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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 25

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TWs/SUMMARY: Drugs and alcohol. Vague reference to Britishguy Funnyname being Smaug. Gen-Z humor. Reader throwing it back. You can pry my headcanon of Sam being a good dancer from my cold, dead hands.

I literally have a playlist titled "party in Stark tower but a Gen-Z is the DJ". It's good for house parties & dancing. Throw it back my ladies theybies and gentlemen ✌🏻😔

As soon as we heard the muted cheering coming from the spot we'd last seen our friends, my and Loki's head minutely turned in that direction, and only centuries of practice on his end prevented us from colliding with another couple dancing nearby.

Stephen Strange was a... Vision. He was something else, for sure, tight black suit with a sophisticated scale pattern shining silver in the candlelight; the same pattern decorating parts of his face and head, convoluting in a set of small, raised grey-white horns. And his eyes - his eyes glowed like the molten embers of an unholy fire, yellow and gold. He looked terrifying and dangerous and delicious.

And he was looking at us, a cocky smirk on his pale lips and a glass of scotch idly held in a black, gloved hand.

Loki cleared his throat.

I averted my gaze, briefly locking my eyes with Loki's - red and wide. So I wasn't the only one that felt an indescribable sort of animalistic magnetism when looking at the Sorcerer Supreme. "Magic?" I asked, to take my mind off the awkwardness.

"Indeed," Loki replied curtly, stepping slightly closer to me. "Simplistic, but powerful magic. It seems like you had struck a sensitive spot within the Sorcerer," With a great deal of teasing, Loki grinned his trademark 'I-am-trouble' grin.

I chewed on my lip in thought. Low confidence much, Stephen? "We can both agree he is hot as fuck, a gorgeous piece of man, and continue with our party," I spoke after a brief moment, raising an eyebrow towards Loki, hoping to cut the shit at its roots. The trickster couldn't pretend he was unaffected, I had seen his brain stutter.

"Let's shall," He smiled, for real this time, and led us back to our friends. "Strange," Loki's voice was, perhaps, a tad more breathy than usual. I wouldn't blame him for shooting his shot if Stephen actually swung that way.

"Doctor Wizard," Game face: ON, I made my biggest, most innocent eyes and fluttered my wings for the dramatic effect as I made my way back to Bruce. Tony was gone and so was his glass of whiskey - I assumed he had went to schmooze. Bruce patted his lap and I obediently sat down, placing myself nearly face-to-face with the sorcerer.

"Good evening," It took my brain a moment to register that the deep, guttural voice was coming indeed from Stephen himself. "Forgive my tardiness, I was held up at the Sanctum." He stared right at me, flashing those unbelievable eyes in what seemed like amusement. I couldn't tell.

"Smaug," My brain blurted out for some reason. I mean, the eyes, the scales, the voice...

"Touchè," He nodded, saluting me with his glass and taking a hefty swig. "I can't say I'm very trendy," The way he said the word was obviously meant to insult current fashions, "But for an old man like me, I clean up nicely." The little shit-eating grin just about killed me on the spot. Bruce chuckled behind me.

"I won't disagree," I twirled the straw of a drink Bruce had passed me, faking coyness and trying to gather my thoughts in some resemblance of an order. "The eyes are impressive."

"Thank you," Stephen chuckled. "That, and the voice, took some time and patience."

So, he noticed. I was fucked. So, so fucked. I needed more alcohol. "Where's Wanda?" I asked nobody in particular.

"She's dancing with Natasha," Bruce answered, watching me and Stephen with a knowing smirk. The green in his eyes didn't intensify and I took the brief moment to softly touch my lips to his, so quickly it might have been mistaken for a trick of the eye by any peeping stranger. Stephen's close vicinity did something to me. "Wanna go dance with the girls, Princess?" Bruce leaned away slightly, the brown of his irises flashing a glowing green. Oh, he was affected, too.

Stephen Strange, you sly, sly bastard.

"Yes, daddy," I whispered into his ear - just to watch him shudder all over and the hand on my bare thigh briefly turn green, grabbing my flesh possessively... As well as hear Stephen's sharp inhale, the brightening of his eyes. I sashayed off, satisfied with my small act of revenge.

I approached Natasha and Wanda carefully, taking care not to startle them.

"Finally," The witch sighed, moving slowly and precisely to the music with Natasha by her side. "I thought I would find you and Loki in the supply closet." She sounded... Slightly jealous, to be honest.

"Nah, we were thirsting over Strange," I rebuffed the implications firmly.

Natasha whistled. "I can see why."

"I know, right? Almost got Brucie to drag me out of here caveman style with that voodoo shit," I laughed soundly, looking around for the DJ booth. The music was... Nice, but definitely not for solo or group dancing. "You wanna go with me or stay here? I'll bribe the DJ into playing something more... Dancy," I said, reaching into my bra to pull out a fat roll of cash.

"Oh, I want to see that," Natasha proclaimed, pulling me towards our destination by the hand. Wanda followed obediently and curiously. In ten minutes I spent making puppy eyes, Natasha was giving DJ her best murder face and Wanda blankly stared at the array of electronics, I became $300 poorer but the tunes playing overhead slowly turned away from dark rock and into club bass territory.

When a particular song began playing, I pulled out my two girls behind me without a twitch, snagging and downing two shots from a tray standing on the bar. "Tuesday on mind, think about you all the time..." I sang along, body falling into the familiar rhythm of bopping to house music. Natasha joined quickly whereas Wanda was a little confused... But still, she had the spirit.

Few more songs and few more shots in, I was feeling myself. Wanda was tipsy, too, as she had followed in my footsteps upon Natasha's amused urging. Slowly but surely, we danced and drank our way back to our table.

Tony and Stephen were engaged in a staring contest - which was quite funny to me in my state. Tony didn't flinch, didn't blink, just traced his thumb along his jawline just like every time he was deep in thought.

"Loki!" Wanda happily exclaimed, disrupting the tense silence with a fit of drunken giggling. "She bribed the DJ, that was so cool!" The witch snorted as me and Natasha let out slightly embarrassed laughs. Technically, Wanda was still underage and - unsurprisingly - a total lightweight.

"Let's get some fresh air, darling," Loki approached the situation courteously, holding the girl steady and gently steering her towards the patio.

I took the empty chair immediately, plopping with little grace, throwing a leg over the other and leaning back in my chair, exposing the sparkling skin of my legs.

"You're responsible for this noise?" Stephen gestured to the people dancing, now much more closely and loosely, all over the room.

"Baby girl, if you keep dancing like that, I won't mind the terrible noise," Tony winked at me salaciously, evidently having seen me throwing it back like a pro despite my heels and fancy dress. "Where'd you learn that?"

"I just had lots of practice... " I trailed off insinuatingly, eyeing each man for a moment longer than necessary. The darkness in their eyes answered all my questions, the alcohol on my blood making me much bolder in my leering towards them both. I wasn't hiding my eyes as they lazily ran over Stephen's and then Tony's form. The latter knew what it meant, usually his pants were undone in mere minutes after I looked at him like that.

Today, I was a Fae. I was supposed to be playful and I was going to play. My eyes averted before they reached Tony's, focusing instead on Natasha and being all but thrown around by an overly excited Thor. The spy took it like a champ, I doubt I could survive the space-lambada or whatever the fuck it was that the inebriated Asgardian was doing.

A somber silence hung over us, each person eyeing the others with secretive looks. Despite the situation having the full potential to be hot, it was starting to get a little bit unsettling. If I was honest with myself I had completely no idea how to party with old people. Bruce didn't seem to be the dancing kind, Strange looked way too unapproachable and Tony was well on his way to getting shitfaced. I hid behind my drink as I scouted the dance floor for Clint or Sam figuring that they probably wouldn't refuse me a dance or three.

Bingo. Sam caught my eyes quickly and made way to our table in response to the dejected look I gave him. "Sup, baby?" The Falcon-turned-Greek-demigod asked me as he promptly downed a glass of water. The sheen of sweat covering his face indicated he wasn't the one to sit around with a phat beat in the background. "Wanna bust some moves?'

"Sure do," I replied, taking hold of his outstretched hand. "Tony and Stephen are way too busy flirting to dance with me." I pouted, ignoring Tony's indignant shrieking and Sam's laughter. We found ourselves a cozy little spot between all the grinding, writhing sweaty bodies, just barely in direct eyesight of the pouting men we'd left at the table.

"Are you making moves on me now?" Sam laughed as our bodies slid close and moved to the rhythm in perfect sync. The man met all my expectations, he had all the prerequisites for being a good dancer and he did not disappoint.

"Nah, Bird, you've been friend zoned," I snarked, alcohol loosening my lips. "I already have my hands full with my geniuses, sorry man." I was twirled and spun, my hands promptly landing back on his chest. It wasn't that much different than dancing dirty during one of the house parties I used to frequent. Just a lot less pelvic thrusting...

Sam threw his head back, baring his pearly whites in mirth. "At least spare this man a good dance?" The bass dipped lower and I found myself turned around, facing Tony, Bruce and Stephen. Their smirks were dark and nearly identical as they watched me slot and sway my hips in rhythm with the man behind me. "I know you got some moves, baby, don't be shy," Sam teased me.

Who was I to deny such a polite request?Alcohol was fueling my bravery and all but evaporating my sense of shame. Aw, yiss. In short, I was throwing ass like crazy and Sam - Sam was catching it, expertly. My dress wasn't deterring me in the slightest bit, adding an extra flair to my movements. In a moment, my worries were forgotten and replaced by a rush of endorphins coming from the pure joy brought on by dancing.

We danced until my feet hurt. At some point Sam was swished away by a tall, beautiful woman and I traded places with some other girl, landing in the arms of a bulky blonde man dressed as Aquaman. In my drunken haze, Jason Momoa had nothing on him. I threw it back like there was no tomorrow, downing a drink that was given to me with little regard.

Tony's eyes met mine. He was watching me like a hawk, taking tantalising little sips of his whiskey and licking his lips every now and then, diverting his attention only to absentmindedly nod in Strange's direction or smile at a person who wanted a piece of his spotlight. I consumed all of Tony's free attention span. It made me feel powerful, invincible.

I danced a bit more before the booze got to me, making me feel a little too woozy for comfort. Eyes on the table, I stumbled my way to Tony, noisily plopping down in his lap.

His mouth was set in a firm line. "Having fun, Princess?"

"Yeah," I moaned, hugging him around the neck. My body was heating up rapidly, my heart raced. Wait a minute... "Shit," I came to a conclusion as quickly as Stephen's eyebrows rose when he took a look at my face.

"Are you high?" The sorcerer asked me with a deal of concern.

"Prolly," I spoke, sighing. Did I pop X at some point? My memory was hazy. "I'm good tho. Give me some water and I'll be good," I knew my drugs, okay? A little bit of extasy didn't hurt anybody now and then. I had stayed mostly clean ever since my and Tony's and Bruce's relationship started.

To my surprise, Tony chuckled. "I really have no place to judge, Princess, but a warning would have been nice. I hope you had the common sense to get that shit tested, at least." He spoke, slowly stroking my damp hair and allowing me to all but rub myself on him. He smelled so good.

"Tony, please," Stephen rolled his eyes, evidently preparing for a lecture.

I stopped him in his tracks. "Don't act like you're a saint, seventy percent of college students I know do Adderall and coke just to keep up with the curriculum. I call bullshit."

Tony snorted as Stephen rolled his eyes, looking away. Predictable. For all that Strange wanted to appear high and mighty, he wasn't shit. I'd googled him and asked around about him shortly after we'd first met. The sorcerer was no stranger to the lifestyles of the rich and famous. He had more than a few invitation-only parties behind his back. I couldn't wait to tear the self-satisfied, smug smirk off the bastard's face.

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

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Embers & Light (Nessian multichapter fic)

Chapter 19 - Nesta

This is too long for Tumblr, so read part of it below but all of it on A03.

Emerald blazed threateningly in the dark forest and Nesta’s stomach lurched.

She wanted to snap at Cassian to move — to do something to stop the Illyrian from firing his arrows — but he remained fixed in place, his siphons winking but unused, as if he were out of power. He was still holding Nesta behind him, his grip tight around her arm. And Nesta knew, as surely as breathing, that he would do anything to make sure that she remained unharmed — even if he had yet to move a muscle.

Slowly, Cassian held up his other hand in surrender. Again, the siphon on the finger straps of his leathers flashed through the darkening forest.

“It’s me, Lorrian.”

Hard hazel eyes scanned over them both and Nesta watched them flicker in recognition as they settled on Cassian.

With an angry growl, the Illyrian lowered his bow. His wings flared before they retracted back in again, the same way Cassian’s did when he was pissed off.

“You couldn’t have just warned us of your arrival in your usual fashion, you stupid prick? What the fuck happened to you?”

The males voice was bass and sonorous. It bounced off the trees and rattled through Nesta in a way that made her bones feel brittle. She watched those sharp eyes flit around the dell. His expression turned grim as he took in the charcoaled and bloody remains.

“Fucking kerits, that’s what,” Cassian snapped. “A whole pack of them. Since when do they come this far down from the mountains? We nearly died.”

The males expression turned grim. He kicked at a severed head and Nesta watched it roll into the foliage, tongue still pink and lolling. “I’ve never seen them down here before. What was that silver streak? It looked like fire. It shook the perimeter like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I thought the house was going to come down.”

“That was Nesta,” Cassian explained shortly. “We were trying to get to safety. I thought her magic might pierce through Frawley’s magic. Instead, it felt like a cannon had gone off. It scared off the rest of the kerits and threw me into a boulder.”

Wincing, Cassian brought a hand to his shoulder as if he were remembering the impact. “It near dislocated my shoulder.”

Cassian turned to Nesta then, a critical eye running over her body. Despite her blood splattered face and hair, Nesta was otherwise unharmed. The kerits hadn’t even come close to touching her. She’d incinerated her half circle and Cassian had dealt with his.

“Any injuries I should know about?” he asked her.

Nesta shook her head, but Cassian’s gaze lingered on her a few moments longer, as if he weren’t sure he believed her. Even she was suffering from disbelief; they had been so outnumbered it seemed a miracle that neither of them were suffering from major injuries.

When Cassian seemed satisfied she wasn’t hiding anything, he waved a tired hand. “Nesta meet Lorrian. Although Lorrian is Illyria’s best aerial warrior, it would appear your power managed to scare the shit out of him — congratulations.”

The stern expression of the male - Lorrian - did not disappear at the introduction, and Nesta watched him cross his arms tightly across his muscled chest, the green magic of his right arm flaring from the movement. His piercing look was one of a warrior but Nesta did not flinch, she just stared right back. She was well versed in staring down opponents — what was another Illyrian bat?

It only took a few seconds for Cassian’s words to sink in. Lorrian’s eyes cut sharply from Nesta to Cassian. “Are we talking of the female who killed the King of Hybern?”

Cassian’s hand was instantly on the small of Nesta’s back as she stiffened habitually. The gesture was unusual; Cassian rarely touched her without cause. She resisted the urge to bat him away. When Lorrian tracked the movement she knew why Cassian had done it. It was protective — he was telling Lorrian where his loyalties lay.

Deep in the pit of her stomach, Nesta felt something primal growl.

It made her want to seethe at the same time her body melted into the sound.

“That would be the very same female,” Cassian said with a lightness that was laced with warning. “Feel free to thank her any time.”

A beat of silence followed as the warrior examined the female before him, but then Lorrian’s hardened expression relaxed, and in its wake — a smile. It transformed his face in the same way Cassian’s changed from General to the male she knew when he was off-duty. It was an intentional crack in his armour and the open vulnerability of the action did not escape Nesta. Never had she been that willing to shed her mask for someone she had met moments before. Even her sisters hadn’t seen all of her.

“Well, why didn’t you say? It’s good to meet you, Nesta Archeron.”

A large hand was thrust out towards her — the one that wasn’t glazed in emerald light — for Nesta to shake.

Nesta hesitated for a moment before she moved to grasp Lorrian’s hand. His hazel eyes were sincere and his gaze unwavering, and although her movements were stiff and measured, she made sure her handshake was firm when she grasped his own, even if her hands were spotted with blood.

Lorrian didn’t seem to mind. He bowed his head respectfully at her before he turned to Cassian. It was not a move that Nesta had seen any other Illyrian male do to another female.

“You had better come inside in case there’s anything else lurking about. Frawley will want to see you and you could both do with cleaning up. When she learns about the kerits, she might not be so pissed that you tried to break through her protective magic.”

Cassian winced. “If the witch bids it, I suppose we better.”

Lorrian barked a laugh as he held up his palm to gap between the boulders. It was identical to what she and Cassian did when they entered the bungalow. Emerald siphons flared and the invisible barrier began to fizzle away from the inside out; a splash of gold in the dark.

Exhaustion was pressing on Nesta so keenly that she had to summon all of her focus into getting her body to move forward. Cassian seemed to sense it, his eyes flickering briefly with remorse as they both followed Lorrian to the gap between the boulders. For a moment, Nesta thought Cassian was going to offer to carry her but he clearly thought better of it, gesturing for her to walk through the pocket before him with that crooked half-smile of his.

The hole in the protective bubble sealed with more fizzling, golden light as soon as Cassian had passed through. With it came an overwhelming sense of relief. Unlike the woodland they had left behind them, the forest here felt lighter, as if it were completely devoid of threat. Around them, the woody terrain was alive with movement: birds sung in the trees and small animals scuttled amongst the foliage. Even the trees and plants seemed to take on a brighter and more vibrant quality, the green so lush that if Nesta weren’t so weary, she would bend down to run her fingers through the fluffy woodruff with its constant smattering of tiny, white flowers that grew beneath the pine trees.

“So what actually brought you both here?”

Lorrian’s voice broke Nesta out of her reverie. He was speaking over his shoulder and he looked at Nesta first before his eyes travelled beyond her to land on Cassian. They were walking in single file down a narrow track between the trees, with Lorrian leading the way and with Cassian at the rear. Nesta had no doubt that it was an intentional positioning from Cassian. She could still feel his urge to protect combined with guilt that laced her stomach. The latter was no doubt eating away at him. He clearly hadn’t thought the barrier would react so strongly to her fire or that they would be in danger in the forest.

“I haven’t seen you for a few months,” Lorrian finished. His pointed look at Cassian told Nesta that a visit was overdue. “I imagine it wasn’t your intention to be hijacked by kerits.”

“I took Nesta to see Kamanam today,” Cassian told Lorrian after he had huffed a dark laugh. “We were close by so I thought we’d say hello. We were surrounded by those cackling shits as we headed down into the dell.”

Lorrian stared at Cassian for a little too long but he only nodded silently to show that he had heard. His siphons glowed and with it, the bow and arrows strapped to his back disappeared. The light encasing his arm also vanished, revealing nothing but air from a few inches below Lorrian’s shoulder. His leathers had been tailored to accommodate for his missing limb, the fabric sewn neatly around the stump.

“And how did you like Kamanam, Nesta?” Lorrian asked.

Knowing not to stare at the male’s missing arm, Nesta kept her gaze straight ahead. The path had widened and Lorrian dropped back a few steps so he was side-by-side with her. The movement was slightly laboured, as if he were adjusting to the loss of balance. He was watching Nesta with apprehension — as if he were expecting her to recoil. Nesta wanted to tell him that she was broken too and that she didn’t care to judge anybody, but as usual, her throat had become too tight so she flicked her eyes up to meet his head on.

Something that Nesta translated as respect tinged with relief flickered behind Lorrian’s irises, and the muscles in his shoulders relaxed, as she managed to admit, “The Arches are very beautiful.”

But then we nearly died, Nesta wanted to say, but didn’t.

The conversation was such a stark contrast to moments before — casual rather than frenzied — but from the unease laced with pine that sat heavily within her, Nesta knew that this was Cassian’s coping mechanism; feigning joviality because otherwise the gravity of what had happened would be too much.

And Lorrian seemed to know that, too.

His head bobbed. “You should come back on a clear day. Get this one to fly you over the water.” He jerked his head to Cassian who was still a few paces behind. “Frawley and I do it even now, and we’ve been living here for years.”

“If you think I’m ancient,” Cassian told Nesta, the low rumble of his voice travelling the distance, “then you should ask Frawley how old she is. She’s never answered me and I’m still burning with curiosity.”

Lorrian chuckled. “Don’t do that, Nesta. Not if you want to live, at least.”

Lorrian’s features were nothing but friendly now and in the dappled light between the trees, Nesta was able to study him more closely. His dark, curly hair was cropped close to his head and flecked with silver. If Lorrian were human, Nesta would guess that he was forty-or-so, but she had no idea what that made him in Fae terms. He was leaner than Cassian, which wasn’t wholly a surprise; Nesta had never met an Illyrian who was larger or stronger than Cassian. Even so, Lorrian’s remaining arm was still corded with impressive muscle and his skin was marked with the same black tattoos, interspersed with scars.

Nesta couldn’t find it in herself to reply to Lorrian. Perhaps she should have felt warier that she was about to meet a witch, but with every step they took through the woodland, the worse she felt. Her brain became more foggy, her limbs weighing her down like lead. And on top of it all, an all-consuming sense of exhaustion had overcome her.

If she were alone, Nesta would have curled up on the forest floor and made her bed amongst the woodruff and wooly thyme.

“Home sweet home.”

Lorrian’s words pierced through the fog and Nesta managed to drag her eyes up from the soft undergrowth to look ahead of her.

They had just navigated a sharp right-hand turn in the dirt path, and in the distance Nesta could make out a large, thatched cottage. The walls were the colour of magnolia and the red brick chimney was spouting soft billowy smoke.

Yet, whilst it appeared to be a beautiful sanctuary, Nesta found her spine stacking stiffly against her. Nesta hadn’t stepped foot in anyone’s home except Cassian’s in months, and he was the only person who knew she was afraid of fire. How many open and roaring hearths were there going to be in the cottage? How was she going to avoid losing control when already she felt like someone was closing a fist around her windpipes? How was she going to step over threshold without losing it completely? How was she —

Worry stabbed through Nesta so fiercely that her breath caught. She was so preoccupied in trying to take air into her lungs that she didn’t have a spare thought to identify that it wasn’t her own. As they neared the property, Nesta barely saw the chickens in the coop or the horses in the paddock. She didn’t even notice the honeysuckle — her favourite — that climbed up the exterior walls of the cottage. Her lungs rattled as panic clawed through her. Silver spluttered and died at her fingers, her power still too spent from earlier to protect her. Something cracked inside of her; light rushing into the dark, icy water rushing over warm sand.

“Nesta.”

In the far distance, she heard her name but it was muffled. She felt as if she were drowning underwater. It felt like the Cauldron all over again.

She choked on air.

“Nesta.”

This time the sound had a distinctive voice. Something turned inside of her, like a key clicking in a lock, and as her vision started to clear, she made out the large shadowed outline of a male as he stepped towards her. Startled, Nesta flew backwards, an unknown burst of energy taking hold of her. Her hands instinctively balled into fists, but then the scent of pine and musk washed over her and with it came a sense of calm and clarity.

Slowly, her fists unfurled.

“It’s just me,” Cassian said. His words floated towards her. He was still nothing but shadow; large, muscular body and impressive wings. “I’m going to touch you. Ok?”

A strangled noise emitted from her throat and then a large, warm hand was resting on her cheek.

Unthinkingly, Nesta reached up to grab it. Her fingers closed around the hand as her eyes started to see again.

Cassian’s face swam into view. Even through the cracked and dried blood, the concern etched upon his face was so stark she knew that he believed himself responsible for her trauma.

Taking her hand, Cassian rested her palm flat over his chest. Beneath leather and skin, she could feel the pounding of his heart as it threw itself hard against his ribcage, and in her stomach… so much guilt the emotion was bitter on her tongue.

“Breathe with me,” he ordered, before he proceed to take a long, slow breath in.

The sensation of air rushing into his chest was like a balm, and Nesta found herself following his breathing until her lungs no longer rattled and her vision righted completely.

“Is it the chimney?” Cassian asked when her breathing became even, enough that she was no longer gasping. “Or is it... everything that just happened?”

Nesta’s fingers curled around his hand and pressed once into his palm at the same time as she nodded. Both.

“The fire won’t make any noise,” he promised her. “I’d say I’d take you home, but you look like you’re going to collapse and the flight is over an hour.”

Even as he spoke, she knew that if she insisted he would take her back to Windhaven. There was such sincerity in his voice and expression that it hurt to look at him, so she cast her eyes beyond him to their surroundings.

Lorrian was nowhere to be found. Dread twisted through her and that panic started to rise again.

“Where—” Nesta started, but her breath had started to shudder again so she trailed off. There was no point in asking anyway. Of course Lorrian had witnessed it all. No doubt Cassian had asked him to go inside to give them some privacy.

The knowledge was mortifying.

“I asked Lorrian to go inside and silence the fires.”

He squeezed Nesta’s fingers then. She still hadn’t let go of him. The warmth of his touch was comforting against her ice cold skin. It chased away the numbness that was hovering over her like a threat.

“Lorrian suffers from battle trauma, too,” Cassian told her. “You saw his arm?”

Nesta dipped her chin. The action took all of her effort.

“He’s fighting a lot of demons. He won’t mention it. Neither will Frawley. She’s Lorrian’s wife. She’s a witch — she can magic the fire so it won’t make any noise.”

Silence stretched between them. Nesta tried to process his words and form a response, but it was too difficult. The heaviness was washing over her again and already she had started to become unfeeling.

As if Cassian could sense that he was losing her, he dragged a coarse thumb over the back of her hand. The sensation was muted, as if it were happening far, far away.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.

Nesta stared at him. She wanted to frown and ask him why, but words had become difficult again.

Cassian shook his head. The gesture was remorseful and… he was angry at himself. “I shouldn’t have taken you here. Frawley’s portion of the forest has always been the safest—”

“Cassian.”

Cassian broke off as a small, petite female walked briskly towards them. She was wearing a long smock dress which was belted loosely at the waist with leather and made up of different shades of grey. The way her skirts swished around her as she moved gave off the illusion that she was walking through smoke. Pure, white hair fell just below the female’s shoulders and as she came closer, Nesta saw that her eyes were different colours; the left honey brown and the right ice blue. The effect was so startling that half of her face seemed to be bathed in light and the other in dark.

“You scared the shit out of my husband,” she told Cassian brusquely, as she drew up short in front of them.

Cassian made a noise in the back of his throat. The sound reverberated through Nesta. “Did he tell you about the kerits?”

The female — Frawley — snorted in an unkempt sort of way that would have resulted in upturned noses if they were in the human realm. Nesta got the impression that Frawley wouldn’t care. She struck Nesta as the sort of female whose mannerisms were clipped and to-the-point. She didn’t seem like the sort of person who would give a second thought to lady-like behaviour and would impale anyone who decided that they should put her down.

“Introduce me to your companion, Cassian,” Frawley ordered. “And I’ll pretend not to know that this is Nesta Archeron until you do so.”

Cassian grunted in exasperation but his pupils were no longer dark. He had turned to greet Frawley but he hadn’t let go of Nesta’s hand. Frawley’s ice blue eye darted down to glance at it. Cassian squeezed her fingers before he let go, his hand immediately finding purchase on the small of her back again. Encouragement, she realised, for the social situation he knew she did not want to be in.

This time Nesta didn’t want to bat him away. She felt frayed and raw, his touch the only thing keeping her tethered to the present.

“Frawley, meet Nesta Archeron. Nesta, Frawley is the witch who oversees the Eastern territory of The Steppes. And,” he said with a deliberate pause for emphasis, “is supposed to keep the beasts in the forest under control.”

Frawley made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat at Cassian’s words but she did not retaliate. She only rested her disconcerting eyes on Nesta. They seemed to work independently of one another and brown found Nesta after blue.

“We can’t leave it solely to males to protect, can we Nesta?” Frawley clipped. “Now, do come in, it’s getting dark and Caerleon gets forlorn when I leave him inside for too long.”

As she spoke, a sound halfway between a whine and a roar came from the cottage door. Frawley looked pointedly at them as if to indicate the sound had proven her point, before she turned sharply on her heel.

Somehow Nesta made her legs move, even though she wanted nothing more than to sink to the ground. As if he knew how badly she was faring, Cassian kept his hand on her lower back. The sensation alone was enough to keep her upright. She would not add to her burning shame by having to be carried across the threshold. It was bad enough that Cassian had to fly her everywhere as it was.

“That’s quite some power you expelled.” Frawley threw Nesta a discerning look over her shoulder. “I bet you’re feeling drained.”

“Yes,” Nesta said simply, because she couldn’t say anything more.

“Nothing I can’t sort out,” Frawley clipped as she opened the cottage door. It was a wooden stable door, the top half already open. Nesta saw a blur of sandy fur and she tensed instinctively.

A thumb caressed her back, the movement soothing against the sudden terror that gripped her — telling her that it was ok, that the kerits had gone and they were safe.

“Calm down Caer, you stupid Manticore, it’s just Cassian,” Frawley snapped, but a huge moving body of light tan fur jostled the female to the side. Frawley growled in irritation but Nesta barely heard it, she was too busy staring at the beast that had emerged in the doorway.

It was massive. At first, Nesta thought it was a huge lion with a long shaggy mane made of burnt orange, but as it prowled towards her, she could see large, leathery wings on its back and its tail, which was flicking at the tip, was not made up of a tuft of hair but of long spikes like that of a porcupine. The beast’s large paws thudded on the earth and its eyes were molten gold. It was beautiful and deadly and if Nesta had it in her to be afraid she would have already been running.

She took a step backwards, bumping into Cassian’s hard chest.

“Don’t mind Caerleon,” Frawley called quickly to Nesta. She had obviously seen the blood drain from her face. She pronounced the name kaa-lee-uhn, the mystical name rolling off her tongue effortlessly. “He looks terrifying but he’s essentially a big teddy bear when he’s at home.”

Nesta remained stock still as the animal came to a stop a few feet in front of her. It stared at her, its head low and its tail flicking, as if it were measuring her up.

Then Caerleon’s eyes slid to Cassian.

The manticore’s body straightened and his tail shot straight up, curling into a question mark, the needles of his tuft relaxed and soft like the spines of a thistle.

To Nesta’s amazement, the animal trotted over to Cassian with a low whine that sounded like a greeting.

“Hello you beautiful beast,” Cassian said with a low laugh.

Caerleon knocked his head hard into Cassian’s upper torso, rubbing his face against the leather like a cat branding its owner. Dropping his hand from Nesta, Cassian buried his fingers deep into the animal’s mane and ruffled the fur. Caerleon’s purr rumbled so deep that Nesta felt it in her chest but she was reeling from the loss of contact.

It was startling and Nesta felt cold.

She began to slip.

Frawley tutted. “Cassian is the only Fae Caer has ever met who is large enough not be knocked back when he does that. Now, you come with me, Nesta. You look dead on your feet.”

Nesta allowed herself to be led through the hallway, straight into a wide, open kitchen. Frawley sat Nesta down at a large, worn pine table opposite the huge hearth. As promised, the fire was silent, the flames dancing gently as they licked their way up the chimney as if the quiet had brought them calm. The knowledge that there would be no cracking bones eased the tight set of Nesta’s shoulders, even if she did feel like she was hovering above her body, looking down at herself.

She looked very ill, that much she knew, but she couldn’t speak or will her expression into something better. Even her neck felt heavy, the thought of turning to look for Cassian too much, so she stared at the silent fire until she became entranced.

In the distance, Nesta heard clattering — someone moving about the kitchen — and then a warm mug was pressed into her ice-cold hands.

“Drink this,” a stern voice told her. “It’s not too hot, so drink it right up.”

Nesta did as she was told. It tasted of chamomile and honey and... something she couldn’t put her finger on. She didn’t care to ask. With each sip, Nesta felt her body hum and tingle until her body realigned and she was just Nesta sitting in a stranger’s kitchen.

Frawley must have sensed a change in her because she took Nesta’s mug. With a swish of her charcoal skirts she walked over to a steaming cast iron pot on the stove and ladled some more liquid into it.

“Better?” Frawley asked as she handed it back to Nesta. “Best drink another cup. You expelled an awful lot of power in one go.”

Nesta frowned, thinking back to how her power had leapt to the clearing between the boulders.

“I couldn’t stop it,” she told Frawley. “I tried to sever the connection.”

Read the rest of the chapter here.

#acosf #acotar #cassian #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #nessianfic #nestaarcheron #nesta

50 notes · View notes

crewhonk · 5 years

Text

Of The Line (4 2/2)

WARNINGS: This is very dark. Warnings for blood, gore, horror, bugs, dark!Bucky, fears of isolation, fears of loss, fears of loneliness, ANGST!

Chapter Summary: In which Giovanna, Steve and YN take the brunt of Wandas rage and power

Words: 2.5K (short, I’m sorry omg)

A series collaboration with @nomadsgrogers where she writes for Giovanna as the reader! We’re just projecting onto our writing, its FINE

Series Summary: Steve watches YN Banner grow up before his eyes– from a shy, dorky sixteen-year-old to a fierce, brilliant woman who never fails to keep him on his toes. He knows that she’s untouchable, but that doesn’t stop him from being completely wrapped around her finger for the rest of his long life.

Series Warnings: Mutual Pining, age gap, gun use, these two are idiots– seriously they’re so dumb, slow burn

Pairings: eventual Steve Rogers X Banner!Reader, eventual Buky Barnes X OC!Stark

AN: PLEASE, PLEASE COMMENT AND LIKE AND REBLOG OUR WORK! We’re getting a little discouraged due to the recent lack of notes on this series!

Till The End Masterlist / Of The Line Masterlist

_______________________

“Thor,” Steve couldn’t hide the anger from his voice— nor did he care to. “Status.” His eyes landed on Giovanna and YN who had since landed and were staring, open-mouthed up at the gaping hole in the ceiling by which Ultron and Tony had left. Natasha was somewhere— he heard her grunts and cries of men, Clint was also nearby, judging by the number of uncollected arrows in his area.

“The girl tried to warp my mind,” Thor growled irritably, a crash sounded somewhere in the distance. “But fortunately, I am mighty. Take special care, I doubt a human could keep her at bay.”

YN and Giovanna’s laughs could be heard from all around the ship— they had always loved Thor’s dramatics— his Shakespearean way of living and breathing and shitting. It settled Steve knowing that they were okay. His relief was short-lived, however, when an impact like a train sent Steve flying ten feet and into a railing, knocking the breath out of his lungs. The last thing he saw before his vision went blurry was a flash of silver hair and a cock-sure smirk.

_________________________

It was a flash of red and light, and Steve was back in the 1940s. Familiar garb on men's shoulders and pretty dresses on wide hips. Curls loosened with spins and messy with sweat. The heady scent of cigarettes pungent in the air, making Steve’s lungs ache on the right side of painful. There were banners dropping confetti— ‘Victory!’ They read, but for some odd reason, Steve didn’t feel that victorious. There was a horrible copper tinge to the air, a man laughing on the floor with a wine stain that looked too much like a bullet hole, a woman screaming as a man flipped her over his head— a sound that sent a chill down his spine.

Steve stumbled through the crowd, the flashes of camera bulbs and red lipstick leaving him disoriented among the crowded room. ‘Too much red,’ Steve thought, 'I’m gonna drown’.

A grip, too tight on his shoulder with nails too sharp startled him out of his seemingly drunken haze. He spun around too quickly, trying his best to focus his dizziness so he could see who was smiling at him.

It was Peggy— or it was supposed to be. Her smile was too tight, too turned up at the corners. There was no glint in her eye, no shine that made Steve’s heart race. There was an obnoxious flower in her curls and the ruffling of her dress was tasteless and tacky— nothing his Peggy would have worn.

“Are you ready for our dance?” Her accent was similar, but the tone of it rather robotic and Steve wanted nothing but to run in the opposite direction of this stranger. “The war is over, Steve.” She pulled him to her— another action Peggy would have never done. Steve made to pull away but her grip was too strong.

“We can go home.” There was a sudden flash of a tentacle and a skull at her words and he wrenched himself away from her, spinning back to find a very empty ballroom. There was a moment of silence before a slow, sad piano melody began to play. Steve looked for the source, but all the instruments were gone.

Then, he saw her, sitting in a soft golden dress that seemed to blur under the lights. He walked to her, placed his hand lightly on her shoulder and sucked in a pained breath when YN look at him. Her eyes were dark, black mascara smeared around her eyes which lacked the magical green that entranced him whenever he got two feet close to her. There were tear tracks leading to the corners of her lips, light pink lipstick smudged messily. He didn’t need to ask to know that he was the reason her heart was broken.

“Why’d you do it?” YN’s voice was weak and hollow. “Why would you leave me?”

“I didn’t— I could never leave you, YN.” He tried, but she just let out a single, heartbroken cry.

“You said you would be back in a minute— or, maybe dad did— but all the same. When they tried to bring you back you weren’t there. You left— you always do.” Steve could feel her very soul shatter as she spoke and he wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness. For what, he didn’t know, but he would beg until the very end of time.

“Please, YN, baby. You have to forgive me.” He wanted to cry but instead of releasing itself, the lump in his throat only expanded, threatening to tear his throat in two.

“I couldn’t,” She whispered, and it was then that he noticed the silver glint on her ring finger. “I never could. That’s why I moved on. I don’t need you anymore, Steve. I’ll never need you again."

__________

“Hey, maybe we will actually make it in time to get Chick-Fil-A.” Giovanna cheered as she watched the last of the robots fly into the air— presumably to go and defend their leader who was surely taking one hell of a beating from Tony. Go, dad.

“Oh, come on!” YN groaned and threw the empty clip from her gun to the floor, reloading it and placing it in her spot on her waist. Betty never failed YN. “You know I just watched that cow documentary— plant-based diet for me from now on.” She swore, making a cross over her heart with her finger. Giovanna rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, but that’s cows! We all know chickens are the devil’s spawn.”

“Yeah, maybe but even demons have feelings.”

“Are you sure?”

“We feel things, don’t we?” YN turned, launching herself over the railing and landing on the balls of her feet on the floor below, heading towards the door. There was a blast of heat before a metal clunk that signified that Giovanna had followed her down.

“I mean, sometimes but—“ Giovanna’s sentence was cut off by a crashing sound, and YN whipped around in time to see her best friend fall to the ground, a misty red gleaming in the usual dark brown of her iris.

“Gio, No!” YN cried out before she too fell to her knees in a hazy fog.

___________________

Giovanna woke to the rising gold sun drifting through her small apartment. It was humble— from humble beginnings come humble endings, she remembered someone say. YN, maybe— or Bruce. The apartment was nothing more than a single room. There was a mattress on the floor and pushed into a corner— thick blankets making it a soft nest for two people. The kitchen was small and messy and everything that made Giovanna content— satisfied— just out of reach of happy.

The shower in the even smaller bathroom stopped, and the door opened with a blow of steam, revealing a beautiful, daunting man. He was the definition of dark beauty— YN would have described him as ‘Beauty and the Beast Beautiful’, long, deep scars marring his body and skin torn over his left shoulder, hanging from it a shining metal arm. Giovanna never tinkered with it— never felt the need to. No need to be smart when you could simply be domestic.

“Want to go to the market, today? I’m down to my last few plums,” His voice was deep and husky and sent a jolt to her stomach— just barely swollen. She stood from her place in the bed, walking barefoot over to the man and wrapping her arms around his neck, placing kisses over his glistening chest and feeling his happy hum on her lips.

“Let me get dressed, and we’ll go.” She whispered, walking back to her closet. One shelf, hangers long forgotten, plain clothing crumpled on the floor. She heaved the closet open, and let out a long, drawn-out blood-curdling scream.

Three bodies piled out, one each more decayed than the last.

First, and most rotted was her father, dark veins trailing from the Arc Reactor on his chest, moving up his neck and over his face, twisting it into something ugly and horrible and turning his bright eyes black. Giovanna squinted, crying out when a sickly green spider crawled out from the place his ear used to be.

Natasha had fallen on top of him, a deep slash of a knife which had been cut right through her spine. There was a shining liquid seeping from it that smelled similar to lake water and soaking her hair. Her skin looked pale and blue and waterlogged, eyes white and rolled into the back of her skull.

YN had rolled out after them— she had been the freshest. A copper scent filling the room and making Giovanna’s stomach heave. There was a knife slash across her face, marring her smile. Her blood, now green in decay, soaked her clothes, limbs twisted at horrendous angles.

Giovanna whipped around, stumbling, hoping to find the man who was standing still in the kitchen.

“Bucky— we need to call or help, I can’t—“ Giovanna sobbed, clutching at his shoulders and spinning him to face her. There was a glint in the light and a sharp pain in her lower stomach. In shock, she looked down, hands clutching at the deep wound in her tummy. She became weak suddenly, hands falling away from the gash-- falling open with a babies cry and sludge of dead grasshoppers and beetles falling to the floor.

“Buck— what?” She looked up at the man she had found and saved and let him make her something so far from what she used to be. The gleaming knife in his hand was soaked with fresh blood— her blood— their Childs blood.

“Cute— how you thought you could save me.”

___________________

When YN woke up, there was a single person in the cold room with her. YN was chained to the cold floor, the ice seeming to seep into her bones. She pulled at the chains, but they too were frozen to the floor.

“Stuck, Little Bird?” The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, and YN squinted to see who it was. She could only see shapes— a nose similar to her own, hair the same texture.

“Mama?” She asked weakly. The cold was beginning to make her drowsy and she fought the drooping of her lids. She needed warmth— something slow and gradual to stop the hypothermia but also not send her body into shock. There was a family waiting for her.

“Family? Oh, sweet bird. You have no family left, didn’t you know? Everyone followed my lead, eventually. I was the right one— leaving you alone in the jungle on your monster of a fathers doorstep.” The woman voice was colder than the metal sticking to YN’s skin.

“No, you’re wrong. I have Dad and Uncle Tony and—“ YN’s voice faded as if all the hope and joy in her body was being sucked out with each passing breath. “— and Gio, and Steve, and Nat.” Her voice cut itself off— too weak to continue.

“Oh, haven’t you heard, sweet thing?” The woman leaned in closer— no features arose, but something akin to eyes pierced YN’s soul deep down. “Your dad left you. He’s missing. Has been for a while now. Some people say he finally did the world a good deed and managed to killed himself, others day he was abducted by aliens, but all the same.”

YN felt her eyes well up with tears. Surely, she would have felt it— a loss that great. This couldn’t be real.

“The Starks and Natalia? Well, that one was easy. It was only a matter of time before they realized how utterly average you were. How much of a freak you were. An abomination amongst men, YN. Even science turned its nose up at you. The girls -- Giovanna and Natasha-- are best friends with themselves and themselves alone— God, that had started long before they left you, though. Talked about you behind your back and everything. What a show that was when they got going.”

YN let out a choked sob which echoed around the room, the echo itself growing louder and louder until the woman shifted back and continued to speak.

“Steve wouldn’t leave me. He’s, he—“ YN cried. She could feel her body slowing, could feel her skin and the metal becoming one.

“He loves you?” The woman laughed shrilly, clapping her hands in joy at their revelation. “Always the stupid one, huh? Foolish, naive girl— he jumped ship the moment he knew he could go back to that woman— the one in his compass? Margaret!” The woman snapped her fingers. “Peggy, I believe was the name she went by. They have a family now, a white picket fence and a dog and a newborn on the way. And you know what they all have in common?” The woman sneered and leaned in close to YN’s face. YN, in all her strength, looked up to face the woman she thought to be her mother— find out who she was. How much she looked like her.

Instead, with a great cry of the most pungent pain, YN came face to face with herself.

“They are all better off without you, YN. All happier. All living better lives because they left. I mean, look at me— I’m the best version of you there is.” The woman— YN’s mother, or YN herself, or whoever she was, stood from her chair and turned, opening the door to reveal a barren wasteland of snow and ice. YN would surely die here.

“Oh,” The woman said, mocking pity in her voice. “You won’t die. You can’t. Instead, you’ll rot here, alone for the rest of time. Nobody will hear you, and even if they did, who would want to save a poor, unfortunate soul like yours?”

____________________

Whatever was left of YN’s consciousness recognized a few things in the next few hours. There was a shift in her weight— a grunt and a soft whisper that sounded safe.

“YN? You with me, Lamb?” A man’s voice sounded and she could only furrow her brows in response, still shivering from the cold in her bones.

“She’s going to be okay. Set her down by Bruce— throw the blanket over her shoulders so she can warm up a bit.” Uncle Tony, maybe? Clint?

“How is she so cold, anyway? It’s like, 104 degrees out.”

“Must have been something to do with what the witch did.”

“Scary. We should set Cricket down beside her. She seems a little restless.”

“What about Steve?” The man grunted as she was set down, a warm body pressed to her side and an even warmer blanket pulled over her shoulders. Warm. Safe.

“Get him and Natasha closer to these guys. It’s time we made them actually lean against each other for once.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.” There was a chuckle and a sound of a dragging body and a weight over her thighs. Heavy. Not Natasha. Steve. Safe. Grounding.

“Where to, Clint?” Tony spoke, his voice sounding less and less far away. There was a shift of the weight on her lap and two, trunk-like arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. Safe.

“Safehouse.”

Safe.

______________________________

Tags (open, send an ask): @i-am-always-famished / @filia-sapientiae / @somekryptonitewriting / @fashionlive15 / @godlymissbalor / @fanfictionjunkie1112 / @nerdy-bookworm-1998 / @songforhema / @army-crawl-andersen / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @shynara51 / @deathofmissjackson / @a–1–1–3 / @liffydaze / @shymarvelfannanni / @freakpotterfan / @callie-bear15 / @sunflower-borhap-boys / @criedwolfwritings / @vxidnik / @captainomad / @lazinessisalliknow / jjlevin / @gwlaxygirl

189 notes · View notes

life-of-ice · 4 years

Text

Masaki Sako's Entrance Exam

@taiyuu-high-oct

Trumpets blared out from the phone.

Masaki woke up, and leaned off his be to reach for his phone to turn off all five of his alarms. He blinked blearily and squinted to try and identify the time.

Maybe it’s 10:00? God, I really need to stop being so lazy and fix the settings on my phone.

After squinting at it for a few more minutes, he shrugged, and hopped out of bed. Getting the clothes he laid out the night before, he quickly got dressed, and made a mental note to do some laundry once he got home. And buy some groceries maybe, they needed some more. After all, Masaki’s parents were going to be gone all day. He put some bread in the toaster, and ran off to finish getting ready for the day.

Brushing his teeth and his hair, he idly scrolled through tumblr, and resolutely ignored his contacts case which stared at him accusingly.

Ooh look, new posts about quirked animals! Can’t believe Nezu’s not on that list. Kinda weird, but okay. I think it’s time to go soon, let’s hurry back upstairs!

Masaki jumped as trumpets blared again from his phone, one more alarm set for the express purpose of making sure he wasn’t late.

Well shit.

And now he really needed to boogie. Grabbing his shoes, his prepacked backpack, an his piece of toast, he dashed out the door to reach the last train before it left for the docks.

“Aw shit!” He dashed back inside to retrieve his bag of jewelry, and then finally left, sprinting for all he’s worth towards the train station.

“Good luck on our exam!” yelled his neighbor as he rushed by.

“Thanks!” he yelled back.

Still sprinting he hears a chorus of mutters from besides him and sees a blue haired girl, making large leaps to go at a fast pace.

"Oh no I'm going to be late and miss the last train, if I don't make it I'm not going to get in….."

Having noticed Masaki, she looked up.

"Oh hello! Based on what you're doing, I bet you're running late for the train too, huh?"

Masaki nodded in response, too busy running to respond properly.

She giggled, and he smiled at her.

They got to the train station, and somehow, when Masaki turned to make sure he was getting on the right train, he lost her.

That's a shame. It's kinda sad to ride the train by yourself.

Masaki got off the train, and ran to the docks, hoping that the transportation was not what he thought it would be.

He looked up at a gargantuan boat, with TH printed on it in bright letters.

Of course it's a boat, the school's on an island, dumbass. Ok, so maybe it won't be that long.

"Hey applicants! Be prepared for a 30 min boat trip!"

Yeah, no. It wasn't going to be a short boat trip.

After a long, long boat trip in which Masaki queasily reconsidered all of his life choices to go to school on an island that he couldn’t fly to, they finally arrived at the dock of Taiyuu High School.

The place for hero hopefuls.

Three people welcomed the applicants on a podium, one was a lady with black and white hair, who was kinda scary looking. Another was a deer man in a suit, and the last was a dog.

The dog looked smart.

"Hello! I am Mrs. Chikyu, and I'm the principal here at Taiyuu High. This is the vice principal, Mr Kazumi. Alright applicants! First there's the written test," the lady waited for the groans and moans to subside then continued, "Then there's the practical exam! The practical exam is an obstacle course where you'll have to beat up some robots, save some people, and get to the finish line as fast as you can!"

She paused for their murmurs again."Also, the test is on another island. So be prepared for one more boat trip! But for now, follow either me, or Mr. Kazumi to go your written exam rooms."

Not another one.

All of the applicants finish in record time it feels like, die to the anticipation of the practical exam. And they board one more boat to get to another island.

Masaki sighs as he watches the other applicants mill around, all of which seem much more confident then he was. He started putting on his multitude of jewelry, first the iron ring, then the turquoise necklace, then the silver bracelet, and finally gold earrings. Masaki glanced disastefully down at himself.

“Man, I haven’t been this mismatched in a longg time.” he muttered, eyeing the shininess of his jewelry in comparison to his drab sleeveless hoodie, sweatpants, and red shoes.

A few minutes later, they finally arrived.

Masaki looked up in astonishment at this humongous facility, that was used only once a year for just entrance exams.

Imagine what the real thing is like, Masaki.

The principal clapped her hands to grab their attention. “Alright folks, let’s get started! Don’t forget, you need to finish one lap through the course! Okay, GOOOO!”

Startled by the abrupt start, everyone froze to look at the principal who only smiled back at them. She shooed them forward, “I said go already! Come on, guys!”

Along with most of the other applicants, he finally took the hint and took off, dashing as hard as he could as he headed for his first obstacles.

It looked like the first zone was an absolutely trashed city. All of it was ruined, with building skeletons, fires, and wreckage, everywhere he looked. He vaguely remembered something about rescuing people from the principal’s first speech, but she skimmed over it so quickly that Masaki definitely could not remember what was said about it.

Masaki was going to fly over the course to get to the end faster, and maybe get to the so called villains a bit faster. He did need a place to jump off from, because while his wings were strong, they acted more like a glider because of his body wasn't completely adjusted for wings.

He ran towards the closest building skeleton with the intent of climbing it, when he stumbled over a humanoid robot.

I wonder what this is doing here. Maybe it’s a robot that someone defeated already?I

A sign flashed on the robot’s chest. It said “Rescue Me”.

“Alright, gotta do what the lady asks.” said Masaki shrugging. He picked up the robot, and ran towards the closest “safe zone” which were marked by the forcefield around it, to keep applicants safe if they needed a break, or to store these “people” to save.

He was almost to the safe zone when he heard a heavy thud. He turned quickly to see what was behind him, and what he saw was a giant robot with a two printed on it, aiming a laser at the person on his back.

Masaki looked up at the robot. “Well, that’s fun.”

The robot made a big show of charging up its laser, and Masaki sprinted into the safe zone to get the person inside. The laser fired seconds after he entered, and it hit the barrier.

He wiped the sweat off his face in his short respite, and launched himself back into the fray, watching carefully as other people used their quirks to destroy robots and move forward, someone was punching very neat holes through the robot, someone appeared to be teleporting robots’ heads off, it was nuts.

Masaki faced down the robot that was firing at him earlier, and eyed it. He already knew what he was going to do, but he needed to be sure that there was enough time for him to do it.

Ok, let’s go!

Masaki started tapping his eyeballs frantically, and activated his quirk, forming two iron and turquoise knives. Dissipating his wings, he whipped out the knives to begin stabbing and climbing up the giant robot. Reaching the top, having barely broken a sweat, he formed a much, much larger chunk of turquoise and started bashing the robots head like there was no tomorrow. Satisfied with his destruction, he dissipated his weapons, reformed his wings, and launched himself off the robot, going on to the next robot that he saw repeating the process on quite a few others.

This is wayyy too easy. How’s this an exam? How many robots have I destroyed? How many people have I rescued? God, I hope I have enough points to pass…. Oh lol, she just fell off that robot!

Masaki had no idea how many he had destroyed, but he figured his point level was getting higher. He had made a few of the robots shoot at each other, and the ones with a 3 on them were easy to trip up. He continued to rescue people both from robots, and from other applicants who were being so stupid with their quirks.

He growled in frustration as he threw up a wall of earth to protect the person he's rescuing.

Like really guys, it's not that hard to just aim!

Cursing as his eyes twitched in pain from the dust around him, he reached the next zone, only to find that it’s just a mountain.

Round two, same procedure.

Make knives.

Climb Robot.

Bash the robot’s head in, dissipate his weapons, and glide down.

Rinse, and repeat.

Masaki made it to the next zone in record time, having an easier time making it uphill then the other applicants due to having climbed one of the robots and soaring over the peaks instead of climbing over it like an average pleb.

He reveled in the feeling of the wind through his hair, and wondered what it would be like to really have wings. Wings made of flesh and blood that he could feel.

If only I were more like my parents.

In the midst of his enjoyment, he winced as he realized that he probably missed a bunch of people to rescue.

The mountain came to an abrupt end, as it started steeply plunging downhill, showing a terrain made of different sized rocks. It looked like a landslide. The robots looked like they were having a hard time navigating through the terrain.

I’m going to have to be more careful.

Instead of rushing at the robots like he had earlier, now he went a bit slower, to make sure he wasn't knocking anything down.

He climbed up on more robot, and knocked it out with his usual technique, when he realized that it was collapsing.

Oh no. Oh no no no no.

Masaki watched in horror as he saw the thing tilt and crashdown, underneath him, and frantically leaped off, hopefully to avoid the giant landslide that he was sure was going to crash down and crush something.

He landed several meters away, and braced himself for the inevitable thud.

Only it didn't come. All the rocks remained in their exact positions before the robot had fallen.

Of course they wouldn't make it so it could hurt anybody. I guess the rocks really are stable!

Masaki had glided his way to the last zone, having rescued people and bashed robots along the way, when he came to what looked like a shore line. A big shoreline. There were floating robots with lasers floating around.

He could see the end in the distance, indicated by two bright yellow flags, and saw other competitors heading towards it already, making creative uses of their quirks to get across.

Masaki sighed and blinked his eyes blearily. There wasn't any place high enough for him to glide off of, so he's going to have to swim over to one of the robots and climb one of those.

Damn, I'm so tired.

He sighed, and got into the water, shivering at its cold temperature and began swimming. He agonized at the sight of all the other applicants making much better time than him, and when he finally reached the robot, he didn't even try to do anything cool. He swung up, bashed it with huge chunk of turquoise and called it a day.

He finally reached the top, and reformed his wings for the last time. He jumped and glided down from the robot, almost to the finish line when he saw someone struggling in the water.

It was a person covered with freckles and an awful tie dye job that he had seen earlier in the waiting room.

Oh dear. I think he's drowning. But how is he drowning? I mean, his head is above the water.

With a pang of shock, Masaki swooped a bit lower to see what was wrong, and misjudging his aim, nosedived into the water.

"SHI-!"

The other person, taking no notice of him, continued to struggle in the water.

"Hey-" Masaki coughed. " I'm going to try and get you out, ok?"

The winged boy dissipated his wings, and grabbed onto the other person by the arm, and tried dragging them to the finish line, which was so, so close, but so far away from a kid who had been going full force with nothing but his brute strength.

Why did I ever think I could rescue someone else in the water when I'm this exhausted? Also, why does the person feel like they got stabbed a bunch or something?

Masaki reached down to his feet and created a large piece of plastic to float on the surface of the water with the freckles person.

Yeah, I'm not going to make it. This plastic is only going to last for a few more seconds, I hope someone's going to come out here to come help us.

Masaki felt a weight on the piece of plastic that was keeping them afloat. He looked up to see a grey skinned girl, reaching down and touching the two people. The world spun, and then they landed, thankfully, at the finish line.

Masaki got up from his face plant, and looked at his savior.

"Thank you for saving me!" said Masaki rubbing his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, about that, I didn't mean to mess with your race."

She glanced at him for a moment, muttered something, and walked off.

He watched her leave and shrugged. Let bygones be bygones, right?

Masaki went to crouch by the freckles person, who now that he realized, was covered with holes.

Yup, sure, why not.

The brown haired boy shook their shoulder.

" Hey. Are you doing ok?"

They stirred, and sat up.

"How the fuck did I get here? I mean I know I fell off a robot, but jeez. Did I suddenly gain the ability to teleport?"

" Well, no, but that girl can teleport!" The holey kid with green eyes spun around to look at Masaki. " She got us out!"

"Oh that's good," They sighed, and frowned. "What do you mean, we?"

Masaki grinned sheepishly and blinked hard to try and clear his vision. "Um, I tried to rescue you? And I started drowning myself?"

He snorted. "That's one way to go."

Masaki grinned. "Yup, it sure is. Isn't it super cool that we made it! I hope we passed! And..."

The two walked off together towards the main building, and waited for the rest of the applicants.

".... And that's how my quirk works!"

The Principal butted in, and announced to the crowd of kids.

"Alright guys! See you next time! Your results will come in the mail in a few days! Good luck!"

With that, they were delivered back to the docks.

Masaki returned home to an empty house, and finished his chores for the day. He left a note for his parents telling about his day, and took off all his jewelry.

As he fell asleep, there was only one thought in his mind.

And now we wait.

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

Text

Title: hiraeth

Author: @slickandsolangelic

For: @usernamefieldhere

Rating/Warnings: T (warning for existentialism and disassociation)

Prompt: Hinata dealing with the consequences of having Kamukura as a past self, au or canon

Author’s notes: I hope this is to your liking, and I hope it’s okay that the au I picked is dnd-esque fantasy! I had lots of fun with this, and I can only hope that you do, too ^^

The Isles of Jabberwock are oft a pleasant place to be in, their sand a fine gold that lets itself be swept away by the lapping currents from the crystalline blue ocean that surrounds them. Better yet is the sun there, bearing down on them with its golden rays, easing flowerings into bloom and saplings into growth. Hinata is very, very glad that they managed to rescue it from being leveled down by those ambitious bandits from the east.

An adventuring life was unpredictable at its core, but unusually gratifying after a job well done.

Which is to say, it feels really fucking good to beat up some bad guys and get money for it, but such a thought is embarrassingly self indulgent and thus will remain at the very back of Hinata’s mind, where it belongs.

Nanami looks up from the weapon she’s examining. It’s a medium sized spear with a silver tip. She seems to weigh it in her hands for a bit, before letting out a satisfied hum.

“Komaeda-kun, would this be good to use if you ever wear yourself out using your magic?”

“Oh, Nanami-san, that’s really kind of you to think of me,” Komaeda starts to say, looking up from the item he was examining, a small flute embroidered with bronze trimmings. “But I’ve never really been good with sharp things. And as I’m already worn out, I’m afraid I might just point it the wrong way and, as per chance’s design. Being impaled sounds like it’d be inconvenient for our party!”

“Yeah,” Hinata says solemnly, because he’s traveled with Komaeda long enough to know that this is entirely possible.

“Yeah,” Nanami says, and she puts the spear back.

“I like this,” Hinata says. He raises both his hands to show them them silk pouch nestled in his palms. “It’s magical, so you can put up to three hundred pounds of stuff in there.”

Komaeda is at his side then, gliding past the tables laden with strings and wooden instruments. His arm brushes Hinata’s when he reaches from the small card attached to the golden thread around the pouch’s hem.

“It’s also worth five hundred gold pieces,” Komaeda says.

“Oh,” Hinata says.

“Oh,” Nanami agrees.

“If Hinata-kun really wants it, I can-” but Hinata is already putting it back.

They wind up circling the aisles of items for a few more hours, the other two interjecting with commentary when one makes a suggestion. It’s more comfortable than anything, Hinata muses, surfing through their options with one another together like this. Battles where their competence and trust in one another made the difference between loss and success, between life and death; that’s something that’s undeniably special. Something that matters, in a way, and Hinata knows that, and he is grateful- but he much prefers the quieter moments like these, when all that matters in the moment is their group effort at bargaining with the shopkeepers, the sunset’s rays framing their silhouettes as they journeyed through the winding paths of towns they’d saved or served.

There’s something he’s come to appreciate about their regular time spent together as friends rather than adventuring companions. It’s more bothersome than jarring (in a way that makes Hinata feel equal measures irritated and fond) when Komaeda answers a yes or no question with a tangent which existentially questions the universe and when Nanami turns out to have been asleep with her eyes open for the past hour they were going over plans.

It’s nice, Hinata thinks. It’s just… nice, to have moments of quiet in between. Away from threats to their life during the day, and away from his night terrors when it grows darker.

The Isles don’t really have much to offer aside from scenery and impressive craftsmanship when it comes down to it. They have a good time crossing the bridges that lead up to the separate islands, though (it doesn’t take them that long to haul Komaeda out from the water when he falls off one), and the locals aren’t unpleasant folk to converse with.

The third island has a slightly less relaxing ambiance than the others. Of the six, it’s certainly the loudest and most vibrant of the bunch– Komaeda almost immediately identifies it as the art venue when they pass by a Bard-run tavern by the name of “Titty Typhoon”. It sounds like hell in there, but hell in fifty different types of musical instruments and also wildly out of tune.

“Well,” Komaeda says, looking cheerful. “They’re having fun.” His hands are clasped together, and his eyes are widened in something that’s either wonder or contemplation. Hinata’s learnt to recognize when Komaeda begins to form overly complex thoughts over things that really aren’t that deep, but he chooses not to intervene.

“Very loudly,” Hinata says.

“And out of tune,” Nanami adds, but she’s smiling.

“Everyone’s Bardic inspiration manifests in different forms.”

“Yeah, well, it also helps when it manages to inspire without being a Bardic pain in the ass.”

“Hinata-kun speaks very boldly! Well, I guess I can’t really blame you for not finding that kind of music to your fancy, not when your own bardic prowess is unique in a way that’s unrecognizable to most regular people such as myself.”

“That was months ago, holy shit-”

“The sweet melody still haunts my dreams.”

“You’re horrible.”

“You’re the most inspiring artist a commoner like me has ever had the pleasure of hearing.”

Hinata’s shoving him now, trying to stifle a smile behind the sleeves of his leather armour plating, and failing quite spectacularly.

“Asshole,” Hinata says, but there’s no bite to it. Komaeda gives him a smile that’s a different kind of unsettling, only because it makes his insides turn funny. It’s wide, but soft around the edges, and it makes his eyes crease ever so slightly. Then he looks away, and that’s that.

Hinata hasn’t slept in what feels like three fucking days.

In reality, it’s only been about two and a half- the other half he spent goofing around with Komaeda and Nanami in the Isles of Jabberwock, hooking up their party with new shit for the next challenge.

This is bad. With the map of the nearby continent spread out before him on the scratched and damaged inn table, he should be getting in the mood to mark their next exploit. It’s a pretty good map, even if the dim yellow glow emanating from their lamps doesn’t do its details much justice.The sharp strokes that form the peaks of mountains are unmistakable nearby the expertly woven lines of rivers and streams, cutting through grassy landscapes and flat wastelands. There are circles and lines which mark territories and label them, categorizing them as either off limits or safe to explore.

But with how tired he is, Hinata’s beginning to circle around the same thought over and over. In fact, is that a fucking city, or a firefly? Is that a firefly on his map? Hinata isn’t sure if what’s on his map is a firefly or a city. That circular dot of yellow– is it a firefly, or is it a city?

“You don’t look well,” says a familiar voice. The dot of yellow buzzes and leaps into the air and onto Hinata’s nose. He swings back suddenly in an effort to swat it with both his arms. The momentum drives his chair backwards.

The quiet tavern folk don’t care to stop their chatter when Hinata crashes to the ground with a sound thud, and so the warlock is left to stare at the ceiling with unblinking eyes and his palms cupped around his nose as the minuscule sphere rises and floats away. Nanami’s concerned face hovers above him.

Ah, so it was a firefly.

Their next quest is for a blond wizard hailing from an important family. Hinata thinks he’s kind of an asshole, but Hinata also thinks that five thousand gold is maybe a sufficient price to get a job done for an asshole. He wants them to retrieve this artifact called the “Eye of Fate”, something that apparently reflects a person’s psyche and innermost desires. This is worrisome considering the Asshole Status of the person they’re retrieving it for, but according to the client, the Eye of Fate is trapped within the body of a topaz crystal gollum, a probably slightly more dickish creature to bestow such a relic upon.

Nanami helps pick him up off the ground, but he needs to take a handful of moments to gather his bearings.

“You need to take care of yourself. We won’t be able to get anything done if you neglect your health.”

Hinata thinks this is rich coming from Nanami, who never seems to sleep and yet spends half of the time she’s awake in a state of trance that’s impossible to break her out of. He means to tell her this, but instead the words that come out are “Lord Togami is an asshole.”

“He’s not easy to work with,” Nanami agrees.

“He’s a big fucking asshole.”

“Okay,” Nanami says patiently, sitting him down on the chair.

“I hate rich people who offer lots of money for ridiculous quests.”

“Mhm.”

“Nanami, there was a firefly on my map.”

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, there was.”

“It flew.”

“I think fireflies tend to do that.”

Hinata presses his face against the scratchy surface of the map. He traces a finger along the Mountain Range of the Dead, across the Red River, and straight through the continental tunnel into the cavernous entrance of the Cave of Wonders.

“Yeah,” Hinata mutters. “’S cause of their wings.”

“Sure is.” Nanami puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah,”

“Yeah,” she says, and pets his hair gently. “Go to sleep.”

The journey is harsh, but not unbearable.

Through the rocky mountain range they pass, tearing down groups of chimaeras, hopping between camping sights near the valleys. Komaeda picks flowers by one of the crevices, and Hinata feels bad when they wither under his bare hands.

They stop just a clearing away from the bank of Red River for the night. The sun kisses the horizon and turns it a warm shade of purple that lulls Hinata to slumber.

He dreams.

Hinata’s by the Red River.

His pants are rolled up to his knees, and the sky above him is as dark as the waters he’s lowered his feet into.They lap at his skin, icy and unforgiving. He pushes closer to the river side, sinks his legs further in until his calves feel numb.

Below the surface of the water, something is stirring. Moving like a shadow through the already dark film that covers the waters, closer than he wants it to be.

A voice says, “Haven’t they told you that this river is red with the blood of the fallen?”

Hinata doesn’t respond. He watches the figure grow closer and closer, a monster baited to the surface. His legs form ripples in the water when he moves them to and fro. He watches the spray of droplets disrupt the dark surface, and tries to hum away the panic in his chest.

“…You’re not listening anymore.”

The darkness is coming. Hinata is not afraid. He’s not afraid. He’s not.

(He’s terrified. He can’t move anymore, can barely breathe. He is helpless in a way that makes him angry at himself, useless in a way that makes him regret its existence.)

“You’re going to have to. It’s irrational to think you can run away forever.” The voice is calm as it says this.

It is nowhere. It is everywhere. It’s the full moon that lights up the stars above his head, the ripples his legs have stopped making in the river, the all encompassing darkness that wants to eat him whole, devour him until nothing is left of his existence.

Hinata wakes up with a start. His hands aren’t quite steady. That is to say, he’s shaking bad.

Hinata steps outside for a moment. It’s dark out still, so he snaps his fingers and watches a small flame flicker to life in his lantern. Their tent’s still steady against the breezes coming from the north. (Nanami had done a good job hammering it in right, after all. She’s always been good with practical skills like these, even if her proficiency was healing). The leaves sway high above his head on their host of towering trees, though, and the wind’s whistle is unmistakable and sharp, cutting through the night.

Hinata shudders.The bite of the air is akin to the sting of frost at his knees in the dream.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he nearly jumps a foot into the air.

“Hinata-kun?”

Oh. It’s Komaeda. Hinata tries to be subtle about the breath of relief that leaves him, but he’s sure he failed. Whatever. God, whatever.

Komaeda retracts his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says with the kind of sincerity only he seems to be capable of. “I called for you before, but you seemed preoccupied.”

“…Ah, yeah.” Hinata tries to go for a smile, but it slips off his face at astronomical velocity. He’s exhausted, tired in a way that makes his bones ache and his heart stutter at every step. “It’s just that…” For a few long moments, he contemplates his next words, painfully aware of the tentative silence between them. Komaeda doesn’t break it, and even though Hinata’s looking away, he can feel the weight of Komaeda’s gaze pressing into the back of his head, sharper than the wind that pierces through the thicket of trees surrounding their campgrounds.

Hinata says, “You’re a bard, right?” Of course Komaeda is, that’s out of the question. When Hinata whips around, he sees the look of tempered confusion Komaeda is giving him. His head is tipped sideways, and his gray eyes blink at Hinata questioningly.

“By the standard definition, I am,” Komaeda says. “Perhaps not entirely deserving of the title, but that is the most conventional term to reference what I do.”

“…Right,” Hinata says. He tries to swallow back the lump that forms in his throat, and finds he can’t do it, just as he can’t quite bring himself to dispel the anxiety eating away at the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, I know. You’re a good bard, Komaeda, we’ve had this talk.”

“And you’re changing the subject, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda responds quietly. He’s still looking at him with those intent eyes. Fuck. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Silence. And then a howl from the wind hollow and loud all at the same time.

“Have you heard of the Ender of The World?”

More silence. And then, a laugh.

“Kamukura Izuru… who hasn’t?”

“So he has a name?”

Komaeda sets his own lantern on the ground, then lowers himself and takes a cross-legged position. Hesitant, Hinata follows suit.

“You didn’t know? They named him after the original Wizard, the one whose discoveries helped incorporate the plane of magic with our own.”

“Ah,” Hinata says. His throat is dry. “I, uh, never looked into it too much. I tried to, well- avoid. That sort of stuff.”

“…I see,” Komaeda says, and there’s an obvious question in his tone. To his credit, he doesn’t ask it.

“Well, Kamukura Izuru… Well, to start, he’s beautiful. I saw him, once.”

Hinata’s heart stops. “You did?”

“I did,” Komaeda says, and smiles. There are no creases under his eyes this time, no softness to the edge of his mouth. Only a wide curve that increases Hinata’s unease. Komaeda’s eyes watch the purple flame in his lantern flicker and sway.

“When I was still travelling alone, I took shelter in a sea-side town. I was still young then, maybe in my mid teen years, and so I was still learning how to get around alone, and still learning how to cope with my abilities. Naturally, no one wanted someone whose magical energy was as unstable and harmful as mine.” Komaeda makes animated hand gestures as he speaks, his voice remaining light and unbothered.

“So I tried not to use any, even when it got cold and I needed a fire, even if I had to defend myself. As soon as they realised their flowers wither around me and the grass their cattle eat from is poisoned by my magic, they’d throw me out. I couldn’t afford to let that happen yet, not when I was in such desperate need of a sustainable place to stay.”

“Komaeda…” Hinata starts to say, a crease forming in his brow. But Komaeda just continues.

“This is why I ended up staying by the port, where there was less organic matter for me to visibly hurt. And then he was there, and the stories? They were true,” Komaeda says. “He was- ah, I’m afraid I’m not nearly eloquent enough, but he was something else. He didn’t hurt anyone then, didn’t turn any cities to dust or erase landscapes with the swipe of his hand, but his existence was like…” He holds up a hand over the lantern, and his eyes are wide enough to hold the entire sky within then. Komaeda clenches his fist over the lantern’s glow.

He whispers, “Like fire. It was burning with the demand to be attended to. It was like being charmed, but worse, but better. And where he floated, Hinata-kun? It was over the sea, which had begun to turn inky below him. It was like void. Like nothingness was just overcoming the blue, erasing it.” Komaeda’s still smiling. How is he still smiling?

Hinata tries to regulate his breathing, but he feels sick. His head spins with a thousand visions, of tarlike darkness invading crystal blue, of lonely teenagers by ports, of magical essences strong enough to burn themselves into the hearts of spectators.

Hinata’s voice sounds hoarse to his ears when he speaks. “…And? Was he- was he evil?”

Komaeda laughs again. “Evil… Well, I suppose it depends on the standards of one’s morality. I just think he was hideous.”

“Huh?! Didn’t you just say-”

“I meant what I said.” Komaeda says. “He was the wrongest thing in the world, in that moment. Something that wasn’t destined to be. He was beautiful, too, and it had made me feel something. Now, I can identify that feeling as what it is.”

“And what is it?”

Komaeda turns to look at him then, eyes wide still. He closes them for a moment, but the smile doesn’t fade. Komaeda says, “Disgust,” and Hinata feels like he’s been kicked in the ribs.

“Oh. Um, I suppose that makes se-”

“I think he was just empty. I don’t understand how someone can have such power over destiny and be such a shell.” His smile takes a dip, then twitches back into place. It looks wrong, not that it ever really looked right to begin with. It looks… sour.

“People will call Kamukura Izuru beautiful, or they will call him horrible,” Komaeda says. “I just think that he’s like me.”

“Like you?” Hinata’s heart is pounding.

“I don’t mean to sound egoistical,” Komaeda says quickly, holding his hands up, His smile returns to its default vacancy again, “Of course, I could never hope to be as powerful. But Izuru-san and I have something in common.”

There is quiet now, and even the well timed howling of the wind fails to shake Hinata out of his semi-trance state of contemplation. He recognises that Komaeda’s given him an opening to ask. The tension in his gut notwithstanding, he does.

“What is it, then?”

Komaeda hums. His gloved fingers close around the handle of the lantern and pull it up to his face. Illuminated so closely by the glow, Komaeda looks like a flame himself. It’s a haunting kind of beauty that Hinata can’t fully wrap his head around. (His heart aches). He blows his flame out, and just like that, the world grows dimmer. Komaeda stands up, and Hinata wants to reach out and grab at his sleeve, but he’s too tired, and Komaeda’s too swift, and it’s too cold out here, so cold and dark and god, Hinata’s so tired.

“Well, when I looked in his eyes, I could tell. I could tell that he had nowhere to go either.” Through the mist of darkness, Hinata can’t see his features, he can sense it when Komaeda’s gaze leaves him.

He whispers, “Good night, Hinata-kun.”

Then he returns to their tent, and Hinata’s left alone.

There is a flash of light.

Pillars of light come together to form a gollum, at least 12 feet tall, its arms made of diamond shards which reflect the yellow light pouring out of the empty holes in its head that make its sockets. The gollum is a beautiful, monstrous thing, its voice caught somewhere between roar and song. It’s a compound of light shards taking the form of rocky limbs and sharp shoulders. Like tears, the light that runs down its head burns into the cavern’s ground, acidic.

They get in order. Hinata raises his wand, and Nanami prepares her wooden staff. The amethysts that stick out of the ground by Komaeda’s feet begin to lose their vibrancy as he puts his flute to his lips.

Hinata casts.

Nanami points.

Komaeda plays.

And the gollum unclasps a dark mouth trapped between jaws of silvery-gold crystals, and showers their attacking silhouettes in stunning light.

You are born.

You are a creature! And how alive you are, how real- your hands are small and pale, your hair back length and a light shade of a pretty colour. And you are not clothed, not yet, but you are so alive.

Besides you a person with shaking arms and a trembling form. They say, “O-oh, it worked, it worked,” and they sound like they’re going to cry.

You reach out to them, and you feel concerned.

Disorientation. Fear. Hinata’s head is spinning, and he can’t tell his head from his feet, not anymore. The world is nothing but a dull blur of colour, and all he hears is a the quiet hum of the gollum’s voice, a guttural, chilling sound.

And then the next flash of light comes.

II.

You are alone. Ash falls between the spaces of your fingers, the remnants of the home you once had. The sky cries for you, but you do not cry. You cannot cry anymore, not when you know they were right all along. Right to abandon you, right to throw a creature of destruction and havoc.

You are disgusted with yourself, with the pulse of energy that crackles like lightning beneath your skin.

Your hands dig into the ashes that were once meadows and gardens and homes, homes you grew up in, homes you weren’t hated for existing in.

You let out a scream that tears your throat in two, and you are heartbroken.

He can’t tell if he’s breathing.

He can’t tell if he’s seeing. He can only hear the roar approaching.

But he feels it, too, the third flash of light slamming into him.

III.

Magic is difficult.

Magic is unnatural- it’s strange, because for your family, it seems to come as easy as breathing. Generations of wizards have thrived from their line, after all, each with magical energy in the very air they breathe, clear in the way they carry themselves, evident in the gleam in their eyes.

Except for you, that is. You have grown up looking at your hands and hating them. You have grown up with the words of the divination mistress inscribed in your head from when you were but a youth, her raspy voice calm and factual as she tells your parents, This one’s a branch that’s been severed. He’s dry, he is.

And you are. You attempt to cast spells. Nothing happens. You try your hand at passive magic, tries to see if you can work out divination, or magical forgery, or bardic inspiration.

Nothing happens within. Your hands remain plain, pitiable things, empty of even the telltale scorch marks and scar of a beginner magician. There is disappointment in the looks they give you. There’s judgement. There’s torment in their stares, a searing fire that burns away at you in the expectations you know you’ll never be able to fulfill. A tiresome, constant hum of unease.

So plain.

What a shame, that one- think of the potential!

Maybe he’s just a late bloomer?

But you aren’t.

You press your palms to your face and try to feel for a hum of something more that isn’t there, was never there, will never be there.

Until one day, not many days from now, at the hands of a circle of wizards who promise your family prowess, progress, and most importantly magic- it is.

And you feel… nothing.

You don’t feel at all.

A flash of light.

Your hair is trimmed to your shoulders. You are dressed in a cloak of silver with a green hood, given a staff crafted of rosewood and embroidered with your initials. You are given a name. You are given a purpose.

The person who made you is loving. They are kind. They don’t make you feel like the tool that you are, but you know, and you think it’s okay.

And another.

II.

You learn that the leaves of plants wither first when you play. And then gradually, so do the stems. The petals are last to go, turning a sorry shade of gray that disintegrates to ashen black the more you continue.

You feel sorry.

And yet another.

III.

There is more magic in the air than has even been. More horror in your heart than you ever thought possible. They are chanting incantations, murmuring things in languages you can’t recognise, humming in tones you don’t understand, and you are scared, but your want to stop disappointing overwhelms this fear. Your want to be something that surpasses ordinary, something that beats worthless.

So you stay still.

And you drift, further and further away, into a space where you can’t feel your heart and can’t contain your soul.

And for a while, you don’t return. Not really.

Another.

You learn that you are a cleric. You learn that your name is Nanami Chiaki, and that you can wield light and speak seven languages and be very, very useful.

You find your place among an adventuring party, and you set off to do your job as a cleanser of despair.

When will it stop?

II.

You feel smaller than you should, a quiet mass of stark white hair and shaky hands that suck the life out of every unsuspecting thing. But you learn- you learn to sleep in the hollows of large trees.You learn to survive days without fire and food. You learn what you have to do to live, what you have to do to continue, but often you wonder if there’s a purpose at all.

And then you see Kamukura Izuru turn the ocean’s blue into void, and immediately realise what you have to do.

Hinata hears what sounds like a thump, but maybe it’s just the dull beat of his heart. Does he still have a heart?

III.

It is

Dark.

It is so dark , and so quiet, and you are not there, but you are, but the world isn’t, but you are, but you’re dead, but you’re not, but you’re in pain, but he’s not.

And he’s you.

Or you’re him.

Maybe you’re both and he’s neither. She finds you somewhere between existence and death, surrounded by the skeletal remains of the seven wizards that made you what you are.

She examines the circle of black glass and scorch marks that used to be their mountain, and the grin on her face can cut through the fabric of the universe and weave it into something new. She holds out her hand, and says, “Confused, aren’tcha? I think I have something that’ll work for you.”

And before you know it, the world is ending at your hands.

There is the sound of something falling multiple times all at once.

You love them so much.

You love them so, so much. But you do not, because you weren’t made for this. You don’t know what love is.

Do you?

It’s getting closer.

II.

You are a being of misdeeds, a creature of filth and ugliness.You are a pawn in the hands of luck and a facilitator of fate. And it’s fine.

It’s fine. You don’t deserve to feel this companionship. You don’t deserve the moments when his eyes meet yours and you feel something akin to hope. It’s selfish. It’s foolish.

It’s fine.

(It’s not.)

They are footsteps, Hinata realises distantly at the back of his head, and they fall like hail.

III.

You wake up in another circle of black glass. Your head is full of memories that aren’t your own, your back breaking under the weight of sins you earnt. You hands are pale and unscarred and yours, yours, yours, but you don’t know what’s yours anymore, so you dig them into the hard ground until your nails chip and bleed and you’re screaming because the pain is the only thing that makes you feel real.

You don’t know how long you lay there, but when you come to, you can cast flame, you can create light.

And it takes you so, so long, to pick yourself up, to tear away your memories and the bards’ songs of Him, of You.

You are sick of your own existence, but most of all, you’re not sure when you’ll be him again. You’re not sure how long you have as you.

(You’re not sure when you started to think of this in terms of you and him.)

When you find yourself a party, you worry.

When you sleep at night, you worry.

When your companion’s piercing gray greens look at you and tell you, “Good night, Hinata-kun,” you worry.

What’s a sense of self for someone without one at all?

Crash!

Splinters of diamond scatter across the cave’s floor, yellow and white and shades of off-orange, shattered, sharp and everywhere.

Komaeda is panting by the now screaming, headless gollum, its guttural screeches now reduced to weak yelps that sound more like windchimes. The splinters that caught him in the face send blood streaking down it, and he’s breathing heavy.

In his right hand Komaeda holds Nanami’s abandoned spear of light, semi-tangible and fading in his grasp. Nanami rises to her feet besides Hinata, only a distance away. Cuts and scrapes line her arms and legs where the crystals caught her, but she is healing faster than any of them can process, and she points her staff at the gollum, lips drawn in a thin line.

When Hinata gets into position besides his companions, his heart thrums with something that’s maybe determination, and that’s definitely the desire to beat this fucking thing to the ground.

Their eyes meet. When Hinata catches Komaeda’s, Komaeda gives him a tired, bloodied smile which he tries to return.

They attack.

LEGEND.

There is a legend in the land about a sorcerer. Or at least that’s what they think he is. He’s certainly not human- it’s not clear if he’s much of anything the people of this world can recognize.

He’s like something out of a night terror, spectral and haunting, ethereally beautiful in ways that are hard to encapture. Bards fail to find music befitting of him, and the storytellers, their hands bleed of their efforts to weave tales and tapestries worthy enough. An artist’s maddening, he is, a being of darkness, or maybe light, or maybe divinity.

He razes lands in his wake.

It only takes a flick of his wrist for the grandeur of towering spires, raised peaks and settlements, so many settlements built with caring craftsmanship and loving ambition, to become ash.

There are no scorch marks to tell of despairing fires, no bloodstained marble and cobblestone to tell the tragedy of battles lost. Only the memory of what used to be and the dust that remains of its existence.

Some call him the Destructor. Some call him a God. Most merely call him The Ender of The World.

And he is as beautiful as he is terrifying, the story tellers swear. He doesn’t function on malice, they say. It’s impossible to tell what his motives really are, but he doesn’t thrive off of evil nor off of death. He does not need to thrive, really, not when his very existence is that of raw energy and power, not when he can make himself a living deity on command of his presence.

Others have different stories to tell of him, all with the staples; the beauty, the divinity, the grace. But they speak of different powers- armies of the dead animated for seemingly no reason. Stormy clouds of gray that encircle him, a crown of booming thunder and imminent destruction.

Eyes the colour of rubies, painfully empty despite the ocean’s worth of magical energy they surely have.

The World is ending.

And then it isn’t.

The cities of ash remain as they are, as do the hearts of endless storms continue to beat with the booms of thunder. Every tapestry and abandoned sheet of song remain, but the Ender of the World does not.

At the gollum’s husk, Hinata brings down a spectral axe he summons; once her spear of light is back in her hands, Nanami maneuvers close enough to leave a gaping gash of oozing yellow where its abdomen was; Komaeda’s flute plays notes that manifest into spectral hammers which descend upon it, blown after blow. The amethysts around them are now a darkened gray.

With each hit that lands, crystals shatter across the floor.

Soon, all that remains is a gradient of gold in pieces at their feet.

And their prize reward, the gollum’s heart: an ornate circle of the very same gold, its surface clear and reflective like a mirror. The Eye of Fate.

Komaeda collapses on his knees.

He’s making a noise that sounds like giggling, red faced and dizzy, and then he collapses to the side, spent. Hinata isn’t fast enough to catch him, but he tries anyway. Chest still heaving from the effort of battle, he takes the time to brush away the red that bleeds from the wound on Komaeda’s forehead. The amethysts are more like coal now, a tell-tale sign of the energy he’s expended.

Nanami kneels beside him, and she’s not out of breath at all. But she looks just as tired as he feels. All her wounds have closed up. Hinata almost finds it funny- he always thought the reason her wounds were so quick to heal was because she was an extraordinarily healer. While that was true, he now more or less knows that there’s more to it. And she… they both…

Well, they both know now, don’t they? But the panic hasn’t really settled in just yet.

“I’ll get him,” Nanami says, and she nods towards Komaeda. Already her hand is on his chest. “You have to go retrieve the mirror. Hinata-kun, you know what to do with it.”

Hinata nods. Rises to his feet.

He heads towards the Eye of Fate, back turned to Nanami. It feels smooth and light in his hands. The surface reflects his face, bloodied and plain, and it all feels deceptively simple.

Nanami says, “Hinata-kun? I know you’ll make the right decision. I know you’re a good person, and you can make your own path.”

He feels the smile in her voice as strongly as he feels the sting in his eyes.

“Right,” Hinata says softly, and examines the glassy surface.

He throws it to the ground experimentally. It lands quietly without a sound.

And then he crushes it under his fucking feet. Over and over until it breaks apart for good.

Nanami laughs softly from behind him.

Hinata says, “All right, then. Now that that’s over with, let’s go home.”

Home isn’t anywhere but the three of them.

The journey back isn’t as tiring as Hinata thought it would be, but it’s every bit as emotionally taxing. He wallows in his anxiety on their trip back, just as he wallows in his thoughts.

He and Nanami don’t speak of it.

And he understand that she needs time, and she understands that he needs courage, or perhaps strength of will. But she smiles at him like he means something still, like he’s more than lost identities and failure and magic that isn’t really his, and he’s grateful. He smiles at her too, a bit less patient, a bit more jaded, but he hopes it lets her know that she means something to him like he does to her.

And then there’s Komaeda.

They’re back at their camp grounds when he finally wakes. The sun’s beginning to rise above the horizon, painting its line a faint white and streaking the blank sky with shades of pale blue and orange.

Nanami’s gone to bring them firewood for later on since they’re all too tired for conjuration. Hinata’s fingers clench and unclench into a fist. He counts the fading stars that are eaten by the sunrise, and wonders if he can still see the faint outline of the moon provided he tries hard enough.

Komaeda sits opposite from him. Neither of them says a word.

The silence is quiet and tangible, and when Hinata looks at Komaeda, really looks at him, he pauses. Komaeda’s fully healed and unscarred but for a nick that the gash on his forehead left, and even that is hardly notable. His hair is even messier than usual, dirtied and gray with dust and dirt from their encounter. His pallor is still prominent, but thankfully, it doesn’t look like he’s about to fall seriously ill.

"Hey,” Hinata says.

Komaeda raises his head to look at him. He’s giving him that look again, a look of uncomfortable intensity that Hinata feels in his bones.

Komaeda say, “Hinata-kun,” by way of greeting, and they fall quiet again.

Hinata looks at his thumbs.They’re shredded from the shrapnel of crystal, scarred in little crisscrosses.

He says to Komaeda, “Well. I mean, god. Let’s- let’s cut right to it. Talk to me.”

And so they start to, the rising sun a backdrop to their conversation.

“You know now,” Hinata says.

“I do.”

“You wanted to find me. Or him. Whatever.”

“I do.”

“You still do?”

He tips his head sideways, and light curls frame his curious expression. Very sincerely, he says, “I do.”

Hinata feels a tightness in his chest.

“You’re weird.”

“You’re a god.”

Hinata gives him an annoyed, incredulous look. Now he knows Komaeda’s messing with him.

He says, “You know I’m not,” and can’t help the edge in his voice.

“Of course I do,” Komaeda says, voice hushed in a way Hinata’s never heard it before. “I felt your thoughts, Hinata-kun. We both did.”

He knows this. And it’s frustrating, infuriating even, to have something like that taken away from you and broadcasted so intimately. Looking at the mess he made of his own fingers, Hinata wishes he hit harder, attacked harsher.

And then he looks at Komaeda, and oh. He sees it now, the tightness around his shoulders, the tension in his frame. The sharpness of his present smile, guarded and ingenuine.

He’s hurting, too.

And god, Hinata’s so selfish. This entire time, his own anxieties have been overwhelming him, and he wasn’t able to realise sooner that his companions have their own plates full to the brim.

Of course. Of course he’d hurt. He’s felt it vividly, Komaeda’s loneliness, his pain, just as he had Nanami’s doubt in her existence, just as tangibly as they felt his own aches.

Hinata reaches towards Komaeda, who tenses like he’s about to flinch away, but… doesn’t. He places a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

And Komaeda says, “I was wrong.”

“Wrong?”

His gaze bores into Hinata. “Wrong to call you beautiful and hideous.”

Hinata puts away his hand. He says, “Then what would you call me?” and feels bold for it. The way Komaeda says ‘you’ instead of 'Kamukura Izuru’ or 'The Ender of the World’ or some other superficial title makes him shiver.

“I would call you hopeful,”

“Uh, what?”

Komaeda puts a hand over his heart. And there it is again, that terrifying earnestness in his eyes.

“Hopeful. You’re not like me, Hinata-kun. Despite everything, you’re still here. You’re still doing good after what she made you do.”

What she made you do. The illusion of guilt, the vision of the perfect monster, it’s gone. It’s all gone.

Hinata is shaking just the slightest bit. His hands aren’t as steady as he thought they’d be in his lap. This is hard.

“But– so are you.”

“So am I what, Hinata-kun?”

“You’re here too, aren’t you?”

Komaeda falls silent.

Hinata can’t quite read his expression right, was never quite able to, but the stunned look of bewilderment that twists his features isn’t hard to note.

“But I- that’s not… That isn’t how it works.” Komaeda argues, a confused frown twisting his mouth.

“Isn’t it?” Hinata is smiling, and as he does, he feels the tremors start to calm.

“It isn’t! Hinata-kun, if you’re as good at drawing conclusions as you are at playing instruments-”

“Stop trying to backhand compliment me, I probably can play if I really try.”

“Backhanded compliments? How rash of Hinata-kun to jump to such a conclusion, I was only trying to speak my mind.”

He flicks Komaeda’s forehead. Komaeda doesn’t make a move to flinch this time.

Hinata dares to push back the hair that falls in front of his eyes, heart beat mingling with the songbirds’ melody. He waits for Komaeda to stop him, but he does not. He rubs his thumb over the small scar on his forehead.

“…You were good out there with Nanami’s spear,” Hinata murmurs. “Maybe you should actually consider buying one.”

“Oh,” Komaeda breathes in response.

Sunlight makes him look even prettier.

It’s quiet here in these woods, and it’s not “home” forever. Nothing will be for a while. But the permanence of home and the worries of tomorrow mean nothing when Hinata sees that smile again. A smile soft around the edges that make his eyes crease, a smile that makes Hinata not want to let go.

“Is this okay?” Komaeda says, and his voice is quiet. His eyes begin to flutter. His gloved hands reach tentative towards the back of Hinata’s neck as he moves to lean into Hinata’s touch. Komaeda’s hands are light, their pressure barely there, like he’s afraid to hurt him.

Hinata says, “It’s okay.”

And when he kisses Komaeda, it feels like the relief of something long awaited. It feels like comfort. It feels like something right. Hinata’s hands reach to cup his face, and oh.

He kisses him again, and again, and again, and everytime Hinata pulls away, he sees that smile and just can’t stop.

They’re going to be okay.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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navpike · 5 years

Text

Licensed Response: Chapter 4

"I'm just going to lend a hand," Caleb calls as they run. He doesn’t want to make this a hero thing, but this seems big. He can help out a few civilians and leave when the cops or a proper Powered Response Team shows up. “Is this even legal?” Nott screeches. (It really isn't legal.)

Or, the one where the Nein are a team of superheroes (well, they're working on it, at least).

Chapter Four: a revelation, some kind of resolution [on ao3]

The Mighty Nein become an officially licensed Powered Response Team six months and two days after they almost got arrested. They respond to their very first official call four days later.

They’re all sitting in ZuZu’s during a mid-afternoon lull in business when they hear a voice crackle over the in-ear communicators they were each issued by the city, like tiny police radios.

“Any available PRTs, we have an incident on Twenty-fifth and Main, incident on Twenty-fifth and Main. Any available PRTs please respond,” the voice says. That’s only a few blocks away. The Mighty Nein all look up at each other with varying levels of excitement.

It ranges from Caleb’s pained ‘I guess we have a responsibility’ look, to Jester’s excited ‘hell yes, bad guys to beat up!’. From behind the counter, Zuala eyes them all with something like concern.

After he waits for the last of the other patrons to leave so the cafe is empty besides them, Fjord responds, “The Mighty Nein responding. We are en route to the scene, two minutes out.”

“Mighty Nein, the scene is yours, multiple hostiles sighted, witnesses report at least four large mutated spiders.”

Fjord freezes and shudders at that, before replying that he heard it, and they gear up to head out, leaving civilian clothes and belongings behind with Zuala before taking off.

Caleb’s grateful he doesn’t have to incinerate another pair of pants, at least, but he isn’t too happy about the running three blocks in the sticky heat of early summer.

He scolds himself for complaining about the heat when they come onto the scene.

There are four large spiders, just like the dispatcher had said. What they had neglected to mention was the one spider that’s phasing in and out of existence. It pops in and out of sight, lashing out at people with reckless abandon, every person it touches crying out in pain before seizing up, freezing in various states of agony.

Caleb stumbles when he sees them, these victims, these innocent people paralyzed, poisoned, but he regains his wits quickly, mostly thanks to Yasha’s strong hand clapping onto his shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. Yasha’s hand releases him, and his body goes up in flames, amber and gold flickering in his eyes.

The black smoking haze hovering around Yasha’s face crackles with electricity.

Veth’s form melts.

Beau and Jester flank Fjord as he pulls water from the air around them.

Molly smirks, silver and purple trailing behind him despite the distinct lack of breeze, and says, “Shall we?” and it’s almost as though his words take shape in the stagnant air.

As one, the Mighty Nein lunge.

Before the others can get into melee combat with the spiders, Caleb launches a fireball over the heads of the crowd, setting the spiders alight, just before the trouble spider zips out of existence again. The spiders screech, the ones still left in sight, at least. Their heads swivel as one in Caleb’s direction.

He’d be afraid, but his family’s there with him, Beau, Fjord and Jester hurtling forward into the fray before the spiders can reach him. His immediate job done, he turns to crowd control, as that one fucking spider pops into existence again near a disheveled looking man and his son.

Some protective instinct that Caleb doesn’t quite recognize rears its head, but he listens to it. He throws himself between the man and child and the spider. With a quick glance to be sure there are no other civilians around, Caleb runs his hands together and throws up a wall of fire in front of himself. The spider squeals, its wiry hair catching on fire as soon as it gets closer.

It reels back with another cry of pain, hissing and trying to find a way around the wall. Satisfied that it’ll keep the problem away for now, Caleb glances to his friends, his family. As he watches, Molly croons at a spider and Yasha drives her sword through its body into the ground. Beau sends a javelin through one and Fjord catches its body up in a sphere of water, lets her attack it while he contains its struggle. Veth, in the large twisted form of a bear, clamps her jaws around the third, and lets Jester press her hands to its back, inflicting wounds into it until the spider’s exoskeleton falls away with a sickening squelch.

At that, the spider by Caleb screeches again and disappears, reappearing closer to his friends with a wail.

Certain that the others have a handle on that situation for now, Caleb turns back to the man and the child, dropping the wall of fire behind him, and letting the flames dancing across his body die out. He intends to simply double check that they’re alright and move on, but when he turns around, his heart seizes in his chest for a moment.

The little boy is frozen in place, cradled in his father’s lap, his face twisted up, eyes wide with fear. Caleb hadn’t been quick enough to stop the spider from attacking him.

That makes his breath catch, sure, but it’s not what stops him in his tracks. What stops him is the little boy’s appearance.

Veth has taken that form before.

In the midst of a nightmare Caleb had woken her from a month ago, Veth had melted into this boy’s form.

He’d blame it on an imperfect memory, but his memory is without flaw.

No more than a moment passes while he mulls this over in his mind, though. That is all to be dealt with later. Right now, his attention is needed here.

He kneels in front of the man, reaching out his hands slowly.

“Hello,” he says softly. His accented is more pronounced, stressed out as he is now. “I am Caleb, you might know me as Blitz.”

“I’ve heard of you,” the man says shakily.

“I thought you might have. I’m here as a part of the Powered Response Team, The Mighty Nein. You are safe, now. My friends will finish off that last spider and then,” as Caleb speaks, the last spider gives it’s dying screech, “then my friend Render will come to our assistance over here, yes? She is a very talented healer. It will take a moment, she has to help those who were poisoned first,but she will be here very soon.” He’s not certain where it comes from, these words of reassurance. He thinks he’s saying everything he wishes someone would have said to him and Astrid and Eodwulf when they were in Ikithon’s iron grasp.

“He’ll be alright, won’t he? My son’s going to be alright?”

“What’s your name, friend?”

“Yeza. My name’s Yeza. My son is Luke. Pleasee, tell me he’s going to be alright.”

Caleb’s heart slams to a stop.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

For later, he reminds himself.

“Well, Yeza, I am not a man of medicine, but if you look around you,” Caleb points at where Jester is right now, her hands on a woman’s shoulders. “My friend Render is a very gifted healer. She is wonderful at what she does, and this seems to be a perfectly fixable condition. Luke will be okay, I am certain. Just let Render make her way here.”

Yeza nods, takes a deep breath, and Caleb, though he’s not entirely sure why he does it, reaches out and clasps a hand onto the man’s shoulder just like Yasha had done to him just before the battle had begun.

He squeezes once, and gives a probably very strained smile before dropping his hand. The man looks a little more calm though so Caleb considers that a win. He glances over his shoulder to see where Jester is in her progress towards them. Only a couple more people to go.

As he watches, they shake the toxin from their limbs and look at her in thanks, relieved smiles crawling across their faces.

Jester steps up to them and kneels. She’s sweating, and it’s not from the sticky stale summer heat.

Her hand is trembling violently as she reaches out towards the boy, Luke, but she pastes on a blinding smile anyway. Caleb places his fingers on her shoulder, in the place where her uniform is carefully cut away to reveal her tanned skin. She’s too cold, and Caleb knows that she’s overextending herself, but he can’t bring himself to ask her to take it easy now. Not when she’s so close to fixing everyone, not when the last one is a child, Veth’s child, lying in his father’s lap, fear in his eyes and his muscles tensed with paralysis.

He knows Jester would just refuse him anyway, so he stays quiet, wishes there was a way he could lend her some of his energy to help her do this. There’s nothing he could do, he knows that, too.

Jester lays her hands gently on the sides of Luke’s face, cupping his cheeks in almost motherly affection, and smiles.

Her upper lip trembles almost as much as her hands.

She pulls the toxin from Luke’s body, and lets out a small cry of pain, and slumps into Caleb.

An abrupt call of “Jester!” goes up from the rest of The Mighty Nein, and he hears the commotion of them scrambling to get to her. Yasha’s sword being sheathed, Fjord’s weaponized water dissipating, Mollymauk hissing at the newly arrived cops to stay away from them, the strange popping sound that echoes when Beau summons or dismisses a weapon.

He hears the sickening squelching sound of Veth’s form melting.

Fuck.

Caleb curses in German.

“I’ve got Render,” he calls back frantically,collecting Jester’s slumped form in his arms. Luke is stirring and Yeza is sigghing in relief, this is fine he has this under control, he can’t let Veth… “Yasha, keep Nott the Brave back, don’t--”

It’s too late.

Veth is standing there, her twisted bear form melting away, a look of shock on her half formed face. Staring at her husband and injured son, Veth doesn’t even have the wherewithal to control the change in the slightest. She melts from the bear straight into plain old Veth. No mask, no altered clothing, no nothing. She’s Veth, same face and same black jeans and ratty old t-shirt that she’d stolen from Caleb and hacked up into something she deemed more fun before they went out this morning.

For a split second, her skin ripples, and she has splotches of different colors up and down her arms and neck, almost like the vitiligo that dots across Fjord’s jaw and hands. But then it fades back into her normal deep tan, and then she’s just Veth.

In the middle of a crowd of civilians, in front of the husband and son she hasn’t seen in over a year.

Lots of things happen at once then.

Mollymauk turns back to the police to sure they really aren’t approaching. The black haze that usually just hovers around Yasha’s face suddenly extends to swirl in a vortex of almost opaque grey. Through the haze, Caleb can just barely see Fjord and Beau going to talk to the law enforcement to explain what had just happened and show them their licenses. Yasha kneels next to Caleb and Jester and helps him get her situated a little more comfortable while they work out this nightmare and wait for EMTs to get there to double check that Jester’s okay.

Veth, her hair blowing out behind her from the force of the haze vortex that Yasha’s kicked up, just stares.

“My god,” Yeza says, staring right back at his wife. “You’re… Veth, you’re alive! Is it you? It’s really you?”

Veth, still a touch dumbfounded, nods once, jerkily.

“It’s me,” she says, and Caleb’s never heard her sound so small.

On the ground, Luke stirs, and coughs a little, looks up at Veth and says “Mama? Is that you?” and melts.

Yasha gasps softly.

“Oh god, no,” Veth whispers, horror hanging onto her every word. “Please no, no, no, no. Not him, no.”

Making sure that Yasha has Jester safely in her lap, Caleb gets up, taking a few steps closer to Veth. She flinches back, hr eyes wide and still focused on her son.

“Veth,” Caleb mutters softly, putting a hand out to bridge more of the distance. He has to put out a couple of flames that spark across his wrists. “It is okay,” he tries.

“No it’s not! Look what I’ve done, Caleb! look at what I did to my son! I cursed him!” Veth shouts.

Caleb’s glad that Luke seems too out of it to be paying much attention at the moment. Yeza, on the other hand, visibly flinches, and as he does, Veth recoils.

Yeza is clearly torn between his son, still lying half in his lap, and his wife, despairing in front of him. Caleb knows this is not a situation he can help in, so he goes to try to do something he can help with.

He kneels beside Yeza once again, and carefully gathers Luke into his lap, holding the boy gently to him as he shivers. Caleb gives him a quick once over to be sure that Jester had healed him entirely, and when he sees that she had, determines that the boy just needs to rest and he’ll be alright. He half murmurs, half sings an old lullaby he sort of remembers from when he was very young to Luke as Yeza approaches Veth.

Veth visibly recoils as he nears, but he isn’t put off, reaching out to take her hands in a loose grip. He’s giving her an out, Caleb can see, leaving her room to pull away, to leave.

“Veth, I thought you were dead. I--I can’t believe that you-- I mean, you’re Nott the Brave! My wife is a superrhero! Would you look at that. I thought you were gone, really. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I texted,” Veth says softly, miserably.

“I know, but I still… I hoped, but some part of me-- you never came home one night, Veth! You just never came home!”

“I’m sorry. I am. I never-- I didn’t want you to see me. I didn’t want you to see… I got jumped by members of that gang, the Goblins, and they knocked me out and when I woke up I… I was a monster. I was cursed. I didn’t want you to see what they did to me.”

Oh. Oh, that makes Caleb’s heart hurt. Yasha gives him a sad look that resonates with how he feels just a bit too well.

“This is just another part of you, my dear,” Yeza says, almost too softly for Caleb to hear, and Veth scoffs. “Oh don’t give me that. This was something inside of you the whole time. That just brought it out. You know, stressful situations can trigger otherwise dormant powers in someone? That’s what happened to Luke when we thought we lost you.” Veth makes a distressed sound and Yeza places a hand so, so softly to the side of her face. “None of that now. Just. We’re just happy to have you back. We’ve missed you so much, Veth. I’ve missed you. I don’t care that you’re powered, and I don’t care how that happened. I’m just happy you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

Veth lets out a watery laugh, just shy of a heavy sob, and sniffles miserably, before throwing herself at Yeza, looping her arms around his neck and holding him tightly.

As she does, her form melts again, and the fabricated mask is back on her face, her features just enough different that no one would be able to tell that it’s her. When she draws back, Yeza gasps, but he doesn’t so much as flinch in the face of it.

“Let’s get your boy out of here,” Yasha pipes up, gathering Jester in her arms. “He and Render both need to rest after this, and my home is only a few blocks away, we can head there. Platinum, Quartermaster and Sentinel can handle the police brief and meet us when they’re done.”

At the prompting, Caleb draws Luke to his chest and stands, only stumbling a little as he does.

He carries Luke over to Yeza and Veth and gestures the correct direction with his chin, and begins to walk.

Smaller now, and transparent enough to see through, but not be seen through, Yasha’s haze follows them, and they head for the back alley of ZuZu’s so they can change into their civilian clothing and head back to Yasha’s without drawing so much attention.

When the haze dispels and they open the back door, Zuala is there in th kitchen retrieving a tray of cookies from the oven. It clatters to the counter when she sees Jester in Yasha’s arms, Luke in Caleb’s, and Veth leaning heavily into Yeza’s side.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell happened? Who are they?” Zuala exclaims, reaching for the first aid kit they now keep here for emergencies.

Yasha waves it away and gives Zuala a brief rundown of the situation, and Zuala quickly shifts from confusion to resolve.

“Yasha, dear, go change and clear out the cafe, we’re closing early today. No one needs any immediate assistance?”

Caleb shakes his head. “No. They’ll need rest and for someone to keep an eye on them, but no one is terribly injured. Simply drained.”

“Good. We’ll tidy you all up and head back to the house so we can let them rest for a while, make sure they’re okay. The others are going to meet us at the house?”

Electricity crackles from the other side of the room as Yasha sticks the tip of her sword into a well-worn divot in the floor in the corner, and whispers a word, and her armor zaps away. The haze dissipates and the black war paint fades back into her skin and she’s left with the single blue line tattooed down her chin and the soft green flannel and denim cutoffs she was wearing this morning. Her sword is no more than a hilt, small enough that she can tuck it into the waistband of her shorts, and it’s like there’s nothing there.

She presses a kiss to Zuala’s forehead and heads for the front of the cafe to clear it out.

Zuala clears off the counter a little more so that Caleb can lay Luke down to rest his arms.

As Caleb sets him down, Zuala turns to Yeza and Veth.

“Hey, do you think you could gather the others’ things so that they can have their civilian clothes waiting for them when they get to the house?” she asks softly, and Caleb appreciates that.

A small, easily managed task is a good way to make sure Veth doesn’t zone out too far, that she stays with them well enough. It works. Veth nods and makes a noise of agreement and sets about digging out the clothes they had all tossed at Zuala before taking off. They’re stuffed in a little alcove mostly hidden by a cabinet, so it takes a minute, but it’s no issue.

Veth hands Yeza a worn button down that’s probably Fjord’s, and, in a voice the rest of them almost can’t hear, asks him to give it to Zuala so that she can cover up most of Jester’s uniform for the walk. Caleb takes his things from Veth and tosses his jeans and henley on over top of his uniform.

Veth prods at her own face, seems to realize that she hasn’t dropped the altered form, and concentrates for a second to melt into her own face. Yeza watches in something like awe.

“That’s incredible,” Yeza breathes.

Caleb can’t help but smile. He knows Veth was terrified of what her husband would think of her newfound abilities, but everything Caleb’s seen so far says that Yeza does not care in the slightest. In fact, he seems to be fascinated with his wife’s powers.

Caleb would use the word enamoured for the way Yeza looks at Veth.

It’s almost sickeningly sweet, like the pastries Jester is so fond of.

Caleb abruptly feels like he’s intruding, and turns back to Zuala where she’s checking on Jester and Luke.

“They are not turning into pastries, are they?” Caleb teases.

Zuala, without looking up, laughs at him. “You know I’m a licensed EMT, right, Widogast?”

Caleb did not know that.

He tells her as much.

“I have been for a while. Before we moved to America, opened this place, that was my plan. Fell apart a little bit. But I still remember the basics. It seems like Jester and the kid are going to be just fine, I think you were right. They just need lots of rest and some fluids and they’ll be back on their feet in no time. Nothing to worry about if they stay this way.”

Caleb smiles. The Nydoorins never fail to surprise him.

“You are full of many surprises my friend,” he says to her, and she makes a noise that is almost a laugh.

Yasha returns to the kitchen with keys in hand to inform them that the cafe is cleared out, and that she’s gotten in contact with the others to tell them where to meet.

As Yasha talks, Yeza takes Veth’s hand and leads her gently back over to the rest of them.

Gently, like she’s afraid he’ll break if she touches him Veth places her hand on her son’s cheek. Caleb can see the shine of tears on her face and in her eyes but he doesn’t say a word. Veth deserves this.

“Let’s get him back to our place so that we can get him comfortable. You can stay until he’s feeling a little better before taking him home,” Zuala prompts.

Yasha hefts Jester’s still unconscious form into her arms. When Veth takes a step away, still holding her husband’s hand, Zuala lifts Luke.

“Thank you so much,” Yeza says, as they head for the back door.

Caleb takes the keys from Yasha and locks it behind them.

“Think nothing of it. Veth is like family to us. And you are her family. So that makes you important to us as well, ja?”

Yeza nods and Veth tries valiantly to hide her smile.

“Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know my wife’s second family. Not every day you get to do that, huh?” Yeza jokes.

Veth groans. Caleb and Zuala chuckle. Yasha fixes him with an approving look.

Caleb thinks Yeza will fit right in with the rest of them, no problem.

#caleb widogast #nott the brave #yeza brenatto #luke brenatto #yasha nydoorin #zuala nydoorin #jester lavorre #fjord #mollymauk tealeaf #beau lionett #the mighty nein #m9 #cr #critrole #critical role #fic #mine #lr au

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

Half Pant Final

by Paul Teodo & Tom Myers

He was 7 feet tall, wearing yellow flowered shorts that stopped an inch above his deeply scarred right knee. Muscular calves supported long legs that ended in crooked toes sprouting from lime green sandals. The image of a blues man wailing on his Stratocaster was silk-screened in silver on his black tee shirt. “Buddy Guy” in script identified the artist.

“You play ball?” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Turkey,” he said, straightening his black cowboy hat, “Slim” embroidered along the left side, silver coins embedded in its red satin band. There was nothing slim about him. He wasn’t a seven-foot bean pole. He was a muscular seven-footer with a well-manicured salt-and-pepper goatee.

“Turkey?”

“Yeah, they have a league. They needed a ‘big.’ I dabbled.”

I’d heard of pro basketball in Spain, Italy, Israel, even Australia, but not Turkey. “Well, that’s not what we’re here for. Thanks for coming.”

He kept looking out the window as if someone was out to get him. “Ra said you were okay.”

“Ra?”

“Raheem.”

“Our cook?”

“Yeah, we ball together, over on Madison, 24-hour gym, just down from the stadium. He vouched for you.” He glanced out the window again.

I resisted the urge to follow his stare.

“When do you have time? You’re already at three hospitals, Lourdes, Nicoletta, Pious, and you ball?”

“Sleep’s overrated. You only die once. Like I said, that’s why I came. Ra, he said you were okay. Said you were open,” he chuckled, “to a little different, and I can be different.”

Yeah, I thought, he was different. “Glad I got a good recommendation.”

“So what do you need?”

“I’ll be straight with you. We got a problem. Our orthos think they own the place.”

He looked back at me. “I’ve heard. You got Vince who thinks he’s the Don of the hospital and should get paid juice.” I cringed at his bluntness. “Schweingart, the Nazi, is flat-out scary, and Seamus can’t stay sober, and came close to killing a guy last month in the OR.” He looked out the window again. “Yeah, you got problems.”

How’d he know about all that shit? Were we that infamous? And what the hell was out the window? “How’d you hear about all that?”

He smiled, towering over me like I was a child. My chin, maybe, came up to his waist. “C’mon.” He clapped his hands shut; the slap of his palms, like a bullet, echoed off my office walls. “People talk, and they tell others not to talk, which makes them talk even more.” He studied his hand as if he was examining a wound. Empty. He shook his head with disappointment. “I used to be better.”

He folded himself like a wounded crane into a chair, making it, and my desk look miniature next to his out-sized frame.

I scanned his CV. It smelled like cigarettes, coffee stains obliterated most of his references. “Guadalajara Medical School?”

“I like the sun.”

“What else do you like?”

He shifted, struggling to find his “spot” in a human-sized seat. “Mexicans, they’re so laid back, and their cuisine.”

“And?”

“I quit. I don’t do that stuff anymore.” He tapped his chest. “Bad for the lungs….” He wrenched his neck with a giant hand, Big-foot came to mind, looking around the room trying to figure out a way of answering me without sounding stupid. A bone somewhere inside cracked, exploding like a firecracker, making me jump.

“Jesus,” I said, letting him off the hook for a second.

“C-4. I took a charge from a kid from Kenya. Fractured my spine.”

“You quit…you were saying.”

“Yeah. I mean I got into Michigan, Rush, Hopkins, but I wanted sun, and chill. So ‘Mexico, here I come.’”

“That’s when it started?”

“Naw, in high school, but I stopped when I got to Mexico.”

“Get busted?”

“No way.” He said like he was proud of himself. “I had a vision.”

“Totally done with it?”

“Yep, twelve years. She stays on me.”

“She?”

“My wife.”

“What she do?”

“Sex therapist.”

The conversation was making me feel like I was the only old maid in a popcorn machine.

“You have a colorful life.”

“I get interested in everything really easy, and I get bored even easier. So I bounce around.”

“You think you can handle it here?”

“I can adapt to just about anything, and because of how I am,” he smiled and waved his hand over his Goliath-sized frame, his flowered shorts, his skin-tight Buddy Guy tee, and his silver-studded, red-sash hat, “I’m used to taking a little shit.”

I imagined it wasn’t too much shit, given his imposing stature. “I can’t have you giving it back. These guys are vicious. I need to run a hospital.”

“You like Mexican?”

Back into the popcorn machine. I tried to keep the conversation going. “Good people. A big part of our patient base. A bit shy for me. But terribly discriminated against.”

“I mean food.”

“Food?”

“Yeah, tamales, tacos, empanadas, and horchata, my favorite drink. Saved my ass when I got off the stuff.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeated.

“Why are you interested in my palate?”

“I’m hungry. Let’s eat. If I’m gonna get my ass grilled, it might as well be where the grilling isn’t just my ass.”

“I gotta check my schedule.” I hate Mexican food.

“Screw your schedule. I’ll drive.”

More bones cracked as he uncoiled from the chair, sending shivers up my spine, “Jesus.” He straightened his right leg, massaging it with the longest fingers I’d ever seen.

“IT band. Tighter than a freakin’ bungee cord. It’s all connected.”

“Kenyan kid?”

“Yep, a nice kid. Coulda played in the NBA . But he broke my freakin’ back. He got me into medicine. I owe him. Killed a lion with his bare hands. He could really play ball. His family didn’t want him to leave. He’s in line to be a chief or something.”

“Who coulda played in the NBA?”

He paused, his eyes darting out the window again. “Both of us. Let’s go eat.”

“You’re something. What’s with the window?”

He shrugged. “We keep in touch. I told you I like different. Let’s go.”

We walked to the door. “Sasha. Dr. Vuckovich and I are going to lunch. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Make it two,” he said, removing his hat, revealing a polished skull, wiping beads of sweat from his extremely broad forehead.

Sasha gave me a disgruntled look, then a disapproving grunt, acting as if she was writing something distasteful on a piece of yellow paper to show to all of her friends.

“We’re getting Mexican. Can I bring you back something?”

“You hate Mexican.”

So much for my diplomacy with Dr. V.

He smiled, grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. “Let’s go. You’ll like this, Boss. I parked in front.” I stumbled to keep up. His gait was about 142 feet longer than mine. “Hope I didn’t bend the rules too much.” He turned, giving me a shit-eating smile.

I was now his boss? Were we making progress? Who the hell could figure?

Just to the left of the front entrance, taking up two spots, one a handicap space, sat a vehicle that should have been repossessed by a chop-shop on 63rd Street. He waved his hand at this long black piece of metal, bowing as if he was introducing royalty. “Meet Miss Koko.”

“Koko?” I asked, trying to hide my displeasure at both his cavalier attitude toward our parking regulations and being carted off to a Mexican lunch in this ridiculous piece of shit.

“Yep, Koko Taylor,” he said proudly. “Best blues singer this city’s ever had.”

“You named your car after a blues singer?”

“Better than Impala or Bonneville, or Arthur.” His voice rose, echoing off our one-hundred year-old building. “C’mon, all bullshit names.”

I popped open the door. “It’s a fucking hearse.”

A huge grin spread across his face. “Not anymore. I had a patient trick it out for me. I did his shoulder. Put him back to work. He was broke. No insurance. He got what he wanted and so did I.” He opened the door threw his hat into the back seat. “It’s more like a cargo van.”

“You really drive this?”

“Yep, everywhere, and check this out” Despite his size he slid in effortlessly, and arched his back against the black velvet front seat. His legs stretched under the dash deep into what would normally be the engine compartment. He wiggled his snake-like toes and smiled, and let out a satisfied groan.” Leg room. A shit-load of leg room!”

I looked into his back seat, sliding in, imagining all the dead bodies that had rested there. I noticed what appeared to be a neck of a guitar peeking out from a Navajo blanket. Across the top, embossed in gold on shiny black wood was the word Gibson. “A guitar?” I nodded to the back seat.

“For my band,” he said, popping a mint into his mouth. “Want one?”

“Band?”

“Well, not really mine, we got a gig tonight. Wanna come? I’ll comp you.”

The popcorn kept exploding all around me, and I was still the old maid.

“Gig? Where?”

“Let’s go.” He slammed Koko into gear, kicked it in the ass, and sped out of the parking lot.

“Sure.” Why the hell not?

“Great! Rosa’s. Armitage, near Western.” He leaned over, not slowing one bit, his shoulder jammed into my chest, ripped open the glove compartment and the pulled a ticket from the box.

He handed it to me then slammed on his brakes, and screamed. “Asshole!”

Dr. V. was able to hand me my comped ticket for his gig and avoid crushing a neon blue Prius at the same time.

“That was close,” I said looking down at the ticket.

“Naw, I’m a defensive driver.”

I wanted to tell him he was an offensive driver but I bit my tongue. I looked back at the ticket. It read: Chicago Blues Pussyhounds, Featuring Dr. Slim. Slim? from his hat.

“Provocative name.”

“Gets people’s attention. Layla thought of it.”

“Layla?”

“My wife.”

The sex therapist. Jesus.

It was like I was in a movie. And I was having a helluva time keeping up. Vuckovich’s Most Excellent Adventure.

“Relax,” he ordered, and flipped on the stereo, multiple pulsing speakers rattled my bones. A soulful woman’s voice rose over it all. He pointed in the air, bobbing his head to the beat of the thumping music. “Koko! Let’s go! I got a hip at Pious at 3!”

“Any bodies back there?” I asked, looking at the cavernous area behind us.

“I keep ‘em alive,” he smiled and popped another mint. “I don’t kill ‘em like your boys.”

He’d heard that too? Shit.

***

“He wears half pant.”

Dev Balakrishnan, unlike Igor Vuckovich, was nowhere near seven feet tall. In fact, he barely cleared five feet. I didn’t think he’d fall in love with Dr. V, but I thought he’d at least give him a chance.

“He’s got great experience.” I was grasping.

“And auto is for dead people.”

Shit, he’d seen Koko.

“Dr. Balakrishnan,” I butchered his name every time I tried to say it.

“B,” he said “call me B. I’d rather hear you say B than you pronounce name like a contagious disease.”

I peered into the conference room where B had been interrogating V who now sat alone upright and uncomfortable, in a wooden chair, drumming his hands on the table, head bobbing up and down, probably grooving to Koko or Buddy. I indulged myself for a moment, imagining their interview, popcorn exploding all over the room.

“Why do you wear half pant?”

“Half pant?”

“Yes. And your car is for dead people. And toes should not be seen.”

“Ever listen to Koko Taylor, Doc? I think you’d dig her.”

I would have bought a ticket to that show.

“We’re dying here,” I said to B. “With only three orthos, and they run the department like gangsters.”

“The man would not fit here.” He pointed to Dr. V, now standing, rocking out on his air guitar. “He is too much, how you say, eccentric. Plus, training is bad. Mexico.”

“And Vince and his boys do fit? Schweingart got his training in the Caribbean at a pop-up school that closed right after he graduated.”

“They do not wear half pant or drive car for dead people.”

“I’ll bring it to the Board.” I lowered my voice trying to make him think.

Dr. B winced. “Board is for major issues.”

“This is a major issue. They’re killing us. They’re all trying to squeeze us, and we got nothing left.”

“I do not know this squeeze.”

B was dumb like a fox. He knew what those guys were. He did it once in a while too, but overall he was a good guy. He played fair and was a good surgeon. He took who came in the door and didn’t try to bullshit his way out of treating people who had no dough. Vince and his crew were different. No money or insurance? Then it was… Too big a case. We don’t have a bed. We’re short staffed. No supplies. Too much a risk. So ship ‘em out to someplace else. The County was always their fallback. If they could pay, then Vince and his boys would roll out the red carpet. What they did was plain wrong, a royal pain in the ass, and illegal. If Medicare pays your hospital and doctors, you have to care for those who can’t pay. And while docs were making lame excuses not to treat a banged up guy laid out in the mangled and broken, the entire place would back up like the traffic on the Jane Byrne or worse yet, the Hillside Fucking Strangler. Bullshit, and we were all tired of it.

“Doc, you know what I’m talking about. You accepted the position of President of the Medical Staff” and its stipend, I implied. “It’s time for you to man up.”

Pondering what he should do, he studied me with puffy eyes and labored breath, looked to Dr. V, still grooving to his tunes. He rubbed his disheveled hair. “Temporary,” he said, clearing his phlegmy throat. “We will give him temporary opportunity. Vince going to vacation home in Florida for February month. He can take his call. Ten days.”

“Temporary…” I began…but stopped. B could tell I was ready to fight, so I countered with silence.

“But,” he pointed at me, “no Board. We will work this out man to man.”

So, what direction should I go? Eat the entire enchilada, I hate Mexican, or take it one bite at a time? “I’m not sure Dr. V would go for that. Would you?”

“He will agree.”

“How do you know?”

B looked at me. A wry smile peeked out from under his scruff. “He already told me he would.”

***

“A John Doe.”

“Who’s on call?”

Shaneese, our ER traffic cop, paused. “Vince,” she said, her voice low, filled with disdain. “He won’t take it. You know that.”

We paid the asshole a grand for every call he took. But she was right. He’d hem and haw and make everybody sit on their hands, listening to his excuses.

I could see her standing in the ER, hand on hip, head tilted, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my response, judging the shit out of me.

“John Doe?” I asked, as if I hadn’t heard her, trying to buy time.

She did not respond. She let me dangle.

“What’s the damage?”

“He was thrown off a roof.” Her voice flat. “Multiple cervical fractures.”

“Jesus.”

“People are animals.”

“How many?”

“I stopped counting at C-5,” she said, growing more impatient.

“Stable?” Stupid question.

Her voice rising. “Stable? At least three of his seven vertebrae are busted. His spinal cord probably sprung a leak. He’s NOT stable. He’s going to die. He needs surgery now!”

“Call Vince. Tell him what you got and let me know what he says.”

I could feel her scorn as she hung up. And I deserved it. I’d let this shit go on too long.

Fuck. I grabbed my phone and called the front desk.

“Hello.”

“Shanda could you get me Dr. Endrizzi?”

“He don’t like me to call him. He only likes to talk to medical folks.”

“What’s his number?”

“Office or cell?”

“Cell.”

“312-665-3987. Good luck.”

***

“Hello.” His voice thick, filled with the hills of northern Italy.

“Vince, it’s Jim. We got a situation in the ER.”

“The John Doe with the spine?”

He’d heard already. “Yeah.”

“Too complex for us.”

“You’ve done them before.”

“Not too complex for me, but your staff isn’t qualified.” He hung up.

Sonofabitch. That arrogant prick. Isn’t qualified? Our staff was good, real good, and brave as shit. I redialed. “This is Dr. Endrizzi, I cannot take a call. I’m gone in February with important Medical Business. If you have big problem, call 911, or go to Hospital Emergency. They take care of you.”

Important Medical Business, my ass.

I yanked open my office door and headed to the OR.

I swiped my card and the panels slid open. I asked the OR Receptionist Denelle, “is Dr. Balakrishnan in there?” I pointed to suite #1, where we configured the surgical table and the lighting for a man of his small stature.

“He’s got a TURP,” she said, without looking up from her desk.

“How long before he’s done?”

“Depends on the size of the prostate.” She smiled.

I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “I’ll wait.”

“Put this on.” She handed me a package of scrubs.

In the middle of my rage I struggled to yank on the gown, booties, gloves, and mask. She pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. I sat dressed in my surgery get-up like a child waiting to be punished by Mother Superior.

Denelle picked up the phone and tapped numbers with her pencil. “This is Denelle,” she said, “Tell Dr. B the boss is here for him.”

I stared at the thin red second hand on the wall-mounted clock, swooshing around the face in slow motion, my leg jumpy, like a junkie, full of rage. Important Medical Business, my ass. Your staff aren’t qualified. Fuck him.

The surgical suite door slid open. The tiny man waddled toward me, his disheveled hair peeking out from under his blue cap. He unpeeled his bloody gloves, the rubber making a snapping sound. He sighed and shook his head. “Big case.” His voice tired, never looking this old. “What is it?”

I stood. “Vince.”

His face contorted. “What now?”

“We got a John Doe in the ER. Busted neck. Vince won’t do the case.”

“It sounds complex.”

“Doc, don’t go down that path. He can do it. We can do it. He blew me off.”

“These are difficult decisions.”

“My ass. It’s a John Doe. He wants nothing to do with them. That’s why we pay him a fucking grand a call.” I was too loud.

B took me by the arm and led me to an empty suite. “He told me he wasn’t going to take any cases today. He’s leaving tomorrow morning.”

“What the hell are we gonna do with the patient?”

“Half pant.”

“What?”

“Call half pant surgeon.”

Was he shitting me? “No way. It’s Vince’s call. He’s already got his grand. It’s his case.”

“Call half pant.”

John Doe needed help. I’d deal with Vince later.

***

No cell reception in the OR, so I rushed to the waiting area. As soon as I walked in, a flock of petrified family members approached me. For a moment, I was disoriented, like a man just entering a room with the lights out. Then it hit me. My scrubs, mask, and gloves.

“I’m not a doctor,” I said, sounding like a moron. “I’m not,” I pleaded with them to believe me.

I fumbled with the buttons on my phone. Vuckovich, nothing came up. I couldn’t have. I tried again. V-U Still nothing. Then it hit me. I looked around to see if I’d get caught. 7-footer. I punched it in. Bingo. The phone rang once. “Yo.” His voice so loud it hurt. Koko Taylor blasted in the background. I could picture him, head bobbing, fingers fretting his invisible Gibson. “Yo,” he yelled again. “What’s up?”

“We got a John Doe in the ER.”

He didn’t let me finish. “On my way.” Sirens blared over Koko. I pictured him speeding down 63rd Street in that black chop-shopped hearse. “Don’t get pulled over. I hear sirens.”

“Siren’s mine. I told you, my guy pimped this baby out. Ten minutes.” His phone went dead.

***

I called Shaneese in the ER. “Dr. Vuckovich is on his way.”

“Dr. Who?”

“Vuckovich,” I said. “Send the John Doe to the OR with everything you got on him.”

“One second,” She said. “Can I help you?”

“Where’s the OR?” I heard over the commotion.

“Who the hell are you?” Shaneese did not mince words.

“Igor.”

“Igor?” Her voice rose over the craziness.

“Shaneese!” I shouted.

“I can’t talk!” she said. ”I got a crazy monster in here, wearing flowery shorts,” her voice rose, “a black hat, and a pair of nasty feet, telling me he got to go to the OR.”

“That’s Dr. Vuckovich.”

“You playin’ with me.”

“Shaneese, I’m not. He’s got temporary privileges. He’s gonna do the case.”

“A big ass man comin’ in here…”

“I’ll explain later. Just get him to the OR.”

“Who parked a hearse in the doctors’ parking lot?” Al, our ER security guard, yelled over the ruckus.

“It’s not a hearse.” I heard Dr. V retort.

“Shaneese, get him to the OR.”

Five minutes later, the elevator door opened. Removing his hat, then ducking his head to get out, Igor Vuckovich appeared, carrying a red duffle bag with a white crescent and TURKEY emblazoned on its side. He looked around the waiting room, spotted me, and smiled.

I gave him a confused look.

“From my playing days. You doin’ surgery now?” He pointed at my scrubs.

“He’s in there.” I nodded to where they’d taken John Doe, ignoring his joke.

“You are a doctor,” a visitor said.

“He’s not,” Dr. V interrupted, “but I am.”

“I never seen no doctor who look like you.”

“Me either,” V smiled. “Let’s rock and roll.”

I swiped my card and the doors slid open.

He entered, again bowing his head, this time not removing his hat. He dropped his bag on the floor and grabbed a package wrapped in plastic and a CD. He ripped open the plastic removing the largest pair of scrubs I’d ever seen and began dressing in the middle of the OR. The legs traveled past my chin. The arms could have served as a strait jacket for a lineman on the Bears, and his booties looked like canoe paddles. Our staff was in awe, speechless, jaws descending to the floor.

Dr. Balakrishnan approached Dr. V, “Thank you for helping us.”

“Dev, you assisting on this?”

“I…” B paused.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“I…”

I’d never seen Balakrishnan so lost for words.

“Here.” V tossed the CD to one of the techs. “Koko Taylor track 2. Anesthesia?”

“In the suite already.” Danny, our tech, said, looking ready to jive to Koko. “Wait!” Danny shouted.

V swung around. “What?”

Danny jumped removing V’s cowboy hat. “Now you’re good.”

“Thanks,” V said.

Dr. V scrubbed his immense fingers, paws and forearms in the sink. He motioned for Dr. B to join.

They toweled off and donned fresh masks, eyes meeting each other’s. “Let’s go,” V said to B.

The sight of this odd couple entering surgical suite 1, B’s suite, that he shared with absolutely no one, caused me grave consternation. What scared the shit out of me was a squatty little urologist assisting a seven foot orthopod with complex surgery. At the same time I was invigorated like a man who’d just slugged a double espresso.

“We gotta fix this.” I heard Dr. V laugh, raising the OR lights to their highest, then sliding the tiny platform stool we had made for Dr. B, in his direction.

The doors to the suite slid shut.

And that was that. Our new eccentric, Blues-playing, Koko Taylor-loving, orthopod worked side by side with our diminutive, Board-fearing Chief Medical Officer, saving the life of Mr. John Doe.

This is what we did. This is what we should do.

I waited in the family area, still wearing my scrubs, playing chess, losing to a man with no teeth.

The door slid open. B standing next to V. Both tired, sweaty, and smiling. Visitors’ eyes rose to the men in the doorway. “He made it.” V announcing to the crowd. “He made it,” B softly echoing V.

“You were magnificent,” Balakrishnan placed his hand in Vuckovich’s. “Magnificent.”

“We worked well together.” V rubbed B’s shoulder.

“No, what you did was remarkable.”

“Koko.” He smiled.

The toothless man, who’d just beaten me in chess four times in a row, stood. “Thank the Lord Jesus for these two fine men.” His smile warm, his eyes bright. He then began to clap. Another visitor stood, then another. The room now full, with deafening applause bouncing off the walls. Igor and Dev, exhausted, soaking in their well-earned recognition.

“Let’s go.” Dr. V’s voice cut through the acknowledgement.

We stripped off our scrubs and headed toward the parking lot.

“Go? Where?” Balakrishnan asked.

“Celebrate! Mexican! We’ll take Ms. Koko. My treat!”

I paused…fuck me…I hated Mexican.

“You in?” B asked me like an excited little kid.

I’d brought this strange creature here, a mammoth guitar-playing behemoth, but without Dr. Dev Balakrishnan’s help, Mr. John Doe would be dead, and I’d be going after Vince like a hit man.

But Mexican? C’mon.

“You’re wasting time. Let’s go. I sit in front.”Balakrishnan was almost giddy.

John Doe was not dead. He was alive.

“I’m in,” I said, reaching for Koko’s back door.

“Nope,” Dr. V said.

He tossed me the keys. “You’re driving.”

#fiction

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stilljumpingback · 6 years

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(via Black Sails Episode 404 - XXXII)

WELL-FORMED THOUGHTS

If ever there were an episode that wanted to drive home the theme about the futility of a cycle of vengeance, this would be it. The fact that this show is not interested in glorying in revenge is most obviously shown in how we see the retaking of Nassau. Instead of something glorious, it is a violent and chaotic scene, shot in such a way that we as viewers are emotionally distanced from it.

From there we get example after example of how futile revenge is. We open on a horrific scene of a plantation owner beating a slave woman for the actions of slaves on another plantation…but his actions are soon answered by Julius’s slave revolt. The guy Rogers leaves in charge of Rackham’s crew has one job: to deliver the captured pirates to Port Royal. Unable to resist the allure of revenge, he instead makes them fight to the death, a choice that ultimately leads to his death and the death of his remaining men.

Billy wants to make a public example of Max in the same way that public examples were made of Charles Vane and other pirates. He fails to see that this act will fail in the same way that their acts failed: vengeance (even coded as “justice”) only leads to more violence. Silver highlights the limitations of this idea by pointing out that there is no definitive action that can end the totality of what has been done.

Billy: One would think we could go a long way towards soothing all that chaos out there, and the anger driving it, if we could draw everyone together to see justice done to the one responsible for all of it. Silver: All of it? Billy: Enough of it.

It’s fitting that they are discussing Max, since she is the one who has so often spoken against the cycle of vengeance. And it seems as though Eleanor is beginning to see things in a similar light, especially now that she is pregnant and must reconcile her life with what is best for a new generation. She knows she is drawn to Nassau and its unending power struggle, but for the first time, she sees how her actions might place her child in the same position she was in as a child: “amongst all this brutality.”

In a bid to end the cycle of vengeance and leave all parties satisfied, Eleanor summons Flint and Silver to discuss an exchange: the pirates can have Nassau, and she will leave with the British and the cache. Future episodes will reveal if she will be successful.

FRAGMENTED THOUGHTS

Listening to a white man verbally chastise kneeling slaves while a woman shrieks in pain behind him is suuuuuuper disgusting. In a show that asks us to sympathize with multiple viewpoints, I’m very glad that we are meant to see this as a completely evil act.

Eleanor’s escape to the fort is very badass. I especially love that she is leaning over the other passengers to protect them, immediately followed by her barging up to a crowd of men and telling them what to do. She is regaining a lot of her agency, and I am reminded of why I love her so much!

Flint reforms a system of land-based pirate crews, which is a stroke of brilliance that shows how flexible his strategies are.

“The more they realize there is no daylight between you and I, the more they will learn to accept our shared authority.”

I love so much Flint and Silver’s unified public front (“You heard him.”) that still allows space for Silver to privately challenge Flint.

Flint is very confused about why Eleanor wants Max, and it made me wonder: does he know about their former relationship? Was he too busy pursuing the Urca gold to keep track of his partner’s love life? I kind of love the idea that he notices everything except for this.

#TriumverateWatch: Flint and Silver fawn over Madi. “A wise woman recently told me…” “Sounds like good advice.” SHE DESERVES ALL THE COMPLIMENTS.

The standoff between our #Triumverate and Billy is VERY satisfying. It feels very much like three parents chastising an errant child, and Billy only regains a sliver of power because he knows he has something they want.

“Of course Billy would never violate the trustI place in him as a brother, as a friend, to allow harm to come to those closest to me. For if Billy were to do something as disloyalas that, he knows I’d stop at nothing to see that offense repaid against him.”

Wow, does Silver know exactly what to say to shame Billy.

Of course, Billy knows exactly what to say to push Silver’s buttons too. When appealing to their former fear of Flint upon them doesn’t work, he shifts the object of Flint’s consumption to Madi, and Silver is shook.

“How long ago was it that the two of us agreed that Flint threatened to be the end of us all? That he would find ways of driving us over and over again into that storm till there was nothing left of us? We survived him, you and I. And now you want to follow him into what? A massive slave revolt? A war against the British Empire? How is this not just the next storm in a very long line of them?”

The Awful British Guy forces Jack to pick who will fight to the death, which echoes how the plantation owner forced slave women to hold down the woman being beaten. As if violence weren’t enough, Civilization makes things even worse by forcing the oppressed to feel responsible for the violence themselves.

Israel Hands says he knows Flint was at the previous rebellion, though he was British Navy at the time. Does…everyone know Flint’s past?

“I am right back where I started. Every fight I have ever won, every death I have escaped, every sacrifice I have had bled out of me, it will all have to be repeated just to get things back to where they were a few hours ago.”

I cannot help but imagine Flint, ten years ago fleeing London, thinking the exact same thing. He rebuilt himself into something even more formidable. Eleanor, on the other hand, seems to want to take this opportunity to get out. What’s the difference? Eleanor still has a husband and future child to cling to. Flint lost the lover/partner that made getting out seem possible.

Mrs. Hudson says she is fond of Eleanor and wants to protect her, and my heart is dead!! Has anyone ever truly wanted to take care of Eleanor in a way that was this unselfish? I think this is the closest Eleanor has ever been to a mother’s love.

Anne’s fight!!! Oh my God, it’s awful to watch, but wow, is she the very epitome of tenacity. There is no way she should win this fight, but she’s smart and determined and holy shit. Honorable mention goes to Jack who fears very much for her but chooses to trust that she is capable.

Max brings up “a reform-minded man” who takes prisoners from wealthy families in England and puts them to comfortable work out of sight, out of mind. Silver perks up, and SO DO I.

The whole scene between Flint and Silver watching the prisoner exchange is SO GOOD. Silver, against all my assumptions, confesses to Flint what Billy said about Madi. Their emotional honesty with each other is truly beautiful.

Silver: If we assume that we are on the verge of some impossible victory here, a truly significant thing, if we assume that is real and here for the taking, wouldn’t you trade it all to have Thomas Hamilton back again? Flint: I think it he knew how close we were to the victory he gave his life to achieve he wouldn’t want me to. Silver: I see. Though, that wasn’t really what I asked, was it? Assume his father was just as dark as you say, but was unable to murder his own son. Assume he found a way to secret Thomas away from London – Flint: He didn’t. Silver: Would you trade this war to make it so? It is some kind of hell to be forced to choose one irreplaceable thing over another.

Flint’s eyes and mouth get all twitchy talking about Thomas, and I AM DEAD.

I love Partners Flint and Silver a lot, but I love a little bit of manipulation between them even more. I can’t help but feel like Silver is bringing Thomas up mostly as a way to even the emotional playing field between them. He feels weakened by the revelation of Madi being his vulnerability, and he wants to remind Flint that he has a vulnerability too.

Love the eye contact between Flint and Eleanor, and her deep nod as the fort’s door closes.

“Reprisals were visited upon our loved ones on the Edwards estate. Reprisals of the cruelest kind intended to instill fear, break spirits, reassert control. It did not have the intended effect.”

We learn that Julius’s plantation revolt was successful! I really love that we got to see slaves fighting back on their own, instead of always relying upon the help of predominantly white pirates (although I think I’ve already made my love for this partnership clear).

Madi is advised by the former slave from the Underhill estate (anyone know her name??) to “find a place you can protect, build a wall, and save who you can” like her mother. Everyone’s motivations and desires are becoming muddier! I both love it and hate it.

Max is pissed because everything she feared would happen HAS happened. When apologizing, Eleanor goes all the way back to episode two, apologizing for not leaving with Max when she offered. I love that she knows that this is the apology Max needs to hear most.

Woodes Rogers returns on The Revenge (thematic much?), and I feel nothing for his and Eleanor’s distant reunion.

Eleanor comes faces to face with Flint, and I feel EVERYTHING for their reunion.

Silver has come a long way in this show, but in this final scene, he is desperate and flailing where Flint and Eleanor are powerful and calm. As much as he wants to be a big dog, he has still not yet matched the major players of Nassau.

Flint says, “Trust me” to Silver. Will their partnership survive this disagreement?

#Black Sails #blacksails #s04e04 #404 #XXXII #James Flint #Captain Flint #John Silver #Billy Bones #Madi #Eleanor Guthrie #Max #Jack Rackham #Anne Bonny #Woodes Rogers #Julius #revenge

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coterminalangle · 7 years

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THE WINGS TOUR ANAHEIM DAY 2 RECAP

-FIRST, I GOT PLENTY OF PHOTOS AND I FILMED ALMOST EVERY SONG (not the whole song for some of them) SO IF YOU WANT ANY PHOTOS JUST MESSAGE ME!!

-so i was pretty close up: section 225 row E

-pre-concert, they played all their MV’s and no one was really hyped for like 2013-2015 MV’S BUT THE MOMENT YOUNG FOREVER CAME ON EVERYONE WAS SCREAMING OK EVERYONE WAS HYPED LIKE BRUH

-they started with not today and let me tell you, the moment they appeared on stage, they looked unreal. literally. they looked like perfectly sculpted wax figures istg

-i couldn’t believe i was actually there; i still can’t.

-they did silver spoon next and the beat was kinda different but it made it more lit so i wasn’t complaining and boi those hip thrusts i dropped my phone

-everything went downhill after that- not downhill like failure of the show, but failure of my heart and mind to process my emotions

-all the songs im gonna recap are gonna be out of order from this point down

-so they performed dope and of course jimin ended with that cute ass heart thing

-lost hit me like a truck

-they did this mashup of old songs- n.o, danger, boy in luv, no more dream??, there were others but i honestly can’t even remember i was too hype

-ok

-cypher 4

-c y p h e r 4

-i am willing to kill to watch that performed live again

-i don't usually say these things but THEY LITERALLY WORE THOSE RICH ASS SUGAR DADDY COATS OK HOSEOK WORE THOSE FUCKING SUNGLASSES AND NAMJOON IS SO FUCKING TALL AND YOONGI JUST FUCKING SLAYED MY EXISTENCE OK

-speaking of daddy, this bitch sitting near me wouldn’t stop screaming daddy throughout the entire concert and i nearly smacked her

-but yes, cypher 4 made my existence whole again

-SOLO SONGS

-jeongguk that talented ass fucker who can do anything and do it perfectly i can’t with that boy he performed begin so well thaT DANCE BREAK THOUGHT OMF so much talent i-

-jimin was a whole king. a whole king. when they lifted him up in the last chorus in Lie, i almost chocked and died

-yoongi. yoooooonnggiiiiiiiii. ok so first love. they played this vvv emotional video before he performed and it fucking crushed me and then yoongi comes out and slays the entire human race .here was an orchestra and i was so weak ok

-reflection. ok so you see, kim namjoon is my whole heart and seeing him in person was actually so surreal and absolutely unbelievable. sure, call him my bias but he means a lot more to me than a label. anyways, this boi, so fucking tall. he looks so much taller in person. like i have friends that are 5′11 but kim namjoon i dont know why he looked so damn tall maybe because he’s a glowing bean but still i dont understand why he had to look so damn perfect i screamed i love you kim namjoon at the top of my lungs about 67 times. OK AND BACK TO RELFECTION ok you know the whole “i wish i could love myself” part?? well after we started chanting “we love you” he started changing up his lines and i dont know why but they hit me so damn hard just him singing in english and being able to speak from his heart while he improvd in front of 20,000 people was heart breaking and heart warming at the same time

-stIGMA ok taehyung and namjoon swithced places so basically at the end of reflection, namjoon runs inside the telephone box and then taehyung comes out of it. here’s all i remember from stigma: kim taehyung hit those high notes yes he fucking did

-MAMA MAMA MAMA OHMYFUCKING GOSH ok hoseok is pure gold, he couldn’t stop smiling, ohmygod. everyone was hyping him up and he couldn’t stop smiling he’s so ethreal god bless. basically he sat in this chair with the backup dancers around him and he sings mama and all that. and you know that pause before he goes “hello mama” OK LOOK HE STARTED WALKING BACK TO THE STAGE AND HE PUTS HIS MIC ON A STAND AND STARTED SINGING/RAPPING ACOUSTIC OHMGOD BEST MOMENT OF MY LIFE HIS “HELLO MAMA” FUCKING KILLED ME OK YES IM A 94 LINE ENTHUSIAST COME@ ME also during mama thre were videos of fetus hoseok playing on the screen and i sobbed my little boi i lava him so much

-AWAKE WAS MY SHIT I SWEAR OK JIN HIT ALL THE FUCKING NOTES GOD FUCKING BLESS HE’S A KING AND THEN DURING THE PAUSES IN BETWEEN LYRICS HE WOULD JUST LOOK AT THE CROWD AND HE LOOKED LIKE HE WAS GONNA CRY EVERYTIME HE WAS SO SINCERE AND SO THANKFUL AND GRATEFUL I CAN’T THANK THE LORD ENOUGH FOR KIM SEOKJIN

-okok so they performed save me and i shit myself

-they performed run and i was like MY SHIT dude they kept throwing water or whatever that action is called but boy was it a beautiful sight they were so happy i’m so happy

-well fire. um. threw me under a bus and crushed every organ in my body HOW THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN PERFORM THAT SONG SO WELL AFTER PERFORMING LIKE 15 SONGS BEFORE IT BITCH THEY WERE SO IN SYNC I CAN’T BELIEVE

-21st century girl was so cute they were so free and so themselves ive lived

-i need u. wow tears fell from my eyes

-favorite part of every song was when they would just stop singing/rapping and the entire audience just chanted the lyrics tey looked so happy i can’t

-whEN YOONGI AND HOSEOK TOOK OUT THEIR EARPIECES YOU KNOW YOU DID WELL

-OH AM I WRONG WAS SO LIT OK

-they played this really emotional video and it basically was saying how its 7 boys but 1 heart & 7 hearts but 1 boy and i honestly didn’t think it could hit me that hard it was just explainin their journey and how they’ll always walk togther i swear to god i’m whipped sadly i didnt get a video of this video but ohmygod

-everyone served fuckin looks wowow blessed

-seokjin told us that he felt born again and i lost it AND THEN HE GOES “ARMY YOU ARE MY HEART” AND HE HAD A FUCKING PAPER HEART TAPED TO HIS HEART I CANT WITH HIM OHMYFUCKING

-THEN TAEHYUNG TAKES IT AND STARTS MAKING CUTE FACES WITH IT

-ok someone threw some flower plushy i believe on the stage and seokjin picked it up and pretending like he was pikachuing with it god i cant him

-kim namjoon started thanking his mom for everything hes done and accomplished and ohmyogod i screamed “thats my baby” so many fucking times at all 7 of them im so whipped

-he started talking about the rainbow and then got all philosophical and i couldnt stop crying hes all “after rain theres always sunshine and thats where rainbows come from” aand im pretty sure he connected us to being his rainbow somehow ohmygod im melting

-did i mention kim namjoon is so fucking tall hes so ethreal i cant even begin to describe how much i love him ok all of them look so fucking good in person they look like gods tbh ohmygod KIM NAMJOON IS SO FUCKING TALL CAN I HAVE HIS HEIGHT IM ONLY 5′6 GODDAMN

-seokjin’s intense waving at the end made my life

-JIMIN FUCKING JUMPED LIKE 6 TIMES OK HE WAS JUMPING FOR JOY AS IF HE WERE JUMPING FOR A JUMPING PHOTO GODDAMN I OVE THAT BOY SO MUCH I CANT CONTROL MY EMOTIONS HES SO PRECIOUS

-HOSEOKS SMILE IS ALL I EVER NEEDED TO LIVE

-also your ears are literally plugged in there from the amount of screaming and hype so all of them sound perfect and have the voice of gods then once your ears are okk you can actually hear reality

-spring day got me so emotional jimin’s dancing man

-2!3! i cant begin to explain

-ok BOY MEETS EVIL HOSEOK IS A MOTHERFUCKING GOD I NEED AIR OK HE SLAYED THAT SO FUCKING HARD OK THANKS

-blood sweat and tears man. blood sweat and fucking tears: a song title that sumed up my entire concert experience. ok but it was so good ok, they were all so into it. DURING YOONGI’S FIRST RAP VERSE HE HELD OUT HIS MIC AN EVERYONE CHANTED HIS ENTIRE RAP OHMYGOD BEST MOMENT HE LOOKED SO SATISFIED I LOVE MIN YOONGI

-oh yes during that really emotional video they played you never walk alone and i lost it

-i probably forgot a shit ton of stuff but i hope this gave you insight on how to die and live at once

-one of the best nights of my life-i cannot begin to thank bangtan for their wonderful performance and ability to hype up 20,000 people and get them all to scream “i love myself” and to get a crowd to scream lyrics in a language they don’t understand or speak

-all 7 of them asked if we will walk with them forever, so here’s my answer amongst the 20,00 people screaming, crying, and hype: bangtan, i will never fail to support you and i will never fail to stop loving you. thank you for proving that dreams come true, even if those dreams seem like a reality because we’re numb to believing the nearly impossible. thank you for letting me stick by you and thank you for bringing the freshest sense of life and love and reality. so yes, i will walk with you, out of pure love and inspiration.

#btswings #btswingstour #btsanaheim #btswingstouranaheim #wingstour #wings2k17 #anaheimday2 #bts #bangtan #bangtansonyeondan #bangtanboys #the wings tour #bts wings #bts anaheim #bts wings tour #bts wings tour anaheim

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locatie · 4 years

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2019 Gaming Year in Review

This year I beat 21 games! Last year I beat 38, but this year was a little rough on me in many ways, and I had to go a few months without really committing to anything.

I’m going to go through my list of games and jot down a few thoughts I had about them! Spoilers ahead, naturally.

Rating System:

5⭐: An absolute favorite! A game that’s going to stick with me for a long time. Regardless of any flaws I found, I fell deeply in love with these games. 4⭐: A pretty good game! I really enjoyed my time with these ones. They’re not quite perfect, maybe a few story beats or mechanics I couldn’t jive with, but I did still love these as well. 3⭐: A decent game! I didn’t fall in love with these games and the good and bad felt fairly equal. I don’t regret playing these games, but they had a lot of room for improvement. 2⭐: A bleh game. Most of these games were very ‘miss’ rather than ‘hit’ for me. Good concepts are probably buried in these ones, but I struggled to get through them. 1⭐: A terrible game. There is very little about these games that I find redeeming. I probably played them wishing they’d be done already. That I finished them at all is a miracle.

In order of when I beat them, starting with the beginning of the year:

Gris by Nomada Studio

4⭐

A visually gorgeous game. The mechanics were satisfying and made puzzle solving enjoyable, and I adored ‘unlocking’ the colors of the world to restore it to its former beauty. The game only got more beautiful as time went on, and the level design was very memorable to me. Also the soundtrack is one of the best of all the games I played this year, and I keep it on repeat a lot.

Best Part: The art in general. A treat to look at, and it makes for the best desktop wallpapers. Worst Part: The ambiguity in narrative. It’s not too bad, I just wish there was a little more to it.

Pokemon Let’s Go Eevee by Game Freak

4⭐

Despite this feeling like the millionth time they’ve focused on the Kanto region, and the blatant baiting of nostalgia, I appreciated this game. I’m a sucker for having my Pokemon follow me or being able to ride them. Much more accessible than going back and replaying the original R/B/Y games, which I can’t seem to enjoy anymore due to the QOL features that newer games have, so if I ever have a craving for Kanto, this will satisfy me. Not the best Pokemon game though just because Kanto was a pretty boring region visually and they stayed true to that, haha.

Best Part: Pokemon following the player! Riding Arcanine was a blast. Worst Part: Being in Kanto again. Really wish it was Gold/Silver for the double Johto/Kanto region thing, because Kanto alone just isn’t worth it.

Kingdom Hearts Final Mix by Square Enix

3⭐

I liked this game a lot as a kid and was interested to see how I would feel about it as an adult. It’s... something. There’s something always very off when JRPG localized dialogue is voiced -- it’s extremely cheesy to listen to in English, and this game is no exception. Still, I enjoy the sheer absurdity that is mashing up Disney and Final Fantasy characters anyway. The platforming is not remotely fun at all and the story is ridiculous, sometimes not in a good way. Thank god for skippable cutscenes or I wouldn’t have survived the end of this game.

Best Part: The creativity of the worlds. It was such a unique and ambitious concept for its time. Worst Part: The dialogue/story. This might be the only JRPG where the whole ‘friendship makes us stronger’ angle makes me want to strangle a fictional child.

Dear Esther by The Chinese Room

2⭐

I do enjoy walking simulators, but apparently not ones by The Chinese Room. Not as bad as Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture, but still...not very enjoyable. I couldn’t seem to process what was going on as it was narrated to me -- I liked how it was written, and I was interested in hearing it, but I dunno. It meant nothing to me. I might replay it and try to grasp it again, really focus on it, but as it was presented to me on the first playthrough, it didn’t grab me. This is what I get for expecting something really good of a game where I wander around aimlessly for a couple hours

Best Part: The writing style is really neat and I enjoyed reading along and being fascinated by the prose. Worst Part: The ambiguity of the narrative. what the fuck is happening. why am i in a cave. who was that i just saw

Assassin’s Creed Odyssey by Ubisoft

4⭐

Not the first AC game I’ve ever played, but the first I liked enough to beat! It’s essentially an action rpg more than ever -- stealth is completely unnecessary if you so choose. I loved Kassandra so, so much, and exploring Greece was extremely fun for me! It was gorgeous and I often found myself wandering around towns and cities, soaking in the sights and feeling pretty dang immersed. I haven’t played the DLC yet but hope to some day. Not a perfect game -- while a lot of side quests are fun, the charm wears off after a while because the gameplay loop of sneaking in and murdering everyone got stale finally after 50 hours. Still, I’d love to go back and replay it some time.

Best Part: Kassandra. Everything about her. I would die for her. Also Greece in its entirety. Worst Part: Every goddamn time Deimos opened his mouth.

Rose of Winter by Pillow Fight

3⭐

A pretty cute but simple visual novel! I liked the protagonist quite a bit and a couple of the romances, but I wished it was longer/more fleshed out. I liked the universe it took place in and the concepts it presented (time travel! Race relations/the variety in cultures!) and would’ve happily played a longer game about these things. The romances leaving me wanting more was a good and bad thing, in the end.

Best Part: The protag! I love this chubby pink-haired knight! She is SO cute and lovely. Worst Part: Lack of depth in the romances. I like drawn-out romances, and these take place over the course of a couple days, and that’s not my bag.

Celeste by Matt Makes Games Inc.

4⭐

My review on this game is a little skewed. I was very bad at it, in the end, and very tired of dying literally hundreds of times in some areas that I had to give myself extra dashes. I had to keep toggling them on and off after giving myself a certain number of tries, because I really wanted to see how this game would play out. The gameplay and design and soundtrack give it the score it has, but the writing it was knocks it down from being a 5 star game. The concept of the story is good! Madeline wanting to reach the top of the mountain for her personal reasons was really lovely but the delivery of it felt very flat. The writing itself didn’t do it justice for me! I only ever see people talk about the gameplay itself and not the story/writing and maybe that’s why.

Best Part: The fact that the developers added accessibility options to people who aren’t very skilled at games, like me, can enjoy a game like this, even if we’re not playing “as intended.” Worst Part: Madeline’s reflection. As a narrative device she’s good, but the dialogue between the two characters was kinda mehhh to me.

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt by CD Projekt

5⭐

There’s nothing I can say about this game that a million other people haven’t already said. I loved dad!Geralt. I loved Geralt in general. I did enjoy the first two games but who he was as a character in this game was my favorite. Yennefer was also great, as was Ciri, and the family dynamics were The Best. Also probably the best side quests in any rpg I’ve ever played! None of that radiant quest bullshit or fetch quest nonsense that pad a lot of other WRPGs I’ve been into :/ I still need to finish Blood and Wine, but so far it’s incredible, as was Hearts of Stone. Ugh I have so much to say about how much I loved the music, and Skellige, and Novigrad (Novigrad is one of the best video game cities as a worldbuilding device, imo), but I’ll keep this all brief. Don’t like Gwent at all though!!

Best Part: The entire portion of the game where you have to be a Good Dad or else you get a bad ending. Worst Part: The fact that Iorveth and the entire Scoia’tael subplot was cut entirely yet Roche got to stick around. I hate Roche. Iorveth was way better. Bring back my boy.

Persona 5 by Atlus

5⭐

holy shit. I haven’t beaten a JRPG this good in so long. This game changed what I want out of a JRPG. The soundtrack is phenomenal, the design of everything is impossibly stylish and I never got sick of any of it in the 96 hours it took me to beat the game. I adore Joker, Yusuke, Haru, and Ryuji as characters!! I don’t really care for Akechi and Shido as villains, but the proper final battle was very tense for me and the cutscene that followed felt so good. BIG GUN. Sometimes the palaces were a little tedious, and it took me a really long time to actually finish the game from when I started, because I needed big breaks after chunks of the game, but once I got into the swing of it after Makoto’s introduction as a Phantom Thief and that palace, I was pretty sucked in.

I will never forget my desperate struggle to max my stats by aggressively eating giant burgers until the endgame.

Best Part: The entire ‘student daily life sim’ portion. Managing my time and my relationships was very fun and I loved getting closer to my friends and choosing where to go, how to spend my time. Worst Part: The occasional sexism and homophobia that I had to sit through. Giving Ann agency after the first palace, but then trying to convince her to get naked really sucked, and then those two predatory gay men. Ugh. Oh and Ryuji looking at Ann’s boobs all the time. Seriously? are you for real??

Nier: Automata by PlatinumGames

4⭐

I waffled between giving this 4 or 5 stars, but I think 4 is right. I adored this game to bits, but admittedly didn’t do everything in it that I wanted to. I loved the world, the music, most of the characters, the combat, and that fucking ending. I didn’t like Adam and Eve (their dialogue...was so dumb...), and I was a little eh on route B, since it’s a lot of the same as route A, just from 9S’s perspective. At first I thought it was asking a lot to make me essentially do all the same shit over again, but when everything started changing in the third route, that’s when I was getting really invested. I mean I was already loving it during the first route, I was just slightly skeptical about having to replay a lot of the same things.

Ending E fucked me up though. Hearing Weight of the World didn’t hurt me until that ending, after all I’d been through, and then accepting help and hearing the chorus of voices. Ugh. No ending has ever been like that in a game for me.

Best Part: Sacrificing my data to help some stranger out there, because people do want to help. Humanity can be good. The message that there is worth in having feelings and being alive and real and loving. Worst Part: we really out here sexualizing 2B and looking at her panties a lot, huh.

Spyro 2: Ripto’s Rage (Reignited Trilogy) by Toys For Bob

4⭐

This is the Spyro game I played the most of as a kid, and this remaster is incredible. All of the Reignited Trilogy makes the Spyro games look the way that I felt they did when I was a child. Seriously, it’s gorgeous and I can’t believe how true to the originals it is. I had a blast playing this one; it doesn’t get 5 stars, though, because I wouldn’t say this is like a ‘favorite’ game or anything. It’s wonderful, but not mindblowing.

Best Part: Getting to run around the hub worlds and drinking them in -- they’re where I spent hours as a child, and that nostalgic really got to me. Worst Part: the fucking TIMED FLYING PORTIONS

Spyro 3: Year of the Dragon (Reignited Trilogy) by Toys For Bob

4⭐

I was really excited to play this one because I didn’t get to beat it as a kid, and it was impossible to emulate because every rom of it didn’t work. Not as good as Ripto’s Rage to me, personally, because I didn’t love the levels where I was the penguin or the monkey. There were a lot of gimmicks, so to speak, in this game that I could do without. Skateboarding didn’t add anything to the experience either, ehh. Still, 4 stars because what Toys For Bob did with the trilogy is amazing and it made me wish games there had been more Spyro games that were like this.

Best Part: I finally got to beat this game after so long and it felt like a childhood wish of mine came true. Worst Part: I never want to be that stupid monkey ever again. Most of these side characters do not feel like they belong in a Spyro game, even though I know they were just trying to innovate the formula.

Fire Emblem: Three Houses by Intelligent Systems and Koei Tecmo

5⭐

Ohhh my god. I was nervous about another mainline Fire Emblem game, ever since Fates burned me pretty badly with how much I hated that game. Three Houses gave me nearly everything I wanted out of a Fire Emblem game, thankfully. No stupid explanation for offspring, no wasted dialogue between characters that didn’t need to have supports! I fell in love with so many of the NPCs and while the story isn’t perfect, it was a blast to go through and see the multiple sides to the conflict.

I went Golden Deer first and watched most of Amy’s playthrough of Blue Lions. I was in the middle of a Black Eagles run when I got a little burnt out and put it down, but I’m super excited to eventually see what Edelgard’s side of the story is, seeing as I don’t like her in the other routes but I’m shrimpterested in what her possible justification for anything is. Can’t wait for more story DLC whenever it happens!

Best Part: The support dialogues between characters. Also Claude von Riegan, destroyer of racism. Worst Part: the fact that there’s barely any time between Dimitri finally being nice to Byleth and the end of the Blue Lions route. he’s such a growly ass for so long.

Genital Jousting by Free Lives

2⭐

Obviously this game is a self-aware joke and isn’t meant to be much. The reason it got 2 stars instead of 1 is because I played it at a time that I really needed a laugh. I streamed it for my friend and for a while I was happily distracted by the story mode, even if it mostly involves hopelessly sticking my dick head into butts. The narration gave me Stanley Parable vibes, which was amusing, but yeah. Obviously this wasn’t gonna be some game of the year shit

Best Part: Playing with friends and yelling “GET OUT OF MY BUTT” at the top of your lungs. Worst Part: You can only enjoy sticking your dick in butts for so long before you don’t wanna do it anymore

I Love You, Colonel Sanders! by Psyop

1⭐

Yes, I am ranking this game as worse than a game about wiggly dicks. I didn’t have any hopes or expectations for this game, as it was always obviously meant to be a giant advertisement for KFC food, but that’s not even the part that bothered me. I didn’t care or mind the blatant product placement, the millions of mentions of all their herbs and spices and their gross bowls of corn, potato, and whatever.

I was so damn disappointed because it just wasn’t a good visual novel. I spent the whole time comparing it to Hatoful Boyfriend, which is an actually good parody of the entire genre. ILYCS felt more like “ha ha see how fucking weird dating sims are?? See how stupid and absurd the things that happen in them are?” rather than any kind of remotely interesting subversion on the genre. I don’t know why I expected that ILYCS would bother to do that, but I figured if a pigeon dating sim could surprise me, maybe this would too. Bleh.

Best Part: I did succeed in making Colonel Sanders love me, at least. Worst Part: Literally everything else.

The Outer Worlds by Obsidian Entertainment

4⭐

I’m giving this 4 stars, but this game gives me conflicted feelings. I love the companions in this game a lot, but some of them do have slightly disappointing arcs -- Ellie comes to mind for that one. The writing for the dialogue is great, but some of the main quests are just OK. The flaw system is really cool in theory, but I definitely didn’t think of them were worth the perk points, though they’re great if you’re serious about roleplaying.

I did have a lot of fun, but the ending felt very abrupt to me. I got to Phineas and we spoke for a minute, and then the credits rolled. And capitalism sure was bad! That was very heavy-handed. I enjoyed my time with it a lot but I am not itching to replay it. If there’s a sequel, though, I will definitely be on board with it.

Best Part: The dialogue options. They’re so fucking funny. Obsidian is the champion of snarky/witty dialogue. Worst Part: The ending made me the leader when I didn’t really feel prepared for that, I didn’t feel like that was the narrative I built for my character. The ending came at me so fast, it felt wrong.

Tyranny by Obsidian Entertainment

4⭐

If nothing else, Outer Worlds made me crave more of Obsidian’s writing flavor. This is the first CRPG I’ve ever committed to and beaten, and I do not regret that choice. I had tried to play it before but stopped very early on because it’s a lot of reading -- the entire opening has you do so much reading to make choices to kind of build your character’s backstory.

I loved playing a bad guy and accumulating power. My character was so loyal to Tunon and I loved the active development I got to have as someone who was so devoted to being a cog in the machine to someone who realized that they are special, they can be a conqueror, they can shape the world however they want. I know it’s possible to undermine all the bad guys and use your power for good, but eh, this is a game about being bad! It’s wonderful! And it was just long/short enough that it was great for someone just getting into CRPGs.

But. Like Outer Worlds, the ending felt rushed in Tyranny, though in an even more egregious way. Just as the story starts truly kicking off -- you have all this power, I had succeeded in making my superiors bow to me -- the game ends. It seems as though they ran out of time or money to have you actually face off against Kyros, the obvious next step in your plan for domination of whatever flavor. Maybe it was always the plan that taking down the Overlord was sequel material, but the way they built it up, it doesn’t feel right. And the game didn’t do well enough, or so I’ve read, so there will never be a face-off against her. I had such a good time with this game, but the ending left a real sour taste in my mouth.

Best Part: Really feeling like I had earned the power I got by endgame, by ‘playing’ the system. Defeating Tunon by manipulating him into bowing to me had me on edge and I was terrified until I walked out of his room. Worst Part: Knowing I will probably never get a resolution for the fight against Kyros. Really felt like all the cool stuff I did meant nothing.

Pokemon Shield by Game Freak

3⭐

Biiig mixed feelings about this one. I know Pokemon games are not known for their storytelling prowess, but even this one felt insultingly stupid to me. I know they can be good and interesting and posit cool concepts based on the worlds they’ve built. I didn’t like the gameplay of Black/White but I guess since that one tackled the ethics of Pokemon, Game Freak doesn’t want to try making any more challenging storylines.

The world also felt so empty. I never really noticed it in older Pokemon games, but SwSh has all these houses and no one has anything interesting to say. The NPCs aren’t worth talking to except when they give you items. Problems like that are common in Pokemon but I really hoped that bringing it to a home console meant that the game could be bigger and more full of content. The post game is almost nonexistent. For the first time ever, I don’t feel compelled to play long enough to complete my dex.

Best Part: The Wild Area, and doing raid battles with Amy. Playing alongside her and battling together was fun, and it was nice to cut down on the time it would’ve normally taken us to grind. Worst Part: Hop, Leon, and Bede. Worst characters in any Pokemon game, hands down.

Pillars of Eternity by Obsidian Entertainment

5⭐

I had initially tried this game out last year or so, but couldn’t get into it. Beating Tyranny finally made me feel able to tackle this one, and I’m so glad I gave it another chance. For most of the game I was meticulous and did almost all of the side quests, and I felt extremely rewarded by the narrative for doing so. Most of the companions were a joy to be around, and the lore of the world really drew me in.

Thanks to PoE, I think a whole new world and genre of games has opened up to me! But I’ll always feel like this is the first one I really loved.

Best Part: Eder!!! Ok also the themes of the game, especially in White March. Almost a month later I’m still thinking about the meaning to some parts of the game. Worst Part: That part in White March part 2 with the debate I couldn’t win. I understand why it was like that, I didn’t hate it or anything. Just the prerequisites to get the good outcome are bananas and there’s NO way I could possibly get the “good” ending of that dlc without following a guide WAY ahead of time. Oh well!

Katamari Damacy Reroll by BANDAI NAMCO Entertainment

2⭐

I didn’t play the first game when it came out. Instead I played the sequel, and that’s the game I have fond memories of, so unfortunately I spent this remake wishing they’d remade that one instead. The controls are more frustrating than I remember, and the level design is kind of meh. I do like that the town gets bigger with (almost) every level, until you’re rolling up adjacent towns and cities, but it wasn’t as fun as the paper crane level or the flower level or the zoo level of We Love Katamari :/ I absolutely pushed myself through this one as fast as possible, no replaying levels for the fun of it.

Best Part: The creativity and absurdity of Katamari as a whole. Rolling around a little Japanese town and finding very Japanese items is fun. Worst Part: The controls. Trying to climb up things is a nightmare and I ran out of time during some levels purely because it was so difficult to climb sometimes.

A Plague Tale: Innocence by Asobo Studio

3⭐

I didn’t know a whole lot about this game going in. I didn’t think the narrative was as incredible and resonating as reviews led me to believe, but it was alright. The first half of the game was very interesting to me -- the perspective of children running away from the Inquisition during the plague was exciting and I feared for these children as they never seemed to be able to get a moment of rest. I did like that Amicia and Hugo needed to build their bond from scratch, and it was full of missteps that I could understand children would make.

However as soon as things got supernatural wrt Hugo’s blood, then I felt like it lost a little bit of the charm for me. I liked the ‘found family in an unforgiving world’ aspects, but then suddenly blood powers happened and the vibe of the narrative changed. Oh well.

Best Part: The progression of power in the game. At first I felt very nervous when sneaking was the only option I had, as I am bad at stealth, but then gradually being able to kill people with my sling and solve puzzles with fire and light and being nearly unstoppable was really cool. I felt like I had earned Amicia’s strength. Worst Part: Hugo’s RAT POWERS and that final boss. just. what.

Untitled Goose Game by House House

2⭐

I wanted to close out the year with something fun and short, but I didn’t expect just how short this game would be. Although, ngl, if it were any longer I think I might’ve gotten rather tired of it anyway. The memes and whatnot that Goose Game gave the internet were worth more to me than the game itself. $20 for roughly an hour of gameplay just feels... bleh. I don’t even normally believe in that whole “$1 per hour of gameplay” stuff that many gamers like to throw around, but this felt like a rip-off. Still, it’s kinda fun to be a wretched little goose.

Best Part: Being a naughty little goose is cute and amusing, and bullying that Griffin McElroy looking boy into the phone booth is the highlight of my experience. Worst Part: It’s a hilarious concept but I don’t feel like I got to harass people half as much as I expected I would. The objectives to find a series of items and dump them somewhere else is just boring.

#tekst

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