#the thin chalk line updates

[punching-pentagrams]

Love In a Hopeless Place

Chapter 1

Hey all! This is Dany (they/them) and its my first time writing a fanfic, so please be nice :) This will be multiple chapters but I'm not sure how many, so we will see how this goes! This chapter is mostly set up :) Lucifer x prostitute fem!Reader Word Count:2.6k words CW: Mentionings of suggestive sexual content, prostitution, angst, sadness, depression (there will be more fluff/smut in later chapters)

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

Light of the morning started to stream into the large bedroom through a small gap in the curtains, the light hitting at just the right angle as the light slowly moved throughout the morning until the light started to cascade down the face King of Hell.

Lucifer began to blink his eyes open, groan, and shift away from the thin line of light that had disturbed him from his well fought for sleep. After a few minutes he sighed, lifted his head up high enough to look at the clock before letting his head drops back into the pillow with a groan.

"Too early," Lucifer mumbled to himself against his pillow. But after a few more minutes, he started to stretch and sit up in bed, because he needed to, because he was the King and eventually there would be some meeting or paperwork that he would need to attend to.

Lucifer briefly glanced over to the side of his bed, her side of the bed, well... not anymore. Not for the last seven years. He felt a familiar tightness start to form in his chest as he stared at it.

Lucifer shook his head as if to try and shake the bittersweet memories of his life with Lilith away, crawled out of bed, and went to his wardrobe to find some clothes for the day before the sad thoughts could stop his momentum. He put on his signature white and red suit adorned with little gold details, black bowtie and boots. He did the best he could to smooth out his messy blonde hairs before popping on his hat that was wrapped in a golden snake, along with an apple and a crown. Reminders of Eden.

Looking at himself in the mirror he looked pleased with his outfit, thinking of how if he looks fun, he will feel fun, and if he feels fun, he can get through another boring day... probably. Lucifer grabbed his cane and left the room to go to his study, flashing his big toothy charismatic grin to his staff and getting a quick update about his meeting later with the Sins from his secretary as he walked down the hallway.

As he got to his study, the maid was finishing setting up his breakfast for him at his desk. She turned, gave Lucifer a quick bow before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. Lucifer turned to his desk and dropped the smile, something about it felt a little more painful today. He chalked it up to one of those days when he really didn't get good sleep, as opposed to the nights of just... regular bad sleep.

Lucifer ran his hands down his face and looked at the stacks of disorganized paperwork covering his desk, and sighed before taking a sip of his morning tea.

He sat down and got to work on the paperwork, trying to get as much done as he could before the meeting he had later that afternoon. It was gonna be a long day

____________________________________________________________

Before long, Lucifer was off to his meeting. He normally hates meetings, but he enjoyed getting to see some of the Sins, like Bee and Asmodeus, so that made it at least a little more tolerable. The meeting went by rather quickly, luckily, because most of the other Sins also normally hate meetings, and if the ran too long, people like Mammon would start complaining.

Asmodeus was the best one to have at meetings, he normally was in a good mood and either contributed ideas or was good at getting Mammon to shut up for a few extra minutes so that Lucifer could finish. Unfortunately, Asmodeus was also really good at picking up on when Lucifer's smile felt a little more forced than usual.

After the meeting, the other sins started to leave, and Asmodeus quickly grabbed Lucifer's attention before he teleported back home.

"Ah, Ozzie! What can I do for you, my friend?" Lucifer said turning towards his friend with a smile and a flick of his cane.

"Are you... doing ok Lucifer?" Asmodeus said cautiously, all three of his faces showing slight concern.

"Well ya of course! Why wouldn't I be?" Lucifer shifted a little as he stood, leaning slighting more on his cane, fidgeting with his suit jacket, and looking behind Asmodeus to check that everyone else was gone.

Shit, was it that obvious? I thought I keeping it together well, Lucifer thought to himself.

"Well... its just that... how do I put this... " Asmodeus put his hands together, and sighed, "You seem a little tense. Not like in a way that everyone can see, though. But... I just know you," he said putting a hand on his hip.

Lucifer deflated a little, dropped his smile and crossed his arms, "Fine. I just... didn't sleep well last night... I guess"

"Because?" Asmodeus asked, knowing there was probably more to it.

"Just the usual stuff, feeling lonely, boring meetings, more paperwork than I can deal with, its just all... ugh... draining..." Lucifer said sadly.

Asmodeus frowned, "And what do you do when you are feeling this way?"

Lucifer thought for a few minutes while, messing with his cane, "Lock myself in my office and make rubber ducks... or... stare at my ceiling... for hours."

Asmodeus rubs a hand down his main face before sighing and looking again at Lucifer, "If I may, Lucifer, you need to do something other than rubber ducks or staring at walls. I mean, there is nothing wrong with the duck. Just maybe try to get out there? Make some new connections, talk to someone other than just your staff, the Sins, or the Overlords. Literally anyone."

Lucifer scoffed, "Like who? I don't know if I am ready to try building anything with anyone again yet." Lucifer said looking at the ground.

"Well... when was the last time you talked to Charlie?" said Asdomeous

Lucifer flinched at hearing the name of his estranged daughter, they had not been close for a long time, not since she was small, definitely not since Lilith left him.

"Like... a month ago over the phone. We only ever talk for a few minutes at a time for small things... I don't know if she really wants anything to do with me. Or what I would even say to her" Lucifer said softly.

Asmodeus sighed, "Well you could always hire a prostitute or something to keep you company." He chuckled to himself.

Lucifer looked up as Asmodeus and blinked "I beg your pardon?"

Asmodeus holds up his hands innocently, "I'm just kidding!"

Lucifer looked off to the side and though for a second about the idea.

"Wait, are you actually considering it?" Asmodeus asked, a slight hint of amusement in his voice.

"Maybe. I guess... I could try it out and... if I don't like it or them I just never have to see them again... Right?" Lucifer looks at Asmodeus, who returned an encouraging nod. "But I don't know how the process works though, also, I kinda don't want it getting out that I've hired a prostitute," Lucifer said hesitantly, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his hair as he starts to stress about the idea.

Asmodeus' three faces lit up with joy, "Well lucky for you, I am just the guy to help you with this!" Cuz you know he is the Sin of Lust and all.

Asmodeus grabbed out his phone and started typing furiously while Lucifer looked on confused, curious, and a little nervous.

"I'm sending you my favorite recommendations, they always have the best options for prostitutes/call girls, and are always discreet. You can even use a fake name, maybe have a driver go pick them up, and pay in cash! Nothing gets traced back to you. I've helped some other Sins and Overlord get set up before." Asmodeus chimed as he wrote out his text to Lucifer, and then paused and looked up at him with a little bit of nervous regret for letting that last comment slip. "But you didn't hear that from me."

Lucifer mimed a motion of zipping his lips, locking it, and throwing the key behind him as he gave Asmodeus a wink.

Asmodeus smiled, then went back to his text "Ok, you will just need to call them and tell them what type of person you want, ok? I've put them in order of my most to least value places, they are all good though."

Lucifer continued to think about this new idea, a mix of emotions swirling in his stomach. He hated that it came to this, but Asmodeus was right, he was so fucking lonely and burnt out that he could not stand it. Lucifer didn't really know what he needed, but maybe a night of emotionally detached sex would blow off some steam. Worst case was that he hated it and sent the prostitute home early with a "sorry for wasting your time" tip. Ya... this could work.

______________________________________________________________

A couple hours later:

The phone began to ring in a smoke-filled room that was only lit up by a few dim lamps and some neon lights flashing in the window that flashed things like "Girls, GIrls, Girls", pictures of dicks, and boobs, the standard classy brothel window decor. A short, stout pig-looking man coughed, cleared his throat, and picked up the phone.

"Luxurious Lady's Lounge, how may we service you today?" the man said in his most charismatic voice, but not without hints of sleaze leaving their own lingering notes.

The man on the phone was requesting a companion for the night and asked for discreet services.

"No problem chief, we use codenames for a lot of our clients and ladies. How would you like to be addressed?" asked the pig-man.

The man on the phone hesitant for a moment before responding with with name, Lance.

"Alright, Lance, and what kind of companionship are you looking for tonight?" asked the man, now starting to eye the available options of people in the room as the man on the phone spoke.

Across the room, closer to one of the few lamps in the room, you sat lounging on one side of a large soft couch, waiting for your next possible client after just finishing an in-house session. You were a newer resident of hell, only had died a few months prior, and had found yourself in hell. A little disappointing, but not surprising, as the life you had been born into did not give you many chances to do much more than accept the opportunities that helped you scrape by, none of those opportunities being very virtuous, and that is what you still continue to do here in hell.

Upon arriving, you had quickly learned in hell that money unfortunately still mattered, which meant you still needed a job, and most jobs in general were awful, but you just needed something. During your first couple weeks in hell you looked at your options, until eventually Larry, the pig-man on the phone found you and took a likely to you, which led to you taking the job here. It was fine, sex was fun, it paid the bills, and you didn't think that sex would ever mean anything more than a fun pastime in hell, so why not?

"Alrighty! Well lucky for you Lance, I have just the girl for you." Larry laughed as he looked across the room at you and gave you a wink with one of his red eyes. "Her name is (y/n), and she will be ready for you at 9 pm sharp. Sound good?"

New client, 9 pm. You look at the time, you have an hour. You start to walk up to the desk, but wait for Larry to finish the call to get deals.

"Ok great, she will be ready for pick up then," Larry hangs up the call and turns to look at you as he takes a drag off of his cigarette. "Alright baby doll, you got a new one for the night, code name is Lance, wants to keep it discreet. Got it? Just looking for a nice, sweet girl to show him a good time, lonely bachelor type, and he will be sending a car for you at 9 pm. Make sure to be out there early and looking pretty, ok?" he said wiggling his eyebrows.

"Of course," you said smiling. You turned on heel to go back to the make up room to get ready. Sometimes his sleaze made you feel a little uneasy, but he looked out for you and, at least from the rumors you heard, you would later be here then working for some hot shot like Valentino who gets a temper with his employees. At least Larry kept his hands to himself, but his gaze always roamed freely.

As you start to walk back you hear another woman's voice hiss out, "Oooooo baby doll is getting a chauffeur, he sounds rich, make sure you don't fuck it up sweety!" followed by a group of obnoxious giggles.

Ugh, Cynthhhhia. One of the mean girls of the lounge, a snake-woman with a viperous attitude. She hangs around three other girls that are only slightly more tolerable when they are not hanging around her.

You continue walking to the back room without breaking your stride or looking at her, only responding with a sly smile and a "well maybe if you weren't such a mythic bitch, Larry would schedule you with some high rollers too, Cynthia."

"That's Cynthhhhia you li-" and the sound is cut off as you walk through the door to the back. All you can hear is the murmured yelling of Cynthhhhia and Larry trying to get her to shut up. She was mean to everyone, no one really knew why, or cared. You learned pretty quickly that it was better not to get pulled into the drama, but sometimes you couldn't help but throw a quick jab back at her.

Satisfied with yourself, you sit down to freshen up your makeup. New clients sometimes made you nervous because you never knew what to expect, but that was also half the fun. You liked getting to know new people, people seemed to like you well enough, you already had a few regulars that requested you frequently and tipped well. It wasn't glamourous, but it was something.

You finish up by putting on a simple pretty dress that was more appropriate for your journey through the public than the lacy lingerie you were wearing, partly because the client asked for the interaction to be discreet, also because you have learned that clients like to have a "reveal" of sorts most of the time. The look on their faces was always fun.

You look at the clock, it was almost time. You get on your long black coat that was lined with faux fur I mean you may be in hell, but you still didn't feel good about real fur jackets, and you walk out to the front of the brothel to wait for the car.

After a few minutes of waiting and a couple of cat calls from men walking down the street, a nice black car puts up front. A man in a suit rolls down the window and looks out at you with a stoic face, "y/n?"

You give a little wave and say "That's me, baby."

The man nods and the back door unlocks. You slide in and close the door. As the car starts to drive off you settle into the soft car seats, mentally getting ready for another night of work.

———————————————————————

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want added to the tag list for future chapters! 💖

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel #fanfic writing #fanfiction

[exilethegame]

Writing Update (05/30/2022)

Chapter 5 is currently 28k words! There's really not much to share this update other than that-- I'm still working on finishing that scene I was "supposed" to finish last week since I added more variations. Shocking, I know.

On top of that, there's a very strange magical scene within it that I am struggling to hash out the details of. The line between something sounding super cool or super stupid is woefully thin as I have discovered this fine afternoon... tis' a humbling realization to have. However... what I have written at the moment is pretty interesting... I think... and I hope you all like it! It's a pretty important scene for a lot of reasons, but one of them is that you will likely see it happen again at a later point in the story.

Another 2-3k words and this scene should be done, which I'm excited for. That would put the scene at ~18/19k. It's a longer scene than I thought it would be, but at this point I think most scenes are gonna chalk up to being in that same word zone just thanks to the amount of variation that'll be there.

There's a total of 12 scenes in Chapter 5, though those ultimately break down into 27 smaller scenes. There's also another check-in scene, similar to the one in Chapter 4 where you got to choose who you talked to, however this time you won't be limited in who you can talk to (talk to all of them, none of them, the choice is yours!) I'm a bit curious as to how long Chapter 5 will end up being as a result... maybe in the next few weeks we can start shooting guesses.

That's all for this week! Thanks for reading :)

#writing update

[tinseltine]

#1 – EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE | A24 | Writer/Directors Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert - I was so mentally ready for this movie, as in the last month I rediscovered JJ Abrams FRINGE and have been Fringe Bingeing!  For those of you unfamiliar, it’s a Sci-Fi show from (2008-2013) about FBI agents who solve X-Files type cases, but rather than dealing with Aliens, the main through line story delves into a Parallel Universe, way before Marvel movies began giving us Multiverse storylines.

In addition, I’ve always told myself the reason things didn’t go as planned in this life is because in another life, I’m living large. I know a LeAnne Lindsay on another or other plane(s) has been living a life without fear and possessing gallons more ambition than I ever could muster. I don’t know why this gives me comfort, but it’s as if I can let myself off the hook by thinking, I did do things, just not here. These thoughts have been with me for many years and then one day I feel like I got proof. I have a chronic issue with my spleen often becoming enlarged.  I’m able to address the problem with acupuncture and have never (so far) needed an operation.  But one day I came back from a walk, took off my shirt and there was a thin horizontal cut across the area of my spleen. It was slightly bleeding like a scalpel incision had been made. Nothing had taken place while I was on my walk, didn’t go through any bushes, didn’t feel any pain, wasn’t even having a flare up. Eventually I chalked it up to the me in another Universe going under the knife for the same condition, perhaps she never believed in the benefits of acupuncture; and thru the Universal connection her scar somehow showed up on me, perhaps as a warning?

For all these reasons and more is why I was completely and immediately pulled into the Daniels Everything, Everywhere All At Once.  Which starts off normally enough – Evelyn Wang (Michelle Yeoh) is an overstretched first-generation Chinese immigrant who owns a laundromat with her sweet husband Waymond (Ke Huy Quan), who she pretty much ignores unless she’s bossing him to do some chore.  Their 20-someting daughter Joy (Stephanie Hsu) also feels unseen or heard by her critical mother and is struggling to make good decisions in her listless life – despite having a great girlfriend who seems to accept her unconditionally. A girlfriend, who is not invited to her grandfather’s (James Hong) party, celebrating the Chinese New Year, as Evelyn’s not ready to reveal Joy’s lesbian relationship to her old-world father.  But mainly Evelyn’s concentration is on preparing (poorly) for an IRS audit to be conducted by an awful looking, overzealous, IRS agent Deirdre (Jamie Lee Curtis), her best role in years!!!  It’s here in the IRS office that Evelyn first meets a Waymond, from another Universe who tells her she is the key to fighting a vast evil that threatens the entire multiverse.

Apparently, in all the other Universes Evelyn is awesome – a brainiac, a celebrity, a chef all possessing many accomplishments, but this Evelyn, as this Wayman informs her “you’re living your worst you”— meaning that every other possible Evelyn made more successful life choices. And yet, her failed existence is what’s needed to defeat this evil.

Collaborative filmmakers Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, collectively known as the Daniels (feature debut, “Swiss Army Man”, 2016) have created a high-octane, intriguingly conceptual, action spectacle and philosophical look at the nature of existence — layered on top of an emotional mother/daughter relationship story of generational trauma, all told through crazy humor, disgusting acts and imaginative sci-fi premises.

I’m not sure I’ve properly sold the brilliance of the film. I know it’s way too soon to make these types of assertions, but this could become my #1 film of 2022. { Post update: And as you can see, that prediction held true!}

#eeaao #Everything Everywhere All At Once #mini movie review #top 10 list

[lilacadaisy]

thin chalk line chapter 6? thin chalk line chapter 6.

#the thin chalk line updates #writing

[nishi-key]

Fic Update [oikage]

well, here we are again, folks! the end draws near and kageyama’s only getting stronger by the chapter---just look at that differentiation! sjdfksdjf anyway, it’s same old: he continues to doubt himself and oikawa continues to be disgustingly proud of him.

the art’s transparent by the way lol

the fic

the update

#haikyuu!! #oikage #kageoi #kageyama tobio #oikawa tooru #fic update #fic: twist into your shape #m'writing #weebing #read the update end notes too if you want a little uhhh #sneak preview into fic logistics #lol #i didn't have a chalk brush so used like really thin crayon #how shaky the lines are gives me bad memories of chalk and blackboards in elem/high school #.......i completely missed the update day in my timezone #31st was such a bad day hhhhh #anyways

[dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3]

Mondo Owada DIY Jacket

Hey all! So, for the past couple of weeks, I've been working on making my own version of Mondo's jacket! I was originally going to wait until it was finished to post about it, since that's what I tend to do with my projects, but I figured I could post in progress shots, since I'm very excited about it! I'm almost done with the back, I just need to paint the last couple rows of kanji in, but I've got the basic outline down with gold chalk pen, so as long as I follow it it should hopefully still look good.

I am using a leather duster jacket that I bought for cheap from Good Will several years ago, back when I was obsessed with Spike from Buffy and wanted his jacket. It has just been hanging in my parent's closet for the past decade, however, getting no use since it's a bit too big for me and kind of bulky. So I decided that I could probably turn it into Mondo's jacket with some gold leather paint and some new buttons, maybe some new purple lining and an extended collar if I can figure out how to do that. Currently I'm working on the painting part first, since that's the most important element of Mondo's jacket. The alterations to the jacket itself are a bit daunting to me, since I've never done anything like it, so I'll put that off for now, ha.

Here's what I had after the first day of painting. I decided to do the Japanese version of Mondo's jacket, since it looks cooler, and I like how it turned out! I did mess up the spacing on the kanji, but I think it still looks decent enough. I also forgot one of the kanji words, but I luckily had enough space to add it in, messing up the spacing more, but eh. Beggars cannot be choosers and all.

So here's how it looks with the additional kanji added in, which I did the next day.

The first picture is what I had when I finished the second day of work. I added the extra kanji at the top, as well as the first row of kanji below. I also added a couple extra coats of gold paint to the compass and larger kanji, and cleaned up the areas where I accidently spilled some paint with some rubbing alcohol. Note: I do not advise using rubbing alcohol on leather, as it will harm the leather. I, however, preferred to have the paint off, so I tried to be careful about it. I did later buy some leather cleaner and conditioner to try and keep the leather healthy. It doesn't rub the paint off, though, which is both good and bad. Good since I can clean this jacket without worrying about the paint, bad since I still will have to use rubbing alcohol to remove the paint I mess up on. Oop.

The second photo is where I am today, with two of the rows of kanji fully painted and complete, and the other three having the outline drawn, but still needing to be painted in with my gold leather paint. I'd work on it more now, but my work station for arts and crafts is outside and it's currently dark out, making it hard to see what I'm doing. In fact, that's why I had to pause work for a week, since I work until 6:00 every weekday and it would be dark when I got home. It also was raining pretty bad this last week. Luckily I'm off work for the next two weeks, so I should have enough time to finish this, I hope! If it doesn't rain anymore, ha.

I'm hoping to be finished with the back tomorrow, and after that I'm going to work on the front, which I'm a bit nervous about. There's a lot of thin lines on the front, which I'm not great at painting. As you can see if you look close at the compass, the lines all wonky, oof. Hopefully it'll still look good regardless. Too bad they don't make gold leather paint pens! The sleeve is going to be the hardest, since there's a dragon on there, so... wish me luck!

Anyway, I'll post updates as I go from now on, more for my own benefit than anything. Let me know if anyone is bothered by it and I can put the updates under a "read more" in the future. ^-^

#Mondo Owada Jacket #Mondo Jacket Project #My Art #Mondo Owada #I'm hoping to get my older brother to wear the jacket for a photo shoot when I'm done #He's muscular and has a similar build to Mondo so I think he'd look similar to Mondo when wearing the jacket #His hair is also long and wavy #And a kind of copper tone #He'd never try the pomp but maybe if he wore it in a pony tail #That's if he agrees to wear it for me ha #He likes Danganronpa but he's not a fan of cosplay #Worse case this will just look nice in my parent's clsoet #*closet

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Just a question about your mirror verse captain pike. I know its been a while (not really that long) since you last wrote for it. But would you ever consider killing mirror verse reader and doing something along the line of what went on with discovery with mirror universe pike attempting to find and get with normal universe reader?

So what you did was ask a question and what I did was write a story?

Sorry! This was an amazing question and I got really inspired!

I used the same reader as the reader in I Caught One Last Sight - this can be read without that, it just makes a couple of references to it.

Pairing: Christopher Pike x Reader; Mirror!Christopher Pike x Reader Rating: T Warnings: Cursing; dubious morals, as we are dealing with the Terran Empire Length: 3.2K

You knew it wasn’t him immediately, not your Pike -- just in the same way that you knew it wasn’t your Pike when you’d had that transporter mix-up, and that solar storm had stuck you in another universe instead of beaming you down to Nov O-62. It was his eyes. Narrowed, flinty, harsh - fixed on you. It was a look that your Pike had never given you. It was calculating. This man, whoever he was, was trying to think five steps ahead; the wheels in his head were turning so fast there should’ve been steam pouring out of his ears. And then he took two steps closer, hand reaching for the phaser in its holster. He was two seconds too late, though; yours was already out, and it was not set to stun. “What are you doing?” Nhan asked beside you, stunned. 

“That’s not Pike,” You hissed. “Have you lost your mind?” Nhan had started asking before Spock, your Pike, and Number One had burst into the hall behind whoever this other Pike was. And then Nhan had stopped asking. The other Pike had turned his gaze back to you, lips pulling into a thin little smile. “You’re a quick one here, too,” He murmured. You were pretty sure it was supposed to be a compliment, but you didn’t think you wanted compliments from a man that looked at you like you were a puzzle. 

--

“His genetic makeup is basically the same,” Boyce reported to those assembled in the ready room, “He’s certainly human, no one’s gone out of their way to clone you.” “Thank god. We can barely handle one of you occurring in this universe,” You grumbled. Pike shot you an unamused glance over where his mouth was being shielded by his hand. You’d managed to get the other Pike into a holding cell. You’d cuffed the man yourself, and had done your best to ignore the way his eyes had lingered on you the entire time; how his fingers had flexed and skated along the hem of your shirt before you could pull away. “I want him under twenty-four hour surveillance,” Pike ordered, lowering his hand, “And we’ll need to start working out ways to get him back to his...Origin point.” Delicately put. “It’s a wonder that this man has managed to make contact,” Spock commented from the other end of the table, “The chance of encountering an alternate form of yourself from another universe is less than .00186%.” You and Pike must’ve been particularly lucky. “I’ll take first watch with him,” You offered, sitting up. “No,” Pike said sharply. You frowned at him as he added, “Nhan will take first watch. And I have something I need to discuss with you, Commander. Let’s see what we can figure out and get him back as soon as possible. Keep me updated. Dismissed.” The others stood, clearing out and leaving you and Pike behind. “What was that about?” You asked. “I do not want you alone with him.” Your brows rose. “I--...What?” “That seemed fairly straightforward to me,” Pike shrugged. “I was more curious about the reasoning behind the direction than the direction itself.” “...He was watching you...Rather intently.” “Yeah, well. I’m cute.” Pike cut you a look, and you raised a brow. “Come on,” You added, “Nhan can’t watch him the whole time, she’ll have to rest at some point. You’re worrying for nothing.” Pike pushed a sigh out through his nose, lowering his eyes to the table. You leaned in a bit, folding your arms on the table. “Chris,” You said lightly, “That guy has no idea who I am.” You waited for him to call you out on the contrary, but clearly he didn’t hear what the other Pike had said to you in the hall. Instead, Chris argued, “Just because he doesn’t know you doesn’t mean you aren’t anyone to him where he’s from.” “Well if I’m someone good, then we may be able to get answers out of him faster.” “And if you’re someone bad?” “Then he’ll probably keep his mouth shut around me and we won’t have anything to worry about. Besides, he’ll be contained.” Pike didn’t like it; you could see it in his furrowed brow, and the purse of his lips. “I don’t want you alone with him,” He said firmly. “I’ll take shifts with Nhan and we’ll arrange shifts to switch off with the rest of the security team until we work out how to get him home. Satisfied?” You knew that he wasn’t, but he nodded regardless. -- When you entered the brig, Nhan was questioning the other Pike. He was standing before her, seemingly at attention. His expression was riddled with boredom; he wasn’t answering her questions. When he saw you out of her periphery, however, he tipped his head to the side to get a better view of you, tracking your movements. You tried not to let it trip you up, or to change the way you moved, but it was intimidating. “Hey-- I’m speaking,” Nhan snapped. You folded your arms over your chest, staring the man down in turn. He shifted his attention back to Nhan, brow raised. “I was wondering when you’d stop.” That was your Pike’s humor, but with a sharp edge. You had to bite back a smile. His eyes darted to you again. You walked closer to the wall of the brig and leaned back, out of his sight. You caught sight of Nhan’s eye, shaking your head a little. She wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. -- “Commander Nhan, you’re needed on the Bridge.” Your eyes snapped to Nhan as she was commed. She glanced over at you, then back at where he was. “...Are you going to be alright?” “Fine,” You waved her off, “Don’t worry about it.” Nhan took one more look at the man before she left. The room was quiet for a few moments, and then you heard the steady clunking of footsteps in the brig. You glanced back toward the sound, but refused to move from your spot beside the wall. “... Are you hiding from me?” His voice was soft, but nearer to you than it had been. He was close now - right up against the edge of the brig wall closest to you, he had to be. “What would the point of that be? You know I’m here,” You answered. “And yet you stay tucked away. Why?” Because the way you watch me frightens me. “I see plenty of you in my own universe.” He chuckled, soft, dark, warm - a sound that could wrap you up and drown you. “You see someone like me, perhaps, but you do not see me.” Damnit, you wanted to look. That gaze - you’d been mulling it over for hours - would it be just as intense now? You pushed off of the wall, then, and turned to stand in front of the brig. He seemed to impose and tower over you in a way that your Chris didn’t; he looked down his nose at you, set his shoulders with an air of superiority - and those eyes. Still calculating, but now they seemed just a touch less cold. “...What you said before, about me being ‘clever here, too’ -- what did that mean?” This man’s lips quirked into a small, satisfied smile. “Just what I said. Where I’m from, you… You were a quick one. Sized up situations quickly, tended to look for your escape routes before you settled into a seat, preferred to hang back and listen to conversations, make your observations rather than simply jump right in.” 

Your heart was pounding. That sounded oddly like how you approached situations here, now — but that was different. That was your job on the Enterprise. You didn’t know this man, you didn’t know who you were to him in another world, another universe.

“I was a quick one?” You repeated, “I take it I’m dead?” His smile faltered and his gaze dropped. You averted your own eyes. “Well, that’ll put you off your morning coffee.” This man huffed, shaking his head. “...What happened to me?” Chalk it up to morbid curiosity. You eyed his hands balling into fists at his sides, and you surmised it was fresh. “Never mind,” You added. He rested one of his hands against the brig walls. “...Who was I?” You asked next. “The Emperor’s daughter. My…” He trailed off. “Yes?” You pressed. Now you had to know. How could it be possible that one of you should end up with Pike in every single world but your own? His eyes lifted back to yours, alight with eagerness. “What should you have liked to be?” He murmured. “I don’t know what you--” “Don’t play coy,” He shook his head, “Maybe that works with him, but it won’t work with me. I know you a little too well for that.” “You don’t know me at all,” You snapped. “There’s that fire I’ve missed,” he murmured, and you took a step back, unable to help the shiver that tripped down your spine. 

“... Tell us where you came from,” You ordered, ignoring the shake in your own voice, “Coordinates, method--” “Anything, on one condition.” “What?” “You return with me.” You didn’t speak; he didn’t wait for you to fill the silence with your questions or answer, just pressed on, “You think it’s some accident that I’ve wound up here?” He shook his head, “No, dear one. I’ve been looking for you. You’re wasted here-- you’re wasted on him. Will he cherish you? Treat you the way you want to be treated?” You’re not sure you’ve taken a breath since he uttered his proposition. “-- You don’t know me,” You manage after a moment, “I’m not-- I look like her, I’m not her--” “And I’m not him. But we’re the closest to what the other wants that we’ll ever get. In my universe, you are revered. I’ll take care of you.” Why was it so goddamn tempting? His eyes lifted to the door behind you, and that was when you registered the sound of approaching footsteps. You turn your head to see Number One, Nhan, and Pike filing in. “Commander,” Pike’s tone, your Pike, was icy. This was directly violating his orders - you alone with this… This man that had just offered you what could very well be a lie. “Captain,” You answered, tone clipped. You took a step back as Number One and the Captain stepped forward to question the Pike that was in the brig. You retook your place just out of sight. “Any ideas as to how we can get you home?” Pike asked. “I already gave the Commander my terms.” You felt the full weight of everyone’s gaze shifting to you. “...Commander, a word,” Pike ordered. You grimaced, following him out of the room. “His terms?” Chris hissed once you were out of earshot. “Don’t start--” “This was exactly why I didn’t want you around him,” He tacked on before reeling away. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “What were his ‘terms’?” He asked. “... I don’t-- You’re not going to agree to them--” “What were they.” “More importantly, I’m not going to agree to them--” “They’ve got to do with you?” You gave Chris a small nod. “...Humor me.” “You won't find it very funny,” You warned before adding, “He’ll tell us how to get him back if I go with him.” In that moment, you saw Chris, your Chris, shift into that same sharp man that was in the brig inside. “Wait, wait--” You reached out, catching hold of his shoulder as he turned to go back inside, “We can use this-- No not like that,” You added as you saw his face shift to shock, “Just because I go back with him doesn’t mean it has to be a one way trip. He didn’t say I had to go back with him and stay.” Chris’ hand came up to brace himself against the wall, and his shoulders stooped a little bit. ���I don’t… I don’t like the idea of bargaining with this man in the first place, and I do not want to use you as a bargaining chip. We barely got you back from one other universe, I’m not risking it again.” The look he was giving you was heavier than a neutron star. “Come on, we’ll be fine. Long as there are no solar storms in the area.” You managed to get Chris to crack a small smile. “Look, just... Get Number One and Nhan out here. I’ll have to talk to him for a while longer, maybe a couple of days. He seems pretty sharp, if I just drift back in there and agree to go, he’ll know something’s up.” -- 

“Pride and Prejudice, really?” You frown, “That’s my favorite book here...What the hell.” The man behind the glass laughed, and you smiled a little. You’d been talking to him for a few days now. You’d been on a few different shifts, and various people had been called away, or you’d sent them on some fools errand - all part of the plan, and never at the same time or for the same amount of time. You didn’t want him catching onto a pattern. “...Can I ask you something?” You glanced up at him, as if you hadn’t been asking him questions for days now. “Of course, dear one.” He didn’t call you that excessively, but when he did, stars, it sent a warmth right down to your toes. “If… If you know that it won't be exactly the same with me as it was with-- her, then why bother?” The man -- you couldn’t call him Christopher or Chris, couldn’t call him Pike, couldn’t call him yours, you couldn’t call him anything, really, not comfortably -- considered you for a few moments. “I… Learned from her... Grew, in ways that I didn’t expect,” He said. “You think you’ll revert without her?” “I wanted to burn the galaxy when I lost her. She wouldn’t have wanted me to do that.” “Did you?” “No.” “... Well, then I don’t think you need anyone.” “And you? Do you not need anyone?” “We’re not talking about me.” “We were, in a way.” You rolled your eyes. “If I come back with you, you’d have to break yourself of that, you know. I’m not her, I’d never be.” “You’ve thought about it?” He was sitting up straighter, and your stomach twisted as you dropped your eyes to your lap. This is part of the ruse, part of the game. But… But you had thought about it, a little. If all that this man has said were somehow true, if he did love someone like you, if he wanted to give you a life that was fairly more exciting, if not more tumultuous… But you could never leave your life on the Enterprise, your friends, your family - your Chris. You shook your head a little. “I--” “You have,” He accused softly, “You’ve thought about it.” “Stop it,” You ordered, lifting your eyes back to his. His lips were curling into a smile again, the one that he got when you acted particularly bossy. He liked it when you were bossy, you’d noticed that. “And stop looking at me like that,” You added. “Like what?” “Like I’m her.” His eyes flashed at that; you’d hit the nail on the head. And then he shook his head a little bit and murmured, “I know you’re not.” “You’re sure about that?” “I--” “Wait,” You held your hand up, “If… If you’re sure that you’re sure… I’ll go back with you. But only if you swear that you won’t try to make me whatever she was.” “I won’t.” “Promise--” “I swear.” He said it with a fierce surety that made your breath catch in your throat. “...Okay,” You nodded, “Tell me how to get us home.” His lips spread out into a grin that broke you. -- It was the last look on his face that did it - confusion, anger, but ultimately, hurt. Hurt, when he realized that the portal was closing and you were on the other side of it. You didn’t say a word to the others, just turned and returned to your quarters. -- It felt ridiculous to be this torn up over a veritable stranger. For all the time you’d spent in his company, this was what you knew about him: He was a powerful man, he was ruthless, he’d loved someone that looked like you, once, and he looked like someone that you loved. He hadn’t told you much about the Terran Empire, but from what you could ascertain, the man was no saint. You’d stripped out of your command jacket, tossing it onto your bed. You’d poured yourself some Acamarian brandy and had been sipping it for some time when you heard chiming. You sighed. “Door,” You muttered. It ‘swooshed’ open. You didn’t even check to see who it was. “Are you alright?” Chris asked -- your Chris. “Fine.” “...Would you like to try that again with the truth?” “Well would you like to try that again with a question that isn’t stupid?” You heard him sigh. “Don’t do this to yourself,” He pleaded. “It was my idea, serves me right that I feel like shit.” “Do you wish you’d gone with him?” “No.” You were surprised with the speed and frankness that the answer had left you, but it was the truth. You glanced over at Chris. “If I were meant to be in that universe, I would’ve been in it.” “Then what is it?” He leaned against your desk, watching you, “Is it… Is it the lying to him? Are you worried that he’ll come back?” “...Well I wasn’t until you said that, geez,” You grumbled before draining your glass. You heard Pike huff a quiet laugh. “Even if he does, I won’t let anything happen to you,” He reassured as you crossed back to your desk to refill your glass. You scoffed. “Please-- Who’s the security officer here, me or you?” You asked, setting the glass down. “Hey,” Chris reached out, taking you by the shoulder and turning you toward him, “Come on, I mean it. I won’t let anything happen to you.” You hated that you were tearing up; you hated that you knew that in more than one world, in some estimation, you and Pike were it for one another. Who knew how many more there were out there? You lowered your eyes, blinking back the tears as you mumbled, “I know.” Chris’ communicator beeped on his belt and he pulled it out. “Pike here.” “Captain Pike, you’re needed on the bridge,” Una’s voice crackled through. “Be right there.” He had yet to remove his hand from your shoulder. He glanced down at you as he replaced his communicator. “I’ll be by later-- Don’t drown this in Acamarian brandy, that stuff’ll make you go blind,” He squeezed your shoulder before letting go. “You’re not the boss of me,” You tried to tease, watching him. He turned back to you, brow raised. “Please-- Who’s the Captain here, me or you?” He shot you a wink before leaving. You poured yourself another tumbler full of brandy before sinking into your desk chair. You’d be happy if you never encountered another alternate Pike again. General tag list: @fantasticcopeaglepasta

#asks #anon #replies #captain pike #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike/Reader #Captain Pike Imagine #Captain Pike/You #Captain Pike x You #Chris Pike #Christopher Pike #mirror!Pike #christopher pike x reader #christopher pike/reader #Christopher Pike x You #Mirror!Christopher Pike x Reader #Christopher Pike/You

[fullmetalscullyy]

the way it was - chapter 42

summary: what if riza never went to war? riza hawkeye has just married the man she loves. six months into their marriage, an unexpected surprise stops her from following roy to the military. a canon divergence au that explores what might have happened had riza been unable to join the military. there will be plenty of family fluff, angst, and royai.

rated: m | warnings: graphic depictions of violence (updated)

read on ao3

1915

it doesn't really matter 'bout the rain

'cause we'll get through it anyway

we'll get up and start again

Roy’s shoulders rose and fell sharply with his deep sigh. He nodded in reply to Marcoh’s question. Riza watched as his expression turned from one of anticipation to determination. 

“I’m ready, Doctor.”

“All right.”

Marcoh entered the room and Riza silently gave Roy’s hand a squeeze before moving off the bed. Doctor Marcoh had to set himself up around Roy and she didn’t want to get in his way, however, couldn’t help but notice Roy’s hand lingered within hers for a moment longer as they parted. He didn’t want her to leave. Neither did Riza. Still, she moved back to her chair and watched Marcoh prepare for the time being - not that he had to do much. When everything was ready, she’d return to his side.

“Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them,” Marcoh instructed as he removed something from the depth of his jacket pocket. Riza couldn’t see what it was, as it was enclosed tightly within a fist. “I’m going to work on one at a time and I need your eyes to be as still as you can make them. I recognise and understand you may be desperate to see if the procedure worked, but if I’m working with a moving target that’s when accidents can happen.”

Riza’s stomach tightened at that last part. She wiped her sweating hands on her hospital issue trousers before clasping them together in her lap.

“Okay, I will. I’ll keep them closed.” Roy’s fingers fidgeted together before lowering to the edge of the thin hospital mattress. He couldn’t grip on tight, but she recognised his desire to do so, to hold onto something, anything, to anchor himself. Riza wanted to offer that. 

Glancing up at Marcoh she noted he was still busy with his explanation and initial examination.

“You will feel a sharp stinging sensation as the severed links are repaired. Your eyes will be sensitive upon first opening as well, but after a few minutes your vision should become clearer and better. So, try not to be too disheartened if the world is blurry when they first open.”

Roy nodded. “Riza?”

His call was a request, but his tone held absolutely authority within it. Curious, she leaned around Doctor Marcoh to get a better look at him. Marcoh had moved in front of Roy to assess his eyes, lifting his eyelids one after the other.

“Yes?”

A hand extended out towards her. An invitation to join him on his bed. Riza didn’t think Marcoh would protest against it, but now, the reason for the authority in Roy’s tone was understood.

She stood and granted his silent request. Gently, her hand slid into his and Roy latched on.

“I want you by my side,” he murmured.

“I’m right here, Roy. I wasn’t going anywhere.” Her attempts to pacify him were rewarded with a soft smile. It cracked the firm look of concentration on Roy’s face, which Riza had come to recognise as unease.

“I know you weren’t, but still, it makes me feel better.” He patted the back of her hand before returning it to the mattress of his bed.

Marcoh was silent as he continued his assessment and didn’t acknowledge her movement across. So, Riza studied Roy as they waited. Anxiety was almost oozing out of him now that the moment was here, so she held on to offer whatever comfort she could. It was a feeling Riza shared with him. This was not a typical medical procedure, and Riza hoped that whatever it entailed would be worth it, and that ultimately, it would work.

“Ready?”

“I’m ready,” Roy confirmed. He let loose a long sigh then nodded with his lips pressed into a thin line.

Marcoh placed the stone atop Roy’s left eye. After a brief moment of concentration the stone started to glow, and red sparks of alchemic energy leaped out of it. Riza resisted the urge to recoil away from the energy. She knew it wouldn’t hurt her, but her experience with it in the past had her instinctively wanting to move away.

Roy gasped then hissed in pain. He instinctively flinched but apparently Marcoh anticipated such a move. His hand followed Roy as he reared back slightly before halting in place immediately. Roy’s fingers gripped onto her hand with more pressure than he’d been able to apply before. His breathing picked up and Riza started to fear he was in a lot of pain. She grasped his hand tightly within both of hers and remained steadfast beside him.

“Are you okay?” Marcoh eyed his face critically.

“Fine,” Roy forced out, answering Marcoh. “I’m all right.”

“The left eye is healed. I’m going to move over to the right.”

“I’m right here, Roy,” Riza murmured. She stroked the skin of his wrist to try and soothe his agitation. Now he knew what to expect, Riza hoped it would abate somewhat. It wouldn’t stop any pain, but it may help him relax a little.

Again, red sparks ignited from the stone and Roy hissed. His jaw was clenched, and his body stiffened, but he never flinched away. Riza’s heart ached, wishing she could do something more.

“Not much longer,” she encouraged.

“There.” Doctor Marcoh’s announcement came after what felt like an eternity. “I’m finished, Colonel. That should be them healed. Keep them closed for another ten minutes,” he added quickly as a warning. “Let the repairs settle and your eyes adjust. Then you can open and test them.”

“I’ll watch the clock,” Riza offered as she gave Roy’s hand an encouraging squeeze.

He exhaled slowly and nodded. “Thank you, Marcoh.”

“I’ll give you both some time. I need to do a quick check up on Mr. Havoc.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Riza replied, sincerely grateful for all of his help.

He nodded to them and left the room without a word. Now, they had to wait and see if the procedure had worked. It sounded almost too good to be true, so until Roy opened his eyes, Riza would have a hard time believing it.

“This is torture,” Roy chuckled.

“There’s not long to wait now,” Riza replied. She lifted a hand to brush his hair away from his eyes.

“This will be the longest ten minutes of my life. I’m sure of it.”

“I know,” she sympathised. “It’s long for me too. But it’s better to be safe than sorry. Giving your eyes time to heal is more important than rushing into it.”

“Always the voice of reason.” Roy tutted, but he still grinned.

He received a gentle nudge from her shoulder for his troubles. “Of course,” she replied evenly.

“I want to see you.”

“I know you do, Roy,” Riza replied softly, but she was quickly interrupted by Roy shaking his head slowly.

“That’s not what I meant. I want you to be the first thing I see after I open my eyes.”

Riza paused. Roy lifted the hand he was still holding towards his chest. He reached across for her other hand, which was offered without hesitation. Both were brought to rest above his heart, clutched within his grasp.

“Will you grant me my request?”

Riza snorted lightly at his passionate, but playful, way of asking. “I will grant you anything you wish, Roy. Of course, I can do that for you.”

“Good. Thank you… Because I don’t want the first thing I see again to be a standard hospital room. I want it to be the woman I love.” All playfulness had been dropped and his tone was sincere.

“Roy…” Her expression softened as she looked at him.

“I’ve missed you terribly and want it to be you. Plus, it seems only fitting,” he added as a smirk threatened to spread across his face, “that as my vision is returned, taking me out of this endless darkness, the first thing I see is the light of my life.”

Riza chalked the sudden surge of tears up to her worry and stress over this situation and how successful it would be. But he was incredibly sweet, and it made warmth spread across her chest and settle within her heart. Riza’s stomach flipped pleasantly as she gazed upon his soft features. His smile was radiant, filled with so much love and adoration that it almost took her breath away.

It was too much, but in the best way possible.

Riza lifted a hand to place it upon his shoulder gently. She tapped her finger against him three times and Roy inhaled in response. Riza’s lips caressed Roy’s lightly while her hand slid from his shoulder, up to his neck, then into his dark hair.

“You’re not allowed to say things like that,” she muttered as she leaned her forehead against his.

“Why not? Was it too sappy?” He sounded pleased with himself.

“It was pretty sappy,” she sniffed with a quiet laugh as she wiped away a stray tear from the corner of her eye.

He chuckled. “It’s only the truth, and I would never lie to you about something like that, you know that,” he grinned.

Riza pulled away. A wobbly smile graced her features as she ran a hand lovingly through his hair. She brushed his fringe off his face again and lifted herself up, pressing another kiss to his forehead.

“I love you,” she whispered against his skin.

“I love you too, Riza. Forever.”

Her head bowed to rest against his and in the silence, they remained there, still, basking in the presence of each other.

“Is it time?” His voice was quiet as it broke through the silence. Roy almost sounded scared. She felt the pressure against her hand tighten as he waited for an answer. It was a momentous occasion after all that had happened, and there was a part of Riza that was terrified as well.

What if it didn’t work? The thought was tiny as it floated around her mind, but it was still there. It held enough gravity to it that it made her pause.

It wouldn’t change anything between them. It would only alter their course and they’d be back to square one. Back to where they’d been on the Promised Day. They’d manage though, and would figure out Roy’s options, but Riza knew how much he had riding on this being a success. Not just professionally, but personally too. This was a chance to watch his children grow up. It was an opportunity for him to see them again. A chance to see her again.

“It’s time,” Riza whispered.

Roy took the deepest breath and let it out in a controlled movement.

“Take it slow,” she advised, suddenly worried that any quick action would be painful for him. “How do you feel right now?”

“I feel… Nothing. No pain, no discomfort… Nothing at all. Everything feels normal.”

“Okay. Whenever you’re ready.” Riza slid herself off the edge of the bed and crouched in front of him. She gripped onto Roy’s hands tightly and brought them to rest in the centre of his lap. “I’m right here,” Riza encouraged.

“Right here, waiting for me to see you again?” His quip was meant to lessen their unease, but it didn’t quite work.

“Yes,” she answered him with a soft tone. Pushing through her nerves she even managed to crack a smile. “That’s all I want for you. Now’s the moment of truth.”

There was one final deep breath then slowly, ever so slowly, Roy cracked his eyelids open.

Riza’s heart lifted into her throat and her smile dropped as she closely scrutinised his eyes. Immediately she noticed they weren’t the same muted grey as they’d been before. They were rich and dark, like they’d been previously, before the Promised Day. They were his eyes. The same ones he shared with their daughter. Riza tried not to let herself get too worked up, but tears had already started to appear as hope swelled within her chest.

Roy squinted as he moved his eyes to settle on her face. He was looking directly into hers but gave no indication he could see her.

“Roy?” She sounded so worried but couldn’t help herself. Riza wanted this to work so badly. It had to work. After all of this – all the discussions and all of their planning – it had to succeed. Roy had to be able to see his children again.

“It’s you,” he breathed. His tone was reverent, and the features of his face relaxed into an expression of awe and wonder.

Riza’s heart almost stopped.

His eyes widened, but Roy winced and squinted suddenly after the quick movement. It didn’t deter him, though. “I can see you.”

She surged up from her knees. Both of her hands came to rest upon his cheeks. She looked at him in amazement. Her gaze switched between each of his eyes and Roy followed her movements. He was slower, but he was looking at her directly.

He could see her.

Roy’s face lit up and he grinned. Riza thought it was the most wonderful smile she’d ever seen, so full of hope and joy. His fingers lifted to loop around her wrists, and he gripped onto her. They sat there, staring at one another in both disbelief and relief.

“Is… Is it blurry? Is it clear?”

“It’s a little bit blurry in places,” Roy answered, “but Marcoh said that would happen. Most importantly, I can see.” His voice trailed off to a whisper, suddenly overcome with the revelation. His face crumpled and at the same time Riza moved forward. Their lips met as they were both overwhelmed with the news.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Roy murmured against her lips. He kissed her again before she had a chance to reply. “I never want to let you out of my sight again.”

Riza let out a choked laugh. She lifted a hand to cup his cheek as she pulled away. Her thumb wiped away one of his tears. “I’m so happy for you,” she whispered.

"I missed you so much, Riza."

Roy’s arms wrapped around her shoulders. Hers snaked underneath his arms and gripped onto his torso, allowing Riza to bury her face into his chest, while Roy’s head lowered to press into the crook of her neck – on her good side. They remained there, both feeling at peace, until a knock at the door disturbed them.

“Well?” Doctor Marcoh looked at them both expectantly.

“It worked, Doctor. Thank you.”

Roy stood and strode over to him with a confidence Riza had longed to see again. When he’d walked while blind, Roy had been overly cautious. The majority of the time he had an aid, but in the rare times he didn’t, his movements were careful and controlled. Now, he stood straighter and moved steadily.

“Thank you so much,” he repeated as he shook Doctor Marcoh’s hand vigorously.

Marcoh grinned. “That’s good to hear, Colonel. I’m pleased it all went well. How are your eyes? Any pain?”

Roy shook his head.

“Any discomfort at all? And how’s the vision? Still impaired or back completely?”

“There’s no discomfort and it’s still a little blurry around the edges, but I can see clearly enough straight ahead.”

“I imagine that will be disorientating at first, so make sure you remain careful as you move. There’s no telling if it will come and go, or if it will return and progress slowly. If you lose it completely then we’ll need to consider further treatment. It may take more than one for it to return permanently.”

Riza’s stomach tightened as she listened. She’d been so caught up in the excitement of it all, that option hadn’t even been considered. Further treatment wouldn’t be an issue, Riza thought, but after regaining his vision, to have it disappear again so suddenly, would take its toll on Roy, she was sure. It would take its toll on anyone.

“Of course. I’ll keep in touch.”

“Once you’re discharged, and if you’re comfortable, I have no issue with making a house call for any check-ups.”

“That…” Roy turned to look at Riza, looking for her opinion on his offer.

“I see no issue with that, of course,” she agreed. It would certainly make things easier for them.

“That would be great. Thank you, Marcoh.”

He nodded and offered him a smile. “While I’m here, would you like your hands repaired at the same time?” He motioned towards Roy’s bandages.

Riza hadn’t even thought about that.

Roy shook his head. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

“All right,” Marcoh nodded. He handed over a card with his phone number on it. “I’ll be staying at the Central Hotel should you need me for anything.”

“Thank you.” Roy shook his hand once more before the doctor left. When he turned, his expression softened. “I could look at you forever,” he announced, walking over to where Riza had perched herself on the edge of Roy’s bed. “You know that, right?”

“I do now,” she smirked.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he murmured. His head bent low, so their faces were close, but never touching. “I could already do that. But now, after so long, that’s all I want to do.”

“The country won’t run itself while you stare at me,” Riza snickered.

“No,” he sighed dramatically, “unfortunately, it won’t. I wish it would though,” he added quickly before stealing a quick kiss.

“That’s not very responsible, Colonel,” Riza replied dryly.

Instead of replying, Roy simply stared at her. It caused her expression to soften, and Riza cocked her head to the side as she regarded him.

“What?”

He didn’t reply right away though. Roy shook his head and a fond smile spread across his face. A hand lifted to cup her cheek with such care that she melted into his touch.

“It’s nothing, it’s just…” He was looking at her with such wonder.

“What, Roy?” Her query was quiet and soft.

“That’s the smile I remember,” he grinned. The pure elation was clear as day on his face.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

In the days following Roy regaining his sight, the team visited him one by one to offer their congratulations. Breda clapped him on the back with a grin. Fuery’s face lit up when he heard the news and shook Roy’s hand enthusiastically. Falman called from Briggs, giving Roy his first opportunity to venture out of his room by himself and walk without aid. Riza was never far from his side though and kept an eye on him, but his gait was confident and purposeful as he walked towards the nurse’s station to speak to him.

Havoc ventured through as well from his own hospital room. His physical therapy was treating him well and he was building muscle again. Riza had yet to see him physically walk, due to him being kept to the confines of his room, but she was excited to witness it. She couldn’t wait.

Roy nodded to Havoc in the doorway, who grinned in response and offered a lazy salute, along with a hello.

“It’s good to see you again, Havoc,” Roy greeted with a smirk.

He was wheeled only to the threshold of the room. Shakily, Havoc pushed himself to his feet and out of the wheelchair. Gripping his walking stick, he walked forward with a proud smile that lit up his whole face. Riza’s heart soared as she watched him take steady steps forward.

“Congratulations on getting your eyesight back, Mustang.”

“Congratulations on walking again, Havoc.”

“You already said that to me,” he commented. Havoc reached forward and shook Roy’s hand.

“Yes, but now that I can see it, I can believe it.” Roy stood from his chair and offered it to Havoc, who nodded his thanks and moved towards it.

“Are you calling me a liar, Mustang?” Havoc’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he asked his teasing question, pretending to be appalled.

“Never.” Roy placed a pillow behind Havoc’s back for support and the Lieutenant sighed happily as he sat back in the chair. “But I promised myself a few months ago, when we were in here together, that I would see you walking again. And now I have,” he grinned.

“Ah, so I’m only here to feed your ego. Got it.”

Roy nudged his shoulder to tell him to knock it off and Havoc laughed in response.

“Do you want to stay for a while?”

“I’d love to…” Havoc looked over his shoulder at the nurse who’d escorted him through, seeking permission to do so.

“I’ll come back in half an hour,” she stated before closing the door behind her.

Edward and Alphonse paid them a visit as well. Roy’s face lit up completely when he saw Alphonse Elric in the flesh and Riza watched as pride surged through him. He stood from his chair and walked towards the young man to shake his hand. Riza was sure she saw a tear in his eye after finally setting eyes on him, but she couldn’t be sure. She wouldn’t blame him because she’d felt the same way when she first saw Alphonse on the Promised Day.

“It’s good to hear you’re healed, Colonel,” Alphonse grinned. He sat across from them in his wheelchair and Edward sat beside Al in a hospital chair.

“Same to you, Alphonse,” Roy grinned. “I… I honestly can’t believe it. I’m proud of you both. It’s amazing all that you’ve achieved.

“You used the stone, didn’t you?”

The mood of the room shifted after Edward asked his question. It wasn’t accusatory, however it was serious. What was supposed to have been a heart-warming reunion had suddenly taken a turn. Riza sat back and watched the exchange quietly. Edward didn’t sound impressed that Roy had done such a thing with the Philosopher’s Stone. His lips pursed and pressed into a thin line when Roy confirmed it, but he simply nodded in response.

“That’s not really our business, Ed,” Alphonse interjected, speaking in a low but warning tone.

“I know it’s not,” he replied defensively. “Make sure you do good on your promise though,” he warned Roy.

“I will, Fullmetal.” Roy’s voice was solemn as he made his promise to the former alchemist. “It will not be in vain. I can assure you.”

“Good.” There was a brief silence then his voice softened. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.” It wasn’t a threat, per se. His tone had turned friendly, but Riza knew Edward meant every word.

“I would expect nothing less from you, Fullmetal.”

“It’s not Fullmetal anymore,” Edward added. His voice was lighter and broke some of the tension in the room. “I’m leaving the military.” He sounded like he was boasting.

“Are you going home?” Roy guessed, but something told Riza he’d been thinking this would be their course of action for a while.

Edward nodded. “I have no reason to remain within it. We achieved what we sought out to do.” He glanced over to his brother and smiled. “I guess, now it’s your turn, Colonel.”

Roy nodded. “Are you sure you want to leave? I could use some trusted advisors in my journey to the top.”

“Oh no,” Edward hurriedly assured him. “I have absolutely no interest in that.”

Roy lifted his hands in surrender. “I had to try,” he smirked.

“We’re going to go home and surprise Winry and Granny,” Alphonse replied. “I can’t wait to see them again and show them what we’ve achieved.”

“Do they know you’ve got your bodies back yet?”

The two brothers shared a look after Roy asked his question.

“You haven’t told them yet, have you,” Riza accused lightly.

“We wanted it to be a surprise!” Alphonse exclaimed after a brief silence.

“Have you at least called to tell them you’re alive?”

“Yes,” Edward replied, sounding like a teenager being scolded by a parent. “What do you take us for, Colonel? Of course we did. They know we’re okay… They just don’t know the finer details yet,” he muttered.

Both Roy and Riza lifted an eyebrow at them.

“The surprise will be worth it,” Edward reassured, before sliding down sullenly in his chair.

Riza uncrossed her arms and moved them from her chest. She shook her head fondly and smiled at them both, not doubting for a second that the surprise would be a wonderful one for Winry and Mrs. Rockbell.

“Always with the dramatics,” Roy tutted, looking heavenward.

“Dramatics,” Edward echoed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

As the two bickered back and forth Riza smiled warmly at Alphonse. “How are you feeling, Alphonse?”

“I’m okay, Mrs. Mustang,” he replied cheerily.

“Riza,” she corrected with a laugh, for what felt like the millionth time.

“Ah, yes,” he replied sheepishly. Alphonse rubbed at the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Riza waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I suppose I won’t ever get you to break that habit, will I?”

“Maybe in a few years,” he offered with a tentative smile.

“I’ll take that.”

The two said their goodbyes shortly afterwards. Roy sighed as he watched them leave. A look of pride settled on his face, followed by a contented smile.

“They really did it,” Riza remarked as she sat back down in the chair beside him. She’d stood to open the door for them both.

“They did.” He shook his head and scoffed in disbelief. “I can’t believe it. It’s… It’s wonderful to see.”

“How are your eyes?”

“Fine,” he replied simply. “No issues today.”

Riza felt herself relax. “I’m glad,” she smiled in relief.

“I… don’t want to jinx it, but –”

“Then don’t say it,” Riza interjected hurriedly.

Roy froze and stared at her. “Really?”

“We better not.” She dropped her gaze. “I’m not superstitious but…” Riza sighed heavily. “I don’t want to go through all of that again.”

He was silent for a moment as he regarded her.

The potential setbacks Marcoh had warned them about did come. When Roy awoke the day after the procedure his vision was almost completely impaired again. A terrified call of her name woke Riza from sleep and she was alert the moment she realised who it had come from. Roy was lying on his back, his eyes wide open and searching, but he could see nothing. The irises hadn’t changed colour like they had before, so Riza reassured him of that. It was a sign, at least. Riza didn't know what it was a sign of, but it was something to hold onto. She’d hurried out of the room to the payphone down the hall. Doctor Marcoh must have still been asleep when she called, but assured Riza he’d see them within the hour to assess Roy’s condition.

As they waited his vision did return somewhat however there were still blind spots. Riza reassured Marcoh was on his way in and would be with them soon, but she could see the toll it was taking on Roy already. His chest heaved with deep breaths and he didn’t talk much as he lay in bed. There was a crease in between his eyebrows constantly, which Riza eventually managed to smooth out with her thumb. Once the muscles of his face relaxed she didn’t stop. She continued the action until Marcoh arrived, trying to ease some of his turmoil.

He used the stone again and Roy’s vision cleared. It was clearer than it had been after the initial treatment, but there was still a deep worry within both their minds. What if this was to be his life from now on? The stone wouldn’t last that long. It wouldn’t be feasible either. And would it ease and get better over time? No one could answer their questions because no one knew. All they could do was wait it out and see what happened.

The same thing occurred the next morning, but it wasn’t as bad. On the third morning though, Roy’s vision was clear as soon as he woke and didn’t waver. Still, Doctor Marcoh came in for a check-up, and stated he’d keep coming in early each morning from now on. Roy was quiet throughout the whole day, as if waiting for his sight to disappear… but it didn’t.

It had happened with Havoc too, he revealed to them in a grim tone on that third morning. News had reached him of what Roy was going through.

It didn’t mean the procedure didn’t work, it just meant there was more work that needed to be done, Havoc explained as he tried to put their minds at rest. Feeling had returned to his legs almost immediately after his own procedure, however there had still been numb spots, he confessed. Havoc had initially never mentioned the numbness, as he thought it was simply part of the recovery process. There were times on that first day where he’d faltered completely and the feeling left his limbs. He’d panicked, but Marcoh used the stone and it returned.

However, Havoc did reason that it was because the legs were large, long limbs, and there was a lot to work with, so they needed more work to heal everything. The eye, while smaller than a leg, required more finesse and finer tuning.

From the way he spoke, Riza thought he’d clearly considered this quite a lot. She’d really appreciated his support and reassurances during that time. Roy did too. He’d been silent as Havoc discussed it with them, but still nodded and offered his thanks in a quiet voice.

Watching Roy go through that turmoil hadn’t been easy on Riza either. Her heart broke for him as she heard his quiet, broken groans when he woke up, realising the darkness he thought he’d escaped from was back, rendering him terrified. It was a lot to go through, to have it returned and then snatched away again. It dashed their hopes slightly but Riza never gave up. She dutifully rang Doctor Marcoh. She sat at Roy’s bedside and offered him comfort, letting him know he wasn’t alone in his own dark world. Someone was there on the other side, listening to him and there for support. Just like she always would be.

It was not a regular practice, so of course they had no way of knowing how Roy would fare as the weeks and months went on. Basically, all they could do was hope for the best. 

Thankfully, the issues they’d run into hadn’t lasted for too long. On the fourth morning there were no issues at all and if anything, Roy commented that his eyesight was better than it had been before the Promised Day. Marcoh said the developments were promising. He hadn’t needed to use the stone at all that day and Roy stated his vision remained bright and clear, never once wavering.

Riza took that as a good sign and held onto it tightly.

“Okay, I won’t. Sorry.”

She glanced up at her husband, returning to the present. With an outstretched hand, he gestured for her to come over to him. Riza did so and ended up being pulled into his lap. Roy bent his head and placed a light kiss against her bandaged neck before wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I don’t want to go through it again either,” he murmured against the skin of her shoulder. He’d shifted aside the neckline of her shirt and rested his mouth upon her bare skin. They were silent but every so often, randomly, he pressed a kiss there and Riza felt herself relax against him.

“It’s time to exercise your hands.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled against her skin.

“Roy –”

“I want to hold you for a bit. I can do it better now,” he added, giving her waist a squeeze. He was right. He was able to apply more pressure than before. “And I want to be close to you.”

Riza leaned into his hold further and rested her head against Roy’s. “All right,” she relented with a sigh. She was not annoyed with him though. Riza understood his reasons and appreciated the sentiment very much.

It had been a long time since they’d been able to sit comfortably and hold one another like this. A while since they’d been so close. A slow smile spread across Riza’s face, realising she was happy. They remained there, simply existing within each other’s space.

After ten minutes or so, Riza extracted one of Roy’s hands from around her waist. He pouted, which made her snort quietly, but she didn’t stop. The bandages were unwrapped carefully and Riza inspected the skin beneath. It looked healthy and was healing nicely. The doctors were happy with its condition and progress.

“Slowly,” Riza murmured as Roy’s fingers twitched now that his palms were free from their confines.

With an open palm facing downwards, Roy bent his wrist from side to side slowly. After that he practiced flipping his hand over a few times. There seemed to be no obvious issues. Riza scrutinised his face carefully every so often to look for pain but could discern nothing. There was nothing in his features except concentration, accompanied by a light sheen of sweat on his nose.

Still with an open palm, Roy bent his wrist up and down this time. He grunted quietly to himself and Riza looked up sharply.

“Sore?”

“A little,” he grimaced as he tried to bend it again.

She placed a hand atop his to make him stop. “Move onto the next one.”

His fingers curled inwards carefully towards his palm but couldn’t go too far into a fist. Riza nodded and noted in her mind his progress. Once he’d tried to make a fist five times she murmured for him to take a break. After a minute, he did another five repetitions. After that, they moved onto the next exercise. Roy had to try and touch each finger to his thumb. The pointer made it the furthest, but the others had a long way to go yet. However, progress was being made, and Riza was pleased with it.

Riza took his hand into hers and started to massage the palm and his wrist. Roy sighed beside her ear and Riza felt his body relax. They were quiet as she did so, then Riza turned his hand over and worked through the muscles on the back of his hand as well that surrounded the wound. It was a long slice. Too long.

The memory of Bradley’s sword piercing through it, and Riza seeing the other end of the blade poke through the other side of Roy’s palm, made her stomach tremble unpleasantly. Her lips pursed together, and her movements slowed without her noticing.

“Hey,” Roy called to her softly.

His hand escaped her grasp, but it wouldn’t have been difficult for him. She was already a million miles away, back in those tunnels, back to lying in a pool of her own blood, and seeing her husband being forced through the Gate against his will. The images flashed unbidden in her mind, making Riza flinch.

“Riza,” he encouraged as he brought his hand to her chin. He turned her head slowly, so she was looking directly at him. It took a lot of effort on his part, but Roy managed.

She glanced up to meet his gaze and in that moment Roy understood completely. It wasn’t the first time she’d massaged his hands, or the first time they’d done these exercises together, but right now… The reason for his injuries was hitting her again.

But one look at him… Roy was concerned, however sympathy and understanding were clear within his gaze as well. He’d been through the same thing she had, so understood completely.

Riza focussed on those dark eyes as they flicked between hers, waiting for a response. They were her anchor. They’d been so grey before, a far cry from the colour she’d always loved. Now, they were back.

Reminders of their progress since the Promised Day were right in front of her, so Riza took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, holding onto them tightly and refusing to let them go. They were healing. There was a long way to go yet, but there was clear progress. They were making their way through it together. 

“I love you.” Roy’s voice was low and he spoke slowly and evenly. However, his declaration was passionate and full of love. “And I’m right here.” His fingers guided hers to rest atop his heart. It beat steadily beneath her palm, a welcome reassurance that he was okay and they’d made it through. Roy’s expression softened and he gave her his winning smile. The one he reserved only for her. “I’m getting better and I’m not going anywhere. So are you.”

Riza wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his shoulder. “You came back,” she whispered as confirmation for herself. Her hand came to rest against the back of his head, her fingers becoming buried within his long, dark hair.

“I did.” She felt him nod. “You couldn’t get rid of me, even if you tried, Riza,” he snorted, “I’m here forever.”

His promise was as firm as his hold as Roy’s arms held her close. A kiss was pressed against her cheek, causing the corners of Riza’s lips to tug upwards into a small, pleased smile.

“I cannot put into words how terrified I was, being unable to see if you were all right throughout all of this and verify for myself that you’d been treated. I knew you had, but the mind can be cruel. Especially after what we experienced.”

Riza swallowed and nodded against him. She was acutely aware of the feeling he was describing.

However, when Roy next spoke, his voice was ever so soft and reassuring. “But… You came back as well.” He lifted his head to part them, but only far enough so they could see one another, causing their breaths to mingle together as they spoke. “You were right here waiting for me and were always by my side.”

“Of course,” she whispered.

“And I’m right by your side as well, for whatever you need,” he promised quietly. His eyes bored into hers, willing her to understand.

She smiled and nodded. Riza knew he would be, without hesitation.

When Roy tilted her head down so he could press a chaste kiss against her forehead, Riza’s eyelids fluttered closed, and she felt herself melt beneath his love and affection.

“We did it together,” he smirked at her. “We’re a pretty good team, if I do say so myself. That’s a sign we’re meant to be together, I think.”

“Well, I already knew that,” she mumbled. Her forehead came to rest gently against Roy’s.

“So did I.”

Riza released another sigh and willed the rest of her unease to leave her alongside her breath. Roy was right. They were both alive and not going anywhere. Soon, they’d be home. Soon, their family would be whole once more.

“We always make our way back to one another.” Roy pulled away and lifted both his hands to her forehead. He brushed her fringe aside and offered her a loving smile as his fingers trailed across her brow, to her temples, then down to her chin. His light touch made her shiver and caused gooseflesh to rise on her arms. Her scalp tingled pleasantly. “We always find each other when we need it most, don’t we?”

Riza buried her face into the crook of his neck. “We do,” she whispered against the column of his throat. There was a comfort to his words that she couldn’t describe but was grateful for.

“And we always will,” he added firmly. His arms wrapped around her waist. “After everything that’s happened, I wasn’t kidding about not letting you out of my sight again,” he chuckled. “You know I’ll do it too,” Roy teased.

She snorted lightly. “That’ll prove difficult with our work.”

“How about not straying far from your side then? Previous commitments – like work – permitting, of course.” Riza could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I like that,” she smiled against him. Riza tightened her arms around his neck, holding him closer and Roy returned the gesture. He pressed another light kiss atop the bandages on her neck, then one upon her temple. “I like that a lot,” she whispered.

Because they always would find a way back to one another. They already had, so many times before. Not much could keep her and Roy apart. That had already been proven. That’s just the way it was with them, and the way it always would be.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai au #the way it was #emma writes #aaaaAAAA ONE TO GO

[ad1thi]

Bruised, Not Broken - CHP 3

i didn’t forget to update this!! this is for the hate anon i got from someone who called me a retard 😘

//

chapter 3/? || also on ao3

//

Travelling with Toni now she’s awake is achingly different and disturbingly similar at the same time. The last of the sedative wore off while they were still at the motel, but she still insists on sleeping for most of the journey; even going as far as pouting when she finds out that James isn’t carrying an endless supply of the sedative on his person and refuses to knock her out with his fists.

“It’s not like I don’t know what it’s like,” she’d pointed out, and James glared at her until she shifted her eyes to the ground.

“I’m not hitting you Toni,” he replied firmly, “Not now, not ever. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I know that,” she said mulishly, “This is just so that I can sleep. I used to take sleeping pills because it doesn’t come to me easily.”

Despite her many threats that she was a menace to drive with, Toni falls asleep within the first hour of them hitting the road. James chalks it up to the fact that her body has been in a constant state of panic for god knows how long, and is finally learning how to relax.

That being said, the truck isn’t designed for more than one person, so Toni ends up sprawled across his lap in a very similar way, and James learns that when she’s not under the effect of a drug designed to keep her unconscious, Toni moves in her sleep.

James’ libido, which has been asleep for the better part of the last five years, has decided to awaken from it’s comatose state ever since he saw Toni alert and pointing a gun at him, and every single little movement is lighting James up in the worst way. He hasn’t been this desperate to get himself off since he was fifteen and discovering his dick for the first time, and James has half a mind to shrug Toni off his lap and tie her up if it’ll get her to stop moving.

He won’t actually do it of course, because he knows what a big deal it is for Toni to have gone through what her husband put her through and still feel comfortable to close her eyes and rest her head on the lap of a man who looks like James, and James would never do anything to jeopardise that trust, but the thought pops into his head on occasion - when she does something like turn and nuzzle against his thighs; trying to make herself comfortable and accidentally brushing against his half hard cock.

Fortunately, Natasha’s place is only a couple hours away from the motel and when they’re a few minutes out, James manages to gently jostle her awake without alerting her to how tight his trousers have gotten all in one smooth motion.

Toni sits up abruptly, going from sleep to wakefulness in a matter of seconds, but she smacks her lips together, like it’s taking her brain time to catch up with the rest of her body. Her hands move to smoothen out her hair before falling to her eyes, rubbing them gingerly, and she squints at James with a dazed expression.

“Are we here?” she asks, voice raspy with sleep, and James focuses on the road, resolutely not looking at how her tee has rucked up in her sleep, exposing her too-thin waist, “We’re a couple minutes out. Figured you’d want some time to make yourself presentable before you have to meet polite company.”

Toni flushes, and her hands instantly fly to pull down her tee, before running through her hair more purposefully, but she still manages to keep an even tone when she asks, “So Natasha is polite company? Who is she to you? Your girlfriend? Because I have to be honest, showing up at your girlfriend’s place with another woman isn’t going to leave the best impression, no matter how open-minded she says she is.”

James snorts, “Natasha isn’t my girlfriend. She’s someone from a life I used to lead, and I trust her with a lot of things, but my dick isn’t one of them. She’s not polite company either, but I figured a high society type like you would care about stuff like how you look.”

“I stopped caring about how I looked when I was 17 and I realised that men cared more about my boobs than what was over them,” Toni says with a huff, and James notes silently that she doesn’t deny she’s high society, “and by former life you mean?” she gesticulates a gun with her hands; eyes going wide when he nods in confirmation.

“Yeah doll, she’s an assassin, just like I used to be,” he says in an amused tone, “but don’t let her fool you; she’s more bark than bite. She looks a lot scarier than she actually is, which is par for the course in this line of work.”

“But she still kills people for a living,” Toni points out, “so she’s got some bite.”

“ ‘Course she does, why do you think I don’t let her near my dick? She’d leave little bite marks all over it.”

Toni lets out a surprised laugh, and James fights the urge to preen, because that was the point of the comment. In reality, he’s fallen into bed with Natasha more times than he’d like to count, and they were working towards something, before James cut his losses and ran the other way completely. It’s a gamble, taking Toni to see Natasha knowing that she might turn them away just to spite him, but James has to believe that she won’t - if only for Toni’s sake.

Toni cranes her neck, as if Natasha’s place will magically appear on the otherwise empty road if she stares hard enough, “So how far out are we?”

“It’s just down the road,” James promises, and sure enough, after a couple of minutes, a completely unassuming house creeps into view, at the end of a completely unassuming road.

“Somehow I wasn’t expecting something,” Toni gestures vaguely with her hands, “more. This is so normal.”

James honks once as he turns into the driveway, and then twice more in rapid succession; letting Natasha know he’s here. “That’s the point doll,” he says as he’s changing the gear into park, “Assassins are supposed to blend in.”

Toni wrinkles her nose like she wants to say something to counter that but can’t think of what, and James is saved from further conversation by Natasha opening the door, hands on her hips as she gives him a speculative look. James gestures for Toni to wait in the car, and jogs up to the door, stopping a couple steps in front of Natasha.

“Bucky,” Natasha says evenly, “Fancy seeing you here. Felt like making your mortgage payment in person this year? You didn’t have to.”

“You know that’s a direct debit,” James says back with a bite in his tone, internally cursing when Natasha’s eyes flash, “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?”

He moves to the side so that Natasha can look over at him at Toni, who wiggles her fingers awkwardly when she realises they’re both looking at him, “I’m here about her. Your new boyfriend’s got a case, and she’s the wife.”

Natasha looks at Toni in the same way she looked at James, speculative and betraying nothing. After a couple of seconds, she shifts back and gestures to the inside of the house, “You might as well bring her in. Don’t want people talking.”

James deigns to bring up the fact that there’s nobody else here for miles, “She doesn’t know about us Natasha. She doesn’t know what this place represents, what you represent. Can I trust you to keep it that way and not say anything?”

Natasha gives him a saccharine smile, “What’s there to say?”

tbc

tag-list: @favreaus, @lovelyanthony, @the-pasta-monster, @warmachinesocks

#my writing #buckytony #winteriron #bucky barnes x tony stark #bucky barnes/tony stark #bucky x tony #bucky/tony #Bruised not Broken #assassin bucky barnes #female tony stark #only one chapter to go before this is in sync with the ao3 post!!!

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 1.1}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings (will be updated as the story progresses): professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.6k

All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

After hours of curious excitement, it was anxiety that now settled deep in the pit of her stomach and squeezed her heart with its chilly roots. The flicker of the candles and torches on the walls danced across the faces of the children around her and illuminated the entire staircase in a warm orange, which however did little to ease her frayed nerves. Back on the train, she had overhead a few of the older students complain about having to witness the sorting ceremony yet again at full length, and the inevitable boredom it would cause the entire student body this year all over again. Oh, what she would give for some boredom now… or maybe not. Both anxiety and boredom were some of her lesser favorable options when it came to emotions to feel right now, and she desperately wished to just have it behind her already.

But some dunderhead obviously had deemed it an appropriate idea to have the entirety of first years, however limited in number they seemed to be in her eyes, wait outside the great hall in a small pulk of anxious whispers and excited babbling. Gosh, she already was annoyed by her soon-to-be classmates, even if that annoyance quite possibly stemmed in her general discomfort. But seriously, was it so difficult to just stand still for a moment? To be quiet and considerate of others' emotions for a mere few seconds? Obviously it was.

For the entirety of the train ride from London to Hogwarts, she hadn't spoken to anyone besides the candy lady, and simply had stuck to doing some reading in the textbooks she was to bring for her classes anyway. Studying was easy, had always been throughout elementary school, and learning was both comfortable and a welcoming distraction. People however were difficult, noisy, intimidating. That's what she'd stuck to all throughout her eleven years of life, preferring solitude over company that made her uncomfortable, because that's what worked for her. She had no intention to change that now.

These children… they were rather repelling in the way they shoved each other and screeched like chalk on a dry blackboard. They were all the same age as her, and they were all waiting to be sorted into houses, as a stern looking professor had explained a few long minutes ago.

Admittedly, she was among the older ones in the group… she would already be twelve in roughly two months. Just like all the other kids whose eleventh birthday had been shortly after the start of the term last year. She'd had to wait quite a while to be here now, and frankly she was so done with the waiting already. If everyone could just hurry up a little, she would be most grateful.

With every minute that had passed with her just standing in the crowd and waiting for the grand door to open, she had gotten closer to crying. Anxiety definitely had done that to her before… had made her burst out into tears of discomfort and despair only to be mocked and laughed at by her peers for being a crybaby. Had turned her skin into a nervous blotchy ashen instead of the normal cool white for days on end. Had stolen hours of sleep, night after night.

But that had been in elementary school. This was Hogwarts. And she had decided in the very moment she had entered this magnificent castle that she would not let the others mock her for showing her fear. No, from this point on, she wouldn't let anything or anyone intimidate her. She would be strong, hard working, and self-sufficient. And nobody would get to see her crying.

That decision however had not yet made the way from her determined eleven year old mind to her racing heart, nor to her clammy hands. With an annoyed huff, she wiped them on the fabric of her skirt that was almost completely hidden beneath the black robe she had been told to wear.

Robes, candles, moving paintings… whatever she had imagined Hogwarts to be like, this wasn't it. And yet, this old castle held such a serene, bone deep calm in every atom of stone and wood that she couldn't help but feel comfortable in this place. Safe, almost, hadn't it been for the impending ceremony and the always dreaded first time meeting with her classmates.

Maybe she should make an effort to talk to someone… anyone at all. The thought alone made her stomach churn in dread and nervousness. Deep breath. She could do this, she simply had to.

Just as she was about to open her mouth to voice a croaked 'hello' to the dark skinned girl standing next to her, the heavy doors flew open with a startling creak, and gone was the chance to possibly make a friend. Well, an acquaintance, at least.

Only whispers, quiet chuckles and the shuffling of many feet on the stone floor were heard as she was ushered into the great hall together with the other students, and it only subsided once the group of children came to stand at the very front of the large room. Ahead she spotted a long table that was risen slightly higher than the ground level she stood on, and that was the only reason she could spot it in the first place, behind the heads of the students standing before her. Ironic, really, that she was one of the oldest and yet one of the smallest.

Before she had the time to dwell on getting a better view though, the female professor in the front started explaining the procedure, which then was followed by an odd kind of song and finally by a long list of names being called.

One by one, she watched as the students around her walked to the front, and a fairly short amount of time later, the hat that was placed on their heads called out their destined house.

She sighed. Her knowledge of the houses was limited, graciously spoken, as was her knowledge of this magical world in general. With two normal human beings as parents –'muggles', as they were obviously to be called– she had spent her eleven years on this earth as a not-quite-so ordinary girl in a desperately ordinary family. Now all of that was to change, and it left her feeling more numb than anything else. She wanted to be excited, really, but it was so much to take in all at once… too much, almost.

As the row of students in front of her thinned out slowly, she suddenly found herself standing at the very front of the group, with a clear view of what was happening in front of her. A stool, a student with a ridiculously old hat, and the female professor with a roll of parchment.

Behind it however lay the head table, the professors' table as it seemed, which immediately caught her interest. Back there she found the most bored looking and also the most excited adults she had seen in a long time. Well, this certainly would be the teachers then. How many times had they seen this ceremony already? Must be terribly dull indeed…

Slowly her eyes scanned the staff one by one, on their own account rather than for her decision to actively do so. In one long row sat a very tiny man, a very large man, a chubby woman, a woman with spiky hair… She found that she couldn't exactly pinpoint much about these people. Only once her eyes roamed over the figure right in the middle, the headmaster, she suddenly got the lingering impression that however kind and friendly the grey haired man looked down at his students, he was still surrounded by a heavy cloud of power and danger alike, which seemed to radiate off him in palpable clouds. A power that could reach unfathomable heights. He was certainly not someone she would mess with, ever.

While her eyes continued trailing along the line of teachers, she found nobody was spiking her interest quite like the headmaster, and she almost would've focused back on the ceremony right in front of her, had it not been for the person sitting at the very end of the table.

In but a fraction of a second, her straying eyes were glued back to the man with the raven hair and matching robes. He seemed rather young for a teacher, surely not older than thirty. Maybe around the age of those people her parents taught in their university classes. How was someone this young already in such a position? Or… what was his position in the first place? Who was he?!

In a moment of mental cringing, she chastised herself for her blind guessing. Maybe he was a guest, or a teacher's assistant… but whatever he might or might not be wasn't for her to judge. However it would certainly explain why he seemed to be at least twenty years younger than everyone else at the table. And why he was the only one who seemed to prefer his own company over that of the other adults.

As she watched him, oddly intrigued by his long hair and deep frown, she felt the same aura of power and danger radiating off of him that she had noticed about the headmaster as well. Only that this man reminded her much more of a bottomless abyss than of unfathomable heights. Maybe–

"Robin Mitchell." The sudden ring of the female professor's voice caught her off guard, as at last her own name was called out loudly. Robin couldn't tell whether it was for being startled out of her staring at the professors, or because she found herself at the solemn center of attention now, but her heart immediately jumped back into its painfully fast drumming. Hell, she should just get it over with and move on with the evening. Hadn't she just promised herself not to be such a child anymore?!

With a face set in stone, and strides that luckily did nothing to betray her nervousness, she took the remaining few steps to the very front and sat down on the stool to face the entire student body. All eyes were on her indeed, as the sorting hat was placed on Robin's head rather awkwardly to fit over the long wavy ponytail she had forced her dark hair into just that morning. Her immediate reaction to wearing the old thing was an unsettling feeling of discomfort. Like icy fingers clawing at her skull and trying to dig into her brain to suck out her soul. Piercing eyes drilling into her mind to unveil her deepest thoughts and emotions. Robin shuddered upon the mental image.

'Well, what do we have here?' A voice suddenly rang out in her head, clear as day, and she had to suppress the startled yelp from bubbling past her lips. Maybe she really should have talked to some of the other students beforehand, for many of them at least had seemed to actually know what was going to happen during this ceremony. Well, too late for that now.

'Interesting… Very interesting indeed.' The voice sounded in her head once more, and this time Robin remembered that she had sworn not to be frightened anymore. Not even by a creepy voice in her mind.

'You're the hat, right? What are you doing in my head? Can you read my thoughts?!' She tried to phrase the sentences in her head in the same fashion she had heard them coming from the hat before, and for a brief moment she wondered if it would be able to read her mind far enough to know how scared she truly felt. Or maybe it couldn't dig that deep. Maybe it would be fooled by her attempt to show nothing but a focused and collected calm.

'You certainly are a peculiar little thing, all worked up over nothing...' The hat's voice sounded almost mocking now. But even if it hadn't been this condescending in its tone, anyone referring to her as 'little' would make Robin take up a defensive stance immediately.

'And you are a rude, old piece of clothing that's being ridiculously inconsiderate of people's feelings! You know nothing about me!' She defended herself on instinct, very well hearing the pout in her own mental voice but finding herself unable to care at the present moment. Fear made her lash out, that simply was a thing that happened.

'You certainly have some wit, child, but you will find that this is rarely appreciated here. However I appreciate your honesty, an equally rare trait unfortunately… What am I to do with you?'

'Well, you're the one supposed to know where I belong, aren't you? That's your job. I'll be delighted to hear what you have to say then.'

'You embody a rather conflicting set of traits, child, and some of them run deeper than even my perception is made to follow.'

'What does that mean?' Robin questioned silently, with a very much visible frown, but in return was met with nothing but mind numbing silence. The quiet chattering of impatient students graced her ears once more, and her heart picked up speed in accordance. 'Hello? Mister… hat… sir?' Nothing.

What was going on here? The other students had been done within seconds, and she had already been sitting on this stool for multiple dreadful minutes. An eternity compared to the others!

In a small rush of panic that was now ebbing through her, Robin looked up at the professor standing by her right side. She felt terribly small next to this graceful woman, terribly unimportant and most of all terribly insecure, which didn't help in her attempt to refrain from showcasing her nervousness in front of every single Hogwarts student. The professor however was looking down at the parchment in her hands with what could only be described as the calm nigh-indifference of routine.

Frustrated with the woman's ignorance, Robin turned her head further, looking over her shoulder at the raven haired man at the head table, whom she had wondered about before being called up here, and whom she hadn't quite gotten out of her head ever since. She didn't know why she sought out him in particular, and neither did she get to think about it, for in that very moment, he was staring right back at her.

Her breath caught in her throat as soon as her eyes met his, for but the briefest moment only, and yet, right in that moment, the hat's voice rang out once more.

"Slytherin!" It yelled loud and clearly for everyone to hear, and this time Robin almost fell off her stool at the sound, while her eyes snapped back to the student body in front of her. A few claps and whistles could be heard from one of the long tables, and the joy that sprang to her mind upon the cheering was yet weighed down by awkwardness. Luckily she only had to do this once, the sorting and being in the spotlight, and after that she would be left alone if she wasn't mistaken.

As soon as the hat was taken off her head, Robin jumped off the stool like it burnt her skin. At least the difficult part was over now… Relieved beyond reason, she made her way to the long table that seemed to be taken up by the Slytherin house. Her house now, as it seemed. While she slowly regained her sense of curiosity along with the slowing down of her heartbeat, she risked another quick glance over her shoulder just as the next name was called. To her great relief, nobody was paying attention to her anymore, as they now listened to the next sorting. Robin let out a long breath, and allowed her eyes to travel over the professors once again. Nobody was looking her way... Nobody but the elderly man right in the middle, who gave her a brief and utterly unreadable glance, before at last averting his eyes as well. Good… Robin finally felt like she could breathe again, and thus took the final few steps to her table with confidence for once. These people would be her family from now on, or so the professor had said.

"Your name is Mitchell?" An older students asked the very second Robin sat down. She had said a quiet 'hi' upon her arrival, but never received a greeting in return.

"Uh, yeah…" She replied more insecurely than she would've liked, and sat up straight in an attempt to force herself into a more confident attitude. "I'm Robin Mitchell."

"Hmm." The older boy frowned, but didn't say any more than that. Instead, he shot the girl sitting next to Robin a peculiar look, who exaggeratedly rolled her eyes in return.

"So, are you a half blood or pure blood?" The girl asked nonchalantly, but with such an edge to her voice that Robin immediately felt the defensiveness creeping up to the front of her mind again. Was everyone in this world so underlyingly hostile?

"I…" She started, but found herself unable to finish her sentence. Was this girl asking what Robin thought she was? For her blood group? Or her heritage, as in… dog breeds? A sigh directed at her broke Robin out of her thoughts.

"I swear these first years get more ridiculous every single year." The strange girl groaned under her breath, and the boy on the opposite side snorted indignantly in return. Robin frowned, but the girl spoke on. "I'm asking if you come from a wizarding family or a bloody half and half!"

"Actually… both my parents are normal. Not magical, I mean." Robin replied, and added with just a subtle touch of pride to her voice, "I'm the only witch in my family."

As if someone had flipped a switch, the lively chattering at the table close around her subsided and gave way to an uncomfortable silence. Various pairs of eyes locked on Robin in equal shock, doubt and disgust, and she suddenly wished she hadn't said anything at all. Her words, or at least her choice thereof, had clearly been wrong.

"You're a mudblood? Seriously?!" The boy sitting on the opposite of her stated with another incredulous snort. "Seems like they let anyone into Slytherin these days. Sorting hat seems to have had just as many doubts, going by the time it took..."

Honestly, Robin didn't know for sure what a mudblood was, but she had been on the receiving end of such a great variety of insults over the course of her life that she could spot one when it came her way. However, the realization that she ought to feel insulted still didn't give her a clue about how to properly react, and she decided to angrily glare at the rude boy to cover up her embarrassing lack of good responses.

"Just so you know, I won't let you sit next to me again!" The girl next to her suddenly snapped at Robin, in feigned disgust, and scooted as far away as the person on her other side would let her. "People here don't want to be associated with someone like you. So… just sit somewhere else, will you?"

"Whatever…" Robin muttered under her breath and moved an entire seat over into the other direction, while she watched the remainder of the ceremony happening at the front. Just because two or three or six people were being unreasonably hostile over something she didn't even have the slightest control over didn't mean that they all were like this in Slytherin… right?

In an attempt to distract herself from the situation, Robin let her gaze wander to the head table once more. It first drifted to the extremely large, bushy haired man who seemed to be two heads taller than everyone else, and at least thrice as enthusiastic about the start of term. Then her eyes flickered over the headmaster, whose carefully considering eyes were intently taking in the students being sorted. Finally she focused on the sinister young man in black again, who was subtly ignored by the other teachers and looked like he was dreading this entire situation almost as much as Robin herself did. Oddly enough, she felt a bit less terrible when she observed him in his dread of everyone and everything. At least she wasn't alone in her misery.

Hopefully someone else would be sorted into her house soon, would take the empty seat next to her and let her talk to them. Someone nice, hopefully. Or just anyone at all.

_______________

After the rather rough start at the welcoming feast, Robin's first weeks at Hogwarts went by quite successfully. Most of her time went into studying and working by herself, as almost all of her professors had given plenty of homework even in the first few days. Learning about magic turned out to be quite delightful actually, and while Robin became disenchanted with it rather quickly, coming back to the reality of going to school did nothing to reduce her willingness to study hard and learn as much as she could to get perfect grades. Every day for the first few weeks she found herself in the library, sucking up information like a sponge in the desert. In regards to learning, Hogwarts was her paradise. One class in particular, or rather one professor in particular, fueled her perfectionism more than any other and pushed it to the very limits. Potions, with Professor Snape. She had yet to figure out if that was a good or a bad thing though.

It had come as an honest surprise to her to find that the mysterious raven haired man she had observed so intently during the welcoming feast was not only the head of the Slytherin house, but also the potions professor, and as rumor had it, also the most feared teacher at Hogwarts. While the first potions class had been nothing short of intimidating, filled with sarcasm, subtle insults and reproaches about underwhelming preparation, Robin had actually felt rather drawn to do well in the class. Potions was a hard subject, admittedly, and not only because the professor was beyond strict and brutally demanding. The topics and pace weren't for everyone either. Right during the first week they had covered the safety regulations, basic ingredients, equipment and procedures, and then in the second week they had written a lengthy test on it already. In other classes, they had often times not done much more than 'say your name and practice how to properly hold your wand' at that point.

But aside from the admittedly steep progression of the class, Robin enjoyed the logic and structure that seemed to be inherent to potion making in general. While she couldn't in good conscience say that she was studying so very hard purely because of her enjoyment of the subject, she still felt undoubtedly intrigued to find out more about it. In her own interest, not just for class. The ingredients sounded complex and interesting, while the instructions were demanding in both focus and patience. The only thing she couldn't quite wrap her head around yet was the functionality of some of the potions mentioned in her textbook… Could one really brew fame by throwing a bunch of herbs and animal parts together? How the hell was that supposed to even work?!

And then of course, there was Professor Snape. He still gave Robin the chills, much like he had during the feast, and while she tried very hard not to be intimidated by him or his dangerous demeanor, she often times found herself failing miserably at that goal. Yet, she couldn't help wondering about him.

Severus Snape had taken on the position of the potions professor and head of the Slytherin house two years ago, at the mere age of 21. Since then, he seemed to have made an effort to become the most feared and the most dreaded professor at Hogwarts. That at least was what the members of Robin's study group had told her, those fourth year Ravenclaw girls she eventually had found the courage to sit with. Upon Robin's careful inquiry about who the man teaching her favorite class actually was, they hadn't been short of scoffs and harsh words. And in the end, their stories had all come with a rather direct and elaborate warning. 'Don't disrespect him or his class', 'Don't talk to him unless asked to', 'Never do things you're not explicitly told to do'... All the unwritten rules to follow around the dark professor had made Robin's head spin, and the horror stories about his classes had made her stomach churn. Could a teacher really be as bad as his reputation?

While she honestly appreciated every piece of advice she received from the older students, as well as all the information about the wizarding world in general, she simply couldn't understand why everyone seemed to despise Professor Snape quite this much. Sure, he was brutally honest and unforgiving of misbehavior, but Robin had gotten the impression that most of the time his insults and punishments were either well deserved, or at least somewhat justified. As long as people did as they were told and tried their very best in class, he would leave them be.

Robin for her part had come to realize that the best way to survive Professor Snape's classes was to always come prepared, and to always work harder than expected. So that's exactly what she had been doing ever since the first week. And as of yet, he had not insulted, scolded or even mocked her once, which was as good an outcome of her efforts as she could have wished for. Especially considering the bad experiences other students were making with him. Overall, Robin believed to have the hang of all her classes by now, a little more than four weeks into the school year. Foremost she believed to have understood potions, and even Professor Snape. Gods, she couldn't have been more wrong.

It all had started in potions class (where else would it begin) in the third week of the term. At the very end of class, Professor Snape had assigned them a four page essay on the use of the three main ingredients they had been using in class that day, which would be due the following week. It was the very first essay Robin would have to write for any class –as opposed to the in-class tests they had previously done in potions and the practical assignments done in other classes– and she honestly found herself excited about the rather mundane task of written homework for once. Perhaps, this was her time to shine.

Foremost, she considered herself lucky for the first time since coming here that her parents were muggles. They had taught her the basics of academic essay writing (in the format they both taught in their respective graduate classes at university), which left Robin with a decent advantage over her classmates. Hadn't it been for her parents, she might have been quite as clueless as the other first year students about how to approach this assignment. The realization of this small muggle-induced advantage barely made up for the poor treatment she still received from most of her housemates, but it had at least made her feel confident in her abilities for once, and that was something at least. She would show them how terribly wrong they were about her, and about muggle borns in general. For Robin, it all started with this essay.

Thus, more than determined to get a top grade in that essay and no less determined to prove to her professor that she wasn't as big of a dunderhead as the rest of her class, Robin worked through every book about those three bloody ingredients she could get her hands on. It honestly was a good mixture of wanting to impress and actually finding interest in the subject itself that made her work her butt off for a week, but as she handed in her essay during class in the fourth week at last, she felt positive that her efforts would be rewarded. She felt positive, right until she made the mistake of bringing her essay up during dinner with two of her study mates.

"You did what?!" Jessica, a short girl with curly blond hair asked while she desperately tried not to splutter her pumpkin juice all over the Ravenclaw table they were seated at.

Robin felt the heat rising to her cheeks as she suddenly dreaded having to repeat herself. "I, uh… wrote an Oxford style essay for Professor Snape's class? With, uh, with multiple opinions on… on the subject. And arguments for each, and… stuff."

"Oh dear god, Robin…" Marleen, another one of Robin's closer acquaintances, sighed softly and covered her eyes with her hands. "Didn't anyone tell you what those essays are supposed to look like?"

Robin shook her head vehemently, as a deep frown settled on her face in unison with a deep crimson. Who on earth should've told her? There was nobody who spoke much with her besides the currently present suspects, and even they avoided talking about Professor Snape and his classes in a general manner. Besides, Robin had been so utterly convinced that she was doing things right for once that she hadn't bothered asking anyone about it.

"Well, in these essays you're supposed to write down what was explained in class, and what is written in your textbook. Just repeating what was already said, you get me?" Marleen explained with that certain condescending edge to her tone that she often took on when explaining things to Robin. At first Robin had felt furious about the belittlement, but soon enough she'd realized that it was just Marleen's way of explaining things to anyone in general, even to people her own age. "You're not supposed to look for further and quite possibly wrong information in just any random book and whatnot."

"But I did write down what was mentioned in my textbook, and also what he explained. But it just seemed so ridiculously little, you know… How does one fill four pages of parchment with ten bloody sentences?!" Robin defended herself, partially against her peers and partially against her own feeling of embarrassment at her error . "If anything, I did more than what was expected of me. How's that wrong?! I was just trying for an 'outstanding'..."

"For Snape, everything that's not asked for is wrong. And he NEVER gives an outstanding to anyone, not even his own folks." Jessica muttered gravely as she dug into her dessert with a spoon way too large for the tiny pastry. Robin, upon witnessing the brutal assault on the carrot cake, found that she had lost any and every appetite over the sheer anxiety the conversation had left her with.

"Yeah, Snape will definitely have your head." Marleen stated as a matter of fact while she carefully cut her piece of cake into bite sized bits. "But since you're a Slytherin, he might let you off the hook with a mere week's worth of detention."

"A week?!" Robin croaked out, ignoring the familiar churning of her stomach the best she could. "But is… Is that really considered a 'mild' treatment?! And I'm not even a REAL Slytherin! For all I know, he might just treat me like everyone else does at this long and turn me into a maggot or… something!"

"Pure bloods and their bullshit elite can be a nasty business." Jessica shrugged with her mouth full of cake, while deliberately ignoring Robin's comment about Snape. "Guess it's just bad luck that you ended up in the wrong house. Pity, you would've made a decent Ravenclaw."

"Hey, it's hardly Robin's fault that she's gotten herself into Slytherin!" Marleen snapped right back at her friend before Robin even had the chance to defend herself. "It's not like she chose to be stuck with those snobs."

"That's why I said 'it's bad luck', idiot!" Jessica rolled her eyes at the scolding, and Robin for once stayed suspiciously silent. She couldn't stand when her peers trash-talked her house… it left her feeling more sour about her current choice of company than encouraged by their words of attempted comfort. And they did it a lot.

They didn't understand what life as a muggle born in Slytherins was like. Instead of the few odd glances and insults coming from but the very minority of students in the other three houses, Robin had to face a vast majority of this kind of wizards every single day. And not just at dinner.

Still, oddly enough, Robin felt proud to be where she was. Not like she truly belonged there, but proud nonetheless. However she wouldn't voice that thought in front of her companions, mainly out of the fear that they wouldn't want to have her around anymore if she showed that sense of pride in her house. And if they wouldn't have her, she would be left entirely alone for the moment. In addition to that, Robin actually quite enjoyed occasionally learning some fourth year magic on the side. However, tonight she had enough on her mind already.

"Uh, I'll… I'll head back to my common room. Study a little… make my testament before Professor Snape has me hanged for the essay…" Robin tried to joke as she rose to her feet in a sudden hurry, and went on to feign a nonchalant smile. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Dear gods, what had she done?!

______________________________

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[lineffability]

// and the angel said unto them, do not be afraid // Luke 2:10

Aziraphale was in a good mood. Which was sort of his State Of Being, what with him being an angel and goodness incarnate and generally Holier Than Thou.

That was the way he liked to think of himself, anyways. He didn’t like to look past that thin, fragile layer into the burning depths out of which he had been forged. His goodness was the crust of the earth, the protective layer that made life possible on the surface.

What lay beneath was both life-giving and deeply destructive. Like God herself, in that way. Shaped in Her image.

Hellfire was not the most cataclysmic force around.

Like most angels, it was a part of him he kept under lock and had mostly forgotten (denied). Aziraphale had worked hard to shape himself into who he wanted himself to be. Who he had consciously chosen to be. 

He was a being of love, at the end of it all. 

And the things he loved and surrounded himself with were like the homemade, cross-stitched fabric of his soul: food and books and warm colours; softness and fondness and contentment; and Crowley. 

(Woe betide the fool who might try and rip a hole into this fabric, to snatch a thread and force it to unravel--to reveal what lay neatly tucked away underneath.)

Currently, Aziraphale was in particularly high spirits, because he had struck a most pleasing book deal, and was on his way back to his shop with a pack of chocolates under his arm, and was also very much looking forward to Crowley returning tonight from his little trip over to Wales where he was wreaking some Moderate Inconvenience for old time’s sake.   

He entered his shop with a smile on his face: a smile that died when he saw the tall, broad man clad in a perfectly-fitting grey suit standing right there in the centre of the room, waiting for him on the carpet that he knew hid a rather occult chalk sketch. 

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale fixed his bowtie, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This is a... surprise?” 

Behind the angel, Aziraphale could see the answering machine blinking at him from under a pile of books--an ugly device, really, but Crowley had pestered him to get one set up so much he had to give in at some point, that wily old serpent--and his thoughts involuntarily wandered off to the demon. Not exactly an appropriate moment. 

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel smiled his business smile, play-punching Aziraphale on his shoulder as he came up to him. The angels had kept their distance ever since The Hellfire Incident; this was the first time Aziraphale had seen the Archangel since that day, a few months ago now.  “Old boy! Just dropped by to update you on some stuff; keep in touch, right? Well, anyways, about the demon Crowley--”

Aziraphale straightened, lips parting slightly. 

“--well, about him, you’ll have to manage without him for a bit, nothing serious. No harm done, right? Well, no permanent harm, anyways.” He laughed, as if he’d made a little joke. He had, only Aziraphale was not in on it yet. 

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded weak to his own ears. 

“Oh, come on! You know we’re big on vengeance!” Gabriel beamed. “Of course, we honour our agreements, but a well-placed little discorporation has never hurt anyone, now, has it? Actually, scratch that, it hurts a little. Anyways, we acquired some fine murderers--aren’t humans just great? Murder by purchase, hilarious! They should be on their way to eliminate his earthly shell as we speak, just wanted to let you know.”

Aziraphale was barely listening anymore. The red light of the answering machine glowered at him from the depths of his consciousness like beastly eyes in the dark, its happy promise turned to bone-deep, spine-chilling dread.

Crowley, discorporated? His knees felt weak. 

"Oh don’t look so upset, now. He’ll be back in no time, the paperwork only takes a few years down there. Anyways, I gotta run, duty calls, and--”

He stopped dead when he caught the look in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale had never looked at him like that. Perhaps Aziraphale had never looked at anyone like that. Gone was the pudgy little man with eyes so blue they must’ve been taken right from the perfect sky of a picture book. He looked like rainclouds, like a cold desert, like a stormy sea about to come crashing down to drown the entire world. He looked like The Fury Of God, and Gabriel took a step backwards, involuntarily. 

But just as suddenly as it had come on, the wave subsided (but oh, the dark sea remained). “It has not happened yet, you say?” His voice sounded strained. 

“Oh, no,” Gabriel started, but Aziraphale, staring at the floor, merely snapped his fingers, and the Archangel disappeared as the carpet below him incinerated and the chalk beneath glowed white.  

Another snap, and the answering machine started playing by itself. 

“Aziraphale!” A chipper voice piped up, and the angel suddenly felt so scared he wanted to sink down onto the floor. “So, I was wondering, since I can’t quite recall--was Wales one of yours or ours? I mean,” and here he laughed, “I do know who’s responsible for Llanfair­pwllgwyngyll­gogery­chwyrn­drobwll­llan­tysilio­gogo­goch--still proud of that one. Anyways, come over to my place tonight at 7, I’ve brought you some bara brith and a bottle blanc de blancs.”

The rest of the tape ran empty. “Dammit, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to convince himself that he was not about to cry. He rushed to the phone, and picked up the receiver. The right number started dialing by itself. 

The clock showed 6. 

“Angel? I know you miss me, but--” 

“Crowley! Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale closed his eyes, the relief was so big. 

“--really, gotta be patient only a little while longer.” Crowley’s voice was mischievous, a sentiment that currently went right over the angel’s head. “I still got some business to attend to in Hackney.” 

“Wait, are you back in London?!”

“Oh yeah, just about to meet up with some shady people, y’know, my favourite kind, they wanted to strike some sorta deal and--oh, gotta go!”

“Crowley, wait!”

“Toodeloo!”   

The line went dead, and Aziraphale, aggravated, threw the receiver down. It fell to the ground, so he picked it back up and put it on the holder, angrily. He felt like swearing. 

He had to get to Crowley. Before they did.

Crowley was expecting nothing. If they really were trained assassins, and if they acted fast enough, there was a real chance his demon was in serious trouble. 

It took half an hour to get from Soho to Hackney by cab or public transport. For a human. 

Aziraphale had been out of shape for six thousand years, but right now he didn’t have time to acknowledge that fact. Reality would just have to deal with it. So he ran. He ran as if the devil was on his heels, even though it was in fact quite the opposite. After a few steps he was barely touching the ground anymore, while an Old power deep inside him reared its tired head. Nobody took notice of him, nor of the flash of white feathers that flickered in and out of existence around him as he moved, ever faster, dragging his body along for the ride.

Ten minutes later he stood in a dark alley, gasping for breath as he tried to put himself back together: literally; rearranging his atoms and reattaching the patches of Soul that had spilled over like water out of an overflowing cup, like cotton out of a crude and frayed doll. 

He was close enough now, to feel him. Could sense the demonic aura. 

(That was good, right? That meant he still had an aura.)

It didn’t take long to track him down. 

Through a broken fence and along a wall full of horrendous graffiti and towards the entrance of an abandoned warehouse. It was a truly sinister place; no person in their right mind would meet up with strangers here. Except Crowley was no person (and quite possibly never in his right mind.)

(I don’t have a right mind, angel, Aziraphale could almost hear him say, I have a wrong mind. And I’m very much in it. Duh.)

The doors crumbled before him, evaporated into thin air that he could feel against his wings. He hadn’t bothered putting them away. 

“Crowley?” he called.

And Crowley turned around, surprise on his face, and as if they had been waiting for this moment the two people he was now facing away from drew their guns. 

Two shots echoed through the empty hall. 

They never reached their target. Aziraphale lifted his hand, and for a moment everything stopped. The wave of his righteous fury came crashing down all over again, and this time there was no stopping it. When reality resumed, the bullets had found new targets. 

With twin screams, the two henchpeople went down and writhed on the ground, their kneecaps shattered. When they looked up, they wished they hadn’t.

All they saw was bright white blinding fury, a vast nothingness so incomprehensible to the human mind that it burned their eyes and their souls, and inside that nothingness a million eyes staring right through them. There were whispers, in that place, echoes and ghosts and memories of worlds, and as the angel spread its wings they started screaming. 

They stopped, abruptly, when the demon Crowley let them fall into merciful unconsciousness.  

“Angel, that’s enough.”

The sound of Crowley’s voice reached him through a haze, and Aziraphale faltered. He turned towards the demon, and saw shock and worry on his face.

Crowley saw something else entirely: He saw Both. There was Aziraphale, tired and dishevelled and unbearably horrified and so very Human; and there was Aziraphale, blinding and manifold and unbearably Holy, and not human at all.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured, “it’s enough, now. It’s okay.”

And Aziraphale closed his eyes, and stood there as the light receded, and when he opened his eyes he was One again. And he looked terrified. 

“Oh, Crowley,” he said, and his voice almost broke, it sounded so feeble. “You’re, you’re alright.”

Crowley, on the other hand--now that he had his angel back, he knew it, saw it--looked at him... almost a little smitten. He stepped closer, steadying the angel before he could ask. Though he tried to look Casual, he still scanned the angel’s face intently, until Aziraphale looked away. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he finally said, and after another moment: “Should I thank you?”

“Better not,” Aziraphale answered with a weak smile. “I could get into all sorts of trouble...”

Crowley smiled: faintly, softly. (Almost, very almost, he touched a hand to the angel’s cheek.)

“So, care to tell me what this is all about?” he asked instead, carefully circling around Aziraphale, his touch never quite leaving him.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a fine line. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Silence settled around them, and both their gazes landed on the poor unconscious souls lying in a heap on the ground. 

“Well uhhh, alright, then,” Crowley spoke up, “So... Let’s get you home? I still have that sparkling wine in my Bentley, y’know the one.”

“Wait.” Aziraphale sighed, taking a few exhausted steps towards the two murderers acquired by Gabriel. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured as he took to healing their knees, “ When you wake up, you migth want to re-evaluate your choice of profession. And try not to believe what you saw.”

(Forgetting, he knew, was impossible. They would have to carry this burden for life. As did he.)

Crowley stood waiting, and then wordlessly walked by his side (his arm brushing against Aziraphale’s now and again, close enough to offer comfort with his presence, but keeping to himself.) He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this situation, wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew Aziraphale well enough to give him time.

He’d always needed time.

As they stepped outside, someone was waiting for them.

He was Gabriel--but not quite. A few inches smaller, a little lop-sided, with less of his perfect hair on his head. He looked like he’d been run through a pastry machine. And he looked pissed.

“You’ve really done it now, Aziraphale,” he snapped. “Discorporating an Archangel! Look at the fucking body they gave me!”

“You what?!” Crowley wheezed, incredulous and, not to his credit, looking absolutely delighted. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders, and suddenly looked like his old self. Like his softness was his armour. 

“I thought, despite everything, that you were still one of us... but I must have been wrong.” Cold anger sat deep in Gabriel’s eyes, and behind that, hidden, something like disappointment.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, instinctively, ready to go No, no, of course I still am, but then he glanced sideways at Crowley. And that was that. He knew.

They were still His Side... but right now, though he would never say the words out loud despite it all, there was only one thought burning inside him and it was:

Fuck My Side.

“No, I don’t suppose I am.” He said it as if he was realizing it only as he spoke, and a part of him did. Another part had known it for a long, long time. He looked Gabriel right in the eyes, holding his furious gaze with his own. 

Beside him, he saw (felt) Crowley’s head snap around, just impercetibly, a motion so small that Gabriel would never notice, but Aziraphale did. Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes had gone wide. 

So this was it. The moment he had been so very scared of for so very long, but now that it was happening he suddenly was not scared anymore at all. Determined, he took a step forward, positioning himself slightly closer and slightly in front of Crowley. He thought he saw the demon smile softly, for just a second, a little unsure twitch in his cheek. 

“I would appreciate it if you never did that again,” Aziraphale said, and somehow it sounded both like a polite request and a Threat. 

And Gabriel, The Trial still present in his mind--the image of Azirapahle standing in Hellfire and basking in it--thought he saw that same Aziraphale again now. The Archangel smiled, a short and humourless smile that was mere acknowledgement, and then he snapped his fingers and was gone. 

Crowley waved after him, a little wiggle of his fingers that he very much enjoyed.

Aziraphale felt all his strength leave him, yet at the same time he’d never felt stronger in his life. He exhaled, trying to wrap his mind around all that had happened. He had truly chosen his allegiance once and for all, and he knew it was the only decision he ever could have made. 

The power that had so forcefully reminded him of its existence, never quite forgotten, still tingled beneath his skin, but it was only a soft stream now, and Aziraphale gently led it back down. The fabric of Himself was still intact. With a little smile, and an even littler glance to the demon by his side, he clasped his hands contentedly in front of his stomach. 

Aziraphale knew who he had to thank for that. Wily old serpent, always meddling in his affairs. He’d better never stop. 

“He’s a real jerk, that one, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale gasped, looking scandalized, and completely missed the irony of that. Then he grinned, and laughed, and looked at the ground and then back up into Crowley’s face, a little unsure. 

“I guess you might, on occasion, have a point,” he conceded.

He smiled broadly, warmly, one of his best smiles, and Crowley, a little stricken, reciprocated. Suddenly nervous, he took off his sunglasses and tried to clean them with the hem of his shirt, before giving up and slipping them into his pocket, as had been his (very secret) intention all along.

They locked eyes, in the twilight, and almost seemed like bashful teenagers, ready to come of age but feeling very shy about it.  

“What’s this horrible feeling all around here?” the demon asked suddenly, looking around. “It’s making my stomach all upset.”

“That would be love, my dear.” Unadulterated.

“Oh.” Crowley said nothing more. 

But his hand brushed against the back of Aziraphale’s, just lightly grazing it, and the angel, as if by serendipity, turned his hand to face his--not quite taking it, but letting their fingers touch, and not pulling away. 

_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_

tagging the people in the OP who sounded like they would want to be tagged: 

@idinink @aangelphale @ohblessit @armoredavengers @e3105eb @ineffable-bisexual @cake-cow @snake-in-the-bookshop @crowleysscaredplants @the-best-pilot-in-the-resistance @crowleys--angel @qfantasydragon @aduckwithears @jesuisfabulous @azirafuck @snakecrowleyy @foolish-principalitee @crowleyraejepsen @azfellandco @on-our-own-side @imlowercasemad 

#good omens #ineffable husbands #a/c #aziraphale x crowley #my omens #my writing #inefficable #why do i hurt the ones i love #the one in which aziraphale has had Enough

[bloodieorchid]

Cafe Rouge- CH 1

Cafe Rouge - Chapter One : Espresso

Next ->

<- First

A college student finds a job at an elusive coffee and book shop after the disappearance of the past barista. Only after the interview and many confidentiality agreements do you begin to learn the secrecy behind Café Rouge.

YANDERE MALE x READER, YANDERE FEMALE X READER, YANDERE NB X READER

CW: This story will contain dark subject matter regarding stalking, abuse, violence, the yandere tag in general, and more to be added as this story is written and updated. I, as a writer, do NOT condone any of the activities in this story and only seek to write a horror romance.

          It was an early morning when your 5:45 AM alarm went off, calling you to get ready for the first day of a new job. It was a slow morning, the sun hadn’t even appeared over the horizon as you had gotten dressed with the owner’s advice in mind for safety. You tied your shoes before grabbing your keys and notebook before heading out of the apartment you lived in to go to work.

         The town of Ravenswood was still asleep, the only light coming from streetlights lining the town’s streets. There were a few people out, mainly walking their dogs or going on jogs. You could hardly believe a town as sleepy as this had someone as young as Laura go missing. The town was full of confusion and fear, regarding one of their young people and how they suddenly disappeared.

       When you arrived at the coffee shop, the lights were off but it was obvious people were moving around inside. You pulled open the door, stepping into the dark stacks of the book section and looking up to see someone working behind the bar.

      He was a lithe, young man with auburn hair swept off his face. He was young, but with a strong jaw seemingly made of granite. A button up shirt was left slightly undone at the top, revealing a black tattoo that coiled around his collarbone. He glanced up and waved with a large metal contraption in his hand. “You must be the new person, right? Or I’m going to have to break it to you that we don’t open for another thirty minutes,” the man’s voice was calm, but jovial with a tone of joking in the deep tenor.

      “No, I’m the new person,” you confirmed, standing in the door way as he pulled out a cloth to begin wiping down the bar. “(Y/N), right?” his eyes met yours, earning a nod in return. “I’m Shane, Bishop wanted me to help show you the ropes in opening up and I’m going to training you. Go through that door back there and set your stuff in the back. I’ll show you how to get everything set up for open,” he said, giving a light smile to you and pointing to a brightly lit door in the back.

      You nodded, stepping out of the door way and going to the back. The bright room had tile floors covered in rubber mats, a large dishwashing station full of mugs, glasses, and plates, and a desk tucked in the back where Mr. Bishop sat. “Good morning, (Y/N),” Mr. Bishop called out, not looking up from his work. He pointed to a rack to hang up your stuff, which you quickly moved to do. “As a precaution here, we use fake names on the name tags to allow the baristas not to be followed around outside of work. Shane out there goes as Knight and I go by King out there.” he mentioned as he fiddled with an empty name tag.

    “Chess pieces?” you asked, glancing as you shrugged off your jacket. “It’s a simple fake name that everyone knows is fake, but memorable enough. You don’t have to stick with the chess theme, but if you want, we can get your set up with Rook or something,” he explained while pulling out a chalk marker. “Rook works well for me, Mr. Bishop,” you confirmed. He nodded before writing the name in large letters on the black chalk name tag. He handed it to you, allowing you to put it on your shirt. “Shane, or Knight, will get you set up out there and will show you the ropes. Remember to call him Knight in front of customers,” Mr. Bishop reminded. You nodded as you returned to the front of the shop.

     Running a coffee shop seemed daunting at the beginning, but as Shane showed you how to brew the espresso and explained the different coffee items, it seemed less and less scary. You were wiping off the counter when Shane turned on the lights, unlocked the door and smiled at you. “Don’t worry Rook, it’s not as scary as you think,” he reassured as he returned behind the counter.

     The first customers only seemed to order black coffee, but it was an hour after closing that the first regular came in. “Good Morning Mr. Arnold.” you heard Shane, no Knight, call out. You turned over, expecting an older gentleman but were shocked to find someone slightly older than your coworker. He was in a blazer and slacks, hair dark and side parted. His face was steely and his eyes were cold, his pale skin looking ghostly and close to hollow. “It didn’t take King long to replace the last barista,” Mr. Arnold stated while keeping his eyes on you. He was examining you like a fox staring at a rabbit, harsh but his eyes turned lighter once Knight started talking. “Yeah, well you know how he gets. King needs someone to run the front after all. You want your usual today?” he asked, pulling out a small glass.

      The man nodded, pulling out a few dollars in change. Knight placed the order in the register and Mr. Arnold followed by putting a ten dollar bill in the tip jar. Knight immediately got to work brewing the espresso for Mr. Arnold. He turned back to you, his eyes turning steely. “You best be careful here, young Rook. Pawn got in a lot of trouble with some of the people who came in here, it doesn’t turn out well,” Mr. Arnold informed with his dark eyes staring at you. “Pawn, sir?” you asked, confused. He chucked, “My apologies, the last barista, that missing girl went by Pawn here,” he mentioned before grabbing his small cup of espresso and turning it with a small spoon. “Don’t scare them, Arnold. It’s their first day,” Knight mentioned with a frown on his face.

       Mr. Arnold chucked softly before sipping his espresso. “Just being honest, Knight,” he mentioned with a smile. The bell of the door rang again, this time a college student entered. “O-Oh, I didn’t know Mr. King could find a new barista that fast,” the student was skittish, thin and lithe with their hair tied above their head. An undercut was underneath the small bun and they were drowning in a large cardigan over a tee shirt and jeans.

       “Good morning Willow, and yeah, King needed someone else to run the front. It’s their first day, so be nice,” Knight called out from the espresso bar. “Nice to meet you, Willow,” you called out with a small smile on your face. Willow’s cheeks flushed and they offered a small smile in return. “I-I usually get a l-latte with the s-seasonal syrup, w-which one is it?” they asked as you began ringing it up. “It’s lavender today,” you answered, checking the notebook full of notes. They nodded and smiled as you rang them up, pulling out a card to pay. You looked back at the tablet when they were done, your eyes almost going wide. The tip was nearly double their order. “I t-tip w-well, you d-deserve it,” they smiled and you gave one back as they went to go sit at a table in the stacks of books.  

        “Willow’s a medical student over at the college, but they live off campus.” Knight mentioned as he showed you how to steam milk, before pouring the latte. “They always tip well, but only to their favorites. I only seem to get one or two dollar bills off them. It’s good to have favorites, I guess but make sure you don’t mention names.” Knight reminded and he handed you the large latte. “Be careful, it’s hot,” you nodded as you carried the drink over to Willow’s table. “Studying to do?” you asked as you gently set the latte down. Willow nodded, “I h-have an anat-anatomy test today, the c-coffee helps me focus,” they mentioned and took a sip of the latte. You nodded, “Don’t let me distract you then,” you smiled before returning to the bar.

        Mr. Arnold had left at this point, leaving another dollar on the counter underneath his espresso cup and Knight slid it over to the tip jar. “We split tips at the end of the shift, but you get your digital tips on your paycheck,” he mentioned. You nodded as you wiped down the counter. “What was Mr. Arnold talking about with the last barista?” you asked Knight as you took the dishes to the dish bin. “Laura got involved with some of the weirder customers and sometimes didn’t use the alias. Mr. Arnold is a cautious fellow, but he plays his favorites as well,” Knight mentioned. “It seems you’re one of his,” you responded as you pulled out more mugs. “Well, yeah. Everyone likes their stuff done a specific way and Mr. Arnold is no different,” Knight answered.

        The next person who came in was definitely more frazzled. She was a young woman, with long white hair tied into a side braid that had a couple pieces of hair sticking out. She was dressed professionally, holding her bag and a piece of paper in her hands. “Hey Knight, I got another list of drinks again,” she mentioned sadly as she set it down. She looked at Knight for a second, before her eyes flickered to the side, only to stop and stare for a second. “You must be the new barista,” she gave a small smile. “I’m Mona, I work for the Mayor’s office as the secretary over there,” she smiled as Knight rang in the multitude of drinks. “I’m Rook, nice to meet you,” you offered a smile her way. “I’m going to have to come in more. I didn’t know that this coffee shop could have even cuter baristas,” she flirted gently, passing her card over to Knight. Your cheeks flushed and she smiled lightly at that move.

        You missed how in the corner, Willow was frowning at the obvious flirting being sent your way. You did notice how Mona made sure to leave her number at the counter before collecting the drink trays full of various coffees and teas. “Don’t let King work you too hard, Rook,” she smiled before she left the room. Knight took the phone number and set it underneath the counter. “I wouldn’t suggest it, those relationships never end well,” he mentioned. You nodded in return and you returned to wiping down the bar.

        The first day seemed to fly by, leaving you fifty dollars richer at the end of tips and now with a cup of coffee to ease your way back to campus. You were back to being a simple (Y/N) again, not a Rook. You walked away from Cafe Rouge, unaware of just how many people’s attention you have on you. But for now, you merely sipped your beverage and enjoyed the good tidings to come; unaware just of what surprises the Cafe Rouge has in store for you.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere male x reader #yandere female x reader #yandere gn x reader #yandere serial killer #yandere series #yandere coffee shop #cafe rouge #yandere x you #stalker #coffee shop fic

[mount-beast]

{Xamassed Liked for a starter:} 

      Half a mile north of Stoneshall Garden, kitty-corner off of Wilburn St. sat the Tremont Tavern. Now, Tremont wasn’t by any means the worst tavern in town, but it also weren’t the best one neither. It seemed to of danced between the lines of good and bad--being a place that most locals knew of and quite possibly went to, although it probably was never one to be brought home about. The place itself had a rather rustic feel to it. Plain and old fashioned; and by old fashion I mean, clearly hasn’t been updated since it’s been in business for. The place had relics of its time hung up, things that looked like they’d been stuck up there since 1988! Orange and yellowish tinges tainted the used to be white colored tabletops simply due to age. How it was still around? Well... the price really. It wasn’t going to rob you dry, lets put it that way, unless you had a heavy drinking hand, course.

      The time was a’ quarter past four, typically, a time of which not too many folk were making way into the bars. But hey, it’s five O’clock somewhere. A little under a handful of people sat occupying the joint, each one being a fair bit away from one another seeing how there was plenty of space to do so. 

     Throughout the tavern echoed a familiar sound, least, to those who’d frequented the place, that being the noise of a heavy wooden door being pushed open with a chalk scratching screech coming from the now rusted out hinges. What followed this was heavy footsteps that mocked a heel to toe slow stride movement. Jingle jangles could be heard from the belt buckles strapped onto the fellow’s waist, this being caused from the side to side weight the person had been distributing apart from each step. These steps led straight up to the counter area where they’d stopped near a girl who sported long messy brown hair. 

      Despite there being all these other free seats, the man whom these click clacks belonged to decided to sit RIGHT next to her. From where he sat to her, the girl got to see the ugly side of him...literally. You see, one side of the man’s face looked completely normal, as while the other side looked like something out of a horror film. A horrendous scar scorched the left side of his entire face, one that looked to be caused by some sort of severe injury caused by some sort of... acid, perhaps? There was pieces of flesh missing with scar tissue covering over the indented spots with odd drip like skin patterns cascaded it. The cheek and eye was the most notable part as there was little of, if not any of the man’s eyelids left and same with the skin that used to be covered over his teeth which lead to them being completely exposed. Who exactly was this feller though? Well...with a look and entrance like that, it’d been none other than JD himself.

      With such casual movements, JD reached for his inner coat pocket before pulling out a rather old disheveled looking book. It seemed just as ancient as this place for pete sakes! Scrapes on the outside of the cover, to the top corner still having left over, no longer sticky, residue left behind from a quite determined sale’s sticker. Once out, he dug into his other pocket with his free hand then whipped out a fine thin cigar. Before he could get into the zone and begin his read, the bartender gave him a quick gesture before asking ‘what kind of drink would you like?’ Without even really looking at the guy, being more focused on getting settled in, JD spoke up with a--

                    “ Ah’ll take some cactus wine.”                   JD said in a very thick drawled out accent.                   “-- or’ if yuh don’t got thet then Ah’ll just                   settle for a glass of fire water.” 

#Xamassed #;;Closed Rp #;;v; Main #;;Length; Medium #;;Muse; JD

[clxvdd]

Panic Room (INCOMPLETE)

Summary: Pro Hero Glitch has been hit with an unknown quirk which makes her worst nightmares become a reality.

Characters/Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki (Ground Zero) x Reader, Izuku Midoriya (Deku), Kirishima Eijirou (Red Riot)

Warnings: language, mental illness, some violence, adult situations

Word Count: 2.3k

fem!Reader

this is an INCOMPLETE DRAFT!! i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for a long time and i just wanted to post it for people to see. it might be updated further in the future but this is intended to be ONE PART.

Quirk: the reader, Pro Hero Glitch, has a quirk dubbed “static” which allows her to project images of herself or other objects into an area, as well as “glitch” (similar to teleportation between small distances), and distort the look of objects or persons to others.

Stark white walls and lights turned a dingy yellow. Flickering chaotically, with no real rhyme or purpose. A single exit– a tall door off to one side of the room with only a thin slit for exchange. There was no furniture, no evidence that someone had existed here except for the faded bloody scratches on the walls. She sat, unmoving, an emotionless expression on her features that were once full of life. Criss-cross applesauce with her arms locked behind her back. Such an innocent and joyful position, but practiced nonetheless. This was how authorities had forced her to sit in her early years, and now, in a sick twist of fate, it is how she will spend the rest. Silent. Unwavering. Stuck inside her own body. Only one thought has run through her head during her entire stay.

“How did this happen?”

The task at hand should’ve been simple. Two villains, busying themselves with an unoriginal crime, were meant to be taken in. Of course, stealing in any form is considered a punishable offense, but in no way did she think it was a scary or tough mission to be assigned to. In fact, most villains who were caught stealing came from harsh backgrounds and rarely hurt anyone. They just wanted the money. They were desperate.

(Y/N) was never one to judge. Hell, even her own life could kick her ass sometimes, so she would understand someone getting desperate enough if they had it in them.

But something about this particular case was off.

Often she could feel the desperation, the insecurity, the shame, in the air as thick as molasses. She could go into a mission and be able to relate to her enemy. Often her enemies were spiritually closer to her than even her own friends. After all, this line of work taught her that the line between heroism and villainism is a lot thinner and more transparent than people would think.

Yes, often she could be empathetic with her opposition.

Though, as she stepped into the enclosed, heavily guarded, extremely exclusive holding area of millions of currency, she felt nothing but malice. It was cold, yet searing, and it made her heart ache with an emotion that closest resembled fear.

Alongside her, the top two heroes fed into the front of the building. There was no other outside entrances or exits, aside from the minimalistic, blackened windows around the sides of the room. Three large metal doors awaited them with a suspenseful glint. They would need to split up.

Ground Zero took the initiative first, seemingly oblivious to the murderous intent in the air, and rushed towards the middle door with a raised fist. The pin on his wrist was pulled and a loud explosion sounded without a hesitation. When the smoke cleared there was sizeable hole in the door and the pro hero was no longer visible.

“Everything alright in there, Ground Zero?” Was sounded through the speaker in her ear, following the voice directly beside her. (Y/N) and her peer recieved only a grunt in response, and decided to follow in his wake.

Pro Hero Deku starts to the door closest to him to work it open, (Y/N) falling into motion not long after, using her quirk to project herself through the barrier. It was relatively dark and dreary, although there was a faint, pale blue lightsource a good distance from her. This room’s appearance was quite jarring to the extravagant exterior of the bank.

Something was wrong.

The walls were cracked the further she trudged. The darkness was consuming. The hallway was getting thinner. No matter how far she walked, the light at the end of the tunnel seemed unreachable, like she was going nowhere. Unmoving.

Panicking, (Y/N) puts a finger to her ear in an effort to contact her friends. But instead of the metal earpiece that she had buried in her ear minutes prior, her finger met with her damp cartilage. Was she sweating? She could’ve sworn she had it still in her ear.

With her focus directed towards her now missing earpiece, she hadn’t realized that there was a presence at the end of the hallway until it was far too late. Her feet stumbled over another pair as she crashed into a cold, hard blockage. Quickly shoving herself away, she gazed up at her target.

Her heart dropped to her toes. Eyes wide and breathing ragged, (Y/N) felt her legs give way, her knees coming in contact with the cracked and crumbling ground beneath her.

Pro hero Ground Zero stood before her.

No. Not Ground Zero. This was definitely not Bakugou. He was off. Upset. He had a steady stream of tears escaping his eyes and large rings around them, almost as if he hadn’t slept in days. He looked like he hadn’t eaten any time recently, either, with the sillhouette of his ribs showing through his shirtless figure and dull, sunken in cheeks.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. No, not by a long shot.

“Glitch! Is everything alright?!” She heard a staticky voice through the reciever in her ear. And suddenly she could breathe again. The atmosphere was lighter, the hallway had expanded, and that nagging blue light at the end of it was nowhere to be seen. It was almost as if she had dreamed the whole thing up. But she knew it was real, she felt it herself.

She didn’t give Deku a response, instead opting to turn back down the hallway and meet him as he ran towards her, Ground Zero in tow. Bakugou would never admit it, but in truth, he had been just as worried for his fellow hero as that idiot Deku. Seeing her uninjured finally returned some peace to his heart.

Faking a smile, Glitch raised her heavy head and laughed halfheartedly, “There was, uh, no one there..”

“Don’t you know how to fucking answer a simple question, dumbass?”

“Oh please, like you ever answer anything we ask you,” she jested. He would never say it but (Y/N) knew that was his weird and unconventional way to show his concern.

“Tch,”

“I need a long bath when I get home,” the girl sighed and mumbled under her breath. It was supposed to come off as an innocent internal monologue being voiced aloud for only herself, but as Ground Zero nodded in agreement from the opposite side of Deku, she knew he understood it was meant for him as well.

After the two top heroes handed over their captured villains and discussed with proper authorites (and some cameramen) the three of them set off to their respective residencies. They parted ways and that was the last they had spoken to each other that night. Another successful mission.

Except when (Y/N) had arrived home to the bath already filled, bubbles and all, it would not be the last time she would speak with another hero that night. A tense body was submerged in the tub before her, a groan escaping it’s lips as it scrubbed itself.

“Hurry up and get in.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,”

She was already stripping as she strutted towards the tub, sinking herself in after she removed the last article of clothing. The heat of the water and the man surrounding her was exactly what she needed after the night she had. And despite his hard-headed nature, Bakugou could be considerate as well. She silently thanked him with a gentle massage of her fingers through his hair and over his scalp– his favorite gesture of appreciation to recieve.

(Y/N) hadn’t meant to overstep. She just wanted simple glass of water from the refrigerator in her kitchen downstairs. For some reason, the night wasn’t treating her as well as usual and she found herself tossing and turning, before giving up on sleep entirely. If she wasn’t going to sleep then she might as well try to wake herself up a bit to do something productive. That was the plan anyway– just a simple glass of water.

What she hadn’t planned was finding herself in Kirishima’s kitchen, grasping a burning hot mug of what she thought was floor cleaner (the sanitary, lemony smell gave her a pretty good clue), listening to an earful from the man himself.

She blinked harshly, hissing and dropping the mug when the pain finally reached the nerves in her hand. It clattered to the ground, shattering on impact, and spanning the distance between the two heroes.

“What exactly is going on– why are you in my kitchen?”

(Y/N) couldn’t even respond, for even if she did know the answer, she was too shaken up to acknowledge it. She knew neither how she got here or why she did what she did, but it scared her, far worse than any fight she had ever thrown herself into.

“C-can you call Bakugou for me,” the girl whispered in a small voice, following gently with “please?”

In the next few weeks, the girl, and her friends, had chalked the incident up to sleep deprivation and stress from her overworking herself. In truth, it wasn’t that far off from what had actually happened, but it was still enough to put her out of commission for some time. There were enough heroes in the city to hold it down without her, especially in the condition she was in. Though, the downside of this was that her overall ratings as a pro hero would drop dramatically and other heroes would capitalize on the opportunity.

But as more time went on, the more that night seemed just like a small fluke in the grand scheme of things. She felt fine, and there hadn’t been anything else notable enough to fret over. They were worried about nothing.

Glitch had taken to sparring twice a week with Ground Zero, in place of her usual week of patrol, to blow off some steam. She figured that to get her out of her rut, she needed to prove herself purposeful and busy herself with something productive that she also enjoyed. And what better for that than sparring with her secret lover?

Bakugou saw how well she was performing in their sparring sessions. He saw how well she had refined her quirk and how much she improved. Hell, she even learned a few new aspects of her quirk that she had never even revealed to herself before.

She was thriving.

So he decided that it was time for her to get back to work.

(Y/N) was excited about going back to work, although just as weary. After all, she had decided to become a pro hero to help people, and to do that she had to make sure she was able to help herself first. But apparently excitement wasn’t enough to get back into the swing of things.

It felt like she was a newbie again. There were amazing pros everywhere, and villains to match. There were so many people constantly taking up their roles effortlessly, and she felt as if she didn’t really fit in anywhere. She would be sent on a mission, only to find most of it be done by another. She did her best to rescue hostages or recover missing items, or even scout for information, but somehow someone was always one step ahead.

Was being a hero always this frantic?

It was getting to her immensely. Even with her improved quirk control and physical strength, she couldn’t keep up. It was all too much.

And she started to resent those who stole her job out from under her. Her rankings were dropping and her visibility was plummeting. She went from being the number three hero to somewhere far in the double digits, and the gap was only widening.

Katsuki would tell her “it’s okay,” and “you have to work yourself back up to it,” but after some time, things were only getting worse.

Maybe she shouldn’t have taken time off. Maybe what happened to her was a fluke. Maybe if she wasn’t so weak, she wouldn’t have been spooked so easily. Maybe her life wouldn’t be spiraling out of control if she had just let it go.

And with her thoughts consuming her she found herself sprawled across the concrete floor of the warehouse building, struggling to regulate her breathing. Her heart felt heavy and the ache in her lungs was too strong to ignore. Tears fell in streams down her face to her chin, where they plummeted to the ground.

She panicked. She tried to scream, but nothing would come out, and her blurry gaze flitted around to orient herself. To focus on anything that could help her. But all she could see was darkness.

A hand rested itself on her shoulder as she flinched. They spoke a few words, ones that she couldn’t bring herself to comprehend, and another hand came under her knees to drag her up and into their embrace.

She almost thought it was her boyfriend. After all, he was the only one she allowed to hold her like this, but the chest she had been pressed into was bare and jagged. For a moment, it hadn’t registered in her mind exactly who this was, but that moment was enough for her to explode into another fit of panic.

She threw herself down and swiped a leg under the perpetrator, knocking him down onto his back before getting a solid glimpse at who she was actually fighting. Her boyfriend’s best friend stared her with wide eyes as she froze, breathing heavily.

“Kiri?” she paused and immediately jumped away from him, “I’m so sorry! I thought you were someone else!”

And as much as he reassured her and he promised it would be a secret he kept for as long as he was capable, she knew that she was in too deep. He didn’t trust her like he used to. She knew that.

And so he ended up telling Bakugou anyway.

#bakugou #katsuki #x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #fic #scenario #angst #izuku #midoriya #deku #kirishima #eijirou #red riot #pro hero #reader insert #anime #fanfic #weeb #otaku #kj’s drafts

[vydante]

Restart | Avengers x Male! Reader | 8

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Avengers x Male! Reader (romantically: undecided)

Plot: Dr. Strange said there was only one possibility of winning the battle against Thanos.

But when (Name) is forced into the past and into his younger body, he’s suddenly given the chance to start over and prevent the future from happening again.

So which route are you going to take? Are you going to risk the future and take preventative measures, or live life with the Avengers for the next 4 years, knowing what will soon come?

A/N: Long- 4.7k words. Hell yeah. Also: the GIF has little to do with the story LMFAO. There’s not really a fitting one, tbh... Sorry it took me a while to update, but hey, I promised in one of my last asks it’d be here by the end of July!

"Excuse me?"

"I do not know you to have hearing problems young Stark!"

You knew that your summer had been going a bit too smoothly. You just finished your nanotech suit, somehow with all this outdated tech, you had multiple wonderful shopping sprees with your mom (and as expected, your dad threw fits every time), and your summer project was going swimmingly...

That was until Thor had barged in with his hammer in one hand and a duffle bag in the other.

You pinched the bridge of your nose as Thor stared down at your slouched form with an intensity that made you uncomfortable, despite knowing that all that was probably on his mind was, well. You set down the hologram pad and turned around to fully face him.

You inhaled and tried to gather your thoughts.

"You're telling me... You want to go to China... Because...?"

His whole body seems to shake with his laugh. Your ears ring, having sat in a quiet room for nearly the whole day now. He stops laughing, but his infectious smile is still ever so present as he speaks up.

"I read on the interwebs of cuisine out of this world, and it said that this China has exactly that!"

You squinted and opened and closed your mouth, perplexed. You had so many questions- more so than before.

Where the hell had he heard that? That was so vague- cuisines? Since when was he into cuisine? And why China specifically?

Your lips were pressed in a thin line. You weren't too sure if you cared enough to know all of the specifics. And quite frankly, you're scared that it'll only give you more questions than answers- after all, anything goes when it comes to Thor.

"... Okay, and?" You tilted your head to add onto that sarcastic 'and'. "Why're you telling me this- I'm not your dad."

"Of course you're not my father! I am Thor, son of Odin, not of (Name)! I just want you to take me there!"

You rolled your eyes all the way into the back of your skull. Of course, he'd respond like that- he wasn't as accustomed to Earth humor as the Thor you knew. And with that ass-backward logic- that you had to be the one to take him there- didn't help with your frustration.

You picked at your chair's armrest, pulling at the already worn down faux leather skin bit by bit. You probably need to buy another chair, huh?

You exhaled softly, eyeing the Norse god who was grinning at you expectedly.

"... Why...? Can't you just- fly there? Using Mjolnir?"

Your eyes didn't miss the glint of said hammer. It probably won't be a comfortable ride, but it doesn't seem like the blonde would mind flying through the wind for a few hours at most. He patted your shoulders.

"Yes, but as you may know: I cannot speak Chinese."

He said that with an all too matter of factly tone that irked you, but also brought an ugly chortle out of your throat. You playfully slapped his hand away, eyes wide but crinkled with your wide grin.

"Dude- and who says I can?! I'm not all-knowing!" You waved your hands around with wide eyes painted with light mockery.

"Are you not?"

He tilts his head like a golden retriever. You snorted and turned around to try and focus back on what you were doing beforehand.

"No. Go by yourself, thunder thighs."

"But I even packed my stuff!"

He lifts his duffle bag- as if that was sufficient enough to call 'packing'. Hell, you wouldn't even be surprised if it was filled with random junk not meant for traveling. You rolled your eyes at how childish he was, standing there as if he was asking you to chaperone his field trip.

"Okay, and?"

That might be your new catchphrase just to combat all the silliness that was Thor.

He pouts his lips and tries to give you the puppy dog eyes. He's acting cute now, but you know if you take him to China he'll act a fool of himself. And besides, there's a high chance he won't find what he's looking for there.

You sighed quietly, knowing that Thor won't push you too far to do something you don't want to, but he'll definitely be sulking for a while afterward.

You mulled over it for a second, before it hit you.

China.

He wants to go to China. And where is China?

Right next to Nepal.

And where do you need to- oh, it doesn't need to spell it out for you does it?

You tried fighting back the grin, silently thanking the stars for having aligned right for you just this once, and pretended to debate on whether or not you should actually take him or not.

He rocked on the balls of his feet and dragged a whiny 'please?', which was the 'tipping point' for you. It wasn't, really- your mind was already made up by the sudden revelation, but still. A flair for dramatics wouldn't hurt.

"Ugh, you know what- fine, I'll take you to China." He cheered out loud, but you raised a finger before he could jump to conclusions, "But! Only for a weekend!" His expression dropped for a moment, but he was still grinning ear to ear, "I still have other stuff to do... Wha-!"

You felt your lungs get caught as he drops Mjolnir and his duffle bag on the ground, and your bottom was suddenly no longer touching the chair you were sat on. Instead, it was in the air now as Thor grabbed you from under your arms and bear-hugged you while swinging you around like a ragdoll.

"Hnng-!"

You wheezed into his neck, but he doesn't hear it over his boisterous laugh.

"You are my favorite Stark for a reason!"

Ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks at his bold statement, you smacked his back to let you down. You were struggling to breathe as he practically bomb rushed your lungs. He lets you down, but he's still hugging you tightly and swaying side to side. You coughed and patted his back, praying that he'll let go anytime soon for you to breathe properly.

"Relax, there's only- ugh- two of us so there's not- not much competition anyways. But- ack- thanks- now let go...!"

He finally relaxes his grip on you and lets you go, much to your ribs' relief. You groaned, sure that bruises were definitely going to form around your chest from him. He chuckles and mentions something about 'mortals', but you didn't care much to listen.

He picks up his stuff and turns around to your hunched form with a bright smile- brighter than the one he had earlier.

"So, should we go now?"

"You know, I'm not too surprised you got scammed."

You rummaged through your duffle bag, searching for some pajamas to 'sleep the night away', so to speak. You ignored Thor as he spread eagle on his bed with nothing but a waist towel to cover him, but it wasn't really doing much of its job as you can definitely tell his, ah, hammer was out in your peripherals. You made a mental reminder to get some eye-bleach later as your ears turn red. 

Your embarrassment goes unnoticed as Thor cried out dramatically.

"They said the food was magnificent!"

"Yeah, well, people lie sometimes. Or maybe their definition of good is different from yours. But hey, cheer up- we got to eat from other places, and they were delicious."

You weren't lying. The first day was spent looking for the particular restaurant Thor was talking about- and as it turns out, it was just a weird brothel. The 'cuisines' Thor was talking about was a crude translation of 'Chinese prostitutes' so that was... An experience. You two made sure to get that taken care of before you moved on.

While the one place you- more like Thor- was looking forward to was not what it was chalked up to be, there were a bunch of other places that definitely made up for that in terms of actual food. Well, judging by Thor's pout, maybe it was just satisfying for you, anyways.

"But it does not quench my disappointment."

You pulled your clothes out and tossed the bag to the side. You made a B line toward the bathroom as Thor tried settling into his bed. You almost stepped onto the towel he, at some point, had now thrown onto the ground haphazardly.

"Yeah, yeah, tell me that tomorrow when we have to fly back to New York. Go to sleep, Aussie John Smith."

"I am still upset..."

Even with the door closed, you could still hear the disappointment heavy in his voice.

"Sleep. Now."

"God, I hope he's asleep."

Your eyes dart over to his slumbering figure, comfortably sprawled out onto the rather small bed- for a man of his stature anyways. You tried your best to put a blanket over him, lest he gets cold or something (really, it was more for modesty as both his moons were out in full display, along with everything else), but every time you looked away for even a second, half of it was on the ground. At that point, you just gave up. 

His loss.

You'll just need to remember to tip the workers here if they were to be greeted with his hammer at any point.

"He is, don't worry."

A disembodied but smooth Australian accent whispers back to you. Familiarity buzzes in the back of your head, but you dismissed it.

You hum in response and zipped up your jacket all the way. It may be summer, but where you were heading might be cold. And besides, it was the tightest fit you could pack in your bag. You adjusted your shoes and take one glance in the mirror in the adjacent bathroom. Your eyes linger around your neck, and you click your tongue.

You readjusted the leather collar so it wouldn't leave a mark on you later. It wasn't too thick, but it was definitely big enough to be a collar versus an itty bitty choker. You were torn between this and other styles of accessories- hell, you even considered making the same component your dad had- one over where your sternum would be. But your first model would always be your collar, so that was a start.

You figured that you being here, years before yours, had already altered it in some way. You figured that making this- your new suit- yes, it would change how things would turn up from then on. But technically, as long as you kept it in the back burner, you wouldn't really change the future, per se... 

Yeah. This suit was just a backup. In case... In case something happened to your more mechanical suit. Or if it was unavailable.

Hopefully, you shouldn't have to resort to doing something like that.

You gaze lingers a bit on the collar, and you tilted your head around. It didn't look bad per se, but you knew you couldn't just walk around wearing this. You could wear it under a collared or turtleneck shirt, but that wouldn't last long. It wasn't a viable long term solution- unless you just... Blend it into your lifestyle?

You shake your head, already having resigned to a previously made lapse in judgment.

You weren't too sure if you wanted it to be a collar, so you already had plans to make other versions of this, just in case. But for now, it was what you knew, so of course, it had to be the first model- for the nanotech, anyways. Technically speaking, this would either be Mark-22 or Mark-94...

It doesn't matter.

You walk out of the building, thankful that there weren't really many people around for a busy city as this. You shuffled around behind the hotel and into an empty alleyway. You tried your best to ignore the smell of rotting food- it wasn't as bad as some of the places around New York, but it wasn't pleasant regardless. There were also other scents mixed into the equation, but you weren't keen on lingering around to find out what it was.

You doublechecked around the corner just to make sure that no one was around before turning around.

"DAHLIA, how's it going?"

You murmured quietly.

DAHLIA was the name of your old A.I. The voice wasn't exactly the same as their original predecessor, but it was close enough. You would name it differently, but you were already used to DAHLIA, so it seemed redundant to make a new one right now.

There wasn't really anything too deep about the name- like how J.A.R.V.I.S. was named after Tony's butler, and FRIDAY was just a silly little joke. For you, you just named it after a flower that really... Resonated with you when you first named her, especially after the whole fight at the airport and finding your dad... Anyways. Nowadays, it was just a pretty name to you.

"All systems up and ready, doll."

The same voice from earlier replies back. Your hand traveled to your neck and activated your suit. You felt the metal form over your shoulder, down your spide, and up your scalp. You watched your own reflection in the puddle underneath you quickly replace itself with that oh-so-familiar yet smoother helmet. 

Your vision goes dark and all of the city ambiances is muffled, then it all goes clear. Colors and lights flash open, and there's a bunch of U.I. huds popping up everywhere. While you can hear perfectly, everything's crisper now, but not overwhelming. You gazed over all of the information in front of you... All systems working perfectly- it strikes you now when you realize this was your first time actually taking this model out of the tower.

"Good... Well, time to take this baby out on a joyride, yeah?"

"Who's this joyful for- me or you? Judging by your spiked heart rate, it's not yours, and I can vouch that it's not for me either."

You ran your tongue over your front teeth and resisted the urge to scratch your arm. And to beat DAHLIA's thick head in for being a brat. 

("You programmed me this way, doll." A phrase she said a lot, annoyingly enough. She wasn't wrong.)

"You can just say I'm nervous, sweetums." You made sure to lay it on heavy with the fake sweetness in your words.

Maybe it was just a gene that carried through from your dad to you, but it always seemed like your A.I.'s, no matter what, had more personality than the average person would like. But then again, it adds more flavor, no?

"Don't make me demote you to BUTTERCUP."

Buttercup flowers represented childishness, like what was spewing out of DAHLIA's computerized mouth.

"As if you'd have the gall to do that, doll."

You ignored the layers of mockery and rolled your eyes dramatically. She was right, but it'd take hell to freeze over for you to ever admit that to her.

"Just pul'up the route to Nepal."

There were a few pop-ups from scanning the room, but the main one you were looking at was a map from Chengdu, China, to Nepal. It was a little far for your taste, so you were glad it was nighttime.

You just hope that you'll be able to stay awake in the morning for the flight home... Who knows, maybe this trip will help with jetlag when you get home.

"Alright, let's take a stroll through Nepal... DAHLIA, you know what to do." 

Your repulsers flare up and you jet straight into the sky. Stabilizers on your back keep your flight up steady and smooth, a far cry from your previous model's jerky movements. 

"Camouflage Mode: On. Playing: Pumped Up Kicks."

"... Not the song I was expecting, but sure."

"Skip."

"Playing: Gangnam Style."

"Off- off, no- yeah, no- no, silence. Silence, yeah? I'm tired of your bullshit, missy."

"Sure thing, doll."

You wanted to throat punch the tinge of humor in her voice. It had already been around an hour into your flight to Nepal, and you were ready to rip your hairs out. You weren't rushing at first, not really, so you took your time on the way there. And boy, did you just want this to be over with. DAHLIA was nonstop playing the trashiest songs and acted like she didn't know what she was doing-

"Doll, if I may be allowed to interject in your brooding,-"

"I'm not brooding-"

"- I am curious to know how you plan to seek out the answers to your dilemma... Assuming you even have the questions to ask, if I may be bold in saying such. Which I am."

You suddenly stopped, hovering above the clouds as you blank out for a second.

"Well, shit- what the hell am I gonna ask?"

You almost pondered over it, but knowing that you already had all the time in the world to come up with questions and still had none prepared just meant that you weren't gonna get much in the span of a few hours.

You resumed your flight with a resigned sigh.

"You know what- I'm just- gonna wing it. Yeah, winging it."

"That's..."

"A dumb idea? Yeah, maybe, definitely actually, but uh, I'm too nervous right now to think. Just gotta- gotta keep flying baby, that's all we can do right now."

"And besides," a flash of orange easily catches your attention- too easily, considering it was all pitch black over the mountains of Nepal. There's a figure down in the mountains, and their head was pointed directly in your direction. "It's not like we have all the time in the world to think of questions right now, do we?"

The figure doesn't move. If anything, it just stands there and watches you, as if they were dissecting every movement you made as you quickly descended down to the ground. You surely didn't miss the U.I. hud blink in the corner of your eyes. 

'Repulsor Canons: On Standby'

You made no moves to tell DAHLIA to stand down with the repulsors just in case they weren't friendly. The fact that the person even knew you were there, what with your camo mode on, told you more than enough to warrant caution. Your heart beating thrums through your ears and you barely heard DAHLIA murmur with concern.

"No, not at all. Be careful, doll. The area displays signs of heavy spacial manipulation..."

You didn't ask any questions from that, voice already caught in your throat.

"You come here often?"

It was a lot less cold than you were expecting, but you still kept your helmet on just in case. A blow to the noggin wouldn't be pleasant, but it'd definitely hurt less with it on. 

Even with the helmet helping you, all you could see was a figure draped in robes, and they had a pretty long hood covering their face. They were probably like Strange, as you recognized that orange spark from anywhere... And besides, it was the only logical (despite there being actual fucking magic) explanation considering the only thing surrounding the two of you was mountains and dead grass.

"You are not native to this timeline, Stark."

It shouldn't have been a surprise that she knew who you were- everyone not living under a rock did- but hearing that still made your skin crawl. She knew who you really were- or at least, who you aren't.

"Then you'll know why I'm here."

"Funny of you to say that, when I'm confident not even you know why you're here..."

Your stomach lurched from being called out like that. You didn't know what to say to that- it wasn't like she was wrong. Not at all, actually.

She lifts her hoodie and sends you a smile, but you weren't too sure if you could trust her just yet. But it wasn't like you had much of a choice, considering she might be the one to actually provide you some answers. She waves her hand and orange sparks fly around you as your environment shifts. You step back and watched as building structures appear out of nowhere. It was... Beautiful, despite your hatred for anything that strays from science and into magic. 

"Told you..." DAHLIA whispers. You swallowed down the bile from the visual trip.

"Holy shit..."

The robed lady still looks at you, amusement dancing in her eyes as she nods her head towards the entrance.

"... If you'd like, we can discuss this inside, where it's warm. And we have tea, as well."

"I don't know what to do if I'm being honest with you."

If you were the Ancient One- or how she introduced herself-, you would've kicked yourself out of the temple for coming here half-cocked. You didn't even know where to start with this whole conversation now that you two were settled now.

You avoided her gaze and admired the architectural design inside the temple as you both sat across from each other. Your helmet now retracted as you glanced at your reflection into the cup of tea. Your hair was a mess, but it was tasteful, at least.

"I can see that. To come here with no goal in mind isn't a smart plan."

"But it's better than roaming around willy nilly. It's already bad enough I came so late. Besides... Coming here will at least be an attempt at some closure."

You fiddled with the cup, tracing your finger back and forth over the rim absentmindedly. 

"Closure to what, if I may ask?"

Your eyebrow twitched at the softness of her tone. Your grip on the cup tightened as a shadow loomed over your eyes. She looks at you expectantly and sips. Moments pass before a sigh escapes you and you lean back into the chair, running your hands through your hair.

"... Not too sure myself."

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and assume that, by the law of an unknown force," Sarcasm dripped with every word, but she didn't falter in her gaze, "You can't tell me... What'll happen in the future, huh?"

She shakes her head.

"There are endless possibilities the future holds that restrains me from giving a proper answer that'll satisfy you."

You laughed humorlessly. Great. Of course. What else were you expecting?

A weight settles in your chest, the realization that you might not even get any satisfying answer from this trip- this trip that you had been nervously looking forward to- creeps up your spine. You blink owlishly, and she mirrors your own expression.

"... Can you at least tell me what happens after- after my timeline? Or before I... Before I left?"

"I'm afraid not, Stark."

You licked your lips. Damn.

"I... See."

"I... This is also probably... Something you can't tell me, but... Did I- did I mess up this timeline? By coming back here, to- to 2013, by some miracle?"

She doesn't answer immediately. There was no contemplative expression on her face, rather as she was looking at you it was more like she was trying to figure out what you were thinking rather than vice versa. 

"... You already know the answer to that. Even the slightest discrepancy can derail this timeline's future from, let's say, your timeline's initial course."

"I guess... Yeah, you're right..."

You thought back to the first noticeable inconsistency- the ambush at the HYDRA base. You knew you felt off about it, and your gut took a plunge when you remembered days later- you weren't supposed to be the one to get the file.

It was supposed to be Steve.

There were many more afterward. The apology following that. Your lab being built- you wanted to slap yourself- what the hell were you thinking?! It wasn't supposed to be built until a year later- but here you are, a fully fleshed out lab- that looks nothing like your lab in 2014!

There were many more afterward, but they were so minor you weren't sure if they were meant to happen or not.

Not to mention your new suit- you were trying to bullshit yourself with excuses, that it wouldn't matter if you built it or not, so long as you don't use it.

"... Do you think I should... I don't know... Try and keep the timeline according to mine? Like, let the preventable fights and deaths happen? Or should I just... Try and steer it into a future where we... We have a chance?"

That was the beauty of time travel that many works of fiction played with. With the knowledge of what happens in the future, it was easy to alter it as you see fit. And with that type of knowledge, it held a lot of responsibility to hold back the want to just... Do something different.

Of course, it wouldn't alter your timeline, a timeline that already went through its course- the same course you were going through months ago. Like Bruce- or Professor Hulk?- tried to explain before the time-hopping you all did: if you altered the past, you won't change the current timeline, rather you'd just be creating an alternate timeline, is all.

(It was a shame that meant that you couldn't really go with Rhodey's initial plan to just... locate baby Thanos and... Y'know.)

She shakes her head, almost in silent resignation.

"... I, ultimately, cannot stop you. It is your decision to make, and yours alone."

"I'm just... Scared. What if..." You felt the ground beneath you shift, despite sitting still. Nausea crept into your skin, and you felt like you were being burnt suddenly. You held back from spitting out the bile taste settling in your mouth and opted to grind your teeth together till it went away.

You gripped your head tenderly and sighed, "What if I fucked up that one chance Strange was talking about...?"

"Strange?"

"What?"

She sets her cup, now empty as opposed to your still full cup, and straightens her back. Her eyes held a firmness that made you pull your head away from your hands to look straight at her.

"You mentioned Strange."

"... You know him?"

It was a stupid question to ask, but she didn't seem to mind. You fingers itched to scratch your arm, but you ignored it as she spoke up again.

"Yes. He is destined to become the strongest amongst us, as you should know by now. What did you say about him?"

Blinking, you tried to recall what he had said back when you were on Titan with him. It's been years since then, but you could still remember with slight clarity what he had said to your father that day.

"Oh, I think- he said that- before he- he died- he said something about there being a- a one in like, 14 million possibilities that we win against- well, our bad guy. He said something like, 'it was the only way'. Right before, well... He- uh, died."

It felt weird talking about a dead man- technically, a man who was still alive in this timeline. She pressed her lips in a thin line. She stares at you hard enough to make you want to crawl right out of it, but you knew she'd probably yank you right back.

You could tell she's trying to pick her words carefully, and that was instant red flags to you. What did she know that you didn't? What did she realize that you didn't?

What did she know that'd make her think over her words?

"... Stark..." Your skin prickled, her voice was soft just like earlier. Did she think you were sensitive? "Have you ever considered the possibility that maybe it was destined... For you to be here?"

"What- what do you mean...?"

You gripped hard on the chair's armrest. DAHLIA whispers something into your ears about rising heart rate, but your mind couldn't really process it over the Ancient One's words.

"I mean... Maybe it was fated for you to be here, years before yours, for them to see that one chance of success."

Masterlist

Tagged: @unsolvetheheckoutofit

#avengers x male reader #x male reader #male reader #thor #thor x male reader #male reader insert #restart

[edogawatranslations]

Danganronpa Kirigiri (3) - Chapter 1, Part 1

Table of Contents | Previous: Introduction and Translation Notes

Danganronpa Kirigiri: Volume 3

Chapter 1 - The Boy and the Count

The dawn of a new year.

That was how he referred to it.[1]

What awaited us was quite possibly not simply the turn of the calendar year, but instead, the end of one era and the start of another.

January 7th.

Winter vacation had ended, ushering in the new school term.

The gentle rays of the sun streamed in through the windows, illuminating a row of my classmates’ drowsy faces. Even though the school bell had already signaled the start of class, an air of lethargy still hung over the room. The only hint of liveliness came from the pesky sound of the teacher’s chalk dancing across the blackboard.

Once recess began, I walked over to the middle school classroom.

Kyoko Kirigiri’s seat was empty.

I approached a nearby student, who confirmed to me that she was indeed absent.

—She’s been missing since that day.

That day, when we emerged victorious from the Duel Noir at Norman’s Hotel and witnessed the peculiar sight of the stage curtain behind the murder game unraveling. That place, from where the two of us escaped hand-in-hand, trembling with fear.

Thinking back to it now, parting ways afterwards was a mistake. I should never have let go of her hand. I didn’t stop her from going back to her house, as I believed that to be the safest place for her. After escorting her home, I returned to my dormitory room.

The following week was filled with nothing but ordinary days, devoid of any murder investigations or Duel Noirs. Yet, every waking moment—when I was working on homework, taking a shower, or even lying in my bed—the image of those who died weighed heavily on my mind. My heart was still deeply engrossed in the case. I couldn’t help but think that the peaceful, uneventful hours passing by marked a temporary suspension of reality.

Longing to speak with Kyoko, I tried calling her house, but nobody picked up. Not her, not even her grandfather or her live-in housekeepers. It was the same no matter when I called.

Finding it odd, I decided to stop by her house in person. Pressing the intercom button outside didn’t trigger any response. The surveillance cameras at the gate gazed coldly in my direction. From what I could see of the residence over the tall fence, all the lights were off, and nobody seemed to be home.

Did something happen to Kyoko?

Knowing that she hadn’t been coming to school, my vague anxieties cemented into grave concern.

It was almost as if Kyoko Kirigiri had been whisked away from this world.

Did the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee finally make their move? The organization’s leader, Mikado Shinsen, was somehow connected with Kyoko’s detective grandfather. Perhaps she had gotten entangled in some trouble between the two of them.

If she had been abducted, then it would be up to a detective with a Detective Shelf Classification number of [88]—those specializing in kidnapping cases—to find her. That meant me.

I’ll save her.

—But the way things were, I had no way of knowing if she had actually been kidnapped. She couldn’t have fallen into the hands of the enemy so easily. As the sole daughter of the Kirigiri detective clan, she possessed extraordinary talent and abilities, which I had the pleasure of witnessing with my own eyes many times over.

Just where did Kyoko disappear to?

———

Tracking down missing persons was a detective’s duty.

For my first stop, I decided to pay a visit to the Detective Library, hoping that there would be a message or clue left for me there.

The Detective Library contained an archive of files with information on approximately 65,500 detectives. The collection was open to the public, making it so that anyone could freely browse through at their leisure. Any person seeking information pertaining to a detective would be wise to make it their first priority to come here.

I got off the bus once it reached the Detective Library, and slipped through the old-fashioned gates. The front porch of the building was designed with a western flair, and as I stepped onto it, I once again found myself standing in front of the portal that led to the forest of detectives.

I had come here many times in the past. Just a few days earlier, Kyoko and I had entered through these doors. Yet, on this occasion, standing before the Detective Library inspired not only the usual sense of wonder and mystery, but also a certain feeling of dread that a formidable darkness lay within its walls.

That apprehension was most likely the result of me having been through two Duel Noirs. I couldn’t help but imagine that the dark shadow of the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee was cast over the Detective Library.

On the surface, the Detective Library labeled itself a neutral institution, free from the influence of all outside organizations. But was that really the truth?

Mikado Shinsen, the architect of the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee, was one of the individuals who played a key role in establishing the Detective Library fifteen years ago. The detectives summoned for Duel Noirs were determined on the basis of their DSC rank. Furthermore, the detectives with the highest DSC rank of [000] had apparently joined forces with Shinsen.[2]

Considering the facts, it wouldn’t have been at all surprising if the Detective Library and the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee were secretly conspiring with one another.

If that were the case, then I was about to venture into the enemy base all alone.

Everything was fine. I wasn’t scared—

At least, I hadn’t been before I stepped off the bus.

To compensate for my fright, I marched through the doors towards the counter with my head held high, though I don’t think I was able to completely mask the fear on my face.

“Are there any messages for me?” I asked, flashing my Detective Library ID card to the grizzle-haired staff member at the counter. The thought that he could be part of the sinister organization crossed my mind.

He took my card into his hands and glanced at it before shaking his head. “There are none.”

“Then... Please update my record,” I requested.

With sluggish movements, the employee turned to the nearby computer and inserted my card into the terminal.

After a brief moment, he said, “There are no updates for you.”

“Wait, really?”

The employee gave a silent nod and handed me back my card.

Sure, maybe I wasn’t much help during the last Duel Noir, but I still expected my rank to increase by at least one. Alas, reality was unforgiving.

I stepped away from the counter and made my way into the archive room.

Countless files lined the organized rows of bookcases. The room was deserted and still, with the silence broken only by the sound of my footsteps echoing off the lofty ceiling. I weaved through the aisles until I reached the [9] section—homicide detectives.

I located Kyoko’s file, pulled it out, and flipped it open.

Nothing in her file had changed since the last time I visited. There was still not a single word written about the Norman’s Hotel case. It was possible that there was no record because Kyoko wasn’t summoned as the detective for that Duel Noir.

No, but the Sirius Observatory case was clearly listed in her file, even though she hadn’t been selected as the detective back then either.

Then, perhaps no record of the case existed because it hadn’t been made public. There were no reports of the case on TV or in the newspapers.

An idea suddenly popped into my head. I shuffled over to the [900] shelf and found the file for Suisei Nanamura, the double-zero class detective summoned for the Norman’s Hotel case.

His file overflowed with his glowing accomplishments. However, nothing alluded to the conclusion of the most recent case. Detectives who passed away normally had their profile column updated with their year of death, but Nanamura’s file contained nothing of the sort.

I had no doubt that Nanamura was dead. After all, he shot his head with a pistol, right before my very eyes. His body, along with the entire hotel, folded into the scenery and vanished into thin air.

Mikado Shinsen had folded his handkerchief inches from my face, and at the same time, the scenery behind it had been folded up as well. The whole scenario felt like a dream.

But Kyoko assured me that all of it was real.

“His handkerchief prevented you from witnessing the scene, but I can confirm that the hotel flipped into the ground,” she said.

“‘Flipped into’?”

After the case had concluded, the two of us returned to investigate where the hotel had stood, and we discovered the slightest of gaps beneath the base of the wall encompassing the area. According to Kyoko, the hotel had been standing on a thick board-like foundation that had a revolving axis running through its center, forming a mechanism that made it possible to flip the building into the ground to transform the property into a vacant plot of land. The wall served as camouflage, obscuring the gaps in the dirt.

Kyoko nodded. “You theorized that the walls in the hotel rooms rotated to create the locked rooms. But it wasn’t the walls that could flip—it was the building itself.”

The reason Mikado Shinsen used his handkerchief to block my view was likely to momentarily conceal the apparatus. A trick often used by magicians and illusionists alike.

Kyoko continued, “A device of unimaginable proportions would be required to smoothly rotate a building that large into the ground without making a sound. Perhaps all the locations used for Duel Noirs have mechanisms set up that allow them to appear and disappear in the blink of an eye. The buildings are normally kept out of sight, and only surface when a murder game is about to unfold.”

“Then how do you explain the surrounding scenery being folded up and vanishing?”

“I think it did exactly that—folded up and vanished. The background was likely designed so that it could be easily disassembled at any time, like folding backdrops used in plays. Since we can think of Duel Noirs as a kind of production, it wouldn’t be strange if even the scenery was constructed as part of the stage.”

Kyoko expressed confidence in her theory, but I couldn’t shake my skepticism. The Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee planned numerous crimes in many different locations. Did they really have the capacity to design all those elaborate devices and portable sceneries? All the money in the world didn’t seem like enough to accomplish that.

Money wasn’t the only limiting factor. The organization also needed a sufficient number of stagehands. Preparing and dismantling the set required a considerable amount of manpower, but the more people involved in the production, the more vulnerable the organization was to having its secrets leaked.

And yet, Duel Noirs were still being held without arousing public suspicion. Who knew how many challenges had been issued? However large the organization was, it must have been extremely meticulous and methodical in its affairs.

Just how many people were involved with the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee? Was I simply too oblivious to realize that I was walking amongst its rank and file every day?

That thought caused chills to run through my body.

When Shinsen and the other Committee members left the scene that day, they made clear to us their tremendous financial power and their organizational capacity. And perhaps more terrifying, their ability to turn even the most ridiculous nightmares into reality...

If I had more thoroughly searched the scene back then, maybe I could’ve at least unearthed Nanamura’s corpse. As long as he and the other victims’ bodies remained undiscovered, the case would likely never see the light of day.

I let out a heavy sigh and returned Nanamura’s file back to its place on the shelf.

Perhaps a great number of the detectives listed in these archives were associates of the Crime Victims’ Salvation Committee.

Then, how many truly dignified detectives remained in the world? Even the triple-zero class detectives, who commanded the respect of many, belonged to the enemy camp.

I couldn’t let my guard down. The scene before me right this instant may very well have been a manufactured illusion.

With Kyoko missing, there was nobody whom I could place my trust in. How would I go about discerning between fact and fiction?

In the end, the Detective Library offered no clues relating to Kyoko’s whereabouts.

Since the library’s closing time drew near, I started making my way to the room’s exit. My eyes may have been playing tricks on me, but the room seemed to grow ever-so-slightly dimmer. The lamp above the door flickered on.

In the faint light, I motioned to step through the door frame, when all of a sudden—

A figure appeared, slipped past me, and entered the room.

A sweet scent lingered after them and found its way into my nostrils. The smell wasn’t artificial like a perfume; it was more pleasant and nostalgic, something that reminded me of flowers blooming at dawn.

The person who passed me was a young boy with bright, colorful hair.

He was dressed in a vest like an adult, with a suit jacket draped over his right arm. Without making a sound, he continued walking. I only managed to catch a glimpse of his face the split second we passed one another, but it was enough to make me gulp.

I had seen him somewhere before.

He wasn’t someone from my past, however. Rather, he reminded me of an angel in one of those religious paintings, or a sprite from a fairy tale gamboling in the sunlight. He was a pretty boy who looked strangely familiar, yet whose existence had to be that of a phantasmal being not of this world.

I spun around to try to get another look at him, but he had already disappeared. The faint aroma lingering in the air indicated where he went.

I felt like I had just seen a ghost.

Was that kid looking for a detective?

Something about him captured my imagination, but I decided not to dwell on things any further, and left the Detective Library empty-handed. To me, finding Kyoko was more important than wondering about some mysterious boy.

[1] (TN: "He” being Mikado Shinsen at the end of Volume 2.) [2] (TN: At the end of Volume 2, Yui and Kyoko see two of the three triple-zero class detectives—Gekka Ryuuzouji and Johnny Arp—leaving the scene of the hotel with Mikado Shinsen.)

Next: Chapter 1, Part 2

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