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phoenixyfriend · 3 years ago

Note

For your suddenly omegaverse au what exactly happened? Like I think obiwan and Anakin hop over from cannon verse to omegaverse but I am unclear on if there already existed obiwan and Anakin in omegaverse. Did they die early or do they just not exist or are they just not force sensitive and therefore not a part of the order? Is there still a sith conspiracy around Anakin?

Context: Original Post, Surrogacy, Worldbuilding, Obi-Mom, Soap Operas

So, from the original post:

There is no preexisting Anakin in the Omegaverse

Obi-Wan and Anakin just straight up don’t exist until they drop headfirst into the council room, already covered in blood.

To clarify: There has never been an Anakin Skywalker in this AU. There has never been an Obi-Wan Kenobi.

They don't know this for sure when they land in the AU, though. All they know is that the Jedi have no record of either of them. They figure, well, maybe they just got lost in the shuffle. Anakin wasn't found until he was nine, after all, and that was only by great coincidence.

The rest of this post has almost no mention of the omegaverse elements, FYI.

Warning: References to the Tusken massacre, explicit sedation and isolation of a mentally unstable individual threatening violence.

I don’t want to make light of institutionalization and involuntary holds, but Anakin is a character with a history of violence talking about repeating such an act, and that’s... a bit of an extreme case.

------

It's not that hard to convince the Temple to let them run a mission that lets them stop by Tatooine or Stewjon. Anakin cares a lot more, so Tatooine it is! Obi-Wan can tell there's something sketchy going on with Anakin's particular anxiety about this, but he rolls with it. Anakin was very specific about the timing for some reasons, and at this point, it's easier to just let it all play through.

They go well after the whole “congrats, you’re omegas... somehow,” thing has happened, a month or so before Geonosis would have happened. Obi-Wan has managed to help the council sabotage and delay the Separatist side of the war enough that they’ve gained... maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months. Just a little more time to keep a few more people alive. Nobody’s reached out to Kamino yet, and Jango isn’t staging a failed assassination to draw someone in, either. They’ve bought enough time for Anakin to spend his vacation time checking in on his mom seeing if he exists here, and Obi-Wan can go with him.

They get to Tatooine. They wander about, and Anakin doesn't actually explain where they're going, but takes them straight to where the Lars farm is. Obi-Wan lets Anakin tell him that it was the Force that led him to the right area. Anakin can sense that his mom is in there, and Obi-Wan chalks up the relief from his former padawan to 'she's here and we don't have to look for her.'

Anakin is... panicking. Just a bit. What if he shows up and it turns out this reality's Anakin is off doing something completely unrelated and she realizes he's the wrong person? Or what if she doesn't recognize him and he calls her Mom anyway? What if he fucks up and says something stupid or just starts crying on her? She'll think he's insane.

Obi-Wan... takes over.

Anakin stays hidden, listening. Obi-Wan knocks on the door, and asks if there's a 'Shmi Skywalker' in residence. Someone in town mentioned her. He explains that he has a young friend of about twenty years--they're not sure, exactly, because the friend doesn't know his own birthday, but it's about there--who happens to be a Skywalker, and they're trying to see if they can reconnect him with a parent. They don't have much to go off of other than the surname... the Shmi that lives here wouldn't happen to have ever had any children about that age?

No. She hasn't had any children of her own blood, actually, her only child is her stepson, but she'd be happy to meet this other Skywalker, if he's in the area. It's always nice to find family, and connecting with those that were separated from you is a big deal on Tatooine. She's not going to look a gift bantha in the mouth.

(Cliegg, dear, put down the rifle.)

Obi-Wan promises to let his friend know, bids them goodbye, and goes to find Anakin.

Anakin is having a bit of a breakdown.

As one does.

Anakin insists that they stick around for a bit, that they do what they can to protect the farm, because that's his mom, even if she's not really his mom, and Obi-Wan can tell there's a Lot Going On here. He assumes it's because Anakin's upset his mom doesn't know him, which is a little irrational on account of their two options being "Anakin doesn't exist (and so Shmi doesn't know him)" and "Anakin does exist (but Shmi doesn't know this Anakin, so she still doesn't know him)," but Anakin's not a very rational person.

Obi-Wan thinks tamping down the current crisis is probably a little more important than chastising Anakin's attachment issues, mostly because Anakin's hands are shaking, and he's looking a little wild-eyed, and like. Obi-Wan's not great at dealing with Anakin's many and varied emotions, but he's learned at some point when it's best to just... roll with it Until There's Less Risk of Stab or Sobbing Laughter.

He helps figure out some minor fuckery with the Force to hide the family in the homestead behind them from visitors, and to warn them to hide when someone comes by. It’s not a lot--mostly just meditating and asking the Force for a helping hand--but it’s nice.

Except, well, Anakin keeps fidgeting. He keeps panicking. He has them coming back almost daily for a week, always too scared to talk to his mom but insistent on protecting her, and always looking at the calendar. Obi-Wan wants to get back to the Temple, but whatever the actual hell is going on with Anakin is too big to just ignored.

A specific day comes and goes. Anakin is a mess of jitters and nerves, and finally Obi-Wan asks just the wrong (right?) question, and... they visit Shmi.

Anakin says they can talk later, he just wants to see his mom One Last Time.

(Obi-Wan is getting more and more worried, but he sits through the incredibly awkward meeting between Anakin and his alt-universe mom, watches as Anakin has no idea what to say and almost cries, and Shmi just kind of lets him do that and Beru--a sweet girl, Obi-Wan thinks, and very practical--tells him that this is all very normal for reunited slaves.)

(Obi-Wan wonders if maybe there’s some stuff Anakin never told him about how being a slave affected him.)

(Obi-Wan had thought they’d moved past most of this, but..)

The meeting ends. There’s hugging.

They get back to the ship, and Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin fall apart. Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin cry and scream into a pillow, hyperventilate and nearly punch a hole in the wall as he rages about how it was all for nothing! Obi-Wan gets to watch Anakin break into a million pieces in a way he’s never seen before.

Obi-Wan gets a confession.

Anakin tells him about the Tuskens.

It’s not an easy conversation. It’s not a short conversation, either. Anakin’s full of pain and misery and rising guilt, talks about how he’s been asking himself if it would be easier to keep his mother safe if he just killed them all now, except Obi-Wan would know, and be disappointed, and sure the Chancellor had said that they were little more than rabid animals, but Anakin doesn’t think he can kill the younglings again when his mom is still fine, and--

Obi-Wan sedates him.

He wants to say that he’s not proud of this, but... Anakin isn’t well. Anakin isn’t well in a way that is currently, specifically, revolving around doing extreme violence. Anakin is talking about going out and committing a slaughter as preventative maintenance.

Anakin stays sedated until they get back to the Temple, and he’s put in Force-suppressant cuffs--Obi-Wan quietly tells them to use something that can’t be sliced or taken apart by a droid specialist, and to avoid collars because Anakin was a slave for nearly a decade, and has a lot of traumatic associations--and in an isolated room.

It’s not a cell. Not technically.

He can’t just leave, though.

Obi-Wan hates himself for it, just a little. He doesn’t want to be doing this, not to his padawan, his brother, his son, but... a massacre. Even the younglings, he’d said.

(“He said he didn’t think he could do it again,” Obi-Wan mutters, half to himself and half to the mind healer that asks for his rundown of the situation. “I think he knows it was wrong, but...”)

(But he still did it, of course.)

It’s... better than Obi-Wan feared, but worse than he hoped.

Anakin is emotionally unstable. He has been, for a long time, but he’s usually functional. When the mind healer isn’t directly poking at his worst wounds, Anakin can more or less pass for... not okay, necessarily, but no worse than anyone else in the war had. He can say the right words. He can do a joint meditation. He can talk about philosophy the way a Knight that’s taken all the right classes does.

But part of Anakin still holds to the idea that the Tuskens deserved to die.

“This is my fault,” Obi-Wan whispers, more than once, resting his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. “I should have...”

“He was an adult,” says Mace, who isn’t Mace, not the one that Obi-Wan knows, but a newer friend, one that’s still figuring how to act around him. “Young, but still an adult. He made that choice.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t answer. Things aren’t that simple.

“The timing can’t have been a coincidence,” Obi-Wan mutters to himself, later on, but in the same spot, and the same position.

The Quinlan of this universe shrugs. He knows Obi-Wan better than most, right now. Psychometry’s helpful that way, and sharing Obi-Wan’s heat hadn’t hurt. “Seems likely. You said Sith were involved and setting traps, and a kid like yours, with that much power and trauma... ripe for the molding.”

Obi-Wan whines, and then catches the noise and stuffs it back down, locks it up tight with the other ‘instinct’ things he doesn’t like to think about having. The sound already has Quinlan shifting closer, and the smell is... intended to be comforting, he thinks. Reacting to his own distress, which he’s probably just pumping out right now, because he still doesn’t know how to--

“Can I help?” Quinlan asks, and Obi-Wan lets him.

Someone gets through to Anakin, maybe, or he just lets himself be ground down, or Obi-Wan’s entreaties that he can’t teach Ahsoka until he understands his crimes get through. He won’t be trusted around the clones until the Jedi can trust him to do the right thing, they inform him.

“I wouldn’t hurt the clones.”

“Nobody’s going to believe that until you understand your crimes and truly, actually feel remorse for them.”

There wasn’t a crime, technically. Not in this universe. That tribe is still alive, here, unknowing of the fate they escaped by dint of Anakin talking himself down from committing another slaughter.

(He tells the mind healer it’s because Obi-Wan was there.)

(He might have done it, he says, if he hadn’t thought Obi-Wan would be disappointed in him.)

(He says it like it’s a foregone conclusion, that Obi-Wan’s opinion is worth more than the horror of what he might become.)

“We’re going to keep an eye on anyone talking to Palpatine,” Shaak tells him one day, after Anakin’s been mental instability hold for two weeks. “We don’t know for sure how far the similarities extend from your universe to ours, but given everything else you’ve been right about...”

“That bad?” Obi-Wan asks.

Shaak grimaces, fangs glinting in the light. “I want to believe we’d have never allowed a child into such a position, but I can’t know what political leverage may have been used in your dimension... whatever reason was had to put Skywalker in those rooms, we know the consequences now--”

“What did he do to my padawan?” Obi-Wan demands, because Anakin won’t even tell him that. Anakin hasn’t mentioned Palpatine since they left Tatooine. Not to Obi-Wan.

“Nothing physical,” Shaak manages. “But the lies he told and the suggestions he planted... it’s good they haven’t met again yet in this life. We’ll all be keeping them far apart.”

He wants to take solace in that. “Why do you know before I do?”

“Skywalker values your opinion,” she says. “Only yours. He doesn’t want you more disappointed in him than you already are, so much of what is relayed to the council as a matter of security goes no further, but this was deemed necessary to share. He agreed to it, if you worried we’d broken his confidence.”

Anakin’s therapy would normally be entirely private.

Anakin’s therapy would normally not be in response to confessions of mass slaughter.

He hasn’t asked to be let out, which Obi-Wan hopes is a sign that he realizes at least subconsciously that he was in the wrong. The mind healer says he could have been released under watch by a Master probably a day or two after he arrived, but seems to be drawing some kind of comfort in knowing he couldn’t hurt someone even if he tried.

Obi-Wan is Anakin’s emergency contact. His next of kin. His healthcare proxy. Anakin has a right to privacy, minor as it is in such a situation, and everyone recognizes and treats him as an adult, but... Obi-Wan learns as much from the mind-healer as he would have back when Anakin was actually a child.

“He trusts you to make the right decisions,” the mind healer tells him, careful and unassuming. “He has... a lot of conflicting opinions about many things, including the order, the coming war, the nature of human reproductive dynamics, the Code... but he seems keen on the idea that you are his best reference on morality and ethics.”

Oh, good, more horrifying responsibility.

“He’s better,” the mind healer tells him. “I want to get him out of here before he starts going stir crazy while still relying on the perceived safety as a crutch for his mental health. And he--”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Obi-Wan says, heavy as anything. “I know.”

“Well... there’s a war coming,” the mind healer says. She offers a thin smile when he looks at her. “I don’t want him going out, but it makes him feel useful, gives him a direction for the aggression, and... the Council is adamant that we’ll need him as much as we need you.”

It’s true.

“Did he tell you why everyone called him the Hero With No Fear?”

“No.”

“Ask him.”

#Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Shmi Skywalker #Mace Windu #Quinlan Vos #Shaak Ti #time travel #omegaverse #SW Suddenly Omegaverse #Phoenix Answers Asks #phoenix posts #Tusken Massacre #death mention #dehumanization mention #institutionalization tw #involuntary hold tw #sedation tw #involuntary sedation tw

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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hi i love ur writing so much!! can i request something with mutual pining, denial of feelings, idiots-to-lovers, hurt/comfort/angst , maybe some jealousy and fluff and smut if you want i just need something really angsty with javier peña, frankie m or din djarin?? tysmm!!!!!

The Bantha (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: Being an animal lover does not work well with the plans the Tuskens and Mos Pelgo citizens have to kill the krayt dragon. A retelling of S2E1 of the Mandalorian: The Marshal.

W/C: 4.4K

Warnings: talk of animals being harmed/dying, lots of arguing and angst, Vanth kind of is gross bc I hate his character aha, we respect the Tuskens in this house and use proper terminology for them, language, tiniest mentions of alcohol

A/N: Not gonna lie, the idea for this fic came to me pretty quickly but it took me a long time to properly figure it out. Lots of drafting and editing so THANK YOU to my beta readers, you’re all the best ever!! Anon, I’m so sorry this took so long but I hope it’s worth it!

Of all the dilemmas you’d expected to face as you traveled the galaxy with a tiny, Force-sensitive, 50-year-old toddler and a Mandalorian with the emotional capacity of the earlier-mentioned child, the last one you’d ever predicted you’d face had to be the challenge of ridding a tiny desert town of a giant sand beast that eats their banthas.

“You are so fucking dense,” you groan as you and Din settle on a speeder bike, the little green child tucked in a wrap on your chest. “You’re a Mandalorian, a battle-worn bounty hunter with a kill streak probably in the thousands, and some random man asks for your help and not only do you fucking freely give it, you decide to help them kill the sand dragon terrorizing their town.” You groan to him, rubbing your temples.

Din nods and starts up the speeder bike. “You don’t need to summarize what we just lived through,” he grunts and you wrap an arm around him.

“I do, because I need to clarify that your dumb ass would do that. Sometimes I really do think you don’t have a brain under that beskar bucket,” you shake your head, trying to keep the anger that you’re feeling. If you’re not careful, it’ll turn to adoration and love.

You’ve been battling your feelings for Din for a while now, trying to force the giddiness bubbling in your chest deep down inside. The man is everything you look for in a partner: strong, committed, tall, protective. He’s good with the child, adorably cuddly and loving. He’s even funny sometimes, making dry-humored remarks around the ship.

“Excuse me for caring,” the man grumbles through the modulator. He’s strong and warm beneath your arms, the Tatooine heat making the beskar warm like your bunk in the morning when you don’t want to get up. Stop it, stop it you remind yourself. This is not the time to be enraptured by the Mandalorian man’s body.

That’s yet another trait you love about him- how caring he is. He’s a bounty hunter, a warrior by oath who never shows his face and probably knows millions of ways to kill someone with his bare hands. Yet he cares. He raises the child well; he even raised him alone before you came into the picture. He puts himself in harm’s way for innocent people on the daily, all because he simply thinks it’s right.

You take a sip from your water canteen and hand it to the baby on your chest so he can drink too. “No, I will not excuse you for caring when you’re doing stupid shit, Din,” you scowl and cap the canteen as two three-fingered green hands give it back to you. “You came here- we came here, our family did, to find Mandalorians. There are none.”

“This man will give me his beskar if we help,” Din hisses, revving the engine of the speeder, non-verbally telling Vanth to get moving. The man is dawdling along, a few meters away, as he packs his bike up.

“What do you need it for, huh?” You ask him, throwing your arms up in exasperation. “I’m not a Mandalorian. This little shit doesn’t need beskar. You have a full set of armor already.”

“Beskar belongs to me, to my people, by my Creed,” he says, articulating himself with his hands too. It’s a habit he’s picked up from you. “You wouldn’t ask a Tatooinian to deprive themselves of the moisture they farm.”

You put your face in your hands and groan. “No, you’re right, because they fucking need water to live. You do not need beskar to survive, Din!” You shout, getting off the speeder bike. “And please, forget I called us a family. We’re clearly just a bounty hunter and his… assistant, whatever the fuck I am, and some little kid we picked up for the ride.” You stalk off towards the building.

“Where are you going?” He asks as you turn.

Cobb is standing to the side somewhere, and you approach him. “You got another speeder? I don’t want to put up with him for the ride.”

The man chuckles and claps your shoulder. “Sure thing, pretty thing.” He wanders off and returns about a minute later with another speeder. Din watches the two of you in annoyance, visible from his rigid body language. “Hop on. You know how to drive?” You nod once and he heads to his own speeder. “I’ll lead. You two follow.”

The ride is uneventful at first. Cobb Vanth tells the two of you the story of how he came to be the town marshal, and Din nods his silent comprehension when the man in beskar looks over at him. Most of the stories are aimed at you, desperate to crack your stony anger. It doesn’t work. You stare straight ahead, daring to break your frown into a neutral expression when the little green baby coos excitedly at the wind in his ears.

There are valleys and caverns to navigate through, nimbly ducking and weaving on your speeder bike. The kid loves it, squealing happily when you fly over a bump or turn a sharp corner. It’s a joyride to him.

When Din and Vanth suddenly stop your ride, you panic, holding the child close against your chest. From your holster, you grab your weapon and stand next to the two men. The growling noises are revealed to be massiffs, huge dog-like lizards. You squeal in delight, immediately dropping to your knees and summoning the beast in Tusken.

“What in the hell is she doin’?” Vanth mutters to Din as the big animal comes bounding toward you.

“She’s always like this with animals. Thinks they’re all big puppies,” Din rolls his eyes but can’t help himself: he smiles beneath his helmet as the beast licks your face and you scratch its sides.

You’re such a wonderful person, Din sighs, even though he’s mad at you. You’ve always been amazing with other species, like massiffs and the little green child strapped to your chest. You’re so intelligent too: speaking seemingly endless languages.

“They are big puppies!” You coo and press a kiss to the forehead of one massiff. Another finds Din, who also bends down to give it scratches and attention. “Green bean, look!” You tell the child and put out his hand for the massiff to lick. “See? They’re our friends,” you tell him, admiring the way the little green child giggles at the scaly skin.

From around a corner, a Tusken appears, then several. You stand and lower your weapon, speaking to them first in their native language. “We mean no harm. You have beautiful massiffs,” you tell them then turn to Din and Vanth. “Drop the weapons.”

“Are you crazy?” Vanth shouts.

“We are here to put an end to the krayt dragon,” you explain to them in their language. “Your assistance and knowledge would certainly help us. You want it gone too, yes?”

They affirm you that it’s a yes, and you nod back at the men. You know Din understands. “They’re willing to help if you’ll stop being a douchebag.” Vanth starts to talk but you hold up a hand and cut him off. “I know, I know. We can strike a deal. Are you willing?”

Din’s heart is nearly exploding. In any other timeline, he’d be the one conducting negotiations, using his threat as a Mandalorian to run the show. But here you are, with your gentle nature, making deals and completing them through cooperation and kindness. It’s hard to speak in a soft tone when speaking Tusken, yet you can do it. All with a baby strapped to your chest. Maker, Din thinks, he might be in love with you.

Vanth sighs a few moments later. “Why the hell not?”

Din talks with the Tuskens for a while at the camp, planning and negotiating as night falls and the air starts to get cold. To entertain the child, you spend time with the banthas, brushing their fur and letting the baby get exposed to the animals.

The kid loves them. He coos happily as he strokes their thick fur, giggling as one of them gives him a kiss and covers him in slime. You wash him off and return, quietly talking with the Tuskens caring for the creatures.

You’ve taken a liking to them. They’re gentle and soft, like big lumbering puppies, really. They moo when you brush their fur just right, let their eyes slip shut when you scratch them between the eyes. You’ve always had a soft spot for animals, like Din said earlier.

Cobb likes you. That much is clear from the way he finds you when he’s not working with Din and the Tuskens, bringing you food and water as you and the child mind your business. He’s overly flirtatious, to the point of annoyance. He’s rude and crude about the Tuskens, calling them words you’d never use to describe a human.

Politely excusing yourself, you allow the child to run with some of the other Tuskens’ children and spot a silver-plated man sitting by the fire.

“Vanth is such a goddamn xenophobe,” you grumble as you sit down next to the fire with Din, the child off playing with some Tusken children. He’d ranted about the Tuskens as you rode with them, luckily in Basic so that the people couldn’t understand him.

“Thought you liked him,” Din says and cocks his head. “He certainly likes you.”

You roll your eyes and sip the canteen of water, looking at the crackling fire. “Those things are not mutually exclusive,” you chuckle, looking over at him. “What, are you jealous, tin can?” You tease and knock on his beskar pauldron.

“In your dreams, cyar’ika,” he teases. It’s clear to him that whatever tension had been between the two of you earlier has dissipated, enough for him to steal the water flask from your hand and pass it to the child as he toddles past.

“I was drinking that, you fucking bantha,” you laugh and smack him on an unarmored part of his arm. The Tatooinian desert gets cold at night, you find, and you pull into yourself a little more from the cold.

Din unclips his cape and drapes it over your shoulders, tucking it in beneath where your arms press against your ribs so that it wraps tight to your body. “Hm. You do have a heart under there,” you tease and sigh, naturally leaning against Din and resting your head on his shoulder pauldron.

“So it’s been said,” he nods and even dares to rest his head on top of yours. Through the bare spots in his beskar, he can feel the way your body radiates warmth into the chilly night. You spot a little green head toddling past again, much slower than the other children thanks to his tiny legs, and Din scoops him up.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly, the roar of the Tuskens’ conversations creating a soft hum around you. “For what I said, when I yelled at you. You’re right. You really are just caring for them.”

He nods. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I’m more sorry for saying we aren’t a family. I mean, we are, right? Not that we’re like, a couple or anything,” you say hurriedly, your voice low as you stumble over your words. “But you and this little womp rat…” you muse as you scratch the baby’s little green head. “You are my family. That much is clear to me.”

Din nods once more. “I agree.”

You smile up at him. “What’s going on under that bucket, huh?”

He turns, looking off. “Just going over the plans for how we’re going to get that krayt dragon.”

“Ooh, share,” you ask, taking one of his hands and lacing through his glove-covered fingers. “I didn’t mean it when we said all of this for some banthas, you know. I’ve really fallen in love with them lately.”

Din is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t answer. “Din?”

He knows you’re going to hate him for this. Your big heart, your animal-loving, sweet talking kindness is not going be okay with this, but he has to tell you the truth. “We’re going to have to sacrifice some of the banthas for this mission to work.”

“What?” You exclaim, dropping his hand. “You can’t possibly do that.”

“We have to. We need to lure the dragon.”

“Do it some other way!” You frown, looking over at the big soft desert cows. “Seriously, please, Din.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head. “They’re not sentient.”

“But they can feel!” You exclaim again, standing. “Fuck this. Why don’t you sacrifice yourself to the krayt dragon and see how that feels?” You shout, storming off. You’re aware it’s childish, but you stomp to your tent and lie down. You close your eyes and hope Din doesn’t come to find you.

Of course you didn’t mean it. Of course you didn’t want Din to sacrifice himself to the krayt dragon. So why is he doing it? Why are you on your knees, screaming to the sky that he did exactly what you said?

You’d been avoiding him since that night, since you showed vulnerability and subsequently returned to anger towards the man. You’d wanted to apologize, but you couldn’t get over the sacrificing of the animals for the cause. You just couldn’t.

Din had flown straight into the sand dragon’s mouth, just seconds ago, and is now deep inside its bowels, you’re sure. You clutch the baby to your chest and wail, agonized and terrified. Vanth stands at your side, a hand resting on your shoulder as you wheeze and sob.

But this is Din. He must have a plan. He has to have a plan; he’s a battle-worn warrior and you’ve never seen him lose a fight. You’d stormed off before you could hear the rest of his plans the other night- maybe this was part of it. But the way Vanth stares at the dragon in terror makes you think that maybe it isn’t. Maybe Din just really fucked it up. You set the little green kid in his cradle and stand, sniffling and clinging to the metal sphere as if it’s your last lifeline to Din.

Suddenly, there’s a burst of green goo and out flies a shining silver rocket: it’s Din. “Oh thank the fucking Maker,” you shout as he lands not far from your small group, the wailing and dying sand beast behind him.

He’s covered in slime, but you’ve never been so happy to see the man. You rush to him and throw your arms around him, not giving a single fuck as you jump on him. “Please, never fucking do that again,” you wheeze into his cape, getting yourself covered in slime.

The hug is not comfortable. Din is all beskar where you want to feel his strong body, but it’s all worth it when he wraps his arms around you too. You’re crying, he knows it, and he knows just why. “I didn’t do it because you said it. You know that, right?”

You let go of him, sniffling and wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I was just so scared- oh Maker, Din, I can’t fucking lose you,” you admit, freely crying now. “I love you, I really do, and I can’t-“

“How?”

You look at him in confusion.

“How do you love me?”

This damn man. He’s full of surprises, just getting literally eaten alive by a krayt dragon, and now he’s asking you for a full emotional confession. You’re still reeling from the shock, but the fact that he’s there is enough. You don’t care that Cobb is definitely listening over your shoulder. “Every way. All of them. Romantic, friendship, family. You feel like my home and I want to be with you.” No better time than now, you suppose, to admit this all.

Din walks a step closer. “Romantic. Huh.”

“I hate that fucking helmet,” you admit, trying to deflect the emotion between the two of you. “I can never see your face. Can’t know what you’re thinking, your tone, your-“

Din cuts you off. “We ride back to the village and clean up. Meet me in the home as the suns set.”

What that means, you have no clue, but you nod. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” you murmur, putting a hand on the cut-out cheek of his helmet.

The town rejoices when you come back, shouting and celebrating over the dragon’s death and the plentiful meat that came with the creature. You’d joined in the reverie, taking a shot of spotchka and chanting along to a Tatooinian call-and-response they’d started. It was wonderful, really, and you and the little green thing were the stars. They admired the little green thing, cooing over him. You were proud to stand there as his mother.

The party died as the suns set. Din was notably absent from the hubbub, preferring to be alone as usual. You and the kid talked with the villagers, but as the suns started to sink, you excused yourself and found your way to the spare home you and Din each had rooms in.

Vanth and the women had taken the baby when you told them you were going to talk with Din. Not that it was hard: they all loved the little beast, showered him with affection. It was practically a competition over who got to play with him most.

The building has a warm glow as you wander over to it, wrapping your arms around yourself. The night has become cold now that the two harsh suns have sunk below the horizon, and it’s a relief to open the door to the home and feel the warmth radiating from a fireplace inside.

You find Din staring out of a window on the back, watching the endless wind sweep across the sand dunes, a dark sky contrasting the golden ground. Just his silhouette is visible, black against the deep blue. “Hi,” you say quietly as you walk in, the worn floorboards creaking beneath your feet no matter how deliberately you step. “Glad to see you got cleaned up.”

The man tilts his head in an obvious eye roll, even through the helmet. The slime was disgusting, although Din’s adoptive son had seemed to enjoy the gooey texture, as little ones are prone to. “I almost died and you’re already back to the sarcasm.”

“It’s called a coping mechanism,” you laugh gently and place a hand on his shoulder. There’s no beskar there, just soft fabric warmed by his body. It makes you shiver; even in the safety of the Crest, Din never takes off the armor. You wonder why it’s gone. Maybe to clean it?

Din’s quiet for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your fingers splayed over his shoulder in such an affectionate gesture. “You know how much I trust you, don’t you?” He asks and the black visor turns toward you, admiring what’s visible of your face in the moonlight. Your eyes glimmer and he admires them, the color he’s always loved.

You nod and smile just a little, cheeks growing rounder with the movement. “Of course.” He’s trusted you with his son, the most important thing to him in the galaxy. There’s one clear gesture even now: the absence of the beskar from his form. Maker, he’s broad, shoulders just as wide as with the metal.

He nods and shuts the window��s shutters, allowing even less light in before turning to you. There’s just a soft glow in the room, outlining the shape of the helmet and his shoulders. You can’t see any detail, just the shape. He walks over towards the long comfortable seating in the middle of the room and you instinctively follow, standing in front of it and stopping when he stops, facing him. His hands find your shoulders and his fingertips brush down your arms until they find yours. “Take off my helmet.”

“What? No,” you exclaim, frowning even though he can’t see it.

“Can you see anything?” He asks, a hand gesturing, an even darker shadow through the already murky visibility.

“No.”

“My Creed says you cannot see my face. Not that I can’t remove the helmet.”

You gulp hard, your fingers lacing through his. They’re bare. You’ve never felt them before. Often you’ve wondered if they’re calloused and tough from his work, soft from being hidden beneath the soft leather for all those years, or somewhere in between. They do fall into that in between, but they’re warm and strong and large, even without the leather casing them.

“I can’t do that to you,” you shudder, squeezing his fingers. “It’s the very thing about you, that you can’t take it off,” you start to ramble. You want to, desperately, but there’s no turning back now. If you feel his face, if you’re even so lucky as to kiss him, you’ll never be able to get enough of it. You’ll be subjected to an eternity of longing, even more than you’re yearning now.

“I want you to,” he breathes, his beskar-covered forehead falling against yours. “Please, cyare.”

“Why don’t you hate me?” You ask, your voice straining. You need to keep stalling, need to keep pushing it off or you’re actually going to do it. “I’m so mean to you. All the time,” you point out to him. You do it to keep him away, but he’s persistent. He never seems to care. “All we do is argue.”

“I may not be able to use the Force like the kid,” he mumbles, bringing one hand up to cup your face. “But I can sense your feelings. You don’t hide them well.”

“Din,” you plead, biting your lip and closing your eyes to prevent the tears that are threatening to well in them. “You can’t do this.”

“I can, and I want to.”

“Why are you so fucking patient with me when I’m only ever a bitch to you?” You practically wail, half annoyed and half honored. “You’re such a good man, Din. You don’t deserve someone shitty like me. I’ve got no hunting skills, I’m too stubborn, I’m mean and-”

He stops you by lifting your hands, setting them on either side of his helmet. “You can’t see me, so it doesn’t break the Creed. I want you to do this, because I want you.” He’s eternally blunt, but in this moment you can’t tell if it’s breaking your heart or warming it. “I love you too. Please. Take it off.”

“This is your last fucking chance, Djarin,” you tell him with a wavering voice.

“Cyare.”

“Okay,” you nod and take a deep breath. Din unlatches the little bit at the bottom that keeps it sealed against his head, and there’s a soft rush of air. Your hands grip either side and you slowly lift it off. Din takes it once it’s gone and rests it on the plush seat.

Your hands are drawn to his face like you’re being pulled on a string, your skin prickling as you feel the stubble along his chin and jaw. Your fingers trace his face for a few moments, exploring the new terrain. His cheeks feel hot, and his lips make you shiver again with how soft they are. Swallowing hard, you dare to look at his silhouette, noticing his hair is mostly matted down from the helmet. “What color are your eyes, Din?”

“Brown.”

You smile at that, and you rest your head against his shoulder, your hands dropping to your sides. His arms encircle you and it feels perfect, like you were meant to be like this for all of eternity and it took you long enough. “Of course they are.”

He chuckles at that and presses a kiss into your head, his hands finding your waist. “I did take this off for a reason.”

You lift your head, looking at his just-visible shape. “Really? I don’t know what you mean,” you flirt.

He’s silent. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes, absolutely certain. “May I kiss you?”

The words are ever blunt, just like Din. “Yes, you bantha,” you tease, but the laughter is gone as his hands find your face again.

Just like that, his lips are on yours, radiating heat and love and it immediately tops the feeling of his arms around you. You gasp, not expecting him to do it so quickly, but your lips quickly meld to his and you sigh in content.

You stay like that for a while, hands traveling each other’s heads and necks and shoulders and sides as you kiss. He’s so warm and strong, his muscles just as sculpted as the indestructible metal that covers him. He’s so human.

After a bit, Din breaks away and presses his forehead to yours once more. He doesn’t speak, just rests there, his hands on your waist. His breath mingles with yours. For once, you’re speechless, unsure of what you can say back. The sarcasm has been stripped from your body like the beskar from Din’s.

“I better put the helmet back on,” he murmurs.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, tucking your face into the curve of his neck. You sit on the couch and he follows, desperate not to lose your touch. “Just… we’ll stay like this.”

He nods. He can’t say no when you kiss his neck feather-lightly, when your skin is pressed to his like this. He hasn’t had contact like this in years. He’ll prolong it as long as he can.

You do stay like that, relaxed and curled into each other. His arm wraps around you and you curl into a ball, nestled into his side. It’s been a long day for Din, you know, but the depth of it occurs to you as his breathing slows and his muscles relax.

He’s fallen asleep in your arms. You press a soft kiss to his neck and set a timer on the wrist-comm you’re wearing, so that you’ll both wake while it’s still dark in the room. For now, he deserves his rest. His face nuzzles into your hair, and he gives a soft sigh in his sleep. Yes, this is exactly what the beskar warrior needed: rest and you.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #din and grogu #grogu #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #baby yoda

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years ago

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LOVE IS STRANGE

PAIRING: Poe Dameron x reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k SUMMARY: The union of Ireca and Mohash may seem a typical cliche of love in comparison to your depressingly lonely state, but when a certain poster boy pilot emerges during the celebration, you wonder if love works in other underlying ways. A/N: I found this in my google docs, first written about a year ago. so, wohoo i present to you my first ever poe dameron content, i think? he's so charming and carelessly beautiful. please leave a comment and tell me what you think or what else you'll like to see from me 💖 gif by @john-seed from this gifst WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and getting drunk, space swearing. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

Love is strange. Delicate yet fierce. So forceful that it manages to seep through the cracks created by bombs and gunfire of war. Unexpected at times, appearing out of nowhere. Yet, it’s beautiful because it brings those with beautiful hearts and minds together, entangled in the constant dance of intimacy and devotion.

It’s what Ireca and Mohash have.

Ireca was from the Logistic division, a mechanic herself and your colleague. She was to be married to her long-time lover, Mohash, a flight engineer for the Cobalt Squadron. As far as cliches go, wartime love falls along the lines of a romance cliche. Yet, war was all you’ve known. It’s what everyone has ever known. It’s common to develop some kind of a feeling other than the constant emotions during battle—fondness, the feeling of falling in love with someone. It’s truly what we stay alive for.

Maybe that’s why you hate it so much. The absence of the feeling that everyone describes as so fucking amazing that it completes you. You feel empty most of the time. It’s definitely the reason why you put all your effort into fixing things you can rather than complicated problems and issues that continue to reside in your mind, especially in the wake of midnight.

You find yourself sitting by the makeshift bar, tucked away from the crowd of friends and colleagues. There’s music playing, the sound of drums, and the seven-string hallikset reminds you of your brief visit to Naboo three cycles ago. You’re nursing a warm cup of something that tastes closer to acid water than alcohol.

Ireca emerges from the crowd with flowers in her braided hair. She approaches you with a bright smile and calls out your name wistfully. You shoot a strained smile her way, feeling the bags under your eyes weigh a little more. “What are you doing here all by yourself, huh?” she asks, leaning against the bar with a gentle pat on your shoulder.

“I’m just really tired. Last night was rough. Plus, I’m behind schedule.” you sighed heavily, running your fingers through your hair. She flashed you a smile of sympathy as you continued, “I’m sorry, Ireca. Don’t let me ruin your night. Go, have fun.”

She raises an eyebrow as you take another sip from your cup.

"Go. I'm sure you don't want to miss Mohash's special performance." You gesture to a drunk Mohash, who seemed to be searching for the woman. Ireca merely laughed. "Oh, it sure is going to be special." With a gentle touch to your back and wave, you watch her make her way into the swarm of bodies. You're left alone once again.

You’re still trying to figure out how Mohash even got hold of any sort of alcohol and managed to smuggle it into the base. Someone must have nicked it during one of the previous missions in the Mid Rim.

You rub your eyes, half-awake at this point; your cup is placed beside you as you rest your head against your folded arms on the table. Your mind is in a daze and incapable of irrational thought, deciding it would be best to just camp out here, by the makeshift bar, for the night. You were too tired to drag yourself all the way to your quarters, which felt like miles away, in the first place.

As sleep began to weigh heavy upon your eyelids, you suddenly felt a sharp tap on your shoulder. A soft groan escaped your lips as you shifted your head, still resting on your arms, just enough to peek at your sleep intruder.

It’s Poe Dameron. Commander and Black Leader. Incredibly talented, confident, and effortlessly handsome.

Ugh, you hate this guy.

Yet, you don’t feel so tired anymore.

“Are you drunk?” There’s amusement in his voice with a tinge of mockery. It made you realize the stun you were pulling. Classic Dameron. It was supposed to be a happy ceremony, but it was truly Ireca’s fault for manipulating you into coming tonight. Parties, events, and social gatherings were never right up your alley. You prefer spending time with machinery and your greasy hands.

Poe’s eyes are gleaming under the fluorescent lights, filled with concern, but you spot the smugness in his emerging smile. A flash of a thought, you kind of want to feel his lips on yours. The image immediately stings. You want to gag.

Poe is irritating, arrogant, and careless. Not charming. Nope, definitely not charming.

You straighten yourself, trying to shake off the burning image, shoving it to the back of your head. You lift your head, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on the heel of your hand. “You actually think I’ll even touch that bantha shit?”

Tearing your eyes away from Poe, you reach for your cup only to realize it was empty. He casts you a look. Your eyes shoot daggers with an extended pointer finger his way, “Don’t you dare say anything, flyboy.”

Poe raises his palms in defense, lips pursing. “Wasn’t going to.”

You catch a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, one hand discreetly reaching under his tawny leather jacket. Then, a bottle of Corellian whiskey emerges, shining under the lights of the Resistance hangar. Your face lights up at the recognition of the bottle, memories of your rare trips to Corellia, sharing whiskey drinks with your colleagues. It was the only planet you’d been to ever since you joined the Resistance.

You’ve only tasted Corellian whiskey once because of how expensive it is. You’ll happily get drunk to that in a heartbeat. Drink the worry and sorrow away with the lingering taste of frankly exorbitant whiskey.

Like a child with grabby hands, you reach for the bottle, but as your fingers brush his, Poe quickly lifts it to the air and away from you. He smacks your hand away. You whine, feeling a little lightheaded. The contents of the mysterious drink are starting to kick in.

What the blinkin' mradhe muck was in that drink?

“What do you want from me? It’s not like I have a drinking problem.”

He’s giving you that look like he’s judging you, but with a hint of amusement at the slight tug of the corner of his mouth. “You definitely have a drinking problem, but... i'll let you drink this on one condition.”

“For kriff’s sake,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, glancing away. “I’m not doing any weird wacky favors for you, Dameron.”

He scoffs, expression bewildered. “Hey, I don’t ask for weird wacky favors,” He articulates his words with a defensive tone, index finger stretched to your face. You simply smack it away as Poe clicks his tongue and continues to clarify his proposition. “All I’m asking is for you to fix my ship.”

Your wide-eyed gaze flies to him, shaking your head furiously. “Oh, no, no. No. Never in a million cycles. Never in a million millennials. Nuh-uh—”

“Hey, quit being dramatic. It’s a simple job.”

Your eyes grow even wider, voice raising. “A simple job? You fly that ship of yours like we have hundreds of spare ones. I’m not putting all my time and effort into fixing a lost cause.”

“But you haven’t even—”

“No. I’m not fixing your ship, and that’s final.”

Poe blinks and you’re back to fussing over your empty cup. The chatter of the crowd grows louder as a group of pilots of the Cobalt Squadron began rendering verses of an unknown traditional drinking song to your ears. You steal a look to only find Ireca and Mohash amidst a dance, tangled in each other's arms.

He eyes closely, noticing the turn of your lips, trained eyes deem melancholy. He knows the face of a loner very well—usually recruits with lost family and homes. They enlist in a mass community of freedom fighters for the restoration of good in the universe, and to finally feel a sense of familiarity and belonging. He doesn’t know much about you but he knows you don’t truly have anyone to depend on but yourself. It’s the reason why you’re constantly fierce.

Poe clears his throat, shifting closer to you as he watches the way you carry your gradual gaze to hold his. They then flit to the space between the two of you, raised eyebrows acknowledging the weird close proximity of his presence to yours.

“Look, you’re the best mechanic there ever was and probably ever will be. So, fix my ship, and you get to have this Corellian beauty. All of it.” He sways the bottle in the air, but you don’t look at it.

“You know, that’s bribery.”

“Yes, and it’s working.”

You scoff. “No, it isn’t.”

Poe laughs. “Yes, it is. I can see it in your eyes.”

Another scoff, you look fully aggravated. “How dense do you think I am?”

“Oh, very, but let’s not get into that.”

Bickering was the only language the two of you spoke fluently when you found yourselves tangled in a conversation with one another. Thrown insults were spoken lies—saying you hate each other when you know that isn’t true. Well, at least you don’t mean it and you hoped Poe didn’t either.

You’re exhausted, physically and mentally. For once, kindness and acceptance seem to be the easiest route.

A sigh passes your lips as you blink up to the ceiling, sending a silent prayer for blessings from the Maker above. “You’re right. I am dense. Truly dense. So, yeah. Okay. I’ll fix that stupid X-Wing of yours.”

Poe blinks, dumbfounded. “Wait, really?”

With a roll of your eyes, they meet his very own wide ones. “Yes, really. Only because you complimented me. Now, hand me that Corellian whiskey before I change my mind.”

He then makes a sound that resonates between a cough and a pleasantly surprised laugh, eyes crinkling with delight. Poe happily and absentmindedly passes the whiskey to you, still reacting like your agreement is some sort of object of ridicule in the best way possible.

“Wow—Maker, you have no idea what kind of trouble you’re saving me from. If the General ever found out—man, pfft. Thank you. Thank you so much—”

A swift and unexpected motion, he is reaching you, palms clasp and either side of your face, and plants a quick peck on the side of your left temple.

Poe isn’t thinking straight.

There you are, mid-swig, lips so close to the rim of the bottle with eyes so wide. You steal a steady glance at the pilot whose expression seems to reflect yours. His hands are still on your cheeks. He’s unbelievably close to you and he’s staring with that stupid look of his.

‘Maker, preserve me.’

A cheer erupts from the crowd from across the space and just like that, the moment is gone. Whatever the moment even was. His touch is no longer on yours and his gaze shifting away.

The tension, however, is still very present.

You finally take a swig of the whiskey, wanting to ease the sudden tightness in your chest. You hum at the stinging sensation on your tongue. You catch a glimpse of Poe from the corner of your eye who busies himself with tapping his fingers nervously against the surface of the bar.

Then, in an awkward motion, you stretch your arm to him, offering the drink.

A beat. His gaze shifts between you and your hand. When he finally gives in, a smile curves upon his lips, fingers brushing against yours. They’re delicate and you smile at him. It's small, but it makes his heart skip a beat and you wonder to yourself about the strangeness of love.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron x you #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron oneshot #star wars

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punkyyyweed · 4 years ago

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For everyone how as a problem with loki and mobius ‘age gap’ in the serie, let me tell you this

The age differences don’t even make sense , fist of all, loki is literally a god, he’s hundreds and hundreds maybe millions years old, and mobius as specified that in the TVA time work differently, and he stated that he worked there for so long he don’t even remember, so by that statement, he could be perfectly more then 500+ years old, and don’t even try to put the card “well loki in human years would be 17”, no, the method they used for the calculation as been debunked because it’s used the “7 years method” that we use for clarify dogs ages ( obviously with a little hundreds of 0s ya know, also I’m not sure if they actually use this or something similar, if not feel free to tell me), there was a TikTok I can’t no longer find where a dude makes a serious calculation of Loki age threw all the movies, and end up locating him in his early 30s (maybe in his early 20 during the events of Thor 1 and mid 20 during avengers) so that theory doesn’t make sense, some of y’all complaining about lokius age gap but never speak a word with Thor and Jane ( same argument can go with the sambucky age gap stuff, when literally there is Steve and Sharon right there with the same think, but for some reason some of y’all don’t speak about it either)

And little note, not even the actor age difference is a problem,Tom and Owen pass from each other only 12, literally my parents have that age gap, I understand if they where both like in their 20, that would be awkward, but Tom is 40 and Owen 52💀, those are two grown ass man, ( also don’t worry, if thst still make you uncomfortable that’s completely valid, just don’t press other people about it)

Sorry if I sounded rude or disrespectful in some part, I don’t alway make rants but I’m alway so angry when people don’t look it up stuff and immediately jump to conclusion. Alway remember to be respectful with someone if the do or do on ship lokius or every ship in general (as long is legal and not problematic)

#sorry for the rant #mini rant #loki #loki show #lokius #mcu loki #marvel #marvel rant #I really needed to get it off my chest

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thinking1bee · 4 years ago

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When it Reigns Part 6

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Kara Danvers x Reader

Tags: Angst, Kryptonian!Reader, Parent!Reader, Parent!Kara, Estranged Parent, Graphic Depictions of Injuries, Blood, Humor, Bad Dreams, Memory Loss

Everything Taglist: @sammy90682 @nobody13 @owloftheshadows @captain-josslett @camslightstories @worldovart @finleyfray @acertainredhead @sammm9068 @reginassecretlover

You followed Elizabeth outside of her home and into the barn.

“Where are you taking…”

Your question died on your lips as soon as you voiced it. Inside of the wooden structure was a spaceship, dusty and forgotten in the hay, and Elizabeth went around to turn on more lights so that you could see it better.

“You asked about your birth mom. I lied. I didn’t adopt you,” she explained. “I found you in this. One day, this crashed a mile from where we are now and when I looked inside, I found you, a giggling baby.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, a million questions going through your mind at a mile a minute. ��I don’t understand,” you finally said.

“I didn’t either. I didn’t know where you were from or who left you in this thing, or even why. When I saw you, you looked so helpless that I took you home.”

You stared at her with your mouth agape. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I swore that I would tell you when you turned 18.”

And then that never happened because she got kicked you out. You pressed your fingers against your temples to assuage the growing headache.

“I thought that maybe, you would be better off on your own not knowing.”

“That I’m an alien???” you demanded.

“Y/n, all I wanted was for you to have a normal life.”

You couldn’t stop the scoff or the roll of your eyes. She’d flip out if she knew that you were married to one, and thanks to her, this woman that dared to call herself a mother, your life had been anything but normal.

You eyed the space pod, your hand reaching out tentatively to touch the metal, and like the ship recognized you, it powered up, the engine whirring to life as the ship lit up. You gasped in shock as you tried to absorb what was happening. You kept touching it as you circled around it, feeling the contours of the edges and bends. Then you watched as a latch of some kind opened. Out of it came some sort of crystalline rod. You approached it and reached out to touch it. When you did, it too, lit up, and after wiggling it from side to side, it disconnected from the pedestal it was seated on. You twisted and turned it in your hands, watching as a bright light flashed on and off inside of it. It was a beacon, a map that would tell you where to go next.

You nodded in determination as your grip tightened around it. You knew what you had to do next. Elizabeth sighed and you looked at her.

“Be careful,” she whispered to you. All you could do was nod. In all the years that you knew her, this was the most helpful she had been. A part of you wanted to say thank you but…you didn’t want her to think that you owed her now. Besides you were doing just fine without her and as far as you were concerned, it was going to stay that way. You turned towards your car and left her there to live all alone.

***

It wasn’t too long before you found yourself in the middle of nowhere. Literally, the middle of nowhere. The beacon brought you to the middle of the desert, and as you neared your destination, the slow flashing inside the beacon turned into blinking. That had to mean that you were getting closer, right?

You were walking, the hot sun beating down on you and you could have killed for water. You wiped the sweat from your eyes and cursed the sun. It was way too hot for this.

Suddenly, the ground started to shake. Your immediate thought was an earthquake, after all those were common in California, but the idea was immediately dashed the moment rocks started to grow from the ground. In the shape of monoliths, rocks started to sprout in varying directions, cross crossing and zigzagging on top of each other until it formed a structure. You watched, with your mouth hanging open, as you stared at the towering fortress. It was intimidating and it radiated mysteriousness and power.

You took a deep breath, and with trepidation, walked inside. The inside was dark and dank, despite having just grown right before your eyes. You walked around, looking at everything, and noticed a strange insignia carved into the base of the rock. You continued to look, observing the ominous looking place when you saw a particularly flat slab of rock with a hole in it. You looked at the beacon in your hands and then at the hole, noticing that the hole had the same shape as the beacon. Coincidence? You approached the slab and fit the beacon inside of the available opening until you heard a click. The moment it happened, the room lit up and right in front of you, a figure appeared. You stared at it, a sense of familiarity and fear filling you as you both recognized the figure and backed away from it.

“You’ve come. I imagine that you have questions and I have answers.”

“I know you, you whispered. “Ive seen you in my dreams. What are you?”

You didn’t expect an answer. The figured never talked, and you wondered why you were talking to it now, but when the figure removed the hood of its cloak to reveal its face, you gasped.

“I am science. I am a friend.”

Okay? Well, she finally said something to you. This was very real. This was not in your head. All of this was happening, and it was happening so fast.

“Where am I?”

“This is the Fortress of Sanctuary, a building made from a piece of your dying planet. A piece of Krypton.”

Your eyes widened. “Krypton? Oh my god, my daughter was right. She said that I had powers a-and I didn’t want to believe it. I’m like Supergirl.”

“You are so much more than that,” the woman said.

“Then who am I?” you asked.

“You are a culmination of centuries of work, a being designed for one purpose: to execute justice.”

“So, I’m a hero?” you asked, clarifying that you heard her right.

“They will not call you that. They will call you WorldKiller. They will try to contain your power, but they will fail. You will show no mercy to those who oppose you. Your justice will burn the world of man.”

Horror filled you as she said her words, your eyes widening as she spoke with nonchalance. She made it seem like you two were discussing the weather over a cup of coffee, but no. She just told you that you were going to burn the world to the ground! Of course, you were going to have some choice words for that.

“No, no!” you blurted. “I’m not a Worldkiller. I have a life, a daughter, a wife! I have a company to run, I ave to be there for my family! I’m a good person”

The woman frowned. “Your offspring, among other things, was an unfortunate error.”

You whipped your head around to look at her, your fear immediately morphing to anger.

“Your powers were supposed to manifest when you came of age, but she delayed the realization of your destiny.”

“Angel is not an error!” you snapped.

“You will soon forget her,” she continued saying. “You will forget all mortal trappings.”

Forget Angel? Forget Kara? No! That couldn’t happen. They were the reason you kept going. Without them, who were you? What were you?

“No this can’t be right?” you whispered in fear. You ran your hands through your hair as you swallowed thickly.

The woman smiled, her dark eyes radiating pure evil, and you saw it. You could see that this woman had a whole agenda planned out and somehow, you were at the epicenter of it. Coming here was a mistake. Elizabeth was right. You were better off not knowing anything about yourself.

“It is time for you to emerge,” she said to you. “It’s time for you to Reign.”

The moment she said those words, something happened to you. A shrieking noise, one loud and powerful, assaulted your ears. It grew louder and louder, the noise getting more and more deafening until it was all encompassing, until it was all you could hear. You grunted and gasped as you covered your ears, but it didn’t work. It was like the horrendous sound was coming from inside of you. A horrible foreign warmth settled over you brain like a blanket. Something was trying to take you over.

“No!” you screamed. “NO!”

But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much you fought, you were losing this battle. You slapped repeatedly at your head, gripping it with shaking hands as you willed the noise to go away, but it didn’t. Slowly your world faded to black, and all you remembered was Kara and Angel, and how you couldn’t bare the thought of forgetting about them.

***

When you stood up again, the noise was gone, and you faced the mysterious woman as your eyes glowed a scarlet red. You were no longer Y/n Danvers, but an instrument of destruction designed to carry out and fulfill your destiny. You were Reign and you were ready.

“I have awoken,” you whispered in Kryptonian.

Part 7

#supergirl fanfic #kara danvers x reader #reader insert #angst #injuries #blood #humor #bad dreams #memory loss #estranged parent

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theoriginalladya · 4 years ago

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Dinosaur Brain

I have the most amazing friends, I swear!

The following ficlet evolved out of conversations about Rhys Shepard and Grunt and dinosaurs ... and then it had to have some commissioned ART, too! Fabulous art by @thepixelagora who somehow managed to take my incoherent ramblings about this and turn it into the absolutely most perfect picture of events!!!! Thank you so much for lending me your talents!!

There is more to this story, but it wasn’t quite working how I wanted, so the rest will come later. In the meantime, have the madness that started it all!!!

The story can also be found on AO3 here.

~~~

Rhys drops into an empty seat and starts eating immediately, his focus less on the food and more on the datapad in his hand. Across from him, a chair squeaks and shadows flicker in his peripheral vision. Still, he pays little heed to the disruption until…

“You going all dinosaur brain?”

He would prefer to flat out ignore the question, but there are times that’s worse than responding to it. Rhys doesn’t bother to look up from the pad. “Not this again.”

Kaidan’s chuckle of amusement drifts across the table. “What?”

“You know what.”

Kaidan leans over and stabs a piece of Rhys’ meal, retreating quickly. He chews with a thoughtful look in his eye, then swallows. “Tell me honestly, when have you never been thinking about them?”

“What’s a dinosaur?”

The table wobbles as Grunt slams his tray down and sits next to Rhys. This time, it’s Kaidan who is taken aback and Rhys whose interest perks up. “You want to know what dinosaurs are?”

“Here we go,” Kaidan mutters, rolling his eyes and reaching for his coffee.

Rhys ignores him and turns to face Grunt. “O’Keer never imprinted them on you?”

Grunt shakes his massive head back and forth. “What are they?”

Rhys peeks over at Kaidan, his blue eyes sparkling with delight. “Translated from the Latin, the word means ‘terrible lizard,’” he explains. “They are creatures that lived millions of years ago on Earth.” He grabs his datapad, pointedly ignoring the sputter of choked laughter from Kaidan, and scrolls to the end of the device before passing it over to Grunt. “This is a Triceratops. About eight meters long and three meters tall. They are known for having three horns on their head; one long one above each eye and a smaller one over its nose, as well as a large frill made out of bone.”

Grunt examines the picture on the datapad then glances back over at Rhys. “Looks like a mighty warrior,” he concludes with a sage nod.

Rhys grins. “Actually, they weren’t the fighters. Not unless they were attacked, of course.” He takes back the datapad and sets it aside. “The real fighters were the Velociraptors and Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

“You know,” Kaidan muses as he sits back in his seat, “I’m going to tell Wrex you’re calling him a tyrant again.”

“Oh, shut up!” Rhys hisses over at him. He spends the next several minutes explaining about the two different dinosaurs to Grunt before he reaches into his pocket and nabs the Deinonychus claw he always carries with him. “This is from a much smaller dinosaur, similar to the Velociraptor, called Deinonychus. I found this on our family’s ranch when I was a kid.”

Grunt takes the claw and squints at it, holding it up to the light and tilting his head. “Doesn’t look very dangerous.”

Rhys chuckles. Pushing his chair back, he stands and lifts a hand to about chest level, just above his elbow. “They were only this tall when adults,” he explains. “A smaller version of the Velociraptor, if you will, but older. They were also very bird-like.”

“You know, Shepard,” Garrus comments from down the table, “if you keep making references like that, I’m going to start taking it personally.”

Kaidan almost spits out his coffee. Rhys just grins as he retakes his seat.

Grunt, however, stares at the datapad. “So, what did you do with them?”

Kaidan starts to laugh uncontrollably. Rhys kicks his leg beneath the table. “We didn’t do anything to them. They died out over time, long before humans were around. We’ve spent centuries searching for their bones, fossilized in the earth.”

The krogan sets the datapad down. “Too bad. I would have liked to go up against one of them.”

A week later, while on duty in the CIC with his attention focused on planets, minerals, and potential prothean ruins, Grunt comes thundering his way through. “Shepard!”

Caught in the middle of running a scan, Rhys cannot give the krogan his full attention, and calls back over his shoulder, “Yes?”

Grunt makes some sort of disgruntled sound. “Shepard, what’s a ‘shark?’”

With his fingers flying over the haptic keyboard, Rhys’ reply comes automatically. “Water dinosaur.” A heartbeat passes, and he thinks about what he said before turning around to find the krogan standing there, a piece of paper in his hand. It is an image of a Great White shark.

Kaidan is just exiting the cockpit and happens by during the conversation. Giving Rhys a bemused look, he replies, “Really?”

Rhys shrugs back at him, but Grunt grins, a spark of delight in his eyes, and turns back toward the lift, chuckling in his usual, deep, rumbly manner. It’s quite adorable, even if it does leave both men scratching their heads.

Late in the Collector mission

Stops at the Citadel are opportunities Rhys never ignores. This time around, however, he isn’t tracking down prothean specialists at the university or the archives, but shopping. He returns to the Normandy a few hours before required, not surprised to find the CIC nearly empty as he walks through, bags in hand. What does surprise him, however, is when the lift doors open and Kaidan steps out. The other man sizes up the current situation and his hand shoots back out to hold the doors open for Rhys. “What are those?” he asks, nodding at the bags Rhys carries.

Hopping inside, Rhys shrugs. “Books.”

Kaidan chuckles. “Obviously.” He reaches into a bag and tugs one free.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Rhys clarifies. “On dinosaurs.”

The switch from amusement to… well, whatever the look in his eyes is now – half bemusement, half irritation? – is instantaneous. Kaidan drops the book back into the bag without looking at it and slams his hand on the buttons. “You need a fucking lab, I swear.”

Rhys chuckles. “I tried, but Mordin won’t share.” He’s the first one through the doors when the lift stops outside of Kaidan’s cabin. The new arrangement works out better than expected, at least until this topic comes up in discussion. “Besides, these aren’t for me.”

“No?” Kaidan swipes his hand over the door’s interface. “Who?”

“Grunt.”

Almost as if he’s listening in to their conversation, a soft, “Hehehehehe,” whispers through the walls of the ship as they enter the room.

2186, Citadel, during the Reaper War

While Kaidan heads off to do Spectre things, Rhys makes his way to Huerta Memorial Hospital. After the incident on Mars and his time spent there, the desire to visit isn’t exactly thrumming inside of him, but Grunt is now a patient there, and it’s more important to check on how the krogan is doing. Wrex’s assurances that Grunt is fine aside, Rhys decides to check in on him anyway, just to be sure. Kaidan promises to meet up with him as soon as his responsibilities are taken care of, hopefully in time to visit the krogan as well.

Entering the critical care ward, Rhys notices not much has changed in the weeks since his departure. In many ways, it reminds him of the rest of the Presidium at the moment; hiding the true nature of what is happening in the Galaxy outside of the Serpent Nebula behind common, everyday things like Blasto movies, home redecoration conventions, and the latest varren races. Nothing like sticking their collective heads in the sand.

Rhys enters to find Grunt sitting up in bed. There are makings of a few scars – two across his face, another on his upper left arm, and one more across the broad expanse of his chest – but he appears greatly improved since receiving his injuries on Utukku. As Rhys enters, Grunt slowly turns his bandaged head in his direction. His voice is on the weak side, but there is an urgency to it that confuses Rhys at first. “Shepard.”

Rhys takes that as permission to enter, removing his cowboy hat in the process. “Hey, Grunt. How’re you doing?”

Grunt ignores the question. “Shepard, what’s a kakliosaur?”

Startled, it takes Rhys a minute to digest the full question. In the space between, he pulls over a chair and takes a seat. “It’s… a krogan dinosaur, I guess,” he replies after a time. “Remember the Triceratops? Akin to that, I guess you could say.”

An added spark of life brightens the krogan’s blue eyes. “Krogan had dinosaurs?”

Rhys chuckles but nods. “I would point out that krogan are dinosaurs, but yeah. They had creatures very similar to Earth’s dinosaurs.”

Lying back, Grunt’s eyes close, but he manages a small laugh as he drifts back off to sleep. “Hehehehehe.” Rhys takes his leave a few minutes later.

After catching up with one another, Rhys and Kaidan reboard the Normandy. Halfway through the CIC, Rhys announces, “We have a mission.”

They’re just passing Traynor’s station and she hands Kaidan several datapads. Absently, he replies, “I know.”

Rhys sighs. “A new one, I mean.”

That, apparently, is enough to catch the man’s attention, and he glances up. “What?”

Using his chin to point to the galaxy map, Rhys continues, “We need to go to the Phoenix System. It’s… important.”

Kaidan frowns. “What the hell are you talking about?”

A grin slips across Rhys’ face. He can’t help it. “We are going dinosaur hunting. Krogan dinosaur hunting, to be specific.”

The blank look in Kaidan’s eyes as he blinks owlishly at him makes it clear he has no idea what Rhys is talking about. Either that or he thinks Rhys has lost his mind. Maybe both. “Check your messages.”

There is a hint of apprehension in his steps as Kaidan walks over to his terminal and retrieves them. “Shit!”

Rhys tips his hat just a bit and turns toward the elevator. “See? Told you. Anyway, let me know when we get there. I know the director of the museum.”

He’s just stepped onto the lift and pressed the button for the cabin when Kaidan calls over, “Have I mentioned you’re a menace?”

Rhys’ grin widens and he winks at him. “Not this week…”

#Dinosaur Brain #ladya writes #mshenko #Rhys Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #Grunt #dinosaurs #OTP: The Music Lives On #Mass Effect #Cowboy Shepard #canon divergent #thepixelagora #Dinosaurs and Grunt #match made in heaven

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amysteryspot · 5 years ago

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Better With You - Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Request: If you can could you please do one about Tommy having a sort of possessive claim over you (not in an abusive way of course) even though you’ve never looked at him in that way, and when Michael comes into the family again you two get close, which makes Tommy extremely jealous.

Requested by: Anonymous

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: Thomas has known (Y/N) for all of her life and loved her for most part of his, always disguising his claim on her as friendly protectiveness. What happens when Michael makes his way back into the family and starts to get a little too close to her for Tommy’s liking?

Warnings: swearing, mentions of war, mild smut (?).

Word Count: 3526

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this. Hope you all have fun reading it too. An especial thank to @the-friendly-editor for helping me edit this, it meant a lot to me. Tags are at the end of the post, if you want to be add send me a message. I would love to hear what you think of it, your feedback is always appreciated.

Things you should consider before reading this:

1. I named the Shelby’s mother Anastasia because I felt like I needed to do that. Also, I know that there is a lot of discussion about Finn and the rest of the Shelbys having the same mother or not. I just assumed that they all have the same mother and she died a little after giving birth to Finn. It is not something groundbreaking for the fic but I wanted to clarify just in case.

2. The boys went to war right at the beginning of it; I just ignored the information given to us by “The Ballad of Tommy Shelby”.

3. I probably forgot to warn you about something, I’m sorry.

(Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname | (Y/L/N) = Your Last Name | (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

If you asked Tommy how long he had known (Y/N) (Y/L/N), he wouldn’t know how to answer—fuck, it seemed like the woman had been in his life forever.

He remembered the day his mother had brought him to the (Y/L/N)’s house for them to meet the new baby. Four-year-old Tommy had complained all the way to their neighbor’s house, much to his older brother’s amusement, until their mother had given him a scolding. (Y/N)’s birth had been the talk of Watery Lane. They finally had a sweet little girl for the neighborhood to dote on.

With two sons, Anastasia was more than happy to welcome the little girl into their lives, not so secretly longing to have a daughter, and that was the reason for Tommy to be fussing over going to see the newborn—jealousy.

However, nothing could have prepared little Tommy for what was about to happen when his mother sat him down on the couch and Mrs. (Y/L/N) put the bundle of covers in his arms—his icy blue eyes stared down at baby (Y/N), who stopped crying instantly when she looked up at him with bright (Y/E/C) eyes of her own. From that moment on, Tommy knew that he would always love her.

And love her he did, since that day and throughout all of their lives. He would raise hell at home for his mother to bring him to the (Y/L/N)’s home so he could see (Y/N), and the three adults would all be astonished at how easily the baby would stop crying when she was in his arms. It wasn’t really a surprise that the first word she babbled was “Tom” or that when she started walking, on wobbly feet, it was Tommy she was seeking.

As they grew up, they grew closer, until it became almost impossible to have one without the other. When Ada was born, Tommy was worried about the possibility that (Y/N) would forget about him, that she would be too enchanted by having another girl around. Instead, as the time passed, he discovered that his little sister was one more reason for (Y/N) to spend more time at the Shelby home.

Even when he started messing around with the boys on the street, and she befriended other girls at school, they would still seek each other out whenever they could. They stuck together when their teenage years came, when Tommy started fooling around with girls from school and secretly scaring down most of the boys that showed any interest in (Y/N).

At least, he did until the day she came crying to him about not being good enough or pretty enough for anybody, not like the girls he would go out with, and breaking his heart; that certainly wasn’t what he had in mind when chasing down the boys. All he had wanted was to protect her, to make sure that she wouldn’t exchange him for some other boy. He wanted to ensure that she was his and his only.

That was actually the reason that led to their first kiss—her first kiss—(Y/N/N) had asked him, pleaded with him, through all the tears to just kiss her and get it done. Fifteen-year-old (Y/N) was sure that nobody would ever want her, and she wanted to experience it at least once. She told Tommy he was the only one she trusted with the task.

“It will mean nothing to you, Tom. You have kissed a million other girls already—I will just be another one for you—but it’s important to me. Please, Tom? Please, please.”

Her pleas had won him over, but (Y/N)’s words couldn’t have been further from the truth—the kiss had meant something for him. It had meant more than he predicted when he gave in to her begging, because the moment their lips touched, Tommy realized he was in love with his best friend and the worst part was that she didn’t had a fucking clue about it.

Then Tommy did what he did best; he pretended that it never happened, pushing it away and never talking to anyone about the kiss or his feelings. He stopped chasing down the boys who would show interest in (Y/N) and watched as she eventually started going out with some of them, laughing with him about how stupid she was to think that no one would ever like her.

When her first boyfriend got too handsy and she broke up with him—not before giving him a good left hook that left him with a very black eye, just like Tommy had taught her—(Y/N) had gone straight to the Shelby home, looking for comfort in his arms. Tommy pretended that the gnawing feeling in his chest was nothing but brotherly protectiveness instead of anger, jealousy and possessiveness—a destructive combination, especially on a Shelby boy.

(Y/N) had stayed with him that night, and the both of them slept together like they used to when they were kids. First thing in the morning the next day, right after he left her at her own house, he found her now ex-boyfriend and beat him up. Arthur and Freddie had to get him off of the guy, afraid of what he would end up doing if they didn’t stop him.

After that, Tommy had focused on channeling his frustrations into going out with every girl in town that wasn’t her. It wasn’t difficult, he was good looking and charming and he was very aware of it; that’s how he met Greta, and thought that he could get over his feelings for his best friend with her.

Greta’s parents were against their involvement at first, but he charmed them, so they started dating. His heart broke down when (Y/N) found out and showed genuine happiness for him having finally found somebody to settle down with.

Tommy’s plan was to end things between them. However, Greta fell ill and he didn’t have the heart to break up with her, so he stayed by her side until she passed. (Y/N) gave him support in the only way she knew how: by loving him.

Just not in the way he wanted her to.

When they thought that things would go back to normal, the War exploded and Tommy did the only thing he considered right in his eyes: he enlisted alongside his brothers. Their first fight had taken place on the night he told her he was leaving for France in two weeks. (Y/N) had hit and screamed at him until he was able to take a hold on her and then, then she cried in his arms the whole night, afraid that she would lose him forever.

They did the best they could with those two weeks. Once more, nothing could have prepared Tommy for (Y/N)’s appeal the night before he was shipping to France. She had come to him right after dinner. Her father was preparing himself to leave, too, and both of the (Y/L/N) women were enjoying whatever time they had left with him before he was gone.

As they both laid there in his bed, resting in each other’s arms and staring at the ceiling, (Y/N) made the decision that would seal his fate if he could survive the war.

“Make love to me.”

It wasn’t a question, nor a request—she was simply telling him to make love to her like this was the most logical thing in the world. His breath caught in his throat, preventing him from answering at first, and (Y/N/N) took that as a cue to reassure him.

“It will be like my first kiss, Tommy, just something I have to get over with. I want it to be you. I trust you. Let me give you at least one last good memory of me before you go.”

Again, he caved in, not needing much more convincing than the certainty in her eyes as she looked down at him, propped up on one elbow. Her hand rested unintentionally above his heart. Granting her wishes, he let himself dive into his own desires, touching her the way he had wanted since they had kissed for the first time.

He worked her body like a delicate instrument and pulled at her strings smoothly, engraving every beautiful sound that he coaxed out of her and the feel of her under his fingertips in his memory. When morning came, they were still a mess of limbs intertwined together, trying to hold on to a last thread of hope and imprint the last few hours on their memories.

In a way, (Y/N) was right. The boy that entered that train in 1914 wasn’t the same that got out of it in 1918. Yet, his love for her never faltered; it just became a tad more… dangerous.

Thomas lost count of how many letters they had exchanged during the past four years. He lost count of how many times he dreamt of her, of coming back home and telling her how he felt. However, any courage he had gathered vanished the moment he saw her waiting for him at the train station. He couldn’t condemn her to a life by his side, he had already taken enough from her.

Polly had told him in her letters how (Y/N/N) had helped her with the business, with the house, with Finn, and with any other thing she could. Especially after her mother, who had given up on life after Mr. (Y/L/N) was killed in combat, passed. A part of him felt guilty for not being there for her as much as she was for him when his mother passed and his father left.

“She’s a Shelby now.”

That’s what Polly had said when he asked her if (Y/N) had any remaining family.

Not much changed when they returned. (Y/N/N) still worked with them. She spent more time at the Shelby home and the gambling den than at her own place. The two of them still sought each other out, not talking much, but enjoying each other’s company. It was in those quiet moments with her that Tommy had a little peace.

Thomas drowned himself in work to forget it all, wanting to expand the business, unleashing his ambitions so long smothered by the war. They found the guns, in a strike of luck, he thought. Both Polly and (Y/N) advised him to let it go, but he just couldn’t. It was too good of an opportunity.

Campbell had come because of it, and with him, Grace. At the time, he didn’t know who she really was. He thought that the beautiful, blonde barmaid was just that: beautiful and innocent, everything he and his family were not. So he fooled himself, fell for her, and then she betrayed him and left for America.

Again, (Y/N) was there for him, and again, he found himself sinking into his love for her. The only good thing that came from all this mess was that the business was never better. He thought that it was time to start planning for an expansion, and with that came another thing that he hadn’t quite predicted—Michael.

He had planned to find Polly’s children for her. She had been suffering quite a lot lately. Even if people thought that his heart was as good as gone, he wanted his family to be okay. He wanted them to be happy.

Thomas found the boy and he came to Polly, making his way into the family and the business quickly. That included starting to get close to (Y/N) – too fucking close for his liking.

It was supposed to be natural, he knew that. (Y/N) kept the books at the shop. She was better with numbers than most of them, so it was natural that she would be the one to help Michael when he assumed the position of accounts clerk.

After they came back, he learned that (Y/N) had become very good at sneaking around without getting caught. It was rare to see her with any men whose last name wasn’t Shelby, or wasn’t closely related to the Peaky Blinders. That didn’t mean she didn’t have men swooning over her all the time, or that he was finally okay with that—much like when they were teenagers, he wanted to chase them all down—the only difference was now he was more deadly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

It was Michael’s voice that brought him back to reality, and his gaze fell immediately on the boy. They were all gathered on the snug in the Garrison. (Y/N) was sitting between him and Michael, Tommy’s arm casually rested on her shoulders.

(Y/N) said, “Oh, no, you would totally get it... after a few more weeks.”

Everyone burst out laughing at her remark, but the only thing he could think about was the hand Michael rested on (Y/N)’s thigh. His own hand clenched around his glass before he downed the rest of its contents.

He didn’t notice Polly’s gaze on him. Despite what most people believed, Tommy had never been a good liar. He could get away with omitting information to people and redirecting the conversation, most of the time, but a direct confrontation was a completely different thing. Polly was always able to read him first, to know the things he wasn’t willing to share.

“Maybe we should just hire you instead of Michael, then.” He ignored the look (Y/N) gave him, taking another drag of his cigarette and looking away.

However, he couldn’t miss the lingering touches, or how (Y/N/N) leaned into Michael when he talked to her, and how she was just so comfortable with him. It made his blood boil.

When (Y/N/N) said she wanted to get home he offered to walk her, and was fairly surprised at how she didn’t say a word to him until they reached her front door.

Then she turned to face him, features painted with anger, and asked, “What the hell was that, Tom?”

He actually rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

(Y/N) huffed, turning around to unlock the door before entering the house, leaving it open for him to follow. She went straight to the dressing room, shedding her coat and throwing it at the table with her purse as he followed her closely.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She was taking her shoes off, and Tommy took advantage of the moment to let his eyes follow her movements. God, was he in love with that woman.

“I’m talking about your attitude with Michael at the Garrison. That was completely unnecessary,” She said.

“Someone had to put that boy in his place,” Tommy said.

(Y/N) turned to him then, and he would be worried with that look if he hadn’t been at the receiving end of her anger for so many years.

“Oh, please enlighten me, Thomas. What is his place?” (Y/N) asked.

“For fucks sake, (Y/N/N), he was all over you!”

She rolled her eyes. “He is a boy, Thomas, a boy. He’s family…”

Tommy never thought that what would make him snap would be hearing her say that Michael was family, but apparently it was.

“He’s family, huh?” Thomas said. “He is fucking family! Then he should know better and stay away from you.”

She stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed, as she seemed to put the puzzle together in her head. “Why would he stay away from me, Tom?”

He turned around to face away from her for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, no. You won’t make me feel guilty for that.”

“Make you feel guilty for what, Tommy?”

He recognized the hint of annoyance on her tone and couldn’t ignore it anymore, the alcohol giving him the courage that he had lost that day on the train station, as he turned around and shouted, “For loving you!”

She held her breath, eyes widening as she stared back at him.

Tommy continued, “Michael should stay away from you because you’re fucking mine and I love you.”

“Tommy, I’m not your property, and you know that I love you…”

“No, you don’t,” he interrupted her, making her look at him with confusion, “You don’t love me the way I love you. The way I’ve loved you since the fucking day you asked me to kiss you when you were fifteen!”

He saw her flinch before murmuring his name, trying to gain his attention but he couldn’t stop now. The truth was finally out there and he just had to go on with it, let it all out before he lost his mind.

“You said to me that it would mean nothing, that it would be just another kiss for me, but you were wrong,” Tommy said, his breaths short.

She looked bewildered, and Tommy held onto a strand of hope he didn’t even know still existed.

“That kiss meant fucking everything. From that day on, I’ve never seen you in the same way as before, because I realized I was in love with you and you didn’t feel the same. So I ignored these feelings while I saw you going out with boys, and I’ve thrown myself into fucking every girl that wasn’t you because I knew I couldn’t have you, not the way I wanted.”

Tommy didn’t notice that he was walking to her until they were just a breath apart.

“Then I found Greta, and I thought that I could forget you, but it only reminded me that you are the only one I want. I was going to break up with her, but she fell ill. You stayed by my side, and just when I thought that I would have a chance to tell you everything, the war happened and I just couldn’t. I couldn’t, because there was no way in hell that I was going to risk going to fight in France and die. I couldn’t leave you here to suffer because of me, either because you felt the same or not.”

“Tommy…” (Y/N)’s voice was all but a whisper.

He couldn’t resist anymore, his hands brought her to him, his eyes observing hers from up close, not giving her time to talk or he would lose his courage.

“I was ready to go there and die, and never let you know how I felt. But you had to give me hope that night before I was shipped off to that fucking hell. You had to…”He took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a brief second, a flood of memories making his heart race faster. “You had to give yourself to me. You had to give me a taste of what I thought I could never have, to make me want to survive the fucking war, to come back to you, and to let you know about all of these stupid feelings.”

Tommy couldn’t wait anymore. He did the one thing he had wanted to since he had returned from France—he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle or patient; no, it was urgent and filled with passion and he didn’t know how to stop, not when she wasn’t pushing him away. He devoured her as a man starved, teeth clashing and hands grabbing at anything they could touch. They were both out of breath when they finally parted.

“You said that you wanted to give me one last good memory and it was that memory that kept me alive during most of the nights when I was stuck in the fucking mud,” Thomas said.

(Y/N)’s fingers were clinging to him like her life depended on it, like she was afraid to lose him to the War again.

Tommy took the moment to let the words spill out. “The memory of you and the feeling of you under my fingers, and all around me, and the way you tasted.”

His lips brushed against hers, fingers clawing at the flesh of her hips like they had done the night before he left for France.

He backed her up against the wall, hands trailing down to the back of her thighs, picking her up and trapping her with his body.

Tommy looked straight to her eyes as he spoke again, “How you writhed under me, all the beautiful sounds you made, and I just wanted to come back to you and make some new memories.”

(Y/N) shivered at his words. She gave him just a brief second to observe the rise and fall of her chest and her expanded pupils before he felt her fingers at the back of his head, forcing him to really look at her as she said, “Then let’s work on those new memories.”

Their lips clashed again, and every doubt that he ever felt vanished for a moment. That night their bodies moved together like old acquaintances, skin sliding against skin, hands gripping at each other, lips kissing every patch of skin while chanting a sinful choir of moans and curses alongside their names.

When Tommy woke up the next day, (Y/N/N) in his arms, he realized that he was finally home.

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @internalmess3

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mandos-lightningbeforethunder · 4 years ago

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Start Again - Chapter Six (Din Djarin x Reader)

SUMMARY: Arriving on Orus, Din learns more about the girl and forces himself to make a choice when the planet isn’t so welcoming after all.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: discussion of sexism/gender roles, canon-typical violence, non-consensual touching, mention of blood, and panic attacks/anxiety attacks.

Author’s Note: This chapter sits at 3k words! It’s the longest chapter yet and a lot happens! I would also like to give credit to @kyberpistol for starting the headcanon of haunted!Din. I love the concept and I felt like I could use it in my story. Please heed the warnings. Feel free to like and reblog!

CHAPTER SIX - THE FIGHT

Landing on Orus is difficult, the terrain is not suitable for ships of Idrionna’s size. Din should’ve known that the moment Cara suggested the planet to him, but it was the first suitable planet on the list. It was also the closest, so fuel was not a concern.

When they arrived, the suns had already set over Orus, making the trek to the city of Opseg dangerous. A drop in the canyon could be hidden in the darkness, leaving them with no choice but to set up a camp for the night. Din knew that the girl would rather not sleep in the cot on Idrionna, at least for one night. Not that the sand was any more comfortable, but for at least one night it could be.

“It’s a bit of a drop,” The girl says, peering down the canyon below their feet. Even in the darkness, Din could see the dip in the edge of the canyon. Her voice echoes off the walls, giving Din an idea of just how far the drop was. Couldn’t have been more than a couple hundred feet, he thinks.

“It is,” Din says, looking across from where they’re standing. He could see the bustling city of Opseg just on the horizon. It had a medcenter, big enough to take in the girl for a physical examination without a long waiting time.

Cara had mentioned that Orus had been overlooked by the Empire. An old mining planet, when the Empire had arrived to steal the planet’s profit, they found that the mines had been wiped clean by a flood. Locals had called it a “hundred-year storm”, which had wiped out half the population as well as all the loot. With no profit to be made, the Empire sought other planets. Since then, Orus had been running an underground mining operation, making millions of credits in a single day alone. Once a ghost town, Opseg was on the up and coming. The city was expanding by the day, housing a growing population enriched by the planet’s rare ores.

“It’s beautiful,” The girl murmurs. Din turns, his eyes catching the lights of the city. It glows in the darkness of the surrounding landscape, making it all the more beautiful. He glances back up at the girl, catching the light just glimpsing off her face.

Despite her suffering, she was still full of life. The way her face contorted in excitement as she merely stared at the city ahead of her. Her entire life was stolen from her, yet she still saw the universe in the same innocence a child would. Shaking himself out of his daze, Din takes one more look at the city, before turning to start the fire.

“You didn’t get off Puvo much?” He asks, collecting enough firewood to keep them warm for the night. It was their luck that the wind hadn’t been terrible, a light breeze to keep the embers of the flame away from their faces, but not enough to put the fire out. Surprising luck for a mountainous planet.

“I wasn’t allowed to,” she replies, her voice distant. He turns to see her still staring at the city ahead of her. “Tatooine was my first. I had to convince Valara to let me go off-world. When I first started venturing out on my own on Puvo, I was told going off Puvo wasn’t an option. They were worried that if the Empire found out I was still alive, they’d come and finish the job.”

“They were probably right,” he says, igniting his flamethrower to start the fire. Although meant for combat, it usually came in handy when fires needed to be started quickly. Din watches as the flames jump, licking up the wood.

“They were,” she sighs, “But eventually I needed answers. So, I employed that pilot and then I found you. You’re the only one who’s willing to help me.”

Din pauses, looking back over her. Her focus remains on the city, but this time her face was troubled. Conflicted, perhaps, over the thought of leaving the only home she had ever known. She had left the one safety net protecting her from the Empire all in the name of seeking out answers that may not even exist.

“Besides, washing plant leaves on Puvo wasn’t what I wanted.” She chuckles, shaking her head, “I knew the work that was expected of me, but I wanted something more. Everyone thought I was too fragile.” She mumbles, shaking her head.

“Too fragile for what?” Din finds himself asking. He watches as she joins him by the fire, leaning against her pack.

“I don’t know…work that wasn’t just washing leaves and preparing them for transport.” She laments, looking up at the constellations above. “I stole a communicator off a pilot back on Puvo. It was so easy. The pilots that fly in, they’re so full of themselves. I let him talk about himself and he didn’t even notice it was missing.”

“You stole a communicator?” He asks. It’s not a surprise that she was able to steal one so easily. Most of the pilots he had come across in the New Republic Era were cocky, thinking themselves as the best of the best. In reality, had they been flying when the Empire was still in power, they probably would’ve never left the ground on any planet.

“I did,” she chuckles, “Valara couldn’t believe it, but I think she knew deep down I was capable of more. Over time she knew I was growing bored of the same chores we did every day.”

“What did you want?” Din finds himself asking, looking at her as she sits up. Her eyes look to the fire and Din admires the way the light of the flames flicker off her skin.

“The war was over and Puvo had been at peace for a while. Didn’t mean that they weren’t prepared for something. I saw the training that the soldiers went through. If the boys wanted to, they could go off to receive training. Puvo is a traditional planet, the women stay home for the families and the men work. I wanted to train, Valara blamed it on the post-traumatic stress but at the time, it was all that I could think about. I was so angry at the Empire after I found out what they had done to me, I wanted revenge and I thought learning to fight might help.” The girl shrugs, tossing a couple of sticks she had gathered into the fire.

“What stopped you?” He asks. Twisting a vibroblade between his fingers, he carefully begins to carve at the end of the stick, sharpening the edge.

“On Puvo, if you’re a woman wanting to fight, a council has to rule in majority favor to let you train. Valara could count on one hand the number of times a woman had been allowed and she didn’t have much hope for me. I guess she was right, the council voted overwhelmingly against me. Something about how my head wasn’t in the right place and I wasn’t fit to serve.” The girl sighs, wringing her hands together as she looks toward the horizon again. “But the more time I spent with Valara’s grandmother, I realized that I was more hellbent on revenge than actually healing. If they had let me train and fight, I probably would’ve been killed.”

“Do you still want to? Learn to fight, I mean,” Din asks, watching as her head turns to face him again. After a beat of silence, she nods.

“I’m better than I was before,” she murmurs, “I know my head still isn’t in the right place but I don’t care about revenge anymore. I just want Castin back.”

A wave of emotions hit him. Emotions he hadn’t felt since that day he watched Grogu go off with the Jedi. It had been the same words Din had said to Gideon, he didn’t care about power or money, he just wanted Grogu back safely. Nothing mattered more to him at that moment, just that Grogu was in his arms and away from the fist of the Empire.

“You going to teach me, Mando?” She teases, obvious in her tone that she’s not serious.

“I could,” Din breathes, watching as her eyes widen. She may have not been serious about the offer, but if they were going to be searching for her son, she was better off knowing a few things to protect herself.

“You’d do that?” She clarifies, still unsure if his offer is real.

“It’s safer for you to know how to protect yourself. I could teach you a few things in self-defense. I’m surprised they didn’t teach you anything on Puvo.” Din says, looking up as she bites her lip.

“Puvo is about tradition. Men fight so the women don’t have to.” She reminds him and he hums at her statement. “Not to mention they never expected me to leave. Here I am, systems away,” she laughs, and Din chuckles too.

“I’ll take the first shift,” Din tells her. She nods, pulling the poncho over her shoulders as she lays her head against her pack. He watches as she turns over, facing the illuminated city.

“Mando?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Din hums, smiling underneath the helmet as he fiddles with the vibroblade, continuing to sharpen the stick in his hand. He would need to make two so that he’d be ready to teach her first round of self-defense by morning. He tries brushing off the feeling that manifests from her words.

“Get up.”

Din wakes up to a voice that does not belong to the girl. When his eyes open behind the helmet, the barrel of a weapon stares right back at him. Not moving, he eyes the camp and sees that the girl sits defeated, hands cuffed in front of her.

“I said get up Mandalorian! What are you, deaf?” The voice demands again. Looking past the barrel, he stares at a Devaronian. His face contorted in clear anger, a snarl on his lips just barely hiding the sharpened teeth.

Slowly, Din sits up from his position and with the shove of the barrel, he stands. Raising his hands, he watches as the Devaronian’s partner, another Devaronian, lifts the girl up by her cuffs, growling at her to stand. Din can see the swelling just below her eye, hinting that there had been a scuffle before he had been woken up.

He chastises himself, knowing he should’ve taken the last shift instead of the first. Or maybe he should’ve taken both, in order to protect the girl better. And how could he have slept while she struggled? Din curses himself as his hands are placed in front of him and cuffed.

“Quite the loot, ain’t it, Zek?” The Devaronian behind him says, chuckling to himself.

“Ah well, we still have to decide what to do with them, Vroth.” Zek huffs, rolling his eyes. His yellow eyes turn gleeful as the girl continues to struggle in his grip and Din sneers as Zek sniffs at her hair.

“Keep your hands off her.” Din demands, stepping forward. He’s stopped by Vroth, his blaster jamming into his lower back just underneath his armor.

“Ah, ah, I make the demands here, Mandalorian. You’re the one in cuffs.” Vroth smirks, “You’re the only one of value here, beskar is still of some worth on the market. The girl is just an added bonus.”

“We’re not here to cause trouble—” The girl says, interrupted by a blaster butting against her face. The thump of her hitting the ground angers Din, but he knows that he has no control here. Not at the moment at least.

“Don’t make me hurt your pretty face again,” Zek snaps, pulling the girl up again. The daze in her eyes is clear as she leans against the Devaronian for balance. Zek seems to appreciate it as he holds her, taking another sniff of her hair. “She smells so good, Vroth. I should keep her to myself.” He licks his lips, smirking when Din tenses.

“Just a moment,” Vroth spits out, focusing his attention on Din. They care more about his armor and the credits it will bring them.

“You won’t find anyone willing to buy my armor.” Din says, “Orus has their own resources, they’ll overlook your highly-priced beskar and look the other way.”

Both Zek and Vroth seem to pause as the statement, looking to each other for their next move. Din takes the time to study the girl again, watching her as she sways. She’s too out of it to contribute to the fight, but now, more than ever she needs to see a doctor. He’ll have to take the Devaronians on alone.

Their strength is the one thing they have against him, as well as the cuffs around his wrists. Looking around the camp, they haven’t ransacked his weapons yet or found the girl's credits. Good, he thinks, they’re too tied up in the armor to survey who they’re actually going against. They knew he was a Mandalorian, but Din’s more than aware now that not all those who wear the armor are actual Mandalorians.

“I’ll take the girl!” The arguing takes Din out of his thoughts and he watches as the two snap at each other, Zek pulling the girl close to him once again. Vroth marches over, removing his blaster from underneath Din’s armor, presumably to argue with his partner over who will take the girl. Din has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Catching a glimpse of her behind the mass of Zek, Din notices the blood crusted on her forehead, just within her hairline from where the blaster broke the skin. He seethes with anger at the thought of them hurting her. The dazed look in her eyes only tells him that he needs to act now.

The cuffs hang loose around his wrists, clearly meant for a creature of a bigger size. With the two Devaronians distracted by the girl, he slips his wrists out of them. The blaster at his hip is gone, probably confiscated while he was still asleep. The beskar spear had been left on the ship, leaving Din with the one weapon he refused to use. The dark saber.

Wrapping his fingers around the hilt of the weapon, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Treat it like any other sword, he reminds himself. Save her and deal with the two mercenaries.

The ignition of the saber startles both Devaronians and the girl. Zek and Vroth’s faces turn into snarls, lips turning up as they bare their teeth at the threat. Din breathes out and moves first, swinging the saber up as Zek fires his blaster. The shot ricochets off the humming blade, burning a hole in Zek’s forehead, right between his horns. The thud of Zek hitting the ground fills Din with a certain satisfaction from a deep part inside himself. He suppresses the feeling and breathes out again, ready for the next move.

“Stop! Or I’ll shoot her!” Vroth demands. His hand quivers, the blaster wavering against the girl’s temple. Din stares at the girl as she looks up at him.

“I just killed your friend with his own blaster fire. Do you really want to try it out yourself?” Din asks, almost breathless with the adrenaline running through him. The saber hums at his side, awaiting the next move. Din still waits for a response from the Devaronian, the realization hitting Vroth that there’s no way out from this situation.

Din could choose to let him live, but that could lead to word getting out that he wielded the dark saber. It would send Bo-Katan into a frenzy trying to find him, believing him ready to fight for the saber simply because he used it.

“You bitch!” Vroth snarls and Din watches as the girl falls out of the way of the angry Devaronian, giving Din the opportunity. Vroth brings the blaster up, finger hovering over the trigger just as the blade slashes through the barrel.

In shock, Vroth stumbles back, tossing away the smoking blaster and reaching around for another. His scream pierces the air as he falls back into the canyon, a resounding thud echoing off the walls.

For a moment, Din stares in stunned silence. The saber recedes back into the hilt and Din clips it back to his belt, focusing his attention now on the girl.

She’s sitting up in the sand, trying to remove the cuffs herself. Her breathing is shallow and the glaze over her eyes tells him that she’s panicking, in overdrive to get herself out of harm’s way.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he tells her, gently reaching out with his hand to ground her. “Let me take those off, okay?” He says. She offers her wrists to him and he carefully slides the cuffs off, tossing them aside.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “If I had just—”

“No, no, it’s fine. We handled it. It’s over. Just breathe. Can I take a look at your head? He hit you pretty hard,” He asks, watching as she winces and then nods. Her shock and adrenaline are wearing off, leaving her to feel the effects of her wounds.

Taking a gloved hand, Din cups her face, turning her face so that he can get a better look at the cut. It’s not deep, a simple bacta patch will repair the skin. The bruise under her eyes is another problem, it’s already swelling and he doesn’t have much to work with to stem the swelling.

Her hand swipes at her mouth, leaving a streak of blood behind on both her hand and the corner of her lips. It’s not her own.

“You bit him?” He asks, not sure if he should laugh.

“I did,” she murmurs, the usual glint in her eyes returning as she looks at him. “Didn’t taste very good.”

Din chuckles and sits back, reaching into his pack and pulling out a canteen of water for her to rinse her mouth and to wash away the crusted blood on her forehead. With the edge of his cape, he wipes the blood off as she spits the water out next to her.

“Should start that training soon,” Din mumbles, placing the bacta patch against her skin.

“You think?” she smirks and although she can’t see it, Din smiles underneath the helmet.

Read Chapter Seven - The Diagnosis here!

#din djarin x you #din dijarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #start again #dins haunted

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karlyfr13s · 4 years ago

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Oathkeeper, Chapter 3

Thank you: @veryverynotgood my phenomenal beta--you keep me going when I'm busy wallowing in doubt, and you make me less of a walking run-on (hooray!).

Bless y'all: the CSMM Discord crew--it's like a community of flails, encouragement, and collaboration...such magic!

Head's up: No description of violence nor abuse; however, they are mentioned.

AO3 Links: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Most days, Killian occupied himself either by helping Granny with the more physically taxing chores around the inn and diner or on board his ship ensuring her seaworthiness. Granted, the Jolly was in top form and she certainly had no need of repairs nor did she have a heading before her; but it quieted his mind to see to her every need and to painstakingly mend every frayed hem of a sail and worn bit of paint. Lately, he’d taken to wandering Storybrooke as Granny increasingly gave tasks over to young Felix.

The boy was coming along, a bit less surly now. Killian was certain this was due to Ruby’s unending praise of his efforts--no sixteen year-old lad could resist her charms. He’d had a hard time containing his laughter when he witnessed the latest scene: Ruby, clad in a button-down shirt she must have sewn onto herself each morning, batting her eyes at young Felix as she asked for his help bringing up kegs from the cellar. The boy had practically tripped over his own feet as he scrambled to assist, then struggled mightily as he puffed up the stairs with a metal cylinder that likely outweighed his slight frame. Killian had watched as Felix professed the task “no problem”, but had also seen his eyes widen to immense saucers when Ruby cheerfully called there were only “five more to go”. At that, Killian offered his assistance quietly, assuring the boy Ruby would never know that he had not fulfilled the task single-handedly. She was occupied cleaning up after the lunch crowd filtered out, so Killian helped Felix make short work of the task before ducking out the back and allowing the young man credit for the entire endeavor.

Today, however, there was little for him to do and it made Killian antsy. He took to wandering the shore as his mind drifted to the Crocodile, the Princess, and the confusion of his present state of affairs. His increasingly cloudy thoughts were interrupted by a shouted “Ahoy, Captain Hook!” and Killian’s eyes snapped to a strange wooden contraption where young Henry Mills stood, waving to him and grinning from ear to ear.

“Good afternoon,” he sketched a brief bow to the boy as he stepped up to what he now realized was Henry’s castle. Emma had mentioned it in passing as the place the young lad took refuge in his own thoughts, an all-too-familiar notion for Killian. “I was given to understand this time of day was set aside for studies, lad. Or am I mistaken?” He raised an eyebrow up at the boy who shook his head, informing Killian school had ended an hour ago.

“My moms are busy though,” he explained simply. “Regina has a meeting with someone who wants to open a new store, and Emma is in the mines because ‘ the dwarves are flipping out about some property rights ’.” Killian chuckled at the boy’s impression of his mother. He was invited into Henry’s castle where the two sat and looked out at the waves lapping against the shore. At first, the conversation was largely Henry reporting out about his school day. It seemed he was struggling with something math-related, and while Killian’s formal schooling was long behind him, he did offer the boy assistance.

“If, that is, your parents will allow it,” he added quickly, unsure where he stood in the strange dynamic of this town and particularly this family.

Henry snorted at that. “Regina might get weird about it, but she’s trying to make up for the whole...Evil Queen thing, so I think I can manage one mom. The other mom…” he shrugged “I don’t think she’d mind as long as I’m not asking her the math questions. She said it was her least favorite subject in school.”

Killian steeled himself for his next question, taking a deep breath and levelling his gaze at Henry. “And your father?”

Henry made a face at that. “I don’t really know,” he admitted in a tone Killian couldn’t quite decipher. “He was supposed to pick me up from school today,” Henry tucked up his knees and rested his chin on them in a pose Killian had seen Emma take up as well. It seems they both made themselves smaller in these moments of questioning. “I don’t know if he forgot, or if something came up...I don’t think he knows what to do with me.” Henry peeked up at Killian, looking so uncertain of himself that it nearly broke the man’s heart. He knew what it was to feel on uneven ground with one’s father, to feel more a burden than a blessing, and he refused to allow Henry’s mind to wander those dark halls. While he could offer no real comfort when it came to the man Neal seemed determined to remain, he could offer a promising distraction that should spark young Henry’s curiosity.

“Well, whatever may be delaying him, it certainly has come at an opportune moment for me. Would you care to join me on board the Jolly , Master Mills? It’s past time she received an inspection from a keen eye such as yours.” The boy’s face lit up immediately and he jumped up, grabbing a device from his jacket pocket. After a moment’s pause, Killian heard a tinny version of Emma's voice as Henry hurriedly explained the plan to his device, suppressing a smile as Henry rolled his eyes at his mother’s questions.

“Yes, we’ll stay in the harbor,” he glanced at Killian who nodded along. “Yes, I will stay away from the railing and listen to everything--did you just call him Killian ? That’s weird, Mom, he’s a Captain...well, you’re supposed to address him by title because it’s his ship, of course…yes, yes, no….Mom, I’m not gonna die. I’m gonna go around the harbor with a master sailor…”

Killian knew the lad had won out when a rushed series of ‘thank you’s’ left his mouth before he tucked the device away once more. “She says, ‘tell The Captain that if you come back with one hair out of place, I’ll shave his off with David’s longsword’. She’s just being weird, I know we’re gonna be great--let’s go!” The lad took hold of Killian’s hook and led him down the small stairs onto the sand, setting off in the direction of his ship.

Once aboard, Henry was clearly overcome with curiosity. His return trip from Neverland hadn’t afforded him much time to explore or ask questions. In fact, he’d largely been asleep from pure exhaustion. For Killian, the afternoon with Henry was a remarkable chance to see his ship through the eyes of another. The boy’s questions seemed endless, and while they started with simple questions of identification--what parts of the rigging were called, the names of the various decks and quarters--they quickly expanded to encompass how everything came together to make her sail. His enthusiasm was infectious, and it brought Killian so fully out of his earlier sour mood that it nearly felt like Henry had his own kind of magic.

“Okay, but how do you get up to the crow’s nest?” Henry scrutinized the location through narrowed eyes. Killian stepped in behind him, pointing out the most logical route through the rigging. “Cool! Can I try?”

“I...don’t think that’s wise, lad. I prefer my head firmly attached, and your mother may well remove it if she finds out I let you free-climb the rigging.” Henry turned to face him, a mischievous smirk on his face as he intoned that she didn’t have to know about it.

“While I appreciate the enthusiasm, I need her to like me far better than she does before I conspire against her wishes. A rogue can only get away with so much when it comes to the tenacity of a mother,” he winked, and hoped like hell the boy would let it go. Of course, as Emma’s child he should have known that would be improbable at best.

“Oh, she likes you well enough.” Killian furrowed his brow at this while Henry grinned. Obviously the lad knew how to catch his attention, though just how aware he was of what Killian felt for Emma was still unclear-- the notorious Captain Hook, bested by a child . “You earned a ton of points with her in Neverland,” Henry clarified. “I know she didn’t tell me everything, but she did tell me you saved my grandpa, and I already know you saved me. Since she just got this part of her family back, you gotta know that earned you like...a million points in her eyes. You could totally stand to lose a few of them and teach me how to get up there.”

It took Killian another five minutes to finally persuade Henry that rather than risk a broken arm, or worse, he should simply ask Emma for permission before he learned to scout from above. The cost of negotiations wasn’t much, Henry simply wanted to learn to steer the ship, and so Killian guided him in his quest as they toured the harbor together. The lad had adventure in his blood, that much Killian was certain of, and it seemed he just might be falling in love with the sea as well. The idea tugged at Killian’s heart, as did the pure joy he saw in the boy’s face when they returned to port after the successful little journey.

After receiving a message on his device, Henry mentioned needing to return to his grandparents’ loft, and Killian was happy to escort him, listening to Henry’s re-telling of their afternoon on the Jolly and basking in the shared moment. To hear Henry tell it, you’d think they’d travelled across a realm or two rather than simply around Storybrooke’s small harbor. He wondered how the boy would tell it to his mother and what she would think. Would she be angry at Killian and think he had overstepped? Would Henry mention his father’s neglect today?

His thoughts were interrupted when they arrived at the door and Henry flung his arms around Killian. He hesitated only a moment before returning the fierce embrace. “Thanks, Captain,” the boy grinned up at him. “Next time, I’m going up that rigging though. And I’m learning how to use your spyglass up there, right? I wanna see everything--as far out as I can!”

Killian chuckled, “So long as you have it in writing from your mother, aye lad.”

---

Two nights later, Killian awoke to someone pounding on his door in the middle of the night and he bolted upright, grabbing his hook from the bedside table as he crossed the pitch-black room. He swung the door open to reveal a distraught Emma Swan, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and her fingers tapping an uneven rhythm at her side.

“I didn’t know where else to go, but I couldn’t stay in that loft for another minute,” she explained, voice cracking. “Can I come in?”

Killian stepped aside, allowing her to pass before he followed and shut the door behind them, clicking on the lamp by the bed and sitting down. There was little room, and she took a spot near him on the bed, her right leg bouncing as she stared down at the floor. He gave her a moment, but when she showed no signs of relaxing he gently spoke her name, “Swan?” Her leg stilled and she looked up, tears tracking down her cheeks. “Swan, what’s wrong?”

As he waited for her response, Killian wracked his memory--what had happened over the course of the last few days? He’d seen her in the diner each morning when she picked up her coffee and there had been no hint of whatever was on her mind. He’d run into her at the library when Henry was doing research for a school project and he was reading up on this realm’s history, but she’d been perfectly fine and that was only yesterday. They’d even discussed finding volunteer work for Felix as he was starting to grate on Granny’s nerves, Swan mentioning it may be best if the boy also enrolled in school. What could have changed so much since yesterday? He searched her eyes and waited, hoping she would reveal the problem in due time.

“I yelled at them,” she murmured at last, dropping her eyes back to the floor.

“Pardon? At whom?” He’d seen Emma yell at a fair number of people, himself chief among them, and didn’t recall her reacting in this way before.

“My parents,” she clarified, “I yelled at Snow White and Prince Charming of all people, and I know I hurt them...she was crying when I left the loft, but I was just...I was so angry with them that I couldn’t, I mean, I can’t be there right now.” She sniffed, and Killian saw her shoulders start to shake. He took a risk, trying his hand at comfort when he slipped an arm around her shoulders and to his surprise she willingly leaned into him. Silence fell between them. He knew there was far more to the story, but wanted to let her move at her own pace and tell it in her way rather than pry it out of her.

She wiped her eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” she started, “I don’t know what I was doing, I just had to get out and you were the only person I thought might answer the door this late.”

“Always available to help a lady in distress, Swan,” he tried a light jest and was rewarded with poke to his ribs. “Oww--just going to wake a man up and bruise him in his own room?” He pulled back to smile at her and she immediately scooted away, a blush blossoming on her cheeks. It was then he realized they’d never shared a touch that gentle and intimate. Yes, they had kissed-- and gods what a kiss it was --but moments before he’d been granted permission to hold her. It was just the two of them in the quiet hours of the night, and she had spent these vulnerable moments cradled against his bare chest. He cleared his throat and asked softly, “What was it that upset you so? Is there something I can do to help?”

She shook her head, tucking her legs under her as she chewed her bottom lip. With a huff, she continued. “They asked if I wanted to have family dinner, and that’s kind of...new, but I went with it. So Regina dropped Henry at the loft and I thought it was going to be--anyway, it wasn’t what I thought. Neal showed up ten minutes later.” She was picking at the quilt on the bed and wouldn’t meet Killian’s eyes, probably for the best given the sneer he couldn’t quite hide. “I didn’t want to make a scene in front of Henry, so I just went along with things at dinner. I figured I could deal with a couple of hours, plus the kid is a hell of a buffer and good at keeping everyone talking, but I know he didn’t show up the other day when you and Henry went sailing. I know when Henry talks Neal only half listens.” She paused for a long while, and Killian crossed the room, offering her the flask he pulled from the pocket of his greatcoat.

She took a swig and rolled her shoulders, visibly trying to relax before turning back to face him. After a soft word of thanks, she continued. “When Henry left, Neal stuck around. My parents offered him a nightcap and asked if he’d like to stay over .” It didn’t take the experience of Dr. Hopper to see she was disturbed by this. “And I lost it. I am so sick of their meddling, and their bizarrely perfect vision of him that I completely snapped. I spit out the whole story--”

Killian sat up straighter at this, aware she’d built up momentum and certain he was about to have another piece of the puzzle that was Emma Swan click into place.

“How he’d preyed on a goddamn homeless teenager, offering her shelter when he knew she didn’t have any of her own. How he knocked up a fucking seventeen year old and left her to rot in jail for his crimes, never bothering to admit his own guilt, never checking in to learn he’d fathered a child,” her tears flowed freely and her eyes blazed like emerald fire. “I told them the truth. That he was a predator, and I was too young and stupid to know better, and that I didn’t have the luxury of having anyone to warn me about people like him, of having anyone who cared enough to see the situation for what it was.”

Her breathing hitched and Killian instinctively reached for her, pulling her into a tight embrace and stroking her hair as she lost the final shreds of her composure. She sobbed against him and he murmured to her small comforts, that it would be all right and she didn’t have to be alone. After a while, her sobs diminished, lessening to sniffles and gasping breaths. He rubbed slow circles on her back and she finished her tale, tone empty and defeated, “I told them exactly what I finally realized: that I was abused by the man they keep inviting into our family, and that I cannot be in that place if they really think I’m supposed to patch things up with him and act like none of this happened, like it didn’t matter that he used me and threw me away.”

His heart broke for her, eyes stinging with unshed tears as he listened to the culmination of her loss and pain. “I don’t know how to face them again,” she mumbled against Killian’s chest, sagging against him in complete exhaustion. He assured her she needn’t think of that now, that what she needed was rest. And he offered to share the space with her. She nodded quietly, taking the offered shirt and pants and leaving to change in the adjoining bathroom.

Killian lay back, propped up on a pillow while his mind processed all she’d told him. He knew without a doubt her parents would mend this relationship, though it may well take time. He knew as well that whatever he’d promised Neal, that oath had been needless. In fact, the larger problem Killian now faced was how to make it through the next twenty-four hours without gutting Neal with his hook. The man had taken advantage of Emma, had framed her for his crime, and had abandoned her. It seemed Bae had become his father after all, and that did not bode well for him in Killian’s eyes.

His violent contemplations were interrupted by a bashful looking Emma, clad all in his own black attire and softly padding across the small room. “I’ll take the side by the door, Swan. Old habits, you know,” he nodded toward the cutlass by the bed and his hook which once again lay atop the nightstand. She smiled sheepishly as she slid under the covers next to him, offering a soft word of thanks and curling up with her back to him. He clicked off the light, desperately hoping she couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart as Killian tried like hell to fall back asleep.

Thanks for reading! Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @gingerpolyglot, @hollyethecurious, @caught-in-the-filter, @lonelyspectator12, @donteattheappleshook

#cs fan fic #captain swan #oathkeeper #killian jones #emma swan #henry mills #captain swan fanfic #karly tries to write

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ramblinganthropologist · 3 years ago

Text

Crossed over

Summary: Garrus has something to tell Shepard before they get down to pound town. Same hat, though? Same hat.

(I wrote this originally for pride but didn’t finish it in time. Yes I am 100% pulling this out of my ass, but who cares. My city now.)

---

Shit.

Garrus’ heart was still racing as the door to the main battery shut in front of him. Only moments prior, the Normandy’s commander had been standing there, chatting with him. Well… chatting wasn’t really the right word. Propositioning, maybe? That felt more on the face plate to him, but it just sounded so salacious for something coming from the man people had dubbed humanity’s boy scout.

He didn’t know what a boy scout was, but he was fairly sure they didn’t make suggestions like that…

“I guess I need to… ask Mordin about this.”

His hand hesitated on his omni-tool before he could make the call. The salarian would be good for positioning and allergic warnings, but he didn’t need that at the moment. That wasn’t going to quiet the frantic racing of his heart. He needed somebody else for that, someone he was still on shaky terms with.

But he needed someone would listen and not need a million clarifying questions…

His talons typed in the familiar number, and it was soon sending out the request. Thanks to being so close to a mass relay, it would go through no problem. Well, that and the fact Cerberus had souped up the Normandy’s communication system in several definitely off the market and illegal ways. Though that really wasn’t his problem anymore – he hadn’t been part of C-SEC for over two years.

Just… old habits die hard he supposed.

The call took a few seconds to connect, but he soon heard the sounds of Palaven on the other end. Garrus felt his stomach drop as he realized just how late it was on his homeworld. No doubt he had woken up the other party from a deep sleep – that was strike two for him before he had said a word.

Strike one, naturally, was going off on Omega and becoming a mercenary who took a rocket to the face. She was still mad about that.

“Garrus?”

Solana sounded tired. He could hear her shifting on the other end, no doubt because she had been in bed and fast asleep. Guilt swarmed in his stomach, but his resolve pushed it away. As the humans said it, in for a penny in for a pound.

And boy, he was going to get a pounding…

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The humans of the Normandy would’ve never noticed it, but no doubt his sister had already picked up on just how frantic he sounded. Right then, any turian within a couple hundred yards probably could’ve picked it up. Hell, a passing ship might have even gotten the hint if they hadn’t been in FTL drive. But he tried anyway – he had his pride in the end.

“Uh, hey, Solana. Sorry, I realize it’s late and all, but- “

Right then, he could imagine her mandibles twitching in annoyance, but also the gleam in her eyes that gave away just how curious she actually was. After all, he wasn’t the call home type. Never had been really, especially after their mother had passed. It just sort of got pushed to the back and they caught up when they could.

“Gar, you’re freaking out so loud the humans are going to hear it. You’re not dying again, are you?”

Hey, that had been a one-time deal. It wasn’t like he had a habit of taking rockets to the face or anything…

Garrus took a deep breath to steady himself once more, and he allowed his body some respite by dropping it onto the cot he kept in the battery. Sure, he probably could’ve had a bunk elsewhere – but that would’ve been with humans who had no problems working with Cerberus. As the object of his anxiety would’ve put it, taco was good out there.

He still didn’t get that – what did food have to do with displeasure? Humans were weird…

“I’m fine.” His mandibles twitched. “Just… had a talk with Shepard.”

Solana’s subvocals were curiosity city as she leaned in. “The big one or the dead one?”

“He’s not dead anymore…” Garrus’ voice trailed off. “And the little one, yeah.”

On the other end of the line, he heard his sister chuckle. “What, did you two have a fight about calibrating or something? That’s not exactly something to call me over, Gar. He’s not going to kick you off the…”

Her voice trailed off, no doubt because she had put the pieces together. He felt his stomach squirm as he waited in the pregnant silence, knowing the ball was going to drop any second. Really, this was the last thing he wanted to tell her…

“Please tell me you told him before you two fucked.”

Garrus’ mandibles almost let him lift off the ground as he jumped to his feet on instinct. “We haven’t… not yet. We were just… he made suggestions. I think we’re going to eventually, once we both put some research in. Kind of hard to smash a turian and a human together and all…”

His voice trailed off, realizing just how awkward he sounded. Really, the logical side of him knew he was being ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was a virgin like Shepard was. There were a few lovers in his past, so for the most part he knew what he was doing. It was just… well, humans were odd.

Solana’s voice was steadier the next time she spoke. “So… you’re planning to fuck your CO.”

“Yes, I know, I’m a walking stereotype.” The embarrassment could have choked a krogan. “Honestly… I don’t even know why I called. I just…”

His sister finished for him. “You’re worried about how he’s going to react if you tell him, because you’re planning on filling him in.”

Garrus was left standing there in the battery, mandibles almost to the bottom of his neck. He had no idea what kind of vocals he must’ve been giving off then, but they had to be something. After all, Solana wasn’t making fun of him. When it came to his love life, she loved nothing more than doing that. It was some older sister commandment: thou shalt pick on thy little brother for his terrible interest in people.

So… yeah.

“Gar?”

He shook his head. “Yeah, I guess that’s it,”

Solana shifted a pillow on the other end. “He’s a medic, right? He’ll at least understand it that way.”

Enough interaction with medical staff had taught Garrus that didn’t mean a whole lot of anything. Besides, he wasn’t looking for a checkup, this was practically starting… something. And maybe that’s why his stomach shifted so badly at the thought of it as he glanced around the battery.

Shit…

“I mean… do they even hold classes on that outside of turian occupied areas?” He sighed. “It’s easier with us… I don’t know how a human is going to feel about it.”

His sister’s subvocals shifted to something that reminded him of when he had been smaller, and she had stood by him on the playground. He was bigger than her now… but something about it was oddly comforting. It was also kind of embarrassing, but he was going to take what he could get at the moment.

“Well, if he starts shit, tell him to count his days.”

Despite his anxiety, Garrus found himself chuckling. “You’re really going to threaten the first human Spectre?”

“He died once; I can make it happen again if he hurts you.” The certainty in Solana’s voice was a strange comfort then. “Seriously, if he has a problem with it, then he’s an ass and he’s not worth it. Not your fault he’s a dumb human who doesn’t get what it means.”

Another chuckle – he knew when he had lost a fight. “Thanks, but I think I can handle it. Besides, you’re kind of on Palaven.”

Not that that meant anything – piss Solana off enough and she’d find a way to show up.

“Lucky him.” Solana let out a yawn that helped Garrus know their call was ending. “I mean it, Garrus. If he says anything…”

He found the knot in his stomach loosening as he sat back down. “I’ll send you our coordinates.”

“That’s my little brother. Now, get the hell off the line. I gotta get up for work in 4 hours.”

Well, love you too…

Still, Garrus let his sister go and the battery lapsed into silence once more as the call ended. He could hear life on the other side of the heavy door as the crew went about their duties, but right then it didn’t matter. He had made up his mind over the course of the call, so now he felt more resolute.

Was he still terrified? Absolutely. Humans were fucking unpredictable. After all, who else launches out of a mass effect field and starts fighting with the first sentient species they meet? They had a species wide death wish or something…

But that didn’t matter then. Now it was time to figure out what he wanted to say. And at least he had time for that as he waited for the big gun in front of him to show him some data.

---

A few weeks later, and there he was. Garrus shifted from foot to foot as the elevator door opened and let him out. He had been to the top of the Normandy before, enough that he knew the layout. Past that door was the object of his anxiety, waiting on the pretense of a talk about what they were planning.

Maybe it had been a while since he had last had sex, but he definitely didn’t remember that much thought put into it before. Was it because he was getting older, or because his partner was a squishy human?

“That you, Garrus?”

Shepard’s soft voice carried through the metal. Something about it always set the turian’s heart beating a little faster. In those moments, he found it hard to talk. So, in the end he just stood there like an idiot.

This was going great, clearly.

Thankfully, Shepard wasn’t a stupid man. His head appeared through the open door, checking to make sure he was ok. Today he had his hair pulled behind his head – he was fairly sure he called it a ponytail – and out of his face. No doubt he had been working with Saren. The hamster had full face privileges at pretty much anytime. And yes, he was jealous of a hamster for that.

So sue him.

The words brought hm back to life. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, guess I was more tired than I thought.”

The Spectre smiled at him as he motioned for Garrus to follow. Just as the turian had thought, he had been working with his hamster. From the looks of things, it had been a deep clean and a cage change if the shredded bedding meant anything. No doubt the man in charge of it all had been cleaning it up when he had come calling.

“What’s Saren got this time?”

Shepard gestured to the cage as they moved past his desk towards the sitting area. “I went for an under the sea theme. It seemed appropriate; he is living in the old fish tank system.”

That would explain the sunken ship half buried in the substrate. He had to hand it to the human, he really knew how to spoil his pets…

Together they sat at the table, Garrus positioned so he could just see Shepard’s unmade bed in the background. It was so close, but it felt like lightyears away. He was supposed to get on that eventually with the Spectre…

Talk about nearly giving himself a heart attack.

“Anyway, you wanted to talk about …”

Shepard’s voice dropped and his cheeks turned pink. Humans called that blushing, and it was pretty noticeable on the ones with light skin. It usually turned the Spectre krogan rampage red if he got going, so things weren’t too bad yet. He could work with this.

Still, Garrus felt tense as he gazed over at the human. At least both of them were nervous about this, so he didn’t feel completely stupid. In a way, that was helpful as he tried to find the words he had practiced for a week.

Naturally, they had abandoned him at the sight of those blue eyes. He was a sucker for blue…

“Yeah. There was something… I needed to tell you.”

His talons tucked against each other as he tried to keep from looking at the human. “Just so we both know what we’re getting into and all.”

“You’re not allergic to human body fluids, are you?”

Shepard was so matter of fact in his tone that Garrus felt himself chuckling without meaning to do it. Leave it to the Spectre to find a way to relax him without consciously attempting it. Maybe that was his real superpower – the biotics were just a fun perk.

But yeah… maybe he could do this.

“No, I’m good there.” Another deep breath. “Just uh… I don’t really tell people this. None of their business, and most non-turians wouldn’t get it anyway.”

At that, Garrus paused and checked the sight in front of him. Shepard was watching him, analyzing him maybe. He had stopped nervously tugging at the end of his ponytail, and his hands were in his lap. From the looks of things, he had the Spectre’s undivided attention.

No pressure.

“Something up, Garrus? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t- “

He held up his hand. “No, I feel like I should. We’re getting kind of… close.”

The tension rippled across his carapace as he felt it on the tip of his tongue. “Do… you know what it means to be crossed?”

At that point, the translating function on their omni-tools went haywire. Whatever Shepard normally heard when it worked, he definitely wasn’t getting it then. At least the man hadn’t winced at the sound of him untranslated. That was probably a good sign for cross-species relations if there ever was one.

“Sorry, the translator didn’t pick that up. I got something about a mix up?”

Well, half points for trying.

Garrus nodded as he tried to pick his words carefully so they would translate right. “Something like that. You know we believe in spirits, right?”

When Shepard nodded, he continued, stomach churning all the while. “Well… sometimes the spirit and the body it’s in have a disagreement about… things I guess.”

Disagreement was putting it mildly, of course. Garrus would’ve rather called it an all-out war in his early teens when the bad feelings were at their peak. Now it was mostly quiet – thank you, modern medicine – but sometimes it still whispered in his thoughts when he least expected it. His spirit was a tricky one like that, no wonder he had lasted so long on Omega.

But… yeah, he was getting away from the awkward conversation he was having. That was probably a bad coping mechanism left over from being a merc.

Shepard still seemed tuned into the conversation at the very least. “Ok… so your mind and body don’t… agree on something? Is that what I’m getting?”

“Pretty much. It’s not super common, but it happens.” His mandibles flapped as he tried to find the words. “There are ways of… making the spirit more comfortable depending on what way you need to go. Medical procedures help, but oftentimes one of the best ways is to just live the way your spirit wants.”

He had been 13 when his spirit had started acting up. That was a common age, though he didn’t exactly hang out with many crossed turians these days…

His shoulders still tensed as he snuck a glance at the human – hadn’t lost him completely. “I guess I’m trying to tell you… that I’m crossed. Not that it’s going to matter for us in bed, the hormone therapy has pretty much taken care of everything. I only have to take a maintenance dose every couple months…”

His voice trailed off. Shepard hadn’t said anything for a long time. Instead, the Spectre seemed to draw into himself. Something about that made Garrus’ stomach drop and almost instantly he regretted saying anything at all.

Maybe he was going to need Solana after all…

His voice was shaky when he spoke again. “Look, I get that it doesn’t- “

“So, you’re like the turian version of trans?”

Garrus blinked. The word was a new one, he had learned it from listening to the crew. Mentally, the translation ran through his head as he sat there, trying to remember what it meant. Something about gender?

What was that again, an ice cream flavor? He was kind of drawing a blank…

“Uh… don’t really get what that is, Shepard. You’re going to have to explain it to me before I can say anything.”

There was a glint in the man’s eye then as he nodded. “Basically, humans have a thing where their brain and body don’t match up. We can also fix it with medical procedures, but the best way is the same way you’ve got.”

The turian found himself nodding. “Guess that would be the human version of being crossed, yeah.”

In that moment, Garrus wasn’t sure what to expect as the pieces fell into place. It was Shepard, but Shepard was still human. More importantly, it was impossible to read how he was reacting then. His face was utterly blank as he sat there, staring down at his hands.

In the words of the Spectre… he should probably go.

Garrus could feel something breaking inside still as he stood. “I get it’s probably not what you expected. It’s ok… I just ask you don’t spread it- “

Those eyes were on him as Shepard reached out to keep him from going. “Damn it, Garrus, same hat.”

…

“Same…”

A wide grin broke out on Shepard’s face as he started laughing. “I think we’re in the same boat here if you’re telling me you’re on the turian version of HRT. Holy shit, talk about one hell of a relief. I thought you were going to say you were allergic to humans or something.”

The translation whirred in Garrus’ visor as he wordlessly sat back down. He had a full picture now, and it was one hell of a sight. The tension that had been vibrating across his carapace began to melt away as he listened to the human laugh, and soon he found himself chuckling as well.

Solana was never going to believe this.

“Nope, still not allergic to humans.” His mandibles twitched. “So… you humans do it too then?”

Shepard was still smiling as he nodded. “Yeah. If not for my biotics fucking everything up, I would’ve been on HRT too by now. But then you wouldn’t get to hear my lovely, squeaky voice cracking over the battlefield and who would want to miss that?”

“I wouldn’t…” Garrus’ voice trailed off. “Oh…”

Well, from the sound of things he hadn’t needed to worry. Maybe he didn’t need his older sister to come beat up his not-yet lover yet after all. His pride would survive for at least one more day at this rate.

Honestly, he felt lighter than he had in weeks. If not for the ship’s gravity, he might have been floating then. Then again, that might have been caused by Shepard’s quiet chuckles over all of this. Something about the man’s laughter always put him at ease.

“I can’t believe you thought I was cis, though.” The human had gone back to playing with the end of his ponytail, though from the motions it was less nerves and more something to do with his hands. “I would be insulted if you were human.”

Garrus felt his mandibles twitch. “It’s not like I know the difference, Shepard.”

“You literally saw my dick fall out of my pants, Garrus.”

…

Yeah, well… he wasn’t the medic, now was he? For all he knew, they were supposed to do that.

Still, at his silence Shepard just chuckled more. Surprisingly, he seemed lighter as well as he sat back. Maybe because of his own nerves, but he hadn’t noticed just how tight the man’s shoulders had been when he had entered. No doubt they had been worrying about similar things if there was that much crossover.

Something, something, communication made for happy relationships.

“Well, clearly we’ve got plenty of research to do if we want to do this right.” The human sounded much happier as he looked down at his always present omni-tool. “I mean… if you still want to and all. I understand if you’ve changed your mind.”

Garrus all but hopped to his feet. “No! I mean… no, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just glad I know what to research. I think I was looking at the wrong vids…”

“Well, that makes two of us, unless you guys figured out a way to fix anatomical issues we’re still working on. Turian anatomy seems a little more straight-forward when it comes to genitals, what with everything being internal.”

…

You know, he probably should’ve found his anatomy being discussed in such clinical terms rather dry. Yet the fact Shepard seemed so relaxed about the whole thing was rather heartening. Maybe he was just more relaxed now that the bomb had dropped and he still had both of his mandibles.

He was glad for that – the implant surgery to fix him the first time had really sucked.

“I think you’ll be fine with whatever you’re looking at.” He let out a sigh of relief. “So… good talk?”

Even he knew that sounded awkward. Yet, the other man chuckled and nodded as he stood at last, pushing his ponytail behind his shoulders as he approached the turian. Apart from when they were getting shot at, it was probably the closest they had ever been.

“Yeah. Good talk.”

And then he smiled. “So, uh… I need to finish cleaning up from Saren. Unless you want to help with that?”

Garrus was already on his feet, eyeing the door. “I think I have some calibrations to get to down in the battery.”

Shepard’s cheeks briefly puffed out, but then he allowed a rather laid-back chuckle. “Alright, I get the idea. I’ll talk to you later, Garrus. Good luck with the calibrations.”

Luck – he certainly had a lot of that at the moment.

Garrus honestly felt lighter as he left the man’s quarters to return to his spot in the battery. The weight that had pressed down hard on his talons had evaporated, like gravity no longer affected him. It was a bit strange – the ship was set to adjust to that – but right then he wasn’t thinking like a tech as he rode the elevator back down.

All things considered, that had gone better than he had expected.

“Well… doubt Solana is going to believe this one. Who knew humans had it too…” he trailed off as the door opened to the crew floor. He let the matter drop for the moment, focused instead on getting back to work. After all, the Normandy was a big ship, and keeping her running was a heavy task he was more than happy to deal with.

Still… it was good to know they were on even footing. Maybe it wouldn’t go as badly as he thought it might. But he definitely needed to change his vids…

But he could worry about that later. A big gun needed some specialized calibrations if they were going to live another day. He could think about his sex life later.

#ramblinganthropologist's writing #trans!Garrus #my city now mfers #tf4 shakarian is now my canon lol #Alistair Shepard #Garrus Vakarian #they're not gonna fuck until ME3 tho

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 5 years ago

Note

The Supergirl Team calls you in despair. You’ve 2/3 episodes to save this season and leave a cliffhanger to the next season. You can do any ship, cut any actor, unlimited budget. What do you do?

My first call is to Brenda Strong, clearly. Lillian caustically provides Lena a reality check by not so subtly reminding her how Lex is an asshole and can't be trusted. She reveals she retained her pre-crisis memories, and remembers more than Lex deigned to tell her.

Lena is unimpressed, and dryly remarks, "And now you finally get to see everything Lex should have been. You must be thrilled."

"Yes, I do," Lillian affirms. "But a victory without sacrifice isn't victory. It's a handout."

Luthors don't accept handouts.

Lena stares at her mother, confused and wary. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Lex didn't earn it."

None of this was earned through toil. Lex chanced onto an opportunity and manipulated it to his utmost ability. Once upon a time, she might have been proud of his aptitude for machinations, Lillian admits, but she finds herself disillusioned with him.

"Not only does intended matricide sour the relationship somewhat," Lillian elaborates, "but more and more lately I've come to realize that while Lex indeed had incredible potential, I allowed that potential to blind me to yours."

Lex didn't earn his success, but Lena did. In just a few short years, Lena embodied the Luthor spirit unlike any Luthor had since the first generation-- since the generation that worked for their first million, their first merger, the first everything. She battled prejudice and attacks and failures, and though there may have been times she may have wavered, she always persisted.

"So why," her mother asks, "are you giving up now?"

Finally, Lena gives voice to her helplessness. How her friends have forsaken her and how in this world, she feels nineteen again, like she can do nothing without Lex.

"How can I," Lena asks, "when he crafted this very reality?"

"He has always crafted your reality, Lena. Your entire life has revolved around him, been shaped and warped by him. But what I've come to realize is that this world isn't his. It never was. All along, it was yours."

And so begins the tentative yet deepening relationship between Lena and her mother, as they conspire against Lex. They know he's up to something, but don't know what. In the end, they decide it doesn't matter what it was-- they would simply need to neutralize him.

Permanently.

----

On the other side of things, the superfriends start to realize that their goal of taking down Lex from the outside isn't working. They learn Brainy is compromised, and find themselves without a significant resource they had counted on. So they focus on mitigating the fallout of his use of the DEO.

Alex and Jonn find their way to helping aliens recover after DEO raids. Sometimes its just property damage, sometimes its arrests. They commiserate with the victims, promising that Lex won't be in power for much longer.

"It doesn't matter who is in power," the victims reply. It will only be someone just as cruel, or even indifferent. The DEO has always been this way, and it will always be this way.

When one alien mentions a specific raid, Alex realizes it was one that occurred under her tenure as Director. That as an agent and director she contributed to the abuse of aliens rights, liberties, and persons.

Later, she confesses to Kara that she always thought she was doing good at the DEO. But all along she'd really only been doing good for Kara.

"I will always be there for you, you know that right?" she asks, and Kara nods. "But I think, for the next little while, I need to focus on doing good for everyone else."

----

Meanwhile, at CatCo, Nia finds herself in a quandary. One day, Will asks her to grab him a coffee. Taken aback, Nia doesnt have time to respond before Will is off on his way. Unsure of what else to do, she uncomfortably obliges, choosing to believe it was a one off.

It isn't.

Again and again with increasing frequency, Will asks her to do things like grab coffee, make copies, etc. Soon she finds herself stuck in a cycle of doing what she's told and is too nervous to call him out after so long.

It takes Kara noticing and offering to speak to William about it before Nia bucks up the courage to do it herself.

"No," she says, the next time Will opens his mouth in her direction. "I will not get your coffee, or make your copies, or pull your copy edits. I am a reporter, just like you. Maybe a little less experienced, sure, but the only way I'm going to get experienced is by doing my own work and not the work of your assistant."

Will stares at her, and then flushes. "Nia, I am so sorry, I thought you were the office assistant. I had no idea."

This time it's Nia's turn to stare. "What? But-- I have over a dozen by-lines."

"Really?"

"I've been at every pitch meeting!"

Grimacing, Will meets her gaze. "I thought you were there to take notes. Honestly, I thought you and Kara were tight because she came from the assistant pool."

Nia scowls. "You also could have just asked me."

"And I should have. I truly am sorry, I've just been so wrapped up in--" He catches himself abruptly, then swiftly changes the subject. "Let me make it up to you. I have an interview with Lenny Maddow in twenty minutes. Would you like to sit in?"

Sit in with a Nobel-winner who isn't Lex Luthor?

"Uh, YEAH."

Nia recoups more of her pride when she asks some insightful questions that gets their guest to open up to an insane degree, and Will recognizes her talent as a reporter. He even tells her as much.

"I don't know how I ever mistook you for anything else."

He starts lending her more advice and opportunity-- before long he's the kind of mentor Kara used to be, but lost the time for. And after Will decides he can trust her he brings her in on his secret project investigating the Luthors.

Namely, Lena.

"She's the weak link. If she goes down, the rest will follow like dominos."

---

"I know we're kind of not on Team Lena right now," Nia remarks to the others at the tower later, "but the kind of things he thinks she's responsible for doesn't sound like Lena. In any reality."

J'onn and Alex both look at Kara. "It might be time to set aside our wounds for a moment," J'onn observes. "I don't need to be a fifth dimensional imp to deduce that a downfall for Lena would not be a good thing."

"Lex would be left unchecked," Alex chimes in.

Kara doesn't need convincing. She goes to Lena immediately, and squares off against Lena's chill reception with concern.

"I came to warn you."

"Let me guess... Lex can't be trusted."

With a grimace, Kara equivocates. "Yes, but I'm not the only one who thinks so. William Dey is digging into the Luthors, and for whatever reason, he's decided your the fulcrum to the entire operation."

"The reporter, William Dey?"

Kara shares what she knows of William's vendetta-- the best friend who died, the suspicions that Lex was involved. To her surprise, Lena huffs a mirthless laugh.

"He said he was going to be better."

"You... say that like you don't believe him."

"Of course I don't believe him. But I wanted to."

Lena knows better than to leave LuthorCorp. But she does pledge her help.

"This doesn't make us friends," Lena clarifies. "But whatever Lex is planning, he'll burn the world to the ground to get it."

Kara nods solemnly. "I understand."

---

The Superfriends now have their in. It's Lena who finally pieces together that Lex is after Leviathan. It's Lillian who pales at the mention, and after much toothpulling reveals that what no one ever told Lena is that her mother didn't just die-- she was murdered.

"Your home was broken into shortly after you were removed. The investigators only found one item of interest, hidden behind a piece of loosened baseboard. A cipher, on a folded piece of paper. Even Lionel only managed to translate two words. One was Leviathan."

The other, Lena soon discovers, was Acrata.

---

Altogether, the superfriends and Will and Lena all manage to erode Lex's stranglehold on the new reality. Lex doesn't make it easy, but a combination of J'onn and Alex earning more of the public trust, Supergirl resisting Lex at every turn, Will and Nia tag-teaming Andrea's connection to Leviathan, Lena beats Lex to the Leviathan sanctum.

By a matter of minutes, sure, but the fact she finds her way there on her own when Lex has to be led by Gamemnae is a true victory, and a practical embodiment of Lillian's earlier words.

Lena's victory is compounded when Lex's eyes flash with irritation: he doesn't expect to see her there.

"Heya, sis. I didn't realize we had a meeting."

"We don't," Lena tells her brother, even her eyes lock on the woman beside him.

The woman steps towards Lena, her lips curling into a pleased smile.

"We do," the woman confirms. It's clear she doesn't include Lex.

Before he can do more than sputter, she continues. "I was wondering how long it would take you to find us."

Lena holds her gaze. "The medallion."

Gamemnae nods. "Ever since it was found, we knew it would only be a matter of time."

There's only one question Lena intends to ask.

"Who was my mother?"

And so she learns that her mother was part of Leviathan-- that she had grown lonely, and sought comfort in the arms of mortals. It had only meant to be temporary, but when the unthinkable happened, and she found herself pregnant, she chose to remain in the mortal world with her daughter.

What Gamemnae doesn't explain, but Lena senses instinctively, is that her mother had sought to protect Lena from Leviathan. To keep her human, keep her alive. That somehow, despite being an agent of destruction, Lena's birth had prompted her mother to leave Leviathan behind, and to be better than she was.

Gamemnae's pitch is enticing-- the ability to bring humanity together through disaster, to call upon their communal instincts by reducing their numbers, reset the world so that the planet and its population have a chance to survive for eons to come.

She offers power and influence, and a long life-- millenia to engage with and observe the discoveries still far in the future.

It's almost enough for Lena to say yes.

Almost.

It is enough for Lena to accept the medallion, the only true memory Lena has of her mother. Gamemnae summons it from the ether, and Lena takes it in her fingers, cradling it like the precious artifact it is.

When she closes her hand around it, Lena blinks and finds herself in a place of utter darkness. But despite the emptiness, she isn't afraid.

"Lena."

"Mom."

The woman who appears before her is familiar in a way that touches deep in Lena's soul. Tears fill Lena's eyes as she drinks in the sight of her mother, committing her to memory.

"I forgot what you looked like," Lena confesses with a breathless laugh. "When I generated an avatar of you, I had to base it on my own image."

The embrace her mother wraps her in is unbidden and unexpected. It steals Lena's breath and floods her with warm. Her tears spill over as she clutches her mother tight.

"I've missed you."

"And I you, my darling," her mother murmurs. "You have grown to be everything I ever wanted for you."

A bolt of shame travels down Lena's spine, and she pulls away.

"You mean embroiled in the most hated family in history?"

"I mean that you are strong, and powerful, and brilliant. Your compassion and empathy are a force powerful than you know."

Lena looks away. How can she explain how close she had come to lose the soul her mother had loved so dearly. Non Nocere burns like a hot poker of shame, digging deep in her belly and twisting sharply.

But her mother cups her cheeks, tilting her gaze up to meet hers once more.

"We all make mistakes, my love. What matters most is what you do to correct them."

Before Lena can say anything more, her mother kisses her on the head, and offers a smile as warm as the sun.

"Everyone you have ever loved is carried inside you. They speak to you every day. When times are uncertain, listen to your heart. They will never lead you astray."

Lena blinks back to the Leviathan sanctum to find Lex pelting Gamemnae with outrage and accusations.

"We had an agreement! You and I had a partnership!"

"And now that it has brought me your sister, I am no longer in need of it."

"You forget that I watched Rama Khan in our previous reality-- I know Leviathan's style. My baby sister isn't the type you would want to recruit."

"You don't comprehend what Leviathan is," Gamemnae only smiles sweetly, unfazed by Lex's posturing. "We are born and chosen both. That is what Lena is. And you, Alexander Luthor, are neither."

"Buh--"

With a wave of Gamemnae's hand, Lex disappears, transported.... somewhere. Lena can barely think to consider his welfare before Gamemnae turns her powerful gaze towards her once more.

"Welcome home, Lena."

---

In the end, Lena doesn't accept. The power offered her is tempting, but she's wise enough to know that a deal so sweet could never come without strings. Whether it be her humanity, her soul, or something else entirely, she would lose something dear. Something precious.

"Come now, Lena," Gamemnae cautions. "I know how ingelligent you are. You know that you won't be allowed to leave alive should you decline."

Her mother's voice echoes in Lena's ears: listen to your heart. She does, and she hears them all-- her people. Her loved. Her lost.

Her mother.

Jack.

Even Kara.

It's Kara that makes her pause, nearly has her agreeing. She knows the prospect of Kara's future, a life of longevity that would see her watching all her family die, for generations to come. If Lena could share those centuries with her, surely they could eventually find forgiveness and trust once more.

But Kara wouldn't want her to. Not like this.

So instead of taking Gamemnae's hand, Lena snatches her by the wrist and closes her hand around the medallion. This time Gamemnae appears in the void with her, where Lena's mother waits again.

"I need your help," Lena says. "All of you."

One by one, they materialize. All of the voices who have guided her appear from the shadows, their features kind and ready. Lena pushes Gamemnae towards them.

"Make our guest comfortable. She'll be staying with you for the foreseeable future."

Jack is the one who steadies Gamemnae. When he blinks, his eyes open to pitch darkness. So do the eyes of those around him, wraiths all. Even Lena's mother.

Lena hesitates only long enough to give her mother one last look.

"I love you."

Her mother nods. "I never doubted for a second. Go," she urges, "and live."

Lena returns to the Leviathan sanctum alone. She shatters the medallion to ensure no one else would use it, and sweeps the pieces up to liquidate against any attempts to reconstruct it.

Leviathan is done, without a single drop of blood shed.

Back at LuthorCorp, Lex is nowhere to be found. After a perfunctory search, control falls to Lena. Though she'll have to wait a mandated period of time before she can rebrand back to L-Corp, things are already feeling normal.

At least, right up until the moment Lena finally visits the Tower for the first time.

"Lena!" Kara calls in delight. During their time working together, things between them have repaired enough for her to wrap Lena in a brief hug and usher her further into the space.

"Come to beg us to back to the DEO?" Alex taunts. "I gotta warn you, I've gotten used to being my own boss."

"Actually," Lena says, "I'm disbanding the DEO."

There's a beat of silence, and then the entire room erupts into chaos. Questions fly at her from every direction, and she endures them quietly until she finally lifts a hand for quiet.

"It's time. The DEO has never been entirely above board, and if we're going to make strides in accepting aliens into Earth society, we have to start with nixing the extrajudicial arrests and imprisonment."

Lena looks at Kara, who has been suspiciously silent. Kara meets her gaze in apprehension.

"What does that mean for Supergirl?'

Lena offers her a smile that refreshes her soul.

"Well, it would be foolish to claim she isn't still needed, and that heroes don't do a lot of good. So I've already talked with the mayor about implementing a municipal licensing program for vigilante heroes. If successful, you'd basically be doing the exact same thing, with just a little more oversight, and a little less smash and grab."

Nia beams. "That sounds so cool!"

"And," Lena adds, sliding her gaze towards Alex and J'onn, "the program is going to need leadership that's familiar with both heroes and bureaucracy."

J'onn nods his readiness and agreement, but to everyone's surprise, Alex hesitates.

"It sounds like a great idea, Lena, really," Alex obfuscates, "but I think I still have more work to do on this side of things. As you say, the DEO has a lot to make up for."

Kara hugs her sister tight. "I'm so proud of you," she whispers.

"Wait, wait, wait..." Nia says, pumping the brakes ever so slightly. "Does this mean we don't get to be the Superfriends anymore?"

But Lena has an answer for that too.

"As the pilot heroes of this new program, I'm sure all of you will continue to work closely together, and I'm sure the legislation will include provisions for teams as well as individual. Which means that as National City's first and premier superhero league, the only thing you're missing is a sponsor." Which is to say, Lena intends to sponsor them.

"From my personal accounts," Lena is sure to specify, "and with tech either commercially available or engineered in my personal lab. LuthorCorp will won't be anywhere near it, and I will be operating as anonymously as possible... though given our history, I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard a guess for people to figure out."

When the team leaves for celebratory drinks, Kara and Lena linger. The air hangs thick and heavy between them, until Lena finally speaks.

"You once asked for bygones--"

"I did," Kara confirms. "And as much as I would love to return the favor--"

"We have a lot to talk about."

Kara nods, and Lena takes a deep breath. "All I ask," she continues, "is that you accept the good with the flaws. And that I only ever wanted to do good."

That much, Kara agrees without hesitation.

"I never thought anything else."

She loops her arm through Lena's, and together they walk towards the lift. As it rises to collect them, Kara rocks back on her heels.

"A lot of changes are coming our way," she remarks.

Lena hums an agreement, but misses the glance Kara gives her as they step into the lift before issuing one last pardon.

"There's no one else I'd rather face them with."

The elevator gate closes on the image of them gazing at each other, eyes locked and smiles brimming with the possibility of something new.

#supercorp #yall freaking asked for it #this took me one day #and one single brain #imagine if i had a full team fleshing this out with me #wall of text #sorry the inbox/mobile app doesnt allow for read mores #tell me what you think #edited to add read more

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iaintyourbro · 4 years ago

Note

As much as I ship Cloud and Tifa, I personally think that if Cloud didn't love Aerith, he wouldn't have beat himself up constantly about her death in Advent Children. I don't think it was just about guilt for being unable to protect her because he frets around so badly about Aerith to the point that he's unwilling to even LIVE anymore. Tifa loves Cloud, but I don't think that Cloud loves her back, and that sort of disappoints me.

Canon resources say otherwise.

Nothing ever confirms Cloud loves Aerith. Nothing. The closest you’ve got is her loving him - stated in Lifestream White - but nothing confirms he loves her. People can twist, erase, and ignore whatever they want, but it’s not there. The most I’ll give you is maybe he had a crush on her in the OG during his SOLDIER!Cloud time. Aerith tells us that any feelings he may THINKS he has AREN’T REAL in Remake. These are all part of the compilation. You can’t pick and choose lines, parts of scenes, and sentences to prove something as canon. It’s the whole picture.

I think you missed the entire guilt thing that they’ve tried to clarify. The guy also has geostigma. He knows a lot about it. He’s spent a ton of time researching it. Tons. He knows there’s no cure. So on top of EVERYTHING ELSE he’s going to die now too. He doesn’t want to die.

And look, even if he did - his BEST FRIEND and his BEST FRIEND’S GIRLFRIEND are there... sounds like he wouldn’t get too far. He also calls her Mom. Zack and Aerith also act like he’s a child that’s too big to adopt. I feel like they really tried to drive some of these themes home.

Also - I’ve said this before. You all always forget about Zack. He’s got a lot of guilt and sadness over Zack. You all also forget that Zack and Aerith treat Cloud like a child that is too big to adopt. My husband immediately said during that scene that people must ignore this because clearly it isn’t romantic in the way they portray it.

Hell, I’d say his reaction not only to Zack’s death, but his reaction to Zack’s appearance in AC are FAR more emotional than anything regarding Aerith.

Rationally, what you say makes no sense. Cloud tells us his feelings in the OG. In CoT he’s clearly happy and then goes down the path of guilt. People close themselves off in cases like this - not everybody talks about it and, yeah, that makes it worse. Top it off with a sick kid that - because you think you’ll get forgiveness - you really want to cure, then YOU get it, so in your mind, nothing can be done because the research you’ve done shows you this - it sucks.

This isn’t romantic. Nothing about his relationship with Aerith in AC is romantic. If it is, then you need to say his relationship with Zack is too. Period.

But you won’t, because for some reason, it’s only opposite sex people that get this treatment. Because I guess a guy and girl can never just be friends.

And in that case, Clack wins. There’s more history and more of a relationship built between the two. I know people just hate to hear that, but it’s true. He knew Zack for longer and he knew him better than Aerith.

Also, do you really think Cloud intentionally is going to shut off the woman who pretty much saved his life? Is he going to try and motivate her to keep going (early in Case of Tifa) if he really didn’t care for her? Would he freak out and stomp all over the flowers to get to her? Would he find out from Reno and Rude that the kids are missing and refuse to leave her side?

The OG told us who he loves.

I feel like a broken record here. I’m sure this is coming off as brutal, and I try very hard to keep my tone calm in some of these posts, but I’ve gotten WAY too many of these questions in the last few days and they’re all similar.

Cloud is 21 years old. He is mentally 16 years old. Cloud has major trauma. He has amnesia and other shit going on in his head. He knew Aerith for a month. His focus was not just Aerith for that month. I know people for some reason think that’s the case, but I think they IGNORE everything else in the game.

On top of it: ZACK WAS CLOUD’S BEST FRIEND.... I cannot in a million years think that once he remembers Zack and Aerith finds out he knew Zack that they’d be okay with getting together. I just don’t.

They’re clearing up all this shit in remake. They’ve already made it clear that SOLDIER!Cloud also has a thing for Tifa. If you play Chapters 1-7 and 10-18, you’ll see a lot of that interaction.

The devs have also said the characters are being portrayed as they were in OG. We just have the added features of voice acting and body language to make things even more clear.

Please, next time you think about this undying love that he supposedly has... Ask yourself:

Would you be okay if your 21 year old son gave up on their life for a girl they knew for a month? When they were mentally unstable? Let’s just ignore anything past her death. Nobody would be okay with their kid doing that. Most people WOULDN’T do this on their own. Even Cloud I can say wouldn’t do it. Once he gets his mind back, it’s TIFA TIFA TIFA. There’s NOTHING that will change that.

I’m not answering anymore of these questions that say Cloud doesn’t love or care for Tifa or that Cloud doesn’t deserve Tifa. I’ve answered enough. My answer will not change. You can believe whatever the hell you want, but going forward I will delete and block any of these types of ask.

I didn’t write the story. If you don’t like it, don’t play it. It’s simple.

#cloti #anti anti #cloud x tifa #final fantasy vii advent children #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #cloud strife #tifa lockhart #zack fair #aerith gainsborough #zerith #ff7r #ff7r spoilers #ff7ac #ff7 ac spoilers #advent children #cloud loves tifa #its canon #you are ignoring key parts of the story

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curls-cat · 4 years ago

Text

Who we Grew to Be

HAPPY HOLIDAYS @vertdegrece!!!! You asked for grown up Daphne/Pinocchio, so you got a lot of vaguely purple prose leading up to adult Daphnocchio! I haven’t written for this ship in a while, I forgot that I like it!

also posted on AO3

Daphne and Pinocchio do not grow up together. That would be too easy. Daphne stalls out for a little bit at eleven, when she gets her first zit, but besides that, she grows like any human child: straight through.

Pinocchio, on the other hand, grows in fits and starts. He’s been cursed that way, because the Blue Fairy, his absent mother, takes as much as she gives. All her blessings have a little bit of the monkey’s paw about them, so he only grows as old as he acts, forever cursed to act his own age.

The upshot of this is that they don’t spend much time together in childhood. Daphne is much closer to Red, who grows at the same pace she does. Pinocchio, too, is closer to Red. They live in the same house, after all. And Red may be aging at the same pace as her best friend, but she’s got a sort of ageless quality about her that makes it easy for Pinocchio to spend time with her no matter how different their ages are, physically.

Oh, they see each other nearly all of every summer, when Henry and Veronica pack up their rarely-used car to make the drive up from NYC to Ferryport Landing, towing their children with them. Summers are nice. Daphne likes summer, when she has her whole family together in Granny’s newly-renovated ramble of a house for two entire months. Even Puck and Uncle Jake are nearly always there.

But they don’t hang out. Daphne out-ages Pinocchio for the first two years, the growing difference between seven and nine not nearly as much of an impediment as Pinocchio’s snobby brattishness. Then he makes a leap forward, catching up and almost outstripping her to ten. They leapfrog their way through childhood, only matching up briefly every few years. Then he makes a final jump from sixteen and moody to somewhere much closer to twenty, and he’s off to university while Daphne is still sixteen herself, and he throws himself into the kind of universities that he now looks old enough to be a student at.

Sixteen is a weird time. They’re the same age, for once, and they’re together in Granny’s house, for the last time, it’ll later turn out. Pinocchio spends a lot more time with her than usual, but he’s grumpier than he’s been since he was ten, demanding her attention one minute and then scoffing at her the next. Sabrina rolls her eyes and tells him to get his act together, but she’s mostly too busy hate-flirting with Puck to explain what she means, even though she gives Daphne knowing looks whenever pressed.

Then Granny dies, and Daphne’s family shatters.

Puck and Uncle Jake disappear to opposite corners of the globe. Sabrina and Pinocchio go back to school and if Daphne didn’t drag her sister home over the weekends, she’d never see her. Her parents start fighting, both of them either at work or at home but not present. Mr. Canis is so heartbroken that Red is spending all her time, nearly, with him, trying to make him eat or sleep or smile. Basil is furious and heartbroken by turns, begging Daphne for hugs one moment and screaming at her the next. Daphne feels like she’s alone, pulling at a dozen different strings that are all tied to people running as hard as they can in opposite directions. Like she’s being drawn and quartered by her own grief, by her own desire to keep her family together.

It doesn’t come to a head at any one point. It’s several smaller heads, a million little breaks, separate scenes where Daphne begs each of her family members to come back to her one by one. Most of them do. Puck and Pinocchio don’t.

And she gets it. She knows, from the way Mr. Canis and her dad look at her sometimes, that she’s the most like Granny out of all of them. She’s got her grandmother’s righteous indignation and need to help everyone, her rigid moral compass that even she knows is a little shy of true north, her big, enormous heart. Of course it’ll hurt to come back to her. Of course it’ll be like looking at the little imperfect shadow of the woman they’ve lost, the woman who loved them when nobody else would.

It doesn’t make her any less furious at them. And, for a year or two, she’s almost glad they’ve stayed away, her hurt turning into anger.

Fast forward again, to Sabrina’s wedding. By this point, Pinocchio has sort of been back in her life, by virtue of being back in Red’s life. He’s halfway through a doctorate in history, and Daphne’s learned through Red that he wants to get more, in anthropology and archaeology, among other things. He wants to get all the doctorates, from the sound of it.

Sabrina’s wedding goes strangely. Daphne may have meddled a little bit. Just a tiny, tiny bit. But it’s not her fault Sabrina kept moping about Puck. It was super obvious. And Bradley’s a nice guy and all, and Daphne knows Sabrina loves him, but it’s not gonna be a happy marriage if they don’t at least get all the Puck baggage out in the open. So she meddles. Finds Puck, pulls him out of his five-year mope, and throws him at the wedding.

It’s a mess, obviously. There’s a huge scene at the wedding, it sort of falls apart, a lot of forgetful dust has to be spread around. At the end of it, Daphne’s left standing, exhausted, with an empty bag of forgetful dust, watching the last of the guests leave. Or, at least, she thought it was all the guests.

“Are you cleaning up as penance?” someone says behind her, in an absolutely gorgeous voice.

“Come again?” She turns, and there’s Pinocchio, in all his dark academia glory. He’s grown into his nose, though it’s still a striking centerpiece to his face.

“For turning your sister’s wedding into a fiasco,” he clarifies. “I assume that was you.”

“Maybe,” she says, trying for teasing. It comes out a little more flirtatious than she meant it. What? He’s cute, okay?

“How—how have you been?” Pinocchio asks.

He could’ve asked her that any time in the past five years. Any time. She’s honestly kind of surprised he came to the wedding. She will not give him the cold shoulder, though. She won’t. She’s better than that now.

“I’m all right,” she says. “In college. You?”

“Also in college,” Pinocchio says. He gives her a small smile.

She smiles back. It’s all very awkward. She starts gathering up wedding decorations.

“I, uh,” Pinocchio says after a minute. “I think I owe you an apology.”

Damn right he does. She doesn’t say that, though. She does look at him expectantly.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, not making eye contact. “After—Well. You know. I shouldn’t have run away like that. I was hurting, and spending time around anyone who knew your grandma just made me think about how much I hurt. So I ran away. And that wasn’t fair. Because you were all hurting, too, and I know you, especially, wanted everyone to stay close.”

“Very nicely said,” Daphne approves. “Did Red coach you on it?”

“Only a little,” Pinocchio admits. “But I mean it. All of it.”

“All right,” Daphne says. And she takes a deep breath, the way she’s been practicing with Cindy, and she lets the anger go. “I forgive you. But only if you’re done hiding.”

“I am,” he says, and he smiles at her.

They keep in contact after the wedding. Pinocchio still has a tendency to bury himself in books and forget about other humans, but if she texts him, he’ll text back the same day. Usually. She tells him about the weird things going on between Puck, Sabrina, and Bradley. Occasionally he’ll send her an unprompted message ranting about something she has only the vaguest understanding of. She’ll patch it together across the pages her phone’s divided it into and have wikipedia open for reference as she reads. They go out for coffee at least once a month, sometimes with Red, sometimes without her.

Daphne refuses to ask him for help with her homework. Getting a degree in social work requires a lot more of the hard sciences than she’d anticipated. It’s frustrating, but it’s worth it. She’s gonna be able to help people, when she’s done with this. Everafters and humans alike. Oh, Sabrina’s got her child advocacy law thing going on, and that’s great, but Daphne’s determined to help people before they get to the point where the courts have to get involved. And she’s not going to do it by depending on Pinocchio for help. She can do this on her own.

But as she moves from her bachelor’s to the postgrad degree it’s apparent she’s going to need if she wants to actually get a, y’know, job in her field, she does start complaining to Pinocchio more. They’re at the same university, Pinocchio now well into an anthropology degree, so they hang out at the library pretty often, their noses buried in separate books or laptops.

Pinocchio’s funny. She’d forgotten about that, or never really learned it. He’s got a dry sense of humor, and he’s sarcastic like you wouldn’t believe. He’s fun to be around.

“I had a crush on you, you know,” he tells her one day, apropos of nothing, as he stretches in his chair, taking a break from whatever he’s working on right now.

“What?” Daphne pauses, not sure she’s heard him right. She’s been pretty intent on putting together a case study review.

“When we were, oh, sixteen or so,” Pinocchio says. It’s too casual to be anything but feigned. He knows exactly how old they were. “G-d, you were so—friendly. Overwhelmingly so.”

“Am I not friendly anymore?” Daphne asks, but she’s teasing. Friendly. What a reason to get a crush on someone!

“Nope,” Pinocchio teases right back. “Downright unpersonable. I must be rubbing off on you.”

“If Sabrina couldn’t turn me into a grouch, you’re definitely not gonna manage it,” Daphne says with an easy grin. “This new ‘unpersonable’ thing is all me, baby.”

“The world has worn on you,” Pinocchio says with a melodramatic sigh. “You’ve finally lost your childlike joy.”

“Only took twenty-three years,” Daphne says with a grin. The conversation dies for a minute, then Daphne brings it back. “Why bring it up now?”

Pinocchio shrugs. “I was just thinking about it. Thinking about back then. It was nice. I miss it.”

“You barely talked to me!” Daphne says with a laugh.

Someone two tables over glares at her, and she gives them an apologetic wave and a smile.

“I was shy!” Pinocchio protests. “I didn’t know how to talk to someone I liked! Let alone someone who was in my house the whole summer!”

“Fair enough,” Daphne agrees. “I hope you know this is teasing fodder for forever, though.”

“Oh no,” Pinocchio says, deadpan again. “What will I ever do. You’ve never teased me before in my life. I don’t think I can handle it.” He pauses, then says, “You don’t seem surprised. That I liked you.”

“What can I say?” Daphne winks at him. “Nobody can resist my charms.”

“Fair enough,” Pinocchio says, giving her a shrug. Then he goes back to studying.

Time passes. Daphne graduates, can’t get a job through normal channels, but gets herself employed working for Faerie. Pinocchio teases her about nepotism, but listen. If there were anyone else qualified, she wouldn’t need to do this job. She and Pinocchio don’t spend all their time together in the library anymore, but they do meet up for lunch, and dinner, and sometimes breakfast. Someone has to make sure he remembers to eat, after all.

Several months into seeing each other nearly every day, by choice rather than by ease, something occurs to Daphne.

“Are we dating?” she asks.

Pinocchio chokes a little. “What?”

“Are we dating?” she repeats, emphasizing each word a little more clearly.

“How would we be dating?”

“We see each other almost every day,” Daphne starts, ticking her points off on her fingers as she goes. “We go out to dinner together, just the two of us. We watch movies together. We hang out in each other’s apartments. I text you almost as much as I text my brother and sister, and more than I text Red. When I have news, you’re the first person I want to tell. You leave your little nerd fort to hang out with me.”

“I mean—” Pinocchio splutters. “You’re— Dating usually involves a certain amount of intent, doesn’t it?”

Well, yeah, okay, there’s that. But Daphne’s stumbled into relationships before, only realized what they were partway through. Love is messy like that. But, well. Pinocchio likes things to be clearly labeled. People don’t come naturally to him the way they do to her.

“Would you like this to be dating?” she asks.

“Would you?” he counters, still spluttering and blushing.

Would she?

She thinks about all the things she listed, about how she wants to spend time with him, about the way he’s comfortable. About his dry sense of humor, about his stupid handsome face, about the way, every time she sees him she’s struck, a little, by the sight. About how it makes her heart beat faster. She’d put it down to his being one of the hottest men she’s ever seen, but that should probably have worn off sometime in the past few years, right?

“Yes,” she decides. She would like to date him.

“Oh,” Pinocchio says. His blush deepens.

He says nothing else for a long minute, and Daphne starts blushing too. “If you don’t—I mean, I—listen. It doesn’t. I’ve gotten crushes on friends before. If you don’t want to date me, that’s fine. It doesn’t have to change anything. We can forget this whole conversation!” Because she’d rather keep his friendship than anything else.

“No!” Pinocchio rushes in. “No, that’s not—I just—I mean—” he’s stumbling over her words, now, the two of them talking over each other to explain themselves, when he says, “I like you too!”

“Oh,” Daphne says, stopping abruptly. “You do?” She smiles at him.

“Yeah,” Pinocchio says. “I think I never really stopped.”

“That,” Daphne says, reaching a hand forward to grab at Pinocchio’s, “was downright romantic, you handsome sweetie.”

Pinocchio gives her a dopey, lovestruck smile. Then, after a long moment, he says, “So are we dating then?”

Daphne laughs, twines their fingers together. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, we are.”

#sisters grimm #the sisters grimm #daphne grimm #sisters grimm holiday exchange #sisters grimm secret santa

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