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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

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Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 1- She Ran With Wolves

Bucky Barnes x powered (f)reader Series Re-write (Civil War, Infinity War/Endgame, TFATWS)

Summary: You’re a survivor, always have been and always will be. After narrowly escaping the clutches of Hydra years ago, you’ve been keeping to the shadows for as long as time allows. With Hydra suddenly exposed and your secrets in the open, you’re on the hunt for the last part of your past, but is he ready to see you again?

Warning: angst, talk of violence, some fluff mixed in (a little); way more to come

Masterlist

Side note- This is a TFATWS Series Re-write!!! Obviously lol, anyways. Readers powers are heavily inspired by a certain Marvel badass and I just thought her powers would work so well for this. Also they’re cool as fuck.

September, 15th 2013

Location: S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters, Washington D.C.

This recent project Fury had sent her on was beginning to make itself quit the annoyance for Natasha this past of couple weeks, granted he always gave her the toughest assignments, understanding that no one else can dig up as much dirt as the Black Widow can.

But this? This was different, the target in question was practically a ghost, a legend among the ones lucky, or possibly unlucky enough to have been made aware of this dangerous individual. But no matter how much she asked around from her various secretive resources on the problem in question, this mystery person was simply just rumor to them. Or perhaps too much of a sour subject to seek into any further. Although one thing was always prevalent, people were scared.

But why?

The assassin leans back in her chair, a thoughtful expression crossing over her features as she stares bitterly down at the top secret file gifted to her by Fury himself. Suddenly a door closes, she shuts the file in an instant, only to be greeted with the apologetic face of Steve as he walks past her.

“Sorry. Fury told me you would be in here.” Begins Steve as he takes the nearby couch, something small and metal in his right hand, “Said you were assigned some impossible case. How’s it going so far?”

Letting out a jaded sigh, she shifts her gaze over to the window, “The absolute vagueness of this person is....frustrating to say the least. All I’ve been able to gather is that they’ve been part of some top secret experimentation on pregnant women. Somehow they’re involved with it....I just, gotta figure out how.” She adds with a conflicted expression dancing across her features.

Steve hums in thought, “Sounds complicated.”

“You have no idea.” Mutters Natasha unenthusiastically as her green irises shift back down to the annoying little file.

Steve palms the object in his hand before gaining his friends attention once again, “Here. Fury told me to give this to you.” Her brows furrow in thought as she reaches over and quickly accepts the strange hard drive looking object, “I think this will help. It has the location of the target and who they are. That’s it.....Well, the last reported location.”

“How did he?” She wonders aloud, face suddenly breaking out into an irked grin, “Fury you son of a bitch, about time I found a legitimate lead.”

——

Sitting on her comfortable apartment couch, Natasha sifts through the various encrypted files from the hard drive that’s currently plugged into her laptop. So far she’s spent about two hours breaking through the various encrypted file blockers and now at long last has finally made some real progress.

Studying the brightly glowing screen, she moves her finger, clicking another coded link that reads -V13X11- she’s immediately greeted with a black screen and the slightly blurred picture of a woman’s face who’s looking rather stoic and fearless against the camera flash. Her eyes are set and hard as stone, dark and almost angry behind lips that show the ghost of a forced smile. She’s noticeably an overall attractive woman, in kind of a terrifying and intimidating sort of way, like looking at a fierce lioness standing valiantly against a foe; nonetheless she stares defiantly at the person behind the camera.

Her eye color, weight, date of birth, and presumably patient number, that's printed in big bold letters 00X13 on the glowing screen, right below her squared portrait. Furrowing her brows, Natasha scrolls down to see about a paragraph long of personal information given about the woman. Including, to the red heads tremendous surprise, a birth name, Y/N Valerious.

Oddly enough, the name indeed sounds a tad bit familiar, though she can’t quit place from where.

The file states that she was raised in a facility on the outskirts of Surinda, Russia; someplace in Siberia, close to the heart of the mammoth country. Trained by the organization Hydra and summitted into inhuman experimentation by the specific facility that held her, however the rest is all encrypted and impossible to translate into something comprehensible much to Natasha’s utter disappointment.

Huffing in frustration, she slips out the hard drive before shutting down her laptop and slamming it shut. The room is darker by now with the sun gone, and tomorrow it appears that Natasha will be off to Sweden to confront this woman, Y/N, in hopes of gathering valuable intel into the people who created her, and any important information regarding her troubled past.

If she’s willing to comply.

——

Closing your laptop, you stand and wander over to the opened window to stretch before taking a deep breath of freshly brisk winter air. The land here in Uppsala, Sweden is more beautiful and peaceful then you could have ever imagined since renting an apartment two months ago. In fact, this is probably the longest you’ve ever stayed in one spot since abandoning the life of an assassin many years ago.

Though you know it won’t be much longer until you leave again, but you can’t just yet, there happens to be a certain agent on her way to find you. Fury unknowingly received your encrypted hard drive with opened arms, foolishly under the impression it was sent from an old friend when he reached out for answers into your complicated history. Then when the Black Widow eventually clicked open your link, bam, you could see everything she was nosily sifting through. Everything you wanted her to see. You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if something dramatic happened to the people over in D.C. at this point, idiots, all of them.

For the past couple years S.H.I.E.L.D has become sort of a troubling snooping nuisance for you, constantly delving their way into your relatively uneventful lifestyle every couple of months, meddling around to figure out if you’re still currently active for Hydra and if not, are you willing to pay for your crimes or to join them like she did. Definitely not on your to do list any time soon.

Watching as a small black bird zips by, you quickly shut your window and close the dark colored curtains to block yourself from the rest of the chaotic world. Hastily making your usual rounds about the apartment to be absolutely certain all the possible openings are locked. Soon after you head for bed, ready to face the ex-assassin whenever she arrives in the following days ahead.

Seated at your kitchen table, you casually sip at your steaming hot tea while watching security footage from downstairs from when you hacked into their system, the same night you began renting the place. As expected, the notorious red head slips her way into the building and up the four flights of stairs until finally a light knock is heard at your old wooden door.

So she wants to do this cleanly.

Switching off the device, you stuff it in a nearby drawer before calmly walking down the tiny hallway over to the frontdoor and opening it, lock off and all. Her green eyes blink in curious surprise as you show her no indications of aggression; she’s about your height if not maybe slightly smaller, thick scarf and a winters coat about her person as she holds a normal sized black bag in her right hand. No doubt a gun concealed somewhere close, a light precaution in case things go south from here.

Trailing your wary gaze from her travel bag to her pale face, you raise an intrigued brow, “I assume you’re here for me?” You ask with the tinge of a confident Eastern European accent as she slowly nods, eyes calculated and calm as she studies your mellow yet slightly defensive stance.

Pursing plush lips together, she casually shrugs with a light hearted smile, “I only realized you must have sent that hard drive when I arrived in London...”

“Well I’ve gotten rather bored running away from your persistent bastards over in America.” You interrupt before opening up your door even wider, gifting her an open invitation instead of a fight, “Come in. I assume we have much to discuss.”

Following you to the table, she sets her bag on the closest chair as you take another sip from your tea. Cautious eyes trained on her every move as she shifts a bit uncomfortably in her chair, “So, I assume you’re not here to sell me that pretty bag of yours. Not that I’d want it.”

She smirks at your blunt sarcasm, pleased to know you’ve at least got a sense of humor after all you’ve endured, “No. I’m here to learn about who created you and if there are any more. Y/N, I’m well aware of how dangerous you truly are...but given the fact that you’ve had time to adjust, and let me into your home willingly. I came seeking answers. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Folding your hands together, you tilt your head at her thoughtfully, “Well that’s good. I didn’t really want killing the Black Widow on my conscience, though I’d speculate a few would be relieved.” You quip with a playful smirk before your face turns serious again, “I’ll tell you about the fuckers who made me. Then you leave and never bother me again. Understood?” You add in almost a growl.

Handing you a polite smile, she nods in agreement, “Of course. You have my word.” You take another sip of your tea as she reaches into her bag, a beige file suddenly plants itself atop your kitchen table. “This is the only surviving file on you. It’s enough, but there’s too many cracks that need to be filled. I need to know how they conducted the experiments and who else survived them. This is important for the safety of S.H.I.E.L.D and the rest of the world. Y/N, we’re trying to make sure something like this can never happen again. And well, any secrets on Hydra always helps.”

Setting your cup down, you smirk, “This should be filled with liquor if I’m going to be spilling some top secret Hydra business of this velocity.” You muse, setting aside your mug, your face quickly shifts to a more serious expression. “For starters this isn’t a very heartwarming story.”

“Neither is mine.” Begrudgingly admits the ex-assassin.

“Well, at least we have something in common then, Black Widow.” You assert with a pointed look before leaning back against the barred wood of your chair, thinking of where to start first. Your eyes trail over to the window as you begin your story, “This place, where they kept us. The scientists working for Hydra wanted to test out special DNA altering serums on the embryos of willing participants. Well, we weren’t willing....but they targeted the poor, feigning a program that would pay these mothers-to-be thousands if they participated. Plus a comfortable place to stay for awhile.” You reveal before taking another sip of your tea, “You see, I’m not originally from Russia, my home was some nameless village in Eastern Europe that I’ve forgotten the name of by now, it was so long ago. But anyways, I guess fate has a funny way of administering it’s business to the ones seeking safety in times of struggle. So my mother...” You take another sip of your tea to help clear your throat and head a little bit, God you hate talking about this.

Setting it down again, you continue, “Mine accepted. They took her and twenty-two others to this facility deep in the woods. This place was practically a paradise for them...” You chuckle miserably, “soon enough the scientists pumped them full of drugs and began their altering of the embryos DNA, genetic codes, and whatever else they saw fit to mess with. Nine months later we came into this world kicking and screaming.”

“Shit.” Mutters Natasha in astonishment, fully engrossed in your story as she starts to realize maybe her upbringing wasn’t as fucked as yours.

“They monitored us for the first few months, waiting to see if anyone acted strange....nothing, to their utter disappointment. Soon they drew blood samples and as it turned out, we all had altered DNA from the serum. Just as they’d planned.”

Her brows furrow in puzzlement before she asks, “How’d you get your powers then? I don’t think I missed anything.” Insists your guest questionably as you shake your head.

“You didn’t. But you have to understand that as we grew older, all of us basically became tiny super soldiers as fucked as that is, not only did they change our genetic code for meddling with later on when we got older. But this serum was so well developed that it completely fused with the fetuses genetic code, only causing us to grow stronger as we aged from toddlers to three-year-old's and up. Testing even revealed that it slowed down our ageing process just like with Captain America. But it wouldn’t be effective till we reached our mid to late twenties.”

Natasha takes a moment to process your words before she nods in acknowledgment, “Y/N. It’s my understanding that this is a buried secret from the organization for good reason, it’s just....what year did this all take place? It’s not in any of the records I was able to dig up, not even in yours, nothing except for your date of birth.” States Natasha curiously, stopping you before you speak of anything else.

Nodding you lean your arms against the wooden table, leaning in a bit closer now, “1953, after World War ll when people where still recovering from the heavy aftermath while the Cold War was still raging on when well, you know.” Giving her a lopsided shrug, you glance from an old faded picture on the wall then back to her, “Lets just say Russia wasn’t exactly having a stellar time, nor was my mother for that matter.” You Conclude before aimlessly pursuing your lips together, “Which yes, makes me at around 60 years old. Don’t I look pretty.” You add, voice dripping in sarcasm.

Natasha’s eyes concede silent astonishment as she blinks back surprise, “Even after all these years doing what I do, meeting the people that I have. I’m still left speechless every once in awhile. Y/N I can’t even imagine what you’ve seen.” Reveals the red head honestly as her green irises flicker from your file then back up to you, a conflicted expression dancing across her features, “How did they...how did you gain your powers, aside from what the serum gave you in the process?”

An apprehensive sigh escapes freely from your lips while you lean back into the creaky old chair, a troubled look darkening your features as you avoid her intrigued gaze, “They waited until we were twelve before testing us....in the meantime we lived as normal children; learning, playing, and training to survive. You know, the typical stuff.” You add with a small breathy laugh, though no humor finds your eyes, “We had our mothers until a year before they began the experiments. But it wasn’t that terrible of a loss since they trained us to adapt to our environment and never fully depend on anyone but ourselves.....it’s sick. And I’m not even sure what they did to them, I guess I never will.”

She nods as you make a disgusted face, an acidic hatred rising in your chest at the thought of your childhood, “I’m sorry, I can’t even imagine how traumatic that must have been.”

“Oh believe me, it gets better.” You joke bitterly, “In pairs of two they tested us, putting us into rooms where two doctors would strap us down and stick a needle into our skin. After that, they waited until something dramatic happened. Oh, and it sure as fuck did.” You conclude with a sneer.

Biting her lip anxiously, Natasha asks anyway, “How many survivors?”

Scoffing, you shake your head in revulsion for what those doctors did to everyone, an angry expression soon crossing your features, “One.” You sourly mutter, “All my other friends died of the new serum they gave us, either right then and there on the table, or in the following days. You see, it was supposed to blend with our altered DNA to create something powerful out of it, something beyond humans normal capabilities. It just ended up horribly mutating everyone except for me.” You whisper, clear sadness and hatred coating your very words.

Your eyes stare sharply at the peeling table top paint, a frown on your lips as you take in a deep breath before continuing, “What they did to me....no one should have to go through something so goddamn agonizing, I was only a child, just a little girl in a terrible place whether I knew it or not....and you know how it affected me?” She slowly shakes her head no as you smile miserably, your brows furrowed in pain, “I was gifted with bone claws that retracted out of my knuckles and one from each of my feet.” You confirm, eyes suddenly darkening in fury, “And you know what those goddamn bastards did to me afterwards? Like I hadn’t suffered enough from the pain of it all, they pumped me full of liquid Adamantium. Turning my claws to solid metal, the fucking strongest material on earth. Right in the body of an eleven year old child!” You shout furiously as she flinches back at your outburst, blinking hard, you let out a heavy breath before leaning back into your chair in defeat.

Calm down, Y/N. It’s just a memory now.

Strong brows dent her clear skin in thought as you await a response, after a few long moments does she soon gather her racing mind, lacing her fingers together she raises a brow at you, “That doesn’t explain how you’ve survived so long. The years working for Hydra, they turned you into a weapon....yet you’ve escaped and haven’t been killed yet. Not even a scratch to be found.....well, at least that I can see.”

Turning to face the puzzled assassin, you give her a lopsided grin, your chill composure coming back to you quickly enough, “I didn’t just get claws from the enhanced serum that fucked with my genetic make-up, it completely heightened my humanly abilities. Suddenly I was stronger, faster, and all my senses felt like they were on overload. Best of it all, I came to realize I had accelerated healing capabilities. Who would have thought that their shitty inhuman experiments would have gone so horrendously, yet with the one miracle of an exception. Me.”

“I had figured that branch of Hydra was meddling on dangerous ground, I hadn’t realized the extent of what they were doing. Did they try making any more like you?” She wonders.

“I was the last. Since I was the only compatible vessel, they didn’t want to waste anymore time or money on others who could possibly fail.” You explain with a shrug, “I became one of their most treasured assets.”

Pursing her lips together, she gives a slight nod before revealing a different file from her bag, you watch as she pauses for a moment before opening it up, you quickly take notice of the many white papers pinned together. Some with encrypted symbols and words while others are in plain English. Your brows furrow as she flips the first page to reveal...

“I know I came asking for answers about classified information, but this won’t be a complete mission if I don’t ask you about your time with Hydra.” Proposes the red head cautiously while she studies your face for any hostile reactions, not getting anything but skepticism, she continues, “I understand you were very important to them. It’s recorded you’ve completed about three dozen kills over an active period of about thirty-seven years.”

You scoff before muttering, “So it would seem. They gave me my first mission in 1971...when I was 17.”

“Right, but that’s not exactly what I’m seeking.” Her eyes immediately trail down to the files, “I assume you must have seen this man at least once...” She flips another page over and pulls out a playing card sized photograph, she turns it around and slides it closer to you. Instantly you recognize who he is, but how did she?..

“I haven’t seen him in years, nor heard of him for that matter.” You mutter, though your tone shifts to a more aggravated one.

Noticing this difference, Natasha continues, “That’s the look of someone who has met him for less then friendly reasons. What happened to the Winter Soldier?” You take a long moment to study his stoic face of icy blue and white, and black; its when he was in the Cryostacis chamber, the place where they would freeze him to keep their Winter Soldier locked away until he was needed for a new mission. All that you can fully witness is his sleeping face, though you know exactly what he looks like up close and with no ice crystals in his dark hair.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you slide the photograph back over to her folder, “I met him when I was 25 in 1979, Hydra needed us for a duel mission somewhere in South Africa, they needed their best. We were tasked with locating and stealing some precious metal which we later learned was Vibranium, because apparently they had used the last of the Adamantium on me.” You reveal with a casual shrug, “It went relatively well as expected...and well, we worked with each other many times after that, until I escaped and he was sent to kill me in 2009.”

“You knew him for almost twenty-nine years. Do you know where he might be now?”

Scoffing, you almost laugh, “Even if I did, you’d never get him. But if I’d have to assume, he’s probably frozen in some cryo tank somewhere in the middle of Russia. Waiting to be let loose again so he can take out a new enemy of the state.”

“Right.” Nods the Black Widow as she closes up her files, her green irises quickly on you again, “Thank you for your time, and for the heavy material you spoke of.”

“It was a long time ago, someone else should remember what those fuckers did to innocent mothers and their children. No one in this entire world knows except for me, you, and the doctors I haven’t killed yet.” You growl with venom lacing your every word.

Soon you watch as she swiftly rises to her feet, as you do the same, “I wish you well then.” Affirms the Black Widow as you follow her lead to the door, she stands on the other side for a moment before asking, “Is there any way I could find you again?”

Leaning against the door frame, you break out into a knowing smirk as she stands waiting expectantly, “If you’re lucky, you’ll never see me again. Goodbye agent Romanoff.” And with that do you gently close the door, leaving her in the hallway with a plethora of useful information, but still nothing significantly useful on the Winter Soldier, now only time will tell if he ever happens to show up on her radar again. Hopefully not, she thinks doubtfully before turning on her heels and sauntering off down the hallway.

——

Almost two whole years had passed since last you’ve spoken to the assassin, in that time you’ve watched her speak on live television when Hydra had finally been exposed to the world and all their secrets let loose for the prying hungry eyes of the public.

Even some of your own information had been leaked, the world knew who you were now, what atrocities you’ve committed for the organization during your time with them and that you’ve been M.I.A since 2009. Now you’re on an international watchlist. Fantastic. Apparently some very important leaders of the world and other prestige family members alike aren’t very fond of yourself for murdering their adversaries or filthy rich husbands.

But it’s not like you had a choice, Hydra would always alter your memories when they shocked you into forgetting who you even were; thus you’d complete a mission and a couple days or so later would your mind stitch itself back together again the best it could from the electrical trauma. Only the killing part would be a dark and fuzzy memory, thus revealing itself to you in bits and pieces at a time. Soon everything blurred together and you just complied or face getting electrocuted multiple times a session, until your eyes remained empty and dangerous.

Considering you’ve been on the run since that information was released, in this time, you’ve tracked down past agents and doctors alike who had wronged you, considering you now had full access to their recent history. Hence increasing your body count as you went from one country to the next, making the world a tad bit lighter with their darkness whipped from existence.

Although soon enough you became unsettled with the loads of information expunged from Hydra, your mind inevitably making a one eighty back to a certain broody super soldier from your complicated past. He must be in the world somewhere, living as a secret civilian or whatnot. He has to be. And you’ve decided to find him before someone else does.

Maybe it was curiosity, or the fact that he was like you and shared a bloody history with Hydra, but your instinctual drive to find the Winter Soldier eventually drew you the beautiful city of Bucharest, Romania. Although he didn’t make finding him effortless in the slightest, after endless days hacking into network databases looking for even a snippet of information. You found a lead.

Turns out airport security footage is very useful, even more so, footage from around the city’s grant center; and from there you were able to track him to Romania. Eventually after a couple of days in the city, you were able to catch a glimpse of him at the local market place and thus followed him to his little shitty apartment without him as so much as noticing.

Once he left again, you slipped inside and began your wait for his eventual return. But will he even want to speak with you? Does he even remember you? Your memories hadn’t been continuously whipped like his were, granted you were forced into cryo more then once and electroshocked into forgetting your memories. It eventfully stopped once they realized your mind would just heal itself into remembering again, so instead they threatened you with a tracking device deep into your skin tissue that would blow up if you tried to run.

Clearly you eventually found a way around this, as terrible of a memory it gave you.

——

Looking out the window, your ears suddenly pick up the sound of boots stealthily walking down the hallway, they’re incredibly light against the tiles outside, perhaps he somehow knows you’ve been following him. A moment later the scent of a man fills your nostrils and you know he’s inside the apartment. You could barely hear the door.

He’s silent as a mouse, nothing indicating he’s even there except for his rapidly thudding heartbeat that pounds anxiously against his strong chest; you slowly turn to face him. His hat from earlier is gone, dark blue eyes stare warily on you while soft breaths emit from his slightly parted lips. He’s not afraid, but he is nervous.

Folding your arms over your chest, you take a glance around the room, “Nice place.” You confirm casually, eyes back on the Winter Soldier in a second as the corner of your lips pull into a humored half grin, “I’m not here to complete some personal Vendetta against you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then why are you here?” His voice is more curious then cold, maybe he can be reasoned with after all.

Taking a step forward, you shrug, “Wanted to make sure you aren’t still on their side.”

He keeps silent for a moment as you watch him watch you, “I’m done with them.” Mutters Bucky, disgust dripping off his words. That’s exactly what you wanted to hear. Progress.

“Good.” You add with the tiniest of smiles before motioning towards his little kitchen table, “Mind if we sit and talk? As, well...I guess civilians now.”

Studying your face for any indication of falseness and hostility, he’s pleasantly surprised when he finds none. Bucky takes off both of his gloves and sits, metal hand shinning in the low lighting. A threat or a precaution? Maybe he just wants it off?

You follow his example, and soon the two of you sit not even three feet away from each other. Both yourself and Bucky hold an awkward silence for a long moment as the tension in the room rises, shifting your gaze from the counter behind him, you don’t really notice as he trails his eyes over your face, “I remember you.” Reveals Bucky to your great surprise, your eyes falling onto him in an instant, “They sent us on missions together, until you left and they woke me up to kill you for it.”

Smiling, you let out a humored breath of air, “Turns out you didn’t miss me after all. I gave you a nice scar for your troubles though, you still have it?”

Bucky purses his lips into the tiniest of shadowy grins, although no real joy is shown, “It’s a thin little line across my left rib cage. Just barely reached my bone.” Yeah, and I would have if you didn’t punch me in the eye socket first, you think to yourself from when the Winter Soldier had tracked you down. But that’s a long story.

“Glad it’s healed and they didn’t have you come after me a second time. I don’t think I would have let you live again.”

He thinks hard for a second as he processes your words, “You let me live? The first time?”

“Well,” You serenely admit, “I couldn’t exactly kill you...I guess, well....I don’t really know why I didn’t kill you when I had the chance. Guess I’m not as ruthless as Hydra wanted.” You mumble with a conflicted frown, the two of you keep silent before you break the odd tension, “Doesn’t matter now. I heard about what happened in D.C. just like the rest of the world. Gotta say, I was wondering what everyone over there had been getting themselves into.”

“They leaked everything.” Mumbles Bucky with a knowing flash of insight within his dark restless eyes.

“I know.” You add with a slow nod, “I’ve been traveling more cautiously for the past year and a half now. You’d think they’d let us live in peace, of course not. But I guess it means the world knows what a piece of shit organization Hydra is. So that’s something.”

“Yes.” Agrees Bucky, eyes trailing from your fingerless gloves to your face, of course he remembers what hides beneath, “What happened to you since you left?

Fumbling with your fingers as they lay against his table, you turn you head to the window, the ghost of a smile dancing across your lips, “Surviving. You?”

He shifts his gaze back down to his metal hand as you turn to face him, “About the same I’d say.”

Leaning back against your creaky wooden chair, you hand him a small yet friendly smile, “Well then. What of us now? Two ex-assassins alone in the world. With nothing but our wit and fists to keep us afloat.” You add with a low chuckle, he doesn’t crack.

Losing your smile, the two of you keep silent as ghosts for a long moment before Bucky shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “I got some tea.” Replies the admittedly handsome man now since you have a moment to really look; the briefest hint of a grin revealing itself against his lips for only but a flash of a second. But you still see it.

Fumbling with your fingers you give him a pursed lip grin, “I like tea.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier #marvel imagine #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n #series rewrite #bucky barnes #tfatws

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sybilmarlowe · 4 years

Note

Ooh!! A modern headcanon of DoffyxViola in Miami! They're married! Oh and Law stays with them while his god-father Rosci is in the Navy for long months! Have fun with this!

For this HC I’m gonna modify Law’s age a bit, since in the comics he’s just 3 years younger than Viola and it wouldn’t be fun XP so everybody has the same age as in the series except for him who’s 10 yo.

I also ended up modifying a bit your request (the story takes place in a week and not in months) because I came up with a nice idea and it worked better like this... hope you don’t mind!

- being the head of a huge company in New York (don't ask me why is it so canon he'd be a manager if he lived in our world XD) may be very stressful and, after a whole month spent working almost without a break, Doflamingo decided to finally take some time for himself... and his wife.

- He’d been married to Viola for 4 months now, but, shortly after their honeymoon, business had increased and it’d become harder and harder for him to spend time with her.

- She was a very sweet and comprehensive person, but Doffy felt guilty anyways, she deserved much more!

- That night he went back home with a huge bunch of roses for his wife and a bottle of the finest wine

- “Violet, we have to celebrate!” “What is it, Doffy? Was your business particularly good today?” “Yes, but... what I want to celebrate tonight is the beginning of a very special week. A whole week for just you and me”

- Of course, even the “celebration for the beginning” was quite fun itself, but it was nothing compared to what Doffy had planned for his wife for the following 7 days... - The morning after they were already on a plane to Miami: Doffy had a beautiful attic there, right above the sea, with a stunning view... the perfect place to spend some time with Viola.

- Some very special time just for the two of them, finally, far away from New York, from work and from any kind of bothering...

- ...or maybe not.

- They were just entered the appartment, Doffy holding Viola bridal style (he loves to be theatrical, that's a matter of fact), when his phone suddenly started ringing.

-“I have no intention to answer, it must be someone from the company who forgot about my directives...”

“I don't think so, my love, that's your personal phone. Answer it, it can be something important”

- Seeing the name on the screen almost made him swear.

- “Rocinante! What is it!? Didn't I tell you I was going to finally spend some time with my wife this week?! I really hope you...”

“You're in Miami, right?”

“Yes, but...”

“Great! My flight is making a stopover there in 15 minutes, I have to move abroad for 6 days for a meeting with the Navy Admirals and I couldn't find anyone to look after Law!”

“You're not listening, are you!? I told you I'm in Miami because...”

“Law is here with me, I've already called a taxi which'll drive him to your house. You're staying in the attic, I guess... Have you other properties there?”

“Rocinante! I told you...!”

“Thank you, bro! I owe you a favour!”

“Rocinante! You...! I can't believe, he just hang up on me!”

- Doffy had never been so angry in a while, but Viola was giggling “Come on, your brother's stepchild is a good boy, it won't be so bad to have him around!”

- Not even half an hour later, Law arrived the attic accompanied by one of the building's doormen. He had nothing else with him than a backpack and a portable console.

- “Alright, kid, your room is on the second floor”

“Can I play on the couch over there?”

“Of course you ca...”

“You can, dear!” Viola talked over her husband “You're with family here, do as if you were home!”

- That was just the beginning of the end. Law was indeed a good kid but he was... a kid! He spent hours playing videogames in the living room (which, of course, was the best room of the attic) and running around pretending to be his favourite hero, Sora. He also read comics while walking sometimes and once he almost broke an expensive flamingo sculpture!

- Ok, Viola actually hoped for the sculpture to be broken, but Doflamingo was faster in catching it...

- No dinners for two, of course, Law felt lonley eating alone in his room as “uncle Doffy” suggested (and Viola would have never allowed it)

- As any 10-years-old child, Law woke up early every morning and asked to go to the beach, but eventually he always stayed under the beach umbrella reading his comics and lamenting it was too hot.

- At night... well, he played his videogames or watched tv without minding his step-uncles' room was just next to his. And at the same time Viola and Doffy weren't actually allowed to do whatever they wanted for the same reason.......

- But the bottom was touched one evening when Doffy finally managed to be alone with his wife at the poolside on the terrace. Law hadn't been around for the whole afternoon, so he thought he had decided to stay away in his room for once.

- It goes without saying, he was wrong.

- All of a sudden, Law run into the terrace and... he slipped.

- He fell violently in Doffy's lap, causing his chair to broke and his drink to... fall all over a very perplexed Viola.

- “Look what you've done!”

“I didn't do it on purpose, it was an accident!”

“Go to your room! Now!”

“Ehi! You can't say me wat to do, old man!”

- That was enough.

- Doffy now looked totally calm and incredibly scary “If you don't get out of my sight immediately, I'll make both you and that idiot brother of mine regret having brought you here”

- Law widened his eyes in terror, he hesitated a couple of seconds and then run away. He was crying.

- “I... I'm sorry, Viola, are you alright? If only that kid hadn't... ”

“Doffy, don't you think you just overdid a bit with him?”

“What!? Did you hear him? I can't stand that arrogant spoiled child anymore!”

“Spoiled and arrogant child? He reminds me so much of someone else... He just wants to catch your attention! After all he lost his parents not so long ago... he needs a family”

“I really don't know how a woman like you could have chosen a man like me, really... you're even too gentle!”

“But I'm right. Now go talk to him, he looks up at you if you haven't noticed! Be a good uncle for once!”

- He followed Viola's advice, he reached Law in his room and talked to him as a real uncle should. It was strange at the beginning, but somehow it worked.

-“I didn't mean to bother you and aunt Viola... I promise I'll lower my videogame's volume and be careful not to bump into your sculptures anymore... even if they're horrible.”

- For the first time, Doffy simply laughed.

- The following three days were good. Yes, that week hadn't surely been as Doffy had planned, he barely managed to stay alone with his wife... but being uncles was not so bad!

- “Let me just ask you a ting, kid... why do you always ask us to bring you to the beach if you don't even approach water? Couldn't be you can't swim!”

“Honestly, uncle... I don't...”

“Well... neither do I!”

- Rocinante reached them on the 6th day to bring Law back home with him. When he asked if he had acted well, both Viola and Doffy answered he was a very good child. Viola also added he had to be proud of such a good son and Rocinante struggled not to cry.

- They stayed for dinner and left that very evening.

- “Remember, brother, I owe you a favour!”

“Oh, you can bet I will!”

- And, in the end, husband and wife were finally, truly alone.

- “We still have this night and a whole day for us, Doffy, aren't you happy?”

“I'd have prefered this all to be very different, but...”

“You seemed to have fun with Law in the end, uh?”

“I can't say the contrary... he's a smart kid, after all. But I really hope it'll be a while before we'll have to look after children again!”

“Mmh... eight months is enough?”

“Eight months... WHAT?!”

“You get it well, love. I'm pregnant!”

(Sorry for the long wait, dear, I had a to work a lot lately xAx but I managed to write this in the end! Hope you like it!)

#One Piece headcanons #doflamingo x viola #viola one piece #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #law #trafalgar law #donquixote rocinante #corazon

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thr-333 · 4 years

Note

Could you possibly do one where Mari/Mari and marine is/are the daughter/son of the joker?

I actually planned quite a lot for this after you asked but could never get my thoughts to make something comprehensive so I give up here's what I got!:

-Twins are Joker and Harleys kids born before the two split up(and so help me they will split up this story needs gay aunt Ivy)

-As you might know, these two clowns have another kid; Lucy. Harley left Lucy with her sister when she was born. In canon, she thinks Harley is her aunt but I would say in this fic she learned the truth when the twins were also dropped off.

-So the twins grew up in Gotham with their aunt and big sister knowing full well who their parents are; as such they make the responsible choice to suppress every part of themselves that resembles them and constantly dye their hair in an effort to avoid looking like them. You know healthy coping mechanisms. -

-Naturally, Marinette has brown hair with blue eyes and Marion blonde with brown eyes.

-Their personalities are a bit different from Mismatch.

-Marion is still a trickster and a trouble maker but this time around has Marinette fully involved and responsible for his shenanigans. He has a bit of a habit of talking to himself(or singing random phrases), sometimes in the third person; he hates when he does, so Marinette always tells him off. He’s always gets the impulse of dying his hair outlandish colors and will vehemently deny his favorite color is green.

- Marinette is crafty, both figuratively and literally. She’s smart, her mother is a doctor after all she can be manipulative to people that arent her(close) family to protect the ones she cares about. She has a deep-seated fear of becoming a trophy, an object to be put on display like her mother and so dresses the opposite and pushes away her love for fashion.

-They will always call each other Mari but if someone else tries they both answer its a nickname they strictly use for each other.

-In a world where Gotham exists it makes absolutely no sense that Gabriel wouldn't start his reign as Hawkmoth in Gotham(the place with the most negative emotions like geez) so that works out perfectly for the twins becoming heroes(Adrien can move to Gotham or be left in Paris to be kept safe your choice)

-Instead of the twins proving themselves by helping an old man up off the street they go a step further is beating up the thugs that try to rob him(all Fu’s set up of course). When they come home to find two mysterious boxes on their beds they make the only rational conclusion children of the joker would; it’s a bomb!

-Not wanting to get the police involved for obvious reasons they find the security footage(which gets the police involved in a different way) and start tracking down fu to see why he’s trying to kill him.

-And as you may recall at this point in canon Ladybug and Chat Noir are defeating an Akuma, well they're not here they’re off to beat up an old man so thats Batman’s job for the time being.

-The twins get caught up in the fight as civilians and are saved by Batman who immediately recognizes them(you don't think Batman has case files on all of Jokers hellspawn?) so that’s gonna be a problem later but never mind that for now~

-The twins track down Fu, who is wondering why they aren’t out fighting the Akuma. Long story short Fu comes back to the house with them and proves they aren't bombs giving them the miraculous.

-I’m a bit indecisive on the names. I thought Marinette would be Red Bug and Marion Black Cat(yes I know that names already taken I don’t care). But I thought Crimson Bug would work better because then their names would start with the same letters. Then I wanted alliteration like Black Bug and Crimson Cat but that obviously doesn't make any sense since Chats color is green not red-- then I realized it would be completely in character for them to call themselves that confusing everyone in the process so no one quite sure whos name is who(if you wanna write it go with whatever I just thought it could be funny)

-As for costumes Marinette's probably wouldn't be skin tight because deep down she really doesn't want to look like that but more practical armor or less form-fitting at least. Marion's hair turns green when he transforms something he freaks out about and Marinette's turns red(glowing or not either would look cool)

-So anyway they go off to defeat the akuma blah blah blah Batman seeing these two young untrained superheroes can only think of one thing: I have to adopt them. So that’s gonna be fun!

-Anyway they go back home trying to be sneaky and immediately get caught by Lucy: ”Don’t tell Aunty!”-- ”Oh I already know” (her names Delia by the way)

- So now the twins get a support system and a family that will look out for them unbelievable right? This support system immediately threatens Fu making sure he actually trains them and doesn't just set them loose on Gotham.

Anyway that's the end of my semi-cohesive plan and here's a vague outline for the fic:

1. Becoming ladybug and chat noir setting up adoption, and school(Bruce invites them to Gotham academy to keep an eye on the jokers children)

2. First day at school setting up Artemis(and by extension young justice), and own passions, Adrien is also at this school now so Marinette falls, Jason finds out falling in love with Marion

3. Becoming friends with Artemis, convinces them to give their passions a try, Marion runs from hood, some let me adopt you stuff also Jason's spite for Cat Noir

4. Skip a bit of time a few months or so, young justice need help Artemis suggest mari and mari, Marinette has a smackdown with batman about their heritage, at odds with young justice Artemis comes to their defense. Young Justice have an ‘oh’ realization on the job when Marion sings a lullaby to a scared child, now the young justice form the mari and mari protection squad

5. Doing ladybug and cat stuff batman approaches them again this time luring them into adoption with a partnership on finding hawkmoth, Red Hood and cat fight. Marion comes back all huffy and there's a scene with Lucy this time comforting them, Marion goes out to get air runs into hood marion bristles stirring Jason to meet him as a civilian, class come to visit, at odds with lila

6. Doing well at school even made a few friends when the Paris class come to visit completely under lila’s control, lila tries to slander the twins for not worshiping her only to out herself when she tells everyone they laughed at her(the twins never laugh), Jason also drops by further discrediting her, lila tries to throw their heritage in their face but they get support openly working with heroes as civilians, this little section ends quite happily with them being sort of accepted at school and batman tolerating their existence for not attacking the person who tried to make their life miserable

7. Time skip few years out of high school now, ladybug and cat are working well with gothams vigilantes widely considered part of the batfam even if no one knows each other's identities. As mari and mari they are doing good work mainly outside of gotham. Marinette is starting a fashion boutique with a little financial help from Wayne enterprises she also does costume design for heroes and villains, villains mainly because she can't stand their current outfits. Marion quite likes his music but isn't sure how he will feel in the public eye is great friends with Jason and the skip picks up with them officially starting to go out identities unknown. They are still hesitant about their identities in civilian life Marinette starting her business under a false name and Marion cant start his because of his heritage. Jason officially has to admit they are going out to the family is met with grilling by aunt and sister, joy by harley once she tries giving them sex advice they leave, his brothers tease and both are tense about Bruces reaction but he begrudgingly accepts. Are out as ladybug and Cat still snippy with hood but it’s not as bad they are closing in on hawkmoth. Go to hang out with young justice as well they aren't well-liked in Gotham but they’re fine with that(not really)

8. NOW things can go to shit joker finally has enough of them deciding to get a hold of them but I think it should be as ladybug and chat revealing their identities to the world. The twins are terrified rightfully so. Get saved now it’s weird between hood and marion, marion feeling betrayed Jason knew who he was and knew who his father was but still decided to date him and he just can't understand why. Adrien was so scared for Marinette and now they both have to work out why. Gotham is at odds the heroes they admire are born from a villain they fear. Bats are a bit weird feeling like they were tricked while also kind of acknowledging the twins are good people

9. Harassed in their everyday life now the twins go to young justice where they get met with awe for being established independent heros, bats there are acting weird but the twins say something to shift perspective leaving to let them mull on it. Jason tries to apologise saying he doesn't see Marion like that blah blah Marion has a breakdown asking how he can be anything but a villain. Marinette's having whiplash going from loved to hated and still dealing with the trauma of seeing her father. They snap. In public a big ol scene and they get akumatised everyone sees it, it’s on tv. Hawkmoth comes out to get their miraculous the batfam can’t beat him. He’s monolouging probing at their deepest fears when they snap back to reality realizing none of it’s true every part of them has worked to be good people and they are they don't hand over their miraculous beating the akumatizaton and beating hawkmoth while akumatised.

10. They are released from the hospital a few days later, getting hesitant recognition on the streets. It's not thunderous applause but it is something. Their family comes to pick them up, Adrien is crying to Marinette about not scaring him like that(her family took him in when Gabriel was revealed). Marion gets picked up by Jason they patch things over. They get accepted into the batfam and work as ladybug and cat for everything. Marion decides to start playing music and Marinette reveals her face to her fashion brand.

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ilovebeing-weird · 4 years

Text

K-pop craze

Batfamily one-shot (fluff)

Read this on Ao3

It all started when Dick heard Blackpink for the first time. Ever since then he's been obsessed with the K-pop group. And the main problem? The main problem is that Dick dragged Damian into the fandom too!

Now you must be wondering, 'what do you mean? It's Damian, the Ice-prince, he can't like Blackpink. He is just too…...icy for it'

If it would've been some months ago, I would've totally agreed with you. But, now, things are kinda different. Different? How? Don't worry all of your questions will be answered.

It was a normal morning in the manor…… well as normal as it could be there. Damian was fighting with Tim, nothing new there, Jason was… he wasn't there. Cass was looking at the two boys with interest. Bruce had that, 'Why did I adopt so many children? Oh right, because I am dumb' look on his face and was pinching the bridge of his nose. Alfred, who was so done, was trying to stop them from fighting. And Dick, Oh right, where was he?

That's when he came down the stairs chirpy and happy as always, with, wait is that earphones? When did he start using those? Well, living in the manor, you gotta use something to cut the noise.

He came down saying something that Bruce couldn't quite make out. Wait, why was he saying about killing Love? Did he have another Break-up Bruce didn't know about?

"Good morning Dick" that caught his attention

"Oh, good morning Bruce!" He replied happily and chirpy, nothing seemed wrong. Why was he killing Love then?

"So, how has your life been chum?" How is life? Can he be more lame than that? It's his own son goddammit! He has been living with him for years now. Even Tim and Damian stopped fighting to see how lame he was.

"Life's been pretty good."

"Anything new I don't know about? Like something major? A break-up maybe?" What the hell! Now, he would guess something is definitely wrong, and if he didn't, he would be damn disappointed in him.

Dick's brows furrowed in confusion and he looked at him weird-that's his boy-but answered anyway, "not really, Wally and I have been going pretty strong. I am even thinking of proposing to him."

He couldn't hold it longer, he just asked the question "so, why are you singing about killing this love?" There, he said it.

"Killing this Love?..... Ohhhh, I am not killing Love because I am upset or betrayed, I am just listening to Blackpink. It's a great k-pop group!"

"K-pop? What's that?"

"Bruce, you don't know what k-pop is?" This time it was Tim "I mean I get you're old and all. But k-pop, everyone knows about that!" Cass agreed with him. "Now I understand where Damian gets his sense of music!" Damian attacked him again.

Is this k-pop thing such a big deal? Why hadn't he heard about it before? How dare he call him old? Is he really getting old?

"Oh B, you really need to be aware about what's happening nowadays."

"Well, what is this k-pop."

"K-pop are korean songs, and groups like Blackpink and BTS made it famous."

"What's this BTS now?"

"Nothing, Nothing." The rest of the morning went peaceful with Tim with a stab wound made with a fork on his arm, and Damian with a bruised lower jaw and swollen eye.

"Damian~"

"What do you want Grayson?" Damian asked annoyed

"Wanna listen to some songs~"

"-TT- Is this your stupid Black group that you were talking about? No."

"First of all its Blackpink, secondly pleeease." Dick gave his best puppy eyes.

Damian groaned, no one and he means, NO ONE is immune to Dick's puppy eyes, and the worst part, Dick knows it. "Fine, but Grayson I am going to listen to just one of those atrocious songs."

"Yayy!" Dick squealed like a fangirl. "You won't regret it!"

"I will." Damian grumbled, after all his and Dick's choice in song never matched.

So Damian listened to the song. And, the worst thing, he liked it. How could he!? He's Damian Al-ghul Wayne. He doesn't like these types of songs. There must be something wrong with him. Yet, he found himself sometimes unintentionally singing the lyrics of the song.

He decided just, just to get the song out, he will listen to it again. And he did, but unfortunately the song still stayed and he couldn't get himself to forget it. Rather, he wanted to hear it again.

So, he decided that he will listen to that song, in private without telling his brothers or his father. But, he forgot that his family is full of detectives, or just decided to ignore that fact.

It was one of those rare days when Jason was visiting the manor. Dick and Tim were whispering to each other.

"Hey Dickie-bird, Replacement. Whatcha whispering about?"

"Damian" Tim answered

"What did Demon-spawn do now?"

"He is behaving weird." Dick answered looking concerned

"More than usual you mean?" Dick just gave him a look

"It's like he is trying to hide something."

"Do you think he has a girlfriend?"

"Nah, who is her right mind would date him" Tim answered making a weird face

"Fair point."

"Well, anyway, we gotta figure out what he is hiding."

"Maybe it's just his hormones." Tim and Dick looked at Jason "What, he is a teenage boy, everyone has that stage."

"Uhh, let's just hope it's not that."

"Want me to investigate?"

"We shouldn't invade his privacy."

"Dickhead, you wanna know what he is doing or not?

"Yeah, but….."

"You wanna know right, so no buts!" Dick still felt like he should not do it. "See, take it like you're saving your little bro from danger. Maybe it's Talia again. Maybe he is a clone. Maybe he is doing something illegal. So don't worry and feel sad 'kay?"

"Okay."

So Jason searched, he searched his room, bathroom, under his bed just what was left was his closet, and he didn't want to open it. What? He respects people's privacy, he knows how bad he will feel if someone invaded his privacy. Still, he opened the door of his closet and what he found was something he will never forget.

That person is a Blackpink stan! The fuck! How does he even know what it is!? Is he finally growing up!?

Whatever if Damian thought it was good he had to give it a try. Maybe he will like it. Damian rarely thought anything was nice.

He didn't tell anyone what he found. He just told them to dump their concern out of the window and that he is totally not hiding anything.

So, Jason did, he gave it a try. And honestly, he thought it was adequate…… okay, find, he loved it! But, can you blame him? Dude, they are so amazing, their voices are so bold and so are their dances! He is in love with that band. He could listen to it for hours without getting bored.

Now, Dick was concerned, Damian was still hiding something. Yeah, he was hiding something, no matter what Jason says. And Jason was also acting weird, yeah, he didn't live with them in the manor, but he checks up on him regularly. What? You can't blame him for caring! And not only him, even Tim felt something was fishy.

So, he did what any big brother would do. He interrogated him.

"Okay Damian, you're hiding something. Don't try to deny it, I know you are."

"-TT- I am not hiding anything, Grayson. Now let me go!"

"No can do little D, you haven't answered my questions yet."

"I already told you I am not hiding anything! Don't you get it!?"

"Damian I am your big brother, I would know if you are hiding something."

"If my words are not comprehensible for your small brain, let me break it down. I. Am. Not. Hiding. ANYTHING."

Dick sighed "Guess I will have to use my special trick."

"What special trick?" Damian asks a little wary but doesn't let it show because emotions are a weakness and blah blah blah.

"I am going to give you a last chance if you can find out for yourself."

"My answer will not change. No matter how many times you ask me."

"Okay well, you forced me." Dick runs towards Damian ready in a stance "1, 2, 3 and here comes the tickle train!!" Damian tried to run away but Dick was faster and caught him and started to tickle him.

"Grayson…. let….. me…. go….. at…..once." Damian said between laughs

"What are you saying Lil'd, I can't understand you~"

"Grayson…. Leave me!!"

"Whaaaat?~" Dick has the audacity to look innocent, just you wait, there will be consequences for your little stunt and they would be bad. Damian just laughed and laughed trying to grab his dagger or anything that will get him rid of this, but Dick was smarter and already took all of his weapons, How and when? Only he knows that.

Bruce and Alfred passed the room and smiled seeing them behave like normal kids. They didn't know the truth.

"Grayson...... if you…..if you……. don't unhand….. me at onc……. once….. you'll…...you'll regret it!"

"Not until you tell me what you're hiding~"

"F….fine."

"Good." Dick got up from him but still kept a hold on him so he can't run away or try to hurt him. "So, you gonna tell me, whatcha hidin'?"

"I-I….." Damian started to think of an excuse that would let him free ".......do drugs."

"No you don't." Dick wasn't even shocked, if he was being honest he was expecting it.

"Fine….." Damian grumbled "You remember that pink group you told me about?" Damian's face was red with embarrassment

"Blackpink?" Damian nodded "yeah, what about them?"

"I-I…...listen…..to it." Damian was now fully red

"Oh my god! Dames I am soooooo proud of you." Dick kissed Damian's cheek. To which Damian responded by trying to hit him.

"-TT- if this news is known to anyone else, I am gonna kill you."

"You can trust me with your secret Li'l D. No one's gonna know it."

-TT-

Dick went to one of Jason's safe houses to tell him that yeah, Damian was indeed hiding something. That he was NOT paranoid or crazy.

When he went inside, instead of Jason's annoyed voice what greeted him was music blasting from speakers. And it was not any normal music, it was BLACKPINK, so Jason knew what was Damian hiding.

"Jase!"

The music stopped in an instant. Trying to keep his voice leveled, but failing miserably Jason answered him "Yeah, what do you want Dickhead?"

"Come out please."

"Co-coming." Coming out he was greeted by Dick standing on at the gate with his arms folded and feet tapping.

"So, you knew?"

"Uhhh, knew what?" Jason tried to keep his cool and tried not to show his emotions on his face. Honestly, he was not doing so well. Considering the fact that he worked with BATMAN you would think he would be better at this.

"That Damian was hiding something."

"Yeah?"

"Oh Little wing." Dick unfolded his hands and went towards Jason "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to make fun of him or me." Jason moved his face to the side.

"Look at me." Jason looked at Dick's eyes and what he saw was comfort. "Do you really think I would make fun of you or Damian just because you like Blackpink. Hell! I am the one who introduced Damian to it!"

Jason wasn't honestly surprised. Damain would never hear their songs by himself. Smiling Dick kissed his forehead, which was a little farther than he could reach so he had to stand on his tippy toes.

"I would never make fun of you just because you like something. Okay?" His eyes told him that he was stating the truth. Nodding he backed off

"Okay, now tell me why you're here." He tried to keep his image as the emotionless asshole. Which Dick knew he wasn't, because Dick knew how you're feeling always, but at least he tried.

"Uhhh…..I honestly forgot. Anyway, do you have something to eat?" Chattering they went towards the kitchen.

There was peace, and it felt good.

#batfamily fluff #dick grayson is an amazing brother #k-pop craze #dick grayson #jason todd #cassandra cain #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #fluff #no angst #weird writings

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ecclais-fouoras · 4 years

Text

Sometimes moving on is good

Chapter 3&4

The two of you met often for drinks and chatting, while you exchanged a few messages.

You : Hey😝✌️ what is up ? I haven't heard from you today, is everything ok? Btw i finished your recipe but the cake 🍰 was not looking good😭🤣

Diane : hi, sorry i was busy with work. what happened with the cake? Oh i know you must have overcooked it, i used to do that all the time at first. What does btw mean? And why are there little faces on my phone ?

You :🤣oh honey...those are smileys you use that to had emotions to texts. AND Btw means by the way, everybody knows that diane.

Diane: haha ! Well I don't, anyways I finally finished the book you handed me last time.

You: OMG ALREADY??? IN 3 DAYS ! did you at least like it?

Diane: i did especially because of Jude’s past. Oh, and then Jude’s present, because sometimes life just keeps knocking people down, even when they’ve already suffered more than anyone ever should.

You: yes ohh it was so sad. I almost shead a tear. Which does not happen often !

Especially when reading... But I'm glad you liked it.😘

Diane: well i did the writing was really good, and the plot was interesting, what do you mean especially when you read ?

You: well... I always have trouble connecting to a book, especially when I have to read it, AND WHEN IT'S LONNNG🤣

In all seriousness I just have a hard time reading for as long as I can remember.

Diane: oh...why is that??

You: well I was diagnosed with An Oral and Written Language Learning Disability with impairment in reading and a specific reading comprehension deficit years ago. So basically my brain don't wORK.

Diane: i apologise that was intrusive of me

You: oh no don't worry I'm fine with talking about it, it's not that big of a deal, it doesn't stop me from messing up your cake🤭😭.

Diane: 😂 you'll do better next time don't worry. Do you know what are the causes ? You don't have to answer. It's just, well medicine interests me a lot.

You: apparently an abnormal cortical development, that occurs before or during the sixth month of fetal brain development, may have Abnormal cell formation known as ectopias, and more rarely, vascular micro-malformations, and microgyrus.

It's all big words but yeah those are the latest studies about dyslexia sais.

Diane: oh okay, i never thought it was actually physical, it's good to know

you: me neither until I searched it ! Even if I had it🤣. Sorry i gotta go I'm gonna be late for work !

Diane : sure, have fun! well Don't have fun...you know what I mean

Goodbye y/n.

When you got back from work you directly went on your phone hoping that diane sent you a message just so you'd have an excuse to talk to her. You had just seen her a few days before but somehow you still missed her, and little did you know she was missing you too.

After a few weeks you grew closer, and she invited you over for lunch or brunch, but tonight, you were going out. Together. You had asked her on a date a few days before.

"Hi Diane ? Yes it's me I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me on Friday ?...mmm...yes well I know a great place next to the cinema... Totally we can go out to the movies and then diner...what do you want to see ? Okay, cool see you then."

Yes, you were neighbors, you could've asked her in person, but you didn't want to be rejected face to face, it seamed easier to do on the phone.

And tonight was the night, the movie didn't start until a few hours, but you had already started getting ready. You picked up a nice outfit, Classy but casual, and put on just a little make up.

On the other side of the road diane was also starting to prepare, she was -not gonna lie- overall a bit anxious, why did you ask her out? Was it a date ? No it couldn't be, you'd never think of her like this. She was lucky to call you her friend, maybe you didn't even think of her as a friend ? God I'm so silly i got carried away, she probably doesn't even like me back. She was completely overwhelmed with thoughts, her breathing was shallow and she could not get in the right headspace as she put on her outfit.

She didn't notice that it was almost time, and that you were going to show up anytime to pick her up.

She offered to drive but you said you'd like too since you worked from home and didn't drive your car out often.

next thing she knows, her doorbell rings and as she goes down the stairs you hear her say "coming !" in a soft voice.

"I'm so sorry I barely even finished getting ready... Here come in I just have to find my shoes and I'll be right there." She looked so beautiful in her bordeaux dress that you didn't register her words.

"...o.. okay.." you manage to say while eyeing her up and down. Even if she didn't seem to know, she was beyond beautiful and you were going to make sure she did.

"You look.." you couldn't finish you sentence before she started rambling and letting all of her anxieties taking over her speach.

-" what too much, oh no i should have never put on that, sorry i thought it was cute but I'm too old for this and ugl...

She didn't have time to finish you just cut her off;

-"NO ! No i ment you look beautiful like this"

You couldn't help but feel attracted to her right now, but you put it aside, she didn't like women obviously?

-"Oh...wait really ?" You could feel the shakiness in her tone

"Yes...of course you look cute, and the dress is amazing on you. Don't even worry about it you are a very beautiful women diane."

You said in a firm voice that made her knees go weak.

"Well we should get going sweetie, do you have your shoes?"

"Yes..let's go" she closed the door blushing widely as you opened up the door to your car.

You bowed as you said "Milady" in a formal tone

She giggled softly and it was the most precious sound in the universe.

The car drive went by in a comfortable silence as just the soft music and a bit of humming could be heard.

You invited her to the movies, she offered the popcorn and choose your seats.

It wasn't necessarily a scary movie, but when things got a little tense, you could see her clench the armrest, so you scooted over and offered her your shoulder so she could hold on to you. After a bit of esitaton she accepted your embrace and the two of you cuddled together while the movie played. She gasped and then laughed at herself a few times.

When the credits started to roll none of you wanted to move, but you broke the silence and told her;

"As much as I'd like to stay here and cuddle you... I think the dude standing there with the bucket needs us to leave... Also the reservation is in ten minutes."

She sighed softly in defeat, gathered her bag and started to get up.

She rose too quickly and felt dizzy as her legs started to buckle. But you cought her hips before she could fall.

"It's okay...I got you", you said softly in her ear.

"Are you good? Can you walk" you asked as you still held her hips firmly. Which send a shiver down her spine, and a tingle down further to the both of you.

"Yeah.. I'm good thank you I just got up too fast".

You both went to the restaurant, the waiter took your orders and you both started to chat about anything and everything, the movies, life, cake, and even your delicious pastries.

"I was NOT scared !?"

-"YES you totally were ! you clang on to me the whole time I heard you whimper at Thé screen everytime there was something scary on."

-"sorry about that..."

-"why are you apologizing ? If it had bothered me i would have told you so..."

-"oh..okay, but I wasn't scared, just sometimes the movie was making me anxious ! I mean like that part in the stairs...brr..gave me chills."

-"alright alright fine..you weren't scared...I'll give it to you.. just because your cute"

She nearly choked at your comment and became as red as your wine.

"It's okay you don't have to be shy with me."

-"Do you really think I'm cute?"

-"Yeah, already told you you were cute today; and well not just tonight"

-"thank you y/n"

"Anytime diane, you are beautiful i want you to know that"

She didn't want to cry in front of you but you saw the tear she was desperately trying to hide run down her cheek, and got worried.

"Oh diane...are you okay ? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable... please look at me" you moved closer to wipe the tears off of her face, and gently stroked her cheek.

"I'm fine y/n, just it's been a long time since anybody called me beautiful"

-"Well that's a shame then, and I'll make sure you hear it a lot more."

"You don't have to do that... I don't need to hear it"

-"You do. And you should be hearing it, i don't know why it stopped but I'll make sure it doesn't ever again"

She sobbed at your words again

"Oh No...sweet girl don't cry.. please... you're okay diane, I'm here always, I'm your friend"

She calmed down a bit, and felt butterflies in her stomach at what you said.

-"You are? You mean you actually want to be ?"

"OF course silly, i wouldn't have invited you to diner if I didn't at least like you diane."

Just after that sentence left your mouth the waiter arrived to pick up your plates, you breathed out 'thank you' as he left.

"You know, I don't understand why you didn't think I liked you, at leaaaast a little ?"

You joked as you took a sip of your glass.

"Well.. I've been alone for so long now...I don't know...i thought you were just hanging out with me because you didn't have a choice...".

You were saddened by her words

"Diane..I... if I had known you felt that way I would have said something a long time ago ! I don't want you to think for a second that i am here out of pity or because I got nothing better to do. I'm here cause I wanted to have a nice evening out with you."

You said as you put your hand on top of hers, when she didn't draw back you started to gently stroke it.

"Would you two like some dessert ?"

You pulled away to take the menu form the waitress.

"Do you want some dessert diane? They have apple pie, and tiramisu?"

-"i don't know...I'm not that hungry for both but i don't want to choose."

-"we can share you know"

-"huh? What do you mean"

-"well, i take the apple pie, you take the tiramisu, and we split"

-"are you sure? I wouldn't want to bother y..."

You cut her off before she could go any further.

"Yes I'm sure diane"

"..o..okay then"

"Are YOU sure??" You asked in a funny tone

She giggled and nodded.

You asked the waiter for both and shared when they arrived. After fighting a bit over who would pay you told diane that you had asked her out and therefore you should pay, "and if you want to pay so bad... you'll pay next time."

Both of you were full, you had spent an incredible night, it was dark but you offered diane a quick walk around the park, and she agreed. The two of you made your way back to the car after laughing your asses of and getting even closer than before.

You drove her back to your...her house. And before she entered her home you softly said;

"Well diane, i had an amazing night, we have to do that again sometime."

-"yes we do, i had so much fun too"

-"And I ment everything i said tonight,.."

For a few moments you just looked at each other, your gaze met her lips and she thought about how sweet they would taste before thinking 'who am i kidding she'll never kiss me, get those thoughts out of your head diane'

Before you could process what was happening, both of your bodies grew closer and your eyes shifted between both of your lips you kissed her, softly. it was a calm and quiet kiss. You broke off for air and looked into her eyes. You caressed her cheeks and put your hand on the small of her back before kissing her again, she moaned inside your lips and you took the chance to put your tongue in her mouth. Her hands flew to your neck and she kissed you back.

After a few minutes of making out you pulled away, you didn't really want to break the moment but you asked

"Diane... it's late i should go back home..."

She looked a hurt and a bit sad while she let you go.

"No don't.. I don't regret kissing you Diane don't worry. I just want to take this slow"

"Oh alright I thought you didn't... nevermind. Go home y/n, it's getting cold out here" she looked down at her hands and

"..you don't regret it don't you?"

"No i enjoyed it" she said blushing slightly.

"Good... I'll see you tomorrow then... Good night diane"

you kissed her sweetly again before leaving and you both smiled like teenagers who just had their first date.

-"Sweet dreams y/n"

#diane sherman x reader #diane sherman #sarah paulson fanfiction

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talltales · 4 years

Photo

anonymous request!!

it starts with a notification.

norasdad has shared a playlist with you. click here to listen!

no message attached.

her thumb hovers over the glaringly green button situated at the center of the email, circling as she frowns at the screen and sips on coffee long gone cold. usually such things came with context—i thought you’d like this. that artist you like has a new album out!

something.

“why are you glaring at your phone?” comes a disembodied, muffled voice from her bed, from beneath layers of blankets. heating in the old dorms had always been spotty at best; you had to stand exactly three feet to the left of the bathroom door to feel anything resembling warmth, “your grades already in?”

she huffs, “no, i just turned everything in last night. and is that the kind of faith you have in me?”

a face finally peeks out of the mound atop her bed, all messed hair and bleary eyes. “if you didn’t have me to come and wake you up every morning, you would’ve flunked out for attendance issues in the first week.”

“ass.”

bambam laughs, and the melodious sound is just enough to ease the tension building behind her temples, “so,” he says, and she blinks a time or two before she glances down at the flagged message still sitting open on her screen.

“someone just sent me a playlist, that’s all. i’m overthinking it.”

not that deep.

from the corner of her eye, she catches him pausing; witnesses the look of unguarded comprehension that disappears as quickly as it comes. at first, she thinks it might be something as innocuous as empathy—

then he hides the lower half of his face behind the covers and she catches a glimpse of a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

her eye twitches, “you—come here.“

“me?” he echoes, scrambling backward as she moves toward the bed. his ankle catches in the cocoon of blankets, however, and he topples right off the edge with a heavy thump.

“ow. damn.”

dissatisfied with his escape, she reaches blindly into the mess and hauls him up by the collar, “what are you hiding? what do you know?”

he appears to contemplate what he'll say, taking long enough that she’s halfway through a list of simple but effective ways to get her answers when he finally speaks.

“i know that… playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions, like—” bambam gives her a positively shit-eating grin and wiggles out of her grasp, “you should probably open it. maybe someone’s got it bad for you.”

and before she can think—let alone say—much else, he makes for the door and scoops his backpack up on the way out, “see ya!”

the door shuts quietly behind him, and she’s left alone with her own thoughts.

a modern day mixtape, huh.

—

at first, she ignores the message because the thought of opening it makes her stomach do some weird flipping thing that’s more off-putting than exciting.

who would be interested in her like that, anyways?

but eventually, the playlist—and all that it might entail—slips to the back of her mind as she falls headfirst into work at the end of the semester and anxiously waiting for news on the state of her GPA. she’s finishing her second cup of coffee and staring a hole through her phone when she hears a voice speaking beyond the fog, “…alright?”

“what?”

“are you alright?”

the man standing at her side is still and familiar, blocking the onslaught of a sun that is much higher in the sky than she remembered it being a moment ago, “jaebeom?”

“that’s my name,” he smiles, with a short gesture to the chair opposite her. it takes an embarrassingly long moment to register what he means to ask, but she nods and manages to wrangle the piles of papers cluttering the table into a haphazard stack.

“i’m sorry, of course. make yourself comfortable.”

just a second later, he eyes the mass of documents she’s cramming into her bag and winces. “did i interrupt you? i can—” already, he’s making to leave and instinct has her reaching to grasp his hand.

she only catches the tips of his fingers, but it’s enough to stop him short.

“the only thing you interrupted was my latest existential crisis. no worries.”

jaebeom makes a sound that could be a sigh or a chuckle—maybe a little of both—before he slumps back into the seat and shakes his head, “that sounds even more concerning.”

she shrugs and gives up on making the folders fit back into her bag. instead, she moves to drain the last dregs of her coffee from her cup, “it’ll pass. then i’ll be back to my everyday anxiety.”

if he’s put off by the topic, jaebeom doesn’t show it. instead, he leans forward and plants his chin in his palm—regarding her with something that can only be considered as open curiosity, “so what do you do? to deal with that?”

this time, any cognitive delay—she thinks—is because it’s an odd question.

“what do you mean?”

unfazed, he taps his fingers against his cheek and she makes absent-minded note of the distinct structure of his face. im jaebeom is unreasonably attractive.

and why is she thinking like that? stop. stop.

“i’m asking how you cope. do you listen to music?”

the reason for his curiosity clicks and she hums, amused, “are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

her question's effect is immediate. his hands raise in a gesture of surrender, playful and earnest all at once, “i swear i’m not. i just noticed that you usually have headphones on. really, it was surprising that you didn’t today.”

oh.

had he tried to talk to her before? the thought is enough to summon a wave of guilt that she isn’t prepared for, and she finds herself bowing her head; fingers curling around her empty cup, “i’m sorry.“

“what for?”

her lips part to offer an answer, though some logical part of her mind warns her against it—overthinking, again—but finds everything skidding to a stop with a soft touch to her chin, nudging it up until her focus is trained on the man opposite her.

he speaks gently, but firmly, “whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

though he seems to catch himself and pulls his hand back; settles it palm down on the old cafe table, “sorry.”

the warmth of his touch lingers.

“i think,” she takes a moment to gather her thoughts; to test the words out on her tongue before she says them, “that we both should stop apologizing, for like, five minutes.”

jaebeom laughs, and the sound is sharp; unguarded and music to her ears.

—

“since when do you wear perfume?”

she stares as bambam sniffs the air through the mirror, chin lifting just enough that she momentarily considers throttling him where he stands, “since when does it matter?”

“you’re answering a question with a question.”

she pinches the bridge of her nose, prays for patience. surely something or someone up there is listening—“tell me why you’re here again.”

“because you came to understand... years ago that you can’t live without me. i’m basically the angel on your shoulder.” as he makes this declaration, bambam loops his arm around her and squeezes hard. “or the devil. whatever. so, who is it?”

“who is who?” for the moment, she leaves him be—raising her hand to pluck a few more stray hairs from her brows, “you’re going to have to be more specific. i know more than one person.”

and there it is. the smug smile that says bambam knows more than he’s telling. he toys with the ends of her hair, looping a few strands around his fingertip, “you can play this game with me, but i hope you know i’ll win.”

as much as she wants to brush his words off another instance of him being full of it, the quiet certainty that he possesses is enough to stop her.

“if you say so.”

“mmm,” gamely, he pats her shoulder before he turns to exit, “tell jaebeom i said hi.”

“get out!”

—

it isn’t like that.

the extent of her time spent with him is strolling through the aisles of a forgotten record shop downtown. for all of his dedication to the art of psychology, jaebeom is equally steadfast in his love for obscure music. thumbing through old vinyls is his pastime, and consequently what she finds herself doing on the odd thursday afternoon.

in place of his usual, proper slacks and button-up, jaebeom wanders the store in jeans and tank-top—carefully keeping in line with the oscillating fan on the wall as if it’s a shield from the descending summer heat. to his credit, the old building doesn’t appear to have working a/c and it may as well be.

she takes a moment to make sure her sundress is covering the essentials when the fan blows her way and continues flipping through the stacks, “what are we looking for again?”

when she turns back, he’s watching her with a bemused smile.

“nothing specific, but you’ll know.”

following my heart, am i?

jaebeom chuckles, and she realizes the thought has slipped out. loudly. embarrassed, she makes a show of inspecting the nearest vinyl until the heat in her cheeks fades.

“that’s the idea,” he says, but the confirmation nearly escapes her notice when she actually looks at the record in her hands.

“hey, i think i found something,” the lettering is small, but the focus of the cover art is the picture itself; a man in the forefront with a cigarette propped between his lips, and another with a match, reaching up from an endless crowd to light it, “ann arbor blues festival—”

she squints; pauses when she feels a hand settle on the curve of her spine.

“1969.” jaebeom murmurs, tracing the edge of the sleeve with a charming sort of reverence. his thumb catches on the hem of her cardigan before raising to wrap around her shoulder in a half-hug, “yeah, you found something.”

when he smiles, she recognizes the wild fluttering of her heart for what it is.

“great.”

—

“so what do you do with all these records?” she asks between taking sips of flavored, crushed ice—sickly sweet piña colada—and watching him sort through their finds for the day. without any discernible system, he sorts them into three neat stacks and makes notes in a worn paper pad.

“i make playlists,” jaebeom says without a glance, flipping to the next page before he stills mid-sentence and gives her a look, “after a month, now you ask?”

deadpanning, she drains an eighth of the enormous cup before she responds.

“i’m not a curious person.”

his expression turns thoughtful, but before she asks, jaebeom nods and returns to his task. the stillness that follows is more disconcerting than she’s accustomed to—with him, at least—and she finds herself speaking merely to break it, “you should send me one.”

it isn’t the right thing to say, if the clenching of his jaw is any indication. his fingers splay over the page, and his lips move silently as he reads back the information that is a foreign language to anyone but him, “sure.”

he doesn’t look at her again, and she leaves with the distinct and terrible feeling that she’s screwed something up.

—

“so how’s it going with our favorite psych major?”

“do you ever just say hi?” she peers at her wholly unwelcome guest over the lid of her laptop, more than a little testy, “how are you? et cetera.”

the picture of cool, calm, and unaffected, bambam takes a seat at the edge of the bed; brow raised and a hand combing through his bleached, silvery hair, “you look lovely today. the weather’s nice. are we ready to get to why you look like someone kicked your puppy?”

as satisfying as it might be to deny him this, she releases a heavy sigh and closes the old device. the empty word document goes black and with it, any remaining desire she had to get something—anything—done, “i think i fucked up.”

his head tilts, lips curving softly.

“you’re going to have to be specific. you fuck up a lot.”

she exhales; the laugh that escapes is short-lived, but it doesn’t feel hollow, “thanks for that.”

there’s a hand in her hair, and where she expects bambam to make a mess of it, he carefully guides each stray strand behind her ears before moving to her shoulders, “anytime.”

her stomach is tying itself in knots by time she finds the words. they trip over her tongue as she tries to assemble them into something that will make sense to him—to her.

“i like jaebeom. i really like him, and for a while i thought that maybe...“ preemptively, she swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and finds them—thankfully—dry, “he felt the same way, but now i’m not so sure. i think—“

the hand sliding up and down her arm goes strangely still.

“wait,” bambam blinks at her, and for the first time, he actually looks baffled.

she stares back, “what?”

“you… didn’t open the playlist, did you?”

when she shakes her head, he mirrors the gesture with a small, pitying smile that she feels settle in her gut like lead.

“oh my god.”

—

playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions.

jaebeom is surprisingly evasive when he wants to be. he is conspicuously absent from his usual haunts; searches of the library, the cafe, and the record shop turn up little more than the vague maybe i saw him?

it’s thursday, though, and maybe he’ll make an appearance for his afternoon vinyl-hunt.

hopefully, he isn’t compiling a new playlist for someone else.

if she wasn’t panicking at the thought of never seeing im jaebeom again, she’d be pissed that he had quickly turned her life into some bad 90s romcom.

and she’s a half-step from throwing her hands up and crawling back into the shelter of her many, many blankets when she spots him making his way through the slowly thinning lunch crowd.

again, he’s dressed for the summer heat; a sight now as familiar as the friendly, disarming student she’d known for years, in the strange sort of way that you could know someone through mere exposure.

it was a bit like watching the same train pass your house every day and knowing the graffiti on each car by heart.

her feet carry her to the front door and she meets him there—a little out of breath, but grasping the handle before he reaches it. the thundering in her ears is distracting, but no more so than the brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand before he quickly retracts it—

“i need to talk to you,” she says to his reflection in the glass. it frowns, lips pressing into a thin line, and she swallows her dread and turns to face him fully, “we can have this conversation here, if you want. but i don’t think you do.”

the latter part comes out as a whisper, as if the battery fueling her courage is all used up.

“lead the way,” jaebeom takes a step back, offering an uncertain smile—either nervous or pained, it’s hard to tell—that she holds in mind as she crosses the street and heads toward the park.

on a weekday, there is no one on the swings. the most frequent visitors are retirees speed-walking down the trails and the occasional dog walker.

at the first shaded bench they reach, she drops onto the seat and glances up at her unmoving companion. the intensity of his attention gives her pause; makes her want to curl into herself until she manages to get what she needs to say out.

like ripping off a bandaid, maybe?

“i found the playlist you sent me.”

jaebeom tenses, in the nearly imperceptible way that says he’s bracing himself. maybe to hear some unpleasant truth, maybe to walk away. but it doesn’t really matter which one it is, when both options are so unpleasant.

she reaches up and takes hold of his hands, squeezing until she feels like he gets it. jaebeom doesn’t reciprocate, but he does move closer and that’s enough.

for now.

“hear me out, please.”

swallowing, she tilts her head back and focuses on him; cutting a figure against the sun and shade—colored in shades of green reflected from the trees overhead. he is still unreasonably beautiful.

“i didn’t ignore it because i disliked you, or anything. honestly, i didn’t know what to make of it because who does that—“ jaebeom sucks in a breath, and belatedly she shuts her mouth with a sharp click that she feels in her jaw, “that’s not what i meant to say. i—stay still.”

when she summons enough courage to look at his face, his expression is purely one of embarrassment, though for himself or for how badly she’s botching this remains to be seen.

“i like you. in fact, i’m probably in love with you and before you respond, i don’t think you can say anything about how i’m doing this when you confessed through a spotify playlist.”

when jaebeom pulls his hands out of her grip, she prepares herself for any one of the scenarios she’d imagined while trying to hunt him down; he says nothing. leaves. he cusses her out and then leaves.

the scenario that she doesn’t dare to imagine is the one that presents itself; in the slide of his fingertips over her cheek, a careful touch that makes her alarmingly delicate pulse flutter around like a bird in a cage.

in the silence that follows, she basks in the contact; tilts her head to lean into his palm until his lips meet the corner of her mouth. once, then twice.

“you liked the playlist.” jaebeom whispers, and she feels him smile; hears the heady sound he makes that barely passes for a laugh, “i made it, but you liked it.”

his giddiness is echoed in her, she thinks, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him down to kiss him fully and breathe his air because now—right now

hers isn’t good enough.

“shut up, norasdad.”

—I KNOW THE IDEA ISN'T NEW TO FALL IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ON FIRST VIEW BUT I DON'T CARE I THINK I'LL FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU I'LL PUT ON MY SUNDAY BEST YOU PICK OUT YOUR FAVOURITE DRESS I'LL TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE NEW I'LL BE OLD-FASHIONED FOR YOU

#member + prompt #request #jaebeom fanfic #got7 fanfic

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 4 years

Text

The Devil’s Daughter Ch. 1

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: The Winter Soldier X Reader (Bucky X Reader)

Summary: Born and bred to be a monster worthy to lead Hydra into a new age you must decide if you will become the beast they always intended or perhaps something greater... Someone worthy even, of love.

Warnings: Literally all of them. 18+ only and please read with caution if you’re triggered by violence of any nature.

A/N: Well. Here we go.

I won’t lie. Writing this was cathartic and I hope that it may be the same reading it. Some serious ANTIFA fuck this up vibes.

Love y’all.

TAGS ARE OPEN

You weren’t sure how long you’d stared at your hands.

They seemed strange things, somehow beyond your comprehension. Attempts to flex the fingers on them had resulted in only an unsettling twitch, you knew that wasn’t the right response, and they were somehow both burning and cold in equal measure.

In fact, your whole body felt like a contradiction. Something known, yet foreign. Too much feeling, too little. Too hot, too cold. Too still, yet constantly something was moving.

Had you always been able to feel the flow of blood through your veins? Did each hair follicle always hum as the air moved around you? Who… who were you?

All the memories of the past 20 years hit you with the force of a train.

Frantically you begin to pace in the small white room, your heartbeat increasing with each lap, your breathing turning into a rapid pant. Your mind steadily piecing things together, for better or worse, pulling who you were back into sharp focus. With that clarity comes something else.

Taking a deep breath your pacing stops.

There wasn’t a word for what you felt. This emotion went farther than rage, conviction, or vengeance. You think you’ve felt it before, in fleeting moments, but now it’s amplified - along with everything else it seemed - now-

A creaking under your hands draws your attention, pulling you away from that line of thought. With confusion, you gape at the metal bed frame beneath your hands. You’d taken hold of it when you’d stopped pacing and now the metal was crumpled and twisted.

It worked, you realize. It actually, bloody, worked. A small chuckle trips over your lips - you’d genuinely thought you’d end up like Pierce’s daughter, dead.

A few weeks ago was the first time you’d seen Eric in almost a year.

He’d been different in a way you couldn’t name since that night with The Soldier. You knew it wasn’t that he actually remembered what happened - if he had you’d no doubt he’d have come close to killing you - but perhaps an impression of something stuck. Regardless, when the time came for you to go to uni a few months later he’d set you up with your own flat and sent you on your way, saying that you needed ‘time to explore yourself.’

It was the one kindness he’d ever done you.

In the last three years, you’d crafted a new version of yourself.

She was normal, relatively speaking. Studied business, partied in SoHo with friends, had a string of short - albeit far from vanilla - affairs with several people, fairly typical stuff.

The only time you saw Eric was for required formal events, someone ascending the ranks within Hydra or the random social event. It totaled to perhaps six or seven in three years. Which was why you were shocked, and a bit unsettled, to see him at your graduation.

You’d been worried his presence would keep you from enjoying the moment with your friends, that he’d pull you into some droll dinner to pretend he was a caring and proud father. Instead, he’d simply given you a cold congratulations and instructed you to meet him at his office the following Monday.

It still put a damper on your entire celebration - all you could think about was what the hell he wanted from you. Not even the distraction of a beautiful woman clad in leather had managed to remove your worry.

There had been a million things you’d thought this meeting would be about. You’d run countless scenarios in your head. None came close to what your father shared with you from across his polished desk.

“We feel it’s time for you to join The Council.” He said as though he was commenting on the weather.

“I-I’m honored.” you stammer a bit grimacing internally. He raises a doubting brow at you before striding over to the stocked bar cart to begin pouring a drink.

“You’ll be taking the third seat.” You almost choke on your tea. “Is that a problem?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Not at all,” you say, willing your voice steady. “What position will Jennifer Pierce be taking in that case?” Alexander Pierce headed the US arm of Hydra and to your knowledge, the third seat had been intended for his daughter.

“Jennifer Pierce is dead.”

“Ah.”

“Of course-” he says, turning back to you and taking a sip of scotch before continuing- “there can be no ascension of this kind without a trial to test your worth.” You knew as much, Hydra always demanded a pound of flesh - at minimum.

“She failed hers.” Jennifer was many years your senior, had done years of fieldwork and been a trusted confidant of her own father if, she failed whatever trial this seat demanded… “You will not.”

“Can you hear us?” A male voice asks over hidden speakers bringing you back to the present.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us your full name?”

“Catherine Eileen Clayton.”

“What is your date of birth, Catherine?” Ah, cognitive tests.

“The third of January 1983,” you sigh. “I’m twenty years old, a double Capricorn, and very in control of my faculties. Can we move on?”

A buzz sounds by the door. The noise grates against your newly sensitive eardrums, causing you to grimace. When it opens Eric stands in the corridor, a proud, if not smug, smile on his face.

“I knew you were born for this,” he extends a hand. You eye it before looking up to meet his gaze. Rather than take it you remain unmoving, waiting for him to tell you what came next. For a fleeting second his eyes narrow before sweeping his arm to beckon you from the room.

“There is one final step before you’ll be ready to ascend to your seat on The Council,” he begins to stride down the hall, expecting you to follow.

“And that is?” He stops dead in his tracks. Your heart leaps into your throat as you recognize the set of his shoulders, instinctively you brace for a blow. Instead, he turns slowly to you, his expression unreadable as he observes how you haven’t moved.

“You can rot in that room or follow me obediently to find out.” A too familiar chill crawls up your spine and settles in your chest. Without another word, you follow him.

As you make your way through the labyrinthine corridors of Hydra’s London base you remember being dropped down here at 10, and having to find your way out - none of the adults you encountered would even acknowledge you existed. You remember training in one of these many blank rooms - both physical and mental - though, torture may be a better word.

The chasm that opens in your mind almost feels like home, one you haven’t been to in a little while. Quickly you turn your thoughts to how your blood seems to hum through your veins, how loud your steps are, the low tension in your muscles - anything to pull you away from that beckoning void.

Eric stops in front of a nondescript door, pressing his thumb into the handle. An unseen mechanism whirs to life followed by a distinct click. Before he opens the door he turns his eyes on you, studying.

“You’ve done well thus far,” he turns the handle, looking forward. “Don’t disappoint me now, Catherine.” You don’t miss the order in his tone. A voice whispers, Yes Papa, but you refuse to let your tongue form those words.

With bated breath, you follow him. It’s much like a room you remember from long ago, a cell where he showed you exactly the kinds of monsters that Hydra could craft. Behind you the door closes, the locks sliding back into place.

A cell lies on the other side of the room. Through the bars, you see a woman, nude, her back to you. Deep red hair tumbling in thick waves, her ragged breath scraping over your ears.

No, you beg silently, not her. Please not her.

Once you and Eric enter the cell, the woman turns red-rimmed eyes to you both. Relief thunders through you as you release the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. This wasn’t Natalia, they hadn’t brought her here as a sacrifice to whatever future lay before you. Though, now the question rattled in your brain, impossible to ignore.

“What is this?” You ask, lazily gesturing toward the woman.

“What do you think?”

“Can we stop with the riddles? Just fuc-”

You were clearly out of practice. When his backhand cracks across your cheek it leaves you reeling, ears ringing, though you don’t fall. Once you blink your vision clear you look back to him, attempting to keep your face straight.

“I believe I asked you a question,” he sighs out.

You answer, “I assume she’s failed in some way, showed some unforgivable weakness.” You try to stop the words but they come anyway, “But you cannot expect me to kill her?”

“Oh? And why is that?” It’s your turn to sigh.

“Honestly, that is hardly a test. If it gets things moving forward I suppose I will,” the woman shifts her back against the wall at this. “I just don’t know what that will prove.” He smiles, slowly. Clearly you got something right.

“Perceptive. Killing her would be nothing for you, even before,” you swear the sick bastard looks proud. That void threatens once more, something whispering from the darkness. You push it away.

“However, you’re wrong about her crime. She’s not here for being weak or unworthy, rather, she has refused to fall in line. We have no need for an unbroken horse.” He pauses, striding to the other side of the cell.

With his back turned, you look into her eyes. They burn with a fire you recognize - for an instant, you’re 11 again, you can feel the weight of that gun in your hands, hear your Mother’s voice-

“But you won’t be putting her down.” The sound of another lock clicking draws your focus to where Eric stands, hands behind his back.

A panel slides open with a swish. Eric steps aside just enough and you see him, The Soldier.

He’d been gone when you’d woken in the late afternoon years ago, like some macabre guardian angel. Habitually, your fingers stroke the scar on your palm, remembering how gentle he’d been as he sutured the cut.

The woman begins to sob. A broken, “No,” slipping out here and there.

Eric turns back to you, a wicked smile coloring his features. “The Fist of Hydra,” he walks back to stand beside you, The Soldier doesn’t move.

“You remember him don’t you?” Your heart begins to beat a tattoo of alarm against your ribs. “I showed him to you when you were a child.”

“Yes,” you will your heart to quiet, feeling like it’s loud enough for the whole room to hear.

“It’s one thing to take a life and quite another to put the blood on the hands of someone else.” He looks down at you, “You’ll prove you can handle that, and The Soldier, by utilizing him to remove this stain from our ranks.”

He looks over his shoulder at the woman, “Be creative. He hasn’t been let loose in some time.” With that, he strolls casually to the far corner of the cell, leaning back against the wall as though he was about to watch some kids play football.

The Soldier steps forward and the panel behind him slides shut, disappearing as though it never was. You study him, searching those pale eyes for some spark of recognition. Whatever had been there before was long gone, all that stood before you was a weapon, a tool waiting to be put to use. It chilled you.

Behind you, the woman still weeps. It makes something bitter rise in you - pathetic, she was nothing like your mother. Even so, words you hadn’t allowed yourself to remember for so long rise in your mind.

“Always remember that you are more than this.”

“No.” One crisp, clear, syllable. It may as well have been a bomb.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll be better than all of them as long as you remember.” Your mother’s voice echoes in your mind.

Languidly you slide your eyes to Eric, “I said, no.”

Everything goes quiet as his anger builds, a fire slowly eating all the oxygen in the space. What was coming would likely consume you leaving nothing but a husk behind, you don’t care. It feels good.

Despite the waves of rage rolling off of him, his face remains impassive as he approaches you. A couple of feet away he stops, head tilting to the side as though he was seeing something puzzling.

“She’s done nothing worth a death sentence.” You state matter of factly.

“You’re questioning me?”

“No,” god that word felt so good, intoxicating. Maybe you were mad from the power it seemed to give you. It was the best explanation for your next words. “I’m telling you you’re wrong.”

You read once that wolves show their teeth before they attack. Devils, you know, do the same.

Eric’s smile is broad as he slips his suit jacket off his shoulders. Your eyes track him as he hangs it over the horizontal bar of the cell. Unhurriedly he unbuttons his cuffs, methodically rolling the sleeves up to the elbow. When he speaks again, he’s unbuttoning a single button to allow him room to tuck away his tie.

“Then how would you address the situation, Catherine?”

“I wouldn’t.” He steps toward you, on instinct you move back, not wanting to allow him a close range to strike.

“You’d allow disrespect to stand? Allow this stain to spread?” Another step forward, another retreat from you.

“No.”

“Then what? You’d do nothing to handle this weak-”

“You said yourself she isn’t weak. In fact, it seems to me, the problem is your own weakness if you can’t handle one-”

Stupid. That’s the only word echoing through your skull as it slams into the wall behind you with enough force to knock a lesser person unconscious.

Right now you’re not thinking about the bent metal of the bed frame in your recovery room. You’re not thinking of your sensitive ears or the weeks of preparation, or that you lived through the procedure when others have died.

No.

Right now you’re a little girl again, realizing your father is the Devil for the first time. Right now you’re the same powerless thing you’ve always been in his presence, the fear of a lifetime suffocating you.

“Would you like to finish that statement?” Eric growls. You shake your head, too afraid to speak. “I thought not.” His fingers dig into your neck.

“You’ve grown far too bold. Forgotten where you belong.” He takes a deep breath, eyelids fluttering as though the smell of your terror was intoxicating. “Perhaps you need a reminder.”

“I’m sorry, Papa,” god you hate yourself for those words.

“No,” he reclaims the power you’d felt so briefly. His knee pries your thighs apart, “You will be.”

When his head dips down, the grotesque feel of his tongue against the skin of your neck almost makes you wretch. Before you close your eyes in an attempt to block out everything happening and all you know is to come, you catch The Soldier’s intent stare.

He looked as though he was straining on an invisible leash, his entire body coiled tension begging for release.

He’s waiting on something, you think as teeth sink into your shoulder. The pain brings clarity. He’s waiting on me.

All it takes is one nod to break the invisible tethers binding him. With terrifying speed, The Soldier strikes, pulling Eric from you, pinning his arms and legs, rendering him immobile. To his credit he didn’t struggle, knowing he couldn’t break such a hold.

“Release me, Soldat!” Eric barks in harsh Russian. The Soldier doesn’t even flinch, his eyes remain locked on you, awaiting an order. “Soldat!”

The fear which had paralyzed you seeps away as your senses begin to return and you stare at Eric. He looks angry but still calm, never willing to let his facade fall for long. Under the surface though, you can hear the racing of his heart, it seems to pick up at the same pace your own slows. The vein in his throat pulses, his breath is barely controlled, and you note the small beads of sweat beginning to form on his skin.

Weak, something hisses from that void. This time you don’t silence it - you agree, you welcome it, this darkness he so proudly fostered within you. Now you allow the void to rise. He made you this. Killer. Demon. Weapon. The void whispers. And it is not wrong. You were all these things and now-

You kneel before Eric, gripping his chin in your hand.

“I don’t think he listens to you anymore, Papa,” you say, the final word laced with mockery. You pat his cheek as you stand and pace away, purposely showing your back to him to be sure he knew you were no longer afraid. That you’d never be afraid of him again.

“I do think you had a point earlier though. About putting blood on someone else’s hands being different.” You turn back to him, wanting to look into his eyes as you say, “It would be a shame to waste such a prime opportunity to learn. Don’t you think?” His eyes widen in understanding that now, the void he created would consume him.

“Soldier,” you look to him, those cold blue eyes unwavering. “Break him, but do not let him die.”

You had worried for a moment that you needed to be more specific in your commands. After all, you wanted your father to suffer at least a taste of the horrors he’d done to others throughout his life. It only took a few moments for you to see that you worried in vain. Be it training or retribution, The Soldier methodically broke Eric down in ways that would cause the most pain without the release of death.

For what may have been hours you remain entranced by the scene before you. Every cry of pain was a symphony. The blood on the cold concrete a masterpiece.

This was for your mother. For every person, he’d hurt. For the child, he’d broken and forged into something irredeemable.

This was justice. Or at the very least, the justice you understood, the justice he deserved.

“That’s enough,” you sigh contently. Without hesitation The Soldier stops, stepping away from Eric.

Your father’s face is almost unrecognizable. Blood, tears, snot, and vomit all paint his features into something different, something grotesque. The outside finally reflecting the sickening soul beneath. Slowly you take in the rest of his broken body, stopping at the wet stain on his trousers.

“Piss? Really, Eric, you’re embarrassing yourself.” You press your boot to his throat as he’d done to you when you were a child.

“You once told me, that dangerous miscalculations only served to land one under the boot of those worthy of bravery. Do you remember?” He makes no move of acknowledgment, only stares up at you with one defiant eye - the other swollen shut.

“Oh you must,” you press harder and he gurgles. “It was just before you made me put a bullet in my mother’s head.”

“Tell me, Papa,” you spit the word. “Am I brave enough now?”

You lift him from the floor as though he’s nothing but a rag doll and slam him into the wall where he’d pinned you earlier. Exhilaration didn’t come close to encapsulating this feeling.

“I believe I asked you a question,” you say in an echo of his own cool tone.

“You… little… devil,” he manages to say with a mouth missing several teeth. A laugh, bright and ringing, pours from you.

“I am the devil you made. Aren’t you proud?”

With one hand on Eric’s throat, and the other on his chest, you begin to push your fingers between his ribs, pressure increasing bit by bit.

The tattered fabric of his shirt and his flesh begins to give way beneath your steel fingers. A whimper rises from him that slowly forms into a cry of agony. All you can do is smile as you feel the wet heat around your hand.

A little further and you feel the beat, the pulse of life that had animated this man for all his days.

“Goodbye, Papa,” you whisper as you squeeze and feel that pulse cease.

The silence that follows is absolute.

Everything in you, and around you, quiet.

Eventually, you let him drop to the floor in an undignified heap, stepping back. Only then does the void recede enough for you to feel anything more than triumph. Even then, you feel no regret, only the heavy knowledge of the price your actions would demand.

A trembling breath escapes you as soft shifting sound draws your focus from what you’d done and back to The Soldier. He stands straight, quietly observing you. When you meet his eyes you’d swear there was satisfaction there.

Fuck it. You’d likely die for this and even with him by your side you were not going to get out of this building unless they let you out.

“Care for a drink?” You ask, lips quirking in a smile. He says nothing, just cocks his head a bit to the side. You shrug, “Suit yourself. I’m getting one.” Or several.

To your surprise, the door to the cell opens. You stroll out hearing him just behind you. Good.

“Hey!” A woman calls out. “What about me?” Honestly, you’d forgotten about her entirely.

“What about you?” Is all you toss over your shoulder as the cell slams shut behind you.

There was nothing you could do for her now, hell there wasn’t anything you could truly do for yourself. It would be a miracle if you made it back to Eric’s office without a bullet in your head. The Soldier may even be the one to put it there, he may be biding his time - though something in you doubted this.

You’d spared the woman all you could, the rest would be up to her.

The private elevator slides open, revealing Eric’s office, not a guard, soldier, or assassin in sight - well, save for the one you rode up with. You’re surprised but not relieved. They’d come, and soon.

You raise your hands to rub your face only to be hit with the copper tang of blood - your right arm covered almost to the elbow. Suddenly you’re too hot, burning, your chest tight.

Outside the floor to ceiling window, London glitters like something in a fairytale. You rush to it, pressing your face to the cool glass, forcing your mind to focus on the city around you. Even through the thick glass, you can hear the rush of the wind, the slightest hum of traffic below.

Breathe, Catherine, you try to coach yourself. Breathe. But you can’t.

The blood paired with the city sounds that should have been impossible for you to hear makes you realize something you’d been foolish to miss in the first place. They would not kill you. Not now.

Eric had once said that Hydra didn’t make a habit of wasting good parts, one look at The Soldier was a fair reminder of that. Before, you’d been valuable enough but ultimately replaceable - now you were an investment.

“Someone is coming.” The Soldier’s voice cuts through your panic like a knife. You turn to see him by the door, arms crossed. Whether he was keeping you in or others out you couldn’t know.

Taking a shaky breath you nod, “Thought they’d be faster about it if I’m being honest.” As the doorknob turns his hand moves for the knife in his belt. Interesting.

“No,” you shake your head. He stands at attention instead, looking more like a blood-spattered statue than a man. You lean against the desk as the door swings open to reveal -

“Secretary Pierce?” You don’t try to hide the surprise in your voice, he wasn’t exactly who you’d expect to come for you.

“Miss Clayton,” he smiles brightly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here. It’s been too long,” he holds out a hand.

“Ah,” you hold up your red right palm. “Haven’t had a chance to freshen up. Please, make yourself comfortable,” you gesture to the bar cart. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Freshen up? You lean against the bathroom door judging yourself. Freshen up. As though you’d been out for a light jog rather than literally shoving your hand through your own father’s chest. Freshen up. Christ.

You catch your reflection in the mirror and freeze.

Blood not only covered your arm but had soaked into your shirt, staining your chest, leaving splatters up your neck and on your face. Despite the gore, you looked fresh, skin dewy and bright, your eyes sparkling. It painted an unsettling image.

Even so… you smiled.

He was dead. That bastard you’d once called Papa. Dead. By your hand.

No matter what followed, no matter what they did to you, your Mother had her justice today. They couldn’t take that away.

You wash your hands as best you can and wipe some of the blood off your face. Getting rid of the rest would be impossible right now and there was a part of you that didn’t want it gone. Let them see it.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” you say exiting the bathroom.

“No apologies needed. Honestly, I wanted to give you time to process before speaking with you, but the others thought it best we move quickly.”

“I see,” you turn to the bar cart to make a drink.

“So?” You sigh as you take a seat in the wingback across from where Pierce had settled himself. He sips his drink before speaking.

“Of course we want to give you time to transition. It will be an abrupt change to your lifestyle, especially for someone so young - but we feel confident that you’ll manage spectacularly. You’ve always-”

“Excuse me, Secretary-”

“Alex, please.”

“Alex,” it felt strange to call this man who you’d known your whole life by his first name. “I’m not sure I follow. I just committed treason and-”

“I’d view it more like taking out the trash.” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Alex looks like he wants to spit, “Your father was... dedicated, to the cause. However, there are some sins that simply can’t be overlooked.” His intense eyes meet yours.

“We didn’t know for certain until today how far his depravity went. I don’t ask you to forgive us for that, but as a father, I would never have let that…” He shakes his head, taking a deep drink.

“I’m sorry,” he looks to you confused. “About your daughter. About Jennifer.”

His face softens, “Thank you.” He sneers, “Your father-”

“Eric,” you correct him.

“Eric,” he nods, seeming to understand. “He said-”

“Let me guess, ‘Blood will out.’”

“Yes, as though it was a personal failing - her death.” You look away, disgusted. “But you are not him.” Your gaze shoots back to him.

“Miss-”

“Catherine,” you say smiling.

“Catherine. You are what we’ve waited so long for. A child of Hydra, fit to lead us into the new age.” Your eyes narrow. “You’ll be taking your - Eric’s seat.”

You can’t help but be shocked. Taking what should have been Jennifer’s seat had been enough of an upset, to take Eric’s… It would mean-

“It will be an honor to have you serve with me in the first seat.” The first seat, the head of The Council that governed Hydra, was always held as a joint position. “And it will be an even greater honor when you ascend even higher.”

“Higher?” There was no higher seat.

“In time.” Alex leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking up at you. “While Hydra has many heads it has always been in need of a strong body, one that will not easily bow to the weight of time or illness, one that has transcended so many of our meer human weaknesses. I believe that you were meant to be this body, Catherine.”

“I… I’m humbled,” you almost choke on the word. It was the right response though, judging by Alex’s smile.

“I will take that as you accepting,” he says it like you have a choice.

“Of course!” You force joy into your tone.

“Fantastic!” He stands, raising his glass. You join him. “To a bright future. Hail Hydra!”

“Hail Hydra,” you echo as your glasses clink together. The whiskey tastes like dust on your tongue.

“As I said, we want to give you some time to transition. However, we will need to move quickly to ensure things continue to run smoothly.”

“I completely understand. I shouldn’t need too much time.” You look around this office, a space you’d spent so much time, a space filled with so many terrible memories. “Mainly, I’ll need to… clean house.”

Alex gives a knowing nod, “Absolutely. You have full power to change and remove,” he holds your gaze for a moment, “whatever and whomever you see fit.”

“Thank you.” Your eyes settle on the soldier. That sense of conviction from earlier floods you again, the slightest rumblings of a very dangerous idea making their way around your mind.

“Also,” you stride to the bar cart and refill your drink, making a gesture to do the same for Alex. He accepts. “While I can no doubt protect myself, I will need some additional security to allow me to more fully focus on the needs of the organization. No doubt, there will be those who will see this ascension as overstepping on my part.”

“Unfortunately,” Alex concedes. “You can, of course, have any security detail Eric employed.” He catches your cocked brow, “Ah, yes. Well, you can have your choice of Hydra for your own detail.”

“I had a thought actually,” you take a sip before continuing. “I’d like The Soldier.” Alex looks from you to The Soldier, still standing in the same place he was when Alex had entered.

“The Soldier…” He says thoughtfully.

“Yes. I’d prefer to not have to doubt the integrity of my security detail, especially given the unique situation I’m finding myself in. Typically someone in this position would have had years to form their inner circle - I haven’t had such a luxury.”

“Of course,” you add, “he’d still be at the full disposal of Hydra should he be needed.”

Alex nods, “I see no problem with it. He’s housed under European jurisdiction as it is and you clearly have a steady command of him - no small feat I’ll have you know.”

“Lovely.”

“Any other immediate needs to make this an easier transition?” Alex asks sincerely.

“Just one,” you walk back to the chairs and sit. “The woman Eric was going to have killed. What was her crime?” Alex shifted, seeming a bit uncomfortable.

“She was a Brown Widow,” he began.

“A what?” You’d never heard of such a thing.

He purses his lips, “Of course, Eric wouldn’t tell you about the Brown Widows.” He sighs, “The Brown Widow program is a sister to the Black Widow program. Brown Widows are trained in much the same way, in fact, they begin in the Black Widow program before being hand-selected to be Brown Widows. They’re chosen for having a more… genteel temperament if you will. More suited to domesticity than your typical Black Widow graduate.”

A memory tingles in the back of your mind, just out of reach.

“Your mother was a Brown Widow.”

You wanted to marry a spider, your mother had spoken those words when she’d garroted Eric the night she died.

“Her death was not sanctioned, Catherine. I tried to push for an investigation-”

You shake your head, “It’s in the past.”

“She was a spectacular woman. Eric always had to have the best-”

“So the woman?” You don’t want to think about your mother anymore. Can’t bear the weight of knowing that she could have killed Eric at any time, could have run, but she didn’t… Because of you.

“Yes,” he clears his throat, “the woman from this evening, was a Brown Widow. She’d been assigned to a lower level associate. He was apparently… unpleasant.” You note that Alex won’t meet your eyes and suspect you know what kind of unpleasantness he means. “She may have removed a specific part of his anatomy in retaliation before fleeing.” You bite your lip to restrain a smile.

“Is she dead?”

“Not at all. We agreed with your decision. Some punishment should likely be metered but not what Eric had in mind.”

“I’d like to have her as my personal assistant.”

“Oh?”

“What better way to foster loyalty than saving someone’s life?”

Alex smiled, “Wise. I’ll have her sent up.”

“Thank you. I feel that puts me in a good position to get moving quickly.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Alex says finishing his drink and standing. He sets his glass on the side table and extends his hand once more.

“This couldn’t have been a better outcome, in my opinion, Catherine. You’re going to do incredible things. This is only the beginning.”

You take his hand, giving it a firm shake. “I couldn’t agree more, Alex. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“We will connect soon.”

“I look forward to it,” you open the door to let him out.

As soon as he is on the elevator you call out to Eric’s former secretary. “Anita, can you join me?” You don’t wait for an answer, instead, you turn back into the office to refill your drink and wait.

She enters a minute later, nervous energy rolling off of her. Her eyes grow wider by the second as she takes in your blood-soaked form leaning casually against Eric’s desk.

“Slackjawed isn’t a good look for you, Anita.” She snaps her jaw shut.

“W-What can I do for you Miss Cathe-”

“Madam Clayton will do.” Her eyes somehow manage to get wider, making her look like one of those popeyed pugs she doted on. “Will this arrangement be a problem for you?” The vile woman had served your father longer than you’d been alive.

“No, Madam Clayton, of course not.”

“Good. I need a change of clothes. One for The Soldier as well, and clothing for the woman being sent up - she should be about a size eight.”

“Yes, Maam.” She turns, her wiry frame trembling.

“Oh. One more thing, Anita.” She freezes, no doubt expecting something awful. “I want every bit of information on The Soldier. I’ll need all of this within the hour.” Nervously she eyes the statue-like man, you can hear her heartbeat rise.

“But, Madame Catherine… I… I don’t.”

“Anita?”

“Y-yes?” You hold her bulging eyes, staring her down until you knew she was about to break.

“My father wouldn’t tolerate excuses. Neither will I. Is that clear?”

“Of course,” she squeaks. “Yes, Maam.” With one last glance at The Soldier, she scurries from the room.

Rounding the desk you finish the rest of the entirely, and annoyingly, ineffective whiskey before plopping down hard in the desk chair. Looking across the room you see that The Soldier had recrossed his arms, eyes studying you with unnerving intensity.

A lifetime of violence had taught you how to scent it. Right now, it was beginning to crackle in the air.

He moved so quickly you almost missed it. Almost.

Your hand moves under the desk, gripping the Glock you knew would be waiting. As he went to vault the desk you push the chair back, rolling you toward the window and aim right between his eyes. He freezes, crouched on the desk, murder in his eyes.

“I am not your enemy,” you say softly, remaining seated.

“Hail Hydra,” he sneers. His hatred feels like a slap.

You release the gun, letting it dangle on your finger, from the trigger before you stand slowly, hands up, and place it on the desk before him. Leaning in so close you can feel his breath you return his hard stare.

“Fuck. Hydra,” you growl.

Never had you been grateful that this room was off the grid, Pierce had confirmed that earlier. Had they eyes or ears here they’d have known the things Eric had done to you. Even so… you didn’t dare say anything more.

It must have been enough because his mood shifts back to a skeptical neutral. Slowly he backs up, standing on the other side of the desk. Neither of you speak, you just stare, assessing if you were friend or foe until a buzz sounds from the phone on the desk.

“Yes?” You ask pressing the intercom button.

“I h-have the clothing you requested. The woman should be up soon.”

“And the information on The Soldier?”

“I’m getting it to-together now.” That tremulous little stammer was beginning to grate your nerves.

“Bring the clothes.”

One bag contained three pairs of black boots, practical though none of you would leave here in them. The other revealed three sets of black hoodies, caps, tees, and bluejeans. They’d do.

“Here,” you hold out the pile of clothes to him. He eyes them. “Look, even if you weren’t covered in blood you can’t go out on the street looking like Edward fucking Scissorhands.” Did they have a point in dressing the man like he was on his way to a cheap dungeon?

Finally, he takes them.

“You can use the bathroom,” you turn to pull your own clothes out. “Oh, and be sure to check them for-” He nods, turning for the bathroom. Clothing could easily conceal trackers and bugs - it was why the boots would remain here unused.

You meticulously check the clothes provided for you and the woman, pleased to find nothing suspicious. In the small closet where Eric kept a few changes of clothes, you find the trainers you were hoping for. They’d be far too large for either you or the woman but at least you knew they’d be clean.

Just as you pull the plain black tee over your head The Soldier walks out. His own tee stretches tight across his chest, the metal arm somehow seeming more alarming when paired with the plain clothes. Still, no one could deny that the man was a specimen.

Drawing your eyes away you pluck the card of hair elastics from the bag, handing one to him. “If you wanted to pull your hair back.” He takes it, his eyes landing on your throat.

“You still have,” he gestures to his own neck.

“Oh, right. If they come with the woman would you mind letting them in?” He says nothing. With a sigh, you duck into the bathroom to remove the lingering traces of blood.

You hear the door to the office open followed by a muffled cry of alarm. When you pop your head out of the bathroom the woman stands, still nude, in fighting form. Much more firey than when she was in the cell.

“Don’t fucking come near me,” she growls in an American accent. The Soldier stands several feet away, hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans, hair up in a low ponytail.

“He isn’t going to harm you,” you say stepping out. Though, you didn’t entirely know if that was true. He’d been ready to eviscerate you not a half-hour ago. The woman throws you a wild glare.

“I’m Catherine Clayton,” you grab the hoodie intended for The Soldier from the pile and toss it to her. Christ, they couldn’t even be bothered to give the woman a towel to cover herself with. It’s just long enough to cover her.

“I know what you are,” she spits. What. Not who.

“I highly doubt that.” The woman didn’t know the half of it. “Drink?” You ask nodding to the bar cart.

“So now I’m invited to drinks?” You can’t help but smile.

“In defense of my rudeness earlier, I truly thought I’d be dead or worse by now. Seeing as that’s not the case,” you shrug.

“Whiskey,” the woman says, stepping closer but still keeping a wary eye on The Soldier.

You pour her a glass and look to The Soldier, “And you?” He simply glares and turns to resume a vigil by the door.

Surprisingly she sniffs the glass only once and downs it all in one go before you take a drink. You raise a brow and reach for the glass to refill it.

She shrugs, “If I’m going to go out there are worse ways than poisoned whiskey.”

“I’ll drink to that.” You gesture for her to have a seat. She eyes eye chair and simply leans against it, you don’t miss the slight spark of defiance in her chestnut eyes.

Rather than sit in a chair yourself you hop onto the desktop, facing her, and wait for her to ask the question.

“What do you want from me?”

“I’d like to offer you a job.” She looks at you disbelieving.

“A job.” You nod. “I’m not sure if you’ve seen my resume lately, but I didn’t exactly leave my last position on amicable terms.”

“I’m well aware. In fact, it’s what made you a prime candidate for the position.” She studies you as you continue. “I’m not looking for someone loyal to the cause. I need someone loyal to me.” You can see the flames of curiosity begin to rise.

“And what does loyalty to you look like?” She asks before taking a sip of her whiskey.

“Details will come in time. But, from what I hear of you, I feel our intentions may align nicely.”

Finally, she pushes away from the chair and steps closer, “Fuck it. I’m in.” You hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Your skepticism must show.

“Look, I’d rather answer to a woman than another mouth breathing wanna be Mussolini. And,” her stare intensifies, “anyone with the spine to put down that monster like you did today is pretty good in my book.”

She extends her right hand. Smiling you hop off the desk and take it.

“I’m Mara.”

“Pleasure.”

“So,” you release your shake and she finishes her drink, “what do ya need from me boss?”

“On paper, you’ll be my personal assistant.”

“And off the books?”

“We’ll get to that.” You nod to the clothes, “For now go ahead and get changed. That hoodie is his.” Tension visibly rolls over her.

Without another word, she grabs the clothes and disappears into the bathroom. A moment later the intercom buzzes. You press the button but say nothing.

“Ma-Madam Clayton, I have the f-files on The Soldier you requested.”

“Good. Before you bring them, how much cash do we have on hand?”

“Oh, I can provide you with the ca-”

“I asked a clear question, Anita.” You’d all need a place to stay until you could get your private finances sorted. With Eric gone it should be easier to do so, especially since you’d spent the last three years building a stockpile even Hydra couldn’t trace. Still, for the next few nights you all needed a safe - or at least safe enough - place and using a card would let Hydra know exactly where you were.

“Yes, so-sorry Madam. We have over one hundred thousand-”

“Bring me forty of it along with the files.” You shut the intercom off and wait for the tentative knock.

It comes as Mara steps out of the bathroom. She eyes The Soldier as he opens the door and warily drapes his hoodie over the wingback before standing beside you.

Anita, carrying two banker boxes stacked beneath her chin stumbles in. The Soldier catches her by the shoulder before she topples, causing her to freeze until she catches sight of Mara. Her expression shifts from shock to indignation.

She pulls away from The Soldier’s grip, blustering to the small table sitting between the wingback chairs. Straightening her dowdy blouse she plucks a thick envelope from the top.

“The files and money, Madam Catherine.” She shoots Mara a filthy glare. Mara responds with a fox-like grin that further flusters the older woman.

“Madam,” she clips out in a nasal tone as you pull the money out.

“That will be all, Anita,” you don’t even look up at her as you ensure the bills are all there and authentic.

“Madam,” she says again. Slowly you raise your eyes to meet her pathetic attempt at a confident glare. “This-this, woman,” she spits. “She’s to be disposed of! Your father wanted-” The rest of her words are lost in a garbled scream, your grip on her throat trapping the sound.

For a split second, you’re a bit disoriented by the speed at which you moved, so much so that you almost squeeze too tight. With effort, you relax your grip. This was not her time to die.

“Anita,” you purr, “who’s blood do you suppose that was earlier?”

“Mr-Mr. Clayton,” she manages to eke out.

“That’s right!” You say in a tone one may take with a child. “And knowing that, do you suppose I give one holy fuck about anything that beast wanted?” You stare into her bulging eyes, watch her pasty skin burn red with fear and shame - both tasted so sweet. How many times had she turned a blind eye…

She shakes her head.

“Good,” you toss her to the ground. She rolls onto all fours, gasping for air as she crawls away to put distance between you.

“Oh, and Anita,” her whole body goes rigid. “If you ever bring him up again, I’ll do things to you that would make the Devil himself cringe. Do we have an understanding?”

She nods.

“Excellent. That is all, Anita.” She manages to rise to her feet, though her body remained deeply bowed as she scuttled out the door.

You could feel the eyes of the others on you.

“Does anyone here have a problem with how that was handled?” You ask. The Soldier simply looks at you with narrow eyes.

“Not me.” Mara hops onto the desk. One out of two was good enough.

“Here,” you tuck a wad of bills into your pocket and hand her the envelope. “That’s thirty thousand pounds. It should be more than enough to get us ensconced in a good hotel. I’d prefer a penthouse, two bedrooms, with clear sightlines to the roofs of the surrounding buildings. But mainly something as private as possible.” She nods. “Book a room for yourself as well.”

You cross to one of the bookshelves, giving the bottom a swift kick. The old mechanism groaned as it slid open to reveal a small closet filled with an arsenal.

“Help yourselves.”

“Nice,” Mara comments with sparkling eyes. The Soldier doesn’t make a move.

“There’s another elevator in there,” you tell her. “It will take you to the street.”

“Where should we rendezvous?”

“French House,” it would be easy enough for you and The Soldier to disappear into the ever-crowded pub.

“Got it,” she slips a gun into her waistband. “Shoes?”

“Oh!” You kick off your blood-spattered black trainers. “Take these. I found another clean pair.”

“See you soon!” Mara tosses over her shoulder as the elevator closes.

Within two hours you’re walking into the Dome penthouse over The Hotel Cafe Royal. The terrace overlooked the London skyline and provided an easy escape should it be necessary.

“I have to admit, Mara. I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be,” she kicks off your old trainers, slipping into a new pair. “Money talks, so it wasn’t exactly difficult.” You look out one of the curved windows to the terrace.

“What now?” She asks from behind you.

“Now,” you sigh, “rest.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Order food to your room, have a soak, get drunk. Whatever you need.” You don’t mistake the relief that floods her face. “I’ll ring you tomorrow,” you hold up the burner phone that matched her own.

“Ok,” she sighs.

“Thank you, Mara.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me this far.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” she says with a wink. The Soldier reenters the living room and she studies him. “Be careful.”

You nod, “Goodnight.” With that, she leaves.

“I’m taking a bath,” you say to him. “I assume you chose your room?” His brows knit, a bit confused.

“There are two additional bedrooms, what did you think I was going to have you do? Stand at attention all night?” His cold glare is enough of an answer. “Pick a room. Order food. Do whatever you want.” You turn on your heel and stalk toward the bathroom.

You sink under the scalding water, hoping it will help clear your mind, allow the fragments of a plan that had been ricocheting around in your skull become something solid and tangible. Instead... it reminds you of the hot slick feeling of Eric’s blood.

Gasping for air, you fling yourself from the tub, sending the small table of neatly stacked towels flying into the wall. With no small effort, you force your eyes open, half expecting to see your whole body coated in the thick red substance.

There’s nothing. Of course, there was nothing. Nothing besides The Soldier, standing in the entrance, concern coloring his features.

“I’m fine,” you huff, cheeks burning a bit from embarrassment. “A little privacy?” He seems to flush a bit himself and heads wordlessly from the room.

A shower was clearly the best option.

You wrap yourself in a plush robe before stepping from the bathroom, expecting to see the soldier in the living room. But he wasn’t there.

No matter. You head onto the terrace, taking in the spectacular view and relishing the cold night air on your damp skin.

Now clarity comes.

You hear the rustle of someone behind you, the slightest hum of gears indicating that it was The Soldier.

“I’m going to burn it all down.” The words feel electric on your tongue. “All of Hydra.”

Your mother was wrong. You were not more than this, more than them.

She was also wrong about evil. Sometimes the only thing strong enough to defeat it was an equal…

Your father had made you such an equal. Honed you into a weapon, something as dark and deadly as Hydra itself. Being bred in the belly of that beast you knew its anatomy, its every weak spot, every flaw.

They wanted to make you the body. Instead, you’d be a cancer, consuming the beast from the inside out.

You turn to him, “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

His intense eyes seem to sparkle and a slight smile curls his lips.

“Not at all.”

Relief surges through your body. You knew what you wanted to accomplish was an olympian task and without the strength and fear The Soldier afforded you - well it would have become a near-impossible one.

A knock draws both your attention.

“I ordered food,” he says beginning to turn away. “For both of us.”

The gesture catches you so off guard that it renders you immobile for a moment. When you finally make it inside he’s moving the boxes filled with information on him to the ground to clear the table for food.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I ordered several things.” The cart was stacked to bursting and the smells rising from it made your mouth water. But there on the bottom, a familiar package catches your eye.

Chocolate digestive biscuits. The same kind you shared with him on that night so long ago. Silently you bend to retrieve them, looking from the biscuits to him a couple of times before speaking.

“You do remember.” He nods. Confusion roils, “Then why did you charge me earlier if-”

“People change.” He pulls the cover off of a trey revealing a cheeseburger and fries and moves it to the table. You think he’ll say more but, instead, he starts eating. The growling of your stomach convinces you to not press the subject and instead locate the curry you can scent hiding under one of those covered trays.

Honestly, you’d never felt this hungry. You tear through the red curry and move on to another tray, this one housing a second burger and fries. It’s not until you’re done with that and are nibbling on a poor excuse for pizza that you actually slow.

“I guess I was hungrier than I thought.”

He smiles a bit, taking a slice of the pizza, “I think it’s the serum. I’m always hungry.”

You study him for a moment, “Any other insights on that front?”

He shrugs, “Things can be overwhelming,” he clears his throat, “sensations. Even your own body can seem too loud. You feel… more. Everything’s dialed up so you may be stronger, harder to kill, but it doesn’t mean shit hurts less.” That was actually very good information. “I’m sure there’s plenty of information in those boxes.” You don’t miss the bitter edge in his voice.

Silence hangs thick for a bit until he asks, “Did you choose this?”

“Choose what?” You meet his intense gaze.

“The serum. Did you let them do this to you?”

“Do you think my bastard father would have let me choose something like this?” You scoff. Anger flares in your chest, “No.” You push away from the table and begin to pace.

“I was simply informed that whatever life I thought I could build for myself was over. That I had to, yet again, prove myself worthy of something I never wanted and never asked for. That I had better not, disappoint.” You feel your body start to shake, “Because even my death, death at their hands, would have been a disgrace.”

“I got milk too,” he says behind you.

“What?” The statement seemed absurd until you turned to see him pouring two glasses, the biscuits on the table. Somehow the sight tamps down the flame of your rage.

“Oh,” you collapse on the couch, hiding your face in your hands. Maybe emotions, like sensations, were dialed up because you couldn’t seem to get a hold of yours.

“I’m sorry,” his voice comes from closer than you expect. Looking up you see him kneeling before you, worry etched across his face, a lock of hair falling from his ponytail.

“I didn’t… I should have…” He seems to struggle to find the words suddenly. “I don’t have space to speak freely… ever. And I-”

“You’re free. Or as free as I can make you.” You couldn’t truly grant him freedom that you yourself didn’t possess, but you hoped it was something. The emotion that shows in his eyes is beyond words but it makes your chest constrict all the same.

“Thank you,” his voice cracks a bit at the end and he quickly stands.

For the next hour, you both burn through the biscuits in comfortable silence. Once they’re gone you slump back into the deep cushions of the couch, exhaustion crashing over you.

“I could sleep for three days.” You wished. Sleep and you had a tense relationship at best.

“You should rest.” He says.

Sighing you nod and stand, turning toward the master suite attached to the living room.

“Actually,” he begins. You look back.

“Yes?”

“You should probably take one of the back rooms. Less direct access from the terrace.” He had a point, there were no actual doors to the master bed or bathroom, just an open space cut up with walls that didn’t quite reach the high ceiling and the terrace wrapped around almost the entire suite.

“I’ll take whichever. Lead the way.” You hadn’t really inspected the other rooms.

He guides you to the one furthest from the entry assuring you that he’ll hear anyone who comes.

“You’ll be safe,” he says, reminding you of the vigil he kept for you years ago - protecting you from the monster in your own home. You nod, in acceptance and open the door.

“One thing,” you turn to him. “What you did back there, to Eric. Was that because I-“

“I did it for both of us.” You don’t think you imagine the slight spark of satisfaction in his expression.

“Goodnight, Catherine.”

“Goodnight.” You realize suddenly that you don’t know his name, he never offered it, and knowing what little you did about him you wondered if he even knew…

That would be the first thing you’d find in those files tomorrow. You couldn’t give him true freedom, not yet, but you could damn well give him his name back.

---

TAGS: @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @stevehesaidabadlanguageword @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @this-kitten-is-smitten @nighttwingg @handplucked @jewelofwinter @whiskeywinter89 @damnaged-princess @the7intheimpala @saaamsayshi @7minutes-tomidnight @amorluzymelodia @auroraluna777 @leniaana @awkwardlyhot @ilovespideyyy @jaxthebookworm @docharleythegeekqueen @olympos-92

NOTE: Why does The Soldier remember her? Given what we know about him I feel like that may be one of the biggest (most frustrating) questions at the end of this so I just want to share that you’ll get the answer in the next chapter.

#the winter solider x reader #bucky x reader #winter solider x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark fic #the winter soldier

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rexcoatlarchive · 4 years

Text

Welcome to chaldea

Time to explore how the hell Rex even got to chaldea in the first place.

*in a suburban home somewhere in Kansas, laying in his bed was the man who would eventually be thrown into some magical bs*

*phone rings*

Me: *picking up the phone* hola?

Gramps: Hola mijo!

Me: oh hey gramps

Gramps: how are doing today?

Me: I'm fine, and you?

Gramps: bien , muy bien. Hey, you think you can come over? It's kind of important.

Me: uh sure I guess I could.

Gramps: and make sure you come alone

Me: oh... OK.

*later on right outside a pretty dingy looking house*

Me: *driving up to the building*

Me: here we are. Wonder what he needs

*enters the house*

Me: gramps! You in here?!

Gramps: *from another room* over here mijo!

*Rex walks to a room that looks a bit like an office. And there at a desk sat an older kinda short looking Mexican man*

Rex: hey Gramps. You wanted to see me?

Gramps: si mijo! There's something I need to tell you about.

Me: uh sure thing, what is it?

Gramps: ...you ever heard of magic mijo?

Me: *already concerned* uh.... yeah.

Gramps: you think it's all just nonsense and fairy tails don't you?

Me: well all evidence I and the world at large have seen points towards it being bs, yeah.

Gramps: well what if I told you it was all true, and all magic users have been keeping it a secret from the rest of the world?

Me: what like Harry Potter? Well first off I'd be concerned about your mental health somewhat.

Gramps: hahaha, yeah I imagine that's an appropriate reaction. But what if I showed you this *just fucking makes fire appear out of his hands*

Me: .....well then. Is it real?

Gramps: course it's real. Try to feel it

Me: *reaches hand out, it's actually warm* ...how the fuck?

Gramps: like I said, magic! Well we call it thamaturgy, we don't consider it true magic.

Me: then wtf is true magic?

Gramps: the stuff of dreams! The things some true magicians can do are beyond imagination and even comprehension!

Me: well then... why are you telling me all this now? Who else knows?

Gramps: no one else in the family. I've kept this a secret for ages.

Me: ages?! How old are you?

Gramps: oof! I don't even remember! But I will say my earliest memory is of some Spanish fools asking about a golden city. And even then I wasn't exactly a spring chicken

Me: *thinking about how old that could be* holy... so you can keep yourself young with magic?

Gramps: yeah, most mages don't but a few dabble in it.

Me: why keep it a secret for so long? And why start talking now?

Gramps: well to answer your first question, it's because most of mage culture is horrible and lacks morality almost entirely.

Me: ...huh

Gramps: and almost all mages are fools, refusing to adapt with the times. They're obsessed with the old ways, it can get downright pathetic honestly!

Me: interesting... again why now?

Gramps: well I figure it's time to stop extending my life so damn much and open the way for the next generation, as in you!

Me: Me?! You want me start doing magic?

Gramps: yup!

Me: why me? Why not dad or mom or someone?

Gramps: because I've been specifically getting you ready for this. Your magical circuits are the best in the family, the only ones that compare to mine.

Me: ...my what?

Gramps: they're called magical circuits. It's the part of the body that allows people to practice thamaturgy in the first place.

Me: so it's genetic?

Gramps: yeah, almost every generation after me had subpar circuits. Slowly over the generations I did small experiments to ensure that eventually I will have a proper successor. Nothing too bad, no one would've noticed. And you are the culmination of that work.

Me: feels really weird to be called the culmination of your work.

Gramps: yeah, that's an understandable reaction. Don't worry, I never needed to do anything to you. You were born ready to go. I just needed to wait until you were old enough.

Me: alright. So how do we start this? You start teaching me how to do this?

Gramps: early on I did have that in mind, but then a friend of mine starting working on something that I think would be better. You see, in the world of magecraft I'm actually kinda infamous. I'm a bit of a black sheep compared to the rest of magus society. Instead of focusing on 1 type of magecraft I decided to travel all around and learn as much as I could.

Me: so you're a bit of a jack of all trades?

Gramps: yeah, that's a good way to put it. I made many friends and enemies in my travels. And many want to know all the secrets I have, because I know forms of magecraft that many would love to get their hands on. For example, I'm ages old but don't look a day over 80 right?

Me: yeah.

Gramps: usually for other mages to achieve this many sacrifices are made, like sanity or their bodies start to deteriorate. But not me! I have access to magecraft that's long since died out.

Me: damn

Gramps: and all those secret will go to you. Or atleast most that I can give. And automatically once I die, all my enemies will be your enemies.

Me: WHAT!?

Gramps: but! Then I heard a friend of mine, from the animusphere family started working on something called the Chaldea security organization. And he needs mages, I talked to him and ensured that you'll join. And in return he'll ensure no one can get to you.

Me: so I'll go their to learn instead of you?

Gramps: yup! Soon enough I'll transfer my crest, which what'll you need to get started, you'll receive a phone call to confirm your participation. Then eventually someone will come get you, and you'll get started from there.

Me: so it's like a job? And is it OK for them to get someone so new to this?

Gramps: they just need bodies, and yeah it's basically a job. But you'll be staying there. So I'm basically forcing you to finally be independent and move out of your parent's home

Me: I'm only 20, it's not that bad.

Gramps: still, this has been set in motion. Are you prepared for what's coming?

Me: not even remotely! But I have very little say do I?

Gramps: nope!

*eventually after a few days, Gramps transfered his crest over to Rex. Eventually Gramps passes, and Rex just waited*

*phone rings*

Me: hello?

*a female voice is heard*

Olga: hello, this is the director of the chaldea security organization. I have a note from the previous director to call this number on this day. Are you the successor of that... unique magus who passed recently?

Me: yes I am.

Olga: and am I correct to assume that you've been informed of your involuntary recruitment into this organization?

Me: yup

Olga: ok, I'm not going to force you to join but I will say it is in your best interest to join. Once other magus find out about you, and they will, you will likely not be safe.

Me: yeah, he made that clear. I've already prepared myself to join

Olga: excellent, a car will be coming tomorrow to take you to a plane. From there you'll be taken here.

Me: alright then. Is that it?

Olga: that's all, see you soon enough

*the phone is hung up*

Me: kind of annoying being thrown into this. But from what I've heard it could be worse. *looks at an envelope left by gramps*

*on the envelope it says "don't open until you get there, and make sure to bring the feather"*

Me: *holding said feather* he gave me this thing ages ago. So I guess this was him getting me ready for all this? Wth does a feather have to do with magic anyways?

*the next day on the plane*

*Rex is seated next to a pair of twins*

Rikka: *trying to start conversation* hey there!

Me: hi

Rikka: what's your name?

Me: you can call me Rex

Rikka: well hey there Rex! You can call me Rikka, and this is my brother Rikko!

Rikko: *is sleeping*

Rikka: *elbows him* wake up bro!

Rikko: huh? What?

Rikka: so why'd you decide to join up?

Me: was kinda forced into this by gramps

Rikka: your grandpa forced you to join?

Me: oh, he's not actually my grandpa. Everyone in my family just called him that because he's older. And yeah I was forced essentially, because a lot of magus don't like him apparently. And as his successor I'm apparently going to have a target on my back. But he said the director would promise my safety if I joined so... yeah

Rikka: well that's kind of messed up! But that's mage culture for ya!

Me: man every time I hear about mage culture, it's non-stop misery and dread

Rikka: do you not know much about mage culture?

Me: no! Just a month ago, magic would've been considered fairy tale nonsense to me! But now I'm being thrown into something I barely understand to stay safe from who knows what!

Rikko: that's very weird. Normally it's driven into your head from birth

Me: but not me! Even the rest of my family knew nothing until I showed them some of the basic spells gramps taught me! He's left me with very little while throwing me into this crazy world. It's kind of weird because he was always that cool relative that was a blast whenever he visited! But now he's the man who threw me into this magic hell and then died! All he's left me with is this journal to figure out basic magecraft and this bite and feather

Rikko: feather? Why the feather?

Me: good question. The note might explain but it says to wait until we get there.

Rikka: well when you do open it can you tell us?

Me: sure I guess

Me: but I've gone on long enough, why are you guys joining?

Rikko: well we just needed some work and independence, and our parents heard about this place and said we should join up

Me: that's it?

Rikka: yup!

Me: huh, ok then

*eventually once at chaldea and after the huge presentation at the beginning the 3 are walking towards their rooms*

Me: man you two kept falling asleep, if I weren't there to keep you guys awake who knows how the director would've reacted. And also thankfully that Mash girl told us the right way to go to our rooms

Rikka: *still sleepy* yeah, thanks for that. And thanks Mash

Rikko: *also sleepy* so where's our rooms anyways?

Me: *stopping at a door* right here it seems

Rikka: cool! Let's get in to read your note already!

Me: don't you want to get into your rooms first?

Rikka: that can wait! I'm too curious right now!

Me: alright then

*the door opens and sitting on the bed is a man with long red hair tied in a pony tail is seen eating cake, along with him is a dark skinned woman with dark purple hair*

Me: uh...

Rikka: hey there?

Rikko: did you get the wrong room?

Me: no... it says right on the paper

*the two on the bed stand up*

Romani: oh sorry about that we were just kind of taking a quick break, this room had been empty for so long we just used it to hang out.

Me: huh... well sorry but I've been assigned to this room.

Rikka: who are you guys anyway?

Romani: I'm Romani Archaman, the head doctor around here though most people call me Dr. Roman. And this lovely woman is my wife, and assistant

Mrs. Archaman: hello there

Me: oh the head doctor huh? Interesting

Rikko: nice to meet you doc

Rikka: ...you guys both have fluffy hair

Roman: yeah we get that a lot

Mrs. Archaman: mostly me though. People always want feel my hair

*out of nowhere comes a little white animal*

Roman: oh is that the fabled mystery creature Mash told us about?

Mrs. Archaman: oh how cute!

Me: wtf is he?

Rikko: squirrel?

Rikka: cat?

Roman: no idea, my first time seeing him

Roman: come here little guy, I'll give you a treat

Fou: fou fou!

Roman: wait a minute, what's with the pitying look in his eyes!?

*all of a sudden the lights go out, thanks to the explosion*

Well that's the pretty much the story

Really wanted to finally show how Rex got into chaldeas in the first place.

Tagging some folks @panyum @grievouslyxorvia @gxymlky @hasereshdoneanythingwrong

Kinda wonder if people will realize who the mysterious wife is

#fate grand order #mastersona #gudas #romani archaman #mrs. Archaman #olga marie animusphere #gramps

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the19thduckpotato · 4 years

Text

Oh look, just in time for another bit of co-op writing between @my-favorite-aesthetics and myself. A time travel AU this time, Izuku being flung into the past before Nana Shimura’s fight with All for One.

It was rainy that late August night. Torino had found an abandoned building in one of the shadier parts of town. They clustered in the first floor's front room. A single lamp fitfully tossed elongated shadows against webbed corners. Nana Shimura immediately claimed first watch, staring out the windows from behind sagging blinds. Gran Torino slumped on one dusty chair, arms crossed as he glowered at his coffee mug. Young Toshinori was tossing a small ball in the air but made sure not to hit the walls. He restlessly glanced at Izuku, wanting to throw the ball to him but deciding against it. For some reason.

Izuku tapped the pads of his fingers against his mug, wishing he could tap his fingernails but knowing that would probably drive everyone around him nuts with how high tensions were. He reflected. I'm in it now. Like it or not, I'm in it. I'm going to save her, or at least I'll try. I have a chance. Now do I want to maximize that chance, or keep everything that could help us to myself, and risk living the aftermath knowing what I could have done? One second of imagining Toshi's face was all it took to decide. His brain supplied a lovely image of Gran, too, anyway. Oh, gosh, he laughed internally, Gran would actually try to kill me! And I wouldn't blame him, either, he sobered up. I'd basically have killed her. Okay. ...Okay. He took a deep breath. ...Here we go. He immediately chickened out. I'M INSANE, WHAT AM I DOING, I COULD CHANGE THE WORLD HORRIBLY, what about Everything Happens For A Reason, what if the world turns out horrible because this tragedy was always meant to happen-- --but what if you were meant to happen, he argued back at himself. What if you were meant to come back in time and change this? If everything happens for a reason, this does too. That... is a very good point, actually. He scrunched his shoulders. He straightened. He took a final deep breath, eyes closed.

Toshinori paused in his tiny game of catch and looked to Izuku, curious. Torino snorted once and crossed his arms harder.

Izuku reconsidered his timing, afraid of provoking an outburst from an already-angry Gran if the conversation turned sour... or worse, having to explain everything while he was in this mood. But what if you don't have time. Toshi looks like the old pictures already... "Hey Toshi..." he began softly.

"Yeah?" came the easygoing reply.

"How old are you?" His voice held the sad, rather heavy note of This Is A Time Conversation. He kept his eyes fixed on the table instead of his dad strange older brother?

Torino sat up abruptly. Toshinori blinked in alarm and looked to Master, whom seemed not to have heard the question.... or the tone it was spoken in. The blond faced Izuku--or rather, that bizarrely messy burst of curls. "Eighteen," he answered carefully, squeezing the tennis ball in one large hand.

Izuku's hands twitched in panic when Gran sat up, but he calmed down when it seemed to be more in interest than anything else. And what would it be? He's not mean, just grumpy... kinda like the dwarf, hehheh... except way too TALL, and THAT'S bizarre but-- "Oh, okay." He managed to respond in what was probably a normal timeframe. "Uhm," ... He hoped somebody would ask what else he wanted to say and he wouldn't have to push it out on his own.

Toshinori watched the kid anxiously then opened his mouth. "...why?" Torino's voice butted in. "What's it to ya?" He grumbled as he found his coffee cup empty, then waved with a semblance of apology. "Spit it out, whatever it is." Nana continued to silently stare out the window. It bothered Sorahiko, her lack of involvement in the conversation, making him edgier. His grey eyes bore into Izuku. "Well?"

"...Something bad's gonna happen," Izuku said quietly. "Within the year. That's basically all I know." About the date, anyway. I'm going to fight it when it comes, I'm going to fight with you... maybe for you... but I couldn't make it alone, together is the only chance we've got....

"Listen kid," Torino said, crossing his arms again. "Something bad is already happening. We're halfway to on the run because of a criminal mastermind named All for One--" A faint sound from Nana's spot. Toshinori's brows knitted together and, despite his fear of the man, was ready to retort. Todino held up one gloved hand. "So you'll have to forgive me if I'm not impressed by within the year. Gimme something better or stop scaring the human puppy over there." Toshinori's ears flushed a faint red and he resumed tossing his ball.

That got a grin out of Izuku, and he looked over at Toshi, watching at first with affection-- then added a slightly-teasing "aaaawwww♡"

Toshinori's head scrunched down between his shoulders, his already thick muscles belying the gentle eyes of a still young man. Torino shook his head and shifted to the coffee maker. "That quivering cream puff the next Holder? My left foot could be a better--" "Leave him alone, Sorahiko," Nana's voice echoed across the room. She was finally looking at the rest of them, sitting with a regal air. Her gaze rested on Izuku a moment, as if probing for something.

Izuku's eyes shifted to her, then locked on her gaze. All pretense seemed to leach out of his expression. "He's gonna find us. This year."

She nodded slowly, as if his words had settled a debate in her mind. "Thank you, Izuku." "What?" Toshinori looked between the two, hands held out in confused dismay. "No, Master, that's terrible! We have to do something!" "And we will, boy," Torino barked. "Now sit down." And the future Symbol of Peace plunked down in an empty chair--for her, not for him. He longed to ask more of Izuku but feared the answers. Four months wasn't a lot of time. Especially not to master One for All. He swallowed hard.

Izuku tried to unwind his muscles from the rigid form they wound themselves into at Torino's command, anger growing at both his own reactions and the authority figure's grouchy hero's volume. His hand curled into itself, nails biting his palm before he forced himself to relax. He sighed, taking a long drink of the bitter mess in his mug, the warmth in his stomach making him feel better despite himself. "Hey, Toshi?" His voice was a little croaky from how long he had held his breath to guzzle the coffee. "How long are you still gonna be 18?"

"A while, I hope," Toshi tried to joke with a weak grin. "Only been 18 for a few months now." He ambled toward the coffee maker, reaching for an empty mug and Torino smacked his hand away. "That stuff'll stunt yer growth," he scolded, sipping his third cupful. Toshi couldn't help but look to his master again but she had returned to her silent staring through the blinds. I miss her smile. She hasn't been the same since... Toshi grimaced.

Izuku couldn't help but let a soft snort escape with a grin. Toshi was already tall enough to hit his head on the doorframe.

"So. Yagi is the problem, eh?" Torino considered his coffee and added a tired looking packet of sugar.

Izuku gave him a weird, dubious squint. Why the Crap would you make that kind of comment....

Maybe if I prod the boy enough, some of her old fire will come back and defend him against me. Ah Nana....

What on earth would lead you to that conclusion... why are you so hard on him, no matter what happens, one day he's going to snap in your face and all the years will culminate in a load of hell to pay-- and I can't help with this one. It's gone too far already.

Toshinori glanced at his hands, trying to look small and unobtrusive. Torino rolled his eyes and flicked the empty sugar packet on the floor. "Anything else, Future Izuku?"

Izuku gritted his teeth, gripping his cup to try and hide the fact that his hand wanted to curl into a fist yet again. He unclenched his jaw and tried to keep his voice neutral. "Not that I can think of, but in a minute I'll probably have something else. Time travel is complicated, and I'm not sure what I can tell you. Or what I can explain in a comprehensive way." He paused, lips forming a thin line. "And what I know... isn't much. Obviously what I've learned was secondhand, and nobody liked to talk about it a great deal."

Toshinori's blue eyes shone with regret. He knew he would eventually have the knowledge Izuku needed but his own future self hadn't shared enough. Understandably....but still frustrating. "I apologize," he mumbled.

Izuku blinked with surprise, turning back to Toshi. "For what? It's not like anyone knew this was going to happen. And you haven't done any of it," he half-laughed. Of course you'd apologize for it. I didn't know you started this early. And to think you told me not to apologize all the time... his mind started to drift to Dagobah Beach, but he pulled it back, pushing away the ache in his chest. Not right now....

"Something bad is coming. I wish i had given you more to work with. We could prepare better." He almost added ....right, Master? But he too was unsettled by her silent watch, wanting to hear her laugh just once more. If she could just laugh, all this gloomy future would melt away, Toshi was sure. And suddenly, she stood up from her seat, a determined look on her face. "M-master?"

Izuku looked to her, wondering whether this new resolve was good or bad.

"And where do you think you're going?" "Just a small errand, Sorahiko. Calm down." Torino hrmphed! angrily. "Calm down? Calm down?? We've been laying low for three days now, you suddenly get it into your head to go on a snack run, and you want ME to calm down??" He snapped his fingers at Izuku. "Midoriya--you know anything about this?"

"No?" Izuku gave him That Scrunchy Look again. The one that hopefully implied he was a bit bonkers for saying these things. Don't snap at me, you-- "Why would I?"

Toshi brushed back one of his bangs, the worry clear on his face. "Master, forgive me but... why now, at this moment, when Izuku just said--" Nana cut her student off with a large grin, her eyes crinkling shut. "He said we have the rest of the year, not the rest of the night. Don't worry so much, it'll give you greys, sunburst!" Torino pointed to his own hair then at his best friend. "For once,, I actually agree with your lil fanboy. What's the hurry?" If Nana's smile faltered, she was quick to restore it to full brilliance. "I said it's fine. No, really... Toshi, sit down."

Why is everyone telling him to sit down? He doesn't seem like he wants to. Is he going to? Do we need to stop her? Is she really going out on a snack run? --IS SHE GOING TO HUNT DOWN ALL FOR ONE EARLY, oh my gosh Nana NO

Toshi's hands were out in some sort of pleading gesture, his fingers twitching, uncertain what to grasp or punch to make whatever this impending sense of doom go away. He turned not to Nana but to Izuku, eyes wide; his heart thudded in his chest now and breath came in short gasps. Something's wrong.

Oh boy. He's freaking out. Izuku bit his lip, wondering what to say to help him.

Toshinori waited a moment longer --please, say something, anything!-- then got to his feet and strode toward his master. "Yagi, what part of sit your ass down don't you get!" He faced Torino, bangs trembling but jaw jutted out. "She's not going alone." Torino looked taken aback, stunned into silence. Whether it was from Toshinori's defiance, his boldness, or his protectiveness was hard to tell. Nana moved to touch the young hero's cheek...then rested her hand on his shoulder instead. "I promise it's ok," she murmured. Toshi's brows knitted together again and he shook his head. "It doesn't feel ok," he croaked.

Izuku's heart ached at that sound. Please let everything be okay... please

"I won't be long, sunburst," she replied gently. "And a team of one draws less attention." "At least tell me where you're going," he pleaded. Torino grunted something like agreement then shifted in his seat. "Listen to your master," he said with little enthusiasm. "I'll be back soon," she said cheerfully. "How about that brilliant smile to see me off?" Her laughter tinkled merrily as Toshi did as he was asked. She then tweaked one of his bangs fondly and opened the door. "Keep smiling," she said in a commanding voice. "Remember, those who can keep smiling are the strongest of all." Toshi gave a soft strangled noise as the door clicked shut behind her.

"...A team of two has a better chance of survival," Izuku said calmly, fingertips tapping on the table thoughtfully. "I'd like your permission to follow her. Not secretively, just to... Not Leave. She's less likely to be as insistent to me as to either of you."

Torino fiddled with his coffe cup a moment then nodded at it. "Not you," he snapped at Toshinori. "You get over here and protect me or some such." The blond half slunk back to his own chair but he gave Izuku a small relieved smile.

Izuku gulped the last of his coffee, made a face at the grounds in the bottom, and stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and slipping out the door. He saw Nana in the hallway, and began to walk after her, standing tall, hoping his confidence would be enough to quietly outlast anything she could shout at him. I'm not leaving you. Not when your life is already so far on the line.

She paused, one hand quickly rubbing her face, then turned. "Hey," she said casually. "Whatcha doing? Out on another time quest?"

Izuku swallowed the hint of a lump trying to sneak into his throat. "You could say."

Nana studied him a moment. "Need any help?"

"...Yeah." He kept his voice soft, tilting his head at her.

She returned his look, one eyebrow arched with suspicion. "I'm listening."

Be gentle. Be soft. Seem young, she’ll go a little easier on you. But not too young, you’ll seem clueless. In reality, he just looked tired. “I need you to tell me where you’re going.”

She almost told a lie. She almost denied his unspoken accusation hotly. She almost ignored him. Instead, she just sighed. "Testing me or actually curious?"

“I... honestly don’t know what you mean, I just really need to know.” If you’re going after him... if you die....

"Izuku, sometimes a hero needs to take extra precautions to protect those she loves. To make sure they don't get hurt." She was walking again but with the gait of one on their way to do something distasteful. "I'm not worried about Gran Torino and I'm sure the kid is going to be fine." A faint genuine smile, half hidden by her raven hair. I know he is. "...but not everyone can protect themselves. Especially now that my husband..." She covered her mouth, fighting to retain composure.

Izuku stayed quiet, both out of knowing that any condolences he could offer would seem empty, and in hopes that she would fill the silence with more detail. Is she going on patrol...? I’m missing something here

Nana cleared her throat and tossed her hair back. "I still have a family, Izuku. A small son, Kotaru. And if you say that All for One will attack again this year, then i can't afford to wait. I need to secure his future."

Izuku’s eyes went wide, everything he knew about Shigaraki flitting through his mind. “...Ah.”

"Besides," Nana continued. "I can't let anything distract me when I face All for One again." She inclined her head, for a moment a dangerous thing of beauty. "Next time is the last time. No matter what. That's the only thing you've gotten wrong so far, Izu," she added with a confident smirk. "Saying that he's still alive in the future. And even if it is true for now, it won't be much longer. I'm changing that. But first..."

Izuku looked haunted, and slightly ill. His mouth moved a bit, but no words would leave.

"...you ok, kiddo?"

He closed his eyes, almost shrinking back into himself for a second. “.......I don’t know how to tell you that that is... not a path you want to take. I’m sorry. I j... I just don’t know how else to put it, it’s complicated and horrible and....” He rubbed a hand over his eyes exhaustedly, shaking his head.

Her heart froze at his words. Then: "No. It has to be this way. It's the only way I can guarantee Kotaru will be out of his reach." She sounded only half convinced of her own words. She stopped walking, grey eyes glittering with grief. "What could possibly be worse than making sure my only son lives, away from all this? Where my choices don't put his life in danger?"

Izuku groaned, facepalming. He was at a loss as to how to break news like this gently... “eeEheh-h..,” He just made a weird squeaky noise instead.

Nana held up a hand. "No. I don't want to know." And she resumed walking down the hallway.

“Why? Because you’re going to do it anyway?” Izuku’s heart felt like a stone. Or maybe it was his lungs. Some organ. He couldn’t tell.

That brought her to a hard stop. She turned, disbelief and anger fighting for dominance on her face. "One more time?" she asked quietly.

Izuku lifted his head, his heart squirming a little, trying to get away from the backlash he knew was coming. He lifted his head. Worth it, worth it, worth it, be strong,,, let it flow through you,,,, “Why don’t you want to know?” His soft voice was loud in the silent hallway. “Because you’re going to do it anyway?”

Nana couldn't breathe. Here was this child, speaking the truth and somehow making it sound like the worst plan. "You don't understand," she replied, trying to remain calm. "You don't know what it's like, do you? Watching that monster rip away someone you love, someone who is a part of you." She took one slow step toward Izuku. "Now I know this job is dangerous. And I know what I was getting into when I was given One for All. What I didn't know--" Another step. "--was the heartache that came along with the rest of it. Izuku, I didn't just watch my husband die..." Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she clutched her chest. How is this kid doing this? Prompting all this? "...part of me died that night, too. No one warns you about that. And chances are, no one has warned you of that. You wouldn't be trying to convince me not to do this if you had experienced the same. And frankly, I'm glad of that, that your future has not been tragic." She was in front of him now. "Please understand. I can't lose Kotaru, too. I would have nothing left. But as long as my child lives, I can survive long enough to do what must be done." She brushed a single silvery tear away. "That. That is why, Izuku. I cannot bear the thought of failure."

Izuku’s eyes filled with tears, and he swallowed hard as the implication of her words sank in. “No,” he whispered hoarsely, “I haven’t Lost yet.” His hands curled into loose fists and back again, over and over. “I almost did. But I didn’t.” One tear slipped out. “He stayed with me. He fought to stay.” Please fight. I don’t want to be the doomsday prophet but you have no idea what suffering your death will entail. You’re too busy thinking of Giving Your All. I know. I know.

She knelt on one knee and looked into his eyes. "May I ask who...?"

He closed his eyes tight, the remaining tears dripping down, and squeezed his hands shut again, rasping out, “I think you already know.” The one who gave me One for All. He did not do to me what you did to him, because it hurt him that much. Do you understand what that means. He idolizes you. You are everything to him, you are light and sun and bravery and good but he turned around and did the exact opposite of This Last Thing, because it was wrong. It wasn’t worth it to die. To go to your death in a blaze of glory. It never is. To lay down your life is in the doing, not the dying.

Nana's eyes slowly drifted toward the door she had left through, the same door behind which Sorahiko and Toshinori waited. Toshinori. ....my little sunburst. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to shut her heart to it. ...my second son. My other legacy. One who also deserves to survive and live and thrive and "...Toshi?" she whispered. "He almost...?"

“Ye-ah,” Izuku’s voice cracked. His eyes opened, but he couldn’t bear to look at her. “He wanted to, for the longest ti-ime...but he... he didn’t....” He sniffled, swiping at his nose with his sleeve. “...he thought of me......n ho-w—“ a single, gasping sob slipped out, and he pressed a hand over one eye “—how he didn’t want me to feel what he felt....when you—“ his voice dropped to a whisper, his whole body trembling slightly “—died....”

The world turned upside down. She sank to both knees, knuckles pressed to lips. "Toshi..." she barely breathed. She looked up to Izuku and held her arms out. "C'mere, Izu."

Oh, good. I would have done that anyway if you hadn’t offered. Izuku swallowed a hiccupping sob, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her. He let himself cry softly, holding on tight, his face leaning against her hair. And somehow, in the back of his head... She called me Izu....

She hugged him tightly and ran one hand through his curls. "I'm so sorry, kiddo," she murmured. "I'm sorry for making you remember tha--" Her eyes flew open. That young man in there, her goofy, golden hearted, puppy clumsy, easy going, kind spirited sunburst. The tears gathered as she began to really understand what Izuku was telling her. He was berating her in the gentlest dressing down ever crafted. Or that was simply Izuku. But where she had protested that her plans were to keep others from enduring the anguish she felt, Izuku was saying that those same plans would bring about that same anguish. But not for Kotaru. Or not just for Kotaru. But for Toshi. She hugged Izuku closer, as tears slid down in quiet horror. Of knowing she would break Toshi's heart. He, the sunburst, who had never done anything to deserve such. "Oh God..." she wept.

“It’s okay, I’m here now,” Izuku cried, clinging ever tighter, fumbling for words but needing to say something reassuring, something hopeful. “I know I’m not as strong as—“ As what? As I should be? As All Might? As they think they need? That’s not a valid line of conversation “—or at least I don’t look it—but—“ He wiped some tears away with his sleeve, a few too many of Nana’s hairs sticking to the mess that was his face, “—I’m one more person...” I have One for All... “I’ll help you... I’ll make the difference.” He squeezed her powerful shoulders one more time. “We can think of another plan—“ he dried his face off more, the last breathy sob expanding his ribcage, clearing his throat “—we’ll be strong enough together.”

"Help me," she whispered. "Please. Help me save them all." She fell silent as she dropped her arms.

Izuku’s voice was suddenly deep and confident while still thickened with the aftermath of tears. His arms held her securely, his body stiffening not with fear, but with strength as the Hero’s Voice fell out of him. “I will.” His breathing steadied. His legs did. His heart did. In that dusty hallway, arms around his hero’s hero, he found his footing in the new world. And he held on.

Nana leaned back, her eyelashes starfishing from tears. She gazed in wonder, not just at Izuku, but at the hero he was destined to become. At One for All seemingly contained within its proper and true Holder, the one it had been waiting for. But something even more than that, somehow. Nana knew she was in the presence of a great hero, knew that she had somehow helped shape that. And she found strength in his strength, using Izuku as support, pulling herself up. "Thank you," she said.

The boy was back, grinning up at her with a gentle, lopsided smile, his own eyelashes wet. “Of course,” he said softly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to help her. (Because, of course, it was.)

#bnha #mha #au #bnha au #mha au #co-op writing #mander writes!#ducky writes!#time travel au

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cyn-00 · 4 years

Text

Moreid one shot, 12 - "can't lose you"

Season 11, episode 18 "A beautiful disaster". This is straight up how I would've preferred the episode to go

I have to say some things! 1) This one was litterally the last good and easy idea I had, it's gonna be a while before I can find some more Moreid inspiration since now I'm at season 12...(and you know what that means *crying in the club*) 2) I kinda didn't wanna spoil anything until you actually READ it (like I want there to be "plot twists" and stuff), though if you have a good memory you've already spoiled it for yourself lmao

y'all I edited this at least 3 times over the past months and it still...kinda...sucks. Please keep your expectations meek *curls into a ball*

Read it on AO3

-------------

Derek furiously stormed out of Hotch's office, slamming the door behind him.

"Morgan!" he heard Aaron's voice calling his name from inside, mad that he had interrupted their argument in such a rude and disrespectful way.

It was the first of 3 days of Derek's suspension. However, that morning he'd been called in by Hotch to be given yet another bad news. Probably the worst news Morgan had ever received from him.

Since Strauss had passed away, the BAU had felt like they were somewhat off the hook, disciplinary measure-wise - but nobody had the guts to admit it out loud. On that specific occasion, though, Morgan had fucked up big time - there's just no other way to say it.

A few days before that, they were working on a case in Chicago's south side - Derek's hometown - where a "vigilante" had murdered 5 people among prostitutes, homeless and drug addicts, some of them barely 18 years old, by choking them. Clearly, that case really got under Derek's skin, so when the team had finally located the unsub, he snapped.

JJ and him had arrived first: it was dark and sketchy, hence she wanted to wait for the others, but Derek had vanished into the alleys before they'd even got a chance to actually SEE the guy.

Morgan had supposedly chased the unsub for a while, guided by just his dark shadow, until he lost him altogether. The unsub surprised him from behind a dumpster, making him accidentally drop his gun; so, obviously, the dynamic had quickly transitioned into a fist fight. Derek had got lucky enough that the rest of the team had found them and stopped the unsub before he could choke him with his forearm, against a brickwall.

So yeah: he had really screwed up big time. And even being the most comprehensive and tolerant chief that Mateo Cruz was, he couldn't close an eye on that one. So he suspended him for 3 days - basically, from the next case coming up.

But the suspension was nothing, NOTHING compared to what Hotch had just told him.

Derek was halfway to his own office, but heard the door of Hotch's office open again far behind him.

"Morgan!" Aaron's voice got louder as he reached him and grabbed his arm to stop him. Derek turned around.

"I-I'm sorry, Hotch- look. I'm not mad at you, I get it, this wasn't your fault." he sighed in resignation, shaking his head, seeing that Aaron's raging features had quieted down - probably because he immediately understood where Derek was going with that. He stayed silent for a while, wearing a lost expression.

"I just don't know how to tell him." he finally confessed, lowering his voice and directing his gaze toward Reid from afar, who was entering the bullpen through the glass doors along with JJ, right in that moment - which meant that luckily he'd heard none of that argument, at least. Not that that was of much comfort anyway, considering the news he was gonna receive in a few minutes.

"I know." Hotch said apologetically, patting a hand on Morgan's shoulder before heading back to his office. Seeing the growing anxiousness in him, and how much there was on his plate already, he decided to let him deal with that, figuring that scolding him for his previous behavior was only gonna add to it all.

JJ was chatting with Reid about something while walking past the sliding doors. Rather than talking with him, though, she was talking to him: he wasn't really listening that much, let alone participating.

Since the day Derek had made that mess, things hadn't been very good between him and Spencer - to use an euphemism. And everyone had noticed it. They had a big fight right after what happened; a second fight as soon as Derek had told him about the suspension, and - icing on the cake - they hadn't spent a single night together since then, staying at their own places: one might think it wasn't too bad, since after all only a week had passed, but considering that they ALWAYS went home together, it was...bad.

Being kind of everyone's counselor, Penelope almost always knew each and every side to the same story - not that the others wanted to, but she had such a persuasive way of making one spill whatever they had to spill. For said reason, she'd felt sure enough that she could reassure both Spencer and Derek that the situation of tension between them, that feeling of being lost and not knowing what to do, was just temporary.

Hence, Spencer came up with an idea to try and patch things up, an idea that had been wandering in his head for a while now, but he'd always wanted to wait for the "right" time. He figured that was the right time.

He raised his eyes from the floor and saw Hotch and Morgan, each heading back to their own offices. But Morgan got suspended, he thought, so the only reason why he would've had to be there was that Hotch had specifically asked him to. And there was no way on Earth that could be a good sign.

"...Spence?" JJ tried to catch his attention, seeing that he had stopped walking all of a sudden and was now looking up with a confused frown on his face. Receiving no answer, she shifted her eyes too, to see what could be so interesting that got him staring that intensely.

"Uhm- what is Derek doing here?" she asked, finally acknowledging the distraction.

"I don't know. I'm gonna go figure out though." he replied without shifting his eyes from Derek's office door, closing behind him.

"If...if you don't mind, I mean." he added politely once he'd regained awareness of his surroundings, now giving her puppy eyes.

"Come on now." she said rolling her eyes, wondering why he even doubted that she would let him go. "Go ahead! Do what you have to do." she nodded, affectionately patting her hand on Reid's shoulder.

Derek was in his office with the lights off, hunched over the desk to lean on his arms and, obviously, his back was facing the door.

"Hey, uhm...can I get in?" he heard Spencer's muffled voice from outside, knocking on the door.

Derek suddenly opened his eyes, feeling his breathing get heavier by the second; a sensation of unbearable coldness flowing inside his veins and freezing his blood.

Receiving no answer, Spencer chose not to get in yet, afraid to bother him.

"Der- I- I have to tell you something... Are you alright?" he kept talking to him through the door. His voice was so gentle, Morgan was dying inside at the idea of having to tear him apart with the things he had to tell him.

Derek kept ignoring him, so Spencer figured he'd just come in. He closed the door behind him and put his satchel on the floor, switching the light on.

"...What was that thing with Hotch about?" he asked nervously, fiddling with his hands.

Derek didn't move.

Spencer took a few, slow steps toward him, till he could finally see his face. He seemed... concerned, to say the least: his jaw clenched tight as if trying to contain the urge of throwing up, his eyes were open but glued to the floor; his whole body looked petrified, while on the other hand, his brain seemed to be working overload: it was almost as if he were keeping something from him - which he was, unbeknownst to Spencer so far.

"... Derek?" Spencer called him softly with an expression of deep worry, gently putting a hand on his shoulder.

Derek flinched at Spencer's touch, like his skin was so hypersensitive that even so much as a stroke of fingers through the cotton fabric of his henley was enough to bring him back to reality and finally face him, straightening up.

A part of Spencer was faintly relieved that he'd managed to awaken him, but the most part was utterly freaked out by his demeanor, bringing him to instantly take his hand off of him.

"Can I tell you something first?" Derek managed to finally speak up, his voice deep and slightly wavering, only adding to the discomfort possessing the man beside him.

Spencer nodded worriedly.

Derek sighed heavily, trying to find the right words to tell him what he had to tell him; his forehead was already glimmering with cold sweat. Problem was, there were no right words to announce something like that: he was expecting Spencer's reaction to be nothing short of sheer distraught regardless.

"Spencer, I- I'm leaving." he ultimately stated, getting to the point without mincing his words.

Derek had to leave. That was the terrible news Hotch had given him about 15 minutes before.

He had made sure Morgan understood that neither him or Cruz had had a say in that decision. He'd also made sure to remind him - but that, Morgan knew already - that the Board had been considering to transfer him for months, due to a series of reasons, and that mistake was just yet another excuse added to their list. Moreover, Hotch said that the Board had cared enough to specify that among those reasons, Derek being a risk to the stability of the Unit wasn't one of those. In reality, he was convinced at least as much as Morgan was, that that one had been the ONLY effective reason leading to his transfer: proof of such thesis was in the fact that, during all those months, the Board hadn't been sly enough to avoid hinting here and there that Derek had been, quote unquote, "more of a damage to the Unit than a valuable resource" for some time now.

The second those words left his mouth, Derek saw a painful scowl crinkle the space in between his boyfriend's eyebrows. The man was looking sternly into his eyes without blinking, although his visibly trembling breath was betraying that apparent composure.

"W-what do you mean?" Spencer asked after a few seconds of silence, during which he had tried to wrap his mind around that idea, even though he understood what that meant perfectly.

"Hotch said..." Derek paused, shifting his eyes to face the floor, unable to bear with the look Spencer was giving him any longer. "...he said that the Board have been thinking about transferring me to another unit since October. But that last...that last slip, gave them the final excuse."

"Transfer w-where ??"

"DC headquarters." Derek answered, aware that the fact that Washington DC was just an hour car ride from Quantico didn't make any difference. For that matter, it could've been 12 hours: how near or far wasn't the problem.

"Wasn't the suspension enough?" Spencer questioned further, incredulous.

Morgan merely shook his head.

"And you couldn't just say no??" the other added - quite naively on his part - raising is voice, which was getting a bit squeaky as it always did when he was mad.

Derek sighed, frowning. "No, kid, look-"

"Just- don't call me names right now, I wanna know WHY you didn't refuse ?? After all it's nothing but a damn job offer, no one can force you to quit if you don't want to!" Spencer interrupted him before he could even explain, as his sadness was morphing into pure anger.

"It's not a job offer, Spencer. It's- I don't know, it's like when years ago JJ left: Strauss forced her to." Derek explained as crystal-clear as he could, trying not to sound too annoyed by how straight up dumb Spencer was acting in that moment.

Reid stayed silent for a while, gaping and squinting his eyes at him, like he was trying to figure out something that Derek didn't want to confess.

"Is it because you want ? You want to leave?" he asked more calmly. That question only proved that he hadn't even physically heard what Derek had just told him.

"What the hell- are you even LISTENING to me?? Do you realize that what you're implying makes no sense? I don't want to leave, it's either this or being fired altogether, do you understand? I have NO say in this, I have no choice what so ever." he paused, letting out a quivering sigh.

"Fuck, Spencer." Derek concluded like that, with his arms spread open and an expression full of all the rage that he had tried to keep buried inside so far, because he knew he should've had to be prepared for such a reaction. It would be a lie to say that he hadn't tried, though.

Hearing someone scream at him like that always scared Spencer a little, he had to admit. But when Derek screamed at him, it was not only that: it was also painful, because it meant that he was the one hurt and scared in the first place. And, to Spencer, there was nothing scarier than the person who had always protected him and stayed strong for him turning into a scared person.

His eyes filled with tears of frustration, but he was determined to keep looking firmly into Derek's while spitting out to his face what he'd been holding inside since the beginning.

"You did have a choice, though." Reid started, gulping immediately after to try and steady his voice. "You said it yourself that you've known for months the Board were keeping an eye on you- and I KNOW they specifically have a problem with you for no apparent reason - there's no denying that. But exactly because of that, you should've been more careful. You chose to play rebel, untamed, indipendent like you always do when someone wrongs you, and I get that, I- I admire you for that to be quite honest, most of the times, but not this time. Because you know that your voice counts as much as zero to the Board, Derek- you have no power over them, none of us do- not even CRUZ or HOTCH for God's sake! And once again you chose to jeopardize your position, instead of stepping down and getting over your ego." he stopped for a second to quickly wipe off a tear that managed to escape his eye.

"And you knew this would affect me, too." he sniffled. "You KNEW that."

All those things Spencer said - partially right - left Derek speechless and with his heart shattered into a million pieces. Did it even make sense to apologize? To say a corny "I'm sorry"? What would that get him - or either of them?

So he just stood there, jerking his tingling eyes away from him because he couldn't keep up with that stare any longer.

Spencer's phone buzzed. He took it out of his pants pocket and read Garcia's text.

"New case! Briefing in 5 mins ;)" it said. If only she knew what Derek had just told him, he thought for a second.

"We-uhm...I have a case." Spencer said, his voice hoarse.

Derek clenched his jaw and ran a palm over his face, as the knot in his throat tightened tenfold: a case meant that they were gonna see each other again in 3 or 4 days at best. He hated the idea that they were splitting up like that, mad at one another.

Spencer had already picked up his bag and was about to open the door, when the other spoke up.

"W-wait, you said you had to tell me something...?"

Spencer sighed and took his hand off the doorknob, turning around. He hadn't forgotten about it - you can't put "Spencer Reid" and "forget" in the same phrase. He was hoping Derek had, though.

He stepped closer, searching for something in his jacket pocket. Without saying anything, he picked out a key and handed it to him.

Derek took it, looking into Spencer's eyes.

"Is- is this the key to your place?" he asked with his mouth hanging open, hesitant to wrap his mind around what Reid was implying with that gesture.

"I was planning on asking you...to move in with me." he shrugged, unable to keep the angry-and-outraged-tone thing going on because of the look he was giving him. "I thought it would bring us together but, look- I don't even know, at this point. I'm gonna let you choose what you wanna do with it." he concluded, resuming that unfazed attitude from earlier.

Derek wanted to wrap him tight in his arms and cry on his shoulder. He wanted to undo what he'd done and go back to how things were before. He wanted to run his fingers through his silky curls and tell him that he was sorry, sorry for letting the impulse of the moment overpower his rationality, and for not having thought of him when doing so; sorry for not having paid attention; sorry for having snapped at him a few minutes before; sorry for ruining everything: he wanted to say that corny "I'm sorry" despite having just decided against it. He wanted to crumble on the floor and hug his knees like a child, whispering a million "I love you"s while Spencer caressed his head, telling him that it was ok, that he had forgiven him. But it wasn't ok. Not anymore.

Morgan dismissed all those options, deciding instead to simply place a hand on his tear-dampened cheek; a hand that was shaking at the only concept of being rejected in a few seconds.

"Spencer...please." he murmured, unable to get a hold of the trembling of his bottom lip and the gradual blurring of his vision; symptoms of a raw cry he'd been keeping at bay for too long.

Spencer shook his head and slowly took Derek's wrist, pulling his hand away. He turned around and opened the door at last.

He froze in spot when Hotch appeared right in front of him, about to knock.

"I was right about to call you, we're all in the conference room already." he said to him with a slightly concerned look, seeing the upset expression on his face.

"I'm here now." Reid replied with an unsettling coldness, getting out of the room by quickly slipping through the gap between him and the door jamb.

Hotch stood there for a second, without actually entering the office, staring at Morgan with a look that said everything there was to say, needless to pronounce a syllable.

He sighed and walked away, heading back to the conference room.

- 7 days later, 12:30 am ca.

The team were on the jet, 30 minutes from Quantico, after a case in Phoenix, Arizona - long case, long flight. During which, Reid made sure that he was sitting alone.

He knew that Morgan had tried to call him, several times, and even left a message, but he just couldn't let himself get distracted while working on such a hard case.

Now that said case was over, though, there were no more valid excuses to keep ignoring him: he picked out the phone from his pocket and sighed, preparing himself for whatever Derek said in that voice message.

"Hey, look- I know you're ignoring me on purpose, and I get it, alright? But, just- call me back, please ?" there was a long pause, followed by a deep sigh. "I miss you, kid. Bye."

Spencer's heart broke in half. He didn't know what to do: he felt like he'd been too harsh on him but, at the same time, Derek had really messed up, and he wanted him to realize that he couldn't just bury the hatchet like nothing happened.

Another thing that was bothering Spencer was that he couldn't even tell the others. He was the only one that knew about Derek leaving, besides of course Derek himself and Hotch. For the past week he'd really had a hard time trying not to break and just blurt out everything, each time JJ had asked him what was troubling him so much and if he had made up with Derek; or, way worse, each time Garcia had called, admitting to him that she'd tried to reach out to them both, hoping at least one would spit it out. But, as much as he was still holding a hell of a grudge on him, Spencer could've never brought himself to be disrespectful to the point of telling everyone. Morgan had to do it, on his own terms, once they got back.

Spencer's flood of thoughts was interrupted by Hotch, approaching him - to be fair, he was quite surprised that he had decided to talk to him just then, 30 minutes from landing. He literally had hours of flight to do it.

"Can I sit here for a second?" he asked politely. Spencer nodded.

Aaron sat down, leaning closer to him with his hands crossed on the tray table.

"I don't want what I'm going to say to sound like a lecture, partly because it's not really my business and partly because you surely have already figured it out on your own." Hotch said straight up but quietly, aware of how Reid didn't like the others knowing about his personal stuff.

Spencer frowned, without saying anything yet, allowing him to continue with his speech to have actual proof that he was about to say what he guessed he was about to say.

"I need you to understand that the Board would've transferred Morgan anyway sooner or later, regardless of this specific mistake. They've been thinking that he isn't suit to stay in our Unit for a while now." he continued, looking straight into Reid's eyes to catch his reaction. It kinda was what Spencer had guessed he was gonna say.

"I-I know that. Point is, he should've been more careful anyway. Maybe at some point they would've given up...I-I don't know." Spencer answered ingenuously, toying with the buckle of his satchel resting on his lap.

"Yes, he should've been more careful. But no, they wouldn't have given up." the other man replied, getting to the point like he always did.

"All I'm saying is, try not to make things harder for him..." he paused. "...and for yourself." Hotch concluded, confident that he'd understand what he meant.

Spencer finally raised his chin, following the other man with his big eyes as he stood up and went back to sit where he was sitting before.

- an hour and a half later (2 am ca.)

Spencer walked up the stairs of the building - more accurately: dragged himself up the stairs - and got to the front door of his apartment. As he searched for the keys in his pockets, it came to his mind that he probably had to text Derek back, at that point. Even though it was 2 am, which meant he probably wouldn't have replied until morning, he felt like it was only fair to at least let him know that they were back in Quantico.

He opened the door, turning on the lampshade over the dresser, and dropped his jacket on a chair along with his heavy bag. He breathed out a slightly nervous sigh while staring pensively at the phone in his hand.

"Back home...sorry, long case. I'll call you in the morning ?" he pressed 'send' without thinking about it too much. Again: it was 2 am, he was too damn exhausted to stress over a text.

As soon as he put his phone back in his pants pocket, he heard a buzz, like another phone notification buzz, somewhere in the room. Spencer widened his eyes open like he suddenly had some sort of intuition.

He quickly picked his phone back out of the pocket and browsed through his contacts to make a call.

Spencer heard the unknown phone once again buzzing through the silence of the room, so he kept the call going to try and locate where the faint noise was coming from. Following it, he slowly made his way around the couch, which faced the window - not the front door.

He hung up the call and brought a hand to his mouth as a silly smile appeared on his face: Derek was lying down on the couch, sleeping. Of course he wasn't able to see him before.

He was wearing one of Spencer's huge, grandpa-like sweaters, which Spencer really only used when he was too lazy to do the whole button-down + tie + cardigan + jacket thing - almost never. He didn't wanna wake him up, aware that it was very late; on the other hand though, seeing him like that made him want to hug him so bad, and feel his warm touch, and the subtle smell of his skin, and hear his deep voice that made his insides flutter.

Spencer quietly sat on his heels on the carpet, and stared at him with heart eyes for a while.

He couldn't resist the urge, and decided that it wouldn't hurt anyone if he carefully reached his hand out to stroke the man's chin with his thumb, light as a butterfly.

Derek suddenly woke up, gasping.

"Spencer-" he softly called out his name; a faint hoarseness in his voice. "You scared me" he added with the widest smile.

"I- I'm sorry, I couldn't just let you sleep." the other replied, smiling shyly before running his tongue in between his lips.

"I tried to stay awake waiting for you..."

"Yeah, I figured" Spencer giggled.

They stared into each other's eyes for a while; Spencer's thumb inching a little upwards to brush on Derek's bottom lip - both of them pretended he'd done that unconsciously.

Suddenly, he averted eyes and took his hand off of him. His smile faded away, as if the fight they had a few days before had popped back to the forefront of his mind, coming from some place until then hidden.

Spencer gulped and tucked his hair behind his ears; one of many nervous tics of his. There were still a couple things he needed to get off his chest.

"Listen, uhm...I don't want you to beat yourself up too much over this like you're the only one to blame for it- I mean, I'm not talking about the Board, I know you're already aware that they've always had some...you know, doubts, about you, wha-what I mean is that I made some mistakes, too" Spencer finally said. He got back to looking at him and sighed. "I said some really stupid- and mean, things."

Derek stared at him with sad eyes, slightly shaking his head. "Kid-"

"Wait, I owe you an explanation, please." Spencer interrupted him immediately, with pleading eyes.

Morgan nodded, not without a moment of hesitation, though.

"When I said that thing about you having an inflated ego and-and I, basically I implied that you are selfish...that's so not true, because what you did that night was the opposite of selfish, and all these things that you do sometimes, putting yourself at risk...that's irresponsible, but not selfish." he paused, as if rethinking what he'd just rushedly said.

"You're NOT selfish. That's literally one of the most untrue, dumb things I could've said. But- but I was scared! You know? And that's what I do when I really care, I-I can't help it really, I ramble and say stupid thi-"

"Spencer." Derek stopped him right there, placing his warm hand on his jaw.

"I know. All of this, I know. But what it's done it's done, keeping on feeling bad about it and wondering if things could've gone differently it's just not gonna do us any good." he swallowed. "If-if anything, it's just gonna break us apart. And I can't think about that. We're gonna figure it out, you know..." he lowered his voice to almost a whisper, too afraid of the weight of what he was about to say.

He started running his fingers through Spencer's soft hair, a gesture that neither could quite explain how it worked like magic to calm down both of them - ok, NOT true. Of course Reid could explain why physical contact was notoriously soothing. What he couldn't explain, was why for him that applied only to Morgan's touch.

"I just can't lose you over this." Derek said at last, once the magic had worked.

Spencer's heart melted like when you hold a chocolate too long in your hand. Like Derek had held his heart too long in his warm hand.

"You're not gonna lose me. Not now, not ever." he hurried to reply, right a second before leaning closer, cupping his boyfriend's face and pressing their lips together.

Derek wrapped his arms securely around him, without bothering to sit up; the hand already entangled in his hair slid a few inches downward to massage the back of his soft neck. He let Spencer's tongue tenderly slip into his mouth, squeezing him tighter to get deeper but keeping it slow and intense. He wanted to take his time to savour his sweetness, that velvet-like way only that man's tongue had to melt into his mouth during the most lazy, chaste and gentle kisses as well as the messiest, hottest, most needy ones. He hadn't felt one of Spencer's kisses for so long that he just wished it could last for hours.

The other's sugar mouth started to slow down until that gum-mushing kiss was over altogether.

Much to Derek's relief, Spencer only parted his lips from his for a few seconds, in order to steady his breathing, and started sprinkling quick pecks on his mouth right after; one leading to another like cherries.

Derek couldn't bring himself to stop him.

"I...missed you...so fucking m'ch" he kissed back, "you and...your stupid kisses" another one, " 'nd I...love you."

After maybe 10 of those suffocating pecks - not enough, if he had to be honest - Derek pulled back slightly.

"Come here." he ordered, patting his hand on the cushion beneath him and shifting closer to the backrest of the couch to make space for the skinny man.

Spencer nodded immediately and stood up to quickly kick his shoes off and untie his tie. He laid down onto his side next to Derek, facing him to keep staring into his eyes.

They stayed like that for some minutes, relishing in the quiet. Spencer was so tired he inadvertently closed his eyes, at some point, still with a hand resting on Derek's temple.

"Can't believe you didn't notice this sweater is yours." Derek mocked, keeping his voice down to a whisper but well aware that the other was still awake.

Spencer giggled and shrugged briefly, without even bothering to open his eyes.

"I did, actually. It just looks better on you."

Derek snorted. "Doubt it, pretty boy."

They drifted to sleep a few moments later, into the comforting warmth of each other's bodies.

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ammunitionist · 4 years

Text

hi gay people! more andyeddie fic from me. i wasn’t inspired enough to illustrate a scene again, so i offer just a lazy graphic this time. enjoy!

“I never liked church.”

Hillbilly cracks an eye to see Ack Ack looking up at the moon, arms crossed over his chest. Something like a smile has the corners of his lips twisted upwards. He seems almost amused by the confession, unbothered at the least. “My parents would pale to hear me say it, but I can’t honestly remember a single time I woke up on Sunday with anything but obligation to get me out of bed.”

[whole fic under the cut | ao3 link here]

“Do y’ever think about God?”

The sentence is offered up late, asininity excusable as a symptom of their shared exhaustion. Hillbilly has that habit, unfortunate though it may be. While unaffected by most things that would lay an average man flat, Edward Jones is still mournfully human, and therein left to flounder in the hands of fatigue.

The words come out in a quasi-slur, his lips obeying him to their barest capacity, like they truly do not care whether or not he’s comprehensible. His head is an iron weight against the palm tree behind him, dragging him down into what he could only imagine to be blissful respite. He can’t bend, though-- that would be equal parts unbecoming and dangerous.

“Not any more than I have to, Lieutenant.”

Ack Ack’s response is, as most things about him are, measured to the tenth. He can’t possibly feel any more awake than Hillbilly does- though the two of them can’t collectively muster up ten hours of sleep since landing on Peleliu, Hillbilly easily has the larger slice.

“Why do you ask?” the blond follows up, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It reminds Eddie remarkably of his childhood, of being sat bashfully on the couch, of being expected to submit his childish transgressions for their according switch-to-the-back.

He grunts, noncommittal, letting his eyes fall shut and carry him away for a mere moment. This close to sleep, anything more than blinking drags his whole consciousness down the curve of his spine. Something akin to vertigo hits when he forces them open again, his head lurching forward like he’d somehow been knocked upside the skull.

“Nothin’,” he manages, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Jus’ been thinkin’.”

“There hasn’t been much time for that recently,” Ack Ack comments, his head momentarily dipping between his wrists. His blond hair flashes silver in the moonlight, and Hillbilly has an odd momentary glimpse of what he would look like as an old man. Still handsome, probably, with those blue eyes and that genial smile. Age couldn’t take much from those who have in excess. “What with the- you know.”

Eddie nods wearily. He knows exactly what Ack Ack is referring to. Neither of them want to go through the complete inanity of repeating it. War in shorthand, Peleliu in more detail, crossing that airfield under duress with no water if they really want to waste their breath. Still, Hillbilly doesn’t bother with the reiteration. They were both there for it anyway.

“I been thinkin,” Hillbilly starts again, because he’s just too tired to keep his goddamn mouth shut. “Thinkin’ ‘bout the place I went as a kid.”

“The church?”

Eddie nods again. His mouth’s just slightly dry, but they finally have water again, so it’s no transgression to reach for his canteen and bring it to his lips. The liquid sounds strange, a loose hollow noise inside the metal container, but it’s the taste that he notices more. The same metallic taste of military water, consistent for nearly a decade of service. Wars change, enemies change, but the water and the bullets-

They just don’t bother to make them any different.

“It was- it was near the edge’a town.” he manages, images from when he was young barely impressioned on the inside of his eyelids like faded photographs. “Big white thing. Ugly as sin, ‘s funny as that is.”

Ack Ack sits back against his pack, arms crossed over his broad chest. He hasn’t said anything, and he hasn’t looked away, so Hillbilly takes it as an audience. He doesn’t really expect Andy to give a shit about what he’s saying- he really doubts it makes any sense anyway- but those blue eyes are still on him, so he keeps going.

“My old man grew up w’ our preacher. Made everything worse, in a way.”

The second sentence slips out unchecked. Made everything worse, implying that it was bad in the first place. Eddie’s almost too exhausted to catch it, but once he does, the little shock of adrenaline is the only tick he needs to send his brain into overdrive. There’s no virtue in worrying- Ack Ack has long since passed knowing and moved into participating in Hillbilly’s sin- but for a moment, exhaustion makes him forget his audience, and the repercussions are there before he can reign himself in. His heart rails against his ribcage hard in the second before he can contain it, traitor as it is. He expects to look up and find his display utterly foreign to Ack Ack, spread out open and messy like a dissected, rotted corpse.

Instead, Andy shifts backwards and nods, understanding, like his daddy was an Appalachian fire-and-brimstone drinker just like Eddie’s. Hillbilly squints and tries, hard, to imagine Andy growing up where he did, with a father just like his. A shock of blond hair bobbing up and down in the churchyard, too thin and straight to cover the bruising on his browbone. His curls may be a bother sometimes, but at least they were dark enough back then to blend in with bloomed flesh. As long as he kept his head down in school (which was fine, he didn't pretend to be smart back then either) and in church (s’ respectful, anyway, keep yer goddamn head down in the Lord’s house) nobody asked little Eddie Jones what on earth happened to his eye.

“I never liked church.”

Eddie blinks. He had never processed the ability to dislike church outright. Sure, nobody liked it, but you went and you shut the hell up about it. You let Father Fucking-Whoever get up in your face, spittle flying, and tell you and yours that being a queer meant going to hell. You took it.

“Huh,” Hillbilly says. He can’t muster anything else.

“You asked about God, though.” Ack Ack readjusts his head to be looking at Eddie, the tiredness in them manifesting in a gaze that seems to almost look through him. “Why do you want to know if I think about God, Hillbilly?”

He feels pinned. There’s nowhere to run, and the adrenaline from earlier had more or less banished the true exhaustion from his system. The question was stupid when he could blame it on fatigue, but now he had to answer more or less lucid. Cruel fates, or something.

“B’cause I do.” he confesses. The words pour forth in sick gospel. “I do, n’ I know he hates me.”

Andy frowns, like he can’t fathom someone hating Hillbilly for any reason. It stings, in some strange way.

“Why?” he asks, in a hushed tone that makes Eddie’s blood run molten for just a split second.

“Oh, I think you fuckin’ know.” he shoots back bitterly. Ack Ack isn’t stupid. He’s been an active participant in the reason Eddie will inevitably end up down below for months now, though he can’t quite fathom a man like Andy joining him there. That doesn’t matter, though- they’re both fuckin queers, down to the bones of it. Faggots are sinners and sinners go to hell. It’s primary school logic.

The silence that follows almost makes him want to apologize. He slides his eyes shut and waits for the inevitable reprimand.

Instead, the quiet sound of movement warns him just before Andy is settling at his side. His head tucks tidily away in the joint between Eddie’s jaw and shoulder, and Eddie’s not fag enough to say it fits like a puzzle piece, but he definitely, definitely has to stifle the thought.

“I don’t think it matters what God thinks of us.” he says plainly, voice oddly quieter with Hillbilly to his back. “He isn’t going to get us for a good long while.”

Eddie can’t even grunt at that.

“And even when he does,” Andy carries on, tone slurring in the precursor of sleep. Eddie’s hand compulsively finds its way onto Andy’s scalp, wanting very little more than to compel his captain to rest.

“I don’t think you and I will be the worst he’s ever seen.”

#I FORGOT TO TAG HAHA #hbo war #the pacific #andyeddie #andrew ack ack haldane #edward hillbilly jones #fic

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absentlyabbie · 4 years

Note

“Not the best with words, but I’m told I’m great with a hug.” - Family and (mis)fortune fic 😊 if that's okay, i love this au so so much haha

thanks for this prompt, anon! sorry it’s a month late in the filling, but i’ve been working at it the whole time, i promise. i hope this satisfies what you wanted, and thanks so much for loving this self-indulgent crack au with me <3

a family and (mis)fortune fic

on ao3

moments growing up in the life of tommy merlyn, part-time wayne foster child. (four)

—————

Bruce was at a loss.

For reasons beyond comprehension, it hadn’t been nearly this difficult to bring Dick into his home; maybe they had just grieved too much the same, raged too much the same. Bruce had understood Dick all too well. Not that that had made things easy at the very beginning, but it meant Bruce had something to start with.

Tommy was nothing like that.

He was certainly angry, and undoubtedly grieving. But everything he did was an attempt to hide or subvert those things. He was either bright and animated like a boy who didn’t know a fraction of his loss and hurt, or he was shut down and silent.

“He’ll open up,” Alfred had assured him after the boys had gone upstairs. “You were rather a closed fist yourself in his position.”

“That was different,” Bruce replied, lips pressed in thought. “And I was never in his position.”

“No?” Alfred questioned, that one challenging eyebrow arched. “Alone in all the world, too full of things too large for that age?”

Bruce shook his head, the tilt of his smile wry. “I wasn’t truly alone. I had you.”

Alfred only hummed at that. Nevertheless, his point was made.

Huffing a laugh, Bruce nodded. “Alright. Fine. I’m going.”

Up the stairs and down the hall, past Dick’s room, down two doors and across the hall. The door was open, the boys’ voices spilling into the hall all chatter and laughter. It made Bruce breathe a little sigh of relief; he hadn’t known for sure if they would get along. He had of course thought it likely, the factors enough in favor of that outcome it had helped make the decision for him. But they were five years apart in age, and Bruce knew so little about Tommy and how he was likely to react that he was pretty much a wildcard.

He paused just outside the door, eavesdropping shamelessly.

“Oh cool, I’ve seen this movie. How come this one’s in your suitcase and not with the rest of your stuff?” Dick was asking.

“It’s my favorite,” Tommy answered, more solemnly than the context seemed to justify.

Dick’s cheer took on a valiant, striving edge. “Yeah? I get that. Robin Williams is hilarious. And man, Rufio, so cool right?”

“Yeah, Rufio’s awesome.”

There was a pause, then Dick asked, carefully lightly. “I guess that’s not why it’s your favorite though?”

A rustle of cloth, maybe a shrug. “My Mom got it for me. It was the last thing she gave me, before she…”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, if you ever wanna watch it, I’m in. Or not, if that’s better?”

“No,” Tommy hurried to reply. “No, that’d be cool.”

“Cool,” Dick echoed. “Wait’ll you see the entertainment room, it’s almost like being at the theater. Bruce almost never uses it, but I guess he figured if you’ve got a bazillion dollars and you’re gonna take in feral acrobats as a new and eccentric hobby, you gotta trick out one room with stuff kids like.” He paused, his voice dropping to a teasing stage whisper that might as well have been an elbow in Bruce’s ribs; his presence had been noted. “Honestly, it was probably Alfred, I’d bet.”

“Yeah? I mean, home was…” Tommy’s pause was less a hesitation than a sinkhole in the middle of his sentence. “I mean, we’re rich. Were rich. But this place is bigger. We didn’t have like a movie theater in the house or anything. Dad would’ve—”

Bruce held his breath, but Dick didn’t break into the sudden anger of that bitten-off phrase.

Anger banked to bitter, and Tommy forged through the end of the sentence. “Dad would’ve said something like that was a waste for just me.”

There was another pause, but it seemed like Dick was just letting that moment breathe for a second, letting the hurt bleed a little, bleed off a little. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and so sincere Bruce was struck with gratitude that his protege was not merely clever and insightful, but so genuinely kind.

“Well, there’s two of us here. We’ll do movie nights, make sure we make good use of it.”

Tommy’s answer was quiet, shyly pleased. “Okay. That sounds good.”

Bruce figured he’d better make this his opportunity, otherwise the eavesdropping would stretch to a point that was just awkward. He stepped into the doorway, leaning against the jamb as he rapped his knuckles gently against the polished mahogany. “How’s it going in here?”

Dick turned to him with an amused raise of his brows, seated on Tommy’s bed with a plastic VHS case next to him. Tommy was standing next to him, his suitcase open on the foot of the bed, contents in the process of untidily transferring to the chest of drawers against the wall. It hit Bruce like a punch to the chest—and he’d know—the way Tommy visibly closed up at the sight of him.

He’d need to address that, and soon. At least try.

In fact…

Bruce cleared his throat and canted his head towards the hall. “Dick, can you give me a minute with Tommy? I’m sure Alfred could use some help with dinner.”

Dick launched gracefully to his feet with a melodramatic sigh and accompanying eyeroll. “Fine. I mean, it’s not like we can let you do it. I want dinner to be edible, and Alfred doesn’t deserve that kind of stress.”

Bruce just rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as if his patience were perhaps hidden in the attic. Dick snickered. He passed Bruce and out the door, squawking indignantly as Bruce took mild revenge by ruffling his hair. Dick bobbed away and stampeded down the hall.

Bruce smiled fondly after him a moment before turning to Tommy.

The younger boy wasn’t looking at him, head bent as he sloppily folded a pair of jeans that had been more neatly folded before he began. His movements were slow and clumsy, and Bruce knew he was paying less attention to his task than he was to appearing to not pay attention to Bruce.

Inhaling deeply, Bruce reached for somewhere to begin. “Mind if I come in?”

Tommy looked up at him, first with surprise, then muted skepticism. “It’s your house.”

“And your room,” Bruce pointed out mildly, inclining his head. Tommy blinked at him and he let his smile show just a little more. “Hopefully you’ll think of this as your house, too, someday.”

That statement struck.

Bruce’s chest clenched in surprise and a tinge of regret at the way Tommy’s face flickered—first with shock, then a longing so piercing it howled, then a cynical misery he wasn’t nearly old enough for—before blanking entirely.

Tommy’s only answer, in the end, was a shrug.

Wincing, Bruce scratched idly at the back of his neck. “You don’t have to, of course. I don’t want to pressure you, Tommy. I know this is all sudden, and very far from home, and you don’t know me well.”

Tommy stared at him, jeans forgotten in his hands and brows pulling together with each word in a dubious frown. “Well. Yeah.”

Bruce chuckled a little awkwardly, at himself. He wasn’t exactly sticking this landing. “I’m just trying to say that I hope you can feel comfortable here. I want you to feel like this is home. Like you have a place here.”

Tommy worried his upper lip with his teeth, brows still knotted over that steady gaze. For a moment, he looked like he might actually show Bruce how he was really feeling, like they might actually, really connect.

His thin chest expanded on a deep breath, and Bruce waited, hopeful.

But then Tommy’s face twisted in a duh expression Dick would have been proud to pull off. He smirked in that ridiculing way only children manage, but his tone wasn’t mean so much as teasing when he said, “That’s what you were trying to say?”

Bruce wished he could take back the laugh that startled out of him. He genuinely did. It only encouraged Tommy to push that fake humor further.

Tommy’s smirk bloomed into a grin that would have been brilliant if it hadn’t been paper thin. “You’re not very good with words, are you.”

Bruce arched his brows at the sling of that sass. God, if he and Dick ever ganged up on him, he was in deep shit.

Worse, he was about to have to squash it.

He couldn’t just let this go on. Let Tommy keep tumbling into whatever role he thought would play best to his new audience whenever he didn’t want to feel what he was feeling, or was afraid how it would be used against him.

(It made the fist in his pocket clench, to think of who must have taught him that survival mechanism. He was a little boy. No nine-year-old should be this attuned to the moods of the adults around them. Too many, too many of those adults had shaped Tommy this way when he was too young and too malleable, and if the first to do it weren’t already dead, Bruce would be hunting down Malcolm Merlyn under cape and cowl for a reckoning.)

“You don’t have to do that, Tommy.”

He said it softly, but Tommy still flinched. Barely visible, too consciously suppressed for Bruce’s comfort.

His chin briefly wobbling, Tommy widened his eyes and stiffened his upper lip, looking down at his half empty suitcase and deflecting, “It seems rude to make that Alfred guy do it. They’re my underwear.”

Bruce sighed. “You know I’m not talking about your clothes.” Finally, he moved into the room, stopping a couple feet on the opposite side of the bed, both hands in his pockets, shoulders in a posture intended not to intimidate. Tommy hunched anyways. “You don’t have to make me laugh to stay here. You don’t have to be anything to stay here. Just you. I know you’ve been shuffled around and left waiting to know where you were allowed to be. So I’ll just say it. You’re allowed to be here.”

Tommy’s head jerked up and he stared, eyes round and tense, that betraying wobble back in his chin. His breath hissed too rapidly from his nose, knuckles going white on the edge of his open suitcase. Quiet but heated, he whispered, “For now.”

Bruce felt his own face betray him, saw Tommy’s sharp eyes clock the devastated twitch of his brows, the parting of his lips.

Immediately, reflexively, Tommy’s mouth split in another grin bright and false as tinted foil. “I mean. You said I’m going back to Starling for school, right? So. For—for now. Then, I’m back at school. I’ve never been in the dorms. It’ll probably be… cool.”

Bruce firmed his jaw and tucked his chin, meeting Tommy’s fevered eyes seriously. He ignored the entire tumble of words, cutting through the panic, through the act. Direct, Bruce Wayne could do. “You belong here. Not just now. Yes, you’ll go back to school. And when school is out, you’ll be back. Because you’ll still belong here.”

Tommy’s defenses—too well built, too resilient—finally cracked. His grin faltered, slipped. And when it dropped entirely, tears spilled sudden as a faucet over Tommy’s cheeks. He jerked, wiped frantically at his face, and when the tears kept coming and his breath hitched in a sob, he turned sharply away, putting his back to Bruce.

“I-I’m fine,” he stammered damply. “I’m fine. Sorry. I’m fine.”

Bruce’s heart clenched so tightly he thought it might implode from the pain of seeing how disposable this child had been made to feel. “No. You’re not. And that’s okay. Even if you’re not fine, you still belong here.” He paused as Tommy glanced at him over his shoulder, face red, tears still coming, shoulders shaking. “I probably should have said that in the first place.”

Maybe it was time to stop waiting on Tommy. Maybe it was time to reach towards him first for once. Bruce moved around the foot of the bed, stopping and sitting gingerly beside the suitcase when Tommy whirled towards him, tripping back a step over his own feet.

Bruce tried a smile for him as Tommy just stared at him and cried. He still hadn’t responded to being told he belonged. Bruce suspected he was afraid to.

Sighing, he nodded, smile rueful. “You were right, I’m not very good with words.”

This surprised a wet laugh out of Tommy, a muffled giggle that made him sound more his actual age. “Told you.”

Bruce’s eyes crinkled back at Tommy, and Tommy tried to fist the wet tracks off his red cheeks.

Lifting his head higher, Bruce pushed the suitcase towards the pillows and patted the comforter beside him. “Well. I may not be the best with words, but I’m told I’m great with a hug.” He held an arm out to the side, an offer. “If that’s alright?”

Tommy hesitated, biting his lip so hard Bruce worried it would bleed. Finally, haltingly, Tommy closed the steps to the bed and sat next to Bruce. Meeting him halfway. Bruce’s heart soared in triumph and relief and he wrapped his arm around Tommy’s shoulders—too thin, small for his age—and squeezed him gently against his side.

Letting his head fall against his shoulder, Tommy tsked. “Great with a hug, huh?” Bruce looked down at him with a raised eyebrow and caught the edge of Tommy’s smirk, the boy’s head angled down. This smile, at least, looked real. “Somebody lied to you.”

Bruce didn’t try not to laugh this time, and Tommy’s joined his, filling the room.

He hoped it was a sound they’d all get used to.

—————

@memcjo @klaus-hargreeves-katz @its-a-pygmy-puffle @keabbs @princesssarcastia @obscure-sentimentalist @icannotbelieveiamhere @p0cketw0tch @andyouweremine @storiesofimagination @acheaptrickandacheesyoneline @cronusamporaofficial @batsonthebrain @adeusminhacolombina @relevanttosomeone

#tommy merlyn #bruce wayne #dick grayson #arrow #arrow fic #batfam #family and (mis)fortune au #fam au #bruce is just a tall child trying to pretend he has any business raising short children #but oh my god does he try #Anonymous #asked and answered

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melodiouswhite · 4 years

Text

Quiet

(Lady Summers, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde struggle to cope with their immortality, as their loved ones pass away one by one. But they find comfort in their friendship.)

Most people found that with the end of Victoria's reign, it was finally time for progresses that hadn't been made before.

It was December 1926 and many things had changed.

While she was all for progress, she was a child of the mid-19th century and this new era seemed so foreign to her. So fast. So fleeting. So different.

Women had won the right to vote.

Medicine progressed like never before.

The Great War had ravaged the whole world just a few years earlier and changed everything.

She still could see the scars. In form of shell-shocked soldiers, of people who found no work, because of the poor economy, of invalids, who were reduced to begging in the streets.

She had more patients than before – most of them traumatised from the War.

She had buried herself in her work as a therapist. It was all she had left.

For Lady Summers, the beginning 20th century was a time of grief. After decades of wearing no mourning attire, she had returned to wearing nothing but black.

Her villa, which she had loved ever since she had moved in, had grown quiet.

While she hadn't aged a day, her servants had and most of them had passed on by now. The fact that most of them had been her half-siblings made this even more painful.

Philippine had been the first to go.

The night nurse had always been of delicate health. So it had been no surprise, when she had succumbed to scarlet fever (proving once again, that scarlet fever was no children's disease).

Her older sister Julie had died a few years later.

One day the Frenchwoman had styled Lady Summers' hair not with her usual braids and fourragères, but with a fashionable, beautiful and complicated style. It had been the last time – a farewell gift, maybe. Aoimoku was now the one to do her hair, as the Countess hadn't hired a new stylist. It just wasn't the same.

After that, they had died like flies. Some of the losses were worse than others.

The worst was Marie.

The cheerful and hardy Austrian day nurse had been one of her closest servants and the oldest of her half-siblings. And she had been her closest confidante, even closer than Aoimoku. But tough has she was, she had been the last of her deceased servants to pass on. Just a month ago, she had died at the age of 80 – the only one of her servants to die of old age so far.

Lady Summers had sat beside her elderly younger sister's bedside, as she had died.

“I know that you have lived a long time, but it still seems too soon”, she had whispered.

Marie had laughed faintly: “Now, now. Don't be sad, because it's over. Be glad, because it happened. I'm content. It was … a beautiful life. Being your nurse … and your little sister … was more than just … a great honour. It was a gift from Heaven.”

And with a last feeble squeeze of the Lady's hand, she had fallen asleep forever, smiling.

Just the memory made the Lady's heart bleed.

Of her over a dozen servants, only three were alive now: her butler Sameer Singh, her first lady-in-waiting Kurogawa Aoimoku and her driver Sean O' Connor.

Sameer, just like herself, hadn't aged a day. She attributed that to his Rakshasa heritage. He was more demon (or spirit, or whatever those beings were) than human. But it was a comfort, that he would always be there, her loyal butler.

Aoimoku was 71 years old now, but still held herself with a unique grace, elegance and nobility. The wrinkles and the grey strands in her raven hair had in no way tarnished her beauty.

Sean had gone from being her coachman to being her chauffeur, as Lady Summers had traded her coach for a car. Probably better. He was 76 now and his hands were too stiff from rheumatism to hold reins. His red hair had grown thin. Lady Summers dreaded the day when she would no longer hear his cheerful singing and see his goofy smile.

The only other one of her half-siblings still alive, was Alma, who was now sixty years old, but had never been part of the household. The half Irish, who had once caught everyone's eye with her fire red corkscrew curls, ice blue eyes, red lips and tall and slender figure, now looked more like a crazy old witch (she was even keeping cats – Aoimoku hated them).

Lady Summers sighed.

There were other losses she hadn't recovered from – maybe never would. Coping with loss had never been her strong suit.

Most of her friends and family had passed away as well and each loss had been painful.

Of course her former father-in-law, Lord Summers, was long gone. He had lived on to eighty-two, a feisty and kind old man.

Her brothers-in-law were also gone, the last tie to her first husband.

“Say hello to my darling copperhead from me”, she had asked his oldest brother Edward, the last of them to go – a hardy gent like his father.

He had responded with a toothless laugh and a twinkle in his eye (so much like James): “Will do.”

Gabriel John Utterson, her oldest and best friend in England, had passed away of old age fifteen years ago. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, his lover(s), had been left behind to grieve.

But the worst loss was Dr. Lanyon.

Her dear soulmate.

Shortly after the incidents in 1886, they had entered a morganatic marriage with Queen Victoria's permission.

But he had been a bit older than her without having her immortality.

And he hadn't wanted to be immortal either. She had accepted and understood, but it still had broken her heart.

He had passed away in 1910 at the age of 80.

He had been long ill before, so it had only been a matter of time. He had died awake and promised her that, if rebirth really existed, he would meet her again one day.

“Auf Wiedersehen … my lady, my love, my wife …”

It had been sixteen years now and her heart was still as shattered as it had been back then.

Lady Summers didn't know the future, like her dear half-sister and her old friend.

Lanyon had always kept his promises, but the lady just didn't know, when “one day” would be.

It could be tomorrow or in a hundred years and the thought was unbearable. Worse, her old friend Johann (who now called himself John in response to the anti-German sentiment) had implied, that it was closer to being a hundred years.

So the only thing she could do was wait … and grieve.

It was so quiet in her house… so empty.

It was unbearable.

“Sahib?”

Her butler's voice tore her out of her spiral of depression.

Sameer truly had the best timing.

“What is it, Sameer?”, she asked.

“Doctor Jekyll is here to visit you”, he announced.

Suddenly she felt a surge of relief.

“Show him in then.”

The butler left the room and returned with a tall, blond Englishman.

Dr. Jekyll hadn't changed at all – he was still the dignified, handsome gentleman she had met more than forty years ago.

“Hello, Henry”, she greeted him and stood up. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.”

They had been on first name basis for a long time now.

“Actually, I think I do”, he replied smiling. “Hello, Luise. I would ask you, how your day has been so far, but your facial expression sort of gives it away.”

She chuckled bitterly, but invited him to sit down.

“Do you want some tea and cake?”, she asked. “It's tea time anyway.”

“Yes, please.”

Sameer saw this as his cue to make his way down to the kitchen. He returned with a full tablet for his mistress and her friend, before seeing himself out.

“Do help yourself”, she invited, “My new cook is quite a good one.”

Dr. Jekyll was obviously a bit apprehensive, when he tried the muffin, but his face brightened up quickly.

“Oh, they're scrumptious!”, he exclaimed, “Your butler must have a really good eye for picking your servants.”

“He certainly does”, the Lady agreed. “Then again, he is part Rashasa. They can see and are aware of things that are beyond human comprehension.”

Dr. Jekyll chuckled: “I remember how you and he identified the impurity in my special salt. Speaking of which, I have never thanked either of you. Had you not found out, what was different in my first badge of salt, ohhhh boy! I don't know, if Edward and I would have learned in time how to properly share control of our body. Sooner or later he would have overpowered me without even wanting to and without the proper formula, I wouldn't have been able to transform back. And what's more, you two helped me learn to shift without my formula.”

Lady Summers nodded: “Yes, that was fortunate. Don't forget to thank him personally.”

Suddenly she sensed Mr. Hyde stirring inside Dr. Jekyll's conscience.

“Did somebody say my name?”, the androgynous, guttural voice piped up.

Dr. Jekyll just rolled his eyes, but the Lady smiled lopsidedly.

“Hello, Edward. Did you sleep well?”

“Eh, it was okay. Hi, Luise.”

“Speaking of sleep”, Dr. Jekyll spoke up again, “How has yours been?”

She sighed and didn't answer.

It wasn't necessary.

After more than forty years, the Doctor knew her so well … and he was one of the few friends she had left.

His face became sombre. “It's so quiet here without Marie.”

“It is”, she whispered. “It really is. Without all of them … and so empty …”

She didn't bother keeping her act up and broke into sobbing.

“I … I miss them so!”

Soon his arms were around her and she was crying into his shoulder.

Lady Summers didn't cry often. It just wasn't in her nature.

But she had been strong for too long now.

It seemed to be the same for Dr. Jekyll; at some point she felt his body shake and knew that he – no, she could hear Hyde sob too – that they were crying with her.

This way they sat, hugging each other and crying together.

They wept for their lost loves, their dearest friends and all the other familiar faces, which had one by one faded away, wept because they could never follow (they had promised to Gabriel and Hastie, that they would never end their own lives), because almost everything they had once known and loved was gone and because all they had was each other.

Sure, there were the three alchemists and Victor and Adam and they all knew the pain of losing someone dear. But these five had chosen immortality; they had wanted it, had strove for it.

Luise and Henry had never wanted to be everlasting, had never asked for this cursed existence.

When they finally stopped and withdrew, a glance at the clock told her, that they had wept for three hours.

“Are you feeling better?”, he finally asked kindly.

She nodded and blew her nose. “A little. And you?”

“Me too”, he replied.

“Me too”, Hyde echoed from inside Jekyll's head. “Holy shit, we three really needed that, huh?”

“Indeed so”, the Lady sighed. “Listen, you two, I have never apologised.”

Dr. Jekyll tilted his head in confusion. “Apologised for what?”, he inquired.

“For doing this to you”, she explained softly. “It's my fault that you're ageless and immortal now. I know, you never asked for this cursed existence.”

He smiled gently. “Hey now. We know you didn't mean to. In this moment, our life was at stake and if it hadn't been for your blood donation (and that of Gabe and Hastie), Edward and I would have died. And maybe … maybe it was supposed to come to this. Maybe it was fate, that Edward and I should remain on this earth and keep you company, my friend. Anyhow we're both glad that we can finally return the kindness and sympathy you have given to us all these years.”

“Couldn't have said it better”, Hyde agreed.

The Countess chuckled hoarsely.

Dr. Jekyll patted her hand. “You know, I'm glad that we three are together in this. I know what loneliness feels like. But when you and I can just sit together as old friends, the silence becomes so much more bearable.”

Finally she smiled back. “Yes, I suppose it does.”

A knock on the door made them look up.

In the doorway stood Sameer, with a table cloth, and the Lady's new nurse, holding a carafe of water.

“It's time for dinner”, the butler reminded his employer and laid the table.

The day nurse nodded. “And we saw you crying earlier, so we thought you might want some water afterwards?”

Lady Summers laughed: “Thank you two, that's quite considerate. We could indeed use some food and drink. Ah, and bring a second set, Dr. Jekyll is staying for dinner.”

The two servants nodded and saw themselves out.

Dr. Jekyll turned back to the Lady. “Isn't your new day nurse the granddaughter of your hairstylist?”

“Indeed”, the Lady confirmed, “She even looks a bit like Julie. But in her personality she comes more after her grandaunt Philippine.”

The Doctor chuckled: “Mademoiselle Desmoulins never truly left you, did she?”

“No”, the Lady answered fondly. “She didn't.”

“And you know what? Perhaps your butler is right about the reincarnation thing. I think someday we will see them all again, in one form or another. We just have to wait for that to happen.”

His trusting smile warmed her to the bottom of her soul.

Yes. They just had to wait.

All of their friends and loved ones would return one day, because true friends never truly left.

And then Luise's and Henry's homes wouldn't be quiet and empty anymore.

#The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #Mr. Hyde #edward hyde #ocs #loss #grief #mournin #comfort

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minijenn · 4 years

Text

Universe Falls, Chapter 77, Part 2

Bljahsdjasdhkads over a fucking month since the last chapter was posted and here I come with a fuckin mediocre chapter like this. Nice. Anyway here ya go. Enjoy. (please don’t read this on here formatting sucks read it on ff.net or ao3 instead to get the better experience!)

https://minijenn.tumblr.com/post/611433424860921856/universe-falls-chapter-77-part-1

***

Chapter 77: Adventures in the Multiverse

Part 2: Adrift in the Cosmos

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So I embarked on a 30-year adventure--a perilous journey through the multiverse to learn what I could about Bill in the hopes of defeating him. In the process, I had many experiences that my younger self might have described as “swashbuckling” if not for the constant nausea that accompanies dimension-hopping!

Within the span of the first year of my travels alone I quickly lost count of the sheer number of different dimensions I found myself falling into. Sometimes my stay in these dimensions would be brief, long enough for me to restock on whatever basic supplies (food, weaponry, wormhole stabilizers) I needed before passing through as quickly as I arrived. Other times I would decide (or more often than not, be forced) to stay in a single dimension for weeks, even months on end, well acquainting myself with the rules and residents (be they friends or foes) of said dimension by the time I left each one.

Still, I pride myself on how quickly I fell into the routine of steadily-paced interdimensional travel. The oddities of the multiverse, of which there are plenty, perplexed me on just about every level at first. But as I saw more and more of those oddities, many of which defied comprehension when compared to anything I was familiar with back on Earth, the less terrified, and the more fascinated I became.

It feels as though I lived 100 different lives across all of the countless dimensions I’d been to. I traveled with bandits, learned to speak 13 languages, got in a fistight with a talking chair, and got tattoos with a tribe of octopus-armed warrior piglets. (These tattoos rank among my most serious regrets. Let’s just say I wear my usual turtleneck for a reason!) I studied ancient texts, compared notes with scholars, dined with monsters, and was briefly made king of the Finger Dimension, until a 7-fingered man showed up and I lost my status. And this was all within the first 5 years of my travels alone!

When it comes to those other 25 years, I can truthfully attest that they were just as eventful. There’s certainly never a dull moment in the multiverse! I often found my youthful curious spark returning to me whenever I ventured across a new locale, and on many occasions, yearned to have any of my familiar journals on hand to document everything that I saw (which is why I suppose it’s rather cathartic to be finally writing my journey out after all this time, I suppose). It’s certainly true that not every dimension I came across was a safe harbor; many, in fact were practically unlivable for longer than a few hours at a time. At the same time, others were rife with barbaric, hostile beings and creatures who attacked first and asked questions never. And sandwiched between those worlds were dimensions that were borderline bizarre in every sense of the word. While I did often yearn for the (relative) normalcy of my home back in Gravity Falls and the reliable company of Rose and the Gems in particular in those first few years, that yearning paled in comparison to the incredible discoveries and sights I got to experience, far beyond anything any other human has seen for sure.

Still, it wasn’t always an exciting, explorative adventure. Survival was one of my highest priorities, lest I fall short of my main goal of stopping Bill before I could even come close. Thanks to my quick wit (and dimensional translator), I was able to talk my way into and out of food and shelter--although a number of dimensions consider me an outlaw to this day. Ironically, in the multiverse, I’m just as wanted as Stanley! But my crimes had a noble purpose: I only stole supplies to work on my Quantum Destabilizer, which proved to be one of the most difficult inventions I ever worked on.

The Destabilizer was the product of many a sleepless nights during those first few years adrift. I knew from the start that if I was going to face off against Bill, I would need to go up against him far more prepared than I had been during my first unintentional outing in the Nightmare Realm. That preparation would come in the form of a weapon, one that would be armed with all of the knowledge I would go on to obtain about Bill through my travels in the hopes that it would be just strong enough to obliterate him once and for all. Certainly, I reasoned, something out there within the vast, endless cosmos had to possess that power; it was merely a matter of finding it first.

So my search for parts and for information alike went into full swing as I hopped between the untold sprawl of distant worlds. To fully chronicle my adventures would take 10 volumes (at least!), but here’s a catalog of some of the most outlandish dimensions I saw…

The M Dimension

Ugh! Writing about this place after all these years has brought back to life the extreme frustration I felt while I was trapped there! The whole reality offended my ordered and scientific mind. I mean, how does it even make sense for a vacuum to be shaped like an M??

If you think that’s dumb, try looking at their alphabet: it’s just the letter “M” 26 times! Why does a universe like this even exist! Why did I have to spend time there? Why did they keep telling me to “mave a monderful mime!”?

Even though I was feeling “muicidal” after just ten minutes there, at least they were relatively kind to me, considering how strange I must have looked to them. Not like the people in the Symbol Dimension. Those guys are @$$&@!!s!

The Do-Over Dimension

Also known as the Yo-Yo Dimension and the Go Insane Because Nothing Gets Done Dimension (the last name being the most accurate but the least poetic). This is a world where time moves both forward and backward in a seemingly random manner. So you may have a really crummy week but then get a chance to do it all over again. Or just as you complete high school, you may live backward all the way to kindergarten.

The Do-Over dimension can move forward normally for really long spans of time or “yo-yo” back and forth several times in one day. Professional “timelineologists” are like weathermen who try to accurately predict “what the time will be like” on any given day. As the old saying goes, “one step forward, infinite steps back, then two and a half steps forward, for no discernable reason”.

Lottocron Nine (The Gambling Dimension)

It’s like the mob took over this entire galaxy. Except there is no mob, because gambling is not only legal here, it's mandatory.

Every aspect of life is left up to chance in this dimension. Cynn City, the central governing authority of the Gambling Dimension, lands on whatever planet wins the yearly lottery to host it. Babies learn to roll dice before they can learn to walk, and no one over the age of five goes anywhere without their lucky deck of cards. Even choosing your soul mate is left up to Lady Luck. Luckily, the government is effective. The Galactic Senate meets at the track every Saturday to debate (bet) on their favorite laws.

Stan would have loved this place, but it just made me depressed. Although I had a good run in the Gambling Dimension, the dimensional bouncers ended up kicking me out for counting cards! What are the odds?

The Locked Door Dimension

What’s behind door number one? Who knows? Because you can’t open it. Because you don’t have the right key.

As yet another one of the more aggravating dimensions I had the misfortune of coming across, the Locked Door Dimension is really nothing more than a winding, endless hallway with doors lining both sides. Each and every one of those doors is locked, but fear not! The moment you arrive there, a key just so happens to land right at your feet. The only problem is that key only unlocks one door out of the thousands, maybe millions this dimension is made up of!

So with no other options, you go from door to door, trying your key out on each one of them and it works on seemingly none of them. But what happens when you finally reach the door that your key does unlock? I… honestly have no idea. My time in the Locked Door Dimension was mercifully cut short as I happened upon a wormhole just short of me losing my sanity. Part of me would have liked to have kept my key as a souvenir, but I admittedly tossed that thing out the moment I left. Still, I can’t help but wonder what would have been behind my door if I hadn’t…

The Delicious Dimension

This place is something Hansel and Gretal could only dream of. Every non-living material object here is completely edible! Now, this isn’t in the sense that everything is made of food (in fact, “food” in the traditional sense doesn’t even exist here, largely since it doesn’t need to). A clock still looks like an average clock and a candle is still very much a candle. It’s just that you can eat both the clock and the candle without needing to be rushed to the hospital right after.

Have you ever wondered what a table tastes like? What about a car? Look no further than this dimension for the answers! I have to say I was caught off guard the first time I spotted someone here down a notepad whole. But then I got to try a few of this dimension’s delicacies for myself and I was pleasantly surprised. Who knew a pillow of all things could taste so good?

...Actually, now that I’m writing this out, I realize just how… uncomfortably odd this dimension was in retrospect. Moving on!

As the years drew on, my quest to defeat Bill eventually led me to a strange world that I mistakenly believed to be his birthplace…

The Two-Dimension Dimension (Exwhylia)

A dimension that was by far different than any I had encountered this far by the mere composition of it alone. It is, as its name implies, completely two dimensional in every single way. In fact, my three dimensional body intersected perpendicular to the plane this dimension exists on, to the point that I was literally on eye-level with its rather simplistic residents. With that in mind, you might think me to be a god in their world--but not so much.

From my ill-suited point of view, I couldn’t make out much of the world of Exwhylia. My 3-D eyes were worthless in their 2-D world! There is no sky above them and no sun to bathe them in directional light and create shadows. “Above” and “below” are directions that they know nothing about and do not exist to them whatsoever. Still, I was able to glean exactly how their strangely hierarchical society worked. Circles are at the peak of their class system, considered to be the upper crust of Exwhylian society. Far below them are the lowly triangles, sub-class citizens with hardly any rights or dignity to speak of under their rounded overlords. These shapes moved about on their flat plane littered with squarish buildings and countless other indiscernible objects I couldn’t quite make out as identical as everything in their world looked like to me.

I believed Bill came from a similar world that was mysteriously destroyed. But how? I didn’t have much time to investigate. The Exwhylians considered me to be an “Irregular” shape, which is vulgar in their society.

I was unable to explain myself, since my mouth was stuck outside of their world, and I soon found myself under attack. Though small, the Exwhylians’ bodies are razor-sharp, and several hundred of them began slicing into my head in an assault I was powerless to put an end to.

Luckily, I was saved just in time by one of the most extraordinary creatures I’ve ever encountered…

Ford wasn’t sure exactly at what point he’d blacked out; likely around the time the Exwhylians had slammed their tiny two-dimensional bodies straight into his eyes for the hundredth time over. Yet as he managed to open his eyes, he found that they didn’t sting anywhere near as much as he thought they would, allowing him a starting glimpse of exactly where he was now.

Fortunately, he seemed to be back in a fully three dimensional plain, with no aggressive Exwhylians in sight. What was in sight was a far more serene setting than the last dimension he’d found himself in. He was lying quite comfortably on a heavily cushioned bed, positioned in a well-decorated open-air room. It’s outer walls were non-existent, instead bordered by sturdy marble pillars, between which a grand view of what lay beyond them: a beautiful panorama of the sprawling natural landscape that lay down below the high mountain peak the unknown building rested on. The craggy hilltops and lush green valleys admittedly reminded Ford of Earth, and he would have even believed himself to be back in his own dimension if not for the skies that were painted in a kaleidoscope of colors that an Earthly atmosphere would have typically never known.

Even so, the author slowly, carefully sat up, perplexed by how he’d gotten to such a strange setting in the first place. Still, he could hardly complain considering how starkly calm and peaceful this dimension was compared to Exwhylia. And yet, his guard immediately raised as he noticed the curtain covering the doorway on the far side of the room begin to sweep aside as a mysterious silhouette appeared just behind it. Far too familiar with the feeling of being cornered or trapped by now, Ford’s fight or flight instinct quickly kicked in as he searched himself for any of his weapons, only to find that they, along with the rest of his supplies, had been set aside on the opposite end of the room entirely. He nearly jumped up to retrieve them, despite how his bones and muscles alike ached from lack of recent use. That is, until he got a clear view of exactly who was emerging from behind the curtain.

“Ah, so you’ve finally awakened…” The smooth, yet deep feminine voice addressed him as its owner properly stepped into the room. She was a tall, yet elegant figure, her otherwise humanoid appearance made a bit more alien by the pale blue pigmentation of her skin, which matched her much darker blue thick, hooded gown quite well. But what was most fascinating about her by far were her eyes, largely since there were seven of them in total, each of them a different vibrant color as they all stared at the author almost piercingly.

“W-who are you?” Ford asked, somewhat unnerved by her practically captivating gaze.

“Fear not, Stanford Pines,” she said, raising a hand to calm him. “I mean you no harm.”

“How… how do you know who I am?” Ford asked, eyeing her warily as he stole another brief glance at his weapons. “Where are we?”

She smiled at this, her manner still completely level compared to the author’s obvious uncertainty. “Forgive me for answering your inquiries somewhat out of order,” she said. “To start, as an oracle, it is my gift and my responsibility to know of the past, the present, and the future. My name is Jheselbraum the Unswerving and we are in the world I call home, Dimension 52.”

“...An oracle?” Ford eased up a bit, though he still raised an eyebrow at this.

“Oh, that’s right,” Jheselbraum said as she strolled to the other end of the room. “Natives of your dimension don’t tend to take much stock in the foresight of oracles and seers anymore, do they?”

Ford couldn’t help but crack the slightest of smiles at this in spite of himself. “I don’t know if that’s entirely true. After all, an old friend of mine dabbles in glimpsing into the future herself.”

“Ah yes, one of the Crystal Gems,” Jheselbraum nodded knowingly. “The one you speak of is called Garnet, though there’s also Amethyst, Pearl, and of course… the Gem you know as… Rose Quartz, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Wait…” Ford frowned, caught off guard by such an accurate listing. “You almost make it sound as though you’ve met them…”

“After looking through your past, Stanford, I feel as though I might as well have,” Jheselbraum remarked, turning back to face him.

“I’d… argue that could be considered a breach of privacy…” the author said dubiously.

Surprisingly, Jheselbraum simply laughed at this, her light chuckle just as mysteriously graceful as everything else about her. “Then I apologize for the intrusion. I’ll make sure to ask you the next time I decide to pilfer through your personal timeline. How does that sound?”

“Better…?” Ford replied, still unsure of what to make of the seemingly amicable oracle. “In the meantime, do you mind telling me exactly how I wound up here in… what was it again? Dimension 51?”

“52,” Jheselbraum corrected. “And I suppose you could say I’ve been expecting your arrival here for quite some time. Of course, I did take the liberty of pulling you out of peril; those Exwhylians didn’t exactly show you the greatest hospitality, did they?”

“I’ll say…” Ford huffed as he placed a gentle hand against one of the many bandaged cuts on his cheek.

“So I brought you here, and got to work tending to your various wounds both old and new,” the oracle continued her explanation. “In case you’re wondering, you’ve been unconscious for roughly a week.”

“A week?!” Ford balked, baffled.

“Hm. Considering your unsteady relationship with sleep in the past, I would have thought that such a lengthy rest would be more than welcome,” Jheselbraum mused. “Even so, there’s no need to thank me for my services. After all, I must admit that I do have a rather… selfish reason for bringing you here, Stanford.”

“Oh? And what might that ‘reason’ be?” Ford asked, eyeing the oracle suspiciously once more.

Jheselbraum’s rather light manner turned serious, almost grave at this as she took a step closer to the author. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but word of you and your story has spread far and wide across the multiverse, Stanford Pines. Many in worlds you’ve never even been to before have heard tell of your great ambition, to bring an end to the demon known as Bill Cipher. And I must tell you, that bold and noble cause, you and I are very much alike.”

Ford was completely caught off guard by this revelation, to the point that all he could do for several minutes was stare at the oracle in awe. He knew that he was a wanted man, he had been for several years now, particularly in dimensions where it was clear that Bill had some sort of influence. Likewise, in his travels, he had encountered many creatures and people who cowered in fear at the mere mention of the dream demon, his trickery and treachery extending far and wide to ruin countless lives across the multiverse. And yet, never before had he met someone who seemed intent on actually taking Bill down other than himself… until now.

“You… want to defeat Bill too?” Ford asked quietly, incredulously.

“I don’t necessarily want to defeat him myself for that’s not the hand that fate is destined to deal me,” Jheselbraum countered calmly. “But I do wish to see him defeated. For untold eons, Cipher has cast a pall of terror across the innocent denizens of the multiverse. I cannot even begin to tell you just how many minds he has broken, how many worlds he’s left in an upheaval of chaos. I have stood on the fringes, spending centuries watching his wickedness spread further and further across the cosmos and yet no one has ever possessed the courage or the might to face his destructive power head-on. No one… until you, I suppose.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest with you, I don’t know if I’d necessarily call my mission entirely ‘noble’,” Ford noted earnestly. “Bill tricked me; he took advantage of my foolish eagerness to succeed to get what he wanted and in the process, his deception cost me more than I could have ever imagined. This isn’t just about defeating him; it’s about forcing him to experience every bit of shame and humiliation he put me through. It’s about getting even.”

Jheselbraum’s expression was unreadable upon hearing this, though all seven of her multi-colored eyes were steadily set on Ford all the while. “Many good men have been driven to madness in the stubborn pursuit of revenge,” she cautioned simply, though decided to make no further comment as she went off on a different tangent entirely. “Even so, as you are now, you would unfortunately be… ill-equipped to face Cipher again and survive. Especially given how narrow your last escape from him proved to be.”

“Well, I can assure you my next attempt will have Bill trying to escape instead of me,” Ford finally stood, albeit somewhat unsteadily as he crossed the room to show the oracle his half-built Quantum Destabilizer. “As long as I have this on hand, then he won’t stand a chance. O-once it’s completed, of course.”

“But a weapon alone can only do so much,” Jheselbraum pointed out as she walked over to him, making Ford note just how much she towered over him. Much like Rose used to, really. “You already know well by now that Cipher strikes the fiercest at the part of a person that’s the most difficult to protect: the mind. Deceptive and cunning as he is, he’s a renowned master of the mindscape, and the damage he can inflict there is far worse than anything he or his minions can do to you physically. Which is why, above all else, if you truly wish to face him again, then you must fortify your mind at all costs.”

“Fortify my mind…” Ford repeated, open to just about any idea that could help him best Bill once and for all. “I don’t suppose you know of any special spells or ancient incantations, or heck, even just a few mental exercises that could do that in a relatively short amount of time… do you?”

“To tell the truth, magic would be of little use here,” the oracle replied. “And when I said you need to fortify your mind, I meant that in the literal sense. A metallic plate, titanium to be exact, inserted directly over the parietal lobe, would more than suffice to protect the inner workings of your mind from Cipher’s immaterial form. I’d be more than willing to perform the operation, but I must warn you that it is notoriously difficult and incredibly high-risk. If even the slightest complication arose, the chances of your survival would be-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ford interjected by holding a hand up. “Let me get all of this straight. You want me to trust you, someone I’ve literally just met who claims she can see my entire life history, to insert a piece of metal into my skull in a surgery that could very well end up killing me… just on the off chance that it might be able to stop Bill from getting inside my head?”

“Not might, will,” Jheselbraum corrected, all seven of her eyes bearing down into Ford’s. “If this procedure is a success, then I can guarantee you, Stanford Pines, that the only place within the mindscape that Bill Cipher will be able to reach you from will be within your dreams. But any other mental attack he tries to land against you within the waking world will miss its mark absolutely. And even more than that… Cipher will never be able to possess your mind or body as his own ever again…”

Ford’s eyes widened with stunned surprise upon hearing this promise, a promise so hopeful and reassuring that it almost sounded too good to be true. In the torturous weeks efore he’d been tossed into the portal, he had lived in nearly endless fear, wondering when, not if, Bill would launch a vicious assault upon his mind and body by taking them for agonizing joy rides whenever he least expected it. Even after he’d ventured out into the multiverse, after he’d cleared the horrors of the Nightmare Realm, that nagging fear of the dream demon besetting him in the most twisted of ways always persisted in the back of his mind. But now, here was a chance, albeit a risky one, to put that fear to rest once and for all. To beat Cipher at his own game before the game even had a chance to begin. To finally, finally be strong enough to stand up to the demon who had taken so much from him, even if he could never really hope to take any of it back.

“Yes,” he said without even thinking twice. Perhaps it was that hopeful promise, or the thin mountain air or something else entirely, but Ford was confident that this choice was the right one. As long as the procedure actually ended up working, of course. “Yes, let’s do it. Right away, as soon as possible.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” Jheselbraum asked, admittedly surprised by his easy acceptance.

“Positive,” Ford nodded, resolved to do whatever it took to bring a long-awaited end to his sinister foe. “In fact, I’ve never been more certain of anything else in my entire life.”

A soft smile finally returned to the oracle’s face at this, one that reminded the author that her determination to see Bill stopped was every bit as strong as his was. And through all of the struggles he’d been through across the multiverse, he’d finally managed to gain an ally who could actually help him do just that. “Very well. Then let’s get started.”

Though Ford had only just regained consciousness after a week of being completely out of it, he didn’t protest to Jheselbraum putting him under again that very same day for the sake of carrying out the operation. Despite the oracle’s claims that the surgery would be an arduous process, Ford was completely out of it for the duration, and mercifully so considering just how long it actually took to finish. Still, once it was finally completed, Jheselbraum let the author rest and recover for as long as he needed to, carefully bandaging up the incision wounds and monitoring his vitals while he slept for well over a day’s time.

When Ford did finally awaken, he was still rather bleary and unfocused, a natural side effect of an intensive skeletal surgery according to Jheselbraum, though her plethora of unique natural remedies certainly helped ease the migraines that also came along with it. By the time the author was completely coherent again, the oracle estimated that he’d still need about a week of bed rest to fully recover, which was something Ford didn’t protest too much. After all, he’d waited this long to put an end to Bill already; he could afford to wait just a little longer.

Said wait was made all the more bearable by Jheselbraum herself. The oracle was steadfast yet mysterious, though she also had a bit of a coy, playful side to her personality that shined through her calm and collected exterior every now and again. Because of their shared goal and ambition, it didn’t take long for Ford’s fledgling trust toward the oracle to become a genuine liking, one that was clearly mutual as an earnest friendship began to blossom between the pair. In many ways, Jheselbraum fondly reminded Ford of each of the Crystal Gems as she shared Garnet’s ability in foresight, Pearl’s respectable intellect, even Amethyst’s penchant for mischief, albeit in a much more lowkey way. But above all else, her hospitality, reliability, and endless desire for justice and peace always made Ford think of Rose, almost achingly so as he realized just how much he missed his once-close friend. And while the chances of him ever seeing that friend again were low, at the very least he had managed to make a brand-new one in Jheselbraum.

The pair discussed various things during the author’s recovery period, though the topic they typically tended to linger on was none other than Bill himself. Given her lengthy lifespan and years of research and searching through the sands of time, Jheselbraum had a vast array of knowledge concerning the dream demon. Such knowledge fascinated Ford to no end, for he had always believed that if he was ever going to truly defeat his most dangerous foe, then the most important step was to know everything there was to know about that foe. And across his many years of traversing the multiverse, he’d never come across someone who had anywhere near as an encyclopedic wealth of information about him as Jheselbraum herself did. And fortunately for Ford, she was more than willing to share all that she knew with him.

“Cipher has existed far before the galaxy you call home even burst to life,” the oracle detailed as she filtered through her countless bookshelves and scrolls for whatever documents she had on the demon. “But the dimension he once called home remains a mystery to this very day, largely because it is long gone. All that’s known of it is that Cipher himself, in his greedy thirst for ceaseless power, destroyed his entire world in a fit of violent fury, obliterating everything and everyone he’d ever known, including his own family--whatever a ‘family’ meant for his kind.”

“Bill? Having a family?” Ford asked with a dry scoff. “I find that hard to believe. Then again, if he really did have one once, brutally destroying them is absolutely in-character for him.”

“I won’t argue with you there,” Jheselbraum shook her head as she came to sit on the other side of the table of her lofty library. She laid out a collection of scrolls and manuscripts for the author to see, each of them bearing some sort of visage or information about the dream demon. “Ever since then, Cipher has been scouring the multiverse for a new world to conquer as his own. He settled on the in-between dimension now known as the Nightmare Realm some centuries ago, but as you’ve likely heard, that world is not meant to exist for much longer. He’s set his eye on several other dimensions in the past, but at the moment, he seems by far the most preoccupied with laying claim to your very own Earth. It’s hard to say why he’s so dead-set on making that planet in particular his own, but-”

“But he won’t,” Ford interrupted, his expression stony and severe as he cleared down at one of the images of Bill laying before him. “I’ll make sure he won’t.”

Jheselbraum finally smiled at this. “You know, Stanford, you claimed that your mission to defeat Cipher had selfish motives based wholly on matters of vengeance, but… I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. Anyone willing to lay their own life down for the sake of the world they call home is nothing less than a hero. At least…” she trailed off, her smile turning just a bit more mysterious as she glanced away from the author. “That’s what I’ve come to believe.”

Ford cleared his throat, admittedly flustered for reasons he couldn’t quite place as he loosely repositioned a few of the bandages still wrapped around his head. “Y-yes, well, whether I’m hailed as a hero or not hardly matters to me. Just as long as I’m finally able to give Bill what he rightfully deserves…”

Strangely, the oracle said nothing to this, her smile gone as each of her eyes focused in on the author intently. Ford froze under her scrutinizing seven-eyed gaze, a gaze that almost seemed to be searching for something. And when it seemed as though she finally found that something, all of her eyes blinked at once as she let out a small, almost amazed gasp as she looked back to the author who was still watching her curiously all the while. “Stanford… forgive me…” she said, her voice soft, revenant even. “I promised I would not glimpse through your future without your permission, but… I must tell you… you have the face of the man who is destined to stop Bill Cipher from conquering your world…”

“R-really?!” Ford balked, startled by this information, though the mere thought filled his chest with a warm burst of pride. He had the highest of hopes that he would be the one to bring Bill down, but to hear the accomplishment of that goal be all but confirmed by an all-seeing oracle herself was so exciting he could hardly stand it.

“Yes,” Jheselbraum nodded intently, placing a hand over his on the table. “And in your bloodline flows the strength and determination to destroy him, and all of his evil intentions, once and for all!”

“Incredible…” the author leaned back in his chair, unable to suppress a relieved, elated smile upon hearing such an idea. “A-are you sure?”

“...Well…” the oracle paused, pulling her hand away as her gaze drifted toward one of the many tapestries hanging from the wall. This one, like many others that decorated the mountain shrine, depicted a peculiar, almost lizard-like creature, one that always seemed to be wearing a calm, amicable smile in every depiction Jheselbraum owned of it. “Only The One Who Watches truly knows…”

“The One Who Watches?” Ford asked, confused.

“..You’ve never heard of it?” the oracle seemed genuinely surprised at this. “How odd. Just about every being in the multiverse is aware of the Great Axolotl.”

“...Isn’t an axolotl some sort of amphibian?” the author asked, still not following.

“This Axolotl is no mere amphibian,” Jheselbraum said, rising from her seat to face her tapestry of the creature. “It is a timeless, infallible, benevolent being that possesses immense power, far greater than the false might Cipher pretends to wield. From its home between time and space, it spreads its goodwill and kindness to all who dwell in the multiverse. It is even the source of my own gift to gaze through the sands of time as it grants me an open window to look into the future that it weaves. The One Who Watches is the decider of fate across all dimensions… and I believe that its very own intervention was what led me to find you and bring you here, Stanford.”

“Hmph, well then, I’ll take your word for it,” Ford remarked almost sardonically.

“You don’t believe me,” Jheselbraum inferred, glancing back at him. “Very well. But you should know that there is an ancient prophecy, passed down by the Great Axolotl itself, that speaks of a chosen one…”

“A chosen one?” Ford smirked. “That sounds a bit cliché, don’t you think?”

“Still not interested?” the oracle pressed with a faint smile. “Well, you might be after you learn that the Axolotl’s chosen one is destined to be the one who will put an end to Bill Cipher… forever.”

“Forever…” Ford repeated, his former amazement swiftly returning. “S-so this… so-called ‘chosen one’... You don’t think it could be-”

“You?” Jheselbraum asked knowingly. “I suppose it could be… But even then the true identity of the chosen one is something that the One Who Watches has not permitted me to see, at least not yet. But I believe that if it were you, Stanford, than the Great Axolotl would be making a very good choice when it comes to its chosen one... “

Ford was so deeply gratified and flattered by such genuine encouragement that he scarcely even knew what to say. Jheselbraum was quick to fill in his stark silence however with an offering to raise their already high spirits even more.

To commemorate Jheselbraum’s hopeful prophecies, we spent the entire night partying and drinking Cosmic Sand--the very same kind Time Baby himself consumes (it’s very sweet though quite strong, like finely aged wine, which is somewhat concerning given that a baby is known to frequently drink it). We had much to be happy about, for as far as Jheselbraum’s glimpses through time were concerned, Bill’s defeat wasn’t too far off into the future. And the mere thought that his cruel trickery would finally be wiped from the cosmos for good was well worth celebrating.

When I awoke the next morning, she was gone and I was in another dimension entirely. It was time to continue my quest.

I sometimes wonder where she is now and if by chance I’ll ever see her again… And if the prophecy she spoke of, as well as the One supposedly behind it, is real after all…

Unlike the dimensions I’ve already described, many dimensions in the multiverse are ‘parallel Earths’, very similar to my dimension, but with a few major differences. There are parallel Earths where dinosaurs still rule (one way or another). And ones where dolphins (rather than Homo sapiens) took over as the dominant species after the dinosaurs went extinct. (These dolphin Earths invariably have the best water parks.) There’s a dimension where all music is just screaming, one where tennis balls chase dogs, and one where everyone is the same--except they’re all babies. I didn’t linger there for too long--I don’t care for being spit up on.

But after nearly 30 years of dimension-hopping, I came upon a parallel Earth almost identical to our own. There was at least one crucial difference.

But that difference was far from obvious when I first arrived there. Because when I initially step foot into that much more fortunate dimension, I couldn’t help but mistake it for my very own instead.

Ford could scarcely believe his eyes as he ventured into this new dimension, one with trees, and grass, and a sky that were just like those of his very own home. Even the crisp springtime air smelled just as pleasantly familiar as he remembered Gravity Falls’ being as he walked through the practically identical forest. Never in the course of the past 30 years had he been to a dimension as similar to the Earth he knew as this one, and yet, he was quick to find that the two dimensions weren’t just alike in aesthetics alone.

For soon enough the natural peace of the forest was broken by voices approaching from the opposite direction Ford was traveling in. Wary as ever, the author slipped behind a larger tree just in case the denizens of this dimension proved to be hostile. And yet, when the group traversing the wood finally came into view, he was completely floored to see that they were none other than a quartet he thought he’d never see again: the Crystal Gems. All four of them looked practically identical to how he remembered them, save for their different outfits, though that hardly fazed Ford as he made the most of an incredible opportunity he thought he’d never get again.

Upon so much as spotting his close friends again for the first time in nearly 30 years, Ford didn’t hesitate, instead throwing all logic and caution out the window as he rushed out from his hiding spot to greet them. “Rose!” he called first, absolutely elated as he ran up to the Gems, completely breaking through their former conversation. “Garnet! Amethyst! Pearl! I-I can’t believe it! It’s you! It’s really you!”

“Uh… yes…?” Rose raised a confused eyebrow as she offered the author a quizzical smile. “Are you feeling alright, Ford? You’re much more… excited than you usually are.”

“Did ya discover some cool new sciency thing again?” Amethyst asked with a playful smirk. “What was it this week--and don’t bother telling me about it unless it’s a way I can shove eats into my gut faster than I already do.”

“Oh, please, Amethyst,” Pearl rebuffed, rolling her eyes. “Stanford must be excited about his odd new attire! From what I’ve observed, humans often tend to celebrate very simple things such as new clothing and the anniversary of the day they came into existence. Though I don’t know if I’d consider clothing like that to be… too exhilarating.” She frowned, looking over the author’s dark, tattered travel attire critically. “No offense, Ford.”

“W-what? No!” Ford shook his head, confused. “I-I don’t understand, you all are acting as though I haven’t been gone for the past 30 years!”

“Um… because you haven’t?” Rose pointed out, just as bewildered. “I’m sorry, are… we playing some sort of strange game here? Because if we are I’m afraid I don’t really know the rules.”

“No, this isn’t a game, Rose,” Ford retired firmly, earnestly. “It really has been 30 years since the last time I’ve seen any of you! Don’t you remember? The portal? Bill? Anything?”

“Bill?” Amethyst piped up. “Pfft, we haven’t talked ‘bout that square of a triangle in forever!”

“Mostly because we haven’t needed to…” Pearl muttered disdainfully.

“This… doesn’t make any sense…” Ford said, more to himself than the Gems. “Maybe I ended up in some sort of bizarre time loop? O-or perhaps I could have time traveled in general? I have been through much stranger over the past thirty years but still…”

“What’s science man goin’ on about this time?” Amethyst wondered as the author continued to anxiously mutter to himself.

“I have no idea…” Pearl shook her head. “But he certainly is acting odd…”

“I’m starting to worry about him…” Rose noted fretfully. “Can you make any sense of what’s going on here, Garnet?”

Garnet simply nodded, adjusting her shades before addressing her companions bluntly. “That’s not Ford. Or at least, he’s not our Ford.”

“What?!” Rose, Pearl, and Amethyst all exclaimed, startled by this news. They reacted to it rather recklessly, each of them summoning their weapons in short order and turning them on Ford, who was more than startled by the sudden hostility as a result.

“An imposter!” Pearl accused hotly.

“Who are you and what you have done with the real Ford?!” Rose asked, her shield and sword both at the ready.

“I-I am the real Ford!” the author protested, stumbling backward.

“But again, not our Ford,” Garnet interrupted calmly.

“What’s that supposed’ta mean?” Amethyst asked, baffled.

“Maybe we should go see Fiddleford,” Rose suggested. “He might be able to help us figure this out.”

“Oh, excellent idea, Rose,” Pearl readily agreed. “He has been working on cloning technology recently. Maybe this Ford is the product of one of his experiments!”

“Wait, Fiddleford?!” Ford’s eyes widened at the mention of his former partner. “Y-you’ve seen Fiddleford recently? Where is he? More importantly, how is he?”

“Well, you can come see him for yourself,” Rose beckoned the author to follow her and the other Gems. “I’m sure he’ll be just as amazed as we are to see another Ford out and about.”

As curious as he was, not only to check in on his old friend but also get to the bottom of this peculiar mystery, Ford didn’t hesitate to follow, even if Pearl and Amethyst still watched him much more suspiciously than Rose and Garnet were. “But don’t think we won’t be keeping a close eye on you…” Pearl warned him as she held up the tail end of the group.

“Yeah, ya dirty “Fordposter”!” Amethyst teased, elbowing the author hard in the knee as she impishly ran past him.

Even so, Ford took their misgivings, both serious and insincere, in stride, letting out a small sigh of relief as he simply allowed himself to relish the feeling of being in the company of his dependable friends once more. Even if he wasn’t entirely sure they were exactly the same as the Crystal Gems he once knew. “It’s hard to believe how much I’ve missed this…” he muttered contentedly to himself, hoping against hope that, even despite how strange the Gems seemed to be acting, he really was back in his own dimension after all these years after all.

But he wasn’t.

Because the differences between this dimension and his own became instantly more apparent as the Gems led the author to where he knew his house should have been. And yet, the homey little shack had received quite an impressive surrounding expansion in the form of a sprawling complex of buildings and structures, one that still featured the Gems’ iconic temple as a fixture of its forested background. Upon seeing the impressive structure, Ford had a multitude of questions, none of which he knew how to properly pose to the Gems as they continued to approach it. Even so, one of those questions was answered as they passed by its sign, which simply donned the campus as the “International Institute of Oddology”.

The Gems seemed to have exclusive access to the institute as they bypassed its front office entirely, entering into its complex series of busy hallways with ease. Just about everyone employed in the building seemed to know the Gems and regard them with friendly pleasantries, though even that paled in comparison to the immediate respect everyone paid Ford in particular. Whenever one of the plentiful lab-coat clad scientists passed him by, they greeted him with excited waves and chipper tidings in which they referred to him as “Dr. Pines” or “Professor Pines”, two titles that Ford had never really gone by before (even though he technically could, given his multiple PhDs. Still, despite this strangely warm reception, nothing could have prepared the author for when the Gems took him into a large, futuristic lab, filled to the brim with just about every scientific tool and tech imaginable. But as astonished by this incredible sight as he was, Ford quickly found himself even more dumbfounded as the Gems led the way to the only other person presently occupying the lab at the moment. None other than Fiddleford McGucket himself.

“Fiddleford!” Rose greeted the inventor brightly as she hurried over to him first.

“Oh! Howdy, ladies!” Fiddleford glanced over his shoulder from whatever he was working on. Unlike the Gems, time had actually had an impact on the inventor, though even despite his shallow wrinkles, short beard, and grayed hair, he’d managed to age rather well just as Ford had. “Ya’ll came just in time! I was just about to-” Fiddleford stopped short, swiveling around in his chair to send a peculiar glance Ford’s way. “Stanford? What in tarnation are you wearing?”

The author largely ignored his question as he instead stepped forward, past the Gems, so he could look his once-treasured colleague in the eye for the first time in three decades. “F-Fiddleford… I-”

“Fiddleford!” Before Ford could even utter another word, his own voice echoed through the lab, albeit from a different source entirely. As if this entire situation wasn’t already shocking enough, Ford was absolutely floored to see himself enter in through the far side of the room. By all accounts, this other author looked strikingly identical, the only real differences in appearance lying in his clean-shaven face and equally clean scientific attire. He wasn’t paying much attention as he approached the mutually baffled group, leafing through a stack of papers as he addressed his partner evenly. “So I was running the numbers on that new modulator we were working on and-” He stopped short as he finally glanced up, only to notice his near mirror match standing just a few feet away from him. “Ugh, Fiddleford, what did I tell you about stealing samples of my DNA for your little cloning side project?”

“Uh… I-I shelved Project Double Vision ‘bout a week ago, Stanford…” Fiddleford noted, his eyes wide as he looked between the two Fords just as incredulously as the Gems all were.

“Oh,” the other Ford said simply as he looked back to his double. “Then this must simply be the case of yet another deluded, overly-obsessed fan. Well,” he addressed the other author, pulling out a surprisingly threatening taser pen as he eyed him critically. “I don’t know how you managed to outwit both security and the Gems here, but I can assure you that we here at the IIO absolutely do not tolerate such-”

“W-wait!” the first Ford interjected hastily, running with the only reasonable guess he could make about this situation, given the bewildering evidence he’d seen. “I think I know what’s going on here.”

“Oh, do you?” the other Ford raised a dubious eyebrow.

“Great!” Amethyst chimed in bluntly. “Then do ya mind filling us in?”

“Yes, please?” Rose added, still clearly quite confused.

“W-well, you see, as far as I can tell, I’m not actually from this dimension,” Ford said, ignoring the sting that came along with admitting that fact. Admitting that he hadn’t really made it home like he’d once thought after all. “Even though it does look practically identical to my own. B-but I have been wandering the multiverse for years now and in that time I’ve come across many parallel dimensions to my own, so the only logical explanation is that this is one of them!”

“Golly!” Fiddleford immediately shot up from his seat upon hearing this. “A near-completely identical parallel dimension!? What are the odds of that?!”

“Now, now, Fiddleford,” the other Ford cautioned, still sternly eyeing his counterpart. “Don’t get too excited. After all, this… supposed other me doesn’t really seem to have much in the way of proof in regard to his claims…”

“Oh, really?” Ford met his double’s skepticism with a simple, succinct response as he held up one of his hands. The other Ford balked at the sight of it, glancing between it at his own similarly unique six-fingered hands before reaching out to touch those of his double to authenticate them. “Unbelievable…” he muttered incredulously. “They’re actually… real… I hate to say this but… you might just be from another dimension after all…”

“Can we skip to the part where we just assume that he is from another dimension?” Fiddleford asked eagerly. “Cause that’s far more excitin’ than just speculatin’!”

“Well even if this Ford is from another dimension,” Pearl cut in with a scowl. “How can we be so sure that he’s anywhere near as trustworthy as ours? He did mention Cipher, of all beings when we first found him, after all.”

“Ugh, now there’s a name I haven’t heard in ages…” the other Ford muttered disdainfully as Fiddleford shuddered fearfully beside him. “And I’d just as soon never hear it again for the rest of my life. So what business do you have with… him?”

“I assure you, the only ‘business’ I have with him is putting a stop to his treachery once and for all,” Ford affirmed coldly.

“Wait…” Rose spoke up with a frown. “You mean… you haven’t already done that where you’re from?”

“...What do you mean?”

“Oof, well if you actually are from some parallel dimension, then I don’t even want to know how much of a disaster things are there if you’re still dealing with him,” Alternate Ford shook his head. “Because here all it took to keep him from slipping into our reality was a basic Dimensional Vortex Neutralizer to optimize the portal away from the Nightmare Realm, allowing us to safely use it as we please.”

“W-wha--when in the world did you find time to invent something like that?” Ford asked, admittedly wishing that he had done the very same before it had been too late.

“We all did it together!” Rose smiled warmly.

“It was pretty easy between the six of us,” Garnet added as coolly as ever.

“Yes, if I remember correctly, we reconvened to devise the schematics for it right after I sent Stanley away with my first journal…” Alternate Ford mused thoughtfully.

“Wait… your Stanley actually listened to you when you told him to take the journal and leave?!”

“Yours didn’t?”

“Ugh… of course, he didn’t…” Ford groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. Suddenly, the basic differences of this dimension were becoming all too clear. The split had resulted from a moment so simple, so singular that it might not have mattered at all when it actually happened, but now it clearly did. Because his Stan refusing to take the journal away had been the very reason why he’d wound up sucked into the portal in the first place. And the Stan of this dimension agreeing to do so was the very reason why his alternate self stood before him today. “Honestly, I’m surprised that any version of Stanley actually would, given how frustratingly stubborn he is…”

“Well, here I suppose he was just a little… less stubborn than usual,” Alternate Ford shrugged. “Either that or he had a moment of genuine clarity for once in his life. Even so, we made good on the advantage splitting the journals up gave us, built the Neutralizer, and we haven’t seen or heard from Bill ever since.”

On this Earth, I was never pushed into the portal by Stan.

On this Earth, my brother listened to me and took Journal 1 away from Gravity Falls.

On this Earth, I reunited with Fiddleford and Rose and the Gems, and together, created a Dimensional Vortex Neutralizer that allowed us to use the portal without any risk of a connection to Bill’s Nightmare Realm.

And as a result of those rippling turns of fate, on this Earth, my parallel self was a celebrated star of the scientific community. With the help of Parallel Fiddleford and the Parallel Gems, over the years, he had amassed a wide array of incredible discoveries and inventions, all of which he had publicly published through his journals. And as other scientists read through those journals, it didn’t take long for more aspiring brilliant minds to flock to Gravity Falls, like a moth to a flame, all of them looking to my parallel self for direction when it came to investigating the town’s previously unheard of anomalies. That building community of scientists came together to turn his small cabin in the woods into the sprawling International Institute of Oddology (of which my parallel self was both the founder and chief researcher). And as my parallel self detailed the differences of both his life and his dimension to me, one thought ran paramount within my mind above all else. That this life of success and recognition could have just as easily been my own… ff only Stanley had actually listened to me for a change instead of thinking only of himself like he’s always done!

When it was my turn to spell out the details of my vendetta against Bill to my alternate self and his friends, obvious interest was mutually peaked among them all. Parallel Fiddleford’s knee began to bounce with the agitation and excitement as my very own Fiddleford used to carry, and the Parallel Gems all whispered anxiously, yet eagerly to each other. Parallel Rose was every bit the heroic spirit as the Rose I knew as she seemed by far the most intent on seeing Bill be brought to justice, a sentiment my parallel counterpart also keenly shared. Although their dimension was safe from Bill, they all understood the threat Cipher posed to the wider multiverse. They all agreed to do whatever they could to help.

I showed them my unfinished Quantum Destabilizer--a weapon I was designing to blast Bill into non-existence. The problem, my parallel self theorized, was the power source. In all my travels since leaving Jheselbraum, I had never come across an element that had both the necessary power and the required stability. Parallel Fiddleford piped up with a suggestion, an element that he had discovered in the Paradox Dimension. It was inert when visible, but highly radioactive when hidden. He called it NowUSeeItNowUDontium (a unique flair for language was something else he had in common with my Fiddleford).

Even just a small sample of the element would be more than enough to get my Destabilizer up and running. The only issue was that NowUSeeItNowUDontium (what a mouthful!) was a notoriously difficult element to work with given just how potentially toxic it could prove to be to humans at the seemingly random points it blinked in and out of existence. That’s where the Parallel Gems came in. As unaffected by radiation as their non-organic forms are, they were able to handle the element with ease, and fortunately, Parallel Pearl in particular was well-versed in working with it thanks to past experiments.

While the Parallel Gems did their part, I spent the next several days tinkering and making minor adjustments to my blaster’s design, working alongside Parallel Fiddleford and my alternate self to perfect it into a weapon to bring Bill to his swift, much-deserved end. Those few days were filled with plenty of scintillating discussions about the multiverse, parallel dimensions, and of course, the various distinctions and differences of this dimension in particular. The more my parallel self detailed the countless highlights and accomplishments of his lengthy career, the more I wished that my own path had run the same as his as opposed to the ruin I ran into when I was younger. This version of myself had gotten everything I had only ever dreamed of: fame, respect, and the chance to hold onto close friends that I had fallen away from so long ago. And while I didn’t envy him to the point of wanting to take all that he had away from him, I had to admit that if I had even just a fraction of the good fortune my parallel self had known, then perhaps my life would have turned out far different than it had ended up going.

As much as I might have wanted to revel in my parallel self’s success, it was clear that there was literally no place for me in this dimension. Even if I could have stayed there for the rest of my days, my own conscious would not have allowed it. I still held onto the vow I had made close to 30 years earlier to destroy Bill Cipher. And after about a week of finalizing and finishing my Quantum Destabilizer, it was finally time for me to do exactly that.

“Are you sure you have to go?” Parallel Rose asked as everyone prepared to see the author off on his way.

“Yeah, havin’ another science man around could be fun!” Parallel Amethyst quipped as impishly as ever. “‘Specially if he can finally invent that food shovel I’ve been asking for forever now!”

“I have to admit that even though I was somewhat… distrustful of another Stanford just randomly showing up out of the blue, it was still a pleasure working with you all the same,” Parallel Pearl grinned, cordially extending her hand out for Ford to shake.

“Safe travels,” Parallel Garnet bid him succinctly. “And don’t worry about your cellmate when you meet her. You’ll see her again eventually.”

“Um… thank you?” Ford frowned, confused by this strange, cryptic advice.

“Go take that Quantum Destabilizer ‘n show that rabble rousin’, no-good son of gun Cipher what for!” Parallel Fiddleford cheered with all of the southern zeal Ford was familiar with when it came to his own Fiddleford.

“For the sake of your dimension, our own, and countless others exactly like both,” the parallel author began intently. “I wish you luck. Or, uh… I wish me luck? Huh. Even after a week this is still confusing.”

“Thank you,” Ford nodded warmly. “All of you. I have no doubts that our hard work will go a long way toward putting a stop to Cipher and his tyranny once and for all.”

“We can only hope,” Parallel Ford agreed as the others fondly began to wave the author off.

“Happy trails, Other Stanford!” Parallel Fiddleford called cheerily.

“I hope you make it back home someday!” Parallel Rose added just as brightly.

“And if you don’t make it back to your own dimension, then you’re always welcome to visit ours any time you’d like!” Parallel Pearl chimed in somewhat obliviously.

“That’s not very likely to happen,” Parallel Garnet pointed out, though she didn’t explain much more beyond that.

Even so Ford continued on his way back into the woods, savoring his last few moments in this world that was so very much like his own before he ultimately left it entirely.

After 30 long years of planning in the shadows and biding my time, my chance finally seemed to have arrived. With the finished Quantum Destabilizer in tow, there was nothing keeping me from returning to the place where this nightmare had begun to put an end to the one who had woven it in the first place.

I was finally ready to go back to the Nightmare Realm and face Bill Cipher.

And yet… the dimension I ended up in next was about as far from the Nightmare Realm as I could have gotten… and pitted me against a threat that was every bit as dangerous as Bill:

The Gem Homeworld and the Great Diamond Authority.

#jen writes #universe falls #gravity falls #steven universe #crossover #au #fanfiction #ford #jheselbraum #fiddleford #rose quartz #garnet #amethyst #pearl #adventures in the multiverse #adrift in the cosmos #keyword is dimension 52

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qm-vox · 4 years

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Sigilverse Fanfic - Death by Misadventure

Author’s Note: After ten thousand years I am ONCE AGAIN PROCRASTINATING ON OTHER OBLIGATIONS to bring you the unasked-for fourth chapter in this Sigilverse fanfic. Previous chapters, in order, include What You Think of Death, In It To The Death, and Death Warmed Over. Sigilverse continues to be provided by @periakman whose latest book Legacy of the Sigil just dropped. Like queer YA that grapples absolutely fucking directly with trauma, recovery, and injustice? Give her a glance and your money.

Content Warnings: Child abuse, violence, mentions of suicide, extrajudicial murder, drug use

Vellkill Island, Grevelt. Late Autumn

Monika was intently working her way through her linguistics assignments when Deirdre punched her directly in the back of the head, not hard enough to see stars but definitely hard enough that the young apprentice’s hunched-over seating posture became her best imitation of a human-skin rug.

“The Void was that for?” Monika asked with her mouth against the stone floor of her room.

“Don’t die of shock, but science,” Deirdre commented. “Notice how you actually got hit?”

“I was there, I remember.”

“How often have you actually been hit in the last two months you ass?” came the acidic rebuttal.

Monika considered this. It certainly hadn’t been for lack of trying on Deirdre’s part or, she had to admit, the various soldiers the two of them had cajoled into helping explore Monika’s affinity. The apprentice’s telekinesis seemed to rely on existing movement, but it could nudge and exaggerate motion with incredible efficiency. Fists, feet, blades, sandbags, hurled bricks (while wearing a helmet, obviously), all had simply nyoomed right past Monika without so much as disturbing her dreadlocks. Deirdre had vetoed attempting to shoot Monika with a crossbow bolt; when Monika had tried it anyway using a rope and pulley system, the bolt had went right past her too.

“Yeah, well - I’d like to see you try it again,” Monika muttered bitterly.

“I’m going to,” Deirdre admitted.

“Why?”

“Science,” Deirdre answered, and then she aimed a savage kick at the girl.

Monika’s previous training paid off; she rolled away from her master’s boot and up into a fighting stance. Deirdre wasn’t in her typical armor, which meant among other things that if Monika hit her it’d actually hurt, except -

- hold on -

“Are you wearing padding?” Monika asked in outrage.

“We’re in a stone room and I expect you’re gonna toss my corpse around like old laundry, of course I’m in padding,” Deirdre answered. “You gonna hit me back or what?”

“What’re we testing?” Monika answered; the two circled each other warily, automatically edging away from Monika’s bed and kicking books out of the space where a fight might happen without taking their eyes off of each other.

“Focus,” came the reply. “I need to know if you can fight and do that at the same time, and how long you can do both or either. What’s the rule?”

“Report any feelings of pain in my head or eyes, halt if you call a halt, magic can hurt me and I need to not be hurt for no reason,” Monika answered dutifully. “I’m no good to you if I have a stroke.”

“You’re no good to yourself if you have a stroke, little patriot. Now hit me.”

So Monika hit her.

Like a speeding carriage.

Deirdre took the shot in the solar plexis and hit the stone wall with a whump. Dust shook loose from the rafters while the teen stared in vague shock. Deirdre slid to the ground slowly, collapsing onto her ass and sucking in deep, steady breaths.

“Change of plans,” the Silencer managed in what Monika could only call ‘her voice’ for lack of a better word. “I’m just gonna try to hit you and if anyone asks what happened to me, your obstacle course got me.”

“...Yeah, okay.”

This plan went fantastically for Monika. Deirdre not so much.

The teen watched as her master attempted to hit her to absolutely no avail. Deirdre kept her movements small, precise, laying out a flurry of controlled jabs and strikes that all missed by the barest fraction of an inch. For bigger things Monika could usually feel a twinge, the sensation of her affinity being accessed, but here it was more like a background noise as her kinesis just chugged along.

Things got wild with the bigger hits. An attempted haymaker sent Deirdre sprawling into the wall in an ungainly heap. A stomp kick fit to break down a door hit the wall instead, folding the Silencer in on herself like a paper fan and blowing the air out of her lungs. Deirdre tried to wave off Monika’s sheepish attempts to offer her a canteen of water but her body won out over her pride.

The attempt to throw the canteen at Monika sent it sailing out the window and into the presence of the world’s least fortunate chicken and luckiest enlisted man, respectively.

After what felt like an eternity, but the shifting daylight insisted was about an hour, Deirdre collapsed onto the bed with sweat plastering her red hair to her neck.

“You’re not even tired,” the Silencer complained.

“Nope,” Monika agreed. “I’m only just now feeling any pressure in my head and even then it’s more like I’ve got a cat on me.”

“...This might complicate things.”

“Isn’t it a good sign?” Monika pressed, voice full of hope.

“Depends, how into dying on accident are you in the name of science?”

Monika didn’t answer that.

“You know what I’m about to ask.”

Monika didn’t answer. She just left the room.

Monika had long since given up on looking for Ysabelle anywhere but the infirmary; the healer slept there, on a narrow cot that she insisted was her own choice and preference, thank you very much you nosy brat. On the average day there weren’t actually all that many patients, and today there were none. Monika walked in on Ysabelle putting a kettle on for tea.

“That beast finally find a way to maul you again?” Ysabelle asked without looking up, her voice flat.

“I don’t like you talking about her like that,” Monika said in a low voice. “...But no. I wanted to ask you about magical injuries. Erm. Injuries from using your affinity, that is.”

Wordlessly, Ysabelle left the kettle, but when she came back with two cups and set them down Monika knew she was invited to stay. The apprentice sat down cross-legged on one of the medical beds and waited for the healer to speak.

“Understand that I say this in the most technical sense I can,” Ysabelle began after a moment. “The question you’ve just asked is completely useless. Some affinities are inherently dangerous. Some are dangerous because they’re in bodies that aren’t suited to use them, or only partially suited. The Reaper puts his bones straight through his own skin and muscle, and even though he’s adapted to handle that it still hurts. Is that the sort of affinity injury you’re asking about?”

Monika frowned, holding her empty teacup and staring down into it. The porcelain was thin and unusually fine; once again, the apprentice considered asking Ysabelle why she had such an expensive tea service, and once again Monika discarded the question as likely to open up realms of bullshit beyond her imagination. “No, not...well...maybe? What happens to telekinetics?”

“Ah. Hrm. You’re wondering about your limits?” When Monika nodded, Ysabelle started to hrm her way through preparing the tea; picking out the blend she wanted to use, getting out stale cookies (’Why are your cookies so shit when your tea is so expensive?’ was another one of those questions Monika forced herself not to ask on a nearly daily basis), and fetching her cream, butter, and sugar. With the service fully set, the healer once again settled down to look at Monika. “That is...also complicated. Esoteric applications of magic can cause brain injuries, but they don’t always do so. Over-use of magic in general causes damage to what I will, for lack of a better term, classify as the soul, the fallout of which can range from acute depression, catatonic or fugue states, dissociation, or even death. Part of the reason ritual magic is so tightly controlled is because of injuries of this kind.”

The teen nodded, and then frowned again. “Wait, for lack of a better term? Do you not believe in souls?”

Ysabelle gave Monika a wan grin. “I did most of my learning in Haldon, where we have other ideas. That beast training you could tell you more, if you care to ask.”

Monika bristled, and when she saw Ysaballe tensing up in turn the apprentice let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and willed herself to calm down. Lots of people had reasons to dislike Deirdre. Void, Monika disliked Deirdre! Just let it go. Leeeeet it gooooo.

“In your opinion -” Monika began, and then she stopped. Ysabelle said nothing, but when the kettle started whistling did move to make the tea at last, giving the teen a lot more time to think. Getting a warm cup how she liked it (to wit, with enough sugar to kill nine men) to hold in her hands was a comfort of its own. “My master is concerned that if I can’t find a way to regulate my power, I could cause myself brain injuries. Maybe even those soul ones you’re talking about,” Monika explained at last. “How would I be able to tell if I’m close to danger?”

Comprehension dawned over Ysabelle’s expression; the healer added butter and sugar to her tea and stirred it slowly, clearly looking for the words she wanted to say. Monika had seen this look before, when trying to diagnose a tricky problem or injury and explain it in a way her patient would understand. “You probably don’t,” Ysabelle admitted after a moment. “Pain in the head without a clear cause could be one sign, but it might not be; a lot of the brain has no pain receptors, and if you’re bleeding internally you may not know until you have a stroke or even die. Fatigue can also be a sign of excessive magical expenditure, but given your affinity...”

“...I’ll probably be exhausted for other reasons,” Monika finished with a nod. “Hell, even just doing training with Lee leaves me exhausted.”

“Mister Lee puts you through your paces,” Ysabelle agreed. “And if you end up in battle, as you inevitably will given your master’s profession, the emotional toll can make self-awareness even more difficult. Your master is correct - you are in fact in an unknown amount of danger from yourself, and this danger of necessity will need to be addressed.” She and Monika took sips of their tea at the same time, each with expressions of Intense Contemplation on their faces. “If you could be so kind, please explain to Deirdre that you had this conversation with me, and that I may be able to suggest resources to the both of you on this matter which would require her rather more comprehensive powers of requisition. I am willing to speak to her at her earliest convenience.”

“Civilly?” Monika pressed.

Ysabelle sighed.

“Civilly,” the healer agreed, at last.

Vellkill Island, Grevelt. Midwinter.

The teleporter arrived without much fanfare, to the immediate panic of those posted there. Monika’s first clue that something was wrong was the mad scramble to put everything up to code, as if some kind of inspection was coming. She had just been about to find Deirdre and ask what was happening when her master found her instead.

“Uniform up, we’re due downstairs,” Deirdre ordered briskly. “And your books have arrived.”

“These related?” Monika hazarded, even as she moved to obey.

“Very. Try to be on your best behavior, the Colonel’s going to have a stick up his ass.”

‘Downstairs’ turned out to be the fort’s parade ground, where the soldiery were assembled in crisp formation. The Colonel (Monika went into her breathing exercises; stay calm, staaaay calm) was conversing in low tones with a tall, bald woman with skin just as dark as Monika’s own, a first since arriving at this Void-curst island. As they got closer, the apprentice noticed the dagger tattoo on the woman’s hand, just like the one on Deirdre’s.

Another Crimson Dagger. Oh no.

“Silencer,” the tall woman greeted with a nod. “Monika of Westkill. My name is Serethen of Javier. I have brought your requested materials.”

Monika bowed. Deirdre just nodded, and then opened her mouth: “Didn’t expect those until spring opened the seas up. What do you want?”

Serethen laughed and favored Deirdre with a faint smile. “Your reputation precedes you, Silencer. There is an ulterior motive, but it will wait. My journey has been long, and I am exhausted. You and your apprentice will take lunch with me tomorrow, and then we can discuss things.”

“I will have my rooms -” the Colonel began.

“Not you,” Serethen interrupted.

“That is hardly your place, Agent,” the island’s lord and master hissed, only to be forced to fumble and curse as a sealed envelope was thrown at him. He glared at the tall teleporter, and then at the envelope.

Later, much later, Monika would treasure the exact look on his face during darker times in her life.

“Not you,” Serethen repeated, and then she set down the heavy pack on her back. She gestured between it and Deirdre and then swept away with a quiet dignity and no small amount of self-satisfaction.

“I think I might want to be her when I grow up,” Monika said after a moment.

“Same,” her master echoed.

#peri akman #Warlocks of the sigil #Heroes of the sigil #Legacy of the sigil #violence #abuse #suicide #fanfic

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