#but it’s particularly helpful for Chapter 13
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consceleratuswrites · 1 year ago
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bosbas · 2 months ago
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Chapter 1: I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game"
series masterlist previous part || next part
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pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader WC: 2.5k words
Warnings: period-typical gender roles, lowkey why do i ship daphne and y/n....
Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)
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May 13, 1812 - You were in Hyde Park less than ten minutes before you saw Daphne Bridgerton's figure out of the corner of your eye. Delighted that she'd joined you earlier than expected, you waved her over.
"Hello, Daph," you greeted cheerfully, scooting over so your best friend could sit beside you on the bench. "I didn't think I'd see you for a few hours, given how many gentlemen asked you to dance last night. Did none of them call?"
Daphne groaned, a scowl set deep on her face, as she took a piece of bread from your basket and broke it into chunks to feed the ducks.
"Don't remind me. Most of them called, actually," she responded. "If only Anthony had let me have three seconds with them I might have been able to discern whether or not I was actually interested. He barged into the sunroom and promptly kicked everyone out. There was not a single suitor left in the room by the time he'd finished!"
You snorted. "Ah, so the overbearing eldest brother is once again to blame."
"Isn't he always?" she responded, too annoyed to match the lightness in your tone.
You just smiled to yourself and fed the ducks silently, knowing Daphne well enough to hide your smile from her, given that she was more than likely fuming at Anthony's constant meddling. You knew he meant well, but he was known to go a bit overboard at times. Well, most times. Especially when it came to Daphne's courtships.
"Anthony's the biggest rake in Mayfair, anyway. I don't know exactly what moral high ground he thinks he's standing on but it's certainly not as sturdy as he assumes," continued Daphne, still upset over that morning's happenings.
"Is it really that bad, Daph?" you said in an attempt to console her. "At least you're not getting hordes of unpleasant men at your doorstep every day. And you know the kinds of men that frequent the ton aren't always the kind you'd want to spend your afternoons with."
"I'm not getting any men at my doorstep! That's the problem!" exclaimed Daphne, exasperated. "I know you might not share the same desires as me, but I would eventually like to get married and have a family."
"I want to find a husband, too," you insisted, your tone bordering on defensive. "I just don't particularly feel bothered to look for one during my first season."
Daphne sobered immediately, coming out of her annoyance toward her brother as she could sense you were upset. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear," she insisted, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. "It was just-"
"I understand," you smiled at her, placing your hand over hers. "I just don't have the same urgency as you do, on account of my father having absolutely no stake in my marital status. No stake in anything about me at all, actually."
It would be a sad sentiment if you weren't used to it. You were an only child, and your mother had died after getting ill when you were only five years old. Your father, of course, was quite busy with the land he managed, and thus most of your upbringing had just been you and your governess. And the Bridgertons, of course.
You had met Daphne when she was eight and you were seven, and the two of you had gotten along splendidly since then. Since you had no real family of your own, bar your absent father, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence at Daphne's insistence. You now found yourself to be a semi-permanent fixture in their house, feeling just as home there as you did at your father's home.
This proximity to the Bridgertons had made you intimately familiar with Anthony's overprotective demeanor. Ever since you and Daphne were young, Anthony had gone out of his way to make sure that his siblings were cared for. Sometimes that included you, too. But unfortunately, he could take it too far sometimes.
"Did you like anyone last night, at least? Your dress was quite magnificent and I know I'm not the only one who noticed," you winked at Daphne.
She hummed thoughtfully. "I don't entirely know. I don't think one dance is enough to know whether I truly like someone," she responded, slumping down on the bench.
"Especially not when Anthony cuts the dance short halfway through," you laughed, recalling the eldest Bridgerton's attempts to thwart Daphne's search for a husband.
But your comment did nothing to lighten the mood. Instead, it seemed to make your friend even more irritated.
"It's my second year out in society! I still don't have a husband. Not even close to it, apparently," continued Daphne, aggressively tossing bits of bread into the pond.
"Well, you have to marry eventually. Anthony can't keep you away from every man for the rest of your life!" you argued.
But this did little to quell Daphne's annoyance. "He's certainly trying," she muttered.
"We can ship him off to the West Indies for the season," you joked. "Surely he won't be able to interrupt your suitors from halfway across the globe."
Suddenly, Daphne raised her eyebrows, looking at you with a devious smile.
"I was only joking! We can't actually ship him away," you laughed. "Besides, how would the ladies of the ton ever survive without the most desirable bachelor who is always just out of reach?"
Daphne snorted, amused at your dig at Anthony. "No, no, we don't have to ship him away," she said. "But you are correct in saying that I need time away from him to fully explore potential matches."
You hummed in agreement, imagining how much easier life would be for Daphne if her older brother simply... let her be. "Is he going on a hunting trip soon?" you said hopefully.
Your best friend shook her head, still smiling at you like she was plotting something.
"What is it?" you pressed, laughing at her expression.
"Can I ask you a favor?" she said, an expectant look in her eyes.
“Yes, I’ll kill Anthony for you. I’ve only been waiting for you to ask,” you joked.
“No,” Daphne laughed. “I’m serious.”
“Go on then,” you nodded.
“Could you ask him to dance at tomorrow’s ball?”
“Me? Ask him? Are you out of your mind?” you sputtered. You had never danced with Anthony at a ball, and you couldn't fathom the first time you did so being after you were the one to ask him.
“Y/N, please. I can’t just rely on forlorn glances across the ballroom to secure suitors. I need to actually speak with them, and I won’t be able to if Anthony keeps... hovering.”
Granted, hovering was a very generous word for what Anthony was really doing. But still, you looked at her, uncertainty in your eyes. You weren’t particularly keen on asking Anthony to dance, knowing he was famously opposed to marriage at this point in his life. Yes, you had grown up around him, but that didn’t mean he was interested in you at all, and you didn’t want to face that rejection if you could avoid it.
“Don’t give me that look! I promise it’ll work,” cried Daphne, desperate. “Just tell him you feel like dancing but don’t want to give another man the wrong impression since it’s only your first season and you’re still biding your time. Most of which is true.”
She made a good point. You didn’t want the hordes of men that seemed to flock to Daphne just yet. And would one dance really hurt that much?
---
The music in the ballroom pleasantly surrounded you as you stood next to Violet. Daphne had left to dance with Lord Wilson, a bachelor of very distinguished background who seemed to be hanging onto every word your best friend said.
Just as you turned to Violet to comment on how well-suited the pair looked, Anthony stormed over to where you were standing.
"It's unbelievable that she's even giving him the time of day," he said lowly, looking wholly unimpressed by the dance happening a few feet in front of him.
You could feel Anthony growing tense beside you as the seconds ticked by, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Three seconds of his sister speaking with a man and he was ready to explode already? He was worse than you thought.
You saw Daphne lean back as she laughed at something the gentleman said, and you knew you had to act fast before Anthony intervened.
“Oh, the music is wonderful tonight! Anthony, would you care for a dance?”
He tore his gaze away from his sister and looked at you, perplexed.
“Are you asking me to dance?”
“I believe I am, Anthony,” you said.
He scoffed, not quite believing you. “That is not very proper of you, Lady L/N.”
“And you are a great authority on propriety, I presume?" you said, a playful edge to your voice. "Given your… adventures as a rake, surely you have a better idea of what is proper than I do.”
Anthony choked at your bold choice of words, not used to people calling him out so publicly. “Y/N! Why do you want to dance with me then, if I'm such a rake?”
You rolled your eyes. “I just enjoy the music and want to dance. And I don’t want to give any other men the wrong impression,” you recited exactly what Daphne had told you to say.
He nodded reluctantly and took your hand. “Very well. One dance, then. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression of me either.”
This was the last time you ever did anything for Daphne. God, how difficult could one man be?
But all of your annoyance faded away once he placed his hand on your hip and spun you around. This was rather nice, you found yourself thinking. You hadn't properly danced at a ball yet, and you couldn't help but think that you'd missed out on a rather enjoyable activity.
The dance was going along quite smoothly, and you and Anthony seemed to be melting together, no longer two individuals but instead moving more like one entity. You were especially enjoying whenever his grip shifted slightly and his hand ran across the small of your back. To be truthful, you were simply having fun.
That is until you felt Anthony shifting you across the dance floor so you could get nearer to Daphne and the gentleman she was dancing with. Feeling Anthony's shoulders tense underneath your gingerly placed hands, you looked up at him.
Looking into his eyes, you raised your eyebrows. "She's fine, you know. You don't have to watch over her every second of every ball."
Anthony rolled his eyes, dismissing your comment. "Of course I do. She's my sister! I have to take care of her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her or if she ended up betrothed to a dolt."
"Anthony," you softened your tone. "It's quite alright. It's not all up to you. You've got an entire family to keep her safe. And me, of course."
You could feel his muscles relax under your hands. "Thank you," he breathed out. "I know all of that to be true. I just worry about her. And about you! But luckily there aren't many suitors of yours to scare off."
"Oh," you said, your voice squeakier than you intended. "Thank you?" you questioned. You weren't quite sure how to take his comment.
"No!" he rushed out, immediately realizing what his words sounded like. "I didn't mean it like that. Daphne had just mentioned that you're not as interested in finding someone right now since it's your first season. And I hadn't really seen you dance with anyone at one of these balls before. And-"
"It's no trouble, Anthony," you smiled, giggling at how flustered he'd gotten. "I appreciate the concern nonetheless."
He shook his head, still not believing that he'd been so rude toward you. As much as you were a familiar face around his home, he couldn't quite tease you the way he did Daphne or any of his other sisters, and he was dreadfully embarrassed that he had made you upset, even if just for a moment.
"If you ever want to dance again, just come to me, understood?" he said, his voice turning serious. "I don't need another one of you to worry about."
You could barely contain your laughter as the music came to an end. "Yes, Anthony," you said dutifully, smiling at how silly he was being.
Looking over at Daphne, you were pleased to see that everything had gone to plan and she'd had the chance to talk to Lord Wilson the entire time you'd been with her brother. It was a relief that she'd finally gotten a normal courting experience.
Before Anthony could reach her and wrench her away from her suitor, Daphne rushed over to you, grabbing your arm excitedly.
"Shall we take a turn about the ballroom?" she suggested, leaving you no room to protest as she led you away from her mother and brother.
You laughed at her excitement, glad that your best friend was finally enjoying herself.
"Thank you so much, Y/N, truly," she gushed, squeezing your arm affectionately. "That was absolutely incredible. It's the longest time I've been able to spend with a potential match without Anthony hanging over my shoulder."
"I'm happy to do it," you said amusedly. "He was that lovely, then?"
"Oh, absolutely not," she shook her head. "Lord Wilson was dreadfully boring. But at least now I know! And I don't have to pine over him or wonder what he would be like. I know for certain I'm not interested, and I can focus on finding my true love match."
"That's wonderful, Daph," you laughed. You truly held so much affection for her. It was endearing to see her so excited over spending time with a man she didn't even like.
Suddenly, Daphne slowed her pace. Turning you around, she held both of your hands and took a deep breath. "Yes, it was. Which is why I must ask you to dance with Anthony tomorrow night as well."
"What do you mean? Ask him to dance again? I thought this was only for tonight," you sounded unconvinced. Asking her brother to dance one time had already been enough of a hassle, but having to pretend to need him to dance with you once more was looking like an insurmountable challenge.
"Please, Y/N," she begged. "It's the only way I'll find a husband that isn't someone like Nigel Berbrooke," she added, whispering the last part.
It was true, Anthony seemed to have impossibly high standards that only the most unpleasant bachelor in Mayfair seemed to be able to meet. If you could do anything to protect Daphne from that unpleasant fate, you would do it.
"I suppose I could try tomorrow night. Though I can't promise he'll want to dance with me again. Anthony seemed quite reluctant tonight," you conceded.
"Nonsense," said Daphne, rolling her eyes. "Anthony loves you dearly, I can't imagine he'd ever turn you down."
"Whatever you say," you responded, unconvinced but unwilling to dampen your best friend's chipper mood. Besides, you had a wonderful time with Anthony tonight. How could another dance possibly go wrong?
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cakesunflower · 1 month ago
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lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 16
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Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15
A/N: I might start being silly and include fake instagram posts for this fic, one of them included in this one. I just hope it shows up LOL. Of course, I can't find exact pics for the situations I need them for, so the pictures in the posts are just there for you to see the poses/style of the pics I have in mind, and you picture the cast + Isla for them.
“Now this is what I’m talkin’ about,” Cleo coos, the satisfied smile evident in her voice as she stretches on the chair, dark skin glowing under the sun.
Isla grins from her own chair, laying on her stomach with the sun on her back, mostly exposed thanks to her bikini, while she reads the latest Emily Henry book laying before her. Music plays from a speaker somewhere, burgers and hot dogs being cooked on the grill manned by John B, as the rest of them lay and laze around on the deck of The Druthers, Sarah’s dad’s yacht.
It’s not often they hang out at Sarah’s house, and even less so on Ward’s yacht. Most of their time is spent on The Cut, at the beach, the Chateau. It’s where they’re most comfortable together, as a group. But when it’s just them, with no one else disrupting them, moments like these where they can use the yacht and it just be their group, they take advantage of being on Figure Eight. The Cut is their side of the island, no doubt, but between Sarah’s, Isla and Kie’s homes being on Figure Eight, Cleo coming over all of the time for girls’ days, JJ and Pope making deliveries on Figure Eight for Heyward, and John B, of course, spending time at Sarah’s place, they all end up spending time on this side of the island, too.
Isla knows, though, some of her friends aren’t always totally comfortable being here, since The Cut is what they truly know. Sometimes, if they’re feeling particularly stubborn—especially JJ—it’s like pulling teeth trying to get them to hang out somewhere on Figure Eight, or even just Sarah’s house. And Isla gets it; Kooks are assholes and when they see outsiders—or Pogues—they get all righteous and pick fights. Isla knows that Pogues can sometimes be just as bad over on The Cut, but at the same time, no one really kicks out the Kooks when they crash Pogue parties. So Isla can’t really blame her friends for not coming to Figure Eight if they don’t have to. It feels too Kook-like, according to JJ, and Isla agrees sometimes.
But today is an exception. It’s a beautiful day and Sarah had asked Ward if they could use the Druthers; not to take it out or anything, but leave it sitting at the Camerons’ dock while the Pogues hung out on it, grilling food and drinking, ahem, responsibly. 
They wanted to just have a chill hang out following JJ quitting his job, even though he didn’t want to be in Kooklandia. But Sarah had given him puppy dog eyes and Kie had smiled flirtatiously, and so he had joined them on the yacht, too. Plus, with enough beers and a few hits of the joint Kie had rolled, JJ has mellowed out.
Kie hasn’t said if anything happened between her and JJ when she left the yacht club with him, despite Isla questioning her. Isla hopes that her sister would tell her if something did happen, but that hope itself seems a little hypocritical, coming from her. So, Isla doesn’t push.
“How much longer on the food, John B?” Kie asks where she sits on the cushioned bench stretching along one side of the deck. She plucks the strings of her ukelele, playing the tune of the Arctic Monkeys song playing through the speakers.
“Two minutes,” John B calls back, waving at the smoke rising from the grill. Next to him, Pope had sliced tomatoes and pulled lettuce leaves, and is now slathering mayonnaise on the burger buns. They both stand shirtless in just swimming trunks, though John B wears a Kiss the Cook apron that Sarah gave him to shield his bare chest from potential oil splatters. 
Before lunch is served, Isla places a bookmark in her book before getting up, heading inside the lodge to go to the bathroom. She sees Wheezie on the couch, laying comfortably and seemingly playing a game on her phone. She had asked to hang out on the yacht with them today, and since they all like Wheezie, there was no reason not to invite her.
After Isla quickly uses the bathroom, she walks back out and smiles at the youngest Cameron. “How’s it going, Wheezie? Why’re you sitting in here?” Isla asks, sitting at the end of the L-shaped couch to face Wheezie laying on the other end.
“I get burnt too easily, no matter what kind of sunblock I use,” Wheezie says as she sits up, back resting against the arm rest.
“Well, the food is about to be done,” Isla says, glancing over her shoulder out the sliding glass doors. Looking back at Wheezie, she grins teasingly. “Want me to bring your food in here for you?”
Wheezie rolls her eyes, but she grins. “I think I’ll survive.”
Isla laughs as her gaze shifts, catching sight of the few beaded bracelets Wheezie wears on her wrist. Isla’s smile turns softer, Rafe’s face flashing through her mind. She drags her teeth across her bottom lip before commenting, “I like your bracelets. They’re pretty.”
“Oh, thanks,” Wheezie smiles, raising her wrist to give it a little shake of her bracelets.
“You make them yourself?” Isla asks, despite knowing the answer.
“Yup,” Wheezie answers, pushing up her glasses. “I have a huge bead collection. I even sell them online sometimes.”
“Yeah?” Isla grins, eyebrows rising. “Can you make me one? I’ll pay,” she adds, wiggling her eyebrows.
“First one’s free for friends,” Wheezie replies, which only widens Isla’s grin.
Just then, John B’s voice calls out, “Food’s ready! Come and get it!”
As she and Wheezie get up, the younger girl asks, “I have, like, a crap-ton of colored beads and different shaped beads, like stars and hearts, stuff like that. Is there anything you want specifically?”
Isla considers for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek. Rafe’s eyes flicker through her mind. “Baby blue beads, if you have them? And heart beads.”
Wheezie nods a couple of times. “I can do that!”
“Thanks, Wheezie,” Isla smiles as they step back out onto the deck, catching sight of her friends gathering towards the food.
Isla helps herself to a burger, piling on some lettuce and slices of tomatoes before stepping over to the cooler to grab a drink. Except when she opens it, her eyebrows furrow together. “Hey,” she calls over her shoulder. “Where are the sodas?”
“No sodas!” JJ shouts where he sits towards the front, raising his can of beer. She doesn’t need to see his eyes, which are shielded by sunglasses, to know he’s drunk as she catches sight of that lazy grin on his face. “Beer day only! You think Kooks drink Coke or water when they’re chilling on their yacht?” he snorts, patting the ledge of the boat.
“Seriously?” Isla groans. She’s already one beer in and isn’t particularly in the mood for another. “There was supposed to be water in here, too.”
“Come on, man,” Pope sighs in exasperation towards JJ, hand resting on the top of his cap.
Isla puts her plate down, taking another paper plate to cover her food from potential flies or bugs. “I’m gonna get the drinks,” she says, huffing out a breath as she reaches for her denim shorts and pulls them on. She knows the soda cans and water bottles are in the fridge at the house.
“I can go,” Pope says. “It’ll be heavy.”
Isla scoffs, throwing him a look. “I’ve lifted heavier shit at the restaurant,” she reminds him in a deadpan tone, pocketing her phone. She squints at the length of the dock leading to the Cameron estate, cracking a smile. “I’ll be back in ten.”
She walks off the Druthers and begins the trek down the dock. The music from the yacht grows more and more distant as she walks further down the dock, pulling out her phone and going to her texts.
To: Rafe
you back home yet?
Four steps later, his response comes in.
From: Rafe
Yeah, just got back in. You guys still on the Druthers?
To: Rafe
yeah but i’m coming into the house to get some drinks
From: Rafe
Thought you guys would be stacked up on alcohol
To: Rafe
alcohol, yes. but we need water and sodas too lol
She pockets her phone, getting off the dock and approaching the back glass doors of the house and walking inside. Isla hears someone moving around in the kitchen and when she walks in, she grins at the sight of Rafe. He’s in the process of making a protein shake, it looks like, dressed in gray pants with a light blue button down tucked in, sleeves rolled to the elbows. 
Isla bites her smiling bottom lip, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall on her side as she watches him. She knows he’s just coming back from some meetings that he sits in on with his dad, already having a place in Ward’s company for him to one day take over. Rafe’s watch shines on his wrist and her smile widens when she sees one of the beaded bracelets on his other wrist, the beads dark in color.
“Hi there,” she greets, catching his attention right when he puts the lid on the blender.
Rafe looks up, gaze finding hers and a smile instantly finding his face. It makes her heart flutter, how quickly the smile appears when he looks at her. It lights up his entire handsome face, his feelings so evident, and a comforting fire spreads through Isla—to know she’s the reason for that smile.
“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, blue eyes dipping down the length of her, her skin electrifying with delicious awareness everywhere his gaze touches. He rolls his bottom lip into his mouth as she walks over, and Rafe nods towards the box of Coca-Cola and some water bottles sitting on the counter. “Got your drinks out for you.”
“Why, thank you.” The corners of her lips dip downwards in a teasing grin, cheek turning into the shoulder she lifts. “You—” Her hand reaches forward to hook a finger through his belt loop, closing the gap between them while tilting her head back to smile at him as he looks down at her, eyebrows raised. “Look ridiculously handsome.”
It’s unfair how nicely the button down stretches across his broad chest and shoulders, strong forearms shown off with how the sleeves are rolled up. “Oh, yeah?” Rafe murmurs, his one hand leaning against the counter while the other slides up her long dark hair, threading through the strands before his hand cups the back of her head. He applies just the slightest bit of pressure to pull her head back while dipping his head, Isla’s eyes fluttering shut when his lips press to her smiling ones.
She hums into the kiss, chest against his torso and lips parting against his. “Mm, I can’t stay for long,” she murmurs, laughing breathlessly as Rafe trails kisses along her jaw, down her neck. Her head tilts back, eyelashes fluttering in response to his lips working along her neck, a breath shuddering out of her. “Rafe, your parents—”
“Dad and Rose are at work,” he tells her. Isla’s thighs clench when his teeth graze against her skin.
“Okay, but don’t—” Isla laughs when he teasingly, lightly, nips at her and her hands press to his chest. “Do not leave any marks.”
Rafe groans. “Boring,” he says, but when he pulls back he’s grinning. His hands shift so he’s cupping her cheeks, thumbs lightly digging into the dents of her dimples when she grins up at him. “Your cheeks are flushed,” he comments with a chuckle.
Isla hums. “Hot day. Are you going back to work?”
Rafe nods. “Yeah, got an hour and a half to kill though,” he tells her with a meaningful raise of his eyebrows.
“Oh-ho, don’t look at me,” Isla laughs, shaking her head. “I gotta get back to the others.”
But Rafe wraps his arms around her waist, hugging her to him with a burgeoning grin. “I’m sure you have some time to kill,” he muses, and Isla yelps in surprise, hands gripping Rafe’s shoulders, as he lifts her and sits her on the counter, the cool marble chilling the bare skin of her thighs. He kisses her again, hands sliding down her sides, teasing the band of her shorts. “We can be quick,” he says, each word emphasized by a kiss as his fingers brush over the button and zipper of her shorts, but he doesn’t go any further. “Hmm?”
He pulls back to look at her questioningly, but Isla chases his kisses, making him grin knowingly, and she groans because of course she can’t say no to him. “We really will have to be quick,” she says breathlessly, heart thumping at the thrill of anticipation.
Rafe’s smirk is wicked and eager, fingers working to undo her short’s button and zipper. And it’s risky—oh, it’s so risky, but cautious is thrown out the window the second Rafe tugs her shorts off, taking them off all the way and dropping them to the floor. Isla kisses him again, eager to feel the softness of his lips and taste him, as she feels his fingers work at the bows on one side at her hip of her bikini bottom, undoing it to pull it off.
His kisses trail down her jaw, her neck, and Isla’s head tilts back as his lips travel down her sternum, her stomach as he pulls her closer to the edge of the counter before he drops down. Isla’s heart is thunderously in her chest, lips parted as she watches Rafe part her legs further, an eager gleam in his eyes that meet hers as his tongue licks a stripe up her center.
“Oh—God,” Isla shudders, one hand finding the back of his head and the other gripping the edge of the counter, watching and feeling as he licks at her. Electricity shoots through her veins, watching her boyfriend who is dressed up the way he is, as he eats her like she’s his last damn meal, holding back nothing.
Isla’s breaths come out sharply, a moan escaping when Rafe’s teeth graze her clit, the moan becoming a cry when he sucks her clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs before his tongue does something—alternating from fluttering and fucking her, making Isla throw her head back as stars begin to dot her closed lids. Her fingers tighten in his hair, no doubt messing it up, but neither of them seem to care as her hips start moving at their own accord, her breaths coming out like whimpers as she looks down at Rafe, watching him lick and kiss and suck at her.
He looks like he’s in fucking heaven, which only makes her skin fire up more, desire and exhilaration and the slight alarm of potentially getting caught mix together to make her head spin even more. Over the thundering of her heart, Isla can hear the crude sounds of him eating her out, sucking at her lips and tongue licking into her. Rafe knows exactly what to do, showing just as much attention to her clit, and it’s enough for Isla to feel that familiar tensing, electrifying sensation low in her abdomen.
“Oh, God, Rafe—I can’t—I’m gonna—Please.”
Rafe hums against her, giving her clit a slow, wicked suck, and Isla is falling apart with a sharp cry of his name. White flashes across her closed eyes as her climax wracks through her, shaking as Rafe lets her ride through it on his tongue, taking in whatever she can give him.
She’s seconds away from collapsing on her back on the counter—oh, she can’t believe they just did that on the Camerons’ kitchen counter—but Rafe’s arm is around her waist, holding her up as he rises to his feet. When Isla looks at him, trying to catch her breath, a smirk dances on his lips, sinfully shining, as his hand presses to the small of her back, his skin hot against hers.
“Look at that,” Rafe muses cockily as Isla’s slightly widened eyes meet his. “Knew you’d be a good girl.”
Isla exhales sharply, her racing heart only just beginning to settle. “You’re crazy,” she remarks. “And a menace.”
He grins shamelessly. “You like it, though.”
She shakes her head, but smiles nonetheless with heat in her cheeks as Rafe gets some paper towels and helps her clean up. When he helps her off the counter, Isla’s knees shake only a little bit, but she’s able to stand as Rafe ties the strings of her bikini bottoms against her hip. “I can’t believe we just did that,” Isla whispers, hands on her warm cheeks as she watches Rafe tie a cute little bow before he bends to grab her shorts. “On your kitchen counter.”
“It’s no big deal, Isla,” he tells her with a light chuckle, holding her shorts up by the band for her to step into. 
“Your family cooks and eats here!” Isla hisses, one hand on his shoulder to keep her balance as she puts her right foot into the shorts and then the left. “I mean, that’s—”
“Baby, baby, stop worrying,” Rafe cuts in with a gentle laugh, buttoning and zipping her shorts before cupping her cheeks. Despite her mild freak out, she’s more than a little endeared that he practically dressed her after making her see stars. Chivalry isn’t dead, afterall. “I’ll clean up, if that helps.”
Isla’s eyes widen. “You better,” she says before reaching for the long box of Coke cans. “I gotta get back before they start asking questions.”
He nods to the water bottles. “Let me get you a bag for those.” He opens one of the lower cabinets and pulls out a plastic bag, putting the water bottles in there before handing her the bag. “You sure you don’t need help?”
Isla smiles, stepping over to him. “I’ll be fine, babe,” she says, rising on her toes to give him a quick kiss. “I’ll call you later?”
Rafe grins. “Looking forward to it.”
*****
The yard of the Chateau, with the view of the water, looks gorgeous.
Under Sarah’s leadership, the girls had transformed the outdoor space into a pretty, Pinterest-inspired dinner area. Isla and Kie had borrowed their dad’s pick up truck and used it to bring the bigger supplies, like folding tables and extra chairs. The sunset makes the sky bleed orange into red, reflecting off the water, and the fairy lights that are stretched along above them and tied around the trees and back porch pillars add a fantasy-like glow. 
The tables, just two and big enough to fit all seven of them, are covered with a rustic linen tablecloth that will probably get stained by the time dinner is over. There are two cute centerpieces of vases stocked with wildflowers that Isla had picked. The girls all each cooked multiple things—especially given there will be three teenage guys with them who can each eat two people’s worth of food. There’s lasagna, chicken pot pie, Cleo’s famous sandwiches, stuffed peppers, garlic bread. Not to mention the other bits of dessert to go with the birthday cake. Over the screened in porch, facing their set up, a custom made Happy Birthday John B! banner hung, along with balloons tied to the tops of their chairs.
“Okay, Pope just texted,” Cleo announces, her phone screen lighting up her face. “They’re ten minutes out!”
“Okay, okay,” Sarah rushes and Isla smiles in amusement because her friend almost resembles a headless chicken. But she looks pretty, unsurprisingly, in a pale yellow summer dress and sandals, hair in loose waves with the front braided back. “We’ve got everything, right?” she asks, her eyes critically looking over the table set up.
Kie nods, brushing away a fallen leaf from the table. “Good to go, dude,” she confirms, grinning excitedly.
They go inside the house and begin bringing the food out, which they made sure is warm and set it out on the table, though they don’t take off the lids or Seran wrap off the top of the dishes so flies or bugs don’t get into the food. Soda and beer bottles are also brought out and Isla bites back a smile as she watches Sarah needlessly—and nervously—straighten out the utensils placed by the plates.
“We’re good, right? This is good?” Sarah asks, looking around.
“Would you calm down?” Isla laughs, walking over and gripping Sarah’s shoulders from behind before hugging her. “John B’s gonna love it.”
Sarah’s nervousness is only a sign of how much she loves John B, and this is totally not the right time or circumstance to suddenly feel the dull ache of yearning deep in Isla’s chest as she thinks of Rafe. It’s accompanied by the sharp sting of jealousy that comes with witnessing her friends be so openly in love and together, while Isla feels as though she can’t share the beginning bloom of her new relationship with Rafe.
Maybe cowardice is holding her back. No matter when or how Isla tells her friends, she knows that their reactions are not going to be good. The guys and Rafe, with his friends, have gotten into plenty of fights and spats over the years, and Isla isn’t sure her friends are willing to move past that. Part of her worries that Rafe could spend the next few years being civil and, hell, even nice to them without their relationship being revealed, and it would still take a while for her friends not to hate him. Sarah would be the easiest to win over, Isla figures, because her relationship with Rafe has gotten better over the last couple of years.
But the Pogue versus Kook mentality that smothers their island is the root of the resentment between them. Perhaps it’s a bit delusional, but Isla hopes that if she can see Rafe has changed, that he’s a better person than the asshole who used to get into fights with JJ, John B, and Pope, then her friends can see it, too. They would just have to get past, well, the past. And that, she fears, isn’t going to be easy.
“What’s with all the lights?” Isla hears John B’s voice, and she pulls out of her thoughts quickly enough to join the others in exclaiming, “Surprise!”
She sees John B’s eyes widen, hands up in front of him as he says, “Oh, shit,” while a grin grows on his face as he looks at them all with shock lighting up his eyes. “What?” He laughs as JJ grabs his shoulders and gives him a shake, grinning, while Pope steals a page out of JJ’s books and gives John B a noogie.
“Happy birthday, John B,” Sarah smiles, walking over to him and throwing her arms around his neck. His arms instantly wind around her waist, and Kie whistles when the two of them share a kiss. When they pull back, Sarah’s smile widens. “Hope you’re ready to eat,” she says, fingers interlacing with his as she pulls him towards the tables.
She lets go of his hand long enough for the rest of them to step in, and Isla grins at her friend as she wraps her arms around him. “Happy birthday, buddy,” she murmurs, giving him a squeeze that he returns. “Feeling old yet?” she laughs as they pull away, patting his shoulder. 
John B’s grin is wide and smug. “Nineteen and never felt younger,” he chuckles, hooking his arm around her neck before they all make their way to the tables. John B lets out a laugh, rubbing his hands together as he says, “Guys, this looks amazing.” To JJ and Pope, he smirks. “No wonder you boys kept me out all day.”
JJ grins, tipping an imaginary hat to Sarah. “We were under strict orders,” he says with a wink as they all sit down.
John B sits at the head, Sarah to his right with Isla next to her and Kie on the other side of Isla. JJ sits to John B’s left, and Pope and Cleo are opposite of Isla and Kie. Among the dishes, there are two three-wick candles adding to the ambiance provided by the fairy lights. “Wow,” John B says again when he sits, smiling in awe as he observes the spread in front of him. “You guys went all out, huh?”
Pope shoots him a grin. “Anything for you, Grandpa,” he says, everyone’s laughter ringing when John B throws him a feigned glare at the knock at his age. Comes with the territory when he���s the oldest of their group.
“Let’s eat!” Sarah says, gesturing for everyone to begin helping themselves.
Their chatter fills the air, along with the clinking of utensils against plates as they serve themselves, piling up their plates with the home cooked dishes. Cleo, having hooked up her phone to the Bluetooth speaker sitting at the base of the tree nearby, plays music in the background, not too loud to overpower their conversation but enough to add to the atmosphere. Dishes are passed back and forth, drinks are poured, and smiles are ever present as the seven of them get lost in this small world they’ve built for themselves. 
The guys regale their adventures from today, which was really just an average day in OBX for them. Out on the boat, fishing, surfing, their usual activities that they never get tired of. It’s why John B didn’t suspect the surprise dinner because nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Isla knows that Sarah also has a romantic dinner planned with him tomorrow, but she wanted all of them to spend his actual birthday together, as a family.
And that’s exactly what they do, constant laughter ringing out in between eating and drinking and taking pictures for their memories. “Yo, we should do these more,” John B comments at one point, reaching for his glass. “Like, these family dinners,” he clarifies, gesturing to the table with the glass and a smile.
Cleo points a fork at him, arching an eyebrow. “You say that now because you and the boys did none of the cooking,” she points out.
Isla snaps her fingers, nodding. “Exactly.”
“Next time, y’all are cooking,” Kie says, raising her eyebrow at all three of the guys. 
“You trust us in the kitchen?” JJ grins at her, leaning back in his chair with an arm thrown over the back of Pope’s chair. Isla doesn’t miss the way JJ is looking at Kie, a dimple in his cheek and his blue eyes glinting with something far more than something that can be clocked under the guise of a platonic relationship. 
Isla rolls her smiling lips into her mouth, hiding it behind the rim of her glass as she sips the Coke. Her gaze flicks to her left, catching Sarah’s own knowing, smiling gaze. On the other side of Isla, Kie snorts out a laugh. “I’m sure you boys are capable,” she muses and oh, man, those two are definitely flirting, whether they realize it or not.
Now Isla is really wondering if something did happen between Kie and JJ, and her sister just hasn’t told her about it. 
When they finish eating dinner, they all take the time to take some pictures before Sarah heads inside. She’s only gone for a few minutes, but Isla sees John B’s gaze constantly going to the house, like he’s looking out for her. It makes Isla smile, even as her phone vibrates and she checks to see a text from Sarah.
From: Sarah👸🏼🩵
coming!!!!
Isla thumbs up the message and goes on her phone’s camera, getting to her feet and wiggling her eyebrows at John B’s questioning look right as the backdoor opens and Sarah walks out. “Happy birthday to you. . .” She starts singing with a laugh, and with Isla recording, the rest of them join in on the singing as Sarah walks towards John B, holding the cake with two candles, reading 19, are lit on top and make Sarah’s smiling face glow.
The group of them sing happy birthday to John B as he laughs, delight lighting up his face as Sarah puts the cake in front of him on the table, her smile wide as JJ hands him a knife to cut the cake. “Cut it, old man!” JJ says over the rest of their cheering.
Isla records John B blowing out the candles before he cuts the cake, Sarah standing next to him with her hands pressed together after clapping, pressed against her smiling lips as she watches John B cut the cake. He takes a slice, then, and offers it to Sarah, and Isla and Kie whistle as he feeds it to her. And Isla is so glad she has that video to play it at their inevitable wedding, where they recreate that very moment with their wedding cake. Isla can already, so easily, picture it as she posts one of the photos they took tonight on Instagram.
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“Alright, alright, step aside,” Pope says once they’ve finished, taking the knife from John B. “I’ll cut.”
Cleo slides up next to him. “I’ll give it out,” she says, grabbing the pile of small plates.
They get to work, with Pope cutting slices and placing them on plates, which Cleo hands to the rest of them. When Isla notes that JJ is occupied with Sarah and John B, she quickly but casually makes her way to where Kie is cleaning up more of the table and bringing dishes inside. Isla grabs the lasagna dish and hurries after her sister into the house, and Kie glances at her over her shoulder.
“What’s up?” she asks as they enter the kitchen, as though she knows Isla is after something.
“Come on, be honest,” Isla starts, placing the dish on the counter. “Did something happen between you and JJ the other day?”
Kie presses her lips together as she places the pile of dirty plates in the sink. With her back to Isla, her shoulders seem tense, bracing her hands against the counter before she slowly turns to face Isla. Isla, on the other hand, is watching her with eyes slightly widened with anticipation, biting back the urge to yell I knew it! before Kie even has had the chance to say anything.
“We’re going on a date,” Kie slowly says, lips twitching as though she is struggling not to smile.
But Isla’s jaw has dropped, eyes even wider as she stares at her sister in disbelief. So many thoughts run through her head in response to Kie’s words, her pulse racing in excitement, but the first thing she blurts out is, “And you didn’t tell me?!”
“Shh! Keep your voice down,” Kie hisses, widening her eyes as she walks towards Isla. “We didn’t wanna say anything to anyone until, you know, after. We don’t wanna bring any attention to it because we kind of just wanna see for ourselves, you know, if anything is there.”
Isla scoffs, forehead creasing as she shoots Kie a really? look. “There’s something definitely there,” she states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world—because it is.
Kie rolls her eyes before letting out a breath, her shoulders sinking. Her expression shifts, then, and Isla recognizes the guilt that softens her dark eyes, the downwards tilt of her lips. “I know I should have told you. I’m sorry I didn’t.” Isla’s lips part, but Kie’s hands suddenly find Isla’s, cutting Isla off. “You’re my sister and, y’know, we tell each other all the shit. You’ve been trying to get me to open up to JJ about my feelings and I finally took your advice, and you’re the first person I should’ve told instead of keeping you in the dark.”
Isla can’t lie—the second Kie had told her about going on a date with JJ, Isla had felt a pang of hurt that Kie hadn’t said a word. That she had purposefully kept it a secret even when Isla questioned her about it earlier. Except. . . That’s hypocritical of her, isn’t it? Isla can’t truly, genuinely, be angry with Kie about this when she is keeping an even bigger secret about her own love life.
So whatever guilt Kie is feeling right now, Isla suddenly gets wracked with it tenfold, her throat drying and stomach bottoming out at the expression Kie wears. At this moment, Isla so badly wants to come clean. She wants to tell her sister about her own love life—her boyfriend. And yet, Isla doesn’t feel ready, and she doesn’t think Kie and their friends are ready to hear it, either. Never mind that it’s John B’s birthday and Isla doesn’t want to take the attention away from her friend and his day. 
That doesn’t stop her stomach from twisting, though, or feeling her skin prickle with guilt as Kie holds her hands. Kie’s secret with JJ is nothing in comparison to what Isla is hiding from everyone.
“Hey, no, stop,” Isla says with a shake of her head, forcing out a laugh through her bone dry throat. She squeezes Kie’s hands reassuringly. “I’m not upset, alright? I get it. You didn’t have to tell me anything until you were ready to.”
Kie blinks a few times, still looking worried. “Are you sure? Because, like, I know we don’t keep that many secrets from each other, if we even do, you know? I just—”
“Kiara,” Isla says, and the use of her full name has Kie pausing. Resisting the urge to swallow the guilt-laden lump in her throat, Isla smiles again. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m just glad you and JJ finally got your heads out of your asses,” she adds playfully, trying to lighten the burden on her chest. It only works a little when Kie laughs.
“Yeah, me too,” she smiles, nodding. To Isla’s surprise, Kie pulls her in for a hug, her arms tight. “Thanks for talking some sense into me about JJ.”
With her chin resting on Kie’s shoulder, Isla’s expression falls and her eyes squeeze shut, feeling like an absolute ass for the hypocrisy that tightens her stomach. Especially with Kie mentioning the lack of secrets between them, which has always been true—except this time. Isla tries reassuring herself that it’s for good reason, that Kie and everyone else aren’t ready to hear the truth that they don’t know even exists. 
Still, with her eyes squeezing shut, Isla pushes back the burning sensation. “Anytime,” she responds to Kie.
Thankfully, her sister doesn’t notice the way Isla’s voice has become hoarse with guilt in just that one word answer.
-----
taglist: @talkfastromance4 @you-got-me-starry-eyed @invisiblexcth @freshsturniolo346 @theafournier97 @danismyth04 @perfectprettypisces @pameluuu @melsbels-zip @gabrielapereze11 @katieeeeb @diary-of-jj @cenzie811148 @hangmanscoming
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n30nwrites · 11 months ago
Text
Fetch (Shifter! Tf141 x Male! Reader)
Chapter 4 of Good Doggy
Masterlist
Tw - Drunk Assholes (inspired by real stories from me :)), Slight blood warning, Language (its a COD fanfic??), OKAY SO LIKE I GUESS SLIGHT SUGGESTIVE STUFF?? I WANTED TO MAKE IT LONGER. A SMALL SCENE OF NSFW BUT NOTHING TOO DEEP BUT STILL PUTTING A WARNING, ITS IN BETWEEN THE NSFW GRAPHICS. Gaz has a praise kink.
Beta Reader/Editor - @letmelickyoureyeballs
Updated: 3/5/2024
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The bar is filled. It’s a Friday night, of course it is but you hate it. You don’t like dealing with assholes. Not after the conversation with Maya.
“I cannot serve you anymore. If you don’t decide to leave I will call the cops.” The man in front of you shouts profanity after profanity, angered by the law. Humans were stupid that way. “Here’s a water.” You slam it down, annoyed.
Idiots. Drunken idiots.
Yeah by Usher starts playing. The club you worked at was loud, you have ear plugs in just so you wouldn’t be overstimulated by everything, but you could still hear enough.
“Why do you have a mask on?” He's irritated already which means that this conversation will not end well. You usually strive to give your coworkers the assholes, not caring that he'll have to deal with it. 
"It's to stay safe, I don't want to get sick-"
The man cuts you off and you debate on spitting in his drink, "That's not gonna keep you safe, the only way to stay safe is to build your immune system." He keeps yelling, and some spit leaves his mouth. You place down the menu in front of him as he keeps yelling, "That's the only way to stay safe, not a stupid mask!" 
You walk away, going to your coworker and telling him to get his order cause if you do you'll be fired. You instead went over to the list of music that was going to play and put on a favorite song of yours, not caring for some disgruntled noise from other patrons as you bobbed your head to the beat, distracting yourself from the day you had.
"Ye lik' this song mo gaol?" It's the familiar accent and the way the hairs on your arms stand makes you more irritated. It was roughly 1 a.m. and most people would be tired. You'd reckon it would start slowly down in 20 minutes, which meant you could get some work done.
You turned to face Soap.
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"I'd hope so, I chose it." You tell him as you get closer to him. "You still stalking me?"
"Ah'ahmnot a stalker, juist wanted a drink." He smiles boyishly, as if he wasn't Sergeant John ``Soap" MacTavish with more confirmed kills than unconfirmed.
"At the bar I work at?"
"Juist a coincidence"
"I'd prefer it if you didn't lie to me." You told him while you mixed a drink. "You obviously have something for me."
"A'm in loue wi' ye"
"Not possible." You tell him, interrupting his "confession". You set the drink down in front of him. "$13" You tell him the price.
"I didnae orda a drink?" He looked cheeky, and you wished some part of you didn't find him attractive. But he looks up at you and you can't help but imagine other scenarios, particularly some where you're both naked.
"Well you can either pay for the drink and drink it, or pay for the drink and I'll drink it and talk with you some more." Soap immediately puts down two 20s.
"Th' rest can go to mah bartender." You slip the extra cash into your pocket, going to your POS system and breaking out for your thirty minute break that was required. You grabbed the drink on the counter and left your work area, Soap following behind like a puppy. You found a booth in the corner most people avoided. Sitting down at what could fit five others at most. Your mind goes back to Maya, who’s probably taking care of Icarus, your dog, and Marigold, her familiar. Maya worked as well, but it was an in-house job where she dealt with customers in need of assistance.
"You hurt our feelin`s earlier," He says first as you take a sip of the drink you made. "Hae we dane something tae offend ye?"
"Don't want to get your hopes up." You tell him, "I'm not one for soulmates."
"So ye know?"
"Of course I do. You reek of wolf." He starts to sniff himself and you want to laugh at how ridiculous it looks. "You wouldn't be able to smell it. And it's not a bad smell, just obnoxious cause there's four of you."
"So ye aren't human." 
"Nope, never was."
"What are ye?" You never felt shame in what you were. Didn't feel shame in general, it took Maya for you to start walking around in clothes. 
But you didn't want to tell him. 
"None of your business."
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Gaz knows that Price is going to talk about the bloodshed in the morning. He knows that Price already knows but doesn't care to stop it tonight. Price is just too drunk, Ghost doesn’t care, and Soap is who knows where. It wasn’t like he killed humans tonight, just some animals that were definitely going to get the town's attention (He might’ve killed a bear) but not the hunters.
He's decorated in blood and he loves it. It soothes some messed-up part of him. His teeth still have specks of flesh in it, that he licks clean
He smells you. Heavenly you. You who smells like some plant burning. He didn't understand it, but he loved it.
You're next to Soap, and Soap has the biggest grin as you walk together. 
Though you probably don't see it as together. You probably see it as him stalking you, but you don't seem to have your usual air of distaste. You have sunglasses on, something he hates cause he can't stare at them. Your mask is black, and you also have a hood on. You look perfect, he just wishes you were in his bedroom.
Preferably naked and-
Nope.
He kind of hates it at the same time though. Soap getting so close to you, still determined to find a way to be with you. Soap didn't lose hope, not like Gaz did. But he'd be damned if he didn't do something. He lets out a growl, standing menacingly as he runs forward, towards both of you, knocking Soap down as he growls at him, his teeth snapping. If Gaz doesn't get to be happy, Soap shouldn't either.
He just wasn't expecting your reaction.
"Get off him." He followed your command, staring up at you and following your eyes when you bent down to be eye level with him. "God you are so..."
"Cute." Your voice gets higher as you gently rub behind his ears, the blood not bothering you at all. Gaz almost forgets how you looked at him earlier, your words that cut him melted away and he just thinks he has a chance.
You loved dogs, who wouldn't? Even if that dog was actually a grown (hot) man. 
"Look who's such a pretty boy." You kept rubbing his head as Soap just stared in shock. "Such a handsome boy, who did you eat?" You coo at Gaz, who leans into your touch and praise, enjoying everything about this moment. Gaz has to take a moment to remember himself, that the praise you give him is nothing.
But he can't help but imagine scenarios in a different setting.
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NSFW Start
It's such a simple setting. In his room, the lights are low. He's flushed, shirtless and on the floor, while you sit above him.
"Can't you be a good boy for me?" You lick your lip before biting it, you stare at him, your eyes actually showing, looking at him with lust and love. A perfect combination, and your lips, god, you were perfect for him. "Come on, you know you want to." You lower your shorts and Gaz gulps, he stares at your cock, mesmerized.
"You're hungry for it, aren't you whore?"
NSFW End
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"Arr ye fecken' kidding me?" Soap says, breaking the peaceful moment, and Gaz's daydream. "A' it took wis a wolf fur ye to lik' us?" 
"I still don't like you all, but dogs are always a great company." You keep petting him, Gaz's eyes closing slightly, and Soap sits up. 
"Ah can do that toh." His accent gets thicker as he rushes to grab your hand, forcing it away from Gaz and instead putting it in his hair. Which was mostly shaved on the sides.
"You aren't a cute puppy right now." You yank your hand away.
"He's fooken' bloody!"
Gaz licks your face, and you slightly smile.
----
NEXT
Listen, hating people is one thing but I could never hate a dog, let alone a wolf. Reader still doesn't feel comfortable around the boys, but he does like the dogs.
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novaursa · 4 months ago
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Hey again! 😃 Ok, so I've got 4 requests for you (since now it's 1K words per person).
I was thinking of some "lost" scenes from that Alicent fic I requested, but this time it's about the Reader's bond with each of his children.
With Aegon - A scene in which R catches Aegon drunk after a night out, and pulls him aside to listen to his concerns about fulfilling his duties and being responsible in general. Reader remains understanding and tells Aegon that no matter how old he gets, he can always count on his help, but that he has to find his way on his own (Aegon looks more closely at his father and sets him as an example of how a prince/king should behave.
With Helaena - A scene in which Reader takes her to Essos for a trip to a jungle (idk if there exists jungles in Essos, but let's pretend they do) on a quest to find more exotic bugs. Should be fun and playful! Maybe R trips over a root and lands on his bum, and that's what makes his darling daughter laugh so much.
With Aemond - That one scene after he gets gifted with "The Pink Dread". The Reader comforts him and even dares to tell him that should he have had a pink(ish) dragon, that's the nickname that he would bestow upon it (think of how people would expect TPD to be some small creature - yes, like a pig - but no, it's a FRIGGIN' DRAGON! 😂😂😂). Also, R mentions how he sees a lot of himself in Aemond (particularly related to his own youth).
With Daeron - The scene where he visits him in Oldtown and where R goes all buddy-buddy with Gwayne (one of the only sane guys in HoTD, I swear). Daeron impresses R with his musical skills and takes him to see Tessarion (who is happy to play the part of a big puppy - like rolling around on its back and bearing its belly to get free scratches 😉).
Where Dragons Dare (Lost Chapters)
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- Summary: Unrecorded moments with each of your children, that no Maester will ever write about.
- Pairing: father!reader/targ!children (platonic)
- Note: Since this was regarding your previous request that was turned into three part series, I've made an exception for you. Enjoy. ❤️
- Rating: Mild 13+
- Previous part: 3/3
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog
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You stride through the torchlit corridors of the Red Keep, the evening air heavy with the scent of incense and wine from the feast held in your honor. A king’s life is one of constant vigilance, not only for the realm but also for your own blood. The weight of your crown and responsibilities settles upon your shoulders, the unspoken burdens of the Iron Throne. It is a life you have come to accept. 
But not everyone does. 
The clink of armor catches your attention, and you hear a hushed voice speaking to one of the guards near the side entrance. You already know what you will find before you round the corner. Aegon—your eldest son, your heir—is once again trying to sneak into the keep after a night in the lower city. His form, slightly slouched, leaning against the doorway, makes it clear that his night's indulgences have taken their toll.
You sigh softly, but there is no malice in it. This is not the first time. It won’t be the last.
"Aegon," your voice, even and steady, cuts through the stillness of the night, causing your son to stiffen. He turns slowly, his eyes glassy, yet there is a flicker of recognition. His silver hair, unkempt, falls into his face as he gives you a sheepish smile, one that reminds you so much of his mother when she tries to conceal her worries. 
"Father," he mumbles, straightening himself as much as his state will allow. He’s a prince of the blood, but in this moment, he looks like nothing more than a wayward boy caught in the act.
"Walk with me," you say simply, motioning for him to follow. There's no need for a reprimand, not yet. You both know where this conversation is headed. You step into the open air, out onto one of the quieter terraces that overlook the city below.
Aegon follows, his steps slightly uneven, but he doesn't protest. The two of you stand there for a moment, the distant sounds of King's Landing below humming in the background. The city never truly sleeps, much like a king’s responsibilities. 
After a while, you glance at him from the corner of your eye. "You’ve been out drinking again."
Aegon leans on the stone balustrade, staring at the lights flickering in the darkness. "It’s not like anyone missed me," he mutters, his voice heavy with bitterness. "I’m no good at all this. What does it matter?"
"It matters because you’re the future king," you reply, your tone calm but firm. "Your actions don’t only reflect on yourself; they reflect on the crown, on our family."
At this, Aegon snorts softly, his lip curling into a sardonic smile. "Aegon the Unready, that’s what they’ll call me," he mutters, almost to himself. "They all expect me to be like you. I’ll never be that. I can barely stand the weight of their stares, let alone a crown."
There is silence for a moment, broken only by the distant sounds of the city below. The firelight dances across the sharp planes of your son’s face, making him seem older than he is, and yet still so young. You can see the weight of expectation, the fear of failure, all of it etched into his features. 
You step closer, resting a hand on his shoulder, the familiar comfort of a father’s touch. "I wasn’t always certain either," you admit, the words carrying the weight of your own journey to the throne. "When I was young, I doubted myself just as you do now."
Aegon looks at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. It’s rare for you to speak of your own vulnerabilities. You are the king—stoic, dutiful, unwavering. But tonight, you let that mask slip, if only for your son.
"You don’t need to be me," you say quietly. "You need to find your own way. Being king isn’t about perfection. It’s about responsibility, about understanding that you carry the hopes and fears of an entire realm on your shoulders. And yes, sometimes it’s heavy. But that’s why we’re here—to bear it, so others don’t have to."
Aegon’s gaze falls to the ground, his fingers tapping nervously against the stone railing. "I’m not sure I can," he admits after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to fail you."
Your heart clenches at the vulnerability in his words, the rawness of his fear. You step closer, turning to face him fully. "You won’t," you say firmly. "Not as long as you’re willing to try. You will make mistakes, we all do, but that’s part of the journey. You don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, Aegon, always."
His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, you see not just the rebellion, not just the stubbornness, but the uncertainty and the longing for approval. He is so much like you were at his age, fighting against the very things that would one day define him.
"You’ve always been there for me," he says, his voice softer now, more introspective. "I just…I don’t want to be a disappointment."
"You’re not," you reply, without hesitation. "And you never will be. You will grow into this role, just as I did, just as many before us have. But it takes time. You will find your way, but you must be willing to take the first steps. Recklessness won’t serve you well when you sit on the throne."
Aegon nods, swallowing hard. He’s listening now, really listening. You can feel the shift in him, the internal battle as he begins to process your words. His posture relaxes just slightly, and he looks at you with a newfound respect.
"I look at you," he says quietly, "and I see what a king should be. You always know what to do. How did you learn?"
You smile faintly, the memories of your own trials and lessons flickering in your mind. "By making mistakes. By learning from them. And by trusting in those who love me. You’ll learn too, Aegon. But you have to start by taking responsibility for your actions. If you want to be a good king, you have to be a good man first."
He nods again, more resolutely this time. There’s still doubt in his eyes, but also something else—a spark of determination, a glimmer of hope.
"I’ll try," he says, the words holding more weight than any drunken apology ever could.
"I know you will," you reply, squeezing his shoulder one last time before stepping back. "But for now, let’s get you to bed. You can begin to prove yourself tomorrow."
As you guide your son back into the castle, you feel the familiar pull of duty and love intertwine within you. The road ahead will not be easy for Aegon, just as it wasn’t easy for you. But tonight, at least, a small part of that path has been cleared, and your son—your heir—is beginning to take his first steps toward the man he will one day become.
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The warm, humid air of the jungle clings to your skin as you lead Helaena through the dense foliage, her excitement as palpable as the buzz of insects that fills the air around you. She’s always been different from her siblings—quiet, introspective, but with a mind that sees wonders where others see only the mundane. Today, her joy is infectious, and as you glance over your shoulder, you see her eyes wide with fascination, darting from tree to tree in search of her beloved bugs.
"Father, look!" she exclaims, her voice bright with enthusiasm. She crouches down, her slender fingers delicately picking up a beetle with iridescent wings, the colors shifting from emerald to sapphire in the dappled sunlight that pierces through the canopy above.
You smile at her, marveling at how her joy lights up the whole forest, making even the most alien surroundings feel like home. "That’s a beautiful one," you say, stepping closer to inspect her latest find. "What do you suppose it eats?"
Helaena tilts her head, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she watches the beetle crawl over her hand. "I think it feeds on nectar from the flowers," she muses, "or maybe the sap from the trees. Look at the way its legs move—so delicate, but strong."
You crouch beside her, nodding as you study the small creature. "You could be right. You always know more about these things than I do." Your tone is light, teasing, but there’s truth in your words. Helaena’s understanding of the natural world has always been beyond her years, her connection to it deep and mysterious.
The two of you continue your journey deeper into the jungle, the air growing thicker with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. Vines drape lazily from towering trees, and the occasional call of a bird echoes in the distance. Helaena moves with purpose, her gaze constantly scanning the ground, the trees, the air above for any new creatures she hasn’t yet discovered.
"Do you think there are bugs in Essos that no one in Westeros has ever seen?" she asks suddenly, her voice filled with a childlike wonder that makes you smile.
"I’m sure of it," you reply, pushing aside a low-hanging branch to let her pass. "That’s why we came here, isn’t it? To find something new, something no one’s ever written about in their tomes or sung about in their songs. Maybe you’ll discover the most magnificent bug the world’s ever seen."
Helaena beams up at you, her lavender eyes shimmering with excitement. "And I’ll name it after you," she says with a giggle, skipping ahead a few paces. "A beetle, maybe, or a butterfly—something regal."
You chuckle at the thought, shaking your head. "I can’t think of anything less regal than a bug named after me. But if anyone could make it sound important, it’s you."
The laughter between the two of you echoes through the trees, light and easy, as you continue on your way. You’re not following any particular path—there are no roads here, no guides to lead you. Just the two of you, father and daughter, on an adventure through the wilds of Essos.
As you step over a moss-covered log, you glance back at Helaena to see her crouching low again, examining a cluster of bright red flowers. Her fascination with the natural world has always been a source of pride for you, something that sets her apart in a family so often consumed by politics and power. Out here, in the quiet of the jungle, she’s in her element.
You’re so focused on her that you don’t notice the thick root winding through the underbrush until it’s too late. Your foot catches, and before you can catch yourself, you’re tumbling forward, arms flailing as you lose your balance. You hit the ground with a soft thud, landing squarely on your backside.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then—
Helaena bursts into laughter, the sound bright and musical, like the ringing of silver bells. She clutches her sides, doubling over as the laughter shakes her small frame, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
"Father!" she manages to gasp between fits of giggles. "You—you tripped on a root!"
You sit there for a moment, stunned, before letting out a laugh of your own. "Apparently, your father is no match for a jungle root," you say, shaking your head as you sit up, brushing leaves from your clothes. "I was so busy watching you, I forgot to watch where I was going."
Helaena, still laughing, steps over to you and offers a hand, her grin wide and infectious. "Here, let me help you up, Father. You’ve fallen in the dirt like one of your regal bugs."
You take her hand, letting her pull you to your feet, though it’s more symbolic than anything—she’s small and slender, and you mostly stand up on your own. Still, the gesture warms your heart, and you smile down at her.
"I suppose even kings can fall every now and then," you say, brushing off the last of the dirt from your breeches. "Especially when they’re distracted by a daughter who’s far too clever for her own good."
Helaena’s laughter finally subsides, though her smile remains, bright and full of affection. "I’m just glad I was here to see it," she says, her voice teasing but sweet. "I’ll have to remember this next time Aegon or Aemond try to act all serious."
You raise an eyebrow at her, unable to stop the grin spreading across your face. "Oh? Are you planning on using this against me?"
She shrugs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe. It depends on how much I need to bargain with them next time."
The two of you share another laugh, and the moment feels light, easy—like the weight of the crown and the responsibilities you both bear have been left far behind in Westeros, forgotten in the simplicity of a jungle trek and shared laughter.
As you continue walking, you let Helaena lead, her steps more confident now as she moves through the underbrush. The jungle is alive with sound—chirping insects, rustling leaves, the distant calls of unseen animals—and you find yourself marveling at how small and vast the world can feel all at once.
"Father," Helaena says after a while, her tone more thoughtful now, "thank you for bringing me here. I know there are more important things you could be doing back home, but…this means a lot to me."
You smile at her, feeling a swell of pride and affection. "There’s nothing more important than spending time with you, Helaena. The realm can wait a few days. Besides, I think we’ve both learned something valuable today—like how to avoid tree roots."
She giggles again, but there’s warmth in her eyes, the kind of warmth that makes you realize just how precious these moments are. The crown may be heavy, the throne demanding, but here, in the jungles of Essos, it’s just you and your daughter, sharing an adventure neither of you will ever forget.
"Now," you say, clapping your hands together as you glance around at the trees towering above, "shall we see what other exotic bugs we can find? Maybe one that doesn’t involve me falling on my backside this time?"
Helaena grins, her face lighting up with renewed excitement. "Let’s!" she says, darting ahead into the greenery, her laughter trailing behind her as you follow, ready for whatever adventure lies ahead.
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The halls of the Red Keep seemed quieter than usual today. It was a rare stillness, the kind that hung heavy with unspoken tension. You could sense something had happened, though no one had yet brought it to your attention. You had spent much of the afternoon in the library, pouring over old maps of the Narrow Sea, but something in the air felt wrong.
As you rounded the corner toward the private wing where your children’s chambers lay, you heard faint sniffling. The sound was quiet, but unmistakable. You quickened your pace and followed the sound until you found Aemond, sitting alone on the cold stone floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. His face was buried, but even from this distance, you could tell he had been crying.
"Aemond?" you called softly, kneeling beside him. "What’s happened?"
Aemond looked up at you, and your heart sank at the sight of his tear-streaked face. His usual stern, stoic expression was gone, replaced by vulnerability, the kind only a young boy trying so hard to be a man could wear.
"It’s nothing, Father," he muttered, wiping furiously at his eyes, though the gesture did little to hide the redness.
You sit beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Something has upset you, and I would like to know what it is."
For a moment, Aemond says nothing, as if weighing whether or not to burden you with whatever weighs on him. But eventually, his resolve crumbles, and he sighs, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s them. Jace, Luke...and Aegon. They—they played a trick on me."
You feel a tightening in your chest. You had heard rumblings before of the teasing that occasionally happened between your sons and your sister Rhaenyra’s sons, but this felt different. There was something more painful in Aemond’s voice.
"What kind of trick?" you ask gently, though you already have a sinking suspicion about what might have occurred.
Aemond’s cheeks flush with shame as he looks away. "They—they told me they had a dragon for me," he begins slowly, each word weighed with embarrassment. "I’ve always wanted one, and I thought… maybe this time…"
His voice trails off, and you feel your heart break for him. You know how much Aemond has longed for a dragon of his own, how he watches his siblings and cousins with their dragons, envy and longing etched into his every glance. 
"They said it was waiting for me," he continues, his voice shaking. "So I went to the dragon pit. I was so excited, Father. I thought—maybe, finally—" His breath hitches as fresh tears well in his eyes, but he quickly wipes them away, trying to be strong.
"And then I saw it," he says bitterly. "A pig. They dressed up a pig and called it the 'Pink Dread.' They were all laughing, all of them, even Aegon."
A cold anger flares in your chest at the cruelty of the prank. You can picture it all too easily: Aegon and the boys snickering behind Aemond’s back as he approached the animal, thinking, for one precious moment, that his dream had finally come true. You know how deeply this would have cut Aemond, how much it hurt him to be humiliated in front of his family. But for now, you push that anger aside. This moment is about Aemond, not them.
"Come here," you say softly, pulling Aemond into your arms. He resists at first, too proud to cry in front of you, but after a moment, he lets himself lean into you, his small frame trembling as he clutches at your tunic.
You stroke his hair, the familiar silver strands soft beneath your fingers. "I’m sorry that happened to you, Aemond," you whisper, your voice full of warmth and understanding. "That was cruel, and you didn’t deserve it."
He pulls back slightly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "They all have dragons," he says, his voice thick with frustration. "Why not me? Why am I the only one without one?"
You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his question. "Sometimes, life doesn’t seem fair," you say honestly. "It can feel like the things we want most are the things we’re denied, no matter how hard we wish for them."
Aemond looks up at you, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "But one day, Aemond," you continue, your voice full of quiet conviction, "you will have a dragon of your own. I know it. And when you do, you’ll be a better rider than any of them, because you’ve waited. You’ve longed for it. That’s something they’ll never understand."
He listens intently, his shoulders relaxing slightly as your words settle in. "And you know," you add with a smile, "if you ever did have a dragon that was pink, you could give it a name far more fitting than they ever imagined."
Aemond blinks at you, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"
You lean in conspiratorially, a playful grin tugging at your lips. "Think about it. A pink dragon, breathing fire, soaring over the battlefield. No one would laugh then. And you could call it the 'Pink Dread'—a name that would strike fear into the hearts of your enemies. They would hear it and tremble, knowing what it meant."
For the first time, a small smile pulls at Aemond’s lips. The idea takes root in his mind, and you can see his imagination sparking to life. "The Pink Dread," he murmurs, as if testing the words. "That… that would be funny. No one would laugh at a pink dragon breathing fire."
You nod, your heart warming at the sight of his growing confidence. "Exactly. They may laugh now, but one day, you’ll be the one laughing."
Aemond looks up at you, his blue eyes searching yours, and for a moment, you see a younger version of yourself reflected in him. The same yearning, the same fierce determination to prove oneself, the same frustration at being left behind while others surged ahead. You had been that boy once, trying to find your place, trying to prove you were worthy.
"I see a lot of myself in you, Aemond," you say softly, your voice filled with quiet pride. "When I was your age, I often felt the same way. I watched others get what I longed for, and it made me feel… less. But it didn’t stay that way forever. And it won’t for you either."
Aemond frowns slightly, looking down at the ground. "You were like me?"
You chuckle softly, ruffling his hair. "More than you might think. I wasn’t always so sure of myself. It takes time, but you’ll find your way, Aemond. You’ll grow into your own, just like I did. And when you do, there will be no one more capable than you."
Aemond’s small smile widens slightly, the last traces of tears fading from his eyes. "I’ll remember that, Father," he says, a quiet strength returning to his voice.
You wrap your arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. "You are strong, Aemond. Stronger than you know. And one day, the world will see that too."
As you sit there with him, the warmth of the Red Keep surrounding you both, you know that the sting of today’s prank will fade, but the lessons Aemond is learning now—about resilience, about strength, about finding his place in the world—will shape him into the man he will one day become. And you will be there, guiding him, as he grows into the prince, and the dragonrider, you know he is destined to be.
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It had been far too long since you’d visited Oldtown, and the excitement of seeing Daeron again filled you with anticipation. His letters had spoken highly of his time here, his training, and how much he had grown, but there was nothing quite like seeing it for yourself.
The familiar scent of saltwater from the Whispering Sound mixed with the spices and perfumes of the bustling city as you made your way through its cobbled streets. Your memories of Oldtown were filled with childhood games, racing through the alleyways, and the company of old friends. One of those friends, you knew, was waiting for you just inside the Hightower.
As you passed through the gates, you saw him: Gwayne Hightower, your childhood companion and steadfast friend. He stood tall, wearing the colors of House Hightower, a broad smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of you.
"Your Grace!" Gwayne called out, his arms open in welcome as he walked toward you with the easy confidence that only an old friend could have. "I was wondering when we’d see you again."
You smiled broadly, clasping his forearm in a firm handshake before pulling him into a warm embrace. "Gwayne, it’s been far too long," you said, clapping him on the back before stepping back to look at him. "You haven’t changed a bit."
Gwayne chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, I could say the same of you, but we both know a crown has its way of changing a man."
You smirked, shaking your head. "Perhaps, but Oldtown doesn’t. It feels like I’m stepping back into my youth."
"And that’s just what Daeron’s been waiting for," Gwayne said, his voice filled with pride. "He’s been practicing something special for your arrival."
The two of you made your way into the Hightower, exchanging stories of the years gone by. Gwayne filled you in on Daeron’s progress, not only in his studies but in his musical pursuits, something that had come as a surprise to you when you’d first heard of it. Daeron had always been a quiet boy, thoughtful and dutiful, but you hadn’t expected him to take to music with such dedication.
As you entered one of the private chambers, there he was—Daeron, your youngest son, sitting with a lute in his hands. His bright eyes lit up when he saw you, and he quickly set the instrument aside to rise and bow.
"Father," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "I’m so glad you’re here."
You smiled, stepping forward to pull him into a quick embrace. "It’s good to see you, Daeron. I’ve been looking forward to this visit."
Daeron stepped back, a hint of shyness in his expression, but there was also pride. "I’ve been practicing," he said, gesturing to the harp behind him. "Would you like to hear?"
"Of course," you said, sitting down as Gwayne settled in beside you, both of you eager to see how much Daeron had improved.
Daeron returned to his seat, his fingers brushing the strings of the lute with ease. The melody that filled the room was soft at first, delicate and sweet, but soon it grew into something more complex, full of emotion and depth. His fingers moved skillfully, the notes flowing effortlessly across from the lute, creating a sound that was both soothing and captivating.
You watched him closely, impressed by the concentration and passion in his playing. He had grown so much, not just in skill, but in confidence. When he finished, the last note lingering in the air, you clapped your hands together, beaming with pride.
"That was beautiful, Daeron," you said earnestly. "You’ve improved so much. I never knew you had such a talent."
Daeron blushed slightly but smiled, pleased with your approval. "Thank you, Father. I’ve been practicing every day. It helps me focus."
Gwayne leaned over, grinning. "He’s the pride of Oldtown, your Grace. Everyone speaks of his music as much as his dragon."
At the mention of Tessarion, Daeron’s eyes brightened even more. "Speaking of which, would you like to see her?"
"I wouldn’t miss it," you said, standing and motioning for him to lead the way.
The three of you made your way through the halls of the Hightower and out toward the dragon stable where Tessarion was kept. As you walked, Daeron talked animatedly about his time in Oldtown, how much he had learned, and how attached he had become to his dragon. You could hear the excitement in his voice, and it warmed your heart to see him so full of life and purpose.
When you reached the stable, you were greeted by the sight of Tessarion, her blue and silver scales gleaming in the soft light of dusk. She was still small by dragon standards, no larger than a large horse, but she had a regal air about her. However, that air of regalness disappeared the moment she saw Daeron.
With an excited rumble, Tessarion bounded toward him, her wings fluttering slightly as she lowered her head and rolled onto her back, exposing her soft underbelly in a clear plea for scratches. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight—this mighty dragon, one day destined to be a force to be reckoned with, now behaving more like a playful pup than a creature of legend.
Daeron laughed too, kneeling beside her and rubbing her belly with both hands, her tail thumping happily against the ground.
"She’s just like a dog!" you exclaimed, amusement bubbling in your chest.
"She likes to be scratched here," Daeron said, his voice full of affection as he rubbed Tessarion’s side. "She’s still young, but she’ll grow big and strong. One day, she’ll be the fiercest dragon in all the realm."
"That, I have no doubt," you replied, watching as Tessarion nuzzled into Daeron’s hand, her eyes half-closed in contentment.
You knelt beside Daeron, reaching out to touch Tessarion’s shimmering scales. Her hide was warm under your palm, her breathing slow and steady as she basked in the affection. "She’s a beauty, Daeron. You should be proud."
"I am," Daeron said quietly, glancing at you. "She’s my closest friend."
There was something in his voice, a depth of connection between boy and dragon that was rare and powerful. You had seen it with your other children and their dragons, but with Daeron and Tessarion, it felt different. There was a quiet understanding between them, a bond that ran deep.
You smiled at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "She’ll be a great dragon, Daeron, and you’ll be a great rider. Tessarion’s lucky to have you."
"And I’m lucky to have her," Daeron replied, his hand never leaving her side.
For a while, the three of you sat there in the dragonpit, Tessarion’s soft rumbles the only sound in the still evening air. The world seemed far away, the troubles of the realm forgotten in the warmth of family and the comfort of an old friend.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Oldtown in shades of gold and pink, you looked at Daeron, filled with pride at the man he was becoming. He had found his place here, among his studies, his music, and his dragon. He had grown into himself, and you couldn’t wait to see what the future held for him.
"Thank you for bringing me here," you said quietly, your voice filled with affection. "I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you."
Daeron smiled, his eyes filled with warmth. "I’ve missed you too, Father. I’m glad you’re here."
And as Tessarion rolled over onto her side, thumping her tail against the ground with contentment, you realized that moments like this—simple, peaceful moments with your children—were worth more than any crown or throne.
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buckets-and-trees · 28 days ago
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Red, White & True: Brooklyn - The Interview [8/13]
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Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 6.1k Summary: Oprah. You're filming your interview with Oprah.
Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn
Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.
Previous Chapter | Series ↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest
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[OCTOBER 6 - AFTER LUNCH - BROOKLYN BROWNSTONE]
As you stand in front of the full-length mirror in the master bedroom, you can't help but marvel at the transformation. The stylists have worked their magic, turning you from a somewhat frazzled campaign wife into someone who looks like she belongs on the cover of a magazine.
The dress they've chosen is a deep emerald green, its silhouette classic and elegant. The fabric drapes beautifully, accentuating your figure without being too revealing. It's the perfect balance of sophistication and approachability - exactly the image you want to project for this interview.
Sophia flits around you, making minor adjustments to the dress and ensuring everything is perfect. Her attention to detail is unwavering, and you're grateful more and more each day for her steady presence. Beyond being an invaluable assistant, she’s become someone you truly rely on.
But when she leaves the room for a moment to go back to the array of clothes and accessories brought in for this interview to grab a bracelet that she thought would round out the look, you’re also grateful to have a moment alone with one of your oldest friends.
"How are you feeling?" Pepper asks, her voice calm and reassuring as she watches from her perch on the edge of the bed.
You take a deep breath, meeting Pepper's eyes in the mirror. "Nervous," you admit. "But ready, I think. The lunch helped a lot."
And it had. Oprah, true to her reputation, had put everyone at ease almost immediately. The conversation had flowed naturally, touching on everything from Steve's experiences during World War II to your work before joining the campaign. Gayle had regaled you with hilarious stories from her and Oprah's early days in television, while Stedman had offered insightful perspectives on navigating life in the public eye.
Pepper nods, a small smile playing at her lips. "Just remember to be yourself - that's who Steve fell in love with, and that's who the American people will fall in love with too."
Her words catch you off guard, and you turn to face her directly. "Love?" you repeat.
Your heart races at Pepper's words. Love? The term feels both thrilling and terrifying. You and Steve have grown closer, yes, but love? That's a big step, one you're not sure either of you are ready to acknowledge yet.
Pepper seems to sense your internal turmoil. She stands, moving to place a comforting hand on your arm. "I've known Steve for a long time, particularly since the Battle of Earth," she says gently. "He doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you now. Whatever you want to call it, there's something special between you two."
You nod, unable to find the words to respond. Your mind is whirling with the implications of Pepper's observation. Before you can dwell on it further, there's a soft knock at the door.
"Come in," you call, giving your dress one final adjustment.
The door opens and Sophia strides back in, but with Steve behind her. He looks incredibly handsome in a perfectly tailored navy suit that complements your dress. His hair is neatly styled, and there's a warmth in his eyes as he takes in your appearance.
"Wow," he says softly, his gaze traveling from your face down to your shoes and back up again. "You look amazing."
You feel heat creeping up your cheeks at his admiration. "Thank you," you reply, smoothing down the front of your dress. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Captain."
Steve grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way you've come to adore. He steps further into the room, coming to stand beside you.
Sophia clears her throat discreetly but hands off the bracelet she went to retrieve to Steve. "We should head downstairs in about five minutes,” she says. “The crew is just finishing set up in the living room."
You nod, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves.
"We'll give you two a moment," Pepper says, a knowing smile playing at her lips as she and Sophia exit the room, closing the door behind them.
Steve steps closer, holding out the delicate bracelet Sophia had brought.
"May I?" he asks softly.
You nod, extending your wrist. Steve's fingers are gentle as he fastens the bracelet, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. The simple act feels intimate, a stark contrast to the public persona you've both been maintaining for months.
"There," Steve says, his voice low. "Perfect."
You look up, meeting his eyes. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your breath catch. For a moment, you're transported back to last night - the warmth of his lips on yours, the safety you felt in his arms.
"Steve," you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. "About last night..."
Steve's eyes soften as he looks at you, his hand still gently holding your wrist. "Last night was-" he pauses, searching for the right words. "It was wonderful."
You nod, feeling a mix of relief and excitement at his words. "It was," you agree softly. "I've been wanting to talk about it, but with everything going on today..."
"I know," Steve says, his thumb tracing small circles on the inside of your wrist. "There's never enough time, is there?"
You shake your head, leaning into him slightly. "No, there isn't. But Steve, I want you to know that I-"
There's a gentle knock at the door, interrupting your moment. "Two minutes!" Sam’s voice calls from the other side.
You both let out a soft chuckle, the tension of the moment breaking. Steve reluctantly lets go of your wrist, but takes your hand in his. “Ready?”
You push up and give him a soft peck. “Let’s do this,” you reply, as always, and can’t help the broad smile on your face as he smiles right back at you, eyes full of warmth.
Hand in hand, you and Steve make your way downstairs. The living room has been transformed into a cozy interview set, with plush armchairs arranged around a small coffee table. Warm lighting bathes the room in a soft glow, creating an intimate atmosphere.
Oprah greets you both with a warm smile as you enter. "There they are," she says, her voice rich and welcoming. "Are we ready to get started?"
You nod, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement bubbling up inside you. Steve gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before you both take your seats across from Oprah.
As the camera crew makes final adjustments, Oprah leans in slightly. "Remember," she says softly, "this is just a conversation. We're here to tell your story. Forget about the cameras, it’s just us talking.”
You take a deep breath, feeling Steve's steady presence beside you as Oprah settles into her chair. The cameras start rolling, but true to her word, Oprah's warm smile and relaxed demeanor make it easy to forget about the lights and equipment surrounding you.
"I have the pleasure of sitting down with Captain Steve Rogers and his wife in their Brooklyn home. Over the past few months, we've watched a figure of freedom step from his role as Captain America, protector of the people, into a campaign pursuing a chance to serve as our country’s next president. But here and now, we want to get to know the real Steve and Mrs. Rogers.”
"Thank you for coming to our home, Oprah," Steve says, his voice steady and warm.
You nod in agreement, offering a smile. "We're honored to have you here."
Oprah leans forward slightly, her eyes alight with genuine curiosity. "Steve, let's start with you. You're a man who has already done so much for this country - and indeed, the world. You served with distinction in World War II, becoming a symbol of hope and courage for an entire generation. Then, decades later, you emerged as a superhero, saving the world time and time again as Captain America. With such an extraordinary legacy already behind you, what made you decide to run for president?"
Steve takes a moment to consider the question, his brow furrowing slightly as he gathers his thoughts. The late afternoon sun streaming through the windows casts a warm glow on his face, highlighting the earnestness in his expression.
"You know, Oprah, that's a question I've asked myself many times," he begins, his voice thoughtful. "I've been fortunate enough to serve this country in many capacities over the years. From a skinny kid in Brooklyn who just wanted to do his part in the war, to waking up decades later in a world I barely recognized, to fighting alongside some of the most remarkable individuals I've ever known as part of the Avengers. Through it all, my core belief has remained the same - I want to help people, to stand up for what's right, and to protect those who can't protect themselves."
Steve pauses, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he continues. "But over time, I started to realize that while punching bad guys and stopping alien invasions is important, there are other ways to make a difference. Ways that can have a lasting impact on people's daily lives. Healthcare, education, economic opportunity - these are the battles that millions of Americans are fighting every day. And I want to be there in those trenches with them, working to create a better future for all of us."
You watch Steve as he speaks, feeling a swell of pride at his words. His sincerity is palpable, and you can see Oprah nodding thoughtfully.
"That's a powerful perspective, Steve. Early in the campaign, there was an overwhelming amount of press and public opinion saying you couldn’t do this, and some still say that you can’t. How do you address that view - both for yourself and for the public?”
There’s a slight tick in Steve’s jaw, but you think it’s small enough only you may truly notice. “Before I was Captain America,” he responds, “I was denied enlistment to the military five times. After I became a super soldier, I was kept out of combat duty, told I couldn’t serve.”
Steve's voice remains steady as he continues, "I don't let others define what I'm capable of. I've faced impossible odds before and come out the other side. This campaign isn't about proving anything to anyone - it's about serving the American people in the best way I know how."
You feel a surge of admiration at Steve's words, and you can't help but reach out to place your hand on his arm supportively. He glances at you, a small smile playing at his lips.
Oprah nods, her expression thoughtful. "And what about you?" she asks, turning her attention to you. "How has this journey been for you? It's not every day that someone finds themselves married to Captain America and potentially on the path to becoming First Lady."
You take a deep breath, acutely aware of the cameras trained on you. "It's been quite the whirlwind," you admit with a small laugh.
"It's certainly not a path I ever imagined for myself," you continue, your voice growing more confident as you speak. "But being with Steve, supporting him in this journey - it's opened my eyes to so many things. The challenges facing our country, yes, but also the incredible resilience and spirit of the American people we've met on the campaign trail."
You pause, gathering your thoughts. "I've always believed in serving my community, in doing what I can to make a positive difference. This campaign has given me a platform to do that on a much larger scale. It's daunting at times, but also incredibly inspiring."
Oprah leans in, her eyes warm. "And how has this affected your relationship? A presidential campaign must put an enormous strain on even the strongest partnerships."
You feel Steve's hand cover yours where it rests on his arm. The gesture is small, but it gives you strength.
You take a moment to consider Oprah's question, glancing at Steve before answering. "It's certainly been an adjustment," you begin, a small smile playing at your lips. "Our first few months of marriage have been anything but typical. But in many ways, I think it's brought us closer together."
Steve nods in agreement, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. "We're in this together," he adds, his voice warm. "Every challenge, every victory - we face it as a team."
"That's beautiful," Oprah says, her eyes twinkling. "Can you give us an example of how you support each other through the ups and downs of the campaign?"
You and Steve exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between you. "Well," you begin, "there was a moment a few weeks ago, after a particularly grueling day of campaign events. We were both exhausted
"Well," you begin, "there was a moment a few weeks ago, after a particularly grueling day of campaign events. We were both exhausted, and I could tell Steve was feeling discouraged. The polls hadn't been great that week, and some of the media coverage had been pretty harsh."
You pause, glancing at Steve, who nods encouragingly for you to continue.
"So I suggested we take a break from everything - no phone calls, no strategy meetings, just us. We went for a walk in the park near our hotel, found a quiet bench, and just talked. Not about the campaign or polls or policies, but about us. Our hopes, our fears, our dreams for the future."
Steve picks up the story, his voice warm with affection. "It was exactly what I needed. She has this way of helping me see the bigger picture, of reminding me why we're doing this in the first place.
"And it's not just me," Steve adds, his eyes meeting yours with a soft smile. "There have been times when the pressure gets to her too. Late nights when she's pouring over briefing documents, trying to master every policy detail. That's when I remind her to take a breath, to step back and remember that it's not about being perfect - it's about being genuine and caring for people."
You nod, feeling a surge of warmth at Steve's words. "He's right," you say, turning back to Oprah. "We balance each other out. When one of us stumbles, the other is there to help pick us up."
Oprah smiles, her expression warm. "That's beautiful. It's clear you two have a strong partnership. You’ve been doing what a candidate is supposed to do and been out on the road talking about policies and goals if you were to be elected, not been going on tour to parade around your marriage, but this interview is about getting to know the two of you better. We have brief public statements about your relationship, but how did this all begin? What’s the love story behind Captain America and his wife."
You and Steve exchange a quick glance, a silent agreement passing between you. You've rehearsed this story, crafted it carefully to walk the line between truth and the narrative needed for the campaign. But as you look into Steve's eyes, you find yourself wanting to share something more. You remember what is was like to watch Harry and Meghan tell their story to Oprah. It will be a definitive moment in public history, and certainly in their story. Are you telling the version of your story you want to be out there forever?
You take a deep breath, wishing you could share more of the truth than you had originally planned. "Well, Steve is easy to fall for, but it actually wasn't love at first sight," you begin with a soft smile. "We met for the first time under rather... unusual circumstances."
“Pepper Potts set the two of you up, correct?” she asks.
You nod, your mind racing as you try to navigate this delicate moment. "Yes, Pepper was involved, and it wasn't a traditional setup. You see, I—"
"Actually," Steve interjects gently, placing his hand over yours, "if we're being completely honest, the first time I met her was on our wedding day."
There's a moment of stunned silence. You can practically hear the collective intake of breath from the crew behind the cameras. Oprah's eyebrows shoot up, her professional composure slipping for just a second to reveal genuine surprise.
You realize your own jaw has dropped and you quickly snap it shut.
"I'm sorry, did I hear that correctly?" Oprah leans forward, her voice a mix of disbelief and intrigue. "You met on your wedding day?"
You feel your heart racing as Steve's words hang in the air. This wasn't part of the plan, but as you look into his eyes, you see nothing but sincerity and... is that relief?
Taking a deep breath, you follow Steve's lead. "Yes," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "It's true. Steve and I met on the day of our wedding."
Oprah leans back in her chair, her expression a mix of fascination and disbelief. "Well, this is certainly unexpected. I think we're all going to need a bit more explanation. How does something like that happen?"
Steve squeezes your hand gently before speaking. "It's not a conventional story, that's for sure," he begins, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "But then again, very little about my life has been conventional."
Steve takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours briefly before turning back to Oprah. "The truth is, our marriage was initially arranged as part of a political strategy for my presidential campaign. The idea was that a stable family image would resonate better with voters than a single superhero."
You can see the shock register on Oprah's face, but to her credit, she maintains her composure. "An arranged marriage? That's quite unusual in modern America."
You nod, picking up the thread. "It is. But it’s not unheard of."
“Why do it? And not him,” Oprah clarifies. “You. Why would you agree to do this?”
You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "It's a fair question," you begin, your voice soft but steady. "I've always been passionate about making a difference in the world. When I was approached with this... unique opportunity, I saw it as a chance to do just that, on a scale I never imagined possible."
You pause, gathering your thoughts. "I knew Steve's reputation, his character. I believed in his vision for the country. And I thought that if I could help bring that vision to fruition, it would be worth it. It wasn't just about politics - it was about being part of something bigger than myself."
“Why not a position within a potential administration?” she pressed.
You bite your lip, then sit a little straighter.
You were already all in. Now that Steve had flipped the script, there was no reason to keep up pretenses.
“Before I met Steve, I was married to someone else - Jeff Connor. We had a good life together, but then... the Blip happened."
Oprah's eyes stay focused, but her expression softens. "To clarify for those who aren’t familiar with your background, you were among the half of our population who disappeared?"
You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Yes. One moment I was there, and the next... five years had passed. I came back to a world that had moved on without me. Jeff had remarried, thinking I was gone forever."
A hush falls over the room as the weight of your words sinks in. Oprah leans forward, her expression compassionate. "That must have been incredibly difficult. Can you tell us more about what that experience was like for you?"
You nod slowly, taking a deep breath. "Half the planet disappeared like I did, and we all have our own stories. For me, it was disorienting, to say the least. One moment I was going about my day, and the next, I was standing in the same spot, but everything had changed. The world had moved on without me for five years. My job was gone, my home belonged to someone else, and Jeff... he had built a new life, thinking I was never coming back."
You feel Steve's hand tighten around yours, offering silent support. “I will never blame Jeff for moving forward in his life and finding new happiness. There was no way anyone left behind knew it was possible to bring us back. But those first few months were - as you said - incredibly difficult. I felt lost, like I didn't belong anywhere. One thing I actually told Steve was that it felt like waking up from a dream, but only to find that the nightmare was real.”
Oprah lets the silence while you steel yourself for a moment sit undisturbed.
When you’re ready again, you continue.
“But slowly, with the help of support groups and therapy, I started to rebuild my life."
Steve picks up where you left off, his voice filled with empathy. "I went in the ice in 1943 and woke up in 2011, a stranger to the world I’d returned to, connected to no one. When she shared her story with me, I could understand - and I felt understood. Not everyone knows what it is like to be displaced in time, to wake up and find the world moved on without you. Half the planet experienced that displacement, and it’s more difficult for some of us to talk about than others. But we’ve found strength in being able to share that part of our past.”
Oprah nods solemnly, her eyes filled with compassion. "Thank you for sharing that with us. It's a perspective many of us can't even begin to imagine, but we all know someone who shares your experience. Now, how did this lead to you deciding to pursue an arranged marriage?"
“Pepper gave me my first job as an intern, so we’ve known each other a long time. She invited me to consider becoming part of Steve’s campaign, and I came to New York to meet with her. I read over the policies Steve was building, and I aligned with the values and the ideas. They resonated with things I wanted to see for the future of our country. I had no idea before I sat across from her that this was the position she wanted to pitch.”
You pause, gathering your thoughts before continuing. "I know it sounds unconventional, even crazy to some people. But I've always believed that every relationship, whether romantic or not, takes work. It's about communication, respect, and shared values. When Pepper explained the situation and I learned more about Steve, I saw the potential for a strong partnership, even if there was never going to be love or romance involved. Having loved and lost a great love, I’ll admit there was a quiet thought in the back of my head that even wanted to stay away from falling in love again, and a politically arranged marriage could be that safe kind of situation. We weren’t under illusions or expectations to be feeling grand, sweeping emotions.”
“That’s quite an unconventional approach. I think some people listening will understand, and some won’t. Some will probably accuse you of being jaded or having an agenda.”
You frown. “You’re not wrong. We’ve clearly been guarded about our relationship from the beginning because we knew the perception would vary widely across the board.”
Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "We knew from the start that this wasn't a typical situation. But we also believed that we could build something meaningful together, even if it didn't start with romantic love."
Oprah leans forward again, her curiosity evident. "And how has that worked out? You mentioned earlier that you've grown closer through the campaign. Has your relationship evolved beyond what you initially expected?"
You and Steve exchange a glance, a moment of silent communication passing between you. You feel a warmth spread through your chest as you realize just how much things have changed since that first meeting.
"It has," you admit, a soft smile playing at your lips. "When we first met, we were essentially strangers agreeing to a partnership. But over these past months, as we've faced challenges together and supported each other, something deeper has developed. As I said, Steve is easy to fall for."
Steve squeezes your hand gently. "Because what we've built together has become so real, I couldn't sit here and not set the record straight. This campaign is about four years, possibly eight, of leading this country. That's too long to keep up any kind of charade.”
Oprah is quiet for a moment, contemplating both of you, her eyes moving between you.
Then she says, “Some people will say this is a political stunt.”
You feel a knot form in your stomach at Oprah's words. It's the question you've been dreading, but you know it needs to be addressed head-on.
Steve leans forward slightly, his expression earnest. "I have been judged my entire life, and I’ve learned from the scrutiny that I’ll never change anyone’s mind by defending myself, only proving myself through the actions I take," he begins, his voice steady. "But I want to be clear - this isn't a stunt. It's our life, our relationship. Yes, it started in an unconventional way, but what we've built together is real."
"And what about those who might say this admission could hurt your campaign?" Oprah presses, but more gently.
You take a deep breath, meeting Oprah's gaze. "We understand that concern," you say, your voice calm but resolute. "But we believe that honesty and transparency are crucial, especially for someone seeking the highest office in the land. We're not perfect, and our story isn't a fairy tale. But it is real, and it's ours."
"We believe in the power of partnership," Steve takes over, glancing at you. "In facing challenges head-on, together. In building something meaningful. Our marriage began unconventionally, but so is running as a third party candidate. While there are some politicians who are good and diligent servants of the people, America is tired of games and calculated systemic political maneuvers designed for politics and party battles pitting red and blue against each other not for governing.”
Steve continues, his voice gaining strength, "We want to show that it's possible to bridge divides, to come together despite differences. Our relationship is a testament to that. We started as strangers with a shared goal, and we've grown into partners who truly care for and support each other. That's the kind of leadership and unity we want to bring to this country."
You nod, feeling a surge of pride at Steve's words. "Exactly. We're not asking people to vote for us because of our love story. We're asking them to consider Steve's vision for the country, his policies, and his character. Our relationship is just one part of who we are as people and as a team."
Oprah leans back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "It's refreshing to hear such candor from public figures. Is it too idealistic?”
“This country was founded on lofty ideals that were unheard of at the time. I was nearly there, remember?” Steve jokes, and it draws a genuinely hearty laugh from Oprah.
From that point, the tone and direction of the interview shifts, and the questions start to focus more on presidential potential - philosophies behind the policies, how the American political landscape has changed since the Snap and the Re-Snap and if government has kept up with the needs from that fallout, why Steve decided to make this big move, his running mate Charlie Young, if there’s a possibility it could be the inception of a permanent major third party in America for the future.
You can feel that things are beginning to come to a close. You’ve given input throughout the rest of the interview, but it the majority of the back and forth has been between Steve and Oprah - as it should be since it’s Steve’s name on the ticket.
But just as you sense the time is growing short, you also sense there’s one more curveball coming your way.
"Now, I have one last question for you both," she says, her voice warm but tinged with curiosity. "We've talked about your unconventional start, your growing bond, and your vision for the country. But there's one topic we haven't touched on yet."
You feel a slight tension in Steve's hand where it rests in yours, and you know instinctively what's coming.
"If elected," Oprah continues, her gaze moving between you and Steve, "you would be moving into the White House. It's a place steeped in history, with halls that have echoed with the laughter of children for generations. From the Kennedy children to the Santos duo, we've seen families grow and flourish within those walls."
The room seems to hold its breath as Oprah pauses, her eyes alight with mischief.
You feel your heart rate quicken as Oprah's implication becomes clear. Steve's hand tightens around yours, and you can sense the slight tension in his posture.
"Have you two discussed the possibility of starting a family of your own?”
Steve clears his throat, his voice steady as he responds. "Oprah, that's certainly a big question," he begins, a small smile playing at his lips. "And it's one that we've discussed privately."
“And a fair question to be answered as you have put yourself up for consideration for the highest public office in the land.”
Because you truly know Steve now, you know why he tried to put that question down without answering, and that he is containing an indignant response.
You step up and take the reigns to answer, knowing you can steer this into good territory.
“Oprah, after you interviewed Harry and Meghan, you gave some interesting context about the scrutiny of the Sussexes wanting to be private and yet choosing to do an interview with you. You said that there was a different between privacy and intrusion, and that they understood that since they had played public roles, they were public figures, and that they were navigating how to have boundaries in that sort of complicated landscape. Essentially that interview was a way for them to share who they were and their story in contrast to the invasive rumors and being hunted constantly by paparazzi.”
“I did say that,” Oprah responds, “but that was in 2021 while you were gone.”
You give a little laugh. “True, yes, but Harry and Meghan got married just before the Snap, and I was as enchanted and obsessed with them as so many other Americans! When I got back, I went down a rabbit hole one night checking up on them since so much had clearly happened while I was away.”
Oprah smiles and shakes her head.
“But I bring that up because we know it’s something people will want to know about, but we don’t know yet. "We both love children," you say, your voice warm. "And the idea of starting a family together is something we don’t want to rush since other parts of our relationship have been rushed.”
Steve nods in agreement, his expression softening. "That's right. We're focused on the campaign and on building our relationship right now. If we're fortunate enough to be elected, our priority will be serving the American people to the best of our abilities."
You squeeze Steve's hand gently before continuing. "But we also recognize that family comes in many forms. Whether or not we have children of our own now or in the future, we're committed to supporting American families and creating policies that help all children thrive."
Oprah nods, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I don’t think we could want for a more honest answer. Thank you both for your forthright sincerity throughout this interview. It's been truly thought-provoking."
As Oprah wraps up the interview with her closing remarks, you feel a mix of relief and excitement washing over you. The weight of your shared secret has been lifted, and while you know there will be challenges ahead, you feel stronger in so many ways - individually and in what’s evolving with you and Steve.
As the cameras stop rolling and the crew begins to pack up their equipment, you and Steve remain seated on the couch for a few moments, hands still intertwined. The reality of what just transpired starts to sink in.
You stand as Oprah approaches you both, her expression warm and genuine. "Thank you again for your honesty," she says softly. "I know that couldn't have been easy, but I believe it will resonate with a lot of people."
Steve nods, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Thank you for giving us the space to share our story," he replies.
As Oprah moves away to speak with her producers, you turn to Steve, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you okay? That was... a lot."
Steve's blue eyes meet yours, filled with a mix of emotions - relief, concern, and something deeper that makes your heart skip a beat. "I am," he says. "You were amazing," he adds, his voice warm with admiration. "I'm sorry I sprung that on you, but I just couldn't..."
"No, don't apologize," you interrupt, squeezing his hand. "It was the right thing to do. I'm glad we did it."
"Captain Rogers, Mrs. Rogers," Sophia's voice interrupts your moment. "The team is ready for a debrief in the study when you're ready."
Steve nods, his expression shifting back into campaign mode. "We'll be right there, Sophia. Thank you."
As Sophia leaves, Steve turns back to you. "Are you ready for this? The next few days are going to be intense."
You square your shoulders. "Ready as I'll ever be," you reply.
Steve lifts your entwined hands and kisses the back of yours before he leads the way to the study.
Jake, Elsa, Lisa the campaign spokesperson, Sam, Bucky, Pepper, and Sophia are all already congregated in the study, and Sophia closes the door behind you.
You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what's to come.
"That was unexpected," Elsa starts, her voice low.
“Was it though?” Jake asks. “Integrity is hallmark Captain America. I frankly expected him to drop a big reveal before this.” He is possibly the most nonchalant of everyone in the room.
“The interview won’t air until Sunday night primetime, so we have time to prepare,” Lisa says, “but we’ll need to be ready with statements. We’ll get calls, emails, and social media commentary the second the truth comes out before the full interview has aired.”
“Good thing we have the time,” Elsa says, an edge of exasperation in her tone.
“That is why I’m paying you handsomely to be the director of communications on this campaign,” Pepper interjects, thoroughly polite, but clear that she’s serious.
"You're right, Pepper," Elsa says, taking a deep breath. "I apologize. This is what we're here for. We'll craft statements and prepare responses for every possible angle."
Steve steps forward, his posture straight and confident. "I know this wasn't part of the original plan, but I stand by our decision. We can't ask the American people to trust us if we're not being honest with them."
You nod in agreement, feeling a surge of pride at Steve's words. "We're ready to face whatever comes next, together."
Sam clears his throat. "For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing. People appreciate authenticity, especially from their leaders."
Bucky nods, a small smile playing at his lips. "Plus, it's very on-brand for Steve to throw out the playbook and do whatever the hell he wants.”
Steve rounds on him.
“I mean whatever he thinks is right," Bucky smirks, but his eyes are warm, proud.
“Jerk,” Steve murmurs and shakes his head. “How much does this set us back?” he asks the room.
Elsa sighs, running a hand through her hair. "This changes everything campaign-wise. We'll need to completely overhaul our messaging strategy, but since we have the rest of the week on our end knowing this will drop Sunday, we can begin adjusting now so that it doesn’t look like we’re making major turns in the wake of the news."
“And what about in the polls?” Steve follows up with the next question.
Lisa is the one to answer. “It will depend on who tunes in live and starts broadcasting their opinions on social media, but I think we could anticipate a three point drop in the polls, if not four or five.”
You aren’t the only one who winces.
“We’ll weather it,” Pepper insists. “If we need to bring on more staff to compensate and make the final push up through Election Day, we can do it.”
“We’re not going to lose points,” Jake laughs, and everyone turns to look at him. “Our enemies and critics are going to burn us alive for this, but we’re going to gain - at least six points.”
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next part: KANSAS CITY - INTERVIEW BROADCAST DAY
well...
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What do we think now? Are we excited? Stressed?
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onestepbackwards · 6 months ago
Text
Love that Bites Pt. 13
IT'S DONE AAAA Sorry this took so long, I have had a rough few months, it's made it hard to write and focus. BUT! This chapter is at least 8000 words to make up for it! I hope you enjoy!! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
Summary: Despite what he had hoped, Dracula has decided to spring a talk of 'business' with you earlier than he had intended. He anticipates it to end in disaster, destroying what little peace you both had. However, he finds things might not end like he presumes...
CW: Anxiety, talks of depression, allusions to abuse, mentions of murder, mentions of sexist behavior, brief mentions of injury
Word Count: 8039 Words!
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Tag List: @kittenlover614 @simpytheshrimpy69 @midgetdemon17 @just-nother-dreamer @adrakeshoard @tilldeathripsusapart @thedeadlynights @pumpkinvampie @bethleeham @mshope16 @sixsixtwenty @haleypearce @rvautomatic @tinystarfishgalaxy @marshmelloe @maorizon @ursamajor17 @sapphicsfordracula @dame-sunflowers @sleepyendymion @starrlo0ver @onewiththebeanbag
First: Here Last: Here Next: Here
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Dracula, if he were being honest with himself, had dread when this day would come.
Deep down, he knew eventually you two would have to talk. There was no getting around it, no avoiding it forever.
After all, you were still a Belmont, and he was King of the Night.
He had known this talk would come before he eventually had been freed. How you mentioned wishing to talk instead of immediately engaging in battle.
However, he would admit that a small part of him looked forward to this, especially before he had been freed from his stone prison.
Back then, he could not help but imagine different scenarios of himself and you discussing the future. This primarily was before he had got to know you a little bit more with each ‘visit’.
Before you broke the curse on him, he had planned on using this talk to gouge your own plans, and see just what kind of a Belmont you really were.
Would you be all bark and no bite? Or was the idea of wanting to talk really just a guise to make yourself more high and mighty than him? Another ‘holier than thou’ spiel he had heard countless times throughout history, and still managing to condemn him?
Perhaps it was even a trick to try and lower his guard? Just to attack like a snake on unsuspecting prey?
Not that he would have let his guard down that easy in the beginning, of course…
Other questions though still had run through his mind at the time as he slowly grew to know you in his imprisonment.
Were you really different? Did a small bit of Leon still persist despite the generations of Belmonts? Was it truly kindness that shone bright in those tired eyes of yours?
It certainly wasn’t naïveté, despite what some may think. Those eyes of yours had seen too much to be dull witted. Any kindness you had to give, it was because you chose to, despite knowing the risks.
That kindness, and your interest in asking questions for yourself. That still drew him in.
However, as time went on, it became almost alarmingly clear that you were in fact serious about this. How you didn’t particularly want to battle him, at least not without hearing him out personally.
No power play here, no desire to put yourself above him while seemingly giving the vampire a chance.
You were a rarity that Dracula didn’t want to let go. Especially when you were just within his grasp.
Humans like yourself were rare, he didn’t want to just let you slip through his fingers, even if you were a Belmont.
If anything, that made it all the more important to try and sway you to see his side of things.
Or to at least… come to an understanding.
However, Dracula was all too familiar with how finicky fate could be. Should he try and lock you away or strongarm you into staying, he’d simply be pushing you away.
It also didn’t help that the idea of simply holding you hostage didn’t sit well in his gut. The last thing he wanted, (even if he refused to admit it out loud), was for you to hate him for stealing you away.
…He would admit he did consider it, though. Dracula had already lost so much, was it hard to blame him for wanting to protect this Little Belmont who was clearly a hidden gem amongst the rotten trash that was humankind?
Still, he couldn’t afford to risk losing you to his own arrogance. Not like this.
Unfortunately though, you unintentionally threw a wrench into his plans.
Originally, he hoped to have you here for at least a week, if not two. During that time, he planned to gleam who had hurt you, and deal with them swiftly if need be.
All while healing you, and seeing if he could push past a few of your walls.
That way, hopefully when you eventually had to have a talk with him about where you both stood, he had hoped he would have enough information to form a way to convince you to stay.
Alas, things never went to plan for him. Fate seemed to enjoy taunting him that way, it seems.
Despite how receptive you had been to him, and how you accepted his care, you surprised him with what you had to say.
How you could not stay much longer. You had to leave soon.
Your words weighed heavy in his heart. However, it became clear this wasn’t exactly a choice you wanted.
It seemed you were oddly reluctant to even mention why, clearly unhappy and anxious about the idea of going back.
That had alarm bells ringing in his mind.
The Lord of the Night was no fool. When he wasn’t constantly being slain by your ilk, he was a ruler, a leader, and a tactician. Among many other things.
No one lived as long as he, and not pick up on different things about human behavior.
A part of him wanted to puff up in pride. You seemingly wanted to stay.
But that was unfortunately a double edged sword, so it seemed.
Sure, you were receptive to his care and being his guest, but that was far from being entirely trustworthy and comfortable around him.
…So just how bad was your home life for you to prefer staying at his castle, even after someone already tried to foolishly tamper with your life?
You seemed a bit dodgy when he delicately prodded about your home life. However, the less you said, the more of a picture it seemed to paint.
No words had to be said for him to assume the worst. The wounds you had must have been from wherever you resided outside his castle.
Yet you stubbornly refused to give him details. Even if you were different from your ancestors, you were still very much a stubborn Belmont.
It would be endearing, if not for the fact he worried about your safety the moment you left his property.
And the fact he had to have this conversation with you now, rather than when he would have liked. He had at least hoped you would be in a better physical and mental state before he sprung this talk on you.
After all, you both couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room forever. One of you would either have to give and declare war, or… Perhaps meet halfway.
Even though he hoped for the best, Dracula was well aware this may end in disaster. He at least hoped it wouldn’t be too explosive.
He’d like to at least fight you on even ground with respect, like you had wished to do for him.
The last thing he wanted was to fight you as you looked up at him, clearly still incredibly injured, despite what the potions have done for you so far. He wouldn’t underestimate you, but he knew that you would no doubt leave with permanent damage if you managed to win.
And if he were being honest, Dracula didn’t want to deal with the whirlpool of emotions he no doubt will have to suffer from if you choose to try and destroy him.
He may be a prideful man who didn’t like admitting his faults, but he was well aware how badly he handled losing someone last time. He didn’t want to kill you or try to hurt you with his own hand.
So he donned his King of the Night mask. Ready to face the music.
Your reaction to his change in demeanor was instant.
Those wide eyes of yours sharpened, and he could practically see the hair on your neck stand on end. Seems a hunter’s instinct never rests.
It was almost fascinating to watch in real time, if he were being honest with himself. Any Belmont he had faced, almost exclusively were ready to fight him from the get go.
So to see you so subtly shift, as if a snake preparing to strike, or a cat ready to react with a strike of its own…
Dracula would be lying if he didn’t find such a sight interesting, stirring a set of feelings in him he thought he had long since buried. A shame he had to see such a shift when he might become your enemy in mere moments.
The air around you both was tense, and was charged with enough energy Dracula idly wondered if it could charge a light at this rate.
“So,” Dracula began, his voice becoming a bit of a bored drawl, “what exactly do you intend to do now, Little Belmont?”
Your eyes nervously bore into his own, and you swallowed thickly as you sat up straighter.
“What I intend to do?”
Dracula kept his lips from curling up into a grin. He at least would try to hold off from antagonizing you like he would with annoying diplomats from other monster and vampire clans.
“Yes. Forgive me for being rather blunt,” he began, his eyes glowing idly as he watched you for any change in behavior, “-but you know as well as I do, that we can’t just pretend the other doesn’t exist after you leave.”
It was subtle, but he recognized the calculating look on your face after he finished speaking. He wondered what thoughts were flying through your head as you scoured your mind for an answer.
Dracula knew his words had to be thought on, though he also imagined you probably had thought about this long before he had even been freed. Although, imagining what one would say in such a situation, and being in the situation you had imagined didn’t mean things would go as one planned.
You were silent for a moment. Then another.
Dracula didn’t mind, nor did he rush you. Despite his shift in attitude, he didn’t intend to push you to make a choice at that exact moment, even if he did put you on the spot.
Though perhaps, that may just be his thin veiled excuse to keep the peace, just for a little while longer.
After a few more moments, you let out a sigh, and put a hand on top of your head. You averted your eyes from him, and closed them.
“I… I don’t wish to fight you.” you began, almost tentatively. Your hands gripped the blanket nearby, and began to fiddle with it.
“You have been very kind to me since uh… Since you were freed from being a statue. You didn’t have to do that, for me of all humans.”
For a moment, your eyes met his own, and Dracula felt some tension in his body lessen, just ever so slightly.
So you didn’t wish to fight him either. It was one thing to suspect as such, but to hear it from your own mouth relieved him in a way he couldn’t explain. No doubt it also took a lot for you to admit that, to your own destined adversary.
But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t fight him. No, it was clear you would if you had to. The words were unspoken, but still there.
Despite this, you were still clearly nervous, your heartbeat pounding hard enough for him to hear in the quiet room.
“I’ll be honest. I… may be a fool for admitting this, but…” you began, your eyes flickering between your whip, which sat next to you on the bed, and Dracula himself.
“...I probably wouldn’t even win. What’s the point, anyway?”
That was indeed surprising to hear from your lips. The way you practically sagged as you admitted such a thing, showing just how tired you really were.
Dracula could see it now. It wasn’t just exhaustion in your eyes from whatever happened to you at your home.
You were tired of life. You were tired of the burden you had on your shoulders. You didn’t have much to fight for, anymore.
Dracula felt those words of yours tear into his heart. They struck a chord with him in a way that was almost unsettling.
“If I fight you, then what? I ‘win’? There’s nothing in it for me. Sure, I save humanity, or whatever-” You say, making finger quotes as you shake your head, “-But then I just end up back home in my own hell hole, no doubt with injuries that can no longer be healed. Then I’d still be expected to keep hunting.”
It was strange, as if a dam had broken within you. Dracula had a feeling this was something that had been building for years. No doubt from when you were a child, thoughts like those had been swimming in your head. Especially after you had lost a parent.
“Plus, what then, you rise again in a century? If even that? I know for a fact sometimes you have risen in half that time. What’s the point then? Just holding off until the next battle until someone else in my family stands up to fight you?”
Blinking quickly, you rubbed one of your eyes with your wrist, clearly trying to hold your emotions in check. The conversation clearly weighed heavy on you when you were already dealing with enough as it is.
He’d admit though, it was surprising to hear this from you.
Some Belmonts seemingly had been eager to seal him away. Either for glory, or the sake of mankind, thinking it a triumphant thing to succeed.
Here, you simply showed the opposite. How cruel fate really was, how winning against him was nothing more than a temporary, hollow victory in the grand scheme of things.
And how those words of yours echoed deep within his own mind. How many times had he been forced to answer the call of humans and other forces since he was killed that first time after Lisa’s death?
Those first few times, he had been vengeful. But after he had fought with his own son one on one, it had become increasingly clear how hollow his life had become.
How far he had sunk since he even lost his own dear Elisabetha.
How he encouraged this lonely life as a vampire after losing his first wife, then grew to detest the cursed cycle he had been put in after his second wife was murdered.
Fated to be the monster talked about in folk tales to keep children from misbehaving, only to reappear due to the whims of Chaos and Order. Cursed to be revived, when after all these centuries, he had finally wanted to rest.
He was tired too.
At least he was living in the hole he had dug for himself. He had no one to blame other than his own self and actions.
But there was a strange pang of sympathy for you in his chest. His actions were his own doing, but you? Your family was doomed because of both him, and your ancestor who created his whole clan just to slay him and his kind.
You were born to slay him, for better or for worse. Raised to kill him, and if he didn’t appear, raise a child in your family to kill him in your stead.
Did you even get to live a life of your own? Dracula doubted you could, unless you completely cut all ties, probably having to go as far as to change your own name.
After all, any Belmont was free game, regardless if they hunted or not. If there was a chance someone was related to a hunter, let alone a Belmont, beasts and monsters would hunt them for sport.
He would say at least you had your own family to support you. In the past, that seemed to be the case.
However… If your own family treated you like the dirt they walked on…
No wonder you were tired.
The room was silent for a moment, the tension having morphed from something tense and anxious, to somber and dreary.
“May I ask you a question?”
Dracula was almost startled by your voice, and how soft it had gotten. You were now looking out the window, watching as rain had begun to fall. A rolling thunder was heard off in the distance.
He wondered if that was due to the castle, or from him from the dull ache in his chest.
“You may.”
Dracula was also surprised by how his own voice had softened. He prepared himself to act like The King of the Night, yet here he was, already unable to stay cold and curt with you.
How his icy demeanor had already cracked seeing you so… broken.
It was silent for another moment as you gathered your thoughts.
“Why bother at this point? Is not coming back again and again exhausting? Why keep planning to attack humanity?”
At first, the questions seemed piercing and aggravating, until you finally looked back over at him. Those tired eyes of yours meeting his own.
“No one ever really told me. I have an idea, but… Most of what I know I learned from old journals. I highly doubt things written by a victor are always 100% accurate.”
That familiar, proud warmth stirred in his chest amongst the painful feelings that swirled from old memories.
But this… this is what he had wanted. When was the last time he got to explain his side?
…Though to be fair, he knew he would be seen as wrong, regardless of what he told you. However, it was still nice to at least have a chance to explain, without immediately being called a heartless monster first.
You at least were curious. You wanted to know for yourself, rather than just believe the words of your ancestors without thought.
Truly a marvel for most humans, even now.
Dracula looked over you, and how your eyes still watched him with a wary, curious gleam.
He sighed.
“Several centuries ago, my wife, Lisa, was murdered by humans.” Dracula began, letting himself relax slightly as he began to speak. You, meanwhile, sat up a bit further, clearly interested in what he had to say for himself.
“She insisted I go travel, and that she would be fine in the small home we had built away from the castle. Lisa wished to stay, having pursued the career of a doctor. Taught her everything I know.”
A small smile flickered on his face as he recounted his time with his late wife, though that smile quickly fell back to a frown.
Your eyes seemed to sharpen slightly, and it was as if he could see you calculating in real time what must have happened. No doubt you were already making educated guesses.
“Unfortunately, many didn’t take kindly to her healing others. Even a few of those she treated reported her to the church.”
Eyes widening slightly, a look of sorrow and horror briefly passed over your face. Had he not been paying attention, it would have been easy to miss.
No doubt you had an idea before, but his words were painting a horrific story, even if he hadn’t even said what had happened specifically just yet.
“For a year, she was fine. We occasionally wrote letters to the other, and she would tell me about her different patients. Sometimes how fulfilling it was to be a doctor, something she had dedicated her life to. Other times… She’d mention how her patients weren’t as kind or cooperative.”
Dracula held back a sneer at the reminder. He really should have noticed the signs so much sooner. How he could have avoided her horrible fate if he had just relied on his gut…
“They would groan or complain that she was treating them. How it wasn’t normal for a woman to do man’s work. They would sometimes curse her out or grow aggressive even. Some accepting her treatment while saying vile things about her. Although… My son at the time usually was around to help if things were too violent.”
Recognition flashed in your eyes. Of course you would recognize his son, to some degree, if you didn’t already know him.
There was doubt in his mind however, that you knew his son. Dracula at least liked to think his and Lisa’s son would have stepped in by now to help you if he had an idea of whatever was happening behind closed doors.
Especially given how his son had been insistent on helping the Belmonts throughout the centuries, even if it wasn’t always by choice since it regarded slaying him.
Details.
Though that did make Dracula briefly wonder just where his son was. Had he gone back to resting? Or had he stirred now that he himself was awake and free?
Dracula was no fool. Alucard had a connection to this castle just like he did, even if it wasn’t on the same scale. His son’s powers being from his own would always have a connection to this place, so long as Dracula remained alive.
Those thoughts were pushed back into his mind. He could dwell on such thoughts and speculations later. If he was still alive and this went well, of course.
Clearing his throat, Dracula continued.
“It was nearly the time I was to return home, when it happened. The church and heads of the nearby town seemed to have had ‘enough’ of my wife ‘playing’ healer, despite the fact she had most likely treated someone they knew, if not themselves.”
Anger and irritation began to simmer a bit brighter in his chest as he thought of how his wife had been treated. How alone and scared she must have been that day.
“They came. They saw the instruments we both used for medicinal purposes. Something I believe you would find rather modern, or even old by today’s standards, but at the time…”
You looked up at him then, realization in your eyes.
“They accused her of witchcraft, didn’t they?”
It was more of a statement, then a question.
Dracula could only give you a small nod.
“She was.”
You had a pained look on your face, clearly upset.
“I’m… not surprised.” you began, a bit hesitant.
“Humans fear things they don’t understand. Or things they can’t control. I imagine being a woman, and a doctor who no doubt had a great success rate at that… Add the more modern medicine practices…” you mumbled, eyes looking down to the side as you thought out loud.
Dracula was at least somewhat pleased you were beginning to see the gravity the situation had been. He had no idea what your knowledge of his wife had been, but this no doubt was an eye opener. That is, if you were choosing to believe him.
Given how you were reacting though… he’d like to hope you were. At least you weren’t screaming obscenities at him and calling him a liar and a heathen like some of your ancestors might have.
“Indeed. It… was brutal.”
Your eyes were now back on him, and he mentally cursed as his voice nearly wavered. He wanted to grow angry once more, and yet, a part of him wanted to simply mourn.
When did he last ever get the chance?
“When I arrived at the small home we had shared, all that was left was cinders. She had been taken captive, and I had been informed… She was to be burned at the stake.”
The air was colder, and your body tensed as a growl slowly crept into his voice.
“By the time I had found where they were keeping her…” he began, his voice low, growing strained, “...They burned her, claiming she was a witch. That this was God’s will.”
He could feel his fangs grow just ever so slightly, as well as his claws. Dracula could practically remember the smell of those ashes of that home.
“It was a lie, of course. All of it. They simply wanted her dead, and used all of that as flimsy excuses to placate the town.” he snarled, leaning forward slightly.
Despite the anger clear on his face, you remained steady. You didn’t flinch away like he thought you might, though your eyes were still wide with horror all the same.
Though… he had the feeling it wasn’t horror from seeing him like this. You weren’t scared of the beast threatening to break free from his flesh.
“By the time I located her, she was already burning. Her soul was already beginning to fade. She was gone.”
Dracula leaned back into the chair, his heart heavy in his chest.
A moment passed, and then another once more. The only thing either of you could hear was the storm that had begun to persist around the castle. How the rain harshly hit the window against the wall, and the wind wailed.
“Not one human stood up. No one looked at what was happening, and said no. All they did was watch.”
Your eyes flickered to the arm of the chair Dracula was sitting in, how it splintered under the pressure of his claws.
Yet… you still didn’t look afraid.
“I then warned them. I gave them a year to apologize and admit they were wrong. A year to pack up and leave. No one did. Not one.”
It was quiet for a moment, and Dracula took a deep breath. In an instant, the air was no longer as heavy as it had been a moment before, though a deep chill still ran throughout the air.
A part of him wanted to feel a bit bad. The moment the air lessened, you slumped again. You were still wounded, and weren’t able to hold yourself together like you no doubt would have if you were healthy. He would have to be mindful how much of a powerful presence he had.
Thrumming his claws against the partially destroyed arm of the chair, Dracula looked over you briefly before continuing.
“In my grief and anger, I declared a year from that day, I would rain hell on those who killed her. I would raze humanity to the ground.”
Your eyes met his.
“And then you did. Or tried to.” you spoke, your voice surprisingly steady.
His eyes never left your own.
“Indeed. I did.”
You swallowed thickly, your hands gripping the sheets under you nervously.
Different ways over how you would respond flashed through his mind again, much like they had earlier these past few days. However, what you said next surprised him.
“I… I don’t blame you, if I am being honest.”
Sure, Dracula thought of the possibility of you saying something along those lines, but he didn’t think you’d actually say it.
Even if you were different from some of your ancestors, he still expected you to go along and claim he was still an evil bastard, that killing those people was still horrible.
Though, that thought isn’t wrong. He knew what he was doing all those centuries ago, and knew what he was doing each time he had been revived and set out to attack. How evil those actions were.
Yet here you were, so quietly admitting you didn’t blame him.
“I’ll be honest… If it were my partner, or someone close to me… I can’t say I wouldn’t have wanted revenge.” You began, head tilting slightly towards him.
“Though uh… I don’t think I would have tried to kill all of humanity, but… Well… I don’t know your situation in full, but I do know grief is a powerful motivator for a lot of things…”
Dracula wasn’t sure what overcame him, but he found himself standing up out of the chair and leaning forward. His arms caged you in as he rested his hands on either side of you on the bed, while he loomed over you.
“You, Little Belmont, would commit murder? To avenge someone close to you, despite what your ancestors have stood for?” he asked, curiosity truly burning in his chest.
You didn’t shrink back, instead met his gaze head on, even as he caged you in. Even as he heard your heart pick up, and your breath hitch, you didn’t back down from his question.
“I’m not saying I would have tried to destroy all of humanity… or even that entire town. But I would hunt down every single person involved. They would know I was coming, one by one.”
Your eyes spoke promise, as if this was something you had thought of plenty of times before. The certainty in them was surprising.
“I’m not my ancestors. I protect humanity, sure, but don’t assume I'm just like them.”
He stood over you for a moment, his face so incredibly close to your own as he stood above you as he took in your words. Your pulse was loud enough to ring in his own ears, and your body was stiff as stone, as if awaiting him to call you a liar.
Then, he laughed.
It was more of a chuckle really, though seeing your bewildered face as he pulled back away from you nearly had made him want to laugh harder.
Leaning back and sitting into the chair once again, Dracula ran a hand against his face and into his hair.
“Forgive me- Forgive me…” He began, his lips twitching into a smile. “I just never thought I’d see the day where a Belmont would admit something such as that. Though…”
Dracula adjusted his posture to a much more relaxed one, most of the tension that had been in the air washing away in an instant.
“You are correct. You are far from what some of your ancestors have been.”
You definitely had Leon’s fire. It was hard to say if Leon would have committed murder against humans if the past had been slightly different… But you had that gleam in your eye that his old friend once had. A fierce look that was different, yet just as vicious as Belmonts before you.
With such a revelation, Dracula could feel the heavy feeling in his heart lessen, but that didn’t mean you both were in the clear, even if you understood each other just a bit better.
Even if you were sympathetic to him, that didn’t change the fact he very much attempted to kill many people. Multiple times, sometimes against his will. He very much has caused harm again and again.
Still, you looked at him with such a complex look on your face. No doubt conflicted yourself with everything you had learned today, especially if you were going to go ahead and plan to fight him anyway.
“So, Little Belmont.”
His voice had you looking back up at him.
“Now that you’ve heard it from my lips, why I detested humanity for so long, what do you plan to do now?” he asked.
Dracula wouldn’t lie. He was genuinely curious what your response would be. Anxiety began to creep up his throat once again, however.
…Maybe you would say something that would once again surprise him.
It was silent for a few moments, as you looked deep in thought, before looking back up at him.
“Well… Do you intend to keep trying to kill every human? Seems kinda… counter productive to do so now. Especially when things have changed so much in the centuries that have passed.”
Though you gave a slight wince.
“Granted, I don’t expect you to like anyone. But at this point, what do you gain? Are you… Not tired of fighting and dying and being revived?”
Once again, he could sense a genuine curiosity in your questions.
What did he gain, at this point?
Killing every human would be suicide for vampires everywhere. It would do more than just destroy vampires, but ecosystems as well.
As much as Vlad hated to admit it, humans were a necessary factor when it came to the earth.
But why should he care?
The moment that thought crossed his mind, his eyes landed back on you. How you fidgeted a bit on the bed, though seemed far less anxious than before. Your instincts didn’t seem as on edge as they had been when he first initiated this conversation.
Granted, he hadn’t been as… enthusiastic about world domination in centuries, if he were being honest with himself. His last run in with his son definitely left a mark, how his son grimly told him what Lisa’s last words had been.
But even though he often wished to stay dead, many would find ways to bring him back, and it was as if a cord was attached to his back, tugging him like a string. A force urging him to kill once again.
He’d barely be awake even a few hours, before he was set to be killed again.
Dracula would admit, he was definitely tired.
This wasn’t exactly what he expected his life to become after he chose to forsake his own humanity to spite God. Though he supposes that’s what he gets for doing so in the first place.
Who knew immortality would be full of boredom, tragedy, and bone deep tiredness?
Still, without it, he wouldn’t have experienced the brief bouts of love and joy that he wouldn’t trade for the world.
His eyes stayed on you as those thoughts swirled in his mind.
Despite everything that has happened to him, he found it hard to regret meeting you, at least so far.
For a moment, his eyes gazed to the side, different thoughts conflicting in his mind, but…
He didn’t wish to fight you, either.
Fingers thrumming against the arm of the chair, Dracula leaned his face against his hand.
“I suppose that is a fair point. Nearly every human that has personally spite me is dead. It gets tiring being woken up, and then killed for attempting vengeance when those who personally wronged me are gone.”
Your lips twitched upwards slightly at his ‘admission’, before giving him a look.
“But tell me, Little Belmont…”
He leaned in close again from his spot in the chair, looking at you almost amused.
“What should I do instead, hm?”
You blinked, and your face briefly flushed from the proximity.
“Um… Well, what did you do before declaring humans as your enemy? Uh, I’m no historian, but didn’t you just kinda do your own thing, only killing people that came to bother you or hurt you? Like how the church likes to refer to you as Vlad the Impaler to hide that you are a real vampire that exists?”
Dracula stared at you for a moment.
“They what.”
Hands flew up, and you shook them a bit in front of you as Dracula leaned back.
“Uh- don’t worry, I can tell you that later, but in all seriousness-”
Arching a brow, Dracula briefly wondered just what the church and human historians have been saying about him all these centuries if they were attempting to hide his existence. Despite being freed for a few days, he still had much to catch up on.
Regardless, he gave what you said some thought.
“That is true. I… did mostly keep to myself. I had no desire to join or hide amongst humans. Though I had little pity for those who sought me out to destroy me and met a… bloody end.”
At his words you blinked, before nodding to yourself as if you agreed. However, your eyes widened ever so slightly, and you were looking at him with that familiar spark in your eye he had seen come and go.
“Um… Why not do that again? Actually, how about a compromise?”
Now he was interested. What kind of compromise would a Belmont come up with? You were different from many of the others, sure, but he couldn’t help but be curious.
“Well…” You began, clearing your throat, “Unless any innocent humans are harmed, I have no desire to or need to hunt you, or anyone in the castle, really. What would be the point? I know from personal experience not everyone of the paranormal nature are ‘evil’, after all.”
Your hands were fidgeting in your lap, and you were having a hard time sitting still.
“Uh… that is to say I won’t hunt anyone that hurts any innocent folk. But at that point, that was their own choice, right? Unless you ordered it, I can deal with them personally. No need to go to war if you aren’t attacking anyone. And…”
It was clear you were growing more and more flustered as you tried to explain yourself and your reasoning. It wasn’t for the fact he had to take this seriously, he would have found it cute.
“And I- um- I can try to keep people away? I own a part of the property nearby and can have the road closed off. Of course, I can’t stop trespassers if I am not here, but I have plenty of traps set around the property… close to my cabin, really. I can try and keep people away…”
You were mumbling more in thought now as you tried to come up with ideas.
“...And I know a few blood banks for vampires, and a few other paranormal people who require blood to live. I know a witch that owns one, too. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to bits to help.”
All were interesting ideas, if you felt you both could really pull it off. However, he still had one question.
While you were rambling, he gently reached forward, clawed fingers tenderly grabbing your chin to have you look at him. You stopped talking and froze, eyes wide.
“All very good ideas, Little Belmont, but please answer me this,” He began, watching as your eyes comically flickered between his hand and face, “What about your family legacy? It was founded on the very idea of killing me.”
You swallowed thickly as he spoke, eyes trained on him.
“You asked why it mattered. Are you really willing to throw away the one thing your clan was founded for? For peace? For both humans and monsters? Are you willing to toss aside the very reason your ancestors became hunters in the first place?”
You stared at him in silence for a moment, swallowing thickly once more. After a few moments, you moved your head out of his grip, a sudden annoyed look in your eyes.
“I said it once, and I’ll say it again. I’m not my ancestors.” you began, a sharp look on your face.
“I didn’t ask to be born a hunter. To be born a Belmont. I’ll protect humanity, sure, but why do I have to limit myself and people’s lives based on what my ancestors decided what- 500 years ago? Why should every rule my ancestors made define my life in its entirety?”
It was as if your nerves had dissipated, and you crossed your arms in annoyance. Dracula wondered if this also was something you have thought about for years.
It made sense, he supposed. If your personal life was as much of a mess as he suspected, then what did you have to show for being a Belmont besides pain and strife?
His lips twitched upwards slightly into a small grin. You just keep finding ways to surprise him.
“Fair enough. It’s admirable to forge your own path rather than be held down by your ancestors.”
Dracula then tilted his head, that smile never quite leaving his face.
“So, Little Belmont. Let’s say I do agree to your ideas. I won’t destroy humanity, and you won’t hunt myself, and the residents of my castle. You’ll help keep humans away, and help anyone here who needs a meal. What will you do then?”
The annoyed look on your face fell, and you thought for a moment.
“Um… I could show you a bunch of modern stuff? No offense, I know you are a genius and all, but uh… I doubt you know all the ways civilization has changed since you were last around for more than a day.” you said with a wince, though you perked up almost instantly.
“Oh! I could get you a cell phone! Oh, I bet you would like some of the online libraries as well-”
He would admit, he had no idea what a cellphone was, but he was intrigued by the idea of a library.
But he was more interested in the very idea of you not only not slaying him, but you coming back to visit.
Yes, the idea of you wanting to come back was very pleasing to him, indeed.
It was at the cost of playing nice, but was that such a hard thing to achieve?
If it had been several decades ago, he doubted he would have been so… willing. He has had plenty of time to cool off, being imprisoned in stone. That urge to kill never truly left…
But that urge to devour humanity whole… that was dwindling. He’d argue that it had been dwindling for a while now.
He may be King of the Night, but this song and dance was growing tiresome.
That, and your ideas had merit. He could work with them, within reason.
“Alright Little Belmont.” he began, and you paused in the middle of your muttering.
“I’ll make a deal with you.”
You sat up straight again, eyes at attention, and he could practically hear your heart pick up in anticipation.
“For starters, I won’t attack humanity, not as a whole. However, I won’t show mercy to anyone who personally slights me. That, and any human foolhardy enough to come to my castle in an attempt to destroy me shall be dealt with accordingly.”
After you gave him a brisk nod, he continued.
“You, on the other hand, shall not lay a hand on anyone in this castle, unless they attack first. Am I clear?” He spoke, his voice becoming firm. You tilted your head, and he decided to elaborate before you agreed.
“Everyone in my castle is under my protection. They are here either as a direct connection to me as my servants, are here for sanctuary, or are here for political endeavors. They are not to be harmed unless they attack you first, or attack humans on their own accord.”
He could only imagine the shit show that would follow if you killed one of the political guests for another coven. A part of him actually considered letting you loose on them, now that he thought about it, especially with those nasty guests that like to undermine him for dying to Belmonts…
That could be a thought for another day.
A look of understanding crossed your face, and you gave him another nod.
“That’s reasonable.”
It was more or less your idea, after all, but he was glad you were willing to agree to what he added on to it.
“Next, you said you own the property nearby, and could help keep other pesky humans away. I’ll hold you to that, because I may not attempt to kill humans for existing, but I do not wish to be bothered.”
Though he’d admit, he wondered if you would be willing to show him the land you own. Vlad was curious how a little cabin you owned.
What would it look like? Did you keep it clean? Messy? Was it large? Small?
Questions he could ask later, should he see you again and you agree to these terms.
You blinked, before nodding at him slowly.
“I mean… I’ll try and do what I can. Of course, If the government or church discovers you, they may try to override me, or send someone to attack from a different position. I can’t stop that, but… I will do what I can. If I can’t, and you haven’t done anything besides exist…”
Your eyes flickered to a nearby mirror, before looking back at him.
“Well, like you said, they’ll be dealt with. I can try to persuade but… well at that point, if they won’t hear me out… I can’t stop anything you do to someone trespassing.”
That was a fair compromise, he supposed. He had little idea how the human government worked in this day and age, let alone how entangled hunters were with them. Should anyone be foolish enough to challenge him, then he’ll make sure to deal with it.
But if you were at least willing to help him out, even a little, in regards to keeping humans away. Even if you most likely weren’t a fan of the idea of him exterminating any human that foolishly sauntered into his domain.
“Agreed. Now, another thing…”
Dracula tilted his head as he looked at you.
“I’d like to see you again after this, Little Belmont.”
Your eyes widened a degree, and your face grew slightly flushed from surprise.
“What-”
“What I mean is, you intrigue me. You fascinate me in ways I had long since forgotten, and I’d like to hope this simple compromise will simply be the beginning of a… commendable relationship.”
He felt his lips curl upward again at the look on your face. Clearly you weren’t expecting him to be so forward in asking to see you once more.
“Are… Are you sure? I uh, no offense, didn’t think you’d want a Belmont around after I leave… Or your castle’s inhabitants, since I know how some of them feel with me recovering here…”
Oh, how you had no idea how much he wanted to see you again. Vlad knew his time with you now was short, and his old heart was beginning to pound in his chest at the possibility of this little meeting actually working out.
He had to see you again. One way or another.
“I am sure. You will soon find that I don’t say things I don’t mean without reason, especially in company I like.”
He wished he had a camera, it was clear you weren’t quite used to subtle compliments. Or perhaps there was more to it?
Dracula could think more on that later.
Gently, he held out a hand to shake.
“What do you say, Little Belmont? Are these terms agreeable?”
Eyes flickering between him and his hand, you held out a hand, before hesitating.
“Okay… On one condition.” Dracula raised an eyebrow, but was curious nonetheless.
“Name it.”
After a reluctant pause, you spoke up.
“It can’t be this easy.” You began, though quickly continued when you saw his face fall.
“When I say that, I’m not referring to you. I mean our circumstances. I worry something might come up that would be… disruptive to this ‘peace’. I propose that we at least try to talk about something before acting rashly if one of us feels slighted, or if the other may have broken the agreement without realizing it.”
Dracula had to give you credit, even while injured and under what must be an absurd amount of stress, you were managing to think ahead. Something a hunter no doubt had to be good at while on a hunt, so why wouldn’t it show in other areas as well?
Plus… It pleased him you were still being careful, critically aware of your situation instead of blindingly agreeing. You were no fool.
No doubt your mind was whirring with possibilities, ways he, or someone in his castle could try and trap you by these agreements. Those thoughts weren’t unfounded, at least involving his subjects.
He had no doubts there would be chaos when you started coming around for visits.
Even if he himself wouldn’t dare try and trap you by your own rules to invoke a battle, it still impressed him that you were cautious. There were too many conniving fools when it came to such politics, even now as he settled back in as King.
Vlad smiled.
“Very well, that is agreeable. Anything else?”
You were still hesitant, but after a moment, you reached forward, your smaller hand meeting his own.
“No, that will be all for now.”
With your warm hand clasped with his own, Dracula felt his body finally relax, and his gaze on you softened.
For now, things might finally start going his way.
Even if that meant his desires had morphed into something different than pure destruction. All he wanted was to learn more of you.
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wangxianficfinder · 2 months ago
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Fic Finder
Nov 16th
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1. Hi there! I'm looking for this fic that I thought I'd bookmarked, but I tragically had not. The premise is Wei Wuxian is asked to watch a class of baby Lan junior disciples when the teacher is pulled away, much to Lan Qiren's dismay. He's left watching them for much longer than Lan Qiren intended and ends up really helping the students, particularly one little kid who hadn't been able to develop his core very well yet. They go outside to test throwing snowballs with wind talismans and the kids all leave with more confidence in themselves. Lan Qiren is able to be convinced to let Wei Wuxian keep helping out with the baby juniors. @lucky-cat-13
FOUND? 🔒 Something Yet to Learn by Glitterbombshell (T, 16k, WangXian, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, [Podfic] Joy In the Midst of These Things Series by GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets))
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2. Hey, I am searching for two fanfics.
(A) One in which I think wangxian are broken up or could be that LWJ died cause all I remember is that WWX obsessively draws LWJ's ears cause he couldn't remember how they looked and that it ended on a happy note also I think it was a modern verse but not quite sure .
(B) And in the second one all I know is that wangxian are strangers who bury a body together and that one of them probably LWJ was the one who helped WWX do so and that they were in a forest and it was night time and was a oneshot I think under 20k words.
Thankyou!
2A)
FOUND! you'll always know me (ana_cp) by anaphoricae (E, 127k, wangxian, modern, Actor WWX, Teacher LWJ, Getting Back Together, Exes to Lovers, is it exes to lovers if you never quite defined your relationship?, Angst with a Happy Ending, LWJ being cute with children alert, WWX rides a motorcycle, LWJ writes as a hobby, Back hugs as a love language, Sharing Food as a Love Language) Another one where WWX isn't exactly an idol (he's a famous actor) and LWJ knows him from before he was famous, so maybe not exactly what they're looking for, but a great story nonetheless.
2B)
FOUND!🔒The inherent romanticism of hiding a body together by Aki_no_hikari (T, 4k, WangXian, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, Modern, Corpse Desecration, Corpse Disposal, Pigs, dark Wangxian)
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3. Hi! Thank you for the work you do. Could you please help me find this fic? It's set during the 14 years wwx is dead, focusing on lwj and his sect-- it has some great OCs with lwjs younger cousins who adore him, and specifically question the rules because of his punishment. Lwj also gets migranes? I think it's in progress, but not sure. Thank you!
FOUND? Run Off The World by Sapphire_Roses (M, 316k, wangxian, XuanLi, SongXiao, WIP, Not Everyone Dies AU, Canon Divergence, Wen Remnants Live, Flashbacks, YLLZ WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei Sect, Sect Leader WWX, Married WangXian, OCs, POV Outsider, Morally Grey Characters, (Do Take That Tag Seriously), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Developing Friendships, Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Yunmeng Siblings Feels, Gusu Siblings Feels, Sibling Bonding, Pining, Character Study, Tenderness, Mild Smut, POV Alternating, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Minor Character Death) remind me of Run Off The World by Sapphire_Roses, specifically chapter 38 but in this, Wei Wuxian is alive
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4. Looking for fanfic where Lan Zhan is grieving and the rest of the Lan Clan regret whipping him and are trying to help him survive. I read it a few weeks ago go but forgot to bookmark it.
LAN xichen also bring in Yuan to visit lan zhan as he is healing to motivate him to heal quicker.
But any recommendations about angsty lan zhan * Wei ying in general is appreciated. @wildcat12
All that is solid melts into air by huxiyi (T, 18k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Growing Old Together, Breaking Up & Making Up, Post-Canon, Character Study, Getting Back Together)
🔒 Traditions of Grief by ReleasedFromHisCage (Not Rated, 574, WangXian, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Canon Compliant)
to remember names of plants series by detention_notes (T, 8k, Diary/Journal, Character Study, WWX’s canonical humor as deflection, WQ is a lesbian, Friendship, Parenthood, Pining, thinly-veiled anger and fear, small moments of hope, planning for uncertain futures, is this angst?, gentle angst, Reminiscing, Found Family, Parenthood, Reminiscing, Pining, Grief/Mourning, Epistolary, Healing, Childhood, Love, LWJ’s single parenthood, how to love a memory, how to raise the next generation, Canonical Character Death, Yearning, LWJ’s concentrated stream-of-consciousness emotions, Bittersweet, Hopeful Ending)
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5. Hello, I have a request.
Wei Ying survived the first siege of burial mounds but his soul was shattered and he was the kind of child who needs to be watched and lan wangji takes him to the cloud recesses to care for him and at some point wei ying keeps trying to hurt himself or die and as for lan wangji he keeps on taking care for him for 13 years until wei ying successfully killed himself and got summon in mo xuanyu body. @lanwuxian0725
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6. I am back again, please, you are wonderful, i need help finding another fic. (One day i will start logging the titles of fics I love.) I know the plot, but all my keyword/tag searches have been unsuccessful. So, For a Fic Finder: It's a modern (no magic) fic set just as we went into full pandemic lock down. (It may have been set in Canada - but I'm not positive on that detail.) Wei Ying is an artist--a painter, and he lives with Lan Zhan, who (i think) teaches music. They are friends but not yet a couple at the fic's start. A big plot point is Wei Ying has a setious unspecified auto-immune disease (i recall one symptom was painfully swollen joints) that is debilitating when it flares up. It also means he has to stay strictly home due to his immune system being compromised. Let's see...Lan Zhan has bunnies and as he gets really depressed during lock down, he uses his hefty trust fund to shop online for increasingly ridiculous/expensive stuff (think stuff like jeweled bunny water bowls from Tiffany and Cartier). Eventually, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan confess & get together. The only thing after that, that is sad, is how much they both miss LZ's son, A-Yuan. A-Yuan & Jingyi are at university and initially stay with Jiang Yanli when campus shuts down. Wei Ying thinks that they won't be able to come home for break as planned, because they don't want to risk Wri Ying getting covid. But the ending of the fic is both boys secretly super quarantine themselves and then borrow a car and drive the long road home. A-Yuan was adopted by Lan Zhan and at the very end he calls Wei Ying "Dad," which is a huge deal to Wei Ying.
If someone can find this. I will be so grateful! @emrinalex
FOUND! A Bad of Nibs (Nibs are Bad) by Enk (M, 17k, WangXian, Quarantine, Slice of Life, Friends to Lovers, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Fluff and Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Found Family, Vague Canadian Location, JYL Lives)
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7. Fic finder please! I mostly remember WWX as the final girl trope and it was listed in the tags. It was kind of a horror and mystery story where his mother was killed by serial killer? And JGY was helping them? There were shoes involved. And nhs and WWX get caught and have to fight xy and escape. then LWJ has some kind of ghost gift and comes to find them. It was so good and I can’t remember the title to find it to read again! 😭😭😭
FOUND! Post Mortem by Cataclysmic_Calamity (E, 178k, WangXian, Psychological Horror, Modern, friends with benefits, they’re both fucked up but they love each other so much, Slow Burn Mystery, Unnegotiated Kink, Dom/sub, Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Stalking, Drug Addiction, Serial Killers, in WWX’s desire to critique the ‘final girl’ trope he accidentally becomes one, Angst with a Happy Ending, meta commentary on the horror and true crime genres)
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8. Hi I was wondering if you all could help me find a fic? It was a modern au where WWX was a spy and had to break up with LWJ but he ends up getting injured and breaks into LWJ’s place to bleed out on his couch after not seeing him for years. I know LWJ was a surgeon or at least a doctor in the fic and that Lan Yuan shows up as a kid LWJ meets at the hospital. Wen Qing and Lan Xichen are also in it from what I recall. Thank you for all that you guys do! @peerlessplantma
FOUND? 8 sounds like a deleted fic by scarletmoontears called empty space beside me? Currently unfinished at about 26K words
I could've sworn i was subscribed to updates but it's not in my subscriptions, I think this is a WIP?
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9. Hi! I have yet another fic that I can't remember the name of. It was on AO3
What I remember: Wangxian were immortals who are living in the modern age (Modern AU). Wei Ying lives as a famous actor, Jiang Ying, where his fans regularly know that he is a troll --- Wei Ying tends to tweet. There was this whole thing where a fan brought up how Wei Ying looks like this old legend story Wei WuXian and Wei Ying actually responds to the comment online and confirms it to be true. No one takes it seriously bc well they know Wei Ying is a prankster. (This ofc, is the time that Wei Ying is NOT lying)
TLDR: wangxian immortals, modern AU, on AO3, Wei Ying is a famous actor under name Jiang Ying
THANKS! Much love! @chenqingmagic
NOT FOUND! ridiculous future bullshit Series by sami (T, 93k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Future Fic, in theory it follows on from an au, specifically The Same Moon Shines Series, in actuality I’m not committing to this that hard, Humour, immortals through history, Modern AU, Sort Of, University, outsider pov, Pride, Chaos Gremlin WWX)
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10. hey!
first up, thank you so much for doing— personally, it bugs so much when i can't find the fics i love! there's a modern-setting fic, where wwx is a cultivation shop owner hiding from the jins, on the low— and a birthday night gets stuck in a time loop, and same happens to lwj. could you plsss help me find this??? i've been trying since a couple of days now, but.. 😅
FOUND? see you yesterday by glyphic (M, 138k, WIP, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Ghost Hunters, Time Loop, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn)
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11. Hello! Love this blog for all the fics its given me <3! I'm looking for a fic where Wei Wuxian is left behind during the fall of Lotus Pier,, Jiang Cheng still escapes with his mom, but that's all I can remember. Any help I can get will be appreciated!!
11 seems familiar to me although I can't remember whether madam yu also escaped with jc or not. It was probably a wwx birthday project WIP which I'm sure was in my bookmarks. But I can't find it now, I can see a mystery work when searching with specific tags which could be it but again I'm not sure
FOUND? Every time you fall by Nillegible (T, 9k, JFM/YZY, WangXian, JC & WWX, WIP, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Fall of Lotus PIer)
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12. Hi!! I'm looking for a college au fic where lan wangji is selectively mute and comunicates though sign language and meets wwx ( jc and jyl) who know sign language because madame yu is deaf. Wangxian meet at a coffee shop whe wwx works! Thank for all the great work you do! @kavlobebeki
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13. Hi! There was this fic that I was reading a while ago but lost… do you think you could find it? I believe it was a teen wangxian fic, cloud recesses arc. Wwx is teasing Lwj in the library pavilion like usual, but pretty much freezes because it’s storming outside. It was then revealed that wwx’s fear of storms came from his fear of lightning, which of course stems from his trauma related to madam Yu.
FOUND? Thunderstorm in the Library Pavilion by ZamaShines (M, 22k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Hurt/Comfort, Bad Parent YZY, Abusive YZY, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Whipping, Astraphobia, phobia - thunder, Thunderstorms, Panic Attacks, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, WWX Needs a Hug, and gets the hug, Good Sibling JC, Good Uncle LQR, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts)
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14. Hello! There was a fic a while back. Wei Ying and the wen Remnants were in Gusu. But while Lan Zhan was away the elders put Wei Ying on trial, silenced him and whipped him? His siblings show up right at the end and he's barely hanging on. I don't think it was ever finished, but it was good and I have a craving to read it again.Thank you! @loremipsumflotsamandjetsam
i think i have seen it, possibly a thread fic on twt? Maybe with WY being a prisoner in the Lan sect and A-Yuan stays with him, LZ does not know him and hates him but then gets to know and understand him better? And then he leaves CR for some time and JGY of SS possibly do something to make WY seem guilth and whipped so when LZ returns he is livid and proclaims marriage? But sadly i don't remember who's fic that was :( Though i don't remember WY's sibs being there, so maybe that's another one. Also in the one i read WY wakes up after the whipping and finds out LQR and LZ cared for A-Yuan during blackout… It was an interesting one anyway
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15. Hi, for the next ficfinder: there was this fic that said in what I think were the author notes that wwx thought he was lazy but turns out he's just depressed and I can't find it ☹️
FOUND? Polishing Jade by Starra (M, 252k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Modern AU, Awkward Dates, Slice of Life, Most likely OOCness, Falling In Love, Everyone Needs A Hug, Loneliness, Feelings Realization, Drinking to Cope, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, slow-ish build, Might not be slow enough for some people my bad, The real Slow Build is how long it takes for them to actually get married, Eventual Cohabitation)
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16. Hello 🐇💙 Looking for one of the many canon divergence fics where the Wens and WWX end up at Lotus Pier instead of, you know, dead. The one specific identifying detail I can provide is WWX being in chronic pain from the core removal and WQ trying to figure out a way to help him. At least one instance of WWX trying to hide/downplay the pain and basically collapsing before he accepts the help. @linderel
Alas, this is a good fic but not the one I'm looking for! Pretty sure the one I want has WQ sticking WWX with acupuncture needles for pain management, and WWX actually experiences flare-ups of acute pain (and no it's not RoseThorne's fic either, they are definitely at LP not BM)
NOT FOUND 🔒 if you’re leaving baby let me down slowly by ravenditefairylights (M, 36k, WangXian, XuanLi, Past MingXian, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, Implied/Referenced Sex, Miscommunication, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Hurt WWX, Mutual Pining, Unreliable Narrator, Self-Esteem Issues, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Protective Siblings, Trauma, Slightly dubious consent, courtesy of drunk sex, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Phoenix Mountain, Chronic Pain, Getting Together, Fix-It of Sorts, One Braincell Trio, PTSD) WQ gets really upset before WWX will accept her help, but I think the only time WWX collapses in the fic is because of a panic attack, so it doesn't match exactly
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17. Hi! I’m looking for a fic where Wei wuxian comes back as mo xuanyu and goes to pier. He pretends to be a woman and goes to gusu with Jiang Cheng, Lan wangji meets Wei wuxian pretending to be a woman and starts to fall in love. Lan xichen notices and talks to him because everyone thinks Wei wuxian and jiang cheng are dating and he doesn’t want his brother’s heart to break again. There was also a big meeting between sects where someone asks how many kids Wei wuxian and jiang cheng want to have, Wei wuxian answers but Jiang cheng says he wants none and everyone’s shocked before Jiang cheng reveals that Wei wuxian is his heir and not his lover.when everyone goes to yiling city Wei wuxian is forced to use some demonic cultivation but isn’t caught and all the juniors love him for being his cool and mischievous self. I’d be so grateful for any help in finding this fic! @sentient-halloween-candy
FOUND! By Any Other Name by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 31k, Wangxian, Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, Misunderstandings, Identity Porn, Identity reveal)
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18. Re-submitting this in the hopes that someone might know this since it wasn't found last time 😞
About the fic:
It's been a long time since I read this one, so it's an older fic (at least more than 3-4 years ago). It was centred around MDZS as a story with Jiang Wanyin as the MC and YLZ as the villain. Our main characters had a whole fandom around it, where LWJ is a famous author and WWX a not-very-popular artist who drew fanart of the most hated character in the book "Yiling Laozu" (I think he was an artist, could also be a fellow writer).
I remember there was lot of fandom discourse about WWX and his choice of character to support and how YLZ was always jealous of JWY and did actually maliciously cause everything he was accused of in this alternate MDZS canon. Then, suddenly, LWJ + WWX end up pairing up for a fandom event (a big bang or smth similar), and WWX has the idea of a story where canon divergence occurs and YLZ is a good person instead (like actual canon) and LWJ agrees to write for it.
This was as far as I had read for it. From I remember it was a WIP. Thanks <3 @indelibleme
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19. hi I wanted to ask for this fic
i most prob found this fic under jealous lan wangji fics on ao3 but I can't seem to find it any longer
basically wwx was goading lwj tht he might mess w someone else and lwj said there's gonna be no one else for the rest of ur life
and also lwj got kinda horny mad and fucked wwx in an alley and i think all of this took place in an alley
if u find it or not ,still tysm
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20. Hi! Im looking for a fic, and i Think its a one-shot. Its starts (I think) that they are at a banquet, and Wei Ying is looking at a forhead ribbion, he has in is wrist, and then he hear, I tink it Lan Xichen, asking him where he got it from, and he tells them its from a childhood friend. And when they tell them is Lan Zhans ribbon, he goes in denail. They havent met in the cloud resses study arce at that time. Hope you acn find it! And sorry english is not my first language! @misswinchester1967
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109 notes · View notes
yumeka-sxf · 8 months ago
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Thoughts on Spy x Family: Family Portrait
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I finally got around to reading the SxF light novel, Family Portrait...and I mean "finally" because it's literally been sitting in my shelf since it was first released in English back in December of last year! I was distracted by Code White and the SxF video game which came out around the same time, but even long after that, I was having trouble getting motivated to read it. For some reason, experiencing SxF in novel format instead of in anime/manga just didn't appeal to me, plus the fact that it's not written by Endo himself (these weird preferences of mine are also why I'm not into reading fanfics either). Don't get me wrong, in general I love reading stories in prose form too, but for a series like SxF that already has such an established visual identity, it doesn't feel as "authentic" to me if that makes any sense. But I did want to read it eventually, since it is an official part of SxF media and Endo did the illustrations and does acknowledge the book (he wrote a nice afterword at the end). So I finally sat down and read it in sections over the course of this week! I'll share my brief thoughts on each of the contained stories:
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Novel Mission 1
Since this was the first story in the book, it took me a while to get used to experiencing the world of SxF in novel form. There were some things I felt would have been better conveyed in anime/manga, for example, one of the very first gags about Yor misinterpreting Anya's nature class as some sort of hardcore outdoor survival trip. As I was reading that part I was like "I get the joke, but it would have been funnier if I actually saw these images and the characters' expressions with Endo's comedic illustrations." It was also a bit jarring to hear the characters thoughts and feelings from third-person narration, but I got used to it. As for the story itself, it was Damianya focused, something I'm not particularly into, but I don't mind it either. I liked the rare, soft Damian moments, and the thing with the squirrel eating Anya's peanut trail was funny. I also liked the scene at the beginning where Loid and Yor feed Bond together while Anya watches.
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Novel Mission 2
Oddly, this was my favorite of the stories! Of all the characters, I think the author nailed Yuri's unhinged thoughts the best - as I was reading, I couldn't help but hear every cringe thought in his voice, which is a good sign of how well the author gets the character! I actually chuckled at a few parts too, both from his insane Yor-obsessed and anti-Loid musings, as well as from his banter with Anya. The police interrogation scene was great and would be even better if it ever gets animated! I also found it interesting that this story has the first instance where we find out what Yuri thinks about Bond (that he's fat and useless - rude!) Also his first time hearing about Franky apparently...makes we wonder if Endo will make him feel the same way if these things ever come up in the manga.
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Novel Mission 3
I liked this story a lot too! I think it worked the best in novel format out of all of them, probably because it was more focused on drama and emotions than comedy. It's ironic that the two official SxF stories that feature the deeper side of Franky's character - this one and the omake chapter from volume 13 - are both not even part of the main canon! Alessa would have definitely accepted Franky's job as an informant, but he felt that someone like her should only be surrounded by "beautiful things." The poor man really needs to see that inner beauty matters too, and he has that! I also think he should have swallowed his pride and told Loid the real reason why he wanted the disguise...not that it would have changed the outcome. Poor Franky.
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Novel Mission 4
This was a cute Forger-focused story, but like the first one, I felt it had parts that would have been more effective in anime/manga form, for example, "hair monster" Yor and whatever hideous painting Felix ended up making! But despite that, it was still funny and cute. Though I do think the author went a tad overboard with Yor's flustered antics...they just kept going and going, lol. Also, like the movie, we have another scenario of Loid getting flung into the air by Yor but landing gracefully on his feet (though this instance was much tamer since she wasn't drunk and only pushed him instead of hit him). Again, maybe I would have appreciated the humor in this story better if I saw it in anime/manga with Endo's hilarious designs and expressions, but for what it was, it was enjoyable enough.
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Short Novel
This extra short story would be perfect as a reintroduction story for a future anime season...maybe one day!
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Overall, the Family Portrait novel is a nice addition to the Spy x Family universe. Even though I feel the humor in the series is most effective in illustrated form, it's still nice to have more stories in the canon, especially ones that show new sides to the characters, like the Franky and Yuri stories. Like the movie, it's debatable if this novel should be considered true canon or not, but personally, I don't find anything in it that contradicts canon, at least not yet. So yeah, definitely check out the novel if you haven't already! 😁
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thetorturedbuckydepartment · 6 months ago
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chapter one: the briefing
pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!SHIElD!reader
masterlist
summary: being a SHIELD agent, you have a knack for analysing people, particularly when it comes to attraction. you have everyone figured out, sorted away into the boxes you've created. But there's one man you can never seem to figure out, the very bane of your existence -- Bucky Barnes. On the field, he is a saint, helping you dodge bullets and taking knife wounds in your name. Around the building? Public menace number one, always poised to insult or to spar with you.
After being sent on a 6-month-long torture-cum-vacation with the very man, could all this change? Could you finally figure out what has been bubbling beneath the surface for years between the two of you, the juggernaut that you know you cannot stop?
warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of murder, dead parents, scars, trauma, implied slutshaming, mentions of guns and shooting and bombs, mentions of wanting to die, dark content, reader is implied to be bisexual (I cannot fathom not being attracted to women SORRY NOT SORRY), reader is implicitly stated to be NOT A MAN
word count: 3.4k
A/N: omg it's here! had so much fun writing this, hope you all enjoy it too! im still working out a schedule for this, as ive currently written 3 chapters and am already at about 10k words! and im currently very inspired for my own, non-fanfic WIP, so im split! hope you enjoy, and as always, let me know if you liked it! comments and reblogs are much appreciated <3
Human attraction can be sorted into three little boxes: Sexual, romantic, platonic. It is somewhat of a threeway Venn diagram, and people find themselves travelling in between the perfectly drawn circles all the time. It is a marvel to some, to be able to gauge the section in which one stands with a simple glance. It’s a gift, you’ve found, having the knack to discern between the three attractions. Which means you’ve cracked the code on people, and know exactly how to assess and engage accordingly. 
It’s how you find yourself in such a predicament as the following, quite often:
“You’re Butterscotch, aren’t you?” The voice is meek, quiet, and comes from directly behind you. You’ve just put down the weights at the gym, and have paused to take a drink from your water bottle, when you turn to assess the situation. 
Long brown hair, blue eyes. Gorgeously shy smile as she tucks a strand behind her ear. Your whole body moves, reacting to the incarnation of Aphrodite herself in front of you. You suppose you’ve always seen women that way, to be wholly more beautiful on average compared to men. It’s how you often find yourself in bed with a woman not unlike the one before you. 
She stands, slyly pushing her breasts together and leaning into you, whether it be subconscious or not, batting her long eyelashes.  Sexual attraction, then. You smile, deciding to play it cool, taking another long sip of water, silently reveling in the way her eyes stick on your wet lips. 
“Yeah, that’s me. And you, you’re Hazel, aren’t you?” You tip your head to one side in faux innocence, honing you eyes in on her in a way you know sends shivers down her spine, completely hypnotised by the way you silently call to her. She nods, surprised that you’ve remembered her from her initiation training 6 months ago. She was one of the older recruits, only two or three years younger than you, but valuable just the same.
“I’ve been following your career for a while now, and I must say I really look up to you.” Her lips twist into a grin, showing off her perfect teeth. Your own face darkens as you inject lust into it, and you watch as she tries to discreetly squeeze her thighs together. She’ll be eating right out of your hand in no time.
If she’d come to you 13 years ago, when you were just starting out, you would’ve wanted to tell her that all you are interested in is a promise of casualty. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less, but the absence of such a discussion did land you in hot water all that time ago. Now, your reputation precedes you, and you doubt there is a single soul in this building who doesn’t know your one-and-done policy. Of course, some of the agents surprise you and you have them on a staggered rotation, a new criteria you’ve introduced into your sex life once the gap between you and fresh faces widened to an immoral degree.
You open your mouth to give her a reply that will make her leave here with sticky thighs, when the most agitating, grating voice you’ve been almost tortured with for the past eight years echoes across the gym, calling to you.
“Let’s go Butterface, Fury had a brief for us twenty minutes ago. You can fuck around later.” You roll your eyes at the words of none other than James Buchanan Barnes, huffing out a breath. He’s done this to embarrass you, for sure, because you know for a fact that Fury’s briefing for the next mission is actually in ten minutes from right now. But you know if you showed up on time, he gets the upper hand for coming in earlier.
That’s the other reason you’re so famous around the building — your long-term feud with Bucky. Whenever the two of you end up in a meeting room, there are more insults hurled around than facts. You two love to spar together, finding any excuse to leave bruises on the other’s body. But the most damning thing? There is no better team than the both of you out on the field, your missions always resulting in the lowest casualties and highest success rates SHIELD has ever seen. It’s an eternal mystery, but to the two of you, it is clear enough. You are enemies, holding the dagger of sharp-edged insults to each other’s throats, but on a mission? It must all be put aside for the greater good, for the safety of others. The remarks are snarky but non-distracting, and you’ve jumped in front of a bullet for him more times than you would like to admit. But it doesn’t matter, because he has endured several injuries for you in turn as well. 
You redirect your attention back to your self-sacrificial prey for tonight. “Well, if you need me, I’ll be available at my room on floor 13 at around ten.” You lean in to whisper into her ear, and drag a less-than-innocent finger down the side of her neck. “I can give you a few more ways to look up to me, if you’d like.” The lower octave does something to her, and you watch her eyes flutter shut as she realises you’ve gladly accepted the silent offer she was handing you on a silver platter. 
You chuckle, at how easy it all is. And then spin on your heel, marching back to begrudgingly follow behind the tall brunette who seems to have a permanent scowl on his face whenever he’s in the same room as you. 
He leans back against the cool metal of the elevator that will send the both of you to the top, arms crossed across his broad chest. If you didn’t hate his guts, you’d absolutely suck him dry, right here right now. It’s no surprise that he is the most beautiful man in the building, but his attitude and mannerisms have long turned you off from him.
You poke the bear.
“What happened, Barnes? You mad nobody’ll fuck you?” He turns to you then, blue eyes blazing. And it only makes your shit-eating grin widen.
“Why would I ever be mad at that? I’m mad because we have to go on a mission, and when I come to get you, you’re busy planning on how to… spend your night. Again. At this point, if they’ve got a pulse they probably meet your standards, don’t they?” He smiles cruelly, and you don’t miss the implications. But you don’t care. If you were a man, they’d be singing your praises in the streets. So why is it different now?
“If they have a pulse? Well, if that were the case, then you…” You let your eyes wander up and down, and you notice his hard shell cracking when you meet his eyes again. You smile widens and you feign a blush, and he begins to smile, thinking he’s got you. And then you throw a grenade into whatever fantasy he’s spinning in his head. “Would be dead.” Your voice has never been more cold, observing the way his shoulders slouch in something akin to disappointment.
This is his kryptonite that you love exploiting, so much. The man is wickedly attracted to you, and is equally as horrid at hiding it. You have no idea what kind, though. Which box he fits into. You’re certain it’s not platonic given the way he talks to you. The longing glances and delicate touches after missions where you end up injured had turned you towards romantic, but you know there is no denying the way his eyes drift to your cleavage when you spar, or the way his hands immediately find your hips when you best him in the ring and end up straddling him. There is no box you can put him in, and it drives you up the damn wall.
You briefly wonder what the two of you would be doing in this elevator right now if you were as attracted to him and either of you had made it known. 
The elevator pings and the both of you break the burning, seething eye contact as you file into Meeting Room 17B.
“Right, before Barnes’ dick explodes at the thought of me fucking a woman, what’s the mission chief.” Barnes has the nerve to blush, sitting in the chair opposite yours, both facing the head of the table with a monitor where Fury and Stark both stand.
“Did your mother never teach you the difference between professional and casual?” He fires back, and you grin sadistically, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back.
“She’s dead, Barnes. Have some decorum, and maybe a modicum of respect?” His face falls, knowing he’s crossed a line, but if God Himself came down and told Bucky to apologise, he’d shake hands with the Devil. “What about your father then?” He is frantically searching you for any sign of hurt or discomfort that he can exploit, you can tell by the way his eyes stick to your every feature.
“Hard to when you’re in prison for murdering your wife and attempting to murder your child.” You turn to Stark, knowing you’ve rendered him absolutely speechless. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his mouth close and open like a fish, gasping for some air. Pathetic, really, but well-deserved. In all these years, you’re surprised it took him this long to blame your upbringing, often opting to attack you as a person directly. But you finally got to play the cards you’ve kept close to your chest, a sick and twisted punishment. That means that you win, today.
“Thats 236 for Butterscotch, and Barnes is still on 220,” Tony mutters, and you can’t hide your competitive side that comes out.
You turn to him, tutting. “Keep up, Barnes. I thought you were better competition than this. Pathetic.” You’re shaking your head in mock disappointment. A blood-tinged vignette passes around in the back of your mind, but you try your best to not let it show.
The arguments between you and Bucky as so well-known to get out of hand, the Avengers started keeping score, refreshing each year, of who won the argument. This is strictly judged based on how the final retort leaves the other unable to think of a comeback. You’ve bested him 236 times already, and it’s only February.
“You didn’t tell me about your parents,” he grumbles, cheeks pink in humiliation. Why is he backing down so easily today?
“I don’t owe you shit, Barnes. Especially not about my life before I got here. Sorry, Fury, should we start the briefing?” You divert the attention back to the matter at hand, feeling like maybe you went a tiny bit too far by calling him pathetic to his face. 
Since when have you ever nurtured a soft spot for him? Well, you are certainly not going to be starting today.
With both of your mouths shut and eyes attentive, Fury begins to speak.
“We need the two of you to go undercover. We have intel that Senator Parker may be dealing with copious amounts of methamphetamines, involving using his house as a lab and distribution centre. He often targets teens of ethnic backgrounds to carry the drugs and deal them in exchange for cuts — he chooses them this way so they would almost immediately go to prison, and nobody would be let off scot-free to rat him out.” Tony flashes up several holograms of the Senator, the teens caught pressing white packets into palms, and even those who ended up behind bars, and have continued to distribute the drugs from within.
“So…why do we need to go undercover?” You ask, leaning forward in your seat so you could see the graphics better.
“Well…here is Parker’s dating history…” Why does Tony sound so reluctant as he pulls up the dating history? Why is that relevant? These are just some of the questions that swirl around your mind, and are evident in your scrunched up face.
Bucky is watching you, quietly. Observing your features, observing you. He can’t help it — the grace with which you walk, the crudeness with which you speak…it’s entrancing. And you know it. He hates it. 
Then, slowly, the pictures begin to appear — there are 17 women. Every single one of them looks like you — the same colour hair, the same colour eyes. Similar face shapes and similar body types. It’s like there’s 18 of you in the room.
“I’m a honeytrap?”
Fury is quick to speak, to protest the misunderstanding that the mission is an objectification of you. “No….well yes. We have carefully constructed a plan that essentially is built on the fact that you happen to be—“
“Exactly his type?” Bucky asks, feeling shame crawl up his spine at the realisation that he has something in common with a drug lord. You look at him as he speaks, and feel more and more confused by the second.
“Yes.” Tony continues. “We’ve planned to plant you in the same cul-de-sac that Parker’s house resides on, and Butterscotch can use the fact that she’s his type to sway him, win his trust. You’ll have to play the long game with him, he’s known to barely let anyone in his house unless he wants to fuck them.”
You feel a sickness coat your stomach. “Will I have to fuck him? Because I’d rather shoot Barnes and then myself and blow up this building.” You chew your lip nervously, all the confidence can your body momentarily evaporating. The old man might just be one of the worst people you’ve ever heard of when it comes to drug trafficking. Not to mention any sexual gratification is just you stepping into a stereotype of what he wants, that you are just another woman with the similar face that he wants to put his dick in. It makes your skin crawl, and you run your fingernails harshly along your forearm.
“No.” To your surprise, it’s Bucky who speaks up. He meets your eyes for a brief moment, before turning to Fury and Tony. “No, right? She clearly doesn’t want to, don’t tell me you’re gonna make her.” He sounds oddly protective over you here, which he has no right to be. But you can’t fight him, not over this.
“No, no, of course not. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to. At most you’ll have to flirt with him, make him think he’s going to….y’know, with you. And use that advantage to sneak into his house. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Butterscotch. You know we’d never do that to you, that it’s against our ethics and values.” You nod, relaxing in your seat while Bucky stares at the red, raw skin of your forearm. He wants to soothe it, he wants to soothe you—
“And if I’m going, obviously you’re gonna send the Sergeant with me, aren’t you?” They nod in unison. You take a deep breath, knowing you have to take it. There will be no mission more satisfying. And Bucky is much more bearable when the both of you have a common goal.
“So what exactly is our cover?” Bucky perks up. The both of you wear the suit of civility so quickly when you have to do your jobs. 
Fury scratches his neck, exchanging a nervous glance with Tony. You anticipate the answer, knowing it will not be to your liking.
“We’ve planned to plant you in the Acorn suburb in Claremont, just across the street from Parker’s residence, for around six months. It’s a nice, quaint little city, I think the both of you would like it. It’s a lot more green, and less noisy and polluted than New York—.”
“Tony,” you warn, glaring at him. He is omitting the information. Why?
“Fine! The suburbs are conservative as shit, so you’re going as husband and wife!” Your eyes widen, and you swear you lose hearing for a second as the world goes in and out of focus. You have to pretend to be married. Pretending to be in love, you could do — in fact, you could probably pass off most intel exchanges with him as lovers’ private conversations if you smile and laugh on the right cues.
But marriage? The sanctity of which has been so thoroughly, irrevocably spoiled for you? The very reason you have only ever wanted casual in your entire life, as opposed to commitment? You can’t breathe.
You try to hide your shaky hands as you reach for the glass of water, downing it and gasping for breath. All that runs through your mind is the only instance of a married man you’ve ever known, and how it ended. How you ended, body mutilated in enough scars to rival Bucky’s left shoulder, crying out for a bloodied corpse in the back of an ambulance while the paramedics did their best to save you. How you wish they would’ve failed sometimes. 
It’s too much.
“I need time to think.” You all but run out of the door, and you think the chair falls with the force of your escape, but your heart is beating too fast for you to be certain. Sweat that had dried reappears at your hairline, beading and dripping down your face. You sit on the floor, clutching at your chest as you’re bombarded by the most horrifying images that not even the strongest of sleeping pills can shake. Your eyes squeeze shut and someone is calling your name. Not Butterscotch, but the name that heinous monster chose for you when you were still in your mother’s womb.
But even that turns out to be a hallucination, your head in your hands as you hear a familiar voice call to you.
“Butterface…is the idea of being married to me that bad?” You freeze. Bucky is here, why is Bucky here? You look up to be met with him crouching by your side, Tony on the other with a hand on your shoulder, and Fury standing tall. There is not a single hint of disappointment on his face, and you’re glad.
You turn to Tony. “You know…you know what…I can’t. You know why….Tony…” His face morphs into one of intense melancholia, pulling you into him. Ever since you started working more closely together with Bucky, he’s become something of a big brother to you — overly protective and affectionately annoying.
“I know, kid. You know what? Screw this, I’ll find some other agent who looks close to you to take over with Barnes.” His voice finally calms you down, and you take in deep breaths.
You can’t win them all. You’ll have to make some sacrifices. You pull away from Tony’s arms, not even daring to glance at Bucky. He doesn’t need to see what you look like when you’re vulnerable, because you know he will do everything in his power to bring you to such a state once again, just to hurt you.
You take several deep breaths.
“No. You and Fury have said it yourself, so many times. Nobody works better with James than I do, at least not in the field. My burning hatred for him is completely personal. I— I can do it. It’s just…I probably would’ve been fine but it got brought up and it was all I could really think about and then…it just sent me over the edge. But if Barnes promises to not be as big of an asshole as he usually is, I can make it work.” You don’t even risk a glance at him.
“I won’t be. I’ll behave. Plus, you are a lot more tolerable out on the field, so it shouldn’t be so hard. Promise, it’ll all be okay.” His tone sounds so…sincere? What on earth is up with him today? You spare him a glance, and his eyes shine brilliantly blue. And you believe him.
Bucky Barnes may be an asshole, but he would never lie to you. Especially when it concerns a mission, where miscommunications and secrets have consequences for people outside the both of you. He has at least this sense of loyalty about him.
“Alright. Guess I better get packing for Claremont, then.” 
NEXT PART
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ladykailitha · 6 months ago
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Never Hold Back Your Step... Part 14
Hey, guys just a couple chapters left. The story is done. I kind skip over the Mind Flayer bit and get back to the heart of the story, Eddie and Steve.
It will be some time before I start the last one. The lack of interest for this one made it hard to finish and as you're aware I don't really like having to rely on canon so much. And the last one will have to feature it in someway. But we'll see.
In this we get Eddie calling in the cavalry, Steve and Robin are captured and Steve plays hero.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13
~
To say Eddie was worried would be an understatement. He had gone to the mall to pick Steve up from work and he wasn’t there.
But he knew about the Russian message and he knew that there was one thing Steve couldn’t stand and that’s was letting a literal child rush headlong into danger, not if he could help it.
So he started looking around. There were bound to be clues. And sure enough, the ladder had been moved and vent wasn’t properly screwed on anymore. But there was no way that any of the three Musketeers would fit through that space and he shuddered to think what or who they would have gotten to go down that tunnel.
He put his hand on his hip and scratched his chin. Then he snapped his fingers. There was nothing for it. He was going to have to call in the cavalry and by cavalry he meant Uncle Wayne.
Eddie went to a payphone and pulled out a quarter. He dialed home.
“‘Ello,” Wayne greeted gruffly. “Wayne speaking.”
“Uncle Wayne!” he cried. “I’m at the mall and I can’t find Steve. His car is still here, but I can’t find him. Which his car being here is weird as I was supposed to pick him up.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before Wayne said, nice and low, “This is about those comics, ain’t it?”
Eddie straightened his spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t be playing games with me, boy,” Wayne growled. “If your boy is trouble I need to know everything.”
“Meet me on the north side of the mall and I’ll tell you what I know,” Eddie whispered, looking over his shoulder. “I don’t want to say much over the phone.”
Again there was a beat then, “I’m on my way.”
~
The arguing was starting to mess with Steve’s head. In that he meant it was going to give him a migraine and then he was going to murder them. Particularly since he didn’t have his medication with him.
Because they were trapped in a fucking elevator underneath the mall and no way out or back up.
“Shut up!” he huffed. “I don’t care about Tina or Uncle Jack’s party, mmk?” He cocked his head forward for emphasis. “Look if we don’t find a way out of here, there wouldn’t be any parties or shit, because we’d all be dead. No one is looking for us, because they don’t know where we are.”
Erica popped her hip and placed her hand on it. “Maybe no one is looking for you. But my parents are absolutely looking for me.”
Steve covered his face with his hands. “Not what I meant! I mean no one is going to look for a secret Russian base under the mall because that’s fucking insane!”
Time went on and it was looking less and less likely they’d find a way out even with Dustin constantly trying to use his little communicator to reach out to anyone who could help when Robin heard someone coming.
They all ducked behind the crates when Steve got a bright idea. Taking Erica’s vial of green glowing liquid, he leapt into action.
As the elevator door closed, he stuck the vial between the floor and the door, effectively stopping its descent. He signaled to Dustin and Erica to get out first and then Robin. He rolled under the door just the vial’s strength gave out.
It shattered, its contents spewing all over the floor. Then to their horror it began to eat away at the floor and the door.
“Shit!” Dustin swore and Steve agreed. He barely missed rolling into the stuff and really didn’t want to know what it did to flesh if it did that to fucking metal.
They looked around but the only way to go was further into the base.
“Out of the frying pan,” Robin said with her hands on her hips, “and into the fire.”
Steve sighed and walked toward the long hallway, the other three following close behind.
~
Eddie paced in front of the movie theater. He was really worried about Steve now. He had asked a couple of the other people in the food court if they had seen anything, but the only thing they mentioned was that they closed early.
He wished not for the first time that Steve had thought to call him. But he knew why he didn’t. There were several reason that came to his head. That Dustin was super pushy about it and Steve wasn’t allowed the time to call. That Steve didn’t want him involved in whatever the hell this mess was. Which fair, but a head’s up would have been nice.
A beat up pickup pulled to a stop in front of him and he nearly sagged with relief. Uncle Wayne would know what to do.
Wayne was out of his truck and gathering Eddie up in his arms before his lip could even wobble.
Eddie told him everything Steve had said about weird shit in Hawkins and how everything was tied to that lab. He had been slowly prying it out of Steve over the last month whenever they were alone.
“We’ll find him,” Wayne said fiercely. “So he’s car’s here, which means it’s probably been left here overnight. Whatever happened, didn’t happen today. Which isn’t good. Who might he have gone to?”
Eddie frowned. “I’m pretty sure Dustin is already with him, and probably his co-worker, Robin Buckley.” He thought about the comic with the dire wolves. “Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield.”
“Ed,” Wayne said slowly, “those are children you just named.”
“Uh...” Eddie said, wrinkling his brow in concentration. “I know there are a couple of actual adults involved, but I don’t know who. I mean, I’d guess Mrs. Byers because her son is in the middle of all this shit, but...” he just shrugged.
Wayne rubbed his eyebrow in frustration. These were children, Steve included. He didn’t care if the boy just turned eighteen, Steve was only sixteen when all this shit started. None of them should have been anywhere near this shit.
“Hopper!” Eddie cried, snapping his fingers. “Steve said the police chef knew about the goings on here in Hawkins.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Wayne muttered darkly.
Secretly Eddie agreed. He was usually all about down with the man and conspiracies and all that shit, but the chief of police knowing that things are fucked up and not doing more to protect this town from whatever the hell this all was? Yeah, fuck that guy in particular.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Wayne said firmly. “I’m going to go the police station and hunt Hopper down, see if he knows about anything under the mall. You are going to stay here, keep an eye out for him at the mall. Since his car is still here, he’s got to be somewhere on the property.”
Eddie nodded, pursing his lips together and rocking back on his heels.
“Good,” Wayne groused. “I’ve got a pair of walkies in the cab of my truck, we’ll keep in contact that way, okay?”
Eddie heaved a sigh of relief. That made it easy to know where each other was at all times. He took the walkie talkie from Wayne and headed back into the mall.
He knew that Steve wouldn’t be in the food court, wherever he had gone, was away from the ice cream shop.
So he setup his vigil on one of the benches half way between the food court and the theater so that he could keep an eye on the two busiest locations.
He pulled out his little notebook to make it look like he was drawing or whatever to not arouse suspicion and settled in for a long wait.
~
Steve was fucking terrified. He wanted to run back to Forest Hills and crawl into Eddie’s bed and never come out of it ever again. They were only supposed to find out what the Russians were up to so that they could report it to their ‘friends’ at the DOE and be lauded as heroes instead of heaps of NDAs and admonishments to keep their mouths shut.
But now they were walking into something they didn’t even fucking know how to get out of. No one knew where they were. Or even where to start looking. Dustin had almost used up all the battery on his little communicator trying to get into contact with their friends and no one had answered.
And then he saw it.
It was a good thing he hadn’t eaten in who knows how long because he absolutely would have lost it.
“What the hell is that?” Erica said, reeling back in disgust.
“Dustin,” Steve implored. “Please tell me that isn’t what it looks like.”
Dustin grabbed his hand. “Uh...nope. It’s exactly what it looks like.”
They had reached a room where there were a lot of scientists running around, calling out in Russian and making notes on clipboards. In the center of the room was a red pulsating mass.
They ducked behind some boxes and Steve bit back a whimper.
“Is it open?” Steve asked Dustin.
Dustin peeked over the boxes and then ducked back down. “No. Not yet. But I bet that’s what the green goo is for.”
“Shit,” Steve hissed. “Of course they’re trying to open a Gate. What else would Russians want with Hawkins?”
Dustin looked devastated, because Steve was right. There was only one thing a foreign government would want in their fucked up little town. The Upside Down.
They managed to sneak around the scientists and found themselves in a control room. A mostly empty control with a single guard.
Steve plan was stupid. But it was all they had.
And it ended better than he thought it would if he was honest with himself. Robin and he had been captured while Erica and Dustin had gotten away.
They kept asking him over and over who they were and who they worked for. Steve did everything he could to keep the attention on him. Robin didn’t know anything. She didn’t know anything about Gates and monsters, and alternative dimensions. He kept repeating the truth over and over again.
“Steve Harrington, I work at Scoops Ahoy!” he chanted, his voice slurring after the fifth strike to the side of his face.
Again and again they didn’t believe him.
Then they took him away and the beating intensified. He was crying now and he didn’t care. He just wanted to have a barbecue with his boyfriend and his uncle. His parents had called him again to say that they wouldn’t be home. He hoped and feared that Eddie and Wayne were looking for him.
Then his world went black.
~
I'm not going to show Steve being tortured. This story isn't about that. It's not even really about season 3. It's about Steve and Eddie.
Part 15 Part 16
Tag List: FIVE SLOTS REMAINING
1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog
2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @kultiras
3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog
4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @blondie1006
5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon
6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @angels-of-hades
7- @mugloversonly @y4r3luv @greeniebean911 @birbsauce @acingthecounts
8- @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars @ravenfrog @dreamercec @sadisticaltarts
9- @clockworkballerina @bluelightsinthevoid @blcksh33p1987 @i-go-pink-in-the-night @mamafaithful
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hugmekenobi · 7 months ago
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S3: The Bad Batch (13)
Chapter Thirteen: Into the Breach
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Gif by @trapezequeen
Hunter x femaleJedi!reader
Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.
Chapter Summary: Omega gets to work on an escape plan of her own. Meanwhile. the Batch aren't about to let a chance to get to Tantiss slip away
Masterlist for S1 and S2
<Previous Chapter
Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)
Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, me making up science and medical stuff, Rampart, Hemlock being a manipulative creep, heavy angst, mentions of injections and drugging for interrogation purposes, injury descriptions (blood, bruising, cuts), depictions of physical and emotional torture, lotta internal conflicts, referenced character 'death', me giving more conflict to Emerie's internal struggles
Word Count: 7.6K
Author's notes: It's a tough one this week and that will be the remaining theme as we enter these last few chapters but there's light at the end of the tunnel, I promise!!
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It was another new day and Omega, now back in the plain grey uniform, had come to terms with her predicament now and was growing more accustomed with the daily routine of the vault. She woke up as the artificial light encompassed the room and her cell door opened.
She had given it a while, but she’d decided that now was the time to plan not only her escape, but the escape of all the kids here. And she would find you in the process. But, to do that, she needed the kids to know that they could trust her.
Omega walked out into the room and approached the young female Iktotchi with her old straw Lula doll. “Hello. I’m Omega.” She said warmly.
“I’m Eva.” Eva replied, a tad shyly.
“What’s that?” Omega asked about the hologram in front of Eva.
“A game. They want us to play them.”
Omega glanced to under the tabletop to see a drawer. She opened it and brought out a case filled with coloured puzzle pieces, each of a different shape. “I like your doll.” She said as she fiddled with the pieces, hoping the comment would help Eva feel more at ease around her.
Eva clutched the doll tightly. “Dr. Karr gave it to me.” Eva turned off her game as she said, “She’s the only nice one.”
That gave Omega a flicker of hope that perhaps her words had had more of an impact on Emerie than she’d thought but she followed Eva’s concerned look to the glass windows above to see the hordes of scientists lurking and staring down at them, “Are they always watching?”
“Yeah. The droids too.”
“That’s Jax.” Eva pointed to the green Mirialan that had answered Omega’s question before she introduced the others. “Sami, and Baryn. This is Omega.” She said to the three of them.
Omega nodded to the Pantoran girl holding the Tarlafar baby. “How long have you all been here?”
“They don’t like it when we talk to each other so much.” Sammi said nervously.
“And if you cause problems, things only get worse.” Jax added mournfully. “Come on, Sammi.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” Sammi said dully as she followed Jax to another table.
Getting used to it was not in her plan, but she’d bide her time. Omega carried on arranging the shapes in front her, but her mind drifted to you- if they were all to play games, she had to anxiously wonder about what kind of games Hemlock had in mind for you.
--
“Good morning, Emerie. What’s on the schedule today?” You croaked with forced enthusiasm as the door opened. You already knew the answer, but it was the same question you’d asked every time since Hemlock’s plan for you had been enacted that first morning after you’d arrived.
Emerie swallowed tightly as she walked in with the troopers. You look particularly bad today- your cheekbone was purple, and the swelling hadn’t quite gone down yet and the cut on your lip was still open and oozing and she was sure your ribs weren’t doing much better after the beating you took yesterday. “Dr. Hemlock wants you back in the training room.” She said, hoping she didn’t let her discomfort slip through.
The reprieve from the uncomfortable position and biting metallic cuffs was always short-lived because it was instantly replaced by the cruel, pinching grip on your upper arms.
You were pulled to your feet, and you bit back the groan that threatened to spill from your lips as your sore and tired body protested the action. You watched Emerie walk over to you and take your blood sample. “And then I’m assuming we have our regularly scheduled session with the good doctor afterwards?” This was the only part of the routine that varied. If you weren’t taken to that room, you remained in the cell and had more rounds with the interrogation droid and honestly, you welcomed the training room days because that was a pain you could cope with more.
“I… believe that is his plan, yes.” Emerie said, shifting her eyes from you as you were marched past her.
“Don’t look so sad. After all, you’re part of a great scientific adventure.” You remarked over your shoulder as you were led away.
Right… somehow that didn’t feel so good anymore. You had attempted to sound satirical, but you were too weak to convey it effectively so the genuine dullness and pain in your voice was the only thing Emerie had heard. She shook the counter-productive sympathies away and headed to process your sample before she went back to the vault.
--
You stayed still as you let the trooper tie the blindfold over your eyes- you were used to this by now too. It was only after that was done that you were shoved into what you assumed was the training room that was always being referenced.
The blindfold was Hemlock’s way of keeping the secrecy element of this room intact. Plus, he claimed it was a way to see how your Midichlorians reacted when channelling the Force in a threatening situation because without your sight, you had to use the Force to guide you more.
“You know, for someone who claims to be sophisticated, you sure do like seeing me get beaten up.” You called out, knowing he was somewhere observing this whole thing. The response, however, came in the form of an injection in your neck and your entire body seized up- this was an unwelcomed change. “What-” The internal effects were instantaneous and all too recognisable. Dread and fear started to squeeze around your chest.
“An alteration to my methods. I wish to study how you handle both the physical and mental strain when meeting them together, rather than tackling them separately.” Hemlock explained as he nodded to Scorch to leave the room after the injection had been successful. He then gestured to the four operatives to come into view. “Begin.”
You stood unsteadily on your feet as that familiar haziness and fogginess set in, but you found strength in the Force and pushed it away to focus on the other threat that was about to happen.
You sensed the bodies around you.
There were four of them.
Each one of them were poised and ready to fight.
You parried away the first series of but a strong kick from someone else landed against your still injured and bruised ribs. Winded, you tumbled back a few paces.
“I want you to remember Deveron.” Hemlock began.
You couldn’t help it; the memory of that first meeting was as clear as day in your brain and the warmth the nostalgia brought you felt as though you were right back there. No, snap out of it, don’t let him twist these memories for his own gain. Knuckles grazed the side of your head as you managed to duck just in time but the pain that shoving away the memory was all too real.
“I want you to remember the Reek stampede.”
Your back stiffened as the emotions of that day and what it had meant overwhelmed you but clearing your head quickly, you anticipated the punch to your jaw and took a half step back to avoid it, but you weren’t fluid in your steps and setting yourself again left your stomach open for another onslaught of blows.
Hemlock quashed his own irritations at the lack of progress and kept pushing, though the language he had to use now left a foul taste in his mouth but it was for a greater purpose so he could make do for now, “I want you to remember every bonding moment with Clone Force 99.”
“I want you to remember the first time you met Omega.”
“I want you to remember Kamino and afterwards when you and Hunter told each other your… affections for one another.”
You choked as the oxygen was snatched from your lungs as pushing away those beautiful memories brought with it a different but just as crushing kind of pain. You didn’t manage to stop the series of punches that landed on your nose and mouth this time. The harsh taste of iron flooded behind your teeth as blood dripped down the back of your throat and from your nostrils. You hastily spat it out but there was a steady distracting deluge of blood leaving your nose now.
“You can feel that happy again. I’m allowing that for you. I have them here and you can be back with them all again. Omega is safe too.”
You deflected the kick to your thigh but fumbled avoiding the kick to your back as you felt yourself growing more passive under his words. He sounded so genuine, they really could be- no, it was all fake. He didn’t mean it. It was a false reality.
“You can feel that all again. They’re right outside and they’re waiting for you.”
No, no one was waiting for you. You avoided the strike that was intended for the back of your knee and questioned in a breathless panic, “Where are you getting all this from?”
“Tech has been most informative, and I’ve learned all sorts about you. He wants to see you again.”
That broke the illusion, and it was where he slipped up. You already knew Tech was dead, you were so certain of that and so his lies to that matter had no effect. You weren’t sure how he knew all these references but at least you felt your focus coming back more as you smoothly avoided and parried away a series of jabs and kicks from your attackers.
Hemlock noticed you gained more clarity after he said that, evidently there’d be no way to convince you of that fact without giving everything away, so he went back to the original tactic. “Don’t you want to be with them again? They’re your family, are they not?”
The impact of the statement sent you tripping backwards of your own accord. Your recovery was slow, and you barely managed to avoid the punch to your cheek and your chin took the follow up blow.
“You hear them calling for you.” Hemlock taunted as he watched you go between fighting with yourself and the attackers surrounding you. Your strength was something to be admired but he needed it to work for his purposes and for that, you needed to break.
You could, you could hear their voices, they were calling your name, but they sounded distorted, something wasn’t quite right with them. It couldn’t be them; Hemlock would never allow for such a peaceful thing.
You blocked the oncoming punch but a shove to your chest sent you stumbling backwards.
“Don’t you wish to go to them?” Hemlock maintained the scenario as he observed you.
Yes- no, it wasn’t true! You fought with your own brain before another strong punch to your jaw distracted you from the internal battle and you sensed the follow-up kick coming for your stomach which you dodged.
“You only need to join me, and I’ll promise you’ll be reunited.”
No, no you couldn’t do that. They weren’t here, he was lying. They- This time, you felt the tip of a blade slice through your clothing and across your skin. You yelped in pain but before you could react, a kick to that wounded area sent you sprawling to the ground, and you contorted in agony as a combination of fists and feet stamped on your side and the fresh cut there.
“Enough.”
Upon Hemlock’s command, you immediately felt the bodies above you stop but all you could hear in your mind were the warped and falsified voices of your family and you hated it. You longed to be around them again, you longed to talk to them again, and you knew it wasn’t possible. “Make it stop, make it stop.” You whispered frantically as you clutched your head.
Hemlock gave you that relief. He needed you as clear-headed as possible for the next session in order for his tests to be the most effective and for the results to be an untainted as possible. “You can no longer hear them. You know that you’re back in the training room.” He told you.
His words sank in, and your breathing evened out.
The mental effects of the dosage began to fade but only enough to make the physical pain you were feeling more apparent.
Hemlock crouched down next to your beaten body. “Such unnecessary suffering. It can end, you need only accept my proposition.” Hemlock offered as he wiped away the blood secreting from the various wounds on your face.
The offer always got the same response from you, “Go to hell.” You wheezed as you slapped his hand away and braced yourself against the ground. You gingerly sat on your knees and pressed your hands to your side in an attempt to stop the steady flow of blood leaving the cut.
Hemlock only chuckled mirthlessly. “Oh, I believe you’re already there. And we’re not done yet.”
Your throat tightened with fear as you heard the threatening promise in his words.
The images and sounds you’d been subjected to still remained faintly in your head as you were harshly tugged to your feet. Your feeble struggles against the hold the troopers took of you had no impact as you were pulled from the training room, but you didn’t have the strength to hold yourself up properly, so your feet dragged behind you.
Hemlock avoided the spatters of blood dripping from your body as he walked just behind.
--
Rampart paced irritably across the filthy and decrepit landing platform, “Where in the blasted galaxy did that pirate abandon us? And why are you keeping me here?” He directed his question towards Hunter.
Hunter didn’t so much as glance up from the datapad as he replied, “You’d prefer we take you back to that Imperial labour camp instead?”
Rampart sighed, “We had a deal. I already told you what I know about Tantiss.”
Hunter angled himself to face Rampart this time. “You’ll get your freedom when we get the exct coordinates to that base.”
Before Rampart could argue further, the sound of an approaching ship interrupted him.
Hunter made sure to push past Rampart’s shoulder as he went to go meet Echo.
Echo came down off the ramp and clasped Hunter’s hand in greeting.
“Nice work.” Hunter complimented as he took in the new ship Echo had acquired.
“A stolen shuttle is the best I could do on short notice.” Echo said. “The supplies we need are aboard.” His face hardened as he saw Rampart. “You really think we can trust that hydrosnake?”
“I can hear you.” Rampart scoffed pointedly.
Hunter half-turned back to Rampart. “No, but he’s our best chance at finding them.”
His brother may have been putting on a convincing front, but it still wasn’t his usual ‘put together’ nature- something just felt off. Echo hesitantly started to ask, “And… how are y-”
“Fine.” Hunter replied roughly.
Echo figured now was not the time to push the matter further, so he simply nodded and turned back for the ship.
Hunter followed Echo on-board.
Crosshair hit Rampart’s back with his rifle to get him to move. Was it necessary? Probably not but he found the displeased look on Rampart’s face at the action rather amusing.
Wrecker shoved Rampart down into one of the seats. “Now, start talking.”
Rampart groaned in exasperation. “Oh, how many times do I have to explain it? Hemlock put safeguards in place to keep his base’s location a secret.”
“But you’ve been there before?” Hunter said, his frustration at Rampart’s persistent evasiveness making his tone more aggressive than
“Any ship going there must first dock at Imperial Station 003 in orbit over Coruscant where the coordinates are transmitted directly to the navicomputer.” Rampart explained.
Echo pulled up the hologram of the station. “Well, his intel about the orbital station checks out.” He agreed reluctantly. “But I can’t confirm the rest of his story.”
“Do you think I’m lying?” Rampart said with an offended scoff.
“Yes.” Crosshair and Wrecker said at the same time.
Hunter analysed the map, “Once we reach the station, we can find a ship departing for Tantiss and pull the coordinates.”
“We’re going to need Imperial clearance codes.” Crosshair said.
“Got that covered.” Echo confirmed.
Rampart interrupted the proceeding with a chuckle. They made is sound so simple, yet their naivety was astounding. “Unlikely. Those codes change every rotation.”
“Which why we’re not waiting around.” Hunter responded impatiently.
“Even with a stolen shuttle and clearance codes, you can’t expect to walk onto an Imperial station completely unnoticed.” Rampart pointed out.
“But you can.” Crosshair countered.
“And we’ll be your security detail.” Hunter added on.
“You just walk us right onto the station.” Echo rounded off the brief by chucking Rampart an Imperial uniform.
This was never in the arrangement. “You cannot be serious.” Rampart argued.
“You were an Imperial before. Impersonating one should be easy enough.” Hunter said unsympathetic to Rampart’s unease.
Rampart supposed he better get on board with this quickly or he’d be landing himself right back on Erebus but there was still one small issue that had to be rectified at once. “I can’t wear this. It’s a captain’s uniform.” He pointed to the rank markings on the top but all he received in response was a series of blank, uncaring faces. “I was a vice admiral.” Surely, they had to understand how improper this was?
“Well, you’ve been demoted.” Echo replied bluntly.
“I hate clones.” Rampart muttered to himself.
--
Omega sat in the cot in her cell as Emerie kneeled in front of her.
Emerie reached for her hand. “It’s time for your sample, Omega.”
“The other kids. Where did they come from?” Omega asked as her blood was being drawn.
“I don’t know. But they are well looked after here.”
“I’d like to believe you.”
Emerie withdrew the vial and placed it in the small storage slots that came from a hidden compartment in the walls.
Whilst she was distracted with that, Omega sneakily stole a sharp implement from the testing kit and slipped it up her sleeve.
“And… is she being well looked after?” Omega noted the way Emerie made sure to avoid her eyes as she tidied up the equipment.
“I’ll be checking on her soon.” Emerie replied, using her words carefully and she left before Omega could ask any more questions and headed upstairs to join the other scientist on the observation level.
Omega watched her go and she let her mind drift to worrying about you before she focused on the task at hand. She’d make sure to see you soon.
--
“Letting Omega intermingle with the specimens in unwise.” Dr. Scalder advised as she saw the girl join one of the tables.
Emerie paid little attention to the objection. “They’re engaging in the activities I’ve provided to keep their minds active. Besides, they are under our watchful eye.”
“That didn’t stop her from causing problems in the past.”
“I’m the chief scientist. I will run the vault as I see fit.” Emerie said definitively. With that, she left the room to go join Hemlock next.
--
“How often do the droids take our vitals?” Omega asked covertly as she pretended to play with the puzzle game.
“Twice a day. After meals.” Eva informed her boredly.
“What about the troopers? Do they ever come in here?”
“Only when we cause trouble.” Jax informed her.
“Jax tried to escape once, but he didn’t get very far.” Eva revealed.
“There’s no way outta here. We’re never going home.” Jax said with a sad sigh.
Well, that wasn’t how she was going to go about this. “Want to know a secret? I escaped from this mountain before.”
All of them perked up at that.
“Really?” Eva gasped.
“How?” Jax asked as a follow up.
“I had training. And I wasn’t alone. Know what else? I’m doing it again, and I’m taking you all with me.” Omega said confidently before she moved the box aside to show them what she’d been working on. “Look.”
All the kids gathered round to see what she’d created.
“It’s a layout of the vault.” Omega explained before she labelled each section of the improvised diagram. “This is where we’re sitting right now. These are the walls. These are the tubes in the walls the droids use to transport our samples. I need to get inside and see where they go.”
“Only the droids can access those hatches.” Jax said.
Omega messed up the puzzle piece layout to avoid attracting attention and subtly revealed the tool she’d snagged earlier. “I can get them open. I just need them not to see me.” She glanced up to the observation deck.
“Won’t take them long to notice you’re missing.” Jax pointed out.
Omega simply gave an unphased smile, “That’s okay. I like a challenge.”
--
The blindfold was whipped off you as you were brought back to your cell, but you had no time to adjust since you were hastily tied up again.
Hemlock waited until the cuffs were back on and you were chained to the wall again. “Bring in the droid.”
Emerie entered with the droid that had the serum ready to go but came to a sudden halt as she took you in.
There was no ignoring your freshly bloody and beaten appearance but that was the norm now.
What wasn’t the norm, however, and it was the element that caught her off guard, was the still distant and glazed look in your eyes that tended to follow as an aftereffect of the interrogations.
“Dr. Karr?” Hemlock queried as he saw the sudden and unusual reaction.
Emerie fumbled over her words slightly, “Am- am I late, Dr. Hemlock? I… thought you had business in the training room first?”
“No, you are right on time. I merely… adjusted our technique.”
“Sir?”
“Come, Dr. Karr, you know that the pursuit of knowledge and getting results sometimes requires that we alter how we go about our research and that includes our interactions with specimens.”
What he’d done clicked with her then and suddenly the idea of putting you through, yet another round so soon felt like a very bad idea. “Should we not wait longer? If her body needs to recover more, this session could-”
“No, our methods need to get more aggressive. This is the new approach. Do you have a problem with that, Dr. Karr?” A firm challenge behind the softness of his tone.
Emerie snapped out of it, “Of course not, Doctor.” She handed Hemlock the datapad with the questions and scenarios that seemed to get to you the most. She put the monitor on you and connected it to her own datapad. She hated watching this part the most, but Hemlock had charged her with taking your samples and monitoring your vitals during this, so she had to stay.
The electronic warbling from the approaching droid always sent a cold rush of fear through your heart. You knew it was pointless to resist but the way your body instinctively tried to get away from the needle couldn’t be helped.
You inhaled sharply as it pricked your neck and that groggy, yet detached bodily sensation swiftly overcame you once more.
Hemlock released a content and easy sigh, “Now, today I think we’ll go with your dear Sergeant Hunter.”
“No.” You groaned as you already started to pull against the chains. “Not him.” You pleaded as your resistance crumbled away. You closed your eyes as you were helpless to what was to come.
Hemlock ignored you, “Do you feel that heat, that burning pain in your body?”
You had to conserve what fight and strength you had left so you allowed yourself to let those words take hold but what you couldn’t do was allow him to use Hunter to get to you in this way.
You felt the fire course through your veins and your body seized up with the intense pain it brought. You tugged against the chain, but it brought you no relief.
Satisfied that he had a hold on you again, Hemlock kept the torture going, “That agony, that burning pain that you’re feeling that feels like every nerve is on fire? Like your very being is being burned from the inside out? He’s feeling that too. As it gets worse for you, it gets worse for him.”
Hunter’s senses, he wouldn’t- no, he was safe. He wasn’t in pain. You told yourself as the burning in your own body intensified under Hemlock’s words.
“You can hear his cries…”
And you could. You heard Hunter screaming out your name. Screaming, pleading, begging for your help. They raged in your head, and you needed them to stop.
You yanked against the chains and your breathing came in the form of short, sharp pants and your body heaved with the effort of fighting against the serum’s effects and Hemlock’s voice.
“He’s calling for you. He wants you to make it end. Don’t you want to help him?”
Yes, you’d do anything to help him. You could join Hemlock, you’d do that for- no, stop. You told yourself.  
“He’s in pain, he’s begging you to help him.”
“Hunter…” You rasped with a broken cry.
“He wants you but he’s hurting. And it’s because of you.”
Tears escaped your shut eyes and slid down your cheeks.
“I can end his suffering, just surrender to me.”
Yes, surrender and save Hunter- no, you’d never hurt him, and Hemlock wasn’t either. It was a lie. You thought internally as you continued to strain against your confinement so that the words wouldn’t take root.
“I’ll make it stop. I’ll let him hold you.”
Yes, that’s what you- No. Hunter wasn’t here, he couldn’t possibly be here. You reminded yourself as you tossed your head from side to side to rid yourself of the security that idea brought you… that made you all the more susceptible to Hemlock’s voice and his suggestions.
You had to push it away. You inhaled sharply and groaned, and you knew you’d succeeded when the pain came raging back again instead.
“Sir…” Emerie interjected timidly. She didn’t like the way your vitals were looking right now.
Hemlock raised his hand to quiet her and kept his attentions fixated on you. He’d seen a subtle change in you, a willingness to cooperate that hadn’t been present before. He needed to get back and now he knew the way to do so, “Don’t you want to feel his comfort once more?”
You thrashed against the chain and violently shook your head as if you could physically get rid of the images being created in your head, “No, it’s not real, it’s not real!” You cried as your entire body convulsed in both mental and physical agony.  
“Oh, but it is…”
“It’s not.” You whimpered, but your conviction faltered for a moment as Hunter’s image entered your head and the comfort it brought you felt so real.
“And you can see him…”
No, remember it was a trick. “Stop!” 
“Dr. Hemlock-” Emerie attempted to interject again as she kept an eye on your rapidly deteriorating vitals but again, he gestured to her to stay silent.
Hemlock continued his torment, “You can go to him…”
“No, I can’t! He’s not here, he’s not here!” Saying the words aloud was the only way you could fight against both your physical captor and the one in your mind. You were uncaring of the way the cuffs dug in and rubbed the skin of your wrists raw as you writhed in pain.
Hemlock noted your distressed reactions, but it didn’t matter to him, he could see this was the way to break you and he was almost there. “Just give into me and he’ll be yours again.”
“Stop!” You begged through hoarse and strained breaths.
“Dr. Hemlock!” Emerie urged more strongly this time as she saw the way your body was collapsing due to the strain of resisting the serum’s effects. If he went on for much longer, you wouldn’t make it.
Hemlock glanced at Emerie’s datapad and saw the minor cause of her rather ill-timed and inconvenient anxiety. He ground out a sigh and relented. Her interruptions would only hinder things. He stopped and allowed Emerie to take the droid away and monitor off.
Hemlock waited a few minutes for you to stabilise and come back to the present moment again. You were a formidable adversary which is why he knew he had to have you in his ranks and that meant altering his methodology further. “Increase her injection level. We go for longer next time. No interruptions, Dr. Karr.”
Emerie clutched her datapad tight to her chest and, without clearly thinking it through, started to protest the order, “Dr. Hemlock, her body can’t handle-”
“I know what she can handle, Dr. Karr.” Hemlock said sharply before he crouched down to your level and brushed his hands through your hair before he tucked his fingers under your chin. “Unless you wish it to stop. Why suffer more? All you have to do is join me.”
Your body heaved with each distressed pant as you made yourself meet his eyeline. “Go to hell.” You spat with as much venomous spite as you could muster. You managed a tired, half smirk of your own as you saw the flash of frustration behind his eyes.
Hemlock inhaled and exhaled a deep sigh to calm himself. “See it done for the next round today. Be sure to take her blood. We’ll still need records of how her M-Count reacts to each technique.” He directed Emerie as he past her and left the room.
“Yes, sir.” Emerie said quietly before she approached your side with the sampling equipment and injected the needle into your hand. She gulped as she saw the new dark red bloodstain on your clothing and the fresh blood leaking through your clothes that was now forming a small puddle on the floor. She feared what would become of you if that wound went unchecked. “If you just joined him, it would stop. You-”
“I can’t, Emerie.” You said through gritted teeth as you pressed yourself against the wall and closed your eyes. You ignored the stinging and dripping wound on your side and allowed yourself to drift off into nothingness because that was the only time you found peace now.
--
“We’re approaching Coruscant.” Hunter informed Echo as he came to see how he was getting on burning the paint off his helmet like he’d been doing for himself and the rest of their armour pieces.
Echo lifted his helmet as he heard the words. “All the armour’s been stripped. But we’re still not gonna blend in.” He tossed Hunter’s now all black helmet to him. “You really think Rampart can pull this off?”
Hunter caught it but didn’t put it on right away. He stared at it and his mind drifted back to a very different time.
He remembered back to his squad’s first official missions during the war, back when they’d all wanted to blend in.
But it had soon become clear that that wasn’t an option any of them wanted to follow. Establishing their own stand-out colours had been a significant moment, it hadn’t felt like it then, but it was.
Then they’d only grown more into the squad that they were today. The squad that owned who they were and the differences that came with that.
A tradition that had carried on when Echo joined.
And when you’d joined.
And when Omega joined too.
He recalled the days of Ord Mantell and when Lyra had changed their traditional red and black colours to the hues of blue, red, yellow and orange. It had marked the end of an era but also the beginning of a new one.
He’d remembered the pride and affection that had swelled in his chest that day when he’d seen that his colours had mirrored yours.
But now all those meaningful colours were gone. And the memory of that would be something he’d hold on to.
Rampart’s indignant cough at Echo’s words as he emerged from the refresher pulled Hunter out his thoughts. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t just make it to vice admiral on looks alone.” He had to admit it, it felt good to have his hair and beard no longer be a tangled mess and he relished being back in proper uniform again, even with an inferior rank.
Hunter said nothing, he only turned and went to the pilot’s seat and put through the transmission coming from the station.
“Rho-class shuttle, we have you on approach. Please identify.”
Echo activated the ship’s comm channel as he replied, “This is transport shuttle Alpha-44. Transmitting landing codes.”
There was a series of beeps as they all awaited confirmation.
“You’re clear to land at docking bay 5-tac-02.” The technician permitted.
“We can’t stay docked for long.” Echo cautioned. “This shuttle’s bound to be reported missing soon.”
“Assuming we’re not captured or killed during this little mission, what assurances do I have that you’ll let me go?” Rampart interjected.
Crosshair stared at him. “You’re going to have to trust us. Just like we have to trust you.”
“So don’t mess this up.” Wrecker added sternly.
Rampart turned to the big clone, “Hmm. Mess this up? I know how to carry myself.” He said self-righteously. “You’re the ones that are gonna stand out like overheated Gamorreans.”
--
This ship docked successfully, and it had been decided that Hunter, Crosshair and Echo would form Rampart’s security detail whilst Wrecker staying behind to watch the shuttle.
Before the four of them disembarked, Hunter caught Rampart’s shoulder and angled Rampart’s body towards him. He ignored to disgusted look on Rampart’s face at the action and began his warning, “The Empire betrayed and imprisoned you. We broke you out. Remember that before you try and betray us.”
Rampart obnoxiously wiped the spot on his shoulder where the clone’s hand had been. “I’m here, aren’t I? Let’s get this over with.” Rampart grumbled as he led the way off the shuttle.
Crosshair and Hunter donned their helmets like Echo had done earlier and stepped off to greet the Imperial that had just walked through the hangar doors.
“Who is responsible for this vessel? It is not on my docking manifest for today.”
Hunter took point and stood in front of the officer whilst the others remained behind by Rampart’s side. He remained still and silent as the Imperial examined him, but it was taking more willpower than he’d expected to wait this inspection out. He didn’t have time to humour Imperial questions.
“What division are you with? These uniforms are not regulation. I asked you a question, trooper.”
Rampart decided it was his moment to step in now. He shoved past Hunter and addressed the officer, “My division. And my orders are classified. If you have an issue with that, Lieutenant, then contact Governor Tarkin.” Rampart felt rather smug as saw the name have the desired effect. That flash of panic followed by an immediate desire to comply from subordinates was a part of the job he had missed dearly. “Now carry on.”
“Uh, y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The Lieutenant automatically straightened up and went back through the doors he had come from.
Rampart turned back to the clones and waved a hand towards the doors, “Shall we?”
--
Rampart led the way to the desired destination. “The control room is up ahead. We can access the station manifest from there.”
“Just do your thing and get us inside. We’ll handle the rest.” Echo said frankly.
The insolence he constantly received from these clones was getting to be a little much. “That’s ‘Do your thing, sir’.”
“I don’t think so.” Echo replied in a low, disapproving growl.
Rampart paused as they reached the guarded door and spoke to the two officers, “Troopers, you are relieved.”
“Captain?”
“Report to the barracks. You’ll receive further instructions.”
“But, sir, we just started our shift.”
“Perhaps you’d like to spend a few rotations in the brig for violating Article 15 of the Imperial standing order 10?” Rampart threatened.
The two troopers glanced at each other. “No, sir.” With that, they moved out.
The group of them made it into the control room but the technician was willing to be as accommodating or passive as others had been.
Hunter barely let him get his protests out, he stunned the Imperial but caught his body and laid him gently on the ground rather than letting him fall harshly.
Crosshair shut the door whilst Echo plugged into the system.
“This is taking far too long. Can you crack the encryption or not?” Rampart asked anxiously.
“I’m working on it.” Echo snapped, unplugging and pushing past Rampart to try another terminal.
“Hunter, I had to sideline an Imperial. Someone might come looking for him.” Wrecker said over the comm channel.
“Copy that. Have the shuttle ready to go.” Hunter glanced over at Echo as he heard a series of more positive sounding beeps.
“I’m in.” Echo confirmed as he read the information now on the screen. “A science vessel docked in Bay 8 is set to depart for Tantiss, and soon.”
“Let’s get to that navicomputer and pull the coordinates.” Hunter ordered swiftly.
“We can’t. The vessel is tagged for uplink after it launches.”
“Which means there’s no way to get the coordinates.” Crosshair deduced. “Did that slip your mind?” He directed the question to Rampart.
“You expect me to know technical details like that?” Rampart disputed.
Hunter wasn’t prepared to let this chance slip away. They- he- needed those coordinates no matter what. “Then there’s only one option left. We can’t extract those coordinates. But that vessel is heading to Tantiss. That’s our way in.”
“What?” Rampart questioned in disbelief. Surely they realised this was venture was now dead in the water.  
“It’s the only chance we have of finding them and freeing those prisoners.”
Rampart sighed, there was that naivety again. “Science vessels have heightened security protocols. There’s no way you can all sneak aboard undetected.”
“But I can.” Echo volunteered.
“You can’t go alone.” Crosshair argued.
“He’s not.” Hunter said. “Once you’re aboard, find a way to disable the proximity sensors. We’ll follow behind, then attach our shuttle to the hull and hitch a ride directly to Tantiss.”
“Now, wait just a minute. This is not the plan I agreed to.” Rampart objected strongly.
“Plans change.” Crosshair sneered.
Hunter caught Echo’s shoulder as he passed, “They’ll monitor comms. So, we’ll have to go radio silent. Watch your back.”
The four of them left the room and split off.
--
Omega watched as the droid left and when it looked like the scientists above were not looking, she slipped into her room and used her tool to jimmy away at the wall panels.
She was successful in taking a few of them apart which allowed her to stick her head through the gap and take in the shaft of space behind the panels and was pleased to see there was room for her to manoeuvre around and explore what lay beyond the walls of the vault. However, as she her shoulder and more tumbled down, making more noise than she was comfortable with.
Omega knew she didn’t have a lot of time, Dr. Scalder kept a very keen eye and had probably noticed her absence and so was most likely already on her way down. She hurriedly tidied them back up and sat innocently on her cell’s makeshift bed as Dr. Scalder entered. “Hello, Dr. Scalder.” She said casually.
Dr. Scalder said nothing and cast her eyes around the room for signs that anhthing was amiss.
“Is something wrong?” Omega inquired.
Dr. Scalder only gave a mild hum in response before she walked out and left the vault to go back to her post.
Omega released a relieved sigh and rejoined the rest of the kids.
“Well?” Jax asked.
“Did it work?” Eva followed up.
“Uh huh.” Omega replied.
“What did you find?” Sammi asked quietly as Baryn played on her lap.
“Our way out.” Omega said confidently.
--
Hunter and the others ran onto the ship just as Wrecker was ridding the shuttle of the unconscious Imperial.
“’Bout time.” Wrecker grunted before he gently sat the Imperial down on some crates and placed his cap back on his head and joined the others again.
“Hunter, I’m inside the ship. It’s launching right now.” Echo commed in.
“Get those sensors disabled.” Hunter hastily powered up the ship and set it off for the pilot’s seat to get the ship in the air and in the direction of the shuttle Echo was on.
--
Using the droid transport chute had meant that Echo had successfully snuck aboard the shuttle leaving for Tantiss but where he’d run into trouble was in the form of the unnecessary delay caused by the trooper sent down to investigate his activities down below.
--
“What are you waiting for?” Wrecker asked as Hunter slowed the ship down.
“The proximity sensors haven’t been deactivated yet.”
Rampart- in his nervous state- had already strapped himself into one of the seats in the main hold. “This isn’t going to work. Their proximity sensors will detect us and shoot us down.”
“Relax. Echo’s on it.” Crosshair said to him.
--
With the trooper and his cover taken care of again, Echo was able to get back to work on disabling the sensors.
--
Hunter glanced down at his console as the beeping grew more incessant as it was indicating the ship ahead was getting ready to enter hyperspace.
“They’re about to jump.” Crosshair said, a hint of his own anxieties coming through now.
Hunter’s own resolve stayed steady. This wasn’t going to fail, he was getting to Tantiss, and Echo wouldn’t let them down. “Echo will come through. He just needs more time.”
“Which we don’t have.” Rampart stood up now and pushed past the other two clones who stood in the hallway just behind the pilot’s chair. “He’s probably been captured. Abort the mission.” He urged.
Wrecker and Crosshair only waited. This wasn’t their call to make or have a say on this time.
That wasn’t an option and no one, certainly not Rampart, was going to convince him that it was. Hunter kept his eyes fixed on the shuttle ahead and his voice was cold and unyielding as he said, “Negative.” He powered up the engines again and made for the bottom of the shuttle. He turned the ship upside down right as the console indicated that the sensors were down. He attached to the Tantiss shuttle just as it entered hyperspace.
They were getting those clones out of there.
They were getting Omega out of there.
They were getting you out of there.
--
“Oh, come on, Emerie. You’re killing me here, aren’t you a little early?” You moaned as you forced yourself up, wincing as the cut on your side felt like it ripped itself open more. It seemed like you’d only just finished the latest round with torture droid equipped with the new parameters Hemlock had set out and yet here Emerie was again.
Emerie found that she really didn’t like that that’s all you associated her with. She wanted to pursue knowledge and be known for her science, not hurting people. “I’m not- I’m not here for that.”
You just about managed to open your eyes but did a doubletake because you weren’t certain that what you were seeing wasn’t due to the blood loss and there was the possibility it was another one of Hemlock’s tricks. Getting to tell reality from hallucination was proving to be more challenging with each injection he put you through and this was one of those occasions where you weren’t sure what to believe because in your cell was Emerie.
Alone.
Holding a medkit and a flask of what you hoped was water.
“You’ve not been injected with anything.” Emerie could tell that’s where your thought process was heading as she knelt down next to you and pushed up the top of your uniform to examine the angry knife-wound on your side. Before she attended to it, she held the flask to your lips and let you drink from it.
The water cooled your sore throat, and the small act of unexpected kindness allowed the spark that Hemlock was doing his best to snuff out to grow more again.
You felt a few drips spill down your chin as she took it away, but you were too fixated on the way she was now attending to your injury to care, plus she’d seen you in far worse states.
“Why are you doing this? Why bother helping me?” You hissed in pain as she cleaned the wound and placed the bandage over it. You guessed the reason she hadn’t stitched it up or used any bacta was so that Hemlock remained unaware of the outside assistance, but you’d take any help you could get.
Emerie hesitated; she didn’t fully have the answer herself yet. “I don’t quite know but I do know Omega would want you to get through this.”
At Omega’s name, you felt a new surge of strength flow through you. “How is she?” You whispered.
“She’s fine. I’m doing what I can to watch out for her.” Emerie replied before she unscrewed the cap of the canteen again.
You huffed out a relieved breath. “Good.” You welcomed the final swig of water she offered you. “How long do I have?” You asked as she removed it and got the stuff together in order to leave it as though she’d never been here.  
“About 40 minutes.” Emerie admitted, her voice solemn.  
“Bring it on.” You said with a tight, pained smile.
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Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @arctrooper69, @dominoeffectsworld, @andreaaxy, @notgonnaedit, @allthingsimagines , @nightmonkeysstuff , @jellybeanstacey0519 , @callsign-denmark , @superbookishhufflepuff @qvnthesia
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bosbas · 1 year ago
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Chapter 13: it's never too late to come back to my side
series masterlist previous part || next part
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pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.2k words
Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, mutual pining, some swearing
Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.
A/N: ahhhh we're getting close to the end i'm so emotional i love them so dearly
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August 15, 1814 - It has come to this author's attention that Mr Benedict Bridgerton will be in attendance at Aubrey Hall this year in time for his family's country house party. This comes after almost two months away in the countryside. Will Mr Bridgerton be shocked to find out that his best friend and his older brother have been courting while he was away? Or has he been kept up to date on the ton's happenings, perhaps by this very column? The lucky guests at Aubrey Hall will find out for themselves in a few days, and the remaining members of the ton in London will surely find out through Lady Whistledown's society papers in the coming week.
"Benedict it's been three days. You have to come downstairs at some point," groaned Hyacinth. She was tired of watching her older brother mope around aimlessly, refusing to participate in any Bridgerton-Beaumont activities.
Knowing bits and pieces of what had happened between you and Benedict, Hyacinth was inclined to leave him to rot in his room forever, completely unsympathetic to his low mood. However, she couldn't help but notice your eyes searching every room you entered, looking for your best friend, only to visibly slump your shoulders when you realized that Benedict had once again failed to show up. So, after three days of watching your disappointment grow exponentially, Hyacinth had taken matters into her own hands. Except for the fact that Benedict was not particularly enthusiastic about Hyacinth's efforts, lying on his bed with a half-open book on his abdomen as he rolled his eyes at his sister.
"Go away. I'm not going to play Pall Mall, just leave me alone," he responded, laying an arm over his eyes.
Hyacinth scoffed in response. "I'm not here to ask if you want to play Pall Mall, brother. If I were, you wouldn't have a choice. Not that you have much choice now, anyway."
Then, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him as hard as her eleven-year-old strength allowed, she tried to make him see sense. "Y/N is even more miserable than you are because you won't even come down for dinner. I don't care that you're the one who upset her in the first place, she wants to see you!"
Seeing Benedict move his arm away from his eyes and give her a questioning look, Hyacinth sighed, exasperated. "Yes, I know about that. Which is how I know you're making it worse by staying cooped up in your room while she's downstairs with no one to talk to."
"She can just talk to Anthony," shot back Benedict, knowing it was a weak argument even before the words came out of his mouth.
Hyacinth did all she could to hold back from screaming at her brother, who was being exceedingly petulant. "You are such an idiot that it's hard to imagine how you lead a semi-normal life," she settled for saying, knowing she would get a lecture if she used any stronger language.
Benedict rolled his eyes, but his gaze shot over to his bedroom door when he heard hushed voices just outside whispering fiercely.
"Yes?" he snapped, loud enough that the voices ceased talking. The door creaked open and a very sheepish-looking Theo and Bastian popped their heads in, stumbling into the room unceremoniously.
After slapping Bastian on the shoulder, only a tad aggressively, Theo cleared his throat. "Ah, excuse our entrance."
"We're here to talk to you about Y/N, obviously, but it seems Hyacinth has beat us to it," finished Bastian, scratching the back of his head.
Benedict grumbled some expletives that were most definitely not appropriate for Hyacinth's ears at the prospect of two of your brothers, and the most athletic ones at that, giving him grief for the way things had played out between the two of you. He was already nursing a piercing heartache and the insurmountable guilt of having ruined his chances at being with you by an ill-timed attempt at a kiss, and he most certainly did not need half of your siblings making him feel worse about it. Having Hyacinth in your corner, and therefore against him, was difficult enough.
"Well, go on then," Ben relented, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible so he could go back to wallowing in his sorrows. Perhaps his intense heartbreak would lead to some magnificent inspiration for his next piece, and he could find comfort in the fact that his art would be massively successful, even if he couldn't have you. A poor consolation prize, but a consolation prize nonetheless.
Bastian looked at Hyacinth pensively, assessing how crude he was going to be with such a young girl present to hear what he was saying. He knew she had probably heard it all before, given that she grew up with four older brothers nearby, but Bastian was hesitant to be the direct cause of any colorful language the youngest Bridgerton might employ. Deciding the benefits of being as direct as possible outweighed the possible lecture he would receive, Bastian spoke quickly, "We just think you're being a fucking idiot."
"Sebastian!" exclaimed Theo, hitting him on the shoulder again and ignoring that Hyacinth was currently dissolving into a fit of giggles. "What he means to say is that we think you're being rather foolish. Though the strength of Bastian's words do communicate how we feel about this, foul as they were."
"Why, thank you. I was sick with worry wondering what your opinion on my relationship with my best friend was," retorted Benedict, not able to help his sarcastic tone even though he knew your brothers were not the best people to provoke right at this minute.
"Don't forget your best friend is our younger sister, so I do imagine we're allowed an opinion," replied Bastian, wanting to keep Benedict in place.
Theo, the more level-headed of the twins, looked at Ben with what could have been construed as a look of sympathy if it weren't also laced with unimaginable anger. "We're quite serious, Benedict. We know what happened a few days ago in your studio. Why can't you just talk to her?"
Benedict sat up and put his head in his hands, rather sick of having everyone know his business. "How on earth does everyone know what happened?"
Theo and Bastian exchanged a glance, unsure whether they should reveal their source. But Hyacinth saved them from an explanation. Quite matter-of-factly, she explained, "Eloise overheard your argument pretty much in its entirety. And, of course, she told everyone. Though I'm sure the twins have heard some bits and pieces from Y/N herself, and perhaps Anthony, too."
Seeing Benedict look from Hyacinth to Bastian to Theo in disbelief, loathing that it was nearly impossible to keep a secret from his family, Bastian commented, "Perhaps if Francesca had been the one to overhear we wouldn't have known so much. But all the better for us that Eloise, quite inexplicably, knows absolutely everything about everyone."
Shaking his head, Benedict accepted the current predicament he was in. "Right, then. I'll have to remember to thank Eloise for allowing me to have this wonderful conversation the next time I see her. Regardless, this makes it easier to tell you that I can't 'just talk to her,' Theo. I can't act like nothing happened."
Bastian immediately rolled his eyes upon hearing Benedict's excuse. "It's truly a wonder your friendship with her has lasted so long. Of course she wants to hear from you! She always wants to hear from you. Even when she's upset with you."
"It's all she ever talks about, usually. How long until she can see you and talk to you about whatever trivial matter she wishes to spend hours talking about," added Theo, hoping to remind Benedict that you needed him. Twenty years of being best friends meant that you needed Ben even when the two of you were fighting. Especially when you were fighting, actually, since Benedict was the only person who knew how to properly console you when you were upset.
"They're not trivial matters," said Benedict defensively. He loved hearing you talk on and on about whatever plot hole was plaguing you, and he found it rather interesting, too, but now was not the time to get into that particular point. "Anyway, that doesn't resolve the issue. It doesn't matter if I talk to her or not, she still doesn't love me back. And I have been doing a splendid job so far of trying to get over her before she marries my brother, so if you could very kindly allow me to continue to do so, I would greatly appreciate it," he finished curtly.
Hyacinth scoffed, in disbelief at her brother's blindness. "She doesn't 'not love you back,' you big baby! I'm eleven years old, I shouldn't be the one telling you to grow up!"
"Hyacinth, stop it. That's unusually cruel, even for you," protested Benedict, feeling an almost physical pain at the impossible possibility that you might love him back after what happened in his studio. He had considered the possibility incessantly in his mind the past few days, of course. But to hear someone else say it, to hear the words spoken so clearly by someone else rather than hearing it in his internal monologue or seeing it written down in his sloppy handwriting in letters he had never sent, was enough to make him feel nauseous.
Up until fairly recently, his love for you had been quite manageable. Even unnoticeable, at least to him, for the first few years. However, now he was quite pointedly aware that every time his heartbeat faltered it was undoubtedly due to you, whether you had laughed in a particularly adorable way or worn a gown that made your figure look quite irresistible. And he had lost any chance he had with you because he was too overcome by his desire to be by your side in a more-than-friendly way and had had awful timing in attempting to kiss you. So, yes, Hyacinth was being quite cruel in his eyes. Even if the cruelty was warranted, seeing how you looked as distraught as he felt.
"I do believe Hyacinth is right," Theo spoke, causing the youngest Bridgerton to beam, radiant, beside him, contrasting Ben's positively ghastly expression. "Y/N has loved you for years. It's been painfully obvious to the rest of us, but apparently, you're too thick to notice."
Bastian piped in to agree with his brother. "Precisely. So we're spelling it out for you. She does love you back, you just decided to confess your love for her at an inopportune moment. If Eloise's memory serves her correctly," which earned him a snicker from Hyacinth, "Y/N never said she didn't love you back."
Theo nodded, "She just said nothing had been resolved. Which it hadn't. So resolve it."
As if trying to romance the woman Ben had been helplessly and irrevocably in love with for the better part of a decade was as easy as taking a stroll, Bastian shrugged and added, "It's simple, really."
Benedict swallowed thickly, hearing a loud ringing in his ears. He found he couldn't focus his eyesight on anything, vision growing blurry as his eyes aimlessly scanned the room. He had taken your abrupt exit from his studio as a complete rejection, a sign that he had ruined any chance of moving beyond the boundaries of the friendship you two had built so lovingly. But apparently, the rejection had not been because you did not love him back, but rather because Benedict had behaved quite like an ass.
The absolute bliss he should have felt was overshadowed by a tightness in his chest that he could easily attribute to fear. There was so much more to lose now. He was scared out of his wits that he'd mess up again and lose you in any way that mattered, friendship and all.
"But what if it's too far gone? What if I don't fix it?" asked Ben, voicing his fears shakily.
Bastian laughed dryly and Benedict felt it more than he would a physical blow. "That's not really an option, is it? That's our sister you're talking about."
Theo growled lowly, not opposed to resorting to violence when the matter concerned the possible heartbreak of his younger sister. "Fix it or we fix you."
And the two walked out, Hyacinth skipping happily in front of them, without acknowledging the garbled groan that came from Ben's throat. He would have to make it count, then. One last chance to make you his. To make a reality the only way he could truly be happy. But it wasn't an impossible task. He knew you better than you knew yourself, after all.
---
You were making your way upstairs to your bedroom after another torturous dinner without Ben when Anthony touched your arm and asked if he could walk you back. It took less than five seconds for you to burst into tears and nod sorrowfully as he led you out of the sitting room where the rest of your families had migrated and were now settling into cozy conversation. Thankfully, no one else noticed, or at least didn't think to call you out on your sudden burst of emotion.
"It's going to be alright, one way or another," Anthony whispered as he led you down the hallway. And though he felt it was appropriate given the circumstance, he refrained from calling you darling or really any other pet name, knowing Benedict was usually the only one to refer to you as such, and thus it might cause you more undue stress.
"I know," you responded tearfully. "I just miss him."
You hiccuped and leaned your head onto Anthony's shoulder. As much as you enjoyed Anthony's company, you secretly wished that it was Benedict's strong shoulder you were feeling. But it didn't do to dwell on such matters now.
"Well, he did tell you he loved you," offered Anthony as the two of you climbed the stairs. "I think you're crazy to not immediately go after him." Perhaps he had been too worried about the fact that Benedict was an idiot to realize that you, too, were an idiot when it came to matters pertaining to your best friend and your very obvious love for him.
You shook your head decidedly. "He did tell me that, yes, but look at what's happened now," you said, flailing your arms in frustration. "He's ignored me for three days. You can't just say you're in love with someone and then not speak with them for three days!"
Anthony laughed softly when you sniffed sulkily, but you kept speaking. "It's too easy for Ben to swoop in after I've done so much work to get over him and found someone I want to marry," you gave the man beside you a pointed stare. "I don't just want to be with him when it's convenient for him. I need Benedict to actually want me and to prove that he wants me. Which he is doing a very poor job of at the minute because I haven't seen him since he confessed he was in love with me," you finished with a huff.
But Anthony was saved from having to respond, as Alex was waiting for you by your bedroom door, hands behind his back.
"Ah, Y/N. Just the person I wanted to see. Do you fancy a chat?"
Seeing that you didn't have much of a choice, you nodded and thanked Anthony, sending him on his way as you turned to face your older brother. "Very well," you relented.
The two of you went inside your bedroom and Alex, ever the unwavering presence in your life, closed the door firmly and crossed his arms as he stared at you. You were a tad nervous, not quite sure of what he was going to say. Ever since you had started courting Anthony, he had steered clear of the two of you, not exactly disapproving of the courtship, but not particularly supportive of it either. Needless to say, you were fairly surprised that he was being so direct with you now, asking to talk to you and staring you down in your room.
"Y/N," he started. "I mean this will all the love that I have in my heart for you, which is quite a lot, but you are being so, so stupid. It's almost painful to watch."
You were completely taken aback. "Excuse me?" you sputtered, not quite believing that your brother would speak to you like this. Although it was nice to hear him speak to you in any way at all, since you knew he had probably been holding back from saying this every time you spoke with him for the duration of your courtship with Anthony.
With a determined look on his face, a slightly furrowed brow, and downturned lips, Alexander pressed on. "You are so obviously in love with Benedict," and before you could protest, he continued speaking. "And he is so obviously in love with you, that I just don't understand the problem. He told you he was in love with you, from what Eloise has said, so I don't particularly see an issue now."
A flicker of confusion passed over your face. "He– What? What are you getting at?" you asked, knowing there was something else that Alex wanted to say.
It was imperative to him that you grasped what he was saying instead of focusing on how he said it. So he sighed a tad impatiently but spoke steadily enough that you wouldn't be put off by his tone of voice. "At the beginning of the season, I wasn't absolutely bricking it over my little sister debuting in society because I didn't think I would have to worry about you actually courting anyone. I just assumed that you and Ben would end up married, much like the rest of our families. In fact, I assumed you would be married already. It's mid-August now, and I thought you would have at the very latest married in June. Again, I mean this with a lot of love, but you're being a massive idiot. Every single person in our family can see that you're in love. So go be with the man you love!"
You were stunned. Alex had never made any indication that he thought that you and Ben would marry. But then again, perhaps you and Benedict loving each other came so naturally that he didn't need to.
Nevertheless, you shook your head adamantly. "I don't care what you thought, or what the rest of the family thought, or even what I thought! Benedict left me when I needed him, and Anthony was there for me–"
"So, you're marrying Anthony, then? You've decided you still want to be with him after all this?" asked Alex, on the brink of losing his seemingly endless temper.
"I don't know! Maybe? I haven't entirely decided, yet," you argued. "But it's either that or no marriage since Benedict hasn't exactly provided an alternative solution, and I would rather die than marry a man of the ton."
"But do you love Anthony?" asked your brother, voice clear as it cut through your rambling.
"Does it matter?"
"To you, it does," he responded firmly, but not unkindly.
And he was right. To you, it did matter. Perhaps not to Anthony, and perhaps not to Alexander, either. But to you, it did. Or it had, at least. And shouldn't it still matter? Even if you hadn't had the most linear season, and you hadn't found exactly what you were looking for. Shouldn't you still hope for love? And shouldn't you still fight for it, despite your best friend's terrible timing?
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brabblesblog · 9 months ago
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Whither is thy beloved gone? Edited / Expanded Edition is complete!
He would have to be the Ascendant again when the dawn breaks, and the Ascendant refused to be that spawn - refused to be anything that man was. The spawn could only ever be allowed to surface in the dark of night, between silken sheets and whispered words; a secret the Ascendant could not allow her to see.
Series Masterlist (AO3)
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Art commissioned from @morebird
Whither was originally written in December 2023, in about a span of a month. It was written at a time when my skills as a writer were not as developed, and written at a rather breakneck pace. There were scenes that, as time passed, I realized did not fit my vision of the story. Certain factors in my life at that time prevented me from writing the version of the story that I wanted. Coming back to work on it again and to refine it has been a wonderful, exciting journey.
I would like to thank every single person who has read this work, who will read this work, and especially those who will be rereading it again. Thank you for each and every comment, kudos, like, and reblog. Thank you for walking down this path with Ban and Astarion, and for investing in them. Thank you to every single person who has given input, ideas, and help throughout these long months of writing. 
I would like to dedicate a small paragraph here to @editing-by-night for reaching out to me when I needed it most, and for allowing me the chance to reshape Whither into what I had always dreamed it would be. For holding my hand throughout, and managing me and my writerly tantrums at every turn. 
Thank you for loving my work. I hope you all will love the new and improved version of it.
For more information on the specific changes, my editor has prepared the following for you:
@editing-by-night’s Whither Patch Notes:
Now in simple-past tense
Grammar & punctuation improvements
Sentence structure improvements
Formatting improvements and cohesion
Phrasing & vocabulary improvements for more elegant and evocative imagery, and in some cases for accuracy based on writer’s original intent
Improved context throughout, but most particularly in Chapter 3’s climax (no pun intended)
Minor modifications to Chapter 5 for more appropriate consent
Continuity-kevlar (aka repairs & improvements), with the most significant modifications made to Chapters 6, 8, 12-15, and 19-20
Significant pacing improvements to Chapter 12
Improvements to flow for Chapters 12-15
Minor improvements to Gale’s dialogue in Chapters 13-15, because the wizard of Waterdeep ain’t no bitch.
Performed a vibe check on Chapter 18 and improved it all-around
Additional content added to Chapter 19, to allow for informed consent
In addition to the change above, minor changes to Chapter 20, for improved vibe
Thank you for reading with us!
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prouddogboi · 2 years ago
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Stray dog (Part 2)
To find the most recent chapters, please go to @doggoboigaugau 's masterlist
Sorry it took me quite long lmao TToTT School and work deadlines are killin' me.
Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male Reader
Summary: Male Reader is traumatized and refuses to open up to 141. Soap found out something horrible going on with him and told Ghost about it.
Word count: 1910
Warnings: Smoking. Mention of attempts to self-h@rm.
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The next morning you woke up with a throbbing headache. It was so bad that you felt like hundreds of needles were jabbed into your eye sockets and every time you blinked, those needles plunged into your brain, sending a sharp and chilling pain to the crown of your head. This was by no means a strange occurrence for you though, given the fact that every night the base celebrated a party you always indulged in this self-sabotaging habit. 
Still, no matter how bad the situation was, you still had training to attend to, tasks to get done, reports to compile, and a miserable life to live. You turned your head to look at the clock, silently praying that it wasn’t too late. 
It was 13:00 in the afternoon already. 
“Shit!” You threw an arm over your forehead. Nice, you missed the morning training session. It was your responsibility today to train the new recruits and now you messed up the whole Task Force’s schedule once again just because you could not handle your pathetic emotions properly. The thoughts of giving up flooded your mind yet again since it was no use in waking up anyway, it was too late to do anything useful. The other team members were already aware of how irresponsible you were as you continuously failed to be on time for training the newbies. And what about the newbies’ impression of you? Probably an unreliable man who was no longer fit to be a member of a special Task Force that was particularly famous for its efficiency. Or maybe you were never fit to be one to begin with. 
Why didn’t the others wake you up? You had worked here long enough to know how scary and irritated Ghost could get when people missed his training session. There were even times when he immediately had the unpunctual soldiers pack their things and get sent to another department because he couldn’t fuckin’ stand people disrespecting his schedule. 
“Maybe they forget about my existence. Maybe I wasn’t that big of a part of this Task Force.” You mumbled to yourself, trying to pull your tired body out of the heavy blanket. As much as you wanted to give up, the desire to be important to someone, something, or some organization, …just anything, urged you to wake up and keep trying. You wanted yourself to be seen.
Upon opening the door of your stuffy room, you instinctively covered your eyes as they were attacked by rays of blinding sunlight. Your room was too dark and gloomy, doors and windows tightly shut all day and night, no wonder you would react so unfavorably to the bright sunlight that is often associated with positive moods by most people. 
The base was unusually quiet. You didn’t meet a single soul on your way to the kitchen to fill your hungry stomach. No Soap cracking stupid jokes with his heavy Scottish accent and laughing loudly to them himself, no Gaz cursing at his jokes, no Roach laughing at the two dumb manchildren, no Price sighing and telling them to at least be less raucous. You tried to shrug the nasty nagging feelings off, but it soon became unbearable when you walked into the kitchen and saw all the dirty dishes in the sink. 
“They have finished their lunch.” And they had it without you. The people you considered to be your own family, much closer than the biological family that you had cut all contact with, didn’t wake you up from your drunken sleep, totally forgot your existence, and enjoyed a meal together like there wasn’t anything missing. You knew damn well that you were overexaggerating the seriousness of the situation, but you just couldn’t help it. 
‘What am I to them?’ That question kept spiraling inside your brain, worsening the headache that you were already having. In a brief second, all the nagging feelings were anthropomorphized into a disgusting creature with multiple heads and mouths by your ailed mind, shrilly screaming out your deepest thoughts that were fraught with insecurities. Your legs were rendered weak and you collapsed on the floor. Supporting your weakened body with all four limbs, you took heavy breaths, trying to calm yourself down.
A few minutes later, you managed to put yourself together enough to stand up and get out of the base, on the way you didn’t forget to grab a pack of cigarettes. You felt stupid to resort to nicotine as a way to fight against all those feelings, but you didn’t know a better way. There were times when things were so bad that you had no energy left to hide your conditions from your teammates, and Price was concerned. He used to have you talk to some therapists, and not surprisingly to you at all, they could not handle you for long. No one ever could. 
You were now standing in the parking lot with a cigarette in your mouth. You sighed, clearly satisfied with how strongly its bitter taste stimulated your taste buds. When you first arrived here as the newest member of Task Force 141, Soap and Gaz always joked that you’d become Price’s smoking buddy, but that did not happen. The image of you standing with Price awkwardly because you two couldn’t find a mutual topic for a conversation made you feel too uncomfortable to even try, so you kept avoiding the older man or pretending to not hear his offer until he just stopped inviting you. It was so obvious that the men wanted to get closer to you, they wanted to earn your trust, to make you feel at home and be yourself among them, yet you kept pushing them away. And now perhaps they had stopped trying all together. It was not their fault. It was yours. 
But why it was so painful? You were supposed to feel relieved that they had given up so that you didn’t have to blame yourself every time you turned their kind offer down and saw the sadness drawn on their faces. ‘Why do I keep feeling like shit no matter what I do?’
Feeling that the intense emotions that were barely suppressed by the nicotine started to get out of hand again, you cupped your head with both hands, the half-burning cigarette fell to the ground. Suddenly, your eyes caught the red burning tip of it, together with how the paper wrapping around the nicotine was slowly burnt to black. At that very moment, a dark but familiar thought popped up in your mind. You bowed down to pick up the cigarette, blankly staring at it resting between the two fingers of your right hand. Then, your eyes turned to your left hand, examining your spotty lower arm. It was full of the small round scars that were caused by burning your arms with the burning tip of a cigarette. You had noticed Ghost looked at these scars of yours many times; luckily he never asked about them. The army was a place filled with people who had different background stories and bore numerous scars, so it wouldn’t be abnormal for you to have some that were a bit funny-shaped.
‘Should I do this again?’ 
Maybe you should. It helped with the emotions. Well, temporarily, but that was good enough.
Just as you were about to press the burning tip into your lower left arm, someone threw their whole weight into you. You were hugged by two strong arms and the cigarette was again dropped to the ground.
“There you are! I’ve been finding you everywhere!” It was the Scot man. “Are you smoking? Gosh, I hate this smell! Price’s cigars are much better!”
‘The ones that smell good are never bitter enough.’ You thought to yourself.
“Have you had lunch, pretty boy?” Soap pinched your dumbfounded face.
“Not yet.”
“What? Unbelievable! Get to the kitchen with me right now, Sergeant.” The man literally manhandled you straight from the parking lot into the base, leaving you no time to object.
As you two arrived at your destination, Ghost was already sitting there, sipping some coffee. Soap forced you to sit down right next to him while he proceeded to walk to the fridge and pulled out a dish, putting it inside the microwave oven. 
“Here you are, babyboy~” He put the hot meal in front of you. You chose to ignore the pet name and his flirtatious voice simply because he had started doing it to you ever since you start working here. It was just one of his signature thing, you should not fall for it and mistake it as a sign of interest that could develop into romantic feelings. 
“Thanks, Soap.”
“Aw, don’t be so all worked up and formal, babyboy. Ya’ welcome~”
Silence fell over the three of you, until you just felt so awkward that you had to speak up, “So… how was this morning?”
“It was fine. Ghost stepped in your place and took care of the training.” Soap replied.
You carefully glanced at Ghost, just to find that the man already looked at you, which made you tremble slightly. The skull mask on his face made him too difficult to read, you couldn’t tell whether he was annoyed or he just gave up on expecting something greater from you. 
Soap laughed at your reactions, “It’s okay. You were drunk so Price agreed to let you sleep. Also, Ghost volunteered to help you with the training so he probably doesn’t hold a grudge. Am I right, Ghostie?”
The masked man didn’t answer; instead, he turned back to his cup of coffee.
You quickly finished your meal and left, saying that you should do training by yourself. The truth was you couldn’t stay there any longer, you didn’t want to disturb Ghost and Soap’s rare peaceful time together. You had already made too terrible an impression on Ghost, it’s best that you did not mess up again. As a result, you also missed their conversation. It was not intended for you to listen to anyway.
“You’re right. He did it.” Soap’s voice was solemn, with no sign of flirt or unseriousness like a few minutes before.
“You mean the scars?” Ghost looked up at him from the cup.
“Yeah, the round scar marks that you’ve told me many times.”
“It was just my guess. How do you know he really did it?”
“I found him in the parking lot. He was holding a burning cigarette and about to press it into his left arm.” 
A few minutes of silence passed until Ghost spoke up, “Fuckin’ hell.”
“I asked Price about his past, I know it’s a nosy thing to do, but I wanted to help. Unfortunately, Price knows nothing either. Y/n… the boy never opens up to us.”
The two men sat quietly, exchanging worried looks with each other. If only you could know how much they cared for you, maybe you would find it easier to accept their love and help. Yet, even if they told you, even if they desperately showed you so many times that they cared and loved you so much, would your brain allow your heart to welcome them just like how it used to welcome other people you had met earlier in your life, the ones who left you wounded and made you the way you were today? 
If someone asked you that question, you’d just offer them a weak smile and simply say: “No”. You're now too tired to hold on to any crumbles of hope left in your broken soul. You'd like to give up.
to be continued i guess :")
Taglist: @aphroditeslovr @prestigeghoul @edgyboi10000 @c0nny3917 @peter-the-pan @lovecats123451
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ckret2 · 2 years ago
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This chapter is a whole lot of Bill and Ford talking and I couldn't think of a good illustration for it, so have a funny comic instead.
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Here's chapter 9 of The Pines Have Captured Human Bill Cipher And Nobody Is Happy About It (otherwise known as Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone). Sept 13 2024 - now updated for TBOB compatibility!
####
Ford knocked on the bathroom door. "Time's up. You've had your two hours, Cipher."
There was no reply.
Ford glanced at Stan.
Stan grumbled under his breath and cracked his knuckles. "BILL!" He pounded on the door. "Either you come out of the bathroom, or we're dragging you out by your ankles!"
No reply.
"That's it," Stan snapped. Ford nodded in agreement and took a step back to cover Stan as he opened the door.
The bathroom reeked of chemically-enhanced rotten eggs. From knee-height down, every single surface in the room was plastered with curly blond hair. Behind the bath tub—naked, curled up in a ball, and hiding beneath a towel like a child—was Bill.
Stan and Ford gaped at the scene. And then they cracked up.
"Most—" Stan wheezed, "Most people just use shampoo! But hey, whatever floats your boat!"
Trying to sound stern and failing, Ford said, "I hope you plan to help clean this up."
Bill didn't reply. 
Stan coughed and pounded on his chest. "Gah. Almost choked on my dentures."
"How did you do this? I know we removed the blades from the room." Ford was glad he'd put on his boots. He picked up a bottle of hair removal cream from the bath tub and tested the weight. Almost empty. "You didn't use this on your scalp, did you? It's far too caustic to use around the face."
Stan asked, "How do you know?"
"I've experimented with many shaving techniques, Stanley."
Bill didn't reply.
"Bill?" Ford's smile faded. "Did you burn yourself?" If he was burned badly enough, that was an infection risk—the last thing they needed was to haul their prisoner to a doctor...
He took another step toward Bill. Bill tightened his arms around his knees and retreated further into the corner. And still he said nothing.
####
Stan and Ford agreed that dragging Bill's naked butt out of the bathroom wouldn't do anything to help protect Gravity Falls from the horrible alien triangle menace, and also wouldn't make them feel particularly noble; so they left the door open, told Bill to get dressed and get out, Stan went back to bed, and Ford sat in the attic window seat to wait.
It took almost thirty minutes before Ford heard Bill trudging upstairs. He had dressed, thank goodness, but still had the towel draped over his head, like a Victorian widow in a mourning veil. Ford wondered if it was bad to find the sight of his obvious distress so funny, or if the fact that it was Bill made it okay.
Bill got close enough to his window seat nest to spy Ford's boots from beneath his towel, veered off to the side, and curled up in a corner of the attic.
"Well," Ford said, to say something; and then drew a blank. Finally, he said, "The next time you claim you're out of practice at a basic human task, I'll believe you."
Ford could have sworn he heard the towel-covered lump hiss like a leaky tire. Had he gotten a laugh?
The ice broken, Ford went on: "Are you injured? That stuff can burn even when used correctly. And—you did not use it correctly."
No response.
"Just—why did you—why?"
No response.
"Say something so I know I don't have to call an ambulance and tell them you're in shock." Ford did not relish the idea of explaining a mysterious woman with no ID to a hospital.
Apparently, neither did Bill, because he muttered, "I don't need medical assistance." And then, "So I didn't want hair. Baldness isn't a sin. Get off my back."
"That's a heck of a way to get rid of it."
"Yeah, wow, I guess so. I wonder why I didn't just use a razor."
"You could have... You could have asked for a shave."
Bill let out another tire-wheeze laugh. At the thought of asking for help, or at the thought that he'd have received it?
"Bill—"
"Go away."
Ford frowned; but he got up, headed downstairs, and shut the bathroom door as he passed so Bill couldn't go back in.
And a few minutes later, came back with a sandwich made out of the first odds and ends he could find in the fridge, and a six pack of hard apple cider. "Here." He set the plate and six pack on the floor near Bill. "Mrs. Ramirez hasn't touched it, I promise."
Bill didn't move, not even to see what food Ford had brought.
Ford shifted his footing nervously, his common sense insisting that he'd demonstrated all the decency he was obliged to and that it was time to go; and then he sat down again on the window seat. "Listen," he said. "Bill." (He shouldn't be doing this, he shouldn't be talking to Bill Demon-Triangle Dimension-Destroyer Cipher, eternal nemesis, ruiner of Ford's life, threatener of his family; but right now, it was hard to see Bill Cipher beneath the hurting human.) "I've—been here before. I know what it's like to—to be trapped in an alien dimension, surrounded by hostile locals, with no way home." He tried not to think about the fact that Bill was the main reason Ford had been trapped, or that Ford was now one of the hostile locals, or that the locals (and Ford especially) had a damn good reason to be hostile to Bill, or that they all didn't want Bill to get home. He was kind of curious find out where the heck he was going with this conversation. "I know what that... grief is like."
Ford thought it might be an insult to suggest Bill was capable of grief; but Bill didn't twitch. Ford went on. "I know how tempting it is to—to ignore everything but the fight ahead. Never mind hot food, shelter, showers, fresh clothes, a comfortable bed. Luxuries you can tend to when your work is done. But—a fire can't keep burning without fuel and fresh air. Depriving yourself those 'luxuries' doesn't turn you into some ascetic warrior-monk. It simply... burns you out. It makes it that much harder to achieve anything." Ford shrugged. "I—learned that the hard way."
He tried not to think about the fact that Bill had been the fight Ford had burned himself out for. Or the fact that Bill no doubt saw Ford as his fight. Or the fact that Ford didn't want Bill to achieve anything. He immediately regretted the decision to find out where he was going with this conversation. What was he doing?
Voice muffled, Bill said, "You think you're the only person who's ever had to get used to an alien dimension before?"
And Ford remembered—a moment too late—that Bill had destroyed his home. It was so easy to take that information, the horrific enormity of it, and stop there; but follow the implications one step further, and that meant Ford had never once seen Bill in his own dimension. As long as Ford had known him and billions of times longer, Bill had been a stranger in a strange land. Ford should write off this conversation as a loss and leave.
"This isn't my first rodeo," Bill said. "But hey, thanks for coming back up just to patronize me. It's really what I needed tonight."
To hell with leaving. Ford wasn't letting Bill get the last word in after he'd tried to do something nice. "This is your first time being a human in an alien dimension," Ford pointed out. "You said it yourself earlier—I've bathed hundreds of times since you last did. As an energy being, you've never had to make time for regular showers, or sleep, or exercise, or..." He almost said food but paused. He'd seen Bill eat as a triangle. Was that fun or necessity? Never mind. "You probably think those chores are beneath you—but your body needs them whether you like it or not."
Bill laughed harshly. "Wow, this is rich coming from Dr. Food Pills who bathes monthly."
"Hey! I've improved since my postdoc days and if you were half the stalker I know you are you'd know that!"
Bill didn't argue; he just changed his angle of attack and muttered, "'Eat better and bathe more,' says the guy who locked me out of the fridge and bathroom."
"I—" Well. Ford couldn't really argue with that. And he didn't regret it. "I know it's... not an ideal situation." The opportunity hung in the air for an and I'm sorry, and Ford self-consciously hurried past it. It was the thing one said in these situations, but it wasn't true. He wasn't sorry, he shouldn't be sorry, Bill was here on death row. "But I'm just trying to..." The sentence died. Why, exactly, was he trying to help Bill?
"Why would I want any help from you?" Bill's voice was venomous; and under the circumstances, Ford couldn't fault him for that. "Even if you didn't kill me and capture me! For all your talk of needing shelter and comfort when you're stuck in another dimension—you never accepted any help from me. But you think I can't take care of myself?"
Ford stared at Bill. (Not that there was much to stare at, except the top of a towel.) "I never accep—? You never offeredany help!" Not that he would have accepted it if Bill had, but just the outrageous suggestion that Bill had been—what?—charitably offering interdimensional refugee services that Ford had stubbornly turned down—?
"I never got the chance! You dove into the first wormhole you could find—you didn't even bother to say 'hi'!"
"Why would I say 'hi' after everything you—! Plus, you placed a bounty on my head! Within thirty seconds of my arrival!"
"So I got excited!" Bill uncurled just enough to shrug. "Anyway, the bounty was to bring you to me alive! C'mon, Stanford, I know you steered away from the frats in college, but you know what a little friendly hazing is, right?"
Flabbergasted, Ford echoed, "'Hazing'?" And then, even more disbelieving, "'Friendly'?"
"Sure!" One eye, almost luminescent in the shadows beneath the towel, peered over Bill's knees. As if Bill was as baffled as Ford and needed to see him for himself. "You built us a portal, you got cast out of your dimension into ours—you were gonna get a hero's welcome! You'd joined the gang! You were one of us!"
"I'd—spent weeks trying to stop you!"
"So?"
Ford gaped. Bill was a liar, he reminded himself—a liar, a manipulator, and a conman. He'd say anything to portray himself however he thought most useful. Ford remembered arriving in the Nightmare Realm. He'd relived it over and over—in hundreds, if not thousands of nightmares. "That was no welcome party. You were surrounded by an army of monsters."
"Hey, those are my pals you're talking about!" Bill laughed—a sincere, easy sound. It was unnerving, how real that laugh sounded. "Hate to point out the obvious, Sixer, but you've got a handshake that '30s Hollywood woulda designed a whole movie monster around. Who are you to judge appearances!"
Ford's thoughts flashed briefly to the Glass Shard Beach freak show he'd met as a child—the humans who'd called themselves "monsters" and who'd called Ford their "abnormal ally," the frightening friendly freaks who'd welcomed him warmly. He pushed the thought away. Bill wasn't running some kind of weirdo sanctuary; he thought making Ford think he was would win him some sympathy. "You were sitting on a throne. Made out of optical illusions. Like a self-appointed tyrant."
"Oh! You noticed my throne!" Bill's head lifted a little more. "Hey, I got that custom made! It's upholstered with the torn fabric of reality! Say, did it look three-dimensional to you? I'm told it looks 3D if you cross your eyes just right, but, well, you need two eyes to cross 'em."
"Wh—" Ford blinked, trying to remember what the throne had looked like. "Was it... not 3D?"
"No way! Do you have any idea what it'd cost to upholster a whole extra dimension in the fabric of reality? I'm not about to drop that kind of gold on a feature I wouldn't even use!" Bill grinned up at Ford. All Ford could see was the one eye and his teeth. "But hey, if you couldn't even tell the difference—I guess the autostereogram detailing was worth it!"
And Ford thought, he means it. Bill, mad thing he was, never thought that being Ford's friend and destroying Ford's universe were mutually incompatible. When he'd arrived in the Nightmare Realm, Bill hadn't been hunting him, he'd been welcoming him. Lounging on his stupid tacky throne, hanging out with his terrible friends, feigning a punch at the new guy to make him flinch before laughing and inviting him to the party. And Ford—sleep-deprived, terrified, paranoid—hadn't seen it.
And then Ford thought, he's lying. It was over thirty years ago—thirty-one, technically (time ticks ever on)—and Bill could say anything he wanted about what he would have done if he'd caught Ford, because he hadn't caught him. Today, Bill probably thought his comfort, if not his very survival, was dependent upon convincing his captors that he was so much less a threat than they thought he was. It's all a harmless misunderstanding! It was no misunderstanding and Bill wasn't harmless.
Ford got to his feet. "We remember that day very differently."
Bill's smile faded into the dark. "Yeah. Guess so." And then his eye disappeared as well as he curled in on himself and vanished under the towel. That wasn't like him. Ford had expected at least a little gaslighting.
Strange body in a strange land. And a recent death (metaphorical or literal, Ford still wasn't sure). Of course Bill was more subdued than usual.
Ford told himself not to worry about Bill. (He was unnerved that he had to tell himself.)
"Well." He gestured vaguely at the sandwich, decided against doing something nice like reminding Bill he needed to eat, and said, "Don't waste food."
He mentally chided himself as he walked downstairs. He'd been careless; he'd almost let his guard down in front of a friend who'd betrayed him. He'd been nice to Bill. He'd tried to encourage Bill to take better care of himself—when Ford was plotting to kill him, for crying out loud! Why? Because the human body made him forget this was Bill? No. Because Bill had tricked Ford into seeing him as a friend again, for just a moment, talking about parties and pals and—of all things—his stupid upholstery? Also no; that had come after Ford had offered compassion. It would have been nice if Ford could have blamed Bill. He'd like to think that he was being manipulated; it would free him from any personal culpability. But Bill hadn't done anything—except look miserable.
And that didn't line up with how Ford remembered Bill. Maybe that was what had thrown him off? But—he wasn't sure. Ford had spent thirty years with his thoughts spiraling around Bill, and now it was hard to think about Bill at all without second-guessing every thought that passed through his head. He was a recovering Cipherholic—and the fastest way to fall off the wagon was getting exposed to your addiction. He'd have to ask Stan for a reality check.
Another question gnawed at him as he kicked off his boots and climbed back into bed. When he'd been cast from his dimension, the portal was still functional, just uncharged. There was nothing Ford could do from within the Nightmare Realm to either reactivate or destroy the portal. Bill had seemed in too good a humor to have had punishment on his mind; and since Ford had been both useless and unthreatening, Bill probably hadn't wanted to recruit him for his help or eliminate him for Bill's safety.
So what had Bill wanted him for?
What had Bill wanted him for?
He'd probably just wanted to kill him. For no particular reason. For fun. Bill didn't need any other reason, Bill was insane.
Ford tried to convince himself that was true.
####
Bill had gotten careless. He almost let his guard down around a friend who'd betrayed him.
He couldn't really blame himself. He was a consummate extrovert with nobody to talk to. Captivity in and of itself was bad enough; but without his friends, he was... bored. That was the word. Bored.
But he was fine.
Bill's stomach ached. He peered at the food Ford had brought.
After a moment, he dragged over the six pack and popped out a can of cider. Nothing better to prove he was fine than some good old I'm Fine Juice.
That bathroom could be useful. He'd never be trusted in there for two hours unsupervised again, but if he mastered the art of the ten-minute shower and claimed he still needed an hour, that would give him some uninterrupted privacy. He could work a little magic in that time, even if he was limited to human capabilities. Most local female humans wore makeup, Melody probably kept hers in the bathroom; and in a pinch, there was toothpaste and shampoo; he could write with those. You could get a lot done with two mirrors, running water, a writing tool, and a human body full of blood.
Maybe he could call for help. Acquiring the supplies to get a call through to Hectorgon or Amorphous Shape would be difficult, much less calling any of his outerplanar pals; but Kryptos kept a psychic line open in dimension 46'\, if Bill got his hands on some candles he could reach him. At least, assuming Kryptos bothered to pick up the call. Bill hated the thought that his fate rested on whether or not the most annoying person in the multiverse felt like taking a call from an unknown number, but what could he do about it? If he could just reach the mindscape, this would be so much easier—
No, that wasn't quite accurate. He could reach the mindscape. He dreamed. He just... couldn't control it.
This body clamped onto his soul like an iron maiden. He couldn't just shed it like an old coat, the way he'd always effortlessly moved in and out of physical bodies before. He'd tried, curled up in the window for hours at a time, meditating silently, reaching for that point where he quietly detached from his borrowed form—but never grasping it. A couple of times the effort had exhausted him into falling asleep.
He knew his way in and out of human bodies—along with plenty of other earthling bodies and the bodies of aliens from countless dimensions. Leaving it should have been easy. There was no good reason for him to still be stuck.
But there were plenty of bad ones.
Three possibilities: thanks to the unconventional way he'd left the Theraprism, his power was still sealed away (if not removed entirely), and he was simply too weak to disentangle himself from this body's neurons; the reincarnation process had fully turned his soul from a triangle into a human; or, something about the Theraprism's machine locked souls into their new bodies. Maybe to keep the newly-rehabilitated from immediately shedding their body and returning to their old ways.
A lock that simply needed to be picked would be the best option—but with his limited powers, it was also the hardest to identify except via process of elimination. He could start by figuring out humans' own techniques for controlling their dreams and shedding their bodies and see if that helped him. (Part of him hoped it wouldn't. If it did, it would be all the more likely that he really was just a human—the worst possible option.) He was sure Ford had done some reading on astral projection at Bill's suggestion, maybe he still had those books somewhere. Bill couldn't just ask for them. Ford wouldn't trust Bill with them.
Not yet, anyway. But with time...?
Ford's little visit had been unexpectedly encouraging. He'd been a fool to ever offer Ford freedom and power instead of leaning on humans' soft spot for vulnerability. The whole woe-is-me routine was clearly working. Even if Ford had probably only pitied him because...
Under the towel, Bill's scalp burned. He could feel the alien contours of his head.
Never mind, never mind, never mind. This was all part of his strategy. This was his plan.
The point was—he thought, for just a moment, he'd gotten a glimpse again of the Ford that was his friend.
Bill could use that.
He'd keep working on Ford, softening him up. Ford had already brought food. Rookie mistake. So few humans realized that once they'd done one favor for someone, they'd set themselves up to make every favor after that a little bit easier. Bill would have Stanford Pines wrapped around his finger again in no time.
And until he'd worked his way back up to big favors, it might be nice to have someone to play chess with again. He was bored. He missed his friends.
He missed home.
He missed himself.
A lump formed in his throat. 
To drown it, he popped open the first can of cider, chugged it in several large gulps, and reached for the second.
####
(This is sort of the first chapter we've had to slow down since this fic started, so let me know what y'all think!)
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