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duuhrayliegh · 4 years ago

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A Friend of Yours - pt. 2

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: reader meets up with Bucky, Sam and Zemo to figure out this Flag Smasher drama

word count: 6386

warnings: canon lvl violence? SPOILERS FOR TFATWS, (it’s the episodes with yn in it, like rlly) language throughout the whole thing, i think that’s it.

a/n: i’m actually really proud of this guys. there is a part three that has WAY more Bucky x YN content that’ll be posted in a few days <3 i hope y’all love this!!

i just want to remind y’all that this started out as a request from @dramaticwittch it won’t let me tag you for some reasons babes :((

be sure to read A Friend of Yours - pt 1

A Friend of Yours - pt. 3 is up too!!!

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

check out my other writing here!

xoxo ray <3

You had the same contacts as Sharon, so finding the Three Musketeers was no problem. It baffled you that Sharon had access to satellites. Makes you wonder what she was doing during those five years you were gone. When you got to their safehouse, you were impressed to say the least. It was nice, cute little pillars next to the dining area, some couches, just enough to make it livable. One thing that struck you as strange was that it was also empty, they weren’t there.

“Fuck it.” You dropped your bag onto the dining table and walked over to the kitchen area. You opened several cabinets, searching for alcohol that you could drown your frustrations in. You found an unopened wine bottle, releasing a little cheer, you popped the cork and brought the bottle to your nose. A sweet plum scent invaded your senses, grabbing a glass and pouring it full for yourself before re-corking the bottle. You grasped the cup walking to the stained glass windows on the opposite side of the room. You could hear footsteps approaching the doorway, then the door being forced open. Muffled conversations were taking place during their entrance.

“Well, I got nothin’. No one’s talkin’ about Donya.” Bucky said as he waltzed into the room. Sam followed closely behind him, Zemo immediately going to the kitchen.

“Yeah, Karli’s the only one who’s fighting for them.” You said, startling the pair of men who were now lounging on the couches. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this?” You dropped next to Bucky, offering him a sip of your plum flavored wine.

“She’s not wrong.” Bucky shot Sam a look, questioning his thought process. “Look, for five years these people were welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbed wire. There were houses and jobs.” Sam sighed, “Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild.” You stopped listening halfway through Sam’s speech, thinking of Sharon. You only refocused when Bucky placed his metal hand on your knee, giving you a look, asking if you were okay.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky asked after you nodded at him. His face never left yours, until Zemo approached the three of you on the couch. He was holding a tray with a clear teapot and cups. He placed it on the coffee table, stepping back and clutching a cup for himself.

“The funeral is this afternoon.” Zemo was always one for the dramatics, so you’re sure that he had something else up his sleeve. Bucky squeezed your knee and you knew he was trying to calm himself.

“You know the Dora’s coming for you any minute. In fact, they’re probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking.”

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli.” He made a noise of acknowledgement, “I prefer to keep my leverage.” Bucky hauled himself off the couch to stand in front of the Baron. You gaze flicked to Sam’s, unsure of what Bucky was going to do. Bucky puffed his chest out, clenching his jaw as he gripped Zemo’s teacup and chunked it at the concrete wall behind him. Zemo flinched as Bucky began talking to him.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Sam stood quickly, trying to diffuse the situation before it escalated.

“Take it easy, Buck. Don’t engage him.” You were taking a drink of your wine, as you observed Zemo’s actions.

“Watch out, he’s going to extort you and do that idiotic head tilt thing.” Zemo’s eyes darted to your figure on the couch as he straightened his head. Sam left to make a call, you assumed Sharon and Bucky followed closely behind him. Zemo offered you cherry blossom tea to which you declined by holding up your wine glass. As Bucky left the room, the Baron released a sigh of relief causing you to laugh at his actions.

“You’re really scared of him, aren’t you?” You teased the man who was now glaring at you.

“If you have made him as angry as I have then you would be too.” You shrugged your agreement. You hadn’t made Bucky mad, and you definitely hadn’t been a part of reactivating him as the Winter Soldier to reach your goals.

“Yeah, well you’re a dumbass, so.” You got up and walked to where Bucky and Sam were gathered. Sam’s phone was still pressed to his ear, but you could tell you were catching the tail-end of his conversation. You could hear Sharon’s voice over the phone talking about the Power Broker. In all your years of living and conducting business in Madripoor, you never tangled with the Power Broker. That didn’t mean anything, it was just suspicious because of how successful your operation with Sharon was.

“What’s the plan?” You asked, dumping the rest of your wine in the sink, casting a glance at an appalled Zemo. “It was shit wine.”

“Zemo has a contact that can show us where the funeral is, and that’s all we got.” You nodded before looking at Bucky and Sam.

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

**********************************

You were walking down the cobblestone roadway with the Three Musketeers when a voice shouted at you from the stairway before you. “Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit!” A scruffy looking man approached you. Both him and his partner were clad in tactical gear, the scruffy one’s resembling a Walmart version of Steve’s Cap suit. Bucky spread his arms out.

“How’d you find us now?” The man’s partner responded to Bucky with equal annoyance.

“Come on, man. You really think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” As he got closer you could read Hoskins on his vest.

“No more keeping us in the dark.” Scruff said before anyone else could fire back. He stopped walking in front of Zemo, effectively stopping your forward motion. “You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” You were walking just behind Bucky to his right and you watched him cock his head back, his voice taking on a sarcastic tone.

“He did that himself, technically.” Scruff’s face contorted as Bucky talked.

“This better be an unbelievable explana--” Scruff’s voice was cut off by Sam’s hand bumping into his chest.

“Hey, take it easy before it gets weird.” Zemo began talking over the group around him, explaining what was going on. You remained quiet, observing the interaction between Scruff and the Three Musketeers. Clearly, the Three Musketeers did not like him and so you assumed he was the ‘new Cap,’ whatever that means. The group began walking again with Zemo leading the pack.

“Alright good, we’ll move in fast. Take her by surprise.”

“No, I wanna talk to her alone.”

“I’m not losing her again.” Scruff was insistent but so was Sam.

“Look, the person closest to her just died, she’s vulnerable.” The group had stopped walking again, focusing on the conversation. You could see the wheels turning in Hoskin’s head as Sam spoke. Scruff was not having any part of what Sam was suggesting.

“What? No. Wait, no! No. Stop. Hold on. Stop, okay?” Scruff ran ahead in front of the others, stopping the forward motion, once again. “I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot the fact that she blew up a building with people still in it.” This was news to you, deciding to stay offline in hopes of remaining under the radar. The back and forth continued until Scruff turned to Bucky.

“You gonna let him do this?” Bucky tilted his head at the man. “Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone?”

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.” You knew Bucky was referring to himself in Winter Soldier mode. Your heart hurt for him to have to go through this again with some clueless nobody.

“And last I checked, he’s a grown ass man who makes his own decisions, Scruff.” Your arms crossed over your chest. This had been the first time you spoke since Scruff and Hoskin’s had arrived.

“Who the hell is this?” Scruff pointed at you. “You break her out of prison too?” Sam interjected before you could sass back.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.” Scruff’s gaze hadn’t left your face. He continued staring at you as he countered Sam’s claim.

“Yeah, I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea.” Hoskin’s hand came up to rest on Scruff’s shoulder.

“Wait, John. If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.” Scruff was not happy with Hoskin's agreement to the situation. Scruff said something to Zemo, who mostly ignored him, acknowledging the little girl waiting under an archway. The group began moving toward her and you focused on Bucky.

“Hey, you okay?” He just nodded at you, denying you the pleasure of a verbal response. You’ll take what you can get. Bringing up the rear of the group, you entered the factory type building last. The little girl pointed up some stairs, and Zemo translated. Sam walked up behind the girl, making him way up the stairs as Scruff handcuffed Zemo to a metal contraption.

“You got ten minutes. Then we’re doing things my way.” Scruff yelled after Sam, who darted his eyes at you and Bucky, a silent instruction to the both of you. Scruff rested his weight against a table, holding Steve’s shield in front of him. His breathing became increasingly worrisome, an ode to how stable he was in the moment.

“You aren’t looking so hot over there, Scruff.” Bucky shot you a warning look, but it didn’t deter you. “The government is really harping on you to get this shit contained, aren’t they?” Scruff pushed off the table, bringing the shield around his back. You were leaning against a pillar near Zemo and Scruff made his way over to you. His face was about six inches from yours as he spoke.

“Do you know who I am?” He was trying to intimidate you, which clearly wasn’t working.

“Do I look like I give a shit?” Scruff’s eyes darted over your frame, a look of recognition washing over his features.

“I know who you are.” He glanced at the clock across the room before looking back at you. “I could arrest you right now. Enemy of the State, standing before me right here.”

“We’re not in that state, dumbass. Technically, you don’t have jurisdiction.” The corner of your mouth raised in a smirk as Bucky called your name. You pushed off the pillar behind you to stand next to Bucky, who was leaning against the railing of the stairs.

“Don’t antagonize him, Y/N.” Bucky berated you, to which you shrugged a shoulder. Scruff began pacing back and forth, frustration getting the better of him.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Hoskin’s tried to calm Scruff down.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.” He shot a look at Hoskins, then the clock, then Bucky, making a decision in his head. “I’m goin’ in.” Bucky rose to his full height, not allowing Scruff to get by him. “This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.” You watched Bucky’s jaw clench, you could see the anger bottling up. “Barnes, your partner needs backup in there.” Bucky was an immovable fortress of solitude. “Do you really want his blood on your hands?” Oh shit.

You watched as Bucky’s resolve faded, allowing Scruff to step around him. Bucky was tired of being the cause of other people’s deaths. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that Sam could take care of himself, he just didn’t want the burden any longer. He was finally free of being a murder machine, finally able to rinse his hands clean. Scruff knew just which buttons to push to get what he wanted.

Scruff busted into the memorial site, guns blazing. You trailed behind Bucky who was fighting against Hoskin’s to try to reach Scruff. Karli and Sam were previously engaged in peaceful conversation, until Scruff announced that Karli was under arrest. Betrayal laced her features as she looked at Sam, defending herself against Scruff advances. She threw Scruff’s weight into Sam, launching them both into the table behind. Bucky took off after her, chasing her through the halls. You crouched next to Sam, making sure he was okay.

Sam recovered quickly, racing down a different corridor leading to another stairway. You followed close behind, allowing Sam to attempt to navigate the area around you. The two of you eventually went down enough of the wrong corridors, that you met up with an equally confused Bucky. You head perked up at the sound of gunshots somewhere in the building. Not sure who the culprit was you turned to Bucky and Sam, who looked just as panicked.

The three of you retraced your steps to find Scruff standing over a knocked-out Zemo with crushed vials wetting the floor. Scruff tossed a glance back at Hoskins and then one to the three of you on the staircase landing. “What did we miss?” Sam directed his question at Scruff, who didn’t dignify him with an answer. Scruff nodded to Hoskins before walking away from the rest of you.

“Thanks for your help, asshole!” You shouted after him.

*******************************

Hauling Zemo’s deadweight back to the safehouse was a job that you and Sam decided Bucky was fit for, being a super soldier and all. Through much complaining and whining on Bucky’s part, he did get him to the safehouse relatively injury free, dumping his body on the couch, jostling Zemo just enough to wake him up. Bucky promptly left the apartment after dropping Zemo off, going to clear his head was the explanation you got as he left.

You huffed, discontent with everything that was going on. You walked to the kitchen, wetting a rag and tossing it at Zemo. “For your head, cover your eyes, it’ll help.” You then popped a few cubes of ice in a glass and poured whiskey over it, handing it to Zemo as well, tapping your temple at him. You went back to the kitchen, jumping onto the counter, letting your legs dangle over the edge. Sam had pulled out a laptop and was typing furiously.

“Were you ever offered it?” You knew Zemo wasn’t talking to you, but to Sam, who hadn’t looked up from the laptop screen. You zoned out of their conversation, trying to decide what Sam was sending Sharon now. “Sam, you can’t hold out hope for Karli.” This made Sam pause and turn to face Zemo, who continued talking. “No matter what you saw in her, she’s gone. And we cannot allow that she and her acolytes become yet another faction of gods amongst real people.” Zemo removed the rag from his eyes, locking gazes with Sam. “Super Soldiers cannot be allowed to exist.”

“Isn’t that how god’s talk?” You interjected, then you asked quietly, “And if that’s how you feel, what about Bucky?” It was a valid concern. “Blood isn’t always the solution.” Bucky waltzed into the apartment, stripping his jacket from his shoulders, giving a perfect view of his two contrasting arms.

“Something’s not right about Walker.”

“You don’t say.” Sam quipped, closing his laptop and facing Bucky.

“Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Shouldn’t have given him the shield.” Bucky jabbed at Sam, sticking to his guns on this.

“I didn’t give him the shield.” Sam was exasperated in his delivery.

“Well, Steve definitely didn’t.” You turned to Bucky.

“Hey. Back off, Buck.” Bucky was going to say something in reply when the door burst open again. In walked Scruff and Hoskins, all gung-ho about something.

“Alright. That’s it. Let’s go.” He pointed a finger at a now standing Zemo. The whole room began shifting, Sam in front of Scruff, Zemo to the side out of direct view, and Bucky to your other side, glass in hand. “I’m now ordering you to turn him over.” Sam stopped before Scruff, annoyed.

“Let’s be clear, shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth.” You added from your spot on the countertop. Scruff pointed his finger at you.

“And I’m taking her too.” Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking Scruff’s view of you. You placed your hand on his left shoulder, letting him know you were still there.

“I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today. We’re gonna need all hands on deck for whatever’s comin’ next.” Scruff puffed out his chest, attempting to intimidate Sam.

“How do you want this conversation to go Sam, huh?” He stepped back slightly, “Should I put down the shield? Make it fair?” Taking on a condescending tone with Sam, making your brows raise. Suddenly a spear lodged itself in the pillar next to Scruff’s face, all eyes darted towards the woman across the room. Two more warriors walked in, holding spears by their sides and Bucky looked resigned. This was new territory for you, who the fuck are these people? One of the women stepped forward near Scruff. She spoke at Bucky in a language that sounded vaguely familiar to you.

“Release him to us now.” Scruff ignored her instruction, deciding to step towards her, holding his hand out for her to shake.

“Hi. John Walker. Captain America.” You scoffed loudly.

“No, you’re not!” You received a look from Sam at your comment.

“Let’s put down the pointy sticks and we can talk through this, huh?” Sam stepped forward, warning Scruff against tangling with the Dora Milaje.

“The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.”

“The Dora Milaje have jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.” Your hand balled into a fist, quickly covering your mouth.

“That’s a burn, Scruff!” You yelled like the little shit you are.

“Y/N! Cut it out.” Sam snapped. Scruff, for some reason, thought it was a good idea to place hands on the Dora he was speaking to. She quickly brought her spear up to force his hand off her shoulder, then bringing it downward into the back of his knee and finally bouncing it off of the front of his helmet. She launched her foot into his chest while he was dazed, sending him backward into the spear behind him and face planting on the ground below. Scruff recovered quickly, sliding his arm into the straps of the shield to protect himself from the spear coming at his body.

The three warriors began fighting with Scruff and Hoskins, much to yours and Bucky’s delight. Sam backed up to stand next to Bucky, who crossed his arms over his chest. Sam looked at Bucky.

“We should do something.” You had just barely heard Sam say it when you and Bucky yelled at the same time.

“Looking strong, John!” “You’re doing great, sweetie!” Bucky gave you a look at your term of endearment, not understanding that it was a patronizing use of the word. The warrior battling Scruff was about to drive her spear into him, until Bucky gripped the handle, stopping her attack.

“Ayo!” Bucky yelled at her. “Ayo! Let’s talk about this!” Ayo had effectively yanked Bucky towards her body, then throwing him backwards. Sam stopped another warriors spear before it drove into a downed Hoskins. The last warrior threw her spear at Scruff, trapping the shield against the table. She began her approach to him and Sam yelled your name to help him.

You got down with a groan, unhappy that you had to save this asshat. All movement was stopped when you heard a metallic thud against the floor. Your head snapped to a now one armed Bucky, his vibranium arm laying on the ground. You released an audible gasp as Ayo walked away from Bucky, his blue eyes wide. Everything around you faded as you watched a broken Bucky, kneel to pick up his metal appendage. Your eyes flicked to Sam, who was just as shocked as you.

“Did you know they could do that?” Sam gestured to Bucky’s immobile arm.

“No.” He swung his arm around once to restart the systems. You heard Hoskins checking on Scruff’s wounded ego, but that didn’t matter to you.

“Bucky. Are you okay?” He avoided your question, grabbing his jacket and telling Sam that Zemo had gotten away. You held your arms out in front of you, what the fuck? Are you the enemy now? You followed after them, not sure where you were going. You got closer to Bucky, grabbing his left arm and yanking him back to you, making his attention be on you for a second or two. “I’m talking to you, dickwad.” His eyes hardened as you continued. “I don’t know what the fuck just happened back there, I’m assuming that has to do with you not being the Soldier anymore. I don’t really care. What I care about is if you’re okay or not.” You stopped walking, still holding his arm.

“What do you want from me, Y/N?” Bucky inquired.

“I want you to fucking talk to me. I’m here for you to unload on.” His brows scrunched and you realized what you said. “Oh my god, not like that, sicko. Well, I mean--”

“Y/N.” Bucky smiled at your humor.

“There, see? How hard was it for you to smile. Just talk to me. I’m making sure you’re okay. Don’t shut down, I hate it when people do that.” Bucky went to say something else when the both of your attentions shifted to a concerned Sam.

“She said what?” A pause, “Right. Hold on, hold on. I know, I know.” He sighed loudly, “Listen, pack an overnight bag and take the boys.” He tried to calm the other person down. You began walking again, Bucky asking quietly.

“What happened?” Sam dropped the phone to his collarbone.

“Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews.” Bringing it back up to his ear, he continued. “Go somewhere safe. Only pay cash, alright? Let me know when you get there.” You turned your attention to your surroundings. The bland streets offered little to no security, but they did give too many vantage points to count. “She wants me to come alone.”

“I’m coming with you.” Bucky fired back, not changing his mind about this one.

“Yay, more friends. She’ll love that. Where we going now?”

*********************************************

You’ve never seen Sam as mad as he was when he walked into that building. Although you weren’t sure if it was anger or if it was betrayal that he was displaying as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. “You called my sister? That’s how we’re gonna play this?”

“Sam, I would never hurt her. I just wanted to understand you better.” Her accent shone through with every word. You could tell that she didn’t want to hurt you. Her demeanor was relaxed, her guard was up, but she was being civil, almost like a politician. You were good at analyzing the people around you, so when Karli mentioned Sam and Bucky just being tools she really meant it. She wasn’t interested in hurting people she deemed innocent.

“Hey, Sam, new Cap is moving, looks like he’s found them, or maybe they found him.” Sharon’s voice snapped you back to reality. The two of you hadn’t spoken since you left Madripoor.

“Scruff’s coming, guys and you know it’s not going to be pretty when he does.” Bucky jumped over the ledge and Karli followed suit. Jumping into Bucky, slamming his body into the post. You ran alongside Bucky to the location Sam had sent to your phone. By the time that you had gotten to the building where Scruff was, you had lost Bucky. Taking an entrance that was already knocked open you heard gunshots from a few floors above you. With your gun raised, you scanned the room for any friendlies.

“Y/N, you’re about to come up on Hoskins. He’s not moving, may need an assist.” Your brows furrowed as you entered the room cautiously.

“How the hell do you know that, Shar? How did you get access to satellites?” You questioned as you approached a tied-up Hoskins. “Need some help, Battlestar?”

“I totally had that.” He said as your knife snapped the zip tie around his wrists.

“Yeah, yeah.” You held your hand out, hauling him to his feet. “It’s okay to be the damsel, ya know?” He shook his head at you, not engaging in your hilarious banter. “Jeez, who pissed in your Cheerios.” You shoved your knife back into your thigh holster, leading the way to where the others were.

When you walked in, Bucky had just caught a knife that Scruff had so deflected. He twirled the object in his right hand, ready to defend against the Flag Smasher attacking him. Their fight was quick and ended with the Smasher on their back, the knife Bucky was holding embedded in the floor inches away from their face. You jumped in, helping Sam fend off another Smasher when suddenly Bucky’s fist flew by your face.

“You’re welcome.” He darted off to deal with the others. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Scruff being held by a Smasher and Karli coming with a knife in hand. You started towards her to stop her, until you saw Hoskins attack from her other side. He tackled her to the ground, Karli bounced back quicker than Hoskins, allowing her to throw a punch at Hoskins. Your jaw dropped as you watched his body fly into the concrete mainstay behind him. His whole body slackened and Karli stood in shock.

Scruff was struggling in his captors hold, thrashing about to get to Hoskins. Once he was free, he shook Hoskins and pushed his fingers against his neck, checking for a pulse. “Hey, hey. Hey. Lemar!” You stood silent in between Bucky and Sam, unsure of what to do. It wasn’t until Scruff stood again that you knew what he was going to do. He had a half-second head start, but it was long enough that he was able to reach the Samsher that was holding him back before you could reach Scruff.

You had to push through the crowd to see what was happening. The Smasher had his hands protecting his face against the slam of the Captain America shield that was being hammered into him. You gasped and had to turn your face into Bucky’s shoulder. This is not happening, but it was.

And the whole world saw it too.

***********************************

The next time you saw Scruff was in an abandoned warehouse. He was talking to himself, yelling about different things. If you weren’t sure before, you definitely were now. John Walker had taken the serum and it was enhancing all the wrong things. Scruff was kneeling, resting his hands on the bloodied shield before him. You were on Sam’s right when Scruff walked up to you.

“You guys should see a medic. You don’t look too good.” He paced in front of the three of you. “You saw what happened. You know what I had to do. I killed him because I had to! He killed Lemar!”

“He didn’t kill Lemar, John.” Bucky’s voice remained calm. “Don’t go down that road. Believe me, it doesn’t end well.” Scruff sent Bucky a disgusted look.

“I’m not like you.”

“You convincing yourself or us, Scruff?” You recognize that this probably isn’t the time to pull his strings but he wasn’t thinking clearly anyway.

“Listen, it was the heat of battle. Okay? If you explain what happened, they may consider your record. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” Scruff never stopped pacing, his hand flexing in the shield.

“You gotta give Sam the shield, Scruff.” He stopped pacing and turned to you, getting a little close for comfort.

“Oh, so that’s what this is.” He leaned forward, “You almost got me.” His index finger jabbed into your chest then rested there as he spoke. “You don’t wanna do this.”

“Yeah, we do.” Came Bucky’s reply before all hell broke loose. Bucky and Sam rushed Scruff, fighting for a way to get the shield from him. Scruff sent Sam flying backwards with a swift kick to the stomach. This gave you the room you needed to launch yourself onto his shoulders, attempting to flip him using his own body weight and your momentum. Your move distracted him enough that Bucky got a few decent hits in, but it really just served to piss him off further. He whipped one arm around, gripping the waistband of your jeans and dumping your weight off his shoulders. He threw you into a wooden shipping container, knocking all of the air out of your lungs.

You watch, as you lay there gasping, Bucky get beat to his knees by Scruff and Scruff’s attention is turned by Sam flipping in the air, kicking the shield to the side. You rose to your feet, readying yourself for the opportune moment. Once you found it, you flung yourself at Scruff, sending the both of you to the ground and the shield away from the both of you. You resituated yourself to straddle his stomach, this position didn’t last long because he flipped the both of you. Slamming your back against the ground, he gripped your wrists, yanking them way up high causing you to groan out at the stretch. He released you but not before delivering a swift punch to your cheek.

Your vision blurred, but you could make out Bucky going head to head with Scruff again. Scruff threw the shield at Bucky after kicking him into a lift. Luckily, Bucky was able to catch the shield and shift it to his own arm before Scruff attacked him again. Scruff pressed the shield tight against Bucky’s body, then began speaking to him.

“Why are you making me do this?” You and Sam shared a look then watched as Scruff tossed Bucky clear across the room into an electrical outlet, short circuiting his arm. Sam flew at Scruff, trying to catch him off guard. He was unsuccessful in his efforts, ending with Sam facing Scruff as you crouched in Scruff’s six.

“This isn’t you, John.” Sam began trying to reason with him. He is who is way past reasoning, not Karli. Scruff’s head tilted as he spoke in that condescending tone again.

“We could’ve been a team.” Sam didn’t say anything. He deployed his wings, flying past Scruff and sending a small grappling hook to try and take the shield. Scruff flipped through the air, then braced himself against one of the lifts. You came up from behind him and tackled him off the lift, sending Sam to the ground as well. As you landed, you hit your head on a piece of broken concrete, disorienting you. The shield was out of Scruff’s hands, and he wasn’t happy about that. They both dove for the shield but Scruff managed to get to Sam first, landing on top of Sam.

“I am Captain America.” Scruff grunted out as he ripped Sam’s wings from his suit. You watch in horror as Scruff holds the shield, ready to give Sam a face lift. Bucky knocked Scruff off just before he could land his hit. Scruff had pinned Bucky to the ground after driving Bucky’s head into the side of the shield. You hauled yourself to your feet again, wrapping your arm around Scruff’s neck, hindering his movement. Sam came from the front, delivering a harsh blow to Scruff’s face. You continued to hold your chokehold as Bucky and Sam pried the shield off his arm. You heard a sickening crack as Sam withdrew from the hoe down. Bucky rose to his feet and spit out the blood collecting in his mouth, reaching out his hand for you to take.

You walked over to Sam, you hoped that would be the end of it all. Lo and behold though, Scruff got up yet again. “It’s mine.” He growled possessively, starting towards Bucky again. Bucky ducked lifting Scruff over his shoulder and Sam threw his whole body weight into Scruff who was dangling off to the side of Bucky. The three of them laid on the floor, bloodied and sweaty as you stood over them.

Bucky rose to his knees, the shield in front of him and he used the leverage of it to stand fully. He dropped it next to Sam, pausing for a few seconds and then walking away completely. You stood next to Scruff, in disbelief. “This just got a whole lot more complicated didn’t it, Sam?” He didn’t reply to you, but you watched as he tried to wipe the blood off the outer rings of the shield.

***********************************

You stood outside the building where Donya’s funeral was held, listening to Sam talk to someone else named Torres. Bucky had walked right past you, not a word said. He was shutting down and running away, at least that’s what it looked like. You wouldn’t know because the whore wouldn’t talk to you. You sat down on the stairs, head in your hands frustrated about what was going on. Your phone began buzzing in your pocket, so you took it out ready to deny the call, until you saw who it was.

“Shar.” You sighed into the phone speaker.

“Y/N. How’s it going?” You could hear the smugness lacing her tone.

“Alright, just get it over with. Tell me that you told me so, just make it quick.” She scoffed.

“I mean, I did tell you so, but now I don’t want to tell you that I did.” You laughed at her.

“You realize you just did, though?” You sense that she was smiling.

“What happened?” Her tone switched into a serious one on a dime.

“Walker took the serum, went batshit, killed a Flag Smasher, and then beat the shit out of Sam, Bucky and me in order to keep his precious shield because he ‘is Captain America.’” Your voice morphed to imitate Scruff.

“Well, that was bound to happen sometime. He’s all over the place.” You nodded, pulling the phone away from your ear and switching to speakerphone so you could talk and scroll through Twitter.

“He’s already trending. Captain America Kills Innocent Man, what a great headline. You know the worst part about all of this, Shar?” You switched the speakerphone off, bringing it back to your ear. “I don’t even think that Karli is in the wrong here. She’s doing what she’s doing for good reason, she’s just doing a shit job of getting her point across.”

“Yeah, well she’s becoming a pain in everyone’s asses, so that puts her on everyone’s shit list.” Sharon took a deep breath before continuing. “You need to get out of there. I know you’re not technically in the States, or alive, but you know how the government is. They’ll find a way to get you, if they want you.” She was lecturing you out of love, you knew, but it was frustrating for you still.

“Can you not trust that I know what I’m doing?” A grunt released from her end of the phone. “No, seriously Shar. We grew up the same, went through all the same training, what makes you know so much better than me?” Deep down, you knew that wasn’t what she meant, but you had always felt second best when it came to Sharon.

“It’s not that you don’t know what you’re doing.” She sighed heavily. “It’s that you were gone for five years and things have changed. Governments have become stricter and you don’t understand that they aren’t the same as they were.” You remained quiet, expecting her to say something else. “That’s why it’s good you have me because I know how they work.”

“You know how they work, do you?” You were fed up with her. “Then explain to me how you have access to satellites, Sharon. That’s not something that you just happen upon.” Your tone was accusatory. “Are you working for the Power Broker behind my back?” You heard a sharp intake of air on her end. “I swear to God, Sharon. We promised each other we wouldn’t work for that asswipe. He’s involved in too much bad shit. If the US government were to ever find out that we were working for the Power Broker, they wouldn’t grant us pardons, Shar. Did you fuck this up for us?”

“I didn’t fuck anything up and you need to check your tone when you’re talking to me.” Your brows shot to your hairline.

“The fuck did you just say to me?”

“You heard me. We need to work this shit out. I didn’t fuck anything up and neither will you if you come back to Madripoor right now.” You were shocked, Sharon had never talked like this to you.

“I really don’t think I would be comfortable being somewhere that I’m clearly not welcome anymore, so I’m going to stick with what I know.” Sharon began backtracking as you resigned yourself to being on your own for the first time in forever. “Goodbye, Sharon.” You ended the call and shoved your phone into the pocket of your jeans.

You dropped your head into your hands in defeat. Being on your own was daunting and you weren’t sure how Sharon survived without you well enough to grow your business all on her own. You tried to think of your next move, deciding that sticking with Sam would be your best bet. He’s the easiest to guess where he’s going since Bucky has been mentally MIA towards you.

You recalled Sam mentioning his sister and nephews, thinking he would go there to check on them. You hauled yourself out of your slump and to Zemo’s apartment to collect your things before going. You were going all in if you were going to do this, so why the fuck not?

*************************

@londonalozzy @marvelofwitch @dramaticwittch @hellmoonsin @jn-wolf @youcancallmeishita @iabrokengirl @veroxloki @liveloudwriteloud @lainternettuale @angelofthetrenchcoats @rosiahills22 @peachymichu @sj-ficrecs @learisa @itsyagirl01 @simply-me-xoxo @ghoststudyy @taina-eny @japanrecs @sinfulhun-collapsedheart @isaordora @shutupstevie @sprsoldierfics @beachbabe925

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whentheynameyoujoy · 4 years ago

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Yup, Sure Was a Finale

I had an epiphany. The reason why I never re-watched the final two parts of Sozin’s Comet even though I’ve popped in episodes at random many times over the years isn’t that I can’t bear the sadness of seeing one of the best, most engaging narratives out there come to an end.

It’s simply that the finale isn’t all that good.

Some honorable mentions of what was enjoyable.

(+) This

Just this.

(+) The Church of Zutara has another convert

“Are you sure they don’t get together?” Hubster, 2020

(+) The tragedy of Azula

And the fact that it’s acknowledged as such. I hope Zuko will do his best to get her help and have a relationship with her…

(+) Sokka being a big bro

And the whole airship sequence in general. It’s wonderfully paced and plotted, with moments of humor, real stakes, Toph being both badass and a scared crying kid, Sokka strategizing and protecting, Suki saving the day, and non-benders being instrumental in thwarting the bad guy firebender’s plans. Would be shame if Bryke never portrayed them this capable ever again…

And now for the main course.

(-) Blink and its over

The wrap-up feels too quick (hashtag Needs More ROtK-style False Endings). A part of this is due to how fast the story goes from the thick of the action to hastily tying up a bunch of loose ends, but the larger issue is how Book 3’s uneven pacing comes home to roost. After spending half a season on filler episodes that at best subtly flesh out established characters while dancing around a huge lionturtle-shaped hole, and at worst contradict the theme of “no one is born bad” with “you’re a hot mess because your great-grandfathers didn’t get along too well”, the frantic “go go go” rush of the second half screeches to a halt with “they won and everyone was happy because now the right people have power and it will be all good from now on yup nothing more to deal with baiiiii”.

Yes, I know, it’s a kids’ show. But goddamn, this particular kids’ show has proven so many times it can do better than the expected tropiness. Showing the characters in their roles as builders of a new world was the least that could have been done.

Oh well!

(-) Ursa

We’ll never know. There will never be a story that delves into this. Yup. Shall forever remain but an intriguing mystery. Is good, though. Mystery is better than a story where Ursa shares her son’s penchant for forgetfulness. Imagine how embarrassing that would be. Speaking of which…

(-) What does Mai see in this jerkbender?

Look, I like to harp a lot on the mess of inconsistent writing that’s Mai but let’s unpack this scene from her perspective, shall we?

Zuko forgot about her! It totally slipped his mind that the one person who prioritized the safety of his dumb ass was rotting in the worst prison in the Fire Nation—because of him! And she was rotting there long enough after the final Agni Kai for the news of Zuko’s upcoming coronation to spread and her uncle to feel sufficiently secure to release her. But then the coronation scene is attended by every single member of Gaang & Friends that was imprisoned?

So what this tells me is that either a) the invasion force had the ability to break themselves out the whole time and for some reason decided not to exercise it until after the war was over, b) Zuko forgot about them as well and no one thought to remind him there were prisons full of POWs until Mai arrived, or, and that’s even better, c) Zuko took care to free every single resistance fighter while making sure Mai would be the one to stay behind bars.

Never thought I’d say this but Mai? Honey? You deserve so much better.

(-) “What does Katara want?”

Asked no one in the writers’ room ever, apparently.

This is not so much anti Cataang as anti romance stories that pay attention to the needs, opinions, and wants of only one partner in general. Over the previous 60 episodes, Katara actively expressed romantic interest in Aang exactly, wait for it,

Once.

And it got retconned out of relevance by the following two interactions where the possibility of a romantic relationship came up, making the Headband dance pretty easy to reclassify as just one of those examples where Aang “teaches” Katara to have fun (as if one of the main obstacles to her having fun wasn’t him constantly fooling around and offloading his duties). And because the writers not only didn’t succeed in portraying Katara’s internal state of mind, but also failed to root her reluctance to pursue a relationship in outside circumstances that could change, her sudden state of unconfused once Aang steps into the spotlight has a single canonical explanation that as much as approaches coherency.

The fact is, though, that trying to interpret canon Cataang from a Watsonian perspective is an exercise in foolishness. Because there is no Watsonian justification for the ship and never has been. Bryke simply conceived of Katara as nothing but a tropey prize for Aang, never saw her as anything beyond that, and were perfectly happy to go on and immortalize her as a passive broodmare for the rest of her life.

And I fully intend to die mad about it.

(-) Iroh dips

OK, it’s been long apparent that the show doesn’t intend to do anything about Iroh’s complicity in AzulOzai’s regime in any meaningful way, and that his sole motivation for doing anything whatsoever is Zuko whom he views as a replacement son which is supposed to be good for some reason. But the finale has him abandon even that, and instead turns him full-on YOLO, idgaf anymore. It really throws Iroh’s supposed love for Zuko into doubt when his last act in the entire show is to take a half-educated 16-year old with no political savvy or an heir to secure a dynastic continuity and plomp him on the throne of a war-mongering imperialist regime where the entirety of the militarist and ruling class is guaranteed to fight him tooth and nail for power.

(I sure hope Mai’s ready to start popping out babies by tea-time otherwise the whole country is fukd in about a week)

Christ, how hard would it be to have Iroh keep the throne warm for a few years while Zuko is getting ready to succeed him? Not only would it make the whole FN reformation bit quite likelier to occur, it would require Iroh’s hedonistic ass to actually sacrifice something for once. And not having Zuko ascend to power, instead spending some time bettering and educating himself first, would be a wonderful message that no matter what you endured and overcame, you never stop growing. A kids’ show, remember?

(-) The conquering of Ba Sing Se

Gee, I feel so blessed to have my attention diverted from battlefields which actually matter to an old dude vanity project I would have been perfectly happy to assume resolved itself off-screen.

The White Lotus in general just bugs me. I was fine with the individual characters and their overall passivity when they were portrayed as lone dissenters living under circumstances where it wasn’t really possible for any single person to mount a meaningful resistance. But as members of a far-reaching shadowy organization that’s left the real fight to a bunch of kids for 59 episodes straight and didn’t turn up until a perfect opportunity presented itself to take control of the largest city in the world and bask in the spotlight?

Yeah, no.

Similarly to the lionturtle-ex-machina, the White Lotus represents a huge missed opportunity for a season-long storytelling. Here’s just a brief list of what they could have been doing throughout Book 3:

orchestrating a Fire Nation uprising;

gathering those directly persecuted by AzulOzai’s regime to help Zuko keep his hold on power once he’s crowned;

establishing themselves as a viable alternative to Ozai;

sabotaging Fire Nation’s war efforts from the inside;

countering Fire Nation propaganda (Asha Greyjoy’s pinecones, anyone?);

running a supply network to alleviate the suffering of Earth Kingdom citizens.

Instead, they sit on their asses until the time comes to claim personal glory.

You know what, good on Bryke for making me conclude that in comparison, the Freedom Fighters were perfectly unproblematic, actually.

(-) Fire Lord Dead-by-Dawn

Yes, a kids’ show, I know! But ffs, this is the same kids’ show that came up with Long Feng and portrayed courtly intrigue, kingly puppets, secret police, spy networks, and information wars. Was it really too much of me to expect something other than “enlightened despot solves everything”? Especially if said enlightened despot has persisting anger issues, no personal support system, no base of followers, and no political experience whatsoever?

If Zuko’s actually serious about regaining the Fire Nation’s honor (i.e. by dismantling the country’s military machine, decolonizing the Earth Kingdom, paying reparations to everyone and their lemur, and funding any and all cultural restoration projects Aang and the SWT come up with), then there is no way, no way in the universe that he doesn’t face a civil war, deposing, and execution within a month.

One reason why his future as a Fire Lord seems rather bleak is that little’s been shown about the actual subjects of AzulOzai’s regime. While we get a vague reassurance that “no Toph, they’re not born bad” (le shockings), they largely remain a voiceless uniform mass of brainwashed clapping seals. What is their view on the Fire Nation’s crimes? Do they associate their condition with their country’s war-mongering? How will they react when Zuko starts dismantling the country piece by piece to rebuild it, bringing it to economic ruin? What will they do when noble Ozai loyalists come out of the woodwork and begin rounding them up under the banner of “Make the Fire Nation Great Again?”

I have no idea, and Zuko doesn’t either because he’s unironically more qualified to rule the Earth Kingdom than his own people.

You know what would have been better? Fire Lord Iroh, White Lotus pulling the strings to maintain the regime, and Crown Prince/People’s Champion Zuko travelling the Fire Nation with Aang and an army of tutors to promote the new boss, only to realize that absolute monarchy is kinda crap for the people he’s one day supposed to rule and gaining their support by ceding some power to them.

I’d laser holes into my TV due to how much I’d enjoy watching that.

(-) All hail Avatar Rock

Literally and metaphorically. Aang doesn’t sacrifice anything, gets everything, and the clever solution of going about getting said everything is handed to him on a silver platter, requiring no active participation on his part whatsoever.

He doesn’t work to unblock his chakras, spiritually or physically.

He only speaks to his past lives to get a pat on the back and a bow-tied solution he could mindlessly follow.

Energy-bending doesn’t require any sacrifice from him, leaves no lasting marks, and only serves for the narrative to praise him as the rare individual that’s unbendable and thus so very very special.

The most infuriating thing is, however, that Aang is clearly shown as being able to beat Ozai without either the Avatar state, or energy-bending.

And he chooses not to. From this moment on, Aang no longer fights to save the world. He fights to preserve his beliefs, going directly against the instructions of his past lives and effectively reneging on his duties as the Avatar.

Again.

It’s not like you can’t portray Aang’s faithfulness to his spiritual beliefs as the key to beating Ozai and saving the world. But that’s not what the show did. There is no link between Aang sparing Ozai and securing a better future, quite to the contrary—Ozai’s survival ends up being a massive problem for the continuation of Zuko’s rule, and consequently a threat to the world at large. His survival benefits Aang and no one else.

Aang’s spiritual purity and his status as a savior of the world are allowed to coexist only due to a deliberate stroke of a writer’s pen.

And I hate it.

Welp, nothing to do about it now except to bury myself up to my tits in fix-it fics I guess.

#atla #atla rewatch #meta #zutara #anti bryke #anti-kataang #anti-aang #anti-maiko

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storytellerofuntoldlegends · 4 years ago

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promise me that you’ll start where i end

A/N: 3rd Life SMP but i make it more dramatic. also i made the mistake of listening to drivers license by olivia rodrigo while writing this and cried. i'd say enjoy but i don't think that's the correct emotion to experience while reading this. (title is from Boreas by The Oh Hellos)

Summary: An argument before Scott's world- one of color, light, and love- falls to pieces and turns dark. And the friend who tries to collect those pieces and bring back a little light to him.

Warnings: minor violence, talk of death, arguing, hugs, crying, canonical character death, grief/mourning, bittersweet ending

Scott leaned against the potions table with a sigh. There were too many close calls today. Each brush with Dogwarts nearly cost either him or Jimmy their lives, not to mention that Cleo lost one of her lives trying to escape the Red King and his men. Then there was the whole issue with Joel, his attempt on Scott’s life, and their wall- he wasn’t looking forward to rebuilding it, especially just out of cobblestone or some other stone. A small smile was brought to his face as he remembered how Jimmy instantly wanted to go after Joel, even though the other man was already long gone. It should have been concerning, how fast Jimmy could seemingly switch between being a lost puppy or a feral wolf on his red life. Instead, it was actually sort of endearing. It would be more endearing if it didn’t give Scott a near heart attack every time his husband tried to rush forward into danger. Scott squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of memories- Jimmy running through lava for a prize, his eagerness to pick up a piece of tnt and the resulting destruction it caused, Jimmy staring Ren down as he burned the Dogwarts flag (and then himself), Jimmy drawing his bow when Scott was trying to de-escalate a situation and just ask if Dogwarts had anything to do with their wall burning- Scott wasn’t sure if he was proud of or angry at Jimmy’s recklessness. There was one thing Scott knew for certain- he would never be able to erase the memories of Jimmy’s deaths from his mind, and everything he did was to make sure that Jimmy would survive. And himself too, of course, but Jimmy was the one with no lives left.

“Scott?” a voice asked, causing his eyes to snap open. He looked over to see Jimmy stepping through the nether portal. He looked a little shy, and Scott smiled in spite of himself at his husband being in his “lost puppy” mode.

“I’m just working on some potions. Y’know, for future encounters. What’s up?” Scott asked. Jimmy fidgeted for a moment or two, not quite meeting Scott’s gaze.

“Just wanted to check in on you, after uh… everything,” he asked sheepishly, finally looking up at Scott’s eyes.

“Could be better, could be worse. There were a couple of close calls, but that’s why I’m working on potions,” he replied with a shrug. Jimmy’s brow knit in concern, and he reached out to Scott for half a moment, but quickly dropped his hands with a frown.

“It was too close today,” Jimmy muttered under his breath. Scott huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“It was, you’re on your last life- you’ve gotta be more careful,” he reprimanded. Jimmy’s sheepish gaze snapped defiantly to Scott’s, and he jumped a bit in surprise at the fire in his husband’s eyes.

“I was talking about you! Martyn’s arrows nearly took you out!” Jimmy shouted, hands gesturing wildly.

“Jimmy, my armor’s better than yours, and I have all my lives left. I would have been fine- you wouldn’t have,” Scott said, a little taken aback at Jimmy’s sudden ferocity.

“Just because you have all your lives doesn’t mean you can throw them away, Scott!” Jimmy protested. Scott gave Jimmy an incredulous look.

“I’m not throwing my lives away, Jimmy. I have good gear, I negotiate and build alliances with other factions, I’m making potions- if anyone’s throwing away their lives around here, it’s you!” Scott shot back, voice coming out more frustrated than he meant it to. A hurt expression crossed Jimmy’s face, and part of Scott wanted to take back what he said, but most of him didn’t regret it at all. Didn’t Jimmy understand what was at stake here? Scott tried his best to look out for him, but each and every time he rushed forward into things he shouldn’t have.

“Scott, I know I’ve messed up. You don’t need to keep reminding me. But I can’t just stay put and do nothing like you!” Jimmy shouted.

“What do you mean, doing nothing?! I’m trying to build up our defences-”

“Going on the offensive is the only thing Dogwarts will understand-”

“I’m just trying to protect you!” both Scott and Jimmy exclaimed at the same time. Both of them blinked in surprise, and all at once things started clicking into place.

“Scott, I’m no strategist like you. I’m not even as good in combat. But I’m on red- I’m the fighter here. So let me fight for you,” Jimmy said softly. Scott made a sound that was half laugh, half scoff.

“Jimmy-”

“I can’t stand the thought of letting you die, Scott,” Jimmy said, refusing to meet his gaze. A bittersweet smile came to Scott’s face, and he took a step closer to Jimmy, tilting his head to try and meet Jimmy’s eyes.

“Jimmy, I’ve seen you die twice. Don’t you think that I can’t stand the thought of letting you die either?” Scott asked. Jimmy finally looked up at Scott, eyes watering. Scott let out a fond little scoff, reaching out to wipe at Jimmy’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said wetly. Scott didn’t answer at first, instead reaching out to pull Jimmy into a hug.

“Don’t be. And don’t cry you idiot, you’ll just disintegrate faster,” Scott teased fondly, relieved when Jimmy let out a laugh in response. Jimmy pulled away, wiping at his eyes and smiling. Scott couldn’t help but smile back, happy to see his husband in a marginally better mood.

“We’ll be okay, right Scott?” Jimmy asked, still soft and as timid as before.

“I’m working on potions, we’ve got allies, and we’ve got each other. We’ll be alright,” Scott said, voice soft but no less determined. Jimmy gave his usual dazzling smile, filling Scott with warmth and light at the sight of it.

It was dark when Scott made his way down the hill from Jimmy’s grave. He wasn’t even there when Jimmy had died, he had told Jimmy that they would be alright and they both weren’t. Scott was on yellow now, the gleam in his eyes and the gold shimmering in his hair making that absolutely certain. Scott’s preparedness hadn’t even saved either of them! His potions certainly didn’t do much good as Scott died early on in the battle. Maybe he and Jimmy shouldn’t have allied with anyone. Maybe they should have stayed within their walls and retired, like Scott wanted to. Maybe Jimmy would be alive now. But there was no use dwelling on the “what-ifs”- all Scott had was the now. And the now was crushingly lonely and dim.

Scott jumped at the cackle of a witch, narrowly avoiding a thrown potion. He drew his sword and cut her down without a second thought. She poofed into ash, leaving Scott to stumble forward into the dirt. He drove his sword into the ground with a cry of rage and sorrow.

“I can’t even mourn?!” he cried, shouting at the universe for what he had lost and what he had endured. Scott wasn’t sure how long he had knelt there in the grass, a white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword and a hand over his mouth to stifle the sobs that threatened to escape. It wasn’t until the growls and skittering of other mobs approaching that Scott finally picked himself up, yanking his sword from the ground and feet moving on autopilot.

He soon stumbled through the nether portal to the cave behind it, shaking hands reaching for a book tucked away on one of the shelves. He opened it carefully despite his trembling hands, not wanting to damage what was inside. Between the pages laid a collection of pressed flowers, one of them being the poppy that Jimmy had given him when they first met. Scott finally allowed himself to crumble, falling to the floor and sobbing with the book of pressed flowers cradled in his arms.

“Scott?” a voice asked. His head snapped up and he looked to the cave entrance, heart skipping a beat at a flash of blond and red- but then saw the brightly colored wings and deflated at the realization that it was just Grian. Scott quickly wiped at his eyes, gently closing the book before holding it tight against his chest and standing up.

“Um. Hi,” Scott said, unsure of what to say. Grian didn’t look like he knew what to say either, feathers rustling slightly before he cleared his throat.

“I just wanted to uh. Check in on you,” Grian said. Scott let out a shaky sigh. How many times had Jimmy come in, asking the same thing? Checking in on Scott, making sure he wasn’t overworking himself- sometimes checking in on him wasn’t even for Scott’s own benefit. Jimmy would need reassurance, and Scott would joke and tease to cheer him up. What Scott wouldn’t give to hear Jimmy’s laugh one last time.

“I think you can see how well I’m doing,” Scott said, tone coming off a bit more brusquely than he meant it to. Scott winced as soon as the words escaped his mouth. Grian didn’t deserve to have his grief taken out on him, but frankly Scott wasn’t sure how else he was supposed to respond to that. His friend’s expression twisted in sympathy.

“Sorry. We did avenge him, at least,” Grian said softly. Scott let out a humorless laugh.

“Yeah. I just thought I’d feel some sort of satisfaction from it, or that it would make losing Jimmy hurt less,” Scott replied, voice as hollow as he felt. Silence hung between them for a few moments, before Grian stepped a bit closer. He cautiously reached out to put a hand on Scott’s shoulder, and Scott peered up slightly at the touch.

“It probably won’t help much, in fact not at all, but what if we put a stop to Dogwarts? For all the things we’ve lost- and for Jimmy,” Grian offered. A small, weak smile crept onto Scott’s face. He wouldn’t let Jimmy’s death be in vain- he believed in a world without Dogwarts, a world where he and Scott could live out their days in peace. And even if Jimmy wasn’t able to live it with him, Scott knew that Jimmy would want him to move forward, to the life they had wanted.

“For Jimmy,” Scott said, warmth in his tone for the first time since Jimmy had died. For a brief moment, he thought he felt a hand ghost across his, paired with a reassuring touch on his back and a breath at his ear. The moment was there and gone, and Scott desperately wanted to curl his fingers around familiar ones he swore he had just felt- but it left Scott’s smile a bit brighter all the same.

MCYT Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @corazon10000 @damiensaidno @franticfandomfanatic @space-ace123

#3rd life smp #3rd life smp fanfic #scott smajor #solidarity #grian #mcyt #angst #hurt/comfort but its more hurt than comfort #flower husbands my beloved #FLOWER HUSBANDS MY BELOVED </3 #sage writes #yes i am still stubbornly posting fic on tumblr what of it

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aswithasunbeam · 4 years ago

Link

December 1814

“Hush, darling,” Eliza whispered. “It’s all right.”

Angelica curled up further on the bed beside Eliza with a soft whimper. At least she was resting, finally, after hours of panic about invisible demons reaching out from the walls to take her away. Eliza had had to push the bed away from the walls before she’d been able to convince her daughter to lie down.

Eliza closed her eyes, the press of the day weighing on her already. Servants were bustling through the halls just outside the door, heaving trunks from little Eliza and Phil’s rooms. They were all bound for New York at first light tomorrow to celebrate Johnny’s wedding to his dear Maria. A joyous occasion to be sure, especially as she anticipated having their children together for the first time in years: William was meant to be coming down from West Point, and Alex and Jamie had secured time away from their posts, as well. Joyous, yes, even as it hurt that so much of her family wouldn’t be there, with Angelica and Peggy both gone, her parents, and Philip…. She swallowed around a lump in her throat at the thought of her eldest.

Her younger daughter shrieked suddenly from down the hall. “Give it back! Now!”

“I’m using it!” Phil yelled back.

“It’s mine!”

Eliza sighed, easing herself from Angelica’s bed to go see what all the fuss was about. Phil and little Eliza were engaged in an all out tug of war over a bit of ribbon in the hallway between their rooms. She watched silently for a moment, frowning, her arms crossed, waiting for them to notice her displeasure.

Phil noticed her first and abruptly let go of the ribbon. Little Eliza stumbled backwards, landing hard on her bottom. She yelped, glared up at her brother, and aimed a swift kick at his ankles.

“What are you two doing?” she demanded.

“She started it,” Phil said, jumping hastily out of the line of fire.

“He stole my best ribbon and he was using it to hang toy soldiers out the window.”

“I was going to give it back.”

“It’s got dirt all over it and you got it all wrinkled.” She held the ribbon up to show her mother. “See? I wanted to wear it to Johnny’s wedding.”

Phil stuck his tongue out at his sister. When she noticed, she aimed another kick at his ankles. He jumped back again, shouting, “Stop it!”

“What is all the yelling about?” Alexander asked as he slowly wheeled himself around the corner, to their collective surprise.

Despite the gathering dark outside the hall window, she was shocked to see him home; she’d hardly seen hide nor hair of him in the past days as they prepared to leave for their extended trip home. Both the children went quiet at his unexpected arrival, and little Eliza bounced up to her feet.

“Sorry Papa,” they both mumbled quickly.

“We seem to be having quite the disagreement over a bit of ribbon,” Eliza supplied when they failed to offer further explanation.

Alexander looked at her with a hint of a smile. “Want me to send them to help dig out the new latrine by the camp? That’s what I do with the men who mouth off. Very effective punishment.”

They both paled considerably, sending her matching pleading looks.

She made a show of considering for a long beat before smiling as well. “I think we can give them one more chance before we put them to hard labor.”

“We’ll be good,” Phil promised solemnly.

“I expect so.” Alexander tilted his head to the side to dismiss them. “Off you go. Stop making your mother’s life difficult.”

If only he’d take his own advice, she thought fondly.

They scampered off down the hall, both giving their father an affectionate peck on the cheek as they passed. He shook his head as he watched them go, then looked back at her, the laugh lines in his cheeks creasing. “Imps.”

“Well, we did complain the house was too quiet without them,” Eliza said. Indeed, when Alexander had sent them off to stay with family over the summer for their safety, the house had felt empty without their constant bickering and antics. She paced over to him and leaned down to kiss him, as well. “It’s good to have you home finally. You missed dinner again.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry I haven’t been much help getting ready for our trip. I’ve been in endless meetings. When I at one point raised the concern about the endless meetings, one of Jemmy’s secretaries quite unironically asked if I would like him to schedule a meeting to discuss it.”

She laughed.

He grinned at her, but his eyes turned serious when he glanced towards the door to Angelica’s room. “How’s Geli today?”

Eliza sobered as she, too, glanced back at her daughter’s door. “She’s been having a bad day.”

He sighed. “She’s been having a lot of bad days, lately. I heard her whimpering and muttering when I got home late last night. She was wide awake when I peeked in at her. I doubt she got much rest.”

Eliza hardly needed reminding, having been up much of the night with her. “She’s resting now, finally.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

His hands fidgeted on the wheels of his chair. She watched him a moment, sensing he had something else to tell her. The expression twisting his face usually signaled some sort of indigestion. When he failed to say anything more, she asked, “What is it?”

“Well,” he started, his hand going up to scratch at his neck uncomfortably.

Anxiety started to build up at his continued reluctance to speak. “If you say you can’t come to New York for your own son’s wedding—”

“No, no, it’s not that.” He sighed, resting his hands on the wheels of his chair once more, as though contemplating an escape even as he spoke. “It’s just, I need to meet with some people before I leave. And the only time they would both be available was tonight. So, I may have suggested they stop by the house before we leave. They’re on their way over now, actually. For tea.”

She felt her own expression twisting to match his, heartburn flaring in her chest as a suspicion about his guest list occurred to her. “Who?”

“Burr,” he said.

“Burr,” she repeated, disbelief in her tone even though that’s exactly the name she’d expected to hear. “You expect me to serve tea to Aaron Burr?”

“Well,” he started again.

“You promised me. You promised, when you suggested him for his position, that I wouldn’t need to be alone with him.”

“I said not just the three of us.” He fidgeted in his chair again, clearly not relishing delivering his next bit of news. “Someone else is coming, too.”

He seemed somehow more reluctant to tell her the next guest. How could it possibly get worse? “Who else?”

He gritted his teeth, hesitating again before saying, “Monroe.”

A wave of cold fury washed over her. “Monroe!”

“Shh,” he hushed, pointing towards Angelica’s room behind them.

Her nostrils flared as she forced a deep breath, jerking her head to indicate he should follow her down the hall before moving around him towards his office. He liked to praise her as an endless fountain of love and patience, she thought, but much as she might try, she simply wasn’t. Her nerves were already frayed from sleepless nights and managing ornery children and overseeing the packing and planning for their journey. Now he wanted her to cap off her night by serving tea to two of the most loathsome men on earth.

He rolled in to the office behind her, and she snapped the door closed.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Eliza—”

“No, Alexander. No. You ask too much, sometimes.”

He smiled softly, highlighting the dimples in his cheeks, and reached out for her hand. “You’d send me into the viper’s nest without my trusty mongoose for protection?”

“You can’t charm your way out of this,” she hissed.

“Betsey,” he sighed, expression turning serious. “It can’t be helped.”

“They’re not welcome here. Not in my home. Neither of them.”

“You know I try to keep them away as much as possible. I know how you feel.”

“Do you? Because sometimes, the way you act, especially around Burr—”

“I understand. I do. But I need to see them before I go. It’s important.”

“What’s so important?”

“Campbell submitted his budget, just before he conveniently resigned to see to his health. He estimated an appropriation of $25 million would be needed, which is far, far beyond the expected tax revenue of $11 million, and all that’s before factoring in the cost of rebuilding the capital.”

She sank into the chair near his desk, sensing a lengthy conversation. “Go on.”

“Then there’s this…this treasonous…convention.” She could hear the quotes around the last word as he spit it out. “Otis has called a meeting of Federalists all across New England to propose a radical change in our national compact. Because what we need in the middle of a war, apparently, is a new constitutional convention intent on gutting the Federal government.”

“Were you invited?”

He snorted. “As if I’d stoop to attending such a farcical proceeding.”

She smiled a little. She knew he’d have gloried in attending, monopolizing the conversation until his voice went hoarse telling them exactly why they were all idiots and cowards, had he been given the opportunity. “So no?”

He shot her a glare, but then smirked, caught red-handed by her knowing look. “I think they knew what my answer would be.”

She threaded her fingers between his. “I know how stressed you are about the war and fate of the country, sweetheart. But I don’t see what a meeting with those two—” she paused, hunting for a word, and, finding none, continued with only the empty space to define them, “—helps accomplish.”

“Monroe is acting Secretary of War, and, with Campbell gone, probably acting Secretary of the Treasury as well at this point. I need him to call on Congress to establish a new national bank, which in turn will help fund additional men. At least 100,000 to start.”

“And I’m sure he’ll take your direction with great enthusiasm.”

“Not with enthusiasm, perhaps, but he’ll take my direction, once I explain the need.”

“And Burr?”

“The Hartford Convention needs to be minimized. We need a shot of patriotism in that part of the country, a call to arms to rally flagging spirits. Since the Northern theater quieted, they’ve been shouldering the financial burden with none of the chance for glory. Meanwhile, the enemy is starting to gather with an eye towards New Orleans. If we can start mustering troops in New England, threaten an invasion of Canada, we might be able to press England into peace and herd New England back into the fold at the same time.”

“And you want Burr to head the effort,” she said, intuiting his plan now. Once Monroe agreed to call upon Congress to fund new troops, Burr would ride north to start mustering a force to take on Canada again.

“Exactly.” His eyes bore into hers. “And it needs to happen now. Immediately. Congress can’t be frightened into cutting back on the army, or we’ll be a British colony again by New Year’s.”

She squeezed his hand.

“So?” he pressed.

She held his gaze. “I suppose I’ll let them in when they knock. I won’t agree to more than that.”

He leaned over in his chair to catch her lips. “That’s all I need from you.”

That she managed to bring in the tea service without pouring the scalding water over either of their two unwanted guests ought to have qualified her sainthood, in her opinion. She didn’t stay in the room with them, didn’t even mutter a greeting. She did stay near the door, however, listening, while Alexander laid out his plan. She couldn’t quite bring herself to abandon him, even when he’d invited the viper’s nest upon himself.

“I wasn’t a particular supporter of your bank the first time around, Mr. Hamilton,” Monroe said. “Why should I call on Congress to re-charter it now?”

“How else are you going to pay for more troops, Mr. Secretary?”

Monroe answered in a measured tone. “We’re mere weeks away from a peace treaty, according to my intelligence in Ghent. Once that’s signed, there won’t be a need for more troops. We can cut back, limit spending to match our more limited revenue stream temporarily, until imports duties return to their pre-war levels.”

“You don’t think the British are also gathering intelligence?” Burr asked. “They’ll be watchfully waiting for our new budget proposals. If we’re seen dismantling the army before the war is over, why would they ever agree to a peace deal? Might as well take us for their own again.”

Monroe scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve practically already signed. And I think we’ve proven far too troublesome to bother with as a colony again.”

“Too troublesome thirty years ago,” Burr pointed out. “And we were lucrative. If we can’t mount a solid defense, no reason not to give it another try.”

Alexander added, “You need to get the dissent in New England under control. And you need funding. Even without the additional expense of more troops, rebuilding the capital will be an expensive endeavor. You need to do this.”

“I don’t like the bank,” Monroe said sourly.

Alexander laughter bitterly. “It’s me you don’t like, Mr. Secretary. And that’s quite all right. I assure you the feeling is mutual. But you have to do this. Don’t make me go over your head to Jemmy to force you into action. It will only waste time.”

There was a long silence, tension palpable. “Fine. I’ll propose re-chartering the bank and adding funding for more troops. But I can’t promise it will pass.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find the votes, Mr. Secretary,” Alexander insisted. “Necessity is a great motivator.”

Sensing the meeting was coming to a close, Eliza moved to summon the servants to bring the hats and coats. She didn’t want them lingering in the front room any longer than necessary. In the moments she’d stepped away, however, something must have happened, because she suddenly heard raised voices coming from the office. She hurried back, opening the door to the office to find Burr standing in between Monroe and Alexander.

Monroe was all but shouting, “You think just because you’ve blinded Jemmy with nostalgic appeals to a long-dead friendship that you can always have your way, just as you did with Washington. I’ll not be so easily taken in, Mr. Hamilton, I promise you that.”

Burr placed a hand on Monroe’s shoulder, trying to ease him away from Alexander.

Alexander looked blithely unconcerned, all but smirking at Monroe as he said, “I’ll remind you there is no guaranteed succession in this country, Mr. Monroe, however many hats you acquire during this administration. I wouldn’t be so assured of victory in the next election, if I were you.”

Color rose in Monroe’s face as he pushed around Burr, holding a finger out in Alexander’s direction. “Enjoy your influence while you have it. Your days are numbered.”

“That’s quite enough,” Eliza said, voice deadly quiet, fury taking wing in her chest at the implied threat.

Monroe spun around to face her. “Mrs. Hamilton—”

“You have nothing to say to me, Mr. Monroe.”

“I apologize for raising my voice,” he continued, bowing his head slightly.

“No. No. If you mean to offer anything other than a full and sincere apology, not only for the unforgivable words you just uttered, but also for all the slanders and stories you circulated against my husband in the past, I have no interest in hearing it.”

Monroe frowned. “If you mean…the business with the Reynolds papers was hardly my doing. Your husband—”

“What my husband did was a matter we have long since settled between us. But that the rest of the world was involved was very much your doing. He has earned my forgiveness. You’ve never even bothered to ask it.”

“Mrs. Hamilton—”

“And you now have the…the gall to come into my home, drink my refreshments, and then threaten the person I hold dearest in the world. Please leave, Mr. Monroe. Now.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Burr patted at his shoulder, encouraging him forward. Just before Burr himself stepped out, though, he glanced back at her husband. “You’re a real pain in the ass, Ham. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Alexander had the nerve to look fond as he addressed Burr.

“Out,” she insisted.

Burr at least had the decency to avert his eyes as he passed her, collecting their coats and urging Monroe out the front door without another word.

When the door had closed, she looked back at Alexander, still sitting in the middle of the room. He gave her plaintive look. “I’m so sorry, Betsey. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. Or for you to be pulled into the middle of it.”

She pointed in the direction the two men had just disappeared, her hand shaking slightly from rush of rage and fear that coursed through her. “That man is never, ever setting foot in my home again.”

“Of course. Never again.”

Promises, promises—how he could make them. Her heart was still beating in her throat. He rolled forward and took her hand, placing a kiss to the back of her fingers.

She softened as she looked back at him, calming somewhat with his easy agreement and solid feeling of his hand in hers. The reason for his insistence on the meeting in the first place re-occurred to her, and she felt a niggle of concern despite herself. “Do you think he’ll still put forward the proposal to Congress?”

“Yes.” He sounded completely confident. “He doesn’t have a choice. Jemmy will back me if it comes to a contest, and he knows it. I just don’t want to lose time on the argument when every minute counts. We’re too close, balanced on the edge of a precipice. I’ll not let our experiment fail over pigheadedness and pride.”

She considered the exchanged she’d walked in on again, eyes locked on her husband. “You said that to him, didn’t you? You goaded him into shouting at you.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “I do so enjoy winding him up with impotent rage.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but amusement was quickly outpacing the sensation. Damn him, his charm, and his sweet smile, she thought. She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head at him. Relief washed over his face.

“I really didn’t mean to drag you into it, though, my dearest.” He kissed her hand again, looking more relaxed. “Though I confess I enjoyed watching you kick him to the curb. My darling mongoose.”

His darling mongoose, indeed, she huffed internally.

#hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton #hamliza #life hereafter

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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.2]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 6.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Chapter 02: The Herald of Dawn

Hold me, O Night, with motherly affection, While the wan earth wakes with a misty yawn. By my blood will be born the Dawn and from my fleeting dream—the undying sun!

[Gabriele D’Annunzio]

Hushed whispers wake you from the dark. The crackling of fire sweeps away the last remains of weary unconsciousness, and you blink at a tent's ceiling. Someone draped heavy blankets over you, and with every breath you exhale, puffy white clouds rise up. The shadows of a fire dance across the walls, their blurry movements flush another wave of dizziness over you, and as you sit up, you notice a tight feeling around your head. When you raise a hand to your forehead, there is a bandage sitting tightly wrapped around your head, covering your right eye. The pain has finally stopped, but it still feels dully raw, like an injury that hasn’t healed properly and serves now as a reminder of anguish.

The memories from the battle rush back to you, the sound of metal hitting metal and heavy bodies dropping to the ground echo in your mind. Death was nothing new to the soldiers and mercenaries, so how come you don’t feel particularly sorry for the fallen? You’re no soldier, at least that’s what every fibre of your body tells you, so normalising killing isn’t right. You rebuild your surety of that, one shaky brick at a time.

Once on your feet, you make your way outside, drawn in by the smell of cooked meat and quiet chatter. The sight of a small camp greets you: more tents build a row on this side of the camp, and in the centre, solders sit around a small fire, their voices barely audible. They lean over a steaming kettle, their weapons at their feet or beside tree trunks—laid down for the night but still within reach.

“Heey, you’re finally back with us!” Claude’s voice rings through the camp, and several heads turn in your direction. As he waves for you to join him, you duck your head and move quickly to his side, wishing you could just merge with the ground and disappear from everyone’s attention. “Little one, you got us worried there,” he says. On his knees, he’s balancing a steaming wooden bowl, and the sight and smell reminds you how hungry you are. Your stomach agrees by providing a low growl.

“How long have I been out?” You barely recognise your own voice, the sound rough from exhaustion. Claude hums in thought and gestures with one hand to a soldier to bring you food, while his other pats the ground beside him for you to sit down. “We managed to march a couple of hours after cleaning up the mess from the battle. Right now we’re near the edge of the forest. There should be only one more day of marching until we reach the monastery.”

“And you guys are sure they can help me up there?” you wonder, watching the first group of soldiers get ready for the night watch. They’re frighteningly young, jostling and bumping into each other, laughing and stamping their feet against the cold snap that still lingers, the last gasp of winter before spring begins in earnest.

“If not there, I’m not sure there’s anyone out there who can help you.”

You glare at Claude. “Surely you must be the voice of confidence in this merry bunch, right?”

He laughs. “I’m the closest you’ll get to an optimist around here.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“Reassuring is my second name.”

“No, you said it’s von,” you mumble. Claude stares at you for a long minute, then bursts out laughing, the sound dark and rich. “No, that’s a noble prefix. You don’t even remember that?”

You open your mouth, and close it like a fish, feeling your cheeks raise in temperature. He shouldn’t make you feel guilty for forgetting something like that, and yet the shame settles in your bones and you want to smack your head against something to help your brain remember.

“Ah, but pardon my rudeness,” Claude purrs and gives you a mock bow. “I can tell you everything you want to know about nobility and how overrated it is. In fact, I might as well convince you to join the Alliance before Their Highnesses steal you to their side.”

“I’m not going to be on anyone’s side,” you mumble, and steal Claude’s blanket as payback, relishing in his offended expression. “It has nothing to do with me.”

Claude raises an eyebrow. “Ehh, I’m not so sure it’s that easy.”

“It is,” you insist, unable to hide the sulk from your voice. “Because I say so.”

Claude raises both eyebrows. “That’s not how it works.”

“Watch me.”

Something like a shadow flashes across his emerald eyes, but it disappears quickly enough for you to think it’s only the light from the campfire playing a trick on you. “We’ll see about that.” He scrapes the remaining contents from his bowl and lets out a satisfying yawn when he’s finished, stretching his long limbs like a cat getting comfortable. “Sooo,” he starts, unnecessarily dragging out the vowel and the sound of it locks up your shoulders into one tense muscle in preparation of what he’s going to say next. “Care to explain what happened back there?”

You take a deep breath. “You mean when it felt like my eye was going to fall out of its socket?”

“Actually I meant when you tripped over that one root after we found you.” He gives you a crooked grin. “But that’s interesting too, please go on.”

“I thought no one saw that,” you mumble, and avoid his gaze as you remember that stupid root that nearly broke your neck. Well, Claude surely knows a thing or two about tricking someone into talking about exactly what he wants to hear.

You thank the mercenary that brings you food, and notice it’s the one from the battle with the crooked nose. He gives you a just as crooked grin and limps back to his comrades. The stew warms your chilled bones, the rich flavour of meat and vegetables lifting your spirits and filling you with energy. As you eat, you drag out the minutes but Claude doesn’t even squirm as you let him wait, and starts whistling an off-key tune until you start to feel uncomfortable.

“Well, if I knew, I wouldn’t be afraid that it might happen again,” you admit begrudgingly. “Because that was scary.”

“Yeah, it didn’t really look like fun,” Claude agrees. “But what was it in the first place?”

“I don’t know.” You start to become weary of those words. “But it hurt.”

Claude gives you a sympathetic look, and goes silent, allowing you to eat, but you can’t shake off the feeling his mind is still trying to figure out what’s the deal with you. He can, for all you care. And once he’s done, he can write a report and hand it right to you so you’ll understand as well.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice someone moving towards you. Dimitri approaches you with caution like you’re a small animal he might scare off with hasty movements. But the look he gives Claude is that of a disappointed father, and he shakes his head once he’s standing in front of him. “Claude, we were supposed to not disturb our guest,” Dimitri says sternly, then bows his head in your direction. “Apologies. We should let you rest.”

“No, it’s okay,” you admit, and shuffle a little to the side to make room. “Please stay.”

Both boys exchange a quick look, but then Dimitri sits down, minding a polite distance unlike Claude who only needs to stretch his legs for his feet touch your knee.

“We were worried,” Dimitri starts. Just like Claude, he’s taken off most of his armour, and nothing about him stands out as a member of the royalty. He looks just like any other boy, and you’d never admit it out loud, but you already miss the blue tones on his uniform, the colour making his remarkably ice-blue eye stand out even more. “Luckily we could dispose of all bandits and return to a safe area. Byleth carried you here all by herself.”

“Yeah, remind me not get on her bad side, okay?” Claude laughs, but you think you hear a slight nervous tremble in his voice. “She looks like she can decapitate me with a butter knife.”

“She doesn’t look like it. She very certainly will behead you with a butter knife,” Dimitri provides with a pleasant smile as if he’s talking about the weather.

“See, and that’s why she fits best in the Alliance,” Claude says, winking at you. “We’re always full of surprises.”

Dimitri rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his broad chest. “You might try it. I personally plan to convince her to join the Kingdom.”

“I think you’re both too late for that,” you say as you look to the other side of the camp where Byleth and Edelgard are currently engaged in a deep conversation, their heads leaning close to each other. Claude groans miserably, but quickly recovers as he turns to you, his eyes brightening up with excitement. “It’s okay, because once my disarming charm has wrapped you around my little finger, I’ll have an impressive tactician on my side.”

You almost choke on your next spoon of stew. “Tactician? I wouldn’t go that far.”

Beside you, Dimitri clears his throat. “Though I have to question Claude’s way of persuasion, I must admit he isn’t wrong about the latter. What you did back there was impressive.”

“I really didn’t do anything special,” you mumble at the same time Claude raises both hands leisurely and says, “Hey, it’s not my problem you think you’re immune to it, Your Princeliness.”

Dimitri grumbles something in a foreign language under his breath. Grinning smugly, Claude turns to you, and nudges your side. “Have confidence, little one. They’ll teach you everything you need to know up there.” He points up towards a mountain where you’ll apparently be heading tomorrow. If you squint, you think you can make out lights in the horizon brightening the night sky.

“That monastery,” you say, trying to ignore how Claude’s body radiates heat. “What exactly is that place? I’ve never heard of a monastery that holds a school. I think,” you quickly add, unsure what thoughts provided by your hazy mind are facts.

“The Officers Academy is a facility where students learn the arts of warfare, magic, and leadership,” Dimitri explains. He’s very obviously trying not to look at Claude, which in return has Claude’s grin widening even more. “The lessons provide us with everything we need as upcoming heads of our families. Swordsmanship, sorcery, authority, the history of our continent. There is much to learn for everyone attending the classes.”

“So it’s a death factory,” you translate, the sudden bitter taste in your mouth overshadowing the taste of the stew. “How can they just teach that stuff like it’s normal?”

“You saw it yourself, didn’t you.” Claude stretches his long limbs and leans back until he props his body up on his elbows. “Bandits and thieves everywhere.”

“And most students come from a noble house,” Dimitri adds. “They need to be taught how to take command, and about the responsibilities coming with leadership.”

You blow a strand of hair away from your face, mood dropped now that you know where you’ll be from tomorrow on. “This doesn’t sound right.” Though you can’t really say how a school is supposed to be instead. This is a world with different rules, and you aren’t sure if it’ll be easy to accommodate to them.

While the boys bicker how good the plot of the tale mentioned earlier really is, you see Byleth approaching. A bruise is forming on her left cheek, and she holds her arm as if bearing the pain from a wound. But nothing of that is portrayed on her face, as if her brain hasn’t registered she’s wounded yet and hence doesn’t need to express it.

“How are you?” she asks, sending the boys a quick look. Dimitri and Claude climb to their feet and wish their good nights with a quick bow. They hurry to Edelgard and gang up on heir, probably interrogating her about the conversation she's had with Byleth.

“I’m better,” you say, a little surprised you actually mean it. You feel refreshed and nourished, ready for another day of walking. Byleth sits down and watches the camp for a moment in silence. The chaos from before has settled into a quiet hum. Men and women sit together in little circles and tell their glorious battle stories with boisterous laughter, selling the illusion of a victorious life. But that might easily end the next day because of a hasty recklessness. No one thinks of that. Everyone is just celebrating, reaching for flasks and living in the moment. It’s a beautiful sight.

As the buzzing sound of people chatting subsides and the first turn in for the night, Byleth turns towards you, her voice lowered. “What you did back there,” she starts, and for whatever reason remains silent as if she decided talking about it isn’t a good idea. Shadows from the weakened fire dance across her face, and again you’re flooded with the unfathomable feeling of familiarity. It’s in the sharp lines of her face, the way her eyes move and settle on something as she observes her surroundings. It’s almost a painful sense of nostalgia. Something about this woman just brings you an unusual amount of ease, like it doesn’t really matter who you are, and rather that you’re here that makes the difference.

Before you can stop your brain, you’re already asking, “Do we know each other by chance?”

Byleth looks at you for a long minute, then slowly shakes her head, and you try not to show your disappointment too much. “I’ve travelled a lot with my father,” she says. “We’ve come through many lands and villages. You may have seen me at some point, but we’ve never exchanged a word until yesterday.”

You nod at the plausible explanation, but the feeling that this isn’t the right answer curls like a hook into your heart. “And your father hasn’t said anything about me as well?”

“No.” Byleth’s eyes follow your hands as they set down the empty bowl. Seeing that you’ve finished everything, she nods in approval. “And he doesn’t forget a face.”

“How do you all just … trust me,” you wonder, looking to where Jeralt is miserably leaning against a tree trunk as Alois keeps talking and talking. He looks like he wishes someone would take him down with an arrow.

“He doesn’t,” Byleth says. “And he calls me a little whippersnapper for that. He hasn’t called me that in the five years.” At the sound of the smile in her voice you snap your head in Byleth’s direction, but when you look, she wears the same bland expression like before.

“But you do,” you start carefully, not trusting your ears again, so you settle on staring at her until she gives another emotion. “Care to explain why?”

“For now, you haven’t given me any reason not to,” she states as if it really were that simple. It couldn’t be. Up until now Byleth has been your only anchor that your meeting wasn’t purely coincidental—that the reason shrouding your memories would dissipate like the night once dawn breaks if you just stick to her side, and everything will be revealed in time. But now without anything to hold on to, you feel like you’re slipping deeper and deeper into an abyss from which you can’t ascend. This feeling is terror fizzing in your blood like poison, and you shudder at the thought that you’ll forever remain adrift.

“Your powers,” Byleth continues, unaware of your mental breakdown right next to her. “They’re unusual, and if you learn to use them right, very dangerous.” Spoken by everyone else, this might sound like a threat, but Byleth says it like a simple statement, a fact, unaware how much she tilts your world with it. “What do you plan to do with them?”

You don’t have to think long about it. “I won’t do anything. Whatever it was, it’s over,” you say and gesture at your bandaged eye. It’s true. Since you woke up, your eye has remained calm, no red veil or eery proclamation someone might step into the campfire and burn alive. The pounding has stopped, and the normalcy of it is like a soothing balm.

Byleth studies you. You really wish she could give you more than her vacant expression. “You don’t know yet … your eye.” She takes your spoon and with the end of it, she draws a symbol on the ground. “Do you know what that is?”

You look at it, but nothing comes to your mind. It’s just a four pointed star with two lines crossing the right and left tips. “No, I’ve never seen it.”

Byleth holds your gaze as if she hopes to find a lie written between your eyes, and this time you don’t look away until she relents with a barely audible sigh.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because before you passed out, it appeared here.” She taps a finger against her closed, right eye, then points at you. Your body goes rigid. Immediately, your hands fly up to tear off the bandage, but Byleth catches your wrists and holds them down. “Not yet.”

“I want to see it.” Your breath catches in your lungs. It sounds like you need air because you’re drowning. “I want it off. Take it off!”

“I can’t show you, there are no mirrors,” Byleth says quietly, and throws a quick glance around the camp to see if your panic has alarmed anyone. You want to point out that you could use the reflection of her sword, but maybe Byleth has considered the same and thought it a bad idea, because she doesn’t know what else you might do with a weapon in your current state. Seeing that fighting against the vice grip she has on your hands is futile, you slump down, your arms falling slack back to your side. “Just what… what is happening. What is that?”

“Edelgard said it might be a Crest, but none she or the others have seen before,” Byleth explains. “They told me there is a teacher at the monastery who studies Crests.” She gives your arms a barely noticeable squeeze before she lets go. “So it’s going to be okay.”

“How can you say that?” you nearly sob, and wish you could hold onto her longer as she stands up and brushes dirt off her uniform. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not,” Byleth says, giving you one last look. You want to tell yourself it’s something like worry you see in her eyes, but her expression remains blank, like a board that’s been wiped clean. “I can only hope.”

The next morning, Jeralt and Alois set an unforgiving pace, determined to reach the monastery shortly after dawn broke. While everyone else couldn’t wait to reach their home as fast as possible, you feel worry grow with every step up the hill towards the walls and towers. The monastery looms like a stronghold, a building so tall and intimidating, built to make people feel small.

You were allowed to take off the bandage, and there was nothing worse than knowing something was on your eye but you couldn’t see it. Unlike everyone else. They kept staring at you, mumbling to each other in quiet whispers, and more than once you considered telling them that just because your eye was different it didn’t mean you were blind. It was reason enough for you to put the bandage back on and stay away from the soldiers and mercenaries, leaving them to their superstitious rumours. Who could have thought that you’d grab someone else’s attention entirely with that revelation.

Even before the first sunbeams broke through the budding branches, the wind carrying the smell of spring and new life, Edelgard stuck to you like a tick. It wasn’t hard to find out she was more interested in your Crest than you as a person, and every question you couldn’t answer fuelled her irritation. Still she was nothing but determined to squeeze the tiniest information out of you, and even though you tried to avoid her by either marching way too fast or way too slow, Edelgard didn’t relent and remained by your side. Fear is a little exaggerated to describe what you feel towards her, but it's close. Whenever her sharp eyes focus on you, unease takes hold of your brain and the words leave your mouth as nervous stammers. It certainly doesn’t help that you know she can easily hack off a grown man’s arm without so much as blinking. Or that the corners of her mouth curl up into the sweetest, rare smile.

Once you’re on the trade road up to the monastery, pebble makes way to smooth cobblestone. Giant iron doors stand wide open, and as your group enters, a merchant’s cart rolls past you and greets the returning knights. After the first entrance point, the second waits in the form of a portcullis and more knights standing on guard. Past the second ring of walls, you enter a small forecourt. On both sides are stalls and booths with merchants screaming their prices and the sound of metal hammered into the right shape at the blacksmith’s. At the foot of wide stairs leading up into the first building, a man dressed in dark blue robes awaits you, his strong arms crossed behind his back.

“Welcome back,” he greets Alois and the students. “Your messenger bird has reached us yesterday late into the evening, and preparations have been made.” To Jeralt, he says, “My name is Seteth. I am an adviser to the archbishop. Lady Rhea awaits you.” Jeralt nods but he looks a lot more cautious since you’ve entered the monastery grounds. At the mention of that name, his posture visibly tenses, but he gestures to Byleth and you to follow him nonetheless.

“We shall return to our respectable classes for now and make known we are unscathed,” Dimitri says. “Please, Byleth, and you too, if things have calmed down, meet the other students as well, won’t you?”

“Ohh, good idea. You have to go around and introduce yourself as our great saviours.” Claude winks at you with both thumbs up. Edelgard slaps his hands back down.

“We’ll be standing here until evening if we don’t get going," she says. "Please give Lady Rhea our regards. We’ll report to her once everything is sorted out about you.” She eyes you sideways, then ushers the boys down another hall like a mother hen. You exchange a quick look with Byleth who already looks very exasperated with the student’s antics.

Seteth leads you into the Audience Chamber, a rectangular room with statues decorating the walls, and asks for you to wait. The moment he leaves the room, you turn towards Jeralt and Byleth and ask, “Who is this Lady Rhea?”

“I’m aware Byleth doesn’t know much about her, I haven’t taught her he teachings of Seiros, but you—” He stops mid sentence seeing the way you look at him, and clears his throat. “Lady Rhea is the archbishop of the Church of Seiros. She’s commanding the knights and sees that the people don’t do anything stupid in the name of Seiros.”

“Seiros?” you ask, turning the name in your head. Nope, nothing.

“You know, the one who defeated the King of Liberation and founded the Church of Seiros?” When you just shrug, Jeralt scratches his beard and hums in thought. “Well, I sure won’t be the one preaching what you should know or not. But maybe don’t make it all too obvious you aren’t a follower.”

Or what, you want to ask, but Seteth returns and he isn’t alone. The woman walking ahead of him looks like she belongs on the portrait of a saint. It isn’t much that she walks towards you, but rather strides in grateful steps to the middle of the room, her chin raised high and shoulders squared. And yet when she looks at your little assembly, her eyes are soft and kind, her expression open and friendly.

“I welcome you into these sacred halls,” she says, her voice like soothing velvet on your skin. “Alois informed me of what happened, and I thank every one of you for saving the students.” Lady Rhea smiles at you all separately. Her eyes linger on you, and she titles her head slightly. “I've also heard about the wondrous things that happened to you. Please, be so kind and remove the bandage. Let me take a look at this Crest.”

You hesitate, your fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. But Rhea waits patiently and raises a delicate hand when her advisor Seteth flinches to repeat her request. Slowly, you take the bandage off, barely able to imagine how the symbol or Crest as they call it looks upon your eye. When you meet Rhea's gaze again, her smile freezes, and her eyes widen in surprise. Her lips part slightly, then stretch into an ecstatic smile. Beside her, Seteth inhales sharply. “This is impossible,” he breathes, growing pale. You start to panic.

“Why, what's wrong with me? What is impossible?”

“Nothing, nothing is wrong,” Rhea quickly reassures you, but it's hard to believe when Seteth looks like he's seen a ghost. “A fortunate day indeed. Not only does one of the strongest knights to have ever walked these halls return, but it also seems that a new chapter of history dawns upon us.”

All eyes land on her, one more puzzled than the other. Even Seteth doesn’t look like he fully comprehends what’s happening. “Lady Rhea?” he asks cautiously at the same time as Jeralt demands, “What are you talking about?”

The archbishop ignores them both, and the longer she gives you that pleasant smile, the more unsettled you feel. “When Alois wrote about a Crest appearing on your body, I was not sure what to think of it. But now, I cannot hide my joy at the return of a Crest that we thought was lost to history.”

“I—I don’t know why I have it,” you quickly say, feeling you have to defend yourself before they accuse you of stealing it. Can Crests be stolen in the first place? “I don’t remember why I have it.”

Lady Rhea nods, her solemn expression making way to worry. “Of that Alois informed me as well. You may stay here until your memories return. Allow me for now to tell you about the Crest. Maybe that will dissipate some of the darkness shrouding your mind.”

You nod, and brace yourself for whatever she’ll reveal. It certainly helps that Byleth stands close to you, her mere presence a standing stone you can hold onto for now without drifting away.

“It is a Crest most uncommon,” Lady Rhea explains, her hands gracefully crossed in front of her. “For there was only one person who bore it. This Crest belonged to the very one who served our Lady Seiros against the evil powers that threatened Fódlan thousands of years ago. He was known as Seiros’ Champion. The Herald of Dawn.”

She allows those words to sink into you, and how deep they sink. Now that they’re out here, you feel like they pull you down, deeper down into a dark sea from which you can’t surface. The only result is drowning.

“Herald of … you don’t think. You can’t think—” Your thoughts move way too fast, you can’t grasp any to sort them.

“What I think means nothing in light of what has transpired and therefore is reality. You are chosen by the Goddess herself to bring hope to the people of Fódlan. You are the Herald of Dawn.”

You feel sick. It may be phantom pain, but you could swear your right eye starts hurting again, as if the Crest is reacting to the revelation, the call of its true nature. You dig your trembling fingers into the fabric of your jacket, considering for the tiniest second to gouge your eye out. Can’t be anyone’s champion or Herald without the Crest, right? “So, you’re saying … am I the one from back then? This Champion?” If you were really the same person, how were you still alive after a thousands of years? The prospect of finally having an identity is great, but you aren’t sure you’re ready to pay the price that comes with it. And this one seems to carry a very heavy price.

“That seems quite impossible.” This time Seteth speaks up. He looks just as unnerved by this revelation as you feel. “The Herald appeared when Saint Seiros was in dire need, and once his duty was fulfilled, he vanished. ”

“But now, another Herald has come, and with you the promise of suffering and hardships,” Rhea explains, her expression now strict and foreboding. “The task of giving hope is the most difficult to ask of a person. But that is the path the Goddess has chosen for you.”

“No, no, you’re wrong. I’m no Herald … and certainly no Champion of anyone. I can’t give people hope, I don’t even know what to give them hope for!” Your voice borders on hysteric, but you’ve never been more determined to plead your case. “I’m not the right person. I’m really not.”

“Then how come you bear the Crest of Seiros’ Champion, my child?” Lady Rhea asks, and you notice the tiny shift in her voice. The kindness grows thiner and thiner, and in its place austerity and even coldness settle—the voice of authority and undeniable command. “It is Our Goddess’ will. The Church of Seiros needs you. The people of Fódlan need you. You cannot turn away from your Fate.”

You want to argue that yes, you can; you’ll turn around and leave this place filled with crazy people and their fanatic beliefs. One look from Byleth stops your thoughts. Lady Rhea interprets this silence as compliance, and nods, visibly pleased. “We have waited for this opportunity for so long,” she continues, now smiling again. “There shall be festivities today. As a welcome to our Herald, and the return of Blade Breaker Jeralt. For you, his daughter, we have also thought of a task that will greatly help Garreg Mach.”

Jeralt grunts, clearly unhappy, but Byleth only cocks her head to one side. You’re astonished that after everything, she’s still awfully calm and collected.

“A teaching position has become free as of yesterday,” Lady Rhea explains to Byleth. “By Alois' recommendation, you are to take that position and teach one of the Houses here at the Officers Academy. Your colleagues will provide you with further information. As for you,” and you flinch when she turns to you, afraid what else she has in store, “you too shall teach the students the course of leadership and command. Seiros’ Champion was a great tactician. He honed Saint Macuil’s abilities. I would not be surprised if you too show an unparallelled gift for strategy.”

“Well,” you start, but the hesitation is clear, and Lady Rhea smiles like she knows what you can do once the Crest is activated. “Whereas you are to choose one house,” she tells Byleth, “the Herald will hold seminars. As a servant of the Church, you cannot call in favourites.”

“I don’t even know what to teach,” you mumble weakly. “How to teach.”

“Me neither,” Byleth says, the first time she’s spoken since entering the Audience Chamber. The amusement glinting in Lady Rhea’s eyes is like the sun reflected on a purling river. “Do not worry,” she says. “You will learn in time. And we are here to help you as well.”

On your lips lie the words that they certainly didn’t help you. You came here so they could help to search for a way to return your memory.

Instead, they made everything worse.

The ceremonial robes hang heavy over your shoulders. The feast hasn’t started yet, but you’re already sweating and panting with the weight of the golden embroidery and the head piece decorating your forehead. When Seteth brought everything in a couple of hours ago, he was grumbling something unintelligible under his breath, at his side a little girl who, unlike him, was happy to meet you and to see that you’d take on the role as the Herald. You wanted to tell Flayn there was a difference between want and have to, but she was already focused on helping you dress and prepare for the festivities. Servants handled the remaining tasks of making you presentable, and now you’re standing in front of a giant mirror, observing yourself.

It was scary how things changed so fast. Not even 24 hours ago, you were a nobody, a nameless figure roaming the woods, and now there is a name that isn’t your own—no, not a name. A title. A title that will all but replace your name. History won’t remember you as a person, they will remember the deeds that you’ve done, the mistakes that you’ll commit. Lady Rhea spoke of honour like it’s a crown on your head, but you see the noose that it really is around your throat. The head piece feels too heavy, and the golden necklace sitting on your neck reminds you more of a dog collar.

There’s a knock on your door. Seteth said that someone would get you before everything starts, and you don’t even try to hide the relieved sob when Byleth enters the room. She examines you from head to toes, and leans her head to the side, one finger on her chin. “You look … different,” she says.

“You mean ridiculous.” You move your arms, demonstrating how the wide sleeves flap uselessly at your side. “I wish we could do this all without me looking like a sack of potatoes.”

“I had to think of cabbages, but you aren’t wrong either.” She crosses the room and looks outside the window. You can already hear the masses as they enter the Cathedral, and it does nothing to calm your haywire nerves. Byleth seems to notice as much. She turns to you, and asks, “How are you holding up?”

“Do you want the real answer or the one I prepared for Lady Rhea?”

Byleth raises a brow.

“Not good. I’m just … how could this happen?” You throw up your hands in frustration, and the robes give a dangerous tearing sound. Your arms fall immediately down, the thought of damaging a hundreds of years old ceremonial robe the last thing you need today. “Of all the things, how could I suddenly become some figure of the Church.”

“Is it so hard to believe that the Goddess of Fódlan has lead you to this path?” Byleth crosses her ams and leans against the wall next to the window, eyeing you curiously.

“I don’t even believe in this Goddess,” you groan, flopping on your bed. The chambers chosen for you overlook the bridge leading to the Cathedral where people swarm inside like little ants returning to their anthill. It was a small room equipped with all necessities for comfort but no additional expenses on luxury. A bed, a dresser, a simple table and chair, a mirror, and a shelf take up all the space. Not that you could have brought anything with you.

You look up at Byleth and dread the next question. “Do you believe in it?” you ask. “That I’m someone chosen?”

“Hmm.” Byleth casts one last glance outside, then pushes off the wall, gesturing you to follow her. You sigh, and mentally prepare yourself for what will happen in the Cathedral. Before you leave the room, Byleth rests her hand on the door handle and looks back at you over her shoulder. “I don’t know. Where I’m from, belief doesn’t save you from the sword of a thief. Only deeds and actions. It’s the reason my father and I are still alive.” She considers you for a moment, and when you blink you imagine you see the tiniest smile on her face. “What you did yesterday was very much real to me. Maybe a Goddess guided you, maybe it was just lucky instinct. But you saved my life, and that certainly is something I can rely on.”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, and swings the door open. You quickly follow, your steps feeling a lot lighter than before. “I guess I’m just frustrated,” you admit, carefully paying attention your voice isn’t too loud. “That they think there’s someone who can just decide how my life is going to be. Like this herald business suddenly defies who I am.”

“As long as you don’t forget who you are, does it matter?” Byleth wonders aloud, turning down another corridor that ends in stairs leading down. “As long as there is just one person who doesn’t forget, does it really matter?”

Maybe not to her, but for some inexplicable reason, it means a great deal to you. So you answer with a grumble, and Byleth hums like she knows she’s right. To change the subject, you ask, “What about you? How can you just follow along with being a teacher here?”

“Truth be told, I’m not happy,” Byleth says, nodding to the knights standing on guard in the first floor that leads outside. “But at the same time I can see Lady Rhea’s reasoning. Those students need someone who teaches them not to be stupid on the real battlefield. Especially when they are to be future rulers of Fódlan. If I’m the one shaping those little whippersnappers, I can rest at ease.”

You follow her down the hallways, staying silent until, “Whippersnapper is such a weird word,” you say.

Byleth gives a huff of air that barely passes as a chuckle. “It is.”

Together you leave the living quarters and enter the Cathedral at the backside where everything is closed off for the rest of the people. Lady Rhea and Seteth are already waiting for you, both dressed in equally complicated robes as you.

“Thank you, Professor.” Lady Rhea nods towards Byleth, who nods back and joins the other teachers. “And now, Herald, it is time to meet the sheep you shall shepherd from today on. Please, follow me.”

She doesn’t give you time to prepare for the crowd waiting for you, and glancing at Seteth for help doesn’t do anything either as he just crudely nods towards Lady Rhea, telling you to go along. You square your shoulders and hope for the best.

The Cathedral has been decorated with candles and tapestry showing the banner of the Church of Seiros and above it the Crest of the Herald. A platform has been built for your entrance, and stepping on it, your gaze roams over all the assembled students, clergy, and knights. Seeing them, you feel terror seize your body, locking up all muscles. The masses look at you with hunger in their eyes, ready to devour you like you’re the last piece of bread on the table. “Herald, Herald! ” they cry, and each time they open their mouths, the noose tightens around your neck. Saint and Martyr vaguely dance at the edges of your mind, beyond your grasp, mocking how you know them but don’t understand their very being. This is bigger than you. This is far bigger than you can manage, and you want to run away and hide from their greedy eyes.

Scanning the crowd, you notice the house leaders in the far back. Edelgard looks unpleased, her mouth set into a grim line, while Dimitri claps politely with the rest, and Claude raises a golden cup in mocking salute. You really want to break down and cry. The only solid point is Byleth, has always been Byleth up until now, at the other end of the room, holding your gaze steadfast like a pillow of strength in troubled waters.

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gra-sonas · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes Characters: Alex Manes, Michael Guerin Additional Tags: Canon Disabled Character, Dogs

Summary:

Alex's face softens. "I know you're careful. Sorry, it's just hard not to worry. But back again to my initial question. Do you know what today is?”

"I don't know, Alex. It's February 13th, so I didn't forget Valentine's Day or something. We ruled out the thing at Isobel's, and it's still Saturday. No matter how much I'm wrecking my brain, I can't think of anything else. Please tell me I didn't forget anything important."

"No, you didn't, no worries. I'll put you out of your misery. What do you think about taking a short trip across town?"

This is my contribution for day 3 of @malex-cupid. 3.3K of fluffy Malex.

Dialogue prompt: “Do you know what today is?”

-------------

“Do you know what today is?”

Michael pretends to think about the answer before he says "Saturday."

Alex rolls his eyes. "Smartass."

Michael smirks. "Takes one to know one."

Alex smirks back. "I'm badass," he says.

Michael laughs. "True."

"Come on, Michael, try again. What day is today?"

Michael groans. "It's that stupid thing Isobel roped us into attending, isn't it? I thought it was next weekend."

"That one is next weekend. Which reminds me, we have to get our suits from the cleaners." Alex pulls a face. He hates wearing formal attire, especially ties. But Isobel would have their heads if they didn't dress up for her fancy party.

"We'll get through it together, and any chance we get, we'll hide in one of Isobel's guest rooms, and I'll suck you off." Michael waggles his eyebrows suggestively. He looks ridiculous, but it makes Alex laugh.

"If she catches us, we won't live to see another day," he points out.

"Well, I'll have to be fast then. It's unfortunate that she also can pick locks with her brain these days."

"You're not going to suck me off in two minutes, if anything I'll claim that my stump's hurting and we can go home early, where we'll take our sweet time sucking each other off."

Michael looks worried. "Has your stump given you any trouble lately? Should I take a look at the prothesis?"

Alex smiles. "No, Michael. It fits perfectly, and for some reason it even adjusts to the occasional swelling? I have no idea how you engineered it, but it almost feels as if the prosthetic becomes a part of me when I put it on. It's incredible, and it has given me that much more quality of life." He leans closer and kisses Michael, soft and sweet. Michael beams.

"I'm so glad. The material is so cool, I'm glad that I decided to give it a try, and now that I no longer need to rebuild a working console, I want to find out what other useful things I can build using it."

"As long as you are careful and—," Alex starts.

"Yes, I know," Michael interrupts him. "No worries, I've been paranoid about hiding who and what I am my entire conscious life on this planet. I won't risk it now just to brag about an invention that includes alien tech."

Alex's face softens. "I know you're careful. Sorry, it's just hard not to worry. But back again to my initial question. Do you know what today is?”

"No, you didn't, no worries. I'll put you out of your misery. What do you think about taking a short trip across town?"

Michael nods. "Sure, I have no other plans for today. Can we drive past the Crashdown to pick up some coffee?"

Alex looks at his watch. "If we call from the car and ask whether Javier could bring our order to the curb, we can do that. But we have to leave now. We have an appointment at eleven."

Michael pulls Alex up from the couch. "Okay, let's go. I'm really curious what you're up to!"

They call the Crashdown from the car and Arturo himself stands at the curb to hand them coffee and a box with heart shaped cookies through the window. Michael tips him generously, and then they're on their way again.

When they pull up outside of a red building fifteen minutes later, Michael's eyes widen.

"Alex, this is the animal shelter. What are we doing here?"

Alex turns around in his seat to face Michael. "Well, I thought we could go inside and look at all the rescue dogs in there, and if we like one, and the dog likes us, that we should take them home for a trial run. What do you think?"

Michael's eyes are wet. "Alex. This is—perfect. So much better than some kitschy Valentine's gift. Don't get me wrong, any gift from you would be amazing, but a dog, Alex. A dog! We've talked about this so often. Why now?"

Alex's smile softens. "Because we talked about it so often. It's pretty obvious how much you want a dog, and honestly, I want one, too. My therapist has talked about a therapy dog in the past, but I think a dog that's ours is even better. It can either stay with me while you're working, or come with you to the junkyard when I'm meeting clients. And if push comes to shove, we have a large yard where the dog can stay on its own for a couple of hours."

Michael flings himself across the car's middle console and pulls Alex into a fierce hug. "Thank you, Alex. Best pre-Valentine's gift ever."

Alex smiles into Michael's shoulder. "Come, let's go inside, I have a feeling we'll meet a very special someone in there today."

They enter the shelter, and a young woman shows them the way to the large backyard behind the building. Three different agility courses are set up, and there's a pool where three dogs are playing with an old football, splashing in and out of the water.

"This is what heaven must look like," Michael says, and the awe in his voice tells Alex that coming here was an excellent decision. He's counting at least twenty different dogs of various sizes, and they all seem happy and excited. He turns to the young woman.

"So, how are we going to do this, Janet. Are we supposed to sit down and wait until a dog approaches, or should we throw a ball or something?"

Janet points at a bench that's set up under a large tree. "If you want to take a seat, I'll get a basket with some toys for you to use and play with the dogs." She leaves, and Michael leads Alex over to the bench where they sit down.

Most of the dogs have stopped playing and running around, they are looking at Alex and Michael instead. Michael takes Alex's hand. "I'm nervous."

Alex squeezes his hand. "I don't think they are dangerous, relax, Michael," he soothes.

Michael laughs. "Not what I mean. I'm nervous because I know one of them's going to be ours, and I want to make a good impression."

Five dogs are brave enough to come closer, their tails wagging. Michael holds his hand out for them, and once the brave dogs are close enough, they start sniffing and licking Michael's fingers. After that it's just one large furry puppy pile with Alex and Michael in the middle, and more dogs joining. They pet as many dogs as they can reach, always careful to read the body language of each of them. But they are all very friendly and excited to meet them.

Janet returns, a large basket filled with various toys in her arms. Some of the dogs start barking happily, apparently, they know what the basket means. Janet sets it down in front of the two men. "Many of our dogs love to play fetch, you can also go over to the agility courses and see what each of the dogs can do."

Michael picks up the basket. "Thanks, Janet, I think I'll go over and play with the dogs. Do you want to come with me, Alex?"

"I'm actually good right here for another moment, thanks. Maybe I'll come over to you later."

Michael smiles at Alex and gives him a kiss. "Okay, love you."

Michael squeezes Michael's arm. "Love you, too. Have fun!"

Michael walks over to one of the agility courses, basket in hand. And like he's the Pied Piper, most of the dogs follow him, yipping excitedly.

Janet turns to Alex. "I'll leave you to it. If you have any questions, I'll be inside."

"Thank you, Janet, I appreciate it." She turns around and walks back to the house, and Alex focuses his full attention on Michael. He's started to throw balls in different directions (no doubt giving some of them a little extra spin with his telekinesis, but there's no one around, so Alex relaxes and enjoys watching Michael having the time of his life).

There's one dog in particular, that seems to have the largest heart eyes around Michael. It doesn't run after any balls Michael's throwing, instead he picks up a plushie from the basked and carefully places it in Michael's outstretched hand. Michael pats the dog's head and tells him what a good boy he is. Alex smiles.

The dog is gorgeous, a little taller than a German Shepard, dark fur and a tail that's wagging a million miles a minute. Alex can picture himself and Michael with the dog in front of the fire. Not a lapdog exactly, but he doesn't mind.

A minute later, the dog leaves Michael's side and while Michael's busy getting acquainted with some of the other dogs, Alex's eyes follow the black dog. He walks over to a sunny spot near the pool, where smaller dog's curled up in the grass, seemingly uninterested in playing with Michael.

Going by the fur marking's, Alex thinks it could be a beagle. He smiles, remembering Mimi's "prophecy". The black dog noses at the beagle's ears and licks them, then he nudges the dog as if to say, "come with me".

It takes another few nudges before the dog gets up (and yes, it's definitely a beagle, an older one by the looks of it), and follows its black brother over to Michael.

When Michael notices the duo, he stops throwing balls and kneels down. "Oh, do you want me to meet your friend? Hello sweetheart." He scratches the beagle behind the ears and the dog almost goes cross-eyed with pleasure. The black dog wiggles closer and buries his nose in Michael's half-open shirt.

Michael looks over to Alex, and Alex smiles. "Guess we're not just picking up one dog, huh?"

"Would that be okay? They seem to be friends, and I couldn't stand to leave one behind, especially since this little lady seems to be a bit older. Do you think we can handle two dogs?"

Alex gets up from the bench and walks over, and the moment he reaches Michael, they look up at him and start nosing at his feet and legs. When they are finished sniffing at him, they look at him with huge puppy eyes.

"Oh, you two, this isn't fair." He kneels down carefully, holding on to Michael's shoulder for balance. The moment he feels stable, he has his arm full of two dogs, one large black one, and a smaller beagle.

They lick his face and almost barrel him over in their excitement, if it wasn't for Michael's steadying hand (and a smidge of telekinesis) at his back. "Thanks," he manages to get out between increasingly wet and enthusiastic doggy kisses.

Michael chuckles. "Guess these two have made their decision. Now it's up to us. Can we, and do we want to adopt two dogs? I know we've talked about a dog, and this morning I didn't even know we'd get one. And now there are these two. What do you think?"

Alex smiles. "You know, we have a big house, an even bigger garden, I don't see why we shouldn't adopt both. They insist on a two week trial anyway, so why don't we take these two sweethearts home with us and see how it goes?"

Michael manages to place a smacking kiss on Alex's cheek without them tumbling over, then he helps Alex stand up. The two dogs stay close to them and follow them back to the house.

They find Janet at the reception desk. She looks up when she hears them approach.

"Oh, that went quick. Did you meet a dog you like?"

Alex realizes that she can't see the two dogs at their feet from her position. "Actually, we met two dogs."

"Two?" Janet stands up and looks down. "Oh, I see. These are Buffy and Lando. They met here and it was love at first sight. They are pretty much inseparable, and since she's basically a senior dog, we'd rather not separate them, I'm sorry."

Alex shakes his head. "There's no need to separate them, we'd like to take both home with us for the trial period. You know, they picked us, and now it's our turn to pick them, and see whether we're a good match."

Janet's smile gets excited. "That's wonderful to hear. They've been here for a while, and the fact that we don't want to separate them has prevented their adoption so far. If you'd like to take them for a short walk, I need about twenty minutes to get all the papers ready. Leashes are over there by the door."

They return from their walk half an hour later, relaxed and smiling. Neither dog's wearing a leash anymore. When Michael notices Janet's look, he says, "She wouldn't leave our side, and he wouldn't leave hers, there really was no point in keeping the leashes on."

Janet nods and hands them a clipboard with several sheets of paper, yellow post-its marking the spaces where they need to sign. Alex grabs the clipboard and takes a seat at a nearby table, while Michael looks at the wall opposite of the reception, where several dozens of photos are pinned to a large cork board. Happy new pet owners with their adopted pets. He can't wait to add their photo to the wall.

Once all the papers are signed, Janet gets two large bags from a nearby storage room and hands them to Michael. "The bags contain bowls, leashes, and dog beds. We don't expect you to buy everything before it isn't clear that you'll adopt the dogs."

Michael nods. "Do they have favorite toys or blankets we should take with us?"

"No, they usually play with the toys we provide. I can put a few tennis balls into one of the bags if you want," Janet offers.

Alex shakes his head. "That won't be necessary. I—uhm, I actually may have bought some toys. And a box of tennis balls." His smile is a little sheepish, but Michael isn't having any of it. "You are brilliant, and I love you." He smacks a kiss on Alex's cheek.

"Alright, you've got my number, in case there are any issues, please don't hesitate to call. If everything goes according to plan, I'll see you in three days for the first mandatory visit."

They smile at her, bid their goodbyes, and when leave, their two new canine family members follow them unprompted.

"I have a really good feeling about this," Alex says once they are back in the car, both dogs comfortably snuggled up on the back seat.

"Me too," Michael admits. "You've made me a very happy man today, Alex. Truly the best pre-Valentine's gift ever." Alex laughs. "It's not just a gift for you, Michael, I'm also a very happy man today. I'm very excited that we're taking this next step." He looks back at the two sleeping dogs. "It already feels like they're part of the family."

On their way home, they stop at the pet store, and pay an obscene amount of money for dog food, bowls, leashes, harnesses, the most comfortable supersized dog bed (suspecting the dogs would rather share then sleep in two separate beds), and way too many toys. They don't care that this is only a trial, they know that Buffy and Lando are meant to stay with them.

When they get home and set everything up, the dogs immediately curl up in the large dog bed together, completely ignoring the two separate beds they put up to give them a choice.

"We already know them so well," Michael says proudly, clinking his glass with Alex's. There's a fire burning in the fireplace, and they're sharing a bottle of red wine that goes well with the pizza they've ordered.

The dogs are snoring, and Alex's and Michael's hearts are full.

Michael goes on a quick walk with the dogs while Alex gets ready for bed. They're trying to keep the dogs out of their bedroom, but it's not happening. Lando drags in the dog bed in before they can close the door, and while they'll have to set boundaries eventually (because there are things they'd like to do in their bedroom without an audience), they won't start tonight.

They place the dog bed at the foot of their bed, and the dogs curl up together. "Uhm, we'll get to that eventually, I guess," Michael says, but then he lets himself being pulled into Alex's arms and they fall asleep within minutes.

It's a quiet night, and when they wake up in the morning, the dogs are already up to drink water in the kitchen. Alex and Michael exchange lazy kisses, until Michael wiggles out of Alex's embrace. "I'll take them out for a couple of minutes, that should do until we can go for a real walk after breakfast."

Alex gets up to pee, then makes a beeline for the kitchen to make coffee before he returns to their bedroom. He snuggles up under the covers, when he hears the front door open and shut, which means that Michael's back.

The dogs enter the bedroom first, and Lando walks up to Alex's side of the bed. He gets up on his hind legs and puts his front paws on the bedframe, like he's extra careful not to step on the mattress.

"Good morning, handsome. You are such a good boy, Lando," Alex croons and pats Lando's head. When he sees something gleam in the sunlight filtering through the blinds, he reaches for Lando's collar. There's a ring attached to it. A ring with an iridescent piece of an alien spaceship console embedded.

Alex blinks back tears and tries to remove the ring from Lando's collar, when Michael drops on one knee next to the bed. His eyes look a bit wet, too.

"Alex Manes. You're not only the man of my dreams, you're the man of my life. We've been through so much, and I love you more than should be humanly – or alien-ly – possible. Would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Alex can't stop the tears from falling now, but he nods and reaches for Michael. They kiss and hug, and Michael helps Alex to remove the ring from Lando's collar. When Michael puts the ring on Alex's finger, it fits like a glove.

"Michael, the ring is extraordinary, thank you so much. I can't wait to marry you." They kiss again, but before Michael can get up from the floor, Alex pulls a thin silver chain out from under his pajama top he only put on a few minutes ago when he was in the bathroom. There's a ring attached to it. He opens the clasp and lets the ring fall into his open hand. Then he shows it to Michael.

"Adopting a dog with you was only meant to be a first step, I'd been meaning to propose to you on Valentine's Day, though. I just love you so much, more than anything or anyone, and I want to share my life with you. Forever. Marry me?"

"Yes!" Michael's reply is short, but he barely waits for Alex to put the ring on his finger (it also fits perfectly), before he gets up and lets himself being pulled into Alex's outstretched arms. They laugh and kiss and tumble all over the bed, and Buffy and Lando start barking. Soon enough they manage to jump on the bed and join the celebration.

When Alex and Michael adopt Buffy and Lando officially two weeks later, they do so as Mr. and Mr. Guerin-Manes, their wedding rings clearly visible in their we've-adopted-a-dog celebratory photo.

#malexcupid21 #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #rnm fic #malex fic #my fic #buffy manes

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jouretnuit-nightandday · 4 years ago

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gen requests!! if it interests you, i would love something with dot being taken care of by the others, or them all letting toni know how she matters /to them/ in their own ways, or something with an unlikely combination of the girls (a dynamic you wish we’d seen more of) stirring shit and being friends!! i know that was a bunch, but i just figured i‘d give you a few and see if any of them resonated. thank u!! <33

Thank you! I loved all of them, but went with Dot being taken care of, cause our girl sure needs it.

-------

As soon as she wakes up, Dot can tell something’s wrong. For one, everyone else is already awake and gone, even Fatin, even Toni, which has never happened, not even once, ever since they got stranded on the island. She opens her eyes, and she’s alone, in the shelter she had them rebuild a few weeks ago. Someone has taken care to drape one of Fatin’s sweaters - the leopard skin one, which is, incidentally, Dot’s favorite - on her chest like a blanket, and the same person - but who? - has also placed one of the pink visors atop Dot’s head, to protect her from the light of the rising sun peeking through the interstices of their roof. She rises up on her elbows, confused, almost alarmed by the silence - but then she looks through the shelter’s opening, and sees that the other girls are all sitting quietly around the campfire, the one they built sixty feet or so away from the shelter after a strong gust of wind almost set fire to the whole camp.

Dot yawns, and gets up, and shuffles out of the shelter, and comes face to face with the strangest thing. A rough plank of wood, on top of which, artistically arranged, she finds one of the bottles they use to keep drinkable water, a few handfuls of red berries in a small cup made out of braided leaves, and five strings of smoked goat meat - big ones, Dot notices, the kind they usually reserve for dinner, when they’re starving after a full day of hard work. And, weirdest of all, there’s a little bouquet of yellow flowers, stuck in an empty can of Diet Coke. Dot briefly wonders if the flowers are edible, but comes to the conclusion that whoever left this for her wanted to add a touch of beauty to... what is this supposed to be, actually? A breakfast tray?

“What in the world is going on,” Dot murmurs to herself, squinting at the rest of the girls, far away, as if she’ll get some answers just from looking at them. Oh well, food is food. She gobbles down the berries, drinks the water, chews on the sticks of meat, and places the plank back next to the shelter, with the flowers untouched, before she walks up to the fire.

The waking-up all alone, she could chalk up to coincidence. The aesthetic breakfast platter, to Shelby or Martha wanting to test out their decoration skills in the wilderness. But Dot can’t help noticing how fucking weird the girls are acting as soon as she joins them, and her suspicion only grows. Rachel keeps offering her water, as if Dot just ran a marathon or something, and is in need of rehydrating. Shelby sits next to her and can’t stop touching her, little pats on her arm, on her back, on her knee. Fatin tells her she looks good this morning - which wouldn’t be weird, except there’s no obnoxious flirty comment, not even a wink, following that statement. Leah asks her about the survival shows she watches, and tries very hard to pretend she’s interested in Dot’s answer, which is kind of endearing, but mostly a bit surreal, because Dot has a very clear memory of Leah explaining in detail how much she hates reality TV shows. Nora and Martha also ask her a million questions, about her favorite sport, her favorite food, her favorite animal, her favorite actor. When Toni offers her a foot massage, Dot can’t handle it anymore.

“Okay, who did what?” she asks, firmly, looking around her with what she hopes is a stern enough expression that the culprits will confess immediately. “What happened while I was sleeping?” Bemused silence meets her, and Dot rolls her eyes. “Come on, you’re all trying way too hard, I know that means one of you fucked up. Spill.”

“No, Dottie, it’s nothing like that,” Shelby says, with a tentative smile. She hesitates, looking at Fatin for help, but it’s Nora who explains, with the sort of calm confidence Dot has grown to expect from her.

“We just wanted to show our appreciation. You always take care of all of us, so we thought we’d try to take care of you, for once.”

“And we felt bad about yesterday,” Martha adds, quickly, honestly. Ah, yes. The day before had been particularly chaotic, and Dot had in fact developed a real bad migraine by midday, from the sheer stress of trying to make everyone behave for five fucking minutes.

“Yeah, we wanted to make it up to you,” Fatin says. She looks at Dot above the rim of her ridiculous sunglasses, half apologetic, half amused. “We realize, now, that we were acting like a bunch of assholes.”

“Some of us more than others,” Rachel says pointedly.

Leah and Toni both avert their eyes, sheepishly, which, well. You have to admire the self-awareness, at the very least.

Dot blinks. “So the food outside the shelter --”

“We made you breakfast, bitch. Hope you liked the flowers.” Fatin smirks, quite obviously proud of herself. “And you’re not lifting a finger today, we got it all planned.”

“We made a chore list,” Toni adds. “Me and Shelby will go get some water before lunch --”

“And they promised not to fuck on the way,” Rachel interjects.

Shelby has a coughing fit, and Dot instinctively slaps her on the back a few times, while Toni glares at Rachel, cheeks darkening, before continuing. “--Nora, Rachel and Leah are on food prep. Fatin and Martha will clean up, take care of the fire, and, like, entertain you if you’re bored while the rest of us are busy.”

“Entertain me, huh?” Dot asks, drily.

Fatin waggles her eyebrows, and Leah gives her a light smack on the arm. “Toni means we’ll play Uno,” Martha explains. “Or any other game. Or we’ll leave you alone if you want to chill by yourself.” She smiles at Dot, open and genuine. “This is your day. You get to do whatever you want.”

“Anything you wanna do, or you want us to do, just ask,” Shelby says.

“I can recite some poetry,” Leah offers.

“Except that,” Toni mumbles.

Leah flips her off, and for a second Dot worries about these two fighting again, like they did the day before, but they’re both smiling at each other, so they must have made up, for Dot’s sake, and that unexpectedly moves her.

“Guys,” Dot says. “You don’t have to do all that.”

“Yeah, we do,” Nora argues. She cocks her head, looking at Dot carefully. “We love you.”

“Come on, let us treat you like fucking royalty for a day,” Rachel says, with a little smile, and then she grows serious. “You saved all of our asses countless times. You saved my life, after the shark. Let us thank you.”

“You deserve it,” Martha adds.

Dot finds that her throat has closed up, embarrassingly. There may even be tears in her eyes. “I’m… Fuck. Hm, thanks,” she murmurs. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, and nobody comments on it, thankfully. Shelby wraps an arm around her waist. Fatin blows her a kiss from across the fire.

“Honestly, you know what would make me happy?” Dot says, voice a bit hoarse from emotion. “Spending the day together. Just having fun, for once. Enjoying the fucking vacation we were supposed to have, you know. I just wanna have a good time with my friends.”

Fatin grins. “I think we can do that.”

Dot closes her eyes, turns her face towards the sky. The sun is high, already, and hot on her skin. But the warmth she feels, spreading from her stomach to her chest, has nothing to do with it.

#Anonymous #the wilds #dot campbell #fic #the unsinkable eight

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petri808 · 4 years ago

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O5+Itafushi sick/injured/comfort for Anon 😊 totally canon divergent since we still don’t know a lot about their backgrounds and the series is still on going 🙃 Hurt/Comfort, angst w/happy ending. *Does container manga spoiler aspects if you’re not up to date on it.

It couldn’t be helped... logically, Megumi knew this, but what his brain understood didn’t mean his heart could accept. Yuuji was fated from the beginning to die and he knew— Knew that all the man wanted was to die without regret, and saving their world... well how much more honor could one achieve by fulfilling his grandfather’s dying wish? He should be happy for his friend, content in the knowledge that Yuuji gave them a chance to rebuild a better world without the fear of Ryomen Sukuna ever destroying it. Should be... but he wasn’t.

How many times had Megumi convinced himself they weren’t heroe’s, they were just sorcerers. Spiritual police in a sense, there to protect without a desire for acknowledgement. And that their deaths were both inevitable and not immune to regret. All they could do was their best not to garner too much of it and become the very curses they swore to fight. It was why most jujutsu sorcerers learned from an early age not to care about humanity, or at least lie to themselves that it was a possibility. Such bullshit, really.

So, as he stood there staring down at what remained of his best friend’s body, Megumi couldn’t help the regret bubbling up in his very soul. This was literally and figuratively his fault. Yuuji’s, or rather Sukuna’s exorcism was a combined effort in which he’d participated in. That’s not something you can simply set aside. Yes! Megumi was glad that Sukuna was gone, but so was Yuuji! He didn’t care if his friend had been born into, or chosen to, or somehow been trapped in this fate. It wasn’t fair at all. None of this was fair to any of them, just as his own birth had been an unfortunate creation for revenge.

“Fuck!” Megumi gritted out a barely audible utterance as his nails dug into the clenched fists at his sides, and tears trickled down his face. This wasn’t fair at all!

He shouldn’t even be there. If Gojou sensei knew he’d snuck into the morgue he’d be in trouble. But he didn’t care! They didn’t even let him say goodbye to his friend before carting him off to Dr. Shoko. It was for his own good— pfft, fucking uncaring bastards! Yuuji was the first real person he’d ever connected with who gave him back a sense of the humanity he’d lost along the way. The man made him feel, and now. “Fuck...” Megumi knew he was screwed. His heart had crossed the line. Images of a smiling Yuuji play like a movie behind his closed eyes, bringing a pained smile curling on Megumi’s lips. He’d avoided admitting it to himself, but it was true. He’d fallen for Yuuji Itadori.

It had been an unspoken promise Megumi made to Yuuji, one he’d made deep within his heart the moment it had chosen to cross the line. He’d find a way to sever Sukuna from Yuuji and save his love from the ultimate sacrifice. This promise had never been proclaimed from his own lips, but there was no running from the covenant he’d created in his soul. As Sukuna once explained, certain pacts in their works simply could not be broken.

His knees weakened, crumpling Megumi to the floor in a position of summary execution. All of the emotional walls he’d learned to control, gave way in a flood, sending shadowed curse energy to blanket the room. He didn’t even try to stem the flow of power surging out from his pain. It was entirely selfish to lash out with his regret and anger, but Megumi couldn’t stop... didn’t want to let go. “It’s not fair!” He raged into the still darkness. “I should have saved you! If I was stronger, I could have saved you! But I’m too weak... even now, I can’t...” he hung his head head and closed his eyes, “I can’t even let you die properly because you deserve to live Yuuji...” Because I still need you... Damn the consequences, he’ll take whatever comes his way! “Yuuji!!!”

.....Megumi wasn’t exactly sure what happened, how he ended up passed out on his side, or even how long he was laying there. But something gentle brushed against his face, sweeping his hair aside, and caressing it to stir him awake. His body was groggy from the power drain, eyes barely able to focus in the amber emergency lighting. Whatever it was said nothing, just continued soothing him and coaxing with light prodding to wake up. It felt so nice... Wait! Fuck! Was he caught?! Was it Gojou, Dr. Shoko, someone else?!

His eyes flash open wide as he scrambled to sit up, ready to explain himself, but— “Sukuna?!” Megumi screamed in shock.

“What?!” The naked man stumbled back, looking around in a panic. “Where?! He’s supposed to be dead!”

Megumi adjusted his eyes better, because the form in front of him looked like Yuuji, but with all of the same markings as Sukuna, including the second set of open eyes. Although the voice was different... not exactly Yuuji’s, not Sukuna’s, maybe a mix of both. “Who are you?” He asked, noting that the curse energy flowing from this thing was akin to Sukuna in power and this could be a trick from the God of Curses. Is this what his regret had wrought?!

“It’s me,” the figure stepped forward in confusion, a hand over his chest. “Yuuji. Megumi how could you not know it’s me?”

“Because you look like and feel like Sukuna.”

Yuuji looked down at his body and could see the markings too. But that’s when he also noticed something else in the room. His dead body lying on the operating table. His eyes widen as they whip back to Megumi. “Am I?!” His shaky voice cracked.

It was becoming clear. Megumi nodded. “My regret brought you back as a...”

“Curse...” Yuuji breathed out. He was stunned, and yet somehow not surprised. “Wow... but I don’t look like a normal curse.” He could think and feel, “I’m like Mt. Fuji head?”

“I don’t understand it either. I’m so sorry Yuuji— I just couldn’t let you go.” The tears formed again in Megumi’s eyes. “I’d sworn to myself I’d save you, but I failed miserably and for that... n-now you’re a curse.”

“I should be mad at you.” Yuuji knelt down in front of his friend, smiling. “But I’m not. I know all too well how hard it is to let go of people we care about.”

Megumi shook his head. “You don’t understand. I’m being selfish and that’s wrong! I just... I-I just... I love you too much to let you go.”

“You... love me? Like a friend, friend love or...”

Megumi turned away and if it wasn’t so dark his blushing cheeks would be glaringly obvious. “No, the other kind.”

“Brotherly love?”

For a second there, Megumi had to question his own sanity again for failing in love with an idiot. He ran his hand down his face in a huff. “The I wanna kiss you kind! I know you said you like women with big butts and all, but yeah,” he mumbled, “that’s how I feel about you idiot.” His face was truly on fire by this point, only made more difficult by the fact the man he loved was hanging out for all to see.

“Oh!” Yuuji chuckled and sandwiched Megumi’s face between the palms of his hands. “I’m just messing with you. I knew that for a while now.”

“Wait how?!” But dang if seeing Yuuji’s smile again didn’t just melt him. “I kept it hidden.”

“You did, but Sukuna sensed it in you when your domains overlapped, and he showed me.”

Yuuji leaned forward and brought their lips together in an awkward kiss. It was brief, but for Megumi, it solidified how he felt. That yes, he really did love this man and finally! He got to kiss him!

“There was a time I thought Sukuna had a crush on you actually,” Yuuji chuckled. “But then of course, it turned out he just wanted to use you.”

“So... you’re okay with me liking you?” As he spoke, Megumi pulled his coat off and handed it to Yuuji to cover up.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Yuuji smiled and put on the coat. “But what do we do now? Technically I’m not alive, I’m a walking, talking curse.”

“Fuck,” Megumi sighed, his shoulders slumping, “I didn’t exactly think this through, just lost control.”

Yuuji placed a hand on his shoulder, “hey, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Megumi couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled Yuuji into a tight bear hug as renewed tears pooled in his eyes. “I don’t care what you are, I’m just happy to have you back.”

Yuuji returned the hug. “Me too.”

Suddenly, clapping echoed through the darkened room seconds before the light switch was flipped on, causing Megumi to flinch. Shit! They were caught so quickly!

“I had a feeling this would happen.”

It was Gojou’s voice. Aww crap!

Megumi moved Yuuji and placed himself between the two men. “Leave him alone!”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head Megumi Chan, I’m not gonna exorcise him. I followed you here, so if I’d wanted to stop you, I would have done so sooner.”

“You’re messing with me.” Megumi narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “It’s our job to dispatch curses. Why would you make an exception.”

“Yes, under the old ways, but as you know, those ways were destroyed by us. As long as a curse is not a problem, I don’t care if they exist.” Gojou cocked his head in an evil grin. “Yuuji is now for you, as what Rika is for Okkotsu. I didn’t exorcise Rika, did I?”

“No...”

“Exactly!” He clapped his hands together. “Having powerful special grades on our side is a benefit in my eyes,” Gojou moved his mask to reveal his own, “and these eyes know everything,” he winks before affixing the mask. “Besides, who am I to get in the way of love,” he shrugged.

Megumi rolled his eyes at that last jab, but Yuuji let out a sigh of relief. “Gojou sensei, do you know why I’m like this?” He motioned to his body. “Shouldn’t I be more like Rika? But I can think for myself and talk, and I feel... well, normal.”

“That’s a good question!” Gojou cackled and pointed at Yuuji. “I have no idea!”

“Ugh!” Megumi slaps his forehead. This man never changed.

“But,” Gojou grew serious in an instant, “I can guess there are three factors involved.” He held up one finger, “Number one! You, Yuuji are no ordinary human but created by a curse at birth.” Raising a second finger, “Number two! You and Sukuna were bonded at the instance of death, so you’ve fused with him.” Adding a third finger, “and lastly, number three! When one special grade sorcerer curses another former special grade sorcerer, that amount of curse energy wasn’t going to create a lower lever spirit. So, voila! You were made Yuuji!”

“But is it like I still have control of Sukuna or something?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. Do you still sense him?”

Yuuji paused in thought before shaking his head no.

“It’s likely Sukuna’s soul was fully exorcised, and since Megumi was only thinking of you, it was only you that was brought back. This is just the form your cursed energy has taken. We’ll need to test what powers you’ve retained, but from what I’m sensing, they are on par with Sukuna’s residual energy.”

It’s Megumi who speaks up next. “So, is Yuuji allowed back at school?”

“I’ll allow it, provided your classmates don’t mind. Remember, while you can see him, he’s no longer alive, so normal humans won’t see him anymore. He is just a cursed spirit.”

Megumi and Yuuji looked at each other, then back to their teacher with Yuuji taking hold of Megumi’s hand. “I think they’d get mad if we didn’t return,” Yuuji smiled.

Gojou tipped two fingers as he turned to leave, “then I shall see you in class tomorrow. Try to keep the noise down in your room.” He teased with a cackle.

Megumi flushed red. “He’s so irritating.”

“Yeah, but you gotta admit Gojou sensei’s one of the cool ones.”

“Yeah,” Megumi sighed, but smiled. “Guess we should head back to school too.”

Yuuji squeezed his new boyfriend’s hand and nodded. “I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces when I walk in!”

“Just, no practical jokes like phasing through walls to scare them. We don’t need someone actually trying to exorcise you.”

“Oh, right! I’ll behave.” Without warning, Yuuji then swept Megumi into a bridal carry. “Let’s test my powers! I bet I’m faster than Gojou sensei now!”

“Wait! What are you doing?!”

Yuuji grinned down at Megumi with ruby red eyes glowing. “Trust me.” Cause I’ll kill anyone who dares to hurt you now...

#Itafushi #itadori yuuji #fushiguro megumi #yuuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #fushidori #yuuji x megumi #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen manga #jjk spoilers #Itafushi fan fic #Itafushi fan fiction #hurt/comfort #angst with happy ending #fushidori fan fic

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tarithenurse · 4 years ago

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Spark - 6

Fandom: Enn Enn no Shouboutai / Fire Force. Pairing: Shinmon Benimaru x fem!reader. Content: Denial. A glimpse into the past and into some hearts. Lack of proofing. A/N: Et voilá. Feel free to ASK or reblog for tag – in fact: always reblog <3 Thanks to those who have already <3

6. Ember

... Benimaru ...

Wet drops spray the face of the young captain of Company Seven, startling him back to the present where his friend and mentor waits. Konro is meticulously wiping his hands clean of soapy suds, the melancholic eyes hardened with stubbornness.

“What?” Benimaru sighs.

The senior takes his time to clean up the last thing in the kitchen before making them both a cup of tea, and even if Benimaru is getting impatient he knows better than to nag.

“You worry,” Konro finally states.

Yes. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for several minutes. You’re worrying ‘bout [Y/N]...you don’t like that she’s on her own with Haijima and the Temple after her.”

“We don’t know if they are.”

The risk is huge, though, as rumours are circulating – and not just in Asakusa either: a few “leisurely” visits to bars in neighbouring districts had quickly payed off in the form of whispered gossip. And yeah, the people Benimaru had overheard were all civilians but his distrust of the governing bodies fed into what some would consider conspiracy theories.

“...and I don’t worry.”

Simply smiling knowingly, the older man sips his tea and allows the silence to become the answer. Faint notes of jasmine and camellia cocoon them in an attempt to create a fragile, peaceful bubble. Under normal circumstances that would work. This time, however, one of them men remains jittery, his mind losing a battle against unwanted concerns.

“Why would I even worry? You’ve no reason to think that.”

Konro tries to smother a laugh. “I’ve known you since you were a kid, Beni,” he snickers, “and in all that time I’ve never seen anyone get you as riled up as she does.”

“That’s ‘cause she’s infuriating!”

And she is. Uncooperative, stubborn, reckless, unpredictable, strange, intriguing, resourceful, charming (to those she likes). Fuck. Loath to admit it, the captain has to accept that the list of adjectives would be filled with increasingly positive traits if he were to continue trying to define the woman.

It hardly matters, though. It’s been almost a week and despite the rumours flourishing beyond Asakusa, there hasn’t been a single tangible bit of evidence that [Y/N] is still roaming free somewhere. Maybe, she’s taken his warning seriously and done a proper job at hiding this time, but the risk is great that she’s been caught by either of the authorities for testing.

They’d see her as a blank slate. Someone who clearly has some pyrochinetic ability latent, waiting to be triggered and possibly shaped to fit the needs of the situation in which it arises. She’d be an experiment. A test subject bombarded with horrors until either Haijima or the Temple accomplish what they want...or dispose of her as a failure.

“Listen,” Konro tries to appease, “I don’t want her falling into their hands either and I’ve got both eyes and ears open. Maybe we’ll find her in time.”

... Reader ...

Staring at the paper in your hands, the writing blurs in comparison to the picture of two men with attempted smiles – one of them is holding a framed photograph of a pair of sisters, the other father clenches a plushy. Even if the scene is monochrome you know the singed, floppy ear of the toy rabbit is purple. It’s the stiff way they sit that call forth tears which you angrily wipe away. It’s their eyes focused beyond the camera, at whomever choreographed the whole thing from the way they sit to the text which you still haven’t read. You know it’s not the men’s words anyways, despite what the text claims.

“W-where’d y’get this?”

You hate how shaky your voice is. Hate the slight wince that not even the Joker can hide.

“Let’s just say I’ve got...friends in the right places.” The hesitation is obvious to anyone with trust issues, but you decide not to dig into it. “Don’t worry...daddies are still at home, nice and safe and under surveillance in case you show up.”

How? You’d purposely stayed away for more than a year after having seen them through the anguish of rebuilding a life with both daughters gone. Staying away from the neighbourhood and all the places you knew they might frequent...and still they’d been dragged into a manhunt without knowing half of what was going on. Or do they? No. Haijima and the Temple would tell them a lie, that much is clear from the few lines seeping into your consciousness from below the picture. ‘Kidnapped’, ‘vulnerable’, ‘return her home’, ‘reward’.

“Tell me,” your strange rescuer puffs, “why are you so keen on not getting caught by them? They could help you with your powers.”

You suppose it’s a logical question, one that aligns with the plan you’d come up with once the initial panic and concern had faded away during the first weeks alone:

Squeezed in between the dumpsters, you could only see glimpses of the third special fire force company’s battle against the infernals. You could hear the burning screams; wailing, high pitched, cursing the living while craving their souls. One by one, the fiery beings were extinguished. Latôm.

But your legs were shaking too much for you to crawl out of your hiding spot and all you could do was sit and try to breathe. In and out. Thoughts swirled in your head, obscured by a different kind of smoke, and it was the dry voice of one from the third company that brought your attention back to the world:

“What a shame,” he complained in a hush to another, “I was sure it would work this time.”

“More tests,” was the curt answer, “the more we discover and get control over, the closer we’ll get.”

The words held little meaning to a scared teenager but you understood – no, you wanted to think – they were trying to find a way to stop infernals from appearing.

“The faster they combust, the sooner we can find a new Atolla. Burn the place down.”

“Until then...we managed to get those,” the second consoled icily and you saw his shadow point to two children.

Frightened, crying snot so hard that one of them is hiccup’ing, it was clear they didn’t want to be a part of whatever the men were talking about. The first man, wearing a high hat and glasses over a bird-like mask, bend to look at them, giving you the impression that he might as well have been scrutinizing the craftsmanship of a woodworker rather than human beings.

“They won’t be missed?” he inquired.

It seemed to amuse his friend. “Missed? Who’d miss sticky little maggots like these? Besides, it’s for the Cause.”

A few days later, you saw the red-eyed mother handing out homemade pamphlets with description and picture of one of the children.

A week after that, you saw the kid holding on tight to a hand as they walked down a busy street. Not tight enough, though. The boy cried out in distress at being abandoned at first until the confused sounds morphed into screams of agony as flames sprouted from his eyes, arms, body. As you fled the scene, you could have sworn you saw the masked man retreat into an alley.

“I don’t know much about them, but I don’t trust them. They hurt kids. People.”

The Joker pins you down with a long stare of the crazy eye. “Let’s hope you never find out for yourself.”

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keyofjetwolf · 4 years ago

Photo

“Gabrielle, who did this?”

“I did.”

This is it, this is everything this episode has been building to. Not Caesar, not Xena’s checkered past, not her efforts to make amends and rebuild trust, not the plight of the Britons nor the heroism of Boudicea, not religious zealotry and persecution. It’s just Gabrielle, and this choice she made, and the unimaginable repercussions.

Not that it would, because it’s the entire point of the thing, but I can’t say enough about how absolutely unshakable the show is in this having been Gabrielle’s CHOICE. No one can steer this otherwise, they can’t make it pretty and excusable. Not the audience, and not Xena herself. AND OH SHE TRIES. Immediately, Xena seizes a narrative that makes this not Gabrielle’s fault.

The things to love in this are nearly endless, from the simplicity of the exchange to the way it’s performed (SUPERBLY) and shot. There’s something BROKEN in Gabrielle, something Xena keeps willing to still be there, but it’s gone, and as that becomes too true to dismiss, all Xena can do is hug Gabrielle close. Until Krakoa appears and puts a punchable face on the whole thing, but that’s barely relevant.

Like I said, there’s a lot here to love, but let’s start with the smaller, almost incidental thing: how Xena can’t live in the lie. I’ve brought this up a bunch of times, apologies for the repetition, how Gabrielle has such a firm narrative surrounding Xena that she’s built in her head, and it takes years of life together, day in and day out, for the monolith to erode and for Gabrielle to finally see Xena as XENA, warts and all.

Xena has her own version of Gabrielle too, this isn’t just a problem for Gabby to deal with, but as we see here, that problem has nothing to do with refusal to see what’s directly in her face. Twice, Xena tries to deny that Gabrielle has just done the unthinkable. Twice, that’s it, then she accepts what all evidence is screaming at her and ... well, “moves forward” is what I want to say, but as we know, it’s not that simple. She doesn’t keep denying it, though, that’s where I’m going with this, and I love it as a counterpart to the countless times we see Gabrielle given direct hard proof of Xena’s worst impulses, and still she remains absolutely devoted to the parts she wants to believe, because she wants to believe them.

This is going to keep biting Gabby in the ass, and this episode is where the show begins to double down on it. The framework through which is makes those moves is subtle, and brilliant for that subtlety. I mentioned a few times how Caesar in this episode is a red herring, making us think we’re about to watch Xena once again lose all perspective and reason when it comes to fucking up his day. That’s not why we’re here, sad to say for everyone involved (except, I suppose, Caesar), but including him threads the overall ideas a bit deeper in fascinating ways.

When it comes to Xena and Caesar, destruction is the only way things can ever go. Of troops, of strategies, of land, of their friends, of each other. When Caesar betrayed Xena, the only answer she could ever bring was fire and ashes. Dahak and his followers are Gabrielle’s Caesar. She, like Xena, believed the world they spun for her and trusted the place she would have in that world. Also like Xena, when betrayal came, she was left hurt, broken, and forever changed. But while Xena took all that had been done to her and vowed destruction, Gabrielle embraces creation. She NEEDS this to have been something good, needs it to have meant something. She insists that Hope is her child more than Dahak’s and refuses to accept even the possibility that things could go any other way. It comes in a nicer wrapper, certainly, but Gabrielle throws herself into her *ahem* HOPE just as blindly and every bit as reckless as Xena embraces her darkness.

But nothing in the world of Xena is ever that black and white, and Gabrielle’s refusal to deal with the trauma of what’s happened to her and what she’s done sends her into a different but parallel spiral to Xena. Gabrielle’s judgment in the wake of all this becomes massively and completely fucked, as we’ll see all too plainly with The Debt in a hot second. Gabby is now primed and ready to step off a cliff she’s carved for herself, the repercussions for which will continue to haunt her through Season 4.

All this is even more incredible when you realize this moment in The Deliverer is one the show has been carefully, intentionally building toward, reaching all the way back to a little tiny thing from two years and nearly fifty episodes previous. Hello to Season 1 Episode 3′s “Dreamworker”.

This whole exchange carries incredible weight just on its own, particularly given that it’s so early in the series. We know Xena’s speaking from experience, that when she killed for the first time, when she realized she could (and maybe even liked it?), she stopped being the person she was and took her first step toward the monster she would become.

What we of course don’t know then, couldn’t possibly, is that this isn’t just Xena talking to Gabrielle, but Gabrielle talking to herself. She echoes back these exact words to Xena (who knows, she already knows, how she must hate hearing the certainty of it from Gabrielle).

SO GOOD SO SO SO GOOD. What a kick in face, too, to go back and rewatch the scene in Dreamworker on the heels of this, to see Gabrielle so young and fresh-faced and naive to this broken woman who’s seen and done too much.

But the Dreamworker moments don’t stop! Gabrielle’s “blood innocence” is a central idea in that episode, too, with the first act showcasing how she pretty much isn’t listening to a single goddamn thing Xena is trying to teach her. Denied a sword, Gabby goes behind Xena’s back and buys a weapon of her very own.

Which Xena of course immediately discovers and confiscates. We see the boob dagger come back at random times throughout the series, usually as a little nudge-nudge continuity callback, which I genuinely appreciate. That’s all it ever is, up until it isn’t.

It’s not exaggeration to say the boob dagger changes the momentum of this fight. Xena’s losing, and losing pretty badly, but the surprise weapon and the proof of Krakow’s own mortality throws him off, and gives Xena just enough of an edge to win. Could she have pulled it off without the dagger? She’s Xena, so probably, but looking at the fight as it happened, the dagger was crucial.

SO HERE’S WHAT I FUCKING LOVE ABOUT THAT. Is Xena specifically using the boob dagger to win a statement on how all of this was inevitable? If Gabrielle hadn’t bought the dagger, Xena wouldn’t have taken it, and she wouldn’t have had it on-hand to beat Kravenedge. Gabrielle was the vehicle for this violence, in the distant and recent past both.

But she’s just as much the vehicle for putting a stop to it. Had Gabrielle not bought that dagger, Xena may well have lost this fight, and setting aside this specific conflict, a world without Xena is a darker, bloodier place. Had Gabrielle not stopped the cultists, even as she played directly into their hands, someone else would have been their sacrifice, another would have been chosen to bring Dahak’s child into the world. Odds are high that person wouldn’t have a Warrior Princess at their side. Odds are high that person wouldn’t have the heart and love and willingness to sacrifice as Gabrielle. Dahak’s time is now, and he is coming. He uses Gabrielle to make it happen, but by her actions, it’s Gabrielle herself who stops those plans and saves the world.

When the dust settles and we have the full picture, it becomes clear that all along, It’s Gabrielle who is The Deliverer.

#jet wolf watches xena #xena ep 3x04 #BOY WAS THIS AN INTERESTING DAY AND TIME TO TRY AND FINISH THIS UP AND BRING IT ON HOME #now if you'll all excuse me #i have to go immerse myself in busy work that does not actually require my brain to be present

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raminboots · 3 years ago

Text

↱ Unfortunate Circumstances ↲

Inspired by @chasing-starlights story about villain accidentally drugging a hero with a love potion

.・゜゜・ ♡ ・゜゜・．

“Get away from me you cretin!”

A large bang was heard throughout the city of Harfields as the city's favorite hero chased down his ten-legged nemesis. More specifically, the ten-legged man was jumping from building to building as the other one chased him down while flying. Moe was rushing all he could, feeling the adrenaline pump throughout his body as he hopped from one roof to another.

Although it wasn’t really him that did it, it was with the help of the mechanical spider-like legs that were protruding out of his back. He had eight of them, all connected to his brain and working together as actual limbs. Moe was a special case in the war between good and bad. Most of them, whether it was a hero or a villain, had some sort of power. Not Moe, he was a regular person, and to make up for that, he used machinery.

He had a bunch of body and limb enhancers, like his spider legs. But he also had a plethora of others that he stored on his body. But, they had a tendency to overheat or even break in the midst of battle.

The man was rushing with a briefcase pressed to his chest, holding on to it for dear life as he practically threw himself from roof to roof, taking sharp turns, dipping down in between buildings and even crashing into one apartment's window and out of another. All of this in desperation of shaking off the hero who was on his tail. Moe couldn’t lose the briefcase, he just couldn’t. He wouldn’t know what to do if he did.

“You know, running will get you nowhere, Arachnid!” He could hear the hero shout at him from behind, all this did was fuel the fire as he picked up the pace out of pure spite.

“Oh we’ll see about that one!” That was the only thing he had to say to that moronic meathead. But he would soon have to eat his own words as one of his legs got tangled up in two of the other spider legs, causing the whole thing to trip up and for Moe to fall down. Now, that wouldn’t have been too bad if he had fallen on the hard rooftop, it would have been humiliating but it wouldn’t have caused him too much pain.

Instead, he had to have fallen just before he was supposed to jump. So when he fell, he fell straight off the 30 feet tall building head first. He let out a cry of horror as he closed his eyes, waiting for the hard impact of the ground.

But it never came, instead, he felt his body jolt up as it stopped completely mid air. At first he thought that one of his enhancers had been caught on some wire or pipe sticking out from the building, that was until he heard a light chuckle from above him. Oh no.

He tensed up. As he looked up, he saw that the person who had indeed caught him was none other than Mr. Fire himself. Thomas Clément, more commonly known in the hero industry as Wildfire. He was intense, headstrong, insanely determined and robust. And he was Moe’s personally assigned hero.

You see, in the city of Harfields, there were two kinds of people. Normal humans and mutants. These mutants were gifted with divine powers and abilities that made them all powerful. And of course, the government was going to take advantage of that. They created an organisation called The Hero Preparation Foundation, or H.P.F for short. This was where mutants could train and earn their title as a hero. After that they were allowed to go out into the world and serve justice.

But not everyone who was a mutant wanted to be a hero. But the city didn’t care, and more often than not, resisting mutants either got forced into training or got locked up, getting labelled as “too dangerous” to walk freely.

In response to this horrid treatment, a small set of individuals created a resistance. The group went against all of the ideals of the H.P.F because of their corrupt ways. And as the cause got stronger, the more mutants joined, and sooner or later, the group became an underground organisation with hundreds of members. And Moe was one of those members.

But the thing was, once H.P.F got wind as to what was happening, they started a program where they documented each “villain”, as they called them, that was publically known. That would include all their powers, goals and attacks. Then they would try to find the best matching hero to “assign” to that villain, that way, whenever the villain was up to something, their hero would be notified and they would handle them. This way, they streamlined all the hero's work and made it easier to deal with.

Wildfire was assigned to Moe, and at first, Moe didn't understand why. Why would they assign a fire-type hero to a mechanic-type villain. But he would soon learn the hard way just why this combo was so effective. Wildfire’s powers included many different types of fire manipulation, including creating compact balls of flames that he could shoot and throw.

Moe couldn’t count all the times he’d massecared one of his machines or blown up one of his equipment. He could always rebuild them of course, there was a reason that he was called the mechanical spider. Whenever he was building his movements were fast, sharp and very persize. He could build things that would take days in just a couple of hours. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying whenever Wildfire destroyed the shit he’d been working on.

The hero was looking at him with a playful smirk, not a menacing or mean-spirited one, rather one filled with amusement and glee. And that, in Moe’s opinion, was way worse.

“Well well well. If it isn’t my favorite spider. How’s it hanging, mon moitié?” The man said as he looked down at Moe who was in a very compromisable position. He couldn’t help but scoff at his stupid pun. And the french didn’t help his annoyance. He hated when Wildfire spoke french to him, because he couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

“Go to hell.” The hero quirked his eyebrow at this, a smile still remaining on his face.

“Ouch! Such hostility, what did I ever do to deserve this kind of treatment, Arachnid?” He asked in an exaggerated voice, Moe rolled his eyes, ignoring him. “Aww come on, is this really how you treat your friends?” Moe felt annoyance build up in his body as he heard this. Although, Wildfire couldn’t see this annoyance on his face since he wore a gas mask that covered half of his face and a pair of goggles, blocking out both his face and his eyes.

“Shut up! We’re not friends, we’ve never been friends and we never will be!” He kicked his legs slightly in frustration, making his body dangle slightly in Wildfire’s grasp.

“You know, you’ve got a lot of balls saying this stuff for someone in your position.”

“What are you going to do? Drop me? I thought you hero’s were supposed to be better than us.” Moe could admit, if it was anyone else holding him he would not be talking like this. But it was Wildfire, it was Thomas. That big idiot would never drop him. He has a strict no killing policy and he has never broken that policy throughout his years as a hero. He doubted that he would break this policy now.

“Nah, you’re holding onto something way too important for me to drop you.” Moe thought for a second before he remembered what he was holding.

“The briefcase? I’ll drop it! I swear to god I’ll drop it if you don’t put me down!”

“You wouldn't.”

“Oh I so would!”

“Okay, then I’ll drop you and catch the briefcase.” This caught Moe slightly off guard. He knew deep down that Wildfire wouldn't, but it would be so easy for him to drop him if he felt like it.

Wildfire sighed, running a hand through his brown curly hair. This only brought the fact that he was holding Moe with one hand to his attention. He would say that it was impressive but Moe knew about his super-human strength. And he’s not going to compliment him for doing one of the three things he was good at as a hero; Fire-casting, flying and being strong.

“Look. How about you just hand over the briefcase and we can spare you any extra embarrassment once you get home to your little villain hide-out.” At first, Moe was confused by this statement. That was until he looked down and saw a pretty sizable crowd that had formed at the bottom of the building. Any and all confidence that Moe had left his body as he felt his face heat up.

“Put me down! Right now! I’m telling you, you better-” Moe was interrupted.

“Say the magic words.” After Wildfire said that, Moe shot a glare at him, and after that he looked down once more. People were watching and some were even filming, but the two were very high up so he doubted that they could hear him. After a couple of seconds of consideration he sighed as he kept his gaze away from Wildfire. And he remained like that for a good minute or two. At this point he didn’t care if people were watching, he had already embarrassed himself enough, he wasn’t about to lose his last piece of dignity by playing Wildfires games. It didn’t take long before the hero sighed, and that was when Moe knew that at least in one way, he had won. Certainly not in any significant way, but it was at least something.

And so, the hero flew away. He flew with the villain dangling from his grasp, as he lowered himself down into an alleyway a bit away from the crowd. As soon as he was put down, Moe immediately tried to scramble away like a scared cat, but he didn’t get very far.

“Oh no you don’t. Come back here.” Wildfire grabbed a hold of one of the spider-legs and yanked it backwards, effectively pulling Moe back and also severing the leg. “Oh shit, sorry ‘bout that one. God, you oughta make them a bit stronger.”

“A bit stronger? You have superhuman strength! What do you want me to do? Get some indestructible material? You’re such an idiot- '' Before Moe could finish, a hand slammed itself mere inches from his face, making him flinch as he looked back at the hero towering over him.

“Listen, Arachnid. I’m really tired today, why don’t you just cut to the chase and give me the briefcase.” Moe hugged the briefcase to his chest, clutching onto it as he looked away from Wildfire. He sighed in response. “I will rip it out of your hands if I have to, and I don’t think any of us wants that.” Moe looked down at the briefcase one last time, furrowing his eyebrows before letting out a defeated sigh.

Looking at the ground, he extended the hand holding the case to the hero, and he grabbed it, very gently. Sometimes it was almost painful to Moe to feel how careful Wildfire was with him. He didn’t understand why he didn’t just rip the case out of his hands, why he didn’t let him fall, why he never aimed for Moe when throwing his fire balls. He had been presented with so many opportunities to hurt him, to kill him, and yet, he never did.

Without another word, only a glance over at Moe, Wildfire flew away, leaving Moe alone in the alleyway.

…

“Yes Mark, it would seem like the young hero Wildfire managed to secure a briefcase from The Mad Arachnid earlier today nearby the H.P.F headquarters. When asked about the contents of the briefcase or the villains whereabouts, the hero had this to say,”

The faint sound from a television plagued Moe’s mind as he walked through the streets of Harfields. It sat in the window of a television shop, broadcasting a news channel that was talking about the battle that had occured only minutes earlier. He looked at it, tuning out the sounds and feeling his gaze get stuck. Soon he looked at his reflection in the display window. His eyes were tired and unfocused. One big benefit from having a mask and goggles during his fights was that no one, not even Thomas could see what he was thinking.

After their fight, Moe had fled and hid away in a separate dark alleyway. He couldn’t be in the same one that Thomas had dropped him off at, there would surely be cops and people crowding the area. He needed a quiet space where he could not only calm down but also change out of his disguise since he didn’t want to draw any unneeded attention to him by walking home in his villain outfit. And once he calmed down, that’s what he did.

Hiding behind a big dumpster, he threw off his spider leg compartments by removing his backplate from under his trenchcoat. It had started to heat up during their battle and Moe was left with the uncomfortable heat on his back as he changed into his spare shirt and jacket that he had brought with him. He didn’t want to say that he expected to lose, but he believed that you should, as he was taught, hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

He took off his lower half gas-mask and thick goggles feeling like he could breathe properly and fully. He put his long hair into a ponytail as he pulled the hood from his jacket over his head.

He walked out of the damp alley and out into the streets of Harfields, feeling a pit start to form in his stomach as it finally started to settle in what had just happened, he just lost the briefcase full of the H.P.F intel.

Feeling himself snap back to reality he realised that he had zoned out in front of the tv. It showed a picture of him, The Mad Arachnid, along with phrases like “be on the lookout” and “Call immediate authorities if seen”.

He stuck his hands in his pockets as he muttered to himself while walking home. He couldn’t exactly take a bus there since public transport was on hold because of their fight, and he just had to get away from the main part of the city as fast as he could. Pulling on his hoodie strings, he grumbled and kept up his pace, trying to walk as fast as he could. Part of him contemplated even going back to the headquarters, he knew what was waiting for him there. But he knew the rules and what he had to do.

“How could you let this happen! Don’t you understand just how important those files were!?” Moe flinched as he got cursed out by one of the leaders of the organisation. They called him Raven. That was his only alias, only a handful of people knew his real name. The reason he was called Raven was because of his mechanical wings that he used to fly around, accompanied by a pair of claw-like gloves and a plague doctor mask. It was easy to see where Moe had gotten his inspiration for his costume from.

But Raven was similar to Moe in more ways than one. He too had no powers at all. He used his wings to get around and claws to attack. Although, since he was the leader and symbol of their movement, Raven didn’t actually attack all that often. He mostly helped people who trained, held meetings and planned out all the attacks.

“… I’m sorry…” Moe mumbled as he looked down on the table in front of him, feeling the shame drape over him like the very trench coat he wore. He was currently sitting inside Raven's office, getting lectured by the older villain. He let out a sigh as he looked at the shrunken up boy, whether that was with pity or disappointment didn’t make a difference to Moe. Nothing that Raven thought of him in that moment wasn’t something that Moe hadn’t thought of himself.

“Listen to me kid-”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Don’t… interrupt me.” Raven told the younger villian off. “You’ve got a lot of potential, alright?” This was what Raven always told Moe when he failed. You’ll get them next time, you have a lot of potential, you just need to work on your attacks.

Despite all his encouragement, Moe had a painful lose-to-win ratio, having barely won two or three fights while losing the rest. At what point do you just throw in the towel? Raven was conflicted, as his mentor he wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he would get stronger the more he trained. But as his boss he had to ask himself, was this all worth it? He wanted to see him thrive and grow, but at times it didn’t even feel as if Moe himself wanted to grow.

“... Don’t feel too bad about the files. We can just wait a few months and send someone else.” Moe didn’t expect to be allowed the mission again, but it still hurt to hear Raven admit that he screwed up, enough to deny any second chance.

Moe only nodded his head at this. Refusing to make eye contact with Raven. It pained Raven to see such a sad sight. He knew Moe was super passionate about their cause, joining them despite not having any powers. And no matter how many times he lost, he always returned. That’s why he didn’t want to give up on him, he was more devoted to their stand than most of their members.

Since their cause grew bigger and bigger, more people started to join just to have an excuse to commit crimes. They didn’t care about the resistance or the others involved, so to have someone like Moe, it wasn’t something you saw everyday.

“Why don’t you just lay low for a while, alright? You’ve been out on a lot of missions lately. You should go home and relax, you’ve been pushing yourself too much and I think it’s getting to you.” Moe let out a sharp breathy laugh, he knew that Raven was probably right, but it didn’t feel very good to be sent home when he should be doing something. But the laugh was short lived as he got quiet.

“… Alright sir, I will.”

As Moe walked out of his office and down the hallways of the HQ, he could feel almost a dozen eyes plastering onto him. He knew what they were all thinking. He was known as the runt of the organisation. Nothing but a waste of space and resources. He knew what they said to him behind closed doors. All of them, nothing but snakes.

Speaking of snakes, Moe sighed as he heard a certain low chuckle, a chuckle that anyone who’s been working there would know about. Turning his attention to one of the darker areas at the end of the hallway he could see two glowing eyes staring back at him.

“Hello, Serpent.” The black serpent, she was an infamous trickster among villains. Through her battles she proved two things; she saw everything as a game, laughing and messing around during her missions, but she also proved that she was quite useful when it came to winning. She had won so many of her battles, she was the complete opposite of Moe, having a drastically higher win streak than her lose streak. Everyone knew that she was one of the people who joined just to cause chaos, but it didn’t matter. She could care fuck all about the cause, she was simply too valuable of an asset to lose. And so, she got to stay.

“Evening to ya. Heard you totally busted your last mission.” She giggled as she formed out from the shadows, having only been a mist with two glowing eyes up until then.

“...”

“Yeah it was really embarrassing as well,” she let out yet another mocking laugh. “It was like, broadcasted to all of us. We got to see that sweet failure in raw HD.”

“If you’re just here to mock me then you can piss off. I don’t have time to talk to you.” He started to walk away, and that was when Serpent quickly turned into mist and slid in front of him. She reformed once more, much closer to him this time. Causing him to flinch back.

“Amazingly enough, I’m actually not here just to mock you.” Keyword being just. “I’m actually here to make you an offer.” Now this actually intrigued Moe quite a bit.

“What do you mean? What… kind of deal?” He asked, this made the shadow manipulator smirk. She got him.

“What Raven says about you isn’t false Moe,” he tensed up as she used his real name. They’re not supposed to refer to each other by their actual names unless it’s really urgent or serious. Although, Serpent was quite liberal with her use of these names, specifically Moe’s.

“You’ve got a lot of potential. But here’s the thing, those bastards at H.P.F are really good at matching heroes with villains, and it just so happens that they paired you up with a really good one. I think the only thing holding you back is your failures, if you could just win a couple of battles against that meathead, I’m sure you’ll get even better!” Moe picked at his fingers as he looked away from the taller woman in front of him.

“But… wouldn’t that be… cheating? What are you even going to do?” He asked, the woman started to walk away, nudging her head in his opposite direction, signaling for him to follow her.

“Since when have we ever followed the rules? There are no cheaters in this game, only winners and losers. I’m not gonna kill him or anything like that, then they would just send another hero. No, what if I told you there was a way for you to be able to completely control him? To control that wildfire that has been plaguing your life!” Moe fidgeted uncomfortably with the ends of his shirt as he interjected.

“How would you even do that?” Serpent only chuckled in response.

“A potion.” Of course. Serpent was known for her work with potions and other kinds of magic.

“How would I ever get close enough to give him the potion though?” Serpent sighed as she turned back to Moe, her eyebrow twitching slightly.

“God, do you ever stop whining. Figure it out. Doesn’t that big dope hold a bunch of fan meetups all the time? Just go dressed as a fan and give him a pastry with the potion inside of it. This seems way too easy for you to be complaining this much.” Suddenly, she stopped, turning back to Moe and grabbing his shoulders.

“Imagine it, you could play him like a fiddle- no, like a cheap kazoo! All with your own mind! You could finally win!” She was shaking him slightly, trying to build up anticipation in him. Moe pulled away, backing away from the woman. This only made her sigh as she rolled her eyes. “There you go again with your ‘oh god Serpent is crazy’ look. If you’re too much of a coward to do it that’s fine. But remember, if you ever change your mind,” She walked closer to him, placing a small card in his shirt pocket,

“You know where to find me.”

It was dusk, the sky was a orange hue. Moe liked the color a lot, it was really comforting to him for whatever reason. He had taken a train back home and now he was standing outside of his apartment, digging through his pockets to find them. After taking them out he hesitated slightly before he put the keys in and opened the door.

“Welcome home, Moe. How was today?” The monotonous voice of his assistant greeted him as soon as he entered his home. They were looking at him, eyes glowing as he turned on the lights in the apartment. There had been quite a few times that he had woken up to those terrifying yellow eyes staring at him in the middle of the night, but at this point he was pretty used to it.

“Not great.” His answer was short and sweet. He found that it was easier to not lie around E.S.A.H and just get their daily checkup done.

“Would you like to tell me about it or not?” They responded according to program.

“No thank you.” Moe said as he walked inside, going into his kitchen.

“Could you rate your day from 1 to 10 for me please?” They asked, following behind him, hands behind their back.

“Like, a 2? Maybe a 3? Yeah, a 3.” He answered, taking out a cold drink from the fridge. This was a standard procedure between the two. E.S.A.H would run a fairly simple checkup to make sure he was alright. If anything went wrong they would report to Raven and Storm, the second leader of the cause. Moe learned very quickly that he couldn’t be sarcastic with the bot after a bad joke led to a very awkward phone call with a very upset Raven.

“And how would you rate your overall well being at the moment?” Moe let out a breathy sigh as he thought to himself.

“Probably a 5. I’ll go with 5.” As he walked into his small living room, he threw himself on the couch and turned on the TV, absentmindedly flipping through all the channels, but he stopped once he came across an interview with none other than Wildfire. They were, presumably, talking about the fight earlier that day. Moe scoffed and was just about to change channels when he heard something.

“So, Wildfire,”

“Please, call me Thomas.” He was so pretentiously humble. Moe rolled his eyes.

“Ah, of course. Thomas, is there any reason why you can’t tell us where The Mad Arachnid went?” The interviewer asked. Moe tensed up slightly, looking towards the TV.

“What…” He mumbled to himself. And for once, Moe turned up the volume and listened.

“Well, sadly it’s classified H.P.F information.” Moe stopped paying attention as his own thoughts got louder than the TV.

Bullshit. In almost every single case of a villain escaping, the H.P.F always came out with at least a statement about where they believe the villain might be residing. There’s absolutely no reason as to why HIS whereabouts would be classified.

Was Thomas… Lying? Was he lying about their fight? He practically let him get away! He always does! Everytime they fight, he always lets him go, he never aims for him, he never lets him fall, he never reveals where he is or what happened. He grumbled as turned away from the TV.

“Are you okay? You seem upset?” E.S.A.H asked, looking over at Moe.

“I don’t need his pity…” Moe said to himself, completely ignoring the robot. E.S.A.H tilted their head in confusion as they could see Moe take out a card from his pocket.

“What’s that?” They asked, looking at him with wonder.

“It’s…” Moe looked down at the card. The phone number almost felt like it was calling to him, wanting for him to call it. That’s when a voice on the TV brought him out of his trance.

“So, you’re going to be holding a meetup of some sort on saturday?”

“Yes! I want to… well it sounds kinda silly, but I want to give back to the people for getting me this far!”

“And you’re not worried about any crazy fans?”

“Oh please, I fight villains for a living. I can handle anything at this point.” The hero smiled and laughed slightly as they continued the interview. Moe thought to himself for a second, looking down at the card in his hand. He stood up from his couch and walked towards his room.

“It’s nothing you have to worry about. Now,” He looked back at the robot one last time before opening the door to said room.

“I have to make a phone call…”

#this first chapter was mostly a build up and an introduction to all the characters #in the next chapter it's going to get really good #but for now #take this #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #hero x villain #villain x hero #found family #villains and heroes #heros and villains #writeblr

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iliumheightnights · 4 years ago

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We Have A Jedi [15] | Peter Parker x Male Reader

Fandom: Star Wars, Marvel

Pairing: Peter Parker x Son Reader, Peter Parker x Male Reader

Summary: A distress call brings (M/N) back to earth, possibly for the last time.

Read from the beginning

A/N: HAHAHAHA We’re getting closer to the fun things.

...

The Republic Cruiser Lightbringer.

(M/N) and Sheyo had joined their masters in the defense of the systems around Alderaan. As expected, the empire took the glassing of Alderaan as an opportunity to strike hard and fast against the surrounding systems. After a week of nonstop combat it seemed that things were finally stabilizing as the Empire was being pushed back from the Alderaan system.

Luckily, Alderaan, while being heavily devastated, was not as destroyed as they thought. Large portions of the planet were still habitable and there were still survivors. Still even with the planet remaining intact and with survivors, the casualty count was in the millions. The base that (M/N) and Sheyo had been in was completely obliterated, along with house Organa’s palace. Now that the fighting over the planet had finished, the rebuilding process was able to begin.

(M/N) was standing at the window in his room looking over the ravage planet. The devastation was large, but the sight of so many ships in orbit ready to help filled him with hope. No matter what this war would bring, hope would survive as long as everyone worked together. As he observed his comms went off, checking he saw it was coming from his father. This wasn’t a normal call though, it was a distress call.

(M/N) couldn’t answer the call since it was only putting out a beacon. He quickly called his mom who came in no time. “(M/N) what is it?” He didn’t waste any time in showing her the beacon. “It’s from my old communicator. It’s from dad. He’s in trouble. We have to help.” Janai sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry (M/N). I know you want to help your dad but we can’t. If the council finds out we left they’d come after us, I’ll protect you know matter what. I’m sorry but we’re not going.” She didn’t say anything else as she left the room. “Well I am.” He muttered under his breath.

Grabbing his things he went to find Sheyo. “Looking for me?” He turned to find his friend coming up to him. “Your mom said for me to keep an eye on you. Where are we off to?” He smiled at her before pulling her along. The two made it to the hangar and found the shuttle they had arrived on. “Alright. We’re going to have to be quick to get out of here. We're going to get in a lot of trouble...you sure you want to come?” Sheyo nodded. “Yep. If someone’s in trouble, we’re supposed to help. Plus you’re my best friend, we’re gonna get in trouble together.”

They both checked around and when the coast was clear they both booked it for the shuttle. What they hadn’t expected when they boarded was to see Janai and Master Dia there. “So, what part of we’re not going did you not understand?” Janai said. “Sheyo. You know better than this.” Dia said, causing Sheyo to close up a bit. “You’re not going to let this go are you?” Janai asked (M/N), who nodded. “I can’t just leave them. Ignoring the fact he’s my father, we can’t just let people who need our help down!” Janai sighed. “What do you say Dia? Up for a side trip back to Earth?” Dia smirked and went to the ship's controls. “Wouldn’t be the first time I disobeyed the council for you.”

That's how the small group found themselves on their way to earth. “So your father didn’t say anything?” Sheyo asked him. “No. It’s just a beacon. But I have a feeling something really bad has happened.” If only he was wrong. Arriving at Earth they followed the location of the beacon and stumbled on something they weren’t expecting. “Is that...is that city flying?” In front of them a large chunk of the ground was being lifted up by repulsors with a city on it. “We got tons of heat signatures. There’s still people up there...and a lot of electric kinetic energy. Like...a LOT.” Janai stood up and walked to the door of the ship. “Dia. Keep this shuttle airborne. (M/N), Sheyo, with me. We’ll help out with whatever’s going on.”

The door of the shuttle opened and the three jedi jumped to the city below. The city had been ravaged, people ran around them afraid. It reminded (M/N) of the battle of New York years ago. “There!” Sheyo pointed out and he turned to see droids landing on the ground, seeming to be targeting anyone really. “Take them out! Defend the civilians!” The three ignited their lightsabers and pushed the attack.

(M/N) deflected the bolts of energy back onto the droids, destroying them. Sheyo joined by his side and helped cut through the oncoming waves of enemies. “So, is it just me or do these things look like a messed up version of your dad’s ironman suit?” It was only then that (M/N) actually took a closer look at the droids. Sheyo was right, the droids had a similar face plate to his fathers but had a bit of a difference. “Oh dad, what did you do?”

“Incoming!” His mother shouted and he saw a large wave of droids rushing their way. “There’s too many of them for us to handle!” Sheyo said. (M/N) quickly surveyed the surrounding area to find anything that might help them. That help came in the form of a wrecked bus. Perfect. He reached out both hands and focused on the bus. It took everything from him to lift the wreck and launch it at the wave of incoming hostels. The good news was that it took out a large chunk of the droids, allowing the three to cut the rest down.

Dia’s voice cut through the comms. “These things are trying to take me out but I’m handling it. A new ship arrived...a big one! But they seem to be friendlies they’re helping evacuate civilians. They could use some more help though.” The three didn’t need to be told again and made their way to the location. Upon their arrival (M/N)’s eyes widened as he saw the helicarrier. He thought they had been destroyed when Steve told him about the whole Hydra ordeal. Speaking of Steve, he saw the supersoldier and Nat helping protect the people from the droids.

A swarm of droids descended on the civilians and (M/N) rushed to protect. He watched as Steve became surrounded and he quickly sprung into action. Jumping over a wrecked car he ignited his blades and sliced through the droids. He blocked some blaster fire and started speaking. “I leave for a couple days and this is what happens? Aren’t you supposed to be earth’s mightiest?” He smirked and Steve let out a laugh grabbing his shield before throwing it at the droids. “Hey, blame your dad for this one.” (M/N) jumped over Steve and cut the head off another droid. “Oh I am! Now where’d this carrier come from? I thought you said they were all destroyed!” He blocked more bolts and Steve smashed his shield into the chest of another droid. “Fury.” He simply said and (M/N) nodded his head. “Sounds about right.”

The sound of familiar repulsors came to his ears and he looked up to watch his father fly past firing at some droids that were flying. He also noticed how Rhodey had joined the fight. “When did he join the avengers?” He also watched as a man with what looked like wings flew by. “And who’s that?” Steve smiled and patted (M/N)’s shoulder. “Sam. Come on, we have to protect the core!” Janai followed (M/N) but Sheyo stayed with the civilians. “Go! I’ll protect the people here. Go protect whatever the core is!”

Steve and Nat lead them to where the core was. They were met with the others and his father quickly hugged him. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be out there.” (M/N) stopped and pulled back looking at Tony confused. “What do you mean? I came because of the distress beacon you sent out.” Tony seemed confused, even through the armor. “I didn’t send out any beacon.” A robotic voice called out. “I did.” He turned to see another droid but looked much more put together than the others. “Welcome home (M/N) Stark. Let’s see if the jedi are actually up to par.” (M/N) ignited his lightsabers, Janai joining him. “Is this the best you can do!?” Thor shouted at the droid. In that moment a large swarm of droids came rushing. “You just HAD to ask. Didn’t you?” (M/N) glared at Thor who smiled sheepishly.

The main robot continued his speech. “This is what I wanted. All of you against me. How could you possibly hope to stop me?” Tony powered up his suit again and stood firm next to his son. “Well,like the old man said. Together.” And in an instant (M/N) was once again fighting side by side with the avengers. During the fight, (M/N) noticed three new members he hadn’t met yet. One was a man who was incredibly fast, another was a woman who seemed to have a strange red glow around her, the other a man who could fly...and was that the mind stone?!

During the fight he also found out what the head droid’s name was. Ultron. The flying man with the mind stone shot out a beam knocking Ultron away from the rest of the attack, Thor and Tony followed after shooting their own beams at the droid. Not wanting it to get away (M/N) focused on the force and thought of a technique he had never tried before. He had only seen it be used by Master Plo once before. It was the Jedi's version of force lightning. Force Judgement. He shot out his hands and orange bolts of lightning began zapping Ultron. He could have sworn he saw Thor smirk at him. (M/N) even smirked as he watched the lightning hit Ultron, he was able to actually do it. He used force judgement! They all stopped firing on Ultron. “You know, with the benefit of hindsight…” He didn’t get to finish his sentence as Hulk came in and punched him, sending him flying. “Hey Hulk!” The colossal green man turned to (M/N) who lifted up a thumb. “Nice work bud!” Hulk smiled and grinned at him before running off. Ultron’s bots began retreating. “We can’t let them leave the city!” His dad said. “We have another problem, the airs getting thin. We need to hurry up.” Janai said approaching them.

The civilians still needed to be evacuated and (M/N) found himself following Steve, Nat and Clint. “So...you come from space?” (M/N) looked at the man beside him, the new one. “Yep. And you run fast.” The man faked an insulted look. “You insult me. I’m the fastest man alive.” (M/N) shook his head and rolled his eyes but let a chuckle escape him. At least if he died here he died in good company. Steve was sweeping for stragglers while the rest had met up with Sheyo and helped evacuate the remaining people. The evacuation had been going alright and (M/N) was making sure that no bots got close enough to anyone. Then he felt like something was off. He turned and watched as Clint grabbed a boy and Pietro, the new man, seemed to rush for him. He noticed an ultron bot begin firing at Clint and the boy, but Pietro would be the one to take them. No, he wasn’t going to lose anyone today. Without even thinking (M/N) let out a scream releasing all of his anger and the bot and it’s bullets froze in time. Clint and Pietro looked at the frozen bot and (M/N). With his anger, (M/N) brought his hands together and the bullets and bot came crushing in on itself. Clint, the boy and Pietro were alright. They were alive. (M/N) became light headed and leaned on the side of a building. He had just tapped in and used the darkside. What the scariest part was, was how natural it came to him. Soon he found himself being lifted up and quickly moved. Pietro had moved him to one of the boats. “You stay here. You’ve done enough protecting people!” Then Pietro was gone, going to find his sister. The last thing (M/N) noticed was Hulk jumping after a jet before falling into darkness.

…

He woke up in a nice bed. Around him were monitors and wires, so he was in a med room. Unlike other med rooms and units he had been in, this one actually seemed more relaxed and comfortable. There was a window and he noticed how he was on the ground, not in the air. He wondered what happened? What remained of that city? Did all the people escape? Then he thought of what happened before he passed out. He used the dark side. The one thing he was never supposed to do and he did it. He stopped thinking of it, if he continued to think over it, it would consume him.

Sitting up, he stepped out of the bed. The machines began to beep but (M/N) simply turned them off. He was still dressed like how he had when they arrived. He moved to the door and opened it up to an empty hallway. He looked around him but didn’t recognize where he was. “You’re awake!” He recognized that voice. With a rush of air, Pietro was standing in front of him smiling at him. “Welcome back my friend! I gotta say you scared us there with how quickly you passed out.” Another voice joined them. “Oh leave him alone.” The woman that was there too walked up to them leaning on Pietro. “I’m Wanda. We haven’t gotten to meet yet. My brother told me about what you did. Thank you for saving his life.” (M/N) rubbed the back of his neck and smiled. “No problem. Didn’t want to lose anyone, especially the ONE person with an actual sense of humor.” They all laughed, but Wanda began walking. “Come on. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you’re awake.”

The twins took him to another room where Tony and Steve were talking with Janai, Dia and Sheyo. “(M/N)! You’re awake!” Sheyo shouted when she spotted him. His mother smiled at him but Tony charged at him pulling him into a hug. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” (M/N) patted Tony’s back. “Love you too dad.” Steve came up and patted (M/N)’s shoulder. “Pietro and Clint told us what happened. Good work kid.” (M/N)’s smile faltered a bit but only a bit. “I’m sorry to interrupt this touching moment, but I hate to say we must be leaving. We’ve been gone for too long already.” Janai said and (M/N) felt how his father deflated a bit. “Oh, yeah of course. Better get going.” He could see how Tony was down again and (M/N) was going to say something when the man with the mind stone came floating through the wall! “Excuse me sir. There’s a ship approaching the base.” Everyone was confused. “Ship? What do you mean Vision?”

Exiting the base, they watched as a ship came flying towards the base. “Oh no.” Janai said, then turning to Tony. “Don’t say anything. You know us as friends from when I was here years ago.” Tony and the others seemed confused. “That’s a Jedi ship. This isn’t about to be good.” The ship landed and the ramp opened. (M/N)’s breath hitched as he watched five temple guards walk down the ramp. (M/N) and Janai walked forward. “Janai Udera. You have been summoned by the Jedi Council.” The head guard said. Janai bowed. “Off course. My padawan and I shall leave immediately.” The guard held up a hand. “He will go, but not as your padawan.” The man turned to (M/N). “(M/N) Stark, for breaking the rules of the Jedi order you are placed under arrest. You will be stripped of your weapons and taken before the Jedi Council to be judged.” The other guards surrounded him, taking his lightsabers and igniting their own creating a block between him and the avengers. “Master Dia. You and your padawan shall return to your original assignment of protecting the Alderaan system. Do not make us return for you.” Master Dia bowed at the man. “Of course.” The head guard turned and walked back up the ramp. (M/N) gave one last look at the avengers and saw how his dad looked so confused, sad and angry. Then he was being pushed forward by the guards.

The door of the ship closed and (M/N) wondered. What was going to happen now?

#marvel #star wars #mcu #peter parker #tony stark #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark reader #peter parker x stark!reader #tony stark x male reader #tony stark x male!reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x son reader #tony stark x son!reader #tony stark x stark reader

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bnhasimpgirltm · 4 years ago

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Arms Unfolding (Dabi x Reader)

Pairings: Dabi x Reader

Warnings: swearing

Genre: angst, but it’s soft

Word Count: 1395

Type: Oneshot, Songfic

Song: “Arms Unfolding”- Dodie Clark

--------------------------------------------------

Hope I'm not tired of rebuilding

You stared at the folded note in your hand, contemplating over whether or not you should throw it away or not. It had been slipped under your door while you were at work, and you wondered who had taken the time to put it there instead of leaving it in the mailbox. You had a feeling you knew who it was from, and that made you want to discard it even more, but curiosity overtook you as you unfolded the note. Glancing down the piece of paper, your eyes stopped at the bottom and caught onto the name of the sender.

“Fucking Hell,” you dropped the note on your kitchen table and cradled your head with your hands. Tears fell down your face in a torrent, staining the already battered piece of paper darker in some places.

'Cause this might take a little more

He was asking you to meet him in front of the convenience store that you loved. It was a five minute walk from your house, and he had always gotten you your favorite snacks from there.

Of course you had to walk there by yourself now. He wasn’t around to walk with you. You had been so used to walking with him that it felt strange to be enveloped in silence.

I think I'd like to try

You shouldn’t have gone to meet him at the convenience store. It was stupid of you to be hung up on the past. You should have recycled the note after seeing the sender and never thought about him again. You should have just made your dinner and moved on with your life, but your feet had carried you here, and you couldn’t leave now.

Look at you

A hand grabbed your shoulder, and you tensed up. The hand was rough and cold, but also warm and welcoming.

“Hey baby,” you heard.

Of course he still called you ‘baby.’ It made you giddy with excitement.

“Dabi,” you managed, overwhelmed.

You had hated him for what happened, but somehow you still felt butterflies when looking at him.

You wanted to look at Dabi and be disgusted with him and his actions, but you couldn’t choose who you fell in love with. It just happened to be that you loved someone who wasn’t on good terms with the “heroes.”

And feel the way I did before

“You look great,” Dabi complimented, making your head spin.

“And you look the same,” you shot back. Mentally, you scoffed. As if making dry comments were going to bury your true feelings for him.

“Still good,” he joked, hoping to ease the apprehension floating in the air around you.

You pursed your lips together, waiting for Dabi to start the conversation back up

After a few moments of cumbersome silence, he finally spoke.

Oh, our fire died last winter

“I missed you, (Y/n),” Dabi admits.

His prevalent scars stood out agianst his pale skin under the flourecent white street light. To others, they were ugly and intimidating. To you, they were what you loved most about him.

Touching the scar running up his left arm, you started to speak.

“You haven’t talked to me since November,” you said. “You disappeared.”

All of the shouting blew it out

“I disappeared because you told me to ‘fuck off,’ and told me that I was a ‘lying son of a bitch.’” He recited back. “You were the only thing keeping me here, and since you didn’t want me anymore, I left.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” you argued.

“You sounded pretty serious when you said it, (Y/n),” Dabi sneered.

“But I needed you, Dabi,” you choked up, holding in angry tears, “I needed you, god damn it, and you left!”

“You told me to go!” He angrily said back. “What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“I told you to go thinking you would come back. I thought you would always come back,” no noise came from your lips, but tears started to slip out of your eyes, and Dabi’s previously angry face became passive once more.

“I know, I know,” Dabi confessed. “I know I should have stayed.”

“Why didn’t you then?”

He was silent, and if the situation wasn’t so serious, you would have interpreted the silence as something different than what it was.

You know I could live without or with you

He continued to stare at you, parting his mouth as if he was going to say something, then closing it again, retracting his initial thoughts.

“Fine, don’t say anything,” you scoffed and rolled your eyes, then turned around to walk back home. “We’re done here.”

Hands in the pockets of your jacket, you hadn’t made it ten steps up the sidewalk before Dabi admitted something that stopped you where you stood.

“I was a coward,” he reluctantly reveals. “It was easier to leave and never think about you again than to have to hold onto the fact that you might have still loved me, because I was still in love with you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you breathed, exasperated with him.

“What? Are you trying to tell me that I’m not really in love with you?” Dabi asked, half confused, half joking.

“No,” you stepped forward, looked up, and whispered in Dabi’s ear.

But I might like having you about

“I’m trying to tell you, that I was always in love with you,” you lower your voice and mumble, “I never stopped loving you.”

Yes, these new walls are pretty hard to crack

“I hate you for everything, but I still love you,” wrapping your arms around him, you lean your head into his chest.

“How could you still want to be with me after all that happened?” Dabi asked, holding you close to him.

And it might take a while

“I’m in love with you, but we’ll never be the same,” you explained. “If we want this to work we have to rebuild.”

Until I trust you won’t attack

“I want to be able to trust you,” you slowly rocked back and forth, “I want you to trust me.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you,” he apologizes, kissing the top of your head.

I apologize, but it was only self defense

“I’m sorry for pushing you away, and lying to you.” Pulling away from him, you say, “I’m sorry I lied to myself.”

Running away just made sense

“I never should have taken off,” Dabi grips your hand in his, “This didn’t have to happen.”

But here I am with arms unfolding

“It’s okay, we’re here now. Just as fate intended us to be.” You said. “I don’t care that you’re a villain anymore.”

The street light flickered, but remained bright around the both of you.

“We’re together,” Dabi continued.

I guess it isn't quite the end

“I’m glad I came today,” you smile and press your lips against his.

“I’m glad you came too,” He says with his forehead against yours.

Everything was peaceful, and from the corner of your vision you see the tip of the sun beginning to climb up the horizon.

“Won’t the League wonder where you are?” You ask.

Oh, partner in crime

“It doesn’t matter,” Dabi reassures. “The only thing that matters right now is us.”

“Good, because we have the entire day to do whatever the fuck we want.”

I'm going to try

Dabi sweeps you up in another kiss, but this time it’s deep and passionate, it’s loving and beautiful. It encapsulates all of your feelings between each other in one action. A small action, but one that sent ripples of emotion through you.

To fall in love with you again

You both pull away, grinning.

“To doing whatever the fuck we want,” Dabi preaches.

“To doing whatever the fuck we want,” you repeat.

Last remnants of the dark night leaving as the sun comes over the mountains, you and Dabi stood together, watching the sunrise.

The sunrise was resilient. The sunrise was colorful. But the sun did not always rise at the same time every day. It was unpredictable and harmful in ways, just like you and Dabi, but that was okay.

Because no matter how long the darkness lasted, in the end, the sun would always rise again.

And nothing in this world would ever stop it.

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