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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

Note

Hey an AU request for you:

During Renruki separation what if the roles were reversed. Like if Renji gets adopted (in some rival noble clan) and Rukia is left behind. Or else if Renji is going to be executed instead of Rukia. Want to feel the angst from Rukia's POV.

Let me know if these scenarios are good enough.

Thanks as always ☺️❤️

Hello, yes, I realize this was not precisely what you were asking for, but here is a scene that has been charging me rent in my own head since at least 2019, and it’s close enough and I am using this as an excuse to get it out. Thank you for your indulgence.

The actual role swap in this scenario is what if Renji had gotten Sode no Shirayuki, a zanpakutou who embodies patience and planning and thoughtfulness, and Rukia ended up with Zabimaru, a zanpakutou who just wants to fuck shit up.

Read on ao3 or ff.net (this one felt substantial enough that I made it a standalone and also I finally had an excuse to name a fic after one of my favorite Oh Hellos songs.)

🗡️ 💔 💀

The air is heavy and thick in the World of the Living. It is oppressive, as if this very plane has its own reiatsu, as if it intends to oppose their mission. It’s just a thunderstorm gathering, though, a combination of atmospheric pressure and electrical potential.

Kuchiki Renji, Lieutenant of the Sixth Division and Heir to the great and noble Kuchiki Clan would like to finish this up before they are drenched, but he isn’t optimistic.

He stands on the roof of a human house, looking down at a nearly identical residence across the street, although this one bears signage indicating that it is also a neighborhood medical clinic.

Renji cannot feel her, but he doesn’t expect to. When Rukia doesn’t want to be found, she doesn’t get found, end of story. Renji can feel the human though, the human whom Rukia has given her powers. He can’t fathom why, but all of Rukia’s ways are inscrutable, they always have been. From the morning she saved his life from an enraged water vendor to the evening she walked away from the adopted family that gave them both names and a place in the world, Renji has never understood a single thought that entered her thick skull. Even if he can’t understand her, though, she is transparent to him, predictable.

He just needs to draw her out. And that part is easy.

Byakuya says nothing. Renji has explained his logic, and Byakuya is giving him the six feet of rope he needs to hang himself. Byakuya is also inscrutable, yet predictable. Sometimes, Renji wonders how the man managed to live in the same house as Rukia for as long as he did.

“Nii-sama,” Renji says softly. Byakuya does not like being asked for reassurances, but on this point, Renji requires it. “The orders said capture or kill.”

Byakuya waits.

“Shall I strive for the first?”

Byakuya makes a tiny throat-clearing noise. “I have fulfilled my obligation to that girl. I owe her nothing. Do what is necessary.”

Byakuya would never come out and tell Renji to kill Rukia, but the message is clear enough. Despite separating herself from the family thirty years ago, a trial, a jail sentence will be an embarrassment to the Kuchiki, an exhumation of old mistakes. Rukia will always be an inkblot on Byakuya’s conscience. Byakuya has never held this against Renji, which is probably the only sign of affection his adoptive brother has ever shown him.

Renji has done nearly everything Byakuya has ever asked of him. He is an obedient brother, hardworking and respectful. He practices the family sword form, he studies the history of Soul Society, he respects his elders. He has risen in the ranks of the Gotei, he has gained his bankai, he wears the kenseikan, even though they bite into his scalp. But Renji was only adopted into the family for one reason: to ensure Rukia’s compliance, and in that, he failed.

It is time to make up for that.

Renji jumps lightly from one rooftop to the other and over the ridge of the roof. The boy’s window is on the rear side of the house. He drops down onto the windowsill. His Hell Butterfly hovers at shoulder height. “Go on,” he urges it forward, to create a passage through the wall of the house. He hopes his hunch is correct. He does not relish the idea of murdering a young human in his bed.

It is not an issue. A dark shape rips itself from the shadows, but Renji has his zanpakutou from her sheath in an instant. Instead of Zabimaru’s wicked serrations, however, he finds himself blocking the worst shakkahou he’s seen since Byakuya sent him down to Shin’ou to scout out next year’s crop of students. It’s enough to momentarily blind him, though, and he leaps down to the ground to find steadier footing.

This isn’t right. Although Rukia prefers to rely on her sword, it’s not out of her M.O. to use kidou for a sneak attack. But why bother with a distraction when she could have just blown his head off? Rukia’s kidou are rarely elegant and Renji isn’t sure she even knows the chants, but what she has is power. Or rather, what she had.

Renji scans the backyard slowly. The grass at his feet is freezing over in a slowly widening circle. Careful, careful! Sode no Shirayuki sings in his mind.

Suddenly, he feels the crackle of hainawa and he leaps out of the way just in time, flinging an avalanche of ice in the direction of his attacker. Rukia’s kick catches him in mid-air, but he blocks it with a forearm. It doesn’t ring through his bones the way it should, though.

Renji lands on his heels and skids a few feet. Rukia’s toes hit the dirt just a second after. For a moment, their eyes meet. The air is so humid, it’s thick enough to swim in.

“Abarai,” Rukia snarls, baring a sharp canine. “Of course, they would send you.” She snorts. “Scratch that, I bet you volunteered.”

Renji sneers at her, but ignores the dig at his name. “I’m impressed, Rukia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone botch a patrol mission so thoroughly.” He sheaths his sword.

Rukia barks out a laugh. “What’s this? Your sense of fairness? Gonna try to kill me with your bare hands, then?”

He’d rather not kill her at all. Byakuya will be peeved, but Renji doesn’t like the idea of running through an unarmed woman. “What is this, Rukia? You’ve given a human your full powers, haven’t you? Why?”

“It was an accident,” Rukia mumbles, her eyes darting to the side.

Renji narrows his eyes. “Where did you get that gigai?”

“A friend.”

“There was an intelligence report from the Stealth Force. A Menos showed up, just for a few minutes before it was driven back to Hueco Mundo with a sword wound. I assumed that was your doing, but you don’t seem to have a sword at the moment. Unless the Menos took that rusty piece of--”

“Fuck, Renji, don’t you ever get sick of listening to your own stupid voice?” Rukia spits, and in a second, she is on him, a blur of fists and feet.

Renji didn’t put his sword away because he thought he wouldn’t need it. He put it away because he knew that he would need two hands to deal with Rukia in hand-to-hand, even at 2% of her power, or whatever dregs she has left.

“I’m trying--” he backpedals furious, blocking blow after blow, “--to help you! I realize that your brain has probably atrophied down to the size of a walnut-- ouch! -- but doesn’t any of this seem fishy to you?”

“The only thing fishy is you questioning an order!” Rukia snaps, as Renji narrowly avoids getting his feet swept from under him. “We may not have much for brains in Eleven, but unlike the Sixth, at least we use what we’ve got!”

Suddenly, Renji manages to loop one of his arms under hers and spin her into a half-nelson. Her feet pedal furiously in mid-air. His spare hand presses her wrist against her rib cage to keep her from clawing the skin off his arm, and also to try and support her weight. “Can you breathe?” he makes sure, as he tries to figure out a way he can hold her still with one hand long enough to get a binding on her.

“Yes,” she grunts angrily. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know you’re gonna be in trouble with Nii-sama if you bring me back alive?” She spits the honorific like venom.

“You’re wrong,” Renji mutters. He hates this. He hates how stupid this is. He hates that after all this time, her stupid arrows still find their mark, every single time. “You’re wrong if you think he’s spent even a second thinking about you since you threw away everything he gave you. You’re trash to him.”

“Is that what I am to you, too?” Rukia asks archly.

“You’re--” Renji starts to say, and then hits the deck as a sword whistles through the air where his neck had been a moment before. He loses his grip on Rukia, and she rolls away, but Renji’s got more immediate problems. He shifts to a crouch, his hand loose on Sode no Shirayuki’s hilt as he scans the shadows for his assailant.

As it happens, said assailant isn’t exactly subtle. “Hey, Rukia, this guy wears the same pajamas as you. Friend of yours?”

It is the boy, the one who buzzes with reiatsu that both is and isn’t Rukia’s. He is a gangling puppy of a human being, all elbows and ears. His hair is an unnatural orange and sticks out from his head as though he has just rolled out of bed. Given the hour, perhaps he has.

“Get out of here, Ichigo, this guy isn’t a joke!” Rukia screams, and Renji realizes that she is genuinely frightened.

“He sure looks like one,” the kid, Ichigo declares, hefting his sword up onto his shoulder. It is clearly a zanpakutou, but it is absurdly large. He can barely lift the thing. “And people say my hair is a dumb color.”

“My name is Kuchiki Renji,” Renji informs him. “Assistant Captain of the Sixth Division of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. I am here to take Kuchiki Rukia, Sixth Seat of the Eleventh into custody for the crime of transferring her shinigami powers to a human. I do not wish to kill you, human, but if you interfere, I will not hesitate.”

“Wait, what?” Ichigo sputters. “Rukia, I thought your name was Inuzuri? Is this guy your brother? If so, he sure got all the height genes. I am so, so confused.”

Rukia rises to her feet. Her face is pale in the moonlight. A line of blood shines on her forehead, glassy against the black of her tattoos. “He’s my fiance.”

“Your what now?”

Renji snorts. “Former fiance.”

“I don’t recall breaking up with you!” Rukia barks.

Renji wants to laugh. He doesn’t know which is more typical Rukia-- the idea that rejecting his family and not speaking to him for thirty years would somehow not count as a break-up, or that now is somehow an appropriate time to talk about this.

There are a lot of feelings pumping through Renji’s heart, but he freezes them to ice and pushes them away. There is no room for feelings on a battlefield. “I am taking Rukia back to Soul Society. If you do not resist me, I swear to it that no harm will come to her before her trial.” Byakuya wanting Rukia dead is just a feeling, too. The Kuchiki must stand for justice, right? This is a good compromise, Renji rationalizes. I cannot kill her in cold blood in front of a witness, but if they force my hand, things happen. Surely even Byakuya would agree with this line of logic.

Ichigo’s eyes dart to Rukia. “What about after the trial? Is this, like, a thing where you pay a fine, or…?”

“I’ll be executed, most likely,” Rukia replies dryly.

Ichigo’s jaw clenches.

“You’re a valuable asset to the Gotei,” Renji corrects. “Central may be lenient.”

The two strongest young shinigami in their generation, people used to say, when Rukia and Renji entered the Sixth together. His iron nerves tempering her volatility, her fiery passion igniting his cold aloofness. The next Kyouraku and Ukitake. No wonder the Kuchiki plucked them from obscurity.

Renji doesn’t know what people say about them now. Now that he is the sole Heir to the Kuchiki. Now that she fights among the animals of the Eleventh. People’s voices go quiet at his approach. Byakuya says it isn’t wise to listen to gossip in any case.

“Hmmm,” Ichigo shifts his sword to an attack stance. “I don’t like the sounds of those odds. I think maybe I’ll just beat your ass instead.”

“Ichigo, move!” Rukia starts, but Renji has heard the words he needs to hear.

Renji’s favorite parts of the Kuchiki sword form are the quick draw techniques. He is not as fast as Byakuya, but he is very, very fast, and his reach is better. In an instant, he has closed the distance between himself and the boy. Maybe it was a lucky reflex or maybe it was Rukia’s warning, but Ichigo manages to get that huge sword up just in time to avoid having his chest sliced open. Renji’s assault is merciless. If it weren’t for the stupid power limiter, which Renji isn’t used to, he’s sure he would have cracked the boy’s zanpakutou clear in half. Despite her appearance, Sode no Shirayuki is not a delicate sword and Renji swings her with the inevitability of a glacier.

As Ichigo backpedals, his foot catches on a loose paver, and he stumbles. Renji raises his arm, preparing to deliver the killing blow, when suddenly, a knee in his back punches the air from his lungs, and his elbow is jerked forcibly backwards.

“NOW!” Rukia’s voice bellows in Renji’s ear.

The stumble was a feint, because Ichigo is Rukia’s student, and of course she has taught him all her dirty tricks. Renji realizes he has made the mistake of thinking he could beat Rukia, just because she has no powers and no zanpakutou. She still knows him better than anyone, though. She knows his moves and she knows what a rank fool he is. As Ichigo’s sword plunges towards his stomach, Renji flares his reiatsu as best as he can, and hopes Rukia’s pet human isn’t strong enough to pierce it.

But before the blow lands, Ichigo’s eyes widen. He lets out a gurgle and falls sideways.

“Renji,” says Captain Kuchiki. “What is taking so long?”

It seems as though time is standing still, except that the pool of blood surrounding Ichigo’s prone form is growing, growing.

“No,” Rukia murmurs. “No, no, no.” Suddenly, her feet scrabble up Renji’s back, and she launches herself off of his shoulders. “You!!” she screams.

There is nothing she can do to Byakuya. Her hands glow with raw kidou, but she is weak. It is the desperate, useless move of a cornered animal.

Renji knows that animal instincts are useless, which is why he has trained every day to eradicate them. To ignore his fear, to replace his body’s natural reflexes with the kata of his sword form. So even though he knows Rukia’s attack is hopeless, he cannot help but react to an attack against his Clan Head.

Rukia hits the ground next to Ichigo with a dull thump.

Her body is wrapped in the glowing chains of hainawa.

Renji’s hand shakes, his breathing is heavy.

Rukia is screaming filthy obscenities at both of them.

Byakuya regards Renji silently. His eyes linger on Renji's sword, naked in his hand. A different reflex, and there would be two corpses on the ground.

“She should face trial, Nii-sama,” Renji says softly. “If we do not uphold justice, who shall?”

“The law, Renji,” Byakuya corrects him. “We uphold the law.” He jerks his head at the screaming woman on the ground. “Pick her up. Others are coming and you will only become more sentimental if I am forced to kill additional humans.”

Renji kneels and gathers Rukia in his arms. She does not make it easy, probably in hopes that he will toss her over his shoulder instead of this humiliation, but she is the brute, not him. He will not give her the satisfaction.

As Renji narrowly avoids a headbutt, though, he realizes that this is not merely a display of defiance. It is a distraction. “Nii-sama,” he says as he straightens up, “I do not think the human is dead.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Byakuya sighs. “I have severed his hakusui and saketsu. Even if he survives the wound, he will be powerless, and Rukia’s power should return to her.”

Byakuya considers his lieutenant’s full arms for a moment, makes a disgusted face, and then draws his sword to open the senkaimon home himself.

While Byakuya’s attention is turned, Rukia leans into Renji’s, her breath hot on his jaw. “I will kill him for this,” she spits in his ear. “And if you get in my way, I will kill you too.”

“Then we are enemies,” Renji replies quietly, “since I am sworn to protect him.”

The first fat drops of rain begin to fall from the sky.

#my writing #wacky au requests #i have never been a big fan of enemies-to-lovers #but it turns out i'm a HUGE fan of lovers-to-enemies #if you too are a big fan of lovers-to-enemies i cannot recommend enough that you listen to the entire album of dear wormwood #every oh hellos song is about renruki #and if it's not i will make it #this feels like the culmination of my life's works #if i get even one 'wtf polynya' in the notes i will be content

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darth-salem-emperor-of-earth · 4 years ago

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Here is my second entry for @naruto-fantasy-week! Just like with my previous fanfic for Day One, I realized I had a lot of potential and ideas to explore with this prompt and story idea so one day, I’ll come back to this fic and expand on the premise even further. But man, I wish I was faster at writing and had more time to chug out the rest of my fanfics because I am running out of time and have five more to go. Let’s see if I can get them all done in time. XD

The title of this story derives from both the chorus lyrics and the song title “Demons Are a Girl’s Best Friend” by Powerwolf. I did scanned this fic for edits but I probably missed some errors.

Summary: Demons, monsters, they’re all the same when you live in a small, rural village always plagued with beasts, curses, and battles between magical creatures. Never in her life did Sakura expect to get pulled into the world of demons, thanks to the curiosity of a fox and tanuki demon. Naruto Fantasy Week, Day 2. Prompt: Monstrous. [Gaara x Sakura, Naruto x Sakura]

Text:

Flashback

Thoughts

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“You have always wanted to caress every monster.”

— Friedrich Nietzsche

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There was a good reason why her village established a curfew at night and on certain days of the year they warned the locals not to venture away from the outskirts of the hamlet and wander into the damp, murky woods that hugged near the village’s perimeter, acting like an imposing wall to another world. Monsters, demons, they claimed, laid on the prowl, waiting for the chance to snatch up an unsuspecting, unfortunate soul who strayed too far from the village and wandered into the clustered, dark forest. Their warnings and cause for concern were not groundless, for people did mysteriously vanish or when traveling to another neighboring town, didn’t leave in time to make it before dusk settled and never returned home. Bandits was the common explanation but there had been cases reported by witnesses, stating they saw humanoid beings with claws, fangs, and animals ears and tails. Demons walked among mankind and they were always looking to steal some away and never bring them back.

Sakura had all these warnings and stories whirling in her brain as she sprinted through the winding, twisted path that would eventually lead her out of the dismal, haunting forest and back to the open fields of her helmet, where she’d surely be safe. She took a calculated risk in coming into the woods to scavenge for plants and herbs but a rare moss grew in these parts abundantly and her shishou needed them to treat the villagers. After a month of braving the secluded, verboten forest with no trouble, now, of all days, when their supply was running out thanks to a fever crippling the younger, more able-bodied folk with dizziness, hallucinations, extreme sweats, and lack of strength, she was spotted and now pursued by two demons. One fox demon and the other, a tanuki demon.

Sakura leapt over a gnarled tree root, gripping her basket firmly to prevent the contents from spilling out and making her covert trek to the woods all for naught. She refused to look behind her. Looking back would slow her down and speed was critical if she was going to survive this frightful encounter.

“Hey, hey you! Why are you running away from me?”

They’re just taunting me! They can’t know where I am!

Ducking underneath a branch, Sakura continued to race, increasing her pace even though her legs ached and her lungs heaved as if her whole chest was on fire. The sun was no longer peeking through the dense canopy and by now, she could hardly see what was in front of her. She had to be close to the outskirts of her town soon--she couldn’t be going in circles...was she?

That worrisome musing distracted Sakura momentarily from her mission, her feet still in motion but her eyes and mind were frozen in the sudden trepidation that in her fear of being spotted by some demons, she took a wrong turn and was horribly lost in these forsaken woods. She forgot to check her feet or look down at the ground, for a nearby tree branch snagged on the hem of her apron, startling her so badly her whole body twisted around from the shocking impact, one hand grasping her apron to tug it free. In doing so, Sakura failed to notice the enormous, thick tree root behind her and subsequently tripped backwards, the basket of herbs flying out of her grasp. Her collision with the bumpy, hard ground was agonizing and endless, her head throbbing and pounding like a hammer on the anvil and she tasted blood in her mouth. The back of her head felt wet and something sharp and jagged was jabbed up against her back. She tried wiggling her fingers and toes but was only greeted with a numbing sensation. Darkness swirled in her vision. She inhaled deep and instantly regretted it, her chest constricting and screeching at her to stop breathing while she hacked up some blood. As an apprentice to a knowledgeable, highly skilled and competent village doctor, Sakura deduced she was in horrible shape and if she didn’t get help soon, she would die.

I’m a dead woman either way. I’ll either bleed out or those two demons chasing me will finish the job.

Tears prick her eyelids and stubbornly, Sakura blinked them back, closing her eyes to alleviate herself from the vertigo that plagued her vision and head. Her trip wasn’t supposed to end like this, with her dying, alone and in pain, while her shishou anxiously waiting for her return with the herbs. She failed her mentor and everyone from her village. How long would it take for them to be courageous enough to explore the forest and discover her body? Or would the earth claim her corpse first?

“Please,” she croaked, ignoring the pain that came with every hagged breath. Tears flowed down her cheeks unchecked, her waning willpower couldn’t restrain them anymore. “Please, someone...help me. Save...my village. I’ll… I’ll do anything!”

A torrent of coughing prevented her from continuing, eyes clamped shut. But in the midst of her excruciating hacking, Sakura swore she heard a feminine, sinister but twinkling cackle. But given the amount of blood she had already lost and sustained a severe head injury, she had to imagine the foreboding noise. Yet the laughter, hallucinated or not, echoed in her head as her head lolled to its side, weariness reaching every part of her, as if a burdensome, cool pall coiled itself around her and held her tautly in its grasp.

“Sleep,” rang a voice that was not her own in her head. “Sleep, and let the two demons claim you. They will save you.”

Despite the pain, Sakura snorted but didn’t argue with the voice in her mind. After all, she was going to die so why waste her energy debating with herself?

“Sleep!” the unknown voice commanded again, this time sounding impatient and irked. Sakura’s consciousness slipped from her control and the last thought she had was this was finally the end and she only hoped someone from the village would at least find her basket and bring the plants back to her mentor to treat her ailing patients.

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When the relentless round of bickering reached Sakura’s ears as she slowly woke up, she thought she was back home, in bed, and the near-death experience she underwent in the demon woods was simply a vivid nightmare. Yet as she fought off the grogginess and slowly opened her eyes, the hope swelling within her crashed almost instantly with such a raging crescendo at the sight of the fox and tanuki demon arguing with each other. They were loud enough that she didn’t have to strain her ears to hear them.

“What do you mean, ‘your territory’? She was wandering on my land when I found her!” growled the fox demon, spiky blonde hair momentarily distracting Sakura with his outburst as he shook his head vigorously. His azuline eyes flashed with rage, pulling his lips back to reveal a sharp set of canine teeth.

No emotion registered on the tanuki demon’s pale visage or his aqua eyes, his scarlet hair remaining Sakura painfully of her own blood that she was hacking up not long ago. She felt sore, true, but nothing as horrible as the agony wracking her body when she lied motionlessly, in the woods that evening. Had these two demons healed her fatal injuries?

There was no one else but them who could have reached me in time. But how did they save me? And more importantly, why?

As she pondered these puzzling inquiries, Sakura carefully listened on to the demons’ bickering. Their argument involved her but for what?

The ruby haired tanuki demon sneered at the blond fox demon. Dismissal was the only impression marked on his features now. “Since when did your territory cross over into mine? The once mortal was gathering in my domain and therefore, she will be a part of my clan.”

Clan? Is that what they are yelling to each other about? Whose territory they found me in?

At least they didn’t plan on devouring her. After all, why go through all the trouble of healing and patching up your prey if your own goal was to eat it?

The golden haired demon’s ears twitched irately and the fox demon crossed his arms. His long, fluffy, gilded tail curled around the side of his left leg, looking so soft despite the anger charging through its owner. “Then why don’t we ask her ourselves?! I bet she’d rather stay with me than you, Gaara!”

Sakura froze as the tanuki demon–Gaara was his name–turned his attention towards her, teal eyes narrowing at her huddled form. Like Naruto, he too had ears and a tail, but his ears were more round and the tail shorter but seemed firmer. The fur on both the tanuki demon’s ears and tail was a tawny hue, with faint patches of black along the tail.

“Finally, a good idea on your end, Naruto. The once mortal is awake now.”

The mood on Naruto’s face immediately shifted to one of curiosity and excitement and he immediately dashed up to her before kneeling down by her feet. Up close, he had what seemed to be whiskers but they were flat across his cheeks and had the appearance of facial markings or tattoos. From his enthusiasm to the wide beam he was delivering her, this fox demon reminded Sakura more of a loving hound than a dangerous creature. Could she have been mistaken to believe they wanted to hurt her, or at least, this one? The chase could have been one giant misunderstanding–after all, they were talking about her in their domain so perhaps that’s why they were following her after she ran away? To warn her not to trespass into their territory again?

“I’m so happy to see you’re awake! My name is Naruto!” he introduced instantly, his tail brushing up against her leg. Its fur was just as downy as she imagined.

“I’m Sakura,” she answered, her throat dry as she rasped out her name. She turned to look at Gaara, who was busy boring a hole in the back of Naruto’s head with a venomous glower. “And your name is Gaara, right?”

The said demon jerked his head up and immediately pinned his uncompromising scrutiny on her. “You were listening to our conversation.” His words were a statement, not a question.

She nodded her head, figuring there was no point in lying. “Yes, but I would hardly call that a conversation. More like a heated argument.” She leaned forward, feeling some of her muscles groaning out in protest but at least she could feel her legs, hands, feet, and arms and every other limb attached to her. “But before I forget, thank you for saving me in the forest. I was critically wounded and thought I was going to die. But you two spared me and mended my body to practically brand new. I cannot thank you enough. She moved to get on her hands and knees to give them a proper bow, to demonstrate her thanks to such powerful beings but Naruto zapped his hands out to halt her movements. Bright sapphire eyes looked at her with concern and alarm.

“No, don’t move, Sakura-chan!” he pleased. “You still need to rest. It will take some time to adjust to your new body and—”

All warmth drained from her at his last few words, every part of her stiffening at his admission. Dread pooled in her stomach, seizing her by her throat and she recoiled from him, landing back on her rear. “What did you say?!” She nearly shrieked out, frantically glancing down at her hands and legs but seeing nothing different or out of place. Was the change elsewhere, like on her face or head? “‘New body’? What the hell does that mean?!”

Gaara hissed. Naruto’s eyes widened in horror at his slip.

“Uh, I didn’t mean that! I misspoke! What I actually meant to say was that your completely normal human body is fine and you don’t have to worry about it except for resting up and not overexerting yourself.” he quickly amended. He shot her an assuring her grin but soon dropped it after she narrowed her verdant eyes at him.

Gaara rolled his eyes at Naruto’s pitiable attempt to cover up his error. The damage had been down and now, the once mortal called Sakura would be panicking now. “Forget it, Naruto. She has to be told. Before she does something stupid, like run off and crash into a bunch of humans and scare them.” Now he was glaring at her, daring her to prove him wrong.

She cut him a fulminating glower of her own, refusing to be cowed or scared by the likes of him, even if he was a demon. By now, her fear of demons and what they could execute on humans had long since passed. “Tell me what?”

Naruto fidgeted uncomfortably prior to producing a hand mirror the size of a large mixing bowl and presented the item to her almost apologetically. “It’s easier for you to see than for us to explain to you. But Sakura...you have to understand, we had no choice. You were dying and this was the only method to save you.”

Her hands nearly trembled as she accepted the mirror but her grip on the hard, curved edges remained strong. As she steadily tilted the mirror’s surface to reflect her visage, her fingers dug anxiously into the metallic, intricate frame until her knuckles were pale as cream, refusing to let go as Sakura came face-to-face with the monster in the mirror.

Brilliant garnet, gold, emerald, and topaz feathers stuck out along her wide forehead like a crown, skimmed the bridge of her nose before disappearing completely. The same array of feathers poked out in tufts behind her short, pink hair, no doubt coming out from the upper section of her back. These same luxurious feathers coated at least half of her arms and when Sakura tried to shift around to see how far those feathers went, she caught one of her motionless wings out of the corner of her eye.

For Kami’s sake, I have wings now?!

Still unable to speak, Sakura reached out behind her and felt her fingertips brush up against the bend of her wing, the texture of the feathers firm, smooth, and silky soft. A little tingle jolted up her spine as she continued to touch or stroke her wings and reluctantly, she stopped. Wings were more sensitive than she realized.

“Sakura?” Naruto’s tentative, worried tone brought the said young woman out of her trance-like observation. His bright blue eyes looked utterly wretched and pleaful as their gazes crossed again that Sakura couldn’t find it in her heart to be so angry at him, even if this transmogrify changed her life forever, in a way she never expected nor was prepared for.

“Was my condition really that severe?” she asked quietly, first looking at him and then Gaara for confirmation. While Gaara tilted his head to the side and barely nodded, Naruto’s head bobbed up and down rigorously like an unstoppable ball.

“There was so much blood that Gaara had to be away from you at first--blood kind of excites him, you see,” Naruto quickly explained, unaware of Gaara scowling darkly at him or Sakura’s eyebrows rising high at this new information about one of her rescuers. “But he calmed down once I tried to heal your injuries or wake you up, but you were unresponsive. I think you might have broken a couple of bones but I couldn’t tell.”

“What we could tell was that your soul was faint and fading fast,” Gaara interjected, brushing past Naruto to take a seat next to Sakura. His tawny tail brushed up against her wings and Sakura suppressed an involuntary flutter that spread across her shoulders. “Naruto felt guilty that our chase led you to your demise and wanted to save your life by turning you into a demon, one of us.”

“What about you?” Sakura found herself asking, leveling her eyes with his, unafraid to confront and meet his seemingly intense scrutiny. Up close, she noticed black rings outlined his upper and lower eyelids, making him seem less imposing and more...cute?

Focus, Sakura! Now is not the time to be thinking like that!

“I agreed to help Naruto only to stop his blubbering,” he answered curtly, ignoring Naruto bristling and squawking with outrage at his blunt remark. He paused, cocking his head at her as if she suddenly became a fascinating creature to him. “But I must admit, I was rather curious to find a dying mortal being cradled by the branches and roots of the forest.”

Sakura’s jaw dropped at the last part of his admission. “Wait, what are you talking about? Before I passed out, I certainly didn’t see any trees coming to support me. Yes, it was getting dark out and yet—”

Yet she did hear a strange voice in her ears, echoing all over the forest while she was slowly dying but simply chalked the noise up to hallucination due to her blood loss. Perhaps she didn’t imagine those words at all and there was really a spirit of the woods watching over her.

Her realization must have dawned evidently on her face for Gaara sensed it immediately and narrowed his eyes at her.

“Yet what? What do you remember?” he demanded.

This time, Naruto was the one sending him a glare. “Calm down, Gaara! She just had a near death experience and has to adjust to being a demon now. Give her a break, will you?” Growling, Gaara turned his furiously at him and the two demons were about to dissolve into another snarling, bickering match if Sakura didn’t speak up.

“I heard a voice, while I was bleeding out.” Both their heads snapped back to her, completely focused on her and her alone. “I can’t remember everything but the woman or whoever the voice came from, told me to sleep a couple of times. And for me to let you two save me, I think.” Eyelids now closed shut, Sakura wracked her brain to think back on those terrifying moments, where she was battling to stay awake and in vain attempting to move when the voice first came to her. The voice definitely wanted her to not be awake when Naruto and Gaara found her but why? Was it because she needed rest for her injuries and the impending transformation and the spirit sensed that? If that random theory was true, then why would a spirit of the forest care about her?

Gaara and Naruto exchanged pensive looks. “That does sound like something Kaguya would do,” the fox demon pointed out, donning a wary expression. “I know she’s supposedly dead and all but maybe her spirit does live on in the trees of that forest. The Tadasu no Mori was known to be her favorite resting place.”

Unlike Naruto, Gaara’s visage was unreadable. “It’s possible. And when she was alive, she was known to transform human mortals into demons.”

Not wanting to be left in the dark about the spirit or woman who had some contribution in saving her life, Sakura chimed in, “Who is Kaguya? Was she a demon like you?”

Both of the demons nodded, their expressions completely somber. “She was one of the oldest of our kind but as the years dragged on, she became bitter towards both humans and demons alike and sought to bring about the destruction of this world and begin anew with her chosen few.”

Shocked, Sakura could only stare at them and nodded silently, wondering how her village and people elsewhere never learned about such a catastrophe. Humans had stories and warnings about demons but nothing about a tale regarding an embittered demoness who craved to incite the end of the world and start a new one. Naruto’s face softened as he continued.

“There was a long, bloody war between Kaguya and her allies versus those who opposed her. The humans that did get sucked into this conflict either perished or died soon after before they could pass along their memories of the war and fighting alongside demons as friends.”

“That or no one believed them and ruled their words as ‘outlandish tall tales’,” Gaara cut in sardonically. “But that’s besides the point. Kaguya was eventually slain in battle, her supporters either dead or capitulated. Her corpse was destroyed, the ashes scattered in Tadasu no Mori. If she is the voice you heard, then we’ll have to be more careful.”

Despite her head swimming with news that there had been a dangerous, secret war between demons and to an extent, humans, Sakura frowned at the cautious tone in Gaara’s voice. “‘We’?” she echoed. “Why do we need to be careful? Kaguya is dead and long gone now. Even if her spirit was with me in those woods, she couldn’t hurt us, could she?”

“No, but she still has loyal allies waiting in the shadows that survived the aftermath. Some have tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to revive her while others assay to continue what she started. And they would be quite intrigued with a human girl who was changed into a demon, a phoenix demon no less. Our whole kind would be. There hasn’t been a phoenix demon nor metamorphosis like yours in centuries.”

“But don’t worry!” Naruto chimed in cheerily, hoping to alleviate Sakura’s trepidation of how interested other demons would be in her. “Gaara and I will protect you! If you stay with us and our two clans, no demon can come along and snatch you up without starting a territory dispute. We can even show you how to use and train your powers as a demon!”

That offer definitely had merit and would certainly come in handy in this new world of demons and their own brand of politics and schemes. As touched as she was with Naruto’s vow of protection, she wanted to be able to better defend herself and learn what she was capable of in this new demon body of hers. The wings and feathers would still take some time to get used to.

“Weren’t you two arguing earlier about who I get to stay with though? Why the change of heart?” she said, a teasing edge in her voice.

Naruto’s cheeks flushed a vibrant vermilion, embarrassed as he sputtered and then mumbled up some excuses about ‘the strength of two is better than one’ and that ‘they didn’t know about Kaguya at the time’. Gaara remained po-faced through it all but his lips did curve up in a half-smirk. In the back of her mind, Sakura wondered what he’d look like if he fully smiled. Naruto’s features always lit up so infectiously when he beamed at her. He was like the sun.

“It’s okay, Naruto,” she interjected, reaching out to touch his hand and halting him in mid-rambling. “I understand. Thank you, both of you, for offering me shelter. Being a demon...it will take some time for me to get used to that. Especially since it seems I cannot go back home, right? Or am I wrong?” Deep down, she clinged to the absurd hope that maybe she’d be safe in the village, that while everyone would be flabbergasted or scandalized at her new form, they’d learn to accept her monstrous transmogrification and carry on with their day. But that vain hope flickered out and ebbed away like a small ember in the firesite when she witnessed the plaintive sympathy flashing in Naruto’s cerulean eyes or the disapproving expression overtaking Gaara’s pale features.

“No, you’re not wrong, Sakura-chan,” the fox demon admitted ruefully. “If you go back to your village...things can go poorly.”

“You will be killed or imprisoned. And I would slaughter the fools who harmed any part of you, down to a single hair on your head.” groused Gaara, arms crossed resolutely. Sakura didn’t doubt him. There was no way she would risk the village being subjugated to his wrath simply because she missed her home and wanted to reveal herself to those closest to her in hope they would understand and accept her. They might but that didn’t mean the neighbors would. There was a reason why some towns had trained demon hunters and while her hamlet didn’t have any professionals like that, the village leaders could easily request one of the nearby settlements to let them borrow some of theirs.

Her vibrant wings spread out, only a little for her feathery, colorful bends to be able to brush against her cheek, as if to comfort her. So much had betided to her in less than a day, even though time seemed to have stretched itself for weeks. “You don’t have to worry about me sneaking off to go back to my village,” she replied dejectedly, reaching to card her fingers through the differing layers of feathers her wings seemed to have. She couldn’t mull about what she lost besides her humanity.

And shishou must be worried sick by now since I haven’t returned back to her clinic yet…

Eyes widening in remembrance, Sakura snapped her head over to her basket of herbs, relieved to still see it lying there, untouched. She didn’t imagine its existence after all!

“Demons can cast illusions and shapeshift, can’t they?” she queried abruptly, startling both Naruto and Gaara with her out of the blue question. Their eyes watched her as she twisted around to pluck the basket up from the ground and cradled it in her arms.

“Yeah, fox demons like me excel at both those abilities,” admitted Naruto proudly. He then elbowed his fellow demon playfully. “Gaara over here can cast a glamor but it won’t last as long as my illusions. Why do you ask, Sakura-chan?”

All right, this idea of mine just might work. I simply need to get both of them to agree with my request, Gaara in particular. He might not like what I have to say.

Toying with a stray piece of straw from the basket’s handle, Sakura replayed the words in her head one more time before voicing what was on her mind. “I know we already discussed me returning home is a terrible idea for me but my village needs these plants I gathered for them earlier. If you two use your illusions and glamor, the three of us could safely enter my village without issue. When I find my shishou, I deliver the plants to her, and once we say our farewells, we’ll leave.” The pinkette looked down at her basket, the source that landed her into this new life of hers. “It will be too risky and dangerous for me to go alone so I figured if the three of us go, there shouldn’t be any problems.”

Frowning, Gaara opened his mouth, probably to object, but Naruto quickly cut over him to exclaim, “Of course we’ll help you, Sakura-chan! It’s the least we can do.” He tilted his head at Gaara expectantly prior to adding, “Right, Gaara?”

The said demon cursed profusely, continuing to frown irately even as he agreed with Naruto to accompany her to the village but warned her he wouldn’t tolerate any delays or side-trips.

“Just give your teacher those herbs and we leave immediately,” Gaara had told her flatly before he cast a glamor over himself to appear normal, like an ordinary human while Naruto’s illusion cloaked both him and Sakura.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have time to say goodbye to your teacher,” he whispered as he weaved the illusion over them, winking conspiratorially at her. “You ready?”

She nodded firmly. “Yes. Let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They ended up staying in her village a little bit longer than Gaara wanted but he suffered in silence, uttering nothing to anyone when Sakura embraced her shishou and presented the long awaited herbs, apologizing for the wait. Like Naruto, the tanuki demon remained close by Sakura’s side, his eyes observing every little movement, a sentinel ready to turn into a vicious warrior if there was any hint of Sakura being threatened. Tsunade, Sakura’s mentor and mother figure, merely raised her eyes at the two strangers but didn’t comment on their presence at first. She directed her attention back to her apprentice, relieved to see her safe and sound after all this time but was simultaneously puzzled when Sakura announced she had to depart the village and didn’t know when she’d be coming back.

“But Sakura, I don’t understand. What do you mean you’re leaving?” Her honey brown eyes moved from her apprentice to Naruto and Gaara, suspicion etched on her features. While Gaara stoically glared right back at her, Naruto at least attempted to act congenial by beaming toothily and waving awkwardly at Tsunade. “Do these boys have anything to do with this peculiar decision of yours?”

Sort of. But it’s complicated.

Instead, Sakura answered, “It’s a long story, shishou, but they helped me. And right now, I just can’t stay here any more, not for a while.” Or ever.

However, she kept that dismal line of thought to herself, stowing it in the darkest recesses of her mind because she didn’t want contemplate the possibility that this could be the last time she’d ever behold her teacher again, the only person who truly cared about her dreams and desires and offered her an apprenticeship in medicine. And if Tsunade believed there was a chance she’d see her apprentice again, then she might be more accepting in letting Sakura go with Gaara and Naruto with minimal fuss.

Even though the urge to tell Tsunade the truth, to break down in her arms and sob that she was no longer human and wouldn’t be welcomed anymore by the people who once thanked her for treating their wounds and ailments, fiercely chewed her up minute by minute, clawing at her to cave in. Instead, she steeled herself against Tsunade’s observant scrutiny and dug her fingertips into her besmirched apron, thankfully only covered in dirt and grass stains and not her own blood.

Tsunade regarded her carefully, her gaze never wavering for at least thirty seconds or so until she let out a heavy sigh and her shoulders sagged. “I know what it was like and what I craved for when I was your age so I won’t press you, Sakura. But please visit me when you can and don’t forget your training. I long to see you become a top physician in your right.” The older woman smiled fondly at her, patting her head as Sakura brightened at Tsunade’s remarks. Even with such little information given to her, Tsunade still believed in her and trusted her judgment. Maybe one day, she’ll tell Tsunade what really happened, after she became wholly accustomed to her demon body.

“Thank you, shishou. I promise I won’t let you down!”

Her mentor nodded firmly, satisfied with the fiery resolve blooming across Sakura’s visage. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Sakura. And as for your two ‘friends’...” She turned around fully to face them with the full force of her disapproving glower and cracked her knuckles. “If either one or both of you cause my Sakura any amount of grief, pain, and misery and she doesn't break enough bones in your body, then I will personally see to it the two of you won’t be able to walk or eat solid foods for several months. Do I make myself clear?”

Despite being a demon, Naruto immediately bobbed his head, blue eyes wide and alert. “Yes, m’am!”

Gaara grunted but nodded his head slowly, unfazed by Tsunade’s menace. He probably found her mentor’s violent words amusing, just like Sakura’s presence was to him.

Sakura groaned in her hands. Thankfully, there were no more outbursts and threats and three of them managed to leave Tsunade’s home with Naruto and Gaara in one piece. She had no idea what would be in store in her when she ventured into the world of demons, yet at least she wasn’t doing this journey alone.

Stretching out her motley wings to get used to their height and wingspan, Sakura watched Gaara and Naruto unlock the complex illusion that was cast over the main gateway into their clans’ lands and closed her eyes in relief. Yes, at least she wasn’t alone and would have help along the way in training and harnessing her demonic abilities and one day, be able to fly on her own. She was looking forward to that part.

“The stories got it all wrong,” she murmured to herself. “Demons aren’t so terrible after all.”

#narutofantasyweek2020 #narutofantasyweek #naruto fantasy week #naruto-fantasy-week #GaaSaku #NaruSaku #Sakura x Gaara #Sakura x Naruto #my writing #monstrous #Naruto

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panickinganakin · 5 years ago

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seven vs two

A/N: Here is chapter two! This is just reader learning more about the force and about what she’ll be doing. You can read chapter one here I think we are gonna call this fic Restoring Balance. I’ve also decided to upload to Wattpad. Yikes. Star Wars is taking over my life. Blah blah, I know I’ll shut up now.

warnings: Nothing extreme, just a bit of harsh language, reader passes out as well. angst and anger. internal violence nothing absolutely awful.

word count: 1692

chapter one

Your eyes fluttered opened, anxiety spiking when the white walls surrounding you replaced your blurry vision. You gripped the black sheets you were laying on, remembering where you were and what was happening.

The previous night was your first with Kylo. He taught the basic idea of the force; what it does, what it is and how to control the first steps. “Training will not be easy, it will be stressful and there will be many sleepless nights,” he told you the night before.

You rubbed your eyes, raising up. Kylo had been kind enough to prepare your own bed in a room close to his, still not trusting you, you deducted.

Your life was more than confusing now. Normally, at this time you would be sweeping living quarters and fluffing pillows. Now, you were on your way to becoming a Sith, as Kylo titled it.

“Change, and come to the outer room. We have even more to do today than yesterday.” His voice boomed, how did he know you were awake already?

“Yes, Commander,” you called not skipping a beat to his orders. After much consideration you thought have a semi-powerful position would be better than scrubbing a shitter.

When you made your way into the open area where you had spent many hours the previous night, he was already sitting in the floor, his legs crossed. It was strange, seeing the commander without his mask, but it was nice, you thought. Regretting it immediately, it was hard to remember the commander could read your thoughts.

“Master Ren,” he corrected. Shit, he did read your thoughts.

“W-what?” Your voice held the confusion that clouded your brain.

“You will call me Master Ren, because I’m training you in the force. Others call me commander.”

You nodded, sitting down in front of the man. All of it still felt like a fever dream. You found him to be a lot nicer than you remembered. Maybe it was because you could be an asset, not because he was nice.

“Don’t think me nice? I’m not. I’m a murderer. And you will be too. Now, shut your mind down or you won’t learn anything. We have to show Snoke that you have potential. I’m giving you an opportunity to advance above your station, if you prove me foolish I— will— terminate you.” His voice seemed confident and steady, you decided then that maybe he wasn’t nice.

Shut up, you told yourself.

“Now, to continue where we left off previously... You will feel pulls, the dark, the light, the balance.. Jedis only care about the light. They feel nothing, no love, anger, any emotions. They train you to be droids basically. The rebellion is childish and the resistance will be ended. You agree, Y/N?” His face was like stone, no emotion whatsoever was being given off.

“Of course, it’s all I’ve ever been taught.” You answered honestly. From a young age you’ve always had ‘Rebel Scum’ drilled into your skull.

“No, it’s not about what you learn. I learned to be a Jedi, I decided to do what was right- to leave. You will be faced with choices, your instinct will be to go with your heart. Always feel the anger within you.”

“Comman— Sorry, Master Ren, I don’t feel any anger.” You felt truthful saying this, you had nothing to be angry for. Your life was just that- the way it was.

“Don’t lie to me,” his jaw was clenched and he was becoming angry himself. “The First Order kidnapped you when you were a youngling, they killed your mother right before your eyes. You were placed on a ship, given absolutely no option to leave! You fold sheets for fucks sake and you aren’t angry? You’re foolish if you think you can sit here and lie to me!” He was up now, pacing around you.

You felt a wave emotions engulf you. You were angry, you had just suppressed it for so many years. You were also scared. Scared of the red blade that was crackling beside you as Kylo stabbed it into the ground.

You were on your feet, scrambling for the door. The control panel wasn’t showing any sign of life as you clawed at it. No one in and no one out his voice from yesterday’s altercation in the medic room pounced in your head. It was useless, you couldn’t get out and no one was coming to help you.

You turned around, fists clenched, “Don’t treat me like that!” You weren’t sure what had come over you, a hand flew to your mouth the moment you said it, instant regret.

“Then stop acting like everything you’ve had to live through doesn’t rage you to your deepest core!” He was shouting, why was he doing this? He was making you angry! It hit you, this was the point, he was pulling the rage out of you.

You would label yourself a calm person, normally, but as you stood here with this man screaming at you, your blood began to boil. You closed your eyes, seeing your mother’s soft blonde hair and blue eyes. You seen your life in the sand, when it was good, before they ruined it.

Your fists were tightened, the table in the center was shaking, you could hear it. “Yes! Focus!”

You were scared to open your eyes, but you wanted to see what happened. You looked over, the table was floating in the air, after a few seconds it dropped. Not long after you felt body tighten as if it were a rubber band being wound, then as if someone let the band go, you fell to the ground.

You felt as if you were floating, no, you were floating. The stars were surrounding you, images of passing TIE fighters and various other spacecrafts. As you laid there, floating in the galaxy, you seen a man. He had long wavy hair, it was a blond dishwater color. A scar trailing down his face. “Fight back, don’t give in!” He shouted.

You gasped, raising up quickly. Kylo’s hand pushing your head back down to his leg. He had you propped up on his thigh, holding a towel to your head. “That will get easier, controlling it. You won’t pass out anymore.”

You shoved his arm away you and scuttled to the side, “Why did you do that?” You pulled you legs to your chest, fearing the sob that was threatening your throat. “Why would say those things? What did I do?”

“I told you, you have to feel your anger. You lied and said you felt nothing, I simply aided you. This isn’t a pity party, it’s the First Order. Get up, and try again.” Kylo ordered.

You looked up at him, his mouth was twitching, he looked irritated. You felt bad for shoving him away, he was after all, being kind of enough to soothe her. “I-I’m Sorry, thank you- for helping.”

“Stop. Get up, the last emotion you should be reaching for is peace. You won’t find companionship here,” he was on his feet, straightening up the table.

He left the room, coming back immediately holding stones. He placed them evenly on the table, “Try again, up.” He ordered once more.

You stood, rubbing your forearm. “Yes, Master Ren.”

Many hours passed by with you floating rocks and tables, Kylo yelling and you passing out once more. Your body felt drained, you had never been this tired before. You were changing into a dress robe for sleeping that was placed here the night before. “Dinner,” Kylo said entering the room.

You jumped back, clutching your chest. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

A grin crept on Kylo’s face but left as quickly as it came. “Join me? In the main quarters?”

You nodded and watched as he left. You finished pulling on the dress and sighed. 48 hours ago you were in the cafeteria, eating with other maids and now— Kylo Ren had requested you for dinner. Things were, very odd.

“Eat,” he ordered pointing at one of the plates on the table. The meals looked fine enough, regular cafeteria food. Rolls, meats and veggies.

“Yes, Master Ren,” you sat in front of the table, reaching for the utensils.

“What are you feeling?” He asked, stuffing food into his mouth.

“Can’t you read my thoughts?” You laughed lightly then looked down, deciding he was more than likely not the joking type. “I feel- uh- weird? It still feels like most of this is fake. I passed out in a medic room, woke up in our Commanders personal quarts and now I’m moving rocks with my mind. Not to mention in two days I leave to meet the Supreme Leader, me, a First Order shit bowl scrubber.”

He chuckled, a real laugh this time, “I thought you folded bed sheets?”

You suddenly felt at ease, as if maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “Don’t you know, Master Ren? I’m a master myself, of many things. I can fold sheets, dress pillows, sweep the floors, scrub the toilets and, I even clean the showers. What do you do again? Fly ships and weild a light saber? Looks like I have five skills compared to your two? Oh, six if I count the floating rocks.” You laughed taking a sip of the water at the table.

“Seven if you count passing out,” he added, his expression flat again.

You coughed awkwardly, feeling as if you pushed your limits to soon. “Forgive me, Master Ren.”

“You’re funny, that’s eight, I won’t allow you to have more skills than that, your training ends now. You’re dismissed.” You looked at his stone face in terror, was he serious? The thoughts of sweeping living quarters again made you feel sick. “Nine, you lack the ability to see a lie- a joke.” He grinned again.

“Touché. But, I think that technically revokes my eighth skill of being funny.”

He tilted his head, pondering your words. “Seven skills it is.”

The rest of the meal was silent, but not the uncomfortable silence that had been there before. You stood up, taking your plate to a trash bin. “Goodnight, Master Ren,” you called turning for your new bed.

He nodded you away but stopped you before you reached the door, “Master Ren is a lot to say, we need to save on time. Just call me Kylo, unless we are in front of Snoke,” he added at the end.

You nodded, suppressing a smile, finally leaving the room.

You found sleep quickly, dreaming of the blonde man who approached you when you lost consciousness. “Fight back, don’t give in!”

chapter three

#kylo ren #kylo #kylo x reader #kylo fanfic #Star Wars au #kylo au #star wars #Star Wars fic #writing

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whetstonefires · 5 years ago

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director's cut top guide? I don't have a section in specific pick your favorite I guess I love the whole thing

Awwwww thank you. 💗😊 For the compliment, the interest, and the guidance. Additionally thanks because I just discovered I didn’t update this fic in October like I thought I did! It’s still in the status it had in July. So uh. I’ll be getting right on that. ˋ( ° ▽、° )

I think I’m gonna go with a passage back near the start, in the first half of chapter 4, the one where Tifa’s getting Vincent out of his coffin. I like how it came out and it’s pretty important, and if I’ve rambled about it at all, it wasn’t recently.

There’s a push-pull effect fundamental to this scene–first physically, with Tifa moving and destroying actual barriers, and Vincent repeatedly attempting to withdraw. But also on the level of Tifa attempting a series of verbal sallies, which Vincent initially rebuffs and then ignores by vampirically pulling the covers over his head and generally putting the passive in passive-aggressive.

But after telling her to go ahead and set the building on fire with him in it, Vincent gets his lid on and settles on being inert, and Tifa gets to do a monologue.

There are a lot of speeches in this fic, honestly, because of the precedent set by canon/the kinds of characters I’m working with, but most of them are nowhere near this long, and even though Tifa’s trying to achieve a specific rhetorical objective here, they’re generally not quite this honest.

“It’s easy to decide to die,” she told him, at length. “It’s easy to stop fighting when there doesn’t seem to be any hope. I know.

“But you’ll always regret it. You know that. If you’d been brave enough to choose Lucrecia over the Turks before Hojo got his grubby claws into her, maybe none of this would ever have happened. If she’d been brave enough to choose you sooner, it might have been okay. Not choosing is almost always a bad choice. If you come out of hiding, more things will happen—things that can’t unhappen. I know that’s frightening. But things happen without you, too. When you’re not there. When you do nothing.”

Tifa rocked back on her heels. “You can’t make the world go back to the way it was before, get back the same happiness or hope from your memories…not even if you could wind back time.”

Here Tifa is combining her intimate knowledge of Vincent’s circumstances with her own situation to create a sort of…weaponized empathy.

She can’t afford for Vincent to not listen to her, because she refuses to either give up on her mission or kill him, so when the normal approach fails she falls back on contingency and proceeds to run absolutely roughshod over all his personal boundaries.

Now, being able to wield future information against people this way is one of the major features of this general genre of time travel story, particularly when (like Tifa here) the traveler had level-ups, but didn’t get to carry them into New Game Plus. Tifa later uses it against Tseng with no artfulness whatsoever.

But that kind of blunt, bludgeoning use of intimate knowledge is a power game; it’s not how you treat a friend. So Tifa spends a lot of this speech, especially the opening, drawing connections between her experience and Vincent’s, exposing herself emotionally as much as can reasonably be managed without going off on any Tifa-centric tangents.

Being displaced in time and separated from everything you cared about is relevant, here. And she’s also able to bring her personal experience with feeling helpless and trapped–not by the sort of clear antagonistic obstacle you can batter down with your fists but by the certainty that every possible course of action is Terrible and Wrong and so you can’t act, because you can’t choose–she specifically frames it in terms of having to decide between binary options, because that’s how we’ve seen her experience it wrt i.e. ‘talking to Cloud about how his brain is weird.’

The experience is similar enough to Vincent’s, especially his not-initiating of important relationship conversations with Lucretia at the beginning, for these terms to work for communication purposes, but it’s very definitely Tifa’s experience being mapped onto Vincent’s here, and proffered to ameliorate the inherent violence of what she’s doing.

Her coping mechanism for that trapped feeling, though, is to distract herself with Doing Something Constructive that allows her to avoid the issue without feeling like she’s stuck.

There’s a certain extent to which allowing time to process or grieve is important, and Tifa is bad at allowing it, largely I think because she’s very aware of the danger of getting mired in paralysis and ruminating on the bad thing until it’s all that exists. Vincent more than anyone else in the cast is defined by his choice to identify with his trauma, and while Aerith is the one most defined by trying not to do that, Tifa’s far enough to that end to create a conflict in viewpoint even when nothing vitally important is at stake.

I also included a dialogue ping to the place where she talks about this in the Advent Children movie, though if you’ve been following my opinions on ffvii any time at all you probably know I have so many problems with thedecisions made with Tifa in that film. Even the parts that areconsonant with her established characterization require her to have rolled back mostof her development from the OG.

The part where she doesn’t come with Cloud on the rescue mission shebullies him into is so utterly backward and the opposite of her establishedbehavior and values and just basic logic that I have to sort of write around it,because I can’t accept that it happened. But if we ignore that bit, and the amount of self-centeredness in the harangue, some elementsof the interaction have potential.

Because if nothing else it’s the most explicit verbal treatment in the Compilation of the recurring theme of people being ‘stuck.’ Not by bars and walls and certain death, but by the prisons inside their heads.

“But…there are still possibilities. Still things you can do to make the world better. Her choices…they weren’t your fault. But whatever you’re blaming yourself for right now…lying here until you die won’t make it better. The biggest sin of all, to me, is not trying to make things better.

“You aren’t a monster, Vincent. Nothing Hojo did to your body, nothing Lucrecia did to bring you back, could make you one. As long as you have your mind, you decide. And it’s what you decide to do that makes the difference between a human and anything else.”

She’s hitting hard, here: call to action, absolution, extremely targeted personal affirmation, clarification that she really does know what’s up with him, new information that Lucrecia was involved with his current status, and finally, optimistic conceptual framework imposed on the situation, since Vincent certainly isn’t capable of that himself.

This treatment of Vincent’s situation vis-a-vis humanity is, of course, also very relevant to the ensuing plot-central question of what Sephiroth is, and whether he has the power to make good life choices. Which Tifa is not nearly as sure of as with Vincent, since while she stands by the principle that it’s a matter of choice she knows for a fact that Vincent can make good ones, but has certainly never seen evidence with Sephiroth.

And then of course there’s Genesis, who would love to get everyone to accept that his sins are a function of what rather than who he is, and drag down with him anyone he can reach, and who by his very effort to sell the idea makes it seem less likely.

I’ve excerpted only Tifa’s dialogue and some of the tags from the rest of the passage, because her narration gets lengthier and isn’t what I’m focusing on for this commentary.

She waited. But the man in the box didn’t move, and he didn’t speak. “Lucrecia is still alive,” she told him. “Preserved in crystal. Hidden away. You two really are a pair, aren’t you? And maybe you’re both right to be concerned—she’s got Jenova in her, and you’ve got those things that replaced your Limit Breaks. But they don’t control you.”

[…]

“They don’t control you,” she repeated. “Hojo doesn’t control you. You can choose to do nothing for the rest of your long life if that’s what you really want. But it’s not your destiny. And it’s not what’s right.”

‘It’s not what’s right’ is an interesting line in retrospect, because Tifa’s saying it within a framework of denying Vincent’s reasoning that there’s something somehow virtuous about closing himself off from the world, so he can’t do any more harm. Specifically in the context of assuring him that he has control over his actions, and his Limit Break things don’t.

But in the overall argument, about how his power of self-determination relates to responsibility to the world, it can also be read as a moral condemnation, the suggestion that there is a specific thing that’s right, and Vincent isn’t doing it.

“Sephiroth is an adult now,” she said [….] “They put him in the Shinra military. Made him a General.”

[…] “If Hojo and Jenova have their way, he’ll become a monster soon,” she confided in the coffin. “Maybe there’s no way to change that. Maybe it’s too late for him. Maybe it’s his destiny. But it’s not too late for the rest of the world, not yet. I know that much. Everyone who has the power to fight him has a responsibility to try.”

That’s where her speech winds up–rather abrupt return to her earlier, blown-off argument about Sephiroth imminently killing everybody and how Vincent should help. He doesn’t do anything. He continues to be a box.

So then she punches her way into the coffin.

“What are you?”

She knew it wasn’t her feat of strength that had impressed him, though he probably appreciated the rhetorical force of it.

I really like this line. Describing ‘punching open the box someone’s hiding in at the climax of an inspirational speech’ as a rhetorical device is the kind of thing I find very funny, and I got characterization of both of them and story advancement into the sentence too.

“Tifa,” she said. “Tifa Lockhart.” She held out her right hand. “Get up, Vincent Valentine. The world isn’t done with you yet.”

He let her pull him up onto his feet.

Some obvious symbolism there, fitted into the very important fact that this worked.

Getting Vincent out of his coffin has been the only thing Tifa’s attempted so far in the story that has turned out more or less exactly as planned. Not entirely easily, and not following a step-by-step plot because that’s not Tifa, but without random factors interceding and requiring her to recalculate wildly, make decisions entirely on the fly, and draw up a new set of plans in the aftermath, either.

In a way, the Vincent recruitment section microcosms the fight Tifa’s having with the universe throughout the fic, in her efforts to make things line up so she can get a better outcome to this nightmare scenario she’s been pitched back into: direct, physical actions are persistently vital and necessary, but her real success must always hinge on her particular knowledge, and ability to apply it.

Apply it specifically, thus far, mostly to getting people to take her seriously and do as she says. Because she’s been placed in a position where as useful and important as her personal power is, it’s not the right tool to rely on for her central task. That has to be tackled via community building, in a context that intensely disinclines her to attempt such overtures.

Which in turn invokes one of the several great dichotomies of Tifa’s in-game characterization–the periodic tension between her social impulses, to bind and soothe and promote bonding, and her…reactive impulses, to seize the world in both hands and find something to fight and do and change, so she doesn’t feel helpless in the face of all that is evil.

The parts of her character arc in the game that aren’t actively about Cloud seem to center around being forced to face that both these behavior patterns (especially in their role as coping mechanisms) are capable of being not only inadequate but actively, harmfully inappropriate to particular situations.

And then coping with this fact, and continuing to inhabit these parts of her identity in ways that turn out constructive. E.g., choose caring for Cloud over leading party to do anti-Shinra things that have only the vaguest prospect of actually averting the apocalypse; successfully retrieve his mind from the Lifestream. Help punch Sephiroth to death and stop him from holding back Holy; world saved.

If you try really hard to get a personal moral for Tifa out of the OG that isn’t pretty sexist, it might come down to something like: realize that you might be acting wrongly; then, act. Stay afraid, but do it anyway.

And, optimistically: perhaps you do not have to choose between your faces. Perhaps they are both allowed. Perhaps all of you is allowed. Perhaps you are enough.

One of the things Tifa and Cloud share is needing so desperately to be enough.

In a way that’s a feeling that unites the entire party, in their various ways, except maybe Aerith, depending on how you interpret her relationship to the obligations of being the Last Ancient. But Tifa and Cloud are about the same age and come from the same context and share a major trauma, so it looks particularly similar in them.

And of course there are also ways it looks especially similar between Tifa and Vincent, because they’re the most hopeless romantics in the party. 😆

#this is too long #but i'm tired of trying to cut it down #it is what it is #ask meme #director's commentary #my fic #ffvii #meta #tifa lockhart #vincent valentine #top guide #hoc est meum #a nonny mouse #ask

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starscreamwastaken · 5 years ago

Text

For @starjackweek! I have all the chapters posted on Ao3, but the chapters are short enough I thought I’d also post them here. All of the fics take place in the same AU. They hopped on a ship and ran away to live happily ever after.

Day 3: Trust/reverence

Starscream heard the beeping in his dreams, but he doused it. The waves were rough, but he rode them. He gripped the sheet beneath his palm, digging his claws into the thin berthpad. The buzzing got louder and louder. Starscream groaned, swatting at Wheeljack to get up and turn off the damn alarm.

As soon as he moved the ship jolted, sending them both against the wall. Starscream jolted awake. He only had a moment to get his bearings before something else hit the ship, sending them against the opposite wall. The alarm lights were blaring, painting the room over and over in their red glow.

Starscream didn’t wait for the ship the throw them around again. He activated his thrusters, grabbed Wheeljack by the wrist, and flew them through the twisting ship. In the kitchen Starscream had to dodged the pots and pans being thrown out of the cupboards. As soon as they reached the control room Starscream set them down and strapped in.

The problem became obvious the moment they looked out the window. They were traveling through a brown sparkling cloud that was beating them with energy bursts and space debris. They must have slept through the initial warning, telling them they were about to fly straight into it. If they weren’t so deep Wheeljack would have tried to steer them out.

Unfortunately, all of their systems were shot with interference, and visibility was none. The only thing they could do was ride it out. Considering how long they’d been traveling through it, it was a miracle they hadn’t been flung into the nearest star or asteroid. Wheeljack activated the shields. They were relatively weak, but made for minor storms like this. It prevented tiny debris moving at ungodly speeds from damaging the hull and windows.

Wheeljack gripped the wheel tightly with both hands. His arms tensed and untensed, battling the minute but potentially catastrophic movements of ship. The wheel wanted to bend to the will of the storm. Wheeljack would not let it.

Starscream kept track of their bearings. He tried to adjust the system so it would actually tell them where they were, and not just sputter in a panic when they came close to an asteroid. After a couple of hours Starscream huffed, defeated. He leaned back in his chair and adjusted the seatbelt across the chest. He looked at Wheeljack, tense shoulders, clenched hands.

“How are you doing?” Starscream asked.

Wheeljack shrugged. “Could be better,” he admitted. “My hands are beginning to cramp.”

“I could always take over for a while.”

Wheeljack nodded. “Yeah. I think that would be best.”

Starscream pressed the button on the console in front of him, summoning the co-pilot controls. Wheeljack steadily loosened his grip as Starscream’s tightened. Once the transfer was complete Wheeljack stood up and stretched until every joint and strut in his body popped.

“I’m gonna get a cube,” he said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’ll be right back.”

Wheeljack returned a moment later. He downed two cubes, hooked himself in, and was asleep within seconds. After a couple of hours the lights went off in the ship to diverge power to the shields. Starscream took the ship’s rancid air into his vents in an attempt to keep himself awake. He blinked the soreness from his eyes, and kept them dead on the task at hand. Silvery wisps of tiny debris flew over the shields. Little black rocks, and pink dust consumed Starscream’s vision. The constant unchanging landscape made Starscream’s mind feel numb.

The dark ship and light snoring of his conjux disappeared from view, so that only the storm remained.

Starscream shook off the feeling, aware that if he let himself get swept up the ship would go with them.

Starscream turned his attention away from the storm. He couldn’t do this forever. They couldn’t do this forever. It could take days, even weeks to get out of a storm in space. It had been a day, and the two of them were already exhausted. They couldn’t do this for weeks. They probably wouldn’t last another day.

In all the years they’d been on this ship they were on top of things. They didn’t plunge head first into cosmic storms. Their systems were usually more up to date. But the upgrade they were due for was a week away when they stopped on the next tech panet.

Starscream tried to think. Right now all of their physical energy was going into keeping the ship steady. He was tempted to wake Wheeljack up and brainstorm together, but he didn’t want to disturb him. For now Starscream thought on his own until his conjux was well enough to join him.

The first issue to take care of before they could do anything was the steering. That could be solved easily enough using ropes and things to tie the steering wheel in place. They would have to work fast, but they could do it. Whatever it was they were going to do.

Starscream wracked his brain. They could wake up the jump drive and try to jump out of the storm, but without their navigation equipment they could jump out right into a star, or an asteroid. It might be a risk worth taking at this point. Unless they could find a way to enhance their navigation systems to reach past the storm. Considering they hadn’t been able to already, they were in the midst of something enormous.

The only thing they could do to try and increase their range was climb out onto the ship and connect more than one sensor or antena, if they had any to spare. If they could get even the smallest blip outside of the storm they could activate the warp and jump outside of it. If they narrowly missed an asteroid at least they would still miss it.

Starscream needed Wheeljack if this plan was going to work. Starscream waited another two hours. He checked the navigation to see if there were any improvements. Nothing. Which meant the plan would go into action.

Unable to let go of the wheel Starscream lifted his leg and kicked Wheeljack in the shoulder. He jolted awake, barely opening his eyes to look around the room.

“Get up,” Starscream said. “I have a plan.”

Wheeljack rubbed his eyes and sat up. “We’re still in the storm? How long was I out?”

“Four hours.”

“Four-”

“Listen. I have a plan. I don’t think we’ll be getting out of this anytime soon, and if I have to drive in this storm for another week I’m going to lose my mind. Or we’re going to die. Whichever comes first.”

Wheeljack sat forward, attentive. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

“I think we need to jump.”

“We could hit something.”

“We could hit something in here too.”

“We can’t jump blind.”

“I know, I’m not trying to jump blind. We can install all the antenna we have on the outside of the ship to try and regain our bearings.”

“What? No. How would you even-” Wheeljack paused. “Star, we can’t risk going outside for something that might not even work.”

“We just need more sensors, more- somethings. More something. Or we will be jumping blind.”

“We’re not risking either of us going out of the ship. I’d rather jump blind.”

Starscream’s hand tightened around the steering wheel. “I could do it.”

“No.”

“Wheeljack,” Starscream snapped his head to look at his conjux. “We can’t do this. Our shields are going to fail before we get out of this.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We need to do something.”

Wheeljack clenched his jaw. “Well. We’re not doing that. We’ll find another way.” He pressed the button on his console and activated his steering wheel. “I’m taking over.”

They eased into the change. As soon as Starscrem was free he sprung from his seat and ran back to the engines. Their little jump drive was lame and lacked any real use. They used it to get from planet to planet when they were actually going to a planet on purpose.

They hadn’t used it in a couple of weeks. It took up most of their ship’s power, which is why they used it to get to planets and not much else.

Starscream thought about the risks. If they jumped and they ended up hitting something they were dead. If they jumped and used up all of their fuel they were dead in the water, dead a few weeks or months after that unless they came out close to a planet. If they jumped and ended up still in the storm they were very much dead.

Starscream returned to his original thought. They needed to install the sensors on the outside of the ship. If they installed the sensors they would at least be able to increase their speed without risk of hitting anything.

Then an idea popped into Starscream’s head.

He raced back to the deck and fell into his seat. “I have a plan,” he announced. “One that doesn’t involve a blind jump, or anyone going outside.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“We ram the storm.”

Wheeljack furrowed his brow. “What?”

“We divert all available power to the shields and engines, and just thrust full speed for as long as we possibly can.”

Wheeljack shook his head. “There’s no guarantee that’ll get us out. This kinda thing can go on for weeks.”

“I know.”

“And if we use up all the power to just ram through then if we lose power in the middle of it we’re dead. I think it’s best we just ride it out. We have plenty of energon and power to make it through it we just take it slow. If we have to, I’ll keep the wheel for the entire time.”

“No. I can’t let you do that.”

Wheeljack didn’t say anything for a moment. “You should sleep,” he said. “Not fair I got to rest and you ain’t.”

“I can’t,” Starscream snapped. “I can’t just leave you out here to deal with this alone. We need to find a proper solution.”

Wheeljack glanced at him. “Star, your wings are all the way up. You’re tense. You need to rest. Please, just for a few hours. Your head will be clearer when you wake up.”

Starscream forced his wings down. “Fine,” he grumbled. “I’ll sleep,” he stood up and headed to the back of the ship. “But I won’t be down for long.”

He was asleep for six hours. Six whole hours. When he woke up and checked his chrono he nearly slapped himself. He’d left Wheeljack out there alone to deal with this for six hours.

But an idea did spring to mind.

Starscream marched to the control room and took over the controls. Wheeljack’s arms fell to his sides. He slumped back in his chair and took a much needed rest. Starscream let it go for an hour before interrupting.

“We need to ride the storm,” he said.

Wheeljack sat up a little. “What?”

“Right now we’re going against it. We’re resisting the directions it wants to pull us in. I propose we find an energy burst and ride it out.”

“We could hit something.”

“Our sensors work well enough for narrow escapes and energy bursts. We won’t be wasting any energy, and if it doesn’t work we’ll be right back where we started.”

Wheeljack chewed his lip. “I dunno.”

“Come on,” Starscream urged. “There’s little to no risk in it.”

“There’s a risk in everything,” Wheeljack said, already adjusting the instruments for their little escape plan. “But who am I if not a risk taker?”

Starscream smirked. He held the wheel while Wheeljack made the adjustments and watched the monitors. He directed Starscream on where to turn the ship and when. It was an hour before they got the proper energy readouts for a burst.

As they approached the peak of their plan Starscream’s hand tightened around the wheel. Wheeljack put his hand on the thruster control and waited for just the right moment.

“Okay,” he said. “Ten seconds. We’re gonna do a 180.”

Starscream responded with a curt nod. “Alright.”

Wheeljack counted down. “Five. Four. Three. Two- Now, go now!”

Starscream turned the ship. When they were at the right angle he pressed forward. Just as the energy burst hit them Wheeljack activated the thrusters. The extra push gave them a boost in speed. They rode the storm until it spit them out right into a field of asteroids.

Starscream yelped, pulling up, avoiding a near head on collision. He dodged a couple smaller ones and steered them away from the hazard before he could finally rest.

They both vented, letting all the tension leave their bodies. Starscream turned autopilot back on and let go of the wheel.

They sat there for a minute staring at the empty space before them.

A smile slipped onto Starscream’s face. He started to laugh. It was almost hysterical. “I can’t believe that worked!”

“You didn’t think it was going to work?”

Starscream didn’t respond with words. He planted his mouth on Wheeljack’s and didn’t let go for a whole minute. When he pulled away he was still laughing. “I thought we would die.”

“What!?”

“The energy burst could have completely blown out systems,” he sighed. “Your timing was perfect. That was such a rush.”

“I’m glad to see you still get a rush from almost dying.”

Starscream laughed. “Only with you.”

#long post #starjack #starjackweek

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serenlyss · 6 years ago

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Abuse of Authority

Rating: T for some language and descriptions of violence (though there’s no actual fighting) Pairings: None this time, but I guess you can spot some Ritshou or Terumob if you really squint. Just Reigen being a dad for the most part. Summary: It's been a long day. Shou's father exploded. Mob grew a giant broccoli in the middle of the city. Teru lost his apartment. Ritsu helped burn down his own house. Reigen can't just leave them behind, so he offers them all to stay in his apartment. Is there enough space? Not really. Was he equipped to suddenly take care of four teenagers? Not in the slightest. But he'll be damned if he doesn't try. Crossposted to AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18445943

My first fic on tumblr! I’ve been wanting to write for MP100 for a few weeks now and finally got around to it. I guess you can call it a canon divergent post-world domination arc fic about all the kids having a sleepover at Reigen’s. Hope you like it!

“It’s not a lot of space, but it should work for a night,” Reigen sighed, reaching into the pocket of his slacks to fish out a ring of keys. The sound of metal on metal as the keys bounced off each other was loud compared to the quiet of the night; the sun had long gone down, and now that Claw had disbanded and the attempt at world domination had been thwarted, the whole city had gone ghostly silent. Not a helicopter or police car dared get too close to the giant broccoli in the center of the city, too afraid of another potential disaster.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, right guys?” replied Shou, a grin on his face despite the harsh circumstances of the night’s battle. He stuck close to Ritsu’s side, making up for his obvious displeasure at being forced to stay in Reigen’s small apartment with a surprising enthusiasm. “It’s like a sleepover! It’ll be fun!”

Reigen flipped the lights on in the apartment, hanging his coat and keys next to the door like he always did. “Wait out here, I’ll find some food,” he said, though he doubted he had much to eat, especially with - how many kids were there, like three? Four? No, Teru had gone home. Too many to feed when he’d only ever shopped for himself, anyway. Still, anything was better than nothing. He disappeared around the corner into a separate kitchen, the sounds of cabinets opening and closing sounding from behind the wall.

Ritsu sighed, adjusting his grip on Mob’s legs as he carried his older brother into the dim apartment. He’d fallen asleep again after saying goodbye to Teru, his arms limp over Ritsu’s shoulder and his breathing soft and even. He leveled a glare at Shou. “Don’t make me remind you that it was your idea to burn down our house,” he retorted, clearly cross, though there was little real bite behind his accusatory words.

Shou just laughed in reply. “Come on, Ritsu, it worked, right?” He clasped his hands behind his head, stepping into the apartment behind Reigen and looking around curiously.

On Ritsu’s back, Mob stirred, woken by the sound of his friends’ voices. He hummed, arms moving up to grasp Ritsu’s shoulders gently and he looked around with bleary eyes. “Hmm? Did we make it?” he asked, breaking off into a yawn as he did.

Shou flashed him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, did we wake you up?” he asked. “You should sleep more, you really used a lot of power before.”

Mob shook his head, reaching up to rub his eyes with one hand as Ritsu set him back down on the ground. “No, it’s alright. I slept all the way back here,” he replied, though he was obviously still quite groggy. He looked around, as the others had, taking in Reigen’s small apartment. A tidy living area took up the front room, with a couch and coat rack up against the back wall and a coffee table in the center of the room. A modest television sat on a square-shaped table on the opposite wall, though it was powered off for now. “I’ve never been to Master’s apartment before,” he said thoughtfully, the title rolling off his tongue naturally after all these years of being Reigen’s student.

Ritsu fought back the scowl that came to his face at this, never having approved of Mob’s apprenticeship under who he considered a fairly obvious fraud. “It’s cleaner in here than I thought it would be. Reigen always seems so disorganized, I thought there would be stuff all over the place.”

“Hey! I’m very organized, thank you very much! I wouldn’t be able to run such a profitable business if I didn’t even have that going for me.” Reigen appeared from the kitchen again, holding a bag of potato chips in one hand and a tupperware container of brown rice in the other. A stack of mismatched bowls was balanced on top, one for each of them. He set them on the coffee table, then pointed a finger at Ritsu. “You should be more grateful to me for offering up my home to you. I could have just left you in the smoldering remains of your house, you know.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Mob replied with an easy smile, reaching for one of the empty bowls and cupping it in both hands. “You’re too nice for that.”

Reigen opened his mouth, presumably to retort, then closed it again, feeling himself at a loss for words. “When did you get so ballsy?” he said quietly, voice taut, but he had to fight to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up.

Shou barked out a laugh, loud and rich, snapping up a bowl himself and eagerly reaching for the rice with a fork. “Aw, c’mon, Ritsu, drop the glum face for a bit. He was kind enough to let us sleep over, after all,” he pointed out.

Ritsu reached for a potato chip, examined it for a moment, then popped it into his mouth. “Whatever,” he mumbled. “Speaking of which, where are we even going to sleep?” He glanced up at Reigen; there wasn’t exactly a lot of extra space in here, and he doubted there was any kind of guest room in an apartment like this.

Reigen shrugged. “The couch folds out into a futon that could probably fit two of you, but whoever’s left over will have to make due with sleeping on the floor. I have some extra sheets and blankets for my bed you can borrow, make it a little softer, and I bet I could find a pillow or two if I look hard enough,” he explained. “I don’t usually have guests over, though. Honestly you’re lucky I even have the futon, I only bought it because it was cheap and small.”

“I’ll take the floor,” Shou offered immediately, glancing toward Mob and Ritsu before they could say anything. “You two share the futon.”

“Are you sure?” Ritsu asked, surprised by how fast he’d offered. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

Shou shook his head. “I can sleep anywhere, dude. You don’t have to worry about that,” he assured with a grin.

Mob offered the boy a small, kind smile. “Thank you, Shou, that’s very kind of you,” he said earnestly.

Reigen chuckled as the three conversed, but he was interrupted by a call on his cell phone. He pulled it out, frowning when he didn’t recognize the number.

Mob glanced at him, tilting his head in curiosity. “Who’s calling?” he asked. “It’s pretty late at night, isn’t it?”

“Probably a telemarketer calling to ask for a donation or something,” Reigen replied, standing up. “I’ll see who it is, you three keep eating.” The poor kids were probably starving after such a long day of fighting against adults. The thought made him scowl. Why should kids their age have to fight against adults abusing their powers? They may be espers, but they were still children who had other things to worry about. He closed the bedroom door behind him as he lifted the phone to his ear, picking up the call. “Hello?”

“Oh, Reigen! I’m glad you picked up, I was worried you might be asleep.”

Reigen blinked in surprise at the voice that came from his phone’s speaker. “... Teruki, is that you?” he asked, his brain taking a bit to catch up to his ear in his tired state. “Er, do you need something?”

A soft, somewhat nervous laugh came across the line. “Sorry to bother you like this. I got your phone number from Kageyama, so we could keep in touch, and I guess it came in handy. Um…” he trailed off, line going silent, and for a moment Reigen was afraid the connection may have cut out.

“Are you still there?” he asked, though he could pick up static noise on the other side of the line. “Look, kid, just tell me what you need, alright? We’re fine, if you’re wondering that. The other three are eating in the main room, do you want to talk to them?”

“Ah, sorry, that’s not why I called,” Teru replied quickly. “I, uh, got back to my apartment, but… it’s in worse shape than I remember. And by that, I mean most of my wall is gone and my furniture is kinda… destroyed.” He cleared his throat, sounding embarrassed. “I know I said I’d be fine on my own, but-”

“Your wall is gone?!” Reigen interrupted, his thoughts finally catching up with him enough to sputter something out. “What do you mean it’s gone? What happened? You know what, that doesn’t matter right now. Are you safe? Jesus, you shouldn’t sleep in an apartment with a hole in a wall, you might get sick.” He continued to ramble for a moment, listing all the irresponsible things that could happen to a kid living in an apartment with no wall and no furniture, but paused when he heard Teruki’s stifled laughter on the other end of the line.

Teru attempted to disguise the laughter with a cough, clearing his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he said in an almost teasing way. “And yeah, I’m safe, it’s just my apartment that was damaged. But, uh, I don’t really have any other place to go right now, so… is the offer to crash at your place still open?”

Reigen blinked, mind running a mile a minute as he tried to determine if there was enough space. Even if there wasn’t, though, could he really say no? “What about your parents?”

The line went quiet again for a moment before Teru answered, in a softer voice, “They’re overseas. I live by myself, so you don’t have to worry about that. They send me money, too, but I’m too young to book a hotel room, so, uh, my options are limited. Do you have space?”

Well, now he definitely couldn’t say no. But still, a kid who couldn’t be older than fourteen, living by himself with no parental guardians to even check in on him in person? Not only was it probably illegal for Teru’s parents to leave him alone like that, but there was no way a kid like him could care for himself completely. There was a reason kids weren’t considered adults until they were eighteen, even if he could cook and clean for himself just fine. “Yeah, yeah, I have space. Do you live far? I can come by in a taxi and pick you up if you need it. Do you have any extra clothes of blankets or anything that didn’t get messed up?” His worry for Teru was rising by the moment as he started to imagine what the life of a fourteen year old boy with no parents and all the responsibilities of an adult must be like. Was he eating right? Was he keeping his place clean? What happened when things broke, and he didn’t have the authority to call a plumber, or a mechanic?

“Uuhh, I’ll look. I think I have some clothes that weren’t burned, but my bed got toasted. And it’s okay, I can walk. Just send me the address,” Teru replied, and in the background Reigen heard the sound of drawers opening and closing. “Aha! My clothes seem like they’re mostly intact, at least the ones not in the closet. I have some sweatpants, pajamas, tee-shirts… want me to bring extras? I’m not sure if Kageyama and his brother were able to salvage anything from their house before… you know.”

That was actually… a really good idea, Reigen realized. They’d stopped by the school to pick up Mob’s gym clothes, but none of the Body Improvement club members had anything else that would fit the smaller, slighter middle schoolers, and he sure as hell didn’t either. “Yeah, if you can spare them, that would actually be really great. You sure you don’t need a taxi, though? It’s late at night, there might be some creeps hanging around.”

Teru laughed again, the sound echoing from Reigen’s speakers. “I think I’ve been in enough fights that a few creeps won’t be any threat,” he assured, though it didn’t do anything to make Reigen feel better, because now he was thinking about how Teru had probably been targeted by Claw just like Mob and Ritsu had, and it was making his stomach feel sour.

Still, he didn’t doubt Teru could hold his own. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll leave the door unlocked, so just let yourself in,” he said. “I’ll text you the address. Just… be safe, alright?” His voice softened some, hoping his warning would get across to the younger boy.

“Will do, boss, don’t worry about me. I’ll be there soon.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Thanks for taking me in.”

Reigen smiled softly, running a hand through his hair. These kids were going to be the death of him someday, he could feel it. “Don’t mention it, kid. See you soon.”

“See you.”

A click signaled the end of the call, and Reigen tucked his phone back into his pocket. He stood up and stretched his back with a soft sigh. He’d have to buy more food, and make sure he had plenty of blankets… well, the shopping could at least wait until tomorrow morning. For now he’d better tell the other boys about his phone call. He pushed open the bedroom door and abruptly halted when he sat that the couch had been completely opened up to reveal the collapsible futon inside.

“Oh, Master! We were just getting the bed set up,” Mob said, looking up at him with a smile. “Who was on the phone?”

Reigen made his way carefully around the futon, which now took up a good chunk of space. The coffee table had been moved closer to the kitchen and now pressed up against the wall with the couch’s cushions laying atop it, the leftover rice and opened bag of potato chips taking up one side. “Ah, it was Teru,” he replied. “Turns out his apartment got pretty badly, er, damaged.”

Mob’s smile faltered at this, replaced by a fairly obvious worry. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine, he’s actually on his way here,” Reigen answered. “He’s going to bring some of his extra clothes, too, and more blankets if he can find any. You’re in luck.”

Shou let out a breath from where he’d been sitting on the bed’s edge, flopping back fully onto the futon underneath. “Thank god, these clothes smell like dog shit,” he said, tugging on the collar of his jacket.

“Shou,” Ritsu scolded with a glare, earning a laugh from his red-haired friend.

“Sorry, sorry, my clothes smell like crap,” he corrected, cheshire grin spreading across his face as he tilted his head backward to stare upside-down at Ritsu. “For real, though, these pants are ruined.” He gestured to his torn jeans, which had ripped in several places from his earlier scuffles and the explosion that came from Mob’s collision with his father.

Ritsu sighed, perching himself on the bed’s other side. “Mine too,” he grumbled, poking his finger through a tear in the bottom of his shirt. “Anyway, d’you think Teru will bring us some real people clothes or more of what he usually wears?”

Shou shrugged, stretching his arms up behind his head. “I dunno, I don’t really care as long as they fit and don’t have holes in them,” he answered.

“Teru always looks very colorful,” Mob chimed in, placing one of Reigen’s spare pillows on one side of the bed. “I like the way he dresses.”

Ritsu couldn’t help but laugh softly at this. “Of course you would.”

Reigen had fallen quiet as the kids talked idly amongst themselves, scrolling through his notifications and reading any important messages. He’d received a text from Teru not long after they’d gotten off the phone saying he was on his way, so now it was just a waiting game. He raised a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn, eyelids heavy from the long day. “Don’t you kids think you should get some sleep?” he suggested. “It’s been a long day.”

“Aw, c’mon, dad, it’s a slumber party now, right? Everyone knows you have to stay up all night,” Shou replied with a snarky grin, sitting back up on the bed. “You, on the other hand, are free to go to bed whenever you want to.”

“Twenty-nine is not old!” Reigen snapped. “Besides, I can’t sleep until Teruki gets here and I know everyone has a place to sleep. It would be irresponsible of me not to make sure of at least that.”

“I didn’t call you old, I said you’re a dad. Or at least you act like one,” Shou pointed out, though his own experience with parental figures was… pretty bad, if he was to admit it. Still, the way Reigen shepherded the group and made sure they were taken care of is what he imagined a good father was like. Well, not everything about Reigen screamed good father material, but some things. Certain things. “Never mind that. We can keep an eye out for Teru, no worries.”

---

Despite Shou’s enthusiasm about staying up late, he was the first of the three to pass out, sprawled out on the floor next to the futon on top of a soft blanket Reigen had given to him to use. The house got much quieter after that as Mob and Ritsu moved to put proper sheets and blankets on the futon and eventually followed their friends lead, the two of them squished together comfortably on the small bed.

Reigen didn’t sleep yeet, as much as he really wanted to, afraid that he’d miss Teru’s arrival or somehow mess things up in another, unrelated way. He found himself dozing occasionally as he sat in one of his kitchen chairs, roused only by the door quietly cracking open a little while after Ritsu finally fell asleep. Teru slipped inside, hefting a stuffed-looking bag over his shoulder as he did.

Reigen stood up immediately, holding a finger to his lips as Teru flashed him a confused look. He nodded to the three other kids asleep on the floor and futon. “You took longer than I thought, I was getting close to calling you to make sure you hadn’t been kidnapped or something.”

Teru smiled at the sight of his friends, though he looked slightly disappointed that they were already asleep. “Sorry, it was, uh, a longer walk than I anticipated,” he murmured in reply. “I brought clothes, though, at least what I could salvage, and I managed to snag a blanket that wasn’t buried in debris, so that’s cool too.”

Reigen gave a nod a this, seemingly pleased, and waved for Teru to follow him into his bedroom. He left the door open, moving toward the closet at the side of the room. “C’mon in, I have some extra blankets and pillows you can use, but you’ll have to sleep in the floor with Shou. Mob and his brother claimed the futon couch,” he explained, reaching up to take down another stack of blankets from the top shelf of his closet. “Thanks for bringing the clothes, by the way. I think the others will appreciate having something not torn to shreds to wear in the morning.”

Teru glanced around the room before taking a seat on the edge Reigen’s bed, nestling his backpack between his legs. “No problem. I figured it would help pay you back a little for letting me stay over, at least ‘til I can figure out what to do about my apartment.”

Reigen set the pile of sheets on the bed for now, glancing at Teru with a slight frown. “You don’t have to pay me back. You’re a kid who needs a place to stay, I’m an adult who has some empty floor space and a couch. Besides, you’re all Mob’s friends, and, well, I owe him.” He glanced down at this, focusing on the pile of blankets and hoping Teru wouldn’t pry any further. The last thing he needed was to spill all his secrets regarding his falsified relationship with Mob to a fourteen-year-old with bad fashion taste.

Luckily for him, Teru didn’t ask about the alleged favors. “Still, I feel bad about barging in at the last second. I’ve always just kinda taken care of myself, the last few years,” he admitted, fiddling with his backpack strap. “It feels weird to ask a favor from another adult again, I guess.

Reigen sighed softly, then moved to sit in the bed next to Teru. “I mean, I did offer you to stay here before you mentioned having a place of your own,” he pointed out. “Besides, it can’t be healthy to be by yourself after… everything that happened, with Claw and the kidnappings and the whole world domination stuff. You guys may be psychics, but you’re still just kids.”

Teru chuckled softly, shrugging his shoulders. “Those guys had been coming after me long before they got to Ritsu. I was used to it,” he said in such a casual manner that it threw Reigen for a loop all over again. Just because he could defend himself didn’t mean he had to, he was barely a teenager.

“You shouldn’t have had to get used to it in the first place,” Reigen retorted, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “I know you kids are powerful, I’ve seen all of you fight firsthand, but that doesn’t mean you should get used to a life like that. You all deserve way better.” He clasped his hands together, fingers gripping tightly. “It’s not fair that you kids had to do all the fighting for the rest of us because none of the adults were strong enough or brave enough to do it themselves. I wasn’t… able to do anything, in the end.”

Teru hummed, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said softly. “You did punch Shimazaki in the face, after all.” He flashed Reigen a grin. “Plus, you’re giving all us kids a place to sleep. Without you, we might all be sleeping on park benches tonight.”

He paused, smile fading some and turning bittersweet. “I guess you’re right, it does suck that we had to do all of that, but that’s kind of just how I’ve been living, these last few years. Dodging Claw when they came after me, controlling my classmates with fear and violence, doing everything I could to survive. I was… a pretty shitty person, before Kageyama brought me down a few pegs. I probably still wound be, if he hadn’t.”

“All kids are shitty. Being a good person is something us adults are supposed to teach you. Sounds like you didn’t have a lot of that, growing up.” Reigen ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his forehead with a sigh. “Look, I know I only got wrapped up with you kids basically by accident, but… you can call me if you ever need anything, alright?”

He glanced sideways at Teru, caught off-guard when he saw that Teru was staring back at him with wide eyes. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, he raised a hand to his mouth and added, quickly, “As long as it’s not during my work hours, of course! I can’t do anything if I’m with a client, or out on a job, but, y’know, you can leave a message or something.”

Teru laughed aloud, raising a hand to his face, and as Reigen chanced another glance his way he saw him wipe a tear away from the corner of his eye. “Thanks, Reigen. I’ll take you up on that, if it ever comes up,” he replied earnestly, and as he lowered his hand again it revealed a shaky but very pleased smile.

Reigen found himself momentarily speechless as he stared down at Teru. Was it really so pleasing to him just to be offered some help in case of emergency? The suggestion had just felt natural at the time, but it was clear that Teru had really taken it to heart. He glanced away, feeling his face heat up in telltale embarrassment, and stood up again. “Well, in any case, it’s late and you should probably get some rest,” he announced, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. The hour hand taunted him, sitting a little past four in the morning. Good god, it really was late. He picked up the bundle of blankets and an extra pillow he’d taken from his bed to lend to Teru, pushing them into the boy’s hands. “Here, go find a spot to set these up. I’ll take the clothes you brought with you and throw them in the wash for now, that way they’ll be ready for everyone in the morning.”

Teru nodded, taking the blankets and passing Reigen his backpack. “They’re in the big pocket,” he explained, heading for the door. He paused as he reached it, glancing over his shoulder. “Thanks again, Reigen. It really means a lot to me.” With that said, he cracked open the door and slipped outside, closing it quietly behind him.

Reigen set the backpack on the bed, catching some muffled talking on the other side of the door, what sounded like Teru telling a drowsy Mob to go back to bed. He opened the large pocket of the backpack like Teru had told him and began pulling clothes out from inside. Although the clothes themselves seemed to have been untouched by whatever destroyed Teru’s apartment, they were still dusty, and some of them carried a faint, unpleasant smoke smell. Guess I was right about needing to put these in the wash, he thought to himself, setting them aside for now. Hopefully the smell wouldn’t stick, or they’d have to be thrown out entirely.

He moved to his dresser and cracked open a drawer in search of clean pajamas, knowing his suit was thoroughly destroyed and definitely stunk from how much he’d been tossed around today. He quickly changed into a more comfortable, and more importantly clean, tee shirt and pair of sweatpants, tossing his ruined suit aside. He’d have to throw it out and buy a new one, but that wasn’t where his thoughts were leading him. He frowned deeply, going back over his conversation with Teru over the phone. He lived by himself, in an apartment. He had to cook and clean for himself, get himself up for school, do all his own shopping, the list went on and on.

It felt like Teru’s parents had abandoned him.

Reigen shook his head, sighing. It wasn’t his place to cast judgement, at least not yet. Not until he’d heard the whole story. Though, with the way Teru had been so hesitant to admit his situation in the first place, he doubted the boy would be too quick to incriminate his own family.

That didn’t keep him from worrying, though. There was no way it was legal for an adult to leave their son at home while they went overseas, even if Teru was capable of at least keeping himself alive. What did he do when he was sick? He had no adult to call his school and tell them he wouldn’t be coming. Pursing his lips, Reigen scooped up the bundle of clothes Teru had brought with him and headed out of the bedroom, careful to make as little noise as possible.

Mob had gone back to sleep already, the thick blanket on the futon pulled up so far it nearly covered his mouth and nose. He looked cozy, Reigen noted with a soft smile. Teru had set up shop on the floor beside the futon, and though he stirred slightly as Reigen passed by him, he didn’t sit up or open his eyes. Shou was laying starfish style on his back, his own blanket covering his stomach and leaving his arms and shoulders exposed. One of his bare feet peeked up from the bottom of the blanket, and his mouth was partially open, an occasional soft snore sounding from him. Ritsu had curled up on his side, the blanket tucked firmly around him. The kids looked peaceful, and not at all like they’d just gone through a near-death experience. Well, he supposed, it wasn’t the first, and there was potential that it wouldn’t be the last.

Reigen frowned at the thought, feeling uncharacteristically protective all of a sudden. Watching Mob fight had been terrifying, for all kinds of reasons, but it had paled in comparison to the fear he’d felt when Mob had run to him, bruised and bleeding, telling them to run away before they were all killed by Touichiro’s uncontrollable psychic power. Seeing Mob’s true power didn’t make him feel nearly as afraid as he’d been when Touichiro’s power had erupted, the unspeakable terror he’d experienced at the thought that an adult’s childish actions had caused the death of a middle schooler.

Reigen swallowed thickly, turning away from the now-crowded living room of his apartment and passing through the kitchen to the adjacent laundry room. It wasn’t just Mob who had suffered as the result of adults turning their backs on the younger generation. Every one of the children now asleep in his living room bore the trauma of the realization that adults weren’t always going to be on their sides. Shou and Teru in particular seemed as though they didn’t have a lot of trustworthy adults to turn to in times of need, their trust shattered by the abuse of authority and power disparities they’d lived through.

He dropped the bundle of clothes into the washer, not even bothering to separate them into color groups as he closed the lid and began to wash cycle. He’d throw them in the dryer in the morning, before the others woke up. For now, though, the fatigue of the day bore down on his shoulders and eyelids, silently begging him to get some rest. The clock now read four-thirty in the morning, and he didn’t doubt that he’d likely sleep in past noon, but it wasn’t like he had anywhere to go tomorrow, anyway. His office was a pile of ashes, and with Seasoning City in a state of panic, he doubted any schools or offices would be operating for a few days, until the situation was resolved.

He dragged himself back to his bedroom, practically collapsing into bed. There was still lots to do before he could consider his work done, but for now, he just needed to sleep.

#mob psycho 100 #fanfic #dad reigen #eeyy first fic on tumblr #maybe i'll gradually upload some of my old stuff as well #anyway hope yall like it #serendipitousfics

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lumifuer · 7 years ago

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Architects of the Future

Pairings: David 8 x Reader Words: 1036 Warnings: Fluff Request: “Can I recommend a fic for where David and Reader bond over the fascination of the xenomorph and the white one isn't hostile towards Reader and David admires the Reader for their bravery and caring?” Summary: The reader is sent on a surface to search for David who suddenly disappeared near the abandoned alien ship. She finds him in a presence of a thing born from nightmares. Will she pull the trigger? A/N: Request for Vahraniik! Thank you for giving me a chance to write it!

Stealthily you managed to sneak near the place where you'd assumed the strange voices were coming from. Your heart was pounding in your chest and the overwhelming darkness was making you paranoid. The sensors on your suit went crazy, the tracking device was failing and the communication with the rest of the crew was lost the moment you stepped into this damn place.

You were completely on your own.

The only way out was to find David. What an irony, you'd found yourself in this place only because his signal disappeared from the radar a few hours ago. That's where you'd last heard from him.

Your ragged breath was echoing in the entire length of the corridor that was stretching ahead of you. You had no idea what could be waiting at the other side but you didn't intend to return to the ship without David.

You were making your way slowly and carefully, gently touching the wall with your arm in order to not lose your way. Then you finally saw something in the distance; faint light falling onto the floor. You pressed your lips together, trying to remain silent and stabilized the weapon in your hand. Whatever was causing your uneasiness was in that room and you weren't going to give up without putting up a fight.

You crossed the distance between you and the narrow rift in the wall and hid around the corner, listening carefully. At first, nothing interrupted the silence but after a long wait, you heard soft whispers. You recognized that voice immediately, it was the same one who would often put you to sleep or tell you about so many wonderful and breathtaking things with such excitement that it was so easy to forget it didn't belong to a flesh and blood human being.

You were about to leave the shelter when you realised that David's voice was trembling. Perhaps no one else would pay attention to this slight change in his tone but you knew that David wasn't the one to lose his composure. Whatever or whoever was with him in that room, you knew it could be a real threat.

Shutting your eyes, your fingers involuntary tighten on the rifle you were carrying. But there was no retreat, you had to aid him, no matter what.

Before your self-preserving instincts had a chance at turning you away from danger and dragging you out of this place, you bounced your back on the wall and entered the room with your gun pointed at the possible intruder.

Whatever you might have expected, the sight that came to life just before your eyes stunned you.

David was standing there, with his back turned to you and a slightly raised hand. Even though someone could easily take it for a defensive behaviour, it reminded you of the gestures one could observe while taming wild animals. A symbol of peace, lack of bad intentions.

The creature that David was apparently trying to tame turned the blood in your veins into ice and caused to shiver in fear. You desperately wanted to pull the trigger, but your finger refused to obey your mind as if the fear cut the connection between your brain and body.

"Y/N," David's soft voice diverted your attention for a short second before you focused on the creature again. The way in which he said your nice helped you get yourself together and think logically, "Don't shoot."

Despite his request, your gun was still aimed at the potential danger, but you couldn't force yourself to pull the trigger even if you wanted to.

At first glance, the alien being standing in front of David didn't have anything in common with humans but once you regained the clarity of your mind, you fully perceived its straightened body posture, a skeleton reminding you of your own and moderately human behaviour. It was staring intensely at David, visibly analysing his movement but at the same time keeping a safe distance. Its skin was pale and seemingly cold, making you shiver even from afar. Long limbs with claws sharp enough to tears you into pieces with one firm swing and an elongated, pointed skull.

"Communication, my love," David continued once you managed to calm down a bit, "Breathe on the nostrils of a horse..." he whispered, calmly approaching the creature, "and he'll be yours for life."

When the distance between David and the alien was reduced to almost minimum, you could observe a change in its composure. But thankfully, it didn't move or show any signs of a planned defence. The laser sight of your gun was still pointed at its bony chest, ready to shoot if David was in danger.

But such a necessity did not seem to occur.

All three of you stood in a total silence for a moment, interrupted only by your heavy breathing. You didn't dare to take your eyes off the creature but with every passing minute, you felt your fear being replaced by natural curiosity. You slowly lowered your weapon, hoping it wouldn't turn out to be a fatal decision.

"You have to earn its respect," David took this opportunity to turn and face you with an outstretched hand. You took it and let him pull you gently to his side, "but you have to get close."

You stood next to him, your intertwined fingers provided you with strength and courage to finally look at the alien and see it up close in all its glory. Your lips still felt too numb to speak but you rendered the words unnecessary anyway. After all, they were least important while trying to gain someone's trust.

You glanced at David and on his face, you could see a mixture of pride, fascination and genuine admiration. Feeling your eyes were laid on him, he turned his head towards you and smiled slightly, letting you know that he was happy to have you by his side at this very moment.

You looked back at the alien, slowly sinking in a silence filled with tension and appreciation for this newly discovered species.

Thank you for reading! Comments are greatly appreciated!

#david 8 #david 8 x reader #david 8 imagine #michael fassbender x reader #alien covenant #xenomorph #david 8 fluff #michael fassbender imagine #mywriting #michael fassbender #prometheus

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izazov · 8 years ago

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FIC: The road not taken

Summary: The Avengers are together again. All is not well.

Pairing: gen (with hints of stony)

A/N: This is a post CA:CW fic. Not really of the fix it variety. My first fic after an entire year of not writing. My first *ever* fic in this fandom. And my first time writing Steve Rogers. I blame everything on CW and my own unhealthy love of angst.

There was something… well, unnatural, for lack of a better word, about Tony Stark standing still.

Steve was used to Tony fidgeting, gesticulating widely, or simply talking animatedly. He was motion, and speed, and life. Steve knew this about him since the moment he’d first laid eyes on the gleaming metal of the Iron Man suit, swooping down from the sky in Stuttgart, speakers blaring loudly in the chill of the night.

Steve didn’t necessarily like that about Tony all the time, especially in the beginning when that behavior translated into recklessness, self-indulgence and showboating. It probably didn’t help that Steve was still reeling from waking in a new world; still desperately trying to find balance, a place for himself. And do so knowing that all that was familiar and dear to him was gone well beyond his reach.

So yeah. Theirs was not friendship at first sight. Or second, or third, for that matter. And getting there had not been an easy road. They bickered and disagreed and butted heads, and Tony still frustrated him most of the time, but they were moving forward, steadily creating something that had a potential to become one of the cornerstones in the life Steve was slowly reclaiming for himself.

Then came the Winter Soldier. Followed by Ultron. Siberia.

Dozen upon dozen lies and omissions piling up on top of each other, just waiting for the right moment to blow up in their faces. When it finally happened in a Siberian bunker, it had been one hell of an explosion. Sometimes – late at night mostly, when sleep refused to come and his mind would not shut up, and the damned phone on his nightstand seemed like it was mocking him with its silence – Steve could still feel the aftershocks.

When the call finally came three days ago – and Steve could recall with perfect clarity the way his heart started pounding against his sternum when his brain finally processed the fact that the phone was actually ringing, his fingers clumsy and fumbling with the casing, almost cracking the damned thing in his haste to answer the call – it was not what he’d been hoping for.

Apparently, the world – or the Universe, Steve was still somewhat unclear on the details – was in danger.

And now they were once again back at the compound, the Accords set aside for the time being. Bruce, too, was back, looking older and wearier than ever, his gaze shadowed by memories he refused to disclose and something that seemed very much like sorrow.

Coming back to the States, to the compound – coming home – had been a stubborn, insistent, and downright painful hope in the back of Steve’s thoughts at all times. It had been there when T’Challa offered them sanctuary in Wakanda. It had been there when Bucky went into cryo. It had been there when Steve went through the motions of waking up and going through each day aimlessly. It had been there when he traversed the world, offering help to those who needed it.

It was no longer a hope but reality. Steve should be happy. Or at least relived. He felt like he was drowning instead.

Their return had gone smoother than expected. It had been accompanied by a minimum of insults and raised voices. What followed their first – and only, so far – joint meeting was somehow much, much worse.

They have been friends once; family, even. Now they couldn’t maintain eye contact for longer than a couple of seconds; their conversations stayed clipped, tense, and void of anything resembling familiarity and warmth.

It felt wrong, wrong, wrong.

Steve refused – like always but especially when it mattered this much – to give up without a fight. Refused to accept that the first semblance of belonging he’d managed to establish since he’d been thawed from the ice was irrevocably gone.

And he knew precisely where – with whom – he needed to start repairing what was damaged.

Tony Stark, Steve Rogers’ personal ground zero.

Who was currently a still, silent figure, hunched over a railing in an empty gym – one of the many in the compound – his forehead almost touching the glass wall. The fading light from the outside outlined Tony’s silhouette in a warm, yellow glow. There was something almost ephemeral in that sight. Ephemeral, and lonely.

Steve stood awkwardly in the open doorway, feeling like a stranger in his own skin, one with sweaty palms and stuttering heartbeat, half-wishing he could turn around, and simply flee. Instead, he did what he’s always done when facing down a challenge. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Tony’s shoulders stiffened immediately. Otherwise, he remained completely still.

Steve waited a moment, allowing Tony the chance to make the first move, not entirely certain of the wisdom of that particular decision. When Tony remained silent, refusing to acknowledge Steve’s presence, Steve pressed his lips together and moved forward until three was only a couple of steps separating the two of them.

Up this close, Steve could see clear signs of weariness and lack of sleep in the deep circles underneath Tony’s eyes. He wondered, briefly, how his own face would appear to the outside world were it not for the serum doing its work to keep his body functioning at its peak.

Body, yes. Soul, on the other hand. Well… there were limits to Erskine’s genius.

“Tony,” Steve said when it became obvious Tony would simply keep on ignoring him. “May I have a word?”

“Not a good idea, Rogers,” Tony replied without turning his gaze from the window. It was the same flat, empty tone Tony used when they exchanged greetings upon their arrival. And then, later, when he agreed to leaving past in the past and working together once again. It had the effect of nails scraping against a blackboard on Steve’s already fraying composure. “And this is coming from someone who’s had one hell of a track record with those.”

“Tony, I really think we-” Steve started, cut himself off, took a deep breath. There were far too many words swirling inside his mind but not one seemed willing to pass the threshold of his lips. They swirled inside his mind, colliding and tangling with one another, reducing Steve’s thoughts to white noise.

“God,” Tony huffed, irritated, pushing himself off the railing and finally turning to look at Steve. Steve suddenly realized it was the first time since their arrival that Tony looked him directly in the eyes. Tony’s eyes were gleaming with irritation and a hint of something darker lurking underneath. It was not a kind look. Not that Steve expected kindness. It has never really been their thing. “Are you physically incapable of backing down? Is it the serum? Or just you?”

Frustration blossomed in the pit of Steve’s stomach. With himself. With Tony. With this entire situation. With feeling bone deep regret despite knowing he would do the same thing all over again.

“I found the shield,” Steve blurted out, finally. It wasn’t what he’d intended to say. Not when he wasn’t sure how he felt about the gesture. Was it another olive branch? But how could it be since Tony hadn’t actually bothered to return it himself. Not even to throw it at Steve’s face. Maybe it was just a concession on Tony’s part. Tony knew all about those; he was a businessman at heart after all.

Only it doesn’t make sense if you have no idea exactly what you are supposed to concede, does it, Rogers?

Steve had found the shield leaning against his old work desk – no claw marks on it, though – as if it had been there all this time, waiting for Steve to pick it up again. And Steve almost had. When the initial moment of shock had passed, Steve found himself reaching after the shield, unthinkingly. Reflexively. He’d stopped himself in the last moment, remembered exactly why the sight of it made him ache and pulled his hand away from the polished metal surface as if scalded.

The shield wasn’t his anymore. He had relinquished it that day in Siberia. And as much as he’d missed the shield, he had not missed the strings that were attached to it. Of all the things he’d lost, this - this was an acceptable loss.

Tony’s expression closed off immediately. For one long moment, he merely stared at Steve’s face. Steve held Tony’s gaze unflinchingly. He could feel his heart rate speed up and his muscles coil tight. It was instinct, not a conscious decision. Fight or flight. And for Steve, it has never been the latter.

“It’s yours,” Tony said finally, his voice flat, monotonous. Grimacing, he looked away. “It’s always been yours.”

Steve frowned, taken aback; wariness quickly followed suit. Some habits, apparently, were very hard to break. “I seem to remember you expressing a different sentiment two years ago,” Steve stated, aiming for neutral but failing miserably.

Tony’s gaze snapped back to Steve’s face, his eyes flashing with anger. “Had my sentiment had any say in the matter, Rogers, that thing would have been melted down and used to reinforce the toilettes in a random public restroom.”

“Then why is it still intact?” Steve challenged, jutting out his chin, because this, apparently, he could do. He couldn’t say the words he’d longed to say for more than two years, but he could pick a fight with Tony. Even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. “Why haven’t you destroyed it?”

The momentary spark of anger drained from Tony’s eyes, leaving them once again dull and listless. “Because I was wrong,” he said, each word carefully pronounced, almost as if Tony was reciting a previously memorized speech. And not for the first time. “My father might have made it, but he gave it to you. That makes it yours.”

The anger in Steve’s chest deflated, leaving only weariness behind. He shut his eyes briefly, breathing deeply, gathering composure. When he opened his eyes again, Tony was regarding him with a look that all but screamed annoyance, the fingers of his right hand tapping a nervous rhythm against his side. “I didn’t come here to fight, Tony,” Steve said quietly, his shoulders hunching fractionally.

Tony snorted, rolled his eyes. “I’m not above telling you I told you so, Rogers,” Tony said. His grin, Steve noted, was all teeth. “Because, not five minutes ago, I quite literally told you so.”

Steve came here to apologize, to acknowledge his part in the mess they’ve made of their relationship, and, by proxy, the Avengers. He didn’t expect it would be easy – he knew it wouldn’t be easy – but less than ten minutes spent alone with Tony, and Steve’s mood kept on oscillating between frustration and helplessness with an alarming speed. Three words. That was the start. How difficult could it be to say three damn words?

Steve squared his shoulders, fixing Tony with an unblinking stare; a part of him was fully aware the irony of wading into this as if it were a battle. He stopped himself from invading Tony’s personal space by sheer force of will. “Look, Tony, I-”

Tony stopped him with a raised hand. “If what is about to come out of your mouth is another half-assed apology, Rogers, I would suggest keeping your mouth shut,” he warned in a low voice. He looked deadly serious. “Considering how well you follow suggestions, I think it’s only fair to warn you that should any damage occur to the structural integrity of this room in the next five minutes, you’ll be the one paying for the repairs.”

Steve shook his head, a mirthless chuckle leaving his lips. There was a hollow ache in the middle of his chest that went well beyond disappointment. “So all those things you said yesterday about leaving past in the past and working together,” Steve forced the words out, his voice gaining a bitter edge. “That was what? A lie?”

Tony let out a disgusted noise, casting his gaze upwards for a second. “Oh come off your high horse, Rogers. It really doesn’t suit you anymore,” Tony bit out, glaring at Steve heatedly. “Also, good job with assuming you know shit about me.”

Steve’s fingers twitched at his sides, his jaw locked tight. This was not working. It was like being caught in an endless loop of repeating the same thing over and over again, and still being surprised when the end result remained the same. Wasn’t that the definition of insanity?

And still Steve could not make himself leave; the words spilling out his mouth, frustrated and desperate in equal measure. “What am I supposed to think when you can’t even bring yourself to spend five minutes alone in my company?”

A strange expression flickered across Tony’s face. It was gone before Steve could attempt to give it a name, lost in the derisive curl of Tony’s mouth, in the flatness of his stare.

“You’re supposed to think I’m not petty enough to put my personal feelings in front of the entire goddamned world, Rogers,” Tony offered, baring his teeth. “Though that would require the removal of that self-righteous stick you got permanently stuck up your ass.”

Steve opened his mouth, snapped it shut. He took a deep breath. Then he did it again. And again.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you,” Steve said when he felt certain he had his temper under control, carefully choosing each word. “I was there, in New York, when you were willing to lay down your life for the safety of others. I know you are a hero.” Steve paused, waiting for some scathing remark from Tony. When none came, he pressed on. “If Bruce is right, we will end in a situation where we’re going to be directly responsible for each other’s safety. And not just each other’s. We have a potential end of the world coming our way, Tony. How are we going to work together to prevent it, if holding a civil conversation is beyond our reach?”

Tony regarded him silently a few moments, the hostility on his face lessening marginally. Steve was not entirely certain the hint of bitterness in the corner of Tony’s mouth was an improvement.

“Do you remember when I begged you not to tear the Avengers apart?” Tony asked, tilting his head to the side. Steve decided not to jump on that particular verbal landmine, keeping his mouth shut. “Which you went and did anyway, but that’s beside the point now.” Waving a dismissive hand, Tony leaned back against the railing, his lips stretching into a strained smile. It went nowhere near his eyes. “Alien invasions, right? Kinda our thing now. Banding together despite our differences, kicking E.T.’s ass.”

Steve frowned, uncertain how to take the sudden change in Tony’s demeanor. This… verbal overflow was reminiscent of the Tony of old. When they were not at each other’s throats at the worst of times. When they were friends at the best. Steve had wanted Tony to talk, and now Tony was talking. It had to be an improvement, right?

“It physically pains me to refer to your shitty letter, Rogers, but the Avengers were never mine,” Tony went on, his voice almost light, conversational. If he’d noticed Steve wincing at the mention of his letter of apology, he made no show of it. “I was part of the team, sure, but you were the leader. A better leader than I could ever be. Something we all now know for a fact since I got saddled with leading the Avengers when you fucked off into the sunset, taking the majority of the team with you.” Pushing himself off the railing, Tony made a deliberate step forward. Then another, the fake smile from moments ago slipping from his lips. Stopping just shy of invading Steve’s personal space, Tony fixed him with an unblinking stare. Steve kept himself very, very still. “I will follow your orders in battle, Rogers, like I promised. Just like I did that day in New York. So if you want to talk Avengers’ business, fine, let’s talk. If you’re still feeling constipated about the Accords, go to Romanoff. Anything else, go to someone who gives a fuck.”

Without waiting for a reply, Tony sidestepped past Steve. Despite the current chaos of his thoughts and emotions, alternating violently between anger and resignation, Steve could not help but notice the careful way Tony had done so; as if even an accidental brush of clothes was too much for him to allow Steve to have.

And that – small, unimportant, petty detail – severed the last threads of Steve’s restraint.

“So that’s it, huh?” Steve forced through clenched teeth, turning around, his fingers clenching into fists. His glare burrowed into Tony’s retreating back. “You’re running away now? That’s real mature of you, Stark. I wonder why I ever thought we would have problems working together.”

Tony stopped dead in his tracks, his shoulders tensing visibly. This was not how this conversation was supposed to go. Not how Steve wanted it to go. But right now it was almost impossible to listen to anything but the rush of blood in his ears.

“First off, fuck you Rogers,” Tony sneered, turning around and stalking towards Steve until they were almost close to breathe each other’s air; all heat, and bluster, and fury. “And second, running? Seriously? You want to talk about running? How’s jungle been treating you these past two years?”

“I’m here now!” Steve exclaimed hotly, loudly, his fisted knuckles going white from the effort of keeping his hands by his sides. One wrong move, Steve knew this, and the promise of violence Tony mentioned earlier was going to turn into reality. And yet, his feet were as good as rooted to the spot, refusing to take a step back. “At least I’m willing to put in effort in making amends for the mistakes I’ve made. Which cannot be said about you.” Exhaling loudly, Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat. It felt like swallowing ash. “Your hands are not spotless in all this, Tony. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Tony’s eyes were gleaming with barely restrained fury; dark and wide. “Glass houses, Rogers. I’d be real careful where I’m throwing those stones if I were you,” Tony spat. A surge of helpless frustration hit Steve like a physical blow. They were trapped in a vicious, never-ending circle of accusations and insults. It was like they weren’t even speaking the same language. “Your halo is a little tarnished these days, Captain.”

Was it due to the contempt in the way Tony had said his former title, or something else entirely, but, somewhere in the space between two breaths, the fight bled out of Steve, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness. Tony was still there, close enough to touch, still furious, a clear and present danger according to all Steve’s instincts, and Steve… squeezed his eyes shut. Once, he’d stopped a helicopter from taking off with his bare hands because letting go had not been an option. And now he found himself without enough strength to keep looking at Tony Stark’s face.

Giving up, it seemed, didn’t hurt much. In fact, it didn’t hurt at all. Steve would have preferred pain compared to the emptiness that was now occupying the space beneath his rib cage.

When Steve finally opened his eyes, Tony was still standing on the same spot, his head tilted to the side, studying Steve’s face intently. Questioningly. Steve could not even begin to guess what he was searching for. He didn’t particularly care to try. The only thing he wanted was to leave. To put space between himself and Tony.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Rogers?” Tony asked, frowning. Most of the anger was gone from his gaze, replaced by wariness. Curiosity, too. “Are you sick? I didn’t think you could get sick.”

Steve huffed out a mirthless laugh. Tony’s frown deepened in response. “No, Tony, I’m not sick,” he said quietly. “I’m done. You win. I give up.”

Tony’s expression froze, his eyes widening with something Steve did not recognize. With a curt nod, Steve walked past Tony, using all his willpower to keep his steps measured. He’d already made a colossal fool of himself in front of Tony, there was no gain in sacrificing what was left of his dignity by running away.

Steve was almost at the door when he was stopped by Tony’s mocking drawl.

“So much for your vaunted stubbornness, Rogers. Or perhaps it only applies to certain people.”

Steve felt like howling in rage. Or crying. Or breaking things. Instead, he tipped his face toward the ceiling, and took a deep breath. Then, he turned around.

“What the hell do you want from me, Tony?” Steve demanded, each word punctuated by rising desperation. “I come to you to talk, you tell me to fuck off. I give you what you asked for, you accuse me of not giving a damn.” Breaking off, Steve threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. His lungs were burning as if he was still that kid with asthma, weak and sickly. “What will appease you, Tony? My blood? My life? My sanity? What?!”

“How about you telling me who killed my parents four years ago, you son of a bitch!” Tony cried out, his voice raw with pain.

In the ensuing silence, Steve grew deathly still, his entire world narrowing down to the sight of abject misery on Tony’s face.

“Can you give me that, Steve?” Tony asked quietly, almost gently, his mouth curving into a bitter, little smile.

Steve felt bile rise in his throat, choking him. He shook his head helplessly. He didn’t know was it in answer to Tony’s question, or to stave off the anguish that was rising in the hollow of his chest. Maybe it was a silent plea for Tony to stop.

Which was ridiculous. This conversation – four long years overdue – was the exact reason Steve came searching for Tony in the first place. To an outsider, they might seem the only two people in the room, but it was an illusion. Steve could not see their faces, but he could feel their ghostly presence at all times: three shadows, crowding the space between Tony and himself. During the past two years, Steve had tried to envision how this conversation would play out. Not often, no, only sometimes; when his heart grew too heavy with longing, and his thoughts too unruly to master. Now, that it was finally happening… it has always seemed easier in Steve’s head. For one, he could always breathe there.

“Of course you can’t,” Tony said in that deceptively soft voice. His eyes, though, were anything but. And he was coming closer. Slowly, deliberately, not for a second taking his gaze off Steve’s face. “Considering time travel is still firmly in the realm of science fiction, why don’t we try the next best thing.” Two steps away from Steve, Tony stopped. His hands were shaking, Steve noted faintly, a mere moment before Tony slid them into his pockets. But his gaze remained unwavering as it locked on Steve’s own. “Tell me why you lied to me.”

“Tony, please…”

“So you don’t want to talk about it. Very well,” Tony said flatly, his gaze hardening further. But there was hurt there still. Not as raw and open as it was moments ago, but no less real for that. “Then this is how we’ll play it, Rogers. I make a guess, and you nod when I get it right, okay?”

Steve clenched his jaw tight. “I’m not going to play games with you, Tony. Especially about this.”

“No, I didn’t really think you would,” Tony said, shrugged. There was a hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. It looked brittle. “Doesn’t really matter. It’s not like I don’t already know the answer.”

“I couldn’t let you kill him, Tony,” Steve said, voice soft, but steady, his eyes pleading with Tony to try and understand. It wasn’t an admission of guilt. Not to him. He doubted Tony felt the same. “It wasn’t him. He had no choice.”

Tony let out a low, mirthless chuckle. “Even if he didn’t, you did. Has it never occurred to you that things would have been different if you’d come clean the moment you found out the truth?”

It has. Many, many times. Steve woke gasping and drenched in cold sweat because of it; the look of utter betrayal on Tony’s face burned onto Steve’s mind for the rest of his days.

“Would they have been different?” Steve asked after a moment of silent contemplation. A part of him dreaded the answer, but he needed to know. He needed to know just how big mistake he’d made.

“Now we’ll never know, will we?” Tony snapped, glaring at Steve. Steve said nothing. He could do nothing to coax an answer out of Tony. And it didn’t seem as if Tony was in a charitable mood. Then, a heartbeat later, something shifted in Tony’s eyes, an almost pained grimace twisting his features. “No,” Tony admitted finally, a tiny, self-deprecating smile turning the corners of his mouth up. “Knowing myself… probably not.”

Steve released a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding; relief sparking bright inside his chest. “I – thank you, Tony.”

Tony’s face hardened instantly, his mouth flattening into a tight line. “This doesn’t change anything between us, Rogers,” Tony remarked bluntly. “The Accords, Siberia, us beating each other bloody… all that shit still happened.”

“I never wanted to hurt you, Tony,” Steve said, his voice heavy with misery. For an apology, this one seemed weak and pitiful, even to Steve’s own ears, but he had no other to offer. “Can you at least believe that to be true?”

Tony sighed heavily, rubbing his temples with his right hand, weariness etched onto every line of his face. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else at the moment. “Rogers-”

“I wanted to tell you,” Steve exclaimed hoarsely, despair and helplessness tangling like a barbed wire around his chest, squeezing tightly. He felt frantic all of a sudden, as if something precious and fragile was slipping from his grasp forever. “From the moment I found out the truth.” Steve paused, raking his fingers through his hair. The rush of blood in his ears was almost deafening. “I wanted to protect, Bucky, yes, but you were my friend too, and I– I was afraid- I didn’t want to-” Steve cut himself off abruptly, the unspoken word heavy and bitter on his tongue.

“Choose?” Tony offered softly, his eyes glinting with an emotion that made Steve’s insides twist painfully. “That was the word you were looking for, wasn’t it, Rogers?”

Steve opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The realization – but you’ve always known this haven’t you, Rogers? – cut through him like a knife. By making a decision not to choose between Bucky and Tony, he’d made his choice. The bitter curve of Tony’s mouth left no doubt that he, too, knew this.

“Tony, I-” Steve began, unsure what he wanted to say, but needing to fill the silence with something. Anything. Ridiculous, really. Silence has never bothered him before, but there was something final about this one; like the sound of a door being slammed closed.

“Okay, Rogers, stop,” Tony demanded, lifting his hand in a gesture that was both a command and a plea. “This, what we have right now? It’s truce, we’ve made an actual progress. Don’t ruin it.”

Steve frowned, bewildered. “Progress?” he echoed feebly. Steve didn’t feel like any progress has been made. He felt like he was standing on a sinking ship, chained to the anchor.

Tony shrugged, squaring Steve with a level gaze. “I don’t feel a pressing need to feed you your own shield anymore.”

“That is progress?” Steve exclaimed, his voice edging from incredulity into hysteria. “How is that progress?”

“I think you’ve seriously underestimated how pissed I was at you. Trust me when I tell you we’re practically bosom buddies now.”

Steve stared at Tony. There was something in his throat, trying to force its way out; a laugh or a sob, Steve couldn’t be certain. He swallowed it down. “Being near me without wanting to resort to violence is what you call progress,” Steve said, his voice sounding foreign to his own ears: hollow and weak. “Is that how you see me now?”

Tony sighed, looking torn between annoyance and resignation. “You don’t get it, do you? There is no going back, Rogers. Friends or whatever the fuck we were, it’s gone,” Tony said, spreading his hands wide. And the awful thing? He didn’t sound unkind. He didn’t look it, either. Merely tired. “But I do think we’ll make it through this saving the world thing without tearing each other’s throats out. I really do. Now, that is. An hour ago, not so much. Though, we should keep this heart-to-heart sessions to a minimum. It’s safer that way.”

Tony might have said something else, but Steve could not hear the words over the strange buzzing sound that was echoing shrilly inside his head. And, still as a statue, he watched as Tony stepped past him on his way out of the room. Steve did nothing to stop him this time.

Without remembering the exact moment he’d made the decision to move, Steve suddenly found himself with his fingers wrapped around a metal railing, and his forehead pressed against a cool glass. He stared at the familiar sight of the compound, now lit aglow by night lights, waiting for the tightness in his chest to abate, and the elation of coming home to finally fill his lungs with enough air.

He waited in vain.

#my fic #stevetony #stony fic #post cacw

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