my problem with the ‘harry becomes lord of 2/¾/5 ancient noble houses’ trope is so unbelievably petty because its that fic writers don’t take it to the potential extreme. like, okay, you wanna make harry the bossest of bitches i get that, i understand, i have that urge too from time to time, but c’mon, be a little more creative about it please
so how about a fic where harry goes to gringotts after the fighting is all over to try to make peace with the goblin nation because this boy does not need more problems and after much hostility and some groveling and promises of future payments for damages caused a plucky goblin lass comes and shuffles harry into her tiny cube office to discuss the nature of his financial situation
(this is a grave insult among goblins. getting handled by a female, first of all, because they are supposedly less capable bankers, hello misogyny among other species, and because they consider anyone who needs help with his money to be lower than cave scum. harry doesn’t know about his. and if he did, he wouldn’t care because he does, desperately, need help)
and plucky goblin lass (who we will call PGL for short) brings out this MASSIVE tome of parchment and slams it down on her desk. a cloud of dust rises. harry sneezes and gets a terrible feeling. some of the parchment is mildewing. the stack is taller than his hand is wide. this can only end badly
PGL tells him that he’ll need to read the entire book to fully comprehend the new scope of his property and harry kind of weakly says “what??”
and it turns out that heyo, when the death eaters swore to follow voldemort with all their lives and souls and magic in their little racist hearts they actually swore a modified liege lord oath which also has the coincidental side effect of ceding all titles (and property connected to said titles) held to the lord in question too. haha how funny who knew
and that’s an ongoing thing. so voldemort was the de facto head of two dozen magical houses at the beginning of the war and he just picked up more as he gained more followers and he probably could have just voted himself and his crew into every position of the government and run the country like that if he cared to do it but voldemort was not about dat political life. he wanted change and he wanted it now. he wanted to MAKE AMERICA MAGICAL BRITAIN GREAT AGAIN. so he started a civil war and just never informed his loyal death eaters of that little fact because they didn’t need to know.
and you might think that gringotts vaults are tied into bloodlines but they’re really not. the malfoy family vault belongs to whoever is the current head of the malfoy family. normally, that’s a malfoy and his malfoy spawn becomes the next head and so it passes through the family, accumulating inherited wealth. it was a working system until voldemort got involved and exploited the ever-living hell out of it.
now this all becomes harry’s problem because it turns out that Right of Conquest is an actual thing. what was voldemort’s is now his and voldemort has has the time to accumulate A Metric Fuck Ton of stuff.
also connected to titles are votes in the wizengamot. and whoo boy, this is where harry’s problem becomes really really really problematic. because the noble families squabble over those votes like children, hoarding them and passing them down, occasionally trading them for advantageous marriages and such, but mostly jealously guarding them like the politcal gold they are. it’s such a bitterly tight-fisted market that any one family has ~maybe~ three or four votes.
and now harry bloody potter has a hundred of the things and a completely unintentional stranglehold on the government. whoops
and then hermione would shotput harry straight into the
wizengamot
against his protests and things would become so hilarious i just
some jerkass attempts to increase his own salary for doing basically nothing
“how about no,” harry and his hundred votes say.
somebody attempts to tighten restrictions on where magical creatures like vampires and werewolves can work
“how about no.” harry crosses his arms. “actually, how about we repeal those bullshit laws already in place that make it almost impossible for werewolves to get a job right now, hmmmm? and how about we put something in place to catch abusive owners of house elves? and make sure they get paid? and vacation days? and healthcare? actually how about we get healthcare for EVERYBODY HOW ABOUT T H A T?”
ten generations of purebloods cry out in horror. look upon him ye mighty and despair.
the years after voldemort’s defeat don’t go down in history as The Golden Era. in fact, thanks to harry bloody potter (and some incessant nudging by hermione granger), they go down as The Decade of Frankly Astonishing Strides Toward Equality *cough* enforced by a semi-plutocracy.
(all thanks to a third tier plot never really explored by a would-be dictator YOU’RE ALL WELCOME)
Humans quickly get a reputation among the interplanetry alliance and the reputation is this: when going somewhere dangerous, take a human.
Humans are tough. Humans can last days without food. Humans heal so fast they pierce holes in themselves or inject ink for fun. Humans will walk for days on broken bones in order to make it to safety. Humans will literally cut off bits of themselves if trapped by a disaster.
You would be amazed what humans will do to survive. Or to ensure the survival of others they feel responsible for.
That’s the other thing. Humans pack-bond, and they spill their pack-bonding instincts everywhere. Sure it’s weird when they talk sympathetically to broken spaceships or try to pet every lifeform that scans as non-toxic. It’s even a little weird that just existing in the same place as them for long enough seems to make them care about you. But if you’re hurt, if you’re trapped, if you need someone to fetch help?
You really want a human.
“Looks like someone for you.”
Jon kicked Ginna’s boots, which were currently resting on the table, and she glanced over toward the door. A clump of knee-high aliens, plump and round and covered in golden fur, were lifting their little pink noses into the air – scenting the air in the bar.
Sashrans. Perfect.
Ginna quickly downed the last of her drink and dropped her feet to the floor. The Gentleman of Fortune was full to the gills of professional companions looking for work, she wouldn’t be the only one in here with a fondness for sashrans. She needed to work quickly if she wanted a chance at whatever job these ones were hiring for. The sound and vibration of her boots caught the attention of the group, and Ginna followed it quickly with a greeting in the quiet shushing sounds of their own language.
A universal translator would take care of most of the talking, but by knowing a little of their language Ginna proved she had worked with their kind before and cared enough to learn it. Caring was probably the most important skill a companion could cultivate.
It paid off. The group of sashrans centered quickly on her and darted over, still in their clump.
“I am human Ginna, companion for hire,” Ginna introduced, tapping the side of her visor to activate the display.
“Sala and Rini, with crew. Spice collectors,” the largest of the sashrans introduced, tapping at their own earbud. Their information began to stream onto Ginna’s display, while her own would be playing in their ear. She was proficient in everything from weapons to mechanics to medicine, xenobiology to politics, and of course survival in any kind of situation from atmosphere decompression in space to a tsunami on a planet. The more varied the knowledge they had the better a companion a human could make, and Ginna prided herself on being one of the best.
As for the sashrans, they’d found a jungle planet with a plant that was delicious to their senses. Cultivation efforts had failed thus far, so the price was high enough to support the risk of hunting for it on its home range. A six-month tour was on offer. It seemed they’d contracted with another professional companion a few times, a man named Drix, and Ginna quickly switched over to the guild’s internal records to see what he had to say of these sashrans and the planet they were harvesting from.
The sashrans themselves would be able to check what Ginna’s former employers had to say about her too.
Drix had enjoyed working with Sala and Rini’s crew, it dripped out of every line of his reports. He’d included good detail about life aboard their ship and the risks of the planet, that Ginna would have to look into closer later to be prepared.
All she needed to know at the moment was that they paid well, the risks were not unacceptably high, and that they treated their human companions well. It sounded like a job for her.
“Sala and Rini and crew, I would take this job,” Ginna told them.
The sashrans shushed and buzzed together, their tones sounding happy to Ginna’s relatively untrained ear, and she hoped she was reading them right. They were such beautiful little creatures, and she’d always enjoyed working for their kind before. They were close enough she could have reached out to touch them, pet their soft velvet fur, but she resisted. Touching them uninvited would be rude.
Finally they turned back to her. “Sala and Rini and crew will, with joy, contract to hire companion Ginna,” the lead one answered.
Contract negotiations went quickly enough, using the standard guild template and modifying it here or there as both parties preferred and agreed upon. Sashrans were easy to haggle with, not like the argumentative akskar. Soon enough Ginna had a contract and three days to prepare her effects for travel.
“It has been a pleasure,” Ginna told the sashrans. “I look forward to being your companion.”
She would have expected them to leave, then, go get their own things ready for launch. Instead the smallest one pushed forward – all wrapped in pale gold velvet fur and their sweet little pink forepaws resting on Ginna’s knee.
“Companion Ginna will now engage in petting for promotion of pack bonding?” they asked hopefully.
“Of course,” Ginna reached out toward the sashran, let them smell her palm, but it seemed this sashran wasn’t shy at all. They immediately pushed their head into her hand. There was nothing in the galaxy so soft as a sashran’s fur. Ginna dug her fingers in around the ruff of the sashran’s neck, gently scratching, and then smoothed the fur all the way down their back.
The sashran made a dreamy-soft pleasure sound, and Ginna mimicked it back. “Oh you sweetheart,” she murmured. Already she could feel that little melting tug in her heart, that protective urge that set some humans on the path to professional companionship.
Come hell or high water, Ginna was going to keep these sashrans safe.
Aw, yes. Look at the adorable scifi! I’m proud to have inspired it.
(Before we start, this is a positive post about their relationship btw. lol)
The portrayal of the continuation Steve and Bucky’s
relationship in Civil War has divided opinion among fandom, specifically
whether they talked to each other enough after finally being reunited after
death and time and torture. Putting to one side discussion of what we should
reasonably expect from a Marvel movie in terms of emotions and talking about
them, whether there was time for it with a war going on, and if the writers
were intentionally no-homoing us (because then this would be a dissertation and
not a Tumblr post lol):
To articulate my own perspective of
disappointment briefly: of course the magnitude of Steve’s actions in Civil War
indicate just how much Bucky means to him, and “actions speak louder than words” after all,
but watching moments between characters (and re-watching on a loop for 5 hours…or
is that just me) is much more rewarding than just thinking about an abstract
concept in your head. We as a fandom obviously thrive on moments to gif and
quotes to paste all over everything. Especially after all the beautiful things
Chris has said in interviews about Steve and Bucky and quotes like “I’m with
you to the end of the line,” and “Even when I had nothing I had Bucky,” from
The Winter Soldier, it’s disappointing to not have nearly as many quotes and
overemotional moments like that in Civil War. There’s nothing between Steve and Bucky to rival the
sheer level of emotion in the Helicarrier and Potomac scenes in the Winter
Soldier, and Civil War can seem emotionally stunted in comparison.
However, as someone who was also initially
disappointed by Steve and Bucky’s
interactions, after thinking it over I think it’s not that the writers
didn’t give them opportunities to talk about their feelings,it’s that Steve
and Bucky had those opportunities and just couldn’t do it. Steve asks Bucky if
he knows him and Bucky says he only knows about Steve from reading about him,
but later on the Quinjet demonstrates that he remembers specific moments
together with Steve. He was lying,
like Steve said; he can’t even talk about it because it clearly means too much
for him to emotionally process, especially into words. He’s been living
alone for two years after decades of being less than human, Bucky doesn’t know how to go about expressing his emotions
to Steve.
Bucky opens up another opportunity when he says
“I’m not sure I’m worth all this,” and Steve can’t even reply. He
pauses for so long trying to find a way to express how deeply untrue that is as
we watch his expression cycle through multiple emotions, but it’s too much for
him to even put into words. Instead he settles on reassuring Bucky that the
things he did were not his fault, that they didn’t affect his worth as an individual
or to Steve. Soon after, Steve indirectly lets Bucky know just how much he is
worth it by asking him about one his memories. Not in a way that’s careful
because of Bucky’s fractured memory, in a way that acknowledges the reality of
their awful situation: just a normal “Hey, remember that time…?”
between long-time friends. He’s letting Bucky know how much their shared
history and their friendship means to him in a way that doesn’t create a
stressful outpouring of emotions that Bucky clearly isn’t ready for. When Steve
directly asked Bucky “Do you know me?” he avoided the discussion.
When Steve prompted Bucky with a casual “Remember this?” Bucky opened
up and showed that he did. He laughed and smiled and made a joke, and they were
able to share the first moment of casual friendship between them since their
past lives. Even reaching out and touching each other like they always did.
They care about each other very much, they want
to communicate, but not only is Bucky still in a very fragile place – that he
can’t handle the weight of their past, of what’s happening to them now, when
confronted about it as directly as “Do you know me?” – but so is
Steve, who wants to know if Bucky remembers, if they can get back what they had
but, when confronted with Bucky thinking himself unworthy of Steve’s devotion,
can’t even gather his words together enough to directly respond to the idea.
Steve has never done well with putting his emotions into words or accepting
them from others that care about him, it’s not surprising how emotionally
stunted he is now after undergoing more loss and suffering on such a grand
scale. It’s also not surprising that Bucky is emotionally stunted, not just
because of what was done to him during his 70 years with Hydra, but since he
still, even now, has things in his mind that other people put there against his
will. That’s why he wants to go back into cryostasis, he doesn’t what to
process who he could be now or the relationship he could recover with Steve
until he is the only one inside his own mind.
(Not to say that they couldn’t have hugged in the mid-credit scene…but
Steve didn’t look so good, I think he might have cried and that wouldn’t have
been good for Bucky. *laughs and cries at the same time* I would’ve liked for
Steve to say something as simple as “I’ll miss you until then,” but I think even
that might put emotional stress on Bucky, which Steve clearly doesn’t want to
do.)
None of this is to say that I don’t think you
could possibly disagree and shouldn’t have a problem with how their
relationship was handled: that’s fine and I don’t want to argue about it! As
someone that was disappointed but then basically had an epiphany on how to
interpret all this in a way that made me want to lay down on the ground and cry
about Steve and Bucky in this movie a lot more than previously, I just wanted to
share that there is definitely a way to read their relationship in the movie as
an emotional and realistic continuation of their beautiful story and hopefully I might be able to turn around the opinion of some others that were disappointed and you can enjoy the movie more! But it’s definitely hard not to want more between Steve and Bucky when there’s two year waits between movies!
Daughter of a gun (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ No idea if such a thing existed but surely there had to be girls born on board in the Age of Sail?
*puts on obnoxious historian hat*
*clears throat*
there were actually tons of women and girls on board ships during the age of sail and it’s really cool history that no one!!! ever!!! talks about!!!
like captains of merchant ships used to bring their wives and children on board for long voyages all the time (and of course there were plenty of well known female pirate ship captains, and women cross-dressing as men, and prostitutes that more people seem to know of)
there’s actually a really amazing story of one woman, Mary Ann Patten who was the wife of the captain of this ship called Neptune’s Car. Captain Patten decided that he wanted her onboard with him and she was super about this and learned all about navigation and sailing and everything. so this one voyage they’re going around the tip of south america when her husband gets sick and is bed ridden with a fever right as the ship sails into one of the worst storms any of the crew had ever seen and it looks like they might lose the ship or have to stop
so you know who takes over??? the first mate???
no.
MARY
she took over the whole crew and sailed that ship through freezing water and pack ice and had it coasting smoothly into the san francisco harbour like it was nothing. and she did this all at age 19. while pregnant.
at one point the first mate tried to get the crew to mutiny against her but they all rallied with her and told him to shut the heck up because she obv knew what she was doing.
there’s a great book about women in the age of sail called ‘female tars’ by suzanne stark that i cannot recommend enough and has way more amazing stories and insights about the myriad roles women and girls played aboard ship during that time period.
(sorry i totally didn’t mean to hijack your post i love all of your art and this is gorgeous i just got over excited sorry sorry sorry)
I’m probably going to regret this when I’m more awake and haven’t been sitting in the ER for three hours but you caught me in a fighting mood, so. It is what it is.
I’ve been lowkey annoyed at this attitude that seems to be taking over fandom for a while, and this is just the straw that broke it. If you think it’s important to deconstruct the relationship critically and examine why it’s a flawed relationship and/or an abusive dynamic, knock yourself out. That is your perogative as a participant in fandom and I’m sure there are plenty of people that would love to read your meta. But at the point you start coming at other people about how they consume and enjoy media, you’ve crossed the line from litcrit into concern trolling.
It is not my job to protect people from the content of the media or the internet. I am not their mommy. If you consume something that makes you uncomfortable, then sure, talk about what made you uncomfortable. But don’t come in my inbox and tell me I have a responsibility to put up disclaimers beyond tagging my work. As a fandom author, your ONLY responsibility is to make sure the work you’re posting belongs to you and that you tag it accurately so readers know what they’re getting into (CNTW included). If a reader wants to talk to me directly about how something I wrote is not working for them or makes them uncomfortable or triggers them and needs a warning, that’s fine and I welcome it.
But it’s not okay to come up on someone and tell them it’s their responsibility to dissect what they enjoy as escapism. If you want to do that it’s on you. Personally, as someone who enjoys the fascinating and complicated depiction of dysfunctional relationships IN FICTION, I don’t want to take the time to do that. Fandom is the arena I come into to escape having to be on point about real world issues. It’s not the place I want to spend time examining social justice issues, because I do enough of that IRL.
And on an unrelated but equally annoying note, nobody has to disclose their personal trauma or history for fandom to decide they’re “allowed” to write about certain things. It’s super fucking rude to either assume something about a person’s background or, worse, ASK them about it (because wow no, if someone wants to talk to you that’s one thing but asking is fucking invasive and it’s not any of your damn business).
So yeah, talk all you want in your own meta on your own blog about how you dislike XYZ ship for whatever reason, but it’s nobody’s responsibility but yours to police what you consume and make sure it’s “problem free.”
Hell, half the ships I really enjoy, the dysfunction is WHY I enjoy it, because conflict is what creates compelling narratives. I don’t need to be informed about the dysfunction, and I definitely don’t need to slap up giant disclaimers about it. Read tags, avoid things you don’t want to read, and stop lambasting writers or artists who ship things you don’t like. It’s not your damn business.
listen, there is absolutely nothing that gets me going like mutual seemingly unrequited pining like? i live for both people losing their minds over the other person in bitter silence. savoring every single accidental brush of their fingers, elbows, thighs, every stray glance, memorizing every gesture or expression they catch while the other isn’t looking, all while being absolutely convinced that it’s one-sided only to finally!! finally find out it wasn’t in a triumphant moment of bliss after years and years of delicious, soul-rending, torturous, heart-wrenching pining. i literally don’t care about the fact that this trope is predictable af and always plays out the same way i will still go wild over it every single time like they’ll be doing the same reveal scene i have seen a million times and i’m still on the edge of my seat gasping “are they gonna kiss???”
my single greatest weakness as far as love stories go
is when a story is told through one character’s (pining) point of view, but you the reader KNOW that their love interest loves them back
and the pov character casually says something that you the reader KNOW is gonna be completely devastating to their love interest, but pov character has NO IDEA, like:
“[innocently devastating thing],” said pov character
a strange look seemed to pass over love interest’s face. “yeah, [seemingly casual response that comes off as a little stilted, for reasons pov character just cannot pinpoint],” said love interest.
“uh, [joke that accidentally just DIALS UP THE AGONY TO A THOUSAND FOR LOVE INTEREST],” pov character added, to cut the tension.
love interest step’s faltered for a second. “[seemingly casual response that is FILLED WITH EXQUISITELY REPRESSED PAIN AND LONGING].” it sounded a little gruff. probably love interest was just distracted, or wanted some space. who could blame them?
POV CHARACTER, YOU IDIOT ❤
oh my god, yes. also all and any instances of bystander characters remarking on love interest’s peculiar behaviour around pov character. oh, that does happen, and it probably means they hate me, thinks pov character forlornly. did they notice my feelings. what if I made them UNCOMFORTABLE.
love interest is blushing furiously at bystander character’s remarks, proving that they are, indeed, uncomfortable. pov character decides to back off a bit.
me, reading: omg I’m gonna diiiiiiie
oh my goddddd yes, with optional coda:
“hey, so is everything okay between us?” said love interest.
pov character froze. “what do you mean.”
“it just—” love interest broke off with a frustrated sigh. “sorry, it’s probably nothing, but it feels like [ever since bystander character made that wildly inappropriate joke] you’ve been almost avoiding me? and i wanted to make sure that [bystander character] didn’t—that i—”
“no,” said pov character in a rush. “oh no, there’s no problem, [bystander character] is obviously full of shit, i just—”
“because you can tell me, if something’s wrong,” said love interest. “i mean it.”
“nothing’s wrong. seriously.” pov character tried to smile but only managed a queasy grimace that wouldn’t have been convincing at fifty paces. love interest gave pov character a searching look, and the grimace somehow felt even weaker.
“oh,” said love interest quietly. “okay. great.”
“yep,” said pov character, all but clawing the ground to dig an escape tunnel out of there. “well! it was nice talking to you but i’m pretty busy—”
“yeah. yeah, of course. so, uh—” love interest’s forehead creased. “guess i’ll see you around, then?”
“of course,” pov character lied.
ooh or alternately: if they’re in the sort of psychologically/emotionally draining situation where there’s an in-story reason for adults to be acting like utter children, instead of all the ‘god we’re each trying so hard to do the right thing and we’re each sadly picking up on the subtext that the other person is hiding something but welp, gotta be stoic!’
it’s like:
“listen, asshole, if you want to suddenly, for absolutely no reason, treat me like i’ve got the plague i guess that’s your call, but can you at least grow up enough to tell me what i ever fucking did to you? not that moping indefinitely isn’t a goddamn genius strategy—”
“christ, look, everything is fine, okay? i don’t know what the fuck to tell you. sorry i don’t spend every second of my life trailing after you like a lost puppy, sorry that occasionally people need a goddamn break from each other—”
blinking furiously, voices choked with hurt, etc etc
I wish i had a context for this. But I really dont.
I was all ready to “um, actually” this, but, um, actually there’s about 3-4 grams of iron in a person, which x400 is 1.2-1.6kg, which is a smallish but not unreasonable sword. So. Math checks out.
How would you extract the iron, though? The more practical solution would be to kill a mere hundred men, then mix 1 part blood with 3 parts standard molten iron, imo. Cheaper and faster, while still retaining the edge that only evil magic can give you.
Or, you could just make the sword of iron, and then use the blood to temper the blade.
1.2 to 1.6 kilograms is a perfectly reasonable large sword. Your average longsword was 1.1–1.8 kg and I don’t even remember if that’s including the weight of the hilt, guard, and pommel or just the blade. Your more classic “knight sword” was a mere 1.1 kilograms on average; the blood of 400 men is more than enough.
This is using the comparatively crappy metallurgy of medieval Europe and their meh iron swords. Move east to, say, contemporary Iran and make a scimitar using high carbon steel (~2%) for a .75 kilogram blade and you only need the blood of about 225 men.
So putting my thoughts in on this… because how could I not.
So you’ve exsanguinated your 400 guys to get the iron for your sword. Cool. But now you have 400 bodies lying around.
Why not put those to good use and cremate them. Use the carbon from those 400 bodies (you won’t need all of them) and now you can make a nice mid-high carbon steel sword.
Now you have a sword forged with the blood of your enemies AND strengthened with their bones.
“Tell ‘im it’ll be fine,” Bucky gritted out, the words
shoved out of his mouth with a pained exhale and flecks of blood.
Jim would be the first to admit that he wasn’t a very good medic—you might say that Uncle Sam
wasn’t so interested in keeping his yellow troops alive, if you were the sort
of unpatriotic SOB who said things like that—but even he could diagnose the
chance for survival when Sarge had been shot in the chest and was breathing out
blood.
“I’m not gonna lie to Cap!” Jim hissed, widening his eyes at
Sarge. Hell, even in the dark and under fire from Nazi troops, Cap’s
superpowers could probably sniff out a lie, and Barnes was already going ashen
under the full moon. There was no reason for Morita to even unpack his kit.
“How is he?” Steve demanded, his voice shrill, and Jim
busied himself pulling out rolls of gauze. “Jim!”
“Tellhim,” Barnes
groaned, blood spilling into his lung and up his throat, unable to bite down
the pained moan when Jim shoved a handful of gauze and all the pressure he
could manage onto Sarge’s splintered chest. “I swear to you on your father’s
grave it’s not a lie, Fresno,” he panted, speaking more clearly than Jim
thought he should be able to, but then most of Jim’s experience as a medic had
been in the camps, carrying out the dead.
“Jim! Dammit, Bucky! Answer me!”
“My father’s not dead, you asshole.” Jim wrenched his
blanket out of his pack with his left hand, tossing it clumsily over Sarge’s
legs and doing absolutely nothing to stop Barnes’s sudden shivering, spasming
limbs. “Swear on your own damn grave.”
“’m fine, punk,” Barnes croaked, and Jim could only hear him
because his ear was a foot from Sarge’s face—even then it was faint, drowned
out by the sound of Tommy guns and the dull roar of an oncoming tank.
“Don’t lie to me, you jackass,” Steve shouted back – everything enhanced, even his ears – ducking
and weaving through trees too dense for him to throw the shield, unable to turn
and catch a glimpse of his second in command without exposing Bucky and Jim to
enemy fire. “Fresno, is he okay?”
“He won’t be if you don’t get rid of that tank,” Jim
snapped, because he wasn’t going to lie to Cap and he wasn’t going to disobey
Sarge and none of it was going to fucking matter if they all got mowed down by
Nazis before Barnes gasped out his last bloody breath.
It took Jim a second to realize that Sarge wasn’t just
flailing his limbs, and another long moment to figure out that the bastard was trying to sit up. “What the hell is
wrong with you?” he grunted, shoving down harder on the field dressing and
pinning Barnes to the ground. “You want to get shot in the head, too? One
glorious death in battle isn’t enough?”
Bucky laughed, choking on his own blood. “Bullet went
through, didn’t it?” he asked, after he’d almost caught his breath. “I can’t
tell. It all feels like I got trampled by elephants.”
“Or sat on by Cap.” Jim huffed, then gave in when Barnes
rolled his bloodshot eyes. “Yeah, Sarge, through and through. Why, you were
hoping to die with the bullet that killed you?”
It was the sympathetic look on Sarge’s face that made Jim
think it might not be sweat catching in his lashes and stinging his eyes. Jim
scrubbed at his face with his sleeve—he didn’t need to be patted on the cheek
by a man seconds from his own grave.
“I’m not dying,” Barnes lied again, his voice inexplicably
stronger, the gurgle in his throat settling to a dull rasp. “Jim, swear on
Steve’s life, I’m not. But you gotta trust me, and you gotta wrap my chest
before trees start growing through it.”
“Fertilizer’s all you’re good for,” Jim sniffed, but Sarge
would never, ever swear on Cap unless
it was true, so he hauled Barnes up and propped his useless carcass against a
tree while he cut away his shirts and folded himself around his sergeant in an
awkward embrace, Jim’s hands and arms and chest and teeth all trying to hold
two field dressings in place long enough to bind them down.
Five minutes later the sounds of the fight had shifted over
the hill, leaving Jim and his patient alone in a copse of trees on a pile of
leaves tacky with gallons of Sarge’s blood. Jim had managed to shove Sarge into
his coat and wrap him in a blanket, and he was still pale but there was already
color back in his cheeks, and his hands were warmer than Jim’s when he felt at
Sarge’s wrist for a pulse.
“Don’t take this wrong,” Jim said, chafing his hands
together and debating the wisdom of starting a fire within sight of the German
border, “but you should be dead. You make a deal with the Devil for your nine
lives?”
“Don’t tell Steve.” Sarge was starting to sound like Jackie
after he’d accidentally blown up the mess, experimenting with the meatloaf and
a fuse.
Jim tucked his hands under his thighs and sighed. “Don’t
tell Steve you’re dead. Don’t tell him you’re not dead. Make up your damn mind, Sarge.”
“You’re right,” Sarge whispered, and he really ought to have
said that ten minutes ago when Jim had shouted for him to “Duck!” “I should’ve died.” He poked at a few blood-stained leaves
with a twig, then lifted his head and stared at Jim. “That’s what you can’t
tell Steve.”
“Why not?” Morita wondered, keeping his voice low because Cap
had ears like a bat and the squad was already on their way back over the rise,
safe and well and in control of the woods if their loud mockery was any sign. “Rogers
seems like the kind of fella to believe in miracles. Sort of looks like one, if
you’re looking at him like Carter does.”
“Sure,” Bucky smirked, the gaps between his teeth still dark
with blood. “Stevie’s singing down angels and joining the holy choir.” The
smile flickered and vanished, and Bucky stabbed his twig hard into the ground. “But
I think you might be right, Fresno, about where I picked up my nine lives.”
It took Jim a moment to catch on, but no matter how many
stories Gabe told about fiddlin’ and a cloven-hoofed jig there was only one
Devil that they had all seen smiling at them through the bars, wire-rimmed glasses on a porcine face. “Damn,” he
breathed, because there was nothing else to say.
Bucky snorted, and no air whistled through the hole that
should have been in his lung. “Sure I am,” he agreed. “But there’s no reason to
tell Steve that, not ‘til I’ve used up a few more lives.”
Jim didn’t want to lie to Cap. “Guess I just worry,” he
said, when Rogers asked why Morita was still shaking if Sarge was fine. It wasn’t a lie: he worried about them all, now, because even a good medic wouldn’t know how to barter with the Devil for something good in the last life.
“Could you have survived the fall?” Jim demanded, grabbing
Captain America by his lapels and hauling himself up the man’s chest to look
him in the eye. “Could you? Could you still be alive if it had been you?”
Steve shoved him away, ran for the silence of the bar, and
went to his own fall believing that Morita had blamed him for not diving after
Barnes—but Steve had never answered, and Jim had kept his trap shut because
what was the point in reliving Sarge’s nine lives if he was dead?
(The first year Stark tried to take apart the Arctic, Jim
dragged the other Commandos back to the Alps, but neither team found anything
under snow and ice. Jim hadn’t expected a miracle—but he’d maybe hoped for a
deal, now that the SSR had flung open the doors to its lab and let the Devil in
its bed.)
Zynn's Exodus 