#they LITERALLY had to drag him kicking and screaming away from his wife and son and heavy drug him
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You see what I love about Desmond Hume is that he is simultaneously absolutely insane and like, the most sane person on the island. Like he’s the craziest fucking dude you’ve ever met, he has so much wild shit going on but he’s also overwhelmingly Just A Normal Guy. He’s one of the few people in the damn show that does not give a SINGLE shit about the drama or the mysteries of the island, my man literally just wants to go home to his girlfriend and take a nap!! But he’s also had like 20 jobs and he’s time travelled (but only in his brain really) and he’s selected to be the fucking Island Prophet or some shit and he’s the singular chosen one who’s immune to electromagnetism but at his core he’s simply a Dude, he’s a damn magic leprechaun but he’s also just kind of a sad loser, You Know???
#desmond hume#lost abc#lost show#when they were like ‘the islands not done with you yet’ and he said ‘well I’m done with the island’ what a power move baby#and I was so worried in like season 5/6 that they were foreshadowing some arc where he CHOSE to go back to the island but he didn’t!!#they LITERALLY had to drag him kicking and screaming away from his wife and son and heavy drug him#and when he woke up he tried to fuckin KILL widmore#but then he has some damn prophetic dream again and suddenly he’s like. a fucking messenger of the lord or something#1/2 the time he could not fucking care less ab the damn island and the other half he’s like I Am Sent By The Island Spirits As Your Guide
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The Bakugou Kids - Bakugou Katsuki
(Dad)Bakugou x (Mom)f!reader
Warnings: Fluff, Crack, Cursing
Summary: Bakugou and Y/N love their son with their entire beings, but sometimes, parents need a break. Especially when those parents are responsible for creating a literal demon spawn. He is kind, well behaved, and cute of course! But he does have Bakugou blood in him. With Y/N already away on a girls trip, Bakugou has to find out how he’s going to deal with his (now) many, many kids.
A/N: You passed down your duplication quirk down to Katsuo.
BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You asked your husband as you stood at the doorway. “Katsumi may be a calm baby but she’s still a baby. And Katsuo’s quirk just kicked in and it is mine. I would know how difficult it can be to manage.”
“Stop worrying, Babe. It’s just a duplication quirk. And he’s only 5, how powerful can it really be?”Katsuki said, wrapping his arms around you. “Just go on your little girl’s trip with Ponytail and Racoon Eyes. I can handle the brat.”
You looked at your husband with a raised brow and smile before rolling your eyes and giving him a kiss. “Alright then. I’ll see you in a few days!”
With that, you walked out of the house and into the cab to meet your friends at the resort. Katsuki chuckled before walking back into the house to find his son napping on the couch. His spiky, blonde locks were all messed up with bed head while his E/C eyes he inherited from you remained shut. Katsuki walked over to his newborn daughter and picked her up while he took a seat next to Katsuo’s sleeping form, rubbing at his soft hair until he woke up.
“Can’t be all that bad, right Katsumi?”
The baby girl merely cooed with sparkling ruby eyes that mimicked her father’s.
—
Wow. Wrong. He was so wrong! It had only been 2 days since your departure but things had already gone so wrong! When you said your quirk was difficult to manage, Katsuki thought it would be difficult for Katsuo to manage. Not him!
Katsuki should’ve known his son would’ve taken the opportunity to act out while his mother was away. He had always been your little angel while Katsuki saw him as his little gremlin. With Y/N gone, Katsuo has been pushing all kinds of limits. Limits that had Katsuki beat.
Katsuo had been fortunate enough to inherit a quirk. And not just any quirk, but your quirk. Duplication. Basically, he can create copies of himself. When you were his age, you could only create 4, max. Katsuo was different though. He had Bakugou blood flowing through him. He was advanced the second he was born. So now, Katsuki was stuck looking after Katsumi, Katsuo, and Katsuo’s 16 other copies.
“Aye! Number 15, you’re gonna break that lamp! 11 and 8! Don’t wrestle in the mud! Go take a bath! NUMBER 3 GET OFF THE KITCHEN ISLAND! KATSUMI!” The adult blond screamed, looking for his infant daughter, eventually finding her sleeping in her little rocker on the living room floor. “Oh right, you don’t talk yet.”
Katsuki sighed as he slumped down next to his daughter, and leaned his back against the couch. He looked around the room and saw the 17 Katsuo’s making a ruckus around the house. All he could do was question how the hell is 3 month old daughter could possibly sleep through all this.
Katsuki almost lost all hope for humanity until a knock was heard on his front door. Knowing exactly who was there, he quickly got up from his place on the floor and ran to the entrance. “You idiots are finally here!”
Katsuki pulled in his 3 friends, the boys of the Bakusquad, and slammed the door shut. The 3 friends all stood in shock at the sight of the house. Not that it was overly messy or anything. It’s just that there were about 16 more figures in the house that aren’t usually there.
“You gotta help me!” Katsuki said, running infront of them, shaking his best friend’s shoulders. “I love my kids! I do! I love Katsuo, I swear! BUT I DIDNT SIGN UP TO BE A FATHER OF 18 FREAKING DEVILS!”
“Okay! Okay, relax man. We’re here.” Kirishima said, patting his friend’s shoulder as he wept. “How the hell are we gonna take care of 17 little Bakugous?”
“Right? We thought 1 Kacchan was a lot. Then you brought another one into the world, who apparently brought some unannounced friends.” Kaminari joked.
“They’re demons!” Katsuki exclaimed. “This has to be some fucking Karma for the shit I did. I knew I should’ve listened to my old hag better. Now shits came back to bite me in the- HEY! PUT YOUR SISTER DOWN! SHE’S NOT A FOOTBALL!”
Katsuos number 7 and 5 placed a sleeping Katsumi back in her rocker with an annoyed pout before running off to play something else.
“Welllll, there’s nothing that 3 cool uncles can’t fix!” Sero enthusiastically said. “Hey kiddos! Who’s ready to have some fun?”
All the mini blondes stopped their movements, some freezing mid-air, and looked to the slim man. They all shouted in joy at the sight of their uncles and ran to pounce on the 3 men, including their father. From the point of view of the boys in the Bakusquad, it looked like a Bakugou stampede.
“Run, run, RUN, RUN, RUUUNN!!!!” Kaminari screamed as the boys all ran for their lives to escape the herd of Katsuos. This was going to be an interesting day.
—
Safe to say after the day had passed, the boys of the Bakusquad were completely exhausted. Sero had half his clothes torn, Kirishima’s hair fell from it’s great spikes and even lost some red hues, Katsuki’s eye bags had never been heavier, and Kaminari was just straight knocked the fuck out. They were all thrown across the couch as Katsumi rested in Katsuki’s arms.
“What do we do?” Kirishima exclaimed.
“I don’t know.” Katsuki said, looking at his scrambling son(s). “There’s just too many.”
“And we’ve already lost a soldier.” Sero said pointing to Kaminari’s sleeping form. Katsuki and Kirishima followed his gaze and bowed their heads in respect towards the defeated Kaminari.
“Well now what? Is Bakugou just supposed to live like this for the next 3 days?” Kirishima asked.
“Hell no. If I do, there’s not gonna be anymore Katsuki. I’ll just be some body without a soul because my damn gremlins sucked it outta’ me.” Katsuki said with his head dropped down.
“Well how do we get them to calm down?” Sero questioned.
“I don’t know. They’re all mini me’s. Nobody could get me to relax.” Katsuki said in defeat, but that’s when Kirishima had a lightbulb go off for him.
“Except for Y/N!” The red head said, popping up from his seat on the couch.
“Uh, if you haven’t noticed Shitty Hair, this all started because she’s away on her trip.” Katsuki said with sarcasm as he looked at his friend as if he was an idiot.
“I know that! But Y/N wasn’t the only one to tame you, Bakugou!” Kirishima said in excitement.
“So then who else?” Katsuki asked.
“You know,” Kirishima smirked. “Denki’s favorite person. Y/N and.........”
It took Katsuki a second before his eyes popped when he finally got it. “No!”
“Yes!” Kirishima said.
“No way! We’re not going to her!” Katsuki complained.
“Who?” Sero asked.
“Nobody!” Katsuki screamed.
“Oh it’s somebody alright! Somebody who was able to tame the beast in Bakugou the second he was born!” Kirishima said.
“Who?” Sero asked. Katsuki finally sighed before he gave in, realizing this was his only hope for sanity. He grabbed his phone and made a quick call before explaining to his dark-haired friend.
“The demon of all demons...”
—
The door opened to reveal a tall standing brunette and an elder feminine blonde.
“...My mother.”
—
The boys of the Bakusquad all sat lined up on the couch as Mitsuki stood at Katsuki’s end and smacked her son’s head.
“You idiots! Y/N leaves for 2 days and all hell breaks lose?!” Mitsuki screamed at the 3 young men.
“You old hag! Quit hitting me! Ima’ grown man for crying out loud!” Katsuki screamed as he rubbed his head. Masaru simply bounced the sleeping Katsumi in his arms as he watched the scene play out.
“Well if you’re such a grown man then why can’t you manage your own kids without your wife’s help?!” Mitsuki argued, leaving Katsuki silent as he grumbled. The eldest blonde sighed before continuing. “Alright listen, I’ll watch these little devils for the next few days until Y/N comes back. I’d love to spend some time with my grandbrats. Why don’t the 3 of you go take a break and-“
“THANKS! Let’s go losers!” Katsuki said dragging his friends to the exit. Mitsuki and Masaru only laughed at their son’s behavior as they began tending to the kids.
The boys of the Bakusquad all quickly walked out of the house and headed for their cars as they all walked together.
“So, where to?” Sero asked.
“We could go head up that new resort in Tokyo!” Kaminari suggested.
“Naahhh. That’s where Y/N’s having her girl’s trip. Wifey would kill me if she saw me there instead of at home with the kids.” Katsuki said with his hands in his pockets. Kirishima raised his brow at this.
“Oh? So then, maybe we should go back and-“
“You know, on second thought,” Katsuki said with wide eyes once Kirishima made the suggestion. He took his hands out of his pockets and placed them behind his friend’s backs to keep them moving. “Maybe she won’t kill me..if I’m lucky..and wish..upon a shooting star....a million times over. Hah.....yeah. TO THE RESORT!”
As they walked, Kaminari attempted to look at the house once more, prompting Katsuki to turn his friend’s head back around. “No, no, no, don’t look back, they can smell fear.”
#bakugo x reader#bakugou fanfiction#bakugou katsuki#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou imagine#bakugou x y/n#bnha#bnha bakugo katsuki#mha#bakugou x reader#domestic bakugou#katsuki bakugou x reader#katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugou fluff#katsuki bakugou#mha bakugo katsuki#mha bakugo x reader#mha bakugou#mha katsuki#my hero academia bakugou#my hero academia#bnha bakugo x reader#bnha bakugou#bnha katsuki#boku no hero academia#boku no hero bakugou#bakugou fluff
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Requested by @hannahhook7744
Anita often wondered about the de Vils.
Cruella was gone, away on the Isle, Anita’s puppies safe from her forever.
But Cruella’s brother Cecil had also gone, saying that he could not let his sister go to the Isle alone. He’d given Anita a look of such betrayal that it still haunted her.
Cruella had been a villain, yes. But did stealing dogs really warrant life imprisonment? Weren’t there laws about prison terms for different crimes or something? And to send Cruella to the Isle when she was so...unhinged...
But Cruella and Cecil weren’t the de Vils that Anita wondered about.
News came from the Isle, sporadically. Mostly through people who had relatives there. It was through this quasi-legal grapevine that Anita heard that Cecil de Vil had married, and that a son had been born to him and his wife a year later.
Two years after that, she heard that Cruella had given birth to a son.
There was no provision for getting children born on the Isle off the Isle.
Should there have been? Would villains make good parents?
Cruella might have, once. When they were younger, before she began to fixate on anything black and white or made of fur, before she began to torment animals for fun. When she had laughed like a child and competed with Anita to see who could run down the hallway of the school the fastest before a teacher spotted them and stayed up until three in the morning sketching design after design as they flowed into her head almost faster than her hand could move. Back when everyone, even herself, had referred to her as “Ella.”
But now? Now, after she had schemed and stolen her way to get her precious furs, after she had planned to kill one hundred and one puppies for their fur, after she had built up her fashion empire by destroying other people’s businesses, after she had physically assaulted, with her cane, the inspectors who came to tour the factory, after she had sliced open the cheek of her own lawyer with her fingernails, after she had strode onto the ship bound for the Isle holding her head high with dignity-she would not suffer the disgrace of being dragged kicking and screaming onto it, not her-and shrieked at Anita from the prow where she stood, her unnatural black-and-white hair flying in the wind, resplendent in ebony and ivory and scarlet, like some avenging demon-”You betrayed me! How dare you! You betrayed me, Cruella de Vil! You will regret crossing the de Vil name! This I vow-you will pay!”
The expression of pure fury and hatred on Cruella’s face haunted Anita as well.
Cruella was sent to the Isle, and long-suffering Cecil accompanied her, and their mother and father and brother were dead, and there were no more de Vils in Auradon.
There had been. Cruella had had a niece named Ivy and a nephew named Hunter. They had been de Vils, and like all the family, were generally involved in some kind of suspicious scheme. Cruella had roped both of them into assisting her in her various plots.
But they had seen through it, and didn’t want to. They had rescued as many puppies as they could from the basement, and dumped them all into the back of the van, which the barely teenage Hunter drove, having to stand because his feet couldn’t reach the gas pedal. Cruella had followed them in her red roadster, screeching after them at breakneck speed-at literal breakneck speed, it turned out, because Hunter had been forced to accelerate the van so that it, not built remotely for speed, was going barely faster than his aunt’s car; going around a sharp curve, it had overturned, killing him and Ivy instantly.
They’d found Cruella sorting through the puppies, making sure they were all right, completely ignoring the bodies of her niece and nephew not ten feet away.
Could a woman like that be a competent parent?
Didn’t Anita owe it to her former friend, to the woman she had once been, to check on the wellbeing of her son and even her nephew? Ella would have cared, even if Cruella did not.
All the letters she and Roger sent to Cruella and Cecil were returned unopened, stamped RETURN TO SENDER, as though the address had not been found.
If there was a phone on the Isle, Anita didn’t know of its existence.
And of course, visits were out of the question.
“If nothing else,” Roger told her, when they had exhausted all options of contact, “Cecil will take care of her son. He’s a good man, you told me yourself.”
Anita nodded, weary. Cecil de Vil was a good man undyingly loyal to his family, and, unusually for a de Vil-for anyone-self-sacrificing to the extreme. He had always done what he thought was best for his little sister, to the point where he had voluntarily consigned himself to life imprisonment rather than let her (and him) be alone. He was the only person who had any sort of influence over Cruella.
Life moved on.
A decade and a half later, several children were brought off of the Isle of the Lost as part of a rehabilitation program spearheaded by the new young king. The news spread like wildfire around Auradon.
One of them was Cruella’s son. Carlos, his name was.
“We should meet him,” Anita told Roger. “We should talk to him.”
“He may not want to meet us,” Roger, ever-pragmatical, reminded her. “He will be busy with school. With adjusting to a new place. With trying to prove that he can fit in here. And...his mother may have turned him against us.”
Given the expression on Cruella’s face the last time Anita had seen her, there was no “may have” about it.
So they wouldn’t meet him right then. In a few months, perhaps, once he’d gotten settled, once everything the villain children did didn’t become a headline.
Somehow, it never happened. And less than two years later, provisions were being made for all the Isle children to be brought off of the Isle and to live in Auradon, with their first option being their parents enemies, and Anita and Roger hadn’t met Carlos once.
All the people who had faced off against villains were being encouraged to meet the children of said villains, the idea being to promote acceptance and encouragement of the VKs among the general population. Also to reassure the VKs that nothing was held against them, if, indeed, nothing was held against them. In fact, several people had applied not only to meet their respective villain’s children but in fact to adopt them-the de Chateaupers, the Fitzherberts, the Darlings.
And now Anita and Roger were going to meet Carlos de Vil and his cousin-Diego, his name was, according to the paper they’d been given.
“We should have said something before now,” Anita fretted as she dashed around the living room straightening everything. “He’s going to think we wanted nothing to do with him.”
“Calm down,” Roger soothed. “Wait until we actually meet him. Be calm-don’t mention Cruella-”
The doorbell rang. Anita and Roger both ran for the door, hesitated for a moment, reached for the doorknob at the same time and bumped their hands into each other, before finally Anita stepped back, allowing Roger to open the door.
There were four of them there.
She hadn’t expected only Cruella’s son. She’d known he had a cousin. But these were four people, not two.
There was a boy of about fifteen or sixteen, with a shy, nervous smile and black hair that bled into white-not split right down the middle like Cruella’s-and Cruella’s same unnatural pallor.
There was a boy a year or two older that looked like he could be his brother, but he was taller, with a healthy flush in his cheeks, and stood with more confidence.
And the other two-
Anita stumbled back, feeling dizzy. She heard her own heart pounding, the blood rushing in her ears. Beside her, Roger looked just as rattled.
“It’s you,” she whispered through numb lips as Roger stepped in front of her. “How did you leave?”
The young woman standing next to Carlos and Diego de Vil had black and white hair split right down the middle, perfectly red lips curved up in a sardonic smile, sharp cheekbones, and dark green eyes.
“Cruella,” Roger growls.
She looked the same, the same as she had the day she’d been sent to the Isle. It had been more than twenty years. How was this possible?
The de Vil woman shook her head, her eyes widening with an expression of chagrin that had never appeared on Cruella’s face. “I’m not-I look like her, but I’m not her. She’s my aunt, that’s why we look so much alike.”
“Your aunt,” Anita echoed, feeling steadier. But the only niece Cruella had ever had was-
“I’m Ivy,” the woman who looked exactly like Cruella said. “These are my cousins Carlos and Diego-” She gestured at the two boys, not saying which one was Cruella’s son, although they already knew- ”and Hunter.” She motioned to the last member of the de Vil group, a man who appeared to be in his midtwenties, who shared Carlos’s freckles and Ivy’s green eyes.
Ivy de Vil. Hunter de Vil.
“Is this a joke?” Roger asked.
The de Vils exchanged glances. Subtly, Hunter and Ivy shifted so that they were in front of Carlos and Diego.
“No,” Hunter said slowly, his voice gravelly, so different from a child’s high voice. “Why would it be? We were told to come here...we can leave if you want. You’re the Radcliffes, right?” He and Ivy, as the oldest, seemed to be speaking for the group.
He looked the same, but...not.
“You were dead,” Anita breathed.
Hunter looked almost embarrassed. “Oh. Yeah.” He and Ivy shared a look. “We kind of were.”
.
.
.
.
The de Vils all trooped inside and washed their hands in the kitchen sink and sat or sprawled on the carpet in the living room, even Hunter, instead of the couch or the armchairs, as though they weren’t in a strange house with the people that their mother or aunt had stolen from. As though, together, they felt perfectly at ease. They all politely refused any refreshments.
“So, we were dead,” Ivy said, sitting cross-legged. “In the accident. You know about it?”
Roger and Anita, sitting together on the couch, nodded simultaneously.
Hunter’s eyes were dark; he stared off into the distance as though looking at something far away. Of course; remembering your own death couldn’t be pleasant. And he had been thirteen, older than Ivy had been. He would remember far more.
Diego shifted so his arm was touching his older cousin’s, as though to remind him that he wasn’t alone. Hunter gave him a small smile.
“But, you know,” Ivy continued, “they brought all the dead villains back to life. They did that to us too.” She shrugged, as though it was simple.
“But then how did you end up on the Isle?” Anita asked.
Ivy blinked. “That’s why they brought us back in the first place,” she scoffed. “To imprison us on the Isle. Because death was too good for us, apparently.”
“You were seven,” Roger said suddenly, leaning forward to look Ivy in the eye. “When you-died. You were seven, and they brought you back from death only to send you to the Isle.”
“Yes.” She didn’t look angry. She just looked weary, as though all her anger had gone its course and burned out of her. “Hunter was thirteen. We woke up at Hell Hall and gave poor Uncle Cecil a heart attack. Carlos and Diego were only a couple of years younger than I was then. Took...quite some getting used to. Everyone was rather confused.” She laughed bitterly.
“Well,” Carlos said suddenly; it was the first time he’d spoken. He flushed at the attention he’d called to himself, but continued. “If they hadn’t brought you back, or if you’d stayed in Auradon, me and Diego wouldn’t have had you. I mean-not that it’s right that they sent you to the Isle, it’s terrible-”
“We know, Carlos,” Hunter sighed.
Diego grinned. “We filled out lots of complaints! I know the forms by heart.”
“Let me finish! But,” Carlos continued, “then we wouldn’t have had you. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t been with us.”
“Me either,” Diego added.
“Or me,” Ivy deadpanned, and they all laughed, somehow. Perhaps it was a gift, to find laughter in the darkest moments.
#carlos de vil#hunter de vil#ivy de vil#diego de vil#de vil family#de vil cousins#anita radcliffe#roger radcliffe#cruella de vil#cecil de vil#cecil b. de vil#descendants#disney descendants#the isle of the lost#101 Dalmatians
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Djhdhdjdjd ok ok so imagine this- Revivebur tries to find his darling. But darling joined Las Nevadas with fundy and is like a performer in the casino (idk what's happening currently in the lore cuz I'm so out of the loop rn but i do know that there's a casino for sure-) like they used to give like wholesome vibes but now-?
Bruh they did a whole ass glow up and they now give Jessica Rabbit vibes. And as soon as Revivebur recives word where his darling is, man practically yeeted himself into the casino, where his darling is currently all dolled up, all pretty like a newly bought Barbie doll on the stage..
(i can imagine the darling singing "Killing me softly" maybe like this? https://youtu.be/KGyTtPeP0Lw or like Kz Tandingan's version: https://youtu.be/CyPF91Qbf48
Or maybe like Jessie J's? https://youtu.be/GHyj93FGmuA
Idk i couldn't find a version that kinda gives off casino vibes id try to sing it but ehhhh ^^;;)
Basically this is the first time He hears his Darling sing, and man literally falls in love all over again. And he just simps so hard for them, and is oh so desperate to get them back, but darling is like "bitch my feelings died the moment the Wilbur I knew was gone-". (I tried to think of a more badass line but I'm tired ha-)
(Neways idk what to add more lol- i just thought of this while I was in the middle of reading an angsty Revivebur x reader ^^;;)
-🌻
the darling would absolutely take no shit from revivebur. what he did during the festival broke them and they felt as if they would never get the wilbur that they knew and love back.
when ghostbur is around, the darling allows herself to feel pity for the ghost. even though they know that ghostbur isnt their lover, theyre willing to let him believe that. at some times darling even believes that ghostbur is as close to their lover that theyll ever get so they let themselves feel like their lover.
darling joins las nevadas without telling ghostbur alongside fundy. even if fundy always acted defensive towards the darling due to how step kids can be at first, he warmed up to them really quickly. he doesnt know where hed be if they werent still besides him.
enough of that, revivebur. when darling hears that wilbur was revived, their first concern was fundy. they loved him more than they loved themself so they had to make sure he was alright. when both darling and fundy process the news, they both agree on hiding in las nevadas. it wouldnt be hard considering they already lived their, but they would definitely work on limiting their interactions with others outside of the country.
revivebur is almost immediately on the hunt for you. its been forever and his memories as ghostbur are a little foggy. he asks tommy where you are, but he doesnt know. so revivebur goes around the entire smp asking for where you are. some people (cough cough eret) would refuse to even tell him if they knew or not! its skeppy that tells where you are. not only is revivebur curious about the new country, but hes also curious as to why you're working with quackity. you and him never really got along.
its at nightime when he stumbles inside the casino and he's immediately blown away at the sound of your wonderful voice (second time jve wrote that today.) he feels like hes 20 years younger! (canon revivebur is 40+. don't believe me? check tommys first stream after c!wilbur was revived.) it feels like hes falling in love all over again.
eventually you head inside a door to the side and wilbur waits until the bodyguard (lets be honest, its just sam or purpled 😭) in front of the door has looked away to sneak past. it seems to just be a plain dressing room.
you turn at the sound of the door opening and immediately glare at wilbur. you werent worried about yourself, you were worried about your son. you would not let wilbur hurt him again.
"what do you want, wilbur?" he laughs and shrugs.
"what? im not able to see my wife? come here," he teases as he tries to pull you into a hug. you immediately back away and glare at him harder.
"dont lay a hand on me. i am not your wife and fundy isnt your son. get out," you hissed as wilbur stared down at you in disbelief. he lets out a breathy laugh.
"what? what do you mean youre not my wife?"
"i mean, im not your wife," you spoke, your tone laced in venom. you were even angrier than before. he didnt even care about fundy.
"youre being ridiculous. we have never gotten divorced," he mumbled. his anger was slowly starting to show through. you had to get him out.
"...."
"...."
"get out. before i scream," you responded. unfortunately, the one thing your outfit didnt come with was a dagger.
"i dont see what your issue is. love, do you have any idea how much i missed you? no one would tell me where you were and i was worried sick! now, im here and im trying to make things right and youre just trying to kick me out?" he took one step towards you and that was it for you.
"SAM!"
it took one shout for sam to come in. he had wilbur restrained immediately.
"will, you say we never got divorced. so, i would like to declare this our last conversation as lovers."
he gave a sharp inhale and stared you down as sam dragged him out of the casino.
he couldnt even give two shits about fundy.
this turned out so much longer than necessary. 😭
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delicate -- Hotch x Reader one-shot
Here’s that one-shot I’ve been holding for a while! Named her delicate after Taylor Swift’s song, purely because of the whole “dive bar on the east side/where you at?” imagery. I listened to the Spotify Singles (acoustic) version of the song while writing this, if you wanna listen while you read! Enjoy!! xx.
Summary: Hotch doesn’t go to bars very often. Until he meets you at one.
Warnings: age gap (reader is somewhere around 24-25), mentioning of being safe at a bar (so alluding to date rape drugs), harassment from one drunk dickhead
Hotch Masterlist
Hotch doesn’t go to bars.
When he’s not on a case, working on paperwork for a case, or caring for his son, he’s normally asleep.
Not at a bar.
But some nights, the memories are too much. Some nights, the cases take a toll on him — especially the children that never made it back home to their parents.
He doesn’t know why he’s in a bar. The only time he comes is when the team goes out and wants to drag him with. It’s normally Dave who manages to get him to agree to a beer or two.
But Aaron is alone this time.
You, on the other hand, know exactly why you’re in a bar.
You’re bored, you’ve just finished your masters degree, you need a drink and some time to yourself to people-watch.
It’s fun, really. Observing people while they’re drunk. You usually have one drink and switch over to water, wanting to remember the things you see while also staying safe.
But occasionally— or, well, more than occasionally by the sheer unfortunate fact of you being a woman alone in a bar, you get the typical man sliding into the seat next to you before he’s even all the way through his rehearsed, “Is this seat taken?”
You never answer. There is no point in trying because their ass already hits the chair before you can say, “Yes, it’s taken, by my foot, now move before I kick it up your ass.”
You never say that, not often. Sometimes the guys can be pretty big assholes, but the bartender, Vanessa, knows you well, so she usually threatens security before you get yourself in trouble.
Unfortunately, tonight looks like it’s going to be one of those nights.
The bar is packed for a reason you aren’t privy too until you see (and hear) the random band start a new song. Great. Performance.
Still, you snag the last seat at the bar, waving to the bartender when she sees you. You barely get the seat warm before she’s sliding your usual in front of you.
“It’s on the house tonight,” she yells.
“What?” You shake your head. “No the fuck it’s not.”
She leans closer so she doesn’t have to yell as loud. “You are my saving grace in this sea of assholes, so yes it is. We can fight about it later.”
“Fine,” you roll your eyes. You dip your hands underneath the bar to switch your diamond ring from your right to left hand.
Tonight, you’re married.
You got this ring when your last relationship ended so badly. It was a long time coming, and once you were finally able to see the other side, you went out and bought yourself an engagement ring. Just for you. A promise to yourself to start loving yourself harder, and going out with dickheads less.
So far, it’s been wonderful. You’re loving being alone. It was exhausting going on so many first dates, trying to love someone else instead of letting yourself heal.
It’s been two years of singleness for you now, and you’ve loved almost every day.
The “wedding” ring usually makes most of the guys turn the other way. A few that are oblivious will try talking to you, but once they glance at your hand, they excuse themselves.
It’s hysterical, if you’re honest.
But some, unfortunately, don’t give a damn.
Like the guy who has just squeezed his way into the seat next to you.
You roll your eyes and prepare yourself for the shallow conversations because, for some ungodly reason, the band decided now was a good time for a break.
“You come here often?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Nope.”
“It’s a pretty good place,” the guy says, waving down the other bartender, his name is Nick. “You should come here more often.”
“Should I, now?”
“Yeah,” the guy grins. “You’ll see me.”
You roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts.
“Wanna dance?”
“Not in the mood.”
“Can I buy you another drink?”
“No thanks.”
“Can I get you anything?”
“Why, do you work here?”
“Look, I’m just trying to be nice.” Ah, there it is. The “nice guy” line.
You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. “Good for you. I’m not interested.”
“Ooh,” he feigns hurt, holding an open hand to his chest. “Ouch.”
You shrug. “You’ll get over it.”
“Damn.”
“Mm.”
“You sure you don’t wanna dance?”
“I’m married,” you say easily, picking your glass up with your left hand to show off your ring. You don’t drink from your glass because you made the mistake of looking away for only a moment, so now you’re paranoid that he might’ve slipped something in it.
The guy looks around, then back to you. “I don’t see a husband.” Oh, he sounds so smug. Like he’s pulled one over on you. Moron.
“He’s on a work trip.”
“Well, he’s not here.”
“You don’t want to get on his bad side, dude.”
“Oh really? What’s he do for a living?”
“He works for the FBI.” The lie slips from your mouth before you can stop it, and you almost laugh.
It’s something you’ve pulled from the countless guys that have said they work for the FBI, but have no badge to show for it. It’s always cracked you up. You’re aware there’s an FBI office around here, but you doubt a greasy, blackout drunk works for them. Let alone more than five greasy, blackout drunks in one night.
“The FBI, huh?” The guy says, just taking it in stride. “What’s his name?”
Right as you’re about to make one up until Vanessa can get back over here to threaten security, two arms slip around your waist.
You’re ready to throw caution to the wind along with your fists, but the owner of the arms says, “Just go with it, I’m Aaron.”
You turn your head to see a very handsome older man peering down at you, a smile on his lips that you can’t help but mirror. Something about his face has your gut screaming that you can trust him, so you play along.
“Honey! I thought you were in Texas!” You throw your arms around his neck for good measure, and also for a moment to casually get a good whiff of his cologne. Goddamn. You’ll gladly be his fake-wife. Any day. Forever.
“I was,” Aaron says, squeezing you before letting you go. He moves to stand next to you, his arm around your waist in a protective manner. “We landed early, wanted to surprise you.” He kisses your knuckles to keep up the act, and then settles his eyes on the man who was bothering you.
“You must be the husband,” the guy mutters bitterly. “You really work for the FBI?”
Oh, fuck, you think. This guy just doesn’t give up. A few future scenarios flash before your eyes, but the one most alarming is a fight erupting, which isn’t all that far-fetched. You’d never be able to come back if you caused something like that.
But before you can stumble through some excuse, Aaron is pulling out a badge. An actual badge.
“Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner. I’m the unit chief of the BAU,” he says easily, holding his badge out for as long as it takes the guy to inspect it. You have no clue what BAU stands for, but you’re just thanking whatever Gods might be real that this is happening.
The idiot is scowling by the time Aaron puts his badge away. He leaves without a word.
Your jaw nearly drops as you watch the guy go, and literally leave the bar. You had hopes that he’d leave you alone, but leaving the bar entirely is even better.
Aaron’s arm slips from around your waist as he moves to take the now empty seat next to you. All the while you’re gawking at him like you’re in some fever dream.
When he catches your eyes, he says, “What?”
“Am I dreaming?” You blurt. “Do you really work for the FBI?”
He chuckles and pulls out his badge again, holding it out to you where you can read it. And sure as shit, he’s an actual FBI agent. What the fuck.
You look up as he pulls his badge away. “Did you hear me tell the guy my husband worked for the FBI?”
Aaron shakes his head. “That was pure luck. By the way,” he holds his hand out to you. “I’m Aaron.”
“Y/N,” you shake his hand, smiling at the fact that Aaron wanted to go through the official pleasantries and that you got to feel how soft his hand is again. “Thank you for that. I thought he’d never leave.”
“No worries. And it’s best he did, I really didn’t feel like arresting anyone tonight.”
“Arresting him? For what?”
“Well for starters, harassment. But since that usually doesn’t hold up very well, I’d have to say it was for his cocaine addiction.”
Your eyes widen. “He was doing coke?”
“Well, not out in the open, of course, but there were traces of it on his nose and his eyes had that look to them. Addicts are easy to spot when you run into them enough.”
Who the hell is this guy?
“Oh, and forgive me, what’s your husband’s name?” Aaron gestures down at your left hand. “I might know him, but I can’t say that I recognize you.”
“Oh,” you move the ring back to your right hand, much to Aaron’s surprise. “I’m not married. I only put it on the left hand to try to avoid assholes like that.”
“I see,” Aaron nods, and if you’re not mistaken, he almost looks pleased.
Vanessa returns to get Aaron’s drink, and then gives you a look.
You want to scream, yes, I’m well aware he is dangerously attractive and that he’s talking to me but don’t you dare say a word to embarrass me.
Instead, you say, “Can you make me another?”
She nods in understanding and pours out your drink, setting off to make a second after sliding Aaron his beer.
“So,” you turn your body and prop your head in your palm. “What’s got an FBI agent in a bar on a Tuesday night?”
He takes a long swig of his beer before answering. “What’s the real story behind that ring on your hand?”
“Answer for an answer,” you sing, smiling at Vanessa when she brings you your drink. She leaves without a word, raising her eyebrows at you.
“The cases can be rough,” Aaron says vaguely, bringing your attention back to him. “You?”
“Got it as a promise to myself to never date another prick ever again,” you chuckle, gazing down at the ring. “It’s worked its magic, so far.”
“So far?”
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
He smiles through his next swig of beer.
+++
It becomes a routine, you and Aaron sharing a drink at the bar.
To your surprise, he has the same views as you about alcohol. It’s fun to have one drink, but getting wasted and blacking out isn’t.
It’s refreshing, if you’re honest. Everyone your age wants to get absolutely shitfaced every time they go out, and that’s just never been for you.
It helps that Aaron is older. Well— You’re not sure if it helps or not. Because he is significantly older, the farthest you two have gone is sharing a drink at the bar. He usually leaves first, needing to get home to his son, to do more case work, or there was one time when he actually got a call about a case mid-drink. He was gone for two weeks after that.
But he always comes back, and he always finds you here, at this bar.
You mostly come every night to keep Vanessa company for an hour or two. To give yourself a break from the chaos of reality and to give her a familiar face in the sea of drunken customers.
Every night that Aaron isn’t here, Vanessa asks you where he is. Like you would know (you only do if he tells you of a possible up and coming case). Like you have his number (you don’t). Like you care (you don’t want to admit that you do).
“No Daddy tonight?” Vanessa teases, sliding you your drink.
“If you don’t stop calling him Daddy, I swear to God.”
“Oh, don’t swear to Him. He doesn’t need to get involved.”
You send a glare her way, but you’re holding back a laugh.
“Is he still on a case?” She asks, trying to be serious again.
You shrug. “Who knows. They can last pretty long. He was gone two weeks for the last one.”
“Keeping track, are we?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying, you two are killing me here, sharing drinks and not saying how you feel. It’s torture to watch you every week, you know.”
“He’s like...twenty years older than me. Or something.”
“And?” She scoffs. “Age is but a number. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. It’s fine.”
You shrug. “He probably just sees me as a friend. He would’ve given me his number or something by now, right?”
“I dunno, men are weird. But he’s older, he’s probably scared to make a move, scared he’ll make you uncomfortable.”
You shrug again. You appreciate her trying to show you the possibilities, the logical reasons for why the two of you haven’t gone any further from the bar, but you aren’t sure what to believe. Plus, it’s been a week since you’ve seen him. The last time you two shared a drink, he didn’t say anything about a case.
So, he’s either on a case again, or has stopped coming.
The latter thought has you debating getting shitfaced wasted for the first time in years. Being blackout drunk would probably hurt you less than if it’s true that he’s just suddenly ditched you.
But what stops you is when Vanessa runs back over, eyes wide. “Just spotted your hottie.”
Oh, now he’s my hottie? “What?” You inwardly scold yourself for sounding a little too giddy at the prospect of him being here.
But if he’s here, why isn’t he sitting next to you?
Vanessa answers that one for you. “At a table in the back. He’s with friends I think.”
Friends? Never mind then on sharing a drink with him. “Oh, cool.”
Vanessa looks like she wants to say something, but is called away to another customer.
You don’t want to butt in with Aaron’s time with friends, so you stay at the bar, facing forward, nursing your one drink. Your mind conjures a plan in two seconds flat: finish your drink, head out for the night and discreetly look in Aaron’s direction, hopefully catch his eye, but if not, just go home and...shower and go to sleep.
Because if he wants to see you, he will. If he doesn’t, then he won’t.
Good plan.
Or at least, it is, until Aaron is sliding up beside you.
Your heart launches itself into your throat. You don’t say anything because you have no idea what to say. You were too busy assuming he’d rather be with his friends (which is...fine because it’s not like the two of you are...dating) to notice him walking up.
He says something for you, though. “Hey.”
Well, he might as well have stayed silent. What are you supposed to do with that?
“Hey,” you return casually, then offer a small smile. “Thought you’d be gone longer.” You operate on the assumption that he was on a case.
And he was. “This one actually worked in our favor.” He leans his elbows onto the bar, and naturally your eyes follow the movement. He’s not in a stuffy suit like the last few times, but he’s still in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Arms. You’re a complete sucker for arms, and he’s practically teasing you like this.
“That’s good,” you comment, taking a sip from your drink. “Here to celebrate?”
“Yeah, we are.”
Nick brings Aaron his beer, thankfully, because you know Vanessa would’ve made some not-so-vague comment about Aaron being up here -- and maybe let an “accidental” Daddy comment slip.
To your surprise, Aaron sits down.
Your eyebrows furrow. “I thought you’re here with friends?”
Aaron looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “Just my team, yeah. I imagine they’re tired of me, though.”
You doubt that’s the case, but you know that if you say that, he’ll just brush it off.
“Not even gonna introduce me?” You tease instead, but you honestly want to smack yourself. You need to get a better hold on your word vomit. Inviting yourself is insanely rude.
Aaron’s eyebrows raise slightly, clearly not expecting you to say that — or to even want to be introduced to his team. “They’re a lot,” he says. “They’ll make a big deal out of this.”
“This?” You question, gesturing shortly between the two of you. “What is this?”
“What do you want it to be?” He asks carefully, averting his eyes shyly.
“Well,” you exhale dramatically, swirling your drink. “I think when you’ve shared a drink with a woman more than...twenty times, it should at least be considered dating.” You cut your eyes in his direction, your chest swelling as you see a grin breaking out on his face.
“I think I’m a bad date,” he says, confusing you. He chuckles, adding, “You don’t even have my number!”
“I’ll get it at the end of tonight,” you say, touching his arm gently for reassurance. “Come on, I think the back of my head is burning from how hard they’re staring.”
He looks through the corner of his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry in advance for them.”
“No need to apologize,” you shrug. “Friends can be the worst. Vanessa has already started asking questions about you.” You nod toward the bartender that is feigning interest in clearing a space behind the bar.
“I figured,” Aaron murmurs. “Okay.” He slides off the stool, grabbing his beer in one hand, and holding his other one out to you.
Your heart jumps harshly when you take his hand. It’s warm and soft and secure, everything you want and need. You grab your drink in your free hand, giving Aaron’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
As soon as you and Aaron approach the table, the older gentleman is punching the one with tattoos. “Pay up.”
Aaron witnesses the cash exchange and stares at them tiredly. “Seriously, guys?”
Meanwhile, you’re holding back a giggle.
“Well, hello,” the woman with the colorful fashion sense says. “Introduce us!”
Aaron looks ready to pretend like he doesn’t know any of them, so you step up and say, “He told me you guys would be like this.”
That gets him laughing, and he finally says, “Y/N, this is Penelope, Emily, JJ, Spencer, Derek, and Dave.” Each person nods, waves, or smiles when their name is called.
“I’ll try to remember,” you joke. “But no promises.”
You squeeze Aaron’s hand in yours, trying to get him to loosen up. He does, barely, so when he tugs on your hand, silently asking you to step closer to him so his arm can fit around your waist, you oblige.
“What was the bet about?” You ask, nodding toward the men who exchanged cash a bit ago. It was Dave and Derek if you’re remembering names correctly.
“Rossi thought Hotch was going to bring you back over here, but I didn’t agree,” Derek says, nudging Dave’s arm. “I didn’t think you’d go for him.”
“Well, that’d be embarrassing if I went for someone else, considering we’re dating,” you chuckle, leaning your head back to look up at Aaron.
“Dating? So it’s official?” Emily asks, looking a little more excited than you thought any of them would.
“I think it was official the first time we met,” you snicker. “He pretended to be my husband so some dickhead would leave me alone.”
Aaron’s arm tightens around your waist at the memory.
“Okay,” Penelope grabs her drink, then moves over next to you, linking your arm with hers. “Hotch, we’re stealing her. We need details.”
Aaron doesn’t look like he wants to let go at all, but you press a kiss to his cheek. “Told you it’d be fine,” you whisper to him.
He surprises you by pressing a kiss on your lips. Midway through, your brain reminds you that this is technically your first kiss with him. And it’s in front of his friends. Swoon.
After so many dates with guys who were ashamed to be showing any sort of affection toward a woman, it’s nice to find a man who doesn’t care who sees his affection.
What can you say? After dating so many boys, it’s nice to finally find a man.
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#hotch#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner one shot#hotch x reader#hotch x you#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#aaron hotchner fluff#hotch fluff#fluff#cm#delicate songfic#because i can't NOT think of taylor swift when i write
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Faith Restored
Faith Restored - @midnightsconspiracy
Summary: When an argument with your husband causes you to walk out, a vendetta against him leads to you being kidnapped. But will Hank find you in time to be reunited with him and your child?
Warnings: Swearing, Violence
Word Count: 2670
Requested: Yes! I got these two requests so decided to combine them into one fic as they were pretty similar, so I hope the people that requested don't mind. :)
"hi!! I’m so happy I found someone that loves hank too. I’ll literally take any fic with him: age gap romance, marriage, having a baby, his enemies taking you and him tearing the city apart to get you back, some combination of all that, I’ll take it all. thank you for your writing!!"
"Hii! I love your fics 💖 could you please write something with hank, like he arguments with his girlfriend about their work, then she’s kidnapped and he gets all worried and asks for forgiveness, if you don’t feel comfortable with that it’s aaaaall goood :) xoxo"
A/N: I really enjoyed writing this fic and I have a few more requests to write so stayed tunes for them. But thank you for your support and keep sending requests in. Also if you've got some free time drop me a message, I'd love to hear from some of you guys!!!
Masterlist
Love. It was a feeling you had refused to believe in. Everyone around you telling you that the one was out there, and it was only a matter of time, but you were convinced that wasn’t true. At one point previously you had believed in it but that only led to a broken heart and weeks of uncontrollable crying, the man you thought was the one, cheating on you only days before your wedding. So how could it be true if the universe had let you suffer that badly? But as cliché as it sounds, that point of view changed completely as soon as you started your new job as a detective in the intelligence unit. From day one you had fallen head over heels for your boss, that hope of love finally returning. It had taken a long time for you to trust him and enter a fully committed relationship as that fear of heartbreak and the large age gap between you loomed over you both initially. Hank had been the best though, taking his time going step by step to make sure you were comfortable with everything, as well as keeping away the judgement from others the best that he could. He understood that feeling himself, still suffering the loss of Camille’s death, scared that you would leave him, but instead of being non-committal, it drove him to love you more, living each day like it was his last.
Now five years later, your relationship was pure bliss. Long gone were the days of doubts and distrust, instead replaced with only contentment and loyalty. Onlookers still judged the unconventional age difference but you had learned to live with it, coming to the conclusion that you loved Hank regardless and that was all that mattered. Only eight months into the relationship he decided that you really were the one for him, and a world in which he didn’t spend the rest of his life with you was one he couldn’t imagine, and so proposed inside his office, the place that started it all. You married shortly after at the courthouse, with only a small guest list, just wanting to be surrounded by your closest friends and family. The unit all in attendance, some crying, others wishing it were them getting married but collectively all ecstatic at the fact their favourite office romance was finally tying the knot. The next couple of months felt like absolute paradise, like you were in some sort of dream never to wake up again. Never a day went by where you didn’t feel the utmost joy and love in your heart, each day was a new adventure with the man that you could finally call your husband. You were on cloud nine thinking your life couldn’t get any better, until one day two pink lines stared back at you.
When you married Hank you didn’t expect to have any children, with him already having Justin and a grandson. This left you a little disheartened, but you would have married him under any conditions, even if that meant your dream of having kids would never come true. Whilst talking about your future together in the first few months of dating, the topic of kids had come up once or twice, with him stating he would love to have kids with you, but believing he couldn’t have any due to his age. But once you had told him you were pregnant, he was absolutely elated, even crying whilst confessing how much he loved and appreciated you. After a relatively difficult pregnancy with Hank being the most supportive, protective partner there could be, you gave birth to a gorgeous baby boy weighing in at 8 pounds, having his eye colour and your nose, a perfect combination of the both of you. For the first few years of your babies life, you spent your time staying at home looking after him, watching him grow up to look more and more like your husband each day. But finally, after his third birthday, you decided the unit was your calling and you wanted to rejoin your old team.
Things started off relatively normal, reuniting with the unit properly, finally becoming a team again. Adrenaline filled your veins once more, loving the thrill of arresting criminals and going on busts. The words ‘let's roll out’ sent sparks of serotonin throughout your body, loving being back after years of ‘calmness’ from child care. This new feeling caused you to get a little over-excited sometimes but nothing, in your opinion, that could be considered careless. However, if you asked Hank he would completely disagree. The man just wanted you to be safe at all times, not just for him but for your son as well. Things started heating up after a couple of weeks of you working there, him not wanting to address it initially as he knew you were so happy doing what you loved, but he was scared for your safety. He didn’t want a repeat of his last marriage, he adored you so much he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you were to get an injury or die. That was until one night, a bad day at the office caused him to snap, needing you to know how he felt about what you were doing.
Leaning against the counter in the kitchen at your shared home, you heard the door slam, knowing it was Hank, who had stayed behind in his office after a particularly nasty case.
“Hi Babe, did you get everything done that you wanted to?” You chirped, just happy that your husband was finally home.
“Y/N we need to talk,” you turned around to face him, your smile falling at his serious tone.
“Ok?”
“I understand you love being back in the unit but Y/N, we have a son now”
“What are you trying to say?” You replied, your tone turning sour, part of you knew what he was trying to say, but never in your mind did you think he would confront you about it. Why couldn’t he just be happy for you?
“I just think you’re being too reckless in the field,” he remained calm, just trying to get you to understand where he was coming from.
“Reckless? Are you fucking kidding me! I’ve spent three years looking after our kid and you can’t even allow me to have this?” You were furious by this point, you loved your job and had been away from it for a long time. Ok, maybe you were a little under cautious sometimes but not what he was suggesting!
“I'm just looking out for you, I can’t have you dying on me Y/N! You’re my wife for god’s sake I want you to be alive and safe!” He raised his voice, angry you couldn’t see what he was seeing.
“You know what fuck you, Hank!” You pushed past him, grabbing your keys and wallet on the way out, getting into your car to go anywhere but that house.
Driving around the city you were thinking of places to go, your parents, a hotel, another member of the units house? Finally deciding on Jay’s apartment you pulled into his buildings car park, checking your phone before going inside. Staring back at you were five missed calls and thirteen unread messages, all from the same person, the reason why you were outside someone else’s apartment and not your own home. Getting out of your car you walked towards the entrance of the apartment building, mulling over whether you should message Hank back. Deciding against it, you lowered your phone, not even wanting to think about it for the time being. Suddenly someone grabbed you by the waist, yanking you towards them, placing a foreign material over your mouth. You screamed, praying someone would hear your cries as you kicked your legs out and at the perpetrator as they dragged you backwards. More hands reached out to pull you into a car, sobbing you regretted what happened earlier, wishing you would have just stayed home. Finally, as your vision blurred, you hoped the unit would find you before it was too late.
Waking up in a cold room, you tried to pull your arm towards your chest, meeting resistance in the form of metal chains attached above your head. You groggily looked around, using your detective skills to assess the situation you were in, noting nothing in the cold, concrete room except yourself and a metal frame chair placed in front of you. Confused at the situation, you thought about what you had done, was it a person you had arrested? Or someone who had a vendetta against you? That you didn’t know, you couldn’t comprehend anything at the moment, your head pounding not allowing you to think clearly. You remembered being in the apartment complex’s car park after an argument but other than that everything was hazy. Thinking as hard as you could, your thoughts were interrupted as one of the offenders entered the room. He sat at the chair, sharpening his knife, a sadistic smirk played on his face.
“You know why you’re here?” Raking your brain you couldn’t think of anyone you had pissed off enough for them to go to these extremes.
“No,” you replied not wanting to antagonise him in any way.
“Your killer of a husband murdered my boy in broad daylight and no one, NO ONE, ever did anything about it!”
“That wasn’t me, please just let me go, you can talk it out with my husband in the proper ways!” You pleaded, knowing that him showing you his face didn’t bode well for your chances of survival.
“YOU SIGNED UP FOR THIS THE DAY YOU MARRIED THAT MURDERER!” He shouted out, punching you in the stomach, taking his anger out on you anyways possible.
“He’ll find us, and when he does he’ll kill you too,” you spat knowing that you couldn’t make anything worse. In response he threw a series of punches at your face, grabbing his knife holding it to your throat. Smirking he replied,
“You think he really cares about you?”
“WELL, WHERE IS SHE?” Hank was absolutely seething. Shouting at anyone who came to talk to him, both members of his unit and uniformed officers alike. He couldn’t lose her, besides his son, she was his whole life, not even wanting to picture a world where she wasn’t with him. He had to prepare for the worst, he knew that, but he couldn’t do it without a tear coming to his eye. Why her? Why couldn’t they just have taken him instead? He was who they wanted, not her, so why couldn't they just have fucking take him?! The team all sat watching, waiting, knowing it was only a matter of time before he would come out and demand answers, ones they didn’t have at the moment. They owed their boss, cashing in multiple favours with him throughout their time in intelligence, and they knew this was the only thing Voight would ever ask for in return. And Y/N, you had worked with them for years, not just being colleagues but developing a strong friendship that would last years to come, that’s if they could find you in time. Exiting his office, the unit turned to their boss as he spoke.
“I want everyone giving their all to this case, this is my wife we’re talking about, not just some faceless victim, Y/N, your friend, your colleague, and we are going to find her. No matter what it takes, am I clear?” Each detective replied with a ‘yes sarge' and getting to work, investigating every lead that they could. A couple of hours later the team had found the suspects, located pod footage from the time you were kidnapped and worked out a motive, everything seemed like was going well, except for the fact they still didn’t have a location. Another hour passed and still no location, Hank getting more and more agitated by the second, with his anger about to boil over, all with the push of a button, or a certain detective. Being the bearer of bad news, the team pushed Ruzek to play the devils advocate to tell the Sergeant they had come up empty.
“Hey Sarge, we’ve got nothing else, every lead we’ve got is coming up dry”
“NOTHING! YOU’VE GOT NOTHING? SHE COULD BE DEAD FOR ALL WE KNOW AND YOU’RE TELLING ME YOU’VE GOT NOTHING?” Hank boomed scared that his precious wife, who had done nothing to deserve this, could be being tortured or even worse dead.
“Hank, Hank” Olinsky stepped in, pushing his distraught friend back in his office, knowing Adam had done nothing wrong, instead just an outlet for his long term friends anger.
“It's ok, she’s gonna be fine” Alvin reassured him, knowing him exploding with emotions would do nothing to help his missing wife. Finally, an hour later, the team got a breakthrough courtesy of a CI of Dawson's, gearing up and rolling out as quickly as possible much to Hank’s delight.
Raising your head, you spat at the man in front of you, teasing him even more, threatening him to do his worst. He had beat you, cut you, degraded you, trying to get your spirit to break. Although you knew Hank would come to find you, you were starting to crack, the pain overwhelming to the point where you couldn’t cope anymore, a pain you wouldn’t wish on anyone. You were losing faith rapidly, expecting your unit to have already come by now, but where were they? Maybe they didn’t actually care about you? Lowering your head after a series of more beatings, you’d had enough.
“Please stop, please, I’ll do whatever you want, just please stop!” You cried finally giving into the man.
“I want you to pay for what your husband has done to my family, pay with your life,” he pulled a gun from the waistband of his trousers, pointing straight at the middle of your forehead. You had lived your life as much as you could, finding the love of your life, having a son and restoring your faith in the universe, well up until now. Closing your eyes you prepared yourself for the bullet, but when the loud shot came, it wasn’t from a gun but instead the door flying off its hinges.
“DROP THE WEAPON!” Someone shouted, someone that sounded weirdly familiar to your husband.
“DROP IT,” they repeated before you heard a clatter on the ground and a flurry of movement. Suddenly someone grabbed your face, nervously speaking your name. Opening your eyes, you looked up, staring straight into the eyes of your husband, smiling briefly before a cloud of darkness washed over you.
Waking up, the first thing you noticed with the constant beeping of a machine, then the warm feeling of a hand in yours. You slowly opened your eyes, blinking sluggishly adjusting to the harsh light, before focusing on the figure beside you.
“Hank?” You croaked, sounding like death itself but glad you were alive and facing your husband once more.
“Baby! Thank god you’re alive, you got me so worried there,” you smiled, thanking whatever god was out there for a second chance so you could spend the rest of your life with your husband and child.
“I-i missed you, Hank”
“I know Baby, I know I missed you too.”
“I’m sorry for walking out on you, why couldn’t I have just stayed there and listened to you? Talked it out properly”
“No don’t apologise, this was all my fault, you loved what you were doing and I was trying to take that away from you because of my own selfish wants.” You loved the man beside you unconditionally and although you were mad in the moment, this whole situation made you realise that nothing he could do could make you love him any less.
#hank voight x reader#hank voight#hank voight imagines#chicago pd#chicago pd imagines#chicago pd x reader#one chicago
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Keeping Up With The Hollands | 04
Summary: You and Tom were offered to document your life since you are both famous in the entertainment industry. Now as you got older you left the entertainment industry and head for the medical field. How difficult can it be? Also, did I mention that you have kids?
Pervious | CHAPTER 04 | Next
Series Masterlist
WORDS: 1.6+k
Writting this made me laugh at some parts pfftt. Anyway let's pretend that Far Away From Home was shooting during the time the boys were of age (forgot their age ngl 2 or 3 somewhere there)
Tom woke up first, sensing something on his face. He opened his eyes and catch a small foot in front of him. In confusion, he turned and notice all of his children on his king-size bed. Slowly but gently, he removed the feet that belonged to Edward.
He got up and head to the kitchen. Preparing breakfast for the family. His girlfriend Y/N was on a press conference for her charity.
"So today, we are going on the set of Spiderman Far From Home. Um, I'm not really sure how I'm going to do that and take care of four children. I know Harrison said he will be there but... I'm scared" he said to the camera as he tries to flip the pancake.
"I actually tried hiring a babysitter, they only lasted a few hours. I think I had forgotten to tell them that there would be more than one kids. Anyway, Ed and Chase gave them hell so they all left." After flipping the pancakes, Tom separated them, one for each boy and three for him, with some whipped cream on them.
Finish fixing up breakfast, he goes to wake up the boys, seeing as they are on a time limit. When he got there, he saw Jake up, trying to wake up his brothers.
Tom smile and ruffle the boy's hair, "Morning bud, you slept well?" Jake gave him a toothy grin and nodded. Jake got up and jumped into Chase's body making the boy yell, which woke up Max.
"Get up" Chase got up and pushed Jake down the bed, the two starting a fight. Jake's leg accidentally kicked Ed in his face, making the boy cry. Tom pulled away Chase from Jake and grabbed Ed, trying to soothe his nose.
"Alright, alright, it was an accident okay? You're okay" Once the boy calmed down, he picked up Maxton and carried him to the kitchen, as his two other ducklings followed.
Chase and Jake climbed into their highchair while Tom put Ed and Max in there's. He grabbed the prepared plates and gave them it.
Tom sat down in front of them, trying to feed each of the boys, "Chase is the only one who could fully feed himself, so I have to help the others."
Max took a piece of pancake and gave it to Tom, when Tom saw what he was doing, he opened his mouth and let Max feed him.
"Thank you Max for sharing." Max smiled and nodded and continued eating. After the boys were finished, Tom took their plates and washed them.
When he was done, he went to get the boys dressed including himself.
They made it to the studio safely. Tom took out each boy and placed name tags on them. He took Chase hand's who was holding Ed, then Jake's then Max and walked towards the entrance.
"Pa where we at?" Questioned Ed as he looked around the building.
"Well, we're at my work. You get to see Ironman, Thor-"
"Do we get to see Batman?" Tom looked at Max as if he just asked the weirdest question. As he was going to answer, Ed beat him to it.
"No stupid, they have Captin America"
"Aye! Don't call your brother stupid!" Ed pouted but kept quiet. After checking in with security and handing the children their passes they were allowed to enter.
As they were walking, Tom felt something heavy on his foot. He looked down and noticed Maxton was on it, he let out a sigh and tried to get the boy off of him.
"Max let go, I need to walk"
"No"
"Max, come on buddy, I need my foot"
"No"
Tom huffed and bent down, then he grabbed the boy making him scream. He tried shaking the boy off his foot but he wouldn't move. Giving up, he grabbed back Chase's hand and dragged his right foot.
"Stay then. Bloody hell"
On his way to his trailer, he showed the boys all the objects that were on the walls, the posters, the banners, the pictures of people etc etc.
Tom had left the boys in the lounge area with his stylist, Rachael since she asked too. He was grateful for that, but what he didn't mention was that they were slippery. Literally.
The poor woman's attention was more focused on Jake and Maxton fighting to get the last box of juice, that she didn't notice that both Ed and Chase were missing. Somehow, both boys ended up by the set where Tom was shooting his scene for Far Away Home.
They watch as 'Spiderman' fought Mysterio. Wanting to go help his father, Chase quickly took off his clothes and ran onto the set and started hitting Mysterio.
(I'm sorry I had to laugh at this scene pffttt)
"Someone's Kid is on set!" someone shouted
"Tom's!"
"Whoa! Hey hey! Get me down!" Tom yelled when he notices what's going on. Jake who was playing as Mysterio, 'fell' onto the ground yelling, "Argh! You got me! Man down!" Giggles and laughter could be heard around the seat.
After they got Tom down, he quickly grabbed his son, and shield him, "Mate, I get you're trying to save me and all but you need to keep your clothes on"
Chase smiled at his father, dimples on display. Tom couldn't hold in his laugh and just started bursting out. Jake got up from the ground and head over to the duo. "I guess we have a new spiderman?"
The director yelled for everyone to take a break, Tom, Chase and Jake head over to where Ed and Jacob were enjoying themselves at the buffet table.
"Ed, I thought I left you at Rachel's? Why didn't you stop your brother?"
"He's older"
"Yes he is, but you know sometimes he acts like a div and you're stronger than him, so why didn't you?"
"I saw food" Both Jake and Jacob laughed at that while Tom let out a sigh. He picked up the other boy and carried them to who knows where. They spent a good few minutes looking for the other two Hollands. After giving him, Tom carried the two to the lounge area. Tom got irritated when he saw both Jake and Max sitting next to Zendaya and Angourie who was entertaining the two.
"You're shitting me right?" The four turned towards the voice, Max with his bag on his back and Jake running up to their father's leg and hugging him.
"Daddy said a bad word"
"Pay the cookie jar!" Both girls laughed at their friend, watching as his children scold him for cursing. Tom squeezed into the girls and sat on the couch. Noticing that his brother was nude, Max goes up to Tom and turned around. The said man opened the bag and took out some clothes.
While he was putting on the clothes on his eldest son, he kept mumbling about how 'what's with you and clothes?' and 'I will glue them onto you' or 'You have some issues with clothes'
Both girls found the whole scene to be entertaining considering the eldest son was fidgeting and feeling squirmish. Zendaya who had Max on her lap, played with the boy's hair while Angourie tickled Jake. Ed kept on enjoying his juice box.
After finishing dressing the boy, Tom took out a juice box from the bag and handed it to Chase. "Now keep your clothes on okay?" The boy nodded his head in return.
"So what's his issue with pants? Is it too tight or something?" Questioned Zendaya.
"No. He just doesn't like clothes for whatever reason. We're trying to break him out of it but it's hard. The lad just likes to keep his bits cool"
"Tom never say that again please"
"I'm just saying"
As he was going to say something else Rachel burst into the room panting and sweating, gasping for air. Quickly Tom got up and handed her a bottle of water while Zendaya rubs her back.
"Are you okay?" questioned Angourie. After calming herself down, Rachel turned to Tom and quickly started spurting out apologizes, "I-I'm sorry, I got distracted by Max and Jake? I think and then I lost the other two and then I told the two that were with me to stay put but when I came back they were gone!"
"Rachel, love, it's alright. I forgot to explain hay they tend to wonder about so that's my fault. I shouldn't have given you four kids. They are a lot to handle" After trying to reassure the woman, he turned to his troublemakers who all gave him a cheeky smile.
"You should apologise for worrying Mrs Rachel."
"We're sorry" The woman nodded her head and left the room, feeling tired after all of the stunts that were pulled on her today.
Since Chase interrupted the scene, the director decided to call it a day and sent everyone home. After Tom changes out of his suit, he heads back to the lounge to pick up his troublesome children.
Once they got home, Tom took them to the shower, after doing that he dressed the boys into their nightwear with the extra stress from Chase.
Once they were out cold, Tom grabbed his phone and called his wife.
"Hey love"
"Hey, you sound tired, how was today?" He took his hand and rubbed his forehead. A minute had passed.
"It was alright until Max and Jake gave Rachel the slipped, then while I was shooting Chase ran onto the scene and started hitting Jake"
"He what?!"
"Oh! Not our Jake, I mean Jake Gyllenhaal"
"Almost got me rilled up"
"Yeah no, we were shooting a scene and Chase thought I was being attacked so he started hitting Jake, it was cute and funny but it did give me the day off. I got them ice cream, so we had a good day, yeah"
"Well I'm glad you guys enjoy yourself"
"Yeah.. I miss you. I'm going to bed alright?"
"Sure, night, love you"
"Love you too"
Tom hangs up the phone and heads to bed, as soon as he laid down, he heard yelling in the other room.
"You got to be pissing me!" He complained but head into the other room to try and get his trouble makers back to sleep.
T A G L I S T
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@speedyhandsbonkpalace
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#tom holland x you#x reader#tom holland angst#tom holland x reader#tom holland masterlist#masterlist#fanfiction#pregnant#tom holland imagine#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland x oc#tom holland imagines#tom holland fic#tom holland#tom holland fanfic
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BEOMGYU IMAGINE ࿐ ࿔:･ﾟ*
contains: fluff, angst, happy ending, fem!reader
word count: 3.7k
summary: you’re forced into a marriage with beomgyu, the son of hades
this wasn’t what he wanted. this wasn’t how he wanted it to happen. when beomgyu had told his father he liked you a lot and wish he could date you, this isn’t what he meant. but really, what else would you expect from a man who got his wife in the exact same ways. damn hades and his impulsive and irrational ways.
beomgyu paces around persephone’s garden, walking up and down the dark stone paths past pomegranate trees with orange blossoms, deep green bushes, poisonous shrubs and glowing mushrooms. like the cloudy mahogany sky above him, there is a gloom over his mind. groaning and tugging at his hair, beomgyu tries to figure out what to say to you.
“y/n, i’m so sorry. i swear i didn’t ask hades to do this. my dad… he’s… he’s a bit… he’s a bit…” beomgyu groans and flops onto the wide edge of a fountain that spews a blood-like liquid rather than water. “this is hopeless. y/n, i’m so so so so sorry.”
“it’s okay.”
beomgyu jumps at your sombre voice. his heart flutters. there you are, looking solemn yet as beautiful as ever. you’re dressed in your usual bright colours and there’s a flower behind your ear, but you don’t look like you usually do. you look dreary and tired and… honestly? half dead. and beomgyu would know. not only does he live in the underworld, where you currently are, for a quarter of the year, his demigod powers include sensing the life auras of other’s. yours is surrounded by a layer of death.
usually, you look like a beautiful spring flower in full bloom, but right now beomgyu thinks you look like a wilted flower, dying a slow death. your cheeks are hollow, your skin is losing its glow and colour, dark lines circle your eyes.
“y/n,” beomgyu says. he’s surprised to see you here. ever since his father dragged you down here you’d been locked in your room, avoiding everyone. “y/n, i’m so sorry.”
you shrug weakly. “i know this wasn’t your intention.”
“i’ve tried to persuade my dad to let you go but… he doesn’t like being told what to do. his temper is… extreme. but i’ll keep trying. i’m so sorry.”
shrugging again, you sit on a nearby marble bench, your shoulders hunching forward like your spine is struggling to hold you up.
beomgyu feels his heart break at how little energy you have. that’s the effect the underworld has on outsiders. it reacts much like an immune system when a foreign bacteria or disease enters the body. because the underworld is a place for the dead, it sucks the energy out of the living which it does not know, those not from it or tied to those from it.
beomgyu sinks back to his seat on the fountain. “have you eaten?”
“no.”
it might sound weird to others, but beomgyu’s glad you haven’t. eating from the underworld means you cannot leave.
“i doubt you’ve been sleeping well,” beomgyu then says.
as if having your literal life force drained from you and not being to eat wasn’t enough, the constant tortured screams echoing out from tartarus can be hard to block out at night.
you shake your head.
beomgyu watches as the flower behind your ear dislodges and floats to the ground, shrivelling to dust when it touches the ashy ground.
you see it too, an ironic smile forming. “this really is the land of the dead, isn’t it?” one strained laugh leaves your lips. “you know, the longer i’m here, the more i feel like i’m becoming like everyone else hear. dead.”
beomgyu’s breath hitches. he can’t stand this.
❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄
the next night, beomgyu knocks on your bedroom door and calls your name, praying you’ll let him in. he had persuaded a hermes child he knows to deliver some ambrosia to the gates of hell. beomgyu hoped the food of the gods, known to heal and recover, would help you regain your energy.
beomgyu is surprised when you open the door, even if it’s only a crack.
“yes,” comes your tired voice through the small gap you’d opened.
“i have some ambrosia for you,” beomgyu says. “i doubt it’ll do much but hopefully you’ll feel a little better.”
you open the door fully for beomgyu and walk back to your bed. you hold in the sigh of relief when you sit down. you’re so drained and lacking in energy that just walking making you feel nauseous.
you observe beomgyu as he steps in and shuts the door behind him. even now, late in the evening, he wears a sleek black suit jacket and dress pants. he doesn’t wear a tie. his fingers are adorned with silver rings matching the silver chain you see peeking behind the colour of his button-down shirt. maybe if you weren’t so miserable you’d find him attractive. you always did at camp, particularly after he’d spar with his friends and push his jet black hair off his forehead.
“can i sit?” beomgyu asks, gesturing to the spot beside you.
you nod.
beomgyu perches on the edge of the bed next to you, leaving some space because as much as he likes you, he doubts you like him right now.
“there’s not a lot but…” beomgyu hands you the small paper box. there are nine cubes of golden ambrosia inside.
“thank you,” you say. your voice is weak and it hurts beomgyu to hear it.
“i’m sorry,” he says again.
“it’s okay,” you reply, popping a cube of ambrosia into your mouth. “there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
for what feels like the hundredth time, beomgyu’s heart breaks and he whispers, “i’m sorry.”
and for the first time since you arrived here four days ago, you look beomgyu in the eyes. you see for the first time that he’s hurting too. there’s a sadness in his eyes you’ve rarely seen before. the sadness one feels when someone they care for is hurt.
slowly, you lean your head against his shoulder. beomgyu flinches from shock but stays still. the two of you stay like this for a while until beomgyu helps you under the covers and you fall asleep, your last thought being that while you’d rather be a million other places than this, there are worse people to be forced to marry.
❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄
the next day, beomgyu finds you in the garden. you look a little better. you’re admiring some black lily flowers and beomgyu is suddenly reminded of your parentage.
“i’m sure your mother is absolutely furious with my father right now,” beomgyu says, startling you a little. “he’s stolen two of her children now.”
“bold of you to assume she wasn’t already,” you say, eyes still on the lilies.
“right, yes.”
“demeter is a very bitter woman, you know,” you continue. you turn and slowly make your way to a nearby tree with low hanging branches. it’s a pomegranate tree.
beomgyu watches you silently. he’s happy you’ve recovered a little, though you aren’t nearly as joyful as you are above ground.
“do you see her often?” you ask suddenly, running a hand down the trunk of the tree. “persephone?”
“no,” beomgyu answers, making his way towards you and the tree. he walks with his hands behind his back. “we have… conflicting schedules, you could say. i leave for camp during the summer. when i return she is here but not for long as she leaves just before spring and is gone all season so that the harvests will be successful.”
you nod in understanding.
beomgyu stands just beyond the reach of the tree branches. “have you met her?”
“no. we are only half-sisters. plus she’s here mostly.”
“that is true.”
“is she nice?” you ask, a question that you have considered a number of times.
beomgyu kicks at the ground absentmindedly. “yes. she’s kind to me. though, i think my father’s temper has rubbed off on her after all this time. she can be surprisingly fierce.”
nodding to show you’re listening, you put both of your hands against the tree and focus your power into it.
“she treats me well. like a son, i suppose. she asks me about camp and my friends, she jokes that she only leaves during spring to make sure i get fed.” beomgyu smiles. “she’s really kind and polite and gentle and loving.“
beomgyu looks at you. your eyebrows are pulled together in concentration. he’s seen you use your powers like this at camp before. you can heal plants and prompt them to produce flowers or fruit. a fond smile tugs at his lips. "like you.”
your eyes open, landing immediately on beomgyu. his widen, shocked, realising his words. he turns away from you to hide his blush and clears his throat loudly. he wasn’t intending to make any a move of any sort of you, thinking it wrong to flirt with you when your marriage is forced.
but you find it amusing that the compliment just slipped out. and you appreciate it. you can see the tips of his ears burning red.
deciding to return to your room, you reach up to the pomegranate you had used your powers to produce and tug it from its branch of the tree. stepping up to beomgyu and tapping his shoulder, you place the red fruit in his hand and walk away.
❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄
yours and beomgyu’s wedding is not for another week. in the days leading up, you spend a lot of time together, the ambrosia he brought slowly healing you more and more. you find yourself able to laugh again. perhaps you even find yourself growing to like beomgyu.
you knew him well enough at camp half blood but mainly through mutual friends. after a week of getting to know him more, you wonder why you weren’t closer before. though, the screams from tartarus at night remind you that the whole son of hades thing likely formed a negative bias against him in your mind.
but that bias dissipates over time. you see that he’s just a boy trying to enjoy life. he didn’t ask to be a demigod, and he certainly didn’t ask for his godly parent to be the king of the underworld. this detail almost completely slips your mind until three days until your wedding when you ask beomgyu what it’s like beyond the garden walls.
he’s reluctant to take you outside at first but eventually does.
“um, you should probably hold my hand,” he stutters. “it’s easy to get lost out here and there’s a lot of dangerous things.”
you glance at his hand. he’s wearing an odd piece of hand jewellery. thick rings around his fingers are connected to a matching bracelet at his wrist by thin chains. the black metal is a stark contrast to his pale skin.
your staring turns beomgyu’s ears pink and he’s quick to say, “y-you can just hold my jacket if you want.”
“no, no,” you say, taking his hand in yours. you’re not entirely surprised by how icy his hand is. “it’s okay."
honestly, you didn’t even realise you were staring at his hands so much.
you walk for about an hour around the dry land, the hazy red sky growing darker and darker the further from hades castle you are. you talk about many things. the topic of powers and abilities comes up.
"so what are your powers?” you ask beomgyu who is beginning to look antsy.
“if we stay out here any longer, you might find out,” he mumbles, his voice low.
“what do you mean?” you ask.
“we should turn back,” beomgyu tells you, his eyes narrowing as he glances around. “something’s not right. i can feel the dead nearby.”
“this is the underworld, beomgyu. everyone is dead.”
“yes, but they’re too close. something’s not right. let’s go.”
you frown but nod and let beomgyu pull you back in the direction of hades’ palace. you’re halfway there when a piercing screech sounds from above. a strong force suddenly knocks you into beomgyu and a sharp pain seers on your arm. a shocked exclaim jumps past your lips as you find three large gashes on your arm, blood pouring down.
“y/n,” beomgyu gasps, his arms catching you around your waist. he sees the blood too and his jaw clenches. he spots the cause of your injury just in time to pull you closer, out of its field of attack.
your heart rate doubles. “w-what-what-”
“a fury,” beomgyu growls, manoeuvring you behind his back.
holding your arm to stop the bleeding, you peek over his shoulder and see the ugly bat-winged monster circling back to your direction. it flies at full speed, baring its huge yellow fangs.
“stop!” beomgyu commands, his voice strong, deep and demanding.
to your surprise, the creature does, halting in mid-air, growling at beomgyu. it is now you recall just how powerful beomgyu must be. being a child of the big three (zeus, poseidon and hades) makes him indefinitely stronger and more powerful than the average demigod. even if hades wasn’t one of the big three, the kind of power he possesses is terrifying. the thought of beomgyu sharing some of those abilities…
beomgyu glares at the fury. “leave now before i banish you back to tartarus.”
the fury snarls.
“leave!” beomgyu yells, loud enough to make you flinch. he feels your movement and reaches back to grip your hand reassuringly.
with one last snarl, the fury flies away. beomgyu spins to you the moment it’s out of sight, his demeanour flipping as he cradles your arm in his hands.
“are you okay?” he asks quickly.
“not really,” you admit, shaking a little.
beomgyu inspects the large scratches and winces. “it’s too big for me to heal.”
he can heal? you think. it’s an odd concept considering he’s the son of death.
beomgyu stretches out his hand and makes an upward motion. a dark and opaque wall rises from the ground. he pulls you towards it. “let’s go.”
“wait, what is this?” you question.
he turns his head to you, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “shadow travel.”
❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄
the night before your wedding, beomgyu knocks on your door to check on you as he didn’t see you today. he was visiting a friend because, while you are stuck here, beomgyu is free to come and go as he likes.
“how are you feeling?” beomgyu asks, sitting at the end of the bed. for once, he isn’t dressed up, instead donning a black plain tee and pair of sweatpants.
“i’m okay,” you tell him.
“that’s good.” he fiddles with the bed cover, avoiding your eyes. “i’m sorry.”
“it’s fine,” you say. “i can’t expect you to follow me around all day every day. you should see your friends too.”
“that’s not what i meant,” beomgyu says, his dark eyes taking on the sorrowful look he gets when he thinks you’re not looking. “although i’m sorry for that too now."
he takes a deep breath. "i meant that i was sorry for this. all of this. for my father dragging you down here. for our forced marriage. for making you unhappy, sick, lonely. i’m sorry for everything.”
“beomgyu… beomgyu look at me.”
he hesitantly meets your gaze and you see a tear sliding down his cheek.
“oh, beomgyu,” you sigh, leaning forward to wipe away the tear. “stop apologising.”
“but it’s true,” he says, his voice becoming rough and strained. “i know you don’t like it here. you don’t want to marry me. you’ve only been eating ambrosia for the past week but you still look half dead. you can’t even sleep at night. you-” his voice catches and he shakes his head, looking down.
you grab his hand and squeeze gently. “but it’ll get better once we’re married, right? i’ll have my energy back, i’ll be able to eat and sleep.”
“yes but that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t want this marriage,” beomgyu says. “i don’t want this marriage. i never asked for this, it was all my stupid father.”
“okay, you’re right,” you say. “i don’t want the marriage. but because i’m young, i’m unprepared, i have no say in it. i know you think i hate you but i don’t.”
beomgyu looks up again.
“i may hate the circumstances but i don’t hate you,” you say honestly. “at first, i did resent you, but i realised that this really isn’t your fault and that i shouldn’t hold your father’s actions against you.” you squeeze his hand again. “it’s not your fault. i don’t hate you. stop feeling sorry for me, okay? i’m fine, really.”
beomgyu nods. “okay.”
he’s silent, thinking, contemplating, processing.
you too have some thoughts on your mind. one thought actually. something that you’ve wanted to ask beomgyu the past few nights but never have, feeling too foolish. but seeing as you’ll be married to him tomorrow, you don’t see the harm in asking now.
“beomgyu,” you say quietly.
“yeah?”
“w-will you… will you please stay with me tonight?” you ask.
beomgyu’s ears flush bright red, the colour you’ve come to associate with his bashful and shy side.
“i think it’ll be easy to sleep if you do,” you continue. “will you?”
beomgyu needs a second to process your question but he eventually splutters, “yes.”
folding the blanket back for him, you shuffle over and lie down. beomgyu cautiously slides in beside you. he looks so stiff and awkward, it makes you smile a little.
“lie down,” you tell him and he does.
you take the initiative and cuddle up to him first, slotting yourself under his arm as you lay your head on his chest. immediately, you feel one hundred times better than you have all week. you feel safe and as though you can now breathe easy.
beomgyu finally relaxes, his arm looping around your shoulder, his hand slowly brushing over your hair.
the noises that usually keep you up at night fade away and sleep takes over. for the first time in almost two weeks, you have a good nights rest.
❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄
when you wake in the morning, beomgyu is gone and a gorgeous women with long, flower adorned hair is carrying in a long black dress.
“you’re awake!” she says. “great. i’m persephone. i’ve heard you’re my half sister. it’s lovely to meet you. now let’s get you ready. you’re getting married today.”
you barely have time to process any of what the goddess has said before your being stuffed into the ebony gown. the silk body somehow fits you perfectly and the lace sleeves are the exact length of your arms.
the next half an hour is a blur as persephone styles your hair with a flower crown of red and white roses, clasps a chunky bejewelled choker around your neck and swipes red gloss on your lips and dark glitter on your eyes.
and suddenly you’re standing at the entrance of a large grecian temple with black marble pillars. beomgyu is standing at the other end of the temple on a raised platform. a… skeleton?… is standing near him, a large book in it’s bony hands. as you start walking towards beomgyu you vaguely wonder if you’re really about to be married by a skeleton.
to your right and left are rows of skeletons, odd creatures and the odd person who seems to be relatively alive. hades and persephone are in the front row.
the ceremony passes by in a flash. beomgyu holds your hands softly as the skeleton addresses the crowd of undead. he looks at you with more adoration than you knew was possible, but he never smiles. you slip gothic black rings onto each others fingers. he kisses your cheek. then the wedding is done.
afterwards, you and beomgyu take a walk in the garden again.
“how do you feel?” beomgyu asks you after a minute of silence.
“good,” you say, heading to a pomegranate tree.
“you look good,” beomgyu replies.
you smile over your shoulder at him. “thank you.”
“really,” he says. his eyes rake up your body. “not just the dress and everything, but your whole aura. you look alive again.”
you reach the tree and pick the closest fruit. “i suppose i’m allowed to eat this now, right?”
“if you’d like.”
“will you eat it with me?”
“okay.”
you find a bench to sit on. beomgyu picks a rock from the ground and, using a power you didn’t know he possessed, he transforms its shape to be sharp and pointed. he cuts the fruit with it and you eat in silence. you have to admit that it feels nice to be eating something other than ambrosia.
once the fruit is gone, you scoot a little closer to beomgyu and put your hand on his knee.
“you don’t seem happy, beomgyu,” you say. “what’s wrong?”
he sighs. “i don’t know. it’s just… i like you a lot. even more now then i did when i told my father about you. but i… i can’t be happy when you’re not.”
“who says i’m not happy.”
“well aren’t you?”
“i’m… unsure… i think i need some more time to fully process everything, but it could be worse.”
beomgyu scoffs quietly. “how could it be worse?”
“i might not be married to you.”
beomgyu almost flinches at your words, eyes going wide. “what?”
“like i said, i’m still a little conflicted but one thing that i’m certain about is my feelings for you.”
“and?”
you smile. “i like you.”
“r-really?"
"really. throughout this all, you’ve been so kind and gentle. you haven’t pressured me and you’ve made me feel as comfortable as possible. i really appreciate it and i can’t say that i haven’t grown to like you.”
amusingly, your words render beomgyu speechless so you add, “plus, being married to the son of hades is a bit of an ego boost, if i’m being honest.”
said son of hades smiles.
“you know, i’m pretty sure you didn’t kiss me properly earlier.”
“i didn’t think you’d want me to,” beomgyu admits sheepishly.
“well, i do, so…”
his smile turns to a cheeky grin as he cups your face in his hands. “may i kiss the bride?”
you grin too. “you may.”
#beomgyu imagine#beomgyu imagines#beomgyu scenario#beomgyu scenarios#beomgyu fanfic#demigod!beomgyu#choi beomgyu#txt beomgyu#txt imagine#txt imagines#txt oneshots#txt scenarios#txt#demigod au#percy jackson au#txt au#beomgyu fluff#beomgyu angst#txt fluff#txt angst#tomorrow by together imagine#tomorrow by together imagines
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To Keep Each Other Safe
rated: T
Words: 3,943
Summary: Sometimes a fun hunting trip can go sideways.
A/N: A list of more specific warnings below in the end notes for those who are concerned.
Esme and Carlisle are my faves. I’m always lusting after more material for them. This one has literally been on my ipad for 3 years, incomplete. Finally got around to fixing it up. I may come back and make the ending more to my liking. Crossposted on ao3.
Let me know what you think!
——————-
Carlisle was scheduled for a long shift at the hospital so the family had decided to drag Esme along so she wouldn’t be at home alone. She laughs as Emmett playfully drags her out of the house.
“C’mon, Esme! You don’t have to always be the doting wife waiting on Carlisle. Come have funnnnn with usss!” Rosalie shakes her head at her husband’s antics, running beside Esme as Jasper and Edward sprint off as fast as they can. They’re hours from home in the Canadian wilderness when they all part ways to go after their own animals. Emmett, Jasper, and Edward are more partial to large game that puts up a bit of a fight so they head farther into the forest. Esme finds herself parted from her daughters as they all search out their meals. There’s the rustle of deer off to her right and perhaps a moose—
Then there’s a sudden waft of a scent much sweeter than animal blood - and much more tempting. Esme holds her breath, frantic eyes darting around. The human didn’t smell close, but she didn’t want to further the temptation. She also doesn’t want for any of the kids to happen upon the human. None of them enjoyed killing people, and she didn’t want their fun hunting trip to turn into a reason for anyone to feel guilty.
She picks up the scent of her boys - the ones most likely to have a slip-up - and heads towards them. Before Esme can get much farther, she is knocked to the ground by a solid mass. The noise the collision causes is akin to a thunderclap. It’s completely unexpected, and she isn’t trained to anticipate attacks like Jasper. After nearly 100 years of peace with her found family, she doesn’t foresee violence around every corner as she had when married to Charles.
Esme squirms beneath the much larger body, the strength of the being easily quadrupling her own. She tries to scream but can’t. Her feet grapple for purchase on the snowy ground as she claws with diamond-hard nails at the figure pressing her down. She’s always chosen to be a pacifist. But, knocked down to the ground with a hand around her neck trying to wrench her head from her body, she wishes she had joined her children in play-fighting.
Esme feels helpless as she hears her skin begin to crack under the immense strength of the vampire above her.
She hardly remembers what pain feels like. The only particular moments she can recall is childbirth and being turned. This sudden onslaught, however, jogs her memory of other suffering. Of her first husband Charles raping her. Of him beating her. Of crawling on the cold tile of a bathroom with a swollen eye and bleeding nose. Being pushed down the stairs when dinner wasn’t good enough. Being tied to the bedposts over night until her wrists chafed so she couldn’t ‘disrupt’ Charles. Those memories had fallen somewhat to the wayside in the 94 years she'd been a vampire. The joy of being with Carlisle, of building a family with him and growing to love herself had pushed her human pains to the back of her complex mind.
Now, though, it’s all she can think about.
The vampire gets a bite in on her shoulder, and the sting begins immediately. Another to her neck, eerily close to where Carlisle had bitten her to change her. A last bite to her cheek has enough force behind it to rip, almost tear her diamond-hard skin away. She feels air flow under the wound, knows that her cheekbone must be exposed. She wants so badly to screech. Her kicking and bucking does nothing to dislodge the body above her. Despite not needing air, she feels suffocated, claustrophobic.
She wants free!!
She finally gets a scream out and is almost immediately freed. Edward. He must have heard her thoughts of terror and tracked her location. Edward and the vampire were both crouched in front of each other, growling. Esme remained on the ground, fingers curled into the cold slushy dirt below her. Suddenly she is pulled up by a gentle hand. A familiar scent fills her nose.
Rosalie.
“Esme?” Rose is good at staying calm when the need arises, always has been. For all her theatrics, she is a level-headed girl. Her voice now, however, gives Esme pause. She sounds frantic. “Are you alright? Esme?”
Esme looks down and sees that she’s trembling. Her hands are shaking, her knees are unsteady. Her clothes are torn, and there’s venom dripping from the bite marks on her body. She looks up to meet Rose’s eyes and suddenly her daughter knows. They have an unfortunately similar past.
“Oh, Esme.” Her daughter wraps warm arms around her.
Jasper, Emmett, and Alice are all surrounding the newborn in an instant, joining Edward in keeping the hissing figure corralled.
“He was just turned. He's confused. Mostly he's angry. He was on the trail of a human hiker until Esme came into his territory. He thought Esme was going to take his hunt." Edward relays the thoughts of the newborn, his gaze remaining fixed on the violent newcomer.
“Do you know who you are?” Jasper asks, his body transforming into a non-threatening stance. He has the most experience with newborns, he knows how they read body language.
The newborn just hisses and makes to attack who he sees as the easiest target - Alice. Alice is quick, dodging the attack and leading the newborn closer to Jasper. The blonde man has little patience for those who threaten his mate and family. He has the yowling newborn in a chokehold in seconds.
“Edward?” Jasper inquires. This momentary lapse in attention is enough for the newborn to sink his teeth into Jasper's arm. At this, Alice hisses, angered that her mate will feel pain. Emmett is there, yanking the newborn's head back, eyes darting to Rosalie’s. Rose nods, eyes flinty as she stays beside Esme, a comforting presence.
The newborn's head is torn off in a second. Emmett, Edward, and Jasper set about making a fire in a clearing and burning the body. Even the thick smoke doesn’t serve to pull Esme from her trance-like state. She remains shaky and catatonic - a statue stuck in its own misery.
“Esme." Alice joins the two, squeezing her way into the hug. Esme knows her well enough to know that she believes this is partially her fault for not seeing ahead to stop the attack. Esme, however, could never blame her. Instead she sinks into them all, unable to fully support herself. Jasper comes in close, right by his wife's shoulder.
"May I?" She knows what he's asking, and gratefully extends her dirty hand. He cups it in both of his and sends soothing waves her way. Love, tenderness, sympathy, understanding - everything he feels for her. He can't leech pain, but he can lessen it by increasing her pleasant emotions, allowing her to take some of his strength. The emotions he’s sending are made all the stronger by the contact.
She wants to thank him, but for some reason there’s an ache in her throat. Her vampire body doesn’t feel aches and bruises the way a human’s does. There is no blood gushing everywhere, just venom injuries or torn limbs and flesh. This feeling is like nothing she’s experienced before. Cold, like shock.
Jasper seems to understand, however, the gratefulness she can’t yet voice. "Of course, mama." Under normal circumstances hearing him say that would make her so happy. Jasper was older than her technically, and often felt foolish calling Esme "mother" even if he did see her as the matriarch of the family. For him to indulge her so meant that he could truly feel how much pain she was in.
“Esme,” Edward comes to her side, his eyes sorrowful. He can read the static-like buzz of her thoughts, can hear the low pained howl her mind is letting out. He shrugs out of his coat and dislodges Alice and Rose to wrap her up to preserve her modesty. “Would you like to head home, Esme?” He’s so gentle with her, straightening her hair out over collar of the coat and keeping his tone low. Edward remembers what it was like for her in the beginning, the flashes she got of her terrible marriage and the abuse she suffered. He remembers what things triggered her in the early days. He experienced it all along with her and helped her move past it and embrace her gentle soul and kind spirit.
It makes him ache to see her sent back to that time, even if just in memory.
Esme doesn’t speak, merely nods.
“Someone call Carlisle,” Edward murmurs, hooking an arm around his adopted mother. She can hear someone on the phone, hear the quiet tones of her children speaking to each other. She can’t make out the individual words, but the hum of their voices is a comfort.
Her first son indicates for her to climb onto his back. She hesitates for the first time since the incident. She hates to appear weak to her children. She likes the role she’s taken as comforter and provider and guide.
“Esme, no. We’re a family. We’ve all supported each other when we’ve needed it most. We love you.” Her eyes burn as if they want to release tears. But she can’t cry, hasn’t been able to in nearly a century. Edward gives her a hug, each of her children gather close and offer silent support. She nods her head in readiness and climbs onto Edward’s back, clinging to him tightly, her face in his neck. He squeezes her hands affectionately and they all begin setting back towards Washington. Her whole family remains tightly positioned together, she and Edward in the center of their group. Emmett spearheads and Rose and Jasper are beside them. Despite her still shocky state, she feels much safer.
When they’re close to Vancouver, Carlisle all but runs into them. His hair is severely windswept. If he were human he would’ve been winded from exertion and anxiety. The moment he received the call from Alice saying Esme had been attacked, he’d yelled an excuse to a coworker and left. He swore he’d never run so fast in his whole existence. His eyes lock on to his wife clinging to Edward, noting how somber their children’s faces are. Even Emmett looks dead serious. There’s no teasing about how fast Carlisle got there - just a respectful nod.
“Darling,” he approaches cautiously, not knowing where Esme’s mindset is. The call had startled him so thoroughly that he didn’t know what he was getting into. His hand rests softly on her back, rubbing soothingly. In his mind he asks how she’s doing. Edward says nothing, just shrugs a bit. Esme’s thoughts are all over the place.
The movement seems to arouse Esme to her whereabouts. She had been able to smell Carlisle close, but her mind was a wreck. Focusing on any one stimuli was too much. Nonetheless, she looks up to her husband. Her face immediately crumples. He sees the new bite mark on her face, the skin is angry looking from being viscously torn off the bone. It had to have been truly violent to have caused enough damage for healing to still be occurring so long afterwards.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Carlisle says, pained. He can’t help himself from taking her from Edward, from holding her tightly to him. She hisses when he brushes against her shoulder, and he looks at her in alarm. He gently eases the jacket away - now noticing that it’s Edwards, not her own - and sees how her shirt is torn. His eyes are then drawn to the bite on her shoulder and one that is overlapping the bite he placed on her neck to turn her. He can smell the venom of another on her, and his nostrils flare disapprovingly. Esme sees this, eyes cast towards the ground. Carlisle shakes his head, angry at himself for falling prey to his instincts. He hooks a finger under her chin gently, careful not to bother any of her wounds, and presses a kiss to her forehead in a benediction.
Their children are still near, but have moved out of visibility to give the illusion of privacy. It is against their instincts to go far away when their matriarch is harmed.
“I’m so sorry, Esme. My darling wife.” He wraps her up tight, arms banding around her smaller body, and she clasps to his front with her legs wrapped about his waist and good arm around his neck. “Should have been there with you. Failed you - oh sweetheart, I’m sorry. You must be hurting so.” He keeps whispering to her, pressing kisses to her hair, fingers gentle on her back as he soothes her (which in turn, soothes himself).
“Carlisle, please.” Her first words spoken since the attack are gravelly, her throat tight.
“Darling, what do you need?” He’s so ready to bend to her every whim, always has been. His existence had been so empty before her.
“To go home. Want to be in our home surrounded by our family and be safe.”
“Of course.”
-
He sets her down in their living room. Alice fetches his old-fashioned doctor’s bag that houses his most basic supplies. Carlisle removes gauze and sterile wet wipes. He seems to hesitate as he reaches for her face, eyes scanning over the bite there and the area of healing torn skin.
“This will hurt,” he murmurs, stroking over her unharmed cheek gently.
Esme nods absently. He knows to help speed up the process of healing and lessen the pain, he must remove as much of the foreign venom as he can. That requires opening the cuts and siphoning the venom out. To let the venom sit is to let it permeate and cause further irritation. No man-made metal tools are strong enough, so he must use his own nails to cut open his wife’s skin.
It’s not a task he’s looking forward to. But it is something that must be done.
Edward is close at his side, ready to lend a hand. Jasper sits next to Esme, sending calming vibes her way, Alice at his side. Rosalie stands behind her, stroking her hair and humming gently. Emmett is a steady presence nearby. Everyone is ready to support her, and despite the recent occurrences, she feels so lucky to have them all. This aid was something she had prayed for at her worst times.
Carlisle takes a steadying breath, and slices over the cut with his fingernail. Esme holds in a hiss as the clear venom leaks out. Carlisle takes a syringe of sterile saline and flushes the wound, patting with the gauze. He is paced and methodical in his work. This isn’t far off from what he spends his days at work doing. He keeps his eyes on the wounds, tries not to think too hard about the attack that caused it. If he does, he’ll drive himself mad. He’ll try to save the self-flagellation for when he is away from his dear wife, away from his son who is forced to witness his every thought.
His fingers slide over her cheek when he’s done cleaning the area. The tissue can now heal without a pocket of venom beneath it to irritate the process. Despite his careful work, a pale scar is already forming on the high point of her cheekbone. He tries hard not to fixate on it. There will be no way to get rid of it, to save Esme from this new addition to her visage.
Her neck is next. Carlisle slices open the skin over the poorly healing cut and immediately squirts sterile water over it. Esme hisses, trembling fingers squeezing at his knee. He murmurs an apology, leans down to press a kiss to her crown before resuming his work. The damage here isn’t nearly as dire as what was done to her face. For this, he is glad. More force applied to her neck could’ve meant her head could’ve been ripped clean off and —
Edward grunts and gives Carlisle a look.
The doctor closes his eyes for a moment. Best not to focus on how his wife could’ve died and he could be a widow right now if not for his kids.
Esme’s shoulder is last. Carlisle has to pull Edward’s jacket off to see the wound clearly. The tattered remains of Esme’s shirt cling weakly to her body. There are tears where the newborn’s nails ripped through. Carlisle had had a cursory look before, but now he really takes in the damage done. There is a quick inhale from Rosalie, and Carlisle can’t help but look up.
His daughter’s gaze is riveted to where Esme’s shirt is torn. Her brow is furrowed and her eyes haunted.
“Rose...” Emmett stands behind his wife and wraps her up tight in his arms. Edward sends a rare sympathetic glance her way, a hand moving to cover one of hers. For once Rosalie doesn’t hiss and shake him off.
Esme cranes her head cautiously, wincing at the tug on her skin the action causes. “Rosie, you don’t have to be here, honey.” His wife, even when in her own pain, always thinks of others. She and Rosalie share a violent past and understand each other in a way none of the others do.
“No, Esme. I’m here. I just...” Rosalie grimaces and snarls silently. Her teeth are bared and her face enraged at her own memories and the violence done to her mother. Emmett clenches his eyes shut in sympathetic pain behind her; he truly hates to see his mate in pain.
“I love you. Thank you, honey.” Rose gives Esme a wobbly smile and bends to kiss her hair. The blonde woman murmurs her affection into her mother’s locks.
Carlisle is so glad to have this family that supports each other. Suffering alone is terrible, he knows that much. He recalls cold nights alone and no one to commiserate with or help carry the burden of their existence.
“You alright if I finish this up, love?” He indicates to her shoulder. Esme nods, looking impossibly exhausted. Carlisle gently removes the tatters of her shirt and bra, noting how everyone in the room respectfully averts their gaze.
There are claw marks diagonally from Esme’s lower ribs, over her right breast, and up to her trapezius. The marks are a bright white but will fade back into Esme’s normal skin tone because of the lack of venom. Still, they look uncomfortable. The only area Carlisle can really help with is the bite at the cap of Esme’s shoulder. There is the distinct scent of foreign venom clinging to this spot. Once again, Carlisle slices in and flushes the area. Esme barely flinches at this last one. He hates that she’s grown so brave.
Carlisle pats the last irrigated wound, “all done, darling.” He leans forward and kisses her forehead, pushes her mussed hair back. There are twigs and mud clumped in her curls.
Esme leans forward and collapses into his chest. He catches her easily, wrapping her tightly in his hold. She’s soon curled into his lap with her face in his neck. “Can you clean my hair?” She asks quietly.
“Anything,” he says fervently, lifting her carefully and making his way to their bathroom. He hears the kids converge to sit in a circle of comfort near Rosalie.
-
Carlisle is so careful with her that she could cry. He washes the mud from her hair with a softly scented shampoo and smooths his fingers through to ensure that there’re no tangles. She’s seated in their large tub, knees drawn to her chest. Carlisle mindfully runs a loofah over her healing neck and shoulder, sluicing away the scent of the other vampire.
“I love you so much,” he whispers as he watches the water run over her pale skin.
Esme shifts in the tub to face him, still seated. “And I love you.” Carlisle cups her face in both of his hands, smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks as he just stares at her. His touch is so deliberate yet passionate. His eyes seem almost glassy as he pushes a strand of her wet hair from her face.
“I am happier than I can ever convey that you are safe.” If Carlisle had the capability, he would be crying. Knowing that Esme was almost lost to him is a harrowing thought. As soon as she came into his life, she became integral.
Esme suddenly stands, water streaming down her body as she steps out of the bathtub. Carlisle rises and grabs a fluffy towel for her, moving to begin to dry her off. He treats each limb of her body with tenderness. A separate towel is used to wring water from her hair. Carlisle is painstakingly cautious with her curls.
They move into the bedroom and Esme slips into one of Carlisle’s sweaters, some fuzzy socks, and a pair of soft shorts. Even though she doesn’t get cold, she still enjoys cozy clothing. She holds out her hand and Carlisle follows her without question. The instinct to be close is always present after something so harrowing.
The others are still huddled downstairs. At the sight of their matriarch, they make space on the couch. Esme cuddles in next to her husband and Rosalie. Alice, from her spot on Jasper’s lap, looks restless. “Esme... I’m sorry I didn’t see it coming. He must have caught the scent of the you before the vision could even come to me.”
Esme turns to look at her smallest ‘daughter’. She knows how heavily Alice relies on her visions to keep everyone safe. She isn’t a big, hulking being but she still loves her family fiercely. “I don’t blame you, Alice. Not one bit. The only person to blame is the newborn, and even he is difficult to blame because he was so young and no one showed him any better.”
Edward scoffs and shakes his head in wonder. “You and Carlisle are far too kind.”
Esme, in a surprising show of immaturity, rolls her eyes. “I’m certainly not okay with what happened. I’m.... still very uncomfortable,” she admits. Anything that reminded her of Charles and her previous suffering was unwelcome. She doesn’t like falling back into those memories. They make her feel small and scared again.
Carlisle smooths a large hand down her arm and tries to imbue all the love he can into the simple touch. He presses a kiss to her cleaned curls, breathing in the scent of her, safe and sound.
“We won’t let it happen again.” Edward says with an unearned confidence.
“You can’t promise that, sweetheart,” Esme chastises gently. Edward huffs because he knows she’s correct. “The only promise I ever need is that you all will be a support when needed.”
“Always,” Emmett assures. Rosalie nods beside him, her eyes determined. Jasper sends Esme waves of affirmation.
“That’s the most I can hope for. Having you all makes me very lucky.” Carlisle hugs her tight to his side.
“We’re the ones who are lucky to have you.” A ghost of a smile crosses Esme’s lips at her husband’s words. She presses a kiss to his neck and nuzzles in close. The comfort of her family soothes her. Despite her inability to sleep, she feels like this security in their presence is therapeutic. The murmurs of her family wrap her up warmly. She knows that everyone will be sticking close to her for the coming months.
————-
More in-depth warnings: In general, be aware that there are mentions of past assaults during Esme and Rose’s human lives. Mentions of Esme’s human husband, Charles. There are also mild descriptions of injuries done to a vampire.
#carlesme#carlisle cullen#esme cullen#twilight#twilight fic#fanfic#my fanfiction#rated: t#edward cullen#rosalie hale#jasper cullen#alice cullen#emmett cullen
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this crooked posture (is all you’ve ever known)
read this on ao3 || read this on fanfiction.net
i wrote this whole thing in a span of about 5 days :pensive: as u can maybe tell i have a lot of feelings abt that one conversation btwn scourge and jules...there is so much potential here and im sad we never got to see it
as far as timeline goes- this would probably take place in the pre-boot universe about six months or so after scourge & co escape from zone jail. the destructix are camping out on mobius for the time being to avoid drawing zonic's attention and knothole has wrapped up the ixis naugus/metal sally arcs.
Summary: Fiona heads off with a wave, and he's left where he started - staring through a window into a nearly-empty kitchen, looking in on a life was never his and never will be. Inside, the robian sets bacon on the stovetop to fry and starts making toast, blissfully unaware of the hedgehog just outside. It's hard to tell on a robot, obviously, but he looks perfectly content with his life. Happy, even.
Pathetic.
Or: Scourge avoids his problems, Fiona is exasperated, and Jules is mostly oblivious.
It's the early hours of the morning. So early, in fact, that it shouldn't even technically be called morning because it's still basically nighttime and no one sane is up right now.
Which is probably why the idiotic robian is up at five o'clock in the morning, puttering around in the kitchen and making breakfast. There's literally no reason for it. It's not like he can eat anything, after all, and his stupid son lives off chilidogs, so he's not going to eat it. And his stupid wife isn't getting up for like two hours, so she's not eating it either. See? Idiocy.
Yet another thing that their universes seem to have in common.
"What are you doing?"
Scourge almost shrieks - key word is almost, 'cause he's too cool to scream like a dork - and tackles Fiona into the bushes. "Shhh!"
Fiona splutters indignantly and a second later her fist bounces off his jaw, which, ow. "Are you nuts? Get off me!"
"Shhhut up!" Scourge throws a quick glance over his shoulder at the window. No one's come outside to investigate, so hopefully no one's heard. He rolls off her a second later. "You wanna get us arrested, woman?"
"Hey, I'm a legal citizen of this universe!" Fiona protests. "If anything, it's you who's getting arrested, Mr.-Snooping-Through-Other-People's-Windows. That's so creepy."
"We're both wanted criminals here; if we get caught, we're going down together," Scourge points out, graciously ignoring her last comment. "And anyway, I'm... gathering intel."
Fiona snorts. "Pull the other one, Scourge. That's not gonna work on me." Crossing her arms, she adds, "You've been gathering intel every night for the past week. And I know you're technically the same person, but watching Sonic sleep is really weird."
"I'm not watching him," Scourge snaps before he can help himself.
"Oh?" Fiona's eyes glint and it's then that Scourge realizes he's slipped. "Then who are you watching?"
"Uhhh..." Scourge fidgets while trying not to look like he's fidgeting. "No one. I'm just passing through, not watching anything. Why'd I want to do that anyway?" He forces a laugh. "So lame."
Fiona regards him with a flat stare. "Your fingerprints are smudged all over the window."
"What?" Scourge whips around to check the window. He'd been so careful not to leave any traces of his visits, but-
Waitaminute.
"Very funny," Scourge growls into his gloved hands. Fiona snickers.
"Look, if you don't want to tell me, I won't make you," she says, standing up and brushing the dirt off her pants. "But I'll find out eventually. And if this new obsession of yours endangers yourself or the team, I'm going to put a stop to it."
"Yeah, yeah," Scourge mutters, waving her off. "Get lost."
"Mhm. We still on for that movie night?"
"'course. See you there, babe."
Fiona heads off with a wave, and he's left where he started - staring through a window into a nearly-empty kitchen, looking in on a life was never his and never will be. Inside, the robian sets bacon on the stovetop to fry and starts making toast, blissfully unaware of the hedgehog just outside. It's hard to tell on a robot, obviously, but he looks perfectly content with his life. Happy, even.
Pathetic.
Scourge kicks the side of the house, suddenly incandescently furious with everything. Inside, Jules looks up in surprise, but Scourge is already gone.
"I need to stop," Scourge says later. The movie is over - some samurai flick that Simian had picked out and Lightning had ruined with his constant nitpicking - and they'd gone out for ice cream afterwards (read: robbed that nice gelato place downtown). Getting used to having teammates again is... something, Scourge supposes. But it's not completely terrible.
"You need to stop," Fiona agrees. She's texting furiously, slouched into the ratty couch in their current hideout with Scourge's head on her lap.
"It's just weird seeing him alive, is all," Scourge tells the ceiling. "That's all it is. Like, when you see something weird, and you just gotta look at it. It doesn't mean anything."
"Are you trying to convince yourself or me?"
"Not tryin' to convince anyone. I'm just saying what it is."
Fiona sets down her phone with a sigh. "Look, you gotta stop hurting yourself like this."
Scourge sits up a little too fast. "Hurting myself? What? Babe, have you forgotten who you're talking to? I'm Scourge the Hedgehog, I don't hurt."
Fiona gives that all the acknowledgment it deserves, which is none. "I told you about the... the prison, when I was a kid," she says. Scourge falls silent. "I went back there a few times, after I was big enough to handle myself. There wasn't a reason, really. I just thought I had to see it. And it sort of helped the first time - I cleaned out all the bots and made sure that place couldn't hold anyone ever again - but after that, I just went back again and again because it made me hurt and that felt good. Because I was hurting anyway, and being able to make it worse when I wanted to made me feel like I could control it."
Scourge doesn't say anything.
"But that wasn't true," Fiona says. Her voice shakes just a little, and without thinking Scourge takes her hand. It's stupid (sentimental) but she smiles faintly. "I wasn't healing or in control or anything. I was just hurting myself. And I can't stand watching you do the same."
"Babe," Scourge begins hoarsely.
"Tell me it's not the same," Fiona says flatly. "Or tell me- tell me that if I went back to that prison and crawl through that tunnel I dug with my own hands and relive every moment of the hell I went through, that you wouldn't stop me. That you would watch me do it."
He can't tell her that. He can't tell her that and she knows it.
Scourge looks away.
Fiona sighs and runs her hand along his spines. "He's not your dad, Scourge," she says quietly. "He's an entirely different person. Hurting yourself isn't going to make anything better."
"Okay," Scourge agrees. "Okay." Then, after a moment, "Thanks, babe."
Fiona smiles again, and there's something so sad about it he squeezes her hand again (uncool, but it's not like there's anyone else to see it). "No problem, hun."
He goes back again the next day.
This time, the wife is there too.
Scourge crouches in the massive oak tree beside the window, pretending he doesn't feel like a massive creep. His green fur blends neatly with the leaves, rendering him all but invisible to any casual observers, particularly when it's not-quite-light. With luck, it'll fool robian eyes as well.
Anyway.
Scourge doesn't remember his mother. She was simply never in the picture; whether because of death or divorce he never knew. Generally, he suspects the latter - months upon months of neglect, of being constantly passed over and ignored for the more important burdens of the state and the good of the people - yeah, he can see how a divorce would happen. Not that he'll ever know now.
The hedgehog in the kitchen doesn't look neglected. She throws her arms around the robian, not seeming to mind the cold metal, and dances around him as they prepare breakfast. The robian, in turn, leans into her touches and takes advantage of a moment of distraction to dab pancake batter on her nose. It's disgusting. Scourge gags.
Part of him wonders what he's gaining out of this. Hiding in a tree, spying on some losers and their dumb domestic life - not exactly fitting behavior for the former king of Moebius, after all.
It's not... It's not that Fiona's right. It's not like he's hurting himself - like he told Fiona, he's Scourge the Hedgehog. He doesn't do that emotions garbage. That kind of wimpiness is more Sonic's thing.
(Let alone that Fiona had said it happened to her. Let alone that she's usually right, and that she's one of the strongest people he knows.)
He's just curious. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less.
(The voice in his head sounding suspiciously like Fiona whispers, Yeah, right.)
Inside the kitchen, the robian starts flipping pancakes. For a second, Scourge tries to imagine his own father like that: Jules the Hedgehog, king of Moebius, flipping pancakes in a frilly pink apron and laughing with his wife. Arguing over who gets to wake up their son. Talking and hugging and laughing and living -
- and the illusion dissipates. Jules wouldn't set foot in a kitchen. He had servants to do that kind of thing, just like he had servants to take care of his son.
Scourge drops down from the tree branch and lands lightly on his feet. He's done here. He slinks off into the streets, hiding his face from the strengthening sunlight as synthetic laughter rings out behind him.
"Hey, Simian," Scourge says a few days later.
Simian continues lifting weights without slowing. "Yes?"
Scourge likes Simian, as much as he likes anyone. The ape is steady and has a solid head on his shoulders, and while it's kind of a drag most times, he does occasionally have helpful bits of advice. And when he goes loose on the battlefield, he can be really fun to fight alongside.
So that, plus the fact that Hawk doesn't care and Lightning would probably make fun of him and he'd rather eat his own shoes than talk to Fly, makes him Scourge's best option.
Scourge swings his legs back and forth as they dangle off the chair and tries to think of a way to broach it. He just needs to be subtle, right? "When was the last time you saw your parents?"
And maybe that wasn't super subtle after all, because Simian stops in the middle of his workout session (he never stops in the middle of a workout session) to stare at him. It feels... extremely uncomfortable, actually, wow. Scourge hops up and starts his stretches (anything to avoid looking back).
"When I last left my village, I was eighteen," Simian says at last. He sounds thoughtful, which is never a good sign. "That was several years ago... six years, I believe."
"That long, huh?" Scourge moves to quad stretches. "You're pretty old, man. Slowing down anytime soon?"
He's rewarded with a sharp grin. "I'm not that old. Though I suppose most people look slow next to you."
"Damn straight!"
"Why do you ask?"
And that's the issue - when even Scourge isn't sure why he's asking. He takes his time answering. "Oh, you know... just curious. Ever think about 'em?"
There's another ponderous silence, which mostly just succeeds in making Scourge antsy. Well, antsier.
"Sometimes," Simian says. "But I am a dedicated member of this team. You can rest assured of that."
And that's nice, but it's not what he's asking-
"...but that's not what you're asking, is it?"
Scourge freezes. Is he just that transparent? Why can everyone suddenly read his mind now? "What're you on about, man?" he deflects.
Simian shakes his head. "I do miss them, sometimes. It is natural for children to miss their parents."
"Not me!" Scourge laughs, and if it comes out a little too sharp, well, who's to blame him?
"Of course," Simian says, sounding vaguely indulgent. "Does that satisfy your curiosity?"
"Uh, sure," Scourge lies. "A little heavy on the oversharing, but it's cool." And then he scarpers, because if super speed's good for anything it's for escaping uncomfortable conversations. Simian doesn't say anything about it later, and thank Chaos because he doesn't think he'd be able to face Fiona if she ever got wind of that little talk.
The next time he's in town, Scourge picks up a new set of woodworking knives and leaves it on Simian's equipment. It's not like he's gone soft, buying presents for his friends or whatever, Scourge tells himself. He's just... buying Simian's silence. It's a bribe, is all.
(Simian saves him some extra ice cream the night after and that's that.)
It is natural for children to miss their parents, Simian had said. Ha! As if. Scourge hasn't missed his old man a day of his life and he's not about to start now.
... that'd carry more weight if he wasn't spending two or three mornings a week moping outside their kitchen.
Scourge sips his frappe and pretends he's not sulking. Right now, he's outside some random diner in Knothole in full disguise, complete with a trenchcoat, fedora, and sunglasses. He was honestly expecting someone to stop him before now - this kind of garb is about as suspicious as it gets - but no one seemed to even notice anything out of the ordinary. Idiots.
Fiona would kill him if she knew the kind of risks he's taking - which, of course, is why she doesn't need to know.
Scourge checks the time. Seven o'clock, meaning the wife is just getting up and they're having breakfast right now - Chaos, he has their entire morning schedule memorized, doesn't he? Fiona was right, he is obsessed. Scourge slumps over the table and buries his head in his arms.
He can still turn this around. Knowing their schedule is useful, from a strategic standpoint; he could threaten them, take them hostage... even kill them. Sonic would be taken completely offguard. It would be simple. Easy. The smart thing to do.
Scourge's groan is only partially muffled by the table.
"...you alright, son?"
What-
Something electric shoots up his spine. Scourge's claws dig into the edges of the table with a crunch as he bolts upright. And there, before him, with a look so familiar but so foreign in his eyes is-
He's not the same.
His skin is metallic where it should be flesh, plated where it should be furred. His eyes burn a bright pixelated red when they should be brown. That stupid tuft of fur on his head is shining chrome that glints under the bright sun.
But the way he stands - colored though it is with a hint of a soldier's posture - that proud tilt of his chin, the gentleness in his hands as they reach out to him -
It's Jules.
It's different from seeing him in that dim, lamp-lit room. In the daylight, the differences are exaggerated - and so are the similarities.
For a second, Scourge can only see his dad standing there.
He reacts on instinct. Scourge rears back and smacks Jules' outstretched hand away. "Don't touch me!"
Jules straightens up, virtual eyes widening with shock. "I'm- I'm sorry, it looked like you were unhappy. I only meant to-"
"Well, don't," Scourge spits. "Get lost."
Jules looks at him longer and then, for some Chaos-forsaken reason, doesn't leave. Why isn't he leaving, Scourge thinks furiously, and only realizes he's breathing heavy when his breaths start coming too fast and harsh in his ears. Jules says something, but the words don't make sense and he can't tear his gaze away from the polished metal. Beneath his fingertips, the table starts to splinter.
And then there's warm hands on his shoulders, and a steady voice in his ears, saying, "Listen to me. Do you want me to leave?"
Nothing comes out of his throat. Scourge shakes helplessly. He wants him to leave, he wants him stay, he wants to never see him again. He wants his dad.
Jules must take it as permission to stay, because he doesn't leave. The grip on his shoulders is a solid, unmoving presence, and Scourge can't help but lean into it. "I'm going to count slowly. Try to match your breathing to my voice - it's alright if you can't. Starting now. One, two..."
For some completely batty reason, he tries, and it helps some. His breathing is a little too fast and a lot shaky, still, but it settles into a more even pace instead of the uncontrollable rush. Sense comes back slowly, and with it, an acute, uncomfortable awareness of what just happened.
Well. At least he's not crying.
Scourge stands abruptly, tearing himself from Jules' arms. The robian raises a brow but doesn't protest. "Are you feeling better?" he asks instead. It's entirely casual, with no hint of pity, and Scourge hates himself a little for being pathetically grateful.
"Peachy," Scourge snaps and whirls around, hiking up his collar. Jules isn't screaming yet, so he clearly hasn't realized who he is, and Scourge is in no hurry to correct him. Honestly, this hedgehog's stupidity knows no bounds.
"Well." The robian stands up, reaches for a grocery bag that Scourge only just realized was there, and adds, "Stay safe, son."
Scourge's vision briefly whites out from fury. "Don't call me that," he snarls and takes off running before Jules can reply.
He finds a secluded place in a lonely corner, throws his warp ring, and promises himself that he'll never go back.
Scourge does some research.
It's called a panic attack, apparently. Common among soldiers, which is probably why Jules knew what to do - he said he'd been on the front lines, hadn't he? Common among victims of PTSD, the website says, and Scourge scoffs and closes the tab. Trauma - ridiculous. Scourge doesn't do trauma. If anything, he gives it to other people.
He's still snickering at his joke when Hawk comes in to tell him that Finitevus called in with another job. Normally, Scourge would tell him to screw off, but he's offering a massive stack of Anarchy beryl in return - something they've been in short supply of since they ditched Moebius.
Scourge's body itches at the thought of going super again. He accepts.
Thirty minutes later, they're waist-deep in smashed Eggman bots and struggling to fend off a fresh wave while Fiona and Hawk bicker over the terminal.
"I'm telling you, if we do that, we'll get locked out of the system entirely!" Fiona snaps.
Hawk throws up his hands. "Fine! Ignore me! It's not like you literally just have to enter the code or anything!"
Scourge spindashes down the line of Eggpawns, smashing through them like paper. He hits the wall at the right angle to bounce right off and uncurls in midair to land on his feet.
"Wrap it up, guys!" he yells and ducks beneath a stray kunai. "Watch it, Lightning!"
"Thought you were supposed to be the fast one," Lightning calls back.
"And I thought you were supposed to be able to aim!"
"I can." Lightning flicks a wrist and Scourge drops backward into a roll to avoid the next kunai that comes his way. When he springs back onto his feet, ready to chew out the idiotic trigger-happy lynx, there's a Badnik pinned to the wall right where he'd been standing. Lightning shoots him a smug grin.
"Right back atcha," Scourge mutters and barrels through the cluster taking potshots at Hawk and Fi.
"Ugh, fine!" Fiona shoves Hawk away and starts typing furiously.
Scourge drops another five Badniks and skids to a stop as an Egg Launcher smashes through the wall directly in front of him. "Fiona!"
"Give us a minute," Hawk snarls back.
The Launcher brings its arms down to eye level and Scourge leaps into the air as its targeting system locks on - and then Fly drops out of nowhere onto on its shoulders. "Need help?" the frog giggles (sweet Chaos Scourge hates him) and rips the thing's head off. Scourge blitzes right through its chest.
As its body slumps bonelessly to the floor, another Launcher steps through the wall behind it... and another one. And another. Chaos.
"If those things unload all those missiles in here, we're going to have a problem," Lightning says, echoing Scourge's own thoughts.
"Out of the way," Simian grunts, swinging the first bot's disembodied missile launcher-slash-arm onto his shoulder and taking aim.
"Are you nuts, man?" Scourge yells. "Didn't you hear Lightning? You fire that thing and this whole building's going down!"
"Better have the exit ready, then," Simian returns evenly.
"Got it!" Fiona announces, jumping up from the terminal with a chip in hand. Hawk follows, looking severely disgruntled. "Turns out we really did just have to enter the code. Hah."
"I told you," Hawk begins, but Fiona waves him off.
"You were right once, don't go getting a big head. You got the ring ready, sweetie?"
"Everyone over here! You miss the ring, we're leavin' you behind!" Scourge doesn't wait for a response and throws the warp ring. The portal spins into existence, glistening faintly in the electric light, and they all pile in. Simian fires off a final missile salvo before the ring vanishes and they tumble haphazardly into the Doc's lair to the sound of the entire base going up.
For a second, no one moves, too tired and bruised and tangled together to bother getting up. Lightning sighs heavily from the bottom of the heap. Scourge laughs.
"I trust you have what I asked for?" Finitevus asks from literally two feet away, and Scourge isn't even going to question how he knew where they'd end up. After all, they are at his mercy inside his weird evil lair, and Scourge knows how to be tactful.
Scourge props himself up on an elbow. "So do you like, practice being creepy, or is it natural?"
Without looking, Fiona smacks him in the back of the head.
"Ow!"
"We have it," Fiona says, extricating herself from the tangle. Scourge considers tripping her as she walks past, decides against it, and settles for hooking his ankle around Hawk's heel as he stands up. The bird goes down with a satisfying squawk right on top of Lightning and the ensuing chaos lets Scourge hop up onto his own feet.
Fiona ignores it.
"All the files relating to the roboticization process are on this USB," she says, holding it out. Finitevus takes it and, after a moment's inspection, slips it into his robes.
"So why'd you want that, Doc?" Scourge asks, adjusting his sunglasses. "Woulda thought that robot stuff wasn't quite your style."
"It is true that roboticization is a perversion of the natural order and representative of that which I seek to destroy," Finitevus concedes. "But I am not opposed to much that will give me the advantage against my nemeses. And I must admit the idea of enslaving your opponent's will to your own has a certain... charm."
Scourge and Fiona exchange a look - of the literally why is he like this and the why do we talk to him again variety - and Scourge shoves his hands in his pockets and steps up. "Uh... yeah, man. Totally. Anyway, if we're done here, can we have the beryl now?"
"Of course. But first, I have one more task for you."
Scourge scoffs disbelievingly. "Are you kidding? The deal was we break into Eggman's lab, steal your stupid information, and hand it over. We've done that. It took like forever and it was a massive pain in the butt the whole time, we are not adding anything else onto that and that's final."
"...I'll double the amount of beryl."
Scourge hesitates.
... which is how they ended up here. Scourge crouches on the windy rooftop, tugging his dumb fancy suit jacket closer and hoping idly that something happens soon. "Can we go in yet?" he asks.
Hawk, who's busy adjusting his own disguise, shakes his head. "You really have no patience at all, do you?"
"Nope!" Scourge tugs on his overly-tight tie and mostly just makes it worse. "How 'bout now?"
"If you were any good at infiltration, Fiona would've let you go in already," Hawk says. He's typing on his communicator, syncing all their devices into something they can actually use. It's not that Hawk's particularly adept at technology, or anything; it's just that all the rest of them are so abysmal at anything electric that tech duty usually falls to him or Fiona. "Unless Plan C falls through, you're not headed in 'till the last minute."
Scourge sighs loudly, letting his feet dangle off the edge of the building. "I could just walk in and grab him. They wouldn't even see me coming. Then we wouldn't have to spend a million years sitting out in the cold."
Hawk doesn't look up. "And then Sonic would pursue, and then we'd have to fight him off while trying to kidnap a geriatric former soldier without killing him. Which, given our previous track record..."
The bird trails off and Scourge grimaces. Yeah. They'd given up on kidnappings for a reason. They wouldn't have even considered this one if not for the offer of Anarchy beryl - which has been in extremely short supply recently, given they can't hop dimensions without instantly snagging Zonic's individual attention. And it's not like Scourge isn't flattered that the self-important dimensional cop will drop everything for a chance at catching him, but he's not planning on seeing the inside of Zone Jail ever again.
Anyway. It's a small blessing that Zonic hasn't come looking for them personally, or sent Sonic after them, but it's one Scourge isn't willing to throw away just for a power-up. Thus the kidnapping mission.
Scourge swings his legs contemplatively and longs for Fiona to hurry up so he can bash some heads.
Right on cue, their communicators ring. "Alright, boys," Fiona's voice comes through a little tinnily. "You ready?"
"Heck yeah," Scourge says immediately.
"Ready to go whenever," Hawk confirms.
"Roger. Meet me where we agreed." The comms unit crackles and goes silent. Scourge hops up and starts stretching quickly, trying to limber up his half-frozen muscles. Hawk sets his communicator down and picks the lock on the trapdoor they'd been sitting next to. Once it's open, they slip down a small flight of stairs and through an empty hallway. At the end, they take a right through another hall and stop outside a janitor's closet.
Scourge raps on the door. "Knock, knock," he says.
There's a moment of silence. Then Lightning opens the door. "Hurry up," he whispers, peering over their shoulders.
Scourge clicks his tongue in disappointment. "Dude, you're supposed to say 'who's there.'"
"Yeah, Lightning," Fiona says from inside. "You're ruining the script."
"I- what?" Lightning sputters. "You people are so immature. Simian, can you tell them to shut up?"
There's a good fifteen seconds of judgemental silence. "...you should've said 'who's there.'"
Lightning rolls his eyes and Scourge pushes past him into the room. Simian nods as he enters and Fly, who's doing something he can't quite make out, cackles in a corner. Scourge spreads his arms wide. "Alright, I'm here now, the party can start!"
"Good to have you," Fiona says. She's sitting on an overturned bucket, one ankle folded over her knee and eyes glued to her phone. "Alright, so Plan A failed."
"Yes!" Scourge cheers, pumping a fist in the air.
Fiona shoots him a glare. "We weren't able to get him away from his bodyguards and the speech is about to start soon. I didn't want to do this in front of a crowd, but we may not have a choice. Right now, we only have to deal with the normal security and Sonic. After the ceremony, they're going to meet up with a bunch of Sonic's friends before going back home to Knothole."
"Wouldn't it be better to wait, then?" Simian asks, folding his arms.
Fiona shakes her head. "No for two reasons. We can handle the normal security easily, especially if we use the crowd for meatshields while Scourge is distracting Sonic. Sonic's friends are, frankly, a much greater threat than the security, and they will not be holding back. And if we wait until they go back to Knothole, we have that... woman to deal with."
Everyone shudders at the mention of Nicole. Their last attempt on Knothole is not a memory anyone wants to relive.
"So if we use the crowd for cover and Scourge's able to distract Sonic for long enough, this is doable," Fiona resumes. "We'll just have to time it right. And we can not let Sonic know our target at all costs. If he realizes we're trying to kidnap his uncle, he won't let the old man out of his sight, and our job will get a lot harder. Got that?"
A quick briefing on everyone's roles later and it's time to go. Scourge starts to follow the guys out the door and is caught short by Fiona's hand on his wrist. "Sweetie, can I talk to you for a second?" she asks and drags him back inside before he can answer.
She turns him loose and Scourge spins around, rubbing his wrist. "Alright, if this is about what I think it's about-"
"Don't worry, I'm not yelling at you. Just..." she trails off to stare at him.
Scourge tries not to fidget and goes for a confident smile, propped up against the wall. "Babe, don't worry about me. This'll be a lark."
"It's... you know." Fiona shrugs and apparently decides to just go for it. "You've been having issues about your dad. I need to know if that'll affect your performance here."
"What?" Scourge is almost kind of offended. If it was anyone but Fi asking, he would be offended. "Babe, my uncle was a total nutjob. Like, worse than my old man. No issues here."
Fiona looks at him a second longer. "Alright," she says at last. "If you say so. I'm counting on you."
She brushes past him on her way out, squeezing his hand on the way, which is nice since she's weird about stuff like that. Scourge follows a minute later.
I require one more thing for my research, Finitevus had said. Charles the Hedgehog. Inventor of the roboticization process. He is receiving an award for his technological advancements in Central City in two days. Bring him to me alive and you will have your full reward.
Scourge scans the crowd for Charles now, leaning on the fancy railing of the fancy indoors balcony overlooking the fancy banquet hall. There's a name for a balcony like this - a mezzasomething - but he can't remember what it is. Maybe Fiona would know.
Scourge tugs at the collar of his unbearably fancy suit jacket and longs for his sunglasses.
He'd told Fiona the truth earlier - his uncle was a wackjob. Paranoid, jittery, simultaneously ravenous for power and terrified of it - no one had liked him, least of all his nephew.
Jules had liked him, probably. Enough to give him a home and a laboratory for his crazy experiments and to turn a blind eye when they started getting darker and more deadly. That had gone on up until Charles had invented a machine that turned moebians to robots, and its first (unwilling) test subject had been Jules.
Yeah. After Ivo managed to save Jules' life, they'd put a stop to that real quick.
They'd told Scourge that Charles had gone far away to someplace he could be happy. He still remembers that scene - Jules crouching down before him with mournful eyes, one arm cold and stiff where the roboticization process had gotten it before Ivo had pulled him out. His flesh hand had been warm and comforting on his shoulder, and Scourge had been so distracted by the touch that he hadn't even cared that his uncle was gone. He'd faked tears just to get Jules to stay with him a little longer.
Scourge shakes his head wildly, dissipating the memories. Anyway, it was painfully obvious in hindsight that Charles had either been jailed or executed for treason. Not that Scourge would have cared either way. Mostly, he's just vaguely curious to see what Charles is like in this world. Still a mad scientist, or something more benevolent?
A mass of whispering erupts at the main entryway of the hall. Scourge straightens up.
A bunch of bodyguards in black enter, followed by a few people who could be family or friends. Sonic's there, obviously, and next to him can only be Uncle Charles.
Scourge doesn't really remember his uncle; he was, after all, a kid when the guy vanished, and he avoided him whenever possible. But the face before him is undeniably like his own. He has the same sloping forehead, the same pointed muzzle. Honestly, he looks exactly like Sonic with a mustache.
Scourge leans forward, intrigued, as the old guy says something that has Sonic pitching forward in laughter. It's weird, seeing him. Not like seeing Jules, or even like seeing the mom. Just... weird.
Not the kind of weird that Fiona's worried about, thank Chaos. No, he'll have no problems handing this schmuck over to the Doc.
Charles and his little squad sit down in the front row while the bodyguards split up to cover the exits. Scourge tracks their positions automatically, mostly focused on the target. Charles claps his nephew on the back and leans over to whisper something in his ear. Scourge looks away with a sneer.
The ceremony starts. A bunch of people Scourge doesn't know talk about a bunch of things he doesn't understand, blah blah blah. Scourge yawns and taps a tattoo on the railing with his claws. Luckily, all the civilians seem to have gone down to the seating area, so he's alone on the balcony. As long as the security doesn't notice him, he should have no problem staying under the radar until it's time to make his move. Until then, he amuses himself trying to find the rest of the Destructix hidden in the crowd.
Down below, the speeches start wrapping up. Charles ruffles his nephew's quills one last time and heads up to the stage. Scourge straightens up as he accepts his award and takes the mic.
"First, I'd like to thank you all for being here today," the hedgehog says. Scourge taps his foot impatiently. "I know it's a bit of a long way for a lot of you - we've got some visitors from Holoska, even! - and it means a lot to me that you'd take the time to make it here today. So thank you."
Ugh, so boring. Can't Fiona hurry up? At this rate, they'll be doing the audience a favor by sparing them all this drivel.
"- of the University of Spagonia for funding my research and going out of his way to help me whenever I needed it. Thank you, old friend."
Scourge taps his communicator and almost jumps when it crackles to life.
"Alright, everyone's in position," Fiona says. "On my mark, Scourge, you're going to distract Sonic. Jump down there, challenge him to a fight, anything. His sole concern needs to be beating you up."
"All he has to do is be himself and Sonic'll be jumping at the chance to tear him a new one," Lightning interjects. "Works on me."
"Oh, shut up," Scourge says. "Fiona, tell him to shut up."
"...well, he has a point."
Lightning's amused huff is audible over the comm. Scourge rolls his eyes. Traitors, all of them.
Fiona's voice goes serious. "But for real. Get him mad and get him out of here. Make him chase you 'till I call you back, and don't give him a second to realize there's more going on. If he comes back here before we're done, it's over. Okay?"
"I got it handled, babe," Scourge says. "Worry about yourself."
"Believe me, I am." The comms go silent a second later. Scourge stands up, shakes the stiffness from his limbs, and hops up to crouch on the railing. It's showtime.
On stage, Charles is still talking. Does the hedgehog not know how to shut up? "And finally, I'd like to thank my family, who loved and supported me every step of the way, up to and including being here with me today as I accept this award. Sonic, my amazing nephew - you've grown so much and, while I wasn't there for all of it-"
Well, that's enough of that. Scourge leaps into the air, curls up, and lands a perfectly executed homing attack on the podium. Splinters, chunks of wood, and a massive dust cloud fly everywhere. Someone in the audience screams, and behind him he can hear Charles stumbling back and coughing furiously.
"Uncle Chuck!" In the front row, Sonic rockets to his feet and dashes forward, only to come skidding to a stop. As the dust dissipates, Scourge grins. He can feel the light glinting off his fangs.
"Long time no see, faker," Scourge spits. He pulls his sunglasses out of the stupid suit jacket's pocket and slides them on with a flourish. "Can't exactly say it's a pleasure seeing you... then again, I always look forward to a chance to kick your butt."
"Wh- Scourge?" the blue idiot sputters. The shock only lasts a matter of seconds before fading, as the flabbergasted expression turns into something more like a smirk. "Well, well. I haven't heard from you since I demolished you and left Zonic to drag your sorry carcass away. Did they let you out on good behavior?"
Good behavior. Hah. As if Sonic knows anything about what goes on in Zone Jail. "Please. I smashed my way out of there the first week. The Zone Jail's in shambles; just ask Zonic! Oh wait - you can't." He laughs.
Sonic's smile slips a notch and the quills on his back bristle. "What happened to Zonic?"
Scourge keeps laughing.
"Alright, pincushion. Maybe you'll tell me when I beat it out of you!" Apparently done talking, Sonic curls up into a spindash. Scourge, still laughing, topples off the wrecked podium and leaves Sonic to smash into the stage where he'd been standing. People are screaming, someone's escorting Charles off the stage, and Scourge is reveling in the chaos.
"Slowing down, blue boy?" he mocks him. "You'll never find out about your stupid friend if you can't even touch me." Zonic's perfectly fine, actually, unless you count the truckload of paperwork Scourge saddled him with after his escape from Zone Jail. Not that Sonic needs to know that, 'cause if anything ticks him off, it's a threat to one of his friends.
And, true to form, Sonic snarls wordlessly and Scourge knows he's got him.
"You're looking kind of slow today - let's see if those legs of yours still work," Scourge calls over his shoulder and takes off. The world blurs around him as he taps into his speed, rockets between panicked partygoers and confused waiters and angry bodyguards. Out of the corner of his eye, he briefly spots Fiona crouching behind a pillar before she's blown away in his wake. Like this, outside sounds, sights, everything drops away, leaving him alone with himself and the wind.
It's nice. Peaceful, even.
And then the only other being who can keep up with him barrels into his side, sending them tumbling over each other right through the big open doors outside. Scourge lands a kick to Sonic's chest, sending him spinning away, and sprints down a sidestreet towards the marketplace. A moment later, the sound of footsteps running at 300 mph picks up behind him.
Scourge grins. The plan's working, then - Sonic's so ticked that he hasn't even stopped to wonder why Scourge isn't stopping to fight, or why he crashed the party in the first place. Now he just has to play this out 'till Fiona's done.
"Been slacking your exercise regimen lately? 'Cause I thought you were faster than this!" Scourge calls out.
"That so?" Sonic returns. The sound is unexpectedly close and Scourge looks back to see Sonic running only a few paces behind him. "I could say the same for you."
Scourge growls and vaults a fruit cart, sending it flying with a back kick. Sonic dodges the cart and dives through the onslaught of flying fruit, coming up without a scratch. Scourge's gained a precious few seconds, but in a contest of speed, those seconds mean everything. He blocks Sonic's path - kicking over trash cans, dodging in front of moving cars, knocking a baby out of its mother's arms with a well placed swipe. Sonic dodges the trash cans, goes over or around the vehicles, and loses a good fifteen seconds saving the baby. By the time they've cleared the marketplace, Scourge is about thirty feet ahead and gaining.
"What's wrong?" Sonic yells. "Scared of a little fight?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Scourge yells back. "Dunno 'bout you, but I'm not wasting my time fighting someone too slow to keep up!" Up ahead, a pile of trash bags is stacked against a sloping wall, reaching up to the edge of the roof. Scourge leaps up in a single bound and sprints along the rooftop. Behind, the trash bags crinkle as Sonic races up, and tiles creak as the hedgehog fights for balance. Scourge snorts and picks up speed.
The rooftop run is fraught with near-misses and almost-falls. This area of town has a mixture of buildings; some are modern and boxy, with flat tops, but there's a number of older structures with pointed tile roofs. Scourge skids down the sloping ridge of one of these, slips off the building, snags a flagpole on the way down and turns his fall into a launch point. He lands upright on the narrow ledge of a skyscraper and darts along the line of windows, flashing a mock salute at some goggle-eyed kid in its bedroom.
Sneakered feet hit the concrete behind him as Sonic pursues, grinning despite his ferocious eyes.
Scourge hooks a fast right as the ledge ends and drops down to the top level of the parking garage nestled against the 'scraper. Mostly he's planning on going back down to street level, but Sonic puts on a burst of speed and tackles him right there.
They roll head over heels across the concrete, colliding with a dusty pickup truck hard enough to dent in the side. Scourge throws himself out of the way and rolls onto his feet just as Sonic picks himself up. The blaring car alarm is the only sound as they stare each other down.
Sonic moves first. He doesn't bother curling up, just lunges fist first at Scourge's face. Scourge ducks the punch and goes in low for Sonic's solar plexus, narrowly dodging a knee to his face. Sonic slams his heel down on Scourge's foot and drives an elbow into his neck. Scourge stumbles back, falling into a roll to avoid Sonic's left hook, and comes up on his feet with room to spare.
There's another moment of staring and circling as they pant heavily and pretend they're not.
And then Sonic steps something that crunches and looks down.
Scourge lunges. Sonic sidesteps him easily and snatches it up - and wait, Chaosdammit that's his communicator-
"Is this a mic?" Sonic asks disbelievingly and then the pieces click.
He stares at Scourge blankly, and Scourge can practically see his train of thought - comms means accomplices, accomplices means there's a plan, a plan means Sonic was intentionally drawn out here away from the ceremony, and if Sonic's out here then -
Then -
Scourge swears and moves to tackle Sonic but the idiot's already gone. Instinctively, his hand goes to his ear - "Fiona, he's coming your way, I-" No, wait, Sonic's got the communicator and it's broken anyway, dammit. The plan's falling apart and it's entirely his fault.
Well. It hasn't fallen apart yet.
Scourge takes off, running full-tilt after Sonic. The irony of the situation isn't lost on him, not that he appreciates it. Sonic's trail is a direct beeline back to the hall. It should be easy to follow, but for some reason Scourge can't catch up those last few feet.
"I thought you wanted to fight, you dingus!" Scourge snaps. "Make up your mind already, sheesh!"
"You tricked me," Sonic growls.
"Uh, yeah? I'm the bad guy. It's kinda what I do."
"What's your actual plan?"
"Thought you were gonna beat me up and find out?"
Sonic snarls and, impossibly, picks up speed. Scourge has to drop the conversation entirely to focus on just keeping up.
They hit the convention hall scarce minutes later. There's clearly a fight going on inside; explosions and the faint sound of screaming accompany the flood of people battering down the doors in their desperation to escape. The Destructix are clearly having fun... and more importantly, haven't escaped yet. What on Moebius are they doing?!
Sonic zips through the crowd, dodging panicking mobians with practiced ease. Scourge doesn't bother; he kicks one middle-aged cat into the heart of the rush and vaults over the resulting pileup without missing a step. "Babe! Hope you're wrapping it up in there!" he yells as they burst into the ceremony hall.
The Destructix are more than holding their own. The security has been almost entirely cleared out; fallen guards litter the area while none of their own are even scratched. Fiona, wielding a G.U.N. issue stun pistol, jerks up in surprise as Sonic skids into the room. "Scourge, you had one job!" she screeches.
"So did you!" Scourge rams into Sonic from behind, sending them both flying into a row of seating. Scourge comes out on top. "What happened to Ch- the target?" he asks, pinning Sonic down with an elbow to his throat.
"Escaped," Fiona says grimly. "We've already informed the Doc... and, uh, we have a new objective now."
Sonic makes a choked-off sound and Scourge leans down harder. Something shifts behind him but he ignores it. "Alright, what is it?"
Fiona hesitates.
And then cold metal claws clamp down around his shoulder and tear him off Sonic, lifting him bodily into the air. The hedgehog wheezes for breath on the ground, but Scourge isn't paying attention. He's not paying attention to anything anymore, because in front of him-
"What the hell are you doing here," Scourge breathes.
Artificial red eyes burn into his own. "Don't touch my son," says Jules, and the anger in his voice causes every limb in Scourge's body to lock up with instinctive fear.
Of course Jules is here, Charles is his brother, why wouldn't he attend the ceremony - hadn't the blasted hedgehog said as much during his speech? Scourge should've realized it then. This was a bad idea, they need to get out of here, why did Scourge even come here in the first place-
Something in Jules' mechanical expression thaws.
The clawhold on his shoulder eases as he's lowered to his feet, but Scourge's brain is still spinning in circles. He's gone completely unresponsive, some part of him knows, but he can't think.
"Get away from him!" Fiona yells and plants a high kick right in the center of Jules' chest. The robian goes flying, pursued by Simian, and Hawk swoops down behind them to tackle Sonic away. "Babe," Fiona says, kneeling down beside Scourge, feeling frantically at his shoulder. "Did he get you?"
The world shifts a little bit back into place. "No," Scourge mutters. "Fiona, I don't-"
"Save it." Fiona's eyes are full of worry as she grabs his wrist and hauls him to his feet. "I think you need to sit this one out, sweetie."
"What? No." Scourge grips her hand like a lifeline. "I can fight. I can still fight."
"Scourge... the new target is Jules."
Something in his chest catches. Scourge stares at her, and around them, the noise of the battle seems to fade. "...what? Why?"
Fiona grimaces. "We lost the inventor of roboticization. Next best thing is its last survivor."
"No. We're not doing that." Scourge has no idea what he's doing, only that they cannot hand his- hand Jules over to Finitevus. He catches both her hands in his own and squeezes them tight. "Call off the mission, we're going home."
Fiona stares at him. "What? Scourge, you can't be serious! After all the work we've put into this? And what about the beryl?"
"We already got the beryl from the first mission. We'll be careful and save it until we can restock. We've gotten this far without any beryl at all, we don't need it that badly!" Scourge hesitates. "...Fiona, please."
It's the last word that breaks her. She knows how bad he hates saying it, knows how much this means to him that he's saying it now. Her shoulders slump in defeat. "...fine. But you get to explain this to the Doc - and please, let's try to avoid burning that bridge again."
Scourge squeezes her hand one last time before letting go. "Thanks, Fi. And don't worry about the Doc; I'll take care of him."
"That's what I'm worried about," Fiona grumbles, but she's smiling. "Alright, team," she calls out, pulling out her warp ring. "Mission's off. We're going home."
"Wait, what?" Hawk asks and nearly gets clobbered by Sonic for his trouble. "Why?"
"Ask questions when we get home," Fiona says and throws the ring. As the portal whooshes open, Scourge turns to survey the troops. Lightning and Simian are slowly retreating back to the portal, fighting Jules every step of the way, while Hawk and Fly are trying without much success to fend off Sonic long enough to run.
Scourge spindashes into Sonic, knocking him off-balance. "Get to the portal, idiots!" To Sonic, he adds, "Sorry, but it looks like we're cutting this date short." If Chaos has even a drop of mercy in its unforgiving soul, Sonic will have been too thoroughly distracted by the fight to have overheard his exchange with Fiona.
And it looks like for once, his prayers are answered, because Sonic's grin, strained with exhaustion though it is, hints at nothing off. "I'm not letting you get away this time," he says and launches into another spindash. "I still have some questions for you to answer!"
"Then they'll have to wait for next time." Scourge ducks the attack and slams his heel into Sonic as he passes, boosting his momentum to slam into the opposite wall. "Alright, time to go!" he yells, scrambling for the portal. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the rest of the Destructix doing the same.
Fiona's already waiting at the portal, with one leg halfway through, and-
"-aaaaaAAAUGH, WHAT THE HELL," she screams and falls back, pinwheeling wildly.
"Fiona!" Scourge yells and then the world blurs briefly and he's at her side, hauling her to her feet. "Fi, what's-" and then he screams too, because Finitevus is literally right there, climbing through the ring like a monster in a horror movie.
The battle cuts off. A few feet away, a newly recovered Sonic skids to a stop, staring incredulously. The Destructix are sort of ranged out behind him, looking to Scourge and Fiona for the next move. And who knows where Jules is.
"Dude," Scourge says emphatically, putting a hand to his chest. "Don't do that."
"What are you doing," Finitevus hisses.
Scourge makes a show of looking around. "Uh, escaping? I mean, what does it look like?"
"I should have known better than expect you lot to pull through," Finitevus mutters, and hey, that's actually kind of offensive.
"Hey! Screw you, man!" Scourge yells, shaking his fist. "We're leaving 'cause we want to, not 'cause we're losing!" Fiona slaps a palm to her face.
"Oh? And what possible reason could you have to do that?" Finitevus asks, but he doesn't seem very interested in an answer, because his hands flare with dark energy a second later, and Scourge knows what that means.
"Scatter!" he yells and hits the ground with Fiona as a bolt of Chaos energy goes right over their heads. Fiona rolls out from under him as he leaps to his feet.
Sonic seems to have switched targets. Currently, he's hammering away at Finitevus' defenses, running his mouth the whole time. The ring portal is still open behind Finitevus, but they need to get the crazy echidna out of the way first.
Fiona, as usual, is two steps ahead. "You're going to need to team up with Sonic."
"What, seriously? Can't we just let Sonic take care of the Doc and ditch?"
She gives him a flat look. "I don't know how he did it, but Finitevus must have hijacked the ring's signal and keyed it to his lair. I need time to reset it before we can leave. Just, you know-" she waves a hand vaguely. "Move the fight away. Whale on Finitevus. Keep them both off my back long enough for me to work."
"Ugh. Fine." Scourge turns around on his heel. "Hey, loser!" he calls out, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Five minute truce?"
Sonic uncurls in midair long enough to yell, "Make it two!"
Fiona had better work fast, because this isn't going to take long. "Destructix, watch Fiona's back," he orders and throws himself into the fight.
Finitevus was clearly anticipating something like this, because he moves smoothly into defending against the both of them without hesitation. And it's - frustrating. Whenever Scourge throws a punch, a ring portal swirls into being in just the right place to take his hit. If he tries a kick, the same thing. And Chaos forbid he spindashes, or he'll wind up on the opposite side of the room (or, more accurately, slamming into Sonic).
Between the ring portals and the constant misdirection, the two minute mark passes and they haven't landed a single hit. The guy isn't on their level, exactly, but he's unpredictable with enough tricks that he could probably take either of them on their own. Against both of them, he doesn't stand a chance - or he wouldn't if Sonic would get out of his way.
"Dude, we're supposed to be working together!" Sonic snaps.
Scourge flicks his ear (it's been ringing since Finitevus dropped a portal that sent a spindashing Sonic on a collision course with Scourge's face) and ducks beneath a Chaos-infused punch. "Not my fault you can't keep up."
He sidesteps a second punch and follows up with a roundhouse kick that comes inches from the Doc's face before another ring portal intercepts. Dammit.
Sonic, of course, chooses that moment to go for a homing attack, which takes him right into the portal as Finitevus dodges. From somewhere on the other side of the room, the moron makes a faint oomph sound as the portal spits him out.
Scourge rolls his eyes and sweeps his legs under Finitevus' ankles, forcing the echidna to stumble back. "You make a remarkably disloyal minion," Finitevus says and drops into a portal.
On a hunch, Scourge spins around and slams a haymaker into Finitevus' face when the echidna reappears behind him. "Calling me a minion was your first mistake, Doc," Scourge says. "I'm the king, baby."
Finitevus snarls and vanishes again. "I must wonder at the cause of this particular instance," his voice says. Scourge whirls around, fists up before him, but the scientist is nowhere to be seen. "You were, after all, so eager to serve at first. What changed your mind?"
"You really gotta learn the difference between serving and making a deal, bud," Scourge says. "This why your friends always leave you?"
Finitevus ignores him. "Nothing changed between then and now. Nothing... except the target." Something flickers in the corner of Scourge's eye and he starts to turn, but he's met with a blow to the jaw followed by one to the shin. Scourge crumples to his knee with a cry of pain and looks up to see Finitevus' Chaos-powered boot swing for his face-
And then someone's hand snags his wrist and they're moving.
The world blurs just a little as Sonic hauls him across the room at lightning speed to drag him behind an overturned table. Scourge clutches the lapels of his jacket and tries to force his racing heartbeat to settle. For a second, they just breathe.
"Okay, we need to coordinate," Sonic says belatedly.
"Don't tell me what to do," Scourge says, mostly on reflex.
Sonic rolls his eyes. "If you draw his fire, I'll go behind to take him offguard. Think you can do that?"
"What? No. You draw his fire and I'll sneak up behind him."
"Yeah, maybe I'd do that if I had any faith at all in your stealth. You aren't exactly subtle, bud."
Scourge thinks back to every mission that involved some level of sabotage/stealth/general sneakery and their inevitably disastrous ends and winces. Unfortunately, he has a point. "Fine, whatever. Don't mess this up, dweeb." A blast of chaos energy rocks the floor beneath their feet - time's up. Finitevus is here.
Scourge breaks for the left.
"Hey old man, having trouble keeping up?" He leaps into the air as Finitevus goes for a sweeping kick and curls into a spindash, aimed at the scientist's head. Predictably, he sails right into a ring portal and falls out several feet away. In midair, he uncurls and kicks off the ground to rebound towards Finietvus.
The Doc raises his hands coated in Chaos energy and actually catches the spindash. For a moment, they war against each other - dark energy to living buzzsaw - before Finitevus shoves back and they break apart.
Scourge hits the ground in a crouch and lunges again. This time, he feints an uppercut followed up with a knee strike to the gut. The echidna stumbles back, but recovers almost instantly. As Scourge goes in for another strike, Finitevus snags his collar and yanks him off-balance, slamming him into the dirt. Scourge tries to wriggle out of his grip, but the Doc pins him to the ground with a hand on his throat and a knee on his chest.
"I can't say I haven't been waiting for this," the mad scientist breathes, and raises a handful of swirling black energy.
Scourge scrabbles helplessly at his wrist and wonders, briefly, if this is it.
And then a blue ball of spikes rockets out of nowhere, smacking into the back of Finitevus' head so hard the floor creaks when he faceplants. Scourge kicks him off and rolls back onto his feet, smacking away Sonic's outstretched hand. The echidna staggers upright, but his shield is broken and Sonic and Scourge poised on either side of him. The echidna eyes them warily, rings at the ready, and for a second no one moves.
"Got it!" Fiona's voice breaks the spell.
Sonic's concentration slips. Scourge can see it; the way his posture straightens slightly, the way he half-turns to face her. Finitevus sees it too.
And then Finitevus' hands are up, radiating dark energy, and Scourge drops into a defensive stance 'cause the blue buffoon can get himself killed if he wants but Scourge is going down fighting- but Finitevus isn't looking at either of them.
He's looking behind them.
At Jules.
Jules, who has no Chaos abilities, can't break the sound barrier on a whim, can't dodge bullets point-blank.
Jules, who both is his father and isn't, who's a machine but still alive, who stood across from Scourge in a dark room and didn't flinch though Scourge held his life in his hands, who loves his wife and child and wouldn't hesitate to die for either of them.
Jules, who would walk a random stranger through a panic attack on the street but can't dodge a Chaos spear if it's pointed at his chest.
Time slows down to a crawl. Scourge doesn't think.
He just moves.
The last thing he sees, as pain erupts from his chest like lightning and the world is drowned out by the black of corrupted Chaos energy, is the bright red of Jules' horrified eyes.
There's a beeping noise somewhere near his ear. Fiona's phone, probably (even though it sounds nothing like her alarm). Scourge reaches up to shut it off and is stopped halfway by the clink of cold metal.
...huh?
He opens his eyes to dim electric light and a pounding headache. There's a hard surface beneath his back, thin sheets around him, and a metallic chill around his wrists, ankles, and throat.
Through the haze, something about the last one feels familiar.
Beside him, something rustles, and a soft voice says, "Awake, then?"
"Dad?" Scourge mumbles foggily. For a moment he's eight again, in the hospital after a near-drowning, and his dad took a whole day off from work to rush to his bedside and hold his hand. It was the first time he'd seen him in a week.
Then reality catches up and reminds him that no, his dad is dead and whatever's going on here is something to worry about. The fog is gone in an instant.
Scourge's eyes snap open and he throws himself as much he can to the far side of the bed from the figure standing there now. Jules is there - a little scratched and dinged up but very much alive.
There's a flicker of something like relief inside him before Scourge stuffs it down and crushes it very firmly. Chaos, Fiona was right. He let his stupid hangups about this robian get out of hand, and now look what's happened - the mission went south, Scourge is chained to a hospital bed, the rest of the Destructix are nowhere to be seen, and worst of all, he made a heroic sacrifice like he's Sonic or something.
Chaos, Scourge is never living this one down.
"It's good to see you're moving around already," Da- Jules says in that same too-soft tone. "Some of the doctors were convinced you wouldn't live another day. I suppose any son of mine, even from another dimension, is just too durned stubborn to go out like that..."
"Don't," Scourge rasps.
Jules blinks at him. "Pardon?"
"That." Scourge lets go of the bed's railing just long enough to gesture irritably. "I'm not your son. Don't call me that."
Instead of rearing back in offense or dropping the nice act altogether, Jules tilts his head slightly, as though in recognition. "Ah," he says after a moment. "So that was you."
Scourge freezes and tries to play it off. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"That day in front of Chuck's diner," Jules says. "That was you. I wasn't sure, since you were still supposed to be in Zone Jail then."
"Chuck's diner? What?" Scourge forces a laugh. It comes out entirely fake and just a little unhinged.
"You had a panic attack," Jules continues, unperturbed. "I walked you through it. Honestly, at the time, I thought it was because of me."
It was because of you, Scourge wants to say. Instead, he asks, "Whaddya mean?"
Jules gestures vaguely to himself. "I'm a robian," he says. "Robotnik put Knothole through a lot when the roboticizor was still functioning. Plenty of people have had... adverse reactions to my body in the past. It's unfortunate but can't really be helped, except through time and patience."
...for some reason, that stings. Scourge pushes the thought away and snorts. "Sucks to be you. Don't see what that has to do with me."
"You did ask," Jules reminds him, which is fair. He supposes. They lapse into silence.
Scourge slumps against the bed, a little more relaxed with no attack evidently imminent, and holds up a hand to the light. The dangling cuff glints coldly. He can't reach the collar on his neck, but he suspects it shines the same way - like the inhibitors back at Zone Jail. "You guys already talked to Zonic, then?" he guesses.
He's not really expecting an answer, but Jules gives one anyway. "We did. He gave us that inhibitor collar you're wearing right now." Nailed it. "He wanted to take you back with him to Zone Jail right away, but with the condition you were in, we didn't want to risk moving you until you were stable."
Scourge flexes his fingers, watching the muscles move. He'd suspected already, given how drained he feels right now, but knowing that he's wearing the collar is... disheartening. That level of powerlessness is something he'd never wanted to feel again. "I'm stable now. So when will you be moving me?"
Jules hesitates. "Now that you're awake, we'll probably call Zonic to pick you up sometime tomorrow. It's nighttime right now."
"What? How long was I out?"
"Two days."
Two days, and he's still here? Either the Destructix got nabbed too (possible), are planning a rescue mission (unlikely), or ditched (most likely). That... also stings. A lot. He'd liked Fiona, and he was getting used to the rest of the idiots, too.
"What about my team?" he asks.
"Vanished. They tried to retrieve you but retreated when reinforcements arrived."
It doesn't mean much - he is, after all, their strongest fighter and tactically it makes sense to avoid losing him if possible - but it makes Scourge feel better to know they'd at least tried. He lets his hand fall back to the bed with a metallic jingle.
"I still don't understand," Jules says, and Chaos, why won't he shut up? Is this something inherent to Sonic's family? "Why did you save me?"
Scourge inspects the patterns of cracks on the ceiling. That one looks like Sleuth Dog's face. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he mumbles.
"You took an attack meant for me. That much concentrated Chaos energy would've killed me - it's likely the only reason you survived is because you're a very adept controller."
"Sounds like you already have an answer to me."
There's a brief pause. Scourge continues avoiding eye contact. "I do have an idea," Jules says softly. "But I'd like to hear a confirmation from your own mouth."
Scourge doesn't say anything.
What's he supposed to say - that every time he sees Jules some stupid, long-dead part of him longs for his approval? That Jules is dredging up memories better left buried? That when he saw his dad - any version of him - in danger, that his first instinct was to protect him, despite everything he'd done?
Ha. Yeah, right.
"Think what you want, old man." Scourge bares his teeth. "It doesn't mean anything. It was an accident."
Jules doesn't waver. "I think we both know that's not true."
Can't this guy take no for an answer? Scourge huffs and rolls over as much as he can so his back is toward Jules. "Leave," he says. It's what you're best at, after all.
"Sonic heard that you attacked the ceremony to kidnap Chuck."
Scourge has a sudden, sinking feeling he knows where this is going. "I don't care. Go away."
Jules marches on, implacable. "He said that halfway through, after Chuck escaped, Finitevus told you to switch targets. That the new target was me."
"Shut up!"
"And that when you heard I was in danger, you-"
"So I called it off, alright?" Scourge bolts upright. The handcuffs snap back against his wrists painfully and his ankles scream as the cuffs cut into his skin, but he's too furious and aching and raw to care. "Yeah, I called off the mission. Yeah, I took that stupid attack. It doesn't change anything! I'm still your enemy, I'm still going to kill Sonic, I'm still going to tear apart your world and everything you love! So what if I- if I..."
"Risked all that to save one broken-down, tactically unimportant robian?" Jules finishes quietly.
"Yes! No!" Scourge tries to bury his face in his hands and can't even do that, damn this tiny range of motion. "Will you leave me alone?" Metal glints in the corner of his eye as Jules reaches out a hand. Scourge growls deep in his throat until the hand is slowly drawn back.
Mercifully, the robian is silent while Scourge desperately tries to keep himself from falling apart. Chaos, what is wrong with him?
"What do you want from me," he mutters.
This time, it's Jules who looks away. "There's not much time before I have to call Zonic in," he says. "Before he left the first time, there was talk of... life in solitary confinement. Or execution."
Breathe. It's fine. Scourge has been in worse scrapes before. "I can see where the similarities between you and my dad come in," he says softly. Venomously. "He never hesitated to lock me away, either." Sure, it hadn't exactly been tossing him in a prison cell and throwing away the key, but the perpetual grounding to an empty mansion, the total abandonment of him to an endless stream of nannies... and then, of course, that fiasco right before he died.
Dads. So eager to foist their screwups on other people, wash their hands and move on.
"Doesn't any of this setup seem odd to you?" Jules asks abruptly.
Scourge blinks, thrown. "What? You hit your head somewhere, old man?"
"Think about it. You're a top-priority prisoner. You've broken out of Zone Jail. And yet your only security here is an inhibitor collar, some handcuffs, and a broken-down old robian."
...there's a trap here somewhere, Scourge knows it. "Yesss?" He eyes Jules warily. Is this some kinda reverse-psychology thing?
Jules laughs wearily. "You're not the only one with emotional ties he can't quite cut, son."
"Don't call me that," Scourge says reflexively before the weight of Jules' words catch up to him. "Wait, what? Are you saying-" and then he cuts off, because that's so ridiculous it shouldn't be said out loud.
"Yes," Jules confirms. "I volunteered for guard duty because I had to ask, first. To make sure for myself that something of my son is in there."
"I am not your son," Scourge snaps. Distantly, some part of him recognizes that he's being actively detrimental - that if he plays his cards right he could actually walk out of this free - but he's past that kind of rational behavior now. "You're chasing ghosts, old man! Stop looking for stuff that isn't gonna happen!"
"You're not my son," Jules agrees. "You're not my Sonic. But you're a Sonic, and somewhere... that potential for great good is inside you."
And isn't that exactly what Sonic had said on their last birthday - the day he'd finally ditched that lame Anti-Sonic moniker, had finally stepped out of Sonic's shadow into his own light - that all it'd take is a bit of decency, and Scourge would be just like him? The echo stills him.
"You're making a mistake," he says hoarsely. He's not going back to Zone Jail, he'll die before he goes back to that hellhole, but he needs Jules to understand this. "I'm not Sonic. I'm no hero. If you let me go, I'm just gonna go right back to doing what I did before. People will die because of you."
"No, they won't," Jules says, half-smiling. "I've done my research. The Destructix don't kill. You wreak havoc and destroy things, but... no bodies. I understand it's to avoid trouble with G.U.N.," he adds, holding up a hand to forestall Scourge's protests, "But you don't have a body count. That's important."
Shows what he knows - but Scourge can't bring himself to point out the obvious. "I still ruin lives," Scourge says instead. "There's other ways to kill people without holding a gun to their heads."
"I know. And that's where I'm being selfish." The half-smile turns into a full smile, but it's so sad and wracked with exhaustion and bitterness that Scourge has to look away. "I... I lost my son once. I can't help it... I can't watch a son of mine - from any universe - be destroyed while I can do anything to stop it. I'm not a good person, Scourge. I've lost too much to try. So I'm going to be selfish, just this once, and hope you don't make me regret it."
Scourge is silent. He's silent when Jules stands up and unlocks the cuffs, one by one. He's silent when Jules reaches up to his throat to unlock the inhibitor, and he's silent when it falls away and power rushes freely beneath his skin once more.
His boots are on the floor, suit jacket draped over a chair. He pulls on the shoes and digs through the pockets until he finds his sunglasses, but leaves the jacket behind.
"Scourge," Jules says quietly, as Scourge pushes the window open. He hesitates over the window sill, half inside and half out.
If Jules asks him to stay, he doesn't know what he'll do.
But he doesn't. In the end, Jules looks down and whispers, "If you ever need somewhere to rest, my home is always open. Till then... be safe, son."
The words catch in Scourge's throat. He nods, wordlessly, and drops out of the window to land lightly on his feet on the ground below. For a moment, he dallies beneath the window, waiting for-
For...
He doesn't know. Scourge shivers in the cool night air and starts running.
...thanks, Dad.
He finds the base a few hours later, jogging to the next town over and hopping a train the rest of the way. When he walks in, the base goes dead silent.
Fiona leaps up from the circle of Destructix - planning a rescue mission, he later finds out - and tackles him, hugging and pounding him in equal measure. She cries a little too, which he only discovers when she points out he's tearing up himself. The Destructix surround them, yelling over each other and clapping him on the back until Simian picks them all up in a group hug. It's at that point that Scourge declares he's done with all this mushy stuff and if they don't knock it off he won't bother coming back next time. Fiona announces that if there is a next time he won't have to worry about coming back because she'll kill him first, and Simian gives them all one last squeeze before turning them loose.
Scourge retrieves his leather jacket with a sense of great relief and they all end up watching another trashy samurai movie, which Lightning ruins again. Fiona holds him tight the whole time and doesn't chew him out like he deserves, for which Scourge is unendingly grateful.
He doesn't go back to the house. He pulls jobs with the Destructix, they beat up on Sonic and his lackeys, they have one run-in which Finitevus that they come off much worse for. And they watch crappy movies, eat ridiculous amounts of junk food, and get personally banned from every arcade and amusement park across the continent. He's... not gonna lie, it's actually pretty fun.
But in the back of his head, the house is always there. The robian bustling around the empty kitchen in a pink apron. The scent of pancakes frying. Till then... be safe, son.
It takes a long time - months of denial, of wondering and longing and furious self-restraint - but he caves eventually.
He shows up on a morning he knows Sonic and his mom won't be there. He doesn't knock on the door, or ring the bell. Mostly, he just hovers outside, unable to work up his nerve to do anything.
He's about to leave when the door swings open. Jules stands there, looking exactly the same as he did that night by the hospital bed, with eyes too soft for his wayward not-son. Scourge, half-frozen on the sidewalk, searches for something to say and comes up empty. They stare at each other silently.
Scourge shoves his hands in his pockets and forces back the lump in his throat. "I was in the area, so I dropped by," he mutters. "Don't think this means anything."
Jules looks at him for a long moment and Scourge forgets to breathe. Slowly, softly, his dad smiles. "Welcome home, son."
#sth#sonic#sonic the hedgehog#scourge the hedgehog#fiona fox#jules the hedgehog#destructix#fanfiction#sonic fanfiction#sonic fanfic#i cant look at it anymore take it
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Revisiting Chapters: Cersei X, AFFC
This post is also available on my wordpress. Masterposts for chapter recaps, including which chapters are in the queue, are on the sidebar.
After a lengthy show-induced hiatus, chapter recaps are back! Let’s see if I can remember how to do this.
The story so far…
After a book of scheming against Margaery, Cersei is finally ready to actually snap this trap closed. On her own foot too, as it turns out.
The Shot
Cersei starts the chapter presiding over what she quite rightly thinks of as a mummer’s farce. Septa Moelle, representative of the High Sparrow, has been summoned to explain the charges against Margaery and her ladies. Charges which we know perfectly well that Cersei arranged for. The dialogue certainly fits the melodrama. I can only imagine that it was all Cersei could do to deliver her lines:
“Innocence? Why, you only need to look upon their sweet young faces to see how innocent they are.”
Cersei put a hand to her breast. “Tell me who is spreading such calumnies about my good-daughter! I do not believe a word of this. My sweet son loves Lady Margaery with all his heart, she could never have been so cruel as to play him false.”
Note that Cersei doesn’t call her Queen Margaery even now. Given that Cersei thinks it’s just hilarious that Margaery suffered an unwanted, unnecessary, penetrative examination of her genitalia (i.e. what we know now as medical rape), I’m honestly not thinking that Cersei’s delivery of these lines was terribly convincing. I’m certainly not convinced that the people who left the room while the charges were read out were all leaving because they were anticipating Tyrell disgrace. That looks to me like they were clearing the blast zone.
Cersei then insists on the “independent” examination of Margaery by Grand Maester Pycelle, who then testifies that Margaery required him to make moon tea for her, more than once. This is a bit of a mystery here, which should be read with Cersei IX. I’ll save analysis of Pycelle’s words for that chapter, but suffice it to say, I think that Pycelle is being honest here, and that he has indeed provided Margaery with moon tea. As readers have already seen with Cersei’s orchestration of Tyrion’s trial, Cersei knows how to include truths in public testimony to make central lies easier to believe.
With this, Cersei closes the court. She sticks around just long enough to hear a lot of hubbub, and then shuts everything down, effectively leaving Margaery’s disgrace uncontested and the last public word on the matter. So she’s already doing great at covering her tracks, here.
For just a few seconds, Cersei thinks she’s done it. Her life’s motivations fulfilled.
Maggy the Frog should be in motley too, for all she knew about the morrow. Cersei prayed the old fraud was screaming down in hell. The younger queen whose coming she’d foretold was finished, and if that prophecy could fail, so could the rest. No golden shrouds, no valonqar, I am free of your croaking malice at last.
And then the consequences start to kick in.
Unintended Consequences
The first of the warning signs should be the reaction of Cersei’s small council. Harys Swyft is “dazed”. As he tells Cersei,
“When word of this reaches Lord Tyrell, his fury will know no bounds. There will be blood in the streets…”
Cersei dismisses this potential threat out of hand. Specifically, she cites the fact that Mace Tyrell was unwilling to launch a frontal assault on Storm’s End during Robert’s Rebellion as evidence of his cowardice. Which is…wow! Aside from the fact that it’s a bit of a different situation given that the Faith has arrested Mace’s own daughter, something that was decidedly not the case during the Rebellion, the general attitude that sieges are for wimps is pretty telling.
Orton Merryweather seems anxious. He points out how much the smallfolk love Margaery and raises the possibility of riots from their quarter. Aurane Waters is even worse – he immediately suggests that he launch the dromonds. Cersei thinks that he intends to stop Mace Tyrell crossing in force. We see later that Waters was thinking along different lines. He too is clearing the blast zone.
Ultimately, Cersei proceeds with the next step in her cunning plan after telling her small council that she intetnds to go to the Sept of Baelor herself to speak to the High Sparrow and Margaery alike, to plead Margaery’s case (i.e. subtly/“subtly” push for Margaery to be tried by the Faith), she goes to Tommen and has him sign and seal blank arrest warrants for the men accused of having sex with Margaery and/or her cousins. By the time Tommen’s signed them and Cersei’s filled in the names, Ser Osfryd comes to Cersei with bad news – there’s a crowd gathering outside the Sept of Baelor demanding Margaery’s release.
I had not considered how the smallfolk might react to this. Margaery has been their little pet.
Oopsie, I guess. What other word do we have for Cersei inadvertently overlooking the opinions of 99% of the Westerosi population? Cersei proceeds rounding up the men anyway, then proceeding to the Sept of Baelor as planned. En route, she fills Taena and the readers in on the next step. If Margaery is tried, she must be defended by a member of the Kingsguard. Most of them are unavailable or wounded. Basically, Margaery’s options are down to Meryn Trant or Boros Blount, and Cersei has no intention of allowing even Trant to fight on Margaery’s behalf.
When Cersei actually arrives at the Sept, we’ve got some signs that perhaps aren’t as good as Cersei might think. True, there’s no proto-mob in the square, but they’ve been replaced with “a line of novice septons with quarterstaffs in their hands.” Unlike Cersei, I’m a bit dubious about organised and armed being the improvement you want to see in a hostile faction. Even Cersei realises that the High Sparrow’s considering the power balance between them slightly shifted when the High Sparrow makes her wait for him to finish praying before starting their first conversation.
Cersei does at least get permission to talk to Margaery. Read, permission to gloat over Margaery. In miniature, this starts off well enough (for Cersei).
Cersei found Margaery barefoot and shivering, clad in the roughspun shift of a novice sister. Her locks were all a tangle, and her feet were filthy.
But what the reader will soon notice is that despite Cersei’s pretensions, the rest of the world isn’t indulging her sense of superiority. One of the best indications here is this little note on the blocking:
There were no chairs, so Cersei sat beside the little queen on her pallet.
The Sparrows’ choices about furnishings do not allow Cersei to sit over Margaery. And as we’ll soon see, the Sparrows think it’s every bit as acceptable to arrest Cersei as to arrest Margaery. Margaery tells Cersei how the Sparrows have treated her – they took her clothes, they’ve forbidden her visitors, they wake her every hour to demand confession. Cersei’s reaction upon Margaery telling her she’d confessed to wanting to scratch a septa’s eyes out?
A shame you did not do it, Cersei thought. Blinding some poor old septa would certainly persuade the High Sparrow of your guilt.
Margaery’s love for her cousins is apparent as she vents to Cersei (Cersei!) about what’s happened. Her first thought is that her cousins have been arrested to bear witness against Margaery herself. Then Cersei tells her that her cousins have in fact been accused themselves. Margaery’s reaction – paling, telling Cersei that the accusations are obscene – help show even more that Cersei’s own plans are just too much to be plausible. Not everyone thinks like Cersei does. Thankfully.
Cersei delivers the news that there’s going to be a trial and watches Margaery’s genuinely fearful reaction. She wants Loras to defend her, but knowing he’s injured, she then says she wants Garlan as her champion. Here’s a point where it seems House Tyrell is similar to the Lannisters. Margaery’s reaction to being informed that Loras has six brothers (of the Kingsguard) is to respond that Loras has two brothers. Though I’m confident there’s more real and healthy love amongst the Tyrells than the Lannisters, I can’t help but notice that Margaery’s willing to discard the institutional traditions of the Kingsguard (which are there for reasons) when Tyrell interests are at stake. It also shows the lack of trust she has in the Kingsguard in the first place. How’d that come to be, again?
Cersei says no, Margaery will have to be defended by a member of the Kingsguard. But here’s where the conversation gets away from Cersei.
Margaery did not answer at once, but her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion.
As soon as Margaery starts speaking again, she reveals that she’s put together Cersei’s entire plan in the space of a minute or two, from that one bit of extra information about the Kingsguard. Then she delivers a memorable verbal smackdown that shows she’s had Cersei’s number the whole time.
Seven hells. Cersei donned a look of hurt. “You wrong me, daughter. All I want -“
“- is your son, all for yourself. He will never have a wife that you don’t hate. And I am not your daughter, thank the gods. Leave me.”
“You are being foolish. I am only here to help you.”
“To help me to my grave. I asked for you to leave. Will you make me call my gaolers and have you dragged away, you vile, scheming, evil bitch?”
While Margaery might not have seen the specifics of the plan coming, she’s definitely nailed Cersei’s motivations for it. Cersei’s got no comeback for that little exchange, to the point where even her internal narration says that she has to gather up her dignity before she leaves. She advises Margaery to pray to the Crone for wisdom and the Mother for mercy, because Margaery may be in need of both.
And on what’s about to be a very ironic note, Cersei departs. Her day is about to go downhill.
The Midden and the Windmill
Literally downhill, as it happens. Cersei doesn’t immediately catch on. She’s escorted by four septas (hey, wasn’t Margaery in the custody of septas?) down past the main hall and into an underground audience chamber (hey, isn’t this suspiciously dungeon-like?).
The High Sparrow starts off by referring to Margaery (correctly) as “the queen.”
She resisted the urge to say, I am the queen.
The principle still applies. If she has to say it, or think it, Cersei might need to consider the extent of her authority.
The High Sparrow continues on, stating his belief that Margaery is guilty, guilty, guilty. He reveals some distinctly anti-choice views in the process. Cersei cries some more crocodile tears and hands over responsibility for the trial to the Faith. The composition of the court is interesting, as the High Sparrow reveals his intention to have three female judges on the panel (maiden, mother and crone). It’s a sound political move from him, given his power base amongst the smallfolk, looking for a broader cross-section of society to judge (never fear, there won’t be any women on the panel who don’t hew to the High Sparrow’s particular take on theology, we’re not going thatbroad). She confirms that Margaery will have to be defended by a member of the Kingsguard. The High Sparrow agrees.
Okay, who else thinks this was too easy? Not Cersei!
With agreement on the trial reached, Cersei says she’ll be taking Ser Osney back to her own custody now.
“No,” said the High Septon.
Another really good moment there. One line. Five words. It looks so un-dramatic, but that flat, firm little no kicks off the more precipitous part of Cersei’s decline. As Cersei says, it’s like a splash of cold water.
The High Sparrow then takes Cersei to where Osney Kettleblack is being held. He’s been tortured. The High Sparrow describes this as seeking after the truth most earnestly. Cersei protests that Osney told the High Sparrow the truth, but unfortunately for Cersei…
“I have heard many men confess, Your Grace, but seldom have I heard a man so pleased to be so guilty.”
…the High Sparrow isn’t stupid. Misogynist and torturer, sure! But not stupid. Cersei did not consider this, either. She did not consider that Osney might be a shite liar. She did not consider that the High Sparrow might find this all a bit fishy. Much less that he’d act on any suspicions. That much is clear when Cersei thinks, he is just a priest, he cannot do this.
In short, Cersei did not expect that her social inferior had a working brain and a working spine.
“Ser Osney,” said the High Sparrow, in a firm, clear voice, “did you have carnal knowledge of the queen?”
“Aye.” The chains rattled softly as Osney twisted in his shackles. “That one there. She’s the queen I fucked, the one sent me to kill the old High Septon.”
The jig is up. That much is clear from the High Sparrow’s staging of this event. He’s not shocked by this confession. He had Cersei brought down here to feel her out. Cersei tries to run, and oh would you look at that, the four older septas who escorted her down to this dungeon are ready to block her way. She manages to get past them, but there even more septas waiting, and they arrest her. Cersei’s denial of her situation is strong, as we see through this passage. First:
The Kettleblacks, I need the Kettleblacks, I will send in Osfryd with the gold cloaks and Osmund with the Kingsguard, Osney will deny it all once they cut him free, and I’ll rid myelf of this High Septon just as I did the other.
Second:
“I am the queen,” she shouted.
Third:
“You cannot do this,” the queen kept screaming at them. “I am a Lannister, unhand me, my brother will kill you, Jaime will slice you open from throat to cunt, unhand me! I am the queen!”
But by then she’s in custody and going through exactly the same treatment Margaery is. Her clothes are stripped from her, the Sparrows are controlling visitors to her, and they’re waking her up every hour to try and procure a confession. Cersei does not take the advice she gave to Margaery. She screams until her throat is raw. She tore the shift she’d been given to replace her clothes into shreds. She smashes the meagre furniture left to her (an ewer of water and her chamberpot). Hell, Cersei even dealt with her arrest by physically assaulting the septas, which Cersei was only a few hours ago thinking would definitely convince the High Sparrow that Margaery was guilty. Her entire attitude is, shall we say, counterproductive.
What can be happening? Cersei wondered, as the thin slice of sky outside her window began to darken once again. Why has no one come to pry me out of here?
[…]
Thrice that day she heard the sound of distant shouting drifting up from the plaza, but it was Margaery’s name that the mob was calling, not hers.
The reader’s just seen Cersei get caught in her own trap. The reader’s seen Cersei’s callousness, cruelty and paranoia lead to her alienating everyone who could or would have helped her, even as she created and empowered more enemies. But Cersei – Cersei still just doesn’t get it.
This is also apparent as Qyburn is finally allowed in to see Cersei and catch her up on the political developments. Cersei’s first question is about Tommen: “is he still king?” The choice of words is telling – what Cersei probably intends to ask here is is Tommen well every bit as much as whether he’s king. The conflation of Tommen’s status as king with his wellbeing does show us a bit about what Cersei considers wellbeing.
Qyburn has sent the Blue Bard (the first of Margaery’s accusers) over to the High Sparrow, as requested, so Cersei’s ill-conceived plan is still barrelling along. Just with a few external changes. Like Cersei being tried just as Margaery is – but for things the reader knows she is actually guilty of. So how’s she getting out of this? The goldcloaks?
“Osfryd Kettleblack no longer commands the City Watch. The king has removed him from office…”
How’d that happen?
“The boy is not to blame. When his council puts a decree in front of him, he signs his name and stamps it with his seal.”
You’d think training an eight-year-old possessed of supreme executive power to treat signing official documents as fun times with sealing wax was a bad idea or something. Hang on a second, though, the council?
“My council…who? […]”
“Alas, I have been dismissed. […] The realm is being ruled by Ser Harys Swyft and Grand Maester Pycelle. They have dispatched a raven to Casterly Rock, inviting your uncle to return to court and assume the regency.”
Oh, that’s right, Kevan was justifiably pissed at Cersei for how she abused Lancel, right! What about Mace?
“Mace Tyrell has abandoned his siege of Storm’s End and is marching back to the city with his army, and Randyll Tarly is reported on his way down from Maidenpool as well.”
Guess Cersei was wrong about that too. Who else on the council?
“Merryweather has resigned his seat on the council and fled back to Longtable.”
Not ideal, but at least Taena’s alive and not in Sparrow custody. Now if she could just get those ships –
“As soon as word of Your Grace’s present troubles reached the river, Lord Waters raised sails, unshipped his oars, and took his fleet to sea.”
Gods damn it!
“Hope remains. Your Grace has the right to prove your innocence by battle. My queen, your champion stands ready.”
[…] “The gods make japes of all our hopes and plans. I have a champion no man can defeat, but I am forbidden to make use of him. I am the queen, Qyburn. My honour can only be defended by a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard.”
She has Frankengregor, but Frankengregor is not a sworn brother of the Kingsguard. Just the dilemma she was hoping to catch Margaery in.
This conversation is a blunt instrument. Its purpose is to sock the reader with a concentrated reminder of every way in which Cersei has fucked this one right up. Sock the reader, because Cersei’s sure not getting it. But she finishes off with the thing she’s been failing to get since the end of ASoS. She begs Qyburn to write Jaime, telling him to drop everything and come to her side.
She had to reach him. “He will come. He must. Jaime is my only hope.”
“My queen,” said Qyburn, “have you…forgotten? Ser Jaime has no sword hand. If he should champion you and lose…”
We will leave this world together, as we once came into it.
“He will not lose. Not Jaime. Not with my life at stake.”
The readers have the advantage on Cersei here in that they’ve seen Jaime’s PoV. They’ve had the other perspective of their break-up and can see how Cersei’s actions contributed to said break-up. They’ve been reading Jaime’s questioning of their entire relationship. They’ve seen his raw anger at Cersei. In the very next chapter we’ll see Jaime read the plea Cersei sends here and order it burned. The reader knows already, as Cersei does not, that Cersei cannot rely on her brother’s love for her.
Just like the readers know about the valonqar prophecy.
Chapter Function
Big plot chapter, this one! Both in the scheme of the book and the scheme of the series. Politically, we’re seeing the disintegration of leadership in King’s Landing. Cersei’s basically imploded the LannisTyrell alliance. Mace is bringing an army to King’s Landing to use against the Faith of the Seven. Qyburn’s got Frankengregor combat-ready. This climax topples Cersei and sets conditions for what seems likely to be the complete toppling of the Lannisters and Tyrells in TWoW, following bloody chaos in the city.
Series-wide, this is a big moment for Cersei. Her previous chapters this book have been setup for this, the main action of her downfall (part one), the climax of her AFFC arc – all as the unintended side effects of her own actions. She succeeded in having the crown’s debt to the Faith cleared, but. She succeeded in having Margaery arrested, but. After nine chapters of Cersei’s very good ideas, here in chapter ten everything culminates in a way so that nobody can reasonably say that this was not Cersei’s fault. It leaves off on Cersei’s absolute, but probably just as mistaken, belief that Jaime will not fail her.
But at the same time, it’s important to recall that as cruel and horrible as Cersei is, there is still a tragic aspect to this self-fulfilling prophecy.
[Tommen] seemed surprised when Cersei gathered him up in her arms and kissed him on his brow. “What’s that for, Mother? Why are you crying?”
Because you’re safe, she wanted to tell him. Because no harm will ever come to you. “You are mistaken. A lion never cries.”
This prophecy didn’t just foretell Cersei’s own death, but the deaths of her children as well. The self-fulfilling nature of this prophecy is going to lead Cersei herself into creating the circumstances that kill her children, even if she herself only realises this too late. It’s definitely something worth remembering in the context of Tyrion’s chilling ACoK threat:
“I have never liked you, Cersei, but you were my own sister, so I never did you harm. You’ve ended that. I will hurt you for this. I don’t know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you’ll know the debt is paid.”
– Tyrion XII, ACoK
In-universe, you’d think this would also provide further fuel for Cersei’s paranoid fire and conviction that Tyrion is responsible for her misfortunes.
Overall, though, what we see here in Cersei X is the beginning of the end for Cersei and her (so-far) surviving children, and it’s Cersei’s own doing.
Miscellany
When Taena Merryweather compliments Cersei on her Margaery-humbling skills, Cersei tells Taena that any mother would do the same to protect her children. Then Taena immediately dodges Cersei’s request for Taena to bring her son to court. Perhaps this might tell Cersei something regarding Taena’s true beliefs as to Cersei’s ability to win out!
…nah. It’s probably nothing.
It’s always worth keeping track of how Cersei refers to other women in her internal narration. You hardly ever see her using even neutral descriptors. Margaery’s always the “little” queen, of course. Here when Cersei incidentally interacts with a lot of anonymous background septas, they’re “crones” or “shrivelled” or “feeble” or “sour.” Or some combination of similar.
When Cersei’s taken to the underground audience chamber, she actually takes note of the the carvings of the Seven on the walls, which she describes as ugly but somehow compelling. It’’s not often we see any sort of depictions of the Seven described as packing an emotional punch, but these successfully induce an “eyes of Notre Dame” moment in Cersei Lannister.
Clothing Porn
Cersei wears green silk and golden lace, with lots and lots of emerald jewelry, to hear the first charges against Margaery. It’s not the first time Cersei’s worn green in the series, because it matches her eyes, but interesting call with the Tyrell colours there.
To meet the High Sparrow, Cersei wears a brown woolen dress that covers her “throat to ankle,” with “only a few small vines embroidered on the bodice and the sleeves in golden thread.” We also hear that Margaery was stripped of a gown made of ivory lace with pearls on the bodice.
Food Porn
Fine dining Sparrow style consists of “thin grey gruel” for breakfast and later bread and fish.
Next Three Chapters
Alayne I, AFFC – The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD – Brienne VIII, AFFC
#ASoIaF#revisiting chapters#cw: rape#cw: violence#cersei lannister#the high sparrow#margaery tyrell#qyburn
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Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [24]
Masterlist
[F/N] = father’s name
[B/N] = brother’s name
~^*^~
You tugged open a drawer, pulling out some underwear, before moving down a drawer to pull out some clothes that you always kept here in case you were forced to stay (like last night). Your body was sore, especially your stomach.
On the bed, Dracula was watching you as you dressed, loving the way the golden light hit your body and licked you in an angelic hue. The side of the bed that you had slept on was cooling quickly and Dracula hated the feeling of you slipping away. If you weren’t already worrying about what your parents were going to say when you dared to venture downstairs, he’d most definitely have you back in his arms. He eyed the wall. He would love to ram you up against it, make you squirm beneath him. Maybe throw you up so that your heat was in line with his face, legs wrapped around his head, back against the wall.
“Drac,” your voice broke his thoughts and he looked over at you, in just a pair of black lacy thongs and matching bra, “stop drooling, you’re soaking the sheets.” You winked.
“I believe the person who quite literally soaked the sheets was you.” It was his turn to smirk.
“Yeah but...” you trailed off, flushing, “get dressed.” You hissed in embarrassment. 
Dracula chuckled, pushing himself up to follow your orders. He knew you were already freaking out, he didn’t want to stress you any more. Within minutes, you were both dressed and you were staring at the door. Dear god, you were certain that the whole of London had heard you last night.
~^*^~
You sat opposite your mother, hands in your lap as she glowered at you. Dracula was sitting besides you, opposite your father who was lighting a cigarette.
The tension swirled in the air.
“You not hungry, Drac?” Your father spoke, breathing out a cloud of white. He pointed to the plate with an untouched full English.
“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite this morning, I’ve already eaten.” Dracula smiled politely and you shot him a look. When had he snuck out?
“What? After all of your strenuous activity from last night?” You gawked at your father. He had that look on his face that you knew all too well. He was doing this to get a rise out of your mother.
“[F/N]!” She shrieked.
“What?” Your father shrugged, taking another drag. Dracula smirked, “I’m just saying. If I’d been that busy, I’d be eating like a pig.”
“You are a pig.” She grumbled, “I cant believe you [First]!” And he had started her off... you shot your father look, “Doreen three doors down heard you! Not to mention you kicking poor Chelsea to the curb like that!”
“She had it coming.” You muttered.
“She did not ‘have it coming’!” Her face was turning purple as you started to sulk at her outburst, “she was only being nice!”
“Mother, being nice is laughing at a joke or asking if somebody has a pet! Not climbing all over them when you know they’re in a relationship!” You snapped back, narrowing your eyes. Both men were watching, very clearly enjoying the commotion.
“You didn’t need to do that to her! Oh my goodness, what are the wives going to be saying about this?” She dramatically put her hand to her face.
“Oh, you just worry about the gossip, eh?!” You slammed your hands down on to the table, “don’t worry about how your own damn daughter feels about some bitch trying to sleep with her boyfriend!”
“[First].” Your father said sternly, “don’t swear at your mother. And don’t hit the table, it’s real mahogany. None of that veneer shit.”
“You just worry about your table, [F/N]! Don’t worry about your poor old wife being abused by her only daughter!” Your mother cried out, in hysterics all of a sudden.
“I just told her! What else do you want me to do?” Your father defended.
“My god, I liked that Daniel fellow more than this...” your mother whispered.
“Mother, I had sex with Daniel in your bed when you went to Tenerife for two weeks. We also had sex on your porch swing, which is how it broke!”
Your father and Dracula had to conceal their fits of laughter at your confession and your mother’s subsequent shock that followed. A high-pitched sound of distress came from her ajar mouth.
“I KNEW IT WASN’T MRS. DENNINGS’ CAT!”
“Oh, and another thing - I don’t give a damn who heard me last night! I don’t care if all of London heard me because I love him-“ you pointed to Dracula, “and if I want to scream and cry at the way he makes me feel in the privacy of my own bedroom, then I will!”
Now, bearing in mind that Dracula hadn’t really felt anything in around 473 years (the length of time it had been since his heart had last beat), the way that you defended yourself by screaming for the whole street to hear that you loved him-. Well, there was a pang of something in his chest and the need to be as close to you as physically possible grew exponentially. You really were something different. Falling in love with a vampire, disobeying your own mother, working for an organisation that is definitley doing different to what it says on paper, yet the whole time regaining your innocence and your goodness. Your emotions wrapping you up and controlling almost every single thing that you did. You loved him - and he was certain that he loved you even more.
“[First] [Last]!” She cried out, face almost bulging in her despair, “how could you do this to me?! I’m going to be the topic of all of their gossip for weeks!”
“I don’t care! And neither should you! It’s gossip! Half of it isn’t even true!”
“How could you say that?! Barbra heard from Clarissa last week that Jenny has some man on the side and Sally has photo evidence!”
“That’s her cousin, mother!” You cried out, frustration filling your body. How someone could be so hung up on all of this trivial stuff was beyond you.
“Still! Everyone is going to be talking my daughter - the savage who beat poor Chelsea to the street and then who screamed the street down having angry sex afterwards with a man her father’s age!” You could tell that she was getting worked up and you sighed.
“Right. If you are going to dwell on this, then I am going to get up, walk out of that front door and you can consider yourself childless.” Her jaw dropped.
“[First].” Your father warned sternly.
“I’ve completely had it with you, now, worrying over everything everyone says about everyone else. They’ve twisted your mind so much that you’d actually try and control your adult daughter? You’re just upset that I wouldn’t go with Mark, but he’s a creep. He takes pictures up women’s skirts and goes to bars to hit on literal teenagers. And if you can’t accept that I am with Dracula, the man that I love, and you would rather worry over all the gossip that comes from it, then I am done and you can just have your son in Thailand who hasn’t been bothered to call in four years instead of your daughter who moved down the street just to be near you. I can’t take this anymore.”
“[First] [Last] will you get a grip of yourself?” Your father spoke lowly, tapping his cigarette onto the empty plate to rid some of the ash.
“You won’t leave me.” Your mother whispered, “you can’t. Because you know you’ll need me when he gets bored of you.”
Snap.
“Fuck you.”
You rose, glaring at her in a thousand ways. Your heart throttled in your chest. Now she’d done it. You knew that she loved you. Of course she did, but she would never let things go. She had always critiqued both your brother and yourself with every choice the pair of you made, but ever since your brother had left, she’d began to spend nearly all her time with the wives gossiping. She had become a tyrant and it was eating you up. You were tired of her constant criticism. You were tired of having to live to appease her friends. You weren’t doing it anymore.
“This is why [B/N] left.” You sneered, “because of you. Because he was in love with Kannika but you just wouldn’t stop trying to force him into a way of life to appease your friends. But not me, I won’t do it. Now I’m gonna go grab my shit. If I haven’t got a sincere apology from you before I open that front door, I am gone. Just like [B/N].” Your mother was staring at you in horror, tears in her eyes. Now your father was looking at your sharply.
You turned, fleeing the room and storming up the stairs. It only took a moment for the door to shut behind you and for Dracula to be blocking it once more. Once your dress was bundled in your arms, you turned to look at him.
“Move.” You growled.
“[First], you don’t want to do this.” He spoke softly.
“Yes I do. Now move so that I can teach her a lesson.”
“No matter your age, it isn’t a child’s place to teach their parents a lesson.”
“What? So you’re just gonna let her talk about us like that? Like we’re some freaky couple or something? No, move.” Now it was him that you were glaring at.
“[First], this is your mother. You don’t want to cut her out.”
“Very clearly I do. Move!” You bellowed.
“I am not moving. You are going to sort this out.” His voice darkened with his growing anger.
“Oh, I am, am I?”
“Yes.”
“And since when did you become the boss of me, huh? Being your girlfriend doesn’t make me your property, Dracula.” Your eyes narrowed. Now you were trying to pick a fight with him, too. He knew that you didn’t mean it but he couldn’t help the anger bubbling in his gut. You were being a brat.
“I am being serious. You need to calm yourself down, recollect your mind and go downstairs and have a civil conversation with your mother.”
“Alright. You go back down. I’ll calm down and meet you down there.”
Like fuck you were. Dracula, wanting to believe with every fibre of his being that you wouldn’t flee, gave you all of his trust and left the room. You were so gone with the anger. It hadn’t really settled down since last night. Grabbing your bag that you had brought last night, making sure your phone was in, you pulled out a backpack from your wardrobe and stuffed it inside, along with your dress and both of your shoes. Dracula had retrieved the one you threw at Chelsea - most likely when he went out to eat whilst you were sleeping.
And then you did something that you hadn’t done since you were seventeen years of age.
Clambering onto the bed, you tugged your backpack on and drew up the blinds to free the glass of the window. It was unlocked, and you pushed it open. You swung your leg over it was maybe only a foot away from the roof of the extended front, and you lowered yourself down. Carefully, you manuvered over the tiles, so that you could drop down by the front door, instead of the large window which would give you away.
Were you really going to do this? You had no idea what Dracula would do when he found you gone and the window open. You knew that this would break your parents’ hearts. You knew that Doreen three doors down would tell the whole city that you had fled your own home in the morning. You had to do this. Enough was enough.
Your feet hit the path, the pressure of dropping spreading through your legs. You turned and rushed to the gate. When you made it to the fence, you ducked down and waddled in a squat so that they wouldn’t see you rushing past.
“She’s going to calm down and then apologise.” Dracula explained to your mother, who was in genuine tears at the thought of both of her children leaving her in anger.
“She’s not.” Your father spoke.
“I’ve just spoken to her-“ Dracula began, but your father cut him off.
“I’ve just seen her run down the front path.” He lit another cigarette as he spoke.
Another pang of something hit Dracula in the chest. This one was painful. He ran to the door, skidding as he did so and rushed out. He caught a glimpse of you turning the corner.
“[FIRST]!” He made a dash for you. But once he reached the corner and began to sprint down the road, he realised that you had disappeared, “I’m going to kill her.” He whispered, feeling an intense wave of pain in his chest - something that hadn’t occurred in almost five centuries.
~^*^~
You sat across from Jack. You were still angry, but for his sake, you decided to just calm yourself. A cup of hot coffee sat steaming in front of you. The scent wafted into your nostrils and you sighed.
“Rough night?” Jack teased. You guessed he had heard some of your night with the Count.
“Rough morning. I climbed out of the window. My mother’s’ furious with me and she can go fuck herself.” You grumbled.
“What did you expect? She’s been trying to set you up with Mark for the better part of ten years and you waltz in with someone definitely not approved.”
“I didn’t realise a 26 year old needed her mother’s permssion to date.” There was a pause, “let’s not talk about it-“ your phone buzzing cut your off. You dug it out of your bag.
Dracula.
You switched off your phone and turned your attention back to Jack.
“What is it that you wanted to say?”
“I mean, I needed both of you here, to be honest...” he trailled off.
“Dracula doesn’t matter. Just tell me.”
“Alright. So, you know his lawyer, Renfield?”
“Yeah?”
“Well he told me what happened at the apartment. When he fought Dracula over you...”
“Right...?”
“He came to Robin Hood’s Bay, expecting you to have fled there. He’s totally gone beserk, [First]. He’s trying to track you down.” Your heart began to falter.
“What do mean he’s trying to track me down? What does he want with me?” The horror beginning to lace your words was drowning your tone and you began to rut your leg up and down under the table.
“He’s a vampire, [First]. He wants your blood. Specifically yours.”
You completely froze up. This was it. You couldn’t outrun a vampire, you knew that from Dracula. One way or another, he would find you, and eventually, so would Renfield. Essentially, Jack had come to tell you that you were sooner (much rather than later), going to die.
“What- I-... what are we-? What am I gonna do?!” You whispered in a panic.
“I don’t know. Do you think you could get to [B/N] anytime soon?”
“He’d find me, wouldn’t he? All he’d have to do is find out where my brother is and he’d find a way to get to Thailand.”
“Alright, well, is there anyone else that you could stay with?”
“...no...” you whispered.
Jack bit his lip in thought. An idea occurred to him. He knew that it would work. The only problem, of course, would be you. Making you agree to it would be so difficult.
“Why don’t you stay with Daniel for a while?”
You began to laugh at his words, after an initial pause of “what the fuck”.
“Yeah, right!”
“I’m serious. Literally no one would think about you going there.”
“Yeah, I’m being hunted by the most dangerous creature to exist, let me just go suffer for the last few days of my life by spending them with my cheating ex.”
~^*^~
You glared into the familiar emerald orbs, loathing the hand on your shoulder that forced you through the threshold of the apartment. You stepped away from the touch, looking around. It was small and cozy, quite homely. Clearly there had been a downgrade after you had left.
He looked at you, and then at Jack. Jack had never been so serious in all of their years of friendship, and he thought that he’d never see you again. He took in the sight of you. You had gone through your final change of adulthood during your split, your face maturing one last time, leaving you looking even more beautiful than the last time he had seen you. You had grown just a little taller, almost matching his height now.
Stepping backwards, he sat down on one of his two sofas and motioned for you to sit. Jack steered you towards the material and forced you down like a disobedient dog.
“What can I do for you?”
It was the first time had spoken a full sentence since that day and you remembered his voice speaking all sorts of things to you. Jack rummaged in your bag. He was about to do something that he knew would break your heart. He had to. Your safety was number one priority.
“She needs to stay here for a while.” Jack explained, pulling your phone from the bottom of your back and switching it back on.
“Why?” He leaned forwards. His hair had grown quite a bit and the blond locks fell into his eyes a little.
“It’s a long story, and you won’t believe it. So all you need to know is that someone dangerous is after her. She needs to be kept safe.”
You couldn’t speak. Your heart was pounding in your ears. You were shaking a little. Ever since you had ran away from this city, from this very person sitting in front of you, you had forced your heart back together without getting closure on the pain. Right now, it felt almost as raw as it had done. You could be married to him right now. None of this would be happening. You could be a mother, with a house and a loving husband. Yet you weren’t. You were here, sitting across from the man you had fled from, fleeing from a monster who wanted to kill you.
“She can stay.” He spoke, unable to take his eyes from you. It had been so long.
“Thank you, Daniel. I’ll pay you for extra food and stuff.”
“I’m not a pet.” You growled to Jack.
“No one said you were.” Daniel answered for him.
You couldn’t reply. You didn’t really care what Jack was doing on your phone. Maybe you would have if you had looked over.
[DraccyBoifriend: where are you?]
[DraccyBoifriend: come back.]
[DraccyBoifriend: you need to sort this out.]
[DraccyBoifriend: [First]. Please.]
[DraccyBoifriend: 6 Missed Calls]
[You: it’s over. we’re through.]
~^taglist^~
@vampiregirl1797 @avalanet @bunnyreese12 @nerdonpluto @teamceleries @grifffins @hitbythunder @winterseoul @mymagicsuitcase @angeli-fucking-cat @benedictethegoddess @bloodhon3yx @nifflersravenclaw @writteninthestars288 @labelladrama @frankcastlesgrunts @angelicdestieldemon @quakerlasss @aliisa-jones @wolverinexmenn @clairedragonessbaker @cryiner @mitsukatsu @piratewhore @your-pixels-are-showing @tardisnesss @ladydovahkiin180 @catwomom @god-of-dramatic-death-scenes @th3rah @viper-queen @mephdcosplay @greghouse7 @faeprinces @kokoro-no-yami @trishaferdream @therealmoni @crazytxgradstudent @sansthelonelypunster @crowley-needs-a-hug @girlonfireice @wasntpriscilla @ivanna6026 @savebensolo-ordie
#hello this week is angst week#grab yo tissues#grab yo chocolates#and be prepared to#S U F F E R#something different#dracula#bbc dracula#netlfix dracula#dracula x reader#bbc dracula x reader#netflix dracula x reader#claes bang#matthew beard#claes bang x reader
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Ignite - Ch.2
Chapter 2
Chloe and Ruzek had headed to the apartment of Sortelli Matthews. He had never been married, so informing a spouse was out of the question. When they had gotten to the apartment door, Ruzek had picked the lock, clearing the house before searching for any information on next of kin.
"There's literally nothing." Chloe grumbled in annoyance after searching the entire apartment that had very minimal belongings, "It's like he's a ghost." Chloe commented as Adam finished the last search of the final closet.
"I guess we should run a facial recognition." Adam suggested as they headed for the apartment door.
The partners decided to question the neighbors if they had seen or heard anything unusual and wasn't surprised that no one even knew that he had been living next door to them.
"Well that's a bust." Chloe sighed climbing into the car to head back to the district to catch the team up on the findings.
Chloe and Adam had gotten back to Intelligence Unit just as the sun was starting to set. Chloe had filled the team in on Waters cheating on his wife, sharing the text messages exchanged between Waters and a woman named Ashley. Adam had ran facial recognition on the woman and then Sortelli. Ashley had a few misdemeanors, and a few unpaid parking tickets, while there was still not a hit on Sortelli.
Hank had decided to call it a night, making the plan to get Chloe and Adam into NIXX nightclub the next evening, so Chloe had decided to hang back to do research on the nightclub, while Ruzek searched for any information on Sortelli Michaels.
"Dude..." Ruzek groaned, "He is literally not coming up anywhere."
"Maybe call in a couple favors with the FBI?" Chloe suggested and Adam gave a nod reaching for the phone to make the call.
Chloe had quickly learned through social media that NIXX nightclub only allowed so many people in the building at a time. It was in fact mostly rich men and young women who looked to be their girlfriends, but most of the photos of the women dressed up looked extremely high. At least Chloe could be prepared to play the part, and had scanned a couple of photos of older men to use as an in to the nightclub.
"Want to head to Molly's for a beer?" Ruzek questioned after he had gotten through to the FBI, and stretched in his chair.
"Yeah. If I look at one more rich man's face I might jump out the window." Chloe joked causing Adam to chuckle as he stood up.
Chloe stood up grabbing her jacket and gun, and then her wallet and keys. Chloe and Adam headed down the stairs quietly and out to their cars.
Just as Chloe was about three blocks away from Mollys, a call had came over the radio of a familiar address, Mary Walters home, it was on fire and the fire department need police assistance.
Chloe turned her lights and sirens on calling Ruzek to make sure that he had heard the call and agreed to meet her there.
Pulling up to the scene, Chloe jumped out of the car with Adam pulling up a few moments later, and looked to the familiar faces of Firehouse 51.
"Chief..." Chloe greeted Chief Boden, "What's going on?" Chloe questioned.
"The mother set fire to the kitchen, holding her son hostage in the house. She won't let anyone come in." Boden explained and Chloe nodded her head, "There's probably about seven minutes until the house is fully engulfed." Boden stated.
"Give me five." Chloe stated as Adam was running up to her, "Mary has one of the boys in there with her." Chloe explained, "I'm going in." Chloe added and Adam let out a breath.
"Let's go."
Chloe drew her gun as she approached the house, Kelly Severide’s eyes glued to her as she walked past him. Adam was right behind her, hand on her shoulder as she kicked in the front door. Quickly surveying the house to see that the fire was slowly growing in the kitchen, Chloe rushed into.
"Mary, it's Detective Chloe Voight." Chloe called out.
"I didn't...I didn't know what else to do!" Mary called out and Chloe turned the corner to the living room to see Mary holding a knife to Derrek's throat, "He kept making up lies!" Mary exclaimed.
"Mary, put the knife down. We can work this out okay?" Chloe suggested. Chloe looked to Derrek. The young man being in his early twenties and was absolutely terrified in the moment, "Mary where is Ben?" Chloe questioned, wanting to make sure the young boy wasn't somewhere in the house.
"He's...he's with my mom." Mary answered tears pouring down her face.
"Mary listen to me..." Chloe's forehead was starting to sweat from the fire growing, "We need to you to put the knife down and let Derrek go, okay? Whatever he has said, we can figure it out together."
"Three minutes!" Chloe heard Chief Boden's voice from outside.
Time was running out.
Chloe holstered her gun and slowly approached the woman with her hands in the air, "Mary, this is your son. You don't want to hurt him."
"He ruined our marriage!" Mary shouted.
"No, he didn't ruin your marriage. He was trying to protect Ben. He wanted to make sure that Ben was going to have parents." Chloe approached standing in front of Mary and Derrek, "Give me the knife Mary." Chloe suggested once more and watched as the older woman shut her eyes for a split second to cry, giving Chloe enough time to grab ahold of her wrist, forcing her to drop the weapon.
Mary went to hit Chloe, and Chloe quickly elbowed the woman in the face as Derrek ran towards Ruzek and out of the house. Chloe was able to grab ahold of Mary's arm, wrapping it around her back, and quickly grabbed the left arm doing the same.
"Mary Waters, you are under arrest." Chloe growled, getting her cuffs out and locking them around her wrists.
"CHLOE?!"
Chloe heard Kelly Severide's voice and knew that time was up, so she quickly grabbed ahold of Mary's arm and began to drag her outside kicking and screaming.
"Take her..." Chloe pushed the woman to Ruzek as Chloe made it outside and out of the way of the firefighters and noticed Severide stopping near her, "I'm fine..." Chloe assured as she tried to catch her breathe from the adrenaline. Chloe watched as he gave her a nod and then rushed into the house to put out the fire.
Chloe approached the vehicle to see that Ruzek had secured the woman into the back seat, and then saw Derrek getting checked over by Brett and Foster. Chloe approached the young man making sure that he was alright before heading back to her jeep, to follow Ruzek back to the district.
"So much for that beer, huh?" Ruzek joked as they booked Mary Waters, and Chloe chuckled as she said her goodbyes to her partner for the evening.
#nbc chicago fire#Kelly Severide#kelly severide imagine#kelly severide one shot#kelly severide x reader#kelly severide x oc#kelly severide x you#Ignite Chapter Two
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Dangerous Temptations
Read on AO3
Geralt was entirely used to his friend’s polygamy, and happy to turn a blind eye. As much as he argued to the contrary, it truly didn’t bother him where Jaskier preferred to stick his dick (or what he liked to have stuck in him).
The only thing that bothered him, was when it impacted him. “Damn it Jaskier,” he growled.
He should have been suspicious when the bard had vanished before Geralt had even finished his supper, but then, he’d thought Jaskier had the common decency to not fuck someone on Geralt’s bed.
Apparently not.
The bard squealed and waved his hands, half-hidden behind the attractive stranger - vaguely Gerald recalled that he was the innkeeper’s son - that had been thrusting into him until Geralt opened the door. “Geralt!” he cried. “Out! Out!”
Pointing out that he’d paid for the room which should make it his seemed like a moot point when Jaskier wasn’t wearing any clothes. Geralt slammed the door with enough force to remind Jaskier that they were going to talk about this - later, when the bard was dressed - and stomped back down the stairs.
Halfway down the stairs, he stumbled into the innkeeper, who asked, “Is he upstairs with that- that- bard?”
“Yeah,” Geralt grunted without thinking. He shoved past the man, grateful he wasn’t going to be chasing off any angry husbands or brothers, and wandered back down to the main room, ordering another ale.
He’d only just sat down with his drink when the shouting started.
Geralt sat up, his Witcher senses kicking in. It wasn’t Jaskier who was screaming - which was a relief in and of itself - but it was still worth paying attention to.
His paranoia paid off when the innkeeper appeared in the stairwell, dragging a still nude Jaskier. “Rapist!” he roared, throwing the bard forward. “This man seduced my son!”
Jaskier stumbled forward, his eyes scanning the room as though searching for Geralt, but the mob of locals crowded around him, roaring and shouting.
Geralt pushed himself to his feet, reaching for his sword and making certain it was tucked at his back. He’d prefer not to use it, of course, but standing by while Jaskier was abused was something he would never allow. He pressed his way to the front of the crowd, where Jaskier was kneeling on the wooden floor, a red mark under his eye that hadn’t been there a moment before. The innkeeper was still shouting about Jaskier being a lecher who seduced his son.
“From what I saw,” Geralt said softly. “This lecher, as you call him, was being fucked by your son. Not the other way around.”
Judging by Jaskier’s face, he’d said the wrong thing.
“Liar!” the innkeeper shouted. “My son is a good man and honorable to his wife!” He kicked Jaskier. “This demon cast on spell on-”
“Cast a spell?” Geralt snorted. “The only spell Jaskier is capable of is enchanting people with his silly ballads.”
Again, it seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as they thought it was completely literal. “Rip out his vocal cords!” someone yelled.
“Geralt!” Jaskier sobbed. He'd been covering his privates with his hands but reached for the Witcher instead.
Geralt stepped forward and grabbed Jaskier, dragging him to his feet. When the innkeeper moved to stop him, Geralt reached for his sword. “The bard and I are leaving, now,” he said.
Jaskier screamed as someone tried to grab him. Geralt had his sword out in an instant, cursing his luck, and placed it against the innkeeper’s throat.
The room went silent. Good. They weren’t stupid enough to argue with a man with a sword.
He nodded to one of the workers, a girl who had previously stayed hidden behind the counter. “Bring me our things,” he said.
As she hurried away, he used one hand to loosen his cloak, tossing it to Jaskier who grabbed it and pulled it on quickly. He never let his blade falter, keeping it placed on the innkeeper’s throat.
Perhaps he could have made a grand speech about how homophobia was a shit thing to do, and that they ought to let the innkeeper’s son marry some nice man.
But he was Geralt of Riva, and the only thing that mattered was getting Jaskier out intact. And getting his things back.
Once their bags (and Jaskier's clothing) had been brought out and handed to Jaskier, Geralt slowly backed out of the room, keeping his sword out. The bard hurried after them.
“Put on your pants,” Geralt said, “and get in the saddle.”
“Geralt-”
“Quiet!” He kept his eye on the door of the inn, half afraid someone was going to come out after them.
Jaskier struggled into his pants. “What about Mic-”
“Your friend will have to solve his own problems. If he’s lucky, they’ll just think he’s a rape victim.”
As soon as Jaskier had his trousers on, Geralt practically threw him onto Roach, leaping onto the horse and spurring her on.
He kept up a fast pace, only slowing Roach when he was certain there was no one pursuing them, murmuring softly to the mare and apologizing for the brutal pace.
Jaskier practically threw himself off the saddle with a moan. “Oh my ass,” he said, sprawling on the ground.
Geralt glanced down at him with a raised eyebrow and a soft snort.
“What?” The bard rolled over, looking up at the Witcher with a scowl. “I will have you know that it hurts having something as large as Mickin’s cock up your-”
“Then why do you do it?” Geralt retorted.
Jaskier let out an exasperated huff. “It is a purely unique experience. Someone who has only laid with women could not hope to understand the bliss that comes from a man. Why I-”
“I never said I haven’t experienced it,” Geralt nudged Roach, spurring the horse to amble slowly down the road. “But I have the sense not to make an escape on horseback after.”
“You- Wait!” Jaskier shoved himself to his feet, stumbling after him. “I thought you liked women!”
“I do.”
“And men?”
“It gets awfully lonely at Kaer Morhen.” Geralt grinned as Jaskier let out an excited yelp. Whatever the bard was imagining, he was certain it was far more exciting that the real thing.
“Damn it Geralt!” Jaskier said, stumbling beside him and grabbing his leg. “Let me ride!”
“It wouldn’t be fair to your poor ass,” Geralt replied, nudging Roach into a canter with a laugh. “Riding hurts, remember?.”
Jaskier swore and ran after him. "I'm injured, damn it! Let me ride! Geralt!"
#jaskier#dandelion#geralt#geralt of rivia#Witcher Fanfiction#Witcher Fanfic#The Witcher#Wiedźmin#My Writing
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36. Part 2
Chris is staring at me because I told him that I need to talk to him, he needs to be told about himself and it has to happen because he can’t be scaring this poor child like this “are you done?” I said to Mel, she’s hovering over me with her damn phone “done!” Aeko yelped out at the side of me, looking away from Mel and at him “awww yay! Good boy” he ate all his breakfast “yeah I have done it on my instastory, I put innocent bond and posted it. Let them die inside with that” Mel walked off “oh wait, can you put Fenty in the crib please” she might as well because I won’t be getting up anytime soon “of course I will take my beautiful niece. The angel is sleeping to peaceful, love her so much” Mel picked Fenty from me and before she even moved to put her in the crib she started showering her with kisses “oh leave her alone” rolling my eyes at her, she needs to start having her own so we can both have our own mini Mel and Robyn “all done then” moving the plate away from Aeko “I like it” I chuckled “well Jen makes some good eggs, you know Jen” I pointed at her, Jen waved at him and he waved back. Placing the plate at the other side of me so he don’t kick it “you like your sippy cup now” Aeko got up from the couch and shuffled over to me “no more ba” I added “I like it, Bobyn” he tapped my shoulder “yes?” He’s come even closer to me but he just giggled “I go play” he pointed upstairs “where?” I mean we have no room with toys “I play please” he said please oh my god, my heart “oh yeah, I let him play in Fenty’ room” Chris added “right, I see then you need to go with him and let him play” he has to be there, he’s still a child and I don’t want to leave him alone “but why are you annoyed with me?” Chris is dying to know “ok, you can go there but I just need to speak to your dad ok? Sit back and watch this” Aeko placed his hand on my arm as he got comfortable right next to me, sitting down. Looking down at him and he looked up at me giggling, his head is resting right against my arm, that is how close Aeko is next to me.
Dennis is entertaining Aeko with his camera so I can now go and see to Chris and let him know what he’s doing wrong, watching Chris stretch his body out as he let out a yawn, wrapping my arms around his torso, hugging him close. Dragging my hands down to his crotch “aye!” Chris laughed as I squeezed his dick through his sweatpants “don’t do that unless you tryna suck” moving back from Chris “I miss it, I miss you” Chris placed his arm around my shoulder, pressing a kiss to the top of my head as we walked out of the living room “man, I miss you” holding onto his hand that was hanging from my shoulder “I’m still here but not in the bedroom, you know” hearing a little pair of feet hitting the flooring “Bobyn, Bobyn. Don’t leave me” he ran ahead of us “ginger spiced latte, what are you screaming about” I hope Jah can get him “I am just going to speak to your dad, I will be back. Go and show Jah PJ mask, he loves it” I laughed because Jah is sick of watching it “I mean I am not watching that but, I am going to do some work in the mess room that these both call a dining room, you can pick out some sexy things for Robyn to wear, come” Jah held his hand out “it’s not a mess ok, we just don’t have a work room as of yet, thanks!” he is rude “mess room, Tina! Come down, we have work!” he shouted “we have work” Aeko repeated “you are damn right we do, let’s go” he went with Jah luckily because I really need to do things right now, like packing.
Walking into the spare bedroom “you don’t make beds here?” I pointed at the bed “for what, it’s just Aeko and I, we good over” I know that is not my husband speaking “uhh not you’re not, when was the last time this bed was made?” is he crazy “the time you did the bedding because he peed on it” I gagged a little “that is nasty Chris, really is. That is not it, you’re not mess you are being childish because if that was our room you wouldn’t do that, right?” Chris laughed, he is laughing because I am right “but it’s only us, you would cuss my ass out and I don’t want to hear it so yeah” he is right “I need you to keep up with the same vibe, what is this? We are literally in the same home and you’re just not complying with the simple rule of cleaning the damn bed, why is his clothes on the floor, those are his pee clothes right?” Chris finds everything amusing “I am not laughing Chris, I would expect your son to be crying, throwing fits, even wetting the bed, that is what I expect from a toddler but you, I tell you to sleep elsewhere you feel all hard done by, I am not going to scold you. I just need you to get with the programme, I can’t carry you. It’s simple right, you put this shit where I can wash it or better yet in the laundry basket that are placed around the house. Even our guests are being better then you” Chris nodded his head, he isn’t laughing now “I get it, can we just skip the hostility and get back to the point that I miss you and he’s ok now” I laughed “oh he is ok? What makes you think he is ok? Let’s talk like adults now, come on. What is the issue, is there a reason to this or you’re just being lazy on purpose?” I need answers.
Chris sighed out “I just forget, I just walked out of the room in a huff because like that little nigga just doing shit dumb. He knows what he should be doing, making more work for nothing. I forgot ok” now I have bought forward serious Chris “I had Aeko crying saying you shout loudly, you turn all the lights off in the room and leave it dark and then play on your phone, ignoring him sounds like. Then he can’t get up on the toilet seat Chris, he can’t do it so yes he peed on himself, he needed you to pick him up like I did today, it’s simple things of actually listening to him. He cried to me, you’re being the least bit loving. Then you come into the room being all my gummy drop to Fenty, what about him huh? Doesn’t he need some cuddles and cute baby names. This is so important to him Chris, this is the point where they remember things, I am not telling you how to raise your child. I want your son to get the best of you, just because the mother is a bitch and you hate her you are reflecting that on him, I know you are. It’s not a chore to be laying in bed with your son when he is in a stranger home, you should be hugging him. Asking him is he ok, not just be an ass because I know you wouldn’t just leave Fenty in the dark, we don’t even do it now and she sleeps in the bed with us. I just want you to think Chris, you are probably angry at this situation and equally I am too, I am angry at her just throwing her son to us like he means nothing, but he is here and he is the sweetest little thing, I have really just bonded with him, he is comfortable with me. But this issue of you shouting at him needs to stop, I mean it. Don’t take it out on him because you are angry at her, come to me and vent to me” I hope I haven’t been too harsh on Chris.
Chris doesn’t look best pleased, I mean I have just clocked his behaviour which is very poor on his end “and honestly, this is your son but if you want to continue this kind of set up you can rent out a home and do that shit elsewhere, because I am not here for that” I am deadass too, I don’t like it “it’s not that, I don’t hate my son but shit is annoying like with him coming here when nobody was actually ready and now it’s like he is here, we should be going California and now we have to take him with us and it’s your birthday. The bigger picture is that he is a nobody to you and your family, she messed up my plans and it has made me angry. The child just, I don’t know. He is mind but it’s just not there, Fenty is just literally my gummy drop and she is there, that bond. I want it but I find myself hating this, hating the fact I see her when I look at him” Chris really hates her “I don’t actually see that and it’s because I don’t exactly care for her. I think he has the cutest little face, and he is the most perfect eyes, very expressive with his sadness. I have met many kids in my life but he’s the sweetest little boy that you are missing out on because you hate her, don’t let that taint it. Don’t shout at him either, he doesn’t like it. That was it really, but I am not impressed either. It just made me think when he was stood there in the bedroom and how he stayed away from you in the room, he was sad with you. He doesn’t deserve that Chris; my heart is literally upset for him which makes me angry with you” Chris’ phone started to ring “keep the anger up and then you can fuck me in anger, please. If you are taking requests” he is so annoying “wow, it’s the bitch” Chris said, I guess that is her.
Chris put it on speakerphone “little awkward to be calling me now?” Chris said “I don’t give those people to post my son, not even his hand. You tell them off” she has got a nerve, she really does “them is who?” Chris questioned “Rihanna’ friends, don’t post my son. Post her daughter” I am not even going to get involved because fuck that bitch “listen here, they can post what they like. If they want to post my son they can, even now. I will make sure they post him having the best time ever because they can, what you going to do? Sue them? You can’t even afford to look after him and you want to come to me and say that you fucking bird. I fucking made the biggest fucking mistake with you; I really fucking did. I wish I weren’t so fucked up in my head to know what you are like, you fucking say my wife’ name again I will make sure you are on the streets, you can’t even take care of one boy! You threw him to me, you knew, you knew he barely knew me, but you did it!” Chris is angry, he is so very angry at her about this “I am going to get my son back, Joyce is giving me money to help. I will be arriving in London on the weekend” Chris laughed down the phone “so either way you’re using my money, oh god. I hate myself, listen after this stunt you ain’t having shit, you gave him no clothes and you expect me to let an unstable bitch like you take care of him, he is not safe with you. You’re mentally unstable to be honest and that is coming from me. I am going to block your number; I don’t want to hear you. You speak to my lawyer, you want to see him then you’re going to have to battle me for it after all this proof I have on you letting a toddler travel with no clothes to change, with a stranger and then claiming you have no money but flew to California, you going to wish you never did this, cry to Joyce. She’s crying too because she can’t see my kids, bye” he disconnected the call “fucking bitch!” Chris threw his phone on the ground in anger.
Clasping my hands together sighing out “what is wrong? You need to really let this anger go” he is just angry, like I think I should be all uptight about this whole thing “this is not good, he’s there. He will be there like Chris’ spawn; at the end of the day he was supposed to be in Germany” frowning at him “the plan was to just keep him there and he visits one a year?” Chris nodded his head “you’re being paranoid, people are gonna think you did good by your son Chris. You’re just being drama and overthinking things; he hasn’t ruined anything. I am not going to leave you over it. I am not going to lie but he doesn’t deserve both of his parents being complete idiots, I get it! You regret it, he was a mistake but having sex while being doped up didn’t help and you know what happens when you have sex unprotected whether you were there mentally or not, and it happened. You need to get over it, you want him here, but you don’t want him here, what do you want huh?” Chris turned away walking off, he needs to either have a blunt or have a tantrum about shit. He is being so paranoid that he’s ruined our marriage and that people will judge him, he practically wanted to pretend like this boy doesn’t exist and he does, he’s right here. Men are a weird breed; they can just pretend kids don’t exist when they not in their face. He needs his space, and I am giving it him, let him think on it and he will soon have his answer on what he feels.
I was going to pack but Chris went into the bedroom and I want him to have his space so I will just go down for a while “ah, there you are. Meeting is booked in for when we get to California, I have rented out a five bedroom home for us, I am getting the home prepped for the babies to arrive so make sure we got the cribs there and stuff. Rich and Frank will meet us at the airport, the home is like a ten minute drive from Chris’ home, keep it close like you said. It’s private and Rich will be staying with us while we are there, that is all” Tina said everything as walked to the dining room “thank you, I know Chris will want to go to his home but I don’t exactly find his home the most safest place when I have my loved ones with us” Jah is right, my dining room is literally a mess. Full of stacked boxes of my own brand stuff to try out “so you think we should go for the orange?” Jah said to Aeko “owange” he pointed at the material “mhmm, perfect. Who said kids are annoying, oh yes me” Jah laughed walking off, look at the bond they have “Bobyn, I have juice” Aeko has caught me “sure, you need to go pee pee first?” I want him to tell, he shook his head.
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Don’t Touch My Family
Request: Would you be willing to make an imagine of dad!billy were after graduation u nd billy leave town bc u get pregnant w/out telling anybody but after a few years u have a son & daughter Neil finds out n come by the house hella pissed while billy isnt home, tries to hurt u nd the kids but billy comes home n just beats the hell out him for trying to hurt his family? just the thought of billy goin after the only person hes terrified of for HIS family makes him THE father he never had makes me melt ❤
A/N: This is a little bit darker than my typical fluffy sunshine fanfic, but I really liked the request, so I decided to do it anyway. :) Sorry if you wanted something shorter, anon-this turned into more of a drabble/one-shot than an imagine. Thanks for requesting!
Warnings: Teenage pregnancy, descriptions of violence, implied abuse, language
You find out you’re pregnant halfway through the last semester of senior year.
When you tell Billy, you expect him to freak out. He doesn’t, though-at least, not on the outside. On the inside, he’s absolutely panicking. But he can see how upset you are, so he just pulls you close. He whispers into your hair that he’ll support you in whatever you want to do.
After a few days of contemplation, decide you want to have the baby. You and Billy agree that it’s best to keep your pregnancy a secret-for now, at least. If your parents found out, your father would probably actually fire that shotgun he’s always threatening to use on “that deadbeat boyfriend of yours.”
And Billy...well, he has no idea how his father would react. But he has no intentions of finding out.
Thus, Billy offers to run away with you right there on the spot. However, you ultimately decide that it would be better to finish high school. Maybe you'll even be able to save up a little bit of money before the two of you start a new life together.
So, for the next few months, you wear baggy clothes to hide your growing midsection. Billy picks you up for “dates” that are actually doctor’s appointments. Thanks to your valiant efforts, no one suspects a thing.
Eventually, graduation rolls around. Your family hosts a small get-together after the ceremony. Distant relatives congratulate you on your achievements and ask if you’re excited to start this “new chapter in your life.” You smile and nod.
You have no idea.
Later that night, you stuff everything you can fit into a small tote bag. You leave an apology note to your parents on the kitchen counter and sneak out of your house.
Billy’s waiting for you outside in the Camaro. He greets you with a kiss on the forehead and holds the door open as you climb into the passenger seat. As he drives away, you watch your childhood home shrink into the distance, saying a silent goodbye to the only home you’ve ever known.
***
Five years later, you and Billy share a two-bedroom house on the West Coast. You have two kids-a son and a daughter. Billy works as a mechanic at an auto repair shop, while you write for the local newspaper. Neither of you make much money, but it doesn’t matter. You’re both happy-genuinely happy-for the first time in your lives.
Billy gets home around 5:30 every day, so, when the doorbell rings at 5:15, you figure he just got off early.
“I’m coming, honey!” you yell, bouncing your infant daughter on your hip.
But when you peek into the peephole, you discover not your husband standing on your doorstep but a scruffy older man in tattered clothing. His face is scrunched up, and he squints in the sun. You freeze, clutching your baby to your chest.
Neil Hargrove is standing on your porch.
“I know someone’s home. I heard you,” he barks. “Come on. Open up. I just want to talk.”
He raises a dirty fist and raps on the wood. The noise scares your daughter, who starts to whimper. You’re too busy shushing her to notice your son appear at your side.
“Mama, who’s that?”
You clamp a hand over his mouth and suck in your breath. Maybe, if you’re quiet enough, you can cancel out the noise made by your clueless four-year-old.
“Is that my grandson?”
For a split second, his volume dips below its typical scream-level. It’s the most gentle you’ve ever heard him speak.
But then he has to ruin it by pounding once more on the door.
“Come on, you coward, open the damn door!” He rattles the doorknob so violently that you think it might fall off.
This time, you can’t prevent your daughter from letting out a wail. Beside you, your son sniffles.
You muster every last fiber of courage in your being. “Get the hell out of here, Neil,” you growl, trying to sound as menacing as possible.
“Y/N? Is that you?” he asks. There’s a soft thud, almost like he’s just leaned his forehead against the wood.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I thought it was Billy in there,” Neil says.
“Billy-Billy is here,” you stutter.
“No, he’s not. I don’t see the Camaro anywhere, and I know my son takes that damn car everywhere,” Neil says.
Your son wraps his arms around your calf and clings to it. You hope he isn’t able to absorb the panic pulsing through every part of your body
“I’m warning you, Neil, to walk out of here while you still can. I…”
You scan the messy living room, littered with toys. Your gaze falls on a plastic pistol laying on the sofa.
“I have a gun. And I’m not afraid to use it,” you threaten.
The wall between you slightly muffles his ominous chuckle, but it still reaches your ears.
“I’m sure you do, sweetie. But there’s no need to get violent on an old man who just wants to see his grandkids. Why don’t you just open the door, Y/N?”
“Why don’t you just go to hell, Neil?”
The silence drags on long enough for you to almost convince yourself that he’s walked away.
Almost.
And then, just loud enough for it to be audible: “If that’s how you want to play it.”
You jump out of the way as the door falls inward with a thud.
Neil Hargrove slowly lowers the foot he used to kick it down, glaring at you with bloodshot eyes.
You push your son behind you, wrap your arms tighter around your daughter, and take cautious steps backwards.
“Did you really think you could hide from me forever?” he asks. He advances deeper into your home-your sanctuary-with every word.
“What do you want from me?” you demand. Your backside collides with a wall; Neil’s backed you into a corner.
“I just want what you and my son stole from me by skipping town five years ago,” Neil says. “A chance to connect with my family.”
He draws close enough that you can count every crater left by untreated acne on his creased face and smell the stale whiskey on his breath. “I knew you had one child,” he says, peeking around you at the little boy cowering in the corner, “but two? What a pleasant surprise. This little one-let me see her face.”
Neil extends a wrinkled hand to peel back the blanket covering the baby. You’re too stunned to react until his filthy finger is only inches from her face. That’s when you raise a knee and jam it into his groin. He doubles over with a grunt.
“Go!” You practically shove your son into his room and set the baby next to him. Then, a hand wraps around your ponytail, yanking you backwards. Tears stream down your face as you scream at your kids to shut the door and lock it. There’s a slam and a click, then the word “bitch” yelled into your ear. Neil spits into your ear canal as he calls you every name in the book. You claw and kick and punch, but Neil’s got a death grip on your hair. He drags you across the living room floor, promising that he’s “going to make you pay.” He finally tosses you onto the couch. Your back aches as the barrel of the fake gun juts into your spinal cord.
Between your shrieks and Neil’s name-calling, you don’t hear the roar of the engine as the Camaro pulls onto your street, nor the squeal of the brakes as Billy pulls up next to the beat-up pick-up truck he’d recognize anywhere. You don’t hear your husband’s thundering footsteps as he sprints up the sidewalk. No, you don’t notice any of that; you’re too preoccupied flailing around as Neil tries to pin you to the sofa.
But even though you don’t see him, Billy appears in the doorway, still wearing his navy mechanic jumpsuit. He’s covered in grease stains and flushed skin. And, for the first time in his life, he raises his voice at his father without an inkling of fear of the consequences.
“Get your hands off my wife!”
He charges at his father, who’s caught completely off-guard. The two of them crash onto the coffee table, snapping it in two. They only wrestle for a minute before Billy comes out on top. He raises his fist and brings it down on his father’s face until it’s nothing more than a bloody pulp. Billy continues landing blows long after Neil passes out. And, while Neil Hargrove certainly deserves it, you’d rather not have Billy kill someone in your house with your kids in the literal next room. So, eventually, you walk up to your scratched-up, bruised husband and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Baby,” you say softly.
He gazes up at you, the pain and torment of eighteen years of abuse bubbling to the surface once again. Once his eyes meet yours, they immediately soften. He raises himself to his feet and pulls you into a tight embrace. He squeezes you so tightly that you wince, sore from Neil throwing you around like a ragdoll. Billy apologizes profusely and holds you out at arm’s length. His eyes flicker over your features.
“Are you all right?”
“No,” you say honestly. Your hands are shaking profusely, your heart rate is still elevated well above normal levels, and you’re pretty sure you’ll have nightmares about this encounter for the rest of your life.
“Did he hurt you?”
“A little. But it could have been so much worse, if you hadn’t…”
A single tear trails down your cheek. Billy wipes it away with his thumb.
“You don’t have to go there, Y/N. Don’t go there,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours. “It’s all going to be okay.”
Your eyelids flutter shut. “You’re right. We’re safe now-me, the kids-”
“The kids!” you both exclaim at the same time. You run to their bedroom and knock on the door. It swings open, and two small children stare up at you. They both burst into tears, and you and Billy gather them into your arms.
The police arrive a few minutes later, just as Neil starts to regain consciousness. (Having nosy neighbors pays off when you need someone to call 9-1-1 without being asked.) As the officers escort Neil out of the house in handcuffs, Billy warns him to never come near his family again.
And for the first time in his life, his father actually listens.
Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny @sweetboibilly @scarrasco1325 @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds
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#billy hargrove#billy hargrove x reader#tw: violence#tw: abuse#billy hargrove x you#billy hargrove fanfiction#billy hargrove fanfic#billy hargrove imagine#billy hargrove drabble#billy hargrove one shot#billy hargrove oneshot#billy hargrove one-shot#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things x reader#stranger things x you#stranger things x y/n#stranger things fanfic#stranger things imagine#stranger things drabble#stranger things one shot#stranger things#stranger things billy#billy hargrove angst#neil hargrove#parker-potter writes
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