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asgardianthot · 4 years

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A funeral chuckle (Sambucky AU) – Part 3

one / two / three

Summary: After the loss of a family member, Sam returns to his hometown, where an old crush awaits.

A/N: Last part! Kinda regretting making this a short fic now, is it too late to change that? Yes. It’s kind of a long chapter so make some time, make some hot coco :) Thank you so much for reading xx

Words: 4623

Warnings: grief, angst, closeted gay characters

"What is it?"

Steve didn’t drift his view from the road ahead to respond to his friend’s question. They had spent the majority of the trip so far in utter silence, ever since Steve picked Sam up from the airport, which led both of them to believe there was an elephant in the room; weirdly so, they weren’t too sure about what the elephant represented. Most of the chat had happened during the time Steve helped Sam put his luggage in the trunk, and it had consisted of an overwhelmingly casual conversation.

"What?" Steve directed the reply to Sam, who sat on the co-driver’s seat, but focused on driving.

"Whatever you're thinking about.” Sam insisted, not buying Steve’s innocent attitude, “Spit it out."

The blonde shrugged, "I'm not thinking anything."

"Bull."

"Seriously, my mind is blank."

There was a hint of amusement slowly escaping Steve’s tone, and it only exasperated Sam even further.

"Minds are never blank." Sam followed his lead.

"I thought that was the whole point of meditating."

"You meditate?" he raised his eyebrows with skepticism.

"Nah.” Steve finally dropped the act with a smile, “Buck tried to get me to do yoga once, but it wasn't my thing."

There it was. The elephant in the room was Bucky. Steve must have figured it out, or maybe taken a guess, putting two and two together. Maybe Bucky had been the one to speak out about the whole situation, but Sam doubted it. All he knew was Steve wasn’t stupid, so he knew the pair had fought or had gotten themselves into an impasse. The silence that the mere mention of Bucky’s name brought upon the men sitting in that moving car was more than enough proof.

"At least say something, I'm not spending half an hour in silence.” Sam brushed it off, letting the excess of air in his tense lungs seep through his nose, “Tell me anything. How's work?"

"We spoke last week, Sam, you know all about work.” Steve was practically begging Sam to be honest as he tapped the wheel with his thumb, impatiently; unfortunately, he knew better than push Sam when he clearly didn’t want to break character, “I'm just glad you're back in town, 's all. Your mom really needs you tomorrow."

Sam looked down and nodded, "Yeah, I know."

In the time Darlene had spent as a widow, she had contacted his son many times, which only added to Sam’s guilt for leaving her so violently soon after Paul’s death. They both knew each other well enough to understand Sam’s reasons, though, and Darlene had never been a dependent woman. That didn’t mean, however, that she didn’t need her son. She just didn’t like admitting it so he wouldn’t worry, but that ship had sailed long ago. This time around, Sam’s bag was bigger. He was staying as long as he needed to.

"And I know last time was tough- I'm not asking.” Steve made sure to let Sam know he wasn’t prying, after all, “But maybe it'll be better this time around."

The occasion sort of sounded like a second funeral. And somehow, it kind of was. A month had passed, and Sam had left things like they were before. Both his mother and Bucky, abandoned. He couldn’t exactly expect the overall experience to be any better.

"How much can change in a month?"

Steve gave him a flash look, checking his expression.

"Let's hope something has." He tried to transmit his friend some optimism.

Sam checked his phone again, taking another look at the picture his mom had sent him. It was of a panel outside the church, and it read ‘Service in memory of Minister Paul Wilson, Sunday 10am’ along with a picture of the deceased. Below the information, a message in cursive: ‘One month without his wise words.’ Sam locked his phone with a sigh.

"So..." He put the device away, gathering a bit of courage, "How's, uh... how's Barnes?"

Steve glanced at him, again, this time with a much tentative expression, for he had some hope that maybe he’d get the truth out of Sam.

"He's fine. Why?"

Sam simply looked out the window before responding, "I may or may not have been a jerk last time."

Steve nodded, hiding his joy over such a small confession.

"You guys argued or...?"

"No, nothing like that. It's- it's nothing, really."

Of course, Sam took it all back, along with Steve’s hope to be in on the gossip, and so the latter gave up on his tact. He had enough of pretending not to know, and therefore, allowed his amusement ooze out of him. He shook his head as a soft chuckle made Sam frown.

"I'm sorry." He said, although he wasn’t really sorry.

"What's so funny?" Sam became defensive.

"You two are terrible liars, I don't know how you managed to stay in the closet for so long."

The last bit hit Wilson like a frying pan in the face, and all he could do was blink fast, trying to think of whatever other thing Steve could have meant by it.

"What are you talking about?" he pledged innocence to the matter.

"Come on, I know you two had something last month.” Rogers dropped the bomb with no caution whatsoever, “Was kind of expecting it, to be honest, I just can't believe you're hiding it from me again."

Sam was perplex. He opened his mouth, only to close it back, and when the offense surpassed the shock, he raised his voice at his best friend.

"You knew?"

"That you hooked up in high school?” Steve raised his eyebrows, as if he couldn’t even believe Sam never suspected it; he couldn’t possibly think he was so naïve, “Of course I knew!"

"Are you kidding me? We went the extra mile to keep you out of it for a full year, Rogers."

That last sentence brought back the laughter to Steve’s body, "I know, talk about a waste of time and effort." He chuckled.

"Jesus. We thought you'd freak out, and... I don’t know, we were kids! It seemed like something we needed to keep from you.” Sam let his head fall and caught his forehead in his hand, defeated, “Why didn't you say anything?"

Eventually, Steve quit the mocking and gave Sam some slack.

"I didn't wanna out you guys or anything.” He confessed, tilting his head, “To be honest, I totally forgot for a few years."

Sam nodded, "I think we did too."

Steve offered a grin Sam missed because he felt more comfortable looking anywhere but towards Steve. He knew Steve was being the most empathic and considerate friend anyone could ever ask for, and it only added to his already asphyxiating guilt.

"So, you two clicked again and you bolted?" Steve took his not-so-lucky guess, and got a shameful nod out of Sam, "Now he's mad and, let me guess, he won't return your calls."

Rogers knew Bucky to be a master when it came to avoiding conflicts; he didn’t know Sam to be one, though. Which is why the fact that Sam had disappeared from town without notice had led him to jump into conclusions, because he had to have a strong enough reason. The death of his father, plus his high school crush falling back into his arms, the latter representing the overwhelming reminder that Sam never came out to the right people? Those were more than perfect reasons to bolt.

"Yeah. I... he's too good.” Sam began the self-loathing parade Steve didn’t expect to be hearing from this friend, “He shouldn't waste his time with me."

"That's definitely not how he feels about himself.” He informed Sam, thinking how the ‘unworthy speech’ sounded more like something Bucky would say; Wilson looked at him, eager for answers, “You like him?"

"Yeah.” Sam let out a painful puff of air, “Yeah, but-"

"Then show him.” Steve raised his tone into a motivational one, “Go the extra mile to let him know you're sorry, and that you care about him."

Sam agreed, but remained silent. Steve was right, and he didn’t want to give the wise man all the credit. In fact, he gave Rogers an odd look.

"You're too excited for this."

"I am." Steve admitted shamefully, but planting a big smile on his face, "Feels like high school again."

For the first time, Sam interpreted that sentence in the best possible way.

Late at night, Bucky was boringly scrolling through social media, when he received a text from Sam. Another one. This time, however, his presence felt more imminent. He figured Sam wasn’t in DC anymore, as it was the night before the service, and when he opened the text, he confirmed it.

I'm back in town, got here a few hours ago. Maybe we could meet up? I really wanna talk to you in person.

As he ignored the message and left the phone on the coffee table, making a rather loud sound for such a delicate device, Wanda was coming through the door with two paper bags.

"I got Chinese!" she announced.

"Course you did." Bucky sat back with a sigh.

Wanda dropped the packed food on the counter and approached Bucky with a challenging look.

"If that's an insult to my culinary taste, I'm not offended. But you should know you offend the Chinese community." She accused the man.

"Yeah, ‘cause that was cooked by a Chinese person." Barnes tilted his head, sarcasm thick on his voice.

"You don't know that!" she defended herself as she plopped down next to him on the couch.

She noticed the phone and noticed how unnatural the set-up seemed, which could only mean Bucky was avoiding something on the device; it wasn’t too difficult to guess, for he had been ghosting the same person for an entire month.

“Are we still ignoring him?” she asked, including herself in the decision.

Bucky pursed his lips and nodded, fixating his sight on a random spot, “He’s back in town.”

Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, pensive, before turning to his roommate.

“I have a question… Are you sure you don’t wanna give him a second chance? Or is it just your hurt pride making decisions?”

“Both.” He spat without thinking, and then decided to dignify the woman with a proper answer, “I don’t know. I just… I don’t wanna listen if all he has to say is that he doesn’t, you know…”

“In my experience, guys don’t blow up your phone when they just want to explain their lack of interest. Maybe he made a mistake, dude, maybe he wants to win you back.”

“Or maybe, he needs to tell me how much he cares before explaining why he can’t be with me.” Barnes said what he had been thinking all throughout the past weeks, “That’s Sam. I’m pretty sure he wants to make sure not to hurt my feelings and that sort of crap.”

Wanda wanted to comment on his pessimism, but she figured it was simply coming from a place of ‘I care about him too much to see him reject me’. And if that wasn’t the oddest thing she’d seen in Bucky, nothing would be.

“God, it’s weird when you’re in love.” She scrunched her nose.

“I’m not in love.” Bucky rolled his eyes before standing up from the interrogation couch.

“Where you ever?” she was quick to ask, which made Bucky stop in his tracks, “When you were kids?”

He reflected on it, but shook his head, “Nah, I don’t think so. We had fun, though.”

That answer alone helped Wanda paint the picture of the two boys, running around finding an isolated space where to hookup, before returning to their friends like nothing had happened. She imagined them laughing, and being nice to each other; Bucky, who wasn’t necessarily the nicest person alive.

“You were good friends.” She smiled, almost proud of her roommate for some reason.

“Yeah, we were.” He admitted, a smile of his own sneaking in through his features; suddenly, the realization that he owed Sam something because of all those years of friendship hit him like a truck, “Fuck, I hate you.” He groaned, heading to his room.

“What did I do?” Wanda jumped to her defense.

“Now I have to go to the service.”

Inside the church, Bucky nervously fixed his tie while he watched Sam hold hands with his mother. The woman kissed her son’s cheek before she sat down in the front row, Sam turning to check if there were anything or anyone else he needed to attend to. He had been doing the social effort he despised all morning, as if he was trying to make up for being a lousy griever during the funeral. Truth was, Sam figured he could do those extra little sacrifices if it meant his mama would remain peaceful.

When his eyes found Bucky, Samuel’s body came to a halt. Bucky, having stood in that position preparing for that moment for the past minutes, managed to greet him with a simple nod, barely. As soon as Sam moved in his direction, he began regretting even showing up. But as much as he wished to be able to run away, he forced his muscles to remain still.

"Hey.” Sam offered him a mild smile of politeness when he stood in front of Bucky, “Wanna talk?"

The appellee bit the inside of his cheek, finding himself incapable of lying to Sam.

"Not really." He admitted.

The dryness of the reply was not what Sam had been expecting. Those two words took him by surprise, but he understood where they came from, so he attempted to convince him nevertheless. He showed him an awkward smile, one that yelled embarrassment.

"That's, uh... fair. That's fair.” He indulged Bucky, “I just- I've been trying to reach you for a month, Buck. Been texting, calling-"

"I know.” Barnes didn’t need to hear the entire list of ways he had ghosted Sam, “I got them."

"I'm not asking for you to be nice or anything, I just want you to talk to me.” Sam’s tone lowered to a much more serious and confident one, “Please."

Noticing the sudden switch of approach, Bucky felt he at least owed him a chance to speak his truth. Even if all Sam had to say were excuses. So he gestured to the exit with a tilt of his head, implying for Sam to follow him. As soon as they both stood on the side of the stairs, and away from everyone else, Bucky slid his hands inside his pocket, preparing for the speech he feared he would dread.

"You can talk." He gave Sam the room to express whatever he had to express, this time with a smaller voice.

It broke a little piece inside Sam’s chest to see Bucky like that. Not just upset, but sad. He almost didn’t want to do this, because Bucky looked like he was preparing to have a bomb dropped on him. Yet he desperately needed to apologize and he desperately needed to try one more time, therefore he stood up straight, head up high, and let it all out.

"I messed up.” The words were expulsed with heaviness, making Bucky glance up at him, “Big time. I really, really like you, and...” He shrugged, failing to keep the continuous confidence, while Bucky fought back a frown that threatened to take over his features, “I don't know, it felt like we were on the same page, right?"

"But we weren't. That's why you left.” Bucky interrupted, “Still, you could've been less of a dick about it.”

"I agree."

"Which part?"

"Last part.” Sam jumped to make that point come across clearly; he definitely cared for Bucky just as much as Bucky cared for him, if not more, “Definitely last part, I- I was a dick. But I didn't mean to, and it didn't mean what you think it meant."

Finally convinced, Bucky didn’t use the gap of silence Sam offered him. He didn’t say a word, meaning he was willing to listen, which gave both of them a spark of hope. Sam seized the opportunity to spill everything out before they had to go back inside.

"You were the best thing that could've happened when I came back. You still are, Bucky. And this is probably the worst time to be doing this, but can we please meet up after the memorial? We can talk things through, you can... curse me out if you wanna. I just need the proper time to apologize. Because I really am incredibly sorry."

As the service approached its start and everyone found their seats, Darlene stopped Steve and his mother Sarah from sitting behind her.

“Oh, darling, come sit here with us.” She told the Rogers, speaking directly to her friend Sarah.

“Are you sure?” the woman asked.

“Yes, yes.” Darlene gestured quickly, then addressed the man that seemed to spare, “James, you too. Sammy should have his friends with him.”

As much as Bucky eyes Sam in search for an exit, for Sam to find an excuse, none of them seemed to have much of a choice. The three guests joined the grieving family on the front row, Sam remaining on the last end, sticking with his mother.

Not minutes after the priest started speaking, Darlene was a crying mess. Sam remembered what his old-fashioned father said about handkerchiefs and regretted not carrying one for his mother, but she had prepared for this day by bringing a box of tissues in her oversized purse, so Sam merely squeezed her hand for support. The problem was, when the priest announced they would be reading Paul’s favorite poems, and the first one just so happened to be about the relationship between a father and a son. Two verses later, Sam felt it coming. Something snapped inside of him, perhaps the fact that everyone in that church was thinking of Sam and Paul’s bond, or maybe all the crying he hadn’t done in a month hit him like a wave, but the result was simple; Sam couldn’t fight the sentiment.

The tears claimed him and he let it happen, wet face and snotty nose and all. He stopped listening to the poem and instead remembered how Paul always told him it was okay to cry, which brought Sam the much needed peace he required in that moment, because he figures the entire church was quietly pitying him. He could feel a hundred eyes burning the back of his head as he shut his eyes and a grimace invaded his features.

All of a sudden, the funniest thought crossed his mind and a smirk overtook him. Paul always told him it was okay to cry. Soon enough, that smirk became a concealed chuckle, which quickly escalated into a full-on laugh. Sam thought he might sound insane to the rest of the attendants, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the irony of it all. Eventually, Darlene inclined to check up on her seemingly crazy son.

"Sorry, it’s just… Dad always said I should express my feelings more.” Sam whispered, trying to keep the laugh in but failing, “He'd do anything to get me to open up and... show emotion.” The last few words caused a wave of chuckles to erupt on his chest, getting even more attention from everyone else, “If you told him I would do it in his church for his memorial, in front of his entire congregation...”

When Sam looked up, he saw his mother cracking up along with him, tears of joy mixing with the former tears of sadness, and with a sense of calm, Sam shook his head amusingly.

"He'd curse me out.”

Darlene sniffed before speaking with regained composure, “Paul never cursed in front of you.”

That made Sam lose it. He didn’t even know if he was snorting or laughing by now.

“I know, he said- he said he was saving it for a special time.”

As the sentence gained a similar reaction from Steve, Sarah and Bucky, mother and son noticed the entire first row could hear them perfectly. Sam’s eyes naturally travelled to find Bucky, who flaunted a big smile. Bucky always knew it would be Sam to hold the proud title of the perpetrator of a rare funeral chuckle. He never lost hope.

Sam was opening his car door, out in the parking lot behind the church, when Bucky came out of nowhere. Sam’s muscles tensed as he knew for a fact he was only there to talk, while Bucky looked around to make sure they didn’t have any public. He didn’t give Sam any time to prepare before he started rambling.

"I shouldn't have ignored you.” He spat out, more sure of himself than Sam had seen him in a while, “I should've listened, and I'm sorry.”

A sigh left Sam’s chest. He didn’t think it was Bucky who should be apologizing, but that only meant the latter had already forgiven him. Still, he felt the guilty need to step in while he leaned back on the carhood.

“Bucky, I-“

“I don’t care.” Barnes stepped closer, “As long as you forgive me too, I’m good.”

The instant Bucky finished his micro speech, he sprinted to grab Sam’s face and press his lips against him. It pushed Sam’s body slightly so that they were both pressing against the car, and although Sam was fairly shocked, he gave into the kiss completely, at the last seconds. When Bucky stepped back, waiting to see Sam’s reaction, tentatively, he was met with flushed cheeks and embarrassment.

Sam looked around, which made Bucky realize that he was expecting people, and therefore, right now they did have a public. Darlene, Steve and his mother were standing there with triumphant grins and smirks. Bucky ran a hand through his hair, quickly losing his previous confidence.

"Shit." He let out with a nervous laugh.

Sam laughed back, “It’s okay, they’re nosy people, you’re giving them a show.” He directed the insult to the three spectators.

“Do you guys need a minute?” Steve stepped in.

Sam nodded. “Yes, a minute would be nice.”

Sam was finishing writing in his journal, when the doorbell rang.

Bucky had suggested the idea of a journal, for Sam to write down his feelings of grief, and it definitely was helping with the young man’s epiphanies. Today’s page began with a mention of how easy it had been to adapt to his hometown the past few weeks. Sam wrote about his mother, and how she didn’t let her grief take her down, but actually played the widow part like a champ. He also wrote about Bucky, and how patient he was with Sam’s feelings, and how he himself was ready to hold Bucky’s hand in public. The page ended in a meaningful paragraph:

I haven’t felt like I deserved to mourn him, because I kept focusing about everything I didn’t get to do with him. I wish I’d had the courage, because Paul Wilson always taught me to be brave, and I just feel like I let him down. But then mama, the person who knew him better than he knew himself, reminded me of something: he was the single most empathic person in the world, and he never judged a person who came to him. He would have welcomed me with any problem or confession, and that’s what I want to remember. His memory, to me, is one of a kind man who was always there for me, even if I didn’t seek his help.

“Sammy, the Barnes boy’s here for you!” Darlene called up.

Sam walked down the stairs and rolled his eyes when he was sure his mother could see him.

“We’re not fifteen, mama.” He mocked her choice of words.

Bucky, on his part, was standing on the doorstep with a frown, “Was I supposed to bring flowers?”

“Only if you wanna stay for dinner.” Sam warned him while putting on a coat.

“I do want to stay for dinner.” Bucky said just to mess with Sam, but gave Darlene a look that meant he was serious, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Anytime, love.” She gave him a graceful nod.

“We’re leaving.” Sam groaned before shutting the door behind him.

Bucky gave him a peck on his temple before they started walking down the street. It would be a short walk to the coffee shop, but it gave Sam enough time to hold Bucky’s hand. With some real courage and gathered enthusiasm, Sam found Bucky’s gloved hand. He sloppily reached for his fingers, and received some help from Bucky, who looked down with a smile when their hands were completely intertwined.

They fell into comfortable silence, until Sam remembered a topic of conversation they had left behind.

“What did Wanda say about the charity work?” he asked like he’d forgotten something important, “Is she in?”

Bucky’s roommate had agreed to help the Wilsons with some church work Sam had taken over, including donation events and organization. The young woman had already made a bunch of jokes about not being able to step foot in a Christian church.

“Yeah, she said she could betray her Jewish ancestors for a few days.” Bucky replied, raising his eyebrows at the memory of her dramatization, “Said if I’d done it, so could she.”

“Yeah, but you went there to score a real handsome guy.” Sam joked.

Bucky smiled and stopped in order to find Sam’s face and cup it, “And what could be more godly than that?”

The couple joined in a kiss, there in the middle of the street, and although it wasn’t a very populated one, it proved their willingness to step into the spotlight. They didn’t want to be a secret anymore. When they broke the kiss, Sam gave Bucky’s hand a little squeeze, and they continued walking.

“I’m happy, Bucky.” Sam confessed out of the blue.

It brought a confused smile to Bucky’s face, “Well, I’m glad.” He said, unsure.

“No, I mean I’m happy here. I’m not going back to DC.” He announced with such tranquility, it made Bucky’s gut do a full twist, “That job you mentioned downtown? I’m taking it.”

Bucky’s heart warmed to the idea, because he would have followed Sam to DC if he had asked him, but instead, Sam decided to stay, and there was something very beautiful about that choice.

“You’re gonna have to stay with your mom.” Bucky reminded him of the downside, like he wasn’t as thrilled as anyone could ever be.

“Yeah, for a while.” Sam shrugged, “She’s partly the reason I want to stay, you know.”

Bucky nodded, keeping a big happy grin concealed.

“What’s the other reason?”

“Just this guy.” He followed along.

“Really, what’s he like?”

“Kinda cute. He betrayed his ancestors for me a bunch of times.”

“Shut up.” Bucky rolled his eyes as he reached for Sam’s sweater and pulled him in for a kiss.

For a long time, Sam had avoided his hometown. He had avoided the people from his childhood, he had avoided his relationship with his parents, and so much more that now seemed indispensable. Not only had he found Bucky, but he felt like he was finally where he belonged. He felt like Bucky was the only person who knew him entirely growing up, and somehow, they both needed each other to be reminded of themselves.

Holding Bucky’s hand, walking down his childhood street where they both would sneak through at night during their teenage years, he felt home. And he planned on keeping that feeling for a long, long time.

#sambucky #sambucky au #sam wilson x bucky barnes #sam/bucky #marvel fanfiction #sambucky fluff #sam wilson/bucky barnes #angst #tfatws #fatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #tftws #tw: grief #tw: gay closet

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osmw1 · 6 years

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Poison-Wielding Fugitive Chapter 18

As we self-manage and discuss of how to apply ourselves the best, we reach the second floor of the dungeon.

The ambiance feels different. It feels like my surroundings changed from stone-built to a natural cave. Moreover, the miasma is definitely denser down here. This air is clean and fresh, straight from Mother Nature! is what I’d say. But for your average Joe, it’s more than likely to be suffocating. It doesn’t seem like many people come here to this dungeon. Knowing they’d be forced to fight in an environment like this, adventurers wouldn’t come here either. It also looks like there’s many places you could get ambushed from too.

As well, there are monsters standing guard at the entrance to the second floor. Monsters named Claret Sunflower are wriggling its roots and moving about. With their leaves, they hold spears that looks like they’re made from stems of a plant.

‘Aye… it is a well-known monster. It might have only recently made this dungeon home.’

Are we gonna be okay?

‘If you pay attention to the movement of the minions, you should have control over most of the situation. Its command and management seem to be lacking. They cooperate better when closer to their stronghold, but on the upper floors, the small fry do not pay much attention.’

Oh, that right? Now I’m kinda curious to how Veno’s lair is. Actually, if worse comes to worst, could I take refuge there?

‘You… you foolish humans too have a culture of locking doors when leaving home, do you not?’

Why are you asking me so nicely? Wait, don’t tell me… you locked your place up?

‘Aye. In my current state, I cannot unlock my own lair. I employ no underlings either, so expecting assistance there would be unwise.’

What, so I can’t take refuge there? Well, I don’t exactly wish to hole up and fight to my death in a dragon’s lair…

‘We shall advance whilst retreating! To battle!’ “Sure, sure. Muu, you ready?” “Mu!”

Muu voices his determination, so let’s go. We were investigating the second floor, but…

“Muu muu!”

Muu snapped at me over the present situation. We enter a battle with three Claret Sunflowers. Muu deftly pulls aggro away from me, but we devolved into a messy situation. I’m unable to fire my crossbow in fear of accidentally hitting Muu. Fortunately, by deploying poisonous mist with Poison Release, I was able to create some distance from the enemies. That also enabled me to take a few rapid-fire shots, taking them down. However, Muu angrily scowled at me.

‘I realized that you were trying to avoid hitting Muu and I am sure it also understood that. However, the difference is slight between that and Muu fighting alone.’ “Muu!” “I know, but—” ‘Sometimes, your best offense can be your best defense. And as Muu has Self-Regeneration, even striking him with your bolt would mean little to it.’ “Mu!”

I gotta say that I am afraid of hitting my allies.

“Isn’t it kinda cruel to say that it doesn’t matter if I hit Muu just because it’s tough?” ‘Think of it as training for you. Being sure in your aim to assist your vanguard should be your attitude. Even if your battle were to fall into disarray, there will be opponents that distance themselves away from Muu, correct? If you target said opponents first and then ones who are to attack Muu, you shall naturally be assisting.’

I understand that Veno’s criticism is fair. Still, I can’t capably make calls like that in the heat of the moment.

‘In your case, you are overly fixating on the enemy’s weak points. What is your profession? It is Poison-Wielder, is it not? Your job is to use poison to weaken your enemies.’ “That means I should use some kind of slow poison… but if I hit Muu with that, it wouldn’t be just nothing…” ‘I can understand your concern. Muu, we shall train afterwards so that you develop a resistance to his slow poison.’ “Mu!”

Comprehending and agreeing to Veno’s proposal, Muu nods. I want to rely on it… but is that a good direction to head to? Towards Muu being fine even with me hitting it? I’m not so sure about to what extent the power of my poison is. Filing that feeling away, we continue our capture of the second floor.

‘Aye… it is a shame we have not found a treasure chest or the likes, but for harvestable plants, we have much we can pick.’ “You’re talking about poisonous herbs and poisonous mushrooms?”

There’s even poisonous pollen. There are several pools of poison here and there for me to heal up in, so I can comfortably fight in this dungeon. I dare say this dungeon might even be one that fits me the best. If it was fire or water—no, even if this were a non-elemental dungeon, we wouldn’t have done so well so far.

“Mu!” “Muu, you’re almost messed up in the head how happy you are charging in and killing your own kind.”

At first, Muu was excited to get into fisticuffs with a Chartreuse Green Poison Shroom. In the end, Muu’s opponent received too many heavy blows and was literally torn to shreds.

The number of spores scattered in the air during that fight was just awful.

“Muu?”

On our way, Veno highlights and pings what he calls treasure, telling me to collect it. But all it is and what’s it all is just poisonous stuff.

Dietetrodake A mushroom with toxin so strong, simply touching its spores will cause numbness. Upon human consumption, it induces whole-body paralysis and death within minutes. It is a poor choice for assassination as its flavor and odor are terrible.

I am extremely concerned about that last part, but I ignore it.

Red Deathfire A red flame-like grass. Its toxicity is powerful but compounding it other plants will increase efficacy. Take caution when handling as direct contact with the plant leads to inflammation.

I guess this one’s slightly better in a sense. Is this a pile of treasure or a pile of trash…? Well, the number of poisons I can use goes up, so that can only mean our fighting strength goes up too. It seems like these poisonous herbs are considerably valuable as well. More than anything, though, is that these plants are difficult for normal people to bring back home.

Yet… if I weren’t a Poison-Wielder, I couldn’t have gone this deep into the dungeon. I totally understand why Arleaf only stays on the first floor. Well, I wouldn’t really want to see her having to fight all these monsters either. But… with a knife in one hand and a smile on her face, I’m sure she’d be gorgeous sneaking around and assassinating monsters too. It’d be like a horror flick though.

‘So, do you wish to see her doing so or not? Have you decided yet?’

I ignore Veno’s quip. Those are tropes that usually come up in stories. The ol’ damsel in distress versus action heroine. It’s not so much which is right and which is wrong though.

“Muu. Muu muu.”

Hmm? Muu is telling us about something. It’s going up and down, kinda like it’s riding on something. Please stop that. That’s indecent.

‘Are you not the one in the wrong here? You are the one imagining this as anything lewd.’

Quit picking on me! Anyway, what’s it trying to say? It’s flexing its biceps now.

‘Aye… it is able to advance classes now.’ “Mu!” “Oh, really?”

I check his status.

Muu Mutated Myconid Fungus Level 10 Acquired skills: Spore Scatter, Self-Regeneration, Stamina Recovery Rate Increase (Weak), Subordinate of Poison-Wielder, Class change available

Subordinate of Poison-Wielder? What’s that? I don’t really get what kind of effect it has. Is there some sort of buff by being my subordinate? Ideally, it’d give Muu some sort of resistance to poison.

‘If it were so, it would indeed be ideal. I have heard that when people gain Subordinate of Dragon, the effects they may gain are fire resistance and toughness.’

Poison resistance isn’t that far-fetched then. But having that said… in Muu’s case, it’s originally a myconid. It would be likely for it to have racial bonus to poison resistance. On the other hand, I can imagine it being weak to fire and stuff.

‘Due to its race… aye. You can alleviate some of your worries if you were to raise its fire resistance with accessories.’

That’s our best guess on what Subordinate of Poison-Wielder does. In any case, Muu is ready for a job change. We’re at a good place to wrap things up, so we should just head home. Not like we want to stay here overnight anyway. Plus, it’s not like we’re here to grind levels for either of us. It was just good timing for us both.

‘Indeed, it is so.’ “Alright, shall we get Muu its job change and go home?” “Mu!”

We go back the way we came from and end up on the relatively safer first floor. We fought some monsters along the way, but none of them would be what we’d call difficult opponents. And so, we end up back at the run-down altar to perform the job change. It’s the same as how I did it a while ago.

‘Good… now then, Muu. Pray in front of the altar. Wish to be stronger, pray for it, and have a clear picture and determination of how you shall use that power.’ “Mu-Muu.”

Muu is visibly nervous. Still, it goes in front of the altar, clasps its hands together, closes its eyes, and then touches the symbol. Just as how it was for me, a soft light envelops our surroundings.

‘Muu, you have chosen to be his subordinate by your own will. It means that you must gain his permission before you proceed with your class advancement.’ “Muu? Muu muu.”

Is it under my care then? I tilt my head over at Muu.

Muu has fulfilled all prerequisites for a class change.

Please select from the following options:

Fungus→ Warrior Ranger Mage Priest

Hey, whoa. There’s so many for it to choose from. I envy how they’re all standard RPG jobs. And it looks like he can sidegrade too, but he hasn’t fulfilled the right conditions to do so yet.

‘I have heard that it takes time and experience in other classes to cross profession branches. Take for example apothecaries. It requires set amount of time in gathering. The simplest methods include belonging to a guild and having someone with an advanced class to witness your profession change.’

Huh… so you’re saying it may be possible for Muu to spec into Poison-Wielder due to me being its senior?

‘That is correct. However, I wonder if it is possible for someone with such an odd job as you have. In your case, you may very well have a specialist class.’

Well, I don’t know how stuff like that in this world works. But I’ve gotta say, Poison-Wielder does sound like quite the specialist class. It’s what they call a debuffer, I think.

“Mu? Mu mu.” “Ahh, alright, alright.”

Muu calls to us deep in talk, hurrying us. Maybe it doesn’t like so much chatter before its big moment. If it were me, I’d like to get on with it and change my job.

previously: /ch001/ /ch002/ /ch003/ /ch004/ /ch005/ /ch006/ /ch007/ /ch008/ /ch009/ /ch010/ /ch011/ /ch012/ /ch013/ /ch014/ /ch015/ /ch016/ /ch017/ /ch018/ /next/ (full list of translated chapters) (discussion thread) (please support me on Patreon or Paypal)

#Poison-Wielding Fugitive #PWF #Average Translations #AvgTL #osm #毒使いの逃亡者 #一般の英訳

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thetakenpokemon · 7 years

Text

First Memory of Asmund

Surprised...oh reader mine?

Did you not expect to see this so soon?

I promised you a gift after all.

...

Asmund...

His words are true, oh reader mine. There is more to his words when he commands you to not call him a...’Pokemon’.

There is a reason...for he truly is no Pokemon.

You may have already come to the conclusion already, for the pieces are all there.

Or perhaps...you didn’t, but it matters little to me.

Before I show you the changing event, I shall reveal this to you. You may likely not be surprised of what this information is, or perhaps you will be...

Asmund...he is no Pokemon.

No...

He is a construct, a golem, not even like the ones you refer to as ‘Golurks’.

Yet...not completely a construct, for his body is powered by his soul..

His soul...is not that of a Pokemon...

...

...It is that of a Human.

Now watch...oh reader mine...

Through the veil I’ve retrieved his memories to my clutches.

So watch...witness...learn...

[À͟ ̸̕͞͠M̛̀͡E̸͝Ḿ̵̸͠O͏̸̶̕͞R̸̸͘̕Y̴̶̕ ̡̢T̵̨̢̕Ḩ̶̷R̢͡O̧͜͝Ú̧͜G̶̴̢̛͢H̛͟͟͡ ̢͢T̴̨͞H̸̶E̸̡̡͜ ̸̸́͢͏V͏̢̀E̴͝͞Ì̶̡̧̡Ļ̶́͟͞]

[Location: ?̸̡͜?̸͘͢?͠҉?͡?̸͠͠?҉҉̛̀?̴̶̡́?̸̨̨͟?̵́͡] [PoV: Asmund]

I pull my coat tighter around me as the cold winter wind blows against my face like icy needles.

I greatly dislike being out during this time of year, but I’ve got little choice...since I need to get to the next town.

With great unease I carefully eye my surroundings as I continue down the trail, my hand resting firmly on the grip of my revolver that’s sitting snugly in its holster.

That gun...I trust it with my life, since it has saved me numerous times when times got very tough for me. And right now? I feel that I need it more than ever.

In order to get to the next town, I’m forced to take a trail that crosses over the border that separates our land with that of the Pokemon’s.

We both...tend to keep to ourselves, not interfering with each other’s affairs. The main reason is because that both Humans and Pokemon here don’t really trust each other, so we have an unspoken rule to not get into each other’s business.

Although we have plenty of Ferals in our side, we don’t have any of the thinking kind. But in the end that tends to suit us just fine, since otherwise there’d be...’complications’.

Due to this unspoken rule, many times both sides tend to react rather negatively when we find each other past the border. In my case? If a Non-Feral Pokemon spots me down in their land, they’d either tell me to fuck off...or just try to kill me on sight.

Not that I blame them being rather ticked off, since I am in fact intruding right now. However I would much prefer that they wouldn’t try to kill me anyways.

But what choice do I have? In order to get to the next town, I’m forced to take the path that crosses the border. Since the other option is to trudge through a large swamp, but since it’s filled with plenty of dangerous Ferals and it’s currently the dead middle of winter...going through there is a death wish.

So I’m forced to take the lesser of the two evils, which is cross through the border.

Which still is rather dangerous due to the unpredictability of who I might run into, thus why my gun makes me feel a bit safer.

...

Now just to clarify things, I myself don’t have too much issues with Pokemon of the Non-Feral variety. If I find one who accidentally crossed the border, I just just ask them why they’re this far in and then point them towards the right direction in a non-hostile manner. There’s no reason why one should act aggressive towards Pokemon, since they can actually kill you with a vast assortment of supernatural powers.

It’s just fucking stupid, even if you have a gun in hand.

Feeling another gust blow at me, I feel myself shiver as I try to push through the cold. Although snow has yet to fall, I can tell that it’ll be soon seeing the overcast clouds above me.

Just when I thought things were getting a little too quiet...I hear a rustling.

I quickly turn to face the noise, which is a small bush. However its lacking of leaves allows me to see that nothing is hiding behind it, so that crosses that out.

As I look around, I recall that the wind has been blowing pretty hard...so perhaps it was just the wind. I’m feeling very jumpy after all, so I’m probably just making a big deal out of something that’s not there.

With a quiet sigh I calm my nerves and continue on, not wanting to stay in one place for long.

...

Now call me paranoid, but I have every right to be.

In a place where Pokemon might not take you kindly? You gotta be ready for anything. Because I doubt they’ll react too well to my presence, since from stories I’ve heard...there are plenty of Pokemon in this land that go to the extremes when finding Humans.

“Now ain’t this a surprise?” A hissing voice suddenly speaks from behind, making my blood freeze. For the second time I turn my body to face the source of the noice, only to find...nothing.

“The hell?” I whisper, taking no risks I draw my gun. With my eyes narrowing I grit my teeth together. “Who’s there?!” I shout. “Show yourself!”

Course I doubt if they’ll actually show themselves, but...it’s always worth a try.

And much to my surprise, it did work. I see the air in front of me shimmer before a Pokemon fades into view, revealing to be a sort of...Kecleon. The big thing though that’s different about him is that he’s a little bigger, that...and he’s missing the stripe on his stomach.

“Funny to find a Human here.” He chuckles, eyeing me with his reptilian eyes. “Do you not realize that you’re not...welcome?”

I keep my gun out, but don’t aim it at the Pokemon...since I don’t want to start anything. “I’m just passing through.” I respond carefully. “I was left no choice but to cross, since I can’t go through the swamps.”

“Is that so?” He grins, his expression seeming...off.

The more I’m looking at this guy, the more uneasy I'm feeling.

“Yeah.” I respond stiffly. “Just passing through, so if you don’t mind...I’m gonna continue on and get out of your way.”

I take a step back, not even daring to turn away from him. But the Kecleon...he takes a step forward to keep the same distance. “Leave?” He says, his expression turning to a sick smirk. “Kinda funny, since I was planning to cross the border to snag us a Human. But seeing that I found you here...it makes it all the more easy for me.” His reptilian tongue flicks out. “So you won’t be leaving...”

My eyes widen at this and immediately I aim my gun at the lizard, but just before I pull the trigger I see my trusty weapon become enveloped in an unnatural light and then get yanked into the air.

“I don’t think so.” A new voice laughs, this one sounding more feminine. The air shimmers before fading, revealing a female Zoroark and a male Hypno.

The Hypno levitates the weapon over to himself, a sick smirk fixated on his lips. “Guns...” He muses, his eyes flicking between the weapon and me. “Such a...vile weapon, which is expected from your kind.” With a flash from his eyes the weapon crumbles before my eyes. “...Vile indeed...”

I feel my fists clench tightly when I see my most treasured weapon destroyed in a single moment. “Vile?” I spit, the newfound anger I’m experiencing quickly overpowering my fear. “You call those things vile? The only thing that allows us to stand a chance against you guys?”

The Zoroark snorts. “It is.” She frowns. “A weapon that kills another without giving them any chance to react, it is a very terrible thing.”

Is that fucking so? Perhaps the reason why you dislike it is because whoever that wields one of those things isn’t an easy target.

I open my mouth to retort, but the Hypno cuts me off. “Enough of this.! He grumbles, raising his pendulum. “We’re getting sidetracked.”

My eyes widen upon noticing him raising the thing, I quickly try to close them...but I see the flash before I could do so.

Immediately I feel my legs give out as my consciousness begins to fade, causing me to painfully fall to the ground.

Hearing a loud crunch and a sharp sting on my face, I can only assume that I broke my nose when I landed on my face.

Just before my mind drifts to a thoughtless haze...I hear one thing.

“Grab the Human.” The Hypno orders the others. “We got what they wanted, so lets head back to the ruins.”

#asmund #???#plot #act 2

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