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thevoidstaredback · 2 months ago

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Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian Wayne, Dec. 24, 2011

Your forgiveness is more than I ever could’ve asked for. I still don’t think I deserve it, but I will take what you have given me, ahki.

You writing back was unexpected, but I’m so glad you did! Though, I guess this isn’t very secure, huh. Oh, well! As long as nothing incriminating is written down, we should be fine.

How’s father? And your siblings? I understand there are three kids father’s adopted. Also, what about your extracurriculars? Anything exciting going on that you can tell me about? It’s boring, crime wise, where I’m at. No murder mysteries or sex scandals or huge break-ins. Not that I want any of those to happen, but it’d be really fun to get to follow a case that isn’t twelve years old or four states over.

How are you adjusting at all, actually? It was a big culture shock for me for a while, especially because no one here speaks Arabic. Can you believe that? Some of the others still think I made up an entire language just to mess with them! I haven’t been able to speak with someone in our mother tongue in a while, but I’ve been trying not to forget any of it! Even if there’s an accent coming through.

Tell me about your life. Not what the media says. I want to know the real you. Do you have friends? Any pets? What about hobbies? Do you still have that dagger I made you that one time?

Anyway, I gotta go now. I hope to hear from you soon!

I don’t know what holiday(s) father and your siblings celebrate, so I’ll wish you a happy all of them!

سأسامحك دائماً يا أخي لقد وُضعت في أسوأ الاحتمالات وبذلت قصارى جهدك بما كان لديك من معرفة. كنت ستعرض نفسك للخطر فقط إذا عدت.

Danny Fenton

***

Danny had wasted no time in writing a response. Was he going to come off as eager? Probably, but he didn’t really care. His brother had responded to him! Granted, he thinks this is a trick, but there’s some part of Damian that believes Danny’s alive! He forgives him for not going home! It’s more than Danny could’ve ever allowed himself to hope for.

But, gods was he awkward! He hadn’t let Jazz read the letter at all. She didn’t know what he said the first time, she didn’t know what the response said, and she wasn’t ever going to read any of them if he had any say in the matter. Yes, they’re siblings and he loves her just as much as he loves Damian, but this was something she didn’t have any business poking her nose into. He liked to think that Damian would likewise keep this from his own siblings, though he’d totally understand if Dami shared purely because of the suspicious circumstances.

Anyway, Danny had read and re-read Damian’s letter for hours, trying to come up with the best response, only stopping when Jazz called him down for dinner. Sleep hadn’t come easily, either, because of the adrenaline from actually getting a response. He’d hoped he’d get one, but he was also sure that he wouldn’t get one.

But why did he have to be so awkward writing back? Damian’s his brother, not a total stranger! Damian probably wouldn’t care. Danny’s always been like that, awkward at all the wrong times. He’s just gotten used to not hiding it since he left, though it had taken a while.

He has to wonder, though, if Damian is with father, does this mean he’s left the Shadows? How had he done it? Obviously, he hadn’t faked his death. Father is a very public figure, so anything short of Damian leaving a massacre behind him as he left the Shadows would be unlikely. Unless he is still with the Shadows? In which case, Danny’s just doomed himself. Sure, the PO box was set up in the town over, and maybe he struck up a deal to have the letters sent from there to his house, but that wasn’t going to stop ninja assassins. Nothing short of death would stop ninja assassins!

No! Bad Danny! No use having second thoughts now; It’s too late. He just has to hope for the best. Gods, was he hoping, wishing on stars and everything! He wanted this to work out. He wanted to have a relationship with his older brother-

Damn, he’s still the younger sibling. He hadn’t thought much of it before, but both Jazz and Damian are older than him! If he counts father’s children, which he does only to prove his point this one time, then he’s the youngest of six kids! That’s not fair. Who decided that was a fair trade? Could be worse, he supposed. He could be stuck as a middle sibling. Shutter the thought.

“Danny?” Jazz opened the door with a knock, “You ready to send that letter?”

He groaned into his pillow. “I already did.”

“Really?” she wondered, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah,” he rolled over to face her, “Finished it this morning and shipped it off.”

Jazz hummed. “I still don’t get why you won’t let me read them. I could totally help you with spelling and stuff!”

Danny sat up and stared at her with a dead look. “Jazz, I was taught by people who were the best of the best in their fields. There isn’t a single thing you could do to help me write or read those letters.”

“Why not?”

“Because they aren’t in English.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! I saw the one you got! It was in English!” She paused. “Except for that last bit. That just looked like a bunch of squiggles.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That wasn’t a bunch of squiggles, Jazz. It was Arabic, my mother tongue.”

“First,” she adjusted to sit criss-cross on the foot of his bed, “Never say ‘mother tongue’ again; it sounds weird. Second, the simple solution is to teach me Arabic.”

Danny had to pause for a second to let the words register in his head. “You-you want to learn Arabic?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, it can’t be that hard, right?”

“Yes it can,” he sighed, “You’d have to learn a whole new alphabet of letters and sounds. It’s not a Latin based language like English or Spanish.”

“I can do it!”

“I don’t doubt that, but I think an easier language would be better.”

She huffed. “You just don’t wanna share.”

True, but, “I could teach you Romanian? It’s a Latin derived language, like English, so it’s got the same alphabet.”

“Fine,” she agreed after a moment, “Where do we start?”

“Kids!” their dad called from the kitchen, “We have something for you!”

Danny and Jazz shared a grimace. “Down stairs, apparently,” he said. Quickly, they left the room and made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Their parents probably didn’t have any actual gifts for them, so they weren’t going to get their hopes up.

They were right, of course. Jack and Maddie Fenton were creatures of habit and obsession; workaholics, in simpler terms.

The two kids joined their parents at the table. “Mom,” Jazz greeted, “Dad.”

“Jazzypants!” Jack smiled, his voice booming, “Dann-o!”

“What’s up?” Danny asked. He wanted to go back to his room and stew over what he’d just sent to his brother. Seriously? ‘I’ll wish you a happy all of them?’ That’s so stupid! Beyond stupid, actually! He wanted to curl up and die. Can people die of embarrassment?

Maddie smiled kindly at her children, somehow matching her husband’s energy but not his volume. “We had another breakthrough in our research.”

“Oh?” Danny had been intrigued by the [now] Drs. Fenton’s research. It was all theoretical, of course, but they claimed to have proof of base for their research. He’d never seen it before, and they’d never offered to show him or Jazz, but they mentioned it in all of their papers. He’d never deemed it worth anything, so it had been pushed behind relevant information like literally anything else.

He still didn’t know how they’d gotten those papers published. They were the laughing stocks of the scientific and occult communities! An accomplishment in and of itself, really.

“Yes,” his mother nodded, “But that’s not what we called you two down to discuss.”

“It’s not? Jazz tilted her head to the side.

“Nope!” Jack’s smile somehow got bigger. “We’ve decided that the both of you are old enough-”

“-and responsible enough.” Maddie added.

“-do go down and see the lab!”

Jazz and Danny had two very different reactions to this statement. Danny was a bit excited to get to see whatever held his parents’ attention at all hours of the day. Jazz, on the other hand, was furious.

“What!” she demanded.

Jack and Maddie didn’t seem to even register her anger. “You two have both proven yourselves responsible in your school and house work, so we figured it was time to let you two in on the family business.”

“But, I don’t want to do lab work!” Jazz objected, now standing with her hands on the table and her chair pushed back aggressively.

“Nonsense,” Maddie waved her off easily, “You’ll love it. Besides, you’ve always wanted to help us in the lab, ever since you were a child.”

Jazz just screamed in outrage. “I’ve never said that!”

She was ignored. “Of course, we’ll have to go over the proper safety measures so that neither of you gets hurt.” Jack stated.

Throwing her hands up, Jazz stormed away from the table and stomped up to her room, the door slamming behind her. Danny has no doubts that she’s locked herself in.

“She must be tired,” Jack smiled fondly, “We’ve got some work to finish up down stairs, Dann-o, but we’ll be back up for dinner, alright?”

Danny nodded and the two left. Quietly, he whispered, “Liar.” to the empty main floor.

***

Danyal Fenton Dec. 27, 2011

Your definition of ‘incriminating’ must be wrong. You reaching out in the first place would’ve put us both in danger had your letter been intercepted. The same remains true for every letter we exchange, though I will not be the one to put a stop to the communication. It is nice to have physical evidence of your conversations, no matter how much time passes between each response.

I am still skeptical that you are my brother, but, as I said in my last letter, I will continue on with a shade pulled over my eyes, ahki.

I have done some research while living with father. My own experiences prove at least some of what they say is true. I never truly believed you had died. I always had a feeling that you were alive somewhere, safe, out of reach of Grandfather and Mother.

Father is well. In public, he is outgoing, drunk, clumsy, able to start a conversation from nothing and let it trail off into a slightly more useful nothing. In truth, he is standoffish, strong, able to talk circles around anyone. He is always ready for a fight and always prepared for the worst. He does not like surprises.

We have four siblings, and one honorary sibling. Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, Cassandra Cain, and Stephanie Brown. Grayson is more outgoing than the others, though he has been with Father the longest, so he is just as skilled as him. Todd was dead and refuses to communicate with Father. Drake is smart, but that is all he has going for him. Cain was raised in the League like us, though not at any of the bases we ever visited. Brown was dating Drake, but has since become more of a sister to the Manor.

Alfred Pennyworth is the family butler. He raised Father and continues to stand by his side. He is a formidable foe, though I have yet to see him in actual combat. He, aside from Father and myself, is the most competent resident of Wayne Manor.

Again, you need to reassess your definition of ‘incriminating’. There is nothing I can share, without consequence, that hasn’t already been made public by the GCPD. I will say, however, that my position as the superior child remains unchallenged. Not that any of those bastards Father has taken in would ever pose any kind of challenge to me or you.

I must ask, you know where I am, so is it not fair that you tell me where you are? The return address you have used leads to a PO box in Elmerton, Illinois, but I doubt that’s where you really are. Your description of ‘boring’ in regards to the crime rate is fully expected of anywhere when compared to Gotham, though that goes nearly doubly so for the midwest.

It was a shock to me as well, though I have been handling it. None of the others have noticed any unease, so I will take it. It will not do to show weakness in the face of enemies. I can agree, however, that the lack of use of Arabic is disappointing. I do not fear that I will ever forget the language or our home, but I do regret to say that I have encountered similar problems you have.

Father insists that I go to school with others my age to ‘socialize’, though I do not see the point. It’s all thinly veiled insults from the adults we are placed in the charge of. I am much smarter than my peers, so I have not been able to have a single intelligent conversation with any of them. The exception, however, being Jon Kent. He is adequate company. Our Father and his father are friends.

I have a cat named Alfred, after the butler. I would like to get a dog, but Father has denied my request. I have, however, managed to hide Goliath in the cave. Father knows he is there, but the others remain oblivious.

As for hobbies, art is the only one worth mentioning. I have several sets of paints and colors and pencils, though I remain partial to charcoal. Paper is the easiest to use, but I prefer canvas.

Of course I still have that dagger, Danyal. I have many weapons, but that is the only one that has never left my person.

Father is Jewish, though he was raised Catholic, and is an atheist; Grayson is Christian; Todd was raised Catholic, but is atheist; Drake was born to a Christian mother, but he follows after his father as an atheist; Neither Cain nor Brown were born into religious families, so they don’t follow any religion, as far as I’m aware.

Pennyworth has decorated the Manor for all of the holidays, though the only tradition I’ve actually seen practiced is the gift exchange from Christmas.

Honestly, you must work on your formatting. You give almost no information in exchange for your questions getting answers. It makes your letters very short. So, I will turn all of your questions back on you. I expect them to be answered sufficiently.

أفضل ما لدي لم يكن جيداً بما فيه الكفاية كنت أعلم أنك لا تزال على قيد الحياة، ومع ذلك لم أفعل شيئًا سوى نشر كذبة وفاتك.

Damian Wayne

***

The letter was a surprise, especially considering it’s a page and a half, though he should’ve expected it. He found it hilarious that the first thing Dami had done this time was to insult him. At least he’d waited a few lines in the last letter! It hurt a bit that Damian still thought this was a trick, but Danny couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. He’d’ve acted the same way if their roles were reversed.

He liked hearing about Damian’s family. They’re so different compared to what the media says. Then again, he expected that. Most people are hardly ever exactly how they’re portrayed to bigger audiences. The Drs. Fenton being an exception.

And, yeah, he knew Dami was going to search the address, but did he really have to come out and say it like that? At least he knew the Shadows (League?) hadn’t gotten in the middle, otherwise he’d’ve been cut down by now. Small blessings.

Ah, Goliath the dragon bat. Danny remembers when they got Goliath. Hiding him was hard, but they managed. Though, he’s fairly certain that Mother knew they had him hidden in the caves of Nanda Parbat. That does beg the question, though, of how the hell Damian managed to get a - by now - fully grown dragon bat across continents and into a cave in New Jersey without being spotted? Did he even really want to know? Probably not.

Danny could remember the expression on Damian’s face when he realized that Goliath was getting bigger. They’d found him on their first mission for Grandfather after leaving the group that had been sent with them. They’d kept him moving between their rooms when they got back, never keeping him in one for more than a night before moving him to the other. Then suddenly, the creature they’d found that was no bigger than their forearms was as long as their arms from shoulder to fingertip! They had only been able to keep Goliath between their rooms for another month before having to hide him in the caves under Nanda Parbat.

And the food! Goliath, even as a baby dragon bat, could eat triple his body weight. It was a wonder no one found him! How does Damian keep him fed? And how have his siblings not noticed the dragon under their house? Thoughts for another time.

Danny closed his book as he finished it. It was the astrology one, clearly written for people new to the topic, but he wasn’t complaining. It was easy to understand and he found himself actually enjoying it more than he originally anticipated. He could see why the girls in his class liked it, too. He could see himself falling deeper into this rabbit hole, but he wasn’t upset about that.

He moved on to read the second book he’d gotten, the one about witchcraft. Briefly, he chuckled at the image that he was slowly coming to see as his future. “A witch,” he hummed with a smile, “Mother would be so disappointed.”

The book opened up with a brief history about the topic before going into a deep dive about different practices and how things had changed and improved throughout history. It also gave names to famous witches and witch hunters, one that he recognized.

Jack Fenton, about three years after Danny had been taken in by the family, had given Danny a full rundown of his and Maddie’s family histories. Fentonightingale had been the family name until Jack’s great-grandfather had changed it to Fenton when he married. John Fentonightingale was a well known witch hunter in Salem, Massachustes in 1600. He was best known for eating a slow acting poison in the form of - now extinct - flowers as evidence against an unnamed witch on trial. He died shortly thereafter, leaving his grieving wife and children.

The humor was not lost to Danny. “Looks like dad’ll be disappointed, too.”

“Knock, knock?” Jazz asked from the hallway, knocking her knuckle on his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” he called back, closing his book and putting it down.

Jazz opened the door. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been hiding out here all day. No plans with Sam or Tucker?”

Danny shook his head. “Nah. Tuck’s spending the break with his family and Sam’s been forced to go to a rich person party somewhere in Washington.”

“DC?”

“State.”

“She’s not too far.”

“Too far for an emergency extraction.”

“You sound like she’s gonna get killed or something.”

Danny snorted. “Don’t jinx it, Jazzercise.”

“I’m not gonna jinx it, Danimal.” She leaned against the door frame. “Besides, even if she did die, she’d come back as a ghost just to haunt you.”

He groaned and flopped over onto his side. “Don’t even joke about that!”

“Why, ‘cause I’m right?” He groaned again. She laughed. “Alright, Dannibal Lector, since you’re obviously bored out of your mind, you wanna come watch a movie with me?”

“And risk mom and dad dragging us down into the lab?” He sat up, “No thanks.”

“Come on,” she goaded, “It’ll be fun! I’ll even let you pick the movie!”

“Hmmmm. A documentary on ghost hunting or a mockumentary on ghost hunting? Such a hard decision.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Come on, D! You can’t stay locked in here forever.”

“Actually, J, I think I can. I’ve got food, water, and entertainment. I’ll be fine.”

“What about when you have to pee or shower?”

“I’ll put a bucket in the corner and dump it out the window.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“And rainwater is clean enough.”

“It’s literally not, though.”

“Well, I won’t know unless I try.”

“You’re not gonna live in here by yourself!”

“Why? You wanna join me? Sorry, but there’s only enough pillows for a one person fort.”

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s hard to believe? Unless you’ve got pillows hidden up your-” He cut himself off with an exaggerated and mocking gasp. “Jazz! Do you have pillows hidden up your ass?”

“Danny!” she scolded, but her tone was fond, “Watch your language, brat!”

“What?” he giggled, “It’s a genuine question.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, “No, I do not have pillows shoved up my ass.”

“Language!” he mocked.

“Are you gonna come watch a movie with me or not?”

“Sure, sure,” he stood, “But if we get dragged down to the lab, I’m blaming you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Danny was right. He was right and he was never listening to Jazz ever again. He could live in his room until he turned eighteen! That was totally something he could do. It wasn’t like he’d been raised to survive off of less in less space.

Instead of watching a movie they’d seen a million times before, the siblings had decided to watch YouTube on the TV. Halfway into Episode 4 of Buzzfeed Unsolved, their parents came up and dragged them down to the lab to show them their breakthrough from the previous night.

Looking at it, it was much less a breakthrough and more of ‘getting closer to the final picture’. The Ghost Portal had been a project that Jack and Maddie had been working on since college. A friend of theirs had gotten sent to the hospital for this project and had yet to be released. What had given them the idea that this was safe to build in their basement, let alone show their children? Regardless, it was too late now, so Danny and Jazz were forced to roll with it.

“We’re almost done with it!” Jack looked like a proud parent when he was looking at the thing.

The Ghost Portal, as it was now, was built directly into the furthermost wall of the basement. It wasn’t load bearing, thank the gods. The portal was ten feet deep, seven and a half feet tall, octagonal in shape. The paneling that covered the walls and ceiling was black with electric blue circuitry cutting through them. The blank spots where the paneling was not put up were gray, matching the cement floor of the lab. There were some work lights inside, white LED strips that lined the bottom seams where the floor met the walls. The floor itself was made of black tile and nearly completely covered in loose cables and unfinished paneling. There was a red button in place of one of the missing side panels that screamed ‘accident waiting to happen’.

“What is it?” Jazz asked, not daring to go closer than the stair doorway. Danny didn’t blame her.

“It’s the Ghost Portal, Jazzy!” Maddie’s grin was huge, taking up nearly her whole face. “We’ve nearly got it finished.”

“Yep!” Jack nodded excitedly, “All we’ve got left to do is finish the inside paneling, build the outer frame, and turn her on!”

“What about powering it?” Danny wondered just as Jazz said, “‘Her’?”

Jack still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the thing. “She’s already connected to the power grid; That’s why the circuitry in the paneling is glowing, see?”

Danny picked his way through the papers cluttering the table next to him, finding the portal’s blueprints on the very bottom. The handwriting in the margins was messy, obviously from two people and taking up almost every inch of the paper. The schematics of the portal itself was done in white and much neater than the black ink from his parents’ handwriting. A third person, probably their college friend, had been the one to draw the thing with the first basic formuli. Overall, it was messy and a hazard to look at.

“Are, uh, you guys sure that this won’t blow up our house?” Danny asked, unable to keep from scrunching his nose up at the sight of the blueprints.

“Positive.” Maddie sounded so serious, like it was the absolute truth.

“You wanna check out the inside?” Jack asked, practically bouncing like an excited puppy.

Jazz was quick to shake her head, going so far as to take a step back into the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Before Danny could follow her lead, though, Jack grabbed Danny and pulled him forwards.

“Go on,” the giant man urged.

Gulping, Danny complied. He was so going to lock himself in his room now. He didn’t plan on leaving until Sam and Tucker were both back in town! “Alright.” He hoped his hesitation was obvious enough for his parents to get the cue that he did not want to be doing this. Unfortunately, neither picked up on it. Jazz did, but she wasn’t about to risk moving closer in case Jack or Maddie got the idea of shoving her towards the thing, too.

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

Stepping into the tunnel that was the portal was like walking into a different world. Somehow, even though he was only half a foot in and there was light on all sides, it was dark in there. The blue from the paneling was nearly nonexistent, and the white LEDs lining the floor were so dim that they were useless. Was this a purposeful thing? How was this possible?

The cables and cords that had been visible from the outside were almost invisible in the somehow lower lighting of the portal tunnel, same with the unfinished wall panels on the floor. And, as a result of the hazardous mess on the floor and the near pitch dark, Danny tripped halfway through. His training didn’t let him fall, but his inability to keep up the rigorous schedule he’d been raised on made him reach out to steady himself on the wall.

Millimeters before his fingers so much as grazed the button he’d not been able to see after crossing the threshold, Danny heard the barely there whisper of “Time Out.” followed almost immediately by “Time in.” at the same volume.

Catching himself on the cold, softly glowing paneling of the wall, Danny was quick to straighten out and turn around. That thing gave him the creeps and he would much rather go back to reading his book, thank you.

“So, Dann-o?” Jack clapped his shoulder when he got back to them, “What’d ya think?”

Unable to disappoint the people he’d come to see as his parents, Danny plastered a smile on his face and said, “It’s pretty cool. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s finished!”

Maddie cheered. “Right? As soon as it’s done, those assholes at Harvard will have to take us seriously!”

Danny seriously doubted they would. In fact, he doubted the portal would even work at all. It’s a hypothetical experiment that had the potential and huge likelihood of going catastrophically wrong. How much power would it take to even turn the thing on? Several city blocks at least, right? If that blows up, it'll take out not only their house, but probably half the city and everyone within the blast radius.

Danny should report this to somebody.

“That’s not even the best part!” Jack exclaimed, hurting over to what looked like an electrical box that had been set into the unfinished walls of the basement lab. Opening the small metal door revealed a hand scanner that Jack quickly placed his hand on. After five seconds, a small compartment just above the scanner opened up. Inside was a small glass phial of thick, glowing green liquid. Liquid that Danny recognised.

Shit.

“This is what’s gonna power the portal after the initial launch,” Jack explained, his voice reverent as he cradled the phial in his large hands, “Ectoplasm.”

Ecto-what? Danny knew that glowing liquid. He’d only seen it once, but he knew what it was. He could say, with full confidence and a puffed chest, that what his dad was currently holding was a phial of Lazarus Water. The color and consistency were the same as the Pits. The stuff even glowed like the Pit Water! It was terrifying that Danny had encountered any of the stuff this far from the Shadows, and he found himself taking several steps back toward Jazz.

“That’s, um, that’s-”

“Awesome, dad!” Jazz said for him, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him back. He was so glad she had because he was sure he was seconds away from freezing in place. “Danny’s getting tired, though, and I’m a bit hungry, so we’re gonna head back upstairs now. Is that alright?”

“Sounds great, sweetie,” Maddie waved the two off in a clear dismissal, “We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Danny rushed up the stairs, waiting for Jazz in the kitchen. When she joined him she muttered, “Liar.” under her breath before closing the door. “So,” she said to Danny.

“So.” he repeated.

“What made you so freak out down there?” she asked, “Not that I blame you. That portal thing freaked me out, too.”

Danny shrugged. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It’s not healthy to bottle things up, Danny.”

“I know, I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” Or ever. “Bad memories.”

Jazz’s expression softened. “Alright,” she nodded, “Do you want some chips?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m gonna go to my room.”

“You can’t hide in there forever!”

He was halfway up the stairs. “I can try!”

Translation 1 - Arabic :: I will always forgive you, brother. You were put in the worst possible situation and you did the best you could with the knowledge you had. You would have only jeopardized yourself if you went back.

Translation 2 - Arabic :: My best wasn't good enough. I knew you were still alive, yet I did nothing but spread the lie of your death.

Part 1 Part 3

#Tales of Conquest. Warnings of Fools #Letters Between Brothers #part 2 #word count: just over 5k #my writing #ao3 #ao3 writer #fanfic #dc x dp #ghouls and gang writing event 2024 #dpxdcbang2024 #g&g24

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northwest-cryptid · 7 months ago

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This may only be my opinion on the matter, and I know a few Natives myself who all have their own ideas about this. However; to me if you want to make a Native character, be they for a game, as an OC; whatever doesn't matter. All you need to do in order to make sure you're not being offensive? Just do like, the bare minimum research.

Step 1. Pick a location for your character.

If your character exists within some fantasy world or whatever then it can be a bit harder to pinpoint something like this. At this point skip to step 2.

If your character is of Earth, or is of our known universe (yes this includes sci fi settings), then trace their bloodline back to where they originally are from.

I say this because it will help you with step 2.

You need to know where, or at least roughly where your character is from.

Step 2. Pick a tribe from that location that makes sense for the character.

Again, even a basic level of research goes a long ways here, I know fanfic writers who would get put on a list looking up the ins and outs of some criminal shit just to accurately write a character, I know you have the ability to research shit so I trust you can do this here.

Figure out based on the location you picked for your character, what tribe they would reasonably be a part of. If you find that you'd rather have them in a specific tribe; perhaps one that's important to you or something; you can do Step 1 and Step 2 in reverse order.

The important thing here is that: If you have to make up a tribe, I'm going to understand you don't actually care about them being Native. If you have to give them a specific tribe but you don't bother to give that tribe the basic respect of knowing where they're from I am once again going to understand you just don't actually give two shits about Natives.

Okay so now that we have an understanding of what tribe our character is from, we can begin looking into that tribe's culture. This may be a bit difficult in some cases since not everything is going to just be out there on the internet, and you may also not have a fundamental understanding of the culture and how it's changed over the years. Guess what, that's fine! I'd rather see a character who's specifically said to be Lakota, and who knows about our deities and teachings even if they're the sort of thing most modern Natives don't believe in or care about. Accurate depiction of culture is not a stereotype!

Once we know what sort of things might be important to this character culturally, we can begin to weave small noticeable traits into them, or you can even make those traits a much larger part of the character. As a quick example, for my Vtuber's design I included not only the colors of the Four Directions but often depict them with a braid and use owl feathers as a sort of symbol of them. This all comes directly from the fact my Life Shield uses owl feathers to represent my family, includes the Four Directions, and I literally grew up with a braid and continue to grow out my hair as to have another; it's all part of the culture I was raised in, even if I amplified the importance of some aspects to sort of make them a trait for a character. Again, accuracy isn't a stereotype.

I also want to briefly mention that when you're naming your character I urge you to look up how people in the tribe are actually named, please don't just do the old "color + animal" thing or whatever and think it's fine. Just again, do the bare minimum research to figure out how people in that tribe are named and go from there. I once joked with my partner that "the only thing about the Natives in Twilight that's remotely accurate is that they have the most generic white American names"

If you want an actually pretty good example of what I'm talking about, look no further than Prey. No not the movie, no not the modern remake; but the game from like 2006.

Our main character here is a Native man named Tommy, or rather Domasi "Tommy" Tawodi and he's actually said to be Cherokee. Now you can say what you will about his spirit powers and such, I get it.

But from a sheer design perspective?

Yea that's not bad at all! Everything from the facial features to his name to his general aesthetic is spot on for the Cherokee I've met out at the reservation. This is what I mean when I say accurate depiction of a culture isn't some harmful stereotype.

I'd love to see more Natives in things, I'd love to see Native OCs; but I feel like people are so scared to make Natives a thing because doing so could be racist if you misrepresent us or something. Like okay let me tell you right now you're not gonna do it worse than people who have made millions off selling books and movies whether it's westerns that depict us all as uncivilized killers or whatever the hell was going on in twilight; you're gonna be fine so long as you TRY.

And yes it's actually as easy as a 3 step process, the same sort of thing you'd do for any character really.

I mean think about it, let's say I was some weeb who really wanted to make a Japanese character but I didn't want to do any research. I could make the mistake of putting them in these overly traditional outfits and settings and maybe at least some of the details would be accurate but overall it'd be pretty bad rep, or I could go the polar opposite direction and just make them look like they're some British street punk with their whole aesthetic being way off from the sort of actual street fashion of places like Tokyo; again misrepresenting a whole subculture there. Or maybe I could do what everyone does to Natives and deem them to be some fantasy race who must have super powers and make them into essentially just an anime character; obviously that would be some severely bad rep. All of which could be fixed if I just bothered to go "okay where do I want this person to be from? What sort of culture do people from there abide by in their day to day life? How could I reflect that in a character?"

Honestly that's just good practice for making any sort of character based on a real world group.

And going back to a point I stated in Step 1. If you want to include a Native character in a fantasy world where ya know, America doesn't exist and therefore we couldn't logically have Native Americans; pick a tribe and go off that. As long as it's accurate I don't believe it would be seen as disrespectful.

At the end of the day there will always be people who get up in arms about anything; like it's their job to twist anything into being racist. You will never make those people happy, don't bother trying.

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anon-e-miss · 26 days ago

Text

Reformation - 9

“Barricade?” Prowl asked when Jazz mentioned a cousin looking for him.

“I dunno,” Jazz replied. “He didn’t give Trailbreaker a designation. Beta?”

“It would have to be Barricade,” Prowl said. “My other cousins are Alphas. Barricade is the only one who would embarrass himself claiming me, in any case.”

Jazz did not feel good leaving Prowl. The news that a cousin was looking for him visibly disturbed him. At least Ori had arrived and would do his best to distract Prowl was Jazz was gone. The Beta cousin claimed Prowl, which was a point in his favour. At the same time, Prowl had never mentioned him, there was no next of kin listed in his file, Jazz had looked, he was a spy after all. He knew the ins and outs of every officer’s personal file. Some had secret families and unknown to them, Jazz had put reservist operatives in their neighbours to serve a first line of defence if Decepticons figured a hostage was in order. His job was not just to sniff out Decepticon secrets, that was not even the most important part of his job, his most important job was preserving the Autobot’s own.

When Jazz had pictured Prowl’s cousin, he had imagined a mech who looked like him. The mech he saw standing on the Autobot Provost guard’s back did not look like Prowl beyond his doorwings. Maybe Jazz should have asked what Barricade looked like. This Praxian had overall dark colouring. His plating was black and gold, safe for stripes of white that sported the Praxian enforcer decals. His face was gold and his optics red. Jazz supposed mecha would think the same of him as his twin thought their features were all identical save for their colouring. Trailbreaker smiled and gave Jazz an awkward wave. The Praxian looked turned to watch him come, never stepping off the Alpha’s back. His arms were crossed under his chassis. The other Provost guards were standing at their posts, unwilling to interfere, leading Jazz to believe this one had asked for it.

“Barricade?” Jazz asked.

“That’s right,” the Praxian said.

“Great,” Jazz replied. “Mind steppin’ off’m?”

“Where is Prowl?” Barricade asked. He did as Jazz asked and stepped off the guard like he was a stepping stool.

“Home,” Jazz replied. “What’s... this about?”

“He asked for a demonstration,” Barricade replied.

“Well...” Jazz said. He made a gesture for the guards watching from their posts. “I think they learned.”

“Mm.” Barricade hummed, reminiscent of Prowl.

“Pretty impressive, takin’ down a warbuild ‘bout twice your size,” Jazz said.

“I know how to bring an Alpha down to my level,” Barricade replied, ever so slightly primly. Ironhide would like him.

“Enforcer?” Jazz asked.

“Yes,” Barricade replied.

“Ya serve wit Prowl?” Jazz asked.

“Until he resigned,” Barricade replied. Jazz nodded. Then Barricade knew about the worst of what Prowl had gone through. He was the only cousin to still claim Prowl.

“Any chance y’ll tell me what brought ya here?” Jazz asked.

“If Prowl wants you around when I tell him,” Barricade replied.

“See that he gets to Ratchet,” Jazz ordered Trailbreaker. “Come wit me. We’re off pace.”

“We?” Barricade asked.

“We,” Jazz said. They were we, for now at least, but Jazz thought better of adding that part. He transformed and Barricade followed after him. The Beta Praxian shared his cousin’s altmode. “Why not comm him?”

“Because he deserves better than a comm call,” Barricade replied. “He wasn’t going to get one anyways.”

“Somethin’ happen wit his ‘genitor?” Jazz asked.

“I wouldn’t trouble him with that aft’s ashes,” Barricade replied.

“Really ain’t gonna tell me,” Jazz said.

“Prowl gets to decide how much you know,” Barricade replied.

“Yer protective o’m,” Jazz noted.

“He was always decent,” Barricade replied. “I can’t say the same for my brothers.”

“Had a lot o’ experience puttin’ Alphas in line then?” Jazz guessed.

“Its my favourite hobby,” Barricade replied.

Jazz laughed, though he suspected it was the truth. Barricade was a brasher version of Prowl but the more he spoke the more Jazz found a resemblance. Just like Barricade insisted on Prowl decided if Jazz got to hear whatever he had to say, Jazz thought Prowl ought to decide if his cousin should hear he was carrying. They were at an impasse and the Alpha was not thrilled. He had no doubt whatever news Barricade had was going to hurt Prowl and Prowl did not deserve any more pain. But for Barricade to have travelled to Iacon, it was something important. At least Ori was also going to be there and he would be able to knock some sense into Jazz if he overreacted at all.

“Why not live on base?” Barricade asked once they stopped outside Jazz’s building.

“Better digs,” Jazz replied. “Me ‘n my twin each got our own space ‘n room for Ori when he visits. “Bachelor habs ain’t roomie.”

“Fair enough,” Barricade replied. “Prowl’s would be drab.”

“Medic Ratchet says it looks like a prison cell,” Jazz replied.

“He’s afraid to express himself,” Barricade replied. “Having an opinion or taste not identical to his progenitor’s was never well received.”

***

The door opened and Prowl stood up. It was Barricade. He smiled, it was strained but Prowl smiled because when no one else in the world cared for him, Barricade had. His cousin walked over and brushed his crest against Prowl’s. Barricade was exactly the same as he had been when Prowl had left Praxus, the same looks, the same rank. Prowl gestured his helm towards Barricade’s doorwings while lifting and twitching his own and Barricade just shrugged irreverently. A Beta stood a better chance at promotion in the enforcers than an Omega but it was not great. They would need to play politics and Alpha dynamics especially well and Barricade did not. He played with Alphas as Alphas played with each other, which usually left the Alpha humiliated and Barricade smugly satisfied.

“You should sit down,” Barricade said, soberly. Jazz took Prowl’s arm and sat with him on the couch.

“What is it?” Prowl asked.

“Lockdown was paroled,” Barricade explained. “Two quartexes ago.”

“No!” Prowl gasped. His helm spun. Jazz took him in his arms. Behind them, Punch growled.

“I’m sorry,” Barricade replied. “I got a warrant put out on him for what he did to you.”

“Do they even wanna prosecute?” Jazz asked. “Seems, just from what Prowl’s told me, they don’t care.”

“I threatened to publish an tell-all,” Barricade replied. “I can at least use the warrant to get optics on him. After he left Garrus-9, he’s effectively disappeared.”

“Ya think Prowl’s in danger?” Jazz asked. “That’s why ya came.”

“Barricade is in danger,” Prowl said.

“I’m fine,” Barricade replied, waving Prowl off with servo and doorwing.

“He was explicit about what he would do to you,” Prowl replied, staring up at his cousin.

“Tedious scrap Alphas of his type say,” Barricade replied. “It’s grandstanding.”

“You threatened to unmech him, repeatedly,” Prowl sighed. “I believe he will have taken that personally.”

“A’ight, I think I like ya,” Jazz declared. Prowl sighed.

“Please don’t encourage him,” the Omega said. “You humiliated him, Barricade. Lockdown has an ego like no other.”

“Like I told him, from a distance, I shoot him through the panel,” Barricade replied. “Up close, a knife. I would relish the opportunity, Prowl.”

“Oh I definitely like ya,” Punch declared.

“I’ll gets my optics on the ground lookin’ for’m,” Jazz said. “Since I don’t need a warrant ‘n don’t worry ‘bout little technicalities like trials.”

“This I like,” Barricade replied.

“In the meantime, ‘til we get optics on’m, ya might as well stay for a visit,” Jazz suggested. “Ori can use Rico’s berth, leavin’ the guest berth to ya. The two o’ ya can catch up.”

“I would look like an aft if I said no,” Barricade replied.

“Please,” Prowl said.

“You don’t need to beg,” Barricade sighed. “I have an orn’s leave. I wasn’t about to drop this on you and roll out.”

“Thank you.”

#anon-e-miss writes #valveplug #maccadams #mechpreg #a/b/o dynamics #reformation #tf prowl #tf jazz #tf barricade #tf punch #tw noncon #tw nonconsensual body modification #nonconsensual body modification

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 11 months ago

Text

Eddie Munson's family dinner

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 23

Prompt: Uncle Wayne adopts Steve

Rated: M

CW: nudity

Tags: Modern AU; Rockstar Eddie; Royal Steve; Established relationship

Notes: Continued from days 11 and 14. I can't get this AU outta my head, halp!

Eddie can't recall the first time he saw Steve.

In all likelihood, he was two years old and Steve a tiny, wrinkly baby. His face was all over the news in the days and weeks following his birth, after all. Cradled in his mother's arms, staring bleary-eyed into the world as newborns tend to do - only that in his case, the entire world was staring back. The birth of the King's and Queen's first child had been long-awaited after all, a once-in-a-generation event.

In the years that followed, Steve was always just … kind of there. A strange-but-familiar boy who kept popping up on TV and the front pages of magazines, living a life so different they may as well have been from different planets.

Eddie still remembers fixing dinner in the trailer's tiny kitchen one night, news droning in the background.

"Poor kid," Wayne grumbled.

Eddie, sixteen and a giant shithead at the time, paused in putting the plates down on the table and glanced up to follow his uncle's gaze to the TV.

"Oh yeah, woe is him. Must be so fucking hard, living in a palace. Having an army of servants to wipe your ass and shit."

On the TV, the Prince sat between his parents at some sports event or other, a tiny carbon copy of his father with his Italian suit and carefully styled hair. Clapping at all the right times, face a polite, empty mask of a smile.

Wayne huffed. "Ain't no kid deserve that kinda shit. Always under scrutiny, paraded around like some trained dog."

Eddie rolled his eyes and changed the topic and they didn't talk about it any further.

Wayne's plates are still the same ones that Eddie was putting on the table all those years ago. Eddie has offered time and again to buy something new, but the stubborn old shit won't have it. Insists that Eddie already bought him a whole-ass house with the money from that first record deal, a car after the second, he won't die of a chipped plate or ten, thank you very much. He'll just have to get him new ones for Christmas, he guesses.

"This is delicious, Mr Munson," Steve is saying. He's sitting next to Eddie, back ramrod straight, elbows at a perfect angle, dissecting the meatloaf with careful precision.

Like some trained dog.

"My mom's recipe," Wayne hums, but then he sets down his own cutlery, expression serious. "Now … what are your intentions with my nephew?"

Eddie flushes about twenty shades of crimson. Incidentally, so does Steve.

"I …" he sputters, all traces of composure suddenly gone. "Well, I like Eddie a lot."

"I figured …" Behind Wayne's beard, his mouth twitches. "Seeing how you're wearing his clothes and all."

Steve blinks down at himself. They make sure to keep it low-profile when they're together. The paparazzi never sleep, after all, and they've both had their fair share of run-ins with the fuckers in the past. Which is why he's wearing a red-and-black flannel he stole from Eddie, faded and soft from too many cycles in the wash. Eddie wants to burn all the Italian suits in the world, wrap him up in soft and comfy clothes always.

"Um …" Steve says.

Wayne smiles.

"Relax, son, I'm pulling your leg." If he notices how Steve tenses at the word son, he graciously ignores it. "Now are ya gonna take my boy's hand, or what?"

Steve gapes.

"Might as well," Eddie winks, takes the knife from Steve’s limp fingers and entwines their hands. "He'll just keep nagging until he gets what he wants."

Their gazes lock and Steve smiles. Not a mask. The real one. The one where his eyes light up and he looks five years younger. The one that Eddie is rapidly becoming addicted to.

He turns back to eating his dinner one-handed and remembers another boy, a boy from a very different planet, getting coaxed out of his shell over the same plates, the same meatloaf.

Fuck the plates, he decides. Wayne is getting a whole damn kitchen for Christmas, whether he likes it or not.

"He's a great guy, your uncle," Steve mutters into Eddie’s chest later that night. They're all curled up in Eddie’s bed and he's naked except for the flannel. He claims it's to ward off the cold air seeping in through the open window, and Eddie isn't about to argue. Not when the sight does things to him.

"Sort of thought he was gonna hate me," Steve continues, and Eddie hums quizzically.

"Why's that?"

"Hm, let's see …" Steve's brow crinkles in mock-thought. "He raised the guy who wrote two top-ten songs about how much the monarchy sucks, that could've been a hint."

"Nah," Eddie chuckles. "Guy would've adopted you as a kid, if he could've. He's always loved you, way-"

Large hazel eyes blink up at him and the words get stuck in his throat.

Because he hasn't said it yet, even though he's rapidly coming to accept that it's true.

Way before I did.

"And apart from that," he says instead, "if you marry me, I'll be a princess. What parent doesn't want that for their kid?"

"Hold your horses," Steve grumbles, but his eyes are sparkling again. "We can't get married if your uncle adopts me."

"Shame," Eddie quips and presses him down into the pillows. "Would've loved to wear a tiara on stage, that sounds like a killer look."

Eddie doesn’t recall the first time he saw Steve, but he doesn’t really think it matters. Not when he gets to see the real him now, with no-one else watching. Blushing and naked, lips kissed pink, glowing with happiness.

It's an image he's sure he won't forget.

Part 4

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles #the rock star and the royal

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harmonysanreads · 1 year ago

Note

i keep on thinking about yan!neuvillette lately ever since i saw those posts you reblogged 😭🙏

yan!neuvillette who has you arrested and tried in fontaine’s supreme court. having secretly worked with the prosecutors to make sure that the odds are against you, he rules that you are guilty of a crime which you, in reality, didn’t commit — but the evidence was stacked against you, and the defence certainly had no chance in winning the trial.

after all, neuvillette was the chief justice of the supreme court. the highest position one could have in this nation, second only to the hydro archon herself. who wouldn’t trust his judgement, especially when it appeared that you truly were guilty of the crimes you were accused of?

yan!neuvillette, expected by society to uphold the law and help maintain peace and order within the nation as their reliable chief justice, but neuvillette knew how to keep his position and reputation secure while using his vast knowledge of all the ins and outs of the laws, and what loopholes there are and aren’t in order to bend things to his will — namely, your circumstances. nobody knew fontaine’s legal system better than he did; and you’re the only thing he’d bend the rules for.

the majestic ornate walls of gold within the opera epiclese have never felt so suffocating before.

and, as she always did with every trial, the hydro archon oversaw yours; but it appeared that all she cared for was excitement, seeking thrills and theatrical twists that belonged to the stage. it was made clear rather quickly that the last thing she would do was interfere with neuvillette’s verdict, evidently having long lost her interest in your case.

there’s nothing else to turn to. no one else to turn to. neuvillette had the highest form of authority that a citizen of the land of justice could hold, so even if you were highly dissatisfied with the result of your trial, there was no higher court you could appeal to. the decision of the supreme court was final.

yan!neuvillette who even gave periodical visits to you down in the prisons, much to your surprise and apparent confusion — you would’ve thought that any business with this man was over the moment the gavel was struck and the court adjourned. but whatever matters a man as important as neuvillette had to tend to in the prison, he certainly spent a good portion of that time speaking to you. even the prison guards were momentarily dismissed while he stood before the bars of your cell to hold brief talks with you.

yan!neuvillette who one day quite nonchalantly revealed that he was actually fully aware of your innocence during the trial.

does he truly hold the right to judge the crimes of others if he, too, is guilty of committing such injustices behind the scenes?

the sudden spark of realisation and anger in your eyes, that shift in expression that was a fire that burned so strongly, caused the slightest change in his otherwise neutral conduct. it’s something that made you so interesting to him. however, venomous insults began to spill out of your lips, ruining that momentary image. you should remember your current circumstances, he reminded you. you were in no position to be uttering such expletives towards him, of all people. and to think he was about to offer you a way out, a way to clear your name, perhaps..

but you only deserve such a mercy if you hold your tongue and cooperate with him.

the conversation continued no further that day — he walked off without another word, leaving you to your own thoughts.

- 🕯️

Mmmmmm, delectable as always nonnie! I love how we all agree that Yandere!Neuvillette is so unfair in all the ironic ways. Not only are you unable to oppose his unjust verdicts but also you cannot reason with his logic. Since we're still yet to see more of him, you know what would make him absolutely terrifying? If he had not even a shred of guilt for what he was doing. And seeing as how Focalors never really intervenes in the trials, we can guess who gives him all this power and self-assurance. All speculations thus far, of course.

Neuvillette seems like someone who values etiquette. That being said, I don't think he's someone who'd opt for physical punishments rather, he'd probably make you memorize all the ridiculous court etiquette of Fontaine. Especially if you misbehave, the tomes of Fontaine's constitution are waiting for you.

#i fear the woman i'll become once we get his first in-game appearance u_u #the more i think about his yan potential the more he terrifies me #neuvillette brainrot #yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x you #──⚝🕯️anon #yandere x reader #fontaine #neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

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fr3sh-tragedies · 10 months ago

Text

Hurt What's Mine

[Shadow of the Tomb Raider] Lara Croft x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.05k

Proofread: No

Content Warnings: Language, mentions of blood, heavy descriptions of gore and death, hospitalization, brief mention of medication

Categories:

Angst Fluff Mix

One-Shot Preference Headcanon

[A/N]: Thank you for 170+ followers! I've got a couple of people who have requested things through my inbox, and I'm hoping I'll be able to answer them soon! I will be open to requests soon, but there are a few more characters I want to write for ahead of time so it's easier to get an idea of what fandoms I'm open to. If you sent in a request, thank you! Once I've posted for a bit longer, I'll upload the masterlist I've made as well as the rules for requesting, then I'll answer requests!

[A/N] #2: If you do have a request that you'd like me to write in the future, please let me know! I'll get to it eventually, things are just hectic right now. Thank you for reading!

Enjoy!

Amongst the loud snapping of twigs combined with the rustling of the leaves overhead, softened chatter could be heard throughout the entrance to the forest. The sky, which had been painted warm shades of red and orange mere moments before, had grown murky with hues of purple and black. Small stars illuminated the sky as it grew darker, bright pools of light poking through the inky atmosphere to aid the moon in flooding the landscape with a soft glow. In accompaniment with the darkness seemingly swallowing up the woodland area that Lara and [Y/N] wandered into, a harsh breeze rushed through the air.

As the two walked deeper into the forest, Lara made sure to reach over when coming across drywood and break it free from the ground, tucking it under her arm. After seeing her do this, [Y/N] mirrored her actions and began to gather wood as well. The two had decided they’d head into the nearby forest to gather kindling for the fire they planned to build back at camp. There, Jonah was waiting, sorting through his supply of herbs and a small flask of water he’d said he would use to stir up a broth of sorts that would help all three stay warm for the night. The only problem being there was no fuel for a fire nearby, so both women volunteered to scavenge for some together.

It had taken quite a while to make it to the woodland area safely, but the conversation they had struck up with each other managed to keep the journey bearable. Thankfully, Lara had remembered to snatch her makeshift machete before heading out. Using the sharpest part of the rusted blade, she sliced through the brush that obstructed their path, allowing them to meander forward with a partial trail behind them.

Soon enough, neither of them were able to carry more of the drywood they came across. With a huff, Lara spun on her heel and jutted her chin toward the path she had made. “We should head back. We can always come back later if we need to gather more.” [Y/N] nodded, trailing behind the brunette as she led the way. A few minutes passed in silence, both women focused on not tripping over the loose roots or pebbles that littered the dampened blades of grass. Ultimately, as they neared the halfway point of the path, [Y/N] decided to break the silence.

“God, I’m glad we haven’t had any run-ins with Trinity. Those guys are a huge pain in the ass,” she complained. At her words, the corners of Lara’s lips perked up into an amused smirk. “Yeah, they are. We still need to keep our guard up, though. There weren’t any traces of them following us here, but that’s been the case the last couple of times as well. They’ve got the wrong motives, but they’re clever, and they know how to handle stealth operations.”

A grimace painted [Y/N]’s features as she nodded in response. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Silence once again fell upon them, allowing their senses to return to the sound of their own footsteps beneath them as they staggered ahead. While they recalled the way they came from, they struck up another conversation with one another, trying to keep the mood light in the eeriness that made itself known between the towering trees. It seemed to work–both felt more at ease as they chatted away. Merely a moment seemed to pass, however, before a loud clamp echoed throughout the area, followed by a ticking and whirring noise nearby.

Before either had time to react and understand what had happened, Lara flew backward with a holler and collapsed onto the ground. She was yanked forward once she made contact with the soil. The whirring noise returned, louder this time, and she was soon dangling high in the air by her foot. She groaned, her ears ringing and vision blurry from the way her head had bashed against the floor. Her eyes were pinched tightly shut, though her hand instinctively reached for her belt to find her gun.

Squinting and blinking her eyes rapidly, Lara managed to clear her view. All at once, she could make out what had happened. Just a few feet away, [Y/N]’s leg had been caught in a similar trap, but she wasn’t conscious enough to try and escape. Lara’s arm whipped forward to take aim, watching with a newfound sense of terror as a horde of shielded soldiers, clad in black, swarmed forward to the two. Even as she struggled to steady the hand that she gripped the gun harshly with, Lara began to fire warning shots, striking several of the soldiers and watching them plummet to the ground in waves.

A few that hadn’t been shot dashed toward [Y/N] and took hold of her limp arms. They hollered at each other to get her down, using her as some sort of human shield to avoid being killed as well. Upon seeing them grab the unconscious girl, the blood pumping from adrenaline underneath Lara’s skin lit aflame with fury and a desire to defend. Her aim became far more accurate, more fatalities becoming visible as she fired away at them, a wolf’s snarl lacing her words as she bellowed at them to leave her alone.

She knew she just needed to get enough of them down so she could break free from the pulley that tightened the rope around her ankle to a painful degree. If she could do that, she could protect [Y/N] and help her flee. A false spark of hope flushed through her veins as she noticed she had cleared most of the squad, the lie of it evident as her clip ran empty and more men emerged from the distance. She cursed at herself, her hands unsteadily flying back up to her belt to find another magazine and reload. As she struggled with fiddling her pack open to search, she failed to register the sound of thundering footsteps nearing her from behind.

Finally, she pulled a clip free with a small huff of relief. She let her empty mag drop to the ground, flicked upward with the new one to reload, then cocked the hammer back before taking aim. A single bullet fired from the barrel, and everything went black.

Everything seemed to come back at once–every sense flowing forward and overwhelming Lara’s mind. A muffled groan slipped past her lips as she managed to lift her head. Entirely unaware of her bearings, her eyes flitted around in confusion, unable to see with her eyes wide open. She jerked her arms forward, hoping to grab hold of whatever fabric covered her face, only to feel cold steel dig harshly into the skin on her wrists. She hissed in pain, wriggling for a moment as she tried to understand what had happened.

Her focus returned to what she could feel. She had been chained to something, though it was hard to make out exactly what it was. Against her back, she could feel jagged wood scratching at her scarred skin each time she moved. Her arms encircled whatever it was she was pinned up on. Piecing things together, she figured she had been cuffed to a wooden beam somewhere. That didn’t explain where she was, though. Aside from the village she and the others had passed through once they arrived, there were no structures of any kind as far as she could tell. Had one of the villagers turned and taken her hostage?

She could feel the frigid grated steel beneath her, which confirmed she had to be somewhere else. The ground in the homes of the village had been purely dirt and tattered cloth.

Then where the hell was she?

What had happened before she blacked out?

“Oh, look who’s up from her nap,” a booming voice called out, pulling Lara from her thoughts. Her head shot up, a quick yelp of pain greeting her as her head throbbed from the sudden motion. “Who the hell are you? Where am I? Where’s [Y/N]?” She couldn’t recall what she had been through beforehand, though some part of her told her she needed to defend herself regardless. A deep chuckle rumbled nearby before the owner of the previous voice stepped closer. Lara braced herself for a hit, fighting back a flinch when gloved fingers gripped the top of what had been obstructing her view and tugged upward.

She squinted with a hiss as the overhead lights flashed their way into her eyes, effectively blinding her for a moment. As her vision cleared and adjusted, she jerked her head to the side to face whoever had granted her the ability to see again. A moment hardly passed before her face contorted with anger: her brows furrowed tightly together, practically knitting themselves as one, her jaw clenching as her teeth ground painfully against each other.

“Who the fuck are you?” She snapped. Quickly, her outrage completely replaced the feeling of distress, only worsening when her gaze flickered down to see Trinity’s emblem stitched into the man’s tactical vest. He laughed, tossing the woven bag that had been tied around her head to the side. “You don’t need to know who I am, but I certainly know who you are.” He grinned, then reached behind Lara to pick something up from behind the pillar. Briefly after, he leaned back again, dangling her tactical belt tauntingly in front of her, still fully equipped with all of her weapons.

Her eyes widened a fraction at the sight, instinctively flying down to find and confirm that she had indeed been stripped of her only means of defense in this position. Immediately, she knew she needed to free herself. With the methods she had been taught after tussling with offenders before, she knew she could easily wrestle this man to the ground and overpower him. With her arms restrained, however, she could only fight back at an infuriatingly close range.

He seemed to notice the stress that had returned to Lara’s mind, letting out another cackle at her misfortune. He stood, twisting his torso far enough to hurl the belt over the railing. As he made his way over to squat in front of her again, she took this opportunity to look around. She had been right: she was chained to a wooden support beam, and she was seated against steel. Through the holes in the grated plates, she could see she was far up off the ground, at least three or four stories high.

Looking up, she could see layers of other platforms above, towering to an ungodly height. Dropping her gaze back down, the platform she was on curved around a circular building just behind her, and ahead of her, a long metal bridge stretched out to connect to an identical structure. As her eyes focused in on a figure across the platform, her blood ran cold, wishing she hadn’t recognized what was happening.

Everything that had happened before she ended up here came flooding back. The forest, the traps, the soldiers, everything. Now separated, [Y/N] was similarly cuffed to a pillar. Her binds seemed tighter, red lines already formed on her wrists as though she had been struggling against them for a while. For the first time since making it to the town, Lara felt genuine fear. Had they already hurt [Y/N]? Had they forced her to give away where Jonah was?

“[Y/N]!”

“Ah, so you noticed,” the man voiced, bringing her attention back to him. Shakily, she lifted her head, She screamed at herself, willing her voice into intimidation. “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.” Internally, she cursed at the way her voice wavered and cracked.

The man grinned devilishly, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you? The moment you brought her here, you forced her to be a part of this. Like it or not, she has everything to do with this.” He leaned forward, blocking her view of [Y/N] and forcing her to look him in the eye. “It’s your fault.” Bringing his hand to his chin, he glanced up and mockingly pretended to think. “I suppose the saying, “like father like daughter,” is true after all. Wouldn’t you say so?”

At the mere mention of her father, a concoction of emotions bubbled beneath the surface of Lara’s skin. Even so, she forced her expression to remain stern. “Don’t you fucking talk about him.” Once again, she was met with a laugh.

A soldier that had been stationed nearby stepped closer to the two, concern laced in his tone. “Sir, shouldn’t we be careful? She’s taken out half of our men already, and most of it was entirely on her own.” The man in front of Lara rolled his eyes and stood, giving a small shrug. “Relax, I’m just having a bit of fun. There’s nothing she can do like this,” he gestured toward her. “With respect,” the soldier started, “she’s gotten out of tougher situations. Maybe we should–”

In an instant, the man, who Lara assumed was the captain at this point, whipped his gun from its holster on his hip and stood. He flicked his arm upward and pointed the barrel directly against the soldier’s forehead, prompting him to freeze. “I’ll fucking take care of it, you got it? All I’m gonna do is get her to tell me a few things, then we’ll blow both of their brains out, then be on our way. Stop me like that again, and the first round will go through your thick skull. Understand?”

Quickly, the soldier nodded and stepped back to his station. “Yes, sir.”

The captain then tucked his gun away. He turned and made a motion with his head to the group across the bridge. Lara glanced behind him to see what was happening, only to panic further as they crouched beside [Y/N], who flinched away at their touch. “Don’t touch her!” She screamed, thrashing violently against her restraints.

“Oh, don’t worry,” the captain teased, crouching down in front of her again to look her in the eye. “As long as you answer some questions, we won’t hurt her anymore.” Anymore. That word bounced through Lara’s head as she barely managed to notice that [Y/N]’s skin was littered with bruises and cuts. She swallowed hard, glaring at him. “What do you want? What questions?” He again acted as though he was deep in thought. “Well, for starters, you could tell me where the artifact you're looking for is.”

She scoffed. “So what? You can use it to wipe out humanity? Like you tried to do with the Divine Source?” The captain forced a smile. His hand lifted from his side and made a motion toward the group behind him. Lara watched, horrified, as one soldier used all his strength to kick [Y/N] in the stomach, another grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her head back against the pillar. She cried out in pain, desperately trying to free herself.

“Like I said, tell me what I want to know, and she won’t get hurt.”

Lara practically growled at him when she spoke. She ordered him to call the group back, threatening to make his death hell if he didn’t comply. “What do you think you can do? Can’t exactly kill me while you’re stuck here.” She scowled, her fingertips tapping at the chains in search of the padlock. Her arm shimmied a bit, allowing one of her hairpins to slip from the cuff of her sleeve and into her hand that she kept tucked away for situations exactly like this.

As she fiddled with trying to find the padlock, the captain continued to hound her with questions.

“Where’s your camp? I know you brought someone else here too.” She shuddered at the thought of Jonah being dragged into this as well. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where the hell I am, and you expect me to remember how to get back?” Another motion was made, prompting another harsh punishment to be given to [Y/N]. Lara shouted her name, begging her to hold on and promising she’ll get the two of them out.

The captain scoffed and crossed his arms. “Are you really not grasping what I’ve said? Answers for me means less pain for her.” Panicked, Lara thrashed again, her hands trembling as they continued their search. “I’m trying! But you aren’t giving me questions I can answer!” It was hard to mask her relief when her fingers finally found the padlock, though she instead focused on wriggling the bobby pin into the lock. “Well,” the captain huffed, standing again and slipping his gun from his belt. “I think I know something that might trigger your memory.”

At that, he turned and began walking toward [Y/N], wordlessly ordering the group of soldiers to back away. “No, don’t hurt her!” Lara was practically screaming at her hands to still, and with another brief moment, she finally managed to pick the lock, wrestling her arms free from the chains and stumbling as she stood. Without an ounce of hesitation, she lunged forward toward the captain, grabbing hold of him and trying to keep him away. He hollered in surprise, reaching back to claw at her and get a grasp. “Get off of me, you bitch!”

The team of soldiers that had been abusing [Y/N] only a mere moment before were now hurtling toward her. With a bit of a struggle, three of the soldiers managed to pry her off of him, throwing her back before forcefully pinning her against the pillar yet again. She fought against them, screaming for them to let her go. The captain ahead grumbled and stared her down for a moment, though he was quick to turn and walk toward [Y/N] again.

As Lara thrashed against the soldiers holding her down, the head of the team reached up toward a sheath against his hip, his gun having been smacked out of his hand and over the ledge from Lara’s outburst. Something felt as though it were burning in her mind, growing hotter and hotter as the captain closed the space between him and [Y/N]. She couldn’t let Trinity take another person she loved away from her. She wouldn’t allow it.

Hardly managing to remember her training, she turned and lunged her torso forward, using all of the momentum to headbut the soldier grasping her right arm in the face. He howled in pain, letting her go and falling backward. She then turned to the man holding her left shoulder. In the blink of an eye, she whipped her arm in a circular motion, gripping his wrist and forcing his arm to twist until he let go. Just as quickly, she shuffled forward and kicked the third soldier square in the chest, effectively knocking the wind out of his lungs.

Before she could stand, two more men sprinted forward and blocked her path, one of them managing to land a few rough kicks to her face and head. She hooked her arm beneath the back of his leg, jolting up to stand and flipping him backward. The second soldier struggled to free his rifle from the band on his back. By the time he managed to try and aim at her, her forearm flew sideways and struck his wrist, the impact catching him off guard and causing him to drop his weapon. Lara then leapt forward and gripped the straps of his tactical vest. She spun around to gain more force before driving him around again and launching him over the railing, not bothering to watch as he plummeted toward the ground countless meters below.

She turned, determined to get to the captain, but froze in place. Still so far away, he had freed [Y/N] of restraints, knowing she wouldn’t have been able to fight back. He pinned her against the platform, his knees planting themselves on either side of her hips as he drove his knife down into her stomach. Lara watched as [Y/N] tried to gasp for air, only to choke and let out a silent scream.

She felt everything grow heavy, ready to give into the temptation to drop to the ground. An inhumane level of fury coursed through her veins, and soon she found herself running forward at full speed, no longer in control of her body.

The neared the captain in only a few seconds, leaping from the ground and thrusting her arms forward. She tackled him off of [Y/N]’s writhing body and ripped the blade from his hand, dropping it and instead using her fists to beat any part of him she could see. Hit after hit, punch after punch, a new bruise formed on his skin, thinner sections splitting open into gashes. His blood seemed to all pool together beneath his head.

Lara let out a yell with each strike made against his skill. She lost count of the amount of times her knuckles made contact with the swollen form beneath her, not even noticing that her knuckles had begun to tear open and bleed from the sheer force alone. As his arms and legs fell limp against his sides, Lara’s punches came to a stop. Her bloodied hand reached over and grasped the handle of the knife, knuckles white from the tightness as she lifted the blade above her head.

Instantly, she plunged the knife down, listening with a sick joy as the thin metal ripped through layers of skin and organ, cracking through parts of his ribs. Mirroring what [Y/N] had done, the captain hopelessly tried to gasp for breath, instead wheezing and sputtering while his hands weakly scratched at her arms. Only for a moment, she kept the knife there. Before she could watch the life leave his eyes, she drew the blade out and immediately thrusted it down into his jugular with an equal force.

Her hands let go of the handle and dropped to land at her sides. She stared down, gleefully studying the way the captain clutched at his throat, a thick puddle of blood erupting from his mouth and trickling down his cheeks and jaw, disappearing into his hairline and accumulating with the crimson red under his trembling form. Glaring down at him with dull eyes, she lazily tugged the rifle from his back, forcing herself to stand and turn around.

She hadn’t heard the group of soldiers thundering up the stairs, but she had apparently sensed it. Effortlessly, she lifted the rifle and took aim, crouching down and firing away as the men made their way up one by one. By the time the team died out, she heard the gun click. Her gaze bored down at the rifle, realizing she had burned through the ammo. With a grunt of disapproval, she discarded the gun, then ripped another one away from a nearby lifeless body. She used that rifle to finish off the squad, blankly staring ahead after lowering the gun.

As her mind clouded over, taking in the scene before her, she tossed the gun to the side, straining to hear as it clattered against the steel platform. A bloodbath. That was the only way she could possibly describe it. Piles of bodies across such a small space, silver metal now stained red from blood and black from gunpowder. Lifeless eyes of the fallen seemed to watch her as she lifted her hands, taking in the way blood coated her skin. She wasn’t sure how much of it was hers and how much of it was the captain’s. She paid it no mind, instead rotating her hands to examine her knuckles. She had most definitely broken a few, if not all, of them,

Had she actually done all of this?

Nothing felt real.

The sudden sound of harsh coughing broke her out of her trance, forcing her attention toward the source. She scrambled over to [Y/N]’s side, holding her head up as she processed just how badly she had been hurt. Adding onto the gaping wound in her torso, countless bruises and cuts peppered every exposed inch of skin. The back of her head had been dripping blood from being hammered into the wooden beam. Lara gasped and frantically helped her prop her head up to prevent choking on her blood, her eyes scanning the surrounding area for something to help stop the bleeding. She grimaced when [Y/N] whimpered from the way she stretched over to grab a torn uniform.

Thinking on her feet, she slid to the wall of the base and leaned the wounded girl against it, apologizing tearfully each time she yelped in pain. After tearing the uniform into a thinner piece, she began stuffing part of the wound, earning more cries. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, finally using the rest of the cloth to ball it up. “This is going to hurt, but I need you to trust me.”

Before [Y/N] even opened her eyes, Lara forced her hand downward, applying an immense amount of both pressure and pain to the wound. At this, [Y/N] screamed in agony, her eyes beginning to roll back as her breaths quickened. Lara cupped her jaw and shifted forward. “[Y/N]? No, [Y/N], I need you to stay with me, okay? Keep your eyes open! Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. Stay with me,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“[Y/N], please, I can’t lose you. Not like this. Keep your eyes open–that’s all I need you to do!” Her words fell upon deaf ears, no matter how desperate they became. Before Lara could beg for her to listen again, [Y/N]’s head drooped down, her body now completely limp.

“[Y/N]?” Lara whimpered, shaking the unconscious girl’s head as a silent plea. When no response came from the motion, the Croft felt her tears beginning to spill, only being able to whisper “no” repeatedly. Her hand, the one that had been holding up the woman’s head, slid down to check for a pulse. She gasped softly when she found it, though realized she had to act quickly from how weak it was. “Shit,” she blurted, once again examining her surroundings. That bastard had thrown her radio over the railing with her weapons. There was no way she could contact Jonah without alerting any other potential Trinity bases of where they were. One look down at [Y/N], however, forced her to take that risk.

She stood and quickly rushed over to the nearby bodies, her calloused, bloodied hands desperately searching their equipment for a radio of sorts. She cursed with each failed search, though lit up only a fraction once she found one. Quickly, she ran to sit by [Y/N]’s side again, holding her up and pulling her close, keeping an eye on her as she sent out a message.

“Jonah? Jonah, are you there? Can you hear me? I need your help: [Y/N]’s bleeding out!”

She released the button, only earning static in response. Her eyes shot back to the woman beside her, her only shimmer of hope dimming immediately. Her finger clicked down again, lifting it closer to speak into it once more.

“Jonah, I need you here! Jonah, please, can you hear me?”

A choked sob erupted unwillingly from her throat. She felt like curling into herself and breaking right there. Now hunched over, she clutched the radio tightly against her chest, grasping a handful of her hair as she tried to come up with another plan. All she could bring herself to do for a moment was weep, terrified of losing the woman propped up by her side.

Her mind cleared for a brief second, and although she had no idea where they were, she knew they couldn’t stay there. More reinforcements were bound to show up sooner or later, and she was in no state to fight them all. She stood, peering out at the landscape in hopes of finding a landmark she had passed before. The lids of her eyes threatened to shut, heavy with fatigue from the loss of adrenaline and the salty tears that had fallen.

She staggered closer to the rail, gripping onto it tightly as a way to ground herself as she searched further. Her heart felt like it was going to sink down into the pit of her stomach upon spotting a village in the distance. She turned to [Y/N], unsure if either of them could even make it that far. There was a chance it wasn’t the village she had been in either, on top of the fact there could be more traps hidden in the forest.

That only stopped her briefly. She knew they needed to leave, and she knew it was better to head out with the chance of finding Jonah than staying there to die.

Willing every ounce of strength she had left, she plucked the rifle she had thrown to the side back up, slinging it over her shoulder before wobbling back to [Y/N]. She huffed, sucking in a deep breath to ready herself, then bent down to pick her up, one arm tucking itself underneath her knees, and the other wrapping around her torso.

She turned, stumbled forward toward the stairs, and wrestled with the urge to look down at the unconscious form in her arms.

Each step down felt like a mile, Lara’s calves straining and aching, feeling as though they would give in and snap like twigs. By the time she managed to make it to the ground, it took everything in her not to collapse. She just kept telling herself they’ll be there soon. That was all she could do to keep moving forward. If she didn’t make it, not only would [Y/N] die, but she would as well. The marks from the beating she had taken had begun to finally sink in, adding to the difficulty.

She swayed every few steps. Her body threatened to fall over anytime she leaned too far.

She had no way of knowing she was going in the right direction, only able to rely on her instinct. There was no path, no landmark, no sign of nearing the village, which is why it was such a surprise when she could hear hollering up ahead. She strained her ears, hardly managing to make out that the unidentified voice was calling her name.

“Jonah?” She whispered hoarsely.

“Lara! [Y/N]! Are you two out there?”

“Jonah,” she weeped, unable to raise her voice any further.

Her feet continued to stumble toward the sound of his voice. The closer she got, the stronger the small spark of adrenaline she somehow still had grew. Finally, realizing he was only a few feet away, Lara managed to pick up her pace, lightly jogging forward. “Jonah, we’re here,” she cried out weakly. She moved ahead, breaking through the entrance of the forest to reveal the small patch of land they had originally tried to set up camp at. There, Jonah turned around and instantly ran over.

“Lara, you’re alright! I heard gunfire, but I didn’t know where you were, and–”

“Jonah, we need to get back to the plane right now. [Y/N]’s losing too much blood, and I don’t know how much longer she’s going to last,” although her tone was weak, there was no doubt she was terrified. Jonah finally looked down to the woman in Lara’s arms, his body tensing at the sight of all she had been through.

“Shit, what did–okay, but what about what you came here for? We can’t come back! Trinity’s going to–” Jonah knew that even mentioning the artifact in that moment was a mistake, but his mind was racing, preventing him from thinking logically.

“Forget the artifact, Jonah!” Lara snapped, her raspy voice finally reaching the volume she’d wanted to have when calling for him. “I don’t give a shit about that right now! I just want [Y/N] to survive! I’m the reason she’s in this state to begin with–I don’t want to be the reason she dies!”

At her sudden tone, Jonah could only nod and motion for Lara to hand [Y/N] to him to carry her there. Reluctantly, Lara did so, only after realizing she wouldn’t be able to make it to the plane in time if she were the one taking her. Without a moment to lose, Jonah began rushing up the path toward where they had landed, shouting behind him for the Croft to follow.

The ringing returned the closer they got, her vision blurring and growing dark. Everything was spinning, and she had to force herself to keep track of Jonah. By the time they had all made it into the plane, Lara’s body finally gave out.

“You know, I don’t think I had ever scared my father that badly before,” Lara murmured, a gentle chuckle escaping as she smiled fondly at the memory. With a sigh, she felt the pad of her thumb caress the tattered skin on the back of [Y/N]’s hands. For just a single moment, the ticking of the clock hanging above the door synced up with the beeping of the monitor beside the bed. Just as quickly, they fell out of rhythm again, and Lara waited for them to repeat it. Every few minutes, for the past several weeks, both would beat together for just a brief second, only to fall apart again.

It was the only thing she could look forward to anymore. It kept her distracted so she didn’t have to process everything just yet–so she didn’t have to look up at the woman deep in a coma in the bed she sat by. Jonah would come in here and there, reminding her to eat something small or to bring her a spare blanket for the night. Nurses would step inside to take vitals and update Lara on what was happening. And even though [Y/N] was there, whenever everyone else would leave, Lara still felt alone.

She could talk to her, but it was more like talking at her. She had no idea if the woman could hear anything she said, nor did she know when she was going to wake up. It had been seven weeks since they made it back from the expedition. Lara’s injuries were treated fairly easily, but [Y/N] had fallen into a medical coma from blood loss and excessive blunt force trauma. Her chances of survival in the beginning were slim, but things started to steadily improve as the days passed by.

Those days, however, felt like years to Lara. The woman she could once talk to and joke around with, the woman she could once hold and be held by, the woman she could once gaze into the eyes of, now lay before her, unmoving and silent. She was alive, but to Lara she seemed dead. She had been so lively before, and now she couldn’t even open her eyes.

To fill the never-ending silence that weighed heavy upon her shoulders, Lara would talk aloud, pretending as though she was sharing her thoughts with [Y/N] like she had done before everything went awry. Recently, after running out of small-talk she had murmured like it was scripted, she had resorted to retelling memories she had of her father back as a child. Somehow, even as [Y/N] stayed unconscious, Lara felt comfortable sharing her favorite times spent with her late father. Anyone else would’ve been waved off and told she wasn’t comfortable, but [Y/N] had always been the one person she could come to to speak of him freely.

Even seemingly dead, [Y/N] was still the only one she trusted. It was funny, in a way.

She huffed out a sigh, lifting the woman’s hand to her lips and pressing a featherlike kiss to her knuckles. Once her lips left the clammy skin, she brought her head down to lean it against the back of her hand. Her eyes closed, brows furrowed as she bit back a sob.

“I wish I had never brought you with me. If I hadn’t, you would still be comfortable at home, watching TV and sleeping in. You wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t… You wouldn’t be hurt, or strapped to this machine, or fighting for your life. You wouldn’t be in a coma.” She sniffled, squeezing the hand still against her forehead. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, [Y/N]. I would take it all back if I could.”

Some part of her waited, half-expecting a response. She whimpered, clearing her throat to prevent herself from bursting into tears again. With a hard swallow, she lifted her head, gaze trailing up to [Y/N]’s face. She smiled. “I have no idea how, but you still look so beautiful. Even when you’re out like this.”

Her free hand lifted far enough to caress the girl’s cheek, then pinch the bridge of her own nose, internally groaning at how heavy her eyes felt. Once her hand planted itself back on her thigh, she glanced over at the heart monitor, watching each movement on the screen intently for a moment, allowing herself to gather her thoughts. Finally, she faced [Y/N] again. Her hand squeezed her leg, unsure of what to say.

“I love you. So, so much. I should’ve said it more before… all of this, but I’m saying it now. I do love you, [Y/N], more than anything in this world.”

She huffed out a pained laugh.

“I don’t know why I’m so mad at you. None of this is your fault. I’m the one who dragged you into the expedition, and I’m the one who ended up getting you captured. I wish I hadn’t begged you to come with me. You deserve to be at home, not in this bed. I should’ve protected you, and I didn’t, and for that, I’m so sorry. You deserve someone better: someone who wouldn’t have gotten you into this mess.

“The worst part is: I don’t even know if you can hear me. I’m not sure if you’ve heard anything I’ve said this entire time. I’m not sure why knowing that you might not hear me hurts so badly, but it does.” Tears once again pricked the corners of her eyes. “God, I wish I could hear your voice again. I miss you so much. I know you’re right in front of me, and I know you’re still breathing and alive, but I’ve never felt so alone. It doesn’t feel like you’re really here. It feels like you’re not you.”

The tears stinging her eyes now blurred her vision and poured down in thick masses. Her free arm raised, allowing her to use the sleeve of her jacket to wipe them away. Once they dried, she looked up at her again, hands trembling harshly.

“Please wake up. I’m begging you.”

Grumbling was all Lara could do in her unconscious state. Any small sound she could hear had her grumbling louder: pages flipping, pens scribbling, pills rattling, doors opening, monitors beeping. Everything that she could hear seemed to be working against her, screaming at her to wake back up. It was late at night when she finally let herself drop her head onto the edge of the hospital bed to rest. Hand still clutching onto [Y/N]’s, she managed to drift off for the first time in days.

The sounds grew incessant, however, stirring her partially awake. Each little noise irritated her further, and she had to fight the urge to muffle the scream bubbling up in her throat with the sheets cushioning her head. To add onto her growing frustration, something squeezed softly at her hand, forcing her back to her senses.

“For fuck’s sake,” she mumbled, lifted her head, then looked down at her hand. Her brows pinched tightly together, she sat there, processing what she had just felt. Again, her hand was squeezed.

Her brain, although severely sleep deprived, finally managed to register what had happened. Immediately, she looked up from her hand, her eyes landing on [Y/N], who finally opened her eyes for the first time in months. She gazed back at Lara the way the brunette had been craving the entire time. Upon seeing that she was now awake, tears instantly trickled out from Lara’s eyes, a shaky sob accompanying them.

“[Y/N]?” She whispered, unsure if she was actually awake.

“Hey, Lara,” came her raspy reply, a tired grin gracing her cracked lips.

Right away, Lara sprung up from her seat by the bed and leaned forward, capturing [Y/N] in a tight embrace. “Oh my god, I don’t–” She sniffled. Her leg lifted up, allowing her to sit beside the woman now practically cradling her in return. “You’re awake. You’re finally awake. I don’t believe it.”

She leaned back from the hug, cupping [Y/N]’s face in her hands and studying every little feature she could see. Sob after sob wracked through her body as she pressed a kiss to the wounded woman’s lips, only shifting back to pepper the rest of her face in similar kisses. “I thought I lost you,” she whispered after calming down enough to speak. Her voice trembled and broke more with each passing word, rambling about what she had feared.

“God, I love you so much.”

Again, she captured [Y/N]’s lips in her own, pure relief washing through her senses when she felt her kissing back. Weakly, the bandaged girl chuckled. “I love you too,” she rasped out.

Lara instantly leaned back into the embrace, clutching desperately at the hospital gown she rested against. She swayed side to side, shivering as [Y/N] soothingly rubbed up and down her back. She couldn’t begin to explain how she felt at that moment. All she could say was she was so relieved to know that the woman she held closest to her heart was alive and breathing.

“Can I ask you something?” A soft voice whispered. She leaned away again to look her in the eye. “Of course. Anything at all.”

“What happened after I was stabbed?”

Lara froze, now growing uncertain. “You don’t remember?” She sucked in a shaky breath when her only response was a shake of the head. Her gaze dropped down, unsure of where to start. She scratched the back of her neck anxiously, took another deep breath in an attempt to steel her nerves, then cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not really…”

She turned to glance behind her, ensuring no one else was in the room before she spoke again. There was no shame in what she had done–not for her–but she’d be torn away instantly if someone overheard. [Y/N] had just woken back up, and she wasn’t going to risk losing her all over again. Although, that still might be a possibility, depending on how she took the news.

She explained herself, sparing no detail of what she had committed in her blind rage. From wrestling with the soldiers to stabbing the captain of the team in both the chest and the throat, she confessed every little atrocity that had been brought about by her hands alone. As she spoke, she averted her eyes, too afraid of being gazed at with disgust. She focused on the pattern stitched into the bedsheets bundled up atop [Y/N]’s legs.

Finally, she managed to tear her eyes away from the sheets and look back into [Y/N]’s. She swallowed, surprised to see that familiar glint of admiration in her eyes. There was no sign of repulsion or discomfort at the heinous things she had admitted to. “You’re not mad?” Was all she could ask. [Y/N] snickered and shook her head.

“Are you kidding? Those asswipes beat the shit out of me, and one tried to kill me. I don’t exactly have sympathy for them after that.” Relieved, Lara sighed and grinned. It was a breath of fresh air to see her laugh again, even though it was rather weak.

She turned to sit next to [Y/N], who she then pulled into her side. With a quick peck to the top of the head, she closed her eyes and yawned. “Tired?” “Mmhm.” “Yeah, same.” Lara laughed, looking down at her in confusion. “You were in a coma for nearly three months. Why are you tired?” [Y/N] smirked and rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t willingly unconscious. Plus, my body just sucks,” she murmured, earning another chuckle.

“Well, I love your body,” Lara mumbled, tugging her closer. “Every bit of it.”

Waiting a moment, [Y/N] leaned against the brunette fully, her head dropping onto her shoulder as she closed her eyes. She grinned, listening to Lara yawn again before she shivered. “Move your legs for a second,” she whispered to the already half-asleep woman. “Hm?” “Move your legs.” “What? Why?” “So I can cover you up with the blankets.”

Lara seemed to take a moment to understand what she had said. Finally, though, she lifted her legs with a groan, letting [Y/N] slip the covers out from under her and essentially tuck her in beside her. Both sighed in relief: Lara from the warmth of the sheets and [Y/N] pressed against her, and [Y/N] from the feeling of Lara holding her close.

Lights had been turned off throughout the ward for a while, which both women were silently grateful for. As they shuffled to lie down more comfortably beneath the covers, everything seemed to settle down for the first time in months. Lara’s body finally relaxed, the lack of sleep from the past several weeks catching up to her at a rapid speed. She hummed softly as she turned onto her side, pulling [Y/N] into her chest.

“I’m never taking you on a trip like that again,” she slurred out. “At least, not until I know Trinity won’t be there.”

[Y/N] nodded as she listened, also partially asleep. She squirmed a bit, sliding closer while trying to mind her IV. As her head settled against Lara’s chest, she yawned. A moment passed before she spoke again.

“You do know the nurses are gonna come in any minute and realize I’m awake, right?” A groan sounded from Lara, prompting a snicker from [Y/N]. “I’m gonna crawl back into the bed again the second they leave. I just want you in my arms right now.”

“Well, either way, I want you to know that I could hear you for most of the time I was out. And I also want you to know that I plan on saying “I love you” as many times as you did before I woke up. I really do love you. I mean, you were right here the second I woke up, and I don’t know if you ever…” She thought for a moment, opening her eyes and looking up at Lara. “Did you ever leave the room?” Even as she fought to stay awake, Lara scratched her cheek nervously. “Only when I used the restroom. I was afraid I wouldn’t be here when you woke up.”

[Y/N] grinned. “Well, I’m glad you were here. I was worried you wouldn’t be here at all when I woke up. I figured you’d leave and head home, or maybe go back to the village we were at.” Gently yet reassuringly, Lara squeezed her closer. “I would never do that to you. You’re everything to me.”

“And you’re everything to me.”

Another yawn managed to escape the brunette’s lips. She pressed a small kiss to the top of [Y/N]’s head and sighed, already drifting off again. “I love you, so damn much. No one’s going to hurt what’s mine, never again.”

“I’m yours, huh?”

“Of course.”

A gentle smile graced [Y/N]’s features as she shuffled closer, pressing a kiss to Lara’s collarbone as her eyes fluttered shut.

“Of course I’m yours.”

#fluff #x reader #female reader #angst #tomb raider #rise of the tomb raider #shadow of the tomb raider #lara croft #lara croft x fem!reader #lara croft x reader #lara croft x female reader

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sociopathicartist · 6 months ago

Text

SANS X READER

city run-ins

Sans hadn’t really paid much attention to the people around him. The city where he lived with his friends had a large population, so what was the point of paying mind to anyone when there was a good chance he’d never see them again? His brother was happy and he got to see his friends pretty often. That’s what mattered to him, not the people walking past him on the street.

He didn’t pay attention to you when he first met you either. Why would he?

You had bumped into him when you were crossing the street. You both stumbled, and when Sans fell back and hit the ground you worriedly held out your hand for him to grab.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” You apologized, waiting for him to accept your help.

Sans took your hand and let you pull him up off the ground. “don’t worry about it. we all have places to be in a hurry, don’t we?”

You watched him as he made sure his jacket and shorts didn’t get nicked during his fall. “I guess so.”

He listened to your nervous laugh before you hurried off the road and went to the sidewalk, almost forgetting about the incident already as he shoved his hands back into the pockets of his jacket and continued on his way.

Sans had pretty much forgotten about you after that. There was nothing remarkable about you- not that he could derive from one short meeting anyway. There was no reason for you to stick in his memory. But when he was standing in the grocery aisle at the store debating what pasta to buy for his brother, he couldn’t help but think you were familiar when you spoke to him.

“The stelline is the best one.” You spoke to him, looking ahead at the pasta just like he was.

Sans looked over at you, squinting slightly when he tried to place his finger on where he met you before. He looked back to the pasta, his pinpricks scanning across the boxes until he found the stelline. The pasta looked like little tiny stars. Papyrus would probably like that, Sans sure did. Who didn’t love stars?

“oh, thanks. i was picking out some for my brother.” He grabbed a few boxes of it and put it into his basket, getting extra just in case his brother messed up a batch or two.

Papyrus’ cooking was improving significantly ever since Mettaton had been helping him cook instead of Undyne. He still flunked here and there with a recipe, but who didn’t? Mistakes are the easiest path to success after all.

You laughed softly for no particular reason. Maybe you had just been in a good mood that day? He probably would have asked you if he knew you better.

“It’s really good in soups, but I personally like to use it for mac n’ cheese.” You grabbed a box and put it in your basket.

He finally realized who you were when you looked down at him, a small smile curved on your lips. You seemed to recognize him too, because your eyes widened once you saw him.

Your voice upped an octave, probably due to nerves. “Oh!”

Sans chuckled, finding your reaction amusing. “hey again. nice to meet you again without running into each other.”

You rubbed your hand on the back of your neck, clearly still feeling guilty about that. “Yeahhh, I guess it is.”

“i’m sans, by the way.” He held out his free hand for you to shake, neatly gloved with a mitten.

Taking his hand and shaking it in a greeting, you introduced yourself back to him. “Y/N.”

Your hands fell to your sides and you gave an awkward look to him. “Well… I guess I’ll run into you later.”

Sans watched you as you turned around and scurried off down the aisle, most likely forgetting whatever you were looking for in that aisle. He didn’t pay much mind to you then, simply just going back to his leisurely shopping.

When he came back home and showed the pasta to Papyrus, his brother was thrilled about the little star shapes. Sans ended up having to put it on their weekly restock list for groceries.

The idea of you didn’t run across his thoughts anymore.

Well… Not until you ran into him again at a coffee shop.

He saw you from behind staring up at the menu, contemplating what to get from the menu. He didn’t recognize you at first, so he had no problem walking up behind you and leaning a bit past your side to tell you the suggestion of what he ordered.

“try the crème brûlée latte. it’s my favorite.” Sans spoke quietly to you, his voice low like it usually was.

You whipped your head to the side to look at the stranger. “Really? Thank y-“

Your voice fell quiet as you both stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, realizing the coincidence that you met again. “Is it… Wait- I’ve got this.”

Sans tilted his skull a bit to the side as you retraced through your thoughts before coming to what you wanted. It was amusing to see you struggle to think over the words.

“Sans, Right?” You asked, a bit hesitant about if you got it right or not.

Sans chuckled, looking off to the side before glancing back at you. “yep. that’s me. y/n, right? i can’t remember very well.”

He wasn’t lying. He didn’t think of you at all other than the two times you ran into each other in the past.

“That’s right! Funny seeing you around again.” You brushed some hair out of your face while you talked to him before looking back at the menu, the barista who was behind the register looking a bit annoyed at the hold-up.

Sans nodded, looking up to the menu as well. “yeah, funny.”

“Two creme brûlée lattes please.” You ordered, paying for it with your card before the barista hurried off to tell you the order.

Huh? Were you ordering a drink for him? You didn’t need to do that.

Sans held up his hands to give a small protest. “you don’t gotta do that.”

You had already paid, so it was no use to protest.

You looked down at him again, giving a small shrug. “It’s no biggie, really. I didn’t know what to order anyways. I’ve ran into you three times now, the least I can do is get you a coffee.”

He sighed, his mind a bit distracted by all the beeping from registers and talking from people going on in the background. “i guess so. thanks.”

You smiled, taking the coffees that were in little to-go cups and handing one to Sans. “Wanna sit?”

So, you both sat down. He felt like it was a bit weird. Back in Snowdin, he didn’t mind introducing himself to anyone new and getting them some food, nobody new usually came to Snowdin so it was always a welcome surprise. In the city however, there were always thousands of people, many faces he’d never recognize. There wasn’t much point in trying to make friends whenever he already had good ones anyways.

But, here he was, sitting at a table with you drinking a coffee that you bought him.

“This is a really good favorite to have. Thanks for suggesting it!” You set your cup down on the table, tracing your pointer finger around the bumps on the plastic lid.

For once, Sans was a bit unsure of what to say, so he went with the best option he knew. “hey, wanna hear a coffee joke?”

Your eyes seemed to light up. “Sure!”

He didn’t have to take much time to think over the joke. “whaddya call a sad cup of coffee?”

“Hmmm…” You looked off to the side while you thought. “I don’t know.”

“a depresso.” Sure, it wasn’t the best joke he’s ever told, but it had the reward of making you laugh.

You set your hands down on your lap, looking across the table at Sans. “Do you have any more jokes?”

That had to be some of the best words Sans has ever heard in his life. Of course he had more jokes, it seemed like he could never tell enough of them.

“why did it take the coffee bean so long to get his homework done?” He asked, his tone with you lighter and a bit more expressive.

“Hmmm, why?”

“it was procaffenating.”

And there your laugh was again. Your lips curved up into a big smile and you looked down at the table when you laughed, your eyes crinkling up in the corners a bit. It was genuine. It was real.

Sans grabbed onto his to-go cup, taking a small sip of it before suddenly vanishing from his seat and then appearing next to the table standing up. It startled you slightly, but you didn’t ask any questions about it and chalked it up to monster magic.

“well, its bean a good time, but i got a latte to do.” Sans rolled the puns out from his voice, looking up at you when you also followed suit to stand.

You brushed off your outfit with your freehand while talking to him. “Me too, I guess I’ll run into you later?”

“i guess you will.”

And with that, you both split ways.

For once, Sans was starting to think about his encounters with you. The small idea of your name would pop into his head when he ordered his coffee at the same place, but he’d just find the encounter a bit funny and then brush it off, not thinking much of it afterwards. It was just a silly encounter, merely accquanticces that he’d wave ‘hello’ to if he saw you in the store or something and then move on with his life.

That’s what he believed until he heard your laughter while he was out at a restaurant with his friends. He didn’t know why, but amongst the several people sitting at tables talking and having a good time, his attention was torn from his friends when he heard your laughter nearby. He took the time to look around the restaurant, observing the tables nearby until he spotted you having a nice dinner with someone. Were they a family member? A friend? They seemed to be making jokes to you, because you laughed at everything they said.

He barely knew you. He had ran into you only three times before and chatted with you a bit during the third encounter, so why did he feel a weird twinge watching you laugh at someone else’s jokes?

You looked around the tables nearby whenever the person got up, presumeably to go to the restroom, and your eyes landed on Sans just a few tables nearby.

Sans typically would have looked away and pretended like he never saw you. He had a hard time making eye contact with people and wasn’t a big fan of awkward confrontations since he didn’t know you very well. If he spotted Undyne or Toriel out at dinner with someone he probably would have made a silly face or something before going back to minding his own buisness, but he didn’t know you like that.

Instead of you looking away and pretending like you didn’t see him, you just simply grinned and waved to him. Naturally, he waved back.

Undyne noticed. She reached behind Papyrus who was sitting besides Sans and gave him a shove.

“Sans! Who’s that? You didn’t tell us you had a social life outside our little group!” Undyne was making fun of him just a bit, but she was also genuine with the excitement of her friend suddenly having a new friend.

Sans shrugged and looked down at his plate. It was pasta that Papyrus suggested he ordered, but Sans had smothered it in ketchup.

“dunno. i just run into them sometimes in the city.” It wasn’t a lie.

You two weren’t really friends, right? You had only met once or twice. So why couldn’t he get you off his mind right now?

He looked back up, seeing that Toriel and Asgore were currently joking over something that made Frisk laugh, who was sitting between them. Undyne, Alphys, and Papyrus had begun talking about their jobs, and when their free time was so that they could all have a sleepover. Nobody was paying attention to him right now, which he didn’t mind, but if they had then they probably would have warned him that you were walking up to their table.

“You having a good time out with your friends?” You asked, standing next to Sans and looking down on him as he was sitting in the booth.

His attention snapped up to you, a bit shocked by your sudden appearance. “uhm… yeah, we all decided to finally get out. it was about time, heh.”

You were smiling like you usually were with him, and your attention diverted down to his plate.

Sans slightly regretted soaking his food in ketchup now.

“That your food? I take it you’re a big fan of ketchup.” You remarked.

“somedays.” Sans tried to quickly brush the subject of his eating habits away. “what about your date over there? i hope you didn’t leave them to come over here and comment on my food.”

“No…” You pursed your lips, looking a bit discontented. “They left already. It was a really awkward date, I met them online. I was laughing at their funny story in hopes that they’d leave…”

Oh. He knew it shouldn’t make him feel good, but hearing that you weren’t actually having a good time on your date made him feel a bit better.

Sans wasn’t sure what just happened when he finally looked back to you after staring down at his plate for so long, but it was like he actually noticed you after just brushing you off the past three encounters. You were wearing a nicer outfit for your date, one that fit you extremely well. Your hair looked good, it was nice and done well, and he couldn’t help but bask in just how good you actually looked right now. It made him feel weird, almost wrong for looking at anyone like this.

“Hey,” You started again, taking a few seconds to think over your words. “I know it’s a weird thing to ask right now, but I’m not doing anything tomorrow night if you’d want to go somewhere?”

By now, most of his friends had stopped their conversation and were exchanging looks as they tried to subtly ease drop in your conversation with Sans.

“like a date?” He wanted to make sure he wasn’t getting the wrong idea.

You nodded, a pink blush heating up on your face. “Yeah, like a date.”

Sans was quiet for a few seconds before immediately taking out his phone from his pocket. “here, let me get your phone number real quick so that we can work out a time and place.”

What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t interested in romantic relations, or atleast not before tonight he wasn’t. He had turned down several people who offered him a date. Why were his hands a bit shaky as you rattled off your phone number to him?

“So tomorrow.” You confirmed with him, taking a deep breath and smoothing your outfit out.

“tomorrow.” He nodded, turning his phone off after sending you a short text to your number to make sure the contact was saved.

You grinned. “Cool. Well, I’ll run into you then, Sans.”

Your hand gave him a soft push on his shoulder before you walked off out of the restaurant since you had no need to be there right now.

It was only now that Sans realized all his friends were dead silent.

“BROTHER, I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!” Papyurs weeped and wrapped his arms around Sans, pulling him into a tight hug.

Ah. His friends started to give him silly words of congratulations for their friend, excited that he finally had a date. Sans simply laughed and tried to brush it off, but for the rest of the night even after he went home, he couldn’t take his mind off you. He had never had a date before, and he had never really been interested in anybody else- not like this at least.

It made him a bit crazy thinking about all of it.

He couldn’t stop his hands from shaking when he picked you up- driving in his brothers nice car that he let him borrow for the night.

You rushed out of the house, wearing a nicer but more casual outfit for your date. He told you to not dress too nice since he was taking you to his favorite spot, Grillby’s, but he couldn’t help but ogle a bit at how great you looked.

He kept one of his hands on the steering wheel as he watched you get into the passengers seat, buckling up your seatbelt and tucking some hair behind your ear when you looked at him.

“Hey, Sans! You ready?” You asked.

Sans nodded, admiring how you looked for a few seconds. “yeah, lets go…”

#undertale #undertale au #undertale alternate universe #sans #sans undertale #sans x reader #classic sans #sans x you #sap #sans headcanons

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keikiri-kitten · 1 year ago

Text

Thinking about Leon who gets you a personalized birthday cake and has it waiting for you when you come home. It’s set in the fridge just in case you make it back home before he does. You typically do make it back before he does — even on your birthday, but he leaves a little not on the top of it. As you shuffle deeper into your dimly lit place and reach for the cake inside the fridge you read the note on top of it:

I’m trying to think of something mushy that will make you feel all good inside, but I can’t right now. By the time you read this I’m picking us up something for dinner because I would never make you want to suffer on your birthday, haha. I hope your day was wonderful and I can’t wait to spend tonight with you, beautiful. xoxo

As you read the note you get all fluffy anyways, smiling wide and taking the cake out of the fridge to place it on the kitchen island to get a proper look at it.

It’s a small cake with all the fix-ins frosting can offer with a cute little sarcastic message that sounds exactly like Leon. Rolling your eyes, you open the top of it and try to sneak a lick off of the frosting. That was until Leon opened the door to your shared apartment.

“Looked so good that you couldn’t wait for me?” He jokes, a hefty bag in his hand that smells like your favorite food. “I told the woman behind the counter extreme whipped cream frosting but the words are in white chocolate— you’re welcome.”

As you watch him come in, you smile. “You know I think this is the sweetest thing you have ever done for me.”

“Guess I’m no Romeo.”

“No,” you confirm, making him roll his eyes and scoff. “What did you bring home?” By the smell, you know what it is and he tells you exactly what you were thinking. “The gesture is cute but I was thinking of just plain Italian.”

Leon is no dummy, picking up on what you mean before he smirks, placing dinner down on the counter before wrapping an arm around your waist and flipping you over his shoulder. “I guess we can save that for extra energy then?”

Laughing to yourself, you sing a small ‘happy birthday to me,’ as he shuffles you off the bedroom.

#residentbirdie #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon fluff #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil x reader #re4 leon #re6 leon #vendetta leon #infinite darkness leon

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ohtobeleah · 1 year ago

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Battle Scars // Bob Floyd

-> An Official Flight Deck Blurb

Summary: Robert Floyd doesn’t take his shirt off at the beach. But when the shirt stays on during sex? You start to wonder what he’s hiding.

Warnings: Mentions of parental Abuse. Mentions of Child Neglect. Foster Care Systems. Mentions of family trauma. Bob Floyd x Female!reader.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author Note: Day Nine of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: ‘Scar reveal’ Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

People have secrets they keep close to their chest. Some are small enough to not cause a ripple effect onto others, and some are big enough to destroy lives, crush dreams, alter realities.

Bob Floyd wore his secrets across his chest. Scars that made his torso look like the Rocky Mountains. Littered with small to medium size scars that healed wrong, healed over, or healed with anger.

They weren’t pretty. If anything he wore a roadmap of abuse on his body that was hard to face in the mirror every morning. He never wanted to subject anyone to the sight of his scars, some red and raised, others faded but turned a deep purple in the cold.

“Mornin’ gorgeous—“ Bob's morning voice was something you’d never get tired of hearing. Those lazy Sunday mornings where you’d wake up to find the Naval Aviator already awake and reading whatever book he brought with him in his overnight bag were starting to become your favourite thing. “How’d you sleep mama?”

“Like a log.” You yawned, creeping closer and closer to where Bob sat on the opposite side of your bed. His T-shirt clad back pressed up against the headboard while his legs stayed covered by the sheets and covers of your warm, inviting bed. “I thought I had an early body clock.” Being a single mum and small business owner left little to no time for sleep-ins, which usually meant you were up before the sun got a chance to kiss the horizon good morning. “But here you are, Mr Military Man with your internalised alarm system.”

Bob couldn’t help but to chuckle as he closed his book and placed it on the bedside table you cleared just for him. Whatever this was between you and Robert Floyd you really liked it. He was the first man you’d ever paid attention to since your fiancé died. Bob was like a breath of fresh air and so was North Island. No one knew you, no one judged you, no one cared about the demons that haunted you.

“Force of habit I guess.” He shrugged before he sunk lower and lower, meeting your eyeline once again as you both settled in under the warmth of the covers. “How long do you think we have before Oliver wakes up?”

“Hmmm—“ You tried to hide your eagerness through a hum that kept your lips pressed together in a fine line. “He knows Sundays are bacon and egg roll mornings.” You began as your arms wrapped around Bob's shoulders.

His lips were hot against the supple skin of the juncture of your neck, in response your body ignited, sending waves of energy through your body that only Bob could create. He was just different.

“So like, five? Ten minutes maybe?” Bob looked up from where he’d been leaving small

but affectionate kisses against your collarbone and met you with a lust filled gaze. He was falling head over heels in love with you. “Because I only need like two—“

“Oh well in that case we have time for two rounds.” You teased before rolling yourself up and over to straddle Bob's waist. He let you easily. If he wanted to, he could have fought back. The thing with Robert Floyd was that he had a sleeper build. He wasn’t as buff as some of the other Naval Aviators that frequently stopped by the Flight Deck for their morning or mid afternoon caffeine hit. With the amount of sugar and caramel syrup you dosed Hangman with on a regular basis you weren’t entirely sure how he managed to maintain his muscle density.

But for as much as Bob was a gentle soul, he was strong and fast. He enjoyed a long run every now and again. But for all intents and purposes—he let you be on top. He liked the view. After all, he was just a simple man. Boobs were pretty cool. Especially your boobs.

“Can I ask you a question?” You cooed all the while Bob's hands trailed up your hips. You wore nothing but one of those silk nightgowns that made you look like an angel. The bed hair was cute, Bob liked you first thing in the morning. It was a side of you only he got to see. The side before the makeup, before being put together– he liked it. The authenticity. For what it was worth, Bob just really liked you.

“Depends what the question is?” Bob replied as his hands squeezed at your hips, rolling you gently back and forth over his boxer brief clad length. “I’m kidding, ask away.”

He had been expecting the question sooner rather than later. And with how things were going between the two of you Bob knew he would have to come clean. He was just afraid of what you might say. What you might think, and if his scars would be a deal breaker. They were, after all, a part of him that he couldn’t get rid of.

But even expecting the question to come didn’t make it any less hard to hear.

“How come you never take your shirt off?” You wanted to approach the question as politely as possible. “You don’t have to tell me, if you aren’t comfortable, I just—I’ve just noticed.” You saw the hesitation in Bob's baby blue eyes as he searched your face for any kind or fear. “Again, you don’t have to tell me.” You reminded the man lying beneath you as his hands stilled on your hips. “But I want you to know that if you’re hiding some sort of third nipple under there—I’m all for it.” You tried to make the conversation a little more lighthearted, Bob could appreciate that. He smiled softly at you while his hands needed at your hips like dough.

Bob didn’t say much after that, he simply laid beneath you stroking his hands up and down your exposed thighs as his mind ran rampant with memories. He hated his scars, but most of all he hated the people who gave them to him.

“You’re a waste of space!” The memories were all too prominent even after all these years. “I wish I never gave birth to you!” His mothers words were as cruel as she was violent and unpredictable.

“You’re the abortion I wish I fucking had.” The abuse Bob endured went with him everywhere, even well into his adult life. He learned not to complain, to cause a scene. “Stop crying for fucks sake kid.” He learned not to show emotion when it wasn’t asked or needed.

“You did this to yourself, if you had stayed out of the way, none of this would be happening.” But most importantly he blamed himself, for hiding his scars that clearly showed how strong he really was.

Bob sat up to meet your eyeline. For a man haunted by so many scars he certainly had the softest of eyes. He gently tucked your hair behind your ear and placed a fleeting kiss against your forehead, all before he reached up and over to take his shirt off over his head.

What you saw rendered you speechless for a few moments as you took in the terrain that was your, well, you wanted to say boyfriend but Bob wasn’t even officially that, torso—littered with scars he surely would have called ugly on the best of days.

“It’s a lot.” Bob whispered just barely above an audible level as he chucked his shirt off to the side. “But they’re not going away, ever.” It was almost as if Bob had struggled with that notion himself. He wished he could have them removed—expunge from his record. The tales of parental abuse he suffered before collecting more in the foster care system.

“Oh Bob—“ You tentatively reach out to glide your fingers over one of the many scars that were angry, red and what seemed to be risen. “You don’t have to hide these from me, ever.” Bob's heart was racing a million miles inside his chest, no one had ever touched him the way you were now. With so much love, with kindness, with understanding. “What happened here?” Your fingers gently glided across the scar down near the waistband of Bob's boxers. Right above his hip bone.

“One of the kids in one of the foster homes I was in.” Bob began, you could tell he was uncomfortable talking about it, but you didn’t stop him. You knew if anything he would stop if he didn’t want to talk about it. “I think his name was Ryan, had an old bow with those barbed edges on it.” You knew where the story was going. “It got wedged in there deep when we were playing around, but our foster parents didn’t have insurance, so they weren’t gonna take me to get it removed—so they ripped it out and poured bourbon over it.” Your heart sank into your stomach. “I was nine.”

“That must have hurt a lot.” You replied gently as Bob laid back down in your bed with his hands resting behind his head. His roadmap of scars on full display. “What happened here?” You moved your hand to the longer scar across his left peck. It seemed less angry, more healed, but the story attached was just as heartbreaking.

“When I was eighteen I went back to see my parents.” Bob's eyes were tearing up. He hadn’t ever spoken about this to anyone. Not even the people he trusted with his life. You were the only one. “It was a mistake, I shouldn’t have, but I needed some closure.” Your fingers gently ran the expanse of the scar that had never been touched but another person. Bob wanted to stop you out of fear you’d leave—but he willed you to continue because it felt comforting to be touched with such warmth. “My dad ran at me with a knife the second he saw me—I remember he was rambling on about how I broke my mum's heart when I went with CPS. I’m lucky it was only a graze, he still got me good enough to leave a scar though.”

“Bob, honey, I don’t even know what to say.” You were a mother yourself. You couldn’t ever imagine doing anything of the sort to your son. Bob reached up to guide your hand across his torso to his wrist—you’d seen those small circle cluster scars time and time again but never bothered to ask what they were from.

“These are from where my mum and my foster mum would put their cigarettes out on me.” Again, it made your heart sink, but Bob never faulted as he guided your hand around his body, back up to his stomach just above his belly button. Ridged abs peaked through the softness of his skin. “This one is from when I had to have surgery after I got an infection. Doctor said I could have died if my friend and I didn’t walk ourselves to the emergency room.”

Bob wanted you to touch every last scar that littered his body, he wanted your gentle touch to heal his old wounds. So you let him guide you as your straddled his waist and looked down at the roadmap of torture.

“These smaller ones are from when my dad swung the whipper snipper at me, I was in his way, I shouldn’t have been there, I remember they wouldn’t stop bleeding and ruined a bunch of my shirts.”

“None of these are your fault.” All his life, until he joined the Navy and ran as far away as he could, Bob had been told every scar he collected was his fault. The abuse he suffered as a child, from his parents and in foster homes, was his fault. “Someone who loves you doesn’t do this to you.” You reminded the man who laid beneath you. He could hardly breathe with how hard his heart was hammering in his chest as your hands trailed over the expanse of his torso. “Bob I don’t know your history, but from what I can gather about you in the present you are all but the problem.” You were the first person to ever tell him he didn’t deserve the scars he wore, the scars he hid.

“You’re a really good person, you know that right?” Flashes of your own war blinded your vision for a moment. The lies and haunting rumours that had you running as far away as possible could came flooding back to you in a blur as Bob sat up to kiss your lips softly, tenderly, and all so lovingly. “You don’t know how much you mean to me baby.” The term of endearment sent a shiver down your spine you weren’t expecting. But you welcomed it nevertheless. Bob was a dream, your new beginning.

“I reckon you’ve got about three minutes to show me.” You teased, deciding now was not the time to bring up your dead fiancé. “With the shirt off—“

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Whumptober Tags 🏷️ @xoxabs88xox @oldermenaremyreligion @slut-f0r-u @emma-is-cool @armydrcamers @topguncortez @topgun-imagines @kmc1989 @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt

#ailesswhumptober2023 #leahs whumptober masterlist #bob floyd x female reader #flight deck // bob floyd #bob fliyd angst #Bob floyd whump #bob floyd x reader #top gun bob #top gun imagine #top gun fan fic #tw: parental abuse #tw: mental health #tw: scars

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zepskies · 2 years ago

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Never Say Goodbye - Part 4

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,400 Warnings: Language, cliffhangers (lol).

Part 4: Guessing Game

The next morning was a Wednesday. Despite the monumental, life-changing things that happened yesterday, unfortunately, you still had to go to work. You also had three class finals to finish.

Still, you woke invigorated with a new energy you had never felt before because you had finally, finally met your soulmate.

…Okay, not so much met him, but at least you had shared a telepathic conversation! That still counted!

…No matter how actually insane that sounded.

So you got ready for your day with an added pep in your step. You dressed “work casual”: white blouse tucked into a black skirt, tights because of the cold, black boots, and your favorite red winter coat. It hung to about your knees, so it would protect your legs. You even had the energy to put on some makeup and style your hair a little, fixing the frizzy kinks into some smoother waves down your back.

You looked into the mirror and you felt proud of your reflection. Not just how you looked, but of how you were able to carry yourself with your head held high.

With your purse and books gathered, you ventured downstairs and found your dad already puttering through the kitchen. You accepted the mug of coffee he offered and sipped at it while you packed a lunch.

Hmm, getting low on groceries. I’ll have to swing by the store on the way home, you thought.

There was one other thing that snagged in your mind, and that was having to reschedule your visit with Bobby. After you “hung up” with your soulmate (who frustratingly refused to give you his name yet), you realized how late it was and called your uncle for a rain check. But you fully intended to keep your word and visit him today, after work.

Now, you eyed your dad as he read the paper at the small kitchen nook. You took your coffee and sat down across from him (you still had a few minutes before you had to leave).

“How’s the world?” you asked him, nodding at the newspaper.

“Great,” he replied dryly. “Just one big dumpster fire.”

The corner of your mouth quirked upwards. “Any local flames?”

Jack sighed and lowered the paper, meeting her eyes. “Unfortunately, yes. You carry pepper spray, don’t you?”

You nodded. “Of course.”

“And your handgun? Where’d you put it?” he asked. You frowned.

Your father was a cop and this was the Midwest. You did have a concealed carrier’s permit, but you weren’t allowed to have your gun on you at school, so you typically stored it in the nightstand by your bed. Jack knew that.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“There’s been a series of home invasions across town, two of them in our neighborhood,” he said, giving you a firm look. “Watch yourself when you leave the house, when you head to your car, when you leave campus.”

“I know, Dad,” you replied. “By the way…are you planning on going to see Mom today? I didn’t get a chance to go yesterday, so we could go together if you want.”

You were attempting to lend an olive branch after yesterday’s argument. Jack, however, wasn’t getting the hint.

“I can’t.” He shook his head and tapped at the newspaper headline. “I’m actually heading this case…most of these have been what we call ‘push-ins.’”

“What’s a push-in?” you asked. You could guess, but you didn’t like how serious your dad was right now.

“Let’s say someone knocks at the door. You’re not expecting anyone, not even the pizza guy. What do you do?” Jack asked.

“Check who it is through the peephole,” you answer.

“What if your door doesn’t have one?”

This was easy. Your father had drilled this into you since you were eight years old. “Ask who it is through the door. Don’t open it unless you know them, or unless you can smell pizza through the door crack.”

“Good. Most people will just open the door without checking,” Jack said. “The guy shoves his way in and attacks you. That’s a push-in.”

Goddamn. You didn't know there was a name for that.

“And how many of these have happened so far?” you asked.

“Four that we know of,” he replied. “It hasn’t hit the news yet but…Mrs. Jenkins was killed last night. We found the poor thing literally clutching her pearls.”

You blanched, setting down your coffee. Shock hit you first, then sadness. Mrs. Jenkins was the sweet old lady who used to make cookies for Sunday school when you were a kid. She’d given you $50 for college textbooks when you graduated from high school, and then flowers when you graduated with your bachelor’s degree.

Your eyes burned with emotion. “I can’t believe it. He was after her pearls?”

“I imagine she didn’t want to give ‘em up,” Jack said. “Or she held on out of reflex. When you’re afraid, logic tends to fly out the window.”

You understood that, but you couldn’t believe she’d died for her jewelry. You rubbed the silver ring on your right hand and rationalized to yourself. You knew you could give up your mom’s ring if it meant the difference between that and a bullet in your brain.

Your dad was still telling you to be careful when you left the house that morning. He only nagged and rode your ass about your future career because he cared. You knew that. But the nagging was a test of your ever-thinning patience.

Once you got on the road, you had an hour to kill on your commute. Then a flash of an idea occurred to you, making you smile. With a deep breath, you sought that thread of energy inside your mind. You didn’t know if this would work. It wouldn’t be long until you were driving away from Sioux Falls and headed to Vermillion, but you hoped the connection would win out.

The thread brightened with your focus on it, and suddenly you could feel him. Your soulmate.

Good morning, sleepyhead, you greeted cheerfully. His response was more sluggish.

No, it ain’t.

His grumpy voice made you laugh. Aw, someone’s grouchy in the morning.

This lumpy couch killed my back, he complained. And I could hear my brother’s snoring from downstairs.

So he had a brother. That was an interesting tidbit of information you’d save for later. You smiled.

You’re a cute grouch.

Excuse me, princess. I’m not a “cute” anything. He sounded mildly offended, but you sensed he was just as amused as you.

So what’s your brother’s name? you asked.

He hesitated, but eventually he replied, His name’s Sam.

Okay, so his brother’s name was safe, but his name had to be a mystery. And his job. That annoyed you, though you supposed it was part of the game.

What’re you up to? he asked.

On my way to work.

Oh, yeah? What do you do?

Even though you shook your head at the hypocrisy of his question, you decided to answer honestly. Well, I’m finishing up grad school next semester. This week is finals, then we break until January. But I also work part-time for one of my professors as her assistant.

Look at you, he said with a whistle. Beauty and brains.

You quirked a smile. If only your dad were that impressed. Technically you haven’t confirmed the “beauty” bit. I could be a potato with legs for all you know.

You sensed rather than heard his laughter.

Nah, a voice that sexy can’t be Potato Girl.

You blushed up to your ears at that one. No one had ever described your voice that way. Quiet, mousy yes—and mainly by Dr. Birch—but never sexy.

Your soulmate was definitely a flirt, if nothing else.

Hmm, you had that line locked and loaded, didn’t you?

Nope. That was fresh, sweetheart, he said. I’m just that creative.

Sure, you laughed again. It’s already 9:00 a.m. Don’t you have somewhere to be?

Yeah, now that you mention it. I’ve gotta get going to work too.

That was disappointing, but at least you’d learned something new. Your soulmate wasn’t a morning person, and he had a brother.

Do you and your brother both have the same mystery job?

…Yeah, actually. We work together, he said. Good question, Nancy Drew.

Yes! You smiled in triumph.

You made a few more guesses about his job: police officer, teacher, leader of a biker gang—all of which were apparently wrong.

But keep ‘em comin’, he said. You’ll get it eventually.

You let out an annoyed huff. But then you felt his amusement, like he was genuinely enjoying himself while talking with you. That warmed you up enough for now.

After a long day at the university, you relished coming home knowing you only had two more days until winter break.

You stopped at the grocery store on the way home, like you’d planned, but now you regretted it. There were only two cashiers open despite a packed store. Ugh. Just my luck.

You chose the one that didn’t have a screaming child throwing his mother’s apples out of the cart, but you did stop to help her pick them up.

“Thanks, hun,” she said tiredly. You nodded with a sympathetic smile.

“How old is he?” you asked.

“Two and a half,” she said. You tried to hide your reaction, but she gave a wry smile and returned to her child.

Good luck, you wanted to say, but you kept that yourself and returned to your cart. As the line inched forward, you wondered if you wanted kids.

Never really thought about it before, you could admit. You supposed there was a lot to consider, but maybe most importantly: It has to be with the right person.

You wondered if your soulmate was that person, or if having kids one day (or not) was going to be a dealbreaker for him.

Then you snorted, shaking your head. Okay, you’re getting very ahead of yourself. You haven’t even met the man.

“Hey, look who it is!”

The cashier’s voice startled you from your thoughts. When you broke out of your reverie, you realized you were at the front of the line, and Danny Schmitt was once again your checkout guy. Part of you withered, but you tried at a polite smile as you busied yourself by emptying your cart on the conveyer belt. “Hey, Danny. How’re you doing?”

“Been good. And yourself? You look good,” he said. He wasn’t very discreet about checking you out. You blushed, but more from discomfort than flattery.

“Thanks,” you said, a bit awkwardly, and started bagging the groceries he rang up.

“What have you been up to?” he asked. “Every time I see you, you’re dressed up like you’re goin’ to a Broadway show or something.”

Broadway? You glanced down at your work casual blouse and skirt. To the movie theater, maybe. Less Mamma Mia and more Magic Mike.

“I like it though. Skirt and boots, always a sexy combo,” Danny said, and gave you a wink. You had no doubt that many a girl had swooned at the move, but you were less charmed and more annoyed. You finished bagging your stuff and paid with your credit card in silence.

The high school version of yourself would’ve blushed at Danny’s attention. After stapling his fingers together in freshman year, he’d gone through a growth spurt the next. He’d joined the wrestling team, and paired with his light blonde hair and square jaw, the girls hadn’t stopped stumbling over themselves to get with him.

After high school, though, Danny didn’t get that sports scholarship for college. It also looked like he didn’t have the drive for anything else, either. He’d worked this same job at the Piggly Wiggly since you graduated six years ago.

All right, check your privilege, you reminded yourself, feeling guilty for judging him. Not everyone’s cut out for college. You don’t even know exactly what you want to do with your life.

“Have a good one,” he said, handing you the receipt. “And hey, let me know if you want to get a coffee sometime, or dinner. Flannigan’s has a two-for-one special on beer pitchers…I’ll pay. Or, you know, we could split it. You know, equality and all that. Hell, even you could pay if you wanted to.” He laughed.

Tempting, you thought. Though you’d have to remember about that two-for-one special. Uncle Bobby might want to make that your beer pilgrimage tonight.

“You know, I’ve been pretty busy lately,” you said, trying your best at a smile. “But I’ll let you know!”

Maybe it was rude of you, but you didn’t give him a chance to reply as you took your cart and waved goodbye.

Bobby welcomed you into his home, with what could only be described as a “gruff smile.” You shed your winter coat, but finding no hooks on the wall, you just draped it over the back of the living room couch.

“Come in,” he beckoned with a hand. “Don’t mind the mess. I was just finishing up some…work.”

Indeed, there were several books strewn across the coffee table, the dining table, the little accent table next to the couch—basically every available space in the living room was covered with books, manuscripts, and loose papers. Your eyes scanned over some of them. Raising a brow, you picked up one of the books.

“Omens, Trials, and Tribulations: A Guided Study on the Book of Revelation,” you read, and gave Bobby a curious look. “Doing some light reading alongside the New King James?”

Bobby shrugged. “It’s a hobby.”

Somehow you didn’t think that was the whole story, but you smiled in amusement. Then you noticed some rumpled bed sheets on the couch, a green duffle bag dumped on the floor.

“Do you have someone staying over? Should I come back another day?” you asked.

“Nah, I’ve got a couple of knuckleheads staying over, but they’re not here right now,” he said. “I sent them to work on somethin’.”

“Oh, towing a car for you?” you asked.

“More like, checking out a possible job,” he explained, though that didn’t really explain anything at all. It left you even more curious as you got the sense he was leaving something out again, but you didn’t press it. Instead, you followed him into the kitchen.

“Want a beer?” he asked.

“That’s why I’m here,” you joked. “Dad drinks ‘em like a fish. By the time I get home, the fridge is damn-near empty.”

“How is he?” Bobby handed you the beer and you took it gratefully.

“He’s the same. Buried in cases. I made him something before I left, for when he gets home,” you replied. Then you sighed and sat down at the two-seater table in the kitchen. “He didn’t even go to visit Mom on the anniversary.”

Just then, you realized something. You hadn’t actually visited Mom either, because you’d been distracted…hearing your soulmate’s thoughts for the first time.

Damn it…

Well, in this case your mom would probably forgive you, but you felt guilty all the same. You slid your ring around your finger absently.

Bobby sat across from you at the table. “The past can be a hard thing to let go of, but the real bitch of it is, it’s also hard remembering.”

You nodded in agreement.

“How’re you doin’ then?” he asked. Instead of a customary fine, or busy, you actually thought about it.

“Yesterday…I don’t know. I felt stuck. Like, I was hanging onto the train but I wasn’t in the driver’s seat,” you admitted. “Today, I woke up and things were different.”

“That’s specific,” Bobby remarked. You shot him a wry smile.

“I don’t know. I’ve spent a long time just, like…trudging through the snow. Trying to keep the flurries out of my eyes,” you said. “But for the first time, I feel like I can see the sun, you know? There’s a reason to hope things might change. Like something good is coming my way.”

Bobby’s mouth lifted into a subtle grin. “Very poetic. You should think about writin’ for Hallmark.”

You uttered an incredulous laugh. “All right. See if I pour my heart out to you again. God.”

“My apologies, princess,” Bobby said dryly. “Okay. In all seriousness, you’ve got a lot goin’ for ya, kid. You’ve got a right to be optimistic.”

You nodded with a superior smile. “Thank you.”

“Listen, I’ve got a lasagna waiting in the oven. You want any part of that?” he asked.

Your uncle was asking if you wanted to stay for dinner. You considered it and realized he was trying to connect with you. It wasn’t the first time he’d offered, and you regretted declining his loose invitations in the past.

“Sure,” you said. “Lasagna sounds great.”

“All right.” He nodded. “Gimme a sec.”

You had never understood the seemingly one-sided animosity between your dad and your uncle. Sure, Bobby was known as the town drunk. He’d gotten arrested a few times for publicly intoxicated antics, but he wasn’t belligerent. He wasn’t a bad man by any means.

“You know, speaking of Italian. I like making spaghetti and meatballs, the latter from scratch,” you said. “Maybe I could make some next time.”

Bobby glanced over at you with a bit of surprise. “Uh…sure.”

You smiled.

Later, as you and Bobby shared a meal together, you caught up on safe subjects, like how his business was going. He likewise asked you about your job. You admitted Dr. Birch was driving you up the wall this week. She’d asked you to grade two more of her classes’ final exams, putting you behind on your thesis draft.

But then you drew enough courage to delve into not-so-safe subjects.

“All right, I’ve gotta know,” you said. “Why the hell did you and my dad fall out, Bobby? What is this thing?”

Bobby looked very reluctant. “It’s complicated.”

You stared back at him for a moment. Curiosity was eating at you, but you didn’t want to push either. Today was going well. Maybe it was better not to spoil it.

“Complicated,” you echoed, smiling ruefully. “Right.”

After you two finished dinner and the dishes were cleared, you thanked Bobby and surprised him with a hug. His arms came around you briefly before you both let go, just a little awkwardly.

You put on your coat and headed out the door, until his voice stopped you on the porch.

“Look, regardless of where your dad and I stand, you’re family,” Bobby said. “You’re always welcome here.”

You gave a warm smile. “Thanks, Uncle Bobby.”

Then you returned to your Camaro and drove away from Singer Salvage, waving to his through your window as you went.

You made a left at the main road going west, so you didn’t see the black Impala come in from the east road, turning into Bobby’s driveway.

“What were those smooth wheels doing pulling out of this junk heap?” Dean jabbed a thumb behind him as he and Sam came into the house. They’d gotten nothing from that potential lead on John Winchester’s whereabouts, and neither of them were in a great mood. But the smell of food cheered up both of them, especially Dean.

“What?” Bobby asked.

“That blue ’93 Camaro Z28 that just peeled outta here. She was nice,” Dean said. Sam glanced at him, impressed. Dean smirked, an Aw, yeah, I know my shit kind of look.

Bobby smiled in amusement. “My niece stopped by for dinner.”

Sam shared a look of mild surprise with Dean, who said, “That’s a shame. Would’ve liked to meet her.”

Bobby shot him a warning look. “Down, boy. Like you need any help findin’ dance partners.”

Dean grinned. Sam nearly rolled his eyes.

“The lead didn’t pan out,” Sam said. “So we’re gonna head out in the morning, if that’s all right.”

“Fine,” Bobby shrugged. “Drink my beer, eat my food, and run up my water bill. Just do me a favor and clean up after yourselves. I don’t need a roach infestation.”

“What, don’t you think the rats need company?” Dean teased. Bobby raised a warning finger at him, making Dean hold back a laugh.

Bobby went upstairs for bed soon after, and Dean gave Sam first shower this time. It was good timing too…

Dean realized he could hear his soulmate again.

You were rocking out to a Billy Joel song.

He smirked. Figures.

As you drove home blasting “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” you chanted along with the long verses, sometimes forgetting words, sometimes stumbling and saying them wrong. But you came in strong with the part you knew: We didn’t start the fiiire. It was always buuurnin’ since the world’s been tuuurnin’—

Figures, your soulmate’s voice cut through everything else. It almost startled you, but feeling his amusement made you blush hotly.

He laughed, and it was a rich sound that made something flutter in your stomach.

Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt the performance. But come on, ‘80s pop?

You scoffed. All right, Mr. Power Ballad. Billy Joel is pop rock.

Gotta say, I expected better from you, sweetheart, he teased.

Ugh, you sound like such an old man. Tell me you don’t just listen to mullet rock, you rejoined.

All right. Let’s take an inventory, shall we? he challenged. ACDC. Led Zeppelin. Boston.

You made a face as you continued to drive through your hometown. You knew these streets like the back of your hand, even in the pitch black of eleven at night.

Yes to Zeppelin. The other two are…loud, you said. You heard him sigh, but he accepted this.

Fine, how about Hendrix?

Absolutely. You smiled. I take your Hendrix and raise you Prince and Beyonce.

Prince, yes. You can keep Beyonce, he said. Sorry, I’m not Team BeyHive.

You chortled in response. The fact that you know what that means give me hope. At least you’re aware that you live in the 2000s.

Whatever. I was raised on two things: classic rock and the open road.

His grumpiness was entertaining, but this gave you an excellent opportunity to play your little game.

The open road, huh? Are you some kind of traveling salesman? you asked.

Definitely not.

Hmm. Perhaps he sensed your frustration. He surprised you by giving you a hint.

Travel is part of it though.

Aha! I knew it.

Oh yeah? How?

This morning you said you were sleeping on a couch, you began. You typically don’t do that if you’re not at home in your bed. So I could assume you were traveling, and you had to work today. But I didn’t know you had to travel often for work until you just said it.

You felt proud of your deductive reasoning. So now I know that you and your brother have the same job. It’s unlikely you live in Sioux Falls. And you travel often for work.

Dean whistled lowly. Damn, girl. Somehow you’re reminding me of Sam right now…what are you studying again?

You noted a brief tendril of sadness from him, being quickly brushed off. You didn’t dwell on it, but you would make a mental note of it for later, maybe.

History, you replied.

Oh, okay. Gonna be a teacher or something?

I…don’t really know yet. I’ve been scoping out jobs…

You’ve almost got two degrees and you don’t know what you wanna do with ‘em?

All right, that was hitting a nerve.

“You know what? Don’t change the subject!” you said. Realizing you said that out loud, you made sure to think it at him this time.

You don’t live in Sioux Falls right? Or South Dakota even? you added.

Look at you go, little miss detective, he replied. You thought he enjoyed teasing you a bit too much. No, I don’t live here. But a family friend does.

Okay, so that narrowed it down to everything.

You turned the street corner into your neighborhood. The streetlights were sparse here ever since the last snowstorm knocked them out. Your dad had talked about installing ground lights in the front lawn for years, but he’d never gotten around to it. His job was too demanding to take care of much at home, which left you with most of the responsibility. Sometimes you wondered how your mom did it…

Anyway, back to the game.

Plumber, electrician, flight attendant? You guessed. You had a feeling from the way he talked about your schooling that he hadn’t gone to college. You didn’t mind that. If this stupid game was anything to go by, it sounded like he had an interesting way of making a living.

Nope to all three, especially the last one. Ugh.

Goddamn it. Okay, do you own a business?

You could say that. It’s a family business, he said. There was a playful note to this voice, as if he was dancing around the truth.

Dear Lord. All right, a family business…

It was probably something small-scale. A diner? Hardware store?

It’s not a physical store. More like a…a service.

You were getting warmer! With a smile, you made your way down your street and pulled your car into the driveway. Surprise, surprise, your dad wasn’t home yet.

Got it. You nodded. Okay, truck driver. Service engineer, electrician…oh shit, I said that earlier. Hmm…exterminator?

You grabbed your purse and finally got out of your car. You’d made it all the way to your front door when you realized that your soulmate had gone quiet. You sensed he was thinking, contemplating.

You nearly bounced in excitement as you unlocked the door to your house. I’m right, aren’t I? Which one?

After stepping inside and closing the door behind you, you turned on the hallway and living room lights.

The last one, he said at last. You paused in your excitement, your brows furrowed.

Exterminator. Really? That was curious. Who’d ever heard of a traveling exterminator? Like rats and stuff?

And stuff, he said with a chuckle, but somehow you knew it was hollow. You frowned, until you looked into the living room and noticed something weird.

A black duffel bag that didn’t look like your dad’s. You don’t remember it being there this morning either.

Hey, you okay? he asked. You realized that he was probably sensing your confusion. You headed toward the duffel bag.

Yeah, I just got home—

The moment you set down your purse on the coffee table, a hand closed over your mouth and muffled your scream.

AN: Yay, cliffhangers! (I promise they'll meet in the next chapter lol.)

Also, I just want to say THANK YOU to all of you reading, reblogging, commenting, etc. I didn't think this little fic would generate that much interest, but getting your feedback is inspiring me to write more!

Keep reading: Part 5.

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

@curlycarley @buckywenal24 @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @irgendwas122 @deans-spinster-witch @dogbarkbark4445

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