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midnightfictionlibrary · 10 months

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Saccharine - Dick Winters x FemNurse!Reader

Saccharine - Dick Winters x FemNurse!Reader

Word Count : 1.9k

Warnings : mentions of war, wounds, slight jealousy (barely)

Summary : Three Times Dick Winters Wanted to Confess His Feelings and The One Time He Did

A/N : Hello, the next fic after this will be the winner of the WIP poll. This one was tickling my brain though, so I had to write it! This fic is based on the fictional depiction in the miniseries Band of Brothers, not the real veterans. I hope you enjoy it and as always, pls like and reblog if you’d like to see more <;33

Shortly After You Met

You were quickly wrapping bandages, stocking the medics’ bags, making sure morphine was ready, and generally cleaning house. Keeping clean conditions was a little more difficult in the position you were all in, but you liked to make sure the medics felt even partially clean and organized.

“Well look at that..” you hear a voice behind you and you turn slightly, recognizing Dick Winters. You smile at him, eyes lighting up when you register that Doc Roe is standing next to him.

“Just the men I wanted to see.” You hand a fully stocked aid kit to Doc “At the ready for use.” You lower your voice. “Don’t tell anybody but I gave my favorite company medic a few extra bandages.” Roe nods thoughtfully with a little laugh and takes his aid kit from you.

Your eyes slide to Winters, smile brightening for him. “Hello Lieutenant Winters.”

Dick pauses for a moment before answering you, your smile disarming him. Never had he seen you smile so brightly at him. He would have figured you would have reserved such sweet smiles for someone like Doc.

Doc was looking between the two of you, eyebrows scrunched together a bit. Lieutenant Winters wasn’t a very talkative man, sure, but he seemed dumbstruck by you.

“Hello, Nurse.” Dick says quietly. “Always a pleasure to see you.” He gives you a small, polite smile. You duck your head slightly, trying to hide the scarlet blush creeping up your cheeks. Dick pretends not to notice, but is secretly very pleased that he’s had this effect on you.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. Such kind words for such difficult times bring me great comfort.” You fiddle absentmindedly with the spare piece of gauze in your hand, your calloused fingers looking so rough, but your touch being so gentle.

“Nurse!” You hear someone call. “NURSE!” You head turns quickly and you notice a young man dragging his half conscious friend behind him. You drop the spare gauze in your hands and rush over, immediately pushing yourself under the unconscious young man’s other shoulder. You can see his lower leg is torn up, the blood mingling with his shredded trousers. You guide both men to a cot and as you reach for the makeshift curtain you lock eyes with Dick Winters, who looks as if he wants to say something to you. Before he opens his mouth, you close the curtain, turning to the wounded soldier.

“I need a surgeon!” You yell, beginning with staunching blood flow. Once another nurse arrives, you pause, wiping your hands quickly and ripping open a sulfa powder packet with your teeth, sprinkling it on the unconscious man’s leg.

Dick watches you from afar, admiring how you seem so sure of yourself. He can barely tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. He shakes himself out of his reverie and exits the aid station with Doc Roe.

2. When He Just Happened To Walk By

You were standing outside the aid station, taking a small breather. You knew you were meant to help people, it had just seemed like a calling, but watching men take their last breaths takes a toll on a person, and you needed to leave the stuffy confines of your post for a moment.

“Oh. Hello.” You hear, and you look up, surprised to see Lieutenant Winters. “I just happened to be walking by and thought I would come say hello.” What you didn’t know is that he had given himself a papercut on purpose so he could come speak to you directly. Finding that you were already there, he forgot all about his self-inflicted cut and approached you carefully.

You can’t help but smile at him. Of course, you smiled at many of the men, but something about Winters made you want to smile whenever you saw him. “Hello, Lieutenant Winters.” You say politely. Dick arches an eyebrow and looks down at you.

“Please, call me Dick.” He says, one corner of his mouth quirking up at you, and you grin at him. His heart feels like it seized a bit, and he realizes that seeing you is something he keeps finding himself seeking out.

“Okay.” You say sweetly. “Nice to meet you, Dick.”

Now it’s Dick’s turn to grin at you. “Nice to meet you.” His blue eyes sparkle at you and you turn back to look at the road.

Dick clears his throat. “You know, I -“

You turn to look at him again and he falters. He’s too nervous to tell you just how much he enjoys seeing you.

“Never mind. I seem to have lost my train of thought, Nurse.” He looks down briefly at the finger with the paper cut and you notice, gently taking his hand in yours. Dick’s heart skips a beat and you examine his finger.

“Just a small paper cut. Do you want a bandage?” You say, looking up at him with what he swears is the sweetest expression he’s ever seen.

He shakes his head slowly at you. “No, no. Save it for a man who needs it.” You notice that he doesn’t move his hand out of yours right away, and you like it. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a small crush on the lieutenant, and when it felt like he sought you out just to say hello, you were elated.

“You’re a noble man,Lieutenant. Braving that paper cut all by yourself.” You tease him, lowering both your hands gently. You bring your hand up and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, aware of his eyes on you.

“Well, someone has to do it.” He jokes lightly back.

The two of you stand outside the aid station, a small smile playing on both your lips.

3. The Ricochet

You would be lying if you said you weren’t panicked. There was a rumor running through that Dick Winters had been shot, and you were running around the station, gathering whatever it was you thought might help. The other nurses glanced between themselves, knowing that Winters was important to you, even if you wouldn’t admit it.

You make sure there’s a cot ready, waiting to see Doc Roe rush in, yelling at the others that a surgeon was needed, that Dick was losing too much blood, that he might not make it.

When Dick walks in, limping, you stand there, shocked.

He was standing upright.

Dick raises his eyes and notices you, limping towards you. “Just the nurse I need to see.” You stare at him, unsure how to react, what to say. If your silence wasn’t embarrassing enough, you could feel tears pricking at your eyes. “Are…are you alright?” You look as if you may faint, and Dick reaches his hand out to cup your elbow gently.

You blink a few times, looking up at him. Then you look down at his feet, remembering that he had limped over to meet you. “I…oh my, I’m so sorry.” You say, guiding him to a chair. Sitting opposite him, you just shake your head. “I…um. They told me you had been shot. That it might be bad.”

Dick’s eyebrows raise, now understanding why you seemed to be worried. “Oh, no. No, sweetheart, it’s just a ricochet wound.”

You pretend not to notice the “sweetheart” that slipped from his lips as he lifted his leg for you to examine. It truly wasn’t as bad as you had been told, and you clean and bandage it quickly. “You need to try and stay off this leg.”

He shakes his head at you. “I can’t.”

You smile sadly at him. “I know.”

He leans forward and smiles softly at you, lifting your hand and bringing it to his lips. “Thank you, nurse.”

4. The Night George Luz Asked You To Dance

Dick didn’t know why his stomach felt like someone had reached into and grabbed it with an iron fist.

But Nixon did. As he follows Dick’s gaze he notices you, happily dancing with George Luz. He sees you throw your head back in a laugh and swears he sees Dick’s jaw jump.

The men and most of the nurses were drinking, dancing, having a general good time before everything crumbled and went haywire. It almost felt normal, but what about war could ever be normal? Dick clears his throat and looks down at his feet briefly, noticing that the song had slowed down considerably, and you were now in Luz’s arms, swaying slightly to the soft music in the background.

Nixon is still glancing at Dick when he sees his friend cross the room and cut in, taking you in to the same slow dance you had just been dancing with Luz.

Dick looks down at you. “You look lovely tonight.”

You smile up at him, blushing slightly. “How many pretty nurses have you said that to tonight?” You see his eyes soften considerably and he chuckles.

“Only one.” You blush openly now as Dick draws you in, his cheek resting gently against your head as you sway to the music.

“How’s your leg doing?” You ask quietly, and you hear Winters hum.

“Sore. I’m just lucky I had such a tender nurse.”

You pull your head back to look at him, finding him ready to meet your eyes.

“I have to confess that it’s easy being a nurse to such a kind man.” You say, and Dick smiles at you.

“I have to confess something as well.” He says, his eyes searching yours. “I think you are the nicest girl I’ve ever met.” He pauses, turning you slightly as the two of you sway to the song. “And I find myself thinking about you more and more.”

You swallow, your eyes flicking across his face. “Is that so?”

He nods, watching your face. You feel his arm around your back gently pull you closer again. He’s always gentle with you, like he thinks you might break.

“I’ve thought about you a lot too. I think you may know that I care about you…given my reaction to your wound.”

Dick’s heart skips a beat at this confession, and he takes his hand to softly cup under your chin, pulling your eyes to meet him. “When this is over, let me take you dancing properly.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop dancing with me now when given the chance?” You ask, eyebrows scrunched together in fake anguish.

Dick laughs, gently lifting your chin again. “May I kiss you?”

You can’t speak, you just nod. He leans in, his lips touching yours ever so gently.

It was saccharine, and when he pulls away from you, you can’t help but grin widely at him as he rests his forehead on yours. “What’s that pretty little smile for?”

You shrug slightly. “Just terribly happy that you think about me as much as I think about you.”

“I have ever since I first laid eyes on you, sweetheart.”

You smile to yourself, feeling like you might burst with the butterflies that were fluttering in your stomach.

From afar, Lewis Nixon stands with a drink in his hand, a small smile on his lips, happy that Dick had finally plucked up the courage to gather you in his arms.

#dick winters x reader #dick winters #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #bob fanfic #bob hbo #george luz #lewis nixon #doc roe #dick winters fanfiction #Richard winters x reader #band of brothers x reader

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that-gt-and-vore-stuffs · 3 years

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Desires and Daydreams

Me: oh yeah I’ll have this edited and out by tomorrow morning! Also Me: Ha! Sike! Time fo post at night again :)

All in all I’m so sorry this took so long for me to get out. A busy week with ball fucked me over time and energy wise. However, I now have a full 7k word fic for y’all so that’s good! I quite literally just finished editing this so I hope it’s as good as my mind told me it was about two minutes ago. Especially considering it’s a little gift of sorts for the amazing @doodlevore (AKA I saw this gem of a drawing, flipped out for a hot minute, and then decided it was writing time) Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy and I hope I did your artwork justice Doodle :)

As always, Vore under the cut :)

“Aw c’mon Doc!” the man halfheartedly whined as he attempted again to grab the small ‘medic’. Once more 2b had ducked under his hand, glaring up at him through his goggles. The taller of the two just laughed at the sight, near daggers of teeth glimmering through his toothy grin. No way in hell could he take that glare seriously like this. “You act like I was planning to hurt you. You really think I’m gonna hurt ya?”

“No,” 2b started, halting his words momentarily to dodge another attempted swipe at him. Getting caught by the man wouldn’t be the worst thing, sure - hell, he could name several things automatically worse than being grabbed by him in this hellscape of Nevada - however that did not mean that he wanted to be scooped up like some doll and put through whatever his teammate had in mind for him and the other two who were both currently busy dodging the taller’s other hand. Again his glare settled on the younger hacker. “But that does not mean I’m going to keel over and let you do whatever, Deimos. Now would you stop trying to grab us for five minutes!”

“But what’s the fun in that?” Deimos protested, swiping at Hank only for the shrunken mercenary to vault themself over his hand. Go figure, he was still going to be difficult. Hell, they all were. When he was the smallest of the group he was at their mercy and even went with it half the time, but the moment he got to have some fun they all decided to be as difficult as possible. In all honesty it wasn’t as bad as he was making it seem. Watching them run around like little mice was pretty entertaining. That didn’t mean he didn’t have plans he wanted to follow through with though! Whatever, he’d play their games for now. He’d get them eventually, and when he did he’d have his fun. “I’d stop if you all would just stand still for five seconds, but no. You all clearly wanna play so I’m gonna keep up the cat and mouse game we’ve got going.”

“But that- Deimos, you aren’t getting my point here at all!” 2b yelled up at the man, ducking under yet another swipe at him made by the youngest of their little crew. He was fairly certain it was impossible to miss what he was saying so either Deimos was less intelligent then he had grown to suspect over the years or he was flat out ignoring the man’s request to quit trying to grab them. A brief comparison of the two had crossed out the former option rather quickly. That cocky, smoking son of a gun. “Sanford! A little help?”

“Why me?” The Chad of a man yelled back as he scrambled to his feet after having to get down to avoid being grabbed. In the back of his mind he already had a sneaking suspicion as to why he was asked. He wasn’t stupid after all.

“He usually listens to you better than me!” The older hacker shot back, nearly running into Hank as he prepared himself for the next ‘attack’.

“So we’re playing that card now. Good to know.” Sanford grumbled softly, no real venom in his tone. 2b was right, at least in most contexts. He probably was the closest to Deimos out of them all and the other two’s usual intimidating approach to get Deimos to listen really wouldn’t work with them the size of the man’s hand. A sigh tugged itself from his throat as he directed his words up at the seemingly giant hacker. “Dei, c’mon now. Can’t you quit with the whole trying to grab us thing? It’s- AH!- not all that fun!”

“Damnit.” Deimos cursed under his breath, having missed Sanford yet again. Who knew trying to just grab his teammates would be so difficult. It was definitely fun, this little game of cat and mouse like in those old cartoons he’d managed to pirate, but it was still harder than he expected to actually grab them. Guess not everything gets to come easy. Or maybe he was going too easy… “Maybe not for you. Just stand still and make it easier on yourself if you’re having such a bad time.”

“That’s- Dei, you chucklehead, quit the games already and stop trying to grab us like rodents!”

Deimos just shook his head, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. His grin still stood proud on his face in all its sharp toothed glory. This was too much fun to give up so easily. Really, they expected him to quit the moment he started having fun? Please. He’d gone through too much to waste his opportunity. Getting his hands on shrinking tech had to be the best thing that’s ever happened to him, despite the difficulties and hurdles he had to jump to do such a thing. What had been a normal, boring day with no missions had turned into him watching his three shrunken teammates dash across the worn table while dodging his attempts to grab them. He was going to enjoy this, whether they liked it or not. Call this revenge for all the times he was teased for being the smallest out of all of them, or call it him being an ass. He didn’t care. For once the younger hacker wasn’t the small one in the group and boy did he have plans for it. Oh he had plans…

“Mmm…how ‘bout no.” Deimos hummed, slamming a hand down on the table next to 2b. Just as he’d hoped the man tensed, trying to keep himself steady on the shaking table. His eyes locked onto the temporarily paralyzed unofficial medic like a hawk’s to its prey, smirk morphing into a full on grin. Without hesitation he grabbed the man in a firm fist. There was one of the three. “Ha! Gotcha Doc~!”

“Mmgh- I can see that, Deimos. Now put me down!” 2BDamned didn’t shout at his teammates often. There were a few times he did, yes. Prime examples of such times included (but weren’t limited to) tracking blood all over the base, doing something absolutely reckless and facing the consequences, not following the plans they had for missions, etc. Not once had he expected to ever be yelling at one of them, specifically the smallest of their team, to put him down. Hank? Maybe. Sanford? Long shot but not impossible. Deimos? No. And yet here he was, trapped within the grasp of the younger hacker with seemingly no way to escape. It’s not like the little wiggling that his loose enough to be breathable yet tight confines could do was helping much.

“But what if I don’t wanna, Doc?” Deimos hummed, resting his other hand on the table for the first time in the past twenty-five minutes that he’d been trying to grab the others. “What if I wanna keep you trapped in my fist for the rest of the day huh? Maybe longer. It’s not like you can exactly free yourself, now can you? Huh? You gonna wiggle yourself out of my hand, 2b? Claw your way out like some baby kitten?”

“I swear to Jebus, once we’re back to normal I am going to kill you myself.” The dissenter growled, trying again to free himself from his confines. He could only imagine how utterly idiotic he looked, wiggling around like some fish out of water in Deimos’s hand. Talk about humiliating.

“Sure you will. Sure.” Deimos rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he thought through his next moves. He could just grab the other two and get on with his plans but…oh that ruined the fun of the chase! His plans and stomach could wait, he wanted to enjoy this just a little longer. Now what could he do to achieve such a thing? “And besides, that’s an ‘if’ to you, Doc. If you get back to normal. Can’t do that without my help after all, so maybe you should let me have my fun~”

“I will. Don’t think I- wait. What?” Well now that wasn’t something anyone stuck at four inches tall wanted to hear. Yes, he could probably figure out how the hell Deimos shrunk him (assuming that the hacker had gotten the information and technology from the AAHW) however Deimos had at least a bit of a point. Things would be so much easier, faster, and less dangerous if he just reversed whatever the hell he did. He….he fucking planned this. He- oh the younger hacker was in some deep shit once they were back and he was the smallest again.

“Mmm you heard me, 2b. Getting you three back requires the help of me, unless you’d rather be crushed under the boot of some agent trying to get back to normal yourselves.” Deimos hummed, his words practically swimming in cockiness. “And I don’t think any of us want that. So either you let me have my fun, or you three get to stay pocket sized until you do.”

“Deimos, don’t you even think about it.” Hank growled, eyes narrowing behind his goggles as he stepped closer to the hacker. Being this small was bad enough. It wasn’t like a MAG agent where they weren’t completely dwarfed in size. No. He was stuck the size of a fucking mouse being toyed with by their basically gigantic teammate. And to top it all off the threat of being stuck at this size now loomed over the mercenary’s head. Just fucking wonderful.

“Aw but what if I did, Hank?” The hacker asked with a raise of his eyebrow, turning his attention from the medic in his fist to the shrunken killing machine that was now glaring at him over his arm. It really was something else to see them so tiny when they usually towered over everyone. How the tables turn. “I would think this is a nice situation for you. So long as you’re hidden it’s not like the Agency could find you now. No ones gonna look for a four inch tall Hank, now are they- Hey! Sanford!”

The mentioned man’s head lifted from where he had landed on the table, 2b now laying next to him after a less than graceful ‘rescue’ from the younger hacker’s hand. His feet scrambled against the old table, attempting to gain enough traction to allow for him to stand. For a moment he looked as if he were trying to stand on ice, feet slipping out from beneath him. The doctor beside him wasn’t doing much better in the department of getting to his feet. Judging by the disappointed stare he felt burning two holes into his chest once he finally got to his feet, Hank wasn’t all that impressed with their sudden lack of coordination either. Wait, no. Hank could come later. Right now he had to deal with the giant Deimos that was currently pouting at him.

“Sorry Dei, but I’m siding with Doc here. Just put us back to normal before Hank decides to find a way to kill you at this size.” As Sanford spoke a tone far less confident then he had hoped for laced his words. Something that probably doomed him to not be listened to. Judging by the new level of cocky smeared across the hacker’s face? He was right too. Well shit. That didn’t help anything.

“Hmm…maybe but, and hear me out, I’ve got a better idea.” No one had to ask exactly what Deimos’ ‘better idea’ was. He was all too happy to demonstrate it, Hank quickly finding himself laying flat against the table with the hacker’s hand pinning him in place. The small shocked grunt from the mercenary didn’t go unnoticed by the other two, their eyes darting to their now trapped teammate. Both failed to notice the brief warning look in Hank’s eyes behind his goggles until it was too late, a warm calloused hand pinning them to the rough grain of the wood. Well, there went the idea of escape.

A sharp laugh chased away the silence that had previously filled the air. Beneath the rim of his visor two eyes simply watched as the three small forms writhed beneath his hands. Proof of the point he had been trying to prove. The point that his three shrunken teammates had wanted to be false. No way to escape now. Not unless he allowed for it, that is. A small lightbulb lit up in his head at the thought. The idea was tempting, were he to be completely honest with himself. Give his friends hope only to crush it like a spent cig under his boot once more by trapping them in a new way. Oh but then there was the option of dangling freedom just in front of them. That was an idea…and there were so many more possibilities too. In the back of his head a small voice attempted to grab Deimos’ attention. Yelling at him in every way it could think of that even thinking about doing that to his friends was wrong, even if it was playful at its roots. He shouldn’t do such a thing to them! Though, thinking logically, there was no way they wouldn’t do the same or something similar were their positions switched. Deimos knew that much, being the shortest of their gang. A soft scoff sounded from his throat, mind made up on the matter. Unfortunately for the three pinned to the table, in the end the voice of reason was all too easily ignored by the younger hacker as he adjusted to lean forward in his chair. The smell of cigarette smoke grew in strength with each hum that passed the man’s lips, the three pinned beneath his hands only able to watch as things seemed to get worse for them.

“Heh. Much better.” Deimos said with a smile, gladly ignoring the glares he was now getting from his little friends. “Now what shall I do with you-“

Ggnnnrrrr……

“-three….”

Anyone with half a mind would think that after being interrupted by your stomach you would be embarrassed and most likely apologize. The three shrunken men on the table thought that after being interrupted by his stomach Deimos would be embarrassed and probably laugh it off. Maybe even give them a chance to run without thinking. What they didn’t expect was for him to start laughing. A deep chuckle from the back of his throat too, not just an embarrassed little giggle. It was a genuine fucking laugh. First off, why the hell was he laughing? Second, what the hell did that mean for them? After a moment of thought one thing became clear. As much as they didn’t want to admit it, the three knew what the answer to the second question was long before it was even asked. Nothing good. That’s what it meant. Especially not with that dumb grin still sitting on his face. 2b, eyes locked on Deimos’ expression, had opened his mouth to attempt prying an answer out of the younger. Before a single word could leave his lips, however, his world was flipped on its head.

Literally.

For a brief second everything stopped. The warmth and pressure from the hand holding him to the table disappeared, cold washing over him and sending a shiver down his spine. That’s when a new type of pressure appeared. It was still rough and warm, the grip of a calloused hand for sure, but it was much more concentrated than just smashing him to the table. Specifically around his right ankle. His eyes couldn’t go ‘dinner plate wide’ any faster than they did the moment he felt said pressure appear. The less-than-manly scream he had heard beside him roughly half a second earlier started to make a lot more sense by the millisecond. Especially once he was dragged backwards and up, a very similar noise escaping himself. For a brief moment everything spun before his sight leveled out. What he didn’t want to see was Deimos grinning at him. Upside down.

“Annnd there we go. Sanford, Hank, I hope you guys still have a good grip at this size~.” The hacker jabbed, grinning at the little chain his friends had formed once he started picking them up. Pinched between his thumb, pointer, and middle finger was Hank’s torso. They were currently holding onto Sanford’s ankle, looking less than pleased with the situation they were in. Sanford was gripping onto the ankle of 2BDamned as he dangled, worry painting over his features. Then there was 2b, dangling at the end of the chain upside down with a look quite similar to Hank’s plastered on his face. All in all, quite the interesting little chain they made up as he leaned back in the chair.

“Damn straight. You two drop me and you’re dead.” The ‘medic’ grumbled, all too willing to make his displeasure known.

“Aw, don’t you worry, Doc. If they drop you I’ll make sure you have a nice, soft, warm landing~”

“Well I’m sorry I don’t want to be dropped on my hea- Deimos, what the genuine fuck does that mean?” He shouldn’t have asked. The moment after the words left his mouth 2b knew he never should have asked what the younger hacker had meant with his words. Dangling over the man’s lap having to stare him in the face while upside down wasn’t ideal. Absolutely not. However, he found much preferred it to dangling inches above Deimos’ open jaws, the smell of cigarette smoke laced breath hitting him almost as hard as the realization of just how sharp the man’s teeth were. He supposed he never noticed with Dei a. rarely ever purposely showing them off, and b. him being smaller than the older hacker. That didn’t stop him from mentally smacking himself upside the head for not taking more notes of it sooner though. Especially when he was getting so…up close and personal with them now. Fuck he was close to those daggers.

“Dei- Dei, think about this!” Sanford shouted as he stared down at the sight of the man’s open mouth, praying that his friend would listen to at least some reason. Sure, they gave him shit for being the smallest of the group often. He especially did. Not once though had he, or the other two as far as he knew, expected that said teasing would lead to them possibly having to spend the day trapped in said hacker’s gut though. If they had, they would have backed off a little. But now the threat was more present than ever. And knowing Deimos? It might be longer than a day too. He wouldn’t put it past the man at all. Jebus Christ….

“Oh I have San. We’re past that point now.” Deimos hummed, his tongue lazily snaking itself over his lips as he glanced over the string of teammates that dangled from his hand. Slowly his stare became distant, his mind beginning to wander. Just how would each of them taste exactly? Would they all taste the same? But what if they each tasted different? Now wouldn’t that be something. Perhaps he wasn’t too far off picturing Sanford as a juicy sausage in his little moments to himself. Oh that would be perfect. The warm feeling of drool trailed itself lazily down his chin, each thought regarding the possible tastes of his friends encouraging an empty rumble from his midsection. He just had to find out now.

“Deimos, lower me any further and I’ll make sure you choke to death.” The man only laughed, eyes fluttering shut as he opened his mouth once more.

“Sorry Doc. ‘S too late to stop now.” Any screams of protest from his teammates fell on deaf ears as Deimos lowered the end of the little chain into his mouth. Immediately he was hit with the taste of black coffee, hints of iron, and oddly enough what tasted like whisky poking through and tickling his tongue. The soft, pleased hum escaped him long before he could even think to stop it, his mind far more focused on getting that flavor to coat his tastebuds than his actions or the saliva steadily dripping down his chin.

2BDamned had a different opinion on the matter. Specifically about the claim that it was ‘too late.’ It was not too fucking late. In fact, it was anything but. Deimos’s mouth, which absolutely reeked of cigarettes might he add, was still wide open. He wasn’t slipping down the tight tube he could see in front of him yet. He was being rolled around and licked over like some sort of candy, something which he apparently had to remind Deimos he wasn’t with a smack to the tongue. Sharp teeth surrounded the unofficial doctor on both sides, Sanford’s grip on his ankle still like iron despite the saliva now thoroughly coating his body. Try as he might to push himself out with his hands they only slipped and slid across the wet surface of Deimos’s tongue. Far too similar to how he was steadily slipping backwards.

“Dei…Dei, you can pull us out now…” Sanford yelled up to the man, ducking his head between his arms to avoid the feeling of daggers dragging down his head and neck. Jebus, his teeth really were sharper up close. The white knuckled grip he held on 2b’s ankle refused to budge as he slipped further in, eyes locked into the sight before him. Not once did he ever expect to watch the older hacker slowly disappear down his best friend’s throat with nothing he could do but hold on and pray. Yet here he was. Fuck. “Dei-!!”

“Sanford, don’t even bother at this point.” 2b groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. Deimos wasn’t going to listen to shit. That much was clear now if it wasn’t an hour and a half ago when they’d woken up in his hands. He didn’t want to admit it, not by a long shot, however as he slid further back there wasn’t any way the dissenter could convince himself otherwise. He, and the other two, were doomed. “He’s not going to-“

Ulp~

“…..listen. God damnit.” What else was he to even expect at this point?

Try as hard as he might, Sanford found he couldn’t grip the unofficial doctor’s ankle any tighter. Not without the possibility of breaking something, considering that he most likely had already passed the ‘try not to bruise the man’ stage. No doubt the clearly handprint shaped black and blue bruise would be there in a day tops. A scolding was nearly cemented in his future now, however Sanford couldn’t find it in himself to complain about it. Compared to the hole Deimos was digging himself, with a smile on his face no less, he’d gladly take the talking to. Speaking of the hacker, either he was genuinely out of it for some reason or he was just trying to be a grade A dick.

“Deimos!! Cut it out, man!” He yelled, trying his hardest to squirm away from the licks and shifting of the man’s tongue. Unfortunately for him, nothing seemed to work. It started at his hands but all too quickly the sensation of a wet tongue dragging itself up, over, and around the pyromaniac’s arms and to his torso. The dark lenses of his signature glasses fogged over with each warm breath that washed over his body. Goosebumps dotted all exposed skin, any fabric quickly becoming drenched with saliva. The sensations slowly crawled their way down Sanford’s body, more of him no longer dangling and instead slipping across the hacker’s tongue by the moment. He watched his hands, and by extension Doc’s feet, slowly slip beyond his vision into the void-like entrance of Deimos’ throat. His arms followed not long after, the darkness enveloping more of his vision by the second. Talk about a way to spend your day.

Glk~

A soft groan rumbled around the shrunken men, the sound’s maker all too lost in his thoughts. Tastes of warm sausage, coffee, and the lingering hints of whisky and iron danced across his tongue. Each lick up the parts of Sanford’s body which remained momentarily in his mouth brought a shiver up through his spine. With each second the small body inched further back, pulling his hand toward his mouth. His fingers and the body pinned between them slipped past the hacker’s lips with ease. Layers of cloth, along with the occasional sensation of scarred skin, pressed against his tongue. The taste of a rare steak and a much stronger metallic hint, again not unlike that of blood but somehow much more pleasant, seemed all too eager to attack his taste buds. His spine seemed to reduce itself to jello in a matter of seconds, relying on the backrest of his chair for support. The smoker pulled his fingers from his mouth with a small pop, jaws shutting around his final shrunken teammate and leaving his mind to ponder over the tastes and sensation attacking his mouth and mind alike.

The word ‘still’ had been completely wiped from Deimos’s dictionary, if it had even been there to begin with. At least that’s what Hank would have told anyone who asked. His eyes had narrowed behind his red tinted goggles and now they seemed to grow thinner with each movement from the muscle beneath him. As if the heat and lingering cigarette smell from the hacker’s breath weren’t enough, the wet feeling of saliva continued to sneak itself into every fiber of his being. First his skin, then lighter clothing items like his bandana and mask, and finally seeping through his coat and multiple other layers of clothing. And just what was a better cherry on top then being rolled around near constantly. Every moment they seemed to find themself in a new position within the confines of the young hacker’s mouth. While their grip remained on Sanford’s ankles, the same could in no way be said for his patience with the man who had caused this hell by shrinking them. He swore, Deimos better enjoy his time being able to hold them like dolls because the moment they were back to normal the man would be getting a firm taste of his own medicine. Whether it be by him serving as lunch or by another form of revenge was yet to be decided. Hank could only plot so much, though. Despite how much more bearable he found thinking about a way to ‘return the favor’ to Deimos to be, he needed to at least show a little of his own irritation to the man. After all, he wasn’t just some snack. They were still Hank J. Wimbledon god damn it, and they’d prove it if they had to. How he would do that remained a mystery for what felt like hours of constant licking and flipping…until said proof came. It came in the form of a kick to the inside of Deimos’ teeth. A kick which sent him sliding backwards-

Ulk-

Glp~

And the oddly shaped lump in Deimos’ throat disappearing behind his collarbone.

Deimos’ eyes had widened in shock, a hand quickly pressing itself to his throat as it happened. In his opinion, it happened too quickly. All too fast the warm weight disappeared from his mouth, pushing itself backwards with force into his throat. Far too soon did he lose the previously vivid taste of barely cooked meat and metal, leaving him with only the memory and lingering fragments of it like the other two tastes. Too quickly had the lump in his throat been pushed down by two final swallows, disappearing down behind his collarbone. For a moment he sat there in silence, the room lacking sound except for his heavy breathing. With each rise and fall of his chest he waited. Waited for the one thing that couldn’t seem to come fast enough. Moments passed with nothing before the feeling he’d been waiting for rushed his senses. A filling warmth pooled itself in his stomach, moving around against the walls of the organ and pulling a warm chuckle from the man. His hand trailed to rest over his stomach, feeling the small bodies shift and fight beneath layers of clothing, muscle, and skin. Fangs glimmering in a grin once again as he poked at the squirming fullness in his gut.

“Well look at that.” He laughed to himself, relaxing back into his chair. His stomach gurgled under his hand, what he guessed to be a thank you of sorts now that he had what he wanted within it. Though something told him the others wouldn’t be thanking him all that much. “How are you three holding up in there?”

“Deimos, do not laugh at us or so help me Jebus- Hank, get your arm out of my face!” The words were quickly followed by what Deimos could assume was 2b pushing Hank off him and into his stomach wall from what he could feel. Those three couldn’t seem to stay still. Well, he couldn’t truly blame them if he wanted to. It had to be slippery, trapped in a wet, moving organ like his stomach and all. The mental image of his three teammates slipping around in his stomach, trying their hardest to gain footing or at least a comfortable position, drew another laugh from him. This was great.

“Dei, c’mon.” Sanford added, giving his own kick to the wall in case he had failed to grab the hacker’s attention before. Try as he might to stay out of 2BDamned and Hank’s little squabble fate seemed to have other plans as he was shoved back into them every time he got away. Or maybe that was just Deimos being Deimos. “You’ve had your fun, now spit us out you chucklehead.”

“Mmm yeah no.” Deimos hummed, drumming his fingers mindlessly on his belly as he took in the little shocks that each harsh kick or punch sent through his body to his brain. Each movement registered in his brain as a pleasurable little shock, but the harsher they were the more enjoyment they seemed to cause him. Not that he was complaining. Last he checked his teammates could tire themselves out with squirming all they wanted to if it felt this nice. “See, that’s not really the plan here. Not for a few hours at least.”

“What now?” Sanford’s voice had dropped its hopeful tone, now more monotonous and serious. Beside him he heard a growl, one he assumed to be from Hank. Was the smoker trying to get them killed? Again he punched the wall. “Dei, quit joking.”

“I ain’t joking, ‘Ford.” The young hacker replied bluntly, his shit eating grin more than audible in his words. A long, over dramatic sigh made its way from his mouth with ease as he adjusted his position to one more comfortable. Or at least as comfortable as one could get in an old chair. Smiling to himself he gave his stomach a little shove, feeling the three bodies inside shift and move under the pressure. “I just wanna sit and enjoy this for a while. It feels too nice to just give up.”

Silence fell upon the three currently held within the confines of the man’s stomach, each sitting there taking in Deimos’ words until the pressure from outside had lifted. Once it did, they all reacted their own way. Hank, for example, sat still for about ten seconds tops before a punch was thrown at the wall. Sanford, on the other hand, debated whether Hank’s approach or his attempts at reasoning with their ‘captor’ would be more effective at getting Deimos to spit them up. Then there was 2BDamned, who sat in what would’ve been an unnerving silence had they not known him. Knowing him, though, changed the meaning of the silence from ‘is this man insane to be so calm?’ to ‘Deimos just dug himself a grave’ in a split second.

“Deimos,” The unofficial medic started, “you have ten seconds to at least start spitting us up or I will force myself back up your throat simply to beat your ass.” Despite the warmth of their current confines, a chill shot up Sanford’s back. As far as he knew, the last thing you wanted to be was at the end of Doc’s threats. The man often had little to no issue going through with them, and Deimos wasn’t some special case. The laughter they heard (and felt shaking their ‘cell’ for that matter) was all it took to solidify that Deimos didn’t take them seriously at this size. Guess said threats don’t work when you’re four inches tall at best and your ‘captor’ is a smug ass bastard.

“Ha! I’d like to see you try, Doc.” Deimos chuckled, giving his stomach a firm pat which only seemed to serve to jostle around its captives more. “I might not be able to handle spice like San’ but I do know my way around feisty snacks~.”

“We aren’t food, Deimos.” Hank growled, kicking the floor beneath him. The flesh sunk under his boot, a sickening squishing sound heard as a result. A small shiver trembled up the walls, one which failed to register with the black-clad mercenary as in pain. Oh just wonderful. The sharp toothed asshole was enjoying this.

“Mmm you sure, big guy? Cause you seem like food to me right now.” Within only a few seconds of the words leaving his lips the hacker found himself met with a pleasant shockwave up the spine. Clearly a certain black-clad mercenary didn't like being called food, if the fighting he felt wash over him like a tsunami of warm, fuzzy electricity meant anything. A soft groan crawled out of his lips, his hand lazily tracing circles over his stomach. ”mm oh c-calm down in there. I didn’t mean it. I will let you out, Jeez.”

“Deimos, this isn’t funny. Spit us out.” 2b snapped, kicking the floor.

“Mmm sorry, Doc. Can't hear you heheh…” the hacker spoke, words blurring softly as he melted back into the chair.

“I’m serious!” The words fell on deaf ears.

“Dei, c’mon…” Sanford this time. His eyes drifted softly shut.

“Dei…” His grin turned into a simple smirk.

“Dei…” Didn't he get he wasn’t spitting them out yet?

“Deimos…” Oh full names now. How fancy.

“Deimos..?” Wait…that didn’t sound right.

“Deimos.” Was he losing it?

…

“DEIMOS!”

The hacker jumped, blinking rapidly as his eyes darted around. What was going on? Where were they? Who did he need to kill? Where were the others? Thoughts rushed through his head as wide eyes darted around everything in sight, looking for something they recognized. Anything to show him where he was or what was going on. Relief came to him in the form of Sanford standing in front of him, a hand on his shoulder as if he was trying to get his attention. Most importantly though they were in their base. Safe. No one was here. They weren’t under attack. He was just daydreaming. Sanford and the others were here and he was just…daydreaming- oh damn it. Go figure it was too good to be true. A groan, this time annoyed, rang from Deimos’ throat.

“Jebus- Dude, are you alright?” Sanford asked, eyebrows knit with worry and…an emotion Deimos found himself unable to name. Like he’d seen something. Something…weird. Almost like concern but not at the same time. For a brief moment an idea reared its head, only to be smashed down like a weird game of whack-a-mole within the hacker’s mind. There wasn’t any need for such an absurd idea. It’s not like Sanford could have seen his little daydream. Nope, that was safe in his head. The smoker shook his head to clear it, quickly flashing Sanford a sharp toothed grin.

“Yeah man. Just zonin’ out and daydreaming a little ‘s all. Nothing to worry about here heheh,” he laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder playfully. His eyes scanned the man’s face again, trying to see if his statement had done its job. Although the worry had dropped from Sanford’s face, the other emotion remained. Now what on earth was that for?

“Daydreamin’ huh? ‘Bout what?” The pyromaniac asked, raising an eyebrow. His eyes flicked from Deimos’ eyes to his mouth, then back again as he spoke. He didn’t seem to not believe Deimos when he said he was daydreaming, so what on earth was that look for? And why was he looking at his mouth so much? Giving into the call of curiosity the sharp-toothed hacker brought a hand up to his mouth, eyes widening mouth momentarily when his fingers found a trail of saliva dripping from his lips to his chin. He’d been drooling. Whoops.

“Eh. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Deimos lied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand which he then wiped on his pant leg. So that’s what Sanford had been looking at. Oh he must’ve looked downright stupid too. Well now wasn’t that just great? He just had to hope the Chad hadn’t decided to take a photo.

“Honestly I don’t even remember what it was about.” Liar, he remembered all of it. The vivid tastes, the squirmy fullness, the thrill-

Grrrnnnggg…

Ah shit. Busted by his own stomach. For a second the hacker sat there stunned, blinking dumbly as his cheeks heated up with a pink tint. Ok just play it cool Deimos. “….though if I had to make a guess? Food heh.”

“Yeah, that would make sense heh.” Sanford laughed softly, playfully jabbing the smaller man in the stomach. He seemed to buy Deimos’s story, bringing a sense of relief to the hacker. At least he wasn’t going to press on it. “Your stomach was anything but quiet, you know.”

“Go figure. And when I can’t say anything about it too.” Quickly laughter had found itself spilling from Deimos’ mouth, his mind having calmed down when he had heard the sound from the other man. He seemed less concerned, or whatever that emotion he couldn’t name right now was. As another grumble shook through his middle the hacker lowered a hand to rest over his stomach. He got it already. He was upset the daydream of his wasn’t real after all too. Not much more he could do besides try and find something to eat now though. “Say, I’m gonna go try and snag something to shut my gut up. Wanna come?”

“Nah, I’ll pass this time.” Sanford spoke with a small shake of the head and a smile. Try as he might to play it off as friendly, it seemed that odd emotion that Deimos couldn’t name was just bound to show itself in his words. “You just go shut that thing up before the Agency uses it to track us.”

“Oh ha ha. I’m going.” Deimos laughed, giving Sanford one last playful punch to the shoulder before running off. He had food to track down somewhere in this hellscape of Nevada, unless he wanted a beating from Doc that was. He just needed something small or, hell, even temporary if he happened to come across a shrunken grunt or agent. They would work out just fine so long as he didn’t let the others find out what he’d used to shut his stomach up. Couldn’t give away anything that could relate to his little hidden desires. The emptiness in his gut wasn’t something he’d wanted back, but alas, a daydream is only a daydream and he wasn’t getting any fuller just walking around. Now where would his best chance to snag someon- something be…

…

Sanford watched as his friend ran off, smile slowly fading as Dei disappeared from his line of sight. That look of caution slipped back onto his face as he slowly turned his back to head to his room. He needed a moment to think about what he’d just seen. Try as he might, he couldn’t just forget what was now burned into his mind. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the younger hacker had been daydreaming about if you had seen him while he was in the zoned out trance of his. Mouth wide open and drooling with a hand pretending to dangle something above it, an active stomach topping it all off like some sorta weird cherry on the sundae of his best friend’s little fantasy. Oh no, he knew what that meant. And hearing him mumble the names of their other teammates, along with his own, at least once through it all? It spelled out the man’s daydream in big neon lights. The very thought sent a shiver down his spine, despite how he tried his best to shake it off.

He wanted to believe it when he tried to tell himself that Deimos wouldn’t ever shrink them, much less try to eat them. He really did. All that he’d seen along with logic itself, however, pointed him at it with the firm proof that his words were lies. The man would no doubt take advantage of it, if he ever found a way to shrink them, even if he were to keep them as safe as possible. Just as he had with any unfortunate shrunken agents or grunts he happened upon when he was alone (or at least when he thought he was) Safe or not safe, the fact of the matter still stood. Sanford did not want to spend however long within the confines of his friend’s gut, especially if he wasn’t alone. Being in there had to be bad enough. Him not being able to do anything about it either only made the situation worse. Reasoning with the hacker was most likely hopeless and he wasn’t about to beg. What was left? Pray? God, if Deimos ever managed to get his hands on the Agency’s shrinking technology then one thing was downright certain. Boy were he, Hank, and 2b doomed…

#soft vore #mawedness combat #it took me long enough #but it’s finally done #i have so many ideas for fics based on drawings by a handful of artists #this one though…this one made me go for it and write it #congrats doodle #you and your art shot me with my own inspiration Gun #and I’ve just gotta say amazing work again #you were one of the main three/four who inspired me to write M4dc0m #anyway #I hope you enjoy the fic you caused :)

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astarryon · 3 years

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Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart.

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp.

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin�� shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself.

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #tfatws #catws #marvel #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #au #series #angst #hurt #comfort #1940s bucky

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echo-hiraeth · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3: “Es Tuyo”

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: After having spent some days recovering and getting to her new surroundings the reader goes back to work where she seems to attract some male attention. Javier is displeased and on his breaking point.

Warnings: Major trigger warning: mention of pregnancy termination, cursing, angst, fluff, mentions of injury

Masterlist

A/N: that photo is totally Javi in that evidence closet

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“That is not how you pronounce that at all”, you cackled from the couch.

Connie threw her hands up in defence: “Well, then how? C’mon help me out here amigo!”

“Amiga”, you corrected, grinning as she set the plate down in front of you.

Your friend shook her head as she took a deep breath, lips curled up in a smirk. “You know, you’re supposed to teach me Spanish, not bully me.”

The door swung open as the both of you ate and laughed together, revealing a more than exhausted Steve. “Murphy, come sit with us, Connie made the most amazing pasta.”

He hung his jacket on the wall and kicked off his shoes before plopping down next to Connie, pressing a short peck to her lips. “What’s got you two all riled up?”

“Connie’s been drinking the night away and I am so sleep-deprived that even the telenovelas have become entertaining”, you answered, mouth full of pasta.

“What’s been keeping you up then?”, he asked while reaching over for a plate.

You shrugged your shoulders: “Just the thought of going back to work tomorrow.. I know it’ll just be paperwork but I-I’m just nervous I guess. I need to figure out a way to talk to Messina about resigning without raising any eyebrows and.. it’s just a lot.”

“You know I can get you another doc’s note”, Connie intervened, tilting her head at you.

“Yeah, I know, Con, I know. I just want to get up and get moving. No offense, but y’all can be boring as hell.”

She playfully threw a pillow at you, which hit you square in the belly, making you huff out a small laugh. “It’s not my fault we both have jobs to do, your highness.”

“When’s that first check-up-thingy of yours anyway?”, Murphy questioned.

“Next week, after hours, but I can get there myself, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yeah, not a chance pal, the Sicarios know your face now, best to have a chaperone out there.”

Steve was right and deep down you’d thought about it too. Of course the narco-men already had most of the DEA’s information and agents in their databases, but you were still unknown to them. It was rare for a female agent to work in the field, let alone be placed in Columbia whatsoever, you’d been an element of surprise, but now even that had been taken away by Escobar. You knew a pregnancy meant the end of your career as a DEA agent, at least in the field. The past three days were meant for you to readjust to your temporary living space with your friends, but you’d really only spent it within the depths of your own head. There was so much you had to do and you couldn’t even figure out where to start, you had to tell Javier at some point, quit your job or risk putting him in danger as well and most of all.. tell your parents. The last one could wait, they wouldn’t care much anyways, you figured. But Javier couldn’t, even though you were just over a month along, you knew you’d have to tell him eventually, this kind of thing wasn’t something you could hide forever.

While you were zoned-out, caught within your own head, Steve and Connie watched you. The grip on your plate tightened, eyes staring straight ahead and chest rising and falling more rapidly. Connie carefully put her hand over yours, making you jerk you head towards her, sending a wave of pain through your left shoulder. “I-I think I’m gonna head off for the night”, you mumbled, quickly getting up and putting your half-empty plate on the kitchen counter.

As soon as you shut the door your lips started trembling, eyes burning from the effort of trying to keep the hot tears from spilling. You pressed your right palm to your forehead, mustering up every last ounce of strength to keep yourself at bay. Another deep breath, another memory of his lips on yours, another step towards the bed, another fading remembrance of his rough hands ghosting over your body. This had to stop, you knew it – hell – you’d known from before you even got into his bed. Javier Peña was a bachelor at heart, free of any commitment, who were you to think you could change his mind. Here you were, heartbroken, knocked-up with a fucked-up shoulder, on a pull-out couch in your best friends’ apartment, what a life.

You carefully grabbed a hold of your Walkman, slipping the headphones on and laying down on the bed. You closed your eyes as you listened to the Cure’s “Boys don’t cry”, reminiscing on the hot summer in the States, when you’d bought the cassette and played it on repeat in your car. A soft smile settled on your face and eventually you fell asleep just like that, fully dressed and headphones still on your ears.

Though the next morning, when the three of you sat around the breakfast table, you in yesterday’s clothes and the two of them in their work attire, there was a bit of an atmosphere going on. Not a word was said over breakfast, only increasing the tension even more, making you feel incredibly vulnerable, like a kid scolded by their father, it was odd. It wasn’t until later, on your way to the embassy in Steve’s passenger’s seat that he finally broke his silence.

“Who is it?”, he asked, tone harsher than usual.

You let out a nervous chuckle, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. “Mind giving me a hand here, I’m not sure I-“

“Who did you fuck?”, he interrupted you, voice rigid and determined.

“Steve”, you huffed, “what the hell are-“

“I’m no idiot y/n. Now tell me, who the hell is it.” His frustration started showing in his driving style, his braking much more abrupt than usual.

You scoffed at him, resting your hand on the door handle, at an attempt to feel somewhat secure. “That’s just not none of your fucking business Murphy.”

“It is if I’m losing a partner over it, maybe even two.”

“Peña? Don’t make me fucking laugh”, you lied, voice surprisingly confident. “He’s the biggest jerk there.”

“Then who? Santiago, Lopez, that FBI guy?”, he pressed as he parked the car.

You flipped him off before yanking the car door open, hurrying your way into the embassy. You didn’t bother to stop at the front desk or politely bid you co-workers a “good morning”, no, you just wanted to get to Messina, get your assignments for the day and get to work, away from both your partners.

As predicted, you were to write reports for the foreseeable future, Messina putter her faith in your ability to type them out with just one hand. You’d agreed, not wanting to argue or come up with an alternative yourself and made your way over to your office. Despite your request to be put into a confined space, away from Murphy and Peña, Messina insisted you’d just work at your regular desk, so the two of them could provide you some assistance if needed.

Luckily for you the two of them were out for most of the day, leaving you to work alone, in a comfortable silence. A fellow agent would step in to check if you were alright every now and then, helping you with carrying out file boxes or bringing in new ones. It was times like this that your reputation really preceded you, the sweet girl that would bring coffees on Fridays and bake cookies for birthdays and holidays. You knew your way around the office and compensated for your shortages (aka the fact that you were a woman) by innocent bribery. Lopez had even been so attentive as to bring you a hot lunch, which you gladly accepted and enjoyed in his company.

Steve and Javier were both surprised to see the two of you, laughing and just having a good time. Though they both had different motives, their suspicions aligned perfectly: he’s being too friendly. The two of them walked into the office, yet the two of you didn’t look up, no on the contrary, Lopez leaned in even closer, fidgeting with the sling on your arm.

Javier was not fucking having this today, so he loudly cleared his throat, both of your heads perking up in his direction. Lopez got up off your desk and gave you another smile before walking out of the now-way-too-crowed-with-testosterone office space. He gave the two of them a polite nod, muttering a “Peña y Murphy” before disappearing into the hallway.

“I fucking knew it”, Steve sighed, letting himself fall into his desk chair.

You threw a pencil at his face, chuckling when it ultimately did hit him square in the nose. “You’re a fucking idiot Murphy, Lopez was just bringing me lunch.”

“If you say so”, Steve mumbled, throwing the pencil right back at you.

The day had stayed calm and you were able to go home without having to talk to Peña at all, to your great relief. The next few days had been the exact same, tonnes of fieldwork for them and an amazing lunch with some of the other agents for you. On Thursday night, when Steve and Javier were working late due to an unexpected lead, you tagged along with the guys, heading out to some bar, where you enjoyed a non-alcoholic beverage or two and even were treated to a lovely platter of grilled goods.

Climbing the stairs to their apartment, you smiled to yourself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you had friends and options, maybe Javier didn’t need to be in the picture, maybe it was meant to be this way. As you slipped your key in the door you took a deep breath, you felt at peace. Which was swiftly stolen away from you as a more than distressed Steve and Connie, baby held in his arms, were revealed.

Your keys hit the floor in surprise, face contorting in confusion. You quickly picked them up, nodded at Connie and walked into your room. A kid and an injured friend were too much for anyone to handle, you knew that, the story would follow, but for now you’d be heading back to your place. Steve gave you an apologetic look as you placed the key on the table, offering the both of them a genuine smile on the way out.

As you hauled your bag down the stairs, you let out a pained groan, your shoulder disagreeing with your every movement. On the next floor down, a familiar door swung open, revealing no one other than Javier, shirt halfway unbuttoned. “C’mon, I already made the bed.”

“Oh, no thank you, I’m fine”, you answered, bag falling off of your shoulder.

He shook his head before walking over to you, taking the bags as he urged you to follow him. “You take the bed, I’ll take the couch. Beer’s in the fridge, cigs are on the table.”

You hesitantly trailed after him, cringing a bit when setting foot in his apartment, the memories of the previous nights spent there flooding your mind within mere seconds. “Javi, I’m really fine, I’d rather just go home.”

“M’sorry hermosa, Murphy’s orders”, he said from the bedroom, coming back empty-handed. “We don’t have to talk, you can take a bath if you want, watch tv, just do whatever you want.”

You stood in the doorway, awkwardly watching as he made his way over to the couch, quickly laying down. “The kid..”

“Escobar.”

That’s all you needed to know, you could fill in the blanks yourself. A hand hovered over your abdomen, stomach turning in knots as the mere idea of something like that happening to you crossed your mind. You closed your eyes, a cold shiver running down your back, the bile starting to rise in your throat. It wasn’t just the news, you’d been “lucky” enough to have limited episodes of nausea, but when you did it was either early on in the morning or later at night, never throughout the day, which really helped your work situation.

“Hey, hey, hey, you sick again?”, Javier asked, quickly getting up and rushing over to you.

You braced yourself by placing your good hand on his chest, taking a few deep breaths. “I need to sit down.”

He gave frantic set of nods, putting an arm around your waist and leading you over to the couch, slowly helping you down. He sat down on his knees between your legs, eyes looking over your features, trying to read you. “Concussion?”

You quickly shoved him aside, rushing over to his bathroom where you dropped down to your knees, head hung over the toilet bowl. It didn’t take long for him to follow, one warm hand resting on your upper back and the other holding on to your hair. His eyes were laced with worry and concern, your pained cries mixed in with the retching breaking his heart. With every convulsion of your body your arm bucked along, causing an immense pain to course through your mending bones. When you eventually stopped and rested your head on your arm, which rested on the porcelain itself, he let go of your hair. He disappeared for a fraction of a second, quickly coming back with some water and a towel.

“Do you need to see a doctor?”

You took a sip of the water, eager to get the vile taste out of your system. “No, no, I’m fine, just drank too much.”

He nodded, despite not believing you. He’d seen you drunk before and this wasn’t that. There was no lingering smell of alcohol, no sexual advances, no sarcasm, you were just.. you – except you were lying to his face. Javier decided not to push on it, not wanting to bother you when you obviously weren’t feeling too great.

Eventually you managed to feel somewhat better and get ready for the night, Javier helping you into a fresh shirt, mindful not to hurt you. When it came to it and you went to bed you decided to ask him to join you, not wanting to be alone after having talked over what exactly had happened that night.

The two of you talked about the baby girl and the fucked up shit the sicarios did as you rested comfortably in his arms. It wasn’t anything sexual, you two were solemnly comforting one another after an incredibly rough day. As he spoke, chest buzzing in tune with his voice, his fingers traced weary circles on your side. He just kept talking and venting, knowing fully well you had passed out. That night Javier slept better than he had in ages, it was also the first time the two of you had stayed with one another until the morning. It was nice. None of you had to sneak out or slip away in the middle of the night and the sight of you when he woke up was a welcome one, making him feel at ease. He gently woke you up, helping you into the bathroom where you took a brief shower, the hot water working wonders on your aching muscles.

When you walked into the kitchen, towel wrapped around your frame, Javier was buttering some toast. “Hi, I hate to do this but I can’t quite get dressed..”

He gave a curt not, putting down the knife before walking over to you, taking the bra and shirt from your hands. “What’s with the shoes?”, he asked as he fastened the hooks of your bra.

“Well, don’t need to run for reports.. so no flats.”

Javier gave a low chuckle as he slipped the dress over your head, fingers ghosting over the tender skin of your neck. “Are you sure it’s not Lopez you want to impress?”

Now it was your turn to huff out a laugh. “Javier Peña, do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“Should I be?”

As soon as you both were dressed and had somewhat of a breakfast you were headed to the embassy. The drive was quiet other than the radio, and surprisingly soothing. The domestic bliss stayed with you as you took a seat behind your typewriter, Javier’s gaze trained on your figure. You thought it was because of the dress, but in all reality he was trying to figure out why in the hell you would lie to him. Maybe you and Lopez were really becoming a thing or maybe the two of you had always been, maybe he was too late. All the more reasons to move on from you, the mere fucking idea of you.

By the time lunch rolled around Lopez found his way to your desk, a plate held in each hand. “Buenas Peña”, the man croaked out before walking over to your desk.

You uncrossed your legs and smiled up at the man, making Javier’s right eye twitch. Upon looking at the plate your face briefly fell, muttering an apology before declaring you were allergic to seafood. That was another fucking lie, Javier thought.

“But Javier enjoys crawfish”, you chuckled, “let him have my plate, I’ll run down to the market myself.”

Before any of them could protest, you grabbed your purse and fled the office, not wanting to experience a showdown of sorts. Javier took the opportunity to just smirk at the other man, grabbing the plate and shooing him out of the office. But not before providing the man with a sassy “piérdete, fracas ado” (get lost, loser).

The short walk to the market and back had given you the air you needed. Your head was spinning once again, the same thing as always: Javi. What the fuck was all this meddling about? He was so nice all of a sudden, domestic even, which wasn’t entirely uncharacteristic as you’d experienced him like this before.. but it wasn’t as if you were sleeping together again. Maybe that’s just what he expected to get from this. Of fucking course he’d take you in to his place. You scoffed before sinking your teeth into the spicy lunch you’d treated yourself to. Walking back into the office you were surprised to find all three desks empty. Well, you were aware that Murphy was unlikely to show up at all with his new responsibility, but Javier? Maybe he’d been requested for some field work.

You set your bag down before making your way over to the kitchen, wanting to grab a fresh drink. But before you could make it there you were pulled into the nearest evidence room, well closet more like, somebody pulling you in by your right arm.

“Mierda Javier ¿cuál es tu problema“, you yelped (Fuck Javier, what’s your issue?).

“I’m not the one lying to everyone’s fucking face”, he replied with a dark laugh.

You swatted his hand off of you and tried to shove past him when he blocked the door. “I’m not in the mood for this”, you warned, eyes locking with his.

“Missing your little boyfriend already?” Your mouth went agape in shock. “You’re not as clever as you think, hermosa.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, idiota celoso.” (jealous prick).

He wore a devilish smirk as he moved closer, lips ghosting over your ear shell. “Look who’s the whore now, huh..”

That one hurt, a lot. You pulled back from him, emotion catching in your throat. “Stop..”

“You been sleeping with everyone in the office then? Or were Lopez and I the only ones good enough for you.”

You could barely believe your ears, his evil words making tears form in your eyes. “Javier-“

“I at least thought you would’ve been smart enough not to get knocked up”, his words were laden with disgust and you stumbled backwards, feeling more unsafe than ever with him.

You tried to gather your thoughts and come up with a response but you could only manage a sad laugh as you looked at him. “You’re so fucking naïve.”

“¿Qué quiere decir?”, he inquired, lips pursed together. ‘What are you trying to say?)

“Es tuyo”, you declared. (It’s yours).

Those two words were everything he was so terrified of. You, him, a baby? Fuck. This was no place for a baby, he was no dad-material, shit man, he couldn’t even come to terms with the fact that he longed to be with you, let alone take care of you like that. He didn’t dese- no, you didn’t deserve this, all this- his misery.

“I thought you were fucking safe”, he shouted.

You felt incredibly small now, and even more terrified. “It takes two, you know”, you answered.

Javier took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he desperately tried to calm down.

“I-I can give you the money”, he stuttered.

“What?”, you asked, deeply confused.

“To get rid of it.”

If you weren’t infuriated before, you sure were now. The mere mention of it, the mere fucking idea that he wouldn’t even own up to what he did. He’d done it now, but you know what, good. If this is who he really was, then it was best you found out now.

“I-I don’t want you to lose your job..”, he murmured, voice much quieter and soft now.

The tears were streaming over your face at a high speed, blurring your vision as you looked at him. “Move, please.”

“We need to t-“

“Get out of my way”, you screamed.

He hesitantly stepped aside and watched as you speed-walked your way out of there, loudly sobbing and wiping at your eyes. Everyone’s attention was on the two of you, everyone seemingly understanding what had gone down. And as if things couldn’t get worse, around the corner came a familiar tuft of blonde hair, Steve fucking Murphy, giving him the death stare. Well fuck.

Taglist: @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @pedritomando @radiowallet

#javier peña #narcos #pedro pascal #imagine #javier pena #javier peña x reader #illicit limerence

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caught-in-the-filter · 3 years

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Work in Progress Wednesday

On the CSMM Discord, @hollyethecurious gave the idea of doing Feed Your WIPs February, to work on our wips and encourage each other with any progress we might make.

Well, I didn’t have any wips until I shared a tumblr post by @twistedcaretaker (and all the tags I gave it when I reblogged) in the CSMM Discord as a CS prompt, regarding an angel/demon relationship and which half is kinkier (where I was in favor of a kinky demon both flustered and impressed by how much the always-so-innocent angel turns out to actually be even kinkier than them). I had no intentions of actually writing something for it myself, but it kind of snowballed in the chat and Hollye said somebody better be writing it down, and with the positive feedback on Emma Was Cold for CSNLNY/CSJJ and with two particular lines of dialogue I wrote in the chat... I started a doc.

That Discord can be a (good) bad influence when it comes to enabling wips, sooo there might be one or two other docs waiting to be written too, but this one is first. 😘

I’m hesitant to share a WIP Wednesday snippet rn because I’ll most likely be saving this for the next round of CSSNS, but I figured I might as well give a little something since I’ve shared a lot so far on Discord anyway. I just might not do this regularly, or else I’ll run out of fic. 😅

Anyway, here’s a little peek at some upcoming angel!Killian/demon!Emma CS smut.

——

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Emma purred, closing the distance between herself and the angel standing before her. With a flick of her wrist, she cast him back against the window and commanded the curtains to cross in front of him, spinning him so that he faced the glass before wrapping themselves around his wings and arms to restrain him.

“A daughter of the damned, getting in over her head?” Killian quipped, testing the hold of the thick cloth keeping him in place without fighting it.

“Mmm,” Emma hummed. Taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t worn a shirt in favor of opening his wings, she reached around his waist and bent her arms upward so she could slowly rake her nails down his exposed chest. “You’re the one tied up, but I’m in over my head?” She twirled a few of his hairs around her finger and tugged, making him flinch.

“You make the mistake of thinking I’m not exactly where I want to be, love.” Killian glanced back at her with a devious smirk. “That is why you’re in over your head.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma smiled. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she lowered her hands and began to unlace his trousers. “I know you want to fall, don’t you?” She freed his hardening cock from its leather confines and slowly ran her hand back and forth along the length of him. “You want to rise and fall and lose yourself in the worst way.”

“With you?” Killian panted, already breathless under her sinfully skilled touch. “Hell yes.”

#work in progress wednesday #wip wednesday #CS ff #CS smut #angel!killian #demon!emma #sneak peek #Captain swan #Kayla writes #my writing

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enigmainvestigations · 3 years

Text

AO3 post: ??? Series link: ???

Some of the paint was chipping off the mural. Its massive length spanned almost the entire wall of the walkway, making it almost fifteen feet long. The painting was rather crude in its depiction of the island, juvenile, as if it was created by an unskilled artist. Most of it was large blue strokes to represent water, with a large slab of green floating in the middle in an attempt to resemble the island. Blots of green brush strokes depicted trees, with blue four-leafed flowers speckling the landscape. The island was void of any buildings, except for a tiny mansion perched on the top of the green blob. At least the artist hadn’t taken too much liberty with the scale and hadn’t tried to make the mansion appear much larger than it should. There was tiny writing next to the mansion. It read: "Gotham House of Madness and Ill Humors"

Edward Nigma took a step back from the mural and concluded that perhaps it wasn’t supposed to be some beautiful depiction of a rich family’s property. But it did seem odd. What was the point of the mural if it was only going to be a slab of green painted over a slab of blue? And that begged the question: why was it painted at all? He tilted his head to look down the walkway to the mural’s end and heard someone call his last name from the hall behind him. They were far away, and he decided he didn’t need to hurry with his examination. Looking down to the other end of the mural, he saw there was a tiny blotch in the water, and Edward assumed it was supposed to be a boat. Strange to paint only one, he thought.

“Nigma.” The voice called again. This time it was much closer, and followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps advancing in his direction. They slowed as the orderly drew nearer and came to a stop at his side. “I know you heard me calling you. If ya wanna know what I think, that’s not the best way to start your first day in the wing.”

Edward ignored him and lifted a finger to point at the mural. “I’ve never seen this before.”

The orderly looked at the mural and shrugged. “Welp, you’ve never been in this wing before.”

“Doesn’t it seem strange to you?” Edward asked.

“Out of all the strange things I see in this building, it’s probably on the least strange side a’ things.” The orderly shifted his feet and waved a hand in front of Edward’s face to break his concentration on the painting. “You can stare at this later, alright? Dr. Leland wants ta see you.”

Edward found that odd. He had spoken to her yesterday morning, and she had implied it’d be a while before they’d speak again. A chime broke out over the loudspeakers, signifying the guard shift change. Edward let out a deep sigh and turned toward the orderly, noting the slight show of fear in his eyes. “Alright then, ready when you are.”

The man looked suspicious, yet grateful of Edward’s compliance. “Thanks, Edward. I’ll escort you over there.”

Normally, that suggestion would get on Edward’s nerves. It was understandable that a patient might need supervision, but it always felt like they were implying he needed babysitting, as if he’d fall down the elevator shaft if he was left on his own. Currently, though, he didn’t mind the offer. Not all of the guards were aware of his transfer, and the last thing he needed was for one to spot him and sound the alarm in fear of his attempted escape. That was the last thing he wanted, he didn’t feel like being tackled to the ground today.

As the two men proceeded down the hallway, the vapid sound of speech hit Edward’s ears. He was coming to the decision he didn’t like this ward as much as the Rutan Wing. Initially, he’d found the more populated wing to be more exciting. The groups of people were a welcome change after his previous surroundings outside the asylum, but those feelings were wearing off quickly. At least the Rutan Wing was quiet and mostly empty. It wasn’t entirely a “Wing” of the asylum, just a smaller ward, but his room had a decent view of the Trigate Bridge. The dayroom was typically empty, and he’d spent most of his time reading or listening to the guard’s radio at the security station. At the time, he felt that the lack of activity was dull, and he was itching for a change in the environment.

But, last night the orderlies and guards had come to his room and said he was being transferred. He’d assumed they were taking him to a more secure area of the asylum. But they’d brought him here, the wing at the front; the least secure wing in the whole building. At first, he’d seen this as an achievement. If Dr. Leland was moving him to the front wing, it must be a statement about his progress. That he could be trusted with less supervision, and that he was getting better. He’d never even seen these wards before, and it was fascinating to see how the non-threatening patients experienced the asylum. They were allowed to wander around the halls freely -- well, mostly freely. But, it was certainly much more freedom than Edward was used to on this island.

The issues that arose became clear rather fast. Since the other patients had more freedom, it meant he had to interact with them more than usual, and they interacted with him with much curiosity. He started to find the chatter, noise, and hectic energy of the ward unsettling. So unsettling that he found himself wandering the halls until he found a spot where the echoing voices were much quieter. His tiny room in Rutan was starting to sound like paradise compared to this.

The orderly motioned Edward down the hall that led to the main clerical offices. He’d been there a few times during his frequent lock-ups in the facility. Usually, it was during his multiple escapes from his cell -- either breaking into offices to snoop for information, or for stealing certain supplies to aid in a more dramatic escape from the asylum. He’d always enjoyed watching the police and guards try to figure out how he’d disappeared, or how he’d gathered the supplies to enact his theatrical exit. It had always been an exciting experience being here, until the Bat had designed him a new cell. Then he began to understand why the others disliked their confinement in Arkham so deeply.

The two men stopped at Dr. Leland’s office door, and Edward watched as the orderly knocked and opened the door for him to enter. “Nigma is here for his appointment, doctor.”

Dr. Leland thanked the orderly and motioned for Edward to sit in the guest seat in front of her desk. Sitting down, he made himself comfortable, though it was mostly for appearances. Dr. Joan Leland wasn’t an unintelligent woman, regardless of her sense of morality that certainly made her do stupid things. She was one of the “good ones,” believing that the patients in this asylum were capable of rehabilitation and living normal lives. This belief had remained firm, even after the magnitude of evidence she’d witnessed that proved she might be wrong.

Edward watched the doctor finish filing some paperwork, and he resisted the urge to fidget his fingers. Dr. Leland was smart and observant; she would certainly notice his unease. But Edward knew that she also didn’t do things without reason, and there were too many odd occurrences to indicate something was going on with his situation. Putting a file away in her desk drawer, the doctor finally looked at him -- right in the eye, as she usually did.

“Hello, Dr. Leland,” Edward said, trying to sound casual.

“Hello, Edward. How are you liking the Thayer Wing?” Dr. Leland asked with her typical direct approach.

“It's okay.”

“Just okay?” Dr. Leland arched her brow.

It looked like she found that in conflict with what she’d assumed, so Edward adjusted. “I'm enjoying the broader freedoms. I spent all morning in the library, that was enjoyable.”

Dr. Leland eyed him closely. She did this quite often, and it was obvious she did so when she was trying to decipher if Edward was lying. “That's good, I had a feeling you'd take advantage of that amenity immediately.” She scribbled down a few notes, then gave him a calm smile. “How are you adjusting to the people? The wing is much more populated than what you’re used to, has that been a concern?”

“No.” Edward lied.

Dr. Leland didn’t catch the deception and began writing down a few more notes in his file. “I see. I know it's just been one day, but how do you feel about the new schedule?”

Edward found that a bit strange. He hadn’t been told of any schedule changes, but he decided not to dwell on it. “It's alright.”

The doctor nodded and flipped through a few pages in his patient logs. “I see your stitches were removed… you have a clean bill of health.” Signing off on some of the papers, she finally looked him in the eye again. “Are you still in communication with Ms. Quinzell?”

“No,” Edward said, a slight chuckle in his voice.

“Really?” Dr. Leland’s brow arched again.

Edward sighed. “You monitor everything I do, doc. You'd know before I would if she was trying to get in contact with me.”

The doctor leaned back in her seat, tapping her pen between her fingers as she examined him and Edward examined her in return. It seemed strange that she was more concerned about his contact with Harley than his adjustment to the new wing. He was starting to feel like she was going down some kind of checklist, but for what, he couldn’t imagine.

“If she does try to contact you, what would you do?”

Edward huffed. “I doubt she would, but I would just tell her to leave me alone.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” Edward answered, annoyance showing in his voice. “I'm sorry, doc, but what is going on here?”

“What makes you think something is?” After the words left her mouth, she appeared to catch herself and waved an apologetic hand in his direction. “I'm sorry, Edward. Sometimes it’s difficult to get my mind to drop old habits with you.” Dr. Leland set her pen down and rested her elbows on the desktop. “Edward, we had our meeting with the superintendents today. When Dr. Young heard about your progress, she was very impressed.”

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and he found himself confused on how best to respond. “Is that a good thing for me?”

Dr. Leland paused, and her eyes averted from Edward’s for a brief moment. “Things are being run differently here now. With new head doctors, new procedures --”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Edward cut her off. “Jerry is dead, and now things are different. I’ve heard all of that enough since I’ve been back. Can I ask you to please skip the public relations speech and just get to the point? Or would that request be considered part of my unproductive personality traits?”

“You're being released, Edward.” The doctor said flatly.

“I'm what, now?”

Dr. Leland paused again and folded her fingers together in an attempt to seem more forthcoming. “The head doctors think that, since you've progressed in your treatment, and you aren't exhibiting any aggressive tenancies -- they think you're a good candidate for the supervised release program.”

Edward stared at her, his disbelief apparent on his face. He let out a small chuckle. “This is a joke. This has got to be a joke, right?”

“No, it's not a joke.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth was slightly agape as the weight of what she’d said set in. “Have you all gone insane? Has everyone in this building lost their minds? You can't release me.”

Dr. Leland jumped on that statement, quickly adding, “Why is that, Edward?”

“I can't go out there! I'm me!” he exclaimed, though tightly gripped the armrests of his chair to control his temper. Dr. Leland was watching him closely, her eyes searching for something as if she was looking for a clarification of some sort. Edward could feel his pulse rising and a tremble beginning in his hands. He leaned forward and spoke calmly, yet directly. “Look me in the eye, doc, and tell me you think I'm ready to be a part of society.”

The doctor contemplated that question for a moment before averting her eyes again. “You are no longer a danger to yourself or to others. That is the major reason you were the property of the state.”

Edward scoffed. “Oh, so now that I'm not dangerous I'm suddenly not "crazy" anymore, and I get kicked out?”

Dr. Leland’s eye very subtly twitched. “That's the way the rules work.”

Edward’s grip tightened on the armrests, his eyes darting around as his mind tried to come up with a solution. “Can I re-admit myself?”

“We're an asylum for the criminally insane, Edward, so, no. But you can admit yourself to a different hospital.”

“I can't believe this,” he said as he threw his hands up in exasperation.

Dr. Leland leaned forward, and lowered her voice in an attempt to calm him. “Edward, I know this is frightening. But you will have another doctor to continue to help you adjust --”

“I don’t want another doctor, I want you to be my doctor!” He noticed a somber realization flicker in her eyes, and he tried to slow his breathing. She had been his most frequently appointed doctor whenever he was at the asylum, and, once he’d made the decision to reach out, she’d been willing to listen to him. But that had taken years of sessions, years of him playing with her mind and refusing to speak. He’d had time to observe her, and he knew she would honestly provide assistance. The thought of talking with someone new was inconceivable.

Edward released his grip on the chair and rested his elbows on the desktop in front of him. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to just -- to start taking this seriously, and start letting my guard down?”

Dr. Leland leaned in more as well. “I know that was very hard for you, and I know that you can do it again.” Her expression was strong, as if she was trying to show him how much she believed those words. “Your new doctor won’t have as many patients, they’ll be able to give you more personalized care. It will be better for you.”

“Who are they?” Edward asked in a huff, “Who is my new doctor?”

A hint of sadness flared in Dr. Leland’s eye, and she tried to cover it up with a small smile. “I’m not sure, yet.”

“Wonderful.” He sighed and flopped back in his chair.

“Edward, you can do this,” she said, and her strong expression returned. “You need to keep reminding yourself why you wanted to make a change in your life. Keep that as your cornerstone, and try not to lose focus.”

He shook his head, still in disbelief, “I don’t… have anywhere to go.”

Dr. Leland gave him another sad smile. “You’ll be put on an assistance program. They’ll help you find a place to live, a place to work, and you’ll have some money to help you pay your bills.”

Edward chuckled at that. Yeah, I bet plenty of landlords in this city will be jumping at the chance to have you as a tenant, his thoughts chimed in, and he immediately tried to ignore them.

“How long?” He asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“How long until you all kick me out of here?”

“It takes about a week to get all the paperwork in order.” Noticing the cynical look on his face, Dr. Leland continued, “You can spend that time wisely. You should be thinking about what profession you’d like to go into.”

“What?” That statement yanked him from his internal thoughts.

“Well, you won’t be a criminal, and you’ll have a stamp of approval from the asylum. You should start considering what you’d like to do for employment. You’re very good at gathering information, perhaps you could be a journalist, or a researcher for one of the papers.”

Edward began fidgeting in his chair, and the trembling in his hands started to die down. That was a thought, but completely out of the question. If he was going to be out on the streets, the news of his release was going to spread like a wildfire in the underworld. And working for any news outlet would put him too close to the criminal activity in the city. That line of work would be unreasonably dangerous for him at the moment, but the suggestion had triggered his thoughts to wander. There were other professions he could get involved in, especially if he wanted to stay off of everyone’s radar.

Despite what the state might intend, he was sure they were going to have difficulty finding even a grocer that would allow him to mop their floors for a few measly cents a week. He could already see the hurdles they would have to jump through to find him employment, and something he’d heard on the guard’s radio in Rutan snuck into his memory. The city was desperate for new business owners after all the carnage on the streets the last few months. Many people had had to close down, and migration into the city had trickled down to nothing. The newscaster on the radio often mentioned the officials’ constant complaining about the dwindling funds in the budget.

His doctor shifted in her seat, and the movement pulled him out of his thoughts. She was staring at him, still examining him with those searching eyes. Dr. Leland normally would allow him to get lost in his thoughts, and she rarely interrupted him when he did. But, this time, she looked more curious than usual.

“Did that help calm you down, Edward?” She asked.

He slowly let out a breath, “Yeah.”

“Good. Just remember, you have more possibilities now than you did before, and many more options at your disposal. You don’t have to leave here and get lost again.”

Edward looked her in the eye, “Can I ask for something?”

“That depends on what it is.”

“Can I have some reading material?” Seeing her apprehension, he swiftly explained. “I just want to refresh my memory on the laws, and the current services available for opening a business.”

Dr. Leland tilted her head. “I don’t see why we couldn’t get you some books on the requirements. However, you’re going to have a lot of paperwork to go through the next few days. There is a lot of information you’ll need to get familiar with concerning the current services available to the survivors.” She picked up her pen and scribbled down something on one of her notepads. “I’d suggest you read through all of it, no matter how daunting the volume might be. Those conditions and services apply to you, too, remember.”

He gave a weak shrug. “I’ve never been intimidated by large volumes of information, doctor.”

She attempted to hide a smirk, and gave him a stern look. “Read through all of it, Edward.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll read through it.”

She nodded her approval, then turned her attention down to her notes. She pretended to contemplate them for a moment, and then looked back up at him and fixed her gaze with his. “I know we already went over this, but I’d like to go back to the subject of Ms. Quinzell.” She ignored Edward’s eye roll and set his large patient file aside. “It is a source of concern for me, Edward. I want to ensure that I have explained my position fully before you leave this facility.”

“What else is there --” Edward stopped himself, and his lips thinned. Taking a deep breath, he let it out and motioned for her to continue. “I’m sorry, doc. Go ahead, what is your concern?”

Dr. Leland seemed pleased with his composure. “I know you said you aren’t going to be in communication with her, but you haven’t ever fully explained why you two were in such close communication while she was here. The two of you haven’t ever been hostile toward each other, but you two also never paid much attention to one another. My concern is that something is going on.” She set her pen back down, and her shoulders slumped. “I’m not trying to pry into your personal business, but I’m afraid that if she contacts you then you will talk to her. I don’t think that is a good idea.”

Edward nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Dr. Leland beat him to it.

“You are doing the hard work to try to live a better life. Ms. Quinzell spent her time here exhibiting her usual behavior, and then escaped from the facility. In my opinion, she is not on the same path that you are, and any communication with her would be detrimental to your rehabilitation.”

Edward fidgeted in his seat and nodded again. “I know, doctor. I think my reluctance to talk about this situation might have given you the wrong idea. Harley and I just -- we had very different experiences during the lockdown. I know it will sound cruel of me to say so, but I was genuinely really surprised that she survived. I was just curious how she did, that’s all. Honestly, doc, that’s it.”

Dr. Leland wasn’t buying that explanation, Edward could see it on her face, so he kept going. “And, I felt like I could talk to her about our experiences. It was easier to discuss it with her, since she was there, albeit under different circumstances, considering her side.”

Dr. Leland perked up, but she did a decent job of not letting her eagerness show too much, “You spoke to Ms. Quinzell about your time on the island?”

“Yeah. As I said, it was easier to talk to someone who already knew a lot of the circumstances.”

“Did it help to talk to her?”

“Kind of. Not really, actually.” Edward ruffled his hair, mentally kicking himself for bringing up the subject. “She understood some things, but -- I mean, it helped at first, but, now, I don’t know.” Edward adjusted his glasses and looked his doctor in the eye. “You don’t have to worry about me talking to her. Harley made her position quite clear, she has no intentions of quitting her criminal behavior. I don’t even see why she’d contact me, since I made my position clear as well.”

Dr. Leland stared at him in silence. She wasn’t showing any tells, but Edward could see it: she was still suspicious. Eventually, she stood from her seat and gave him a final look, “If she contacts you--”

“I won’t speak to her,” Edward confirmed.

The doctor nodded and picked up his patient file, setting it on the filing cabinet behind her. “I apologize for having to cut this discussion short, but I have a patient to assess. I’ll see to it that we get you those legal texts. If you need anything from me, just tell one of the nurses or the orderlies that you’d like to speak with me.”

Edward agreed and stood from his chair. The doctor stepped around her desk, and Edward moved backward toward the wall to keep a safe distance between them. Watching him, a smile crept across Dr. Leland’s lips. “You don’t need to keep your distance from me, Edward. You’re not in Intensive anymore.”

Hearing her words, he felt a bit foolish. He nodded to her to show that he understood, but remained standing by the wall. Dr. Leland took a step toward him, her smile shifting to a calmer one. “You’ll be alright. Just try not to let your negative thoughts hold you back, and stay on course. If you need me --”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I know where you work, I’m sure I can find you if I need you.” Edward said, triggering a small chuckle from Dr. Leland.

He walked with her out of the office, and she motioned for one of the guards to get Edward an escort. “So, thinking of making your own business. What line of work were you thinking of going into?”

Edward gave her a weak smile, “Finance.”

Dr. Leland gave him a suspicious look, but returned the smile. “Not a bad idea. Lots of money to be had in the world of taxes.”

“Yeah, that’s why I decided I should brush up on the laws.” Despite his honesty, she still looked concerned, though she didn’t voice it. She bid him good day, instructed him to follow the rules, and he watched as she hurried off down the hall to her next appointment. It took a few moments before an orderly showed up to take him back to his wing in the asylum, and he found himself bewildered again. He wasn’t used to being treated with so much lack of concern, and it was beginning to make him feel nervous.

As the two walked back to the Thayer wing, the orderly tried to make some small talk, though his choice in subjects made Edward quickly lose what little interest he’d had in the discussion. As they arrived at the heavy dividing door, the orderly motioned for Edward to go ahead of him and locked the security door behind him with a loud clang. The wandering patients took note of Edward’s return, and he hurried back to the empty hall to avoid the curious stares. His eyes landed on the mural immediately, and he slowed his pace as he walked up to it.

He found himself staring at the tiny, lone boat in the water, and a different sensation hit him. As he looked over the painting, he found that it had a charm to it he hadn’t noticed the first time. The starkness of the island felt calming, and the little blue flowers didn’t look so juvenile now. The blue void of the water was serene, as if it was a protective barrier surrounding the land. He was starting to feel like he understood what the artist was trying to convey. It was something that didn’t require masterful artistic skills to explain, which was probably why they didn’t bother. The island was a sanctuary from the outside world, a tiny home locked away by a river of water. Somewhere where the struggles on the lands surrounding it couldn’t touch. Though the mansion at the top still looked creepy.

Oh, so you’re happy being locked away on islands now? The thought came from nowhere, and he willed it to stop, but his mind persisted. The outside world is too frightening for you, so now you want to be like whatever patient painted this? Locked away in a cage where you’re safe, so the scary bad men can’t hurt you anymore?

His eyes narrowed as his temper began to rise. That wasn’t it, he just wasn’t ready to leave yet. Despite what the doctors said, he knew he hadn’t made enough progress. There were too many issues he was dealing with. He kept telling himself to keep things simple. To keep his world small, and not worry about the larger issues at hand. It wasn’t an emotional decision, it was a logical one. He wasn’t being a coward.

But he couldn’t shake the feelings, now that the thoughts had pointed them out. It could be that he was scared. That he was wasting valuable time sitting around in this cold building. The doctors didn’t want him here, and he’d lost his sanctuary of isolation from the other patients. He wondered why he felt so desperate to stay.

It’s because you’re afraid of what waits outside these walls, his thoughts concluded.

All at once, the mural in front of him had lost its appeal, and he had the impression of being right back where he’d started.

#writing post #Extra episodes #Prequel episode #canon post #Season 1 episodes #eddie post

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vulpiximisa · 4 years

Text

a bedehop thingy for white day. its unrefined and straight up copy/pasted from my docs but enjoy? (theres a few references to my HCs like this one)

It’s Valentines Day and Bede gets a lot of chocolate and even a huge ass cake and he doesn’t know what to do with it all. He wants to share it with Opal and the gym trainers but they’re all aunties and grannies that they can’t have a lot of sweets and they did give him some of it so he can’t exactly give it back.

The gym trainers aunties tell him to share with his friends. Bede says he doesn’t have friends but they mention Hop, who had been seen coming to visit him often and they seem to get along very well, if the earrings that Bede always wears isn’t enough evidence.

Bede is standing on route 1 with a box of cake and a couple of paper bags filled with cookies and chocolate. He should have contacted Hop in advance. What if he wasn’t home, or was at work with Magnolia’ granddaughter? Worst case would be if he was with company and then he’d have to embarrass himself in front of Hop AND his company.

He takes his chances and walks towards Postwick. It’s so rural, with the Wooloo rolling about and Buttefree and Rookidee flocking. There’s two houses and he isn’t sure which one it is but he sees two familiar figures chatting in front of the gate of one of them. He flinches when they spot him.

He greets them courteously. The ex champion and Hop’s brother returns the greeting with a curious look. The other, the current champion’s brother and Hop’s friend, is looking at him suspiciously. He sucks up some courage and asks if Hop is available. They give each other a look before answering him.

Hop’s friend, Victor, asks why he was here and what he needed from Hop. Bede shuffles with the bags around his arms, the cake was getting kind of heavy. He gestures to all the sweets and tells them his intentions. Of course adding on that they are also free to indulge as well.

They give each other a look again and Bede wonders if they are somehow communicating telepathically. Leon scratches the back of his head, confessing he had even forgotten that today was a special day. (Victor points out that Leon would normally also get a ton of gifts today but Leon said he hadn’t checked his PO box yet.) He invites Bede into his family’s house, Victor following in after him.

Bede settles the sweets onto the coffee table in the living room that he is led to. Apparently the other adults of the house had gone on a vacation for the week, so it’s just them. Victor makes himself comfortable on the couch, Bede takes a seat on the one opposite him. He could hear Leon calling Hop down and the sound of footsteps padding down the stairs.

Hop’s voice carries from the foyer asking what his brother needed him for. (“I thought you and Vic were heading out?”) Leon from the kitchen tells him to go to the living room.

Bede self consciously fixes his appearance as Hop turns the corner into the room. He could hear Victor let out a snort. He sits up straighter when their eyes meet and Hop exclaims his name in surprise. Bede gets a small satisfaction when he sees that Hop also tries to fix himself to look presentable.

Hop asks what he’s doing here and Bede gestures to the box and bags sitting in front of him. (“Don’t get the wrong idea. I got these all from my fans and I definitely can not finish these all by myself.”) Hop scratches his head and mentions that he had forgotten today’s date as well. Victor rolls his eyes but with a smile. Bede also snorted softly (but fondly). Hop asks why they reacted like that but Leon asks him to move so he could put the tea down.

Bede helps make room on the table for the tea. Victor sets the cups and plates. The two brothers take a seat and Bede sweats when he’s staring at the other three from the other couch. (There was plenty of room next to him?)

Hop is beaming but Victor on his right is glaring at Bede with crossed arms and Leon (at Hop’s left) is also staring at him expectantly. Bede somehow feels like meeting Hop’s parents would be a lot less nerve wracking than this.

Bede coughs to break the silence and starts the conversation. He thanks Hop for all the snacks he brought from Kalos so hopefully these make up for it. He hadn’t gone through them yet but they’re free to help themselves. Hop vigorously empties one of the bags onto the table and starts shuffling through them for any interesting ones.

Victor helps himself to some of the fancier packaged ones. Leon is sipping his tea, only picking from the ones that Hop had already opened or dug into. Bede wonders if they actually really wanted to eat chocolate or if they stayed for other reasons.

Hop notes that there’s letters attached to some of them and opens one with sparkling stationery. Victor reprimands him for looking at a letter that isn’t addressed to him but Hop waves it off. Bede had enough fan mail and letters that he disregards most of them. It might have been mean but most of them are the regular “please be my girlfriend!” that he just has no interest in. Hop reads the letter out loud, just a general confession, signed with love from a girl from Hammerlocke. Victor sighs and tells him that it’s really rude and Bede should have taken them to heart since the writer had taken the time to write to him. Bede shrugs, saying he has no interest in the girls that try to court him through these kinds of means. (“If they were serious, they would tell me to my face.”)

Hop is munching away on some cookies when he finally notices the box. He asks to take a look and pulls it towards him before Bede even gives him permission. (Well, he had said everything was open territory.) Hop opens the box and the two at his side lean over this shoulder to get a look at the cake. Hop lets out a snort. It’s a chocolate cake in the shape of a heart with “I LOVE YOU!” on it written in frosting. Victor looks impressed, saying it looks homemade. Leon comments that it’s very thoughtful.

Hop pulls the cake out but realizes there’s no knife, so he puts it down and heads to the kitchen. Bede was in the middle of a sip when Victor speaks up.

“From your fans huh?”

“Pardon?”

Victor leans over on his knee trying to look intimidating. Victor insinuates that Bede had planted a few items in there intentionally meant for Hop but hiding it as a subtle confession because he’s too scared to confront him directly. Bede is about to argue at the ridiculous notion but Hop walks back in with the knife. He doesn’t notice the tension in the room and goes right ahead cutting the cake up.

“You’d really think I would do that?” Bede starts up.

Hop looks rightfully confused. Victor takes a bite out of the cake that Hop had handed to him before looking right at Bede.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“So you’re saying I’m a coward.” Bede slants his eyes

“Perhaps.” Victor glares back.

“So you do want me to say it? And all this time I thought you wanted me to stay far away.”

“Uhhh guys?? What are we talking about?” Hop is looking back and forth between the two.

“This cake is good.” Leon chimes in.

Bede’s smile looks cat-like as he takes a glance at Hop. Victor glares at him in warning.

“Hop, I actually have something to say to you.”

Hop sits up straight at Bede addressing him. Victor is wide eyed.

Bede opens his mouth again but realizes what exactly he is about to say and freezes. Victor takes the opportunity to chime in that they’re out of tea and asks Hop to make more water. Hop glances at Bede, hoping to get him to finish but Victor pushes him out the room with the kettle.

Bede felt a sweat trickle the back of his neck. He really was almost goaded into confessing to Hop. Out loud. He had just very recently processed the emotion to himself in the confines of his own thoughts, he wasn't ready to bring the thought to life yet. Well, it would be one thing to ask Hop out on a date, he could have said so without meaning it, just to put on airs in front of Victor to show him up. But that didn’t feel right to him, especially not how Hop had looked at him so eagerly.

He did like Hop. How and why was a mystery even to himself. Lies. He liked when Hop smiled or got angry and shouted. He liked seeing him fired up and he could be annoying and all up in his space and wouldn’t leave him alone, but he liked that someone wanted to be with him. But he wasn’t ready to tell him that yet.

“That was close.”

Bede jumped. Victor had gone to the kitchen with Hop but Leon was still sitting on the other side of the couch.

“Well, for both of you, I guess. That was a dangerous game.”

Luckily Leon didn’t look angry, but Bede couldn’t get a read on him. He had no idea what the older brother was thinking, but Bede assumed he was on Victor’s side.

“Please don’t let that happen again. I don’t want you two to hurt Hop over a silly rivalry that he’s unaware of.”

Bede realizes he was wrong in his assumption of Leon’s stance. Leon was on Hop’s side first and foremost. And he was right, if Bede had confessed prematurely, it would have ended up hurting Hop and himself.

“I’ll have to talk to Victor later too. But for now, let’s not bring that topic up. I know it’s Valentines day and you came all this way to share us your haul, but I’d rather not have you guys regret the things you say when you don’t truly mean it.”

Bede nods and agrees. He finally picks up the piece that Hop had sliced for him and took a bite. It was good, not the best he’s had but it was homemade. He looks at the letters that had been put to the side. Perhaps he should actually take a look at them. He wasn’t going to reply to each and every one of them, but at least look through them, if the writers had some guts to say something, that took at least a little bit of courage. Bede wasn’t a coward, he would tell Hop to his face when he was ready, none of this letters and chocolate nonsense.

Victor and Hop come back with a new pot. Bede wonders what they had talked about in the kitchen because Hop kept taking glances at him. Hop takes his seat back on the couch when Leon rises and announces he’s heading out and thanks Bede for the sweets. Hop asks where he’s going since he just boiled a new pot. Leon pulls Victor away with an arm around his shoulder and tells Hop that they were sticking with their original plans. Victor tries to protest but Leon’s hold is firm and he is dragged out of the room.

It’s quiet for a good two seconds when they realize they are alone. Hop uncharacteristically stutters and offers Bede more tea. Bede accepts with trembling hands.

Hop brings back up that Bede had wanted to tell him something before Victor had interrupted. Bede doesn’t know how to change the topic but he knows he can’t say what it is he thought about saying before yet.

Instead he asks Hop if he’s ever had homemade chocolates gifted to him before. Hop looked disappointed when he heard the question. Bede wonders what he was expecting. Hop answers that he gets chocolate from Gloria whenever she gets the chance to make them. They’re usually friend chocolates though so they don’t really count? They count as much as getting them from his mom and Gloria’s mom? Also a few years of friend chocolates from when he was still working with Sonia.

Bede exhales from his nose, which Hop took as a taunt. “Well, sorry I’m not a super pretty boy that gets so much chocolate that he has to find people to share it with.”

In reality, it was a sigh of relief, knowing that Bede doesn’t have much competition. Well, perhaps quality over quantity, Champion Gloria and Hop are known for their deep bond.

“So you’ve never been confessed to?”

“No…” A pause. “Not yet at least…”

Uh oh, this was dangerous. He didn’t promise Leon anything but he knew he shouldn't be heading in this direction.

“Mah, good luck then.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Like, who says good luck to getting confessed to? That’s not in his control?

“Though I would feel sorry for any girl who would confess to you. Clearly they need a change in taste.”

“Rude!”

They banter about other things but they know it’s all harmless and it’s easier for them this way. They nibble on a few more sweets before it’s too much. Hop claims the ones he likes best and cuts the cake into saveable portions to pack up. As they’re cleaning up, Hop asks what he’s going to do with the letters. Bede usually throws them away but he’d at least want to read through them first.

“What? Change of heart?”

“Well, Victor is right, they did take the time to write to me, I could at least skim through it before I trash them.”

Hop sidles next to him, a little too close, wanting to read with him. Bede scoffs at him being nosy but they go through the letters. As they thought, most of them were the same. One signed with a male name stuck out but that was it.

Hop asks if Bede would ever respond to an admirer and Bede just says none of them had a chance. They all lost the moment they thought slipping a piece of paper and some cookies would woo him. They were all fans though, they didn’t really know him and probably only liked the idea of him, or their own version they have of him in their minds. Hop hums in thought and asks what someone would have to do to impress him.

“Why? Interested?” He jokes but his heart races.

Hop splutters, trying to save himself by saying that jerks aren’t very attractive.

“Guess this jerk can take all these goods back then.”

Hop hugs the haul he picked out possessively.

Bede ponders over Hop’s question. He couldn’t imagine being wooed, and yet, this fool sitting next to him had managed to do so somehow. It’s not like Hop did anything special, if anything his first judgement of him was far from impressive. But they learned that they weren’t too different from one another, and maybe that was enough for him to open up to someone who was the total opposite of him in personality.

He didn’t realize he had been in his own thoughts that Hop was waving a hand over his face. He asked what Bede was lost on but Bede just brushed it off. Hop didn’t look convinced and asked if it was about what he was going to say about earlier.

Bede said he had already asked his question but Hop is still staring him down. He decides it time to leave, lest he actually spill his guts. He excuses himself and Hop sees him at the door. Hop scratches his head and asks if he would mind if he gave him something in return for White Day. Bede whips around at the implication but glares, trying to look offended. He reminds Hop that these were from the fans and not from him personally so there isn’t really a reason for Hop to have to pay him back. (He also adds that he’s only sharing with him because Hop had given him all the Kalos snacks.) Hop lets him go and tells him he won’t give him anything for White Day then, geez. Bede huffs. (“Good”)

Hop does show up at Ballonlea gym on White Day with chocolate and flowers (a single rose). Bede is gauging Hops mood, what were his intentions? Hop gives him a cheeky grin, says he’s here because Bede told him specifically not to get him anything and Bede just sighs.

Hop asks if he’s free though and maybe they could go out later. Bede narrows his eyes and asks why. Hop is swaying around and says it’s cuz he wants to take him out, to get dinner. Bede stares. Hop gets increasingly nervous and asks Bede again if he’ll go? Bede pulls back and asks that he not joke with him but Hop jumps up and says he’s serious.

Bede asks if he knows what he’s saying. Hop nods and says that he wants to go on a date with Bede. Bede is super flushed but super pleased and just tells him to wait a moment cuz he’s not done for the day. Hop nods and asks when he should come back. They agree on a time and Bede doesn’t think it’s really happening because that’s not how he planned it.

When they meet up again, Hop is not dressed up any more than usual, which Bede points out. (Bede dressed a little nicer but he usually does.) Hop scratches his head and says he didn’t actually expect Bede to accept.

They go to dinner, it’s not awkward because they interact as they always do, though they both have in the backs of their minds that this isn’t just a regular hangout. Bede finally asks why he came today, was it just to mess with him? Hop said initially, yes it was to piss him off (with the chocolates) but he asked him out with a purpose.

Hop confesses that he likes Bede and that he’d hope Bede would be his boyfriend. Bede is silent and Hop takes it as Bede not believing him and he’s trying to convince him that he really does like him and he starts rambling about all the things he likes about him (he’s a good trainer, he’s cool with his fans even if he’s a jerk sometimes, he’s smart and okay yeah he’s very pretty and he aggravated him but he can’t stop thinking about him and) Hop realizes he’s rambling and Bede is looking at him with a cat smile.

Hop thinks Bede is playing with him and tells him he could be a little nicer and just reject him already instead of letting Hop inflate his ego. Bede instead calls for something. The waiter comes back with a bunch of roses and hands then to Hop. Hop is confused but Bede finally answers.

He was going to confess today. Well, he had made plans to but Hop ruined it by coming here first. Hop is wide eyed behind the roses. Bede doesn’t say “I like you” but just “the feelings are mutual” and leaves it at that.

When they leave the restaurant (Hop demanded he pay), Hop is trying to get Bede to tell him more but Bede just tells him that’s all he needs to know. Hop looks disappointed but offers to walk him back to his home with Opal. They do and Bede allows them to talk about other stuff and it’s almost like before they had confessed. When they’re at the door, Hop looks on expectantly. Bede asks him what he wants and Hop shuffles with the roses in his hand. Hop bails though and just tells him he enjoyed the night and he’ll text him later. He’s about to leave when Bede pulls him over and kisses him near his mouth.

Bede quickly bids him goodnight and flees into the house. Hop is flushed, staring at the door that Bede had fled behind. He grins brightly and does a fist pump. Bede is leaning behind the door, trying to calm his racing heart. It almost feels juvenile, all this non sense. But he remembers Hops smile and it makes him think it’s not so bad.

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

i havent been able to draw because im still recovering from whatever the fuck my wrist is doing but i still want to see content for this ship so im doing whatever i can to see them flourish ;w;

#pixi tries to write #bedehop #cheeryfairyshipping #anyway happy white day yall #i wrote this after valentines day but figured it could put it up for the return day

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natashasbanner · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Storybrooke

What if Bruce and Natasha lived in the Enchanted Forest before the Queen's curse and were brought to the Land Without Magic?

Bruce/Nat OUAT AU that no one asked for.

A/N: So I did a thing. This is kind of based on a Tumblr prompt and something I've wanted to play with for a long time. Someone asked if I'd ever write a Brucenat fairytale AU and this that, with a twist from one of my favorite shows.

This will have three parts and you don't need any knowledge of Once Upon a Time to enjoy.

Also on AO3 X

Bruce started his day like he did any other. His alarm clock sounded at four in the afternoon, but he was mostly awake by then. He got up, took a shower and made himself some breakfast before heading into town. He still had a while before he had to be at work, but he liked to enjoy a little bit of daylight before spending his entire night at Storybrooke’s hospital.

The quiet town didn’t have a busy emergency room during the day and at night it was a ghost town, but Bruce didn’t mind the quiet. When he finished medical school, he always imagined his days would be spent elbow deep in trauma after trauma in the big city. As it turned out the occasional bumps and bruises that he dealt with suited him well enough, better for his nerves.

Bruce’s apartment was only a few blocks from Main Street and it was a beautifully sunny day. He grabbed his bag from where he left it by the door every morning when he returned from the hospital and headed for Main Street.

His first stop was always Granny’s. Her granddaughter was out front, like she always was, updating the sign and sent him a smile as he passed. He ordered two coffees and pastry for later before moving on down the sidewalk, toward the boarded up library.

Only today was different. The library was still closed off and boarded up, but the clock on the tower that overlooked the street was actually working. For as long as Bruce remembered, the clock remained pointed to 8:15. He paused on the corner and watched the new anomaly with wonder.

If Storybrooke was anything, it was consistent. The days ran together, each one nearly identical to the last. It was exhausting sometimes, the monotony of it, but most of the time he didn’t even notice. The clock working suddenly was cause for a moment of pause. He watched for a few more minutes, before moving on.

His next stop was the bookstore tucked between the hardware store and a small deli. Because the library was closed, Bruce spent a fair amount of time searching the shelves for something new to read from the old titles. He could spend hours among the books, but they weren’t the only reason he frequented the store as often as he did.

Bruce pushed open the door and a bell sounded above his head. The owner and sole employee of the small store, Natasha, peeked her head around the shelves. She narrowed her eyes when she realized it was him and set down the books she’d been shelving.

“You’re late,” she said accusingly as she walked toward him.

He held out the second coffee in his hand as a peace offering. “I was distracted.”

“What could possibly be so interesting in this town?” She frowned and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“The clock over the library’s working,” he said, taking a seat at one of the chairs by the front window of the store.

Natasha followed his lead and sat opposite him, craning her neck to try and get a look for herself. She sank into the chair with an unamused shrug.

“It hasn’t worked as long as I’ve lived here,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

“And even before that,” he added.

She smiled softly and tilted her head to the side. “What’s it say about us that the most interesting thing that’s happened to us is the stupid clock getting fixed?”

“I think it’s a sign,” Bruce said, watching over the rim of his steaming cup.

She raised her eyebrow at him. “A sign of what?”

“Change.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “This place will never change.”

Bruce sighed, but didn’t say anything. He was well aware of her resentment of this place. She wanted to travel, see the world, but she was confined to this tiny town in the middle of nowhere. But that was life sometimes, her husband got a good job on a fishing boat and they’d packed up and moved to Storybrooke. He felt for her, he really did.

“Nat?” He said softly, reaching out to pat her knee.

She looked up reluctantly, but made eye contact.

“Have you heard from him?”

Natasha blew out a long breath and shook her head. “Not for a few weeks, but they’re scheduled back soon.”

“That’s good,” Bruce said, struggling to keep his tone even.

“Yeah,” she said and looked back out the window.

Bruce sat back in his chair and watched her. Bruce didn’t find out that Natasha was married until he’d known her for almost a year. He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to her, she was beautiful inside and out and one of the funniest people he’d ever met. But he’d never come between her and her husband, despite the fact the he spent months at a time out in the Atlantic. He was happy with their friendship, no matter what.

“Tell me about your book,” she said suddenly, meeting his eyes once again.

Bruce chuckled and pulled it out of his bag.

“You were right. It was amazing.”

“Maybe you should listen to me more often,” she teased. “I’m kind of an expert.”

“Lesson learned,” he conceded. “What do you recommend for this week?”

“Follow me, Doc.”

As much as Natasha hated to admit it, Bruce had been right. Storybrooke was changing. She could feel it in the air when she opened the store in the mornings, when she walked to Granny’s for coffee and breakfast. Every time she walked past that damned clock above the library.

The town was going insane. A coma patient just walked out of the hospital, the sheriff died and was replaced by the woman the mayor seemed to want to run out of town more than anything. Her shop was the busiest it has ever been and a letter arrived from Alex saying he’d be home in two weeks’ time.

When Bruce finally came back into her shop again, Natasha was relieved. She hated the feeling of living the same day over and over in a town she resented keeping her prisoner. But she’d give anything for a boring day with all the chaos going on around them.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, rounding on him before he was fully in the store.

He held out the usual coffee he bought for her along with a pastry bag from Granny’s.

“I brought a peace offering,” he said. “If that helps?”

Natasha accepted the coffee and eyed the bag suspiciously.

“I haven’t seen you in a month.”

“The hospital’s been busy,” he defended. “A man in a coma just walked out.”

“I’ve been busy here and lonely without my favorite customer.”

“I’m sorry.”

She took the pastry bag and peeked inside before looking back at him.

“You’re forgiven.”

They made their way over to their usual chairs and sat together quietly for a few minutes before Natasha decided to break the silence.

“Alex is coming home,” she said softly.

Bruce smiled and hesitated a moment before he spoke.

“That’s awesome. Did he say when?”

Natasha tilted her head to the side with a smile. “Two weeks.”

He tried to hide it, but reading Bruce was something she excelled at. She always knew that Bruce liked her and she couldn’t deny the stirring of feelings she felt for him, only growing as time went on. But she had Alex and he was finally coming home. Being drawn to Bruce romantically was not an option.

“I’m happy for you, Nat,” he said and it was sincere.

Natasha ducked her head. “Thank you, Bruce.”

They lapsed into silence again, but this time Bruce was the one to break it.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Nothing,” she answered, shaking her head.

Bruce smiled. “Come to the Miner’s Day festival with me.”

“Alright, I’ve never been.”

“I think you’ll enjoy it.”

The next evening, Bruce showed up after she’d closed the store for the night. Natasha thought he looked adorable in his winter coat and scarf. He had two cups from Granny’s in his gloved hands.

“You’re spoiling me,” she teased, taking one of the cups.

“It’s a perfect night for hot cocoa.”

“Lead the way, Doc.” she said and nodded down Main Street.

He offered her his arm and she slipped hers around his elbow.

“I did not know you’d never been to a Miner’s Day festival.”

“Alex and I were supposed to go last year, but he didn’t come back. I didn’t feel like going by myself.”

“You’re in for a treat,” he promised and Natasha couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah?”

Bruce bumped his hip against hers and she laid her head against his shoulder.

“Why haven’t we ever hung out outside the store?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I never realized.”

“We should get out more often,” she said and he chuckled.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

Natasha lifted her head and smiled up at him. “We’ll figure it out. That’s what friends are for, right?”

He bumped his shoulder against hers. “Absolutely.”

She laid her head back on his shoulder with a smile.

Of course the first Miner’s Day festival Natasha got to experience some idiot knocks out the power. Bruce was convinced the town had lost its collective minds.This was only the latest in a string of strange events to happen in the town lately.

The candles were a nice save, but Natasha didn’t want to hang around for long after the power went out.

They walked back to her store together, arm in arm, a candle held between them.

“Is it just me or did this place start getting interesting overnight?” she asked.

“That’s putting it nicely,” he scoffed.

She shrugged, her head on his shoulder. “You were right, things are changing.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

They stopped in front of her store, the door to the apartment above on the side of the building. She was staring at him, her gaze intense like she could see everything about him in just a look.

“I don’t think so,” she said and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, Bruce.”

“‘Night.”

He waited on the sidewalk until he saw a light turn on on the second level. This was dangerous territory they were crossing into, but Bruce was certain he couldn’t go back if he tried.

“The town’s been quiet.” Bruce commented as he sipped his coffee at Granny’s

Natasha sat across from him, her head resting in her hand as she looked at him. She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I never thought I’d see the day where I looked forward to a dull evening.”

Bruce chuckled and brought his hand up to rest over his heart.

“I’ll try to be more entertaining next time.”

“You know what I meant,” she said and nudged his shin with her toe. “All the excitement has made me appreciate the quiet days. As much as I hate to admit it.”

Bruce smiled softly and bumped his knee against hers under the table. “I knew you’d come around, eventually.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t sound so smug.”

“You like it here,” he teased.

“Like is a strong word,” she said. “But it’s alright, for now.”

“I’ll take it,” he conceded.

Natasha smiled and they lapsed into silence. Their food was brought out to their table and they ate in comfortable silence.

A few minutes into their meal the bell over the door jingled. Bruce didn’t think anything of it, people came and went the entire time they were there. His back was to the door and he didn’t even bother turning around. He only paused when he realized Natasha dropped her fork.

He looked up and saw that she was staring at whoever just walked in, her mouth open slightly.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She blinked a few times, ignoring his question.

“Alex?” she said and stood from the booth.

Bruce turned around and watched her walk over to the man standing in the middle of the diner. He recognized him vaguely from the picture Natasha kept behind the counter of the store. He was tall and handsome with a rugged edge. Bruce watched as Alex and Natasha held onto each other awkwardly for a moment.

He turned his back to them when they pulled back to look at each other. He could hear their quiet conversation.

“You weren’t supposed to back for two days,” Natasha accused.

“I know. We got back early.”

“You could have told me.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised.”

Bruce could hear the smile in Natasha’s voice and his heart sank into his stomach. He stood from the booth suddenly and tossed enough money to cover their meals on the table. He ducked his head and hurried past the couple, ignoring Natasha calling his name.

The air outside was freezing and after a block of walking he realized he left his coat in the booth he all but ran from. It was stupid and a little immature to just up and leave the second Nat’s husband returned, but he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure when his quiet longing had turned into full blown feelings, but Bruce was certain he loved Natasha Romanoff.

But she was married and seeing her with Alex hurt more than he cared to admit. Maybe the distance would do him some good.

“What the hell was that, Banner?” Natasha demanded as she stormed into the emergency room.

Bruce looked up from his book and glanced at the clock on the counter. It was after two in the morning and he stood from his chair, immediately concerned.

“Nat? What are you doing here?” He rounded the counter and crossed the room to her. “Is everything okay?”

He reached out for her, but she waved his hand away.

“I don’t know, you tell me. Why did you run out like that?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Bruce sighed and looked down at his feet.

“I thought you and Alex would want some time to catch up. Alone.”

“So you left without a word in the middle of dinner. That’s what you’re sticking with?”

He nodded, but still didn’t look at her. Natasha sighed and reached out to touch his arm.

“Bruce,” she said. “Please look at me.”

Reluctantly, he lifted his head.

“I know, okay.”

“Know what?”

She sighed and took a step closer. “I feel it too.”

Bruce shook his head and backed up. “No, you don’t have to do this. Natasha, your husband just came home.”

“Maybe I don’t care,” she said with a shrug.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” she snapped.

Bruce deflated and remained quiet while she paced in front of him.

“You were right, Bruce. I don’t know what it is, but something in this town is changing. I have these dreams and they feel so real and they’re always the same. You and I, together and happy. I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t help but feel drawn to you.”

“I know what you mean,” he said.

There were memories in his head that felt so vivid, so real. But they were impossible, a completely separate life he lived, one he lived with Natasha. They were happy and it wasn’t complicated and Bruce would give everything for them to be true. They weren’t though, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

“But it’s not real.”

She took the last step to close the distance between them and reached out to touch his cheek.

“It could be,” she said softly.

Bruce leaned in to her touch and let himself hope for a moment, just a moment before reaching up and grabbing her fingers.

“You’re married, Nat.”

“I don’t have to be.”

Bruce chuckled and gave her fingers a soft squeeze.

“We both know the second that happened you’d be on the next bus out of town.”

“Come with me,” she said.

“My whole life’s here.”

“Then let’s start over. You and me, we could go anywhere.”

Bruce ducked his head. “Natasha, go home. Get some sleep.”

“It won’t change anything,” she said defiantly, pulling her hand from his grasp.

Bruce looked up and saw the silent tears running down her face.

He swallowed and smiled sadly. “I know.”

She lingered in front of him for a few more seconds before turning on her heel and hurrying out of the hospital.

Bruce watched her go and his heart broke more with every step.

Bruce spent the next few days sulking alone in his apartment. He saw Natasha in passing a few times, but she ignored him. Alex was with her a few times and it hurt, but Bruce knew it was for the best. They wanted different things. He was content with his life in Storybrooke, but she wanted more, so much more than he could ever give her. She resented Alex, as much as she tried to hide it, and Bruce couldn’t live with himself if he ever did the same.

On the third day he decided to get some fresh air. He avoided Main Street and headed for the docks. With a coffee from home, he found an empty bench and settled in to watch the water.

His coffee was nearly finished when he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up to find Natasha standing beside him, hands in her coat pockets. She didn’t look angry anymore, just tired.

“Can I sit down?”

“Of course.” Bruce moved over to give her room on the bench.

She sat and looked out at the water, but didn’t say anything. Eventually, Bruce was the one to break the silence.

“How have you been?”

She sighed. “I’ve been better.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Alex and I are getting divorced.”

Bruce wasn’t sure what to say to that and her expression gave nothing away.

“It wasn’t you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she added a few moments later. “We decided it was for the best. We weren’t happy anymore.”

“I really am sorry, Nat.” He reached over and patted her knee.

“I’m leaving, Bruce.”

Bruce blew out a breath and looked out at the water. He figured as much, but it still felt like someone punched him in the gut.

“Where will you go?” He asked.

“New York,” she said with certainty.

“When?”

“By the end of the month.”

He looked over at her again. “I’ll miss you, Nat.”

“You can always come visit,” she said and looked back at him with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce smiled at that. “You’ll get sick of me.”

Natasha looked at him seriously. “Never.”

They lapsed back into silence, both staring out at the water. It was cold, but the sun was high in the sky, reflecting off the waves.

“Do you think we’d ever have a chance?” she asked after a few minutes.

“Maybe,” Bruce answered. “One day.”

Natasha sighed and stood. “I need to start packing.”

Bruce stood as well and in an instant Natasha was in his arms, holding him tightly against her. He hugged her close and rested his cheek against her head.

“I wish things could have worked out differently,” she whispered against his chest.

He leaned back and kissed her forehead.

“Me too.”

The mayor’s kid was brought into the hospital a few nights later and the entire place descended into chaos. The mayor and the sheriff were at each other’s throats and it was giving Bruce a massive headache.

The sun had just come up when he was finally able to step outside for a much needed breather. His phone rang and he immediately recognized Natasha’s number and picked up.

“I heard you had an exciting night, Doc,” she said, teasing.

“More like aggravating,” he corrected with a soft chuckle. “I’ve never seen two people fight as much as those two, I swear.”

Natasha laughed. “How much longer do you have?”

“Two hours,” he said with a sigh.

“Meet me at Granny’s when you’re done, I’ll buy you breakfast,” she said. “If you’re up for it.”

“I’d love that.” He smiled to himself.

“I should go back inside.”

She started to say something but her sentence was cut short but static on the line. A strange light pulsed away from the hospital and spread through the town. The air was pushed from his lungs and he gasped for breath. Suddenly the world felt more vibrant that it ever had.

Memories rushed into his mind, the life he thought had been a dream was real. And the more he remembered, the more he felt like weeping.

And then he remembered he’d been talking on the phone. It was still pressed to his ear but the line was dead silent.

“Natalia?”

#brucenat #hulkwidow #brutasha #please enjoy #and let me know what you think #i've been sitting on this for a while and it was really fun to write so i hope you all like it

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pandawritespoorly · 4 years

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what's your best advice for someone who wants to write a multi-chapter fic? or just writing stuff in general? I really admire the way your writing flows and was hoping you might impart some wisdom to me teehee. (also the way you write the quantic kiddos is my everything)

Firstly, thank you!! I definitely handled the compliments rationally and most certainly didn’t squeal and grin like an idiot. Not at all. ❤

Secondly, writing tips. Well, for multi-chapter fics, I usually have two docs. One for the main story, and one ‘planning doc’. I put anything on there. Notes about the characters I need to remember, the general timeline, random events I want to happen, a general summary of my overall plan for the story, etc. It really helps me if I have a plan for the story - events to jump to. So really, what I guess I’m saying, is that you should plan ahead. It doesn’t have to be neat, and it doesn’t have to be something crazy, but anything that you want to keep in mind for your story, make sure you keep that in mind.

As for just general writing tips, I’m not really sure. I read a lot, so I think I must have picked some stuff up. Though, I think one thing that might help is to know where you’re going (I’m sorry, I sound like a broken record), When I’m writing, if I get stuck, then sometimes I just try to figure out how to get where I’m going. If the next event is close then I’ll try my best to connect the dots, and if it’s far enough then sometimes I’ll just wrap up the current portion so that I can move on to the next event. Take comfort in the fact that you can always come back and edit later.

If you’re having a hard time starting/transitioning to a new scene, then just start. Like, just write absolute nonsense. That whole cereal/soup debate spawned from me not knowing how to transition into them finding Luka, so I wrote a dumb debate with the characters vaguely in mind and voila! I had that scene and it was one of my favorites! If you’re starting something from the very beginning and you don’t know how to start, then the same applies. I had to write out a memoir-project type thing once in high school, and I had no clue how to start. I had ‘My name is PandaWritesPoorly and....’ and didn’t know how to continue.

I ended up writing something along the lines of: ‘My name is PandaWritesPoorly and for the past ninety-seven years of my sixteen year life I have been in crime for a murder I didn’t commit.’ out of pure boredom and that project turned into a conspiracy theory and I had a blast with it. Moral of the story: write the first thing that comes into your head just to get yourself going. Once you get writing it’ll get easier and you can always edit it later so that it makes sense within the confines of your story.

Or, another thing I’ve done is when I just can’t get past the current part, but know exactly what to write for an upcoming scene I’ll summarize it. Like if I knew I wanted to write the scene where Marinette accidentally texts Alya, but I don’t know how to get there, I’d do something like: ‘Marinette is at school and feels bad about retiring Rena Rouge. The Quantics are worried about her and then Claude finds her crying at the lunch table’ before launching into that whole scene.

Does any of that make sense? Did that help at all? I hope so!

Thank you so much again! You’re so sweet! I wish you the best of luck in your writing regardless of if my tips help! 💕💕💕

#asks #writing tips #writing advice #i hope this helps #thank you for the compliments!#you're so kind!#💕💕#writing

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forkanna · 5 years

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Back To The Future and related concepts © Robert Zemeckis/Bob Gale/Universal. Frozen and related concepts © Diznee. This story, plot, and prose © Jessica X and Fruipit. Artwork ©Captnducky. All rights reserved.

WARNING: This story will contain coarse language, incestuous romance between a mother and daughter, and some smut. Also contains Punzanna (Rapunzel/Anna) content. If you have a problem with any of those things, DO NOT READ.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is where the plot begins to diverge a lot more from that of the films. Part I followed the movie very closely, but the many little differences made it impossible to stick that close to the Part II script – or close to it at all. So we went where the writing took us. Sorry for it taking so long for us to get it out there to you, but we hope you are still along for the ride!

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

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

The sky flashed. The lightning struck.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment. All ten fingers clamped down around the steering wheel as Anna accelerated toward the thick cable strung between the lampposts, sparks erupting all around the DeLorean. The flux capacitor was ready and only needed the nuclear reaction to power the time-jump. And it was getting it; no sooner had Doc connected two wires at the last possible moment was he blown back from the force of the electricity racing through the connection into a shrub.

Anna McFly squeezed her eyes shut, praying she made it home.

…And then suddenly she was coming to a stop, skidding sideways into a bus stop bench. It made an awful screeching din as it was uprooted from the ground and sent flying back into the nearest building, cracking a single brick with its corner before clattering to the ground.

That could be worried about later. For now… she had to look around and hold her breath.

Cafe 80s. GameStop. Verizon.

She was in 2015. It worked. Despite all the odds, she and Doc had got the stupid time machine working and sent her back to the future.

"FUCK YEAH!" she screamed, slamming the heel of her hand into the steering wheel. "I didn't die!"

Opening the door to the car, she was seconds from jumping out and doing a happy little dance when a familiar van came tearing down the street. Oh no. She didn't die, but someone else would, and soon, if she didn't get a wriggle on.

But it was okay. She could do this. They were from out of town. There were multiple shortcuts she could use to get there before they did. She could do this. Twisting the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life. Briefly.

"No, no, no!" Anna screamed, whacking the steering wheel with her hand. She tried again; once more, the engine sputtered, and died. Why? Of all the times for an engine failure…

She didn't have a car. She didn't even have a skateboard. As she took off running down the street, she had only one thing: desperation.

Never before in her life had Anna run that fast. She lost sight of the van, of course, but she knew Dell Valley like the back of her hand. She was heading straight for Twin Pines Mall.

But one lone teenage girl couldn't outmatch angry armed nationalists in a van, and as she rounded the hill that led to the mall, she knew she was too late. No time to call out, no time to warn Doc the way she had hoped. Only enough time to see bullets raining down onto his chest, blowing him backwards and onto the pavement from the far side of the parking lot.

Before she could even cry out, she heard her other self scream. That was eerie; even worse was watching a radiation suit-clad Anna come around the corner of the truck, shaking with anger and grief. The newly-arrived Anna shared the rage, and could only look on helplessly as she peeled out in the DeLorean. She wanted to do something else, but what could she do? If she interrupted, it would be one of those paradox things. No… all she could do was wait until the flashes of light and fire-trails gave proof of her disappearance.

Then she saw the nationalists firing off the rocket from their launcher, which streaked for the car… and instead blew a huge crater in the ground in front of them. Unable to swerve in time, they drove straight into the crater, totalling the van and probably knocking everyone inside unconscious.

"Good," she managed to mumble through her veil of tears. Hastily, she started running down the grassy hill, tripped, and rolled the rest of the way down. Then she hopped up to sprint for Doc's side.

It only took a few seconds for her to reach him. Collapsing on the pavement next to him, she brought a hand up to press at his face. "Doc…" she whispered. But no answer came.

Goddammit. Barking out a rough sob, she removed her hand. It had other things to do, like wipe at her tear-streaked face. God life wasn't fair. There was a cough – and it must have been her. After all, she was completely alone now…

"Anna…?"

Fuck, she could even hear his voice…

"Anna!"

Her hands were pulled roughly away, and Anna found herself staring at a very surprised, very not-dead Doc Pabbie. His eyes were wide and concerned, and he looked as though he were expecting Anna to say something. But she was entirely mute. Finally letting go of her hands, he brought his own up to his chest, slowly peeling away the lapels of the hazard suit. There was something underneath, and when Anna realised what it was, she felt she could have sobbed again.

"A bullet-proof vest," she croaked. "How… how did you know?"

He looked away at that question, lined features a little ashamed. "Back in '85, your video. And then your insistence to tell me something. Even if you didn't specify… it really doesn't take a genius to figure out something truly heinous would befall me." She looked at him, and he smiled. "Also… an elf left me this."

And from his pocket he pulled out a letter, weathered and yellow. Anna recognised it immediately. She had left her plan B, which had felt as pathetic a backup as a Plan Z when she left it; had he truly found it? She was a little surprised he hadn't just thrown it out.

"The letter," she breathed, eyes streaming so much that she could barely see it. "Oh… it's ripped down the middle…"

"I did start to tear it up when I first found it," he sighed. "No man should know too much about his own destiny. But then I figured…" A little shrug. "What the hell?"

Laughing, she threw herself into a hug, gripping him tightly – full of so much more happiness than the last time she had. The man hugged her back, even though his laughter was punctuated by a groan of pain. After a minute, she pulled back to ask if he was alright.

"Just fine," he grunted, pushing upward and onto his feet as they gathered up their things and prepped the truck to drive away. Olaf had to be coaxed out from underneath, but eventually he responded to his master. "Though I'm sure I'll have some beautiful bruises from the impact of the bullets, at least they didn't puncture."

"Right; guess that would still hurt, even with the vest. But… I'm so gla-"

"Please, Anna," he chuckled softly, though his eyes were full of an almost grandfatherly affection as he opened the door for her to hop into the passenger's seat. "I'm fine. But I do believe we have some debriefing to do."

"Right… guess that's true." Taking out her phone to call the police about the terrorists, she hesitantly muttered, "But I'm just so damn glad to be home."

CHAPTER 1

By the time they got back to Lyon Estates, the non-functional DeLorean stowed safely back in the confines of the truck, Doc looked quite a bit more sober than he had after cheating death. She had debriefed him about her adventure into the past, understanding that the details were much fresher to her than to him, leaving out some of the more risqué parts that he certainly wouldn't have approved of – but still filling in more details now that they could freely discuss them instead of worrying about past-Doc knowing too much. She felt a blush rising to her face as she recounted what had happened at the dance, leaving out the grisly details from their romp in Elsa's car. Of course, he was there, and knew about the attraction from Elsa's perspective. He did a very good job of not blaming Anna for everything that had happened in 1985, but he certainly didn't look pleased about the turn of events.

"I suppose I should have warned you about the Butterfly Effect when I was doing my demonstration in present day," he sighed. "Well, you're here now, so at least our attempts to correct the issue went off without a hitch…"

"Yeah… at least there's that."

Silence fell thick, and quite uncomfortable. She was sure he could – and probably already had – filled in the gaps that she'd left out. Bone-weary exhaustion was setting in, along with some sadness. The near-miss of the universe ending was now minuscule when compared with the reality of losing her Elsa. The one she'd actually come to know. It would be hard, she thought, adjusting to her new-old life here… but she didn't have any choice. Might as well start getting used to it.

With nothing else worth sharing – at least, not that night – Anna bid Doc farewell as he pulled alongside the kerb in front of her house. Creeping inside, she half-expected to see her mother still waiting up for her, but there was no one. When Anna finally got to her bedroom, she collapsed on the covers, still fully dressed. It only felt like it was about 10:30 – which it was, according to her body.

It still didn't take very long to drift off, despite apprehension for the coming day filling her dreams. But she needed sleep or dealing with reality would be impossible.

~ o ~

When she awoke the next morning, Anna's bones ached from the awkward position in which she slept. At some point, her shoes had fallen off so at least she didn't dirty up her sheets, and she had thrown off her vest before crashing. Could have been worse. Her clock radio had probably been blaring out an old Huey Lewis song for almost a full two minutes before she sat up.

Was it a nightmare? She had to at least address that possibility as she rubbed at her face, stood up shakily. She was definitely starving; she hadn't eaten much last night… whether or not last night was the same night Adult Hans wrecked her dad's car, or the Enchantment Under The Sea dance. So she decided to turn off her brain and go get something to eat.

She only got as far as the living room.

It took a few moments to figure out why she felt an impending sense of disorientation, and when she did, it hit her like a freight train. Everything was different. The bare layout of the house was the same, including the furniture placement and one or two of the art pieces, but the furniture itself was completely different; much more high-end than anything her family ever owned. Some of the uglier paintings were gone, replaced with more tasteful, simple ones, or family photos that looked much less depressing than the ones Anna remembered. The wallpaper was gone, replaced with an elegant coat of paint that couldn't be more than a few years old. And sitting at the breakfast table were John and Wendy…

Except… since when did John wear a suit this early in the morning? Or at all?! And since when did they have grapefruit and muesli on the table instead of Pop Tarts and Froot Loops? Not only that, but there was also a quiche that definitely looked freshly-made, with a few wedges already cut out.

"Uhhhh," Wendy began when she saw Anna pause, staring at her siblings. She probably looked as confused as she felt. "Are you okay, Anna?"

"What- what's all this?" she asked as she slid into a barstool, staring at them. Wendy stared back.

"Breakfast."

"In a suit?!"

At that, John gave a light chuckle. "You know I've been pulling long days at the office," he said.

"Oh, yeah. Hah. Right. The office."

Obviously this wasn't exactly the same world that she had left. Her brother was, at least mildly, successful – at any rate, he no longer seemed to work at the local Pizza Planet. When Wendy stood up from her seat, the differences with her also became obvious; Anna hadn't noticed, but her glasses actually looked… nice, expensive trendy frames. Her hair wasn't an oily, limp mess; instead, it bobbed about her chin in tight curls. Definitely with a curling iron – but they'd never been able to afford stupid luxuries like that.

Maybe she needed to call Doc and have a conversation about that Butterfly Effect thing. Because she had a feeling somewhere, something she had messed up had made a huge difference.

She was just about to ask where her parents were when she heard the front door open. Mr McFly's voice rang through the house, though it was missing some of the reediness. Elsa's voice came through with a reply, and she sounded different, too.

And then they rounded the corner and Anna fell off her seat.

Her dad was in the lead, reaching out to lay his keys on a sideboard in the hallway. He looked to be in great shape, lacking the potbelly of the father she knew, and his grey-streaked blonde hair was in a rugged "rock" style that hung just past his ears instead of slicked back with oil to get it out of the way. On top of that, the pale blue button-up was open at the collar to show off a fine gold chain over his broad, toned chest.

"I… what… you…"

"What's the matter, honey?" he chuckled at her with a slight smile, reaching down to pull her back to her feet. It was still a gentle hand, but a lot more self-assured than he had ever been with her before; the grip was firm, his biceps more than enough to haul her upward.

"What are you wearing? What is anybody wearing?!" she burst out, knowing how stupid she sounded.

"Sweetheart," her mom sighed as she rounded her husband. "Did you fall out of bed and hit your noggin' again?"

And then she saw her. Not her mother… not frumpy Mrs. McFly. This was Elsa, aged thirty more years. Blonde hair in a much more tasteful braid than the younger model, but still braided, still well-maintained and elegant. She was a little plumper, but definitely not out of shape; this Elsa had shed her pregnancy pounds in the name of keeping healthy. Once she pulled her sunglasses off, she saw that there were still slight crows feet at the corners of her eyes, but not the enormous bags that her mother had always been sporting.

This was a woman who loved life rather than suffered through it. And she was beautiful.

"Mom?" she breathed softly, completely confused.

"Ohhh, sweetie," she whispered, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. When Anna froze solid to feel the lips there, Elsa did draw back to look at her for a moment, curious. "Sweetie?"

"Wh-what?"

Then Elsa's expression changed completely – as if she were seeing her for the first time. "Oh."

However, they didn't have much time to exchange that look, or for Anna to respond. Not with the family hovering – and Anna had caught the attention of everyone in the house with her glaringly unusual behaviour.

"By the way, Anna," Wendy was saying behind her, prompting her to whirl around in a circle and look at her sister. "We're not your answering service; that Jennifer Punzel dropped by while you were still asleep and asked what happened to you last night."

"Oh, that's right," Kristoff was saying as he sat down and drew half a grapefruit toward himself. "Wasn't last night supposed to be the big trip up to the lake?"

Anna frowned at him. It was, but… "Yeah, but the car was totalled, Dad."

Immediately, everyone sprung into action. There were cries of, "what?!" and "the car!" as everyone bundled out the door. Anna was swept up with the movement, pushed along until soft hands came from behind, securing her.

"Careful," her mother murmured. Anna swallowed and nodded, trying not to pay any mind to the butterflies. This wasn't fair! She was supposed to have left this Elsa behind, back in 1985. She was supposed to get her alcoholic, depressed mother. She was supposed to help her.

Anna wasn't given time to think on that, though, because soon she was peering out the fly-screen. "Anna Victoria McFly. Don't scare us like that," Kristoff chastised – which was strange enough on its own! If she'd still been sitting, she probably would have fallen from her chair again when Kristoff leaned forward, and called out to the man kneeling in front of the bumper of a distinctly not-totalled car, one that was much nicer than she was used to seeing out front of her house. "Now, Hans, I want to see two coats of wax on that car."

What? Hans? What was that lowlife doing to their car- and Victoria? That wasn't her middle name! Everything was too weird!

Even as Anna looked out, she felt Elsa step closer behind her. "He's lucky he could even get a job after that night," she said, voice low. "A little ironic that it's with cars… since he seems to have so much trouble with them."

Kristoff gave a light chuckle, then moved away, saying something about saving the grapefruit. Elsa didn't move, which meant that Anna couldn't move. Coughing, she cleared her voice. "What night?" she asked softly. Elsa's hands tightened briefly on her arms.

"Oh, you know. You were there, right?"

A spasm of electricity shot through her stomach when she heard those words. What could her mother mean? It didn't make any sense… unless…

"I don't have time to finish it," her father's voice cut through her thoughts. "I'm going to be late for my flight. Just wrap it up."

"Okay, okay, Dad," Wendy sighed. "But I hope you're all packed and ready to go, because I'm meeting Craig for lunch and I don't want to stand him up again."

"Okay, okay, slavedriver." As he passed Anna, he did a brief double-take – seemingly when he saw her hair in its semi-ornate bun. Then he glanced over at his wife, who nodded the barest amount. "Hmm… maybe I should cancel this stop on the tour."

"Tour?" Anna rasped, clutching at the sideboard for stability. Just then, as if he had been waiting for the cue, Hans burst into the house carrying a large cardboard box.

"Guys! Mr. McFly, I think this is it! The proofs for your new one!"

"Proofs? New one?" Anna felt dizzy. Her head was spinning, hands shaking. She was powerless to stop when Elsa pushed her forward again, back towards the kitchen.

"Don't you dare cancel," Elsa said, smiling fondly at him. "You've worked too hard. Leave the… domestics… to me."

Anna had a very strong feeling that Elsa was talking about her, and the panic from mere seconds ago rose up again. There was no room – or time – to make any sort of escape. Kristoff ripped open the box, eyes lighting up as he lifted something from inside of it. And it was…

A book?

"Wow…" he said, giving a low whistle. "Damn, that illustrator is good." Passing it over, Anna's mouth went dry. Her father's name was on the cover. This was his book! So he had continued his passion, after all! This Kristoff certainly did seem happier.

That wasn't what caused the lump rising in her throat, though. Splashed across the cover was the title, jagged future-font displaying the words Blast to the Past. Below that was a girl, clambering from a very stereotypical alien aircraft.

Oh shit.

A loud beep broke the silence, and Kristoff hissed. "Sh…oot," he said, glancing at Anna. "I better get going if I don't wanna miss my flight. Hon, are you sure…?"

It was Elsa's turn to smile. She finally let go of Anna, moving over to her husband to place a peck at the corner of his mouth. "I'm sure. Go enlighten the world, or whatever."

He gave a nod and a smile, eyes flicking between Anna and her mother before he turned away. "Wendy? Are you ready to get going?"

"Psh, yeah, Dad. Just waiting on you. If you moved any slower you'd be a glacier."

So out they finally went. John went along with them, kissing the top of his mother's head in a way that made her sigh and roll her eyes; he wasn't that much taller than her. There were a few scattered goodbyes, but Anna didn't participate; she was too shell-shocked.

Then she and Elsa were alone in the house. For a few seconds, her mother remained at the open front door, watching Hans' auto detailing truck trail away and John and Wendy's cars pulling off toward bigger and better things. Then she gently pushed the door closed.

"Mom? I… are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she sighed, turning back to smile at her. Her eyes held an odd mixture of excitement, dread, and curiosity. "But… I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about… Tori."

TO BE CONTINUED…

#Fractal The Future #elsanna fanfiction #elsanna #fruipit #forkanna writes #jess the writer #Back to the Future

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the-saucy-wave-equation · 5 years

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17.08.19

Hey everyone! Today I’m back with a little mind map I’ve been working on to try and figure out the best way to manage my time and tasks on an average day or research. Now that I’m about to start my second year, the amount of research that I’ve got to do has increased rather substantially compared to what I did throughout first year. In fact, I am working on ~ 2.75 projects, two of which are fairly big complicated ones. The .75 consists of .25 where I’m waiting to hear back from some collaborators about their part of the paper we’re writing together and running a final calculation to tie everything together. The remaining .5 is a project that is temporarily on hold, since I’m supposed to work with some code written by someone else, and they’re too busy to finish it just now, and their code is so uncommented that it would be pretty impossible for me to finish it up. So those aren’t actively in progress, but are on hold and will be back in the roster soon (I hope!). The other 2 projects are carried on from a post doc and a senior grad student who will probably be leaving before too long, so I have a starting point, but they’re both pretty complex projects, and getting into them has been tricky, which is why I did some brainstorming to try and be more effective about my work day.

Since I’m actively working on two projects, the big thing of what I need to do is figure out how to break things down day by day to make sure that I’m making progress on all fronts, rather than just focusing on one thing at a time (though if this turns messy I might try alternating weeks of working on one project full-time at a time). I thought back on what I did on days that ended up being pretty productive, and tried to make a series of things to do in the mindmap above.

So, in the mindmap I don’t specifically put anything about which project to choose, but instead break it down into the things I need to do in order.

1 is the first “path” of things I do. As soon as I sit down at my desk and connect my laptop to the ethernet, monitor, and mouse, I log into the various supercomputers I run calculations on and check which ones ran successfully, which ones are still running, and which ones failed. Once I keep track of all that in a Notion database (I’ll post more about that later), I restart the failed calculations (either timed out or hardware issue), and then start processing the calculations that finished (if any finished!) in terms of energy, structure, whatever is important for that particular job. Then I think about how I want to present that data, analyze it, and process it by writing in my lab notebook, or making more formal notes in my Notion project page to keep track of formal progress- with all that I want to think about what the results mean from a scientific standpoint. And then, naturally, I want to make sure all this information is processed and ready to share with my PI in our weekly meetings, and/or in the weekly sub-group meetings.

{I will note that all of the data processing work is not something that I would do everyday, especially not at the moment where I’m trying to set up calculations to run and start the project, rather than being in the middle of collecting data.}

2 is the second branch- once I’ve looked over and processed whatever calculations did complete successfully, I need to plan what calculations to do next and set them up to run. This could be the work of a couple of minutes, or half a day, depending on if they’re new calculations, or a continuation of tried and true calculations.

The third branch is a more optional thing, but is definitely something I try to do 2-3 days a week (with varied success- it depends on how busy I am). My PI stresses how important it is to stay on top of the field, since she has 4? 5? A lot of different fields of research in the group, and can’t be the one who does the search for everything. So I try to read around 2 papers a week, take notes on all of them, and read some relevant textbook chapters when I feel like I need to brush up on a particular area.

So there you have it, that’s my plan for getting all of the work done that I need to! And also, this is not a linear plan- much like code, I can come back and loop over it if necessary for the second project of the day, skip a few things if needed etc etc. I like it, because it really lays out for me everything that I have to do without the pressure of feeling like I need to do everything listed everyday without fail. Flexibility is a big part of getting my research done, so I didn’t want to confine myself to a strict routine.

#gradblr #grad school #graduate school #research #sciblr #stemblr #chemblr #mind map #flow chart #planning #science research

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bladekindeyewear · 5 years

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Boots reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 6 - Meat Page 16

==> (Whoa, went a long while before splitting posts, there. Dangerous, with how often I’ve lost stuff to Tumblr page reloads in the past.)

Oh, you’ve realized Zazzerpan’s relevance as foreshadowing for the trolls or whatever, Rose?

Oh my god, PLEASE don’t put Rose inside a fucking robot. >:|

Oh SHIT wait. That one wizard Roxy named her cat after who wanted all the knowledge in the world, got overloaded and then crushed by the giant textbook or whatever??? That’s disturbingly Rose-similar here. D:

Rose, puns. Please.

Hm, you think it applies to you all now instead of the trolls? Huh. Do you think some of you might become villains and get Just deaths?

..Huh, wait. Numerological significance? Are we actually learning what 413 means? Or learning that it was meant to be bullshit all along instead? I’m “Hmmm”ing loudly either way...

Ow, ouch. So a Light player wasn’t designed to properly live outside of canon significance, or??

Ooh. She’s not sure that if she opens herself up to all the knowledge of her other selves, that it’d be “her” anymore. A pretty legitimate fear... and one Dirk is perfectly disposed to disabuse her of. As a Heart player, he’d understand better than most that the entire combination of one’s various states over all timelines IS you, and the unique direction your will and uniqueness embodies across whatever it touches. Or something.

...Wait, wait a minute. Before I keep reading........ I didn’t actually CLICK the candy button yet. What if Candy just redirects to AO3 or something. Like, the candy bit is all of our fanfics. Oh jeez.

Okay reading on before that possibility drives me insane.

DIRK: I’m not sure anyone should be allowed to have that much foresight. Especially a guy like me.

...Mhmm, especially since in part that’s how we got Doc Scratch, yeah.

Reading to the end of this page, and........

Yeah, what the FUCK just happened.

So... is this Dirk BEING a villain? Doing some sort of weird almost cherubic Eye thing to kind of supplant Rose as he becomes a Scratch-like fanfic narrator or... Let me reread these last few paragraphs a couple times...

Is he really sort of “puppeteering” Rose? Is this like the birth of a god-tier villain or just a temporary respite he’s giving her sort of underhandedly for an actual good cause to help her out of her situation?? Or is “death” or a death of the self the actual solution he had for her mess??? I mean... the metatextual awareness bit that he’s speaking through in the last sentence is clearly something like what comes of ascending completely and going beyond the story to be able to write it like Caliborn or Doc Scratch might or... y’know what, fuck it. I’ll understand it in later pages. I have to keep reading if this is going to make sense to me.

This next button better not lead straight back to the fucking selection screen again.

==>

Oh shit, a giant Dirk section. Only fitting that he might have been writing most of this all along possibly.

Undercurrent of narrative significance. Oh shit. Is he going to go off about Light, about the story parts not mattering? Or that the fact that this IS a story and... from what I accidentally skimmed in sentences below before reading further, how we’re trapping them in a story by reading it or something??? Hence the idea that their existences are being “blighted” by the subtext of narrative significance, and would be better FREE of it?

Huh. Is this really going to work? As, like... a body slam of people who were too caught up in the forest of narrative purpose to see into the trees of the point he wanted to make with the finale? It’s practically Andrew talking to the audience from within the story about their frustrations, heh.

Yeah, this whole rant is pretty awesome so far. I forgot to mention it a few paragraphs ago, but when you look at the story list, the Epilogues are listed as “stories of dubious authenticity”, so is this whole thing like... how DIRK might have written the ending out? Just to emphasize further that this whole thing is kind of pointless compared to the infinite possibility that was the reward for their escape from the confines of such story-stuff?

Cool. Sounds like we’re seeing the “good end” that Dirk would have written for this story if he were to write one that still answers plotlike questions, or something similar to it. That and/or he’s also engineering things in-canon -- or as “canon” as the victory planet is -- to follow all this for the end result he has in mind, and it comes across as practically Doc Scratch-y in the way it ties in metatextual awareness and stuff. Either way, it DOES feel like Andrew might successfully be making his point.

==>

Pff. This is going to be a bit interesting. And, of course, unstuck-in-canon John can hear the narrator speaking.

And now John has ANOTHER story to get annoyed at the narrator of, heh.

The tooth is poisoned? Really? Did you just make that up or?

Okay, why suddenly the wallet, fanfic writer? Is he going to find touching pictures or just captchalogue the black hole?

This is all starting to feel a whole lot less serious, and I can’t help but figure that’s the intent.

==>

Pff, back to the B plot. Yay Jade! --Please don’t be metatextually aware like John and let’s get more actual story.

Phew, seems to be the case

...Is Karkat going to remake this post-scarcity society to be more Communist? Is that where we’re going here?

Alright, Roxy’s gonna be all voidy and Neutral and not want an impact on the election, from the sound of it?

GAAAHHH Jade is in love with all her friends and afraid of being alone. AAAH FEELS

--Oh huh, so because Jane’s been in the distance putting on the Perfect act she thinks she has to pull, she’s gone down in her friends’ opinions even if that isn’t really her??? That’s pretty reassuring as an alternative, actually. Leave it to Roxy to see everything crystal goddamn clear as usual.

Ooh, pronoun mishap.

Holy SHIT Roxy’s gonna go along with it. That’s nonbinary-awesome! And Dirk’s just fucking flabbergasted, I love it.

Pff, Dirk’s screwing it up outside too

yep, everyone ectobiologically had kids with everyone, really.

Oh, ow. Something about the whole black hole green sun thing is fucking with her. That, or, like... Huh, might the whole metatextual ascension thing mean that she actually BECOMES that other Jade floating about for a hot minute, the one in the A-side plot??

==>

Ow this excellent narrative is pretty painful. Like, empathetically inducing pain through really good description of pain and angst. Ow.

Oh shit, alt!Calliope has a plan. Maybe she’s able to use this black hole to re-begin Paradox Space and close the loop once everything’s absorbed or something, and needs a Jade’s help for it?

==>

Phew, some relative silliness with some of the others. That vivid description of a Jade’s suffering was starting to give my stomach a cramp. Actually, ANY vivid description of Jade’s suffering gives my stomach a cramp. Or any allusion to it, even, heck even without WORDS. I saw a Jadey song redux show up on my Youtube dashboard a few nights ago and had to turn it off after less than thirty seconds because I was about to throw up listening to the tune and staring at the image from my stomach clenching SO HARD. I am WAY too attached to Jade in particular to tolerate her suffering without serious emotional feedback on my part.

Okay, breathe. Breathe deeply, and keep reading...

....PFF, yes, Karkat. Finally acknowledge it’s disgusting. Birth is disgusting from any species really.

Yaaaay Kanaya! :)

Pfffff, Dave does record scratches with his hands mid-conversation like a fucking dab. He would.

KANAYA: I Am Impressed That You Managed To Be Seen In Front Of That Many People Without Spontaneously Bursting Into Flames

I’m laughing

We internalize and project the quality in very different ways, however, which is why I’m going to win.

Win?!????

Win WHAT, the election??? Is that your only grand plan or... I mean fuck, way to be Doc-Scratch-like ominous! Reading on...

...Yeah, Feferi was definitely a proto-Fascist too. :)

Oh, huh. “Power Corrupts In Small Steps”... is this whole President thing going to be a big-ass metaphor for gaining your God powers without abusing them?? And pointing out that Jane is hella abusing her status in a way that COULD become villainous if it goes too far? Victory is supposed to give you the ability to create a universe, but you’re not necessarily supposed to lord over it with an iron fist...

KARKAT: WHEN I HEAR ABOUT HOW HUMAN GRUBS CHEW THEIR WAY OUT OF THE FEMALE MATESPRIT’S ABDOMINAL HOLE BEFORE CONSUMING THE WOMB MEMBRANE IT MAKES ME WANT TO VOMIT.

Pffffffff

KANAYA: He Is Beloved In The Troll Kingdom For His Perky Ass DAVE: seriously? KARKAT: I TOLD YOU IT’S NOT JUST ME! KANAYA: It Has Some Terrible Arcane Power KANAYA: I Have Never Seen Anything Like It

I am laughing out loud here

pff dave’s doubtlessly imagined this at least as much as the rest of us

YESSS make fun of ship names some more, especially the ship names I’m not a fan of even though I’m such a fan of the pairing :D

KANAYA: Im Going To Call My Wife And You Are Going To Stop Talking

Why do I love that sentence so much. Is it just because it has the word wife in it. Probably.

At the other side of the cavern, Dave and Karkat bicker about what their combo kids would look like, in the event that they decided to stop being such laughable wusses and began fornicating like two cartoon animals of different species who have given into their lust.

Pffff. Yeah, Dirk would put it that way.

Pffffff. Not as adept at handling all sides of the story at the same time as you were as part of Doc, eh?

==>

Reading reading reading... Oh, adorable, he tried to slip a fish pun into Meenah’s name but couldn’t think of one.

...Oh SHIT, is he going to give Meenah the ring of life she wanted??? :D

Oh pff, that works too. :D

==>

Okay, time for maybe at least a SLIGHT explanation of whatever the FUCK Dirk might have or might not have done to Rose or something????

...Huh. What exactly are you trying to “fix” about Kanaya and Rose’s relationship, Dirk? Something that didn’t fix itself with just the two of them together?

I mean...... Rose’s substance abuse never fixed itself when it was just two of them together on the first-run meteor. And she’s been taking pills and trying to stave off her destiny out of fear while her wife hasn’t really been digging into her insecurities... I mean maybe he has a point.

SHADOWS around her?????? D:

==>

Yeah yeah, John drifting. I just remembered what one of those “server beacons” they were mentioning actually is, too, visually. Knowing it had an escape route helped.

What are you even gonna do with the slippers, gift them to Terezi when she comes flying in? (Also, right, just remembered he’s a Breath player so it’s only natural that he actually finds whatever there is to find “coincidentally” around here, like that wallet.)

Ooh, you REALLY were thinking about Terezi over the past years from the sound of it. And here she is or whatever. :)

1 C4N ST1LL TOUCH TYP3 1N H3R L33T SP34K W1THOUT 4NY 4SS1ST4NC3 3XC3PT C4PS LOCK ON 4FT3R 4LL TH3S3 Y34RS >:]

==>

Okay okay okay wait. Her shadow is talking??? Is this, like... Jungian shadow stuff? Inversion shadow stuff? What the fuck is going on. It better not be Inversion-related.

Let me read that again.

Her shadow has faded to light behind her, assuming the shape of a Rose-like apparition. I nod to her, and she continues. When she speaks, it’s almost as if it’s the apparition that’s doing the talking.

That’s weird and I don’t entirely know what it means. I’d better just keep fucking reading.

Fun philosophical banter. I didn’t know what “Hegelian dialectics” were until I read some big rant on someone’s Fallout New Vegas playthrough earlier last month.

ROSE: I think free will is a thing, sure. DIRK: Are you sure about that? ROSE: ... DIRK: Haven’t we spent the entire day having a feelings jam on how none of us got here by accident?

Ah, here we’re going with some Ultimate Riddle-y stuff.

Or wait, are we adding a bit on to that concept now? Because it now seems like a large PART of the Ultimate Riddle stuff I covered (FUCK dropbox for breaking all the images) that might be revealed in this part of the damn epilogue is the whole the-only-way-to-have-true-free-will-is-to-escape-the-narrative-imposed-on-us or something along with the rest of it.

Hm, that whole “become One God” bit that Dirk ranted about in the beginning of one of the John sections... is that his ambition here? I didn’t comment on the rantparagraph earlier because the “one” part of it threw me as possibly just some philosophical stuff he was musing about, but it’s like... I mean Dirk is the narrator right now, and it sounds like he wants to *BE* the narrator. Like, become the one truly in control of this whole story. With his orange Andrew-colored text or whatever. Is that what he meant by “win”, winning control of the entire narrative, turning everyone else in the story into mere extensions of himself that he was “writing” by virtue of being the only author?

And him getting thwarted in that task, showing that it’s better if there really is NO narrator and the characters can do whatever they imagine in infinite branches and our imaginations, is the victory that proves the point of the story. Or something. Hmm.

Also, huh. Like... I mean that IS a natural extension of a Prince of Heart if he were to turn to villainy. A grand ambition to destroy everyone’s individuality until they’re nothing but Himself. Right?

DIRK: Your Ultimate Self, that which is revealed when the mind’s partitions are stripped away, and all potentiality of who you are and what you could have been flow together. DIRK: Those are the experiences and processes that are refusing to stay bundled, that’s what your body can’t endure. The unbundling itself is your mind coming apart. DIRK: Because you’re not as strong as me. Not yet. DIRK: But you can be. DIRK: I’m working on that.

Because she’ll “BE” you? Because you’ll be everyone? Hm.

DIRK: But for now, I’m focused on stabilizing you with my own expanding consciousness. DIRK: It’s enveloping you now, in a way you can’t see. Keeping your thoughts solid, your identity anchored to your physical form as it strains to hold itself together. DIRK: You can’t see it, what I’m talking about. But I can help you. DIRK: I can help you see what I see, if only for a little while. DIRK: All you have to do is open your eyes. DIRK: Maybe what you see will help you through this.

Okay so maybe this all ain’t TOTALLY fucking sinister. Just partially. Hmm.

I’m not going to describe what she sees. First of all, that would be spoiling it. Unless you already know, in which case, I guess what’s taking place here qualifies as something closer to dramatic irony. But if you really want to see it for yourself, stop what you’re doing, flip the whole thing over, and begin again. I’ll be right here when you get back, waiting. Trust me, no one’s going anywhere.

Hahahahah. So the candy part IS written. I mean I was pretty sure, but it’s nice to have it acknowledged here. Pretty awesome. I won’t stop here to read it, I’ll get to the candy part eventually as a nice dessert.

All she needs is a nudge in the right direction.

We’re family. We belong together. And after years of micromanaging the inconsistent and confused desires of total imbeciles, wouldn’t it be a relief to have someone by my side who understood me?

Stop being so incestuous. Dirk, you’re just getting off on the CONCEPT of incest being part of the flavor of all this, aren’t you. That’s why you kept pushing things this way, you want it to be as uncomfortable as possible.

...wait, yeah he’s just talking about being a metatextual ascended, isn’t he.

Her body should be dead now.

I’M SORRY WHAT THE FLYING FUCK.

And Rose has... what, ascended but somehow given in to Dirk’s puppeteering of existence, or? Ugh.

Next post, I wanna keep reading already to get through all this bullshit. Then once I’ve figured it all out, I can rest comfortably back with the Candy side which Rose practically just promised me is potentially TOO SUGARY which is really enticing as a prospect.

#Homestuck #Homestuck Epilogue #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #bladekindeyewear #BlastYoBoots

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crqstalite · 5 years

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pt. 15, into the lion’s den, pt. 5 (una’vi && sho’jka)

another chapter for una’vi as she and sho’jka get to know each other while she’s a bit incapacitated. i think i’ll write another installment for hakio & aric in a bit.

written: 9.8.19. words: 4,168.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════ character song: hush, aviva

character file: una'vi kimble, grey jedi & sho'jka tabari, apprentice to darth amarillis-quinn.

una'vi comes to, eventually, the blinding light of a medbay. she's not sure which medbay, or why, but takes a deep breath to remind herself she's alive.

which she would've done if a stabbing pain didn't erupt right underneath her right lung, as she gasps out for air, coughing as the pain spreads.

the same flowing feeling that makes her rather sleepy invades her body again, but numbs the pain away. she's still a little concerned she may have shattered a rib or two, and reminds herself to take shallow breaths for now.

her glassy eyes roll over to someone who's sitting next to her. the room is tiny, and the one light is dim, as if it's on it's last powercell. however, from what she can make out, it's the same twi'lek from the day (days?) before. he looks just as intimidating as from before, but he's removed his headgear that had covered his scarred jaw and is skimming a datapad she believes. he has one hand out, purple light emnating from it in her general direction.

"you've awoken i see." he says, bored as he puts the datapad down on a side table just out of view.

"that would be right." she struggles to say. this sith healing is making her feel loopy as hell, like that one time doc had to put her under because she'd managed to get shrapnel stuck in her side trying to save a little girl on corellia. not a particular memory she enjoyed, spending two days confined to the medbay because she kept pulling stitches every time she moved, but it gave her an excuse not to jedi things with kira and kiveqil for a while. and spend some time (when she wasn't in pain) with doc. "where am i?"

"sobrik." he answer with cold definition. "i couldn't heal you properly in the plains, after the bomb struck i figured i could not release you back into the wild without healing you first."

into the wild? "thanks i guess?" she pauses at that thought, before nearly bolting up and remembering her injuries. "the hospital! survivors-"

"i'm sure there were a few. an air strike like that couldn't have tactically eliminated everyone within the building." he says, moving his fingers this way and that as the light glows green before shutting off completely from his finger tips. he stands from his chair as she tries to prop herself up. dull pain is beginning to spread across her body as she tries to do a quick stock check. it feels like she has all 10 toes and fingers (if she doesn't she'll find out later) and nothing important feels like it's been tampered with. she's still in her undersuit, though without her boots, belt, bracers or gloves (a thick black thermal turtleneck and leggings). it's sticky with what she assumes is her own blood just under her knee as she cringes in pain. "i suggest you don't move too much. you're a rather active sleeper, hence why i had to stay in here last night and keep repairing your stitches with dark healing." he turns, cocking an eyebrow in curiousity, "that doesn't bother you, does it?"

"no?" she can figure many jedi would have issues being healed by a sith. una'vi, doesn't. she's alive and that's all that matters at the moment. besides, a sith healing her wounds isn't the oddest thing that's occurred in the last couple of hours. "should it?"

he seems surprised, his golden eyes flickering with amusement as his lips curve upwards. "i believed all jedi despised the sith. you are an exception to the norm,..." he pauses where someone else would've said her name. "jedi."

"you can call me una." she nods, as she examines her hands. all of her fingers, two of her nails have chipped and her left pinky is wrapped in a bandage, but it should still be functional. it's not, she finds as she bends it experimentally and has to use the will of the galaxy not to cry out in pain like a child as she raises her head from the offending limb. "and you are?"

he seems surprised, being asked his own name. his face returns to it's neutral tone as he continues scrolling through his datapad. "dusk, apprentice to the emperor's wrath."

she's about to ask where the wrath would be (what even does an apprentice do? is it the same as a padawan? and isn't the wrath scourge? or has the emperor found another one in the red sith's absence? does scourge have an apprentice that he never told her about?) when the door slides open, a panicked looking woman on the other side of it. her dusky red curls are arranged to frame her face as she calms herself, brushing invisible dirt off her skirt.

"kavelle, i told you not to disturb me while i'm here." he says darkly, his back ridging immediatly once he gets a sight of her. she's rather tall and lanky, nearly the same height as the sith and just about skinny enough to be gaunt. her skin is an olive brown, as her eyes glow with the same radiance as any sith's. black and purple surround her eyes like a bad makeup job, but una'vi's bright enough to know that she's been corrupted.

"i also do not care." she retorts, her imperial accent strong as she strides into the room, locking the door behind her. "you're not even supposed to still be here."

"nor are you." he says, crossing his arms. "you were to attend the court."

"i didn't wish to. nox understood this and then assigned me to balmorra, why are you here now? i was told you were to be at court." she says, blowing a strand of hair out of her face as she frowns in annoyance.

"my ring!" una'vi realizes sometime in between kavelle's arrival and her heated exchange with dusk that her wedding ring, a diamond encrusted band is not where it should be on her left hand. in fact, it's nowhere on her body and she's having a not-so small freakout over it. "where is it?"

"what?" kavelle asks, as if finally realizing una'vi exists on the medbay bed. "by the stars what is she screeching about?"

"my wedding ring." she tries to cross her arms and seem intimidating, but her shoulders are not having it as they howl to be contorted into such a shape. "where is it?"

"don't growl at us for your problems." the woman answers, narrowing her matching amber eyes. "it's not as if we stole it."

una'vi really doesn't want to put it past this woman that she didn't, but can't sense she's lying. that, or she's hiding it well beneath her aura.

"kavelle, hold your tongue." dusk says, before turning his attention back to the grey jedi. "i'm not sure where it could've gone. possibly it is buried in the wreckage of the hospital. i didn't bring you in with it on."

"if the man loves you so much he'll find you another." kavelle says, tone still icy cold. "and do not tell me what to do, dusk."

"i'll do what i like while you're in my station, valhall." dusk retorts. "what do you even need from me?"

"you hadn't been present for debriefing from the general for the last two days. i was curious about the peculiar way you'd been acting lately, so i tracked you down here." she says, pacing closer to una'vi's bed. "what even is this? i sense both the light and darkness from her. how old even is she?"

"i'm not an it." the sleepiness is beginning to fade from her mind as she addresses her, shifting to try and get out of the cot. "i'm a grey jedi of the jedi order, and i'm most likely older than you." una'vi isn't actually sure about that last one, she's only twenty-six. sith always tend to be older than they look. in most cases, at least.

"you've brought a jedi here?" kavelle whips her head around towards the apprentice. "are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"no, kavelle. now quit getting involved in things that don't include you." he says, cutting her off as he walks closer to her, trying to force her out the medbay doors. "doesn't nox need you for something?"

"she's away at court. of course she doesn't." kavelle visibly steels herself against the twi'lek's efforts. "how do you intend to get her out of sobrik, with so many sith meandering around?" nox must be female then. una'vi had never had the pleasure of meeting the woman (and hoped she never would) but filed that fact away for later use.

"you radiate enough sin to keep them from noticing the likes of her." dusk deadpans. kavelle doesn't look shocked, or even offended. the rib that's trying to penetrate her lung thankfully keeps una'vi from laughing at the underhanded jab. "now leave me be, would you?"

"how rude. do tell how you're going to keep her out of sight of the overseers." her laugh is like the tinkling laugh of some mystical creature, mixed with the laughing of someone who's smoked for millenia on end. it's unsettling as she leaves, and una'vi tries not to think too hard about it.

"ah, so you've now met the insultingly ignorant and brainless apprentice to darth nox." dusk says, pressing on the bridge of his nose in irritation. "and would you sit back down before you pull your stitches again?"

"you're rather infuriating yourself." una'vi says, frowning as she sits on the edge of the bed. in all seriousness, she's still upset about the hospital, her sister, her family. everyone. no one had expected an air strike, no one had been evacuated.

stars, doc didn't know where she was either. she'd been heading back to her own room to speak on her holoterminal when the strike hit. oh no, and that mission she was supposed to be on...

"how long has it been?"

"since?" dusk asks, adjusting something on the bedside table and clipping a lightsaber to his belt. his eyes flicker back to her as her heart races. was ky'li okay? had she also perished when it had hit? her parents?

she'd only just met her too.

"since the strike." una'vi asks, panicked.

"well, it was three hours since the strike that i'd found you. someone had convinced a commander to search for survivors, the majors and whatnot always need more alien slaves." he says bitterly, and una'vi almost asks why before realizing what he means. "i went down because i was curious whether anyone had survived. you did, somehow. you were trapped under at least half a foot of rubble. under closer examination, one of your ribs had been snapped out of place, and you'd sustained a concussion and a displaced knee. i had originally assumed you would die within the day, but i brought you back to sobrik because i was genuinely curious about you. like kavelle said, you radiate both dark and light energy. it's truly intoxicating."

"you make it sound like i'm some sort of speciman." una'vi responds as dusk rolls his eyes.

"i can assure you, i see you as more than some pesky animal." he clears his throat, "it's been four days approximately since then. you've made a full recovery, thanks to me of course."

"i'm sure master iresso could do it in three." she says teasingly as dusk furrows his brow in thought. she's not sure whether that's true or not, but she's been healed by the fair jedi a few times, and it always feels like a calm river running over her injuries. given, it also makes her feel loopy, as dusk's did. "what about the survivors? do you know where they are?"

"i'm not sure. i don't follow such things, i don't approve of it either." he responds. "possibly the more lax military men have taken some as their personal slaves, regardless of their species. others may have been killed if they were too injured. others, shipped off world."

"a human girl. she looks just like me. did you see her in those who survived?"

"i didn't see a list of those who survived, i apologize." he coldly answers, not a speck of emotion in his voice anymore as her mood drops. in all fairness, it had already dropped passed just being sad anyways.

"fine then, my holo. was that with me when you found me?" given, it hadn't been charged in some hours when the strike hit, but she prayed that it had still been clipped onto her belt, where she usually kept the small communication device.

"oh, that dastardly thing? it rang for the first two days and promptly shut off before i charged it myself. it's been off since then." dusk responds. "whoever was calling was adamant you answer."

"that was probably my husband." she says sheepishly. that sounds like her doc. "where is it?"

"i had to put it back together, it was nearly in pieces when i first found it on your belt." he picks it up off the side table as she tries to stand, before vertigo hits her like a wave. he gently pushes her back with two fingers before handing her the communication device. "i suggest you stay sitting. i healed what i could, but i don't have the power required to heal you fully."

"just hand it over." she says a little more forcefully than intended. he does, and pressing the buttons required, her usual mainframe comes up without an issue.

"where is your partner at the moment?" he questions. "i have programmed a firewall, sobrik tracks all communications, and if they're currently in republic space you won't be able to contact them."

she gives him a sour look that she hopes communications that she's about to salt all of his fields and stab him through with his own lightsaber. of course doc is in republic space, he's with the others. where else would he be? "then deactivate it."

"unless you intend to leave in your current state, i don't believe i will. it's simply too risky, and i would also be held responsible if kavelle caught wind of it and reported me to the overseers." he seems almost a touch nervous when he answers, "and if the wrath learned of that, she'd have my head."

"then get me out of sobrik." she says, yanking on the front of his robes as she pulls herself up. her knee still feels as if it is out of place and she has to throw her shoulder back to release the tightness that's built up in it. "get me out so i can call for an evac."

"that's also rather difficult, una." he says, not even flinching. he's getting more infuriating by the moment, his features not even matching that of what he's saying. completely poker faced, and she's about to poke out all of his most important organs. "the sith will sense you, and then they'll begin asking questions that neither of us want to answer."

"if you can install a firewall, you can get me in contact with my husband without alerting your damned overseers."

he considers her request for a moment, before picking up the communicator from where she'd dropped it on the cot. untangling her fingers from his robe, he walks away from her to a corner of the room, where the other holoterminal resides. bending down, he fiddles with the wires within the skeleton for a moment. una'vi falls backwards onto the cot, trying to hold back the tears of her emotions from the days past. doc might've thought she was dead, her new family either thought or were dead.

being dizzy and rather warm isn't making the situation any better. the people she'd been helping were most likely dead, the chiss twins may have been taken away somewhere. into slavery, or worse.

she stops thinking when he returns to her bedside, tears welling up in her eyes as she brushes her hair back. without a hair tie or any pins, it's messier than she'd wished. he has her holocom in hand, but wires are coming out of any avaliable socket and the holoterminal it's connected to is playing some commercial over and over again. "you have fifteen minutes before the connection is tracked. get in what you need to, and i will wait for you to finish outside. do not push this limit, or i will not hesitate to portray it as if you are a prisoner of the sith."

he's gone before she can say anything else. no thanks or even a witty quip come to mind before she looks down at the pitiful combination of metal and wires.

una'vi doesn't hesitate before punching in doc's holocom code. her fingers are shaking as her vision goes blurry a few times before it's accepted and the line begins ringing.

one ring.

two rings.

three rings.

it can't be that late i.s.t, can it? if it's still daytime, it might be the middle of the night for them. why else wouldn't he pick up? has her code changed because it's hooked up to a different terminal?

she's biting her lip to the point it bleeds when it rings for the sixth time in the empty room. she shivers, it's chilly even through her undersuit.

"una?" her heart races when she hears her name and sees his face come up on the blue projection. "una...where are you?" he says, his words rushing out before she can even formulate a sentence.

"i'm on balmorra, archie. i'm on balmorra and i'm safe for the time being." her voice is beginning to crack as she tries to explain her situation. he just seems more and more concerned as she continues along with the last four days. "a sith took me to sobrik after the air strike. i don't know when i'll be able to make it back to bugtown..."

"that doesn't matter right now." he cuts in, "you're alive and that's all that matters."

"i know, i know. but i was supposed to be back three days ago to go with kiv and kira...and my sister, and my parents-" she has to pause for a moment there, tears threatening to spill over. "archie, i'm scared." she whispers, just loud enough for the speaker to catch it. "i'm afraid i won't make it back."

"hey, don't cry beautiful. master iresso already sent someone out for you. you'll be back on the defender before you know it. he says, trying to comfort her.

"i lost my ring." she says, completely out of things to say.

"it doesn't matter. i'll get you a million when you get back." he says, running a hand through his hair. "can you stay on the line?"

"for a bit, they'll track my communications if i stay on too long." she says, trying to keep one eye on the chrono and another on the projection. "what is it?"

"zenith, master iresso's contact, mentioned that he can probably get to you if you can make it out to gorinth canyon, or somewhere near there. after that, he says you'll be in the clear. i'd let him explain it, but he's kinda grumpy and it's an ungodly hour of night." he says, trying to lift her spirits with a joke. "you said a sith brought you in?" she nods in response, wondering if dusk can hear her. "you think you can get back out on your own?"

"i highly doubt it." she responds, twiddling her fingers back and forth. "i'd need help."

he mulls that over for a moment, before she speaks up again. "the one who brought me in is, less grumpy than the ones we've encountered before. he says he can get me back out, but it'll be difficult."

doc sighs. "alright, let me talk to him."

she doesn't argue with him, stumbling to get up as doc chastises her for being so reckless again. managing to get the door open, she hands the combination of wires to the sith. dusk steps back inside before doc begins explaining who he is in quick basic as dusk attempts to follow. they talk back and forth for a bit (she's beginning to realize dusk has different answers for different people, rather angry with kavelle, informative with herself and it seems as if it's like speaking to a brick wall for doc), before it seems they come to an agreement about something as dusk reminds him they have a limited amount of time before sobrik's communications catch them. dusk hands the holocom back to her, muttering something about saying goodbyes as he steps outside of the room again.

"well, that was only mildly infuriating. don't trust him too quick, yeah beautiful?" he asks.

"sure." una'vi responds, rolling her eyes before squeezing them closed in mild pain. her eyes refocus on her husband as the world stops spinning. "i miss you, archie."

"i know, and i'll get you back no matter what. i'd run in there myself if i could, but kiv assigned me and scourge to holding down the fort." she hears a sarcastic tinge of humor behind his voice (holding down the fort in kiv's words always meant 'don't leave the defender unless you wish to perish when i get back), before he smiles. "i love you, una."

"i love you too, archie." she responds, before the connection cuts out. looking away from where doc's projection had just been, dusk stands with the wires cut between the connection. she's curious how they were cut without his saber ever being ignited, but she wouldn't put it past him that he just snapped them with brute force.

"so someone's coming for you?" he asks, letting the wires fall from in between his fingers.

"from what i understand, he'll only be able to get to me after i get out of sobrik." she responds, bringing her knees up to her chest and propping her head up on her forearms in between them. "i still need a way out and a functioning holocom anyways."

"so you still need me, then?" he asks, voice cold as ever.

"yes." she answers, wincing as she nips her lip again with her front teeth. "you can still get me out, right?"

"i can try, if kavelle gets off my back about it and the wrath doesn't request my presence." he says flatly. even she can see why dealing with the wine colored sith is a horrid idea, even more for her, where she'll be killed (or worse), if she's found. "now sit back, i believe i have enough in me to heal some of your other more pesky wounds."

as he expected, she's out like a light when he's healed some of her concussion symptoms and her knee (which she's tried shuffling on, and it seemed like it was annoying her the most). he nearly is ready to crawl into the cot with her, as exhaustion takes over his immediate thoughts. healing is much harder than it looks, and captain quinn's explanation of doing so doesn't apply to sith.

at least the woman is alive. as conscienceless as kavelle is, he'd feel a little upset if he let her die on the remains of the hospital the empire had struck. his master was quick to teach him to never kick someone when they're already down, or land the killing blow quickly. torture wasn't her way, it was either redemption or death. sho'jka has chosen redemption for her. he'd feel bad if this 'doc' never saw his wife again. as eccentric as he seems.

the red twi'lek makes his way down the halls of the hospital. it's rather desolate here in sobrik, as there haven't been too many skirmishes as of late with the resistance. given, he's hidden her away in one of the least used wings of the hospital and locked the door with a passcode, but it doesn't hurt to be careful.

he does consider for just a moment, if he'll be able to get her out as he strides into the warm, humid air of balmorra. he wrinkles his nose, the air full of gases from pollution. sobrik is over defended, even with the majority of sith that were brought to alderaan for the court. he'd never heard of a zenith terrorizing the general population, but balmorra typically wasn't his station either. usually he was stationed on korriban or on the fury assisting where he can. but, since his master had given him a choice to attend court or not, he was doing his trials by fighting the resistance.

he'll try, at least. while he was at it, he'd at least look at the survivor reports that his soldiers had compiled.

#swtor oc #oc #original character #swtor #star wars the old republic #swtor fanfic #swtor fanfiction #fanfiction #una'vi havelzy #una'vi kimble #doc #archiban 'doc' kimble #archiban doc kimble #female jedi knight #female jedi knight/doc #female jedi knight/archiban kimble

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trashyscrub · 6 years

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Under the Rain

Summary: Back in Goldenrod, Ruby hated the rain. But soon after moving into Littleroot, with some (or a lot) of coaxing, Ruby soon fell in love with it.

Word Count: 2004

A/N: I’m surprised I ended up writing this one-shot. Says a lot about my priorities. Tbh, I was actually working on another fic chapter, but soon found myself opening another doc because a plot bunny literally just slapped itself across my face. Nonetheless, here’s my crappy one shot!

Under the Rain

Back in Goldenrod, Ruby had hated the rain.

Especially when there was heavy rainfall in the metropolitan city that was Goldenrod, Ruby had usually spent his days cooped up inside his house. While his mother had usually hummed to herself as she cooked up a hot meal for her and her son to eat during the storm, Ruby would be seated on a soft pillow across a window, leaning against the wall as he sewed together his latest masterpiece. Whenever Ruby would get tired, he'd press his cheek against the glass pane, eyeing the cityscape from the corner of his eye as raindrops would batter against it.

His thoughts would usually revolve around the same topic. Rain never made anything look good. The overcast clouds looming over the usually lit up city had never appealed to Ruby. With the dark shadows, it was rare to see anyone walking around the streets, enjoying the sunlight as it rose over the buildings. An eerie quietness would cast itself over the city grounds, and everything would be an empty space filled with puddles upon puddles upon puddles.

Rain also proved to be a hassle for Ruby. How else was he supposed to go to the mall and buy the yarn that was usually on sale over the weekends? And risk getting soaked? No thank you.

However, it wasn't until he moved into Littleroot that his thoughts began to change.

When Ruby first moved to Hoenn, had it not been for his feud with his father, the jarring difference between Jhoto's modern cities and Hoenn's rural countryside had almost made him want to hide in a closet and never come out. To him, Hoenn was just that: a scorching hot and tropical region that would make him sweat through his clothes due to its humidity.

Oh yes, with constant rain too. And he despised the rain.

But soon enough, with some (or a lot) of coaxing, Ruby soon fell in love with the region. It was so much more than just a "rural countryside."

Volcanoes raised high up into the skies. Sandstorms brewing across vast deserts. Powerful ocean waves pounding against rock formations near the shores. Canopies of forestry blocking out the bright blue that only let little rays of sunlight shine through.

The land. The ocean. The skies. To the naked eye, Hoenn was a gorgeous region. However, one needed to truly step foot into the region and explore themselves to appreciate Hoenn's beauty.

Even Ruby's previous perception of rain began to change drastically over time.

While Ruby was sewing in the cozy confines of his house in Littleroot Town, he began to hear the familiar pitter patter of raindrops falling onto the roof. Hoenn was such a tropical region that rain was already a given, with its humid climates and all. He let his eyes lazily travel through the town from his perch, watching as the soil began to darken and the water falling from the leaves. He took off his glasses, listening as the town fell into a quiet hush, before getting up and storing away his materials into his backpack.

Grabbing his Pokeballs and slinging his backpack across his back, Ruby went downstairs to see his mother cooking up a storm in the kitchen. She was silently humming under her breath as she sliced up the potatoes and carrots. A pot was heating up on the oven, and Ruby could smell a delicious aroma wafting from it. He rummaged through the closet to find an umbrella, and once he found it, he cleared his throat to catch his mother's attention.

"What you making?" he asked, making his way across the kitchen to look at the contents inside the pot.

She smiled in response, her apron snug and tied across her waist. "Just making curry. Hot food is always best served when it's raining after all." She continued to cut the vegetables and when she was finished, poured the contents into the pot next to him. Grabbing a ladle, she began to stir the vegetables in the sauce. "I might add in some coconut as well. You always liked mixing coconut with curry."

Ruby tried not to jump too much in excitement. She knew him too well. "Yea, can't wait for it."

Once his mother finished stirring, she lowered the heat and eyed his umbrella. "Huh, you planning on going out?"

He nodded in response. "Yea, I just want to take a short walk. I'll be back before dinner though." He didn't want to worry her too much.

However, it looked like she wasn't too concerned, as she only sent him a smug smile in reply. "No, it's alright. Take your time, dear. I'll still be here anyways." She turned back around to raise the heat again, signalling the end of the conversation.

Ruby blinked at her behavior, feeling the back of his ears begin to burn as he scrambled towards the door. Slapping on his running shoes and opening his umbrella, he heard his mother shout at him to "have fun" before he closed the door. The moment the door closed, he sighed loudly to himself, but then shook his head and started his trek into the forest. While his mother could be embarrassing at times, he knew she meant well.

As he walked in the forest though, his running shoes sank slightly into the mud, however he didn't care too much. The air around him was fresh and earthy, and the trees above him sheltered him from most of the rain. Droplets of water dripped from the sides of his umbrella, and he twirled it in his hands. With an extra skip in his step, he saw some a small pack of Poochyena quitely snoozing in a hollow trunk, and he forced back a grin.

Climbing up the side of the cliff, Ruby wrung the water out of his umbrella and set it outside the cave entrance, before walking into their secret base. He sat down onto a nearby chair, and removed his materials out of his backpack. He grabbed his sewing needle that was attached to the garment he was working on. However, while he fully intended on continuing his work, his grip on the needle was slack as he stared outside of the mouth of the cave, watching more droplets falling by. Hoenn was such an… untouchable place. Everything seemed so natural and pure, somehow still keeping its identity while people settled across the continent.

Perhaps that was what always fascinated him — the way people in Hoenn so easily integrated themselves into the region without making any drastic changes.

After a few moments of staring, he soon heard the sound of footsteps outside. A silhouette appeared from the front and not to his surprise, there she was. The brunette girl blinked at him, her blue eyes widened in astonishment. "Oh, Ruby, I…" she paused. "I didn't think I'd see you here today."

He tilted his head to the side, the side of his mouth quirked up into a grin. "Well, Sapphire, you'd think a little rain would stop me?"

Her eyebrows rose a notch, before she sighed to herself. She then crouched down next to his seat, staring the needle in his hand. "Really? You're already making something else?"

He smirked at her. "Why wouldn't I?"

She shrugged, the smile on her face slowly morphing in more smug one."I dunno, maybe it's because you've already made the same hat several times for Nana? You couldn't just have settled for a single hat?"

Ruby scoffed. "You know what they say, 'Fashion is like eating, you shouldn't stick with the same menu.' Of course I'm gonna have to experiment before I make the perfect hat."

Her smug grin didn't let up. "A perfect hat aside, you can't tell it's perfect if it looks exactly the same to a more casual viewer."

He blinked, a little taken aback from her sudden snark. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

She never failed to surprise him.

After sharing a laugh, the duo settled back into silence, and Ruby started working on his stitches once again. Despite this, while his stitches remained on point, he found his mind wandering to other places, refusing to stay situated in a single place. Mentally, he sighed in frustration, but he soon saw Sapphire at the peripheral of his vision. She had moved back to the entrance of the cave and was carefully drying herself off, trying her best to avoid spilling water onto the rugs in their base.

It was then that he finally took note of her appearance. She was wringing water out of her mousy brown hair, wincing a bit as she did so. Her wet bangs were still plastered to her forehead, and her clothes clung to her skin, sagging a bit due to the excess water. Her blue eyes blinked as she attempted to get rid of some droplets that was still stuck against her eyelashes, before she used her calloused hands to wipe them off. Mud marks and scratches were also splattered against her legs, perhaps due to her running through the forest grounds, and her cheeks were flushed a rosy pink.

She had never looked more gorgeous.

Perhaps he could work on this another day.

Getting up, he placed his sewing needle and garments onto his chair. He called to her. "Hey Sapph?"

She turned around, and tilted her head to the side. He continued on. "Wanna get out of here?" he asked, gesticulating towards the rain outside.

Her eyes slowly trailed onto his figure, taking note of his clothes, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion as she did so. "Won't your clothes get dirty though?"

He walked past her, purposefully avoiding his umbrella as he grabbed her hand. Her hand was still rather damp, he noted, as she stumbled behind him. He laughed lightly once he turned around and saw her bewildered expression. "One time isn't gonna hurt."

With one last tug (as well as a yelp from Sapphire's end), they were under the rain.

And as his shoes continued to sink into the mud, as his hat flattened itself onto his head, as the heavy drizzle of the rain soaked its way into his skin, the hand that was still attached to his own remained warm. As they danced around together, a part of him wanted to scream to the world that somehow, this amazing, stunning, breathtaking girl was his, and somehow, he was hers as well. To think, there was a time where they had both despised each other, but somehow, fate had decided otherwise. It was like the universe was spinning, their teasing laughs filling the empty void, matching the rhythm of the rain as it pattered onto the leaves, the puddles, the ground.

They probably looked like idiots, two teenagers frolicking around in the forest during a summer storm.

However, as he watched her soft giggles transform into loud guffaws, drenched mousy hair, calloused skin, flushed cheeks and all, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Truly, Ruby mused to himself, he really did love the rain after all.

#franticshipping #pokespe #trainer ruby #Trainer Sapphire

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prettyyoungtragedy · 7 years

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Nothing like Home: Chapter 14 (Steve x reader, Bucky x reader)

Chapter 14 (Nothing Like Home)

Steve x Reader x (Angsty Steve Rogers!) Bucky x reader

Summary: Steve has found Bucky, but the relationship between the reader and Steve has gone sideways. There isn’t a happy ending here. Steve and the reader have a tumultuous relationship. There is so much working against them at this point, yet somehow hey always end up back at square one with each other.

A/N: Relationships get a little blurred and indecisive. I tried to normalize life for the characters a little. I like writing them as normal as possible.

Word Count: 1843

Warnings: None

“Y/N!” a voice in the distance yelled, “Y/N!” again. Your head felt like it was in a hornet’s nest. You look down, your hands covered in blood, you couldn’t tell if it was your own or someone else’s, Suddenly a strong hand grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you to your feet. You were dazed and confused, your surroundings were foreign and there was glass and debris everywhere.

Again, there was a voice calling your name, repeatedly. You look in the direction of the voice, his face familiar yet his name escaping you, “Y/N,” He said again placing his hands on the side of your face, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” He repeated over and over as he looked at your blood splattered body.

Your fuzzy mind finally found his name, “B-Bucky…” you stammered, He nodded a relieved look coming over his face,

“What did I do?” You ask petrified of the answer,

“Nothing that can’t be fixed, okay.” He replied pulling you into a tight embrace, “It’s going to be fine,” he promised,

But you pulled away, “Bucky, what did I do?” You demanded,

“Y/N, I... I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, let me get you back to the compound, please.” He Says,

Your heart was hammering in your chest, you knew this would happen. You tried to tell Natasha, but she didn’t listen. You had kept this part of you hidden away for so long because you knew the havoc it would unleash when it was released.

“Is everyone okay?” You asked Bucky, but he didn’t say anything, he just offered an arm for you to lean on. As you stood up you realized you had three massive gashes on your abdomen, you held your arm against it to stop the bleeding, and the minute Bucky saw the blood pouring out of the wound he stopped and pulled his shirt of, “Hold this against it,” He ordered, you obeyed and placed the shirt against your wounds, you were becoming lightheaded from blood loss and needed medical attention soon. Bucky knew this and in one fell swoop he lifted you off the ground and carried you in his arms, towards the nearby Quinjet.

Upon arriving back at the compound with Bucky and Tony, who said nothing to you the entire ride over, Bucky escorted you to the infirmary where you saw multiple doctors waiting around. They were talking quietly amongst themselves but immediately stopped when they saw you and Bucky walk in,

One of the doctors rushed forward and took you from Bucky, you were escorted into one of the rooms and then they began cutting your shirt off to get to the gashes on your stomach. “I am going to give you a general anesthetic,” the doctor said, pulling out an injection but you shook your head,

“No, no anesthetic. Just stitch me up” You said through gritted teeth, it was going to hurt like a bitch bit you didn’t care, you couldn’t go back under.

“Are you sure?” he said hesitantly

“Yes, god fucking dammit, just do it!” You snapped,

The doctor quickly brought out the tray of cleansing alcohol and needles, you were expecting stitches but then he placed a staple gun on the tray as well and looked at you.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” He offered when he saw the look on your face, you shook your head, there was no going back now.

You screamed blue blood murder as the doctor stapled you up, each gash needed fourteen staples before the bleeding stopped, you would have three ugly scars on your body when this healed.

Tony and Steve had come into the room while you were getting stapled up, Tony sat nearby holding his head in his hand as you screamed in pain and Steve stood next to you, trying to offer you some sort of comfort.

When the doctor was done, he wrapped it in gauze and bandaged it up then looked at Steve, “She needs blood,” he said to Steve, “Or she won’t make it the night with that,” pointing at your wounds.

“I’ll organize some from the blood bank, Thanks Doc” Tony said, standing up, he was hustling the doctor out of the room before you could say anything.

Steve wordlessly handed you two pain pills and a glass of water before he sat down on the edge of the bed. Tony walked back in and shut the door behind him, you knew it was bad from the look on their faces.

They were quiet for a moment then Tony stepped towards you, “How could you not tell us?! Me?!” he seethed, “All of this could have been prevented! You witnessed what happened with Barnes, and you kept this from us! You endangered all our lives, including yours!”

You remained quiet, you had nothing to say at this point. Steve looked at you, the betrayal evident once more in his eyes, “How many more times are you going to break our trust Y/N?” he said quietly,

It felt like he had shoved a knife into your chest when he said that, all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him, but you didn’t. “How long have you been a Hydra agent?” Tony asked you, “Or better yet, how long ago did you become a winter soldier?”

“Eighty-six years ago,” You murmured, they both looked at you in shock.

“1941?” Tony asked confused, He looked at Steve for answers but Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“Who could it have been? Zola?” He was asking more Tony than you, “Like Bucky?”

“Who gave you the serum?” Tony demanded,

“My Father…” you reply softly, looking up at them, they both had a confused look on their faces.

“You father? Who? Give us a name.” Steve said,

Tears well up in your eyes, this was the moment you had dreaded your whole life. Your secret you were so ashamed of. After all these years of running and protecting your identity you were finally going to utter it out loud once more.

“Doctor Zola…” You murmured, “My father was Doctor Arnim Zola.”

Steve and Tony stared at you mouths agape in shock. The color seemed to drain from Steve’s face the moment you uttered his name.

“How is that possible?!” Steve demanded, “Zola never had children or a wife for that matter!”

“Steve, calm down” Tony said placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Tell us how it happened Y/N,” he said softly to you

“Of course, he didn’t inform anyone of my existence!” You said raising your voice, “I was there for all of it, hidden with my mother in Switzerland. When I turned twenty-one in 1941he came to me, with vial and said I was protecting his legacy by drinking it. He said it would save my mother and I from any harm after the war, but he didn’t tell me what was to happen to me once I took it”, you paused and looked down at your hands, the memories from that day flooding back. Tears falling freely from your eyes now, “When S.H.I.E.L.D captured him, he sent word to me, telling me to go to Siberia which I did. My mother had passed away by then, so I was alone, all I had was my father who kept me hidden from the world. I was conditioned in Siberia but not kept there for long, they brought me back to America to be with him, but he didn’t want me, just my blood so he kept me in Cryostasis, for twenty-two years until he received his fatal diagnosis and your father” You pointed at Tony, “Turned his brain into a data bank.”

You looked at Tony and Steve, they both stared intently at you, waiting for you to continue story.

“After my father was gone, I was released to do Hydras bidding. My conditioned mind didn’t know any better and so I was just another soldier in their mill being pulled in and out of Cryo whenever it was useful to them until I escaped my handler, seven years ago.” You said not looking at either of them, but rather looking at your scarred hand, “And the rest as you know is history…”

When you finished, Steve sat down on one of the chairs closest to him, he was pale and quiet. Tony moved towards you, “I-I… I am at a loss for words right now,” He said scratching his head, “You were right under our noses for so long and we never figured it out.”

“So how long have you been working for Hydra?” Steve said, “How long have you been feeding them intel on the Avengers?”

You looked at him incredulously, “Did you not just hear me?” you exclaim, “I left that life behind! I have been running from my legacy since I was given it! I didn’t want this! Therefore, I never told you!”

You suddenly burst into tears unable to keep ahold of your emotions any longer, surprisingly it was Tony who came and placed an arm around your shoulder, as if he understood the burden you carried.

“Yeah but of all the people in your life Y/N, I would have understood it best,” Steve said dejectedly, then he stood up and began walking out of the infirmary room.

“Steve, wait please. Just listen to me” You cried out,

He paused in the doorway and then turned back to look at you, “I can’t look at your right no, I’m sorry...” He said softly, the hurt and betrayal evident on his face as he turned away and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Tony got up from next to you and sighed deeply, “I am going to be honest, Y/N… this is going to be a hard one for all of us to come back from.” He said wiping his face tiredly, “I am going to have to confine you to the infirmary for a while, just a safety precaution, you understand right?”

You nod, not wanting to fight about this anymore. You knew this was coming and you had prepared yourself for this eventuality. Your life never had a happy ending ever, as shortlived as your time with your Avengers family was, you were prepared for what was coming next.

“Tony,” you say quietly, as he is walking out,

“Yes?”

“Could you please tell Bucky, how sorry I am.” You said, tears welling again.

“Bucky?” he replied confused,

“Yes, he will understand when Steve tells him.” You mutter closing your eyes.

Tony walks out without saying anything, and you hear the door lock click behind him. You feel your world falling apart around you as you are powerless to stop it. The life you had kept a secret was now plastered all over the compound and your secrets laid bare for everyone to see, it had been a long time coming and fate had finally caught up to you. You had to live up to your legacy or leave it behind. The choices you made from this moment forward would determine that path.

TAGS: @wildefire @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @seargantbcky @castellandiangelo and I feel this chapter is for @elaacreditava the most as she was so keen for it! ;)

(Please let me know if you want to be added to the tags)

Part 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20

This chapters is a bit shorter than the rest. I was trying not to cram too much information into the big reveal. I thoroughly hope you guys like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Drop me some feedback when ya done?! :D

#Steve Rogers #steve x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #the winter soldier #the avengers #the first avenger #natasha romanoff #tony stark #iron man #civil war #Captain America

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