#that sequence at the end with no alarms and no surprises going up a step | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starshine583 · 4 years

Note

can we see damianette with v?

(Let me just say that I absolutely LOVE this concept!! I could write a whole ficlet on this one too! anyway, I hope you like the snippet as much as I did.)

Darkness. That was all Marinette had ever known. In fact, it was all a good portion of the world had ever known, and it was thanks to this little thing called Soulmates.

A long time ago, the gods decided that humans had become blind to the true purpose of love and romance. So, to remind them of this, they cursed the world with literal blindness, and the only way to nullify this curse was to touch your soulmate directly. Then, the gift of sight would be restored to both parties, and they would finally be able to see for the first time.

At first, Marinette was extremely excited to find her soulmate. After all, who wouldn’t be? The life of the seeing sounded wonderful, especially when her Maman and Papa would tell her stories of the sea and the stars. And having the love of your life, the person you’re going to be with forever, be the first thing you truly see? That sounded incredibly romantic, and she couldn’t wait to experience it.

As the years passed, though, and more people around her found their soulmate, the excitement that had been bubbling inside her began to fade, and a quiet resignation took its place. If she hadn’t found her soulmate yet, that meant she probably wasn’t going to be one of the lucky ones who found their soulmate early. Therefore, she needed to learn to be patient, instead of tearing herself apart with anticipation.

This revelation led to Marinette exploring her capabilities and becoming affiliated with her blindness as best she could. She could already get around fine, but she wanted to get around better than fine. She wanted to get around so well on her own that people forgot she was blind altogether. Then, perhaps, she would be able to forget too. Or at least forget that everyone but her could see.

She had just started being able to walk without using her cane when she received a pair of strange, magical earrings. The discovery was definitely a shock, but the thought of being able to push herself to the absolute limit as a superhero intrigued her. So, she accepted the earrings and became Ladybug, savior of Paris.

Imagine her surprise when she found out that her partner was also blind. He didn’t move around as easily as she did, but their gadgets helped them find their way well enough to fight. For example, her yo-yos would use beeping sequences to tell her when she was near something, while Chat Noir used his staff as a makeshift cane, and the akumas were normally loud enough that they didn’t have to guess their locations.

Alya joined their school around the same time that Marinette became Ladybug, and Marinette was absolutely delighted to meet her. Not only because the new student gave Nino his sight, but also because she was able to describe the colors to Marinette in a way that she could understand. Her parents had tried to tell her about the colors before and how beautiful they were, but in the end, the descriptions always depended on sight.

Alya, however, described them with feelings.

“Blue,” she would say, “is like dipping your hand into the pool. It’s cool and calm and sometimes sad, but it’s beautiful. It’s the color of the sky and the sea and your eyes.”

“Red is the color of heat, of anger, of blood.”

“Yellow is the color of sunshine on your skin and happiness and things that make you smile.”

“Green is the color of envy or disgust, but it’s also the color of summer’s grass.”

“Black is the color of darkness, the same thing you see now.”

Now that Marinette had at least somewhat of a shaky grasp on what colors were like, she wasn’t nearly as annoyed when Mlle Bustier decided to take the class to an art gallery during their field trip to Gotham. It was still an inconsiderate thing to do, but she had Alya to guide her if necessary and had heard about a section of the gallery that was made specifically for blind people. So she had hope that the visit wouldn’t be as awful as it sounded.

“Remember class,” her teacher called as she led everyone inside the gallery, “everyone needs to have a safety buddy at all times. Gotham is well known for its villain attacks, so stay together!”

Alya sighed next to her. “It’s not like it’s any different from our akuma attacks. Why all the fuss?”

“Well, the villains here don’t transform back once they’re caught.” Nino pointed out. “It’s kind of like a ton of Hawkmoths running around instead of akumas.”

Marinette nodded in agreement, though none of them were probably looking at her anyway.

“True, but they also have more super heroes here.” Alya argued. “Batman, Red hood, Nightwing, Robin- if a villain attacked us, they’d be surrounded in ten minutes!”

Marinette held back from commenting on that remark, but she knew from personal experience that superheroes had their own lives too. Just because a single villain showed up somewhere didn’t mean that all of the heroes in Gotham would show up at the same time to fight it, or that the villain would be any easier to take down once outnumbered.

She lightly touched Alya’s arm to get her attention. “I’m going to go find that blind section that Mlle Bustier was talking about .”

Alya paused her conversation with Nino to reply, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Would you mind?”

“Of course not! I’ll go tell Mlle Bustier where we’re going, but you can start walking now if you don’t need any help?”

“No, I can manage.” Marinette smiled. Mlle Bustier had passed out a special map of the gallery the night before that had bumps for the walls and statues and braille to tell them which rooms were what. Besides, if she could fight akumas across the Parisian rooftops on a regular basis, she could certainly find her way around an art museum.

The two separated, Alya going right to speak with Bustier, and Marinette going left to find the blind room. She idly tapped her cane on her shoulder as she walked across the hardwood floors, the echoing footsteps and hushed talk of other visitors giving her directions on which way to step and which way to avoid. Some of the voices spoke in different languages, and it caused Marinette to wonder whether the people around her were tourists like herself or locals. Probably a decent mix of both.

When she was sure that she’d found the correct room- there was a sign with braille on it that said “blind section” - she let her cane tap against the floor and began wandering around the room. The pictures inside had bumpy textures for her to run her hands across, and the statues that were open to anyone above the age of eleven were a mix of grainy and smooth, most likely made from different types of rock. It was admittedly strange tracing her hands over things that were supposed to be human bodies, but if it was the only way to observe the master pieces..

A few minutes passed of her dragging her hands over the displays when something strange happened, something that made her pause.

Footsteps and voices had been a consistent background noise from the moment she walked into the gallery, but for some reason, both of those sounds abruptly stopped in the last minute of her being there, as though everyone that had been in the room with her suddenly left. That wasn’t possible, though, because she didn’t hear anyone leave, and she couldn’t fathom why a whole group of strangers would tip-toe out of a room to avoid being detected by her.

Before she could call out to the people who had to be around her, somebody gasped, proving that other people were, in fact, still in the room with her. Then, another person gasped, then three, and someone shrieked.

Now Marinette was panicking. What was going on? Why were they screaming? What did they see that she couldn’t?

Where footsteps had been scarce before, there were now footsteps everywhere, along with more screams. People were running, but from what? She didn’t hear anyone else enter the gallery, nor did she hear a villainous outburst.

Marinette strained her ears to listen for something more, something out of the ordinary that would cause people alarm, but it was hard to hear anything else over the screams. The only other thing she could catch was a strange, hissing sound. They couldn’t be running from that, though, could they? What would be making a hissing sound that had everyone bolting out of the gallery?

“Marinette!”

Alya’s voice nearly made Marinette jump five feet in the air out of fright, but she caught herself and turned towards the direction she assumed her friend was coming from.

“Alya, what’s going on?”

Somebody grabbed her arm, and Alya’s voice spoke up again right next to her. “We need to go. There’s this weird, green gas that’s filling the gallery, and it’s causing people to.. to..”

Alya’s explanation faltered as she let out a snort, which confused Marinette. Didn’t she sound panicked a second ago? Why was she laughing now? This wasn’t a prank, was it? No, Alya would do that..

Another laugh burst from her friend’s lips. Then another. It almost sounded like she was trying to contain it, like she was laughing against her will.

Marinette furrowed her eyebrows. What did she say about the gas again? It was causing people to do something? What if it was causing them to laugh?

“A-Alya?” Marinette said, trying to remain calm as she grabbed Alya’s shoulders. If the gas was causing people to laugh, does that mean she’s inhaled it already? Was the effect going to be permanent? Was it going to be fatal? Why would someone release that type of gas into an art gallery?

“Mari-Marine-” Alya wiggled out of Marinette’s grasp and began laughing harder. Marinette tried to grab her again, but her friend fell to the floor.

“Alya!” Marinette cried, kneeling down next to her. The girl was writhing on the floor now, cackling like she’d gone mad.

“G-Get- you need- you need to- need to go-” She said through laughs, but that was all she said. After that, Alya fell into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, and Marinette was left panicking and wondering what she should do. She could try to go get help, but she didn’t know where the gas was coming from. Even if she did, she had no way of knowing who might be waiting for her outside. The gas might be a way to push herself and the other civilians out onto the street.

Marinette stumbled to her feet and took a moment to listen to her surroundings again. She could still hear screams, but they were more towards the back of the gallery, while laughter could be heard towards the front. That meant the gas must have come through the front entrance. Was that the hissing sound she’d heard earlier?

Just as she was about to call out Tikki to give her a visual on the gallery, another sound reached her ears. This time it was a clicking, similar to that of metal being hooked onto something, and it came from above her. Was someone on the ceiling? What would they be doing up there? How would they get up there in the first place?

A whizzing sound followed the click, and Marinette tensed as she listened to it grow closer. Something or someone was coming towards her. Was it the villain who spread the gas? Why didn’t she hear it move on the ceiling beforehand? Was she going to have to defend herself and Alya as a civilian?

A pair of boots hit the hardwood floor, and Marinette shifted into a fighting stance, holding her cane up like a sword. If she had to go, she didn’t plan on going easily. “Who are you?”

“My name is Robin.” The response was quick, almost automatic. “We’re evacuating the premises. I need you to come with me.”

Marinette hesitated. Wasn’t Robin one of the heroes Alya had mentioned? The person in front of her sounded like another teenager. (Then again, being a teenager didn’t stop her from saving Paris on a weekly basis)

A leather glove wrapped around her fore-arm- his hand, she realized -and he pulled her against him.

“Hold on tight.”

Hold on tight? “What do you me-”

Robin clicked a button, and with a sharp tug, they were flying through the air. Marinette let out a yelp, and then she did something that changed her life forever.

She wrapped her hands around his neck.

As soon as she did, a bright flash of light invaded her vision, and suddenly, colors were everywhere. There were light colored walls and dark colored floors- perhaps that was the brown she’d heard about? -and the statues were a mix of light and dark colors, similar to the marble rock that she’d been taught about. And the paintings- oh, the paintings were just bursting with color and life! It all looked positively extraordinary and amazing and-

Robin gasped above her, no doubt from the shock of seeing as well. His hand must have slipped from whatever was pulling them upwards, because in the next moment they were falling back to the ground. (And she could see it! She didn’t have to hear the rush of wind or feel the pit of her stomach rising to know!)

The two hit the ground with a grunt, and Robin swiftly shifted their position to use his body as a shield to protect Marinette from further injuries as they rolled across the floor. This resulted in Marinette landing on top of Robin and Robin rubbing the back of his head with another groan.

“A-Are you okay?” She asked as she pushed herself up to hover over him. That fall didn’t feel too steep, but having extra weight on top of him most certainly would have made the landing worse.

Now that she could actually see the person in front of her with her own eyes, she could tell that he was definitely a superhero. He had an entire costume on, equipped with a cape and everything. She even spotted a utility belt on his waist that appeared to have a hefty amount of gadgets on it.

Robin looked up at her, and though his mask hindered her view of his eyes, the surprise was clear on his face as his eyebrows shot up.

“Who..” He trailed off, his head tilting slightly as he glanced around the room. He was still absorbing the fact that he could finally see, just as she was.

His gaze snapped back to her. “Who are you?”

I could ask you the same question. She thought. After fifteen years of searching, she’d finally found her soulmate, and not only did he live halfway across the world from her, but was also a superhero just like her. What were the odds?

Reality slapped both of them in the face when another scream pierced the air, and the two scrambled to get back to their feet. Soulmates or not, they were still in the middle of a villain attack. They couldn’t get distracted.

People were still laughing hysterically on the floor, but now a strange gas was trailing into the blind section. Marinette knew she should be panicked seeing it, considering what it did to Alya, but another part of her felt giddy, because Alya had also told her that the gas was green. She finally knew what green looked like!

“We have to get out of here.” Robin said. He pulled something off of his utility belt- was that a gun? -and shot it upwards. Marinette’s gaze immediately followed it curiously, and she managed to catch sight of a shiny object latching onto an open hole in the rooftop. It made a clicking sound, reminding her of the sound she’d heard when Robin first swooped into the gallery.

So, that’s how he got in here. She thought to herself.

Robin pulled her against his chest again, clicking the same button he had earlier to start rising to the roof. “No surprises this time, all right?”

Marinette couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her lips, but it wasn’t because of the gas. The ludicrousness of the situation was simply too much. Who asks their soulmate not to give them another surprise such as the gift of sight? Who finds their soulmate in the hero who’s saving them during a villain attack?

Apparently, Marinette does, and this field trip, she decided, was turning out to be much more interesting than originally expected.

(Send me a letter and I’ll do a thing!)

(The next one I’ll be doing is O with Felinette!)

#asks #Daminette #Soulmate AUs

159 notes · View notes

joel-millerr · 4 years

Text

The Change

Chaper Two of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.9 K

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence. there is a scene towards the end that isn't exactly torture, but it is pretty graphic so please read with caution!, a bit of angst, and grief (talking about loss).... if there’s anything I missed please let me know so I can update it

Summary: You and Mando on your way to Nevarro so he can collect the bounty on your head but something happens, forcing you to land on another planet, and you begin seeing him in another light

Hope you guys like it!!

Tagged: @1800-fight-me🧡 // @tillytheslytherin🧡

As the Mandalorian’s ship—Razor Crest, climbs higher and higher into the sky, the sun’s beginning to rise over the city. Taking one last look at the capital, you mentally add “getting snatched by a bounty hunter” to the list of things you hate about Kijimi.

Maker, the silence in the cockpit is deafening. The Mandalorian doesn’t acknowledge you at all, his helmet glued to the windshield of the ship. You think about saying something, anything to break the awkward tension that seems to be multiplying in the small area of the cockpit, but from the very short time you’ve been with him, you don’t get the impression that he likes to talk. So awkward silence it is.

Once in the atmosphere, the Mandalorian prepares to make the jump to hyperspace. The stars’ light twinkles off his chrome helmet, and you’re too busy staring at him to notice another ship zip across the windshield, and then within seconds, the radar’s alarm is blaring through the cockpit. The shrill sound is piercing your ears and your eyes wrench shut, as if to try to block the noise out.

Two green beams of light appear out of nowhere, skimming the ship’s hull, and as the enemy spacecraft comes back into your peripheral for just a few seconds, your jaw nearly drops to the floor when you recognize whose ship it is.

It’s your ship. Someone is inside your ship, shooting at you. “That’s my ship!” You shriek, jumping to your feet and quickly making your way to the window. The Mandalorian says nothing in response, just letting out a couple of grunts and huffs. Your ship continues to bombard you with green beams, but the hunter is sharp enough to evade each shot. The jolts cause you to lose balance, and because your hands are still bound, it becomes more difficult for you to keep yourself upright without falling over onto the control panel.

“Get back in your seat,” The Mandalorian says through his visor. His voice is calm but stern. If he was panicking at all, his voice doesn’t give you the slightest suspicion.

You open your mouth to protest, to beg him not to shoot your ship down, to plead with him, but you know it would be a battle you couldn’t possibly win. Fumbling back into the seat to his right, a shot narrowly misses one of the thrusters and hits just above the belly of the ship. It sends you flying out of the seat, and you land on the ground hard, your shoulder taking the brute of the hit.

You hear two more blasts explode against the ship. The Crest is taking a lot of damage right now, but the Mandalorian manages to stay quiet during the entire ordeal.

“Let her go, Mandalorian.” A distorted voice comes through the radio.

Time seems to stop. The sirens still blaring through the cockpit penetrate your ears less and less until they are just a bunch of muffled clamors. That voice can only be from one person. The only other person in this galaxy that knows how to hijack your ship, and actually be able to fly it.

Tye.

Without any warning, the Crest begins a steep incline, and just as you’re finally able to seat yourself back in the chair, pulling the seatbelt across your torso and clicking it into place, the Crest flips upside down. If it weren’t for you being strapped in, you’d be flailing around the cockpit. The ship does a full circle before straightening out right behind your ship. The Mandalorian begins firing, three shots immediately pierce the hull’s integrity. The dark nothingness of space is suddenly luminated by a giant inferno; your ship begins plummeting back down towards Kijimi. You want to scream, to rush over to the pilot’s seat and scream into the radio hoping Tye would respond, but your body feels weighed down, like your limbs refuse to work.

As you watch your ship plummet towards the city, life drains from your body. For a moment, everything is still and fast at the same time. You had come to terms with your fate, you aren’t an optimist—not anymore anyway, but when you saw your ship, a flame—no, a glint of hope started to build in your bones. Maybe the Maker was giving you another chance. You were dead wrong.

Once the blaring alarm quiets, the Mandalorian initiates the jump sequence. The whole thing is over within minutes.

The Crest doesn’t spend much time in hyperspace though, because now the hyperdrive alarm is blaring again and you’re both launched right out, the ship spiraling in open atmosphere. The Mandalorian swears under his breath and begins frantically pressing buttons in an attempt to get you back into hyperspace. Despite his efforts, he’s unable to make the jump.

“Dank farrik,” The vocoder comes out strained.

“One of the shots must have damaged the hyperdrive.” You find yourself saying.

“Yes.” Is all you get.

He changes course and begins descending towards a planet you’ve never seen before. From space, the planet looks mostly swamp green, nothing particularly breathtaking or enticing.

“What is that?” You’re not really expecting an answer, just asking out loud, and you’re surprised because he actually answers you this time.

“Sorgan.”

You’ve heard of Sorgan. Some of your crew had resided on the planet since there was a spice smuggling base located there. Given the fact that Sorgan was a relatively unobtrusive planet, it was smart idea to put a camp. It was mostly covered in thick, dense forest which enabled the camp to be hidden fairly easily. Landing on Sorgan was a blessing in disguise. You could possibly send a message to the base there and maybe, just maybe, get rescued. Almost immediately you could feel excitement tingle your nerves. Okay, maybe you hadn’t lost.

Entering Sorgan airspace, the Mandalorian searches for a forest glade. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a small clearing just at the edge of a foliage of massive pine. He descends slowly, making sure not to hit any trees on the way down. You can’t help but be impressed by his flying abilities. He pilots like it is second nature to him. Always maintaining his cool demeanor, even if he is being shot at. Despite the fact that you resent him for possibly murdering the only person left you considered family and stealing your freedom, that aviator part of you is enthralled by the Mandalorian.

Once firmly landed, he cuts the engine and steps out of his seat.

“Stay here,” His voice is as deep as ever, not bothering to meet your eyes as he walks through the door to the cockpit and begins to descend down the ladder.

You linger in your chair for a few minutes, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. You’re not sure how much time you might have to send a message to your fellow smugglers, but you also don’t want to waste any more time waiting on him to come back. Fumbling slightly with your seatbelt, you all but leap towards the pilot’s chair to get to the radio. You finger toggles over the button to record your message. Why are you hesitating?

Chewing on your lip, and letting a deep breath exhale through your nose, you fight the urge to retreat back in your seat. Just as you’re about to record, you hear footsteps on the ladder behind you.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuck,” you curse under your breath and you scramble to get back to your seat without the Mandalorian seeing you. You hear his boots hit the metal floor just as your butt hits the chair. The beskar helmet peaks through the doorway of the cockpit as if he’s just checking to see if you followed his orders.

“No, I haven’t moved,” you say to him, annoyingly.

“Come down.” He instructs, turning on his heel and already making his way down the rungs of the ladder.

“Why?”

The Mandalorian stops in his tracks, “Because I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re in the cockpit.”

You really don’t want to go down there. Not because you’re scared he’ll throw your ass in carbonite, but because if he gets you down there, you’ll have no reason to get back up here and send out a message to any smuggler who might want to help you.

“You can trust me.” It’s a desperate attempt. Usually you can use your charm to bend others to your will, but the Mandalorian is unlike anyone you’ve ever met. You already know it won’t work.

“No.”

Pressing your hands down on your knees, you push yourself to your feet. You eye the control panel one last time and actually consider locking yourself in the bridge just long enough to get a message out. While the idea becomes more and more tempting by the second, you need to be smart about this. If you plan on escaping or getting a message out, it has to be perfectly timed and planned. It didn’t take him long to catch you, and you need to be a lot smarter the next time around.

So you head down the ladder like he told you to. The ramp is down, and your feet irk to run down the ridge and escape into the lush forest in front of you. Every instinct inside of you is screaming to run, to take your chances and hope to lose him in the fog of the greenery, but you have no idea where you are on this planet. You have no idea if the camp is relatively close to you or not. If you ran now, you’d have no supplies, no sense of direction, never mind the fact that your hands are still bound.

First things first then; get him to release the shackles.

He’s currently inspecting the damage Tye inflicted on the Crest. The hull of the ship is smoking, and there’s a few new dents on the sides of the ship, but there isn’t any damage that a couple days’ worth of work wouldn’t be able to fix. Luckily for you, that gives you a couple days to think of the best way to take off.

Not entirely sure where to go, you stay by the ladder, standing like an awkward kid waiting to be told what to do.

The Crest is much bigger than you thought it was. Most of the space inside the ship is housing the carbonite chamber with the three other companions you’re convinced you’ll end up joining. Next to the chamber is what you assume is a locker full of armory. You make a mental note to raid that locker before your escape. To your left, there’s a narrow, small cubicle that could only be used for sleep. Even though the door is closed, you can tell that it’s already too cramped for the Mandalorian, and you wonder how he can fit in such a tiny space.

Honestly, you’re more concerned about whether or not he’s ever had anyone in there with him. Surely if the space is too small for him, then he couldn’t possibly have had any lovers in there with him, right? Heat begins to coil in your stomach and the thought of that makes you shift in your stance. You really shouldn’t be thinking of whether or not the Mandalorian’s fucked anybody in his poor excuse of a bed, but you can’t help yourself. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the pleasure of being with a man or even taken care of yourself and it doesn’t help that the Mandalorian exudes this ferocious confidence and control. Does that make you wonder if he’d still as controlling when he’s balls deep inside you? Would be still be quiet like he is now, or would he be a babbling mess?

“Hey.” The voice pulls you out of your thoughts and causes you to jump.

The Mandalorian is standing just arms distance away from you, and stars, he is an absolute sight. Built like a monument—tall, firm and fucking intimidating. In your everyday life, you always walked with your head held high, refusing to show any weakness, but right now? Your head is down, only peering up at him through hooded lids. Something about the Mandalorian scratches a primal instinct in you that you’ve only observed in animals. Predator, prey—you’re giving up control, and what’s worse is that you actually like it. When it came to lovers, you had always been the dominant one. Every run you’ve made since you can remember, you were the one calling the shots, ordering your comrades around, but in the very short time you’ve known the Mandalorian, you can tell he likes control, and order.

You should hate him. You shouldn’t feel this kind of attraction for him, but despite your efforts, it’s there. You areattracted to him—he basically owns you now; it definitely shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does.

“Sorry?” You manage to choke out. Your throat is bone dry and Maker, you swear if he was any closer, he’d be able to hear your heart fucking hammering in your chest. His gloved hand reaches out and grabs the binds on your wrists. It’s not even his fucking bare hand but it has you holding back a moan. You wrench your eyes shut hoping it will alleviate some of the tension building between your legs.

“I’m going to unbind you,” The voice behind the helmet begins to say. “But if you run, I will catch you again and I won’t hesitate to throw your ass in carbonite. Do you understand?” It comes our breathy, almost like being this close to you is affecting him the same way it’s affecting you.

You can’t find any words, now. All you can do is nod slowly because your mind is on fucking fire being this close to him and you want to rip off that helmet and crush your lips together but also you want to drop to your fucking knees and show him how much he’s affecting you.

The grip on your wrists relaxes and he’s taking the binds and tossing them to the floor of the ship. You continue to stand just a few feet from each other. The visor is too dark to make out his eyes, and you curse the Maker for it. You’ve heard stories about Mandalorians. How they never take off their helmets in front of others, how they swear to the Creed to live a life of anonymity. You couldn’t possibly imagine living that way. It sounds incredibly restricting, but you do respect it. Everyone has their own beliefs in this world, and you aren’t one to judge another for the path they’ve chosen. Look at yourself, you were a nobody mechanic and then you became a spice smuggler. The path you’ve chosen isn’t exactly noble, so who are you to judge how the Mandalorians choose to live their lives?

It takes you a couple of seconds to realize he’s no inches away from your face. He’s halfway down the ramp when he calls you.

“Let’s go.”

You stumble for a couple steps and then pick up a small jog to catch up with him. The walk is a little uncomfortable now due to the slickness between your thighs, but you push through it.

“Where are we going?” You ask once you’re by his side. You look up at him but when he answers you, he keeps his attention peeled to the landscape in front of him.

“The hyperdrive was damaged.” His strides are much larger than yours, and you need to trot to keep up the pace. “I saw a town not too far from here. Hopefully there’ll be someone there that can help.”

You spot the town—barely a town, it’s just a couple of huts and then a bigger one at the centre. You wonder how anyone would choose to live here. It’s too quiet, too uneventful. There are a couple merchants selling krill—you know Sorgan exports a lot of krill and is basically the only way farmers make a living here.

You enter the common house—maybe it’s an inn, you’re not entirely sure. It’s nothing like the cantinas on Kijimi or Tatooine or any of the other planets you’ve visited. It’s ridiculously quiet and charming. There aren’t any patrons playing sabacc and screaming at one another when one of them loses, or others getting incredibly intoxicated on spotchka and brawling on the floor of the bar. Just a couple of humble farmers, some making a pit spot, and other locals keeping to themselves. It’s refreshing and also unnerving. You’re used to the commotion of more lively planet cantinas, staying in the shadows and observing, making sure you’d be ready in case someone tried to pick a fight with you. There’s no need for that here. Not only does everyone in this place look completely harmless, but you’ve also got a fucking Mandalorian on your left, and you doubt anyone would be stupid enough to try to fight him.

Unlike your choice to sit in the back of the common house, the Mandalorian chooses a table smack in the middle of the room. That’s the difference between a Mandalorian and a smuggler. You would rather choose a quiet place to sit, not drawing any attention to yourself. He—on the other hand, doesn’t put that much thought into where they should sit. Smugglers are always being hunted. Mandalorians? No one wants to fight them.

Once seated, you tense immediately. There are voices behind you, and not being able to keep track of what they’re saying, or if they move really distresses you. Granted, you doubt anyone here has a mean bone in their body, but you stay on edge regardless.

One of the women behind the counter takes notice of your arrival. Patting her hands clean on her apron, she walks over to you.

“Can I interest you in anything, travelers?” She asks, all smiles.

Her immediate kindness puts you at ease—slightly.

Before you can ask for some spotchka, the Mandalorian’s vocoder cuts through the helmet.

“Is there anyone here that can repair a ship?”

Her brows pull together tightly, pressing a finger to her chin. “Hmm… I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Sorgan is a farming planet, and we don’t get many visitors around here.”

He sighs, and you peek down from the woman standing over you to see his fist ball up on the table. “Fine.” It comes out strained, like it’s taking all his strength not to blow up and scream.

“Would you like anything else?” She asks again. “Maybe something for you, ma’am?” Shifting her body to face you, you open your mouth to answer, but the Mandalorian speaks first. “No, thank you.”

You whip your head to face him. You may be a quarry, but you still have some rights.

“Actually,” You point out, still looking at the helmet that burns right into you. “I’d like a bottle of your finest spotchka, please.”

He tilts his head just enough for you to notice, fist still balled up on the table. The lady seems to take notice of the tension, but she says nothing further. She simply nods and retreats to the bar. Returning swiftly with a bottle in one hand—two cups in the other, she places them between you two. You reach into the side thigh pocket of your pants and pull out a handful of credits and place them in her hand. She nods in gratitude. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

“Thank you.” The hunter grits through his teeth.

Immediately you pour yourself a glass and throw it back, a couple droplets leaking from the corners of your mouth. Using the back of your hand, you wipe your mouth clean. You know you’ll probably regret the little stunt you just pulled, but it’s been a long fucking day and you just want to relax for a bit.

Okay, so maybe you’re not entirely relaxed because there’s a Mandalorian just a few feet away from that seems to be getting more and more cross the longer you stay in the common house, but you also want to see how far you can press him before he snaps. Besides, he shot down your ship. You deserve this.

Three more glasses of spotchka later, and you’re feeling warm inside. The kind of warm that lowers your defenses and makes you giggle at everything. The kind of warmth that releases the tension that’s nestled in the deepest corners of your body, and makes your vision a little fuzzy. It’s probably early evening now, because the common house is getting livelier. They must be coming in for a meal.

“Get up,” The Mandalorian orders, rising to his feet.

“So soon?” You pout. You’re definitely feeling the effects of the spotchka.

“We’ve wasted enough time here. Now get up, we’re leaving.”

Normally, you’d fight till your last breath, but with the alcohol swimming in your blood, your inhibitions are lowered, and you’re way too relaxed to actually get your brain to fight back. Besides, there’s barely any spotchka left and you don’t have any more credits to spend.

Getting to your feet is a little bit of a struggle. Once standing up, the room starts spinning. Not enough to completely knock you off balance, but enough to make it difficult to stand without swaying. Turning on his heel, the Mandalorian heads for the door, cape mimicking his movements. Your legs aren’t moving as fast as you’d like them too, and the spotchka is really getting to your head, now. You drank a lot more than you should have.

Luckily you’re able to catch up to him, somewhat out of breath though. He doesn’t say anything to you—no surprise there. As you stumble through the forest, there’s a gentle breeze in the air. Tree branches creak as the wind passes through, and stray hairs from your ponytail brush across your flushed cheeks. You’re too preoccupied with enjoying the clean, fresh air to notice he’s now a couple feet ahead of you. The cape attached to his armour flows in the gentle breeze. Stars, you’re completely captivated by him. By the way he carries himself, like there’s not a shred of self-doubt behind that armor, and you want to know everything about him. Now that you’re pretty drunk, the thoughts you pushed away can roam freely in your mind. When was the last time he took off that helmet? Why did he—a Mandalorian, decide to be a bounty hunter? How many quarries has he captured in his life? How old is he? Are Mandalorians allowed to have sex with non-Mandalorians? Your mind is coming up with an endless number of questions, but you never find the strength to ask.

“You know, you could have asked me to help with the ship,” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them. The Mandalorian stops in his tracks and waits for you to catch up to him. Once you’re at his side, he turns his head to look in your direction.

“What?” Deep, rough, and somewhat irritable.

Your shoulders shoot up and down twice, body swaying with the breeze. “I’m a mechanic.”

“Yeah.” He says, brushing off yours words and resuming his tread.

“No, seriously.” Chasing after him, you want to reach out and grab hold of his arm, but you catch yourself before you do.

“Just how much spotchka did you drink?” He taunts, voice condensing like he’s scolding a child.

“I… don’t know.” Holy maker, did you drink an entire bottle to yourself?

The Mandalorian actually scoffs at you. If you could see his face, you’re certain he’d be rolling his eyes at you.

“Okay, well I used to be.” You clarify, still struggling to keep up with his gigantic strides. Kriff how fast does he walk? “Can you just stop walking for a second, please?”

“No.”

You let out a loud, childish groan. At this point you basically have to run to keep up with the hunk of metal heading back to his ship.

“I used to repair ships with my father on Tatooine.” Your tone is breathy, your lungs trying to get as much fresh air as possible.

This makes him pause. Turning around, the ‘T’ of his visor looking directly at you. Stopping at arm’s-length away from him, you bend forward, hands resting on your knees. He gives you time to regulate your breathing.

“I can fix the hyperdrive. I’ve been doing it since I can remember.” You try to assure him. You don’t even know why you’re offering your help. The longer it takes to fix, the longer your freedom lasts, but the alcohol has made you soft, more accommodating. Seeming to come out of nowhere, your vision becomes extremely blurry. You swear there’s now two Mandalorians in front of you. Blinking profusely, your eyesight doesn’t clear. You feel like you’re floating while simultaneously being pulled to the ground. Fighting to keep your eyes open, you feel your limbs cave in, and everything gets dark.

The sound of crackling fire wakes you up. It must be late, because the fire is the only source of light. How did you get here? The last thing you remember was walking through thick forest with the Mandalorian and now you’re laying by a fire, back near the Crest. You can’t remember the last time you actually passed out from drinking so much. The spotchka here has to be stronger than any other time you’ve had it. You can handle your drink, and this is downright embarrassing.

Wait, did he actually carry you back to the ship? Despite the little stunt you pulled back at the common house? He could have easily thrown you into carbonite once you both got back to the ship and you wouldn’t have even known it, but for some reason, he chose not to. You want to ask him—to show your appreciation, but you hesitate. Maybe just letting it slide is the right course of action.

Propping yourself on your elbows, you see the Mandalorian sitting on an old, mossy stump. There’s something between his legs, but you can’t make out its features through the fire. Pushing yourself to your feet, you notice another stump just to your right. He must have put it there for you to sit once you woke up. You have a pounding headache, but the fire’s warmth helps a little.

You can now make out a few more details about the creature sat between the Mandalorian’s feet. It looks like a child, but you can’t be sure. Your eyes must be deceiving you because it appears to be green, the type of green you’ve only ever seen on the plains of Naboo.

Stars, its ears. They’re massive, just like its eyes. Your mouth curls into a smile. It’s adorable. You’ve never been partial to kids. There was never something inside of you that longed for a child, or to take care of one, but this little thing at the Mandalorian’s feet is making you rethink anything negative you’ve ever said about babies.

“What…is that?” You ask as you sit down on the stump he placed for you.

From the embers of the fire, you see the little thing’s eyes find you and it coos. Kriff, he’s so fucking cute.

“He’s a foundling.” Oh, so it’s a ‘he’.

You wait for him to explain, but the Mandalorian isn’t one to talk or elaborate unless directly addressed or absolutely necessary. Continuing to examine the child from a distance, it—no, he, is also looking at you, almost like he’s studying you as well.

“How did he come into your care?”

“He was a quarry,” His voice is quiet, the modulator distorting his tone to make it raspier than usual.

“You haven’t delivered him yet?”

Your eyes shift between the man in armor across the fire from you, and the small green alien-looking child between his legs. The Child’s head tilts from side to side as he watches you, the reflection of the flames glistening in his big black eyes.

“I did.” He deadpans and leaves you to fill in the rest of the blanks.

You want to bore him to death with questions. Why did he go back for him? Does this mean he’s its father? How does he plan to raise a child being a bounty hunter? Does that mean this kid will also become a Mandalorian?

None of these questions actually come out of your mouth, though. Given the circumstances, you don’t think the Mandalorian even has a clue what he’ll do, and it’s not really your place to bombard him with your curiosity.

So, maybe this Mandalorian was different from the stories you’ve heard—not that you’ve heard much honestly other than them being amazing killers, but if he went back for the Child, then maybe there was a soft, kind heart under all that beskar.

“I can do it.” Your voice is just loud enough for him to hear you. You continue to stare into the flames, waiting to see if he’ll respond. He doesn’t, but that’s fine with you.

You’re not entirely sure when you even fell asleep but when your eyes flutter open, you’re lying on the ground, back against the uneven terrain. Using the ground to push you up to your feet, you shake the dirt off your pants and begin stretching your back by twisting your torso until you hear a satisfying crack. Your mother used to scold you for cracking your back. “You’re going to hurt yourself one day,” she used to say. When you were a kid, you’d roll your eyes at her and then she’d give you a gentle but still stern slap across the arm, the kind of slap only a mother could get away with doing. You were never really one to listen to authority, so it’s a habit you never grew out of.

It’s a beautiful day. The sun is beaming down on your skin, not a single cloud in sight. Sorgan is quite breathtaking, really. On most planets, no matter where you are, you can hear the commotion of city centres or see ships coming in and out of the atmosphere. Not on Sorgan, though. The only sounds you’re able to make out are tress swaying in the breeze, and the occasional bellow of the beasts in the forest.

The sound of the Child startles you. He’s at your feet, little arms extending out to grasp the material of your trousers. When did he get here? You crouch down and wave your index finger at him, little coos emitting from the green baby. His three-fingered hand wraps around your finger. This warm calmness comes over you, putting you at ease. Untensing all your muscles, your aches disappear, and the only thing that exists is you and the Child. You close your eyes, completely giving into the stillness. Maker, you swear you can hear the Child say something. Your eyes are still closed, and you don’t actually hear him say anything, but he is. You hear it in your mind—It’s faint and muffled, and you have to focus all your energy into narrowing down what he’s saying, and then it becomes as clear as day.

Grogu.

“Good. You’re up.”

The Mandalorian’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He’s headed straight for you, just as stoic as ever; the sun’s light ricocheting off the beskar. The Child’s grip slackens, and you straighten out to meet the Mandalorian’s gaze. Your breath hitches as he continues to make his way towards you. Something as simple as a walk shouldn’t make you feel the way it does, but you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. Shifting in your stance, you can’t help but notice the heat building in your lower abdomen. Stars, get a grip. He’s the enemy, you shouldn’t allow yourself to feel this.

Leaning over, he picks up the Child and holds him with one arm. Almost immediately, you observe the way the Child wraps his tiny hand around one of the Mandalorian’s gloved fingers. There’s no stopping the stupid, shit-eating grin that appears on your face.

“The hyperdrive.”

“Right.” You respond, the smile falls from your face and you stand there awkwardly for a few seconds. The Mandalorian turns his back to you and makes way for the Crest. You follow him like a lost puppy, keeping a couple feet distance between you and him.

Once inside, he sets the Child down on one of the cargo crates near the ladder leading up the cockpit. You head up the ladder first, and he quickly follows suit. To your left is a small cubby hole in the wall that accesses all the wiring to the hyperdrive. It’ll be a nightmare to crawl in and out of, but you offered your services to him, so you can’t turn back now.

“I’ll get straight to work, then.” Turning away from him, you crouch down to your knees to examine the damage. There are various wires that are disconnected and thrown around, smoke emitting from one of the panels hidden inside the wall, and looks just about as worse as it can get. You’ve never seen anything this bad, before. How the Kriff was he able to fly this ship in such a horrible state? You start by grabbing a blue and red wire that hang loosely off the wall. A bit of copper and aluminum cords are splitting at the end of the cable which makes you think they might have touched each other causing some kind short circuit. Shrugging off the idea, you start to work.

After working on the hyperdrive for a couple hours, you decide to take a break. Climbing down the ladder near the cockpit, there’s no sign of the Mandalorian or the Child. All of a sudden, you’re aware of how sticky your body feels. Dirty, grimy, and uncomfortable. Now would be the perfect time for a shower. You turn your head to the fresher behind you and consider taking one, but you don’t want to intrude. You’re still a quarry and you assume the Mandalorian wouldn’t appreciate you taking a shower in his refresher. On your walk to the common house yesterday, you had spotted a lake not too far away. Maybe you could take one there. Then again, if you were to venture off, he might think you’ve run off. Your eyes shift between the fresher and the outside.

“You can clean up in the fresher.” Despite his tone always been low and rough, it still startles you. You whip your neck to see the Mandalorian leaning against the wall of the ship. You swear he wasn’t there a second ago so to see him just a few metres away from you not only puzzles you, but sends immediate shockwaves to your cunt. You feel like you’re being stalked, and it shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. The Mandalorian is built like a goddamn Star Destroyer; one look at him and you’re instantly intimidated, almost scared. You’ve never met anyone who can be so big yet so quiet, so frightening yet also so caring. It’s actually quite impressive. From his demeanor, no one would be able to guess he’s got a fucking kid back in his ship.

At first you want to protest, not wanting to push any boundaries or make either of you feel uncomfortable, but you know he’ll end up winning any argument you try to make for yourself, so instead you give him a quick nod before turning on your heel to the refresher. You don’t turn back to see if the Mandalorian is still looking at you, but your cheeks feel red hot anyway.

The fresher is pretty small considering the size of the ship, but if he somehow manages to fit in here, you have no problem. The water is warm, and cascades over your skin, instantly relaxing you. It feels amazing until it suddenly doesn’t. Your arm is burning, it’s on fucking fire and then it hits you. Looking down at your arm, you see scorched skin and are reminded of your injury from… well you’re not quite sure how long it’s been since he captured you back on Kijimi. It’s maybe been two or three days since. In the same moment, you realize you never got to put any bacta spray on it to stop any kind of infection. The skin surrounding the wound is turning a deep green-purple shade. Not a good sign.

“Kriff…” You whisper. You were supposed to put some bacta on it once you got back to your ship but obviously, things went differently than you expected. You take the bar of soap sitting on one of the ledges inside the fresher and begin washing away the dirt and sweat from the last couple of days, being extra careful when cleaning the area around your injury. Realistically, you could stay here for hours, letting the warm water drip down your figure, completely soothing your sore muscles and calming your mind, but you don’t want to take up more water than necessary.

When you come out of the fresher, there’s a pile of clean clothes resting on the rungs of the ladder. Tilting your head at the garments in front of you, you take them in your hands and smile to yourself. He must have gone out while you were working on the ship and somehow was able to find you some clean clothes. You change quickly, out in the open, hoping he won’t walk in and see you—okay maybe you do kind of hope he’ll see you. Once you’re fully clothes, you’re pleasantly surprised to notice they fit you perfectly. The cargo pants hug your frame like a glove, and you can’t help but notice they make your ass look great. Your tunic snatches your waist and is low cut enough for just the smallest amount of cleavage to pop through.

Taking the ladder two steps at a time, you reach the top in record time. You can see the smooth convex of beskar in the pilot’s chair, so instead of immediately resuming your work, you poke your head into the doorway of the cockpit. The Child’s pram rests on the seat to your left. It’s closed which means he’s probably asleep in there.

“Thank you for the clothes…” You’re not sure what to call him, since neither of us have actually properly introduced yourselves. However, you’re sure he knows your name given there’s a bounty on your head.

He doesn’t turn to face you, just continues whatever he’s doing. “Mando,” He clarifies, somehow answering the question you were thinking. “And you’re welcome.”

You linger for a couple seconds, not entirely sure why. He’s not much of a talker, but you still want to hear his voice. Before you can conjure up with something to say, he breaks the silence.

“When will you be done?” There isn’t any annoyance in his tone, which is usually accompanied by that question. You heard it all the time when you worked back at the hangar. “Hey lady, when are you going to be done?”, “What the Kriff is taking so long?”. You’ve grown to let those condescending questions roll off your back, but the Mandalorian’s tone is surprisingly gentle. Maker, are you falling for the Mandalorian?

“Well,” You begin, taking a few steps into the cockpit. Your hand comes up and latches onto your forearm, squeezing it. “I noticed that the hyperdrive was only functioning at 50% capacity before it broke down completely, and I was going to ask if you wanted it back at 100% before we takeoff because that’ll take—”

“Just fix it enough for us to get back to Nevarro.” He interjects, the baritone coming out dry.

It catches you off-guard, but you’re quickly reminded once again that you aren’t just somebody fixing the ship. You are a prisoner, and he doesn’t actually owe you any more kindness. He was kind enough to let you live, let you clean yourself in his refresher, and give you clean clothes. You’re chewing on the flesh inside your cheek, wondering if there’s something else you should say, but nothing worth saying comes to mind. He must notice your presence still there, because he swivels the pilot’s chair to face you. You swallow the giant lump in your throat and shift in your stance.

“You’re hurt.”

You glance over to your arm and then back to the visor. “It’s nothing.”

Pressing down on his knees to stand, the Mandalorian stalks towards you. Nerves and arousal are pooling in your stomach, now. Your chest is heaving as he gets closer. Stopping just at arm’s length, a gloved hand reaches out and clasps just underneath your injured bicep. The touch makes you pull back, not because it hurts but because it feels too fucking amazing. You’re seeing stars and he’s barely even touched you. Mouth agape, your breathing is so fucking uneven.

“That’ll need more than just cauterizing in order for it to properly heal,” His hand now moves down, ever so gently caressing your elbow. Your head dips down, unable to look at him directly. It’s pathetic really. You’re usually a fairly strong-willed person, who doesn’t bend at the will of anybody. You stand tall, even despite your size. Others in the smuggling game have a huge respect for you and see you as a leader, but now you’re cowering under the Mandalorian. You’d obey every one of his commands if he ordered it. All the power you hold, your bad habit of resisting authority would vanish in an instant if he pushed you.

“There’s bacta spray in the medical kit near the armory. You should take care of that before it infects.”

Your brain is racing, and the ability to form words had completed disappeared. All you can offer is a barely noticeable nod. You want to stay in this moment for as long as you can. Just the two of you standing inches apart, the tension growing thicker and thicker in the small area of the cockpit. You wonder if he feels it, too. If he wishes for this intimate moment to last forever. Swallowing your nerves, your eyes shit from the floor up to the visor. Trying to gauge for some kind of reaction but even if he is affected by this, his body gives no sign of it. Must be all in your head, then.

The Mandalorian’s finally the one to break up your little moment. He lets go of your elbow and you fight back the moan that threatens to escape your lips. You want him to touch you again, anywhere and fucking everywhere. He sits back in the chair and rotates it towards the control panel, so his back is facing you again. You probably linger a little longer than you should before finally retreating back down the ladder to get the bacta spray.

Once the spray mists over the gash, you instantly feel relief. The strain you didn’t realize was still in your body dissipates and you let out a deep breath through your lips. Thank the Maker for bacta spray.

The next few days go by relatively fast. Despite the awkward/sexual tension that clearly exists between you and Mando, you’re able to endure it. The encounters don’t last that long anyway. Usually, he’ll ask you about the progress on the hyperdrive. The conversations don’t last particularly long, but it’s enough to work you up into a sweaty mess.

And if you’re being honest, you probably could have fixed the hyperdrive in two days. You’re a damn natural when it comes to repairs, and you’ve fixed hundreds of hyperdrives in worse shape believe it or not. But you’re were taking your sweet ass time, giving yourself more time to be with Mando. It’s silly and childish, but you truly enjoyed his company, even though the conversations are mostly one sided.

Unfortunately though, the job had to get done. Once Mando noticed the hyperdrive had been fixed to 65% capacity, he was satisfied enough with your work. He decided you’d spend one last night on Sorgan and then leave at first light.

You’re all sitting by the fire. The Child propped up on a stump between the two of you. The night is calm, not a single breeze passing through the trees. A clear sky showered in stars. Forgetting the fact that this is essentially your last night of “freedom”, you’re really loving this.

“Twenty thousand.”

You’re in the middle of sipping bone broth you bought off a merchant in town—with Mando’s credits, when his voice catches your attention. “Hmm?” You mumble, using the back of your hand to wipe the little dripples of soup that trinkle down your chin.

“You asked me how much your bounty was,” His helmet stares into the fire a few feet away from him. The orange hues reflecting off the beskar.

Your lips form a thin line. You didn’t know the New Republic had that kind of money to spend. Twenty thousand is a pretty generous bounty.

“Wow, that’s pretty high.” That’s actually really high. It’s hard to make an honest living, and the New Republic throwing around thousands of credits like that makes you uneasy. Instead of using that as an incentive for other to hunt criminals, it should be distributed to those less fortunate. The thought makes you chuckle to yourself. A smuggler explaining how a government should be run. How noble of you.

“I wasn’t born into this, you know…” Your voice trails off, unsure if Mando wants to hear you or not. The helmet turns in your direction, giving you permission to continue. The Child looks up at you and coos. Your eyes avert their gaze to stare into the flames.

Clearing your throat, you begin. “I was raised on Tatooine. My parents were lucky enough to own a hangar, so my dad worked there, and my mom was a seamstress. Just a couple of ordinary people.” You weren’t particularly less fortunate than anyone else in your town. Your belly was always full, and you always had clean clothes on your back. Most of the residents in your village weren’t as privileged but your parents were generous, offering what little excess they had was given those who couldn’t afford food or clean garments.

Early on, they taught you never to flaunt what you had, always be humble when speaking to others, and to always be respectful. You loved your parents more than you could say, and ever since they died, you shut off a part of yourself. Heartbroken and alone, losing yourself in work seemed like the only way to cope with the loss. The more sorrow you felt, the more work you forced on yourself. If it weren’t for Tye, you’re not sure if you would have been able to get through it.

And ever since then, you vowed never to let yourself experience any kind of love again. The risk was just too high. Not knowing if one day your loved one would come home or not, investing so much of your soul into someone, relying on them only to have it snatched away from you without warning; it just seemed foolish. When they died, you cried every morning and every night for months, until one night you vowed never to cry again.

And you haven’t since.

People called you heartless, scum, cruel, but their words never managed to pierce the iron exterior you mentally built for yourself when your parents died. No one would be allowed to access that sensitive, caring part of you. Not even Tye. You loved him like a brother, but once that loss had punched through you, you could never look at him the same. There was a distance, now. Whether he knew it or not, he never confronted you about it. He gave you space, and when you were ready to let him back into your life, albeit not really back in, he never pressured you or expected your relationship to go back to how it was.

“So when they passed, I just felt like I was lost. I needed to escape.”

“And smuggling was your only option?” There’s a hint of mockery in his tone.

“Yeah, I’m a smuggler and you’re a bounty hunter. We all make choices in life. I’ve made my peace with that.” Your tone comes out a little more defensive than it should, and you think about apologizing, but fuck it. You have nothing to lose anymore. Even if you thought he might not turn you in, the possibility of getting twenty thousand credits is too much of an opportunity to pass up on.

Neither of you speak for the rest of the night.

You’re awakened by Mando nudging your feet with his. You snap out of deep sleep, rubbing your palms against your eyes. Sitting up, you moan softly and begin trying to adjust your vision to the Sorgan darkness. The only light that the night offers is the moonlight reflecting off Mando’s armor. The helmet’s looking directly at you, and a finger comes up to where his mouth would be, signaling to be quiet. Still half-asleep, you nod.

Ever so slowly, you rise to your feet and quickly brush the dirt off your pants.

“Get to the ship,” He orders, voice low and gruff.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, still standing in place.

“Hunters.” He says. “Get to the ship.” Mando orders again, his tone becoming much more assertive. You want to fight. You’ve never run from a fight before, and you’re not about to start now.

“I can help.”

Before having the chance to respond, red blasts come flying through the trees in the distance. Mando grabs you by the waist and shoves you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Get to the fucking ship!” He yells.

You want to argue with him, really you do. Realistically, you know he could probably take care of this himself, but that doesn’t mean you want to cower away and hide in the ship while he takes care of business. Then panic swarms you.

The Child.

Your head whips back and forth, and the relief that comes over you when you catch sight of his pram just your left, the gloomy night shielding him from sight, instantly calms your nerves.

The shooting stops all at once, becoming eerily quiet. Mando pivots, trying to keep eyes all around him. Your body mimics his movements, even though you’re completely defenseless. Twigs snapping, bushes rustling—not from the breeze, but from intruders trampling over them, coming closer. One, two, three, four hunters come into view, flanking you from all angles.

Okay, so this worse than you thought.

“Ah, Mando!” One of them calls out, blaster pointed directly at Mando’s chest.

“We don’t want any trouble, Mando,” Another pursuer taunts. “We just want the girl.”

Fuck.

They begin drawing in closer. You don’t want to underestimate Mando’s ability to fight, but with four hunters closing in, and having only one blaster, you’re not seeing how he can win this. You’re conjuring a plan inside your head and praying that he’ll catch on. If someone’s going to get credit for your capture, it sure as hell isn’t going to be this gang of thugs.

“Fine.” You throw up your hands in defeat, stepping aside from the shield that is Mando. You face the man directly in front of you, assuming he’s the one who’s leading the charge.

“What are you doing?” Mando’s voice is fucking low, somewhere between a whisper and a growl.

“Trust me.” Your tone gentle, eyes pleading with him.

You begin taking slow footsteps towards the blaster pointed now at you. “I can assure you, I’m more valuable alive, so why don’t we put our blasters down before someone gets hurts?” Arms still up, hesitating to take any more steps forward.

“You think we’re stupid enough to listen to you?” One of them shouts behind you. You flinch on impulse. Your chest is heaving, but you need to a grip if you plan to walk away from this alive.

You can slightly make out the hunter’s features. He looks somewhat familiar, like when you see a stranger in a dream, but you can’t pinpoint where you’ve seen him before. You’ve encountered plenty of hunters before, maybe they’re just all starting to look the same to you. Only Mando stands out, now.

The moon’s mellow and radiant reflection is starting to make out the hunter’s features. He doesn’t look entirely human, but you don’t manage to get close enough to actually see what he is.

“Hi, sweetheart.” The hunter sneers, his mouth curling into a malicious grin.

Stopping dead in your tracks, you remember who this is—but how? You shot him in the chest. You saw him fall. Sure, you didn’t actually check to see if he was dead but how could anyone survive being blasted directly in the chest? You must be remembering wrong. No, he shouldn’t be here. He can’t be here.

“Surprised to see me?”

You refuse to show your disbelief, keeping your jaw tense. “No, it’s just more target practice.” You spit.

Eerie laughter erupts from deep inside the man opposite you. Never slacking on the grip on his blaster, he shifts the barrel from your chest to directly between your eyes. Okay…what the fuck do you do now?

Mando and the kid are still a few feet behind you. You’re running out of ideas, fast. If you went to attack your pursuer, he’d definitely shoot you before you got close enough to him, and the three behind you would shoot Mando down before he even had time to react. You need to play this out smart, maybe you could—

Before being able to finish your thought, you hear whistling, and bodies hit the ground. Instinctively, you want to look over your shoulder to see what happened, but there’s still a blaster pointed at your face, and you’d be dead if you wasted even a second to turn around. Charging at him, you narrowly miss three blasts as they come flying by your cheek, shoulder, and neck. Once you feel close enough, you lunge at him, knocking you both to the ground. Your body lands on top of his, the blaster rolling a few feet away from your conjoined bodies. Grabbing hold of the lapel on his jacket, you wind up your fist and connect it with his jaw. He cries at the pain, retaliating by slamming his knee into your abdomen. The air is completely knocked out of your lungs, but you stifle the wail that threatens to spill you. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

You reach out aimlessly for the gun, and the joy you get when you feel the gun in your hand is unmatched. Scrambling to your feet, and clutching the gun in your hand, you point it at him. Mando wastes no time rushing to your side, blaster also on him.

“Don’t.” You tell him. No, you want this kill to be yours.

For a moment, you think he’ll ignore you and shoot him anyway. The man on the ground, now resting on his elbows spits, droplets of blood landing on the ground, a small trail dribbling down his chin. It shouldn’t bring you this much satisfaction, to see him bleed and completely at your mercy, but reason has escaped you. You want to hurt him; you want him to feel as much pain as any person can take. He threatened you, Mando, and the kid. He’ll pay for it, you promise.

“Go ahead, kill me.” The man swears. “But know that we’re only the beginning. You think you’re the only one who got a tracking fob, Mando?” A smile curls up on the corners of his lips. Your body is hot—it’s actually scorching. This surpasses any emotion you’ve ever felt before. The scalding need for blood and pain engulfs you. You’re not even sure why you feel so angry, but you are.

“Hunter scum,” You spit, kicking him hard in the stomach. More red fluid punches out of his mouth, causing him to cough aggressively.

“Hey,” Mando’s free arm grasps on to your bicep. “Stop.”

Your head’s shaking violently. No, he needs to suffer. “No, I’m gonna savour this.” You swing your leg back to kick him again, but Mando’s voice rips through the vocoder. “Stop!” It comes out aggressive, like he’s giving you an order.

Your jaw is tight, every fiber in your body is telling you to shove Mando out of the way so you can wreck this hunter scum that lies at your feet.

“You g-gonna let him order you around like that, sweetheart?” His last word cuts through you like a vibroblade to the chest. Your free hand balls up into a fist, white knuckling so hard, you’re sure you’re breaking skin with your nails. The man on the ground laughs, he’s fucking laughing at you and that’s the final straw, the thing you needed to push you over the edge. Unclenching your fist, your hand shoots up and flexes around what you imagine is his neck. He coughs, and starts gasping for air. Shaky hands shoot up to his own throat, as if he thinks that’ll somehow relieve the pressure you’re creating. It feels good, seeing him fucking struggle for breath, watching the light behind his eyes becoming dimmer and dimmer. It’s happening all too fast, and you want to take your time.

“Fuck this,” Mando shouts, his blaster coming up and shooting the man in the heart. Your grip slackens, and you drop to your knees. Struggling for breath, one hand on your chest and the other on your knee, you feel like you’re going to pass out. Mando’s drops to your side, a big, gloved hand resting on your back. Your body shudders at the touch and you pull away from him. Determined to put some space between you two, you straighten out, and take a couple steps back.

“What the hell happened there?” He tries not to startle you; his voice comes out a rough whisper.

Feeling your breathing evening out, your palms come out, trembling. You stare down at them, then to the corpse lying near Mando’s feet, desperately trying to understand why you couldn’t stop, why you couldn’t control your anger. The words aren’t forming, you can’t bring yourself to understand how it happened.

“I-I don’t know.” How could this happen? How could you let this happen?

A distorted sigh comes through the helmet. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“I didn’t,” Your voice comes out as gentle as you can, given the circumstances. “I’ve just always had it.”

Mando takes a step closer to you and halts; he’s asking for permission to get closer. You give him a barely noticeable nod and within seconds he’s towering over you. His hands twitch at his sides, and you wonder if he’s going to touch you, but he doesn’t, and you start to believe that maybe a jail cell is exactly where you should be.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #Din Djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #the mandalorian x you #Din Djarin x you #mando x reader #mando x you #angst #tw: graphic depictions of violence #tw: grief #reader insert #the mandalorian fanfiction #we are one when together #fics

106 notes · View notes

o-neillwith2ls · 3 years

Text

I don't have to explain myself

Original/Fanfiction: Fanfiction

Fandom: Stargate SG1 & Atlantis

Rating: Teen and upwards

Warning/Triggers: None

IN last years Fictober challenge I did a piece called "Give me that!" and I said on A03 in the notes something along the lines of "We all know he went to see her right?"

So I wrote it it's kind of a chapter 2 to it, if you have the patience it was published on here, all you need to do is scroll down my profile to #27 of last years fictober20 stories. If not you can read both this and 'give me that' on A03

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34777771 (A link can be found to find "Give me that" in the notes on A03)

The Stargate started moving and the alarms started to blare. Sam moved slowly with her broken leg but still made it to the control room before the end of the sequence.

“We have an IDC coming through.” Rodney confirmed and was surprised at the name which popped up on the screen. “It’s General O’Neill’s personal code.” He confirmed.

Sam smiled widely and started moving towards the gate room. “Drop the shield!” She called behind her.

John was already standing in the gate room looking towards the open Stargate. “I wonder what prompted this visit.” He whispered smugly to Sam.

Sam could feel the blush rise but she teased tight back “I wonder.” She said seconds before Jack O’Neill stepped through the gate.

Both Sam and John snapped to full stance and Jack approached them “At ease both of you.” He told them.

“We weren’t expecting you sir.” John grinned.

“Yes well, I thought it would be a nice surprise.” He told them. “It’s a nice surprise right Carter?” He asked her without looking.

“Always a pleasure sir.” She said obediently.

“I thought you were meant to stay off that leg?” He finally said looking at her.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.” She tried but could see the concern in his eyes, and wanted to melt into his arms right there and then.

“I want you to take a look at this General.” Rodney said walking into the room with a tablet in his hand.

“Rodney!” John growled.

“What? It’s just a proposal for him to look at.”

“Not now!” John tried.

“What? He’ll like it, it’s space guns.”

“Space guns you say?” Jack perked up.

“Yes,” Rodney replied to Jack then looked towards John “See he likes it!”

“He’s just came through the Stargate Rodney, let the man get out the gateroom first!” John exclaimed.

“Right!” Jack said then with a grin to Carter said “Colonel, can you show me where I’ll be staying?” He asked her.

“Sure.” She said trying to suppress her smile while John didn’t even bother suppressing the chuckle. “Right this way sir.”

----

Needless to say their make out session was a little trickier with a cast on her leg, but it didn’t stop them, it had been months since they had last touched so once inside Sam’s sizable quarters they were striping and giggling over their clumsiness because of the cast when they heard her doorbell ring.

“Ignore them, they’ll get the message when I don’t answer.” She said quietly to him, although she wasn’t sure why, the Ancients had made the bedroom walls all soundproof.

“I don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He growled, squeezing her naked breast again making her gasp in delight.

The doorbell rang again and Sam looked at the door in frustration.

“Come back to me.” Jack growled nibbling at her now exposed neck. He could almost feel the tension leave her shoulders as she closed her eyes enjoying the bliss he was bestowing on her, for a few seconds more.

“Oh my God!” They heard from the door.

“Oh God!” Jack exclaimed upon seeing Rodney at the door.

“Oh my God!” Sam exclaimed, grabbing her afghan blanket from the back of the sofa doing her best to cover herself. “Rodney what are you doing?” She asked him.

“I thought your door must be broken!” He exclaimed.

“We were ignoring you!” She exclaimed as Jack lifted off her, pulling a cushion over his middle and giving her room to sit up and adjust.

“You?!” He exclaimed looking at Jack “a-aand you?!” He said turning on his heel and going out into the corridor.

“Damn it.” Sam whispered, getting up.

“Sam, you shouldn’t be walking on that leg.” Jack admonished her gently when Sam started going after Rodney.

“I have to tell him to keep his mouth shut.” She finished just as she walked out into the corridor with not a stitch on except the Afghan blanket around her.

“Rodney!” She called to him.

“How long huh? How long have you been stringing me along?” Rodney’s words rushed out as they did when he was confused or upset.

“Excuse me?” Sam demanded.

“Are you in love with him?” Rodney asked him voice audibly going up in tone.

Sam didn’t owe him an explanation about who she was with or not with, not even a little, and she thought it would mean even less to him as she thought he was seeing (she was never 100% sure with Rodney) someone else. “I don’t have to explain myself.”

“You do!” Rodney told her “After everything we meant to each other, did none of it mean anything to you?”

“Rodney—”

“No, you see because this is the part you tell me the whole thing was in my head.”

“It was.” Sam stated calmly.

“And that you weren’t right there stripping off trying to distract me from fixing the ship a couple of years ago.”

“Huh?” Sam questioned.

“Or or or there wasn’t explosive chemistry between us, that time I came to the SGC.”

“Rodney!” She started annoyed but checked herself and took a deep breath in. “The only place there has ever been anything more, then friendship between us, has been in your head. When we met in the SGC I thought I had never met anyone so arrogant, petty or bad with people in my life! Ever! And I was a Major in the Airforce! My whole life was dealing with people like that. Take a long hard look at the man I am with and you’ll know he’s not like that, at all!”

Rodney’s face dropped in disappointment, if Jack O’Neill really was who she loved the question remained “You really don’t like me?” He asked.

She sighed and studied him for a moment “You’ve made incredible strides forward in a lot of areas Rodney.” She told him honestly. “It’s made it easier for people to approach you, it’s made you easier to work with, and I have to admit an ease to our relationship which I never saw coming.” She told him. Rodney perked a little still looking hopeful “But I’ve never been in love with you.”

“Do you love him? In there?” Rodney asked, waving his finger towards her room. “General Underpants?”

Sam almost lost her composure over his inadvertent use of Vala’s nickname she’d given Jack, but soldiered on with a straight face “Yeah. For a long time.”

“How long have you been a thing?”

“Nearly 3 years.” Sam told him.

“Three years! And no one bothered to tell me?”

“It’s not any of your business Rodney!” She reminded him. “And very few of the personnel here know, we have an exception letter from the president that doesn’t matter because I’m not in his chain of command anyway but we don’t like to set the appearance of a bad example so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anyone.”

“Does John know?”

“Rodney!”

“Right, um well, fine… fine.”

“You know it’s for the best, we would make a horrible couple.”

“I’m sure.”

“And don’t you have something going with—”

“Yeah, so it’s maybe for the best. Of course, your secret is safe with me. My last act of adoration.” He cut her off and started walking down the corridor away from her.

She closed her eyes, sighing in relief and slightly bemused.

“Oh and just one more thing.” He added, as she opened her eyes. “Just so you know my imagination did not do you justice.”

“Erh, thanks?” She questioned but the intonation was lost on him as he walked away.

Sam shook her head and went back into her quarters.

She looked across the room to see her lover there, waiting for her. “Where were we?” she asked, locking the door again behind her.

#fictober2021 #fictober21 #fictober2020 #fictober20 #samantha carter sg1 #jack o'neill #jack o neill #samantha carter #sam x jack #stargate sg1 #stargate sg-1 #stargate atlantis

7 notes · View notes

highfunctioningflailgirl · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021

Prompt #6: Touch and go

It all happened too fast.

The discussion with the Keh-Rhans tipped into drama within seconds. One minute they were politely arguing about the delivery fee for the six containers of Vallulah seeds Rios and Agnes had just unloaded, and the next, without warning, phaser beams were lighting up the cargo dock.

Rios was caught by surprise, and Agnes? He’d just pulled his own phaser and returned fire when, to his horror, he saw her getting hit. She’d been standing by La Sirena’s loading ramp, going through a checklist on her PADD. The tablet clattered to the ground when she fell, not even making a sound.

“Agnes!”

Rios, heart lurching, laid a carpet of cover fire in the three Keh-Rhans’ direction and ran to her, already shouting into his comm.

“Activate all emergency holograms! We’re under attack! Emmett! Enoch! Close the loading ramp! Emil to the transporter pad!”

He threw himself across Agnes, still firing. A scorched, bloody gash ran across the left side of her chest where the phaser had burnt through her clothes. Rios had no idea if she was even still alive.

“Two for transport!” He yelled into his comm, a phaser beam shooting past his head. “Get us out of here! NOW!”

Agnes was in his arms when they materialized inside La Sirena. Rios’ shirt was already sticky with her blood and molten fabric.

“What is- DOCTOR JURATI!”

The EMH skipped the usual prelude and stepped onto the transporter pad to pry his patient out of Rios’ arms.

“Trauma kit!” he ordered, and a large silver case materialized beside him.

Below them, they heard a clunk and hiss as Sirena’s loading ramp closed and sealed. Behind them, the ship’s engine powered up.

Rios had stepped aside to let the hologram work. He was trembling.

“Is she…?”

“She’s alive,” the EMH answered, running his tricorder over the wound. “Barely. We need to get her to med bay.”

They both knew that the in-ship transporter was deactivated during takeoff, so Rios scooped Agnes up into his arms and carried her down the stairs and through the mess hall, his heart hammering.

She was so limp in his arms, so small.

Arriving in sickbay, he gently put her down on the biobed where Emil was already pulling up scans and initializing trauma protocols. Alarms started blaring as soon as Agnes’ body touched the biobed. The outline of her body was blinking on the monitor on the cubicle wall, her chest area filled with red, a column of numbers flashing urgently beside it.

“What’s going on?” Rios demanded. “How bad is it?”

The EMH was tapping buttons on a holographic screen and an orange matrix flickered to life over Agnes’ prone body. A ventilator unit materialized beside the bed.

“She’s not breathing. I have to intubate.”

Fast and calmly, the medical hologram maneuvered a tube down Agnes’ throat and connected her to the machine. Rios swallowed. La Sirena was a freighter, not equipped with the high-end medical equipment Starfleet ships had at their disposal. He wished Sirena’s med bay had a holographic respirator, sparing Agnes from the invasive procedure she was just going through. He vowed he’d start saving up for an upgrade as soon as this was over.

“She’s sedated, Captain”, Emil said in his direction, treating Agnes’ wound with a device he’d never seen before. “Doctor Jurati isn’t feeling any of this.”

Not long ago, Rios would have been surprised at the hologram’s empathy and wondered if the EMH could tap into his thoughts. But he’d learned that Emil was just reacting to his biosensors flagging a spike of … something in Rios’ system and combining it with logical deduction. Nevertheless, Emil’s reassurance felt good.

Rios also knew better than to distract the hologram with further questions. Emil wouldn’t have answered them anyway, all of his focus on his patient. He worked incredibly fast, administering hyposprays, starting what looked to Rios like a micro-repair sequence and cleaning Agnes’ wound with some sort of nebulizer before sealing it with something that looked like transparent tape.

At last, the alarms stopped sounding, and the EMH turned to Rios.

“Doctor Jurati has a level four phaser burn that has penetrated her chest wall and left lung,” he reported with his usual, encyclopedic detachment, but Rios felt a wave of horror: the phaser beam had practically sliced right through Agnes.

“For now, I’ve stabilized her, but her condition remains critical. We have a problem: Keh-Rhanian phasers work differently from ours. They use thermal heat as well as a chemical compound that stalls physical regenerative processes in most species by affecting cellular reproduction in the affected areas.”

Rios put up a hand and glowered at Emil: “English, please?”

The EMH switched gears. “It means these weapons are designed to stop the victim’s wounds from healing.”

Mind racing, Rios looked at Agnes’ pale face half-covered by the ventilator’s mouthpiece and tubing.

“So what do we do? There is something you can do, right?”

Hands back in his pockets, the EMH was rocking back and forth on his toes, a quirk Rios had learned to identify as piquing professional interest - on some level, the hologram was enjoying the challenge.

“I am working on it. I’ve set up an algorithm that will modify the tissue and dermal regenerator software to hopefully override the inhibiting agent introduced into Doctor Jurati’s system. In the meantime, I’ve dosed her with a hypothermic compound that will stabilize cellular deconstruction and-“

He stopped when another glare from Rios hit him.

“In simpler words: It’s touch-and-go at the moment, but I’m figuring it out,” the EMH summed up his speech.

Cris ran a hand through his hair. A knot was pulling tighter in his stomach.

“When will you know if it works?”

“In a few hours.”

Rios looked into the hologram’s- ... his own dark eyes.

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“I will do everything I can to see that it does.”

We will do everything we can.

Cris had heard that phrase before, in a hospital waiting room, many years ago, and instead of instilling hope it filled him with old, hollowing dread. He approached the bed and took Agnes’ hand. It was terribly cold.

Cariña, he told her, softly, in his head since the EMH was hovering. Don’t you dare leave me alone out here again.

Overhead, the ship’s comms system crackled.

“Captain?” That cheerful Irish brogue could only belong to the ENH.

“What?”

“I’m afraid we need you on the bridge,” the ENH said, not sounding afraid at all.

“Can’t it wait?”

Agnes’ hand refused to warm up in his.

“Uhm… we’ve been hailed by a very unfriendly sounding gentleman from Keh-Rhan port authority who claims that you were responsible for the death of two people in the loading docks.”

Rios growled.

Unbelievable! He was attacked, and now they were blaming him?!

But he would have to go and sort out this mess if he ever wanted to set foot near Keh-Rha again.

He looked at Agnes, then at the medical hologram.

“You will keep an eye on her?”

Emil straightened. “Both, Captain.”

Rios gently tucked Agnes’ hand under the medical blanket the EMH had spread over her and trudged back to La Sirena’s bridge.

(You can also read and comment on this story on AO3:)

#whumptober2021 #star trek picard #aramis in space #fanfic #day 6 #prompt 6 #touch and go #cristobal rios #agnes jurati #emil #EMH #enoch ENH #whump #angst #hurt/comfort

8 notes · View notes

demoanais · 3 years

Note

Just found your blog and I absolutely agree with everything you've said regarding the treatment of Sharon in TFATWS. What hurts the most is that EVC has third billing in the show yet is getting paid dust. (So is Mackie tbh, the writers are really giving him nothing to work with.) All I wanted from this show was found family with Sam, Sharon and Bucky but it looks like we're not even getting that. So much wasted potential with Sam and Sharon paralleling Steve and Peggy in terms of the legacy theme.

Thanks for writing!

The marketing and interviews for the series have sent a lot of mixed messages when it comes to Sharon, but one of the few things that encouraged me was EVC being third billed when the show premiered. i hoped that meant she played a significant, integral role after sam and bucky, but now I think it's just the consequence of her agent negotiating her a slightly better deal than the films.

and we're on the same page re: mackie, too. my primary concern is sharon's treatment because she/EVC is what brought me here (and because of all the terrible shit she went through before), but if I had the energy I'd have plenty to say about how sam (and bucky and zemo) are all being grossly underserved by the writing.

you mentioned the connection sam and sharon could have with legacy, and that's the rub: it's not even remotely hard to make that link (or many others); it practically writes itself. the narrative is contorting to avoid having these crucial capfam characters actually find some empathy and encouragement from each other? build themselves back up from where they began? what was the phrase... shared life experiences? it's alarming the lengths they go to to shoot it dead before it even leaves the ground.

at my most, most skeptical, i was confident we'd have worthwhile action scenes with sharon, even if she was doomed to being an afterthought in every other respect. now i read that skogland said she requested the EVC solo fight sequence in the shipyard because there were initially 'too many people' in nagel's makeshift lab. and she created the club scene because she wanted to see sam, bucky and zemo dancing in evening wear.

so that's why sharon owns a club? that's why she beat up those guys by herself 'atomic blonde' style? just to get her out of the way? if that doesn't sound like fanfic indulgence, i don't know what does. and like a moron i thought that fight scene was conceived to a) showcase that sharon's seen some shit b) establish her strength and skill and c) act as kolstad's de facto marvel film audition.

EVC killed the scene obviously, but it chafes with the rest of the set piece. watching it you know that sam and bucky can hear her screams. there's absolutely no way i buy that neither of them would go outside to back her up and uh, make sure she hasn't just been killed?

i've seen some say that they accelerated the interrogation because they heard her struggles and exchanged some worried looks, but i wouldn't be surprised if that was merely an acting choice and not indicated by the script. fact is that skogland doesn't give a fuck about sharon and spellman only thinks she's worthwhile after her #CoolGirl rewrite.

this show just puts sharon, sam and bucky one step forward and five steps back both in terms of their individual arcs and their collective journey. and it's all for the sake of re-establishing the same status quo that the movies ended on with barely any real gains - seemingly none at all for sharon.

i know that's a general D+ disease, but if you really want to excavate a bunch of foregone conclusions for the sake of luring subscribers, at least make it a worthwhile character study (i'm sure they think they've accomplished this). instead we're sludging through 6 messy hours of incoherence and confusion for what probably amounts to 36 total minutes of any significance (sharon still being alotted her traditional 7, naturally).

#sharon carter #emily vancamp #anti mcu #asks

11 notes · View notes

starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “An Invitation.”

So this story totally went right off left field from what I was expecting. I honestly surprised myself like I am sure I will surprise some of you. Don’t worry I feel the same way. I am thinking about making this the end of this arc, though I know some of you were hoping for it to go in a different direction. I still think the ending is super surprising and very interesting, so I hope you like it anyway.

He stood by the shuttle ramp back straight hands clasped behind his back. His knuckles were bandaged to the point where he could barely bend his fingers, but the dull throbbing in his hands was easy to ignore.

A cold wind whipped past him tugging at the stiff fabric of his uniform and threatening to rip the cap right off his head. Since leaving the hybrid facility, he had changed clothes, gotten some rest, received medical attention, and cut his hair into a very short buzz-cut. The hair was still blue, but he could hide that under a cap if he needed too, and the earrings had been easy to remove. Sunny had likely had less fun than him considering she needed about a gallon of nail polish remover to clean herself off.

All around him, the ground was swarming with military and GA personnel. The facility was massive, and no one was entirely sure how extensive the operation went on. He glanced over his shoulder, and into the shuttle where Glados Hal Cortana and Vicky were curled up around each other and fast asleep.

They had refused to leave him since the incident which was only mildly inconvenient, and he didn’t really have time to do anything other than let them have their way.

Engines rumbled off in the distance, and he turned his head to watch as the next shuttle descended from the sky not a few hundred feet away from him. A sharp wind whipped up around him, and he had to hold his bap in place as the shuttle settled against the landing strip.

The doors hissed open and two figures stepped out in accompaniment of at least a dozen other assistants and clerks.

He walked in that direction, meeting the GA chairwoman and the Admiral with a salute.

“You’ve been busy, commander.” The admiral pointed out, turning his head towards the swarming building before looking back “I don’t suppose it would do any good to remind you that it’s usually the job of lower ranking individuals to do undercover work, and that you are generally in a purely command capacity?”

He didn’t allow his expression to change remaining just as serious as the admiral, “Ma’am, Find I prefer to lead from the front, however in the case of this particular mission it was only logical for e to take lead. I am friends with a Drev aboard the ship to a point where we could reasonably fool almost everyone on a short term basis.” he motioned towards the building, “It worked a little better than expected since I was simply attempting to gather information.”

“I see… and what exactly did you find.”

He motioned the two to walk with him noting how uncomfortable the chairwoman looked now that she was exposed to the near freezing air around them. He led them into the building, “My crew has been working for the past day or so to try and figure out just exactly what was going on here. From what I immediately gathered while inside the facility myself, and from what some of the hybrids told me-”

“Wait, you have spoken to the hybrids?”

“Forgive me, I misspoke. I have spoken with one of the hybrids.”

“How are any of them capable of speaking. Considering the facility can’t have been more than a year or two old.”

The door hissed shut behind them, “Genetic tampering, or so she says. Anyway upon entering the facility Sunny and I discovered that they were, in fact, doing what we assumed, and that is offering the hybridization of different species to couples who cannot have their own naturally. If you go through those doors there you will find the nursery where y crew is attempting to take care of the remaining hybrids, though it remains to be seen what can be done with them once this is all over.” He continued on down the hall, “We discussed the genetic sequencing process, and some other details, but when we were brought down onto the floor, I had an opportunity to explore some of the more restricted areas of the facility, and when I did, found the reason for their success where the prodigum had failed.”

He walked down the stairs.

“Adaptids. Apparently, somewhere, and somehow one of these scientists determined the action of the hybrid splicing gene, though they were not able to recreate it naturally. In order to mix two species it is imperative that you have adaptid DNA to preform the action, otherwise the integration of the different genetic material is not seamless. From what we have gathered, they were harvesting Adaptid genetic material as part of their growing process.”

Stepping out onto the floor he motioned around with a wide sweep of his hand. The chairwoman and the admiral stopped dead in their tracks staring in wide-eyed bewilderment at the lines of test tubes being watched over by scientists on his crew. The room was dark, but you could still see the strange redish glow emanating from the partially grown fetuses suspended inside the tubes .

“These hybrids must be fed constantly with adaptid DNA in order tow work, not only that but the hybridization process requires command computer input in order to give the correct amount of genetic material when ordered. As I am told, a fifty/fifty split hybrid is not viable, so the creature must lean towards one or the other.”

The admiral was shaking her head as the rundi chairwoman turned in circles, “Whan is even the point of all this, surely the money they were making couldn't be equal to all the research and time that was put into this.”

He nodded, “Yes that is also rue, however, I think they were only responding to a niche market while they did their real work on the side.”

“And what is that?”

“The creation of super soldiers, or at least superior genetic creations designed to have special abilities or durability.”

The group went silent staring at him like he was insane as he spoke, “And you are sure about this?” The admiral said in incredulity.

“Yes I am positive, their greatest creation is the reason that we are here right now. She has taken control of the facility, and seems interested in facilitating the relocation of the hybrids to better homes and locations, but after that she says that the knowledge must be destroyed at all costs.”

“You do understand what this might do for edical science?”

“I do, but I also understand that we have not proven ourselves capable of possessing hat knowledge without corrupting it. Furthermore, I am not keen on getting in the way of Eris. I have a feeling that she is a force I am not interested in reckoning with.”

“Who is-”

Just then the hybrid starborn floated from the nearby room. At some point during the investigation she had taken a leaf from Conn’s book and acquired a gravity belt. In this way she made an ethereal otherworldly figure as she floated onto the floor. Her long dark hair billowed an undulated about her head, while the hundreds of flowing white ribbons swirled at her back.

The admiral stepped back and the commander averted his gaze.

“Good evening Chairwoman, Admiral Kelly.”

The two of them stepped back again. The admiral held a hand to her head looking around as if trying to find the source of the voice.

“Do not be alarmed, unfortunately my physical body is mute, so I will be forced to communicate in this manner.”

“What are you?”

“I am the first successful human starborn hybrid, and the oldest hybrid of this facility though my genetics were tampered with to make me age at an accelerated rate.”

“And you speak for the hybrids?”

“I do.”

“And what is it that you want.”

The admiral looked very, very nervous. She seemed to understand the power of this person? Creature? She was a human alien hybrid that could read minds. No secrets were unavailable to her.. All the secrets in this room were hers if she really wanted them, all she had to do was ask a question and wait for the answer to pop unbidden into the minds of her speaking companions.

She was the most powerful thing in this room, and everyone knew it.

“I want one thing above all else, and that is for the hybrids to be taken care of. The ones that are already in the nursery should find good loving homes, the ones being grown in these tubes should be treated likewise, those of us who do not possess sentience should be released into an environment that suits, or at least kept somewhere that they might remain happy for the time being. Those of us who do possess sentience, but are not conventionally adoptable might request a place to live out our lives freely with the same rights as the rest of you, and then when this is all over, I wish that this entire facility and every ounce of hybrid knowledge inside it be destroyed.”

“Destroyed.” The two protested, “But You don’t understand, the application to medical science is to great to simply destroy it.”

Eris’s mouth twisted downwards into a frown, and the commander shivered under her scathing black gaze, “You are not ready for that knowledge, since you have been proven to be incapable of treating it correctly. If you do not destroy the knowledge, I vow to destroy you….. Is that understood.”

“Are you threatening us?”

“You are threatening yourselves. I simply want to live my life in peace and tranquility, but if my hand is forced, than I will be in my rights to act accordingly. You have no idea what kind of pain and misery this knowledge has caused us and you will never find out ever again if I have anything to do with it. I do not care how any medical applications that you might find for it. Your medicine is far along enough, that you can find other ways of meeting your ends rather than using he DNA of some poor creatures to chase power and immortality.”

They were just about to continue protesting when the sound of footsteps interrupted.

The three of them turned to watch as a grim faced scientist made his way up the isle.

“I am sorry to interrupt, but we have some news you aren’t going to like.”

The commander sighed, “What now?”

Eris tilted her head, “Very interesting.”

“Ell sir, we were combing through the databases tying to determine where the original hybrid DNA was sourced from. And as far as we can tell some of the originals were taken simply from random individuals off the streets.”

“Like we expected.”

“Yes sir, but… it seems that they too a shortcut when it came to gathering the human DNA….”

The admiral tapped her foot on the floor, “Well go on, spit it out.

The man grimaced and turned towards the commander, “Sir, the original human DNA… well.”

Eris was staring at him.

Everyone was staring at him

“They sequenced it form…. From the adaptid.”

It didn’t click at first because he was originally struck by just how long Vicky had been imprisoned here if she was the original sequence. Almost one and a half years…. It was terrible to think about, also terrible to consider Eris had never had any sort of childhood.

The room was silent.

Everyone was staring at him.

He didn’t entirely understand, “I’m sorry, and how does this affect-” He paused the realization coming slowly.

He turned in place to look at Eris who stared back at him with her wide black eyes, and her flowing dark hair. His sister had hair like that…

“Mother Fuck.” He muttered

Was he just imagining things, or did he sense a bit of a resemblance in her face, the lines of the nose, or the height of the cheekbones.

He turned away from the group staring at the ceiling, “Mother fuck.” He repeated

“Commander, are you alright.”

A hand dropped to rest on his shoulder.

He was feeling just a little dizzy.

“Commander do you need to sit down?”

He tried to shake himself taking a deep breath as he raised his head and waved them off, “No, no I’m alright.”

He turned around to look at Eris who was staring at him with a rather bemused expression, “how very interesting.” She said

He took a deep breath and straightened up, “Well if this is the case, than I take responsibility for what happens to the original hybrids, and I demand that any and all information gained using my DNA be destroyed immediately, I don’t care what kind of applications it may or may not have, my ruling on the issue is final.”

His hands had gone cold under the bandages as blood began pulsing through the rest of his body.

He was more than angry at the Tesraki. He almost wished he had killed them, snapped their necks with his bare hands like he should have done originally, and now because of all of this, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He was lost and confused and, didn’t know if he should feel responsibility for them.

It was his DNA, but he had no choice in the matter.

It was quiet for a very long few minutes until the chairwoman and the admiral stepped away to give him some time to think. He was grateful for that at least though he couldn't imagining it being of so much help.

“You are very confused.”

He turned to look at the Dark haired starborn her head tilted just slightly to the right, “You do not have to feel responsible for us.”

“I don’t have to, but I do.”

“It is in your nature.” She mused hair billowing about her head.

He looked down at the floor and sighed before looking up again straightening his back, “I…. I wish there was more I could do for you, but-”

She smiled and held up a hand, “I can hardly blame you. You were an unwilling DNA donor, and have opted to adopt the entire universe, which must be a strenuous and taxing burden sometimes.”

He opened his mouth then closed it, “if i was a better man, I would still try.”

“I will be fine, Commander. I think with some freedom, I will do just well for myself.”

They stood there awkwardly in silence for a while. He shuffled his feet trying to figure out what to say. “You look a lot like my sister when she was younger.” He wasn’t entirely sure why he said that but Eris smiled, so he supposed it had been the right thing.

“May I visit you, commander, on occasion?”

“Yes , of course, I would…. Be honored by your company.”

She smiled outwardly, but inwardly he could hear her laugh. IT was a nice sound, he hoped she could find it in her to do it a little more. She turned to float away.

He held out a hand, “Eris I-”

She turned to look at him, a smile still playing over her face, “I know, call you Adam.”

342 notes · View notes

dingobait · 4 years

Text

SPN 15x20 - rewrite script notes ‘Carry On’

SPN 15x20 - rewrite.

Saving Cas from the empty is the only thing left for Dean and Sam to do.

2735 words: script notes- Destiel, Fixit, Happy, All the gangs here to help saving Cas. Half Ficlet / half mad writings of a grieving Fan requiring happiness and true love and closure- gonna use this as the starting point for some writing practice and probs eventually write a fan / spec script.

Id start it with Dean on the road, fuming and stewing over his grief for Cas. Ignoring Sams calls. Maybe a moment where he hesitates near the trunk of the Impala when Sam comes out of the bunker to be like ‘Dude?! Stop ignoring me!’ And Dean guiltily hides what will later be revealed as Cas’ coat.

All the alternate world hunters are staying in the bunker and established as being back. They’re reorganising, gathering info figuring out what’s changed in this new world post dusting. Sam can’t keep his eyes off Eileen as she works. He keeps getting distracted and almost missing the table when trying to put down his coffee mug. Not wanting to miss a word she signs. She gives his wrist a gentle squeeze when she moves past him, signing that ‘She’s not going anywhere, Promise’.

The bunker is too crowded for Dean, too noisy, he gets busted sitting in Cas’ room, holding the mixtape between his hands.

Sam and he talk about feelings, well they talk around feelings at least. The ‘I love you’ confession will be saved for the very end for Cas’ ears only.

Our inciting incident of the episode starts off screen. Deans choking on his words about missing Cas, Sam amazed at how many words he’s finally coaxed out of his brother- and then from the other room there’s shouts of shock and alarm- there’s a dark smear growing in the air of the main room of the bunker. And for a brief moment a face struggles to push itself out of the muck- Dean and Sam arrive in the room just as the goo shimmers like oil vapours in the air and disappears. Cas? Deans afraid to voice it aloud but Charlie beats him to it. Sams nodding. Freaked out. Everyone agrees it looked like Cas.

They have a smear of the Empty left behind to work with. And A room full of witnesses who all want to help.

Jack shows up saying ‘so sorry I can’t play favourites’ while clearly playing favourites and guiding them to the book that contains the magical solution they need (ala Cas’ telling Dean about the arch angel attached to the profit Chuck in season four, ‘so sad I can’t help WINK if only I could ‘continues to give gives blatant info haha)

For the first step of the spell, we’d need a psychic to establish a tether to the Cas in the empty, we’d have to go and check in on the Wayward Sisters to ask for Missouris’ granddaughters help. We’d see Kia and Claire together as a couple, and Sam would catch Dean looking at them trying to hide how happy they are in the face of Deans misery.

Patience needs something of Cas’ to create a tether, Sam freaks that they don’t have anything with them and Dean has to clear his throat twice to get the words out that he does.

He retrieves the trench coat from the trunk. (Or maybe his own jacket with the bloody handprint still on its shoulder- Sam’s all ’ew dean you still haven’t washed this?!’)

The first part of the spells in place. Patience says something cryptic to Dean as she hands back the trenchcoat, his grip is perhaps a bit too tight to be read as anything but casual. Jodys attempt at getting Dean to open up is less subtle, everyone’s trying to get Dean to admit If he’s okay or hurting or something worse.

‘You’ve gotta talk about it eventually’, but Sam can see the explosion building in Dean, but then it’s an implosion as instead of getting mad Dean just shuts down, shoulders caving in, and Dean just has to go

‘Pick you up later Sammy’ and he’s out the door.

We finally see the tears once he’s alone in the car

Driving, he almost hits the smear of black ooze absorbing the glow of the impalas headlights growing in the middle of the road, he skids and frames the scene with the headlights, jumping out of the car as Cas tries once again to pull himself from the empty, this time the oil parts slightly and Cas’ hands push through, Dean sprints forward, and almost has Cas’ hand tightly in his own before the oozey hole in the universe blinks back closed.

Jack will pop in briefly, commenting about how how well the first part of the spell worked with Patience’s help. He’d plant another hint about the next step of the spell, and Dean would sheepishly head back to pick up Sam to tell him the news.

Together the whole gang discuss the case over a family dinner, food everywhere, no more emotional pushing from anyone, Dean’s allowed to stay quiet and is offered additional serves as everyone brainstorms how to interpret / fulfil the next step of the spell to save Cas.

Sam quietly checks in with Dean, elbowing him as Jody and Donna and the girls talk at the other end of the table. Sam assures Dean that everyone didn’t mean to freak him out earlier and Dean cuts him off.

‘I think I needed the reminder that we’re in this together’ he admits.

Sam agrees, ‘You’re not the only one who wants Cas back Dean.’

With Charlie’s remote hacking help, we find the location of next relic we need / the next spell component. We see Stevie helping with the research, we see Bobby breaking a code and Garth adding some new piece of lore that’s vital to the puzzle.

We have a classic heist sequence with Dean and Sam doing what they do best, breaking into places to steal shit from museums. It’s dope, music sequences and everything ending with Dean almost tripping a lasor sensor before Sam pulls him back at the last moment. Dean thought he saw another hint of Black ooze and drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

Later on the side of the road and with the first hint of hope /excitement from Dean, we preform the next part of the spell.

Almost instantly, another black ooze rifts appears, Cas struggles to pull himself free, but this time Sam and Dean manage to grab his arms together, they pull with all their might, the ooze is retreating back from Cas’ shoulders, neck, and slowly his face, and we finally see the fight in his blue eyes, the desperate hope, struggling to get back to our world.

Dean and Cas make eye contact, Deans grip on his arm turns bone tight- but the ooze is reclaiming Cas’ throat, cutting off his attempt at Deans name. A deep voice rumbles from beyond the rift ’I said forever!’- and SNAP! The ooze rift slams back shut. And dean and Sam are left sprawling on the ground.

Deans hands close on handfuls of dirt and grass, and then Jack appears. Jolly and smiling.

‘That was very close! I almost thought you wouldn’t need the final spell component!’

‘A rare dagger and one other other thing is required to walk through the Empty unscathed.’ Jack hands the the dagger to Dean. He weighs the stone dagger in his hand.

‘Whats the other requirement?’

’Love willingly given’ Jack tells him and Dean gives a wobbly grin and just nods and opens his mouth to say something but Jack shakes his head, ‘no, I’m not the one who needs to hear it’.

Sam thanks Jack for his help making things right as Dean walks back to where the oozey tear appeared. He clears his throat, once twice, gripping the ancient dagger in his hands. He turns back to Sam and Jack who confer back and forth, Jack looks over and just nods back towards the afflicted space, a ‘go on you can do it’ but they both give Dean his space.

Dean flips the dagger about, changing the grip with finesse and gathers himself. He stares at the point in space that had so recently held Cas.

‘We’re not done yet’ Dean finally admits as he stabs the dagger into the air and slices through universe, the dagger vibrates in his hands, the rift trying to resist, but Dean leans into it, whispering

‘it’s my turn to save your, ass you ass’ and the dagger slices clean through the worlds.

Dean steps through the door he’s created, the void empty sans his own reflection beneath him, but the daggers glowing in his hand now, a beacon that grows hot and cold as he waves it before him. Dean follows the bacon of light, and meets Cas half way, the angel is struggling against the ooze at a snails pace, drowning in the thick liquid and Dean grabs his shoulder and heaves, using the dagger to hack at the muck, and then Cas is falling into him and this time Dean drags Cas through the darkness, a perfect reproduction of Cas herding Dean through the halls of the Bunker when Billie came after them, but now Dean’s the one to throw Cas to safety through the door before leaping through it just a footfall behind him.

And they land in a tangle of limbs in the grass on the side of the highway with Jack and Sam watching on.

‘Ow’ Cas says in his familiar deep rumble. Dean chokes back a half gasped laugh as he lifts himself of Cas’ chest, but then - movement from the corner of his eye. He spins, blade in hand.

An arm of ooze streaks out towards Cas, greedy and grasping but Dean cleaves it in two before stabbing the dagger into the ground at the base of the rift. The rift blinks out of existence and we’re left alone on the side of the road.

Cas lays on his back, blinking up at the night sky. ‘So It worked?’ Dean looks down at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a clumsy seated embrace, Dean buries his face in Cas’ shoulder.

‘Hello Dean’ he says warmly. Dean gasp laughs into Cas’ shirt collar.

’You can have it. You’ve always had it.’ He whispers the words into Cas’ neck who stiffens in surprise, looking down at Dean incredulously as Sam and Jack engulf them all in a full embrace. Any other words are stuck in Deans mouth.

’It’s been too long!’ / ’Welcome home!’ a sweet short lived reunion. They get up, Sam jumping on his phone to spread the good news as he walks back to the car, Jack explains the status quo. Giving Cas a wonderful speech about well deserved places in the world and how if you’re lucky you can carve out a family of your own and he thanks Cas for being a wonderful dad and promises that they still have to work to do and he of course he’ll be around.

But eventually he catches on to the energy in the night air, Dean hovering over Cas’ shoulder, Jack ‘Jacks’ and states an obvious ‘ohhhh this is one of those situations Sam told me to help facilitate, I’m going to * obvious wink* remove myself’ and he Bamfs out.

And Dean grabs Cas’ shoulder, half trying to brush off the black handprint he’s left there in dirt or ooze, half trying to gather his courage and Cas watches as Dean finally looks up and meets his eyes.

‘They’re hard words to say aloud.’ Dean admits, but Cas hears them anyway, and a surprised heart warming smile forms on Cas’ face, and maybe it’s a little bit wobbly.

‘Love is patient.’ Cas offers but Dean winces. He grips Cas’ shoulder tightly, but forces his grip to relax. His hands settling into something almost soft at Cas’ sides, bracketing his elbows. An almost embrace as Dean leans closer.

‘No fuck that. You deserve’ - he scrunches up his nose at the word, ‘You’re… wonderful. You have to know you’re wonderful- I, goddamnit I’m not good with any of this. You shouldn’t have to be so patient.’ Cas is watching him with a warm smile, basking in the words, in the words he can now see between them, and Deans hands are gently drifting up and down Cas’ arms. They finally settle on his waist. Cas would never tell Dean he could feel their shaking.

‘I love you as you are Dean Winchester’ Cas tells him solemnly.

And Dean kisses him. A brief fierce thing, before he buries his face once more into Cas’ neck, engulfing him in a soul squeezing hug.

We see Deans lips move to form the words we so want to hear, but the words themselves are for Cas’ ears alone as we see Sam watching them from the Impala.

His expression is pained, Half ‘gross that’s my brother making out with an angel’, half ‘my fucking god FINALLY’.

His phone going off in his hands, Eileen and others excited about the news of Cas’ return, and Sam hesitates for a moment before raising the phone. Just as Sam predicted, Dean and Cas kiss once more, the shadows soft about them in the half light on this stretch of remote road. Sam takes a photo and sends it to Eileen… A whole new flurry of texts flood his screen: OMFG WHAT FINALLY?! YOU OWE ME $$$$ and the radios bubbling softly in the interior of the Impala. The first few notes of ‘Carry on my wayward son’.

Dean knocks on the drivers door, Sam jumps and hides his phone guilty.

‘Outta my seat Bitch’ Dean opens the door for him, Sam goes around to get into the passenger seat, only to see Cas already sitting in it, still glowing but trying to play it cool. Cas’ eyes slide to the backseat and Sam humfs before getting in.

‘You’re both jerks.’

Cas and Dean share a look. Sam groans and slumps down in the backseat. But his happiness about the situation is clear.

The music kicks in, the night sky is endless, and the family are together on the backroads of America, ready to take on whatever comes next.

THE END

Maybe a quick shot post credits scene of Gabriel and Crowley and Balthazar exchanging money with all the other angels and demons now awake and creating chaos in the empty.

34 notes · View notes

grim-faux · 3 years

Text

08_The Tower

First

The trek to the tower was arguably terrible and insufferable, but served as a last testament for the small child and what he should come to expect. Dissuade him from this oath of self-destruction he clung to, or inner discovery. None of this mattered to the Thin Man, he had been on this path before, as his predecessor was, and he before him. It was as infinite as it was confounding.

There was no straight path to the city center, it was more of a spiral, sometimes backtracking through the alleys or wandering through destroyed homes or skyscrapers. At times, the Thin Man separated from Mono, and let the child go his own way – the path he was restricted to was perilous, as the Thin Man had more likelihood of crossing through locations choked out by Viewers, or other creatures. He was also disinterested with traversing the transmission through the abundance of televisions, though that would be the most direct method. The easiest. It was no great enfeeblement to pick his way to that final destination, but he decided to retain any amount of control of the situation that could be managed — even if that too was a farce.

Either way, this whole ordeal wasn’t his trial. Never once did he doubt that he would relocate the boy after losing track of him, always knowing his location by the share of Transmission which connected them. This he never expanded on to Mono, since the child had refused to confront him. That, he was uncertain why, though the boy had given some brittle explanation. It didn’t satisfy his curiosity of his successor, and his takeaway of that situation.

Following when the two did meet up, the child clung a little closer to the tall figure. He was looking more haggard and disheveled after each separation, but the Thin Man said nothing. It was entirely possible the child was working to shake him, and attempted to reach the tower on his own terms. He couldn’t suggest how unwise of a scheme that was, given how poorly the child managed out of his company. Upon one such recurrence, he was a tad alarmed to see that the paper bag had been partially ripped, and the boy seemed more withdrawn than previously.

The perplexity of this stalemate, as he thought of it, grated on his nerves and the static. He was not certain how the tower would react upon his return, but surely the child was being cautious. The televisions were typically harmless, to him…

Upon reconnecting with the boy, he inquired, “Are you use televisions, to travel?”

The boy was on a high platform, apart of some excavated wall within a building. Well out of reach. But he delivered such a thousand-mile stare, as if caught out. He offered no response, nothing aside from an expressive move of his mask and a finger pressed to his face. It was endearing, in an odd way. Noisy children were often sought out, hunted or captured. He remembered that.

Then at last, they came to stand before the massive portal to the Signal Tower. It’s colors intense, the atmosphere stifling and painful. They were expected...

“I was… am, to bring you here,” the Thin Man announced, somewhat wistful, and maybe more to himself. “You do know this. You should fought. Should resist, but didn’t.” He looked to the side, where the small figure was huddled out of the rain.

In response, Mono held up two fingers. One eye glinted within the gash in his mask.

“Ah,” said the Thin Man. “Do you believe I saved you out of some form of sympathy?”

“Sympany?”

“Do you believe I helped you out of some misplaced goodness?”

Mono debated, and the Thin Man let him have that time. “You did for reason, and scare me. I know it was no me for, but you for.” He turned his head, checking the Thin Man. “And scare to me more than you chase us. More than… watch her go.” His voice cracked. “More than going here.”

So the child wasn’t paralyzed by the ideal of harming his rescuer. It was a fear of the unknown, an unaddressed suspicion. He shouldn’t be surprised, though. It would’ve been his reaction as well, had the same happened to him. It was no less disappointing somehow, but he was gratified to know this truth.

“You think she mad me?”

The Thin Man tugged his hat down over his face more. “I’m very certain she will reject you. You did her an unfair crime.” He dropped his eyes back to Mono, who stared forward looking indecisive and soaked. “Your journey will end here, and you will lose yourself, child. You can always walk away. There’s no shame in survival. You know that better than anyone else.”

Mono flinched and shuddered audibly. “And go where with her out?” He angled his head up. “I not would if survive, not without a friend. Friends… they—” He shook his head.

That was a valid point. The whole purpose of children packing was survival. It… didn’t always work favorably, typically not in large numbers. Companionship was the main draw, and someone to assist you in reaching high places, a second set of eyes to scout. Or to… wait for you. Come for you when you call, or when you needed rescuing. No one ever came to his rescue. Then again, he….

“I did this,” Mono murmured. “I opened a door. I have to fix this.”

The Thin Man rolled his eyes, and then opened the door for the child. The towering panels folded back, groaning welcome at his arrival. And seemed to gleam with mirth, as he with the smaller one stepped through. He knew it was a mistake, he knew this would not end well. But what was he to do, if they child wouldn’t fulfill his part of the plan?

Try harder, crooned the walls. You have your ways.

With a clatter, the doors sealed shut at their back. Mono whipped about, struggling to distinguish if there were doors in the wall, ever. It looked like a wall, blazing with acrid colors. He recoiled from the inspection and scurried back into the vicinity of the tall thin man.

“Toys?”

“It would seem.”

The chamber they entered into was cavernous, debris and discarded pieces from various contraptions, pieces of buildings lay about. The Thin Man adjusted his hat, while Mono fumbled with his saturated face mask. The man in the hat led the way to the wall, and the set of doors there. He seemed to select one at random and opened it.

“Caution. This passage may lead you elsewhere.”

“Else-ware?”

As answer, the Thin Man began to enter the brilliant rosy light and beckoned the boy after him. When they exited from the light, it was in a completely new corridor, much like those of the homes and apartments throughout the city. More doors decorated long and vast walls, with yellowed light gleaming between the cracks.

“What all the doors? Is she here?”

“I don’t know,” the Thin Man offered honesty. “May or may not, it is hard to say. I do not know where she may have gone.” He traced his hand along a door as they walked, and speculated, “The tower, or I – do not snatch people. They arrive here when they are ready. They call out to it, and the beacon gives them haven from an unforgiving world.” Or, that was how he envisioned it. He wasn’t certain himself. He was not so much contained her, as he was dispirited by the world that forsaken him. It… held no more meaning. No more wonder, or triumph.

What of anything he dwelled upon, locked away as he was, would make sense? He recalled his youth, crumbling under the demand of the Signal Tower. The transmission beckoning with a secret harmony, demanding attention. Tuning. Much like the Viewers, searching for the signal in the snow, the final haven. Only able to reach out as he was, as child, and define the place he should arrive into. The end and beginning, of an endless travel. Tune the transmission. Open all Doors. Answer his questions, of why’s and how’s.

“In why does do?” came the soft voice.

“I’m uncertain, myself. To feed, is what I always decided.” They deserved it though. Their fate was more merciful than his, they were given illusions and lies, a fantasy to become lost in. “It gives them everything they could ever hope for, every desire, great or small, and in exchange… well, well, what would you need with a world that would discard you?”

From the long hall, they moved into a short hall with several large open doors, all enticing. Light spilled across the floor, and a small blanket printed with stars glided on the air as if it was a jellyfish. Mono snatched the blanket and coiled it over his shoulders. When he didn’t pursue the Thin Man, the tall figure looked back.

“Why come after? Chase?” He sneezed.

The Thin Man tried not to snicker. It was a very serious and important question. “I was summoned, were I not? You opened my door.”

Mono dipped his head and fumbled with his broken mask. “Didn’t know you there.”

“Well, now you know better, don’t you?” It was kind of too little too late.

Mono trailed after the Thin Man, through another door seemingly selected at random. They appeared out in a new location, the inexperienced boy tumbling as if tossed. It was an open room, with a sequence of doors set into the walls. There was nothing distinguishable about the room, aside from the tiled floors. One door was open, and it was this door the Thin Man elected to traverse.

“Is really she here?” he asked. “Feeds on her too?”

The Thin Man shrugged. The descending stairs narrow, yet, he had traversed more perilous paths in his youth. Below existed nothing but mist, and crooked voices. “I don’t know. I left her to her own devices, trying to retrieve you. You were very illusive.” There’s smugness in the response, as Mono stated:

“I always to better of escaping.”

“Oh, so certain are you?” He glanced back, flashing two fingers. Mono shifted in the blanket. “How certain are you? You insist, you awake?”

“No fair. Didn’t do hurt. Not trick.”

“So certain? So complacent, then,” the Thin Man mocked. “Perhaps I was not the one you should have run from.”

For a long while they did not speak. The child was content to follow, and the Thin Man chose the doors. He didn’t expect he could find the girl, let alone discover sign of her presence while with Mono. The rooms were not static, and the tower shifted constantly. It was never the same. He anticipated a question to come, but not the next question that would be uttered, nearly beneath his creaking steps.

“Trapped here too? You? Was place… eating?”

The Thin Man set his hand on a door handle and dithered. He looked over at Mono, and offered the first sort of expression that had warmth. “No.”

In the next corridor, Mono edged ahead examining the massive doors. “But… why wait? Place, it all wrong. And trick. Could leave, could? Go to?” The Thin Man stepped by, not looking to the child or the doors up for scrutiny. He tapped his chin, pondering.

“There was nothing more for me beyond that door,” he supplied. And it was true, it was simple. “I was done with your world, and all the cruelty it offered. Like the people, I wanted… something.” He wanted more than anything, what the tower had already promised him. It gave without conditions, he only need fulfill his role. In due time.

Another passage, which oddly enough resembled the shack of the Hunters grounds. Except the environment was eerily silent, no noises, no creaking floors. At the bottom of the steps awaited one door, but there was no room where a Six might have been secluded away.

Mono was a little disappointed, but in a way relieved too. At least the place didn’t smell like decay and chemicals. “Are lost? We gone?”

“No. We’re not found, either.” He examined the doors, but opted to continue walking. “There is no guarantee we will find her. You understand? I promised nothing, aside from bring you here.” From the basement grounds of the Hunter’s replica, a staircase descended downward. The door at the bottom brought them out into another corridor, narrow and much too low for the Thin Man to stand fully.

Mono hung back to put the blanket over his head and tore off his paper bag. It had been so saturated with water and abuse, nonetheless it was a massive disappointment. He only meant to shake out the mud and liquid. He held the tatters, contemplating if should leave. It was rather sentimental. “But still gonna find. Okay?”

In his defense, he was going to find her. That wasn’t the problem here. That begged the question, what then?

“Then you should choose which door, shouldn’t you?” The Thin Man gestured.

Mono hooded the blanket over his head, and splayed the excess pattern over his shoulders. He glanced at the rows of doors, then turned his gaze back to the Thin Man. Without a word he jogged ahead, looking from door to door. Until, a door in the path creaked open. The child looked from it to the Thin Man, before ducking into the light.

“Don’t go too hasty.” The Thin Man stumbled upon hurrying through, nearly tripping over Mono right in the portal and still recovering from landing roughly. The Thin Man groused. This… child….

“Do hear that?”

Sigh. “No. What do you hear?”

Mono climbed to his feet and dashed forward, slowing as he moved past a sequence of open and inviting doors. Harsh light flooded forth, along with dust and a few toys suspended. “I know to music.”

The Thin Man tilted his head. “Music? What music?” Stupid question, for the life of him he couldn’t… no, he could. The lullaby. What was the melody, again?

Mono moved to the center of the corridor and spun around, and around. He set a hand behind his head, and capped his other ear. “That music! Hey!” He darted to one of the portals, the light shimmered, welcoming his passage. “OI!”

The Thin Man tried to temper time, but Mono was already faded within the cascading radiance. “Wait! Don—” That infernal child! He moved quickly, cautious this time when he exited unto the other side of the doorway.

But Mono wasn’t there, and the child was nowhere in sight. In the next few seconds, the Thin Man suspected that would be for the best.

The walls were unfavorable and horrendous, and an all too familiar sight he had yet witnessed in many decades. The Thin Man spun around, but the doorway that offered safe passage was no more. There was only more mass, teeth, and so many eyes – squirming, watching. Mocking him.

“̶̨̼̿̀̀̾͑̀͠Ẁ̴̧̤̤̜̮̖̹͋͑̃̕e̷̢̝̝̦̼͚͖͐̍̈́͘͝l̷͙̫̳̫̓̅͊c̸̛̞̬͈̑͐̽͒ŏ̴͚͓̳ṁ̵͖̮̙̼̝̓͘e̸͎̣̙͛͊̍̂ ̶̡̛͈̗͎̰̫̠̉ȟ̸̦̫ȍ̷̧̨͓͚̯ͅm̷̥̝̥̩̘̥̊e̵͈̳͈͋͆,̸̘͍̙̠͒͐̅͑ ̶̡͖̖͕̻͉̩͌͌c̸̻͜͝h̴̯̘͍̪͇͈̆͌̐̉̑i̴̧͉͇̟͕͍̟͐l̶̢̖͖̤͈͍̲̅̾̾̓̉̌͝d̸̰̗͛̂́̄͊.̸̢̳͔̤̲̉̇́ ̵͕̖̭̯̐́̃̎̃̆W̷̦̝̮̲̎͆̈́e̴̛̹̟͈̳͚̜̲̋͐̑͠ ̴̤̦͍̞̣̼̇̍̐̀͠h̶̝̭̗͊̂a̸̪̻̞̺̅͆v̶̧̨̛̹̉͑̏̉͘͠ḙ̵̟̥̝̭̰͑̈́͛̌̔͊͠ ̴̤̩̔̆́̍̓̾͜͝b̵̛̮̊̓̕e̷̡͓̫͙̺̟̝͒͛̏̚e̴̢̛̦̗̬̺͍͑̄́ñ̴̦̪̖̯̞̰…̸̥̺̈́̆͆͘ ̷̗͉̤̰̣̅͗͝e̸̪̤̩̔͑̐͒ͅx̶̟̑̈́̔̇̉̓͝p̵̧̪̂̓͛͌̽̓ę̵̥̪̜̳̍̏͐ç̴̝̭͍̩̥̇̒͜͝ť̸̥̜̰͕̳̤̀̎ͅi̴̛̗̥̾̚͘n̴͙͔̐͊͗̔g̴̞̈̓ ̵̛̛͍͇̗̗̈́͐̈́̌ͅy̴̨̝̤̜͕̦̽̈́͗ò̵̦̠͎̻̝͋̉́͊ù̵̱͕͉̖̔͒.̸̧̟͇̺̜͂̈́͒̏̕̕͜ͅ ̸̹̉F̷̡̛̪̠͈͇͕̃̋̋ơ̸̩͉͉͎͗̀͂͐r̴͕̫̜̥̊̇̆ ̶͇̻͙̻̥̰̀́̀́͠ͅf̶̞̗̙͙͍̬̊̂͜͝ä̴̢̘̳͓͍́r̸̩͙̤̈́ͅ ̶̘͍̠̹̦͙͘ͅt̵͙͔̙̟̘̹̍̑͜o̶̱̻͕̟͙̽̍̎͛́́̍o̸̩͆͘ ̶̮̂̽̊̆̈́͘̚ļ̴̳̪̣̿͌͂͝ȏ̶̧̰̅̉̉n̶͎̠̖̣͎͕̍̾̈̂g̵͓̔͑̔͛̐̐͝.̶̲͖͚̗̭̈́̈́͘͝͠ͅ”

The Thin Man spun around, seeking the source of the voices. But he suspected it was in his mind, just as it nested there for all the years he remained confined. Sheltered. Churning and goading him, whispering through the drum of static. His doubt, and hurt. There was nothing here, but him, and the Flesh. It may have been wiser NOT to tamper with what he did not understand, and leave well enough alone.

As he looked through the chamber, he saw no doors or walls. It was endless black and hollow, aside from the hellish patch he stood upon. He began to wonder if this was what he was meant to do, or if that too was all a lie. Was this where his path was meant to end? Is this where the man in the hat went, when the child was finished with him? Was it kinder to be the relentless antagonist, and force the child’s violent reaction?

All along, it didn’t matter. None of it mattered; how he tried and fought and struggled to change what was and always has been. The end was predestined, as the cycle was eternal and unfathomable.

This was decidedly worse than ceasing to exist. Worst of all, this meant that his fate was to be shared by the current Mono. Once, his successor was done with him, he would come to dwell here. That was worst. And he should have warned him or said something, but he didn’t. He didn’t know any better.

#little nightmares #mono #the thin man #little nightmares fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #the man in the hate #the tall thin man #the tower #nightmare world #the flesh

7 notes · View notes

simply-ellas-stuff · 4 years

Text

My thoughts on Zack Snyder's Justice League because I watched it

The opening sequence, bc even tho the repeated scream audio was stuipid this opening was better

The new meeting between batman and Aquaman - that drawing on the wall in the og was unnecessary

Diana's extra badassery

The design of Stephen Wolf, because now he actually looks scaryish

The Queens emotions about losing her sisters of Themyscira - QUEENS DON'T JUST SEND THEIR PEOPLE INTO BATTLE EMOTIONLESSLY THESE SCENES WERE NEEDED - FUCK

THE BIGGER WITH IN THEMYSCIRA WHY THE FUCK DID THEY CUT THAT OUT?! - oh right, its because the previous director is sexist as fuck,

Stephen Wolf's Daddy Issues because that's fucking hilarious

Bruce explaining his want to find everyone bc of his promise

The close up on the fly things because that actually made it scary

THE FUCKING LIGHTING CEREMONY IN THEMESCERIA HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT

Diana's extra badassery after getting the Arrow because WHY THE FUCK WAS THAT CUT?! This explains SO MUCH about how Diana knows SO MUCH about a time she wasn't alive in and I have NO FUCKING CLUE why it was cut!?

Arthur Curry is a Stripper - Confirmed!

Arthur and his trainer talking, but idfk why they kept the bubble thing Although I do like that they clarify that it's not just Mera who can do that bubble thingy

The scene between Stephen Wolf and the stone-wall dude person was cool and it explained why Stephen Wolf was so desperate

Zeus, Ares, and Artemis prepped for battle along with Poseidon in the flashback was FUCKING AWESOME!!! Diana's Aunt as well, the shows of the Green Lanterns, and the ring returning to the planet [Although they should've named Artemis, bc she can easily be mistaken for Athena - Also; Artemis' roman equivalent in the goddess Diana ]

Darkseid being in the flashback, which explains a lot

The Gods vs Darkseid was FUCKING AWESOME

Barry's awkward rambling after running into Iris

ALSO IRIS FUCKING WEST!!!

The Big Belly Burger Reference, nicely done

My dad says Iris' car is beautiful

BARRY SAVED IRIS BITCHES

The slow-mo crash gave me anxiety

My dad says, "I know you got all the time in the world but c'mon this is ridiculous" about that scene then "That beautiful car..."

THE SCENE WITH STEPHEN WOLF AND THE ALTLANTIAN MAKES EVERYTHING MAKE SO MUCH MORE SENSE BECAUSE HOW THE FUCK DID STEPHEN WOLF KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE MOTHER BOX IN ATLANTIS

Do. Not. Make. Diana. And. Bruce. Romantic. Don't. Fucking. Do. It.

The use of slow-mo is kind of redundant

Victor being fucking AMAZING even tho he's getting in trouble at school

Victor and Mama's discussion gives some life to the 2-Dlike Cyborg from the og movie, WHY THE FUCK WAS IT CUT?!

Victor's inner-world where he's still fully human

Barry being sarcastic as fuck towards his father lmfao

"Very attractive Jewish boy"

The reference to Grodd YAAAAAAAS

I still hate that Barry's lightning is blue and not red

The explanation of the Speedforce and Snacks

"What are your super powers again?" "I'm Rich" Still one of the best lines

I love Diana's shirt in the scene with Alfred

"Looks like you have a date, Ms. Prince" lmfao - Unless his name is Steve, I doubt it

I feel like Victor and Diana would be a good brother/sister duo, ngl

Burying the fucking box at your mothers grave was the stupidest shit I have ever fucking seen Victor.

COMMISIONER GORDON HELL YES

Barry's utter fail at being normal around Diana

The underwater click-like dolphin speak was cool, but still kinda dumb knowing that later Aquaman speaks underwater just fine - ngl

Nice Liquidkinetics, Mera. Amber you're still a cunt.

Also, Mera says her parents died - Wasn't her father alive in Aquaman??

Victor seeing the bat-signal explains how he knew how to find them, honest

The badass entry of Bruce, Diana, and Barry makes me laugh

Barry is far too close to Bruce

Victor scared Barry LMFAOOOO

If Victor's father is the head of STAR Labs where the fuck is Harrison Wells?????

THEY LEFT BARRY BEHIND, ASSHOLES

Diana's annoyance at Barry running ahead is such a Mom thing

Stephen using the bug thing makes SO MUCH MORE SENSE

Diana trying to make a plan and it getting ruined fits with the exasperated Mom theme she's got going on.

THE SONG HEN DIANA GOES AGAINST STEPHEN WOLF, THE FUCKING VOCALS ALONG MAKE ME HYPE AS SHIIIIIIIIT

"I Belong To No One" I FUCKING LOVE IT

HEEEEEEEEELL of a push Barry lmfaooo

"Thank you Alfred" "Don't mention it" Mans is bored of your shit

"Sword Lady" LMFAOOOOOOO

Diana's x-move thing against Stephen Wolf YAAAAAAAAS BITCH

Diana saving Barry's ass - Accurate!

Victor taking over the Crawler makes more sense this way, honest

OKAY YOU AN ACTUALLY SEE AQUAMAN IN THE WATER AND IT MAKES IT MAKE SO MUCH MORE SENSE

That jump onto the crawler was smooth as fuck Diana!

Stephen Wolf getting visions from the boxes also explains a lot about some shit

"I know the requirements, I wrote them" Suuuuuuubtle lmfaoo

Victor brining the box them also fits better

Why is this Stone looking mother fucker speaking Latin?

Hello Darkseid, you look particularly dramatic this evening

Victor's explaining how he knows about the box makes a lot of sense, why was this cut again??

Actually explaining the fucking Mother Box was Helpful

Mrs. Kent and Lois having a heart to heart holy shiiiit

Martha talking about how Clark's death was drowned out by Superman's - wooow

WHAT THE FUCK IS WITH MARTHA'S EYES IS THAT J'ONN J'ONZZ?! THATS THE MARTIAN MANHUNTER HOLY FUCK IT'S J'ONN J'ONZZ

Ironic that Ezra-Flash's hero is Superman while Grant Gustin's hero is superman lmfao

Diana and Arthur chatting was cute, the quote was awesome and the Atlantians totally copped that quote from the Amazonians

Alfred being a sarcastic fuck is my favorite

Alfred being the voice of reason, as always

Arthur helping Barry pick a hat is AMAZING

Diana telling the boys to change, mom or big sister?? lmfaoo

Barry's social awkwardness gives me second hand embarrassment

This little infiltration arc makes SO MUCH more fucking sense

Every one being suited up and triggering the alarm is amazing

Mr. Stone fucking trusting his son is my faaaaaavorite

THE SUITS ACTIVATED AND CAME OUT WHEN CLARK WAS MOVED PAST THEM DUDE WTF

IS LOIS PREGNANT?!?!?!

Barry looks like he's about to throw up

BARRY HAS ALREADY TIME TRAVELLED THAT LINE SHOULDVE BEEN KEPT IN

Arthur being antsy about not doing the resurrection makes so much sense

VICTOR SEEING A POSSIBLE FUTURE IS THE BEST SHIT

I love vision-Diana's Norse burial

EVIL VISION-SUPERMAN DUDE CMON

THE MISUNDERSTANDING MAKES THIS WORSE AND BETTER AT THE SAME TIME

HE REVERSED TIME WHEN HE RESURRECTED SUPERMAN WHAAAAAAAAT

The Military arriving was a sensible addition

The fancy ass dramatic ass arrival of Aquaman, Wonder Woman, Flash, and Cyborg when Superman gets to the monument is hilarious

Victor loosing control is the woooooorst

The Lasso of Truth almost got through to him but he's a stubborn fuck

Superman functioning in Flashtime is something I will never understand

Yeah lets shoot at the guy whose indestructible, right

"you should probably move" LMFAOOOO

Batman v. Superman part 2 insert eye roll here

headbutts like children - and that's cheating on the playground Clark.

Heat vision makes so much more sense than "do you bleed?"

Lois coming in cluuuuutch

I like Lois' appearance better than Alfred bringing her, it fits Lois better

Arthur and Barry now have rivalry lmfaooo

Mr. Stone being obsessed with the mother box is annoying as fuck

Mr. Stone is an idiot and he should've fucking left the box alone

That was a horrible death why was that necessary?!

Arthur being a pessimist in this movie is honestly hilarious, tho why is he anti-love??

Barry being surprised at Batman's richness is never not funny

"I'll take that as a yes" okay Clark, don't show off

IS LOIS PREGNANT OR NOT?!

"Its really me Ma" Best scene of the whole fucking movie

Barry and Arthur heart-to -heart "I thought you didn't car" "I never said that" BUILD THIS FRIENDSHIP

BRUCE TELLS DIANA OF THE VISION

Bruce talking about faith never bodes well

THE QUEEN LOOKS BEAUTIFUL

"uh with the power of love" "Barry" LMFAOOOOOO

THE KRYPTONIAN SUITS LOOK AMAZING

Since when does Superman have Geokinesis??

I LOVE HOW BOTH OF HIS FATHERS ARE TALKING TO HIM I FUCKING LOVE IT

THE SUIT UP SCENE ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME IT LOOKS AWESOME

"just have to knock a little louder" Well, that's one way to knock Bruce

Nice crash boy

Straight up sounded like "Loud and queer" lmfaoooo

Diana leading the teeeeeeeaaaam Hell Yes!

I do miss the "I think we're all gonna die" lasso-Arthur scene tho. it was stupid - but funny.

DIANA COMING IN FOR THAT SLICE AND DICE BAYBEEEEY

THE TEAM SHOOOOT YES totally taken from Marvel but fuck did it look good

"you really are out of your mind" says the idiot who talks to fish

"not done yet" vs "your welcome" I like the second one better

Glorious hair Arthur lmfaoo

Fucking chair eject

NICE SHISH-KA-BOB ARTHUR FUCK

Alfred doesn't even fucking blink when Clark arrives

ARTHURS TRIDENT DOES THE WAVY THING ON LAND TOO BROOOO

Oh yeah, step back for the demi-god princess

DONT PISS OFF DIANA AND DO NOT USE HER FAMILY TO FUCK WITH HER IT NEVER ENDS WELL

The familiar flash buildup power ring will never not make me happy

Daaaaaayum Diana!!

Nice catch Arthur

Diana knows her mother and sisters are alive bc they sent the arrow to her, so why is he even trying it??

NICE SAVE SUPERMAN!!

"Not impressed" Smooooooth

THAT FINAL BATTLE IS FUCKING AWESOME

TIME TRAVEL

BADASS DIANA WITH THAT DEPCAPITATION

You sent Today at 5:44 PM

Them all standing there was straight up "Fuck with us, I dare you"

The epilogue was great but that dream was confusing, are we doing Alt-universe shit??

MARTIAN MOTHER FUCKING MANHUNTER BITCHEEEEEEEEEEZZ

IS LOIS PREGNANT OR NOT?!

#Justice League #Justice League Snyder Cut #Snyder Cut

8 notes · View notes

chalantness · 4 years

Text

fic: Here, On the Edge of Hell (6/6)

Rating: M Word Count: ~14,300 (part six) Characters: Steve/Natasha Summary: mafia au. She knows her father hadn’t been lying when he said that Uncle Howard wanted her to keep an eye on Steve, but if this was simply about protection, he wouldn’t have put her on the line at all. Especially not with all of the heat Steve Rogers is getting from the other Families, which means that her uncle has another reason for Natasha to be involved.

He just won’t tell her what it is.

Read On: [ ao3 ]

A/N: I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY HERE! The last part of the mafia 'verse!!

I initially thought this was going to take me 1-1.5 months tops to finish, but in true Chanty fashion, it took twice that long... three months later, and we're finally at the end! I'm excited and a little nervous to get to the big reveals, and I'm warning you now that this is my first genuine attempt at writing action sequences of this kind, but I'm really happy of how this chapter and this whole story turned out and I hope you darlings are, too! I had so much fun with this 'verse, and it's definitely the closest of anything I've written to the kinds of stories I want to tell in my original works. If you liked this story overall (I know there was a lot of room for improvement!) then I think you may like the stories I've got in store as an author!

Thank you darlings for all of your support and enthusiasm!

“I must admit, I was beginning to doubt if I’d ever get the satisfaction of having a Rogers on his knees. Of course,” Anton muses, sliding both hands lazily into his pockets, “I’d always pictured it to be Joseph. Maybe Pietro. But I suppose you look enough like both of them to suffice.”

Steve clenches his jaw, eyes flickering to Wanda kneeling beside him in the middle of what seems to be an empty warehouse. Honestly, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if it’s exactly that. The restaurant he and Wanda had been about to pick up food from is near the harbor, and Steve knows that Howard Stark just bought a few shipment facilities in this area from a business going bankrupt. He mentioned they were about to break ground on this site, too, which means all of the buildings would’ve already been cleaned out and fenced off from the public, and since this place is going to be the new site for another Stark Industries building, it would make sense that Anton would have access to it.

“And you, my dear,” Anton continues, turning to Wanda, and Steve feels his entire body stiffen as Anton reaches down to grasp at Wanda’s throat, forcing her to tip her chin up to meet his stare. Her wrists are tied behind her back, probably just as tightly as Steve’s are, but her arms still wiggle as she struggles against the knot, twisting her body away from Anton as best as she can. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to get rid of you as well. If I thought you would actually stay quiet, I would’ve kept your pretty face for myself.”

Wanda narrows her eyes up at him in a glare. “I would have begged for you to kill me instead.”

“I thought you were smart enough not to show your hand.” Anton releases her throat with a shove, nearly knocking her over, and Steve grits his teeth together. “Since it seems worse than death for you, I might just change my mind. Kill your beloved brother in front of you then keep you out of sight for a while, just for my amusement.”

“I’m all for that plan,” Ivan chimes in, squatting down beside Wanda and brushing her hair from her face, glass shards from the shattered back windshield of the car still threaded through the wild strands. He grasps her chin with his fingers, flashing his teeth in a dangerous smile. “What do you think, princess? Should we have a little fun?”

“That’s enough,” Steve practically growls. “You’re not touching her.”

“Unless it’s over your dead body?” Anton guesses. “Because if that’s what you’re waiting for, it’s about to be arranged.”

“You’re not touching her, period,” Steve snaps, only barely keeping his voice from shaking, every muscle in his body going taut. He’s pissed. He’s fucking pissed, and he knows that Anton can see it in his eyes because there’s a fleeting flash of alarm in his eyes before he blinks, smug once more.

It doesn’t fool Steve, though. Anton might’ve taken his gun, and he might have Steve on his knees with his hands tied, but the man still feels threatened by him.

“You’re not in any position to be making threats,” Ivan spits out at Steve, practically sneering. “But what else would I expect? You Rogers feel like you own the fucking world. Howard barely even blinks in my direction all these years and yet, you step in and he serves his precious niece up to you on a silver platter, just because you’re Joseph’s boy.”

Steve curls his fists even tighter, somehow, almost tight enough that his fingernails practically break through his own skin. “Therein lies your problem,” Steve replies, and some small, selfish part of him relishes in the obvious annoyance flickering in Ivan’s expression at how calm his voice is, almost nonchalant. No doubt the guy thinks it only proves his belief that Steve feels like he’s entitled. “Maybe if you stopped treating women like playthings, he might start to consider you as someone worth acknowledging.”

Ivan half-shoves his hand away from Wanda, just as Anton had, and grabs the front of Steve’s shirt with his fist, hauling him onto his feet as he practically growls in his face.

Steve blinks back at him, jaw ticking, but he manages to keep his expression composed. Which of course only pisses Ivan off even more.

“You think you can just swoop in and take your daddy’s place on top?” Ivan demands. “You think you’ve got everyone fooled?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Steve hitches his mouth up ever so slightly in a smirk. “I think being head of the Family already speaks for itself. Not that you’d know what that kind of respect is like considering Howard barely considers you one of his soldiers.”

Ivan grits his teeth. “I’m the only one who isn’t too big of a coward to be scared off by Stark’s made up rules. That’s the real reason he doesn’t get in my way.”

“You’re a liability,” Steve counters. “You think my father is the only reason I get any respect? Your father is the only reason you haven’t been cut off.”

A growl rips of Ivan’s throat. “You little—”

“Calm down, boy!” Anton barks, yanking Ivan back by his jacket, and Ivan shoves Steve back before shrugging his father’s hand off of him, still gritting his teeth. “This is why you get sloppy. He’s trying to rile you up and you’re falling for it.”

Steve holds back a grunt of discomfort as his knees hit the ground again, his body very nearly swaying back from the force of Ivan’s shove, but he manages to catch his balance at the last second. Anton is in Ivan’s face now, his words coming out in a low hiss as he says something to Ivan under his breath, and Steve takes the moment of distraction to turn to Wanda once more. He hadn’t wanted to risk more than just a few quick glances, wanting to avoid drawing any more attention onto her. It’s already obvious to Anton and Ivan that the only real advantage they have over Steve is his sister, and likewise for Wanda, but actually showing that weakness is even worse.

He was worried that she might’ve been more banged up from the crash than he initially thought, and now that he has the time to look for any injuries, he notices a fresh scrape on her arm, probably from when Anton dragged her from the wreckage. But it isn’t bleeding, nor does it seem all that deep, so he won’t worry over it right now.

What does worry him, though, is the fact that Wanda is still squirming against her restraints. It’s subtle enough that Ivan and Anton probably won’t notice, but Steve does, and for a moment he thinks that maybe she’s in discomfort because of how tightly the rope could be knotted around her wrists—but then he catches a glimpse of something shifting behind her back. The slim, black metal is hidden by Wanda’s blouse at an awkward angle with the way her wrists are tied together, but he recognizes it in an instant.

Bucky’s knife.

... ...

The hotel that Yuri’s men take her to is one of the few in New York that her uncle hasn’t managed to buy out, which Natasha is willing to bet isn’t a coincidence on their part. That’s likely the only reason they were able to slip under the Family’s radar for so long, though the place itself is by no means modest, and Natasha isn’t surprised when they lead her onto the elevator reserved for the residential suites at the top. And he’d probably booked out the entire top floor, too, not simply for his men but for the sake of discretion as well – and, not for the first time, Natasha knows it’d been the right call to follow Yelena’s advice to not have Tony follow her when she was going to be grabbed.

Judging just from the number of men posted along the hallways on the way to the suite, Natasha knows her family would’ve been outgunned on their own, even with every capo and soldier available on such short notice. Having the entire Family and their men will give them the advantage.

Just as long as Natasha can hold out until they find her.

Yelena has barely glanced in her direction, her composed expression perfectly in place, and Natasha has been careful to keep her own gaze appropriately alarmed considering she was just coerced into the back of a van off of the street without any explanation. If she comes off too unaffected, they may realize that she’d been expecting this; but she can’t come off too affected, either, considering it would be just as suspicious for someone so high up in a mafia to act as if this is her first ever time in this kind of situation.

Which it isn’t, though both other times had been part of her plan, so it really didn’t matter how unaffected she appeared to be when she’d had the upper hand from the beginning. This time is far different, and if Natasha had any less of a poker face, she wouldn’t stand a chance at making Yuri believe she’s entirely in the dark.

Yelena produces a keycard from her pocket as they reach the double doors of the suite, unlocking them, and then two men draw them open from inside, revealing a large sitting room with wide, glass walls overlooking the city.

And, lounging on the couch in the center of the suite, is Yuri Petrovich.

Natasha had already known who he was before Yelena had explained their connection. He may live in a different country, but his mob has associates in New York, so the Family has always kept tabs on them. Even without that reason, her uncle would’ve insisted on it, anyway, simply because of their reputation.

And because of her, she realizes. Just as Yelena had said, whether or not Natasha truly is related to him isn’t relevant; the possibility of it alone would’ve been enough for her and her mother to be on their radar to begin with, and that would’ve been enough for Uncle Howard to view the threat of the Petrovich mob coming after them as real.

“Natasha,” he greets, his smile almost charming, and his men usher her further into the room as they close the doors behind her. “I’m glad that you can join us.”

Her lips curve into the ghosts of a smirk. “I couldn’t exactly decline the invitation.”

He waves her over with two fingers, and she takes a moment to let her gaze slide over the room. Partly to assess where his men are posted throughout the suite, a move he would’ve expected her to pull, but also to take note of where Yelena has come to stand behind the couch Yuri is seated on. Distant enough as to not draw suspicion yet close enough to have an advantage over him from behind, though it also puts her in everyone’s line of fire, so the chances of her actually being able to make the first move are slim.

Not without a distraction, at least.

Natasha walks around the couch opposite of Yuri, perching herself on the cushion, and he leans forward to grab a bottle of vodka out of a bucket of ice on the table. “Care to join me?” he asks, pouring the alcohol into two shot glasses. “I know it’s not a traditional drink to share for first meetings, but I have a feeling you and I have the same taste.”

She lets cautious curiosity flicker in her eyes when he looks at her. “That’s quite an assumption”

“Let’s just say, I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one,” he replies, sliding one of the glasses over, and she eyes him skeptically as she picks it up. “After all, we already have quite a lot in common.”

“Because I’m of Russian blood?” she asks. She knows it could be dangerous to try and coax the truth out of him like this, but the secretive, smug edge to his smirk only widens, his eyes flashing, and Natasha can tell that he finds her choice of words more ironic than suspicious. “If you know this about me, you’ll also know I was raised here.”

He hums, lifting his glass instead of replying, and Natasha tips her head back as he does to drain her shot. It’ll take more than this to get her drunk or even buzzed, but she still needs to be careful if he insists on more.

“I do know this,” Yuri finally answers, setting the vodka aside as he stares back at her. “I know quite a bit about you, in fact.”

“And I suppose the reason for that is why you’ve come all the way here to pay me a visit in person,” Natasha muses. “Or is this how you woo all the Russian girls?”

“Woo?” He shakes his head. “No, that would be rather inappropriate, though I don’t suppose Melina Stark has given you a clue as to why.”

Natasha allows her irritation to flit across her expression, her body stiffening in annoyance at his tone, though the satisfied curl of his lips tells her that she’s come off as alarmed as she’d intended. “If we have as much in common as you say, then you’ll know that as adept as I am at playing games, I don’t particularly enjoy them,” Natasha replies, letting her casual tone slip from her voice as she narrows ever so slightly. “I would hardly consider us kindred spirits simply because we’re both of Russian descent.”

Yuri raises his eyebrows slightly, almost seeming impressed by her bluntness. “Perhaps we don’t have everything in common, because I do enjoy a good game of watching others squirm. But since I admire your boldness, I’ll return it: our Russian descent isn’t all that we share, dear sister. We are blood by its very definition.”

She tilts her head, gauging his expression. It’s clear that he believes his words, just as Yelena had said, and she lets anger flit across her face. “And I should take your word?”

“If I had the time, I would’ve brought Melina here to tell you the story herself,” Yuri replies, his smirk widening as he lounges back against the couch. “But since she isn’t with us at the moment, I’ll give you the courtesy that she should’ve given you and tell you exactly why Melina Vostokoff fled to America on your father’s arm. Of course, if I’d been accused of having an affair with my best friend’s husband, I wouldn’t be too keen on sharing that story with my supposed daughter,” he adds with a shake of his head.

“An affair?” Natasha questions.

“I believe you’re intelligent, dear sister, and the talk of you within the underground of New York would support my belief,” Yuri muses. “I know you must have wondered what would’ve compelled your mother to marry a man who had been on vacation and leave her country on such an impulsive whim. Sure, it makes for quite a romantic story, but you know deep down that isn’t the truth.” Yuri leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he holds Natasha’s stare, eyes flashing dangerously. “The reason that Melina acclimated so quickly to her husband’s lifestyle is because she was already familiar with it herself. It was a life she shared with her best friend Alia back in Russia.”

“Which is supposedly your mother,” Natasha guesses, keeping her voice dry and unamused. “Alia Petrovich.”

He flashes his teeth in a wide grin. “Formerly known as Natalia Romanov. Quite similar to your own name, isn’t it, Natasha?”

This time, Natasha’s surprise is genuine as she pulls back slightly. He reaches into his pocket, making Natasha’s body stiffen in alarm, but rather than a weapon, he produces a thin necklace and tosses it in her direction, and she catches it in her palm. The charm is a slim bar, engraved in script—her own name, she realizes.

“When my mother passed, this was found among her possessions. At first, I believed it was simply hers. Natasha is a variant of Natalia, after all.” He shakes his head, and there’s something in his voice, something in his eyes, that has Natasha nearly holding her breath. She isn’t simply feigning ignorance for his sake; she can feel her blood begin to hum in her veins, as if anticipating his next words. “But then I realized that it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for you, my dear sister,” he tells her, and Natasha nearly risks a glance at Yelena, wanting to see if this is a surprise to her as well. Natasha is willing to bet that it is. “Melina never had an affair. Our mother was the one that did.”

... ...

Steve clenches and unclenches his jaw, careful to keep his anger in his expression even as he feels relief unfurl in his chest as Wanda finally slices through the knot around her wrists. She catches the rope in her fingers before it can go slack, hand closing tightly around the handle of the slim, black knife. The one that Ivan had evidently missed when he’d patted her down. Considering her arms have been drawn behind her back this whole time, Steve is guessing that she had the holster strapped under her blouse. Bucky’s knife is thin enough that it would have still been decently concealed despite the tapered fit of the material, but also, they’d been lucky that Ivan hadn’t done a thorough check.

He probably thought he hadn’t needed to; Wanda is as adept with a gun as the rest of the Family, but she isn’t typically armed.

It seems that Bucky has taken care of that himself.

“Enough,” Anton finally barks, shaking his head at Ivan before turning back to Steve. “Yet another example of how you Rogers have been a thorn in my side all these years.”

“Considering I didn’t even know who you were until a few months ago, it’s rather an impressive accomplishment to be under your skin for years,” Steve retorts. Anton may not be as reactive as Ivan, but Steve still knows how to piss Anton off. He’s pretty damn full of himself, and considering how long Joseph Rogers has known him, it’d be a definite bruise to Anton’s ego to know he hadn’t been worth mentioning, especially since Steve had already known most of the other Family members when he took his father’s place.

As long as Anton and Ivan are too focused on being pissed at Steve to notice that Wanda’s freed herself, all she’ll have to do is hold off until the right time.

Though Steve doesn’t know how easily that’ll come, if at all. It may just be Anton and Ivan inside the warehouse with them, but Steve knew he’d had a few men with him during the crash. Likely the handful of capos and soldiers loyal to him rather than to Howard, because there’s no way they’d go along with this kind of plan otherwise. It’d put their asses on the line, too, and Steve would hope that they’re sensible enough to know that both Anton and Ivan would throw them under the bus if Howard got wind of it.

Anton’s jaw ticks. “I’ve known you the least, but I’m pretty damn sure I’ll get the most enjoyment out of putting a bullet through your head.”

“Because I walked in and took the seat at the head of the Families that you’ve wanted all along?” Steve asks. “Or because I know you were the one stealing from Howard?”

It’s something Steve had a gut feeling about being true when it’d clicked into place in his mind, but the flash in Anton’s eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He manages to school his expression back into annoyance only a second later, but it’s more in vain than anything else. He knows Steve had caught his initial reaction.

And maybe that’s why he doesn’t completely deny it like Steve had still been expecting. “And what makes you say that?” Anton asks, still feigning annoyance.

“Howard is a cautious man when it comes to his legitimate businesses, and especially when it comes to Stark Industries,” Steve points out. “I can only imagine how much stricter he was when Stark Industries was getting off of the ground, and operating out of only one small building with a handful of employees should’ve meant he’d have no trouble keeping everything locked up tight. Not unless someone Howard trusted enough to give complete access without his monitoring was the one stealing,” Steve adds.

Anton’s eyes flash. “I’ve known Howard for years. He wouldn’t believe your word over mine.”

“He would if it made sense, which it does,” Steve counters. “Howard’s loyal, but not blindly loyal. And considering your son’s recklessness puts the Family’s ass in some kind of jeopardy almost every day, he’d have no problems cutting both of you out of the picture the second he gets a decent reason. Even if your secret dies with me, he’d still cut you off for trying to get rid of Pietro and Wanda, too.” This time Anton doesn’t attempt to hide his surprise, and in his peripheral, Steve catches his sister flinch, genuinely shocked.

Anton smirks, but the smugness from his eyes is gone. “Those incidents weren’t my doing,” he argues.

“Maybe not directly,” Steve counters. “It was an Asgard car spotted near both of those scenes at the time, and by every one of the Family’s busted deals and shipments, too. But if we dig just a little deeper, it’d be easy to find out that you and Ivan were the ones goading Hela into doing your dirty work.”

“She doesn’t need anyone to help fuel her crazy.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Steve agrees. “Which makes her a convenient person to pin the blame on, especially since the Family knows she has it out for my father. Dad was getting a lot closer to your secret. You knew he’d share his theories with his kids, too, so you needed a quick and permanent fix. Then my dad goes missing and you get your chance.”

Anton narrows his eyes. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” he questions, but there’s no real threat in his voice, and Steve knows his assumptions are right.

Before Steve can respond, though, Ivan snaps, “I’m getting sick of all this talking.” He draws his gun from the pocket inside his jacket, giving Steve a glimpse of his own gun hooked into Ivan’s holster at his hip. “Maybe we should test your theory of this secret dying with you,” he snarls. Steve simply blinks back at him, but then he catches Ivan’s gaze shift back to Wanda and Steve’s shoulders go rigid. Ivan smirks. “Or better yet, maybe we’ll start with your sister first. You won’t feel like such a smug ass then, huh?”

Ivan squats down and grasps Wanda by her neck, forcing her chin to tip up as he starts to dig his fingers into her throat—

And then a screech from outside. It’s muffled but unmistakable, and close. Maybe no more than a few dozen feet away.

Tires.

Ivan and Anton’s heads snap around toward the doors at the other end of the warehouse. “What the hell is that?” Ivan growls out, but Anton lets out a low hiss for him to shut up, one hand already reaching into his jacket for his gun as he takes a few steps closer, as if ready to head outside to check himself.

There are voices being raised from outside; the men Anton kept posted out there to keep watch start to shout over one another, their words muffled but the alarm ringing clear in their tones.

And then two harsh cracks rip through the air – gunshots – right before the sound of metal slamming together, colliding in a hard crash.

“Shit,” Ivan mutters, starting to get up, but then Wanda slips her arms out from behind her almost in a blink, knife in hand, and Ivan lets out a sudden groan as she thrusts the blade into him. He hisses, his hand going slack around his gun as he staggers back, and then Wanda is shoving him forward and sending him stumbling back into Anton as his weight knocks them both over. Another blink, and Wanda is lunging across the small distance, on her knees beside Steve and shoving him over as another shot goes off.

Steve groans, a jolt of pain shooting through his shoulder right before his side hits the ground, but he barely has a second to register it before Wanda is down on one knee in front of him, her body half-angled away from him just as Anton has gotten back onto his feet, lifting his gun to aim it in their direction.

For a fleeting second, Steve’s heart slams to stop against his ribcage—

And then Anton’s face twists into a sneer as he spits out, “You’re too much of a princess to pull that trigger,” at Wanda, and Steve’s eyes snap onto his sister. With the way he’d fallen and the way Wanda’s back is turned toward him, he hadn’t noticed the gun in her hand, pointed right back at Anton.

Ivan’s gun, Steve realizes. His gaze slides down and, sure enough, he finds Bucky’s knife still curled tightly in her other hand, only a little bit of blood actually smudged onto the blade from how quickly she’d pulled it out of Ivan’s chest.

“Go ahead, prove me right,” Anton goads. “You don’t have the balls to—”

He’s cut off as another crack rips through the air, and then he’s shouting, staggering down onto one knee, his gun falling from his hand and clattering onto the ground as he clutches at his shoulder with a hiss. Wanda shifts her body, arm swinging toward Ivan as he’s in the middle of staggering back up to his feet, and then another shot goes off and groans out, “fuck!” and clutches at his leg, his body hitting the ground once more. Wanda whirls back toward Steve, bending over him, and though the blade manages to nick his skin in her haste to slice the ropes from around his wrist, he barely notices. After getting grazed with one of Anton’s bullets, a little cut is hardly going to bother him.

Wanda is on her feet before Steve is, gun aimed at Anton once more as she gets her boot on his gun where it fell, sliding it back before he can attempt to retrieve it. Steve half-lunges across the small distance to Ivan, still clutching at his leg where Wanda shot him, and then Steve snatches his gun out of Ivan’s holster and aims it at him.

He turns his head, keeping Ivan in his peripheral as he looks at Wanda with his lips twitching at the corners. “Good aim.”

Wanda’s eyes twinkle. “I’m Clint’s best student for a reason,” she replies as the doors at the other end of the warehouse are thrown open, and then both of their gazes are whirling in that direction just as Bucky and Sam and a few officers burst through.

Steve very nearly slackens in relief, but he manages to keep his gun aimed at Ivan until one of the officers reaches him, producing a pair of handcuffs.

Wanda lowers her gun, too, just as Bucky reaches her, one hand reaching out to cup her cheek as his eyes dart over her almost wildly. A moment later, he exhales a breath, the tension ebbing from his body as he seems to confirm for himself that she isn’t hurt, and then he’s reaching down with his other hand to curl his fingers around hers where they’re still gripping the handle of the knife. His knife, stained with Ivan’s blood. His eyes glint. “Atta girl,” he murmurs, and then he’s drawing her close, slanting his lips over hers. Steve watches as Wanda’s body finally eases in relief, very nearly melting into Bucky as she sways forward, and he hooks an arm around her to keep them both steady.

Steve turns away to give them a moment, and then Sam is beside him, reaching up to touch the frayed line of his jacket where the bullet grazed him.

“Just a scratch?” Sam asks, one eyebrow arched as his lip hitches at the corner, and, despite everything, Steve breathes out a laugh.

“Barely a paper cut,” Steve returns, and Sam just shakes his head. “You guys got here pretty fast.”

Sam nods, gaze shifting onto Anton as two officers are snapping cuffs around his wrists and starting to lead him out of the warehouse. “We’ve had a tracker on Anton’s car for a few days now and we’ve been tailing him at a decent distance. The second it got cut off in the crash, our asses were on the move.”

Steve nods, but there’s something in Sam’s eyes that makes him pause. “What?” he asks, aware of the way Bucky and Wanda pull away from each other in his peripheral as Bucky tugs her closer to Steve’s side, his lips twitching into a grin.

“We’ve got something for you,” Bucky answers, nodding his head toward the doors.

Steve catches his sister’s curious gaze, exchanging a look before Bucky is gently urging her forward with a hand on the small of her back, and Steve follows the two of them out of the warehouse with Sam. There are already several patrol cars parked along the fence that’d been put up by the construction company, officers in the midst of loading Ivan and Anton and their men into the back seats, and what few pedestrians happen to be walking in the area are already starting to pause to try and see what’s happening.

It isn’t until Steve’s gaze finds a familiar car at the end of the fence, though, that he realizes why Sam and Bucky had been grinning so hard.

Dad.

... ...

Our mother.

Natasha’s fingers tighten around the necklace in her hand, so much so that she can feel the charm starting to dig into her palm, but she barely flinches. Her stare stays fixed on Yuri, searching his face for any small shift in his expression, any small twitch or tell that may give away the fact that he’s bluffing—but that smirk sits perfectly in place and the smug gleam in his eyes never wavers. Rationally, she knows that this doesn’t automatically mean he’s telling the truth. She has a pretty damn good poker face, too, and she can count on one hand the number of times someone had picked up on it when she was bluffing. Even then, they hadn’t been entirely sure if she was actually lying or not.

But she can feel her chest tightening, and her instinct tells her that something about his story makes sense.

She’s always found her parents’ story odd, and though Yelena’s explanation would’ve cleared a lot of it, Natasha knew something was still off. Something was missing. Why would her mother join a mob so that she, Joseph, and Alia could keep each other safe and yet sleep with the man her best friend married? The very same one she wanted to protect Alia from? And Natasha knows she looks like her father, like her Uncle Howard and Tony and Peter. It’s been said countless times that she has the Stark stamp to her.

Belatedly, her conversation with Steve comes back to her and how he apologized for getting upset when she hid “Sarah Rogers” from him. He told her he would’ve done the same thing, would’ve waited before telling Natasha something that could upset her because it was about her mother.

I just want to be sure, he told her.

This was what he’d been hesitant to tell her. Maybe he didn’t put together the exact truth, but he’d already suspected that her mother wasn’t her birth mother.

“I suppose you expect me to just take your word for it,” Natasha replies, managing to keep her voice steady despite the way her heart is starting to pound against her ribcage.

Yuri sits up a little straighter, lifting his eyebrows. “Perhaps I should have invited Melina to join us and tell you herself.”

Natasha lets out a light, almost nonchalant him in reply, even as her fist curls even tighter around the necklace still in her hand, and she knows she’s managed to catch him off guard by her lack of reaction to his threat because there’s a fleeting shift of uncertainty in his eyes. Then he blinks and that smug, knowing gleam is back in place.

“I’m surprised you didn’t consider it to begin with, after going through all this trouble to come here to convince me of the truth in person.” Natasha quirks an eyebrow at him. “Unless, of course, you have another reason for coming to an entirely different country to meet someone who could only supposedly be your family.”

He nearly bares his teeth in a dangerous grin. “You really don’t enjoy games, do you, dear sister?” he drawls. “It’s almost as if you’re trying to rush this along. Of course, if I were you, I would be eager to get to my date tonight as well. With Rogers, correct?” He reaches for the bottle of vodka again and then leans forward to retrieve Natasha’s shot glass, his eyes glinting as he catches her stare. “Like mother, like daughter, after all. I’m told that our mother was quite fond of Joseph Rogers. I’m sure I would’ve heard all about him if not for the way my father got particularly violent whenever Joseph Rogers was ever breathed. It’s quite tragic that he went missing a few months ago, isn’t it?”

Natasha studies his expression for a moment, and, possibly for the first time since he began speaking, she knows he’s bluffing.

His tone is suggestive, and threatening, wanting her to believe he’s in on the secret of how Joseph Rogers had gone missing, or maybe that he’d been involved somehow.

But he wouldn’t be here if he knew the truth. Even if he’s cold enough not to care about someone planning to kill his own father, Ivan dying while Yuri is overseas won’t make it easy for Yuri to take control of the mob if he makes it back to Russia. Not if there are already more than enough people that want him gone.

Maybe she doesn’t need to stall. Maybe she can distract him herself.

“Oh, you don’t expect me to believe that you listen to the rumors,” Natasha counters, letting her voice lilt in amusement—and, sure enough, there’s a flash of uncertainty in his eyes at her reaction. He slides her shot glass back over and she picks it up, letting a secretive smile curl at her lips. “But I will say this, your acting is quite convincing.”

She downs her shot without waiting for him to finish pouring his, licking her lips, and his jaw ticks. “And here I thought you don’t like playing games.”

Natasha tilts her head, arching an eyebrow. “And what game is it that you think I’m playing?”

Yuri smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “I’m sure it doesn’t do well for your reputation that the head of the Families went missing at all, let alone for this long and without any leads,” he muses. “But there’s no need to keep up pretenses for me.” She simply hums as he sets the bottle of vodka down on the table between them, letting her lips curve into a smug, knowing smirk of her own, not so much as blinking when he holds her stare, and she can see exactly when he realizes that she may not be bluffing.

He blinks twice, working to keep his expression unaffected. “Alright. I’ll humor you, dear sister. If Joseph Rogers hasn’t been missing all this time, where is he?”

Natasha leans in closer to the table between them, nearly perched on the very edge of the couch. “Tell me, baby brother,” she starts, her smirk widening when she catches the way his jaw ticks, “why I should divulge that when you haven’t even admitted that you’ve come here to kill me. I’ve never even stepped foot in Russia and yet, I’m a threat to you, aren’t I?” She leans in even closer, catching the way Yelena draws closer to Yuri from behind, too, as is protective. “If it’s a choice between you and me, I’m the best bet. A mafia princess to the underground and a Stark princess to the world. I can offer them everything, but you and your father are nothing but liabilities they’re eager to cut out.”

A growl nearly rips from Yuri’s throat, his composure quickly slipping through his fingers. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“No,” she replies, her voice dropping to a low, staged whisper. “I only pretend to,” she says, glancing over his shoulder to catch Yelena’s gaze, and the woman gives her a barely discernable nod right before she has her gun up, firing two shots – one each for the two men standing at the doors of the suite.

Natasha doesn’t have to look back to check to see if they hit, nor does she have time to, because just as Yuri starts to turn around, Natasha’s hand wraps around the neck of the bottle of vodka and she’s swinging it hard, slamming it up into Yuri’s jaw with as much force as she can muster at such a close range.

Yuri keels over as Natasha is on her feet, twisting her body around as she flings the bottle toward the two men standing to her left. There are also two more men to her right that could have a chance to shoot at her, but as she gets a running start, she catches a glimpse of the two guys that’d been posted behind Yelena dropping to the floor as she whirls around, gun pointed, so Natasha doesn’t worry about what’s behind her as she sprints forward, dropping to the ground right as one of them manages to get their gun up. He gets a shot off, but Natasha is already sliding across the carpet, swiping her legs under the other guy – the one already staggering back from being hit with the bottle of vodka – before spinning back around and onto her feet, and then she grabs the other guy by his jacket, yanking him down and sending his head cracking against her knee.

She swipes one of their guns out of their hands and whirls around, aiming it at where Yuri had been in the same second that Yelena does—

But Yuri is already up and over the couch and bounding out the suite, the doors slamming closed behind him, and Yelena exhales a curse under her breath as she lowers her gun and catches Natasha’s gaze.

“As soon as he caught me, he knew he’d be outnumbered when it came down to the three of us,” Yelena tells her. “But if the others are still in the hallway when we leave this suite, we’ll be outnumbered. If even half of the men stayed, that’s too much heat for us to take, and there’s no other way out of this suite.”

“Well, if he makes it out of this hotel, he’ll come after both of us and my family, too,” Natasha counters.

Yelena rubs her lips together, considering this for a moment, and then she swears under her breath again. “Let’s go,” she says, and Natasha swallows lightly, crossing the room and meeting Yelena at the door. “Any plan?” she asks.

Despite herself, Natasha lets out a humorless laugh. “Try not to die?”

Yelena nearly cracks a smile. “Your plan sucks,” she retorts, and then they’re both tugging at the handles, throwing the doors open and stepping into the hallway, and Natasha whirls around to stand with her back to Yelena’s as she points her gun at—

“Mom,” Natasha breathes out, her heart nearly slamming to a stop against her ribcage as she lowers her gun. Her mother lowers her gun, too, and her composed expression dissolves into relief. Natasha’s eyes flit over her shoulder and down the hallway, her father already lowering his own gun as he makes his way over to them, and then, right in front of the door to the stairwell, Uncle Howard and Nick Fury are watching as Thor and Odin are shoving someone over the threshold and maneuvering him down the stairs.

Yuri.

Natasha nearly sways back on her feet as she feels the relief flood through her, her eyes shifting back to her mother. “You got him?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer. She still wants to hear it, though.

“Yes,” her mother tells her, her voice soft. “If you had waited a few more minutes, we would’ve saved you from all the excitement.”

“She wouldn’t be our daughter if she preferred less excitement,” her father quips, coming to stand beside them. Natasha exhales a sharp, breathy sort of laugh as her mother reaches for her, drawing her close—and though she and her parents have never been the kind to prefer hugs, it’s almost instant, the way she melts into the embrace.

... ...

Wanda must’ve seen their father a split second before Steve had, because just as Steve’s mind is starting to catch up to the fact that that’s him – that his father is here, after being gone for so months – Wanda lets out a shaky, sharp, breathy sound, and then she starts running, quickly crossing the distance to the gate at the corner of the fence as their father gets it open. She throws herself at him in a hug that quite literally knocks him back a few steps, but his arms go around her, too, as his deep laugh fills the air.

Steve takes his time making his way over, feeling himself smile as he watches his father brushes a kiss to Wanda’s hair, murmuring something to her that makes her giggle and press her face into his shoulder. Then his eyes shift, watching through the fence as Pietro gets out of their father’s car and starts heading toward their father and sister. He catches Steve’s gaze, lifting his hand in a wave, and Steve’s smile widens, relieved his brother doesn’t seem any worse for wear considering he just got out of the hospital.

“Bet you didn’t see this coming!” Pietro calls out, and their father lifts his head, his eyes wrinkling into a brighter smile when they land on Steve.

Wanda turns to look over her shoulder at him, too, her eyelashes dotted with tears she hasn’t quite shed yet. His sister’s smile is small and shaky, but beautiful and relieved and so fucking happy, and then she steps back from their father, practically ducking under his arm to squeeze Pietro in a hug the second he’s within her reach.

“Steve,” his father greets, his voice low and gruff. The two of them had never been particularly affectionate with each other, not in the same way his siblings are, but it was never something Steve held any resentment towards him for. His father raised the twins mostly on his own, while Steve didn’t even meet his father until after high school, and anytime they’ve spent together since then, they’ve had the twins as a buffer. He and his father are closer now, but there had still been some lingering space between them.

Still, somehow Steve isn’t all that surprised when his father doesn’t hesitate to grasp at Steve’s shoulder, pulling him in for a hug as well.

Steve blinks, his chest tightening, but he doesn’t miss a beat in returning his father’s embrace. It doesn’t linger quite as long as his hug with Wanda had, but his father still gives him one last sort of squeeze before pulling away, one hand still lingering on Steve’s shoulder.

And this time, Steve is surprised when he catches the cracks in his father’s usually nonchalant expression. Considering who the man is, Steve had always seen his father as formidable and unyielding. Sure, Steve knew firsthand that the man had a soft side for his children, but for the most part, his composure never wavered.

“Welcome home,” Steve tells him, his voice a little rough. “How was your trip?”

His father’s eyes glint. “Good,” he answers simply, and it should be strange, how that one word seems to make the air shift. He turns to Wanda and Pietro as Wanda blinks up at him, her eyes wide and glimmering. “It was really good,” he tells them, the meaning clear in his tone. “But I much prefer to be home.”

“I take it that means you don’t have plans to be anywhere else anytime soon?” Steve asks.

His father squeezes his shoulder firmly, his lips hitching up into a wider smile—and, for a fleeting second, Steve almost sees his own face smiling back at him, making his chest squeeze in a way he hasn’t felt since his mother had passed.

“No,” his father promises, shaking his head once. “I’m right where I need to be.”

“Well, if you ever did decide to take another vacation,” Pietro chimes in, his lips spreading into a wide grin as he glances at Steve, “we can hold down the fort.”

Wanda breathes out a laugh, her smile bright, proud, and when Steve catches his father’s stare once more, he sees the same emotion reflected in his eyes. “I’ve always known that,” he says, and Steve feels his chest squeeze again, his own smile widening because he’s starting to realize that maybe he always had, too.

... ...

Her uncle stays behind at the hotel to handle things with Nick and Odin, and though Uncle Howard asks Natasha if she wants to have a say in what they do with Yuri and his men, she promises her uncle that she won’t come up with something nearly as creative as he can. Besides, she knows that the Family likes to take their time in dealing with anyone that’s threatened one of their own, and Natasha doesn’t want to waste another ounce of her energy on Yuri if she can help it. And she’s willing to bet it will drive him crazy to be told that he’d gone through all of this effort to come after her himself when she doesn’t even want to be there to watch while the Family has their fun with him.

“I know today has been exciting and all, so I thought I’d make one of your favorites,” her father says, and it’s almost instant, the grin that pulls at Natasha’s lips when he slides over a double shot of vodka poured into a wine glass. Part of her wonders if she should find the choice of alcohol ironic, all things considered, but as she picks up the glass, swirling it around as if it were actually wine, she doesn’t think of sharing shots of vodka with Yuri in that hotel suite. Instead, she thinks about the first ever time her father had poured her vodka in a wine glass just like this, when she first moved into this apartment out of college and her parents had come over to help her get settled in.

He’d joked about it being a celebration of both of her heritages, when in reality, they simply hadn’t wanted to open every box until they found her shot glasses.

“How sentimental,” her mother notes, amusement pulling at her own smile.

Her father tips his head, considering this. “I have my moments,” he admits, reaching into his pocket, and Natasha watches as he pulls out the thin, silver necklace that she’d held earlier that night, setting it carefully on the kitchen island between them, his expression softening.

Melina picks it up gently, threading the chain through her fingers and lifting it to let the engraved bar dangle for her to read.

Natasha watches her mother, remembering the way she and Alia—Natalia—had looked in that photograph she and Steve had found among his father’s things. It had to have been taken after Joseph Rogers, Alia, and her mother had joined the mob since Alexi was in the photo, too, and yet, Alia looked content. She looked happy because she was with the people she loved most, and that was enough to make her feel as carefree as she’d looked in that photo, even if her life had been anything but that because of Ivan.

“Is there any truth to that?” Natasha asks gently, nodding at the necklace in her mother’s hand, though it’s not really a question. The expression on both of her parents’ faces is more than enough proof.

Her mother catches her gaze, her smile soft. “Yes,” she answers simply, reaching over to tuck some of Natasha’s hair behind her ear. “You’re my last piece of her.”

Natasha feels something warm tug at her chest, and then she turns to her father. “How did you all meet?”

“Because of Joseph,” her father replies. Natasha lifts her eyebrows slightly in surprise; she hadn’t expected that. “By now, I assume you and Steve both know the truth about him and Alia and your mother?” her father asks.

She nods, glancing at her mother. “We found an old picture of you with some of his things.”

Her mother’s smile widens just a little as she sets the necklace back down, untangling the chain from her fingers. “The three of us had known each other since childhood,” her mother explains. “Alia had the biggest heart and wore it on her sleeve, but that was a dangerous thing in our world. Ivan wanted her the moment he saw her, but it was clear to everyone that Joseph and I were the only ones she cared for. She always blamed herself for Ivan wanting to get rid of Joseph, and she was never the same after he left.”

“Joseph was the reason your uncle and I went to Russia in the first place,” her father adds. “He couldn’t risk going back, but when Howard and Maria were having problems and needed space, Joseph asked Howard and I to go to Russia just to check on his old friends. He never stopped worrying about them, but also, he could tell that Howard needed some objective to keep his mind busy.” Her father’s eyes shift to her mother’s, his lips quirking. “Your mother was actually the one to introduce me to Alia,” he says.

Natasha turns to her mother, her own amusement tugging at her lips. “Really?”

Her mother chuckles. “He and your uncle didn’t quite do a good job at hiding how they studied us at the bar,” her mother tells her. “I didn’t know at the time it was because of Joseph. I just knew that Alia had been having a particularly hard time lately and could use a charming stranger to comfort her.”

“We actually left Russia shortly after, but your mother tracked us down when Alia found out she was pregnant,” her father continues. “She hadn’t been engaged to Ivan by then, and your uncle and I snuck the two of them away. But Ivan was far too possessive to let Alia go, and Howard and I hadn’t been prepared to handle this kind of threat away from home.” His eyebrows furrow, the frustration of the memory flashing in his eyes. “Alexi was able to warn us that Ivan finally found her after Alia had given birth.”

“She wanted your father to take you to keep you safe.” Her mother gives her a small, wry sort of smile. “She wanted me to go with him. Ivan only wanted her. He stopped searching for Joseph because he was no longer in his way, and he wouldn’t care if I was gone, either. If she had come with us, he would’ve stopped at nothing to find her and drag her back. She didn’t want to put anyone through that, and she absolutely didn’t want you to be raised like that, always on the run, hiding. She begged us to save you.”

“The moment we brought you home, Joseph recognized her in your face,” her father says, voice soft. “Everyone says how much you look like me, but you look like her, too. You just have to know where to find it.”

Natasha feels herself smile, feels a warmth fluttering in her chest as she thinks back to the photograph they’d found among Joseph’s things. It’s a little odd to think that she hadn’t recognized her own face in Alia, even when Alia had been so much younger in that picture, but part of her liked that it hadn’t been something so obvious. Her likeness to her birth mother, just like the secret itself, was something you have to know to see—something that makes a difference but doesn’t change everything about Natasha’s life.

It doesn’t change who her mother is. It simply gives her another woman to admire.

“I wish I could’ve met her,” Natasha says quietly, and her father comes around the island, cups the back of Natasha’s neck as he brushes a kiss to her forehead.

He doesn’t say the words – neither of her parents do – but Natasha knows the feeling is mutual. She also knows that there wouldn’t have been a way for that to happen, even if Alia was still alive. Not as long as Ivan was alive, too.

A knock at the door makes her father draw away slightly, glancing at Natasha, and, despite everything, she feels her lips twitch in a grin. The only people other than her parents who have ever had her codes to the apartment before are Uncle Howard and Tony, and neither of them would’ve let themselves in at the lobby only to knock on her front door. Then her father blinks, amusement glinting in his eyes as he realizes who it could be, and she rubs her lips together to fight off a smile as he goes to answer it.

And no, she’s not at all surprised when Steve is in her kitchen a moment later, his gaze finding hers within seconds.

“Nat,” he breathes as he crosses the distance to her in a few steps, cupping her face with his hands as his eyes flit over her, checking for himself to see that she’s alright.

Then he exhales a sharp breath, his body easing in relief, and Natasha feels herself smiling as he slants his mouth over hers. The kiss is hard and deep in an instant, and she almost feels herself swaying back atop the barstool with the force of it. He sucks on her bottom lip, thumbs brushing over her cheeks, down the line of her jaw, drawing a soft noise from her throat, and then she hears someone (likely her father) clearing their throat. Steve chuckles as he eases his lips off of hers, parting their kiss and pulling back.

“I’m alright,” she reassures softly, reaching up to wrap her hands around his wrists, giving him a gentle squeeze as if in emphasis.

Over his shoulder, she catches her mother getting up from her barstool, walking toward the threshold of the kitchen – and that’s when she notices Joseph Rogers filling the doorway, reaching for her mother and pulling her into his arms in a hug.

Natasha feels her chest flutter, the warmth of relief at seeing Joseph Rogers alive and home mixing with the bittersweet twinge of knowing what he and her mother are offering each other comfort for. Natasha’s throat tightens a little, her chest tightening, and then Steve is stroking his thumbs over her cheeks in slow, soothing strokes, and her eyes flit up to his. She doesn’t have to ask to know that his father must’ve filled him in on the truth of her and Alia because she can see it in his eyes, just as she knows that the empathy there isn’t just for her. It’s for his father and for her parents, and for Alia, for the hope that they could’ve reunited one day, no matter how slim the chance.

“Come here,” Steve murmurs, pulling his hands from her face so he can wrap his arms around her, drawing her close—and she doesn’t quite realize how overwhelmed she is until her eyes are closed and her face is pressed against his chest, blocking everything else out other than his steady breaths and the soothing circles he rubs over her back.

... ...

It’s late by the time they make it back to his place, but he’s still wide awake as he lays next to Nat in bed. She’d come back with him rather than the two of them crashing at her apartment since they were already there, and he knows it’s because she wanted him to be close to Pietro, just in case. His brother is supposed to be watched for the next few days, anyway, and since Wanda and Pietro had already taken to sleeping at his brownstone rather than their own apartments for the last few days, Steve doesn’t see a point in switching things up. It’s hardly a bother to have them under his roof, and after having the place all to himself for so long, he likes that it feels less empty these days.

He starts to slip out of bed when he feels Natasha reach for him, her fingers curling around his forearm as he’s sitting up, and he smiles down at her in the dark. Even though he’s not tired, he knows she is, because she’d passed out almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Still, part of him had expected her to wake up as soon as he moved.

She’s always been attuned to him like that.

“I’m just going to drink something warm to help me sleep,” he tells her softly, leaning over to brush his lips to her cheek, running a hand over her side through the duvet.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she asks, her voice heavy and a little raspy with sleep, and he feels his smile widen as he peers down at her in the dark. She’s practically still half asleep, but he’s not surprised at all that she still offers to get up with him. He knows she had quite a day, but she knows he did, too.

“No, it’s okay,” he reassures, sliding his lips lower, pressing a kiss to the spot along her jaw that always, always makes her shiver, and she makes this little noise from the back of her throat. “Sleep,” he murmurs against her skin, and she chuckles softly, barely above a whisper, as she curls into herself a little more and hums in reply.

He clicks his door shut softly behind him when he steps out into the hallway, quietly padding past Wanda and Pietro’s doors as he heads downstairs. He can see that the kitchen light is already on, which likely means his father is still up, and, sure enough, Steve finds him sitting at the kitchen island with a mug of tea sitting on the counter in front of him. His father has his head bent over his phone in front of him, but considering the screen is off when he lifts his head to look at Steve, he was probably just lost in thought. Steve doesn’t blame him. It’s probably the reason the man is up at all, just as Steve is, which is likely why his father doesn’t seem surprised to see him up, too.

The kettle is still hot when Steve picks it up, so he pours some in a mug and grabs a packet of chamomile tea from the box that Wanda keeps stocked in his pantry.

“So, you and Nat, huh?” his father asks once Steve is sitting in the barstool next to his, and a laugh bursts from Steve as he tears at the packet, dunking the tea bag into his mug. His father chuckles, too, shaking his head a little at himself, and maybe also at the strangeness of the moment. Not because it’s the two of them talking alone, when that hasn’t really happened much before, but because, out of all the things he could’ve asked about after the last few hours – hell, after the last few months – this is what he picks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and maybe he should feel like an idiot for smiling so widely, but he honestly doesn’t care and he knows his father doesn’t, either.

In fact, his father’s mouth hitches as his smile widens a little, too. But his eyes soften a little as he asks, “How’s she holding up?”

Steve pauses as he considers this, toying with the string of the tea bag hanging over the rim of his mug. He thinks about the way Natasha had held onto him in her kitchen when he’d pulled her against his chest, squeezing him close but yet not quite clinging to him, either. “I think maybe it hasn’t entirely hit her just yet,” he admits, because he thinks that’s the truth. She hadn’t seemed particularly shocked when they had dinner at her apartment with their parents; she simply seemed tired, and maybe a little distracted, like she couldn’t help her thoughts pulling her away from the conversation every now and then. “But I don’t think her entire world has been knocked out of place.”

His father nods at this. Considering he’s known Natasha her whole life, he’d probably know how to interpret her reactions pretty damn well, too.

“Honestly, I didn’t think it would be,” his father tells him, rubbing a hand over his hair. “But we didn’t want to minimize how big of a secret it was to keep from her, either.”

We. As in, him and Melina and Edward, maybe even Howard and Maria, too, since Steve doubts Howard would’ve kept this from his wife this entire time.

“Why did you and Melina pretend not to have known each other from before?” Steve asks. It’s not an accusation, and he knows his father won’t take it as one, and though Steve already has an idea of the answer, he figures he might as well ask, anyway, now that all of this is out in the open.

“I think it was instinct, mostly.” His father’s smile turns a little wry as he looks at Steve. “We’d gotten pretty good at downplaying how close we were with each other and with Alia back in Russia, even before Ivan started actively threatening me. When Edward brought her to New York and I saw her again after all those years, it was like a reflex. I’d missed her—missed both of them—but there really wouldn’t be a reason for me to have known a woman who’d never stepped foot in the States before. The Family knew I was adopted, but not from where. Your grandparents kept it under lock and key because Ivan was on a manhunt, and even after he’d stopped, we didn’t want to risk any slip ups.”

Steve nods at this. “Did you ever plan on telling her, or any of us?”

“We debated on it for years,” his father admits with an exhale. “It made sense not to when you were all younger, but there were several times later on that could’ve been right that we just didn’t say anything. I don’t think it was any one thing or any one reason. But it was more about how we felt about it and about bringing it up. You all had the right to know the truth, especially when it could’ve put you in danger, just like Natasha had been today. That’s on us,” his father adds, swallowing roughly with a shake of his head.

“Dad,” Steve says, his voice low and a little rough, too. “It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

He’s not just saying that to comfort his father, but because Steve genuinely believes it. Yeah, his father had a point; if he’d never sent Yelena to warn them before Yuri got to New York, they wouldn’t have had an edge over him.

But the truth had come out when they needed it, not when it was too late to help anyone, and it was so much more than just keeping Natasha’s birth mother or keeping his father’s past a secret from their own children. His father had to flee the only home and the only family he’d ever known at only thirteen because a man almost twice his age was threatened by his friendship with the girl he wanted, and Melina had to leave her best friend behind, knowing she would’ve likely been dead once Ivan found her. And it wasn’t just that, either. Melina must’ve been terrified of what Ivan would do to Alia for running in the first place, but Alia begged her to keep her daughter safe, and so Melina honored her plea. Even Edward, who had only known Alia for a short while, had to have been affected at leaving the mother of his child behind right after she’d given birth.

If telling the truth meant having to relive those memories, Steve would’ve been incredibly hesitant of it, too. That’s not something he or Nat, or Wanda or Pietro, would hold against their parents.

“Your mother knew, though,” his father adds after a moment, and Steve feels his heart trip in his chest as he stares back at his father. “She was the first to meet Melina.”

Steve feels his eyebrows furrow at this. He’s a few years older than Natasha, but not by much, which meant… “I thought you’d stopped seeing me and Mom by then?”

His father nods. “I had. We thought it would be safer, not just because of the Family, but also because I never knew for sure if Ivan was still looking for me. I also knew it was a lot for your mother to take in general, even if she’d never say it. She never would’ve asked to keep you away from me, but I knew she needed it to be that way, at least for a little while.” He rubs his lips together, looking Steve in the eyes as he adds, “I know that wasn’t a choice I should’ve made for her, for you. And to this day, I still wonder if it was the wrong one. I knew your mother was a tough person, tougher than both of us, but maybe I’d underestimated what she was willing to bear for me,” he admits quietly.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until it comes out in a sharp exhale. “You thought she wouldn’t want to handle this life?” Steve asks.

His father rubs at his jaw, seeming to contemplate this. “I wondered a lot of things. Your mother was too good for this world from the beginning, but she’d also known who I was when we met. She’d chosen to trust me, and I respected her and her choice. I loved her. But I knew it all bothered her to some extent, especially when you came along.”

Steve swallows lightly. He’d like to believe his mother could’ve handled anything, but he also knows firsthand that this world is a lot at first glance. It’s still a lot once you’re on the inside, too, but his mother had been young and had her child to think of. She genuinely loved his father, but that didn’t mean she had to love his lifestyle, too.

And he knows his mother. If she let his father convince her that keeping Steve and herself from him and the Family was for the best, it was because part of her had believed it, too. If she wanted to raise Steve in this lifestyle for whatever reason that may have been, she would’ve fought her father like hell to stay and she would’ve won, too.

Like he said: she was tougher than both of them.

“How did she meet Melina, then?” Steve asks after a moment, already feeling a smile tug at his lips. He knows without a doubt his mother probably loved Melina.

She would’ve loved Natasha, too.

“By pure chance, actually,” his father answers, his own smile widening, too, as he glances down into his tea at the memory. “Your mother recognized Melina from the photograph I had and knew of her from the stories I told her, and we happened to run into each other in Brooklyn. It was the one and only time your mother and I had approached each other since we agreed to keep our distance. And they loved each other, of course, but I knew they would. You’d think they were the childhood friends.”

Steve chuckles at this, feeling a warmth squeeze at his chest. Somehow, he could almost picture the memory perfectly.

“Your mother and Alia would’ve loved each other, too,” his father adds, his smile softening as Steve stares back at him. “And Alia would’ve loved you.”

Steve reaches over, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder, and his father lifts his hand to grip Steve’s. “I would’ve loved her, too,” Steve says, giving him a squeeze, and his father lets out a breathy laugh as he nods.

... ...

She can feel Steve’s hand at her hip, his fingers calloused yet gentle and teasing as they toy with the hem of his shirt on her. Natasha had rolled onto her back sometime during the night, her shoulder practically pressing against Steve’s chest, and she feels her lips pull into a soft smile as he inches her shirt higher up her body, making her stomach flutter just under his palm when he splays his fingers over her skin. Then he dips his head to press a kiss to her cheek, her jaw, the column of her neck, feeling her pulse thrum under his lips, and she makes a soft noise when he hand dips down, fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties and pulling them down over one hip.

“Steve,” she breathes, feeling his mouth curve into a grin against her collarbone, and then his fingers hook under the other side of her panties, too, pulling them down her legs and then off entirely.

“Good morning,” he says into her skin, and she feels her smile widen, feels him nudge her legs open as his body slides down hers. He pushes her shirt up a little higher, kisses over one of her ribs, brushes his lips against an old scar on her other hip, and then his face is pressed against the inside of one of her thighs, lips quirking into a smile.

Her eyelashes flutter open as she lifts herself up on her elbows, glancing down to where Steve is settled between her legs, pressing one into the mattress as he pulls the other over his shoulders. She can already feel her breaths coming in a little shorter and shallower, feel her heart beating a little faster, even as a slow, almost lazy sort of smirk pulls at her lips as she meets his gaze. His mouth is hitched in that crooked, boyish sort of smile she’s come to love, but there’s nothing teasing about the heavy look in his eyes.

Under the darkening arousal, she can see the pure adoration in his gaze, reflecting her own. She knows, realistically, it’s only been a few days—but she can’t really remember what it was like to wake up without Steve beside her, to fall asleep to his large, warm body curling over hers, and she doesn’t want to remember, either.

“Good morning,” she breathes, reaching down to cup his jaw, rubbing her thumb against the corner of his mouth as it widens just a little more.

Then he’s dipping down, licking into where she’s warm and already a little wet for him, and she sucks in a breath, trapping it in her chest as her eyelashes flutter. She keeps her hand on his jaw, rubbing the budding stubble there, feeling it flex with every pass of his tongue against her, every little groan and lick and nibble, and it almost makes it feel heightened, somehow. She’s not quite holding onto him, but still, it feels as if he presses in closer at the exact moment her fingers twitch to drag him in, feels as if his licks linger when his tongue slides over a particularly sensitive spot that has her hand trembling to twist into his hair. She keeps her gaze on him as her vision grows blurry and her eyelids grow heavy, and then his eyes lick up to hers, sucking at her little bundle of nerves, and her head almost falls back as her body gently arches off of the bed.

He sucks at it again, her elbow nearly sliding out from under her, and then his tongue dips down and into her, and her lips part in a soft moan. And then his lips slide back up before she can find a rhythm, teasing her, tongue flicking against her hard bud right before he sucks it again, and she twists her neck to press her face into the pillow.

Again, and again, and again he works his mouth over her, groaning with her every little shift, sending delicious vibrations everywhere as she arches and rolls her hips—

And she doesn’t know if this morning feels different because of what happened yesterday, or if they feel different, but already it feels like too much, too fast, and she practically smothers herself with his pillow to muffle her voice as she bursts apart at the seams. White-hot pleasure crashes over her, rushing through her as he holds her to him, and she twists one hand into his sheets, the other braced against his headboard as she rides out her high and he coaxes every last drop of it out of her with a long groan.

Then he eases his mouth off of her, sliding his hands gently up and down her thighs, over her hips, almost soothing her as she shudders delicately from the pleasure. He kisses up her flushed skin, his lips brushing against almost every inch of it along the way, letting her catch her breath as he settles back over her.

He presses his face into her neck as she wraps her arms around his torso, kissing her there, too, and she lightly digs her nails into the muscles in his back.

“Good morning,” he says again, drawing a breathy chuckle from her that quickly dissolves into moan as she feels him between their bodies, hard and pressing right against her little bundle of nerves. His hand curves over her hip, gripping as he presses at her entrance, and then her body arches as best as it can under his as he slides in. She sinks her nails into his back a little harder as he sinks into her a little deeper, pausing as he slips all the way, and then his other hand is braced against the mattress, his mouth slanting over hers as he starts to move, and she very nearly whimpers into the kiss as he sweeps his tongue into her mouth at the same second he snaps his hips harder against hers.

They try to be slow at first, to savor it, but within seconds their kiss quickens, and then so do their bodies as they move against each other. Her chest squeezes, her lungs starting to sting just a little bit because she needs to take a breath, but she doesn’t pull away, not yet.

Not until a few moments later, when her second orgasm bursts through her, almost taking her by surprise as she twists her lips away from his to suck in a shaky breath. Pleasure rushes through her again, a little harder and a little faster now, her lips parting in a moan that seems trapped in her chest as she shudders under the white-hot waves crashing over her. He kisses her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, groaning words into her skin that she can’t quite hear over the blood pounding in her ears, but then she feels his body growing taut above hers, his hips growing more urgent, until he stiffens and buries his face into her neck, teeth sinking into her skin as his groans out in his release.

It’s a long, few moments before Natasha feels her breaths finally start to even out, feels his body finally start to ease above her, and then his tongue darts out, licking at the indent of his teeth in her skin before he lifts his head to peer down at her.

“A girl could get used to a wake-up call like that,” she breathes out, and even though her voice is light and teasing, she knows there’s something more in her own words.

And she knows that Steve can hear it, too, because the warmth fluttering in her chest is reflected in his eyes as he smiles down at her. He replies with a teasing, “I’ll keep that in mind,” but she can hear the promise in his voice, and she’s smiling when he dips his head down to kiss her.

... ...

“Hey, soldier,” a voice whispers in his ear, warm and teasing, and Steve feels his lips twitch into a grin as Natasha slides onto the stool beside his, setting an empty glass on the bar counter. He spins his barstool to face her, rubs his lips together in vain to hide his amusement, but even if he could manage a poker face around Nat, she’d still see it in his eyes that he doesn’t find her new little joke as annoying as he sometimes pretends. Somehow, she’d decided that his father being back to take over as head of the Family meant that Steve was no more than a soldier now, or less, considering he wasn’t technically a “made” man, and honestly? Steve is far more amused by how much delight Natasha takes in her own joke than the actual joke itself. “Can I buy a man a drink?” she asks, setting her hands atop his knees to lean in and brush a kiss to his lips.

“The drinks are free,” Steve points out, arching an eyebrow, and Natasha smirks, her eyes bright with amusement.

He remembers how she’d had that same twinkle in her eyes when they first met right in this restaurant, almost at this very spot at the bar just a few months ago. The place had been closed that day, too, though rather than catching it between the lunch and dinner rush, the restaurant is closed for the rest of the night.

And technically speaking, it’s closed for them, though Steve is starting to realize that the Family will find any and every excuse to gather together and celebrate.

“Shouldn’t you two be over there?” Pietro chimes in from behind the bar, pouring more water into Natasha’s empty glass before gesturing at the dining room filled with the rest of the Family, loud with excited chatter and the sound of the kids screaming. “Of course, if Howard is retelling how he kicked Anton’s ass, I’d be hiding here, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh. Over a month later and both Howard and Tony still manage to bring up the story of officially kicking Anton and Ivan out of the state—hell, damn near out of the country—but then again, considering Anton had been a fundamental part of Stark Industries from the ground up, Steve doubts Howard will get over it anytime soon, or ever. Even if Howard had only really tolerated Anton these last few years, knowing that he had been betrayed for so long was a hard thing to get over. Howard may be more pissed than anything else right now, but some part of him is upset, too, just as Odin and Frigga must have been upset that Hela had been behind all the ambushes.

Steve half-expected Odin to argue against banning Hela from New York, but he had practically demanded to do it himself. Odin had been furious with his daughter, but at the end of the day, she’s still his daughter, and it’s probably easier for Odin to focus on her betrayal and her recklessness more than anything else.

“It’s a good story,” Sam comments, dropping into the stool on the other side of Nat, pulling Maria between his knees as she sips on the tumbler of rum in her hand.

“You only like it because you’re in it,” Maria retorts, and Sam hides his grin against her shoulder as she rolls her eyes, her lips twitching at the corners in a smirk. “Although, it does make for quite a tale. Two cops joining in on an old-fashioned mafia shakedown and chase? I still say you should let me publish an anonymous article on it.”

Sam just chuckles, knowing there’s no genuine threat behind her words, and then something catches his eye that makes him sit up a little straighter, flashing his teeth in a smile as he asks, “And where might you two be coming from?”

Steve turns to look over his shoulder as Wanda and Bucky step out from the kitchen, his sister tucked under his best friend’s arm. He has his head bent close to hers, likely to whisper something in her ear, but he straightens up at Sam’s comment, pressing his lips together as he shakes his head. Wanda’s cheeks are flushed, and yes, maybe Steve would feel wary about that, except he already has a pretty good idea on why Bucky might’ve wanted to steal Wanda away for a little while. He’d come to Steve and his father earlier that week about wanting Wanda to move in with him, not because he had been asking for permission or anything, because in the end, whatever she wanted was what he was going to give her, even if her father and brother were wary of it. But he’d wanted their honest opinion on whether they thought it would be too much, too fast for her.

Had it been a few weeks before, maybe it would have been. Steve still remembers how his sister sat in his kitchen and admitted that she didn’t see things going further between them. Even if he didn’t care about her being a mafia princess, she’d been worried about the Family never quite accepting him. But if Sam and Bucky helping to protect Wanda hadn’t been enough to earn the Family’s good graces, the evidence that they gathered against Anton, Ivan, and Hela to prove their betrayal would have.

“Pay attention to your own girl, Wilson,” Bucky counters, brushing a kiss to Wanda’s hair as she giggles. She pauses their stride as she turns to them, stretching on her toes to whisper in his ear, and he dips his head to kiss her, quick and hard, earning a half-hearted noise of protest from Pietro that has Wanda pulling away with another giggle.

Then she glides over to Natasha, taking her hand and giving it a tug. “They’re about to start slicing and serving cake, which means we need to do a toast!”

Natasha catches Steve’s gaze as Wanda starts to pull her onto her feet, her eyes sparkling, and Steve gives her a grin, grabbing their glasses as they all head back into the main dining room. It’s louder and warmer, and little Morgan Stark and Nathaniel Barton nearly trip him over as they run by, but it only makes Steve’s grin widen.

He joins Natasha where she’s standing at the head of the long table in the middle of the room, a few dozen faces staring back at them as they take their seats. He peers down at Nat as he hands over her glass, catching the way his mother’s ring twinkles on her finger under the bright glow of the chandeliers. Then he glances around the room, finding his father sitting further down the table, smiling at him from his seat between Howard and Melina. Across from them, Peter nudges Bucky with his elbow as he and Wanda sit with him, Peter whispering something that makes Bucky hide his laugh with a cough, and on his other side, Pepper and Tony laugh as Morgan practically climbs into Sam’s lap.

It quiets down as Steve lifts his glass, curving his hand over Nat’s hip and drawing her close as he thanks them for celebrating with them tonight, asking them to raise their glass in a toast to his father coming home safe, to Pietro’s quick recovery, and to his and Nat’s engagement.

“And to Family,” he finishes, peering down at Natasha.

“To Family,” she echoes, and there are cheers and clinks of utensils against glasses of wine right before his mouth slants against hers in a kiss. Then he feels Natasha smile against his mouth just as she parts their kiss a moment later, turning his head to bring her lips near his ear. “And when exactly do you want to tell them the Family is about to get a little bigger?” she whispers, and Steve breathes out a chuckle, pressing a kiss against her neck. If he thought he could get away with touching her stomach, he would’ve.

“This is the Family we’re talking about, Nat,” he points out, drawing back to catch her bright eyes, a warmth squeezing at his chest. “They probably found out a week ago.”

#romanogers #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #chanty writes #mafia 'verse

47 notes · View notes