#this is already getting too long but I am willing to have a civil discussion about these things simply because I feel like it is incredibly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetriggeredhappy · 3 years

Note

in the dadspy au, what if jeremy was just going to be an assistant/cook/janitor at the base while his dad was being the mercenary (since spy didnt want him to follow the "career" but didnt want to be separated from him), but then jeremy turned out to be even better than the hired scout so they promote him to that position and spy is not happy with this at all

ok i was gonna put this in the queue to post but im impatient because im happy with this one. only thing i didnt have was spy being upset by this development

(warnings for canon-typical violence, discussion of mercenary-type things, paranoia, alcohol, and exactly one proper fight scene. consider this pg-13)

“Would you prefer the good news first, or the bad news?” Dad asked.

Jeremy looked up at him from where he’d snatched up the sunday comics from his dad’s newspaper and was doodling little hats on the characters while they waited for their food to arrive. “Uh,” he said, “good news first.”

“Alright. The good news is, do you remember that line I’ve been tailing? The one in New Mexico?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy said, then nodded a little more confidently. “Immunity, safehouse, somethin’ like that, right?”

“...Something like that,” Dad agreed carefully, and that made him raise an eyebrow. “It went well, and I think there’s the very real possibility that I’ve all but closed the deal, all they want now is an interview.”

“...Interview, singular,” Jeremy said slowly.

“That’s where the bad news begins. Unfortunately... merde, how to phrase this?” He drew a hand down his face. “They’re fully willing to hire me on, but this is a more... corporate affair than I’m used to. They have rules, stipulations. Long story short, they will not hire you as a mercenary on the basis of your age.”

Jeremy tensed. “What?” he demanded. “That’s stupid, I’m old enough to drive and buy guns and whatever the hell else.”

“But not rent a car, at least in many places in the United States.”

“But—“ he started, and remembered they were in public, and lowered his voice to a hiss, leaning in. “We’re hired killers, thieves, criminals. Do they really think we’re above having fakes? False documentation?”

“Actually, that is one of their requirements,” Dad said dryly, taking a paper from his jacket and consulting it. “I’m not happy about it either, mon lapin, but those are their rules. Already they have slightly bent them for one individual, and already I am on thin ice. But I may have a way to manage this.”

“Yeah?” Jeremy asked, nervous now.

“I know the woman responsible for new hires and managing the team I’ve applied for. She owes me a favor—a fairly hefty one. When I go in for the interview, one of my demands will include you being hired on, not as a mercenary, but for... for custodial purposes, something like that. Cook, janitor, security guard, secretary—whatever job there is that needs doing there, and I am sure that there will be one. Something to allow you to live there. Pay will likely be her stipulation, and the play I hope to make is that really, you’re overqualified for the position and she’s lucky to have someone so competent available, and in the worst case scenario, the pay is still good enough even for just one of us that we will not cut too deeply into the savings.”

The savings. That made Scout blink, because they only ever brought up the savings when—

“You think this could be it?” he asked quietly. “Like, it it?”

A hard exhale, and he leaned his cheek on his hand. “Potentially,” he finally said. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but the job promises a variety of things. Medical attention available, extremely low levels of danger, and most of all, confidentiality. The only people who will know any name we give them would be the woman in charge of hiring us and their singular medical professional. There is no mode of communication to or from the compound outside of emergency lines to the organization and a single secure payphone located two miles away, there is no civilization within a twenty-five minute drive minimum, and this operation has been going long enough that the local authorities have long since grown used to being paid off, and likely don’t even remember what for anymore. I cash in a few valuable favors and ask this employer to turn a blind eye, we’d have somewhere remote and secure to spend our time after our deaths are faked and once the contract is over, we can start over. No ties to the past.”

“Freedom,” Jeremy marveled.

Silence for a few seconds, broken only by the quiet chatter of the rest of the diner. “I want to warn you, this work may not be glamorous. It may not even be particularly easy. I’m giving you the option of saying no,” Dad said.

“What?! Yes, hell yes, are you joking? To get us to living like normal people? Steady work? Livin’ in one place? Count me in!” he laughed.

“What if the job is something you won’t enjoy? Long hours, boring work?” Dad asked, entirely serious.

“I’m still on board.”

“What if the other people working there are rude to you? Disrespectful?”

“Well most of the people I meet through our job now try to kill us, so really it’s an upgrade.”

“What if there’s no diner nearby?” he asked, and there was a glint of humor in his eye.

“Damn, sorry, that’s the dealbreaker,” he joked right back, and that made him snort, shake his head, greet the waitress as she came back with their coffee and soda and then informed them that their food would be out shortly.

“I’ll ask,” was what Dad said once she was gone again, and that was that, and they started driving to New Mexico two nights later.

“—A warm welcome to our two newest recruits. This is the Spy, and this is the Guard.”

“Guard?” asked one of the men at the table, his accent thick and distinctly Russian. It made Jeremy tense slightly, but he didn’t let it show.

“Night Guard,” Jeremy answered, voice clipped.

“He’s not technically hired on as a mercenary like you all, he won’t be joining you on missions,” the short woman apparently named Miss Pauling (Jeremy was fairly sure it was a fake name) said, hands folded in front of her neatly. “He’s here to work security. Keep an eye out during the night, filter through the camera footage, handle the archiving, things like that.”

“We’re hiring on a civvie now?” asked another man, thick Scottish accent a little harder to digest than the eyepatch and the grenade he was in the process of fiddling with the internal mechanisms of.

“He’s combat ready, and will still be armed. His job is to essentially make sure you’re all safe enough to sleep through the night,” Miss Pauling said.

“I’m not some chump,” Jeremy agreed. “I know my stuff.”

“How old is he?” another man asked, this one in a hardhat with a heavy drawl, looking concerned.

“Twenty, for your information,” Jeremy said, a little sharply, eyes narrowed.

“If you have any other questions, there’ll be time later on. For now, I do need to show our two newest recruits where they’ll be staying,” Miss Pauling cut in.

There was an audible scoff from one of the men at the table, a dramatic rolling of eyes. Jeremy glared at him. He unfolded and refolded his extremely tattoo’d tree-trunk-like arms, tugging the visor of his hat between. “Sorry,” he said, accent thick and distinctly Californian. “I just don’t have the most trust for some scrawny kid in slacks and creep in a ski mask.”

“Scout, don’t start,” Miss Pauling warned.

“Just saying,” this man, apparently called Scout, muttered under his breath regardless.

“Don’t,” she said again, more firmly, and ignored the second eye roll she got for the trouble. “If you two would follow me.”

And they were shown around the base, and Jeremy in particular was shown into a room stuck behind three locked doors, where he found camera feeds and recording equipment. She gave him a basic overview and a thick packet of instructions and policies labelled ‘highly classified’ and a phone number to call if he had any further questions, and a set of hours that were apparently meant to become the new standard for him (with the quiet addendum that if he finished early that was alright, and that technically he could turn in early if two or more members of the team were already awake for the day and he was caught up on the archiving of old tapes).

Then he was left to “get used to the equipment”, which he assumed meant his dad was getting a similar rundown of his job, and it took a pretty quick glance through the packet to understand that clearly this place ran on an extremely secretive and closely monitored series of systems. In the packet, between the sections on camera maintenance and operation hours, were a few sheets detailing what were apparently the movement patterns of the various members of the team, including frequented locations and previously recorded large-scale infractions (mostly on the part of the Soldier, the Medic, the Scout, and one from the Demoman).

He wasn’t the one with the title Spy, but fuck, it seemed like he might as well have it. His entire job wasn’t even necessarily to keep the team safe overnight—he was just meant to watch all of them to make sure nobody was anywhere or doing anything out of the ordinary.

The next time he saw his dad, waiting outside the infirmary to get some sort of physical evaluation, his face was arranged carefully enough that he could tell he’d figured out something was up, too.

“Got your job assignments?” he asked quietly in French, glancing towards the door into the infirmary.

A nod, a glance. “I’m intrigued by the methods used in employee evaluation,” he deadpanned. “Especially the fact that apparently, they’re willing to assign employees for the explicit task of doing them.”

“How often?”

“Weekly.”

“Thorough,” Jeremy deadpanned, and glanced towards the hall at the distant sound of laughter, echoing from somewhere else on the base. “That’s basically mine too.”

There was a long silence, and when Jeremy looked back over, his dad was giving him an almost expectant look, waiting. All he had to offer him was a shrug, which was returned after a moment with a vague shake of the head. “I don’t believe it will be a problem,” his dad said simply. “Not for us, at the very least.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. Uh, anyways, good luck with the… physical, or whatever,” he said, and received a pat on the shoulder before he walked back off down the hall, hoping to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do with an entire room all to himself. He’d almost never had one before.

He was used to time changes and jet lag, to needing to switch his sleep schedule on the regular, but the switch to a straight up night shift was a rough one.

His nine-to-five was actually a ten-to-six, as in 10 PM through 6 AM. This meant that, assuming he managed to get his schedule in order, he’d be able to join in on the team dinners if he woke up early and could eat breakfast with them before he went to bed.

Very quickly he realized that going to dinner and breakfast with the team was going to become a staple part of his routine, because it didn’t take long before he began to feel extremely lonely all of the time. In a dark little room, everyone else asleep, scrubbing through tapes from during the day while half keeping an eye on the live feed from around the base that never showed much of anything, it was brutal. It was suffocating.

It was easy, at least. It didn’t take long before he got efficient at it and could start zoning out, and it wasn’t like he was under much pressure. His was the only room without any cameras in it. Security risk, apparently.  And to be honest, what small amount he and Dad interacted with mercenaries and other criminal types, Jeremy didn’t really tend to like them much. A lot of them were loud and rude and had the potential to turn around and try and kill them whenever they felt like it. He didn’t expect that he’d like the team as much as he did. He especially didn’t expect to like them so much without ever really talking to them.

But watching the camera feeds from throughout the day, seeing what they were up to, they were just... nice people. Soldier out by the dumpsters practicing rocket jumps and wrangling raccoons and apparently trying to learn how to spin a rifle, Pyro’s regular minor explosions in the kitchen while cooking and the surprised and frantic way they cleaned it up every time, the Demoman’s tendency to whistle wherever he went, watching through the feed as they all played cards and argued and jostled each other. They all seemed really nice. Really cool. Really dorky, too, but mostly just really nice and really cool.

And there were a few of them he was less sure about—he couldn’t get eyes on the Medic most of the time, what with the one camera in the Medbay being tilted down at an angle that made it hard to see much of anything but the occasional bird (probably by those same birds). The Heavy tended to just sit and read, and was pretty much silent most of the time otherwise. The Scout tended to leave the base pretty often. And the Sniper didn’t even live on base, he had a van outside that he could only occasionally see movement in when he squinted at the far edge of the camera leading outside. But even then, Heavy and Sniper mostly just seemed quiet, and Medic just seemed busy, and the Scout just seemed like a little bit of a dickhead.

But then one day when Jeremy was at breakfast the Heavy caught him leaning to try to get a look at the cover of the book he was reading, and he blurted that he was just wondering what book was so great that he’d stay up until like four in the morning reading, and then the entire team was gawking at him and asking questions and insisting that it was insane that there was someone actually watching all those cameras, and he shrugged and said there was always supposed to be someone watching the tapes back it was just usually some office worker type a hundred miles away. And they seemed almost... upset with him. And maybe that was fair, it wasn’t like he ever talked to any of them much, mostly he just spent breakfast and dinner half-asleep and listening to their chatter. And Demoman admitted that he’d honestly assumed that Jeremy slept his entire shift, he just always looked so tired at breakfast. There was almost this discomfort. This distrust.

And so, now that the jig was up, he made it a point to say some things to certain members of the team. To tell the Medic that his camera was tilted down so that he couldn’t see most of the room, and to very pointedly say that it was weird how that happened and that he didn’t know why they set it up like that in the first place, but it was really none of his business. Made it a point to warn the Engineer in the morning that the previous night, Soldier had been doing something in the fridge for a while, and to maybe check the labels before he made breakfast. Made it a point to tell the Demoman that the camera in his workshop was right in plain sight, and that if he moved one of his blackboards an inch or two to the left, it would obscure the room a pretty hefty amount. Made it a point to tell the Sniper that the camera on the rooftop seemed to be glitching out, and it’d just sort of lost the tapes of the previous two nights, and that it was really unfortunate since for all he knew there might have been someone ignoring the signs about there being no personnel allowed up there.

In return, he found that Pyro would sometimes make little sparkly notes with smiley faces on them and stick them to the door to the security room. That Sniper started tipping his hat at the camera above the door into the base from the garage. That on occasional drinking nights, the team would suddenly turn and start waving at the camera, laughing the whole way. On one night in particular he could hear through the low-quality and tinny speakers that they were trying to cajole him into leaving the security room for a while to join them for cards, and god, but he wanted to.

And he noticed more things. Soldier walking with a slight limp some days when rocket jumps had rough landings. Being able to count the doves in the infirmary and even tell them apart to some extent through blurry close-ups. The Engineer making it a point to sweep really regularly regardless of what project he was working on.

And then he noticed a weird thing.

It took him a long time to get used to the patterns of hallways, the cameras not really lined up linearly after a while, too many branching paths. He learned to follow progress, to flick from one camera to the next as someone walked around corners. And for a while he thought maybe he wasn’t very good at it.

Until he realized two things. First of all, that in a hallway where he knew there were five doors, he could only see four—apparently the door to Pyro’s room was just barely out of sight of the camera. He only figured it out because one day it swung open wide enough to almost bang against the wall.

And then, when he realized there was somehow that massive blindspot, that there was a corner with a blindspot too. One where that Scout kept disappearing.

He watched a few more times to make sure, and yep. He’d see the Engineer walking around the corner, flick to the next screen, and there he was, continuing down the hallway. And then later that same day, the Scout, walking, and flick to the next camera, and he wasn’t there.

One of the worse parts of the job was that he never got to see Dad anymore, never got to just sort of hang out the way they did all the time when he was growing up, and he knew he would miss it but he didn’t know how much. And he found it was even worse when he had something important to say, doubly so when he had something important to say but no idea if it was actually important.

He tried to bring it up casually, in the like ten minutes of time he ever got alone to talk to Dad. Dad was fighting the kettle trying to make some tea and he was trying to stay awake long enough to figure out how he was going to say this.

“Uh,” he said, and Dad looked at him. “So, uh, what’s the read you’re getting on that Scout guy?”

“Lazy,” Dad shrugged, looked back at the kettle. “Arrogant. He seems to care very little about doing his job correctly and has horrible communication on the field.”

“Right, right,” he nodded, fought a yawn down. “Uh. So like, kind of a dickhead.”

“Indeed,” Dad said, nodding vaguely.

“So uhhh... not the best.”

“Where are you going with this?” Dad asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I, I dunno, the guy just likes hanging out in this one blindspot in the cameras, and it’s kinda freaking me out,” Jeremy said, scratching at the back of his neck.

Dad frowned. “Strange. I wasn’t aware that there were any blindspots in the cameras.”

“There’s only a few, and only for pretty small spaces I think? But apparently he just likes hanging out in one of them.” Jeremy scuffed his shoe on the ground, glancing over as voices started echoing down the hall towards them. “Just thought it was weird.”

“I’ll look into it,” Dad muttered, voice quiet, and then raised it again slightly. “I refuse to keep up with sports.”

“C’mon,” Jeremy said, knowing this game well, changing subjects into something more normal as people entered earshot. “I’m not even asking you to keep up with sports, I’m just saying, I’d kill to go to a baseball game right about now.”

“The American Pasttime!” Soldier called from the room over.

“Exactly,” Jeremy agreed, nodding at Soldier as he also entered the kitchen, a half-asleep Demoman in tow.

“Any ghosties or ghoulies on the cameras last night, lad?” Demo had enough energy to ask, blinking blearily at the contents of the fridge.

“Oh, a billion,” Jeremy said.

“Guard!” Soldier barked, the most awake person in the room. “Should these ghost-ghouls appear again, don’t be afraid to point me in their direction! I have significant experience with them already and do not fear the likes of them!”

“Yeah sure,” Jeremy shrugged.

“You’re a champion, Guard,” Demo said with what was either a really disoriented blink or a wink, slugging him on the shoulder and wandering back out into the common room with the entire carton of milk in his other hand. Jeremy gave him a mock-salute that Soldier copied with absolute conviction. He and Dad shared a glance after the two of them left, and Jeremy was the first one to break, snickering under his breath.

“I’ll look into it,” Dad said, and also left the kitchen, and Jeremy nodded and started trying to remember what else he’d been planning on doing before bed.

“So,” Dad said a few days later, materializing next to Jeremy when he was in the middle of his jog and making him almost jump out of his skin, skidding to a stop.

“You’re enjoying that new watch way too much,” Jeremy panted, out of breath and still very much startled.

“Maybe,” Dad said, and he was smiling. “But as I was saying.”

“All you said was ‘so’,” Jeremy pointed out, giving him a look.

“There’s a juvenile joke here about how I’m your father and so of course I say ‘so’, but if you wouldn’t mind it, I did have something important to say, mon lapin,” Dad replied, and Jeremy rolled his eyes hard at the horrible joke and cheesy name, fighting back a smile of his own.

“Go for it,” he said, and took the opportunity to bend and tighten his shoelaces.

“So. Regarding that Scout and his habits. You mentioned he spends time in blind spots of the cameras, oui?” Dad asked.

“Yeah. Keeps, uh, I guess he keeps getting infractions for going off base too much, too. I’ve logged him leaving like three times this week already,” Jeremy nodded.

“Indeed. Well, considering how new we are to the team, I did not want to jump to conclusions, and so contacted Miss Pauling and asked on your behalf for any older records, and I found out something very... intriguing.”

Jeremy looked up at him, blinking. ‘Intriguing’, historically, had always been a very, very bad thing.

“Apparently, it has been two years since they last had a Guard situated on base. The previous one was a much older gentleman, retired from being a full member of the team due to health complications but not entirely ready to part with the company. The previous guard was somewhat strict, and the Scout—the same as we have now—very much disliked the man. He continued acquiring near-constant infractions under the man’s watch for leaving when he was not meant to, so much so that the previous Guard proposed enstating trackers on the team when they went off-base. And before this policy could take hold, the previous Guard left the base one day and did not return, and finally was found dead a state over, one month later.”

Jeremy blinked once, twice. “Holy shit,” he said, and took note of the wary look on his face. “Okay. So we’re thinkin’ the same thing, right?”

“I would assume so. And…” Dad hesitated, moved to fidget with his cufflinks. “And I would not be particularly concerned about this, as I’m confident that you wouldn’t have gotten his attention from what you’ve been up to lately, and therefore wouldn’t be in danger yet should history attempt to repeat itself, but… he’s already taken a disliking to you.”

“What?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“I believe it’s something as simple as some sort of shallow jealousy. Another American on the team, also relatively young, filling the position of someone he disliked previously. He regularly complains about the fact that you don’t need to go do the same job as the rest of us.” Dad shrugged, glanced over at him. “That, combined with the fact that you have somewhat conflicting duties, well, he tends to rather tetchy. He claims that considering he’s meant to be the first line of defense, they shouldn’t also need a guard at night.”

Jeremy had a number of opinions about that, but he stuck to the most relevant ones. “I really don’t like this guy,” he said. “Might be, uh. Worth keeping an eye on.”

“Agreed.” Dad glanced back over his shoulder towards the base, then at his watch. “Enjoy the rest of your run. Don’t forget to eat.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, hit the bricks already, old man,” Jeremy scoffed, waving him off, and Dad rolled his eyes, disappearing again in a cloud of smoke. “You’re gonna be using that thing all the damn time now, aren’t you?”

“Oui,” came a voice from nowhere, and Jeremy huffed a laugh, meandering his way back into the rest of his jog.

Jeremy hummed along to the radio, flicking between cameras on autopilot and wondering when exactly to take his lunch break.

He didn’t face the clock or anything, so he wasn’t sure, but he thought he had a pretty solid rhythm at that point. Click, click, click, between the camera to the road, the camera to the main entrance, and the camera in the hall towards the middle of the building, for about one second each. At just about any time after 11 or 11:30, those were the only three in real time that he needed to keep an eye on, mostly for people coming back late from bar hopping or if Miss Pauling was rolling in on a delivery. All the other cameras he could see out of the corner of his eye, and any movement he’d pick up on pretty quick, even if it was usually just the doves fluttering on the camera to the Medbay. After he cycled through those (and there was almost never anything there) he’d cycle back through to the tape he had in, put it on high speed, and watch it for about two or three minutes, get through a chunk of that time. Mostly he’d just be making sure nobody had been in the base while the team was away ni o(which indeed there never was), so there wasn’t much of a reason to take it off high speed, and the second part of the night would be watching the tapes for the time the team was back on base.

Movement on a camera made him click the pause, and he glanced off to the side. One of the doves had shuffled to face the other direction. He rolled his eyes, looking back at the bigger monitor again and pressing play.

The second half of the night was a little more interesting. He just had to look at the tapes for the time the team was there, check for discrepancies that might point to Dad messing with the disguise technology off-the-clock or the enemy Spy having infiltrated. For the most part things were straightforward, but he at least got to see his teammates up to funny things sometimes. Pyro’s antics were usually entertaining. Soldier he only caught some of, on the basis of him often walking off out of range of the cameras when he went on his excursions. Demo was funny sometimes. Honestly, just seeing the Sniper anywhere but as a fuzzy distant shape was interesting.

Movement on a camera. Same dove. He ignored it. Click, click, click, all three cameras clear, back to the fast-forward of the same empty hallway as before.

He really needed to figure something out, for the Scout. Maybe he and Dad were just being paranoid. It would be insane for him to try to outright kill anyone who inconvenienced him, not to mention reckless, and stupid to boot. Acting like that in their line of work would make him a lot of enemies extremely quickly. It would make more sense for the old Guard disappearing to be unrelated, to be honest.

Yeah. Hell, he barely knew the guy, and here he was assuming he’d straight up whacked a guy for getting a little too on his case about something. Maybe they were wrong.

Movement on a camera. He glanced over and froze outright.

It took him five seconds to come to his senses enough to pause the playback on his screen.

Figures. Shapes. Not at the front entrance, in the hallway, there next to the back way, by the garage. At least three, moving carefully, hard to make out in the darkness.

Okay. Okay, don’t panic, focus.

Jeremy ran through a few things in his head. He’d already done a headcount, the only people he wasn’t sure about were the Sniper and the Medic, but he hadn’t seen the Medic in any of the hallways out of the infirmary. Three figures were two too many to be any of the team, and besides that, they didn’t look like the Medic. Too short to be the Sniper, moving differently. Different clothes.

Three people. He hopped up, rushed over to the wall, yanked open the panel he had there. Three buttons, which he needed to hit in order. The first would send an alert to Miss Pauling, the second to whoever was assigned to be on alert that night, the third would set off the alarm.

He hit the first, hit the second, and hesitated on the third.

Okay. Technically if he didn’t hit that third button, he’d be breaking protocol, which was, according to the manual, ‘grounds for termination’. He was pretty sure that meant a long swim with some concrete shoes. And it was apparently recorded every time he hit these buttons, so they could deduct from his pay on false alerts. So they’d know if he didn’t hit this third button. He needed to think fast.

This was a different button than the alert button. The alert was more subtle, set for just one person. The alarm was throughout the entire base, over every loudspeaker. Louder than a fire alarm. If he hit this one, these intruders would hear that there was an alarm going off. Anyone smart would book it, high tail it the hell out of there. But he still didn’t know where they came from.

There hadn’t been movement on any of the screens, and he looked at the camera feed facing the road already, a few times even. He should’ve seen them. And if they found their way in once, they could do it again.

If he didn’t hit the button, on the other hand, whoever was on alert would wake up and wonder why they’d gotten an alert but the alarm wasn’t going off. If they were clever, which they probably were if they’d lasted this long, they’d come to the security room to see what was up and they could work from there.

He closed the panel again and moved to wait.

A minute later, still no movement from the hallway where most of the rooms were. That was fine, they’d just woken up, and probably needed to get dressed and grab their guns.

Another minute later, no movement, which was fair, they just needed a second to get their bearings. The intruders, meanwhile, were just lurking, slowly making their way down the hall.

Another minute later, no movement, and he opened the panel to press the button again before he continued waiting. Maybe they didn’t hear him the first time.

Another minute later and he took to standing next to the panel, mashing the button rapidly, eyes on the screen where the intruders were passing the kitchen, starting to get pretty far into the building.

Another minute later and he stomped his way into his sneakers, grabbing his flashlight and gun and guard cap from where they were hung on the wall. “Fine, I’ll fucking do it myself,” he grumbled, and carefully shouldered open the door, taking one last glance at the camera before he shut the door behind himself.

He kept his footsteps quiet, squinting into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to finish adjusting as he crept towards where he’d last seen the figures. It was near-silent in the base at night except for the distant, quiet hum of generators and occasional shift of plumbing. It was getting more and more familiar, and he found himself able to tune it out somewhat, instead listening intently for footsteps besides his own, making sure to click the safety off his gun while he was still alone and not when he was close to whoever had decided to break in.

Okay. Dad did this all the time. He could handle this.

He slowed as he approached the corner near the kitchen, peering around as carefully as he could, tugging down the brim of his cap to try and hide any potential shine from his eyes. He caught sight of a vague shape standing near the doorway, hesitating before it crept inside, into the common area.

Not ideal, on the basis of that being their goddamn kitchen, but at least there would be cover.

By the time he managed to sneak up to the doorway, he could make out the sound of vague whispering. It was far enough that it gave him the boldness to peer into the room, and just slightly lit by the glow of the clock on the oven he could see two shapes there in the kitchen, the third lingering nearer to him, there by the table.

Jeremy was only just starting to make a plan, relieved to have the jump on them, when there was the distant sound of a generator humming to life, and all the figures stopped, paused for a moment.

“Fucking spooky here,” one whispered, barely audible.

“Calm down,” another whispered. “What, scared of ghosts?”

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, shifted onto the balls of his feet and started creeping a little further into the room. If he could just get all three of them to one side, so he wouldn’t need to pivot so much…

“You don’t know, maybe there’s ghosts here,” the first protested, and swore quietly at what sounded like their winging their elbow against the corner of the tale, and Jeremy tried to stick near the wall, managed to creep half-behind one of the chairs, trying to keep his silhouette indistinct. “These guys kill people.”

“So do we,” the third mumbled, moving out of sight in the kitchen, and Jeremy bit down on a swear, starting to inch behind the couch. “Don’t be a coward. And stop making so much noise.”

“You can’t shoot a ghost,” the first pointed out, moving a bit closer to the kitchen, giving the table a wide berth now. “Or punch it.”

“I can try,” the second said, and stopped at the sound of a rustle.

Jeremy held his breath, weight half-balanced against where he’d tried to step, newspaper trapped beneath his foot.

“That one wasn’t me,” the first whispered. There was another, more significant rustle throughout the room, and Jeremy could see a glint as the intruders drew their weapons.

Jeremy inhaled, exhaled, and just barely managed not to swear out loud.

The first one was the closest by, lingering beside the arm of the couch Jeremy was crouched in the shadow of. “Do they have a cat here?” they asked, voice quiet.

The second was approaching into the main room more carefully. From the sound of the footsteps, trying to keep a shoulder closer to the wall, clearly paying more attention to the door. “Are you stupid or something?” was the reply, voice also quiet.

The third didn’t speak, but huffed out a laugh, which was enough to tell Jeremy that he was out of the kitchen.

Jeremy inhaled shakily, exhaled shakily, shifted his grip on his handgun and flashlight, and took a split second to think. Inhaled one more time.

He leapt to his feet, swinging his flashlight like a billy club and clobbering the first figure across the side of the head, sending them tumbling to the ground. From the sound of the impact, a dislocated jaw at the very least. One down.

A shout from the other side of the room, arms moving to try to aim, clearly struggling to see him, but that third figure was in the doorway, silhouetted against the faint light from the oven’s clock, and that was enough to figure out where the head and chest were. He aimed, fired, got what he was pretty sure was the neck considering the brief spray of blood that splattered against the oven, darkening the room completely.

A swear from the second figure, and Jeremy wanted to swear too, because he’d hoped that second figure would be stupid and try and charge him, but now he was ten steps away and didn’t have time to fiddle with and cock the gun again, other hand full with a flashlight and no way to—

Oh, duh.

“Stay where you are,” the second figure ordered, but Jeremy’s eyes were a little better adjusted and besides that, he wasn’t the one talking. He lifted his flashlight and clicked it on.

The second figure cried out, recoiling at the sudden blindingly bright light in what had been near-darkness, and Jeremy had time to finagle his thumb up to cock his gun again, now able to aim with absolute accuracy, this shot connecting with the figure’s head.

He exhaled.

It took Jeremy two minutes to remember to fire a bullet into the chest of the unconscious guy, and another minute for the other mercenaries to start showing up, half-dressed and armed. Dad, presumably to prove a point, showed up pretty close to the middle of the pack almost fully dressed. Jeremy wasn’t entirely sure how long it took before Miss Pauling showed up, but he wasn’t even halfway through their questions by that time.

“Guard, headcount?” she asked before she even bothered saying hello, still wearing her motorcycle helmet and looking more than a little bit miffed.

“Uh,” he said, eyes drawn away from where Medic was assessing the bodies on the kitchen table, “seven present and accounted for. Sniper’s probably out at his van, don’t know about the Scout.”

“Alright. Pyro,” she said, and Pyro stood at attention, bunny slippers squeaking at the movement. “go wake up Sniper and get him in here.”

Pyro nodded, handing their weird unicorn plushie thing to Jeremy as they passed by, giving him a solemn nod before hurrying away.

“Okay. Guard, hit me with a rundown, then,” she said, and shot a glance around the room. “No peanut gallery needed. And Medic, please don’t take them apart too much. I gotta get rid of those later.”

“Uh. Spotted these guys on the cameras, hit the first and second alerts,” Jeremy said.

“And not the third?” she asked pointedly.

“They were, like, right next to the door, and—here’s the thing, Miss P, is I dunno how the hell they got in here,” he said, and there was a general balk from the room. “No, seriously. They didn’t come in on the main road, they were in one of the back hallways by the garage. There’s gotta be a hole in the cameras or something, because I seriously don’t know where they came from. And if they booked it, they’d take whatever vehicle they used to get here, too, and we might not figure it out. Thought I’d just wait for whoever the hell was supposed to be on alert so we could… I dunno, at least see which way they went.”

“Guard,” she admonished, and he shrank a little bit. “That was incredibly reckless. What if nobody had shown up to help you?”

“Uh,” he said, blinked, “but… nobody did show up.”

A pause. She blinked. “What? You’re the one who did that?” she asked, entirely shocked, pointing towards the three bodies on the table.

“Uh, yeah? Isn’t that my job?” he asked carefully, shifting the stuffed animal under his arm.

“No, you’re—you’re just supposed to be the Guard, you’re supposed to watch cameras, not—“ She paused, taking a second to push up her glasses and rub at the bridge of her nose, inhaling, exhaling. “Okay. Points for… going above and beyond, here, but Guard, don’t do that again.”

“Sure thing, Miss P,” he mumbled, tugging on the brim of his guard cap, and sighed to himself as Miss Pauling moved away to try and stop Medic from attempting to covertly steal a few organs from the corpses. Dad clapped him on the shoulder supportively, and that did make him feel a little better. He wasn’t expecting a clap to the other shoulder, and looked up, surprised to see Heavy there, looking just slightly less grim than usual.

“Little Guard man is credit to team,” he said simply, solemnly.

Jeremy straightened up slightly. “Oh. Hey, thanks,” he said. Heavy nodded at him.

“It’s true,” Demo called, and he looked over, got another approving nod. “Really saved the lot of us, lad.”

“I, I mean, hey, it’s… what I’m here for. Or, uh. I thought that was it, anyways,” he shrugged, glancing away. “I mean, yeah, I’m pretty cool, though.”

Dad bumped his arm for the last part, and he snickered. “My question,” Dad continued, doing his best to ignore him, “is primarily regarding who, precisely, was supposed to be present to help Guard with this. Who is meant to be on alert?”

“It’s meant to be Scout, ain’t it?” the Engineer asked from nearby, frowning. A general murmur of agreement. “Could he have slept through it?”

“Heavy doubts this,” Heavy grumbled, looking troubled.

“Why’re we awake?” asked Sniper from the doorway, and various teammates called out a greeting. Sniper seemed half-gone, and completely grumpy, but not as grumpy as Pyro, and not nearly as gone as the man leaning heavily against Pyro’s shoulder.

“Hey,” the Scout managed, grinning, speech garbled, visibly sloppy and unbalanced. “What’s up, guys?”

Groans from parts of the room. “Drinkin’ again, Scout?” the Engineer drawled, visibly irritated.

“That’s my trademark, lad, go on,” Demo laughed, but the enthusiasm wasn’t entirely there.

“Scout,” Miss Pauling said, voice firm in a way that made Jeremy almost flinch in sympathy. “Are you aware that we’ve had a situation here while you’ve been sleeping?”

“Weren’t sleeping,” Sniper murmured, and eyes turned to him. He scratched at the back of his neck. “Came stumbling in ‘round when I was heading in. He was out for the night. Bar, looks like.”  “What?” Jeremy demanded. “Why the fuck didn’t I see him leave on the cameras?”

“Alright,” Miss Pauling said, and Jeremy looked at her. Her expression was hard to read. “It’s possible he went through the back tunnel.”

“Back tunnel?” Jeremy asked, and glanced around. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard of it.

“For emergencies only. Scout’s the only one who I’ve given a key card to. I have one too. It’s supposed to be used for transporting especially sensitive information, most of the team isn’t supposed to even know it exists. If there’s a gap in the cameras around the back of the building, he might have been using it to… sneak out to go to town, even though he knows he’s already in hot water for leaving the base so much,” Miss Pauling said, glaring at Scout, who was looking increasingly annoyed.

“Whatever, it’s not a big deal,” he protested, scoffing.

“That tunnel is for emergencies only,” Miss Pauling stressed. “I trusted you with the privilege of knowing about it account of having worked here for so long, and you’re using that privilege and key card to mess around?”

“He was coming back from around the front of the building, at least,” Sniper chimed in, and Pyro nodded. “Not that I’d understand the point of sneaking out if he’s going to just walk back in the front door.”

“Key card?” Medic repeated from near the table, eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s a magnetized card, that can be read by a card reader, used like a key,” Miss Pauling explained, deflating a little bit.

His eyebrows furrowed further. “Would it happen to look anything like this?” he asked, picking up a lanyard from the table and holding it up, showing the room the card clipped onto the end of it.

Two beats of silence. “Spy, would you mind?” Miss Pauling asked politely, nodding towards the Scout, who had gone pale.

“Not at all,” Dad said just as politely, and walked over towards the Scout and Pyro, then circled around behind them, and sank a blade into the Scout’s spine. He promptly crumbled to the floor, dead.

“Well. At least that’s that mystery solved,” Miss Pauling sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of her nose again. “Now I’ve gotta block off time tomorrow to get rid of three bodies, and then hopefully that’s the last we’re gonna hear of this or else the Administrator is gonna kill me.”

“What about the Scout?” Heavy rumbled.

“…Scratch that. Four bodies,” she mumbled, face dropping into her hands. “And then I need to find his replacement. Ugh.”

“Can’t imagine you’d need to go far,” Demo said, and Jeremy looked up, and Demo was very obviously tilting a thumb in his direction.

“He’s proven himself to be better at this job,” Dad agreed, shrugging. “And I would say on a bad day he’s still a better runner than the previous Scout on a good one.”

“He can clearly handle a firearm well,” the Engineer noted, looking over one of the bodies.

“And a blunt object,” Medic chimed, just a bit too pleased. “This jaw is almost completely shattered!”

“Okay, okay, fine, sure,” Miss Pauling waved off, one hand still pressed to her face, clearly overwhelmed and tired. “We’ll get his paperwork in tomorrow. Congratulations, you’re the new Scout, any questions? Can the questions wait until morning? Great, thank you. Good night, everyone. Medic, have the bodies in bags for me at least, okay?”

A distracted thumbs up from Medic, and Miss Pauling was groaning, wandering back out of the room, and most of the team followed, yawning amongst themselves. Sniper half-attempted to ask again why the hell any of them were awake, but gave up halfway through. Pyro, for one, made sure to at least retrieve the plushie from Scout’s arms before wandering off, giving him an appreciative pat on the shoulder.

“So,” Dad said, and when he looked over, he was smiling. “A promotion, mon lapin. Congratulations, new Scout.”

“Do I gotta wear that stupid outfit he always wears?” Jeremy asked, entirely serious. His reply was a laugh and a pat on the shoulder before he disappeared in a puff of smoke. “Pops, I’m serious. Do I? Dad!?”

“—So that’s why I figured, y’know, might as well tell you guys,” Jeremy finished rambling, hands in his pockets, continuing down the hallway. “Because… I dunno. I could tell Miss P, but it’s nice having secret stuff, y’know?”

“You think this is how they actually got in?” Demo asked, looking dubious. “Little blind spot in the cameras?”

“Only a couple feet wide, you said?” Sniper grumbled.

“Sounds possible,” Heavy said hesitantly.

“I dunno. Maybe. But if I tell Miss P about it, they’re gonna fix it,” Jeremy shrugged, turning the corner and stopping. “There. I knew it.”

They stopped with him, following his line of sight. “You’re takin’ the piss, mate,” Sniper deadpanned. “You want to tell me he’d been climbing out a window like a teenager?”

Jeremy shrugged, moving to open the window in question. It swung open easily, just large enough to push through with only a little bit of a problem, barely needing to turn his shoulders. “He’s not much bigger than me, and what the hell else would he be doing here?” he pointed out.

“Heavy cannot fit through that window,” Heavy deadpanned.

“Yeah. Sorry, big guy,” Jeremy apologized, leaning back inside and closing it again. “But hey, mystery solved, right?”

“Well, if I ever need windows to climb out of, now I know just the lad for the job,” Demo said, nudging him. “Thanks, Guard. Or, er, Scout. Och, now that’s going to take getting used to, aye? Might just stick to calling you ‘laddie’, laddie.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he laughed, nudging him right back. And as much as they ribbed him for it, he did see a kind of appreciation there. Just like he’d figured, they seemed to take note of him taking their side and not just Miss Pauling’s.

Now he just needed to switch back over to the day shift.

#father-son bonding au #dad!spy #tf2 #team fortress 2 #shut up me #my fanfiction #everybody talks #really happy with this one even if it took Way Too Fucking Long

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remosdeerica · 3 years

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Batshit AU Pt #2: The Grandkids

So I mentioned in the last post Batshit AU Pt. #1 that I cover Dick and Jason's kids but since I've been thinking (read: fantasizing) about the future of the Batfam I figured I'd just do a post with ALL the grandkids!

Just a heads up: this is a LONG post.

First we shall start with the Grayson's:

Mar'i and Jake (Jake is not my original name I've seen it pop up in other media- dunno if it's canon in any timeline but I'm going with it).

Mar'i Grayson: Mar'i is the biologically daughter of Dick Grayson and Koriand'r of Tamaran (aka Starfire). Kori is unknowingly pregnant after one last one-night-stand with Dick before going back to her home planet to take over as queen. Unfortunately, because of Kori's sister Komand'r (aka Blackfire) causing civil unrest to try and usurp the thorn from her, Tamaran becomes unsafe for Mar'i as she is Kori's only heir.

-Kor'i goes back to Earth with an infant Mar'i and begrudgingly hands her over to Dick so she can live with him and be safe from Blackfire.

-Kori of course visits while she can but has a lot of responsibilities on Tamaran. When Mar'i is older she is able to go back to Tamaran to visit her mother.

-A few years later when Dick and Barbra get married, Barbra officially adopts Mar'i. Seeing both Kor'i and Barbra as her mothers Mar'i decides so call Kori "Mama" and Barbra "Mom/Mommy".

Jake Grayson: don't have much of an exciting backstory for him. He was basically just an orphaned infant Dick and Barbra decided to adopt after his bio-parents had been murdered.

Now he have the Todd family:

Because I am a heartless monster I decided that since Roy died in the comics without any sign of Lian and Jason was pretty fucked up about it, I would have Jason adopt Lian because Roy wasn't round to take care of her. So this is basically what happened:

Lain Harper-Todd: 1 year or so after Roy's death, Jason is visited by Jade Nguyen (aka Cheshire) who is carrying an infant Lian. Jade explains that she hadn't realised she was pregnant with Roy's child until after he was already dead and since she is not ready to give up her life as an assassin she states that Lian is better off without her. She then asks Jason if he would be willing to take Lian in as Roy's former partner (read into that how you will).

-Jason agrees, and decides to hyphenate her last name Harper-Todd so that she will always have a piece of Roy with her even if he can't be there for her in person.

it's not that I don't think JayRoy is cute! It's just that I honestly I don't really picture Jason dating anyone in my mind and the thought of him being a single dad is just precious. I'm also allergic to OC's (of my own making) so I usually try to keep to characters that are at least canon in some timeline and Lian was the first to come to mind.

Also I'm a angst-hungry monster so...

Drake-Wayne/Dowd/McGinnis household:

Lol, this family has too many names.

I already went over Terry and Matthew McGinnis' backstory in Batshit AU Pt. #1 but if you are too lazy/ don't feel like reading it I'll try to make sure to cover the important details.

Terry & Matthew McGinnis: A few years down the road, Tim is the current Batman and married to Bernard Dowd (my new fave batship). One night on patrol he finds the boys hunkered down behind an garbage container and approaches them.

-Terry is extremely protective of his younger brother Matt and becomes immediately aggressive, swinging a baseball around and threatening Tim to leave them alone.

-Tim finds it admirable/endearing that Terry is willing to face Batman alone in order to protect his brother and tells him so. He then asks them where there parents and and Matt (trusting Batman) tells Tim that they were killed by the 'Bad Men' who are now looking for he and Tarry.

-Tim is worried for the boys safety and offers to take them to the Police, but Tarry only says that they already tried that and that there are spies in the GCPD who ratted them out to the 'Bad Men'.

-Tim figures out that the boys are in more danger then he first realized and takes them home with him in order to protect them.

-Tim eventually finds out about Project Batman Beyond, an experiment orchestrated by A.R.G.U.S. in order to create the perfect child to usurp the Cowl and give A.R.G.U.S and 'in' with the Justice League and the super-community as a whole. A part of this project is making sure the children are biologically Bruce Wayne's in order for them to also gain influence over Wayne Enterprises.

-Tim realizes that there is no real safe place that he can send the boys and after discussing it with his husband, Bernard, the two decide to adopt the boys.

I think this adoption story is one of my favourites. Especially because I find the idea of Bernard not at all being surprised by his husband brining home black-haired blue-eyes orphans, hilarious.

Bernard: I figured since you are now Batman it was only a matter of time.

Tim: >:(

Wayne-Kent situation:

DamiJon is one of my absolute favourite ships in existence. But since both boys are so young in canon my version of their future relationship truly is creature of my own design, I will explain them a little and then the kids. I'll be quick about it. Promise. (There is also a 2 part series I'm working on that goes into my version of events called "Jon and Damian" if anyone is interested. Jon's chapter is done but Damian's is still in the works).

Jon: he is the one that I really have to explain. I call my version of him "Dark-ish Jon" or 'dark ish jon' for the tags. For those of you who already know the deal (or don't really care) y'all can skip to the *** for the kids.

-basically Jon was kidnapped by Jon-El (Clark's Kryptonian Bio-dad) in order for Jor-El to mold Jon into the perfect weapon for his plan to conquer the universe. They have a machine that Jumps through various timelines so no one can find them, and Jon-El trains/tortures Jon for 2 years.

-Jon eventually discovers new powers that allow him to kill Jor-El and escape but he ends up spending the next several years trying to find his original timeline.

-He eventually meets the Legion of Superheroes that help him get home, but once he arrives home he realizes that for him it has been 7 years since he was kidnaped, but only 2 weeks for his family/friends.

-Because of this he and his family find it hard to adjust to the new situation and Jon ultimately decides to return to the Legion but visit occasionally.

Damian: Honestly I don't think I really have to explain much about Damian for y'all to get the kids but I do want you to know:

He has long hair

He has peirced ears

Possibly tattoos?

He's has more of a slim figure than Bruce's bulky one

He is a fashion icon and kinda has 'bitchy white girl' energy

Bacically he very pretty and looks a LOT like Thalia

And yeah. The two eventually reconcile after Jon is done moping in another timeline and they decide to retire from crime fighting and build a cottage/farm and live in peace.

***

Athanasia: So she is actually Bruce's bio-kid from the Injustice timeline. And for my AU she is still Bruce's biologically and she does recognize him as her father, but because she and Damian are 13/14 years apart and she knows him better she lives and defers to him as her caretaker. I shall explain:

-Athanasia was created by Thalia in a fit of madness after Damian's death. Because of what happened to Damian, and because Athanasia turned out to be a girl (and therefor Ra's would have no use for her), Thalia keeps the little girl locked away and a secret so that no one can harm her.

-Years pass and Athanasia has never seen the outside would. Eventually something happens (will depends on the Fic -because I will get around to writing this shit eventually) and Athanasia is given to Damian (the only other person Thalia ever told her about.)

-At this point Bruce is getting older and most of his current children already have their own kids, so both he and Damian agree that because Athanasia is mostly attached to Damian and doesn't really know who Bruce is outside of being her father, that she will live with he and Jon.

-Athanasia get's older and eventually meets another girl at her school named Carrie Kelley. The girls form a quick bond, Carrie's louder personality complementing Athanasia's more quiet one.

Carrie Kelley: being best friends with Athanasia leads to Carrie spending a lot of time over at her house. This allows Jon and Damian to get to know the girl and become quite fond of her.

-one night after a sleepover at Jon and Damian's house with some of their other friends, Carrie's father comes to the house drunk and carrying a shot gun. He accuses Jon and Damian of being pedophiles because of their sexual orientations and calls them a variety of homophobic slurs.

-It's his attempts at shooting Jon that leads to Carrie calling 911 and having her own father arrested.

-Because her mother had already left and Carrie only had her dad to take care of her, Jon and Damian offer her a place in their home and eventually adopt her along with Athanasia when the girls are teenagers.

So, yeah! That's it for now. I am absolutely obsesses with this AU. I just love the idea of Bruce deciding to take in Dick leading to him having an army of children and grandchildren so large that all family gatherings have to happen at the Manor because nowhere else is big enough.

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omegasmileyface · 3 years

Text

Not in the Job Description

heres a silly lil Danny Phantom concept based entirely off a half-awake sleep-vision that made me laugh :) my subconscious brain is a genius at coming up with things that make just enough sense to be worth writing

summary: Danny's job at a local restaurant is surprisingly fulfilling, even after being crowned Ghost King. Speaking of that job, however, there are some intricacies to it that are hard to keep in mind during everyday life.

warnings: descriptions of nausea and mild sickness

words: 2180

AO3 link

===

Honestly, life was going pretty well at the moment for Danny Fenton. He wasn't even worried that it was a false security or a calm before a storm, because this kind of semi-serenity had been going on for more than a year. It was a long-term stability brought about by adaptation and putting in effort to get help and accommodation. Jazz would be proud!

Sometime at the beginning of Junior year, the Observants had chased him down and crowned him High Ghost King (much to the chagrin of both involved parties). It certainly added responsibility to Danny's plate, along with some new sensations and a series of crises (what didn't these days?), but a little political discussion with some of the more powerful ghosts ended with Danny deciding that, at least at the moment, the position didn't require him to do much more than he normally did. More ghosts would seek him out for help and he would do his best, and some "paperwork" (though there was very little paper involved and it was a lot of talking and oaths and rituals and such) happened about monthly. Otherwise, though, the Zone didn't need much more help than that, having survived off an absent King for centuries. Well, and the ambient purpose of the King as a sort of core for the Zone, but Danny didn't have to put in time or conscious effort for that.

Eventually that settled into normalcy, and Danny was back to worrying about the balance of schoolwork, self-care, and fighting. He still hadn't given up on the prospect of someday becoming an astronaut, and he was determined to have the grades for it. Don't get him wrong, he'd gotten way better about that! He'd formed a practiced, if not entirely stable, system that kept his grades at a solid B- / C+, while getting a solid 5-ish hours of sleep most nights and not bottling things up too much. It was about halfway through Junior year that he realized, with some help from his friends, that his ghosts fights were honestly pretty civil, at least against the regulars. Civil enough that he knew they had some respect for him, and was willing to risk asking for help. So a few weeks and awkward but not bad conversations later, and he had agreements with almost all his regular "foes" not to cause trouble within Amity from 11pm to 7am, 3pm on weekdays. It was more than half the day off-limits on school days, and plenty of ghosts made up for it to a degree by making themselves more common during the "permitted" hours, but it greatly increased Danny's well-being and school performance anyway. "Rivals" like Skulker and Technus had enough respect for Danny and his Lair to abide, and plenty even cared that he was taking care of himself, even between frequent sparring. Maybe a few were really just in fear of his new crown, but he chose to cautiously pretend that wasn't a possibility.

After graduation — he made Senior year with all As and Bs! — Danny's parents had encouraged him to get a part-time job over the summer. He had been interning at FentonWorks (paid! His parents might not be the most attentive but they certainly weren't unfair) since he had accidentally revealed himself a few years back, and they had been thrilled to hear that he still intended to go into NASA if possible, and had done whatever they could to help. They recommended the job because, as good as a paid scientific internship was on a resume, it would help to have a variety of activity and the opportunity to get recommendations from employers who weren't liable to nepotism. After searching local businesses, Danny found a small sandwich shop founded by a middle-aged couple who had moved in and set up shop just before the ghost attacks began. Being close to the school but not far from the commercial sector and offering small portable food (no one wants to sit down for a meal when a spirit could come crashing through the window at any moment), the place got good enough business to pay the employees a proper living wage. Better yet, they were allowed to take home unsold food! Not to mention the owners were both very kind women who held smiling conversation with employees and customers alike. Danny was more than lucky to land such a nice job, even if it meant he had to get up at 7 five days a week.

All this is to say that it wasn't as surprising as it could have been that he was having a slow and pleasant day at work.

Both the owners were out for the day on some sort of vacation, so today it was just Danny and a short teenager named Casey manning the place. Most of their orders recently had been online due to an explosion causing road work near the restaurant and it was mid-morning, leaving work slow enough that they could afford to just have the two until lunch shift started. Danny was on cashier duty today, but unless the door bell sounded, he was helping Casey in the kitchen.

"Aw, man, we're almost out of tomatoes."

"Really?" Casey looked up to the shelf Danny was inspecting and indeed saw only 3 tomatoes. "Huh, guess they didn't restock yesterday. Well, we probably shouldn't risk needing more before the day's out, do you want me to go get more?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah, I can go. I think I could use the fresh air." He said that a lot, especially as an excuse when his ghost sense went off, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. He never had liked being confined.

Casey checked the monitor to see if they'd gotten any new online orders. Since there was a grocery store just a block away, any time someone needed a quick restock they tended to just walk.

They looked up to see Danny already had his jacket on and was looking them in the eye. "Would you take over my position until I come back?"

"Of course. Ten minutes?"

With a nod and a smile, Danny was out the back door.

===

After a moment of habitually wiping down the counters, Casey went up to the register in case a customer appeared.

It was even quieter than before for a few minutes, so they busied themself with mini restocks and organization. They were in the middle of stacking some paper coffee cups when they started to feel dizzy. There had been this subtle pressure on their chest since Danny left, which they figured was anxiety for working the restaurant alone for the first time, and now it had solidified into a warm nausea that flared whenever they exhaled.

With the disinterested panic that came from having strange things happen for years, they wondered if they had missed their medication this morning. A quick glance at their phone, however, showed the notification for it checked off.

Putting the phone back away, Casey noticed the tips of their fingers were somewhat translucent. Alright then, it was definitely something to do with ghosts. Great! Just excellent. The panic was less disinterested this time.

They weren't familiar with any sort of ghost illness that made humans translucent, so they definitely needed to call someone to make sure nothing bad happened. It would be best to call the Fentons' public number so they could go over and get looked over by then. In the meantime, they should call Danny and ask him to hurry back. He shouldn't be much longer anyway.

Casey didn't even get the chance to act on their plan, however, before a short humanoid ghost appeared in the dining area. They didn't look to be up to anything, but Casey reached for the emergency ectoblaster beneath the register anyway. The nausea was getting worse, along with a new chill, and they couldn't be sure this new ghost wasn't somehow causing whatever they were going through.

The ghost looked at them with an expression that was almost desperate. "Ah! Kind human, thank you for your time." The ghost... bowed? "I am Eurusid, from the Spoken Channels. There has been a dispute which damaged public meeting grounds in the center of the Channels, and both groups refuse to allow the damage to be repaired except by the other group."

Casey's eyes narrowed. It was becoming difficult to stand with the dizziness, and if not the ghost himself, then whatever he was saying was probably a hallucination. They didn't even think about responding beyond a detached "what".

It was then that Danny re-entered the back door with the new tomatoes. Good thing, too. At least with another person there, Casey could confirm whether they were hallucinating.

===

Placing down the grocery bag and shrugging off his jacket in one motion, a skill only gained by years of laziness efficiency, Danny called toward the register. "Back!"

Once he caught sight of the teen, however, all casualness shed itself from his body and he rushed over to hold them. "Man, Casey, you feeling alright? You look really pale." The realization that their form was slightly translucent, despite the firm human heartbeat beneath, was drowned out by him finally noticing the ghost standing a few feet away. The reaction of his ghost sense had been so minor that he had ignored it.

He was surprised to see that he recognized the specter's face, marred as it may have been from worry and confusion aimed directly at Casey. "Eurusid? What's going on?"

As the ghost, still confused but unwilling to act impolitely, gathered his bearings and began to bow toward him, Danny's coworker shuddered under his hands, regaining his full attention. He thought back through the day's events for hints as to the situation, before swearing, cutting off whatever Eurusid was about to say.

Danny backed up and said, voice as clear as he could, "I recall my position."

Casey's reaction was immediate, a gasp of air like they had been kept from breathing and a return of their skin's human opacity. Danny rushed back over and put his hand on their back to steady them as their eyes narrowed and went slightly unfocused.

Figures, doesn't it? One of the many intricacies that had come up at his coronation Junior year that just hadn't come up enough to keep at the front of his mind. One of the defenses of the High Ghost Crown was the ability of the King to temporarily give their duty to someone else. As long as that person accepts, during a specified time they substitute for the King in dealing with political matters, as well as taking over as much as their ability allowed of the King's function to process the energy of the Realms.

Danny had no idea that this ability could be activated with words as vague as "take over my position", let alone that it could be used with a human. That potential had never come up during the ceremony, so for all he knew, a full ghost in his position couldn't substitute with a human. A human certainly shouldn't be able to take over any part of the energy processing, though maybe in Amity Park the average person processed enough environmental ectoplasmic energy to make it possible. Regardless of residence, though, it could not be good for Casey's body, which had no Core to properly process energy and had no human equivalent except perhaps a small emotional center in the brain, to even attempt to filter and manage some of the inherent energy of a dimension.

Their skin was still clammy and their coordination was shot. Ancients, if this is what an accidental substitution did to a human, Danny would have to word things very carefully when asking for help in the future.

"King Phantom?" Danny looked up to see that Eurusid was still floating there awkwardly. Right. He had two people here to help.

"Sorry, Eurusid. One moment, I'll be right with you." He turned back to his coworker, who looked confused and less lucid than ideal, but probably still lucid enough to realize this ghost had just called him "King Phantom". Well, he'd deal with that once it came to it. "Here, Casey, let's get you some water." He helped them walk back into the kitchen and sat them down on a bench by the back door. There was a chair in the register area, but they probably didn't want to feel exposed to the dining area like that, even with nobody but the ghost there.

Once handed the water, Casey sighed and eagerly drank from it, eyes closed. Danny rubbed his hand on their back a bit and promised to be back shortly before walking back out to meet Eurusid. Whatever he was here about was probably worth immediate attention but Danny was sure there'd be at least a solid minute of apologies on both sides before the matter was addressed. Hopefully both the Spoken Channels and Casey would be alright before the next shift came in.

#danny phantom #my writing #danny phantom fanfiction #ghost king danny #gkau crack baby !#ive been referring to this in my head as 'the wendys story' even though having it be a chain fast food restaurant doesnt quite work #ghost king hcs here very inspired by heavy on the heart light on the head by gothmoth and the a king in chains series by five-rivers #with some Pizzazz thrown in!#throne in . ha #one day ill come up with a complete and proper hc set for it but Not Today #me writing the sentence 'danny made senior year with all as and bs': dont cry dont cry dont say 'god i wish that were me'#oh also bear in mind ive never worked at a restaurant #unedited bc im impatient 😔

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simoviacourt · 3 years

Text

Channel 6 studios, outskirts of Zonneminster, late August - roughly three months have passed

*NOTE: this is a VERY long and text-heavy post discussing the current Simovian political situation, consider yourself warned*

Arturo: Good evening to our viewers and of course to our amazing studio audience! Welcome to another evening with The Talk! Tonight we’re going to dive into all the latest news of the week and with me around the table I have our wonderful guests for the night...

Arturo: (continued) First, let me present to you Anne Kortehof, the controversial yet always impeccably stylish Queen of Simstagram!

Anne: Thank you Arturo, happy to be here tonight!

Arturo: We also have Simovia’s national pride and the newly minted captain of our national football team… Elmer De Marees! What do you think, will we bring home the world championship this year?

Elmer: We’ve got some tough opponents but the team and I will be giving it our best!

Arturo: Great to hear, it really has been too long! Then, I’m happy to introduce to you a woman I greatly admire - Iza Laan, the founder of the political think tank “Future Solutions” and the youngest woman to appear on the cover of Money Monthly! Welcome!

Iza: Thanks, Arturo, it’s a pleasure!

Arturo: And finally, my very good friend and a man whom we all adore - Nandu Talkar!

(huge applause from the audience)

Nandu: Thanks Ar, great to be here, as always!

Arturo: Now, a little bird told me that you might have some new songs to share with us later tonight…

Nandu: Only if you behave…

(audience laughs)

Arturo: I’m sure I have no idea what you mean! But, first, let’s dive into this week’s headlines...

Arturo: (continued) Well, now that the summer is over, our newly elected parliament is in session, with a new prime minister! On Monday Her Royal Majesty officially took Mr Caan’s pledge of fealty and opened the parliament for the year...

(booing from the audience)

Arturo: Ah, it would seem that not everyone has much love for the Prime Minister..

Anne: Or they don’t see why a man should have to kneel in front of a useless woman…

Nandu: Oh wow, are we even five minutes in?

Iza: Well, I think that’s the last time we will see that man kneeling in front of anyone.

Arturo: Not a fan of Mr Caan’s, Iza?

Iza: Not exactly, no, though I know Anne here adores the man.

Anne: Me and half the country.

Iza: Which still seems ludicrous to me. But, populists will always have their appeal, I suppose.

Anne: If by populist you mean that he isn’t afraid to go against the mainstream and say things as they are, then yeah, there’s definitely an appeal. Finally we have a prime minister who won’t play the same old political games that all the others have. Someone who will put Simovian interests first.

Iza: And what does that even mean? He’d close our borders and end all international collaboration...

Anne: Which brought us to war once already and how well did that work out for us.

(cheers from the audience)

Iza: International collaboration also has created thousands of new jobs and there are countless businesses that rely on the good relations that the Queen works hard to foster.

Anne: Ah yes, you’re one of those!

Iza: I beg your pardon?

Anne: Monarchists… you lot always --

Arturo: Hey hey loving the exchange of views but let’s keep it civil!

Elmer: This is exactly why I avoid these conversations.

Nandu: You and me both…

Iza: Easy for you both, with all respect. De Marees, doesn’t your grandfather sit in the House of Lords?

Elmer: Yes, but…

Anne: The elite couldn't care less about the dealings of this country as long as they’re comfortable.

Nandu: (laughs) Ha, that’s the first time someone has ever counted me among the elite!

Anne: Well you mingle with them often enough… aren’t you friends with the Queen?

Nandu: I’ve even never had the pleasure to meet Her Royal Majesty.

Anne: Well, Prince Andrew then?

Nandu: I have met His Royal Highness and attended events with him, yes… but whether we’re friends, hard to say. He’s a nice guy, though, excellent company. But that doesn’t make me one of this “elite” you keep mentioning on your socials. I’ve worked hard to get where I am today.

Iza: Yet your current position allows you to claim this apolitical stance.

Nandu: Just because I don’t like talking about politics doesn’t mean I don’t care or vote, for that matter. I’m not clueless. My family still can’t vote in this country and though I was born here and grew up here, I doubt Mr Caan and his party would consider me Simovian.

Anne: That’s not true, he has nothing against new Simovians.

Nandu: As opposed to what? The old Simovians? How many generations does it take to belong to that group?

Iza: And that’s just one of the reasons that I’m not a fan of Mr Caan, as you put it Arturo. His rhetoric is divisive at best and blatantly xenophobic at worst. And now he is the prime minister. I’m actually not a monarchist, there are so many things wrong with the institution but it’s times like these that I’m happy that we have a Queen who can push back on what he’d otherwise do to our country.

Anne: Have you ever actually talked to him or attended one of his seminars? He has great plans for Simovia! I know that the media loves to paint him as this xenophobic loudmouth but he’s actually a really lovely man. He’s well educated but he doesn’t hide in his ivory tower. He knows that the people want freedom and he’s willing to give it to them.

Iza: You can’t be serious… freedom to what? Starve and end up on the street with no healthcare? I’ve read through his plans, they’re now out there on the government’s website and what I see is...

Anne: He just wants to encourage people to make the best choices in their own lives. Being controlled by some big political machine won’t let people do that. If you just opened your eyes, I’m sure you could see that.

Iza: I… Arturo please can we move on? Seriously... I can’t believe that I’m forced to debate politics with someone who clearly has no understanding of how society functions.

Arturo: Now Iza, she does have a right to her opinion… but, it is about time we moved on. After the break, more engagement rumours between Her Royal Majesty the Queen and His Grace the Landgraaf van Hoensbroek...

#ts4 royal simblr #ts4 story #ts4 storytelling #simoviacourt #and we're back!#part one to get you up to speed #this post was originally twice as long but I've split it up for all our sakes

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ladyeliot · 3 years

Photo

Stay with me

Prequel to It will always be you.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Avenger Female Reader

Summary: Because of the consequences of your actions, 117 nations come together to create the Sokovia Accords. Now a decision hangs over you, whether to sign them or not, whatever you do will have repercussions.

Warnings: Angst.

Word count: 3702

A/N: Civil War. Some of the dialogue is taken from the film. Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

Reader Powers: Psionic. You use psionic force to track any sentient being. You also create psychic shields to protect yourself. You can project psychic force bolts which have no physical effects but which can affect a victim's mind, causing them pain.

The evidence was clear, the position you were currently in had come about because of some very poor performance on your part, the news had echoed the catastrophes you had caused, especially the attack on Lagos, the governments had lined up to stop it and come to a common agreement to keep you under their command. Deep down you all knew that day would come, though you were confident it would be further away. It had been almost four years since Tony Stark had rescued you from your past, from being a contraption held in a laboratory for research. You had been offered a future where you no longer had to run or hide, you had been offered freedom, a purpose in life, but that bundle of paperwork in front of your eyes was meant to make you a prisoner of the government once again.

The discussion had been getting louder and louder, the different opinions countering each other were causing the nerves to come to the fore, alternating the atmosphere. Although the resolution was clear, there was nothing to be done, you were either with them or against them, becoming a fugitive wanted by the whole world. The Sokovia Accords were established by the United Nations and ratified by 117 nations, and what they proposed was to regulate the activities of the altered individuals, namely that the Avengers would cease to be a private organisation, and from now on would operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, and only when and if that panel deemed it necessary.

There was no turning back, the consequences had been placed before you for the acts you had committed, it was a one way street, not a return. Secretary Ross had been in charge of presenting you with the whole set of papers that would have to be signed by you, but convincing you all to agree was not going to be so easy.

“So let's say we agree to this thing,” Sam said, unresponsive to the situation. “How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

“A 117 countries want to sign this,” Rhodes reminded him. “117, Sam, and you're just like, ‘No, that's cool. We got it.’”

Unlike them, you chose to keep a few metres away from the meeting table, remain silent and meditate with yourself on the proposal, not that you didn't know the pros and cons or the consequences of not signing the agreements, but that you wanted to analyse the situation from different points of view without the others questioning your opinions.

"Tony. You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal," Natasha said, turning her gaze to Tony.

“It's because he's already made up his mind,” Steve's tone seemed harsher than usual.

“Boy, you know me so well,” Tony countered sarcastically, then turned his gaze and gestured in your direction. "She does seem to have made up her mind what her decision is."

You felt the gaze of everyone present focus on you, who unlike him preferred to be absorbed in the shadows, hiding from the attention of your companions. But in the end, perhaps his words were true and you had made a decision, a decision that you were not going to allow anyone to choose for you.

"I guess it's not as simple as you're trying to make us believe Tony," your tone was calm and affable, knowing that you were about to receive a sarcastic and ironic counterattack from him.

"Simple?" he gets up from the sofa raising his hands, walking towards the kitchen area, where you were sitting on a stool. "You think it's simple for me?" he pulls a mobile device out of his pocket and sets it down right in front of you on the top, the device projecting an image of a smiling young man. "Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia."

You look down, you understand perfectly what he means, you remember what happened in Sokovia, you remember because you were there, you saw with your own eyes what happened and also the consequences of your actions. But you knew that any decision had consequences and they could have been much worse if you had not acted, although there were also causes for your own fault.

"He wanted to make a difference, I suppose," Tony continued, looking directly at you, his tone rising and stiffening. "I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass."

After his last word, silence filled the room, everyone in the room was reliving the ghosts of the past. Tony definitely realising that you weren't going to look up to return his gaze decided to head back into the room with the others.

"There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes..."

You felt his voice trailing off, then Steve seemed to come in to debate various points, but you could barely focus on what each of them was saying. An internal struggle was going on inside you, and you couldn't wait to see who was going to win.

"I have to go."

You looked up after hearing those words spoken by Steve, his body rose energetically, dropping the agreements from his hand. That was the beginning of all the consequences that were to come after we had made the decision not to sign.

Your steps were decisive, you walked through those long corridors that had become your home for the last few years, knowing that you would most likely never see them again, or at least not for an indefinite period of time. You truly believed you had made a decision, a decision that could become the decision of a lifetime, a before and after in the life process you had created for yourself. You believed that you knew the consequences, that you would be willing to face them as they came. You knew there were going to be setbacks, obstacles, but you didn't expect one as big as him to stand in your way.

"So you've made your decision?" the figure of Tony stood in the doorway of your room, a serious look on his face seeming to immobilise you. "Are you going to leave with Steve?

"I think it's for the best," your words were blunt, as you packed your most essential belongings into a rucksack.

His body entered your room just before the door closed behind him. You knew Tony well enough to know that his next words to you were likely to make an impression on you, but your mind was made up.

"Did you hear anything I just said in the living room?" he pursed his lips and ran his fingers nervously over them.

"Don't make this difficult for me," those words left your lips almost as a plea.

You barely looked at him, your back was turned to him and your eyes were focused on the inside of that backpack that seemed to have no end.

"I suppose you know that your decision is a single ticket," his words were firm. "That you're basically signing your own fucking sentence."

"No," you dropped the backpack and turned to him to find yourself face to face. "That's exactly what I'm running from," you sighed. "I think you of all people know that I know what it's like to be someone's property, that I've been for far too long and that's what really scares me," your pupils dilated as you remembered every single moment you'd lived hidden from the world, being an experiment. "I don't need guys in ties fighting for their own interests telling me what to do or where to go, because my freedom ends when they command me," the seriousness on Tony's face had relaxed, he kept his gaze on his feet and nodded. "I want you to know that I'm going with Steve because you had already made your decision."

The tension spread slightly around you, so much was hidden in those words, much more than what was shown. The complexity of the situation went far beyond signing or not signing the agreements, it was the break-up of a group, of friends, of family, something that could never be put back together again.

"I... I don't know if I'm going to be able to protect you," Tony clenched his jaw as he denied to himself, resting his brown eyes on yours again.

"I never asked you to."

You knew perfectly well how much your words must have hurt him, and what he meant when he said he couldn't protect you. There were so many hidden things in the air, but this was not the right time to start that conversation, maybe it was too late, nothing was going to change things so you asked yourself to please not make things more complicated. You turned around and nimbly zipped up your backpack, everything you had of great sentimental value was inside.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, hanging the backpack over your right shoulder and looking up at him.

"You're not sorry," his tone became serious, but at the same time indifferent, he was hurt. His gaze turned away from yours.

"This isn't what I wanted to happen," you whispered hoping that wasn't the last image you would see of him before you left.

"So, all you have to do was stay," those were the words that almost caused something inside you to stir, but you only gave a small, wistful smile as you looked at his face.

"You know I can't," you whispered hoping he wouldn't extract his share of indifference towards you again. "Please don't make it more complicated for me, because I can't deal with you right now.”

It was impossible to explain to you at that moment the dilemma that was building up inside you. On the one hand your ethics and your values were what prevented you from signing those damn papers that limited and curtailed your freedoms, it was something you assumed. On the other hand, how could it be so hard to leave Tony, why, what was going on right now that you couldn't face?

"Maybe you should just leave now," Tony slipped his hands into his Tom Ford trouser pockets and focused his gaze on the door to your room.

You nodded slowly, your brow furrowed and your lips parted as you didn't expect those words at all, you were ready to start an internal struggle, but he had already sentenced the conversation.

"Alright," you muttered, taking a step backwards, away from him. "Bye Tony."

As you got closer to that door a lump settled tighter in your throat, like a dramatic movie you expected him to say something to stop you at any moment, but he didn't. The door opened and allowed you to leave. The corridors seemed miles long, perhaps because time was slowing down. A black car could be seen from the wide glass windows, there were Steve and Sam waiting for you. A guilty smile appeared on your face as you walked back through the hall, bidding farewell to those present.

As you stepped outside, the air seemed to open up your lungs again, which had been stuck after the last goodbye you had said to Tony. Sam was inside the car, and Steve took care of getting your rucksack into the boot, along with his shield and Sam's wings.

"Are you all right?" muttered Steve, to which your response was a gentle nod.

As you rested your hand on the handle to open the car door, you couldn't help but direct your gaze towards the top of the building, right where you had left Tony a few minutes ago. But there was definitely no sign coming from that spot to stop you from continuing on your way.

The next few days the situation became more complex than anyone here would have expected. Agent Carter's funeral passed without incident, Natasha appeared to inform you that she was leaving for Vienna to sign the agreements, that there was still a chance for you to change your minds, but none of you did. Perhaps it was for the best, because during the signing an attack happened on the spot, an attack that changed the course of things. All eyes were on the Winter Soldier, Bucky, that directed Steve, Sam and you to Bucharest in a supposed attempt to get to Bucky before the authorities did.

"They're on the roof," Sam reported over the intercom.

"Steve get out of there right now," you said hiding on the roof of the building next door. "I can sense you but I can't surround your body with psychic energy unless you come out into the open."

That day was one of the worst failures you had ever managed to pull off, perhaps it was obvious that things didn't go quite right when feelings ran high, and it showed in Steve, especially when law enforcement trapped you in that tunnel.

"Stand down, now," War machine appeared before you to end the fatal chase and set you on your way to Berlin.

You knew what would follow, there was only one way out or the consequences would be far more extreme, either sign the agreements or become prisoners of the law. Things were different for you, Captain could have his shield removed, Sam could have his wings removed and T'Challa, who had appeared in pursuit out of nowhere could have his suit removed too, but you and Bucky were far more dangerous, especially as your powers and dangers were in the mind.

When you arrived at the facility in that armoured truck Bucky was put in an extreme protection capsule, that marked memory making you remember the past time.

"What's going to happen to him?" asked Steve walking beside you in the direction of Everett Ross, Deputy Commander of the Joint Forces.

"The same as you. Psychological evaluation and extradition," he focused his gaze on you. "Miss Y/L/N, let's hope you'll be cooperative."

You understood his words, you knew the fear you could cause, force could be controlled, the mind was much more complicated.

"Of course," you affirmed with all your good intentions.

You didn't know where, but you assumed that in a few minutes you were going to meet him again in some remote part of that building, you could feel it. First it was Natasha who approached you, and then when you stepped inside the control room there was Tony, talking on the phone.

"[...] consequences?" he turned his body towards you, his gaze fixed on you, which made you cross your arms and look around, avoiding her. "Of course there will be consequences."

"Consequences?" asked Steve with a serious look on his face.

"Secretary Ross wants to prosecute the three of you. I had to give something."

You walked away from them, realising that you had two armed men following your every step around that room. You watched the monitors, every corner of the planet seemed to be controlled by them, there was nothing they could miss, you could even see yourself reflected in one of them.

"Is it worth it?" you turned your face to find yourself face to face with the one who had made you doubt your decision a few days ago.

He took his right hand out of one of his trouser pockets and made a slight gesture for the two security officers who had been assigned to you to move a little away from you, offering you some privacy.

"What do you mean?" you cocked your head to one side. Your voice was stiff, you were tense enough about the situation to offer him a friendly tone.

"I don't know, was it worth risking everything to find yourself back here with possible legal charges?" you didn't deny it, Tony's words hurt.

"Are you rejoicing?" you squinted, uncrossing your arms and turning your whole body towards him.

"How do you think this will all end?" he ran his index finger down the side of his mouth, his nervousness showing. Those words made you shudder. "Now you have a chance, don't let it slip away."

"Please, don't make this worse than it already is," your pleas were in vain. The last thing you wanted right now was a lecture from Tony.

"This wouldn't even abe problem, if you wouldn't make one out of it!" his voice was authoritative.

Your refusals and hesitations had gotten on his nerves, it was evident in the way he was addressing you. That was the last thing you wanted to do, to cause trouble, but it was clear that you were on the defensive against any verbal attack Tony might offer you. Sparks could almost fly between your gazes, which were still on after the conversation was over. You had no idea what was going to happen next, so you were grateful that Natasha caught Tony's attention at that moment, breaking into a battle that wasn't going anywhere.

The hours passed really slowly, so you found a space in a glassed-in conference room to settle in, under, of course, the watchful eye of the guards in charge of you, until you were called in for your psychological analysis.

"Do you need anything?" the door closed behind him.

"Are you playing good cop?" you asked watching as he dropped his blazer on a chair and sat down right next to you. "You're not giving up, are you?"

"I'll take every last cartridge," he leaned his elbow on the table and dropped his chin into the palm of his hand. "You know, I was just remembering earlier when we all went to that Italian restaurant in Soho on your birthday, and then we were at the concert by.... Oh, what was the name of the band? "

"What are you trying Tony?" you cocked your head to the side with a small smile on your face.

"I'm trying to... how do you say?" he rested his index finger on your lips. "Signing a peace agreement? Trying to get to your sensitive spot, because you have one, right?"

"I don't know, I guess if you have one I might as well, huh?" you arched an eyebrow, intertwining your fingers on the table, causing him to make a gesture of placing his hands on yours, but he never got to touch them by restraining himself, so you ignored the gesture. "Do you want to sign a peace agreement with me, or do you want me to sign the Sokovia Accords?"

He took a breath and let it out slowly through his nostrils. He was completely frustrated, you knew it, you could feel it, he had rarely been involved in those situations that were out of his control.

"Listen," he paused slightly, bringing his fingers to his chin. "I think it's time that I..." he tore his gaze away from yours, let it wander, searching for his words as he gestured with his right hand. "I've tried many times, to do this but.... God, this really is the worst time to do it." He looked around nervously and then crossed his arms, but quickly pulled them apart. "Whatever. We're... well, I... it's likely that I, maybe, can feel..."

You would remember that moment all your life, especially since you wouldn't know until many years later what he meant to say to you. At that moment the lights went out, the monitors stopped working and everything was dark around you, only red flickering lights would have made their way into your darkness. Your head swivelled around you in search of whatever it was that was going on, Tony got up from his seat and placed his glasses over his eyes.

"Friday, give me the source of the blackout," he said to himself.

Finally your eyes focused on Steve and Sam, who were standing next to Sharon in the next room. You listened as Sharon informed them of Bucky's location, and a last glance towards you informed you that they were going to head that way, but just as you were about to leave that meeting room a hand came down hard around your arm.

"Stay with me," the trembling words that came from his lips seemed to shake your insides.

"I can't," you mumbled through your teeth almost with all the pain in your heart.

His fingers loosened, allowing you to leave the room as quickly as possible, but you took one last second to contemplate his face and how many feelings were hidden in it. You knew you only had one chance, everyone present was distracted enough to find the reason for the blackout, you had only a few seconds to get out of the room without being seen, and a couple of minutes before they noticed, so you didn't take long to do it.

A new decision piled up on your list, always facing the consequences you had acquired, and fighting against the feelings your heart presented to you. It wasn't easy, you hadn't given it much thought either, but what you did know was that you didn't regret having done it, at least so far.

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agntofhydra · 4 years

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Sawbones // SIX

(gif credit)

summary: Red String of Fate Soulmate AU

Soul mates have a red thread tied to each others pinkies that only one of them can see.

You’re the Resistance’s head medic. You can see the red thread of fate that leads you to your soulmate. Poe doesn’t believe in the soulmate / thread theory. You don’t agree with his tactics, nor does he approve of yours. Leia and Holdo just really want a win.

pairing: poe dameron x reader

rating: mature for later chapters

read me on ao3!

the masterlist | the playlist

read on till the end for notes!

CONTENT WARNING: this chapter contains drug use and more swearing than usual.

SAWBONES // SIX

CALM DOWN, STARBOY.

You’d surprised yourself, honestly.

Maybe you were cut out for politics - the way you were able to stand in line with Poe and the Generals, keep your face blank and greet the new recruits without a scowl? It was nothing short of impressive. For you and Poe to stand shoulder to shoulder, his hands clasped behind him while yours were clasped in front, and not glance down at the stupid fucking string and notice that it was probably the shortest it’s ever been entitled you to an award. Maybe a nice vacation, off base? For the entirety of this training?

That would be nice.

You half expected Poe to jump into her arms, like people often did when their significant others returned from a flight. He didn’t. In fact, Poe’s expression did not crack from it’s diplomatic mask. Shoulders back, jaw clenched and chin out, Poe scanned the pilots as they left their ships, and you couldn’t help but watch him from the corner of your eye. Poe now diametrically opposed who he had been in your office, his stupid smile now a faint memory.

Diplomatic, political Poe was one you hadn’t met nor seen in person.

Diplomatic, political Poe was hot.

Poe’s posture elongated his spine, jutted his chest out and brought forth his collar bones. Your eyes once again traced his gold chain.

Maybe you didn’t deserve all the praise you’d previously granted yourself as you openly ogled the man next to you. But Poe was your soulmate. It granted you an ogle pass, whether or not both parties were aware.

The pilots had lined up, helmets off and tucked under their arms. They were the perfect image, the very epitome of what people would want to see on Resistance banners. You’d purposely not remembered their names in spite. You were the Head Medic of the Resistance - they should have to introduce themselves to you.

Leia greeted them, her words sounded garbled as your eyes met the infamous Scoria Tane. She stood tall, her long white hair in a loose french braid. Her chestnut skin seemingly unmarred with such trivial marks like pores. You felt the breath leave your chest as her eyes flitted over to meet Poe’s. No matter how brief, you still caught it. You couldn’t feel any change in Poe’s demeanor, but you didn’t want to chance glancing over to see if there was a smile on his face. No need to put salt in an already festering wound.

“This is our head medic,” Leia introduced you. Your head turned to hers before returning back to the recruits with a small nod. You were really mucking up your air of superiority.

Besides Scoria, there was only one other human. And he was staring at you.

“It’s an honor to be here, Generals,” the man spoke up, his eyes momentarily leaving your figure to address Holo, Ackbar and Leia. “It seems like a large base. I don’t know about my fellow pilots, but I would love a tour.” His eyes were back on you.

“I’m sure Commander Dameron would be more than willing to accommodate you, Commander Ancin,” Holo nodded.

Ancin smiled slightly. “Doctor, would you have the time?”

You had been trying very hard not to meet his gaze, but his lack of subtlety forced your hand. However, Poe had beaten you to a response.

“She’s very busy,” he cleared his throat. “Still has to conduct your physicals and stress tests. I am more than willing to give you a tour,” his tone was clipped.

Ancin didn’t even spare Poe a glance, and you saw Poe clench his hands from behind his back out of your peripheral vision. You desperately wanted to pause time, to knock your shoulders or nudge him with your elbow. But you couldn’t, not with the audience in front of you.

“It’s fine, Commander Dameron. I’m sure I could spare some time,” you responded, feeling like your skin was on fire. No doubt the white of your coat further contrasted the fact that your face was also on fire.

“Great,” Ancin switched his helmet to the other arm. “Can we begin now?” He turned to Leia quickly. “My apologies, unless there was more to be discussed?”

Leia gave him a tight smile. “The specifics can be gone over later.”

Ancin nodded before breaking formation with his fellow pilots and grabbing your arm. “Shall we, Doc?”

If you would’ve had the time to turn your head as Ancin grabbed you, you would’ve seen the way Poe clenched his jaw impossibly tight and watched as the Coruscant’s pilot Commander dragged you away. If you would’ve perhaps taken the time to drag your eyes away from Poe’s chest and face earlier, you would’ve noticed that since the beginning of this whole situation, Poe had been slowly dragging the pointer finger of his right hand over the base of his left pinky.

If you did, maybe you wouldn’t have agreed to showing someone around a base you barely knew yourself.

“I’m going to apologize in advance,” you began, subtly removing your arm from his grip. “I don’t really know the base that well either. I know hangars, cafeteria and meeting room. But only in relation to the medbay.”

“That’s okay,” he smiled down at you. “We can figure it out together.”

You hadn’t forced yourself to memorize the names of the pilots, but hearing Ancin jogged your memory from when you had skimmed their files. You were pretty sure his first name was Cane, and if the galaxy could pick one person to represent them, it would probably be him.

Cane Ancin was objectively gorgeous. He was tall, several inches taller than you and most likely Poe, too. His cheekbones and jawline were sharp, and you remembered bitterly that he must be ridiculously fit, because he had one of the lowest resting heart rates you’d ever seen. He was broad, and his curls rivaled Poe’s. You outwardly winced at the comparison.

“Something wrong?” he asked, putting a hand on your shoulder. You tried not to shrug it off.

“Nothing. Just uh, remembering all the stuff I have to do back in the medbay.”

Cane wasn’t bothered. “Let’s start moving then, yeah?”

The two of you had continued walking for a couple of paces, Cane watching you out of the corner of his eye, not even bothering to take account of where the two of you were.

Fleetingly, you wondered if the base would be able to accommodate both Cane and Poe’s ego.

“Why did you want me to give you a tour?” you asked, his silent watching pushing you to the brink.

Cane shrugged. “Is it a crime to ask a beautiful woman to show me around?”

You blinked at him.

“Tell me,” his voice viscous like honey. He increased his stride so he could stand in front of you, abruptly stopping your movement. Throwing civility to the wind, you openly scowled.

“Can you see your thread?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. Could you have a conversation about literally anything else or was the soulmate tether your whole life now? You couldn’t work, sleep, or even eat without thinking about it. You’d never piloted one before, but you were sure that you could figure out how to steer an x-wing into oblivion. Sure, you had two of the best pilots in the galaxy on base that would catch your ass in no time, but it was nice to pretend that they couldn’t.

Cane looked you up and down slowly. You weren’t exactly sure what he was looking at. Your boots, black leggings and white coat buttoned up to your throat didn’t really emanate sexy, but this guy was weird. It probably did seem sexy to him. Your scowl deepened.

“I can see mine,” he drawled. Now would’ve been a great moment for one of your infamous ‘i’m gonna be sick’ moments. “And let me tell you, I like where it leads.”

You snorted. “Calm down, starboy. I can see mine, too.”

Cane deflated.

“Does that actually work? Do you get people with that?” you questioned, tapping on your chin. “Even on a few shots of fire-water I still don’t think I would’ve fell for it.”

Cane didn’t stay off-guard for long - after you were done speaking, he let out a laugh and held his hands up as if to say, ‘well, I tried.’

“It does sometimes,” he said. “The addition of fire-water does seem to increase the chances, though I figured I would try it with you regardless.”

“You pilots are always so risky,” the two of you fell into step again. The tension seemed to have dissipated instantly. “Always shoot first, ask questions later.”

“You speak from experience,” Cane raised an eyebrow.

“Do you know how many pilots end up in my medbay because of that mentality?” You shook your head. “Craziest beings in the galaxy, I swear.”

“Dameron is the worst of us,” he responded, and you didn’t miss the way his expression steeled. You stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Commander of the Resistance? You really trust that guy?”

You narrowed your eyes, the words your brain wanted to speak in defense of Poe stilled at the tip of your tongue. You didn’t expect someone to join the ‘I hate Poe Dameron’ club, but as soon as it crossed your mind, you realized you weren’t even part of that club. You were in the ‘I hate loving Poe Dameron’ club. President of the ‘My soulmate is a douche but it’s totally my fault’ club.

You could go on.

“What’s your issue with Poe?” you asked.

“Typical he hasn’t mentioned me,” Cane scratched his bare jaw. It made you realize you preferred stubble. “He’s just...not the guy you all think he is.”

“Don’t be vague,” you said, annoyed.

“The guy just...he’s not this straight-laced, hero of the Resistance. Hell, I haven’t even been here a day and I can tell the whole base fucking worships him, and for what?”

“For being a good pilot?” you answered what was most likely a rhetorical question. “For risking his life every time he gets in that ship, getting us First Order intel and directly playing a role in saving the galaxy?” You were getting angrier by the second. Whatever past he had with Poe, you didn’t care about it.

“Might I remind you it’s the same galaxy that you and I both live in? We all have shit we’ve done in the past. How we move on from it defines us.” You stopped yourself before saying something you would regret, revealing too much to a man you didn’t know. And honestly? You didn’t care to.

You continued when Cane stayed silent.

“You don’t have skeletons in the closet? If you know Poe’s, I’m sure he knows yours.”

You turned to him, conveniently stopped outside of the double doors to your medbay. The harsh fluorescents illuminated Cane’s face, exposing the conflict and discord written all over his features. Whatever thoughts were floating in his head made you feel uneasy, as though you were teetering on a tightrope. Cane didn’t meet your gaze, instead he chose to finally notice his surroundings.

He inhaled deeply and exhaled for longer. You waited patiently.

“I’ll see you around for my tests, Doc.” Cane continued to walk down the hallway, and you fought the urge to point out that it was the opposite direction he needed to go. ...right?

You couldn’t dwell on your mediocre sense of direction before you heard the whoosh of air form the double doors opening and FX-7’s bulky metal frame towering over you. Droid or not, you could feel the disapproval from the lit, annular holes in its head as they bored into your back.

“You have plenty to do,” was all the droid said before it retreated back into the medbay.

✗ ✗ ✗

Yes, you had plenty to do. So much so that it took you up until early morning to finish. It was so early, (or late?) that you had recoiled when you’d checked the time.

But, as you were heading back to your quarters to catch up on sleep because you were in no rush to start taking vitals on the new recruits, your arm was caught on fire.

Not literally, but it felt literal. Like every nerve ending was ripped from your skin, abraded and exposed. And it all originated from one point on your hand. You fought the buckle of your knees, desperately applying pressure to your pinky finger after loudly yelling a string of expletives. As you took another step in the direction of your quarters, the pain impossibly intensified. Somehow, your brain was able to act logically as you quickly retraced your last few steps.

As you moved backwards, the pain slowly dissipated into a deep throb, coming from both your hand and somehow your chest? You inspected your arm, turning over at least seven times. Your medical training had never taught you, or even touched on anything related to...whatever just happened. As you retreated back to the medbay, the pain intensified again.

“What the fuck,” you gritted through your teeth. Stepping back from the double doors, you continued forward. And for the next few minutes, you continued like that. Walking and retracing your steps, following the path that didn’t beset your body in so much agony your vision went white.

In your course around the base, you were at a junction you’d never been to previously. To your left, the hallway led out to the runway and to your right, a dead end. However, a few experimental steps in either direction revealed that your phantom arm pain was directing you straight forward.

Honestly, fuck the galaxy, you sized up the door in front of you. Whatever forces were at work right now, pulling your sensory nerves like strings on a marionette could fuck off. Sending you to weird parts of the base that you’d never been to (it could’ve been a common area actually, you never really explored) and sending you to a blank, durasteel door? Another healthy dose of fire shot up your spinal cord.

“The thread is sentient,” you tried to catch your breath. “All of the past soulmates in the galaxy have joined together to kill me.”

Rationally, there was no way you were correct but you were running on empty and had been updating the files on the pilots until you thought your retinas would burn out. Maybe this was a dream? You could definitely be dreaming.

Shaking out your right arm, you bounced back and forth on either foot. You were going to go through this mystery door. Enter the mystery door that didn’t make your arm feel like the thread was pulling tight between your arm and torso as if to amputate it. Yes.

Before your mind could bitch out, your muscles pushed your legs forward by reflex - acting before the brain could process. Your hand pulling down on the handle, a component most doors on the base didn’t have.

Blue.

Your entire field of vision was met with a murky swirl of blue. The room was of decent size, maybe slightly smaller than your office. From what you could see, it looked like a storage room. The walls were lined with shelves that contained extra orange jumpsuits, helmets, blankets and clothes of all sorts. In your pursuit of orienting yourself, you disregarded the figure sitting on the ground against the wall opposite you.

With one leg forward and the other bent at the knee, the source of the smoke dangled loosely between the fingers of Poe Dameron.

But you didn’t realize that yet, because it was dark and hazy and you were confused and what was that smell? The acrid fumes were coupled with an odor that was almost...sweet? No. Tart felt like the better word. Sharp and sour and sitting on your tastebuds.

As Poe dragged on the stick in his hand, the embers that burned at the end burned brighter and attracted your eyes. Then, you noticed him.

“Dameron?” you squinted through the smoke, trying to swat it out of your vision. “Are you seriously smoking spice right now?”

In your confusion and disbelief, you didn’t notice how the throbbing from the remnants of pain in your arm had become an amalgamation of both the lingering pain and a new, warmer sensation. Pleasure.

“I’m surprised you know what this is,” he blew out a long stream.

You tried not to scoff. “I was a teenager once, too.”

He was silent for a moment before lazily motioning with the hand that held the joint to the spot next to him. With a concerning lack of reluctance you’d think on later, you sat down next to him.

“My entire left arm has been killing me all day,” he took another hit. You frowned as he blew the smoke out at you.

“So weird that there isn’t someone on base that could do something about that,” you replied casually, but your mind was spinning. His arm was hurting too? What the hell was going on?

He shook his head, ignoring your response and offered you the joint instead. Surprising both him and yourself, you took it, rotating it in your hand.

“Take a hit,” Poe urged. “You can turn off your doctor-mode for one seco - are you really inspecting it right now?”

You looked at him, confused. “Um, yes? Why are you inhaling this when you don’t even know what it’s made of?”

Poe blinked at you, albeit much slower than usual. “To get high.”

You tapped the ashes into the palm of your hand, then handed the spice back to him. His hand slowly, meticulously took it from your grip and brought it back to his lips. Rubbing the ashes with your pointer finger in your palm, you brought the fine, cerulean powder to your eyes, studying it before lightly placing your finger on your tongue. Poe’s eyes tracked every movement.

“It’s similar to Ryll,” you noted. “An ore from Ryloth. It’s usually used medicinally, but it can be refined into some good fucking spice.”

“You’ve smoked spice?”

You took the object in question from his grip, putting it between your lips and taking a deep inhale. Holding it, you smirked at him. You laughed while exhaling, your lungs somewhat relishing in the sweet burn you hadn’t felt in years.

“Medical school was hard.”

“That’s…” Poe’s eyebrows twisted as he tried to find the words, “so...normal? Of you?”

“Thanks?”

Poe leaned his head back against the wall. “You’re always the head medic, the doctor of the Resistance. You make it really hard to get to know you outside of that. Is there someone beneath the white coat?”

You took another hit to avoid answering and Poe had no issue in continuing.

“I had to ask that engineer you always hang out with,” he paused, thinking hard to remember Jasti’s name before giving up and continuing, “what your actual name was. The people I asked before didn’t know.”

“Everyone calls me Doc. I don’t mind it.”

“I do,” Poe snapped, uncharacteristically hostile. “Stars, I’ve made such an effort for you.”

“An effort?” you echoed.

“To get to know you, to spend time with you. Maker, I even thought for a second - “ Nope. Poe wasn’t high enough to let that statement loose.

But you were just high enough not to notice.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, the usual weight on your chest now heavier. “I don’t know how to act when people want to get to know me. I haven’t for a long time.”

Poe placed the joint on the ground, letting it burn out. The two of you sat in silence, slowly inhaling and exhaling the chemicals that swirled in the air. You could feel yourself becoming heavier and weightless at the same time. Your physical sense felt light, but the burden of everything else came down heavy.

“I hate having him here,” Poe began. “Ancin.”

“Did you know him previously?”

Poe swallowed thickly, and you watched his adam’s apple bob up and down. The thought crossed your mind again - the sensitivity of his carotid. It would be so easy for you to find out right now, to just lean over and place a finger, or even your lips on it. That part of your brain that kept you rational and reasonable must've been short circuited by the spice because it wasn’t telling you not to find out, not reminding you of any and all consequences. For once, your brain felt quiet.

Leaning his head back up towards you, he caught your staring but you couldn’t be bothered to look away. Maybe he was sensitive elsewhere, too. You had dated a guy from Corellia who went absolutely feral when your lips met his sternum. You wanted to find out if Poe was the same way. You wanted to place your lips on every inch of his body, test each section of skin for a quick intake of breath, a twitch, goosebumps. To feel his fingers, calloused from years of flight maneuvers and switches, testing you for sensitivity.

In your reverie, Poe had begun to inch closer at imperceptible increments. His left hand resting flat on the ground - next to your right. His left pinky laid over your right as he leaned in, tucking some hair behind your ear to justify his proximity. His head turned, his lips now ghosting over the strip of space between the bottom of your earlobe to the joint of your jaw.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, and you closed your eyes at the feeling of his lips brushing against you.

“This better not be a dream again,” you said under your breath.

Chuckling, Poe pressed his lips to your temporomandibular joint as you tilted your head, giving him full access. “Again?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Your filter was gone - your brain now occupied with the double assault of the spice and having Poe Dameron press kisses onto your skin.

“We don’t have to talk,” he said, unbuttoning the top two buttons of your white coat to give him more access to your neck. He sucked lightly at your own pulse point, and you sucked in a breath.

“Sensitive?” Stars. The irony.

“Are you?” you bit back as you brought your hand to rest on his bicep.

“Want to find out?” he pulled back to meet your eyes. In spite of your slow movements and cloudy train of thought, you had never felt so clear, so confident in an answer.

You licked your lips, moistening them as your hand slid up from its place on his bicep to the side of Poe’s face, stroking your thumb lightly. Poe sighed, leaning into your ministration and tangling his pinky finger with yours. You could feel the blood buzzing underneath your skin, your sympathetic nervous system sending adrenaline and epinephrine by the gallon to account for how fast your heart was racing.

You copied his earlier movements, pressing your lips to various points along his jaw, his neck. Testing what he liked the most. When you got to your target, you boldly licked the spot up to his jaw. Poe’s hand tangled in your hair, breath shuddering.

“That’s a yes for you, too,” you whispered with the last remnants of air in your lungs.

Finally, your brain rejoiced through the fog.

You continued kissing, nipping at spots here and there. At the notch between his collarbones, Poe groaned.

“Scoria.”

You stopped.

Pulling away, you mustered the courage to meet his eyes. The smoke of the room now felt suffocating, not intoxicating. You felt like you were being smothered, and you were now noticing the lack of fresh air in your lungs.

Poe’s eyes met yours, too before widening.

Your hand left his face, your pinky leaving his. The dull ache in your arm had returned. You swallowed thickly, nodding.

“Fuck. I’m - “ Poe couldn’t straighten out his thoughts, let alone form a sentence. Very clearly in his mind, he had known it was you kissing, sucking on his neck. Her name had just..slipped out.

“No,” you cut him off before he could formulate some half-assed excuse you didn’t want to hear. “I’m sorry. I should’ve have - I forgot about - “ You couldn’t find the words either.

Standing, you looked down at him briefly, noting how the red thread of fucking fate bisected his torso, standing out starkly against the blue of the smoke and his button up.

“Thanks for the spice,” you forced, before leaving the room.

Walking down the hallway, continuing your initial course of returning to your quarters, you felt extremely sober. What else could sober you up faster than the guy whose neck you're kissing moaning out the name of another woman?

Looking down, you quickly redid the buttons Poe had undone.

I’m sorry? Your mind replayed the moment. Sorry for what? Poe is yours.

You stopped in your tracks.

Poe was yours. Why the fuck were you embarrassed that you were indirectly kissing your soulmate? Apologizing because he was currently in the middle of wasting his time with another woman? Sure, it was girl code not to do what you had previously been doing, but soulmates were excluded from girl code. Whether or not it was indirectly (...or directly) your fault that he was with her wasn’t important.

So, yeah. Fuck being sorry, fuck being embarrassed. You were done tiptoeing around the subject. Operation ‘Poe is my soulmate and I’m finally going to do something about it’ was a go. You couldn’t waste any more time.

The realization that you would explode if you had to spend any more days of your life without Poe’s lips on you was completely unrelated.

-----

are you guys screaming? i'm screaming.

also, poe looks high af in the gif above so...i felt that it fit well.

but what a wild rollercoaster this has been & will continue to be. I hope y'all are excited for the ride, because I am. Can't thank you guys enough for the love & support. don't be scared, share the angst with your friends!! xoxox

also!!! official sawbones playlist because i am a slut for playlists. i’ll be adding and removing, so lmk how you feel about it :)

TAGLIST (message me to be added!)

@yayrainday @samhollandssweaters @softly-sad @rebelgeneraldameron @btillys @daydreamerinadazedworld @teaofpeach @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall @fandom-addict-aesthetics @peterwandaparker @bookaholicinwonderland @roserrys @clydesducktape @heythere-mel @justrunamok @corrupt-fvcker @lets-do-get-help @agents-assemble @idocarealot @phoenixhalliwell @afootnoteinyourhappiness @gottalovethefandom @bbuckysbeardd @stanningtoomanypeopleatonce @missreyskywalker @katrynec @lizajane3 @shootingstarzmagick

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fic #poe dameron #slow burn #soulmate au #red thread soulmates #red thread of fate #star wars #star wars sequel trilogy #pre-TFA #romance #enemies to lovers #ish #fem!reader #medic!reader #mine #coworkers to lovers

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ev-pierce-writes · 3 years

Text

The Heir

The Heir Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8.3K

Warnings: Fluff, smut, angst, masturbation

Notes: I recognize this isn't actually what season 3 will be like but I just need season 3 to come and its not coming fast enough so I'm taking it into my own hands to write whatever I want. I just want the little green alien baby and his space cowboy dad to have a cute reunion is that too much to ask? Self-insert, with reader as "you" but I avoid Y/N stuff. Narrator's perspective refers to Mando as Djarin, Din's perspective is written as Din. Some back and forth with that. I took some liberty with the characterization as well. The rest is my own!

---

The throne room was silent save for your voice echoing from the high ceiling.

"Tell Mon Tarrow that his trade agreement still stands, as long as he keeps up his end of the bargain," you said to the hologram flickering before you. "We get our shipments, he gets his. That is all."

With a swipe of your hand, the hologram disappeared and you leaned back into your seat. This job was difficult, organizing and controlling the most heavily trafficked trade routes in the galaxy. It was not one you had chosen for yourself. But for generations, your family had been in control of the planet Nhora and its lunar outpost, maintaining its status as a neutral party throughout several civil wars, uprisings, revolutions, and revolts. You had inherited that neutrality. Despite attempts from both the Republic and the Empire, your rule had withstood their attacks, keeping peace with your people and ensuring the wealth of successful trade routes.

Turning to your advisor at your elbow, you began to discuss the redistribution of the year's crops when the large doors across the hall opened. It was uncommon for someone to interrupt your daily briefings, though not disallowed. You had an open-door policy when it came to your people; anything that needed your attention should be brought directly to you. It fostered communication and understanding. But the individual who interrupted you was not one of your subjects and was, to put it simply, completely unexpected.

Your advisor immediately silenced, as dumbstruck as you, and the only sounds came from the creature huffing and puffing his way toward you, mumbling some garbled non-language.

Creature was the best way to put it. He was small and green and wore a sack for clothes. Though you couldn't see his legs, they must have been tiny, for he wobbled very slowly towards you. And his ears, good grief those ears, were so large his head teetered back and forth as he walked. The throne room was already large, but it was made even larger by the tiny figure before you, a child, you realized, as he stumbled closer. You eyed the child suspiciously before giving your advisor a look that said, who is this? She only shrugged.

Perhaps this was one of Skywalker's new playthings, you thought. That strange Jedi was always passing through with some oddity or another to trade for supplies. He knew what you liked, gems and stones from other lands, flowers with unique scents, fabrics spun from the thread of ice spiders (very dangerous to come by). In exchange, he had free access to your palace as he pleased before heading off again to who knows where. But this was new. Skywalker never brought you living things that moved of their own accord.

You stood, gathering the long skirts of your robe and stepping off the dais upon which your throne sat. You weren't particularly fond of children, but the sudden appearance of one purposefully crossing the long marble hall and heading straight for you was intriguing. You met the child halfway, stooping over to get a closer look at him, and noticed a fine layer of hair on his wrinkled head.

As you bent over, the child looked up at you and cooed, a little smile on his face. He was admittedly a bit cute, though incredibly ugly.

"Hello, little thing," you said, addressing the child directly. "Who are you?"

He didn't answer, of course, just gurgled strangely. A tiny three-fingered hand reached toward you as if asking to be picked up. You ignored him and stood up straight instead, turning to a guard and sending him out to look for the enigmatic Jedi who was sure to be close behind.

Apparently, the child didn't like being ignored. You felt a sudden tugging at your collar as if someone had taken hold of your necklace and was trying to yank it from your neck. Looking down, you could see the child was still at your feet, hand in the air, but now his eyes were half-closed. You realized with a mix of horror and curiosity that the little one was pulling at your necklace, though not with his fingers but rather with his mind. Perhaps you could have tried to stop him, withheld the piece of jewelry from him, but you were too dumbfounded to try. Why he wanted the chain around your neck you were unsure, but the child would have it one way or another.

The necklace broke with a snap and flew toward him, which he caught in one green paw. The astonishment hung in the room; most had never seen the force in action like this. But you knew.

The force was with this one. Now, you were certain he had to be with the Jedi.

"Luke Skywalker," you said with accusation in your voice as he finally entered the throne room, following behind your guard. "I am not taking care of this child for you if that's what you're expecting. And I want my necklace back."

Skywalker smiled as he entered and kneeled to address you. It wasn't necessary to bow before you, but the Jedi had always been a bit of a stickler for tradition. You took it as a sign of friendship.

"Don't worry Your Majesty, Grogu and I will be on our way shortly. He just needs a... special diet that I cannot provide for him."

"Grogu?" The little child looked up at you when you said his name. His mouth was wrapped around the metal ball that had hung from your neck moments before. It had been a gift from your mother, a symbol of the planet you ruled over, to be passed on if you had a child of your own. Now it was covered in baby slobber. And yet, your heart softened at the sight of the green child. Relenting to his pleading eyes, you reached down and picked Grogu up, holding him at arm's length as he played with the metal ball.

"Where did you find him?" you asked Skywalker as you led him from the throne room toward the banquet hall, your advisor trailing behind you, just as curious about the creature as you.

"I did not find him," Skywalker replied. "A Mandalorian did."

A Mandalorian? Your heart rate picked up, curiosity piqued at the thought. You had only heard stories about their kind since their fall from the Council of Neutral Systems. And of course what your grandmother had told you of them. They were a conflicted group but you knew one thing for sure, they were not friends of the Jedi.

"I presume you are to train him now."

"To the best of my ability. He is the same species as my master, surprisingly strong despite his size."

In the banquet hall, you sent for a meal, setting Grogu down on the table and sitting before him. He was fascinating, despite his babyish mannerisms and the ball covered in his spit. But what you really wanted to know more about was this Mandalorian. The rumors had not escaped you, spreading swiftly through the trade routes, reports of the Darksaber's resurfacing, of those who tried to claim it. The planet Mandalore itself was relatively uninhabited, having been ravaged by years of war and conflict. Your trade routes were one of the only ones that extended that far to the outer rim as most didn't find it worth the trouble.

But if the Darksaber was truly back, and someone had claimed it, the Mand'alor may make a recovery. That could mean many things for your people, possibly a surge in trade or a new rival that was willing and able to fight for space. Mandalorians were known to be the greatest killers in the galaxy, after all. But you were getting ahead of yourself.

"The one who found Grogu, are they the one who claimed the saber?"

Concern flickered across Skywalker's face. "Yes, I believe his name is Din Djarin."

The baby's ears perked up at the name, glancing back and forth between the two of you. His giant eyes blinked slowly as he eyed your face.

"Is the Mandolorian worthy?" You were of course talking about the inheritance of the Mand'alor throne.

"He delivered the child. And refused the saber, at first. There is hope for those who are given the chance of ultimate power and deny it."

Refused it? So ruling a creed and a planet had not been his choice. Much like you. Perhaps there was a chance for the Mand'alor after all. You watched as Skywalker traded your necklace for an entire laas fish, which Grogu swallowed whole, fins and all. It was a disturbing sight.

---

Din Djarin could be a man of stealth when necessary. After saying goodbye to his son, he had accepted a ride through hyperspace from Boba Fett and Fennec Shand. But they had only been willing to go so far as Wobani, and he would have to make his way alone.

Though Bo-Katan had let Din leave with the Darksaber in tow, he could tell it had been with reluctance, and Din was sure this wasn't the last he'd see of her. Cara Dune had offered to follow him, but Din declined. This was a trip he had to make on his own.

Wobani was not the most welcoming of planets. The abandoned labor camps that had once been full during the reign of the Empire stood crumbling to dust. Some people had taken root here, making do with what was available.

But this was not where he needed to be. Din needed to keep moving, keep his eyes on the future, keep his mind off of the sad look on the little one's face as he'd been whisked away by a Jedi. Din felt empty without Grogu on his hip, hidden in his satchel or tucked away in his crib. Sure, Din missed having his ship, but he missed the child so much more.

The metal ball at his belt weighed heavy. He should have let him keep it.

But there was no turning back now. Din would allow himself one night of rest before moving on. There were no boarding houses on Wobani, though he'd asked around. And it wasn't like anyone wanted to house a Mandalorian. So Din settled for an empty, abandoned building, one that likely had held prisoners at one time or another. Now, there was nothing but a dirt floor and a wall to lean against. But it was better than nothing.

As the sun set, Din shut his eyes, ready for the next day to begin.

He was awoken not by the sun, but a grunting noise to his left. Din opened his eyes and adjusted his helmet to night vision, locating a massive heat signature through his visor. A large animal, crawling on all fours, appeared across the room. It hadn't yet noticed Din, more preoccupied with sniffing the ground with a large, whiskered nose. But even from this vantage point, Din could tell the creature had many giant sharp teeth, perfect for tearing at his flesh.

Maybe if he stayed absolutely still... Nope. That large nose turned in his direction and had him spotted in an instant. The options lay before him, run or fight, and neither seemed good. Shooting a blaster in this confined space was almost guaranteed to cause a ricochet and at the moment, the beast was blocking the exit.

But not the only exit. The beast began to approach, its long slithering tail making disgusting sounds as it dragged across the floor, sinewy muscles rippling beneath hairless skin. It moved slowly, but that didn't mean much. It probably thought it had found its next meal, a man in a suit of beskar. Din stood slowly, trying not to urge the beast to move any faster.

Last night, when choosing a spot to sleep, Din had noticed the small window above him. When you were constantly on the hunt or being hunted, having multiple escape routes was a necessity. And the window had seemed like a good enough option. Now Din hoped his judgment had been right. The beast was getting closer, giving him only moments to make a decision.

To reach the window, Din would have to turn his back on the beast, which he didn't particularly want to do. He would need a distraction.

The beast paused in its approach and then lunged, as Din aimed his vambrace, spraying it with fire. It reeled back, howling in pain, and he knew that was his chance. He jumped, fingers catching on the ledge and hauling himself through the narrow space. Din barely fit, especially with all his bulking armor and the few possessions he managed to carry. The beast he'd left behind was enraged, clawing angrily at the walls and snapping at his heels.

At last, he was able to swing himself from the window to the roof of the building, finding refuge up high. He laid back with exhaustion, listening to the sounds of the beast as it finally gave up on its query and left. Din wanted nothing more than to sleep, to forget the pain in his heart and calm his rapid breathing. Not much scared the serious Mandalorian, and despite the danger he had just narrowly escaped, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Above him, the stars shone dimly through the dusty clouds of Wobani's atmosphere. Somewhere out there was the kid. Din hoped he was happy.

---

Luke Skywalker and the child did not stay long. You were surprised to find that you actually missed the little bugger as you watched them fly away, a large supply of laas fish in tow. Though you were sure you'd see them again; Grogu's appetite was insatiable.

But there were more pressing matters at hand. If the Mand'alor were to resurface and become strong again, you had to be prepared. You wanted to have the upper hand and hoped that the trade relations that were already established with the desolate Mandalore planet would help in gaining their trust.

Though your advisors had recommended you give up on the planet, even demanded it, you had been unwilling to do so. The few who did live there desperately needed Nhora's help and supplies. They had little to offer in return and tended to be more of a burden than an equal partner, but it felt wrong to abandon that outpost. Now you were glad that you'd stuck to your convictions.

It was time to call a meeting of council members. Little was left of the Council of Neutral Systems since the fall of the Empire, but those who remained were essential to the maintenance of free trade. And if the Mand'lor were to return, the council needed to be prepared.

"We don't even know if this Mandalorian wants his planet back," General Tarrow was saying, his hologram flickering slightly across the table from you.

"It's better to be prepared," your advisor, Zena, replied. "Her Majesty has maintained trade relations with the planet despite their small numbers. We can use this to our advantage and get ahead of any potential military action they are willing to take."

"The fact that they could take military action is exactly why we shouldn't pursue relations with the Mand'alor," Tarrow countered.

Zena sighed, exasperated by the back and forth conversation that had been going on for the last twenty minutes. You could tell she was getting frustrated. "They deserve our respect, don't they? Innocent before proven guilty?"

"They've already proven themselves guilty, or didn't you study Nhora's history?"

The General made a good point, but it was always better to approach with peace than antagonism, you had learned. "I have reason to believe the one who claimed the Darksaber is of a different disposition, worthy, even," you said in Zena's defense.

"From who?" asked another council member.

"Luke Skywalker."

"The Jedi? I don't trust him."

"Well I do," you said, putting your foot down. "There's not much to be done at this time anyway. The reports are only rumors, after all. But we need to be open and prepared for the Mand'alor to return."

The meeting adjourned. Though no conclusions had been reached, you felt a shift coming.

---

When Din awoke next, it was the sun was up. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep again. Move. That was all there was to do.

Scrambling down from the roof that had become his bed, Din headed back toward the port he had come in from, hoping to find someone stupid enough who would accept a ridiculously small amount of credits in exchange for passage to the nearby planet Mandalore. He knew the task was impossible before he even asked the first merchant he found.

Time to change tactics.

Across the shipyard was a small transport ship. Din watched from behind some crates as a couple of droids loaded and unloaded cargo. It appeared the ship was manned entirely by droids and was getting ready to take off again soon. It would be a risk, boarding the ship and hijacking it. But smaller craft like this tended not to be very equipped for battle, and Din hoped he could use that to his advantage.

Keeping low to the ground, Din moved swiftly toward the transporter, staying out of sight of the droids. He hid next to the loading ramp, quickly climbing inside as it began to rise, signaling its imminent departure.

The cargo hold was tiny. The hulking Mandalorian couldn't stand up straight without hitting his head on the ceiling. Tight spaces didn't bother him, but he hoped that the rest of the transporter wasn't this small. Otherwise, this was going to be a long trip.

With the hum of the thrusters, the transporter lifted into the air, leaving the airspace of Wobani's shipyard. Din would wait until just before the ship entered hyperdrive to make his move.

The angle of ascent leveled and the flight smoothed, indicating they had made it out of the atmosphere and were heading swiftly toward their destination. The door leading to the cockpit from the cargo hold was thankfully not locked. With a shove, Din had the door open and the first droid in a headlock before it knew what was happening. One blaster shot to the central processing unit and the droid dropped, though not before making enough noise to signal to its copilot of Din's intrusion. And of course, it had a blaster.

The shot rang out, ricocheting around the tiny space, pinging off the walls and Din's beskar armor. Silently he thanked his laser-proofness, even as the shot knocked him off his feet and hurled him against the door of the cargo hold. His head slammed into the metal wall, blurring his vision. He would definitely have a headache after that one.

Stupid droids.

With a groan, Din heaved himself to his feet. Realizing that a blaster wasn't going to work, the droid stood, preparing itself for hand-to-hand combat. If Din hadn't been fighting for his life he may have found the situation funny, fighting in such cramped quarters. But the clouds hadn't quite cleared from his head and he barely noticed the tell-tale sign of the droid winding up for a punch. The droid swung out and struck Din squarely in the temple, sending reverbs through the beskar.

Dank farrik. This was ridiculous. He needed to focus, not be so distracted, but by what exactly? Din steadied himself and aimed his vambrace, blasting the droid with a shot that vaporized its CPU instantly.

Silence.

Shoving the now unmoving droids as best he could into the cargo hold, Din took control of the ship, rerouting the navigation system. Punching in the coordinates of the planet Mandalore, he shifted quickly into hyperdrive. The trip would take less than a day. But it was several hours of peace and for that Din was thankful, even if it meant no distractions from the big brown eyes that blinked at him every time he closed his own. They were so sad and--

Stop. Sleep. Move on. But they called out, even in his dreams.

Mandalore was even more deserted than Wobani. As the transporter eased out of hyperdrive, Din spotted several round constructions, which turned out to be domes as he got closer. Where was he going to land? There didn't appear to be a shipyard or trading post to accept incoming starships. No one connected to the commlink, requesting his flight information.

The planet was silent and gray.

Of course, it couldn't be that easy. As he prepared for descent, the rear detectors picked up on an approaching x-wing. Damn. Apparently taking out a pair of drones and hijacking their ship wasn't a free pass. Someone wanted their cargo back. And this ship was not equipped for that fight.

All Din could do was dodge as the x-wing rained fire. So much for a smooth landing. With a lurch, the left thruster was rendered useless and the transporter began to fall, rather than sail, toward the gray planet. Hopefully, Din could guide the transporter into a graceful crash and not kill himself on the way down. Seemingly recognizing that the ship was a lost cause and on its way to a crash landing, the x-wing swooped away, at least giving Din one less thing to worry about.

The ship lurched through the atmosphere, speeding too fast toward the ground and threatening to burn up as it went. The temperature inside the cockpit began to rise and Din felt lightheaded, likely due to the sudden force of gravity. He jerked up on the joystick, praying for a miracle.

With a defining blast, the transporter made contact with the ground. Din managed to remain conscious as the ship hit the sand, but only long enough to bring it to a slamming and skidding stop. And then everything went black.

It was hot. Too hot. And his mouth was impossibly dry. Din was barely aware of a pair of arms hooked under his armpits, dragging him away from the wreckage of the transporter, saving his life.

---

A year passed. Grogu and Skywalker visited again several times, though shorter than before. Little changed in the child's size, but he was stronger than before. You didn't even wait for him to steal your necklace, just handed him the small metal ball like a pushover as Skywalker restocked his ship.

And though you asked, pushed even, for details on the Mandalorian, Skywalker had little to say. The warrior seemed to have disappeared into hyperspace.

This lack of news was the exact reason why you were so shocked to find, not many days later, a suit of beskar armor standing in your throne room.

Zena had been explaining the benefits and disadvantages of increasing farming output as you walked to the throne room, but the pair of you stopped short at the door. A tall, gleaming figure stood in the hall, looking out a window, seemingly unaware of your presence. At the sight of him, the guards who had been flanking you drew their weapons, training their blasters to his back and stepping in front of you. It took you a moment to recognize the distinct shape of the helmet and the signet on his shoulder plate but this was unmistakably a Mandalorian, the Mandalorian, who had unwittingly laid claim to the Mand'alor throne. You held up your hand, willing your guards to stand down and let you pass.

"I'll admit, I am surprised to be in your presence, Mandalorian," you said. "Though not surprised that you made it in unseen. You'll have to teach me that one."

The man, Din Djarin you remembered his name to be, turned to face you, his helmet disguising whatever thoughts may have been written on his face. Of course, Din had known you were there, knew when you would arrive, knew exactly how many blasters were trained on him. But when he turned, the serious, threatening woman he expected to find was not there.

When Din had landed on Mandalore, it had been only your ships that he'd seen come and go. There was no official port or trading post, the locals explained, but Nhora's supplies came anyway, finding a way in the inhospitable desert environment that the remaining Mandalorians called home.

Reports of Nhora were mixed. Some were grateful for its help. Other's looked upon it with disdain, taking any acceptance of assistance as a sign of weakness. And rumors about the Nhora queen varied widely. Some claimed she didn't exist, was only a fabricated figurehead to maintain peace. Others described her as fierce and domineering, ruling with an iron fist and cultivating the illusion of order through force.

At first glance, Din knew you were none of these things. You were regal, of course, very obviously the one in charge. But your stance was warm and inviting, the soft features of your face drawn up into a smile. If anything, you felt more like an equal, rather than a royal who demanded authoritative respect. It was difficult for Din to smile, especially since the loss of everything he'd called family. But your smile was contagious. If not for his helmet, Din might have given his whole intimidating facade away. He was drawn to you, to your lack of fear, but he wouldn't let it show.

Djarin, though beneath the helmet he smiled against his will, appeared as the complete opposite to you. His demeanor was quiet and daunting, but he stood stiffly before you, as if unsure how you would receive him. He didn't bow or kneel or even address you by your title. And yet, though he could probably kill you and all the guards that surrounded you in the time it took to say his name, you felt no concern in his presence.

The memory of your grandmother's stories lurched into the forefront of your brain, dashing warriors, powerful and dangerous, yet righteous and honorable at heart. It made your heart beat faster. He made your heart beat faster.

"I heard you were looking for me," was all he said, modulated voice surprisingly calm despite the rush of emotions that flooded him. A man of few words, he got straight to the point. But inside he was wondering why you eyed him like that, with curiosity and diffidence, not afraid of him at all.

You nodded silently and took your place on your throne, unsure of what you would say next. How that news had reached him escaped you, as you hadn't been actively searching him out. Yes, you'd been wondering what had happened to him, what he planned to do. But you hadn't expected to meet him, not so soon. "Din Djarin, rightful heir to the Mand'alor throne. I wasn't anticipating this meeting for quite some time."

Though you couldn't see his eyes, the Mandalorian seemed to squint at you suspiciously through his visor. The sound of his name rolled easily from your tongue as if practiced over and over. "How do you know my name?"

"I know of the child you rescued. The one with the force." The Mandolorian took a step forward as if wanting to hear more. You leaned your elbow on the arm of your throne, one finger twisting nervously at the scarf of your headdress, anticipating his response.

"You've seen him?"

"Yes, a few times now. Skywalker prefers Nhora for restocking supplies. And Grogu is particularly fond of stealing things with his mind and swallowing his meals whole." The comment was meant to be a joke. Djarin did not laugh. He was watching your delicate fingers instead. "He is strong. Capable. A Jedi in the making. And you seem very attached. If I didn't know better I would think you were here for news of the little one."

"I didn't come searching for Grogu."

"I know. The Mandolorian don't simply come when called. They come when they need something. I heard what you did to Moff Gideon. How you refused the saber. I would be very surprised if there weren't some dangerous people after you right now."

Din sighed, knowing you had deciphered his intent without needing it explained to you. You were kind, but you were also sharp and perceptive, not wanting to waste time with small talk. Din liked that.

"I've seen your ships land on Mandalore. Nhora is the only one who still trades with the people there. I figured--" You realized he was asking for help but didn't know how to. Zena shot you a knowing look, recognizing that you had been right when you'd called that council meeting over a year ago. "I figured you could be an ally."

An ally. Perfect. This was exactly what you predicted. You wanted to rub your success in those snobby Neutral System faces, but you held your composure. This was your chance to make a connection, establish a rapport that would benefit you both, and protect your planet at the same time. If he needed an ally, you would offer it.

"Tell me what you need."

Djarin stood momentarily in silence, contemplating the consequences of what he was about to ask for. Was it this easy? Were you this willing to help every poor soul that came along? "I need-- I need a ship. And supplies."

"That's it?" It was suspiciously little if you had any inkling of the position Djarin was in. If he had seemingly disappeared for the past year, what struggles had he endured to make it here, to your planet?

"That's all I can afford. I don't have many credits left."

You laughed. You couldn't help it. "Credits? That's what you're worried about? I don't want your credits, Djarin."

Didn't want your credits? No one of sound mind gave anything away for free. You may have been generous, but there was no way you were that stupid. There had to be something else, he knew. "What's the catch?"

"The catch is that you rebuild a creed that was once my people's allies. And you defend us, the way you used to, from the inevitable. The Empire is still out there. It's naive to think they won't set their sights on us. But you-- you can stop them. So tell me what you need, everything you need, and I will help you. Do we have a deal?"

Zena, who had remained silent during the interaction, now leaned down and spoke into your ear. "Are you sure this is smart, Your Majesty? If the Council hears of your actions, they may not be very pleased."

"Zena, the Council has no control over what I do with my personal resources. So, deal or no deal?"

Djarin stepped forward, approaching you where you sat on your throne. Though you were seated above him, Djarin was tall enough to still stand at your eye level. He reached out a gloved hand, asking for yours to shake, you thought. His beskar glittered in the setting sun filtering in through the windows and sent you spiraling into thoughts of what he looked like beneath it all. But instead of shaking your hand, he simply held it and sunk on one knee before you, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles and bowing his head. Had Djarin not been wearing a helmet, you were sure he would have kissed them. "Thank you, Your Majesty," he said softly.

The act was ridiculous. Din knew that. You knew that. But it made your heart flutter even more than before.

"Oh for Maker's sake, this is absurd. Stand up, Djarin," you said, suddenly embarrassed, though you had to admit the sight of a Mandalorian kneeling before you would have made your ancestor's faint on the spot. "Let's find you a ship."

---

You weren't exactly sure what Djarin's rule about his helmet was. Would he take it off? Leave it on? But he needed to eat, so you led him to a private room for dinner, in case that's what he wanted. It would be naive to admit you didn't like the thought of being alone with him. You wanted to know how true your grandmother's stories were.

"I hope it's enough," you said, gesturing at the spread of food before him. "Please let me know if you need anything."

Djarin stood silently for a moment before sitting down heavily into his chair. He seemed exhausted, and though you couldn't tell with all that armor, it wouldn't have surprised you if he was injured somewhere under there.

"Thank you. Your kindness is much appreciated."

"It is per our custom. I'll leave you to eat." You turned to go and leave him in peace, but he stopped you with a gloved hand on your wrist. Though a layer of leather separated your skin from his, Djarin's grip sent a jolt up your arm.

"Why are you being so kind?" It was a genuine question, one you didn't know how to respond to. Tell him the truth? Make something up? But the man before you seemed so earnest that it appeared best to be honest. So you sat, directly across from him, and began your story.

"My grandmother was a fair and just queen," you began, folding your hands in your lap. "Sometimes to a fault. She ruled on her convictions and morals, not tradition or law. In those days, the Mand'alor still controlled much of the outer rim and fought endlessly with the Jedi. Nhora remained neutral, accepting any and all who needed assistance, regardless of creed. A young Jedi took refuge on Nhora, and according to custom, was given full protection. This was something my grandmother believed to her core. Something we still practice today."

"So you're nice because your grandma said you should be?" It wasn't meant as a jab, but suspicion laced Djarin's voice.

You sighed and continued the story. "The young Jedi did not arrive alone. He was followed by a Mandalorian, out for vengeance and retribution. He stormed the palace, the first time in history that our defenses were breached. Fortunately, the Jedi was able to aid our guards in the Mandalorian's detainment. But not before my grandmother fell deeply and madly in love with him."

"In love? With a Mandalorian?" It was hard to tell through the modulation of his voice, but Djarin sounded shocked and more than a little suspicious.

"Perhaps it was all the beskar," you said, trying to make another joke. Djarin still did not laugh though he cracked an invisible smile beneath his helmet. "But yes. Of course, it's only a story, but my grandfather was of Mand'alor, so there must be some truth in it."

"You are a descendant?"

You nodded. You'd never met your grandfather, as fathers didn't matter much to the matriarchal line of rule, but now, here you were, sitting before another Mandalorian, and the cycle continued.

What Djarin did next gave you a shock for the second time that day. With a click and then the hiss of hydraulics, he lifted his helmet from his shoulders, placed it on the table, and began to eat. You barely reined in the expression on your face, narrowly avoiding blanching at the revelation of his face.

Suddenly, it didn't seem so strange that your grandmother had fallen instantly head over heels for your grandfather after all, considering the man you found beneath the helmet.

The Mandalorian that sat before you didn't have the mean, hardened look you expected. His expression was soft, lips smooth and slightly downturned into a natural frown beneath the curve of a prominent nose. He hardly seemed to notice your stares as he dug into his food, his dark eyes staying fixed on his plate.

Djarin's dark hair was tousled and in disarray, likely from being plastered under a helmet for so long. He had a disheveled beard, graying in some places, that made you realize he had probably been traveling for some time without a true place to stay or a real bed to sleep in. It was only then that you noticed the cut on his lip, the gash across his cheek, and the bruise under his eye. What had happened to him? What had he endured to reach Nhora?

Din still wasn't sure what was considered an appropriate or inappropriate time to remove his helmet. But he reasoned that if you were a descendant of Mand'alor, then this was appropriate. And despite his better judgment, he trusted you. Your story had made him think that perhaps your coyness earlier was not a result of his sudden appearance but a mutual attraction the pair of you shared. You were a complete stranger, a queen even, and yet he felt he had known you all along, as if gravity had pulled him toward you. You radiated warmth and acceptance, something he rarely received as a Mandalorian.

Din pretended not to notice your stare, but then you stood abruptly, and he looked up.

"Most people don't recognize me when I take off this whole thing," you said, gesturing to the clothes you wore. Din could tell you were trying to make a comparison to his helmet, all a disguise to maintain a physical and emotional distance from those around you.

You began to pull off your robes, layer after layer of the royal get up you disliked more than you let on. You unwound the intricate scarf from your hair, aware that Djarin was watching the whole time as your hair fell unbound around your shoulders.

It was all ceremonial, he knew, but Din had noticed when he first met you that you didn't seem particularly comfortable in your position. Now you stood in your loose underclothes, arms and shoulders bare, headdress and scarves discarded on the floor, and you relaxed. Your efforts were a mirror to his, showing your vulnerability and gaining his trust. And you did look different, not quite unrecognizable but somehow even smaller and less imposing than before.

You suddenly felt nervous beneath Djarin's gaze and felt it best to keep your hands busy.

Turning toward a cabinet on the wall, you began rummaging through it, looking for the antiseptic. You could feel Djarin's eyes now trained on your back, watching your every move. "I don't have any bacta spray in here, but we should at least clean up that cut."

You pulled your chair closer to his. The proximity was delicious.

"This may sting a bit," you said as you applied a swab to the gash in his cheek, fingers holding his face in place. Din didn't pull away but he did hiss lightly. Your body was so close to his own he could smell the scent of you, light and flowery like your planet.

"So, what else does the Mandalorian need from me?" you asked, trying to distract him from the pain.

Din grunted, though not in discomfort but to regain his focus. "The people-- I'm not sure what they need. I'm a warrior, not a ruler. I didn't ask for this. Mandalore is essentially deserted, those who remain have nothing and I don't know where to begin. The creed is fractured, scattered throughout the galaxy. I don't even think most of them want to be found. Especially not by me."

You placed a gentle hand on his chin to tilt his head closer to yours, giving you access to the cut on this lip. Thin lines creased Djarin's eyes and forehead, marring his golden skin with worry and tension. His eyebrows knitted in constant concern. You wanted to smooth that look from his face but it was more than you thought he'd allow. Instead, you focused on his mouth, not that that helped your erratic pulse and quickening breath either.

The tenderness of the act caught Din off guard. A royal, stooping to his level, rolling up her sleeves to do the dirty work, was surprising. He got the impression that you were a reluctant ruler, though he couldn't tell why. Nhora was obviously a prosperous planet, covered in glittering cities and sprawling trade ports. What he'd seen of the people they seemed happy and healthy. How could you be so successful and yet so averse to the job you performed so well?

"You're a good man, Djarin. I understand your reluctance. I was not meant to be queen either. I didn't want to be queen, and yet the responsibility was thrust upon me. But you are a good father as well, and I've known the best fathers to make the best leaders."

"I'm not a father. Not anymore." The words were spoken with a deep sadness.

"I think the Child would beg to differ. He lights up like a glow frog when he hears your name."

"A glow frog?"

"Native to Nhora. The resemblance is uncanny."

Din chuckled at the image, knowing the kid could probably just swallow one whole. "Has he grown?"

"Perhaps a little, though it's hard to tell." You finished your first aid and leaned away. Djarin's questions made apparent his love for and connection to Grogu. How he'd managed to let him go in the first place was beyond you. You didn't have children and weren't sure if you ever would, yet their bond was enviable. "Somehow I don't think it's a coincidence that we crossed paths, Djarin. You and I and the kid."

Din wasn't sure what that meant. He didn't particularly believe in destiny, nor did he know how to respond, so he turned back to his food. Decades beneath the helmet had given him the luxury of hidden expressions and wordlessness. He didn't know how to act without its protection.

But something else was also forcing his speechlessness. Though your touch had left his skin, the ghost of your fingers remained, leaving him in silence. He was ashamed something so simple could affect him so intensely, and yet he was melting like ice beneath a warm sun.

And while you continued to speak of Grogu, of his obsession with metal balls and being held in the crook of your arm, Din's thoughts swirled not around the child but the soft touch of your fingers on his face. He realized had never been touched like that before, not that gently. And your hands were so smooth, unmarred and flawless from never having worked manual labor or been in a fight. They twisted in your lap, unable to stop moving despite the idle chatter you had fallen into.

You weren't sure why you couldn't stop moving. Was it Djarin's stare, the way he appeared to be listening to you intently though he never responded, or his large presence that filled the room, or just the excitement of meeting the man you had been thinking about for the better part of a year? You realized that you were rambling, filling the silence with your words, your hands wringing in your lap.

All of a sudden, a big hand reached out and covered yours. You silenced instantly. "You're going to twist your fingers off if you keep that up, Your Majesty."

A thrill jolted through your body. Most people addressed you by your title, out of respect. But the way it came from his mouth, in that lilting baritone, sent the world spinning.

"I should leave you, let you sleep," you said finally, needing to get away before your voice betrayed your heart's emotions. "I know you've had a long day. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

Maker, how you hoped he would stay. But Din Djarin would be gone in the morning.

---

The starship you had provided was more than Din could have asked for, large enough to accommodate his size and cargo, small and swift enough to fly fast and steady in whatever direction he required. Inside, his blaster, spear, and a new rifle found their place on the wall. Climbing into the cockpit, Din surveyed the array of buttons and flashing lights.

To the right, the joystick gleamed in the dim light of the shipyard hanger. It was topped with a square knob. A memory floated through Din's mind, the tiny claws of a green hand reaching out to grasp at the knob, the big ears and wide eyes and--

Pulling the metal ball from his pocket, Din unscrewed the square knob and tossed it aside. Miraculously the Razor Crest's hardware fixtures must have been similar enough to this ship's, and the metal ball screwed perfectly into place. He grasped it gently once more, before flicking a few switches and starting up the engine.

Keep moving. Always keep moving.

---

Djarin's touch lingered on your hands even as you fell asleep. You dreamed of him, of his face, tired but handsome, aged by worry and life, yet kind and full of that honor your grandmother claimed every Mandalorian of worth contained.

You dreamed that he stayed, protecting you and your people, the way your grandfather should have done. Perhaps your mother and sister would still be here if he had.

Those nightmares woke you, sweating and sitting straight up in bed in the near darkness. Soft light from Nhora's triplet moons glimmered through the window, bathing your room in a soft glow, easing the pain in your heart, and returning you to the present. You flopped back in bed, rolling onto your stomach to try to get comfortable.

"That kriffing Mandalorian," you sighed into the pillow. He occupied your thoughts as you drifted in and out of sleep, his eyes on yours, the softness of his face under your fingers, the way he'd let you take care of him, his hand steadying yours and bringing you back into your body. It tied a knot in your stomach and you cursed your grandmother for having given you such high expectations of the man. Yet they were expectations met.

And what if he stayed? Would you fall for him? Were you destined to do so, intertwined by some family history that fated you and him together? He must have felt the gravity too, the gravity that pulled you together and bound your lives.

You hadn't seen him without his beskar armor on, but you could only imagine what he might look like underneath it all, shoulders broad, skin smooth, back muscular and strong. Was he taught and wound, always ready for a fight, or soft and supple?

You'd been with men before. Plenty of them, in fact. They tended to fall at your feet, begging for the queen's attention and a chance to sleep in her bed. Nhoran queens never married, simply chose a man to be the one to continue on the line of queens that came before and the line that would come after. But none struck your fancy, none forced their way into your thoughts, none caused you to touch yourself with need when you were without their presence.

None like Djarin. It was a relief to orgasm beneath your hands, his face floating behind your eyelids. You came as the triplet moons set and the sun rose, as somewhere in the distance Djarin's ship was taking off, rumbling powerfully beneath his strong hands. The relief it brought you gave you several more hours of sleep, the best sleep of the past year.

You hadn't realized how starved you were for the Mandalorian until he was in your grasp.

---

The dense quiet of hyperspace allowed for sleep. Or too much thinking.

In this case, Din was doing the overthinking. In the holomessage he'd left you he'd tried to explain where he was going, what he was doing, that he'd be back. He didn't need to justify his actions to you. You'd given him permission to go about his business as he pleased, that you'd always be there for help if he needed it. But he felt he owed you some explanation.

There was so much to do, to plan, to look ahead to. And yet Din's thoughts surrounded only you and what he'd just left behind. Less than a day on Nhora and the planet called out to him, begging for his return. Or perhaps it was just you.

Din closed his eyes, willing sleep to find him, but only visions of you drifted through the darkness, your bare arms, your soft fingers, your face close to his, your scent. It was intoxicating. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to pick up that smell even now, lingering in the ship.

When he'd reached out to touch your hands, it had taken all his willpower to leave them there and not drag his fingers up your arm. It wasn't right, this sudden desire to touch you all over. You were just being kind. It was silly to think any further into it. And yet, the knot in his stomach and tightness in his pants said otherwise.

Din's eyes flew open, trying to rid you from his thoughts. Think about anything else, Maker be damned, anything but wanting to hold you, kiss you, drink in that scent forever and ever.

With a frustrated grunt, he stood and moved to the fresher, splashing cold water onto his face to relieve the tension in his chest. It didn't work.

"I don't even know your name," Din groaned into the silence of the ship, hands balled into fists and rubbing his eyes. It was useless. There was only one thing to do. With fumbling fingers, he undid his belt, freeing his swollen cock from the confines of his pants. What would you think if you knew he was touching himself like this? But that only turned him on more, urging him forward to grasp his length with a rough hand. It only took a few pumps to finish, the fingers of his other hand gripping the edge of the sink as he grunted into the echoing silence of the fresher, amplifying the needy sounds.

He'd never let a woman drive him crazy. And yet you were going to do just that, already lightyears away.

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painted-crow · 3 years

Note

How can you tell the difference between Lions who just have a lot of Badger ideals and Badger primaries? I'm considering Lion as an option but the idea of being an Idealist is discomforting. People are important. I dont think its possible to be human and not have all your morality center around people. That's what morality is for. To interact with people in an ethical way.

How does being an Idealist work? The point of having morality is to interact ethically with other people. Everytime I take the shc quiz the top houses I get are Slytherin and Gryffindor. But then again primaries are aspirational which confuses me even more because I have no clue what primary I would want my best self to look like. I have vague ideas but Idk if those are actually me or just a result of what I was raised to value.

How does being an Idealist work if primaries are about your morality? The reason we have morals is to interact ethically with people. I don't remember if I already asked this, sorry if I've asked twice. Also I dont mean to offend anyone, I'm honestly curious. I think I may be an Idealist, but if I am, almost all my ideals are people centered.

This is a really complicated question, anon, and I'm not exactly prepared to answer it, which is why I dogged it long enough for you to send three separate asks about it. (Avoid that if you can, folks.) It's difficult to distill and articulate my thoughts on the topic.

The best I can do is offer this hypothetical... If you could pull a lever that would, over the next ten years, turn the world into a better place according to your personal Platonic ideal of what that looks like (e.g. no war, no poverty, no awful Hollywood sequel reboots), but it hurts people now, would you do it? How far would you be willing to go?

This is a vague question on purpose. I haven't specified which/how many people it hurts, or how badly, or what the limits might be on how good you can make the future. The important question is how you would decide whether it's worth it, and whether you'd consider it at all. Does the end justify the means? How do you figure that out?

I think Loyalists would be more likely to say a very firm "hell no" and walk away, far more quickly than an Idealist, who'd be more likely to sit down and think about it--after all, the future is a big place, and those good effects might last much longer than the temporary harm caused by the lever. The Loyalist, meanwhile, will (usually) care way more about the people in front of them than whatever shiny ideal of redesigning society they might be tempted with.

Vague as this is, though, it's still too specific to apply consistently. You'll get Idealists with "do no harm" principles who'll walk away immediately. You'll get Loyalists who would deeply consider taking the deal if the scale tips far enough in the favor of helping versus hurting.

By the way, this sounds totally contrived, but it isn't--it's a real dilemma that shows up in a million different guises, from "should we go to war over this?" to "should we enact this tax policy, even if it might be broad enough to destabilize some smaller businesses?" to "should we ban fidget spinners in schools?"

(Stay civil in your discussions, please, folks.)

So, it's complicated. This might seem like kind of a non-answer, but it's the best I have, and hopefully someone smarter than me will come up with something profound in the reblogs, as you all often do.

But, y'know. No pressure or anything. :p

#sortinghatchats #idealist vs loyalist #asks #paint speaks #q

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twilitty · 3 years

Text

Waiting pt.3

Waiting

@twilitty

part 3/?

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

read this first! Edward explores what is causing his wife to act so detached.

Edward was paralyzed with fear. It was a similar feeling to when he watched himself nearly drain Bella of her blood after James had bitten her. The feeling when Jasper nearly attacked and killed her. It was the feeling of a broken man who has now broken another person. He was a porcelain doll with cracks along his figure, and the beautiful, fragile doll next to him gets knocked over by some force that he’s caused.

Bella has been acting differently, more than should be expected after beginning her new life. She’s been unusually distant, taking her vehicle to Port Angeles and not telling him why. She chooses to hunt on her own in the mornings, but Edward knows that she is not only hunting. He can smell her trail when he goes out later in the afternoon, she takes a long route and ends up by the stream bed. No blood along the trail at any point, no scent of an animal she’s killed.

When Nessie is asleep she hands her off to Edward or Rose. When Nessie wakes up she’ll play momentarily before claiming to have forgotten to do something. It’s as if she shows no interest in her daughter, and why? She had chosen to have this child, chosen the child's life over her own. And now she seems disinterested in every aspect of her life.

This burning, paralyzing fear is what pulled Edward out of his home that evening. Entrusting his daughter to her more than willing aunt and uncle, he went to the treaty line.

Standing at the edge now his thoughts run circles around his feelings, taunting him and scaring him. Telling him he’s an awful father and husband, that he made a mistake when he chose to pursue a future with Bella. But what about my daughter? Regardless of his feelings towards his wife, he has to agree that his daughter was the best possible outcome.

All he had wanted was a future with his love, a future where him and Bella could live in peace. And they were given a beautiful daughter, warm brown eyes and red unruly hair. If he had to choose to go back in time and remain away, could he? I can’t imagine a life without her, he thinks mourningly. His daughter is his whole life, he spends every moment he can with her, he enjoys nothing more than being a part of her life.

When she smiles at something he’s done it’s as though his heart will simply burst. He cannot abandon his daughter, there is no reality where he can imagine ever doing so. His wife may be unhappy now, she may be secretive and reclusive, but that is a worthy price for bringing him his beautiful daughter.

“What do you want, old man?” It’s Jacob Black, standing on the other side of the treaty line. He’s in what likely used to be jeans but are now sliced along the thighs unevenly creating an unflattering pair of shorts. His chest is bare, as it always seems to be, and his hair is braided in two strips that fall over his shoulders. He had gotten Edwards' text.

After the birth of Nessie, Bella had appointed Jacob as the godfather, which very few found endearing. This sentiment had brought Jacob closer to the Cullens, often he would be found running perimeter around the family home or bringing new toys and clothing to the little girl. He wears a necklace around his neck that she had assisted in making for him.

It��s a pink shoelace with orange, yellow, and red beads laced through it. It was part of an arts and crafts project Jacob had brought over. He wears it constantly. It’s long and hangs down over his stomach so that when he shifts he can still wear it as a wolf.

Now, Jacob plays with it absently as Edward regards him with pressed lips. “Alright, bloodsucker, let’s spit out your words,” Jacob thinks with little sympathy. It’s a major blow to the vampire's pride to even broach the topic with this man, and knowing that the entire pack will soon hear about it does little to ease his conflicting emotions.

“I would like to discuss Bella with you,” Edward says formally. Jacobs eyes trail over him lazily, as if looking to pick out his flaws and toss them back in his face. “She better not be pregnant again.” Edward chooses not to respond to this. Of course she isn’t, it isn’t possible.

Finally Jacob responds out loud, “You already married her, what more do you want?” A smirk spreads over his lips, “If you’re looking for a second wife I’ll happily offer up Leah.”

“I don’t want anything-”

“Right, right, you’re so selfless and holy and better-than-thou,” Jacob snorts which only adds to Edwards mounting anger. “Let’s get this over with, colonizer.” Edwards eyes roll back in his head, arms crossing over his chest.

“Please, try and take what I am telling you seriously,” he says a little too forcefully. He doesn’t want to argue with Jacob right now, he’s trying to have a civil discussion and instead Jacob is taunting him. Can this boy not take anything seriously?

“Fine.”

Edward gives him a curt nod, “Thank you.” With an awkward glance around the forest, Edward begins his speech. “I was not present when Bella was going through her troubling… phase,” he says the last word gingerly as if not wanting to awaken it from it’s sleep.

“Depression,” Jacob corrects mentally. Edward cringes at the word but continues as if nothing was thought.

“But I have seen its worst parts through the minds of others. I am worried she may not be as happy as she once was. I’m concerned.” The statement doesn’t phase Jacob physically or mentally, instead his thoughts remain strangely silent and he merely shifts his weight to the other foot. “I’m not sure what to do, she is away today and I thought about following her-”

“Are you an idiot? Did you spend the last three hundred years working towards your doctorate in the school of dumbasses?” Jacobs' tone is cruel, his facts incorrect, and his demeanor more than a little concerning. He’s on the defence, as if something Edwards said has offended him. “Sometimes I wish kicking your ass wouldn’t force your daughter into therapy.”

If anything his poor daughter will need therapy from the infinite amount of insults her godfather trades with her father.

“So I’m going to assume you don’t think following her to an unknown location is not a good idea?” It’s a rhetorical question and the century old vampire quickly continues on, “Need I remind you that the second she thought her mother was in trouble she offered herself up on a silver platter?”

What was supposed to be a civil conversation has instead turned into a nasty argument, and Edward isn’t sure what caused the change. “Need I remind you that if there weren’t any vampires that wouldn’t be a problem?” Jacob’s words hit too close to home and he notices this when Edward winces at the statement. “What? You feel guilty now?”

“Yes, yes, I feel guilty because she very clearly is not happy!” Now Edward is yelling, matching Jacobs energy and escalating the situation even more than need be. “Do you not think I wish I could intervene? I have been trying to discuss this with her, bring up speaking to psychologist-”

“She doesn’t need a psychologist, she needs a friend.” Edward wasn’t meant to hear the thought and quickly Jacobs' mind focuses on the necklace between his fingers, trying to avoid that line of thought. “This wood is so smooth…”

“She has Rose,” Edward sputters uselessly, pale hands coming up as if to grasp his wife’s mentally well-being out of the air. “She has Alice, she has Esme. Her and Emmett get along quite well-”

“And she has me,” Jacob says aloud. His tone is quiet, stating a fact and nothing more. He isn’t looking to antagonize Edward and is no longer defensive. “And I’m the only one her age. The only one who isn’t a vampire. The only one who isn’t part of the family she married into.” It’s like running into a brick wall, the reality of the situation hits Edward in the face and it’s all he can do to not falter backwards a step to try and right himself.

His fingers begin to twitch at his sides, eyes eerily still as his brain processes the plausibility of what Jacob Black just told him. “She’s lonely?” He says at last, the word breaking as it escapes his lips and crashing to the floor like a porcelain doll. His wife, the woman who told him she wanted to be a vampire, wanted to spend eternity with him, is lonely?

“She’s-” Jacobs cut off as a howl rings through the forest. The noise echoes off the trees around them, Edward reads it through the other man's mind. It’s his turn to run perimeter around the reservation. “I’ve gotta go.” He turns around and sprints off into the shadows of the forest. His steps quicken and then are replaced by the heavy thudding of four paws. The sound of the wolf running quickly escapes Edwards hearing distance and the forest remains silent.

The vampire stands alone in the forest, the canopy of trees above him cutting off the filtered sunlight of the dreary day. How could his wife be lonely? Didn’t she choose this life?

He feels some piece of information stuck in the back of his mind, just out of reach and he growls in frustration. This was his family, his life, his wife. And of course he didn’t have a clue on how to fix any of it.

How could he have allowed this to happen?

It’s a split second decision that sends him through the woods, angling towards the nearest city. He’s the fastest of his family, matching miles in seconds and never needing to slow down or catch his breath. He doesn’t even need to breathe. It’s a wondrous escape from the bindings of human life, being able to exercise his supernatural body to the full extent of its abilities. His strides quicken as he pushes them to go faster, his muscles pull and release in perfect harmony and work upon their own accord.

Bella had experienced this as a human, clutching onto his shoulders as he tore through the forest with her on his back. It was everything he had wanted. Showing the girl he loved most the side of him that no other human got to see. And she had loved him back. Had. Where are her feelings now?

He slows as he reaches the edge of the highway, it’s lanes converging into slower moving traffic as the city opens before him. Brick buildings stand at attention along main street, the exteriors primed for maximum tourist appeal. Old signs hang from stoops over the doorways, restaurants and gift shops alike. Edward already knows the exact route he had taken when Bella had come here as a human, when she was trapped in that alleyway- “But where would she be now?” He asks himself aloud.

She had driven here, not run as he had. He supposes he could look for her vehicle and then trace her scent to her current whereabouts, but then what? He finds her and approaches her, tells her that he’s been searching her down to confirm that she does in fact still love him? No, he can’t do that, he knows that. Jacob had told him specifically not to do what he is currently doing. Not to follow Bella, don’t act like an idiot.

Yet, here he is. Acting against his and Jacobs better judgement.

He had purposely not spoken to his wife about her trips to Port Angeles because he didn’t want her to feel like she had to ask permission to leave. He wanted her to develop a sense of self as a vampire, not rely on him to sustain her only. He had wanted her to explore her new senses and abilities. He thought everything was going so well. Perhaps Rosalie was right, Bella was better off as a human.

He steps out of the forest, grateful for the dim sky which clouded his skin. He walked aimlessly towards the main street, allowing his senses to take in all that is around him. He smells the fresh bread of the bakery across the road, the sickly sweet scent of melted ice cream sitting somewhere in a trashcan. He smells everything, but comes up without his wife. He hears the cars and the chattering of people as they go about their mindless, petty tasks, but his wife is not anywhere on this street.

He eventually finds her vehicle, a black suv with tinted windows. She had parked at the opposite end of the city, under the shade of a large pine and beside a public park. He sniffs the air experimentally, her scent is travelling in every direction, but the north trail into the park is more potent. She’s been here recently. He looks through her passenger side window, a box of tissues sits on the seat alongside an open glasses case. None of them wear glasses, and this discovery startles him a little.

He follows the trail north.

- let me know if you want to be tagged when i upload!-

@edwardsmate4ever

#twilight #new moon #eclipse #fanfic #twilight 2008 #twilight saga #twilight renassiance #edward cullen #bella cullen #bella swan #fanfiction #headcanon #head canon #hc

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wormstacheangel · 4 years

Text

Day 3: Demonic

Word Count: 1888

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

---

Rowena had someone coming for her crown and while the Winchesters aren’t for hire, having his Aunty Rowena on the throne has been a big help. They didn’t close the gates of hell or heaven but instead run them. Jack and Cas upstairs while Rowena ran hell with a little help from Sam. Dean was mostly on call from whoever needed him. Also, Sam likes to point out that Purgatory was all his for the taking according to the rumors.

Right now though Rowena needed him to find the demon making a secret army to overtake the crown. Simple enough that he said he’ll do it himself. It was just one demon and his dumb army. He just fought God and won, he’s surprised they’re any monsters still willing to pick a fight with them.

The thing was that nobody said this damn demon was going to be so annoying.

“Buddy, I know you got those kamikaze bombers going for the Queen so you might as well call them off,” Dean says as he leans against the desk in their dungeon with the demon trapped in the, well the damn demon trap.

The demon hasn’t said a damn word since he brought him down here. Only smiled because he thought he was being a cocky son of a bitch but Dean was too tired to deal with regular demon crap. He wished they would just tell him what he wants to hear so he could be on his way but they never made it easy for him.

Dean sighed as he twirled the angel blade in his hands as he sat up and took the few steps towards him. To stand just at the edge of the trap. “You know, if you ain’t talking I don’t have to keep you alive. Shit, I would have killed you even though you were talking but I guess you aren’t useful to me after all. Probably not even the right demon. They said this demon was smart and he’s a leader demons can depend on or whatever but you…” Dean looked the demon up and down before shrugging. “Meh. You look like any other basic bitch. Nothing special.”

“I am the future of hell!” The demon hissed at him and Dean found his weak spot. His pride. Not really a surprise. “I will be a leader that will not roll over for the Winchesters or anybody for that matter! My army would kill that red-headed bit-Ah!”

Dean squirted the demon with holy water from Jack’s tiny water gun. He chuckled when he got him right in the eye but then glared back at the demon. “Now, let’s be civil and keep from the name-calling. Just tell me where your army is. I mean, don’t you wanna see how strong they are? If they can defeat me then damn I’m sure all of hell will follow you with no hesitation. Since, you know, I killed Hitler.”

“I don’t need my army to kill you. I can do it myself.” The demon laughed and it was darker, clearly knows something Dean doesn’t. “I forgot to tell you. We also captured a little leverage not that long ago. Why do you think I let you take me so easily?”

“Cause you suck?”

The demon, clearly not amused, continued his evil person speech that made Dean roll his eyes and groan as he paced around the trap.

“Do you think we didn’t know Rowena would call on you two for help? We couldn’t stand by and let a Winchester rule alongside the Queen! What an embarrassment to be taking ordered from that overgrown son of a-” Dean waved the water gun around again. “So I took matters into my own hands. I figured we couldn’t get to your brother but sometimes the new God sends one of his Daddy’s to do some work here on Earth without supervision. Without back up.”

“Cas?”

“Oh, we have your precious little Angel somewhere hidden away from you and your God.”

Dean walked into the devil’s trap and held the blade to the demon’s throat. “You have five seconds to tell me where he is or I’ll kill you.”

“You will never find him without me and I will never reveal him until after my bomb-Ahh!”

“Time’s up.” Dean finally pulls the blade out of the demon’s chest as soon as his screams die out. Then he was on the phone calling the dumb angel that let himself be jumped again.

After the third ring, Cas answers with a tired, “Hello Dean.”

“You’re a dumbass you know that.”

“I figured you will say something like that but I’m fine they just wa-oof!” Dean can hear Cas groan out in pain and Dean was already out of the dungeon with his keys in his hands. “Where the hell are you?”

“Dean Winchester.” Someone says and Dean was too mad to deal with another speech from demonic asshats. “What a nice-”

“Just tell me where to meet you and quick. I would like to kill you before dinner.”

A short laugh from the demon as she said, “Funny.”

“Well I try my-” Dean started but then he heard a groan from Cas before a coughing fit started. That alone made Dean tense up as his boy heated up in anger that really should scare just about anyone who dared mess with family.

The demon then quickly told him their location, an obvious trap but who cares now. The only problem was that they wanted a trade. The dead demon, that he was positive they didn’t know was dead, for Cas. Well, he hopes they like surprises cause the only thing they are going to get from Dean is a one-way ticket to the damn Empty for laying a damn finger on his husband.

The trip went just as expected. Dean pretended the demon was in the trunk of his Baby and killed the first few that came to check it out. Then he was walking inside the old-looking house with the angel blade in hand hoping that Cas hasn’t prayed to their son yet because then he’ll start to worry again.

Jack wasn’t the biggest fan of Cas going fully human, to be honest, Dean wasn’t either, for the same reason as Cas not being able to heal himself. Now they were constantly worried that the new fully human Cas scraped his knee somewhere. Or worse, made himself into bait by a bunch of demons who thought was a great idea to kidnap one of God’s dads.

As soon as he walked into the house he called out for Cas. He got some lady, probably the demon from the phone, answer from upstairs. While he made his way upstairs he noticed a couple of demons standing sideline downstairs but he can deal with those later. It’s not like he was in a hurry or anything.

“Okay,” Dean walked over to the wide-open door where he could already see Cas tied up to a chair and unconscious. He knew this was a clear trap but he didn’t care as he ran over to his husband. Taking his head in his hands he quietly whispered, “Cas, honey, you okay?”

He found a pulse at least but Cas was bleeding from his nose and his cheek was starting to swell under the rag they were using as a gag. There were bruises along his wrist along with rope burns from trying to escape probably because of course Cas wouldn’t just stay put to wait for Dean to come.

“Now that you have your angel back or ex angel. A surprise that made it a lot easier for all of us actually,” Dean didn’t even turn around to face the talking demon as he started to untie Cas. “Let’s discuss our fair trade. I will ignore that you killed our people as long as you let our leader go.”

“Yeah, your leader is dead.”

“W-what?”

“Gone. Fin. Rotting in my dungeon at home as we speak.”

“But we had a deal!”

“What you got me here, didn’t you? I’m sure there was something else that was supposed to happen.” Dean says as finally unties Cas and then removes the dirty gag rag. “Oh man, he’ll have to get some shots after having that in his mouth. You know how long it took me to convince him to get a flu shot.”

Dean was then thrown against the wall because of course, he was. The angry demon stalked towards him and Dean realized he left the blade by Cas’s side. He reached for the gun in his pocket only to be pinned to the wall now, a not so new trick he was also tired of.

“I’m gonna guess that you’re not happy,” Dean said between his teeth as the woman stood in front of him. Her fingers reaching to caress his cheek, not creepy at all but most importantly he didn’t know where her hands have been. Everything in this dump was dirty. Dean’s gonna have to burn their clothes after this. “So, you wanna share your big overthrow the government plan or…?”

Of course, she did. Dean was only really half-listening as other demons started to walk in and make a beeline for Cas, who still rested unconsciously on the dirty chair. Dean delivered a threat to them to not touch his husband but of course, that was ignored as they reached to throw Cas over one of their shoulders.

Then he heard the demon lady’s words, “Wait, Cas’s the bomb?”

“Who else can get close to the Queen?” She smiled with her black coal eyes sparkling. “Don’t worry you’ll work for us too. Get that brother of yours out of the way.”

“That’s a terrible plan.” Dean tried to turn his head towards the voice of his husband who must have hidden the blade somewhere because the next thing he knows he hears screaming then another scream and one more for good measure. “You should pick me up like that more often, Dean.”

Dean smiled as he rolled his eyes fondly. “I’ll do that now but I’m kind of preoccupied with the whole being stuck to the wall thing.”

“You suck at rescue missions.” Cas teased him as the demon waved her hand to try to push Cas against his own wall but Cas was quicker as he threw the blade across the room to be buried into the demon’s chest.

Cas was by his side at once as he kneeled down beside Dean and took his face in his hands now, giving him a once over. He rested his forehead against Dean’s own and for a second they just sat still like that, letting the relief of the other being okay run through them but the demons running up the stairs had terrible timing. They also angered the scariest human in heaven and Dean loved seeing how badass Cas looked in a fight.

They called Sam after it was all over to let him know what happened and it was a quick call because his husband was being too grabby now.

“Don’t you dare kiss me until you brush your teeth!”

“Then let’s go home and take a hot shower together.”

“Fine but it won’t be sexy cause I’m scrubbing you clean.”

#suptober20 #I don't know I was gonna write some fun sad stuff but then I was neh #think of something else and then this came out #so hope you enjoy lol #and dean being a bit of a germaphobe was just fun to add lol #My writing #silly me talking about me #Destiel #Deancas #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Cas #Dean #Supernatural #SPN #A More Profound OTP

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luna-rainbow · 3 years

Text

Sam, Steve and Bucky meta (part 2)

This is a meta exploring their relationships through Sam's POV. Part 2 covers events in Civil War.

Steve and Sam spent the next two years trying to find Bucky.

When a Russian trained assassin wants to go underground, he's impossible to find. It didn't help that Steve wanted to keep the search a secret. Sam was resorting to inventive ways of getting leads from his contacts without making it clear who they were tracking down.

He's read the thin file Natasha gave them cover to cover a hundred times now. The file was impersonal, almost depersonalising. He knew the man's date of birth and capture, the dates of entering and exiting cryostasis, his measurements, his allergies, the languages he could speak, and his responses to the experimentations. He knew the dates of some of the assassinations, but he knew nothing of what was inside.

Steve was always grateful for any leads Sam came up with, but didn't like to talk about him. Maybe it pained him to recall the man in the past, when he's almost unrecognisable in the present.

Sam wondered what it was that made the Captain so determined. Sometimes he thought Steve would do this for anyone he fought alongside, and then sometimes he remembers Steve's quietly muttered, "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."

Sometimes, when bored, Sam would try to profile "James Buchanan Barnes". He should be supportive, loyal, trustworthy. Maybe also caring. Strong-minded, to have survived the initial experiments from Zola. Brave enough to fight beside the Captain as a small team. An excellent shot...Sam would stop himself there; it was so easy to default to external attributes.

Sam wasn't sure he wanted to join the Avengers. He was just a regular guy in a jetpack, and saving the world was for people with fancier powers than himself.

When Steve finally convinced him to meet the group, Tony Stark took an instant fascination to his wings and had an upgrade for him in a week. He was surprised, because out of all people he was most wary of this wayward billionaire who is media's favourite badboy. He heard countless rumours of the guy's ego, and Sam's main hesitation was that he did not want to take orders from superiors who didn't know where their head's at.

But the Avengers had a more egalitarian relationship. Things were discussed as a group and everyone's opinions considered. Tony's love for theatrics was balanced by Steve's groundedness, and both had an earnestness for doing good.

He decided to stay, and just as he was settling in, the Avengers family had their first divide over the Sokovia Accords. Tony, having just been confronted about his own culpability over what happened in Sokovia, wanted to sign. Steve, who had just personally - and at great personal risk - dismantled an infiltrated government organisation, was much more reluctant.

"If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose."

As a vet, Sam experienced first hand military directives that threatened his personal beliefs, and it was one of the reasons he left. He stood behind Steve.

Before things could proceed, the unthinkable occurred.

There was a terrorist bomb attack on the UN Convention. In an instant, the monicker "the Winter Soldier", his association with Hydra, and his real name and image was broadcast across the world. The ghost story had become a real threat in everyone's consciousness.

"If he's this far gone, I should be the one who brings him in." Sam heard Steve say on the phone, "Because I'm the one least likely to die trying."

Steve still believed there was a goodness in Bucky. He still hoped that, two years from their last encounter, the man might do what he did last time and choose not to kill him.

Even after the man had just blown up a building with over a hundred people inside.

Sam wanted to believe the image of Bucky he had created for himself - steadfast, strong-willed, perhaps a little like Steve in his stubbornness. He wanted to hear the man's story, because he would either lead them to any remaining forces of Hydra, or he had another justification. There must be a better explanation for why he would stay quiescent for two years then suddenly do something so dreadful. Secretly, Sam also believed that the legendary Winter Soldier who nearly killed him twice would not have been so amateurish.

The realisation of this thought made him shudder. This guy had been sitting on his mind for too long, and it was twisting his judgement.

He knew it was futile, but he asked Steve whether he was sure he wanted to continue this quest.

Steve's answer was at once unsurprising, exasperating and touching in his faith. "He'd do it for me."

It was hard not to be envious of this guy who had fought alongside the Captain more than 70 years ago, who had left a string of murders and atrocities in his wake, yet was still regarded as a companion.

"The people who shoot at you usually wind up shooting at me," Sam pointed out.

He thought Steve hesitated for a moment. Perhaps he understood, perhaps he chose not to. Bucky was like a curse on both their minds that would not rest until they find him, but Sam just hoped that if shit does hit the fan, Steve has enough sense to remember that there was someone else he could believe in that wasn't Bucky.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Bucky was finally apprehended. It was perhaps the best outcome for everyone - Steve would be happy he's still alive, everyone else would be relieved he's in their hands, and at least he would have the chance to plead his case.

Except things went downhill from there.

Bucky flipped back to Winter Soldier rage, and the psychiatrist who was there when it happened vanished into the panicking crowd. This time, it was Steve who pulled the unconscious Bucky out of a river.

Sam was at the end of his patience. The guy had just torn through half the Avengers. He was a menace and a ticking bomb, but Steve refused to take him back. In the end, they reached a compromise and kept him clamped down.

"Which Bucky am I talking to?" Steve demanded when the man woke.

Still dazed, Bucky muttered, "Your mum's name was Sarah." He then chuckled to himself, "You put newspapers in your shoes."

Steve let out a small sigh of relief, "You can't read that in a museum."

As the two men dissolved into doltish smiles, Sam couldn't believe it, "Just like that, we're supposed to be cool?"

Bucky was cordial and cooperative with everything Steve asked. Sam could see from Steve's manner that the Captain believed he had his best friend back, but Sam had learned about biases in psychology class. Sometimes you want to believe something so badly because you have craved it for so long and needed it to be true.

Sam told himself that he needed to stay rational, because on this matter alone, Steve seemed to lose his levelheadedness. Fortunately, any pity he had for the former assassin was quickly evaporating under his bristly attitude.

The Avengers clashed at the airport. The match was tight, and time was short. Zemo might already be at Siberia, which would mean 5 more super soldiers unleashed on the world.

When Steve told Bucky to head to the jet, Sam cut in and told them to both go. There was no way he was going to let a volatile murder machine go off to Siberia on his own and meet up with his winter soldier comrades. Who knew which way he would turn?

The likelihood of them all flying out was too low, and they just didn't have the time to fight it out. Bucky knew the way, and he needed to go with someone who can control him - and at that moment Steve was the only bet.

Did he regret it when they ended up in the Raft? Only a little. If there hadn't been the threat of the super soldiers, if they didn't have the Sokovia Accords overhanging them, he would have preferred to convince Steve to bring Bucky back, rather than put his entire team in jail over a violent enforcer who would eventually have to face the law.

When Steve came to find Sam, he was alone. In typical laconic form, Steve recounted the brawl in Siberia with a few sentences. As he finished, he said, almost emphatically, "What he did all those years, it wasn't him. He didn't have a choice."

Sam understood that, but he also understood Tony's grief. What victim could accept "he didn't have a choice" from a murderer? What about their choice when he went after them?

But what he heard next surprised him. Bucky had chosen to go back into cryo because he couldn't trust himself to control the Winter Soldier.

He was free, but he put himself back in chains because he didn't want anyone else to be hurt.

That was the first time Sam separated Bucky from the Winter Soldier.

#sam wilson #bucky barnes #steve rogers #sambucky #captain america: civil war #cacw #mcu #meta #almost fanfic #tfatws

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argylemnwrites · 4 years

Text

Fight or Flight - Chapter 4: Commitment

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Heir (canon divergent from the end of book 2)

Word Count: ~3900

Rating: PG-13 (brief language)

Summary: Two and a half hours since The Walker Absconding

Author’s Note: This series follows the Walkers, their friends, and Cordonia as a whole after they flee the country with their daughter during Barthelemy Beaumont’s attempted coup. To catch up on this series, check out it’s masterlist. (link can be found via my bio - sorry, Tumblr is once again not putting my posts with links in tag searches)

Drake paced along the gravel at the side of the road, glancing over at Riley frequently. She was hunched into the back of the town car, the back door left open as she used the back seat as a makeshift changing table.

He felt sick to his stomach. Everything was going wrong. He was surprised he hadn’t thrown up, to be honest. Olivia’s warning made everything ten times more real. And things had already felt pretty damn real.

They were a dozen or so kilometers into Greece, but he wanted to go back to Cordonia. Getting charged with treason… the thought was so upsetting. And yeah, he wanted to be there to support Liam through this crisis, too. If they all worked together, they could stop the coup and stop the threat of Bridget being taken from them at the same time. But Riley didn’t want to hear any discussion of turning around and returning from Greece. The second he’d mentioned needing to make a decision after Olivia had hung up the phone, she’d gotten defensive. Raised her voice. Told him he never should have come along if he was just going to change his mind, because her plan was final.

They hadn’t been screaming or anything, but they’d both gotten loud enough to wake Bridget, and she’d started doing enough screaming for their entire family. She was hungry, antsy, and probably a bit crabby from sensing their frustration with each other. After several minutes of her wailing, Ray had pulled over to the side of the road and rolled down the privacy divider. He’d offered to walk into the nearest town, which was only about a kilometer away, to pick up a couple of bottles of water so that they could prepare Bridget some formula, as well as some dinner for the three adults. Drake suspected he also was trying to give them some privacy as they discussed next steps. He had to have heard Riley and him getting louder with each other. It’s not like the divider was completely soundproof.

But instead of having the conversation they needed to have, Riley was essentially giving him the silent treatment at this point. She’d taken Bridget from him when he ducked behind some bushes to relieve himself, and since he’d returned, she hadn’t said a word to him. He was at a loss as to how to handle it. He knew she was panicking. He knew she was terrified. He knew she was just focused on keeping Bridget safe. But she wasn’t thinking clearly. And if he couldn’t make her see that, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

After a few moments, Riley scooped up Bridget, tucking her against her hip as she stood up, stretching her back and twisting her neck from side to side. Drake knew he had to broach the topic again.

“Look, Riley, I know you-”

“Drake, I do not want to hear this. I told you already - Bridget and I are not setting foot on Cordonian soil until we have confirmation that no one is scheming to take her.”

Drake ran a hand over his face as he let out a massive sigh. He’d never struggled this much to get through to her before. Even in those early days, when most of their conversations were all snark without any underlying friendship or affection, he’d always felt like she was at least willing to hear him out, even if she’d thought his warnings had been over dramatic. It’s weird how he was now the one arguing the opposite position, trying to convince her to put her faith in at least some of the Cordonian nobility.

“Riley, can you at least explain to me why Olivia’s plan is something you won’t even consider?”

She shot him an annoyed glare and rolled her eyes, but then she said, “If Barthelemy takes over Cordonia, Olivia is not going to be able to protect us. How can you not understand this?”

“Olivia will still be the Duchess of Lythikos, no matter who is acting as monarch. If she wants to offer us amnesty there, that is well within her capabilities.”

“But how do we know that she will be allowed to keep that title? Don’t Cordonian monarchs have the power to strip nobles of their titles if there is suspected criminal activity?”

“What are you talking about? How is Olivia a criminal?”

“I’m pretty sure aiding and abetting traitors and kidnappers is a fucking crime, Drake.”

“But Riley, we’re only going to be charged with those crimes if we flee the country. Or I guess if they figure out we fled the country at this point. If we go back now-”

“Yeah, I’m sure Barthelemy will just accept us keeping physical custody of Bridget if we go hang out in Lythikos. No way we can get charged with kidnapping her there if he decides he wants to take her and we say “no,” because being on Cordonian soil will magically protect us.”

Drake paused, rubbing the back of his neck. She had a point there. If, god forbid, Barthelemy’s plan was successful and he was able to get himself named king-regent, the issuing of treason charges for the two of them would probably be a matter of when, not if. As long as they insisted on keeping Bridget with them, which was obviously not up for debate, they likely would be charged and named as enemies of the state whether they were in Cordonia or in Greece.

“Okay, let’s say there’s no way to prevent us being named traitors. I still think it’s worth considering that if we stay in Lythikos, we have a support system. We have a roof over our heads. We have food and clothing and money. We have friends who will help us. We don’t get anything like that if we stay in Greece.”

Riley shot him a look that was so withering, he wished he could crawl out of his skin. “And how do we guarantee that Barthelemy won’t freeze Olivia’s accounts and strip her of her title unless she turns us, known traitors and criminals, into his custody?”

“Again, she’s a duchess and head of one the the five major noble houses. Why are you so convinced that he would be able to have so much control over her legally guaranteed powers?”

“Because of what happened with Godfrey when we confronted him about Eleanor’s death.”

“He wasn’t just accused, Riley. We know he killed Liam’s mom.”

“But he wasn’t found guilty or anything. The king’s accusation was enough, right?”

Drake frowned and tried to remember the details of how things worked. He’d never bothered to pay that much attention to the intricacies of the nobility’s power structure during his schooling. After all, it was never going to matter to him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure the reigning monarch can strip any noble of their title for any reason. The noble in question can challenge it if they gain the support of the majority of the major houses, if I remember things correctly.”

“That makes it even worse, Drake! Are you telling me that Barthelemy, if he’s acting as king, could just strip Olivia of her title simply for not supporting him?”

He shook his head. “No, that would be unlikely. The Nevrakises can trace their lineage back past the birth of Cordonia. They are the longest standing major house, and they have made sure their family is well protected by the law. I can’t see Olivia losing her title.”

“But you can’t promise that she’s safe!”

Drake wanted to roll his eyes. The thought of anyone attempting to take Olivia’s title from her and walking away without serious bodily injury was laughable. But he knew that Riley was dangerously close to spiraling into a panicked mess again. So he tried to keep things steady.

“Riley, do you picture Olivia just sitting back and letting someone take Lythikos from her? I am sure her title is safe. Like I said, there are a lot of bylaws and exceptions that protect the Nevrakis family. Besides, a no-confidence vote in Liam is going to draw criticism from a decent amount of the people. He’s not an unpopular king. If Barthelemy removes a monarch and a duchess from a major house in quick succession, he’s going to risk a citizen uprising. Particularly in Lythikos.”

“But that won’t happen instantly, Drake. And Barthelemy could spin this, make Olivia look like she’s a traitor.”

“The citizens of Lythikos won’t buy that.”

“So what? Our plan is to count on a civil war where the citizens of Lythikos are willing to fight for Olivia’s right to shelter us? That seems like a far worse plan than just hiding out in a different country.”

Drake tried to suppress a sigh as he shook his head. “I think you are getting way ahead of yourself, here. We have no reason to believe Olivia will lose her title.”

“And again, I’m telling you that’s optimistic bullshit. Unless I just hallucinated Liam stripping Godfrey, a member of another major house, of all of his Cordonian titles when he was accused of a crime. Guess I got confused while I was almost dying while having to deliver a baby with almost no medical attention in a frickin’ palace bedroom.” Riley sank down on the side of the back seat, a hint of exhaustion noticeable behind the fire in her gaze.

Drake didn’t like to think about those hours before Bridget was born. He’d been scared shitless, trying to keep it together as it seemed more and more likely that there would be no medical care and that Riley or his child… or both might die as a result. They were some of the darkest hours of his life. He’d honestly had no recollection of slamming Bradshaw against the wall when Olivia had mentioned it hours later, everything just a giant blur of fear and anger and desperation, all without wanting to make things worse for Riley by letting her see how stressed he was.

But then Dr. Ramirez was there and in the blink of an eye, Bridget was crying in his arms, and Dr. Ramirez was acting like Riley was out of the woods. The earlier fears and struggles seemed so inconsequential as they held their daughter close. Saw her face. Wrapped her up and held her tight. And maybe naively, Drake had assumed with everything Riley had physically been through during her labor and delivery, that she’d kind of forgotten how dicey it had been since everything turned out okay. But hearing her now, it was clear she carried a lot of pain and fear from that time, even if she never had mentioned it before.

“Riley…” he started, crouching down in front of her, bracing himself on the open car door as he gently placed a hand on her knee, “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault,” she said with a little shrug.

Drake nodded, “Still, you should have never been in that position.”

“We should have never been in that position, Drake. Maybe you’re just blinded to how fucking bizarre this all is, because it’s all you’ve ever known, but half the things that have happened since I’ve been here are insane. And while delivering her in a palace under lockdown was one of the scarier ones, it isn’t the only time I’ve been in a position that I shouldn’t have had to handle.”

He knew she was right. Assassination attempts, photographers paid to catch her in her underwear, marriage alliances. All of it was kind of bullshit. But they’d always gotten through things together. He didn’t understand why this time she wanted to run and refused to face the problem head on. He didn’t know what to say, so he just gave her knee a squeeze he hoped was comforting and pushed himself up to standing, leaning against the side of the car next to her.

Riley bit her lip, bouncing Bridget on her lap. Bridget was getting crankier. Drake could see it clearly. They’d given her some of her rice puffs, the only snack they had in the diaper bag, which had helped placate her a little, but she was still obviously hungry. Add to the fact that she had been confined to their arms for hours, and it seemed like she was teetering on the edge of a total meltdown. She wanted to be set down, to crawl around and explore. She had no patience for being on the lam.

“Do you want me to take her?” Drake asked, holding out his arms, but Riley shook her head.

“No, I’ve got her.” Her arms tightened slightly around Bridget as she responded.

Drake frowned. Part of him was scared that if he pushed Riley any further right now, she might just bolt. But a bigger part of him knew that if they didn’t address this, that it was only going to get worse. And if they decided to stay in Greece, they were only going to have each other. Not trusting each other fully wasn’t an option.

“You don’t trust me with her.”

Riley swallowed slowly before glancing up and looking at Drake. He hadn’t exactly phrased his statement like a question, but Riley treated it as one anyway. “You’re oversimplifying things. It’s not that straight forward.”

He just shook his head, pushing off the car and resuming his earlier pacing. “It is, Riley. If you can’t answer ‘yes’ to that, well then you obviously don’t trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you with her,” she said, her voice cracking slightly, “If you want to, you can hold her.”

Drake let out a sigh. “I’m not trying to turn this into a power struggle over who gets to keep her in their arms. That’s not… You’re acting like you’re the only parent here. You’ve decidedly unilaterally that our child has to leave the country. And that’s not fair.”

“You want to know what’s not fair, Drake?” Her voice was high pitched and fragile sounding, but her words were sharp and clear. This wasn’t her panicked ramblings of a couple of hours ago. This was a speech she’d held in her heart for a long time. “What isn’t fair is that your best friend showed up on our honeymoon, asking us for a wildly inappropriate favor with a heavy dose of guilt thrown on the side. What isn’t fair is that you agreed to it before even speaking to me about it. What isn’t fair is that if I hadn’t agreed to it, I would have been the bitch who rejected a guy when he was down on one knee and then forbid the guy I married, his best friend in the whole world, from helping him out.”

“Riley… I-” Drake wanted to try and soothe her, to acknowledge how much rougher everything had been than he could have envisioned when Liam showed up, solemn and resigned, with his request on that beach. But Riley wasn’t done.

“You called it an honor, Drake. That was how you phrased it. Tell me, was it an honor watching the press hound me for months, wanting to know every detail about my body? Was it an honor having to fend off two foreign powers who wanted some archaic marriage alliance with your unborn child? Was it an honor to feel backed into the corner and agreeing to one of those alliances to save my life? To save Bridget’s life? Was it an honor dragging her to balls and galas and events when she wasn’t even vaccinated yet? Because as I see it, this whole scheme has brought our family nothing but struggles and stress and sadness.”

“Of course all that shit sucked! But you don’t get to sit there and act like you are not complicit in almost every part of it. You agreed to it. You don’t get to blame me forever for a choice we both made.” Drake knew his phrasing was harsh, but it wasn’t fair for her to act like he’d forced her to do anything. If she had given him a firm “no” back then, that would have been that.

“You’re right - I should have fought you on this earlier. But I’m not going to just continue to roll along with it when it keeps hurting my child over and over again. So, I’m taking a stand now. I’m saying enough is enough. I’m done. I am not going to keep quiet about it anymore. I should have never agreed to name her heir. Hell, I should have never accepted the duchy.” There were tears trailing down her cheeks, but she held his gaze, steady and sure of her decision. Her arms locked tightly around Bridget as she squirmed on her lap, but she wasn’t distracted.

“Riley, if you had just told me-”

“Drake, I was clearly a reluctant participant from the start. Anytime I started to voice concerns, you just reassured me over and over. You never wanted to hear it.”

It was like the wind was knocked out of him. She really thought he was ignoring her serious objections intentionally? As far as he’d been able to tell, she had just wanted reassurance that she was still a good mom, in spite of all the royal pomp and drama. “Why was this the one fucking topic you decided to be coy about? Literally anything else on the planet you’ve always been blunt and direct with me. You’ve never beat around the apple tree. You called things as you saw them, at least when it was just the two of us. How was I supposed to know you were suddenly shy and reserved when it came to the biggest decision we have ever made?”

“I was afraid,” she said with a little shrug, her face downturned as she dropped a kiss to the top of Bridget’s head

“Of what?”

“Of making you choose between me and Liam.”

Drake let her words wash over him for a few moments before he responded. “Afraid about making me choose or afraid of what my choice would be?”

Her eyes flitted upward as she blinked out a few more tears. “Both, I guess. I felt bad enough that I was this… elephant in the room when it came to your friendship with him, but… I guess part of me was always a little worried that if I really drew a line in the sand, you would feel like you had to stick with him.”

Her words hurt. There was no point denying that. But at the same time, he understood. Not that he thought he might have ever picked his friend over his wife, but that feeling that others would always be more important, the fear that everyone would always just focus on Liam? Well, he got that feeling better than anyone, probably. Combine that with all her fears of abandonment, and he understood how she could have gotten to that point.

“Riley, if I wanted to put Liam’s needs first, I would have proposed to him, not you.” She let out a watery little chuckle at that, so Drake kept going, hoping he was on the right track. “You are my family. You are my whole world, okay? Bridget is the only one who’s as important to me. I love Liam like a brother, but I didn’t exchange vows with him. If you tell me you need me for something, that’s it.”

Riley tucked Bridget back against her hip with one arm and reached her other out towards Drake. He grabbed her hand and tugged her up to standing, wrapping his arms around her and Bridget tightly as she looped an arm around his neck and tucked her face against his shoulder. They stood like that for nearly a minute before Riley loosened her grip and let her hand slide down, her fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

“I get why you want to turn around and go back, but it doesn’t feel safe to me,” she said, her eyes focused on his shoulder. “We don’t know if Barthelemy has power or not. If he does, we are going to be labeled as traitors anyway, and Olivia’s protection might not be enough to keep our daughter safe by our sides. I can’t knowingly take that gamble, Drake. I just can’t.”

Drake nodded, sliding a hand up to the back of her head and holding her even tighter against him. “You know that we are taking the much more difficult option here, right? We could probably go back and renounce our titles and Bridget’s claim to the throne without any of those fears coming to pass.”

He felt Riley nod against his shoulder. Her voice was muffled as she said, “But do we even have the power to essentially abdicate for Bridget at this point? We were included in that no-confidence vote along with Liam.”

Drake leaned back slightly, needing to look Riley in the eyes. “I don’t know, Walker.”

She bit her lip and nodded again. “Then I can’t take that risk. I would rather face a crazy uphill battle as a family than watch her get ripped from our arms surrounded by Liam, Hana, Maxwell, and Olivia.”

“We’ll stay in Greece, then - on one condition.” Riley frowned at him, so he kept going quickly before she could imagine up all sorts of horrible restrictions he could throw at her. “From now on, we decide our next steps together. If we’re doing this as a family, you and I have to be on the same page. Because Riley, I don’t think we can count on anyone else’s support going forward. And this is going to be hard enough without us doubting and second guessing each other.”

He didn’t bring up the issue of trust again, knowing it would be a moot point. She was going to have to learn to not let her fears override her trust in him, because going forward, there wouldn’t be another option. Hopefully, he would be able to show her he meant what he said by sticking by her side.

They held each other for a few more moments, but then Bridget started doing her crabby, whiny babble, unhappy with not only being forced to stay in their arms, but even more confined between both their bodies. So they broke apart, but Riley clutched his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you, Drake.”

He nodded at her, keeping his hand locked on her hers. Squinting, he thought he could make out Ray, coming back down the road, a shopping bag in one hand. “We should probably come clean to him at some point.”

Riley followed his gaze and sighed, but nodded. “How pissed is Olivia going to be?”

“I think she already suspects we crossed the border. But as for us not turning around?” Drake started, but his thought was interrupted by a buzzing in his back pocket. With his free hand, he tugged out his phone. “Well, I think we’re about to find out,” he said as he showed Riley Olivia’s name across the screen.

He took one last deep breath before swiping to accept her call. “Hey, Olivia.”

“It’s just me and Hana here,” she said, not sparing any time for pleasantries, “so you need to honestly let me how stupid you guys were. Did you guys leave the country?”

“Yes. We were already across the border before I called Liam.”

There was a brief pause before Olivia continued, “And what’s your plan now?”

He locked eyes with Riley and nodded at her before he responded, “I’m sorry. But we aren’t risking coming back.”

Permatag: @walkerswhiskeygirl @riley--walker @bebepac @ravenpuff02 @oofchoices @octobereighth @drakewalker04 @kimmiedoo5 @mfackenthal @thequeenofcronuts

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir: @ao719 @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @axwalker @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @dcbbw @yaushie

Drake x MC: @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @iplaydrake @gibbles82 @drakewalkerisreal @notoriouscs @drakesensworld @drake-colt-lover-99

Fight or Flight: @masterofbluff @burnsoslow @bobasheebaby @shz256 @iaminlovewithtrr

#drake walker #drake x mc #trr au #trh au #trr fanfic #trh fanfic #trr au fanfic #trh au fanfic #choices fanfiction

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