#yes each reblog is three ghosts— they add up
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reblog to send three ghosts after elon musk
#yes each reblog is three ghosts— they add up#a Christmas Carol#elon musk#With enough ghosts we can SURELY smack some sense into him
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Nor's Ultimate BBC Ghosts Fic Recommendations
I decided to put my obsessive AO3 bookmarking to good use and recommend you all some of my favourite ghosts fics (not all, there will likely be a part two). I tried my best to include a variety of fics centring different characters and ships as well as lesser known fics. Please feel free to reblog this post and add your own recs (self promo very much allowed). I've tried to add tumblrs were applicable but if you wrote one of these fics or know who did, please let me know and I'll edit the post. Happy reading!
It by Scriblit
Rating: M
Ships: Mary/Robin, Julian/Robin
Summary:
You lose three mates, ten babies, both parents, all your siblings and then every friend for scores of millennia and still entertain the concept of being 'sweet' on a dead woman still consumed by her own pain.
Doing It never had much meaning to Robin, even when he was alive. Now that he's dead, it's really just something to while away all the years. At some point, he's asked most of the ghosts if they want to do it. Some said no, some said yes. His only rule is, they have to genuinely want to do it, too. And, they mustn't be too sad. One of the ghosts was too sad, for so long, so he waited. And waited.
Notes: The first two chapters of this fic are an amusing exploration of caveman sex and the boredom that comes with eternal purgatory but the last chapter is where it gets really, really good. Genuinely one of the most poignant and devastating explorations of grief I've ever read, I cannot recommend it enough.
The Curse by Scriblit
Rating: T
Ships: Robin/OFC, Humphrey/Sophie
Summary:
Over the years, the centuries, the millennia, the residents of, and visitors to Button House and the land it's built on have experienced strange things, and heard strange tales. Multiple mysterious, macabre deaths. Unruly electrics. Blurry shapes in photos. St Elmo's Fire. Burning smells, a mysterious, singing voice in the cellar. Rumours of witchcraft, an ancient amulet and visions of Satan himself. Is the land truly cursed? Or is this just a place of 250,000 years worth of human sadness?
Notes: I only wanted to include one work from each author but I couldn't take this off my list. The only way I can describe this fic is clever. It's one of those things you just have to experience for yourself. Criminally underrated. Just read all of Scriblit's work, I'm their biggest fan.
Family, Family, Family by MadameReveuse
Rating: T
Ships: Primarily gen with side Julian/Robin
Summary:
Green Party Fundraiser Time! Rachel Fawcett comes to Button House, despite struggling with her feelings regarding a certain extremely unfortunate death there. Ghosts and the living alike are thrown into turmoil, especially when it begins to look like someone at the event may be attempting to harm the up-and-coming young politician. Can Julian stand idly by? Well, he's a ghost, so yeah, he has to.
Notes: This fic has it all; father/daughter bonding, a murder mystery and plenty of tory bashing. My entire perception of who Rachel Fawcett is comes from this fic, I was almost glad we never met her in canon as the author does such a fantastic job characterising her.
Ten friends total by notupforpolo (@notupforpolo)
Rating: G
Ships: Mary/Annie
Summary:
After the initial shock of dying wore off, Kitty was so excited to have Mary and Annie as friends. Kitty would notice how they spoke and gossiped just like Eleanor and her friends would do. They were potential friends until they just became friends. Then, when Annie was sucked off, Kitty was there to comfort Mary. Until Mary followed.
Notes: There is a severe lack of both Kitty-centric and Mary/Annie fic in this fandom and this fic covers both bases. Just a really excellent Kitty character study and a great exploration of grief
House Share by Sheepyblue (@ginevralinton)
Rating: G
Ships: Alison/Mike
Summary:
In which Mike makes a New Year's Resolution, with varying degrees of success
(Or, a story of Mike spending time with the ghosts)
Notes: I've read a few variants of Mike spending time with the ghosts but I really like this one. My favourite chapter was definitely the Humphrey one, I won't spoil it but it's very funny. This author has far too many Ghosts fics for me to include in this post so I'd recommend you look through their other works
...And A Rainbow! by Spineless_Lobster (@spineless-lobster )
Rating: G
Ships: None
Summary:
Alison buys the Captain some pride merchandise, Kitty gets very excited that an entire room in the house is covered in rainbows. The two ghosts decide to have a sleepover to celebrate the (gay) occasion.
Notes: For all my Cap & Kitty lovers, this is pure fluff. Made me giggle.
Nothing Like a Round on 'The Krypton Factor' by neverfaraway
Rating: T
Ships: The Captain/Pat
Summary:
Wedding season approaches at Button House and, for once, everything is going off without a hitch. Of course, there’s the slight issue of Pat’s recent epiphany about his sexuality, Kitty’s determination to get her hands on as much badly-written erotica as possible, and the peasants becoming decidedly revolting. Still, if only the ghosts can refrain from murdering any of the builders, Alison is fairly sure they can pull this off.
Or, Pat and the Captain negotiate coming out, even if it's only to each other.
Notes: Even if you, like myself, aren't a Patcap shipper, this fic is worth the read solely for the the subplot about the Plague Ghosts staging a leftist uprising. The perfect blend of comedy and heartfelt moments, this fic feels like it could have been an actual episode of Ghosts.
Don't Let The Good Life Pass You By by Impossibly_Izzy (@impossiblyizzy)
Rating: M
Ships: The Captain/Pat, Alison/Mike, minor Robin/Julian
Summary:
When the ghosts are mysteriously resurrected, life at Button House only gets more chaotic. Asking, how do you live in a world that wasn't built for you? How do you find meaning in a cold uncaring universe? And what does the Captain eat for breakfast?
Notes: Crack treated seriously is one of my fav AO3 genres and this fic is the cream of the crop. Despite being a Patcap fic, all the characters reactions to living in the modern world were explored in a detailed and hysterical way. I think about the scene where the whole gang goes to the pub constantly.
Queer Eye (The Captain Edition) by swimmingfox
Rating: Not Rated but I'd give it T
Ships: Past The Captain/Havers
Summary:
In a miraculous world where they have the ability to see ghosts, the Fab 5 descend upon Button House to transform the Captain (and, well, everyone).
Notes: Exactly what it says on the tin. Just pure hijinks, I can't fault it. Don't let the script format put you off, the author has done an excellent job of characterising everyone's voice
Fabrications by SwaggerStick
Rating: T
Ships: The Captain/Julian
Summary:
"It's true," said Julian. "You lot couldn't lie to save your lives."
The Captain took personal offence at that statement. So, apparently, did Pat. "Oh give over," he said. "Like you can do better."
----------
The ghosts decide to figure out which one of them is the best liar. Competitively.
Notes: Another fic that really feels like it could be an actual episode. Very funny and also provides an explanation to the ghosts' pee turning to dust thing that has been bothering me since last Christmas so honestly you should just read it for that. Ship content is minor if Julicap isn't your thing (it's not really mine either)
Good Boy by Ailendolin (@ailendolin)
Rating: T
Ships: Mike/Alison
Summary:
"I’ve been thinking – Robin saved my life, didn’t he? Last week when I was out in the storm.”
“Because of the stupid bear,” Alison couldn’t help but remind him.
“Yeah, whatever,” Mike said with a roll of his eyes. “So when he redirected the lightning I saw him for a brief moment and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that.”
Alison felt her eyes soften. “Oh Mike, why didn’t you say anything?”
“No, it’s not like that,” Mike waved her worry away. “I know we’ve thanked him for what he did but with the gatehouse burning down and the whole insurance mess it feels like we haven’t really appreciated it enough, you know?”
Mike and Alison plan a surprise for Robin.
Notes: Very sweet addition to the season 4 finale. Would have loved to see something like this in season 5 but this is almost as good.
fieri sentio et excrucior by oui_oui_mon_ami (@sunshine-soprano)
Rating: T
Ships: The Captain/OMC
Summary:
It all begins when the Captain meets the Roman centurion ghost next door.
Notes: An absolute fandom classic, I couldn't not include it. Not normally a huge fan of ocs but this one is vey well done. You can tell the author is very passionate about Latin and roman history which I always enjoy seeing (the passion not necessarily roman history).
The Moneypot by someplsloverobbierotten (@caps-clever-girl)
Rating: T
Ships: Julian/Robin
Summary:
Julian bet Robin a tenner over Heather getting sucked off. He of course tries squirrel his way out, but Robin’s not letting him off that easily.
OR: Robin and Julian like their bets, but what's a ghost to spend imaginary money on?
Notes: Another fic that is basically canon to me. The author absolutely nailed Julian's voice. Overall just a fun read with some genuinely sweet moments.
Thanks, Skipper by NaughtyBees
Rating: G
Ships: None
Summary: Button House gets a visitor, someone specifically looking for Pat.
Notes: No 1 trans ally Pat Butcher, what more could you ask for? The definition of short and sweet
smoke gets in your eyes by sidelined
Rating: T
Ships: Alison/Mike, The Captain/Havers, minor Julian/Robin
Summary:
Alison and Mike move into Button House and, completely unintentionally, teach the ghosts valuable lessons about love.
(In which Alison worries about a first date, Robin and Julian discuss marriage, Thomas accidentally humbles himself, Kitty discovers that romance can live everywhere, and the Captain ponders his loneliness
Notes: A really sweet set of vignettes about the ghosts and love. The Mike and Alison first date scene is canon to me, the author nailed Mike.
#bbc ghosts#ghosts bbc#bbc ghosts fic#fic rec#fic reccomendations#the captain#the captain bbc ghosts#kitty bbc ghosts#robin bbc ghosts#mary bbc ghosts#humphrey bbc ghosts#humphrey bone#thomas thorne#fanny button#pat butcher#julian fawcett#ao3#ao3 fanfic#mine
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Dreamwidth and Lurking
In (I think) the notes on my "Why is everyone recommending Dreamwidth as a Tumblr alternative?" post, someone asked if it was possible to lurk on Dreamwidth. My first instinct was to automatically reply with "yes", since wasn't lurking just kinda. Hanging out and reading someone's posts and generally not letting them know you're there in any way? But getting the question at all made me stop and think for a minute, because if that's all that lurking is, then why would someone feel the need to ask the question in the first place? Does that mean that lurking means something different on Tumblr than I'm used to?
This lead to my initial question post, and, a few days after that, my All About Lurking Poll, which wrapped up yesterday. I personally found the results fascinating, and while the answer that got the most votes out of the 2808 responses was "You do not interact in any way with the poster(s); you can only read", other answers together made up more than 50% of the responses.
So when it comes to the question of whether it's possible to lurk on Dreamwidth, it depends heavily on what you consider lurking to be! I'll be covering the first four options, which should between them cover at least most of the rest of the poll answers.
Option one: "You do not interact in any way with the poster; you can only read"
Generally possible! I had five different Tumblr accounts each open to their own tabs before I broke down and got my own account to condense them down. Given how many tabs I have open as a result of that decision, for reading or reblogging later, that backfired a bit, but the intent was there!
I did it for at least five LiveJournalers back in the day that I was too intimidated to add to my friends list (basically the equivalent of Following on Tumblr), only that was also before tabs, and I hated having extra windows open, so I would cycle through the links in the search bar.
That said, there are some people who have their journals set to "Access Only"; they have posts that only people with a Dreamwidth account who they have granted the ability to access these "Locked" posts will be able to see. It's a privacy feature that's very beloved at Dreamwidth, and it means that anyone without an account, or without access, can only see posts that are shared publicly.
I want to add that I'm not actually sure how Dreamwidth works on other RSS Readers, which I'm sure would simplify things somewhat, but I do know that you can subscribe to RSS accounts through Dreamwidth! If someone wants to chime in with more details, I would welcome them!
Option two: You can follow the poster, but not interact any farther than that
Yes! I've got any number of "ghosts" following me, who have Dreamwidth accounts and who have subscribed to my account, but who haven't granted me access and who don't comment on my posts.
Aside from the above-mentioned RSS Feed idea, the easiest way to do this is to create a Dreamwidth account and, well, subscribe to someone whose updates you want to see! It's basically the same as following on Tumblr, with a few functional differences; and for the purposes of this poll answer, it may as well be exactly the same.
As an important note, you don't actually have to grant anyone access to your locked posts in order to subscribe to them! On LiveJournal, these features were connected (you could only follow an account by adding them to your "Friends List", and this would grant them access to all of your locked posts, IIRC), but Dreamwidth made a point of separating them. This allows greater privacy for everyone involved. Dreamwidth went one step further, and created "Access Filters", so a given journal owner could make a post that only a certain subset of people could see, but that's a post for a different time.
Option Three: You can follow the poster and like their posts, but not reblog
Unfortunately, this is where things fall apart for anyone who likes this answer best: Dreamwidth has no "Like" function. The closest you can come here is to create an actual comment, and only include an emoji in the text. This is probably a little bit more interactive than a lot of people are interested in when it comes to lurking, and understandably so!
If you want to read about why Dreamwidth doesn't have a "Likes" system, site co-owner/co-founder Denise talks about that in a comment on an official news post right over here. (Full disclosure, I'm soc_puppet on Dreamwidth, so that's me replying to her comment there.)
Option Four: You can follow the poster and reblog their posts, but not like them
Almost no one picked this option 😂 I can understand why, since reblogging is a higher-interaction function than liking, and if you're reblogging already, you might as well go for the lower-interaction function as well.
That said, the answer for this is surprisingly: Yes! You can do this form of lurking!
Reblogging is not a native function of Dreamwidth, though, so it takes a bit more work to do it. If you want to reblog things, you need to learn how from this post. I'm still used to the old way of signal boosting from LiveJournal, so it's not something I ever installed myself, or really intend to install. But if you're looking for a way to reblog stuff on Dreamwidth, this is your answer!
Ironically, I'm pretty sure this script makes the Dreamwidth equivalent of reblogging lower-interaction than the Dreamwidth equivalent of liking. I'm reasonably sure that the person you reblogged from with this script doesn't actually get any sort of notification of your reblog, so you can add just about anything in the tags, or even in your own reblog, and it's very unlikely that they'll see any of it.
What about Asks, anonymous or otherwise, and DMs?
Dreamwidth doesn't really have an Ask function. A lot of Dreamwidth users have a pinned introduction post, and some of them doubtlessly use it to welcome questions from the public, but Tumblr's Ask function is pretty unique. There may be communities with an equivalent feature or interaction (such as posting questions to a community, which may or may not have moderated posts), but it's not something you can generally do with individually owned journals. But Asks aren't something that everyone on Tumblr has enabled either, anonymous or otherwise.
Dreamwidth does have a Private Message feature, but as on Tumblr, a journal's owner has control over who can send them a message.
So that's it!
That's all I can think of to tell you about Dreamwidth and lurking, and lurking on Dreamwidth. If you have any questions I didn't already cover, feel free to ask, and I'll do my best to answer them!
#long post#lurking#let me tell you about#dreamwidth#let me tell you about dreamwidth#lurking on dreamwidth#internet culture#dreamwidth culture#tumblr culture
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MI6 Cafe Creators Tag Game
(Thank you for tagging me, @3nigm4art!)
We’d love for people to keep getting to know each other after this year’s 007 Fest, so we’re starting this tag game!
Rules: Answer the questions, then tag 3 new people to complete this. Also, tag the person who tagged you and @mi6-cafe so we can reblog your response.
Note that when we say ‘fanwork’ in the questions below, that could mean a fanfic, gif, fanart, headcanon, cosplay, crocheted work---any kind of fancreation counts!
(IMPORTANT NOTICE: in this post I'll be talking about my works/my inspirations in general, not just stuff that has been done for this Fest!)
(Also sorry in advance for the very long post 🙇)
1. What work of yours challenged you when you were creating it?
To be fair a lot of the recent stuff I did, each time for different reasons. Some examples:
The Good, the Bad and the Quartermaster (Q dealing with the shenanigans of various 00 agents): writing a fic in the Craig!Bond verse, based on something existing (Comms Chatter) and with a hard deadline (because of the Riverhouse Remix event)
The God is Dead (Janus reforms): managing to write a 100-word story, no more, no less. The point behind that is that I have the annoying habit of making fics way longer that they need to be—the most notorious example of that being a “short atmospheric experiment” that ended up as a 8K-word fic. You’ll find that one further down this list, btw.
Some Solace in the Void (and kinda Straight Up, With a Twist too—both spicy Alec/Xenia action): writing smut. Smut is stupidly hard to write, and I learnt it the hard way. No puns intended. Let’s say that I’m happier with my second attempt than my first…
Shadow Crossing (Bond confronts the ghosts of the Janus gang): coming up with consistent rules of the universe. Can’t tell you much more because spoilers… except that yes, this was the “short atmospheric experiment”.
My series of "Queering the Bond Characters" posts (see my Fest 2022 masterpost for the links): sexuality and LGBT topics are still things I'm learning to get comfortable with talking about, so that was quite a big thing for me to do.
2. What is a fanwork you’ve seen which gave you a new headcanon about a character?
I guess my answers all will be lists, won’t they? 😅
From the top of my head, I can say…
Tastes Like Strawberries: Boris is in fact very gay, and he acts so obnoxiously/cluelessly around women in an attempt to hide it (the next entry helped refine that, actually)
The Queer Review of GoldenEye (does this count as fanwork? I’d say it does, as meta): DRASTICALLY changed my views on Alec and his relationship with Bond. Basically he went from “fiercely aromantic straight and can’t even imagine anything else” to “confused, clueless, deeply closeted bi and Bond is the love of his life. Also desperate for love and praise”. I’m not going to complain—all those new layers add even more delicious complexity to his character (though I reckon, I have to thank @prismatic-bell for pushing me further down that path 🥲)
The Land of No Surrender: if Alec was a bit more confident in his sexuality but still had intense spite against Bond, that's what would happen. Believe it or not, this fic made me question a lot of things.
These headcanons, especially those describing Lazenby!Bond as having “urges” for queerness and Dalton!Bond as aroace—a post that directly influenced this one btw.
3. Is there a fanwork that you really want to make, but you haven’t started yet?
There are mainly three right now:
an atmospheric/eerie piece revolving around Alec wandering in the streets of Moscow pre-GoldenEye, strongly inspired by the song Спокойная ночь (Calm Night) by Kino
for a completely different atmosphere, a sitcom-ish piece involving Boris playing Doom instead of working... and getting caught red-handed by the rest of the Janus gang
one final chapter for Missing Connection, because I'll be damned if this one doesn't deserve closure.
For those that I'm less sure about, I'd say Janus’ ghost trial (inspired by Pink Floyd’s The Trial, and a “sequel” to Væ Victori), some Bond/Alec/Xenia, maaaaybe some 00Q00... and honestly, a ton of other ideas 🥲
4. What fanwork of yours surprised you, and how?
I was about to say that it was hard to choose, then I just remembered one fic in particular—Let It All Out. While it isn’t the first fic I did in just one day, it’s by far the longest and most intensely emotional in that category. Basically I needed to scream in the dark that day, and it just… happened, you know. Q is just me in this—even the title makes no secret of it.
That being said, there’s for honourable mentions:
The Good, the Bad and the Quartermaster (again): I didn’t expect Q to be so easy for me to write. I should have known though: nerd, check. Working in IT, check. Cat lover, check. Not very comfortable with people, check. Tea drinker, check.
A Momentary Glimpse of Reason: if anyone told 2021 me I’d do a sweet, fluffy, unambiguous Bond/Alec drabble, I’d have laughed at their faces and said it was bloody impossible. Then it just happened all smoothly and naturally. How times have changed. In the same vein, these and these chibis.
5. What themes/styles/subjects are common across many of your fanworks?
Alec. Silverova's inexhaustible source of inspiration since 2007.
Okay, other than him. Time to get all serious and pedant, because I'd say...
choices and consequences
dealing with emotions you don't always understand (both of these first two are very big ones. My depiction of Alec (and of my main OC before he took her place in my writing) is almost all about them)
death and the afterlife (don't get me wrong, I hate killing off characters. Yet I have a growing number of ghost stories under my belt. And also other stories dealing with the fear of dying or metaphorical death)
Russia (consequence of GoldenEye making me fall in love with this country's history)
6. What other fandoms do you create for, if any?
None, but I’m a huge fan of Half Life and Miami Vice. And Berserk. And Ghost in the Shell. And… crap, a lot of stuff. But somehow none of these can take over GoldenEye (Alec, really) as the centre of my creative world. Two words: special interest.
… okay, maybe I should mention GoldenEye Rogue Agent. But is it really a different fandom? 🤔
7. Is there an artist that you like to listen to while you create? Or one whose work always inspires you?
To be fair, to create I need absolute silence—otherwise my mind will wander right off. That being said, music is always a huge inspiration of mine, as it pretty much is the best way for me to immerse myself in the ambiance/mood/emotion of what I’m writing. I listen to music as I do something else, and I immerse myself in my imaginary world. Then I get the vibe and put it on paper, if this makes sense.
So to answer the question, three big names: Perturbator, Pink Floyd, Frankie Goes to Hollywood. And then, a good metric ton of 1980s rock/new wave songs, synthwave(ish) stuff and miscellaneous soundtracks, because that’s just what makes me vibe.
As for writers/visual artists… I think it’s probably obvious by now that PennyFifer and I feed off each other’s more or less chaotic ideas. Best example of that has to be me writing Life’s Little Ironies within hours of him publishing Ghost Riders in the Sky. Then there’s 3NIGM4, who just stirs my urge for both drawing and (heavy) angst. I can’t really think of other people, to be fair… everything I like influences me, one way or another. It’s not really linked to who makes the stuff.
8. Share a fanwork that you’ve found yourself thinking about weeks after reading/seeing it.
Oof, hard one. I have to confess, I am not a very big fanfic reader (or reader in general, in fact) 😱
I guess I’ll just list the stuff I randomly remembered one day and had to search hard to find them again?
The Hanging Wood: very old fic, but whose premise stuck with me. Eventually I did Shadow Crossing, and I was like “oh wait, wasn’t there a fic I’ve read long ago with that vibe?” Yep, there was.
The fanart in Welcome Home, You’re No Longer Alone: spicy. Very spicy. But somehow, when the idea of maybe doing 00Q00 stuff made its way into my mind, it was pretty much the first thing I thought about.
Scars: a Chinese fic I randomly put in Google Translate and... ooboi, what a ride. Again, spicy (and frankly quite disquieting), but at the same time the take on Alec was so interesting.
Touch It, Stroke It, and Undress It (chapter 4 specifically): again, the portrayal of Alec here is. So. STELLAR.
007 Rogue Agent: thinking about it, I can’t not mention this one. Missing Connection, my very first fic (and incidentally the one I’ve written for 9. Friggin. Years), began as an answer to it. So if not for it, I probably wouldn’t have got into fanfiction. Wild, I know.
Real Fear: oh look, another Rogue Agent fic (I mean, there aren’t many of them in the first place). Sometimes I just have to revisit it, the vibe really hits something in me.
Strangeness on a Train: okay, I might have included this one because of a private joke I have with Fifer. It’s uh… probably the first explicit Bond/Alec fic I’ve read in my life? Let’s say I wasn’t quite ready the first time, but I have made my peace with it since then 🥲
9. Finally, share where you post your works!
AO3: Emilia_Silverova
DeviantArt (LOL): S1ilverEye there still is some stuff there though
That aside, just my Tumblr.
Tagging: @lowkeynostalgic @tentacletenshi @reallyneedsalife
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On the Run
My dude from Sia’s Fire Meet Gasoline video x reader
Word count: 2725
Summary: After your boyfriend breaks his promise yet again, you two get into an argument.
Warnings: language, angst, mentions of murder, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, not entirely healthy relationship
A/N: Soooo, I accidentally wrote smut. It’s a second attempt and hopefully a bit better one. This only came to be because a lot of people reblogged my text post about that nameless Pedro character, but I haven’t seen any fics actually written, so I tried it.
And once again I have to thank @pedrocentric for being patient and putting up with my BS. You are an angel, my friend :-)
English is not my first language and I have no one to beta for me. That is just a very long way to say: sorry, my English sucks.
You knew something went horribly wrong the second he stepped into the house. Seeing him drenched from the pouring rain that refused to stop for the last three days, with that unnerving calmness that always made your stomach flip.
“What did you do?” you asked him from your bed as he peeled off the wet clothing from his body. His eyes were harsh, lifeless as he looked at you. You wanted to look away, just turn around and go to sleep, because you knew that nothing good would come out of that conversation, but you didn’t. Knowing no matter what he had done or what would be said, you will wake up in his arms tomorrow, warm and safe and ready.
He didn’t bother with putting fresh clothes on as he sat on the edge of the bed. You could see droplets rolling down his back and temples from his wet hair and the goosebumps on his arms. He had to be freezing, but you didn’t offer him a place under the covers next to you.
“What did you do?” you asked again, trying to keep the tears of anger at bay.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, before looking at you. “I-I… He recognized me.”
You closed your eyes at his words, turning your head away from him to look at the chipped off wall by the bedroom door instead. You barely listened as he told you what happened. You didn’t have to hear it. You had the whole speech memorized the same way you had that song your mom used to sing you to sleep with. With all the changes in tone and facial expressions.
“Look at me,” he demanded after he finished talking. You knew he was about to get angry and frustrated, mostly at himself, but you were the one he’s gonna aim it at.
You lowered your gaze from the wall to your hands.
“You promised... We promised to each other.” You looked up, looking somewhere over his shoulder rather than at him.
“What the fuck would you have me do, huh?” He grabbed you by your cheeks forcefully and made you look straight at him. “Huh?”
You shook your head to twist out of his grip, but it only made him dug his fingers deeper into the soft flesh. “Fuck you!” you spat at him, kicking his side from under the covers.
He doubled over and yelped in pain, but instead of releasing you, he forced your head closer to him. “What the fuck?!” You could feel some drops of spit hitting your face as he yelled. His dark eyes bore into yours, and you could finally see some life in them.
“You could have tried and talked to him! You could have come home to me, and we could have just--”
“We could have what?! Leave? What difference would it make? We still have to leave.” He didn’t let you finish, but he finally let go of your jaw, pushing your face to the side dismissively.
“Yes! But we didn’t have to add another dead body to the already long list, you dick!”
He scoffed at your reasoning. “That’s what’s bothering you? Well, sweetheart, we didn’t do shit. I killed him.”
You could feel his words opening a hole in your chest. You knew he didn’t mean it, but if that’s how he wanted to play it, you were game.
“Sure, makes sense” you nodded calmly. His brows furrowed slightly at the change in your attitude, but he also knew there was more coming. “In that case, I will go pack my things and take the car tomorrow, and you can go fuck yourself.” You knew it was petty, but it also gave you some satisfaction, so who the fuck cares.
He huffed out in annoyance and pinched the bridge of his nose. Instead of waiting for an answer, you got from the bed and grabbed a bag from the closet. You didn’t look at him as you went to your dresser to start packing your underwear and socks, but you could feel his eyes following you. Now it was just a game of patience.
You enjoyed the quiet that surrounded you as you packed your things. It wasn’t often you got this much time to do it properly. More often than not you just stuffed everything into the bags, yelling at each other if the other one got this and that.
“Where are you planning to go then?” he asked, and you could hear the amusement in his voice.
Refusing to let him know how infuriating he was, you took a deep breath to calm your nerves before answering. “That’s none of your concern anymore.”
He hummed, and you could hear him move on the bed. Thinking he was laying down and going to sleep you were ready to rip him a new one for getting into bed as wet as he was. Before you could even turn around he had his arm around your midsection, and before you knew what was happening you were on your back in the middle of the bed.
“In that case, I have to take advantage of our last night together.”
It took you a moment to get your bearings, a moment he took full advantage of. Spreading your legs, he settled between them, and he pinned your wrist to the bed beside your head before you had a chance to do anything.
You bared your teeth as you tried to push against him, only to make him groan as you accidentally rubbed your clothed core against his already hard cock.
“Is this what turns you on you fucking psycho?” You shake your head in disbelief, making him laugh.
He slides your hand up the bed, so he can cover both your wrist with just one hand and sneaks the other one into your panties, making you arch off the bed. His finger ghost over your clit, making you bite your lip in frustration. He stops at your opening, smiling as your hips buckle into his hand, silently begging him to fill you.
“Come on, querida,” he coos with a self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Who’s the psycho now, huh?” He brings the finger from your panties to your face, turning it slightly against the light, so you can see how it glistens with your juices. “Open up,” he says as he skims the finger over your lower lip.
You press your lips together, twisting your head out of his reach. He doesn’t force it open, instead puts it in his mouth, humming around the digit as he sucks on it before removing it, clean.
“It’s okay, my love,” he leans down, touching his nose to yours. “I’m gonna get you to open that pretty little mouth of yours before I’m done. That’s a promise.” His voice is calm, almost saccharine sweet, but you recognize that voice from a completely different setting. It’s the same one he uses when dealing with the lowlifes who think they can fuck him over, and it makes something deep inside you clench.
You move impatiently under him, earning yourself a brush of his lips against yours before he moves to your neck, making your back fly off the bed every time he bites almost painfully at the skin there. You whine pathetically, refusing to open your mouth and scream in pleasure. You were not gonna give in that easily.
His bites are distracting enough, and you don’t notice his nimble fingers sliding your panties to the side before his fingers plunge deep into you. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck even more to his ministration, your breath caught in your throat. You bite your lower lip as his fingers thrust inside you, never missing that sweet spot that made your body feel like you were struck by lightning, while his thumb worked over your clit-
He knows when you are nearing your peak, and he perfected the art of leaving you stranded just before the big finale. Just like now. Your hips grind against nothing as he removes his hand from between your legs, your eyes closed, your toes curled, and you swear that if he didn’t press his hips against yours to stop you from moving you would cum just from the power of sheer will and desperation.
You whine again, turning and twisting under him. You lock your legs around his hips and try to roll him over, but he just laughs at your efforts and skims his fingers over your lips again.
You shake your head, determined to win after the stunt he just pulled. His smile turns almost vicious as he shrugs and wipes your juices around your lips and on your chin.
“Well, I think it’s time for me to start trying, what do you think, love?”
Your eyes widen at his words, but before you can react he’s pulling off your shirt over your head. For a moment you think you will have a brief chance to get on top of him and take what you want when he will have to let go of your hands to get the shirt off. You should have known better.
He leaves the shirt around your wrist and twists it around them before twisting it around his hand to have better control.
“God, look at you,” his eyes slid down your arms, to your face, and finally to your breasts. “It’s been a while since I had you on display like this.” To make his point he flicked your nipple before twisting it gently between his fingers. Smiling to himself as you jumped under the touch.
“Maybe you just need some better offer for you to open your mouth, huh?” He twisted the other nipple before shuffling up your body with both knees on either side of you and then finally settled over your chest.
His cock bobbed in front of your face, and you could see how painfully hard he was, dripping onto your chin and neck. You lick your lips absentmindedly at the sigh and quickly look up at him as you realize your mistake.
“Is that what you wanted?” He gripped his length, swiping it across your lips, leaving a wet trail behind. “Come on, love, we both know you want to,” he prompted you with a groan as he pumped himself a few times.
Knowing the game was up anyway, you slowly open your mouth, licking the taste of him off your lips, humming when it mixes with the taste of your own arousal.
“That’s it,” he praises, shuffling a bit closer, tapping the tip of his cock against your tongue before holding it still for you. You start with slow kittenish licks, letting your tongue teasingly twirl around the head. “That’s it,” he repeats, breathless now, smoothing your hair back and out of your face. You close your eyes, practically purring as his fingers massage the back of your head before taking a fistful of your hair. You yelp in surprise and a bit of pain as he forces your head up and forward, making you gag as his cock touches the back of your throat. You try to relax, breathe through your nose, but it takes you longer than usual.
You can feel tears rolling down your cheeks as you look up at him and for a second he looks concerned. You can see the regret in his eyes, so you moan around his length, trying to bob your head.
Finally, he smiles, removing himself from your mouth just to thrust in again, this time more gently, while holding your head in place. You flatten your tongue, molding it to the underside of his cock while sucking rhythmically with his thrusts.
“Fu-- fuck,” he groans and his thrusts become harsher, more erratic, and it makes you moan desperately. The deep sounds coming out of his chest making your cunt clench around nothing, and you press your legs together, writhing on the bed in search of some release.
He looks over his shoulder, laughing in between grunts. He lets go of your hands and head just so he can lean backward. You spread open your thighs immediately, your hips bucking up to meet his touch and get his hands on you faster. He uses two fingers to spread you open, and you whine as the cold air hits you. Your head falls into the sheets, making his cock pop out of your mouth, leaving a stripe of saliva over your chin and down to your neck.
You were ready to beg, plead, promise him the moon and the stars for just a touch, but he cut you off as his hand landed on your pussy in a slap, making you scream instead.
“Come here, querida.” He got off your chest to kneel between your legs and then lay down on top of you, his cock nudging at your opening. You arch your back, trying to position yourself to get him inside you, but he shifts his hips away, leaving you to groan in frustration.
Leaning down, he licks a stripe from your neck and over your chin before he plunges his tongue into your mouth. You moan, finally getting rid of the shirt around your wrists, you lower your hands to his hair, tugging at the wet strands, making him grunt into your mouth. His hands are on your breast squeezing, pinching doing everything to draw the most pathetic sounds of pleasure out of you.
He kisses and licks his down your body, stopping to breathe against your pussy, looking up at you with a wicked smile. You watch intently, goosebumps rising over your body, as he grabs the back of your thighs and licks into you from opening up to your clit. You fist the sheets by your side, moaning out his name in relief. He flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times, humming with satisfaction as your moans become high pitched, and you start grinding against his mouth.
He crawls back up your body with your legs over his shoulder, impaling you in one fluid motion. You both groan at the sensation, and he mumbles something about you being wet, but you are unable to properly process anything beyond the feel of the slight stretch and burn you love so much.
He plants his hands next to your head, almost folding you in half. He sets a punishing pace, his skin slapping against yours, leaving your mouth open in a silent scream as the angle allows him to hit the right spot with ease.
“You think I’d ever let you leave?” he asks through gritted teeth. “I would kill a hundred people before I’d ever let you walk out of that door, do you understand?” He taps your cheek with his fingers to make you focus on him, exchanging thrusting for a slow, deep grind of his hips, but at that point, it doesn’t matter. You are too close, your body too desperate to need anything more than the constant pressure against your g-spot after his earlier ministration.
You whine at his words unable to form a sentence as you feel your orgasm slowly building, making your whole body tense and waiting for the final snap. “I said: Do. You. Understand?” He punctuated his words with fast hard snaps of his hips, forcing the orgasm out of you.
“Yes! Yes!” you screamed, your whole body trying to ravel on itself as waves and waves of pleasure rolled over you.
You heard buzzing in your ears when you finally relaxed, barely understanding the string of litany that fell from his mouth as the clutches of ecstasy overtook him as well. You felt him seated deep inside you, twitching, and you opened your eyes to catch a glimpse of his face twisted in pleasure.
He slowly took your legs off his shoulders before collapsing on top of you, his face buried between your breasts. Both of you were heaving, unable to properly catch your breaths much less move.
“You didn’t mean it, right?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.
You nudge his chin with your finger, making him look up at you. “I would rather kill 100 people than to spend a day without you.”
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#Bookoween is back!
Given that a certain pandemic is making it really difficult to do traditional Halloween things like parties or trick-or-treating or, well, anything else, I thought this might be a good time to bring back my Halloween-themed booklr challenge from a couple years back. Think of it like trick-or-treating but with 100% more digital content!
I’m switching up a few things about it though, to keep things fresh for anyone who participated the last time. Re-vamp-ing the challenge, if you will. 🧛♀️
Essentially, this is going to run like every other monthly challenge—I post prompts, you post content—but I’m going to be scoring you, and then you’re going to “win” stuff based on what score you get. This year, I’m also adding a reading challenge because why not.
I’d like to think that the last Bookoween participants had a lot of fun. (I know I did.) Hopefully this will be at least as fun, if not better!
Rules and the Points System
1. Post something bookish for every prompt that inspires you (between October 1 and 31). This can be a photo, rant, book review, gifset, fancast, video, dramatic reading, etc. Get creative, have fun, and maybe challenge yourself a little.
Every five posts, you’ll level up one Spook Factor.
1-4: bat
5-9: ghost
10-14: fairy
15-19: ghoul
20-24: vampire
25-30: swamp monster
31-34: demon
35+: sorcerer
2. You can earn more points by filling the extra challenges below! All points will be counted and then given back to you as candy—so yes, you will be Trick-or-Treating after all! Some challenges are general (like how many books you end up reading), some relate to types of posts, and some are odder. Bolded items can be counted multiple times, so one pet photo is good but three pets are better.
Any post with the #bookoween hashtag will be checked against these challenges whether you try for them or not, and you do not have to work them into the prompt posts. Extra posts are allowed and even encouraged!
3. On the evening of October 31, spilling into November 1 as needed, everyone who’s posted for the challenge will receive an ask stating their Spook Factor and the results of their Trick-or-Treating. For every Trick you do, you’ll get either amusingly tragic backstory or trash-tier Halloween loot like toothbrushes. For every Treat, you get an unspecified amount of candy.
Example: You are a swamp monster whose only friends were a troupe of singing frogs that made it big on the Muppet Show and never came home. You have one Mars bar, a bag of cotton candy, three bags of M&Ms, five Easter eggs, and two Bounty bars.
4. Post everything using the #bookoween hashtag or it’s not getting counted!
Click through to find the extra challenges … IF YOU DARE!
Reading Challenge
Horror - 2 point
Mystery or thriller - 1 point
Other spooky book - 1 point
Diverse author or subject - 3 points
Classics - 2 points
Short stories or novellas - 1 point
Other genres - half a point
Book over 500 pages - 3 points
Book with orange, yellow, or black cover - 1 point
Was on your posted TBR for the month - 2 points
Books will get counted for each prompt they fill. A classic mystery novel is worth 3 points. A diverse horror novel is 5 points. A door-stopper fantasy novel is 3.5 points. And so on.
Trick
Reuse a prop or backdrop.
Make a post without a single book in it.
Post a selfie.
Add 3 or more books to my TBR
Bake/cook something bookish but don’t share the recipe.
Get no notes on any Bookoween post (self-reblogs don’t count).
Make less than 5 posts referencing fall or Halloween.
Start a tag meme.
Feature Halloween candy before October 15.
Make a pun.
Post a book that’s been dog-eared.
Only post books from the same genre (romance, sci-fi, YA, etc.)
Acknowledge any of: World Pasta Day (Oct. 25), National Vodka Day (Oct 4), International Day of the Nacho (Oct. 21), CAPS LOCK DAY (Oct. 22), Federation Day (Oct. 12), World Space Week (Oct. 4-10), National Fossil Day (Oct. 14), International Wombat Day (Oct. 22) or Canadian Thanksgiving (Oct. 12).
Treat
Make more than one type of post (photos and text, text and audio, photos and moodboards, videos and tag memes).
Read more than 5 books.
Read more than 10 books
Bake/cook something bookish.
Post original Halloween or fall-themed writing.
Post a review or a reaction post.
Start an ask meme.
Post a rec list.
Make some bookish art.
Remove at least 3 books from your physical TBR.
Post a picture with a pet in it (live, toy, painting, etc.)
Rec another booklr.
Acknowledge any of: Global Handwashing Day (Oct. 15), World Mental Health Day (Oct. 10), National Disability Employment Awareness Month, International Pronouns Day (Oct. 31), UK Black History Month, Domestic Violence Awareness Month, LGBT History Month, Indigenous Peoples’ Day (Oct. 12), or Dia de los muertos.
FAQs
Do I have to post on the day the prompt is for?
Absolutely not! Have everything up by Halloween and you’re golden.
Do I have to fill the Trick and Treat prompts? What happens if I avoid them?
You don’t have to do them! You can absolutely craft your #bookoween without them! But then you won’t get candy and where’s the fun in that?
The Tricks sound more fun than the Treats! Why are you trying to discourage me from doing them?
Who said I was? You get a longer ask! And character depth!
What if I Trick-or-Treat without the #bookoween hashtag?
Then I will not see it and it will not be counted towards the ask.
What if I manage to do all the prompts, all the Tricks, and all the Treats?
Then you are amazing and should maybe spend less time online though we’re lucky to have you. Do you get something special? Undecided. Maybe.
#booklr#bookblr#photo challenges#reading challenges#book challenges#reviving booklr#bookish#bookworm#reading#bookoween#Halloween
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Title: Rumor Has It {15}
Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler-Evans
Warning: Plot, Cursing, HEAVY ANGST,
Word Count: 4.8K
Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?
**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.
**NOTE: A WORK OF FICTION. NOT CREATED TO GARNER HATE OF ANY SORT.
**Loosely Edited/Proofread**
Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️❤️
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two days passed where you flatlined at least three times a day. Every time it happened, it sent him and everyone else into a tailspin. No one had any time to breathe before another health crisis occurred. The swelling in your brain only returned, which meant you required surgery after surgery. By the time four days had passed, you’d had three surgeries to stop the swelling and bleeding in your brain, and in those three days, your prognosis remained uncertain. Your doctor was optimistic one day because you were holding on and fighting, but the next, the optimism faltered because of how many complications you faced.
He was a ghost. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t leave. He didn’t speak. He didn’t do anything by sit at your bedside and watch you. When he wasn’t doing that he was praying for your recovery, praying for some sign or glimmer of hope. Through his family’s anger, his mother still coddled him. Every few hours, she was pushing food into his hands, trying to convince him to eat. Her logic, “you can’t be there for her if you don’t take care of yourself.” He didn’t know if he deserved to be there to take care of you at this point.
The longer you remained in the induced coma the doctors put you in, and the more problems that arose, he blamed himself more and more. By day five, he was seething in self-pity and loathing. He couldn’t look himself in the mirror without hearing echoes of conversations you’d had. He couldn’t close his eyes even for a second without seeing your face. It should have brought him comfort, but it didn’t it was haunting—you were haunting him, and you were still breathing.
Whenever he did step away for biological functions, he came back to find Christiano in your room. Every time he saw him, his instinct said to kill him, and every time Christiano laid eyes on him, he could see the hatred and jealousy in his eyes. When he wasn’t there, Christiano was slandering him to any tabloid that would give him airtime. He called him every name, even went as far as to add to the speculation he’d had an affair. The only reason why he didn’t pummel his ass was because of you.
Everyone was right, this was the place, and it certainly wasn’t the time. He was the least important factor in all of this. He still made it difficult. He had to co-exist with him around, had to find a way to remain in the same room with him without jumping over your bed to choke him out. He’d had plenty of daydreams that ended in Christiano’s dead body. He’d done it many ways, and each ending had him smirking. Scott was the one to point out the evilness to his smirk once, and like his brother, he knew just what had put the smirk there.
“Tell me something,” Christiano began. He was sitting across the room on your left-hand side with an evident scowl. “Why her?”
Rolling his eyes, he sighed out. He knew Christiano was only setting some trap for him to fall in, either by showcasing his rage that would prove to your family he was the worst choice you could have made. Clenching his jaw, he focused on your face determined not to fall for his antics.
“I’m just trying to make friendly conversation. It’s just us here. Man to man tell me. Why her?”
“What the fuck does that even mean?”
“Why’d you go after her? I know she told you about me. I know because we talked a little bit after you met.”
His head snapped to Christiano then. You hadn’t told him that.
“She didn’t tell you, did she?” He scoffed then crossed his arms. “Yeah. I called one night, she said she was in Madagascar, Malaysia—no, that’s not it—hmm--Maldives.” Christiano looked at him then. The Maldives meant something to him. Perking up in his seat, he saw a bigger smirk on Christiano’s face. He knew it meant something. “Yeah, it was the Maldives. We talked for like an hour. She kept her voice low, I thought she was just tired, but you were probably fast asleep, and she didn’t want you to know that she was talking to me.”
Christiano shook his head and chuckled to himself. “Why her?”
He stared at you again. You were battered and bruised with tubes and wires coming out of every possible surface of skin, but still gorgeous. He couldn’t help but wonder what you’d talked to him about. He remembered the trip to the Maldives--he remembered it well. He knew this was what Christiano wanted, him to doubt you, doubt your relationship. He was a real asshole.
“If you really knew anything about love, then you’d know I didn’t have a choice, and she wasn’t singled out. If you knew about anything but possessing and claiming like the entitled fuck you are, then you’d know something more powerful, something bigger than anything was what had a hand in it being her for me.”
When he looked at Christiano, he saw the same rage and jealousy, but he also saw something else confusion. He had no idea what he was talking about. This wasn’t about love for Christiano. He’d always known it, but he was surer than ever. The question was, what was this about? Before either of them could speak again, the door opened, revealing your doctor—Dr. Diallo and another doctor in pink scrubs.
“Oh, excuse the intrusion,” he began.
“It’s fine. Is there a change?”
“I’m afraid not, I’ve brought the head of OB. Remember, I told you we’d schedule a proper workup for the pregnancy?”
“Yes,” he answered as he rose from his seat.
“Mr. Evans, my name is Dr. Michaelson. I am the head of Obstetrics,” she informed, holding out her hand for him to shake, which he did.
“Dr. Diallo has filled me in on everything concerning your wife. I am sorry for your struggle.”
“Thank you.” That was when all eyes landed on Christiano, still sitting there as if he had every right to be there.
“Eh-em, Mr. White, I am going to have to ask you to wait outside. Perhaps you’d like to take a break. This may take some time,” Dr. Diallo informed. Christiano clenched his jaw but didn’t speak as he walked to the door. Before he walked out, Christiano gave him another look that said he had plenty to say, but he kept quiet and left.
“Come in, please.” Both doctors walked into the room, pushing a cart with them.
“I’m here to perform an ultrasound. After everything your wife has been through, we have to fully understand what is happening within the womb as well as make sure the pregnancy is progressing as normal and that the embryo is healthy,” Dr. Michelson explained as she set up the device that was on the cart.
“What if when you examine her, you find things less than ideal?”
Dr. Diallo and Dr. Michaelson exchanged a look that didn’t look hopeful. “Depending on the situation, two things are possible, your wife will naturally have a miscarriage, and the embryo will pass, or a medically assisted miscarriage will be performed,” she explained.
His emotions nearly got the best of him. Taking a moment, he took a deep breath. “We um—she’s already had one miscarriage.”
“When?”
“A few months ago, about eight or so,” he clarified. Dr. Michelson nodded and opened your hospital gown before she squirted a clear gel on your stomach. His eyes didn’t miss the bloodied bandages a few inches above your navel. His heart lurched, making him drop to the seat behind him.
“Are you alright?” Dr. Diallo was to his side after a few moments.
“Fine,” he assured. Dr. Diallo didn’t listen, though; he pressed his fingers to the inside of his wrist, feeling his pulse which was racing.
“Your pulse is higher than normal. When was the last time you slept, Mr. Evans?”
“The night before this all happened,” he confessed.
“Mr. Evans,” Dr. Diallo began. He knew what he was going to say. Raising his hand, he stopped the lecture before it began.
“I know. Let’s continue, please.”
When Dr. Michaelson placed the wand on your stomach. He watched her move it around searching. After almost a minute of silence in the room, it filled with the sound of a rapidly beating heart.
“What’s that?”
Dr. Michaelson smiled as she continued to move the wand. “That Mr. Evans is the sound of your baby. It’s the baby’s heartbeat.”
Tears filled his eyes, and they automatically streamed down his cheeks. The word “baby” echoed in his head. He hadn’t even wrapped his head around the fact that you were pregnant. When he was told the news, it was just something that hadn’t resonated. It was just news. Now it was different.
“It’s fast.”
“It’s absolutely normal. I’m happy that the heartbeat is this pace. I worried it would be slower. Ah-ha, here we are. I stand corrected.”
The image on the screen took his breath away.
“It is the sound of your babies,” Dr. Michaelson clarified. His jaw dropped as he looked at her. She nodded, confirming it.
“Plural?”
“Plural, twins, incredibly strong twins. See, this is one baby and the other. They are in separate sacs, two separate placentas. From this, I’d say fraternal twins.”
He leaned closer, rested his elbows on the edge of your bed, and just gawked at the image on the screen. The two near microscopic tadpole-shaped beings looked more frog-like than humans, but he didn’t care. They were his tadpoles. The weight of that had him dropping his head to rest atop your thigh. his body shook as he sobbed and just listened to the sound of the beats in the room. It was the most incredible sound he’d ever heard. Only one other sound ever had this impact on him—your voice.
“They look healthy. I can’t see anything wrong. There is no abruption of any kind, no bleeding, no abnormalities. They are perfect.” She sounded amazed.
When he looked up again, he just stared at the screen, at your children. He knew he should have felt happiness, and to some degree, he did, but it was a different kind of happiness. His sorrow still tethered him to the earth, making it impossible to feel full happiness over the news that should have sent him onto cloud nine.
“From the size of the embryos, it looks like she’s maybe nine weeks along,” Dr. Michaelson claimed.
He would have smiled if he could. Nine weeks. He knew just when it happened. It was then he remembered his mother’s words. “Through heartbreak, joy can blossom.”
He dropped his head again to your thigh and cried.
“We’ll give you some time with the news,” Dr. Diallo informed as he led the other to the door.
When he was alone, he broke down again as he grabbed your hand.
“Uriah, come back to me. Please, baby, come back to us.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun set, then rose, and set again, and he was still beside you with your hand in his. His pleads were now silent, but still, you remained the same. Every time he looked at the ultrasound picture, his fear increased. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to lose everything, and it was unbearable, especially with the thought of the two new lives in your womb. Everything in him said fight, but he had no idea how to do that. What could he do that would have any impact?
“You have to sleep.” He’d recognize his mother’s voice anywhere.
“How do I sleep? How do I do anything but sit here?”
The silence returned, but he felt his mother sit beside him and watch the same thing he was watching—you.
“She would want you to take care of yourself. If not for yourself or her, for the baby.”
He scoffed and wiped a stray tear.
“Babies. Twins.”
“Oh my god, Chris. Are they okay?”
“Yeah, the doctor says they sound healthy, and they’re strong,” he shared.
“Thank god. What a blessing.”
“A blessing? Mom, look around.” He sounded disgusted.
“The situation isn’t, but these babies are a blessing. Through heartbreak, joy can blossom, and it did. Honey, I know you’re hurting, my god, it breaks my heart but--.”
“I only have myself to blame. I know,” he interrupted.
“I never said that.”
“It’s what you want to say. It’s all any of you think. None of you will even listen or give me the benefit of the doubt. You all just automatically believe the lies, believe that asshole.”
“Watch your mouth!”
Snapping his mouth shut, he lowered his head to rest it on your hand.
“I never said I didn’t believe you. You’re my son. I will always believe you over tabloid fodder. I am just—disappointed.”
He sighed. If it was anything any child hated to hear was the disappointed line.
“How could you let this happen?” She sounded disappointed this time. Truthfully, she wasn’t asking him anything he hadn’t asked himself in the last week. The answer was the same.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Mean for it or not, it’s happened. I’m not going to ask you if you had an affair with this woman.”
“Of course, not mom. I’ve never been unfaithful to my wife. You didn’t raise me like that. How could I? She’s perfect.”
“Okay, you didn’t have an affair. Someone has gone out of their way to make it seem as if you have. You have to ask who. To figure that out, you have to figure out a motive. Who has something to gain if you and Uriah have problems or divorce?”
“Christiano.” His eyes met his mother’s.
“So your theory is he did what exactly?”
“That video is bullsh—doctored. None of that happened. I just don’t know how he even got his hands on it. There were no paps there, no-one but cast and crew,” he explained.
“Maybe someone from the cast or crew took the video,” his mother suggested.
He began to go through each of the cast dismissing them one by one because none of them had any motivation to do something like this. He’d worked with them all before and had developed a relationship with them—a friendship. He was sure he could trust them. When he came to Ana, he acknowledged that she was the only one who was a new acquaintance. From the day they’d met at the screen test, he’d felt comfortable around her, and that was a reason why he had such a difficult time seeing her as anything but a friend. The facts were, though, that he’d never worked with her before.
“They would have had to have the know-how to edit something that extensively,” he said as his thoughts roamed.
From what he knew, Ana didn’t have those skills, but she had enough money to find someone who could. He came up with reason after reason why she could be the culprit, but for every reason to it being her, he came up with one to say she wasn’t the one to blame. He thought back to their brief conversation a few days ago. She sounded shaken up as if none of this made sense to her like it came from out of nowhere. She sounded like a victim, he thought. She was an actress, though, he thought in the same breath. Still, he couldn’t deny the way she insisted on handling the investigation into it was a little suspicious. He hadn’t thought about then or cared to because his thoughts were all over the place and only on you, but now something felt off.
“Chris--.” His manager walked into the room, interrupting his conversation with his mother.
“I’m sorry. I know this is a tough time, but this is getting out of hand. The longer you don’t make a statement, you are fueling the rumors and even giving this Christiano guy a stronger leg to stand on.”
He sighed and sat back in the chair. Real life was calling.
“You have to make a statement, even if it is something small, something simple. PR thinks the same thing. Appearances are everything.”
“I don’t give a fuck about appearances! My wife is lying in this bed. My wife is fighting for her fucking life! I don’t give a shit what they want to say. I don’t give a shit what anyone is saying!”
He sprang to his feet and paced the room. Motion always helped to calm him down, but right now, it wasn’t helping.
“I get that, but you have to find a way to slow the shit storm.”
He stopped in front of the window and stared out.
“Honey, he’s right. This is a nightmare; we get it. It is only going to get worse the longer you stay quiet. Just give them something small.”
Balling his fist, he tried to stay away from the feelings of rage he’d been battling the last week. “Fine. Uriah—my wife—my life,” he began before taking a beat to stave away the fresh tears that threatened to stream. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued. “--Was involved in a car accident and our family is asking for privacy and positivity during this difficult time. I encourage everyone not to listen to believe or give fire to false rumors that do not lead anywhere. There is your statement.”
“Chris--,” his manager began.
“That is the statement! If you want anything else, you won’t get it here.”
He heard a sigh and the sound of the door opening. “Wait. I need someone looking into that video. I want answers.”
The next thing he heard was the soft click of the door closing, then felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder. It felt like the weight of the world, and it was enough to bring him to tears yet again.
-One Week Later-
He took a deep breath and looked out at all the faces of everyone he cared deeply about--his mother, sisters, brother, their significant others, your parents, your cousin, and best friend. After a week of turmoil both internally and externally, he was sitting in front of everyone that probably hated him. You’d been in your coma for two weeks now, and for the last two weeks, everyone was on edge. Everyone felt the uncertainty, everyone felt the tension and none of them knew what to say. The only ones who spoke to him were his mother, his brother, and Shanna’s boyfriend. He understood. To them, he was public enemy number one. He hadn’t given them any reason to believe any differently. It was time to change that.
“You’ve all known me for a long time, if not my entire life, then the last six years. I know in the last few weeks and months none of you have any reason to think the best of me. I know you all blame me for what’s going on, and to be truthful, I understand completely. You don’t blame me more than I blame myself.” He dropped his head and slightly shook his head before he faced them again.
“I’m sorry for the situation that I have put you all in, but let it be known once and for all for any doubt in any of your minds. I did not have an affair. Never have I nor would I ever cheat on my wife—your daughter,” he finished looking your parents in their eyes.
Your father kept his eyes on him. He knew it was an intimidation technique. Your father was a respected marine sergeant, and when it came to intimidation, he was the best around for it. A full minute passed before he took another breath; still, your father hadn’t looked away. “Mr. Tyler, I swear to you. I gave you my word years ago that I would respect your daughter, love her, and treat her like the queen she was. I have not gone back on my word, never—not once,” he added.
“Then how are we here, Chris?” Your mother sighed out before her face scrunched to produce fresh tears. “My daughter is lying in a hospital bed, and the world is calling you a cheater.”
“I know Roxxi. I did not cheat. That video is doctored, nothing of the sort happened. It was an outing with the entire cast. We left at the same time, but what that video doesn’t show is me getting in a car with Daniel and Jamie while she went her own way. I’ve only ever had eyes for her.”
The silence returned, and everyone looked to be waiting to know how they should react.
“Auntie Roxxi, Uncle Marcus,” Zora began stepping forward. “This situation is bad all around. We can all agree on that. I’ve been with Riah since the beginning of this whole thing. While Chris has made mistakes in the way he’s handled this,” she paused and looked at him. It was as if she was searching for something, he didn’t know what, but he hoped she didn’t seal his coffin.
Zora sighed and gave him a slight nod before she continued. “Chris loves Riah, I’ve seen how much he loves her. He’s been a blind, trusting buffoon, but he didn’t have an affair.” He released a relieved breath as Zora looked at him again. “He would never no matter how bad it looks,” she finished.
Everyone spoke amongst themselves as he locked eyes with Zora. The look on her face said she was angry and disapproving, but it also said she stood with him. She knew something.
“Then what is going on?” Carly was the one to ask the burning question everyone was thinking.
“That is what I intend on getting to the bottom of,” he responded with determination.
Everyone nodded together, and for the first time, he felt like they were all on the same page and that the page wasn’t hating him.
When everyone broke off to their own conversations, he took Zora and Kizzy to the side to figure out just what they knew. Neither Zora nor Kizzy wanted to talk in the open and insisted on meeting in one of the other private rooms meant for families. That was enough to raise his suspicions, and when he met them there, he could feel the icy chill in the air that matched the cold glare from Kizzy.
“First of all, just because Z is on your side does not mean I’m okay with any of the shit you’ve done,” Kizzy blurted out loud enough that someone could have heard if they weren’t alone in the room. Zora elbowed Kizzy, who crossed her arms and sat back in the seat.
When Zora was going to speak, Kizzy leaned forward again. “Before any of that, look me in my eyes and tell me you didn’t cheat on my best friend. Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not the stupid motherfucker you’re acting like.”
“Kizzy!”
He held his hand up, letting Zora know it was okay. Leaning forward as Kizzy did, he met her eyes. “I didn’t cheat on her. Nothing has ever happed between Ana and me, ever. I would never.” He could feel Kizzy was seconds from blowing up, and he didn’t blame her. Sighing out, she leaned back again.
“Then explain the texts.” Zora’s voice drew his attention.
“What texts?”
“You’ve been caught, Chris. We saw the texts in Ana’s phone. The texts between the two of you,” Kizzy blurted out.
He looked at Zora who was shaking her head. When she opened her mouth, he was shocked by what she said. She told him of the hotel and just what you were doing there. When they told him about what they’d heard and seen in Ana’s phone, he couldn’t hide his shock.
“Yeah, what the fuck you gotta say now?”
He sat back in his chair in disbelief that he’d driven you to this extreme. He never wanted you to feel like you had to act like this. He never wanted to give you a reason to. The shame he felt was intense. Dropping his head in his hands, he rubbed it.
“Explain touching her breasts, explain the kiss. Explain telling her marriage is hard and all the other private shit you said. What the fuck!”
“We were going through a scene where my character goes after her, and he’s supposed to be seeing red,” he began.
Kizzy kissed her teeth loudly while rolling her eyes, “Who the fuck cares. Get on with it!”
Reigning in his anger, he took a deep breath and continued. “In the haste of the scene, one of my hands got her arm, and the other touched her breast. I immediately pulled back and apologized. It was not intentional, and it was a fraction of a second.”
“And the kiss?”
“That was her. We were running lines in between takes, and she kissed me. Again I immediately pulled back, and it wasn’t even a second. I told her that wasn’t cool, and she apologized said--.”
“We saw what she said. Conveniently, you have explanations for all of this.”
“It’s the truth, Kizzy. You know Riah, why would I risk my life by making a fool out of her like that? Even if this was true, do you think I’d be such a messy asshole to let any of this come out? I’m sorry to say this, but I’m a lot smarter than that.”
“Smarter? You’re the dumb ass who has been entrusting this snake!”
“I didn’t know anything about any plan she had. Besides those exchanges with her, there has been nothing else. The conversations you can fault me for. Yes, the little I said was too much, I see that now. I didn’t see it then I saw it as a friend I could confide in about things.”
“Both of you shut the fuck up!” Zora’s shout was loud and bounced off the walls. He slinked back as did Kizzy.
Everyone’s tempers were high.
“Do you think Ana is behind all of this?”
“Of course that bitch is behind this,” Kizzy blurted. Zora gave her a look that had her shut up quick.
“What about Christiano?”
Kizzy and Zora looked at each other and exchanged a look he wanted to know more about.
“We know you hate him, and he is being a pain in the ass, but how?”
They sat there silently, each thinking about different aspects of this entire situation. When the door busted open, Scott was there.
“Come quick. It’s Uriah!”
The three of them were on their feet in seconds, and the four of them ran back toward your room. When they approached, Dr. Diallo was walking out of the room.
“What’s happened?”
“She’s awake.”
Everyone exclaimed out with joy and relief and began celebrating, but he couldn’t.
“Is she okay?”
“It is a good sign she is awake, an excellent sign.”
The first smile in weeks spread across his face. “Can we see her?”
Dr. Diallo nodded and stepped aside, allowing them to walk inside the room. Everyone else poured in the room first, he hung back mainly from fear because of how things were left. He watched as everyone filed in around your bed. You were sitting up, eyes open, tubes gone and alert. His emotions got the best of him then. It was a sight he’d prayed for, a sight he’d wanted more than anything. He watched as almost gave you gentle hugs. You weakly smiled back at everyone else before you saw him. When your eyes locked, the look was a blank one. The fear in him rose even more, but he couldn’t stay away any longer.
Everyone looked at him, making room for him to get in closer. As he approached your bedside, your eyes never left him. When he leaned in to hug you, you recoiled away from him. He’d expected it, but still, it hurt a lot more than he’d ever thought it would. Fighting to keep the pain away, he took a breath and looked into your eyes again. Still, the blank look was there, but so was confusion and fear.
“Wha—what—eh-em--.” You looked as if you were in a lot of pain, but you didn’t stop. You tried again. “What’re—you—doing—here?” Your voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. You took a deep breath and panted like it took everything out of you.
“Baby—I know we’re going through something but--.” Your brows knitted together as you pulled back even more, looking at your mother and father.
“We? Ba—baby? What—what’s—going—on? I—don’t—know you.”
He could have been knocked over by a gentle breeze. He’d thought the worst-case scenario if you woke up was you hating him or wanting a divorce. He never thought it would be you erasing his very existence from your world.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!
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Tag List:
@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @caramara3 @vannahvannahhh @lorainnebabyy @patzammit @yourwonderbelle @pennywisesmistress @theblulife @kelbabyblue @bugngiz @kikimiyazaki @toniilaney @areubeingserved @thinkxlovexloud @cocothewriter @periodtcevans @southerngracela @bellaamor88 @mack-jay @titty-teetee @pananegra @wellthirsted @sup3rn0va13 @ nova3312 @ hello-therree @valkyriesnymph @ squeackygee @niyashell @allmonstersxarehuman @zsuzstyina @peggy-potts @amelatonin @lvlyab @sullyosully @renesmeeharelds @capslut2014 @ilovehatembj @thelittlemoistcarrot @sarcastic-sunshines @a-dizzle777 @taylorveebee @allnamesicouldthinkofweretaken @choices97 @chrisgalore @rynabarnesrogers @ab-baybay @motivation-idontknowher @lo-cheu @momobaby227 @thatrandomhetaliachick @missdeerstalker15 @queenbetter@jesseswartzwelder @briellableu @zaddysqueen7 @melaninhawtie @simplyyamberr @airis-paris14 @ashanti-notthesinger @afraiddreamingandloving @ajspencer1892 @wakanda-inspired @chillavesss @drsunshine97 @cleothegoldfish @builtalongthewayside
@theunsweetenedtruth @geeksareunique @aykanna @hanasamara @profilia @ollieveracity @autumn242 @missyperle @forbeautyandlife @kreolemami @designerwriterchic @firedolphin04 @academic-glowup @periodtcevans @nova3312 @hello-therree @squeackygee capslut2014 @ilovehatembj @taylorveebee @thatcrazymarvelfan @oceanscorazon @90sinspiredgirl @mizcaptainwidow @angrybirdcr @cherrystainedlipsbaby @marvelfansworld @blowmymbackout @almostpurelysmut @impossiblegiantrebelbasketball @choices97 @phreshouttherunwaaayy @heladoom @alyxkbrl @evemej @queensevansackles @rosey1981 @laketaj24 @munteanhore @minton131 @trillistb @purplehairgawdess @ollieveracity @maddeningmayhem @what-is-your-plan-today @evermcfearless @richonne4life @dumbchick @toni9 @briellableu @amennariee @brwnsugababe @sadishdelray @browskinafro @surmya1907 @islanddgal @scoop93535 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison00 @queenoftheworldisdead @chrisevansfanfic @thejeneralvicinity @doublesidedscoobysnacks @what-is-your-plan-today @thefuckingluxury @naturalthrone22 @queen-audsalena @maeleeme @tantricevans @renfrewscorner @songtoyou @coolbakeryprunetoad @chrissbabybunny @zeedaye @littlepreciousangel @imthatbitchsworld @soul--notforsale @toni9 @someone-really-bored @venustrap04 @laketaj24 @chrisevansdaddycap @offrostandstarlight @kittykatlow @night-of-the-living-shred @queenshikongo3 @fanfictionaffair @unknownmystery22 @naturalthrone22 @blackgurlkillinit @simply-heaven @chezdricks @euh-say-what-now @actorinfluence @chaos-crusader @cyntgefel01 @miss-jackson500 @rynabarnesrogers-reading
***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***
#rumor has it fic#Chris Evans#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x black reader#black fanfiction#angst fanfic#chris evans x ofc#chris x uriah
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Blog Updates: New Patreon Stretch Goals, Patreon Exclusive Reviews, New Story Arcs and Other Stuff
MHello everyone. For those of you seeing this through other tags my name is Jake. I do reviews on here that are usually full sumaries of an episode of a tv show or comic, with jokes and analsyis throughout. I’m doing this post as i’ve recently revamped by patreon a bit, check out VIA THIS LINK if your curious. I also have some other stuff going on with the blog that I thought might intrest the general public and especially you lovely followers. Thank you guys so much. Your support means a lot and feel free to interact with this post and any of the reviews. it’s always a pleasure. Leave your comments whatever. So let’s start with the patreon stuff
You Decide the Next Patreon Exclusive Review!:
Yes YOU will decide the Patreon Exclusive review for May. How? It’s simple: i’m currently reviewing the Lilo and Stitch crossover episodes, the first two this week with the American Dragon Jake Long crossover “Morpholomew” done yesterday, the Proud Family episode “Spats” coming later this week, and “Rufus” (Kim Possible) and “Lax” (Recess) coming next week and the week after that respectively.
As a way to gage intrest in the shows crossed over, and if I should review some of them on their own, i’m going to be watching the notes, and after the first week i’ll record how many a review got. This way the first review dosen’t get an advantage over the last and so on. Whichever episode gets the most votes wins and it’s show will get two reviews: One exclusive to Patreon in may you can check out for just a buck, and one for all of ya in June. So if you want to dragon up, get louder and prouder, check out what the sitch is, or have some recess, keep an eye on my blog and check out the review. Like it reblog, it, both. This is all in your hands. And if this little contest works out I may do another one like it in the future.
New Patreon Stretch Goals!:
For those unfamiliar with Patreon it’s a site that helps creators like me get paid for their work, used by such luminaries as Linkara, Pushing Up Roses and greatest of all Rifftrax.
Stretch Goals are an amount of money I get a month from patreons, that’s readers like you paying me. Even a buck a month would help a lot and help me put out a reviews and LIVE off doing this. But it’s a two way street so in order to entice you lovely people into paying me for doing my job and my passion with these reviews, i’ve updated the tiers, adding a wider and better range of rewards. I’m currenntly up to 15 dollars a month, or close enough that i’ve acitivated those rewards. And if you help me hit these tiers EVEYRONE gets PUBLIC, on here, for free reviews. Thanks to my lovely patreons Emma and Kevin you all are getting reviews of the first 5 Ducktales episode, aka Legend of the Golden Suns, with the second coming as soon as I finish this post. Even a buck helps us reach closer and for your dollar you get access to the discord, exclusive reviews, and to pick a short any time I review a bunch of shorts. And with Goofy’s birthday coming up next montha nd Donald’s after that, now is the best time for that. 5 dollar patreons also get one review as month, with 10 dollar ones getting two. You’ve already probably seen some of these: Kev has used one of his a month to have me review a house of mouse episode every month, and newest patreon and longtime friend Emma is using them to have me review the netflix dr. seuss adaptation “Green Eggs and Ham”. So whatever YOU want me to review I will and you’l lhelp unlock even MORE great reviews. So what do you get if you hit the goals? I’m glad you asked.
We’re up to 15 so next is...
20 Dollar Tier:
Ducktales 87 Season 2 Mini Series!: Yes indeedy. Already on the Docket was the Super Ducktales Arc, which introducices the OG GIZMODUCCCKKKKK. But since that apparenlty wasn’t enough i’ve also added the OTHER mini series. While i’ll do super first since that’s the one with higher fan intrest once tha’ts done i’ll also review Time is Money, the time travel arc bringing in everyone’s faviroite scrappy Bubba. So if you want a buncha cruncha retro Ducktales pony up. But that’s not all the disney afternoon I got for this tier.
A Darkwing Duck Episode A MOnth: This one has also been promoted every time I could and still stands. If you like that mind behind the shadow disguise, that daring duck of mystery, that champion of right, then you’ll get one review a month about him, as voted on by you patreons.
Danny Phantom: The Ultimate Enemy: And since neither of these have helped me so far and stepping back into Amity Park made me realize how much I love the series, even if it’s creator is a 80 tons of smug asshole packed into a t-shirt he thinks is cooler than it is. So it only felt right to add the ghost boy to the tier and the best way to kick that off is with it’s second best, and only barely second behind Reign Storm, episode: The Ultimate Enemy! Danny finds his future is imperfect and must battle his own evil self! If you want my thoughts on one of the series finest hours, then help me hit 20 bucks a month to keep making content.
25 Dollar Tier:
I removed the Tail Spin content, though rest assured I will be covering Plunder and Lightning sometime this year. But what I replaced it with is even better.
One Danny Phantom Review a Month: YOu like teen superheros? you like ghosts? you like me slagigng off about butch hartman and trying to make it crystal clear his creation dosen’t wholly belong to him? Then you’ll like me reviewing Danny Phantom. And while i’m already doing that, this goal gaurantees one episode a month, and said episode will be voted on by my patreons. So if you pay for this you’ll not only get your monthly dose of going ghost.. but you’ll get a chance to PICK what it is.
Disney Shows To Movies Trilogy : I’ve decided to make it a tradition for my 15 dollar stretch goals to do a bunch of disney movies. And like with my last batch, which you’ll be seeing in may, i’m doing tv shows that got their own movies, theatrical or otherwise. And this time we’re doing MY generatoin: Kim Possible: So The Drama, the best story in the show’s histroy and the best movie in the Disney Channels! Recess: Schools Out! The suprisingly bonkers unsurprisingly awesome finale to an awesome show! and The Proud Family Movie, another UTTERLY BATSHIT finish to a great show.
Lost at Sea and Seconds: This one’s for my scottaholics, fourth part of my Scott Pilgrim retrospective coming this week!. If you like me taking a look at Scott’s quest to punch the fuck out of his girlfriends exes while growing up a little, then if you help me get to the 30 dollar tier, i’ll also take a look at O’Malley’s other graphic novels Lost at Sea, which follows a girl who lost her soul and her boyfriend on a trip with what may be Young Neil’s older sister, and Seconds, the story of a woman with issues growing up who finds the ablitlity to travel through time.. or is it space? And some of you savvier readers my know he has nother comic. Where’s that one? wellllll
30 Dollar Tier:
Snotgirl: I’m saving this one for this tier. Reviews of each collected volume of snotgirl, Bryan’s first ongoing series, all three so far and any more to come about, unsuprisingly, a hot mess of a person, this time who might’ve done a murder. You know instead of defintely did a murder but in self defnese and with a longsword.
Gravity Falls Season 1!: One of Disney’s finest finally on this blog. All season 1 episodes reviewed in some way in some shape in some form.
Star Vs Finale Arc!: You’ve heard me bitch about the problems in Tom’s story, and wil lcontinue to. Now see the terrible way everyone elses ends! From an amazing build up to an awful finish, see reviews of Every story relevant season 4 episode from Butterfly Follies to Cleaved that won’t already be covered in my tom retrospective. It’s a road to crushing disapointment, come on inside!
35 Dollar Tier:
More Disney TV Adaptations!: Doug’s First Movie! See Doug get really fucking weird in his sea monster based movie with a punch line of a name! Teachers Pet, a great movie out of a show I barely saw! Kim Possible Live action! it’s suprisingly okay! and Recess Taking the Fifth: a compliation movie for a season we sadly never got.
Gravity Falls Season 2: Buillding on the first reward Gravity Falls Reviews will go beyond the first season and finish the job. From zombies, to dipcifica, to ford to weirdmageddon, I’m doin it all.
40 Dollar Tier:
Two HUGE Disney Focused Comics Retrospectives!
Darkwing Duck: In addition to the show, i’ll start reviewing the awesome follow up comic that got me into it. From the start to both finishes: the unathorized crossover finale and the sadly short lived sequel series from joe books, the worst mistake disney ever made that wasn’t racist, before Artemis Fowl said hold my beer. Also the short lived Ducktlaes series because why not.
The Incredibles!: The Family Dynamic! A comprehensive retrospective featuring reviews of the movie, the Mark Waid followup, the sequel that ignores said followup and the incomparable Christos Gage’s followup to THAT movie. Also that wonderfuly awful failed tv pilot bob made that he and lucius did a mst3k of.
45 Dollar Tier:
Disney Flims Lilo and Stitch a Thon: All four lilo and stitch movies, Lilo and Stitch, Lilo and Sitch 2, Stitch and Leroy and Stitch! All the hawaii, aliens and sequels you can handle!
Amphibia Season 1: I’ve done Season 2 as it comes out, i’ll be doing the same for season 3, so help me get here to see the start at least once a month, but two at a time!
50 Dollar Tier:
The last one for now. I’ll probably go to 10 dollar tiers after this.
The Owl House Season 1: While I wait for the second season to start so I can cover it, have me do the rest of season 1! The only exceptions are the already covered Enchanted Grom Fright and the earmarked for pride month wing it like witches!
The Two Loves and 87 Mistakes of Mordecai: A regular show romancetrospective, as we go through the downs, ups, higher ups and crushing lows of Modercai’s romantic arcs from regular show. His crush on margert, making his move, moving on, moving on to cj, and then the horrible cluster fuck I’ve talked about nonstop and will again and again as one of the worst romantic arcs in memory as they shot the relationship in the foot head and groin! Force me to relive it all!
So yeah I’ll add more tiers, again probably 10 dollars apart if I get to 50, but given I barely got to 15 i’m not optimistic. PROVE ME WRONG. HELP ME HIT 50.
Other Stuff:
Finally outisde of Patreon, that was the main reason for this, I have news on my various arcs. For one thing i’ll be trying to keep the pace better, so expect at least one entry a month for ones i’m doing on my own time like the tom retrospective, life and times and Scott pilgrims. Ones kev does will be done weekly to keep my wallet afloat.
I also have two more retrospectives incoming! The first is paid for by Kev: I’l lbe tackling ALL THREE SEASON 2 ARCS OF DUCKTALES 2017. After the headache of trying to cram the della arc into three weeks to keep up with the lena one, I decided i’td be better for pacing if I did all three at once and kev agreed to it, if using his patreon reviews to cushion the blows. So starting next month i’ll be covering the Louie, Della and Glomgold/Owlson arcs, swapping between them in episode order. With that I should be FAR closer to having covered every ducktales episode. Granted i’ll still have 17 to cover, but it’ll make that much more managable.
The second comes in June specifically timed for Pride Month. With Scott Pilgrim Wrapping up in August just in time for the movie’s anniversary, I decided to start covering another one of my faviorite comics of all time. It’s time to transform, roll out and make this precoius it’s Transformers More than Meets the Eye! For those of you unfamiliar it’s an idw comic that follows a rag tag group of transformers, about half of them gay or gay coded, on a mission to find the lost knights of cybertron and bring ballance to a post war cybertron.. which quickly devloves into hyjinnks with a side order of heartrending deaths and charcter development... and references to dexy’s midnight runners.
So that’s all for now. thank you for reading, please support my patreon as the next pay term is at the start of next month, so if you want me to start on any of those stretch goals, nows the time. Please help me earn a living and until all are one, i’ll see you at the next rainbow.
#american dragon jake long#the proud family#kim possible#recess#lilo and stitch#ducktales#darkwing duck#danny phantom#seconds#scott pilgrim#snotgirl#lost at sea#gravity falls#star vs the forces of evil#the owl house#amphibia#teacher's pet#doug#the incredibles#regular show
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Summertime
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader (but, really, Winter Soldier Bucky x Female Reader)
Summary: Three days ago, the Winter Soldier walked away from Hydra. They’ve just sent you to bring him back.
Word Count: 7,656 words (!!!)
Warnings: a heavy helping of angst, descriptions of injuries and pain, canon typical violence. The reader is an enhanced human with the ability to manipulate pain. (Let me know if you come across any others I’ve missed, I’ll gladly add them!)
*Reblogs of course are welcome, but please do not repost this story to any other websites without my permission!!*
A/N: This was written for @jbbuckybarnes‘s birthday writing challenge. Happy belated birthday, and thank you so much for reassuring me that it was okay to post this past the deadline! I didn’t mean for it to take this long, but the good news is, this is the first thing I’ve written and actually liked in about five or six years. So, yay? I really hope you and everyone else who reads it enjoys it!
P.S: my prompts are bolded, the not too shabby moodboard was made by me, and the title of the fic and lyrics within said moodboard are courtesy of My Chemical Romance’s ‘Summertime.’ Oh, and, the totally awesome text divider seen just below (and several times throughout the fic) was created by @writeyourmindaway (thank you)!
EDITED ON 5/24/2021 - no major changes, only a change in spelling for two of the characters' names.
“You ever think of where you’d go if you got out of here?” you’d asked the Soldier once, the two of you hunkered down in a safe house somewhere in Alaska. It’s been so long since then that you can’t even remember what mission had brought you there - or maybe you should say, so much has happened since then that you can’t remember.
He didn’t answer your question. He couldn’t. His programming limited his dialogue to giving orders to those ranked below him and answering the questions of those ranked higher. You’d been able to see his answer in his eyes, though, sitting there on the opposite side of the hallway from him, your faces illuminated by an oil lamp he’d found while sweeping the basement for any threats.
They had narrowed slightly, his way of wordlessly saying, ‘No.’
No, because he never thought he would ever escape from Hydra; and neither did you, for that matter. But it was nice to think about, especially back then. Freedom.
“I can remember,” you’d said slowly, not missing the faint look of surprise that crossed his usually stoic face at the words. You shouldn’t be able to remember anything that occurred before they wiped you the first time. But you remember this vividly, too vividly for it to be a mere fragment of your imagination.
“I can remember,” you’d started again, “this place my parents and I used to go to along the Blue Ridge Parkway.”
And then you’d told him about it. How after visiting a few tourist attractions you’d park the car at a lookout spot and stare out over the miles and miles of autumn colored trees in the valleys below, untouched by man aside from the randomly placed house. Far away from where you stood, blue tinted mountains pierced the overcast sky - and it was beautiful.
He’d listened to every word you’d spoken intently, his gaze never straying from your face as you reminisced on happier times. And when you’d finished, he’d looked sad. You could feel the longing in his chest within your own, and see a sparkle in his stormy blue eyes that seemed to say, ‘I would take you there, if I could.’
And he has, hasn’t he?
Here you are, standing at the very same lookout you’d told him about that night. It’s warmer than you remember, greener, seeing as it’s summertime - but it’s no less beautiful. If you squint you can see ghosts of the past; two figures standing against the most breathtaking of backdrops, smiling with their arms around one another as you took their picture.
You miss them.
Your parents.
You wish you could remember more about them.
About yourself.
Your old life.
“Empat.”
His voice startles you, but not because you didn’t know he was there. You’d felt his presence step within the reach of your powers almost twenty minutes ago; had known it was him because you know his aches and pains as well as you know your own. The phantom pain where his left arm used to be, the carpal tunnel syndrome in his right wrist and hand from years of holding a gun, and all the other wear and tear seventy years of assassination work has put on his still visibly young body. New to the roster, though, is the break in his right forearm - no doubt an injury gained during his fight in D.C. three days ago. A fight you’d been sidelined for, but should have been battling alongside him.
If you had been, that break wouldn’t be there. You’re certain of that.
You could only do so much with the amount of distance between you, but because you care, because you wanted him to know that you knew he was there, you’d cast your healing warmth over the fracture, numbing it until you could touch him and heal it completely. As thanks, he’d given you this time with your memories. Time before the inevitable had to happen.
But time is up now, and he’s standing right behind you, his voice startling you not because it’s unexpected but because he’s never been able to call you anything, let alone the name Hydra had given you. Empat, meaning Empath. His programming simply didn’t allow for it. To hear his voice say it now - after months and years of knowing each other, fighting alongside each other, nearly dying for each other - well, it’s quite a shock to the system.
Three days, you think. It’s only been three days since he walked away from the Triskelion wreckage, walked away from Hydra, and already he’s regained the ability to speak autonomously. And here you are, sent here to drag him back to the very same people who stripped him of his ability to do so in the first place.
You, because they know that in spite of their best efforts to keep him as emotionless and empty as possible, he feels something for you. Because if it’s you asking him to, he might come back willingly, without a fight. Because if it comes to a fight he’ll hesitate before killing you, and give you the opening you need to-
“Empat,” he says again, interrupting your internal ramblings. The sound of it threatens to bring tears to your eyes.
You don’t want to do this.
But you have no other choice.
“Hi, Soldier,” you greet him gently, and he takes that as his cue to move to stand at your side. He places himself on your left and it’s such a familiar position: you and the Soldier shoulder to shoulder, against the world. Normally it would bring you comfort; but today, it just makes you sad.
As if he can sense it - which he probably can; he has a knack for reading people - the Soldier brushes the back of his hand against the back of yours in a silent offer of comfort. You turn your wrist and intertwine your fingers with his without a second thought, and together you gaze out over the mountain range, silence hanging thick in the air between you for what feels like a lifetime.
And then, “Is it what you remember?”
So you were right. The red star on the tracking device had stopped in this town with a familiar name yesterday not by coincidence, but on purpose. He’d traveled west, deep into the peaks and valleys of the Blue Ridge Mountain range just so he could bring you here, to the location of your only remaining memory.
It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you - that you can remember, at least - and, God, do you want to cry.
“Yes,” your voice and your smile is strained, “Thank you.”
He squeezes your hand tighter in response, causing a bolt of pain to shoot up towards his shoulder and down to the tips of his fingers - but he shows no signs of feeling it when you glance in his direction. He was trained to suffer in silence; if you weren’t, well, you, you wouldn’t have the slightest clue that he was in any pain at all.
“Your arm?” you inquire, turning your head to face him at the same moment he turns to face you. It’s only then that you realize what he’s wearing: a black baseball cap pulled down over his brunette tresses, a dark denim jacket over a black t-shirt, blue jeans and his usual pair of boots. The shoes are the only part of his attire that you recognize, but you have to admit, this casual look he’s got going on…
You like it.
“Steve,” he tells you, as if you know who Steve is. You raise your brows. “The guy on the bridge,” he amends. “Captain...Captain America.”
Right. The target Hydra had sent the Soldier to kill not once, but twice - an anomaly, as he usually gets the job done on the first try. You’d been as shocked as your superiors when he came back from the fight on the bridge to report the mission as failed - but more so due to the foul mix of emotions churning within him than the failed mission itself.
It was astonishing to see him in such anguish so openly; to feel the full force of his normally repressed guilt, anger and sadness. You’ve gotten glimpses of it in the past, during those precious few minutes between him being awoken and being wiped. But only one other time had you seen him so distraught, which could only mean one thing.
The target - this Steve, whoever he is - had somehow broken through decades of wipings and programming to free the man Hydra had tried so hard to keep contained, and every sour emotion he’s felt while locked in his cage - though only for a moment before Alexander Pierce ordered him to be shoved behind the bars again.
It’s not easily done; liberating the man that lingers beneath the surface of the Soldier.
You would know.
You’ve done it before.
“You knew him,” you say simply, recalling the trembling words he’d spoken that day. Words that, when combined with the look on his face and what had happened after he’d uttered them, had shattered your already broken heart into even smaller shards.
“But I knew him.”
“I don’t know,” the Soldier replies eventually, and he’s lying - to you and himself.
But that’s okay.
You assure him as much with a small smile.
“Here,” you change the subject, “let me…” you turn your body towards him and bring your right hand up to cup the back of his, which still clings to your left one, as he turns to face you as well. You close your eyes and focus on the break, casting your warmth over it and holding it steady as it guides his bones back into place. As it does, your body takes his pain and converts it into ammunition, adding it to what’s already been piled high within you thanks to the metal choker around your neck.
Hydra’s scientists had designed it especially for you; a necklace that would, whenever your handlers deemed it necessary, electrically shock you continuously so you would have to be constantly taking your own pain away. Whenever you use your healing abilities - regardless of whether you’re using them on yourself or someone else - your body absorbs the pain and stores it within until you either unleash it on someone or your handlers shut the necklace off and the power coursing through your veins is allowed to dwindle away on its own.
It flows through you now, but you’re so used to the uncomfortable prickling feeling that accompanies it at this point that you hardly even notice it’s there anymore.
How sad that is.
“Thank you,” the Soldier says after you’ve finished healing him and open your eyes again. That’s another first: the Soldier thanking you aloud instead of with his eyes and soft, secret touches. If it weren’t for the current circumstances, it would have brought you joy.
“Don’t thank me,” you beg with a rapid shake of your head. “Not when you know what I’ve been sent here to do.”
“Empat, it’s okay-”
“No,” you interject harshly, dropping his hand and retreating a few steps backwards. “It’s not okay, Soldier. It’s not. Because you knew,” your smile is sardonic as you point a finger in his direction. “You knew they’d send someone - that they’d send me - after you. You knew what they’d make me do to bring you back. So why, Soldier? Why didn’t you cut the tracker out? You could have been free,” your voice cracks on the last word, and you feel his chest ache in response.
He holds your gaze for a moment longer before dropping his focus to the grass between his boots. You stand there, blinking tears from your eyes and waiting for him to say something - anything - in defense of himself, but he doesn’t say a word.
He’s maddeningly silent.
“Why would you do this?” you demand again, your voice frail in spite of the anger rising inside of you. The Soldier is slow to raise his gaze back to yours, and even slower to give you an answer.
“‘Cause I wanted to.”
It hits you like a punch from his left fist, and you find yourself unable to speak.
He... He wanted this? He wanted you to be sent after him? To potentially have to fight him, to have to drag him back to the people you’ve always told him you wished you could help him escape from?
“Listen,” he urges, seeing the look of hurt and betrayal that’s overtaken your features. He’s lifted his hands in a pacifying gesture, and his left one catches your attention, as it’s donning a black winter glove. Where did he even find one of those this time of year? “I did it because I didn’t know how else to find you. I went back to the bank after...after the fight, and everyone was already gone. You were gone, and I had no way of knowing where you were but I knew that if I left the tracker in, it wouldn’t be long before they sent you after me. It...It was the only way I had to be able to see you again,” he finishes with a sad, tearful smile, the same one he’d given Alexander Pierce that night after his first encounter with Steve.
It pulls at your heart now just as it did then, but at the same time -
“You could have been free,” you echo your earlier words, sounding every bit as devastated as you feel. Your tears make the Soldier a blur as he steps closer to you, raising his hands to tentatively cup the sides of your face. You blink and a pair of them slip down your cheeks only to be quickly smeared away by his thumbs, gloved metal and bare flesh alike.
“I don’t want to be free if you’re not free with me,” he tells you softly, and you see those words for what they are: a testament of his love for you. It’s the first time he’s been able to voice such a thing, and you want to find joy or at the very least solace in it. Truly, you do. But right now, with the situation at hand, knowing he’s tossed away the only chance at liberation he’s had in seven decades all because he didn’t want to leave you behind, you can’t.
You just feel guilty. So incredibly, debilitatingly guilty.
“I’ll never be free of them,” you state grimly, pulling out of his hold and putting some distance between you. “As long as this necklace is around my neck, I’m stuck. They’ll ramp it up as soon as I get too far for their likings and kill me. But you - you had a chance. And you threw it away because of me,” you practically choke out the last word. You pause for a few moments to collect yourself before continuing to speak, your eyes fluttering shut to send another pair of tears down your cheeks.
“I’m begging you, Soldier. If you love me, cut the tracker out and leave. I’ll tell them you beat me unconscious before I could move to apprehend you, or… I don’t know. Something. Just please don’t make me take you back there. Don’t make me the reason you go back there, I…” your throat gets too tight for you to speak any further, so you open your eyes and try to communicate with him through them, as he used to you.
I won’t be able to live with myself if you do.
He lets your unspoken words hang between you for exactly seventeen shaking breaths, and when he goes to speak, he looks apologetic, telling you he’s not going to change his mind even before he confirms it aloud.
“You know I never get to choose what I want for myself,” he says, a pleading tone to his voice. His eyes are equally as imploring as they stare into yours, trying to get you to see just how much he needs you to do this for him. “I want this, Empat. I do. So, please, for once in my life - let me have what I want.”
…How are you supposed to say no to that?
The answer is simple:
You don’t.
“Alright,” you sound as defeated as you feel. “Alright.”
The corners of his lips twitch upwards, but the glossiness of his eyes conveys what you feel twisting inside of him. The fear. The sadness. The anger.
He reaches out, asking for your hands, and you unfold your arms to give them to him, biting back a sob as he intertwines his fingers through yours.
“Whatever you have to do,” he says slowly, “Do it.”
You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply to gather what little strength and courage you have left in you; then, you breath out a single word:
“Sputnik.”
A moment later, the Soldier collapses at your feet.
…
...
You couldn’t do it.
You’d told him you would, and had fully intended on honoring his wishes - but it was one hour into the three hour drive back to the safe house your handlers were waiting for you within that you realized you just couldn’t. You couldn’t take him back to the people who have been holding him hostage for over seventy years, doom him to another who knows how many more years of brainwashing and torture. You couldn’t, and you wouldn’t.
So you turned the car around, much to the displeasure of your handlers. The wattage of your necklace shot up almost immediately after you’d made the u-turn, and you’d almost driven into the guard rails due to the sudden onslaught of pain. You’d quickly smothered it, though, and righted the vehicle on the road, backtracking until you reached the abandoned house you’d spotted only a few minutes prior in the drive.
It had caught your eye because of its reminiscence of that safe house back in Alaska. It’s a small and barely standing home made of deteriorating wood, its front door hanging by a single hinge. Upon entering it you’d found it had the same damp, moldy atmosphere, and a similar, familiar layout - a ground level with two bedrooms and a bathroom, a living room and kitchen area, and a basement. Its windows were shattered, parts of the wood flooring were either caved in or missing altogether, and you’d even found an oil lamp while you were scoping out the basement.
Talk about déjà vu.
As for getting the Soldier into the house, it was as much of a struggle as it’d been to get him into the car your handlers had sent you out in. Somehow, though, you’d managed, and had tied him to a weathered dining chair that had squeakily threatened to collapse under his weight when you’d dropped him into it.
What had happened after that is nothing more than a blur of blood and tears, right up until you’d collapsed into an identical chair in front of a boarded up window, staring as if you could see right through the planks to whatever lies beyond.
You don’t know how much time has passed since then, but you haven’t moved since you’d sat down. You’ve barely even breathed.
There’s a pounding in your head from previously shed tears and there’s dried blood on your hands, your clothes. You’re shaking so badly you don’t know how you haven’t vibrated right off of the chair and into a clump on the floor.
He hasn’t woken up yet. You’re starting to worry he may never - that there’s another code word that has to be used to wake the Soldier after he’s been shut down by ‘sputnik.’
Wouldn’t that be just your luck? To do everything that you’ve done in the time since he’s been unconscious just for it all to be futile because-
A soft groan sounds from behind you, and you hold your breath.
Did you actually hear that? Or did you-
“Empat?” he rasps, a confused lilt to his voice. You almost start crying again at the sound of it.
He’s awake.
Everything you’ve done isn’t for nothing, after all.
“I’m here,” you get to your feet and move towards him slowly. Taking in his disoriented expression, you ask, “How do you feel?”
You being you, of course, you already know how he’s feeling; he’s got a headache similar to your own and he’s discombobulated, stiff and sore. Still, you ask him - not only because it’s nice to do so but because you want to hear it out of his own mouth.
However, instead of answering your question, he raises one of his own. “Why are you covered in blood?”
You stop right in front of him, shaking your head.
“It’s not mine,” is all you offer, reaching forward to brush his hair out of his face since he can’t do it for himself. You then trail your fingers down the side of his cheek, watching as his eyes flutter shut briefly in response to the gentle touch before he seemingly forces them open again, assessing you with his stormy blues.
“Where are we?” he asks. You freeze in your movement.
“Hour away from where we were,” you supply. He ponders that for a few moments, tearing his eyes from you to take in what he can of the room before meeting your gaze again.
“Are they coming to extract us?”
You drop your gaze.
“Empat,” his tone is low; dangerous - the closest it’s been to the one he uses while giving orders on missions this entire time. You turn away from him and clasp your trembling hands together.
Every so often your handlers have been knocking up the voltage of your necklace to tell you to hurry up and get you and the Soldier back to the safe house. You’ve been having to use more and more of your powers to keep yourself from feeling it, from being harmed by it, and it’s drained you more than you’re willing to admit.
You don’t know how much longer you can fight against it. You need to get moving before they ramp it up beyond the reach of your powers and kill you, which they’d very clearly told you they would if you failed them.
You’ve only hung around this long waiting for the Soldier to wake up to make sure that he would wake up; you didn’t want to leave him behind without knowing for a fact that he was going to be okay.
But he’s awake now, and really there’s no reason for you to be here anymore... Yet, you can’t bring yourself to move any further away.
“Empat,” the Soldier calls for you again, this time more desperate. “What did you do?”
You close your eyes.
He’s going to be so upset with you over this.
But perhaps that will make it easier for him to move on.
“I cut the tracker out,” you inform him, hearing him inhale sharply in response. “I…Understand why you didn’t do it yourself. I’d do the same thing, to see you one last time - but you know that if our roles were reversed you would refuse to take me back to them. So you shouldn’t expect me to,” you face him again, letting him see the tears that started running down your cheeks as you were speaking.
He looks as devastated as you feel.
Biting back a sob, you walk back up to him and cup the sides of his face, as he had yours earlier, and lean down to rest your forehead against his. You remain in that position for only a moment before pulling away enough to peer into his tear-filled eyes.
“I’m sorry I have to be another person keeping you from what you want,” you brush your thumbs over his cheekbones, “but I can’t do this to you. You’ve been with them so much longer than I have, Soldier; you’ve been through so much - too much. You deserve to be free, to live. And you’ve got a chance,” you smile at him sadly. “I can’t take that from you.”
Those words appear to be what takes him over the edge, as with his next blink, the Soldier’s tears spill over. They run down his stubble covered cheeks and quickly find themselves wiped away by your waiting thumbs.
“They’ll kill you if you show up without me,” he chokes out. And he’s right. You know he is. But,
“You would do it for me.”
You have him there, it seems - because he has nothing to say to contradict your statement. You nod, for no particular reason, and press your lips to his forehead; your silent I love you, your wordless goodbye.
You pull away from him with the intentions of leaving, but before you can even straighten your spine he says, “Y/N.”
You freeze.
That name…
You pull further back and meet his gaze.
“What?”
“Y/N,” he says again. “That’s your name. Your real name.”
Your breathing hitches.
You don’t know how, but you know he’s right. You can feel it.
“How-”
“You told me,” he answers your unfinished question. “When we first met, before they wiped you that first time - no one told you I couldn’t talk and you - you introduced yourself to me. You were terrified of me, I could tell - but you still stuck your hand out and told me your name. I couldn’t,” he pauses to gather himself, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I couldn’t have told you my name even if I could have remembered it, but I put my hand in yours, and you smiled at me. Do you know how long it’d been since someone had smiled at me? Without any malice behind it?” he leans forward against his binds, baring his wet eyes into yours.
You don’t say anything. You’re completely and utterly speechless, staring at him with wide eyes and a trembling lower lip. You drop your hands from his face and take a step back, absorbing every single word he has to to tell you.
“They wipe me to make me forget, but I never forgot that moment, Y/N, no matter how many times they did it. I never forgot your name even though my own was long gone.” The Soldier presses on, “I don’t know why, but I feel like it was for a reason. Like I was supposed to be the one to remind you what it was - to help you remember who you were. But I can’t do that if you’re...If you…”
He doesn’t finish, but it’s not hard for you to figure out what he was going to say.
I can’t do that if you’re dead.
“I don’t know what you think I can do,” you force the words out around the lump in your throat, “I die if I go back without you. They’ll kill me if I stay with you - either way, I’m dead. There’s nothing we can do-”
“Yes there is,” he insists, desperate. “We can go there - we can fight them-”
“And they’ll kill me as soon as they realize what’s happening,” you dismiss the suggestion, “right in front of you. I don’t… Want you to have to watch me die, Soldier. I don’t want you to have to carry that around with you for the rest of your life - can’t you understand that?”
“Untie me then. Let me try and get that thing off of you-”
“What?!” you take a step back as if he’s struck you. “Are you insane?! You’ll get electrocuted if you touch it!”
“Not if you protect me from it,” he counteracts. You shake your head and go to protest against the idea, but he starts talking again before you can. “Don’t you remember the day you realized what you could do? What you could really do?”
Of course you do. That’s another memory Hydra couldn’t rip away from you no matter how hard they tried: the day you found out the true extent of what powers Loki’s scepter had bestowed upon you. The day that you were promoted from the Winter Soldier’s nurse to his partner in crime - literally.
Seeing the look of recognition in your eyes, the Soldier latches onto it. “You can do it again. I know you can.”
“Your arm,” you point out. “It’ll conduct the electricity - send it straight towards your heart. And I don’t know if what I can do is enough to protect you from the damage that would cause.”
His face falls.
Clearly, he hadn’t thought of that.
He parts his lips to make another argument but before he can get a single word out the wattage of your necklace suddenly increases again, making you cry out and fall to your knees. You just barely manage to smother the pain this time; if they turn it up any higher, you’re not sure you’ll be able to.
“I knew you couldn’t do it,” a voice taunts in Russian from somewhere behind you. Recognizing it, you lift a hand in the general direction it came from and feel the power coursing through your veins gather in the palm of your hand before a cloud of black smoke erupts from it. The man lets out a scream of pure agony a moment later before hitting the weathered floorboards, dead. You look over your shoulder and take in the lifeless form of the handler before turning back to the Soldier, wide eyed.
“Untie me now,” he orders, and you know better than to argue with him.
As Hydra’s motto claims, ‘Cut off one head, two more will take its place.’
You’re gonna need his help.
So you scramble to your feet and round the chair he’s tied to, unsheathing the knife strapped to your thigh. It’s not easy to cut through the rope, which had been specially designed to restrain the Soldier, but it’s not impossible, either. You have him free before long and he puts his hand out for the blade, which you hand over without even thinking just in time for two more figures to step through the doorway.
“Sput-” the handler who had been just a syllable away from shutting down the Soldier again gets cut off by the knife you’d given him embedding itself in his chest. A cloud of black smoke engulfs him a moment later and he chokes on it for a moment before collapsing just as the first had.
Next, gun shots ring out. If any bullets hit you, you don’t feel them - all you can feel is the power in your shaking hands, the slight ease of its pressure as more of it is released onto the third Hydra agent. She does little more than gasp before her eyes roll back in her head and she lands on top of her comrade.
The Soldier surges forward, scavenging the closest body for any weapons. He finds a gun just in time to get a head shot on a fourth agent.
“We need to get out of here,” he states the obvious, taking a shot at a fifth one.
He doesn’t miss.
You clench and unclench your hands, the power surging within them making it impossible for you not to fidget. “My tracker’s still in, they’ll just follow us,” you remind him, “and the necklace-”
“Search them for the remote,” he meets your eyes briefly over his shoulder. “Someone here has to have it.”
You nod and kneel beside the body he’d taken the gun from. You rummage through the handler’s pockets, coming up short on finding the device that would free you from the necklace. From Hydra.
It’s unreal to you that this is even happening right now; you never thought you would ever have even a chance at freedom, but now -
As if it’s punishing you for even thinking about escaping, the wattage of your necklace suddenly spikes. And as you’d predicted, this time you can’t completely cover the pain it’s inflicting on you - it’s too strong, hurts too much.
You scream and fall sideways, clawing futilely at the electrified metal around your neck. For several long, agonizing moments, all there is is pain, pain, pain - and then, suddenly, it’s gone.
You think at first you’re dead; in fact, you’re certain of it. But then a hand taps on your cheek and you open your eyes - when had you even closed them? - and see the Soldier’s face hovering over your own. It melts with relief and he says something to you, but you can’t hear whatever it is over the ringing in your ears.
You’d tell him that, if you weren’t so dazed.
After some time the Soldier gives up on getting a response out of you and helps you to sit up, watching you closely afterwards, presumably looking for any signs that you’re going to pass out. You don’t, though your head does swim, and find yourself blinking rapidly trying to get your eyes to focus. They land on the doorway when they do, where a familiar man stands holding a familiar object, the sight enough to make your blood run cold.
Having noticed the shift in your demeanor, the Soldier follows your line of sight, tensing just as you had when he realizes what you’re looking at.
The ringing in your ears fades away just in time for Talon, the highest ranking of the handlers, to speak.
“Drop the gun, Soldat,” he commands, shaking the hand holding the remote to your necklace pointedly. “Or watch your precious little empath die.”
The Soldier swallows thickly. Then, he obeys, the gun clattering onto the wood floor just beyond your reach.
“As I thought,” Talon muses, his smile anything but friendly as he approaches you and the Soldier at a slow pace. His eyes are fixated on the latter, but his thumb hovering over the red button on the remote is enough of a deterrent to keep you from trying anything.
You don’t refrain from openly glaring at him, though.
“You’d do anything to keep her safe, hm?” Talon inquires coolly, his lips falling into their natural frown. “First chance at freedom in almost seventy years... And you toss it away for a girl you’ve known for two,” he holds up two fingers on his free hand for emphasis, and you flinch. Even though they’re the same words you've been telling yourself this entire time, they somehow sound even worse coming from someone else’s mouth.
The handler doesn't show it outwardly, but he notices how his statement hits a nerve. You know this because, for a moment, his irritation gives way to amusement; he can tell you're feeling guilty, and he's enjoying it.
Bastard.
Talon comes to a stop a few feet away from where you and the Soldier are sat. His eyes, their irises the color of green peridot, flicker back and forth between the two of you a few times before he seethes, “She makes you weak.”
The Soldier tightens his arm around you, and you can feel the anxiety rising within him; the anger. You want to spare a glance in his direction but opt to keep your gaze fixated on Talon, afraid of what he might do if you were to be momentarily distracted.
“It’s pathetic,” the handler goes on, “and if we didn’t need her help to sort out the mess your failure-” he jabs an accusing finger at the Soldier “-created, I would have you kill her. Slowly and painfully, to punish you both.
"I should regardless, considering what she was about to do,” he moves his focus onto you, now. “You should count yourself very lucky, Empat, and pray that I still find you useful when all this is said and done.”
Your glare turns deadly at the threat. In response, Talon hits a button - not the red one - to make your necklace come to life, albeit on a much lower setting than it’d been on before.
It’s a warning more than anything, but it still hurts.
“Yes, you will both be punished harshly for your recent acts of disobedience - eventually,” Talon states, tossing the remote into the air and catching it, quite literally playing with your life. “There’s simply no time for it now, as we leave for Sokovia tonight, per von Strucker’s request. He’s made a call for all of his creations to return and help defend their birthplace,” he stuffs the hand holding the device into his pocket and seems to consider you before adding, “He’s very interested in seeing how your powers have developed since he’s last seen you, Empat.”
Unease claws its way down your spine at the words, and though you’re not sure why - you trust it. You may not consciously remember von Strucker, but there’s a girl locked away in your mind who does; who’s warning you that he’s no one you’ll want to see ever again.
You trust her.
Talon sighs exaggeratedly, having seemingly grown bored of this one-sided conversation he’s been having with the two of you.
“Get her up, Soldat; we must get going,” he commands. You feel your heart lurch, and finally tear your gaze from the handler to look at the man who’s yet to let you go.
There’s a look of calculation on his face; the one he bears whenever a mission goes wrong and he has to come up with a new plan on the spot. What could he possibly-
“My name,” the Soldier snarls through gritted teeth, glaring up at the other man with pure hatred swirling in his chest. “Is James, Buchanan, Barnes. Not Soldat, not Asset - James. Bucky.”
You gasp silently in response to what he’s just revealed, and place your hand over that of his that rests on your waist, squeezing it tightly. Right now is the most inappropriate of times to feel happy, but you are, because the Soldier, your Soldier, he has a name. Well, he’s always had one - but now he remembers it; now you know it. You know his name and you know your own - your first one, at least - and, wow. You have names. Real, genuine names and it feels so surreal, so right, even if you are currently standing on the verge of losing them again.
“I gave you an order, Soldat,” Talon emphasizes the title pointedly, and you whirl back onto him with a glare even more murderous than the first had been. “And I expect you to follow that order, or I’ll-”
In your peripheral vision, you see the Soldier - James, you remind yourself - pull out a gun and line up a shot with expert ease. You barely register the action before he’s pulling the trigger and an ear piercing bang echoes throughout the abandoned house.
The bullet hits its mark, of course - a fatal head shot.
Talon’s body falls towards the ground and when it makes impact, whether his hand was just carrying out his last request or your luck is just that bad and he happened to land on it, the red button on the remote gets pressed.
The wattage of your necklace spikes, and it’s the most excruciating and unbearable pain you’ve ever felt. Your lips part to scream but the cry doesn’t even get a chance to escape before you succumb to the pain being inflicted upon you, your world going dark.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And then…
And then there’s light.
Not a heavenly, bright light, but a dim, golden glow.
You blink against it a few times, trying to focus your vision, all the while casting your healing warmth over the pain in your head. The world around you finally aligns and you realize that you’re in a car, sprawled across the back seat with your head lying on top of a rolled up denim jacket.
Your last few moments of consciousness return to you as the headache is successfully smothered to nothing, and immediately your hand shoots up to grasp at your neck - the action sending a jolt of pain through your arm.
Brows furrowing, you withdraw the limb and bring it to eye level, finding a bandage wrapped tightly just below your elbow. You bring your other hand up and pull the bandage down carefully, revealing a stitched up wound right where Hydra’s scientists had implanted a small tracking device beneath your skin seemingly so long ago.
The implications the sight brings forth make your heart stutter.
Slowly, almost afraid of what you’ll find, you lower your hand back towards your neck -
Finding nothing there.
And the fact that your necklace is gone is your second indication that something huge happened while you were unconscious, as the only time your handlers ever take it off of you is when you’re off mission and locked away in a cell. Gingerly, you rub at the scarred skin where it usually rests, putting the few pieces you’ve gathered so far together.
Your tracker has presumably been cut out, your necklace is gone, and both of those things could only mean-
You stop yourself short, realizing you’re getting ahead of yourself.
You can’t let yourself think that until you know for sure it’s true.
So without moving - because if it isn’t him, you’re gonna want the advantage of the person in the driver’s seat not knowing you’re awake - you close your eyes and reach out with your powers, studying the only other soul in the car. You take into account every familiar ache and pain in their body, the fragile hope within their chest, and you smile.
“Soldier?” you call, ignoring the pain in your arm as you push yourself up into a seated position. Startled, his icy blues snap towards the rear view mirror.
And then they melt.
“No,” he responds, a smile tainting his tone. “I’m Bucky.”
Disbelieving and overjoyed, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. He maneuvers the car to park it on the side of the rural road and you slide off of the back seat, leaning over the center console to look at his face. He turns to look at you, too, grinning - something you’ve never seen him do before.
He’s offered you slight tugs at the corners of his lips in moments where he was more ‘James’ than ‘Soldier,’ yes, but not ever this - this flashing of his teeth and crinkling at the edges of his eyes. Bathed in the golden glow of the rising sun and freedom, he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.
“Hi, Bucky,” you greet him breathlessly, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
“Hi, Y/N,” he returns, and the next thing you know you’re being pulled - squealing - from the back seat towards the front, and his arms are around you, holding you tight against him. In the cramped space of the car, the embrace is awkward and even on the verge of painful - what with all the levers and the steering wheel digging into you; but you don’t care. You just wrap your arms around him, too, and pull him impossibly closer, a different kind of tears filling your eyes as you bury your nose into his dark hair.
“I thought I lost you,” he heaves out the shaking words against your chest, trembling in your hold. There’s so many emotions twisting within him that it’s hard for you to decipher them from one another, but most prominent of all is his guilt; his overbearing, gut-wrenching guilt. It makes you realize, with a sinking heart, that not only had he thought you dead, he’d thought he’d been the one to kill you - inadvertently - by shooting Talon.
“I’m right here,” you murmur into his hair, pressing a kiss to it after. “It’s alright - we’re alright, Bucky. We’re free.”
At your words, he pulls back enough to meet your gaze, an almost mystified look on his tear-stained face. It’s the smallness of his voice as he repeats your last two words back to you that causes your own tears to spill over.
“We’re free.”
He almost sounds like he doesn’t really believe it, and you can understand that, as you hardly do yourself - but still, you try and reassure him, nodding quickly.
“Yeah, Bucky, we’re fr-”
Bucky presses his lips against yours, cutting you off.
Taken aback, you stiffen at first - but then you melt into him, one of your hands moving to cup the side of his face and pull him closer, the other sliding down to rest over his heart. It beats strongly against your palm, setting the pace for the kiss, the first the two of you have ever shared. And, oh, what a first kiss it is: gentle yet passionate, grounding but freeing all the same.
It warms you from the inside out and tingles beneath the surface of your skin in the most exhilarating of ways, making you feel so alive - reassuring you that you are, as it would be so easy for you to convince yourself that you’re not, since this is the closest to Heaven you’ve ever been.
If you could have it your way, it would never end; you would stay in this moment for the rest of your life, reveling in the feeling of Bucky’s lips moving against yours and his arms encasing you, the mix of positive emotions swirling in your respective chests. Your lungs however eventually betray you, and you have to part from him to catch your breath - but you don’t go too far. You only move to rest your forehead against his, a happier rendition of a moment lived not too long ago.
You stay like that, just basking in one another, for an eternity. And then he asks you, in a tone that tells you he’s open to anything you might suggest, “Where do you want to go?”
You smile as you open your eyes, meeting his waiting gaze.
“Anywhere,” you tell him simply. “As long as I’m with you.”
A/N: first and foremost, if you’re reading this, bless you for making it this far, and I really hope you liked this one-shot! I’d love to hear any thoughts you may have on it :).
I’ve been planning the story of Bucky and this specific reader in my head for months now, so to see them finally “come to life” is a pretty great feeling. I hope you guys love them as much as I do, because I’ll hopefully be sharing the journey that led them to this ‘epilogue’ with you soon 💜.
One last thing, I want to give a shout out to every single person who has given me words of encouragement and advice over the past few months as I’ve talked about picking up writing again. Especially @stop-obsessing-over-those-actors, whose reaction to just a snippet of this one-shot and constant support throughout the writing process pushed me to keep going even when I felt like giving up and dropping out of the challenge. I’m so sorry I kept you waiting to see what happened for so long! I hope the wait was worth it!
( @buckyreaderrecs and @stop-obsessing-over-those-actors, I did it you guys!! 💜)
#jbbuckybarnesBirthdayChallenge#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#winter soldier#winter soldier x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#winter soldier fanfiction#winter soldier fanfic#winter soldier fic#winter soldier imagine#bucky x reader#marvel fanfiction#marvel imagines#marvel imagine#marvel fic#marvel fanfic#bucky barnes x female reader#winter soldier x female reader#J Writes Stuff#Series: Demolition Lovers
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Limited Edition. So Far Away
[FULL MASTERLIST]
[Limited Edition Master list]
Beta: N/A
Rating: All audiences
Genre: Fantasy, Comedy, Fluffy Fluff, Adventure.
Pairing: Bts x Friend!Reader
Words: 1.4K
Summary: It is your first time buying proper merchandise, there are new chibi figurines and the first person to order will recieve a limited edition set. But what happens when BTS have gone missing without a trace and a few days later you receive your package. The box says congratulations, you open to find your limited edition figures, they look so lifelike. OH WAIT! it’s cause they are.
Returning home was quiet, absolutely no stress about little men being seen. Even going through customs was a breeze. You felt like you had succeeded but in what you were not sure. The boys had shown you around Seoul for a week before you had to return home.
You didn’t miss them, at least not yet. But when you opened the door to your home, it felt almost empty. You walked into the house and heard a shuffling. “Who is there?” you said thinking perhaps it was Jungkook or Seokjin raiding the cupboards again
“Hey best friend” A wave of disappointment washed over you. “where have you been?”
“Oh…” You shrugged “Around”
Walking dejectedly to your room, you went to unpack your suitcase and saw the dollhouse. “It hurt a lot to see it without them in it. You placed it on your desk. Before promptly face planting your bed and crying softly.
The days passed, you went back to your university and you started working on assignments and keeping busy with lectures and tutorials. You spent your time filling the void of loneliness and you never had the heart to throw away the dollhouse.
Just when things started to look better, you remembered them when they were Tiny. Rocking out to Mic Drop and Yoongi’s little hand gestures as he rapped.
Or on days you caught a glimpse of the boys on run bts or alive you would remember how they were when they had transformed back.
“How does it feel being the small one?” Namjoon grinned looking over you trying to be intimidating. News flash he wasn’t after seeing him reduced to the size of your hand with dimples and two left feet. That man couldn’t scare you. So why did you cower slightly? It was probably because you were weirded out by the sudden height change.
“It is odd” You muttered “I am used to you all being so small and adorable and needing my help and just generally being cute. But now…”
“Now we are sexy and manly and big and strong” Jimin puffed his chest making Jungkook and Taehyung laugh.
“You can admit it we are beautiful,” Seokjin said
One night you hid it in your closet thinking that maybe it was best to forget it all like it was all a dream. But it wasn’t. They would pop up with another live stream smiling and dropping little hints as if hoping you were watching.
“We really enjoy the Tiny Tan animation videos going around and we are planning to contact the artist and work with them, to create something” Hoseok grinned
You hadn’t left your bed in days hoping that you would soon forget that one day you would wake with no memory of the boys. But the notifications on your videos brought you back to the present.
Life had gone from bad too worse everything was going wrong; family, friends, job, and school work.
Your friends alienated you because you didn’t have time for you anymore so they stopped inviting you to things. Your parents continued their usual.
“you're wasting your life and you aren’t doing anything”
“What’s the point of us paying for your college?”
“When will you get a job?”
You were sick of their complaining and just everything screaming at you, you were unhappy truly.
Walking through the front door you see your friends all getting ready to go out and they went quiet looking around awkwardly.
Dropping your bag and taking off your shoes you received a call, “Good afternoon this is Y/n speaking” you looked in the fridge for something to eat.
“Hello miss Y/n this is Sejin,” Sejin introduced himself “I am calling to offer you flights to Korea for a week, the boys are feeling quite down and they mentioned wanting to see you”
“Is it okay if I think about it and get back to you?”
“Of course”
You just walked past your friends hearing a few whispered comments about yourself. Exhausted stepping into your room you flipped back on your bed staring holes at your cupboard.
Unable to hold back any longer you, opened the door and took the dollhouse from the top shelf and placed it on your desk. You opened the front panel and inside you saw a full-sized letter. It was obvious they had snuck it in your bag before you left Korea.
“Dear Y/n, we were not the best guests in your home. We are sorry for making you cry. We all hope to meet you once again. Namjoon” they had each written a tiny little message underneath with similar messages.
“If you ever miss my handsome face, come see us, also I need someone to make me those delicious snacks you make TT visit again soon, Jin”
“I would like you to know I will cherish the memories and photos we took together, Jimin”
“I hope you always feel welcome to visit, Taehyung”
“Whenever I feel down I will think back to the times we had together, your hope”
“I don’t like to play favorites but you are my favorite Army. You made me so happy and treated us like people, Jungkook”
You couldn’t help the tears that fell especially when you saw Yoongi’s comment. “What is keeping you there? You are miserable. Come join BigHit and take any position you wish. I am just being selfish and rude because you are leaving, Yoongi”
Taking out your suitcase you shoved everything inside, clothes shoes and looking around, was there anything else you needed or wanted to bring.
You took your computer external justice, all your paperwork, and zipped up your suitcase. Calling Sejin back.
“Actually Sejin does the offer still stand that I can get a job in Korea?” You said rolling out to the kitchen opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water and some fruit.
“Well that’s the other reason why we were calling you back, Mr. Bang really wants to offer you a job”
“Listen I will take it, is it too much of a bother to ask for a place to stay?”
“Of course we can find you a small apartment,” Sejin said “you would work as an assistant manager so you would work with me if you want you can have any job you would like,” he said and the girls were looking at you.
“What’s the earliest flight you can get me there? I am packed and ready to go as we speak?”
“I can get you on the next available flight. How far are you away from the airport?”
“An hour?”
“I can get you a plane in two hours?”
“Perfect I will be there”
Hanging up you felt a sense of relief “I’m leaving my parents will grab my stuff, so please do not stress. Our lease is up in a month so I will pay it out”
“Where are you going?” Your roommate asked hugging you
“Korea, I got a job a house and a few friends that I miss dearly” you hugged all your friends and sighed “I have been miserable after they left and I don’t think I can live without them”
“Good luck and have fun”
“Listen I will call you, I will keep in touch and if you ever want to come see Korea hit me up” you grinned “I am sorry for ghosting you all because I was sad but I think this is what I need”
With your bag in tow, you took a taxi to the airport and boarded the next plane to Korea, the whole way you were watching over the videos you and the boys recorded together.
Getting a notification for a new Live you watched it happily. The boys were talking about things being slow and they wish they could see their Army and perform.
Namjoon received a text and read it silently before grinning wildly. “I got a message from manager-nim” he grinned, showing the others his cell phone and they all grinned.
“Here to Korea?” Taehyung asked excitedly
“Yes and permanently” Yoongi read the text. “As Sejin’s assistant manager”
The comments were going off, “Army we have a new assistant manager please be kind they are a wonderful person who took care of us and brought us back to Korea when we had gone missing”
Jimin read the comments with a laugh. “SAM, SAM, SAM? Why do they keep saying three? What does that mean? Three?”
“Saviour Assistant Manager” Hoseok read over his shoulder laughing.
Tags: @victory0461 @gqmf-bangtanmama @simplymemyself
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#bts#bts reactions#bts scenarios#btscreatorscrner#bangtan sonyeondan#bts imagines#bts drabbles#bts fluff#bts fic#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#bts x reader#bts chibi#bts chibi's#bts tiny tan#tiny tan#kim namjoon#kim seokjin#min yoongi#jung hoseok#park jimin#kim taehyung#jeon jungkook#jin x reader#suga x reader#jhope x reader#namjoon x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader
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Ohhhh Thasmin and "are you kidding me?! you're not 'fine'!" OR River/13 and "i can't believe i almost lost you
This one got away from me a little, I’ll admit. It’s pretty angsty and features a lot of (canon) character death, so fair warning on that one.
I’ll add an AO3 link in the reblogs!
---
The Ghosts That Broke My Heart
Sleep had always been a funny thing for the Doctor. She certainly needed a lot less of it than her human friends, but it had always been a reliable break from whatever life chose to throw at her that week. She had dreams, like everyone did, but there was one thing which the Doctor didn’t really do.
She didn’t have nightmares.
Really, what would she have them about? The Doctor faced the creatures of nightmares every day. To some species, the Doctor was a creature of nightmares.
Still, after what had happened on Gallifrey? She’d found the creatures that could jolt her awake screaming.
Ghosts.
Whatever she’d done to overload the matrix had broken centuries of carefully constructed barriers, holding back the people she’d lost, and now her mind saw fit to make her relive each dark moment whenever she let her guard down to try and sleep.
It had started out right away- that first night in the Jadoon prison she’d laid down on the slab that passed for a bed, and closed her eyes to sleep.
“What does that mean?”
Jenny was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, all wide-eyes and excited smiles. The Doctor could recognise a lot of her own nervous energy in the young woman- ready to go off and explore the brave new world that awaited them. She also saw the gunman poised to take all that away in a moment.
It was like she was watching through thick glass. Poised on the sidelines, watching her past selves getting it all wrong over and over, but helpless to interfere. She slammed her palm against it, sending a too-real shooting pain through her arm, but making no audible sound.
“It means a new world.”
Sandshoes was grinning now, more genuine hope than she could ever really remember feeling shining in those eyes. He’d burned in the end- she remembered that much. He’d been angry. Vengeful.
The Timelord Victorious.
How different might things have been if he’d just turned around? The Doctor tried to speak, to shout for him to get her out of the way. Her voice didn’t make a sound.
She watched the happiness melt from Jenny’s face, even as Sandshoes maintained his stupid, complacent grin. The Doctor was pounding on the glass now, silently screaming that it wasn’t worth it, but of course she couldn’t change it. Jenny shoved Sandshoes out of the way, the bullet striking her square in the chest. Martha- brilliant Martha who she’d never once deserved- she knew right away there was no chance. She watched her past-self hold their dying daughter, and tell her of a future she’d never see, already knowing she was beyond saving. Lies had always fallen too easily from her tongue.
“You’re gonna be amazing, you hear me, Jenny?”
Had she even heard?
That first night, when she woke with a whine, curled up into a tight ball on her uncomfortable prison bed, the Doctor had attributed it to stress. She’d jumped haphazardly from Byron, to the cybermen, to Gallifrey, to prison with no time to clear her head. The Master always did funny things to her mind, anyway, it was normal there’d be some aftereffects.
Her hand ached from where she’d been slamming it into the ‘bed’.
She tried to shake the traitorous vision of Jenny- bright, young Jenny with so much potential sacrificing herself for the father she hardly knew. The father who would go on to do so much damage.
Against her better judgement, she’d turned over, and tried to get to sleep again. It was the last time she made that mistake.
The first thing the Doctor heard this time, was screaming.
She was on a ship, which certainly wasn’t her TARDIS. It took her a minute to recognise the place- but, maybe that made the whole thing even worse. Somebody was screaming for her help, and she couldn’t even remember who it was.
She stood there, behind whatever barrier her mind had constructed to stop her interfering, and watched the doddering old fool she’d been back then just stand there while a good woman was in trouble just feet away. She could have reopened the airlock doors- she’d known how- but she’d been so desperate to look for a way around it, that she’d left Katarina there screaming.
“Change course.” The Doctor in front of her finally ordered. “Take him back to Kembel. Take him back to Kembel! Let the Daleks deal with him.”
In that moment the Doctor looked into her own eyes and saw a spark of that ruthless fire which would one day burn galaxies. It was that same fire that made her risk tearing time apart for Clara Oswald- the fire that burned too brightly. If she was feeling generous, she might have called it admirable, that she was willing to fight so unbelievably hard for the people she loved.
Right now, she called it selfishness.
Steven stepped towards the old Doctor, his anger doing a poor job at masking his fear. “Yes, and us!”
“Don't worry, dear boy, We'll find a way out.” The Doctor cringed at her first face (or, the first face she remembered), while standing in her glass prison. Her methods of comfort hadn’t come on any in three thousand years. She was still a liar.
Both of the men who’d been with her bck then had been afraid. Bret had even tried arguing with her, but the Doctor had never been an easy person to argue with.
“I can't sacrifice everything for the sake of that one girl.” He argued, still at the controls. Luckily, she was spared the embarrassment of having to watch her former self argue by Steven stepping in.
“Listen! Without us you wouldn't have got off Kembel at all, and nothing would be worth bothering about!”
“All right, so we all go back together. But without me, I doubt that you would have got this far either.” Bret had given in quickly enough, and all the while the Doctor just stood and watched, and listened to Katarina’s frightened screaming in the airlock.
She watched as Katarina broke free and hit the release for the airlock. She watched as both her and Kirksen were sucked out into space. She watched, and knew that that girl- that girl who was so brave in the face of so much danger- had sacrificed herself so the three of them could get away.
Her hearts ached, as she thought of a dozen ways she could have saved her, if she’d tried harder.
“She wanted to save our lives and perhaps the lives of all the other beings of the Solar System.” The old Doctor in front of her began to make his silly speech, and the Doctor turned away, revolted at her own self-importance. “I hope she's found her Perfection. Oh, how I shall always remember her as one of the Daughters of the Gods. Yes, as one of the Daughters of the Gods.”
Rule one.
She hadn’t thought about Katarina in centuries. That poor, brave woman, who had made the ultimate sacrifice to keep them all alive, and the Doctor hadn’t even bothered to remember her.
The Doctor had awoken, still curled up on that cold stone slab, unable to shake the revulsion at her own actions. Was she still like that man? So pompous as to think that every being in the universe made their decisions based around her.
She hadn’t tried to sleep again, after that, shifting to lay on her back, staring at the celling, and trying to shake what somewhere, deep down, she knew.
There were very, very good reasons, she was in prison.
At first, it was always death. Faces she’d remembered, and ones she’d long since forgotten, all meeting their end because the Doctor had failed to save them.
“It snapped my neck, Sir. It wasn’t as painless as I expected, but it was pretty quick, so that was something.”
Angel Bob.
The Doctor had forgotten all about Angel Bob. He was young, and clever, and he was so scared, and she had just walked away and forgotten all about him, as though he’d never even existed.
She could see the look on the faces of the others- the muted horror on River’s, and the more pronounced look of it on her mother’s, as well as the well-managed grief of the soldiers who’d fought with him. They were all ghosts, now. Amy, River, the soldiers. All blown away like smoke on the wind.
“If you’re dead how can I be talking to you?” She tried not to think about the genuine interest her former self’s voice held in that moment- a man had just died, and Bowtie was curious about the mechanics.
“You’re not talking to me, Sir. The angel has no voice. It stripped my cerebral cortex from my body and reanimated a version of my consciousness to communicate with you. Sorry about the confusion.”
She tried her absolute best not to think too hard about how conscious the original Bob was at that moment. Had he known what had happened to him? Had he felt the angels turn him into their puppet?
She watched as Bowtie told them all to run- to run into the maze of weeping angels with no plan, and to just trust him, and she watched as he stopped behind to defend himself.
“Yes, I called you an idiot, and I’m sorry-“ He didn’t sound sorry at all, but the Doctor in her glass cage watching it play out certainly was, “But I couldn’t have saved your men.”
“I know that, Sir. And when you’ve flown off in your little blue box, I’ll explain that to their families.”
She watched, sick to her stomach, as Bowtie smirked.
“I’ll have to tell his mother.”
Seeing Rose, even after all this time, was still painful. This was only the second day they’d met, back before they’d travelled together. Before she’d managed to soften the war ravaged Doctor standing in front of her now.
The Ears had been one of her shortest lived, and angriest faces, and the ways he’d treated people were downright cruel at times. She saw the questioning look he gave Rose, clueless in the face of Mickey’s apparent demise, and why she’d be at all upset.
Why Rose hadn’t walked away then and there would forever be a mystery to the Doctor. She’d never once deserved that kind of love.
“Mickey” I’ll have to tell his mother he’s dead, and you just went and forgot him, again! You were right, you are alien.”
Alien didn’t have to mean cruel, though. So why did callousness seem to come so easily to her? Maybe it was just the sheer amount of death she’d witnessed, but it still hurt to see. She had to keep reminding herself that this death, at least, hadn’t been real- that Mickey was alive and living on earth, raising a son with his dad’s eyes and his mum’s brains who’d have the whole world talking in a few years.
At least it was a good reminder of why she was staying away from August Smith.
“Look, if I did forget some kid called Mickey-“
“Yeah, he’s not a kid-“
The Ears cut Rose off before she could keep speaking, but the Doctor watching from the side-lines found herself nodding in agreement. Rose was right. Of course Rose was right.
“It’s because I’m busy trying to save the life of every stupid ape blundering about on top of this planet! Alright?”
“Alright!”
“Yes, it is!” Ears sounded insufferably smug.
The Doctor shook her head in disgust, glancing at Rose and quietly muttering, “Why did you ever put up with me?”
“Look out!”
It was another voice she hadn’t heard in a long time, and one she’d frankly been dreading hearing. If Nyssa was here she had a good idea of what she was about to see. She saw the cybermen coming up behind her back, while her fifth-self fumbled with the controls. It was as good as useless.
A cyberman lumbered up behind her, and her past-self ignored it completely, leaving Nyssa to have to shoot it down with a discarded cyberweapon. She was once again saved by a more competent friend, and her own hypocrisy when it came to guns.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever even thanked Nyssa for saving her life.
“I must save Adric!”
Stuck in the corner, exhausted and emotionally drained, the Doctor was just glad that, while she was having to watch another of her failures, this version of herself was at the very least trying.
“Look!”
“Adric.”
The screen came to life, and the Doctor tried to shut her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch, but of course it didn’t work- in her dreams she wouldn’t be allowed to block out the parts she didn’t want to see. The only consolation was that she wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes.
She’d always been cowardly like that.
She watched as the ship began to come apart- watched as Tegan and Nyssa held each other, and Celery just stood there gawping like a fish who couldn’t believe his own incompetence.
She still remembered that feeling- like someone had clawed the hearts out of her chest and shown them to her. Back then, it’d been such a long time since she’d really lost someone that she wasn’t used to the pain of it anymore.
When had she become careless enough that death just bounced off of her?
It only took ten days of reliving her worst moments before the Doctor had begun actively fighting sleep. Prison, at least, was a safe enough place to do it. She’d pace her cell at night to keep herself from drifting off- reciting books she knew by heart, or just talking to herself to keep her eyes from closing for too long. During the day, she’d do the same- chatting to the other prisoners, pacing, never letting herself remain still for fear of finally giving into the exhaustion which seemed to have seeped into her bones.
Of course, even a Time Lord (if she could even call herself one anymore), couldn’t stay awake forever. After weeks of forcing her eyes to stay open, she’d eventually collapse, usually when she was in her cell, if she was lucky, and she’d endure another walkthrough her past- too exhausted to even wake up- before being woken by the prison systems to begin all over again.
After a while she’d slip into waking dreams, too exhausted to even think straight. She’d sit in her cell, nutrient block in hand, while her sleep deprived mind played out snippets of her life, a few seconds at a time, while she fought to wake up enough to dismiss the visions.
At first, when she next saw herself- sitting on a bench, eating chips, she thought maybe this was just her mind crying out for some real food. It was easy to forget the specifics of what had been discussed all those years before, after twenty years sitting in a cell.
“She scares me.” Came Bill’s voice from next to the older-Doctor, quiet in its honesty. Admitting you were scared was something so few people ever did- least of all when they were around the Doctor, and being brave was so important, but Bill had never been afraid to admit it to her. She’d been strong like that. “Like. She really scares me.”
As much as she still, after all this time, wanted the Master to be everything she knew he could be, it was hard to deny how right Bill had been to be afraid. After all- it was the Master who’d handed her over to the cybermen, in the end, just not the version she’d feared.
“Okay. Just, promise me one thing, yeah? Just promise you won’t get me killed.”
“I can’t promise you that!” Eyebrows had laughed at her, as though her concerns were something flippant. As though her fear was something worth laughing at. He’d been right, in the end, he hadn’t been able to keep Bill alive, but it was horrible looking back at it now.
The Doctor had managed to shock herself back into reality, but she hadn’t been able to shake the self-contempt that settled in her hearts.
Most of the time, those waking nightmares came while she was stuck sitting around, waiting for the time to come that she’d be allowed out into her tiny cube of the exercise yard, just for something to break up the routine of sitting alone, and thinking about death.
“I keep remembering all the people I’ve killed. Every day I think of more. Being bad- Being bad drowned that out. I didn’t know I even knew their names. You didn’t tell me about this bit.”
“I’m sorry, but this is good.”
“Okay.”
The Doctor watched herself hold her self-ascribed goodness over her oldest friend, and couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t what had driven the Master to the depths of madness he’d displayed on Gallifrey. She might have lorded it as a good thing back then, but she was quickly learning the types of things that isolation, imprisonment, and guilt could do to the mind. If she got out of prison with her sanity, she’d count it a blessing.
She’d dreamt about Missy a lot, after a while. The longer she stayed locked up, the more her guild-addled mind saw fit to remind her of her stint as jailor.
On those nights she was too exhausted to keep her eyes open, the Doctor saw herself through the glass again. It was her twelfth face- well, the twelfth she remembered- the one with the angry eyebrows and the trusting nature. She saw Missy standing there, looking more dishevelled than she had before the vault, standing so close to the forcefield that it was rippling. She looked strangely earnest despite the pantomime of madness she put o- as though she was proud of herself for actually helping.
She watched as Eyebrows shoved Bill back away from Missy, not seeming to care much about how what had just transpired had clearly affected her. She’d never been good enough for Bill- the kind, inquisitive girl who’d gone out of her way to buy the Doctor Christmas presents and who’d called her grandad, and who she’d promised she wouldn’t get killed. Bill who had been so strong, who had fought off the monks and the cybermen by sheer force of will. Bill who’d deserved so much more than what the Doctor had given to her.
She watched Eyebrows walk up to that rippling forcefield, and look his oldest friend in the eyes like she was still the monster she pretended to be.
“Even if that was the truth the fact that you’re suggesting it shows that there’s been no change. No hope. No point.”
Eyebrows sounded angry, and the Doctor winced slightly at that. How was the Master ever supposed to change with the Doctor constantly telling her that her progress meant nothing? Was that why she’d given up in the end? It had to be easier to go back to what you’d known before rather than being constantly strung along and put down by someone who had promised to help you become better.
Missy’s face contorted for a moment. The Doctor left her here for months, all alone in this dusty room with almost nothing, and then he’d turned up just to talk to her like this? Her Twelfth face was one of the few she’d always thought of as good- or, if not good, at least kind. Sandshoes had been angry from the war and from everything he’d lost, but Eyebrows had tried so hard to be kind. Was this really what her version of kind did to people?
After her own stint in prison, leaving Missy trapped like this for so long was beginning to seem more and more cruel. She’d wanted to help people, she really had, but it wasn’t as though her friend had come to her and asked. She’d saved her, and then abused that power, keeping her prisoner for decades to try and make her into something she’d never tried to be. It was hard, knowing what had later become of the Master, not to wonder what all that time in the vault had done to their already fragile mental state. How much had she contributed to his snapping and destroying their home?
Looking at it like that how was the Doctor any better than the Jadoon? And how was Missy running off with the Master much different from her running with Jac They’d both been escaping jailors who kept them confined alone for long enough to drive them half-mad.
“We don’t sacrifice people.” The scene playing out in front of her was hardly easy, but the Doctor laughed anyway, because the irony of that wasn’t lost on her. She’d let so many people die for her as Rainbows that Eyebrows’ words felt hollow. “It’s wrong because it’s easy.”
“Back in the day I’d burn an entire city to the ground just to see the pretty shapes the smoke made. I’m sorry your plus one doesn’t get a happy ending, but like it or not I just saved this world because I want to change.”
There was a forced lightness to Missy’s voice, almost undetectable unless you really knew her well- and the Doctor knew her better than anybody. It’d been a cry for help, of sorts- she’d wanted her friend back, and Eyebrows had ignored her. She’d saved the world- the Doctor would have likely spent months searching for infected water supplies and food chains following up his own stupid theories, and Missy had told him the answer freely, and without reward. She’d saved the world and he’d told her there was no hope for her- no wonder she’d run.
“Your version of good is not absolute.” She continued, her fingers pushing slightly against the forcefield now. The Doctor watched it ripple from behind he own glass patrician, and she knew the look in Missy’s eyes far too well. If that forcefield had been replaced with glowing blue bars it could have been her in her own cell. At least during her imprisonment she hadn’t had to live with the knowledge that her oldest friend was her jailor. “It’s vain, arrogant, and sentimental.”
Vain, arrogant and sentimental.
She always had said the Master knew her soul a little too well.
Once the spectre of death faded, somewhat, it was her own shortcomings her subconscious decided to force onto her. Those moments when she’d forced others into complying with what she’d wanted- as though that was always her decision to make.
She was the Doctor, after all. Who would ever dare to question her whims as anything less than genius?
“You know you can fix that chameleon circuit if you just tried hot-wiring the fragment links and superseding the binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary binary-“
Not this. Not Donna. How was this fair? At least with Jenny she hadn’t seen the gunman. She could see it in her past-self’s face that he knew this was killing her, and he was just standing there like an idiot, watching it happen. He could have stepped in sooner.
“I’m fine.” Donna was showing off that big grin, back to talking a mile-a-minute. The Doctor had always wondered if on some level she knew what this would do. She had all of that knowledge inside her head, it must have been somewhere in her all along that she’d become an impossible thing.
She didn’t pound on the glass or scream this time, watching her own past unfold with her hand pressed up against it. She mouthed I’m sorry, but no sound came out.
“I bet he’s great, Charlie Chaplin. Shall we do that? Shall we go see Charlie Chaplin? Shall we? Charlie Chaplin. Charlie Chester. Charlie Brown- no he’s fiction-“ She watched as Donna pranced around, playing with the console and the phone. This wasn’t quite Donna- not really. This Donna was far too Doctor- maybe that was why she found it so unsettling, seeing her charming, funny, irreverent friend talking like someone she hated.
“Friction, fiction, fixing, mixing, Rickston, Brixton-“ Donna cut off with a gasp, and the Doctor wanted to slap Sandshoes for leaving her in this state. She had to be scared, and he wasn’t even bothering to explain it to her. Of course, with that much of the Doctor’s mind burning through her own, Donna had probably understood it all already, but there was still something to be said for compassion in a situation as horrific as this one.
“I was gonna be with you forever.” The sadness in Donna’s eyes spoke volumes. She’d trusted the Doctor so much, had so much planned for them, and it was all the Doctor’s fault.
If her hearts hadn’t already shattered they did now. Nobody ever stayed with her forever- not really. Even if she wanted them to, she’d always destroy them before they got a chance.
She was on the floor, kneeling on the dirty floor of a TARDIS she’d long since tried to forget. When had that happened?
“I know.”
She screwed her eyes shut, grateful that this time, at least, she managed to block out the visuals- maybe because this time, the sound of Donna begging for something the Doctor was too selfish to give her was enough. She wouldn’t watch Sandshoes lie to her like that- like he’d lied to Jenny, and to Bob, and to Steven. Pretty words to ease the pain she was about to put her through.
“I can’t go back. Doctor. Please. Please don’t make me go back.”
Listening to her beg wasn’t any easier than watching it. Or living it- especially now she knew just how painful it was to have your memories taken from you. Gallifrey may have erased her path, but she’d run roughshod over her friend’s mind just as carelessly.
“Donna Noble. I am so sorry. But we had the best of times.” Was that supposed to make either of them feel better? She’d been so self-righteous back then. The Doctor opened her eyes again, and regretted it almost immediately, curling in on herself behind her little partition. “Goodbye.”
“No. No! No please! No. No! No!”
Staying awake proved easier once she’d left prison.
During her incarceration, it had only been the thought of getting home to her fam which had really kept her going, so having Yaz back at her side was a real boost to her mood, which kept those waking nightmares at bay.
The running helped too- adrenaline in her system keeping the more dangerous effects of her sleep-deprivation at bay. Still, it didn’t mean that nights didn’t come where she came down from that high of finally being able to help again, and her tiredness came crashing down on her like a crushing weight.
This time, it came after a particularly harsh day.
She was getting sloppy in her exhausted state, and that sloppiness had put Yaz in far greater danger than she’d ever wanted to risk again. She’d told herself, that after the cybermen, and the daleks, she’d be more careful, but then all of a sudden there they were, stuck in a trap she should have been able to spot, if she was thinking clearly.
They’d been held hostage for longer than she was willing to admit- some scrapper who was very keen on getting hold of the TARDIS- not that he really knew what it was or what significance it held. No, for this man the greatest ship in the universe was worth some spare parts, and whatever the scrap value of its base components was.
They’d gotten out, in the end, but it wasn’t as though she could even take credit for that- it was quick thinking on Yaz’s part which had distracted their attacker for long enough for them to get to the TARDIS. As impressive as it was, it was still terrifying to see Yaz be so like her in the way she acted. The last person who’d wanted to be the Doctor had gotten killed trying to do so.
She’d hardly said a word once they returned to the ship, trying her best to ignore the furtive looks of concern she kept getting. She slipped off to the library alone when Yaz went to make a cup of tea, getting there on her fourth attempt (since the TARDIS seemed insistent on placing her room behind every door she opened), and counting on the near-infinite nature of the TARDIS rooms to hide her for a while. She needed a little space while she cleared her head and tried to get rid of some of the overwhelming guilt that was eating her up inside.
She could have gotten Yaz killed today with her carelessness. If Yaz wasn’t as good as she was, she would have gotten them both killed.
No matter what horrors from her past her brain decided to drudge up, a world without Yaz was still a terrifying thought.
“I’m not asking you for a promise. I’m giving you an order.”
She really didn’t want to see this.
The Doctor had not gotten her memories back just so she could watch Clara Oswald face the raven all over again. Even in prison her mind hadn’t been cruel enough to remind her of that particular death. She remembered the others- Oswin, and the governess she’d met in London, and a hundred other Clara’s who’d died to save her- but this one had never come up.
Evidently, her subconscious thought she needed a reminder of what happened when she took her eyes off things for a moment too long.
“You will not insult my memory. There will be no revenge. I will die, and no one else here, or anywhere, will suffer.”
Well there was a promise the Doctor hadn’t managed to keep. She’d tried to tear time itself apart to save Clara, and worst of all, she’d never even known if it succeeded. Testimony didn’t remember whether Clara had lived or died- it’d been taken the moment before the raven hit- before the Doctor had tried to pull her from her timeline. She had no memory of anything that’d happened with Clara after this, and while she knew they’d been together on Gallifrey, she didn’t know how permanent that salvation might be, or what about it had taken her memories to begin with.
“What about me?” Eyebrows asked, and the Doctor who was watching him managed a harsh, bitter laugh. Clara was dying, and as usual her former self was there to be selfish and make her comfort him.
“If there was something I could do about that I would. I guess we’ll both just need to be brave.”
“Clara-“ He was trying to argue again, but all at once she was pulling him into a hug, and looking at the desperation of it from the outside, the Doctor just knew that Clara was trying to pull some comfort from it too, since Eyebrows hadn’t been offering her any.
She’d been human, and she’d been dying, and she’d been scared, but she’d forced herself to be brave so her friend didn’t have to be.
Looking back on it, Clara had always been so much stronger than the Doctor had ever been.
“Don’t run.” It had to be the first time she’d ever said that to one of her friends in a bad spot. “Stay with me.” Eyebrows was practically begging her now. Worse than that, the Doctor knew that if she had to go back and do it again, she wouldn’t be any stronger.
“Nah.” She could see how heard Clara was working to keep her tone casual, not wanting to hurt the Doctor any more than this whole thing already would. It was heart breaking, really, knowing that even in her final moments she’d had to suppress her own feelings to try and save her pain. “You stay here. In the end everybody does this alone.”
She shouldn’t have had to do it alone.
“Clara-“ Eyebrows tried again, and if the Doctor wasn’t stuck in her self-imposed cell, she might have hit him. This was his last chance- why couldn’t he say something to her? Why couldn’t he make sure that she died knowing how deeply she was loved.
“This is as brave as I know how to be. I know it’s gonna hurt you but- please. Be a little proud of me?”
There was a hopeful note to Clara’s tone despite everything, and in the end that was what really broke the Doctor. Her hand was pressed against the glass, desperate to say something, but unable to- the sands of time separated them more surely than the glass ever could.
“Always.” She promised, because if Eyebrows wouldn’t say it, then this new Doctor would. “I’m always gonna be proud of you.”
Clara turned away from her, and walked towards her grave.
“No no no no…”
The Doctor’s eyes blinked open, giving her a hazy view of the warm purple walls of the TARDIS library. She was curled up in one of the armchairs near the fire, her eyes still heavy with sleep. How long had it been since she’d last slept? Weeks, at least. Maybe months. And since she’d last slept properly? Well that had been decades.
Her hands ached from where she’d been clutching onto the arms of the chair.
Her eyes were already falling closed again, too exhausted to even force herself to stay awake.
“If you die here it’ll mean I never even met you.”
She’d never really appreciated how true that statement was. Without the Doctor blundering through her mother’s life, River Song would never have existed. Melody Williams (would she even have been called Melody, with the paradox of her name?) would have grown up safe and happy, the human daughter of the journalist and the nurse. She’d have had a normal life. She’d have been raised by loving parents, and have had a happy childhood, and maybe even brothers and sisters- maybe she’d have still written books, or taught archelogy, and had a much happier marriage than theirs had been.
Melody Pond would have been so much better off if she had never met the Doctor.
“Time can be rewritten.” For once, she seemed to be in agreement with Sandshoes. He was selfish, but at least he’d have been doing her a favour.
“Not those times. Not one line. Don't you dare. It's okay. It's okay. It's not over for you. You'll see me again. You've got all of that to come. You and me, time and space. You watch us run.”
Live great lives. That’s what she’d told her fam. If anyone had lived up to that, and lived a great life despite the Doctor’s meddling, it had been River Song. They’d had some amazing times, saved so many people, so many planets. There were stars out there still burning because River Song had been there to save them.
If the Doctor had found a better way around getting the people out of there, there might have been so many more.
The computer counting down the seconds left of her life in the background wasn’t helping the way that the Doctor’s hearts were pounding. She was crying, now- she wasn’t sure when that had begun.
From her cell, she watched Sandshoes babble on about his guilt- his suspicions, being expertly put down by River. She was so used to shutting him up when he was talking about things he didn’t know anything about- she could really use that, right now.
She should have saved her.
“Hush now. Spoilers…”
River smiled, and the Doctor lunged at the glass in front of her, shouting words that even she could barely comprehend. She was still clawing desperately at the glass when the room flashed bright white.
The Time Lord didn’t even fully wake that time, despite having thrown herself onto the floor at some point during her anguish. She was barely drawn out of her nightmares for a moment, a noise that sounded awfully like a whimper escaping her. Her eyes were shut too-tightly, and she had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, fingernails digging into her arms as though that would protect her from the horrors of her own mind.
“Who decides they’re so unimportant? You?”
The Doctor knew where she was this time without even looking up. Somehow, this scared her even more. She wasn’t watching a loved one die, she was watching her own stupid power-play blow up in her face. This hadn’t been a mercy mission, it’d been her trying to prove to the whole Universe that the Doctor had power over all.
“For a long time now I thought I was just a survivor, but I’m not. I’m the winner- that’s who I am. The Time Lord victorious.”
“And there’s no one to stop you?”
“No.”
“This is wrong, Doctor. I don’t care who you are. The Time Lord victorious is wrong.”
Captain Adelaide. She’d been so brilliant- she’d understood more about this than her idiot younger self ever could. The Doctor just about managed to give her a smile from behind her glass wall before she resumed staring at Sandshoes in disgust.
“That’s for me to decide. Now, you better get home.”
It was chilling. Watching her old face shift so quickly. Darkness turned cocky in an instant as he pointed his sonic at the door. Unlike with the other dreams, The Doctor wasn’t shouting. She didn’t try to say a word, just watched on with self-loathing and dread weighing down her hearts. A silent spectator of her darkest moment since the Time War.
Sandshoes smirked at that brave, doomed woman, challenging her to argue her fate further. He’d set himself up as a self-styled God. “Oh it’s all locked up- you’ve been away. Still, that’s easy.”
“Is there nothing you can’t do?”
“Not anymore.”
She watched as the great Time Lord Victorious turned his back on Adelaide. She watched as the captain drew her gun. She braced herself for that flash of blue light and the thud of a body hitting the floor.
“Don’t do it, Adelaide.” She was talking to nobody, but she still couldn’t help herself trying to butt in- trying to fix the damage she hadn’t noticed until it was too late. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t-“
“Doctor?”
A hand on her shoulder drew her out of there before she had to watch that, jolting her awake. She came to, immediately caught off guard by the shadow of someone standing over her, and the scent of a familiar perfume hitting her. It took her a moment or so to place it, but when she did her hearts picked up a little. Yaz. Brilliant, wonderful, human Yaz who’d probably just heard her rambling all sorts of scary nonsense in her sleep.
“Doctor are you alright?”
The Doctor swallowed a little too hard and sat up quickly enough to make her head spin, forcing a familiar, false grin to spread across her face. Her body was aching from sleeping on the wooden floor, and she was pretty sure she was going to be bruised from where she’d fallen off the chair.
“Yaz! Yasmin Khan- Sorry, must have nodded off-“ Her voice sounded a little false even to her own ears, and she did her best to pass it off with a yawn.
“Sorry, just, you were talkin’ in your sleep an’ I thought-“ Yaz looked a little sheepish about waking her, and her eyes were full of concern.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry- Time Lord. Vivid dreams- I was…” She forced another yawn, trying to give herself time to think of a lie. “Did I ever tell you about the time I met a real life siren on a pirate ship? That was a good one, that. Dream about that one a lot. M’fine, though. Really.”
Yaz shot her a look that showed she didn’t believe the Doctor for a moment. There was a beats pause, before she exploded
“Are you kiddin’ me?! You’re not ‘fine’!” She drew air quotes around that last word, straightening up, to stand over the Doctor, showing she was serious.
“I’m-“
“I swear if you say ‘fine’ I’m gonna-”
The Doctor shut her mouth before Yaz could finish the threat.
There was a tense moment, almost like a standoff between the two of them, before Yasmin’s hard eyes softened, and she bent down to help the Doctor to her feet.
“I’m worried about y’.”
Suppressing her initial urge to insist that she was fine, the Doctor bit her lip.
“You shouldn’t be.” She eventually managed.
“When was the last time ‘y slept?” Yaz asked.
“About a minute ago.” The Doctor tried to make a joke. Yaz laughed weakly.
“Before that.” She clarified, glancing at the floor where she’d found the doctor collapsed.
“…I don’t remember.” The Doctor admitted.
Yaz sucked in a surprised breath through clenched teeth.
“Doctor-“
“I’m not human. I don’t need as much sleep as you lot.”
Raising an eyebrow, Yaz gave her another of those easy, disbelieving looks. “And that’s why I found you passed out on the floor cryin’?”
The Doctor blinked, bringing her hand up to her face. Sure enough, she’d been crying- she hadn’t even realised. Waking up with tears in her eyes was just normal by now.
“What’s so bad that it’s keepin’ you up?” Yaz leant forwards, taking one of the Doctor’s hands in both of her own. “Please don’t lie to me.”
There was an earnestness in her eyes that reminded the Doctor of all the people she’d loved most. Rose, Amy, River, Clara. Even Koschei. She’d always liked the people who could be honest with her the best- she needed honest people to stop her tearing herself apart and taking everyone else with her.
“I’ve lost a lot of people, Yaz.” She said, resigned note in her voice. “You saw Gallifrey. My home world is gone, my wife is gone, my children are gone, my granddaughter is gone. I’ve lost most of my friends, and- since Gallifrey, I can’t block them out anymore. I see them die every night.”
All at once, Yaz leaned forwards, just like Clara had in her dream, wrapping her arms tightly around the Doctor, holding her grounded to the spot. Even that brief contact allowed some of the tension in the Doctor’s body to loosen, her shoulder’s slumping as she leant into the contact.
“’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Yaz pulled herself back from the hug, keeping her hands firmly on the Doctor’s arms, so she could ground her while looking her in the eyes.
“Have you got a bedroom on board?” She asked.
“Somewhere. How come?”
Yaz smiled, “Because you’ve gotta sleep sometime, and I think it’s probably comfier than the floor.” She let one of her hands fall, the other moving up to brush the hair out of the Doctor’s eyes. “Come on.”
She caught Yaz’s wrist in her hand, suddenly looking nervous. She was really worried where her subconscious would go from what had to be one of the worst things she’d ever done. “I don’t wanna. Not yet.”
“Y’ need to.” Yaz insisted, still trying her best to smile. The Doctor recognised that look from how often she herself wore it- that false-cheer that just barely covered the worry. “I promise I’ll sit with y’ the whole time- I can wake you up if you start makin’ noise.”
The Doctor thought about that for a minute. It’d certainly been easier to deal with the dream about Adelaide since she’d been pulled out of it before she actually had to hear the shot go off. If Yaz could pull her out of the bad moments before she had to see anything too bad- Maybe it would let the Doctor get a bit of sleep. It wasn’t the most elegant solution, and it didn’t seem as though it would last too long, but- it was an infinitely better one than her current plan of depriving herself of sleep until she could hardly stand.
“You really wouldn’t mind?” She eventually asked, her fingers still resting around Yaz’s wrist, though she wasn’t trying to use them to push her away any more.
“I love you. Let me take care of you, for once.”
There was another slight pause, before the Doctor let go of her hand, nodding. “Okay.”
Yaz let out a relieved breath. “Thank you.”
“For what?” The Doctor turned to her, genuine confusion etched across her features.
Yaz took another step closer, cupping the Doctor’s face in one hand, and giving her the most genuine smile either of them had shared since they’d reunited. “For letting me in.”
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are there any tropes you wanted to stay away from with each character or the setting of danganronpa? its a pertty formulaic thing but you made it probably 10x more interesting than the usual game. maybe its because of the depth in charcters or the stakes but wh just seems more engaing than most real dr games! i love your works btw!
I'm really honored that you feel that way about my story! Thank you!
I should warn that my response is going to be somewhat critical of Danganronpa. I want to clarify that I still enjoy the games and it's perfectly fine if anyone disagrees, but these are my opinions and I feel they are important to my response.
First off, I guess I'm not sure if there's any setting tropes I mind in DR. The settings are actually pretty unique to each game and tie into the murders decently. WH obviously has a different setting, but that's more to fit the story rather than avoiding DR tropes.
There are, however, a lot of character tropes I intentionally avoided in WH:R.
Singular Buff Character Who Dies in Chapter 4
WH:R has two buff characters (formerly named Jerome and Ryan) and without going into spoilers, they may or may not have anything to do with Part 04. I don't know, this trope is just so overdone that I saw Gonta's design and instantly predicted that he'd die in Chapter 4. I thought it had to be a red herring, but no. That indeed happened just as expected. I don't want people to be able to predict deaths just by looking at a character design.
Girls Must Wear Skirts
Fun fact, there are only three female Danganronpa characters who don't wear skirts. They would be Aoi Asahina (wears shorts, much like an athletic swimmer would outside of the pool), Hiroko Hagakure (Yasuhiro's mom, wears jeans), and Ruruka Ando (Confectionary girl from DR3, wears very, very short shorts-). Unless there's someone I'm forgetting, every other DR girl wears skirts. Now, I'm aware that this is because most Japanese school uniforms require girls to wear skirts. But given how... bizarre everyone's outfits already are, do all the girls HAVE to wear skirts??? Given the weird fanservice of the games, I feel like it's more to make the girls reveal more skin/slim figure idk :/
I'm getting carried away here. Anyway, WH:R doesn't take place in a Japanese school so I made sure that the women aren't all wearing skirts. And while we're on the subject...
Sexual Fanservice
I'm not against it, but I personally feel like sexual fanservice in a Murder Mystery game (especially involving teenagers) is really uncomfortable. Every game has certain female characters designated to making fanservice moments (DR1: Aoi, DR2: Akane, Mikan, v3: Miu) (Junko for all three I guess-) (Also yes I'm aware that Mikan's fanservice is part of her character/backstory but it doesn't change the fact that the CGs are there for shameless fanservice. They could've drawn the scenes where her back was to the screen or something and conveyed the same message but they made sure to show Everything.)
There's also plenty of designs that are overly revealing; obviously anyone can wear what they want and a large chest is not inherently sexual but it's pretty clear to me that a lot of the revealing designs are for fanservice. Once again, these are mainly teenagers, and the older I get the more it unsettles me.
Anyway, I really wanted to avoid doing sexual fanservice for WH:R. Even though all characters but one are adults, it's just not something I want to write in a story like this. It's not my style.
The Rat
I mentioned this in a previous post, but I ended up avoiding the Rat Character trope. It's not that I dislike it, but I quite enjoyed having the characters all mean well (except for the Puppetmaster, of course.)
(But if I were to have a rat character in WH:R, they'd be the Super Diamond Level Griefer haha)
Resident Dumbass
Yasuhiro, Kazuichi, Kaito, and Akane come to mind (yeah the middle two aren't actually dumb but they tend to fall into this trope regardless). Having to do an entire minigame just to convince Yasuhiro that Kyoko wasn't a literal ghost comes to mind... Idk, I guess I just feel like characters like Kazuichi and Kaito are actually smarter than that but because it's "funny" they have to say illogical stuff throughout the games? Perhaps in a game with voice acting it can be a funny aside, but in a novel that kind of stuff would just slow everything down.
I don't know, it's not like everyone in WH:R is super smart, but that's a trope I tried to avoid.
Rude Characters (?)
Okay this isn't really a trope but Danganronpa tends to always have abrasive characters, but given that WH:R has a main cast of friends, it wouldn't make much sense for there to be much rudeness. I guess Ryan would be the closest to that but he still genuinely cares about the group.
This isn't a bad trope, it's just more natural to exist in Danganronpa because the characters there start off as strangers.
Conclusion
I can't really think of other tropes at the moment. Maybe if I think of more I'll reblog this. But I want to clarify that most of these "tropes" are avoided because of personal preference and differences in media, not necessarily because they're inherently bad.
This next part isn't exactly answering the ask, but I'm assuming that I get these asks from people who are interested in making their own fangans. So here are my two cents.
I've seen fangans that are made out of love for DR and I've seen fangans made out of spite and dislike for some aspects. Both reasons are valid (mine is mostly the former with a slight hint of the latter that's grown over the years). Kodaka's writing is definitely flawed; however, making fangans purely out of spite is dangerous. I don't want to name names, but there is one fangan in particular where the writer admitted to hating Danganronpa and only focused on adding what they wanted. But they neglected the most important part: having a solid story and cast.
Whether or not you love or hate Danganronpa, if you're writing a fangan, it is important to consider the many subjective reasons people are drawn to/away the series. I'm a firm believer that every story has something to teach a writer; even if the lesson is simply "I really don't like these tropes", considering why is insightful.
It mostly boils down to style, in my opinion. Danganronpa has a much different tone with its wacky characters and dialogue and scenarios, but that's Kodaka's style. My style is more grounded in reality, with each character having their own depth that comes up in the main plot and not just in Free Time Events. This is because my stories are more character-driven, and I personally dislike important character information that is sidelined to bonus content. I'm the kind of writer that never makes an OC that's not part of a story, cuz my style has every character play an important role.
(However, one can argue that in a visual novel, having more character depth in Free Time Events adds greater meaning because the player gets a special insight from choosing to interact with certain characters. In a regular novel, there isn't really that kind of interaction. Understanding the strengths and weaknesses of the media you're working with is also important.)
I think one of the biggest lessons I learned while writing WH is that forcing yourself to imitate any writer's style when trying to take inspiration is going to fall flat. It's kind of apparent in the beginning of WH, but I used to be feel like I had to follow the Danganronpa style even when I had my own desires for the story.
In reality, every writer is different and has their own quirks that they enjoy but other writers might not. There are many things I dislike about Kodaka's writing, but I know those things are definitely appealing to other people. Likewise, I know my style is not for everyone. It's fine to try and branch out if you want, but one has to recognize what one is comfortable with.
This lesson is still hard for me to absorb sometimes because I don't have much confidence in my storytelling abilities, but I'm gradually accepting that this fangan is my own. I am doing my own spin on the Danganronpa story and that's okay.
And honestly, that's what every fangan should be; a writer's own spin on the Danganronpa plot concept. So while here are the tropes I made sure to avoid, that doesn't mean other writers need to do the same. Figure out what works best for you and what YOU want to see in a Danganronpa story.
(Holy crap this was so long I'm so sorry-)
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Butterfly Blood || novel update
chapter three
I initially had a lot of trouble with this chapter. It’s been through about three drafts and it’s still nowhere near perfect, but I’m working on just moving forward with the novel now and am trying to quit obsessing over revising because... it’s unrealistic to expect a first draft to be perfect.
The first draft of this particular chapter, though, was basically all dialogue, and all very poorly executed dialogue. (Dialogue is absolutely the weakest aspect of my writing but I’m working on it.) On my second attempt at the chapter I initially attempted to create an outline, thinking this would help me find a direction. However, in my next writing session I ended up totally ignoring the outline and just winging it, and the second draft was formed. I really liked the events in the chapter now but still wasn’t happy with some of the individual scenes so I reworked it yesterday morning. The argument between Rowan and Karmen still needed revision because Karmen’s character within it was totally inconsistent to his usual disposition. So! The final (for now..) draft is a more stripped back, since Karmen is too disassociated to get as angry as he did as quickly as he did, and I think the tension and the build up is a lot better timed and more... muted? It’s less overt, more subtext heavy, and I'm relieved because that is what I had been trying to achieve all along.
Again, it’s not perfect, but it has evolved and it is definitely better than before.
The chapter is just over 3000 words now, but I am only going to be sharing the main, gritty extract. The other scenes are less exciting, but I also suspect they need the same amount of work till they're even remotely sharable. (I was going through a bad writing slump in this chapter lol.) I really hope you enjoy it? I'm ultimately quite proud of how it turned out in the end :)
excerpt:
[Rowan has missed her GP appointment + her dad uses it as an oppurtunity to also be angry about her slacking in school]
“I’ve booked another for tomorrow morning. You’ll miss some school, but I figured that’d be an incentive since you don’t seem to care about that anymore.” There is now an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.
Rowan visibly flinches, digging her fingernails into the supple skin of her palms. The dents purple then fill with blood. She locks eyes with her father, searching for the reason for his sudden anger. He has struck a nerve and he knows it.
“Miss Phelps called.”
She pushes her toes into the dirt, white sneakers now blotted with dust. “Oh.”
He doesn’t ask for an explanation, simply straightens his back like an ancient scroll unravelling itself and meets her gaze finally. Karmen stands with his chest puffed out and his chin pointed forward. It is apparent that he won't ask her side of things. He’s heard enough, and has his made up his mind about her already.
Rowan pushes past him to get inside. Karmen doesn’t shift as she squeezes by his statuesque stance. His face twitches like a camera shutter, so fast she can barely believe the change in his expression. She convinces herself it didn’t happen and throws her bag onto the couch, almost tempting another lecture. A tamer one. Something he could murmur through his daydream fog before slipping back into his silence and letting everything remain undiscussed. Like it normally is. Her slipping grades. Her laziness in class. Not writing a single word in an entire school day. Talking back for little to no reason.
He turns as her rucksack lands, his footsteps looming behind her. Something sharpens the air between them, but she can’t tell what. The elephant is in the room and it is wrecking the place. They watch the destruction mutely, each waiting for the other to intervene and consequently letting the walls crumble into ruin. The old house audibly creaks, it is so quiet. Finally, Karmen speaks. “What’s the matter with you?”
Rowan runs through all the excuses she can think of. I was dropped as a child. I was a premature baby, so my brain must be under-developed. The content is so easy it feels obsolete. I’m being bullied. I’m just not as smart as you thought, dad, sorry. Teachers are liars and we both should have known this. “There’s just too much.” She says instead, through gritted teeth, moving into the kitchen. “I can’t focus on school and have to be there for everyone.” It is limp and she knows it. It flops between them weakly like a helpless fish. She takes a glass from the cabinet and closes it softly.
He consumes the lie like a starved ghost, though. Proving he doesn’t know her. Doesn’t know how absent a friend she has been of late. How she has become her father at school, numb and quiet. How, secretly, she enjoys the façade because people avoid her, don’t ask difficult questions, don’t tackle her with unnecessary comments about her long-lost mother. “Then stop being there.” He says simply.
Rowan scoffs. “I do enough of that at home.” She studies her dad’s face—clenched jaw and squinting eyes—as if it hurts to look at her. “Everyone’s always telling everything how things must be. I must participate, I must be smart not emotional, I must not slack for exams I know I will pass without a glance at my books”—suddenly an urge to twist the knife into his gut overwhelms her, she draws out the moment as she fills the glass with a thread of water from the tap—"I must deal with a stranger for a Dad and a god knows what for a mother. A shrieking banshee? An abusive fugitive? She’s probably become a social worker just to scorn us.”
He rolls his lips, lowers his gaze and chews on the inside of his cheek, sucking it in. Rowan’s breath catches in her throat. In this moment he looks shockingly hollow. Did she empty him? Wind him with her blows? Spoon out his entrails with an ice cream scoop? Carve him like the roasted corpse of some great beast? Karmen puts two hands on the back of the chair opposite her, clutching it as if he might just fall over. His stare is cold and unsympathetic when he raises it toward her. “Don’t you want to make something of yourself?”
Yes. “What?” She laughs bitterly, placing the tumbler on the counter with a satisfying thud. “Like how you made something of yourself?” There is a terrible moment where he sits in the midst of the cruelty, shrinks into himself as if absorbing it, before his mouth creaks open and he lets out a broken shriek.
“GOD DAMMIT ROWAN!” Rowan flies back, arms sheltering her head instinctively as he reaches for the glass she placed on the counter, spins, and throws it at the wall. One big horrific movement. A cutting arc of his arm through the air and then the shattering. “Are you ever even listening?”
Millions of glittering fragments of her life laid out before her, encircling her bare feet. She thinks of the sneakers she slipped off at the door, wishing she had them now. Something about naked feet look so naïve, so vulnerable. Her toes shrink, curling inward. Her breath quickens and her hands begin to tremble. All this broken glass. All these fragments like a lifeline stretched between them. Her eyes blink away tears in different shards, her reflection is fragmented, her features lost and bobbing about as if at sea.
“Are you, dad?” Rowan asks in an empty voice, staring at him till he flinches. He stares at the glass on the floor in shock.
“I...” He crouches, sifting through it with his bare, shuddering, and unsure hands. “I don’t know why I did that...”
Rowan gets a sudden urge to have the last word. Except she doesn’t speak. Her eyes settle on the glass and the idea flourishes like a flame in her mind, burning everything rational, everything he might think. To hell with appropriate. To hell with acceptable. One unsteady step. She expects a crunch or a crackle, but instead there is a damp muffle and squelch. Her spine rattles and her teeth prickle in response. A sunrise in her chest warms her throat but she presses against it with her palms, forcing it down. It is a scorching, molten pain. Third degree burns and all she swallows rays of light till she is drowning, gorging. Slipping through furnace tongue flames. Rowan gags. Bile and acid boils her tongue and the bright, burnt out orb slips into her stomach. She gulp, gulp, gulps every atom of the blaze that consumes her. Till she is heavy. She walks across the broken glass as he yells out. Let there be outrage. Let the sky fall. Its clouds embrace her limbs, draining everything fluid from her, letting her grow limp. Letting her rain. Heavy. As she moves away from the kitchen, she feels her footsteps peeling from the floor, warm and wet. And she is so, so heavy. Then she stumbles, splintered feet unable to keep her up—her legs can no longer hold her and her lava—as the pain erupts within her fierce and sharp and sudden. Flashing its ugly teeth. Catching one last glimpse before her vision goes dark, she sees a red ocean seeping into the living room. How could one body hold so much? Fast and gushing the rapids wash her dregs of consciousness away. It was just a few steps...
soo... yeah. Rowan walks on glass because, oh lord that girl has no impulse controls.
I'm not going to lie, although it was a pain to get this scene to the stage I have just shared, I think it's one of my favourites in the book so far. I'm proud of how much it's grown. Also, I love me some dramatic descriptions of pain and characters being nasty... :”)
I hope you enjoyed this update! (if you did, reblogs really help me out, but absolutely no pressure <3) I’m also still looking for people to add to the tag list, so if any of this interested you, feel free to send me an ask, message or comment. :)
Tag list under cut (ask to be added or removed):
@alicewestwater @elaz-ivero @coffeeandcalligraphy @hanwatchingmovies @sirfitzroys @chloeswords @nev-953
#butterfly blood#butterfly blood novel#my novel#novel update#novel wip#writing wip#writing#writing project#writing update#chapter update#writer#writeblr#writing process#novel writing#excerpts#novel excerpt#writing excerpt#excerpts from my novel#excerpts from my writing
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So what exactly is this "The Arcana" you keep reblogging stuff for and what's it about? I am curious.
Okay, so I haven’t played it too much yet (I’m only like a fourth of the way through Julian’s route and that’s it, RIP) but the gist of it is that it’s a visual novel where you can romance six different characters. It’s set in a fantasy world, primarily in the city-state of Vesuvia, which is based off of Renaissance Venice with some definite Middle Eastern and Indian influences as well. Tarot is an overarching theme in the stories: the main character, each love interest, and all of the supporting characters have different cards from the Major Arcana that represent them and give insight into their character. The Major Arcana has some pretty interesting forces at play within the world and greatly influence the story. There’s a chance of getting a good, aka Upright, ending, and a bad, aka Reversed, ending. It all depends on the choices that you make while playing.
The main plot is that your character, who is a magician in training (in this world, magicians can actually use magic and are considered very valuable) who is summoned to the palace by the Countess Nadia. She tasks you with finding out who exactly is responsible for the murder of her husband, Count Lucio, who was burned alive in his bed on his birthday three years ago. (What a way to go, yeesh.) The lead suspect is a man by the name of Julian Devorak, who was the head doctor for the palace and treated many Vesuvians during a horrific outbreak of plague within the city a few years ago. He confessed to the murder before disappearing, but his guilt may not be so set in stone..... You’re assisted in the investigation by your somewhat flighty but extremely talented and mysterious Master, Asra, and Portia, one of Countess Nadia’s most trusted servants. A few other very interesting figures pop up along the way, each giving their side of the story of Lucio’s death.
Along the way you meet a cast of amazing characters, all of whom have really awesome designs and fun, unique personalities. I’ll describe the love interests below the cut because holy SHIT I ended up writing way more than I originally thought and also while I haven’t played many routes this is what I’ve picked up from browsing the tags.
First: Asra Al-Nazar
Your Master and one of your dearest friends. Very enigmatic and a man of few words, and is definitely one of the more subdued and laid-back love interests. He tends to disappear for bits of time to places unknown and has a deep understanding of magic and the magical realm itself. He’s got History™ with many of the major players in the story and knows more than he lets on. He’s very Somft™ to the Apprentice and cares about them greatly. Just generally a very sweet if mysterious guy. Lotta people really like him and for good reason.
Countess Nadia
The widow of Count Lucio and the ruler of Vesuvia. She’s very poised and generally keeps a cool demeanor about everything. She’s a very competent ruler and loves her people. Has, hands down, some of the absolute BEST outfits in the game. Like this girl ALWAYS looks good, and like a wealthy aunt, is always willing to make her loved ones look good, too. Very intelligent and crafty, and loves horseback riding and music. Doesn’t care much about the class of a person, and rather their talent and character. However, like all people, she does have flaws. She holds grudges for a very long time and holds them with a white knuckle grip. She’s also extremely reserved and finds difficulty in trusting people, expressing herself, or making herself vulnerable. Like Asra, is very Somft™ with the Apprentice and is very easy to simp for.
Julian Devorak
The man I’m currently simping for. And yes, you can smooch the accused murderer! He’s a very tall goth doctor who cares way too much and has a massive guilt complex that he hides under a mask of drama and suaveness. Very much a protector type and would do absolutely anything for the people he loves. This man tries not to worry the people around him but at the same time probably survives off of like an hour of sleep and caffeine and he really looks it. He likes being very smooth and cool but if you throw him off his game this boy gets FLUSTEREDDDDD it’s great and hilarious. Kind of has Flynn Rider vibes. Love him to bits. (Can you tell that he’s the only character whose route I’ve played so far???) He wants to find out who killed Lucio, and why. (Minor spoiler: he doesn’t know if he did it or not and would rather like to find out) Feels as though he’s failed everyone he loves and can swing between joy and melancholy very quickly. He’s also ridiculously self-sacrificing. Despite all this, very loveable.
Portia
Nadia’s most trusted servant and also my homegirl. Very sweet, bubbly, and snarky, but is also a total ride or die. Very loyal to Nadia, but will side with the Apprentice over her on certain issues. She knows pretty much everything that goes on in the castle and all the secret nooks and crannies. She lives in a little cottage in the middle of the palace gardens alongside her kitty, Pepi, where she has a huge garden full of fruits and vegetables and flowers. She’s definitely a cottagecore type girl. Also pretty adventurous and willing to go do crazy shit if need be. She’s rather secretive, though. Her personality is quite a bit like my own, which is probably why I don’t really have her on my to-romance list, but I’ll still do her route to satisfy the little completionist gremlin that is my brain.
Muriel
Count Lucio. Or at least, his ghost.
Ah, the BEEG BOI. At a whopping 6′10, he’s the tallest and most muscular of all of the love interests, so if you’re into that Muriel is absolutely your man. He’s very stoic and grumpy, and almost always has a furrowed brow, even when he’s happy. Very much a hermit and likes to keep away from civilization and society. Underneath it all, he’s very gentle towards the ones he loves and especially loves animals and nature, especially dogs and his beloved chickens. Seriously, this boy loves his chickens. When he smiles it’s absolutely adorable. Kind of afraid of his own strength but has no qualms about using it if necessary. Don’t piss him off, he’s scary when he’s angry. Like Nadia, holds a grudge for a long time and is again, very antisocial.
And lastly (and most surprisingly),
Ah, this trainwreck. He’s such an asshole, but such a loveable asshole. Full of himself and with a flair for the gaudy and dramatic, he’s one hell of a piece of work but with the Apprentice’s help becomes an actually good person. Despite his vanity, cruelty, and pettiness, when he decides he likes you, you’re one of his people and he’ll love you wholly and move the heavens and earth for you. Still kind of holds a flame for Nadia despite everything, which is actually really sweet, fight me. He’s kind of got a hero complex and runs headfirst into things without thinking and desperately needs someone to hold him back by the collar at all times because while not pure of heart, this man IS dumb of ass. His facial expressions and dramatics are absolutely hysterical and he’d rather die than admit it but he’s such an ugly crier and it’s hilarious and also very endearing. He’s also kind of in denial about being actually dead, and instead refers to his state as a ghost as being an “Oopsie” and that he’s “Just stuck >:(” He actually doesn’t know who killed him, but is determined to find out. Underneath his pomp and circumstance he’s actually pretty vulnerable and super lonely and could probably do with some hugs and actual human connection. As I said, he does become a good man, or at least a better man, but it takes work on both his end and yours. A pretty divisive route among fans. I’ve personally played the first two chapters of it and honestly I really love him. At the same time, I’m pretty sure if I met someone like him IRL I’d try to strangle him, so there’s that. He’d probably be into that though, the kinky bastard.
So yeah! There’s the main characters and a bit of the plot. Sorry for such an essay but I really wanted to explain all this since you were curious (^^;) I’d definitely recommend playing it, I've had a lot of fun!
(Also, tip: the scenes that you can buy with coins are just little add ons and treats for the player- the game is very explicitly NOT pay to win and what matters when it comes to getting a good or bad ending is what non-paid dialogue options you choose while interacting with them.)
#the arcana#Anonymous#long post#long#Seriously tho anyone reading this PLAY THE ARCANA IT'S GREAT#ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE GREAT AND THE ART IS GORGEOUS AND ITS VERY WELL WRITTEN
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A Walk in the Park
Chapter 7
Read chapter 6 here
Description: When your husband dies in an accident, you try to move on with your life. When the memories of your shared home become too much even after two years, you make a drastic change and move to California. A new career, a new way of life, and an attractive new friend help you move on to find the happiness you need. *This will be a slow burn*
Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader, Tim OFC x Reader (Face Claim - Tom Welling)
Warnings for this chapter: So much fluff! A curse word or two. Angst (Sorry not sorry).
Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are my own. This is purely for fun. Comments and reblogs give me life. Tags are open. Please send me an ask or leave a comment if you would like to be tagged.
Saturday came and went. The wedding was small but beautiful. The bride and groom had clearly invited the ones that they loved the most and those people loved them back. You may or may not have teared up during the ceremony. The bride wore a long, white, sleeveless, flowy gown that wasn’t technically a wedding dress, but it was perfect for the beach. The groom wore a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black slacks. They were both barefoot which you felt was a nice touch. It was exactly the kind of wedding you would want for yourself if you ever got married again.
That was a really big if. You weren’t sure if that’s what you even wanted. You most definitely wanted a partner in life, you and Caleb even joked about that. Nothing serious but you had told him if something had happened to you, you would want him to be happy and find love again. He said he wanted the same for you. But getting married again, you weren’t sure. You and Caleb had the big wedding. Both of your families were there including great aunts, uncles, cousins, your cousin’s children, childhood friends. You were married in your family’s church and then had a huge reception at a beautiful hall. You opted for a DJ rather than a band because you wanted particular songs played that you grew up with and meant something to you. Dinner was served table side. You had a large three-layer cake with various cupcakes encircling the cake. It was a perfect day and you wouldn’t change a thing.
You met Erika and Emma at a nail salon that also doubled as a bar. Since you needed a mani and a pedi, you figured a place that served drinks killed two birds with one stone. Since it was spring you opted for a light pink color for both your fingers and your toes.
You were sitting between both ladies with your feet currently soaking. The chair had various massage features so you were currently playing with the settings not noticing both Emma and Erika eyeing you. Once you found your ultimate relaxation mode on the massage chair, you let out a loud moan and let your head hit the back of the chair. Emma cleared her throat and you turned your head to her.
“What was with the question about Chris?”
“What do you mean?” You asked. The relaxation you just felt slowing fading.
“You know.” Erika said. You turned your head her way. “In the group chat. You asked if we hung out with Chris a lot individually.”
“Y-yeah. And?”
“That’s kind of a strange question. What’s going on? What brought on that question?” Emma asked.
Your nail techs had come at that point and you welcomed the distraction. “Could I get a vodka sour please. Heavy on the vodka.” You weren’t doing this without a drink first.
“So? What gives?” Erika asked.
You held up your hand. “Drinks first.” They both laughed and placed their orders. Your tech started to scrub your right foot and you had to strain not to kick her. This was the worst part of a pedi for you, the touching of the bottom of your feet. Besides being a head sweater, you were so damn ticklish on the bottoms of your feet, and really, everywhere else too. Your drink arrives and you try to take a sip without spilling it as the tech goes to town on your left foot now.
“Now that you have your drink, spill.” Emma says.
“It’s hard to explain.” You take a deep breath and another sip from your glass. “After game night, Chris started to text me a lot.” They both nod. “We then started to meet up almost every day and he would spend the night at my place or me at his.”
Emma gasps and Erika gives a wicked smirk.
“No. No, no. Known of that. Like we just hung out. Watched TV, movies, ate dinner, that kind of thing. Sometimes it was late and he would stay over. Just to sleep, I swear.”
“In the same bad?” Erika asks, smirk still on her face.
“Yes, but nothing happened, just sleep. Maybe a tiny bit of cuddling, but mostly with Dodger. I swear.” You say holding your hand to your heart. “And when I slept at his place, I slept in one of the spare rooms.”
“OK, well, that doesn’t seem too bad.” Emma says.
“Yeah, but Chris and I never do that. He’s never slept at my place and most certainly not in my bed. And we maybe see each other once a week, but more often than not, once every few weeks. We do text several times a week though.” Erika says.
“Same.” Emma says. “Now that you say that, it does sound like a lot.”
“But here’s the kicker. All this week, I’ve hardly heard from him. Like I’ll text and he either doesn’t get back to me at all or when he does it’s the next day and it’s a one-word answer. I haven’t seen him in a week either.” You sigh. “This would totally be fine except for the fact that previous week I saw and heard from him every day.”
“When’s the last time you saw him?” Erika asks.
“Last Saturday. He spent the night and was out of there early Sunday morning. Like, he was probably going to sneak out with out saying goodbye if I hadn’t come out of the bathroom right before he left.”
“Wait, wasn’t your coffee date with Tim on Sunday?” Emma asks.
“Ooohh.” Erika says.
You roll your eyes. “Ooohh? What does oh mean?”
“I think someone’s jealous.” You scrunch up your face and shake your head. “Hear me out. Chris spends an extraordinary amount of time with you. You guys are practically BFFs at this point. Really, practically dating from what you are saying, minus the sex.” Erika says.
“The day you have your date with Tim, he practically ghosts you.” Emma adds.
It makes sense. You can’t argue that. But he hasn’t actually ghosted you. He’s gotten back to you on a few of your texts and he let you know he’d be busy and out of town for a while. Not to forget, he doesn’t like you like that. He’s never made mention, he’s never kissed you, and he’s never asked you out. How and why would he be jealous.
“Okay. I hear you both. But. But, he doesn’t like me like that. He’s gotten back to me a few times so he hasn’t ghosted me. And did I mention he doesn’t like me like that. I don’t think Chris would have any problem going after what he wants. It just doesn’t make sense.”
They both kind of shrug and look away. You take the time to down the rest of your drink. Your pedi is finished so you all get up and head to the manicure stations. “Did I tell you Tim is cooking dinner for me tomorrow?” They both gasp and awe and you proceed to tell them your plans.
You slept in on Sunday, like really slept in. Okay, mostly you were on your phone while you laid in bed, but you didn’t get out until lunch time. Staying in bed so long helped the day to go by fast.
Tim lived about forty minutes away, so all in all, not a bad drive. You pulled into a parking lot of a tall and sleek high rise. The building couldn’t be more than a few years old. You texted him that you were there as you waited by the condo’s entrance. A few minutes later, Tim was opening the door for you as you walked in. He gave you a quick hug hello before taking your hand and leading you to the elevator. You both got in and he hit the button for the 10th floor.
“You look beautiful.” He said.
“You look pretty great yourself.” You said. You hoped your voice sounded even, but since he was still holding your hand, that’s all you could really concentrate on.
The doors to the elevator open and he leads you to his door. He opens it and gestures for you to enter. Besides the delicious aroma of roasted potatoes and beef, you notice the modern design of the unit. It’s masculine but tastefully done. Lots of grays and blacks. Large stainless-steel appliances and dark emerald counter tops make up the kitchen. The living room has a large black couch that could probably seat ten. Two dark wooden chairs with cushioned seats sit opposite the couch. A large flat screen television is mounted to the wall above a gas fire place that’s currently turned on.
“I love you space. I could spend hours on that couch watching movies and napping.” You say with a smile.
“That’s why I got.” He says throwing you a wink.
Tim did not over promise, he’s actually a great cook. You’re both too full for dessert, so you both settle for a glass of wine and make your way to the couch. It’s so large you don’t know where to sit. He’s standing waiting for you to pick a spot, so you choose the middle and plop yourself down. He sits right next to you and reaches for a remote on the coffee table. He presses a few buttons and soft instrumental music starts to play. It’s nice. It’s dark outside and the lights inside are dim drawing your eyes to the fire place. Tim sits back throwing and arm around your shoulder. You snuggle a bit closer. You like the pace this relationship or friendship, or whatever the current status is going. Tim’s a bit of a romantic and you welcome it.
“This is nice.”
“I agree. I think I would like to share more nights like this with you.” Tim says stroking your arm.
You hum in response staring into the fire. You can feel his eyes on you.
Just kiss me. I just want to feel if this is real.
You’ve cuddled and shared hugs with Chris, but it’s never like this. Not that you would mind spending nights with Chris like this, hell, you would love it. But Chris wasn’t exactly talking to let alone spending nights with you.
Stop thinking about Chris! Tim is here. Tim is sweet. Tim is gorgeous.
You turn your body a little to face him more directly. He’s looking you in the eyes with a soft smile on his face. He places his wine on the table in front of you. He takes his now free hand and gently brushes your cheek. His thumb trails down to your jaw as he starts to caress it. Your heart starts beating fast and you can’t look away from his mouth. His lips look so soft and you just want to feel them on anything other than your cheeks. He starts to lean forward and you stop breathing. You’ve been kissed by a few guys on those first and second dates that never went anywhere. But this is the first time since Caleb that you’ve really wanted to be kissed. You’re ready for this. You close your eyes and then you feel it. It’s soft and tender. Not rushed. He’s holding the kiss to see if you pull away, but you don’t. Your heart flutters and you start to move your lips. He removes the arm that’s draped over your shoulder and places his had on your other cheek. You feel him smile as he returns the kiss with a little more firmness. It’s still light. He’s not pushing, not trying to devour your mouth. Just gentle kisses. After what feels like several minutes, you pull away and place your forehead against his. He’s still holding your face. You brush your nose against his and he closes his eyes. He licks his lips and you both slowly separate. He opens his eyes and you finally breathe.
“Hi.” You say. It’s mostly breath rather than a solid word and you almost wonder if he heard it.
“Hi.” He says back. You both smile. You’re still holding your wine glass but he takes your free hand in both of his. You both sit there quietly just enjoying each other.
Sometime later you say goodbye. He walks you to your car where he kisses you again. It’s still soft and cautious, but it makes your heart flutter again.
The week moves quickly with small events early in the week. There’s a larger wedding on Saturday so you end up with a lot of office work Thursday and Friday. You’d be at the church and reception hall all day Saturday, so you welcomed staying off your feet for those two days. You’d be working the wedding with Colleen, Victoria, and Juliet, Colleen’s actual assistance. The poor woman.
You haven’t seen Tim all week, but every morning you receive a sweet text from him wishing you a good day. You both exchange selfies and you share pictures of the sunsets from your evening walks when you have them. He shares pictures of his food which makes you laugh.
You get a text Friday midmorning from Erika asking if your going to Chris’ for game night. You reply back that you didn’t know he was having game night and you thought he was out of town.
Your phone chimes again, but this time it’s the group text with Erika and Emma.
Erika: You’re coming to game night.
Emma: You’re totally invited. Why wouldn’t you go?
Y/N: Honestly guys, I wasn’t told there was a game night tonight.
Erika: And what do you mean Chris is out of town?
Emma: Wait, Chris is out of town? Why would be going to his place if he’s out of town.
Erika: *eyeroll* He’s not out of town. He’s having a game night tonight and you are coming.
Y/N: Well, he never invited me. I haven’t even talked to him in over a week.
Emma: Not at all? What the hell?
Y/N: Not at all. Not even a text.
Erika: Why do you think he’s going to be out of town?
Y/N: He sent me a text a little over a week ago saying he was going to be busy for like 3 weeks traveling. I haven’t heard from him since.
Emma: I’m tellin’ you, he’s jealous.
Y/N: You guys! He’s not jealous.
Erika: What ever you say. But your coming and I’m picking you up at 7.
Y/N: Fine. But it’s going to be awkward as shit.
Emma: Yay! See you tonight.
You tried to concentrate on work, but answering e-mails wasn’t high on your priority list right now. You texted Chris once early in the week and he never replied. Maybe he was ghosting you. Smacking your hand against your face, you threw your whole body back against your chair causing it to wheel back a bit. Why am I going tonight?! It did bother you that he had planned a party but didn’t invite you. Plus, he said he was going to be out of town!
You packed your laptop up deciding you would head home for the rest of the day. You fired a text off to Victoria telling her you would see her tomorrow.
Digging through your closet you decided on a pair of skinny jeans and floral blouse. You touched up your hair and makeup before grabbing a beer from the fridge and sinking into your couch. Before you could even drink half your beer, Erika texted that she was there. You chugged the rest of it before dropping it in your recycling bin just outside the door. Tonight, was going to be a long night.
Erika pulls up to Chris’ house and you notice a few more cars parked in front of it than last time.
“Just to warn you, I’m Ubering home.”
She gives you a look.
“I have to work tomorrow so I can’t stay late. I promise it’s not because of the whole not being invited thing.”
“Okay, okay. But you’re have a couple of drinks.”
You nod in agreement as you both get out of her car. Rather than knocking, Erika walks in and you follow close behind her. In the kitchen were Nick, Justin, Will and another guy you hadn’t met. Emma was in the living room with Tim. They both looked up to see you both walking in and Tim got to his feet. You didn’t know he would be here, but frankly you didn’t know you would be here either.
“Y/N.” He says smiling as he walks up to you. The guys in the kitchen all turn to look as Erika makes her way toward.
“Hey! You’re all healed up.” Nick yells. You give him a questioning look. “No more crutches, I see.”
“Oh yeah. All better. Sorry, it’s been a long day.”
Justin walks over handing you a beer and you gladly take it.
Tim pulls you in a hug and you pull the beer away from him so that you don’t spill it, but hug him back with your free arm.
“I didn’t know you’d be here. When you didn’t mention coming, I figured you had to work.”
“I didn’t plan on it, but those two made me come.” You pointed at Emma and Erika who both looked offended. You didn’t want to tell Tim you weren’t invited and have it be a whole thing.
“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d make it, but I the interview got completed early.”
As part of the studio’s public relations team, Tim often had tag along to interviews his clients had. While he found that aspect of the job a little boring, you loved hearing about it.
You heard his laugh before you saw him. Chris had walked into the kitchen from some other room in the house. He was with an attractive petite woman who was smiling up at him with her hand resting on his arm as they walked. Her other hand was playing in long dark hair. Was that jealous you felt; you weren’t sure.
“Erika! Glad you finally decided to show up.” Chris says pulling her into a hug. You were still by the front door with Tim’s arm around your waist.
“Yeah, well, this one slowed me down.” She says pointing to you. A payback comment from when you accused her of dragging you here. You nervously start to drinking your beer taking a long drink from the bottle as Chris’ eyes slowly meet yours.
He gives you a slight wave. “Hey Y/N. Great to see you.”
You’re crushed. No hug. No warm welcome. He is pushing you away and it hurts.
“Hi.” You wave back with the beer in your hand. He’s attention is now back on the mystery woman. You pull away from Tim and start to walk over to the couch taking a seat. Tim joins you followed by Emma. She gives you a knowing look, squeezing your shoulder before she takes a seat.
You hear Chris introducing the mystery woman to Erika. Even though he hasn’t introduced you to her or vice versa, you hear that her name is Joanna. She’s cute and you can see her and Chris together but you’re far too bitter right now to have those types of logical thoughts. Tim is here. Be happy that Tim is here. Think of his kisses. Okay, you’re better.
Tim throws his arm over your shoulder and pulls you to him. You instantly relax and concentrate on the feel of his hand moving slowly up and down your arm.
Will and Justin have turned on the PS4 and are playing some sort of military ops game. You watch for a bit, while enjoying your beer. Emma slaps your knee, startling you out of your haze.
“Shots!” She says. She stands up and starts walking to the kitchen. You finish your beer and look at Tim.
“Are you coming?” You ask.
“Nah, I’m going stay and watch. Besides, as soon as one of them dies, I’m in.” He throws you a wink.
Your arms encircle his waste while leaning your head on his shoulder. He kisses your temple twice before you let go and stand up taking your bottle with you to throw out. Chris is cutting up limes while Emma is pouring shots of tequila. Erika’s speaking to Joanna about some band but you aren’t paying enough attention to catch which one. Now’s your chance to try to talk to Chris, so you approach him and lean forward so that his eye catches you.
“Hey you.”
“Hey Y/N.”
“How’s work been?”
“Work? It’s just mostly interviews.”
You nod your head and just stand silently watching as he slices the limes.
“Are you ready with those limes Evans?” Emma asks.
“Yeah, yeah. Your limes are ready.” He replies as he carries the cutting board over to the island where the shots are lined up.
He doesn’t even look at you. Part of you just wants to leave right now. You’re staring at him so intently that if anyone else were to notice, they’d feel uncomfortable. He looks up, face straight and you can’t get a read on him, but you’re doing the same. Emma slides a shot glass over to you breaking your gaze. You lick the back of your hand. Joanna takes the salt shaker sprinkling some on you.
“Hi. I’m Joanna.”
“Y/N.” You say. You offer her a small smile.
Emma clinks her shot glasses against everyone’s letting out a ‘wohoo’. You, Nick, Joanna, Erika, and Chris do the same, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. You lick the salt, throw back the shot, slam the glass back down on the counter and reach for a lime to throw in your mouth. “It’s like I’m back in college!” You giggle. Emma laughs and pulls you into a one arm hug. “Another!” You shout while throwing your hands in the air.
Emma pours another round but only she, Joanna, Erika, and you partake. I don’t have to be up that early tomorrow. You grab one of the shots the boys skipped out on and down it.
You see Erika watching you so you send her a wink. She motions with her hand for you to follow her out on the patio. You step outside, the cool air feels wonderful against your warm skin. You both take a seat on the cushioned lounge chairs on the patio. Dodger comes bounding up to you. You were so concerned with Chris you completely forgot about your cuddle buddy. He’s excited, jumping up and down vying for your attention. You go into full baby talk mode rubbing his fur and accepting puppy kisses as soon as they were thrown at you.
“What’s going on tonight, Y/N?” You keep stroking Dodger but look up and give her a shrug.
“You were right. He’s ghosting me.” She sighs and quirks one side of her mouth into a small smile. “He won’t even look at me, Erika. I haven’t talked to him in awhile and he can barely say two words to me. I really feel like I’m not over reacting here.”
“You aren’t. Something’s going on there, I just don’t know what.”
“Tim is great. Things are going well. He’s a great kisser by the way.” Your face heats up and you see her grinning. “But I can’t get Chris out of my mind. There’re feelings there. Even if they aren’t mutual.” You voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t know it was possible to like two guys at the same time. This isn’t me.” You sink down in your seat with your elbows resting on your knees, hands holding your face. “What would Caleb think of me?” She gets up charging toward you.
“You stop that right now. You aren’t doing anything wrong.” She’s rubbing your back and you start to take deep breaths. Tears are prickling in your eyes. “You’re allowed to develop feelings, Y/N. You’re allowed to be confused about what you want. And Chris is being a giant asshole.” You let out a dry laugh and start to wipe the tears from your eyes.
“I just didn’t expect to have these feelings. And I really didn’t expect Chris to treat me the way he has. Even if this is just a crush and he has no interest in me, I don’t want to lose my friend Erika. More than anything, I want my friend back.” The tears have come out in full force and are streaming down your face. You’re sure your eye makeup is shot. She pulls you up by your hand and throws her arms around you in a tight embrace. You hear the patio door open and you both look up. Chris is gawking at your both with his mouth agape.
“What’s going on out here?” He asks.
Tagging: @crimeshowtrash @cocomel0613 @flamencodiva @the—blackdahlia @thefandomzoneisdangerous @maddie-laufeyson @shameless-pope @tessvillegas @pivans @angelus320 @symonlyjen5 @inlovewith3
#chris evans#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x y/n#chris x reader#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans fanfic#chris evans fan fiction#a walk in the park#marvel#rpf
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Just A Scrape
Mission: Impossible One Shot
Pairing: Reader x William Brandt
Other Characters: Ethan Hunt, Benji Dunn, Luther Stickell, Ilsa Faust
Warnings: violence and swearing
Request: “Gah I won't give up, tumblr can't hold me back, so a William Brandt oneshot, where reader is a fem!agent and the team goes on a mission, but it goes really bad and reader has to save Brandt, but she gets shoot in the process. Brandt is all panicky, but she says it's no big deal, but it is and they almost lose her. After she survives Brandt ends up confessing his feeling for her, and reader assures him she feels the same. Wooo I am so excited, I love you, thank you!! 😍💕”
– anonymous
Word Count: 2,939
A/N: sksjfshdf ok when mi: ghost protocol came out i had THE biggest crush on brandt and then it died down and then it deadass just came up to bite me in the ass again for no reason so i’m glad your request went through, bless u for requesting something for him, ily too and i hope you like it!!!! 💖💖💖also i am literally writing this in the office at work because i had to come in super early and i have an hour or two to kill so
please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!
Your name: submit What is this?
Brandt has to use every ounce of self control he has, control every nerve in his body, not to smile with relief when Ethan assigns you to help Luther hack into communications and the building computers while him, Brandt and Benji infiltrate the office the team is currently watching from afar. Despite being just as competent as the rest of the agents, Brandt hates seeing you out in the field, finding himself constantly distracted by the worry of something happening to you. He can see the tiniest flicker of disappointment cross your face — he knows how much you like to be in the action, after all — but you simply nod at Ethan before looking over your shoulder to smile at Luther, who grins back at you.
“This should be an easy, in and out type of mission.” Ethan continues his debriefing, leaning against the table in front of him, covered in various photographs, folders and a blueprint of the building. The rest of the team intently listens, watching Ethan trace a finger along the blueprints as he explains, “Brandt and I will head directly up to Gallagher’s office to distract him, where Brandt will insert this key into his computer so Luther can gain access.”
Ethan slides a small device across the table as Brandt leans over to grab it, briefly inspecting it before inserting it into the pocket of his suit. Luther shoots him a look as he warns, “Don’t lose it.”
“Have a little faith, Luther,” you tease, and you exchange a smile with Brandt who can feel his heart skip a beat.
“We will keep him distracted long enough for Luther and y/n to gain access to his files, and they will also be monitoring phone calls and the security cameras within the building. Meanwhile, Benji is to go to their mainframe room for the rest of the files. Ilsa will be watching any activity going in and out of the building from the rooftop across the street.” Ethan gestures at Ilsa, who is dismantling her sniper rifle into a small case, and she snaps the bag closed before she zips up her leather jacket. Ethan’s eyes sweep the room, looking at everyone else as he asks, “Understood?”
Everyone nods before quickly getting to work, Luther quickly spinning around in his chair to his own desk, where he starts up his various computers while Benji pulls on his jacket. Ethan fixes his comms into his ear before adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve, and you walk up to Brandt as he secures his tie into place. Your hands brush his as you reach up to help him with his tie, and Brandt feels himself holding his breath as you adjust it slightly, before smoothing your hands down his chest, straightening his jacket. Taking a step back, you joke, “There. Now you look like a proper businessman.”
Brandt chuckles. “Thanks, y/n. Stay safe, okay?”
You look around the empty office the team is currently hiding in. Snorting, you respond, “Yeah, because I’m in a lot of danger here with Luther.”
Brandt shoots you a look as you laugh. Ethan approaches Brandt from behind, raising an eyebrow at him as Ilsa makes a head start, leaving the room to find a good stake-out spot. Benji slides his laptop into a briefcase, zipping it closed before announcing, “Ready!”
Ethan tilts his head towards the door, and Brandt gives you a small parting smile before the three of them head out. It only takes Ethan a few minutes after leaving before you hear his voice in your ear as he asks, “Brandt and I are in Gallagher’s schedule, correct?”
You sit down beside Luther, pulling your chair closer to the desk as you type a few things into the computer. Putting on a nasally, artificial voice which is supposed to mimic a receptionist, you respond, “Yes, Mr. Murray, you and Mr. Waller’s meeting with Mr. Gallagher is scheduled at ten o’clock, sharp.”
If you were with them, you would be able to see Brandt smile, shaking his head as Ethan responds. “Good. Thanks, y/n.”
“I’ve got eyes on you.” Ilsa’s voice pipes up, peering through the scope of her rifle as she sees Ethan and Brandt cross the street, entering the building. After a minute or two, she watches Benji follow behind, and she adds, “Good luck, boys.”
Ethan and Brandt head straight for the elevators as Benji splits off from behind them, taking a separate elevator to head to the mainframe room. He scans the ID card he had previously made against the door, allowing him access to the staff elevator, and as the doors slide close, he remarks, “Well, this is going relatively smoothly.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Benji.” Ethan murmurs under his breath as he and Brandt watch the numbers on their elevator climb, inching towards the top floor where the elite offices are located. “Stay focused.”
You flip through the security camera footage on your own computer, watching Ethan and Brandt stroll down the hallway, where they are met by your target’s secretary. After a brief conversation, she stands, smiling at them before leading them to Gallagher’s office. Beside you, Luther’s fingers are poised over the keyboard, patiently waiting for Brandt to make his move. Brandt slides a hand into his pocket as he reaches out to shake Gallagher’s hand with the other, he and Ethan glancing at each other before Ethan gestures to the magnificent view from the office, remarking, “You’ve got a pretty good set-up here, Mr. Gallagher.”
The target laughs, briefly turning around to gaze out the window, and the split second is all Brandt needs to reach under the table, plugging Luther’s device into the monitor before sitting down as Mr. Gallagher turns back around to face him and Ethan. Luther clicks away almost immediately, and it’s not long before you see a small bar appear on his screen, slowly incrementing towards being full as the percentage beside it ticks away. Cracking his knuckles, Luther tells Ethan, “The download started. Keep him busy for a couple minutes.”
Ethan plasters on a smile, turning on the charm he uses when the situation calls for it. He manages to navigate his way through a fake business proposal as Brandt nods along, nervously waiting for Luther to count down the percentage left to load before he and Ethan can leave. As if reading his mind, Brandt relaxes upon hearing your voice inform, “Twenty percent left, we’re almost ther-”
“Shit.” Ilsa interrupts, watching two black vans pull up outside the building. You and Luther exchange alarmed glances as Ilsa sees two squads of armed agents pull out, and she warns, “We’ve been caught. You’re out of time.”
Panic settles in as Ethan and Brandt look at each other, silently debating over their next move as you open up the security footage for just outside their office. Your breath hitches as you already see four armed men exit the elevator before the secretary points them down the hallway, and you’ve already grabbed your gun as you hear Gallagher’s voice from Brandt’s comms, a sinister tone laced in his words as he taunts, “Did you really think I wouldn’t know who you are, Ethan Hunt?”
“Get out of there, there’s four men outside!” you exclaim, sprinting out of the room as Luther yells separate instructions for Benji to safely navigate his way out of the building. You load your gun as you exit your building just in time to see the agents from inside the vans enter the building, ensuing screams from the workers as multiple men and women run out. They don’t give you a second look as you duck through the entrance, hiding behind a pillar while you watch the squads fan out, covering almost every elevator and staircase. You mutter a curse, struggling to come up with your next move when you suddenly hear the faintest, unmistakable thud of a body, and you look in the corner to see Ilsa dragging the unconscious agent she had just knocked out into the staircase. She dumps his body down, looking back and forth before holding the door open, catching your eye as she gestures for you to follow.
Meanwhile, in Gallagher’s office, Brandt lunges under the table just before Gallagher flips it over, snatching the Luther’s device before stuffing it into his pocket. He kicks out Gallagher’s feet from under him as Ethan pulls out his gun, turning around just in time as the agents kick the door down. Ethan fires at the first agent before ducking to the side, roughly pushing a chair into the next agent before picking it up and smashing it across his face. Brandt scrambles to grab his own gun, but cries out in pain as Gallagher stabs him in the leg with a letter opener fallen off the side of his desk, the bullet Brandt fires missing the target entirely as he shoots the floor instead. Despite the pain ripping through him, Brandt raises his arm to fire again, and he struggles against Gallagher as he grabs Brandt’s hands, attempting to wrestle the gun away from him as Brandt knows his strength is depleting. More shots are fired, including at the windows, and the glass loudly shatters as strong winds blow into the room. Brandt is well aware of how close him and Gallagher teeter at the edge of the now open windows, yet he can’t quite move away with the space on the other side of the desk occupied by Ethan and the two agents he is fighting against. Ethan grabs one of the fallen agent’s guns as he runs out of ammo, firing two shots into another agent’s chest before tipping over a bookshelf beside him, ducking behind it for cover as two more men file into the small office.
There are three distinct gunshots before the gunfire briefly stops, and Ethan sits up from behind the bookshelf to see you and Ilsa standing in the doorway, weapons drawn. You step over the fallen bodies, gun raised as you fire at Gallagher, who has managed to get Brandt into a chokehold. Brandt pushes himself away from Gallagher as he falls to the floor, and you rush to Brandt’s side as you notice the blood staining the floor around his leg.
“We’ve got to go.” Ilsa urges, looking down the hallway to make sure more agents haven’t appeared. “Benji has already made it out, and him and Luther are waiting around the back in the car.”
“Can you walk?” you ask Brandt, your hands hovering over his wound as you are unsure what to do. Brant nods at you, and you loop his arm over your shoulders, helping him to his feet as Ethan catches a newly loaded gun Ilsa tosses at him. The four of you set out, ducking into the nearest stairwell as Ilsa takes the lead and Ethan rounds everyone up from behind. She peers down the staircase, before signalling the all clear, and the four of you begin your descent. You can hear a door open above you, and Ethan whips around to fire at the two agents who enter the staircase. The door in front of you suddenly opens, revealing four agents, and Ilsa doesn’t waste any time opening fire. You grab your own gun as Brandt leans against the railing, and Ilsa takes a few steps backwards, an indicator for you to fall back, and you grab Brandt’s arm as you exclaim, “Come on!”
You push Brandt back up the stairs, and he stumbles forward as you turn to fire a few shots. One of the agents below suddenly shoots, and your gun clatters to the floor as you feel the bullet rip through your stomach. Brandt turns around, eyes widening as he shouts, “y/n!”
You collapse, attempting to press your hands down onto your wound, but all you can think about is how warm and how sticky your own blood is. Ethan jumps down from the flight above, swinging his legs over the railing as he kicks down an agent before helping Ilsa finish the rest off. Brandt kneels beside you, positioning you upright in his lap, his breaths becoming short as he panics, “y/n, I- shit, just… just… ah, stay with me-”
“What’s going on? Where are you guys?” Benji’s voice floods Brandt’s ear, but Brandt can barely hear him over the distorted haze that overcomes him. “Ethan? y/n? Brandt?”
“y/n- y/n’s been shot.” Brandt finally croaks out just as Ethan shoots the last agent in the stairwell. Him and Ilsa rush up to you as Brandt continues, “I- I-”
Ethan kneels beside you, pressing his hands down roughly on your wound to apply pressure. You scream in pain, attempting to keep your voice down through gritted teeth, and Brandt’s heart almost stops. He can’t bear to see you in this much pain, and his face contorts as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. You hold out your hand, which Brandt quickly grabs, and as Ethan applies more pressure, your hand grips tightly against Brandt’s.
“It’s, ah, just a scrape,” you attempt to joke as Brandt’s expression becomes increasingly nervous, yet Brandt doesn’t show any hint of a smile as he watches blood bubbling from your wound. Your head lolls to the side as you cough, “It’s fine.”
“Oh, it’s far from fine.” Brandt snaps, catching your head in his hand as he turns you to face him. He tries to ignore the blood, your blood, staining his hands that is now on your face as he continues, “You are not allowed to die, you hear me? Don’t you even dare-”
Yelling from a few floors down interrupts Brandt, and he looks up in alarm at Ethan. Ilsa peers down the staircase before turning to the three of you, loading her gun as she says, “Three floors down.”
Had it been anyone else, anyone else, Brandt knows he would be able to think straight. Knew he would be able to come up with a plan to somehow face off against whatever agents came your way and still get everyone, injured and all, out of the building. But because it’s you, because it has to be the one person on the goddamn team he just had to fall for, his brain is a frazzled mess — all he can think about is how he can’t lose you, especially since you had got shot trying to get him to safety.
“Can you hold them off?” Ethan looks up at Ilsa, who’s eyes flicker to your wound before looking back at him and nodding. “Or distract them, at least, lead them somewhere else. Brandt, you go with her.”
“No.” Brandt shakes his head firmly. “No, I’m not leaving-”
“y/n is losing a lot of blood, and she’s only going to lose more the longer we stay here and don’t get her someplace safe.” Ethan cuts Brandt off harshly, and Brandt falters. “You can’t carry her, not with your leg, but you’re mobile enough to give Ilsa back up. I’ll get y/n to Benji and Luther, and we’ll all meet at the car, got it?”
The yelling gets louder now, and Brandt knows he has no choice. Ethan takes your gun and hands it to him, and Brandt looks down at you — but you have already passed out.
—
“y/n?”
Brandt’s voice is muffled, barely cutting through the fog that fills your head as your eyelids flutter open. You blink a few times, adjusting to the light as you see Bradnt’s silhouette hovering above you, and you shake your head before everything slowly comes back into focus. Brandt lets out an audible sound of relief, and it is then you realize his hand is firmly clasping yours. Instinctively, you squeeze it, and the faintest smile appears on Brandt’s face as his eyes flicker down to your intertwined fingers.
“Feeling better?” he asks, and you nod, sitting upright slightly as you peer under the thin blanket to see bandages wrapped around your abdomen. “Ilsa stitched you up.”
You weakly gesture to Brandt’s own patched up wound. “Are you okay?”
His eyes briefly flicker down to his calf before looking back up at you. He shrugs before deadpanning, “It’s, in your words, just a scrape.”
He smiles as you let out a soft chuckle. “I may have misjudged the situation.”
“Huge understatement.” Brandt replies, and you laugh some more, and Brandt feels on top of the world being able to get you to smile. His thumb brushes over yours, and he allows himself to feel more vulnerable than he ever has been as he confesses, “I don’t ever want to lose you, y/n.”
You pull your hand away from his to reach up, caressing his face, and he closes his eyes as he savors your touch. “You won’t.”
“I love you.” he suddenly blurts, eyelids snapping open upon realizing what he had just confessed. You mirror a similar shock, before you smile at him, and Brandt flusteredly continues, “That- that was unprofessional, I’m sorry-”
“I love you too, Brandt.” you reassure him, placing your hand back over his, and you can see him smile at you, his whole body instantly relaxing.
“Really?” he asks, and you nod, and Brandt feels as though nothing in the entire world could make him happier. He lifts up your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, and you can feel him smiling against your skin. “No more scrapes, promise?”
You laugh. “Promise.”
tags: @fairytalesforever / @egg2k16
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#mission impossible imagine#william brandt imagine#mission impossible#mission impossible one shot#william brandt#william brandt one shot#reader x william brandt#william brandt x reader#one shot#imagine#imagines#reader inser#oneshot#the ending............... not to like toot my own horn or anything but like..... Soft
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