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coraxaviary · 4 years

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War in the Time of Death (I)

NOSFERATU

Summary: I like TWD and it’s spooky season so why not create an AU???

Word Count: 4.3k

Author’s Note: Maybe a series??? I had a lot of fun with this!

Warnings: Zombie gross-ness :)

The first time it happened, they were lucky. He came back slowly.

Roe had moved into the back to check on the men who were draped over the tables, walls, and each other – most of them smeared with red, leaving small streaks on the furniture and floors. Thankfully there wasn’t an obscene amount of pained screams or moans – morphine took care of that, and the men who needed severe pain relief were sedated out of their minds, most of them lying still and breathing with labored breaths.

Roe didn’t want to think about the fact that morphine took heart rates dangerously low sometimes – that the empty dreamlike state of hibernation was almost like death, and that was sometimes the point of the opioid anyway. He sighed through his nose, emptying his lungs of blood-scented air, and drawing in another fresh breath of the stuff.

Roe was winding another loosened ribbon of bandages into a tight roll, making his rounds, trying not to reveal just how worried he really was at the state of some of the men. Winters was fine, even though Roe wished he hadn’t elected to stand in that certain place at the exact moment that a sniper got a shot off. He could have been shot somewhere critical.

He didn’t, Roe tells himself as he pads past the now-empty corner that was previously inhabited by Blithe, trying not to think about Tipper, who’d been carted away by now and deposited in the back of a truck or an ambulance or something. Tipper, he’d been almost completely demolished and he was lucky that he–

Roe bites off the thought, fingers tightening around the roll of bandage. It did no good to think about the what-ifs. The men that were safe were safe, and that was all that mattered. The men that were in critical condition –

“Doc?”

Roe swings around abruptly, searching for whoever needed him. “Yeah, what is it?” he calls into the space.

It is Lipton, propped up on the floor in what looked to be a mildly uncomfortable position. His back is against the floor and his neck is bent at a strange angle as he tries to crane his head up from where it has been resting against a drawer. Roe almost winces until he remembers the far worse injury Lipton is actually there for, and he automatically starts to crouch, hands going for Lipton’s uniform.

“Uh, no… Thank you,” says Lipton in a rush, pushing at Roe’s hands awkwardly, away from the fly of his pants. He clears his throat. Roe looks at the blood darkening the area where Lipton has been wounded.

“Ya need a new uniform? I’ll try to see what I can do,” says Roe, already going to stand up and pursue a supply truck. “ ‘Course, there’s–”

“Doc,” Lipton says again from the floor.

“Oh, does it hurt–”

“I think, um…” trails off Lipton. Roe looks at him confusedly. “I dunno. Check on... the guys maybe?” It’s not a response to Roe’s question, but Lipton looks as if he’s at a loss for words, and he just points helplessly down a small hallway.

Roe follows his line of sight. Lipton is pointing at a series of shrouded bodies: ultimate casualties from the day’s fight. The cost of a town? A few acres of stone and glass? Roe doesn’t know if it’s worth it but his job is to deal with non-ideal circumstances so he doesn’t ever comment.

The bodies have been put there because there’s nowhere else to put them. It’s not the best setting for an impromptu morgue but at the moment there is a limited amount of space and the bodies are lined up in the narrow hallway. It’s hardly a respectable send-off, but then again nothing is and they are already dead, so it doesn’t really matter now that their bodies are uninhabited.

Roe tells himself this to remind himself that they aren’t really causing discomfort to the dead men, or tarnishing their memories, despite the sentiment that a final resting place in a hasty grave hardly seems commemorative of their service. He’s getting ready to tell Lipton that, because he seems awfully concerned about the bodies. Roe does not fault him, nor any of the men for being caring for the dead. It is more than they are afforded in life, sometimes.

“Wait, wait. Look,” says Lipton, pointing down the hall again. “You see that?”

“See what?” asks Roe, squinting into the rather dimly illuminated hallway. A cloud passes over the sun, further blocking out the light, and the room is momentarily bathed in passing shadow. The wooden bars in the windows between panes and the spots of grime in the glass grow like projections on the opposite wall after the clouds fade away, sweeping the room like a faded watercolor imitation of the effects of an illumination flare.

“Look.” Lipton is pointing again, and Roe wants to tell him not to strain himself when he sees something moving in his periphery. He turns more fully to face the bodies, not wanting to really ponder their state of death but having to anyway since Lipton seems awfully concerned. It’s not a foreign tone for Lipton, but his loss for words is.

But then the white of the sheet moves again, and Roe tells himself that it’s the wind blowing through the house. He turns around quickly to check that all the windows are, in fact, closed. They are, at least in the relative vicinity. It’s probably the fabric billowing out in the movement of the air.

Just to placate Lipton, who was dealt a blow close to a critical area that day and was probably owed at least this comfort, Roe moves into the hallway where the stink of decay remains at bay. The latest body has been deposited here only thirty minutes ago. And the first one was about four hours prior. They haven’t started smelling yet, and for this Roe is grateful.

He leans over the three shrouded bodies, watching them for a few seconds. Nothing happens, and Roe tells himself he’s getting carried away with old wive’s tales; maybe a substantial dose of Indian mythology.

“What were you saying–” Roe says, turning around to face Lipton, but Lipton is scrambling around to get up, and a feeling of alarm comes over Roe. “Okay, okay, calm down,” he murmurs, walking back out of the hallway, trying to make Lipton relax a little. “You don’t wanna–”

“Look,” Lipton almost yells, pointing. “I swear, I’m not messing with you.”

The rest of the makeshift ward is starting to look in Lipton’s direction, because it’s so uncharacteristic for Lipton to be so riled up about anything. Roe sighs and puts a hand on Lipton’s shoulder, forcing him back down to the floor with as much gentleness that he can put into the touch. “I can move you to a different part of…”

“Hey, Doc,” says someone over Roe’s shoulder. He whips around to find Luz standing behind him as if he just walked into the room, and he’s clutching a box of something, which he sets carefully onto the floor behind him. His eyes aren’t on Roe or Lipton, though: he’s staring down the hallway. Roe watches Luz carefully, trying to understand the strange phenomenon. What are they seeing that he doesn’t?

“What’s going on with Hartley?”

“Hartley?” says Roe. He swallows and thinks of the IV he was struggling to get into Hartley earlier that day. He’d found a vessel and got the needle in right as Hartley drew his last breath. Roe had managed not to drop the glass IV bottle when he handed it off to someone else as he moved to give compressions. Of course, his windpipe was damaged and his jugular had been blown wide open. There wasn’t much of anything Roe could do anyway.

He pushes that all out of mind in favor of refocusing on the present. There was a question being asked. “He, uh… he passed.”

Luz is peering down the hallway, blocking Roe’s view, but Lipton’s eyes grow even larger.

“What?” says Luz, starting to march down the hall. “I dunno who determined that…” he trails off, and Lipton tugs at Roe’s pant leg wildly.

“I told you–”

“Hey, Luz,” Roe says tiredly. “Get out of there. You don’t wanna be checking out–”

“Hartley,” says Luz, voice carrying down the hallway. Roe leans out to check on what, exactly, Luz is doing. Grief causes men to do strange things, but this is almost inappropriate with the death of Hartley being so near. Luz is never explicitly offensive in his mischief, but he’s crossing the line. Just because he deals with loss with humor doesn’t mean the other men will be at peace with it.

Luz is cast in shadow in the hallway, crouched down over the nearest corpse. He’s reaching out to touch it – move the shroud, maybe, and Roe breathes a huff of exhausted disappointment through his nose before following Luz into the hall to gently move him away somewhere less traumatizing. Hartley sustained a gaping neck wound and an even worse compound fracture to his leg and Luz doesn’t need to see that.

“Hey, Luz,” Roe says gently, stopping behind him. “Maybe–”

Roe stops talking. Luz has moved the shroud down to Hartley’s neck, and Roe almost has a heart attack right then and there because Hartley is alive.

“Ohh, boy,” whispers Luz almost reverently in shock, and both he and Roe watch Hartley – pale and bloodless, bled dry from his wound and sallow as death – breathe in what seems like almost silent rattling moans, eyes defocused but moving.

“Hartley,” says Roe once. Hartley doesn’t respond except for a slight opening of his mouth, and Roe nudges Luz out of the way, who moves readily, eyes never leaving Hartley’s miraculously living face. “Hey.”

He does turn his head, very slowly, and he seems to face Roe.

Roe is holding his breath, and he finds it hard to blink. He is at a loss for words, and his hands shake with something like elation mixed with the feeling of failure. It is impossible. Hartley had bled out in front of him; under his hands. Roe still has the remnants of his dried blood packed under his fingernails, and he was under the impression that the small dribbles pumping out his neck in the last moments were the last of life.

“Hartley,” repeats Roe, waving a hand in front of his face. “Luz, gimme a light.” Hartley doesn't respond, but Roe dives into medic mode anyway, tearing the rest of the sheet away and hovering over the gaping, dry neck wound. He can still see the ligaments through the gash, straining as Hartley tenses, and what he thought were emptied, severed blood vessels. An artery so far gone it had shrunk inches-deep into the wound cavity.

Roe takes a risk and prods at Hartley’s neck. There is no dampness, or at least fresh, bright bleeding. The body has been sitting for hours. No blood springs up at his touch, and even more curiously, Hartley does not react. Luz nudges him on the shoulder with a lighter and Roe flicks it on, moving it in front of Hartley’s face.

No reaction. His pupils don’t respond. Roe touches the neck wound again.

“What the hell?” mutters Luz. Hartley gives a small groan, and it makes the exposed bodily wiring in his neck tremble. Roe doesn’t know much about surgical medicine, but he does know this ain’t right.

Against his better judgement, Roe finds Hartley’s wrist and feels for a pulse. Of course he’s alive if he’s conscious, but there’s something wrong with the way he reanimated. The feeling of guilt leaches from Roe as he pokes and prods for a vein, but they’re all out of blood anyway and there is no drumbeat of life beneath the skin, even though the muscles jump for a second. Roe produces a knife and holds it up to Hartley’s mouth, waiting for the vapor of breath to touch the clear silver blade. It remains spotless.

Luz shifts uncomfortably behind Roe, and he wants to tell him to give him space, but Hartley stirs and then inexplicably starts to strain as if to sit up without saying anything and Roe puts down the knife and opens the buttons on Hartley’s blood-stiffened uniform, exposing his chest – which is room-temperature – and putting his ear to the man’s heart. He stays there.

Sometimes heartbeats are hard to miss. Roe keeps listening, as if staying there will produce one if he stays long enough. Luz gasps quietly and a moment later Roe feels Hartley shift.

Roe looks at Luz helplessly. Luz looks back and shrugs with an expression of utter confusion.

“No pulse?”

“Nah,” says Roe. “Maybe…” he trails off, grasping at explanations. “Rigor mortis, just a weird–”

“Doc,” Luz then says suddenly, pulling him back by the uniform towards the entrance of the hall, as if there is something to fear. Hartley has sat up. He opens his mouth and closes it again with a snap of teeth louder than any bite Roe has ever heard. Roe feels something wrong in his bones, but the guilt comes back and he stares at Hartley instead of administering medical care, as he should, because he failed to save this man. Roe knew for sure when his heart stopped and the blood stopped draining because there was none.

“He’s dead,” murmurs Roe to himself, standing with Luz at the junction of the hall and the room. “He’s medically dead.”

“Yeah, no shit,” says Luz, watching Hartley shakily stand in a unique spindly way, and the rest of the sheet falls away to reveal the truly crippling injury he’d also sustained to his leg.

Hartley should not be walking. There is bone exposed, and it’s jutting out of the skin. Luz makes a disgusted and terrified noise, and Roe watches Hartley stagger to life with growing horror.

“You seeing this?” says Roe quietly. When Luz doesn’t answer, he takes a fistful of Luz’s uniform and gives him a good shake. “You seeing this?” he repeats.

Luz nods numbly. Hartley moans.

“Guys?” says Lipton from the makeshift ward. “Everything alright?”

“Dunno,” yells Roe back with uncertainty, because it’s really the only thing he can say as he watches Hartley lurch about. When his fibula bone in his calf starts to rip through more skin as the bone crumples further with added weight, Roe shakes himself out of the shocked stupor and forces himself to go to Hartley – who is acting like those deer, the ones with parasites in their brains, and Roe can’t stop thinking about them – and he takes ahold of the front of his shirt.

“Easy, Hart,” mutters Roe. “Gonna make your leg worse.”

Hartley lunges forwards with all his bodily weight and Roe can hear the snap of teeth.

Luz rushes forwards and tears Hartley off Roe, and Roe watches with horror as Hartley turns to try and take a bite out of Luz. His teeth clack and his eyes are unfocused.

“Hartley,” Roe says, trying to wrestle him off Luz this time. “Stop. We’re trying to help–” He feels teeth fixing around a fold of his uniform, and there is a small pinch. “Hartley, stop.” Roe is almost yelling now.

Hartley thrashes. Luz loses control and so does Roe, and Roe hits the ground on his back with Hartley, white as a sheet, climbing on top, yellowed teeth snapping, jaw working wildly, and Roe smells the cold flood of air from inside Hartley’s gullet, and it smells of death and decay. Roe lets out a yell of alarm, and he can hear Luz calling for assistance and Lipton asking what is going on, and Roe gets an arm against Hartley’s neck, and he’s simultaneously apologizing for pressing on the wound and trying to reel back in terror.

Hartley is lifted off him, but he swings around and sinks his teeth into whoever got behind Luz, and it’s chaos now – men shouting in the small echoey hallway, grappling for control of the deranged corpse-man and Lux tugs Roe up by the shirt as some of the other men manage to pin Hartley down. Someone is sitting on his chest, and Roe almost protests that you can’t do that to a morally wounded patient but he realizes the irony and falls silent in a stunned pause.

There is still the sound of teeth snapping, and terrible deathlike moans coming from Hartley’s throat.

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” says Roe at last, watching what used to be Hartley convulse against the men holding him down. “I saw him die.” He swallows hard. “I watched him die.”

“I know,” says Luz. “You probably did.”

“Then…” says Roe, feeling useless and at a loss, just watching Hartley. “Then what–”

“You don’t know,” says Luz, rubbing Roe’s shoulder briefly. “And that’s okay, ‘cause this ain’t… natural.”

“I watched him die,” says Roe to himself in a whisper, and Hartley still snaps his teeth. Roe watches him bite his tongue so hard it almost amputates at the root with a single snap, and then the tongue is gone in a few more moments, slipping down his own throat. The ligaments in his exposed esophagus move. He’s swallowing, Roe realizes.

There is a chorus of disgusted, horrified groans. Someone gags.

“I’m gonna throw up,” says Luz. Roe nudges him towards the outer rooms, still watching Hartley. The parasite-infected deer still sticks in his mind as he sees Hartley’s body move, but there is no life behind his eyes. Whoever is at the wheel is not Hartley, Roe decides. If it’s even biology, he doesn’t know.

After a while, Hartley begins to try and eat the other men in earnest, like that one man who got bit. He’s lunging and snapping and growling with increased ferocity, resembling a starving, bony wolf more at this point than a person. But wolves at least are kind of beautiful, in a feral way, Roe thinks. Hartley is… a revenant or something. It’s more than uncanny – most of the men do not believe what Roe tells them when they address the pulse question.

“Nosferatu,” says Welsh, watching Hartley snap and bite and shuffle about with an inhuman gait. The men decided to put him in a pit that a German artillery piece made a few hours ago since he doesn’t seem to be in full control of his fine motor skills. Or his coordinated faculties, for that matter.

“What?” Roe says. He’s fiddling with some rations but he decides he can’t really eat while watching Hartley’s body contort in that sick tortured-looking manner, alive but not really alive.

“You know, the vampire,” says Welsh. “Remember that film?”

Roe pauses, thinks. Looks down into the pit, and Hartley is clawing at the edge, trying to get at him and Welsh. Roe kicks his legs up from where they dangle dangerously near to Hartley’s clawing grasp.

“No, I didn’t really see motion pictures,” says Roe. The theater was kind of a luxury, other than the times that the neighborhood kids would sneak into the back row and watch until the owner always came to root out the brats who hadn’t paid. “Vampire, you think?”

Welsh shrugs. “What else could it be?”

Roe peers down into the hole. Hartley is growling and gargling something awful, and a gush of blood comes back up his throat, trickling out of the throat wound and sputtering out of his mouth. It’s not fresh blood. It’s dark, almost black, and thick and congealed. Another sign of death and immobility, and Roe struggles to define a line that marks Hartley as alive or not. Vampires were lucid, weren’t they?

Besides, vampires didn’t exist anyway. Maybe wendigos. Was he a wendigo? Roe hadn’t revisited those old mythological teachings in a long time. He’d eliminated the possibility of demon possession a while ago when Hartley’s body had no special reaction to the chaplain, quietly crossing the possibility off his list and internally embarrassed that he’d even considered such a thing.

“Do you think he’s suffering?” Roe asks.

Welsh sighs. “Hard to tell. What can we even do about it if he is?”

Roe looks down the hole again. Hartley’s fibula has separated so far from the rest of his leg that it’s jutting out almost at a right angle, and the gaping gash in his calf keeps growing with every step the man takes. It’s hard to watch, but simultaneously eerily different from watching a normal living man suffer to death.

“Doc,” comes a panicked yell from paces away. Roe shoves the ration back into his pocket, and tells himself that uncertainty and confusion are not things he can feel right now. He’s thankful for the distraction from Hartley so he can think about something other than a torturous forced limbo between life and death – maybe even a state of living brought on by the rarest of circumstances that has manifested in this man. A new medical discovery. Maybe Hartley can be saved, just like how Roe can sometimes bargain with death successfully. Maybe he’s just another deal that Roe has to make.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Roe hollers, and he sees Hartley react to the voice as if he’s blind and being led by sounds. Roe knows it isn’t true – his eyes don’t focus but he seems to use them anyway – and he jogs over to wherever someone has been injured.

“Doc,” says Liebgott. He’s at a loss, and he tries to get words out before just clutching at his head and then stuttering incoherently. “He– it–”

Roe feels an indescribable dread descending on him all over again from the sky. “What is it?” he says, fearing what the men will say. Talbert skids around a corner, too, and leans against the wall to catch his breath. “You– I– uh, Shifty and I, we were–”

“Calm down, Sergeant,” says Roe, partially to quell the flow of words. He does not want to hear what Talbert has to say with that wide-eyed look of chaotic helpless fear on his face – a look Roe, nor probably anyone in the entire company, has seen on Talbert.

“There’s…” he starts, then cuts himself off. He grabs Roe’s arm and pulls, hard. “You gotta see it.”

It’s almost an entire company’s worth, Roe realizes with an immobilizing, disbelieving amount of pure terror. The stink of dead bodies carries on the wind, and he wants to throw up his rations over the side of the rooftop. All across the field, there are Americans and Germans alike in various states of decomposition. All are inexplicably mobile. And they are all coming towards Carentan.

They must be the remnants of the first time the Germans took Carentan from the company that was here before. Both sides just left their dead lying in the field, apparently, if they were still around.

Roe does not know what they want, or if they can even think to want anything. All he knows is that Hartley bit out his own tongue without so much of a reaction, and he’d wanted to bite any of the others around him.

A circle of ravens wheels overhead, lazily, as if awaiting the results of what seems to be a horde of revenants descending on a town full of American paratroopers. Roe realizes, with horror, that one bird is perched on the shoulder of a German rifleman, picking with its beak at the man’s ear and pulling stringy bits of dead matter off his skull. White bone shows through on many of the men. Many are missing limbs. Intestines are dangling darkly from the ruptured abdomen of an American paratrooper, and they knock against his knee with every step.

“What do we do?” says Liebgott, who breaks the silence when no one else had the courage to.

The men-things are slow, but they are going to reach the town quickly at their undeterred pace. What they will do when they get there is a mystery.

“I don’t know,” says Roe when the others turn to him, as if he has answers.

He’s only a battlefield medic. He has no idea.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

#band of brothers #band of brother au #zombie au #band of brothers fanfic #twd au #??? is that even a tag #writing #war in the time of death

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moonstruckbucky · 5 years

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Come Over (3/7)

Summary: You’re new to New York City. Fresh out of post-grad and wanting a change of pace, and this change comes in more ways than one.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader. Neighbor AU.

Warnings for Series: Fluff, angst, pining, the ush! Also, swearing, because nobody ever washed my mouth out with soap.

Notes: So I’ve daydreamed about a neighbor AU for an embarrassing amount of time, and I need something to get my creative juices flowing again. So, ta-da.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

A month into your new life in New York, you feel more settled in. Your apartment doesn’t look like a warehouse piled high with boxes, and you’ve even spent some of your signing bonus on artwork to hang on the walls and a few plants to bring some life to the space. You’re even considering getting a cat.

At work, you frequently eat your lunch with not only Wanda and Vis, but the three other women on your floor. Maria, Charlotte, and Sarah are all mothers, so they don’t usually attend the girls’ night out you and Wanda plan every week, but they’re still pleasant to sit and chat with regardless. It’s made you feel even more at home at Stark Industries.

Speaking of, Tony is a riot, you’ve learned. You’ve come out of your shell a little more with each day you work for him, and it’s mostly in thanks to Tony’s easy-going personality. Though he’s clearly a workaholic on top of being addicted to caffeine (for anyone else this might’ve been a destructive combination but Tony seems to wield both extremely well), he feels more like a weird brother/father figure than a boss. He keeps most projects secret from you, but occasionally he’ll show you a new update or ask for your opinion as a consumer. You’re honest with him without kissing his ass too much about it.

Since he lives closer, Sam comes over a couple times a week to hang out with you and catch up on your favorite shows. He tries to bring Clint with him most times, but being neck-deep in a new case makes it hard for him to get away to visit. You settle for FaceTiming him during the week even though it isn’t the same.

It’s one of your weekly nights with Sam, who reclines in your new armchair with his feet up and an open beer in his fist. You’re catching up on Mindhunter with him, relaxed on the couch under a big fluffy blanket with your own beer. In between episodes Sam has been telling you all about the girl he’s been seeing, to which you demand you meet her for approval.

He rolls his eyes and asks, “Isn’t that my job?”

You scoff. “You’re my best friend, Sam, and as my best friend, I’ve got to make you’re taken care of just as much as you’re taking care of her.”

He grumbles under his breath but you can see a slight pinkness to his dark skin that makes you smirk in victory. A few moments of silence and then:

“So what about you and Neighbor Boy then? What’s going on there?” While your smirk drops, his widens. You take a long pull from your beer.

“Absolutely nothing, Sam.”

He snorts and gestures with his beer. “You have coffee dates almost every week!”

“He helps me put furniture together! There’s absolutely nothing but friendship there, I assure you.”

A doubtful look characterized by lowering of his eyebrows and pursed lips. A responding eye roll and scrunched up face, a silent don’t give me that look.

“Want another?” you ask, needing to busy yourself in order to keep your unusually attractive neighbor out of your head. Throwing the blanket off your lap, you stand up and accept the empty bottle Sam holds out to you.

If he notices that you take a little longer to fetch two more beers, he doesn’t say anything when you get back to the couch. He presses ‘play’ on the remote and the topic of your neighbor is dropped.

For an hour.

“So, you’re coming next Sunday for our football party right?” Sam asks.

Once a month during football season, Sam and Clint co-host a party at your brother’s apartment. You make your five-layer chip dip and Sam brings a massive amount of wings while Clint provides endless beer and a giant wrap-around couch that seats eight. (You’re still not sure how he fit the damn thing in his apartment.) To antagonize Clint and to make the day a little more fun, you and Sam always show up in your matching Patriots jerseys representing the McCourty twins.

“Of course I’ll be there! I never miss it!” you reply with an incredulous look. Sam holds up his hands.

“Hey, just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any new furniture that needed assembling that day.” He chortles when you chuck the throw pillow under your hip at him and nail him in the chest. “I’m kidding. Mostly. But, uh, I was gonna say, if you wanted to invite him, you could. Not as a date, don’t you throw that bottle! Jesus. Crazy. Just, Clint and I think he’s cool and it’d be cool to have another dude around.”

You watch him for a few moments, see no trace of his earlier teasing, and sigh and relax back into the couch. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“All I ask.”

Sam, bless him, leaves you be about Bucky for the remainder of your evening together. When he’s gone, your mind can’t rest just yet, so you open up a new beer and put on a rerun of CSI. You’ll regret staying up so late in the morning, but for now, you let your mind get sucked into the emotional episode of Warrick’s funeral.

Regret is a bitter bitch, and the next morning it comes in the form of a prominent headache paired with under-eye bags your makeup barely hides. A three-hour binge of CSI definitely wasn’t your smartest move considering you’ve a fairly important meeting with Tony in about two hours. Hair tied back in a ponytail and makeup...done but slightly unsatisfactory, you slip into a black pencil skirt with a mustard blouse tucked in. Your feet slide into a pair of black pumps and you throw on a jacket to combat the cool October morning.

You know your face shows your exhaustion as you give yourself a final once over, but there’s not much you can do short of downing copious amounts of coffee. Tote bag slung over your shoulder, you head out of your apartment with a sigh. As you’re locking your door, the one next to yours opens, and Bucky steps out looking ten kinds of delicious in his running gear, tattoos on full display thanks to his tight tank top.

You grunt when he tells you good morning, chuckles good-naturedly until he sees your eyes. Then he’s frowning in concern and you’re almost desperate to do anything to wipe it off. Such a man should not be frowning.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asks, falling into step with you towards the elevator. You resist the urge to rub your eyes in order to preserve your makeup.

“Not really. Sam stayed till about ten and then I stayed up a little while longer. Guess I just couldn’t fall asleep.” To punctuate your sentence, a long yawn escapes. Bucky stands next to you in the elevator, close enough you can feel the heat radiating from him and it’s wholly distracting. “And I have a meeting in a couple hours and I’m not really sure how I’m going to get through it without dozing a few hundred times. Know anyone who can hook me up with a caffeine IV?”

He laughs, the sound echoing in the small space, and despite the warmth and your jacket you still suppress a shiver.

“I’m afraid not. Hey, do you have a few minutes? We can go get a cup now, if you want,” he offers, blue eyes boring into yours, and you nod before you can really think about it. His smile brightens up the entire elevator, and then he’s leading you with a hand on your back out into the lobby and finally out onto the street.

He takes you to a place between your apartment building and the subway, stands with his hands in his pockets as you both wait in line. Sam’s invite bounces around in your head, your nerves expressing themselves in the form of tapping your fingers on your arms, which are crossed over your chest.

Bucky and you order your respective drinks and he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. Your hand on his arm stops him, has him looking down at you with those depthless blue eyes.

“I’ve got it,” you say softly with a small smile. He opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but you merely hand over some cash to the cashier. “You’ve helped me a ton this past month. Let me at least start paying you back with coffee.”

The blush that overtakes his face has your insides fluttering with giddiness. You have to bite your lip to keep back your grin, your entire body warming over the fact you’ve made this beautiful giant of a man blush. As the two of you stand off to the side and wait for your orders, you feel a small boost in confidence.

“Hey Bucky, I was wondering—” You’re cut off by the shrill ringing of his phone. He sighs and pulls the device from his pocket, and if you hadn’t been eyeing him so closely, you’d miss the slight downward twitch of his mouth.

“Excuse me just one sec okay?” he says apologetically. When he looks up at you, you know he means it and you nod. He smiles tightly and walks off down the small hallway that leads to the bathrooms, accepting the call with a hushed “Hi”.

You wait patiently until the barista calls your name and Bucky’s, and you grab both cups and sip lightly from yours while Bucky’s on his call. You can see him in the hall, shoulders hunched and free hand swinging about as he gestures. That pinched look is on his face again and you feel a faint tug in your gut that has you wondering if you’re close enough friends to ask.

Before you can decide one way or another, he’s pulling his phone from his ear and shoving it back in his pocket.

“Sorry about that,” he sighs, accepting the coffee you hand to him with a close-lipped smile. He takes a long drink from it, wincing a little at the burn, and licks his top lip. It’s horribly distracting for a minute. “What were you going to ask me?”

“Oh, um, I was just wondering if you maybe—oh shit.” A quick glance down at your watch shows you’re going to be late if you wait any longer. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to get going otherwise Tony’s going to kill me with his newest project. Um, I’ll see you later?”

Bucky’s blue eyes are slightly widened in surprise at your sudden departure. “Y-Yeah, definitely. Maybe you can tell me about this new project.” It’s said with a wink that tickles your insides.

“Maybe. If I’m not sworn to secrecy. Bye, Bucky!”

“Have a good day at work. And thanks for the coffee!” he calls out as you fly out of the cafe.

Your exhaustion only worsens as the day goes on. The meeting you’d sat in on was nothing short of boring—even Tony dozed off a few times, but only you’d taken notice because you were seated beside him and heard the tiny little snores. Your planner had been filled with new doodles of suns, clouds, flowers, and a tiny little witch in the margins. You’re still unsure why you’d been required to attend this meeting; you have a pile of things on your desk that could have been done in the two hours you sat uncomfortably in your chair, listening to the other tech geniuses go back and forth on new design ideas.

By the time it’s time for you to leave, you feel dead on your feet, which are cramping in your shoes. Your neck, shoulders, and back are also killing you due to sitting in your chair and hunching over the screen built into your desk. The subway ride home has you almost falling asleep, lulled by the gentle swaying of the car and the four hours’ sleep you got the night before.

It’s a slow climb to your apartment, and as you pass Bucky’s door you hesitate. You never did get to ask him this morning and so, because you’re too damn tired to be shy, you turn and knock three times on his door. From behind the wood you can make out a scuffle, and then the door is yanked open and your mouth runs dry.

Bucky stands before you, shirtless and gleaming with sweat. He’s breathless, that broad chest heaving up and down. There’s a smattering of dark hair across his chest and beneath his navel that disappears into the band of his shorts. The hair on his head is mussed, as if he’d been sleeping or hand run his hands through it.

“Y/N,” he gasps. Crimson creeps up his neck and across his chest, stains his cheeks as well as he avoids looking at your eyes. He glances over his shoulder briefly before turning back to you, eyes cast down at the neckline of your blouse. “Wha-What are you, um, doing here?”

“I, uh, wanted to ask you if you wanted to come to my brother’s with me for the football game on Sunday?” you ask in an equally breathless rush.

Bucky seems surprised by the question and is about to answer when a second, female voice calls from behind him, “James?”

A blonde head appears over his shoulder and the slender woman tucks herself under Bucky’s arm, looking equally as disheveled. You feel the color drain from your face even though it warms under the implication that you've...interrupted. There’s no question of what they’d been, or had about to have been, doing because the blonde’s hair is ruffled just like Bucky’s, her full lips red and kiss-bitten. Her blouse is untucked and unbuttoned.

You can’t take your eyes off her, nor she you as she lays a manicured hand on Bucky’s chest, a universal female power move that says he’s mine.

Bucky looks as awkward as you feel, shifting from bare foot to bare foot even as his hand rests on the woman’s shoulder. He clears his throat and gestures with his free hand to the woman, whose eyes have not left your form and are currently on their third sweep of your entire figure.

“Uh, Y/N, this is Sharon.”

“His girlfriend,” Sharon interjects. A sideways tilt of her lips that you know means no good. She reaches out with that manicured hand for yours and you shake it quickly, dropping it as if it’s burned you.

In a way, it has. It’s burned you so badly on the inside that you want nothing more than to duck into your apartment with your tail between your legs. You can feel the flames licking at your gut, sliding up your esophagus to singe your throat. It’s bitter, the burn, and it puts a pressure in your throat and behind your eyes.

“Sharon, this is Y/N, our new neighbor I was telling you about.” He won’t look at you, focusing instead on the blank wall just over your shoulder.

His sudden refusal to look at you pairs badly with your embarrassment, from both interrupting and for ever thinking you might have a chance, and you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

Chapter Four

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes au #neighbor au #neighbor!bucky #bucky barnes neighbor au

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abyss-mal-blog1 · 5 years

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current mind-space//word vomit

it’s amazing how much can change in a few days, but it hasn’t been a week since my finals ended and i already felt so different. i have been doing f45 everyday this week (if not then some kind of workout, but i’ve really been into that recently). i am feeling so much better now without deadlines, sometimes i don’t know if i function better under pressure or not. i guess not, but then it’s amazing how much i can do and achieve under pressure. i need the right amount of pressure, and this semester it has been a little difficult for me to get around that.

last friday was kinda my last day of finals, i just had an essay to submit, and i am disappointed in myself and my work ethic because i submitted it at 9pm, went to my cousin’s (disappointing) party, and then professor emailed me to say that she cannot read Pages format (seriously smh @ my tardiness!!!), only got back at 1am that night and sent my mediocre essay. i am a little sad about it because i know that is not my 100%. idk why but college so far has just been a series of 80% effort. this paper was an interesting one, on airbnb, on the sharing economy, it’s a performance studies paper where i analyze the hospitality platform in terms of host-user relationship, parasitism and (attempted) to talk about free online labor. it is a little too late now but i kinda want to work on it again and like, submit for feedback. maybe ill ask taylor.

last saturday was kinda meh, i agreed to go to a *social* kinda event at a bar/club at chelsea, held for Asian-ivy-alumni-people that yanlin invited me too. it was at up&up and honestly a little...i didn’t enjoy it at all. the music sucked, the people were either too dorky or gross or old or weird, and the whole time i just kept saying to myself, “never again”. they said it was open bar but they only served absolut, which was shit. and then my friend’s two friends were...i feel sorry that this was their first clubbing experience. at the beginning my reaction was look at all these ivy alumni! get hitched with one of them for ~da connectsx~ (and nothing else) but no kidding i was actually interested in talking to them just to get to know what people who graduated from ivies are up to, and what are they doing at such events...and are they actually enjoying themselves because it was really kinda gross. met my friend’s friend who seemed like a really smart engineer (he asked for my number the next day lol), and a german dude at the bar who didn’t want to get me a drink. all i needed that night was a drink.....(i’m glad i didn’t drink tho because recently drinking has made me feel all kinds of bad) we had ramen after at ramen-ya (most probably the worst ramen and charsiew i’ve had but what can we do at 3am and my friend wanted noodle and soup...)

on sunday i KNow i should have left my house earlier to workout but i didn’t. i was angry at myself that i didn’t. instead, i stayed at home and emotion-ate. i must have eaten more green bean soup than my stomach would have liked. what else...avocado? i remember..two bananas? god. this was the day i felt like i was n’s boyfriend because i had to do what she wanted to do. i know i had agreed on going, but at that point i really wanted to go thrifting or something. i mean when i got to central park it was fine and things were good but the whole day just felt like i was kinda pulled into doing something that wasn’t my first choice of plans, not that i didn’t enjoy myself lying under the sun at the park. it just felt like i was accompanying someone. i was half an hour late to meet her as well, and half heartedly got a burrito-wrap at newsbar. if you think about it it is really kinda funny, we’re just buying food and taking the subway to this grass patch 50 blocks away. we didn’t walk much, we literally only stayed at a little grassy slope overlooking the baseball pitch. anyway we went to a dance class after (the class was an hour long but i felt like n had asked me about when and what time we should book the classes for more than an hour by text so i just got really sick of it) i rushed home and got dinner with my uncle who’s in town for my cousin’s graduation. i was surprised that he chose the same japanese restaurant again, after dissing it half a year ago we ate here. the omakase was crazy and it cost 230 per person. (for the most expensive set) it was also kinda dumb because you aren’t allowed to order a different omakase set from anyone else - everyone on the table has to order the same - because of “timing”. i wonder if this is how it is in japanese omakase etiquette, but in any case it really earned them a hefty amount because my uncle decided to get 230 for all of us. qiyang didn’t like and said qiqi had bad taste, hahaha. the food wasn’t bad, i mean it’s japanese fusion, but the prices were way too steep for the taste. anyway enough about the food, during the dinner i think we talked about many things though. i kinda wanted to talk to my uncle individually because i think he is the only one who knows about ah gong, but he was sick, and i could tell he was exhausted. my aunt got a little impatient because i didn’t arrange plans to take their furniture and they were going to throw all of them away and it was actually the first time i’ve seen her get so worked up - but at the same time trying to control her emotions - because she was talking to me. i could tell she was annoyed though but i tried not to take it personally, and arranged it tomorrow.

arranging the moving stuff was kinda last minute, i was walking to the library for work one day and i saw a truck that said MakeSpace. i assumed it was a kind of moving company and so i looked them up. they seemed to be pretty okay in terms of their services and so i decided to try them out. confirmation and setting up an appointment went pretty smoothly, except for the part where the guy i think his name was joseph, asked me to give my credit card details over the phone. idk why i did that! i stopped though, and asked him why, to which he replied he wanted to key in with the coupon code. this service has so much gimmicks within the first 2-3 minutes on the phone he was already telling me about how the first pick up is free, and that he will deduct 100$ off the first month...when people give you discounts too easily it just feels like a ploy and a thing they give to everyone, it’s not anything special and it’s probably calculated inside whatever we have to pay. anyway, i was just thinking it would be cheaper (assuming the maximum that i would have to pay is ~$500, as i confirmed with them on the phone yesterday), it’d still be cheaper than starting an apartment lease now and going through the trouble of finding two subletters.

well. idk, it’s also easy to have things all moved in, i have to find a place to store my perishables!

moving is so much work, and storing things. this reminds me of my paper on airbnb and about the digital nomad lifestyle. it is interesting though, that this is what it has become. but the homogenized aesthetic is something i really cannot stand, in airbnb, in coffeeshops around the world..i am sure you know what i’m talking about. a new york times writer did something about this - he termed it “Airspace” - and apparently it originated from Brooklyn. I guess that’s where the art/avant-garde stuff started. well. keep a look out im gonna write a blogpost about that

moving on

nat came to sleepover on sunday night and a few days after because the school kicks you out of the dorms you pay so much for right after your final ends. i forgot if we did something fun but i probably just fell asleep.

on monday i think i went to f45 and did cardio at Dumbo with Gi. he seems like a pretty nice trainer, the first time i went it was him and another girl Bertha (i think my first f45 was last tuesday) and i felt like i had two personal trainers with me - Gi was cheering me on and Bertha was doing it with me. it felt like such a good workout, one of the best ive had in a while. then work, where i arranged the movers stuff. i also realized i bought the wrong date for my flight ticket as my friends and had to buy one more...............

tuesday was the same f45 in the morning, and the bobst after. didn’t really get much work done at bobst. oh i also viewed a 3BR flex at 160. hella expensive and small, and dates didn’t work out anyway. also the broker who brought us to view the apartment was a very nice tall french man and his name was jean-francois which i couldn’t pronounce and asked nat but still called him jean as in jeen instead of john. this is why i have to learn french. you’re embarrassing. i also went to the itp/ima spring show with shubham which was super cool. there were many cool ideas, and i just wonder if i could create something like that. i didn’t get to see all of the exhibits which i regret, but i remember a few notable projects. one was an installation made with keyboards that randomly clicks, but when you hold your phone up it’ll stop. it’s made using 3d gestures. there’s also one at a gallery for surveillance, this team had a thing they call facebox, and it’s literally a box, that when you open it has a webcam that would capture your face, find you on facebook, and print out an invoice/receipt on how much you have earned for this giant tech company. what else...an AR project that when you scan a food, it shows you where the food comes from. nat said that she would love it if menus have something they could scan and then have pictures appear in ~holographic~ format, or maybe in the nearer future something on your phone that shows you a picture of the picture of the food. but isn’t it a surprise tho? sometimes the fun’s in the surprise, you read the description, you know what are the foods you’ll eat, leaving room to imagine or be surprised by how the chef puts it together! anyway, went for dinner with nat and jenny - got vegan shwarma (definitely wasn’t worth $14) and went to get crepes with will after.

wednesday we were gonna go to the dmv but we weren’t prepared. nat also needed to get her passport and she was lazy. wow the number of times i mentioned her, it feels like she’s my boyfriend at this point. talked to famz, sister, and beatrix. am currently considering if i should even go to beijing or just go straight home. fuck. went to bobst for work but no one was there i was just really sleepy. viewed an apartment at 55 morton (it’s a nice quiet residential street that seems to be tucked away from the loud cars and bars and people) then i went to f45 again-varsity!!! cardio!!!, walked across brooklyn bridge (a little regret although i wanted to walk, but my bag was heavy and there were too many tourists to brisk walk)

also the reason for this is that after my soba/miso/salad/shrimp dinner last night i was just watching a bunch of netflix shows and it was probably the caffeine from puerto rican roasting company - the barista made me a chai cappuccino with almond milk (3 SHOTS!!!)

me and nat couldn’t sleep, i really think i slept for an hour. i watched so many different shows, yoko and john’s documentary, while we were young, anthony bourdain, i was seriously flipping through all the shows and alternating between amazonprme and youtube and netflix and i even tried watching peaceful cuisine and making the brightness lower and had the sleep mode on and wow i just couldn’t sleep

so yeah the birth of this word vomit

i am going to create more things

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labyrinth-of-headcanons · 6 years

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Hairpin

Chapter IV

Main Pairing: Kouen X Chaima (OC) Genre: Romance/Drama

Like the tradition requires, Chaima was supposed to give the hairpin to the man she’d marry. While she never believed in the day to come, for her to really follow her mother’s words, she couldn’t have foreseen one little accident that would turn her life around in the little time they spent together. However, with Kouen’s sharp words and keen mind, it was only a matter of time until she found herself falling more and more for the prince that captured her heart.

a/n: And chapter four. It’s coming along easier than I thought. I was looking forward to the moment, they’d finally be able to interact so bless this chapter for making it happen lol. Anyhow, let me know what you thought!

The scene that unfolded in front of her felt utterly unreal. By the time she reached the passing point between the entrance hall - which either lead to the dining room, saloon or further inside the mansion - and the servant’s corridor, her body had completely given up. Her mind could neither come up with any other scenario that could save her from this, nor give any commands to her body. In her frustration and fear, she had made her way to the meeting point, only to stand awkwardly and motionless in the middle of the room.

However, the prince sat alone on one for the four elegant, red cushioned chairs that were offered to guests to have a seat as they waited. Aside from his everlasting serious expression, he didn’t give the impression of being tense. In fact, he might have been the most relaxed Chaima could imagine him to be. And yet, she still didn’t have it in her to approach him while her co-worker did so with as much submissiveness as he could. She heard how he started to speak, his words noble, just like he was taught to handle guests of this caliber.

“Your Majesty, I have brought the person you requested. Please excuse me.” After a sweeping motion of the prince’s hand, the butler bowed, leaving the place and Chaima behind. Her brain screamed at her to do anything. Approach, smile, bow, talk. Be pleasant, be present, as the motto went. But she could do nothing. Her feet felt as if they had rooted on the wooden boards of the floor underneath her. Mouth dry, she gritted her teeth so much that if she had started to cry, it could have very well been from the pain she felt.

The shuffling of fabric was what made her get a grip on herself, as she observed how the prince slowly rose from his chair after having stared at the maid for a while. “Am I going to show myself to my room?” he asked. There was no amusement in his voice, even though his words could have very well hinted at him making fun of her. It made her anxious and even a little angry. If he was going to toy with her life that easily then he was a cruel man, how she figured. Nevertheless, Chaima slowly gained control over her limbs, shaking her head to disagree.

“No, of course not, Your Highness,” she started, lowering her gaze down to the floor and curtsied before quietly adding, “Forgive my insolence.” She could feel the tears burning up in her eyes as she was reminded of the happenings only hours ago, where she had to show similar gestures. Since she didn’t believe that this was going to end well for her, she felt endlessly frustrated. Prince Kouen didn’t even bother to say anything, instead, gesturing for her to lead the way with his hand. Apparently, he is even too noble to talk to me, Chaima thought, putting on a meek smile and moved over to the sliding door leading further inside the mansion.

Using both hands, she slid it open, taking a step aside and letting the prince proceed first. It was the way she had been taught to behave. No looking into his eyes and no talking of unnecessary words. Always look indifferent as her opinion wasn’t needed, and out of courtesy, always bow and be thankful of a noble following her lead. These weren’t hard to understand rules, and yet they made her sick to the stomach. No matter how often she had to suck up to anyone in her life, may it have been her employer or the guests they welcomed, Chaima always thought that it was so wrong. She had kept these thoughts to herself all this time, but on this particular evening, she had trouble containing herself while facing her doom with every step she took.

The two moved to the indoor hallway around the inner garden. For a second, Chaima thought about mentioning something about the plants that were assembled in the small pit. The night was clear and quiet, but also dark and only the light of the candle lamps brightened their way to go. Even if she had mentioned the beautiful flowers, the prince wouldn’t have been able to see them through the windows anyway. It was simply too dark outside. So she kept quiet, proceeding down the hallway.

On the small intersection leading straight ahead or right through another door, she didn’t turn, moving straight forward to the guest chambers. The only sound that let her know that he was still following her were his footsteps. To her surprise, she found them to be rather tender for a man who was as tall and sturdy as he was. Then again, what did she know? Maybe his clothes let him appear like this and nothing more. The thought of him being not so imposing when he took off his garments cleared her mood a little bit, and she could feel a rush of happiness going through her for a moment. Cautiously, she bit onto her lip as to not smile and upset anyone.

They passed the first two guest rooms on her left and the meeting room as well as the first bedroom on her right. Chaima assumed that since he was the most important of the three, he should stay in the far back for safety reasons. At that moment, she realized she had no idea about how they were supposed to be divided. Swallowing down a big gulp of panic, she proceeded to open the room on her right side carefully. She was happy to find that the light had already been lit in anticipation inside the bedroom. For a moment, Chaima tried to see if the luggage that was stored there seemed manly, but she was disappointed by the plain, red boxes that really could have been for any person.

Prince Kouen wasn’t as anxious about entering the room as Chaima was. However, he seemed interested in checking the boxes too, as he approached them with determination. “Close the door,” he ordered, sounding as demanding as ever and waiting impatiently as she pushed the door back in place. Only when she heard the clicking of the locks that sprung open on the boxes behind her, Chaima realized that maybe she wasn’t supposed to go into the room with him, making her situation worse for her.

She stood facing the wall with her back to him, needing to collect all her courage to glimpse over her shoulder shyly. Kouen had kneeled down, unfazed by her presence and opening one of the three boxes. From her point of view, she was able to make out some scrolls that were stored neatly inside of them, hearing him grunt before getting up again. “You.” Her heart instantly dropped into her stomach as she slowly turned around, her hand holding on to the door grip to leave at any second. Wrong room, wrong room, wrong room, she sang in her head, feeling how her forehead began to emit sweat pearls from the panic that drove through her.

To her dismay, the prince liked taking his time before continuing his words. He rolled his head from left to right, letting his eyes take in the room. On the wall left from the door, the boxes were placed, taking up the least amount of space as possible. Across them resided the big bed. It was a traditional one, made from dark wood and fitted specifically for the room. Wood carvings enclosed the resting space, and it was laid out with comfortable bedding. In all her life, Chaima had never seen a such an impressive bed, given she never worked as a housekeeper, and it left quite the impression on her.

Furthermore, there was a table made from the same wood as the bed, as well as a chair to sit on. The backside had sliding doors, which left it free from any furniture blocking the path. For the time being, however, they remained closed to secure the rooms for the guests. Outside was a small pathway leading to the garden. It was then that Chaima had an idea of how to escape her misery. Coughing lightly, she darted past the prince, checking the locks of the sliding door, opening the way to the outdoor area to make sure no one could come in easily while the prince rested. All that she did while the latter was still inspecting his new residence for the week, giving her the chance to build her plan on the surprise moments of her actions.

Once she proved herself of everything being alright, she turned to him. By now his eyes had fixated on her as he watched what she was doing. Chaima quickly curtsied again, reassuring him by saying, “I hope the room is to Your Highness’s liking. I will now leave you to your rest. If you’ll excuse me.” When she opened her eyes after the bow, she only had the door leading to the hallway in mind and made hasty steps towards it, eager to leave this room and survive the day. But that wouldn’t turn out like she wished it would.

His arm raised fast in front of her, and she could barely stem her feet into the ground to not run against it with full speed. It was a border to keep her from leaving, and he had erected it, knowing exactly what she had planned. “Not excused,” he simply stated, his voice making her freeze in the position she had after stopping. Chaima couldn’t even bear to look up or speak a word, the nervousness turning her into stone. Regardless, the prince lowered his arm, moving past her. She heard the rustling of fabric as Kouen took off his black cape, throwing it over the railing around the bed. He didn’t seem to concern himself with the worth of the cape, or that it should be handled better than just being thrown somewhere.

Holding on to his right shoulder he rolled it a few times - Chaima had noticed the weird golden head of a lion that seemed to rest in that particular spot, maybe it was actually pretty heavy? - while walking over to the table and pulling out the chair from its position. She could only stare as he dragged it over the floor, in front of the boxes and facing the bed. “Sit,” he demanded, pointing at the chair with his left pointer finger like you would when commanding a dog. However, Chaima saw herself in no position to disobey, so she followed his orders. In fact, she even looked like a scolded puppy, trembling slightly as she took a seat, trying to look anywhere but him.

Unfazed, he marched to the bed, letting himself sink into the entrance to the resting space, and crossed his arms. If one hadn’t known better, he could have been her father, scolding his daughter for something stupid she did. Maybe that thought isn’t too far off, she told herself, trying to find any last piece of comfort as the situation seemed to continue to worsen for her. Though only through the little bit she let herself look at him - not daring to look at his face - she also had to find out that he was still extremely well-built underneath his large coat. With that, the bubbly thoughts she had about him actually being a wimp underneath his clothes burst, and she was left with no comforting thoughts to turn to anymore.

The moment of silence that fell over the two of them was unbearable. There was nothing funny she could have thought of to keep her from having paranoid scenarios playing through her mind again. This was it. From this point onwards, it would only get worse, that she was sure of. Chaima almost missed the moment he picked up his words again, as her mind had drifted off into the world of her fears. However, his stern voice was able to reach her even through the panic ringing in her ears.

“You are the one from this afternoon, right?” Inwardly she let out a deep sigh. Oh, he got her. He got her so good. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. However, it still did as she had planted hope inside of her mind until the end. What am I supposed to do? she asked herself. Letting different ways of how to handle the situation run through her brain while she kept staring at the floor. Chaima found herself at the end of her wits soon enough. Clenching her fists, Chaima did the only thing that seemed appropriate in this situation. Gliding from the chair, she fell to her knees, laying out her hands on the cold, wooden planks of the floor and bowing deep, just how she had done before.

“I am so sorry!” she wept. By now there was nothing holding her back. All the anxiety and stress that had built over the last few hours washed out of her and gave her tears a free fall from her eyes. The salty water burned up her nose and the corner of her eyes, but it also freed her from the burden finally. “I should have been more careful, that should-” she took a deep breath, swallowing the big knot that was building in her throat before proceeding, “-That should never have happened!” Chaima barely managed to hold back the sobs, but she fought through them, feeling how her pride seemed to build up again slowly.

There was a moment of no words spoken before she heard the thud of his foot in front of her. She felt herself trembling at the pause between them and bit her lip in an attempt to find some hold, readying herself for anything that could happen now. Nevertheless, she remained in her position, not daring to get up and face him. It was then that he replied to her scene and she heard something small bumping against the wood in front of her. When she looked up, he had lowered his hand, his pointer impatiently tapping onto the floor with the knuckle. Noticing her seeing his gesture he spoke to her again, saying, “Come on.” A bit perplexed and confused, she just looked up at him for a moment. She noticed that not only his voice was not as strict and demanding as before, but his face appeared to be much softer, aside from the many wrinkles that still grazed it.

Unsure, she carefully placed her hand in his, and with a fast tug, he pulled her and himself up. She was softly nudged backwards to the chair, flopping down the moment her knee pits came in contact with the material. The prince also took another step back to sit down again, facing her once more and taking a deep breath. While she felt confused about what exactly just happened, the tears still streamed down her rosy cheeks, and it made him raise his hand to his mouth and clear his throat. Reaching over to his cape, he turned the fabric over before pulling out a white piece of cloth, shaking it open and holding it towards her.

“Here.” He let the piece of fabric wave in the air, animating her to take it with confusion. Her hand reached out slowly towards it, her body moving on its own accord. “Thank you…” she mumbled, feeling the cold silk against her skin and using a corner of it to dab it onto her eyes tenderly. She did so until the tears seemed to be absorbed by either the fabric or her dried-out skin, but at least there were no more coming when she was finished. For a second, she thought about giving it back to him. But she decided not to, fearing what might still await her.

“I take this as that it was indeed you, who we stumbled upon while traveling here.” Chaima had her eyes fixated on the floor, biting her lip as she started to nod. Slowly at first but then very determined, she shook her head up and down, finally looking up at his face while clutching her fingers into the napkin. “Yes, that was me. I had taken my eyes off of the youngest son for a moment and... He simply escaped my grasp.” There was a short moment of silence that felt like an eternity, before she heard him say, “Is that so…” Chaima could barely believe her eyes as an amused smirk fell over the prince’s lips. But it was gone just as fast as it had come.

A little flabbergasted about what just happened, she suddenly found some courage in the change of his expression. “Did you- What… Is everything alright, Your Highness?” He turned his face back to her completely, the same expressionless look residing on it as always. “Indeed. You angered Ka Koubun quite a bit.” She instantly regretted asking, her face flushing red from the embarrassment. It was no laughing matter for her, and she felt like he was having fun dragging her on again. It fueled a small flame of anger in her and acting in spite, Chaima made the decision to bring her misery to an end.

“What will happen to me now, Your Highness?”

She kept her voice soft, an underlying fear echoing in it. He was able to make out her panic through her expression, eyes widened, and her hands clenched while resting in her lap. She looked tenser than what he had expected her to be. True, it may have been his intention to confront her about this matter and maybe get himself some peace of mind, but after seeing her prior reaction, he had to wonder about the straightforwardness she showed him now. For a second, he felt the interest bloom inside of him, but he quickly dismissed that feeling. “Nothing,” he answered, making it sound like this was the most natural conversation he ever had.

“Nothing?” Chaima repeated.

“Nothing,” he confirmed once more, a hint of impatience reaching her.

Then again, she just couldn’t let this sit on her like this. “Nothing is going to happen?” she asked again, not believing in her ability to hear and understand words. She could only see his body tensing as he took a deep breath and she unconsciously shied away deeper into her chair. The two stared at each other for a while before Chaima gained the fragments of all her teachings about etiquette back. Quickly, she averted her eyes, blushing lightly as she felt awkward about the happenings.

“You may leave now,” he said. These words were unreal in her mind as she gave him a meek smile and crooked her head to the side. She had a short “Okay?” moment in her mind, as she stood up slowly, moving around the chair to pick it up and place it back at the table again. Moving back in front of him, she bowed politely. “Thank you, Sire.” Chaima didn’t get far, her hand resting at the handle of the sliding door that would guarantee her access to the hallways before she heard the prince speak up once more.

“What’s your name?” She turned slightly to him, giving him another look directly into his eyes. “It’s Chaima, Sir.” Kouen nodded once at her, and she could hear how he took another deep breath. “Goodnight, Chaima.” There was no hesitation in the way he spoke her name - even though she was no one important to him - and for a moment, she could only stare at him, her mouth opened partway. Feeling the heat rise to her cheeks, she looked away from him, bowing slightly and opening the door before replying, “Goodnight, Your Highness.”

Only much later she noticed that she still had the napkin he gave her. Chaima hoped she’d remember to return it to him in the morning, but somehow, she found it to be very comforting after this long day.

#Magi #magi: the labyrinth of magic #Magi: Sinbad no Bouken #sinbad no bouken #snb #Magi Imagines #Magi Headcanons #Magi Scenarios #OC #OC story #fanfiction #oc shipping #OCXCanon #OW #Hairpin

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Any suggestion for an auto insurance?

"Any suggestion for an auto insurance?

I'm currently under geico but I realized that they charge me too much.Do you know any auto insurance that is cheaper?

BEST ANSWER: Try this site where you can compare quotes: : http://financeandcreditsolution.xyz/index.html?src=tumblr

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I am 19 with a VW polo 1.4 payin 140 a month

How long do I have to wait to be able to buy car insurance?

My sister has been paying for car insurance because the car is hers. I want to buy a new car, so I need to pay insurance on my own. I've been driving for 1 year. The problem is I had 2 tickets: speeding and move-over violation. I think because of that, the insurance quote is very high, like $200/month. I wonder if I will be able to buy insurance with lower quote a couple years later or not, and during that time I will put my car under my sister's insurance. Thank you to people who give me answers!""

Am I paying too much for insurance?

So both me and my wife share vehicle... We are insured through aaa with 500 deductible. We pay quarterly and it cost about 360 until our last statement came which was 435 (it went up). The car is a Chevy hhr 2006 with about 125k mileage on it. We only travel about 8 miles per day to work. Both of us are late twenties, she was involved in a hit and run a year ago (someone hit her costing 3000 in damages) while I got a speeding ticket for $185 2 months ago (those are our only two incidents in past 3 years)... Both of us have good credit, we are not homeowners as yet. Both of us has been on the policy for 2 years now and she has been the only owner (it's in her name). Are we over paying?""

Cheapest Auto insurance?

Cheapest car insurance?

2001 ford mustang, 2005 chevy cobalt, 2003 chevy impala, 2000 chevy blazer, and a 2002 chevy camaro. Put them in order from most expensive to least expensive based on insurance and gas. I am an almost 16 year old guy, if that helps! thanks!""

Whats the cost of insurance difference between owning a GT mustang compared to a LX mustang?

I need an eye exam but i dont have insurance.?

Do most eyecare centers accept patients without insurance? Where can I go that is affordable?

Can you get car insurance without a license?

I want to buy a car without a drivers license. Can I get insurance for the car if I use another name of a person with a license?

Car Insurance in Kentucky?

i've got a 98 red dodge advenger,, one of the sports one.. i'm 16 and my parents are going to make me pay for my insurance i think, i make good grades, like a,b,c's. but does anyone know how much insurance would be? we have allstate.""

On average what does a automotive insurance adjuster/or a body shop estimator make annually?

How much will my insurance payment increase because of my speeding ticket?

To begin with, I was going 111mph in a 60mph zone. It was dumb and stupid, I know. Normally I would pay just $125 every 6 months for car insurance but now I'm wondering how much it will increase. And by paying I mean I would give the money to my dad because the car is under his name. I use the car everyday to go to work but it's under my father's name. I am not registered in any insurance of any car my dad owns. I am only 17 by the way and i ll turn 18 in a month. The ticket is considered an infraction and will cost $603. I will send them a check so I won't have to go to court. Any idea of to what may happen next, like my insurance rate?""

What do you see as the purpose of health insurance?

Should there be limits on the amount of health care provided? If yes, what criteria should we use to ration health care? If no, how should health care be financed so that everyone has access?""

Is there a age limit to qualify to get car insurance in California?

I am 17 1/2 years old, and I just saved up enough money to buy my own car. Can I insure the car by myself??""

How much have you paid for classic car insurance?

I have just bought merc e220 1993 and looking for cheap policy. Im over 30 female and got a wicked quote for fully comp with a named driver for 180. What have you paid?

Can a car insurance company change my price mid policy?

I have already made 2 payments on my policy, and now the insurance company had me call for some sort of interview. At the end they said they need to review the policy and will get back to me. Can they change my price mid policy? I figured they would have to wait until my policy was up for renewal since I've already made payments, and they sent their notice after my first payment was made. However, the woman on the phone said that my premium may change. Is there some sort of legal statement saying they can't change my premium mid policy?""

How will this go with my insurance??

Yesterday i was on my way to work and I was stopped waiting to turn left, there was a car in front of me stopped as well, who was turning in the same direction. Once they had turned i looked and i did not see anyone so i began to turn, in the middle of the turn i saw a car coming very quickly at me, i tried to speed up to get out of the way but i was hit on the passenger side of my car. The woman said she saw me but couldnt stop in time, and when i looked over i could see she was breaking and her car wiggled back and forth, and from experience i know that that only happens when you are going at high speeds. I am 17 and on my parents insurance, i am worried about what will happen. How will the insurance deal with this, will we have to pay for her car even though she hit me? Will her insurance cover my car? Or What will happen? I am very worried and i do not know much at all about Insurance and dealing with accidents. Also what is a deductable?""

Car Insurance?

Is it normal for a car insurance company to send a questioner to it's clients who had an accident? They asked the same questions I told them on the phone and I had to get the form notarized to send in with my answers. They we're asking what time, where it happened, who was I with, did I ever file a claim before, and the last two pages had to do with fraud.""

Auto Insurance ? Never had it. Can anybody help.?

I have called for quotes.. to many auto insurance companies. But since this my first time purchase I am confused, Can someone break down the features of a policy, what am i to have, what is reccomended. thanks , any details will help.""

NY DMV - Are you supposed to buy car insurance first or register the car?

The DMV's web site says that I need proof of insurance to register my new (used) car. At the same time Progressive wont sell me insurance because the car does not seem to be owned by me. Any help guys?

""Insurance for 6 months, changes mid policy?""

I'm looking at buying insurance for a 6 month period, but 2 months into the period there will be a change that causes a significant price drop (3 points removed from my license and my birthday). Will they generally allow me to have my rate adjusted mid-policy? I'm talking of a price difference of about 100 a month, so I really want to see how I can make this work.""

Any suggestion for an auto insurance?

I'm currently under geico but I realized that they charge me too much.Do you know any auto insurance that is cheaper?

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/how-much-toyota-spyder-increase-my-insurance-larry-gilbert/"

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