bed he would stare up at the ceiling again, remembering everything he could about her. Still glancing at the closed closet door, gripping onto the front of his t shirt trying to over come the blossoming pain in his chest. He would close his eyes, as tight as he could. An then he would remember the last time he saw her before she vanished in front of him. He remembered the way she looked up at him in that last second, the look in her violet eyes. He then would think ‘it looked like that goodbye was killing her as much as it was killing me.’

On the last night of the second year, he goes through his usual routine. He remembers that last moment. The last time their eyes met, when he saw her vanish from his view for the first and last time. He grips his t shirt harder, turns onto his side where he can stare at the closet door now fully in his line of sight. He gives an aggravated sigh, thinking how it’s been two damn years, will be the beginning of three tomorrow; and she’s still gone.

She is not coming back.

He rolls back onto his back, but not before glancing at his desk where he can just faintly see the outline of a drawing he has had hung up over his desk for the last two years. One of her drawings he had found in the closet after they had said goodbye. It was a drawing of her in bunny form, he can tell by the semi short black hair. And next to her was another bunny with orange hair, and what looked like a big sword on it’s back. They were in a field, with the sun showing above them. He remembers how he found that drawing laying in his closet a few days after he last saw her. He had held it together until he first laid eyes on it, then before he knew it, he was on his knees in front of the closet, hands covering his face as he cried. He wonders if she drew it meaning to leave it with him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see her for much longer.

He feels tears sting his eyes while gazing at it before giving yet again another aggravated sigh and putting his right arm over his eyes, trying to calm down. He questions why he is acting like this, like a complete and utter fool. If Rukia knew she would definitely kick his ass and call him a fool and tell him to start acting like a man. He smiles at the thought of that. He missed calling her midget. He actually missed her calling him “Strawberry”. And then he thinks some more and starts questioning.

‘Why the hell is this still effecting me years later? I know she’s gone an she’s not coming back. Why does It still hurt as much as it did the first week? It’s not like I lo-‘

Before he can finish his thought, he removes his arm from over his eyes and lays it over his heart. Feels his heart rate speed up. His eyes widen and he sits up with a start. Looking at her drawing again and then looking at the closet. In that moment he realizes something that’s really always been right there in front of him... in that moment it feels like time has stopped. He can hear his heart racing, his body slightly shaking; overwhelmed with this sudden realization that is leaving him breathless.

He slowly pulls the bed comforter off him and gets out of bed. He moves to the window and looks up at the night sky and sees it’s a full moon tonight. He feels wetness on his face, he knows what it is but in that moment he doesn’t care due to the breathtaking realization he just had while laying in bed thinking of Rukia. He doesn’t know why he feels scared to say it out loud, but he pulls up the courage to say it because he feels he needs to. He knows she won’t hear him because she’s on a whole other plane of existence. But he thinks saying it may take a little bit of the pain out of his chest.

“I.. love you, Rukia. I think I have always loved you. I just realized it now. I really am a fool; it took me all these years to finally see it. I’m sorry I never said it to you before we said goodbye.” He could feel new tears forming.

“I feel kind of stupid saying this out loud when I know you can’t hear me, but that’s okay.” He took a deep breath, clutching his hands into fists in front of him before speaking again.

“I don’t understand why you can’t visit though. Knowing you, you want me to move on with my life because I’ve lost my powers. I get that, I do. But…” he unclutches his fists before giving a sigh and clenching his eyes shut.

“It feels wrong not being able to talk to you or see you. I know you’d say I belong here because I’m still alive but... I really only feel like I belong wherever you are, with you by my side. I don’t feel alive here without you. Because I’m in love with you and you’re still my best friend. I miss you, Rukia.”

By then he could definitely feel the tears on his face, sliding down his cheeks hitting his hands that are on top of the window seal. But it didn’t frustrate him. He was okay with it. It felt good to say what he did even thought he knew she couldn’t hear him. After a few moments of looking at the moon, he slowly moved back to bed and got under the covers again. He wiped the tears off his face and in minutes he was asleep, clearly worn out from the last ten minutes.

---

He had no way of knowing that a violet eyed Shinigami was standing beside his bed, her own tears streaming down her face. She had heard everything.

He had no way of knowing that she had been there since he had been getting ready for bed, a little over an hour ago. She had been in front of his closet door when he was laying in bed and he kept glancing at the closet door and then above his desk. She knew he was thinking of her. It made her heart ache in a certain way she had become all to accustomed to in the last two years since they had said goodbye. When she returned to Soul Society after disappearing from his view almost three years ago, she gave her report to the head captain and went straight to her corridors at the Kuchiki Estate. Once she had slid her door closed, she dropped to the floor and cried. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried like that before, like her heart had been ripped out of her chest. She still felt that pain, every day.

She didn’t expect him to get out of bed when he did. She was standing a few feet behind him when he started talking. After the first few words spoken from his mouth, she thought maybe he knew she was there. Those first few words made her happier than she had ever felt before, but also incredibly sad because even if she said it back; he wouldn’t be able to hear her.

After his small speech spoken into the night air, she was clutching the clothing by her heart. Struggling just to stay upright. She wanted to scream and cry and ask Kami ‘Why, why WHY did this have to happen? Why he did have to lose his powers causing us to say goodbye?’

She watched him slowly move back to his bed and get under the covers. Watched him wipe the tears off his face and drift off to sleep. She felt her heart rate speed up and took a few steps closer to his bed, looked down at him; realizing what it is she needed to do for him… and for her. Hesitantly, she reached a hand out to his face, cupping his cheek; running her thumb along it. She heard him give a happy sigh. She smiled tearfully, before pulling her hand away. She knew he couldn’t hear what she was about to say, but that was okay.

“You fool.. I’m in love with you too, Ichigo. It took me just now to truly realize it. I know these last two years have been hell, they have been for me too.” Before she continued, she gently knelt by his bedside and shakily reached out a hand and laid it atop of his. She looked up at him, new tears forming in her eyes.

“But I am going to fix this. You are going to see me again. I’m sorry it took me two years to realize that I’ve been a fool for staying away this whole time. I have missed my best friend.” With that said, she gave his hand a light squeeze before pulling away and standing back up. She walked to his window, gave one last smile at his sleeping form before speaking one last thing.

“You will see me soon, Ichigo. I promise.”

-----

They did not know but in just a few days Ichigo would meet Kugo Ginjo, not to long after that Kisuke Urahara will ask for Rukia’s help in order to restore Ichigo’s powers. Without hesitation, she agrees. The next few weeks, things will change more then they had in those last three years.

They both realized it as soon as Rukia had pierced her Zanpakuto through him again, and he slowly turned his gaze towards her. She gave a smile meant only for him. She felt the beginning of tears in her eyes but pushed them back. Now was not the time for tears. Tears of happiness will have to come later. All he could do in those first few moments was stare in shock, before he felt the familiar feeling of power consume him. She watched on in excitement for him, and happiness. She knew they had a lot to discuss, once these battles were over.

She had no doubt in her mind that he would win this battle. He always did. She continued to watch him, wondering what the future would hold once this was over.

Whatever it were to bring, she was ready to face it with Ichigo by her side.

#ichiruki fanfic #ichiruki fanfiction #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #ichigo x rukia #bleach fanfiction #so sappy #i love them #bleach #lost without you

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masterweaverx · 4 years

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I be a nerd, I be liking D&D, and I be watchin' a lot of Tulok the Barbrarian's 'Building Character' series, where he puts together how to play as various fictional characters in fifth edition up to level 20. He's done Ruby, he's done Yang, but I was bored so I figured I'd follow his format and try to guess how he'd do Blake. This is going to be a lot of Nerd Rambling, so here we go.

So, outlining the goals: Agility is a must for any Blake build, she's got a lot of nimbleness to her. She also uses two swords--one of which is also a whip and a pistol, and the other a sheathe that can be combined to make an extra sword--so she should have weapon versatility. And of course there's her semblence, can't have a Blake without a Blake Buddy, and we need that Blake Buddy to be useful.

Tulok uses standard point array for a reason, it skips over the fiddliness of 'rolling' and 'pointbuy'. Also useful for organizing high stats to low. Blake's very nimble and a lot of her weapons count as finesse or ranged, so putting the 15 into dexterity is a no-brainer. She's also very good at spotting things and analyzing the situation--wisdom's generally where that sort of thing comes from, so it gets a 14. Charisma is the skill you need to make big speeches about how the White Fang has gone downhill and get people to listen, plugging the 13 in there seems good. And she likes her books, so 12 for intelligence is obvious. Between strength and constitution I think I'd dump strength--constitution is about HP and endurance, so it'd get the 10, and proficiency in the Athletics skill should make up for the weakness having an 8 in strength gives.

For race, I'd say a Swiftstride Shifter works best. Specifically the statblock from the Races of Eberron Unearthed Arcana--I've seen one without Keen Senses and, yeah, that didn't make sense to me. Swiftstride Shifters get +2 to their Dexterity, bumping Blake up to 17, and +1 to their Charisma, evening that out to 14. They also get sixty feet of Darkvision, Keen Senses for an automatic Perception proficiency, and Graceful for an automatic Acrobatics proficiency. And then there's the big draw--automatically got 35 walk speed (5 more than the usual norm), plus they can trigger a one-minute transformation for both another +5 speed (total of 40 feet) and the ability to move 10 feet as a reaction when an enemy ends their round within 5 feet of them without triggering attacks of Oppurtunity. (Also get some temporary hit points during the transformation, but that's a side benefit.) Blake's hard to hit even before she gets class levels. And her first class level will make her even harder to hit.

For Background I figure Courtier from Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide works best. It gives Blake proficiency in Insight and Persuasion, two extra languages of her choice, and the feature Court Functionary. To quote the online source I'm using:

Your knowledge of how bureaucracies function lets you gain access to the records and inner workings of any noble court or government you encounter. You know who the movers and shakers are, whom to go to for the favors you seek, and what the current intrigues of interest in the group are.

Very much something Blake would be interested in. Admittedly, for her noble courts are more the 'legally dubious' organizations like the White Fang and the Happy Huntresses, but being the daughter of the chief of Kuo Kuana probably gives her some political acumen anyway.

I'm not going to go level-by-level like Turlok does, I don't think anyone here wants me to ramble too much, but I will say Blake will be getting nine levels of Rogue and eleven of Fighter. Four Rogue levels, five Fighter levels, five more Rogue levels, then six Fighter levels. Starting with Rogue gives her a lot of proficiencies, and fighter... a lot less, when she multiclasses into it, but enough to shore up Rogue. Rogues get proficiencies in Light Armor and Simple Weapons (and a bunch of specific Martial Weapons, but multiclassing into Fighter gives her all the Martial Weapons anyway so no need to be specific there). They also get proficiencies in Thieves' Tools, which work on traps as well as locks, and on Dexterity and Intelligence saving throws--Blake's smart enough not to be fooled and nimble enough to get out of the way. Finally, they get four skill proficiencies, and I figure Blake would go with Athletics, Deception, Investigation, and Stealth to round out her ninja-ing. Multiclassing into Fighter gives a character proficiency in Simple and Martial Weapons, as well as Light and Medium Armor and Shields; honestly, Blake isn't going to be using those proficiencies much, it's more for the class features, but I thought I'd mention them.

With nine levels of Rogue come most of the standard Rogue abilities, which mostly make Blake that much harder to hit, so I'll only go over the stuff that has to be chosen. Blake gets two expertises on their first and sixth level, which she can choose to place on any skill to double her proficiency bonus on them; Acrobatics, Athletics, Investigation, and Persuasion are what I figured fit her most.

A third level Rogue chooses a Roguish Archetype, and the website I'm using has 'Acrobat' as an option; that gives Blake Ariel Artistry at third Rogue level (When she moves, she can instead take two short movements by flying. Each movement is half her speed, and she must end each one on a solid object or the ground. If she does not, she falls and her movement ends.) and Fearless Aerialist at ninth Rogue level (she no longer takes damage from falling).

And then there are the Ability Score Improvements at fourth and eighth level; for fourth level I figure Blake would appreciate the Dual Wielder feat, and because I'm splitting 4-5-5-6 that means the eighth level Improvement is actually Blake's third improvement, so there's be +1 to Dexterity and +1 to Intelligence (because she already got +2 to Dexterity from Fighter), so that would cap her Dexterity at 20 and make her Intelligence 13. Also, the Dual Wielder feat for reference:

You master fighting with two weapons, gaining the following benefits:

You gain a +1 bonus to AC while you are wielding a separate melee weapon in each hand. You can use two-weapon fighting even when the one-handed melee weapons you are wielding aren't light. You can draw or stow two one-handed weapons when you would normally be able to draw or stow only one.

So this basically covers most of Blake's "normal" mobility, but her combat capabilities and Semblance will be covered by Fighter.

The non-variable Fighter improvements boil down to 'extra attacks, extra actions, and a few features to help you shrug off damage.' Blake is nothing if not tenacious. Of the variable features, I think she'd pick up the Two-Weapon Fighting Style on her first Fighter level, because that lets her use her ability score with the damage of her bonus attack with her offhand weapon (high Dex, lotta hitting power). Her ability score improvments at Fighter Level Four, Six, and Eight would be two points to Dexterity, Charisma, and Wisdom respectively. For those at home, that means her Dexterity is 20, Charisma and Wisdom 16 each, Intelligence 13, Constitution 10 and Strength 8 when all's said and done. Of course, third level fighters get to pick a martial Archetype that gives them benefits as they level, and Echo Knight is perfectly suited for Blake. Right off the bat, she gets this:

Manifest Echo 3rd-level Echo Knight feature

You can use a bonus action to magically manifest an echo of yourself in an unoccupied space you can see within 15 feet of you. This echo is a magical, translucent, gray image of you that lasts until it is destroyed, until you dismiss it as a bonus action, until you manifest another echo, or until you're incapacitated.

Your echo has AC 14 + your proficiency bonus, 1 hit point, and immunity to all conditions. If it has to make a saving throw, it uses your saving throw bonus for the roll. It is the same size as you, and it occupies its space. On your turn, you can mentally command the echo to move up to 30 feet in any direction (no action required). If your echo is ever more than 30 feet from you at the end of your turn, it is destroyed. You can use the echo in the following ways:

-As a bonus action, you can teleport, magically swapping places with your echo at a cost of 15 feet of your movement, regardless of the distance between the two of you.

-When you take the Attack action on your turn, any attack you make with that action can originate from your space or the echo's space. You make this choice for each attack.

-When a creature that you can see within 5 feet of your echo moves at least 5 feet away from it, you can use your reaction to make an opportunity attack against that creature as if you were in the echo's space.

Unleash Incarnation 3rd-level Echo Knight feature

You can heighten your echo's fury. Whenever you take the Attack action, you can make one additional melee attack from the echo's position.

You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Constitution modifier (a minimum of once). You regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

At Fighter level seven, Blake would get Echo Avatar, which lets her send her Echo on scouting missions for ten minutes at a time. Not very in character, sure. But she's very aware of everything anyway, so it's not surprising she'd have eyes and ears everywhere. And then, at level ten, she gets the very appropriately named Shadow Martyr, which lets her make her Echo teleport and take the hit for any creature she can see being attacked as a reaction. That is very much in character for Blake.

Technically, the eleventh level of Fighter (and the twentieth level of the build) gives her another extra attack, which could be devastating with all the weapons she can juggle thanks to Dual Wielder and her weapon proficiencies. I'm not sure if that's better then a tenth level in Rogue, which would give her another ability score improvement, but it does mean she can rain down a lot of pain very quickly--and the woman cut down a missile barrage once! While boosted. But it happened!

So yeah, that's my take on it.

#RWBY #Dungeons & Dragons #D&D 5E #Blake Belladonna #Character Build

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eurybia-graves · 4 years

Text

Il Risveglio

April 7, 2020 Lorenzo de Medici x Giuliano de Medici

1473.

Florence has welcomed her first warmer spring in years. The artist’s pencil, blooming like the white lilies down the hallway of the Palazzo de Medici, leaves its petals on the canvas as the artist’s inspiration bursts into drips of honeyed rain watering the garden of art. Lorenzo has stood by the canvas for hours, watching as the artist gives birth to yet another beauty of a lady with his magical hands.

“Aphrodite,” Lorenzo mutters.

“Yes, exactly,” Sandro smiles, glancing at the ruler of Florence before returning to his work, adding one last stroke on her eyes, “this is but a draft, but it would be about Venus.”

Lorenzo smiles faintly, his blue eye glancing towards the other side of the canvas—blank, at the moment. “What would be there?”

The artist laughs. “Oh, Lorenzo. You haven’t spoken with Angelo for quite a while, have you? You do not even know of his grand project.”

“What grand project?” Lorenzo frowns, “not another essay on the ‘quality’ of touch of the Florentine women, I shall hope?”

“Ah, no!” Sandro drops his pencil, “he’s working on a play. Have we not discussed this earlier, about how classics would define, in a way, the beauty of God and the beauty of men? There it is. Angelo is working on a play about Venus and Mars.”

“Appealing idea.” Lorenzo stares into the blank on the canvas, imagining the posture of Mars in the artist’s head. “Yet you haven’t put him there yet. Why is that?”

Sandro sighed. “First of all, Angelo Poliziano is a reserved bastard who would not allow me to see his work; and, I do need a model. Speaking of which—” He glances around, making sure no one hears him, “would you be so kind as to ask your brother to come and talk to me when he has time?”

Lorenzo raises his brows, trying hard to conceal the amusement. “Giuliano? What, you are planning to ask him to be Mars?”

“I don’t see why not!” Sandro widens his eyes, “tell me, Lorenzo, name one young man in the entire Florence who is more of a Mars than Giuliano. Can you?”

No, he can’t. Lorenzo shakes his head, “what of Venus? You would need a model for her too, I suppose?”

“There is no such need.” The artist replied, “I have learned more about the bodies of women than those of men, as I have carved them in my mind.”

Lorenzo gives a knowing smile. “I’ll talk to Giuliano, and Angelo too. And you, Sandro, do not work on female anatomy so often as to exhaust yourself!”

The fresh ruler of Florence runs out of Sandro Botticelli’s workshop before the artist starts casting him out with paints. No, he would not want that on his face or clothing just ten minutes before attending to the meeting of the Signoria. He looks up at the pigeons standing at the edge of the roof of the Palazzo della Signoria, and watches as they take off into the sky and disappearing behind the grand dome of the Duomo. Brunelleschi’s work, he thought, magnificent as it appears, it would not have been without the Medici.

“Let me guess, you went to the workshop again.” Giuliano sits back lazily in his seat at the Signoria as his brother arrives belatedly. “Does Sandro never get tired of you?”

“Well,” Lorenzo smiled, “yes, I was at the workshop. But no, Sandro would not get tired of me.”

The young Medici rolls his eyes and huffs. “If I were him, I would be tired of you. What took you so long? It’s not so often an occurrence that you arrive later than I do.”

“In fact, we were talking about you.”

“What?” Giuliano interrupts, “what about me? He doesn’t want me to be a model for him, does he?”

Lorenzo smirks, “well, actually…”

“Not a chance.”

“Giuliano, please, you don’t even know what it is. There isn’t a better model than you.”

Giuliano turns around, his blue eyes reflecting a calm dancing flame that burns directly into Lorenzo’s eyes. The flame of passion, fierceness, and a desire for war. Perfection, Lorenzo thinks to himself. He recalls the time when Giuliano confronted those that are, at this very moment, sitting right across them, Jacopo and Francesco de Pazzi. He recalls the sound of swords clashing, as his brother, although trying hard to act as a diplomat like himself, could not help but answer the taunting from Jacopo de Pazzi by drawing out the blade. He recalls the way Giuliano refused to apologize to the Pazzis at the court of the Signoria, at which moment his weapon was no longer his sword, but his eyes and his silence—strong enough to kill the rampant aggressiveness of the Pazzi family, and powerful enough to prove to the members of the Signoria that he had done nothing wrong.

“Listen to me, Giuliano. We need you to be Mars,” Lorenzo speaks softly.

“Mars, you say,” the young Medici’s tone has changed, added with a slight bit of interest, “in such case, it would be slightly less tedious than I thought it should be.”

“That’s a ‘yes’, then.” Lorenzo leans back with satisfaction, “thank you, brother. We shall be expecting you at the workshop tomorrow.”

Sandro should’ve known to ask Lorenzo for help, instead of harassing Angelo every twice a day to get the script of his new play. “Sit over there, Giuliano.” The artist’s inspiration once again begins to flow, images in his head dancing with Poliziano’s words. “This shall be the part where Mars and Venus indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, do you see what I mean?”

“Pleasures of the flesh?” Giuliano laughs, whilst removing his shirt slowly, “My dear Sandro, is this why you called for ME?”

“Maybe.” Sandro shrugs, “now get on with it, take off everything you’re wearing. Giuliano, you should be in the play.”

The young Medici huffs. “I’m not an actor, Sandro! Sitting for you is already one of the hardest jobs I have ever done. And you, Lorenzo,” Giuliano points his chin at his brother as the latter walks in slowly, “you tricked me into this.”

“I did…not.” The Magnificent walked into the workshop, unprepared, eyes fixed on his brother’s torso. He has not looked at Giuliano this way since when they were children. That would be a time when Lucrezia, their mother, tried relentlessly to stop their sons from going too far in their children’s play. Yet now…he stares at his brother, admiring the curve of his body outlining the perfect shape of a god of war. He glances up, from the muscles of his limbs all the way to the blossoms on his chest that—

“Lorenzo!” Giuliano raises his voice, bringing his brother back to reality, “are you awake?”

“I—” Lorenzo shakes his head slightly, trying to regain himself. “Yes, yes, you were saying?”

“Have you been drinking? It’s noon, Lorenzo.” Giuliano says in disbelief, “I was saying, Sandro wants me to play Mars in Angelo’s play, it’s—”

“Yes.” Lorenzo nods quickly, “Yes, you should.”

Giuliano stares at him in silence for a few seconds. “Are you joking, brother?”

“Oh I certainly am not.” Lorenzo walks quickly to Sandro, snatching the script from his hands, “meet me at my room tonight, Giuliano, we should talk about this matter.”

Lorenzo leaves the workshop quickly, breathing heavily as he hears his brother protesting behind, yet he dares not look back, as he is well aware that the thin sheet of cloth covering Giuliano’s private parts would have already fallen to the ground because of the excessive and aggressive movement. He dares not look back, because if he does, he could not promise that the animal inside of his body would not break its chains. He had never been unable to contain himself, even at times when Lucrezia Tancredi bares herself completely in front of him. Lorenzo knows how to control, even to a woman like his mistress, he never lacks the gift of seduction. In fact, words have spread among the women he has been with, yet none of them anything bad. But this is Giuliano, he thinks to himself, good God, he is my brother.

God should know Lorenzo is not that kind of person who would easily back off when facing a risk. Three years ago, when he named himself head of the bank by overthrowing his father, Florence has already known that Lorenzo de Medici never gives up. For himself, though, as much as he fears the consequences, his curiosity and desire for the unknown overpowers his senses…sometimes. He mocks himself, as Giuliano walks into his room slowly, resentment in his eyes. “What now,” he asks, “are you going to teach me how to be an actor, brother?”

Lorenzo smiles sheepishly. “Take off your clothes, Giuliano. Give that pose again. Consider this a break from political matters, and let us return to the old times when we would discuss myths throughout the night.”

“Without Sandro and Angelo, even if this is their work?”

“No, no. Just us.” Lorenzo steps forward, removing the thin white shirt from his brother, his fingers incidentally brushing Giuliano’s waist. He tries hard to keep his breath even, but at the same time, he can’t stop staring at his brother’s body. “Your trousers too, Giuliano.”

He turns back, picking up the script when realizing that his hands are trembling. He clears his throat, looking through the window up into the sky, and finds a certain amount of returned calmness as the moon spills silver lining upon the statue of David in the center of the Palazzo de Medici. How long has he stood there? Lorenzo thought. If it was a commission by his grandfather, then it must’ve been there for more than forty years. Yet David has ever been so…quiet. Why was that? Lorenzo did remember that his grandmother once told him about voice of opposition when the people of Florence first saw this statue. Such a public exposure of desire and eroticism, as said, should not be considered art. Cosimo did not nip it in the bud, though. He let David stand there in the very heart of the Medici family, hidden as he may be, but always there, until one day art has come to be appreciated by the people of Florence, then he has bloomed to be the symbol of beauty.

“Be quick with it, Lorenzo.” Giuliano’s voice comes again from behind him, “What do you want me to do?”

Mars lying lazily on the bed, again, as the silk blanket covers slightly upon his lower body casually, shaping the sword of the god of war in an implicit but inescapable way. The tiredness coming from a day’s work has kept his muscles from relaxing, as his veins still shows clearly on his arms like serpents, whispering to Lorenzo and urging him to take a bite on the apple.

Lorenzo looks down on the script, his voice hoarse. “Mighty god of war, Mars. Lay down your sword, for in this realm, violence shall not be allowed. Fear not, come close, and bath your weary body in the springs of love.”

“Who but you could convince me to lay down my weapon?” Giuliano sits up, eyes fixed on Lorenzo’s, once again turning them into a pair of weapons more powerful than swords. “Touch me, Venus, I long for you.”

Even the strongest damp could not resist the pressure when a flood comes in, and when enough water has stored, there shall no longer be anything that holds. His chest has pressed eagerly against his partner’s back, hands locking tight around his waist, fearing that he would escape. He tastes fresh honey dew from kisses of passion, hunger, and lust, sweeter than anything he ever had in the past twenty-four years of his life. He moans, as he hears his partner’s whimper, knowing that the latter has submit all to deepest desires buried somewhere unknown in his heart, laying behind all that ever bothers them both. There is no bank, no politics, no war, no Signoria, no Pazzi, only them, and Florence, as she watches down on them with tenderness, sending a breeze that brings the swinging curtain down on their entwining bodies, whilst projecting the moonlight as to cast their shadows onto the wall. Lorenzo presses his lips against his brother’s neck, as tears stream down onto Giuliano’s shoulder, and then his blooming chest. Lorenzo cries, as he spills his long-waited desire inside his brother.

“Giuliano, Giuliano, I’m sorry…” His voice is broken, and his face a mess covered with tears. He dares not look at his brother as he realizes what he had done, before he feels his cheeks cupped by a familiar pair of warm hands.

“Look at me, Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo gazes up, still sniffing, as he meets his brother’s eyes, unexpectedly calm, but filled with a different type of tenderness. “My Venus,” he smiles, kissing Lorenzo’s fingers gently “of all great things in this world, none compares to your love. You have had my body, then you shall have my heart.”

“And what exactly did you two discuss last night?” Sandro stands with his arms crossed in disbelief, “Giuliano, you are doing it perfectly.”

“First, I must point out your mistake, Sandro. It wasn’t ‘pleasures of the flesh’,” Giuliano lies there lazily as he takes a bite on the apple in his hand, “but rather a mutual communication of souls, or a liberation of imprisoned desires and love.”

Sandro Botticelli stares at Giuliano for a few seconds, too surprised to know how to respond to such an un-Giuliano answer.

“What?” The young Medici spreads his arms, “Lorenzo’s idea, solely, not mine.”

“That was rather deep.” Poliziano mutters, adding the notations onto his script.

Lorenzo laughs lightly and walks out of the workshop. An emperor butterfly circles the garden for a few times, before landing precisely on a newly blossomed white lily with dew reflecting the morning sunlight. There has never been a livelier spring in Florence, he thought.

#e_graves archive

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critical-ramblings · 5 years

Text

Mind’s Eye (7/n)

Previous chapters start here (also on AO3!)

They were in a field. No, Yasha looked around behind them and saw a lurking behemoth of a house, a broad dirt path leading up to the double-wide front doors. And the grass here was kept trimmed, the trees cut into graceful shapes that looked more like arcane runes than trees. She instantly disliked the place, though she couldn’t have said why.

“Where are we?” Fjord asked, after a minute or so when nothing tried to kill them. No little Caleb came running out to intercept them, though Yasha could hear a rooster crowing around the back of the huge house. Windows gleamed back at her in the early morning sunlight, their arched tops watching the party of motley adventurers gathered outside.

“I don’t know. Didn’t Caleb mention something about being taken out of school?” Beau looked over at Nott, who narrowed her eyes as she looked up at the house and took a drink.

“Are we in his dreams or his memories?” Caduceus asked, crouching down to crumble some of the dirt in his large hand. “Nott, what’d he say about it?”

The little goblin scowled up at the house even as she answered, like she might win a staring contest with the windows. “He said Icky-dick fed him some potion, that whenever he ‘failed’ he woke up in the smoke room. I don’t know. He’s definitely asleep, right? Are we asleep?” she turned to look at Jester. “That’s what your spell does, right?”

“Yeah, totally,” Jester nodded, then narrowed her eyes and looked around. “Although none of my dreams are this boring...” For a moment, the grass and carefully shaped trees shimmered, slid into brightly painted versions of themselves where Jester was looking. The ocean spilled towards their feet, blues and whites and purples in thick brush-strokes that nevertheless smelled of salt.

Yasha caught a glimpse of a horse-fish looking creature not far away, before a door slammed open up at the house. A human girl stood in the doorway, one hand raised to shade her eyes from the sun. With the painted surf still washing over their feet, all of the Nein turned to watch her.

“Astrid,” Jester whispered, hands folded tightly in front of her. Without her attention, the little ocean she’d conjured began to shrink, and within a few moments had vanished with a small ploop.

“Are you here for Master Ikithon?” the girl called out, with a heavy Zemnian accent.

Yasha looked at Fjord, who was looking at Beau, who was still waiting for Nott to take the lead. Nott let out a wordless hiss when she realized that everyone’s attention was on her.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, clutching very tightly at her flask. “He hasn’t told me any more than he told the rest of you!”

Beau gave a disbelieving snort, but she did step out and wave towards the house. “Hey! Yeah, sure, we’re actually looking for...Bren?”

The girl hesitated, might have said something under her breath. Eventually she waved them forward. If this was one of Caleb’s hunt-party, she would know enough magic to be dangerous. And there was no separation between having that thought and holding the Magician’s Judge in her hands. Yasha paused to look at the greatsword, because a moment ago she could have sworn she was unarmed. And she certainly hadn’t drawn the thing.

“Yasha!” Fjord made a frantic shushing gesture with both hands. “Let’s not antagonize the dream-wizards, right?”

“Right.” Yasha sheathed the greatsword without hesitation, but she continued to think as the Nein followed Astrid through an opulent hallway and into a room walled entirely with glass. And as strange as the walls were, they were nothing compared to the plants within them. Yasha was drawn immediately to the flowers; elaborate confections with frills of white and pink and yellow, some of them as wide as her hand. And others, with long orange necks and yellow tips, or bursts of red deeper than blood. The greenery itself was lush and well tended, but it reminded her too much of blades, of the ten-foot tall razor grass of her homeland. Thorns were hidden here, she was sure of it.

There was no sign of Caleb, but a familiar sallow old man stood in the courtyard just beyond the glass room. Astrid went out to him, glancing back when the group hesitated at the doorway.

“Is anyone else getting trap vibes from this?” Beau asked out of the corner of her mouth.

“No, yeah, definitely,” Jester and Fjord and Caduceus were quick to agree. Yasha stayed quiet, and she saw that Nott did too. The goblin was busy scanning the plants and vases around them, more focused on finding Caleb than dealing with his ‘dream-wizards,’ as Fjord had said.

Trap or not, they went out. Yasha brought up the rear, realizing only later that she’d somehow lost sight of Nott.

Ikithon looked exactly the same as the day she’d met him in Zadash. He nodded and smiled at them the same way he had in real life, a half-sneer like he was too good to be talking to such peasants. Yasha had grown very familiar with that look during her time with the circus.

“Welcome to my home,” Ikithon said, his smile vanishing once it’d done its work. “I assume you know why you are here?”

“Uh, no, actually,” Beau straightened her shoulders, puffed out her chest and set her jaw. “Where’s Bren?”

Ikithon only raised an eyebrow and didn’t answer. Instead, he folded his arms and said, as if Beau hadn’t spoken, “Your kind of fickle sellsword is tolerated because of your occasional usefulness to the Empire. You trespass on the goodwill of common folk fearing for their lives from some monster, you carouse and drink at every available opportunity. Bands like yours cause more damage than good, but still, you are tolerated.”

“Hold on just a--” Ikithon spoke louder, drowning out Beau’s protests. Yasha leaned over to Caduceus, whose frown was the most seriously upset she’d ever seen him. “Seems a little harsh,” she muttered, and the cleric shot her a glance.

“He’s not really saying it to us,” Caduceus answered quietly.

But before Yasha could ask what he meant, Ikithon snapped his fingers and said, “Kill them,” and everything happened very quickly.

Ikithon vanished in a cloud of blue-green mist, and a familiar bead of red energy sped towards them from somewhere out on the grounds. It detonated before any of them could react, and everything was a wash of red and roaring flames. Yasha felt them curl around her, sharper than they should be. Hotter than the flames Caleb had conjured before. Was this some trick of his past, something he used to know in the waking world? Or some other facet of the dream?

There was no doubt that it was Caleb. As the smoke cleared, it was Jester who screamed out his name, reaching towards a slight figure in red robes, far away across the lawn. Even as Yasha turned he ducked back behind a tree and disappeared.

From across the way, in a grove of smaller trees, there was a flash of movement and another streak of light. The thunder hit her a moment after the lighting, barely missing Yasha but slamming into Jester, then Fjord. Beau moved faster than the light, ducking out of its spidery path as it spent itself against the brick of the house behind them.

“Fuck!” Fjord said, coughing as his hands spasmed in the aftermath of electricity.

That was when the poisonous cloud rolled over them, obscuring both of the far-away wizards and stinking of tar. The fumes burned her nose and throat, and Yasha lost a few moments trying to hack the acid feeling from her lungs. Jester ran out past her, then Fjord, and then a small darting shape that might have been Nott.

There was a desperate cry of pain nearby, and the cloud began to dissipate. Yasha was able to straighten up, and this time she did mean to draw the Magician’s Judge and bare her teeth. The familiar weight of her rage bubbled up within her; how dare these wizards hurt her friends? And Caleb, who they were only trying to help...she wouldn’t blame him, later. After all, this wasn’t the first time they’d taken damage from him. But she could be angry now.

Yasha looked around the lawn, wrecked now, with fires flickering in the corners of the paved courtyard and black stains from the tar-cloud. Beau was all the way over by the oak tree where Caleb had hidden, the others spread out to where another fireball wouldn’t devastate them so completely. Yasha and Caduceus were the only ones left in the courtyard, actually. Just past them to the right, backed up against the wall of the house, Astrid was clutching the feathered end of crossbow bolt embedded in her chest.

Even as Yasha glanced in the little mage’s direction, Jester’s sparkling energy bolt streaked pasts and lit her up from the inside. For a half-second the bones of her face were visible, outlined in pink, and then she collapsed back against the brick.

“Astrid!” Caleb’s voice was still boyishly high, though it cracked in the middle of her name. Beau had backed him into the open, and even from a hundred feet away Yasha could see him swaying. He had never been the hardiest of them.

In her rage, Yasha’s only thought was to eliminate the threats; their weakness was her gain. The feral part of her trusted Beau to finish what she’d started, so Yasha turned her attention to the other grove. Her boots crunched on burned grass as she ran, failing to drown out Ikithon’s magically enhanced voice as it boomed across the garden. “Kill them first! There will be time for healing later.”

The boy in the grove couldn’t have been more than fifteen. He saw Yasha coming and scrambled back, his face still round with baby fat. And then splattered with blood as her greatsword carved into him, the familiar jolt of breaking bones running up her arms. He was still standing, after, but barely. A very small part of her, under seething rage and satisfaction, wondered what his name was.

“This isn’t how it happened,” the boy whispered, and a screaming wind tore through the trees. It was no spell Yasha had ever heard of, no magic she had ever seen. One moment she was standing over the child with her sword dripping, and the next her skin was burning, her sword was gone, and the wizard another fifty feet away. The expression on his face was hard to read, but Yasha could see the cruel expectation on it when he looked up for Ikithon. The blood in her eyes and hands was her own, now. Something hot and acid twisted in her gut, and Yasha knew just how close to death she was.

But it wasn’t until Jester yelled, “Hey, that’s cheating!” that she realized what must have happened. If they could change the dream, so could Caleb. Caleb, who was trying to kill them.

“Wake up, man!” Beau said, from not-very-far-away. Yasha pushed her way back through the trees, which had grown thicker and tighter together in a moment. Against her back, she felt the itch of an oncoming spell, but managed to shrug it off. She needed to find her party, make sure they were...

The wreckage of the lawn hadn’t changed much in the wind. But Jester was crouched next to Caduceus, unconscious on the stone. Nott was huddled in the shadow of a garden statue, both hands clutched to her chest to hold her ribs together. Astrid was awake, though still bloody, a wickedly curved dagger in one hand. Fjord was using his falchion to stand up from where he’d been blasted onto his knees. Even as Yasha watched he turned to spit blood onto the ground.

Beau was also breathing heavily, clutching her staff in a way that meant she couldn’t stand without it. Caleb stood next to her, both hands pressed to his head looking...almost exactly like the younger version of him had, before the fire came.

Warily, Yasha looked around, tried stepping on one of the flickering remnants of the fireball. It was still there when she lifted her foot, a little more singed than before.

“You’re damn right this isn’t how it happened,” Beau transferred her grip to the front of Caleb’s robes, letting her staff fall to the ground. Yasha, keeping one eye on the fire, thought she saw it flicker a little higher. But the whole scene was slowed, thick with some struggle she could feel in the very air. “Wake up, Caleb,” Beau said again, more gently.

The boy just looked at her. His mouth opened and closed a few times, until finally he said, “If this isn’t...how it goes?”

But it was Astrid who finished the sentence, sliding up behind Jester and slitting her throat. “Then it can go however you want,” the Zemnian girl said viciously. Jester choked, and black smoke poured out with her blood. Beau screamed, shoving Caleb back as she ran to her friend.

Yasha couldn’t beat her there, despite being closer, because this time the tickle of a spell at the back of her neck didn’t dissipate, but grabbed and held her whole. She could hear her joints crack as they froze, the impulse to run still pounding through her. The fires burned no brighter, Caleb in the distance still standing slack as Astrid’s dagger swept dismissively through Caduceus’ chest and darted towards Fjord. Smoke stinking of charred meat and plaster poured in around them, obscuring almost everything--but not before the short sword emerged from her chest, cold as winter, stopping her from breathing.

***

“This isn’t...how it goes?” He turned to Astrid, who wrapped a hand around his upper arm. Behind him, his mother screamed; it was the sound of ice cracking in his mind.

“You can make it better, Bren,” Astrid said, and he could feel Eodwulf’s hand on his shoulder, holding him up. Holding him back. “You can make it right this time.”

He was breathing too fast, he knew. Black dots closed in around his vision, or was that smoke? He could smell his parents burning. Bren buried his face in Astrid’s shoulder and the ice...stopped cracking. He was a spiderweb of fault lines, but he was not broken. He focused on Astrid’s hand in his hair, and began to let go of the truth--that this was not how it happened.

And then someone called his name. “Caleb!” she said, but that was not his name, his name was--

“Caleb! Where the fuck is he?”

And someone else he loved said, “I don’t know, but I’m going to kick his smoky ass for that shit, just wait.”

And Jester sounded worried when she said, “Do you think our Caleb goes somewhere else than we do?”

Caleb looked back, to where the voices were coming from, and saw the wreck of his home...and the ice broke. He fell, and fell, and he would never stop falling, he would never deserve to stop falling because he killed them, and only then did the smoke swallow him.

#cr #critical role #caleb widogast #yasha #the mighty nein #long post #exactly 1 month later i give this to you!

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aratilightwood · 5 years

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Set a few years after ‘The wicked powers.’

Ash and Drusilla go demon hunting.

...

Nightlife in Santa Monica was something to look forward to. You could always hear loud music and admire the bright lights emitting from the beautiful area of Los Angeles. The Pacific park on top of the pier was the main attraction with the enticing rides and stunning vision of the ocean. But this was usually closed to tourists and residents alike at later hours of the evening. There was a range of many different clubs and restaurants to choose from when deciding where to spend happy hour. Most of these places had a breath-taking view of the state beach, and people were lucky to have the opportunity to take a walk on the sandy landscape whenever they wanted.

It had just struck 12am when Drusilla got news of a recent demon activity near Ocean Avenue. The ley lines she studied had indicated an unusual and significant amount of mundane death count near the ’32 Ocean bar’. According to news reports as well, the bodies were left rotting behind dumpsters outside, for the police and ambulances to find. The cause of death was unknown.

She had to do something.

Everyone in the institute was asleep apart from Ash, who she found in the kitchen eating left over raspberry tart Helen made the night before. He wore navy blue pyjamas and was bare foot. He looked at her guiltily when she walked in, but she just smiled in bemusement. It was not the first time she had caught him at late hours, eating a midnight snack.

She told him about the suspicious mundane murders in Ocean Avenue, and he agreed to spend majority of the evening demon hunting with her. They both dressed into gear and drew several runes on each other’s skin. After that, they made a trip to the weapons’ room in the institute. Drusilla put at least three seraph blades around her belt, and her stele went inside her jacket pocket. She watched Ash reach for his choice of weapon, Phaesphoros, the Morgentern blade that had once been his father’s.

Once they were fully equipped Drusilla said, ‘shall we make a move?’

‘Sure’ Ash replied.

They made their way to the front doors of the institute and stepped outside. It wasn’t as cold as Drusilla had expected, even though it was autumn and the temperature had dropped significantly at the end of July. The car was parked against the left side of the institute building, and Drusilla sat in the driver’s seat while Ash placed himself on the passenger seat.

The drive to Ocean Avenue was silent, and there was hardly anything that could be seen out the window. Most restaurants were closed and only a variety of clubs were open to accommodate late party goers. They did not park right outside ’32 ocean bar’ but instead stopped on the pavement of the street opposite, where the beach was located. Drusilla got out of the car and examined her surroundings. In the darkness of the evening, she could only see an outline of the Ferris wheel on top of the pier at a distance. It looked sinister in the evening, like a shadowed giant towering over Santa Monica.

Drusilla walked around the car to join Ash who had already stepped out of the passenger door. He looked energised, his green eyes bright with the anticipation of an eventful evening.

She watched as he smiled and offered her his right arm, ‘ready for a night of heroic demon slaying?’

She curled her left arm around his right and reciprocated the smile, ‘here goes nothing.’

They both walked towards the entrance of the bar.

…

The atmosphere inside was dark. The walls were painted black, all except one, which was papered glittery. There was a massive disco ball hanging from the ceiling. A DJ stood on one side of the room beside a turntable and speaker phones, clearly immersed in providing good music. On the other side of the room stood a bartender, mixing different cocktails together. There was also a staircase that presumably lead to the toilets below ground. It was evident that the venue was hired for an event, because the room was clustered with a great number of ladies celebrating a hen party.

Drusilla heard Ash shout above the music, ‘you should sit by the bar and look out for anything unusual, while I survey the rest of the room.’

She nodded and walked to a stool near the bartender, while Ash proceeded to lean himself against one of the walls. Drusilla was thankful for glamour runes, because it meant she would not have to bother with small talk. On any other occasion, she would have, but her and Ash had come out tonight for a reason. She had to focus.

Twenty minutes had passed, and Drusilla was pivoting on her stool. The ladies at the party looked like they were having a great time. A lot of them were drunk and stumbling on top of each other, while they were dancing. It made her wonder how long the women had hired the venue, because it did not seem like they were leaving anytime soon.

At some point the DJ had put on ‘Single ladies’ by Beyoncé, and Drusilla found herself singing along out of tune. That was until her eyes met Ash’s across the room. He was stood with his arms across his chest and smirking at her. She immediate closed her mouth, blushed and instead diverted her attention to one of the ladies on the dance floor.

The woman was wearing a frilly, bright pink dress with a sash that read ‘bride to be,’ and wore silver heals. Her blonde hair was curled and there was a plastic crown on her head. She was making her way down the staircase.

Drusilla was glad she had the rune for heightened hearing, otherwise she would not have heard the agonising scream coming from the below the stairs. She turned and met Ash’s gaze, and his face had the same look of realisation.

She stood up and gestured him to follow her.

…

Drusilla made her way down the narrow staircase, with Ash following quietly behind her.

The lady was lying on the ground and not moving, but what lay on top of her was most alarming. It had a slimy body, at least six legs on each side, multiple eyes at the centre of its head and a barbed tail.

A Ravener demon.

Drusilla whipped out her seraph blade immediately, and Ash unsheathed Phaesphoros at the same time. She moved towards the demon while it looked up at her and hissed. She brought her blade down, but the demon was fast as it slivered aside, evaded the lethal blow and moved towards the staircase.

‘Get it!’ she shouted at Ash.

Ash stood in front of the stairs, so the demon had nowhere to run. He smiled triumphantly, and then moved to strike it with his blade. A few inches of the sword sank into the demon’s body, and then it disappeared into thin air.

Drusilla smiled, ‘great job!’

‘Thanks,’ Ash said as he examined the lady’s body on the floor, ‘is she dead?’

Drusilla looked down and saw that the woman was beginning to stir awake.

‘It looks like she’s sustained no serious injuries, and will regain full consciousness in a few minutes. But if we move her upstairs ourselves, the mundanes would freak out.’

‘You’re right, I suppose we should get back home now,’ Ash said.

They made their way up the stairs and out of the bar. The walk outside was a short distance and nearly all the lights on the street were out now. Before they could sit in the car and drive off, Drusilla heard something. It was the sound of scurrying feet upon sand. She looked out across the beach, and her heart skipped a beat. There was a group of Ravener demons, ten at least, running towards them.

‘Damn,’ Ash said as he tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade, ‘I forgot they hunted in groups.’

Drusilla grabbed hold of her seraph blade again and as soon as the demons got close enough, both her and Ash made quick work in disposing of them.

A few minutes had passed, when there were only three left. She brought her blade down, and it sliced through the first demon’s head. Ash was battling the second one and pierced his sword into its eyes.

Only one remained, and as Ash approached it, the demon wrapped its tail around his sword and threw it at a distance. He was left unarmed. As the demon was about strike with the tip of its tail, Drusilla stood between them and took the blow. She fell to the floor with her seraph blade in hand. Ash quickly picked up her fallen blade and finished the job.

As soon as the demon disappeared, Ash fell to his knees beside Drusilla, ‘Dru-Drusilla…my Drusilla, you need a healing and blood replacement rune.’

The demon had struck her left forearm, and there was blood mixed with poison surrounding the horrifying wound.

Drusilla chocked, ‘I can feel the venom coursing through my blood.’

‘Shh, it’s going to be ok,’ Ash said as he reached for his stele.

She closed her eyes as she felt him draw the runes on her skin and sighed in relief when they started working.

Drusilla watched as Ash stood, went to retrieve Phaesphoros and returned to her.

‘Are you feeling a little better?’ he asked.

She glanced down at the wound and saw that it was closed, although there was still a scar.

‘Yes, help me to the car. You will have to drive us back,’ she replied.

He nodded and lifted Drusilla to her feet. Ash leaned down slightly so she could place an arm around his shoulder for support, and they both walked back to the car.

…

The car ride to the institute was another quiet one. Ash was busy concentrating on the road, yet Drusilla felt him looking over at her occasionally, perhaps to ensure she was healing well.

At least ten minutes had past when Ash said finally, ‘thank you for saving me.’

Drusilla smiled and replied, ‘don’t mention it.’

Now Ash looked directly at her, ‘why wouldn’t I? It was heroic.’

He than turned to face the windshield again.

Drusilla sighed, ‘we’ve been hunting together for three years now. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve saved me.’

‘I’ll always save you,’ he said quietly.

Drusilla did not reply, only put her head back against the seat and closed her eyes as they made their way home.

#cassandra clare #the shadowhunter chronicles #the dark artifices #the wicked powers #qoaad #qoaad spoilers #santa monica #santa monica pier #the los angeles institute #pacific park #drusilla blackthorn #ash morgenstern #helen blackthorn #sebastian morgenstern

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sockablock · 6 years

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After finishing a job, the Mighty Nein stumble across a strange pouch of cards locked in a little box. Without thinking too much about it, Molly draws one, and suddenly the gang has to deal with the aftermath.

_________________________

Chapter 1: Many Things

“Wait, wait, wait a second.” Fjord held his arm out and looked back at Nott. “Maybe we should send you ahead to scout around. I don’t like the look of this.”

The group considered the chamber before them, narrowly-built of blue-grey stone, lit by torches that flickered purple light under the tall, arched ceiling. Towering columns outlined a path to the only other thing in the room: a small stone pedestal, sixty feet away, with a strange little object resting on top. Moonlight filtered down in a faint halo of light.

“Really?” Beau asked. “You think the creepy empty back-room of a demented beholder is dangerous?”

Molly rose to the opportunity. “I’m glad to see you’re trying to keep up with the rest of us, dear.”

“It’s called sarcasm, you idiot, ever heard of it?”

“How could I not have, stuck with you all the time—”

At the exact moment Caleb sighed and said, “Knock it off, schatz,” Yasha squeezed Beau’s shoulder and shook her head. Jester giggled as Beau and Molly shot each other one last glare, for old times’ sake, and settled down.

Nott took a swig from her flask. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll let you all know when the coast is clear.”

“Take Frumpkin too,” said Caleb, fond and worried. “Just in case.”

They watched her scuttle into the chamber, orange tabby at her heels. Molly slipped his fingers into Caleb’s and gave a quick squeeze for reassurance as the wizard’s eyes clouded over with a pearly glow and he sent his sight and hearing into his familiar.

Nott tapped her toe against the stone slabs on the floor. Then she circled around the columns, inspecting each one, before carefully making her way to the pedestal. About ten feet in front of it, she paused, and nudged a disgruntled-looking Frumpkin into the ring of moonlight. Nothing happened. She dropped on all fours and listened to the ground. She crept up to the altar and inspected the base. She licked the sides. She ran a finger along the top, and glared suspiciously at the object resting on it.

“No traps!” She called back to the group. Her voice echoed.

Beau blinked. “What, not at all?”

Nott, tiny in the distance, shrugged. “Nope.”

“Well, that’s certainly unexpected,” Molly remarked.

“And absolutely suspicious as hell,” mused Fjord.

“Maybe the beholder did not think anybody would make it this far?” Jester suggested. “Or maybe it was friendly and we should not have killed it, oh, no!”

Yasha frowned. “Jester, it electrocuted you and then sprayed acid on you.”

“That is true, that is a good point.”

“Let’s move in,” said Fjord, “but go very carefully. I trust Nott, but it’s possible she missed something.”

“She might have been too light to trigger one of the traps,” added Caleb, whose senses had returned. “Someone tough should lead us in.”

“I’m tough,” said Molly. “It’s one of my best traits.”

The group looked at him. Then they turned towards Yasha, who nodded and took the lead. Caleb patted Molly’s hand reassuringly, but there was a cheeky curve at the edges of his usually-stoic expression. Molly gave a grin in return.

They slowly crept into the chamber, the only sound coming from their cautious footsteps bouncing back from the tall, arched ceiling.

“I keep expecting something awful to happen,” muttered Beau. “Like a dragon to come crashing in or the room to explode or another beholder to bust in or magma to come out of the walls or something.”

“Maybe a unicorn will show up!” Jester said. “Or maybe a bunch of tiny ones, that would be so good.”

“It is odd that nothing is happening,” said Yasha. “Caleb, can you pull out another Detect Magic for us?”

“I am tapped after that last fight,” Caleb sighed. “It would take me ten minutes to cast as a ritual, if you would like.”

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with first,” suggested Fjord. “It might be better for you to have cantrips at the ready, just in case something does show up.”

They gathered around the altar, Nott gestured up at the box, a good foot above her head. “It’s not trapped or anything. I checked it out really well, and there really is nothing.”

Molly strode forward. “I’m going to pick it up,” he declared. “Are we all alright with that plan?”

Caleb bit his lip. “Be careful, ja?”

Fjord nodded. “Just…do it slowly. I’m still not entirely sure it’s safe.”

“It’s safe to move it,” Nott muttered, “I’m just not sure if anything would happen if you tried to open it.”

Molly lifted it up carefully. The group held their breath. But there was no ominous shifting of stones or cranking of gears, no strange otherworldly groans or flashes of magic, no change in the moonlight or the gently floating dust throughout the chamber.

“I’m still alive,” said Molly.

“Hooray,” shrugged Beau, and the tiefling glowered at her.

“Try shaking it now!” said Jester. “Is there something in it?”

Molly gingerly shook it. Something rattled within.

“Now open it!” Jester said excitedly. “Open it, what’s inside?”

Before someone less impulsive could intervene, Molly yanked on the lid. It did not open. “It’s locked,” he declared.

Once the party’s hearts stopped racing, Fjord held up a hand. “Hang on, hang on. Would you mind if Caleb and I took a look, before we tried anything else like that? Just in case there’s some kind or arcane protection or somethin’ like that.”

“I think that is a good idea,” said Caleb.

The box was passed over to them. Now, up-close, they could see that the wood was a fine teak, with thin gold flowers etched on its surface. The hinges were also gold, though somewhat dull from time. There were tiny, odd symbols carved around the edges, but they weren’t arcane in nature, they were—

“Open for wonders that lie within,” read Caleb as he turned the box in his hand.

“But beware the risks that choosing bears,” said Yasha from over his shoulder.

“I have no idea what you two just said,” said Fjord.

“It’s in Celestial,” said Yasha, and repeated the engraving. “Apparently it holds something super amazing, and possibly dangerous.”

Nott tugged on Caleb’s coat. “Can I see it?” she asked.

He handed the box down to her and looked back to the group. “This might be something we could bring back to Pumat’s to ask about,” he suggested.

Molly considered this. “Pumat would probably know what it is, but if it’s super powerful or super dangerous, he might try to take it away from us and bring it to the Assembly or something. He does work for them.”

“That’s a valid point,” said Fjord. “We could hang onto it until Caleb is ready with another identify spell, and just figure it out in the tavern. The box itself isn’t magic, I think it would be ok to take back with us.”

Beau nodded. “I would like to get out of here, sooner the better. I don’t trust—”

There was a faint click. Nott pushed the lid open, and slipped her Thieves’ Tools back into her bag. “There’s just a little pouch in here,” she said with mild disappointment.

Jester pushed her way over and crouched next to Nott. “Oohhh, oh, let me see!” she shouted.

Caleb sat down. Beau unclenched her grip on her staff. Yasha pinched the bridge of her nose. Fjord allowed himself to exhale again. “I give up,” he said. “It seems fine, you three take over.”

Molly knelt down on Nott’s other side. It held only a small drawstring bag. He plucked it out, gingerly at first, and when nothing happened he held it up and wiggled it for the others to see.

“Open it!” Jester cheered. “Open it, what’s inside?”

Molly opened it. Amid the foggy haze of panic in Caleb’s brain, a thought pushed through. Why did you pick the impulsive idiot to fall in love with?

Because he’s sweet and caring and usually quite logical, came the response. And great in bed.

Molly peered into the pouch, then looked back at the others. “It’s cards,” he said.

Yasha frowned. “Cards? Like…your kind of cards?”

“Yes. There’s probably about…” he weighed the pouch in his hands, “…maybe thirteen or so?”

Beau sighed. “Usually I would doubt you, but you’re probably exactly right.”

Molly beamed. “Thank you, dear.”

“What do the cards look like?” Jester asked. “Are they tarot cards? Can you use them to tell my fortune?”

“There aren’t enough in here for these to be tarot,” Molly said. “Hang on, let me get a better look.”

And he opened the brim, and reached into the pouch, fished around for a moment, and pulled one out.

“What is it?” Jester asked. “Am I going to be rich and famous?”

Molly stared at the image. “Er…I’m not sure. It’s not any sort of card I’ve ever seen before.”

Caleb tamped down the second round of incredulous shock racing through his system and craned his neck over to see Molly’s hands. “What does it have on it?”

Molly turned the card over. It depicted a dark figure bent over and clutching its head. Five swords speared it through the center, hilts in its back and blades poking out from the front. Behind it, a red shape sporting horns and wings watched on with only one eye.

“Rogue,” read Beau.

“I’m a rogue,” said Nott. “Maybe it tells us what the people in our party are. Molly, pull another one—”

“Nein,” said Caleb, a bit more forcefully than he intended. “Please, Molly, put that back, we don’t even know if they’re magic yet.”

Fjord nodded. “I agree with Caleb,” he said, “Who knows what kind of danger that is. It looks terrible, and we don’t know if it’s a warning, or if you’ve been cursed, or…oh, gods, Molly how do you feel?”

Mollymauk considered this. “I feel pretty fine? Maybe a bit hungry.”

“He’s been cursed with hunger,” Nott said solemnly. “I understand.”

“I don’t really think that’s—” Caleb was cut off, as suddenly, the card in Molly’s hand vanished in a faint puff of smoke. He blinked with surprise, and opened his palm. There was nothing there.

“Oh…shit,” said Jester, “Something super magical just happened.”

Yasha gave Molly a stern look. “That was incredibly stupid,” she said quietly.

Molly did not like the weight of her disappointment. “Sorry,” he said.

“How do you feel now, Molly?” asked Caleb slowly.

“Still fine,” which was true. “And still hungry,” which was also true.

“We should keep an eye on him,” Beau said. “Just in case something crazy happens.”

Caleb moved closer to Molly. “I will watch him,” he said. “And when we get back, I will try and see if there are any lingering magical affects, ok? Then we can figure out more about these cards.”

Yasha stepped forwards as well. “I’ll help,” she said. “If there is something wrong with him, I think we should have some muscle also.”

“Good idea,” said Fjord. “Now, I don’t think there’s anything else in here, so let’s get a move on back aboveground. Does that sound good to y’all?”

There was a chorus of agreement. Molly handed the deck over to Jester, who dropped it into the haversack. Then, the Mighty Nein made their way out of the cavern, Fjord and Yasha at the lead, Nott and Jester just behind, and at the very back, Molly being flanked by his oldest friend, the love of his life, and a scraggly orange tabby, all wearing expressions of trepidation and growing concern. Their footsteps echoed against the stone. The moonlight settled softly around them. Soon, the chamber grew quiet and still once more.

_________________________

“He’s completely fine,” said Caleb to his own surprise. “And I mean completely. There’s no spell, no curse, no nothing.”

“And Greater Restoration didn’t do anything either,” shrugged Jester. “He’s probably alright.”

The party were seated around a table in the Song and Supper Inn after cashing out with the Gentleman for clearing one of the subterranean passageways and returning aboveground. In the time it took Caleb to work through a ritual for Identify and for Jester to pour her last healing spells into Molly, Nott had already polished off three plates of sausages, and Fjord, Beau, and Yasha had seemed to accept that there really was nothing wrong with Mollymauk.

“We should still go see Pumat tomorrow,” Caleb said. “Just in case.”

Fjord nodded. “Plus, we have some coin to spend now, and we could swing by just to browse a bit.”

Molly put on an air of feigned hurt. “Am I just a side-errand to you, Fjord?” he asked with his hand over his heart.

Fjord met Molly’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “After that crazy, un-thought-out thing you did earlier? Yes, Molly.”

“Fair enough,” said Molly, and took a swig of his flagon. Under the table, his free hand was now holding Caleb’s.

“I am still quite annoyed with you,” Caleb said. “That is not something you should ever do again. Next time wait for me to check it out first, alright?” He turned towards Nott. “That goes for you as well, spatz.”

Nott looked mollified. “Sorry, Caleb,” she said.

“Sorry,” Molly echoed. “It was just so tempting, and sometimes magic can take a while.”

Caleb sighed. “Yes, I know.”

Jester pounded her palm on the table. “Caleb! Speaking off, can you do more magic on the pouch? I want to know what it is!”

He let go of Molly’s hand and reached out towards Jester. “Hand it over, then. Let’s find out.”

As he began muttering the beginnings of the incantation, the party tucked into their dinner. Or what was left of their dinner, in Nott’s case. After ten minutes, Caleb placed a hand on the pouch, waited a couple moments, and instantly wrenched his hand away. A flagon, thankfully empty, went flying off the table during his retreat.

“What?” Molly asked, putt a hand on his shoulder, “What’s the matter?”

Caleb blinked a few times and took a breath to steady himself. “Verzeihung, I’m sorry, it just surprised me.”

“What did?” Jester asked. “Tell us, Caleb, you never do!”

He almost rolled his eyes, but refrained this time. “I’m not entirely sure what that pouch is,” he said slowly, “but it contains extremely, extremely powerful magics. Like, reality-altering magic. I can’t even get a name or an exact description. It was too much.”

Molly rubbed his thumb in a circle. Caleb leaned into the touch and sighed. “As far as I am aware, you pick a card, it vanishes, and then something happens. I’m just not sure exactly what.”

Fjord’s face paled. Molly could definitely feel his doing the same.

“So you’re saying that there is something that’s going to happen to Molly?” asked Yasha.

Caleb shook his head. “Maybe, but also maybe not. This kind of magic is very unpredictable. And it is possible that whatever happened already did, and we did not notice. Or perhaps it takes time.”

“Molly,” Jester said with a serious expression.

“Yes?”

“Check if your dick got smaller. Maybe that is what happened.”

After Caleb stopped choking and Beau stopped cackling with delight, the mood got more somber again.

“I think it would be a good idea to check with Pumat tomorrow. Well, today, technically, since it’s ass-o-clock at night,” Fjord amended. “Everything is fine now, but like Caleb said, who knows?”

The party agreed. “Keep an eye on him tonight, alright?” Yasha said to Caleb. “Just in case.”

The wizard nodded, and ignored Jester’s suggestively-wiggling eyebrows at that comment. “I’ll set Frumpkin on watch as well,” he added.

Molly patted Caleb on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure it will be fine. Remember, that box said it had wonderous things inside it.”

Nobody wanted to add that it had also held a warning.

Fjord tried for a smile. It helped. “Come on now, you guys. Let’s just celebrate. We make quite a nice sum tonight, and we should be proud!”

“I’ll drink to making money,” Beau said, and raised her flagon.

“Me too,” said Molly in a rare moment of camaraderie.

“I’ll drink to anything,” said Nott, and lifted her flask into the air.

“Cheers,” said the rest, and the Mighty Nein clinked their drinks together.

_________________________

Caleb turned a page in his book and skimmed through the words. It wasn’t the most interesting dissertation on the various confluences of thaumatological weather patterns, but it did the trick. Molly stood on the other side of the bed, back turned to Caleb, undoing his jewelry and bangles for the night.

After a few beats of silence, Molly shrugged and said, “I don’t think Jester was right. If anything, it’s gotten bigger.”

Caleb spluttered, and pushed his face into the book. “Mollymauk!”

Molly looked up. He was wearing an enormous grin. “Want to check for me?”

Caleb sighed. “Molly, how can you be in such a joking mood?”

Molly shrugged. “What’s done is done,” he said. “I try not to worry about the past. And as you can see, that’s done me pretty well so far.”

“But what if something did happen and—”

Molly sat down on the bed, leaned into Caleb, and pressed a finger to the man’s lips. “Many things happen all the time. I woke up with no memories. You can’t forget any of yours. But that’s over. Look at the here and now. I’m not muddled with any magics, as you so kindly checked for me earlier, so that must mean whatever that card did, it didn’t do it to me. I’m fine. I’m here. And so are you, right now, with me.”

Now Molly leaned in, and the mischievous smile was dancing across his face again. The tips of his horns pressed into the headboard, and his hair just brushed the edges of Caleb’s cheeks. His tail slowly crept along the wizard’s leg. “Just you and me,” whispered Molly. “Why don’t you put your book away, and let’s enjoy this moment together, now?”

_________________________

Caleb placed the book on their bedside table. He fought the grin invading his own serious frown, and lost.

“Alright, Mollymauk Tealeaf,” he whispered back. “What did you have in mind?”

_________________________

Molly whined as he felt Caleb shifting away. “Mmm…where are you going, love?”

Caleb stroked the side of Molly’s cheek. “Just out for a piss, alright? I’ll be back soon.”

Molly grumbled, but unhooked his arm from Caleb’s. “Thank you, schatz. Back very soon.”

_________________________

Molly had been in the warm embrace of sleep for most of it, but soon the nagging feeling in the back of his mind made itself known. Caleb had been gone for a very long time.

He snapped into reality, cold and harsh, and was on his feet in an instant. He grabbed a sword and bolted for the door. The upstairs of the Song and Supper wasn’t that big, and part of him hoped his feet pounding against the wood wouldn’t wake anybody up. A larger part of him couldn’t care less.

He poked his head into the washroom. “Caleb?” he called as loudly as he dared. “Caleb, are you there?”

Empty. So was the corridor, as well as the smaller hallway that branched off into the proprietor’s quarters. Eventually, he arrived at the staircase leading to the balcony. That was fine. Caleb had worryingly frequent night terrors, so perhaps he was just after some fresh air.

At the top of the staircase, Molly pushed the door open and saw Caleb.

His hair and his coat blew softly in the wind as he leaned against the railing. Sunlight was just beginning to poke out from behind the mountains in the distance.

“Caleb!” Molly called, and began to walk closer. “I got worried when you didn’t come back.”

His lover turned around. Hidden mostly by his hair, Caleb’s expression was unreadable. “Mollymauk,” he said.

Molly tensed. Something was very wrong. “Yes, Caleb. Are you alright? You were gone for a while,” he said as casually as he could.

“Yes,” said Caleb, and now his voice was rising. “I cannot believe it took me this long to realize.”

Molly’s hand twitched ever so slightly towards his sword. “To realize what, dear?”

Caleb looked up. Molly could see now, that outlined in the growing burn of the rising dawn, Caleb’s teeth were clenched and his eyes were burning with pure, pure malice.

“How much of a fool I was for letting myself lie with a demon like you,” he said, and three balls of flame shot out of his hands and flung themselves towards Molly’s breaking heart.

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homesteadchronicles · 6 years

Text

Ten Questions Tag

Thank you to the fantastic @acfawkes for tagging me in this! These questions were really interesting, and got me thinking about things I wouldn’t have considered before.

I’ll be tagging @firewritten, @lady-redshield-writes, @ivettaviolet, and @pen-and-sword-writing. We’ll keep the questions the same for this, as I had a blast answering these, and I’m sure you will, too. As always, feel no pressure to participate! Just enjoy the thought of knowing I wanted to include you :)

1. Tell me something you love about your current WIP(s).

This might sound cliche (or cocky?), but as I develop more and more of the story, I truly feel as if something special is stirring. I feel as though this story - and the stories of the characters inside of it - will resonate deeply within people. That they will be able to find themselves somewhere in the pages and know that there is hope, that there is joy, that there is a light coming for them in the midst of their darkness. I cannot articulate what it is I sense brewing when I begin to write, but it creates this urgency within me to write and write and write until I cannot anymore.

2. Three of your characters are coming with you on a road trip. Who are they and why did you pick them?

THIS IS SUCH A FUN QUESTION! Okay, I’m gonna go with: Medea, Solomon, and Royan. Medea could help me to keep everyone in line, I feel like she and I would share a similar taste in music, and she’s got that same shady sense of humor as I. Sure, we might get into a bit of mischief, but nothing too troublesome. Solomon has influence in every community he enters and seems to make alliances and friendships as easily as he breathes. He would look after each of us, know all of the perfect tourist destinations, and I feel like he’d get a kick out of playing tour guide. But no one can allow him near the radio. No one wants to hear Gregorian chants and the greatest hits of Woodstock on a road trip. Just no. And Royan? That’s a strange one for me. He’s the opposite of me, but I feel like I need him because he’s the opposite. He’d pull me out of my comfort zone. He’d make me have fun when I’m too busy mom friend-ing everyone. He’d crack stupid jokes and dance like an idiot and he would contribute absolutely nothing logistical, but he would bring life to the group. And I need someone like that.

3. When you’re not writing, what are you most likely to be doing?

In truth? Working. I work multiple jobs, and I do not mess around when it comes to completing my work as well as possible. For relaxation, I primarily play through games with my bestie @khymnal that she has not yet completed, go out to eat with my inner circle of friends, or play D&D every Monday night. I try to throw in some personal time to read and game by myself, but I tend to make myself work on writing anyways.

4. How do you name your characters?

I actually do a lot of research for each character that I name, even the minor ones. I love learning how different cultures choose to name their children, how they label and title one another, etc. As time-consuming as it is for me, it’s also so exciting to find a name and feel that stirring in your gut that tells you that this was always meant to be their name. Sometimes, my characters have placeholder names for a time, but I will not settle until I have found the perfect one.

5. Do your characters have any pets?

They do! Because the sigils of the kingdoms contain animals as their heraldry, most of them do own their namesake animal. However, rarely do these pets come into play beyond as mounts in travel or in battle. Do I know their names, temperaments and relationships with their owners? Oh, without a doubt. But I’ll give you a little sneak peak of two important (but as of yet unnamed) ones:

Oeden keeps a bird caged in his bedroom within Almsgard Castle. He has no idea what species it is, as his mother brought it back from the Southern Isles. However, it is capable of limited speech, speaking in short, cryptic phrases.

The other important pet is owned by the Western royals. The sigil of Al-Hasan’s royalty is a red lion roaring before a golden sun. They do own their own family lion, whom Simdan mounts in battle, but who secretly loves Medea the most.

6. Do you have a favorite time of day to write?

Typically, the only chance I have to write is late at night, once I’m done with all of my work for the day. But I don’t mind it, because I come alive at night. However, on my one day off, I love waking up early and spending the entire day writing away. On that day, I allow myself some time late at night, when all the inspiration has been exhausted, to instead sit and unwind with a good game or a big book.

7. Which of your characters would win the Most Huggable Award?

Out of my POV characters? Oh goodness. None of them are particularly people you’d look at and think “that one - they would love nothing more than a hug right now”. However, out of the primary seven, I would say that Royan is the most huggable. I did just write an adorable little moment between he and Oeden where Royan may or may not do one of those I’m-gonna-spin-you-around-in-midair-because-I-love-you-even-though-I-know-you-say-you-hate-this-but-secretly-love-it-too hugs. Yes, that is a thing.

8. Which of your characters would win the Most Punchable Award?

Honestly? They all really deserve a good shiner at one point or another in the story. Oeden and Medea might make good points, but they also say or do them wrong more often than not. Farukh has some anger management issues. Lazarus can be a BIG ol’ baby. Nadielle kinda b****es at a lot of people, albeit for justifiable reasons. But I’m gonna have to go with Kasumi’s younger twin sister and the other princess of Genesai, Chihiro. Sure, she’s not irredeemable. But you will learn to hate her. Real fast.

9. How do you decide when you’re done planning and just have to start writing?

I am quickly approaching this point, actually. I will know this when the details can no longer be decided on, and I find myself at a standstill when previously the inspiration poured out as if from an infinite faucet. I can easily become concerned with the most minute details and stress about them instead of about the big picture. Once I feel as though I can look at an outline and know that I can go from Point A to Point Z, I will be ready. Sure, there might be bumps along the way, but it will not be because I was too lazy to plan for this eventuality.

10. Do your characters have any odd habits?

Without a doubt. Medea wrings her hands constantly, but because she’s always wearing gloves, she has worn through so many sets of them that Zahira is getting tired of sewing new ones...especially because she sucks at sewing. As an insomniac, Oeden does all sorts of strange things to pass the time. Wanders the halls of the castle, organizes rooms without anyone knowing, and he spends copious amounts of time detailing every dream he has in a journal (with both words and drawings). Royan is constantly fidgeting - tapping his feet, drumming his fingers, etc. He’ll likely do this on other people, too. He’s super touchy, even when he doesn’t realize it or mean to be. Solomon gets lost in thought while reading all of the time and keeps accidentally rereading the same line ten thousand times over. It takes him forever to finish anything because of it. He blames it on old age. Kasumi naturally tends to walk in shaded areas or a bit too close behind people, as she has become accustomed to the shadows. She also needs to have her mask on as much as possible. Carmila constantly rubs her coins or flips them through her fingers. It helps her think, and calm her down when she’s stressed. The coin reminds her that she still has something to cling to, money left to spare. Her family won’t go under again. Farukh gets little sleep, not because of insomnia like Oeden, but because he is constantly working or on patrol. He feels the need to check on every tent, recount every supply, and double-check the perimeter. He feels as though there is danger lurking around them, somewhere, but he cannot pinpoint its location. He wants to protect his people, and only sleeps when he passes out, because the anxiety does not allow him to sleep otherwise.

#tag #tagged #tag game #questions #author #writeblr #write #writer #writing #my writing #my WIP #WIP #work in progress #character #original character #oc #oc ask #oc question

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tell--your--world · 6 years

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Rising From the Ashes: On Conquering Creative Burnout

Guest post written by Grayseeker.

I have a long-standing pattern in my creative life. I'll get the spark of an idea, throw myself into it full force, and continue slogging away until my stamina gives out. This can take months or years, but inevitably a day will come when I look at my creative project and wonder whether drinking hot lead might be preferable to spending another moment even thinking about it. The sensible solution? Take a break, of course. So I do. I stop writing, sometimes for years, until a fresh, irresistible idea comes along and the cycle begins anew.

Four year ago, an idea came along that I refused to give up on. This story mattered so much to me that I decided I would face and conquer my personal demons of perfectionism, self-sabotage and eventual burnout. Don't get me wrong; I've experienced all those things in the course of working on my (still ongoing) series. Last August I finally had to admit that I'd reached the hot lead stage of my cycle, and was at a crossroads. I could continue in my old, self-destructive ways, or I could break free.

The key to breaking a negative cycle is, as it turns out, to do something *different*. Of course that's easier said than done. Falling into one's old, familiar patterns can be comforting. It can feel safe. The results might not be pleasant, but at least you know what to expect. Breaking the cycle means stepping outside one's comfort zone. It means being open to new ideas and new processes. It can also require sacrifice. Not the bloody kind fortunately, but it can certainly demand that you let go of certain attachments, especially where it comes to beliefs about what you're capable of. Most of all, it takes courage.

In August, I took a break from writing for about two weeks. That was necessary, but it was also scary. I wasn't certain I'd be able to go back to working on my series, and sure enough, I didn't feel ready to start writing again at the end of the two weeks. However, I wasn't going to let this project go by the wayside the way I had with so many others before it. I had to do something to break the cycle. I had to do something *different*.

What follows is an outline of what worked for me. I'm not claiming it's a universal cure for creative burnout, but I think it's a solid approach. Keep in mind that although I'm primarily talking to writers here, these tips can be adapted to other forms of creative expression quite easily. If you're looking for a more comprehensive resource on the topic, I highly recommend the book, "Around The Writer's Block" by Rosanne Bane. Her approach is based on brain science, and it demystifies writers' block, making it seem less like a character flaw on the part of the writer, and more like a natural response to stress. These tips are partly inspired by her work, as well as my own experiences. I've divided them into four steps:

1: Do a general wellness check.

Are you sleeping enough? Eating properly? Drinking enough water? Getting appropriate levels of exercise? What about your emotional environment? Are you under stress at work? Dealing with relationship problems or financial difficulties? Trouble in any of these areas can be a killer on creativity. Obviously this doesn't mean that your life hasto be perfect before you can make art. If that were true, there wouldn't be that many artists around! But it *is* true that creativity doesn't happen from nothing. It's mentally, emotionally and, yes, physically taxing work, and you need to be taking care of yourself in all areas of your life if you want to be a happy, productive creator over the long term.

2: Show up - and make that your definition of success.

Stephen King once said, "Your job is to make sure the muse knows where you're going to be every day from nine 'til noon, or seven 'til three. If he does know, I assure you that sooner or later he'll start showing up." I love this quote because first of all, I find it cool that Mr. King's muse is also a "he," like mine, and second - when you really think about what he's saying - it takes off a lot of the pressure, doesn't it? Your job is not to show up and be brilliant, or inspired, or to hit a certain word count. Heck, your job isn't even to *write*. It's just to show up.

Schedule a time-slot for your creativity; then show up for it as consistently as you would for a job. This might sound daunting, especially if your life is hectic (see Step 1), but it isn't necessary to set aside a large chunk of time. Ten minutes a day, a couple of hours a week; whatever you can manage is fine. If you write nothing during your scheduled time-slot, that is also fine. If you showed up, that was a success. You are making space in your life for creativity, and because nature abhors a vacuum, something will eventually bubble up to fill it.

But what if it doesn't, you ask? What if I *still* can't write?

Believe me, I've been there. I've stared down a blank screen or sheet of paper, willing the words to come. I've also obsessively re-edited the same page, or paragraph, or sentence fifty different ways in the belief that it must be "perfect" before I can continue with the story. (That one's tricky; it *feels* like I'm doing work, but it's actually an insidious form of self-sabotage.) Then there's the good old existential crisis, where you mentally add up the number of hours you've spent trying to write and wonder if there isn't something better - or at least less frustrating - you could be doing with your life.

So here's the thing. I believe in setting aside a time-slot for creativity, and consistently showing up for it, but I *don't* believe in sitting in front of a blank screen feeling frustrated and miserable. Because as much as you can tell yourself that just showing up is the definition of success, well… I don't know about you, but there's a part of me that really needs to be doing *something*. So I invented a third step in my process, which is:

3. Spend time with your project, even if you're not writing.

I brainstormed a list of activities that were related to my project, yet didn't involve writing, and spent my regular writing shifts working on those. This worked incredibly well for me. I was able to take a break without losing touch with my project, and I was able to feel as if I was accomplishing something. What kinds of activities might you consider as writing substitutes? Every project is unique, as is every writer, but hopefully the list below will spark some ideas:

Switch between projects: I know, this isn't exactly "not writing," but it could just be that you need to switch gears. If you're working on an epic, try writing something short, or something that has a different mood. For example, if you're in the middle of a long, angst-filled series, you might try writing a light-hearted side story about one of your characters. You could also try writing in a different voice or a different tense. You could also try a different format, such as poetry or epistolary (a story told in the form of letters, emails or texts between your characters).

Work on your world: Are there elements of your project that require charts, diagrams, maps, timelines, genealogies and the like? Have you been putting those off in favor of forging ahead with writing? If you've been neglecting some of these tasks, consider devoting a few of your regular writing shifts to working on them. They engage the linear part of your mind, which gives your creative side a much-needed breather. When you *do* get back to writing, you'll do so with a more solid grasp of your world and the confidence boost that comes with it.

Get visual: What do your characters look like? What does your world look like? What is the design of your heroine's sword or spaceship? If you enjoy drawing, consider making some sketches. If not, try making a collage instead. Gather images that remind you of your story, your world and your characters, and make a collage that describes them in visual form. If you write fanfiction, spend some time browsing fanart of your characters. Doing this will allow you to immerse yourself in your world and characters without the pressure to create words, and can lead to all kinds of new ideas.

Get auditory: Do you draw creative inspiration from music? Many of us do, including yours truly. If there are songs that remind you of your world, your story or characters, make yourself some playlists.

Get inspired: What inspired your creative project? Chances are there was something, whether a book, game, television series, movie, comic, or just a subject area that you find fascinating. Whatever it is, try immersing yourself in that. You will be getting back to the roots of whatever it was that set you on this creative journey in the first place, your personal wellspring of inspiration. That can only be a good thing.

Step Four: Assess what worked.

Once you're writing again (and I'm confident you will be), it's time to plan ahead. How can you avoid burnout in the future? Think about the factors that contributed to your burnout, as well as the strategies that helped you overcome it, and come up with a personalized burnout-prevention strategy. Maybe you need a day off each week, or to start getting to bed half an hour earlier than you had been, or become more physically active, or take up a relaxing hobby. It will definitely mean paying attention to your energy level, and your level of enthusiasm for your project. Notice the early warning signs, and take action; don't wait until you're at the hot lead stage before giving yourself a break. Your creative spark is as unique as you are. Nurture it, and yourself, with kindness and respect.

#Tell your World #advice column #writing advice #writing #Burnout #Creative Burnout #guest post

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datte-ba · 7 years

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and may your bones sing (no longer with pain but) with roses | naruto

sum: the truth of their lives will always be hard to look at, but it won’t be without its moments that are worth living for either. [post-canon.] a/n: a repost of this very old fic. the title is taken from here.

The wobbling begins in her knees.

Sakura feels the world buckle beneath her, watches it momentarily blur as she takes on a fighting stance. A tremor works its way up her arms, and she stutters, but not before biting down savagely on her lip, forcing the burn of blood to bring her vision back into focus.

It’s a temporary solution, she knows, but she takes it, immediately directing her line of sight to the pair of men stood nearly fifty feet in front of her. The sharp outlines of her husband and best friend aren’t lost on her. Naruto rolls his shoulders with a resounding crack, and Sasuke’s hand hovers at the hilt of his sword.

The summer gales toss and turn all around them, build up into an eerie and silent roar. A figurative thunder is on the horizon, luring bottled lightning into subsequent realization. Sakura’s eyes shift to the rock face at the other end of the village, where four cloaked figures stand domineering above them.

A rag tag bunch of terrorists, according to Sai; ripe for blood and fear though they are, the lines in their skin are fresh, mendable. They haven't witnessed pain for themselves, only at the cost of others, and that’s turned them wild, one pinch of mental instability mixed in with a number of volatile ideals.

The Akatsuki were misguided and cruel, but their crusade demanded questioning of the systems in place—not of human nature, which was uncontrollable to a degree.

Sakura pumps a fist into her open palm and holds it there, then yells, “Shannaro!” Her visions still swims a little, but the fierce nod of his head that Naruto offers her is mostly clear. Sasuke spares her a curious glance, too, eyes glowing lavender and scarlet as he activates his kekkei genkai.

It’s been six long years since their reunion at the valley, but the reality of them fighting together as a team hasn’t quite sunk in. There’s something different now than from when they were children; so much of what they experienced as a new team was erring and wild and threw them into the worst of circumstances. And admittedly, the circumstances haven’t always fared much better in their present.

But there is something about knowing that Sasuke will never run again and that Naruto will never let him that brings Sakura indescribable comfort. Her boys are breathing and beating back against time, and this time, she’s here to do it all with them.

Naruto brings his thumb to his mouth and bites down, and a trio of towering toads springs into existence at his beckoning. He gingerly jumps onto the middle one’s back—Gamabunta, if she remembers correctly—before turning to look at Sasuke in silent anticipation. The once rogue ninja draws his sword from its sheath, then turns back to Sakura and holds her gaze for a moment.

He’s hesitating, she realizes. It’s strangely reminescent of their childhood, and a part of her hates it because she’s stronger now than she was then and he knows that, but—a part of her loves it, too, unabashedly. For the care, for the concern.

Sakura mirrors Naruto’s earlier action and bites her thumb, blood tracing her lip once more as she calls for Katsuyu. The white and blue slug appears and cocoons her from behind, and Sakura makes a familiar sequence of seals with her hands before black chakra lines criss-cross down her face.

Sasuke remains rooted to the ground, but he motions for Naruto to go on without him, and Gamabunta lifts off into the air before his charge can protest. From what Sakura can see, the fighting has already begun down below, clouds of dirty smoke billowing all around the village as kunai and shuriken rip through.

“Enough already,” she murmurs, quietly enough that only Katsuyu can hear. Sakura takes a breath and shuts her eyes, allows herself one moment of solitude before the village inevitably rests on her back, then presses the palm of one hand to her summon.

There’s a brief moment of clarity; she sees the face of every Konoha resident flash before her eyes as their vitals are all accounted for.

And then, darkness, this time longer than the first.

A gloved hand takes her by the shoulder before her knees buckle, and Sakura blinks her eyes, one, two, three, four times until at last a caricature of Sasuke, severely blurred around the edges, appears in front of her.

“I’m fine,” she insists, although the stress she puts on the latter word, she knows, tells her husband that she is anything but. The spots in her vision are larger and more pronounced, and sweat builds up on her brow, neck, and upper lip as she pants in exhaustion that would normally be two, maybe three hours away.

This—whatever it is—is not happening today. The people of the village are relying on her, and she refuses to back down from that duty for a few spots and sweat. Sakura places her hands on her knees and bends down, once, twice, before vaulting herself back up to a standing position.

Sasuke remains at her side, the embodiment of solemnity.

"You’re not okay," he says with stone cold finality, and Sakura snaps, turns her head in a whirl to face him as hurt takes over.

As she looks over his shoulder, her eyes land on Naruto fighting in the distance, his body a whirlwind of color as shadow clones branch out from him in every direction. Hinata isn’t far behind, either, leading the Hyuuga clan into the fray with her sister while maintaining a steady visual on her husband’s back. There’s Lee and Tenten at the center, too, and Choji, Kiba, and Shino a little off to the side while Ino and Shikamaru micromanage from the sidelines and Sai leads an aerial assault.

Sakura, sufficiently encouraged, reverts her gaze back to Sasuke. "I'm fine," she reiterates, adamancy still etched into her voice.

"Clearly," he shoots back, gaze still wary. Sakura opens her mouth in a retort, but as if to punish her for her stubborness, her legs give way instead and she falls to the ground. "You need to go to the hospital," Sasuke insists, catching her. He crouches a little and balances her weight against his, then flits his gaze to the battle at hand, as if weighing his options.

The sounds of fighting resonate from every possible direction; it’s a surprise that no one has made their way here to the Hokage Tower already, although it isn’t unlikely that Naruto or Sai has handled that.

A sudden bout of nausea crawls its way up her throat, and she holds it back as much as she can, but not without consequence. The spots in front of her eyes grow in size and clump together, until little more than a sliver of the dusty sky can be seen.

"I don’t,” Sakura whispers, in late answer to his words.

Sasuke’s body shifts beneath hers. "Katsuyu," she hears him say, and the slug answers in tandem. The subsequent exchange between the two is hushed, though, and Sakura doesn’t realize until it’s happening a few moments later that her decision has been made for her. The protest on her lips dies out as he gathers her into his arms, then lifts her onto Katsuyu’s back.

Her breaths are shallower, and there’s little she can see besides black in front of her eyes, but she catches his hand at the last second nonetheless.

“I’m not. . . leaving you,” she musters out, though she hardly hears herself say it.

His fingers linger under her palm, and he rubs a small circle with his thumb before answering, “Sakura, I know.” The words are weighted, worth a thousand and more in gold, and she hates that she can’t see his face when he says them.

She hates that he can’t bring himself to say more before letting go.

. . .

It’s several hours before anything quiets; Sakura doesn’t know for sure until Ino visits and tells her that most of the fighting is over. Of the four primary targets, only one has managed to escape, and the details of a retrieval mission are being arranged. The squad for the job will be lead by Sasuke and Sai, and Ino leaves not ten minutes after she’s arrived to go join them.

A few of the others check in with her throughout the night. Hinata is perhaps her most frequent visitor, and she apologizes on Naruto’s behalf for him not being here. Sakura isn’t surprised that he’s scouring the village for missed casualties and survivors; he’s doing the right thing because he knows she’s in good hands.

The same, she supposes, can be said for someone else, though it genuinely surprises her when he shows up the following morning—she doesn’t know if it speaks more for his prowess or well hidden concern.

Sakura hardly spares him a glance as he enters the room, choosing instead to focus her gaze on other objects, like the wall and its peeling paint. The bed shifts with Sasuke’s weight as he leans into it, and his fingers brush her shoulder before she stubbornly curls away.

"Has she told you yet?" asks Tsunade, doing her morning rounds, from the doorway. The blonde peers at the married couple—mostly Sakura, actually—with a mixture of curiosity and worry. When Sasuke shakes his head, she frowns a little in disapproval, but nothing more than that. Trailing after her as she exits the room is Naruto, who noisily protests why he isn’t allowed to enter. Sakura notices that he’s injured in numerous places, with a multitude of bandages to show for it.

They all are, really—bruised beyond immediate repair but still mendable, even without her hands or her chakra to heal them. The thought makes her cringe, though she knows that it shouldn’t.

Sasuke clears his throat and brings her focus back to him. "What haven’t you told me?" he asks, and as her eyes flit to his face for a second, she sees remorse there, barely visible but present nonetheless. His brow is furrowed a little, too, and his lips are in more of a downturn than usual.

The whole ensemble of concerned attributes almost pleases her, if not for the reasons behind it. Sakura lets out a short huff before shifting under the covers, which fall away as she turns and props herself up against the pillows.

Her breath catches in her throat when she really looks at him.

There are dozens of scars, little and insignificant, that litter his face and hand and neck. A bandage flecked with spots of blood wraps around his head, and he fumbles with a splint that holds his only arm in place. In the grand scheme of things, the damage to his body is minimal, but it still hurts to look at.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, reaching for her hand, then blinking in surprise when she doesn’t pull back. Sakura curls her fingers a little into his touch, turning a single circle over the calluses on his palm. His skin is course and cut in some places, but she appreciates the warmth of his hand over hers, the security.

The truth of their lives will always be hard to look at, but it won’t be without its moments that are worth living for either.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers, for the very first time. Sasuke’s lips part around an emotion he can’t comprehend; happiness, awe, maybe a little bit of both. He stutters for a moment, but then his fingers wrap around hers, squeeze tight, tight, tight. The first rays of sunlight slant in through the window.

And here in a hospital bed, their world begins to turn.

#sasusaku #sakura haruno #sasuke uchiha #naruto #sakura #sasuke #ss #tp: 700-#this was so hard tbh i didn't wanna repost this #but since i'm reposting ALL of my naruto fics from my old account it felt necessary #albeit i am glad i'm never gonna write for this pairing again bc idk how to do it #i guess maybe back when i got this prompt i liked ss ? idk #there's too much to fix with canon ss and i'm too lazy to do it gjlkdfjhlkgjhf #but hopefully y'all still like this lol i feel like it's a lot better than the original

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elarawritingtrash · 5 years

Text

Fandom: One Piece

Written in 2016/2018

Summary: A girl from our world literally falls into the One Piece world. Seventeen years old, without the usual One Piece absurd physical capabilities, she... does her best.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, implied/threatened sexual assault

Part 1

Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap.

In a horrifically anime-esque beginning, I was late. Not to school, though; to my part-time after-school-and-on-the-weekends volunteering job at the hospital. Because I was gonna be a doctor. Yeah. In ten years once I’d finished all of the schooling and my residency, anyway. Volunteering at the hospital was practically a requirement, because, with all of the competition I knew I’d have getting into medical school, I needed my résumé to be the best it could be.

But it had been storming hard last night, which had knocked out the power at my house, which had reset my alarm clock, which had caused the alarm to not go off. So it was obscenely early on Saturday, I was late, and I was running through the rain to get to the train because I didn’t have a car. I was going to be soaked when I got to the hospital – at least I wasn’t wearing my scrubs yet, so I could change when I got there.

That was about the only even marginally good thing about the day so far. And, ugh, there was a puddle in the way. It was in a large dip in the ground, far too wide for me to go around and too long for me to jump. I’d have to go through it. It didn’t look too deep, but it was probably deep enough to submerge the entirety of my feet, which would make my shoes and socks all soggy. I didn’t even have any replacements.

Ughhh.

There was a certain way it was supposed to go: I slosh my way through the irritating puddle, continue to the hospital, and have to deal with squishy socks and shoes for the rest of the day.

Because karma hates me, that was not what happened.

Instead, my first step landed in the supposedly shallow puddle – and kept going. With me unable to stop without steady footing – which, with one of my feet still falling, I certainly didn’t have – my momentum carried me face-first into the puddle. What might have been a very painful meeting between face and ground instead found me fully submerged in the dirty rainwater.

Down, down, down, I went. It must have been more than my own height deep. I knew that these were a thing, ‘puddles’ that were actually water-filled holes deep enough for people to disappear into them – there were videos of it happening on the Internet, after all. I just hadn’t expected it to ever happen to me.

Keeping my eyes closed to avoid getting who-knew-what in them, I thrashed my way to the surface. Once I broke the surface of the water, I took a deep, grateful breath of fresh air, then, my eyes still closed, flailed around in the puddle in the hopes of finding an edge. Half a minute, far more swimming than the relatively small in diameter sinkhole should have allowed me, and the realization that I was being moved around by a current later, I opened my eyes regardless of whatever might be in the water.

What I saw was definitely not the city I had been in previously. It wasn’t even a city. It wasn’t even land!

There was water as far as I could see. It was stormy and raining like it had been before, but I was in a much larger body of water. There were large waves splashing around me, dragging me around inside them. It was a miracle I hadn’t been submerged by one of them while my eyes were closed.

What?

I spun from side to side frantically, confused and bewildered and panicking and all of those other synonyms to the same thing: I had no idea what was going on. In most directions, there was just more of the same, more wave-filled water.

Finally, after spinning around almost completely, I saw something different: a ship, sailing towards me, and land behind it. The ship was kind of odd, wood instead of metal, and it had actual sails. A small, distant, oddly calm part of my mind wondered if there were actually still ships with sails. I had thought that we’d mostly moved on to engines, but apparently not.

Too relieved to question it further and too confused to care, I swam in the direction of the approaching boat, keeping a tight grasp on my messenger bag as I did. Everything I’d had in it was probably ruined, but I didn’t want to lose it. After a couple of minutes of swimming towards the ship as it sailed towards me, wherein it was doing the majority of the getting-closer, I noticed something… odd. Well, odder; it was already pretty odd. The ship was flying a black flag.

But isn’t that…?

Once I got a little closer, I was able to distinguish the flag a little better. It was, in fact, a black flag…

…with a skull and crossbones on it.

I stopped swimming, startled.

Pirates?

But that was ridiculous; even if pirates were still a thing, the skull and crossbones flag (a Jolly Roger?) hadn’t been used in hundreds of years. It couldn’t be real pirates.

…That was a lot of work to go to for a cosplay, though.

As I got even closer to the (pirate?) ship, I noticed that there was a weird, white line around the skull. Kind of like the outline of a half-circle, disappearing off the bottom of the flag.

That was weird, too. Not an important kind of weird, but weird.

Well and truly wigged out, I stayed where I was instead of continuing in the direction of the ship. To my chagrin, however, it continued getting closer at about the same speed. My swimming had apparently not been effective at all.

As freaked out as I was by the weird ship, I didn’t actually have a choice. It was either the ship or the land I could see behind it, which, judging by how quickly I’d been swimming before, would take quite a while to get to. Plus, I’d just fallen into a puddle and ended up in the ocean. The weirdness of the ship was nothing compared to that.

It turned out that I didn’t have much choice either way, though. The pirate ship continued sailing in my direction – very perfectly in my direction, and I scrambled to get out of the way before it hit me. I didn’t know what would happen to something hit by a ship in water, but I didn’t want to find out.

I did manage to get out of its path, thankfully. As I’d moved, the sailors on the ship had apparently noticed me, and a giant uproar started on the ship. Somebody dove off the ship into the water and swam up to me.

He didn’t bother with words or anything, merely grabbed me around the waist with one arm and started swimming back to his ship. His one-armed, dragging-a-person speed was faster than my alone, using-both-arms speed.

Too overwhelmed by the WTF-ery of the situation, however, I couldn’t handle his brusque, potentially pirate-y behavior. A small, logical, calm part of my brain noted that his briskness could only be because we were in the water, I probably seemed to have been drowning, and he wanted to get back to his ship quickly. All logical reasons.

The majority of my brain, illogical and far from calm, screamed that this was a kidnapping, he was kidnapping me, I should be freaking out, freak out!

So I… freaked out.

“What – what are you doing?” I asked, well aware that I was being loud and shrill and unable to help it. I started squirming and thrashing, kicking and shoving at him in an attempt to get free. “Let me go!”

But the (pirate!) man just ignored me, not responding to my words or my actions. His one arm was apparently stronger than all of me, as my attempts to get free accomplished exactly nothing.

Relatively quickly, we made it to his ship, and the others threw down a rope. Rather than scale it one-handed while carrying me as I’d been a little afraid of, the man tied the rope around my waist. Still ignoring my verbal and physical protests while doing so, of course. As soon as the rope was secure, I found myself being lifted out of the water.

I yelped despite myself and stopped trying to untie the rope in favor of holding on to it for dear life. As it turned out, the weird, wooden, old-timey, Jolly Roger-flying, actual-cannon-possessing ship was actually rather tall. Being lifted that high by nothing but a rope was really scary, okay.

The men on the ship dragged me on board and untied the rope from my waist. There were a lot of men on deck, all of them big, muscular, grimy, and particularly ugly. Seriously, they all had disproportionate limbs and other features; they were ugly in a way I’d never seen before. I was dimly aware of them dropping the rope back over the side as one man, as ugly as the rest and with a relatively impressive, unkempt, beard stepped right up into my space. He grabbed my chin with one hand before I could back away.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” he said, disgusting, rancid breath right in my face.

The man didn’t seem to expect a response, continuing, “An attempted escapee, hmm? Hah!” With that sharp bark of laughter, which caused me to flinch, he stepped back. “I, Captain Getsu of the New Moon Pirates, have never allowed anyone to escape, and that has not changed! This little drowned rat will meet the same fate as the other inhabitants of Royal Peaks Island!”

The crew cheered as Getsu drew a sword from his waist and pointed it at me. The tip of it brushed against my throat, opening a thin cut. Ow! I clapped my hands against the wound instinctively.

Wait, what?

I shrieked and stumbled backwards away from him. Heck no! I was not going to get stabbed. I’d rather take my chances with the ocean despite my crappy swimming ability. I didn’t make it very far, though, before I bumped into the guy who’d retrieved me from the water.

He grabbed me before I could flinch away. Even with one hand, he was stronger than I was – annoyingly enough.

“You know, Captain,” he said idly, drawing a hand through my still-wet, scraggly hair. I tried and failed to squirm away because wow creepy. “She’s not too bad lookin’ underneath all that drowned rat.”

Oh no. No, no, nope.

He was a creep. I felt severely creeped on.

“Let me go!” I said again, thrashing and fighting to get away from him. It was to no avail, however, as his grip didn’t budge in the slightest. “Let me go!”

Getsu gave me a contemplative look, sweeping his eyes down and up my body lecherously. I was suddenly glad I was wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt rather than anything more revealing. “That’s true, hmm,” he murmured, lowering his sword. “It’s not too common to find a looker like this ‘un in East Blue.”

East Blue? He’d said it like it was a place, but I’d never – wait. I had heard of it; it was just… fictional. It was one of the oceans of the One Piece world. But that was ridiculous; One Piece was an anime/manga. I couldn’t be in the East Blue of One Piece.

But then again… puddle-portal. Plus it would explain the pirates and their old-timey pirate ship.

Well. All right then.

It didn’t even matter what I was in anyway; whether I was in my world or the One Piece world didn’t change the fact that I’d been captured by pirates. Even worse, pirates who were apparently actual bad guys, rather than the mostly-good-guyness of, say, Luffy’s crew.

What do I do? I wondered silently, panicking.

And ohhh, crap, crap crap I hadn’t been paying attention and I’d missed the end of their conversation. Now I had no idea what was going on because I was an idiot. My attempts to get away failed utterly as one of the other crew members tied my hands together at the wrists with rope.

“Stop it! Let me go!” My continued protests fell on deaf ears as they tied my ankles together. I couldn’t protest anymore after that, however, as they shoved a piece of horrifically dirty cloth in my mouth and tied it around my head, effectively gagging me.

The guy who’d retrieved me shoved me forward, and, my ankles tied together and unable to separate, I had to hop a couple awkward steps forward to stay standing. Thankfully (?), rather than spend the time forcing me to do that to get wherever he wanted me, the guy just picked me up under one arm. He then dropped me into a corner made by the design of the cabin, where I collapsed unceremoniously onto my side.

The crew then proceeded to ignore me.

What the…?

I struggled to get upright. With my hands and legs tied as they were, however, the best I could manage was to get to my knees. But, since it was more dignified than being on my side, I stayed in that position. Surprisingly well-protected by the walls of the cabin as I was, at least I wasn’t getting sprayed with sea water anymore.

But I was far from safe. The pirates had just been planning to kill me, had just been commenting on my physical attributes; I didn’t trust for a second that they’d suddenly had a change of heart. Plus, the fact that I was tied up made it rather obvious I was a prisoner.

Since I had the time, I quietly had a panic attack. Because what was going on how had I fallen into a puddle and landed in a different world why was I kidnapped by pirates what.

When I could breathe again, I forced myself to think. There was no point in freaking out; I needed to figure out how I was going to get out of this. With my arms and legs bound, I couldn’t exactly just jump off the ship. I could probably make it to the edge, true; however, since I wouldn’t be able to swim, I’d just drown. If they didn’t fish me back out first.

Belatedly, I realized that I still had my messenger bag. They’d never taken it.

…

Idiots.

Not that I was complaining, of course. I had a knife in my bag. Of course, I still needed a plan for after I cut the rope tying my hands and legs. It wouldn’t help anything if I couldn’t actually get away. But at the same time, I really didn’t like being unable to fight back. Not that I could with my hands and legs free either, though…

I was pretty close to the cabin door. It might be possible for me to hide in there and lock them out. Except that wouldn’t really help; it was more of a stalling method. And stalling for what, exactly? I had no guarantee anyone would come. But, even so, it might be better to have something to do when they stopped ignoring me, even if it wasn’t quite an exit strategy.

With that in mind, I maneuvered my bag into my lap so it hid my hands, then went hunting through it for the switchblade I knew was in there. Once I found it, I flipped it open. The locking gear to hold it open clicked loudly into place, and I froze for a moment. None of them seemed to have heard it, so I continued.

I awkwardly twisted the knife around so that I could slide the blade against the ropes around my wrist. Hopefully I wouldn’t accidentally cut myself, since I couldn’t see it. The rope was very thick, it turned out after a couple minutes of attempting fruitlessly to saw through it. I couldn’t even tell if I was making any progress at all.

“A ship!” came the sudden shout from the – what was it called? Eagle nest? Hawk nest? Whatever, the lookout position. “There’s a ship coming this way!”

The pirates all snapped to attention.

“They’re flying a Jolly Roger!” the lookout reported.

“A pirate crew, hmm,” Getsu muttered to himself. Then, louder, “Prepare for battle!”

Well, okay. That seemed rude. I hoped the other crew won. And were nicer. It would be just awesome to be saved from my captors only to be captured again.

The pirates all retrieved weapons – mostly guns and swords – and some of them got to work loading canons. Once everything was finished, there was a long period of waiting. To make sure the other ship was in range, probably.

After what felt like a long time, they started firing their cannons. Cannons were, it seemed, actually very loud in reality. By now, our ship and theirs were apparently close enough that I could hear the other crew shouting even over the cannons. I couldn’t see what was going on, though.

The first round of cannon fire ceased, and confused, angry muttering started up in the crew.

“What the f –“

“What just ha –“

“Did they just –“

Then Getsu spoke, sounding weirdly unnerved himself. “Don’t get discouraged! Keep firing! The New Moon Pirates have never lost before, hmm? We won’t start now!”

The pirates cheered in response, though it was much weaker than the last time.

The cannon fire resumed.

I wondered idly what had freaked out the pirates so much. Knowing the One Piece world, the other crew had probably knocked all of the cannons out of the air before they could be hit. Luffy’s crew loved doing that.

I kept sawing at the ropes with my knife. Hopefully, whoever won, I could get away while they were distracted. Unfortunately, I didn’t seem to be making progress very quickly, and I didn’t know how long this battle would go on for; it wouldn’t do much good if the battle ended before I could get free.

Finally, the other ship came into view. It was smaller than the New Moon Pirates’ ship, but newer-looking and cleaner-looking. It didn’t have a figurehead (that was what they were called, right?), and its flag was, obviously, a skull and crossbones. Theirs was apparently overlaid on a… spade? Like the card suit? And had a weird line horizontally across the skull, right above its eyes, with two blue… balls? Right above the line.

Well. That was possibly even stranger than the New Moon Pirates’ Jolly Roger – which, I now realized, was supposed to represent a new moon. It just didn’t work very well.

The ship continued its steady approach. The New Moon Pirates reloaded their cannons and fired yet again. At least I’d get to see how the ship was completely undamaged despite the barrage of cannonballs.

The cannonballs flew towards the other ship. People started jumping off the ship to attack the cannonballs, causing them to blow up midair and somehow not getting hurt as they did – not to mention the insane, impossible heights they had to be jumping to manage it. They did it at different times and places, so I couldn’t tell how many there were total. A couple cannonballs blew up without any visible interference. A long-range member, maybe? Or just faulty cannonballs – I didn’t know enough about them to know if that was possible.

I don’t know why I’m surprised, I thought. I really didn’t. At least it was all but confirmed, now, that I was in One Piece.

As their cannonballs continued getting destroyed, the New Moon Pirates got more and more freaked out and worried. The other ship continued approaching.

“Keep at it!” Getsu ordered. “They’ll make a mistake eventually!”

Spitefully, I hoped that they didn’t. Maybe the other crew would be worse and I’d regret it, but I wanted them to win.

In the meantime, I continued making no progress on cutting through my ropes. And my legs were starting to hurt from the way I was half-kneeling half-sitting on them.

The New Moon Pirates, for their part, continued getting more and more frantic.

“What the f –“

“What kind of monsters –“

“No way they’re human!”

“This is getting ridiculous, fu –“

In a climactic turn of events, three people from the other crew jumped off their ship, deflected the most recent batch of cannonballs – and landed on this ship instead of their own. They were all men: a huge man sporting impressive sideburns and, in place of a left arm, a machine gun; a relatively normal sized man wearing a domino mask and an open jacket with no shirt, revealing his not unimpressive abs; and another normal sized man, this one somewhat younger than the others, wearing a bright orange hat and a button-up shirt with none of the buttons done.

I squinted at the youngest, sure that I recognized him. He looked incredibly familiar, but I couldn’t quite place him.

The New Moon Pirates got off a couple more cannon shots before catching up and turning to fight the three men. The cannonballs, however, all exploded mid-air; this time, I thought I caught bullets traveling through the air to hit them.

Horrifyingly quickly, the three men obliterated the forces of the New Moon Pirates. Within ten minutes – probably even less – all of the New Moon Pirates, with the exception of Getsu, were on the floor, the luckiest of them still conscious to groan in pain. Or maybe they were unluckiest?

Getsu and the youngest man started fighting; although it was definitely the longest fight any of the New Moon Pirates had put up, it seemed obvious that the young man was better. He had a wide, cheerful grin on his face as he dodged around Getsu’s sword strikes, occasionally dancing close enough to throw a punch. So far, Getsu had managed to block all of the punches with the side of his blade, but he was being overwhelmed quickly. Every time the younger man landed a hit on his sword, Getsu’s arms buckled, implying that the other man was a lot stronger than he looked.

The other two men didn’t interfere, instead standing back and watching. Both looked apathetic, and maybe a bit exasperated, as though tired of their crew member's antics.

Sideburns, apparently bored with watching the fight, glanced around and met eyes with me. He looked surprised, the first expression I’d seen on him, and hurried in my direction with surprising speed, skirting the edge of Getsu and the other man’s fight.

I panicked, stupidly and without reason. As Sideburns got close, remaining hand (not the gun) already reaching towards me, I reared backwards – ow, my legs – and dragged my hands from my bag, brandishing my knife threateningly at him.

He stopped in his tracks, switching to holding his hands out in front of himself harmlessly and backing away a couple of steps.

Belatedly, I flipped the knife around in my hands so that it actually pointed at him. My hands, I noticed, were already shaking, because I was a weak seventeen-year-old with too few muscles to hold the weight of my arms up this long. Or maybe it was because I was freaking out. Heck if I knew.

Also, the rope was actually most of the way cut. If I’d had a couple more minutes, I would have been able to cut it completely.

Behind Sideburns, Getsu went flying backwards as the other man finally landed a punch straight to his face. Getsu didn’t get up again, apparently out for the count after a single hit. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know exactly how strong the young man was.

“Hey, Aggie 68, what’s up –“ the young man started as he turned towards us. Once he saw, well, the situation, he cut himself off. “Oh,” he uttered.

The man with the domino mask turned too, and his eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

It was stupid to hold a knife on Sideburns, I knew; I didn’t even know if they were bad guys or not yet. Plus, if they were, it would probably just annoy them… It wasn’t like I actually had a chance of fighting them, anyway.

Yet I still couldn’t get my shaking arms to lower the knife.

The youngest man and Domino-Mask-Guy both approached. Domino-Mask-Guy stopped a couple of steps behind Sideburns, while the youngest continued a couple of steps closer than him. Almost without my doing, my arms turned to point the knife at him instead.

He crouched, holding his hands, open and empty, out harmlessly. “Hey there,” he said softly, carefully. I resented the treatment a little, but, well. With the way I was acting, it made sense. “I’m Ace. We’re not gonna hurt you, okay? You’re safe now.”

…Huh?

I stared blankly at him for a moment, the epiphany smacking me in the face that he was Portgas D. Ace. Luffy’s older brother! Well, adoptive – whatever. No wonder he looked familiar. So. One Piece universe. Definitely confirmed.

After another moment of glancing back and forth between Ace’s patient, expectant face and my knife, I forced my arms to curl in, lowering the knife. Ace beamed at me, looking unreasonably happy about something so small. He leaned forward, dorkily scooting closer without standing up straight when he couldn’t reach, and carefully took my knife. That – well. That was fair.

Then, still ever-so-careful – I was a little amazed the other two men hadn’t said anything yet – Ace reached to untie the cloth from around my head one handed, still holding my knife in the other. Once it was untied, I let it drop from my mouth – tossing my head so that it would land to the side of me.

Ace grabbed the rope around my wrists, his eyebrows raising a little for a moment before he cut straight through what was left, using my knife. I was a little jealous – he’d managed the same amount of progress in, like, a second, that had taken me several minutes. He gave my knife a funny look, then ran his thumb along the blade.

After examining his perfectly uninjured thumb, he turned back to me. “This knife sucks,” he said.

I let out a startled laugh. “Well –“ I coughed, realizing very abruptly how dry my mouth and throat were, and had to take a moment. “Well, I wasn’t really planning to have to use it, I guess.”

Ace grinned at me for a moment, apparently pleased with the pathetic retort. “What's your name?” he asked.

"Alyssa," I said honestly. My name didn't matter much. Hopefully it didn't, like, stand out as a name that didn't actually exist or something. That would be horrible.

Ace nodded. "Nice to meet you," he said politely. Somehow, it came across as rote, something he'd learned to say.

I supposed that made sense, given his backstory; hadn't Makino had to teach him to be polite?

"I wish I could say the same, but, well," I said awkwardly.

Fortunately, it seemed to surprise another laugh out of Ace.

"Yeah, no, I can see that," he said. He sobered. "What happened? Is there somewhere we can take you?"

I faltered for a moment. I flailed mentally - which direction did people supposedly look when they were lying? I didn't remember, so I just looked down. I couldn’t exactly tell him the truth, after all. But then, Getsu had given me the perfect lie, hadn’t he?

Thankfully, Ace spent a moment cutting through the rope around my ankles with enviable ease despite still using my knife, giving me time to get my story straight.

“I’m from Royal Peaks Island,” I said – lied, shifting into a more comfortable position. Ace nodded, and I continued, indicating the fallen crewmembers, “They… attacked us.” Horribly guilty about lying and just wanting to get the false story over with, I spoke quickly, “I – I tried to get away, but I couldn’t get to any of the ships in the port without going past them, so I – stupidly, I guess – just tried to hide in the ocean, but I guess I was unlucky, and they passed by me when they were leaving and they must have seen me, and…”

I took a breath, aware that I was rambling, and finished awkwardly, guiltily, “I don’t even know what happened to anybody else.”

That was true, at least. I really didn’t know what had happened to the real inhabitants of Royal Peaks Island. Getsu had implied that they were all dead, which was horrible. I didn’t want an entire island of people to be dead, but… if any of them were alive, they would know that I was lying. That just made me feel worse.

Ace nodded again, looking solemn. He stood and stepped back, offering me a hand. When I took his hand, he pulled me to my feet and calmly let me use his hand to steady myself when I stumbled.

“Well, we have to go check it out,” he said authoritatively.

Domino-Mask-Guy smirked. “And that has nothing to do with the fact that that’s where we were going anyway, right?”

“Of course not,” Ace sniffed with a baleful look at him. He turned to me. “Want to come with?”

Well, it was either go with them or stay with the New Moon Pirates. Huh. Hard choice, that.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding.

Ace nodded back, then turned and walked away without another word, obviously expecting me – and his crewmembers – to follow. We did.

Their ship had sidled up beside the New Moon Pirates’ in the meantime, and the fourth man I’d seen was standing at the edge of it. Ace and the two others jumped across the gap to it easily – which made sense; they’d jumped a lot further before. But it was a big gap, maybe ten or fifteen feet. There was no way I could jump it.

“Umm. I can’t… really jump that far?” I called to them, twisting the strap of my bag awkwardly. Ace never had given my knife back, I noted.

They turned back, looking comically surprised.

“Oh, really?” Ace asked.

He jumped back across easily. “Is it okay if I…” he trailed off, holding his arms out towards me in an obvious message.

I glanced from him to the gap and back. I sighed.

“It’s fine,” I said.

Ace grabbed me around the waist, and the next moment I found myself midair. I very carefully didn’t make any embarrassing noises.

We landed more lightly on the other side than I would have expected. I let out a quiet breath of relief for that as Ace stepped away to a more respectable distance.

I got my first look at the fourth member of the crew, the one who'd stayed to protect their ship. Another man, of course; that wasn't even a surprise, although I was personally disappointed by the lack of bad-A pirate women. He was very tall and thin and carried an awful, old-timey rifle.

He gave me a curious look, and I shrunk automatically to hide behind Ace. It seemed these ones were actually kind-of-good-guys like the Straw Hats, since I doubted Ace would have been the captain of ordinary evil pirates, but they were scary, okay. Except for Ace himself, who had a pretty normal character design thanks to being main character adjacent, they kind of had typical minor bad guy one-off pirate designs.

"What's going on, Captain?" he asked

Ace glanced at me. I didn't know what I looked like, maybe like a sad drowned kitten, but Ace looked surprisingly sympathetic.

"It seems that those pirates--" he jerked his head to indicate the ship of the New Moon Pirates, "-- attacked Royal Peaks Island. This is Alyssa, who they... abducted instead of killing."

I couldn't help but look down at my feet, unable to meet any of their eyes as my lie was repeated. Even though I had no other choice, I found myself wishing I hadn't agreed to go with them to the island. There, we would either find people who would contradict my story or we would find an entire massacred island.

It was awful, but I found myself selfishly hoping for the latter.

The tall man frowned. "How horrible," he murmured. He circled around Ace to get to me, but stayed a respectful distance away. "My name is Mihar."

"Oh yeah," Ace said as though just realizing something. I stepped away from him as he turned to face me. That was a little too close to bare chest for me. He gestured to Domino-Mask-Guy. "That's Masked Deuce--" a gesture towards Sideburns, "-- and that's Aggie 68. And I'm Portgas D. Ace!"

It was a little weird, he introduced himself last name first, which was the Japanese order, but everybody had spoken English so far. I would have thought the name order was just because the One Piece series was originally in Japanese.

Still, I couldn't help but smile. "You already introduced yourself," I pointed out.

"Well, yeah, but not my full name," Ace said with a shrug. "Is Alyssa your full name?"

I really had to think about that one. Obviously, I did have a last name, and usually I would introduce myself with my full name, including my middle initial, like Ace had, but. Did it really matter in this world if my last name was the same? It wasn't like any of my family was around for me to be related to.

Not to mention that, while it was fine in my original world, my middle name was Diane... which did, actually, make my middle initial 'D'. Here, that meant something, supposedly, which it didn't in my old world. So, I decided, might as well just leave it at first name.

"Well, it's the only name that matters," I said belatedly.

For some reason, they all looked very sad about it.

"Well, we should go to Royal Peaks Island to check it out," Ace said authoritatively. He sent me a softer look. "There might still be some people there."

That was very true. There could be. It didn't seem all that likely that a pirate crew would kill an entire island for no reason. If it was true, I was doomed.

So all I could do was clutch my bag close to me and give a short nod.

Fortunately, they didn't seem to think it was all that odd. They went about their business, surprisingly good at managing such a big ship with only four people. Before long, we were sailing closer to Royal Peaks Island. As we got closer, I noticed that it was aptly named; it did in fact have several tall mountains.

I stayed off to the side, as out of the way as I could get. Fortunately, they left me alone. I could practically feel them talking about me, but they kept it out of my hearing range.

We were on the correct side to land at the port town, but once we got close enough, it became apparent that it was on fire. Not the town itself, but the port. The dock, I thought it might be called? In any case, since we couldn't exactly dock (?) at the... dock, the others dropped anchor (?) off to the side, far enough from the flames to be safe.

I eyed the distance to the ground. It was... far. And scary. I was already getting premonitions of falling and dying.

Meanwhile, Masked Deuce, Aggie 68, and Mihar jumped casually off the side of the ship, landing easily. I was extremely envious.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Ace scooped me up practically bridal-style and dropped to the ground. Startled, I could not restrain a shriek as the wind blew past me on the way down, wrapping my arms around Ace's neck in a death grip. Even carrying me, though, Ace landed just as easily as the others, smoothly enough that I hardly felt a bump at all.

I self-consciously unwound my arms from Ace's neck as he let me down.

Before I could apologize or anything, I noticed some bodies that were visible even from here, sufficiently distracting me. Horror rose up in my throat, but the instincts that had led me to want to be a doctor in the first place wouldn't allow me to leave them. I hurried over, checking each person.

They were all dead.

That led me closer to the main road through the town, revealing even more bodies further in. I started making my way through. In between checking bloody corpses for life, I noticed that the town was very pretty. It was all blues and feathers and other decorations. According to some signs, it was a tourist-y party town. A lot of the decorations reminded me of New Orleans and Mardi Gras.

It was marred, however, by the bodies and blood seemingly coating the town. There was a somber air as I walked through, Ace and the others trailing behind respectfully. That made me feel bad, too; they were giving me allowances I didn't deserve under the belief that I knew these people.

As we got further, it seemed less likely that we would come across any survivors.

There didn't seem to be any form of police station, I noted. A small island like this probably relied on the World Government, and therefore the Marines, for protection. But there was no Marine base, leaving them vulnerable.

This was my world now, too. What a horrible world it was.

Whether it was the thought of all of the people who'd died or the thought that I was stuck here, I felt tears prickling at my eyes. Unable to stand this horrid funeral march, I got faster and faster until I was all but running between each body. Finally, I'd made it through the entire town and circled around to be near the burning dock.

I was in front of a small doctor's office. Inside, visible through a broken window, there was an old man with a kindly face and a white doctor's coat lying on the ground, covered in blood.

Suddenly, the tears overwhelmed me and I choked and started crying quietly. It was so stupid, I didn't even know these people. At the same time, though, their entire town was dead. Possibly everyone any of them had ever known. Didn't they deserve to have someone, anyone, cry for them?

And maybe I was crying for myself, too. My home, my family and friends, all my aspirations to be a doctor, were gone.

The others were still there behind me, I could tell. Probably, they were keeping their distance now less out of respect and more out of awkwardness. After a while, Ace, brave man, approached. After a moment of visibly struggling for something to say, he patted me on the back gently.

"I was going to be a doctor, you know," I said for no reason. It just kind of fell out.

I couldn't help staring at the dead old doctor in the building. Had he had an apprentice? Were they dead, too?

"Was that guy your teacher?" Ace asked hesitantly.

I wouldn't have thought that Ace did hesitation.

Still, I had to hesitate, then. He wasn't, of course, but I couldn't exactly say no now. There likely wasn't another doctor on the island.

"Yes," I lied, shoving down the guilt. "I was apprenticed to him, but."

But he was dead. But now any hope I had of going to my world's medical school was gone.

I swallowed around a lump in my throat. I hated crying.

"Now I have nothing," I said quietly.

The tears were encroaching again, but I forced them back. My eyes were going to be uncomfortable and achy enough already.

Ace was standing in front of me now. Though I was looking down, at the ground, I saw as he looked over my shoulder at his crew, obviously communicating. I'd always thought it was cool how people (fictional ones, anyway) could do that.

"You're a doctor?" Ace said.

I flicked my gaze up to look at his face. "I was going to be a doctor," I said. It wasn't quite agreement; the difference was, in my opinion, huge. I was a year of high school and seven years of medical school away from being a proper doctor.

Ace, however, seemed to think differently.

"Okay, so, look. We can drop you off at the nearest island, which we need to go to for supplies anyway," he added this almost sheepishly. "You can... try to make a life there, I guess."

He paused long enough that I was about to agree, since that was my best bet at this point and it was actually pretty nice of them to even offer, when he started again.

"Or you can come with us," Ace finished.

I stared. That sounded... like an offer of piracy. Like something Luffy might have said if he wasn't such a rude person. It was kind of interesting to find that Ace didn't bully people into joining his crew like Luffy did.

"Come with you?" I asked, just to be sure.

Ace nodded, seeming more confident now that I was definitely not crying. "Join my crew."

The fan in me was screaming. The chance to be a pirate! On the other hand, piracy was obviously quite dangerous and I didn't actually want to die. But then, the people on Royal Peaks Island hadn't been pirates and they'd still died. Maybe it was actually safer to be on a powerful pirate crew.

Of course, Ace had to also know exactly how useless I was. Why would he offer that? I'd be dead weight.

"Why?" I said. When Ace's face crumpled a little like he'd been rejected, I hurried to add, "Why would you ask me? I'm not... I wouldn't be very helpful."

"We need a doctor," Ace said.

"I'm not actually a doctor yet," I said.

Ace shrugged. "Closer than any of us," he said, including his three crew members with a gesture.

And, the fan in me pointed out, you can keep Ace from dying.

Because he would. If I decided to become a civilian here, Ace would go on to be a pirate captain, join Whitebeard's crew - and die at Akainu's hand in three years. But I could change things. Maybe. Either way, it might be interesting.

"Okay," I said. "I'll join."

Ace was starting to look entirely too smug, so I added, "But I still think you'll be disappointed in my abilities as a doctor."

"Nah, that won't happen," Ace said with a snort. "You need to pick some stuff up?"

I thought about it. I did need clothes, which, given I didn't actually live here, I'd probably have to steal from a store (because there was no way I was going into a house and stealing a person's clothes). Plus, my lack of actual doctoral ability meant I should probably take some, or a bunch, of books with me.

"Yeah. I do. Umm." I paused, trying to think of a polite way to tell them that I didn't want them to come with me.

"We'll wait for you at the ship," Ace said.

I blinked. That was perfect. I decided not to question it. "Okay," I said.

They were already walking away. I didn't bother staring after them, turning to go into the doctor's building instead. It was an awful feeling, tiptoeing past his dead body and the blood on the floor and looking around to find all of his books, and trying to find some kind of bag to put them in.

Fortunately, I found both of those things easily, and fled back out into the street. Not that it was any better there. And I still needed clothes. I found the least tourist-y store I could and went looking for clothes (and another bag to put them in). It took some looking to avoid all of the blue, feathery, and otherwise themed clothes, but eventually I put together a fair spread. On my way out, I saw, under the broken window where the pirates had likely stolen everything on display, a mask.

It was kind of a masquerade mask, shaped almost like a butterfly with massive wings arching out to the top and bottom away from the center. It was mostly silver, with blue lining around the eyes and blue gems set in the wings of the butterfly. It bordered on gaudy, like much of the other stuff in the store and, honestly, in the town as a whole, but I liked it. On impulse, I added it to the bag.

Then I went to meet up with the others.

I hummed to myself quietly. Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me.

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