#don’t worry she’s barely carrying any weight starting her off gradual | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crystaljins · 3 years

Text

River lead me home | 07

Characters: Kim Seokjin x reader

Word count: 7.3k

Synopsis: Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Genre: Adventure, fluff, angst

Notes: Hey all! Long time no see! I’m not really sure why I took so long to post... I just felt like I put so much work into this fic that I didn’t want it to be over so easily, and I was like “after this there’s only one more chapter!!” AND THEN! I went into my WIPs folder and made a discovery! THere’s 9 parts to this fic!! So now I feel a little better.

ANyway, PLEASE let me know if you like this chapter because I definitely feel like it’s the emotional climax of the whole story. ALl the stuff that happens from this point on is just... like a really long epilogue.

Tags: @blue1928 @veeparkersstuff @nello-rie (soz it won’t tag you!)

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

You may be a guardian, but even you have your limits. Despite your best attempts to move quickly, the pain in your shoulder rapidly becomes overwhelming.

Jin, frustratingly, picks up on it far sooner than you would prefer.

“I think we need to stop for a break.” He comments. The three of you have barely been walking for an hour and at any moment the Saishta’s could be upon you, ready to take you to their queen.

Jungkook looks like he wants to protest.

“We’re so close though! It’s only a little while longer!” He points out, glancing nervously across the expansive plains. The benefit of them is that you’d spot any Saishtas from miles away, given the hulking, monstrous beasts they tend to use as their mounts.

Jungkook folds his arms. “I think it’s a bad idea to stop now. We need to get to the river and we’re sitting ducks out on the plains like this.”

Jin shoots Jungkook a withering look- this is nothing new, but the venom in Jin’s eyes surprises you. As much as he pretends to hate the tiny pixie, he doesn’t actually mean it.

Jungkook shrivels a bit but doesn’t back down. Luckily (or rather, unluckily), their stand-off is halted by your legs deciding they are no longer strong enough to hold your body up. Blood loss and extreme pain will do that, apparently.

Jin catches you as you crumble, smoothly scooping an arm around your waist and gently tugging you towards him until your weight is supported by his frame. The entire time, he does not tear his gaze from his stare-off with Jungkook. And apparently your weakness is the convincing Jungkook needs to show it’s time for a break. He glares at Jin for another couple of moments before releasing an annoyed huff.

“I’ll cast a disguising spell on you two and scout out the area for any of those annoying reptiles. Don’t move from this spot or the spell will become ineffective.” He announces through grit teeth before zooming off like an angry mosquito.

When he’s out of earshot, Jin turns his gaze to you and gently lowers you to the ground until you are seated amongst the stiff golden stems. He doesn’t release you from his carefully hold, however. Instead, he shifts until he is sitting almost nose-to-nose with you.

“That was strange of Jungkook.” You observe, in an attempt to cover your discomfort at his proximity. You wonder if Jin knows how powerful his good looks are up close. He probably does- he’s never pretended to be anything other than devastatingly handsome.

“He’s scared.” Jin answers with pursed lips. His gaze isn’t on your face, however. It’s fixed on your injured shoulder. Slowly, he raises a hand and gently rests his palm against the front of your shoulder. “You would be too if you could see how terrible you look right now.”

If you are surprised by the single tear that rolls down your face in response, it is nothing compared to Jin’s horrified reaction as he realises what he has done. Apparently, this whole being in love thing sucks.

“W-wait!” Jin protests, absolutely horrified. “I-I didn’t mean it like that-“

You quickly scrub at your face with your uninjured arm. You know, in theory, that Jin didn’t mean that you looked terrible as in that he thought you were ugly. And you know in theory that it is therefore stupid to cry over it. But for some reason, that’s where your mind had gone- reminding you like an ever present shadow just how misplaced you look next to him, how there’s nothing you can give him that he can’t find in a million other girls, and just how little he thinks of you.

You’re surprised when his hand replaces yours, far gentler than you had been as he wipes the tears from your face with a careful swipe of his thumb.

“Hey,” he calls, grabbing your chin in his hand and angling your face until you’re forced to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that you... that you...” he voice cracks and he hangs his head, dropping his hands so he can clench his fists in his lap. “It’s not fun being reminded of how close we came to losing you.” Jin finally says. He drops his hand and his shoulders slump like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You don’t know this Jin. This terrified, uncertain man. He’s never once, in the entire time you’ve known him, shown this vulnerable, fragile side of himself. But you know you’re in trouble because you love this side of him too. The part of him that gets scared, that shows weakness, that can break. As much as you hate the fact that it is you who has made him like this, you are grateful that he trusts you enough to show himself, warts and all, and you feel something molten in your chest as you silently promise yourself that you’ll protect him. No matter what, you’ll keep him safe. Even if you’re not particularly smart or pretty or charming. You’re not the model-like, glamourous, genius girls he normally dates, and you never will be. You’re unemployed and clumsy and socially awkward and you’re selfish and childish on top of all that. But this is what you can offer him: your heart, as pathetic as she is, and the promise to protect him, no matter where he goes or ends up in life.

“I know you didn’t mean it like that. I... just... It’s stupid.” You sigh at yourself before lifting your gaze to watch him. “Are you scared?” You finally question, changing the subject as the last of your tears dry. Jin frowns, nodding slightly.

“A little.” He admits, his tone a bit dry like he’s severely understating his feelings on the matter. And you don’t know why, but something prompts you to reach forward and wrap your hand around his. Perhaps it is the slight shake he tried to hide by gripping the material of his pants so hard his knuckles go white. His hand is surprisingly much bigger than yours- you don’t know why that surprises you, but it does.

“Don’t worry.” You reassure him. “I’ll protect you.”

The corner of his lip quirks and he shoots you an oddly fond look. It’s one you’ve seen before, although not directed at you. You’ve seen him look that way when he speaks about a particularly endearing coworker, or he recalls something silly that Namjoon has done. This is the first time you’ve been on the receiving end.

“In that state?” He questions with a raised brow. You feel yourself bristle a little defensively at the slightly patronising way he is coming across.

“Are you laughing?” You press, slightly offended. “You don’t think I can?”

“No.” Jin answers, turning to you with an odd sort of expression to his face. “I know you will. That’s the problem.” And then, in spite of himself, he offers you a full-blown smile, cheerful and happy like you’ve never really seen before. You are momentarily struck speechless, mesmerised by the sight before you. “But thank you. I’m glad, that I can count on you.”

Something warm and eager blooms in your chest at his words. You cup your hands around his face and you admire the openness of his smile. How great would it be, if you could capture that smile in a picture and keep it forever? If you could preserve the way he’s looking at you right now, so that you always remember with clarity that even if he doesn’t love you, Jin can look at you like this. Like you are something precious and adored. This is the man you get to love. Even if he doesn’t feel the same way, you’re still happy. You feel like this love is a happy thing.

“I’m starting to think you only wanted to rest to pull the moves on her.” Jungkook announces his presence, seeming thoroughly unimpressed. He folds his arms as the air shimmers around him, signalling the dispersion of his illusory magic. “‘Let’s go see the river, Jungkook. It’ll be fun. I’ll get over my trauma.’ If you’d told me being a third wheel was in the job description, I never would have come.” Jungkook grumbles as Jin quickly pulls away. You don’t quite catch the way his ears go red and his face seems to burn where your hands had gently cradled him, but Jungkook does, and he merely rolls his eyes at the sight. “It’s time to go.” He urges.

Jin clears his throat awkwardly, scrabbling to his feet and dusting off his trousers before extending his hand out to you.

“C’mon.” He urges, though his tone seems gruffer than before. “Jungkook’s right. The Saishtas will find us at this rate.”

You hesitate, just a moment, before gratefully accepting his hand as he tugs you to your feet.

Oddly, though you expect him to release your hand once you are standing, he does no such thing. Instead, he wraps his hand around yours and uses it to tug you along as the three of you once again set off.

“It’ll be easier for you to keep up.” Is all Jin offers as explanation for why he continues to grip onto your hand as though you’re planning to flee from him the second that he releases you. You stare in confusion for a moment, trying to puzzle out Jin’s behaviour, but he provides no further insight.

The three of you set a much more rapid pace this time, and after your brief rest, you cope much better. Jin eventually releases your hand when it becomes clear you’re gradually regaining your strength as your enhanced healing kicks in. The sun begins to draw close to the horizon and the brilliant blue above begins to deepen into a soft pink. But you realise something, as you continue your advance.

There’s no sound of a river. Over the expansive plains, the river song should carry easily on the warm, sweet breeze. And it should be in view by now, but it’s not. Instead, what you see is a dark, jagged line slicing through the plains like a gaping wound. It’s the edge of a ravine- there’s no river in sight.

“Something’s not right- “ you breathe, only for the breath to be knocked clean from your lungs as Jin throws his full body weight at you, unprompted. You roll a few times from the force of his tackle, before finally landing with his body crouched over you protectively. Your eyes widen in shock, glancing over to where you had stood moment before, only to see the end of an arrow lodged in the ground.

“See!” Jin croaks, hovering over you. “How hard was that? Tackle, don’t push, (Y/N)! If you’re gonna be saving people at least take that on board.” He scolds, in what is clearly the beginning of a Jant. (Jin rant)

“Now’s not the time, Jin!” Jungkook screeches.

“I’m just saying,” Jin cries, as he scrambles off you and yanks you to your feet by your good arm. “How hard would it have been to tackle me instead of taking an arrow to the shoulder?”

His Jant is interrupted by the dreadful sound of the Saishta hunting horn erupting from behind you. Only, this time, there is nowhere to run. Yes, you could easily outrun them, but to where? You have long left the safety of the forest where there are endless places to safely conceal yourself once you’ve outrun them. But here is only open plains, followed by a sheer cliff face. There is a bridge across the river, in the maps you’ve seen, but those maps have also told you there’s a river where there’s nothing but a deathly ravine. Still, the bridge is supposedly about a kilometre south of where you now stand, and it’s your only hope. But will you be able to run that far in this state?

The ravine hovers on the edge of your vision, out towards the west, and you can now make out the hulking forms of the Saishta mounts, as their hunting party makes its slow, arrogant prowl towards you. The mounts of Saishtas do not run- they believe that persistence will allow them to eventually capture any prey. Eventually, all targets must tire, or reach the end, and that is when the Saishta can make the kill. They seem confident that that’s the situation the three of you are in now. You could flee, but if you give away that your destination is the river (or ravine?), you’ll never be able to safely see it, for they will guard it until the end of time.

“Sssurrender!” They call, now barely a hundred metres away.

“We’ll have to fight.” You announce to your companions, who both whip their heads around to glare at you with incredulity.

“Are you crazy?” Jungkook cries.

You clench your teeth as you slip into a familiar stance, holding up your arms as you prepare to fight.

“It’s our only option.” You point out, wincing as your shoulder protests at the stance you are currently in.

Jin takes one look at you and the advancing Saishtas and then he does possibly the most unexpected thing he could have done.

He throws you over his shoulder like you are a sack of potatoes and legs it.

“This way!” Jungkook encourages, zooming southwards towards where you know the bridge is.

“Jin!” You cry in protest, but he doesn’t respond. “Jin, stop! I was going to fight them!”

“No!” Jin snaps. “You were going to die. Or at least, you were going to try to and this time I’m not letting you.”

You stop struggling, slumping against his back.

“Not again.” Jin promises. “You won’t get hurt again. ‘I won’t stop and think while you’re in danger.’” He tells you, echoing your earlier words to him. For some reason, it leaves you unable to retort. “Now if I set you down, will you run with me, or will you do something stupid?”

You purse your lips in annoyance, trying to hold yourself stable as you flop around on Jin’s shoulder. You can see the Saishta making their slow, confident prowl behind you. They won’t shoot any more arrows at this proximity- after all, their aim is to capture you, not kill.

“I’ll run.” You silently agree. Jin gives you absolutely no warning as he practically flings you back onto the ground, grabbing your hand as he tugs you on in a full-on sprint.

“We’re almost there!” Jungkook cries, zooming slightly ahead of the two of you. Ahead, the great stone structure that comprises the great bridge that can carry you to safety on the other side of the ravine. You swallow your desperate, heaving breaths, ignoring the way your weakened body protests at the exertion. If you can just get to the bridge, there’s a forest on the other side of the river. The three of you can easily conceal yourselves there, and then come back under the cover of night and investigate why there’s a ravine here instead of a river.

The ground firms beneath you as it transitions from soft, loamy soil to a firm, well cut stone path. An arrow whizzes just past your ear and bounces off the stone path- a warning shot from the pursuing hunting party.

You squeeze your eyes shut as the three of you reach the edge of the bridge. The ravine is huge, and the bridge stretches ahead of you.

And then it sounds. Another hunting horn, a sound that will probably haunt you for the remainder of your days. But this one is from the opposite side of the bridge, where you are fleeing to.

Jin’s footsteps slow alongside yours, and Jungkook’s frantic buzzing becomes a slow, confused flutter as the three of you gradually draw the same conclusion.

You’re trapped. There are Saishtas awaiting you on either side of the bridge. No matter which way you try to break through, you will have to fight through them. No wonder they were so confident they could catch you.

“We’ll have to fight.” You breathe, trying to slow your exhausted, rapid breathing. Jin is soaked with sweat and even Jungkook seems flushed with the exertion of your desperate sprint.

“We can’t.” Jin reminds you, out of breath and still gripping onto your hand so hard it hurts. “You’ll die.”

“We’ll die if they capture us too!” You point out. You can now see the Saishtas on both ends of the bridge, closing in on the three of you like a pack of hunting dogs. “I’m so sorry Jin- this is all my fault! It’s not even a river- it’s some kind of ravine! I dragged us all the way here for nothing.”

“Jin!” Jungkook calls, but you ignore him, too caught up in the realisation of what you’ve done.

“He told me nature doesn’t change but that was stupid! Of course it changes- it’s been 1000 years and I just believed like an idiot that the river would still be here.” You cry, tears flowing down your face.

“Jin!” Jungkook calls, and this time, Jin claps free his hand over your mouth to stop your desperate monologuing.

“What now?” Jin demands of the small pixie. The pixie in question bites his lip and looks from side to side at the Saishtas who watch you almost lazily across the length of the bridge. They have all the time in the world, after all- where can the three of you go except over the edge of the bridge, where you will surely meet your demise?

“‘The river loves those who take the plunge.’” Jungkook recites, gesturing out to the endless, gaping ravine behind you.

You stare in confusion, but understanding dawns in Jin’s eyes as he leans over the low stone wall and stares down at the bottomless pit. He goes white and his hand tightens on your own to the point you are wincing with pain.

“(Y/N),” Jin calls, not lifting his gaze from the ravine. “Do you trust me?”

You blink, glancing over at the Saishtas who draw closer and closer with each moment. You’re not sure why he’s asking this now of all times, but your answer still comes easily.

“With my life.” You answers solemnly. He glances at you, surprised by your words, before his gaze softens and he smiles weakly at you. Then, he releases your hand and slowly he lifts himself up onto the stone wall.

“Then take the plunge.” He tells you, holding his hand out to you.

Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s trying to do. You glance at Jungkook, who merely nods at you, and then at the Saishtas who chatter in confusion at Jin’s actions.

And finally, you look up at Jin, into the eyes of the man you love, and you know that even if it’s crazy, you really do trust him with your life.

He tugs you up onto the wall and pulls you close, cradling your head in the palm of one hand and wrapping his other arm around your waist to hold you close. It reminds you of when you had arrived in this realm. He’s always held you like this, you realise. Like you are something precious to him, something he could never bear to lose.

You lift your gaze to him and meet his eyes, filled with fear, and he smiles. The Saishtas realise what is happening right as Jin takes a step backwards, off the edge of the bridge.

You squeeze your eyes shut as the two of you plummet down into the ravine below, Jungkook in close pursuit.

The last thing you hear before the darkness swallows you up is the desperate, furious roars of the Saishtas, thwarted once more.

When you come to, it is on a slightly damp, sandy surface. Jin is still unconscious next to you, with an arm thrown protectively over your waist. As you sit up, his arm slides off you, and you move away, taking in your surroundings.

You’re on a sandy riverbank- dark, inky waves lap at the surface in what is largely a calm, but dark river.

Overhead, you can see the clear, starry sky peeking at you through the jagged crack exposed by the top of the ravine. The river before you catches small flashes of starlight, but otherwise the area is largely dark.

That is, until a torch beam lands on you and you are nearly blinded by the sudden, intense light.

“Ow!” You cry out, unable to see who is on the other side of the beam.

“Sorry!” Jungkook hastily apologises, struggling to hold up the weight of your pompompurin torch. “I was looking for something.”

You rub at your eyes, which are now streaming with tears.

“Looking for what?” You ask, when your vision is finally cleared enough to make out Jungkook’s outline in the meagre lighting. Jungkook is silent for a moment, before hoisting the torch up even though it’s larger than him and directing it at the wall.

“This.” He says, and then he turns the light on.

You don’t know what you were expecting with Jungkook’s actions, but what you find is dozens of inscriptions along the cliff wall. Some are deeply engraved, and some are mere scratches, but they all seem to have different messages.

“What... what is all this?” You question in wonder.

“Messages.” Jungkook answers. He turns to look at you, dropping the torch into your hand so that you can freely exam the numerous inscriptions. “That’s what people come to the river of stars to do. To leave a message that will last through all of time.”

You blink and turn to look at the river behind you. It just looks like a normal river, albeit at the bottom of a ravine. But there’s no glowing plants, and if you hadn’t just plummeted off the edge of a bridge, you wouldn’t even know there was a river.

“This... isn’t what I expected, when I pictured this place.” You finally say. “How did we survive that fall, Jungkook?”

When you turn to look at Jungkook, he is gazing out across the river with an almost forlorn look upon his face.

“Well, you’ve probably guessed this isn’t a normal river.” Jungkook says. “It’s actually got special magical properties- that’s how those glowing plants are able to grow here. And how you were able to survive the fall- this place is so filled with magic that amazing things can happen, like people plummeting hundreds of feet and surviving the fall, or beautiful, rare plants growing. Or rare mythical creatures being born.”

Jungkook turns to you and fans his arms out on either side of him, gesturing at the space around him.

“I’ve wanted to tell you this for a long time. This river has another name, (Y/N).” He tells you. “It’s known as Gebulfen, the birthplace of the pixie. This is where I was born.”

“Where you were born?” Jin groans, sitting up and rubbing at his forehead. Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the guardian in question.

“Is there an echo here? Why are you repeating what I just said?” He pouts. But he zooms over to Jin and lands on his outstretched knee. “Good work though. I wasn’t sure you’d work out what I meant when I told you that old saying, but you did!”

“You could have just said it outright.” Jin grumbles, hoisting himself to his feet. His gaze briefly flickers over you, assessing for injuries.

“Then the Saishtas would have worked out we were planning to jump.” Jungkook shrugged. “The only reason we had as much time as we did was because they thought we had nowhere to go.”

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” Jin grumbles, lifting his gaze to where you can just make out the outline of the great stone bridge you had plummeted from. “I guess they probably think we are dead now. Maybe it’ll be easier to get home.”

Home... that’s the next step of the journey for you. Jin’s words trigger the revelation for you- you’ve reached the end of your journey. You’ve finally made it to the River of Stars, like you’ve dreamed about for so many years. You stare in bewilderment across the smooth, dark surface of the river, taking in the soft sounds of the rushing water.

Gebulfen... the pixie birthplace. You had never heard that name before, nor had Jungkook ever chosen to share any information with you about his life in this realm.

“Are you disappointed?” The pixie in question asks, hovering close to your ear so that the rush of air from his wings tickles your ear. He flutters around to face you, before leaning in close and smiling. He hovers in the space between your eyes so that you have to go cross-eyed to focus on him. “That there’s no lights?”

“Ayla said there wouldn’t be.” Jin says, coming up to stand level with you. “I didn’t want to believe her, but it looks like-“

“Not so fast,” Jungkook hastily corrects Jin, fluttering forward to hold his tiny hands over Jin’s mouth so that he can’t talk anymore. “Ayla was incorrect. I can’t blame her, because it’s been over a thousand years since anyone has remembered the truth of this river. The lights do exist. But the plants only light up in response to a special kind of magic.”

“What magic?” You ask, unable to hold back your curiosity. You had come all this way to see the river lights, after all. Jungkook smiles, releasing Jin so that he can flutter up to you.

“I’ve always known you didn’t listen in your tutoring classes as a child because you didn’t know how I was born.” He tells you, instead of telling you what magic needs to be performed to see the lights. “Pixies are born of wishes, and they come to life at this very river. And our purpose... is to see the wish that birthed us come through.”

“What does that have to do with the river ligh-“ you protest but Jungkook cuts you off.

“Hush. I’m getting there. That’s what the plants respond to. Pixie magic.” He finishes his explanation. “Not my silly illusory spells, but real, ancient, powerful pixie magic.”

“So, to see the lights, and for (Y/N) to be able to go home, we... we have to grant whatever wish you were born to fulfill?” Jin asks, having always been a bit quicker than you to put things together. Jungkook nods, shooting two finger guns at the two of you playfully.

“Bingo!” Jungkook cries cheerfully. “You’re smarter than you look! Perhaps there’s use for you yet.”

An odd feeling fills you at Jungkook’s words, however. You’ve known the pixie for a long time. Despite his best efforts to appear constantly unbothered and joking, there’s a lot that Jungkook hides behind a smile. Like his longing to be human... his loneliness... the fact that there are hopes and dreams he’s always longed to fulfil but knows he never can. Jungkook has always hidden behind a smile and right now he’s hiding again.

“What... what are you hiding?” You ask. Jungkook looks taken aback, his eyes widening momentarily before he quickly conceals the expression.

“Shouldn’t you ask me what wish I need to grant? So that you can see the lights?” He points out. You shake your head, stepping in close, but Jungkook moves backwards, out of reach. His posture is now defensive, and you know, more certainly than ever, that Jungkook is hiding something. Why else would he not have mentioned the wish he was born to fulfil, in thirteen years of knowing you? Why is he only telling you the truth of Gebulfen now, after an entire journey travelling to see it?

“Jungkook...” you say softly, your voice barely audible above the rush of the river. He deflates at the soft, concerned tone of your voice. You hold your hands out to them, and he lands in them.

“I’ve always been really happy being with you, (Y/N).” Jungkook says, as you raise him so that he is eye level with you. He stretches out a hand and rests it against the tip of your nose. “With you, Taehyung... with your mother... even with that big oaf and his family over there. It’s been really fun. Even if I had to live in the human realm, I’ve always had friends. And I know you guys care a lot about me. So... I was never brave enough to bring up my wish. I wanted to stay with you guys, and to keep having fun. To keep learning to dance off YouTube, and to keep bringing your houseplants to life when they died... I liked stealing the cookies from your upstairs neighbour when she left the room and I liked swapping Jin’s shoes around before he left for work in the morning-“

“I knew that was you, you little twerp-“ Jin cries in outrage, but you silence him with a glare before turning your attention back to Jungkook. For some reason, he suddenly seems small and fragile in your hands in a way he never really has before.

“I knew... a part of me was always afraid that when I granted my wish, it would be goodbye.” He confesses, and for the first time in his entire life, a tear trickles down Jungkook’s face. You can only stare in bewilderment, barely processing his words.

“Goodbye?” You echo. Jungkook nods, with a teary smile.

“I don’t know what happens, to a pixie who has granted a wish. I’ve tried to research it- I’ve had Taehyung bring me back books from this realm, and I’ve studied the history. But in the entire history of this realm, of my race... there’s no mention of what happens to us after. There’s no pixie settlements or communities. There’s no monuments to our names... there’s nothing. It’s like we... it’s like we vanish.” He confesses, and the tears are coming full force. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I should have granted this wish years ago but I was scared that I-“

“You might die?” You fill in for him. Jungkook hesitates for a moment before nodding.

“I don’t know.” He says. “There’s no pixie manual. I just know that I have to grant the wish and then-“

“Screw the wish!” You cry, cutting him off. Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“What?” He asks. You release him, stepping back and gazing around the ravine.

“Screw the wish.” You repeat, now searching for an echo. “Why risk your life? Why would I want you to risk your life? If you don’t know what happens if you grant the wish, then we’ll just never grant the wish and you’ll be fine-“

“(Y/N),” Jungkook calls sternly, zooming so that he’s in front of you. “I have to grant the wish.”

“Why?” You cry, and you realise there are tears sliding down your face. Jin watches the whole exchange in silence. “Why do you have to grant the risk? Why do we have to risk you vanishing? Why would you go that far over a stupid river?”

Jungkook smiles gently, reaching up one arm to wipe away the fat tears that spill down your face- it soaks the entire arm of his jacket.

“It was your father’s wish.” He tells you gently, still smiling the whole time.

You feel like the world around you freezes. Like for a moment, you heart stops beating and the world stops turning. You stare, frozen in shock, as Jungkook continues.

“He came here when you were first born. It’s a tradition for the Qu’var to journey to this river when they want to leave a message that will withstand the test of time. The river, and the unique magic that flows here, will protect it. But anyone who comes here has the river magic in them. And when those people make an earnest wish, from the bottom of their heart, then a pixie is born in this river. And your father, in his dying moments, many, many years after coming here, wished with all his heart that he could have shown you this place. That he could have shown you the message he wrote to his baby daughter. And that’s how I was born.”

“It’s not fair.” You sob, crying in full now. Jin is silent- he chooses not to step in. This isn’t about him, after all. “Why did he have to do that? Why could he have just lived and shown me himself? Why do I have to lose you too? Why can’t we just never see the message and then you can stay?”

“Because of the spell.” Jungkook reminds you. “You can’t go home until you see the dancing lights because of the charm I put on you. Do you remember?”

More tears spill down your face as you remember the spell in question. You had thought at the time, that it was Jungkook just trying to force you to get over yourself. You had believed him when he said he’d cast it so that you couldn’t chicken out of something you wanted to do. But you realise now why he cast that spell- it was so that he couldn’t chicken out. So that, no matter what, he’d grant his wish and get you to see that message.

“We’ll stay here. Jin can tell my mum what happened, and we can live out the rest of our days here!” You plead, desperate. “Then you don’t have to-“

“(Y/N).” Jungkook comes in close and presses on your cheek, until you are facing the cliff wall with all the inscriptions on it. Then he flutters over to the discarded torch, heaving it up in his arms with a huff, and holding it out to you. “It’s ok. It’s really ok. I want this. I’ve had my fun with you guys, but it’s not like I’ve really been living a proper life like this. The only people I can talk to are guardians, and they’re so scattered across the human realm. I spend my days watching YouTube videos and talking to moths and waiting for you guys to come home from work. I’ve lived this life as much as I can, but now it’s your turn. I want you to live a full and happy life, and for you to have a family and grow old in the human realm. I don’t want you to be trapped here with me so that I can live half a life for the rest of your days.”

“But,” you protest tearily. “You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine.” Jungkook says with a beam. “But now it’s time.”

And then he pushes your arm until the torch lands on an inscription with handwriting you thought you’d never see again.

Your father, even back then, even on stone, has always had beautiful writing, like he could have been a calligrapher if he had the time or resources. Perhaps that’s why he wanted to leave you a written message. You step forward in disbelief until you can read the inscription, the words of the man you’ve missed so much.

(Y/N),

My precious, beautiful daughter.

Your mother didn’t want me to make this journey, but she eventually gave in because she knew how important it was to me.

I wonder what kind of situation we’ll read these words together in? What kind of woman will you grow up to be? Will you be married with children when I finally take you here? That little Seokjin is only a toddler but he’s already charming all the ladies in the village- maybe you’ll marry him! Or I hear Jihye is pregnant. Perhaps her child?

But the reason I wrote this is because I want you to know that no matter what happens, or what roads we walk down in the future, that I will love you and protect you with all of my heart. You are the most beautiful and precious thing I have ever laid my eyes on, and I hope you will always know that.

I love you. I hope that one day, even if it’s without me, that you get to see these words and know, that from before you were born, I have loved you.

Please, please, whatever situation you read these words in, please be happy.

From your father.

The inscription is rough beneath your fingers as you smooth your fingers over it. It hurts to see those words, to know the moments you can never have with your father because he’s gone. And you’ll never get him back. There’s no magic spells or special river or pixie magic that can bring him back to you.

But, for the first time, you find yourself smiling. Those memories don’t have to be painful. Because you fulfilled his wish- you’re happy. As you read these words, despite everything, you are happy. You have friends and family who love you and who you treasure beyond belief. And it took you a long time to realise it, but you’re so grateful. You’ll never get your father back, and you’ll never fill the hole that he left, but you can be happy. You can move forward with a smile on your face because that’s what he wanted.

Strong fingers wrap around your outstretched hand, and you turn to find Jin reading the words alongside you.

“He was a good man.” Jin tells you softly, and you smile at him. Jin looks like he has more to say, but he is interrupted by the brilliant glow coming from behind you.

You turn around and find Jungkook hovering before you. He glows brightly amidst the darkness of the ravine, almost as brightly as the stars overhead. And slowly, the river reacts too. One by one, bursts of light in different, brilliant colours appear and race down the length of the river, like bright, shooting stars. “The dancing river”, one of its many names, suddenly makes sense, as the lights zip and glide along the surface of the water.

“You did it!” Jungkook cries, and his smile is brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. You scramble forward, but the glow intensifies, and a brilliant light wall springs up between you and Jungkook.

“No!” You cry. “Please! Don’t go, Jungkook. We still have so much to do together! Please!”

“Be happy, (Y/N).” He calls and then the light brightens until you can see nothing but pure white.

And then it goes dark. In the absence of light, you can’t see anything before you. Jungkook is gone- he’s gone. Your best friend, your constant, pesky companion, is gone.

You fall to your knees, sinking into the soft, damp sand, sobbing hysterically.

“Jungkook.” You cry, your eyes squeezed shut. “Jungkook!”

Your friendship with Jungkook has always been a funny one. You first met him in the dingy room of a motel your mother had managed to book into, those first few nights in the human realm. You hadn’t been able to sleep- the air was uncomfortable and dry and felt leeched of the warm, buzzing magic that had been your constant companion.

You’d snuck out of the room that night and wondered onto the rooftop. Even the stars are dull, in the human realm, and for some reason it had hurt to see that. You’d gazed up into the sky, tear streaming down your face when a voice had sounded beside you.

“What are you looking at?” The little voice had asked.

The rest is history. You’d attempt to swat Jungkook, thinking him to be a mosquito hybrid, one of the weird creatures of this new realm. But he hadn’t been. He was a pixie. And from there, Jungkook had never really left your side. At night, he would sleep on your pillow beside you. When you’d gotten your own room, you’d made a little doll house for him to sleep in, but he’d always slept by your side. He would come with you to school, nestled in your pocket. Some days he’d take some space, but it had reached the point where you can barely remember spending time without him.

And now… could he really be gone? How can he? What does life even look like without him? You can’t fathom it.

You don’t know how long you sit there crying hysterically for, but eventually you feel warm, strong arms wrap around you. It must be Jin, comforting you through the pain of losing your best friend. You bring your fingers up to grip at the material of his shirt.

“(Y/N)!” Jin cries in alarm. But it’s not coming from the proximity you’d expect, considering that he’s currently holding you. No, his voice is coming from somewhere behind you.

Slowly, you blink your eyes open, and the sleeves of the jacket are not the sleeves of Jin’s jacket. Nor do the arms holding you belong to him. Slowly, you trace the arms up to the shoulders, and then you meet the face of the person holding you.

It’s Jungkook. But at the same time... it’s not Jungkook. Jungkook was a tiny pixie, with iridescent wings like a dragonfly. With a tiny, round face. He was the size of your hand.

But the person who holds you is human. There are no pixie wings in sight, and he’s the same size as you- no, he’s even bigger. He rivals Jin’s size.

But the face is unmistakeably Jungkook. You’d know those round, doe eyes anywhere.

“J-Jungkook?” You question softly. He pulls away and nods, staring at his palms in confusion like he’s never seen them before. “W-what happened?”

“I... I don’t know.” He answers, running his hands over himself. He’s wearing the same clothes as before, and he looks exactly the same as he always has, just... human sized.

“I... I’m human?”

“It must be the effect of granting the spell.” Jin calls, edging closer so that he can examine Jungkook with wonder. “Maybe... maybe the reason there’s no record of any pixies after they grant the wishes... is because they stop being pixies?”

Jungkook can only stare in confusion.

“Isn’t your dearest wish to be human? To be able to talk to people and make friends and form human bonds?” Jin continues to reflect. “Maybe... maybe the outcome of a pixie granting a wish... is that they get their deepest wish granted?”

Jungkook just stares with a bewildered expression, glancing over his shoulders for wings that aren’t there. He then scrambles over to the edge of the river, staring in wonder at the human reflection that stares back, from the normal, rounded ear tips to the lack of wings.

“I’m human?” He questions. Tears fill your eyes as you realise that what Jin is saying is true.

“You’re human!” You agree. “Jungkook! You’re human!”

His whole face lights up in excitement.

“I’m human! Oh my goodness! I’m human! I can go to dance classes! I can study in college! I can get a job! I can... I can...” his expression darkens with mischief and that’s the only warning you get before he hooks an arm around your neck and gives you the most painful noogie of your life. “I can get my revenge.”

Needless to say, the aftermath of such a transformation is absolutely chaotic, but somehow, you can’t bring yourself to be mad. Jungkook goes after Jin next, and as Jin flees for his life, you find yourself smiling, despite everything.

Please be happy, is what your father had pleaded, in the magic of this mystical river.

I am, dad. Is what you answer from the bottom of your heart in the magic of the river.

Because you are.

#jin x reader #seokjin x reader #kim seokjin x reader #castlebangtan #thebtswritersclub #writing

104 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

Christmas Specials: Silver

CW: Chronic pain, references to attempted murder and past torture

The lights dance over Mina’s hair, edging black with red, yellow, green, and blue as she moves on little legs to touch the wrapped boxes piled underneath the tree.

Danny sits on the couch with Toto curled into a ball next to him, watching Nate and four-year-old Mina get everything ready for Santa’s arrival.

His back is a constant low throbbing ache, with occasional sharp spikes, but he’d been determined to make it downstairs to see this. He’d spent the whole day in bed, timing his pain meds just right to ensure they’d be at full strength after dinner.

Abraham doesn’t get to take Christmas away from him any longer, even just in his body refusing to forget the blade that had been buried in his back.

Making it to the couch still counts.

Mina has an expression of pure and earnest seriousness on her round face as she carefully places a cookie on the special Santa plate that Danny had braved the crush and the stares at the store to buy. Next to the cookie - which Mina had informed them could be anything BUT oatmeal raisin - there were five small squares of cheese, a smattering of crackers, and a few slices of cured meat.

“Santa’s ch-ch-cheese plate is done,” Nate says, looking up, his eyes warm when they meet Danny’s. Danny gives him a smile in return, shifting with his discomfort but refusing to let it show on his face.

He has so much experience, after all, in forcing himself to power through pain.

“Great. What comes next, Mina-bean?”

“Santa needs a drink!” Mina says cheerfully and claps her hands.

“Don’t we all,” Danny murmurs, and finds it in him to laugh when Nate shoots him a look. “Oh, what. She already learned to swear from me, might as well teach her this, too, right?” His back twinges, which is a fun way to describe the spike of sudden sharp agony that shoots up his back and he stiffens, closing his eyes.

Toto seems to sense the way he tenses and the little dog raises his head, watching Danny with large soulful eyes.

Ride it out, ride it out, ride it out, you can do this, just a second, just-

“D-Danny?” Nate is back to him without more than a breath of time passing, and Danny opens his eyes to look into the deep mossy green of Nate’s. “Are you okay? N-need to go back upstairs?”

“Oh… I th-think I’m sleeping down here t-t-tonight, thanks,” Danny hisses, but he lets Nate push Toto off the couch and slowly lay Danny down, and once his stomach is flat against the cushions, the pain starts to fade back into the low-level throb that he’s learned to push past, to live with. “M-might have to take… pull out the big guns later on, Nate.”

“That’s okay. You c-c-can have another dose in a few hours, we’ll switch paink-killers then.”

“Oh, no,” Mina says, looking at them with wide brown eyes utterly heartbroken. “Daddy, no.”

“What’s-... what’s wrong, Mina?” Danny’s voice is airier than he wants it to be, but his back is starting to settle again, muscles gradually relaxing as the nerve pain fades. He turns to look at her as Nate carefully drapes a blanket over him, then moves back to the kitchen. A cabinet door opens and closes. The microwave kicks on. Guilt is ever-present, that his pain will ruin the moment for his daughter, that he won’t be able to be enough when it counts.

Her eyes are wide as saucers. “Will you sleep through Santa presents?”

Danny isn’t sure at first how to answer. It hurts, it always hurts, to know that his daughter is already used to what Abraham’s final gift has taken from him, that she has adapted so well to Danny’s limitations that they are the framework of her world. And yet he’s so proud of her, at the same time, for her compassion, for her small serious expression, for the fact that she worries he’ll take the meds and sleep through Christmas.

He won’t.

He swore to himself Abraham couldn’t steal any more Christmases, that he couldn’t twist them any longer into terror after he was dead. He promised himself, that first Christmas back home watching Nate decorate a fake tree they got at the store, that he would get to decide, from here on out, what Christmas looked like.

The lights dance over Mina’s eyes and hair and skin, and Danny smiles a little, thinking of a blurred sense of lights, of Nate’s hands over his body. The weight of eyes that he had thrown off, however briefly, to hold Nate as close as he could get without the other man sliding under his skin.

Nate won’t talk about that night, but Danny thinks about it, sometimes, about how happy he’d been, for just a while, with someone he actually - already - wanted.

“I won’t, sweetie, I promise.” Danny forces his voice to be firm, and strong. Nate returns and lays the heating pad, freshly hot from the microwave, over the blanket. Heat spreads, and tensed muscles around damaged nerves relax even more. The hurt fades, never gone but barely noticeable, no longer enough to stop him.

He closes his eyes, relishing the simple joy of feeling only a minimum amount of pain. “I won’t sleep through Christmas,” He murmurs, “Because your Dad will wake me right up. Right, Dad?”

Toto hops back up and curls right back into his ball, settling into a hollow in the blanket between Danny’s knees.

Nate’s hand runs through his hair, briefly over one shoulder, and Danny opens his eyes again to watch Nate move back over and set the small red-and-clear-glass tumblr on the tray next to the cookie and cheese plate. Danny knows the drink because he was the one to insist on it when they did their first Christmas with baby Mina - rum, spicy ginger beer, squeeze of lime, a cherry to soak it all up, a slice of lime on the rim of the glass.

Nate smiles back at him, and Danny is warmed as much by the love in that smile as he is by the heat spread through his back. “Absolutely. I’d n-never let Daddy miss Christmas.”

Not another one, anyway.

“I’ll sl-sleep down here, too,” Nate says, gently.

Mina’s eyes light up. “Me, too! Christmas sleepover! We all sleep down here!” She looks so fucking delighted, and Danny can’t quite stop his smile.

Somewhere, in the world, Abraham is a moldering pile of ashes. He took five years of Danny’s life, all told, and left him with pain he’ll carry for the rest of his life. He took five Christmases, five birthdays, he stole a year that Danny could have spent with Nate.

Abraham stole so much.

But here, right here and now, Daniel Michaelson is determined that that monster will never take from him a single fucking second with his daughter.

“That sounds great,” He says, to Mina’s resounding cheer. Nate settles on the floor so he can lean back against the couch, and Danny chances sliding an arm around his chest, resting his chin on Nate’s shoulder. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, y-you,” Nate replies, his own eyes closing, slowly. He leans back until his hair brushes into Danny’s. Both of them are graying, now, just a little, although Danny’s had silver threading through his red hair like tinsel since he was 24. He turns just enough to press a kiss to the hint of gray at Nate’s temple, down to his eternal five o’clock shadow.

Danny takes a deep breath - the smell of the pine tree and the fireplace, of the man he loves. Toto huffs a sigh and curls up again. “Merry Christmas, yeah?”

Nate chuckles, watching Mina lean forward to examine a large box wrapped in dinosaur-themed paper. “Yes. M-Merry Christmas, Danny. We m-m-made it.”

“We did.” Danny closes his eyes. “We made it.”

We’re here, and he’s not.

Merry Christmas.

---

@slytherynjolras, @whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @astrobly, @slaintetowhump, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary, @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-tr0pes| @wildfaewhump

#christmas specials #daniel michaelson's story #dad fluff #epilogue #hurt/comfort #chronic pain tw #past torture

121 notes · View notes

angelharness · 4 years

Text

Various Slashers as Yandere Archetypes

WARNINGS: yandere content

Another non-requested piece. I actually found myself terribly interested in the concept after my last post musing on the topic (found here), though I’d like to restate that I don’t believe I’ll be writing more on the matter, unless a commission.

Will firmly reiterate last time’s warning, it’s very important to recognize this characterization as unhealthy and to never enable such behavior in any real relationships.

Will be sorting each slasher into seven classes, including Isolating, Manipulative, Dependent, Possessive, Obsessive, Delusional, and Lucid

The definitions vary greatly depending on the Slasher, while some may not fit an archetype listed, or could be a hybrid of any number of them. It’s also very possible for them to fit multiple subcategories.

For reference, a general key would be

Isolating - (Usually gradually) cuts off s/o from their friends and family, secluding them and asserting themselves as their only social contact. Goal is perhaps to make s/o reliant on them.

Manipulative - Fairly straightforward, though the means of manipulation vary. Often emotionally controlling. Might resort to guilting the s/o or self-destructive tendencies to get them to stay. Goal is to assert control over s/o.

Dependent - Depends on s/o for stability or comfort. Might suffer from separation anxiety and as such is terribly clingy. Often ignores other social ties to focus on their s/o. No implicit goal, but usually wishes for reciprocation of feelings.

Possessive - Similar to Manipulative and often a package deal. Would under no circumstances share their s/o, likely frets over losing them (perhaps to romantic rivals or even misguidedly anyone they falsely deem a threat). Goal is to assert control over s/o.

Obsessive - Not necessarily Possessive, though the two sometimes come together. An Obsessive might not outwardly act on their fixation, but silently pines intensely for their s/o. Fixates heavily on their s/o. Goal is to become closer to the person of interest, or wishes for reciprocation of feelings.

Delusional - Hard opposite of Lucid. They likely wrongly believe their feelings are reciprocated, believe them and their s/o are meant to be, or that their s/o is in denial of their feelings and it’s up to them to help them realize this. No implicit goal, but usually wishes for reciprocation of feelings.

Lucid - Hard opposite of Delusional. Well aware that their feelings are unhealthy and destructive, but usually represses these thoughts or simply doesn’t care. Might feel guilt, but it’s often overshadowed by longing. May have any of the formerly listed goals.

BILLY LENZ

Dependent, Possessive

He is a complex case. His lucidity comes in brief episodes, then wanes to stubborn delusion. Generally, though, he’s dependent on you for a sense of stability. When you leave, he throws somewhat of a tantrum, absolutely trashes the place, tears the wallpaper, knocks shit over, then curls up in a corner, stewing in a vicious, wordless rage. On the rare occasions, afflicted by guilt, he’ll silently clean it up, intensely avoiding your gaze all the while. Most of the time, though, you’re left to deal with the damage of his uncertain temper. He feels like you’re abandoning him, even if you fully have the intent to return; when you do come through the door he launches into your arms, all rushed kisses and crushing hugs. Inevitably, though, the cycle will repeat once more, gradually wearing you thin and thinner. Like a sweater heavily loved. But this love is intense and merciless.

CARRIE WHITE

Dependent, Delusional

Carrie is very much wary coming into this relationship. She’s so baffled by affection, true and honest affection, no underlying teasing, no stifled giggles, that she nearly breaks down. It takes much adjusting, but soon, she’s hooked. She becomes dependent on your praise and approval to function routinely. Anything you dislike she does as well. You’re always so right, she thinks, so puzzlingly perfect. She idolizes you to the point she blocks out any of your flaws (which come with being human), entirely eliminating the possibility from her mind. She’s willing to overlook any fault, anyway, but she’s dazed by the spectacle of genuine love. Every moment you’re away is a unique, awful pain, singed with worry (you’re leaving, you found someone better), and though in those moments she thinks there’s no possible greater agony, the bliss of your presence keeps her around. She doesn’t care for anyone else—they never cared for her, and it’s not like their compassion would compare, either way. She decides you’re all she needs.

JASON VOORHEES

Obsessive, Isolating

First confronting his feelings, he disregards it casually, assuming it’d be easy to ignore. He busies himself with work, but finds this fixation occupying his thoughts in increasingly frequent intervals. He knows something needs to be done when it starts directly interfering with his chores, leading to sloppy work and far too many victims fleeing. The easy answer is to off you. He hunts you down with that intent, well ready to finally rid of this distraction. But he can’t. Stands there with a hellish anxiety wracking his chest, a feeling only distantly familiar, recalling the days when his heart did beat. He’s so intensely, frustratingly obsessed with you—it upsets him even, confuses him tremendously. All he knows for certain is that he wouldn’t be able to stand you with someone else; doesn’t care if he’s not that someone, as long as it’s not anybody else. From then on, it’s a very last minute change of plans; keep you alive, isolate you, make you dependent on him. He’s not the type to force affection on you, but rather, would purposefully withdraw it for extended periods of time, until you seek it of your own will, in which case he will reward you with the desired attention.

BRAHMS HEELSHIRE

Possessive, Manipulative

Like Billy, has a fragile temper that can be quite a minefield to traverse. You can never be sure what will upset him, but when it does he makes sure it’s known. Could additionally be classified as isolating, as he will immediately confine you to the manor. Leaving is far out of the question, though later on he might permit you to extend this bit of freedom to the expanse of garden surrounding the mansion (he will, however, keep you far from the gates). He makes himself out to be entirely helpless without your guidance and care, though that must be wrong, being how he’s had only himself for much of his time living in the space between the walls. It gets you to stay, and that’s what matters in the moment. But eventually, the need to escape his suffocating presence vastly exceeds your will to stay. When that time comes, an effectively inevitable outcome, Brahms had realized in the back of his head, he’ll turn to violence, first in tantrums then in threats directed to both yourself and him. Isn’t beyond killing you if he’s convinced you’re set on leaving and there’s nothing he can do.

BUBBA SAWYER

Dependent, Possessive

Partly delusional, but knows you’re unwilling. Still, relies on you for a feeling of normalcy, that distant echo of a real, functional relationship. Couldn’t bear the thought of you with anyone else, so much he might resort to threats of violence to coerce you into staying. Whether these are empty or significant falls on you to figure out. Liable to tantrums when you’re away, though the severity of these outbursts is determined by his current stability. He considers you part of the family, though at the end of the day, Drayton gets the final say on your status of life. He’ll plead desperately and with genuine distress, but it doesn’t take much pushing for him to cave in on himself; he’s far more scared to disobey the family. If he’s to kill you, he’ll go about it sweetly, clumsy, unfamiliar kisses as he smooths your hair down, trying uselessly to calm you. Your struggling and crying only troubles him, and he might hurry up the process just to quiet that awful commotion. If Drayton allowed, though, he’d keep you as a sort of pet; you’re to stay in his room or at his side and never stray. You’re given a seat at the dinner table as long as you pull your weight and pitch in (albeit unwillingly) with household chores.

AMANDA YOUNG / THE PIG

Lucid, Manipulative

Fairly coherent regarding her emotions, though this regulation never translates into her actions, which are twisted by impulse and anxieties. Unintentionally incredibly manipulative, will very quickly turn to self-destructive exploits to gain your sympathy and convince you to stay. Eventually, she stops caring if you’re only sticking around out of a feeling of necessity. If you ever show intent to leave, though, she’d panic. Amanda can’t conceive a life without you now that she’s met you, and though she despises how dependent she’s become on you for stability, she can’t will herself to try and improve. Your attention is a new, frightening addiction; the highs come with affection and compassion, but then withdrawal in the periods you’re away. These acts of love have to be greater and greater than the last to recreate that same rush of intoxication. She’d allow you the illusion of freedom, reminding you often you can leave if you wanted (it’s all a ploy for sympathy), but makes a show of how pathetic she is without you. She can barely function, and though she hates this vulnerability, her balance of mind being dependent on another person, she’s trapped herself in an unforgiving sequence of self-destructive desperation and a murderous temper.

#x reader #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x s/o #slasher x you #slasher imagines #reader insert #brahsm heelshire x reader #amanda young x reader #jason voorhees x reader #billy lenz x reader #carrie white x reader #bubba sawyer x reader #leatherface x reader #cw yandere #💾:harpy writez

139 notes · View notes

dear-yandere · 4 years

Text

succor.

yandere! jotaro kujo 3. major spoilers for stardust crusaders (part 3). word count: 2,600+. tw: bullying, implied depression, drowning, death, gore, and grief.

art credit: ロク.

He carries himself with poise, an assurity few could ever possess. He is the personification of perfect — alas, a man who appears perfect, like a statue which leaves many in awe, a statue whose marble insides have begun to slowly erode, a statue who’s already begun falling apart. There exists not a soul who can fix him, no sculptor skilled enough, no human kind enough to fix his flaws before anyone else can catch on; Jotaro Kujo is his own sculptor, and he’s forgotten how to mend his broken pieces.

For as long as he’s known, he’s been a soldier. A boy soldier, who bears the weight of the world atop shoulders of steel, shoulders which shake and tremble when no one is looking. He is a soldier without a commander, a soldier without a purpose, and he was content with that. But he is a soldier who’s fought a battle meant for ten thousand men, a battle which has long ended, a battle which still plagues him; he is a soldier who’s fought god and he is only seventeen.

When did it begin, he wonders? When did his marble bones and stone veins start to crack? Was it that day? Becaues he remembers being bullied. He remembers taking each insult, like poison-laced daggers, and thinking nothing of it. He remembers the wrinkles, the eye bags, the grey hairs which had started to pepper his mother’s face at around the same time. He remembers the questions, the sobbing, her desperate pleas, her hesitant knocks on his bedroom door. He remembers her somehow finding out, remembers her standing up for him, one day, in the school yards. And he remembers his bullies trying to hurt her, too.

He remembers nearly killing them.

It was like the flip of a switch, how quickly he changed. Mom became mother, bitch, nuisance. She can’t understand how he felt in those moments — she couldn’t — because until the day he dies, he won’t let her. Keep her at arm’s length, don’t let her in. No one can know, no one can get close — they’ll just get hurt, too. That’s the funny thing about love: it hurts. To feel loved is wonderful, to be loved is tragic, damning, dangerous. He is a catalyst for disaster, destruction, danger, and everything in between.

Death loves him, and love has never felt so lonely.

He lost a friend that day. Metal had bent around his body like silken sheets, water had sod his clothing without care; if his body hadn’t already run cold, the water would’ve made him sick. He would’ve smiled and laughed it off with his dear friend, would’ve said his injuries are no big deal. He can still see, can still move, can still dream.

If he’d lived.

He lost a friend that day, the only one he’d ever had.

And then there is you.

You are no different from the rest. Just another body to protect, another set of eyes he must keep from prying. Death loves him, and he’d been foolish enough to fall in love; funny how easily it happened, really. Because when you look at him, he feels as if he’s baring his all. All his insecurities and worries, all the times he’s wanted to break down and cry. It’s a feeling he hates, detests, but it’s something new, something unexpected, something needed. You are not those women who look at him with indignant curiosity. You are not his mother who looks at him with worry. You are not his grandfather nor his dead best friend; you are you, and somehow, you are everything he’s needed.

Love is a funny thing, he recalls, and that thought is enough to clear the darkness around him. It’s calming, at first. The nightmare is over and he must be waking up. Your soothing voice will greet him, as it always does; you’ll hug him, cradle him like a child, and he won’t push you away. But you don’t. You shine, so terribly bright that he has to look away for a moment. There’s warmth, comfort, safety in your direction, but he doesn’t walk forward. He doesn’t deserve it.

Not him. Not the man who let his friends die.

Jotaro, a dark, playful voice begins, echoing from the depths of nowhere. It’s familiar; far too knowing, far too cunning, far too demonic. Jotaro feels his mind start to unravel like loose threads, and the voice feeds off this, like a parasite. If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them?

“What do you want?” Jotaro barks at nothing and turns toward the dark, turns away from you. Secretly, Jotaro has always been scared of the dark, but right now it was oddly welcoming. The dull beat of that voice, distorted and tinny, still seemed clear, pristine, ethereal. As if the voice had hands which he could not see, they wrapped around his neck like a noose and pulled. Gravity itself seemed to pull at his neck, pushing him further and further into the unforgiving abyss of the darkness as if swallowing him whole.

Why is he here?

Just as his back hits the waters, the sudden impact knocks the oxygen out of his lungs within a second, before he’s plunged right beneath the surface. His eyes are open, even as salt-water pierced and burned; he was certain before, but this is too real to be a dream. It it weren’t for the fact that he could’ve perished any moment now, the sight before him would’ve actually been beautiful. Nothing but a color palette of deep sea blue clouded his peripheral vision with colors that were excruciatingly breath-taking in real life.

But he isn’t deceived.

I want to wrap my brain around that head of yours, Jotaro. So, enlighten me... The disembodied voice mocks, feeling like blood rushing against his the insides of his head. It’s closer this time, over his shoulder, next to his ear, and there’s a familiarity to its tone — a familiarity he doesn’t want to acknowledge just yet. Surely telling them you care is easier than breaking your body over and over again.

Jotaro chews on the question with a hint of unmistakable disgust before spiting it out. He hears the voice laugh that mocking song once again, and the light shining from above almost feels like they’re mocking his every movement, too. They watch his arm shoot upwards, silently and slowly for their help — and they laughed. The gears in his brain start turning, willing his limbs to work as legs weakly kicked up in desperate search for air. Realization soon beats itself into his slowly-drowning lungs, and he’s left to face questions that no one but he knows the answers to.

How did he get here? Is he awake? Is he alive?

Answer me, little mortal. We haven’t got all night. The voice goads, and it feels like sharp needles have stuffed themselves into the canals of his ears. Jotaro hisses, and the voice seems content with the response, at the least. Or, perhaps you’d prefer to drown? What a peculiar way for a marine biologist to go, but humans never cease to amaze me.

Jotaro struggles to answer the voice which claims to be inhuman, but dark waters only drain into his mouth like rapids. Time wasn’t even on his mind at this point, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long he’s been underwater. The ocean seemed to pin his legs and arms into icicles, keeping them from thrashing everywhere. Soon, his attempts on fighting for oxygen were getting much more pathetic — much weaker with each kick.

‘Is this how I die?’ He thinks, chuckling at the irony. The feeling of agreeing with the voice is bitter, but its words are not wrong. To think he’d die in the embrace of something he’s spent his life researching. And even so, he wastes no time in reaching a conclusion: ‘Still not a bad way to go.’

Not that he'd been holding onto hope in the first place, but witnessing the light stray further from his grasp was anything but welcoming. It’s clear that his mind and body were slowly starting to lose motivation in fighting against fate. His fate.

And right now, he’s drawing nearer to the finish line.

His limbs had eventually stopped responding and allowed gravity to drag his body into the never ending abyss he’d always marveled at when he’d been alive. And despite condemning himself to his fate, the hopelessness seethed in gradually. Human nature, he concluded; to want what you cannot have is human nature. He knows that better than most.

Once his air supply ran tight, his mouth instinctively opened up once again, allowing water to flow in through his nostrils and throat. Every 'breath’ made him choke on the saltiness of the ocean waters, lungs struggling to hang on as the water slowly crushed its cage from inside and out. Barely even able to hear his own thoughts, he assumed his eardrums burst from the insane depths he was being pulled into. His eyelids grew heavy like boulders and finally drooped; he had already succumbed to the thought of death — he couldn’t even cry in anguish or relief, but perhaps the downpour above the waters was crying for him instead. The thought was comforting, to know that someone, some thing would mourn his death.

His back hits the ocean floor like a sunken ship, and he believes he’s dead until the voice speaks again: Have you had enough time to think, little mortal? Its words are scathing, and by far the last thing he wants to hear on his death bed, but with it, came air. It seemed an impossible feat at the bottom of an ocean no human has visited before, but the air is crisp and fresh. Jotaro drinks it up, gulping it down in excess, reveling at how it fills his lungs with life. The water he’d inhaled and drunk doesn’t even seem to exist, at the moment, but he hasn’t the state of mind to dwell on that.

“Where am I?” He chokes out, still tasting the bitter tang of salt against the back of his throat. The voice seems to echo around him, and he finally realizes that he is still on the ocean floor. Sea creatures he’s never seen flit around him, and despite the stark absence of any light, he can see them clear as day.

Only you know that. The voices hums, creating a vibrato in the seawaters, a sound that seems to manifest into arms and once again coil around Jotaro’s neck, like a noose. He wants to scream and thrash and fight, but the comforting presence of Star Platinum within his core is... vacant.

I shall repeat myself. If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them? The question seems out of place at the bottom of an ocean filled with light and air, but the entity leaves no room for Jotaro to dwell. The heavy stench of iron is immediately recognizable, and Jotaro realizes there’s a gash in his chest. Pale fingers, topped with blackened fingernails which have grown awfully too long, held his intestines away from his torso, the flesh coiled tightly around the hands of a man he once knew.

A man who should be dead.

And yet, here he is. And yet, there is no pain.

“Because...” The words slip past his lips before he knows how to finish. Because what? Because he’s an asshole who can’t put his feelings into words? Because he’s a fool who deserves to suffer alone? Because...

“Because I’m afraid.”

The voice cackles, creating distortions in the sand bed and deep sea water, and yet he could recognize it as clear as day. DIO.

Oh? Is that so? DIO runs a tongue over his lips, deciding to humor his little plaything. Then, hypothetically, if you do tell them you love them, what are you so afraid will happen?

Jotaro doesn’t respond.

I’m waiting.

“...I don’t know.”

Liar. DIO bites and lightly pressing a claw-like fingernail into Jotaro’s jugular. It’s not polite to lie.

“I...” The pool of blood at his feet is disorienting, vivid and real despite the darkness around him. “It’s not that I don’t want to trust them, I...” He reaches out to cup the hand still jutting from his stomach. How odd it is to see such a horrific sight and feel no pain; and it all clicks into place. Jotaro chokes up for a brief moment, hoping a reply will make this all end. “...It’s dangerous to show you care. If they knew, and if my enemies knew how important they are to me, then...”

This isn’t real. None of this is real. How many times has he had this nightmare? And how many times has he imagined just that — the corpses of his loved ones plastered along the streets? The screams that won’t stop? The look of fear and hope on their faces?

That hasn’t happened, yet, and yet he faults himself: how can he be so weak?

There we go. DIO clicks his tongue and gently strokes his great grand-nephew’s hairs — something he no doubt imagines to be an affectionate pat. Not so hard, is it? Jotaro nods, too weak to stand up for himself. This nightmare never ends. You’re afraid of being too vulnerable. DIO coos and twists his blood-covered arm, deepending Jotaro’s unreal wound. You’re afraid of being too... weak.

The ghost’s words always sting, but this nightmare has become so commonplace, so normal — as easy as breathing, despite the waters around him — that Jotaro hasn’t the strength to feel anger. It’s not like DIO is wrong. He is afraid, he is weak, and above all, he’s afaraid of being weak.

But, how curious it is, little mortal. Hasn’t anyone ever told you— the voice begins to chastise, but is cut off; its words don’t reach his ears. Rather, there’s a soothing scent, with familiar aromas he can’t quite place. But the serenity is short lived. The air Jotaro seemed to be breathing dissipates, and he’s drowning again. His throat burns as if a thousand of needles were piercing it all at the same time, chest clenching itself suffocatingly tight; it’s hell all over again. He couldn’t help but feel pathetic for not acting sooner, especially when the exit was right in front of him, even if it wasn’t anywhere near his reach. Now that chance was thrown carelessly out the window, with no means on returning back to his grasp—

And his sinks.

As he struggled to keep himself afloat and conscious, black spots started to paint his vision one by one, and that’s when time was obviously running out. His eyelids give up —

And then he wakes up.

There’s a gentle, shaking motion, like a boat — as if he’s being cradled and soothed like he had been as a child. He can’t place it immediately, but you’re whispering soft little assurances into his ear, brushing strands of ebony hair which had plastered itself to wet skin. He realizes that the sweet scent from before is you. He can’t discern your words, not fully, not over the sound of blood rushing to his ears. If your arms weren’t wrapped around him a like a safety net, he’d still think he’s drowning, dying; but, the glimpses of words he’d catch every so often were enough to comfort him. You assure him that he’s still very much alive, that he’s awake, that nothing can hurt him, that it was all a nightmare.

It was just a nightmare.

Hasn’t anyone ever told you? The undead voice chimes, but your voice, clear as day, replaces its mocking tone, and Jotaro melts. He gazes upwards, into your eyes which hold the moon and all its stars and he suddenly remembers that wishes are made upon them.

“It’s okay to be weak, Jotaro.”

inspired by this.

#jotaro kujo x reader #kujo jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo #jojo's bizare adventure #jojo's bizarre adventure x reader #jjba x reader #jjba imagines #jjba scenario #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo no kimyō na bōken #diamond is unbreakable #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere scenario #yandere imagines #*oneshot #not yandere

317 notes · View notes

janekfan · 4 years

Note

hmm prompt time... jon angst about his humanity or lacktherof? worrying about him not being good enough for+worthy of+safe for martin/general guilt/self hatred? before or after apocolypse idk maybe safe house maybe post change? maybe season 4 after coma? could end up being jmart h/c or just be jon sad time whatever works

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27232381

For everyone else it had already been six long months.

And for Jon.

Well. For Jon, it was just yesterday.

Sasha.

Gone.

Tim.

Gone.

Martin.

Gone.

Himself?

And wasn’t that the question of the day Jon thought as he dragged himself up the steps of the Magnus Institute. He didn’t have anything with him. He didn’t have anything left that he knew of. Just the Oyster card and set of clothes the hospital had been kind enough to give him as his own were thoroughly shredded in the explosion. Everything else was gone.

He should be gone.

He’s the only one who should be gone.

But he’s still here.

And they’re just.

Was he even allowed to grieve?

“Jon” Melanie’s sharp, irritated voice raked over his ill-fitting skin like claws and he lifted sore eyes in acknowledgment.

“Hm, y’yes?”

“Been calling your name. You up to your spooky monster shit already?” He winced, wishing the scratchy two-sizes too big tee shirt would swallow him the rest of the way. “Barely through the door and you can’t resist.”

“N’no. Was. Was thinking, s’all.” Rubbing his arm, trying desperately to feel something, Jon didn’t know if he was allowed to leave or not. If he moved would she be upset? If he stayed?

“Least keep to your office. Don’t want you...watchin’ me.” She shoved past him, knocking him against the wall, still unsteady on his feet, the effects from the statement earlier were wearing off, or whatever the supernatural equivalent was and he slipped like a shadow through the halls to his door to hide himself behind it.

Things did not improve. He was always in the wrong, always a menace and he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the restroom mirrors a couple times, surprised at how thin and pathetic he looked. But they were afraid of him. He Knew it. Because the Eye gravitated to these heavenly tastes of fear like a starving man did to food.

So he kept to himself.

I’m sorry.

As days crept in and out, Jon tried to keep stock of what was different and the only thing he could conclude after his careful analysis and study was that he. Jonathan Sims. Was now something less than human.

Less than.

That made sense. That was okay. He’d always been better off alone because when he was alone he couldn’t hurt people and all he seemed to do was hurt people.

Wasn’t that true?

Georgie Sasha Tim Martin Daisy Georgie Sasha Tim Martin DaisyGeorgieSashaTimMartinDaisy

What was the point of learning that hard-won lesson if he had no one left?

I’m sorry.

And there was no way to go back. He’d caused it. Been causing it since he was a child, alienating, precocious, and so unlikable.

And there was no way for him to fix it. Not when he was in so deep. Not when he was addicted to these, these tales of dread and panic and horror and pain and death and terror and loss. Not when he had taken from those that he haunted and hunted through nightmare and dream. Took what they had and made it his, feeding, feeding, feeding like some animal.

But animals didn’t have a choice did they?

I’m sorry.

He’d already been judged and found wanting. Georgie was right. He should have died, or stayed in the coma, or anything other than turning into whatever he was now. Something inhuman, un-human.

Un-made.

Twisted.

I’m sorry.

Pity there was no one left who would accept his worthless apologies. Not from whatever he was now.

Jon was barely in control, not in control. Not really. Exhausted and hungry and lonely, lonely, lonely. He decided to take control back, just a little, whatever he could because to be human was to stay in control.

And he takes it.

In the only way he can think how.

Blood wells up from scratches Jon gouges into his arms, from beneath the blades of dull knives and keen razors, deep and dark and dangerous if he were human. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t harm himself enough physically, healing too fast to really feel it like he wanted to feel it and the marks never stayed long enough. Didn’t, didn’t bleed long enough, fast enough, never enough.

There’s no one left to notice the rust and ruby lining the bin so Jon doesn’t bother putting effort into cleaning up evidence. It’s around him in the florid streaks crossing the blotter, the cardinal fingerprints on old envelopes, the scarlet trails of irregular constellations mapped beneath his chair.

The answer to his problem became clear soon after. The statements. Addicted to them, it wasn’t until Basira pointed out that he should stop that he realized the easiest way to hurt was to deny himself. And they wanted him to stop. They want him to hurt and he should hurt. It’s fine, it’s okay, it’s what he’s been looking for.

Maybe when they thought he’d hurt enough, they would forgive him.

The pain was good. Every time he denied the Eye was good. Better than, it was intoxicating. The smallest act of rebellion and he revelled in it. Knowing he was weak, that he couldn’t be used for whatever purpose he’d been created for while he was like this, filled him with a perverse hope.

Restless, Jon retraced his steps through the Archives, trying to avoid Basira and Melanie where he could though they didn’t do anything more than ignore him unless he had a purpose or interrogate him about leaving, finding a victim. Compelling them against their will.

“You look shite, Jon.” He avoided their eyes, stared at their feet and watched them fade in and out, as he swayed back and forth, and he knew they were sneering because he could hear it in their voice. “Proof enough, I suppose.” Melanie lifted his face with a gentle finger placed under his chin. “Haven’t been galavanting in people’s dreams?” Back bowing under the weight of her scrutinizing stare, Jon did his best to stand straight. Removing the influence of the Slaughter didn’t make her undivided attention any easier to stomach and he put effort into quelling the ever present shiver thrumming through his bones, playing his sinews like strings.

“Uh, n’no. I don’t leave much. Or at all.”

“Mm.”

“Melanie?” Narrowed eyes stared through him, followed the quick rush through the highways of his veins. She knew where to strike to do the most damage.

Jon Knew it wouldn’t stick if she tried.

He was sure he’d seen him come this way. Martin. Whom he missed more than he ever thought one could miss someone. And, really, what did he know of Martin? Other than how best to ridicule him? He’d done this, or at the very least pushed him toward it. A victim for the Lonely. For Peter Lukas to control and manipulate and Martin assured him he was fine. He was fine and Jon shouldn’t look for him anymore because it was making it harder, it was making it worse. And Jon could do that. Could do one thing to make it easier for Martin?

But when he saw him, pale and small and Martin should never seem so small, Jon abandoned all his promises. He’d never been good at keeping them anyway. Why start now? Dizzier than he thought, the first step almost sent him sprawling and he just managed to catch himself on the wall, resting against it long enough to lose him. He pushed off, caught himself again as the hall twisted around him, spiraling like Helen’s eyes when they burrowed into his own and he followed, stumbling, a body ricocheting from surface to surface; floor, window, door, battered and bruised where no one could see. Not like the scars and the timeline they’d scripted silver and hoary on translucent brown vellum.

Martin is not there.

Jon has arrived too late.

He was good at that.

The first sob cleaved him in two, the second carved his chest clean out. Empty. Painfully empty and worse than anything he’d done to himself thus far. There wasn’t room to breathe between, there wasn’t time or space and rather than cower in the open doorway Jon threw himself into the office, crashing to his knees and pressing his face into the wood of his neatly organized desk before he gathered the wherewithal to pull himself into the chair, nicking the jumper folded over the back of it before crumpling again. Soft against his cheek, the well worn wool comforted him enough that he gained tentative control over himself again. He spent the time there dazed between bouts of crying, gradually tugged into the deep and the dark, exhausted and guilty.

He’s visited by dreams instead of nightmares. A cool palm gently coaxing the blazing, feverish heat from his skin. Stroking back tangled curls from his damp face and murmuring gentle things, lovely things, that he had no right to take comfort from. Jon dreamt of being hushed, of tears swept away by mindful fingertips, of clinging to Martin’s cardigan so tightly his hands ached. There was warmth here. Softness here. That he didn’t deserve and stole anyway, greedy and covetous because that’s what monsters did. And he took it, held it close, let it soothe the aches and the agony he carried so deep in him it hurt to let free.

Sasha.

Tim.

Martin.

Jon woke to the smell of sea air and surf.

To the last of a thick fog clinging around his ankles.

To a mug of tea, still hot.

And a statement.

#Tma #the magnus archives #jon sims #martin blackwood #hurt/comfort #self worth issues #self harm #Cutting #Blood #starvation #It's dark times up in here #Be careful #angst

45 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.19

Us Redefined

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2) x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4320

Summary: 3, 2, 1... ;)

Warnings: mentions of amnesia and death, swearing, light angst, tons of confusion because of communication issues

Story masterlist ༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

I'm holding out till we're out of time Would you pierce the veil Would you cross the line I can feel you here, souls redefined I can't let go of our design Would you pierce the veil Would you cross the line Come back to me (Les Friction – Come Back to Me)

Soft, but frantic hands cradling your head, caressing your face.

Your body too heavy to move a muscle.

Weak ringing in your ears.

The world spinning.

An angel speaking, his whispered pleas squeezing your heart like a cold fist.

“…Oh, oh doll, sweetheart, please, look at me. Say something. Tell me you’re okay, please, please… don’t do this to me, not again, please, you’re gonna be okay…”

You knew that voice, that much you were aware of. You knew that touch too, careful and carrying gentleness despite the callouses on his fingers. Your mind was buzzing with blurry images and a building headache. You were sure the pain would get worse if you opened your eyes, but hearing the growing anxiety in the voice, you knew leaving them closed was not an option.

Dark spots were dancing in your field of vision, but you got glimpses of a worried angelic face, making you smile automatically, even when you were barely controlling your mimics or any muscles really. You were aware of meeting a real-life angel before, but Steve was simply something else.

You blinked heavily, hoping for the dark patches to disappear and reveal Steve fully. He was frowning, his lips moving rapidly and his eyes were glassy, the blue and green brought to life.

Was he… was he crying?

You squeezed your eyes shut, convinced the image would resolve when looking at him after that. It didn’t change.

“Doll? Oh, thank god… can you hear me?”

One of his hands shifted, sliding under your shoulder blades to lift your torso from the hard floor, bringing you closer to him, while he was still cradling your head. He was so gentle in his motions, manipulating your body as if it was made of glass. It was nothing new to you, he had done it before; he would sometimes start making love to you that way, his demeanour gradually shifting as he got lost in his own pleasure after he took care of you.

You managed to sit upright on your own, Steve’s thumb running over your cheek.

“Doll?” he questioned lowly, his eyes widening as he finally realized this was probably not the appropriate way to address you. “I mean-“

“I’m fine,” you croaked, your throat dry. You couldn’t say more. The tide wave of emotions flooded your brain, sea of images, words, sensations, overwhelming.

And god, couldn’t you tear your eyes away from him. He was as beautiful as ever, even more so, even with dark bruise-like circles under his eyes, smeared with tears.

“I’m okay,” you repeated, hesitantly reaching to caress his cheek with your fingertips, wanting to assure yourself he wouldn’t dissolve.

You knew for a fact this was very real, but still… gotta make sure, right? Everything felt so surreal lately…

Steve blinked in surprise, few salty drops escaping from behind his eyelids as he was watching you with wonder. You felt the same burn in your eyes – you wanted to cry, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to- to-

His hand caught yours on his face, his fingers tenderly wrapping around your wrist, bringing it down. You pretended it didn’t hurt you, that you didn’t feel the pang near your heart; it grew rapidly when you realized just how much that gesture of yours could have hurt him. This was probably too much.

Steve didn’t know yet. He didn’t know what you knew.

“How do you feel?” he asked slowly, the pad of his thumb stroking the back of your hand.

You could tell he was holding something back, but hey, so were you. Your body was itching with the need to throw your arms around his neck and snuggle him. Your lips burned with the desire to get familiar with his again, craving to find out if they still tasted the same.

“I’m-ugh…“ my head hurts. Seeing the fear in his eyes, you didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. This was too much already. “-okay.”

“I heard you screaming, Jarvis went on about an unauthorised entry. What happened? Do you remember?”

Oh, you did remember. There was a lot of things happening in your head, so many pictures, blending together and then falling into place only for another to appear. It was hard to make sense of it all and give him an acceptable answer. Your heart was ahead of your brain. Feelings were clearer than actual memories.

“There was a woman. Rather tall, long dark hair, dark gown. I’ve never seen her before, I’m sorry,” you babbled, too fascinated by more important matters.

Steve was here. Right here in your reach, touching you and you were… you were.

“I know. I saw her when I ran in. She just… disappeared. It’s okay, we’ll have Jarvis to show us the footage. We’ll track her, the others will get on it. You’re more important. Bruce is on his way to the medical. I’ll get you there, okay? Just hold onto me,” he coaxed and the next thing you knew, you did exactly as he asked. Mainly because he lifted you from the ground as if you weighted nothing and you really didn’t want to fall.

It brought a smile to your face and butterflies to your stomach. How many times he had done that and it still affected you so with such intensity, your fingertips tingling?

You stared at his face, so up close, wishing for nothing but to kiss him. There was a worried wrinkle on his forehead and you wanted to smoothen it with your fingertips. You recalled how he had reacted the last time you touched him though.

You needed to tell him.

“Steve, I-“ you started, only to be interrupted, much to your frustration.

“What is it? Are you uncomfortable like this? Tell me what hurts.”

You shook your head lightly, the movement actually making you dizzy. Alright, maybe a trip to the medical wasn’t that unjustified, but… but!

“No, Steve… I mean, yeah, my head hurts a bit-“

“Bruce will take a look at it and work it out,” he assured you with a sad smile and you just gaped, wanting to throw your hands in the air.

There was a sheer determination written all over his expression and you… understood. There was no way you two could talk until you were checked up. You had been hurt. Injury was a threat to you. Steve had seen you die before. It probably physically ached him to be left unsure and have something, anything to threaten your life again.

Not that you blamed him.

“I trust him that he will,” you said then, adjusting to Steve’s play, earning a faint smile and a nod. “And I trust you too.”

The lift of the corners of his lips still seemed pained, but more genuine now.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I wasn’t around when… when it happened.”

Yeah, that was probably the goal. To have you left alone so the woman – if she was a woman, because there was no way she was an ordinary human – could do whatever she had done with the bright light and bring your memories back.

“That’s not your fault, Steve. You can’t exactly watch me 24/7,” you whispered, his gaze flickering to you, the shadow in his eyes attempting to prove you wrong. You knew for certain that he was haunted by a different memory now. One that wasn’t entirely his fault either.

Oh, how much you wanted to tell him… instead, you allowed yourself to get lost in his beautiful eyes, so much that you barely noticed you reached the infirmary.

“So, what do we have here?” Bruce asked calmly, already observant of how quickly you reacted, if you were moving your head correctly. Steve lowered you to the bed, clearly paying special attention to being as gentle as possible. “Can’t walk?”

There was a slight hint of amusement in Bruce’s voice as if he knew Steve was being simply overprotective. The corners of your lips twitched when Steve shot him a mean look.

“Well, I had a very chivalrous fella at my disposal. I couldn’t refuse,” you announced, well-aware of the fact that using big words showed Bruce you weren’t that bad and your brain was working – and hell, was it working, finally. The ‘chivalrous fella’ part was for Steve’s benefit. He might get a hint… eventually. Better to ease him into it. “But my head does hurt a bit and I guess my balance might be a little off.”

“Okay. I’ll check your head for any bumps and bleeding, okay? Then I’ll shine a flashlight to your eyes and we go from here, hm?” he explained, pulling gloves on. You just nodded in understanding, watching Steve with a corner of your eye; he let Bruce work, but was still nearby.

“Do you want me to leave?” Steve asked when he noticed your line of sight and you only smiled at him and shook your head, much to Bruce’s discontent. “Okay.”

You did have quite a bump at the back of your head; the spot was definitely tender to say at least. Good news was that there was no external bleeding, your pupils were equally responsive, Bruce seemed happy that you remembered the incident – not that there was much to remember – and you didn’t feel nauseous. Your balance truly was a bit off, but nothing terrible. As long as you had something to lean on in a moment of weakness, you were fine. CT shots showed no swelling either, at least for now – mostly, you were good to go.

“It’s up to you – either you can stay here, someone checking up on you regularly, or you can be in the room Tony had set for you with the very same treatment,” Bruce offered with a reassuring smile and you instantly knew which you wanted.

“My room, please,” you pleaded (mentally chanting ‘Steve’s room! Steve’s room!’) and Bruce nodded.

“Alright. If anything changes, have Jarvis to let me know. Otherwise I’ll leave you to the hands of your chivalrous fella.”

Steve glared murder at him, but walked to your side.

Jarvis chose that moment to speak up.

“There are no signs of the woman, Steve,” the AI reported regretfully, causing Steve to clench his jaw.

“Goddammit!”

Your hand found his, squeezing reassuringly as you could feel his anger and helplessness.

“That’s… I think that’s okay.”

Steve spun to face you in a lightning speed, too distracted to evade the contact you initiated.

“Okay?! What if-- maybe she… maybe she’ll be back and we didn’t even know she got in until she- she-” he stuttered exasperatedly, but obviously holding back a lot.

It was time now.

“I don’t think she will be back. Uhm, would you mind…” You spun to the scientist slash doctor only to find him already making his way out. You stood face to face with the love of your life then, your soulmate and you couldn’t but take his other hand into yours as well, desperate to touch him. “Steve, what she did to me… she has no reason to come back. She’s finished.”

“What… what are you talking about?” he asked hesitantly, his gaze flickering to your joined hands; he didn’t free himself of your hold though. Had he caught the hint earlier then?

Your hand shook as it ran up his arm, over the crook of his shoulder, the side of his neck, ending up cradling his face.

Steve’s body went rigid, all muscles tense, but you could tell he was… he wanted to lean into your palm. He wanted it so bad, for things to be as they had been, to bask in your affection, but he knew it was wrong.

He was too much of a good man. He was your miracle and being with him again… that was a work of wonder.

“Can I kiss you?” you breathed, slowly rising to your toes, anticipation building up in your core.

You could probably pull out a water gun from behind your back now and shoot him and he would look less shocked. Also, he would look less pleased. And torn.

“I— y-yes? But-“

You couldn’t handle waiting until he finished whatever sentence he had in mind; you had waited too long already.

Your mouth caught his, warm soft lips and hot surprised exhale. He seemed frozen for a split second before he cautiously returned the kiss, slowly moving his lips against yours as if he was ready to stop the second you shoved him away.

At that thought, you grabbed a handful of his shirt to show that such thing was not fucking happening any time soon.

You parted your lips, delighted Steve actually tilted his head, giving you both better access to what you wanted and deepening the kiss. You could hear the crumbling of the walls he had tried built to stop himself from doing anything that could make you uncomfortable, anything he thought might be too much. The metaphorical noise was like music to your ears and you sighed into his mouth, revelling in the taste you didn’t realize you missed desperately.

His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, flush against his chest, his other hand cradling your face, taking control.

It was like a supernova bursting in your cells, the sensation your body knew and welcomed with arms open. It was everything. It was like coming home. Tears sprang from your eyes as his tongue teased your lower lip and-

-and that was it. Steve gasped, tasting your tears and backed away, dropping you so fast you nearly tipped over.

Your eyes snapped open, watching him dreadfully as you both panted.

Just don’t say-

“I’m sorry!”

-that.

You shook your head, grabbing his forearm before he could flee. You could still taste him on your lips and you craved more, more and more… but he seemed to be utterly panicking.

“Steve! I was the one to kiss you,” you blurted out with same urgency, trying your best to meet his eyes while he was skilfully avoiding it exactly that. You bit your lip and brought your hand to his face to make him look at you. “Because I wanted to.”

“I pushed it-”

“I wasn’t complaining,” you emphasized and he winced at the sharp tone. Goddammit! Be nice! “And I’m not sorry in the slightest.”

You took a deep breath and very, oh so slowly framed his face with your palms, ready to retreat if he hated it. He didn’t, except his confusion grew. His beautiful irises were nearly hidden with how blown his pupils were, but you only saw shame now, no excitement left.

“I missed it, Steve. I missed you,” you admitted, attempting a smile.

You didn’t think his eyes could have gone wider. You were wrong.

“I’m not— I don’t understand,” he stuttered weakly, utterly confused and sounding on the verge of breaking. Ouch, weren’t you an idiot to make him feel like this. “You don’t have to act like-“

“Like what?” you echoed and he looked away, tears he bravely kept at bay welling up in his eyes again.

Oh no, no…what kind of a person made their soulmate cry? Again?!

“Like you think I want you to. I understand you need time, that you- it’s not the same for you. You don’t remember-“

“That’s the thing,” you couldn’t but laugh in incredulous euphoria, feeling blessed, which you might actually be, considering an angel brought your soul back from Heaven and all the other stuff. “I do, actually.“

You could tell his brain froze. It was impossible for it not to. There even might be a tiny ‘loading’ line above his head as his gaze grew absent, wheels turning in his head with too much effort and too little outcome.

“What,” he breathed, the one word barely leaving his lips.

“I have no clue who the woman was, what she did or how she managed to do that, but I remember now, Steve.”

Steve observed you in silence, his eyes roaming your face, most likely seeking any trace of a lie. You were a bit insulted that he thought you would lie to him about such an important thing. On the other hand, you were pleased at him thinking you might go so far only to make him happy.

He didn’t say a thing, still searching. You wondered what you could tell him to convince him before you spoke again.

“Everything, Steve,” you repeated, your mind racing. “My family, Ryan…. Our meeting, your birthday…“ you continued, but he had told you all of those things, dammit. What hadn’t he told you? Was there-? Oh… oh. “Clint shooting a la paintball at you when fighting with Natasha-“

That last bit got him snap from his strange haze.

“I… I didn’t tell you about that,” he said slowly, sounding as guilty as hopeful.

Oh, you were a bit mad about it, okay. Telling you all the nice things and leaving out the bumps on the road to your happiness? Not fair. Except the not-funny joke was on him.

“No, you didn’t. Hate to break it to you, but if you wanted to protect me from the whole ‘my job is dangerous’ thing, think again, because even without my memories, I saw the video and you ran into the frame towards the bomb knowing it was right before everything would blow up.”

Including me.

Your not-so-gentle reminder must have been sharper than you had intended, because Steve casted his gaze down, his face paling. Seeing him like that, you waited a moment for him to digest your words before doing anything else.

You tipped his chin then with the smallest pressure only, letting him to look up on his own. When he did, you were met with a sight that not for the first time reminded you of a puppy. His eyes were so freaking huge and genuine.

“You… you really remember?” he whispered, shy and hopeful, his hands finding your hip and cheek with the lightest of touches. You couldn’t but smile, for some reason tearing up.

Damn, this was sappy. And heavy.

“Yes, Steve, I remember everything, including that one time we made out in the kitchen and you told me you couldn’t cross that line yet. I remember that before I died-“

A choked noise escaped him, his fingers clenching on you and you continued before he could apologize again. That was so not the point you were making.

“-I didn’t blame you for making that choice,” you soothed him, vainly.

“I-“

You had to actually physically stop him from talking, putting a finger over his lips. He had the decency to shut up at that, his eyes glued to you in mixture of exasperation, regret and adoration.

“As I didn’t when I woke up and was showed the footage that was broadcasted all over the US. It wasn’t your fault; that was an impossible choice to make. How would have we been able to live with the knowledge of thousands of people dying so we could be happy? You… you did the right thing, Steve.”

He grunted, his hand wrapping around yours to release his mouth and let him speak, but you shook your head and looked at him pointedly.

“I remember all of those things rushing through my mind. But most importantly, I remember what an incredible person you are. I remember every single reason why I love you.”

“Doll…” he breathed out, a crack in his voice even in that one word. A shiver ran down your spine at the addressing, so full of emotions. A tear escaped his eye and you couldn’t help but catch it with your finger. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, I can’t even-“

You frowned. You wanted to move on, to move so hard all of sudden. This was the moment you should be joyful, not full of angst and guilt.

“Hush, don’t cry and please stop apologizing.”

Steve bit his lip hard, waited for few seconds, but nodded. “Okay.”

“Really?” you blurted out, surprised. That easily…? Of course not. You could still see it was weighting him down – it would for a long, long time, you were sure of it and there probably wasn’t much you could do about it. But you could try. “Hey, if you still feel guilty about it, it doesn’t count. Just let it go, Steve. For me?”

You charmed your best pleading eyes he could never resist, bit your lip and placed your palms on his collarbones instead, deliberately reminding him of two soulmarks he carried, both for you. What other explanation was needed?

“This is how it was supposed to happen,” you whispered seriously, your gaze boring into his and yeah, the adoration in his eyes was definitely winning over the other emotions now, much to your delight. You could melt under that loving gaze. “Exactly like this.”

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose in your cheek, dropping the lightest of kisses there then.

The tenderness had your eyes flutter shut, basking in his soft affection. His lips brushed your skin as they moved towards your mouth and then they finally reached their destination.

You sighed into his mouth contentedly, your hand shifting to curl around his nape, brining yourself closer to him. God, how you loved this man. Especially when his hands moved to your shoulders, squeezing with a little too much force, desperately clinging to you so you wouldn’t dissolve into thin air.

Steve met your lips several times, always briefly, stealing little kisses, spiced with few more tears. You couldn’t tell which were yours and which were his anymore. Were you crying? Was he? You sunk into his lips before he could retreat again, earning a chuckle tickling your mouth.

Steve rested his forehead against yours, opening his eyes for you to drown in.

“You came back to me,” he whispered, voice thick with overwhelming emotions.

“I was given back,” you corrected him with a smile. He returned the gesture shortly before growing serious.

“I’m not giving you up, ever,” he declared, causing you to freeze.

You loved this. You adored this fairy-tale-like reunion and miracles, but this was reality. Steve had lost you once. There was no telling how he would react if something threatened your life again; hell, you could see it today when he carried you to the infirmary, so insistent on getting you checked up.

You didn’t want to ruin this, you honestly didn’t. But you needed to bring it up and hear him say it anyway.

“Not even when I might be in danger?”

You could see the corner of his lips twitch nervously, knowing you hit the nail on the head with deadly precision.

His voice came out raspy as he spoke up. “I- I… oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t- I’m not- you- I-”

“Say you won’t leave me, Steve. Please. Tell me you won’t give me up,” you pleaded, fear twisting your gut.

What if he dreaded the history repeating itself so much it would come between you? What if he spun of his heels right now, leaving you, because of some ridiculous idea of protecting you? The thought grew like a lump in your throat, suffocating.

He shook his head and you couldn’t breathe until his fingers caressed you face tenderly, soft smile on his lips. “I can’t imagine losing you again, in any way.”

“Then don’t. Promise you won’t get any silly ideas about leaving me to supposedly keep me safe.”

Honesty was burning in his eyes, interlacing with each word that left his lips and you finally sucked in some air. “I won’t. I swear I won’t. I won’t leave unless you tell me to and it will break my heart even then. God, doll, I love you so much.”

This time, you were breathless for a different reason. Your lips parted, your heart racing like two hundred per minute. He meant it. He actually meant it, there was no doubt of the sincerity in his eyes, the severity of his vow.

Relieved smile spread on your face and you smacked your mouth to his, effectively taking him aback. He was quick to get on with the program though, his lips sinking into yours, breathing you in as if you were the air he needed to survive. You wanted to literally jump on him, wrapping your legs around his waist, but you realized where you were.

Your room. You needed to get to your room – no, his room, his room which you had claimed yours as much as his – to have some privacy.

You withdrew swiftly, catching him off guard once more and pulling at his hand almost harshly.

It was a great plan to drag him out of the medical. Except you faltered in your steps with the fast movement causing you to sway.

Of course, Steve was there to catch you, firm hands steadying you by your hips.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay?” he coaxed.

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy. It will pass,” you assured him, throwing a perfect smile over your shoulder. You might have missed his face when aiming due to the vertigo, but that was beside the point. You tugged on his hand that had settled on your hip, only not to be able to move an inch forward, Steve’s voice fussing over you once more.

“Maybe we should ask Bruce to check you over again-”

“I’m fine, I’m… almost okay. Maybe we could ask Sam and Dean later?” you vented your sudden brilliant idea. “They are more of experts on mysterious powerful people showing up and hitting people with strange light, I guess.”

“The what now?” he honest to God squeaked, making you jump and spin on your heels at the sudden high-pitched noise. “You were hit-?”

“Later, please? Can we go somewhere private and just… be?”

He did not seem very comfortable with that idea, shifting and clenching his fists for a short moment, but then his shoulders slumped and you knew you won, rewarding him with what you were hoping to be a blinding smile.

You probably succeeded, because his fingers traced your cheeks, a smile full of wonder attacking his own lips.

“As you wish, doll.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 20

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

So... that happened.

Thank you for reading! If you read this soulmate AU from the beginning, know that you read slightly above 100k words. Thank you so much for sticking with me ♥

67 notes · View notes

exe-uzumakii · 4 years

Note

idk if you've watched the bathhouse filler episode, but if you have can you insert the reader? and like naruto and the reader having a mutual crush on each other? sorry I'm not good at explaining 😔

yess I love that episode so much! not to mention they all looked so fine 😌 umm I got carried away with this sorry-

-------

naruto was so happy that lee had done this, not only because he was lonely but also because you also came along. of course it wasn't like you guys could do much together since for obvious reasons you were in different rooms but just knowing you were there made him so incredibly happy.

the same could be said about you, and you wondered if naruto was having fun hanging out with all the other guys. you could hear yelling and laughter coming from their side, they were so loud. all the other voices drowned out though, your attention only on naruto's voice. you smiled to yourself, feeling your face heat up when he laughed.

ino started elbowing your side, a teasing smile forming on her face. "what were you thinking about? I bet it was about a boy." she honestly didn't expect it to be that, she was just teasing you. and she was about to say that she was 'just kidding'.

but god, you were so obvious that it was kind of painful. you opened your mouth to say no but nothing came out, your eyes wide as you were unable to defend yourself. ino's eyes widened out of excitement and she yelled out your name before loudly talking to you "wait I was right?! oh my god who are you crushing on?"

you heard the boys side go silent but apparently ino didn't even notice, too caught up in the moment. you were trying to shush her but she didn't take the hint.

sakura gasped out of excitement, usually she wouldn't but it was her day off and she wanted to have fun. she inched closer to you, her voice just as loud as ino's. "is it kiba? neji? shino? choji?"

you shook your head repeatedly, your heart beating faster and faster. you just really hoped that they wouldn't say naruto since you knew you wouldn't be able to lie and hide it. "no! I don't-"

"oh c'mon, don't deny it! if it isn't any of them then maybe shikamaru?"

hinata stayed silent and watched as you shook your head and said no once again. she was actually really curious, her eyes wide as she waited for you to tell them. not like you planned on telling them though. ten ten rolled her eyes, not wanting to admit she was interested too. "geez guys leave her alone, she probably won't tell you if you try to force her."

meanwhile on the boys side they were all just staring at each other in shock, not at the fact that you allegedly had a crush but because they were all just shouting it. honestly they weren't really used to hearing girls gossip.

naruto was biting his lower lip so hard that it was going numb. his mouth was dry, just staring at the wall despite the fact that nothing was there and for some reason hoping that you would answer. he knew you probably wouldn't but a guy can dream right?

shikamaru laughed nervously as the teasing went on, he whispered, "now that's messed up, they know we can hear right?"

kiba sighed and shook his head in disapproval. "are all girls like this? honestly I'm kind of curious too though."

"shouldn't we give the girls some privacy?" neji asked, finding it wrong to overhear a conversation, especially one regarding stuff like this.

choji shrugged, not wanting to leave, "I don't know, they know we're here so it isn't our fault. why don't we just go back to what we were talking about?"

the boys started getting louder gradually, and naruto was getting annoyed since he couldn't hear what was happening anymore. he turned around and shushed them all, "guys be quiet I'm trying to hear." his expression quickly turning flustered afterwards.

"oi naruto, don't tell me you-"

shikamaru didn't even finish his sentence, looking back at it, it was pretty obvious that naruto had been crushing on you for a while now, the guys may be dense sometimes but even they knew something was up. naruto was always blushing around you, always trying to get closer to you- even if it wasn't intentionally. and he talked about you so much, even when you weren't relevant to what was going on.

"you really like her right? come here, I'll give you some advice."

usually naruto wouldn't give in that easily, especially since he has never seen shikamaru go on a date or anything. but given the circumstances and how desperate he was, he could only nod and head over to his friend.

----

"is it naruto?"

you went silent, unable to even stutter the word 'no'. you sinked down into the water a little, completely embarrassed. when you saw ino and sakura smile at each other you immediately got up and pressed your finger against your lips in attempt to shush them.

it failed though, they had no mercy. "so you like naruto!"

naruto was in shock, all the guys just staring at him. his cheeks turned pink, eyes wide as he listened to them teasing you. it felt surreal and there was really no way to explain how he felt, a wave of happiness but also doubt washing over him. he must've heard wrong right?

"geez! I'm getting out of here." you said, covering yourself as you got up to head back and change. but of course the others followed after you, not wanting to miss out on the opportunity to tease you and to set you up on a date or something similar to that.

in all honesty it was really annoying but at the same time you couldn't help but feel a bit relieved since you wouldn't have to hide your feelings for naruto from the girls anymore.

for once hinata finally said something, her voice a bit low. "I think the boys heard all that." she looked away, not wanting to cause any problems. "you guys were being really loud."

sakura put her arms on her hips and pointed at ino, "look what you did!" ino did the same gesture, "that's what you're worrying about? first let's comfort her!"

you were in the process of putting your shirt on, getting a bit irritated at their bickering. "guys it's fine, I just need to get out of here before the boys do and everything will be alright. because if I see naruto-"

mid sentence lee fell through the roof, causing a commotion but luckily you guys were mostly dressed already. lee couldn't even see at the moment, his mind a bit hazy from the impact. the first one to hit him was ino, "rock lee! what the hell are you doing here?"

"wait it isn't what you think! I was training and fell in!"

sakura and ino were relentless with their scolding and once they yelled lee's name again, the other guys entered the room with no shame, wanting to see what had happened.

but you couldn't care less about the situation in front of you, your gaze set on naruto, who was staring back at you with wide eyes and a flushed face. this is exactly what you wanted to avoid, especially since you were embarrassed.

thankfully you were already dressed so you just rushed out the room, trying to not make eye contact anymore. shikamaru nudged naruto, jerking his head towards the exit. "go. we'll deal with lee."

naruto nodded, not even caring about the fact that the only thing he had on was a towel. he literally ran after you, not wanting to lose you and have to try and find you. and once he caught up to you he yelled out your name, making you flinch.

you turned around, feeling vulnerable and you just looked down, prepared to be rejected. at least you'd be able to get closure, you thought. "naruto, you heard right? you probably don't feel-"

"I like you too!" he blurted out, his cheeks getting pink. then his voice got a bit quieter. "I really really like you."

you just stood there, feeling your cheeks begin to burn as you stared into his eyes. your mouth opened slightly, as though you were about to say something but then you only smiled widely, feeling a huge weight lift off your shoulders and your stomach felt like it was flipping.

you were wordless and instead you just ran up to him and hugged him, letting out a sigh of relief. he immediately wrapped his arms tightly around you, relaxing into your touch. but your eyes widened when you realized he didn't even have a shirt on, your hands were touching his bare back. you pulled away slowly, trying to look anywhere other than his chest.

"naruto, your clothes." because of what had happened you didn't even realize that the only thing that was covering him up was the towel around his waist until now.

he looked down and his face flushed, "ah that's right! I forgot about my clothes!" he started running back but then he stopped, looking back at you, "let's go on a date tomorrow! I'll pick you up at noon okay?"

#naruto uzumaki imagines #naruto imagines #naruto uzumaki #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto shippuden imagines

116 notes · View notes

richiefuckfacetozier · 5 years

Text

Why Can't This Be Love

Chapter 1: Here It Comes

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Click to read on Archive

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak

Title - Why Can't This Be Love by Van Halen

Dedicated to @slashpalooza and @sam-i-am2468

___

Eddie’s Tuesday started out as it normally did. Half a grapefruit for breakfast, thoroughly shower, text his best friend, Richie, a stupid meme, call Mike to confirm lunch for tomorrow, work from 8am to 6pm, and come home to pour himself a glass of wine.

Right now he was pouring 4 glasses because around 3:00pm, Beverly called asking if her and Ben could come by to tell him something exciting and that Richie had to be there too. He was not sure what they could possibly want to talk about with the two of them. Eddie tried to push down the anxiety that they might be angry about something. He was pretty sure he didn’t do anything horrible recently, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Richie! Can you help me?” Eddie shouted from the kitchen of his apartment. “I don’t have enough hands to carry everything!”

“Coming, my love!” Richie joked annoyingly. Although Eddie didn’t find it entirely annoying, it’s just Richie being ridiculous.

His tall friend padded into the kitchen wearing his worn out leather jacket that he thought made him look cool, a print shirt with a meme on it that Eddie didn’t get, and jeans, “I know what they are going to tell us.” Richie stated confidently with a little bounce in his step.

“Did they tell you already? That’s not fair!” Eddie said in frustration. “They couldn’t wait two more damn minutes?”

“No, I have a guess, Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds.”

“I think Ben finally got the courage to propose to Beverly.” Richie went on with a smile. “Or she grabbed him by the balls and told him to do it.”

Eddie snorted at the imagery and wouldn’t put it past Bev to be that aggressive but probably wouldn’t to the love of her life. “That’s wonderful if it’s the news.”

“I bet you 50 bucks it is,” Richie challenged, “Ben was looking mighty anxious at Bill’s wedding a year ago.”

Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, “I barely remember Bill’s wedding. I was so blackedout.”

Richie rolled his eyes dramatically, “You were stupidly mourning the loss of Myra the hydra.” Eddie cringed at the mention of his ex-girlfriend.

“Be nice, Rich.” Eddie frowned. He pulled out a packet of thin mint girl scout cookies for all of them to snack on.

Richie rolled his eyes as he sipped quickly from the glass of wine, clearly not finished speaking, “I don’t know why either. She was a carbon copy of your mother. Her leaving was the best thing to ever happen to you.”

“Yes, being extremely single has done wonders for my self-esteem.” Eddie mumbled.

Richie leaned over and flicked Eddie’s nose, “You’re a catch, dummy.”

He yelped, rubbing his nose and getting goosebumps from their intensely close position. Eddie grabbed the other two glasses, thin mints and turned on his heel to walk out of the kitchen. “Fine, 50 bucks it isn’t an engagement.”

“Sweet! Also, those pants look good on you.” Richie pointed out following from behind him.

Eddie’s cheeks heated up a little, he purposely wore these dark navy blue jeans because Richie always compliments them. He wondered if Richie remembered that he did this every time. Eddie doubted it. When it was just the two of them, Richie constantly tried to make Eddie feel special and wanted. Eddie suspected Richie did it because he felt sorry for him, but he couldn’t be sure. Despite knowing his best friend pretty well, he was also a huge enigma. Constantly says whatever is on his mind, does the most spontaneous - borderline suicidal - things, and keeps a smile on his face no matter what he may be feeling.

They plop down on the couch in Eddie’s living room. His place was what Richie called a ‘clean mess’, probably the best description of Eddie ever said. He had the habit of hoarding things he didn’t really need. Piles of books on every table that he had already read, knick-knacks from trips, more candles than any one person needed on all open surfaces. He had really nice furniture that matched well in a blend of warm colors. Beverly and Ben sat in two mahogany chairs across from them, holding hands.

Eddie placed the wine glasses on monster movie poster coasters that Richie gifted him years ago when they were teens. They grew up together and remained close throughout the years, regardless of college or moving around. In fact, Eddie had six very close friends from childhood. The group called themselves the Losers Club, a title courtesy of Richie.

“Thanks, Eddie!” Beverly said nicely. Ben thanked him too. Richie sat beside Eddie, the side of their thighs touching as he scooted closer to hand him wine. Eddie always felt so comfortable around all his friends, they were the only ones he let be touchy with him. He used to hate germs and be easily disgusted by everything, but when the people he was closest with shared food, drinks, and beds with him, that feeling went away gradually.

“Alright, lads,” Richie started up with a newsies kid accent. “What’s the scoop? Striking Pulitzer again?”

“Well,” Ben’s round cheeks turned pink as he said, “We’ve got pretty big news.” Eddie observed Ben take both Beverly’s hands into his own big ones.

Beverly was practically jumping in her seat, her flamming red short curls bouncing against the sides of her face. She shared a big smile with Ben as she blurted out, “WE ARE GETTING MARRIED!”

“FUCK YES!” Richie shouted. He flew off the couch tackling Beverly in a huge hug.

“Please, don’t hurt my girlfrie-I mean fiancé.” Ben said softly, clearly surprised how much he enjoyed calling her that.

Eddie got up to hug Ben tightly, saying congratulations. Beverly kissed both men before they sat back down. Eddie raised his glass. “Cheers, to two people who’s friendship, romance, and love are unparalleled.”

They clinked glasses and drank. Richie bumped Eddie lightly, “Cheers to owing me $50.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie nodded toward the counter. “You can grab it from my wallet before you go home.”

“You can just buy me dinner this weekend.” Richie waved his hand.

“So Rich, you know what me getting married also means?” Beverly’s eyes shined brightly at him. He looked between her and Ben, thinking. Then dawning flashed on his face. He put his glass down and stood on the couch.

“Richie, no!” Eddie pleaded desperately. “You are going to fall! Idiot!”

He jumped up and down like a child discovering Christmas came early. “I AM GOING TO BE DUDE OF HONOR!”

They all laughed at his excitement. One of the things the losers club decided in their 20’s, after a particularly ugly fight about who would be who’s best man or ‘dude of honor’ in this case, was that each of them would take turns.

So far, Bill and Stanley had gotten married. To two incredible women, Audra and Patty. Eddie was Bill’s and Bill was Stan’s best man. The rest of the sequence goes: Mike is Richie’s, Richie is Bev’s, Bev is Eddie’s, Stan is Ben’s, and Ben is Mike’s. Mike is fairly confident he won’t get married and neither will Richie, which he says is for the best as he is far too stressed as a person to get married or be a best man.

Eddie recalled that a huge fight he had with Myra was over Beverly being his Best Woman. She shouted at him for hours that there was no reason a woman should be when he had all these guy friends. Explaining the losers club deal to her did nothing but place fuel on the fire. ‘Sometimes I think you love them more than me!’ Looking back, he most certainly did. Eddie was fairly certain he would always love the losers most in this world. Which furthered the cycle of being horribly single. Sometimes he thought he was in a polyamorous asexual relationship with 6 other people. They were too close.

Richie finished up his jumping and landed on the couch half on Eddie. “OW!” Eddie yelled. “That fucking hurt. You aren’t light enough to plop all your weight on me.”

Richie slung an arm over Eddie’s shoulders and kissed the side of his face. “Sorry, Eds.”

Eddie wiped his face that got kissed on Richie’s shoulder, pretending to get the germs off. “Have you told everyone else?”

“We have…” Ben begun slowly. Eddie didn’t like the tone he was using. “Stanley’s already started his best man duties.”

“Why wouldn’t you just tell us you’re getting married altogether like Bill and Stan did?” Richie said, seeming to also realize this was odd.

“Because we have to ask a favor of you.” Ben brought his hand up to start biting his nails the way he did when he was about to deliver bad news.

“Favor is too nice, babe. This is not a favor or a request. It is a requirement if you both want to be at this wedding.” Beverly let go of Ben’s hand to place it on her knee. She rubbed her thighs once, gearing up to tell them. Eddie had a couple guesses about what she may want to say but nothing prepared him for what it actually was, “You have to bring a date.”

Eddie leaned back in confusion, realizing Richie’s arm was still around him so it brought them both laying back against the couch. Richie removed his arm and started fidgeting with his fingers. Eddie worried his bottom lip before saying quietly, “Why?”

Beverly looked to Eddie with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Eddie, but we don’t want a repeat of Stan and Bill’s weddings.”

Eddie’s face immediately turned red with embarrassment. Three years ago, Stanley got married and that was around when he left his mother’s place for the third time. A year later, Bill got married and he had his break up with Myra. On both occasions, Eddie took a bad combination of too many pills and drinking more than he ever had in his life. Resulting in major blackouts and behavior he cannot remember but knows second hand from everyone what happened.

“Why do we both have to have dates?” Richie said, voice a little strained and weird.

Beverly rounded on him with no sympathy. “Because, Richard, when YOU go to weddings you fuck everyone and break shit. A date will keep you focused on that person and not be a chaotic monster with a death wish.”

Richie laughed, “If I want to be fucked by all your bridesmaids at the same time then I should be allowed to do that!”

Beverly’s voice rose higher, “That’s literally not possible, asshole! And the only bridesmaid is Kay McCall.”

“Damn. Kay’s beautiful but I don’t screw married women.” Richie’s face scrunched up. “Does that make her a bride’s matron?”

“High morals there Richie,” Ben said trying to lighten the mood.

“You know it Ben Handsome.” He winked.

Eddie sat there trying to word what he wanted to say carefully. As Richie continued to dig himself a deeper hole, “We are getting off-topic. I’m saying if I want to have sex with someone and have a little fun or if Eddie wants to get so drunk he mistakes your grandma for a urinal, then we should have that right.”

This brings Eddie back, “Richie!”

“What? Nana Denbrough thought she was at a waterpark. You’re fine.”

He put his hands on his face and folded forward. Richie scratched his back soothingly but didn’t stop trying to defend himself. Beverly eventually got so fed up that she pulled out her phone and played a video from YouTube.

“Exhibit A, Bill and Audra’s wedding.” She said viciously.

Eddie groaned as he raised his head to watch the screen. Bill’s younger brother Georgie had filmed people talking about Bill and Audra. He put the most unfortunate video, starring Eddie and Richie, on the internet for the world to see.

Video Eddie looked miserable and spaced out. Georgie had to say his name three times before Eddie looked up and hiccuped. “Oh hey, Georgie!” Video Eddie said enthusiastically. “Having fun kiddo?”

“I’m 21, Eddie. Not really a kid anymore.” Georgie’s voice said laughing.

“Stay a kid forever,” Eddie begged him.

“Ok, Eddie. What do you want to say to Bill and Audra?”

“Bill...I want you to know that you are the bravest man alive and I would die for you. Audra, you better be good to him.” Video Eddie points at the camera and almost falls forward. Suddenly, video Richie appears, catching him. He giggles bopping video Richie on the nose and keeping his face precariously close to video Richie’s face.

Video Eddie frowns suddenly and looks back at the camera, “But don’t fall too too in love. You might get your heart broken like me. Love is dumb. Women are dumb. They don’t really care about you.”

Video Richie had his hair slicked back and was laughing at video Eddie’s truths, “Eds! This day isn’t about you. It’s about Bill and Audra. We should be telling stories about them!”

“Oh god,” Eddie said as his stomach turned reliving the next part again.

“So Audra, let me tell you about Bill’s first time. He had a girlfriend in high school, blonde and pretty, much like yourself and they were dating for about…”

Video Eddie hiccups, “4 months.” Then smashes his face into video Richie’s neck. “You smell like whiskey.” He winces.

Video Richie laughed, cheeks reddening from drunkenness, “Thank you, Eds. When they decided to fuck for the first time, he got everything all set and she came over that evening. As he was eating her out.”

“Richie, kids could see this.” Video Georgie warned through obvious laughter.

“As Bill was going downtown on her hoo-hoo she got a little too excited and shat the bed.” All three men were shrieking with laughter. Video Eddie wrapped his arms around video Richie, shaking uncontrollably with glee. Despite the horribleness of the situation, Eddie smiled a little. “Now it’s unclear where all the crap ended up but we can guess that…”

Beverly stopped the video glaring at Richie intently. Eddie looked at him and he only smiled. “We won’t even get into the nuclear mess that was Stanley and Patti Uris’s wedding right now. But we want you both to have a date so there is no chance of you completely embarrassing me, Ben, and yourselves.”

Eddie scoffed, “Richie embarrasses himself on every date he goes on. What makes you think one brought to the wedding will be any better?”

“Oh yeah?” Richie gazed at him steadily. Eddie braced himself for the incoming insult. As much as he could dish it, he rarely could take it. Especially against Richie’s quick tongue, “And when was the last time you even fucking went on a date to embarrass yourself?”

“I can get dates!”

“A night alone with your right hand isn’t a date.”

“Shut the fuck up, Trashmouth!”

Suddenly, two armchair pillows smacked the side of Eddie and Richie’s heads. They both rounded on Beverly and Ben but the stare of death Beverly was giving stopped their prepared protests.

“If you assholes want to come to my wedding,”

“Our wedding…” Ben whispered.

She turned her ever reddening face, almost the color of her hair, at her financé, “Not if you correct me, Benjamin! Don’t make me marry myself!” She focused back on Eddie and Richie, pointing a bitten nail at them menacingly. “...you will have dates and BEHAVE at the reception or so help me, I’ll castrate you!”

There was a pregnant pause broken by the one who can never stay quiet long. “What about the ceremony?” Richie responded, “Can I at least ruin that?”

She stared at him, everyone ready for more yelling but instead she broke into a gorgeous smile and laughed. It lightened the moment but Eddie didn’t find he felt any less anxious. He fully contemplated this enormous request from his friends. Finding a good wedding date took time, he only ever had committed relationships. Well, the one with Myra. As much as Richie’s words hurt, he was right. Eddie didn’t go on dates. People didn’t tend to find him datable. “Too short, too high maintenance, too weird” were just a few of the flaws that consumed him. He had no clue how he was expected to get someone to go to this wedding with him.

The four of them started discussing wedding details, Beverly and Richie talking a mile a minute about everything that had to get done. He was especially excited to plan a bachelorette party. With how much money Ben and Bev make, it sounded like they would get their dream wedding easily.

Eddie was thrilled for them but that pang of being single and now having to find a date was eating him alive for the two more hours they stayed. When they finally called it a night, Beverly and Ben hugged them promising to talk tomorrow.

Richie did not follow them out which meant he wanted to drink and talk more, probably spend the night there. Eddie had a guest room that was essentially Richie’s room since he spent the most time there.

“You want ice cream?” Richie shouted from the kitchen where he was most likely opening another bottle of wine.

“With chocolate syrup!” Eddie yelled back.

“Oh, chocolate syrup night means major troubles.” Richie laughed.

“What are we gonna do Rich?” Eddie whined miserably. “Or rather, what the fuck am I going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“About the fucking dates!” Eddie laid sideways on the couch, grabbing the cushion pillow and placing it over his face to scream into.

“Don’t be a drama queen.” Richie said. The couch shifted as he sat down by Eddie’s legs.

“That’s easy for you to say.” Eddie mumbled into the pillow.

Two hands extracted the pillow from his face. Eddie kept his eyes scrunched closed. “I can’t speak pillow.”

Eddie huffed out, “It’s easy for you to not be worried. You are a serial dater.”

“Open your eyes, Eds.” Richie chuckled. Eddie opened them to pout childishly at him.

He had his smirky smile on, which could only mean he had a terrible idea. “I have a great idea to get us out of getting actual dates.”

Eddie stared at him from his laid down position, probably giving Richie an unattractive double chin, “There is no loophole in this agreement, Rich. Beverly was really fucking clear. We have to have dates.”

“And we will.” Richie poured wine into both their glasses. He handed it to Eddie, forcing him to sit up in order to drink it. While Eddie drank normally, Richie downed his quickly then licked his lips.

“Who am I gonna have to take to Ben and Beverly’s wedding?”

Richie watched him carefully, opened his mouth and said, “You’ll take me. I will be your wedding date. And by default, you will be mine” Eddie’s mouth dropped and Richie clinked his empty glass with Eddie’s full one.

______________________

In honor of IT: Chapter 2 coming out soon, I have begun writing this fake dating idea! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, comment here or on archive and let me know your thoughts and feels! The title is thanks to Slashpalooza on tumblr who asked me a million years ago to write something with this title!

Tag List (Starting a new tag list since I don’t know who is still around in the fandom. Let me know if you want to be tagged):

@sarah011 @pan-ini @frankeeenstein @sam-i-am2468 @eds-kas @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @roobarrtrashmouth @hypnoidvoid @imeddie @slashpalooza @reddieforlove

#reddie #fake dating au #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #welcome home losers club #benverly #ben hanscom #beverly marsh #the losers club #fanfiction #it fandom #cursing #gay #i am a loser #Why Can't This Be Love #shannon writes

2K notes · View notes

dishwater-blondie · 4 years

Text

“I’ve noticed how close you and Nathalie have become.” (Felix Aftermath)

“What the hell?”

Gabriel curled his left hand into a fist, his eyes on the ring he had removed from Emilie’s finger minutes earlier. Before him, seated at her desk, Nathalie glowered with bewilderment and outrage, hands paused stiffly over her keyboard. Her eyes flicked between the ring and his face. Gabriel only nodded at her.

“Felix stole your wedding ring?”

He nodded once more, hardening his jaw and his brow. He put his left hand out of sight, but he could still feel the other band around his finger, its cool metal and its weight. How, he wondered spitefully, had he not noticed the little asshole slip it off his hand?

Nathalie was reaching for her phone. “Should I call Amelie and -”

“Don’t bother,” Gabriel growled, “I’m sure she’s the one who told him to do it. I shouldn’t have trusted them for a moment. It was only for Adrien’s sake that I even chose to shake that damn kid’s hand. So much for that.”

“Well, I’m still glad you did,” remarked Nathalie quietly, “if only for that reason.”

“Whatever.” He glanced out the window behind her, at the light which becoming golder as afternoon traipsed gradually into evening. He blew out a breath between his gritted teeth. “What a waste all of that was. Even three akumas were not enough to get a hold of those miraculous.”

“There’s always Scarlet Moth,” offered Nathalie, and his eyes flicked back to her in surprise.

“You think we should try that again?”

“It’s certainly an option, isn’t it? It could have worked today, with all of Adrien’s classmates upset at once.” She leaned forward over her desk and set her chin atop her folded hands, in thought. “Well, there will be other ways in order to get that many people angry at once that we haven’t tried before. In the future, we’ll make sure they aren’t targeting Adrien - or people who look freakishly like him.”

“You’re right,” he replied, admiring for a moment, the intense contemplation in her eyes, they way they pierced outward with bird-like focus and simultaneously gazed deep within herself. He could see the thoughts swimming across her face. He looked away, back outside, placed his focus on the shadow of a tree waving against the outer wall. “And, also, thank you.”

“Hm? For what?”

“For trying to protect Adrien.” Gabriel’s hands tightened behind him, and the ring pressed uncomfortably into his skin.

“Well, it was only what you asked of me, sir.”

“I didn’t ask you to take on three akumas at once,” he pointed out, and as the breeze calmed outside, the shadow he was watching became still. “Especially not given your condition.”

He could feel that fierce stare of hers on the side of his head. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ve felt fine today. Almost normal. Besides,” she added, “I wouldn’t have let them near him under any circumstances. Sick or no.”

Finally, Gabriel turned back to her, and smiled gratefully, prompting her to smile warmly back. “Well, if I have to deal with in-laws we steal my own damn wedding ring on top of the usual bullshit, I’m beyond appreciative that you are there to keep Adrien safe.”

“Of course, Gabriel.”

They held each other’s eyes for a moment, and then it seemed something rather solemn had occurred to her, because her gentle smile faded, her brow came low.

“Speaking of Adrien,” she murmured, “You never did get to telling him about…”

“I know,” he said, taking a glimpse at Emilie’s portrait on the opposite end of the room. He found her painted eyes just a little too difficult to bear looking at for very long. “It...it wasn’t the right time.”

Nathalie tilted her head. “Something upset you, sir. I was watching, you know. You looked, well, shaken.”

“I-” he turned his body from her desk, a rigid movement which caused her to straighten up. “It was nothing. I just realized I wasn’t ready to tell him the truth, and that he wasn’t in the place to hear it.”

“I understand, but like I said, it isn’t going to get any easier.”

“I know. I question - I question whether I can ever tell him.”

“Sir, what happens if he finds out on his own?”

Behind his back, Gabriel twirled the ring around his finger. Emilie’s ring. If her sister or her nephew wanted to get ahold of this one as well, they would have to be exceptionally clever. His wedding band would have never returned to them had they known Emilie was still with them, that as long as she lived, the rings would always be hers. But they didn’t know.

And neither did Adrien.

To all three of them, Emilie was gone. As good as dead. It twisted a blade into Gabriel’s heart to realize it, that he and Nathalie were to only two people who knew that she would one day return to them. As he stared into the space between himself and the glowing window, he remembered with grief, the encouraging look on his son’s face, the hope gleaming in the eyes which reminded him so vividly of Emilie as he told Gabriel that it was okay to leave her behind. He sighed, reached up and dragged a hand down his face.

“We just have to hope he never does,” he muttered.

He heard Nathalie’s chair roll back as she rose to her feet. A moment later, she had walked around her desk and took her place at his side. He took the hand away from his chin to glance at her, at the delicate curve of her brows, angled in concern, at the touch floating towards him to land on his arm, so gently he could barely feel it. “I hope you will reconsider, and tell him the truth at some point,” she said, voice low. “I can imagine how difficult it must be, but I really do believe that being honest with him is far better than trying to conceal all of this, especially if he discovers the truth on his own.”

Gabriel might have taken her words more to heart had he not become suddenly very, very aware of how her face hovered just a few inches from his own.

I’ve noticed how close you and Nathalie have become.

Gabriel, wide-eyed, took a step from her, wincing as her light grip on his arm slipped away. Modest as always, Nathalie remained firmly in place, though she followed him with her gaze, brimming with worry.

How had he not?

“Nathalie,” he began, “Adrien, he -”

“What?” she prompted, when he cut himself off. “Did he say something?”

He gave her a side-glance, waiting a moment to build the courage to turn to her completely. Her patience calmed him. He took a single deep inhalation and announced, clinically, “Adrien believed we are romantically involved.”

Nathalie’s countenance immediately turned stony. Gabriel couldn’t believe the weight she carried in a single syllable: “Oh.”

He nodded vigorously. “Exactly. You can imagine I was displeased that he believed someone could simply replace his mother.”

To his interest, Nathalie flinched. “Is that what he-?”

“No, but it’s only been a year, Nathalie. It’s been a year, and he thinks I could move on. His mother isn’t even gone.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“But he thinks it. How could he think it? It feels like such little time.” Gabriel, once more, laid his eyes on the golden Emilie. Regarding her at his distance, where he stood an entire room away, he suddenly felt the coolness of the empty space around him, the fact that he could reach out and touch nothing but the air he pushed in and out of his lungs in that steady, lonely rhythm that would never end. “And yet,” he added under his breath, “It feels like lifetimes.”

Nathalie was quiet for a moment, and then, wordlessly, she spun around and hastily returned to her desk. Gabriel listened to the faint squeak of her chair as she sat down, the roll of its wheels across the floor as she pulled herself up to her computer and started working at the keys. When Gabriel had at last looked at her again, he found her cheeks flushed red, her jaw firmly set, her stare so laser-focused on her screen that it looked like she was trying to pick apart piece by piece.

He asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she responded, a little too quickly. After a pause, where her typing faltered a moment, “I can understand why that would bother you, sir. I guess we should be more careful. We wouldn’t want Adrien to suspect what’s really going on.”

He couldn’t quite place the tone of her voice, but it made him feel on edge, and his miraculous was suggesting she was anything but unemotional at the moment. “Nathalie, did I - insult you in any way?”

“Why would you have insulted me? Isn’t what you say correct? I’m not Adrien’s mother and we’re not-” She blinked. Hard. “Together. It’s unfortunate that he was so mistaken. He must have noticed the way we act when I’m not feeling well. I thought we had more secretive about that, but then again, he’s noticed my dizzy spells at least. Who knows what else he’s picked up on?” She finished a paragraph and pivoted her chair in his direction. “I’m sorry, sir, that he brought it up.”

Gabriel was a little thrown by her severity. “It isn’t your fault. I probably could have handled it better. I was just...surprised.” He came a little closer to her desk until he stood directly across from her. She was upset, but he didn’t know if it was by learning Adrien had made some rash assumptions or by the way he had spoken himself; either way, he was troubled to feel the miraculous biting into his chest. “For the record, Nathalie, Adrien was wrong, and he knows he was wrong. If by ‘we should be more careful’, you are implying that I stop caring for you as I have been when you’re ill, I will have to refuse.”

She gazed up at him. “Sir, I don’t think that more mindfulness of our behavior is unreasonable.”

“Neither do I, but Nathalie, you have to understand, I deeply appreciate all that you do for me. Everything from protecting Adrien earlier today, to using the peacock miraculous, to all the work you do in between. I wouldn’t feel right to ‘be more careful’ if that suggests I’m not telling you how much all of that means to me,” he told her.

“You-” Her face flushed again, she looked down, sheepish. “You just did.”

“Well, once isn’t enough.” Gabriel was relieved to see her smile at this, to feel the hurt draining out of his miraculous. “And there is one thing Adrien said that rings true. You are a part of this family. For how much you do for us, you couldn’t be anything less.”

She was stunned. “He said that?”

“Of course.” Gabriel offered her a small, sincere smile before backing away from her desk and returning to his own place across the room. Standing beneath his wife’s emerald stare, he reopened the designs he had been working on when he’d noticed the missing ring. Now, Emilie’s glinted in the light reaching at him through the window, and when he looked up from his screen in search of the shadows on the wall, his eyes went instead to Nathalie, who remained seated at her desk, positioned before her computer, her face filled so unexpectedly with wonder. Truly, she must not have known at all how much she belonged there.

I’ve noticed how close you and Nathalie have become.

Perhaps, there was something worth noticing. Perhaps, they had become closer. Perhaps, Gabriel was, all too late, beginning to realize just how important she was to all of his accomplishments. There was no way he would be standing here if she couldn’t stand beside him. He wouldn’t have lasted a day.

A thread of guilt was plucked somewhere deep in his chest, because she was risking her life. Because she was at the brink of losing everything every time she pinned that miraculous to her sweater, and yet she may have been completely unaware of how much he needed her.

He needed her.

Biting his lip, Gabriel dropped his eyes back to the screen. “And Nathalie?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll give some consideration to utilizing Scarlet Moth once more. Catalyst might be making her comeback.” The ring felt unusually tight around his finger. “If you’re up for it.”

He heard the smile in her voice when she answered, “Yes, sir.”

#ml fanfic #gabenath #felix #ml fluff #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur

199 notes · View notes

triscribe · 4 years

Text

The Difference Between Scavenging and Stealing

The ship came down in a hail of smoke and burning parts.

All motion in Niima Outpost froze, scavengers and dealers alike staring at the Star Destroyer falling to pieces through Jakku’s atmosphere. The massive vessel finally landed with a distant WHOOM, creating a mushrooming cloud from the impact point. It took a few moments, after the sand began to settle, before someone moved and set off a frenzy. Every scavenger raced for their vehicles, grabbing extra ropes and nets as they went.

Having already finished her business for the day and been walking back to her rusty old speeder, ten year old Rey was one of the first to roar out of the outpost. The girl didn’t even stop to think - if she could get to the new wreck before anyone else, she’d be able to gather up the kinds of parts and materials that went for big money, the kinds other ships had already been picked clean of.

Unfortunately, better-maintained speeders managed to over-take her little craft, and the girl grit her teeth as they barreled onwards. Adjusting her course, she aimed to pull in alongside the Destroyer’s stern, rather than heading for the undercarriage docking bays where entry would be easiest.

As soon as she arrived, the kid powered down and hid her speeder, then ran to start climbing the crunched and distorted bulwarks. Sure enough, about halfway up, Rey found a tear in the ship’s plating, just big enough for her to squeeze through.

The inside... was a mess.

Flames still burned up and down certain corridors, and the girl readjusted her face mask, glad that the thick cloth could block more debris than just sand. Working her way inward, she paused occasionally to snatch bits of wiring and electronic components to stuff in her belt pouches, the sorts of things she could use to fix up the big red dune-skimmer half-buried next to her house.

Finally, Rey found a vertical shaft clear of smoke, and started heading downwards, towards the engines. She had to keep pausing to listen to distant taps and pings, checking for the inevitable arrival of other scavengers. Being the first to the most valuable pieces of equipment wouldn’t matter if she couldn’t get out with them before someone bigger got there, looking for the same items.

(Most scavengers didn’t share.)

Rey carried a pipe-staff for the exclusive reason of beating off bullies who thought they could take her stuff, but then she’d be distracted, and someone else could grab the parts and take off.

(It wouldn’t be the first time.)

Eventually, she reached a spot where the shaft wall was warped, blocking it off, and the girl had to climb back up to an exit in order to go find another route to the engines. The corridor she emerged into, though, looked like nothing she’d ever seen in another Star Destroyer.

Piles of tools and welding materials were stacked up alongside one wall, a collection of old stormtrooper armor against the other. A whole bunch of cloth and padding material formed a sleep pallet in one corner, next to a box of parts and a half-assembled holotable. Opposite of those were crates nearly as tall as Rey herself, and she drifted closer to peek inside one.

Ration packs. Old, stamped with the insignia of the Empire, but still sealed - and there were dozens of them.

Breath caught in her throat, it took distant shouting to startle Rey into moving. She dropped her biggest bag to the floor, clambered up to perch on the edge of the crate, and started grabbing up armfuls of ration packs to drop into the canvas. So distracted with the need to gather as much food as possible, it took the girl a minute to notice the shouts were getting closer... and to realize they’d turned into screams.

Gulping, she threw the last pack into her bag before jumping down, tying it closed, and dragging the lot back to the shaft entrance.

Climbing back up was a lot harder with the extra weight, but Rey grit her teeth and kept at it, determined to get her prize out safely before returning to look for more. Screams and cries of pain or anger kept reverberating around the cracked decks of the ship, echoing to the point that she couldn’t tell where they were originating from. But one thing was absolutely clear to the girl: someone had still been living on the Destroyer when it crashed.

And that someone didn’t like scavengers coming for their stuff.

-Star Wars-

When he felt the last of the intruders retreat, the blue-haired man deactivated his weapon with a sigh. “Fantastic way to make a first impression, Bridger, really stupendous.” After a moment, he clapped a hand across his face. “Force, now I’m even starting to sound like that bastard.”

Continuing to grumble complaints, the man strode through the once-again empty corridors, absent gestures here and there dropping loose panels on top of fires to smother them. Soon enough he arrived at the particular stretch he’d turned into his own private hideaway, only to pause. Something felt... off. Like a lingering presence in the air, but even less tangible.

Fingers tightening around his lightsaber, the man moved more cautiously, all senses extended to search for any intruders he might have missed. No one sprung out at him from the shadows, and the turbolift shaft at the far end was empty when he poked his head through the opening to check. It wasn’t until he began to inspect his supplies that the man found definite proof someone had been there.

The bare bottom of one of his ration crates seemed to echo with derisive laughter. He stared for a long while, before finally shutting his eyes... and reaching out through the Force.

In one direction, the intruders he’d scared away gathered nearby, fear and resentment and greed marking their faint signatures. Off to the other side, though, towards the ship’s stern, was a single lifeform, burning so brightly in the Force it was astounding he hadn’t sensed them earlier. It was this lifeform, filled by a hesitant joy overshadowed by the steady need to get to safety, that he’d bet had stolen a quarter of his food supply.

Well. If he’d managed to swipe that many meals in one go as a kid, his emotions would likely be much the same.

Warning whispers prickled at the edge of his mind. The intruders were absorbing reinforcements into their ranks.

He sighed.

Chasing them all off again would, theoretically, be doable, but the same cycle was bound to repeat again and again. There was the option of killing them all instead, as a dark little voice in the back of his mind pointed out, but...

But.

This wasn’t war. This was people trying to scavenge enough to survive.

Another sigh. And then he started to pack up his supplies, still keeping tabs on the brightly shining Force signature in the back of his mind.

Maybe they wouldn’t mind trading some more ration packs in exchange for local intel, and possibly a new place to sleep.

-Star Wars-

For the first time that she could remember, Rey had enough food to feast.

Each pack came with a square of protein and carbohydrate blend, a few sticks of vegetable nutrient, and a water bulb. She scarfed her first meal down to quiet the grumbles of her belly, and then ate a second, more slowly, in order to savor the new tastes and textures.

It was while she sat on top of her hut, gradually draining the second water bulb, that Rey felt one of her warning tickles - like someone not really there had tapped on her shoulder. The girl turned, squinting in the sunset light, to look in the direction of Niima Outpost, and beyond it the new wreck.

A figure approaching her home lifted a hand to wave.

Instantly, Rey rolled off the top of her hut and in through the opening, sliding shut the meager door she’d made out of scrap metal. Then she grabbed up her staff, slammed her back against the barrier, and waited, heart pounding.

Two... five... ten minutes went by, and she didn’t hear anything.

Biting her lip, Rey pushed up onto her toes, straining to peek over the top of her makeshift door, which didn’t quite reach the top of the hut’s opening. A glimpse of dark blue hair made her duck right back down again, but apparently the stranger still managed to spot her.

“You know,” a voice called out, “If you wanted some of my rations, all you had to do was ask.”

Oh. Oh no. Oh no, oh no oh no.

The person who lived on the new wreck had followed her.

Shoving down her sudden terror, Rey responded in the only way she knew how: “Go away!”

“Not until I have a chance to talk to you,” the stranger replied.

“I’m not giving them back!”

Chuckling. “‘Course not, you’ve probably already split them between at least three different hiding places. Or at least, that’s what I would’ve done, if I’d ever managed to steal that much food when I was your age.”

Scowling, Rey got up on tip-toe again, high enough her brown eyes could meet an amused blue gaze. “I didn’t steal ‘em! I’m a scavenger, not a thief!”

“Uhh, hate to break it to you kid, but the only difference between scavenging and stealing is whether the previous owner of the stuff you take is still alive.” The man gestured to himself. “And since I’m not dead yet, well...”

Rey dropped back down with a huff. “I’m still not giving any of them back! If you didn’t want your stuff taken, you should’ve protected it better!”

“Yeah, I know. I was a little more worried about those friends of yours at the time, though.”

The girl snorted. “I don’t have friends.”

A thoughtful hum reached her ears. “What about family, then?”

Unexpected tears suddenly welled up in her eyes, and Rey held them back by sheer willpower. “They’re coming back for me. Someday. They will.”

The stranger stayed quiet for a while. “I dunno if my family will come for me,” he finally said. “I’ve been lost for so long, I don’t even know if any of them are still alive.”

Something in his voice made Rey pause. Tentatively, she shoved her scrap door over a bit, to be better able to peer outside at the guy sitting in front of her home. His hair was kind of long, with roughly cut bangs, and the longer bits pulled back into a ponytail. Two narrow scars marked one side of his face, and his clothes were grease- and soot-stained and covered in patches. A bunch of work pouches hung from his belt with different odds and ends sticking out, including a weird looking rod that held Rey’s attention for a long moment.

When she glanced back up, the man’s head was tilted to one side, as he stared back. Something nudged her. Like the warnings that tickled at the edge of her mind, but more insistent, encouraging. Taking a deep breath, Rey pushed the door over enough for her to step outside.

One side of the man’s mouth quirked up. “You’re not one to stay scared for long, huh?”

“‘M not scared,” she sniffed. “I’m careful.”

“Hi Careful, I’m Ezra.”

Rey blinked. “What?”

“Heh, sorry, I’ve always wanted to use that joke,” the man apologized with a grin. “But my name is Ezra, Ezra Bridger. What’s yours?”

“...Rey.”

“It’s nice to meet you Rey,” Ezra said, not commenting on her lack of a last name. “So, if we want to move on from the whole scavenging/stealing debate, how about this: you keep all of the rations you swiped and I won’t try to take them back, in exchange for you letting me camp here and sharing some information.”

Face scrunching up, Rey thought about it for a minute. She liked her house because it was hers, far enough away from Niima and the other campsites that no one bothered her. On the other hand, she did feel kinda bad about swiping so much of Ezra’s food when he didn’t even act a little mad about it.

“...what sort of information?”

“Well, for starters, how about telling me what planet this is?”

Rey’s eyebrows shot up. “Jakku - you didn’t know that?”

“Nope.” Moving slowly, Ezra reached into one of his belt pouches, and pulled out a pretty gold and blue cube. “Like I said, I’ve been lost for a long time.”

The girl didn’t have much time to think about that, because her attention focused completely on the cube when Ezra let go of it mid-air - and it didn’t fall down. She watched, stunned, as the cube’s components shifted, opened, and started to project a holographic star map. “Whoa.”

Again, one corner of the man’s mouth lifted into a half-grin. “Cool trick, right?”

“How are you doing that?”

“With the Force, all things are possible,” Ezra murmured. He focused on the map as it slowly spun, before pausing on a certain sector. “There we are, Jakku - middle of nowhere and clear across the galaxy from Lothal, greaaat.” Scrubbing a hand across his face, the man sighed.

“Is that where you’re from? Lothal?”

“Mm-hm. Born there, survived there, fought there.” He glanced up at the darkening sky, suddenly looking a lot older and more tired than before. “Fields of grass as far as you can see, lakes as big as oceans, smooth mountains scattered around...”

Rey tried to picture it, despite only vaguely knowing what the words meant. For a moment, something hummed at the forefront of her mind, and she thought she saw some blurs of bright colors, green and blue and brown. But then the moment passed. Rey blinked her eyes clear, and saw Ezra staring at her, one side of his mouth partially turned up in a thoughtful expression. “Have you ever heard of the Force, Rey?”

She frowned. “No. What’s that?”

“It’s- well, it’s a force,” Ezra chuckled, “Something that binds everything in the galaxy together, connecting, flowing, transferring energy. And some people are more deeply connected to it than others, which lets them do things like, well, like this.” He gestured to the cube, still floating in place. “If I’m right, you’ve got a really strong connection.”

Rey blinked at him, then at the cube, then back at Ezra. “I can’t do that.”

“It takes practice, and someone teaching you the basics. But once you take even just one step in learning out how to open yourself up to the Force, a lot of it works on the same principles, the same patterns.”

Her gaze dropped back to the cube, and felt another nudge on her mind. “...can you show me?”

“Sure. Come sit like this - you don’t have to get too close if you don’t want to, but less distance helps.” Chewing at her lower lip, Rey took a few hesitant steps forward, before dropping down to sit on her knees like Ezra, just out of arm’s reach. He grinned. “Okay. Close your eyes, and listen to the sound of my breathing... in, hold, and out, hold... match it with me, alright?”

Rey hummed, eyes shut, focusing on the steady inhales and exhales and copying them.

“That’s good. Now feel, not with your body, but with your mind.”

And Rey... felt.

The same brief warmth she got from the nudges that warned her, guided her, completely surrounded the floating cube. Opposite it, Ezra felt hotter, sharper, with bits of cold around the edges that just made his center seem even brighter. And beyond him, Jakku was lukewarm, with faint light and cold spots and currents of something that moved between it all-

“Not bad, not bad at all.”

Ezra’s sudden words brought Rey back to herself, and she sucked in a startled breath, eyes snapping open. Around them, full night reigned, although there’d still been a bit of light from the sunset left when she had sat down. The man across from her smiled.

“What- was that the Force?” Rey asked.

“Yep. The connection that binds everything together,” he said. “And what makes it possible to be a Jedi.”

Surprised, Rey sat up a little straighter, because that was a word she knew. “Like Luke Skywalker?”

“Uh, who?”

“The last Jedi! The Hero of the Rebellion - he was the one who beat Darth Vader and the Emperor and helped bring back the Republic!”

Ezra stared at her, completely stunned. The hologram cube dropped to the ground. “He- what?”

She nodded rapidly. “Mo’junga tells stories about Skywalker and the Rebellion whenever he’s drunk, which is a lot - the Battle of Yavin, the Battle of Endor, Han Solo and Princess Leia and- and-” Rey trailed off. “...and you don’t know any of those names.”

Ezra’s jaw worked silently for a moment, and he tried to smooth his expression out, but Rey could still feel him, could feel how shaken he was. “I- no. I know Yavin, that was our base, but- I don’t recognize the others. The- the Empire’s really gone? We beat them?”

“Mm-hm. Years ago. Before I was born, anyway.”

After a long minute, something twitched. “Wait,” Ezra mumbled. “Skywalker.” He lifted a hand, and the cube floated back up, lights flashing until a new projection emerged. “-asked me to record some helpful tips for those of you going into battle against the Separatists, or any group of well-armed opponents. Now, keeping your saber moving is key to deflecting the fire of multiple adversaries. Flowing motion, one into the next, into the next and so on. I’ve, made some adjustments to the Form Four techniques that work well against droids and other ranged attackers. Here, I’ll show you-”

“That’s a Jedi,” Rey breathed in awe, as the little blue-tinted figure pulled out an actual lightsaber and started using it to swipe blaster bolts away from his body.

“Anakin Skywalker,” Ezra said, gaze narrowed. “He was a Jedi General in the Clone Wars, before the old Republic became the Empire. He taught a friend of mine - do you know the name Ahsoka Tano?”

Rey shook her head, and Ezra’s frown deepened. “Well. She was a Jedi too. My Master may have died and I might have disappeared, but this ‘Luke’ Skywalker was definitely not the last Jedi with the Rebellion-”

“Wait!” Rey shot to her feet. “You’re a Jedi?!”

The man blinked at her, before grinning. “Well, yeah. Wasn’t that obvious by now?”

“Prove it!” She demanded, pointing at the paused hologram recording. “If you’re really a Jedi, then you’ll have a lightsaber like him, right?”

Ezra’s grin widened. His hand went to the odd cylinder Rey had noticed earlier on his belt, held it up, and pressed a button. A blade of bright green plasma leapt out, humming and sizzling in the night air. Rey stared at it, eyes wide with awe.

“Yes, Rey. I’m a Jedi. And you can be one too.”

---

(Posted to my AO3 account, also under the username Triscribe, but of course my internet’s acting wonky and won’t connect so I can copy the link. Bah.)

#star wars #star wars rebels #star wars sequel trilogy #rey #ezra bridger #jedi #jakku #rey of jakku #star wars au #fan fiction

15 notes · View notes

prodigalsonheadcanons · 4 years

Note

I know it's kinda obvious, but maybe Dani x Malcolm with 14? "I don’t think I should leave you alone right now."

Also requested: For the prompt list, 14 and Malcolm x Dani

Malcolm was different today.

Dani didn’t see herself as an expert on him. He was far too much of a mystery to ever be clear to anyone, she suspected. But she was beginning to understand him more and more. She didn’t mind the fact. Bright was complicated…but he was genuine and he was sweet. Surprisingly so, in more ways than one.

She still got him wrong sometimes. She wasn’t an expert.

But she knew when something was wrong with him.

He came in late, which he didn’t often do. When he shed light on the profile of their new killer, it was with a certain kind of hollowness. There had been no triumph or happiness when they found he reached the right answer. He was just flat and monotone, the entire day. He didn’t speak much, unless he was really pushed to. He didn’t eat anything, either…this one was a more common habit of his, but still, there was something off. Dani could tell. She wasn’t sure whether or not she should ask…worrying tended to rub him the wrong way. She wasn’t sure what to do. She spent all day entertaining options.

At the very tail end of it, she found herself asking if he needed a lift home.

The ride was mostly silent. She glanced at him a couple times; he stayed staring out the window with that heavy expression on his face. She tried to come up with questions to ask if he was alright, but she couldn’t figure any out. She stayed silent as they pulled up to his apartment. And she stayed silent as she walked him in. He was so distracted and despondent that he didn’t even question it. He just shut the door after her. She lingered, watching him.

He walked with slow, dragging steps into the kitchen. She waited, hoping he would go to the fridge and maybe get something to eat. But once he got there he just came to a stop. A gradual, almost absent stop— like he wasn’t even sure where he was going, or why. Like he was lost. Her concern mounted when he just stood there, staring blankly off into space. After a couple moments, she dared to break the crushing silence between them. “Malcolm.” He barely roused. She crossed her arms and started over, taking her time. “Hey…” He turned a little, his eyes flashing. She searched his face. “You okay?”

It took him a moment. But he drafted up a smile. It was forced. “M’fine,” he returned very neatly.

Very practiced.

She could feel her own disbelief, on her face. “You sure?” she pressed. “You don’t look like it. Something’s been…off about you, today.”

She saw his smile grow tighter. He was even quieter when he offered, “Guess it might just be one of those days.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “You wanna talk about it?”

His smile was the fakest yet. His grin was wide, but his eyes gleamed with even more pain. “No.” His voice was barely a murmur. “Not at all.” Her face fell, but with the gentle yet firm refusal, he was turning his back to her. There were pill bottles lined up on the counter that Dani hadn’t even bothered to notice. He started to pick them up one by one. “Thank you for driving me home. I might see you tomorrow.” The word ‘might’ bothered her. She watched as he started to one of the drawers and began to stash everything away.

She could hear the pills rattling in their containers. His hands were shaking.

He put them all away and shut the drawer. From there, he propped himself up against the counter, hanging his head low. He closed his eyes and stayed still. She saw his shoulders hunch. Her eyes flickered to the door. But her gut tugged. She walked over to him again, her footsteps seeming loud in the apartment’s silence. Malcolm gripped the counter tighter, but he didn’t tell her to stop, or even pick his head up. She tried to get him to catch her eye. The words were coming out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I don’t think I should leave you alone right now…”

This did the trick; it got him looking at her. He looked confused. Like they weren’t speaking the same language.

“I don’t wanna leave you like this, Bright,” she murmured. He was trying to keep himself together, but she could see the pain that was on his face. She had no idea what it was from, but she knew it was from something bad. The longer he stared at her and the more she said, the more she started to realize that his eyes were the tiniest bit shiny, from unshed tears. He was doing everything he could to hold them back. Her heart pained. He was trying so hard to be strong, when he didn’t need to be. “I’m…here for you,” she offered. His eyes flashed. They welled even more. “If…if you want me to be.”

It took him ages to speak. The words were sticking in his throat. “It’s—” His voice was getting thicker. He tried to smile again; this one held nothing but sorrow and frustration. A lifetime’s worth, if not more so. Bitter laughter hid under his next words, soft as they were. “I can’t even…” The humor broke just enough. He looked at her more despairingly, now. He barely got out: “I can’t even…say what it is, even…it’s…just…” He looked overwhelmed. She tried to put herself in his shoes. But found she couldn’t even begin to fathom everything he was probably carrying with him.

She understood. But only in the sense that she couldn’t ever understand.

She wasn’t an expert on Bright. But she liked to think she was getting better. She didn’t demand he try and finish. She didn’t judge. When she reached out for his hands, she did so slowly, so he had more than enough time to tell her to stop, or at least pull away. He did neither. She made sure her touch was light, when she placed her hands on top of his. She barely grabbed them— just enough so that he knew she was holding to him, and just enough so that she could feel their shaking become less severe. Only marginally, but it was something. When she spoke, she tried her best to make her words something that would be enough for him. “You don’t have to,” she reassured softly.

He looked doubtful and a little embarrassed.

But mostly, once she said this, she saw, on his face, a sense of relief.

It was tiny. But it was growing. And it was something she hadn’t seen all day.

It lifted her own weight right off her shoulders.

When she hadn’t even really realized that a weight had been there in the first place.

#Prodigal Son #Malcolm Bright #Dani Powell #Brightwell #Tiny Fic #Ask #Thank you for the request!!! <3 #I woke up with about ten more so :'D

99 notes · View notes

marvel-lucy · 4 years

Text

The Ultimate Weapon, chapter 6

Bucky <3. My boy.

Once we’d got into the elevator, Tony turned to me and asked where I wanted to go. I found the idea of choice complicated, but I remembered that Bruce had wanted to evaluate me, and that felt close to a command – someone else’s wish, not mine. “I have to go to Bruce’s lab. He wants to test me.” I could see Steve frowning at that; I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t like the idea of testing me, or didn’t like that I was doing what someone else wanted but he kept silent.

“You heard the Moley, Jarvis – to the lab!”. The elevator moved so smoothly I was barely aware we’d changed floors until the doors opened and we stepped into a vast lab. The windows darkened as I stepped in, causing Bruce to look up and say ‘Hey, Jarvis, what are you…’ then stop when he saw us. Tony quickly spoke, “long story, explain later, I’ve brought you a treat, ta da!” and he gestured at me dramatically. I rolled my eyes, something I’d never have dared a few weeks ago, but somehow Tony seemed to bring it out in anyone who was around him long enough.

Bruce jumped out of his seat, nearly spilling his coffee in his excitement. He stumbled over his words, “hey, ok, so are you here, so, I mean, can I evaluate, I guess, if you are OK with that, I mean…”. He trailed off, embarrassed and quickly took off his glasses and started polishing them on his shirt. Tony and Steve both looked at me, waiting for a response.

“You said I had to be evaluated, so I am here for that” I said, and watched Bruce’s face light up. He grinned at Tony, who grinned back, and they started talking over each other and at each other, about tests and measures and all sorts, completely ignoring me in their excitement. Steve smiled and said “we may as well sit down, they’ll be conspiring for a while before they remember to actually do anything”.

I sat down on a nearby chair and took the opportunity to examine the lab. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. A huge space, full of computers, equipment and goodness-only-knows what, the space had vast windows (now blacked out) and behind a glass screen, what looked like a training room. Much of the equipment looked almost like instruments of torture and yet I didn’t get the tense feeling in my chest here that I’d used to have at Hydra’s base. I was starting to believe that nobody here wanted to hurt me. I couldn’t decide how I felt about that yet.

Tony and Bruce came bustling back over, talking a mile a minute, until eventually Steve held up a hand and laughed “one at a time gents?!”. Tony and Bruce looked at each other, then Tony turned to me. “OK, we know you’ve been serum-enhanced. Do you know anything about what abilities have been enhanced? We know you’re fast, and you heal fast, and you’re strong, and you have mind powers… ok so we know basically you’re unstoppable, Moley. Anything else we should know about?”

I shrugged. “I was made to be the ultimate weapon. I’m fast, strong, agile. I fight, I run, I kill. I have enhanced mind powers and brain functions. There’s nothing I can’t do. I’m a weapon”. Saying it out loud hurt. I could feel their fear, feel them looking at me differently. Maybe they didn’t even believe me, but once they’d evaluated me they’d see that I was a threat. An inhuman danger. Then maybe they would want to hurt me after all.

Steve put his hand on my shoulder, and I tried (unsuccessfully) not to flinch. “I understand. It’s hard to be different, right? You, me, and Bucky, we’re all enhanced. You and Bucky have a lot in common, you know; how you were made, how you were treated. I hope you can find some comfort in knowing you’re not alone”. Internally, I tried to imagine ‘Bucky’ and ‘comfort’ in the same sentence and failed. Bucky might have a lot in common with me, but that just made him distrust me more.

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, then Bruce coughed, obviously desperate to get on, and said “so, let’s get some baseline measures, OK? See what you can do?” I nodded, and within seconds he was wiring me up – heart monitors, oxygen monitors, muscle measures, goodness only knows what else – and trying to politely urge me towards the screened off gym area. Walking through the glass doors, Bruce led me to a treadmill, and said “we’ll start easy, see how far and how fast you can run”. Behind me I heard Tony say “Jarvis, you’re recording right? And can you tell the team they might want to watch this?”, and I started to run.

And I ran. And ran. And ran some more. I’d have been bored except I was so used to following orders that I just zoned out and did what I was told. I was vaguely aware of other people coming into the room behind me but I didn’t turn to see. I’d been told to run so I did. What I didn’t realise was that I was sprinting, and had been for 40 minutes, flat out, before Bruce said ‘OK, so I guess we know you can run then…’ and slowed down the treadmill. I stepped off, my breathing only slightly heavier than normal, and turned to see the whole team watching. They’d pulled some exercise mats down and were lying on them, leaning up against each other and against the walls. There were two new members I’d only met once before – Wanda and Sam – Nat, Steve, Pepper, and even Bucky was watching me.

“Heart rate only elevated by 3% Tony. You owe me $10” Bruce said, much to Tony’s disgust. “You’ve cost me, Moley. Next time I’m betting on you, not against you”, he said with a smile.

I stood and waited for my next order. “Ok…” I could see Bruce pondering “OK, you say you’re strong? Let’s go with weights”. Tony crowed with glee, “oh I know how to make this more fun! Cap, you ready to be tested? You two compete! Oh I genuinely don’t know who to cheer for – Jarvis, do we have any pompoms?”

Steve looked awkward, as awkward as I felt. “Hey, this isn’t a competition Tony, c’mon…” but the team started egging him on with taunts of “you scared Cap?” and “he’s feeling his age” until, red-faced, he gave me a half-smile and stepped forward to the weights.

Within twenty minutes the half-smile had gone, replaced with a look of determination. We took it in turns to lift heavier and heavier weights. He was strong. Very strong, serum-enhanced strong. I knew (I’d been reading up on the internet) that he’d been injected and then exposed to Vita-Rays. At the time, that was the best option for activating the serum. In the years since, Hydra had perfected a new technique. The serum was created to make a super-soldier, a weapon. And weapons needed to be forged, not bathed in sunshine. Experimenting on a number of different people over the years, including Bucky it seemed, gradually Hydra had worked out the winning combination. Repeated doses of serum, coupled with severe pain, was the way to create an unstoppable force. Mental and physical pain released adrenaline, stress hormones; fear wiped memories; broke will; and coupled with the serum, was the most effective way to create the most effective soldier. Me. Most of their test subjects hadn’t survived but for reasons I didn’t yet understand, I did. I wasn’t sure if that made me really lucky, or really unlucky.

I didn’t think I’d beat him, I knew I was at the top of my game for a lot of things, but I was still smaller than Steve. Eventually, we both quit, breathing heavily. I knew he could have gone on to lift more, but at 900lbs, I’d had enough. My power didn’t just lie in strength or speed, but in everything, combined. I had fighting ability, telekinetic powers, agility, speed, strength. I looked over at the team, who’d stopped cheering and giggling a while back and started taking this seriously. At that point, I wished I didn’t have any of these abilities. I didn’t like being different.

The atmosphere in the lab had changed over the last test, and now people wanted to see what I could do. Bruce and Tony were talking quietly in a corner, pouring over a computer screen as they analysed results. Steve patted me on the back and went to get some water. I simply stood. I didn’t belong and the more tests they did, the more they’d see that and regret inviting me in. But since I couldn’t leave the Tower, and I found it impossible to resist commands, I still just stood there.

“You OK for another test?” Bruce asked and I nodded. At that point, Nat stood up. “Agility and fighting? Well that’d be me then” she smiled. I could feel the tension rise. Up until now, I’d been merely testing myself against equipment. Nobody trusted me enough to let me test myself against one of the team. But Natasha was, well, Natasha, and she made her own rules.

Steve passed me a bottle of water and I took a gulp as Bruce removed all the monitoring wires from me, and the team moved back around the walls, leaving a padded space in the centre of the room. I set down my bottle, and walked into the middle of the mat, watching Nat carefully. From what I’d read, she was one of the best – no, THE best. An assassin, a gymnast, enhanced with a Russian serum, martial artist. She’d had a hell of a lot more years training than me too. I wasn’t worried. I knew I could hold my own, even if I couldn’t win. I could destroy anyone ‘normal’ but the Avengers were anything but.

Nat attacked quickly, no pacing around here, and we fought, long and hard. We were both gymnastic, able to flip and roll and kick. Neither of us pulled our punches and we both dodged as often as we got hit. We were pretty evenly matched although I suspected if we carried on, she’d win eventually. I had the feeling she knew that too, but I’m not sure if it was obvious to everyone else. Suddenly, I was aware of movement behind me. A voice – Bucky’s voice – said “well let’s make this interesting then” and I sensed him about to attack. I could hear the rest of the team shouting at him that this wasn’t fair and to stop, but I could sense his animosity, his distrust of me, and also an interest to see how far I could be pushed.

I couldn’t consciously read minds, but I could pick up on emotions and sensations, which gave me the warning that he was about to attack. As I felt him behind me, I flipped over backwards, landing on his shoulders, then continuing over, pulling him down as I went. He fought back, and Nat stepped back, relinquishing the floor. I could feel the adrenaline rush through my muscles and hooked my foot behind her knee, pulling her back in and ducking so that Bucky lunged over my head. “Both of you” I grinned.

We fought like that for another ten minutes, me against the two of them. In some ways it was easier for me, I didn’t have to watch out to make sure I didn’t hit the wrong person, but they had obviously trained together for some time, and worked in synchrony to pen me in and attack. My blood was rushing and my training had taken over, I was finding it harder to think of them as ‘Nat and Bucky’ and was seeing them as ‘missions’. We were evenly matched, but after a few more minutes, Nat managed to twist me over as Bucky hit me from the side and I fell, with both of them crashing on top of me and pinning me down. I could still feel my heart racing with some kind of blood lust and knew I couldn’t let them win. Although I knew this was training, my Hydra training had been brutal and bloody and to the death, and I was finding it hard to override my instincts to win at any cost. Both giving in to, and fighting my instincts, I used my mind powers to lift them both off me, fling them at the wall, and pin them there, as I stood up. My training was saying ‘finish them’ while I fought it off with the part of me saying ‘friends’, a word I’d need to consider.

I stood on the mat, muscles throbbing, and stared at the two of them struggling ineffectually on the wall, when suddenly my concentration was disturbed by the sound of clapping. “Oh bravo Moley!” Tony said, and the irritation of the name along with the sound of his voice fought through the instincts and brought me back to reality. I let Nat and Bucky slide to the floor where they sat, both out of breath and glaring at me.

“So I think we can assume that you’re fast, strong and a damn good fighter then Little Mole. Maybe not as strong as Cap or as deadly as Nat but in combination, adding in those mind tricks of yours, and you’re going to be pretty near unstoppable then!” Tony seemed to see this as exciting, but to me it was just a confirmation of my difference. I’d forgotten though, that everyone here was different, and while I stood and let Bruce draw some blood from my arm, and have me breathe into tubes and monitor me again, I was surprised by Bucky approaching me. We’d barely spoken since I arrived and I knew he didn’t trust me, but he quietly spoke. “You’re good. I know what you’ve endured to get that good. I can see it in your eyes. I thought you were going to kill us – you could have done – but you held it back. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you before. These are my friends, and I’ve had to fight hard to be able to say that.” He paused, then spoke again. “If you need to talk, about Hydra, or… anything, I’ll listen”

8 notes · View notes

jojosbizarreadventur · 4 years

Text

Time’s Crusade: Chapter 4 (04)

also available on AO3 (under emih)

This chapter: Plane tickets, Polaroid photos, and yours & Jotaro's response to Noriaki's infertility.

warning (just in case): none, really

Summary: Yesterday in 2011, your husband Noriaki and close friend Jotaro were both murdered together just months before your university graduations. The day before yesterday, you discovered that your nerve-wracking IUI procedure was successful. Two months before that day, said close friend made a proposition to the both of you due to your husband’s recently-discovered infertility.

Today in 1988, you’re over 20 years into the past of an alternate universe, suddenly tasked with trailing after different versions of your late husband and close friend as they travel with unfamiliar faces to Egypt, determined to confront the man you now work for.

And in the following days, you discover how easy it was for your sentiments to change.

The Wife of an Important Man, Part 2

November 27, 1988

You… a Stand user.

At the very least, you manage to turn your head on its side.

The cold metal of the suit’s helmet hits against your cheek as your eyelids flickered, facing Dio’s bare feet. You were able to see due to the clear embedded shield over your face; apparently, it was durable enough not to crack when it came into contact with the stone floor. Gazing upward, your eyes almost cross as you focus on where the blood from your forehead started to dry on the shield.

Dio slowly turned to Enya, donning a matching expression of fascination. He feels Jonathan’s— his heartbeat getting faster. The sight of you surviving the Arrow shot and gaining a Stand… well, it made him intrigued. His plan— despite its unforeseen amendments— had worked as he predicted. Nevertheless, he kept his composure as he spoke to the old woman, ignorant of your current state.

“It appears as a suit of some sort on her,” Dio comments, glancing back at your downed metallic body. “I was not aware that a form of Stand exists.”

“It is exceptionally rare,” she elaborated, sauntering over to you. “I myself have never seen a user with one of that form. But based on her circumstance, it’s clear that she is not average, Lord Dio. That is why she was destined to meet a being as divine as you.”

That isn’t in the least surprising for him, Dio.

It seems that he had been rewarded for his own deeds himself. For nearly five years, it became clear to Dio that fate was in his favor. He’s had hundreds of men and women willing to serve him, either for a single night to fulfill temporary desires or indefinitely to aid him in various assignments. Any and every source of wealth that he managed to get his hands on is now his, and that flow of riches isn’t stopping any time soon. The small list of people that have piqued his interest enough gradually grows.

Since his awakening, Dio had spent the first three years recuperating alone. To pass the time, he would travel around the world and learn more about the new, modern society before his eyes. Compared to the era he once knew, it seemed that people were given much more liberty in doing what they pleased— something Dio took full advantage of. Of course, he’d come across the occasional person to unwind, which also taught him more about Jonathan’s body. There was that trip to Italy two years ago, where he encountered a young woman with prominent sideburns. Her looks were not up to par in his opinion, though his lower half apparently thought otherwise.

For Heaven’s sake, he could not refrain from staring at her, he couldn’t stop getting aroused at the sight of her face as he sat in the corner of the room, watching her dance with friends. And later that night, when she bounced on his cock and cried for his lordship, it occurred to Dio that her blonde hair and blue eyes must’ve somehow triggered a response of familiarity from Jonathan’s body. Needless to say, his scar hadn’t fully healed. Despite the hundred or so years, his upper and lower half were still two different entities, and it bothered him greatly.

He wouldn’t dare admit aloud that he hadn’t a fucking clue as to why that response occurred. Jonathan’s head had long been rotten at the deep depths of the Atlantic Ocean. There shouldn’t be any discernible link to his body left.

Dio’s next declared sub-goal, as a result, was to accelerate his healing.

Right now, he’s almost at that stage of full recuperation. The division between his head and Jonathan’s body has almost completely faded. He’ll be able to continue with his main objective with undivided attention afterward. But for now, it’s good to focus on what’s in front of him.

You.

It was ironic to him, really. According to Piper, you were not wed to the father— his friend, in fact— and yet here you were, carrying a zygote of future disappointment. But with what Dio has planned for you, you wouldn’t be burdened with that for long. You’ve linked yourself to a family that has no business in staying alive regardless of dimension. Sooner or later, you’d be regretting that procedure.

While lying face-down, you continued to take slow, deep breaths. The blood on the rest of your face started to reach a thin, matte consistency. Your throat and mouth throbbed in pain, and the metallic after-taste on your taste buds made your face scrunch up.

Again, you— an actual Stand user. It was quite surreal; never in a million years have you considered yourself having any potential for something of this level.

There’s information about the suit that starts to enter your thoughts.

The suit itself is a Stand, but to a non-Stand user, the suit is made of known materials on Earth. The body and helmet of the suit appears to be made out of nitinol— nickel titanium alloy. Likewise, the arms and legs are crystallized titanium. Inside the entirety of the Stand feels like ballistic mesh, which you can feel wrapped around your skin instead of your actual clothes. The exterior has a light coating containing some material— maybe carbon nanotubes— meant to reduce heat build-up. The sides of the helmet have small passages for air flow, but enough for the face shield to not fog up.

…your Stand’s ability is to tamper with most types of metal. There’s a locking mechanism on your helmet that can only be undone and removed with that ability.

You don’t have the capability of manipulating with larger objects such as vehicles or parts associated with such objects.

The ability can, however, be applied to smaller, intricately-designed or generally undetailed objects such as mechanical pencils, through-hole tech for printed circuit boards, or crowbars.

Everything else about the Stand can be learned from usage…

“Get up.”

The intrusive thoughts about the Stand stop.

Lord Dio watches you with hawk-like eyes.

With a swear, you shakily attempt to push yourself off the stone floor, still wearing your Stand. The metal on your palms clink against the ground as you raise your upper body, brows creasing at your effort.

Thankfully, the Stand didn’t add any extra weight on your limbs, but you lost a lot of strength due to… whatever Lord Dio did to your forehead, and the old woman shooting you with the peculiar-looking projectile.

Lord Dio’s fingers were still wrapped around its shaft, by the way. His forearm— the one you had scratched into bleeding earlier— reverted to its usually-smooth skin. There was absolutely no trace of you ever digging your fingernails in the alabaster-colored skin. It was strange, to say the least.

As you raised yourself up from the ground, you felt yourself tumbling backwards. You attempt to balance yourself despite your blurry vision and what feels to be nausea. This time, Lord Dio motions to help you, firmly grasping your shoulder as your senses settle down. Your eyes attempt to land its focus on the old woman, who looked to be nearly a foot shorter than you. Her eyes were filled with interest; it seemed as if there were a million answers she wanted out of you. But frankly, you couldn’t give a damn to give any right now.

You look over at the hand on your shoulder— Lord Dio hasn’t released his grip. That was the least of your worries.

“Enya Geil, was it?” you greeted in a drunken-like manner, flashing a genuine grin at her through the face shield. The feeling of light-headedness started to return.

When she nodded eagerly— still ignorant of your well-being— your attention abruptly turned to the towering man beside you. His golden eyes were locked with yours, curiosity glinting in them. You curtly nodded.

“It’s my pleasure to help, Lord Dio.”

He can’t wait.

——

Lord Dio cemented this into your mind after congratulating you: you are a prized possession of his. Maybe were you actually one of many, but you were part of that list and that was enough to be thankful for. You couldn’t be any more happy to oblige with anything he wanted out of you.

And yes, this included staying put in the largest guest room. Initially, you didn’t know that he himself ordered for you to be there. So when the masked and skull-faced Stand abruptly materialized beside you and Vanilla Ice’s face appeared out of its mouth to tell you, you weren’t happy in the slightest. In fact, you let out a lame attempt of a scream once he popped up. However, you have to admit your satisfaction due to finally knowing what his Stand looked like.

Both of you were standing directly in front of the double doors leading to said guest room.

“I don’t believe you,” you spat.

He grunted.

“If you don’t believe my words, which— by the way— are actually Lord Dio’s, then you may as well rest on this corridor rug for the night. These quarters will return to collecting dust as someone never cleans them properly…”

You ignore that last part. It also takes you a moment, but you realize that his Stand appears to be… consuming itself.

“Well, I’d rather do that then go wherever… this is,” you counter, gesturing to the double doors in front of you. “I’ve already experienced the illusions once, when I got shot with an Arrow in the middle of my ‘apartment’, okay? I think another Stand user created the room, so I don’t want you collaborating with them too and using my weaknesses to your advantage or something.”

Vanilla Ice blinked before eyeing you up and down with mild disgust. He doesn’t question the evident blood stains on your face and the shield. “Such as that gaudy armor of yours?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, the clang of metal hitting metal resonating throughout the corridor. “It’s my Stand, apparently. I don’t even know how to take it off, but thanks.”

“For goodness’ sake, didn’t Piper tell you what a Stand is? It’s a physical manifestation of your ‘life energy’— you summon and de-summon it yourself. If you need them gone, the Stand will know. You must trust it as it trusts you.”

Mild surprise was written all over your face after he spoke.

His standards for you have lowered even further.

“…that has to be the only helpful advice you’ve given me so far,” you admitted.

In all honesty, Lord Dio nor the old woman had given you any unknown information. Though, one shouldn’t be mistaken— Lord Dio is the Everest of man. It simply must’ve slipped his mind, though that might be a rare occurrence for him. Regardless, you aren’t upset at all. You could even view it as an opportunity to teach yourself more.

“Only to get the new nuisance of the mansion out of my hair,” he retorted condescendingly.

Of course, he still dislikes you. But you bother to believe his words this time.

——

It would’ve been nice to know that the doors to this guest room only lock from the outside. After the heavy door shuts by itself, you reach behind your back to lock the door and discover the lack of any door handles. You doubt that anyone would hear you banging on the doors, much less bother to assist you in getting out. Rolling your eyes, you instead indulge in the sight of the guest room.

Simply put— it’s bigger than your entire fucking apartment.

The interior and its motif seemed to match the rest of the mansion, which confirmed the lack of illusions here. There’s an enormous bed that you saunter over to with your backpack, which you carefully set on the satin bed sheets. And, after pushing it a bit, you unceremoniously fall back onto the bed with your arms splayed out.

You were about to rub your face with your hands until you remembered the suit you were wearing. The metal alloy on your fingers came into contact with the clear face shield, which was still lightly stained with your blood.

If you need them gone, the Stand will know.

You blink and stare up at the high ceiling.

Will it— this suit— know?

…how will it know?

It’s a physical manifestation of a person’s ‘life energy’ or ‘fighting spirit’.

What Piper and Vanilla Ice told you made you scoff. Fighting spirit? Life energy— sure, that made sense to you, but fighting spirit? The notion of you having any semblance to a spirit for fighting just seemed ridiculous. Most of the ‘fights’ you’ve ever gotten in were verbal; physically attacking someone has never been your thing. Was a Stand supposed to represent that? Was it the Stand’s—and, thus your— innate desire to get into a fight? Were all Stands like that?

We’re bound to get into a little trouble from time to time.

You deeply exhale through your nostrils. Lord Dio found you and your Stand useful, so that should be all that matters, right? It’s best that you respect his thoughts and opinions.

Anyway, this weird suit just needs to get off of you. It fit fine— perfect, actually— but traveling while wearing metal seemed very unpractical.

The layers of titanium and ballistic mesh start to dissolve off of your body almost instantly, and you feel yourself lightly sinking into the bed. Your clothing quickly returned to sight; it’s as if they were never actually taken off. Instead of the shell of the helmet, the back of your head and hair comes into contact with the satin bed sheets. Wriggling your sock-clad toes, you remember that you took off your boots in the fake apartment.

Maybe if you… you don’t know, get out, you could get them back from that other room. Though, judging by the sheer size of the mansion, you might get lost in one of the corridors. You reluctantly back away from that idea.

Subsequently, you turn your head to your open backpack. Peeking out of its zipper opening was your laptop, which makes you realize there’s definitely something you can do to pass the time.

——

Strangely enough, you seem to grasp onto your Stand’s ability pretty quickly.

You’re sitting at the carved wooden desk placed far across the bed, taking the time to do heavy maintenance on your laptop. In order to do this, only the metal arms of the suit appear on your body.

Earlier, you took the time to clean yourself in the room’s connecting bathroom and accidentally summoned only the arms and helmet of the suit while being fully submerged in the bath. It only occurred to you then that it was possible to do that, so you decided to take full advantage of it.

The battery cable stayed intact and connected, but the chances of reconnecting the camera and Bluetooth cables back to the bent motherboard were low. And… well, the motherboard was bent, so the chances of this laptop actually functioning properly were basically nonexistent. You used the Stand to take out the cracked case of the lower half of the laptop— screws and all— to find this sad excuse. Your face was nearly pressed to it as your hand hovered over every screw and tab to gingerly pull out everything necessary and fix the display.

To better see the motherboard, the open laptop is propped on the DVD-drive side on the desk. As you place it this way, you hear the creaking from the double doors as they open rather abruptly. Your head whips around to face the intruder.

The arms of your Stand instinctively vanish.

Fortunately, he didn’t have the chance to notice them as he tumbles into the guest room. He pulls at his orange robing to make sure it doesn’t get trapped between the doors.

You blink a few times, ensuring that it’s really him.

“…Piper?”

What the hell was he doing here?

Was he going to let you out?

“Oh, you know my name now,” he observed, flashing you a quick smile before ‘discreetly’ kicking the carved nightstand beside the bed. “Yes, that’s… very fine, yes.”

One of his hands held onto a stem glass half-filled with red wine. Your eyes dart down to it.

…yeah, he’s probably not letting you out.

Still gazing at him, you reluctantly give him a small smile, which quickly disappears once he starts to tread over to you.

“Okay, no— you shouldn’t even be here,” you warn, whipping your head back to your laptop on the desk and back to his approaching form. “I… come on, you’re not even supposed to see this yet. No one is for over 20 years.”

Piper stood directly beside the desk. He pointed to the logo on the upper case.

“Interesting, Apple changed their logo? What happened to the rainbow apple?”

As you tightly grip the upper case and display, you glare at him. “Goddamnit, this is from 2011— stop looking. I’m trying to fix the display with my— yeah, I’m… trying to fix this shit…”

“What an atrocious laptop.”

…what?

You narrowed your eyes up at him for a second before your features softened.

“Oh, that’s right,” you remembered with a soft tone, “Laptops were already being built this decade, so… uh, are you familiar with the Kyotronic 85? That’s… the only one I know of that was built during this decade.”

He hummed in agreement. “Mhm, the Tandy Model 100, yes. A few years ago, I broke mine after I tried and failed to put those dental rubber bands under the keys to make typing quieter.”

You awkwardly nod and purse your lips.

Yes, this was the decade that ‘portable computers’ would start popping up— you remember the lengthy lectures and the times you helped… him… study for tests. But having knowledge of models that haven’t even been conceived yet, however, is something you find to be a bit dangerous. For once, you regret studying all of this.

Anyway, should you keep working in front of Piper? Is it even worth it?

You drum your fingers on the wooden desk, keeping your gaze down on the open laptop.

This starts to occupy your thoughts for a few minutes, and it reaches a point where you don’t even realize that he already left your side during that time.

Taking a deep breath, your eyes land on the Bluetooth cable on the motherboard. Since it’s 1988, and Bluetooth doesn’t become patented until the middle of next year, the cable’s existence is entirely pointless. Maybe you should just ignore that.

Or maybe you shouldn’t ignore that, and should remember that you just showed an invention from 2011 to a man from 1988.

Who knew what would happen if people besides Piper found out about this? Actually, what if he already learned, and decided to out the information to the wrong minds?

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I broke a time-travel rule,” you grumbled to yourself.

“Indeed you have,” he confirms aloud. You immediately turn your head to find him distracted by the provided luxury-branded toiletries on the nightstand. Its ingredients seem to preoccupy his attention instead of… you don’t know, inducing him to leave.

So much for repairing your laptop in much-needed silence— away from him.

“You can name your Stand, you know,” Piper suggested, twirling around and gesturing his glass to you. The wine in his glass sloshed around.

You rapidly blink at him.

“You know about it?”

Okay, you didn’t even bring it out in front of him while he was here, so how…

“I may or may not have been eavesdropping between the floor and the rug in the hallway, while you were bickering with Vanilla. To call you the ‘new nuisance of the mansion’… goodness.”

Whatever that meant, you didn’t comment on it. Though, you did imagine Piper lifting the rug and casually sipping his wine from the innards of the stone floor, ogling at you and Vanilla Ice like a television drama.

You turn back around to focus on your laptop, which still desperately needed to be operated on.

“Well, I… can’t think of a name right now,” you admitted. “Honestly, naming my Stand is the last thing I’m worrying about right now.”

“Understandable,” he replied, shrugging.

“Does my Stand even need a name, anyway?” you ask, slowly turning around to face him again. “It’s literally just a suit.”

At your words, Piper slightly opened and closed his mouth in a fish-like manner before sighing and rubbing his temples.

“It’s expected for Stand users to name their Stands the moment they become aware of it. Unlike you, I got my Stand at birth, which was around the same time my father was listening to a cover of ‘Take Five’ that pianist Sadao Kujo did with his jazz orchestra when he started becoming hot shit. So when I found his old LP and was old enough to fully comprehend my Stand, I named mine Take Five after that wonderful—”

“—no offense,” you interject calmly, “But… can you get to the point?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. You know you have a Stand, so name it after something you’re fond of like music or… or movies or whatnot. But don’t get maniacal about it, or you’ll have a Stand named I Killed My Lesbian Wife, Hung Her on a Meathook, and Now I Have a Three Picture Deal at Disney. By the way, that’s by Ben Affleck, and your universe is the only one where it’s a smash hit and furthered his directing career only.”

Lightly snorting, you retort, “What, is he like an actor or something elsewhere?”

“Actually, yes.”

You blinked.

Hm.

“But my Stand is a suit,” you say, diverting the conversation back. “I don’t think it would care if it had a name or not.”

“But other Stand users need to know what to refer yours by,” Piper countered. “You know, Stand users like me— I brought you to this dimension, for heaven’s sake. We can’t just call you random nicknames like… uh, ‘Iron Lady’. And, well, that name’s technically already taken by British Prime Minister Thatcher, so we can’t use that anyway.”

You lean back in your chair and swear.

Piper did, in fact, bring you here. How could you forget?

To be fair, within a day, your life has literally done a full 180°. You’ve gone from a happily married, prospective university graduate to a moody widow with some magic metal suit. It’s done enough to distract you and make you temporarily forget how it all happened.

There’s a part of you that’s still convinced that this is a dream.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you complained, burying your face in your hands. “I mean… am I really going to believe everything you said earlier? You know, about how I’m in 1988 and in a different universe?”

Piper rapidly blinks at you. “Did you not believe it before? I was given the impression that you did.”

You reply in a bored tone, “I grew up reading and watching weird shit. I even married a guy who does… did the same. I believed it at first out of fear, because I didn’t know what you’d do to me if I didn’t. But now… I mean, I just want to know why I’m here in the first place. Whatever you’re doing to me right now is probably just some distraction or ruse.”

“And you… acquiring a Stand after getting shot… isn’t?” he asked with an amused tone. “You pledged your loyalty to Lord Dio, right?”

You don’t hesitate to respond.

“Oh— yes, of course.”

For a brief moment, Piper doesn’t speak right away as he appears to be taken aback at your response. He glances at your forehead before sipping his wine and nodding.

“Alright, then, alright. You mustn’t doubt yourself. And you’re here for a reason— we all are, you know. Nothing here that Lord Dio presents to us is deceitful— he has his reasons for letting us serve him.”

That seemed quite reasonable.

Again, you wouldn’t dare question Lord Dio— you’ll just have to trust him on whatever he wishes to acquire from you. You weren’t given any specifics yet, but you’ll happily wait for them.

After speaking, Piper sipped his wine again… and again, and again.

This definitely wasn’t his first glass today. Hell, maybe not his second or third either.

“You should probably know that the potential for having a Stand has stuck with you for a very long time.”

You raise a brow. “What do you mean by that?”

He hiccuped and cleared his throat. “Well, you obviously weren’t born with one, but fate intended for you to be able to acquire one at some point in your life. If not from being shot with the Arrow, then perhaps from work that you do constantly and consistently in order to strive for perfection. You do wear a metallic suit— you don’t happen to be in any technical fields, by any chance?”

“Guilty,” you responded sheepishly. “Engineering.”

Piper snapped and pointed to the open laptop on the desk. “Ah— see. You’re even fixing that piece of junk without any instructions.”

You start to wonder if he has any sort of decency, but you realize that you already know the answer to that. He gladly shoved you twice, talked shit about cutting-edge technology in 1980’s terms (literally— you accidentally pricked yourself from grabbing a tab earlier), and is currently drinking alcohol in the early hours of the morning without much care. What a man, he is.

“Thanks,” you sarcastically appreciated.

Suddenly, he started to reach inside the inner layers of his robing. After a little fishing inside, his hand grabs onto a familiar flat device. Your eyes widen.

“Oh, and here’s your… phone,” he says, carefully placing it down on the satin bed sheets. “I don’t like it— too small, too bright, weird screen. I hope the phones in this dimension don’t have a build as ugly as that once 2011 comes around.”

You roll your eyes as you stand up and walk over to grab the familiar device. “As if 1988 brick phones look any better. Anyway, did you go through my phone, tamper with it, or anything?”

He snorted. “Do I look like the type of person to know how to do that? I’m from 1988. I’ve been hopping dimensions since I was in high school. Technology is not my forte.”

Entering the passcode, you search through the phone to ensure if he’s telling the truth. It takes about a minute or two to check, but none of the contents on your phone have been changed. By default, the phone continues to record the date and time in Japan Standard Time— technically, the wrong time zone— as it doesn’t require any sort of Internet or cellular connection to do so. Likewise, you don’t have any cellular service for obvious reasons.

Occasionally, you have to shoo Piper away as he tries to creep over your shoulder in order to see your phone screen.

You slide your phone into your pocket afterward, crossing your arms over your chest as you face him. You’re about to say something to him, but he interrupts.

“Anyway, I’m going to leave to get more wine— I met a sommelier from the capital of the Sasanian Empire back in the 7th dimension,” he announces, gesturing to his now-empty glass. You donned a deadpan expression, and you don’t question… whatever he’s saying.

He then uses the glass to point at your backpack, which is still sitting on the bed. “Also, I’d advise that you don’t lose your wedding ring here. It’ll be a pain to look for it later.”

As he strolls past you and over to the space between the stone wall and the embroidered curtains covering the tall windows, you turn away to glance at the piece of jewelry with wide eyes. While pulling out your laptop from your backpack, the ring and other small possessions of yours must’ve been pulled out as well. You lean over the bed to grab onto it. There’s a thin scratch on the underside of the ring, making you swear aloud.

During your research work, you normally took the ring off as a precautionary measure to avoid the small (but barely any) risk of it conducting electricity. On any other occasion outside of work, you always preferred wearing it to avoid any awkward or uncomfortable situations with anyone else.

Now that you think about it, it doesn’t seem like a bad idea to wear it again. But after you fix that pesky laptop of yours…

——

The dining hall became the only other room you could visit, and only during conventional meal times.

For most of the day you were locked inside the guest bedroom, occasionally getting visits from the butler Telence, who allowed you to call him by his first name. At the very least, you were still provided with basic necessities such as toiletries, first aid, and social interaction— something done sparingly all day due to the questionable personalities of the ones you’ve met.

Telence was friendly, though he liked to pry into your personal life and make comparisons to himself an uncomfortable amount (he visited the most; he was required to, anyway). Like Piper, he also happened to be American. Vanilla Ice always seemed like he wanted to off either himself or you every time you breathed in his direction (he never visited, but made sure to sit as far away from you as possible during meal times). Piper was just the personification of an acid trip (he didn’t visit anymore after the first time and never ate with any of you).

As of the early morning, all three became your colleagues. The diversity of this workplace is astounding.

“Hey, does anyone know if Lord Dio eats during the day?”

“You stupid girl. How dare you ask such a personal question about our Lord Dio?”

“…thanks, Vanilla Ice.”

Seriously was that long-haired maniac exhausting to speak with.

…it was a genuine question, alright? He’s always cooped up in his room and you never see him in the dining hall.

Reportedly, there were a few others living here in the mansion, but none of them had any business meeting you personally. Learning all of their names was a gradual process, it seemed.

It was only until tonight where leaving the guest room had a legitimate purpose besides eating. Telence had knocked on the double doors, prompting you to alert your presence by knocking back. He had a particular rhythm while knocking, so even before the doors opened, you knew it was him. Out of the colleagues that you’ve met, he’s probably been the only one you had positive opinions about.

The butler’s eyes widen at the sight of you clad in silk pajamas that he personally provided.

“Oh, were you just about to retire for the night?” he asked in an apologetic tone. He held his hands behind his back as he stood before you. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Miss…”

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine, I wasn’t sleeping yet or anything. Is there something wrong, Telence?”

Sighing, Telence replied, “Well… Lord Dio requests your presence in the dining hall.”

…oh.

Glancing down at your pajamas and back up at the tattooed butler, you purse your lips.

“Immediately?”

“Immediately,” he repeated. You see him briefly glance down at your hands, your fingers… his eyes widen before the outer corners crinkle due to him smiling. “Don’t feel the need to get dressed up— I’m sure your presence alone will suffice, really.”

Was it that urgent?

What in the world would you speak about with Lord Dio?

…well, it’s not like you’re complaining.

Telence stepped aside to make way for you as you walked out of the guest room. You felt the cold stone beneath your socks, and the temperature made you stand up straighter. Deeply inhaling— and (still) smelling the faint scent of corpse— you step onto the never-ending runner rug with Telence at your heels and rambling.

——

“Really? It had to be you taking me to the Airport?”

Vanilla Ice took a second to glare at you through the rear-view mirror. Per Piper’s (drunken) suggestion before you left, you were blindfolded with a handkerchief of his to prevent you from seeing the exterior of the mansion and the route. To Vanilla Ice, you were surprisingly obedient about it. Nor was it a terrible idea, but he’d never openly admit that.

Once you arrive, you better get that handkerchief back from her!

Why so? It resembles a defecation wipe.

Are you fucking stupid? It’s over 140 years old— it’s quite dear to me.

“I’m not enjoying this in the slightest, either. It seems that as of tonight, we have both experienced a loss.”

Out of everyone in the mansion, Vanilla Ice was the only eligible driver.

Kenny G— the Stand user with the illusions, apparently— forgot to apply for an International Driving Permit. Enya was too old to see the nighttime road properly and had to phone her son anyway. Telence had to monitor the mansion and order that guy Nukesaku around to clean. Nukesaku was also not trusted because everyone believed that he’d accidentally kill you in a car accident. Piper was mildly inebriated from the glasses of wine he had. And Lord Dio said he never learned. Also said he’d never set foot near one until 1983… whatever that meant.

You purse your lips.

“You know, I didn’t even know you could drive.”

“I will sever your tongue.”

Rolling your eyes, you resort to staring at darkness for the rest of the car ride.

November 1988 || Tokyo, Japan

Tokyo is very different in the 80’s, which you fully process the second you pass through the terminal at Narita the next morning.

Granted, you’re coming from a different age— literally— though the sight of everything continues to overwhelm you. There hasn’t been a single thing that you haven’t been surprised by, including the lack of questioning from your now-forged passport and the contents of your luggage.

Back in 2011, surely you would’ve been detained due to possessing a passport with a changed birth year and expiration date. Surely the LCD-screened smartphone that was slightly bigger than a pager would’ve gotten you stopped, because not only is that not even supposed to exist yet, but it could easily be mistaken for some sort of explosive device in 1988. However, a simple nod was given to you each time you passed a checkpoint, confusing you.

It’s not like you wanted to get caught— no. The suspiciously lax restrictions from security just weirded you out more than anything.

Right after an hour-long taxi ride to Meguro-ku, you set out on foot with your duffle-bag backpack. Naturally, your clothing garners confused stares from locals as you passed by. Your old backpack did you no favors considering how half of your belongings became broken, so you ended up being given some durable expensive-looking bag from the mansion’s butler. He looked to be about your age, so it was… nice… to have another young contemporary working for Lord Dio.

After handing the new backpack to you, Telence had obliviously asked for tips on getting married at a young age— like you, he points out, as he wanted to propose to his girlfriend one day. This ended up pissing you off more than it normally would, especially as you realize that you stupidly left your wedding ring in plain view.

You were here in a different country, in a different continent, in a different year, in a different universe, and you were locked up in one of the guest rooms. Mysteriously, nothing built in that room actually had traces of metal. You were trapped— even during dinner before that, which contained actual food and not scraps like you assumed— and he had the nerve to bring up your husband. It still hasn’t been a whole fucking week yet.

Your subsequent argument with Telence unfortunately soured a beginning of camaraderie with him, which was a shame. He was probably the only person who tolerated you in the mansion, besides the old woman who shot you with the Bow and Arrow. However, you didn’t see much of Enya, nor did your colleagues. Lord Dio didn’t really count as someone you could befriend, as you were tiers below him and thus, weren’t worthy enough to do so.

But it’s not like any collective agreement was made to befriend colleagues in the first place. You could tell— based on the other servants— that carrying out tasks alone was preferred over collaborating. The same was expected for you, which explains your lack of accompaniment. You’re expected to do everything yourself, but that’s fine.

Hopefully, your work ethic comes back into play when finding Joseph Joestar and his group— whoever those people are.

——

You’re currently sitting in a room at a small fertility clinic a short drive away from the hotel. While you were still in Cairo, you brought up a desire to visit a fertility clinic again, prompting Telence to book an appointment for you here (pre-argument). Like everything else, Lord Dio had taken care of the expenses.

As you waited for the specialist, you patiently sat on the medical exam table in one of the rooms, fiddling with your fingers and staring at the open window. The clipboard with a long questionnaire had already been filled out and was set down beside you on the smooth table paper. Through the glass you see a large, strangely-modern building right across from the clinic.

SPEEDWAGON ☸ FOUNDATION

Huh.

Since it’s the late 80’s, they probably became defunct by the 2010’s or something. You’ve never heard of that company before. Though, their architecture definitely looked more like something you’d see back in 2011.

Anyway, your eyes avert from the window to the closed door of the exam room. The day of your previous clinic visit made you cry tears of happiness, as that was the day you discovered that your IUI procedure performed weeks before was successful. You and Noriaki went out for dinner that night to celebrate, knowing that you couldn’t really go to a bar to do that anymore.

That was probably the last of your good memories. Of course, you remembered what brought it along in the first place.

July 2011

This was only the second time you’ve been to Jotaro’s apartment. The phone call you had with him warranted a rare visit from you.

His apartment is a large studio, and you’re a little shocked by the sheer size of it. Near the television was a large shelf unit that caught your attention, so naturally you approach it with curiosity.

The large shelf unit contained various marine-themed trinkets, along with a few model ships and non-flying model airplanes. Rows of manga and American comics filled the top shelves, while Blu-ray cases of movies tightly lined the lower ones. As your eyes skim through each shelf, you notice the lack of anything relating to family, save for a total of… three frames.

One had a younger Jotaro— you’d guess elementary school-age— with his parents; his blonde and green-eyed mother gleaming while his black-haired and brown-eyed father giving a smirk reminiscent of his son’s. Another had Jotaro visiting Italy with his mother and maternal grandparents, though you could tell this was taken within the last five years. The last one had current-Jotaro with two other men; one you immediately recognized as that same grandfather in a dark button-up, a green tie, and suspenders, but the other you had no recollection of. With black hair that had a tint of blue, slightly outdated clothing, and muscle mass far surpassing the other two… yeah, you had no idea who that was.

Jotaro peers over his shoulder to find you standing in front of the shelf unit, preoccupied.

“Are you okay?”

You look over, shaking your head.

“Yeah,” you respond, crossing your arms over your chest. You continue to stare at the photo, wondering if you’ve met that person before. He didn’t look any older than Jotaro’s parents; honestly, he was probably just an uncle of his. The resemblance to Jotaro and his grandfather (what was his name, again?) was a bit uncanny, after all.

Anyway, Jotaro notices what you’re looking at.

“Do you want tea?” he blurts out all of a sudden, sincerely hoping you’d place your focus elsewhere. “Or… eh, anything?”

You shrug, (finally) deciding to leave the photo alone. Not once do you notice his looming nervousness.

“Sure, ah… I’m fine with tea.”

When you’re not looking, Jotaro lets out a small exhale of relief as he heads over to the open kitchen to prepare a teapot. Just once more do you sneak a glance at the photo before heading to the dining table. Once you’re there, you either watch him make what seems to be green tea, or sit there daydreaming. You absentmindedly poke at his white hat, which sat on a textbook about marine invertebrates beside you.

It’s less than a month until summer break. You’ve been trying to study for finals this semester, which for the most part you’ve succeeded in doing so. However, since the first clinic visit, your concentration has started to falter. Most of the time, instead of focusing on exams for your 300-level classes, you’ve been focused on Noriaki.

He hasn’t been talking to you much since, and it worries you. For the past few days you’ve been trying to indirectly comfort him, from preparing food for him or doing other things— non-sexual, you might add— that were previously successful in making him happy. Such actions were indirect, because he seemed to react better when you weren’t in his presence. It hurt; every time he never responded to you or enacted in any sort of physical contact with you was like being stabbed multiple times, the knives getting slower and slower and excruciatingly more painful as it entered and penetrated through layers of your body.

You never went against Noriaki’s wishes. To betray him in such a way was unforgivable; it made you unworthy of being his partner. Though, being here in Jotaro’s presence already seemed like a red flag. Noriaki never mentioned his displeasure about it once, but to talk to Jotaro about Noriaki himself… well, you hope that it’s worth it. After all, it was Jotaro himself that had called you here.

And in that phone call, you both first realize that you’ve been having the same thoughts regarding the redhead. Then, Jotaro had talked about something that definitely warranted a visit from you.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

You whip your head to Jotaro, who towered over you while carrying the tea tray. His brows were furrowed; he was giving you a hardened look as he set everything down in front of you.

He sits directly across from you, minding how his legs no longer have space to stretch out. As he pours you tea, the only sound that resonates in the room is the sound of the tea being poured. Nothing else— you can’t even tell if he’s breathing anymore, nor you.

“Don’t take any of this the wrong way,” Jotaro demanded.

He legitimately looked angry, even when you both toasted out of instinct.

You slowly blinked at him afterwards. “I wasn’t intending to, I just…”

“It’s okay for you to be confused— pissed off at me, even,” the black-haired man assures as he starts to sip his tea. There’s a brief flash of contentment on his face before he continues to frown. “I…”

Jotaro finally took the time to look into your eyes.

“Listen— he’s absolutely heartbroken,” was how Jotaro was describing the incident. “…it hurts. It hurts to see Noriaki act like that… I mean, we took Ukon no Chikara beforehand— so mostly nothing wrong health-wise— but Noriaki still looked like he was going to drink himself to death.”

Your breath hitches. This is the first time you’ve heard about Noriaki drinking since the clinic visit. Usually, if he drank, it was with you or Jotaro or anyone he could trust to bring him home if he became absolutely wasted (which, to be honest, didn’t take long to happen). He’s told you in the past that if he drank by himself in front of you, then that was the time that he hit rock bottom. Recent events have sure been telling.

“I… I can tell he is,” you solemnly admit after sipping from your own cup. “He won’t talk to me—”

“— still?” Jotaro interjected, until it occurred to him that you had more to say. He cleared his throat, apologizing. “...sorry.”

“It’s okay, but yes … still. We’ve… I tried to talk to him, but I wanted to give him time to cool off and process everything because I know he… hasn’t.”

“How much time are you giving him?”

You shrug with genuine uncertainty.

“As much time as he needs, but… I hope it’s not something he shelves. We do need to talk about it— damnit, I want to talk about it as soon as possible.”

“You need to,” he agrees, sipping his tea.

“…yeah.”

For a minute or two, you and Jotaro sit at the table in silence, occasionally lifting your warm cups of tea to drink. There’s at least a dozen thoughts that travel through both of your minds, but neither of you vocalize them at all. Some of them are even about the same topic, but nothing comes out of your mouths.

“…not wanting a child is one thing, but… not being able to have a child is another… I’m so sorry…”

“Noriaki, please, let’s talk about this when we get home…”

“What is there to talk about? I’m a sterile, useless piece of shit. I failed you as your husband.”

“Don’t say that— why would you say that?”

You rest your chin on your hand, elbow rudely propped up on the table.

“I want to help you two,” Jotaro blurted out, which made you perk up. “It just got me thinking…”

“And… that’s why you called me here? To— to ask me about it…?” you stammered.

“Yes.”

His eyes avert from you down to the tea tray.

You slowly nod.

“Because you want to… donate sperm,” you clarify, expressionless.

Jotaro choked out, “…yes.”

When he mentioned discussing it with Noriaki during the phone call with you, you froze in shock. It’s rather… bold… for him to bring up this suggestion, especially during a time when you and Noriaki were experiencing a time of grief. It’s also not everyday that you get a call about your good friend giving sperm to you while you’ve been fully immersed in watching a game show on the sofa.

You had nothing against sperm donation or assisted-reproduction tech in general, but you didn’t think it would ever be necessary for you and your husband of all couples.

And… well, there’s a massive amount of legal considerations. Jotaro was close friends with the both of you, which introduces an issue of involvement with the child’s life— even if it’s expressed in a contract that he won’t have any sort of parental relationship with them once they’re born. It would seem outrageous to stop being friends with him in order to not violate that. Also, you trusted Jotaro to be cooperative with whatever is specified in a contract, but a court might not see him that way.

The child would obviously not resemble their legal father, Noriaki, either. There’s no telling that they’ll resemble you more than the biological father, Jotaro, to the point where no one would question otherwise. You cringed at the idea of you three at some get-together a decade from now, where nosy family members start to gossip and rumor about a possible case of infidelity between you and the child’s biological father. The rumor would be a terrible burden for all of you, and not to mention a headache. One day, either you or Noriaki would attempt to explain to the young child about why they didn’t inherit their father’s red hair or lavender-grey eyes.

“I’ve been friends with Noriaki for almost six years,” Jotaro explained, setting his tea cup down. “And… I care about him—”

“—do you really want to do this?” you interjected, eyes wide. “Jotaro, I know you’re not impulsive or anything, but… this will change… everything, you know. I don’t… I don’t want you to end up regretting this decision. You’ve got an entire future for you to experience, and… I don’t know, you might be at this stage of planning with whoever you vow to be with in that time. I don’t want all of this to complicate your life.”

It wouldn’t complicate his life— he thought everything through, even if he first told Noriaki in the spur of the moment. He was serious about this… about everything.

Jotaro had a stern look on his face.

“…but, do you want to do this?”

At that question, you turn away.

…did you?

You let out a shaky sigh.

Do you really have any other option, though?

“I love him, Jotaro,” you say, starting to sniffle. You bring a napkin to your eyes to pat them dry. “I… I love Noriaki so much. I don’t want him to think that… this… will make me love him any less, but I just… it pains me to see him suffering like this, you know? I’m his wife, and yet I feel so useless— I can’t even do anything to help him myself…”

“That’s why I want to help,” he told you with a soft tone. “I don’t want to beg or plead or any of that bullshit, but I want you and Noriaki to make the decisions yourselves. Like you said, ah… what I’m doing will change everything. I want you — the both of you— to think about this.”

You gaze over at him before hanging your head low.

“I… well, we don’t really have any other option,” you confessed. “Noriaki and I aren’t old enough to adopt here, so that’s out of the question, and…”

Trailing off, you try to think if there were other options in the first place.

Eventually, Jotaro cleared his throat.

“You— you don’t have to make this decision now, if that’s what you’re… ah, thinking.”

You rubbed your face with your hands, sniffling.

He’s right.

Why bother to pressure yourself with something like this at this very moment? There’s plenty of time for you to contemplate, for Noriaki to build up the courage to speak with you again, for the both of you to take the time to discuss this in whole…

Back at your apartment, Noriaki was sitting on the sofa with his legs crossed, mind wandering towards the topic that Jotaro had brought up to him on that night. He’s eating from a small bowl of cherries that you bought for him, which sits on his lap. His face is expressionless; there’s dried tears stained on his cheeks.

Of course, you don’t know that.

“Okay— no, yeah, I got that,” you finalize, nodding at Jotaro. You set your tea cup down rather loudly. “When, ah… when he’s ready to talk, I’ll… I’ll give you a call, alright?”

Jotaro nods back, the corners of his mouth upturning as he gives you a small smile.

November 28, 1988

They’re sitting patiently in another room beside the kitchen when the sound of a landline being slammed back into place is heard. Immediately, the three of them avert their eyes to the sliding door, waiting for the owner of the storming footsteps on the engawa. The architecture of the family home— along with the unfamiliarity on the walker’s behalf— seemed to be accentuating every sound he makes as he approaches the door and roughly slides it open.

Seeing the towering, old man slide open the door with such force makes the three inwardly cringe— particularly the two teens.

The frame continues to lightly shake as he firmly speaks in his aged voice.

“[We board the flight to Cairo at 8:30 tonight],” Joseph Joestar announces in English as he ducks under the door frame, steps on the tatami, and stands directly in front of the three.

“[Why so late?]” the taller teen suddenly questions in an annoyed tone. He’s glaring at his grandfather as his hands are shoved in his front pockets; the bill of his black cap is pulled lower than usual.

It’s not obvious, but he’s starting to become antsy. The last thing he wants, however, is for his grandfather and the other two to pick up on that underlying anxiety of his.

Joseph sighs heavily, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Trust me, Jotaro— I asked the same question,” he replies with a frown. “The Speedwagon Foundation says that that flight is the earliest one. It’s also likely that Dio knows about our connection to the Foundation, so there’s no way we can directly travel under them either. Besides, they’re already sending some of their best doctors from all of their branches to monitor Holly here.”

“Did they say when they’ll be arriving?” the Egyptian man, Muhammad Avdol, asked.

Frankly, he’s still quite shaken after seeing Ms. Holly unconscious on the kitchen floor. The green vine-like Stand— similar to her father’s purple one— continued to grow and wrap around her back as it attacked her from the inside. He, like everyone else, knows that there can’t be much time left until Mr. Joestar’s daughter succumbs to the illness.

“There’s one coming from the Meguro branch today, and a few others flying in from America between tonight and tomorrow.”

Jotaro tsk -ed.

“At least we’re having one coming today,” Joseph repeats, giving his grandson a pointed look before turning away. “It’s… better than nothing.”

He didn’t respond to Jotaro’s further actions, which included a roll of the eyes and a swear grumbled under his breath.

The other red-haired teen cleared his throat.

“Ah… so what will we be doing until then?” Kakyoin asked, resting his hands over a large encyclopedia. His eyes averted to the wood grain alarm clock radio, which oddly sat on the low table beside him. “It’s only after 9, and we board that flight several hours from now.”

“Avdol and I could go out and get some supplies for our trip,” Joseph suggested, gesturing to himself and Avdol. Avdol nodded and hummed in agreement. “You and Jotaro could wait for the Foundation doctor here and look over his mother in the meantime, maybe ready a bag of clothes, underwear, toiletries… whatever you need. But I recommend packing light— this trip to and in Cairo won’t be long.”

Kakyoin glanced up at Jotaro, who side-eyed him back. “I’ll just quickly drop by my house to pack some of my things, then. I don’t actually live that far from here.”

“If we’re driving, we can drop you off,” Avdol pointed out.

Joseph crossed his arms, nodding. “Yeah, just tell us the address. Luckily, these Japanese roads are like the ones in England— driving on the left side and all— except there’s not that much traffic here… one of the few good things about this place, I believe. But I almost hit a stupid cyclist the last time I was here, you know? Sheesh!”

“Maybe because you never needed to drive on the left side of the road for fifty fucking years and forgot how to.”

The old man whipped his head over to Jotaro with a glare before sighing in defeat. “That may be true, but watch your language! Again!”

Jotaro grunted.

Joseph turned to speak with Avdol about their remaining expenses, who crossed his arms over his robed chest. Kakyoin strolled over to his towering classmate as he attempted to adjust the tight bandage around his forehead. Once he approached a respectable distance from him, Jotaro’s eyes darted to the covered wound from the flesh bud; the amount of blood that bled through had been decreasing, and there’s barely any stain as of this morning.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m a little eager to leave for Egypt,” Kakyoin quietly said with a content expression. He switched to Japanese to speak to him. “I wouldn’t mind revisiting so soon, despite having some… unpleasant memories, now that I think about it. It’s nice there, though.”

After letting out a curt hum, Jotaro also replied in Japanese, “I’ll take your word for it, but I just want to see that bastard, Dio, get what he deserves.”

Kakyoin lightly snorted. “I feel the same way.”

The redhead swears he sees a glint of amusement in Jotaro’s eyes— a rare occurrence, it seems. Though, he doesn’t mind it any longer when he sees him turning away from him. Jotaro calmly went over to the sliding door and comically opened it with much less force than his grandfather did before. Kakyoin resorted to watching him for a second before deciding to follow him for a few minutes. He was probably going to the other room to where his mother was, passed out cold and tightly tucked into a futon in the middle of the room.

It was a scary sight, to be honest. Having your Stand fight you instead of it fighting for you— Kakyoin couldn’t even imagine how Mrs. Kujo was feeling right now. He didn’t know how long he’d be there to monitor her, as he had to leave with Mr. Joestar and Mr. Avdol soon to go to his house.

His parents both worked during the day, so luckily they wouldn’t be home to question his absence between yesterday and this morning. Somehow, the fight that he had with Jotaro during cram school yesterday felt like an eternity ago, and now here he was, planning to go on an impromptu trip to a different country.

“[I’ll— eh, Kakyoin and I— will be keeping an eye on Mom. Are you… all leaving now?]” Jotaro asked aloud in English to the two adults in the corner of the room.

His brows furrowed when they didn’t immediately answer, so he repeated his question much louder. Avdol was the first one to respond with a nod, so Jotaro was about to take that as the sole answer and leave. However, Joseph started to speak, and his abruptly soft tone made him and Kakyoin come to a halt. They stared at him in anticipation, but Avdol’s lips remained pursed. He must’ve already known what the old man was going to tell them.

“…I need to take another spirit photo,” he breathed out.

His head suddenly whipped around for any sight of a camera in the room. While his grandfather started to crouch and look under furniture, Jotaro already started to re-enter through the doorway and over to him. Kakyoin, on the other hand, stayed where he was at the front of the sliding door.

“So, you’re both not leaving now? Haven’t you taken enough, already?” he asked gruffly.

Joseph sighed as he pulled out drawer after drawer, opened container after container.

“Yes, and I’m not sure why, but… I feel like I need to take another one.”

——

It takes about twenty minutes, but Joseph finally manages to find a camera in the Kujo household that he hasn’t destroyed to pieces yet.

“Oi, old man. That’s my dad’s camera—”

“—perfect.”

“…good grief.”

He (begrudgingly) sits at the low table, carefully situating the black Polaroid camera in the middle. The Egyptian man and the two teens resort to standing around him, eyes narrowed at him and the camera. All they hear is the inhales and exhales from their breathing; Joseph continues to watch the camera in scrutiny, as if he’s devising his ‘attack’ on the camera. While Jotaro and Avdol have seen the old man’s Stand in action, Kakyoin only saw a blur of purple when the flesh bud was being pulled out of him. He must’ve used it then, but the redhead’s mind and senses were in such a shambles that he could barely tell.

Suddenly, Joseph slowly (and dramatically, in Jotaro’s opinion) lifts up his buff arm.

“…Hermit Purple!”

The incandescent purple vines flash to life around his hand and forearm, and his brows furrow. His arm practically slams down on the camera— obliterating it to smithereens— and the three of them feel the pieces of the device being thrown against their clothed legs. Yet, somehow, the camera still manages to produce a photo, which Joseph snatches.

Perhaps they couldn’t tell, but Avdol was always slightly amused at the sight of him destroying a camera with Hermit Purple. He’s sure that there’s another way to obtain a spirit photo without harming a camera in any form, but this will have to do for now. There isn’t much time to advise him how to use an ability of a Stand that wasn’t even his own.

The old man brings the photo up to his not-really-aged eyes, watching it develop. However, when it does, his eyes widen.

His back stiffens at the sight— what … what is this?

“Oh my God.”

Joseph rapidly blinks, hoping that his age didn’t finally catch up to him. Maybe he should’ve kept practicing Hamon if his eyesight was already going down the drain, because… uh…

…where’s Dio?

He doesn’t see Dio this time.

In fact, Dio isn’t anywhere to be seen in the photograph.

This has to be some sort of… absurd, bizarre joke!

It’s a woman.

It isn’t Holly (that would make no sense, to be honest), it isn’t Suzie, it isn’t even his mother for God’s sake, so who…

Joseph swears that he sees a hint of metal from her shoulder, despite her oversized clothing from the neck down. Whatever she wore was large enough that its collar exposed the lower portion of her neck. She’s only depicted from the side, but there’s a vignette in the photograph that makes it difficult for him to see her face. The background behind her resembled cloth; it was probably a blackout curtain. She had to be in some sort of room because of that, and Joseph wonders if Jotaro’s Stand will be able to identify the type.

If it matters, Joseph also notices the lack of a star-shaped birthmark behind her neck. At least she wasn’t another blood-related relative to worry about, but more questions start to arise.

Who is she?

“There’s someone else in the photograph,” Joseph said after a minute, astounded.

The other three’s eyes widen and dart from one person to another in shock.

How…

There’s no way…

“Who?” Jotaro demanded, snatching the Polaroid photo from his grandfather’s gloved mechanical hand. He swears out loud; the vignette obscures her face to the point where even he doubts that Star Platinum would be able to recreate her face on paper. Kakyoin cranes his head to take a look at the photo and he, too, sees the woman with the blurred face and the metal (what?) shoulders. Jotaro grunted before placing it in Avdol’s outstretched hand. The Egyptian man studies it without an ounce of recognition, even while he attempts to identify the background behind her.

Joseph scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. But it’s definitely not Dio.”

“Why did a woman appear in the photo instead of Dio? You should double-check,” Avdol advised, calmly handing the photo back to Joseph.

With the Polaroid photo in hand, he slams his hands on the low table. Pieces of the remaining camera shook and briefly jumped in place as he did so. Jotaro kicked the pieces that landed near his feet.

“Alright— Jotaro! Do you happen to have another camera lying around the house? I promise I’ll buy a new replacement afterwards.”

Jotaro rolled his eyes, watching his grandfather not hear his reply as he shot up from the ground and stormed out through the sliding door once again.

Meanwhile, Avdol’s eyes landed back on the low table, staring at the developed Polaroid photo. It was peculiar, to say the least— Dio had been showing up in all of Joseph’s spirit photos, yet only now was the subject of the photo different. This couldn’t be unintentional, though… they were able to derive an adequate amount of information from Dio’s photos— the fly, for goodness’ sake— so maybe they could do the same with this woman’s. Whatever reason Hermit Purple suddenly produced a photo of not Dio had to be important, but they’ll just have to figure it out on the way to Egypt.

“She must be another one of Dio’s servants,” Avdol suggested with a sour tone. “We’ll have to keep an eye out for a woman with similar clothing just in case.”

At that, Kakyoin narrowed his eyes.

——

Sitting on the foot of the bed in your hotel suite, you carefully twirl around the two SSDs from your now-scrapped laptop in your hand. You plan to warp the laptop’s hardware into indistinguishable pieces to prevent an early breakthrough from someone bizarre and smart enough to find it in the trash and rebuild it. The SSDs, on the other hand, had a large amount of files— photos— that you desperately wanted to keep in your possession.

You scratch the back of your neck.

It feels as if someone’s watching you in here, but you know you’re alone in the room.

——

…maybe you could take connecting flights?

You were strolling out of the travel agency building, dumbfounded. It just had to be today— it just had to be now where everything fucks up all around you.

“There’s only one flight to Cairo today, and it’s fully booked. Also, it’s actually… boarding in an hour. I, on behalf of Nippon Travel Agency, apologize… would you like to book the next flight to Cairo? It will be in three days, 14:00 or 2 PM.”

Three days? That’s… the 1st of December.

It doesn’t seem that far away, but to your boss, that must seem like an eternity. You’d be utterly fucked if you don’t take this flight today— Joestar’s travel group was leaving the country in an hour. Leaving to go to Cairo, arriving in less than a day without you pursuing them. Your boss would have your head if they manage to find the mansion the same day they arrive. If you aren’t at the group’s tails, even worse. Yes, he’d have your head— literally.

Goddamnit, what else could you do? You made the suggestion to fly out to one of the nearest countries to Egypt instead, but all of the flights to their major cities were scheduled after today. At this point, it seemed like Egypt or bust.

What would Lord Dio say, if he was before you right now? Maybe the other servants back at the mansion were tempted to treat you like a laughingstock now. You, the one who failed to complete the most basic task, and not to mention your first.

The hotel suite came with a fax machine. Unfortunately, you only discovered this after a message was sent to you, the sound of it going off alarming the hell out of you.

You were vaguely familiar with its mechanics; for some reason, a lot of Japanese companies in 2011 still required its usage and preferred it over Internet-based options. This included the company you worked at, which was slightly irritating to say the least. But since it’s 1988, and the usage is even more widespread, there’s a part of you that feels like tearing your hair out.

Anyway, it was a message from that fax machine that prompted you to check out from the hotel and head to the nearest travel agency.

There, Lord Dio had informed you that Joseph Joestar was going to leave Tokyo with his group today. He’s booked the very flight you were supposed to be on… and he and his group were going to leave in an hour.

Without you.

Yes, without you, to go after your boss. The audacity he— they — have to pursue Lord Dio with the intention to kill him. This was nothing you could excuse— you had to stop them. You knew that it was just to do so.

…now that you think about it, a connecting flight to Cairo doesn’t seem that bad. It’s better than not arriving in Cairo at all, to be honest.

However, that presents a gigantic issue. What if it’s too late, by the time you arrive? Once you fly from Tokyo to the next country, there’s no way to tell if that next flight will be delayed or even cancelled. You’d constantly have to check at or call a travel agency to get information because it’s not like you could search on the Internet on a computer here. You’d have to ensure that you still have enough money by the end of this shitshow; after all, airfare in the 1980’s was much more expensive than in 2011, and every hotel you’ve been recommended was unnecessarily luxurious. Luckily, that one was easily solvable, but there’s still everything else…

Enough of this thinking.

You’re running out of time.

Quite literally— that travel agency was closing its doors for the day in less than 30 minutes, and a result, would cut off any chance of you successfully completing Lord Dio’s task. And, as a result of that, your body would probably be thrown in a paupers’ grave somewhere near the mansion. Or it would even be left inside. There was that odd scent of old blood in the corridors.

You frowned.

Taking a deep breath, you hope this was worth it in the end.

No— what are you talking about? It would be. You’d just have to trust yourself, here.

In an act of impulsion, you come to a halt, spin around, and sprint back to the travel agency building.

—

--> To Be Continued -->

Up Next: Last time you checked, they weren’t supposed to be alive and eating breakfast at a table right across from you.

Link to the Table of Contents

5 notes · View notes